#x-frame-options | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

em1i2a3 · 2 months ago

Text

Carry The Zero

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry (or The Void) x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob are sharing a room while the Avengers Compound is under renovations, which brings on a slew of new things to learn about one another.

Warnings: Semi Spoilers for Thunderbolts I guess because Bob is in here. Other than that there is nothing too extreme happening in here, it’s a bit emotional, but there is fluff in here, I would kind of describe this as a Hurt/Comfort fic than anything. There are mentions of abuse and there is also some heavy petting maybe? I mean, I’ll put that in here to cover my booty lol.

Authors Note: My second viewing of Thunderbolts truly got my mind racing for what to write in regard to Bob. Thought I would put out this lil blurb and probably add more to it later in another segment or something! Anyways! Enjoy y’all and happy premiere weekend!!! :)

Word Count: 6,784

The room wasn’t built for two people, that’s what you knew for sure. It used to be a storage space, at least that is what you assumed judging by the various filing cabinets that lined the area, the dented lockers that were near the door, and the strewn papers that nobody decided to throw away in preparation for the move-in. The only thing that was the saving grace was the fact that the place had a window that let you look out onto the city. But it still didn’t truly make up for the cramped space, even though they were able to shove two twin sized beds inside it and call it a room–which showed how effective their planning was throughout all the chaos.

The Avengers Compound was still under renovations after a security breach took out part of the living space, meaning everyone needed to be shuffled like cards in a losing deck. Room assignments were given unwillingly to everyone, and you had been paired with Bob.

It was weird to be rooming with someone who had the power of a million exploding suns as people liked to say, because even though he carried that on his sleeve sheepishly, his personality certainly didn’t match that of a person who could take down the entire world. He was shy, quiet, and careful, tip-toeing around you like you were going to snap at him at any second–which was not the case at all.

Compared to the other options you had you actually preferred to be rooming with him.

The first few days had passed in near silence. You didn’t talk much, you’d only go into your room to sleep or change, and when you would do something outside of those two things Bob would rush out pretty quickly, apologizing nervously under his breath, like he thought you were obligated to time alone.

He’d go to bed early, and you’d catch him reading beneath the awful buzzing lamp that was left in the room from before the two of you moved in. You never really asked him what he was reading because the title was always changing, like he couldn’t finish anything, or he had so much time to himself he was finishing books like they were snacks.

Then there were little things you began to notice.

He’d pace a lot, wring his hands in his lap, or pick at the skin on his fingers. He was clean, he never left shoes in the middle of the room, and always lined them up neatly under his bed frame, even yours. He would flinch at loud noises, like if there was a childish argument happening in the communal kitchen and things got too high in volume he would get a little twitchy. He was observant, and paid attention to everything around him–sometimes you would hear him talking to himself, repeating fragments of conversations from earlier in the day, like it grounded him in some way.

He had his routine and you respected it as much as possible, but tonight was entirely different.

You were coming in late from training, and a med bay visit.

The scrape on your shoulder wasn’t serious, but it was bad enough to have Bucky send you down to get checked out. It was standard–some antiseptic, a lecture from one of the nurses about being more careful and aware of your surroundings, and then you were released with a warning, and a fresh bandage. You were exhausted, sore, and annoyed with yourself for not paying attention and letting your guard down during a simulation, especially because the past few nights had been like that.

By the time you reached your floor, the halls were quiet. There wasn’t any bickering or discussions happening in the kitchen, nobody was lingering in the living room with post-mission jitters, it was just peace, for once.

You stopped at the fridge to pick yourself up a bottle of electrolytes, then paused, eyeing the row of them. You bit your inner cheek, and after a second of hesitation you grabbed another one for Bob, tucking it against you.

You figured he would be awake like he always was when you were on your training nights. You weren’t sure if he was just waiting for you or if he was just incapable of resting when you weren’t accounted for, but you never asked.

Slowly, you moved down the hall, twisting the cap off your drink with a wince when you strained just a little too much, causing the bandage to sting beneath your shirt. You gritted your teeth and let out a frustrated grunt.

“Gotta take it easy on yourself.” You heard Bucky say from behind you. You turned on your heel, seeing he was still in his training gear, also holding a bottle of electrolytes as well, “You’re gonna burn out if you don’t take breaks.” You shifted under his gaze.

”I want to be better, that’s why I’m training. If you got your ass handed to you on the field you would be doing the same.” He shook his head.

”No. I would be resting and seeing what I could do better the next time. Don’t come to training for the rest of the week, just relax and recoup, we’ll revisit your regimen when you’re better.” Before you could say anything he typed his code in for his room, and was out of your sight. You could feel your body seething as you turned back around to continue making your way down the hall. You’d seen it coming from a mile away just by the way he was watching you during the simulation but you never thought he would say anything to you like that. It just added another layer of annoyance as you reached your room.

You pushed the door open gently, careful not to let the hinges creak too loudly. The room was dark, which was unexpected, Bob’s light wasn’t even on. The only thing that was illuminating the room was the shimmer of city lights, casting silver-blue shadows across the floor.

Bob was in bed, lying on his side facing you, with his blanket tugged up to his neck. His face was soft in the low light–features relaxed, eyes closed. Sleeping, or at least you thought he was. You lingered in the doorway for a moment, squinting in the dimness of the room to see him a bit better.

His light brown hair looked a little messy, like he’d been shifting around for a while before finally settling on the position he was in now. You wondered how long he was lying like that, or if he had been waiting for your return but fell asleep in the process, and now you felt even worse than before.

You let the door close softly behind you with a gentle click, removing your shoes slowly, one at a time. Every motion felt heavier than it should have–dull with fatigue, and edged in frustration. You padded across the narrow space, keeping your steps quiet, with the extra bottle of electrolytes tucked against you, the condensation seeping through your training jacket.

You crouched slowly beside Bob’s bed, biting back a wince as your muscles tensed in protest, while you placed the bottle down on the floor, angling it so he’d see it when he woke up. It was a small, quiet offering, just something kind, a consideration in a way. You took your next moves slowly as you stood up and turned to your own bed with a tired exhale, putting the cap back on your drink and throwing it onto your bed. One hand rose to the zipper of your training jacket, pulling it down in a swift movement, teeth grinding while you pushed the fabric off your shoulders, feeling pain erupt from your ribs and shoulder now, the muscles pulsing with burning heat.

The cool air of the room hit your skin instantly, and your tank top didn’t do much to hide any of your injuries from the environment. Your back arched with the grating sting that came through you, and one hand came up to press against the bandage, making sure it was still on properly and not tugging at your skin. The ache was sharp and pulsing, and when your fingers came away damp, you already knew there was blood seeping through the gauze. You grimaced but didn’t consider making another trip to the med bay. You were too tired to care at this point, and it wasn’t something that would cause you to bleed out, so it was a morning issue to deal with.

You turned toward your dresser, collecting a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized sweater that smelled faintly of sage, throwing both articles of clothing down onto your bed with a soft plop. You rolled your shoulder gently, testing the range of motion in it with a quiet wince before reaching for the hem of your tank top, peeling the rough fabric up your skin carefully, trying to avoid the worst of the sting, though even at your slowest pace you could feel the movement pulling at the wound.

The cotton clung briefly to the tape of the gauze and the dried sweat that coated your skin before finally giving way, and coming off completely. You let out a sigh of relief, as you let the fabric fall to the floor, reaching for your sweater next. The bandage on your shoulder throbbed with every shift you made, but it was the deeper bruises scattered across your body–ghosts of impacts from the past few days–that ached beneath your skin like an echoing thunder. You glanced down at yourself, taking in the way they bloomed across your ribs, stomach, and hips, at this point you could see more bruises than your actual flesh at this point, and they were tender, dark and swollen. Maybe Bucky was right, maybe you really did need a break…

Your fingers curled loosely into the hem of your sweater, but you didn’t think to pull it on yet, you just continued to look down at the wreck that was your body, and the longer you stared, the more numb you became. It was easy to take a break but it wasn’t deserved, you couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes during missions, and you knew you weren’t going to listen to Bucky, you would keep training until your body gave out.

You closed your eyes for a moment, before lifting the sweater towards you, ready to retreat into its softness, ready to disappear and call it a night, but then you heard it.

A breath. Sharp and quick. You froze in your spot.

Then came the sound of movement, the shuffling of the blanket, the mattress creaking under the shifting weight.

Your eyes darted toward Bob’s bed instantly, seeing that his back was now turned towards you. His blanket was pulled up around his shoulders, almost covering his whole head, but there was tension in his posture now, like he was more alert, and less relaxed.

Another breath was inhaled, only it was thinner this time, and wet, followed by a muffled sniffle. Your brows furrowed, and you worked quickly to throw your sweater on without hurting yourself so you were covered up completely, before making your way to his bed, crouching down on the floor, keeping your attention fixated on him. His shoulders were rising and falling now in uneven motions, and now you were piecing together that he was actually crying.

”…Bob?” You whispered, voice soft and low, like if you made it any louder than the volume you were at now it might shatter him. You could see the shuddering in his shoulders halt at the way you said his name, and he pulled the blanket higher over his head, like he was trying to shield himself from your eyes.

”I’m sorry…” Your brows pulled together in confusion as you leaned against the bed a little more, watching the outline of his frame beneath the covers, seeing the small tremors still running through his shoulders. You bit the inside of your cheek as you reached out, your hand hovering for a breath before resting gently against the curve of his back. He was radiating heat through the blanket, but he was stiff beneath your touch, like he didn’t know what to do with the comfort you were offering.

“Bob…Why are you apologizing?” You asked softly. He took in another shaky breath, but didn’t answer. You let out a sigh, rubbing your hand up and down his back like your mother used to when you cried, trying to soothe him, to calm him as much as you could.

”I…I saw the bruises.” He said, barely a whisper. Your hand on his back froze for a moment, “I-I didn’t mean to look, I swear, I just-“ His breath hitched, realizing that you were probably throwing daggers into his back with your eyes, “I just woke up…And saw them, and I couldn’t…Couldn’t stop remembering…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, it was just too much, as another set of sobs escaped his throat. You could feel your gaze soften at the noise, almost like a piece of your heart was breaking for him, continuing your movements along his back, pressing just a little harder into the muscle.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you want some electrolytes or something?” He shook his head.

”No…P-Please just stay…” His voice was hoarse, cracking under the thickness that coated his throat from the tears. You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, staring at his shoulders as he continued to cry, curling in on himself beneath his blanket.

You continued rubbing his back, keeping a steady and consistent rhythm. The heat of him radiated through the blanket like a furnace on the verge of burning itself out. Every time your hand passed over his spine, his shoulders seemed to loosen by a fraction.

“C-Can I ask something…Kind of w-weird?” His voice broke through the quiet again, in such a timid whisper that you barely heard it.

“Sure.” You replied, hearing him sniffle again. There was a long pause, and you could feel the hesitation, like he was trying to put his words together properly so whatever he was going to say didn’t come off creepy. You continued to run your hand over his back, waiting patiently for him, watching his figure rising and falling beneath the blanket, still seeing it shaking. In your mind, you were worried, you hadn’t seen him like this before, and there was a moment where you considered calling Bucky or Yelena to come help you, but then his voice broke through the thoughts.

”…Could you…” He took another breath, “Could you…Please hold me?” The question came out strangled, like it had clawed its way out of his throat before he could second-guess it again. You blinked slowly at the request, not because you were unsure of your answer, but because the way he said it was so gentle, and embarrassed it caught you off guard in a way.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say, you thought maybe he was going to ask you for a tissue, but this was something far more vulnerable, something you never thought would come from Bob of all people, even though you knew he was sensitive. Inside you hesitated only because you didn’t want to hurt him by possibly doing the wrong thing, yet your heart ached watching him break down beneath his blanket which at this point was drowning him because of how much he had curled up beneath it.

“Of course…Just let me change out of these training pants first okay? It’ll just take a second.” There was no response to that, just movement. He shifted towards the wall so he was giving you enough space to get in, still hunched over like he felt guilty for the area that he occupied. You quickly stood up, and made quick work of shimmying out of your training pants and putting on your cotton sleep shorts, which was probably the best idea since you felt him burning through the blanket he was wrapped in. You brought your attention back to him soon after, returning to the side of the bed, your eyes roaming over the lump that resembled his body.

With a gentle hand, you tugged the edge of the blanket down just enough to uncover the top of his head, revealing his light brown hair again which looked dampened with sweat beneath the illuminating city lights that shined through the window. He didn’t say anything, or protest being exposed to you, so you took that as a good sign to continue.

You slid into the space he made for you, careful not to jostle the cocoon he made for himself too much, and eased your bad arm underneath his pillow so your scraped shoulder could rest in a neutral position where your bandage wouldn’t rip off your skin completely. You pulled up the blanket slightly, getting in behind him, scooting closer until your chest met his damp back.

His navy blue t-shirt was soaked through completely, and it wasn’t helping that he was wearing long pants to bed either. There was a fear he was gonna pass out from heat stroke or something, but he had mentioned it several times that he ran hot in general, you just didn’t see it to this extreme. He smelled like a salty rain storm, or like ozone, it was something indescribable to you in those moments, but it was what he typically radiated, it was familiar.

Slowly, you brought your arm over his torso, placing your hand onto the hard plane of his sternum, the muscles beneath his shirt twitching against the unfamiliar touch that you introduced to him.

Neither of you spoke, you just laid against each other in pure silence, listening to each other's breathing–his trembling, yours steady. He could feel your hot breaths against his neck and tried to pay attention to it, as you pushed down the blanket a bit with your elbow to shed the makeshift shield from his body. It took him a while to compose himself enough to speak again, but when he did, you were hanging off of every word.

”…When I saw the bruises…” He rasped, “All I could think about was me. When I was a kid…” The mentioning of his childhood immediately felt like a blow to your stomach. He had said something about how he was raised in passing, but it was an off handed remark that nobody really paid attention to. You figured it was something he didn’t want to talk about, but hearing him say this only made you dread what he was going to continue with.

”After he’d hit me…I’d go over to the mirror, just to see how bad it was. I’d tell myself it didn’t hurt, even if it did, I’d just lie to myself, because I knew if I cried, he’d just get angrier. He was always in the mood to beat me up so when he had a reason I think it made him feel justified in some…Messed up way.” Your chest tightened at his words, thinking about how scary it must’ve been for him, and how terrified he must’ve felt not knowing when his own father would strike. You didn’t speak right away, but you did shift, sliding your hand up higher on his chest, so you could press your palm flat over his heart. His shirt was soaked there too, yet beneath it all you could feel the frantic fluttering of his pulse, like a bird rattling against its cage.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, your breath tickling his neck again. He didn’t respond, though he didn’t recoil either.

“None of that should’ve ever happened to you,” You continued softly, brushing your thumb along the fabric against his heart, “You were a child, and you didn’t deserve that.” He let out a breath like he was trying not to begin sobbing again.

”You don’t have to say that.” You raised your head a bit, almost in disbelief that he truly thought that what happened to him was somehow okay or justified.

”I do, Bob.” You murmured, inching just a little closer, feeling your body screaming in protest as your injured shoulder moved the wrong way, causing you to hiss through your teeth. Bob noticed instantly.

”You’re hurting,” He said quietly with guilt sinking into every syllable.

”I really couldn’t give a crap about that right now Bob, trust me I’ve been through worse. You’re hurting right now too and I’m not going anywhere. Do you understand?” You replied back, your voice low, but lacking bite, not that you intended to have it sound stern or anything.

Bob shifted beneath your touch, slowly rolling onto his back like the weight of your words cracked something loose inside him. You adjusted carefully to give him space, keeping your injured shoulder angled away from the impact of his back pressing against your arm, even though the ache felt like white noise beneath the tension that was beginning to rise in the room. When he settled on his back you adjusted yourself so your chin rested against his chest, keeping your hand splayed in the same position over his heart.

His eyes didn’t find yours at first, they stared blankly at the ceiling, the soft glow of the city lights catching the shimmer of the tears that were still pooling in his eyes. Now that you could see him fully, you realized how bad things really were. His skin was blotchy, and flushed from how hot he was. His cheeks were stained with fresh tears, mixing with sweat that created this overall sheen on his skin in general, which made his hair cling to his forehead. A long, old kind of hurt settled over his face, the kind that hid quietly within the corners of a person.

He inhaled shakily, and every exhale got caught somewhere between exhaustion and restraint. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your chin, and it made you ache in a way that put a hole deep in your chest.

”Bob…” You murmured, barely louder than the sound of the city humming outside the window, “Look at me.” At first he didn’t move, keeping his eyes fixated on the ceiling, distant and confused, still taking in those short bursts of air. Your hand left his chest, bringing them up to his jaw, coaxing his attention with the lightest touch you could give him.

“Look at me Bob,” You whispered again.

Then slowly, his eyes shifted downward until they found yours. The moment his gaze landed on you, something cracked open between you both–it was quiet, and delicate, but present and grounded in the center of it all. His expression was drawn, and his lashes were clumpy and wet with tears, framing his shimmering blue irises.

The skin surrounding his eyes were raw, almost a blood red, like someone had scratched it and left their marks streaking down his flesh. You didn’t flinch away from it though, you just looked at him with such focus, like your gaze could settle the storm that was in him. You could see his lip tremble slightly under your gaze as he tried to hold himself still, tears brimming in his eyes again, threatening to spill.

”I hate remembering…I can’t stand it. I don’t want to remember this stuff…I don’t want to think about it anymore, and I don’t want you to associate me with being weak.” You raised your eyebrows, now raising your head up to you were looking at him a little better, resting your hand against his chin now.

”I don’t, ” You stated, watching a set of tears flow out of the corners of his eyes, swallowing loudly, “I don’t associate you with weakness.” You whispered, brushing your thumb along the smooth skin of his cheek.

”I associate you with patience…With overwhelming kindness, and with strength so deep it doesn’t even have to be displayed. You could burn the sky down…You could use all the pain inside you to destroy the planet…Yet you help, you listen, and you keep going. That’s not a weak person Bob.” You wiped one of the tears away with your thumb, feeling him hesitate before leaning into your touch.

“Y/N…I’m not right in the head…You don’t understand…You’ll never understand.” You shook your head, and sighed.

”I don’t have to understand everything to care about you,” Bob’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment, like the words that you said hit him like a truck. You could feel the tension in his jaw, as he clenched it tightly, trying to contain himself a bit.

“I used to think that if I could just bury everything deep enough maybe it wouldn’t make me feel so contaminated…But then when I got the serum…And The Void came…And that awfulness manifested into something bigger…I realized that it just wouldn’t go away. I’m dangerous Y/N…I’m not someone that can be fixed. I know you care, but I can’t risk hurting you.” You shifted closer to him, moving up slowly, dragging your chest along his. His eyes followed your movements, turning his head when you settled near his shoulder, feeling your hand leave his cheek.

“You don’t scare me Bob. You’re just saying this stuff because you think it’ll make me give up on you, but I’m not that easy to sway.” You whispered, reaching down to touch one of his hands, which caused him to flinch. He was already bracing himself, preparing to be pulled into one of your memories, but it didn’t happen…It was like…Things were quiet. Just pure emptiness, and the only thing he could see was you. He stared at you as you wrapped your fingers around his hand, seeing his brows draw together.

“H-How are you…Doing this?” He asked quietly, like he was afraid he was going to disturb the peace and get thrown into your mind out of nowhere.

”I locked it out.” He shook his head at you quickly.

”That’s impossible…It always gets in…” A small smile came up on your lips, hearing the disbelief in his voice, the way he was almost entirely taken aback by what you had just said. You leaned in a little closer to him, like you were going to tell him a secret, feeling his breath fanning over your face.

“Before I was recruited, I was part of a different team. Black-ops, kind of like what the X-Men used to be, but very much under the radar. It was just…Constant missions, we were a clean up crew basically, picking up the scraps that nobody else wanted…” You smiled faintly, the corner of your mouth twitching with the memories of your team, how close you all were, how none of you took crap from anyone…Similar to what you had now, just a little better because of the tether you all had between each other.

“We ran into a lot of people with gifts. Telepaths. Empaths…Stuff like that. Some didn’t even know they were projecting until it was too late. Others weaponized it. Pulled secrets out like stitches and drove people insane without ever touching them.”

Bob was still staring at you, eyes wide and brimming with tears, his chest rising beneath you in short bursts.

“It was mandatory,” You continued. “To train in mental shielding. Neural control. The discipline to lock down your own mind so tight it’s like a vault. We trained until our thoughts didn’t even echo. You learn to breathe around psychic pressure, to mask trauma with static, to reroute memories into dead space. You learn to feel someone reaching for you…And then cut the line.”

Bob swallowed hard, hearing the way you explained everything to him step by step, while still holding his hand, running your thumb over the back of it.

“I wasn’t trained to stop the Void,” You said gently, “But I was trained to stop something similar to it. And apparently, it’s just close enough.” You watched his lashes flutter like he didn’t know whether he was going to cry again or if he was just going to sink into the mattress and disappear entirely.

“…That’s why the mental noise isn’t so loud when we're alone in a room together…” He whispered under his breath, almost like everything was clicking in his mind, as his hand began to tighten around yours now, matching the same hold you had, “…Mental shielding…Who knew that would be the thing that makes everything go quiet.” You smirked at his comment, already hearing the tension in his voice wavering, feeling his breath sticking to your cheeks, shifting in front of him so your noses bumped slightly.

“Technically it’s still quite an experimental thing, but…It works when needed I think.” You can see his lip twitch slightly, drawing into his mouth just a little bit, as if he wanted to get a taste of your breath that coated it.

“It’s…Amazing.” Was all he could muster up to say, continuing to hold onto your hand tightly, like it was anchoring him to this quiet space in his head that he had not been able to reach since taking the serum. “…All I hear, and all I feel…Is you and I had no clue until now…” The sound of his voice made your spine tingle, and goosebumps raise on your skin.

It was shocking that moments ago he was this wreck, then suddenly it was like he was on top of the world. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been touched like this in so long, or maybe it was because he finally had a break from all the noise that kept draining him, you had no clue…But what you did know is how soft his eyes had become, and how deep his breaths were now that he was a little calmer, and not being treated like a threat of some kind.

You shifted again, getting almost unbearably close to him now, the fabric of the blanket sliding down slowly, exposing your clothed bodies to the silvery-blue light just a little more. Bob didn’t move, but his eyes never left yours, he kept every ounce of attention on you, waiting for your next action, hanging on every moment. His breath hitched when your knees bumped gently against his thigh, as the warmth of your bodies radiated like twin heartbeats pressed just barely apart.

Your noses were brushing against one another, and if you tilted your chin up by just a little bit, you’d be kissing.

”I’m glad I’ve been able to make it go quiet for you…Even if it’s not permanent.” A faint smile slowly appeared on his face–crooked, and trembling, but so genuine.

“It’s more peace than I thought I’d ever get…So thank you.” He replied back, his hand squeezing yours, not in desperation, but with something closer to awe, like he still couldn’t wrap his head around the situation that was happening in front of him. His breath brushed across your face as he watched your eyes roaming over his. You couldn’t help but stare at him, to take him in now that he wasn’t crying, to admire the person who was in front of you. It was hard not to lose track of time studying his features, and how they were just…Him.

There was a long pause between the both of you, a snippet of time suspended into the universe where nothing else existed beyond the narrow bed and the hum of the city beyond the window. His chest rose slowly, puffing out warm shallow breaths against your lips, and for a second it felt like he was hesitating on something…But then, he leaned in.

It wasn’t fast, or sweeping like he was trying to catch you off guard. It was careful, like every little millimeter he closed between the both of you was an offer for you to pull back, but you didn’t take it.

When his lips met yours, it was a soft, trembling brush of mouths that lingered more in intent than execution. He kissed like he was afraid you were somehow going to disappear, but you could feel how much he truly wanted this. His lips were warm, and slightly parted, and you could taste the faintness of tears and salt, still hesitating to go the full mile.

There was a moment where he was about to pull back, and that’s when you took the opportunity to fully lean into the kiss and throw logic out the window, just for this one cut of time

Your lips moved against his, answering the softness of his approach with something more certain and grounded. The taste of him was still there, but now it was amplified tenfold from how much more pressure you were placing on the kiss now.

He was stiff at first, the tension in his jaw made it evident, like he was unsure of what he was allowed to do, what he was okay to give back, or like he was bracing himself for the possibility of you pulling back before he could even try to meet you where you were at. But then your hand let go of his, and slid up to cup the side of his face, and he let out the smallest gasp of disbelief against your mouth. Your thumb brushed gently beneath his eye as your lips molded to the shape of his mouth with a tenderness that shattered whatever restrain he’d been holding onto.

Your arm shifted beneath the pillow, bending just enough so you could lace your fingers into his damp hair, pulling him in more with such grace that it made him groan. His hand moved to your neck then–his shaky fingers pressing softly just below your ear, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw as he located your pulse instantly. His touch wasn’t possessive, it was filled with care, and curiosity. He wanted to feel the warmth of your skin, the steady–or not so steady–rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his fingers, he craved to be closer to you, and every moment that passed was giving him the signal that you wanted that too.

He shifted gently, slowly turning onto his side without breaking the kiss, being cautious not to put anymore unwanted pressure on your arm beneath him as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in until your bodies were flush against one another. You could feel the dampness on your sweater from his shirt, and your bare legs brushing against the cotton of his sleep pants, which only overwhelmed you more, knowing it was going to be a challenge to stop this from going too far.

His hand splayed out on your back, twitching against the fabric that covered it as you parted your lips for him, allowing his tongue to brush against yours with the softest flicker of hesitation, tasting you like he was drinking something sacred. The breath he let out against your mouth made your skin prickle beneath your sweater, and it only encouraged your response.

You angled your mouth to his, encouraging him to continue, feeling him follow suit in an instant, matching your energy bit by bit, syncing with the way you moved against him. When your hand slid further into his hair, and curled within the damp strands, gently tugging, he let out the smallest, softest moan–it was so quiet and desperate it sounded like it had been buried within him for years. It made your head spin hearing it, and it only made you shift yourself towards him even more, feeling his thigh nudging between your legs so the both of you can completely mesh together. It was such a subtle move, but it lit up every nerve ending in your body like it was nothing.

Bob’s hand slid beneath the hem of your sweater, craving the feeling of your skin beneath his touch. His fingers traced the small of your spine, barely putting enough pressure on it, yet he still managed to send shivers through your body. He was getting bolder, but kept his awareness at the forefront, like he was cataloging every reaction you gave him, terrified that he might cross an invisible line and ruin the moment.

You felt the muscles in his arm shift as he pulled you even closer, putting more pressure between your bodies until you felt every rise and fall of his chest, and his heartbeat pulsed through you. His knee shifted again, nudging further between your thighs, pressing it gently into the thin cotton fabric that covered your most sensitive area, eliciting a gasp from you now. You could feel yourself falter control for a moment, moving your hips just a little to test the friction that you wanted, and that’s when you both realized just how far this could go–and how close you already were to getting there.

His hand tensed against your back, and the kiss slowed down, until he found the correct moment to pull back, just a few inches. His lips were still parted, only now they were swollen and wet with saliva. He was out of breath, and you mirrored the same sentiment, as the both of you tried to even your racing hearts before they exploded. His pupils were dilated, and in the dimmed lighting you could only see a faint glisten of blue that rimmed the darkness that took over, the burn was there, the want was there, but there was the looming fear that you both were going from zero to one hundred really quickly, and that’s when regrets could be made, and neither of you wanted that.

”…We can’t do this…” He whispered, his voice cracking from being the first one to speak. You nodded faintly, your fingers still toying with his hair, reluctant to let go completely, but understanding him.

”I know,” You murmured, “Not like this…Not tonight.” You clarified. He closed his eyes, a soft exhale brushing your lips as his fingers twitched against your pulse point on your neck again.

”It’s not that I don’t want to,” He added quietly, “God I do…You have no idea.”

“I know,” You said again, running your thumb along his cheek, soothing the skin there, “Me too…I want to as well…But we’re not ready. Especially after being in the headspace that you were in a few minutes ago.” He nodded slowly.

”I don’t want it to be something that will be confused for a moment of distraction.” You stared at him, hearing how serious he was about it, “And I don’t want to ruin anything.” He added softly, opening his eyes again to look at you.

”You’re not ruining anything, we’re just pressing pause…And that’s completely fine, and it’s the best decision to make for right now.” He gave a small, nervous smile at that and leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours, “We’ll talk more about it later…But for now how about we just relax hmm?” He let out a shaky breath, the heat from it hitting your lips and invading your mouth for just a split second.

”Yeah…I’d like that.” You smiled faintly, as your bodies untangled just a bit from one another, removing the both of you from the intimate position you had found yourself in moments before. His knee shifted out from between your legs, and rested against them instead, letting the tension unravel and disappear slowly.

He wrapped both arms around you now, carefully noting your injury, and you folded yourself into his chest, letting your hand rest on his ribs as he pulled the blanket up to shield the both of you.

You both stayed there, nose to nose, breath to breath, hearts beating unevenly against one another until sleep came over you like a harsh wave.

4K notes · View notes

sv3t1ana · 2 months ago

Text

SYNOPSIS ᯓ Gojo doesn't usually fuck his clients. This was supposed to be a normal massage. But with hands like that and a cock to match... "professional" was never on the table.

PAIRING ᯓ Masseur!Gojo x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS ᯓ smut MDNI, happy ending massage!, oral (f receiving), size kink?, PIV, spanking, biting/marking, dirty talk, possessiveness if you squint!

WORD COUNT ᯓ 5.3k

You’d driven past the place at least a hundred times.

It’s a stupidly sleek little building tucked perfectly between a Pilates studio and one of those overpriced juice bars. Like the kind with an obnoxiously chic and overly sensual neon sign that says TOUCH. White letters on smoked glass, all minimalist and judgy and expensive.

Every time you passed it you’d scoff.

“They probably charge three hundred fucking dollars just to rub your back and judge your pores.”

You’d even spat out an insult once like the building itself would crumble under the weight of your words, hitting the gas on your way home from work. Said it with the kind of righteous confidence that only comes from truly believing you’d never be that kind of girl. The kind who just… lets someone touch them like that. Oil-slicked and half-naked, moaning on some fake leather table while a stranger pretends it’s “therapeutic.”

Weird, isn’t it?

Definitely not for you.

And yet, here you are.

Saturday morning. Pillow hair, soul cracked like a boiled egg, lying in bed with your phone half on your face as you text your best friend in a fugue state,

you ever feel like your spine is just floating? help

You expected a “same.”

get a massage. i’m serious.

You snort. Riiight, a massage, huh?

You stare at the screen, eyes locked to the message like if you stared long enough it’d dial itself.

No amount of sarcasm or dignity can fix the way your shoulders feel like cement. Or the way you haven’t slept properly in weeks. Or the way your boss sent a “quick favor” email at precisely 11:48 PM last night, which you answered because your spine is already jelly and your will to live has already been transferred to a spreadsheet.

So… yeah.

Maybe you are that girl.

The bell attached to the door jingled as you step into the spa, and this is where you immediately felt out of place. The air smelled like eucalyptus and tears of the rich. The lighting was soft, flutey music passing through one ear and out the other, the woman at reception desk with the kind of smooth and poreless skin someone had when they bathed in rosewater.

You step up, feigning confidence like you hadn’t just Googled “what happens at a massage” just an hour ago.

“Hi, uh… I’d like to get a massage?”

She looked up from her computer with a smile too serene to be trusted. “Of course, what kind were you thinking? We offer Swedish, Thai, deep tissue, shiatsu, hot stone, aromatherapy-”

You nod slowly, brain buffering like YouTube trying to stream Paul vs. Tyson. Swedish? Do you get buttered up and rolled around like an IKEA meatball? You can’t ask that. You’d already committed the biggest crime by pretending you belonged here.

“Deep tissue,” you said, like you knew what the hell that meant.

She gave you a polite nod, tapping away on her keyboard. “Great choice. One of our more intense options. How long would you like the session? Sixty or ninety minutes?”

“Um… sixty’s good,” which is actually code for: I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m more scared of farting if you press too hard on my spine.

“Perfect,” she chirped. “The massage therapist will discuss pricing with you. You can take a seat, they’ll call you back shortly.”

You stepped aside, sitting on the impossibly soft couch in a sack of second-guessing. Of course there was a candle named something you can’t pronounce. And of course there’s a small framed sign on the coffee table reading: Relaxation is a journey, not a destination.

Just as you begin contemplating how to fake an emergency bolt, an intrusive thought crossing your mind to stand up and scream that you had a fucking bomb, a calm voice called your name.

You stood up, maybe way too quickly, meeting the eyes of a woman smiling at you with a clipboard in hand.

Thank god. A woman. The anxiety deflated from your shoulders. You didn’t really consider the possibility of a male masseuse until now, but the idea of some beefcake oiled up and kneading your thigh was not something you emotionally prepared for.

“This way,” she gestured for you to follow her down a hallway lined with softly glowing wall sconces and the sound of babbling water. You’d never felt so simultaneously underdressed and overscheduled.

She opened a door and motioned you inside. “You can undress to your comfort level and lie down under the towel, face down. I’ll let your massage therapist know you’re ready.”

“Towel?” you echo, glancing around. On the table sat a singular, small, pathetic white towel. It looked like something you’d pat a cat dry with, and you didn’t know if you expected a beach towel or a blanket.

Still, you nodded like a champ.

There you stood, alone after she exited and shut the door behind her. Unsure of how much was too much as you undressed. Were you supposed to keep your underwear on? Take it off? Would that be weird? Shit, what was the social etiquette here? It felt wrong to Google it, like the masseuse would walk in on you hunched over your phone naked like a caveman discovering the world wide web for the first time.

Eventually, you compromised by only keeping your underwear on and sliding under the towel, if you can even call it that. It barely covered your ass, and if you breathed wrong a cheek was gonna peek.

You lie face down, pressing your face into the weird little donut hole in the massage table. Every attempt at relaxation was a fail, your body as stiff as a mannequin.

The door creaked open, a voice drifted through the air all too low and smooth, way too sexy for this situation.

“Good evening,” he said.

Wait.

Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait.

You lift your head just a fraction, seeing a tall man stepping into the dimly lit room. White uniform shirt rolled to the elbows. Forearms like Greek sculpture. Messy white hair. A face so hot you swore you could hear angels filing HR complaints. His eyes were icy, meeting yours and curved with a smile.

“I’ll be your masseur tonight,” he said. “Name’s Satoru. Just let me know if anything feels uncomfortable.”

“Oh. Okay. Cool,” you say, voice cracking.

He chuckled softly, washing his hands in the corner, the sound of running water far too sensual. You press your face back into the donut, trying not to internally implode.

You asked for this, your brain whispered.

You chose deep tissue, whatever that meant.

You hear the flick of a small bottle opening. Something shifts behind you, the scent of cedarwood and vanilla blooming through the room like a secret. A soft, wet sound followed, and then-

Drip.

Oil hit the small of your back first. Warm, silky. You twitched without meaning to.

“Sorry,” his voice came playful and low, like he wasn’t sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, only letting out a small squeak of laughter.

Then came his hands.

Large, warm, firm. Gentle as they pressed into your shoulders, thumbs digging slow, practiced circles into the knots near your spine. You can’t help the exhale escaping your lips, something between a sigh and a sound you’d only make in bed.

“This your first massage?” he asks, and damn him. Even his voice sounded like a smirk.

You coughed. “That obvious?”

“Just a bit,” he teased, hands now kneading into the ridge between your neck and shoulder. “You’re stiff. Tense.”

You laugh nervously. “It’s just work stuff. Desk job.”

“Hm,” he hummed like he already knew. Like he could read it in your body the moment his hands touched you. “I’ll start at your shoulders and work my way down. We’ll see if we can get you loosened up.”

You made another strangled sound of agreement in response, biting your lip.

Every stroke of his palm dragged warm oil over your skin, spreading heat along your back, down your spine. The pads of his thumbs pressed into the muscles beside your shoulder blades, firm but slow. It wasn’t just good, but shamefully so. Soothing, deep. Every time his thumbs pressed in, you felt your breath catch in your throat.

Focus, you told yourself. This is a professional, he does this all the time. And you’re not special, just some towel-clad client on a table meant for meat tenderizing.

But gods, his hands.

They were confident, skilled, moving in ways like they had the heaven’s permission to touch you. Maybe they did, each stroke leaving your skin burning in its wake. Your hips shifted slightly. Not on purpose. Well, maybe it was on purpose. You hated yourself for it.

He hadn’t said anything for a while, the room quiet aside from the ambient spa music and your stupid heartbeat echoing in your ears, your heart trying to crawl its way out from your ribcage. You focused on the feeling, the press of his digits into your shoulder. On the long drag of his hands gliding down, down, oil-slick and hot against your spine.

Shit, your brain was melting.

You felt his hands move again, slower now, gliding at your middle back. You couldn’t help but wonder if the towel slipped, didn’t dare look. You just stayed still, very still, praying for dignity while also very much wishing he’d go lower. His thumbs pushed into the small of your back, just on either side of your spine, and you exhaled, loudly.

You immediately regretted it. But he didn’t say anything. Just chuckled softly, barely a sound, and pressed deeper.

Gojo had given thousands of massages before. Hell, he’d worked on celebrities, models, athletes, all kinds of bodies sculpted and polished and worshiped. But this one? You? You weren’t some glammed-up goddess or an over-confident regular. You were shy, uncertain, nervous in the sweetest way, biting your lip like it’d save your soul.

And when he asked what was hurting, where it ached, you’d mentioned work like it explained everything.

He knew exactly what you needed.

His thumbs dragged slow over the curve of your back. You shifted slightly under him, just the tiniest movement, but not from pain. From heat. From something much, much lower. Gojo felt it, the tremor running through your muscles like a secret. The towel was still clinging to your hips, just barely, and he let his hands dip lower, enough to brush the top curve of your ass to see if you’d flinch.

And you didn’t.

Fuck.

He was breaking rules. His own rules. He didn’t do this. Never had. Not once. Not even with the flirty clients or the ones that offered more.

But then again, none of them were you.

Your skin was warm beneath his palms, your breath hitched in a rhythm that wasn’t just relaxation. He could hear it, feel it. And when his fingers barely slipped under the hem of that towel, just to knead the tight muscle at the base of your spine, he felt you tense.

Not with fear, but want.

He pressed deeper, just enough to test. And he almost groaned aloud when your hips lifted. As if it was an accident. But he knew better.

He loved the way you were sensitive for him, dragging his thumbs along the edge of the towel, fingertips brushing your perceptive skin that made his cock twitch.

He was throbbing against the zipper of his pants. He needed to stop.

But he wasn’t going to stop.

“First session’s free, by the way,” he murmured, just above your ear, his salacious tone a blessing to your ears. “House special.”

You made another soft sound and Gojo had to bite his cheek just to stop a deep groan threatening its way out from his lungs.

You thought you were in the clear when his hands left your back. For a moment, you considered breathing again. But then-

“Gonna move to your legs now,” he said, voice smooth and casual. “Starting from your feet.”

You couldn’t find it in you to protest. Your feet. The one part of your body that rejected human contact like a toddler would broccoli.

You tensed as he lifted your foot gentle, resting your ankle against a bolster. You took this opportunity to look. And he looked way too comfortable, crouched near your calves, rolling his sleeves up even more, his forearms, fuck, the veins, and warming more oil in his hands.

The first touch was light, gliding his fingers over your heel, your arch-

You flinched.

“Oh?” he laughed, glancing up. “Ticklish?”

You wanted to crawl inside the nearest candle holder and die.

“Maybe a little,” you mumbled, voice muffled.

“Noted,” he chuckled. “I’ll be gentle.”

And if Gojo Satoru wasn’t a liar before, he was now.

Because his thumbs rolled firm circles into your arches, sliding up the curve of your foot, down each toe like he fucking knew. You twitched again when he hit that spot near the ball of your foot.

He didn’t even pretend not to notice.

“Aw, you’re trying not to laugh.” His voice was warm. “Cute.”

You exhaled like a balloon deflating, face hot. “You’re evil.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, slowly dragging his palm up your sole to your ankle. “That’s one way to thank me.”

He didn’t linger much longer there, probably for your dignity which was already on life support, before he moved up, kneading your calf in strong, slow strokes. His hands wrapped around the muscle with confident pressure, and oh, it felt good.

All thoughts of embarrassment evaporating the moment his thumbs began sliding up your calf, massaging deep into the tissue. His touch slowed as he moved higher, now smoothing hot oil into the back of your knee.

Then he moved to your other leg. Same path. Foot, ankle, calf. All familiar but different. Like he was trying to memorize you. And this time his hands went slower, savoring the goosebumps prickling your skin as his hands moved higher, thumbs digging deeper. And when he reached the back of your thigh, right where the towel barely covered, you felt it.

The hesitation. The pause. The line of professionalism being toed.

And then crossed.

His hands never stopped moving, but his thumbs dragged slower, brushing up the back of your thigh and letting his touch linger along the soft skin there. His touch was light, too light to be considered a deep tissue massage.

“Still doing okay?” he asked, voice low.

You could only nod.

“Good,” he murmured. “You’re very responsive.”

Was this normal massage talk?

No, it couldn’t be. But you didn’t dare respond, didn’t want to stop him, even as your breath hitched and thighs threatened to instinctively press together.

Gojo’s hands stayed high on your thighs. One thumb circled the outside of your thigh.

“You’ve got tension here too,” he remarked, and this time, it wasn’t professional at all.

Your hips jolted.

“Sensitive?” he asked, almost a whisper.

You wanted to say something, maybe yes, maybe God, please don’t stop, but all that came out was a hum, shaky as his fingers gripped your thigh tighter.

“Don’t worry,” his voice silk-soft and soaked in pure heat. “I’ll take care of it.”

You didn’t even know he shifted until his voice came too close to your ear, just a low murmur.

“I’m gonna remove the towel now. That okay?”

You’re too far gone, just nodding.

“Need you to say it for me,” his voice is gentle.

“Yes,” you swallow, voice barely above a whisper.

He grips the towel, slow as sin, dragging it off your spine and letting it peel off you like he’s unwrapping something expensive. His fingers graze, not enough to claim but just enough to tease. You’re face-down, so you don’t see it. But he’s squinting, biting back a groan, cock already stirring and probably dripping.

He oils up again, slick and warm, spreading his palms across your ass with expert precision.

“Just breathe. This’ll help with tension in your glutes.”

Glutes, he says it like a medical term. You almost believe he’s just being good at his job, except his hands are kneading deeper, practically stroking the plushy fat of your ass.

His hips subtly press against the table, trying to relieve the throb without making a sound. His jaw is slack, eyes hooded, and he’s already sweating. He’s circling your ass with the heel of his palm, eyed glued to were your thighs part ever-so-slightly, revealing the slightest sliver of wet lace. His mouth waters.

His thumbs brush the hem of your panties, it’s innocent at first. But then he does it again, lingering.

You can almost feel the air shift.

Something about the way he touches you makes your skin buzz. He hasn’t said anything… too off yet, but the drag of his fingers along your thighs, the brush against the edge of your panties, you’re beginning to think it’s not exactly on the menu at most spas.

“Gonna take these off too. Helps me reach deeper tissue,” his finger hooks just teasingly into the hem at your hips.

You know it’s a lie. It has to be. But you nod.

And again, he waits.

“Say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you exhale, heartbeat in your ears.

Then he hooks only his thumbs into your panties, slow, like it’s a favor. You lift your hips slightly so he can pull them down, and he takes his time. His thumbs caress you as he drags them down to your knees, ankles, then off completely.

And now you’re bare. Naked. Exposed under his hands and eyes, no doubt dripping from tension and need alone.

The only sound in the room is the soft roll of incense smoke, faint music, and the slick shhhhhkkk of oil between his palms to start again, skin to skin.

He shifts, thumbs dipping lower and palms kneading the tops of your thighs. It’s almost too much, you want to move, clench your legs shut, but you don’t. You stay soft, pliant, open.

And he watches. Every flutter of your muscles. Every twitch. The faintest glisten where your thighs part.

This was no longer routine.

So wet already. You poor thing probably didn’t even mean to be.

He watches your hips shift when he gets close, the way your toes twitch as his thumbs drag sinfully along your inner thighs. It’s like you’re desperate and embarrassed all at once. And yet, you obeyed him. And he loved every second of it.

You’re so pure, so sweet, so filthy for him. Not a single complaint. No hesitation.

Glutes soft and flushed from the heat of his palms. Inner thighs slicked with oil. Breathing shallow and shaky. And his favorite part, your slit tucked between trembling legs, glistening with more than just oil.

He shifts again, subtly dragging his cock against the edge of the massage table. Hard, throbbing, and unforgiving.

“You’re responding really well,” he murmurs, the heel of his palms pushing into your inner thighs enough to part you only so he can see more.

And you’re going insane.

His hands on your thighs, voice in your ear. Every pass of his palms leaving your nerves sparking, and it’s taking everything in you not to freely moan when his knuckles drag just too close.

When your legs twitch again, of course he notices. “Don’t worry. You’re doing great. Just let me take care of you.”

But then his sinful thumbs sweep higher. Still outside, not touching where you need him most. But close. So, so close. And you can’t help the gasp escaping you.

And that’s when he finally brushes his fingers along your folds, light, feather-soft, as if he’s checking something.

Your whole body jerks. His voice lowers a few octaves.

“You’re soaked.”

A beat of silence.

“Want me to keep going?”

Again, you nod.

“Words, sweetheart.

You swallow, face burning and contorting where it’s nestled in the headrest. “Yes… please.”

“Good girl,” his chuckle is low and so smug.

You’re so responsive for him, every time his fingers tease your slick little slit, your thighs tremble like they’re fighting not to squeeze shut.

You don’t even realize the slightest rock of your hips, silently begging for more like you’re chasing his fingers.

He palms your ass again, spreading you open as he traces a single digit up and down. Folds puffy and hot, dripping onto the table, clit twitching like it knows what’s coming.

“You said this was your first massage, right?” he says, dragging a single finger deeper between your folds. “But you’re begging for attention.”

Then his thumb gently presses against your clit, unmoving but giving you the pressure you oh so desperately needed.

“Think you might’ve been made for this.”

You can’t breathe, can’t think. All you know is his hands. The way they press into you, spreading your arousal and oil around as if it’s a divine ritual. The way his thumb circles your clit painstakingly slow, so patient.

You mewl, too far gone to be ashamed.

“Want the full package?” his question come velvet-smooth.

You blink, dazed. “…The what?”

His thumb pressed in just a little harder, your body tensing. “Y’know, the extra. Let me take care of everything.”

“Y-yeah…” your voice is barely audible, but it’s all he needs.

He smiles, the thick curl of anticipation mixing with the burning incense in the air, winding your spine as he murmurs your new nickname again:

“Good girl.”

It’s like this was always going to happen. Like he’s done this a hundred times before and you were just next in line, all dripping wet and none the wiser.

Then he’s palming you again, hands oiled with a fresh squirt as both hands slide over your skin. It’d be professional if it wasn’t for the way his thumbs spread you once again.

It’d be professional didn’t brush directly over your soaked folds, a low growl he lets out, low and restrained when he sees your cunt pulse for him.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, dragging two fingers through your slick.

Then he dips two fingers inside you, slow and filthy as he immediately curls them right into that soft spot between your ridges that has you gasping into the table padding.

“God, you’re tight. Gonna have to open you up first, yeah?”

It’s as if it’s still part of the massage.

He fucks you slow with his fingers, his free hand moving to move ‘round and ‘round against your clit with his thumb. And fuck, he’s too skilled. Every filthy, wet stroke of his fingers has you whimpering, any semblance of professionalism lost by the sound of your whispers.

“So responsive,” he mutters almost to himself. “You’ll do anything I ask, won’t you?”

Then-

Smack.

Your body jolts, a sharp sting across your ass, the crack echoing through the room.

“Mm,” he hums, smoothing the reddened spot of his handprint like he’s checking the quality of his own work. “Pretty thing makes such pretty sounds.”

Another smack. You gasp.

“Flip over for me.”

His tone is easy, casual like he’s asking you to flip a page in a magazine. Your legs move before you, body fully glistening with oil and anticipation.

His face looks almost desperate. Sweat at his temples, white lashes fluttering over hooded eyes at burn. His lips are parted, flushed, bitten like he's been holding back from devouring you whole.

He's no longer the calm masseur from before, but a man on the edge of losing it.

Every inch of him thrumming with want, you can see it in the way his jaw flexes, the slight tremble in his fingers at his sides. His gaze drops between your legs, staying there like he's starving.

He wants this, wants you just as badly. Maybe worse.

And he sees you. Laid out like an offering, tits soft and heaving, thighs glistening, cunt spread and twitching, begging for his attention.

He lets out a low, heavy breath. “Fuck. Look at you.”

Then his hands are tracing down your thighs, hooking under your knees just to bring them to your chest.

And he goes in, no teasing or warning, just his hands spreading you wide, full mouth-to-pussy action.

His tongue slides over your clit like he’s starving. Moaning into you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. It’s filthy, loud, wet, feral.

He laps at you like he wants to crawl into your skin and live there. His lips lock around your clit, tongue flicking fast and relentless, fingers digging into you.

Your hips buck instinctively. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers clutching his silvery strands as your legs twitch, toes curl.

He loves it. The desperate little grind of your hips, the wrecked moan slipping from your throat, the way you push his face impossibly deeper.

So he doubles down, dragging his tongue lower and fucking it into your hole with lewd precision, then pulls back just to suck at your clit like it’ll grant him immortality.

“You taste like heaven,” he groans, lost in a daze himself. “Sweet little thing, gonna cum all over my mouth, huh? So fucking wet. Bet you’ve been thinking about this.”

He flattens his tongue, grinding it against your clit, and you cry out, entire body jerking, thighs clenching around his head. But he doesn’t stop, if anything only groans, grinding his hips into the table like he’s getting off just on your taste.

You’re soaked. Senseless. A carnal desire to soak his face in your arousal.

And when you gasp his name, fingers tugging at his locks, body trembling-

“That’s it,” he purrs. “Cum for me, baby.”

You shatter. Completely. Fully. Back arching from the table, breath punched from your lungs, cunt clenching so hard around nothing it’s fucking cruel. He just stays there, tongue flicking, dragging out every last pulse of your orgasm until your legs go numb.

Your thighs are trembling around him, your cunt a swollen, slick mess, still twitching with aftershocks. You’re still moaning, fucked-out and blissed as he presses kisses to your inner thigh.

Fuck. He thinks you look perfect like this. Made to be ruined for him.

And he’s done being patient.

So he stands, unzipping his pants. His cock springs free, red, leaking, painfully hard. And shit, he’s big. A slight upward curve, a thick vein running along his thick, long length.

“Up,” he says, voice coaxing like he’s asking you to breathe.

Your legs wobble as you push yourself off the table, only for his hands to grip your waist and bend you right back over it. Your bare chest pressed to the cushiony surface, cheek against the towel.

“There you go,” he drags the thick head of his throbbing cock through your folds, smearing your slick across your lower lips and on his tip until it could drip off. “Gotta get all that tension out, yeah? Let me work those knots a little deeper.”

You walked in here all shy and tense, even spending twenty minutes willing yourself to open your car door. New client, first massage, all stiff shoulders and tight posture. Said your job had you aching. Said you needed relief.

And the first time he saw you, big eyes, nervous smile, a little stutter from your lips when he first touched your shoulders.

He knew exactly what you needed.

“First massage,” he breathes, lining his tip to your entrance.

Then he pushed in. Deep.

You choke on a moan. He’s so thick, splitting you open inch by inch, your walls struggling and stretching to take him. His hands dig into your waist, still warm with oil, just holding you savoring the moment he finally sinks all the way in.

“Fuck,” he groans, head tipping back. “That’s it- just like that- you were made for this.”

He pulls back, only until just the tip lay past your entrance, before slamming back in. And you jerk, fingers scrambling for purchase on the table.

Each stroke rocks through your spine. Your tits drag against the table, mouth hanging open, drool smearing the table. Your mind’s a blur, just the sound of skin slapping, Gojo’s breathy moans, and the obscene, wet noise of him slamming into you over and over and over.

“Say thank you,” he almost growls, snapping his hips up so deep your toes curl. “Say it.”

“T-thank you,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

Then, smack. A sharp slap to your ass, and you whine.

“For what?”

“F-fucking me- oh my god- for fucking me-”

“No,” he pants, rutting into you harder now, cock hitting that sweet spot so perfect it could make you squeal. “Say it right. Thank you for relieving my stress.”

“Thank you-” you cry out, broken and shaking. “Thank you for- mmh- relieving my stress.”

He leans over you, his hardened chest against your back, cock still pistoning in your soaked cunt. His mouth finds your neck, tongue dragging across your bare skin before he bites. Sucks. Marks you.

Another hickey. Then another.

You’re completely gone, every thrust having your eyes fluttering, your moans shameless, drool coating your lower face. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing his thick length more than you already were, clenching with every thrust, every filthy word.

His hips stutter, balls tightening as he pounds you into the table.

“So fucking tight,” he groans. “Gonna cum- fuck- gonna cum all over this pretty back.”

And he does. One last brutal thrust and he pulls out, cock twitching before spilling across your lower back in hot, thick ropes, painting your skin in streaks of white.

He watches it drip down your spine, chest heaving, cock still half-hard and still twitching from how hard you just milked him for all he’s worth.

“Goddamn,” he whispers, leaning down to admire his work. “You really were stressed, huh?”

Then he drags a hand up your spine, wiping his fingers through the mess he made, rubbing it into your skin like a filthy seal.

The air is thick with heat, sex, and you. His hand rubs sensual circles into your back.

“You good, sweetheart?” he brushes the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

You nod, dazed, wrecked, legs still trembling. He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. It’s soft, slow, tender in a way that almost startles you.

“First kiss,” he whispers against your lips.

Then he straightens, grabbing a warm towel from the side table. His hands are gentle as they wipe you down, cleaning you with a reverence that borders on obscene. He helps you stand straight, pressing another kiss to your temple, his big hands careful and supportive.

“So…” he starts, tapping his lip. “Same time next week?”

You can only stare, flushed and panting.

“No charge, obviously,” he adds, giving you a wink. “I’m invested in your health now.”

Of course you’re coming back. With a dick like that? With a mouth like that? You’d be stupid not to.

You shake your head, trying not to smile.

“Take your time, I’ll be outside.”

The door closes behind him with a soft click.

You sigh, dragging yourself over to the side table on shaky legs, slowly redressing like your soul wasn’t just rearranged. You grab your clothes, pulling your bra back on, then your shirt, then-

Your panties.

Your panties?

You check under the table. Beside it. In the towel pile.

Your brows shoot up, a slow, disbelieving laugh escapes your lips.

That smug thieving bastard.

He took them, slipping them into his pocket. You shake your head as you pull on your pants, cheeks still flushed, heart returning to a normal rate.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely coming back.

5K notes · View notes

heeluvv · 2 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ02. MOAN FOR THE CAMERA

pairingᝰ.ᐟ lee heeseung x fem reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ unprotected sex, grinding, praise kink, soft dom! heeseung, overstimulation, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

statusᝰ.ᐟ 2/9 completed!

──

it has been a week since you got the message.

seven days since your phone lit up with his user for the first time. seven days since those words slid across your screen and rewired the chemistry in your chest—since that simple, perfect sentence cracked something open inside of you and refused to let it close again.

god, you were so fucking hot. why don’t you let me see what more you’re capable of doing?

you didn’t answer at first. not out of disinterest or shock, but because your breath caught in your throat and refused to let go. because your body lit up in a way it hadn’t in years. because the sudden heat that flooded your skin felt so raw, so consuming, you didn’t know if it came from fear or desire or both. you stared at the message in the dark of your room, the sound of your breath uneven, your fingers hovering over the screen like it might burn you.

and then you said yes.

you haven’t looked away from him since.

you haven’t stopped thinking about the way his voice curls into your ears, low and patient and warm with something just shy of menace—how he never tries to impress you, never tries to talk himself up, just says what he means and means what he says. you still haven’t seen his face. not fully. he’s careful with his camera, careful with his angles, his hair always falling into the frame and covering the details that might make him feel too real. but that doesn’t matter. because it’s not his face that made you agree.

he told you his name on the third night. not dramatically. not as a reveal. just tucked into the middle of a message like a comma.

heeseung. thought you should know.

and that was it. no last name. no photos. no follow-up. and for some reason, that made you trust it more.

the days since then have been slow and fast in turns. mornings feel stretched out, your body heavy with anticipation you don’t know how to burn off. nights feel electric—your phone screen the only light in the room, your fingers trembling as you read and reread everything he sends. he’s not always sweet. he’s not always careful. but he always makes you feel seen. he always reminds you that you said yes. and you keep saying yes, over and over, in every message you return.

until this morning, when the yes had to become real.

because today’s the day. tonight’s the night. and he’s waiting.

your bag is half-packed. your body is half-numb. you’ve been staring into your closet for twenty minutes now, unsure of what it means to dress for someone who’s already seen you at your most bare—someone who watched you fall apart in silence, whose voice sat in your head while your fingers pushed deeper into yourself than they ever had before.

he told you to bring whatever makes you feel good.

and you wish you knew what that was.

you tug down a black lace lingerie, something you bought months ago and never wore—something that felt too bold, too obvious, too much skin. you smooth it out over your bed with slow, reverent hands, then lay a silk robe beside it. then another option. then another. the pile grows until it looks more like you’re preparing to become someone else than getting dressed. because maybe that’s what this is. not a costume. not a mask. but a version of yourself that hasn’t been touched yet. one that only lives in the shadow of a camera light.

you fold everything slowly. precise. intentional. like the way you pack will dictate the way he undresses you.

be ready by 7.

────୨ৎ────

you don’t remember the drive—not in any clear way, not in the kind of way that leaves images you can describe. you remember the sound of your bag shifting across the seat beside you, the constant press of your thighs against each other beneath your hoodie, the way your fingers curled into the hem like they were holding on for stability. you remember the driver didn’t speak, and you were grateful. you didn’t think you could have formed a sentence anyway. the city moved around you in streaks and shadows, lights bleeding into the windows like soft threats, buildings you couldn’t name passing in patterns you didn’t register. your stomach stays tight the whole way, curled in on itself with the kind of heat that makes you feel nauseous, but not sick. it wasn’t fear in the way most people feel fear. it was quieter. heavier. like your body was preparing itself for something it had never done before, but had already decided it would endure.

the car slows, and you know before the driver says anything that you’ve arrived. something in your chest drops, cold and sudden, and it stays there as you look out the window. the building is sleek. modern. smooth walls and quiet lighting. tall glass that reflects just enough to keep the inside hidden. it looks expensive. clinical. the kind of place people rent for short terms, the kind of place that doesn’t hold stories—just moments.

your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you flinch even though you were expecting it.

unit 603.

you stare at the words, fingers gripping your phone tighter than you mean to. your eyes trace the message once, then again. it’s not dramatic. not aggressive. just information. a direction. a point of no return.

your lips part. not to speak—just to breathe. just to test if you still can. you turn your head toward the driver, your mouth opens like you might ask him to keep going, to turn the car around, to pretend none of this happened. maybe you’ll say you made a mistake. maybe you’ll lie and say you have the wrong building. maybe you won’t say anything at all—you’ll just go home, crawl into bed, and forget that this ever felt real enough to chase. but you don’t. the air stays trapped in your throat, and the words never come.

because you remember why you’re here.

you remember the numbers at the bottom of your bank statement. you remember the rent due in four days. you remember the red stamp on that envelope and the way you stood in the corner of your kitchen with your heart thudding so loud it felt like it might shake your teeth loose. you remember your first video—the shaky way your hands touched your skin, the breathy little moans you tried to bite back, the way your legs trembled when you came—and how that one night covered groceries for the week. the one that paid for a quarter of your tuition bill. you remember the messages. the tips. the strange little thrill that came with being seen.

so you open the door and step out into the cold.

the night wraps around you immediately. the air has a bite to it—nothing violent, just enough to raise goosebumps along the backs of your thighs. you adjust your hoodie and sling your bag higher onto your shoulder as you approach the building, heart thumping with a rhythm that doesn’t match your pace. the inside is even quieter than it looked from the outside—soft lighting, clean tile, no front desk, no noise. you walk toward the elevator like your body’s been programmed to do it, and when the doors open with a sound that feels too loud in your ears, you step inside and keep your eyes down.

the mirrored walls don’t help. they catch you from every angle, all soft curves and stiff limbs and the subtle trembling of your fingers where they press against your thigh. you don’t look at your face. you know what you’ll see. too much. too vulnerable. too obvious.

the ride is short but unbearable.

each number lights up like a warning.

and then the doors part again, and you’re stepping into a hallway that looks like all the others—long, narrow, lit with warm bulbs that hum faintly overhead. the carpet swallows the sound of your steps. you feel like a ghost. like someone halfway between becoming and undoing.

unit 603 is near the end.

you don’t rush toward it. you walk slowly. deliberately. like your body is stalling, trying to delay what’s inevitable. like maybe if you just slow down enough, the tension will go away. the heat in your stomach will ease.

it doesn’t.

you stop in front of the door and just stand there. you don’t reach for the handle. you don’t knock. you don’t breathe. you just… exist, trembling slightly, caught in the kind of silence that feels like it should be protected.

your eyes drop to your feet. you shift your weight. the strap of your bag digs into your shoulder, and your hand reaches for it without thinking, like it might steady you. your other hand hovers near the door, fingers flexing once, twice, like they want to touch something they don’t believe they deserve.

you don’t knock.

you don’t have to.

you could leave.

you could turn around right now. no one’s seen you yet. you could head back to the elevator, back down to the street, call a new ride, go home, crawl into your bed and cry about it later. tell yourself you’ll find a different way to get the money. a different life.

your heel shifts.

your body starts to turn.

and then, quietly—smoothly—the door opens.

you freeze.

the hallway holds its breath with you.

you don’t know what you expected to see. you don’t know what you hoped he’d look like. you don’t know if you even dared to imagine. maybe you thought he wouldn’t answer. maybe you thought you’d stand out here until the hallway lights went out and the quiet pressed into your lungs so tightly you couldn’t take it anymore. maybe you thought you’d be strong enough to leave.

but now the door is open.

and he’s real.

and everything in your body goes still.

your eyes widen instantly, and for a full second—maybe two—you forget how to move. your fingers curl tighter around the strap of your bag, breath caught at the base of your throat, chest tightening like it’s reacting to something it never thought it would see in real life. because there he is. standing just inches from you. real. solid. and so painfully beautiful it almost feels cruel.

he’s tall, taller than you imagined, his frame filling the doorway with a presence that makes everything behind him blur. his body is broad and built in a way that feels effortless, like he was never trying to be impressive—he just is. his arms are bare, exposed by the loose black tank that clings to the outline of his torso and drapes perfectly over the swell of his chest. his skin is smooth and golden, glowing faintly under the warm hall light, veins barely visible where they run down his thick forearms. he looks strong in the way that matters—not for show, not posed—but like he knows how to use every inch of himself. like he could hold you up and tear you open in the same breath.

his hair is the same cotton candy pink from his previews, but messier now—soft strands falling over his forehead in loose waves, the ends curling just slightly where they brush against his temple. it looks like he’s been running his hands through it all day, and the idea of those hands—big, rough, ringed—tangled in your hair, gripping your hips, wrapped around your throat—makes your stomach twist so tightly you have to shift your weight. a few strands cling to the side of his cheek, the light catching on the moisture like maybe he just showered, or maybe he’s been waiting. pacing. preparing.

his ears are a constellation of silver, pierced through with hoops and cuffs and studs that glitter faintly each time he shifts. one of them dangles slightly—a thin, delicate chain brushing the edge of his jaw. and then your eyes land on his mouth.

and you stop thinking altogether.

his lips are almost too pink. full, soft-looking, the kind that look like they’d leave a stain on your skin no matter where they touched. he has the faintest indent of a bite mark on the lower one, like he’d been chewing at it without realizing, and it glistens slightly with the sheen of spit or gloss or both. you don’t know if you want to kiss him or watch him speak. maybe both. maybe forever.

and then his eyes meet yours.

brown. impossibly dark, but warm. deep in a way that makes you feel like you’ve already said too much, like he’s pulling the truth out of you just by looking. they glimmer faintly in the low light, lined with thick lashes that make him look devastatingly pretty and disarmingly unreadable all at once. there’s a slight drop to his gaze, heavy-lidded like he’s already seeing you undressed. like he’s been seeing you that way from the moment you said yes.

they remind you of boba pearls—glossy and rich and bottomless. and just as dangerous. you feel like you could fall into them without realizing you were drowning until it was already too late.

you’re frozen.

completely and utterly off guard.

this is not what you expected. not what you prepared for. not the image you tried to sketch in your head based on his previews. you thought he might be attractive, sure—maybe even cocky. you assumed he’d be confident, comfortable in his skin, maybe a little smug about how much he’s watched you. but this?

this is something else entirely.

he’s not just beautiful. he’s unreal. he looks like something that stepped out of the fantasy you didn’t even know how to finish. and he’s looking at you like you’re the one that took too long to arrive.

he smirks, soft and knowing.

“i knew you’d still be here.”

his voice doesn’t just sound good. it sounds dangerous. smooth and rich and low enough to sink through the fabric of your hoodie and press directly into your skin. it’s slower than you expected, a little raspier, like it’s made for private conversations and whispered commands. it doesn’t rise above a murmur, but it fills the space between you completely. it curls under your ears and down your neck and makes your stomach dip so hard it steals your balance for half a second.

you swallow, but your throat is dry.

your heart flutters violently against your ribs, pounding loud enough you wonder if he can hear it. your lips part slightly, maybe to say something, maybe just to breathe, but no sound comes out. your tongue feels too heavy. your mouth is too unsure. and the last thing you want to do is stutter over yourself while he’s standing there, relaxed and perfect and waiting.

your eyebrows pinch together without meaning to—just a small, confused furrow, like your body is trying to process what your brain can’t catch up to. you hadn’t thought this far ahead. hadn’t planned for what it would feel like to be seen like this. not through a screen. not through a message. but here. in person. under his eyes.

you thought you were prepared.

you were wrong.

he doesn’t say anything at first. he just stands there in the doorway, holding it open like it weighs nothing, while your whole body feels impossibly heavy. his gaze is steady, quiet, unwavering—not intense, not invasive, just there. patient. like he’s not surprised you showed up, like he always knew you would. like this moment was never a question.

when he finally shifts to the side, it’s a small, effortless movement—barely more than a step—but it sends something sharp through your chest. he doesn’t gesture. he doesn’t usher you in or flash a grin or try to ease the nerves that are curling tighter in your stomach. he just opens the space. clears the path. leaves it entirely up to you.

you hesitate for a beat longer than you mean to. the hallway feels colder now, the air thinner somehow. your fingers twitch where they’re clenched around the strap of your bag, your heartbeat pressing against the inside of your ribs like it wants out. but your legs move. maybe from instinct, maybe from need, maybe because part of you knows that if you don’t do it now, you never will.

you cross the threshold.

the air inside is warm—soft and still, carrying the faintest trace of something unfamiliar and expensive, something dark and clean and musky like amber or smoke. it hits you in a slow wave, curling up your nose and settling in the back of your throat. you take a shallow breath, then another, but it doesn’t help. everything feels too quiet now. too private. the silence inside the apartment is thicker than the silence outside, not empty, but full—of tension, of weight, of waiting. like the walls know what’s about to happen. like they’ve already seen it a hundred times.

you take a few careful steps forward and stop just inside, unsure what to do with yourself. unsure where to stand, unsure what to look at. your body is taut with nerves and anticipation, your hands suddenly too aware of themselves. your mouth is dry. the sound of the door clicking closed behind you is sharp in your ears, the lock sliding into place like a thread being pulled tight.

you don’t turn to look at him. you can’t. not yet.

his apartment is clean, but not in a soulless way. everything is curated. intentional. the lights are low and warm, tucked beneath shelves and mounted in corners, glowing like dusk instead of buzzing like daylight. the walls are matte, smooth concrete or something close to it, and the furniture is dark—black, deep gray, the kind of colors that drink light instead of reflecting it. a massive bed dominates the space, not tucked into a corner, not hidden behind doors, but bold and unashamed in the middle of the room. the sheets are dark. rumpled. there's a throw blanket tangled at the end, half falling over the side. and scattered around the perimeter of the space, you spot his gear—tripods, light stands, cameras. they’re sleek and familiar, but somehow more intimidating now that they’re not behind a screen.

he gestures toward the kitchen with a small tilt of his head, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back as he leads the way, not forceful—just present. his touch is gentle, careful, a whisper against fabric that leaves warmth in its place as you follow the slow rhythm of his stride. the kitchen glows in soft amber light, casting long shadows across the clean counters and illuminating the faint sheen of condensation on the glass he’s set out for you. it’s quiet here, the kind of quiet that doesn’t press but cradles, wrapping around your shoulders like a weighted blanket. he moves like the silence belongs to him, like he’s always known how to make space feel soft instead of suffocating. the air smells like faint vanilla and spice, like clean linen and a memory you can’t name. you slide onto the stool he pulled out for you, your palms damp against your thighs, the hem of your hoodie gathered loosely in your grip. heeseung remains standing across from you, arms braced on the counter, eyes soft but intent as they meet yours.

“before anything else,” he begins, voice low and smooth, every word laid down like silk on stone, “i want to talk about boundaries.” he doesn’t blink too much when he speaks, doesn’t fidget, just holds your gaze with something steady, like it’s not a challenge but a promise. his hands spread slightly against the marble surface, fingers relaxed, the veins on his forearms faint but visible beneath warm skin. he’s not performing. he’s not playing a part. it’s in the way he waits—silent after each phrase, giving you room to process, not expecting your answer before you’re ready to offer it. “if there’s anything you don’t want to do, say it. if you change your mind mid-way, say it. we stop whenever you say stop, and i won’t ask why.” there’s nothing rehearsed in his tone, no false sweetness, only care shaped by confidence and restraint.

you nod slowly, your eyes dipping toward the glass he set in front of you, its surface dewy against the soft light. your throat is dry, but your voice finds its way through the haze, low and hesitant but certain. “i’m okay with most things,” you say, the words trembling slightly as they leave your lips. he nods as you speak, never interrupting, never shifting his weight too abruptly, like he wants you to feel the space between each word instead of rushing past it. “but it’s been a while,” you admit, your shoulders curling inward slightly, your hands clasping together in your lap. he doesn’t react with surprise or even curiosity—just attentiveness, the kind that feels like a door being held open instead of a window being peered into. “and… i don’t want to show my face,” you finish, the truth dropping into the space between you with more weight than anything else you’ve said. “i want to stay anonymous.”

his expression doesn’t flicker, doesn’t shift into confusion or disappointment—it deepens, softens even, like your request settles into place with ease. “we’ll work around that,” he says, the certainty in his voice firm enough to anchor you, even as your nerves start to pool low in your stomach again. “no face, no identifiers. close shots, over-the-shoulder angles, shallow focus. i’ve done it before, and it works.” he moves slightly, adjusting the way he leans against the counter, one hand tapping once against the glass as if to ground the moment. “this is about what makes you feel good, not what the camera sees,” he adds, voice dipping even lower, like it’s meant to reach beneath your skin. “if you don’t want the world to know it’s you, then they won’t.” your chest eases at that, something unspoken unraveling in your lungs. he doesn’t ask why. he just honors the request like it’s law.

you look up at him then, really look, and his gaze hasn’t drifted once—it’s still locked to yours, patient, open, unreadable but safe. he hasn’t made a single move to close the distance between you again, even though it would be easy. his restraint isn’t cold—it’s reverent, like he’s watching you bloom slowly and doesn’t want to bruise the petals. “thank you,” you say, quieter this time, the words heavy with relief you didn’t realize you were holding. he nods, a small motion that carries more weight than it should, then steps back just enough to gesture toward the hallway. “bathroom’s on the left if you want to change,” he says. “take your time.” you slide off the stool with a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your legs moving on instinct, the pulse between your ribs still uneven but quieter now. you clutch your bag loosely, fingers curled around the strap like a lifeline, and head towards the quiet hall.

the bathroom is clean and warm, wrapped in that same subtle scent of something smooth and expensive and low—soap and eucalyptus and a hint of whatever lived beneath his skin. you lock the door behind you gently, setting your bag on the closed toilet lid, your reflection already waiting for you in the wide mirror. the light here is softer than expected, casting a muted glow over the white tile and catching faintly on the metal fixtures, making everything feel a little too clear. you unzip your bag slowly, each sound exaggerated in the quiet, each movement deliberate but hesitant. the fabric of your hoodie feels heavier now, like it doesn’t want to be peeled away, but you force your hands to keep moving. you fold your jeans with care and lift the set from your bag, the lace cool against your fingers. you pull it on carefully, the straps snug where they wrap around your shoulders, the softness of the fabric suddenly feeling like too much.

you face the mirror again, eyes sweeping slowly over the new version of yourself standing there—exposed, yes, but not ruined. the lingerie hugs you in all the places you thought you wanted to hide, lifting and shaping you into something elegant, something quiet but striking. but even as you look, your stomach knots. you think of the camera. of your body in motion. of being watched, of being remembered. of existing somewhere outside yourself. the doubts creep in slowly, delicate as poison—what if you look awkward? what if you can’t do it? what if he’s disappointed the second he sees you? your fingers brace against the sink, palms flat, knuckles pale, your breathing shallow and uneven. for a moment, you wonder if you should leave before it starts.

but then you think of his voice again—measured, thoughtful, unrushed. you’re in control here. you remember how he looked at you—not like something to consume, but something to hold, to coax open with time. your chest rises and falls once more, slower this time, deeper, steadier. you adjust one last strap, swipe your thumb beneath your bottom lip, and blink once at your reflection. she doesn’t look scared anymore. she looks like someone beginning. you reach for the doorknob and step out into the hallway, the cool air brushing against your skin, your pulse quickening with every step back toward him. and you know, as your bare feet sink silently into the dark flooring—that you’re about to let someone see you, truly, maybe for the first time.

when you return to the room, the silence greets you like a held breath, still and warm and heavier now, coiled around the soft glow of ambient light and the faint hum of something electric in the walls. heeseung is standing near the kitchen still, his posture easy but not casual, one hand resting lightly against the counter, the other falling slowly to his side as he looks at you. his eyes catch on the shape of you like he wasn’t prepared, like he thought he was but somehow still feels like the floor just dropped out beneath him. his gaze sweeps down, slow and deliberate, not in hunger but in reverence, like he’s taking in something rare he’s never seen in full daylight. he doesn’t speak right away, but the silence between you blooms like a confession, every second weighted with something unspoken but deeply understood. your bare feet shift against the hardwood, the coolness of it whispering up your calves, grounding you even as your breath begins to shallow. his lips part slightly, like he wants to say something—maybe a compliment, maybe a request—but nothing comes. and then finally, slowly, he steps forward.

his approach is quiet, not calculated but intentional, his body moving like it already knows how not to startle you, how not to rush, how not to steal. he stops a foot away from you, eyes still holding yours, one corner of his mouth lifted in something soft, something just shy of a smile. you can feel the heat radiating off of him now, feel the quiet pressure of his presence like it’s brushing against your collarbone, your ribs, your thighs. his hand lifts slowly, fingers hovering just beside your arm, and he doesn’t touch you—just lets the air between your skin and his feel thicker than it should. his voice, when it comes, is low and quiet and perfectly clear. “can i show you where we’ll start?” he asks. your lips part, and your nod is small, breathless, but sure. he waits a second longer, then gently tilts his head toward the center of the room.

the bed looks larger now than it did earlier, all shadow and suggestion, the dark linens catching the warm light and folding it into softness. you follow him slowly, each step silent, deliberate, your nerves curling into your spine and blooming down your arms like smoke. the mattress dips faintly under your weight as you sit, the fabric cool beneath your thighs, your back straight but uncertain. heeseung lowers himself beside you, not quite touching, his knees bent and body angled toward yours like he’s shielding you from the rest of the room. his hand rests on the bed between you, close enough that your pinky grazes his knuckle, but he still doesn’t reach. his eyes find yours again, deeper now, full of something steadier than want. he breathes in, slow and even, his tongue wetting his bottom lip before he speaks. “can i kiss you?” he asks, and it’s not a whisper—it’s a vow.

your heart stutters in your chest, not from fear, not from surprise, but from the weight of being asked—of being given the choice. the air around you hums with heat, not the kind that scorches but the kind that builds, lingers, waits for ignition. you meet his eyes fully now, let yourself hold there, let him see what it means for you to say yes. your voice is quiet when it comes, but steady, a single word laced with permission. “yes.” he doesn’t move all at once—he moves like something precious, something unfolding, his hand lifting first to cup your jaw, fingers warm where they press against your cheek. your breath catches when he leans in, not because you’re afraid, but because you’ve never been kissed like this—not yet, not even now. his nose brushes yours, a breath shared in the space between, and then, gently, he closes the gap.

his lips are soft but sure, pressing against yours with a slow ache that makes your knees curl into the mattress and your fingers tighten in your lap. he kisses you like he’s reading you, like every tilt of his head is a question and every pull of his lips is an answer you didn’t know you could give. his hand stays on your jaw, his thumb tracing lightly against your cheekbone, grounding you even as your pulse picks up. there’s no rush, no hunger, no desperation—just heat, slow and sinking, pouring into your spine and rising up behind your ribs. you kiss him back with equal weight, not matching his rhythm but meeting it, finding your own within it. the room feels quieter now, the lights dimmer, the air denser with the sound of your shared breathing and the subtle hitch of your chest when he shifts closer. his other hand moves to your thigh, not gripping, just resting there, heavy and warm.

when he pulls back, it’s not abrupt—it’s a soft retreat, like he’s giving you time to breathe, to think, to want more. he stays close, his forehead resting lightly against yours, the bridge of his nose brushing your own, his thumb still stroking your cheek. his eyes are closed for a moment, and when they open again, there’s something darker in them—still soft, but heavier now, like want coiled behind patience. you don’t speak. you don’t need to. your body is already leaning forward again, your lips parting just slightly as your breath mingles with his. he waits, just a second, just to be sure, and then you feel the kiss again—deeper this time, fuller, still slow but firmer, like he’s letting go of a layer he’d been holding back. your hand lifts to his chest, pressing lightly against the cotton of his shirt, feeling the heat of him through the fabric, the steady beat of his heart.

you’re not sure when it happens—when your thighs brush, when his hand slides slightly higher on your leg, when your breath comes faster—but it’s there now, pulsing between your bodies. you’re not overwhelmed. you’re alive. every nerve alert, every part of you tuned to the press of his mouth and the pressure of his palm and the low sound he makes when your lips part just enough for him to taste you. it’s not just a kiss—it’s something more deliberate. a grounding. a beginning. and it feels exactly like it should. when he pulls away again, his eyes meet yours, searching—not for doubt, but for reassurance, for confirmation that you’re still here, still with him, still choosing this. and you are.

he doesn’t rush the question—he asks it like he’s offering you the last word in a language only the two of you speak. “are you ready?” heeseung says, and it sounds less like a formality and more like a thread of silk brushing across your skin, soft and waiting. you pause for half a breath, letting the moment linger there between your chest and his voice, letting it settle just behind your ribs. you meet his eyes, steady now, your heart loud but your voice quiet and sure. “yes,” you answer, and it lands softly, but it rings through the room like a bell. heeseung gives you a single nod—silent, smooth, composed—and then turns slightly toward the camera. the lens is positioned precisely, angled just enough to capture the space you share while keeping your identity untouched. he reaches for the remote resting on the bedside table, presses one button, and the soft red light comes on.

the room doesn’t change when it starts recording—it just feels heavier. the silence stretches a little longer, the air thickens a little deeper, and your skin starts to feel like it’s holding more than just heat. he doesn’t turn to the camera. he doesn’t acknowledge the lens. his eyes are on you, and only you. heeseung takes a slow breath and shifts his position on the bed, moving a little closer, the dip of the mattress drawing your knees toward his. his hand reaches up, fingertips brushing lightly against your jaw, and his touch is warm, sure, almost grounding. he watches your reaction like it’s the only thing he needs to see to move forward—like your body gives permission long before your mouth does. “can i kiss you?” he asks again, even now, when you’ve already said yes to everything else. and when you nod—small, breathless, trembling a little—he moves in with a reverence that feels like worship.

his lips meet yours with the kind of care that makes your chest ache, a kiss not rushed or shallow but deliberate, slow and full of intention. he doesn’t press for more than you give—he lets the rhythm unfold with time, lets your lips part when they’re ready, lets the tension curl warm and slow between your knees. his hand stays cradling your cheek, thumb stroking the soft skin just beneath your eye, as if he’s memorizing the exact way you feel beneath his fingers. your breath stutters slightly when the kiss deepens, when his mouth opens just enough to taste you, when your tongue brushes his in something quiet but certain. his other hand finds your thigh again, not moving higher, not demanding, just resting there—heavy and warm and present. you kiss him back with something softer than desperation, something more vulnerable than lust. your fingers twitch, aching to hold onto something, and when they finally curl into the edge of his shirt, he lets out a breath that sounds a little too much like relief.

he doesn’t speak when he pulls back—he just watches you, eyes dark and steady, breathing a little heavier than before. your forehead brushes his, your mouths still so close they could reunite with a single breath, and the quiet feels louder now than anything else in the room. you feel his fingers flex against your thigh once, like he’s holding something back, like he’s still giving you room to shift or stop or say anything else. but you don’t. you just nod again, slower this time, your eyes half-lidded, mouth still tingling with the press of his. “good,” he whispers, and the word moves through you like heat. then his hand slides—just slightly, just above your knee—tracing the edge of your thigh with the same patience he kissed you with.

his lips find yours again before the silence can thicken too much, and this time the kiss is heavier, more certain, laced with the tension that’s been building since you stepped inside his apartment. his hand doesn’t rush higher, doesn’t slide beneath your lace just yet—it just lingers, exploring the softness of your skin in slow strokes that burn like silk dragged over bare flame. you part your lips more eagerly now, letting him taste the corners of your breath, letting his tongue find yours in something messier, something that leaves your lungs stuttering and your thighs tightening together. your fingers drag up his chest, slow and careful, the fabric of his shirt warm beneath your touch, the steady drum of his heart loud enough to match your own. heeseung groans softly against your mouth when your grip tightens—low and hushed, like the sound slipped out without permission.

when he pulls back again, it’s only to look at you—really look, his gaze trailing from your eyes down to your lips, then back again, lingering like he doesn’t know where he wants to settle most. your breathing is ragged now, lips kiss-bruised and chest rising in slow, uneven swells, your hands still resting against his collarbones like you’re afraid he might float away if you let go. his thumb brushes across your bottom lip once, dragging lightly over the spot where his teeth had pressed seconds before. “you okay?” he murmurs, not because he thinks you’re not—but because he wants to hear it from you. you nod again, slower this time, your voice catching in your throat as you answer. “yes,” you whisper, and your legs shift slightly where they’re tucked under you on the bed.

heeseung leans in again—not to kiss you this time, but to trail his nose down the curve of your cheek, to inhale the scent of your skin where it glows faintly warm. his lips press against the corner of your mouth, then the edge of your jaw, slow and reverent, like he’s tasting gratitude. his hand moves again, slightly higher this time, fingertips tracing the underside of your thigh, still careful, still asking. his lips find your collarbone, pressing once, then again, just beneath the strap of your lingerie. his teeth graze the edge of your skin there, not biting, just lingering, a question written in touch instead of speech. and when you tilt your head to give him more room, heeseung breathes out a soft, broken sound against your neck that makes your core clench and your pulse spike.

“you like that, baby?” he asks, his voice husky against your skin, his teeth grazing your shoulder—but never biting, never hard enough to leave a trace. you nod, breathless, and tilt your head back further, offering your throat like instinct, letting him kiss and suck and worship without ever crossing the boundary. his hand tightens gently around your thigh, holding you still as your hips roll against his palm, wetness soaking through the lace with each drag. the moan you let out is quiet but needy, slipping out against his ear as he nuzzles beneath it and hums in return.

his fingers pause just at the hem of the lace, the pads of them slipping under with a kind of patience that makes your lungs seize and your hips twitch. the fabric drags slightly against your folds as he shifts it to the side, the air hitting your bare heat and making you tremble despite the warmth of the room. he groans under his breath when he finally feels you, his fingertips gliding slowly through your slick, parting you so delicately it makes you clench around nothing. your thighs try to close out of reflex, but his palm presses gently against the inside of one, guiding them apart without force—just the weight of intent. his mouth is still at your neck, lips soft, kissing lazily beneath your jaw as if he isn’t already making you fall apart with nothing but his hand. “you’re soaked for me,” he breathes, lips brushing the edge of your earlobe now, and the sound of it nearly makes you whimper. his fingers drag through your folds again, this time stopping at your clit, circling it slowly in wet, aching spirals. you’re already shaking, your head dropping back slightly as the pleasure coils tighter in your core.

heeseung doesn’t rush the motion, doesn’t press harder than necessary, just works your clit with the kind of care that makes your vision blur and your body hum with electricity. his fingers are long and warm, slick with you, moving in soft, controlled circles that never lose rhythm, never falter. every time your hips shift to chase the pressure, he meets you halfway, adjusting the angle, letting you grind subtly against the heel of his palm. his other hand stays at your waist now, anchoring you in place, thumb rubbing gentle strokes into your hip like he’s reminding you to stay with him. his mouth hasn’t left your neck, only moved lower, teeth grazing your skin without ever biting, lips pressing over every place your pulse flutters wild beneath your flesh. “that’s it,” he whispers, low and soothing, “just like that, baby…” your breath is broken now, little gasps slipping out between parted lips, and you can barely keep your eyes open, your lashes fluttering as the pleasure builds deeper in your belly. your fingers reach for his arm, gripping at his wrist like it’s the only thing tethering you to the bed beneath you.

he kisses down your neck with the same rhythm he’s touching you, soft and unhurried, lips brushing along the delicate edge of your collarbone like he wants to memorize it with his mouth. your skin is warm beneath his tongue, flushed and trembling, and his breath leaves it damp as he continues to move lower. his fingers never stop working your clit, thumb pressed gently but firmly, circling in slow, wet loops that make your thighs twitch and your hips rock forward on instinct. you can feel the weight of him between your legs without him even being there yet, just his hand and his mouth and the thick tension swirling in your core like a storm waiting to snap. he lifts his head for a moment to look at you—eyes dark, wide, mouth flushed from kissing your skin—and the way he looks at you makes something ache deep in your chest. “you tell me if it’s too much, okay?” and when you nod, breathless and already shaking, he finally slides his middle finger down and pushes it slowly inside.

you gasp—high and sharp, your mouth falling open as the stretch hits, not painful but deep, too real, too much after so long without. his finger sinks in carefully, inch by inch, and he watches your face the whole time, like every twitch in your brow and shift in your hips is more important than anything else in the world. your walls pulse around him, already clenching tight, wet and warm and so reactive his jaw tightens with the effort of keeping his own hips still. he exhales against your collarbone and presses his lips there again, kissing gently as he begins to move the finger in and out, slow and shallow. his thumb keeps working your clit, synced perfectly with the curl of his finger as he searches for that spot inside you that will make you crumble. you can’t speak—your breath is too staggered, your moans too broken to shape into words—but the way your body arches toward him says enough. “fuck, you feel so good,” he murmurs, kissing just beneath the swell of your chest, his voice vibrating through your skin. “you’re perfect like this.”

your breath hitches when he curls the single finger inside you again, the slow glide of it dragging perfectly against your walls, thick and precise like he knows exactly where to touch without needing to be told. your body is already arching into him, your hips grinding down against his hand as the slick sounds between your thighs grow louder, needier, messier. he doesn’t tease—not once—he keeps the rhythm steady, intentional, with every motion designed to draw the tension higher, to coax your body open instead of ripping it wide. when your walls begin to flutter, tightening around him with the kind of resistance that begs for more, he presses a kiss to your sternum, right between your breasts, and lifts his head just slightly. “gonna give you two, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing over your skin as he speaks, his voice dark and low and reverent. “i want you to take it slow for me, yeah?” you nod, breathless, your nails digging into his forearm as his finger slowly pulls out. the moment his second finger presses in beside the first, your mouth falls open on a soft, broken moan. the stretch burns for a second, sharp and thick, but his thumb keeps circling your clit, and the pleasure blooms fast enough to swallow the sting.

his lips part as he watches the way your body reacts—your thighs trembling, your hips jerking up, your slick coating his fingers as he begins to move them in a slow, twisting rhythm that makes your stomach flutter. heeseung groans softly, his forehead brushing your chest as he sinks lower, dragging the flat of his tongue along the curve of your breast with aching care. “so fucking tight,” he breathes against your skin, his voice thick with restraint, his jaw clenched as your pussy clenches down on his fingers. “you feel unbelievable, baby.” his mouth moves to your breast, kissing softly over the top of it, then trailing down until his lips brush over your nipple through the thin lace. he sucks gently, just enough to make you whimper, and the combination of his mouth and his hand makes your eyes roll back into your head. his fingers curl inside you again, deeper this time, pressing right against that spot that makes your whole body jerk, and he doesn’t stop—he does it again, and again, and again. your back arches off the bed, your fingers clutching the sheets now, your breath coming in broken little pants that you can’t control.

he pulls the lace down with his teeth—slow and controlled, his mouth never leaving your skin—and when your nipple is bare, he takes it into his mouth like it’s something sacred. the suction is warm, wet, steady, and his tongue flicks just enough to make your core tighten dangerously around his fingers. every motion feels choreographed, like his entire body is synced to yours—your breath, your pulse, your need, all dictating the way he moves. his fingers fuck into you slow but deep, knuckles brushing your soaked entrance with every stroke, the squelch of your arousal thick in the air between your bodies. his thumb never leaves your clit, drawing small, precise circles that keep you trembling, unable to come down from the tension he keeps pulling tighter and tighter. “you’re doing so good,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your chest, “taking me so well, baby, just like that.” your hands move instinctively, threading into his hair, tugging gently at the soft strands as your head tips back into the pillow. he groans at the touch—low and needy—and his pace shifts slightly, fingers thrusting just a little faster, a little rougher, still watching your every breath.

your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably, the pleasure peaking in your lower belly, every muscle tensing like you’re caught on the edge of something massive. you can barely speak, barely form a thought, the only thing in your mind is him—his hand, his mouth, the deep pull of his voice every time he praises you. he lets go of your nipple only to kiss a path across your chest to the other, his lips never leaving your skin, his breath fanning out over every inch he touches. “you gonna cum for me?” he whispers, his voice shaking now, wrecked with how wet you are, how tight you are, how you’ve soaked his hand with nothing but slow kisses and a little praise. “let me feel you cum, sweetheart.” your body jerks when his thumb presses harder against your clit, circling faster, and your moan breaks—loud, breathy, raw. your hips buck, your walls clamp down around his fingers, and everything inside you snaps.

you cum with a force that steals your breath, your body seizing beneath him, your voice reduced to high, desperate whimpers as the orgasm crashes through you. he doesn’t stop—his fingers slow but stay buried inside you, his thumb softening into soothing strokes, guiding you through the aftershocks as your legs tremble and your stomach flutters. his lips kiss over your chest again, murmuring sweet, quiet things into your skin—“so good for me,” “so beautiful,” “you’re perfect like this”—until the tension in your limbs begins to fade. he finally pulls his fingers out, slowly, carefully, and your pussy twitches with the absence, fluttering around nothing, still dripping with your release. he lifts his hand, coated in your slick, and glances at you once with heat in his eyes before licking his fingers clean, slow and shameless. your chest rises and falls in uneven waves, your eyes glassy, your thighs sticky and trembling where they rest open. and all he does is smile—soft, sinful, and absolutely wrecked—with the taste of you still on his tongue.

he climbs over you slowly, the mattress shifting with his weight as he settles between your legs, his thighs bracketing yours while your slick coats the sheets beneath you. his hands press gently into your hips, guiding you back into the center of the bed, keeping you open for him as his mouth finds your throat again. you feel the heavy drag of his cock through his sweatpants, thick and hard, pressing flush against your soaked slit with nothing but damp fabric between you. the sensation makes your head fall back into the pillow, a sharp gasp catching in your throat as your hips roll up, grinding against him without even meaning to. he groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates in his chest and melts into the curve of your neck as his lips drag down to your shoulder. “fuck… you feel that?” he rasps, his hips rocking down just once, slow and deliberate, forcing a desperate moan from the back of your throat. he grinds again, firmer this time, the head of his cock catching perfectly against your clit through the soaked material, and it makes your eyes flutter closed. “so messy for me already, baby.”

your moan slips out before you can stop it, soft and high and cracked open with heat.

“heeseung…” his name trembling on your tongue like a secret that finally escaped. his whole body jerks at the sound, like he wasn’t expecting to hear it, like it did something to him that he wasn’t ready for. he lifts his head, eyes dark and wide and hungry, his breath hot against your cheek as his hand slides up to cup your jaw. “say that again,” he breathes, thumb brushing your bottom lip, voice low and tight like he’s barely holding it together. “please, baby—say my name again.” you do—whispered at first, then louder, your moan broken around it as your hips buck up into his again, grinding shamelessly into the thick line of his cock. “heeseung…” you whimper, and he lets out a sound that’s half a growl, half a praise, pressing his forehead to yours as his hips grind down harder. “fuck, just like that,” he groans. “keep saying it. don’t stop.”

you can barely think anymore, the friction dragging over your sensitive clit, your core still pulsing from your orgasm, your skin too hot and your breath too fast. heeseung keeps rocking against you, not thrusting, just grinding, slow and deep, letting the drag of his cock over your soaked folds speak for itself. every roll of his hips pushes a new moan from your mouth, and every time his name leaves your lips, his rhythm falters like he’s losing control one syllable at a time. he’s not speaking now—just breathing, hard and fast, his mouth open against your shoulder as he chases the pressure, the heat, the tension pulling tight in his spine. his hands are on your hips again, holding you down as you writhe beneath him, his name falling from your lips in messy, broken cries that make his cock twitch harder against you. “god, you’re driving me fucking insane,” he chokes out, grinding harder now, faster, like he needs the friction or he’s going to snap. “i could cum like this—just like this, fuck—just from you saying my name like that.”

you’re soaked again already, the wet drag of your pussy against his cock leaving a dark, sticky stain on his sweats, and the sound of it makes your face burn. he kisses your jaw again, his lips soft and reverent, like he’s grounding himself before he loses what little control he has left. “you make me so fucking hard, baby,” he groans, voice rough against your ear, “you don’t even know what you do to me.” his hips stutter as you arch up, grinding harder, needier, chasing the pressure and the weight of him and the sound of your name in his mouth. your fingers claw at his back now, slipping under his shirt, dragging your nails down the smooth muscle there as he grinds again and again. his name falls from your lips like a chant now, breathless and ruined and wrecked, and each time he reacts—his hips jerking, his teeth biting down on a moan, his hands gripping you tighter. “again,” he begs, lips at your throat. “say it again—please.”

heeseung pulls back just slightly, just enough to sit up on his knees between your thighs, the cool air brushing over your sticky skin in the wake of his body. his eyes never leave you as he lifts his shirt with one hand and tosses it aside, exposing lean lines and smooth muscle, his chest flushed with heat, his collarbones glistening faintly in the low light. your breath catches, and before you can even say anything, he’s dragging his fingers down the waistband of his sweats, sliding them low on his hips until his cock finally springs free—thick, hard, flushed deep red at the tip and already slicked with precum. your thighs twitch at the sight of him, your mouth parting on instinct as your eyes drop and your stomach coils at the sheer size of him. he watches you watch him, and the look on his face shifts into something darker—needier—like he knows exactly how you’re feeling. “you want it?” he asks, his voice a low rasp as he wraps a hand around the base and strokes once, slow and tight. “you wanna feel it, baby?” you nod quickly, breathless, the answer already written across your body in the way your legs part further, your back arches, your fingers curl into the sheets.

he lowers himself again, one hand steadying his cock, the other gripping your thigh as he settles between you, his body flush against yours once more. the first drag of him through your folds punches a moan straight out of you, loud and broken, your hips jolting upward as the thick head of his cock slides perfectly over your clit. heeseung groans low in his chest, teeth clenched as he guides himself back and forth, letting your slick coat his shaft, every motion slow and heavy and deliberate. “fuck—so wet,” he mutters, his voice wrecked, breath catching as the head of his cock catches at your entrance before he pulls back again. he doesn’t press in yet—he just teases you, again and again, the tip dragging down your slit, catching, slipping, soaking. “say it again,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth as he rocks his hips forward just enough to make you feel every inch of him. “say my name like you did before.” you moan it again—soft, breathless, full of want, and it makes him hiss through his teeth, his forehead dropping to yours.

he keeps moving his hips, sliding his cock over your pussy in slow, deep grinds that make the head catch at your entrance just enough to make your walls flutter and your thighs shake. heeseung’s breathing hard now, the muscles in his arms flexing beside your head, sweat starting to gather at the nape of his neck as he holds himself above you. “you feel that?” he groans, cock slick and heavy between your folds, grinding against your clit with every roll of his hips. “you feel how fucking hard i am for you?” you nod, gasping, your back arching off the bed as your body chases more pressure, more friction, more him. “i could do this all night,” he rasps, voice cracking against your throat. “just like this—grinding my cock on you while you moan my name like that.”

“heeseung…fuck..” you whimper it again and he nearly loses it, his hips stuttering, cock twitching, precum smearing hot across your swollen clit. “fuck, baby. don’t stop.”

you don’t—you can’t. the way he feels against you is too much and still not enough, the thick head of his cock dragging through your folds, slicking you up more with every stroke. your pussy is dripping now, soaked and swollen and clenching on nothing, desperate for him, but he just keeps teasing—keeps grinding—like he’s determined to make you come again before he even gets inside. he leans down to kiss you again, tongue messy and breath ragged, and his hips roll deeper, grinding the head of his cock harder against your clit until you cry out into his mouth. “say it again,” he whispers between kisses, his voice hoarse, eyes burning into yours. “say it while i make you come just like this.” you moan it again and again—his name spilling off your lips like prayer, like surrender—and the sound of it makes him twitch, makes him curse, makes his cock slide lower and nudge right at your entrance again. you gasp, trembling, and he pulls back just barely, smirking against your lips. “yeah… just like that.”

heeseung doesn’t speak at first—he just looks at you, eyes locked to yours, breath coming heavy as he reaches down to line himself up with your entrance. the swollen head of his cock rests right against your soaked slit, and you feel it twitch, leaking more precum that drips down over your folds as you clench around nothing. his hand tightens on your thigh, holding you open for him, and when he pushes just the tip in, you both moan—his, low and broken in his chest, yours sharp and high as the stretch hits hard and fast. “fuck…” he breathes, voice cracking as his forehead drops against yours, “you’re so fucking tight.” your walls flutter around him already, pulling him in instinctively, and it takes everything in him not to sink in all at once. “relax for me,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth as he strokes your side with his free hand, “breathe, baby… let me in.” you nod, your legs trembling, your nails digging into his biceps, and with one slow, steady push, he eases in another inch. the burn is intense, but it’s exactly what you need—he’s so big, so thick, and your body is clenching so hard it makes your vision blur.

he stills halfway in, giving you a second to adjust, his mouth pressed to your jaw as he breathes through his nose and murmurs softly into your skin. “you feel unreal,” he says, voice wrecked, like he’s speaking through gritted teeth just to keep control, “so warm… so wet… you’re fucking perfect.” your body trembles beneath him, thighs twitching, toes curling, your hips arching off the mattress in a slow, involuntary motion that makes him groan deep and filthy. his hands move to cradle your hips, holding you steady as he rolls his in return, easing another inch into your soaked heat. the stretch makes your eyes flutter shut, makes your mouth fall open in a breathless moan that turns into a plea, your fingers gripping the sheets now. “heeseung…” you cry, broken and sweet, and it makes his cock twitch deep inside you, his hips rocking forward until he’s fully seated, the base of him pressed snug to your aching folds. “fuck, that’s it,” he growls, his jaw clenched, sweat starting to bead along his temple, “you’re taking me so well, baby… so fucking good for me.”

he doesn’t move yet—he just stays there, deep inside you, letting your walls pulse and flutter around his cock while he kisses your temple and whispers through shaky breaths. your pussy clenches again, so tight and hot that he has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from coming too fast, and his hand lifts to brush your hair back from your face, his thumb sweeping over your cheekbone. “i can feel you squeezing me,” he whispers, so low it almost sounds reverent, “like your body doesn’t wanna let me go.” you nod, whimpering, your whole body buzzing from how full you are—how stretched, how completely consumed by him you feel. his cock fits inside you like it was made for it, like every vein and curve was molded to your walls, every inch pushing against spots you didn’t know were there. “you’re so deep,” you whisper, voice shaky, breath caught, and he presses a kiss to your lips again—soft, open-mouthed, messy. “i know, baby,” he says, and the way he says it—like it’s a promise—makes your whole body tremble again. “you want more?”

his hips pull back slowly, just enough to make you feel the stretch of his cock leaving your body, the drag so thick and heavy it makes your breath hitch. your walls flutter at the loss, already aching to be full again, but before the whine can slip out, heeseung thrusts forward—slow and smooth, burying himself back inside you until your bodies are flush again. the moan that escapes you is soft and breathless, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as your back arches, your chest pressing into his. “that’s it,” he breathes against your ear, his voice low and shaking with restraint, “just like that, baby—take it.” he sets a rhythm that’s deliberate, not fast, just deep—so deep—like every stroke is meant to make you remember the exact shape of him. the bed rocks beneath you in soft, steady pulses, the slick sound of your bodies filling the space between each breath. your pussy clenches around him with every thrust, soaking his cock with more wetness, and he groans, long and low, his mouth brushing the side of your neck. “you’re so fucking tight,” he says, the words barely a whisper, “you’re milking my cock, baby…”

you cry out his name again, broken and high, your voice shaking as your hips start to move in sync with his, meeting each stroke with the kind of desperation that makes your thighs burn. heeseung’s hand slides up your body, past your waist, your ribs, and finally settles around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, his thumb brushing softly against your jaw. “keep saying it,” he tells you, fucking you deeper now, his strokes heavier, thicker, the drag of his cock so intense it makes your eyes roll back. “say my name while i’m inside you.” and you do—his name tumbling out between gasps, your lips parted, your moans turning to pleading whispers that make his pace stutter. heeseung’s head drops to your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged, his teeth grazing your skin as he tries to keep control. “fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice raw now, wrecked, as he drives back in deeper. “you were made for this—you were made for me.” your nails dig into his back, dragging down his spine, your walls clenching again, tighter, hungrier.

his thrusts grow a little rougher now, not fast but more forceful, each one punching moans from your chest and making the bed creak beneath you. the rhythm is everything—steady and perfect, his hips rolling with precision, never breaking contact, always dragging back just to push deeper again. his hand on your throat moves to cradle your jaw now, tilting your head so he can kiss you, sloppy and breathless and open, your tongues tangling as you moan into each other’s mouths. his other hand grips your hip harder, holding you still as he grinds deep into your core, your clit brushing against his pelvis with every thrust. your pussy is soaking him now, slick dripping down his cock, your inner thighs sticky, your skin flushed and trembling. “you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he says, kissing down your neck again, “i could stay buried in you forever.” and he means it—you can hear it in the way he moans when your walls tighten, in the way he slows down just to feel it, in the way his voice cracks when he says your name again. “don’t stop, baby. don’t stop saying it.”

heeseung’s lips don’t leave your skin as he slowly starts to move again, his cock still deep inside you, twitching slightly from the last wave of pleasure. your body is warm and pliant beneath him, flushed and wrecked and trembling, but still hungry—your walls fluttering around him like they’re begging for more. he lifts his head slowly, brushing his thumb across your cheek, and you see it in his eyes—there’s no hesitation left, just need, raw and open and laced with something darker now. “turn over for me,” he murmurs, voice thick and low, like the words are dragging out of his throat from somewhere heavy. he leans back just enough to let his cock slide out, and even the loss of him makes your body ache, your pussy clenching at the emptiness. you move without thinking, already shifting beneath him, rolling to your stomach as your thighs tremble against the mattress. his hands are on your hips instantly, lifting you up just enough so your ass tilts higher, your chest pressed to the sheets, your back arched beautifully for him. “just like that, baby,” he groans, one hand sliding down your spine, the other gripping your ass as he positions himself behind you, “fucking perfect.”

you feel him again—his cock dragging slow between your soaked folds, thick and hot and still dripping with both of you as he lines himself back up with your entrance. your breath hitches when the head presses against your hole again, pushing in with that same slow, stretching pressure that makes your jaw drop open. he slides in deeper this time, the angle sharper, the thrust more intense as he sinks into you inch by inch, both of you moaning as he fills you back up completely. “fuck—you’re tighter like this,” he groans, hands gripping your hips hard now, thumbs digging into the softness of your skin as he pulls you back onto him. you’re gasping into the sheets, your hands fisting the covers, your knees spread wide as your pussy takes him all the way to the base. the new angle hits deeper, rougher—his cock dragging against spots that make you cry out, your body jolting with every thrust. “look at you,” he breathes, hips snapping forward, his cock slamming into you now with full control, “taking me so good, baby… so fucking deep.” your moans get louder, more desperate, your voice breaking on his name as you start to fall apart all over again.

he builds a rhythm that feels brutal and perfect, his hips slamming against your ass, the clap of skin on skin echoing through the room with every thrust. your walls are soaked now, slick running down your thighs, the mess of your first orgasm coating both of you and making every stroke louder, wetter, filthier. heeseung growls under his breath as he leans forward, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, gently pulling your head up so your cheek turns toward him. “say it again,” he demands, breath hot against your ear as he pounds into you from behind, “say my name while i fuck you like this.” your voice shakes as you sob it out—“heeseung, heeseung, heeseung”—and the sound of it makes his hips stutter, his grip tighten, his cock jerk inside you. “that’s it, baby—keep moaning for me,” he groans, his hand sliding down your front now, finding your clit again and rubbing tight circles while he keeps thrusting into you hard and deep. your legs tremble, your elbows give out, your chest sinking into the sheets as your second orgasm starts building fast, burning low and hot and uncontrollable.

his thrusts grow slower, deeper, deliberate again—not to ease you, but to let you feel it all, to make your body stretch around every inch of him like it’s learning him. he doesn’t say anything for a second, just breathes through clenched teeth, his hands gripping your hips like handles as he watches the way his cock disappears into your soaked pussy with every roll of his hips. your moans are soft and broken, spilling into the pillow as you push back to meet his rhythm, the pressure building inside you sharp and sweet. “you’re dripping, baby,” he pants, voice dark and strained, “can you hear that?” and you can—the filthy, wet squelch every time he fucks into you, your slick coating his cock, the mess of both your bodies echoing in the quiet room. his fingers tighten around your hips, dragging you into him harder now, the new angle hitting deeper, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix in a way that makes your back arch and your breath catch. “i’m not gonna stop,” he groans, and he means it—you can feel it in the way his body moves, like he’s addicted to the way you take him. “not until i feel you cum on me again.” his voice breaks on the last word, and you choke on a moan, your thighs already starting to tremble from how close you are.

his free hand slides down again, slipping between your legs to circle your clit with his fingers—still soaked from earlier, still trembling with how sensitive you are. “i know you’re close,” he says, breath hot against your back as he leans over you, his cock still grinding deep into your pussy with slow, firm thrusts, “i can feel it—you’re squeezing me so tight.” your body jerks under him, your hands clawing at the sheets, your moans broken and high as the pleasure builds higher, tighter, hotter. he doesn’t let up—not with his cock, not with his hand—he keeps fucking you slow and hard, his fingers pressing tight circles against your clit until your legs shake uncontrollably. “come on, baby,” he whispers, voice right in your ear now, “cum for me again—cum on my cock, let me feel it.” and the way he says it—so low, so desperate—breaks something open inside you. your pussy clamps down, walls fluttering in tight, wet pulses as your second orgasm takes hold, crashing over you harder than the first. “fuck—heeseung!” you cry, your voice breaking, your whole body convulsing under him as you cum, hips jerking wildly, back arching, mouth open and gasping.

heeseung groans loud—filthy—his hands grabbing your hips tight as your pussy squeezes around him, your slick spilling down his cock and dripping onto the sheets. “holy fuck,” he growls, hips stuttering, his pace falling apart as he ruts into you hard, deep, chasing his own release now. “you feel—so good—so fucking good,” he moans, each word punched out between heavy, desperate thrusts. your body is limp beneath him, ruined and twitching, but he holds you up, keeps you open, keeps driving into you like he can’t stop. “i’m gonna cum,” he gasps, “gonna cum inside you again, baby—fuck—i’m not pulling out.” your moan is soft, breathless, nothing but wrecked permission. heeseung groans, loud and broken, as he thrusts deep one last time and spills into you, hot and thick, his cum flooding your pussy in long, heavy pulses. he doesn’t stop moving, not right away—he keeps grinding into you, burying it deeper, fucking it up into your sore, overstimulated cunt like he wants it to stay. your walls twitch around him, fluttering from the aftershocks, your breath shallow as he collapses forward, his chest pressed to your back, sweat-slick and panting.

he stays inside you as long as your body lets him, his cock twitching with every breath, his cum warm and sticky between your thighs, leaking down onto the sheets. his arms wrap around your middle, pulling you close, holding you still as your body shivers beneath his, overstimulated and buzzing. he kisses your shoulder slowly, reverently, murmuring soft things you barely register—“you were perfect,” “i didn’t want to stop,” “you’re so fucking good.” his voice is hoarse, wrecked from moaning your name, from holding back, from fucking you like he meant it. your eyes flutter closed, your body loose and heavy, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. heeseung doesn’t move, doesn’t let you go—his arms stay locked around your waist, his cock still half-hard inside you, like he can’t stand the idea of being anywhere else. “stay like this for a minute,” he whispers, kissing the back of your neck. “just like this, baby… let me feel you a little longer.”

heeseung’s chest rises and falls against your back, each breath brushing over your shoulder as his arms slowly loosen around your waist, just enough to let you shift. you let out a soft sound—half-whimper, half-sigh—and he presses a kiss to your spine, so featherlight it almost doesn’t register. “hold on,” he whispers, low and hoarse, and he pulls out carefully, the slow drag of his cock making your body twitch as his cum begins to slip out of you. he steadies your hips with one hand, still gentle, still warm, and reaches for the small remote near the bedside table with the other. you hear the soft beep as he presses the button, the red light fading instantly, the lens no longer watching, no longer recording. he exhales deeply, like some part of him only now lets go, and he sets the remote aside before turning back to you. “it’s off,” he says softly, brushing your hair back from your face, his fingers trembling just slightly. “it’s just us now.”you hum faintly in response, eyes half-closed, body limp and heavy against the mattress, and heeseung smiles—small, crooked, fond—before leaning down to kiss your temple. “you did so fucking good,” he murmurs, his voice all warmth now, rough around the edges but soft with pride, with affection. he moves slowly, lifting himself from the bed and disappearing for just a moment, the faint sound of running water coming from down the hall. when he returns, his hands are full—warm washcloth, small towel, a bottle of water already uncapped. he kneels beside you again, coaxing you onto your back with a careful hand on your hip, and when your body winces from the soreness, he just nods. “i’ve got you,” he says gently, his eyes full of something deep and quiet. he cleans you up slowly, thoroughly, without rushing—starting at your thighs, then between your legs, wiping away the mess with care, never looking away from your face.

the rag is warm, soft, comforting against your skin, and his touch never loses its patience, even when you shiver or twitch from the overstimulation. “tell me if it’s too much,” he says, barely louder than a breath, his hand resting lightly on your knee as he presses the cloth between your legs once more. your voice is weak when you say “you’re okay,” but it’s enough—his shoulders relax, and he finishes the last gentle sweep before setting the rag aside and covering you with the clean towel. he presses another kiss to your thigh this time, lingering, almost reverent, before he climbs back into bed beside you, body warm, arms open. “come here,” he whispers, and you move slowly, shakily, letting him pull you into his chest. the moment you settle against him, everything melts—his hand in your hair, your cheek against his collarbone, the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear grounding you completely. “you’re everything,” he says again, and this time it isn’t just praise—it’s a truth.

he stays like that with you, holding you close, stroking your back, letting the silence settle like a blanket. the heat from your bodies still lingers, but it’s not heavy anymore—it’s soft, intimate, something woven into the quiet between your breaths. heeseung doesn’t try to fill the silence with anything unnecessary—he just exists with you, his touch constant, his presence wrapping around you like something you never realized you needed. his hand moves to your waist, tracing lazy circles against your skin, grounding you gently, reminding you that you’re safe, that it’s over, that you’re okay. “do you want anything?” he asks quietly, lips brushing your hairline, and when you shake your head, he nods, content to just be here with you. his fingers curl around yours beneath the towel, and you feel his thumb stroke the back of your knuckles once, twice, again. “we’ll stay like this as long as you want,” he says. “there’s no rush.”

you feel your chest swell at that—your lungs tightening with the weight of something you don’t want to name, something warm and stupid and dangerous. the words hit you somewhere low and vulnerable, curling beneath your ribs like they belong there, and for a second, you almost let it. you almost believe this could be more, that the way he touches you means something deeper, that this warmth he gives isn’t just for the camera. but then you remember the red light, the lens, the view count still sitting at zero. you remember why you’re here in the first place—money, rent, survival. and just like that, you shift again, sitting up slowly, the sheet slipping down your chest as you turn your back to him. “i should go,” you say quietly, forcing the words out like they don’t scrape your throat raw. heeseung moves beside you, confusion creasing his features as he reaches out gently, his hand brushing your back. “wait—what’s wrong?”

you stand before he can touch you again, grabbing your clothes from the floor and pulling them on with unsteady hands, refusing to look at him. “nothing’s wrong,” you say quickly, too quickly, because everything feels wrong now—the closeness, the softness, the way your body still buzzes with the ghost of his touch. “this was great. it was good.” you pause, slipping on your hoodie, heart pounding too loud in your chest. “but this is business, remember?” heeseung’s face shifts at that—something subtle breaking in the way he exhales, in the way his eyes fall to the sheets, then back to you. “i know,” he says quietly, sitting up, raking a hand through his hair. “i just didn’t think you’d want to leave so fast.” you ignore the way that stings and reach for your phone, already stepping toward the door. “can you call me a ride?”

he doesn’t argue, doesn’t beg, doesn’t guilt you—he just nods, slides out of bed, and grabs his own phone from the nightstand. the air feels heavier now, the silence between you no longer soft but sharp, cutting against your ribs with every breath you try to take. you watch him through your lashes as he types, jaw tense, his brows furrowed like he wants to say something he knows he shouldn’t. “ride’s five minutes away,” he says, voice flat, and you nod, hugging your arms around yourself even though you’re fully dressed. neither of you speak again—not until the buzz of your phone signals the driver’s arrival, and even then, you just give him a short, “thank you,” before heading for the door. he doesn’t stop you, but you feel his eyes on your back the entire time, like he’s memorizing the way you walk away. the door clicks shut behind you, final and quiet, and it takes everything in you not to look back.

────୨ৎ────

you don’t cry in the ride home—you’re too tired, too overwhelmed, too busy replaying the feeling of his hand on your jaw, the warmth of his voice in your ear. your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out without thinking, eyes widening at the notification that lights up your screen.

@heefreakshow posted a new video: “moan for the camera, baby.”

your stomach flips, breath catching as you tap it open, watching the views tick up in real time—hundreds, then thousands, climbing faster than you can process. the comments pour in, the gifts, the subscribers, and your inbox is already starting to fill with names you don’t recognize.

your eyes stay fixed to the numbers, the sound of the car engine barely registering over the pounding of your heart, the dull throb between your legs still pulsing with the ghost of his cock. comments begin pouring in, flooding the screen in a blur of praise and fire emojis, messages of “who is she?” and “this is fucking art,” and “the way he touches her???” flashing by too fast for you to breathe. the heat in your chest blooms again, twisting tight, painful in a way you can’t name—because this was supposed to be just business. but it doesn’t feel like business when you’re watching yourself fall apart under him, when your moans play back through the speakers like something sacred, when he touches you like you matter. your hand tightens around your phone, jaw clenched, eyes wide as the numbers keep rising—ten thousand, twelve, fifteen—until you can’t look anymore. you close the video, thumb hovering over the home screen, heart still pounding.

and then it hits—a soft buzz. one new message.

@jayafterhours has sent you a message.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ it's not proofread so sorry >-< but i hoped y'all enjoyed it anyways !!

taglistᝰ.ᐟ @starry-eyed-bimbo @vixialuvs @justaquarium @dark-moon-light02 @deobitifull @minjeong28 @wonzzziezzzz @wonsohl @psychicyouthfox @honeyfever @strayy-kidz @bloomiize @tunafishyfishylike @jaehaki @ihearteatingxo @songbyeonkim @sol3chu @mo0neng3ne @strxwbloody @hii01mii @merwdusa @dorrissakurada @lycxee @frequentlykit @heeenha6484 @sjakewrld @stwrlightt @parkjjongswifey @haneulhee @fr34k4c1dr41n @cozyre @vwricky @nyxtwixx @nuggets4lifers @yunkiconico @mynameis-rosie1 @leeknowslefteyebrow @babygguk98 @noiiny @horijiro @nshmrarki @delulumel @brooklyninawhitemustang @baedreamverse @stvrrylove @killedbycharlize @sehyojae @mylettterstoyou @metanoianlove @shaysimpss @kiokantalope @sanriwoozzz @mniwna @l1nn13 @gongyoorit @miszes @ineedheewoninmylife @seonhwastaar @ari3ll4 @ssanhwatto @negin7 @koizekomi @enhaz1 @kittympirty @slayhaechan @semi-wife @tobiosbbyghorl @hoonsdrnkdzd @shy9-29 @heeenha6484 @heeseungsbm @kristynaaah @smlbch @kirinaa08 @millis-diary @kawaiichu32 @wonislife17 @minniesverse @k1ttyjwon @luvksnn @wondash @wooalt @sweetsoobie @nyxiebabyyy @jakezzgirlz @b1tem4rks @hoonneyyzz @mimimovv @hanjiversee @ch4c0nnenh4 @sarashusbandissunghoonfyime @tnafzi @bbypink @en-hoon02 @skzenhalove @azzy02 @sanchaah @planetmarlowe @miniw0nz @daisy-doo1 @femaholicc @cherryangel-coke @hooniesfvngs @kimsvtaes @choicila @arourababy

#enhypen #enha #enha smut #enha x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #heeluvv #lee heesung smut #heeseung smut #lee heeseung #heeseung #enhypen heeseung #premium content

3K notes · View notes

sh1-n0bu · 6 months ago

Text

♡︎ 𝙖𝙬𝙤𝙤𝙜𝙖𝙨! ♡︎

characters: sub!big men x gn!dom!reader

warnings: cock/strap/dick traditions, boob fucking, cumming on face, body, feminization, size difference, mentions of pregnancy, dumbification, lactation, feminine language used for the characters (princess, womb, maiden etc so pls tread with caution if that ain’t ur thing), read with optional bias character in mind

notes: nobu finally posting smt??????? nobu actually writing for once???????????? also this is just my obsession with boobs talking. dividers from cafekitsune. manga color tint by me

big men! with big chests that gets mistaken or joked of it being boobs by close friends and colleagues, who had gotten used to it. who at first used to get all blushy blushy but nowadays just shrugs it off with a disgruntled huff of “knock it off”

big men! who didn’t really see much problem when you started to favor their chest more, eventually opting to use them as a pillow rather than use your actual pillow since it gives them the advantage of falling asleep with you on top of them and they got to cuddle with you all night. a win-win situation in his book, as he could be quite clingy when behind closed doors. who laughs sometimes at the silliness of you smothering your face in between his chests, finding your obsession with his pecs to be endearing

big men! who didn’t realize how sensitive their chest could be until you decide to show it to them. squeezing, fondling the large muscles, tweaking his cute nipples occasionally and making him jolt in place with a cute blush covering his ears and cheeks. so adorable, like a meager bunny when he was nearly twice your size and could probably crush a grown man’s skull in with their hand

big men! who get so worked up over the dirty words you whisper when you pinch his hardened nipples, your words of “i could make your chest lactate”, “your boobs feel so heavy, darling”, “such a nice big tits you have” making him whine in the back of his throat, shaking his head as he shakily denies that “t-they’re not b-boobs… y-you nngh know that…”

big men! who gets manhandled by your smaller frame to lay on their backs, a cute surprised “eengk!” escaping his swollen lips as he looks up at you, pushing his tight shirt up until they’re resting over his chest, showing the big muscles you love so much. who cutely whine and wriggle in place under you as your fingers bully his hardened buds, pinching at the cute pinks, tugging on them before letting go, a noise of awe leaving your lips at the way his chest fucking jiggles while your bf could only jolt with words of “c-cruel… you’re so cruel to me. pu-unhh puppYAGH!”

big men! who get fucked stupid, brain churning into a mush by only having his nipples played with. pinched, tugged, even bitten till your fangs and teeth leaves a round mark closed around his areola that he slurs is too deep, acting like he is getting his tight hole spread open and fucked by your cock. whose face is so cutely flushed, eyes dazed over as he breathes heavily of “wan’ moowr.. ungh h-haah… annh♡︎ m-more please? touch me.. to-ouch me moore”

big men! who act like a sweet virgin who never got himself fucked by you when you kick off your pants, hardened cock already springing out and slapping against his cute boobs. who stare at your oozing tip with gaping mouth, letting out stuttered questions of “w-what… whaddaya doin’? h-hunny, noouw… no, don’t—♡︎!” before squealing when you squeeze his chest together, rutting your strap in between them

big men! who act like they have never seen your cock, never tasted it or even deep throated it before, acting like he never once took your dildo into his pretty hole until his legs shook as you fuck his boobs, moaning loudly like the cute bunny he is. who opens his mouth, jaw shaking as fat tears collect in his big doe eyes, messily sucking the tip, getting drunk on the taste of your pre already when you politely ask him to suck you off

big men! whose hands shakily grasp your ass, unintentionally helping you fuck their tits even more, pushing your strap even deeper inside his mouth as if he wanted you to just let go of their boobs and just fuck their throat instead. who lets out a cute confused noise, mouth full of your cock, batting his lashes up at you like the pretty little thing he is when you move his trembling hands to hold his boobs together instead of your ass. who tries to speak words of not knowing how to do it, still mouthful, as you give a tug to his cute bitten nipple, making him squeak

big men! who meagerly tries to fuck your cock in between his mounds, choking on your tip when you tilt his head down just enough so he could also suck you off, acting as if you just shoved your entire strap down his throat and was keeping it there, snuggly shutting him up. a whiny bf whose tears finally fall when you cum into his hot mouth, dropping of your cock when you came as if he was never drunk on the taste of your seeds before, letting some of it shoot over his face and hair instead. a hunky beast of a man, sniffling like a baby when he notices the mess you made of him, who dares to give you a half assed glare as if you forced him to make a mess

big men! who gets addicted to boob fucking after that one time thing, constantly thinking back on the feeling of squishing his own chest together to fuck your dick for you. whose hands finds themselves wandering to his pecs more often, pushing them together and moving them in soft round circles as if you would suddenly appear and fill the empty space between his boobs. who finds himself messing with his nipples over the tight fit of his shirt, finding himself to be perverted as he gets turned on by just fondling with his chest

big men! who, unable to keep teasing themselves anymore, start to touch themselves when you’re away on work or whatever. more specifically, their chests. rutting his clothed, hardened cock against a pillow that is squished between his thighs, tweaking at his nipples and tugging on them — just like how you do it — before letting go with a whimper. it hurt, but it also felt so good, he could feel his precum already wetting his boxers

big men! who finds out that his constant arousal by his nipples was a bad idea, as now every time he wears a tight shirt or compression vest, his nipples are rubbed and he finds himself getting horny. who, in desperation, decides to tenderly tape the cute pink nubs with a band aid, pouting to himself about how you were slowly but surely turning him into a perv

big men! who now finds it much easier to use his boobs to fuck you, quick to drop down to their knees in front of your clothed crotch, kissing the hidden thighs and inhaling at your natural scent with a love stricken look in their eyes. a cute, desperate bf who kisses your strap, rubbing you with his hands to try and get you hard as quick as possible. who hook their shirt over their chest, intentionally pushing his boobs together with his hands on his knees, creating the effect of round shaped breasts

big men! who impatiently watches until your cock is free, taking it into his mouth the moment you slide down your undergarments, suckling at the head just like how you enjoy it. who push you down to sit, so he could climb onto your lap, pushing his chest together so he could fuck your strap with his boobs, determined that now he had learned a good technique to make you feel good. who is quick to take the head of your dildo into his mouth, swiping the gathered pre with a pleased hum, looking up at your through his thick lashes with a drunken giggle before pulling away to spit on your hard on

big men! who drunkenly take the head of your strap into their hot mouth, suckling away at the delicious precum, unafraid to slobber all over your cock and his chest as he slowly moves the big muscles in a circular motion. who giggles in delight at your words of praise and groans, the tip of your cock that is still in his mouth vibrating with his drunk laughter. beefy bf who eagerly lap away at your cock head, slurping at the mess he made of his own drool and your precum before taking it back into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks for you. only for you♡︎

big men! who pulls away again when you cum, watching with a cute mix of fascination and lewd anticipation as your hot cum shoots all over his jaws and chest, painting his skin in white. massaging your balls and stroking you through it all, opening his mouth slack as he stares up at you with hazed eyes, letting the last few drops shoot into his awaiting tongue, licking at his full lips with a pleasured hum. the salty, slightly sweet taste, a familiar one that he had gotten drunk on within the first round

big men! who straddle your lap, rubbing your wet strap on the round curve of his ass with a giddy giggle, feeling how the slippery wet tip doesn’t enter his tight hole without helping hands. finally, grasping at your dick with his hand, giving it a few strokes before pressing the tip against his entrance. your sweet bf who decide to be bold, sinking down onto your cock with one swift movement, a choked sob getting stuck in his throat at the sudden feeling of being “f-fughkk♥︎ a-aah haah mnngh♡︎ shooo fu-ull.. gut’s so ffuul of m-my [name]♥︎”

big men! who ride your dick all night, even as his muscles strain and his brain gets fucked into a stupid mush, slurring words of love and lust, saying all sorts of lewd things through his cum and drool covered pink lips as the kissable looking pair of muscles turn into a cute drunken smile. beefy big bf whose tits bounce all the while, their cute jiggles every time they sink down into your dick hypnotizing you to only focus on them. an adorable squeal escaping him as you tear away the band aids from his nipples, the stimulated nubs all hard and blush red as they greet you

big men! who squeeze their breast, forefinger and thumb squeezing around his nipple, as he grins at you with blown wide heart shaped eyes. “a-ain’t they cute…? dontcha wanna suck-unghk suck on them?” he asks, squishing his mound softly with a near delirious grin on his face. “come owwnn, don’t my [name] wanna taste my milk♡︎?”

big men! who lets out a pleased wet sob when you do give in, suckling, biting, squeezing at his jiggling boobs as he starts to bounce on your cock with a more fervent pace. who cries out at it being painful when you leave another teeth mark around his nub, one of his hands placed over his chest like one of the scared damsels in paintings. who slur out words of not being a damsel, of being a maiden, shaking his head as if he actually understood anything

big men! who gets their wombs filled with your cum for nth time that night, feeling his stomach start to bloat at the sheer amount he greedily took into his eager hole. fucked dumb bf who shakes his head at your words of getting off, refusing to lose the warmth in his stretched hole and filled stomach. who only notices when you pointed out, that his nipple was leaking, lactating a delicious white milk that dribbled down to his cum covered tummy. another drunk giggle follows, as he gets close to your ear to whisper a filthy slurred “now that i’m p-pregnant, my [name] better take responsibility♥︎”, having completely forgotten that he can’t get pregnant. but oh well, your beefy bf who is so adorable as he giddily speaks of carrying your young, rubbing at his belly with hearts swirling in his eyes, to the point you can’t bring yourself to correct him. only going slack on the couch with your sweet princess still on your lap

⇨ JOTUN LOKI, jiyan, diluc, alhaitham, CAPITANO, zhongli/rex lapis form, itto, wriothesley, JUNG YUAN, YINGXING, argenti, GALLAGHER, gepard, yhan, yuanwu, GLORFINDEL, maedhros, elu thingol, finarfin, FINROD, logan, thor, DIAVOLO, beelzebub, anubis (ennead), gyomei, YORIICHI, messmer the impaler + whoever you like!

4K notes · View notes

lovegasmic · 6 months ago

Text

𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬▶ 𝗩𝗛𝗦

HOT DILF NEXT DOOR ⭑.ᐟ

‘ toji fushiguro, kento nanami, satoru gojo x fem!reader ’ ୨୧ taglist

⌞ PG-18 ⌝ reversed version of hot milf next door ◞ age gap, all consenting adults◞ creampie except for kento ◞ they are actual dilfs not just older men◞ you cheat on your bf with satoru but he deserves it, and reader is a brat◞

this is long and I've had this request for longer, so take this as an apology for not posting anything new lately ‹3

𝜗𝜚 TOJI

of course another screw had to come loose from the cheap cupboard doors barely hanging on for dear life. you curse under your breath, wiping a drop of sweat that makes it’s way down your forehead and onto the cupid bow, “fuck this shit place” finding a good place as a student was no good, and it was either surviving in a struggling apartment or sharing living space at the school dorms where the air reeked of multiple fluids and body odors was not really an option.

and now, rummaging through the multiple still closed boxes laying on your living room to find a screwdriver was neither an option, “just kill me already” mustering up some courage, your feet drags you to the front door and towards the one next to it, hoping and praying that your neighbor is an actual nice person as your knuckles hit the wood, please, anything really, perhaps an older lady who can bake, or a lovely young student around your age who can—

oh.

that’s a freaking kid.

“hi, um..., are your parents home?” so freaking awkward, the kid looks at you unimpressed, barely blinking and dark hair sticking in all directions before he turns around.

okay, that was rude, but you’re about to speak again until he comes up, moving as if he owned the place, big muscles under a shirt a bit too tight, and that flat expression barely quirks up in what seems like a grin, “can I help you, doll?” and oh, again, that voice is enough to make your knees buck.

“h-hi, i moved next door, and uh—” shit, shit, “do you have a screwdriver I can borrow for a second?” did you even introduce yourself? that does not matter, and the man doesn’t seem to care, giving you an amused up and down look before nodding.

“got a problem with the cupboard already, huh? don’t worry I got a trick” isn’t this man such a gentleman? already gathering some tools and telling the kid, now called Megumi, to behave while he helped the cute girl.

he’s definitely flirting, yeah, it must be, those half grins, constant licks at the scar in the corner of his mouth and the way his eyes trail up and down your body when he thinks you’re not looking, that’s flirting, isn’t it?

just snap out of it, you’re not an eighteen year old anymore, you’re 20... not a big difference, but you should not be fantasizing about that man who is most likely married.

“... anything else?” his voice snaps you out of your stupor, now for good, but you know he’s aware, judging by the grin he offers.

“no, that’s all, thanks” you hope that will answer whatever he also asked, what you don’t expect is for his large body frame to walk up to you, a calloused thumb pressing on your jaw to tilt your head up.

he leans slightly, “no need to be shy, doll, neighbors are to help each other” and there is a trace of something else behind his words, something you can’t quite put into words.

a very slight gasp escapes your lips as his thumb runs down, gently caressing the column of your throat and collarbones, “you’re so pretty, a pretty girl like you must have a pretty name” and you utter it, rolling out your tongue for Toji to catch it with his own name in a shared breath.

Toji. Toji. Toji.

“Toji...! it’s nghhh... r-reaching oh, so deep!” who could have thought that ‘neighboors helping each other’ would have turned into ‘neighbors who rearrange your guts’.

it’s been a few days since the first time Toji helped you fix the furniture, which developed into some kisses, cock sucking and now almost a daily fuck, with quivering thighs with just how hard Toji’s cock rammed into your tiny hole, so fuckin’ wet and tight, struggling to accommodate the whole girth of the man’s huge cock sliding in and out deliciously deep.

there’s a whole package of condoms in your drawer, tucked under the remaining pair of panties Toji hasn’t ripped apart in attempts to reach your cunt faster.

“take it, fuckin’ take it” he huffs, cock twitching inside your velvety walls that cling to each vein and ridge around that fat and long dick, the couch drags across the floor with each one of the dark haired’s thrusts, having you bent, a tit out of the tank top, panties swinging around an ankle and toes curled in sheer bliss. that man knows how to fuck.

and his hand is everywhere, one is holding your shoulders to brutally pull you back so your pussy lips spread vulgarly on each side of his balls, while the other entrained itself by pinching a nipple, tugging your tits and groping the fat of your ass, a low whistle comes next at the sight of your tiny hole stuffed to the brim, “fuck, doll, this cute tight pussy is gripping so tight, shit..., like a fucking virgin...” and a thumb comes to rub your clitoris, a bit uncoordinated but still as good, making your head swim in pleasure, “i’m going to cum if you tighten so hard...”

“i-in— angh, inside, please!”

“of course i’m cumming in this pussy” Toji mocks with a laugh and you whimper, shaking your head, barely turning to look at the man from above your shoulder with pleading, cute eyes.

“take off the condom” and fuck, a fat drop of precum just oozed from the tip.

your hands reach back to press on Toji’s v line, fingertips grazing the slick coated base, “the princess wants a creampie in her tiny cunt?”

fucking hell, that cocky smirk and the way his cock, disgustingly hard, slaps against his abdomen when pulling out makes your tummy do a flip, eagerly reaching to tug on the latex tip and tossing the condom away as if it was offensive.

“a-ah yes!” you can’t avoid the relief moan that gets pulled out of your lips at the sensation, alongside Toji’s pleasure groan that rumbles deep and darkly, with thumbs hooking on each side of your pussy to keep you spread and ready to take those perfectly aligned thrusts, smashing your g spot and having you cumming within seconds, “g-uh, so good... I need...”

“i know, baby, I know, i’m... fuck... cumming deep in this fertile young pussy”

𝜗𝜚 KENTO

the last box is loaded in the truck and your parents bid you farewell. sigh, time to get to work, “do you need any more help?” Kento asks, your sweet and kind neighbor who you’ve known for years, who used to brush your knees when you fell on the grass while playing with Yuuji, who baked delicious loafs of bread you cheerfully ate sitting at the edge of his kitchen counter with your feet swinging.

“i will be okay” you say, flashing a side grin towards the older man, his face as warm as ever, but currently sporting several age lines that just make him look hotter.

yes, you grew and so did he, but your first, and initial admiration towards the man, soon became more loving and even lustful when you turned 19, and now with your parents moving abroad, leaving the cozy, childhood home you grew up in to your care, being into Kento’s ‘care’ —which you did not even needed in the first place, god, you’re a grown adult!— perhaps you were going to use this chance to get closer to the man.

“then I will get going so you get used to your new independence” he jokes a little, turning to return to his empty home due to Yuuji’s just recent departure to college.

“wait!” you stop him, “i was thinking... you know that yummy bread you used to bake? do you mind teaching me how to do it myself?” that will definitely do, getting into Kento’s good side, and house, was as easy as you remember.

and of course he agreed, offering a nod and gentle smile that just made your belly do a flip, what a damn pervert you were, lusting over your neighbour who probably just saw you as a charity work.

but then again, Kento needed it, the poor man was so lonely, with Yuuji gone, his wife leaving him years ago due to his ‘workaholic’ behaviour, a woman’s touch was so needed in his life, and you were going to help.

the baking class is so domestic you kinda feel bad for trying to get into the blonde’s pants, really, his always present and fond smile while you accidentally made a mess of floor all over the kitchen counter was not good for your heart, nor the way he chuckled in that deep and low voice tone of his, hoping he did not notice the way your knees bucked.

a hand comes to hold your wrist, so gentle, “knead like this” and his voice is right against your ear, warm breath sending shivers down your spine and heat pooling in your lower abdomen as he guides the motions, yet your eyes are glued to the way his hand veins pop with each squeeze, would he knead your ass the same way? and also... is his cock that veiny too?

with that thought in mind, you barely buck your hips back, pretending to change the weight from one foot to another when, in reality, you purposely brushed your butt with his crotch.

and Kento notices, his hands stopping for a brief second before resuming, and you move again, almost like a dance to see who would snap first, although each buck and brush is more bold than the previous, that until a large and veiny hand squeezes your hip, there it is.

“stay still” his voice is low and almost a rumble, feeling the warmth of his chest near your back through the thin layers of clothes.

that should not turn you on as much as it did, feeling slightly embarrassed from being caught and stopped that you unconsciously squirm again, and of course, your butt now lands right against Kento’s tenting crotch, feeling the tip poking on a cheek, “shit...” your moan is weak, unable to stop from full on grinding against his cock, to which his hands grip you tighter, the dough long forgotten.

“don’t... do that...” Kento’s words are strained, barely holding on from the urge to just bend you over and fuck you senseless, truth is he saw you grow up, but he also witnessed how you became the nature and sexy girl you are now, “this is wrong”

but his name sounds so cutely from you, that soft, mewled, and needy “Kento...” is just enough to break him.

the sticky mess of flour and water remaining on the kitchen counter sticks to the back of your shirt, it will be a pain to wash it, but meh, that should be another day’s worry, currently, your only focus is the man between your legs, keeping you as spread as ever, with your feet propped up the counter, leggings pulled down and that condom clad cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy, and yes, it’s very fucking veiny.

“this is what you wanted, didn’t you?” his words are huffed from the effort of thrusting mercilessly inside your hole, with a hand on the apex of your thigh to keep your lips open, and the other laying on a jiggling tit, “to get fucked by an older man, I saw the way you look at me, sweetheart, you’re not subtle”

that just makes you clench and mewl, getting caught drooling over the man was utterly hot and even excited he knew just how much you wanted him in your guts like now, “c-can’t help it, you’re— ngh, t-tooo hot!” it’s like you’re losing consciousness with each drag of those throbbing veins against your walls, the friction so fucking delicious and deep, oh so deep, curving just perfectly to drive you insane.

“you’re so hot too” he praises, the words so unfamiliar coming from those lips, adding to the lust filled expression of an almost pussy drunk man, “you’ve grown beautifully” and his words are like his hands, caressing your body with heat leaving on its wake until it lays on your fluttering abdomen, “so sexy, so tight and wet”

“just for you” you moan around your own fingers, sucking the digits to leave them soaked and rub tight circles on your swollen clit, it’s a vision that makes Kento’s cock twitch and splurt another drop of pre inside the condom.

Kento, the always impecable and polite man that fucks so nasty and kisses as equally lewd, gripping your jaw with a hand and a tongue comes to rub all across your sweet mouth, swallowing the desperate pleas and “i’m cumming” mumbles before you’re a sobbing mess and Kento is stuffing the condom full of creamy semen that, hopefully, will stuff your pussy bare someday.

𝜗𝜚 SATORU

“is it really necessary?” you complain for what feels like the fourth time that exact same day, your parents don’t get it, of course they don’t, you were doing just fine with your classes, and if the grades were barely above the requirement to pass, so what? at least you were not struggling in college.

“is that boy’s fault,” your mom says from the back, arms crossed and a scowl on her face, “i told you he is a bad influence and still you did not listen! now your grades are a mess, it’s like our money for your tuition is going to waste” ah yes, your filthy rich parents money, that money was almost spare cash for them.

“don’t bring my boyfriend in this, it’s not his fault” you attempt to defend the little honor your lover had, which, honestly, he did not deserve, he was the worst kind of man you couldn’t have ever fallen for, uninterested, having you crawl behind him, but he had a big dick and a bike, sigh.

“i don’t care, you’re going to have Mr. Gojo tutor you, you like it or not”

Satoru Gojo or Mr. Gojo, your also filthy rich neighbor who just traveled around the world with god knows what money, what would he even know?

the sound of your foot tapping on the floor could tick anyone, but your stupid boyfriend hasn’t responded to any text since yesterday, and you’re two minutes away from making the long and boring walk to your next door’s neighbor house, so long and boring.

you curse and grab your bag way too hastily, you’re sick of this, utterly pissed off, and sadly Mr. Gojo will have to turn into your punching bag.

one or twice is the times you’ve seen the man, he was barely at home or your schedules never met, but damn, he was hot.

tall, broad, with soft white hair that fell on his eyes and made him look younger than he was, bright blue eyes to contrast and ridiculously long legs and hands. somehow you’re a bit speechless as he asks you to come in, taking the surroundings of his home and the family picture frames hanging off the walls, not a woman in sight, strange.

“where is your wife?” mouth works faster than the brain, but Satoru does not mind, giving you a smirk from over his shoulder.

“i don’t have a wife, my kids were adopted” damn, that makes it harder for you to hate on this man.

deciding not to pry even more into the topic you just follow him to the living room, a bunch of history books are splayed in the coffee table so you sit next to the man in one of the large, leather couches.

“your parents say you’re struggling with Japanese periods, yes? Meiji, Heian...”

this was going to be long, “yeah, whatever, why do I even have to learn about all that? it’s in the past, who cares” your attention was drifting again, pulling out your phone and tapping harshly on the screen, no messages, “fuck”

“hey, focus here, princess, leave your phone aside” the sudden shiver that runs down your spine at the nickname is somehow drowned down by a rush of annoyance, you were already in a bad mood and now this man was telling you what to do? fuck this.

“don’t tell me what to do! it’s not as if i wanted to come here in the first place” with a leg crossed over the other your head turns, puffing your cheeks like a spoiled brat.

and again, your eyes drop to your phone.

“hm, I see how it is” yet he’s not mad, more like... amused, and before you realize it he’s snatching your phone that happened to be unlocked, “who’s sukuna?”

“give me that!” you squeak, trying to grab your phone back but Satoru is already scrolling through endless embarrassing texts and multiple nudes you’ve sent.

he clicks his tongue in return, “oh, babygirl, you don’t know how to pick a man, do you?” he coos, almost as if he’s mocking you, and before you realize it, you’re being dragged to his lap, a hand on the small of your back and the other on a bare knee, “tsk, tsk, a sweet thing like you deserve much better, a real man who can please you” his smirk almost makes you moan, adding to the way his long and slender fingers trailed up your thigh to brush the edge of the panties you wore, which were almost ruined at this point.

“boys your age don’t know how to satisfy a girl like you”

the previous heated exchange is not turned into moans echoing in the room, Satoru is so fuckin’ big and long, making your eyes cross and tongue loll out with each drag of his cock inside your walls, he has you spread, with your thighs swinging over his forearms, chest on your back and his lips on your neck, giving you the fuck of your life while at the same time being treated like a fleshlight.

the man is big, big muscles and a big cock that struggles to push past the resistance inside your cunt, but it’s so worthy once it’s in, successfully finding your g spot within seconds of pounding.

“that’s a good girl, yeah, keep moaning, babygirl, your cunt is perfect around my cock” how could this man speak so lewd and freely while rearranging your guts, voice unaffected but the throb and twitch of his cock proved otherwise, “i haven’t fucked a pussy this damn tight, you’re sucking me in, ah fuck— greedy young cunt”

“nghh! haagh f-uck Sa-ah toru!” what a mess, mess of babbling nonsense and a mess of slick and precum dripping down to pool between your legs and onto the couch, the creamy sound of your pussy dragging you and down is just growing with how wetter you get, creating a ring of pearly cum around the base of Satoru’s fat cock filling your insides.

your phone rings, but who fuckin’ cares? your boyfriend is in the past, and now having a tutor is not that entirely bad.

8K notes · View notes

tender-rosiey · 1 year ago

Note

plsss would u do sukuna taking care of his pregnant wife? like noticing his robes keep disappearing, only to figure out its his wife. or more dad!kuna 🙏🏾

robes — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: me👰‍♀️ ➕ 👹heianera!sukuna

sukuna is a deeply preceptive man.

it’s something he prides himself over, and since he is observant, he quickly notices that his robes start going missing.

in the beginning, he thinks that it’s probably the increased number of bloodied robes because he has been going on a higher number of rampages the past couple of days.

so, he goes to uraume to inquire about why the delivery of his robes has been later than usual.

uraume quickly responds that they have been personally delivering the clean robes to his chambers and ensuring that they are placed where he can clearly see them.

the revelation makes sukuna annoyed because that means that someone has been stealing his robes directly from his chambers.

he is presented with two courses of actions—excluding the option of saving himself the trouble and just killing all the servants: sending uraume to spy on the whole ordeal or investigate it himself.

considering how he has been pretty bored the past couple of days, he decides on the latter. the past few rampages have given a clear warning to the rest of the villages surrounding his castle.

so, with nothing else to do, sukuna takes it upon himself to monitor the main entrance of his chambers to see whether anybody enters the room after uraume places the robes in the room.

so, he situates himself near the room but far away so that they can’t catch him.

he stays there for a good couple of hours, yet he sees no one, not even in the darkness of the night: the supposed prime time for a thief.

perhaps the thief has been made aware of sukuna’s inspection? but that would mean that the robes would still be in the chambers. so, sukuna enters his room in search of his robes, but, to his surprise, he doesn’t find them.

that immediately leads him to concluding that whoever is stealing his robes is someone who has access to the hidden door of his room.

and no one knows about that door except—

“y/n.”

you yelp and slowly turn to your husband. he is standing there, arms crossed, brows furrowed, and an everlasting frown on his face. you have been caught and are in some big trouble.

you don’t falter immediately though. you try to act normal. you smile nervously, “yes, my love? is something bothering you?”

keyword: try.

he repeats your name lowly, and you quickly crumble. you visibly deflate and lower your head as you murmur, “yes…”

he nods in satisfaction before asking the awaited question, “where are my robes?”

your hands rest on your lap, and you fidget with your fingers.

you still can’t figure out what his reaction will be. so far, he is just gathering information. he is giving you nothing to work with, so you have no other option but to comply and just keep answering him.

sighing, you answer him, “my closet.”

he quirks an eyebrow and sits in front of you. his hand is placed on your head, and he raises your head, so you’re looking him in the eyes. it’s something that you have noticed only being done to you.

you had absentmindedly asked your head servant about it, and said servant, uraume, had told you that it’s because he views you as an equal and does not take pleasure in your fear and acting inferior to him.

and in the end, sukuna only does what pleases him. if it doesn’t please him then why do it?

he hums as if in thought before egging you on, “and why are my robes in your closet? in fact—” he smirks, eyes observing your frame, “why are you currently wearing my robes?”

you pull the robes tighter around yourself, and you purse your lips. sukuna wants an answer right now, and while he is enjoying your ‘suffering’, he also wants to know what’s wrong.

if there is anything that he hates then it’s not knowing, especially if it’s something about you, his very pregnant wife.

his hand travels to your jaw, and he grips it lightly.

“so?” he says as he tilts your head to the slide slightly.

“you…have been gone for longer than usual lately, and I have been missing you,” you admit softly as you try your best to maintain eye contact, but you end up looking away.

he is still silent, so you continue laying out your reasoning, “and for some reason, the robes alleviate the pregnancy pain. I couldn’t find any logical or scientific reason, but I think—

—it’s because the robes are filled with your cursed energy, maybe acting as a kind of assurance to the baby that you are beside us even if you aren’t.”

he doesn’t grace you with any reaction nor reply for quite a while, and it makes you think that he is probably thinking about how foolish the entire scenario is.

so, you add hesitantly, “or something like that…”

after a moment, though, he sighs and simply says, “you could’ve just asked me, you foolish woman.”

you blink confused, “and you, my ‘no one takes what’s mine’ husband, would’ve allowed that?”

“you, idiot, are mine, so my belongings are yours anyway,” he states, and his hands rest on your stomach, “this is mine too, so you have to take good care of it.”

a smile takes over your face, and you nod happily, “of course, I will!”

you pause for a second, and it has sukuna confused.

you frown and you point your finger at him while reprimanding him, “and don’t call me an idiot, mister! I am your wife, and I am blessed with a good name.”

a pinch is delivered to your butt which makes you shriek. you jump away from your husband and start rubbing the spot in attempt to soothe it.

sukuna smiles wickedly before suggesting, “how about I help you with that?”

“no! keep your hands off of me, you brute!”

he chuckles, and it echoes throughout the room. it’s kind of creepy. you always said that you wanted to add more furniture to avoid that situation.

you start thinking about the new design for the room when your husband speaks up, “and regarding my absence the past few of days.”

you turn your head to him, and he continues, “I will be putting my plans on pause for a while, so you don’t have to resort to the robes for the time.”

he turns his back to you before announcing, “I am expecting you at dinner and later in my chamber. is that clear?”

you feel giddiness fill you up, and you reply enthusiastically, “yes, my king!”

“good,” he smirks.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @sonder-paradise @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1 @sad-darksoul @ko-fi-heart @pumpkindudeishere @suyaaachin @babyqueen17 @chaosguy352 @murakami-kotone @sukun4ryomen @yumieis @hearts4itoshi @sleepyxxhead @dunixxd @sleepycrybbylaiah @imjustaduckwholikesbread @emilyyyy-08 @spacebaby1 @arabellatreaty @viscade @washeduphasbeen @janbannan @sugurubabe

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

check out my buy me a coffee!

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk imagines #sukuna imagine #jjk sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna x you #jjk sukuna x y/n

12K notes · View notes

maryangelex · 7 months ago

Text

loser!reader x simon riley

loser!reader who’s hired by lasswel to help price with the immense amount of paperwork that he never gets to. who’s assigned to sit pretty at the beaten desk outside of his office. but I like the idea of reader not being the typical “sexy assistant” but more like loser girl frumpy sweater and thick rimmed glasses type of assistant who still gets these Kyle and Johnny riled up working extra hard and making dorks out of themselves trying to woo you but you’re just too oblivious to men’s advances. not simon though, he’s the one that’s the most awkward yet somehow effective? you get hired and on your first day, as you acclimate to your office with your matching pastel supplies that you so delicately organize across your desk to give this t-filled office a feminine touch, one by one the boys drop off their report files at your desk to be revised and handed over to price. the first one’s Kyle, who showers you in compliments that go way over your head, “sargeant Garrick sure is polite!” Is all you really think of it; kinda frustrating for him. the next one coming over is Johnny, who hands you his files with his eyes eating you up like you’re a bar of chocolate. Johnny makes you feel um, intimidated? it’s the way he’s got that look in his eyes that feels like he’ll eat you whole, like he’s got X-ray vision staring right through that bulky knitted sweater. It makes your cheeks turn beet red in embarrassment when he makes comments and one-liners to get you worked up. the last one to visit your desk that first day caught you off-guard. while you were turned around alphabetizing the manila folders in the file cabinet behind you, you turned around to the large apparition of a skull-faced man that might as well have been a hallucination because 2 seconds ago he was not there and a man that size should be impossible to go unnoticed. your heart jumps and gets caught in your throat when you turn around and see him; dark and massive and the only visible human feature in him are the dark brown eyes behind that mask. you greet him politely through a stutter as you return to your seat, and all he responds with is an extended arm with the reports in hand. you mutter a thank you, your throat constricted, and what you get in return is a grunt before he turns on his heels and disappears down the hallway.

you’re scared shitless of that man on your very first day.

little did you know, simon’s face under the mask was scarlet red and flushed hot the second he saw your innocent glimmering eyes behind your skewed frames, making him unable to get a word out and having no other option but to retreat.

#cod mw2 #call of duty mwii #cod fanfic #fanfic #ghost mw2 #loser!reader #assistant!reader #simon x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #cod ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #soft simon riley

4K notes · View notes

graphic--horde · 1 year ago

Note

How do you make your stamps? :0

Disclaimer: this is an obscenely long explanation, with pictures. Efficiency is stupid

So, for the static ones, I make a 99x56 px file on ibis paint x. Other programs are probably available online but I don't use them.

After that, I either upload an image I want to make into a stamp, or I draw one.

Then, I find a frame I want to use. Ill upload them here but let it be known I stole all of these right from deviantart

Most of them are from Lil-Devil-Melii on deviantart. The rest i have no idea. They're not all 99x56px but you can crop the canvas it's fine

Make sure to erase the edges of the picture , so they're transparent. It's not as cute otherwise

Upload those frames over your image in whatever art program you're using and viola, stamp.

For moving ones, it's a lot harder. Mostly because I refuse to download Photoshop.

There are a couple ways to do this. Some are simple animations, like with flashing text and whatnot. For these, you download the individual animation frames from your art program. Make sure it's transparent.

Then, upload each frame to ezgif.com under the option "GIF maker." You can play around with how fast each frame goes and whatnot but in the end, it'll be a stamp with some rad text that moves. This is easy, and doesn't make me want to shit my pants and cry. If you're new, do this. This is fun. This is good. This does not kill me inside

I made that↓ stamp with this method :)

this next one is how we turn gifs into stamps. This one makes me sad. It involves math and sucks. But we gotta do it. For the vibe

First, grab your gif. I'm using this cow gif because it's awesome

Then, I resize it using ezgif. Literally everything for this will be using ezgif. I am a simple man

At this point you should decide what frame to use. I'm using this one because its the first one I clicked

Figured out what size the inside of the frame is. That's what I resize the gif to, so the edges can be transparent. The inside of this one is 93x50 px, so those are the dimensions I'm making the gif.

Figure it out by putting the frame into ibis paint and realizing the canvas to fit just the inside of the frame, then seeing what the dimensions are. But there could be easier ways

Woah it's so small now

Then, still on ezgif, I go to the "crop" option.

Make sureeee to upload the smaller gif

press the button that says "extend canvas size", and then put the "width" and "height" as the dimensions for your FRAME. This'll put a bit of a transparent border around the gif. For this frame, I did 99px and 56px.

The "left" and "top" boxes show how many pixels the cropping happens from the edges of the canvas. The formula for finding that is

(width of gif / 2) - (difference between gif width and frame width / 2) = left box

For me it's (93 / 2) - (6 / 2) = 43.5

Then you do the same.for the height, which for me ends up being 22 from the top

This is reallyyy touchy and annoying though

Here's my result , with no visible difference

Okay so THEN you go to the "overlay" option, under "effects." And upload your frame. If the cropping was done right, you shouldn't have to move the frame at all and can just download it

Here's my result:

if you don't care about transparency, you can resize your gif to be the same size as the frame, and then put the frame over it. But I'm a slut for transparency

Anyways. I'm sorry if anything was unclear, it's two am. And I hope this was helpful :) these really are fun to make once you get it down

also if anyone has an easier way to make stamps from gifs, please god tell me

7K notes · View notes

a-mint-bear · 5 months ago

Text

Comfort Object

Male Yandere x Reader

You see a really weird "job" post online, and the money seems too good to be true. But you aren't really in a position where you can turn it down...

You hope it doesn't get weird.

Parts: [ x / 2 / 3 ]

---

It was a very… concerning “job” posting.

But desperate times, and all that.

It had shown up about a week ago, and it wasn’t hard to see why no one had taken the poster up on it as of yet.

Bedmate Needed

● 11 pm to 6 am

● $25/hour up front

● Riverside Motel

● Room 44

● Not a sex thing

The last note seemed tacked on in a later edit, but it was still… not great.

You’d have to be either a gullible idiot or a desperate one to go for a job like this. Unfortunately, you were the latter. Very much so.

You couldn’t take another night on the street. It was getting so cold out. The promise of a warm bed was almost enough to lure you in on its own. But the money… 175 bucks just to sleep in the same bed as some internet creep?

Despite the clarification in the post, this had to be a sex thing, right?

You hadn’t gone that far, despite everything. It’s not like you hadn’t considered it… but the thought was too terrifying. Making yourself completely vulnerable to a stranger that could just decide you were less than a person and do whatever they wanted to you? You had to draw the line somewhere.

But at this point, you weren’t sure that there was a line you weren’t willing to cross anymore.

. . .

The Motel wasn’t the seediest you’d ever seen around town but it wasn’t a place you would’ve voluntarily stayed at even two months ago. Back when you had options.

Creepy post guy opened the door after a couple of knocks, with an awkward, pregnant pause between them. He wasn’t quite what you expected for an internet creep, but he was still a sight to see.

Really bad posture and dark, greasy-looking hair, with the darkest circles under his eyes you’d ever seen. He looked like he was about to pass out at any second, but he held it together long enough to gesture you into the room.

“Hey…” His voice was low but he sounded nervous. And so, so tired. “You’re… You’re a little early. That’s…that’s fine. Uh, come in.”

You felt his eyes on you as you passed him, and it didn’t help your anxiousness. Not one bit.

“Hey so, I-I really…I uh, need a shower.” He stumbled over his words with a breathy, nervous laugh. “Unless you wanna sleep next to a… fuckin’ sweaty mess all night. Do you wanna go first or…?”

You must’ve looked nervous because his eyes went wider, digging into his pocket.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to… Oh, uh…here.” He nodded, pressing the money into your hand. “Up front, just… just like I said. You just…just seemed like you maybe sorta needed one too.”

Some part of you must’ve still had an ounce of pride left because your whole body felt on fire with shame, embarrassment so consuming that you froze up. It had been a couple of days…

He just looked away, seeming like he was embarrassed himself.

“I w-wasn’t gonna like… try to join you or peep on you or nothin’!” He tried to assure you, eyes darting in a panic and talking a bit too fast. “If I, like, go first? I won’t get mad if you change your mind and leave… I get it. I’m not gonna like… go after you or call the cops or nothin’ like that. I just…”

He stared at the floor, nails digging into his arm as he seemed like he was having trouble breathing.

“I really… I really need this.” He was so quiet, but his voice was so desperate.

You couldn’t really be considering this, could you?

He seemed more like a weird, awkward, sad guy than a real danger or some kind of pervert.

And you really did need a hot shower.

It seemed like a safer bet to have him go first, if you were really going through with this. And it would give you a chance to look around the room for a spot to tuck away your pocket knife, just in case.

When he was in the shower, you did just that. The spot between the mattress and bed frame would be easy to grab at if things got hinky.

If things got all touchy-feely, as you suspected they would, him finding that on you or leaving it in your pocket when your clothes got tossed wherever would be really inconvenient.

Steam rolled out of the bathroom when he stepped out, shirtless but with sweatpants and a towel around his neck. He was thin, almost alarmingly so, but you could still see muscle, enough to pose a problem should he decide to overpower you.

This was your last chance to back out, before you’d be vulnerable to this odd stranger.

But even if you left, the money wouldn’t last long, and it’s not like you had any other options.

You were so grateful that the motel tub wasn’t disgusting, but you would’ve gotten clean regardless. Two days worth of sweat and funk was washed away and it felt so heavenly… But it was hard to relax when you were trying to stay hyper alert of any noise that could be that man trying to get in or even eavesdrop.

But…

Nothing.

You finished your shower and brushed your teeth, doing everything you could to feel clean that a motel bathroom could provide. And there was no sign of the guy.

But you had to go back out there eventually. You supposed you could lock yourself in here and get a full night’s sleep indoors, even if it was on the floor of a motel bathroom with your back against the door, but part of you just said “fuck it” and warily peeked around the doorway into the bedroom.

The lights in the room were dim, but warm. He was sitting on the end of the bed, one knee tucked into his chest, staring at the tv as the bright colors of a nightly talk show reflected in his eyes, but something told you he wasn’t really watching. His eyes met yours and you froze.

“It’s almost eleven…” He mumbled, his head resting awkwardly on his shoulder. His hand ghosted over the spot on the bed next to him. “… Will... will you stay?”

So many thoughts raced through your head. What would happen if you laid down beside him? You could probably deal with sex… even if it felt a bit wrong. But if he wanted to hurt you?

Your brain reminded you:

What do you really have to lose?

When you told him you would stay, sitting next to him, you could see him relax. Just a bit.

“If you still want to leave-”

But you cut him off, almost afraid he would talk you out of it after you’d made up your mind.

Avoiding his stare, you told him you had nowhere to go.

The bed was cold, it might take a bit to warm up with the two of you in it, but it was the least of your concerns at that moment.

“So it’s...” He’d spoken up so suddenly, you hoped he didn’t see you flinch. He was staring at the ceiling, seeming just a tiny bit calmer. “... it’s fine if you just… lay there or h-hold onto me, or play on your phone or whatever, anything is fine. Just… just don’t leave ‘til mornin’. Okay?”

A worrying pause, but you told him you understood.

And that was that. He laid next to you unmoving for almost an hour before you had the nerve to move at all, shifting slowly to your side to face him.

His eyes were shut, his breathing even, but somehow you knew he was still awake. It was like he was trying to sleep but it just wasn’t coming to him. He looked so worn down, like he could just keel over any second. It definitely made him less intimidating, but you weren’t letting your guard down, no matter how much your body was screaming at you to just let go.

Despite your better judgement, you wondered if he really was being genuine about this not being a sex thing. It was a relief, sure, but it just raised more questions.

Why were you here?

. . .

You’d stopped looking at the bedside clock a while ago. It had to have been hours by then.

Your anxiety and dread somehow felt quieter under the lull of impending sleep. Despite everything, your body was at least grateful for a warm bed and hot shower, and if you didn’t sleep there now, you didn’t know when you’d be able to sleep somewhere warm any time soon.

Every moment that ticked by, you felt your resolve slipping. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, just to let go… This whole situation was weird, but you just wanted to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He hoped against everything that he would just fall asleep.

Just this once, he didn’t want to have to follow through with it. But he was so damn tired. There was this ache behind his eyes that he could feel in his bones, his mind never stopped racing…

He could feel your body heat in the bed next to him. You had either been very scared or very considerate, you’d only moved once since you laid down with him.

He hated that he had to do this. He felt sorry for you, he really did. But it was drowned out by the buzzing in the back of his brain. The constant whispers in his ear.

There had been so many before now, it was a miracle he hadn’t gotten caught. But this was a huge, dangerous city. Everyone in it was just a blip to anyone paying attention.

He could feel their skin under his palms buzzing at the back of his brain. How their eyes stared into his, burning with betrayal, fear, helplessness. How he saw them fade away.

How it was the only thing that worked to let him finally sleep. The only thing that quieted the whispers, at least for a little bit.

Some booked it after getting the money. Some just showed up and straight-up robbed him. Some tried to leave in the middle of the night, thinking he was asleep. But if they stayed and fell asleep, that was that.

He told himself that he gave them all a chance.

If you managed to stay up all night, you’d be safe. But he really needed this… It was already day three, and he’d never made it past day five without completely losing it. Trying to fight this, it was too hard. The longer he stayed awake, trying to avoid what had to happen, the worse he felt. The louder the voice got. The deeper the ache in his bones. But the more often he did it, the easier it got. And that was worse in a different way.

It was wrong. He wasn’t so deep in it that he couldn’t see that. The morning after, he always hated himself and what he did.

But as the days went on, it would all creep back in. And doing it again felt less and less horrifying to him.

You were scared. He could tell. And you had every reason to be, he told himself. But it just meant it would take you longer to fall asleep.

He could wait all night. And if you made it the full seven hours, you weren’t what he needed. You’d be free from him, from this. Hopefully you wouldn’t come back, no matter how badly you needed the money.

He wondered what you meant by having nowhere to go.

But he tried not to wonder too much. It would make this harder.

He could hear your breathing getting slower, your body relaxing into the bed. You wouldn’t last much longer.

His eyes shot open when he felt you suddenly touch him, tucking your forehead into his shoulder. You weren’t quite asleep, a cuddler? He almost laughed to himself when half-asleep you looked a bit frustrated, like it wasn’t enough.

You muttered something about being cold, lazily scooting your body closer to him up the bed. He felt his breath catch when suddenly, his head was pulled to you, tucked into your chest as your arm circled him. He was suddenly the little spoon, but facing you. He could hear your heartbeat.

He wanted to say something, wake you up or wriggle free to make what he had to do easier on you when you fell asleep. He felt a hand in his hair, playing with it and idle gentle nails on his scalp.

It was… nice. Everything felt calm, the buzzing and horrible thoughts were still there but they were being drowned out by the warmth of your skin, the thump of your heart in his ear.

You were mumbling something. He held his breath, trying to hear.

You told him, or whoever you were dreaming about, maybe even no one at all, that he was okay. That he was safe.

He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Something was different this time. He felt all his control slipping away, and for once, he wasn’t scared.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You woke to a sunbeam across your face, and the strange man in your arms, sound asleep. According to your phone, it was 10 am. You were grateful for the extra hours in a warm bed, but would he be mad? Did he have somewhere to be?

You couldn’t remember anything past drifting off next to him, but the two of you were tangled together, he seemed so comfortable.

Now that it was over, and your anxieties were much quieter, you really got a good look at the guy. He wasn’t… unattractive, you supposed. He was all elbows and ribs but laying against your chest made him look so soft and harmless.

Wasn’t the worst way you’d ever made 175 bucks.

You wondered if he’d shell out the extra 100, or if that would be pushing your luck.

Either way, it would be best to wake him up.

Gently scratching at his scalp, you told him it was getting late.

You watched as his eyes struggled to open, and for a few calm moments, he just laid against you. After a beat, he gasped and jolted up, head swiveling around the room in a panic.

“I…” He seemed really out of it, almost scared. “I actually…”

He stared at you, eyes wide. You told him it was ten in the morning, hoping everything was okay and if it wasn’t, that he wouldn’t take it out on you.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, and for a moment you were sure something bad was going to happen, but somehow, it was even worse.

He was crying.

Breaking down, sobbing hard as he just kept staring at you. Even with the odd night you’d just had, this was somehow the weirdest part.

Despite yourself, you asked him if he was okay. He pulled himself together and you were startled again when he touched your face, his thumb gently grazing your cheek. It was tender and sweet, and it was freaking you out a little. Just a tad.

“You… It was you…”

All you could think to ask was if you should get going, maybe trying to make it seem like you had someplace to be, or were at least trying to be considerate of his time. But it didn’t seem like he was taking the hint.

He grabbed your hands in his, the sudden contact made you jump. He pulled them to his chest, he was too close. The way he was looking at you…

“Can we… Can we do this again? Like tonight? Please?” He was practically begging, the look in his eyes changing. That nervous, achingly tired gaze was hopeful. And so warm.

“You can have the room, if that’s what you need!” he offered, maybe somehow having picked up on your current situation. “I can pay more too. Just p-please…”

He held your palm to his cheek, staring up at you.

“I need you.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a bit of a different one from me, but i kind of liked how it turned out

that feeling when your new yandere was totally gonna off you but you were just too comfy

he's never gonna let you go. you're the only thing keepin him from killing again, ya know?

i don't have a ton of yanderes that actually kill, as odd as that seems. but this guy is one of them

he's not supposed to be a huge commentary on any particular mental health conditions, i did a bit of "research" into psychosis induced insomnia (using that term VERY loosely), but like does he hear voices because he can't sleep, or can he not sleep because he hears voices? who can say? certainly not I, the dummy who made him

i wrote this one pretty much right after my last big deadline ended, but it got reworked a bit cause it just needed some tweaks:

the yandere started out as tired but crass, kind of a dick, and when he switched after that good night's sleep it felt off. It felt more interesting if he was a bit pathetic and creepy, it felt like less of a red flag for the reader to stick around

the reader was originally going to be a straight up s*x worker that got hired by the yandere for him to kill, but it didn't really feel like my place to make that commentary on violence against s*x workers or to more or less soften it with a yandere love interest. it just didn't feel right for something so unserious

but ive been having horrible writer's block lately, so i thought i'd finally put this one out. i need to read/play some yandere stuff and get inspired. let me know if you have any recommendations y'all ✌️

5K notes · View notes