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trivia-yandere · 3 months

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dilemma

being single and broke on valentine's day is not what you expected - especially when your dealer is waiting for his payment. @momnomnom @sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63

word count: 4.063

warning: drug dealer yoongi, oral (m receiving), kissing, smut, praising, weed smoking, unprotected sex, dirty talking, cumshot,

valentine's day masterlist

“Suga…” you murmur to the phone pressed to your ear. The sound of the shower is loud in the background as you wait for the water to turn hot.

“Y/N.” the voice on the other side murmurs, voice deep and a little raspy. “You know you don’t have to call me that. I’ve known you for years now.”

You touch the water and hum. “I know. I like saying it, though.” you respond to the man on the other side. “I hope I didn’t interrupt you from anything. It is Valentine’s Day afterall.”

You hear a chuckle on the other side. “Nothing at all. I was just dozing off when you called.”

You lick your lips. You texted first, asking if he had your usual - nothing but an eighth of weed to hold you off. When he didn’t respond, you called.

You knew Yoongi way back from your High School years that then rolled into college and even now, as you worked at your big girl job. His product was good, affordable and he always threw deals for clientele such as yourself - loyal, as he calls them. There’s been times in which Yoongi would add extra to the bag he sold you just because.

“That’s sad. Figured a guy like you had someone to spend the day with him." The shower water is now hot. “I guess we’re both lonely on this holiday.”

You hear a grunt come from Yoongi. “I guess we are.” There’s silence for a moment from the both of you. “What do you suggest we do about that then?”

You lick your lips, your heart pumping at his sudden choice of words.

Another reason why you liked Yoongi - he always flirted back, no matter how subtle. You ponder if he was like this with all his clientele - but you understood that with you, he was. It never went past light flirting and lingering eyes, but it’s fun to engage with, nonetheless.

“How about I drop off your usual and then we can smoke together?” Yoongi questions, a coolness in his voice. “I have a new strain you can try.”

“A new strain?” you open the shower door and get inside. The water hits your back and you lowly moan at the nice sensation of it. “That would be nice, Yoongi. How long do you think you’d be?”

“Not long. Are you in a rush?”

“No. I’m just showering.”

Yoongi is silent for a moment and you lick your lips in anticipation.

“Getting pretty for our smoke session, I see. How nice.” there’s shuffling in the background as you laugh at his response. “I’ll be there in around 20.”

“See you.”

You scrubbed your skin furiously as if it was covered in the most dirt and grime ever. Your showers lasted longer than 10 minutes - especially when it was an everything shower. How you managed to do everything in 10 minutes was beyond you, but you managed. You still had to get out and make yourself look good without appearing as if you were trying too hard.

You tilt your head in the mirror, mind wandering.

What if Yoongi was just a natural flirt? You were probably thinking far too into the flirtings - here you stood in front of a mirror pondering on what lingerie to wear for a man that sold you weed. Could you get any more pathetic than that?

Then again, what exactly did you have to lose?

You sigh. Your dignity was one - and so was good weed for the low if Yoongi decided to deny you.

“Fuck it.” you shrug away your nerves, deciding that even if Yoongi denied you, that wouldn’t stop you from at least attempting.

You knew Yoongi likes black - it’s all you ever truly see him in. You decided on a lacy black one you only ever wore once - for pictures - and covered it with a long t-shirt that stops at your thighs.

Your phone sounds and you exhale a breath. You place the phone upon your ear and murmur a soft hello. “YN…” you feel the goosebumps of hearing your name come from Yoongi’s lips. “...I’m outside.”

“Coming.” you sing-song.

It’s evening in February and that meant it was a bit chilly out, but you’d choose to ignore the piercing feeling of the cold breeze against your legs.

Yoongi’s car matched him, you thought. It was a black sedan with the darkest tint of windows you’ve ever seen. It stands out in the driveway of your way - your own car wasn’t as new as his nor was the surrounding ones belonging to your neighbors.

The car is still on, but Yoongi assures that the lights aren’t. You got into his car swiftly, admiring how clean it was and how him it felt.

“You look nice.” Yoongi comments, flickering on the light.

“In a big ass t-shirt?” you snort, but even your heart is pounding from the compliment. If he thought you looked nice now, you wondered just how he’d like your lingerie.

Yoongi chuckles. “Yeah.” he nods. “You smell nice, too.”

You bite your lip, glancing at Yoongi's way.

“This is a nice car.” you had to change the subject. Yoongi was such a smooth talker and everything he said had a tone of seriousness to it. It was hard not to be tongue tied around him. “You can’t get all your money just selling weed.”

Yoongi knits his brows. “Sounds like you’re fishing for information.” he murmurs.

“Just an observation.”

Yoongi grasps a small rectangular box. He opens it, revealing pre-rolled blunts wrapped in paper. “You’re correct. It isn’t all I sell.” he says. “But, Y/N…ignorance is bliss.” Yoongi lights one of the blunts and hands it to you. “Ladies first.”

You gently grab the blunt, trying to ignore the way Yoongi’s eyes watch you. You feel nervous underneath his intense stare, contemplating how you would make your move upon him.

Yoongi licks his lips, eyes trailing down to your exposed legs. They appeared soft and smooth and he wanted to test the theory, but he held himself back.

Yoongi blinks when your hand comes into his line of vision. Yoongi shakes his head. “You can keep that one. I’ll light another.” he says, opening the box once more and grabbing yet another blunt.

You giggle. “That seems excessive.” But you take Yoongi’s word for it and continue to smoke as Yoongi lights his own. “Isn’t there a rule for using your own supply?”

Yoongi chuckles, taking a drag of his blunt. “My supply would be fine, trust me.”

“I feel bad though.” you murmur, glancing out the window. It’s hard to see with the tint and you just thought that was perfect. “I made you come all the way here for nothing.”

Yoongi is intrigued. He watches as you slowly turn towards him, body facing his way now in the large seat. He wants to tear his eyes away from the way the oversized shirt rises up your thigh, but it takes him a whole ten seconds to do so - and yes, he did count.

“How so?” Yoongi swallows, finally lifting his eyes to reach yours. He continues to smoke as he awaits your response.

“I don’t have any money.” your blunt was smaller than his now as you take a few puffs before continuing. “I should have told you once I realized. You know, bills, rent and all.”

Your throat feels dry. Yoongi slowly nods his head before releasing a laugh.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to pay me.” Yoongi shrugs his shoulders. “You’ve been a loyal customer for years.”

Your eyes watch Yoongi inhale the smoke and exhale it through his nose. Your legs clench, finishing the blunt that has grown small.

“That would be taking advantage of you. I don’t want to do that.” you shake your head.

“I consider you a friend of mine, Y/N.” You feel the jolt in your heart that tells you that your plan was going to fail. “You’re the only one that I would give such luxuries to.”

The jolt is back, but this time your plan was back in action. “Oh?” you ask, opening the window and flickering the small bud out of it. “I consider you a friend of mine, as well. But still…”

Yoongi blinks, tilting his head.

“...I don’t just want to leave without offering you something.”

Yoongi’s unsure if he’s completely understanding what you’re speaking but he doesn’t have a moment to digest, either. You’re fast and swift, swinging your leg around and sitting completely onto his lap. Yoongi gasps when he feels you directly on him, the oversize shirt riding up your thighs once more.

There’s an open water bottle in the cup holder and Yoongi is quick to drop the rest of his blunt inside of it, not caring if he has wasted the rest entirely because you were in his lap. Yoongi is hesitant to touch you - he wants to feel the softness of your thighs. But he allows himself to slowly, telling himself that if you didn’t want him to, you wouldn’t be in his lap now.

“You don’t have to offer me anything.” Yoongi murmurs, leaning back into his seat and looking up at you.

Yoongi’s hands are big and they feel nice on you. You’d recall often staring at them whenever you and he were together - usually when he was bagging your weed.

“I want to.” your hands send electric shocks through him when he feels them onto his neck. “You’ve been good to me after all these years. Always giving me deals, supplying more than what I ask for.”

Yoongi grunts when he feels you begin to grind against him and he is but a man, and within seconds he’s painfully (and embarrassingly) hard.

“You even used to listen to my drunk ramblings when I’d call for weed.”

Yoongi snorts. “They were entertaining.” he admits, recalling the time you’d call him in all hours of the night back during your college days, ask for your usual, then completely change the topic of conversation. He never told you to shut up like you would have in his position.

Your hands slide down from his neck to his chest. You then grip the hem of your shirt and begin to lift. Yoongi watches in a trance, eyes slightly widening. In his eyes, you move in slow motion, taking off the oversize shirt.

Yoongi feels a lump in his throat and he tries his hardest to swallow it. His eyes are fixed on you - the black lingerie you wore that hugs you perfectly. It leaves little to the imagination, a lacy material covering your skin. He can see the outlines of your nipples - aroused and hardened for him.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Yoongi manages to swallow, eyes glancing up to look at you. You’re smirking down at him, satisfied that he was tongue tied.

“You knew you were going to come out here and do this to me.” Yoongi presse you firmly against him, hands roaming up your sides. “That’s why you smell so good and your skin is so soft.”

Yoongi doesn’t intend to hold anything back now - not as you sit in his lap and allow him to touch you freely. He leans into your neck and inhales the sweet scent of your natural aroma mixed with perfume, a scent he’s sure he smelled before. He doesn’t want to think too much into it (or admit that he has smelled you when he’s given you your usual because he wasn’t a creep).

“Guilty.” you mumble, lowering yourself so you’re a few inches from his face.

Yoongi places his lips against yours, moaning into the kiss. It catches you by surprise for a moment, but then you melt into him. His hands roam your body, palms feeling what skin you have exposed.

Your teeth sink into Yoongi’s bottom lip, lightly tugging it. Your palms slide into the back of his neck just as Yoongi’s begin to cup your ass.

“You want to do this here?” questions Yoongi, a dark look in his eyes. He isn’t opposed to it, however, the way he wants to have you would be quite difficult in his car.

“We can go inside.” you murmur, lips kissing down his jawline.

Licking his lips, Yoongi nods. “You know you don’t have to do this if you think you need to pay me.” he has to be sure that it’s something you truly want to do - ignoring that you did come out here in lingerie and willingly sat in his lap after he stated you didn’t have to pay him.

“Maybe I just want to fuck you.” was your response and now, Yoongi is sure that tonight you’d get exactly what you were asking for.

The next is a blur. You managed to put your shirt back on while Yoongi gathered his own belongings and getting out the car. He keeps his hands on you as he follows you back inside your home and once the door is closed, you’re on him once more.

There had to be an attraction prior to this - between the both of you. You’d notice oftentimes that Yoongi’s eyes would wander when he thought you weren’t looking, and he also noticed how you’d become so giddy or flushed when he was around. This was bound to happen sooner or later - but never Yoongi leading it.

So you had to.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask Yoongi, possibly far too late. “I’m not on any birth control.”

Yoongi nods his head, glad that he left condoms in his wallet with him.

“I’m clean.” Yoongi mentions, a dust of crimson on his cheeks.

You smile. “So am I.”

You then fall to your knees, lifting the oversize shirt over your head. You then place them on the belt of his jeans, eyes glancing up at him.

Goosebumps run through Yoongi’s skin at what you’re trying to do and he’s quick to help you. He loosens his belt and you do the rest.

Yoongi’s already hard from seeing you on your knees and the thought of what's about to come next. He watches with his mouth agape as you take his cock out of his underwear, licking your lips.

It’s a rush going through you right now and for an odd reason, you feel yourself clenching around nothing just at the sight of Yoongi above you - and the thought of pleasuring him.

“Shit…” Yoongi murmurs to himself, swallowing once his mouth becomes dry. You’re pumping his cock gently, eyes admiring at how pretty it looked. He was cleanly trimmed, cock erect and twitching in your hands.

You place a kiss on the tip of Yoongi’s cock before your tongue dips out and licks a single stripe upon it as if it was a lollipop. You can hear Yoongi’s breath hitching, and it’s what motivates you to continue.

Your tongue twirls around the tip, sucking it completely into your mouth. Your eyes glance up at the man, satisfied when his eyelids are closed and he’s beginning to pant.

Yoongi tries his hardest to remain upright, but then he feels your mouth more. So wet and warm and inviting - you take him into your mouth fully, continuing to suck as if your life depended on it. Yoongi leans against your front door, the back of his head pressed against it.

Deeper and deeper, you take Yoongi in your mouth. You rarely found your own pleasure when it came to pleasuring men - but this is different.Yoongi is hot, you’d admit, and even hotter when he’s moaning and panting because of you. You find yourself cleaning your own legs for any friction.

Managing to open his eyes, Yoongi looks down at you. Your cheeks are sucked in due to all the sucking you’re doing and wet slurping could be heard. Yoongi groans again because, damn - “You’re so pretty.” he grumbles, embarrassed because he didn’t mean to say it aloud and sound so damn whipped.

Your heart jolts at Yoongi’s compliment and it only causes you to suck harder, your jaw beginning to hurt but you refuse to stop because Yoongi (your weed dealer at that) called you pretty.

Yoongi pushes himself out of you - he’s unsure how he managed. His hand grasps your chin as he pants out a pathetic, “I don’t want to cum yet.”

There’s a string of saliva connecting your lips to Yoongi’s cock and it breaks when you slide your tongue over your lips.

“Okay.” you nod at Yoongi. “Maybe next time.”

Yoongi swallows and for a moment closes his eyes. You were a vixen - someone sent by the universe to fuck up his life. And most important, he was willing for you to do so.

“Y-yeah.” Yoongi mentally screams at himself for stuttering. “Next time.” He was known for his cool demeanor, a complete nonchalant person. You were breaking down walls he was certain wouldn’t bulge.

You grin, small and cute, and nod back at him. “Next time you can return the favor, too.” you suggest. “Now I just want to ride you.”

Yoongi shudders. He’s certain now. The universe sent you indeed. It sent you to humble him, telling him that there was someone out there who could break down the walls he placed.

Your bedroom is far while the living room is a few feet away. You lift to your feet, waving at Yoongi to follow you. He does, awkwardly, lifting his pants just so they aren’t dragging across the ground.

You push Yoongi onto your couch, enjoying the sight of the man. “Condom?” you knit your brows.

“Right.” Yoongi mumbles, cheeks tinted red. He goes through his pockets and gets out his wallet. The condom falls out smoothly, a small, square black package.

You watch as Yoongi places the condom onto his cock and soon, you’re hovering above him.

“Crotchless.” you giggle to Yoongi, who appears confused when you don’t remove the lingerie.

Yoongi gulps, nodding his head. You don’t allow him a chance to process, you’re already centering yourself and slowly engulfing him fully.

Yoongi shudders at your warmth, even through the condom, of your pussy. He bites his lip, hands immediately on your hips as you begin to rise and fall. You’re so beautiful, his hands slide up your sides and then cup your breasts. With the lingerie you’re wearing, your breasts are seconds from falling out and he decides to speed up the process.

“I’ve wanted you for so long.” Yoongi muffles himself between your breasts, large hands squeezing them. He kisses them, his tongue poking out to lick a nipple.

“Me, too.” you huff, your nails digging into the shirt of his shoulders. You imagined far too many times what Yoongi’s cock looked like and what it would look like inside of you.

Yoongi begins to thrust with you, his left holding the flesh of your ass. His tongue continues to twirl on your nipple in utter boyish bliss. He ponders while fucking you what you’d feel like raw - he imagines how tight you’d be around him, how wet and even warmer than you are now

“Shit…you’re so tight.” Yoongi kisses up your neck. “All for me.”

There’s a change in Yoongi’s tone of voice, no longer a stutter or a tint of uneasiness. You feel it in the way he begins to thrust harder, no longer allowing you to take control. So this was the Yoongi you knew (now know sexually) - cool, nonchalant and dominant.

With each thrust Yoongi hits a sweet spot and you moan with pleasure. His eyes continue to watch you contort with different emotions at what he’s doing. “You’re moaning like you’re in love, baby.”

You suck in a breath at the pet name. Fuck Yoongi, seriously, because you probably did look that way. But it wasn’t your fault - you don’t get fucked this good often and when you do well…

“You haven’t stopped moaning either.” you retort, somehow managing to find your words. You wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer to you, your lips close to his ears. “Almost like you’re in love.”

Yoongi feels it - your tongue. It swipes at his ear teasingly and that’s all he needed to flip you onto your back, hitting the couch rapidly. He throws your legs over his shoulders and lifts his shirt a bit so he can continue to fuck into you. The position allows him to go even deeper, hitting that spot so sweet that you’re wailing.

“So wet. Wish I could feel you.” Yoongi says more to himself than you. There’s a creamy wetness wrapped around the condom, your pussy leaking with pleasure.

You begin to pant, eyes snapping shut. You were beginning to think that maybe you were becoming dick drunk, because your next words surprise you just as it does him. “If you can pull out, you can take off the condom. Cum on me, too.”

“Shit, baby, really?” Yoongi halts his thrusts. Did he hear you correctly? “You can’t be that high.” he jokes.

“Fuck you.” you hiss low. “Just take it off and fuck me, Yoongi.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yoongi does as he’s told, quickly getting up to undress his bottom half. He removes the condom and looks around.

“Just throw it-”

“I’m not throwing it on the ground.” Yoongi raises a brow. “I’m not a caveman.” He was far too respectful and sanitary for that,even if it was just for a moment.

You huff and nod, pointing behind you to the direction of the bathroom.

Yoongi dashes down the hall, discards the condom, and rushes back. He kisses your cheek quickly, centering himself back at your whole.

Yoongi winces, then shudders.

You felt better than he’d imagined - warm, wet and still tight. He’s slow at first, trying to collect himself. Your legs are over his shoulder again, and he reaches inside of you deeper and deeper.

“You look in love.” you joke, mocking him. Yoongi hasn’t looked away from your pussy since he started.

“Maybe I am.” Yoongi’s nails dig into your thighs, his thrusts picking up the pace. The sweet sounds of your moans mixed with the wet sounds of your pussy hit his ears. “You’re clenching around me so tight.” his eyes flicker to you, and he smirks. “Like you want me to cum in you.”

Yoongi pounds inside of you, each thrust aggressively deep. You don’t mean to say it - but Yoongi was playing a dangerous game as if you weren’t already high and horny.

“Maybe I do.”

Yoongi grumbles something inaudible. Indeed you were sent from the universe - he’s read about nymphs and you’re beginning to fit the description.

“You do, huh?” Yoongi opens your legs and marvels at the sight of your pussy, his cock being milked with your essence lovingly. His thumbs place itself onto your clit and he rubs. “You’re just talking. Good weed and dick would do that to you.”

Cocky Yoongi is back and damn was it hot.

You opened your eyes to see Yoongi in the act.

A mistake.

Yoongi’s looks completely feral, eyes dark with lust. His hair sticks to his forehead and his mouth is slightly agape, panting to himself. His eyes are fixed to your pussy and you decided to see just what he saw.

You were cumming now - Yoongi circling your clit just as rough as he was fucking you. His cock fits perfectly inside of you and watching the way he fucks you just sends you completely over the edge.

“There you go, baby.” chuckles Yoongl raspily, witnessing you cum for him. “You look pretty cumming on my cock.”

A few more sloppy thrusts and Yoongi’s certain he’s near. He bites his lip, pulling out of you abruptly. His cum spills on your clit, warm and slippery.

You huff, shaking your head. “You managed to pull out.” you murmur.

Yoongi falls back against the couch to catch your breath. “Almost didn’t.” he admits with a laugh. “You hungry?”

You nod your lazily, the side effects of the weed coming to you.

“I can get us something to eat.” Yoongi offers. “Free of charge. You don’t have to fuck me-”

You kick Yoongi, a rush of hot embarrassment running through you, but all the man does is laugh, gummy smile on full display.

#btswritersclub #bangtan smut #bangtanwriters net #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #bts smut #trivia-yandere #bangtanwritershq #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #suga smut #suga x reader #Dilemma #trivia-yandere’s valentine’s day masterlist

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mo0nfairy · 10 months

Text

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ LET YOU BREAK MY HEART AGAIN !

summary :: together in blissful matrimony, miguel o'hara has never felt true happiness until he was by your side. when you're unexpectedly taken from him, he'll do anything in his power to avenge your death. what he doesn't expect is to find you during that process. or, at least, one version of you.

word count :: 2.9k

content warnings :: obsessive!miguel, yandere!miguel, death, deafness (reader is deaf & mute in one reality), spiders, marriage, gore, grief, noncon touching, drugging (venom is put into readers system).

authors note :: Y/H/N = your hero name.

miguel o'hara's yandere traits are . . .

smothering, territorial, & paranoid

──── The gentle melody of piano and harp paint the room in an array of romantic hues. Snow drifts through the Winter air from outside the frozen windows of the venue. Family and friends stand around and admire the beautiful scene before them. You're adorned head-to-toe in white, like an angel who had just descended from the clouds. Miguel is dressed in the finest suit he searched high and low for to ensure it was perfect for this day. However, he knows no one is paying attention to him when you look as breathtaking as you do. His rough-skinned, yet gentle-mannered hand rests on your lower back, the other interlocking your hands together. With your head resting against his shoulder, he sways your body along to the gentle hum of music pervading the air.

Your first dance.

The golden light from the chandelier above serves as a spotlight for you and Miguel. Feeling his chest begin to shake, you move your head to look him in the eye. Tears of sheer happiness were cascading down his cheeks and a weak smile is plastered on his face. You swear that if you were to look up 'devotion' in a dictionary, the way he is looking at you would take up the entire page.

Miguel briefly disentangles his constricted hold on your hand to express his current, overwhelming feelings. He points his middle and ring finger down, the rest of the digits left pointing up. "I love you," that is what he is telling you. When he had first learned you were deaf, he spent his nights studying ASL and SSL in order to communicate with you. However, that single symbol is the one he always finds himself reverting to when all other signs and words fail him. I love you, I love you, I love you. Although Miguel won't express it verbally, he will express the three words through his hands for as long as he lives.

And Miguel remembers the best day of his life just as much as the worst day.

Just one month after you had both gleefully tied the knot, the two of you had gone on a stroll through Nueva York. The moon hangs heavy in the sky and darkness settles against the faint streetlights. Miguel made the vow to always protect you and you've found it to be comforting, relaxing. After a whole lifetime of being deaf and mute, you knew that you were far more vulnerable than others. Knowing you have the Spiderman as your husband causes your concern of any potential assailants to fade away. It's evident in the way his grip on your waist tightens when passerbys walk by and the perceptible shift in his eye when someone stares at you for a little too long.

You've always known he wouldn't let anything happen to you.

The following events all happen quicker than either of you can think. Just as you're crossing the bridge that overlooks the entire city in all its glory, a sudden black hole forms, framed with iridescent hues and overwhelming force. The power of the portals sudden appearance causes the bridge to vibrate beneath your feet. Screams of terror from pedestrians falling to their death goes unbeknownst to you as Miguel holds you against him with constricted tension and hides your face in his chest. The man you have chosen to spend the rest of your life ignores his duty of being the city’s superhero. All in favor of your life.

The remnants of the platform you stood on soon crumble. The red glare of Miguel’s web shoots from his wrist, to where it wraps itself around one of the numerous pillars spread upon the bridge to ensnare you further. But it was so quick, the way you slip from his tenacious grasp. Almost as if someone had forcefully snatched you from him. Innocent civilians shout and plead for Spiderman to save them, but Miguel can't hear them over the thumping of his own heartbeat. Even if he were to hear them, it would not stop him from tearing this entire city asunder in order to get to you.

He forms his hand into the same sign he uses to say 'I love you' and another blaring-red web, the same hue as his panic, springs from him and down to wrap itself around your body. He's done this a million times for others and saved the lives of practically everyone in the city. But, this is you. Miguel is digging his claws into crumbled pieces of the wreckage and shoving them through the air as if they were merely nothing, all in favor of saving you. However, you're both picking up speed and accelerating closer and closer and closer to the unforgiving ground. He latches his talons into a protruding pipe caused by the chaos and clings tight to the web connecting you with him, watching in trepidation as you continue to fall. Attempting to pull the web towards him and bring you back into his arms, where you belong, his efforts were futile.

A loud crack! permeates and his world falls apart.

Practically faster than light, Miguel is pummeling to the ground and to where you now lay. Your chest is flat with no breath and your body is lifeless. Blood is caked on your skull and it cascades onto the pavement beneath you. He rushes to your side, a mantra of ‘no’’s invading the dead, silent air. His heart is paralyzed in his chest as reality sinks into his bones. Desperate pleads escape through loud, violent sobs, begging for you to just open your eyes, hold your hand up, and tell him 'I love you, too'. He knows you cannot hear him, he knows this. But, this does not stop him from begging you, begging God, begging the universe, begging anyone to not do this to him, to not take away the only thing that has ever mattered to him. The only thing that has ever made him happy.

He'll never forget how he had stayed there for hours, ensnaring your lifeless body in his arms as the night faded into dawn. He'll never forget when he left you through brute force and was sent back to the desolate building he could only call home when you were in it. He'll never forget how he had spent days upon days studying the sudden black hole that formed and declared to destroy whoever caused it. The person responsible had taken you from him and if every soul in the galaxy has to pay in order for him to avenge the only one he loves, then so be it.

A year had gone by and every second without you become more tortuous than the last. Things that made him once glisten with joy only make his empty heart lurch with grief. Miguel is now present in the Spider-Society, desperate to manipulate any and all sources to eradicate who had so selfishly taken you from him. He'll just have to endure the yapping teenage-spiders that push at his buttons for the time being. All for you, he reminds himself.

At times, unbeknownst to Miguel, he'll start mumbling your wedding vows under his breath in front of the other spider-people to ease his mind. He knows it by heart; he will never forget it. They may all stare in disturbed confusion, but to mention your name to a man like him would be nothing short of a death sentence. "It's a soft spot, don’t poke it" Jess informs the others.

When the day is finally over and his everlasting efforts were brought to no avail, Miguel will return to the house you had planned on spending the rest of your lives in. Together. All life has been sucked out of the property. The wedding photos scattered about the premise have been derelict with shattered glass after enraged fits. The 'Just Married!' paint still sits on his car and decays with age, but he refuses to ever scrub it off. Your wedding ring, wedding dress/suit, and flower bouquet sit in indestructible cages he operated to preserve them. He fidgets with the wedding ring he vowed to never take off as he wallows in the despair of his silent home. If only he had been quicker; if only he hadn't been so weak.

The video of you dancing in matrimonial bliss ends and the monitor shuts off faster than Miguel could even blink.

The hefty, metal doors to the headquarters open to where several spider-people enter, pantomiming dramatically about the success of their previous missions. Their sudden appearance startles him, to where he demands to know why Lyla hadn't informed him of the spiders' incoming. Jess then enlightens him on his strict rule he set to not disturb him whenever your face is on screen. He exhales with a sigh of defeat and prepares himself for the onslaught of mayhem that would soon come his way. This time, however, a new recruit has joined the group.

Full-body suit hiding any form of physical identity and a soft voice that rarely comes out, Y/H/N from Earth-555 was requested to join the team by Jessica Drew herself. And Miguel couldn't care less if he tried. He'll let another spider on the team if it means keeping the multiverse stable and fueling his progress to one day finally kill the one responsible for your demise. Still, something allures him about this new recruit. Their real name and face are left a mystery to him, but there are certain moments with this stranger where he can't but be reminded of you. That soft voice and heedful hearing prevent him from fully indulging in your memory, but there are certain tics and habits they possess that catch him off guard.

The way you tap your feet when you’re focused, the way you scratch your wrists when you’re anxious, and the way you fidget with the hem of your clothes when you’re bored. And this is what life had been like for a while. Staring at the countless monitors that display a myriad of different information until his brain rots and returning hole to bathe in his misery until the next day repeats.

Several months into Y/H/N's time here is when the doors to the headquarters slam open and several spider-people all clamor in. All were breathless and bruised from a mission that ended messily. The new hero is in the mayhem, as well, exasperated as they rest against the wall. Miguel rolls his eyes at the sudden intrusion and leaves his spot at his desk to find out what these idiots had done now. They all scramble to defend themselves and point their finger at one another, while that new recruit is still trying to catch their breath in the corner. Pathetic. They should know by now that the sake of the multiverse can't afford even a minor mistake. Seeing them left so weak after a fight causes a dry laugh to escape his throat.

Their gloved fingers then grasp hold of the hem of their mask, before forcefully yanking it from their head. And it is like a miracle had materialized right before Miguel's eyes.

His stomach drops at the sudden intrusion of emotions. Shock, elation, disbelief, infatuation. Y/H/N, Earth-555's Spiderman, is his Y/N. You stand before him as you did all those years ago. Despite the dirt and blood smothered into your exposed skin, Miguel thinks you look almost as beautiful as you did when you walked down the aisle.

All you do is clench your eyes shut and try to wait for the pain in your abdomen to ease. The clattering arguments of the others only add fuel to the flame that is your suffering. Soon, there is a sudden wave of silence that washes over. Even with the agony coursing through your body, you were still able to catch the abrupt shift in the atmosphere. You open your eyes to find the man you had feared most, Miguel O'Hara, treading towards you and towering over you with his large figure. Paralyzed with fear, you had jumped to the conclusion that you had enranged him in some way. The terror is so overwhelming, you completely miss the sheer look of love in his eyes and how his pupils had morphed into the shape of a heart.

Eventually, you gain control of your numb body and make a break for it. Pain pumps like a drug through your damaged body, but you persevere and use every sliver of strength left in you to run from him. You're running through the city, dodging past all the numerous spider-people, and webbing through different buildings to escape this maniac of a man. During this, your name and demands for your return are shouted profusely. You don't have time to acknowledge how on Earth he had found out what your actual name was.

Mistakenly, you take a quick glance over your shoulder and almost shiver with fear at the sight alone. Miguel is barrelling after you on all fours like some sort of fucking animal, with fangs and claws out and all. Broken glass protrudes into his limbs from the numerous windows and walls he barreled through. Blood seeps through the torn cuts of his suit, exposing his bruised skin. The excess of vermillion webs clutters the complex from his frivolous attempts at retrieving you. It is utterly terrifying.

Somehow in the midst of chaos, you had found yourself back in the headquarters. The 'Go-Home Machine' practically calls out for you with its luminescent hues. You hear the muffled shouts of your name and the thumping of racing footsteps. In an attempt to use your webs for faster travel, you realize that during your chase, you had entirely run out of web fuel. Shit. From here, you resort to using your legs for once and practically throw yourself into the machine. The translucent spider above uses its limbs to piece together bits of the portals' walls as if it were merely stacking legos. Hope pokes at your brain, but you don't dare let yourself think the storm had washed over just yet. A deafening crash then permeates through the headquarters.

"STOP THEM! NOW!" The echo sends a chill straight into your bones. You watch the machine sputter with increased energy and hope that with enough time, this predator on your tail will find something else for dinner.

Miguel springs into the air as if he were weightless, before landing above you on the thick facade while it buzzes from heightened energy. You have nothing but this wall to protect you from this absolute rabid dog. Sheer trepidation caresses your skin with it's ice-cold touch as he attempts to claw through the membrane of space and time protecting you.

He is bone-chillingly terrifying as he slams all the strength in his body against the barrier. It becomes increasingly difficult for him to keep his grasp on the machine as it continues to charge with intensifying energy. This does not halt his efforts, though. If anything, Miguel has now become increasingly aggressive as the prospect of you leaving him again becomes more profound. The technology whirs from every punch and thrash Miguel gives in order to get to you. Static bolts of energy protrude the air like lightning bolts when he is finally able to tear a hole through the surface, eyes wide and crazed like some sort of beast.

In an attempt to stop him, you try and piece together the chunks of radiation that had been discarded from his unwanted entry. Upon doing so, Miguel is finally able to reach through the opening and dig his talons into your wrist. Your escape was right at the edge of your fingertips, but now you have been flung straight into the jaws of this monster. You splat harshly against the ground and with the state your body was now in, you knew for certain you could not fight anymore.

However, you don't even have a mere second to think of leaving anymore. Not when this vampire-spider has you pinned to the floor with ease faster than you could produce a single thought. He begins to shush you like a baby while you fight and thrash at his chest. His large hand cups your cheek with the same softness you would use to handle a kitten, while the other utilizes his strength to restrain your body.

"I got you! I got you back with me!" The pitch in his voice had raised as he pours his heart out to you. "I never thought I would see you again, but you’re here. My Y/N, you’ve come back to me…” Red eyes are blown wide and they practically stare daggers into you. All as if you were some sort of prey.

The only thing his words do justice in is confusing you further. What you had perceived before as anger was actually... Desperation? Relief? Love? This man has never spoken a single word to you for the entirety of your several months spent in the complex. You are perplexed as you try to think of what had triggered him to suddenly act this way towards you.

"I will never let anything happen to you again... Just let me under your skin..." Miguel's lips find their way down to your ear as he whispers to you the same way a lover would. The entire moment is so deranged, it makes you shudder with horror.

His teeth then sink into the nape of your neck as if his fangs were two needles. With a yelp, you feel warm blood escape and seep down your flesh. Something new swims through your bloodstream that was induced by his bite. Your body begins to fail you and lethargy envelops you like a warm blanket. And this man is like goddamn Dracula, slurping and drinking every last drop of your delicious essence. His calloused hands savor the feel of your body against his and he indulges in how much he had missed this, missed you. With a final, feeble attempt to defend yourself against your assailant, you're soon enveloped into a deep slumber within Miguel's embrace.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 ۫ you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ ONE DAY, I WILL STOP

FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU . . . ❞

i wrote this all in one sitting after an all-nighter please bare with me lmao.

did you guys also know that the pupils of his eyes canonically turn into hearts?

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heartlilith · 14 days

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Solar Return Observations

👠Having a Scorpio Ascendent in your SRC indicates that you’ll change a lot throughout the year, you’ll be completely unrecognizable by the time your next birthday comes around. Whether that be your attitude, your physical appearance, your surroundings, or all 3. You’re going to be experiencing significant change.

👠Jupiter in the 10th house means you’ll be getting opportunity after opportunity in your career and your public life

👠Any planet conjunct your ascendent or in the 1st house of your SRC means you’re going to embody that planet for the year:

Leo Mars in the 1st house: You’re going to be more confident, more energetic, gaining more attention this year, and more motivated to invest in yourself or doing things for your benefit

Venus conjunct ASC: More polite this year, taking care of your physical appearance, dressing like your ASC, finding the beauty in your surroundings, more interested in Venusian things, glowing up, being seen as more beautiful and/or feminine

Taurus Jupiter in the 1st: Attracting more wealth, eating more food, attracting luxurious things, more self confident, attracting opportunities that bring wealth and Venusian things, being seen as abundant and blessed

Pluto in the 1st: Embodying change, transforming your physical look and your attitude, changing your surroundings, changing people you come in contact with, being seen as powerful and mysterious

Neptune conjunct ASC: Embodying an angel, angelic like qualities, being projected on, people unable to figure you out, looking at the world with rose colored glasses, being an enigma, attracting people who need help, more spiritual, psychic gifts are at an all time high

👠Sun/Moon/Chart Ruler in the 12th house is asking you to do more things alone this year, spend time with yourself. You’ll need more recharging this year and your social battery may be low.

👠Having a Capricorn rising in your SRC means you’ll come out of the year stronger and more mature. This year will test you and make you grow. It’ll be uncomfortable but worth it in the end.

👠Having your Chart Ruler or personal planets in the 5th house indicates a year that’s fun, exploring hobbies, going on dates, invitations to social gatherings. A 5th house prominent year is a great year to heal your inner child.

👠Neptune in the 8th house people need to watch out for addictions this year. Whether that be drugs, food, gambling, sex, etc. Watch for obsessiveness - obsessions can easily become addictions

👠Mars trine Jupiter is a very abundant aspect. What you give you will receive in 10 fold.

👠Planets in the 10th house shine in your SRC, since the MC is the highest part of the chart.

👠Pay attention to planets in harsh aspect to your MC:

Venus/MC - being seen as shallow, having jealous coworkers, feeling like you don’t deserve your job or social status, being walked all over, “imposter syndrome”, people gossiping about your love life/significant other, public work romances

Moon/MC - being seen as moody, having problems with feminine energies at the workplace, letting emotions get in the way of your work, not being able to hide emotions, people reading you easily

Mars/MC - having problems with authority/masculine energies, not feeling motivated at work, procrastination, being seen as problematic and argumentative

Pluto in the 7th house: Attracting obsessive people this year, being obsessive over people this year. Transforming through relationships and transforming others. Meeting someone that changes your life for better or for worse, coming out of the year with different standards in regards to love

👠Any planet conjunct your POF is going to be significant. POF naturally brings out the positive traits in a planet even if it's malefic. Check the house these conjunctions are in to see what blessings could be coming your way this year.

👠Years where you have the same rising sign as your natal chart makes for a more comfortable and familiar year

Subscribe to my Patreon for early and exclusive access to astrology posts!

Masterlist

#astrology #astro observations #astro #astrology community #astro community #rising signs #sagittarius #scorpio #leo #cancer #solar return #solar return chart #solar return observations

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mafiadad5 · 2 months

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Request- “Omg can you maybe do like visiting jisung in the practice room for a quickie while the others are out #dontgetcaught!!”

Part 2

Wc- 912

a/n- ty for your request, and I’m definitely planning a part two for this🤫. Hope u like and no proof read lol🩷

18+ content

—————————————————————————————

You find yourself on the way to the practice room after receiving your boyfriend’s text of wanting you to ‘watch him practice’.

Obliviously walking down the hallway, cracking the door open expecting to see the boys being their usual self, but instead you’re met with Jisung sitting on the floor, back against the wall as he held his head low. His arm rested on his knee, his legs were spread apart. He looked to see who was at the door, getting up from the floor as he noticed it was you.

“Hey baby.”

His voice was deep, seeping into your mind like a drug. He looked at you, his eyes were dark, but still had a slight twinkle that definitely indicated his mood. His plumped lips parted slightly as his bangs floated over his face, the warm lights of the practice room hitting his skin making him glow.

“Where are the guys?” You asked.

“Gone.” He murmured, walking past you, closing and locking the door. You turned to look at him, his eyes already on you as he stood in front of the door, exposing his obvious hard on through his gray sweatpants.

“Need you so bad— so bad.” His voice was breathy, in a whisper like he was trying to make sure you, and only you heard him. He grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him, biting his pink full lips as your eyes became far more lustful.

“Someone’s feeling a little bit risky.” You smiled, pulling him closer to you, teasing him with ghosty kisses on his lips.

“Wanna fuck you so bad.” He pulled you as close as your bodies would let him, his nose brushing against yours, his hot lips brushing yours slightly as he spoke.

His voice was raspy, yet so soft like he was begging you for it. He knew how to make you break, make you just as needy as him, and trust, it worked. “What if the guys come back?” You said nervously. You were all for experimenting and trying new things with Jisung, but in public where his friends could catch you made you a little nervous.

All those nerves and worries were no longer in your mind as he had you pushed against the mirror, one hand on your hip the other holding up your leg as he aimlessly thrusted into you. Your fingers intertwined with his dark, soft hair, small moans leaving his mouth as you tugged gently with every thrust.

“Tell me I’m yours Y/n, please.” Jisung whimpered out, pushing deeper and deeper into you, his deep voice was desperate, love drunk as you wrapped your arm around his shoulder, holding onto him for support.

“You’re mine Ji— fuck, your pretty moans, your perfect lips, your mind fucking eyes, they’re all for me.” His skin flushed hearing your words, going straight to his lower half making him thrust faster causing yearned moans out of you from almost reaching your high.

“I’m your good boy right— making you feel so good?” His voice was mixed with strained moans and whimpers made your legs weak.

His hand found your clit, rubbing circles around the sensitive bud causing you to let out loud cry’s of pleases and his name. Your mind was so fucked, you couldn’t even think right.

Typically in the bedroom he wouldn’t have to ask you to talk him through his orgasms, the words would just naturally roll off your tongue, but something about him telling you what to do, even if it was just asking you to call him the usual names turned you on even more. You blanked out, couldn’t even get out the words, just loud moans as his pace got needier. He gripped your leg tighter raising it higher, pushing himself deeper into you hitting your g-spot, his nails digging into your bare thighs causing an unbearable sensation.

“Fuck Jisung, I’m there.” You whined, throwing your head back, biting your lip so hard you think you could actually pull blood, your legs shaking violently.

“Y/n, tell me that I’m your good boy. I’m almost there baby just say it.”

He was still letting out deprived whimpers, but his tone was way more demanding, making you clench around him from just hearing his voice. He wanted to hear those words come out your mouth and he wasn’t gonna stop telling you to say it unless you gave him what he wanted, even if that meant continuing after you reached your high.

“Fuck Jisung, you’re a good boy— you’re a fucking good boy.” You said in a defeated moan, causing him to flash a smile while looking at your fucked out face. That smile instantly turned into a gasp as he felt himself twitch inside of you. “Fuck im cumming.” He whimpered out, thrust becoming sloppier as you clenched around him continuously, overstimulated from already cumming. He pushed himself into you a few more times, riding out his orgasm as he let out small moans.

You two sat in position, catching your breath before he went back to his normal self, helping you clean up, making sure you’re ok, and taking a ride home with you.

All you could think of was the way he was demanding you, it was definitely attractive to you and oh my did it turn you on, but you just couldn’t bring it up to him for some reason.

But your face had said it all. The way you moaned, your body, your eyes told it all, and Jisung knew.

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rafeandonlyrafe · 6 months

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obsession

words: 2.2k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, reader and rafe are both crazyyy, toxic relationship, rafe being a murderer but its canon, rafe breaks into readers house

taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs

the noise has you sitting up suddenly in bed, ears straining for the same sound that pulled you out of a deep sleep. you sit there for a minute before letting out a breath and laying your head back against the pillow. maybe it was a raccoon knocking over your neighbors trash can, or a car backfiring.

either way, you think you're in the clear to head back into dreamland, until there's that noise again. glass shatters and this time you know it's not at your neighbors house, it's at your front door.

you sit frozen in fear, heartbeat pounding in your ears. it isn’t until the sound of your front door opening reaches you that you spring into action. you jump up out of bed, from under the safety of your covers. your eyes briefly scan the room as footsteps ascend up the stairs, like they know exactly what their target is, exactly where you are.

your choice is between under the bed and the closet, and when your doorknob begins to turn, your throw yourself onto the rug and roll under the bed. you cover your mouth as your door opens, heavy boots entering the room. you watch as they move right up to the bed, throwing the covers onto the floor, letting out a low curse you can barely make out when you’re not there.

you watch as the boots head over to the closet, ripping the doors open. you keep your hand over your mouth, afraid to breath too loudly. you watch as the boots move closer again, until a hand is suddenly clenching down on your arm, yanking you out from under the bed.

“there you are.” rafe says, smirking down at you from your spot on the floor, your back against the rug.

“rafe!” you say, half in fear, half in relief.

“get up.” he commands, but doesn’t even give you a chance to do it yourself, reaching down and tugging you into a standing position.

“wha-what are you doing?” you ask, pressing your hands against his chest, but not pushing him away. you and rafe have a confusing relationship. half the time his is head over heels infatuated with you, and the other half he is pretending like you don’t exist, like acting as if you're not there can quell his obsession. it breaks your heart, only for him to come back in a few days and put it back together.

“god, i’ve missed you.” rafe says, pulling you tight against his body, even as adrenaline causes you to shake, your mind going over what just happened. rafe broke into your house, because he missed you.

“rafe.” you pull yourself away from him, even as you find comfort in his hold. “you broke in!” “because i need you baby!” he says loudly, looking at you like you’re the one being unreasonable here. “and i’ll buy you a new door and get someone to install it tomorrow.”

“next time just knock, please.” you say, taking his face in your hands. “you scared me.”

“i’m sorry princess. can we cuddle, yeah?” you see the look in rafes eyes, a crazed look, that he’s not in his right mind. you’re not sure if he’s been taking drugs again or if he’s just in a bad mental state.

“yeah, come on.” you gesture to your bed, not sure what would happen if you say no, not that you ever deny rafe. he lays down as you pick your covers up from the floor. you snuggle up next to him, letting your breathing return to normal, wishing you didn’t feel the peace that you do when in his arms.

“what happened?” you ask, rubbing your hand over his chest.

“i-i did something terrible tonight.” rafe says, hand squeezing your hip. “i really fucked up. this is why i need to leave you alone, fuck. you deserve someone better than me.” “hey, hey, shh.” you say, giving a kiss to rafes jaw as he starts to get worked up again. “i can help fix it, if you’d just tell me whats going on.” “no, i can’t. you can never know, you’d never look at me the same again.” rafe says, the emotion in his eyes replaying the horror of whatever happened.

“come on rafe, it’s not like you killed someone.” you say with a chuckle, but rafe is quiet. far, far too quiet.

“what the actual fuck, rafe?” you sit up in your bed, looking down at him as a tear falls down his cheek. “rafe, fucking talk!”

“i did it to save my dad.” rafe says, rubbing his hand over your thigh. “i had to, okay? and i need you to trust me about that.”

“rafe, who did you kill?” you ask, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly.

“sheriff peterkin.” rafe mumbles under his breath, but you make it out clear enough.

“you killed the fucking sheriff?” you scream, moving to get out of bed, but rafe stops you, pulling you back against him. “rafe, let me go!”

“shh, shh, baby, let me talk, okay?” rafe says, caging you tight against his body, restricting your movements. you stare up at rafe expectantly as he presses you into the mattress. “i had to. i didn’t want to. i had to. or she would have shot my dad, okay?” “why would peterkin shoot your dad?” you ask.

“it’s a long fucking story, but i need you to trust me, baby girl. i can’t have you hating me too. okay? i love you too much, so you’re gonna just be fucking calm. you’re not gonna scream, right?” rafe asks. you give a little nod. you know it’s stupid, you shouldn’t trust rafe, but you do. maybe it’s your foolish love for him blinding you to his flaws, or what they’ve awakened inside of you.

rafe lets go of you, flipping so he’s lying on his back. you curl on your side next to him, placing a hand on his stomach. “i’m scared, rafe.” “i know. this is why i try to force myself to leave you alone.” “you hurt me even more when you do that.” you say with a frown, thinking of all those times, after weeks of being happy together, of getting along, when rafe will suddenly ignore you at a party or stop answering your calls.

“i’m so sorry.” rafe takes a deep breath. “i need your help though. i need you… i need you to tell the police i was here all day, with you. they would believe you.” “okay.” you say in a whisper, “i can do that for you rafey, just no more secrets, no more trying to push me away.” “promise, princess.” rafe pulls you in so he can give you a soft kiss on the lips. “it’s us against the world now.” “i love you rafey.” you tell him honestly.

“oh, my perfect girl.” rafe rubs your side, hand slipping under your pajama shirt. “i don’t deserve you.” “stop, don’t say that.” you say, eyes fluttering clothed as his hand moves up and down against your bare skin.

“it’s true, i don’t. you’re too perfect, too forgiving. you’ve let me hurt you so much and then still take me back.”

“no more hurting, then.” you say, moving so you’re straddling rafe. “no more hurting me. you wanna be with me, you have to let me in, stop pushing away.” “promise.” rafe says, looking up at you lovingly. you’re not sure if you believe him. he’s never once proven that he can stop hurting, stop betraying, but you’re willing to give him another chance, and another and another.

“now let me take care of you, yeah? apologize for giving you a fright and for hurting you.” rafe says, placing his hands on your hips, rubbing and squeezing them.

“yeah.” you nod, eyes fluttering closed as he presses you down, against his abs. rafe knows the way to truly calm you down, to truly get you to forgive him.

“look at you.” rafe laughs as you begin to grind yourself down against him. “already cockdrunk, silly baby.” “c’mon.” you say with a whimper, wanting what rafe promised, wanting him to take care of you.

rafe flips you suddenly, hovering over you with a laugh. rafe pushes your shirt up to under your chest, the sensitive skin of you stomach on display. rafe drops down, kissing along your skin. “i love you so much.” rafe says.

“i love you too.” you whisper, tugging rafe up so he can give you a real, proper kiss. your lips connect, and you instantly moan into his mouth as his mouth dominates yours. “please fuck me.”

“let me eat you out first baby.” rafe nuzzles his nose against yours, but you pout.

“you can eat me out in the morning. i want your cock. now.” you demand, usually not pushing rafe like this and going along with whatever he says, but he owes you right now, so he works his pants down his legs while you take off your pajama bottoms, revealing you’re not wearing underwear. rafe smiles, the wetness on your pussy shining in the low lighting.

“take this as my apology for scaring you.” rafe pushes his cock inside of you, making you cry out from the stretch, briefly regretting not letting him open you up more with his tongue or fingers until he starts to move, his warm cock searing your insides.

“so good.” you whine, spreading your legs to give rafe more room to move as he begins to snap into you. you look up at your man, a look of concentration on his face, and your heart beats faster knowing what he just confessed.

it’s not like you ever thought rafe was a good guy, at no point in your relationship did he hide the darkest parts of himself, the jealous, devious parts that contracted your good girl exterior, but what rafe never expected was to bring out the dark side in you as well.

you push rafe off, not wanting to look at his face anymore. maybe then you’ll get a sense of decency back, your morality about not letting a murderer fuck you right after confessing, but you turn on your hands and knees and present your ass for him, and you know there’s no going back.

rafe quickly repositions and enters you, his hands tight on your hips as he lets out all of his frustrations, the loud smack of his skin hitting your ass ringing out in the room.

he moves so quick you feel like your entire body could catch on fire as your high builds, needing that final touch on your clit that you know rafe isn’t going to give until he’s ready.

“so good for me baby, this is why i can never leave you.” rafe moans, tossing his head back as he pumps himself inside of you, keeping a steady rhythm as you squeeze your cunt around his cock. “i tell you i killed someone and you spread your pretty legs for me, let me in this perfect pussy.”

rafe bends over your back so his mouth is right next to your ear. “you’re a dirty fucking slut, but you’re mine.” he growls.

your arms collapse under the pressure, rafe straightening back up as your cheek presses into the mattress. rafe thrusts even harder now, determined to utterly exhaust both of you so you can pass out and worry about the consequences in the morning.

“perfect. fucking. girl.” rafe groans, accentuating each word with a thrust. you moan indeterminately, letting him know just how good it feels as his fingers leave bruises from how tight he’s gripping your skin, yet another mark that rafe cameron is going to leave on you, not all of them visible, but you wouldn’t trade back the trauma for anything if it means being with him.

you muster up all the strength that you can, forcing your body to move even as it cries out to give in, to give up, but you push yourself back up, making rafe lose balance as he falls back on the bed.

you turn so you can see his face as you sink onto his cock. “you’re mine too.” you remind him, bucking your hips as you ride rafe, ignoring the burn in your thighs. “don’t fucking forget it.”

you bend down, using your entire body to move back on his cock, bouncing and grinding in a frantic rhythm. “and never leave me again. never keep shit from me.” rafe looks up at you in awe, reaching a hand to tangle in your hair as he pulls you into an intense kiss, a clash of biting teeth and slipping tongues.

“i fucking love you.” rafe groans against your mouth as you clench around him, feeling his cock swell inside of you, signaling he’s close.

you sit back up, bringing a hand to your pussy, working your clit with two fingers as you keep bouncing, letting yourself go when you feel rafes hips push up against yours, releasing his cum inside of your heat. you slump forward as you climax, moaning into rafes chest.

“baby, you are something else.” rafe rubs a hand over your back as you come down from your orgasm, keeping sat on his cock, not wanting to give it up just yet.

“mmm, you brought out something in me.” you say, turning to press a kiss to his chest. “and you can’t just take it back now.”

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transmutationisms · 9 months

Note

I have always been wary of the psychiatric industry, but its only very recently that i started to read anti-psychiatric works. Your blog is the first time i saw that the "chemical imbalances causing mental illness" is a myth, and honestly its something im having a hard time wrapping my head around.

Is it that mood regulation struggles, labelled as a mental illnesses, has more to do with outside factors instead of the person "just being that way"? Is it therefore unlikely for someone to have struggles with mood regulation if they cant identify any external causes that would cause them to be, for example, extremely agoraphobic or to have anger management issues? Im asking this for myself mainly, cause i always had intense agoraphobia no matter how i often go outside my home (in fact it was worse when i was a teen and i was outside the house in even more back then). I cant think of any reason for me to be like this than chemical imbalances in my brain.

the specific 'chemical imbalance' myth i was talking about in this post is the idea that depression is caused by low serotonin, and that therefore SSRIs—serotonin re-uptake inhibitors, ie drugs that cause a higher level of serotonin in the brain—ought to cure or at least ameliorate depression. this conjecture is belied by the fact that SSRIs don't, at a population level, reliably perform better than placebo.

although a neurobiological cause of 'mental illness' has long been the holy grail of psychiatry, the serotonin imbalance myth is far from the only hypothesis that psychiatrists and neuroscientists have proposed. so, a critique of the serotonin myth is not synonymous with, or generalisable to, a critique of every neurobiological mechanism purported to explain psychiatric diagnoses. you may be interested to know, though, that genomics and neuroscience have not identified a biological cause of any psychiatric diagnosis (p. 851).

all human experiences are biologically instantiated, including in the brain and wider nervous system. we are embodied beings. however, it is a leap to assume that such instantiation is automatically equivalent to a causal explanation or disease etiology. in other words, to deny that psychiatric diagnoses are known to be biologically caused does not mean we deny that thoughts and thought patterns express in the physical matter of neuroanatomy. this is a major philosophical sticking point to keep in mind whenever you're looking at something like, eg, a study that purports to show 'brain differences' in those assigned a certain psychiatric diagnosis. another thing to consider is whether these papers are plagued with methodological issues or financial conflicts of interest.

i can't possibly tell you why you exhibit agoraphobia. however, when i talk about social, economic, and environmental factors that may contribute to the patterns of behaviour labelled as 'mental illness', i'm talking about much more than the individual choice to leave your house. since phobias are 'anxiety disorders', i might start by probing into questions like: is the world you live in safe? do you perceive it as safe? do you or your community face existential threats that may confront you more obviously when you go outside? are you nervous around other people, and if so, might that be connected to fears (well-founded or not) about interpersonal violence and harm? do you think any of these anxieties may be connected to the hostility and inaccessible design of the social environment and economic conditions?

human behaviour and thought varies. some of those variations may be totally benign; others may be helpful or harmful to the person living with them. it would be weird if every single one of the 8 billion people on earth experienced precisely the same amount of anxiety about any situation, no? all of this is to say: yeah, it's entirely possible you have been, for one reason or another (genetic, neuroanatomical, social, &c) predisposed to experience high, even debilitating levels of anxiety when leaving your home. most human characteristics develop from a tangle of social, environmental, material causes—ie, from a combination of 'nature' and 'nurture'. what doesn't follow, though, is the claim that there is therefore a discrete, 'diseased' element of your brain or brain functioning that can simply be cured or eliminated through psychiatric intervention.

it is a critical point of anti-psychiatry to challenge psychiatric and neuroscientific claims to neurobiological determinism where psychiatric diagnoses are concerned. this is for many reasons, including: a) that these claims have not been demonstrated to actually be true [see above]; b) that they rob pathologised people of agency and self-determination [see: you're too sick to know you're sick, and the doctor will fix you now]; c) that they are often pushed by pharmaceutical companies with financial interests, or grant-funded researchers with... financial interests; d) that they are politically seductive in various eugenic, hereditarian discourses that seek to eliminate the biologically 'unfit' element from society.

#psychiatry

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lingerina · 3 months

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⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝐎𝓥𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐑𝐈𝓥𝐄 － yu jimin

␥ karina x fem!reader ␥ 916 words 🚨 choking, overstimulation, dacryphilia (?), praise ␥ you swore to never work for a rideshare app again but getting laid off leaves you no choice. you end up becoming someone’s getaway driver, not realizing you’re in for way more than you bargained for. ␥ A/N inspired by this ask (and reblogs) from ages ago. also could be read as (sort of?) optional bias since i realized i never used her name here. 🧍🏻‍♀️ and it took me this long to write for my bias? 🤪

You never wanted to go back to Uber but after being laid off and having bills due soon, you had no choice.

You earned the most when you drove around the airport, downtown, and during late-night hours, which were windows to some of the craziest things you’ve previously experienced as a driver. You’ve gotten caught up in a drug deal and bank heist before, which was why you swore to never be an app driver again.

Every ride, you hoped that your passengers were normal law-abiding citizens who just needed a ride to the local market or something. Fortunately, they had been.

Until you made the mistake of driving off with a passenger who wasn’t the one that ordered a ride from you.

She had run up to your car—impressively in heels—and slammed the door shut as if she was being chased, shouting for you to drive off before you even get a chance to confirm you’re picking up the right person. Meeting her sharp eyes in your rear view mirror startled you into stepping on the gas because in the pit of your guts, you were uncertain if you were in harm’s way again and ignoring her might actually put your life on the line.

The ride had been silent, your actual passenger that you’d driven past being one of the only two thoughts crossing your mind after you had hovered a shaky hand over your phone, that’s mounted to the air vent, to cancel her request. You didn’t know where you were driving, and you couldn’t accept any other ride that were popping up on your app. There were more red areas on the map, indicating major activity and hefty tips that you could’ve gotten your hands on had you refused to let the mysterious raven-haired beauty in your car.

She stared out the window for what felt like hours. She didn’t utter a word and you were too afraid to ask questions. You aimlessly drove around, hoping she would finally say something and end this torture.

When she abruptly met eyes with you in the mirror again, you startled.

You tried to break the ice and asked for her destination, but what followed was more silence, a sudden request to park in the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse, and two-word commands for you to step out and join her in the backseat where she ended up breaking you.

You’re seated on her lap with your back pressed against her chest and her hand wrapped around your throat. Taunting words brush over your ear, inducing a chill that ripples down your spine as three of her fingers are inside you. Your body horribly betrays you as your car echoes with the filthy squelches of your dripping pussy and your cries as she violates you.

Nonetheless, you part your legs wider and buck against her hand, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from your morals dissipating and your desire to be broken burning. With your leggings torn at your crotch and bearing the stains of your pleasure, you’re reduced to nothing but a moaning mess for a gorgeous stranger who may or may not be dangerous.

She squeezes tighter, her well-manicured nails threatening to pierce the soft skin of your throat, a low praise of ‘good girl’ uttered at the shell of your ear threatening the sliver of sanity you have left. You catch your breath when she releases her grip, which moves down your clavicle to tear at the collar of your tee. She yanks at your bra, unveiling your breast for the palm of her hand, and kneads in tandem with the pace of her fingers.

Your head lolls back over her shoulder, hoarse moans polluting your once-silent vehicle as she fucks you harder. Tension grips at your limbs, your toes curling as her curled digits reach that spot. The spot where you need her most.

“Come on, baby,” she purrs with a sly smirk. “Give it to me.”

You oblige on cue. Your eyes roll back as you soil her hand in the midst of ecstasy, your wetness dirtying her dress, her lap, and the back of the seat. She didn’t spare you mercy before, and she’s definitely not sparing you now.

She toys with you until you think you’ve given her your all. As soon as you fall limp, she slips back inside you and you swiftly ascend to your brink once more, the sensitivity blurring your vision with white dots as you gush all over her.

She refuses to let you recuperate. Just when you think it’s over, she makes her unwelcome return, her expert fingers repeatedly bringing you to ecstasy like a broken film. She gets off on your tears and pleas because they’re a stark contrast to you squirting all over her and dirtying your car in the process. When she’s had her fill, she shifts you off her lap like a discarded toy and finally steps out without a word, leaving you alone in the abandoned parking lot.

With the silence and post coital clarity setting in, you sit up straight and stare at the mess you made. You don’t need a mirror to know that you do not look presentable to customers at all.

Fortunately, it’s still early in the morning. You can rush home, clean yourself and your car up, and still have a whole day to earn money.

You just hope that you don’t have another potentially dangerous or salacious run-in again.

#girl group smut #girl group imagines #aespa smut #aespa imagines #karina smut #karina imagines

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orionremastered · 4 months

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Damian Wayne x Paramedic!Reader

Soulmate AU

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

You knew what curare was. The plant, originating from South America, was a plant drug that was used in the first forms of anesthesia before being replaced by newer agents. That left curare no longer as something useful, but as a deadly poison.

Curare relaxes the muscles until, eventually, the victim's diaphragmatic muscles no longer have the strength, causing the body to die of asphyxia.

It is in times like this, when you gaze over the hospital bed of your soulmate, that you wished you didn't know these things. You wished you didn't know how long it took for it to kill a human- twenty minutes at most- but your knowledge was useful. It was useful in the way that you knew the poison wasn't eaten or consumed.

That wasn't how curare worked.

The nurses found a pinprick from a needle in Damian's hand, indicating that was where the dosage was given to him.

In front of you suddenly, Bruce clears his throat. He passes you a coffee and you gratefully take it, drinking it practically in one go. “He must've felt the needle.”

Bruce sat back on the chair beside you, sighing into his cup. It was one of those paper cups and the billionaire looked comical drinking from it. “There are things that you one day will learn about my son,” he says in a low, deep voice, “But that day has yet to come.”

He offers no room for further explanation, and part of you doesn't want to know. Not with the way he said it.

With an understanding nod, your gaze drifts to the TV directly across from the bed. A news channel is playing, but the volume's all the way down. The news reporter- a lady with blonde hair in a fur coat as she stands outside the GCPD headquarters- finishes talking and smiles.

You read the headline and immediately point it out for Bruce.

VIGILANTES DETAIN SUSPECT OF WAYNE POISONING.

The suspect in question is heavily beat up, setting off alarms in your head you didn't know existed. You recognised him from the meeting in the Wayne Tower; one of the businessmen from another city.

Beside you, Bruce smiles. But only slightly; you have to triple check to make sure it's really there.

"Did they get him, father?"

The low voice startles you and your head immediately whips around to see your soulmate's eyes opened, watching his father until his gaze slowly turns to you.

"Hi," you say quietly, fidgeting with a pen you found in your pocket.

Damian slowly looks to his forearm where the words he and his family- both the Al Ghuls and the Waynes- dreaded. Instead of being written in black, they were now written in your favourite colour. The word on your forearm was now written in emerald green.

"How are you feeling?" you ask after clearing your throat.

There’s a moment of pause as he eyes you warily. A tired figure who’s worked too hard and for too long; someone who’s seen horrors and met lunatics all for a shitty paycheck. You don’t even know why you do your job; it’s something you always wanted to do, and it’s fulfilling, but sometimes those reasons didn’t feel like enough. “Better,” he finally decides.

Better. You could settle for better.

“I’d better get going, then. I’ve had a long day, so, uhm,” you scribble your phone number and name down on a piece of paper, placing it on the bedside table. “Here. Call whenever you want to talk.”

There’s no universe where Damian’s eyes widen a fraction when he realises you’re not staying, but perhaps in this one, he did. Giving a nod to Bruce, you head out the door, walking purposefully to the entrance.

The truth was; you’re not ready for publicity. Being a paramedic means focus on the job and having paparazzi following you around at work was far from what you wanted. You were busy. Galas you would skip from being too tired or your back hurting from lifting patients or simply not being able to take the day off due to lack of staff. You’d become a target for criminals across the city rather than a face they sought for help.

You had been the one to give him your number for whenever he was ready to talk, but maybe it should’ve been the other way around.

Harper slammed the passenger door to the ambulance shut, signalling the start of a busy night shift. It was the first shift you’d had together since you discovered the identity of your soulmate and you were grateful for a distraction.

You partner whistled awkwardly, casting nervous glances your way as you pull out of the station.

“Did you talk?”

“Briefly.”

“Exchange numbers?”

“Yes.”

“Did you… talk over text?”

“No,” you sigh, driving to the nearest coffee shop despite you knowing you wouldn’t make it before getting a call. “Maybe it’s a good thing. I mean, I don’t really want the publicity, you know?”

Harper nodded slowly. “Is he doing better?”

“Yeah, he got discharged an hour after I left. Checked the hospital staff portal.”

The computer beside Harper beeps, shifting your attention to it. “Elderly male complaining of chest pains, history of cardiac issues.”

“Nothing like a heart attack to change the subject,” you mutter, putting the topic of your soulmate in the back of your mind. Lingering, but never gone.

Half an hour until your shift ended. That was the only thing you could think about as the grey clouds hanging constantly over Gotham brightened with the rising sun. Your shift had been long, eventful and it was safe to say the pizza you managed to find open at this hour was the best thing you'd ever tasted.

"Do you think-"

Harper gets cut off by the sound of a message reaching your phone. He raises an eyebrow, smile growing as you roll your eyes and pull it out of your pocket. Truth is, you still weren't ready to register or make the decision on whether or not you wanted to be with someone like a Wayne.

Sorry for not texting you sooner. We should talk.

You change the new number's name to 'Soulmate' and fiddle with your phone case, trying to come up with a reply. Harper casts glances at the screen every few seconds, trying to act normal.

I can't have the publicity.

Your gut sours as you wait for a reply, but you can't seem to rip your eyes away.

I understand.

That is why we should talk.

"Maybe you should talk," Harper says. "It'll be worth it, I'm sure."

You know it will- you want to be with him, you want to have a future together and you want that yearning in your chest to be filled with satisfaction that maybe, just maybe, you can finally do life right.

But part of you- perhaps the rational part of you- believes that could never happen. You'd have to choose between your soulmate and your job. Helping the city, being anonymous, meeting new people and laughing with your colleagues- your best friends- doing what you love...

You turn off your phone without replying.

A/N: Requests are open for batfam if anyone has ideas (bc I heavily lack those rn)

Masterlist

#damian wayne x reader #batfamily #batfam #x reader #batfamily x reader

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hopelessrromantix · 7 months

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kinktober day 10 boot riding

daddy kink, amab reader yes ill post the missing days i swear sjdkf

cis women dni

The longer you stayed at a party, the more boring it got.

Sure, getting drunk and high and fucking around with your classmates was a good time. But after hours of huddling together with sweaty drugged up teenagers and having generic music blasted into your ears, it got a bit boring.

But Billy always found a way to make it more entertaining. Normally by pulling off a rather impressive keg stand. For once, he’d offered to be the designated driver (mostly because you’d done it for the past four parties and refused to do it again), so you were downing your second drink, talking to some junior you barely knew. The buzz of a high was clouding your head, though it wasn’t enough to impair your judgment.

But apparently your boyfriend felt like pissing you off tonight.

Eventually the junior wandered off, probably to flirt with someone interested. Billy, on the other hand, was chatting up some girl from your math class. You didn’t remember her name, but you most certainly remembered the way she talked to Billy.

She gave a fake laugh, making sure to lean forward and give him a decent view of her cleavage. Not that you blamed her for trying to sleep with your boyfriend. Billy was pretty, and it’s not like she knew he had a boyfriend. So no, you didn’t hold any resentment toward the girl.

Billy, on the other hand, was in a world of hurt.

He had every chance to turn her down. Every chance to make up some half-assed excuse or just plain tell her he wasn’t into it. But no. He joked and gave her some cheesy pick-up line. The brat even had the nerve to look your way while he was doing so, giving you a wink.

You watched for a minute longer, waiting for him to make some excuse to leave. But when it was obvious he had no plans of doing so, you decided to step in for him.

“C’mon Hargrove, you’re my ride home.” Luckily your head was clear enough to make walking out easy.

Billy frowned, trying to look as disappointed as possible. “Already? But I was having fun!” The girl next to him looked sad as well, as if begging you to let him stay longer.

“Sorry, I gotta get up early tomorrow,” You said, shrugging. Tomorrow was Saturday, neither you nor Billy had anything to do. But she didn’t need to know that.

“Fine, buzzkill.”

Billy, tap dancing on your last nerve, gave the girl a wink, causing her to let out an airy giggle. You rolled your eyes, stomping out of the house. You could hear Billy mumble what was most certainly a sarcastic comment under his breath.

You sat in the passenger seat the second he opened the door, waiting as he slid into the driver’s seat a second later.

After a second of him realizing you weren’t going to speak, he started driving, the music from the party fading into the background as he did so.

“Your mom and that bastard home?” You knew the answer was no. He’d made quite a big deal about getting the house to himself while Neil dragged his step-mom and Max on a ‘family outing’. Even with Max asking, Billy was left home alone.

“No, why?” He asked, glancing over to you before his eyes returned to the road. He was perfectly aware of ‘why’, you knew that much.

“Gonna let me stay over, pretty boy?” You asked, your tone low. He nodded, quickly taking a turn to head toward his house.

The trip was short and Billy got out of the car almost immediately after you arrived. You chuckled at how eager he was, fumbling with his keys in an attempt to get in quicker.

You followed closely, heading to Billy’s room without much hesitation.

The second you got in, you closed the door, pressing Billy up against a wall.

“You got some fuckin’ nerve, Hargrove,” you spoke quietly and quickly, though you knew he heard you from how he shivered. “You tryna get my attention, or just tryna whore around with some poor girl, hm?”

He shook his head rapidly, gulping down a breath.

Billy tried his hand at being a brat often. Always teasing you, getting your attention in public. But the second you were behind closed doors, he practically melted.

“Words, baby boy.”

“No, Daddy.”

God he knew what buttons to press.

“Then why were you flirting?” You spoke softly, loving how his eyes glazed over with lust when you did so. “Giving her hope for no reason. That just seems mean, baby.”

He made a noise of disagreement, shaking his head again. “Didn’t mean to, just wanted your attention.”

You chuckled. “No, you knew exactly what you were doing.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you slammed your lips into his before he could. You took over the kiss quickly. His arms twined around your neck, one of yours on his hip and the other gripping his hair. You gave a soft tug to his hair, forcing a loud moan out of his throat.

You slotted one thigh between his legs, giving him the chance to messily rut against you. Both your pants were tight, his jeans no doubt uncomfortable at this point.

“Pleeease just fuck me.” He was practically begging, arms tightening around you. “Please, I’m sorry for flirting with her, I won’t do it again.”

You both knew damn well he’d do it again.

“I don’t think I feel like forgiving you yet, baby.” He huffed at your words, hips still moving against your clothed thigh.

“How about this,” You suggested. You placed your hands on his shoulders, lowering him to his knees and placing your boot between his legs. “You cum in under two minutes, and I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t remember your damn name.”

He nodded rapidly, head collapsing into your leg.

He moved his hands towards his jeans, only stopping when you firmly questioned what he was doing.

"I can't use my hands?" He asked, looking slightly hopeful. As if he'd get off that easy.

“If you really want me to fuck you, you can cum like this.”

He paused for a moment. “Like ‘this’?”

You smirked, tilting his head up slightly with one finger. “You think you can cum in your jeans for me?”

He shivered, nodding fervently.

"Good boy."

He started off slow, moving his hips against the firm leather of your boot. It was just enough stimulation for his sensitive cock. He was burying his face into your jeans, mouthing at your dick over the fabric. You just let him, watching as he desperately tried to get you to force your cock down his throat.

"One minute left." He whimpered.

His thrusts sped up, messily humping your boot in an attempt to get off. Barely decipherable mumbles of "please" "Daddy" and "more" tumbled out his lips, the words jumbled together and high pitched.

"You gonna cum, whore?" You asked, spitting out the term as if it was his name. He moaned, nodding.

"Please can I? Please Daddy? Wanna cum for you so you'll fuck me, please?"

You'd barely said yes before he buried his face into your thigh, hips stuttering and slowing. Cum slowly seeped through the fabric of his boxers, and suddenly he was thankful you'd waited until he was home to ruin him.

"Good job handsome," you said, leaving down and placing a surprisingly soft kiss on his forehead. "You get your reward now."

He was practically buzzing already.

#male reader #dom male reader #top male reader #x reader #billy hargove smut #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x male reader #kinktober 2023 #stranger things x male reader

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giuliettagaltieri · 3 months

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Chase for Prestige

Pairing: Presidential Candidate!Coriolanus Snow x Strategist!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Performer

Warning: elitism, morally gray reader, greed, mentions of drugging, self induced injury, violence, death

Word Count: 3738

3 of 6

After graduating from the University, you and Coriolanus set your plan in motion. With your minds working together, and Dr. Gaul and the Plinths behind him, it was not that difficult to do.

Coriolanus was a perfect man to become a President.

He has the intellect for it, the support, the charisma, and the right name.

It was not a wonder how in just a couple of years, young Coriolanus Snow was able to climb high in politics. A fresh graduate, already contending with veterans.

With the media on his side, he showed them that what Panem needs is something fresh. Someone new to govern them.

President Ravenstil is an old man, he has suffered too much. And it seems he was only waiting for the young Snow to fully come to age and take the seat that was rightfully his.

When Coriolanus announced that he is filing candidacy for President, you were with him.

Thanatos Swansworth’s daughter.

The Districts felt an old fear creeping up their bones, similar to what they felt over two decades ago.

But Coriolanus Snow was not the only candidate.

There was also Hilarius Heavensbee.

Not the greatest politician but he did have the money and influence.

“Heavensbee visited the grave of Felix Ravenstill.” You say from the couch in Coriolanus’ office. “Claimed to avenge his good friend when he becomes President.”

Coriolanus puts his pen down as he listens to you read from the newspaper.

This is not good. This will garner the attention of the Capitol. And with President Ravenstill stepping down, it seems only fitting to have someone who will avenge Felix as a replacement.

“I regret telling you that.” You sigh as you make your way to the refreshments table to pour yourself a cup of tea. “Focus on your speech for tonight.”

He bristles. “How could I when my enemy has the upperhand. He offers kindness and empathy. What do I have to offer? The name of my father and games?” Coriolanus snaps at you.

But you don’t respond to him as you check the teapot for remaining hot tea.

“What are you doing?” He grumbles, eyeing you with frowned brows. To his surprise, you plunge your hand inside. “Y/N!”

Your hiss as Coriolanus yanks your arm away, making the teapot drop and shatter on the hardwood floor. “What has gotten into you!” You have never heard him so angry. Not even when they stripped him off his name and status and sent him to District 12.

He rushes you to the powder room and places your hand under the faucet. His teeth were grinding against each other as he observed your skin for any permanent damage.

“What were you thinking?” His voice is low and barely contained. He was behind you, trapping you between him and the lavatory. Every rumble of his chest sends a shiver to your spine.

You smile as you gently move your fingers. No serious damage. Your skin still stings though.

“Giving you a chance to be kind and empathic.” You laugh, one cut short by how he squeezes at your hip warningly. “You’ll have to cut my steak for me later, Mr. President.” The frown in his brows deepen as he hears the smile in your voice. “I will make you do everything for me, Coriolanus Snow.”

He did not like what you did.

Not when you grimace at the slightest touch to your hand.

The Plinths held the dinner party for Coriolanus, a celebration before his District Tour.

Many influential people are present in the party and for those who could not come, the party is being televised, all throughout Panem.

You are by his side the entire time, your good hand holding on to his arm, whispering information to his ears for every person that comes to shake his hand.

It was fascinating to watch how easy it was to inflate their ego. They genuinely thought that Coriolanus Snow had the time to know their name and worry how their orchids were thriving this year. No, it was all you.

You with your sweet smile and alluring voice.

Many expressed their worry for your injured hand but you always manage to turn it back to Coriolanus. Telling them you had a little accident with your tea this morning, that it could have been worse had it not been for Coriolanus Snow.

They were so touched by his concern for you. They start to see him in a new light. He was not only good to Sejanus Plinth, but he was also doting on you.

Coriolanus Snow is a firm politician but he is also capable of warmth.

Many of them sneakily tried to ask about your relationship, but you were smart enough to deflect their questions. Not confirming them but also not denying, just enough to keep their attention on you.

And it was finally time for the speech.

Coriolanus made people shed tears that night, fueled the narcissism of the Capitol citizens, but also gave a smidge of hope to the people of the Districts, it is not much but they do learn to start trusting this young Snow.

You are at your table, sharp eyes glinting at Coriolanus, sipping your champagne as you watch your handiwork. You were careful enough to wear a gentle smile, for the cameras, lest the public mistake you for plotting something malevolent.

For the grand finale, he walks over to your table, his eyes on you the entire time as roars of applause ring heavily in the air. He gently holds your elbow, careful not to hurt your hand and places a featherlight kiss on your wrist and closes his eyes, making the public believe that you are his anchor, grounding him.

Your lips part at his display of affection. It almost seemed real. You place your good hand on your chest as you smile up at him, your eyes turning glassy from all the emotions you are supposed to be feeling.

The ruse does not end there.

Just as you asked, he cut your steak for you, excusing himself from the conversation with the president to focus on the task.

You kick him under the table, it was sweet but this is the president he is talking to, and to put it to a pause just for your meal-

“What a sweet boy you are.” The President’s wife coos and the President nods in agreement.

“It is hard to come by a good woman, especially for men like us.” The President tells Coriolanus who chuckles.

“Indeed, sir. That is why I have no intention of letting this one go.” Coriolanus nods at you, making everyone around the table laugh.

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.” You place a hand on his forearm. “You are stuck with me.”

The President laughs harder at that.

It seems like Coriolanus knows what he is doing. It made him look committed.

The Capitol is sad to see you off in your District Tour.

Hilarius Heavensbee, calls it foolishness in an interview once. So many can go wrong on the tour. You can be ambushed in the middle of speeches, poisoned in the homes you stay in, and even road accidents are a possibility.

You indulge a reporter as you are about to depart with Coriolanus, you smile at the camera as you hold on to his arm. “Hilarius Heavensbee is right to be afraid, but a coward to hide in the walls of the Capitol.”

The ratings for Coriolanus rose dramatically after your comment, and the man cannot be more proud of you.

Or so he thought.

District 4 was fairly a peaceful place. The land was beautiful due to it being situated on a large body of water, one that you do not see much from the Capitol. The stench was something else but with the position of being President on the line, Coriolanus managed to tolerate it.

The mayor was wary for some reason.

He was sweating intensely. His eyes darted all around, jumping at the slightest of sounds. It did not sit well with either of you but you smiled for the cameras still.

He was nearly rushing you and Coriolanus to a fairly sized yacht.

The ship you saw your father buy on an impulse once could collide with this one and your father’s ship will not even feel the slightest tremor. It was exceptionally gigantic, especially to a four-year-old girl. Your father bought it for your family should the Capitol fall in the war. You never got to see that ship again when he got his head blown up with a sniper.

When you manage to get to a considerable distance from the port, the mayor was able to breathe more calmly.

“Is something the matter?” Coriolanus smiled kindly, but you hear the sharpness in his voice.

The man stills his movement, his breath coming to a stop too as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. He opens his mouth and closes them quickly. He looks like he is about to burst into tears.

“You-you see, Mister Snow, sir…” He stammers.

“Yes?” Coriolanus raises a brow.

The mayor heaves a rather large sigh.

“We m-might have received word that a…a group of people might have been uhm, they might cause…a smidge of trouble.” He scratches at his head, trying to make it sound light and funny but he is obviously failing, soaked with sweat now. “But there is nothing you should worry about. We are taking care of it.”

You wanted to punch the man.

“And you thought it might be wise to bring us here in the middle of the ocean when someone declared a threat against us?” You ask coldly.

“We thought, this way…w-we can select who could be around you, Miss Swansworth.” He grimaces at your tone.

Coriolanus looks around the deck. The reporters are stationed on one side, waiting to cover the party that will be thrown at dusk. Peacekeepers are also deployed in the area.

You pull Coriolanus close by his tie, the mayor looking away with his cheeks flushing. It seemed too intimate for him to see.

“We cannot have rebel attacks in the news. It would prove everything Heavensbee said to be true. Everybody would laugh at us!” You say through gritted teeth.

Coriolanus clicks his tongue, hating how true your words are. He places a warm hand on your back and leans down until his lips brushes against your ear, tickling you.

The reporters are going haywire at the romantic gesture being offered to them.

“We will proceed as planned.” He whispers lowly. “For now, let’s retreat to someplace more private.” Coriolanus straightens up and looks at the mayor testingly. “Mister mayor, could you provide us a quieter deck? Miss Swansworth would love to rest before the party begins.”

The smile you gave the mayor did not reach your eyes.

“Of course! Right this way, please.” He guides you inside the yacht and Coriolanus had his hand on the small of your back, keeping you close. Peacekeepers stationed themselves inside and outside the doors. A silencer now attached at the tips of their guns. The mayor opens the door leading to a smaller deck, an empty one, one you’d love to explore.

“You can rest here, Miss Swansworth.” He smiles nervously at you, his feet sweating at how you look at the place with indifference. “Mister Snow, I would send refreshments for you and the Miss.” He walks over to the door. “Excuse me.” He almost runs away from you.

“How rude.” You say plainly. “Acting as if I will bite his head off if he breathed wrong.”

Coriolanus leaves your side to rest on a plush sofa. “You wouldn’t?” He busies himself with a pile of magazines that featured successful men of the Capitol. He is somewhere in there too.

You scoff, walking over to the empty deck.

“Stay where I can see you.” He reminds in a manner that is intended for children.

Rolling your eyes, you venture further into the deck, the sun is setting beautifully, it would be a shame to stay indoors.

You close your eyes at the soft breeze, listening to the gentle lap of the waves and the seagulls flying above.

“My my, what a stubborn girl.” Coriolanus sighs as he comes to stand next to you.

“You are not my father.” You quip, brow raising at him.

He only smiles darkly at you. “No, but I expect the same obedience from you.”

Coriolanus chuckles when you huff, your lips forming a delicate pout.

In the calmness of the descending twilight, you both share a comfortable silence.

Behind the beauties that publicity offered you during the tour, one thing that you appreciated is the places you got to visit.

Coriolanus was not the best company but he is slowly becoming more and more tolerable. At times you even begin to have trouble trying to guess if his actions are part of your ruse or not.

A mistake.

You inhale sharply, turning away from the tangerine glare, your back to him.

Coriolanus Snow watches you as you walk away from him.

“Problem?”

He leans on the rails, his arms crossing.

You sigh as you grip your wrist behind your back and rocked on your feet, still not looking at him. You appear rather insecure and it bothered him greatly. Y/N Swansworth can be a shy girl but never insecure. Not even once.

“Yes.”

Coriolanus strides over but you take another step back. He narrows his eyes at you warningly. “Tell me.”

You purse your lips, doe eyes glancing at him before looking away. “I should not.”

Patiently, he waited for you to continue talking.

You started walking further and further until you were farthest from him.

“Are you asking for a chase, sweetheart?” He says playfully. Coriolanus found it comical to watch your eyes widen.

“No.” You are quick to rid your face of vulnerability. “I would like a moment alone.” You spoke distantly.

Coriolanus knew better than to force you to do something that you quite obviously do not want to do.

He straightens up and gives you a charming smile, similar to the ones he gave to the cameras, you hated it.

“I will leave you to yourself then.”

You bite your tongue as you watch him head to the direction of the door. You wanted to stop him. To get him to stay…with you. But your longing eyes, hidden by the dimming nightfall, can only look at him.

A soft thud from behind you steals both of your attention. Coriolanus pauses his steps by the door.

“Y/N?” He calls. “Come here.”

With the lack of light, you struggle to see clearly what is happening, but with the mercy of whatever gods are looking down at you, you manage to see a silhouette of a person on top of the rails.

He was startled to see you, his movements freezing. But that moment of shock did not last long as he seethed at you, his hand fished something from his pocket and you did not wait around to see what it was as you ran to Coriolanus as fast as you could.

But the man was not having any of that.

You yelp as a heavy mass slams against your back, knocking you to the ground. It takes everything in you not to scream when your foot lands badly, now twisted in a weird angle. Tears spring in your eyes as a burning pain rips from your head as your hair is being held in harsh fingers. A cold sting against your neck had you squeezing your eyes but a muted bang stills every movement.

You look up to see Coriolanus still pointing a gun not very far above you, his eyes wide and afraid. The fillet knife clatters on the deck and you groan as the man collapses on top of you.

Loud footsteps echo around the deck and you are yanked by your arms but as your feet make contact with the floor, you cry out in pain.

You sniffle as you collapse on your bum, pretty dress splayed around you as you try to be brave, swallowing your sobs as you shiver from the fright. Rough hands grab at your tear stained cheeks, turning you from side to side.

“It’s alright, I got you.” He murmurs as the peacekeepers fill the area, the body being dragged away and taken care of. You clutch at Coriolanus’ arms as you sobbed openly at his chest. “You’re safe.” It was the only promise he made that you found yourself believing.

The mayor was hysterical. The doors and blinds shut, separating you from the people in the main deck. He is kneeling in front of you and Coriolanus, sobbing like a newborn child deprived of his mother.

“We cannot let the people know about this.” You spoke sternly, the ice on your foot had a biting cold, not making you feel any better. “This never happened.”

Coriolanus’ leg is bouncing without a pause, his eyes livid as he refuses to let you get as far away as a meter from him.

The peacekeepers offered a drink to the Mayor before he leaves, which you think might have been tampered with as he was unnervingly happy afterwards, perhaps a bit loopy. He joins the party with a glass of wine that a peacekeeper thrusted to his hand.

“You’d have to follow him.” You spoke gently, trying not to wake his anger again.

“How many times would you have me tell you?” He asks, agitated. “I will not be leaving your side-”

“You have come this far, Corio.” You spoke quietly, eyes looking anywhere but him. “Surely you don’t intend to make a mistake now.”

This gets him to reconsider. You turn to him with your most convincing smile.

“Nobody is foolish enough to attempt another attack after that.” You do not know that of course but you will say anything just to get him out there. “We are doing so well, Coriolanus. Do not ruin this for us.” You plead.

Coriolanus looks away from you, contemplating.

“We were supposed to do this together.” He sighs, eyes downcast. It is a look you have seen often in his youth. “And I let you get hurt. On my watch.”

You smile, a real one this time.

In that moment, the peacekeepers and the people outside seemed to have disappeared as you were certain that it was just you and Coriolanus existing at that moment.

“I will never forget what you did for me.” You caress his face. He killed a man for you.

“You still got hurt.” He frowns, jerking away from your touch.

Coriolanus Snow is sulking.

Laughing softly, you place a kiss on his jaw as you give him a knowing look. He keeps his face straight but he looks at you from the edge of his skeptical eyes.

“Don’t play games with me.” He warns you but you only giggle.

“I will be seeing you in a while.” You say as you fix the ice better on your swollen foot.

Coriolanus wanted nothing else but to pull you back to him but he decides against it and he gets on his feet. He gives you one last look before heading to the party.

Peacekeepers were quietly deployed around the yacht to prevent the public from noticing anything unusual. The party was already packed with them by the time Coriolanus joined in.

You watch a live feed of the party from a channel that broadcasts all over Panem.

They are all expressing their disappointment in your failure to attend the party.

Coriolanus charmed them by saying that you had fallen asleep while the two of you watched the sunset, he told them you were too precious to be awakened from your slumber.

The people of the Capitol will believe you of course, but your enemies will plant seeds of doubt from this error.

You cannot let that happen.

The mayor was laughing at something Coriolanus said, others present at the table laughing along with him. They did not know that the Capitol politician knew how to jest.

Coriolanus laughed along with them, though his eyes often wander to the closed doors that separated you from him.

“Missing Miss Swansworth?” The mayor wriggles his eyebrows at him. Perhaps the peacekeepers added a little too much on the drink. He is starting to get too friendly than Coriolanus would have tolerated.

He chuckles lightly. “I am.”

Everybody in the table looks at him dreamily, their hands in their chests.

“I have the perfect distraction.” The mayor exclaims. “You must try this, Mister Snow.” The mayor pushes a plate of Lobster Thermidor to him. Coriolanus knew better than to try anything that is not approved by the food taster you hired.

He smiles and pats his toned abdomen. “Oh, no. Thank you, but I have satiated my appetite.”

The mayor frowns at him. “But these are the best lobsters in District 4!”

Coriolanus nods at him. “And they are exquisite, Mister Mayor!”

With such flattery, the mayor blushes, smiling bashfully at the others who praised him.

As the night progressed, Coriolanus kept glancing at his watch, dreading the speed of time. Time was moving so slowly, he wondered if this was a form of punishment.

“I cannot believe you started the party without me.”

Coriolanus never looked up as swiftly.

There you stood, in a long evening dress he had not seen before, smiling brighter than any stars overhead. You are standing on your feet, posture perfect, with no trace of injury.

He was in disbelief and he wanted nothing more than to tell you to get back inside. His brows pinch when you glide with perfect steps, face as angelic as ever.

Coriolanus was quick to get to his feet and pull the chair next to him for you to sit on.

“Thank you.” You smile at him.

The media was quick to cover your arrival.

“You’re not supposed to be on your feet.” He seethes. His smile barely kept together and you can see his teeth gritting.

In a closer look, he can see how your eyes are a bit glassy, lips quivering, and your temple moist with sweat. You lean closer to him and beam.

“The show must go on.”

Hunt for Glory

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow x you #the hunger games #tbosas #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunt for glory

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merakidoll · 11 months

Text

drug ✧ ೃ༄

“this is gonna get us in a lot of trouble eren!” “it is mama. as long as you got me, i got you” and you did, because lord forbid anyone found out about this. about you and him, the world would end. but the smooth talking drug dealer was addicting, you never had drugs but you felt like if you did it would be something like the love you have for him. his kisses and touches, the way the pads of his hand’s gently touched your soft skin goose bumps arising with shallow breaths and shy glances. that was addicting. or how he went slow with you on your first time, the tips of his fingers digging into your thigh to keep that one leg secured around his waist. he keep a steady eye contact, his green orbs so emotional when you shed tears at the pain turning into pleasure, lips kissing your forehead whispering praises… “it feels better now mama? mmm you like it like that huh?”. but just like a drug it had its lows, the lows of him being your brother enemy and a dying hate burning through both of their hearts that no love so strong could stop it. no love, not even the kind when you give your all to someone. eren was sweet, courageous, intelligent, but also selfish. you now realized that no love could stop his money hungry mindset- because if he truly loved you, he wouldn’t have killed your brother.

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necstasy · 16 days

Text

candy-coated raindrops

& willy wonka

synopsis. willy wonka lets you play around in his chocolate kit. neither of you could have predicted that you would create an aphrodisiac chocolate.

includes. aphrodisiacs, smut 18+ MDNI, accidental drugging (due to aphrodisiacs), oral (f receiving), dry humping, cumming untouched, premature ejaculation, p n v intercourse, virgin coded willy, teaching/coaching, neighbors/friends to lovers, typical wonka shenanigans, fluff

word count. 6k

a/n. title from candy rain by soul for real. art is aftersleep by lewinale havette.

Willy should have never let you in his chocolatier kit. He was being sweet, charming, romantic, even. It seemed like a harmless idea at the time, letting you have full reign over the elaborate ingredients in his at home kit, allowing you to make whatever chocolate you wanted.

You’ve seen him make chocolate often enough to know the process. You stressed that you didn’t need his guidance. You wanted your creation to be a surprise, so you casted him off to his living room while you sat in the kitchen, working diligently to create your masterpiece.

When you finished and had two tiny and harmless-seeming chocolates in your hand, you and Willy quickly indulged yourselves, humming around the surprisingly pleasant taste. But then the effects began to kick in.

They were slightly unnoticeable at first, and your immediate instinct was to attribute the sudden warmth to a shift in the temperature, the sweat gathering along your hairline to the stress of making chocolate, the adrenaline in your limbs to the sugar making its way through your body, the stirring low in your abdomen to the presence of someone you feel something for standing just across from you.

But the growth of your symptoms were confusing. Willy displaying similar symptoms was alarming.

Standing in the center of his apartment, you’re trying to ignore the way your heart is trying to jump out of your chest and into his while you focus on the way Willy’s green eyes are a little lidded and heavy and—dare you say—lustful as he stares at you, all while you’re trying to get to the bottom of the incident.

“Willy,” you call his name once, and when he doesn’t answer, you call it twice. It’s not until you introduce a firm tone that he blinks himself out of whatever stupor he was in. When he looks at you again, his eyes seem a little clearer.

(He was intensely trained on the way your blouse, newly tailored by your own hands, fit over your bosom with just enough strain to create emphasis. In fact, you were filling out all of your clothes quite well today, but he hadn’t noticed until now. Until the chocolate has taken effect, he reminds himself.)

“I’m sorry, have you been talking?”

You nod. “Yes!”

Willy clearly hasn’t been listening at all. Now, he stands straight with his hands tucked into his front pockets. You don’t fail to notice the tension in his shoulders and his face, especially since he attempts to relax both areas, only to end up in the same predicament as before.

“Did I do something wrong with the chocolates?” You ask him.

Willy takes a second. He clicks his tongue, turns to face the wall to your left, and hums.

“That depends. Did you do something wrong with the chocolates?” His attempt at a joke falls flat, especially when your response is the same expression. He presses his lips into a thin line, dips his head. “Sorry.”

He runs down the list of the standard ingredients, asking if you’d included each and every one to the T. Then he gets to the additives, the ingredients that make Wonka’s chocolate unique. The array that you previously had free reign to, left with one singular instruction to not mix them together.

“You didn’t mix them, right?” His eyebrows lift, his eyes widen as if mixing the ingredients could cause something as disastrous as the end of the world. When you shake your head with the absolute truth, worries melt from Willy’s face for just a second, before his eyebrows push together and he takes a step closer to you.

“Oh, God, don’t tell me you used the pink bottle? The small one tucked in the corner?” He says it with caution, and this tone alerts you more than the previous. This tone is careful, as if he’s attempting to not scare you as well as himself.

This tone makes you hesitate to answer truthfully. You choose avoidance as a replacement strategy.

“What would happen if I did use the pink bottle? Nothing bad, right?”

Willy steps back, turns, and begins to pace the apartment, your eyes following him to and fro.

“Nothing bad, I guess. Just … unfavorable. Awkward. Debauched.” With each adjective he stops, faces you, and then continues pacing.

Debauched? Is that why you feel like this? Is that why you’ve been watching Willy’s mouth and hands move rapidly? Why you’ve been noticing how pink and smooth his lips are, and how slim and long his fingers are, and why you suddenly can’t stop thinking about exactly what he could do with both.

It takes loads of strength to snap yourself out of your daze.

“Um … debauched? What d’you mean, Willy? What was in the pink bottle?”

He finally stops his pacing to face you. His green eyes seem a little remorseful, maybe regretful. He looks like he’s going to deliver unfavorable news, things that could change the trajectory of your slightly comfortable life.

“It’s an aphrodisiac.”

An aphrodisiac. Willy Wonka has an aphrodisiac in his chocolatier kit. It shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is, the man has Yeti tears and Hoverflies and other things you can’t even begin to comprehend. But Willy Wonka making sex chocolates is the thing you’re struggling to wrap your head around.

You don’t bother asking why he has an aphrodisiac, and you know what it would do—what it will do to you both—but you still find yourself asking for assurance.

“What would an aphrodisiac chocolate do?”

Willy clicks his teeth. “Well, I suppose it would … do what aphrodisiacs do.”

Currently, it’s certainly doing what aphrodisiacs do. Willy really shouldn’t have let you make chocolates.

You turn away from him.

When you’d been sitting in front of all of Willy’s ingredients, they were all a little overwhelming. You had endless options for what you wanted to create. Endless possibilities for effects. And when you’d decided to keep it simple with a pretty pink unlabeled bottle, you assumed the chocolate would be strawberry flavored at most. Not this. You can’t help but ruminate, letting your thoughts lead you down twisted corridor after twisted corridor, all lined with possibilities of how you and Willy’s cherished friendship could be destroyed by this one mistake. Your mistake.

You hear his footsteps first. Soft thuds of his worn in boots against the creaky floor. You feel the warmth of his body next, getting closer and closer until he’s right behind you.

When his hand touches your elbow, you flinch at first. When he doesn’t remove his touch, you quickly become used to it.

“Hey, you aren’t panicking, are you? Because I’m sure I could whip up an anecdote or something. It might take a while because I don’t know the exact ratio, but I’m sure I could do it.”

There’s a second where you don’t say anything, even though you have a worried reply already brewing on your tongue, the words along the lines of Willy either making the situation worse or taking too long to create an anecdote. Ultimately, you decide to hold your tongue, not willingly, instead because you’re acutely aware of the way Willy’s trying to soothe you. You’re focused on the way his voice reverberates in his throat, the volume and tone so soft that you can’t help but create an entirely different scenario for when the words could be said in your imagination. He sounds so beautiful, a voice you want to hear for as long as the universe would allow it.

And if that’s the chocolate or your long term crush talking, you don’t know. What you do know is that you and Willy should stay away from each other just in case either of you thought about giving in and ruined whatever good thing you had going thus far.

Willy doesn’t take kindly to your suggestion.

He steps in front of you, bending down enough to force you to look at him, his hopeful eyes searching for your downcast ones.

“Stay away from each other? I think we should do the opposite, just for our own safety. We don’t know how strong this batch is, you know. What if you walk out of this flat and jump onto the first guy you see?”

He talks fast, bordering on rambling, and his words hold an edge stronger than plain worry. Jealousy, even, but you refuse to believe it.

(Willy certainly is jealous at the thought of someone taking care of you in this state, especially since that would leave him alone with only his hand and the memory of you once more.)

When you agree to stay, your decision is based on wishful thinking. You both sit back on Willy’s new couch, a display of how well his chocolate shop was doing. There’s a little too much space between you both, but the energy radiating from your bodies occupies the gap.

Willy asks you about your symptoms first.

You list them off, the same as before save for the addition of the arousal gathering in your panties. Willy nods, you notice his ears turning a very light pink as he divulges into his symptoms.

“The same as you and I uh …” he hesitates. His hips shift along the couch and he wipes his hands along the knees of his trousers. “I have an erection,” he eventually admits, his voice just a tad bit too low.

It is plain curiosity that drives you to look over at his crotch where you take notice of the evidence.

You want to stare longer, you really do, and your gaze does linger for a moment. Until you feel Willy watching you and you lift your eyes to his, taking in the way they’re just wide enough to display curiosity, a look he wears often and well.

He licks his lips and your ever inquisitive eyes pick it up.

“How long do you think the symptoms will last?” You ask him.

Willy shrugs. “It can’t be more than a few hours, right?”

You nod, sit back, and wait.

Two hours pass by before you give in.

You make it through the first hour with much difficulty and nothing but board games, books, and stories about your childhoods to keep you tethered. You go to the bathroom an hour and a half in and seriously consider forcing your fingers between your thighs for just a bit of relief, but Willy calls out for your turn in a rousing game of chess from the otherside of the door and you’re flushing the toilet and waddling back out to face him.

It’s a slight brush against the other that changes the course.

You’re both in Willy’s kitchen attempting to make tea. The space is like yours, just inverted, which means it is entirely too small for the price you pay. You’re moving around well enough at first, asking Willy where things are before you grab them yourself as he works in tandem.

And then it’s a slight brush, just the smallest bit of friction from his crotch running against your bottom, that makes your breaths hitch.

For the past two hours, you both had been avoiding the issues at hand, dancing around the elephant in the room like hormonal teenagers going through their first near-sex encounter. Willy kept a pillow over his lap to shroud his prominent boner. You tried your best to keep your blouse from rubbing against your erect nipples, or the seam of your trousers from rubbing against your cunt. And all things considered, you were doing pretty well.

All it took was one little brush and suddenly your pelvis is pressed against the counter, the cabinet above you is closed with its desired contents forgotten, and Willy has you caged in your spot with his hands on either side of you.

His head rests against your shoulder as he frantically rocks his hips into yours. One of his hands leaves the material of the counter to grip your hip, keeping you still as he continues to hump you. Your own stimulation from the act is minimal, but the aphrodisiac has apparently also made you grateful because you take what you can get.

Plus, the little sounds Willy makes are enough to get you off alone. You wished you could bottle them up and take them back with you, in fear that this would only be a one time thing.

He is all but whimpering against your back with each shaky thrust into your ass. He glides the length of his cock along the seam of your cheeks, working in strokes as long as the situation allows for.

There’s not much coordination to it, but apparently it gets the job done because it is alarming how soon his hips stutter and he rocks into you one final time before he stops and pants against your back.

His turnaround time is even quicker.

“Oh God,” he steps back from you, but the kitchen doesn’t allow for much space. When you turn around to face him, he’s still within arms reach. “I’m sorry. I … I don’t know what came over me. Maybe you were right, we should’ve gone our separate ways. Allow me to show you out…”

You put an end to his rambling by pulling him close with one hand on his face and the other on his shoulder.

You’re bold for a moment, bold enough to bring your mouths almost together. The tips of your noses touch, you can feel his breath mingling with yours, but then you give him space. You give him the option to back out, positively damning you to your own devices and memories once more.

But if it means you and Willy could remain friends, then you’ll take it.

The doubt begins to creep into your mind. It starts to make a home in your frontal lobe, distorting the image in front of you into something shameful. Self deprecating, even. He had just humped himself to completion against your back, yet you question how he feels about you.

Your touch on Willy’s body lessens into a gentle press for just a second in preparation to separate from him completely, but then Willy takes the initiative to move a hair closer and presses his lips to yours.

It’s swift at first, nothing but a hesitant press of lips against lips. It’s not halfhearted, though. On both ends is a certain amount of exercised restraint, and when you sigh and press your chest to Willy’s, he gets rid of his first.

Like before, Willy displays an unruly side to him that you had barely seen before. He delivers onto you a passion you have only seen him have for his business thus far.

His hands eagerly cup your cheeks as he sears his mouth against yours. Your lips move in uncoordinated tandem, lacking any cleanliness within it. You allow yourself to be coaxed into opening up until you have your hips against Willy’s and your hands in his hair.

When you bump your crotch into his, Willy makes a noise into your mouth that sounds like he’s been wounded. It’s then that you notice that he’s hard again. Or, maybe he was never soft to begin with, despite the dampness you know to exist within his trousers.

An idea forms into your mind.

You continue to allow Willy to kiss you, opening your mouth just enough to tease your tongue into his, before placing the muscle back into its home. Meanwhile, your hand travels down, over Willy’s chest, along his waist and pelvis, and then right to his croctch where you brush the palm of your hand over his boner with just enough pressure to elicit a reaction.

He sighs, pulling back from your lips to rest his forehead against yours. You take the positive reaction in stride and continue your work.

Your lips part in grateful shock whenever Willy rests one of his hands on your bottom, gripping the flesh through your skirt in his hand. His eyelashes flutter to open, revealing his big green eyes, windows into his soul that display the desire swarming through his body like a colony of active bees.

You only palm Willy’s cock twice more before he rests his hand on your wrist.

Your eyebrows lift, but you don’t have to voice your curiosity.

Willy smiles at you sheepishly as he delicately peels your touch away. “I don’t wanna …” He shakes his head. “Not too soon. Again. I want you to feel good, too.”

You don’t have to be told twice.

You dig your fingertips into the stiff waistband of Willy’s trousers and use your grip to pull him to the den behind you. Truthfully, even if you hadn’t tethered him you knew he would have followed.

As soon as the couch is within sight, you direct Willy to it and push him to sit. He falls back unceremoniously with a light “oh!”, looking up at you expectantly, eagerly. His lithe hands resting on his knees, his eyes as wide and curious as ever

As soon as you straddle him, he weakly thrusts up into you, as if the reaction was unintentional and instinctive. When your hands begin undoing the buttons of your blouse, Willy’s eyes drift down to watch, and it’s comical how they widen even more whenever your blouse is open and he gets the first look at your chest.

You pull the remainder of the shirt off of your body, and slip the straps of your bra off of your shoulders, but you stop there.

“Do you wanna take it off?” The previous haste hangs suspended over you both for just long enough for Willy to answer. As soon as he nods you’re directing his nimble fingers to the back of your bra, dropping your touch to allow him to fumble for the clasp. You expect it to take longer than it does, but only a few seconds and two attempts are needed before Willy has your tits exposed.

He stares. And stares. His lips quirk into a small smile, he compliments you with so much sincerity that you think you flush a little bit.

His hands still rest at your back, fingers lightly pressed into where the band of your bra had been digging into your skin all night. You don’t say anything when you latch your fingers onto his forearms and pull his hands around to the front.

Willy looks up at you with raised eyebrows, nonverbally asking for the permission you’ve already given him. Still, you nod once, and then he has two large hands covering your tits. You let him gather his bearings there, directing him every so often in ways to massage and pinch and rub against your nipple. Just when he starts to pull direct pleasure from you, he inhales as if he was going to say something.

“Can you—uh …” he hesitates and then starts again. “Can you teach me how to make you feel good? What can I do?”

You’re busy knocking your hips in a search for more pleasure, so it takes you a second to respond. “You can use your fingers. Or your mouth.”

Willy’s reply comes incredibly fast. “My mouth. If that’s okay with you.”

You stop moving and just smile down at Willy, brushing a stray curl off of his face only to watch it fall right back into place. “More than okay with me.”

Which is how you end up sitting on Willy Wonka’s new couch entirely bare, your legs spread before Willy who is on his knees in front of the couch. He has only taken his shirt off, and despite the disparity in nudity, you don’t feel uncomfortable. Even though you’re spread open before him.

From above, you’re able to see the way your cunt glistens, enticing even you to do something about it. It’s all the more confusing on why Willy is just sitting there, staring. You know he’s inexperienced from the way he requested guidance, but does he not know what to do at all?

Your lips part. “You can start by–” Willy doesn’t let you finish before he speaks over you.

“Just one second.” He drags it out.

It’s there where you realize he’s not completely lost. He’s just admiring.

You don’t rush Willy, even when your emptiness starts to become unbearable and you can feel frustration growing. You don’t have to wait for long, though, because Willy is soon extending a long middle finger and gently pushing it against your folds, applying just enough pressure to separate your lips and dip into your arousal.

He swipes through the fluid, gathering it on the tip of his finger before lifting the digit to the light, ignoring the way you shiver. You watch him inspect the way his finger glistens. You watch him bring it to his mouth and wrap his lips around it. You watch his cheeks hollow as he sucks his finger clean, his eyes fluttering shut much like they do whenever he’s tasting one of his particularly well made chocolates.

He releases his finger with an audible pop, his eyes opening and focusing right back on their target. When he speaks, it’s likely to himself.

“Wonder if I could harness this flavor.” He leans in as he says it, his lips getting closer and closer to the place you’ve wanted him for a while now. His last few words are spoken in almost a whisper, but you catch it anyway. “Maybe put it in one of my chocolates …” and then he’s letting his tongue exit his mouth and placing it on the path he’d opened.

He takes tiny and tentative licks for a few moments, focused on not one particular spot. He’s in between your entrance and your clit, occasionally catching a cluster of nerves that provide a teaser of what he could be doing with just a bit of guidance. Guidance that you’re willing to provide.

“Go up a bit,” you tell him, your hands digging into the velvet fabric of the couch cushions under you. He moves up, his eyes watching you and his eyebrows raised curiously. “Just a little further. There should be a–” He finds it just then and your head throws back.

You think he speaks a “there?” into your clit, but you can’t be sure. You nod either way, letting praises slip past your lips while Willy focuses his tongue there.

He’s not half bad now that he knows what to look for. His hands hold you open, one palm on each thigh, five fingers pressing into your skin with a firm focus. The tip of his tongue flicks your clit, sometimes slipping a little too far under or above but it works. The aphrodisiac knocking through your system makes sure that it all works.

Your hand eventually gravitates towards Wonka’s curls, fingers slotting through the tousled brown until you have the hair along his crown pushed back. He responds positively to this, pushing himself further into your cunt until his nose is buried in your mound. His enthusiasm peaks, he has a burst of energy, and he starts to lap at you. He pushes your legs up and back, opening all of you up to him, and he devours.

He’s messy and audible with it, switching between sliding around your entrance to going back to your clit. Every so often, he misses his target, but his recovery is quick, strong, and impressive.

You want to tell him to slip a finger in you, but the words refuse to find your tongue. They float aimlessly and uselessly around in your head, evading the hand that attempts to grab them. Instead, you grip his hair, push him down while you push your hips up, and Willy takes the direction as a hint to force his tongue in you. It’s unexpected, but it feels so good. You’re nodding and moaning far too loud.

“Yes, yes, right there, Willy. Don’t stop, please.”

It’s a little counterproductive and ironic when he briefly stops to assure you that he won’t stop, but the sentiment is still there. His nose nudges at your clit as his head bobs with the movement of his tongue working in and out of you. The combination has you close, and closer, and closer, until …

Your legs close around Willy’s head and your hips cant up towards his mouth while one of the strongest orgasms you’ve ever had takes over you. It surely has to be a combination of your recent celibacy, your feelings for the chocolatier between your legs, and the sweet candy still taking over your system. And you’re so thankful for each aspect as your thighs continue to tremble and you struggle to catch your breath.

Willy doesn’t seem to notice your struggle. He continues his work in the same place and with the same amount of determination, undeterred by your thighs pressed against his ears. He has accepted the position, resting his hands on the outside of your thighs and rubbing his palms up and down your skin. It’s almost too much, and you’re just about to tell him as such whenever you feel the beginnings of another orgasm creeping up your spine.

You debate your options: letting this orgasm taper off or letting it exist, and you can’t come to a conclusion before your body is making it for you.

Willy has switched back to your clit for this one, pink lips puckered around the bud as he sucks and licks and even nips every so often. Finally, he pushes a finger into you, just one but the rough pad of the digit massaging the top of your walls is enough for your head to throw back and your mouth to open in a silent shout as your toes point and your back curls. And soon after you’ve gone through this orgasm, you go limp and simply exist, shockingly thankful when he takes his mouth away from you.

“You taste good,” is the first thing he tells you. His lips and the surrounding area glisten. His overindulgence is obvious on both of your bodies.

You hum, trying to come back to.

“Do you want a taste?” He’s already rising to your lips when he asks it, and you wouldn’t have said no anyway. You kiss him gratefully, but lazily, letting his tongue slip into your mouth without much reciprocation on your end as you’re not wanting the flavor as much as you’re just wanting him. Thankfully, Willy doesn’t seem to mind.

Remaining lazy on top, you use your hands below Willy’s waistband to lightly palm his cock. When you find what you’re looking for, another boner stuffed in his trousers, you start to undo his pants.

When you pull his cock out of his boxers, you momentarily forget about his moment of weakness earlier. The mix of dry and wet cum around him doesn’t bother you, and you momentarily have the thought to clean him up with your mouth. You don’t get to act on it before Willy speaks.

“I should get protection.”

Your eyebrows lift. “Do you have any?”

When Willy nods enthusiastically, as if he’s proud to own condoms, your heart thuds painfully behind your throat. It makes sense that Willy would have slept with someone who wasn’t you, but that doesn't make it sting any less.

You watch him, anticipating him to stand and walk away to grab a condom. Instead, he reaches under the couch cushion, searching for a second, and pulls out a metal tin. You go to ask him about the location, your lips already forming the question whenever he answers it for you.

“Just in case.” His lips pull into a thin smile.

Is Willy really that desired that he keeps condoms stashed around his apartment? You wonder where else they are, and how often he gets to use them.

(Unbeknownst to you, it’s not very often at all. The locations are picked simply as a trait of overplanning and born from his hopefulness.)

In no time, Willy has the condom slipped over his dick and his tip nudges at your entrance. You’ve laid on the floor beside the couch, your back pressing into the rug you’d helped him buy not too long ago. When his tip is kissing your entrance, he stops there, eyes raising to meet yours for a second. You don’t know exactly what he’s waiting for, but you give him a curt nod anyway and that seems to do the trick. He pushes forward slowly and you don’t know if it’s for your benefit or his, for he shudders as soon as his tip breaches your entrance and you hiss and he continues to introduce more and more of his length.

You didn’t get a good look at him before allowing him to enter you, so you go on feeling alone. He’s thicker than you would have imagined, with more veins than you would have thought, too. The condom shields more than you would have liked, but safety is the most important thing here, even though your amplified brain tells you that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have a kid with Willy. You’ve seen him interact with children before, and the thought would sometimes find you late at night, or during moments like now. But before you can dwell on it any longer, you push it away as Willy sinks more length into you.

You try to be patient and breathe through it all. When Willy finally stops, you think you’ve reached the end. But then he moves a little more and apologizes when you groan exasperatedly.

“Almost there. I promise.” Just a few more seconds, and some impossible inches later, and Willy is finally nestled completely within you, deeper than you anticipated.

You’re unresponsive under him, your eyes blinking at the ceiling and your lips parted. From an outside perspective, it looks like you don’t have a single thought behind your eyes. When really, it’s the complete opposite. Your thoughts are taking over every bit of your being, echoing the same phrase in an exclamation: It’s finally happening!

He’s not moving yet, but even this feels heavenly. You’re so full, fuller than you’ve been in a while. Willy’s combination of length and girth is something you’ve never had before and you worry that after this dream completes, you might never have it again. You’ll forever be an addict chasing a high you won’t ever achieve again.

But that’s for you to worry about afterwards.

Willy has his head hung low above you, his hands pressed into the rug beside your head. His hips are flush with yours, still unmoving, but he’s breathing heavily above you. Labored, almost.

In an attempt to be soothing, you rake your hands through his hair. He shakes against you and lets out a sound that is a combination between a gasp and a moan. It’s so pretty that you want him to do it again, so you repeat your motion. It doesn’t get your intended reaction until you pull on the thinner hairs at the back of his head, and then he makes the sound again and gives you your first thrust.

After that, he doesn’t stop. You don’t think he can.

His thrusts are clearly unpracticed, which qualms your worry about Willy sleeping with someone other than you (not that it matters or anything). You don’t know if he gets the hang of it, or if it’s just pure luck, because after a short while he improves.

He starts rolling his hips instead of just moving them back and forth. He angles them a little, likely something accidental but it works, and you push your legs into his side to keep him there. He’s finally lifted his head, but his eyes are closed while he feels it. He’s deep in you still, his thrusts are a little shallow as they reach for your cervix and this alone makes you shudder. It’s a slightly unusual feeling for you, which makes it all the more alluring. You encourage him to keep going through unfinished sentences, and he praises you for how good you feel in between your words. You both are speaking at the same time, not exactly listening to the other and creating a concoction of words.

“You feel so good. I can’t believe this is happening. Thank you, thank you, thank you …”

“Right there, Willy. Right there. Yes! Keep going, please. Don’t stop …”

It’s no surprise to you when he cums first. He warns you before it happens, his words are a little shameful when he admits it. “I’m close. I’m not gonna last.”

You tell him to let go anyway and when he does, it’s such a pretty sight. Earlier today, he was behind you when he did this, and you weren’t graced with his face. But now that you are, you kick yourself for missing it before.

He’s so pretty.

His pink lips swollen and open. His dark eyebrows pushed together. His eyes closed. His curls hang over his forehead. But the small features in his face is what makes the picture so pretty. All of the tiny muscles working together, minute in nature, but joining to create a painted canvas that you want to either save or see as many times as possible.

This orgasm lasts long enough for him to pull you in it with him. He’s still cumming into the condom, providing a warmth that’s so close but so far inside of you. His thrusts are strong and constant, even though the rhythm of them is off and unpredictable. But each time his crotch presses into yours, nudging against your clit, and after enough times you’re letting go too, allowing whatever your orgasm wants to bring work its way through your body.

Here, like this, it’s a beautiful, harmonious scene. You exist together like this, and not just together. It’s a bliss and a level of intimacy you’ve always dreamed of, and you want to sit in it for as long as you can. Apparently, you both do.

Willy doesn’t move even whenever both of your bodies are limp. He holds his weight off of you on his forearms, but his head is resting between your breasts and along your stomach. He sits like that for a minute before rising, shakily pulling out of you, and then laying beside you.

You speak first.

“D’you think we should try to sell those chocolates?”

Willy laughs weakly. “Valentine’s day special?”

You hum, your eyes glancing down to where Willy has rested a hand on your stomach. The appendage sits there, unmoving, for a second, and when you don’t protest, he begins to draw indistinguishable shapes along your skin.

Answering your question without humor, he says, “No. I think we would keep it between us. If that’s okay.”

The way he says us has undertones attached to it, creating more weight than the two-letter word would usually have. You like the way he says it.

You turn your head to look at him, already finding him looking at you. For the first time, your skin flushes at the thought and you feel giddy. A little embarrassed, too. The aphrodisiacs must be wearing off and the confidence with it.

“Yeah. That sounds good.” A moment passes. Then, “But I don’t remember the recipe so don’t hold it to me.”

Willy laughs with a little more enthusiasm this time and you return it.

“Should we get cleaned up? Maybe have some dinner?”

You nod, leaning in towards his lips. When you kiss him, he tastes like strawberry flavored chocolate. Well, underneath the distinct bitterness of your arousal he does.

#&. WRITING #&. willy wonka #willy wonka smut #willy wonka x you #willy wonka x reader

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jewels-writes · 5 months

Text

Call of Duty - Fatal Injury Scenarios

Warnings: There is character death in all of these. You, the reader, are fatally injured. In Keegan's, there are themes of drug overdose, I know some people can be considerably sensitive to that. Please consider this your warning. Do not read further if you feel you may be triggered by these topics. Included Characters: Ghost, Price, Keegan, König Word Count: 1.9k Notes: This is very lightly proofread, apologies for inconsistencies or typos/grammatical errors. As always, requests are open. — — — —

Ghost (gunshot):

You and Ghost were paired up for a mission, per usual. You had to clear a building, you took the upstairs, Ghost took the ground floor. You heard the occasional pop of gunfire from downstairs, praying it was Ghost’s gun that was making the sounds.

Focusing on your own work, you cleared the upstairs rooms, being as thorough as possible. As you went through the rooms, you gunned down the enemy, not hesitating once. You were a soldier, you knew hesitating could mean life or death.

“Clear.” you relayed into your communications headset. Before you could turn your radio off, a door swung open at you, the enemy raising their gun and putting three rounds through your chest. Your vest normally would have stopped the bullets, but not this close. You made a gurgling noise before crumpling to the ground, your gun clattering out of your hand beside you.

“Report in, what’s going on up there?” Ghost demanded, making his way to the stairs, gun trained at the top of them. “Soldier, come in.” He ordered, but got nothing in response. He knew something was wrong. You didn’t respond, you couldn’t. Not when your lungs were turned to swiss cheese.

He saw the figure of a body on the ground and after seeing the uniform, he knew it was you. You looked dead.

“Fuckin’ hell..” He clenched his jaw and looking around, his gun raised, waiting for the enemy. He knew they were lurking around here somewhere. He heard a floorboard creek off to the right and burst the door down, shooting the enemy with deadly precision. He didn’t stop even after they’d fallen to the ground. He was furious, angry that the enemy had been able to touch you.

With the threat neutralized, Ghost moved to your side, kneeling beside you. His hands hovered over you, unsure how to fix your injury. His face contorted beneath his mask, realizing the bullets went through your vest and to your vitals. His eyes looked up to yours, looking for a sign of life.

Your labored breathing gave him hope. Hope that you were hanging on.

“Can you hear me..?” His voice was low and careful, his eyes searching your confused expression. “You did good, soldier. You did good.” He could see you were losing your fight and his gloved hand came down to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing your skin.

He was beside you as you took your last painful breath, his hand on your cheek. His heart seemed to stop with yours. He grieved in silence, never being a man of many words when it came to losing someone. Gently, he removed your dogtag, placing it next to his own.

“Until we meet again, soldier.” — — — —

Price (bombed):

After the mission, everyone was exhausted as they all squished into the transport truck. Price sat next to you, his hand resting on your thigh. It was a tough fight, and he knew you needed your rest. He guided your head to his shoulder, a normal routine between the two of you.

Just as your eyes began to close, there was an explosion in the distance.. It sounded like bombing. Then there was another one. And another. Getting louder. Getting closer.

“Price? What’s going on?” You asked, lifting your heard from his shoulder and looking around.

The next instant everything went black. The truck was targeted by an aircraft, the spraying of it’s missiles were the last thing you heard before you passed out.

When you came to, it was to Price dragging you out of the wreck. The next thing you registered was the agonizing pain you were in. Everything hurt, everything burned. It was like you’d been used as a punching bag before being thrown into an oven.

“Shh, shh. You’re okay. You’re okay.” Price’s voice was in your ear as he pulled you away from the burning wreck, his fingers looped into your vest’s handles on the back. “Look at me, you’re okay.” He muttered with a grunt, pulling you away farther.

You tried to talk, tried to ask him what happened. But you couldn’t, didn’t quite know why. Reaching a hand up, you felt around your neck, feeling an uncomfortable pressure there. Your hand froze when you felt hot liquid.

“John-” You mouthed, a dreadful realization dawning on you. Hearing your struggle, his eyes met yours before flicking down to where your hand was probing at your neck. You saw his anguish in his expression, no matter how hard he tried to mask it.

“Oh, shit.” Was all he could manage. “Look at me, you’re gonna be fine. It looks worse than it is.” He lied through his teeth, kneeling beside you, one of his hands running through your hair, the other hovering over your neck. He knew you wouldn’t make it. The gash had gone through an artery. He could see the inside of your neck.

“Shh.. shh.. I’m here. Look at me.” He soothed you, placing both hands on either side of your face, looking you in your eyes. “You did good. You’re the best of the best.” He tried his best to not get choked up. He could see you were fading, the blood spilling from your neck onto the ground, staining the grass a brutal red.

He watched as the last remnants of life flickered out of your eyes, left open and unseeing. His face contorted as he registered that he watched your final breath. He reached a hand up to cover his mouth in despair.

“I’m sorry, my sunshine.” Price felt the tears running down his face as he retracted his other hand. Reaching for your dogtag, he clutched it in his fist, holding it to his chest. “I won’t forget you.” — — — —

Keegan (overdose):

“Sweetheart? I’m home!” Keegan called as he kicked off his shoes in the entryway to your shared home. Normally he’d hear you bounding down the stairs, eager to hug him after he’d been away after a long mission, tackling him near to the ground. It sent a pang of concern through his body when he heard nothing but the air conditioning unit in response. “Honey? Where are you?” He called out again, his body tense with gnawing dread. Something felt wrong.

Everything in the immediate area looked fine, but he couldn’t rule out a potential break in. Not when you were his lover. Not when you meant so much to him. His hand reached for his concealed pistol, unclipping the button that covered it, resting his hand on the body of it, ready to use it if necessary.

Remaining quiet, he searched the house, starting with the main areas. Living room, dining room, kitchen. All clear. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, it dawned on him that you could just be asleep. He jogged up the stairs, ignoring the soreness from deployment.

The light was off in your shared room. It made him feel slightly relieved, realizing you were probably just asleep and that he’d been worked up over nothing.

Quietly turning the knob, he opened the door and let out a slow breath. There you were, sound asleep on his side of the bed, holding one of his hoodies he’d left you.

“Christ. You’re asleep. Had me worried as hell.” He grumbled, taking his hand off his pistol and walking around to the side of the bed and switching the lamp on, hoping to slowly wake you up. As he retracted his hand from the bedside table, he froze, his eyes catching a pill bottle he hadn’t seen before he left for his mission. Was it new? Picking it up, he inspected the label. “Sleeping pills..? How many..” His voice trailed off as he looked back over to you, his eyes on your back, looking for breathing. For any movement.

“Sweetheart? Oh shit.” His voice gained volume as he shook your shoulder. Nothing. “Babe, wake up right fucking now.” His voice grew more concerned. Reaching for your wrist, he begged silently for a pulse, his stomach dropping when he didn’t feel one.

“No.. no please.” Keegan’s voice hitched as he pressed harder into your cold skin. It was no use. Your life had been taken hours before he arrived home. It was an accident, you were just trying to get some sleep, turning to pills to help your insomnia. You’d taken too many.

“Why..? Oh my god.. Sweetheart, please don’t do this to me. You were my everything..” — — — —

König (poison):

The mission was going smoothly, no issues yet. You and König worked together like a well-oiled machine, picking up the slack where the other lacked perfectly. As you and him reached the office, König motioned for you to go in, implying he’d stand guard as you grabbed the intel needed.

Nodding, you stepped inside, doing a quick sweep over the small office. There was no one inside, just a normal office space. Moving the the computer, you powered it on, hooking up your own laptop to break into the locks. As you worked, you felt on edge, like somethin was wrong. This was too easy. As you saw the file on the desktop, hidden under a false name, you faltered.

Cursing at yourself, you clicked on it anyway. The instant that you did, the room went dark, replaced by a flashing red that came with alarms sounding. König, who’d been standing just outside the door, immediately tried to help, his hand shaking the handle of the now locked door.

“Shit-! It’s a trap!” He called from the other side. “Are you okay? What’s going on in there?” He demanded, his voice high with concern. Looking around, you realized something. The room was filling with some kind of gas.

Hurriedly, you stuffed your laptop back into your pack before rushing over to the door, putting your whole body weight against it. Your hand came up to cover your mouth as the gas reached your face. You realized it was some kind of toxin. And of course you didn’t have a gas mask.

“Schatz! Get out of there!” König shouted from the other side, his fists connecting with the door. “Back up! I’m kicking the door in.” He ordered, hoping you’d get out of the way in time.

Stumbling back, you leaned heavily on the desk, the toxin affecting you. Your knees were weak, you felt your mind detach from your body. You couldn’t control it when your body slumped to the ground, your eyes rolling back.

As König delivered a devastating blow to the door, it flew off of it’s hinges, landing on the other side of the room. “Schatz! Nein.. nein.. Look at me.” He kneeled beside you, tapping your cheek. Cursing to himself, he put his arms under you, hoisting you up over his shoulder as he began to run out of the toxic office space. When you two were out of the building, he propped you up against the wall, his stomach flipping when your body was completely limp.

“Hey, hey, wake up.” He begged, shaking your shoulders as he squatted beside you. “Gott verdammt, look at me!” With a sickening realization, he saw you weren’t breathing. “Nein..” He muttered as it felt like his heart shattered in two.

“Schatz.. Come on.. Open your eyes.” He begged, cupping your face in his hands. It was useless, whatever you’d breathed in was toxic enough to kill you.

“I’m so sorry.. I failed you..”

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daddysuga101 · 1 year

Text

Sleeping beauty

Gojo x reader x Geto

Warnings: non con, somophillia, groping, slut shaming, reader is a virgin, reader gets drugged(not by gojo or geto )

"Toru, I'm so exhausted." You mutter weakly. You shift uncomfortably on the dirty floor of the frat house. Your eyes flutter opened and closed and your mouth feels like it was stuffed with cotton so you were 100% sure you were drugged or something.

There's no way light drinking should do this to you. What sucked more was how you couldn't tell Satoru or Suguru who did this do you because all of your thoughts were so jumbled as you went in and out of consciousness.

Gojo gently slapped the side of your face and blinking curiously at you. Humming quietly when you didn't open your eyes.

"Aw she's sleepy." Gojo teases in a low voice. You miss the way Geto glares that Gojo muttering something about how he should be more serious considering the fact whoever drugged you could have made you OD. Thankfully by the way you were breathing steadily, that didn't seem like that was the case.

But more than that, Suguru chastezied Gojo to be more grateful for the fact you not only came to this party with them, but also trusted these two enough to not do something to you while in such a vulnerable state.

Especially now since they moved you into an empty bedroom of the frat house. Gojo once again behind you as you laid your back against his chest and Suguru sitting at the foot of the bed.

Two guys, one roofied girl, all alone and yet you trusted them.

Though, neither boys were quite sure that was a smart decision on your end. They weren't bad by any means, in fact in comparison to the walking piles of shit that frequentented these parties. Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto were good guys.

Despite what the general public would think about the two infamous man whores, they had no intention of making you a convenient notch in their belts. In fact if someone asked they'd tell them that they hung out with you because you were funny and cool to be around.

The three of you were as tight as tight could be. So tight in fact you one day spilled your guts to them about being in college and still being a virgin.

They were so understanding and sweet that you really couldn't see the excitement in their eyes at the time. They were good guys. But both knew the other silently wanted you for months. Yet somehow that day made them want you that much more.

'We won't touch her.' Was the settled on agreement.

That being said there was silent understanding between the two of them that if and when you lost your virginity they'd be the ones to take it. It's not cause their bad guys though. They just don't want some real bad guy to come into your life making you a convenient fuck. No they are not bad. Just concerned.

They wanna keep you safe. They love their sweet pure little friend.

And they'd keep all the bad of the world away from you and your purity.

So those days you'd come crying to them about the fact that boys didn't like you, they'd coo in your ear about how boys are just stupid and you have to keep looking.

They didn't however tell you the simple fact that they threaten any and all boys in your class from breathing at you the wrong way. Because again, if they don't look after you no one will. I mean look at the situation you're in now. Drugged up and sleepy, completely unable to protect yourself. Here you are, your breath shallow and your back lying against Satorus chest in such a way (if he were a bad guy) could simply cope a quick feel before you were sober enough to notice.

But Satoru is not a bad guy. Geto on the other hand is staring down at you his tongue peaking out to lick his dry lips.

"She's cute isn't she?" Suguru asked. Toru nods his hand combing your braids from your face.

"So cute." Satoru agrees. The two of them sat in silence watching you as you slept.

"Which asshole do you think roofied her?" Suguru asked playing with the fabric of his own shirt.

"Who knows. I mean don't most guys want a piece of her? Couldve been anyone of those assholes right? That's what you get for dressing like a slut huh?" Gojo teased in your ear pulling your cheek a little.

You didn't respond of course which caused Gojo to laugh. Geto let's out a shaky breath watching the place we're your shirt dips leaving your tits barely covered.

"Virgin my ass. No way a girl her age with tits like that hasn't had a cock in her." Geto muttered dryly.

"That's what makes her special Suguru. A slutty looking body with a virgin pussy. How exciting right?" Satoru said resisting the urge to cup your pussy over your skirt.

"Virgin whore." Suguru remarked absentmindedly palming his erection over his jeans.

"Easy tough guy, she's barely awake." Satorus reminds. Poking your cheek getting no reaction. "Scratch that she's completely out."

"Don't take the high road with me Satoru. You only have her up against you like that so you can feel her body on yours." Suguru accuses his eyes never leaving your barely conscious form. Satoru makes a sort of a huff sound as if he's offended by the accusation but won't actually deny it.

"You're the one palming yourself, fucking perv." Satoru joked. Suguru rolled his eyes his bangs falling clumsily over his forehead as he climbed up the bed straddling your waist.

"Oi! She'll wake up. Plus hell will freeze over before I let you fuck her. If anyone will have her virginity it's me." Satoru remarks with a shrug. Geto rolls his eyes.

"Relax I won't fuck her. But since we're here..." Suguru unbutton his jeans pulling his hard cock out. Satoru rolled his eyes.

"You try to put anything in her I'll kill you understand?" Satoru questioned.

"Yeah yeah." Suguru muttered sticking two fingers in your mouth using your spit as lube. Suguru grabbed his own erection and stared down at you as he began working on himself.

Suguru imagined you waking him up with his cock in your mouth. He imagined fucking your throat and hearing your virgin throat gag on him. He imagined you crying about him being too big when he finally fucked you. He imagined hushing you and telling you to just take it.

"Fuck." Suguru muttered fisting himself harder until he spilled in your clothed tits.

"Fuck baby, such a good girl." Suguru said breathlessly wishing it was your pussy he came on or in.

"Gross. Get your fucking jizz off her." Satoru muttered annoyed. Suguru scoffed.

"What I can't nut on her but you can fondel her?" Suguru retorted referring Satorus hand that found it's way to your breast sqeezing periodically.

"You're forgetting one thing. She's mine at the end of the day. Her mouth, her pussy, her skin. You can jizz thinking about her all you want, but she belongs to me."

"The strongest always gets what he wants." Suguru remarked dryly and irritated as he wiped his cum off.

"Damn straight."

You groaned a little, snuggling deeper into Gojos arms not aware of the fact he was grabbing your breasts.

"Lemme show you something." Gojo said,

"Y/n baby, spread your legs." he murmured you couldn't move so he happily did it for you, his large hands separating your thighs.Your skirt short enough to give him easy access.

"Satoru-."

"You had your fun let me have mine." Gojo said his long fingers cupping over your panty covered pussy. "Also you can relax, I'm not gonna rape her." Gojo says as he rips the crotch of your panties off licking his fingers and running circles over your clit.

Despite your ineberated state you still try to grind your cunt in his fingers making Gojo smile.

"She really is a whore deep down. See how she grinds into my fingers? I bet she wants them in her. You do don't you baby." he asks in your ear.

You groan weekly Gojo’s persistent and relentlessly rubbing of your clit in firm fast enough circles. He feels your body tense up and holds you still as your body tries to fight him off.

You whimper weekly and whoreishly before you finally cum. Your clit swollen and over used by Gojo.

"So sensitive Y/n. Never had her sweet pussy touched before huh?" Gojo asked smacking your clit lightly. You groaned quietly relaxing against Gojo again still not quite awake.

Suguru rolls his eyes because fuck Satoru, he wanted to make your virgin pussy cum first. Oh well, he's sure there's other firsts he can steal from you some other time.

Because again, god forbid some bad guy comes along and tries to take them from you?

Because remember Satoru and Suguru are not bad guys.

---

The next morning while on his morning run Satorus phone goes off and it's a message from you.

Y/n: Hey, do you know why my panties are ripped?

Gojo: yeah those assholes that roofied you ripped them:((

Gojo: but I promise we got you before they could touch u:)

Y/n: oh wow, thanks so much Toru, that could have been bad

Gojo: no need for thanks sweetheart me and Suguru took real good care of ya

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