#tongue clicking. almost like tapping on the back of your front teeth with your tongue and sucking in. almost makes kind of a squirrel noise | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ickadori · 14 days

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[cws] fem reader. violence -> sukuna beats up a coworker for you lol. fade to black noncon oral.

Thud.

The dull sound of steel toed boots knocking against your wooden apartment floors come to a stop outside of your bedroom door. Your fingers pause over your keyboard as your stomach does a lurch, heart-rate quickening just a bit, and you save the essay you had been working on and close the lid of your Macbook.

“Ry..” Your voice dies out halfway through the call of his name, and you try again, getting no answer in return—no verbal one at least. The knob gives a quick turn and you flinch, and then there’s another thud, this one a bit lighter — a small thump of his boot against the door to push it open.

And there he is.

“Ryomen.”

“You left your front door open again.” His voice is rough, a slight drawl to it, almost lazy-like. “I told you about that.”

“Sorry, I forgot.” A crazy concept considering you’re a young woman living on your own, but you’ve had a lot on your mind the past few days, and your own safety was the last thing on your mind. Besides, Sukuna had showed his face around your complex a few times, and that was enough to deter most people from even looking in your direction for fear of getting his unwanted attention.

He chuffs and enters your room.

You look behind him to the darkly colored, boot-shaped spots that he’s left behind in his wake, and your teeth worry at your lip as you think about all the scrubbing you’ll have to do. He follows your gaze, head turning and angling down, and he clicks his tongue.

“What a mess.” He snickers, and you firmly press your lips together as he continues on, his steps slower this time, smaller, boots now leaving behind double the footprints because of his adjusted pace. What an asshole.

Now that he’s closer, you can make out the dark splatters of something on his jeans, along with the blooming bruises on his knuckles. The balls of your feet rest on the base of your desk chair, and you smooth your hands down the length of your thighs.

“Is it—are they…?” You trail off, not wanting to just outright ask it. You never liked to say it out loud after it was all said and done, yet you had never once struggled to get the words out whenever you first went to him, skin hot with anger and eyes sparkling with rage as you begged -demanded- that he do something about whoever it was that had managed to work you up so badly.

“Are they ‘dealt with’, as you so tenderly put it over the phone?” He finishes your question, fingers moving to lift the lid of your Macbook open. It hasn’t been closed long enough to require your password, and the black screens quickly flickers back on to display your half finished essay. “What’s this?”

“An assignment.” His finger makes a feint to tap at the delete button, and you yelp and quickly grab ahold of his hand with both of yours. “Please don’t do that.” The corner of his mouth quirks up as his eyes pointedly look at how you’re grabbing him, and you quickly let him go, thoughts of what those hands had likely did just a little while ago springing forth.

“I put ‘em in the hospital - nothing that’ll kill her, can’t say the same for her baby though.” Your stomach instantly sours, and a gasp forces its way out of your throat as you stare up at him with wide eyes.

“Baby?” You croak. “She was pre—” You can’t finish the sentence, a lump instantly forming in your throat as tears begin to blur your vision.

“Nah, I’m just fucking with you.” Sukuna barks out a laugh and you pause, expression still fixed into one of abject horror. “Or maybe she was, who knows—‘s not like I gave the bitch a pregnancy test before I broke her jaw.”

“Okay, enough.” You stress, fearing that you’d dirty the rug underneath your feet with stomach acid if he didn’t stop talking soon. While you may have envisioned all the ways he would deal with your bitch of a coworker two days ago, your argument with the outspoken women still fresh in your mind, you were calmer now, reasonable, not hellbent on revenge and willing to make a deal with the devil incarnate to see it exacted.

You thought he’d scare her a little -it wouldn’t have taken much, just a quick flash of his impossibly sharp canines and the sight of those black lines marring his otherwise handsome face would have done the trick-, maybe just toss her around a bit and take her wallet, call her a few names and send her on her sad way.

“Don’t get all mushy now. This was your idea, remember? You called me.” He looks over the trinkets on your desk, touching things here and there and invading your personal space all the while. You breathe in and catch a whiff of your coworkers signature perfume on his jacket, a scent that you had grown to hate, and you scramble to get out of your seat, only for a heavy hand to push down on your shoulder and keep you in place.

You make a noise of confusion and look up at him, but he doesn’t bother glancing at you, suddenly engrossed in the sight of a tattered, mini plushie that you had received as a gift years ago as a child.

“Where are you trying to run off to?”

“I—your money. I-I was going to pay you, for…you know…like I usually do.” His hand slips from your shoulder to the front of your neck and you suck in a sharp breath through your nose, watching as he finally looks down his nose at you, his lips twisted in that ever present smirk.

“I never asked for your money.” You frown, fingers twitching to push his hand away from you, but you curl them into your palm and keep them on your thighs.

“But you said—” His hand tightens around your throat just a bit, and your hands fly up on instinct to grab ahold of his wrist.

“I said you’d have to pay me, yeah.” He sighs out through his nose. “Never said how you’d pay me though, now did I?” His hand that isn’t squeezing at your neck suddenly fists your hair at the root and harshly tugs it back, the pained noise you make quickly being choked down. He looms over you, and Gods, has he always been this terrifying? You had always been wary of him despite Yuji’s never ending defense of his older brother.

“He’s not a bad guy, baby, I swear. He just got mixed up in some stuff when he was younger and did a few years.”

“He’s not mean, he’s just…well, I guess he is mean. But he’s not that mean!”

“He actually likes you, believe it or not…yes, I know he keyed your car but it was only because you double parked in the driveway and he thought it was Megumi.”

A rough thumb brushes across your bottom lip, and you’ve known enough men to know the look he’s giving you. You bristle, and he subdues it with a squeeze that leaves you coughing and pushing at his stomach. He takes the opportunity to push two fingers, pointer and middle, into your mouth, and you gag when a metallic taste hits your tongue, eyes widening and feet moving to kick at his shins.

“I’ve been wondering how it’d feel to have my cock in here,” he squeezes again, fingers pushing a bit deeper, “wondering if you’re as good as Yuji says you are.” You shove at him harder, and just when you build up enough courage to snap your teeth down against his fingers, he pulls his hand back from your mouth. You suck in a gasp of air at the short reprieve, only to lose your breath once again when his hand moves to his buckle.

“Let’s see if you can take it.”

#sukuna x reader #i #do not like this piece it was torture writing it but m gonna post it anyways bc i’m that guy!!

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rileysluvr · 8 months

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almost 4k words of john price and throat fucking omg i love old men. this one is a little crazy i won’t lie guys my bad

“Hi, Captain,” you smile, closing the door behind you. “What are you up to?”

He hadn’t bothered lifting his head from the documents in his hand when he heard the knocking on his door, nor to bark a gruff order of entry. He simply doesn’t have the time to. When he catches sight of you in his peripheral, though, with that sweet as sugar voice greeting him like a heaven-sent amusement, he does suppose a short break won’t horribly kill him. You are always reminding him he works too hard, anyway.

Your presence is always sure to cheer him up. Whether it be on a day where far too much is happening for his brain to keep up, or one that progresses so slowly he can actually feel himself aging in real time; you show up near the end, all spry and dolled up for him, and he’s sure to forget all about even the shittiest of days. You’ve just got that sort of delightful energy to you.

“The usual paperwork, nothin’ exciting.” He taps his cigar on the corner of the ashtray in front of him, just next to a glass with a thin line of brown liquid he’d been working on. Whiskey, presumably. “Why?”

The room is lit a dull color, easier on the eyes. He always liked things that were easy on the eyes, yourself included.

The admiration for warm, maybe even domestic comfort like this, comes free with the job, and he’d be a fool to not notice the sweet girl in front of him who fits all the requirements and more. Actually pursuing it, however, without the childish sneaking around; that’s a whole ‘nother ball game, trickled with millions of obstacles of every kind.

“No reason. Just that you’ve been in here a while,” you say as you walk over to him, hands clasped behind your back. “And we all missed you at the bar.”

He drops everything—cigar hits glass, documents hit desk, hardened manner going unnourished—and pushes his chair back. Your eyes instantly fall to see how his legs are spread naturally, big and just begging for you to come closer. You’re not going to pass up the opportunity.

He jeers, arms crossed over his expansive chest. “So you’ve come here to save me, is that it?”

“Maybe not save you.” You step between his knees, wondering when his posture had dropped so that he was leaning farther back, hips forward and closer to the chair's edge. Like he’s showing himself off, welcoming you to take a bite. You’re not going to refuse him. “But I can always try my best to help.”

He’s no idiot. He knows what you’re suggesting; you’ve done it plenty before, without fault. He just wants to hear it in that unabashed and wildly indecorous tone of yours. “And how are you going to do that?”

Bottom lip stuck between your teeth for a moment, balancing back and forth between your heels and toes. Your head tilts down a bit but your eyes stay on his figure, like a cheeky pout.

“Lemme suck your cock?”

He heartily laughs at your proposal. “Right now? While I’m working?”

“I promise it’ll be quick,” you pry, in that dangerously, easily seductive voice of yours. You’re dangerous. You’re the only one who’s capable of breaking the bond between the captain and the work he’s bound and effectively caged himself to.

“You’re a devil, y’know that?” The disapproval in his voice is entirely for show, and you seek out that playful coyness in his tone like it’s your favorite candy. “How do you expect me to say no to that? ‘Specially with a pretty girl like you offering?”

He looks you up and down, from smile to hips, and it’s like his stare holds the power of a thousand daggers, each piercing blade laced with arousal and relentlessly digging into your soft skin. God, you really are just a needy thing for him, aren’t you?

He clicks his tongue, eyes landing on yours after practically stripping you bare in his head. Let him finish his work and it doesn’t have to be left up to the imagination, he reasons with himself. “You can’t wait ‘til I’m finished with all this?”

“But I want to now,” you pout, head tilting to the side and making it far too difficult for your captain to deny you.

You play it up, dramatizing your disappointment with the idea of him so invested in his work rather than what you’re offering. Though, it certainly isn’t entirely a charade; you fear that a few tears may actually prick through if he turns you down. Then he definitely wouldn’t have it in him to send you away.

He glances to each side of the room, thinking on what he’s already sure of. He has to appear at least slightly annoyed, otherwise he loses all authority to a tricky thing like you. An inkling of his hesitation is real, but not for longer than a second.

He sighs, “Alright, then. Knees.”

You give a great smile of pure excitement over victory before doing as he so vaguely ordered, sinking to your knees with a helpful hand on his thigh. Even through cargo pants and a military-green fleece jacket, your mind is doing cartwheels thinking about what’s beneath the baggy, yet so tight around the arms and chest, clothes. And he can’t deny the same thoughts for you, dressed in your issued getup as well.

“You lock the door?”

You shake your head; there’s that cheeky look on your face again, except it’s somehow infinitely better when you’re knelt between his legs rather than standing upright. He’ll take it either way. You’re his favorite vice, by far.

He scolds you with the click of his tongue. “Then you better get on with it, right? ‘Less you want someone to walk in and find you down there, now.”

You giggle, telling him all he needs to know. You wouldn’t mind being caught all that much.

“Oh, you naughty thing…” He shakes his head, “Pretty little devil, like I fuckin’ said.”

You grip and pull at his cargoes, growing impatient. “Can’t help it, Sir. Wanna be your girl.”

“You are my girl, sweetheart.” His big hands soothe over the sides of your head, cupping your cheeks as if you held more value than any prized possession. “You know you’re my good girl, don’t you?”

You nod with a sultry hum, just like you do every time he tells you that. Your hands glide up his thighs and reach up to the buckle of his belt, pulling the leather loose as the clanging of the metal rings in your ears. With his elbow on the armrest of his chair to prop up his head, watching your hands work at unzipping his pants with your big eyes looking right up at his stern ones.

Palming him through the clothing a few times, your mouth watering and lips aching to wrap around the fat, hardening cock beneath your fingertips. You can see the glint of adoration in the blown out centers of his eyes, a smirk crept onto his face. Like a king sat on his throne with prey presented at his feet, and you surely make the prettiest prey.

When you’ve got his cock out, you waste no time in wrapping your fingers around the base and sticking your tongue out flat to lick a languid strip up the entire length of him. He groans lightly, though it turns throatier when the tip of your tongue reaches the head of his cock, precum salty on your tastebuds and a bitterness your body learned to miss after mere days of going without it. You know where he’s most sensitive under your tongue, and you begin to play into it instantly.

He grits his teeth with a quick hiss, though he’s so quick to compose himself. “Haven’t got all night, sweets. Suggest you stop your teasin’ and get on with it.”

You take him in your mouth, head of his cock nudging the roof of your mouth as you work to fit more of him. Relaxing your jaw to get used to his unruly size, earning an appraising mutter of a swear from under his breath. Sucking on him like your favorite flavor of lollipop, drool spilling from the corners of your lips.

Making such a mess before you even take him down your throat, faint strings of saliva tickling your chin and sending waves of cool liquid down his spine when it drips onto skin still untouched and unwarmed by your mouth.

You ease more of him past your tongue until he hits the back of your throat, a muffled moan coming from you having his cock twitching in your mouth. He rolls his shoulders back, actually giving into comfort. “Fuck. Jus’ like that, lovie…take your time.”

Even when he’s off the field, he’s still going to coach you through your tasks like a good captain does. No matter how overbearing it gets, no matter how obvious the cues. You’re his responsibility, and he’s always going to watch after you.

Your hand that’s wrapped around his cock proceeds with languid strokes up the length of what you don’t reach with your lips. You trace a vein with your thumb and bend your wrist a bit; anything to boost his pleasure, and anything to get the chance to consume said pleasure like it’s your first and final meal.

He pushes your fallen hair out of the way, tucked behind your ear so you can better choke on his cock without a single distraction. So he can see that pretty face of yours going all dumb, lips stretched around the sheer size of him as that view he loved more than any.

“Keep goin’, sweetheart, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” His big hands hold the sides of your head in a way that really makes you feel treasured without force. You swallow around his cock and he huffs a heavy breath.

The hand on the back of your head is getting heavier and heavier as you bob up and down on his cockhead, and a sick part of you just wants him to shove your skull fully down and make you to take all of him without a breath to yourself, nor a single care spared from him.

“Christ, this mouth of yours…gonna be the death’a me.”

He reaches forward to pluck his still-burning cigar from the ashtray, tapping it against the glass once before bringing it to his lips. He takes a long drag from the dry, rolled paper, and the sight has your efforts of properly sucking his cock faltering just a bit. His other hand, remaining on the nape of your neck, urges you to keep going with a nice squeeze, so you do.

Smoke spills from his mouth and clouds the air around you, and not once does he take his eyes off yours. The scent of tobacco and burnt paper spins your head around in all the best ways; that smoky aroma that lingered from the moment you walked in the door is nothing but homey.

You swallow around the head of his cock again, and he just about loses it. Every word he says is so breathy and spent, yet so authoritative as usual. “Yeah, keep doin’ that right there, love. Fuckin’ brilliant.”

You push on, doing your best to make him feel good. All you’ve ever wanted was to make him proud.

And he is proud of you, beyond what words can describe.

You’re valuable to him both off and on the field, and the progress he’s watched you make while under his command is mind-reeling. He takes pride in having you on his team, to himself. He revels in the fact that he was the first cock you’ve ever taken in your mouth and now you do it on your own volition almost flawlessly, every time, always with a devoted gleam in your naive eyes that nearly suffocates him.

Your tongue glides up to pay more attention to the tip of him, causing him to muffle a groan between his teeth and shove you back down in an instant, almost too hard. You whine around his length and widen your eyes at the sensation of his cockhead hitting farther than what you had progressed to. A gagged noise fills the space and your eyes squeeze shut, only opening when he’s gently pulling your head back.

“Already strugglin’?” He takes you all the way off his cock and you gasp out. You hadn’t even realized how you were depriving yourself of air, though the shock mainly comes from how uncomfortably empty your mouth has become, so suddenly.

“Let me fuck this pretty throat, love. Y’gonna let me do that?” Care laces his voice and it’s near hypnotizing, so much so you’re entirely deaf to the slightest tone of mockery beneath it. “Be easier on the both of us.”

You nod as best you can with a spinning mind, and it’s so utterly desperate that it would surely bring shame to your name. A pleading mantra repeats itself in your mind, running through every possibility you can think of that consists of him using you in ways both pleasant and torturous, yet all landing around the same area; if he feels good, you do too. And if you’re on the brink of passing out from whatever he’s subjected you to, and you keep going because nothing would kill you worse than to fail him? Well, then he feels pretty fucking good himself.

He leans forward to abandon his cigar; it’s not like he needs both hands to use you however he’d like, no. He just loves to have his touch encasing you, feel the way your head gets heavier and easier to maneuver as you go on. Leaning into him, drooling all over his palms; the more control he has, the better.

The big hand on the back of your neck is moving up to lock into your hair, a snicker being heard from above as your mind goes numb. He spares a quick glance at the door, returning to you as fast as he left.

He’s a mixed blessing; he cradles your face in his calloused palm and collects your hair in a messy ponytail, the roughness of his skin alone speaking volumes of what he’d do for you. How he’d always protect you, before he’s tugging tight and pulling you up to your knees and off your haunches, impossibly and overwhelmingly closer so you can better gag and choke around him without backing out.

You take your own hand from his cock and land it on his knee, giving him full reign.

“Good girl.” He eases you off of him before he’s slowly pushing you back down, this time with added inches of his cock in your throat. Both of his bruty hands encase your head like he’s just come into possession of a priceless jewel, and in his eyes the analogy doesn’t lapse far from the truth. “My good fuckin’ girl.”

He repeats the process until he’s fully fucking your skull like a fleshlight, though ever-so nice with it. He keeps the same pace you had set for yourself, and he refuses to push you entirely down to where your nose would make contact with the ending hem of his fleece zip-up. At least not yet, anyways.

You open up the best you can for him, until you’re scared your jaw will lock up on you or even unhinge. You squeeze a thumb in your fist, curl your toes in your steel-cased boots, ship your mind off to somewhere else. Remind yourself over and over how much you value his pleasure; anything to keep your body from rejecting his bully of a dick in your mouth.

“That’s it, lovie. Easier like this, ain’t it? S’just like I told you.”

You spiritually agree, convinced that this was your true purpose in life. If you aren’t pleasing your superior—the one who has always been there for you to lean on, cry on, save you from your own stupidity—then you aren’t really living.

“Christ. Letting me use this tiny mouth like you’ve got no shame, eh? No dignity?” He laughs in your face, and you’re only able to flutter your droopy eyelids in response, tear after tear overflowing to your cheeks with each blink. He pushes your head down rougher. “It’s a good thing ya don’t…be no fun if you actually gave a shit ‘bout your humility. Your fuckin’ career…just so you can be your captain’s perfect, little fucktoy.”

He’s laughing again; he doesn’t give two shits right now, as he’s pressing your head down and fucking your face harder than ever. He’s murmuring more to himself than anything. “Don’t know if I should scold you or applaud you for it.”

He pulls you off him for a moment and you catch your breath like a madwoman, coming close to choking on the saliva that pools in your mouth. Tears fall freely from your burning eyelids, rolling down your cheeks and dripping onto his cargoes while your pinkened, glassy eyes don’t leave his worshiping ones.

He’s prying your jaw wider and pushing you back down before you can even think.

“Cryin’ and gagging ‘round my cock isn’t gonna make it any better, honey.” He grinds his teeth, telling you sweetly, “C’mon, you’re almost there. You’ve got this, baby.”

Your jaw hurts like hell, a familiar soreness you could never learn to simply get used to. Though, it’s a pain you so easily ignore each time. You suck it up and pull through like the good soldier you are, wishing for it not to go unnoticed by the teacher. And he always notices, just like he does your breaking and pleasure points. He wouldn’t push you terribly too far.

One of his hands falls to land on your neck, thumb reaching around until his grip is fully and loosely wrapped around your neck. Until he feels the bump of his cock moving in and out of your esophagus under the pad of his thumb, protruding up and down beneath his knuckles. It gets him higher than any drink or cigar ever could, even the rush of a battlefield can’t compete.

“Fuckin’ A, sweetheart, that’s it. Perfect, little thing.”

You’re doing too good of a job for him to even think of making a snarky comment about how much you must love having him so deep down your throat. He knows the answer well enough, and it shows through the glistening tears in your eyes and the willing, faithful hands practically anchored to his knees.

His grunts become more gravelly and common as he gets closer to finishing. It’s a prospect that bubbles deep in your belly, like his orgasm was worth far more than any pleasure to yourself at this point.

“Tell me. Y’want me to paint this pretty face?” he proposes, all exasperated but still so fucking cocky. You’re dizzy, lightheaded, every other word that could be used to describe the out-of-body feeling of him treating your body so harshly, in the nicest, most giving way possible. It’s visceral, really.

“Or should I come down this throat instead?” he pants. A smirk plasters itself onto his lips, though you don’t think it ever left in the first place. “You’d like that, wouldn’t ya, sweetheart?”

You can’t even respond, apart from your strengthening grip on his knees and the flexing and tightening of your neck muscles around him. He scoffs above you, but it’s loving. “Throat it is.”

It’s only a few more thrusts of pushing your head down to the base of his cock until his hand is stuttering in its movements, and he’s holding you in place as he spills his hot cum down your raw throat. A deep, long groan emits from his own, and it’s well-earned music to your ears with the way it vibrates in his throat as his head is thrown back. At least, the bits of his high that aren’t drowned out by your own struggling are a nicer gift than you could ever ask for.

You can’t breathe as he does this, and it’s even worse than when he was relentlessly shoving his cock down your throat; you can only think to swallow until he’s satisfied. You can only writhe and cry beneath him and try to savor the feeling of making him feel so good, until you have no choice but to beat your hand down on his muscular thigh to let you up for air.

He listens, but not without a laugh that would make him seem evil if you didn’t know him well enough as the compassionate captain with a warmer heart than most would imagine. He rips your mouth off his cock, yanking your head back at a rate that has you stumbling backwards on your ass and palms on the hard floor, under his old, wooden desk.

He watches on as you feverishly catch your breath, him as well but not nearly as crazed as you, gasping for air with your chest heaving up and down and a hand clasped to your neck. Attempts at blinking away your teary vision, your other hand soothing over your strained jaw; all the while, he’s shoving his softening, spit-soaked cock back in his pants and zipping them up with a predatory visual hold on your pretty form.

Once he’s got his fix of staring and you’ve caught up to a somewhat stable reality, he helps you. “C’mon, darlin’.” He reaches a hand out to you and you take it, smaller fingers being enveloped by his strong ones. He tugs you up gently and matches the action with a benign, “Up here, now.”

You wipe your tear-stained cheeks with the back of your free hand as he pulls you up onto his lap. Your back leans up against his shoulder and the armrest of his chair, legs hanging off the other side like the bridal-style position. He wraps his big arms around you, knowing your head is still far up in the clouds.

“Did such a good job for me, love. Y’know you always do. One of your best goes yet, don’t ya think?” His hand replaces yours with a duty, thumb swiping over and around your lips to clean you up so tenderly. “You feelin’ quite alright?”

Your mind is beyond numb, words that actually spill coming nowhere near what you’d actually want to say; pour your heart out about how much you’d do for him, how much he means to you. It’s all indescribable. “Mhm…always good f’you.”

“Awh, sweetheart.” His face matches yours with a grin, but the broken grogginess in your voice doesn’t go disregarded. “My poor girl fucked her throat raw like she wanted and now she can barely talk, eh? Is that right?”

You nod drunkenly, still with that needy pout in your demeanor that had him babying you like it was his only responsibility.

He brings the glass of whiskey from his desk and to your mouth, pressing the rim against your puffy lips rather harshly. He’s already beginning to tip the glass towards you, so you have no choice but to open up a bit wider and take what he’s offering. “Take a drink,” he tells you, and you listen.

He actually laughs, watching how you wince and whine from the burning of the hard liquor tainting your throat. Similarly to how his cock was only a moment ago. “Atta girl.”

Something about the control that comes with directing your next move, and your innocence to it, your compliance; it all has his mind elated. The only thing he’s sure of is that he likes it, far more than he probably should. You’re gonna get him in some serious trouble, one day.

You adjust your body on his lap so that you can wrap your arms around his neck and press your chest to his, burying your face in his neck to escape whatever was not him. His beard tickles your skin, and his huge, welcoming frame beneath you grounds and stabilizes you so comfortably like no other.

He brings a hand to drag up your back, tracing your spine a couple times before he palms the back of your head to keep you close. Truthfully, he wants to stay like this until morning.

“What now, pretty? Tell me what you need, anything.”

“Just wanna stay here with you.” You nuzzle in closer, attempting to absorb all of him and be devoured by his being. Your voice is muffled and mumbly due to being pressed up against his neck, “Promise I’ll be quiet while you work.”

He chuckles a light, sincere one, words muttered quietly for the close proximity. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

His eyes land on the door to his office; blinds closed, thick wood and metal sure to keep any noise of your endeavors from reaching the ears of any unsuspecting individual on the other side. He squints his eyes. The door is indeed unlocked, but he can’t seem to view that as an issue anymore. So what if someone were to walk in and see the two of you like this? It’s far past the peak bureaucracy hours of the day, anyhow.

His thumb soothes circles on the back of your head, and he can tell you’re calming down more by the second with the way your chest is gentle against his and your pulse has slowed. “I don’t mind that one bit.”

#cod mw2 #john price #captain price #captain john price #john price x reader #john price x female reader #john price smut

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augusgus · 1 year

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he only wants to play (m.)

In which you attach a leash to Dottore's harness but fail to take into account that not every dog can be tamed. Alternatively: he bites.

pairing: dottore x fem!reader

tags: biting, finger sucking, reader's a bit of a brat, does this count as pet play?? mock pet play?? things mistakenly filed under pet play???

a/n: happy april fools day

Dottore was enjoying the silence. It was a rare moment of peace. Until it suddenly wasn't.

A click. And then, "gotcha!"

Admittedly, it took him a moment to comprehend the situation in its entirety, and that there was now a leash attached to the harness on his upper body. A leash that, when he trailed along it with his eyes, led to your hand holding it.

And the mischievous grin on your face as you tilted your head to the side.

"Aren't you a pretty boy," you cooed, reaching with your free hand to pat his hair before jumping to sit on the desk in front of him. Your feet were dangling from the edge and much too close to his pristine white suit to his liking. Not that he seemed to have a say in this situation anyway.

Tugging slightly on the leash, you tested the waters. But you were lucky and he wasn't annoyed so much as simply unimpressed with your little performance, and maybe - not that he'd admit to it - even a little intrigued.

You crossed your legs over each other and, smiling brightly, pulled on the leash again - only this time a lot stronger than before and Dottore found himself leaning forward, his head automatically raising to look up to you. You puckered your lips at him in an imitation of a kiss.

"Now, give me a bark, pretty please~"

He scoffed.

"And why, pray tell, would I want to do that?" It was the first time he'd opened his mouth ever since you'd disturbed his solitude and it showed in his tone. He sounded dry, very dry, almost sarcastic.

Because he sure as hell didn't want to... bark.

This time, you tilted your head to the other side, blinking big innocent eyes at him. "How do I put this..." You pretended to think, index finger lightly tapping against your lower lip, but he could fathom the curl at the outer corners of your mouth. "There might be a way for you to get a lot more funding for your research! Though there's still some, should I say, cajoling to do?" You grinned, "you know, for assurance."

He kept quiet for a moment. As a scholar, nothing should be put above knowledge, and gaining access to said knowledge, in terms of importance. If he let a promising opportunity for funding go to waste, it would be more than merely irresponsible. It'd be downright stupid and he prided himself on being a little more intelligent than that. Not even his pride was to take precedence over this duty that he knew himself to be bound by.

Not even his pride...

He winced inwardly.

"...Woof."

The way the word rolled over his tongue was crisp with thinly veiled distaste and reluctance. You didn't think you'd ever heard something pronounced this harshly.

A giggle erupted from your mouth before you could hold it back. "What a good boy! Now, hand!"

Holding out your own hand, you eagerly waited for him to put his gloved one in yours. Only to be surprised when he instead interlaced his fingers with yours to pull you towards him and off the desk with a calculated tug. You almost fell onto his lap, stumbling over his outstretched legs, though you were able to brace yourself against his chest with your free arm. Your eyes widened when you found yourself face to face to Dottore.

He grinned as he slowly guided both of your hands towards his mouth, easing them until your palm rested against his cheek, the tips of your fingers just about brushing over the edge of his mask. Turning his head slightly, he leaned into your touch and it was already too late when alarm bells started to ring in your head at his sudden affection, for you to stop him from roughly digging his teeth into your palm.

"Ah?" The sound you made was fleeting, an involuntary reaction, and you could feel his lips forming a lazy smile against your skin. He let go, deep indentations left on your palm.

"Hm? Not what you wanted?"

The smug satisfaction in his voice made you scowl. But when you tried to pull your hand back he held it pressed against his cheek, grip not wavering the slightest even as you kept tugging.

"Perhaps..." He hummed, "ah, would you have me do this instead?"

Nuzzling his nose against your palm, he slowly kissed over the bite marks, lips cool and firm on your heated skin. You couldn't see his eyes but you felt the heaviness of his gaze, the unspoken challenge in it, as he eventually lifted your hand from his face only to tighten his hold around your wrist almost painfully.

You gave him a pout, "le'go. You're s'pposed to be obedient, you're no fun like that."

"Oh?" His voice was laden with condescension. "Aren't I a good boy?"

The huff caught in your throat when he raised your fingers to his lips and without warning sucked your thumb into his mouth.

It felt warm and wet and heat flooded your face with embarrassment at how the pressure of his tongue sent shivers down your back. How you lost the strength in your knees when he grazed along the skin with his teeth - the amusement that was radiating off of him as palpable as the slight trembling in your limbs that you couldn't seem to control.

He released your thumb with a quiet pop and a string of saliva connected to his lips before he pressed a sloppy kiss against the tip.

"Still not a good boy?" He drawled, the patronising smirk he sent you positively arrogant. "My, how difficult. Behaving doesn't appear to be my forte, don't you think?"

Lifting your index finger to his mouth next, he lightly bit down on it, just hard enough to make you feel his intention. A whine bubbled up in your chest when he soothed over it with his tongue but you managed to swallow it before it could reach his ears - the visual alone enough to have heat pooling between your legs, let alone the sensation of him wrapping his lips around your finger. For some reason it felt much too intense and... indecent, this warmth and intimacy.

With his gloved hand pushing down on your wrist, he opened his mouth to show off your finger pressed against his tongue - and this time you couldn't help but whimper. You didn't pull away, despite your embarrassment, despite the unexpected turn the situation had taken. You were mesmerised by the spit running alongside your finger and over the side of your hand, the wetness it left in its wake. By how turned on you were by it all and how it only served to fan the heady feeling fogging your mind.

With a smile he kissed down along the skin. Small, tantalising kisses until cool lips landed on your palm where he traced the markings left by him.

"For how little fun I supposedly am," Dottore mused sardonically, "you appear to be enjoying yourself quite... a lot."

He turned his head until his chin was resting on your palm. A mockery to the obedience you were demanding earlier.

"I suggest you try on the leash this time." He guided your hand to your own mouth, smearing the wetness that had remained on your thumb over your lips. "perhaps I will make you my bitch then."

#genshin impact #genshin impact smut #dottore smut #genshin impact dottore #genshin smut #genshin dottore #dottore x you #dottore x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #fatui harbingers #harbingers x reader

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willowser · 9 months

Text

i have been in the anti-gojo coalition server for one (1) hour and this is what it has done to me. nerd gojo. EDIT TO SAY: OH MY GOD PHYSICS PROF GOJO !!

the physics professor grades papers in the campus library. way too late.

you're only there until nine, but gojo satoru always comes strolling through the doors sometime after seven with his book bag and sleek laptop, looking entirely too excited to care about quantum field theory. you suppose he always looks like that, though, especially in his classroom, in front of a whiteboard while droning on and on about infinities.

almost immediately after he sits down, he covers the entire surface of the table closest to the front (closest to you) with his belongings; blue and red sharpies, coffee from the shop around the corner, stacks upon stacks of paper. he even hums to himself — in a library — like he's just having the darndest time taking up all of yours.

it would be a lie to say it isn't amusing, though, even on nights like tonight. outside it's storming, albeit quietly, and the day has taken all it could from you; watching him with sleepy eyes as he mutters to himself is — cute, no matter how late it's getting.

"i have a question, professor,"

you're the only two left in the library at such an hour, but he still looks up with raised eyebrows, as if you could be talking to someone else. his grin spreads across his face slowly once he realizes, like a balm.

"and i have an answer."

you snort, tired and amused, when he wiggles his eyebrows. "is it possible for hours to sneak into the day? because it really feels like it's been more than eight today."

"hmm," he makes a show of thinking, tapping his pen against his pursed lips as if he really has to. you know he's full of it, though, because he's only twenty-eight and has more accolades than some of the oldest instructors. "each hour of the day corresponds to a specific duration based on earth's rotation and its orbital motion around the sun." he shrugs, smile dropping the more serious he gets, and — you kind of wish you wouldn't have asked, because you're too tired for this. "time dilation is a thing, but that's more...changes in the perception of time because of differences in realtive—"

gojo suddenly stops, and you can see the quick cut of his eyes over his glasses as he looks at you. when you raise a single eyebrow at him, he sticks out his tongue and blows a long raspberry, before turning to hunch back over his laptop.

"uh," he lets out a quick laugh and taps his pen against his forehead, a little aggressively. "short answer, no!"

and — you're sleepy. tired. the mascara you'd put on today is almost all dried out and flaking off underneath your eyes, you can hear the comfort of some sweatpants and your bed calling your name, but — gojo fiddles with the hair at the nape of his neck, angling his head away from you. embarrassed, maybe.

despite the heaviness to your eyes and the 9: 02 PM that shines in the corner of your computer screen, you ask,

"well, what's the long answer?"

his head snaps up to you again, but he doesn't respond, only watches with parted lips; the smartest man you've ever met needing a hint.

you glance towards the windows, the dark storm beyond them, before sending him a smile that spreads to his own face. "i think we might be here a while with the rain, if you wanna tell me."

he shakes his head at you and lightly clicks his tongue against his teeth, almost like he's disappointed, before reaching into his bag to pull out an umbrella. "should have checked the radar! though i'm happy to share, if you'd like." and despite how much of a dork you think he is, the little wink he sends you over his glasses has your tummy flipping.

but he's still — not getting it.

"satoru," you say, quietly, shaking your head when his playful expression drops and his cheeks turn a little rosy under the fluorescence. "sit here with me and tell me all about time, would you?"

you can see the gears turning in his big, fat brain, and another laugh slips out of him, light and yet full of nerves. after a moment, he runs a hand over his face, takes his glasses off to rub at his eyes, like he's tired, too.

but then he's blinking at you, excited, and you wonder if his eyes have always been so bright.

"well, time is a fundamental dimension in the universe..."

#i hate it here #this is all erika's doing akfbdiakal #WAAAHHH admittedly SO insecure about my characterization of him !!!! the slippery little brat !!!!#he's such a DORK I HATE HIM #i wanna PUT HIM IN A HEADLOCK #yeah i 100% used google to talk about this subject yeah absolutely #every time i write that tag a piece of my sanity chips away #also if it wasn’t clear enough reader is meant to be a coworker and not a student #✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: gojo

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jake-g-lockley · 1 year

Text

Cookie Shenanigans (Steven Grant x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist

A/N: Based on this post again, giggling and kicking my feet as I write this hehehe

Warnings: MDNI, sexual content

Word Count: 1k Tagging: @i-still-dont-like-your-face @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

You sigh the second your feet hit the corridor to Steven’s apartment. It had been a long day at work and all you wanted to do was take a nice long shower and then cuddle with Steven. Or take a nice long slower with Steven. Either way, you were only craving one thing and that was Steven’s warm chest and comforting arms.

You padded your way to Steven’s apartment, stopping in front of the door to pull out your spare key. You slipped the key in the keyhole only to notice that the door was locked from the inside, with the latch. Steven must have forgotten that you said you were coming over so you slipped your keys back into your pocket and knocked softly.

“Steven, baby, latch.” you say loud enough for him to hear.

You frowned when no one replied. You were positive that Steven was inside, there's no other way you could explain how the door was locked from the inside. You knocked and called out for him again and pouted when no one answered again. You pulled your phone out and brought Steven’s contact up, hitting the call button and tapping your foot nervously against the door.

You heard the soft ringing from inside of the apartment and you knew from that second that your boyfriend was up to no good. The last time he had been left to his own accord, he tried to shave his head and almost ended up with no eyebrows. The ringing stopped but suddenly a big crash sounded from inside of the apartment, making you slap your hand to your mouth in horror.

“STEVEN! Sweetheart, what the hell are you doing?!” you yell a little louder.

“Nothing…” he mumbled from inside.

“Can you just let me in?” you sigh, pressing your forehead to the door.

“OKAY FINE! I’ll let you in but you gotta close your eyes!”

“That’s fine with me.” you smile at your boyfriend’s mischiefs.

You closed your eyes and a few seconds later heard the latch click before the door swung open. Steven’s hands were on your eyes and he muttered apologies into your ear as he guided you into the apartment. The first thing you smelled was the heavenly smell of freshly baked gingerbread cookies. You smiled but didn’t question it knowing that you had crashed upon Steven’s surprise.

He suddenly let go of you and you found yourself in the bedroom, him smiling sheepishly at you. You raised an eyebrow before giving him a kiss, smiling against his lips as he pulled you closer by your hips. He pulled away before he could lose himself in you and smiled at you, kissing your cheek. His face was flushed, his cheeks red and a small dusting of what looked like flour was smeared on his forehead.

“Go shower, and stay here until I tell you to come to the kitchen.” Steven says sternly before walking out.

You resisted the urge to giggle as you watched his retreating butt before grabbing your towel and hopping into the shower. Once you came out of the shower, you dressed yourself in one of Steven’s sweaters and curiosity began to take over your senses.

You tiptoe out of the bedroom, making sure to avoid any creaky floorboards as you edged closer to the wall near the kitchen. You took a peak at what your boyfriend was doing. From where you were standing you could see Steven’s eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration, the crease in his eyebrow becoming more prominent by the second. He had a piping bag in his hands and was carefully detailing something, perhaps a cookie.

His tongue was wedged between his teeth and his eyes were squinting slightly. His concentration made him look so beautiful and perfect, the quiet atmosphere of the whole apartment adding to your peace and happiness. He finally set the piping bag down and smiled down at whatever masterpiece he was creating.

“Darling! You can come out of the room now if you’re ready!” he called out without looking up from the cookie in front of him.

You scurried back to the room and walked out casually, arranging your face to suit the look of confusion you needed to show Steven.

“Tada!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the kitchen counter.

You looked down and your eyes instantly widened at the sight before you. You clearly didn’t expect whatever Steven was making and when your eyes landed upon them, you were so taken aback that your breath was stuck in your lungs.

On a tray before you were a set of beautifully piped sex position cookies. You stared at each position, and your mind flashes to each one that Steven had put you in whenever you both were doing the devil's deed.You started to giggle as your eyes shifted from the missionary cookie to the doggy cookie to the cowgirl cookie.

“Are you laughing at my talents, love?” his British drawl curled right past your brain and went straight to your cunt as your eyes flutter.

His hands were on your hips, pushing you against the kitchen counter as his mouth made quick work of your neck, leaving soft kisses that clearly were spurred on by the existence of the cookies in front of you.

“Go on, take your pick.” he murmured into your ear, holding one of your hands up to skim over the cookies.

“Can’t I just have them all?” you ask sweetly, your mouth watering at the prospect of your night.

“Don’t be greedy, sweet angel.” he said before nipping at your skin.

You grabbed a random cookie as you moaned into the pain. Steven smiles against your skin and takes the cookie from you, pushing your lips open with his fingers before feeding the cookie to you. You were so delighted by the taste of the cookie and the feeling of Steven’s hardening member against your ass that you were going to float away to heaven.

“Fucking amazing Steven.” you whine as you push yourself against him, making him chuckle against you.

“I think it’s time we recreated some of these, don’t you think so too, darling?”

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~~

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headphonegrl · 1 year

Text

There’s a folder in Jude’s phone dedicated to you. It's a day shy of your first anniversary when you find out about it, stumbling upon it when he asks you to look for a screenshot of the recipe he’s using to bake biscuits. The exact one your grandma sent him, one of your favorite foods of all time since you were learning to walk and speaking gibberish in the hopes of forming a sentence.

Its title is a plain red heart, sitting above the number three hundred and forty-eight. You stare at it for a moment to make sure it’s right, you swipe out of the app and click back onto it as if to make sure it won’t disappear suddenly. Though it’s still there, the number and symbol staring back at you. There’s a funny lurch in your stomach when you tap the screen with the pad of your thumb, clicking on a random photo when they all show up in neat little rows of three.

There’s one of an arcade machine. The big display screen a cartoony shade of blue with cheesy racing cars and checkered flag graphics, with two grainy photos in the middle. One of Jude sticking his tongue out, his eyes squeezed completely shut. The other of you smiling cutely with all your teeth showing, Jude’s hand appearing from off-screen to give you bunny ears with his fingers. It was your fourth official date and you both spent it collecting as many arcade tickets as possible, only to just end up with glittery bouncy balls and pencils when you traded them all in.

Another one is of you standing by the sink in his bathroom, your hair clipped away from your face. There’s foamy face wash all over your cheeks and on the tops of your fingers, you hold your hands out to display them to the camera. You had promised to spend the night at his place for the very first time, and getting ready for bed had already taken nearly an hour due to all the talking. Jude sat on the edge of the bath wearing one of your fuffy toweling headbands, watching you endearingly as he fiddled with the lid of your moisturizer

One sticks out like a sore thumb, a screenshot from your childhood Instagram account that makes your toes curl with cringe. A heavily filtered selfie of you pouting with a caption that’s a variation of unrelated emojis. After a night out drinking overpriced cocktails, you both ended up sitting in bed scrolling through embarrassing photos. Looking back it might have been the extra tequila shot, but Jude found it so funny he struggled to gasp for air. He set it as his home screen as a joke and forgot to change it back for almost a month.

Further down there’s one from when you both went on holiday. A photo of you sitting on a wooden dining chair, your elbow leaning against the table with your cheek squished against the palm of your hand. You’re wearing the strappy sundress you bought earlier that week in a little boutique owned by an enthusiastic Italian lady. At dinner the strap keeps falling off your shoulder, and when no one is looking Jude plants a kiss exactly where it should sit.

“Darl, have you found it?” Jude speaks up from the kitchen. Shortening the pet name ‘darling’ into just one syllable, as if the other one will ruin the flow of his sentence. Looking up you’re greeted by him standing next to the mixer, the flour down his front making the text on his shirt unintelligible.

“Yeah.” You click the arrow on the top left to take you back. Scrolling past some selfies and a bunch of pictures of the same sunset, until you find the recipe sitting next to a funny photo of his brother. When you get up to rest it against the shiny countertop so he can read it, your heart feels a little fuller. “Here you go.”

#cute idea #idk abt the result #football imagines #my writing #footballer x reader #footballer fluff #footballer x you #footballer imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham drabble #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham fanfic

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brittlecakes92 · 7 months

Text

The choke hold, and I truly mean the fucking choke hold this man has me in... it should be crime. Truly. Just.... mmmm... mmm...mm...mmm

It seemed like there was a celebration every night at the palace, nobles coming to trying to gain influence from the Royal family. The General and his army weren't left out in this, everyone knew of the prowess of General Shao, and his second in command, Reiko. You had watched countless attempts of women throwing themselves at his feet, trying to gain favor in anyway they could. Not that you could blame them, it still didn't stop you from feeling frustrated and heated at the display.

Reiko sat next to you a scowl on his face as he ate his food. He could name a list of things that he would much rather being doing then this. Training, preparing, making sure the soldiers were ready, anything but being here. You excused yourself to grab a pitcher of wine to bring back to refill your cups, missing how his crystal blue eyes followed your every move.

What you didn't expect when you reached the table was for a noble to drunkenly make advances towards you. Whispering, or shouting honeyed words to you. You played it off with a laugh and a reminder that he was drunk, he came back with promises that he was fine and not drunk in the slightest.

"How a beautiful flower like you is here unattended is a shame, I would never - A hiccup leaving his mouth as soon as he got it out- let you out of my sight." You raised a brow at him, and his slurred words before shaking your head.

Reiko clenched his teeth hard as he watched the scene play out in front of him, his nostril flaring in a sneer . You were his and the fact that someone felt the need to be that close to you, and trying to sweet talk you was putting him on high alert. Shao watched him from the corner of his eye quietly before turning back to his food taking note of how his hand would clench around his glass before he would relax it and squeeze it again.

"I promise I can give you a night that you will remember for the rest of your life." You rolled your eyes this time, taking a deep, calming breath before speaking. Being nice and avoiding his advances wasn't cutting it.

"A tempting offer, but one I will have to decline. If you will excuse me." Giving him a charming smile your tried to side step him, you almost dropped the pitcher in your hands when you were being jerked to a halt when he grabbed your arm and pulled you back. You were about to say something else, when the sound of glass breaking caught the attention of many.

Reiko's breaths came out sharp from his nose. He hadn't noticed the sharp slice of glass cutting into the palm of his hand. He watched you jerk out of the nobles hold and make your way to him, his eye's never leaving that of the nobles.

"Reiko.. What happened?" You reached forward to carefully take his larger hand into the palm of yours before turning it over and inspecting the damage. Clicking your tongue you started pulling him up from his seat telling him you needed to clean his wound.

Reiko tried to protest, moving to jerk his hand from your hold but you weren't having it, insistently pulling on his hand for him to stand up, when he finally complied you lead him out of the dinning hall and down to the closest bathroom.

When you reached the candle lit bathroom you guided Reiko to sit on the edge of the bathtub, his stare boring holes into the wall in front of him, you took note of how his breaths were coming out in sharp bursts. When you had found all that you needed you made your way to where he was seated, tapping his leg for him to spread it to give you room to stand between them. You took his hand once more, and Reiko's eyes were transfixed on your every move. The warmth of your hands on his calming him down slightly.

"You want to tell me what that was about?" You stared removing any shards of glass that remained in his cut or on his hand carefully as you waited for his reply. Reiko rested his forearm on his thigh before slouching forward slightly; "I wasn't pleased with how that noble put his filthy hands on you. He was making a fool of himself already but as soon as he did that.." You raised a brow as you looked at him, not overlooking the pause he had to take. A cloth with disinfectant on it was now being rubbed carefully over his cut, you couldn't help the small smile that started to form on your face. Reiko took note of it too, his pale blue eyes studying your face.

"What is that look for?" He didn't like it. You gave him a quick glance before licking your lips and reaching for a clean gauze and some wrappings. Your face adorning a puzzled expression.

"Wait a minuet.. are you jealous? Over something like that?" Reiko gave you a scowl and you tried to stifle your laughter as you finished wrapping his hand, bringing it up to your lips to place a kiss on the palm, you carefully placed it on your hip before grabbing his other hand and doing the same, causing him to straighten up as you leaned further into him, your fingers running through the buzzcut portion of his hair felt like velvet against your finger tips.

"Reiko- your voice was sweet, at the call of his name his grasp tightened on you- Who's chambers is it that I sleep in at night? -you began to lean further into him after each question- Who's arms do I fall asleep in? And who's cock will be buried so deeply between my thighs tonight that I won't even be able to think straight?" You moved your hands down to rest on his cheeks before tilting his head back a little further, leaning down until your nose brushed against his, your lips teasing against his as you spoke.

"You are the one that I want.. so there is no need to be jealous. There is nothing a noble, or anyone for that matter can offer that would take my affections from you." You didn't give him a chance to respond as you slotted your lips with his, Reiko pulling your tighter against him as he met your heated kiss. Pulling back you rested your forehead against his as a content sigh passed your swollen lips.

#mortal kombat #Reiko x reader #Mortal Kombat Reiko #mk Reiko

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velvet-paradox · 8 months

Text

Smooth

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x Female reader Summary: Keegan enjoys shaving you nice and clean and taking you to pound town! Length: Medium Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, explicit content, strong language, established relationship, oral (f receiving), soft dom!Keegan, shaving!kink, fingering, pussy slapping, unprotected p in v, dirty talking, pet names, new daddy!kink, praise, detailed smut. Tagging: @synnersaintaint @catswithabsoluteclownery @mykneeshurt @macravishedbymactavish @rimbut-t @notap1e

ENJOY!!!

It's hot.

Keegan is a stickler for routine, likes the discipline, the patterns, the control. He'd lose it if he didn't join the military when he did, take on more than one task a time before he picked up the next mission, the next project. He couldn't sit still for long unless he was truly into what he was doing.

And speaking of…

The project at literal hand was a delicate one.

No messing about, no distractions even though you couldn't help but move an inch higher. He'd scolded you twice now, giving you those piercing blue eyes and peeked eyebrow.

He clicked his teeth at you like a horse, raising your calf.

"Kitten please hold still, I don't want to slip."

"You think I can help it?"

"Kitten please. You're doing such a good job and we're almost done so don't you start pouting and being a bad girl now." Keegan's voice held no bite even though he was stern about it. "You want your reward don't you?"

He moved his fingers then sending a white hot jolt through up your spine.

Carefully Keegan ducked his head back down between your legs, kneeling on his cracking knees, eyes narrow and lazer focused on the task at hand which was… shaving.

Keegan was a grown ass man, he didn't shy away from knowing what he tasted like. He had you lick your own flavor off his fingers, off his cock more times than you could count. While you'd had other partners, they didn't appreciate an after kiss so when Keegan grabbed you after shooting his load all over your tongue and lips, willing licking inside your mouth as he kissed you hard and fast left you dizzy.

He didn't care about pubic in general, if he was lucky enough to get laid, who cared? He really got into that whole Vajazzling craze, rhinestones and safe glitter. Then he was on to the next and full on into waxing but there was just something so intimae about him being on his knees for you, worshipping your body, treating you with such care, he really enjoyed. Stroke after stroke, your pussy would be revealed. Soft and smooth.

You didn't mind at all, less of a chore for you anyways. Since being with Keegan you barely lifted a finger to do anything around the house, his or yours. No more twisting and squatting, no more Charlie horse cramps. No more stray hairs left behind, he bought a replica of the straight razor he used on his face. It was cleaner, faster and he knew exactly what to do with the blade.

"Fuck look at you, cutest fucking pussy." Keegan groaned, moving your skin as he slowly dragged the blade against it.

"Love it when you shave my pussy, baby. Gets me so fucking horny." You hum in return.

"Yeah? Like me revealing and exposing your pretty little cunt just for me?"

"Mmm yeah."

He tapped the little bucket with it, your short and curlies disappearing, he wiped it off cleanly. A warm washcloth came next, wiping you down. He had all of his things neatly around him, a little cup with tepid water splashed against your mound, catching little remnants.

"Turn around, kitten. We're in the home stretch now baby."

You shivered and got up from his bathroom vanity, bending over, sticking your ass out with a little sway of your hips.

"Hold yourself open for me."

Fuck. You bit your lip.

He finished shaving your pussy, the feeling of his breath on your newly bare skin, front to back as incredible. You'd never get over the feeling no matter how many times he tended to you.

Keegan waited on hand and foot for you. You'd catch yourself lost on it, how a hard man like Keegan P. Russ could be soft for you, sweet on you, brought you flowers, ordered take out when your period came so you wouldn't have to be bothered to hobble and cook and fuss over the stove.

He waited until you turned off the shower before stepping back into the bathroom with a fuzzy towel. He wrapped you up, drying you off little by little until he walked you both into his bedroom.

Completely exposed and naked, you sat down on his bed, dropping the towel to your collar.

"Let me see my handiwork, princess."

Like he'd never seen your cunt before, he stood at attention at your feet as you leaned back, the soft towel slipping down your shoulders, pooling around your hands and waist. Keeping your eyes on his as they raked over your naked body you moved one leg, then the other. "Best fucking pussy. Look at that." Keegan groaned, giving in and palming at his crotch.

"You wanna' taste it now?"

Keegan tore off his ghost mask before getting rid of his shirt, the jangle of his belt sent shivers down your spine. He grabbed his thick rod of a cock in his hand, jerking himself off, teasing himself little by little, stepping closer, eyes on your cunt.

The bed creaks with his weight, fitting himself between your legs, moving down to lay on his stomach, a snipers' position as he loops his arms around your thighs. You fit the balls of your feet on the hard, trained muscles of his shoulders.

Keegan is good. Too fucking good.

His hands are large and ghost over your bare flesh, he rubs his chin along your mound, breathing you in with a groan. He spreads your labia, chuckling lowly when you grind your hips up.

"Now now kitten, no need to be hasty. You'll get your reward."

"Keegan please."

"Begging only makes it worse," Keegan cooed and gave your hip a lingering, searing hot kiss. "Be a good girl for me, okay sweetie? You can do that can't you?"

"Yes. I'll be good."

"Do you promise?" Keegan sang, dropping his voice even lower, using his sexy bedroom tone.

"Yes baby I promise, just… it feels so good when I'm all clean."

"I know kitten, I know."

Keegan licked at you, kissing your clit lightly in between hard flat presses, quick sucks and pulls on your sensitive lips. He brushed the bridge of his nose along the underside of your clit, enjoying himself as he devoured you. The sounds he was making were pornographic and lewd. He sat up just a little, angling his face just right to spit on your pussy only to indulge in slurping it right back into his mouth.

"Fuck baby that's it. I love it when you do that," you moaned and reached for his head, tugging on his hair as you arched your back.

"Makes me so fucking wet."

"Yeah? You like that?" Keegan did it again, moving his face and mouth back and forth, back and forth over your engorging bundle of nerves. You cried out and Keegan smiled against your cunt.

"Yeah!"

Keegan chuckled. "Good girl. My good girl loves to get her little pussy eaten out, huh? Yeah you do. Fuck kitten, tease my face."

Your gasp at his vulgarness made him even more eager to please you, wiggling his thick fingers along the apex of your thighs, digging into the meat of your thighs before prodding around your hole.

You grip his hair even tighter, letting him take his time with you.

Getting you wet, satisfied little laughs that left you breathless as you wiggled and arched. In between kisses he likes to look up at your through his thick lashes, watches you unravel as you try desperately to stay still.

"You're so fucking pretty, atta' girl. Should I get my tongue in there or fingers first?"

"Fingers."

"Just my fingers?" Keegan hummed. "Or you want my mouth too?"

"Both. I want both."

"So fucking smooth." Keegan kissed everywhere but your clit after that, leaving it to throb, making you clench around the two fingers he's slipped inside you, massaging your walls. Twisting and curling them to find that soft, spongy little shell that would make you scream, make you cum.

"That's so good baby, a little faster."

"Faster? Needy little kitten." Keegan chuckled lowly, dragging out his fingers, teasing your clit with a few precise circles and presses. He tapped it a few times making you squeal. Reeling back he gave your pussy a nice little islap. Bare and all those nerve endings shocking your system. Noticing how much you enjpyed that little hit he did again and again, another string of his spit slipped between your folds.

You could feel yourself leaking for him.

"Fuck yeah baby."

"A little love tap never hurt anyone. I want you to cum, I want you to cum all over my fingers and my face. You look so pretty when you're all fucked out."

"So do you." You whined as he started to finger you again. You weren't lying, for a big cold hearted handsome man of his caliber and weight, he made the best sounds. Moaning in your ear how good you were, how warm you felt, how inviting. How beautiful you look, how sweet you taste.

How good you taste together.

"Yeah? You think Daddy's pretty?"

Wait.

What?

You swallowed and licked at the drool coming out of your mouth before you sat up, eyeing his icy blues, taken aback as you'd never called him that before. You were met with a growing smirk.

"Are you going to answer me, kitten? I said; do you think Daddy's pretty?"

God the way he said it, it really made your heart race.

"Yeah," you drawled and cupped his jaw, watching how his eyes shifted and his mouth open. "I think Daddy's real pretty."

"Fuck." That seemed to do the trick because Keegan was suddenly on top of you, kissing you hard, biting into your neck as he slipped a calloused hand between you, fingering you so deep and fast it made your head spin, moaning like a real whore.

The sounds of your wetness, flooding around his thick fingers, drenching his palm as you squealed and thrashed, clawing at the sheets was out of control. Keegan groaned deeply as he watched. You could always feel his eyes on you, in the hall, in briefings, in bed.

"Christ, you are so fucking wet. Do you hear it, kitten? Do you hear yourself? You're gonna' make such a mess, gonna' have to change these sheets."

"I'm gonna' cum."

"Tell me baby, say it. I need to hear you say it."

"I… I…"

"Yes? You what, baby?"

"I'm gonna' cum. Make me cum, please. Oh Daddy, I'm gonna' cum, cum for you."

Somehow he got you even wetter, three fingers curling and getting you off until you came with a shout. Your legs trembling, shaking at Keegan's waist as you gasped and reeled from your high.

"That's my girl, takin' those fingers real deep. So fucking pretty kitten, good job. Daddy's kitten did so good, look at you." Keegan praised and kissed your chin, taking a tiny bite of your smooth flesh before slowly pulling them out of your hole, whining as you felt empty.

"Fuck Keegan."

"Ah ah ah," he slapped your tender pussy twice making you jolt and squirm. "Get it right or you get nothing else. I could make you watch me jack off instead. Maybe I'll jerk off in front of your pretty little face, shoot my load all over it."

"No! I want you to fuck me. Please Daddy, I'm sorry. I won't call you Keegan again. Please."

He hummed and smeared your arousal all over you mound, splitting his first two digits into a V shape, rubbing around, up and down your clit. "You just want to cum again."

"Yes I do but… I want you to fuck me, I want you inside me," you huffed and grabbed at his shoulder, pawing at his trained muscles.

"Don't you wanna' fuck me Daddy? Fuck your kitten's pussy wide open. Make me gape."

"Fuck, you say the nicest shit baby. I supposed if you put it that way," Keegan agreed and gave your hip a little pinch. "Get on your knees and hold on to that headboard."

….

Your man is nasty. He has a thing about spit and cum, the only two fluids he's at all interested in. He spreads your cheeks and the spit that hits your asshole is hot, and he's hot and your hanging your head and growling behind you teeth. He fucks you hard, reaching around your hip he finds and holds on to your pussy, fitting his fingers to spread your lips open, caging in his thrusting cock.

"Feel that kitten? Daddy's thick cock is splitting you in half. You are so amazing, look at you taking my cock like this. Good job baby, good fucking job."

"Oh Daddy, you feel so good." You keened as the headboard continued its' rhythm of banging into the wall behind it. Good thing you were at his place, your neighbors would be knocking your door down or calling the police. Which has happened. Just the once.

"Oh I know kitten, feels so good for me too. Best fucking pussy."

Keegan smacked your ass and then he was hunching over you, his sweaty chest sticking to your back, not even slowing down.

Then his hand was on the back of your neck, pushing your head into the bed.

"Good job kitten, you're gonna' take all of it, ya' hear me? What a good girl you are taking Daddy's cock, what a good little slut for me."

Keegan moaned your name, pressing his mouth to your ear as he kept up the pace.

Words you lost on you the longer he fucked you, a new flood of wetness rushed through your core, milking him, sucking him back in over and over until all you could was shout into the sheets.

"What's that, kitten? Daddy can't hear you." His bicep came up and around your chin, in a chokehold as you panted and cooed and drooled.

"I want you to cum inside me," you sobbed, feeling his muscles shift under your jaw. "I wanna' feel you, feel you fill me up. Please fill me up, Daddy. Fill up your kitten."

Keegan chuckled lowly, almost menacing in your ear, sticky like honey and just as sweet. "You want it? You want Daddy's thick cum? Yeah you do and you're gonna' fuckin' get it."

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the-sun3008 · 5 months

Text

Imported from my ao3 account. This is some smut about Donna from Resident Lover. I have never played a actual resident evil game. have fun.

————————————

You lazily tap your fingers against the front desk of the flower shop. Today had been slow, almost too slow for comfort. Usually at least 3 or 4 people come in every few hours, but today has been desolate. Only one person wandered in, and then left pretty quickly.

Your thoughts about the slow day are interrupted by the soft creaking of the door to the nursery opening. Before you can turn around, Donna is already right behind you, placing her hands on your hips and gently rubbing circles into your skin. She still has her gloves on, and you can already see the smudges of dirt on your uniform. Not that either of you care.

She puts her head on your shoulder and whispers to you in her typical soft-spoken and lovely voice. “Since nobody’s come in today…” She pauses before continuing, her hands squeezing your thighs softly, making you squeak in both embarrassment and pleasure. “Why don’t you flip the sign to closed, and let’s take the day to ourselves.”

You’re not one to protest a day with Donna. You gently slide out of her grasp, which she pouts at, but lets you go. You walk over to the front door of the shop. You close it, lock it, and then flip the sign from “open” to “closed.”

You don’t even get to walk back, as Donna grabs your wrist right after you flip the sign and pulls you back into the nursery faster than you can really process what’s happening. She closes the door behind you both and smiles at you with a… almost malicious look in her eyes. It’s both scary and attractive. She pushes you up against the nursery door, and you hear the small click of the door locking.

She puts her hands on your sides. Her mouth pushes up against your ear, and she whispers to you. “I have something I want to try… Trust me for a bit.” Her voice is soft, like normal, but there’s something else under it. Excitement, and maybe even possessiveness.

She pulls you further into the nursery. You find yourself in a section that you rarely go into. Plants with strange grape-like berries fill one large shelf to your right. It’s not a plant you recognise- it must be quite exotic. The wall to your left is lined with thick, thorny vines.

Donna plucks one of the berries off of the plants to your right. She looks at it for a moment, and then smiles. She moves closer to you and gives you a gentle kiss on the forehead, before pressing the berry to your lips.

She speaks with a tone you can’t quite place. “Eat it.” You consider questioning for a moment, but that slight glare in her eyes and the unusual tone make you think better of questioning her. You part your lips, and she slides the berry into your mouth. Part of her glove presses against your teeth as she lets the berry fall onto your tongue.

You look at her for a moment, and she nods in encouragement. The berry has the texture of a grape, and tastes like one when you bite into it. It melts in your mouth, and you smile softly as you eat it. Is this some sort of weird grape? It tastes good. Really good. Juicy, but not overly sweet. It almost has a warm taste.

Then it hits you. Right after you swallow it, a wave of warmth shocks your body, making you gasp softly and immediately start blushing. You can feel a certain warmth building in your crotch. You try to ignore the feeling, but can’t. Your whole body feels times more sensitive, even your clothes make you shiver and whimper as you try and stand still.

You open your lips and try to speak. “W-What did you g-give m-“ Donna wraps her arms around you and forces her lips onto yours. Your head spins and you can barely think. It feels so good… her hands, her lips, all of it. Your vision spins and you moan into her mouth as she continues pressing her lips into hers. Your back feels like it’s on fire as she squeezes into it with her gloves. You instinctively cling onto her, desperate for some sort of support as your vision blurs and your legs start to fail you.

She supports your weight and leads you to the ground, laying you on the floor as an intense, pleasureable warmth consumes your body. Fire erupts on your skin everywhere she touches. Need takes over you as the warmth between your legs grows and grows. The concrete floor of the nursery is extremely cold, but somehow it makes you whimper and moan softly as you lay on it.

Donna is smiling down at you as she sits down next to your head- which is now laying just in front of the thick, thorny vine plants you noticed before. She puts her hands around your waist and grabs the ends of your shirt. Dust falls off her gloves and onto your clothes, but you can barely pay attention to anything except her. Your shirt is removed within moments, and your pants follow suit, forming a small pile next to you. She smiles even wider at your mostly exposed body.

She grabs your wrists, and brings them together above your head. She frowns and looks around, before smiling at the thorny plants. She speaks, and her voice makes your body shudder again. “This might hurt… We’ll clean you up after, Doceletta.” She takes the vines of the plant and wraps it around your wrists, and binds them tightly. The thorns dig into your wrists, making you moan desperately. It hurts, it hurts a lot… but god, it feels so good. The way she’s looking at you feels so good too. She moves her still-gloved hands down your body, starting at your shoulders and moving downwards until she reaches your chest. Every inch she touches feels so good. You try to move closer, to get her to touch you more, but the squirming only makes the thorns dig into your wrists harder. Blood trickles down your arms. She gently circles your breasts with her hands.

She moves her hands to your back, following the straps of your bra. She gingerly unclasps it and removes your bra, adding it to the pile. She then moves her hands back to your breasts. She places the palms of her gloves against your chest, and the simple movement alone is enough to make you moan with need. She wraps her fingers around your breasts, her dark gloves pressing into the sensitive and soft flesh. She squeezes into the skin, each finger creating a deep indent into your breasts. You moan needily, desperately, trying to push for just a little more contact. It never comes, though, as she retracts her hands from your chest and moves herself down your body.

She spreads your legs apart, and sits between them. Your vision is still blurry, but the slight lull in her actions is enough for you to finally think again. You blink several times, and look down at her. She’s sitting between your legs, gently drawing circles into your stomach. You twitch slightly at the action, but nothing like the fiery need from before.

She frowns, and climbs over your body, placing her hands on either side of your head. She speaks softly and with a slightly nervous tone. “A-Ah. I thought it would… last longer…” She smiles nervously, clearly waiting for you to be angry with her.

But instead, you smile dumbly up at her. Even though you’re bleeding out of your hands and wrists, and you’re mostly naked on the floor of the nursery… you enjoyed it. It would be nice if she told you before drugging you, though.

You speak up after several moments of awkward silence. “Can I have another one?”

She seems a little taken aback, but smiles, and gets up. She dusts off her gloves, and walks over to another one of the plants she had taken the berry from earlier. She picks one off, and moves back to sit beside your head. She gently presses it up to your lips- and without needing further instruction, you open your mouth. The berry falls in, and you chew into it, then swallow it. At first, nothing happens. Then a wave of heat permeates your body, even more intense than with the first one. You let out a soft moan at the feeling.

You start rubbing your thighs together. You moan a little louder, desperate for more contact. You know you’d be fucking yourself if your hands weren’t tied.

Donna giggles at your desperation. She grabs your ankles and pushes your legs apart, making room for her to sit between your legs. She leans down and places a kiss in your stomach, just above your panties. You moan loudly and try to move closer to her- but are held back by the painful feeling of thorns digging into your hands. She’s the only one in control here.

She pulls your panties down, and with some difficult movement, takes them off of you entirely. She speaks again, her voice a little less soft, and her tone much more lustful than you’ve ever heard it. “Should I keep the gloves on?” She asks, gesturing at the dark gardening gloves around her hands.

You nod yes.

She smiles.

She turns her hand so that her palm is pressing against the top part of your crotch. You whimper at the motion, and she takes that sound as encouragement. She gently pushes one of her fingers inside you. The feeling is incredible- it leaves you a moaning, squirming mess within seconds. The glove around her hand makes it feel even better. The leathery material feels so good inside you. Just when you think you’ve finally adjusted to the one, she pushes another finger inside you, and curls them both slowly.

She starts pushing them in and out of you. Your vision blurs again and the only thing you could ever think about feeling is how she’s using your body right now. She fingers you relentlessly, leaving you a moaning mess at her mercy. At some point, she leans in and starts kissing your chest up and down. Not that you would really notice as she brings you up further and further into a desperate pleasure. You grind against her fingers, practically begging her for more. Even though moving at all causes the thorns around your wrists to dig in deeper, you couldn’t care less. Her fingers are all that matter to you right now. You keep repeating her name in your moans, trying to beg her for more but failing as you can’t get more than her name out through the gasping moans.

Soon, you close your eyes and moan louder than ever, leaving you completely gasping and breathless as she brings you to the best orgasm of your life. You feel your whole body go limp. Your head tilts to the side. Some drool falls out of your mouth as she continues gently rocking her fingers inside of you. Several waves of pleasure and tension come in and out of your body. Donna’s gentle use of your body brings you through all of them.

Eventually, you pass out on the floor like that. Used, arms bloodied, and drooling.

The last thing you remember of that night is Donna’s small smile as she unties the vines around your wrists, and starts bandaging them up.

#resident lover #smut #from ao3 #Donna Beneviento/reader #donna beneviento/reader #resident evil

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laufyko · 2 months

Text

— that’s because they like you!

// crack fluff, hidden inventory arc, inspired by this vt, (heavily) implied fem reader but they/them pronouns used, implied satosugu??, satoru being a little shit (affectionate). 1.1k words.

“stop. touching. my. stuff!” you repeated and hissed in annoyance when satoru tried to take the bunny plushie you just bought, trying to ruin it with an aggressive ruffle. again!

with an intense glare, you took the plushie away from his grasp and hit his wrist—which he couldn't control very well—earning a fake, pitiful whine from him, and a soft giggle from shoko.

suguru, on the other hand, scoffed. “satoru, c’mon. you know how scary they could be when you kept pushing their buttons.” he crossed his arms as he watched another repetitive argument between you and satoru.

satoru frowned, sticking out his tongue mockingly before letting go of your plushie as he holds the wrist that you hit too hard. he moved a bit closer to sit next to suguru.

and to avoid you if you decided to give him a sudden, unreasonable tantrum.

“why are you so mean to everyone?” he asked with a whiny voice, almost rolling his eyes.

seeing how satoru treated you, you stick out your tongue at him in return, wanting to reply: “because you’re an asshole.” but before you could utter any words, shoko suddenly took your plushie away from your grip.

oh the way your furrowed eyebrows softened.

satoru clicked his tongue at the sudden change of your sour expression, while suguru is smiling again with his eyes closed, tapping satoru’s shoulder playfully.

you’re no more than a pathetic lovesick when it comes to shoko ieiri, it seems.

“but they’ve never been mean to me,” she hummed with a cigarette dangling on her pinkish lips. you notice it was the lip gloss you gave to her a few weeks ago—right on her birthday.

she leaned right next to your shoulder, comfortably letting her head pressed against your shoulder blade. she stared right into satoru’s blue irises, shrugging. “i don’t get it.”

the thought made a small smile subconsciously curled on your lips, your eyes shifted elsewhere. your head leaned against shoko’s, not minding the sudden physical closeness—despite the throbbing, almost painful feelings inside of your chest.

satoru sneered, an obvious annoyance was represented in his expression. “blah blah blah,” he snided, crossing his arms, “that’s because they like y—”

…

oh! well…

suguru had his hands wrapped tightly against satoru’s mouth, his smile wide and awkward. your head slowly twisted towards him, flabbergasted at what he just said so directly.

while shoko is just… confused. “what…?” her brown eyes flickering toward you and satoru.

your teeth gritted, staring at satoru with wide, shocked eyes. “you—” your voice cracked, turning your head to see shoko’s reaction swiftly, before moving a bit closer to satoru to grab his collar, “why would you say it in front of—!”

satoru gasps as he forces suguru’s hand away from his mouth, both shocked and panicked—just the same like you. it’s almost funny.

“i— i don’t know! it just came out!!” he exclaimed, now trying to escape your aggressive grasp.

shoko, on the other hand, blinking at the sight she just witnessed. her typical grin was now back on her lips as a small laugh escaped her throat. “wait, so you do like me?”

“NO!” both of you screamed, absolutely not calming down at the question. “no, of course not! i’m just kidding, right? that’s not true—”

“WHAT? that IS true!” you countered, your voice was full of confidence, but you realized.

you are EVEN worse than satoru.

you groaned in frustration loudly, practically choking satoru in the process. he yelped, with suguru trying to force your grasp away from satoru’s poor neck.

that surely will leave an unpleasant mark, if estimated by your strength.

shoko couldn’t help but giggle at the newly discovered sight of you. you were usually so stoic around her, so it’s a new thing for her to see you so embarrassed. and oh, is that a pink tint around your cheeks?

it’s adorable. she wanted to squeeze them.

you were obviously too carried away by the unplanned confession, wishing the gods to kill you already. you shook satoru by his neck, begging suguru to finish you off with his cursed technique.

yet instead, you were greeted by a hand hitting you hard on your back.

it wasn’t satoru’s nor suguru’s.

then it must be…

“okay, you can stop now.” …of course, it was shoko.

she had her own way of calming your nerves, somehow.

or was it because of her touches?

your grasp loosened from satoru’s neck, leaving him breathless and slumped into suguru’s open arms.

an ashamed sigh left your lips as your head then turned toward her, a small frown formed on your lips. you had your hands, knuckled tightly, on your lap, and you were silent for a few minutes. your gaze fixed on the ground—as if waiting for shoko to say something.

but she said nothing. well, here it goes.

“i…” you started, taking a deep breath. “i’m… sorry. did the confession make you uncomfortable?”

you were expecting an enthusiastic or even mad ‘yes’, but no. she tried to make an eye contact with you.

“nah,” she shrugged, moving her body closer toward yours, “i’m just confused. i thought you liked satoru.”

“… ew.” the word was said with disgust by you and satoru at the same time, making shoko’s eyes wide by the coincidence, totally forgetting you two shared the same brain cell.

she sighed, her grin faded into a soft smile. her hand moved to cover your knuckles, rubbing it gently. “i’m glad, though.”

“—‘cause i like you too.”

mhm. the way they rolled off her tongue.

it’s so sickly sweet. like a honey. no, maybe even sweeter than honey.

and for the first time in your life, you felt something weird. something like those stereotyped highschool girls when their confession got accepted by their crush.

your face hot, your throat tight, your heart pounded, your chest ached, your stomach felt ticklish. yet it didn’t feel so bad.

shoko laughed again, and gods. did it make you want to do things.

a pointed finger was now on your chin, forcing you to raise your face so she could see your flushed cheeks. “so, does this mean we’re official?” she inquired, tilting her head.

your wanted to reply, you wanted to answer her, but fuck it you can’t.

so you just nodded, with a big, stupid smile on your face. shoko did the same, too.

satoru grinned, glancing at suguru, back to the new couple in front of them. he clapped his hand loudly, catching both of your attention. deep down, he felt like a proud big brother.

“well, congrats! so that means i can tell shoko about our midnight calls where you thought she didn’t like you and—”

“GOJO FUCKING SATORU.”

(a/n: im goin to ghost yall again for months goodbyw)

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #shoko #shoko ieiri #shoko x reader #shoko x you #jujutsu shoko #jjk shoko #jujutsu kaisen shoko #gender neutral reader #fem reader

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humanpurposes · 10 months

Text

My Heart Belongs to Daddy part vi, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // take the breath that's true

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, language, family tensions

Words: 4500

A/n: Here we go, the penultimate installment! Part vii is going to be the last part and I can't really believe we're almost finished 🥲

And this is a complete coincidence I finished this today but HAPPY BRITHDAY to Ange aka @ewanmitchellcrumbs!! Consider this a little gift from me as a thank you for all your love n support 💚

Also available to read on AO3.

She wakes startled, her heart beating furiously to the sound of raised voices coming from the kitchen.

She’s in the middle of the bed, curled up on one side with the bed sheets bunched up around her.

After the mess of last night, Cregan had gone to the pub with Jace and Baela. Evidently he hadn’t come back but his things are still strewn about her room, the brown leather holdall by the wardrobe, his t-shirt on the floor, his aftershave on her vanity.

She runs her hands over her face and forehead, groaning at the headache pulsing in her head as the shouting continues.

It’s a rarity for Alys and Aemond to get so heated, usually their arguments are a cold war of curt remarks and furious glances. She holds her breath, listening for specific words but she can’t make anything out.

It concludes with Alys shouting at the top of her lungs, “FUCK OFF THEN!” followed by the kitchen door slamming, a pair of loafers clicking against the floor of the hallway and then the front door opening and closing.

She goes to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to see Aemond’s silver Jag pulling out of the driveway. Something about seeing him leave feels so final.

Once she’s thrown on a t-shirt and some shorts she treads carefully down the stairs, afraid to disturb the eerie silence that hangs about the house.

Alys is leaning over the counter, cradling her forehead in her other hand. She breathes deeply and slowly, the cup of coffee in front of her long forgotten.

Finally she tries to compose herself, taking a sharp inhale through her nose, looking at her and forcing a smile, as if there aren’t tears welling in her eyes. “That’s it then,” she says, her voice hoarse from the shouting.

Panic strikes her gut like a knife, twisting and twisting until it burns. “Did he say why?”

Alys huffs bitterly. “He said it was ‘differing priorities’. Says he wants to reconnect with his family–” she licks her teeth and makes a sucking sound with her tongue– “he thinks I’ll just get in the way.”

“Is that actually what he said?”

“No.”

“Well how do you–”

“I just know!” Alys snaps and she flinches. Alys waves her hand vaguely in front of her face before she starts to rub circles against her temple. “I just… know.”

She looks down at the counter, hoping to find some way to make herself useful. There’s another cup in front of one of the stools. Black coffee, half-full. She reaches for it instinctively. She can’t see the prints of his fingertips and lips on the white ceramic, but she knows they’re there. He’s left a packet of cigarettes behind too, the same packet from the dinner party.

She pours the leftover coffee down the sink and squeezes some dish soap onto a cloth to clean it out. Her hands are shaking and she almost drops it twice.

“Gods, as if I even cared enough to interfere with his family,” Alys tuts behind her. “They never liked me.”

She can’t bring herself to disagree, but it’s not like the Targaryens are renowned for being welcome to outsiders, let alone the woman in her forties who took Alicent Hightower’s precious golden boy from her. She feels cruel for thinking that, especially because she knows she would never say that to Alys’ face.

There’s a tapping sound coming from the counter, a nail against cardboard. She glances over her shoulder as Alys drums her fingertip against Aemond’s packet of cigarettes. Her head is tilted and she hums distantly.

“I never meant for things to go this far,” she says, “but it’s done now.”

She can still feel Aemond’s hands on her waist and stomach, pushing her against the sink and pulling her back into him.

Why end it with Alys now? Had he told her the truth? Surely this would have turned out to be a very different conversation if he had. So why didn’t he?

“I just know these last couple of months have been fucking unbearable without you.”

She slowly places the clean cup by the sink, squeezes the water and soap from the cloth and dries her hands on a tea towel.

She can feel her heartbeat in her throat, and wonders if she’ll be able to speak if she tries.

“Mum?”

Alys doesn’t look up at her, still preoccupied with the packet. “What is it darling?”

When she doesn’t respond right away Alys turns to face her. Her mother can often be distracted, even when she tries to talk to her, there always seems to be something that’s more important. Not now though. She looks at her, really looks at her, with red cheeks, dried tears and her eyebrows raised in a sympathetic expression. Focused, ready to listen to her.

There’s an old harbour down by Blackwater Bay, two tall stone walls cutting out a little corner of the shore. In the summer people like to go down to swim there because the waves aren’t as rough as they are in the open sea and the kids in King’s Landing have made a tradition of jumping from the harbour walls. She used to go with Harwin and Jace, before Luke was really old enough to swim. The wall is highest right at the end, from a slab of concrete which everyone called ‘the table’ looking out on the other side of the harbour. Every year she told Jace she would jump from the table and every year she walked along the wall and clambered up onto the concrete. She would look down at the waves, rolling, colliding and roaring as they splashed up against the harbour walls. Suddenly her body would start to tremble and she’d forget how to breathe. She never managed to do it.

Now she thinks she’d take jumping into the bay over what’s about to come.

“I’ve done something really awful.”

The train from Oldtown to King’s Landing takes four hours. Four hours when she has nowhere else to go, nothing else to do but put her headphones in and watch the snow covered hills and fields of the Reach race past in a blur of white and green.

In the end she had accepted the Masters programme at the University of Oldtown. Alys’ reaction couldn’t be described as enthusiastic, but she would have been less excited for her to stay in King’s Landing.

Looking back, her first term had been good. She enjoyed her modules, liked all of her lecturers (even the stricter ones), was doing well on all of her assignments and she had access to the Citadel Library, which was far older and more impressive than the library at KLU.

She moved into a dorm room in the middle of the city just a few minutes from the main campus and made a few friends who all shared a flat in the well-to-do East District, which was where she did most of her socialising. On her free days she took herself to explore the city’s museums and bookshops, or she’d get herself a coffee and a cinnamon pastry and sit by the bank of the Honeywine, watching the boats and the flow of the water.

It should have been perfect, and it was in some ways. She threw herself into everything, research and essay writing, afternoons in pub gardens and parties full of strangers. Her life had become a tangle of possibilities and it was easy to let everything else slip away.

She ended things with Cregan well before she left for Oldtown. She told him half of the truth; she hadn’t been feeling like herself lately and she wanted space to feel like a person again. She didn’t tell him about Aemond or the incident at the dinner party, and she didn’t tell him that she felt like she was wandering through her own life like a lost puppy, looking for something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something that would fill the space in her chest that seemed doomed to remain hollow forever.

He seemed shocked but he took it well. According to Jace he’s been getting rather close to Aly Blackwood, a KLU graduate from her year. Aly Blackwood is best known around King’s Landing as a goth with a heart of gold. She has tattoos and piercings, wears sleek eyeliner and black platform boots and spends every weekend going to concerts or music festivals. She’s smart and a people person, just like Cregan. If things are heading that way then she’s happy for them. He deserves someone like that, someone who doesn’t lie to everyone around her, someone who doesn’t fuck her mother’s boyfriend halfway through a dinner party, while her own boyfriend was only in the next room.

Oldtown was the perfect escape, until the 1st December came around. Everywhere she went there were lights and trees, couples huddling close together to keep out the cold, while Last Christmas played somewhere in the distance. She enjoyed as much of it as she could, especially when her new friends dragged her to go ice skating or to Oldtown’s annual Christmas market in the square. But she couldn’t shake the dread of having to go home and spending three weeks in the house alone with Alys. Three weeks of sleeping in the bed where Aemond used to fuck her.

She watches the window as the treeline of Kingswood vanishes, and the shoreline of Blackwater Bay stretches before her, which means the city is only minutes away.

She takes her phone from her pocket and looks at it with the same nagging impulse that so far, she’s successfully ignored for months. This is her last chance to call him before she gets to King’s Landing. She doesn’t even know what she would say. She doesn’t want to talk to him or see him, but she thinks it would be nice to hear his voice or just know that he’s thinking about her– if he is thinking about her.

She opens her notes app and the note titled really good advice.

Don’t engage.

Don’t listen to songs that make you sad.

It’s okay to let go.

The train emerges from a tunnel and slowly starts to halt as it comes into the glass canopy over the platforms of Central King’s Landing Station. She slips her phone back into her pocket.

Alys picks her up from the station. She’s not wearing her usual red lipstick and she’s cut her hair into a stylish bob that makes her look older– in a good way– but other than that, she looks the same.

They hug stiffly and exchange the same mumbled greeting. “Hi. You alright? Yeah, good thanks.”

Snow drifts down from a dark grey sky, but it’s not cold enough for it to settle, despite Ella Fitzgerald’s wishes for a “White Christmas” through the car speakers. The traffic is busy so she has plenty of time to admire the lights and displays in shop windows, and the trees twinkling inside the houses as they get closer to Queen’s park.

The house is gloomier than she remembers, but then she left it in early September when the weather was still warm. That’s her least favourite thing about winter, it’s dark and it’s only 4pm. It’s cold too. She wonders if Alys came straight from the office.

She leaves her bag at the bottom of the stairs and follows Alys through to the kitchen. She squints at the harsh lights as Alys rummages through the fridge. “Didn’t have any time to think about dinner,” she says, “the last few days have been non-stop.”

“That’s okay,” she mutters, familiarising herself with the feeling of the white marble countertops under her palms. “I can walk down to the shops, if you need?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alys says, “you’re a guest.”

That’s a new feeling, being a guest in her own house.

To Alys’ credit, she’s making an effort to be around more. She comes home from the office earlier than she usually does and on the weekends she brings her laptop to the lounge and works from there.

She has reading she could be doing for uni but she’s too tired to read. Lately, every time she picks up a book the words blur and fade into one another. When she’s bored of scrolling through her phone or flicking through the TV, she tries her hand at baking gingerbread to get into the festive spirit. They turn out surprisingly well but then she’s just left sitting in the kitchen by herself, nibbling cookies and feeling utterly ridiculous for it. Why does being alone have to be so embarrassing, surely there’s no one around to care?

The worst part about being home is how obvious they’re both avoiding a certain topic.

They’re eating dinner around the island in the kitchen. The fridge is stocked up in anticipation for Christmas day (which seems unnecessary if it’s only for two of them) and in the meantime they’re living off simpler meals, mostly pasta or something with rice.

“Rhaenyra’s coming over for drinks on Christmas Eve” Alys says after a few minutes of silence.

She pauses her mouthful. Alys hasn’t so much as mentioned Rhaenyra since the dinner party after her graduation, and before that the wedding. She dreads to think this get together might include some other Targaryen relatives.

She swallows. “Why?”

Alys frowns. Rhaenyra and Harwin used to alternate their Christmases between their fathers, one year with Viserys, one year with Lyonel and the Rivers. That tradition had apparently been abandoned after Lyonel died not long after Harwin. Last year it had just been the three of them.

Alys shrugs. “Rhaenyra suggested it. We’ll just have a few glasses of wine. You’re welcome to join us if you’ve not got other plans.”

Other plans are unlikely; none of her friends are in King’s Landing. So far the holidays have just been a waiting game, but the festive season seems to drag on when you’ve got nothing interesting to do and no one to see.

“I’ll be around,” she says.

“Perfect.”

Then they come back to silence, apart from the scraping of cutlery. She worries if she’s chewing too loudly, it sounds loud in her head.

Then Alys starts talking about a new client of hers. She becomes surprisingly animated, clearly excited about the new venture for Rivers PR, until she mentions an issue with contracts and some legal dilemma, then she goes quiet. It was Aemond’s job to sort that stuff out, make things more manageable for her.

She tries to change the subject by telling Alys about Oldtown, her new friends and the possibility of a graduate role at the Citadel Research Institute.

“One of my lecturers is a partner there,” she says. “They usually reserve two placements for Oldtown students.”

“How long would it be for?” Alys asks.

“Two years,” she says, taking a quick sip of the bittersweet grapefruit soda Alys had insisted she try, “it’s paid work, and then I’ll have a job by the end of it.”

“Sounds like you’ve got everything planned out nicely.” Alys doesn’t say it like a compliment. Her voice falls as she speaks.

“I mean, it’s only a possibility,” she says, “I’d have to get accepted. I was thinking about applying for some stuff in King’s Landing too–”

“Do you like Oldtown?” Alys asks. Her expression is utterly unreadable. She might be furious. She might not care at all.

She places her glass down. Her stomach aches with hunger but she finds that she doesn’t feel like eating. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well then I see no reason to force yourself to stay here,” Alys says and promptly goes back to eating.

Her chest feels like it’s about to burst.

She told Alys the truth. She didn’t try to justify what she did. She watched her mother cry, stood there as she screamed at her and gave her space when she wanted it. Seven hells, she had moved to the other side of the continent to give her space.

She knows there’s no version of this where she isn’t the villain, where she doesn’t wake up every morning and feel like a shit human being. Part of her is still trying to accept that her mother might never forgive her, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to try.

The edges of her vision start to blur. “You’re here,” she says.

She watches Alys’ chest rise and fall and her lips start to tremble as she sets her cutlery down. She breathes as she hangs her head, gnawing slightly on her bottom lip.

She anticipates another argument like the one before, that will leave her with a hoarse throat and a tightness in her head.

Then Alys turns her head to face her with glassy eyes. “I hope you don’t think I’ve held you back.”

“What? No, why would you say that?”

“You seem so happy in Oldtown I just… I hate to think that you only went to KLU for me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved having you at home for another three years, but I just wanted you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you–” she gasps a small sob but snatches it right back. She wipes her eyes with her fingertips, careful not to smudge her makeup. “I’m sorry if I’ve made things… difficult.”

She can hardly believe what she’s seeing. “No, no, no…” she utters, reaching for one of Alys’ hands. Her throat feels thick and when she blinks she feels hot and heavy tears trailing over her cheeks. “This was all my fault. Mum, you’ve given me everything, and what have I done with it but just be selfish and stupid and–”

“Oh come here,” Alys huffs. They both stand and Alys wipes her daughter’s tears away with her thumbs.

“But you must hate me,” she whimpers, “I lied to you. I hurt you.”

Alys strokes her hands over her hair and cradles her, bringing her into her chest like she used to when she was a child. “I wanted to at first,” she mutters, “of course I did. I never would have thought…

“You know, I never actually thought I’d have kids. My parents weren’t exactly great at making me feel like a priority, and I used to think I could never be a parent because, well, I didn’t know how to be one.

“But you were so perfect. From the moment you were born I just knew I loved you, like I had never loved anyone before, and I knew I never would love anyone more than you, ever.”

She clings onto her mother like she might fade away, with the material of her blouse between her fingers and her ear pressed to her heartbeat.

“You’ve always been my everything,” Alys whispers, “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

She pulls herself away from Alys’ embrace so she can look her in the eye. “I really am sorry, for everything with Aemond.”

Alys hums shortly. “Was it just sex?”

She’ll never forget that night in the hotel room, how stupid she felt, how empty it left her, how lost she was for months after. Sometimes she wonders, if she could, would she take back what she said? There’s no point in getting hung up on what-ifs.

She still feels lost in a lot of ways, but the dust seems to be settling now. She just hopes things will be a little clearer now.

“I think it was for him.”

Alys frowns sadly. “Oh you stupid thing.”

She wants to cry all over again, but it’s a fair statement. “Are you sure you don’t hate me?”

Alys considers the question. “Maybe just a little.”

By Christmas Eve her mood has significantly improved. The weight has been lifted from her body. She doesn’t have to spend an hour convincing herself to get out of bed. She doesn’t lose herself under the warm, running water of the shower. She doesn’t feel so exhausted from the simplest of tasks.

She and Alys finally get not one but two trees up. The ‘proper tree’ is in the dining room, with golden lights reflected in the silver and glass ornaments. In the lounge they have a smaller one that sits in the window. It has fairy lights shaped like stars and mismatched decorations, little wooden snowmen, plush reindeer and polar bears they’ve had since she was little and golden birds that belonged to Alys’ grandmother. She likes the small tree the best because every decoration has a memory. She feels like a little girl again, buzzing with excitement to spend Christmas day with uncle Harwin, aunt Rhaenyra and her cousins.

Tomorrow, she'll wake up slowly, have mimosas with her mum, roast some potatoes, eat too much food and fall asleep curled up on the sofa. Nothing else will matter. She won’t keep second guessing someone else’s every move. She won’t cry herself to sleep thinking of every little thing about her that isn’t good enough to be loved.

Alys is adamant tonight will be nothing like the dinner party in June, thank the Gods.

She changes into a mini dress with a colourful floral pattern and styles her hair nicely. She tilts her head at her reflection and puts in some pearl drop earrings, but something still feels missing. She shrugs it off.

She helps Alys put out snacks and drinks on the kitchen island and choses a playlist of all the essential Christmas songs, just in time for their guests to arrive.

Rhaenyra looks as stunning as ever, in a black two piece that fits snugly around a growing baby bump, bright red lipstick and gold jewellery on her neck and wrists. She hugs both of them tightly and smiles beautifully in a way that makes her think she might be genuine.

Baela and Rhaena follow behind her, which is a pleasant surprise.

“No boys with you?” Alys asks as they all walk through to the kitchen.

“Thought we’d keep it strictly pleasant company,” Rhaenyra says, “nice to have a bit of calm before we go to dad’s tomorrow.”

“Right,” she and Alys say at the same time.

They all sit in the kitchen. The twins are a year older than her. Baela’s been working at her grandfather’s company while Rhaena’s found her way into being a stylist, always posting from film sets and photoshoots. She looks the part too, she tends to wear bright, bold colours and pairs them with patterns and materials that shouldn’t work together, but somehow they do.

They ask about Oldtown and she doesn’t feel bad about repeating everything she’s already told Alys. The attention is quite nice.

Given the baby, Rhaenyra can’t actually drink but she pours some cranberry juice into a wine glass and sips it elegantly. “Jace told me you and Cregan broke up?” she says once the charcuterie boards have been finished off.

In that moment she tries to think of all the ways someone might react when they’re not bothered by something. Unbothered people smile vaguely and play with their hair without it seeming nervous. Unbothered people crack jokes at their own expense and laugh things off. Unbothered people don’t take as long as she’s taking to answer a question. “Um.. yeah.”

“Oh well, that’s life,” Rhaenyra sighs. “You know I broke up with my first girlfriend before I went to uni.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And then she married my dad.”

She and Alys look at each other. They both try to look concerned at first, until she sees a flicker of a smile on Aly’s lips. She slips too, and they simultaneously snort into laughter.

But once the amusement wears off and Alys and Rhaenyra retreat to the lounge, she still feels guilty.

Baela and Rhaena are gossiping about some shared friends. She only half pays attention.

Maybe Rhaenyra meant it to be reassuring, empathetic, validating, but Oldtown wasn’t the reason why she ended things with Cregan, more a symptom of a single problem.

She has a sudden urge to reach for her phone, but she’s left it upstairs.

She was doing so fine in Oldtown. She was happy, busy, things didn’t seem to bother her as much as they do in King’s Landing.

“What are you doing for new years?” Baela asks.

“Oh um, nothing. Mum has a fundraiser she usually goes to.”

“Are you not going to go with her?”

A ballroom full of canapés, elevator pitches and entrepreneurs making small talk sounds like a living hell. “Definitely not.”

“We’re all going to Dracarys,” Rhaena says, “you know that club on Silk Street? Why don’t you join us.”

She starts to shake her head. Hanging out with Aemond’s cousins sounds like it could be a bad idea.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Baela says, “but don’t worry, it’s just us, Jace and a few other girls. Cregan won’t be there, he’s gone back to Winterfell.”

She releases a shaky sigh of relief. Right. Cregan. The person she should be worried about.

“He and Aly Blackwood are a thing now,” Rhaena says.

She keeps her eyes on a space on the counter. “Yeah, I heard.”

The kitchen falls to an uneasy silence. Baela and Rhaena look at each other and she can feel the anxiety radiating off them, restless and uncomfortable without something to fill the lull in the conversation. She doesn’t mind the quiet.

They don’t stay too late. When they go to leave the snowfall is a little heavier and leaves a light dusting over the drive and the cars.

“Let me know about new years,” Baela says, “we’ll have fun!”

She supposes so, and besides, she could do with getting out the house and drowning her sorrows with a sensible amount of margaritas.

She and Alys stand in the doorway as Rhaenyra’s Escalade pulls away and disappears down an otherwise empty street, leaving a trail in the snow that is quickly covered again.

Alys checks the time on her phone and shows her the time: 00:02. “Happy Christmas, darling,” she says, wrapping her arm around her shoulders.

She smiles and leans into her. “Happy Christmas, mum.”

Alys grins and nods towards the stairs. “Now get to bed or Santa’ll skip our house.”

She giggles softly as she goes, entirely pleased that Christmas isn’t turning out to be a complete shitshow. Alys has left a new pyjama set on her bed, white, fluffy and impossibly soft. It makes a difference from her old Black Sabbath t-shirt. She readies herself for bed, brushes her teeth and takes a few sips of the glass of water she’s brought up with her.

Her phone is plugged in on her bedside table, but it must be fully charged by now.

The moment she reaches for it, the screen lights up and it starts to ring. The glare of the white text makes her eyes sting: Aemond Targaryen.

All the months of distance are gone in a moment. All the time she’s spent trying to move on are lost for just one glimmer of hope. It would be so easy to accept the call. She doesn’t care what she should or shouldn’t say. One movement of her thumb and she’ll hear his voice.

Don’t engage.

It’s okay to let go.

She watches the phone ring until his name disappears.

A/n: I also realised that I've been referring to Harwin's father as Simon Strong which is incorrect, it should be Lyonel, so I've gone back and corrected that.

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Series Taglist: @marthawrites @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy @sahvlran @tinykryptonitewerewolf @arcielee @tssf-imagines @aemondsfavouritebastard @skikikikiikhhjuuh @queenofshinigamis @lost-and-founds @izzydlb @dc-marvel-girl96 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @padfooteyes @castellomargot @pet1t3 @okfashionista @khaothick @babygirlyofthevale (I'm so sorry I said I was gonna add you for last time and I completely forgot 😭)

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond x original female character #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #modern!aemond #modern au #house of the dragon fanfiction #stepdad!aemond #my heart belongs to daddy

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little-diable · 1 year

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Watch - Kylo Ren (smut)

This is pure disgusting filth. I wrote this drabble for @earlgreydreamreplies – who is just as sick as me. I adore you. Enjoy my loves.xxx

Summary: pwp, Kylo fucks the reader in front of his knights

Warnings: 18+, heavy smut (duh), gloves, spitting, degrading, voyeurism, use of "pet"

Pairing: Kylo Ren x fem!reader

“Don’t you dare look away.” Kylo’s voice echoed through the throne room. He was towering over (y/n), dark eyes staring his wife down. She was naked, kneeling on the cold ground with her arms pressed to his thighs, lips wrapped around his gloved fingers. He was toying with her, ready to tear her apart - with all his knights watching.

“I should have known that you won’t ever learn from your mistakes. Or are you just provoking me?” Kylo’s voice was rough, clearly dripping with the lust he felt, needing to bury his cock in one of her holes. Just seeing her like this, ready for him and whatever command would overcome his plush lips, did unspeakable things to Kylo. “Speak, pet.”

He pulled his gloved fingers from her mouth, the leather was dripping with her saliva, soaked through. She trembled, stumbled over her words as her pleasure drunken mind struggled to follow his command. “I’m sorry, Supreme Leader.”

An almost satisfied hum left Kylo. For a second he let his gaze wander, taking in the frames of his knights, standing still with their eyes focused on him and his naked wife. Kylo felt a sickening sense of pride flush through him, knowing that no other being would ever be able to touch her, his wife, his only.

“Open.” His gloved finger tapped her lips, once again forcing her mouth open. And with his eyes flickering back to his knights he spat onto her tongue – which she greedily swallowed, moaning for the man who held the power of death over her life. She knew that he’d never hurt her, Kylo would hunt down whoever dared to lay a hand on her, and yet the thrill of the moment made her feel the darkness simmering inside of him like a lake deeper than any body of water known to her kind.

Kylo plopped down on his throne, tapping his thighs to guide (y/n) closer, ready to take her in front of his knights. She struggled to walk, limbs already quivering from the endless minutes she had been kneeling for him, switching between sucking his cock and his fingers. His taste was still heavy on her tongue, reminding her of the way he had fucked her mouth with every heavy swallow of hers.

“Maker, you’re making a mess.” The clicking of his tongue let (y/n) shudder, growing tense as he cupped her core, pushing two of his gloved fingers into her. (Y/n)‘s moans filled the room, making a smirk tug on Kylo’s lips. She felt even more aroused from the mere thought of being watched by his knights, knowing that none of them would ever dare to move and yet they’d probably fuck their hands the second they were allowed to leave.

“Are you that desperate to get your holes stuffed? I should let them all fuck you, stuff you full till you pass out.” Her walls clenched his fingers, forcing a raspy chuckle out of Kylo. “Of course you’d enjoy that, you greedy whore.”

(Y/n)’s head rolled back as Kylo’s thumb met her bundle of nerves, pushing her closer to her long awaited release, finally able to give into the sensation. A mere trick the man was playing on his wife, pulling his hand away the moment he felt her tense, ready to let go with his name burning on her lips. “Please, Ky’.”

The nickname forced a disappointed sigh out of Kylo, gloved hand striking down on her behind before she could even begin to catch up with what she had done. A trembling “Supreme Leader” left (y/n), glassy eyes not daring to find his dark gaze. She felt him study her for a few seconds before he forced her to raise her hips, cock aligned with her dripping cunt.

“Not one word, are we clear?” With her teeth buried in her lower lip, (y/n) tried to keep quiet, whimpering as he forced her down on his cock. He was ruthless, guiding her movements with his gloved hands placed on her behind, putting on a show for his knights. (Y/n)’s body was his toy, made to please his every desire, allowing him to mold her, to form her, to use her.

Stars, both knew that Kylo would soothe her marks the second they found their way back to their quarters, and yet (y/n) couldn’t help but moan whenever he dug his fingers too hard into her skin, needing to feel her as close as possible. His hips met hers with every bounce of hers, burying his cock even deeper inside of her tightness, reminding her that only he could make her feel like this.

“You’re already close, huh? Such a pathetic little girl, can’t even control herself.” Another whimper rolled off her tongue, unable to stop her orgasm from rocking through her, guided by the slamming of his hips. She felt him follow moments later, releasing himself on her thigh, watching his cum paint her skin, dripping along.

“Leave.” Kylo shouted the command, watching his knights wordlessly leave the throne room, only daring to find her exhausted gaze when the men had left the room. (Y/n) collapsed against his chest, head buried in the crook of his neck, and with a deep sigh he felt her relax against him.

#Kylo Ren smut #Kylo Ren imagine #adam driver

391 notes · View notes

goszixx · 8 months

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Evergreen

✧༺♡ ༻∞ ✧༺♡ ༻∞ ✧༺♡ ༻∞

Note ❈° ≫ Yes, there will be a part two.

Warning ❈° ≫ humiliation, degrading, dom sukuna, sub reader, grinding cause why not, I think that’s it for now.

Part 2

✧༺♡ ༻∞ ✧༺♡ ༻∞ ✧༺♡ ༻∞

One finger traced around the edge of the folder beneath them. The vanilla scolded your stare, knowing what had to come next. It’s the only way. You keep telling yourself that over and over and over again. But, that still didn’t change the tingle curling at your nerves. You could almost taste it, the evergreen mint that always overwhelmed your senses.

One bulb lit the room, a long black table was placed in the center. The one sided glass being the only thing that consumed your attention. The man on the other side sat still, his body hunched over as his hands rested behind the back of the chair. Even in chains the cockiest smile rested on his face.

Ink traced along his skin, leading down his face and disappearing in a prison jumpsuit. He shifted, his chin pointing up as if he knew you were looking at him. A smirk spread across his busted lip as he opened his legs a little wider for your viewing pleasure.

Your stare held its cold tension. But you couldn’t help your teeth tearing into your bottom lip. The precinct was closed. Only you and him stood in the building. Your own morals were crushed by what you were about to do. It pulled at your heartstrings but was scorched whenever his eyes met yours. Even though he can’t see you, he can feel you.

Need. You need him. For your case of course, nothing else. To be fair, your fate was skewed ever since your life got tangled with the info broker years ago. How many times have they met like this? Five? Maybe six. It always ended in one way.

A heavy sigh left your lips as you picked your body off the metal chair. Your morals were isolated in the room as soon as you shut the door behind you. A burning heat spread across your chest, you wanted to blame it on guilt, but you knew the truth.

Your fingers wrapped around the metal door knob, the silver sent a spark through your skin. Cold air hit your face along with the hungry stare belonging to the infamous Sukuna. “How long as it been? 2 years?” Sukuna scoffed in amusement. His smirk only grew from the death glare you sent his way.

“I see your ugly mug hasn’t changed…” He trailed off as his eyes traced around the curves of your body. Oh how he missed your figure.

You kept your scowl, even though the air held his intimidating aura. “How’s prison life, Sukuna?” You leaned against the wall in front of him, crossing your legs and making the heel of your boots tap the ground.

The prisoner hummed, his hands gently tugging at the cuffs that held him still. “Could be better. But let’s cut to the chase, what information do you want from me? Or have you missed our sex that much?”

Your tongue clicked the roof of your mouth in annoyance. Maybe if he stopped speaking you could try to bare his presence. “Kenjaku, I want to know his where abouts on October 19th.”

Sukuna blinked a few times before his lips stretched into a grin. “That's pretty top secret information, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You cringed at the name, your teeth grinding together as your hand buckled on the small windowsill behind you. Exhaling, and unballing your fist you spoke, “I’m aware.”

Your hands fell by your side to bunch up the ends of your shirt. You pulled the black material, getting a surprised hum from the prisoner. But, he was intrigued nonetheless, “want to get straight down to business, I see. Did your prissy personality change or did you miss milking me that much?”

Amused laughter radiated from the prisoner, but you kept your composure. Your boots and jeans came off next. Sukuna’s eyes stuck to you like glue, your exposed skin teasing him too much for his liking. You trudged closer, taking in more details about the man. The small scars littering his neck, the slight bruise of his bottom lip.

Water droplets scattered in the messy pink locks from his shower. The water droplets also ran down the ink on his chest. You pulled at the jumpsuit until it exposed as much of his body as it could. The black rim of his boxers peeked out while his chiseled abs stretched before you.

Taking a finger, you traced down the ink. Your touch ran across his flesh, down his chest to the first mound of muscle making his abs. The heat stimulated his hot skin, making him hiss as it contracted with the cold feel of your digits.

Fabric hung high on your waist, the pretty lace gracing your skin In a mocking way. “Sit.” The words grumbled in the back of his throat. They dripped off his tongue, giving away the pure lust bubbling up inside him.

Blush spread across your cheeks from the command. Your legs shifted together as the lace on them seemed to get tighter. The urge to bite back was so apparent it made Sukuna smirk more. But, he knows you love it. The humiliation, the lack of physical touch he’s given you. The nickname.

“Sit on my lap, Sweetheart.” He repeated, putting the nickname to add more to the fire. Begrudgingly, you sat. The curve of your ass squished off the meat of his covered thigh. While adjusting yourself, Sukuna’s eyes trailed down to the small wet patch growing on your panties. The panties he bought you. The ones he makes you were before and after he fucks you.

Seeing your plush thighs all but shake in anticipation on his lap made him lick his lips. “Kiss me.” Another command, but this one stung you less then the rest.

“Yes, Sukuna.” Your voice came out timid, strained in nervousness. Six years and you couldn’t get him to drop this rule. Every time he gives you a command you have to respond with that. At first you thought it was because it turned him on, but.

Your legs tried to shuffle together as embarrassment leaked to your core. The chill of your palm pressed on the curve of his shoulder, sliding up to his neck while the other pressed flat on his abs. You leaned forward, Sukuna watching as the window behind you caught the wall your back arched. Before your lips met, Sukuna’s minty breath consumed your senses.

Damn that evergreen. “No grinding on me, understand Sweetheart?” Your lips parted in embarrassment as the heat of his mouth engulfed yours. He took advantage of your shock, forcing his tongue past your lips. The softness of his tongue slid past your own, causing you to whimper. Your nails dug in the curve of his abs as your legs shook on his thighs.

It was torture. His mouth invaded yours with so much ease. Touching every part of your mouth as if he owned it. It took all the willpower you had to keep the movement of your hips in check. Your back arched more the longer the kiss continued.

He’d only let you breathe when he felt like it, causing you to pant with your tongue lolled out, a dazed stare meeting his. “Did you like it that much? You're panting Sweetheart and we haven’t even started.”

You didn’t give an immediate response, you couldn’t. Sukuna clicked his tongue, his amusement cut short. He picked up his thigh, causing it to grind right into your soaked core. A choked moan broke through your lips in pleasure as you pressed your chest against his. He kept his rhythm until your face buried into his neck, your whimpers filling his ear. “Ye-s Sukuna. Y-yes Sukuna.”

The movement stopped, leaving your legs quivering on his thigh in need. Sukuna’s stare drifted around your body. From the grip you had to his skin to the arousal leaking from his panties. His eyes then flickered to the bra he bought you, how he made it a tad too small so your boobs would spill out whenever you made the smallest movement.

Once again, the prisoner licked his lips. “Are you ready to continue, Sweetheart?”

#fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #goszixx #anime #anime smut #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x you #smut #sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna drabble #sub reader

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saltsicklover · 7 months

Text

Open Windows - BRB - Broken House

Title: Open Windows

Series: Broken House

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2500+

Rating: R

Warnings: Drinking, Alcohol, Swearing, Low key bad talk of Navy men, Insecurity, job interviews.

The breeze blowing in through the open windows is almost cold. No one has ever said that California is cold. Sure, the nickname The Golden State comes from the gold rush and not the rays of sun that beat down heavily on the state, but it's California.

The O Club is dingier than Honey remembers, full of ancient Officers and their wives who still enjoy smoking inside and beer from lines that haven't been cleaned in so long that Honey actually grimaces when she thinks about it.

The floor is sticky. So is the chair she is sitting in. The tabletop is covered in peanut shells and damn, this place is gross. Honey puts on her best smile for the manager as she slides her resume though the peanut shells. The paper absorbs a droplet of undetermined liquid when it reaches his side of the table. Honey fights back a shudder.

The man who sits across from her seems completely disinterested in not only Honey, but his job in general. The only thing that seems to hold his attention at all is the baseball game on the television behind the bar. His eyes are trained just over Honey's shoulder. She watches as his eyes glide over the screen, taking in the way he almost mouths, his lips stopping himself halfway through his lack luster word of encouragement for the team up to bat. His tongue snakes out of his lips before he flicks it around to wet the chapped skin. Honey grits her teeth.

"Mr. Spencer," Honey leans over right into his line of sight, a kind but annoyed smile on her face, "Thank you for taking the time to see me. Please hold onto my resume and give me a call once you've looked it over. I need to head to my next appointment. Thank you again for your time."

The man waves a hand and gives her a noncommittal grunt as she stands up. She manages a tight lipped smile before heading for the front door. It's not worth it, she reminds herself as she pushes out into the chilled evening air.

The dejected feeling she has been pushing down for the last three weeks seems to engross her, bogging her down like wet boots. It should weigh heavy on her shoulders but the only thing she can seem to feel is a broody sense of determination. The O Club is the fourth place she has been since nine am, and her luck doesn't seem to be improving. She is slowly exhausting all the locations that came up on her navigation app under the "BAR" tab. She scrolls back up to the top of the list, clicking on the first hit to come up. The Hard Deck. It is just a bit too close to the Air Base, but desperate times and all that. So, she throws her car into drive and heads towards base, and unknowingly towards her future.

---

The warmth that overtakes Honey as she walks into the Hard Deck makes her skin tingle. The cold evaporates from her skin, her goosebumps easing with each step she takes towards the bar top.

The Hard Deck is busy, bodies bumping bodies as they make their way through the crowd. Honey pulls her blazer from her shoulders, letting the fabric slide down her arms as she scootches herself around a large man in a Marines uniform. He mutters an apology to her as his forearm grazes against her shoulder, the beer in his hand sloshing around in the glass. She offers a tight lipped smile.

The folks behind the bar are busy, a flurry of hands and glasses, liquor and tap. They each have sweat droplets peppered across their brows, their forearms coming up to dry them off. The effort is fruitless as the sweat returns.

Honey slides herself up onto an open bar seat between a woman who is unsuccessfully flirting with a man who has a tragically overgrown undercut and a man who is engrosses in the baseball game that is playing from his phone. Honey throws her blazer across the back of her chair, hanging her purse up along with it.

The dejected feeling begins to crawl back in.

"You're a little overdressed, aren't you, Babe?" The woman on the other side of the bar notes as she shakes a shaker near her ear. Her voice is a tad louder than necessary but her words are kind, so Honey manages a smile, genuinely.

"Can't seem to win today it seems," Honey shoots back with a shrug of her shoulders, "Not a damn bar in this city is hiring,"

"What's your name, Babe?" The woman asks, brushing her bright red bangs from her eyes with one hand as she pours a drink with the other.

"Y/N, but everyone calls me Honey," The bartender nods back, sending a drink down the bar.

"Penny! We've got a live one!" The redhead calls down the bar before nodding back towards Honey. An older woman glances towards the redhead before her eyes land on Honey.

"You're looking for a job? Bartender?" The woman, Penny, asks, pulling down on the Budweiser tap. The honey liquid flows into the glass, foamy and cold.

"Sure am!" Her voice is slightly too giddy for the expression on her face. She pulls a folded up resume from her pocket, the paper now crinkled and less than presentable. Honey slides it across the bar with one manicured hand. It slides across the clean bar top with ease. The redhead takes a look at it before giving Penny a quick thumbs up just below the bar near her hip. She thinks Honey doesn't see it, but she catches it.

Penny shuffles over and trades places with the redhead. She places a bottle of house vodka and an empty glass in front of Honey with a small smirk on her face.

"Alright then, Honey Girl, can you pour me two ounces of this, no jigger?" Penny asks sweetly, before she is back to pouring another glass of beer on tap.

Honey stands up on the bar of the stool, allowing herself to lean over the edge of the bar to grab a rag that has been abandoned on the other side. She steals a pump of hand sanitizer from next to the register before she wipes the bottle down with the towel. Then, Honey moves to the floor, pushing the stool back behind her. She takes the house vodka by the neck of the bottle, label facing Penny. Turning it over, Honey counts out two ounces. She then places the bottle on the rubber mat on the serving side of the bar, offering the double shot in the whiskey glass to Penny.

Penny takes it and pours the contents into a jigger, measuring out the liquid. It comes out right at two ounces and Penny tries her best to hide the smile that is beginning to stretch across her lips. She isn't ready to give Honey the job just yet...

"Can you tell me what is in a Tequila Sunrise?" Penny quirks an eyebrow before throwing back the Vodka that Honey poured just moments before.

"Two ounces tequila, four ounces fresh orange juice, a quarter ounce grenadine, garnishes with an orange slice and a cherry," Honey raddles off the recipe, counting the ingredients out on her fingers. The counting makes Penny chuckles a bit, and Honey just smirks at her, "Hard to do it without actually pouring the drink. It's basically muscle memory,"

The women behind the bar share a devious smile. Penny shoots Honey a look laced with scheme.

"Come on back here and make me a Cosmopolitan, would you Honey Girl?"

Honey places her hands on the bar, leaning forward to turn her head right then left, surveying the drinks in everyone's hands with furrowed brows. Then, she turns around, standing up on her tiptoes, looking around the room. She turns back to Penny with a smirk.

"Do these military folks even drink stuff like that?" There is a glimmer in her eye, one that Penny can't help but love already.

"Nope," She pops the 'P'.

"Okay Penny, I'll make you your drink," Honey winks before winding though the crowd to make her way behind the bar. She rolls the sleeves of her crisp white button up all the way up above her elbows before making a pitstop at the sink to scrub her hands. Then, Honey gets to pouring. First the juices, then the liquors, shaking then straining, the drink coming out pretty pink in a martini glass.

Honey steps back, revealing the drink to Penny like a magician might reveal a woman sawed in half. There is a flick of the wrist and a dramatic bow that makes Penny laugh out loud. The older woman steps forward and takes a drink of the pretty pink cocktail, an instant smile on her lips the moment the drink hits her tongue.

"Are you Military officiated?" Honey shakes her head no, a slight purse to her lips. She knows it isn't quite true, but she doesn't need to air her dirty laundry in the middle of this makeshift job interview.

Her hands are clasped in front of her as she rocks on her feet. Heel toe, heel toe. Honey wants nothing more than to spill her guts to the seemingly friendly staff at the Hard Deck. She wants to tell about her father, and what a shitty man he is for abandoning her and her mother. She wants to explain how she ended up in this little bar anyway, and everything she has left behind over the years, chasing his ghost. But most of all, Honey wants to talk about Bradley. She wants to talk about the storm in his eyes and the way he spoke so angrily to her. She wants to lament to these women in the way she couldn't with Bradley. She wants nothing more than to speak of the life she left behind, but she doesn't. Instead, she bounces on her feet. Heel toe, heel toe.

"Are you dating anyone in the Military?" There is a bit of humor to her voice but Honey can't help the drop her stomach takes- it falls so far she feel for a moment that she might never see it again, but then the nausea hits.

Honey can still hear the door slamming. She can still feel the way her fingertips used to gently adjust the frame next to the door. She can still see Bradley coming in drunk, over the shoulder of one of his friends. Bradley, Jake Seresin, and Natasha Trace all got sent to Pensacola and their little trio could drink that town dry if they really wanted to, and they did just that a time or two.

The photograph of Nick and Bradley has faded to the back of her mind now, but she swears she can still see Nick's eyes when she closes her eyes. She can hear the words Bradley screamed at her, and the tightness of his throat as he did. Her own words haunt her harder, deeper, like they are melting away her insides.

Bradley Bradshaw is the furthest thing from Pete Mitchell in her mind. He would never abandon his family, that much she knows. Honey has seen him with Jake and Natasha, knows how he cares for them, and how much love he has for not only them but his team. She has watched him pour from his cup more times than anyone else, making sur that those he cares for are loved and that they know it.

Maybe that's why it hurt so much; having thing end the way that they did leaves Honey feeling the furthest thing from okay.

"No," Honey answers simply.

"Good on you, Honey Girl," Penny sends her a wink, "I can't say the same for me, but I have seen so many relationships between these guys and their significant other's go sideways-"

Honey stops listening to Penny, too focused on the glinting diamond on her left hand. The diamond is large, and absolutely sparkling even under the amber lights of the bar. Honey blinks back tears as she looks at it, memories of Bradley flashing through her mind.

Honey wants to ask Penny if she had ever had a fight quite so bad with her own husband. If being with a Navy man is always so hard or if Bradley just decided to make it that way. Is it all circumstance or does it come with time in? Maybe the it's issued to them with their gear, but it doesn't quite matter how it got there, the matter of the fact is that it's there.

Somehow, Honey thinks maybe Penny knows exactly what she is feeling, and though Honey was the one to walk out the door, it feels like Bradley was the one to walk away.

When her eyes make their way back up to Penny, she is standing there expectantly, eyebrows raised.

"I'm sorry Penny, what was that?"

"I said, the job is yours if you want it! We have a big welcome back party scheduled for a week from Friday, and I want you here and ready for it. My husband's team is getting recalled and they are going to be very excited to see each other. Can you start tomorrow?"

Penny has already begun digging through a cupboard below the bar, her hands working just as fast as her lips.

"I'll be here, Penny, thank you so much!" Honey's gratitude is met with a balled up shirt straight to the chest. She catches it before it drops to the floor, and Penny chuckles at the rapid movement.

"Great, then I will see you tomorrow, now get on the other side of my bar!" She shoos the younger woman with her hands, offering her a smile, "And Honey Girl, welcome to the team,"

Honey leaves the bar with a sense of accomplishment she didn't know she could feel. The wet boot feeling in her soul is gone, now relaced with a sense of excitement for what's to come. There is still a part of her brain replaying all of the times the door slammed and the way Bradley would stumble into her arms. Nestled next to those memories is the image of Pete Mitchell with his arm wrapped tightly around Bradley, and Honey blames the nausea that swims deep within her body on that memory.

There is so much going on in Honey's mind that she walks straight to her vehicle, not bothering to spare a glance away from her path. Once she climbs inside her car she takes a look at the t-shirt in her hand, the Hard Deck logo on the left chest, the word, "Bartender" is printed across the shoulders. Honey smiles, so distracted from the joy and excitement that she doesn't even notice the familiar blue Bronco parked just a few spaces away.

Honey drives back to her shitty new rental with the windows of her car down. The chilled breeze blows in, messing her hair, causing gooseflesh to break out over her skin. No one ever said that California is cold, but it's about as far away from Bradley Bradshaw that Honey can get, so she shivers and enjoys it.

#bradley bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley rooster bradshaw angst #broken house #top gun maverick imagine

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