#types of study table | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 3 days ago

Text

Heavy Metal Lover - G.S.

Synopsis. A group project with your tall, nerdy, hot academic rival and your handsome punk best friend? Oh, you’re getting a D++

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader x Geto Suguru

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, nerd!Geto, punk!bestfriend!Geto, thréesome, mmf, they go FÉRAL, dúmbification, Geto with tattoos and piercings, Jacob’s Ladder (iykyk), oraI (fem. rec.), all sIoppy type, yearning Geto, fíngering, spítting, p talking, manhandIing, dp, SAME DAMN TIME, creampíes, cúmplay, BIG stretches, size k!nks, rough s, marathons, overstím, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, squírting, making him cúm dry, jock!Sukuna cameo, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 11.4k

A/N. TWO!! Because heh- daddy Tony just turned the big 2-0!!

“You won’t believe how big it was.”

“…”

“Satoru’s audacity, I mean.” Leaning over the cluttered café table, you’re cupping your mouth with one hand, whispering oh-so-conspiratorially to your best friend. “And his d-”

“Alright.” Geto cuts through your astute observation, making an observation of his own that the elderly lady seated beside you two had promptly turned off her hearing aids. “So you really didn’t get any studying done during this ‘study session’, huh?”

Waving your hands airily, “It’s not that we didn’t try, it’s just…” The glinting snake bites on Geto’s lips curl at the sinful sight of those teeth marks down the side of your neck, the way your thighs still quivered in broad daylight. Still.

He already knew that there was something more between you and your ‘cocky, book-hugging, jerkwad’ academic rival. He saw the way Gojo looked at you. And he saw the way you looked back.

Somewhere down the line it made Geto tighten in his pants.

He’s flitting a wide-eyed glance between his thighs, fuck, then at the thick smoothie in his hands- was there something they put in this or what?

No, he’s subtly shaking his head. It’s just not everyday that you hear about your best friend finally hooking up with the very same man she’d been complaining about ever since first meeting him. It was a long time coming - the entire campus knew at this point. Hell, he’d even distantly heard about a few betting pools to see who’d crack first (okay, maybe he betted in them, too- but only twice!)

So Geto was simply happy for you. Really.

After all, he’d been right by your side through every argument, every middle finger, every war for top spot on the Dean’s List until that tall, gloomy nerd had completely n’ utterly fucked you.

And here you were, telling him all about it.

Never having been more thankful for that obnoxiously frilly tablecloth covering his legs, Geto coughs away the slight hitch in his breath. “Was it good, pipsqueak?”

A slightly dreamy look wafts across your face, and with the way that his length twitches in interest, he’s pushing away his smoothie completely now. Unable to take any chances of it somehow being spiked.

You sigh, “Hate to admit it, but yeah.”

“Nerdy fuckin’ Gojo made you cum?”

“Multiple times.”

Another jolt, another squeeze of his meaty thighs.

He darts his darkening eyes away from the expression on your beautiful face. What he’d give to make you look like that, too- no. No, he can’t. “Ah, s-so- you two’ve fucked away the tension now, or what?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say fucked away.” You’re humming idly, “He did argue with me while he was inside of me.” At the strange, strangled squawk that leaves Geto’s mouth- “I know right?”

He’s crossing and uncrossing his legs, throat dry. Sharply glancing downwards once more, “Like- dirty talk?”

And you’re completely oblivious to the way that you’re absolutely ruining him, Geto latching onto every syllable that slips out of your pretty lips like he’s breathing them in. Goddammit, he was feeling so…“Hmm—sure, but just arguing, too. Would you believe it if I told you he tried to pick a fight even after I made him cum dry?”

“C-cum dry.” The usually-deep baritone of Geto’s voice breaks as he echoes the end of your sentence, fingerpads tapping impatiently on the top of the table. Stop talking. Stop thinking. “You can do that?”

“Heh- yeah.” Fuck. You’re smirking, “Why? Jealou-”

“No.”

It comes out much more urgently than he would have liked - much more panicked - and just before you can suspect anything, he’s tugging on the ragged texture of his baggy, ripped jeans. “A-anyways, did you hear about Yaga’s-”

“Sugu, are you okay?” Oh, too late. Before he can stop you, you’re reaching over one of your palms to cover the expanse of his forehead. Feeling for his temperature, “You’re a little…hot.”

“Mm– I’m always hot, gorgeous.” Trying for his usual nonchalance, but if the way you knit your brows is anything to go by, then you’re not buying his act one bit.

“Is it strange that I slept with Gojo? I mean, I know I’ve been hating him all this time but-”

He clasps his much-larger hand over yours, blunt nails chipped with dark polish. “No no. Don’t worry about it.” With a smile, Geto stretches his long legs underneath the table to tangle them with yours. Heat against heat. Swelling cock against his pants. Tongue snagging on the silver of his snake bites.

The scorching blush that simmers across his cheeks is almost startling as he pushes away the bangs from his face - so pretty, you had to admit. Such a brash, tattooed style to him that drove nearly every woman, man, and anything in between wild any time his looming figure sauntered through campus.

Winking his eyeliner-smudged lids, “In fact-”

Ah, well, if you can’t beat them…

“-tell me more.”

Join ‘em.

Geto’s sure the poor ol’ lady next to you faints.

“Fuck-” He’s whispering, cooped up in his dark apartment not even an hour after parting ways with you at the café. Apparently you’d left for a totally-not-date with Gojo- and Geto?

Oh, Geto had one hand wrapped around his aching cock to pump until his wrist ached.

Groaning at the squelch of his thumb smearing down the crown of his reddened shaft, he’s plugging up his bawling divot. Other hand reaching over to shuffle inside his bedside cabinet, “C’mon, where- where is- ah.”

There it was.

Geto’s fingers plunge out from the depths of the drawer, all wrapped up in the strappy lace of a pair of pretty pink panties. Your panties.

Ones you’d accidentally left after a sleepover - and really, you’d stolen more than enough of his Green Day t-shirts that he didn’t exactly feel bad about stealing them away.

About hastily plucking that cutesy underwear up and pushing it against his face, he’s rolling his glassy eyes back and sniiiiffing the sweet, sweet scent of you. That smell he couldn’t get enough of. So close and yet, so far.

“Sh-shit.” Geto’s heavy shaft grows even harder in his hand, and he didn’t even think that was possible. Sinking the fringes of his teeth into his bottom lip, he wraps the ribbony fabric ‘round his erection, “Oh, shouldn’t do this- r-really shouldn’t do this.”

But he can’t stop. Not when he’s fucking the plush comfort of his palm in repeated, sloppy strokes- and not even when Geto hears the bzzzt–! of his phone vibrating from that very same bedside cabinet.

Breath catching as he turns his head to blearily stare at the flashing screen - Pipsqueak. You.

Ah…without a second thought, Geto grabs his phone with one hand, the other still tugging on the veiny shaft of his cock. Unlocking it to find that you’d sent a photograph of you - and the infamous Gojo himself. Mouth downturned, flush burning.

The two of you were cramped into the frame, at the forefront of some aquarium. Innocent, surely- but Geto catches the glide of Gojo’s fingertips down the side of your waist, the way you’re leaning in just enough to let a flash of cleavage peek through.

Dilated pupils flickering between the two figures, he finds his tattooed hips thrusting—“Oh. I’m fucked.”

So very, very fucked.

And after this, he had an email to write. To none other than Yaga.

“Iori and Haibara. Ieri and Ijichi.” Professor Yaga’s bored, monotone voice drones through with his usual steady pace, announcing each pairing for the upcoming assignment.

A practical project, it seemed - and you can’t help but feel your heart race once he’s thumbing down the list of names. Finally announcing yours and…“Gojo.” But before you can show even the slightest bit of euphoria, Yaga’s tugging up his thick sunglasses. Raising a thick brow, he’s turning your way.

And for a split-second, you think he’s staring you down- that is, until you follow his line of sight and find that Yaga’s staring above you. Just the row above.

Exactly where Geto was.

Eyes half-lidded, atmosphere surrounding him burning. Goosebumps prick down your spine, and you find yourself wondering what the hell was happening in this thick moment of silence.

Evidently, Gojo’s musing the same from his seat right beside you. Whispering from the side of his maw, “What the hell? I haven’t seen Yaga look like that since the last time you started an argument with me during class, miss valedictorian.”

That damned know-it-all nickname.

You’re taking a good, long look at him - neat, crisp. The way his thick-rimmed glasses framed a slight cute frown, cosied up in a cotton vest that hid his muscular figure, his sapphire eyes twinkling through pale bangs as you sneer.

“Satoru, that was your fault- and yesterday.”

“Well, it’s about to be right now.”

“You just want to be yelled at by me, perv.”

He’s opening his pouted mouth to snark back - but Yaga beats him to it. With a gruff, cutting announcement that neatly finishes off the rest of your little group, “-and Geto.” Only to turn away as if nothing ever happened, and rattle out the rest of his lengthy list.

And Geto? You’re furrowing your brows- this was meant to be a paired project, wasn’t it?

Well, not that you were unhappy to be with your best friend - it was rare that your uptight professor ever took his students’ preferences into consideration. But, according to your calculations, there wouldn’t have been any odd ones out in the student body, and Yaga had seemingly formed two trios for the sake of it.

Question on your lips, you’re turning in your seat to face Geto. Only to meet his eyes and oh-

Something about him was almost predatory. Something dangerous. Something that makes you gulp, and Gojo squeeze his fingers with yours.

Resting his face upon one of his palms, Geto purrs—“Consider this project a…science experiment, gorgeous.”

A science experiment.

Rubbing his swole n’ red cock raw to your photographs, writing an intently-worded email to Yaga with his choice for project pairings, and inviting the two of you to his apartment later - he was finally here, with his ‘science’ experiment.

With his ringed fingers toying down the patterns of his throbbing shaft veins, listening to the way that Gojo made you let off the prettiest shrill whimpers. “F-fuck, don’t be shy.”

You didn’t even know how you were here - only seconds after entering Geto’s sprawling living room before you’re somehow laid across his couch. Sprawled across Gojo’s lap, still fully clothed but being kissed stupid.

The former gazing all the while, thick thighs manspread like he was watching a show of his very own. He’d moved one of his cushy armchairs to watch dead-on as Gojo lifts his mouth off of yours with a dampened slurp just to spit between your parted lips.

Thwack! It’s gluing to the ridges of your tastebuds with a splatter, “Then you kiss me all proper, princess.” Gojo’s hissing between your swollen lips, the honed points of his canines nipping down on your maw just to get you to open wider. “Yer really embarrassing yourself in front of your best friend.”

Huffing, “I’m the- mmpf-”

Only to have your heated cavern stuffed with the expanse of his textured tongue. It’s just so sloppy how he’s kissing you, with the slimy edge of his muscle swirlin’ the insides of your maw as Geto snickers.

Unhinging your jaw open, you manage to muffle out. “I’m the one embarrassing myself?” The flat of your palm caresses vertically down the front of his cotton vest. All smart and sensible. Moving it down his bumpy pecs, then only further down his abs, down, down-

Before clinging your greedy fingerpads onto the large, cylindrical length of his erection. All looong and hard, it’s laid out the side of his meaty right leg. “Who’s the one that’s rock fuckin’ hard already?”

“F-fuck.” He’s gasping into your touch, and through his linen pants you can feel the bulge of his cock twitch. Flinching needily enough that the syrupy puddle forming between his thighs starts to grow even sappier, “And whose fault is that~?‘

“Mmm– mine.”

“Heh, so you know how to take accountability?”

Vulgarly, the edges of your fingers twitch into a squeeze over the outline of his cock - so thick that your hand struggles to properly close around him. “Only for this.”

“You little-”

“So you two seriously argue during sex, too?” Geto’s husky voice breaks through, and you’re both snapping your head over to see the way his head tilts. The way he lurches his hips slightly off of his seat with a buck, fingers dragging down his veiny cock. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Noticing the silky scrap of fabric that sticks out from the gaps of his fingers, you’re whining at the sight of those familiar panties you’d lost months ago. “Suguru—”

“You can make those sounds for him, too?” Gojo snarls, rutting you up on his v-line so that your dazed head lolls back towards him. Swatting a hand down on the side of your ass cheek, he’s lifting your thin skirt enough to give Geto just a peek of your panties.

Possessive. Feral.

Something primal slips into Gojo’s throat as he toys with the wiry strings of your underwear, where he’s sure Geto can watch. “M’shocked we’re not fighting even more, miss valedictorian.”

“Sh-shut up.”

With a gasp, you’re pushin’ your sultry hips further down onto his. Grinding so that the slope of your slit presses through your panties and onto his fattened cock, just so wet that it leaves a glistening snail-trail between Gojo’s thighs.

“Mmm—” Geto departs with a chuckle, hands pumping even faster on the veiny, gleaming length of his cock until it was almost just a pinkish blur. He’s milking himself with a grunt at each lecherous interaction, “Keep going, gorgeous. Just like that.”

Shyly, you shift your restless hips, “B-but, Sugu…”

“Ohhh I like that.” Geto juts his chin up, nudging the rough fabric of his pants down to free a few more solid inches even more. “Say that again, pipsqueak.”

“S-Sug-”

“Nuh uh.” But before you know it, Gojo has a hand smushing your cheeks together into such a pathetic pout. Staring back down at him- “You’re going to say ‘Toru.’”

Geto muses, “Sugu.”

“Toru.”

“Sugu-”

“To-”

“P-please.” Your wailing cries cut through the slight battle, impatiently humping the plane of Gojo’s clothed pelvis at a pace that damn near reaches a fever-point. “Just want something- anything.” Head throwing back, babbling, oh-so-pretty that Geto puffs out a low hum, and tucks your soaked panties away.

“Then c’mere, gorgeous.”

Gojo interrupts, “What?”

“I said…” The tattooed man plows on, lips twitching even further into a grin once you’re standing up on wobbly legs. The flesh of your thighs squeezing together with each step, “-come here. You too, nerd.”

Oh.

And you can’t even remember the treacherous trek you take to clamor up onto Geto’s widespread thighs, he’s just so big n’ beefy that it takes you a few tries to properly straddle his toned hips. Grappling your two hands on top of his round deltoids, “L-like this, Suguru?”

“Atta girl, there you go.” Perking you up further- he takes a second to admire you. To memorize you. To take in every heady pant of yours and each dry hump of your cunt.

Before tugging a girthy finger upon the sides of your current panties and teeearing straight through them. Skirt next to follow.

Gojo can only watch in utter awe as he’s bared to your pretty, sopping pussy from behind- fuck, he’s never going to get used to this. Joints weakening, mouth parched, his towering frame falls to his knees at merely the sight.

“Pussy got your tongue, Toru?” You’re tittering once Gojo’s only saddling up behind you on the carpet, glasses now level with your slick-glazed lips. Close.

“Well, he will have your pussy, pipsqueak.” Geto’s piping up from underneath you, sliding further down the armchair so that Gojo’s nose sticks to the outer part of your sheeny cunt. “But where do you want me? Here?” Groping your ass, “Orrrr here?” Your thighs. “Or-”

“No teasing, Suguru.”

“Oh, gorgeous, I could go allll fucking day without…” One of his rings shaped into a gothic skull traces your cunt, “-dessert.”

Gojo scoffs, “Well, I’m fucking starved-”

Geto grins, “And I wanna kiss these lips first.”

“O-oh mm–” It was just maddening- the very nanosecond that Gojo’s hearing he’ll be having your sweet, honeyed pussy all to himself, he’s plastering his mouth to your folds.

Stirring the curvy edge of his tongue instantly past your soppy entrance, puckering you up for a saccharine kiss. Latching his glossy lips down to the swollen fringe of your pussylips, he throws his head back and grins. “Nothing smart to say now, miss hah- valedictorian?”

“Now now, of course, she doesn’t.” And it’s the very moment that Geto’s mouth kisses your own that you’re realizing he didn’t have just snake bites - he’d hidden away a frigid, metallic tongue piercing.

That slick spheroid wafting between your lips, Geto’s drinking you in like he’s a man parched. And every cute bubble of spit spilling from your mouth was the first droplet of water he’s had in eons. Feeling his smug grin across your lips, “Not when she’s kissing me, of course.”

“Tch- as if.” Gojo spits- literally, a great, glittery wad of spittle that thrashes past your quivering hole. Salivating his tongue to push juuuust inside, just teasing the tight ring of your cunt with his velvety tongue. “S’because of me. Her vaginal introitus is just drooling.”

And oh- Gojo’s tongue is just so flexible. Swabbing the tender orifices of your sleek cunt with his pointed tip, he bullies a few inches past your entrance and makes you whine. “P-please- ngh more, Satoru. F-fuck me like you mean it.”

Snickering, Gojo only swats the right side of your ass cheek, gripping it to haul your wildly bucking body further against his face. Until his chin hits your treacly cunt, until his nostrils can’t even breathe-

“Aw, nothing f’me?” Geto coos, and while you’re all jostling and thrashing, one of his ringed hands plummet down the side of your body. Pryin’ apart your slick-glued folds to press his knobbled index on top of your clit like a button. “You’re my best friend. What if I wan’ a taste, too?”

Your breath hitches by the time he’s glazing his finger across your creamy pussy already, covering it with just enough layers of your juices. Just enough to hover up into his mouth and suck.

Gasping, “But you’re already…”

“S’not enough.” And while Gojo slips n’ slides his flattened tongue between your pussylips, Geto puckers his maw up to yours. Hazy amethyst irises only half-opened, mouth quirking just at the ends. “Spit.”

It happens all at once- you’re spitting inside Geto’s mouth and he moans at the taste of you, never one to be forgotten, Gojo splats out saliva on your cunt and forces his impaling tongue inside.

“Oh, your bartholin glands are just sopping all over me, so much- ngh- leukorrhea.” Babbling away, Gojo’s letting out such noisy smacks each time he flops his tongue out to flick your shaky hole. Harder. Deeper.

He’s eating you out like he’s addicted to it, the long length of his pale lashes fluttering every time the sharpness of his jawline pushes against your slam-contacted flesh until he can’t push himself even further.

Until the rim of his spectacles coldly swats your pussy and makes him stutter, “W-wonder if I can reach the ngh- Gräfenberg spot like this…” Tugging you back with trembling hands, the thickness of his tongue probes even deeper against your walls. “More- if only I can-”

“You’re never reaching it like that, nerd.” Geto rolls his eyes, back to slithering his right hand down and cupping your pussy.

He snickers each time he’s feeling the silky crowns of his fingerpads brush against Gojo’s thrashing tongue. Toying with the other man, he’s covering the nub of your pulsing clit each n’ every time, just so that Geto can be the one to give it a good, long pinch.

It’s just so cute how you buck into him with a hollow gasp, “Wh-what did I say about teasing, Sugu–”

“Just can’t help it, pipsqueak.” Your best friend purrs, snagging the sharpened ends of his snake bites against your lips. Bouncing his meaty thighs, running your cunt ragged with each rough drag down his loose, ripped jeans.

Once. Twice. Again and again- until Gojo’s clawing a hand on the side of your glissading hips to stop your slobbering cunt from darting too far away from him. You squeal, “W-wait, ohh ngh- Satoru, m’not gonna last like this–”

The dual stimulation was just rendering you stupid, twitching on top of Geto’s lap each time he’s scraping your pussy down to ride his tattooed thighs. Every bounce leaves you recoiling right back into Gojo’s mouth, mouth watering at the rovering push of his tongue entering you. And out. In and out-

“Good.” Thwack! Spanking one of his emblem rings down on your clit, “Because I think m’getting impatient here. I’ve been waiting for ages, after all.”

“A-ages?”

“Mhm— oh, you have noooo idea, gorgeous.” Drawling out, Geto’s driving you crazy with the twist of his hips angling you properly.

Making it just so that your pussylips spread wiiide open to ride his leg like you were pouring your sheeny slick out all over it. Just so that Gojo’s angular tongue can sharply strike near your g-spot, just so that you’re cumming before you know it.

It runs you over in a sudden wave, and before you know it- you’re simply seeing pure white. “O-oh my god. Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, m’cumming—” Glassed irises running cartoonish circles inside the whites of your eyes with each swivel.

Head falling forwards into the crook of Geto’s neck, hips planted firmly on Gojo’s face - exactly where he wanted it.

And he’s lavishing his tongue allll over your quivering pussy, draggin’ out each spike of your high with a stretching thrust. “Oh- oh, m’fucking starved, princess. Like that, cum- cum on my ngh- tongue. My tongue.” Dilated blue eyes blinking up drunkenly, “My tongue only.”

Geto raises a dark brow, “Yours only?”

Gojo pipes up with a glistening grin, slapping away Geto’s tuggin’ fingerpads to suckle on your clit like a sweetened piece of candy. “Yeah. Too fucking late now, aren’t you?”

Chilling spheroid tongue piercing licking down your salivating lips, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

Almost in response, Gojo’s wrapping his beefy forearms back around your inner thighs. Planting your overstimulated cunt even deeper across his mouth, digging his glasses back into his straight nosebridge - it didn’t matter if Gojo would suffocate if it meant he could go out with the syrupy taste of your slick drivelling down the sides of his mouth.

But Geto only coos, looking down at the other man through his inky locks. “Don’t be like that— didn’t all your books ever teach you about sharing?”

“M’not sharing my girl’s pussy.”

“Mhm?”

It was a challenge.

And both treated it as such.

You’re being tugged ‘round in the middle like some boneless ragdoll, the hazy state of your mind spinning once Geto stands up. For a split-second.

And seats you down all prettily on the armchair he was in, with your legs splayed wiiiide open with a deafening wet squelch of your pussy. Gojo’s coral pink lips parting into a soft oh! when the other man kneels down right beside him on the ground - both of them on their knees for you.

Both of them latching onto one of your legs with pawing hands, nudging them further open to accommodate their hulking sizes. To accommodate the way that both Geto and Gojo tackle themselves down to eat your drippin’ pussy at the same time.

Again.

“H-hold on- both of you- oh, mmm, fuck.” And you can’t do anything but cling your clammy palms onto both of their heads. “I don’t know if I even can hck! cum again so soon.”

“You will, princess.”

“We’ll make sure of it.”

Gojo on your left, Geto on your right- they’re flopping out two lengthy pinkish tongues between your trembling thighs. Sloshing against each other, fighting against each other, each of their pretty features plastered upon the inner side of each leg.

And where Gojo was eager, Geto was teasing. He was mean- lining the slick slit of your cunt with looooong, tender glides. He snickers once he’s feeling the other man impatiently thrust into your hole, “Mmm–fuck! Sweeter than I ever imagined.”

“I know.” Gojo’s snowy brows knit, chin polishing with ribbons of your juices each time he nodded his head down to shove past your first tight ring of muscle. Pumping you full. Beading your every nook and cranny with a thorough probe of his tastebuds, “And she’s my hah- miss valedictorian- isn’t that right, princess?”

“Y-you’re both acting so- hck!” It’s a wonder you even could speak with how much they were ruining your damn pussy. “-ch-childish- fuck.”

Lapping up every dribbling ounce of slick you gave off, licking into every and any spot on you that they could scour. And you were so much extra aroused now, a pure translucent waterfall sticking down the fronts of their chins with every too-sensitive touch.

Hell, you’re blinking your watery eyes down to watch the way that Gojo’s thumbing apart your swollen folds just so that he could plunge his tongue inside deeper. Faster.

Sloppier.

Slipping over each other, chins knocking, greedy.

With the rawest, loudest squeeelch–! Geto lingers his piercing over your clit, taking full claim with the way he’s sucking. “She might be your ‘miss valedictorian’...” Groaning, you’re feeling his glinting canines bite down once on the nearby flesh of your thigh, and then twice on your oversensitive clit - enough to leave a slight mark. “-but she’s my pipsqueak. So if I wanna taste, m’getting it. Isn’t that riiight—?”

THWACK!

Spanking your clit just so you’re crying out-

“S’what I thought.” Geto hums.

And that’s exactly what he was doing - what they both were doing.

Two soppily wet tastebuds rubbin’ your pussy all over until you were oversensitive, and the way they’re fighting to see who occupies the most of your sweet, sweet cunt is just animal.

Gojo pushin’ his face deeper until the line of his glasses left bright red marks on his flushed face, Geto instead moving you- gluing a palm on the side of your hips and jerking you to him.

“O-oh nghhh it feels shoooo good-” You’re slurring, so stimulated that your hands wrestle for purchase on the chair’s cushion each time you’re throwing your head back and bucking up, up, up.

“Good? Good, gorgeous–?”

“Mhm—”

Cunt throbbing oh-so-badly at every slash of their tongue, the way that Geto grips a hand onto the back of Gojo’s head to guide him into your favorite spots. Nudging your earliest bundles of nerves with his probin’, thumping tastebuds.

Your breath catches with a sob within your clogged throat at the sight of Geto usin’ that tight leverage to tilt Gojo’s head ever-so-slightly so that their tongues meet each other.

Filthy oodles of saliva watering over the edge of the other man’s tongue as he moans, Geto’s grinning when he’s kissing both your sappy cunt and him. “Don’tcha even know how ta properly eat a girl out, nerd?”

“I-I do-”

“Spit.”

“What?”

“Spit.”

In a sultry split-second, your already drenched pussy is being swamped by two steady streams of saliva. Spitting. Geto’s tongue everywhere, he sucks on your perked clit while Gojo back takes over sinking his honed muscle inside your gummy walls. “Tch, s’that all you got, Suguru? You clearly don’t even know the nghh- benefits of stimulating her adventitia-”

“That’s not shit, what you’ve gotta do is- hahh-” Geto departs a sweltering hot gust of breath, letting Gojo’s curling pink tongue thrash inside your pussy while he snagged three ringed fingers on your rim and push-push-puuuushes inside. “-stretch her pretty lil’ cunt wiiiide open.”

“F-fuuck why is it so big–” You’re whining, crying. Legs hooking over both their shoulders to bring them together. The sheer scrape of Geto’s metallic rings against your sweet spots makes you see stars, “Don’t think m’gonna last long…”

“C-close, huh?” Gojo drags out through a breathy tone - and there’s something higher-pitched in his tone, something that almost sounded gone. Such a primal tinge to his tone, he’s nuzzling his nose against your clit and making such a mess.

Geto grunts, rosy lips pulling back into a snarling grin by the time he gives you one-two-three sloppy strokes. Reaching for the plush area of your g-spot “What did I say? Gotta stretch her reeeal big so she can take me-” Hitting it - hard. “-isn’t that right, pretty lady?”

He wasn’t even talking to you at this point - just your pussy. And you swear you’re feeling the pointed nib of even Gojo’s falter slightly on your clit as he speaks.

Squelch after squelch, they’re both pulling out of you when you’re only growing wetter. The tips of your toes curling inwards as you’re feeling your tummy spark near familiar bliss, “S-Sugu–!”

THWACK!

The stinging noise rings out before you’re even feeling the burning ache, the way that Geto’s firm fingerpads stick to your plump cunt in a sharp swat. Him snickering, “See?”

“You’re insane.” Gojo titters back, prattling.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for ngh- this, nerd.” Ever since he first met you that fateful orientation day, in fact. Tongue piercing tickling your clit, fighting Gojo’s tongue for purchase. “Have no- fucking- clue-”

“Don’t give a fuck-” And he didn’t - really, really didn’t. The glasses-clad man doesn’t think he could even register anything other than the streaming sap your cunt was gushing out onto his tongue, and the way your hole quivered in that way that told him you were close. Again. “Just wan’ you to cum on my t-tongue, princess.”

“Heh- you’re better like this, Toru.”

“Shut up and cum.”

Long, ivory bangs soft against the bottom of your tummy with how close he’s diving himself nose-deep. More. Gojo ruts against the cushion of the armchair, knees dragging against the carpet as he’s lunging even further- and he doesn’t even notice.

“Easy there, gonna suffocate-”

You run your hands through his sweaty scalp, breath heightening. “Yeah, you ngh- okay?”

Grunting at the texture of Geto’s own tongue, “Mmmm– no.” Gojo’s classes are completely fogged-up at this point, and he’s only clashing them further. Adding one of his own lengthy fingers past your hole so that he can pump furiously. Both their hands so dexterous. “Muscularis contracting- ngh, even more leukorrhea- wet. Gonna cum- gonna cum gonna cum—”

And that’s exactly all it takes - the slightest, tiniest bend of Gojo’s stifling digits thumping your g-spot in carnal unison with Geto’s ringed ones, and then you’re reaching your orgasm. For the second time.

Hips fully wrenching off of the dampened chair cushions to push your two boys with a generous mouthful of your candied pussy- one they’re salivating over gratefully. Repeatedly targeting your favorite spots with their fingers, maws further agape, eyes rolling to the back of their heads.

You can only hit your chin against your chest to take in the lewd, lewd sight of being eaten out by both Gojo and Geto. “Sh-shiiit–” Cheeks wet with tears, “Never cum like this- ngh, it’s so- oh.”

“Please- that’s it, use me.” Gojo recants back, giving his features up for you to conduct such long, slobbering drags. “Use me, princess- ngh- m’fucking starved. Ohhh, fucking love this pussy. M’gonna eat you out for the rest of my life, miss valedictorian.”

Smirking, Geto pins your gyratin’ hips down and watches as Gojo blindly whines. Chasing the taste of your cunt just so he can lap you through your wet high. “Heh- you’re damn pussydrunk, nerd.” Turning to you with hooded eyes, your best friend’s making sure he murmurs this into your overstimulated pussy. “And you’re dumbified, my cute lil’ pipsqueak.”

Though, it’s not like he was any better.

But before Geto’s forced to bite down on his lower lip and bite back pure whimpers at the oversaturation of your taste, he pulls away.

Painfully, with a final sopping thwack! of his palm coming down to strike your cunt. Your eyes are just barely open enough to make out the fuzzy shapes of Geto pulling Gojo backwards, too, with a hand at his throat.

Watching as his lips detach from your pussy with a wet plop! strings of slick scattering all over his maw. Watching as his neat glasses stick to your pussy n’ he has to manually smear them back up his nosebridge, “Oi- the fuck do you think you’re doing, punk?”

“Well, you can make out with her pussy all you want, nerd.” Geto’s piercings glint as he pinches his index and thumb into a circle. Sticking his tongue lewdly between that hole, “I wanna fuck it.”

“Oh…” You can only ogle unabashedly once the two make quick work of discarding your top n’ bra, then their own clothes - Gojo’s two layers of vests, his formal pants, and Geto’s torn band t-shirt and washed jeans. All in a pile somewhere by your throne of an armchair.

They couldn’t be more different.

And that went for their hot, rock-hard cocks, too - where Gojo was longer, Geto was thicker.

Both oh-so-massive that it has your thighs clenching in both fear and anticipation, you can’t help but stare at the way that Gojo was so fuckin’ red that the bulging end of his shaft looked like strawberry. And just as thick, he’s glazing himself with so many layers of slick pre that fall down his lengthy member.

And Geto- oh, Geto’s was the sexiest tannish pink at his tip. Covered with so many puffy veins that you’re almost missing the line of a few silver barbells lining his fat shaft. A Jacob’s Ladder piercing - with a studded Prince Albert’s at the very bottom of his thoroughly flared tip.

Where Gojo’s cock was utterly pretty and made your cunt water, Geto’s looked like he was about to positively ruin you.

“Heh, that’s cute.” Your best friend croons, catching both your gaped staring. Gojo quickly snaps himself out of it, hands reaching for your open thighs to-

“Ah ah, dibs.” Geto slaps his hand away, and it takes him only a second to pick you up as if you were weightless. All carried in his broad arms - his shoulders were so muscular - to the nearby bedroom and lay you flat on the bouncy mattress.

Hovering over you, you take the opportunity to mindlessly gawk at him in a way you didn’t allow yourself to before. Everything from the sinful silver piercings that punctured his rosy nipples, to the stark black dragon tattooed across his back and down to his hips- and wait.

Your eyes damn near pop out of your head- right on the left side of his prominent v-line…was that…a tattoo of your first initial?

Geto catches the beeline of your eyesight and muses, “Got it in secret honor of my- ah, best friend.” Leaning in, “N’ you’re gonna feel it reeeal up close and personal now, best friend.”

Gojo calls out as he follows inside, “Oi- first come first haaaah- serve. Isn’t that right, princess?”

Before you can answer, Geto cuts in- “Then, I’m first-‘ Shoving the other man slightly, fighting for who gets the first touch of your pussy on their aching cocks. Geto’s cleanly pushes your boneless body onto all fours, stood by the edge of his bed. “-because you were my gorgeous girl first, riiiight—?”

“O-oh–! Yes- I mean no- I mean…” You’re yelping the very instant his cold, orbed piercing runs lazily down your slit from behind. And you whimper as the bed dips with a creak, revealing Gojo in all his needy glory - pale thighs parted about the length of your head, so towering where he was starin’ down at you through his thick glasses.

“Ya hear that, nerd?”

Gojo rolls his eyes, one hand smearing the plump pinkish curvature of his cock between your glossed lips. “Tch- my princess disagreed. Clearly.”

With a cackle, Geto slobbers his drooling mushroom tip down your folds- making sure that Gojo’s ears burn at the lecherous squeeelch-! that’s sounding out once he does. And you swear you’re seeing fucking stars by the time that he manspreads his sculpted thighs part and presses his thick circumference in—

“Shit- shit shit shit—” You’ve never been so stretched, and the utter fuckin’ girth of his circumference makes your eyes tear up pathetically. “How are you so bi- mmmpf!”

If you thought that stretch between your shaky, sheened legs was incredible- then you absolutely weren’t ready for the way that Gojo’s barging his prolonged cock right between your gawking mouth. Filling up your hot gummy maw with a few solid inches of his length, he wasn’t even bottomed-out yet, and you swear you could already feel him at your throat.

“Easy there, pipsqueak. Eeeasy does it.” Geto croaks out from behind you, shuffling his toned hips ever-so-slightly closer. Just the merest deepening entrance enough to make you salivate.

“Shiiiit- dunno who’s glands are l-leaking more- ” Gojo hisses, heavy lids flapping at the feeling of your treacly saliva gluing against the underside of his shaft. “Your pretty mouth, or your cunt…”

And you didn’t know either- hell, you couldn’t even think at this point.

It was just rendering you so dumb having both your slick orifices plugged up, Geto’s tattooed hips relentlessly pushing in half-thrusts from behind. Gojo clawing on top of your clammy crown and nudging your lolling head down further—

Managing to somehow muffle out, “Ngh- hck- so mm-much—”

“Yeahhh, as you like it, g-gorgeous.” Something in Geto’s voice shatters the very moment he’s able to slip his rigid cockhead in n’ swab your entrance with the point of his piercing.

Usin’ it like some cute lil’ searchlight as he’s pressing the cold metal against the sides of your stretchy walls, scouring down each side of your pussy for that spot of your nerves. The rub of his Jacob’s Ladder was mind-numbing, miniscule knobbled barbells poking tender crevices you didn’t even know existed. “Want you and this ngh- p-pretty lady right here nice n’- happy- and-”

Each word was punctuated by the most probing thrust of Geto’s powerful hips, easing the measurement of his cock inside you with the sloppiest noises.

Damn near muffling out your shrills when his pure pressure forces you forwards to pump even more of Gojo’s leaking shaft down your relaxed throat. Deeper. Harder.

“And taking- this-” With a hand on your hips, Geto reels you in- only for Gojo to scramble a grip on your throat and keep you with him. A tug-of-war. Pushing. Pulling.

And the only thing that both can think to do is urge their capped knees closer to you on the bed and split you wiiiide open-

“-biiiig stretch.” Geto finishes off.

Just as he bottoms out inside of your sweltering cunt, your initial kissin’ your skin, just as Gojo scratches the edge of your nose on his tufted white happy trail.

Both of them.

And they’re not wasting a single second - not even a split-second.

Because once your hot, clenchin’ holes have greedily swallowed up both of them, they’re rutting their hips back and half-thrusting. Not even fully- just half just to feel your heat, the sweet softness of you.

“Fuh-fuck, your buccal mucosa just feels sooo ngh-” Gojo’s babbling away, neck still held deftly within his fingers as he’s swervin’ his hips back to dab the very back of your throat with the fleshy circle of your tip. “Th-think I’m hitting all the way at your ngh- palate-”

Geto rolls his hazed eyes, tugging your hips back to strike your ass cheeks against his toned v-line. Hard enough that your mouth leaves Gojo’s bulbous tip with a pop! “D’you always needa talk like ngh- that, nerd?”

“Do you always need to be s-so filthy, punk?” The other man snarls, tempting his hips closer so that you’re almost squished between the two.

“Mmm—” Geto pretends to think, tapping the point of his chin with one hand, whilst the other smears your ass cheeks open to take a vulgar look at your cunt from behind. And he doesn’t answer- not at first, what he’s doing is spitting a cool wad of saliva that darts straightly down to your slit. “Hell yeah.”

With a roll of his shoulders, he’s thrashing the globular ends of his reddened, swollen shaft into your deepest depths. And it feels like you’re just melting around him, “So shut up and fuck, nerd.”

And Gojo Satoru was always first in class - if you weren’t, that is - you think he ever needed to be told anything twice?

Nibbling onto his pouty lower lip, Gojo darts one of his carnally itching fingerpads up and squeezes your flared nostrils - already rubbed raw by the massage of his ivory, curly hair.

Giggling something drunken as you sputter and choke on his throbbing shaft, “Fuck nnngh- you’re a dirty fucking girl, miss valedictorian-” He hisses, he’s spitting through clenched teeth every time the bumpy texture of your tastebuds were rovering down his tender underside.

Were latching onto the pulsating lines of his veins, and making him groan. Heavy, pink balls tighening each time they strike-strike-strike your chin, “S-sooo much better with my hah- fat fuckin’ cock stuck between those lips.”

Whining, you couldn’t even pant out in wailing gasps each time Geto’s bulbous piercings were crazing your bubblegum walls like a ladder. “F- mm fuck y-”

Squeezing your nose even tighter- “Fuck me?” Gojo titters out from above, and it’s almost humiliating the way he blushes as he looks down at you above his pecs, flexing core rippling with each hasty jackhammer.

Mean. His mouth was so mean, and the way his thumb drifts down the forefront of your throat, feeling for that bulge where his cock was driving was even meaner.

He could feel himself. Feel you taking him. “Y-you’re the one being fucked right now, princess.”

“Mhm— and by me.” And the very second that Gojo lets your nose free to breathe, Geto snakes his clit down to pinch your sopping wet clit.

“No- yes! Please-” You’re mewling, “Close- I-I’m so close- ngh-”

Your best friend leans in so close to whisper against the shell of your ear; letting his tattooed pecs glue to your back, lengthy locks tickling the arch of your sweaty spine. Holding on close. Hard. “No? Close? Make up your mind.”

You can only spit through an open maw—“No- yes- fuuuuck m-more.”

Absolutely ruined, and neither of them have ever seen you like this.

“H-her nucleus accumbens is going into overdrive-” Gojo sputters out, and you’re starin’ through your teary lashes at the cute way his condensation-filled glasses slip down his nose with each battering ram of his ravaged cock. “Which- hck! which means decreased activity in the cerebral cortex and- and it means…”

“Spit it out, nerd.”

“She’s close.”

“Haaah- coulda told you ngh- that.” And, truly, you’re squeezing your pretty bubblegum walls ‘round him so tight that it’s almost hard for Geto to pull back and forth in repeated thrusts. “Gonna cum f’me, pipsqueak? C’mon cooome on- let your best friend hah- fill you up, would you?”

You’re whining, “Please-” Heard sparking with whatever jumbled mess that Gojo had talked about and you couldn’t even begin to make sense right now. “Close- gonna- ngh-”

“Wait- you’re cumming inside fir- fuck!” Gojo gapes, only to hunch his washboard abs forwards and drive into you at the flick of your velvety tongue on his sensitive slit - his favorite. Only to cum- and the sight of you gulping down his milky mess, letting it dribble all down your bobbing throat was so sexy that Geto can’t help but lose it, too.

Shit- that was fast. Faster than he’d ever been with your panties snugly wrapping his cock and your photograph in hand - but your quivering, wet pussy just felt so good that he’s squelching out his orgasm once he’s feeling yours.

Long, ribbony bouts of seed that were just scalding puddling at the bottom of your pussy- you swear you’re feeling it slosh about inside of you with each tiny motion. Splashing inside your mouth.

All for you to swallow.

All three at once, you didn’t even think you could cum again before Geto’s giving you a carnal pinch to your clit. “Cum—ing– ngh.” You’re heavily gulping the ivory sap that glazes your tongue, eyes rolling back in utterly stupid bliss. “Please- oh.”

“No one taught you not to talk with your- haaah- mouth full, hm?” The man above you gruffs out through a dry gasp, hips sloppy. Chest heaving. Ringed, sticky digits twitching. “No one-” His breath hitches as he’s feeling your unsteady hips sliiide off of his pummeling cock, “Oh, where’d you think you’re going?”

“Nononono- no-” Gojo snarls, properly bearing his glinting canines like he was more animal than man right about now. Tuggin’ you back with the hand bruising your throat, “If m’fucking your creampie then I get to ngh- have her to myself a bit. Open.”

Breathless, you’re lolling out your tongue and gazing up at the way the towering man’s eyes widen at the lack of anything in your mouth. The way you’d swallowed it all. “M’gonna have so much fun this time.”

Wait…your eyes widen. Still jolting bodily with sparking bouts of electricity, your third - was that even the correct number - orgasm wasn’t even bating before they’re talking about the next.

Unaffected, Geto only rolls his eyes- and his fingers over your drivelling slit. Practically turned into a waterfall of his buttery white cum, making you pull off of Gojo’s cock with a hiss at his rude fingertips. “Oh, shut it.”

Before either of you can blink- before you can even breathe, your best friend’s stuffing your breaths all the way back into your screaming lungs.

All by sticking his cum-glazed finger inside your mouth, swirlin’ that creamy polish into your deepest crannies. “Hm…you, too.” And in mere nanoseconds, Geto has his white syrupy fingerpads stuffed inside Gojo’s mouth.

“What- mmpf–” Your mouthy academic rival just looks so pretty with thick fingers plunged between his spit-glittered lips. Pale brows scrunching together, face red-hot, a thin line of cum trickling slowly down the side of his suckling mouth.

And it’s enough so that your ravenous hips start lurching down the expanse of Geto’s cock- as if to milk him for more.

“Hehhh–?” He’s grinning through his shaggy raven strands at your motions, pulling back his fingers with a squelch. “What a filthy girl- stuffed you with so much cum you’re over ngh- overspilling, and you still wan’ more?”

With only your cutesy babbles for an answer, you’re feeling him straighten his muscular core up to face Gojo even more. “So, you either fuck her w’my cum inside- or, watch as I fill her up with s-so much of my cum she can’t not feel it inside-”

“Shut up n’ let me fuck my girl, punk.”

“Mm— that’s not having the hah- reaction you want, nerd.” As if to prove his point, Geto’s gleaming cock twitches when he’s easing out of you with a raw slurp. Slowly, but surely, he takes his sweet, sweet time to remind you of the pattern of piercings lining his frenulum. “Our girl, you mean.”

You’re swearing he’s only getting even bigger at the sight of you- draped across Gojo’s thoroughly sculpted front not even a moment later. Your cunt frosted white with his own cum, Gojo’s bulbous mushroom tip bulging your pussylips wiiide open. Impatient.

“Oh.” Geto manages to pant out.

Just barely lets himself even breathe before he’s dropping further down the protesting bedsprings, all the way until his hot breaths breeze across your oversensitive pussy in a lil’ ‘hello.’

Grunting, Gojo tugs your chin back over to face him - resting flatly on his back so you’re trembling n’ limp on his abs.

“Mmm– hello, princess.” He’s crooning out with his deep, rasping voice. And you answer with a whimper of your own at the sexy feeling of his core flexing underneath you, pecs all bouncy in the way they had no right to be.

He was so big - both of them were, Gojo being taller where Geto was broader.

Yet, both numerous inches over six feet and sandwiching you with their chiseled weights as you’re settling on top of Gojo. Cushioned over his broad, flushed chest, you feel him cup your sweaty cheek, “Heh, d-don’t think you can be valedictorian like this.”

You’re marrying your brows in what looked like such adorable annoyance to his half-lidded eyes. “Mmm—how are you gonna say that when hck! you’re the one that got pussydru- oh, fuck.”

Fuck, and then you’re promptly shut up by Geto’s tongue slithering slimily between the folds of your pussy. Letting his curly tip lap up every wadded ounce of cum overspilling out of you, “Oh, don’t stop on mmm- my accounts. Always so cute when yer mad, pipsqueak.”

“I was thinking more hot—” Gojo’s moaning out, bucking- and he was still so rock-hard. So needy that just the slightest slip n’ slide across your outer pussy makes him rut- “Fuck.”

And it makes him sink inside, just the slightest push of his thick, rotund crown. Your filthy hole plugs up with his strawberry-pink tip and you’re finding yourself gasping.

“Not gonna help me clean up, nerd?”

“Sh-shut the fuck up-” Gojo’s scrunching his brows until he’s feeling dizzy- or maybe that was just the sopping, soft feeling of your pussy. Opening up such a primal part of him once he’s listening to the swampy noises being pulled out, “Her pussy- o-ohhh this pussy…your adventitia stretches so, the way you’re- I can’t…”

You’d made one of the smartest, most eloquent men on campus speechless.

“And you call me filthy.” Geto chuckles darkly from behind you, still not stopping. Still letting the pierced muscle of his tongue swirl right near your entrance, each solid inch that Gojo was bullying inside made you leak onto his tastebuds with a splat!

Filthy.

Absolutely filthy. You couldn’t even begin to describe the sensation when Gojo’s starting to pick up his pace- to start driving his hips in a back n’ forth that only lets him pound you with half-thrusts.

Shaft so plump that it won’t even fit- he’s arching his slam-reddened hips up from the mattress to push and push and push. “S’my turn now- my- hck! gonna take this fucking cock, right, princess?” Gojo strangles out, “Right- right?”

Voice pitching higher, unsteadily cracking.

He can’t stop himself from firmly planting his two feet spread further just so he can cling onto your hips and gift you direct slams. Deeper.

“Please- s-so biiig— will it even fit.”

Gojo shoots a prideful glance down at Geto, who only thumbs apart your bruised n’ battered pussylips with a smirk. “Of course, it will.” And you’re jolting at the burning sensation of his ringed thumb pushing inside of your wet hole, just to stretch you out even wider for Gojo.

THWACK!

He’s tittering meanly as the little spank leaves you leaking from the sides of your stretched-out hole, a little trail of creamy white for him to lick down. Frigid orb of his piercing just lightly skimming Gojo’s own tender shaft, “If you’re good that is, gorgeous.”

“Yeah- yeah.” Gojo’s panting out, so drunk on the sappy texture. He felt like your elastic walls were just molding to his exact size, so tight n’ warm. “Why don’tcha count for me, miss valedictorian?”

“C-count? Satoru, what do you- oh.”

Oh was right- by the way the inches of his cock flinched inside of you. He wanted you to count how many inches he was - and you swear you hear even Geto hum in interest from behind.

Smirking to himself, oh, he’s got his mouth open to drool and make such a mess as Gojo starts stirrin’ your dewy insides with the ragged lines of his veins. Pulling back all the way until his rounded cockhead stretches your entrance, “One- c’mon, one.”

“O-one-” You’re echoing out after Gojo- but oh, even that was a fucking feat. Especially with Geto’s twirling tongue piercing rubbin’ all over your overstuffed slit. Hiccuping, “Two-”

“Mhm—?”

“Three- ngh- five.”

Geto snickers, “Does five come after three?”

“Heh, not so smart now, huh?” Gojo lazes his tongue out for you to suckle on whilst you quietly sob at the utter size of him, he just kept going and going. Like it was never-ending, Gojo’s pretty pink girth kisses the very area of your g-spot without even trying-

“Then just shut up and fuck me, Toru- oh.”

He does. Oh, you think Gojo could ever deny you?

Bottoming out with an angry jackhammer, “Ten–!” You find yourself throwing your head back with a keen, feeling that shuddering thump of his weepy shaft strike the back of your cervix. Hard. With ten solid, throbbing inches somehow shovelled inside of you, you’re bucking backwards in figure-eights, “Ten- ten ten ten- please-”

“Mmm, my turn, pipsqueak.”

Stupidly, your maw splits open with a gush of saliva- “H-huh?”

“You heard me- heh, or are you that fucked out, already?” Geto was just so mean, taking his sensual time to finish drinking up the salted caramel taste of his gooey cum dripping out of you. Until you were all niiiice and clean.

Gojo gives you another few repeated whacks to your most tender spots, almost like he was staking his claim. Eyes narrowed through slimy, slick-sprayed glasses, “Oi- you already got your turn.”

“Yeah n’ now m’fucking hard again.” Rolling his lavender eyes, Geto tuts at the impatient, sloppy way Gojo was fucking into you. “Make yerself useful and open her pretty legs a little wider.”

Grumbling, you’re oh-so-shocked to find that Gojo Satoru actually does what he’s told.

“You hafta teach me how to do that-” You’re jesting, only to get punished with another merciless bruise gliding down your cervix.

“Hahhh- yeahhh, you know it.” Your best friend nods down at you, “That’s it. Now arch those hips up f’me now.”

Something like a territorial growl rips from the back of Gojo’s throat as he feels Geto hover onto his knees from behind. Leaning forwards until his silky, Stygian hair fell like a curtain around you two. “Now, wan’ you to count again- both of you.”

Both?

Evidently, the same thing is registering in Gojo’s mind because he squawks- “B-both?”

“Ya heard me.” Turning your head over your shoulder, you’re noticing that there’s something devilish glinting within Geto’s priggish smile. With a tilt of his head he’s pushing his plump cockhead to kiss the entrance to your cunt. Your already-full entrance. “Count. And m’not talking about how many inches.”

You whine, “Then what do you expect us t-to…”

Oh, and then you’re getting it. And Gojo is, too.

Because in that instant, Geto’s drawing that cold, circular piercing of his slit along the outside of your pussy folds. The down Gojo’s shaft, then slipping it inside-

“One- ohhh-fuck!” It comes tumbling out of your mouth before you can control yourself, and your hips are gyrating back crazily to chase the incredible stretch of a second thick cock entering you. Struggling to. Aching to. “One, ngh– Sugu, please.”

“Atta giiiirl-” Geto coos, the long locks of his bangs flying as he turns his head to Gojo. “Yer falling behind, nerd.”

“…”

With a tut, he’s rolling his hips, “Come on-”

“Oh-” Comes out that pretty, pretty gasp from the edges of your spit-glossed lips. Feeling the cold line of Geto’s second piercing - his Jacob’s Ladder, this time - just grazing the treacly base of your pussy. “T-two…?”

“Two.” Gojo spits out, in reluctant unison with you as that chilling metal touches his fragile shaft- and he hates to admit that it just made his mouth water.

“Theeere we go.”

With one hand groping the backs of your thighs to stretch you out wiiide open for him, and the other rovering underneath your tummy to feel you bulge with two monstrous cocks- Geto sinks his way inside.

Twitching his red, flared tip upwards to bash the roof of your channel once the both of your two below him start babbling in sync- “Th-three. Four. Five?”

Letting his back arch so sensually at the slip n’ slide of your velvety walls, “Fuck.” He has to fight to not throw his head back stupidly, because shit- watching your cute circular hole get stretched out so tightly was fucking heaven to see. “C’mon-” Each word, each breath punctuated by a mindless rut to squeeze inside. “C’mon c’mon c’mon-”

“W-will it even fit, Sugu–?”

“Of course it will, pipsqueak.”

“As if, punk.”

Geto raises a dark brow in challenge, “Heh- you speak- what- five languages and pussy isn’t one of them?”

Face burning red, Gojo only tilts his head down until his bangs cover up most of his face. Enough of playing patience, enough of humping you like some dog in heat- he’s perking his hips up and dragging them in tandem with Geto’s- who only seems to be enjoying the music of your pretty squelches.

“Mmm– see?” Oh, those lecherous noises were only spurring him on. The double penetration makes you slurp as if you were greedily gobbling him whole, and Geto just can’t stop smiling. “Otherwise you’d know that she’s just cryyyyyying for-” Bottoming out, initial tattoo gluing to your skin. “-both.”

You gasp, “Suguru, you have six-” Just as he nuzzles his dark happy trail, fully sheathed inside of you and like he never wanted to pull out now. “-seven piercings?”

Seven piercings in all, one at the very tip scraping along your bubblegum walls, and the others massaging up n’ down Gojo’s length. “Only for you, my girl.”

“My girl, you mean.” It was a challenge.

And Geto takes the bait. “Well then—” Purring out his sinful words, he leans over to restrain your gasping throat in a headlock. Big, beefy hands cutting off your airway- and Gojo’s dexterous fingers smushing your cheeks together embarrassingly, “Tell us. Tell us who you want.”

It comes out a whine- and then a beg—“More.” And you’re feeling the way that both men halt, as if your very voice had just shocked them into freezing. “M-more, I wan’ more- Toru- Sugu-”

Well, whatever you want…you get.

It’s like something’s snapping- audibly, in later hours you’d realize that it was Geto’s aged bedframe, but right now you’re dazedly wondering whether it was the last remnant of their sanity.

Because in such precise unison, Geto pulls his cock nearly all the way out- enough for Gojo’s fattened length to take up every mass of space inside you and bludgeon all the way to the back of your pussy.

Reeling back, letting Geto nuzzle his startling metal piercings against your cervix- your walls. Back n’ forth back n’ forth- it’s like they’re milking themselves on you.

So big that you’re being constantly pumped forwards with each of their thrusts. Being sandwiched between Gojo’s eagerly pumping strokes, and Gojo’s mean teasing.

The sheer carnal stretch was just so incredible that you cry out, “O-ohhh, fuck. H-how does it feel this good- s’like you’re ngh- taking me from the- inside-”

“We are takin’ you from the inside, silly girl.” Geto’s tittering out, oh, it was just so cute how cockdrunk you were for them that he just can’t help but take extra sensually long to rub your g-spot raw with his Jacob’s Ladder. “Taking every inch of you, every spot, every pulse, everything inside this cunt.”

And that’s when Gojo pipes up, pushing his thoroughly foggy glasses up his nosebridge. “A-according to my calculations with time n’ speed and- ngh, stretch, s’at least triple the- the pressure on your anterior wall and Gräfenberg spot, princess.”

You can only look stupidly along down at the scorched blush covering his cheeks, a slim line of saliva drooling down the side of your chin that Gojo has the audacity to flop his tongue out and lap up.

“In other words…” Looking at you with such heady blue eyes- you swear you’ve never seen him look more gone. Cherry-pink lips twitching as he’s folding them into a grin, “Two is better than one.”

Geto chuckles from behind, “Now now, Satoru…don’t think our girl even ngh- understands that right now.” With the powerful headlock, he’s tugging you up to look at him instead.

And you don’t think you’ve seen either of them look so fucked-out. They weren’t any better than you.

Eyes wide, mouths parted, blushed the exact same sappy shades of pink as their bulbous tips. Each thump grazing your g-spot just makes your pussy bulge with the sagging weight of them- enough so that you almost don’t even hear Geto’s next few words.“Mm– heh, you’re sooo cockdrunk right now, pipsqueak. What’s two plus two?”

“T-two plus…” Trailing off, you can only chase their two smashing lengths for more more more. Bawling out just as much as your dripping pussy was right now, “Ngh- hck!”

“Look at you, miss valedictorian.” Gojo’s never looked more accomplished- not even during all those times he’d beaten you during a final or quiz.

Blowing the sweat-plastered white bangs out of his face, he croaks out- “S’the only thing you know how t-to ngh-” Hissing at the ridges of Geto’s cock, the way it was just suuuuch a tight fuckin’ fit inside of you, he has to put extra pressure just to fuck up into you. “-t-take both our- cocks, huh?”

Geto drags out a lil’ ‘aw’, but there was nothing nice about the way he was starin’ down at you. “Now now, Satoru. We should ask-” And he times his slender hips just right, “-d’you even know your own- hah- name?

“I- ngh- I–” It’s just so pitchy how you’re trilling out after each gash of Geto’s thick, split-ended tip. And Gojo’s- oh, Gojo’s was just rapid. You’re feeling them both probe against your cervix at once, and shriek– “Close- ngh- hah. I’m gonna- ohh, I’m gonna-”

“Close? S’that her name, Satoru?”

“Seems so, Suguru.”

Chortling, Geto’s sodden fingerpads find themselves moving from that tummy bulge of yours to your clit. Pinching. “Then, how hah- fitting that m’gonna make you cum, gorgeous.”

“Nuh uh, I’m gonna make her cum.” Gojo hisses- ah, there was that old challenge again. And both are taking it as such - determined to be the first to make you cum.

Gojo with his rapid, half-thrusts that bash your g-spot until you’re seeing stars. And then Geto with the filthily sensual rubs n’ dubs of his piercings that make you drool. Chasing that high. Ruining yourself.

Harder and harder- you didn’t even know if you could cum again. But it only takes one-two-three more synchronized pumps straight into the deepest depths of your pussy for you to find out - you weren’t just cumming. You were squirting.

Body shaking, eyes bawling by the end of it.

And by the looks of it, neither of the two were fully expecting that either.

Because Gojo gasps, he flushes- muscular pelvis hitting upwards into yours as he cums, too. Thick, ropey wads of seed that clog up the channel of your pussy, “Sh-shit. Shit shit shit- s’too much.”

It really was, and it was pouring out of you in hot, ivory bucketloads. So much that you never even thought could be cooped up inside you.

And Geto? Oh, this was way more than he’d ever seen in his wildest dreams- you with your stinging lips chanting his name, and his. “Sugu- Toru- cumming. Nghh fuck, m’cumming cumming cumming-” Hips sloshing over sparkly gushes of your slick with each bounce, still sucking him up so–

“F-fuck.” If any of you were in a better state, you’d have wondered about the way that Geto’s voice pitches. Cracks. About the way his breath hitches when he’s noticing that he’s cumming dry.

Heart thumping in his throat, rouge lips wobbling. It’s perhaps the first time that he’s officially lost for words, “I-I’m…” Remembering that conversation you had back in the café from what felt like years ago. Tongue parched, heaving- “-actually cumming…d-dry.”

“Told you.” You’re shooting him an impish grin.

“Join the club.” Gojo growls out- but that’s not what he’s worried about right now. Not at all, his forearms n’ abs were all shiny with your juices- pushing in the wiry knots of cum that sprays out of you like a fountain. “Inside- fuck, I need it inside, princess.”

Thighs trembling, you can only watch in speechless awe once Gojo’s taking up the job of webbing your pussy up with his leaking mess. Drawing an unsubtle S-A-T-O-R-U on your cunt all the while.

“Satoru…” You’re warning, throat alright tight with the feeling of Geto twitching-

Still rock-hard.

Still needy.

“W-well…” It takes him a few seconds to collect his fucking wits - absentmindedly, he dips the crowns of his fingers inside your creamy pussy and draws out his very own S-U-G-U-R-U on the forefront of your tummy, your womb.

Possessively, he bites down on the crook of your neck and it felt like you were being impaled by his snake bites. Burning once he guides one of your hands back to his v-line- to his tattoo of your initial. “Y’know what I love about ngh- science experiments, gorgeous?”

“Wh-what…?” You’re looking confusedly between him and Gojo- who apparently understands way before your cockdrunken mind does.

And so your nerdy rival grins with a push of his glasses. Bucking up, up, up- “They have twenty-five trials.”

“Oh my god- thrown to the wolves or…”

“Look at those marks—can barely even walk, is that Gojo’s doing-”

“Wait- Geto’s right behind, and he’s so close…you don’t think they’re-”

You’re fairly certain that a zoo could run through your lecture hall right now and no one would even notice. Not when they’re oh-so-occupied ogling and pointing out at the bites across every inch of your skin, the hand marks peeking from underneath the hem of your shirt.

Hell, a few were even secretly recording- surely to send to the betting pool groupchat. And somewhere in the student body you swear you see Shoko exchange cash with Ijichi. Traitors!

Though, to be fair you did look ruined - no matter how much you tried to tug at your sleeves and douse yourself in foundation. They’d simply run you ragged last night, if the broken bed, two broken couches, and five noise complaints were anything to go by.

And it really didn’t help that you had Gojo clinging onto one of your sides, and Geto dangling off of the other. Almost like they were stuck to you with adhesive.

They walked when you walked, they sat when you sat. And once you’re settled into your usual seat at the front row, surrounded by the two, you swear you hear Professor Yaga sigh something or the other about ‘not being paid enough.’

“I swear-” You start to whisper to the two underneath your breath, “If we make it out of this alive, I’m killing the two of you.”

Geto smiles, picking at one of his heavy rings. “Mm– anything for you, gorgeous. A bit kinky, however, no?”

“Hah-” Gojo only crosses his sweater-clad arms and leans back priggishly in his chair. “I’d like to see you fuckin’ try, miss valedictorian.”

Dear lord, what have you gotten yourself into?

But before you can open your mouth - or maybe stand up and run out of this hellscape of an exhibitionistic lecture altogether - a low, grouchy baritone drawls from the row right behind you.

And you don’t know what you’re more surprised at - the fact that you’re still recognizing the voice of your ex-boyfriend, Sukuna, or the fact that a nationally-acclaimed student athlete like him was attending class when he usually never did.

“So…” Sukuna’s swole biceps bulge as he leans over his desk exactly behind you- and you didn’t know whether it was the skin-tight boxing jacket with an emblazoned ‘SUKUNA’ or the fact that he’d gotten even bigger since your break-up. Everything from the meaty thighs damn near ripping through his sports shorts, to the way he seemed to take up two seats at once.

Obnoxiously, he hits the back of Gojo’s chair with his overly-long legs. “You three fucked. Everyone knows.”

Gojo sputters.

Geto grins.

And you can’t rip your eyes away from the sheer ripe curve of Sukuna’s tattooed pecs- coral pink hair still damp after training, athletic figure inching even closer as he smirks.

“I want in, ma.”

A/N. Slight Part 2 to this but can be read alone!! ALSO Y’ALL I’VE BEEN GETTING CALLED UNC HERE AND THERE TODAY I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS…

Plagiarism not authorized.

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casuallyanidiot · 24 days ago

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Some more good Ole Yandere Nerd

Tw. Noncon/Dubcon, kidnapping, invasion of privacy, fisting, yandere

Yandere Nerd who fucks you so frequently in so many different ways that he jokingly starts to collect data on it.

"You've cum 23 times this week without penetration. We can definitely raise that by this time next!"

He keeps neatly color coordinated graphs and charts of the amount of times you'd had sex with him, how many times you came, what different types of toys and kinks you seemed to like the most, and more. He'd write thousand word research essays on the topic while fucking your face under the table. He'd look down through fogged glasses and make sure you'd swallow before he got the motivation to continue on for the next few pages.

It's almost impressive how well organized he keeps track of everything.

Yandere Nerd who explains what he's working on like he's talking to a dumb dog.

"You see, it's quite interesting to find that there's no significant difference between how much you cum from when I spank you versus no spanking when I play with your ass. I think we need to repeat this at least 30 times each to see if there's any further development."

You never imagined that dirty talk could be so dull. Though, he probably wasn't trying to turn you on using anything other than brute force, sheer, will, and a closet worth of sex toys.

Yandere Nerd who likes to stretch you out on increasingly bigger and bigger toys.

His cock definitely is not the size of his fucking arm, but it's not even about his pleasure at this point. He just likes seeing you all whiny and sobbing while begging him to take his fist out of your poor, abused hole. He won't listen at all! How mean :( . In fact, he'd probably measure how large your stretched out entrance gapes after every session and then time how long it would take for your quivering form to go somewhat back to normal.

Yandere Nerd while, mid fuck, suddenly decides to share the good news with you.

"The paper I wrote on you got accepted into a journal!"

How that fucking happened, you don't know, but all of a sudden detailed descriptions of how often you cum on a daily basis were suddenly up for anyone to see. You ended up crying when you read the journal, too humiliated to feel anything but anger and utter embarrassment. He rubs soothing circles into your back while trying to comfort you, but he's not exactly slick with the way he's pulling out his camera to record your reaction.

What!? This is valid data! Now if you're going to be the subject of further studies, then you have to be at least a little bit more cooperative with him, okay?

#yandere x reader #yandere #tw yandere #my writing #x reader #yandere male #fanfic writing #yandere concept #yandere x you #yandere nerd #yandere smut #dead dove fic #tw noncon #yandere drabble

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soapcloth · 4 months ago

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CW: 18+ MDNI, loan shark!price x reader part 1, fem!reader, afab!reader, noncon elements, manipulative price, implied violence (not reader), petting, almost(?) fingering - 3K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune massive thank you to @pricetagged for keeping me sane writing this

“Mr. Price-” you spoke up, fingers massaging into your temples.

“Said you can call me John, Sweetheart.” the man interjected with a serious look.

He was currently hanging your entire life over your head and he knew it, you most certainly were not going to call him by his first name. Noticing your reluctance, he shrugged and leaned back into your dining room chair.

“Look, I’ve been as kind as a man like me ought to be. Don’t know how much longer I can shoulder the loss, and I don't know how much longer you-” He sent a condescending look of concern your way, a hand fishing into his pocket. “-can take the fees. I’m playing the good guy here, y’gotta pay up, lovie.”

“No smoking inside.” you warned, voice less confident than you would have liked it to be.

His hand paused in his coat before slipping out and up in a sign of surrender.

There was a buzzing silence between the two of you, only interrupted by the occasional tick of your kitchen clock. It was hard to meet his gaze, eyes rooted downwards towards your table under the weight of your rising debt to one of the most notorious men in the city.

“Right then.” he huffed, palms coming down to rest on the table before twitching upwards. “So?”

“Give me another month to pull something together.” you spoke, wincing when you caught the way his eyebrows quirked in surprise. “-Please?”

There was no telling a man like John Price what would be happening. He was the shot caller, the unequivocal card dealer, it was only by some higher grace that he let your ill manners slip.

He grumbled for a moment before looking up. “I respect what you’ve got going on in the shop, I do. Lovely place, good atmosphere—we’re both the entrepreneurial type, so to say I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for you-” the thought that he’d lump your small shop in with his exploitative business made your stomach turn. “-but this is a bit much, yeah? Let’s give it up, sweetheart.”

Your face twisted into a sharp grimace, but that was all you could do—what right did you have to tell the man whose money you were living off of to get out of your house? Even worse, you hated that he had a point; you were so tired of your lackluster sales and mounting bills, but-

“I’m not the only owner, I-I can’t just make decisions like that.” you reasoned.

He looked incredibly unimpressed, nostrils flaring with a dissatisfied huff. “Right, your business partner.”

“H-he-”

“If it’s what you want, m’sure he’ll understand,” Mr. Price hummed, eyes narrowing. “I think you’ll find my men and I can be quite persuasive.”

Registering your cautious demeanor, his lips curled upwards.

“Where is the bloke anyway?” John asked in faux-disinterest, disapproval blooming from his tone. “Always sends you to talk to the big mean lender. S’not right.”

He shook his head and sighed.

“-Seen this play out before, love. He’s throwing you under the bus.”

Your mouth shut, hard set into a frown—you knew he was right. Your business partner was most likely enjoying his morning in peace knowing it was your apartment above the building—your life about to be uprooted if it all went tits-up. It was hard not to feel played.

Mr. Price’s gaze glimmered in recognition, and slowly, like a languid predator, he was leaning across the table with a large hand over your own.

You studied the sparse dusting of translucent hair on his fingers, the trimmed nails at the ends of his stocky fingers, his nice, expensive-looking watch—anything not to meet his eyes.

“S’not worth it,” he urged softly. “spreading yourself thin like this.” he paused to think. “My advice? Liquidate, I'm sure you and I can work something out in the long term.”

You swallowed, throat feeling impossibly dry as you focused on the twitch of his thumb.

“I’ll think about it.”

“I don’t want to be the bad guy, but business is business, sweetheart—I’m offering you a hand, it’s in your best interest to take it.” he spoke, palm patting over your digits before withdrawing into his pocket. There was a deep breath drawn in through his lips. “Right, I’ll be off then—Unless you want me over for lunch?”

He chuckled deeply in solus as he stood, reminding you of a proud and awful beast. “Maybe another time then, love.”

Ideally not.

The shop had closed on another unnoteworthy day, only serving to further hammer in Mr. Price’s point. With defeated footfall on the stairs up to your flat, you nearly slipped, shocked by a fist beating on the front door frantically. You slowly turned around, heart pounding from the sound.

“-Christ! Let me in!” Ewan, your business partner cried out from the other side of the threshold.

You hurried to the door; pushed aside as soon as the lock had released.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” you scolded over the shop door’s welcome chime. You were met without response while the man darted for the till. “What are you-”

“Not now,” he growled. “we need to get out of here.”

Studying him closer, you realized one of his arms had been held up by a makeshift sling, tucked neatly beneath his quilted coat.

“W-what are you talking about?”

He paused, looking up.

Your eyes widened when the light from the street outside washed over his face.

“What happened to you?”

“Doesn’t matter.” he snarled, freshly dried blood crusting at the movement. His head dipped down as he popped open the till. “Price and his dogs want our heads.”

“I just spoke to him this morning-”

“Things change—may have pushed our luck a little too far. We’ve got to get out of town.”

You frowned “I-I can’t just-”

“Suit yourself.” he snapped, voice dropping to a mumble while his fingers grabbed at whatever they could, stuffing it into his coat pocket haphazardly. “-Sitting duck.”

“Wait—that's our money.” you balked, watching the empty register drawer shut. He offered you a bloody, tight-lipped smile as he sped past you towards the door; in and out like a typhoon.

“Good luck.”

You were stuck where you stood when the door swung shut, absolutely beside yourself in shock as you watched his figure disappear from view into the night. Looking around your shop, it was just as it had been when you closed up, but the knowledge that you were sitting on an empty till, all alone with the looming threat of a less-than-savory money lender finding out you were back to square one for your upcoming payment was not kind as it crashed into you.

After a sobering moment, you hobbled over to the point of sales, turning the drawer’s lock tentatively. Of course, the tray was as empty as the day you had bought it, save for a spare coin roll shoved into the side. You stared down at the dark plastic, hand clumsily digging into your pocket for your phone. Swiping at the device, you paused, debating for a moment over whether or not to open the banking app; you already knew what you’d see if you did.

Confirming your fears, the log showed a hefty transaction at the branch earlier that day. The account had been emptied right before the banks closed.

You had nothing to give John Price.

It was all gone.

You stared at your feet while it sunk in. Slowly, you regained the ability to move, making your way over to the shop door and locking it back up before spinning on your heels. The trip upstairs was eerily silent as you slipped into your flat, legs wobbling as you ambled into your washroom and stepped under the hot stream from your showerhead. You let the water run over you for far longer than necessary, only stepping out onto the frigid tile once your fingers had pruned.

The dinner prep that followed had gone surprisingly smooth, serving as a vessel to pretend the foundation of your life wasn't crumbling away. You replayed comforting thoughts, words passing through your mind like a liferaft just out of reach– you knew Mr. Price, he always spoke gently to you, he would understand, he-

A fat tear fell onto the hand that braced you over the stove, watching the bubbling pasta through bleary eyes. With a shaking grip, you drained the water and slipped the noodles into your saucepan, stirring and sniffling lamely.

You made too much—you had nothing to give and you had made too much. Typical.

Sitting at your table, you ate in near-silence, listening to your clock’s soft ticking as you tried to ignore the afterburn image of Mr. Price across from you where he had sat that morning.

Your fork paused mid-air when the downstairs shop chime rang out.

Had Ewan come to his senses?

You closed your eyes and waited for him to call up to you.

The stark sound of heavy footfall bustling around the lower level was the first thing to alert you to the intrusion—too much noise for one man. Setting down your fork, you stared owlishly at the door to your flat as if it was the last line of defense between you and whatever was happening down there. Through the muffled commotion, you could faintly make out the creak of your stairs getting louder—closer, you watched helplessly as the knob slowly turned.

The door opened a fraction, a thick hand curling around the side to brace it against the three thunderous knocks that echoed throughout the room.

“Come in.” you spoke up once your heartbeat had evened out, blinking as Mr. Price emerged from the dark stairway.

“Mmh, you’re here.” he stared down at you, a pleased rumble rolling around in his chest. “‘Course you didn’t skip town, smart. Good girl.”

He kicked his boots off and drifted through your kitchen; cabinets and drawers clattering behind you while he whistled breathily, dishing up some pasta as if you had made it for him—you do suppose he had every right to, though.

Your whole body tensed as a palm ghosted across your back. The plate was set down, and the chair beside you was tugged out from beneath the table.

Your eyes darted to his dish where it sat, steam trailing fragrantly. Mr. Price tucked in, humming lowly despite his tense demeanor.

“S’good, Love. eat up.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and grabbed your fork, gaze falling back to your dish as you picked at the food, appetite long gone. Once again, it was you, Mr. Price, and the sounds of your kitchen—an unwelcome sense of Deja Vu creeping in.

“Your money’s gone.” you whispered, unable to stand the silence.

He reached towards you, grabbing your napkin, and patting his mouth. “I know.” he scratched at his beard idly. “My boys are dealing with that.”

You paled, trying not to think about what would happen to your business partner as you watched Mr.Price fuss with his fork, leaning in to take another large bite; a nauseated feeling washing over you.

“What's going to happen to me?” you murmured, eyes downcast.

His fork clattered quietly against his plate as his hand came to rest on the back of your neck, thumb petting at your nape. “That’s what I'm here to sort out, sweetheart.”

Sort out. It was ugly, spoken as if you were just one of his assets. You nodded; compliance met with a soft, affirming squeeze.

“We can work something out.” his hand traveled downwards, grazing your arm before landing on the meat of your thigh. “I don’t have to be the bad guy.”

“Mr. Price..” you spoke after a sharp breath, tears threatening to well up.

You missed the way his eyes crinkled at your weepy tone, thumb brushing your thigh in comfort.

“I’ve had my eye on you, love—Would have never lent you as much as I did if I wasn't sweet on you. Thought maybe I’d be able to charm my way into your life but it seems like I only see you when you’re late on a payment.” he laughed hoarsely. A knee knocked into yours as he stood; his chair scraping beneath him. The floor creaked under bulk, two large hands coming to rub at your arms with hot breath and trimmed beard tickling at your ear. “-I’m a hopeless romantic, y’see.”

“Price!” a voice hollered up, causing the man to straighten with a low growl.

“What?” he barked, voice aimed downstairs.

“Trucks loaded up, gonna head back to the office, yeah? See if Simon needs any help retrieving the cash.”

His hands flexed around your shoulders. “Good, lock up behind yourself. I’ll be a bit.”

You froze, looking up to see the looming shadow of a man; profile distinct in the low light. He turned to you, offering a tight grin while a wayward hand trailed from your arm to your neck, caressing the skin as he exhaled deeply behind you, resting your head against his abdomen.

“It’s okay to give in, love.” he cooed. “Let me take care of it all.”

You had nearly folded when that little prey animal in your brain stiffened, hackles raising. You stood carefully, sidestepping his grasp.

“No, I-I… I couldn’t impose… It’s alright.” you silently begged for him to understand your polite refusal.

“S’not imposing,” he challenged, glaring down at you. “imposing would be the number of zeroes on the sum you owe me—now you care about my burden?”

“That’s-”

“That’s not how this works, sweetheart.” he laughed. “Now, sit back down.”

You complied, lowering back into the seat shamefully.

“Good.” he exhaled, crouching beside you with hands knotted together. “I always collect what’s owed, that’s one thing you need to understand.”

You nodded.

“-But I’m not opposed to shouldering burdens where personal interest is involved.” His eyes searched your own desperately, palms unfurling to rest back on your legs. “You understand what I'm saying, yeah? You’ll never pay it off alone, let me help. I could take care of you.”

Overwhelmed, you turned away; the grip on your thighs tightening in response as he braced himself, standing up. A warm hand cradled your cheek as he drew your gaze upwards, free hand looping around your back and lifting you to stand against him like a marionette.

“I don’t know what to do…” you sniffled as his big palm had begun to rub circles into your back.

He shushed you. “-It’s okay, love. I can handle it, It’ll be okay.”

You nodded, turning and rubbing your face into his shirt as he comforted you. The entire situation was a disorienting experience. Had you done something so wrong to get here?– had it been a crime to want to live a gentle and quiet life in your shop?

It was hard to care much for your sense of conviction when the root of your problem looked more like a finely woven cradle; what did it matter if you were to bend the knee to your devil’s appeal at this point?

Still, it felt as if you were teetering on the edge of a cliff.

“I’m scared.” your lips settled for, hiccuping the words into his chest.

He hummed thoughtfully, the noise buzzing around the walls of your head as his thick arms hooked around your neck, pulling you in deeper—a trap set without any fuss.

“It’s okay for you to be scared,” he pressed a kiss to your crown. “There’s no way anyone was getting out of those rates you agreed to, love. Let me help you.”

You stiffened, head raising slowly to look at him. He smiled down at you.

“You definitely won’t be taking care of our finances, yeah?” John joked, letting out a deep, phlegmy laugh before he pecked your nose, pulling you back into his chest and rumbling against your head. “Enough nonsense. You’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

It was all so domestic—like he hadn’t just shown you his rows of jagged, shark-like teeth.

His grip relented as he patted your bum. “Go on and get into bed, let me clean up dinner.”

So you did, brushing your teeth and feeling incredibly confused as to why you were readily complying. What truly got to you was how tender it felt—had you been so oblivious to his vying interest? You had just assumed he was a rare good-natured lender; though, you suppose neither of these had been true.

John Price was not a good man; although it was a recent revelation in the grand scheme of things, you knew this as a fact now. The other fact of the matter was that it seemed you were most likely the real collateral in the vulturine deal. Had he been playing the long game?

You could hear John floating around in the other room as you pulled an old shirt over your head to sleep in—the kitchen faucet running as you slipped into your bed. It all felt so wrong.

Your eyes shot open when the bedroom’s aged floor creaked, deer-like paralysis keeping you snapshot-still as the ring of his belt buckle filled the static air. Was he—The rickety bed dipped behind you under John’s added weight, bedframe crying out with every shift of his body that came with tucking himself against you; achy grunts blowing out from his lips.

“Not as limber as I used to be.” he laughed modestly. “Still gets the job done though, I reckon.”

He breathed for a moment before his nose dipped into the hair at your nape, sniffling around.

“-Better than I imagined.” he grumbled contently.

Thick hands dipped under your shirt, massaging at the skin momentarily before slipping into your panties, tugging them out of the way.

“Mr. Price.” you winced, feeling his cold hand on the sensitive skin.

his hands paused as the large man thought for a moment.

“Mrs. Price…” he chuckled after a beat, the hairs on your neck standing up in response. “-See? You don’t like it much, either. Now, what’s my name, love?”

“John.” you mumbled quietly, eyes darting around through the dark of your room.

“Mmh. good girl.” he hummed, hand cupping your cunt and thumbing at it absentmindedly. “Sleep, love. Big day tomorrow, yeah?”

#fuck it we baaaaallllll #john price x reader #price #x reader #cloth writes #afab reader #fem reader #tw noncon

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guliexe · 23 days ago

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—ONE ON ONE 18+

Nishimura Riki x Female!Reader — University AU

warnings/tags: study buddies to lovers, inexperienced reader, hard dom!riki, crush!riki, porn with some plot, texting, teasing, making out, praising, fingering, oral (f. receiving), choking, marking, slapping, possessive, demanding riki, spit, handjob, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare

♡ you start studying with your quiet crush, until one day, he invites you over, and you end up sobbing, ruined in his bed.

w/c: 7.4k

It wasn’t anything serious. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. You and Riki didn’t really talk. Not the way other classmates did—casual, loud, back-and-forth in lecture halls. He was… quiet. Always showing up late but somehow still getting a seat near the front. Always in dark clothes and expensive jewellery. Always watching more than speaking. He didn’t try to stand out. He didn’t raise his hand. And yet somehow, you noticed him first. Well. Maybe not “noticed”, more like kept noticing. Like your brain started analyzing him every time he walked into the room: black hoodie again, earphones in, notebook half-open but never messy. You never even thought he’d noticed you at all.

Until he did.

It was a Tuesday, and you were stuck. The professor handed out a printed exercise to be solved in pairs, but your usual friend wasn’t in class. You were halfway through trying to solve the second question alone, chewing the cap of your pen in mild panic, when you heard a voice behind you. “…You’re doing it backwards.” You looked up. He was already sitting in the empty chair beside you, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Riki. His voice was lower than you expected. He leaned over and tapped his pen against your sheet ,not correcting you, just quietly showing you. You blinked at him. “Oh. Thanks,” you managed. He didn’t reply. Just kept working beside you until the time ran out. And when the professor collected the papers, he stood up and left without saying anything else.That was it. Or… you thought that was it. Until a week later, when you were reviewing notes from the last lecture and couldn’t find a single readable thing in your handwriting. You remembered his — clean, sharp, borderline aesthetic. You didn’t know why, but you pulled up the class group chat, scrolled, found his number from a previous message, and tapped it. You weren’t even sure he’d remember who you were. You weren’t sure why you were nervous. But you texted him anyway.

You

hey riki!! do u still have the notes from class today? i zoned out halfway :(

♡

Riki

yeah

figured you would

♡

You

what’s that supposed to mean

♡

Riki

you always zone out around the halfway mark

kinda cute tbh

You stared at your screen, heat blooming in your cheeks.

You

i’m gonna take that as a compliment

♡

Riki

was one

He was so casual, unreadable, like he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain. It started with a single text from him the next day:

Riki

still need help with the lecture stuff?

library’s dead today, come by if u want

Your stomach flipped a little when you read it, mostly from surprise. You hadn’t expected him to follow up. Definitely hadn’t expected him to remember your struggle with the content. So you said yes. You found him at a tucked-away table in the back corner of the campus library, hoodie pulled over his head, one earbud in, notebook already open. He looked up once when you arrived. Didn’t smile, just nodded. You sat beside him. Close, but not close enough to touch. You opened your laptop, pulled out your notes, and tried to pretend your hands weren’t slightly shaking. For the first ten minutes, neither of you spoke. He scribbled something down. You typed a few lines. It was quiet, comfortably quiet. But there was something about being this close to him that made it so fucking hard to focus and he smelled so good. You weren’t sure why it made your mouth dry. After a while, he leaned over just a little to glance at your screen. “You copied that part wrong,” he said. You blinked. “Huh, really?” He reached out, brushing your hand by accident—or maybe not—and pointed directly at the mistake. “This line. He was talking about this, not that. You flipped them.” “Oh,” you said, staring dumbly at the highlighted section. “That makes way more sense.” He hummed. Barely a sound. Then sat back again like he hadn’t just leaned close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek.

You tried to keep reading, but your eyes kept drifting.

To the way his fingers drummed against the edge of his notebook.

To the way he chewed on his cheek while concentrating.

To the way his sleeve slipped up just enough to show the veins in his wrist and arm.

You forced yourself to focus. Mostly.

You didn’t plan to run into him again. Not really. You were just looking for somewhere quiet, someplace your brain might actually work for once, and the upper floor had study rooms that no one ever used. It was a last resort. You walked in with your headphones already on and your brain half-fried. And then you saw him. Riki. Sitting alone in one of the back corners. Legs sprawled, earbuds in. A pen spinning between his fingers, that same black hoodie pulled halfway off one shoulder. You froze in the doorway. He looked up, and for a second, he just stared. Not surprised. Not curious. Just calm. Like he’d been expecting you. Then he jerked his chin, wordless, inviting you to sit with him. Your pulse jumped. You tried not to show it as you stepped inside. “You’re here a lot,” you said quietly, settling into the chair beside him. “Yeah,” he replied, eyes dropping back to his notebook. “Quiet’s good.” It was. Too good, maybe. Every time he shifted in his seat, every time he tapped the table or flipped a page, it felt louder than it should’ve. You tried to focus on your own material, but your eyes kept wandering. To the veins on his hands. The way he leaned back and chewed on his pen cap. The curve of his lip when he was thinking. God, you needed to get a grip. You were scribbling out notes on a problem you didn’t totally understand, squinting your eyes, when his voice came low beside you.

“You’re writing the wrong formula.” You blinked. He leaned in, arm brushing yours as he took your pen without asking and struck a line through your equation. His handwriting replaced it. Clean and annoyingly perfect. “That’s how you mess the whole thing up,” he said simply, handing your pen back. You stared at the page. “Thanks,” you said. Quiet. Maybe too quiet. He didn’t move away. Just sat there, watching the way your eyes lingered on the ink he’d left behind. Then finally, with a slight tilt of his head, “You always squint your eyes when you’re stuck?” You stiffened. You hadn’t even noticed you were doing that. You looked up, startled, and he was already looking at you. Calm. Casual. His gaze didn’t move. It felt like too much, suddenly.Too much eye contact. Too much attention. Too much heat. You forced a laugh, ducking your head. “Wow. You’re observant.” He didn’t answer. But he didn’t look away either. And for the rest of the session, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still watching you. Not obviously, not openly, but just enough to make you not being able to focus. The study session lasted just under an hour. By the end of it, your head was clearer, and your notes were neater. You were packing up your bag when he finally spoke again. “You work better in silence,” he said simply. Not a compliment. Just an observation. You paused. “Do I?” He met your eyes. “Yeah. You get distracted too easily when it’s loud.” Something about the way he said it made you wonder what else he’d noticed.

He’d asked you after the last session — just kind of offhand, like it didn’t mean anything.“It’s quieter in my dorm,” he said, packing up his notes. “You can come by next time if you want.” That was it. No expression. No explanation. You’d nodded too fast. Now you were standing outside his door, staring at the number. You knocked twice before you lost your nerve. It took a second, but he answered. His dorm was small, neat, two desks, one unmade bed, the faint smell of detergent and whatever cologne he always wore. His roommate wasn’t home. He didn’t say that part, but it was obvious. The room felt still. You stepped inside carefully, clutching your bag, suddenly hyper-aware of your outfit. You hadn’t meant to dress like this, not for him, anyway. The kinda sheer tank top was just convenient, and the skirt? You told yourself it wasn’t that short. You’d worn it a million times. But Riki’s eyes dropped for just a second before he stepped aside to let you in. And that second? It lit your whole body on fire. He didn’t say anything about it. Of course not. He just sat at his desk, motioning to the chair beside his. “Here.” You took your seat.

For the first ten minutes, it was normal. Mostly quiet. His pencil scratched lightly against his notebook. You tried to copy a few things he wrote down, but your focus was elsewhere. You could feel the heat of him beside you. His knee brushed yours once, and it sent your heart into your throat. You didn’t move. Neither did he. You thought maybe he hadn’t noticed. But then, after a long pause, he spoke. “You wore that on purpose?” His voice was low and calm. Almost lazy. Your stomach dropped. “What?” you asked, too quickly. “That skirt.” You froze, heart hammering, unsure if you were supposed to laugh or deny it or what. You weren’t even sure if he was joking. But when you glanced at him, he was still staring at your thighs, then your face, with that unreadable, maddening expression. “I didn’t mean to,” you said, breath caught. “I just… it’s hot out.” Riki’s eyes dragged over you one more time, slowly. Like he was thinking about something. Measuring it. Then he looked away. “Shame,” he muttered. It was barely audible. And he didn’t elaborate. He just turned back to his page, pen in hand, like that was the end of it.

But your whole body was lit up. Nerves everywhere. Blood rushing to your face, your throat, your fingertips. And even though you tried to keep reading, keep writing, keep breathing normally, you couldn’t stop feeling the heat of his presence beside you. Still quiet. Still unbothered. You tried to keep your hands steady, not to squirm in your seat, not to think about the way his voice had dropped on that one word—Shame—like he meant more than he said. Riki hadn’t touched you. He hadn’t even looked at you again. But it didn’t matter. Everything between you had changed. You stole a glance at him. He was focused again, or at least pretending to be. The sharp angle of his jaw, the loose way he held his pen, the little crease between his brows , it all looked the same, but you knew it wasn’t. He had noticed. And worse, you couldn’t stop wondering what else he’d noticed. “Need help?” he asked, suddenly. You blinked. “Huh?” He nodded at your page. “You’ve been staring at that question for five minutes.” You scrambled to look down, pretending like you were just distracted. “Oh— yeah. I don’t get it.” “Let me see.” He reached for your notebook, leaned in close enough for your shoulders to brush, and took it gently from your hands. Your breath caught. His thigh pressed against yours. Just slightly. He didn’t move.

He explained the answer softly, pointing as he spoke, the tip of his pen gliding over your paper. You weren’t listening. You couldn’t. Because all you could feel was how close he was. How warm he felt. How good he smelled. How careful and deep his voice was. You swallowed hard. He handed your notebook back, fingers grazing yours. “You okay?” he asked. You nodded fast. “Yeah. Just— tired.” He studied you. His eyes flicked down your face, slow, deliberate. “You always get like this when you’re tired?” You blinked. “Like what?” Riki didn’t answer right away. He slightly shifted in his seat and turned toward you. Then, in that same dead-calm voice: “Fidgety. Quiet. All flushed.” Your breath stopped. He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t teasing. He looked completely composed like he was stating facts, which somehow made it worse. “I’m not—” you tried, voice weak. He cut you off. “You are.” Then silence again. The air between you was thick. Too heavy to breathe. And then, his hand moved. Slowly. He reached out and touched the side of your thigh, not high, not too far, just above your knee. He didn’t say anything, didn’t look away from your face. He just watched. Watched like he already knew what you were thinking. Your lips parted, but no words came out. You didn’t stop him. You didn’t move. And maybe that was all he needed. His touch dragged a little higher. Still slow and patient. Your chest rose with a sharp breath, and his eyes flicked down, just briefly, to your mouth, then back up. Debating.

You stared at the notebook in front of you like it might save you, but your body was already betraying you. Heat bloomed under your skin, your hands twitched in your lap. You couldn’t look at him, but you felt him. Silent. Watching you. Then, finally, his voice, low, right beside your ear. “You’re shaking. You bit the inside of your cheek. He didn’t move his hand, didn’t tease. You turned your face slightly, just enough to catch his eyes and he was already looking at you. Expression unreadable. Completely composed. Then, after a beat, his thumb dragged slightly along the inside of your thigh. Barely anything, but it lit you up. He leaned in, voice low and even, “You get like this for anyone else?” Your heart slammed in your chest. Your mouth parted, but the only sound you made was your breath hitching. He didn’t push, he just watched, already knowing the answer. You couldn’t answer him. Not with words. Not like that. So you just stared, lips parted, heart in your throat, too warm, too aware of every place his hand touched. Then, his fingers slipped slightly higher. Slow and measured. He was feeling it too, the shift in the room, the heat between you, the way your body leaned in before you even realized. He leaned closer, not fully, just enough that his shoulder brushed yours, his thigh pressed against the side of your leg.

You swore you heard the faintest breath from him like he was steadying himself. Then his hand slipped under the edge of your skirt. Bare skin. You sucked in a breath and finally looked at him. His expression hadn’t changed, but his dark eyes gave him away. There was nothing casual in that stare anymore. His fingers moved again, a little higher, then stopped just before the heat of your core. You tensed, but you didn’t pull away. “Knew you’d let me.” he said, softly. The words slammed through you like a current. Your breath hitched hard. Still, he didn’t move further. He just watched you squirm, fingers barely pressing into your thigh, letting the weight of everything unspoken hang thick between you. You weren’t sure if you were going to melt or burst. His hand moved again, slipping just a little further, fingers grazing the soft curve where your thigh met your hip. Your breath caught, shallow and quick. Riki’s breath hitched softly against your neck as he leaned in, just enough that you could feel the warmth, his steady, quiet presence like a steady flame flickering against your skin. You could feel him—so close now, that his chest brushed against your arm, his steady heartbeat like a silent drum beside you.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, loud and urgent. He stayed there, patient, watching. Then, the quietest sound, a breath, almost a sigh, right at the hollow of your neck. Your skin tingled. And then, his lips brushed your skin. A gentle ghost of a kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. You turned your head slightly, searching for more. His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable, holding yours with an intensity that made your heart leap. Without breaking eye contact, he tilted his head and pressed his lips to yours. It was soft at first, testing. But then it got deeper, firmer, as if he’d been holding back all along. Your hands twitched at his waist, unsure and desperate. The world shrank until there was only the two of you—breath mingling, heat pooling between you. He pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, voice low and steady. “Finally.” His lips pulled away from yours just long enough to catch his breath. Then, without a word, Riki’s hand slid from your thigh to your waist, gripping firmly as he pulled you up and pressed you back against the edge of the desk. The smooth wood was cool beneath your palms, but his body was hot and heavy, looming over you, shadowing your smaller frame. You could feel the weight of him, the strength in his arms holding you in place. His mouth crashed back onto yours, more demanding now, hungry and fierce. His hands roamed freely, sliding up your sides, cupping your ribs, fingers pressing into the soft skin of your tummy.

You gasped when one hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingers ghosting over bare skin, no barrier, nothing between you and him. Your back arched instinctively. His other hand found your throat, thumb brushing lightly, fingers framing your pulse. His eyes closed as he kissed you like he was starving, like he needed to devour every inch of you. Your hands tangled in his hair, desperate to hold on, to pull him closer. His mouth moved against yours with an urgent rhythm, deep, claiming. You felt every heartbeat, every breath, every touch. You were pinned but free all at once, lost in the heat of him. And even as his grip tightened just slightly at your throat, it wasn’t rough, it was possessive, controlled, making clear you belonged to him in this moment. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only the two of you, pressed close, skin on skin, heat and hunger tangled in every kiss and touch. You couldn’t keep still anymore. Your legs squeezed together, your hands gripping the edge of the desk like you’d fall apart without it. His touch was everywhere—soft palms sliding under your shirt, thumbs brushing over your bare chest, knuckles grazing places that made you gasp and twitch and whine without meaning to. You were dizzy with him. Every breath came out too fast, too shallow. He pulled back from the kiss just enough to look down at you. Your lips were parted, swollen. Your chest rising in frantic little jolts. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, gaze dragging across your face.

You whimpered. It slipped out before you could stop it—quiet, needy, helpless—and his eyes darkened instantly. He liked that. One hand splayed across your stomach, holding you still, the other slid higher, over your chest again, thumbs brushing your nipples until your head tipped back and a shaky moan slipped through your lips. You were panting now, thighs pressed together, aching. “Riki…” you breathed, barely a whisper. His hand came back up to your throat, firm but gentle, tilting your chin so you had no choice but to look up at him. You were flushed. Eyes wide, lips wet, a total mess. And he looked down at you like he’d never seen anything more perfect. “You look so fucking pretty like this,” he said lowly, like he was talking to himself more than you. You blushed, a sigh leaving your mouth, back arching into his touch. His mouth crashed onto yours, hungrily, like he needed to shut you up before you begged. His hips pressed forward, caging you completely, and you felt him, hard through his jeans, pressed against your lower stomach. You made a soft, desperate sound in your throat, and he swallowed it down. Your hands moved without thinking, tugging at his shirt, trying to get closer, trying to do something with how badly you wanted him, but he didn’t rush. He kissed you harder, messier, until your legs felt weak and your body trembled beneath him. Until all you could do was gasp and whine and let him touch and take. You weren’t thinking anymore. Just feeling. Every brush of his fingers, every scrape of teeth, every low breath against your skin. And the worst part was how badly you wanted more, how badly you needed it. How you would’ve said yes to anything he asked.

Your chest rose and fell in short, shaky breaths as he pulled away just enough to look at you again, eyes half-lidded, lips kiss-bitten. His hand slipped down from your throat, trailing slowly along your collarbone, then lower, until his palm flattened over your ribs again. His eyes dragged slowly over your body—the way your chest heaved, the way your thighs pressed together like you were trying to hold yourself in place. Then he leaned in, voice brushing against your ear, low and steady, “Look at you,” he murmured. “So worked up and I haven’t even done anything yet.” Your breath caught, eyes fluttering shut for a second, because God, he was right. His fingers skimmed just above your waistband, dragging across your lower stomach, the touch featherlight, maddening. “You want it that bad, baby?” he asked, quietly, like he already knew the answer. You let out a whimper, soft and high, nodding before you could even think. That made him smile, just barely. Almost smug. His fingers dipped under the hem of your skirt, warm and unhurried. “Let me see how bad,” he said.

His hand moved with ease, sliding beneath your skirt, soft fingertips dragging the fabric of your panties down your thighs—slow, almost teasing. He didn’t take them off, just pushed them down, exposing you enough to make you shy. The cool air hit you, and then, his fingers. Two of them, thick and warm, sliding through your soaked folds like he was testing you. Your hips bucked. He chuckled, quiet, deep in his chest. “So wet already,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Dripping.” Your face burned, but you couldn’t look away. You were panting, lips parted, eyes wide as his fingers pressed in just a little. You whined. He exhaled slowly, enjoying every second of watching you unravel. And then, without warning, he pushed his fingers in—deep, smooth, filling you so easily your head fell back with a broken moan. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his jaw tense. “You feel insane.” Your walls clenched around him, and he felt it, smirked a little when your legs twitched, when your body rocked instinctively against his hand. His other hand slid up your thigh, settling on your hip to hold you still. Then he started moving. Slow thrusts of his fingers, curling just right, his thumb dragging over your clit in lazy, perfect circles.

You were gone. Melting. Whimpering with every curl, every press, every stroke. Your thighs trembled. Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging in like you needed something to hold onto. “Riki—” you gasped, voice wrecked and whiny. “Please—” He leaned in again, his breath hot against your neck. “Please what, hm?” You whimpered, hips jerking. “Need m-more,” you managed. His fingers thrust a little deeper, a little faster, his thumb pressing harder on your clit. “You’ll cum for me like this,” he said lowly, lips brushing your ear, “and then I’ll give you more.” Your body arched. The pressure built fast, tight and overwhelming, and all you could do was nod, desperate little noises spilling from your lips as your climax started to crest. You were already close, right on the edge, hips twitching, thighs shaking, the pressure unbearable. But then his hand shot up, suddenly, firmly gripping your jaw. His fingers pressed into your cheeks, tilting your head up, forcing you to look at him. “Let go,” he whispered, fingers thrusting faster now, relentless. “Be a good girl and cum.” That was it. Your entire body shattered. You came with a cry, legs clamping around his wrist, hips jerking against his hand as waves of heat and pleasure rolled through you. Your eyes barely stayed open, wide and glossy, locked onto his as you came undone right there on the desk, whining, pulsing hard around his fingers. He watched you, tight grip still on your face, other hand working you through it like he wanted to see you lose control. “Good girl,” he muttered, lips brushing yours. “Just like that.”

You were still trembling, thighs twitching from the aftershocks, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. He pulled his fingers from you slowly, watching the way you flinched from the overstimulation. His hand was slick with you, dripping, and he stared at it for a beat, eyes dark and unreadable. Then he dropped to his knees. Your breath hitched. You barely had a second to react before his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider, and his mouth was on you. A gasp tore out of your throat as his tongue dragged through your folds, slow and greedy. “Ngh—Riki!” Your hand flew to his hair, the other on the desk, fingers gripping the edge until your knuckles turned white. He moaned softly into you, the vibration making your hips buck. His hands squeezed tighter, holding your thighs apart, keeping you open for him as he lapped up every drop of your release, messy, shameless. Your head fell back. Another whine escaped your lips, high and breathless, and still—still—he kept going, tongue swirling around your clit, flicking with just enough pressure to make your eyes roll back. When he finally pulled away, your skin was hot and damp, your whole body still twitching, breath caught in your throat. He stood, and then his hand wrapped around your neck again—firm, possessive—and he yanked you into a kiss. His mouth crashed into yours, lips slick with your taste, tongue sliding against yours with no warning, no hesitation. You whimpered against him, hands reaching for his shirt, for anything to ground yourself.

He kissed you like he owned you. Like he needed to devour you. His grip on your throat tightened and you moaned into his mouth, helpless and hazy, your whole body pliant against his. And when he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his eyes dark, and his voice—fuck—his voice was low and raw when he spoke. “You’re mine,” he said, quiet but rough, meant for just you. “Got it?” Your heart stuttered. He’d barely said more than a few words to you since you met—always calm, unreadable, barely emoting—and now he was gripping your throat, kissing you like he wanted to ruin you, claiming you like you already belonged to him. You didn’t even hesitate. Your head nodded, small and shaky, your whole body still trembling under his touch. “I’m yours,” you whispered, breathless. It came out like a confession, sitting heavy in your chest for too long, just waiting for him to pull it out of you. Your eyes met his, wide and glossy, and the look on your face, sweet and desperate, giving him the biggest puppy eyes he’d ever seen. But you looked so pretty like that—wrecked and breathless, your lips parted, your thighs still shaking, feeling like you needed him more than air.

Riki’s jaw tightened, and something dark flickered across his expression. His grip on your face stayed firm, fingers digging just a little harder into your cheeks. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, voice rough, barely held back. “You’ll make me fucking crazy.” But he was already leaning in again, mouth finding yours in a mess of tongue and teeth, kissing you so hard your head tipped back from the force of it. You moaned into him, needy and sweet, letting him take whatever he wanted, and he did. Then suddenly, his arms wrapped around your thighs and he lifted you. You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your body still trembling from the aftermath of his touch. He carried you the short distance from the desk to his bed and laid you down gently, never breaking contact. His body hovered over yours, eyes locked on your flushed, fucked-out face. Your shirt was rucked halfway up your stomach, your lips swollen from his kisses, thighs still twitching where they wrapped around his waist. He stared at you for a long, quiet second, trying to memorize you like this. Then his hands came down, one to your thigh, pushing it open wider, the other to your ribs, sliding up your bare skin under your shirt, slow and deliberate until his palm cupped your chest. No bra. Just you, soft and warm and whimpering under his touch. “You don’t even know what you do to me,” he muttered. You bit your lip, hips shifting instinctively, seeking friction. Anything. But he didn’t give it to you, not yet. He just leaned down, mouth brushing your neck, tongue licking a slow stripe up to your jaw before he kissed you there, hot and open-mouthed, leaving a mark. Your fingers clutched at his shirt. “Riki…” He hummed lowly, like the sound of his name falling from your lips lit something in him.

His mouth found your ear, breath hot, “Tell me you want it,” he said. “Say it.” Your whole body was burning now, flushed from head to toe, your voice coming out in a shaky, helpless whisper, “I want it. I want you.” And that was all it took. He kissed you again, before his hands moved, yanking your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside without a second glance. Then he just stared. Your bare chest rising and falling, skin flushed, nipples already hard from his teasing. His hands dragged up from your waist, until they cupped your tits, thumbs brushing over them gently, considering the way his jaw clenched like he was barely holding back. “Look at you…” he muttered, voice ragged. “Fuck.” And then he was on you. Mouth hot and desperate, he ducked his head and devoured you, lips closing around one nipple while his hand kneaded the other, tongue flicking and sucking until your back arched off the bed with a gasp. He bit,not too hard, just enough to make you squeal, and soothed it with his tongue right after, moving between your breasts like he couldn’t choose which to ruin first. You were already panting, fingers tangled in his hair, thighs rubbing together. Sloppy kisses turned into bites. He left hickies on your neck, down your collarbone, over the swell of your tits, under them, across your ribs. You could feel the bruises blooming under his mouth, red and raw, one after the other like he wanted to brand every inch of you. He kissed down, mouthing at your tummy next, dragging his teeth over the soft skin before sucking another mark right beneath your navel.

And all that while watching you. Smirk barely there, eyes half-lidded but burning, soaking in every whimper, every twist of your body, every broken moan. “No one else gets to see you like this. Only me.” he said against your skin. He leaned back just enough to yank his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside carelessly. You barely had time to look—at the lean muscles, the toned arms, the sharp lines of his waist—before his hands were back on you again, sliding under the waistband of your skirt. “Lift your hips.” he said, and you obeyed without thinking. He dragged the skirt down your thighs, watching the way you shivered beneath him. He took his time peeling it off, letting his hands skim down your legs like he was memorizing the feel of you. Then he tossed it aside and looked down at you—naked, body covered in marks, chest rising and falling fast. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, eyes roaming like he couldn’t decide where to touch you first. His hands found your hips, big, warm and possessive, and then they started moving. One slid up your side, across your stomach, over your breast, the other to your jaw, fingers stroking gently before slipping between your lips. “Suck,” he said, low and commanding. Your lips parted automatically, and you wrapped them around his thumb, letting him press it down on your tongue. He watched you—watched your pretty, desperate mouth take it in, cheeks hollowing slightly as you sucked. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Good girl.” You whimpered around his thumb, pussy pulsing, body practically buzzing from the tension. His other hand was still moving—down your ribs, over your tummy, lower, skimming just above your heat. Then he sat back a little on his knees, keeping his thumb in your mouth as he reached for his waistband.

He hooked his fingers into the edge of his sweats and slid them down just enough to reveal the outline of his cock through his boxers—thick, hard, straining against the fabric. Your breath caught, eyes flicking down before darting back up to his face. And he was already watching you. A soft smirk curved his lips as he tilted his head, thumb still resting on your tongue. “My cute girl,” he cooed. “So needy for me already… you really can’t help yourself, can you?” You hummed around his thumb, cheeks flushing even deeper, thighs pressing together as the heat pulsed harder between them. His hand drifted back to his waistband, and this time, he slipped his fingers under. You watched with wide eyes, heart pounding, breath catching in your throat when he finally pulled his cock free. So big and heavy, flushed at the tip, already leaking. The sight made your stomach flip, your mouth go dry, and you could barely look before your gaze darted away, face burning. “Aww,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “what’s wrong, baby?” You shook your head quickly, eyes flickering back up to his face, trying not to stare but completely failing. Your thighs squeezed together instinctively, your body so hot you could hardly stand it. He leaned in closer, one hand returning to your cheek, fingers stroking your flushed skin. “Shy all of a sudden?” he teased, a dark smile playing on his lips. “You were being so brave for me a second ago.” You whimpered, squirming under his gaze, his cock now resting heavy against his abs as he leaned. He took your hand and gently guided it to wrap around him. “Come on,” he whispered. “Touch me.” Your fingers curled around him, tentative and trembling, and his breath hitched like he hadn’t expected you to feel that good.

He swore under his breath, hips twitching slightly, and his head fell down. “That’s it,” he whispered, his hand covering yours, guiding your movements slow and steady. “Just like that.” You stroked him softly, your touch shy, eyes flickering between his flushed cock and his face—so close, so focused, the sight of your hand on him was driving him insane. Your hand stayed on him, guided by his, and the longer you touched him, the more confident your fingers became. You swallowed hard, heart racing at the weight of him in your palm, pulsing in your hand. His cock twitched again, and a low groan left his lips, rough and strained. “Fuck,” he muttered and leaned closer, his forehead brushing yours. His breath was warm and shaky, fingers tightening over yours. “Doing so good.” You looked up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted. There was something in the way he stared back, eyes hooded, jaw tight, he was barely holding himself back. He took your hand away from him gently, kissed your wrist, and pressed your arm back against the bed “Spread your legs for me.” You obeyed. Slowly, nervously. But the second your thighs parted, his gaze dropped and darkened. “God,” he said under his breath. He crawled between your legs, hands running up your thighs.

He leaned down, kissed you—soft, slow, deceptively gentle—before lining himself up, one hand wrapped firmly around his cock, slowly moving it up and down your folds, the other resting over your ribs grounding himself. “You ready f’me, baby?” he asked, voice quiet, low against your mouth. You nodded, a soft, breathy sound escaping your lips, but it wasn’t enough for him. His hand slid to your throat again, “Use your words.” “I—I want you,” you whispered, and the moment the words left your mouth, his hips pushed forward slowly. The stretch made your breath catch. His hand slid under your thigh, hitching it up. You could feel him, pressed just against your entrance, stretching you, but not moving yet, giving you time. His hand curled around your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip with surprising tenderness for someone who’s splitting you in half. You gripped the sheets beneath you, lips parting in a gasp as the pressure built inside you. Every inch filled you more than you expected, and it was overwhelming, unfamiliar, but somehow addictive. Riki’s mouth found your shoulder, teeth grazing lightly over your skin, like he was trying to distract you from the way he was sinking deeper. “You’re doing so good,” he murmured against your skin. You whimpered, your body tensing. “Breathe for me,” he said, and his voice was so calm, so steady, it soothed you even while you felt like falling apart. You let out a shaky exhale, eyes fluttering shut, and after another moment, he was fully inside.

Your eyes met his, teary and wide, and your lips trembled. “Riki—s’too much,” you admitted, voice almost shy. He smirked, “I know,” leaning down to kiss your jaw. “You’ll take it for me, won’t you?” Your stomach flipped at the words. You nodded, more sure this time. Then he pulled back just a little, before thrusting again, and your whole body shuddered at the sensation. “That’s it,” he whispered, voice ragged as he buried himself deeper. “So tight… fuck, y’feel so good.” His hips rolled into you slow, dragging against your walls, making you moan louder with each stroke. You clung to him, nails digging into his arms, breath coming in sharp little gasps as he set a rhythm. It was too much, too full, too good, and your body couldn’t keep up. Every time he moved, you clenched tighter around him. He pulled back slightly and grabbed your leg, lifting it high and pressing it over his shoulder. The angle changed everything—you cried out, high and helpless, your head tilting back against the mattress as he thrust deeper, harder, splitting you open with every roll of his hips. “Yeah,” he muttered, fingers digging into your thigh, mouth kissing it softly, as he started to lose control. “That’s it. Let me hear you.” You were loud. Whining, whimpering, trembling under his body, your hands gripping the sheets. “R-Riki—!” you sobbed his name, tears welling at the corners of your eyes as your body jolted under the force of each thrust.

And that did something to him. His hand shot to your throat again, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. You were a mess. Eyes wet, lips trembling, mouth open in breathless, broken sounds, and when the first tear slipped down your cheek, he smiled. Not sweet. Not soft. A sharp, dark twist of his mouth like he was proud of it. And then he slapped you. A clean, firm hit across your cheek—quick and shocking—and you gasped, more in disbelief than pain. Your head whipped slightly to the side, your moan caught somewhere between pleasure and stunned heat. His hand lingered there, fingers spread across your cheek, claiming you. “Fucking love seeing you cry for me.” Your stomach dropped, heat flooding your veins, and you started sobbing harder—overwhelmed, aroused, completely undone. Your hands reached up, grabbing the one that had just hit you, fingers curling around his wrist, holding it like it anchored you. You couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that your crush—the one who barely spoke, who barely looked at anyone—had slapped you, and now he was fucking you like this, praising the tears he pulled from your eyes, and you fucking liked it. You needed more.

He shifted his weight, grabbed both of your thighs, and lifted—guiding your legs up and over his shoulders in one smooth, strong movement. The change in angle made you moan loudly, the new depth dizzying, the sound leaving your lips raw and wrecked. Your hands fumbled at the sheets, knuckles white as you held on, tears spilling down your cheeks again as the pleasure pushed you past the edge of sense. “Riki—” you choked out, completely gone, “I… I can’t—” “Yes, you can,” he groaned, slamming into you harder, his hand tightening on your jaw. “You’re gonna take every fucking inch.” Your eyes rolled back, body arching, sobs turning into moans, hands gripping him like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. His gaze locked onto yours, dark, possessive, mouth parted slightly as he caught the sight of you all spread out and shaking for him. “Open your mouth.” You gasped, but you did—lips parting, eyes wide and waiting. He leaned over you, hips never slowing down, and with a sharp breath through his nose, he spit into your mouth. “Swallow.” You did. Without thinking. Without hesitation. And that seemed to please him. His hand came to your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear like he was calming you, and then—Slap.

A soft one. Just enough to make your breath catch, to light another spark under your skin. You whimpered and he firmly gripped your jaw, tilting your head to make sure you looked at him. “You’re fucking perfect,” he whisper softly. “You’ll do anything I say, won’t you?” Your pussy clenched around him, back arching from the bed. And still, you nodded, too far gone to form words, too desperate for him. You were gasping, moaning brokenly into the heat of his neck as he pounded into you, deep and rough, your legs high on his shoulders. His grip on your thighs was bruising, and you clung to the bedsheets, your vision blurred from tears and pleasure. Your body was stretched and aching, but it didn’t matter, not when he was murmuring filthy praise in your ear, not when every thrust perfectly hit your cervix. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “This pussy—” he snapped his hips hard, making you cry out, “—belongs to me.” You sobbed, nodding, walls fluttering around him. “Want you to cum with me,” he said roughly, teeth gritted as his rhythm got sloppy. “Let go, baby. Make a mess on my cock.” You couldn’t hold back anymore. You came hard, a cry catching in your throat as you clenched around his cock, trembling, unraveling. The moment your body gave out beneath him, he buried himself as deep as he could go and let go, filling you with a whimper, low and desperate in your ear. His cum making you feel so full, so warm inside you. “Mine,” he muttered again, softly kissing your neck.

Your breathing was still shaky when he pulled out, careful and slow. You winced a little at the sensitivity, and immediately, Riki’s expression changed. The fire in his eyes dimmed and his hand came to rest on your thigh, warm and gentle. “You okay, baby?” he asked quietly. “Yeah… just sore.” you blinked up at him. He leaned down, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Stay here.” You watched him move around his small dorm room, grabbing tissues. He cleaned you up gently, his touches surprisingly sweet and patient. When he was done, he tugged the sheets over your bare body, then slid in next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. It was quiet for a while. Your heart was still trying to calm down, and Riki just lay there, soft hand caressing your tummy. Then, out of nowhere, he spoke. “Wanna go to the movies tomorrow?” You blinked, turning your head to look at him. “What?” He glanced down at you, his face unreadable, but there was something softer around the eyes. “You heard me.” You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. After everything, after the rough, possessive way he’d claimed you, this was the last thing you expected. You buried your face in his chest, cheeks burning. “Okay,” you whispered. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Cool.”

my other works ➵ masterlist

a/n: i got a little carried away with this one yall lmao i've been so fucking obsessed with this man lately i can't stop thinking abt him please i need him so badddd :(

#enhypen #enha #enhypen smut #niki smut #enhypen niki smut #enha niki smut #nishimura riki #ni-ki smut #niki x reader #ni ki x reader #ni ki smut #riki smut #jungwon smut #sim jake smut #heeseung smut #jay smut #sunoo smut

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carnalcrows · 5 months ago

Text

BABYSITTER - THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x male reader

synopsis: When a broke college student takes a babysitting gig, he signs up for snack time and bedtime stories—but ends up with bloodstains, cryptic employers, and an unsettling crush on the kid’s disturbingly hot dad.

content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, blackmailing, blood, anal, breeding, creampie, missionary, mating press, dubcon, mentions of kidnapping, too much plot

word count: 5.2k (good lord)

It was a typical Wednesday afternoon when you found yourself perched in the corner of the campus café, a half-empty cup of cold coffee sweating onto the table beside your laptop. Bills, tuition, and the general weight of adulthood had a way of pressing down on your shoulders, leaving you in a constant state of mild panic. You scrolled through job listings with the desperation of someone clinging to a lifeboat.

Barista? You had already been rejected twice due to your “lack of experience.”

Retail? They wanted you available on weekends, which wasn’t feasible with your study schedule.

Dog walker? Allergic to fur.

The list grew more depressing as the minutes ticked by, until one particular post caught your attention:

"Babysitter needed. Flexible hours. Payment upon services rendered. Serious applicants only."

There was no company name, no attached image of a smiling family, not even a hint about the age of the child you’d be babysitting. The simplicity of it screamed sketchy, but the promise of payment dangled in front of you like a carrot on a stick.

“Desperate times,” you muttered, clicking on the post.

The application form was equally bare-bones, asking only for your name, availability, and a short paragraph about why you wanted the job. You quickly typed something generic about being responsible and good with kids, then hit send without much hope.

To your surprise, you received a reply almost immediately.

"You’re hired. Start tomorrow at 3 PM. Address: [Redacted]."

You stared at the screen, bewildered. No interview? No background check? Either this was the world’s most desperate parent, or you were walking into a scam. A friend texted you moments later, asking if you’d found a job yet, and you decided to leave out the details when you replied,

"Yep, starting tomorrow."

The afternoon sun was scorching as you made your way up the steps of the quaint suburban house. The place had a sort of storybook charm—a neat lawn, pastel shutters, and a small porch swing swaying lazily in the breeze. If it weren’t for the suspiciously vague job listing you’d answered, you might have thought you were walking into a feel-good rom-com instead of a potentially shady situation.

You knocked on the door and waited. Seconds ticked by. You shifted awkwardly, glancing over your shoulder as if expecting hidden cameras. But just as you were about to knock again, the door flew open with surprising force, revealing a little girl standing barely taller than the doorknob.

“Hi!” she exclaimed, her voice so cheerful it nearly gave you whiplash. “Are you the babysitter?”

“Uh… yeah,” you replied, startled by the sheer intensity of her enthusiasm. “That’s me.”

“I’m Su-an,” she said proudly, puffing out her chest. “Come in! I was just having a meeting with my council!”

Before you could even ask what she meant, she grabbed your hand and tugged you inside. The house was warm and cozy, if a little cluttered, with toys scattered across the floor and crayon drawings taped haphazardly on the walls.

---

“This is Mr. Snuggles,” Su-an announced, holding up a ragged teddy bear with one ear chewed off. “He’s the president of my council.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, nodding solemnly. “And what does the council do?”

“Important stuff,” she said, narrowing her eyes like she was letting you in on a state secret. “Like deciding who gets cookies after dinner. Also, they voted to make you the assistant.”

You blinked. “I don’t remember running for office.”

“Well, you didn’t,” she said matter-of-factly. “But Mr. Snuggles said you looked like you’d be good at it.”

Before you could protest, she shoved the bear into your hands and pointed to a tiny table covered in a chaotic mix of crayons, plastic teacups, and a single half-eaten cookie.

“Sit,” she ordered. “The council meeting is starting!”

---

The rest of the afternoon unfolded in a whirlwind of nonsensical games and increasingly bizarre “council decisions.” At one point, you were ordered to wear a paper crown (which barely fit) and were dubbed the “Official Snack Prince.” Your royal duties included distributing Goldfish crackers and ensuring everyone—stuffed animals included—got an equal share.

“You’re actually pretty good at this,” Su-an said, eyeing you critically as you handed Sir Fluffington his crackers. “Better than my last babysitter.”

“Oh?” you asked, curious. “What happened to them?”

“They couldn’t handle the council,” she said gravely.

---

After the meeting adjourned, Su-an decided it was time to “train” you in the art of hide-and-seek. You played along, even though she kept hiding in the same spot: under the dining table, her giggles giving her away every single time.

“Found you again!” you said, crouching down to peer under the table.

She gasped, genuinely shocked. “How are you so good at this?!”

“It’s a gift,” you deadpanned, earning another round of giggles.

---

When hide-and-seek got old, she declared it was “dance party time.” She dragged you to the living room, where she plugged in her favorite playlist on an ancient speaker. The first song was a pop hit you vaguely recognized, and before you could even protest, she was already twirling around like a whirlwind.

“Come on!” she yelled over the music.

“I don’t dance,” you started, but she shot you a look so devastatingly adorable that you had no choice but to join in.

What followed was ten minutes of the most ridiculous dancing of your life. Su-an moved like she was powered by pure chaos, flailing her arms and jumping around, while you attempted something resembling the robot. She laughed so hard she tripped over her own feet, and you had to catch her before she face-planted into the couch.

---

As the day wore on, you found yourself genuinely enjoying her company. She was smart, funny, and had the kind of boundless energy that made you wonder if kids ran on caffeine instead of juice boxes.

By the time bedtime rolled around, you were exhausted. Getting her into pajamas was an ordeal—she insisted she couldn’t sleep without her “lucky socks,” which turned out to be mismatched and buried at the bottom of her toy chest. When you finally tucked her in, she stared up at you with wide, sleepy eyes.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” she asked, clutching Mr. Snuggles to her chest.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “I’ll be here.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

---

As you made your way back downstairs, you felt a surprising sense of accomplishment. Babysitting wasn’t what you’d imagined yourself doing, but something about Su-an’s infectious energy and genuine joy made it worth it.

You tidied up the living room, stepping over plastic dinosaurs and rogue crayons, and couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. If every day was going to be like this, maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad after all.

---

And so, your days with Su-an became a routine. Every afternoon, she greeted you at the door like an excited puppy, launching into a new scheme or game. One day, she decided you were a dragon and she was a brave knight. The next, you were her art teacher, helping her draw increasingly absurd animals like “dog-o-sauruses” and “cat-icorns.”

One particularly memorable day, she tried to teach you how to braid her hair. It did not go well.

“Why are there so many strands?!” you groaned, your fingers tangled in her hair.

“It’s easy!” she said, giggling. “You just go over, under, over, under!”

“You sound like a cryptic math teacher,” you muttered, earning another round of giggles.

---

The days passed in a blur of laughter and chaos, and soon, you found yourself looking forward to your afternoons with Su-an. She made you forget about your stress, your bills, and your endless to-do list.

Still, a question lingered in the back of your mind: where was her dad during all of this? But for now, you were content to let the mystery be. After all, it was hard to worry about much when you had a six-year-old demanding you be her “Royal Snack Advisor.”

It was one of those rare evenings when the air felt just right—not too cold, not too warm, with a soft breeze that carried the faint smell of grass and distant barbecues. Su-an had begged to go to the park after dinner, and you’d caved, eager to get some fresh air and give her a chance to burn off her endless energy.

“Push me higher!” Su-an squealed as she swung back and forth, her legs pumping excitedly. You stood behind her, laughing as you gave the swing a gentle push.

“Higher, huh? What are you trying to do, touch the clouds?”

“Maybe!” she shouted, giggling as the swing reached its peak.

The park wasn’t crowded—just a few other families and joggers scattered around. It was peaceful, the kind of evening where you could almost forget the strange tension that sometimes hung around the house, the questions you tried not to ask about her father’s late-night comings and goings.

But the peace didn’t last.

As you helped Su-an off the swing and she dragged you toward the monkey bars, a commotion near the edge of the park caught your attention. At first, you thought it was just a group of people arguing—a not-uncommon sight in the city. But then you saw him.

Your heart stopped.

There, in the dim light of a flickering street lamp, was a man—the man. His tall frame was unmistakable, even in the shadows. He stood over a small group of disheveled, huddled figures, who you quickly realized were homeless people. A plastic bag lay torn at his feet, loaves of bread spilled across the ground.

He wasn’t just standing there. He was stepping on the bread.

Your breath caught as you watched him stomp down with deliberate, almost mechanical force, grinding the food into the dirt. The homeless group stared in silence, some in shock, others looking away as if too defeated to protest.

“Isn’t that Daddy?”

The innocent question cut through the haze of disbelief like a knife. You snapped your head down to look at Su-an, her wide eyes fixed on the scene with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“No,” you said quickly, your voice sharper than you intended. “It’s not.”

“But—”

Before she could finish, you crouched down and gently placed your hands over her eyes. “Let’s go, Su-an. We’re leaving.”

“Why can’t I look? What’s wrong?” she whined, squirming in your grasp.

“Because it’s not safe,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you picked her up and started walking away, her protests muffled against your shoulder.

Your mind raced as you carried her toward the car. What had you just witnessed? That couldn’t have been him—could it? But the silhouette, the way he carried himself—it was all too familiar.

You buckled Su-an into her car seat, doing your best to distract her with promises of ice cream and cartoons when you got home. But even as she babbled happily about her favorite flavors, your hands trembled on the steering wheel.

By the time you got back to the house and put Su-an to bed, your heart was still pounding. You paced the living room, replaying the scene over and over in your head. The way he’d crushed the bread underfoot—there had been no hesitation, no anger, just cold, calculated precision.

Who does that?

And more importantly, why?

The house was silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards as you shifted on the couch. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but between your classes, assignments, and Su-an’s boundless energy, exhaustion had taken its toll.

It was the sound of the front door slamming that jolted you awake. Disoriented, you blinked into the darkness, the faint glow of the kitchen light casting long shadows across the room. Footsteps echoed through the hallway—heavy, deliberate, and nothing like the hurried, near-silent ones you were used to from the man of the house.

You sat up, your heart beginning to race. Something wasn’t right.

When he appeared in the doorway, your stomach twisted into a knot. His usually pristine white shirt was drenched in blood, the vivid crimson staining the fabric and dripping in thick, uneven streaks. His face was ashen, his dark eyes wild and unfocused, like a man teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t name.

“Wh-what happened?” you stammered, instinctively backing away as the metallic tang of blood reached your nose.

“It’s not my blood,” he said curtly, his voice gravelly and sharp.

As if that was supposed to make you feel better.

“That doesn’t answer my question!” you said, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound firm.

He staggered toward the kitchen, his movements unsteady but purposeful. Against every ounce of self-preservation screaming at you to stay put, you got up and followed him.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, your tone softer this time.

He didn’t respond, instead gripping the edge of the counter as if to steady himself. The dim light overhead cast harsh shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more unapproachable than usual.

“Sit down,” you said, surprised by the steadiness of your own voice.

He turned his head, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten. For a moment, you thought he’d ignore you, but then he surprised you by obeying. He sank into one of the kitchen chairs, his movements slow and deliberate, as if every step cost him.

You grabbed a damp cloth from the sink, your hands trembling slightly as you wrung it out. You weren’t sure why you were doing this—why you weren’t running out the door or calling the police. Maybe it was the way he looked, like a man who had seen too much, or maybe it was the faint vulnerability hiding behind his hard exterior.

“This... isn’t normal,” you muttered, more to yourself than him, as you began wiping the blood from his face. The cloth came away dark and sticky, and your stomach churned.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with things you don’t understand,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a warning edge.

You paused, meeting his gaze. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, filled with something unreadable—a mix of exhaustion, anger, and something else that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m here,” you said, almost defiantly, as you moved to clean his hands. “So I’m already concerned.”

He didn’t respond, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease ever so slightly.

The silence between you grew even heavier, the only sound now being the soft movement of the cloth against his skin. Your hands were shaking slightly as you worked, wiping the blood from his face, his hands, but his eyes never left you. They were intense—piercing, almost as though he were searching for something in your expression.

You couldn’t look away for long. The tension in the air thickened with every passing second, your heartbeat picking up, each thud echoing loudly in your ears. It was like being drawn into a web you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t escape from, no matter how hard you tried.

When you finally stepped back, giving him space, you thought you’d be able to breathe again. But then, his hand shot out, quick as lightning, wrapping around your wrist. The touch was firm, deliberate, sending an involuntary jolt of electricity through your veins. You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. His fingers were cold against your skin, but the intensity in his eyes made your heart race.

"Why are you helping me?" His voice was low, gravelly, and for a moment, you wondered if he was testing you—seeing if you’d reveal the truth, or maybe if you’d run.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath, but your pulse was hammering, and you couldn’t ignore the way your body reacted to his proximity. The heat between you both felt suffocating. His touch was grounding, yet it stirred something dangerous inside you. “Because someone has to,” you replied, your voice steady, though you could feel the words slipping off your tongue more as a defense than truth.

His gaze deepened, darkening in a way that sent a chill down your spine. The air between you was thick, electric, as if there were an unspoken promise between you both—a promise you knew you were too afraid to fully acknowledge. Then, before you could even react, he pulled you in close. His other hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair with a force that made your breath catch in your throat.

And then his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was a collision, desperate and overwhelming, like a dam that had been holding back too much for too long and was finally breaking free. His kiss was messy—almost violent—as if he needed to consume you, to claim you in a way that made your knees weak and your thoughts scatter. His lips were demanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that made your body tremble.

You should’ve pushed him away, told him to stop, told him that this was wrong. Your mind screamed at you to break free, but your body betrayed you, leaning into him instead, matching the fervor of his kiss. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you even closer, his grip tightening. Your breath was ragged between kisses, and your pulse pounded in your ears as the world outside of the two of you seemed to vanish.

When he pulled away, just far enough to catch his breath, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving. You couldn’t think. All you could feel was the lingering heat of his touch, the undeniable thrum of desire that still buzzed beneath your skin. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something in them—something dark, dangerous, but...hungry.

His lips curved into a smirk, and it sent a jolt of unease running down your spine, mingled with something else, something deeper.

“You’re in over your head, kid,” he said, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your back.

The words should’ve been a warning. They should’ve sent you running. But instead, they only lingered in the air between you, wrapping themselves around you like a noose. You should’ve known then, but you didn’t want to listen.

And for the first time, you realized: you were already tangled up in his web, and maybe—just maybe—you didn’t want to escape.

The obsession grew in subtle ways. You’d arrive to find unexpected gifts waiting for you on the kitchen counter: a sleek leather wallet, a watch so expensive you didn’t dare wear it, a bottle of cologne that smelled like a storm breaking over the ocean.

When you tried to protest—“This is too much” or “I can’t accept this”—his expression would shift. His jaw would tighten, his eyes darkening with something that made your chest tighten.

“Take it,” he’d say, his tone brooking no argument. And you’d always comply, your words catching in your throat as he gave you a look that said refusing wasn’t an option.

Your feelings about him became a tangled mess of contradictions. Every instinct screamed that something about him was wrong. The blood, the cryptic way he spoke, the chilling bread incident in the park—they all painted a picture of a man you should stay far away from.

But then there were the moments that left you reeling. A lingering glance, a brush of his hand against yours, the way he could soften—just slightly—when he saw you with Su-an.

The first time he kissed you, you felt like your world had been turned inside out. It was sudden, overwhelming, and left you breathless. His lips were rough but urgent, like he was staking a claim rather than asking permission. And when it happened again—and again—you didn’t push him away. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, craving the heat of his touch despite every rational thought telling you to run.

But his obsession wasn’t content to simmer beneath the surface. It began to consume him, bleeding into the delicate balance of your day-to-day life.

He started showing up during your babysitting hours, a presence that was impossible to ignore. At first, he’d just watch from the doorway as you played with Su-an, his dark eyes following your every move with a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

Then, his involvement escalated. He’d dismiss you early—always with some excuse about needing to talk to you. But the moment Su-an was out of earshot, his demeanor would shift. He’d pull you into his room, his hands firm but not rough as he guided you inside.

“You’re spending so much time with her,” he’d say, his voice low and rough, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Don’t forget who’s paying you.”

His lips would crash against yours before you could respond, his kisses urgent and messy, as though he couldn’t stand the thought of you being anywhere else but with him.

The final straw came on a night like any other—or so you thought. Su-an had already gone to bed, and you were tidying up the living room when your gaze drifted toward the slightly ajar door of the man’s study. It was a room he rarely used in your presence, a space he kept locked most of the time.

You hadn’t intended to snoop. But the door was open, and your curiosity, already inflamed by the strange events surrounding him, got the better of you.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of leather and faintly bitter cologne. The dim lighting cast long shadows over the mahogany desk and the shelves lined with books and files. One particular folder caught your attention—it was open, papers spilling out as if hastily shoved aside.

Your heart sank as you picked up the first page. It was your class schedule, neatly printed and highlighted. Beneath it were receipts from your favorite coffee shop, notes about your usual order scribbled in the margins.

And then there were the photos.

They weren’t candid shots taken on the street or at the park. They were intimate, the kind of photos someone would take if they were watching closely—too closely. You recognized the outfits, the moments. One was of you laughing as you pushed Su-an on the swings. Another showed you sitting on a park bench, earbuds in, entirely unaware of the camera.

The air in the room felt too thick, like it was choking you. Your fingers trembled as you shoved the papers back into the folder, heart hammering in your chest.

“What the hell is this?”

The words left your mouth before you even realized he was standing in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the light from the hall. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something intense.

The folder in your hands felt heavier than it should have, its contents seared into your memory. Photos of you, notes about your life, details no one should know unless they’d been watching you for far too long. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, standing so calmly in the doorway as if this was all perfectly normal.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, your voice shaking.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped further into the room, his movements slow, deliberate. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing you in with the man you were starting to realize you knew far less about than you’d thought.

“I warned you,” he said, his voice low, almost soothing. “I told you not to go looking where you shouldn’t.”

“This—this is insane,” you stammered, backing up until the edge of the desk pressed against your hips. “Why do you have these? Why are you—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” he interrupted, his tone softening as he drew closer. His gaze was unrelenting, pinning you in place. “I’ve been watching over you. Protecting you. You’re... important to me.”

“Protecting me?” you shot back, your voice breaking. “This is stalking. This is obsessive. This—this isn’t normal!”

He stopped just a breath away from you, his height and presence overwhelming. His eyes, dark and piercing, searched yours for something, though you couldn’t tell what. Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek.

“I can’t lose you,” he murmured, his voice almost breaking. “Do you have any idea what you mean to me–and to my daughter? You’ve become... everything.”

The warmth of his touch sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. Your body tensed, torn between the instinct to pull away and the undeniable pull of his closeness.

“Stop,” you whispered, though your voice lacked the strength it should have had. “This isn’t—this can’t—”

But he didn’t stop. His other hand moved to your waist, firm but not forceful, as he leaned closer.

“You keep saying it’s wrong,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm against your lips. “But you don’t push me away.”

His lips brushed against yours, testing, as though giving you one last chance to stop him. But when you didn’t move, when your breath hitched and your hands gripped the edge of the desk behind you, he took it as permission.

The kiss was slow at first, deliberate and searching, as though he was memorizing every inch of your mouth. But it didn’t stay that way for long. His hand slid up to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

You gasped against him, your hands instinctively gripping his shirt. The heat of him, the sheer intensity of his presence, was dizzying. When his teeth grazed your bottom lip, you couldn’t suppress the small sound that escaped you—a sound that seemed to ignite something in him.

His movements grew more desperate, more consuming. He pressed you back against the desk, his body caging you in as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down to the sensitive skin of your neck. The scrape of his stubble sent sparks of sensation racing down your spine, and you couldn’t help the way your head tilted to give him better access.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough, almost guttural. “Do you even realize what you do to me?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing even as your body betrayed you, leaning into him. His hands gripped your waist, his thumbs brushing just under the hem of your shirt, and you shivered at the contact.

“This... this isn’t okay,” you managed, though the words came out weak, shaky.

“No,” he agreed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze was dark, filled with something you didn’t dare name. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t want it.”

The words hung between you, heavy and charged, as he leaned in again, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that left no room for argument. And though your mind screamed at you to stop, to push him away, your body betrayed you, pulling him closer instead.

His hand slowly trailed to the hem of your sweatpants, lightly tugging on the strap, you flinched when his cold hand suddenly went under your boxers.

“We shouldn’t be doing this– Su-an might-” you were interrupted with his other hand covering your mouth.

“Hush now, this room is soundproof,” he merely stated before harshly pulling your pants and boxers down with one tug. He then picked you up and placed you on the desk, pushing aside all the files and paper, which now seemed so insignificant.

“You’re hard. Are you still telling me you don’t want this?” He questions, his warm breath fanning your ear. You shuddered at the feeling, not knowing what to say, or what to do.

Before you could form words, he wraps his hand around your aching cock which was standing erect, partly due to the cool air, and partly due to what was happening.

His movements were minimal, slowly moving his hand along your shaft, while his other hand fetched a packet of lube from his back pocket. Where he managed to get that, you couldn’t tell.

He ripped the packet with his teeth, and spread the substance all over his fingers, before swiftly flipping you over, so that your ass was facing him.

Before you could utter a word of process, he had slipped a lubed finger in you. A wanton moan left your mouth at the sudden intrusion.

“Fuck–don’t stop, please,” the man only smirked at this, slowly sliding in another finger, and then another. Three of his fingers slowly pumped in and out of you, and oh, it felt heavenly. His other hand held you up just a bit, to keep you from falling off the study desk.

Your hands gripped onto the desk, frantically trying to keep yourself upright, but to no avail. You kept slumping off, the pleasure being too overwhelming.

“Stay still for me pet, that’s it–good boy,” the praise went straight to your dick, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Soon, the man determined that you had been prepped enough, and removed his fingers. You whined at the sudden emptiness, wanting to feel full once more.

He stared at your twitching hole, clenching around nothing. The sight did nothing but turn him on even more.

He removed his belt and cast it aside, while tugging down his pants and boxers with a sense of urgency. He easily flipped you over with his strong arms, now getting a clear view of your already fucked-out face.

He merely grinned, and before you could respond, he slid into your awaiting hole. You gasped at the intrusion, the head of his cock bullying its way into your hole. He groaned feeling the way you clenched around his length.

Without waiting for you to adjust, he fucked into you like an animal in heat, holding your legs in such a way that your knees where at your shoulders.

The new angle made his length hit your prostate with every thrust, making your head fall back on the table, a loud moan leaving your lips.

The man was savouring every single reaction, every little noise you made. “Such a sweet little thing,” he cooed. “Can’t even keep a straight head while getting fucked, hm?”

The only thing that left your mouth was a string of garbled noises. Your brain had quite literally turned to mush with how well he was fucking you.

Soon, you felt your orgasm wash over you like a waterfall, but the man didn’t stop. Instead, he fucked into you harder, a bulge forming in your stomach with every thrust.

He lightly pressed on the bulge, which made you squeal– the overstimulation doing too much to your head.

He kept rutting into you until he felt his climax. When it came, his thrusts slowly started to stutter. Without warning he emptied his load in you, painting your gummy walls white.

He kept you on the desk, without pulling out as you whimpered, feeling so, so full.

With your mind in such a disarrayed state, you didn’t notice him slip a small ring onto your finger.

“Now you can’t leave me–or Su-an, ever. Poor thing needs a mother after all.”

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cathnospam · 8 months ago

Text

Bakugo makes you laugh, A LOT and it drives him insane.

“It was not that damn funny.”

You try to conceal the snickers from your mouth, but fail horribly. All he did was mutter something about Mineta being a punk ass and it had you giggly.

At first he used to take offense by it, maybe you were laughing AT him and not what he says, almost like mocking him, that wasn’t until Deku quickly explained in passing that you laugh very easily.

But you don’t laugh this damn much with anybody else but him. At this point he thought you had a similar quirk to Ms. Joke, and he nicknamed you Giggles.

You both were studying in the library like you both usually do during exam week, and Bakugo noticed you haven’t been Miss. Cackle the past few days. Not even a smile actually and you’d think it would have been some relief for him from hearing your laugh obxonious laugh, but he’s actually more annoyed.

He looks up from his book and glances at you across the table, you’re typing away, with a less that neutral look on your face. Lips somehow forming a pout and eyes looking droopy. He scoffs going back to his work, but it was an itch he needed to scratch with you..?

“Who pissed in your breakfast.”

“What?”

“You been looking like a sad lost puppy all week what the hell is your problem.”

The corner of your lips cracked upwards a bit, almost as if you were fighting to smile, but instead you shrug, “‘Nothing you needa worry about. Why.”

It was almost concerning how calm you sounded. Your voice was more tame that you didn’t even sound recognizable which make Bakugo crease his brows, “You suck at lying. Is it, because of that shitty boyfriend you have pissed you off.”

He was referring to Shindo, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but he was a guy you got close with after meeting him a few years ago, but Bakugo was half right he was part of the problem.

You had a small crush on Shindo , but overheard him tell his classmates how he isn’t into you like that mainly because you’re not his type and how much he can’t stand how loud you talk/laugh sometimes.

It hurt hearing it, when he found out you heard he tried apologizing but you didn’t wanna hear it, so since then you’ve turn self conscious about speaking and laughing too loudly for the past week to avoid anymore issues that you have caused with people.

After slowly explaining to the Blonde he rolled his eyes, “You’re ganna let the walking vibrator dictate your life too? So stupid.”

“You hate my laugh too. What does it matter.”

Bakugo stayed silent for a moment while you went back to work. Thinking how could he word what he wants to say without sounding like an idiot, “I never said that, besides you never stopped even when I did tell you your laugh was annoying. If you want to cackle like a hyena who gives a fuck—“

You break into a snicker but end up covering it with your hand. He cracks a proud smirk, he almost forgot what you looked like with a smile, “I don’t wanna be loud. Just can’t help it.”

“We know.”

You giggle at his deadpanned voice, it really wasn’t your fault, you’re just so easy to please and Bakugo knows that, “Giggly ass, and I seen you almost laugh when Denki tripped at the lecture today.”

“Becauuseee he is always so dramatic when he falls.” You whined into a chuckle, sharing a small one with him.

It was a start of many more shared laughs after studying, Katsuki even tried to be just a LITTLE bit more funnier than usual when walking back to the dorms. When you finally cracked a real loud one out he felt himself grinning at you.

“Katsuki Alexander Bakugo are you smiling?”

“Don’t you EVER say my full name like that again got dammit I will blow you the hell UP!”

You almost fall to your knees of how funny his reaction was to you, it felt so good to smile again. You missed it, and so did everybody else the next day apparently.

Mina and some others thought you were depressed, Deku assumed you were sick, Denki outwardly blamed Bakugo which got him smacked, and IIda actually missed your loud noises as well.

Your classmates enjoyed your presence more than you thought they did.

But Bakugo missed it the most.

Your laughs drives him insane, because he loves to hear them.

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loveanddeepdick · 8 months ago

Text

cw: stalking, obsession, borderline insane geto, piv sex, sneaky photos, everything is consensual (kinda)

obsessed!geto who gifts you a small golden heart locket for your one year anniversary. he took you out on a date to your favorite restaurant, setting the mood as best as he possibly could before he took out the small velvet box from his pocket.

“sugu—! is this..?”, your mouth fell agape before he chuckled lowly, shaking his head and grabbing your hand.

“no, no, sweetheart, it’s a necklace,” he opened the box, “and when you open it.. it’s the color of our eyes together”.

your hands flew to your mouth, covering your little squeal before he closed the box again.

obsessed!geto who puts it on when you both get home, standing behind you in front of the mirror as he runs his hands over your shoulders. he leans in, softly planting a kiss on the top of your head before wrapping his arms around your waist.

“you look beautiful”

it wasn’t a lie. to him, you were the epitome of perfection, the way the little gold heart rested on your collarbone, it complimented your eyes in the best way possible. but if he was honest, he didn’t get the locket just for looks, no. it was to make his job easier.

obsessed!geto who was infatuated with you the moment he laid his eyes on you, following you from a distance everywhere you went. your schedule had been burned into his brain like a tattoo, even the small changes going unnoticed from him.

the route you took home, the shortcut you took when your feet hurt, who you hung out with, when your parents visited, he even knew if you window was locked from how it looked from the outside.

he studied the type of guys you liked, breaking into a grin when he realized he was the perfect one for you already, like the red string of fate already tied you two together.

he started his photo collection from the moment you had your first conversation together. he’d run into you at a cafe you visited frequently. you had mistaken him as your friend, talking to him while his back was turned. when he did face you, you turned 10 shades darker, the cup you were sipping from now on the table as your hands came up to your face to hide your embarrassment as you profusely apologized.

he already knew who you were, he’s seen you hang out with satoru and you had other mutual friends. smiling, he reassured that it was just an honest mistake. he’d been fixated on your outfit. noticing that you’d been wearing a shirt of the same band on his shirt. as you left, excusing yourself politely as you grabbed your coffee off the counter again.

picking up his cup, he noticed something off. you left with up his drink instead. pulling out his phone, he took a picture of your drink order. he contained his grin as best as he could when he noticed whatever you had on your lips had left a residue on the cup, bringing it up to his lips as he cherished the remnants of you. he decided on the spot that he had to have more.

obsessed!geto who did have your location after a couple months of dating but he wanted something more. what if you lost your phone? what if it died? he wanted to track you in the most humane way possible, of course. knowing you, you’d never take off a gift from him.

obsessed!geto who watches you move with the necklace from his phone, smiling as he realized the clock hit 12:00pm and you started your lunch break, watching as you walked out the building to him already waiting in his car. he’s a gentleman of course, getting out to open the door for you as you climbed into the passenger seat

“hey beautiful, how about we hit that new ramen place for lunch, yeah?”

“ooh! sounds good! hm.. you get spicy and i get savory so we can balance!”, you smiled warmly, buckling yourself in.

geto could only chuckle, nodding as he rested his hands onto the wheel.

my perfect girl

obsessed!geto who goes crazy when he sees the necklace bounce with your tits when he fucks you. his favorite position switching from prone bone to missionary since he gets the best view of the necklace bouncing in the valley of your pretty tits.

he reaches out, one hand on your hip and one caressing your chest, his hands running over your mounds and your collarbone all the way to the necklace as he marvels in the sight. he leans in closer, trapping you under his arms as his cock reaches deeper inside you.

“my pretty girl, fuck, you look so good like this, can feel this messy fuckin pussy squeezing me so good”

“s-sugu! m’gonna cum!”, you hiccup as the sight of him caging you in his arms has your pussy gushing.

“cum for me, cum on my cock, beautiful—fuck, yeah just like that.. i can feel her so good, who does this fucking pussy belong to?”

“you, sugu, you! fuck—!”

“damn right, you belong to me”

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader smut #geto suguru #geto fluff #obsessed!geto #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto smut #rina journal 📝#jjk

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biteyoubiteme · 8 months ago

Text

black cherry flavored

ot5 txt x fem!reader

synopsis: how many ghostfaces are there again?

warnings: 🔞!!! gangbang, mentions of drinking, getting scared, fearplay? reader gets chased through house and doesnt know who it is, knifeplay (only used to cut off underwear), clit play, mean dom moments, filming during sex, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (f!), creampie(s), marking, subspace, fingering, oral (m! rec), hair pulling!, overstim (f!rec), she/her used prob forgot some

wc: 9.2k (this one got away from me)

an: this is not proofread at all im so so so sorry forgive me sweet angel ily but I cannot believe october is over and this event has come to an end ;-; I hope you guys like this one! im a HUGE horror movie fan so I was excited to do this and hopefully it turned out well. I went with a different approach for a scream fic that was kinda based on different aspects from the movies and I hope you like it! feedback is appreciated :)) [m.list]

this is apart of my mini kinktober event check out the rest of the fics! [dumdum m.list]

"whats your favorite scary movie?"

You roll your eyes, hand coming up to cover the screen of your laptop. “Aren't you supposed to be doing your own work not pestering me about mine?”

It was late in the night, the library dead silent besides the hum of the heater and faint typing on stiff keyboards. The door to the study space was cracked just enough to hear the elevator if it dinged, the indicator the floor would soon be closing for the cleaning staff. The clock on the wall told you it was close to one in the morning, only an hour away from the library being cleared and closed.

“I'm avoiding the rest of my essay,” beomgyu shrugs, clicking his pen as a signal for an end to the line of questioning. “Annoying you just seemed like a better plan,”

“Annoying all of us, I needed this done an hour ago,” yeonjun doesn't even look up from his laptop, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, lenses glossed over with the light from his screen, fingers speeding over the keys only to pause and jam the delete button. “Fuck, i lost my train of thought,”

“It's already late, just turn it in tomorrow morning,” huening suggests, slouched back in his chair, thumbs nibbly swiveling on the joystick of his switch. “The syllabus said it was ten points off no matter how late after twelve you submit it,”

“Don't talk to me right now, you got yours in on time. And I'm getting this done tonight whether I like it or not. I won't be able to handle looking at it tomorrow morning. the paper just won't get turned in at all if that happens,” yeonjuns back to typing furiously squinting at his laptop not noticing kais grin.

“You should have listened to me about meeting up at nine, but nooo-”

“Huening,” yeonjun warns.

“I'm just saying…”

Yeonjun picks up one of Soobin's scattered pens from the table, tossing it at Kai hitting him in the lap. And when Kai just laughs, Yeonjun picks up a few more to throw, the showering of pens making Kai yelp.

“Shhh,” soobin doesn't even lift his head to see what's going on. He and tae had been trying to sleep for the better part of two hours, Taehyun having found success, sliding two chairs together to prop his legs up. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and hasn't said anything since closing them. Soobin only crossed his arms and laid his head down, leg bouncing showing he was still struggling to actually find it in him to sleep without his bed.

The six of you usually booked the room on Friday nights from nine to two, blocking the time to try and catch up on work before the weekend. It was either the time you got the most work done or none at all. You're surprised it took beomgyu this long to finally turn away from his assignment at this point he's usually at the whiteboard doodling or trying to get everyone to play dirty hangman.

It was easier to get all of you together here instead of one of your small dorms, the space hardly big enough for three people let alone six. In the library you didn't have to worry about cramming together, the fourth floors study spaces equipped with long tables and eight chairs. Out of the two libraries on campus this one didn't have many people visit often, especially not when the walk from any of the dorms was twice as long. The fourth floor was empty and quiet except for the group's laughter on nights you didn't worry about work.

“You didn't answer that question,” beomgyu points out again, pointer finger pushing away your hand blocking the screen, “what's your favorite scary movie?”

“I didn't answer it because I can't choose,” you confess, scrolling through the paper you're writing for class.

“Is your homework twenty questions?” soobins voice is muffled, annoyed and sleep-ridden.

“No-”

beomgyu cuts you off before you could explain, brows scrunching as he reads. “Looks like it, this one is ‘what are the rules around sex’ there is no way this actually for your class,”

“What?” this pulls soobins head up, the messy strands of his dark hair sticking up around his forehead.

“Of course you wake up when you hear the word sex,” yeonjun quips, pursing his lips reading over his work on his screen.

“No need to wake up you type so loud i couldn't fall asleep,” soobin says brushing his long fingers through his hair, you always noticed the later it got the grumpier he became, pouting lips and half lidded eyes always making an appearance after midnight.

“It's for my film studies class. We’re learning about the rules of horror,” its clarification enough for soobin who nods but beomgyu lets his head tilt to the side, the vision of a question mark.

“Rules? You can't just send a killer in, have them spill some blood, and call it a day?”

“You could, but i'm sure it would follow a pattern, even without you realizing it,” scrolling through your work you pause on the first option. “First you have to think about the time period when the movie was filmed. Most of the popular ones ranged from the 80’s to the early 2000’s. A huge push in most cultures is the topics of sex, drugs, and money. It's the three things people try to control the most. Throw a bunch of badly behaving teens in with a psycho killer playing god and you can tell the masses how wrong something is. Like having sex,”

“So wrong it would get you killed?”

“Yup, in most, if not all, horror movies the people who have sex on screen or are known for sleeping around get killed off, leaving the poor virgin alive. Main characters who live to the end also don't drink, or do drugs. Rich people aren't safe, especially if you have a big empty house with lots of stairs, doors, and windows. The more for you to make the wrong decision not to exit from,”

“Then who does live?” Kai asks, game paused in hand.

“The girl next door lead, never her boyfriend, the camera man, unless you see him leave the group because you should never leave the group under any circumstances. But everyone else is fair game. Oh and if you say ‘i'll be right back,’ the lines a killer in and of itself,”

“So I'd die because I like to have a good time?” yeonjun asks, fingers paused on his keys as he looks over at you. Everyone but tae is turned in your direction, listening intently.

“Unless you're the killer, or lucky because you weren't in line of the camera when you decided it was smart enough to leave the house. It's very kill or be killed. Another rule is to never trust anyone,”

“The list just gets longer and longer,” soobin sits back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head as he stretches, “you know i saw this one post on twitter that some people like the whole masked killer thing, gets them off,”

“Of course you would be on twitter looking at stuff like that,” gyu fakes disappointment, shaking his head, “this is exactly why you wouldn't survive, you're a closeted perv,”

“I don't know about closeted perv, he was openly scrolling past hentai the other day in the dorm,” yeonjun is back to typing, soobin kicking the foot of his chair.

“Past it, i didn't pause on it,”

“It was on your for you page! Clearly you have a habit of liking things akin to it,”

“I don't know, I think it's kinda hot, the mask thing. or i guess more so the build up of fear, it's almost like foreplay, your pulse starts going, you get all flushed. And I did see this clip of these two guys dressed up…” this wouldn't be the first time any of you confessed to watching something that turned you on. All of you had been friends for years, growing up nothing had ever been an off limits topic. You can see the video in your head, the way they held the girl between them; how they manhandled her down onto the bed.

“So you and soobin are both freaks,” beomgyu grins, the need to tease showing right in his eyes.

“A threesome is not freaky,” Taehyun states, breaking his silence, hat still over his eyes, fully relaxed and laid back. If you hadn't known the sound of his voice you would have assumed he was still asleep, if he had even been asleep in the first place.

“Agreed, anything over three is a little freaky,” soobin shrugs, bending over halfway out of his chair to pick up his fallen pens.

“So would you? Sleep with more than two people at once?” gyu asks, the tilt back to his head, “this is the true test if you're freaky or not,” he chuckles.

“I mean yeah… would you?” The question is directed at the room and you watch the question lay over them like fog, each of them thinking for a second, blank expressions all the way around.

Taehyun was the first to respond, shrugging his shoulders before nodding briefly, “I wouldn't let the opportunity slip by if it was offered,” It was a unanimous yes from all of them, the hummed agreement not too surprising.

“Done!” yeonjun smashes one last key before stretching big, “finally fucking submitted, and right before we have to leave, im surprised the staff hasnt gotten around to our room yet to kick us out,”

Taehyun pulls his hat from his face, sitting up with a yawn, “good, i needed my bed two hours ago,”

It always felt so good to sleep in on a saturday after a study session like this, you could already feel how cozy it would be to wrap up in your blanket. And even if the mattress was shit with or without the foam topper, it was better than laying out in the chairs like taehyun just was.

All of you cleaned up the space, making sure to tuck in the chairs, pick up the discarded cups of late night bad decision coffee. Squishing in the elevator together, bags bumping into one another before you filed out; passing all the empty desks and empty aisles of books to make it out the front door.

As soon as the outside air hits your cheeks you know it’s going to feel like a long walk back to the dorms. the boys tucking their ears into hoodies, zipping their jackets up, you and kai lived in the dorms on the opposite side of campus from the rest of them, their walk shorter by only a few minutes.

“Okay we’re still on for dinner tomorrow right?” Kai asks the group.

beomgyu’s jumping on the balls of his feet to try to generate some warmth. “literally just text us, I cannot think about tomorrow when i’m this cold and sleepy,”

“Yes, we’re still on, I've been craving anything other than dining hall food for the past week,” yeonjun adds, shivering as he pulls the straps of his bag closer to his chest. “We'll still meet up back here like usual,” he was walking backwards as he said it, already a few steps behind the others, “but see you guys tomorrow or should I say ‘i’ll be right back!’” he jokingly yells while the others wave goodbye.

“don’t play jjunie, you might be next! don’t trust anyone!” He gives you a silent salute in response as you and Kai head out for your walk.

Instinctively the two of you are shoulder to shoulder, bumping into one another every other step. Silence following each muffled step on the pavement. Sometimes the two of you didn't say anything until you split on the elevators. a quick ‘goodnight’ or ‘see you tomorrow’ thrown out as you step out on your floor, waving as the doors closed back up so he could go up one more level. Other nights it was the two of you giggling trying to keep it down as you walked under the moonlight, too late to be loud.

You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering as the wind hits the treeline. spots of orange light from the spaced out street lights are rare, casting the two of you in darkness every time the moon is behind the clouds; every several feet the hash light is back in your path.

“So you'd live? In a horror movie?” Kai asks, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders to his ears from the cold. The wind is hitting him right in the face, tossing his hair from his eyes where he liked to keep it. He asks it so softly, the question highlighted in the divot of his brow, nose pink, face washed in the glow from the moon.

“I'm not really a virgin so…,” it's not an embarrassing confession but when it's this late with his eyes trained solely on you it's like a spilled glass of red wine on white sheets. Impossible to look away from.

“You wouldn't live for knowing how people survive?”

“The smart ones usually die from bad luck, they know to head for the car waiting in the lot but forget the keys or if the keys are still in the ignition they never check the back seat. They know if you run into the woods to escape you can hide, but how unlucky for a rusty forgotten bare trap to be waiting for your next step. or if you miss that one here's a log to trip over, only to tumble down a hill and break your neck. Call the police? You're in the one movie a phone works only for you to forget never trust anyone because the police work for the killer,”

“So none of us make it?” It's such an open question the way he asks it, the hopeful twinge hitting the ending, twisting it into something it shouldn't be. Written right over his features the soft words unsaid, can't we? There has to be a way.

“This isn't a movie kai, we’re fine,”

“I know, it's only a question,” he's so easily flustered when alone, second guessing everything he says, as if one slip up will make you hate him. Now he's blushing, both of you falling back into comfortable silence. You can tell he's thinking by the way he's biting at his cheek, eyes watching his feet, making sure not to miss one step. You assume it's the end of what he has to say, his silence following you all the way back to your floor. The elevator doors opened finally giving him the courage to speak up. “Do you…”

“Hum?” you lift your arm to hold the doors open, turned to see him struggling to get the words out.

“Do you want to come with me to my parents cabin,” he says it all in a rush, avoiding looking you in the eyes just in case you reject him. “I mean you don't have to, the guys won't be there and if it makes you uncomfortable-” he cuts himself off, hand at the back of his neck, trying to rub away his embarrassment, “forget it- forget i said anything,”

“It's okay, I'd love to go. where is it?”

“Um it's like two hours from campus, my parents need me to check on it just cause and i thought, why not make a weekend of it? I mean, you can finally sleep on a real mattress, not whatever was issued here,”

A weekend away did sound good, perfect after the semester you were having. And Kai is as sweet as they come, spending time with him wouldn't be bad at all. “Sure, when are you thinking?”

“Next week?”

It was all so very innocent, a sweet boy asking a girl to join him on a weekend getaway. He even packed you snacks for the drive, let you pick all the music, and made sure to carry your bag in when you arrived.

You weren't stupid enough not to realize why you were here and the other boys didn't get an invite. The whole week you thought it over, pushing around the idea of being with him. And you could tell he was tossing it around all throughout the drive, periodically blushing without saying a thing to you, hands tightening on the steering wheel; knuckles turning white from the pressure.

Halfway through the drive you realized exactly what he meant by cabin. Not the kind sitting near the edge of a trail, but one hidden deep into the woods for perfect seclusion. Kai had a late class to make up for and the two of you didn't get started on the drive until the sun was already setting behind the trees. Every shadow thrown across the road drew longer and longer as the car kept on.

The gravel driveway leading up to the cabin was a stretch, but when you finally broke past the winding path the gleaming two story was not very cabin like. The windows reflecting the cars headlights back at you expanded most of the first level. Wraparound porch dotted with chairs, and a swinging bench. As soon as kai killed the engine the silence stumbled in, darkness spilling over the scene as you climbed out of your seat.

“This place is huge,” you whisper, as if anything louder would disrupt the peace of the outdoors. You held your phone's flash up in front of you, huening fumbling to put the key into the lock on the first try. Each attempt from his shaking hand failed.

“Here,” you took the key into your own hand, twisting the knob and pushing the door open.

“Sorry,” his voice wavering as he flips on the light switch, “i'm just- you know-,” he cuts himself off not wanting any more embarrassment to follow him.

As soon as the lights come on you can't see anything outside, the windows a reflection of the room. A tv hanging over a huge stone fireplace, welcoming couches spaced out in a semi circle around a wooden coffee table, a bar topped with dusty glasses pushed in the corner. Kai kicks off his shoes by the door, walking further in you notice the dark hallway leading deeper into the first floor, a staircase waiting right by the entrance. But kai ignores it all while walking towards the kitchen.

“I mostly have to check the doors and windows to make sure no one broke in,” he's trying to fill the silence, rambling to kill his nerves,”one year we had someone steal the tv, we don't really leave much now just incase, so that's why it looks so empty,”

“People actually drive all the way out here and break in? The last time i saw a turn off the road before this one was an hour ago,”

“You never know, it's best to just check and fill out a report sooner rather than later,” in the kitchen the backdoor is made of two foggy planes of glass, only the outline of kai seen in the weavering shape. He twists the knob and to your surprise it gives way and opens, “damn one of my sisters must have forgotten to lock it last they were here,” You lean your hip against the kitchen island, taking his explanation as is.

“They come out here to check too?”

“Rarely they mostly come with their friends but stopped when they realized there is zero phone service this far out,”

“There isn't?” you hadn't even checked to see if your phone was working, “what if someone had broken in? You have no phone to make a call from,”

He chuckles pointing past your shoulder, right on the end of the counter a sleek black cordless landline rests in its holder, the blinking red light showing one waiting voicemail. “Sometimes it can be spotty but for the most part its a solid line of communication,”

Hand still on the knob of the backdoor he locks the door before walking over to the pantry, finding only a crate of dusty wine and a stack of old jiffy pop popcorn.

“Wait, I didn't think they made these anymore,” you reach out for the thin metal handle attached to the panshapped popcorn container. Shaking it you hear the rattle of the kernels, “when i was younger i thought it was just something people had in movies,”

“My sisters and i love the stuff, it's also easy to pop outside over the fire,”

“So all you leave is popcorn and wine when you're not staying here?” you tap the crate of wine with your foot, his grin boyish and shy.

“It's a good thing for us now i guess,”

It's what leads you to sharing the bottle, passing it by the neck as he gives you a tour of the house. His lips right at the spout, nerves loosening up with each sip he takes, creaking steps leading up the second floor. “And here is my room,”

It’s right at the end of the hall, bed neatly made with a single stuffed penguin sitting against the pillows. “You left him here all alone?” You ask, picking up the plushie, Kai's standing in front of the closet, the slatted doors making up most of the wall behind him facing the bed.

He shrugs placing the half full wine bottle down on his dresser, “someone needed to protect my prize possession,” he falls right onto the mattress, head thrown back, hair spilling against the pillows, “i always sleep so good in this bed,” cheeks flushed from the wine, half lidded eyes watching you from under his lashes. It's an invitation you don't pass up.

You climb in after him, feeling relaxed from drinking even if it was only a little bit, you can tell it's helped him too, his lazy smile so blissful. “I'm sure this bed is good for other things too,” you don't even care about being bold, not alone with him under you as you dip your head, nose brushing his.

The first kiss is so soft, a brush of lips together lasting no longer than a second. Kai whines in the back of his throat, an ache for more hidden in the desperate sound. It's addicting to have someone seem so needy for your attention, his legs instinctively tangling with yours, hand at the back of your neck pulling you back down for another kiss.

The two of you fumbling to feel at each other, your hand sliding up under his shirt to touch his warm skin, his stomach flexing at the brush of your cold fingertips. His hand at your waist pulling you closer to him, needing you as close as he can get you. The kiss is sloppy in seconds, his tongue sliding against yours, noses bumping as you breath in each other. You can feel that he's semi-hard, pressed against your thigh between his legs.

He's a mess, whimpering when you pull away to take off your sweater, leaving you braless in a tank top. greedy hands back on you, pulling you back down on top of him, he’s grinding onto you desperately, fully hard from only kissing.

every little noise he makes is caught in your mouth, his fingers fumbling for the button on your jeans. you have to pull away after his failed attempt, giggling as you brush his hair back, “it’s okay to take it a little bit slow huening we have all night,” you remind him, “I don’t want you cumming in your jeans when it could be in or on me,” he's looking up at you with total devotion, with an expression that lets you know he'd let you do anything if you asked.

“Please?” and it doesn't even matter what he's begging for, you would let him do just about anything in return for looking at you like that.

You're quick to rid yourself of your pants, falling back to the bed and letting him roll on top of you. Hands in his hair as he presses into you, one hand holding himself up while the other snakes down between you two. The soft gasp you let out eggs him on, drawing soft circles over your clothed clit like he knows exactly what to do. You twist your fingers into his hair, his lips tracing down your neck, hips back to grinding into your thigh. At first you don't notice the smell of popcorn. It's faint upstairs, wafting in through the vents, buttery and warm as kai slips his fingers into you. Your hips rolling on his hand, meeting every thrust, heel of his palm pressed to your clit.

It isn't until the popcorn starts to burn that you say something, the tang in the air subtle as kai sucks hickeys on your sensitive skin. “Is something on fire?”

Kai pulls away from the crook of your neck, “what the fuck?” breathing deeply to catch the scent. It's clear in the air now, hanging around like a question. “Stay here,”

it's so unceremonious when he pulls his hand from your panties, fingers dropping onto his tongue to clear them, “i'll be right back, okay?”

“O-okay,” you're confused more than anything, knees pulling in feeling overly exposed all of a sudden. It's silent in the house, the soundtrack of your kissing dimmed to nothing, before it's replaced with the creaking of his dissipating steps down the stairs.

You feel a little foolish sitting in his bed, the crumpled sheets and discarded plushie a reminder that this is not normal for a hook up at all. Letting out a long breath you push out of the bed, all relaxation felt before now gone as you reach for the wine bottle on the dresser. You take a heavy swig from the bottle, needing your courage back. It felt silly to worry over burnt popcorn.

Your stomach turns, sickening realization settling in. the two of you had only picked up the wine, neither of you even put the jiffy pop close to the stove's burners. You're quick to look for your phone, checking in the pile of your clothes on the floor, and finding nothing. Your bag was by the door downstairs, right next to the shoes, if your phone wasnt up here it was bound to be in your bag.

You didn't say anything as you made it to the top of the stairs, not until the phone rang. Not the familiar song that came through your speakers but the deft echo of a warning siren. The kind of ringtone that was played in a movie when someone was receiving bad news, and it didn't stop, traveling up the stairs, playing once, twice, until nothing but silence.

“Huening?” your voice wasn't as strong as you wished, faulting at the end as you took your first step down the stairs.

No response.

The last step creaks under your weight, the sound triggering the phone, that chilling ringtone back in the air. All the lights are on, nothing outside the windows visible as you watch your reflection walk past. You look right at the front door as you walk past, all of your things still in place, even Kai's shoes are still right where he left them.

In the kitchen you find the ringing phone, the little screen bright green as it shows the incoming call. The skins faucet turned on, the pelting water beating down on the thin aluminum foil of the jiffy pop, hastily tossed into the basin. Thin rivulets of smoke still curling from the singed popcorn. The stove's gas burner still lit with a blue flame.

The ringing continues as you turn everything off, feeling suddenly too cold and alone standing under the golden lights. It doesn't help that you're only dressed in your panties and tanktop, bare feet padding across the tile to pick you the phone.

Unknown caller. Read the directory, not even the number shown underneath. You hit answer before you could think better of it.

“Hello?” your pulse was in your ears, washing down your neck, but you're stunned to recognize the voice over the phone.

“What's your favorite scary movie?”

You can't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up before you respond, “kai, are you using the ghostface voice on me right now? You already had your hand down my pants no need for the theatrics,”

You can't even pick up a trace of his real voice over the filter, the soft chuckle on the other line trickling down your spine. “You didn't answer my question, you have to have a favorite, what comes to mind?”

“So we’re quoting the movie now?” you ask, looking around the kitchen, leaning back against the countertop. “Should i go all in and start asking to make it to the sequel?”

He chuckles, so soft and sensual, unlike his usual boisterous laugh. “Maybe…but a little birdie told me that you're not a virgin and you know what happens to those who sleep around right?”

“Enlighten me,” you cross your arms smiling at your reflection in the window. It's a bit silly to be here roleplaying in the first place but it's not like you're against it. What gets you is that it's coming from kai of all people. So soft and sweet, giggling and shyly walking you home. But you truly never know what a persons into until you're faced first with it.

“They don't last very long,” so smug as he says it.

“They don't?”

“Nope, and you have a list of things that you've already done wrong. I don't know if you truly deserve to make it to the sequel,”

“Oh? What did I do wrong?” you smile, checking out your nails, thumb running along the bed of your cuticles as you listen.

“Humm, let me see. First you're all alone in that big old house, did anyone ever tell you never to go into the dark and scary woods all alone?”

“I'm not alone, i have you,”

He ignores the last half of your statement, “Aren't you? hum, funny how i don't see the boytoy around anymore,”

“I can't believe you planned all of this, who knew you would be so freaky? I can't say that it doesn't turn me on though,”

“Oh? How cute that you still think I'm your little boyfriend. I mean didn't you see the signs? The door was unlocked in the back, popcorn on the stove when you didn't put it there, and now a missing boy toy. It's a shame you seem to have forgotten everything you've learned in class, or maybe it was the wine,”

“A few sips won't make me stupid, seriously huening come out, i want to get back into your bed,” you push off the counter, walking back toward the living room until you're stopped dead in your tracks. The sound isn't coming from the phone but just up ahead around the corner.

Your laugh echoes in the empty house, followed by your own words, “it’s okay to take it a little bit slow huening, we have all night, I don’t want you cumming in your jeans when it could be in or on me,”

You follow each line into the living room, the tv on and showing a video of only minutes ago.

“Please?” kais weavering voice seems so loud here instead of between you two.

You can see yourself push down your pants, watch the way the two of you fall right back into each other. Only now you're seeing it from the perspective of the closet, it's the only place you could think of that he would have placed the camera. The slats of the wood even in frame. It's like someone dropped a bucket of ice water on top of you. Standing in front of the tv as if you're Carrie from the prom and someones set up a cruel joke.

“Cute huh?” the voice over the phone asks, that little laugh following right after, “i sure think it is. Look at the way your body reacts to his fingers, you’ll be that pretty for me won't you?”

You feel the hair on the back of your neck rise, the house too big for this kind of game. Even just standing there now alone it felt like you were a fish in a bowl, stuck to be watched from all sides. And not from the video but from the figure standing right on the outside of the window.

He was dressed in all black, nothing like what kai had been wearing before. And covering his face the dripping white mask of ghostface. You only catch a glimpse because the lights are on but it's enough to remind you that maybe this isn't a joke. “Are you outside?”

“I don't know? Am i?” but as he says it you see down the hallway a dark figure step out of a doorway.

Everything in you freezes, your heart rate plummeting, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin. You hadn't even noticed your fingers had been trembling before, not until your deathgrip on the phone starts to hurt. “Don't hang up on me,” he warns over the line, but the person down the hall doesnt even have a phone in sight, his slow prowl reminding you to move.

You take off back towards the kitchen, the back door playing in your head as the best possible exit but as soon as you're in front of it, tugging on a door knob needs to be unlocked you see the haze reflection of two more figures waiting right against the glass. You can hear the laugh of the person on the phone even if it's not to your ear as you rush to pull open any drawer that might have something in it to protect you. But every pull leads you to find nothing at all, “what the fuck!”

The door shakes as they try to pull it open, the glass rattling as you lift the phone back to your ear, “okay huening, that's enough, i get it, ha ha, funny, but seriously-”

“Were you looking for a knife?” he cuts you off, voice so calm when you're falling apart.

“What?” you're exasperated, huffing the question like it's a slap in the face.

“I know where one is, if you want it,”

It's then that the masked man from the hall comes into the kitchen, the steel knife in his hands glinting in the light. “You have to be fucking kidding me right now,” youre desprate to find an explanation for this. The island is between the two of you, his head tilting to the side, the open mouth of the mask mocking you as he takes slow steps around the marble. You're matching his every move, both of you circling the kitchen like two fighters waiting for the ding of a bell.

The door rattles again, the sound making you yelp, hand pressed to your racing heart. It's the distraction you need to bolt right through the kitchens arch way and run to the front door.

You're moving so fast you have little time to slow down, partially slamming into the door, fingers fast to twist the locks.

As soon as it's opened you're standing face to face with another ghostface mask, his black clad outfit sticking to his figure as he towers over you, phone hovering right over the mask's gaping mouth. “Hum not out the front door i guess,”

You try to slam the door shut but his boot clad foot moves fast catching it right before it could close completely. Spinning you run towards the stairs, the sound of their following footsteps close behind. The door to the bedroom is still wide open as you barrel through turning around and throwing the door closed and twisting the lock.

But it's only a moment of relief when you feel a hand clasp around your mouth. Your scream is muffled from their fingers, your eyes closing as if that would fix the situation, the phone in your hand falling to the floor, “Shhh it's okay,” Kai whispers, a strong arm wrapping around your middle pulling you closer to him.

The weight is lifted off your shoulders hearing his voice, hands wrapping around the one covering your mouth to tug it away. “What is going on?” you ask, pulling yourself away from him. your back is to the door and he steps closer backing you right up against it.

“Didn't you say you found it kinda hot, the whole fear thing?” he asks, leaning close enough to kiss, “i wanted to make it extra special for you, and you don't mind if we all share you, right?” his knuckle lifts your chin up so you’re eye to eye, nose to nose, his normal shy smile turned devilish. “All you have to do is say no,”

It was crazy to say yes. your heart still pounding, breathing only just starting to regulate, and yet you want him, you want them. “I-I don’t- I don’t want to say no,”

“Then don’t,” he pushed his whole body against yours, engulfing you in his warmth, taking you for another kiss like you hadn’t left the room at all. You don't even notice him unlocking the door, not until the knob is shaking against your back.

Kai pulls you towards the bed, the closet doors behind him open showing the empty space with a lone camera on a tripod. The red light looking back at you like a warning, you looked right down the barrel of the lens wondering if you would ever see this again, and praying that you did. Kai fit his fingers over you eyes, “don't look at it, don’t think about its there,”

You hear a chuckle, so similar to the one over the phone, only without the filter. Now so easily recognizable as yeonjun, you can picture the way his mouth looks as he does it, his canines on display as he smirks. You don't even have to see him to know, you've known all of them so long you're sure one touch and you could guess who was who. And with both of kais hands on your eyes the brush of someone's fingers on your cheek lets you know exactly who it is. Soobins hands are the softest of the bunch and your face tilts in his direction. “Soobin?”

he lets out a huff of a laugh, “you caught me. And you know it's kind of rude not to open the back door when we come knocking,”

“You scared me,” it's a soft confession that they all chuckle at.

“Did we?” beomgyu teases, so much closer than you expected, the ghost of his touch going up your arm, goosebumps popping up along the trail.

Your senses are on overdrive, pulse loud enough to be heard if one listens close enough, every little thing heightened by your fading fear and covered eyes. You feel a hand slip down your stomach stopping right before your panty line, a single finger sliding under the waistline to pull it and let it snap back against your skin. You jolt from the contact, body flush with kai’s, his hard cock pressed to your back.

You hear rustling from the closet, and kai lets you go, letting you see yeonjun taking the camera in hand. He's adjusting the viewfinder, the others standing in a circle around you, it should be intimidating, the masks off now, looking at you like you're something to eat. It's taehyun that steps forward first, thumb reaching out to drag across your bottom lip. You open your mouth letting him press the digit flat against your tongue.

“You’ll be good for us, won't you?” he asks, and you close your mouth sucking his finger as you nod. He smirks, “i want first,”

It's all he says before he's pushing you down on the bed. It's so quick the air is almost knocked right out of you, your hands scrambling to find purchase on the beds duvet cover. It's almost a shame how wet you already are, the way your panties are cut away, the cold knife in taehyuns free hand only just brushing your skin. The fabric tossed around from person to person. “I did most of the work,” kai adds as you bury your face into the sheets, “she wouldn't be this prepped if i didn't start early,”

“And that's why you have to wait,” “You didn't even get her off,” they talk over each other.

“You guys didn't give me time!” kai tries but they ignore him when you give a sharp whine.

Taehyun shoves his fingers right into you, your body so willing to take him in. but you hear his belt being undone with one hand, and it's a shame you cant see the way his cock looks from this angle, because as he pressed the tip right at your entrance, slick fingers helping to lude up his veiny shaft, you can tell he's going to be the perfect stretch.

Your moan as he sinks into your warm heat is echoed by the rest of them, a choir of the perfect voices turned husky and wanting. “Holy shit,” teahyun breathes his hand pressed right to your lower back, your feet dangling right off the edge of the bed, toes only just barely touching the ground.

“Doesn't she feel amazing?” kai asks, “fuck i bet she fits like a fucking dream,” gyu adds as he walks over to the other side of the bed climbing in to lay against the headboard. His zipper was already undone, pants low on his hips as he watched you get pounded into.

Because tae was not holding back anymore, it felt like he had been waiting all night for this exact moment, to chase his high without question. And your pussy was so welcoming, sucking him in, practically begging for his cum.

Yeonjun walked around the bed, zeroing the camera in on you as your legs bend, heel of your feet pushing on taes thighs. Taehyun wraps his hands in your hair, tugging your head back, extending your throat to the camera, arching your back just right, “i want to be able to watch back how you looked while i fucked you okay?”

“Oh, look at that, huening marked up our toy already,” soobin reaches out a finger, tracing over the hickey kai had left on your skin, your eyes were wide and begging as you watched him, mouth caught open in a moan as taes thrusts turned sloppy. “Fuck, look at that mouth,”

yeonjun bent down to catch the image. “I think someone needs to fill it,”

Soobin didn't need to be told twice. He was tugging his cock out of his jeans, leaking precum already dotting the tip as he gave it long languid strokes. Your mouth was already watering at the sight, knowing taking him down your throat would be a task but one you wouldn't back away from.

But taehyun was already cumming, orgasm cresting as he slammed his hips into your ass, cock twitching as he let out a deep rumbling moan. He let go of your hair, head falling forward into the duvet as he stilled inside you pressing as close as he could get, the tip of his cock hitting you just right as he spilled inside you.

“I want next!” gyu calls out, raising his hand like he knows the answer to a question.

“No-” soobin starts but beomgyu is already moving from his stop on the bed as taehyun pulls out, the gush of warmth leaving your cunt dripping down your thighs. Yeonjun is quick to catch the sight on film.

“Look at that,” it sounds so endearing coming from him, a true sight to behold as you whine from the feeling of being empty. You feel like a ragdoll as soobin pulls on you, tugging you further up the bed so that you're on your hands and knees in front of him.

“Open,” his tip is already prodding at your lips. You feel the bed dip behind you, gyu finding his place as he drags his fingers through the leaking cum traveling down your legs, he does his best to shove it right back into you, fingers dragging over your clit, circling it as soobin shoves his cock right into your mouth.

You give a muffled yelp, tongue flattening to make it easier for him to slide in and out of. His head is rolling back, hair spilling around his ears as he moans. He twists his fingers in your hair, both hands wrapping around your head to bob you up and down on his dick like his own personal toy. You're nails dig into the sheets, the sloppy sounds of him fucking your throat taking up the most sound.

Beomgyu keeps one hand on your clit and the other guides his cock into you, he's quick to snap his hips forward sending you forward on soobin, until you're choking for air. Moans sending vibrations up along soobins shaft. His eyes tighten, needing to pull away before he cums too quickly, face flushed red as rivulets of your saliva still connect you to him.

The constant pressure put on your clit from beomgyus fingers has your stomach tightening in knots. Now that you're not taking soobin in beomgyu picks up his pace, the skin on skin slapping sounds melding with your whines. “I want you to cum for me, i want to be the first one to make you cum, please,” he sounds so desperate, not matching the way he drills into you, tip hitting your cervix in a mix of painful pleasure. He can feel your fluttering walls, every particularly hard thrust making your cunt react just right. And when you cum hes a blubbering mess, “fuck fuck fuck-” not expecting to cum so fast, but youre drawing it out of him, with each little sound you make. He's almost embarrassed by how long he cums for, head falling forward to rest on your shoulder blade, his dick pulsing inside you, curses turning to nonsense, the drawn out, “fuuu- ahh, ah,”

“Look at how pretty she looks when she cums,” yeonjun smiles, bringing the camera close to catch the way you are trying to blink the spots from your vision, “soobin next? Or maybe kai? Both of them seem to have waited so long for you,”

Kai leans back against the dresser, arms crossed as he watches you, expressionless as he follows the shape of your body. Only one of your tank tops straps are on, your breasts already spilling out from the thin fabric, soobins eyes caught on your peaked nipples as he strokes himself. But you look back over to huening, the way he's standing there like he's unaffected at all. But you know it's not true, not when he's straining in his pants, the bulge itself drives you insane. “Hyuka?”

The shyness in your voice is what does it for him, beomgyu only just pulling out of you with a hiss. More cum dribbling out as he pushes his hair back looking at his handiwork. Yeonjun is right next to him too, getting the perfect shot.

Taehyun languidly lounges back against the headboard, cock still hard as it rests against his stomach, hand wrapped around the base as he watches you. It distracts you enough not to see kai moving replacing gyus spot.

Kai wraps his hand in your hair but unlike taehyun he forcefully pushes your head down into the mattress. The whole mit of his hand cups your skull, your whimper making him chuckle. His free hands traced up your side, slipping under your tank top as he feels along your skin. “You know I was thinking about this the whole walk back after our study night?” his hand dips down fingers sliding along your wetness, “i kept thinking about how perfect it would be to absolutely ruin you,”

You're already sensitive from finishing already and kai can tell as your thighs tremble but it wont stop him from pinching your clit. Your hips push back against him, yelping as he goes on to rub circles over the bundle of nerves. “Seeing it happen- watching you get used as a little cum dump is so much better than I ever imagined,” he works your clit, building up his speed until your back is arching, nails biting into your palm as you feel your orgasm building too quickly. You're trying to rock back into his hand but the way he has you bent helps very little. Your cries heighten until he pulls it all away.

“No huening please!”

“Aww how cute, she's begging,” beomgyu laughs and you're whimpering in response.

“Kai…please!”

“You're already doing so well because i want you begging to be filled with my cum, crying from how badly you want it,” his hand goes back to your cunt, pressing into your clit rubbing at a pace that has you seeing stars, your hands scratch out for looking for anything to hold onto. Yeonjun takes your hand in his keeping the camera facing your reaction as your eyes roll back. Its in the middle of your climax that kai pushes his cock into you, finding a punishing rhythm as he fucks you into the matterss.

“Beg for it,” he growls, hand in your hair twisting in the strands. You can feel him all the way to your throat, stretched out so good, he presses right into your gspot like he was made for you.

“P-please- hyuka i need it- i-” you cant even get the words out anymore, the squeaking of the bed building as he increases his speed. You can hear the wet sounds of the other boys jerking off, “i want your c-cum, i need it,”

“Louder,” yeonjun mutters in front of you, your death grip on his hand not loosening anytime soon.

“I want it! I need your cum, please!” But Huenings is so lost chasing his own high that he drops his hand from your clit to grab your hip, his bruising hold and brutal thrusts making you cry out.

Beomgyu reaches down under you, fingers finding just the right rhythm to send you over the edge at the same time kai cums. His faltering thrusts and throaty moans makes you feel weak. Your cunt is strangling his cock, his release pushed as deep as he could get it into you. When he pulls out you collapse onto the bed, completely used up.

It feels never ending body too tired already when you feel soobin climb into the bed. He lays right behind your exhausted form, both of you on your sides facing yeonjun, “look who's next, do you think you could get another one out of her? I hear you're only a freak in theory and not practice,”

But soobin doesn't take the bait, one hand sliding under you and wrapping around your chest, hand coming up to cup your breast, fingers twisting your hard nipple, and the other lifting your leg to get better access to your leaking cunt. Your thighs are so sticky soobins fingers slip on his hold, having to tighten his grip to make sure he can keep you open. He's been ready since the start, his cock aching as it prods your now puffy swollen cunt, so used you're sure you would be sore for days.

When he sinks in your whimpers are so soft they are hardly heard. Yeonjun is kneeling on the floor, arm holding the camera resting on the bed. He captures the way soobins dick slides in with ease, no resistance now with how much slick is coming out of you. Every drag of soobins cock comes away stained in white. A ring of the combined cum circling the base, balls sticking to your skin with every thrust.

His breathy moans are lost against your neck, pitiful little sounds before he's muttering, “im sorry, oh god- im-”

“Don't you dare cum yet,” yeonjun warns soobin, who pauses his thrusts trying to listen but can't find it in him to restrain. Yeonjuns fingers pinch at your clit, your whole body reacting to the feeling, jolting you back to life as you cum. soobin unable to handle the pressure and is a complete mess, whimpering as he pulls you closer, hugging you as if he could merge bodies.

It took him a while to finally pull out, a much needed break for only a few breaths before yeonjun passes the camera to taehyun to keep the filming going. You can feel the weakness all the way down to your bones, sure if you stand you could collapse to the floor, legs too weak to hold you up. But yeonjun is looking at you like you're being served on a silver platter, all done up with all the best fixings.

“Best for last huh?” he grins climbing over you brushing under your eye to catch a single tear that's fallen from your overstimulation. “Its so fun to see you so dumb on cock, so unlike how we usually see you,”

You hum in response as he pushes your legs open, hands at the back of your knees pushing them to your chest. When he puts them over his shoulders you whimper, reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck as he sinks into your wet heat. Bent in half you feel your toes curling, sure that if you came one more time you would be better off sleeping for the next year. “I think this is good practice, don't you?” he asks like you'll respond to him with anything other than a string of muffled whimpers. Your body is coated in a thin layer of sweat, sticking to his skin as he takes a slow pace. It's like he's apologizing, lips peppering across your cheek, down your neck. “We’ll keep you so happy, stuffed full like you deserve. Would you like that?”

You're nodding, eyes closing as he uses you. You don't even notice the way your body is reacting, that slow rise of your next orgasm building up, “i-” you can’t think about cumming again already feeling so dumbed out.

“Hum? Are you going to cum, pretty?” he picks up his pace, sinking his hips and hitting you right against your g spot. Your head rolls back as it washes over you, body tightening until you feel like you’ve combusted into little particles. “Oh look at that, so perfect for me, your pussy feels so good when it's squeezing me like this,” it's all he says before he’s trembling, a guttural moan taking over as he cums, you swear you can feel its warmth spreading throughout you. And when he pulls out he takes the camera back from taehyun focusing it in on the sight of all the combined release staining your folds.

“Look at how she pushes it out,” beomgyu says, mesmerized by the way you look leaking so much cum. But it's Kai who leans down, fingers collecting anything he can before shoving all the cream right back into you. “Its almost like she wants us to fuck it right back in,”

🏷taglist: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @stwq2349 @isa942572 @tomorrowxforever r @beestvng @soobingf-blog @lovinjjong @lola-horore-553 @cypher-03 @midnight-mochii i @hueningwhy @choibeomning @soobinbunnie5 @yunjinswifee @cupidtaehyun @bamgeutsz @prince-jjae @nessaassen02 @iluvhyukaa @mrsjohnnysuh @wand3rlustm3

thank you so much to @beomiracles @prince-jjae and @thetxtdevil for beta/proofreading the first part of this fic!

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casuallyanidiot · 1 month ago

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Yandere Vlogger who gains a following by stalking you.

TW. DDNE ! MDNI ! Stalking, Implied NonCon, Voyeurism, Kidnapping

Sequel here

It started out with a few, weird videos that barely got any views.

He had a shaky camera, and he'd rarely ever talk. In fact, he didn't even show you in the beginning. It was more of videos he took walking in random places without showing his face. Honestly, it looked like he hadn't intended for anyone but himself to see the uploads, yet somehow they ended up floating across the feeds of some people.

| What is this even about lol | This is kind of strange... | What are you doing?

He was surprised to get any comments at all, but the last one especially jumped out at him. Any rational person wouldn't talk about how they'd been secretly following the love of their life to some random stranger, but he was far from rational.

Instead of replying in the comments, he made another video.

Why I Do This

" It's because I love her, and I want to make sure she's safe," he said with a shrug. The camera was propped up on a cafe table, and his face was clearly in view. Well groomed, handsome, young... he certainly didn't seem the type to be a deranged lunatic. "Besides, I like the thought that one day she'll see this and know how much I care." After he spoke, the footage was cut with a shot of his shoes slapping against pavement, wandering in some unknown location.

That one got quite a bit of views. Hundreds this time, out of seemingly nowhere.

| Woah is this guy for Real? | No way is he serious, this is probably just some project or some shit. | Lol who cares if it's real, it's kind of interesting | I wish I had a boyfriend like that | You should show us your partner lmao

The videos would come every other day or so now. There seemed to be a bit more editing involved, and the few glimpses of you that the audience got became like a fun guessing game.

"I never expected anyone to be interested in this," he admitted, this time more quietly in a library study area. " I thought people would think that this whole thing is weird, but there are, what? A thousand of you now? So strange... and here I thought I was the weird one," He chuckled and brushed his hair back gently. Just out of sight in the camera was your seated form, working diligently on an assignment. If only you knew how much he cared. Not only that, if only you knew how many people thought he was cool for loving you the way he did.

| Guys I'm starting to get kind of freaked out. Is the person getting stalked okay? | Nah, it's not real. No way. If he was for real he wouldn't be showing his face | Woah the quality has gone up so much! The sneaking into the house portion of the videos are always so creepy and realistic! Keep up the good work! | You should go into acting man | Our beloved stalker is getting pretty bold lol. I wonder how this series will end lol

Sure enough, he started having more fun making the videos. He invested in a higher quality camera, and he started to become more and more obsessed with not only following you, but documenting the whole thing. He invested in a new camera and bought new editing software. Plus, with the ad revenue he was getting from his growing viewers, he could afford to buy trackers and other things...

"Thanks to you guys, I've finally got enough to bring them home," he practically beamed as he stared into the black lens. He was hidden in a bush, the glow of your house lights illuminating his face. He held up a bundle of ropes and some cuffs. "I really couldn't have done this without your support. I'm really grateful. I might have to lay low for a while after this... but hopefully I'll be putting out some more videos about getting them settled in their new home. Again, thanks for everything."

When a missing persons alert was put out for you, hardly anyone paid any attention. His viewers didn't know your name, and he was smart enough to hide your face, so no one suspected a thing. Soon enough, you were a forgotten statistic to everyone but him.

| Woah new video! | The new set looks great! | They're acting is so realistic lol. It gives me chills. | Hey don't they kinda look like that one person...? | I'm glad to see how this series progressed lol, the stalking was getting kind of boring

"They love you," he hummed as he scrolled through the comments, the screen lighting up the darkened room. You were bound in his lap, whimpering, blindfolded and gagged as he rubbed soothing circles into your hip. "Not as much as I can, but I told you everyone was rooting for us to get together," He smiled and planted a kiss to the crown of your head.

He then stood up, carrying you in his strong arms before laying you down on his bed. He switched on the lighting and turned on the various cameras he had set up to catch your expressions from every angle. His voice was sickeningly sweet as he got you tied down and ready, his eyes flashing with barely contained obsession. "Now... some people have been asking for more... exclusive content. I think it's only fair we let them see... I wouldn't have you if it wasn't for them after all. Be good for me okay?"

#my writing #yandere x reader #yandere #tw yandere #yandere male #x reader #yandere x you #yandere concept #yandere boy #male yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere stalker #tw stalking

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rafeslvbug · 1 month ago

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when military!rafe realises lovebug!reader has more brains than him..

It was in the soft glow of his study, where rafe stressed, nearly pulling out his own hair over the plans in front of him. Calculating the number of soldiers that he could take with him next deployment, figuring out how to distribute the rations amongst them and trying to calculate costs had taken a toll on him. After hours of staring at numbers on paper, they had begun to mingle, swirling before him and evading his bloodshot eyes when they darted out to each digit, trying to claw back the remnants of his sanity.

Rafe wasn’t bad at math. He just wasn’t an expert. After graduating school he left straight for the marines, but ever since he rose the ranks, securing a higher role yet safer job, the type of calculations he’s had to do weren’t taught in state school - and his calculator isn’t much help when he doesn’t know what to put in it.

Tossing his pencil onto the table, led worn down with the numerous scrawls he’s had to rub out, rafe officially gives up, aching head in his calloused hands while he mutters a, “fuckin’ calculator doesn’t tell you shit.”

For the past hour, his mutterings and grumbles have bothered the peaceful silence of you painting your nails on the leather couch of the study. Glancing up when you hear his hopeless mumble, you let out a soft huff, rolling your eyes only slightly since you’re sure rafe has a sixth sense for when your attitude slips out. You untangle yourself from the mass of blankets surrounding you, wading from the depths of your personal corner towards his dreary state.

Half-painted nails run along his broad shoulders as you attempt to soothe him, his murmurings having subsided when he leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. An unmistakable invitation, you perch yourself onto his lap, until one arm draws you closer into his chest. “ ‘s work that hard, sweetie?” you ask in that doting tone, the one that earned you your nickname from rafe. He lets out a hum as if in acknowledgment of what you said, never wanting to admit out loud that maths is too hard for him.

He tries to hold back a chuckle though when a pout crosses your face, that familiarly determined look appearing when you turn your head towards the scatter of papers on his desk. “Don’t bore yourself with that, bug, you won’t get it,” he cajoles, rough hand sliding onto your thigh, giving it a squeeze to turn your attention back to him. You, however, only lean more towards the desk, twirling the pencil inbetween your fingers as you make sense of the scribbles rafe has put down. Amused by your stubbornness, although it would annoy him any other day, rafe leans forward too, elbow on the desk beside you, resting his cheek on his palm, as he watches your attempt.

It’s only when actual numbers, that make sense, and are going in the right places are put down on the paper, does his smirk begin to fade. You’re faintly humming some ridiculous song he’s played a thousand times for you in the car, so peaceful as you navigate the work like second nature. Twenty minutes later, and he’s in awe at how fast you work ; his papers are stacked into a neat pile and every calculation he couldn’t do, you did without even using the “stupid digital thing”. And when he asks, “where the fuck did you get that smart?” You just shrug and chuckle, like it was the easiest thing in the damn world.

Now he’s been dragged onto the couch with you, forced under your bundle of blankets as he half-watches the dumb sitcom you’ve got on his tv, while you resume painting your nails that cherry red colour. And he’s decided in his head, that you’ll be doing all his stupid maths work from now on - better to spend thirty minutes watching you do his work than spending an hour away from you without progress.

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buckyseternaldoll · 27 days ago

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Code Red

Summary: The mission was intel. But when you went dark, Bucky lost all control—and the code turned personal.

Disclaimer: graphic violence, captivity, non-consensual restrain/touch, implied sexual threat, psychological trauma, physical degradation, feral violence (Bucky), verbal abuse, violent confrontation, bloodshed, reader described as plus-size, TB* members appearance, happy ending

Word Count: 8,558

Author's note: I'm sorry for the dark theme. I'm at the hospital, drowned by my own unsafe thoughts due to my surroundings. I understand this would trigger many things so please, please scroll away if this is not for you.

Bucky had been tense ever since the mission briefing with Valentina.

You and he had been assigned to extract intel from someone out of his worst memories—someone from the part of his past he’d spent years trying to bury. And as fate would have it, you were going to be the one sent in close. Personal.

The cherry on top? No one else in the building—except Walker—knew you and Bucky were married.

It hadn’t been a deliberate secret at first. You both just liked the simplicity of it. No questions, no gossip. Quiet. Private. You’d meant to tell the others eventually, maybe once things calmed down between missions. But three years and numerous near-death assignments later, it was still just you, Bucky, and that worn silver band threaded through the chain of his dog tags; kept tucked beneath his shirt, close to his chest where no one ever thought to look.

Walker had only found out by accident—he’d overheard you both talking, low and domestic, about decorating the new apartment Bucky had gotten you. Being a married man himself, he clocked it immediately and, to his credit, had kept his mouth shut ever since.

But the issue wasn’t the secrecy.

It was the mission.

You were going undercover to get close to Volkov—a former HYDRA taskmaster who’d gone dark for years, now resurfacing through underground ops and illegal tech smuggling. Worse still, the tech in question was rumored to be more powerful than both vibranium and adamantium combined.

And Volkov?

He had a type. Curvy. Plus-size. Long, wavy red hair.

And within a heartbeat, Valentina had already decided it would be you—hair dye on standby before you even left the room.

Bucky hated every second of it.

Not because he didn’t trust you, but because he knew Volkov.

Volkov had been there during the brainwashing. Watching. Smiling. Not the man who gave the orders, but the one who enjoyed watching them followed. Bucky remembered him leaning in from the shadows, jaw sharp, eyes gleaming with control like it made him feel divine.

He wasn’t just another piece of the HYDRA machine.

He was proud of what Bucky became. Of how many he broke.

Volkov had chosen him to fight other enhanced soldiers. Had studied him like a weapon. Had whispered twisted encouragement while the programming crushed him over and over again.

And Bucky hated the idea of you having to flirt with the demon from his past.

He understood the mission’s importance. He really did. But logic had never stood a chance against this—being forced to stare down the man who once stripped him of everything, while watching the woman he loved play nice to get information.

There was no good place for him in this. No role that didn’t make his blood boil.

You noticed the tension winding through him as you both walked back to the common room. His steps were stiff, calculated. His jaw had been clenched since the briefing. He hadn’t said a word.

You knew why. You always did.

Bucky had told you pieces of his nightmares—never the full picture, but enough. The burn of restraints against his skin. The cold metal table under his back. The sterile sting of alcohol. And Volkov’s voice cutting through the silence like a blade, low and proud and amused. Watching. Always watching. Like a man admiring a piece of art that he thought he owned.

The moment you stepped into the common room, Bucky blew out a harsh breath. His eyes were distant, like he was already somewhere else. The muscles in his neck and jaw were drawn tight, veins standing out starkly against his skin like they could split open.

Without a word, he dropped onto the couch, his body sinking in as if gravity had gotten heavier. The worn leather creaked beneath him as he leaned his head back against the cushions, eyes slipping closed for just a moment.

Valentina wasn’t going to change her mind. That much was written across his face. She never did.

You followed, settling beside him, the fabric of your tactical pants brushing softly against his. The air between you still carried the faint antiseptic scent of the briefing room—cold, clinical, suffocating.

Your hand found his, and you laced your fingers through his metal ones, your palm warm against the chill of the vibranium plates. He flexed just slightly, like even that much touch reminded him he was here. With you. Not in that chair. Not in the red room.

“You okay?” you asked gently, your thumb sweeping over the knuckles of his hand.

He didn’t answer right away. Just exhaled again, slower this time, like he was trying to pace himself through the storm still building inside his chest.

“I’m not,” he admitted at last. His voice was gravel-thick, barely above a whisper. “But…”

He turned toward you, his blue eyes heavy with something unreadable—part awe, part ache. He took you in like you were the only stable point left in the room. Your hair still its natural color, your body warm and solid beside him, your expression carved with concern. Your wedding band, stacked with a few others, caught the low lighting just enough to glint—hidden in plain sight.

His gaze lingered there for a second, and then moved back up to your face. You looked worried. You looked like his, and that was what kept him grounded.

“But I’ll be fine,” he said, his tone softening just enough. He gave a quick glance around, then lifted your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles, lingering there like he could breathe you in.

“We got this.”

He wasn’t saying it for you. He was saying it for himself. To remind himself that this time, he wasn’t going in alone. That even if you had to play nice with the monster, it was your mission. Not theirs. Not Volkov’s.

He’d been fighting demons for years.

And maybe he hadn’t slayed them all.

But he’d survived them. And now, he had you.

That was all that mattered.

─

Your jaw went slack the moment you saw the dress that Valentina had personally picked—laid out on the bed.

Red.

Not just red—blood red, silky, and scandalous. The neckline plunged lower than anything you’d worn outside of your own bedroom, and the hem looked like it might start a fight with gravity if you so much as bent over. You didn’t even have to lift it to know it would barely cover your ass.

You didn’t bother hiding your disgust. “Is she serious?”

You turned toward Bucky, dress still dangling from your fingers like it might bite. He hadn’t moved. Just sat there on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the garment with unreadable eyes. His face was a perfect mask—stone-cold, emotionless—but the vein ticking in his jaw betrayed him.

“I can ask for another one,” you said, your tone careful. “Too sexy for a married woman.”

You added a dry scoff under your breath, “Not like she knows, but—”

Bucky cut in, voice low and rough. “It’s nice.” A pause. “Should work on him.”

Another pause—longer this time—and then, his mouth twitched at the corner. “Definitely working on me.”

You rolled your eyes and gave him a light smack on the arm, but heat curled in your chest at the compliment. No smirk followed his words, no leering grin—just that quiet, reverent tone he saved only for you. The kind of tone that made you fall in love with him all over again.

He could’ve raged. Should’ve, maybe. But instead, Bucky just stood up and helped you with steady hands. Held out the necklace, clipped the clasp. Watched you with hungry eyes but never crossed a line. You knew he was mentally filing this all away—every curve revealed, every breath you took in that sinful dress—for when the mission was over and you were safely back in his arms.

You stepped behind the privacy divider and changed quickly, tugging the soft silk over your skin. The fabric clung like it had been sewn onto you, stretching taut across your hips and hugging the dip of your waist. You stepped back into view, adjusting the neckline in vain, before reaching for your hairpins.

Bucky helped you curl a few strands loose around your face, fingers gentle, eyes tracking every movement like he was touching something sacred.

You caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and froze.

The red was devastating against your skin tone. Your curves poured into the fabric like molten gold into a cast, the neckline dipping low enough to hint danger and promise. Your breasts rose and fell in time with your breath, almost spilling over the fabric with every inhale. Your hair was gathered to one side in soft, tousled curls—polished, sultry, lethal.

And in the mirror, you saw him.

Bucky, still behind you, watching. His reflection stared like he wanted to devour something—someone. Like he was holding back a war.

His hands found your waist slowly, possessively. He pulled you back against him, his vibranium arm firm and cool against your side, his flesh hand sliding along the curve of your stomach. He pressed a kiss just beneath your ear, the heat of his breath scattering goosebumps across your neck.

“So fucking gorgeous, doll,” he murmured.

You felt the soft drag of his lips as he kissed down to your pulse point, then the gentle scrape of his teeth as he sucked lightly—just enough to tease, not enough to leave a mark. Professional. Barely.

The urge to melt into him nearly overrode the mission entirely.

“Your necklace,” he murmured, pulling back slightly. “Camera’s built in. I’ll be your eyes.”

He passed you the earpiece—small, skin-toned, nearly invisible. “For comms.”

You nodded, slipping it in, but your hands trembled just slightly from adrenaline or nerves—or the way he was still looking at you like the mission could go to hell for all he cared.

He took a step back and made you twirl once.

The silk flared high with the motion, fluttering like smoke around your hips. For a breathless second, the hem rode up just enough to expose the curve of your ass—barely covered by the black tactical shorts beneath. A teasing flash. A threat. A promise.

Bucky’s eyes locked onto the sight, and a low, guttural sound tore from his throat—half groan, half growl. He dragged a hand through his hair, like he was trying to keep himself from losing it right there.

“Fuck me, doll…” he muttered, voice thick. “You tryna kill me before the mission even starts?”

You gave him a soft, steady look—part smile, part shield. “You ready?” you asked.

But it was really him asking you.

His fingers brushed your wrist—once, twice—like a final tether before the storm. His voice came low and sure.

“With you?” His lips quirked. “Always.”

─

The nightclub, VØLT, was buried beneath a defunct hotel in the heart of the city—a forgotten husk above, but alive and feral below. Coded entry only, shielded from satellites, and loud enough to shake the bones in your chest. The air was thick with secrets and sin. Shadows clung to the corners, pierced only by strobes and flashing crimson lights. Bodies moved like smoke across the dancefloor, heat and perfume curling in the air like incense. The bass thrummed like a second heartbeat, relentless, primal.

You walked through it all like you owned the place. Head high, hips steady. The red dress painted on your curves, your heels clicking sharp across the concrete floor. The music pulsed low and sexual, the bass vibrating through your ribs.

Bucky’s voice was in your ear—steady, low, grounding. “Cam’s good. I’ve got eyes. You’re clear to move.”

You didn’t answer. Just exhaled slowly and zeroed in on the booth near the back.

Volkov looked different, but not enough. His hair was grayer, his jawline looser, but his posture—relaxed, draped across the velvet like he owned the room—was the same. A monster’s throne.

He was smoking something sharp and spiced, the bitter tang of his cigar mixing with the scent of the club. It made your throat itch. His smile was practiced, sculpted into something that almost passed for charm. Almost.

He watched you approach like a man dissecting prey.

“Evening,” you said, voice wrapped in heat and silk.

He didn’t return the greeting. Just looked you up and down with a hunger that made your skin crawl. “You’re late.”

“I like making an entrance.” You sat, legs crossed slowly, the hem of your dress sliding up to reveal just enough thigh. “I heard you’re holding something I want.”

His eyes dropped lower. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You shouldn’t,” you murmured, tapping a fingernail against the glass in front of you. “I have the money. I want the weapon.”

Volkov watched you with unsettling calm, blowing smoke sideways. You could feel the nicotine cloud brush against your cheek.

“You ask for quite a bit,” he said eventually. “Trust doesn’t come cheap.”

“Then tell me what does,” you countered.

He smirked, teeth glinting behind his cigar smoke like a wolf sizing up a meal.

“Come closer, принцесса (printsessa). Let me feel what I’m selling to.”

Your breath hitched. Just a split-second delay, but it was enough.

The music felt louder now, bassline pounding through the soles of your heels, up into your spine. Your blood thudded in your ears, hot and slow, like it was being pulled toward danger. You could feel every eye in the room watching you, sizing you up the way he was. Like meat. Like leverage.

Bucky’s voice sliced through the comm, low and razor-sharp:

“Don’t do it. You don’t have to—”

“I got this,” you whispered back. It was the only thing you could say. You had to say it for both of you.

Volkov patted his thigh, thick fingers spread. His smirk widened. His gold ring caught the red light like blood in moonlight.

Your feet moved on instinct, each step heavy with something coiled in your gut. You slid into his lap like silk stretched over barbed wire—fluid on the outside, jagged underneath. You perched carefully, your weight held taut in your thighs to avoid giving him too much.

But it didn’t matter. His hand snapped around your waist like a shackle, possessive and greedy. His palm was hot through the thin silk, rough where the rings dug into your flesh. A predator’s grip.

Then the second hand came up—slow, deliberate. It skimmed along the bare skin of your back where the dress dipped low, each finger a cold brush of oil-slicked arrogance. Your breath caught. The nausea started in your stomach and crept higher.

He leaned in close, his breath warm and sickly sweet from brandy and smoke.

“Mmm… you smell like sugar and sweat. Dangerous mix.”

His voice dropped, coiled around your throat like a rope.

“Do you make sounds when you wear red like this? Or do you just lay there and kill slowly?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You forced a smile, teeth aching from the tension in your jaw.

In your ear, Bucky’s comm had gone silent.

Then: a sharp inhale. Metal hitting something solid.

CLUNK.

You could hear it—his vibranium fist slamming the edge of a table, or a wall, anything to keep from tearing the comm from his ear.

He wasn’t speaking. But you could feel him—burning, locked down, seconds from detonation.

Volkov’s hand crept lower on your spine, fingers dragging over your skin in slow, possessive circles. He lingered at the small of your back, thumb teasing just beneath the fabric now, pushing boundaries with the casual boldness of a man who’d never been told no.

His breath rasped against your ear, faster now—he was getting off on this. On the power. On you.

“Such a soft thing,” he murmured. “You ever had someone ruin you just to rebuild you sweeter?”

Your body went cold. You kept the mask on, but your fists were curled in your lap, nails digging into your skin to keep the rage from surfacing.

Then he raised his voice, just enough for the nearby guards to hear. Mocking.

“She’s the kind that moans when you just touch her. Right here—”

His hand pressed hard against your lower back, fingers flexing, suggestive.

“—and she melts.”

And that was it.

Bucky’s voice cracked back through the comm, no longer calm. He sounded wrecked.

“Pull out. Now. I swear to God—”

“I’m fine,” you whispered, through clenched teeth. “Just another minute.”

But he wasn’t fine. You could hear it now—his breath was short, shallow, furious. He was pacing, maybe. Staring at your feed. Muscles bunched and twitching, jaw locked so tight it probably ached.

His voice returned, low but raw, like it scraped up from his ribs:

“You’re not a pawn,” he hissed. “You’re my goddamn wife.”

Those words landed low in your chest, sharp and full of heat.

You inhaled slowly, steadied your hands, and leaned in just enough for Volkov to think he’d won. Close enough to feel the heat of his neck.

“Dock 65,” he finally whispered. “Tomorrow. Midnight. Alone.”

You smiled, soft and slow. Then you rose—graceful but fast, sliding off his lap like a knife from its sheath.

His hand didn’t leave you until the last second, dragging over the curve of your ass like he had the right. Like he owned even the air between your bodies.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t look back.

You walked toward the exit with your chin high, every muscle taut, your dress swaying around your hips like liquid flame. But your legs trembled from effort. Not fear—restraint.

Then his voice filled your ear again, low and ruined.

“Come back to me. Now.”

─

You entered the hotel room, hit by the a of heat that had nothing to do with temperature. Rage hung in the air—thick, suffocating. Something acrid and metallic burned your nose. The air felt charged, like a thunderstorm was caught in the walls.

Your eyes dropped to the corner where your shared luggage sat—shredded, the zipper teeth split wide like a scream. One of the hard cases was caved in, the shape unmistakable. That was the sound you heard through your comm. The clunk. His fist.

Bucky stood near the window, shoulders heaving like a man coming down from battle. His chest moved fast, his breathing ragged. The moonlight through the blinds glanced off his metal arm, glinting off the knuckles that were still clenched, twitching. His jaw flexed, teeth grinding so hard you thought you could hear the bone creak.

Then his eyes found yours. And the fire there almost knocked you back.

“Goddamn doll,” he growled, voice barely human, thick with rage. “I swear to God, I’m going to rip that fucker’s head off with my bare hands.” His vibranium hand flexed again, sharp and jerky. “I’ll carve his spine out and feed it to him.”

But you were already crossing the room. No hesitation.

You threw your arms around him before he could move again, before he could spiral deeper into that dark place. Your cheek pressed to his chest, the fabric of his shirt damp with sweat, heart pounding like a war drum beneath it.

“I hated every second of it,” you whispered, your voice raw and tight. “That wasn’t easy for me.”

His arms wrapped around you a beat too late, stiff and tensed—as if he was afraid he’d break you. You held him tighter, anchoring both of you. His body trembled—not fear, not grief. Fury. A possessive, helpless rage that had nowhere to go.

“Baby,” you whispered, tilting your face up to his, “shhh. Baby, look at me.”

He didn’t. Not right away. His eyes were still far away—still watching that bastard touch you, still hearing the way he spoke to you like you were something he owned. You knew the image was carved into Bucky’s mind like a scar.

“I’m fine,” you said, brushing your fingers over his jaw. “He didn’t get me.”

His eyes finally snapped to yours. Hungry, desperate, searching for proof. For any sign that Volkov had left a mark.

“He touched you,” he said, voice hoarse, almost childlike with the weight of it. “He fucking touched you. I watched it—I felt it, like it was me.”

“I know,” you said gently. “But we got what we needed. Dock 65. Tomorrow. He bought it. It worked.”

His hands came up slowly, cupping your face like you might vanish if he let go. He exhaled a long, shaky breath against your forehead. The scent of him—sweat, adrenaline, and the lingering trace of that smoky cologne he wore on missions wrapped around you like armor.

“We can kill him later,” you whispered with a small, bitter smile.

Bucky still didn’t smile. He pulled you tighter against him, one hand sliding to the back of your head, cradling it.

“You’re not bait,” he murmured, voice low and guttural. “You’re not some decoy for men like him. You’re my wife.”

The word cracked open something raw between you.

Wife. Not asset. Not agent. Not distraction.

Just his.

You didn’t speak. You just stayed pressed against him, holding his trembling body as he tried to cage the storm inside him.

His arms were iron around you, but the tension in him was raw, barely contained fury simmering just beneath the surface. Yet somehow, he held you like you were fragile glass—his fingers digging into your sides not to hurt, but as if afraid to let go, afraid you’d slip away. You wanted more than anything to let yourself be crushed by him, to be pressed into his heat so hard that every memory of Volkov’s filthy hands was scorched away.

You pulled back just a fraction, enough to look up into those icy blue eyes—eyes that burned with a jealousy so fierce it made your skin tingle. Your voice was low, smooth but thick with emotion, a threadbare mix of exhaustion, defiance, and need.

“Bucky…”

His thumb brushed beneath your eye, wiping away a phantom tear you didn’t realize you’d shed. You saw the flicker of guilt, the sharp edge of helplessness. But there was no brokenness in you to find, only fire.

You stepped closer, letting the soft rustle of your dress brush against his worn tactical vest—the fabric whispering secrets of where you’d been, what you’d endured.

The red silk clung to your curves like a second skin, a promise, a warning. The slit teasing open your thigh, the low back bare and vulnerable, but now reclaimed, like a battlefield you’d already won.

You reached up slowly, your fingers threading into the thick strands of his dark hair, pulling him closer—closer than the sharp scent of gunmetal and sweat that clung to him after every fight. His breath hitched in a way that made your heart shatter and heal all at once.

“I don’t want to remember him,” you said, voice a velvet thread laced with steel. “Not how he touched me. Not how he looked at me like I was a prize to be bought or broken.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched until the muscle twitched. But you pressed your hand to his chest, feeling the steady, heavy beat of his heart beneath the fabric, slow and sure under your palm.

“I want to remember you.”

His breath was shallow, erratic, like he was drowning in everything you were saying—and everything you weren’t.

You carefully removed your earpiece—the faint click breaking the silence between you like a vow. You set it aside, eyes never leaving his.

You slid your hands down the ridge of his collarbone, across the hard planes of his chest, tracing the line of muscle and scars that made him whole—the man you loved.

You stepped close, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper that barely brushed his skin. “You know,” you murmured, eyes locked on his, “when we were in front of the mirror earlier… I couldn’t stop noticing you.”

His gaze sharpened, dark and dangerous, like a storm about to break.

“You were so hard, pressed against me like you wanted to claim every inch of me. Like you wanted to tear me apart and make me yours right then and there.”

Bucky’s breath hitched, thick and ragged. His chest rose sharply beneath his shirt, muscles taut, pulsing with a tension that was almost unbearable. You could feel it—his need, his fury, his desperate hunger—all radiating off him in waves.

You lifted your hand slowly, deliberately, and pressed a featherlight kiss just below his ear, where his pulse beat wildly. The heat of your lips sent a shiver racing down your spine and made his whole body tense against yours.

His breath caught, low and rough, a sound raw with longing and restraint. His metal hand slid to your waist, firm and possessive, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

You trailed your fingers up the curve of his neck, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your touch, the scar beneath his jaw like a secret you were privileged to trace.

Your lips hovered over his skin, voice husky with need. “I want you, Bucky. Right here. Right now.”

His lips crashed against your neck, hot and demanding, searing a trail of fire down your skin. His mouth was hungry, worshipful, each kiss a claim—a promise and a warning.

But then his eyes flicked to the door, the weight of the mission pulling him back like a chain.

You pulled away slowly, breath mingling with his, your fingers still curled possessively against his neck.

“We’ll finish this,” you promised, voice thick with heat and something deeper. “I’d rather die tangled in your arms than spend one more second remembering Volkov’s filthy hands on me.”

His jaw clenched, voice low and rough, trembling with rage and need. “You’re mine, doll. No one’s going to touch you like that. Not while I’m breathing.”

His grip tightened around your waist, holding you close as if letting go might make you vanish.

And in that fierce embrace, you both found a fierce kind of sanctuary—a quiet promise that no matter what came next, you belonged only to each other.

─

You’d arrived at Dock 65 before the promised time, hidden beneath the skeleton of an abandoned shipping yard on the outskirts of Salzburg. The salt from the sea clung to the air, sharp and metallic, biting into your nose with every breath. Bucky had come with you, shadow-silent and lethal, staying just out of range to avoid compromising your cover. His presence was a tether, his voice in your ear a steady heartbeat.

“This feels off,” he murmured, low and tight. “Too quiet. Too clean.”

He was right.

The plan was simple—classic infiltration: see the tech, verify it, grab what we need, then vanish. You’d done this a dozen times with him. It should’ve been routine. It felt like muscle memory.

But the silence was heavy. Not tactical—vacant.

You padded across concrete in soft boots, slipping between rusted containers and steel pylons slick with dew. Your heartbeat matched your footfalls—measured. Focused.

Bucky’s voice hummed in your ear again. “Back’s clear. But I don’t like how easy this is.”

You were already at the final checkpoint—a thick steel door sunk into the loading bay, blinking with a red biometric scanner. The security was laughable. Almost like an invitation. A bad joke wrapped in confidence.

Still, you knelt and worked the panel, fingers flying. “Almost in,” you whispered.

The door clicked. The metal whirled and groaned as it peeled open.

And that’s when it hit.

A sharp prick—hot and thin, like fire beneath your skin. You gasped, stumbling back.

“Fuck,” you hissed, stumbling back instinctively. You reached for your weapon, but your fingers fumbled.

Bucky’s voice snapped in your comm. “What happened? What was that—?”

Your limbs went liquid. Your knees buckled.

You saw the hallway shift and blur. Lights smeared into streaks. A cold wave swept over you, then nothing.

Everything went black.

─

You woke up to cold. Not just in the air, but in your bones.

The scent hit first—rust and sweat and old blood. Your head pounded, dull and heavy, like you were underwater. Every sound was muffled.

Then came the sting in your wrists. The raw burn of rope—tight, too tight. Ankles too. Spread just far enough that it made your muscles ache.

Your gear was still on. Mostly.

But it didn’t feel like armor anymore.

The sleeves of your tactical suit had been shredded—slashed open by a knife meant to scare more than wound. Your zipper had been dragged halfway down your chest, the thick material parting under Volkov’s probing hands. One shoulder was bare where the fabric had been tugged aside, revealing the flush of your skin beneath the cold air. Your belt hung lopsided—holsters gone, gear stripped like trophies. Gloves missing. Boots scuffed from a fight you barely remembered before the sedative hit.

The chill in the room clung to your exposed skin, humid and damp like sweat that didn’t belong to you. And those cameras—silent red eyes blinking from the corners—watched you without blinking. Recording every breath. Every tremor.

You were still conscious. Still aware. And that was the worst part.

Volkov wanted you lucid for this.

Your arms ached from being bound above your head—metal cuffs cutting into your wrists, slick with sweat and blood. Your legs were tied at the ankles, the chair cold beneath you, bolts secured to the floor like this was always part of the plan. Like he’d been waiting to catch you like this. Waiting to make a spectacle of you.

Of course he was talking. He always talked first—like the sound of his voice was foreplay.

“I told them,” he muttered, dragging a chair toward you with a long, grating screech that raked across your skull. “Told them you’d fall. Doesn’t matter how trained you are. Everyone breaks. Especially the pretty ones.”

He sat. Legs wide. Elbows on his knees. Staring at you like you were already bleeding. Like you were his.

“You’ve lasted longer than I expected,” he said, his tone almost admiring. “But it’s coming. The breaking.”

His fingers reached forward again—those same thick, ringed fingers that had unzipped your suit, that had ghosted down your neck when you were half-awake. The scent of cigar smoke and synthetic cologne still clung to them, mixing with the tang of sweat and metal in the room.

His knuckles brushed your cheek. You flinched.

Not because you were afraid. But because you were furious.

And that fury—white-hot and blinding—was the only thing keeping you upright. And Bucky. Out there. Closing in like a storm beneath your skin.

But you couldn’t let Volkov see that.

So you swallowed the bile in your throat, forced your limbs to sag like the sedative still held you. You let your eyes flutter, like you were slipping under again. You made your voice small. Weak.

Why me?” you rasped, voice thin but laced with just enough bait. “What is it you want, really?”

He chuckled, the sound low and cruel. “Why not you? You were on my list the moment I saw you in that club. All that attitude, all that strength. It’ll make the footage better.”

Your stomach turned, a leaden knot of disgust and rage.

Still, you kept your face slack. You played your part.

“You kill me,” you whispered, slurring the words just enough, “you lose what I know. HYDRA vaults. Weapon caches. Secure lines. Things your people couldn’t even find.”

He paused.

There it was. That flicker of greed in his eyes. That hesitation.

You leaned into it.

“Let me talk,” you said, breathing shallowly, trembling just right. “Water. Hands free. Just a little. I’ll give you something.”

He stood again—slow and amused—and crossed to a small metal table at the side of the room. Tools. Restraints. Maybe something sharper. You couldn’t see all of it, but you heard the clink of something metal. A chain. A blade.

You clenched your teeth. Not yet.

A drop of sweat rolled from your temple down to your jaw, and you caught your reflection in one of the black-glass camera lenses. You barely recognized yourself.

But your eyes—your eyes still held fire.

You could see it.

And somewhere out there, Bucky saw it too.

Because you knew. You felt him like gravity. The echo of his fury, the weight of it marching toward you. He’d tear through walls for you. And he was close. So close.

You just had to survive a few more minutes.

Volkov picked up something—something you didn’t want to look at—and turned back toward you.

“You think you’re stalling,” he said with a grin, eyes glinting like broken glass. “But this? This is the good part.”

Your jaw tightened.

You let your chin drop forward, your eyes go dull again.

But inside, you were coiled wire, stretched thin. Every heartbeat was a countdown.

You weren’t stalling for your life.

You were setting the stage for his execution.

─

(Bucky's POV)

He heard it—the faint pop of compressed air, like a dart or a silenced shot. Then a low thud.

Your voice followed, barely audible in the comms—one last breathy fragment before the drug pulled you under. Slurred. Straining.

“Sweet, sweet printsessa. I’ll ruin every tight little hole until you’re nothing but broken.”

Volkov.

That voice.

That fucking voice.

Bucky didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Every muscle in his body locked, like a tripwire had snapped taut in his chest. The world around him went sharp and silent—no more footfalls, no night breeze, no humming electricity from the docks.

Then—

Static.

Your line went dead.

Gone.

And Bucky snapped.

He was moving before he even realized it—sprinting, boots pounding against the dock’s gravel and steel. The radio in his ear buzzed, someone trying to hail him, but it was just noise. White noise. Meaningless.

His blood roared like fire through his veins, hot and bitter, his heartbeat hammering so loud it drowned out everything but the image—you, helpless, in danger, with that bastard’s voice still echoing in his head. That threat. Those words.

It wasn’t just rage. It was something deeper. Older. Something that lived in the marrow of his bones, coiled like a beast.

But he didn’t lose himself.

Not this time.

No—he harnessed it. Focused it. Weaponized it.

The Winter Soldier was awake—but for once, he wasn’t in control. Bucky was. And that made him even more dangerous.

His metal hand clenched so tightly the plates creaked, servos humming under strain. He leapt over the low railing between two shipping containers, landed in a crouch, and kept going—his movements faster, heavier, more brutal with each second.

He tore through a bolted gate, didn’t even feel the sting of metal slicing his palm. Pain didn’t register. Nothing did. Just the map in his mind—your last known location. The building ahead. That thick steel door.

He saw it, even as his breath fogged in the night air—what Volkov must’ve done. You’d been careful. So fucking careful. But he’d planned for this. Had something in place. A trap meant for you.

The woman he loved.

His wife.

Mine. Mine. MINE.

The thought pulsed with every stride, every heartbeat.

He hit the access panel beside the locked door with the full weight of his vibranium fist. It shattered instantly. Sparks rained as he jammed a wire into the circuitry, bypassing the system with muscle and rage, not finesse.

The door creaked open—and what Bucky saw beyond it turned his fury into something nuclear.

Cameras. Chairs bolted to the ground. A metal table with restraints. Tools. Blood.

And your scent—faint, but there.

He felt his soul fracture for half a second.

Then he moved.

Fast.

Silently.

A predator.

He would tear Volkov apart piece by piece—not for the information, not for revenge. But for you. For every breath he stole from your lungs, for every second of fear he put in your eyes, for daring to think he could touch you.

And if there was a god—he hoped Volkov would scream.

Because Bucky wanted him to scream.

─

The second Bucky breached the reinforced door, the scent of blood, sweat, and fear punched him in the gut.

You.

He felt you in the room before he saw you—your pain, your rage, your heartbeat fraying at the edges. Something ancient and monstrous twisted inside him.

The air changed. He knew before he looked. And then he saw you…

Strapped to a bolted-down chair. Tactical gear torn open. Skin bruised and shivering under flickering light. One wrist raw where the rope had bitten deep. A trail of dried blood traced the curve of your neck. The air hung heavy with copper and mildew, and the blinking red cameras watched like silent executioners.

You looked up—just barely. Your eyes found him.

Fire behind glass.

Tears unshed. Fury held in trembling muscle.

Then Bucky saw him.

Volkov.

Standing just feet away, an iron rod clutched lazily in one hand. A SIG-Sauer P226 slung at his hip. His lips curled into a grin that didn’t quite hide the madness beneath. He hadn’t touched you again—not yet. But the look on his face said he planned to.

“You should’ve brought flowers if you wanted to interrupt,” Volkov sneered. “Didn’t know they let backup dogs run loose these days.”

Bucky didn’t speak.

Not yet.

He walked forward—slow, deliberate, methodical. His breaths were sharp and clipped, like drawing air through broken glass. A predator’s prowl. Precision in every step.

“You here for a trade? A martyr’s end?” Volkov taunted. “C’mon then. Let’s make it cinematic.”

Still, Bucky said nothing.

He moved until he stood directly between you and Volkov—shoulders squared, stance rooted. His left hand—vibranium—automatically reached back, as if shielding you by instinct alone.

Then—

He snapped forward.

His voice tore through the room like a thundercrack.

“This woman—” he roared, pointing directly at you, body shaking with raw fury, “—is my wife!”

The word wife detonated in the air.

Your head jerked slightly. Even through the haze, even through the pain—you heard him.

“MY FUCKING WIFE! Not your toy. Not your hostage. Not something for your sick little games.”

Volkov’s smirk cracked. It slipped—just slightly—but enough to see the twitch in his jaw.

Bucky’s vibranium fingers curled into a fist. The sound was like metal grinding on metal.

“You touched her,” he seethed. “You looked at her like she was yours. I’m going to make you regret ever drawing breath.”

Volkov moved first—fast, confident, stupid.

Bucky met him halfway.

He pulled his sidearm mid-stride and fired. Two shots. One aimed for Volkov’s shoulder, the other for his thigh. Volkov twisted with inhuman reflexes—the first bullet grazed his bicep, the second slammed into a steel support behind him.

Volkov returned fire—a sharp, calculated double tap.

Bucky slid sideways, felt the bullet nick the edge of his arm. Didn’t matter. He was already moving.

They collided like freight trains.

Bucky’s knife flashed out from his belt—a matte black combat blade, narrow and deadly. He slashed upward, fast, aiming for Volkov’s abdomen. The Russian twisted, caught the blow with his forearm—blood sprayed in a fine arc.

Volkov spun, boot kicking Bucky square in the chest. He staggered back one step—just one.

Then launched himself forward again.

Knife to knife now.

Volkov drew his own—shorter, serrated, HYDRA-issued. Their blades clashed, metal sparking, skimming skin and armor. The room filled with the sound of grunts and steel colliding. Bucky’s body was pure muscle and memory—every move learned in blood, every strike meant to kill.

Volkov ducked a slash and drove his blade into Bucky’s left side, just under the ribs.

Shit.

Bucky grunted. Twisted. Let it dig an inch deeper—then used it. He grabbed Volkov’s wrist and pulled, driving his own blade straight into Volkov’s thigh, burying it deep.

Volkov howled.

But he was trained. He didn’t drop.

He struck back with his elbow, cracked it into Bucky’s jaw. The blow rattled Bucky’s brain for half a second—enough for Volkov to sweep his leg under Bucky’s and take him to the floor.

They rolled—grappling, snarling, blades scraping armor and bone. Bucky’s metal hand caught Volkov’s throat. He squeezed—hard. Volkov gagged, slammed his elbow into Bucky’s side, but Bucky didn’t let go.

“You think pain makes you strong?” Bucky growled. “You don’t know pain.”

He slammed Volkov’s head into the ground. Concrete split beneath.

Volkov, bloody and furious, managed to roll away. Pulled a hidden pistol from his ankle holster and fired.

One shot went wild.

The other grazed Bucky’s shoulder, slicing through the edge of his suit.

Bucky dove low—shoulder-first—tackled him against the metal table. It folded in half under their combined weight. Chains rattled down like rain.

Bucky disarmed him in a heartbeat—knife spinning across the floor. Pistol kicked away.

Now it was just them.

Fists.

Steel.

And rage.

Bucky landed a blow to the ribs that bent Volkov sideways, then drove a knee into his gut. Volkov coughed blood, still fighting, still moving. He threw a headbutt. Connected.

Bucky’s vision flashed white. But his body kept going.

He ducked under a punch and drove his metal arm up into Volkov’s chin.

Crack.

Teeth scattered.

Volkov dropped.

But Bucky wasn’t done.

He grabbed him by the collar and threw him across the room—into the steel wall. The impact echoed like thunder. Volkov slumped, dazed, broken.

Bucky moved in.

Each step was deliberate. Measured. Deadly.

Volkov made one last move—limping, bleeding—toward a blade still on the floor.

Bucky stepped into him.

And drove his vibranium fist into Volkov’s gut. Deep. Bones snapped. Blood spattered.

Then came the uppercut. Vicious. Perfect.

Volkov flew backward. Hit the floor. Didn’t get back up.

Bucky stood over him, breathing like a war engine, sweat and blood dripping from his brow, muscles flexing with each ragged inhale.

He could kill him.

One more hit.

One.

But then—

He looked at you.

Your bruised wrists. The blood on your neck. The silent strength in your eyes.

And the fury softened—just enough to make room for control.

Bucky stepped back.

Grabbed one of the thick cargo chains from the floor. Industrial. Cold.

He wrapped it around Volkov like a vice. Again. Tighter. Again. Until Volkov’s ribs creaked and his mouth filled with the taste of metal.

Bucky looped it through the floor bolt. Yanked it tight.

Then knelt, voice low and lethal in Volkov’s ear.

“You’ll live just long enough to rot in a black site,” he hissed. “Every day knowing you lost to me. That you never got to touch her again.”

He stood.

Wiped the blood from his mouth.

Then turned.

And saw you.

Bruised. Bleeding. Breathing.

Still you.

And in that instant, everything else in the world disappeared.

—

The moment his eyes met yours, something in him shattered.

He crossed the room in a heartbeat.

“Doll—” His voice broke, hoarse with something primal.

His hands were already on the restraints, fingers shaking as he worked through the tight buckles with mechanical precision. The cold touch of his vibranium palm met your bruised wrist, and you winced—more from reflex than pain.

“Shit. Sorry. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He flinched like he’d hurt you.

“Bucky,” you whispered. “It’s okay. I’m—”

“No,” he rasped, his gaze sweeping over you like he was cataloging every mark, every scratch, every tear in your clothes. “It’s not. Look at you. Fucking look at you.”

His breath hitched. Blood smeared his temple, a gash cut across his jaw, and the left side of his torso was soaked in red—where Volkov’s blade had torn beneath his ribs—but he didn’t register it. Didn’t care.

He knelt in front of you like a soldier before an altar, pulling the bindings off your ankles with a desperate kind of tenderness. Every time the rope gave way, he touched the skin beneath, thumb brushing gently across raw flesh like he could erase it.

“I should’ve gotten here sooner. I should’ve known.” His voice cracked again. “I heard what he said to you over the comms—I heard—God, baby, I should’ve fucking—”

“Bucky,” you said again, firmer this time. You leaned forward weakly, your hands finding his bloodied face and cupping it between your palms. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

He shook his head like he didn’t believe you. Or couldn’t.

“I saw your face when I walked in,” he whispered. “I saw what he did.”

Your lip trembled, but you forced it still. “He didn’t… get far. I was drugged, restrained—but I don’t think he…” You swallowed hard, bile rising. “I think he wanted to wait. To make it worse. I could feel it.”

Bucky’s entire body stilled. Frozen.

Then his jaw flexed, and a tremor rolled through his shoulders.

“I was going to kill him,” he admitted, voice like shattered glass. “Right there. Would’ve torn him apart with my bare hands and smiled while I did it.”

“I know,” you said softly. “And if you had, I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

His eyes met yours again—steel blue, raw. “But you did stop me, didn’t you?”

You nodded. “Because I still need you, Bucky. I don’t need vengeance. I need you.”

For a long second, neither of you moved.

Then he slowly leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. His blood mixed with your tears. His hand—metal, unyielding—cupped your jaw with a touch softer than silk.

“You’re my whole goddamn world, doll,” he whispered. “They can take the mission. They can take the tech. But they touch you—”

“I know.” You closed your eyes. “They didn’t.”

You sat in silence another beat. Long enough to breathe. Long enough to feel your body again. It hurt—every inch—but it was still yours.

And you were still his.

Finally, you pulled back just enough to look at him again. “Can you move?”

He nodded, wincing as he stood. The stab wound was clearly more than a graze now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

“Good. Because we’re not done yet.” You exhaled and braced a hand on the chair, pushing to your feet.

He immediately steadied you.

“Hey—slow. You sure you’re okay?”

“No,” you said honestly. “But I’m upright. I’m breathing. We came here for more than him.”

Bucky looked at you like you’d just grown wings. Like maybe you were the strongest person he’d ever met.

You gestured to the side door—half-open, dimly lit.

“Volkov said he kept it behind security doors. Tech that could outrun vibranium and adamantium. We find it, we finish this. Together.”

He gave you a long look. Then nodded, bloody and steady.

“Together,” he said.

And this time, it wasn’t a promise.

It was a war cry.

—

You settled beside Bucky, your fingers still trembling from the adrenaline, but your voice stayed steady as you pulled out your comms. The sterile hum of the damaged room was pierced by your quiet command.

“Val, I need backup. Volkov’s down, but his intel’s too valuable to lose.”

Your words felt heavier than air, each syllable soaked in urgency and the weight of what you both had just survived. The faint crackle in your ear answered with Val’s cool, unwavering voice—a beacon cutting through the dark.

“Copy that. Bob and Yelena are on standby in the city. They’re moving in now.”

Relief unfurled inside you—a fragile thread of hope amid the storm. Familiar voices. Reinforcements racing through the city’s shadows toward your location. A lifeline tethered to survival.

You glanced at Bucky, whose breathing had slowed, chest rising and falling like a war drum now beating for peace. Your touch found his bruised shoulder, gentle but grounding—an unspoken promise that this fight wasn’t over, but you’d face it together.

Meanwhile, Bucky turned back to Volkov, seizing the moment to inflict just enough pain to crack the enemy’s stoic facade.

Codes and coordinates spilled out under Bucky’s relentless pressure—every word a strike against Volkov’s will. The new tech’s location was now clear, an ominous prize tucked in a forgotten warehouse.

Without hesitation, Bucky led the way.

Your mind raced as you scanned the data, heart pounding in your chest. The place was rigged—dangerous. Lethal. But destruction was necessary.

Bucky moved with purpose, expertly setting charges that would erase the tech and any trace of its existence.

Explosions roared behind you, shaking the ground. The acrid scent of burning metal and plastic filled the air.

Back in the quiet aftermath, you knelt beside Bucky. Your hands moved carefully over his wounds—bruises blooming purple, cuts still fresh. You ignored the heat of your own exhaustion, focusing on him.

The metallic taste of blood still lingered on his lips, but his skin was warm under your fingertips—healing fast, fueled by sheer will and some stubborn human resilience.

Your touch was gentle. Deliberate. Calming the storm inside him.

His wild eyes softened. He exhaled. The tension in his jaw eased under your care.

Volkov lay unconscious, wrapped tight in steel chains—conscious enough to curse in his dreams, but powerless.

You met Bucky’s gaze.

And in that look, shared a quiet understanding:

The worst was behind you.

For now.

—

The low hum of the jet thrummed around you, the tension from the mission fading like smoke.

Bucky lounged back in his seat, that cocky smirk never leaving his face as he nudged you gently with his metal arm.

“You comfortable now, wife?”

The moment the word left his mouth, Yelena shot upright like a firecracker had gone off beside her. She slammed her fist on the intercom button with enough force to rattle the entire jet cabin.

“You two were fucking?!”

Your cheeks flushed a hot, creeping red, heat blooming across your neck as all eyes snapped to you and Bucky.

Bob burst into delighted applause, grinning ear to ear like he’d just won the lottery.

Yelena’s glare sharpened, her voice dripping with playful disgust.

“Seriously? You could do so much better than some grumpy, hundred-year-old man.”

She shot you a smirk full of challenge.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the soft smile tugging at your lips, your voice low and teasing as you leaned into Bucky’s side.

“I’m too down bad for him already, Lena.”

Bucky caught your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles, his steel-blue eyes sparkling with a tenderness that made your heart thud painfully in your chest.

The warmth of his touch was a stark contrast to the sterile hum of the jet’s engines.

Yelena groaned, throwing her head back dramatically.

“I’d rather die than witness all this PDA shit in real life. Please, no more!”

Before you could respond, the intercom crackled to life.

Ava’s voice came through, shocked and high-pitched:

“Who—what??”

Then Walker cut in, with his usual dry edge:

“Is the cat out of the bag now?”

Bob chimed in happily, clapping again.

“Finally! Took you two long enough.”

Suddenly, the intercom blasted again, this time it was Alexei—loud, exuberant, completely unfiltered:

“YESSSSSS, AVENGER PAPA AND MAMAAAAAAA!! AVENGER BABY IN MAKINGGG!!”

The cabin exploded into laughter.

Yelena groaned as she slammed the intercom button once more, shaking her head at the glorious madness surrounding you.

Bucky smirked down at you, eyes soft but mischievous.

“Looks like we’re famous now, love.”

You nestled closer, hand tightening around his, feeling the rare calm of being home amidst the chaos of your lives.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #avengers #thunderbolts* era fic #winter soldier fic #bucky barnes imagines #bucky imagines #bucky fic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky x female reader #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes x plus size reader #tw: dark themes #feral bucky barnes #જ⁀➴ by elle

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