#yes I’m lagging behind

[kaze-writes]

Temporary Fix

Based on this ask from @drinkyoursoupbitch

Summary: Equinox is taking its very first steps as a band founded by uni friends and Jaz and Leon find themselves just the two of them for the very first time, in a venue Jaz would never have dreamed of going. Warning: Mentions of alcohol and drugs, popular band trashing (pls don't come for me, it's for the story)

You caught my attention, you were looking at me first All that I can see's you waking up in my t-shirt If you're not hooked on anything right now, I can be your vice

~ One Direction - Temporary Fix ~

“Take a deep breath, hold it in your lungs. Embrace the fire. Find your balance. Switch.”

Jaz let out the breath she’d been dying to let go in a huff and moved, lowering her head to in between her arms as she stretched her legs. A drop of sweat loosened itself from between her shoulder blades and along her upside-down spine, causing her to shiver. The tickling distracted her, and even though she tried her best to follow the instructions she was given, she lagged behind as the rest of her yoga class moved into a more elaborate position. Having missed the teacher’s explanation, she did her best to mimic what everybody else was doing.

”Rotate your shoulders in and shift your weight. It’s easier that way.”

Blowing against the ponytail, which had fallen into her face, Jaz gave Leon, who was now walking through the rows of mats correcting positions a dubious look.

”I don’t think I can move in any way at all.”

His lips twitching, Leon reached out and lightly pushed against a spot above her shoulder blades. Suddenly, the weight which had started to make her arms shake was gone, and Jaz let out the breath she realised she had definitely been holding. She gave Leon a thankful look but he was already gone, ready to help the next of his students. On the mat next to her, her friend Mel was rolling her eyes, mouthing a silent ‘Bullshit!’ as she caught Jaz looking. They shared a chuckle but Jaz’s thoughts soon wandered back towards Leon.

Ever since she and Mel had started up their new band with him and his sister Mara a couple of months ago, Jaz had made it a point to go (and drag Mel) to the yoga classes Leon was teaching at a small studio near the MMU campus. He was a great teacher and Jaz usually enjoyed his classes immensely but something about Leon seemed off today. She had noticed earlier when they had all met for lunch in the university canteen, and the day before during band rehearsal; there was a strain to him that Jaz had never noticed before, a sudden restlessness beneath his usual calm demeanour that was entirely unlike him. She was curious to know why but so far, there had been no opportunity to find out.

As everyone settled down for the meditation that concluded all of Leon’s classes, Jaz found herself entirely unable to concentrate. She fidgeted in her seat, moving her hands from her thighs to her knees and back again. Her thoughts had strayed to Leon again, and giving up on her chance of inner peace for the day, she opened her eyes again.

He sat in front of the class like he always would but instead of guiding their meditation with his voice he was quiet today. His face was turned towards the big window next to him, where late autumn sunlight was slanting inside, basking him in its glow. His back was perfectly straight, both his feet resting on top of his knees in a lotus seat. His hands were folded in his lap and everything about him was still but it was far from peaceful. Jaz thought that he looked lost in thought, sad somehow, as if he was trying to hold on to something, too scared that it might slip away if moved only the slightest bit. 

When the class was over and everyone but her and Mel had left, she seized her chance.

”What’s up with you today?”

”Hm?” Leon only briefly glanced up from the props he was putting away. “What do you mean? I’m perfectly fine.”

”No, you’re not,” Jaz insisted, trodding after him with her arms full of yoga blocks. “You’re quiet. You barely said a word during meditation.”

“I believe that’s the whole point of it.”

The corners of Leon’s mouth twitched but the smile didn’t reach his eyes and he quickly looked away again. Jaz clicked her tongue.

”This is about Clary, isn’t it?”

Leon’s shoulders stiffened. “What about Clary?”

”Have you given her your present yet? Didn’t she like it?” 

“Didn’t he tell you?” a familiar drawl sounded from the door, where Mara, the fourth member of their group had appeared to pick them up. The sneer on her face was even more distinct than usual. “That bitch broke up with him.”

Jaz gasped, heat creeping up her neck. “Oh God, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

Leon merely shrugged but a defeated look had crossed his face. “No need. Not like you could know.”

”That’s shit, mate,” Mel said and clapped him on the back. “What’re you doing with those tickets now? Mara said they cost a fortune.”

Again Leon shrugged. “I don’t know. Sell them probably, if I can find a buyer on such short notice.” Half-jokingly he added, “Unless one of you would like to come?”

Both Mara and Mel shook their heads, Mara immediately so. Feeling like she needed to make up for her blunder earlier, Jaz gave them a look and shrugged her shoulders.

”Why not? Who were you going to see, anyway?”

”You’ll find out,” Mara cut Leon off, her grin wider than Jaz had ever seen before. “You’re going to have a blast.” 

***

London’s O2 Arena could fit up to twenty thousand people, and from the looks of it, all of the seats would be filled. Jaz turned her head left and right as she and Leon made their way from North Greenwich Station towards the massive structure on the side of the  River Thames. Her brows knitted together in a frown as she noticed the age of the people - almost exclusively girls - headed in the same direction as them, but her questioning looks in Leon’s direction were being ignored. She had asked him who they were going to watch again and again but he kept shrouding himself in silence. Jaz suspected that Mel had found out but judging by the cackle she had received when Leon had picked her up, Jaz couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling that she might regret what she had so blindly agreed on.

”We’re almost there,” she tried for the tenth time, provoking only a strained smile from Leon’s side. “You might as well tell me.”

”As you said,” shrugged Leon, hands buried deeply in his pocket, “we’re almost there. You’re gonna find out in a minute.”

He looked uncomfortable as he said so, and it took Jaz only a couple more minutes and a glimpse at the giant posters surrounding the entrance to the arena to find out why. She stopped dead in her tracks.

”You’re kidding.”

”They’re supposed to be quite good.”

”One Direction?” She shot Leon an accusing look. “I trusted you. I thought your taste was decent.”

”I’ve never taken you for a snob.”

Jaz wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a snob.”

”Sounds suspiciously like it.”

”I just don’t like mass-produced pop music.” 

More than one girl clad in fan memorabilia gave Jaz a dark look as they passed her. Leon, on the other hand, only shrugged.

”Neither do I. The tickets were a gift, remember?”

“Good thing she dumped you. Really dodged a bullet there.” Seeing the smile that had appeared on Leon’s face falter, Jaz cursed herself for speaking before thinking. “Sorry. Too soon?”

“Only a little.”

He sounded defeated, the same tension Jaz had noticed in the yoga studio the other day having crept into his posture again. Sighing, Jaz nudged him with her shoulder and put a smile on her face. 

“Stop the gloom. Come on. Let’s get drunk and see what One Direction has to offer.”

Much to Jaz’s disappointment, it turned out that there was, in fact, nothing to get drunk on. Once inside the vast arena and in their seats, Jaz let her eyes wander over the crowd assembled around them. It consisted almost exclusively of girls much younger than her, and once again she felt a pang of astonished disbelief that she, of all people, had made it to a pop concert. The people around them were buzzing with excitement - some of them squealing for their idols already - and she suddenly longed for the relaxed atmosphere of the small to mid-sized rock shows she usually attended.

Next to her, Leon seemed to think no differently. The conversation normally flowing so effortlessly between them had ceased during their wait before admittance, and the answers Jaz was able to draw from him now were half-hearted at best. She didn’t know whether it was the venue, the act they were about to see, or the fact that she was in the spot his (ex) girlfriend was supposed to sit, but the atmosphere was strained where it had never been before, which wasn’t a feeling Jaz liked one bit.

She tapped Leon on the shoulder.

”We still have some time,” she almost screamed at him as a roar went up over a roadie adjusting something on the stylised stage. “Shall we get a breather?”

Something like relief crossed Leon’s face. “Smoking area is out back.”

”I don’t smoke.”

”Not talking about cigarettes, am I?”

Giggling, Jaz rose from her seat and led the way outside. Once they had found a secluded corner away from most of the hustle and bustle, she stood close to Leon, blocking view of him while he produced a colourful woven pouch out of his pockets, rolling the dried herbs inside into a paper with deft fingers. He lit up and passed the joint to Jaz, who took a long drag, feeling the warmth spread inside her body.

”Do you realise,” Leon said after they had passed the joint back and forth a couple of times, “that this is the first time we’re doing something together, just the two of us?”

Stunned, Jaz tilted her head. “No, it’s not.” 

“Yes, it is.”

”Wow.” She blew smoke into the air, trying not to giggle as it tickled past her lips. “Is that why you’re acting all strange and mood and gloom today?” She laughed when Leon shrugged, nudging his foot with the tip of her trainers. “There’s no need. I’m delightful company.”

”I know.”

”And this is not a date either.”

”I know it’s not.”

”Because that’d be against the rules.”

”Very much so.”

”They’re good rules,” Jaz sighed, passing Leon back the weed. “Focus on the music and don’t get distracted fucking around. Makes sense.”

”Rich is a great manager. He knows what he’s doing.” 

They fell silent again. Jaz sighed.

”Listen, both of us have imagined this evening very differently but we’re here now, and that’s a fact. No use making ourselves have a shit time, is it?”

Tentatively, Leon gave her a strained smile. “I guess not.”

”See? Hang on.” Turning away, Jaz quickly walked over to the tired-looking set of parents standing a little to the side of the smoking area, as suspiciously close to each other as she and Leon. When she returned, she triumphantly held two tiny bottles of clear liquor into Leon’s face. An astounded look crossed his face. His lips twitched.

”You’re incredible.”

”What’s new?” Unscrewing the lid, she toasted to Leon with a wink. “To our non-date.”

Grinning, Leon stubbed out their joint and brought the bottled shot to his lips. “To One Direction.” 

When they returned inside, the crowd was buzzing with anticipation. The show must have been about to start, yet there were still people lined up along the merchandise store as Leon and Jaz passed there. A group of girls was huddled around a poster one of them had just purchased, discussing the boys smiling at them from the print with flushed cheeks. Every now and again, they would cast furtive looks in Leon’s direction, who pretended not to notice. Still feeling the effect of the weed, Jaz bit back a laugh and approached them. Frowning, Leon followed her.

”Are you as excited as I am?” she beamed at the confused girls. “Can’t be much longer now.”

One of them, a tall girl with hearts painted on both her cheeks, eyed her warily. “Do we know you?”

”All Directioners, are we not?” Jaz gave Leon a sideways look and smirked. “My boyfriend here was so excited to see One Direction, you have no idea.”

”What to say,” Leon sighed and put an arm around her shoulder, not missing a beat playing along. “Can’t help getting drawn in when your girlfriend erects a shrine to Harry Styles in your bedroom, can you?”

Looking between themselves, the girls shuffled away, leaving Jaz and Leon behind, giggling to themselves. 

“You take me for a Harry Styles girl?” Jaz raised her eyebrow as they made their way back to their seats. “Really?”

”He’s got nice hair, or so I’ve been told.”

”’Told’, hm?” Jaz laughed. “I’ll think about it if he grows himself a beard.”

Leon said nothing, corners of his mouth twitching as he removed the arm that had kept resting around Jaz’s shoulders. 

The high of the weed soon wore off but once the show had started, Jaz found that, unexpectedly, she didn’t mind. The music was run-of-the-mill pop, just like she had expected, but the energy of the crowd was incredible. She soon bopped along to the beat, and Leon next to her was doing the same. Every now and then, she stole a glance at him when she thought he wouldn’t notice. He, too, was nodding his head in time with the music, and after about half of the setlist, all the tension in his shoulders seemed to have disappeared. He was as relaxed as Jaz had known him to be, a sort of calm to his movements that made him seem peaceful even when the whole arena around him was dancing. It was good to see him like this. It was good to be here with him like this.

Her surprisingly good mood carried Jaz through the rest of the show, and even the tightly packed tube leaving from North Greenwich Station couldn’t shake her. She and Leon stood to the side of the wagon, engaged in a hearty debate about the show. He had his hand hooked into the holds running along the ceiling, while Jaz, being too small to reach them comfortably, resorted to sticking close to Leon.

The night was mellow when they got off the station, a mellow wind ruffling Jaz’s hair as they ascended from underground. It was a good deal to walk to where she and Mel were sharing their flat but Jaz hardly noticed. She and Leon were still talking, about tonight’s show, other shows they had attended, shows they might themselves potentially play should everything work out how Rich had promised them to. 

“You’re never quite still, are you?”

”Huh? What do you mean?” They had stopped at a traffic light, waiting for it to turn green. Lost in thought, Jaz had been humming one of the songs that had been stuck in her head ever since leaving the arena, tapping both her foot and fingers to two different rhythms. It was this Leon nodded his head at.

”Whenever there is music, you move. And mostly when there isn’t, you do, too. No denying it,” he laughed when Jaz opened her mouth to protest, “I’ve seen you during my classes. You’re the only one who can't seem to sit still even for a moment.” 

“I can’t help it,” Jaz shrugged. Her cheeks were warm but there was a smile forming on her face. “It’s a drummer thing, I guess.”

”Music is in your blood.” The smile mirrored on Leon’s face grew wider, and a tiny bit lopsided as he pointed between them. “That’s why we work. So you didn’t think tonight was all awful?”

”I don’t know.” Jaz pulled a face. “I can’t bring myself to say anything nice about One Direction, I don’t think.”

”So you’re a snob after all.” Laughing, he stepped sideways when Jaz made to hit him. “Personally, I think they weren’t that bad. Maybe Clary had more taste than I gave her credit for.”

His voice faltered at the last words, the spark in his eyes entirely disappeared again. Suddenly, he looked so crestfallen that it made Jaz angry. He didn’t deserve to be treated like this; no one did, but least of all him.

”She has no taste whatsoever,” she said sharply, holding up a finger when Leon made to defend her. “If she had, she wouldn’t have dumped you like she did.”

”She had every right to.”

”I don’t care. She was dumb to. You’re a great person, Leon - an amazing person, even - and you’re kind and funny and good-looking and an incredible musician and if she for one moment thought otherwise...” Jaz shrugged angrily. “No idea how to help her then.”

It took Leon a moment to answer. He swallowed heavily. “That’s… kind of you to say.”

”Even though I am hurting  because of you.”

Astounded, Leon stopped walking. Jaz did too. They had reached the building where she and Mel lived, and she had already been climbing the first step leading up to the front door, making her and Leon almost level-eyed. There was surprise in them, and a flicker of something else Jaz wasn’t quite sure how to read.

”What makes you say that?”

”It’s true,” she said casually, forcing herself to look away. She didn’t know why she’d said it, to lighten the mood maybe. It was always like this with Leon - he made her speak before she thought. He made her be in the moment, wholly and entirely. It was one of the qualities she liked about him the most. “Every time I come out of your classes I feel worse than after CrossFit. I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing.”

”Peace of body and mind is all the sweeter for having earned it.” His face lay half-hidden in the shadows cast by a nearby street light but something in his eyes had changed. A spark. A challenge? “Where are you hurting?”

”Where not? Mostly here, though.”

She pointed at the top of her shoulders, right where they met her neck. Leon stepped closer, putting his hand on the corresponding spot. Her pain there wasn’t nearly half as bad as she had made it sound but Jaz found that she cared less about this than the slight pressure of Leon’s hand as his thumb brushed over her shoulder, just shy of grazing the edge of her collarbone. Her breath hitched and she was suddenly glad she had brought a jacket. Goosebumps were covering her skin beneath it. 

“I told you your posture was bad,” Leon mumbled, not looking at her face but where his hand was still resting on her body.

Jaz swallowed, her throat suddenly almost too tight to speak. “You did.”

“I could show you how to correct your form sometime.”

“Yeah, some time.”

Without realising, she had moved down one step again, closer to Leon, closer to the heat of his body. Even though she was so close now, his hand remained fixed on her shoulder where it had been. She should just raise her arms and hug him goodbye, get the hell back into her flat and be done with it, but strangely, Jaz found herself both unable and unwilling to do so. She took the last step down again, now almost flush against him, as close as they had been in the tube earlier. She raised her eyes to meet his. He was watching her, attentively. She could almost feel his chest rising and falling beneath his shirt in shallow breaths, longed to place her hand there where it had no business. His lips were parted ever so slightly and she studied their curve, the dip in his cupid’s bow. She had never realised his lips were quite so beautiful. No, that was a lie. She had thought it on the very first evening they’d met. She had just made herself not think about it since. 

They had moved closer still, and Jaz tilted her head as Leon’s eyes dropped to her lips, holding her breath but she didn’t dare move. Neither did he. They just stood there, their chests almost touching, his hand still on her shoulder, eyes locked in a moment that could have been an eternity in itself.

Eventually, Leon blinked twice. He didn’t move back but even so, the spell had been broken. 

“Jaz, I…”

“I know.” She made a conscious effort to step away from him, and the moment disappeared entirely.The spark that had been building between them for the better part of the evening had flickered out, leaving nothing behind but the warmth in her cheeks and the strange feeling in her chest. “This is not a good idea.”

A mixture of relief and regret flickered across Leon’s face, brief but so distinct that Jaz wondered how people could ever think that he was hard to read. 

“Please don’t take this wrongly, but the band looks like it’s going places and messing this up would…”

“Leon, it’s cool.” Jaz smiled at him. “I know. Never change a running system, right?”

“Right.” 

They fell silent, then after another awkward moment hugged each other goodbye and parted ways. Jaz was almost inside her front door when, on a whim, she turned in the doorway and called after him.

”I had a great evening, by the way. Just don’t tell Mel I said so.”

Leon laughed, dipping his head back into his neck as he. The orange light of the street light washed over him, and even from a distance, Jaz thought she could see the sparkle in his eyes. “Still a snob then.”

”I’m willing to learn. Thanks for taking me.”

”Thanks for coming.”

”That’s what friends are for, aren’t they?”

He inclined his head, the lopsided smile from before playing around his lips. “That’s what friends are for.”

And then he was gone, dipping in and out of the light and shadow of the London night, leaving Jaz to watch after him for maybe a moment too long. Shaking herself from her daze, she turned and pulled out her keys. She hoped Mel wasn’t awake anymore.

There were a couple of things she had to think about. 

[kbwrites]

The Lord's Favorite CH.2

synopsis: "He was both a monstrous force of vengeance and your savior, intertwined in a tempest of passion and fury.."

prev ← → next

⚝content: trueform!Sukuna x fem! reader, slightly suggestive, mentions of blood and gore

⚝wc: 1.5k

⚝a/n: I'm still shocked this got as much attention as it did! Thank you for reading, I hope this next part pleases you.

“Please, do your best to remain still,” Uraume chides gently. They press the cotton swab soaked in alcohol to your face, the stinging sensation causing you to wince as it penetrates the cuts on your cheek. Uraume offers a sympathetic glance. “I apologize for this…”

“You don’t need to-“

“Please.” They say firmly “I was aware of the tension between the servants, I... never thought they would do something to harm one of their own.” Uraume’s voice wavers slightly. They move to the wounds on your arms.

The door to the chamber swings open, and Sukuna stands in the threshold, leaning one arm nonchalantly against the doorframe. He surveys your battered form sitting on the edge of the bed—a trace of annoyance etched on his face. Uraume rises swiftly to bow before the king, but he dismisses the gesture with a casual wave.

“My lord, I’ve treated her as best as I can.” Uraume reports.

Sukuna’s gaze shifts to your face, his demeanor cold yet betraying a hint of concern.

“Are you in any pain?”

“No.. my lord and I’m sorry-“

“You are not at fault.” He interrupts you, his voice firm as he strides over, his heavy footsteps echoing through the room. Clad in a black robe with a purple sash tied around the waist, his rippling muscles are visible through the cascading fabric. Uraume steps back, offering a brief bow before exiting, leaving you alone with him.

He scans your face with a piercing gaze, lowering himself to your level. His eyes drift to your empty wrist, narrowing with a mix of concern and intensity.

“Where. is it.” He demands. Your eyes widen as you realize the bracelet you were given today was missing.

“I… it must have fallen off when they attacked me” You piece together aloud. 

“So they would harm you as well as steal…” Ryomen’s voice grows taut with anger he clenches his fist, body tensing up. He rises from his kneeling position, figure looming over you.

“Are you able to stand?” He questions lowly. You nod.

“Good. We will be going now.”

You look up at your king, his expression is unreadable, but there’s an unmistakable intensity in his eyes—a silent promise of retribution. 

You lag behind him as he strides purposefully down the dimly lit  hallway. The evening light leaks through the dark red curtains of the hall, casting long shadows that dance along the walls. Each step of his echoes with a menacing authority. He stops abruptly at the entrance to the servants quarters. Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, his gaze intense and unwavering.

“Do you wish to watch?” He inquires, voice low and steady.

“W…watch?” 

“Yes, do you wish to watch as I kill the ones who hurt you.”

“I—“ your heart races, Was this really happening? “No… my lord I do not.” You speak quietly. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond, opening the door to the room.

The servants look upon him in reverence… or fear. Ryomen Sukuna did not bother himself with his servants, so seeing him generally meant bad news. He scans the room at the trembling help who shrink under his scrutiny, ‘utterly pathetic..’ he thinks. Their eyes drift to you, standing behind him. Ryomen shoots you a sidelong glance, awaiting you to point out your offenders. 

You look up at him, conflicted. Do you really wish for them to die? He scoffs as if reading your mind.

“You would protect them, even after what they did to you?” He sneers.

 He directs his attention back to the line of servants, all bowing their heads in fear. His gaze lands on one woman, and he notices the bracelet on her wrist—identical to the one he had painstakingly crafted for you.

At the sight of the bracelet, his demeanor changes abruptly. His expression darkens with a fierce intensity. With a swift motion, two of his arms encircle you, gently but firmly covering your eyes.

“Do not open them, until the screaming stops.”

Screams of horror reverberate through the room. You hear slashes mingling with the sound of Sukuna chuckling darkly. All the while two of his arms remains protectively around you, shielding you from the brutality he’s inflicting upon the ones who dared to harm you.

The screaming fades, his breathing slows, upper left arm lowers from your eyes.

“It is done.” And as your eyes slowly open, the sight before you is gut-wrenching. Blood and carnage litter the servant’s chambers. You clasp your hand  over your mouth as you fight back a gag. 

Ryomen looks at you, a hint of annoyance for your lack of appreciation. You gaze upon his bloodied form, he was covered in it. He wipes face, turning his back on the lifeless bodies.

“Let’s go; I require a bath and new clothes.”

You sit on the edge of the porcelain tub, adding oils and dried petals. The act of bathing Lord Sukuna had become quite routine. And yet every time he entered the room your heart would skip a beat. He stood at over six feet tall, his four muscular arms and broad, chiseled chest commanding attention. The tattoos that adorned his toned body only added to his already imposing presence.

He strides confidently over to the bath, crimson eyes never leaving yours. The scent of lavender and roses wafting through the tiled room. He lowers himself into the water, groaning as the hot water enveloped his powerful frame.

You grab a sponge, wiping the dried blood from his chest. Ryomen leans his head back against the edge of the tub, sighing in relief under your touch. He’s quiet for a moment, only the sound of the water sloshing around echoes throughout the room. One eye opens slightly to observe you, your gentle hands erasing the evidence of his carnage. Massaging away his stress and tension. He speaks in a low, commanding voice.

“Join me.”

You abruptly cease your movements, looking at him in disbelief.

“You mean—“

“In the tub, yes.” You hesitate, glancing nervously between him and the water. Knowing it was not wise to disobey your king, you begin to shed your clothing, covering yourself modestly as you allow the bathwater to cloak you. You settle on the opposite side of the tub, his eyebrow quirks in mild annoyance.

“I will not harm you.” His voice almost… gentle.

You move closer to him. Albeit too slow for his taste, one arm pulls you towards his chest, settling on the small of your back. The unprecedented position of intimacy with your lord both thrilling and unsettling.

“Are you… unhappy with my actions today?”

"No… my lord." It was partly true. You were still reeling from the events that had transpired. The king to whom you had dutifully bowed had unleashed his fury... for you? The man you willingly served, had been so enraged by your injuries that he had taken the lives of those who wronged you. He was both a monstrous force of vengeance and your savior, intertwined in a tempest of passion and fury..

“Good.” Another hand reaches to stroke your hair, a touch so feather light you wondered if he thought you’d break. “I… do not wish for you to be unhappy.” He speaks softly. His finger traces your jawline. You shiver under his touch, but don’t pull away. If your heart were to beat any faster you feared it might give out altogether.  His hand trails down to your chest, placing his palm flat against the valley between your breasts.

“Your heart is racing…Are you frightened of me?” He questioned, feeling the rhythm quicken beneath his touch.

“F…frightened?” You try to keep your voice from shaking, but it betrays you quivering with uncertainty.

“It is understandable; I could kill you right now.” He grins as his words make your heart beat even faster. “I am merely stating a fact. Do not think of it.” His gaze travels from your face to your chest, lingering at the point where the water begins.

He stands up, water dripping down his body, your gaze travels down his abs to his v-line. He only grins as he sees your curious eyes widen at his lower half. It was quite hard not to look when he was so… big. The screams from his bedroom made sense after you were called to his bath the first time. 

“You are permitted to touch.” He declares, snapping your out of your daze, a shaky hand comes up to feel his abs. He groans softly under your nimble fingers, feeling his muscles tighten in response. He was a work of art, as if the gods themselves sculpted his figure.

You knew that after his bath, Lord Sukuna would typically summon one of his concubines to his chambers. This would inevitably result in several hours of indecorous moans and pained screams, audible through the door connecting your room to his. As his servant, you wanted to adhere to your place, but a part of you couldn't help but wonder... what it would be like to bask in your lord’s presence in such an intimate way.

“My lord, shall I summon someone to… attend to your needs?” 

He only chuckles darkly, one arm reaching down to gentle cup your face. His crimson eyes feasting upon your wet, naked form committing this scene to memory.

“No need,” He murmurs, his voice deep and resonant.

 “I believe your presence is precisely what I crave.”

taglist! (I know a lot a people in the previous post asked for a part two but idk if that meant you wanted to be tagged, lmk!) @haruchi-slit @gg-trini @pastelbunnelby @cauqhtz @shadava

[eccentricwritingbaby]

baby finn series, interruptions 

lando norris x wife!mom!reader

series masterlist

summary - parents with a high sex drive plus a toddler who doesn’t like to be alone equals lando and y/n facing a funny yet frustrating dilemma. set before pregnancy with baby girl norris. 

masterlist

-

monaco was always peaceful and beautiful in the morning, something you and lando cherished by leaving the drapes slightly open in your bedroom the night before. it was the best way to wake up naturally, the morning monaco sun casting a blanket of light onto your tired bodies. as you slowly wake, the light kissing you gently, your body begins its stretch as your back bends into your sleepy husband behind you. his grip around your waist gives you a squeeze, signaling that he had woken up as well. the feeling of his lips dragging along your neck only confirms your suspicions, leading you to smile and roll over in order to face him. 

“g’morning, love,” he whispers once his tired eyes finally meet yours, crinkling at the corners due to his sleepy smile. his hand still caresses your waist, moving it up underneath your, his, t-shirt gently and back down to the waistband of your panties in repetition. 

“morning, baby,” you reply, voice still hoarse from the eight hours of no use, “did your jet lag finally wear off?”

“yes,” he sighs, pulling you into him tighter with the arm that was wrapped around your shoulders, “i always sleep well with you next to me,” he whispers, leaning in to catch your lips in a calm kiss, “wish you came to the race,”

“i know, me too,” you hum, connecting your lips again, “i just had too much work to catch up on,”

“you could’ve done it at the hotel,” he nudges your nose with his, lips colliding a little deeper this time as your hands are brought up to his soft curls. 

“not with a toddler also attached to me,” you giggle, now adjusting for your husband to lay between your legs, hovering over you. 

“baby, let’s not mention the munchkin while we’re having a moment,” lando giggles, hand pulling your shirt up to expose you even more. he leans in again, allowing your laugh to give his tongue access even further to your mouth. you felt his length through the thin boxers he had on poking your thigh, causing you to reach your hand down, slipping it into the fabric softly, holding and pumping him slowly. 

lando lets out a groan as he feels your hand begin to move, his own coming up to your breast, holding and squeezing as he continues his gentle exploration of your mouth, “feels so good, love,” he chokes out, now moving his lips to your neck, nibbling on the exact spot he knows elicits your arousal furthest. 

“mhm,” you can only let out a hum as you look into his eyes, “inside me, lan,” you whisper, knowing that soon your little one would be up and you didn’t have much time to waste with foreplay. 

“we’ve got time, baby,” lando whispers to you, his hand now moving to slide your panties to the side, fingers soaking up your wetness and spreading it around your heat. 

“c’mon lan,” you plead softly, knowing that would grab his attention, “please,” you breathe out, causing your husband to cuss under his breath at your neediness and pull down his boxers further. 

“ready, love?” his eyes scan your features, a smile gently spreading across his face at your eager nodding in response to his question. just as his tip hits your entrance, there is a very noticeable sound coming quickly towards your door. 

“MOMMA! DADA!” finn squeals from outside your bedroom door. 

“shit,” lando curses quietly, pulling up his boxers and adjusting your shirt and panties for you. he gives you a soft ‘i’m sorry’ look as you replicate it on your own face. he gets up and rushes to the bathroom, letting his - problem - subside as you get up to throw on shorts and open your door. 

“good morning, baby,” you giggle towards the little hyper-active two-year old bouncing around at your feet, “how’d you sleep?” you swiftly grab him to sit on your hip, heading back to the bed as he babbles a bit about his wild dream, you trying your best to intently listen. just as he finishes up his story, lando walks out of the bathroom - now with a pair of sweatpants on - and collapses onto the bed beside you and finn. 

“hi buddy,” lando welcomes his son into his arms as finn begins his crawl onto his father’s stomach.

“hi dada,” your son giggles up at his father from his perch on lando, “how you?” he squeaks out. 

“how am i?” your husband chuckles, making eye contact with you, “frustrated,” he hints lightly, both of you then laughing at the perplexed face of your son, his vocabulary not strong enough for that word or implications yet.  

-

seven in the evening. a wonderful time. finn’s bedtime. lando had been washing up after dinner as you tucked in your son for the night. walking out of his room and into the kitchen, you immediately wrap your arms around your husband’s middle as he finishes up washing the last dish. leaning your head against his back, you feel his damp hand rub against your own as he turns around in your hold to face you. 

“hi,” he whispers, leaning down to capture your lips in his. 

“hi,” you sigh, forehead’s resting against each other, soaking in some alone time that was missed this morning. you tilt your head up again to kiss him, feeling his tongue swipe against your bottom lip, physically asking for access. you grant it with ease, opening your mouth as lando begins backing you up until your hips come in contact with the counter. one hand on the back of your neck as his other squeezes your hip, you moan lightly at the feeling of his large hands holding your body firmly. his hands will always be the death of you - and he knows it. 

lando smirks into your mouth at the sound, pride bubbling in his stomach knowing how he makes you feel. spreading your legs slightly, your husband takes that as an invitation to push his thigh in between them, allowing you to grind on it for some sort of relief. the kiss has gained ultimate traction, traded breaths and gasps, moans and roaming hands on each other’s bodies, both of you attempting to start what you couldn’t finish in the morning. 

“momma?” finn’s quiet question breaks you out of the trance, leading you to whip your head around to where his tired body was in the doorway. your big baby, your husband, drops his forehead down to your shoulder, his hands squeezing your hips hard to imply his frustration. you bring a hand up to run through his curls, your other reaching to stroke his back in order to imply your own recognition of how you feel as well as soothe him. 

“what, baby?” you sigh out, meeting his little eyes. 

“i can’t sweep,” he breathes, puppy dog eyes in full effect as they stare up at you. 

“you can’t sleep? do you want another bedtime story?” you suggest to him, lando whispering a quiet ‘i hope the fuck not’ in your ear, causing you to stifle a laugh. 

“sweep with you and dada?” finn asks, his cuteness leading you to a larger dilemma. 

“uhm,” you ponder quietly, turning your head a bit to try and meet your husband’s eyes. he lets out a slow groan and lifts his head to look at his own son. 

“fine, buddy,” he directs to finn, “but just tonight,”

“yay!” finn cheers, clapping his hands and reaching out for his father. lando lifts him onto his hip, glances at you with a wink, and takes your son to the bedroom. 

-

it had been two days since then, and neither you nor lando had the release you’d hoped for. finn had been extra needy the past few days, not wanting to leave either of your sides. by the time you would climb into bed at night, you were both beyond tired from the day that there wouldn’t be enough energy. and in the morning, right as you’d wake up, there were tiny footsteps stomping right outside your door. 

“baby,” lando nudges you, “look,” you were having a movie night, the evening before your little family would all depart to the next race. you and your husband were cuddled next to each other on the couch, his arm draped behind your head, your head laying on his shoulder. your son, the object of lando’s attention, was asleep across his lap, “he’s asleep,”

“ya wanna take him to his room?” you gently ask your husband, hoping the little boy would stay asleep throughout the night for once.

“yes,” he nods, “you meet me in our room,” he lifts finn into his arms softly, shoots you a wink and heads off. you quickly tidy the living room, an ignited pep in your step due to lando’s implications, and make your way into the bedroom. you hear your husband’s heavy footsteps following you into the bedroom and he hastily shuts the door, lips already making their way to yours. 

“mmph,” you let out a muffled hum at the contact, hands coming up to wrap around his neck. his hands lower down to your ass, giving it a squeeze as he pushes you against the end of the bed. moving his hands to take your sweatshirt off, you quickly use your own to help take his off as well. 

you spin the both of you around and give lando a push to sit on the edge of the bed. you slide your shorts down as he watches you with bated breath, eyes raking over your body, only covered in skimpy underwear. his breath is heavy, hands reaching out and itching to have you on top of him. you follow his needs, your knees landing on either side of his thighs, connecting your lips yet again.

“so fucking sexy, y/n,” he whispers out as you begin to grind down on him, attempting to get some sort of relief from the past three days of built up tension. he gives your ass a light tap as you continue to make out, before he flips the both of you over, your back landing on the bed. he stands over your body at the foot of the bed, lip coming in between his teeth as he stares down at you. 

“how’d i get so lucky?” he rhetorically asks, shaking his head while beginning to slide his pants down, “you look absolutely delectable, love,”

“are you going to do something about that, lan?” you ask him, eyes widening and your lip coming out in an innocent pout, the one he loves to kiss right off. 

“oh baby, you have no idea-”

“DADDY!” finn’s yell from his bedroom shakes the both of you out of your moment. 

lando groans, knowing finn just needed attention and not anything serious, leading him to yell over his shoulder, “GO BACK TO BED FINN!” you giggle at his action, lando looking back at you with a smirk as well. 

“NO!” finn yells back from his room. 

“fucking hell,” your husband sighs, pulling his sweatpants back on. he drops a kiss to your lips and gives your hip a squeeze, “you stay right there, i’ll be quick,”

“but not quick later, right?” you joke with a giggle. 

“never, baby,” he smiles, “i like to take my time with you,” he leans over to kiss you again, you now taking the dominance and pushing your tongue into his mouth. he moans at your actions and begins to climb back on the bed until-

“DADA!” lando’s head drops and you smile and pat his cheek lightly. 

“hurry back, i’ll be waiting for you,” you giggle at his slow movements towards the door. 

“you better not fall asleep,” he points at you, “i’ll be as fast as i can,” you nod at him, watching him disappear out the door and into your son’s room. you move to throw back on your shorts and hoodie, just in case finn had to come back in the room or call for you as well. just as you’d suspected, five minutes later lando comes marching into the room, a quiet little boy on his hip. 

“what are you doing in here?” you ask with a laugh as your husband gently tosses finn onto the bed towards you. he’s in a fit of giggles as his dad moves onto the bed and begins poking his stomach.

“little mate can’t sleep in his own room,” he sighs, continuing to tickle finn. 

“i miss you,” finn slips out through his laughs.

“you miss us?” lando looks down at him, “you’ve only seen us for the past four days, buddy,” your little family spends the rest of the night laughing and sleeping, but you and lando both share a look to convey that this little problem needs to be fixed. and soon.

-

race weekend arrives and your young family has traveled to spain for the spanish grand prix. walking into the paddock after another night of no sex and a two year old in between you two, lando was holding finn’s hand in his left and your hand in his right. 

“i’ve never been more excited for my parents to be at a race,” he whispers, “finn hasn’t seen them in a while,” he wiggles his eyebrows at you. 

“already finding a way to dump our son on someone else, are you dear husband?” you laugh as he unlocks your fingers and moves his arm to be around your shoulders.

“yes, ‘m not proud but i need ya baby,” he whispers again, this time planting a kiss to your neck after speaking. 

“well that’s too bad, because your dad called earlier saying they would get here late,” you give him a sympathetic smile, “you’ll already be in the car when they arrive,”

“then he’s sleeping at their hotel tonight,” he declares with a laugh, “he needs some grandpa and grandma bonding time,”

“alright,” you agree with a giggle. just as you walk up to the mclaren garage, you see oscar and lily standing right outside and greet them with a smile, “hi, osc, lily,” you nod at oscar and bring her into a hug that she gratefully accepts. finn has run into oscar’s arms, already babbling about his new mclaren hat that lando had bought him. he was still wearing his ferrari shirt, but the hat was better than nothing as your husband had said to you earlier. 

“he’s gotten so big since last time,” lily giggles to you and lando, “i’ve missed him,”

“do you want to hang with him for a bit?” lando offers quickly, “i’m sure he’d love that,”

“oh yes!” lily laughs, oscar picking up the little boy and nodding his head as well to lando, letting out his agreement to hanging with finn for a while. 

“aw great!” lando claps, “finn you wanna hang with uncle oscar and aunt lily for a while?”

“uncle oscah! aunt lily!” he claps in oscar’s arms. the couple swoons at the little boy as lando’s hand comes down to swipe your bum.

“go to my driver’s room, go, go,” lando hurries you into the garage, “before they change their mind, go,” he continues to push. 

“okay,” you laugh, “i’m going, i’m going,” as you made it to his driver’s room, you made up for plenty of lost time.

and later when finn stayed with his nan and papa at their hotel - you and your husband celebrated the second place podium finish he had as if you were child-free once again.

-

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 8 ] || [ Chapter 10 ]

Pairing: Ghost x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.2K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: i think Ghost always steals Soap's hygiene products bc he cannot be arsed to buy some for himself.

Chapter 9: Drinks?

The moment the helo touched down, the soldiers descended, each of them parting ways as they went about their regular business, returning their gear to the armory, debriefing, showering, eating…

Almost a whole hour after their arrival, Simon threw himself down onto his bed, his skin dewy from the shower, his hair combed to the front and dripping over his face.

He popped open the top drawer of his nightstand and fished out his phone and charger. He set the charger up and turned on the phone as it charged up.

Simon didn’t often use his iPhone. Sometimes he forgot he even had it. The only times he did was to check Soap’s and Gaz’s insta/snap stories (because he liked being up to date on what they were doing) and when they were all on leave and had parted ways, so he could check the groupchat. 

Once the phone turned on, he immediately beelined for Tinder and opened the app. The app lagged a bit at first but, open loading up, he saw it.

99+ likes, 99+ messages.

The big majority of them were girls, too young for him, thirsting for him, even with his face being hidden. He always knew he could attract people, so it didn’t exactly surprise him.

Rolling his eyes, he flicked his finger over the screen until he found your chat and clicked on it.

Simon: I’m back and in one piece. Simon: I think you need to wish me luck more often.

He didn’t expect you to answer him immediately, even if it was only 6 P.M. on a Tuesday and you’d likely be at home and free, considering the job you listed on your profile.

However, the Read notification popped up under his text almost immediately and your dm came right after without the app even announcing you were typing.

you: omg i was literally JUST checking to see if you had said anything you: welcome back!

The text made a smirk take over his scarred lips before he bit the bottom one and typed out a reply.

Simon: Have you been waiting to hear from me for 3 weeks? you: noooo Simon: That’s frankly adorable. Simon: Didn’t think I’d have gotten in your head that strongly. you: oh piss off simon. you: ur not that great. Simon: You’re still texting me. you: sooo???? Simon: So, I can’t be that terrible. Simon: Got your attention, didn’t I? you: oh piss off you: ur so cocky and for what Simon: Not cocky. Just sure of myself. you: no Simon. No? you: no 😤 Simon: Okay then. Simon: Suddenly not sure of myself because you deemed it so. Simon: I’m very insecure now. Simon: Is that better? you: stop being such a bloody smartass 🙄🙄🙄 Simon: You’re breaking my heart, sweetheart. Simon: I can’t take this. Simon: Going to go hug my pillow and cry some more. you: oh no you: i’m making the giant cry? 😱 Simon: Is that a dig at my height? you: YES Simon: My God, I’m going to cry even more. Simon: I’m being bullied. you: good!!! 😤 Simon: I’m making you pay for my therapy. you: pay for it yourself!!!! 🙄 Simon: How about I pay for dinner for the two of us one of these days instead?

You didn’t answer immediately after that. You always did that whenever he flirted with you and spoke about taking you out.

Simon had a shit-eating grin on his face, imagining that you were all annoyed at him behind the screen. He was right in guessing you were shy about going out, he assumed.

you: no. you: but you can buy me a drink tonight.

His jaw dropped and his eyebrows raised just a bit.

Simon: It’s a Tuesday night, are you sure? Simon: You know going out for drinks on a Tuesday is usually a sign of alcoholism? you: ur backing out now? you: wheres all that bravado of yours? Simon: Oh no, sweetheart. I’m not backing out, I’m asking if you’re sure. you: if i wasnt i wouldnt have invited you. Simon: Fair enough. Simon: Where? you: the same pub i met up with john at maybe? Simon: Rog. Simon: 30 minutes. you: i need longer to get ready. Simon: That’s fine. I’ll still be there in 30. you: are you going to be wearing the mask? Simon: 🤷‍♂️ you: SIMON you: YOU CAN’T BE PULLING OUT THE EMOJIS LIKE THIS you: YOU STARTLE ME EVERY TIME. Simon: Good. Simon: See you soon.

Setting the phone down on the mattress, Simon got up from bed and took off his towel, tossing it over the back of his desk chair before opening the top drawer of his tall dresser, grabbing a pair of black boxer briefs and putting them on.

Then, he rummaged through the other drawers looking for his one ‘going out shirt’™️ (which was actually a black long-sleeve compression shirt) which he put on along with a pair of dark jeans. It was a simple outfit. 

Then he slipped on some black boots. He threw on a leather jacket over that and tucked a black neck gaiter into the neckline of the t-shirt, hiking it up to cover his mouth and nose.

Barely a minute later, he was making his way into Soap’s room and across the small space that separated him from the bathroom. 

“Going somewhere, L.T.?” Soap probed from his spot at his desk, eyebrows raised and his eyes locked on the older man’s with intrigue. He rarely saw Ghost in civvies and even more rarely did he see him without a hoodie.

Unlike Ghost, Soap had made his officer’s quarters into his own living space, having brought in a gaming computer and chair, a small beanbag, and had plenty of knick-knacks around.

“Going out.” Ghost said simply as he grabbed Soap’s hair gel and squirted a glob of it into his hand before lathering them and using them to run through his blond locks which were exposed without the hoodie or signature balaclava.

“Out? On a date?” Soap asked Ghost as he quickly jogged up to the bathroom door, watching as Ghost fiddled with his hair.

“No. Just drinks.” Ghost replied as he tugged a bit as his hair to make it stand up straight. 

“Is this someone you found on Tinder…?” Soap probed as he leaned his shoulder on the bathroom door, a boyish grin on his lips.

Ghost looked over at Soap out of the corner of his eye as he finished fiddling with his hair and rinsed his hands under ice cold water in the sink.

Soap took Ghost’s silence as an affirmative response. “Pro’lly a shag too, hm?” He joked, earning him another glance out of the corner of his eye. “Bloody hell, L.T. tell me all about it later, yea?” He laughed.

“Fuck no.” Ghost added as he grabbed one of Soap’s cologne bottles and raised it up for a sniff before scowling at the scent and setting it down again.

“Aw, c’mon L.T.!” He pleaded. 

“Get your own date, MacTavish.” Then, he just made his way right out the door, forcing Soap to move out of the way, looking a bit like a wounded puppy. 

“I’m not getting anything interesting on there!” Soap lamented with a sigh.

“No? Well, I’m sorry for you, then, Johnny.” Ghost quipped as he opened the door again and stepped out into the hall, leaving Soap behind.

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

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak , @wittleespur

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[litfiction]

oneshot stolen charger 🪫

pairing — paige bueckers x fem!reader

content & warnings — "arguing because paige stole your charger" , only playful arguing!

word count: 1k , notes @ the end (something fun!)

“Has anyone seen my charger?” You walked into your living room where some of your and Paige’s friends were gathered. Most people shook their heads no, some replying out loud. You sighed. Your phone was down to 5% and starting to lag.

You had felt around for it on your bed when the 20% battery warning popped up in the middle of watching your show but left it when you couldn’t find it. 20% was okay for now. When you got the 10% warning you felt around more thoroughly, even checking under your bed thinking maybe it had fallen when you moved around to get comfortable.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t there. Frustration started to set in when you searched all over your room to no avail, your phone battery quickly draining to 8%.

It wasn’t on your nightstand, it hadn’t been plugged into the outlet at your desk. You vividly remember taking it back to your room after charging your phone in the bathroom to let it play your music while you showered earlier.

After going out to your dorm’s common area you searched the outlets behind couches and through the clutter on the kitchen counters which showed no results. Literally where could it possibly be?

It’s not like your charger has legs and skedaddled off when you needed it.

Or maybe it’s just really good at hide and seek because now your phone was at 3% and you still have no clue where your damn charger could be. You’ve looked in all the obvious places.

Well, maybe except for one.

You quickly pace towards Paige’s door, leaning close to it to hear what she was doing inside before knocking. “Come in,” the blonde’s voice came a moment later.

You opened the door to see KK and Jana scrolling on KK’s phone. Your figure had appeared in the background and they had seen this, gesturing you over to show you off to the live.

“Hey girl! The live wants to see you,” KK smiled brightly. You momentarily forget about the search for your runaway phone charger to greet the people on KK’s live.

You squeeze between KK and Jana so that you’re all in frame before waving and saying hi quickly before turning to the girls on your sides to ask them if they’ve seen your charger.

Jana shakes her head no, followed by KK’s “Negative”.

“Seriously? I’ve been looking for like 10 minutes!” You sigh, exasperatedly.

The people in the live chat laughing at your frustration, some empathizing with your pain. You looked down and your phone was down to 1%. It was a losing battle and you’d just let it die at this point.

Doesn’t mean you don’t still need your charger.

You stand up straight from your bent position between Jana and KK, your face being cropped out of frame. Your head swivels to look at Paige and ask her if she’s seen the cord.

She’s sitting up on her bed, legs stretched out with one crossed over the other, her back against the wall. She wasn’t paying attention, her eyes glued to her phone, occasionally laughing quietly at something funny she happens to see while scrolling.

Your eyes meet her figure before flicking to what’s in her hand. Her phone, on charge, using your charger. The very thing you’ve been looking for for almost 15 minutes by this point.

“Paige!” You demand. She looks up from her phone to look at you, her expression calm but confused. “Yes?” She responds obliviously. “You stole my charger!”

She looks back down and then drags her gaze back up to you with a sheepish smile. “Give it back!” You demand again, putting your hand out for her to return your charger. She shakes her head immediately. “No! I’m using it now!” Paige retorts. You groan, “You always do this! You always steal my stuff and then refuse to give it back to me when I ask for it back!”

“Ok first of all, you didn’t ask, you demanded. Second, you can’t just wait until I’m done using it?” She questions you like she’s the one in the right. You glare at her. “I demanded it because you stole it, and no, I can’t wait this time because my phone is dead and I just wanna watch my show!”

By this point, KK and Jana (and even some people in the living room) aren’t paying attention to what they’re doing. Even the live was invested in this argument. KK was quietly snickering while Jana just watched this unfold.

“C’monnnn,” Paige whined. “Just give me 5 more minutes!”

You shook your head adamantly. “No Paige, I need my charger now.”

“How did you even get it? I had it in my room. And why? You have your own charger, Paige, do you not?” You deadpanned.

Paige just shrugs at you. “Aubrey needed a charger so I offered her mine but then I needed to charge but Aubrey wasn’t at a good enough percentage so I took yours. I just grabbed it from your nightstand while you were in the bathroom.”

You roll your eyes. Of course she had. “Ok well, time’s up! Hand it over.” She makes puppy dog eyes at you, making you roll your eyes at her again. “That hasn’t worked for you before, it won’t work now.”

She leans her head back against the wall and sighs before unplugging the base of your charger from her wall and crawling on her bed towards where you stood at the edge of it to place the cord in your outstretched hand.

You shoot her a sarcastic smile before thanking her and walking back out to your bedroom. Finally, you can watch your show in peace.

You enter your room and head to your closet to grab your favorite sweater.

But when you open your closet doors expecting to see the fluffy bundle sitting in an organizer just at eye level, it wasn’t there.

Then you register what Paige had been lounging in.

You were too busy to notice it hanging off her shoulders. You throw your head back exasperatedly then yell towards her door. And you swear you hear her snicker with KK.

🔖 — i feel somewhat ashamed that this is the longest work i have on here.. also hi again! i haven't written in a bit because i haven't had any ideas :( my requests are open if anyone wants to send something in! anyway, this is day one of something i've decided to try! for july i'm gonna pick a prompt from a list i have and write something based on that! i didn't take the list from anywhere i just made it myself. i wanted to do this to just write more and push myself to write stuff with creative freedom since a lot of prompts are quite vague. but yeah! that's my update, sorry this so long oops. hope this was entertaining to some degree, thank you for reading!!

[bettysupremacy]

hi love ! could you write a fluff!rafe where the reader is a workaholic and ends up getting a cold and rafe takes care of her? 💌🍄

my boyfriend!!!!!!!

“I need to go in today.”

You gaze at Rafe, who returns your stare. It feels futile, yet you persist. You try to sit up, pulling the covers off your legs, but retreat under them when the overhead fan reaches. A dull ache permeates your body. The cold seeps into you, but the blanket is suffocating. Your body feels warm, but the air is biting.

You concede. “Nevermind.”

“Yeah.” Rafe moves to help you gently, he’s fixing the blanket.

“It’s fine.”

“Seriously,” Rafe warns suddenly. “I’m gonna make you cut your shifts down.”

“But-“

“No, this is a ‘I want to pass the time’ job, and you’re treating it like you’re employee of the month.” He’s annoyed, with you surely. “Shit, are you employee of the month?”

You frown, ignoring his question. He’s right. Though, he usually is. He already provides for you through the big money of the company his father passed down, you just don’t wanna be bored. You don’t want to contribute nothing, and you’re treating it like there’s rent to pay and mouths to feed. Well, there is, but not in the demand you

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he huffs. “I just can’t stand seeing you like this.”

“I know.”

He helps you sit, moving the pillows behind you. Your chest feels fuzzy and so do your eyes. Dully, your nausea makes you cough.

“I’m nauseous.” You tell him.

“Jeez.” He murmurs, his eyes round and concerned. “You want zofran?”

“Yes.” You whisper.

Tears pool in your eyes as he sits up, collecting at your eyelashes as you try to blink them away. You bring your hand to swipe at them, sniffling. Rafe’s brain lags.

“What?” He asks, kneeling down again, hands in desperate search of your face. “Baby, what?”

“I’m embarrassed.” You cry.

“Why?” His rough hands swipe at your tears gently. “Everyone gets sick.”

You turn away from him,

“If this is about me being upset earlier, I swear it wasn’t at you.” He stresses. “I-I had a bad day, and seeing you’ve succumbed to illness makes me sad.”

You giggle wetly. “Succumbed to illness.”

He beams proudly. “I knew that would get a laugh.”

You smile up at him, fever working through your veins slowly. You shake again miserably, working yourself up into a fit of fat tears. They roll down the hills of your cheek heavily, pooling under your chin. You blink out three at once and Rafe nearly has a conniption. Why are you crying?

“It’s not.”

He works his hand over your hair, gently, but not cautiously. “Then what?” He pleads. “Help me understand.”

“I just love you.”

“You’re crying because you love me?”

“I don’t feel good.” You correct.

“You don’t feel good?”

“And I love you,” You admit. “but you’re here,” You moan. “seeing me like this, and you’re so pretty.”

He laughs, quickly recovering to a sympathetic face when you frown at him.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He soothes, lips near your ear. “Sometimes I look at you and I want to cry.”

“But you never do.” You wallow.

“Have you ever seen me cry?”

“Once.”

“Forget that.” He grimaces. “The point is, you’re stressed and sick.”

“I don’t see the point.” You murmur.

“You’re vulnerable right now, to your.. feelings. If I were sick, and stressed, and I saw you, I think I might cry too.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Did the people cry when the angels came down in the Bible?”

“Did the angels.. come down?” You ask. “I’ve never read it.”

“I’m not sure.”

You laugh. “Maybe we should ask Scar.”

“Scar?”

“She’s smart.”

“I think she’s Jewish.”

“So?”

“Different book, my love.”

“Duh, I’m not that sick.” You laugh. It drips with sticky sticky cough syrup. “But still, she’s smart, maybe she’ll know.”

Rafe sighs lovingly. “Maybe. We got off track.”

“We always do.”

Rafe snorts. “You’re feeling better.”

“Get on track.”

“I don’t remember the point I was making with angels.”

You laugh, tilting your head up to look at him. “You’re useless.”

“Abominable girl.” He chastises, sitting up anyways.

“Go get me medicine.” You’re smiling. “Useless, useless doctor.”

[paigesfuturewifey]

authors note! IM SORRY FOR BEING MIA college was kicking my ass (still is) and i’m trying my hardest not to crash out but here is an angsty fic :D

this is also heavily inspired by she wouldn’t be gone by blake shelton IK IK country music sue me it is unfortunately part of my roots so yes here she is

“i’m sick of this caitlin!”

you two had been going back and forth for a while about this, both too stubborn to admit who was in the right and who was in the wrong.

it’d been two months since caitlin went first pick in the wnba draft. two months of caitlin continuously forgetting about your date nights, two months of caitlin lagging hours on end and then eventually responding to your messages with one word replies, two months of wondering if caitlin would be home from practice at a decent hour or if you’d go to sleep in a cold, empty bed.

two. fucking. months.

of course, you understood the fact that caitlin’s job required almost all of her undivided attention and you were extremely proud of her and all her accomplishments.

but being second priority to her job was taking a toll on your mental health.

you were tired of being alone all the time. the sacrifices you made, picking up everything and moving to indiana with caitlin to be with her, felt pretty fruitless when you had barely seen her in your own apartment.

caitlin’s response came low at first as she rubbed her temples, “what do you want me to do?” and then she repeated it louder, throwing her arms up in frustration, “what do you want me to do?!”

“i want you to be here! you’re never here anymore, caitlin! i’m alone ALL THE TIME now!”

“that’s not fair. i’m doing this for us! for— for you!”

you shook your head, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “no. no. not for me. this is what you wanted! you wanted this! i didn’t—“

“i didn’t ask you to move to indiana with me!”

the statement felt like a slap to the face. caitlin, of all people, knew how hard of a decision it was to move to indiana. to be away from your family. your sister, your parents.

caitlin never pressured you into it, of course. she was insistent that if you had decided to stay in iowa, you’d make long distance work. but when you ultimately decided to stay with, whom you thought was the love of your life, caitlin couldn’t of been more happier.

the two of your popped a bottle of champagne in celebration and spent the night talking, laughing, planning your futures together.

a bittersweet memory that seemed so distant at the moment.

as you narrowed your eyes, you felt a tear roll down your cheek, followed by three or two more. “you know what, caitlin? you’re right. you didn’t ask. but it was a sacrifice i was willing to make for you!”

“you’re not the only one making sacrifices—“

the mere start of the sentence had you letting out a laugh, putting your hands behind your head as you paced back and forth. “you’re not listening.”

“i am listening—“

“no! you’re hearing me but you’re not listening to me!”

silence fell upon the two of you, both contemplating your next words because you both knew you guys were pretty close to crossing lines that couldn’t be uncrossed.

you placed your hands on the counter, leaning on it while hanging your head low, letting the tears drop onto the floor. “i can’t do this anymore,” you finally let out in a small whisper, but it hit caitlin in the gut. “i don’t want a life where i spend more time waiting for you than being with you.”

“you don’t mean that. please baby, stop.” caitlin’s warm hands were suddenly around your waist, leaning her head on your shoulder and kissing softly. “let’s just go to bed, yeah? i promise, i promise things will be different, okay? i’ll make more of an effort. i’ll try and get home on time for dinner. i know things aren’t easy right now, but i can’t lose you. we’ll figure it out, i’ll— i’ll try harder. okay?”

but even when those words eased your mind a little, you both knew the promise wouldn’t be kept.

so it wasn’t really a shock to you when you sat at the dinner table, candles lit and your meal sitting in front of you with the empty chair across from you.

you cooked caitlin’s favorite meal, wore her favorite set underneath your clothes that was her favorite color. you looked at the clock, and when it read 10:30, you scoffed.

you were fed up. you were well over your boiling point.

and, so, when caitlin entered your guys’ apartment at midnight, her heart ached a little at the sight of your untouched meals at the table, and candle she assumed was lit at one point.

she rubbed a hand over her face, quickly walking to your shared room. then she froze in her spot.

your side of the room was empty. from your nightstand being stripped of its decorations, to your side of the closet being completely empty.

the suitcases you used for when you guys planned vacations were gone. along her your toothbrush, makeup, hair products, basically everything that made your shared apartment shared was gone.

caitlin wasted no time picking up her phone and clicking your contact, holding the phone to her ear. she anxiously waited, suddenly feeling as if her whole life was falling apart.

voicemail. she tried seven more times. all went straight to voicemail.

her mind immediately went straight to denial, there was no way you picked up and left, right? you always said you would, but caitlin never believed you. never truly believed you.

or maybe she just didn’t listen to you.

she snatched her keys from the table, leaving the apartment and shutting the door loudly behind her. she bet all her money that her neighbors hated her.

that’s how she ended up in her car, speeding down the highway on a rainy night, frantically calling all of your shared friends.

she started with your mom, driving down the road at 90 miles an hour and switching lanes like an absolute maniac. she’d gotten honked at at least four times already.

“caitlin.” your mom greeted, though judging by her cold and and distant tone, and her use of caitlin’s full name instead of cait, caitlin could tell the news had no doubt got back to her.

“do you know where she is, mrs. l/n?” her question came right off the bat, figuring she had no time to waste in finding you.

your mom’s answer was quiet. and caitlin learned your families habits quickly enough to know that when she went quiet, she was lying. “please—“

“i’m afraid i can’t speak with you now, goodbye caitlin.”

then the line went dead.

with her left hand on the steering wheel, she punched the middle with her right and threw her head back.

her next call was kate because you three all had been very close throughout your iowa college years. kate always understood you in a way that made caitlin jealous.

and for a while, she she was a topic of argument in your relationship because caitlin constantly needed reassurance that she was the one you wanted.

there was clearly a rift in caitlin and kate’s friendship after, but after the move to indiana, they seemed to be mending their friendship. until now.

kate answered on the first ring with a hard question. “what’d you do, clark?”

“kate, i— i fucked up. she’s gone. i don’t know where she went. her stuff’s gone, her clothes are gone, she’s gone.”

“damn it, caitlin. you always do this shit— you drove her away, again.“

“do you know where she is?” caitlin demanded, arriving to her first destination.

“no.”

“you’re lying.”

“no i’m not—“

“i should’ve figured you wouldn’t help me find her. you’ve always been pathetically in love with her, ever since college.” caitlin scoffed out bitterly.

“caitlin—“

“know what? no. you’ve always been on her side, since day one. i can’t even do this right now—“

“you’re frustrated with yourself, about driving y/n away, so your picking a fight with me.” kate spoke calmly, fueling caitlin’s anger.

“don’t fucking psycho analyze me, right now martin.” with that she abruptly ended the call, getting out of the car and walking into the ice cream shop the both of you loved dearly.

after that, she went to your favorite coffee shop, after that, nalyssa’s apartment, then aliyah’s, then the hotel near your apartment.

she held her face in her hands, finally letting the sobs ripple through her. she suddenly realized how under appreciated your voice was. she was forgetting how sweet it was, how beautiful it was when you hummed her to sleep.

she was forgetting your voice already.

and she realized that she should’ve fought harder. should’ve told you how much she loved you, cherished you, needed you.

maybe, just maybe, if she had done that, you wouldn’t be gone.

safe to say caitlin didn’t find you that night, and no one told her where you might’ve went.

[hatsukeii]

hi to the 🐤

no rush for this request(?) at all!! i was just rotting thinking about childhood bsf iwaizumi hajime with reader in high school and the fic could be about how hajime is too used to the spotlight being taken by oikawa and gets half sad when he thinks u also got stolen by him but no they’re just scheme to plan a huge date for her to ask him out

OWMXKWNC OR OR OR OR childhood bsf ushijima (do u see a pattern?) always being next to reader and always being there for her, helping her run errands, do stuff and he’s like a rlly big lost puppy following her around and one day they’re just like ‘WE’RE DATING?!’ ‘What do you mean? We’ve been dating since you said yes to my ring pop proposal’

thank you for greeting duck the goose:)

i feel like i haven’t written about iwa nearly enough (he is a need btw yes iwaizume hajime (27) athletic trainer save me) BUT i will get to your ushiwaka one soon after as well‼️ gonna feed the iwa crowd today

bags / childhood bsf!iwaizumi hajime x reader

genre(s) - childhood bsf to lovers!! slight angst, but with a good, fluffy ending, oikawa being his usual self, iwa being hot as always

warning(s) - bags by clairo used for a MAN and not a WOMAN smh:( it just fit well though and I love it, gn reader so the girls the gays and the theys are all covered for!! no serious warnings today my pookies<3

wc: 1834

tldr; he waits for the right time with your bag in his hands, hoping for the day he can hold you with them instead

Iwaizumi Hajime (13) has been holding your bags since the days of middle school. Without fail, every afternoon at 3:10pm exactly as the school bell rings, he is standing outside your classroom, his own bag slung over one shoulder for yours to go on the other. Then, he slings it onto himself, and watches you and Oikawa walk out of the classroom together, cursing to himself for never being put in the same class as the two of you. He drags behind, two bags weighing his little middle-schooler body down, but a toothy grin plastered across his face whenever you look back at him with that face. That face with the ever so slightly widened eyes, and lips apart in a worrisome smile.

“Are you sure you can hold two bags, Iwaizumi? I can take it back!”

“I’m fine! It’s all good!”

Middle schooler Iwaizumi Hajime (13) watches you through Oikawa’s squinted eyes as the two of you chat and giggle on the walk home, his footsteps still lagging behind. He’s rarely close to you, unlike Oikawa, so his mind has to fill the blanks. He remembers hearing you mention the crow’s feet that line the corners of your eyes once in passing to Oikawa, who then rambles on about how they look like whiskers on a cat. He recalls the time you face planted into the floor of the school playground, earning you a faint, white scar that slashes across your top lip. He watches you through Oikawa’s eyes like he’s reading a story. But this is Oikawa’s story, Oikawa’s dialogue, Oikawa’s conversations with you, Oikawa’s descriptions of your face, blank spots filled in with blurry recollections of the details of you, stolen from the vibrations in the air between you and Oikawa, all playing out in front of Iwaizumi’s eyes with your bag slung over his shoulder.

Once in a while (every single day), even now, as the three of you continue to walk home together from Aoba Johsai after volleyball practise, Oikawa turns around to pout at him, feigning betrayal and shock as he accuses high school junior Iwaizumi Hajime (16) of “friendship treason.” Whatever that’s supposed to be.

“Iwa-chan! How come you never carry my bag for me too?”

“You can carry your own, dumbass!”

And every time Oikawa has a childish outburst at Iwaizumi, like this one, you snicker into your palm at his antics, the crow’s feet that engrave themselves into your skin turning into smile lines that lace the underside of your eyes, reminding him that even as the audience of Oikawa’s story, living vicariously through his conversations with you, and the smack on his arm that you mockingly give him, Iwaizumi is still inevitably tied to the plot through the strap of your bag hanging on his shoulder. His body, taller and stronger now, still lags behind the two of you by his deliberately slowed steps. This is Oikawa’s story, and if this is what you want, then he will simply watch it play out.

The walk always reaches your home first, to Iwaizumi’s relief. It is only then that he gets the opportunity to live in Oikawa’s shoes, when he walks towards you and eases the bag onto your doorstep. It is here that he can see you through his own eyes instead, noticing the little freckles from the sun that scatter across your cheeks, and the bits of dried skin on your lips that you gnaw off with your front teeth, and the blood that begins to seep through the raw wound where the skin came off. You look real, not like his fractured recollection of the strokes that make up your face. You’ve clawed your way out of Oikawa’s story into his own, and Iwaizumi etches something new into his mind every time he looks up from placing your bag down, patiently pleading to one day know more than just your face.

"Thanks for holding my bag again Iwa, get home safe, okay?"

Iwa. Oikawa's nickname is rubbing off onto you, and he thinks he can get used to this.

For the rest of the walk, Iwaizumi is inserted into Oikawa's story, like some surprise cameo. He readjusts his backpack, slinging both straps onto his shoulders, and Oikawa knudges his side with his elbows suggestively every time you leave.

"You can lie to them, Iwa-chan, but you can't lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

"Sure."

But Oikawa knows Iwaizumi is being unfair to himself, because he doesn't know the way his name slips out of your mouth into the conversations between you and Oikawa, more like a recurring character than a surprise cameo, hidden amongst every other line of dialogue in a script. He doesn't know that whenever the crow's feet begin to grow on your cheek, like whiskers on a cat, it's at the mention of his name, perhaps about something Iwaizumi said to Oikawa during training, or a new nickname he threw at him, the latest one being Hanger Bastard. He doesn't know that when the laughs begin erupting from your belly, Oikawa can hear Iwaizumi's name under your breath, choking out as you mumble to yourself, "Fuck, Iwa has to hear this, Iwa HAS to hear this,” just for Iwa to leave wordlessly after setting your bag down, before you can say anything to him.

One of these days, high school senior Iwaizumi Hajime (18) decides that he will do it. He will finally, after years of holding your bag, ask to hold your hand at graduation instead.

Until he overhears you and Oikawa talking as he walks out of the changing rooms, sweaty and sore from volleyball training, his bag hanging off one shoulder.

“Okay, let me do it,” you straighten your posture, looking up at Oikawa.

“Let’s go to grad formal together. Be my plus one.”

And he remembers, this is not his story. It was never his story to begin with, always Oikawa’s. Iwaizumi is only a cameo, an easter egg that’s there to hold you bag every chapter of the way, praying that you will see him lagging behind, waiting for the right time. His steps come to a halt, and the ground squeaks beneath his sneakers, the towel in his hand falling to the floor.

“Oh. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He snatches the towel off the ground, slinging the other strap of his bag on, and heads out of the gym, ripping his eyes away from staring through Oikawa’s, killing himself off in Oikawa’s story, and in your own. Iwaizumi’s character exits the setting of the gym, just a little too quickly to hear the rest of your conversation.

“Iwa-chan is a little shorter than me, so you’ll probably have a better time trying to reach him if you want.”

“Got it, are you sure I’ll be fine though?”

Oikawa knows this needs to happen. He sees that Iwaizumi has been waiting, his patience never running thin even after five years of holding your bag silently on walks home, dragging behind so Oikawa could have his chance at you instead. He has noticed the glances Iwaizumi takes at your face every time he sets your bag down at your doorstep, softer and gentler than the flipping of pages on a yellowing book, yearning to see more, feel more, know more. Oikawa never needed a chance with you, he never wanted it either, not when all you rambled on about was Iwaizumi’s new nicknames for him, or Iwaizumi’s play on the court, or how Iwaizumi would find some stupid video you saw hilarious, but you never had the chance to show him. The second strap going onto his shoulder is all Oikawa needs to be sure that Iwaizumi is tired of waiting. Which means you have to go, now.

“Go, go after him, now, he’s not too far yet. You got this.”

And so you sprint as quickly as your legs will take you. You run down to the school’s exit, and Iwaizumi is nowhere to be found. Your heart sinks at the possibility that he actually thought you were asking Oikawa to be your date, seeing that he departed the gym soundlessly. Your knees ache and every breath you huff in seems to bruise your lungs a little bit, and you have to stop and hunch over, hands pressed against your knees for stability. Your bag weighs on your shoulders, and you realise you have forgotten how it feels to walk with it on your back, books dragging you down like an anchor in the seabed. You slap your knees, it’s the next corner, and it’s about time you carried your own bag for once anyways.

Iwaizumi is staring at a bouquet of flowers that sits lifelessly on his desk in petals of red and stems of green, contemplating what to do with them, when he hears a knock at his front door.

“Hajime! Someone’s here for you!” His mother yells from downstairs, her words dragging on suggestively as he slumps down to the entrance. You stand at his doorstep, a palm sized journal in one hand and holding the doorframe with the other as your body leans into the wall, face flushed and lowered in exhaustion from the sprint you just took.

“Oh, hey, what are you doi-”

Your head jolts up to meet his eyes, and Oikawa is right. Iwaizumi is a little easier to reach. Your hand shoots out, the journal sticking out temptingly from your fingers. Iwaizumi still thinks this is Oikawa’s story, the one he chose to die in. Yet he takes the journal anyways, unhooking the elastic loop and opening it up.

“21/1- Saw a video of a cat spilling vermicelli everywhere, wanna show Iwa because he’d probably like it.”

“23/1- Chat when will Iwa talk to me on the walk home:(”

“27/1- Oikawa says I should just chat him up but I’m nervous???? what the fuck do i do???”

Lines upon lines of journal entries deck the pages of the book, and Iwaizumi can do nothing but read every single entry, a rush of blood flooding into his head.

“14/4- Iwa invited to me to vball training!! Wonder if i can keep going every day to watch him play…”

“15/4- Why does he go quiet when Oikawa is around:(”

He drops his arm, revealing your face behind the journal. His ears pulse at the sound of his heart in his throat.

“Iwa, let’s go to grad formal together. Wanna be my plus one?”

Shoving the book into your arms, his hand signals for you to stay, and he sprints upstairs, almost tripping over on the hardwood beneath his feet. The bouquet of flowers waits for him at his desk, more lively than ever, and he snatches it into his hand, before stumbling back down the stairs to you. He straightens himself at the door, his windpipe threatening to close.

“Sorry, the hoodie and the sweats aren’t really doing me justice right now.”

You stare at him, who scratches the back of his neck, a bouquet of roses wrapped in coffee stained newspapers in his hand. No, you think, the hoodie and sweats are doing him so much justice.

“I should’ve asked you a long time ago, probably back before junior formal dinner, or at freshman dance night, maybe even playground duty in middle school. Can I make it up to you, and ask you now?”

You nod, crow’s feet threatening to emerge from your cheeks, but you suppress them. Your mouth hangs ajar, not sure what to make of this situation.

“Can I have the honour of being yours?”

“Fuck yeah you can!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t spare a moment, before lifting you up by your underarms and pulling you into himself. From afar, Oikawa watches from his own house on the same block, grinning with pride. You giggle into his shoulder, arms around his neck. It sounds like the beginning of Iwaizumi’s story, maybe something even better than what he imagined.

“Now, do you want me to walk you home? I can take your bag for you.”

“Sure, Iwa.”

And walk you home he does, except he doesn’t hold the strap of your bag on his shoulder with his free hand anymore, finally linking you fingers with his own instead.

author's note:

HEYYYY I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS BB @catsoupki I started it the day you requested but i was so busy that i ended up getting WRITER'S BLOCK UM?? but i had this whole idea i was NOT about to let it get wasted because i couldn't think smh ANYWAYS

hope everyone else liked it too!! i love iwaizume hajime (27) athletic trainer and his hanger bastard too i guess... need someone to be walking out the door with your bags too

and here's the writing playlist!! feel free to add songs into it for me so i can find new artists and write with more inspo!!

anyways tags as usual:

@chuuya-brainrot @fiannee @starlysama @bailey-reeds

ok love u guys bye bye

[hannie-dul-set]

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [8].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. swearing, vomit, heeseung is sick, tormenting said sick man, sex jokes, and loser hee backstory reveal. WORD COUNT. 3.8k.

NOTE. merry christmas. my gift for u all is the heeseung chapter. let's pretend that it's still summer for the sake of the fic yes thank u hope u enjoy.

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 8 — hot, drenched, and sweaty.

“I THINK HEESEUNG IS IN A FIGHT CLUB.” That unprompted statement catches the interest of all the four boys currently in the living room. Soobin looks up from his half-finished crocheted bonnet, Jake and Jay pause their game of scrabble, and Sunghoon drops a rubik’s cube on your face because you gallantly decided to use his lap as a pillow on the lounge sofa. 

“Oh god, I’m— I’m sorry,” he sputters out an apology. You take this as a sign to stop invading his space. “What do you mean though? Fight club? Heeseung?”

“Listen.”

You spring up from your position, sitting with a very determined look on your face which simply prompts their attention further. “Heeseung leaves the house at exactly 10 p.m. every Saturday night and comes back at like two in the morning. I asked him about is once, and all he said is that he’s doing ‘business,’ whatever the fuck that means. It’s suspicious as hell.” 

The only reason why you were up at 2 a.m. to catch him in the act in the first place is because one time, you challenged Beomgyu and Jake to a no-sleeping contest and those two are the most gullible and have the most money from the lot. Little did those suckers know that you slept for fifteen hours prior to challenging them. They dozed off at the thirty six hour mark while you were still awake enough to catch Heeseung sneaking into the house at the devil’s hour.

After that, you had more money in your bank account, and a new curiosity that’s begging to be satisfied.

“I think he’s in an underground fighting club,” you declare. “There’s no other reason.”

“No, no,” Jay contends. “It might be something else. He could be a stripper.”

A silent moment of consideration.

Then you all release a unified, “Nah.”

“Maybe it’s private,” says Sungoon. “What—whatever it is, it could be none of our business.”

He has a point, but you’re nosy and bored. So are Jake and Jay because turns out, today’s a Saturday, and you have nothing to do, and you’re acquitted from any charges of instigating things because it’s Jay who announces, “Should we follow him?”

You grin. Sunghoon doesn’t approve of your expression. “We should follow him.”

“I’ll keep a lookout.”

“Text us when he’s about to leave.”

“You got it.”

Thus starts your mission of finding out whether Heeseung is secretly an underground fighter or a stripper. Sunghoon refused to be a part of it, but Soobin wasn’t strong enough to deny your puppy dog eyes, so it’s you, him, Jake, and Jay who might be charged for stalking and invasion of privacy because the moment you get a signal from Jake that “the target is out of the house, over,” the four of you, willingly or otherwise, start to tail him.

It’s disconcertingly easy to follow Heeseung without him noticing the four not so discreet people lagging behind him. When he takes off on a bus, you quickly hail a taxi for the four of you to jump inside of and continue the trail. 

“I think—I think we should head back,” says Soobin, squeezing his arms against his torso because there are three of you cramped in the backseat. “The sky is glum. I think it’s gonna rain.”

“The sky is glum because it’s the fucking night. Mr. Sun has died. Wait, he just got off the bus. Let’s go, let’s go before we lose him!”

As you stalk down the sidewalk, you can’t help but feel a sense of deja vu because you swear you’ve crossed this same path before. You’ve been here before. You’re sure of it, and it’s not just because this area is just around your university, of which you haven’t stepped foot on since the beginning of summer and since living with Jake and his friends.

“Hey, he’s over there, he’s going to that cafe.”

Your deja vu is answered when the familiar facade of The Lounge shows up right before you. Heeseung enters the building. Sunghoon knew all along, that fucking rat. That’s why was so against this plot, that’s why he refused to tag along with you. “I’m going in,” says Jay. You postpone your revenge plan against Sunghoon for later and quickly follow behind Jay into the cafe. Once you enter however, it starts pouring.

The clear glass windows of the place get stained by an assault of raindrops. Crap. None of you brought an umbrella. “I knew it was going to rain…” Soobin laments, and you pat circles against his back to apologize for doubting him, further telling him that he has a knack for weather prediction and if he’s considering switching career paths.

“What now?” Jake asks.

“We can wait for the rain to stop or call Sunghoon to pick us up and bring us umbrellas,” you tell them. “For now, let’s find out what the fuck Lee Heeseung is up to here. This wasn’t part of any of our calculations.” The calculations being either violence or promiscuity. You didn’t make a lot of calculations.

The problem is, Heeseung is nowhere to be found. You end up ordering some drinks and food and decide to settle in a booth at the corner of the place so that you guys can have a full and complete view of the cafe’s entire interior, yet you still can’t find him, so you end up reminiscing the time Sunghoon dumped your lemonade on you which catapulted your hobby of messing with these guys because they become so nervous around you it’s funny.

“Did we enter the wrong building? Did he catch us tailing him and left through the back door?!” 

You doubt Jake’s presumptions, and you’re correct to doubt him because right at that moment, Heeseung finally shows his stupid fucking face.

Not only does he show his stupid fucking face— he shows his stupid fucking face on the mini stage in the other corner of the cafe with a freaking guitar. What? So he’s not an underground fighter? Heeseung leans into the mic and a singular “ah,” resounds from the speakers mounted on the walls, muting down the muffled sound of the rain outside in that single instant.

When Heeseung starts to play the instrument followed by the sound of his voice, the rain is forgotten entirely.

This is a surprise. This is unexpected.

“This is disappointing,” says Jay, and you snap your head at him with eyes wide in alarm and disbelief because what does he mean disappointing? Disappointing where? You’ve been living with an angel all this time and you didn’t know? 

“Yeah, it’d be cooler if he was in a fight club,” Jake adds, as if their friend isn’t putting the Billboard’s Hot 100 to shame right now. What kind of bullshit are they saying?

“Did you guys know he could sing like that?”

The three look at you, even Soobin, and respond with a yes, a nod, a hum. Your mouth gapes. But you don’t get why you’re surprised when these guys have known each other for years prior to you barging in unannounced— so, of course they know, of course you don’t, and in the midst of all this, your thoughts are interrupted by the sharp screech from the speakers, because Heeseung has stopped singing, and is instead now looking at your table, looking more alarmed than you.

You’re pretty sure your eyes met before he decided to bolt out of the cafe.

“Oh, he’s getting off stage. Maybe he’s going to greet u— why is he skipping our table? Why is he running outside? Hyung, wait!”

None of you end up chasing after him because it’s still pouring outside, and you can already predict what the aftermath of this is going to be. Thus concludes your mission of finding out whether or not Heeseung is secretly an underground fighter or a stripper, with the answer amounting to neither because Heeseung is a performer during The Lounge’s open mic nights, and you don’t get why he’s been acting so secretive about it all this time.

Heeseung wakes up feeling like shit. And not the regular kind of shit. He feels like Satan just chewed him up, only to spit him back out— slobber and the inferno’s of hell included because he’s sweating through his shirt, his blanket feels like a prison, but if he kicks it of, he gets attacked by cold flashes, so he’s in a sticky and uncomfortable limbo between overheating and freezing to fucking death.

His throat is dry. The only thing that escapes his throat is a guttural and inhuman rasp. He wouldn’t be this sick if he didn’t run out in the rain last night. 

Rather, he wouldn’t have ran out if you weren’t there last night.

Heeseung rolls to his side with a groan of pain and anguish, muffled against the pillow as a different kind of fevered heat washes over his face. Seriously. Why the fuck were you there last night? He could give less than two shits if his roommates find out that he sings Taylor Swift every weekend at The Lounge, but you— you’re a different story. Because he knows you’re gonna use this information against him somehow, just like how you like to fuck around with his friends.

Too much. Heeseung has always thought you were a bit too much for him. The time you chased Beomgyu around the house in the dress(?) Jay made is the only evidence he needs to affirm that.

Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have bolted out like that immediately after meeting your eyes. You already suspect that you gross him out (which, by the way, couldn’t be more wrong) for always running away from the threat of skin-to-skin contact with you. Why was it raining when it’s still summer, anyway? It’s like that night was a curse made especially for him.

He curls up further into a ball, hoping you just forget about it all and don’t question him about it.

Yet the very opposite happens because what interrupts his spiraling thoughts is the sound of your voice— already threatening a wave of torment.

“Oh, god. You’re in a worse state than I thought.”

Heeseung regrets springing up from his bed because his head immediately gets slammed by the recoil of a headache. “Why...why are you here?” he barely scratches out. You’re by the doorframe, arms crossed and eyes laced with pity. He didn’t even hear the door opening. 

“Jake told me about your illness,” you say, walking over to the side of his bed and Heeseung flinches back the moment you set yourself down on the mattress. “He said you have a chronic case of bitchless syndrome.

He looks at you. Your face is dead serious. Heeseung feels a drop of sweat trickling down his neck, then you break into that devious smile of yours and laugh out a grin.

“Kidding. Jake would never say that. He told me you were sick and needed someone to nurse you up, so here I am.”

Holy shit. Heeseung lets out a breath, nearly teetering off his bed to maintain a comfortable enough distance from your overwhelming presence. “Why—” some throat phlegm cuts him off. He lets out a violent cough before reclaiming his voice. “Why you? I—I mean, why did Jake ask you?”

“Ouch?” you remark. “No one else is around. Jake’s out hiking, apparently. Sunghoon’s covering someone’s shift. Beomgyu’s obviously still at his parents. Jay says he’s out on a mission, and Soobin left the house with a giant backpack. I was too afraid to ask. Anyway, I know my very physical presence disgusts you, but deal with it for now, you goober. You look like hell.”

“That’s— that’s not—” You take this opportunity to pull his sweaty blanket off in one swift movement. “That’s not it! You don’t— don’t disgust me, I’m just— you know—”

“I know, I just wanted to fuck with you.”

You’re grinning. You haphazardly fold the sheet before throwing it down to the foot of the bed, sitting over it. Heeseung feels the blood drain from his face— “Anyway, sit up and let me feel you up,” —only for the blood to shoot right back up and nearly knocks him out unconscious. “Feel your temperature up, perv. I’m not taking advantage of a sick man. C’mere, let me see how sick you are.”

Heeseung, however, still has enough marbles to quickly evade your incoming hand. He swerves to the right. You blink at him, arm reaching out to thin air, before trying again, only for Heeseung to swat your hand away with gritted teeth and fearing for his life. “S—sorry,” he chokes out. He sees the glint in your eyes. Crap. He shouldn’t have done that.

“For fuck’s sake, just let me check your temperature— Heeseung! What the hell?!”

“Just—just leave me alone!”

Earlier, Heeseung thought he was about to die. He didn’t think he had enough strength to fight for his life as he squirms underneath you on the bed, driven solely by the desire to protect his fucking pride because there’s no way in hell he’s letting you touch him when he’s all gross and sweaty and gross from the fever. There’s no way in hell he’s letting that happen.

“What are you—”

He yanks out his blanket from underneath you, causing you to roll of his bed and he throws the sheet over his red, hot, and burning face because holy fuck. Holy shit. That was a close call.

When he peeks out from the blanket, Heeseung instantaneously feels a threat to his life.

You’re glaring at him. You look like you want to skin him alive and he gulps and nudges himself away, ass nearly falling off the bed when you get up from the floor and dust yourself off. “Okay,” you huff. “Fine. Have it your way. Die from a heatstroke, or whatever the fuck. I’ll be downstairs if you need me, and if you do, I’m expecting you to get down on your knees and beg because every time you’ve swatted my hand away was an additional jab at my pride.”

Okay, damn. You leave his room, not without slamming his door close to emphasize your anger, and on top of feeling like absolute crap, Heeseung now also feels guilty as hell. 

“Fuck,” he rasps out. It’s not like he’s doing it out of malice, or hate, or because he thinks you’re a germ that he cannot touch, like you always accuse him with. Heeseung still remembers how his whole no touching quirk started: sixteen years-old, when Heeseung finally mustered the courage to hold his first girlfriend’s hand, only for her to laugh and joke and pull away while saying, “ew, gross. Your hand is all sweaty.”

Twenty-two year old Heeseung has been traumatized to this very day.

Especially now when he’s all disgusting and icky and very much ew and gross because of his fever. Stupid, he knows, but the last thing he’d want to see is a disgusted grimace from your face the moment the back of your hand presses against his damp and sticky, sickness-induced forehead. However, it seems like he’s been inflicting to you the very injury he’s been trying to protect himself by constantly avoiding the threat of contact of your skin against his.

Stupid. It’s really stupid. 

But he can’t avoid dehydration by simply ignoring the dryness of his mouth. With much struggle, Heeseung forces himself out of the bed, despairing the amount of stairs he has to climb down— and the suggestion of calling for you help does tease his brain for a split second, but decides against it with a shake of his head as he continues the awful trip to the living room, body weighing thirty times heavier, and skull feeling like it’s about to crack itself open.

The problem is, his skull does almost end up getting cracked open. Because as he’s finally nearing the bottom floor, he misses a step, causing him to hit the ground with a harsh thud.

“Ugh,” he grunts, pushing himself with his forearms, but he stops, nearly face planting into the floor once more because you’re there, you’re walking up to him, looking down at him, and holding a cold and refreshing glass of water above his head like some sort of fucked up display of powerplay against a sick and thirsty man.

“Need any help?” you hum. 

“I’m fine,” Heeseung tries once more to get up only to feel the nausea rise up to his head, and he stops, pauses, and decides that the floor is more comfortable after all. He looks up at you. “Can I...can I get a sip from your glass?”

There’s a glint in your eyes. You crouch down. “Sorry, what was that?”

Are you enjoying this? Do you like watching him in pain? (Likely answer is yes because you yourself have admitted that you enjoy their suffering and torment). “Water,” he rasps out. “Can I drink some of your water?”

“This?” You swirl the glass in your hand, ice clacking against the crystal, before taking a long, tortuous sip on the straw (why does it have a straw?) Heeseung swallows down his spit. “Say please,” you say with a smile. Heeseung chokes on said fucking spit and hacks out a cough because you’re fucking insane.

He feels his face grow hotter. And it’s definitely not just from the fever.

“P—please, give me some of your water.”

You don’t prolong his agony any further and hand him over the glass.

“Need any help getting up?” you ask as you watch him agonizingly sit up against the bottom steps and toss down the water into his throat in one shot as if it was at a company dinner. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and feels your disappointed stare pricking his conscience. “I can’t help you unless you ask me to, Heeseung.”

He frowns, deflating. “But I’m all gross and sweaty.”

The last thing he expects you to do is to roll your eyes at him and stand up with an arm stretched out. 

And the next thing he knows is that you’re lugging him over to the couch, an arm around his waist, his around your shoulder, and you set him down the cushions with a grunt. “Jeez, I’m not made for manhandling men,” you say, very dubiously. “Lie down.” And when he doesn’t lie down, wide-eyed and unresponsive, you poke his forehead and he tips back, falling into the couch.

What…what is going on...

“You know, I’m very tempted to ask you to take your shirt off just to laugh at your reaction, but you actually look like you’re about to die, so I decided against it. Aren’t I sweet?” 

You’re back with a basin and some towels (when did you disappear?) and Heeseung’s brain starts malfunctioning, growing dizzier and dizzier by the second when you touch his jaw, damp towel wiping off the sweat coating his face and neck and he feels his throat tightening. “Christ. I think your temp is over forty degrees, my guy,” you say, squeezing the towel over the basin. “Hello? Heeseung? What the hell, did you catch Sunghoon’s disease? Are you unable to talk to me now, too?”

“It’s—it’s not that,” he chokes out. He’s about to justify himself, but you press your palm against his forehead, cutting off all the oxygen pipes leading up to his brain, and he feels like passing the fuck out.

Shit. Shit. Holy shit. 

“Ah,” you say. “You’re not running away.”

He’s not. He’s not running away. But he feels a different sort of problem coming up.

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

You blink at him. This doesn’t help his case at all.

“Wow, this is an upgrade,” you say from the other side of the bathroom door while Heeseung pukes his guts out into the toilet. Heavy metal playing from his phone is trying to block the noises out. He’s heaving over the bowl and wants to kill himself from embarrassment. “Now my very presence makes you vomit. I’m sorry for everything so far.”

There’s a flush. The music stops. Heeseung cracks the door open and you pass him a glass of water without some bedroom-esque powerplay this time. “Seriously, why did you run off into the rain last night? Look where it got you.” It’s a shocker that you haven’t told him he’s gross yet. You’re standing there in front of the bathroom and in front of the mess of his post-vomit presence, and all you’re doing is looking at him in worry. 

“I wasn’t expecting you guys to be there,” he says, still sounding like death, and you take the now empty glass from him and head over to the kitchen, pointing at his makeshift deathbed on the couch. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to give Mariah Carey a run for her money, either.” After you place the glass into the sink, you’re back to the living room. He’s down on the sofa, eyelids heavy, unable to say or do anything when you push back his hair to place a damp towel on his forehead. “Like damn, I knew you guys have known each other for a while now, but I totally felt like an outsider when I was the only one surprised to hear you sing.”

You’re not making fun of him. You don’t make a comment about how sticky his skin feels or how gross his sweat-drenched shirt is.

“I like your voice. Too bad it sounds like shit right now, but you should let me hear you again once you feel better.” The doorbell rings. “Oh, right, I ordered some porridge. You can feed yourself, right? Hold on, let me get it.”

He hears your footsteps padding across the floor, unable to find the strength to open his eyes as the coolness of the cloth seeps into his forehead. Heeseung has always thought you were a bit too much— case in point, everything that just happened and all the other times you’ve teased, tormented, and actively tortured to the point of tears all the inhabitants of this god forsaken house. 

Yet it is also your excessive nature that has let Sunghoon speak more than five words around you, that has stopped Beomgyu from hermitting in his room twenty-four-seven, that has helped Soobin and Jay in two very important instances this summer, and has allowed Jake to offer you a spot in their lives after leaving that room on the third floor empty for a good two years.

“Fuck, I can’t believe they left me behind with a sick man when I can barely even take care of myself.”

You’re back. He opens his eyes and tries to lift himself up but his body is way too heavy. “Uh,” he says. “Can you…please…open the container for me?” He doesn’t miss your amused fucking grin when he mumbles out the please.

“Ah. Open up.”

Heeseung has always felt you were too much. Maybe it’s his fever talking, maybe it’s not, but maybe too much exactly what he needs right now.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[fayesia]

Sex pollen — Simon Ghost Riley x fem!reader 

a/n: Hi quickly wanted to say that it was not supposed to be this long but once I started writing i kinda just went with it lol. I’m also pretty new to writing smut but hopefully y’all like this :D

Warnings: nsfw 18+, p in v, unprotected sex, praise kink, creampie, dirty talk, size difference, rough sex, squirting, lmk if i missed anything!! 

This recent task wasn’t one of the harder ones, easily able to be accomplished in about 2 hours, it was the venture home that took the most out of you. Trudging through the forest with its vast species of fauna and flora had been beautiful but also uncomfortable, from both the exhaustion and the heat of the tropical climate. 

However things only seem to get worse for the team as the sun was setting and darkness surrounded the group from every side. A guttural howl was heard coming from behind, deep in the thick cluster of trees, the beasts were coming out to play.  “Runnnn!!! Go go go, pick up the pace, let’s keep moving!” You heard Simon yelling from your right at the rest of the team lagging behind.“We’re about 100m from base, keep it moving!! We’re all making it back alive tonight no matter what , Let’s GO!” You were about to ask him a question turning your head to the right until your foot got caught on a lifted tree root. 

You stretch out your hands ready to support yourself from crashing head first into large rocks, feeling two muscular arms wrap around you. Unaware of who it was, the both of you start rolling down a ditch off the side of the path leading to home base. Expecting to fall into more rocks, you instead feel the cushion of large soft petals belonging to some unknown plant—a large plant for sure. Quickly sitting up you come face to face with Simon, he rushes to you, looking down as puffs of pink dust rise from the pores of the petals after every step he takes. 

The two of you cough as the pollen invades your nostrils, seeping into every crevice of your combat suits and Simons mask. You try to orientate yourself attempting to get up only to fall down again, sharp pain searing through your ankle, you grab onto Simon for support. “Looks like my ankle took most of the fall eh?” You attempt to lighten up the mood only Simon doesn’t seem to reciprocate this idea. 

“You’re hurt. This isn’t good, we have to get back to base before something else attack-“ his sentence is cut short as he sees you inspecting the tears in your suit. One along the shoulder of your right arm sleeve to your collarbone, another where you injured your ankle and the last one visible to him is on your inner thigh stretching all the way to your hip. Looking up you sheepishly apologise, “sorry heh didnt know so many things would cut through the suit, didn’t want to wear the heavy combat one for such an easy mission.” 

“It’s fine, come on we’ve got to find a way back” he states after a moment of silence as his eyes raked you up and down, you simply took this as his way of assessing the situation of your ankle. Wrapping an arm around his waist he tries to find a path yet as far as your eyes can see in the pitch black of the night is more pink petals. Simons steps only seem to agitate the unknown flora even more causing large clouds of dust to invade your senses. 

“Let’s take a break” you suggest after you both had only ventured a few meters away, but Simons breathing had picked up and his uncommon stumbling seemed to be happening more. You turn to him lightly giggling, “i don’t remember being that heavy to such a big boy like you” 

“no no its not that” he’s quick to reassure you, never wanting you to undermine his strength. “It’s just-i don’t know something in the air is making the temperature rise, don’t you feel it?”

Now, you have been well aware of the heat, the reason you asked to take a break in the first place was because of that, the almost unbearable feeling prickling at every cell in your body. And yes you hated to admit, but mostly attacking your nether regions where the heat seemed to escape from the most. “Y-yeah i feel it to”. Simon stares into your eyes, slowly crawling closer to you in hopes of releasing less dust from his movements. You also near him, briefly pausing before your lightheadedness takes over, causing you to fall straight on top of him. The small size of you is barely enough to push his large frame over, leaving you sat in his lap against his gun— wait why would his gun be in the middle of his pants—oh…Your face turns a deep red but embarrassment is something neither of you have the time or patience for. The contact releases a lengthy groan from Simon and his hips grinding upwards has you moaning with need. 

“Fuck what’s causing this”

“i done have a clue but right now i dont give a fuck i just need to fucking consume every part of you.” His words cause more moans to come out from your mouth. You get to work tugging down his pants pulling out his long fully erect dick, the tip is a pulsing aggressive red and it’s covered in thick throbbing veins. Your hand barely wraps around the girth of it and you’re sure you can’t take all of it, imagining Simon trying to fit it inside of you, prompts more moans to fall from your mouth. This train of dirty images are cut short as Simon flips you on your back, his fingers tug and pull at your suit while you yelp from the sudden movement. Finally his hands take opportunity of the rips caused by your fall, practically tearing the stretchy skin-tight material from you body leaving your top half completely bare. 

“Fuck arent you just beautiful, been hiding all of this the whole time you’ve been on the team huh?” He growls against your skin covered by a thin sheen of sweat. He licks from your neck down to your right nipple and then to your left one. Grabbing the two soft squishy fats of skin into his big hands he pushes them together rubbing his face between the two, “god love your tits so fucking much just molded to fit right in my hands huh”. Unable to reply you simply let out breathy moans at his rough actions.

Crawling lower to where your neediest he runs his hand along you suit covered pussy, feeling the wetness drench the material the more he rubs against you. “Who knew we had such a fucking slut on the team, pussy’s so fuckin’ wet just begging to get filled by a thick cock like mine”. You nod your head, “yes yes please fuck me mmm”. He grabs onto the ripped material at your thigh creating an even larger hole to access your pussy, your suit—if you can even call it that anymore—is now just two scraps of material covering your calves. “Guess i gotta give this whore what she wants” he replies slapping your tits as you moan. “Mhm please touch me, fuck me anything I need you so bad” 

“aw just begging for this cock aren’t you…i don’t think you should have it just yet though, i mean you’re the one who got us into this mess in the first place, isn’t that right?” 

“What no no hhnng please do something anything” at this he lowers himself to lie on his front, grabs onto your hip and drags your pussy a few inches from your face. Immediately you thrust your hips forwards keen for any skin to skin contact. “Mm shit such a pretty pussy just like your pretty face, soaking wet for me” he brings his fingers to your mouth, pushing them past your lips, you suck on them just like you would on his cock drenching the two fingers in copious amounts of spit  bobbing your head up and down. While you were busy with that he lifts up his mask to his nose and sticks out his tongue to lick a large stripe from your ass to clit, finally relieving you as your head falls back against the soft cushions of the petals. 

His first taste of you. He goes wild. Biting at your inner thighs and kissing his way to your sex. Spit is falling from his lips all over your pussy as his mouth travels up and down to every crevice of your vagina. The sinful sounds echo across the eerily silent forest as he plunges two of his spit covered fingers into you, the large size of them easily reaching deeper than your small dainty ones have ever. You’re unable to control your moans as he further stimulates your clit with his mouth and tongue while his fingers push and rub against your g-spot. Your juices drip against his chin mixing with his spit creating more and more fluid to rub all over his face. “Im gonna cum omg Simon fuck keep going”

“just like that baby cum all over me”. With one last curl of his fingers against your walls you feel yourself let go releasing a waterfall of your cum in his mouth and drenching his face in the process. He laps you up like a dog starved of thirst “mmh good fucking slut, gonna reward you now. Stuff my whore nice and full with this dick”

His hands grab your hips flipping you over with a soft thud, pulling your ass flush against his stiff cock positioning your back into a deep arch. He enters you in one swift go smacking your ass as he thrusts in and out. Your nails grip into the petals the same way his did on your ass forming crescent shaped marks across your plump skin. You were sure to wake up with marks everywhere tomorrow, from bites to bruises. 

“Ahhh so good, nice and full now aren’t you, fuckin’ slut was waiting for this to happen weren’t you, probably fell on purpose, wore this tight suit hoping I’d just fuck you” 

“Yesyesyes please let me cum please sir” “let go baby” 

Once again you fall apart on Simons cock tightening and pulsing around the thick intrusion. He drives into you harder getting closer to cumming as you go dumb on his dick. His hand pushes your face into the comfort of the silky petals and your a drooling mess, with the only thought in your head being the way his cook feels inside of you as his balls slap loud and heavily against your clit. The feeling of your wet channel tightening from the overstimulation of his pumping has him reaching his climax, one last hard inward thrust of his hips has him releasing his hot load in you, the amount almost inhumane as it starts spilling out onto the sides of his cock, a white foamy ring of your mixed cum reaching the base. 

He gently pulls out, eyes fixated on the heavenly sight of his cum oozing out from your hole, running down your clit to the petals you lay on. Your laying there like a descended angel with dazed eyes..and the last thing you remember is seeing Simon remove his jacket and crawl over towards you, gently placing a kiss on your forehead. 

(unedited)

[starhvney]

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mystreet garroth x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you and garroth ended up taking on the caretaker roles in your friend group as you all settled into your rental house. while everyone divided into rooms and claimed their rooms for the night, you two were the last ones to go to sleep only to realize… there was only one bed left.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: one-bed trope, fluff, best friends with feelings

𝐂𝐖: none?

𝐀/𝐍: i’m biting my keyboard rocking back and forth in my chair

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

salty sea air hits your face as you step out of the beachside convenience store, a few bags in hand with the essentials that a few of your friends forgot to pack on your trip. you had all just landed on the island a couple of hours ago, brains foggy and eyes droopy from the long day of travel—both by car and flight.

garroth—the ever-caring friend—had offered to come along with you to your trip to the store, claiming he wanted to help and he wanted to take a good look around the island while he was at it. he hasn’t done much looking around, you realized, as his ocean-colored eyes followed you the whole time and his legs carried himself right behind you wherever you walked.

you brushed it off as his protective nature in a new environment mixed with the jet lag and sleepiness you both fought off. you couldn’t brush off the sickly giddiness you felt, however, anytime his hands brushed against you. from trailing along your back as he guided you forward, or holding your arm back as he offered to carry something for you instead, something in your chest screamed for you to read between the lines and decipher his actions as feelings for you that were deeper than friendship.

shaking off your thoughts, you're glad that the orange glow the sun cast across the both of you gave an excuse for the heat rising in your face. as the two of you walk on the sidewalk that's paved a distance from the shoreline, you slow your steps to watch the sun disappear beneath the ocean. the sky grows dimmer, but it leaves a peaceful pink and blue haze in the air.

you wonder if garroth was enjoying the scenery as much as you were, turning to him with excitement for the vacation ahead. you almost freeze in place when you realize his eyes are already trained on you, lips spread into a soft smile on his face. the small amount of sun exposure he had already gained in the small few hours made him glow, his even skin tone and bright golden hair still embodying the sun even as it left for the night.

“are you excited?” he asks, head tilting and the loose curls he had begun to grow out brushing along his full lashes.

“yeah!” you smile, shoulders shrugging up as you turn and close your eyes, breathing in the salty warm breeze that warms your skin. “it’s beautiful here, isn’t it? aren’t you excited?”

“of course. the view is stunning.”

“are you gonna go surfing?” you turn back to him, watching as his eyes dart from you back out to the darkening scenery.

he grins, wrinkling his nose as if it were obvious. “every day. you’re gonna try it with me right?”

you sigh, remembering the promise you made him as everyone was giddily making plans a few months ago.

“yes, i’ll try. i can’t promise i’ll be good at it.”

“you’ll do amazing. and,” he raises his eyebrows and hand, giving you an all-business face as he strikes a deal. “i’ll do whatever you want me to try out too.”

“even if i said i wanted to try hula dancing?”

“oh yeah, i’ll be in a grass skirt right away.”

you two burst out in laughter, wrapping your pinkies around the other in promise and slowly making your way back to the rental house, chatting about whatever else came to mind. by the time you were back, the house was just as dark on the inside as it had gotten outside—and not one of your friends’ voices could be heard.

“they must’ve crashed out already,” garroth yawns, placing the cold goods into the fridge and lazily placing the other goods you two bought on the counter. “i’m not too far off.”

you nod, contagiously catching his yawn as you stretch out your limbs. glancing over you notice that your and garroth’s bags are the only ones left haphazardly by the entryway, left for you two to fend for a place to sleep by yourselves.

“well, i guess we should check to see where our beds are,” you whisper, quietly beginning to make your way up the stairs after lifting both of your suitcases and bags up with a struggle.

“excuse me,” he whispers back in offense, snatching the items back with a shake of his head as he follows behind you.

you two quietly go from room to room, finding that everyone has taken up every space to sleep but one full bed. the two of you awkwardly stand beside it, your tired brains slowly trying to come up with a solution. you look at garroth in confusion as he grabs a pillow off the bed, turning to make his way out of the room.

“where are you going?” you ask, cringing at how disappointed your tone sounded as you grabbed onto his arm to stop him.

“to sleep on the couch,” he says, as if it was obvious he’d choose that option in the first place rather than disrespect your honor.

“what? no—“ you protest, only to be cut off by him.

“well i’m not letting you sleep on the couch, so don’t even try that.”

he goes to move again, once again stopped as you stumble along with him, hand still firmly on his bicep.

“you’ll be uncomfortable. the living room is cold.”

“...then i’ll sleep on the floor in here,” he sighs, not following your hints.

“just share the bed with me.”

his whole body tenses, his eyes darting to stare down at you in purely veiled shock and shy embarrassment. after a moment, his hand comes to rub frustratingly at his face, a low groan of your name leaving his lips.

“what?” you question, ears and cheeks burning at your boldness. “we’ve been friends for a long time… it’s not a big deal.”

he stares down at you for a moment longer, eyes stormed over in thoughts and eyebrows furrowed.

“it’s not a big deal? you’d share a bed with any guy you’re close friends with?” he asks. he sounds much more concerned than accusatory, though there was a certain twinge of irritation you couldn’t quite place.

“well no… i didn’t say that,” you inhale. “it’s not like i have to worry about—i just mean that it’s you. i feel comfortable with you.”

he sighs into his hand again, looking back at the bed before tossing the pillow onto it as he gives in to your insistent tone.

“are you sure?”

“yes.”

the two of you go off to change into something more comfortable, both settling in on separate sides of the bed. the mattress suddenly felt much smaller than it looked, the warmth from garroth’s body warming the sheets and small amount of space between you. it almost felt like the inches separating your skin was sending electric shockwaves into your nervous system, making your heart thud uncontrollably against your rib cage.

“we’ll have to figure out a sleeping arrangement with everyone in the morning,” he whispers, the deep and smooth timber of his quiet tone literally sending vibrations into your side.

you ignore the disappointed twang in your chest at his words, selfishly hoping you could continue to spend the whole vacation near the cuddly blonde next to you.

“yeah, it’ll work out. goodnight, garroth.”

“…goodnight.”

the exhaustion sets in, and you fall into a deep sleep that lasts until the warm morning sun rays coming through the window shine against your closed eyelids.

you don’t recall the last time you slept so good. your bones and joints felt warm, like you had been wrapped in a marshmallow to sleep in all night. you weren’t far off on your comparison when you realize your head was snugly tucked into garroth’s neck,  cheek comfortably smushed against the relaxed, thick muscles of his arm. his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in firmly against him.

you can distantly hear the chirping of tropical birds and the waves crashing against the shore, the noise along with the warm body next to you attempting to lull you back to sleep.

you almost rejoice in the moment before realizing this predicament would most definitely be used against you by your friends—the very ones that you can hear shuffling around the house as they wake up for the day.

before you could attempt to wriggle yourself out of the mess you were very tightly caught in—the door to the bedroom cracks open, small murmurs following from behind it. you freeze, automatically playing dead when you hear small shuffles against the tile floor.

“i don’t know where they ended up sleep—oh!” you hear aphmau stutter, before whisper-shouting nana’s name.

nana shuffles in behind her, a dragged-out and high-pitched whisper of awe leaving her lips as they gaze at the two of you in the bed. they begin to whisper lower, voices unintelligible as you strain your ears to listen.

you catch a “finally” and a “quick… picture!” in the mix before the flash of a camera shines across your eyelids.

great. 

garroth stirs, muscles tensing as a deep sigh leaves his nose. you hear your girl friends dash out of the room, muffled and quiet giggles leaving their lips when the door clicks behind them.

strong hands fiddle with the thin material of your tank top by your back, another sigh ruffling the hair on your head.

“are you awake?” his husky voice shakes you, sending chills across your skin.

you pause for a moment, debating if you should fake unconsciousness or not.

“…yeah.”

you get nothing in return but silence as he seemingly stews in thought to himself, before coming to a conclusion as he firmly pulls you back in, pressing yourselves in a tight embrace. his lips land in your hair, breaths sending shivers down your neck every time he exhales against you.

“garroth…?”

“they already got a picture. what’s a few more minutes like this?”

your heart races in your chest, and as you wonder if garroth can feel its pace you realize that his is doing the same. deciding you can wait just a little longer to address what you now know is a reciprocated feeling, you instead relish in the comforting temperature of his body as you drift off into a lighter sleep.

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

[lemmetreatya]

What’s Mine is Mine — Onyankopon x fem!Reader

synopsis: jealousy isn’t usually what onyankopon wears, but tonight he’s wearing it like cologne on skin.

content: afab reader, slight dom!onyankopon, established relationship, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, cowgirl, car sex, they’re just goofy your honour

on the mission to try and make more people fall in love with this man!! we need more ony rep in this fandom puhleassse!! but for now idm being his sole cheerleader! regardless enjoy 🫶🏾💞

It wasn’t often that someone would find the guts to hit on you in Onyankopon’s presence. 

If you were somewhere public and your husband was with you, potential admirers more or less respected his proxemics and didn’t pursue. Still, despite your attachments at the hips, it didn’t deter everyone. 

“Get in the car.” 

The flashy beep of the man’s AMG sounded as he pressed the key for it to unlock. As soon as he reached the vehicle he opened the door on your side. 

Still lagging behind and reluctant to follow, you flailed your hands against your sides. 

“Ony, now you’re just acting up! Jealousies literally written all over your face—“

“I said, get in.”

Yes, it wasn’t often that someone would find the guts to hit on you in Onyankopon’s presence, but it also wasn’t often that someone would try, and that Onyankopon would get pissed at the effort. 

Tonight however, someone had tried it, and unfortunately happened to have caught him on an off mood.  

You stopped trailing behind Onyankopon, standing still within the carpark as you dared to be defiant. Your husband still had a hand on the door, waiting for you to get in, but he didn’t have the restraint to look in your direction. 

“Onyankopon, I hope you know that you’re being overly dramatic. Like it’s really not that deep.” You attempted. 

Despite you having a strong conviction about what you were saying, your words felt lost as you voiced them within the massive open space. Even the cold night air that was whipping against your legs felt stronger than your words. Your midi dress did no justice protecting you from the breeze. 

“He was just being friendly and you know that. Connies a good guy and he’d never go that far without playing it off as a joke — that’s his thing! He’s always joking around and being silly despite everyone around him.” 

You wrap your top limbs around yourself. For warmth, you run your hand up and down your arm due to the wind blowing stronger. 

Onyankopon still didn’t look at you. He only tapped his finger against the top seal of the opened car door. 

“I’m not gonna ask you a second time.” 

His voice was calm but low in pitch. That alone put the fear of God in your heart because you know he was anything but calm. 

At this stage you didn’t dare continue arguing with him. If Onyankopon said get in then you get in. 

A huff leaves your glossed lips once you walk the remainder of the way and slip into the passenger seat. As soon as your foot is lastly in the car, Onyankopon shuts your door with a slam. It was slammed a lot harder than it usually was.  

Onyankopon was clearly not happy. 

And if his clipped commands and door slam didn’t give it away, then the grumbling  complaints he spat to himself whilst he travelled to his side of the car should have given a hint. 

“Fucking think he is touching all up on my wife like that?…” 

Subconsciously your body slinks into the chair. Not out of fear for yourself, but for Connie, because you know he’s done fucked up this time. 

When Onyankopon gets into the car and shuts the door besides him, the first thing he does is get out his phone and starts rapidly texting away at the screen. For awhile, the only sound within the small space is the frantic clicking plops of his keyboard. You ignore it at first, because maybe he’s quickly catching up on any missed calls or texts he’s ignored whilst within the function. 

But it’s once you hear him mutter “and i’ll…fucking show you…what it means to…mess with my shit.” under his breath, that you realise that he wasn’t writing a work related text. 

“I hope you’re not threatening him over message—“

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want to someone who doesn’t know how to keep their hands to themselves.” 

A loud groan leaves your throat. 

You guess even a rather amicable and easy going man like him had his moments. 

“Baby, come on.” Your hand stretches out to rest atop his thigh as you soothingly rub it up and down his suit pants. “He really ain’t worth it.”  

Automatically, a defence in Onyankopon’s demeanour had broken down. You know it had because the tight knot that sat between his eyebrows started to dissipate. 

“That’s not the point,”

He retorts back, his thumbs still tapping at the screen albeit slower. 

“Connie knows not to push it with me, I’ve warned him about this before.”

A lot in you wanted to role your eyes because trust a man’s hubris to find a way to make everything about him. But you decide against it — the last thing you need was your husband to be mad at you too. With a soft squeeze at the meat of Onyankopon’s thigh, you pout over at him. 

“But it’s not like he did it to spite you. Connie ain’t got the brains to do that.” You chide. 

Onyankopon shrugs as his eyes stay focused on his phone, the blue glow reflecting onto his face within the navy-dark car. He lifts a hand to shake his wrist with an erred expression. 

“It doesn’t matter. Whether he intended to or not, he has spited me because he knows full well not to touch my shit.” 

Raising your eyebrows at his choice of words, you can’t but help let yourself smirk. Onyankopon was a possessive man in nature but never in practice — he liked what was his because he knew it was his, he never had to prove it. But with the way he was talking about you, as if Connie could ever be competition to him, made you see him in a different light. 

It looks like Onyankopon was definitely capable of showing jealousy if pushed too far. 

Sitting back, you glide your focus out of the windscreen, your hand still on his thigh. 

“He ain’t touching your shit now though. But then again, neither are you.”

Onyankopon pauses typing. 

He considers your words as they catch him off guard. Placing his phone down, he suddenly turns to you with an impressed expression. 

“Wait, that was actually a real smooth line—“

“It was a good one, right?—“ You cheese. 

“Yeah, like you actually got me there with  that.” 

The both of you chuckle between yourselves, giving the other a fist bump in the process. As the laughter dies down, Onyankopon cocks his head in a quick motion towards his side of the car.

“C’mere.” 

His voice is low like it was before but this time, there’s barely any guile lacing his words. It was this side of ‘calm’ you were waiting for ��� the light-hearted, love struck version. 

With glee, you’re shuffling onto your knees so that you could climb over the middle console and straddle your husband’s legs. It was never a comfortable fit; your shins always got caught up on the protruding plastic on the side of the car seats. But it was always worth it as you got to see the melting expression on your lover’s face. You’d suffer faint lines of ailment for him any day.

Even before his hands are squeezing the hold of your hips, Onyankopon’s words are tumbling out of his mouth with sincerity. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” 

You shook your head to assure him. 

“Nah, you good. I understand how you weren’t cool with that shit.” 

As your arms wrap between his neck and the headrest, you bend down to place a chaste kiss to the ball of his nose. Although suddenly, your demeanour changes.

“But don’t think you’re getting away with this though! Pulled me outta there like a madman, embarrassing the hell out of me, the fuck?” 

With a mild hump, your palm softly collides with the hilt of his shoulder. 

“Ow!” He shouts. 

“Ow?! That didn’t even hurt you.”

Onyankopon feigns pain as he makes a short loud wailing noise, his hand dramatically flying to where your palm had previously been. 

“Yes it did! Stop gaslighting me! Gaslighting is bad.” 

“Oh, shut—“ You pause, as you momentarily close your eyes and let out a sigh through your nose. “Whatever. Just make sure you find a way to make it up to me.”

“I’ll find a way, don’t worry.” Chides your husband as he leans forwards to surprise you with a kiss — his childish mood suddenly dissipating. 

You quickly accept his affection, your lips automatically pursing in result, but you full well know what he’s got planned in mind. 

“I’m not waiting till we get home for you to make it up to me in bed.” You muse. 

“Good think you’re not gonna have to wait.” 

You pull back to raise your eyebrows at the man but you don’t get the room to say anything else, not when he’s giving you a daring look whilst hooking your already raised midi dress further up your thighs. 

“Up.” 

He instructs, and you listen, because god you could listen to him all day. Slightly raising your ass off of his lap, you allow Onyankopon to pool your dress just above your stomach. Instantly, his hands are carefully caressing the skin of your belly. 

“I do mean it though,” He says as his thumb hooks onto the material of your thong. He quickly lets it go so that it can slap against your skin. “I’m sorry for how I acted tonight.”

“It’s okay, Ony.” You coo. 

Your hands move to caress at the back of his head, your fingers treading across his fade before he continues. 

“I was being a jealous man, you know? Dunno what came over me but…I knew acting out in front of everyone wouldn’t be right so I took you and left.” 

At this point, the man’s fingers had moved to stretching the long piece of your thong between your cunt, his watch trained on how your lips easily sucked them in. 

“Took me and left coz’ you don’t like to share?” You tease. 

“So I could have what’s mine all to myself.” 

His eyes flick upwards towards you but in a manner that could only express wanton lust. 

Hardly any sound passes your lips as Onyankopon moves your thong string to the side and breeches your pussy with two fingers. He swipes it just inside of your warmness but makes sure to keep his other hand sturdy on your hips. But alas, that’s all he does. Barely fingering you as he watches you closely to gauge your reaction. Once you’d had enough of his slow pedantics, you push for him more. 

“Ony, come on, man.” You dutifully huff as you rut yourself against him, your slick juices staining his hands “You’re supposed to be making it up to me.” 

“Mhm.” He hums as his eyes flicker with a glint of mischief. But once you realise he’s only teasing you, you huff once again. 

“Man, you’re so…” 

You attempt to lift yourself off of your husband but once you do, Onyankopons sliding his fingers in deeper. Unexpectedly, a sweet moan leaves your mouth as you pause where you are and look down at where his fingers disappear. 

“I’m so what?” He taunts. 

Nothing is able to leave your mouth in retaliation as you flick your eyes at him with a disgruntled expression. Still, you need him to know that despite him playing inside of you, you still weren’t up for games. 

“Annoying, Ony. You’re annoying.” 

Contrary to your words, angsty moans keep slipping from your throat and Onyankopon can’t help but grin slyly as his fingers continue to work in and out of you. He knows best not to engage with your taunts. 

“Riiiight.” 

Onyankopon’s palms is flat against the lips of your cunt — his fingers buried so deep they have nowhere else to go. As he curves his fingers towards himself, he feels your warm gooey walls clench around him.  

Then and there, the carnal desire he feels at your touch and tinkly moans alters his brain. He needs to have you. 

“Baby, get my cock out for me.” He says with forfeit. 

You comply without needing to be told twice. Your bottom lip is snagged between your teeth as you hungrily unbuckle Onyankopon’s trousers and tug his member out of his boxers. As predicted, it’s already semi-hard. 

From that alone, you already know he’s going to put it to good use. 

Your forehead is placed against his as he wordlessly introduces a third finger inside of your heat. It’s hard focusing on two things at once; keeping your legs sturdy enough for you to hover over him and trying your best to not combust too soon. 

“Don’t make me tell you what you need to do.” He smoothly states as he angles his chin towards his standing cock. 

Even in lust, you still try and give him cheek. 

“You don’t have to make me do sh-shiit.” 

Onyankopon doesn’t give you time to talk back, he’s over it. Instantly his thumb presses at your clit and you keen forwards. 

“Okay, okay, okay!” 

You mutter as one of your hand clamps down onto his shoulders. A giddy hum leaves your throat as you lean forwards to take hold of his dick with your other hand and stroke the length. As an appeasing gesture, you slot your tongue between his lips. 

Your husband entertains you just as well. A smirk still somehow decorates his face as he sucks at your tongue but the action is languid. Onyankopon watched you with a face of adoration as he continues to slowly pump his fingers in and out of your wet cunt. 

“Imma need you soon though…” You mumble against his lips. As your hand swipes over his glistening slit, his thighs tense. “Wanna feel you in me for real.” 

“Of course, boo.” He mumbles back with much assurity. 

Onyankopon pumps you a few times more before removing his fingers from inside of you. He brings them up between your faces and offers them to your lips. 

This, you don’t need to be asked to do. 

Like an automatic button had been clicked on, you obediently unlatched your lips from Onyankopon’s before engulfing his fingers with your mouth. 

Your Iris’ expanded even within the lowly dimmed car as you keep your husband’s eye contact. You lap and lick at his fingers with soft suckling, almost as if hungry to taste yourself. Unsurprisingly you can feel and hear Onyankopon’s breathing tighten and speed up. 

It was the small things that always got to him. 

“Look at you…” He coos with adoration. 

The man uses your distraction and his free hand to guide his dick vertical of your entrance, the head softly gliding between your silky folds. However, as soon as you feel the contact, you momentarily unlatch your mouth from your husband’s hands so that you could concentrate on guiding him inside of you. 

Onyankopon unhands himself but he’s  tormented by how lucrative your actions ate and your seeming willingness for him. 

As his cock breeches your opening, you’re holding back a moan. 

“God, this’ll never get old…” He mumbles.

Onyankopon’s head is laid back against the head rest as his eyes flutter shut and the ball of his throat is exposed. 

You take your time to sink down fully onto his cock. It’s definitely a difference, even with his three fingers previously in you, but eventually you take it. Despite the initial burn of his size, you work it through. You’ve done it many times before so whose to say you can’t now? 

Once he gathers his composure just a tad bit more, he opens his eyes in order to watch you diligently. 

“Whose you’se, baby?” Breathes your husband as he watches you adjust to him.

His hands find their way back to your waist as he squeezes at your flesh — a stimulant in trying to assimilate how good you feel around him. You mutter a curse underneath your breath before answering:

“Yours.” 

And the confirmation through the struggling speech brings an an illicit yet seemingly distressed grin to his face. Not as high and mighty as you were five minutes ago, huh?

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Onyankopon slightly shuffles himself down on the driver’s seat so that he could prop his legs up at an angle and gently thrust into you as he slightly lifts you over his cock. 

The first pull and sink almost makes you moan but you choke on the sound in your throat instead as you only letting out a pained whine. With your back arched, you attempt to ride Onyankopon in sync with his thrusts. If anyone was to simply walk past the front of the car, they’d instantly know what was going. 

Onyankopon can’t help but look up at you in awe, his eyes glazed over in hazed lust but full of an adoration only capable from a man in love. 

“My pretty smile, my pretty pussy, my pretty boo.” He mumbles up at you. “You’re all mine.”

“All yours.” You wetly breathe back before leaning down to lay your forehead just over his shoulder. 

The two of you slow fuck into each other with barely any words exchanged. Its all just a mush of breathing, moans and the beckon of each others name. 

Onyankopon lavishes his hands over the span of your ass cheeks when he’s close. 

“Baby…” 

“Mhm.” You mumble back because you know  the tell-tale signs of his impending orgasm, you can feel the way he holds you closer and practically asks your permission to finish.

As you lean back to angle him deeper inside of you, you half caress his neck and cheek.

“Promise me you won’t…say anything to him.” 

You don’t even have to mention a name for Onyankopon to know who you’re referring to. And you know he tries to fight it because you can feel his grip on your ass get firmer and his thrusts become more deliberate. His lack of reply is a sign of uncooperation. 

“C-C’mon, Ony. You…you have me right now…n-not him…you.” 

Onyankopon’s hooded eyes stay trained on yours.  

“Me.” He grunts. 

“Yeah, you baby. All yours. I’m all yours.” 

Those are the words that send your husband reeling over the edge. His thrusts stutter to a halt and his hip slaps flush against your ass as he gutturally moans into the concave of your neck. You walls clench around Onyankopon’s pulsing cock, the feeling of being filled up immensely satisfying. 

This is how he proves you’re his. 

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#374

“Hey!  Midnight bathroom run too?  Yeah.  I knew I shouldn’t have let my wife’s mother book this tiny inn in the middle of nowhere Germany for my honeymoon.  I live in a three-bedroom apartment in Manhattan two blocks from Central Park, and now I have to share a toilet.  I would gladly pay for a suite at a five-star hotel, but my wife likes it.  Whoever came up with “Happy wife happy life” should be shot.  "This jet lag sucks.  This is my second night here in Europe, and I haven’t shaken it.  How about you?...  You’re here a week?  Wow.  It looks like we will be competing for the toilet for a number of days.  It’s us and him in there.  That Argentinian has been in there for a bit.  I see the toothbrush in your hand; when he comes out, you can go ahead of me, as long as you are fast; I’m going to be spending some time in there.  It seems that the only way I can get to sleep is to enjoy my left hand….

“I see you smiling.  You know what I’m talking about….  Don’t be shy about it.  All guys do it.

“And the best part is as I get close, I turn on the bidet and let the warm water run across my shithole.  It’s not quite like a tongue diving in deep.  I haven’t had my ass eaten out in years….

“…You a faggot?...  Your silence makes me wonder that you might be, but your dick tenting in your robe tells me everything.  Open your robe and let me see….

“Just as I thought.  You want help me go to sleep?  Good.  Let’s go in your room.  You can brush your teeth afterwards and wash away the taste of my shithole….

“Now we are behind closed doors, you can lose the robe….  Damn you are a small fag.  How tall are you?...  I have a foot on you; I’m 6’5”.  How much do you weigh?...  I’m 290, twice your weight.  You are the size of the faggots I used to use back in grad school at Columbia.  I like them small.  I hope you like to be manhandled.  Don’t care if you don’t.

“Get on your knees fag.  Go on reach in.  Take my cock out.  Even soft, I’m bigger than your tiny four-inch pecker.  Hard, I more than double you. 

“It’s clear that there is only one man in this room, and it ain’t you.  There is only one cock in this room; yours is to be ignored.  You got that?...  Fag, you got that?...

“That’s ‘Yes Sir.’  I saw the hunger on your face in the hall when I mentioned that I loved a tongue in my shithole.  I’ve noticed the few times you’ve been checking me out as our paths crossed.  It’s the same hunger I saw on my bitch boys I used on the side when I was in grad school.  They saw a big man with a big dick, and they did whatever I wanted.  I see that hunger on your face now, and I’m expecting the same from you. 

“You drink piss….  That wasn’t a question.  Open your toilet mouth….  Take my head in.  Fuck yeah.  Relax and start swallowing….  Ahh, that feels so good.  You are a natural. 

“Is your cunt cleaned out?  Probably not.  If you can handle my cock in your throat, I’ll be back tomorrow night to sample that cunt.  Here sit on the floor with your head against the wall. 

“I want to tell you how to get me to cum.  Like I said, I was going to use the bidet to not only to clean my shithole but to make my hole feel good.  Your tongue is taking over that responsibility. 

“I haven’t had a shower since this morning, and I’ve been out all day in the sun.  My crack is going to reek.  I know you won’t mind. 

“Place a hand on each of my thighs.  Take a deep breath.  Now pay attention.  Your tongue needs to be inside my shithole pretty much all the time….  Like that.  Fuck yeah.  Don’t be alarmed if I fart on your faggot face.  It’s bound to happen. 

“Damn!  Fuck!  Your tongue is digging deep.  Faggot you know how to eat a man’s shithole.  Oh man.  I’m getting close.  But I need to sample that throat. 

“Fuck.  Hold that faggot head against the wall and open up that throat, cause I’m going right down to your stomach, all nine inches to the root. 

“Take it faggot!  Take it!  I don’t care if you gag, gasp, or even puke all over me, you are fucking taking it.  Open up that throat, dedicate that airway to me.  Oh fuck.  That’s it faggot. 

“When I’m ready to cum, it’s with your tongue in my shithole, and I want you jacking me off.  And I’m getting close.  Oh yeah!  I’m going to turn around real fast.  So close.  Hell the fuck yeah.  Get that tongue ready.  Ready?  Now!

“…Spread my cheeks and get that tongue inside me and start fucking with it.  Now reach under me and jack me off.  Fuck boy.  I’m going to cum.  Keep doing what you are doing.  Urg!  Uh!  Uh!  Fuck!  Fuck yeah!

“Oh man.  No one told you to stop.  Keep tongue fucking and jacking me.  Milk the last drops out and let them fall. 

“Faggot you did good.  I’m want to do this every night….  Ok… Ok… You can stop. 

“Whew boy.  Hand me my underwear.  And your pillow too.  The pillow is to wipe up your throat slime and remaining cum drops from my dick.  The other side is to wipe my ass.  When you go to sleep, you can smell me. 

“Whew, that was a huge load on the floor.  Start licking….  Don’t give me that look again, or I will smack you again.  That load puddled on your floor should be gold to you.  Lap it up or suck it up, I don’t care.

“Hell, you can even jack off while doing that, once I’m gone.  I don’t care. 

“You want me to come back tomorrow night?...  Good, then do as you are told.  Atta boy!  Do you have any plans for tomorrow during the day?...  You can go to a museum another day. 

“You’re doing good boy.  While you continue to lick my load, pay attention to what I have to say.  In the morning, my wife and I are heading to some castle.  Before we leave, I am going to slip an envelope under the door.  It’ll have €1500.  We are about an hour and a half from Berlin.  I want you to go there, find one of the sex shops.  I want you to purchase a bunch of items. 

“First, I want a rimseat.  You know how to eat my shithole, and you will do it again.  Find a chastity cage and have them put it on you.  Have them put the key in the same envelope and seal it.  Have them write their store’s name across the back of it.  I want that cage to be tight and most importantly, I want it to prevent an erection, not one that pushes the cage forward should that tiny thing start to grow.  Ideally I don’t want to see any bump from your tiny pecker.  You got that?  I want a collar, ankle cuffs, and wrist cuffs.  Buy about 10 meters of rope and some padlocks.  Get lube.  And I don’t know how you are going to do this but get something to clean you out.  And see if they sell teeth guards; I felt some teeth when I was in your throat.

“At midnight, keep your door unlocked.  Be wearing the collar and the cuffs.  And get a good hood and wear it.  Leather can be expensive.  I’ll bump that up to €2000 in the envelope.  If there’s money left, get me a flogger. 

“You got all that?...  Good boy. 

“Where’s your phone?  Here it is.  Good an iPhone.  Look up.  Good it unlocked.  Get back to the floor.  I’m putting my side cell number in here.  I am listing myself as ‘SIR’.  I want you to text me when you buy each item.  And have the store worker take pics of you being fitted for the cage and anything else they care to.  And if they want to use you, you will let them.

“I’m going to add you to my find my iPhone app, so I can track where you are.  So I know what text you are, what’s your area code or country code?...  215?...  Philadelphia?...  Oh boy.  My firm has me in Philly one week a month and a weekend in between.  I have an apartment near Rittenhouse square.  You perform well here, and I will be taking you on permanently. 

“Keep licking boy.  Don’t get up until every drop is in your belly.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  I need to get back to my wife.”

[mrsackermannx]

Honey, I’m home…

GOJO SATORU X FEM READER MDNI

tags: ceo/dad/husband gojo, smut, light degradation (use of slut twice), not pet play but he calls her a kitty, exhibitionism (gojo is on a zoom call), teasing, one shot.

wc: 3.7k

a/n: after the manga and the anime last week, this was needed for me to revive (an oldie from the drafts) 😭 not to mention spanish uni is kicking my ass so satoru is keeping me sane rn hahaha 🫣

Eating breakfast alone was seldom done in the Gojo household, because Satoru liked the kind of breakfasts that looked like they do in the movies. 

An assortment of brightly coloured fruits and pancake stacks, his wife by his side, a smug grin on his face as he sipped his coffee and asked everyone what they’d be doing with their day. The odd dad joke or two, or more. 

You snorted quietly at the thought, pausing at the fridge door. The kids were at Megumi and Yuuji’s, so they couldn’t tease you for being sentimental, or groan at the photos their embarrassing father insisted be plastered to the fridge.

Heart shapes, letters, bunnies, an assortment of magnets stuck decades worth of fond memories to the appliance. Your daughter’s first birthday, with Satoru at her side helping her blow out the candles, your second son’s first time at a water park on Satoru’s shoulders, last Christmas vacation in the Philippines.  

Your eyes crinkled as you took notice of your favourite one, stroking the scrawl of Satoru’s handwriting on the Polaroid’s border. “Mr and Mrs Gojo.” 

The polaroid was the lovesick image of you and Satoru in Italy for your honeymoon.

You can remember the warmth of the evening, and how pink the sunburn was on the tip of his nose. Oh how the sun had bronzed the nape of his neck, making his white hair all the more a stark contrast. His cologne was sweet and intoxicating as his large hands dwarfed your cheeks, as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. You could feel his smile as he did so, laughing at the cheers that engulfed you both. The faces visible behind you both were flushed and merry as your hands clasped. 

One of your favourite photos.

Your husband’s position as CEO of his clan’s company afforded all the luxuries a woman and a family could desire. But sometimes everybody needed Satoru. There were nights you fell asleep wrapped in his arms, only to be left with cold sheets and him muttering into his phone down the hall at the crack of dawn, Ijichi beeping just outside already. 

Satoru always told you to be selfish, to put yourself first, to be bold with your desires. But you found it hard to voice when you were feeling —greedy about him. When you were feeling so possessive you wanted to drive over to headquarters when he was doing overtime, and fuck him right in his office so everybody would know that work wasn’t his only priority. 

He’d been gone a mere twelve days, and he went on these trips three times a year, max—granted. And Satoru normally had his best men on them but sometimes he had to go too.

You almost scalded your lap with tea when you heard steps clicking through the foyer. You held your breath waiting for a sunny and inevitable rendition of a ‘Honey, I’m home!’ 

Instead you heard the surely jet-lagged mumble of your husband instead. “I forgot about it because I was overseas Nanami! You know you ought to let loose if you really think I should’ve come straight to headquarters as soon as I landed!”

He was positively barking on the line when his suitcases reached a sudden halt and he saw a peek of you in the kitchen. You grinned, jumping to your feet to greet him though he only gestured to his phone with a tired smile. 

You blew him a kiss and his shoulders slackened, finally dropping his bags. “Yes, bu-I’m already home! I’m not heading through traffic just to-“

You reclined back on your stool, grinning at him when he pointed an imaginary gun to his head at Nanami’s audible ranting on the other line.

“Fine, I’ll be on the call in five!” He ripped off his jacket and headed down the foyer, “Morning babe!” he boomed, “Didn’t wake you, did I?” 

His voice echoed down the hall. When you reached him you stood at the foot of the stairs, your hands on your hips. You arched one brow before you spoke through gritted teeth, “No, you didn’t.” 

The deep split of your robe was exposing the planes of your smooth skin, teasing slithers of your breasts and your belly button. He wanted nothing more than to get on his knees and worship you as if it were a holy day. He wanted your thighs swung over his shoulders, and his mouth right between them. 

He mentally cursed at the thought, releasing a deep sigh into his palm. “You okay, sweetheart?”

He didn’t even have the time. 

“Fine, and you?”

He could hear in your voice you were on the edge of asking something, asking for more. After so many years of marriage he could smell when a bad mood was brewing from you, better yet taste it. 

He tried to fool you as if it were easy, that signature grin, a smooth click of those fingers. “Nothing! Just gotta sit in on this meeting, goddess.” He winked, “Let’s catch up in a bit.”

The entire interaction had left you dumbfounded, standing in the foyer and suddenly feeling lonelier than you did eating breakfast alone. Somehow.

“Gojo fucking Satoru,” you hissed to yourself. “Do not goddess me.” 

Had someone replaced your husband with a clone? Satoru could have flown halfway across the world and back, after not seeing you for more than a day was enough to make him needier than ever. He always came back, desperate and ready to devour you.

You were unsettled, but quickly renewed with courage when you approached his study half an hour later and heard him speaking. His voice was back to its usual, chirpy and light.

You wavered for several seconds, loosening your robe before you slipped inside.

He was gesturing wildly with his hands, relaying the success of his trip no doubt. But when he saw you his eyes narrowed and then darkened. 

You resisted a smirk when you heard Choso’s voice seconds later. “Why’d you turn your camera off?” 

Then Toji’s, husky and bored. “We don’t have to see his smug face, do we?” he spat. “Anyway, I’m fucking falling asleep here. It’s early. You gonna continue or what?”

Satoru hummed, his voice now entirely reserved for you as his eyes were all over those bare thighs of yours. You were sprawled out on his chaise lounge and scrolling through your phone.

He cleared his throat, “Bad signal, sorry about that.” 

His eyes didn’t leave you, not even once. You could feel his gaze all over your skin, as scorching as the sun as you stretched and yawned where you lay. Languid and feigning innocence as you arched your back slightly and felt your robe slip enough to expose your bare breasts.

You heard a sharp intake of breath and continued stretching this way and that. But after minutes of this torment and his various sighs to grab your attention you relented and turned a fraction.

Lust was pooling in those crystalline eyes, turning them dark. If they were usually like waves sparkling in the morning sun, they were now akin to a bottomless ocean with a crescent moon’s light. 

A breath passed and you rose to your feet, mischief tipping the corners of your lips up into something erotic and enchanting to your husband. He tilted his head, asking a silent question as he hummed in agreement to whatever the hell Nanami had just said.

You shifted onto your knees and crawled between his legs and he smirked as if the sight amused him. You rested your cheek on his thigh, like a needy cat waiting to be played with. How dare you act as if you were waiting in apprehension when those eyes of yours said anything but.

His eyes finally flickered with warning, but not the red-light kind of warning, the kind that oozed with a dominance so overpowering that you bowed your head and took to quietly unzipping his pants. 

His teeth clenched in anticipation before he jabbed at his keyboard to mute himself, and gave you his attention. “Bored, huh? I can give you something worthwhile to do, honey. Just wanted something to suck on? Yeah?” he cooed, his voice dripping so sweetly in condescension that it made your teeth hurt.

He chuckled when you nodded eagerly, running this thumb over your lower lip as he unbuckled his belt one-handed. “I know, baby. I know. Ready for me?”

You grinned, opening your mouth for him to push his thumb into it first. “Be good to me, yeah? I don’t wanna have to cut my meeting short because you think it’s funny to tease.”

He spoke to you as if he was saying something as mundane as remember to take an umbrella today. Rather than a man who was now loudly slapping the tip of his cock on the tongue of his needy wife during a conference call. 

His low groans reverberated through your core, every inch of your skin waiting to be touched by your lover. The sweet and salty taste of him kissed your tastebuds and came with a rueful delayed reaction. At first it helped soothe the aching arousal between your legs but then it made you even needier. 

“How’s that for my spoiled little sweetheart? Heh heh, like a needy little cat, aren’t ya? Licking up every last drop.”

“Not as needy as you,” you purred, pulling away just in time for his arousal to drip onto your lower lip. “Meow.”

His brows knitted together at the sight, his arousal was glistening and smeared all over your lips.

“No, no. Don’t,” he hissed, before his voice sweetened. “Swallow it for me, baby. I’ve gotta get back to work.”

He winked and put a finger to his lips before asking Geto to repeat whatever convoluted question that had been background noise just moments ago. 

You smiled in glee around his dick when his voice wobbled the further you took him down your throat, doing your best to remain quiet just under his desk. But as usual, it was Satoru who threatened to blow your cover—as usual. 

You swelled with pride when he threw his head back, Adam's apple bobbing frantically and his chest heaving back and forth. 

It was Nanami who noticed first, interrupting Geto’s presentation when he hears a shaky breath stuttering through the laptop at the end of the conference table. “Gojo? Are we boring you?”

“Ah, no!” He scrambled forward so quickly he swiped a pot of stationery clean off his desk. Not without bumbles of laughter from the meeting room of men.

 “Just…working out!” he managed through gritted teeth, one hand still cradling the back of your head and guiding your sweet and unforgiving mouth back and forth. 

Toji sighed, the oldest of the men and the least naive. “You choose to do that shit now?”

Choso yawned, glancing toward an agitated Nanami. “What shit are we discussing?”

Nanami sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You’d know if you weren’t asleep, and Gojo save the workout for after the meeting, please. Let’s proceed.”

“Not my fault, I had to stay up and help Yuuji cram for an exam,” Choso mumbled. 

“Aww! Choso-nii!” Suguru laughed, “Satoru, are you hearing this?”

You were both momentarily so grateful for his team’s ability to bicker about anything down to the probability of rain that day, that you were bringing Satoru to heights of pleasure he’d not even dared anticipate. One he was laughably jet lagged and two he was in an incredibly important meeting but he couldn’t care less.

“Oh fuck, baby. Oh—juust like that!” he spluttered, unable to think about anything else other than the way you were flicking your tongue along his shaft. You sucked and rubbed your wet lips along that sensitive spot of his that made him whimper upon contact.

You fucking devil.

Suguru burst into laughter first, without Satoru’s arm the sounds of him slapping the table in his hysterics filled the room, then followed Sukuna’s laughter. “Is that pretty little wife of yours home by any chance?” he cackled, then Satoru was sure he heard Toji’s laughter but he was already too far gone. 

He hissed as he pulled you off his cock, coughing to smother the audible popping sound. His teeth sinking into his lower lip at the lewd sight of saliva drooling down onto your chest. “I hate you,” he hissed in a whisper. Before muting the call to allow you both to compose yourself, whilst Nanami scolded the team.

Then he was ready.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, “Sorry about that! My wife was giving me a quick massage before she headed out for work. You know how much sleeping on aeroplanes messes with my neck, right Nanami? Please, proceed.”

The sooner this ended the better. 

Sukuna snorted first, “Are you sure you weren’t fucking her?” 

“Would you refrain from referring to my wife like that, Sukuna? You are already on two strikes, aren’t you?” Satoru’s voice was so short and stern that even Nanami held his breath. 

“As I said, let’s continue.”

A chorus of “yes sir” had Satoru smirking down at you on the floor. His eyes locked on you as he made quick work of the mouse and pushed his keyboard aside, tapping the edge of your desk. 

You sprang to your feet to sit, the air thick with tension as he untied your robe to reveal the bare skin beneath it. “Oh baby, just look at you,” he purred, bringing his chair closer just to marvel at the sight before him.

His large hands gripped your breasts, sucking and licking until you relaxed and sank your hands into his hair, guiding him to where you needed him most. He was eager to please, his eyes not breaking from yours for even a second as he leaned forward and kissed your pussy, grinning when he found you slick and dripping for him.

He suckled on your clit until you mewled, his lips fitted to the bud as his tongue swirled and licked until you were gasping out his name. “Gojo? So, how did you find their sales department?” Nanami exhaled, “Gojo?”

He broke from you with an apologetic grin, assuming that sharp CEO voice as he flicked his mic back on. “Yeah, as I told Yaga when I was there the energy was not quite what I expected. It was interesting to see how their team implemented the techniques in which…”

But his words were lost on you, your teeth sunk into your lip as he flicked the tips of his fingers against your swollen clit. The movements were so deft and precise that they were turning your brain into mush, but they were also so tortuously light that you couldn’t handle it anymore. Heat rushed to your cheeks. Your eyes clamped shut.

Satoru removed his hand, tapping your thigh to grab your attention. He pointed to his cock with a smirk. “Ride me,” he mouthed. “Now.”

“Choso, how was your trip to Kyoto? Did you manage any meetings with the execs?” he continued, squeezing the backs of your thighs whilst you grabbed the base of him and hovered above his cock. 

“Well, I took my brother so I didn’t have a lot of time to….”

You shook your head, gulping when he flicked his finger across that mouse pad once more. 

“Ah? You gonna leave me hanging? That’s cruel, darling. More my style than yours. But as long as you keep quiet, we shouldn’t have a problem.” His voice was silky, and just ever so slightly mean, but it aroused you and he knew it. “Can’t have them hearing you like this, baby. Like you’re some kind of slut.” 

“Satoru, I won’t be able to be quiet, I can wait till after I-“

He tutted, sweeping his hands under your thighs as his gaze hardened. “You clearly can’t, so come on darling, sit on it for me, yeah? You know I hate these fucking meetings so help me get through it and fuck me.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, until you were letting him take full control of your mouth.

“I’m just so tired baby, need you to take care of me,” he moaned into your lips. “I know you can, baby. I know your pussy needs me inside, huh?” he cooed, rutting his cock against your slicked cunt.

“Yes,” you whimpered, pulling away to find his his cheeks dusted with pink and his eyes barely open,

“Yeah?” 

You nodded, slotting one arm around his neck whilst you guided him to your cunt and began to sink down on him. “Oh fuuck,” he cursed, his voice leaving him in short hot bursts of air against your neck. 

“That’s it baby, go on. You’re gonna have to move for me baby. Go slow for me. Fuck me, touch me.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he guided your hands under his shirt, feeling your touch like this was enough to make him come sometimes. “Baby, fuck me. Come on.”

“Can’t. I’ll be noisy,” you whined, only a few inches full but yet struggling to focus on whatever Choso was rambling about and then promptly being interrupted by Geto and then Sukuna. 

“You’ve gotta make this up to me baby, didn’t touch myself the entire time I was away. You’re gonna make me lose it. This is your fault.”

“M’ sorry! I thought you wanted it. You were hard already!” 

“I always want you, baby. I always want it. Let me show you.” 

He lifted his hips and filled you in one fluid moment, both of your voices embracing in one sweet and lengthy moan. Before he was moaning with every thrust, “Cause you were prancing around my office looking too pretty like that baby, I’m about to show you just how much.” 

Your pussy clutched him so tight at the praise he groaned and found his lips landing on your own with a magnetic, desperate pull from within his heart. How lucky he was to come back home to you.

“Good girl, you knew exactly what I wanted, knew I wanted to come home and fuck you just like this.”

He watched your pussy drool down his cock as you moved up and down on it, tentative and hungry for him. Your pupils were blown wide, like you were drunk on him, like you had been waiting for the moment you could be like this with him.

It made his cock twitch, the sensation making you quiver and smother your noises into your palm. You stopped, his full length sheathed inside of you, the relief and pleasure that contorted your features was truly beautiful, the sight he’d been waiting for. You tried desperately to catch your breath, “Need a second.”

He brought you closer, wrapping an arm around your back as he whispered. “Huh? You needy little thing, I thought you couldn’t—fuckin’—wait.” Each word was separated by a breath as your cunt fluttered from his low, and reprimanding tone. “No way. No.”

He felt so good. He was filling you so well.

He flicked himself of mute to hum along to Toji’s thoughts of Choso’s pitch. But his breaths were growing more and more laboured. You turned to see Nanami’s face growing pink. “You falling asleep there or pumping one out before you crash man?” Sukuna asked.

“Sorry! I just—” His chest heaved, and he closed his eyes to take a breath just as your pussy was teasing his tip, so close but not close enough. You grinned as you took revenge and slammed down on him all at once, “Oh fuck!” he groaned.

“Sleeping on that plane really got my neck, just had to crack it.”

Toji leaned to look into the camera a huge smirk on his face, “Is your fucking wife with you?”

“What, of course not,” he answered, his pants surely audible the other end. “In the gym actually.”

“Are you serious?”

“Carry on with the meeting I don’t have all day.” That was his no bullshit tone. The sound of it making you throb so wildly he was all smug, a little ‘hmph’ leaving his lips as he muted the call once more.

Nanami stiffened, “Yes sir, Ijichi proceed.”

“You’re gonna pay for that, darling,” he breathed, locking your hips in place so he could pound up into you with ruthless precision. You were a whimpering mess, arms around his neck squeezing impossibly tight as you had no other choice but to take all he was offering.

“Toru, Toru! Toru!” Your voice climbed higher with every thrust, the lewd sounds of your moans only amplified by the high walls of his slick, black study. 

“Please, m’ sorry. Gonna come, gonna make a mess,” you cried.

“Oh yeah? I know you will.” His thumb started on your clit, rubbing tight little circles that had your lower half jolting and squirming, as his cock hit that spot like a hammer to a nail. All too perfect, all too precise, like everything your husband did.

Closer and closer, until you were pulling on his hair, body coated so much in sweat your hands resigned to clawing down his nape instead. 

“Please!”

“No baby, make a fucking mess. How could I ever say no to my wife? They all know it, you know it.”

“Important meeting…Nanami’ll get mad at me! He’ll know!”

“Fuck Nanami, fuck work, fuck everyone. Focus on me. Go on, oh? Too much?” He laughed, kissing down your throat. “You can cry baby, fuck yourself on my cock like there’s no fucking tomorrow,” he growled.

“Use me, use me, use me.”

You finally bursted but Satoru was still moving his hips like the sadist he truly was. “Feels too good doesn’t it baby, doesn’t it?” 

He laughed at the fluids covering your thighs and soiling his pants. “Fuuck, baby you’re so hot.”

Kissing your temple fondly, you both startled as you came back to reality. “Gojo!”

His fingers made quick work of his mouse. “Sorry! Sorry! I had to take an important call.”

“But um, listen I’m gonna have to go.” 

Luckily for him you’d slowed down so he could finally get his breaths even, chuckling and trying to sound as blasé as he could muster. “I’ve really gotta go! Nanami, update me, yeah!”

He ended the call before they could even complain.

You stood, legs shaking as you leant over to grab your robe. But Satoru was already gripping your ass from behind, “Where do you think you’re going? Shall I put another baby in ya this morning? You’re in heat after all. Clearly three aren’t enough, huh?”

He mounted you over his desk, his chest flat against your back as he filled you up all at once. “Why you so wet for, huh?” he groaned, already hitting that spot inside you that had you whining. “Because you’re a needy little slut who sucked me off—whilst I was busy working—or from squirting all over me and the desk? Come on baby! Tell me?”

©mrsackermannx: do not repost, plagiarise, translate or modify my works.

[axeeglitter]

The Silent Sentinel

Jason was bored out of his mind. This school trip was supposed to be about history, culture, and learning something useful—all things Jason didn’t find interesting. Castles, knights, and ancient ruins were about as exciting to him as a brick wall. No, what he really wanted was to find a way out of this place. Maybe hit the pub he’d seen just outside the castle walls, grab a couple of drinks, maybe flirt with some local girls, and hopefully end the night getting laid—that was Jason’s plan.

Jason had always been more of a sports guy rather than a book guy. For him, the most important thing was to have a good time and to make every minute worth living. As soon as he could walk, he started running after balls, climbing trees, and laughing all day long with his friends. Jason had always been a joy to be around, and people were always asking him to join in for a good time. His easy-going attitude and laid-back mentality made him the star of his class from kindergarten until now in college and as soon as he was old enough, he decided to get a tattoo to remind himself that life was short, a line going from his elbow to his wrist and ending as an arrow. At around 6ft 4, Jason was a mountain on the football field. The only thing bigger than his height was his natural aura of dominance, emphasized by his perfectly crafted body. But the thing that really made him the star of every conversation was his million-dollar smile, his curly, wavy blonde hair, and his deep blue eyes. Yes, Jason was truly a perfect specimen of a human being.

______________________________________________________________

“The armors you’ll see all around this place are the eternal protectors of this place. Each one of them are unique because they all belonged to different people and they wear the proofs of their identifications. According to the legend, the armors used to be living soldiers, but the king ruling in this castle couldn't accept his knights to run away, so he cursed the castle and its walls, transforming every soldier trying to run away before the end of their mission and duty into eternal protectors of this walls, and doing so, trapping them as the armors you'll see all around, protecting the place they tried to run away. But don’t worry, this is only some lore and the local explication to why there are so many armors in this place. In reality, this probably used to be some kind of refuge for knights as they were walking from town to town offering their help. Anyway, follow me, on your left you’ll find the grand hall…” said the guide as he kept walking, followed by Jason’s teachers and the other students.

As the tour group made its way deeper into the castle, Jason lagged behind, half listening to this nonsense the guide was talking about. He was getting further and further from the group while shooting quick glances at his friends that seemed really intrigued by this visit. He wasn’t about to stay stuck here listening to this old-looking man who probably hadn’t seen the light of day in years. This was a pure waste of time. Bricks, rocks, paintings, tapestries, a lot of old empty armor—what a shame to spend such a beautiful day stuck between these dusty walls. For Jason, it was enough. This had to end. But he knew he couldn’t just leave like that. Jason really had to pass this class, or he’d lose his scholarship.

As the guide entered the grand hall, full of the same tapestries and armors holding spears in their hands, it was the last straw for Jason.

“I’m done,” he muttered under his breath.

Out of nowhere, he took out his phone and pretended to answer a call in a hurry. He acted concerned and almost stressed, talking just loud enough for his friends to hear him.

“Yeah, okay… well, I can’t right now, I’m on a vi… okay, yeah, okay. I’m on my way!”

Jason hung up his phone and put it back in his pocket as his friends, still walking toward the room, looked at him.

“Is everything okay?” asked Jason’s best friend, Matt.

"Hey, yeah, I gotta go. An emergency came up, I need to get home ASAP. Catch you later.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, dude? You good?"

"Yeah, it’s no big deal. Just something I need to handle. I'll text you later."

Without waiting for a response, Jason slipped down a narrow hallway leading toward what he thought was the exit. His heart raced with excitement, not because of any thrill for exploration, but at the thought of escaping the dull history lesson for something more fun. The pub wasn’t far, just a short walk across the courtyard, and he’d be able to grab a drink, chat up a girl, and then go back to his room, where he’d have the rest of the day to relax, play some games, and invent an excuse if anyone asked. The day was finally about to begin!

As Jason moved through the castle, the twisting corridors began to confuse him. Every turn looked the same, and he realized with growing frustration that he had managed to get himself lost.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, pushing open another old, heavy door at the end of the hallway. The room was dimly lit and almost empty except for another rusty, old-looking suit of armor standing in the corner and an ancient-looking table in the center. Jason stepped inside, scanning the empty space, hoping to find an emergency door or an employee exit leading to the main courtyard.

“Another one… Ain't no way I'm staying there any longer. Done with this boring bullshit. Let me out!” he muttered, dropping his shoulders in frustration and exhaustion as he turned to leave the room.

But as Jason tried to leave, his feet wouldn’t move. His body stiffened, a strange sensation creeping up his legs. Jason glanced down, trying to see why his feet were stuck to the floor. That’s when he saw it. All around him, engraved in the stones and covered by centuries of dust and grime, a dim light began to shine through the dust. Lines of shimmering purple light started to appear, soon forming intricate glyph designs.

“What the…” Panic set in as Jason struggled to move, feeling his legs frozen in place. The glyphs on the floor glowed brighter, their light pulsing in rhythm with his quickening heartbeat. He tried to yank his feet free, but the more he struggled, the tighter the symbols’ grip became.

"No one leave before the end of their mission..." heard Jason in a faint murmuring voice echoing between the walls.

Before he could scream for help, Jason felt a weird sensation spreading through his lungs and body. He turned his head to see dust starting to float around him. First, it was only a grain of dust, then a second one, and soon, a swirling bubble of dust engulfed him in a thick tornado of fear. Jason thought it was the end, that he would die here, his body lost forever in this empty room. Closing his eyes for a brief moment to collect himself, he suddenly felt wind on his forearms. Jason opened his eyes in surprise—how could he feel the wind on his bare forearms when he was wearing a long-sleeve shirt and a coat? Wait, now it was his calves. What was happening?! Tilting his head, he saw through the thick cloud of magical dust that his clothes were turning into dust. Threads of fabric were ripping from him, swirling into the air before disintegrating.

Jason screamed for help, but no sound came out. Everything went silent, muted by the wind and glyphs. And suddenly, as Jason panicked, feeling his body exposed to the elements, the movement stopped. Everything stood still for a moment before exploding away from him. His clothes, now dust, scattered across the room, forever lost. Jason stood naked in the center of the room, the glyphs still glowing all around him. He tried to move, thinking it was over, but his feet were still frozen.

Then, a strange warmth spread from his groin, catching his breath. His hands shot down instinctively, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. His entire groin glowed with a faint purple hue, just like the floor beneath him. The warmth quickly turned into a searing heat surging through his lower body, the pain so intense it left him gasping.

Jason’s hands flew to his cock. He tried to hold it as an alien sensation began rising within him. It felt like it wanted to grow harder and harder, longer and longer. The feeling was both deeply arousing and weirdly terrifying. It was a pulsating force building inside him, and Jason was trying to resist it. But with one pulse from the glyphs, Jason felt his cock head push his fingers away. He saw it then—his cock elongating, hardening, then transforming, taking on another form and color. The familiar sensation of his manhood was replaced by something cold, metallic, and dangerous. He looked down in horror as he saw it shining between his fingers. His cock had stretched and turned into a massive sword, its shaft glinting in the dim light.

Jason’s mouth hung open, paralyzed with fear. His own flesh had turned into a sword. Just as he was about to scream in pure terror, he felt a new sensation beginning to spread in his nuts. His balls started to merge together. The pain was excruciating as the nerves intertwined and fused. Jason could have fainted from the intensity, but he remained conscious, trapped in the agony and his own powerlessness. Suddenly, his larger nut began to retract into the sack, which itself started to rise higher. Jason heard a pop, then a crack, and before he could catch his breath, he felt his hands gripping his balls as they began to harden and merge with the base of his cock sword. In an instant, his nuts had become the handle of his cock.

Jason was about to cry when the glyphs spasmed with power. His hands loosened slightly, just enough to let the sword fall and hit the ground with a loud metallic clang. His body convulsed, his knees nearly buckling from the impact as Jason realized he could still feel everything—the impact, the cold, grimy floor against his cock, and the vibration of the metal reverberating through his balls. It was as if his cock and balls, though transformed, were still part of him, still flesh in some twisted way.

He gasped in horror, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached down to grab the sword, desperate to reverse whatever had happened. But the moment his calloused hands touched the hilt, it was like squeezing his own nuts with a crushing grip. Pain surged through him, and he screamed out. Jason tried to release the hilt, but his fingers wouldn’t obey—they were frozen in place, gripping his balls tightly. It felt as though his body was no longer fully under his control.

Jason wanted to drop the sword, to escape the agony, but his body didn’t respond. Unbeknownst to him, this was only the beginning.

Jason tried to scream, but no sound escaped his throat. Behind him, he heard metallic noises, one after another. Then, all at once, a loud bang echoed, followed by the sound of sand flowing on an empty beach—the kind of sound that could be calming, but not in this moment.

Before his eyes, he saw shimmering tentacles of dust beginning to engulf his calves, then his arms, chest, and legs. It felt like something was embracing him. Oddly, it was almost soothing, and for a brief moment, Jason nearly forgot where he was. The sound and sensation were calming his torment. But a faint breeze brushing against the sword snapped him back to reality. When he resurfaced a few seconds later, he realized his body was constricted. He turned his head just in time to see the empty suit of armor in the corner of the room dissolving into dust, swirling around his head as a helmet formed and encased his face. Jason’s entire body was trapped inside the armor, locking him in place.

Jason looked down at himself in disbelief, his breath shallow and panicked as it echoed within the helmet. He could feel the cold metal against his bare skin. He tried to move, but nothing happened. He tried to scream, but no sound came from the helmet. The only part of him still under his control was his head.

Through the eyeholes of the helmet, Jason saw the purple light again. He understood it wasn’t over for him yet.

Suddenly, it felt like his feet were burning. The sensation spread up his legs, into his chest, arms, and finally his face and brain. The pain was unbearable, his vision blurred, and he thought he was being boiled alive. But just as Jason was about to pass out, he felt a pop in his bones, and a purple light began emanating from within the armor, glowing through his skin and bones. Jason screamed silently as light poured from his mouth. His eyes shut one last time as a tear of fear and pain rolled down his vanishing cheek. His body was disintegrating, turning into ash, dissolving bit by bit. His hands, his legs, his chest—all turned to dust, floating and falling within the armor before being absorbed by it.

Jason screamed in silence; his voice trapped within his mind as his body dissolved. He could still feel everything—his hands gripping the sword’s hilt, his feet on the cold stone floor, the weight of the armor pressing down on him—but he was no longer flesh and blood. He was nothing more than the armor now, a hollow, metal shell, yet still fully aware.

Jason tried to move, but he couldn’t. His body had become the armor, and there was no one left inside to control it.

As the glyphs continued to shine, Jason felt something being engraved onto the hilt of his sword. Beneath his armored fingers, a glyph appeared, etched into the metal. An intricate design started to form. A human silhouette started to appear in a standing position being encircled by what looked like a leaking sword centered in a shield with a castle on top of it. Then, as he thought it was over, a new engraving staring to appear on the lengths of his sword, centered between the two sharp sides. A line going from the hilt to the tip and ending as an arrow, a perfect mirror picture of the tattoo he used to have. When the engravings were complete, the glyphs shone brightly one last time before fading, leaving only the mark behind.

Jason felt his body moving of its own accord, walking back to the corner of the room where the armor had stood before he’d entered. Every movement his legs were taking, every breeze of wind on his naked metallic body, every bit of friction was sending shiver of orgasmic sensation in his sword. Jason would have cried and begged for cum and release if he had the chance. But nothing came, just frustration as another step was taken until he was where he belonged.

Jason took a standing position, gripping the sword even tighter, inadvertently squeezing his nuts harder. The tip of the sword scraped against the floor, sending a tingling sensation through his entire being that once again screamed for release.

Jason wanted to scream, to cum, to escape—but nothing happened. He was stuck there, waiting for the curse to be broken.

______________________________________________________________

Time passed—minutes, hours, Jason couldn’t tell. He was frozen in place, his thoughts racing, but his body immobile. The cursed room was silent, save for the occasional drip of water echoing in the distance. Then, suddenly, the door creaked open.

If Jason had still had a heart, it would have leaped. His friends—Mike and a few others—entered the room, laughing and chatting as they followed the tour guide. They seemed oblivious to the oppressive air of the chamber, their voices echoing off the walls.

Mike stepped forward, stopping in front of Jason’s armored form, unaware that he was staring at his best friend. He gazed up at the imposing figure.

“Whoa, check this out!” Mike called, drawing the others' attention. “This one look so epic. I wonder how old this armor is.”

Jason screamed inside his mind, desperate to be seen, to be saved, but his body remained as still as ever. The tour guide, unaware of the curse lingering in the room, droned on about the room’s history, speaking of old sorcery and forgotten rituals. But Jason’s friends didn’t care about what the guide was talking about—they were more interested in the armor and the sword.

“Dude, look at the sword!” Mike said, grinning. “This thing is massive. Bet it was for a fucking Captain knight or something.”

Jason’s entire being quaked in horror as Mike reached down and grabbed the sword—his sword, his penis. As Mike too hold of the hilt, he felt something weird. It was almost like it was warm to the touch, spasming with power, craving for touch and sensation. As Mike started to move back and forth moving the sword left and right, he swears he heard a faint murmur from the back of his mind, “Help me… feels, painf… good… don’t… stop.” Mike blinked a few times as he tried to understand if he was dreaming awake but his other friends called for him and the weird sensations vanished into the void as he laughed back playing a bit more with the sword. For Jason, the sensation was unbearable. It was like someone had taken hold of his most sensitive part, jerking and playing with it. Every time Mike moved the sword, Jason could feel it. The cold steel, the rough handling, the vertigo-inducing sensation of Mike squeezing his nuts while moving his cock left and right—it was all too real.

The group laughed and joked, unaware that every swing of the sword was torture for Jason. One of them even pretended to knight Mike with it, holding the blade up with mock seriousness.

Jason’s mind was a whirlwind of fear and humiliation. His friends—the people he had once trusted—were now unwittingly torturing him. Every time they touched the sword, he felt it deep in his core. His mind screamed for them to stop, but no one could hear his silent pleas as he watched them playing with his most intimate part, begging for someone to free him.

“Man, this sword is fucking epic,” Mike said with a laugh. “It’s so heavy. The knight who owned it must have been super strong. Like, I’m sure he was fighting and winning every fight!”

Jason could only wish it were true, that he could win this fight. But all he could do was endure, helpless in his new state, feeling everything happening but unable to do anything about it.

At one point, Mike joked, “I bet whoever owned this armor had to be a badass. You think they ever knew it’d end up stuck in a dusty old room like this?”

The words cut deep, and Jason’s mind spiraled into despair. Would he be trapped here forever? Would anyone ever know the truth? The laughter of his friends echoed in his mind; each taunt a dagger to his soul.

Eventually, the group grew tired of playing with the sword and returned it to its place, making sure the sword was held tight between the metallic fingers. As Mike finished positioning the fingers back in place, he noticed a strange engraving between the blades of the sword, it looked like a glyph leading to a line ending up as an arrow. As he blew on it, he swore he saw shimmering purple dust flow out of the engraving. He knew this symbol, but as his mind was about to put the pieces together, he heard someone calling for him. Mike got back up and started walking out of the room, forgetting about it after a couple of minutes. Jason stood there, holding his cock between his hands, feeling every faint movement and vibration of the walls and floor resonating in his empty armor body and cock as he kept screaming for help while hearing his friends entering a new room as the guide kept talking about the legends of this medieval castle he was now a part of.

______________________________________________________________

Hey guys!

I hope you enjoyed this new story. Let me know if you want to see more of Jason's journey. I have some ideas of where things could go for him, and no, it won't only be inanimate transformations if you want me to continue it.

As always, let me know what you thought of it, whether you enjoyed it or not, and if you have any ideas about what could happen next or where you want the story to go.

Also, I saw the results of the poll, and the story you voted for will be released really soon, so stay tuned.

Last but not least, I still have some slots left for free shorter stories based on your prompts. So feel free to send me messages or ask (anonymous is fine, don’t worry) if you have ideas you want me to write. It can be pretty much any theme you desire, but it's first come, first served.

In the meantime, have a nice day and see you soon! :)

[smolandweirdwriter]

I  think I realized that, you know, look, I’m not the smartest guy, right? But with enough time, I usually figure out what I need to figure out. A lot of people said I couldn’t make a cell tower. I definitely could not, but after a while, I figured out something else with the help of other people... My point is, eventually I will solve problems that maybe smarter people can solve in a shorter amount of time.

-- Gorgug Thistlespring

I want to talk about this quote. Gorgug has spent SO LONG being told he's stupid or not good enough or not smart enough to do the things he wants to. He can't put together clues as fast as Riz or do magic as fast as Adaine. But I think the important realization here is that he CAN do those things! He kept asking and kept trying to find his father and eventually, HE DID. He figured out how to make a cell tower and became a fucking Artificer! Yes, it took him longer than it might have taken other people, but he still did those things. Just because it took him some time doesn't mean he was inherently unsuccessful or stupid! Maybe I'm just projecting, but as someone raised with a neurological disorder who lagged behind friends/peers in school when I was younger, I completely resonated with Gorgug, because he's not stupid and he knows it, he just doesn't do things the way those around him are used to seeing successful people do things. But he can still be successful and talented and smart, even if he takes things slower and utilizes the skills of those around him as well as his own! So much of intelligence is treated as a "me vs others" thing, but the smartest people take the research of others and reexamine it at a new angle, or recall something that another said, or were taught something-- you're not just inherently smart, you have to learn and be willing to be wrong in order to understand things!