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gojonanami · 2 months

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❝ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄 ❞

❝ I CAN'T BREATHE WITHOUT YOU, BUT I HAVE TO... ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader (canon / multi au)

✧ summary: "would we love each other in every life?" it's the question you asked satoru the night before his battle, and he replied that, of course you would. but did that promise create a curse -- or were you both always cursed to begin with when it came to love?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, jjk manga spoilers (236 spoilers), multiple lives, assassin!reader x duke!gojo, actor!gojo x singer!reader, prince!gojo x knight!reader, model!gojo x photographer!reader, oral (f!receiving) in a car, semi-public, making out in public, pantyhose ripping, canon compliant except towards the end, angsty, but also bittersweet / implied happy ending

✧ wc: 6,589

“Do you think we would be together in another life?” you ask, not thinking much of the question, as your fingers draw lazy circles against his bare chest, your head resting right between his shoulder and chest.

Satoru chuckles, vibration against your skin, “Of course we would, sweetheart,” his arms curl around you, tugging you higher, as he gazes up at you, “you think I could live any lifetime without you?” He murmurs, his lips finding yours, “I know we’d find each other, time and time again,”

“How do you know?” your fingers brush against his cheek, shaking as he presses his cheek into your palm, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Because, I love you,” he kisses you again, sweet lips gliding against yours, his breath warming your lips as he parts.

“You did say love is a curse,” you give a small smile, and he presses his forehead to yours.

“Then I’d want you to curse me — in every life.”

“I swear on my life,” you press the dagger to his throat, blade digging into his formerly perfect porcelain skin, drawing scarlet to the surface, “I’ll kill you, Satoru Gojo,”

“I’m flattered to be a target of the infamous blueblood assassin,” his cerulean eyes glinted like stars in the candlelight, flames flickering across his eyes like burning comets, “but I didn’t think you would announce yourself as you did — what if I called for my guards?”

You scoff, fingers flexing against the hilt of your dagger, “Then you would be dead before you uttered even a single sound and do you think I left your guards to chance? All of that schooling to be a duke and you haven’t learned a single thing have you?”

“And what have I done to end up as your target?” he hums — as you bit back a sigh stuck in your throat — you preferred your marks to be much less chatty, but all he had was his mouth you supposed, “you only target the rich and the corrupt — and while I may fit the former, I do not fit the latter,”

“You’re certainly sure of yourself,” and he’s unfazed by your reply, as his eyes wander the only thing visible of your expression — your eyes.

“Since you have not stated my crime, I can only assume that I’ve committed none, and the infamous assassin whose morals could not be compromised have been,” and your grip wavers a moment, and he takes advantage of your hesitance to disarm you, and pin you to a nearby chaise all before the clatter of your blade hitting the marble floor, “and now what’s an assassin’s price who has done all of this for no reward?”

“How do you know I’ve done this for no reward?” you squirm in his grip, but it’s ironclad, and you know all too well he could have broken from your grasp at any point, but he had chosen not to — your heartbeat roars in your ears as one question repeats again and again stuck between beats — why? “I very well may have taken a payment you don’t know of — you act as if you know of me,”

“Because I do,” the heir replies with a simple smile, “I have followed your work for a long time, and I found myself fascinated with what you do — and why you do it,”

“Honored to have caught your attention,” you say in mock reverence, your arm beginning to ache, “now do you plan to call your guards?”

“Didn’t know you were so eager to die,” he stares still, as you turn your head away from his piercing gaze, “shouldn’t you keep your eyes on your target or now your captor?”

“Do you ever shut up?” You mumble as you flinch as you squirm under his grip, sleeve riding up ever so slightly — and then he sees it. His eyes narrow, as his hand grasps at your wrist now, “hey! Don’t—“

In a moment his fingers nearly rip the fabric of your tunic to tug your sleeve up — angry red cuts and purple bruises litter your arm. Your breath catches as his eyes stare for several moments before sliding back to you — no longer a placid pool but a raging ocean.

“Who did this to you?” he says quietly, and you’re blinking, nearly slack jawed, as you try to rip your arms away, but he won’t let you, “who is it? Is it the same person who told you to kill me?”

“Stop—“

“Is it the same person who’s taken someone important to you?” and you grit your teeth in silence, “is it the little orphan you adopted? Yuji?”

And your eyes snap to his, “How do you know this? Who are you?”

His lips curl, “You told me yourself, I’m Satoru Gojo,” and his fingers brush your cheek, “it’s a shame you don’t remember where we first met — because I never forgot,”

You furrow your brow, “What are you talking about? I think I’d remember you. You’re…” you jerk your head, eyes looking him up and down — lingering on his white hair and eyes, “distinct,”

“Well what if I had black hair and green eyes, would you remember then?” And he whispers your name in your ear, and you pause, “the fireworks were nothing compared to you,”

And your breath catches — “You? But—“

“I had snuck out, had a disguise and everything, and I had planned to explore the festival alone but who do I find but you?” His grip on you loosens only to pull you a little closer, “the girl who had stolen two steamed buns and pinned me with part of the blame, making me run after you—“

“You didn’t have to run—“ and he snorted.

“Well, it was that or get caught sneaking out — so I chose the lesser of two evils,” you can’t help it, your fingers trace the curve of his jaw to the back of his ear, “are you seeing if I’m defective?” And you find it.

“No, he—“ you stop yourself, “you had gotten a small cut right behind your ear, it was deep enough that it would have left a scar behind,” and he had gotten a small cut from one of the soldiers who had grabbed them, bucking him with his sword, before you wrenched him out of there. The two of you spent the rest of the night eating food and sneaking around guards. And then finally climbing up on a rooftop to watch the fireworks.

“How did you—“

“One of my father’s advisers found me later that night, in exchange for never sneaking out again without telling him, he said he would keep tabs on you,”

You have no words, but one left — “why?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “maybe it was because I’ve been surrounded by nothing but my family’s yes-men, and you were the one person who treated me like a person, maybe it was the fact that day was the only day I actually had fun,” and he glances at you, “or maybe it was because I was drawn to you,”

And you snort a little, “Do you believe in that fates nonsense they fed all of us as kids?”

“I think fate is a very real thing, and I think it’s up to us to seize it,” he releases you, holding your hand before bending to press the barest brush of his lips against the back of your hand, “so, will you seize it or continue to evade your fate?”

“We’ll never be able to evade the press if you do this,” you whisper, as he presses you against a wall of a secluded pillar of whatever place they had chosen to have this awards show, “and our teams will definitely chew us out if we don’t make an—ah,” you gasp, as his teeth nip at your neck, “Satoru, don’t leave a mark,”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he licks his lips, as he leans up, his normally messy white locks combed and parted to the side, his lips kiss bitten red from the liplock he had you in for the last ten minutes, and his white suit slightly ruffled and pressed against you, “you taste so sweet,” his thumb runs down your puffy lips, “and the desserts tonight sucked,”

You chuckle, your fingers toying with the hair resting against his undercut, “Think you would have been pleased with receiving the award for best actor, is that not enough Mr. Gojo?”

“The only thing that pleases me is my gorgeous wife’s singing and,” his lips find yours in a desperate kiss, and you could taste the fruity mocktail he had earlier on his lips, “and her moans when she’s under me,” his hand slides under your dress, dragging over your pantyhose clad thighs, “do you think anyone would notice if you came back without these?”

“Yes, I do,” you gasp as he tugs at the delicate fabric, “Toru, we shouldn’t—” but your pleas are half-hearted, as his lips drift to press butterfly kisses up your jaw, “you deserve me insane,”

“I know,” he chuckles, “that’s why you love me,” and you hum, your noses brushing before you meet lips again, “I love you so much,”

Your fingers cup his cheek, as he leaned into your touch, “I love you too — don’t you want to enjoy all the accolades, the interviews, the congratulations? You won such a big award, Toru, I want you to celebrate,”

“I am celebrating,” he grins, tilting his head, “I’m surprised at you, princess — and you’re the smart one between the two of us,” he teases, as he turns his head to kiss your palm, “in an entire ballroom full of people in there and all the places in the world, there’s no one place I rather be with than here with you.”

“How did I end up stuck with you?” you grumbled, your armor weighing on you heavier than other days, as you stood in front of your prince — the little sun of this kingdom and the future king, the man you were sworn to protect for the rest of your earthly days, and your best friend, for better for worse, “if the fates have written it, I must have done something horrid in a past life,”

“Do you really believe in that garbage?” Satoru raises an eyebrow, as he places his sword down from practice, waiving off his training partner, as he wipes off his sweat with a towel offered by a maid, “You know that stuff they fed to us so we wouldn’t throw tantrums during classes — so we didn’t turn into slugs for our next life,”

“Why turn into one when you are one already?” you smirk, and he rolls his eyes, as he runs his hand through his hair.

“Has a slug ever looked this good before?” and you roll your eyes.

“Think your ego is going to be so large by the time you become king, your crown won’t sit atop your head correctly,” you sigh, rising to your feet, “now we must get you cleaned and dressed, you have a meeting with the—”

“I actually cleared my schedule for the rest of the day,” and you blink, frowning.

“His Majesty will not—”

“His Majesty will be fine — old man hasn’t kicked the bucket over the last fifty things I’ve done — I doubt this will be more than a ten minute lecture on decorum, fifteen if I decide to poke the bear,” he throws you a grin, as he pulls on a fresh shirt, “come, I have something to show you,”

“Show me?” you repeat, before his hand finds yours — his hands are smooth despite the constant swordplay and practice he put in — he supposed he owed that to the royal staff, tending to his looks as much as they did his health. The same could not be said about yours — riddled with cuts and calluses alike. Your cheeks burned as your unkempt hand held his — “your highness, this is—”

“‘Your Highness?’” he repeats, throwing you a smirk over his shoulder, “when have you ever called me that?”

The appearance of holding your hand as he pulled you down several hallways through the palace was beginning to attract the attention of several gawking onlookers. Your cheeks burn — and you’re not sure if it's from the stares, his words, or the fact he was still holding your hand as you both arrive outside his chambers. But you can’t stop him — but you never could stop him when it came to this, could you? It reminded you of the times he dragged you through the gardens, wanting to show you the rabbits’ hidey hole he had found in the corner of the royal gardens.

“Well I was made an official royal guard and appointed as your personal guard yesterday so I thought a little professionalism—” he unlocks his door, turning to look at you, a smile pulling at his lips.

“There’s no need for decorum between us, now is there?” his fingers find a stray strand of your hair, and presses his lips to it, as he opens his door. You glance inside to find a lovely decorated cake and a present wrapped perfectly on the table, “Happy birthday, sweetheart,”

“What—but—” and your mind realizes the date, “how did you—”

“You think I’d ever forget your birthday?” he tilts his head, as your eyes slide to him, “it’s the day we met,”

It was — the day you were brought from your home with your father who had been the king’s royal guard for many years, you were brought to be the prince’s — but you didn’t know you would find more than that in him.

“I didn’t know you did this for your personal staff,” you teased, a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth, “I certainly can’t imagine what they would think of you inviting a woman to your room for it,”

“Well, you are my personal guard, you’re here to personally guard me against anything, right?” and this was the nature of your relationship wasn’t it? Teasing and goading — toeing that line of proprietary before one of you eased off.

“It seems like I need to guard you only against yourself, your highness,”

“Satoru,” he corrects, his eyes sliding to you, as he says your name with a softness that you wished he wouldn’t, “you had no issue calling me that before,”

“We were only friends then, I’m your guard now—“

“Do you kiss all your friends?” And your cheeks flare, as your gaze refuses to meet his.

“That was—a mistake,” you whisper the last two words, “we can’t do this—“

“Why not?” You turn away, your eyes sliding to the cake, a frown pulling on your lips.

“Because you have a duty to your people and I have a duty to you,” and his fingers find your shoulder gently, giving you leave to pull away — but you can’t, you couldn’t.

“My only duty I desire is the one to you—I love my people, but I can’t be the king they deserve if you’re not the one beside me,” your gaze still cast downward, “I will cast away any responsibility, if I could have a chance with you, sweetheart—“

“The king has discussed your engagement with me,” you murmur, “he told me he plans to have you engaged with a princess from a neighboring—“ And his arm is wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer — your gaze lost in the endless blue skies of his eyes, “we can’t—“

“I’ll find a way,” and you scoff.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you mutter, and his warm palm slides against your cheek.

“This isn’t me promising to find a unicorn when we were five, Princess,” and you chuckle at the thought of his child self trudging into the woods with carrots in hand and what he thought was fairy dust (it was ladies’ finishing powder), “I swear that we’ll be together,” and he reaches into his pocket, and holds a small box, opening it to reveal a beautiful infinity pendant, “and this is my promise,”

You bite your lip, staring at the silver glinting in the sunlight trickling in from the windows, “Satoru—“

“Finally giving in?” And you sigh.

“How can you be sure we’ll be together?” He chuckles, as he gently turns you, making you face the mirror in his room as he places the necklace delicately around your neck, his fingers brushing against the skin of your neck before he clasps it. His arms slowly slide around your middle as he meets your gaze in your reflection, lips curling.

His lips press a sweet kiss to your cheek, “Because I know I’d choose you, again and again.”

“Why did they choose him as my model again?” You groaned as you looked at the list, tossing it back on your desk, “he’s so impossible to work with—“

“The shoots are finished quick—“ your boss replies gruffly, as he stands with his hands in his pockets, “and he said he’d only shoot with you. Said he likes your work and you’re the only one who can ‘capture the real him,’ some crap like that,” he shrugs.

“Yaga, I can’t keep dealing with this man, can’t he shoot with anyone else?”

He sighs, scratching the back of his head, “Look, the magazine we’re working with chose him as the model, and he said he would only do the shoot if you did it,”

You sigh, leaning on your palm, elbow against your desk. “you’re not giving me a choice are you?”

And no, he wasn’t.

Because now you were at the studio for the sight of the shoot, getting everything ready that you could before your model arrived. You made sure his preferred makeup artist and hairstylist were available, you picked out his favorite snacks, got his preferred lighting (to be adjusted when he was on set), and had your cameras adjusted for his light sensitivity.

All of which reduced the amount of time you had to spend with this man — but not even the most divine snacks would stop him from running his mouth.

“Sweetheart,” you turned to see him, “miss me?”

“When pigs fly, maybe,” but your words don’t faze him, a mock pout on his lips, “why do you request me to do your shoots, Gojo?”

“Because it’s the only way you’ll see me,” and you sigh, as you continue to adjust your camera again, “you still haven’t given me a chance—“

“I gave you one chance, wasn’t that enough?” Before you turn to him, “look, I’m here because I have to be. I want to shoot — get in and get out and not have to—“

“One chance to talk to you — please, even if you don’t believe me or forgive me—“

“Fine,” you shake your head, frustrated, “go finish the shoot and we can talk for five minutes after,” and maybe he would stop forcing you into this situation.

Satoru Gojo was the top wanted model by all the agencies — agencies were looking to snipe him and others were looking to have exclusive deals with him — whether it was photography businesses or brands.

You couldn’t blame them, as you adjusted your lights and took a few test shots — he was gorgeous, even by model standards. From his skin to his body to his attitude, it was effortless for him. Even a bad angle or bad lighting did very little to detract from his flawless look.

The chiseled cut of his jaw put statues to shame, his eyes shone brighter than the shiniest gemstones, his charm the envy of the love goddess herself, and his smile was enough to change hearts and minds alike.

The shoots always look little time — the part that took the most time was choosing the best shots — you’d love to take one bad picture of him. Even for yourself — but that had proved impossible. Even deprived of sleep in the hours of the early morning, he was perfect.

Perfect — except for his loyalty, you supposed.

How had it gone so wrong so fast? And how did you let yourself become so carried away that you thought you were different from the others he bedded?

And the shoot was over in a moment, and just like he said, Satoru was by your side as you begin to break down the equipment, as the other staff filed out, “can we talk now?”

“If you have to,” you would give him an ear, but it didn’t mean you’d give him anything else.

“I never cheated on you—“

“Bullshit,” you reply, as you pick up the tripod you set up, “I guess you didn’t the full five minutes,”

“No, I didn’t—what you saw—“

“I saw you kissing another girl all over social media—“

“You saw me with Suguru,” he sighs, “and we weren’t kissing — we were hugging. You thought it was kissing from the angle of the picture, and before I could explain, you had blocked me on everything,”

You pause, “Suguru?” You repeat, as you pull out your phone and pull up the picture — black hair, hair half up, and they could have been hugging. And Satoru pulls out his own phone and shows you a selfie he took that same day, the meta data matching, “oh, oh fuck,”

“Was that an apology? Not familiar with those coming out of your mouth so—“

“Satoru, I’m so sorry,” you murmur, “I saw the pictures and I heard the rumors and I assumed the worst of you,” you run your fingers through your hair, “even though I knew you better than that,”

“You did, but I understand why you thought that,” he shrugged, “we had only been seeing each other for a month, but it meant something to me,” his voice softens.

“To me too,” you shake your head, “I’m so sorry, Satoru. I don’t know how to make it up to you,”

“I know,” he smiles, “have dinner with me,”

You blink. “why?”

“What do you mean, sweetheart? Everyone eats dinner, it’s a—“

“Satoru,” you sigh, “I didn’t believe you, I didn’t trust you, how can you forgive me like that? How could you want to be with someone like that?”

“Well, you made a mistake — you forgave me for the other mistakes I made during our time together, and if I hadn’t let my team convince me that my fake reputation as a playboy would help sell my image — maybe we wouldn’t have been in this mess to begin with,” his fingers brush against yours, “besides, I want to believe in second chances — because I’d want to believe you’d give me one too,”

Your fingers intertwine with his, “Even when I don’t deserve it?”

And he lifts your hand to his lips, blue eyes glinting like an ocean dabbled in sunlight, “All the more for you make up for, right?”

This wasn’t right. No. No.

“Satoru, Toru, please,” your fingers cupped his face, your fingers smeared with his blood as Maki pulled gou away, “no, no!” You don’t remember screaming, but you know you did because your throat was raw, your tears streaming down your face as your hands shook, staring at the dried blood on your fingers.

He promised you he would win. He promised you he would come back. He promised you a life, a family, a home — something beyond jujutsu.

And now you were left with nothing but that.

“I’ll come back,” he had murmured in your ear the night before, his fingers tracing your cheek, “there’s no way I won’t. Have you ever seen me lose?”

You give a small chuckle, “You just got trapped in a box for almost twenty days?” And he pouts, as he tilts your head up, fingers sliding against your cheek.

“It was a one time fluke, sweetheart,” and his lips grazing your lips, “and I’m here now aren’t I?” you hum, “and I’ll always be there,”

“In every life?” He smiles.

“In every one.”

In every one — except this one.

“One would think you’re helpless, if you pout like that,” you teased, as you crawl into bed beside him, a smile on your lips, as he tugs you steadfast into his arms, “it’s only been a few minutes,”

“It felt like a lifetime,” he presses a kiss to your head, “Is he asleep?” And you nod, a sigh on your lips as you settle into bed.

“After about twenty minutes of arguing, he passed out while I was telling him a story. He’s still not accustomed to this mansion,” neither were you — you had spent a few nights lying awake after jerking from the clutches of sleep — the paranoia still rampant in your mind. But those thoughts were a little farther now as you lie against his chest, heart thrumming under your body — the very heart you were meant to stop, and a chuckle escapes your lips.

“What is it?” He raises an eyebrow, and you shake your head.

“Why did you help me?” You draw circles on his chest, “you had every reason not to,” your fingers traced a line across his neck, “I even held a knife to your neck,”

“And that was very attractive,” and you roll your eyes, “what? I like a woman who takes charge,”

“Oh I know,” you chuckle, your lips pressing sweet kisses to his neck, “but I still don’t understand — you had every reason to distrust me, we barely knew each other, and yet—“

“You were still the girl I fell in love with that night,” he murmurs, “I just knew you were something special and when I saw what you were doing — trying to uproot corruption, I knew I was right. And I knew I had to make you my duchess,”

“Well I’m not your wife yet,” you tease, the words barely out of your mouth before he’s got you pinned under him, “Toru—“

“Now, I told you I was going to seize my fate when I saw it,” and he kisses you, stealing every thought from your mind and every breath from your body, his touch filling you with warmth in return, “and I see it right in front of me,”

“And what does it look like?” you smile against his lips, as he leans down to kiss you again.

“Bright.”

“Is it just me or do these paparazzi lights get brighter and brighter each time?” you rub your eyes as the two of you slide into your car for the night, the driver setting off towards your home.

“I don’t know, I was too busy being blinded by my gorgeous wife,” and Satoru’s hands are all but under your dress, sliding up and down your sides, before one cups your cheek, “did i mention how incredible you look, sweetheart?”

You hum, “about a million times,” your fingers slide against his shoulders until he’s practically lying on top of you against these leather seats.

“That’s a million times too little — you look incredible, sweetheart. This dress was made for you,” and his lips taste as sweet as his words, your fingers sliding into his snowy locks while his slide against your bare thighs, “and I can’t wait to take it off when we get home,”

“You’re going to take it off now if your hands slide any further up,” he draws a shiver from you as his hands do just that, daring further up your thighs, “Toru—“

“Don’t worry, the partition is up and it’s just you and me, sweetheart,” and he’s sinking to his knees on the floor, as his hands slide up your dress, “just keep your voice down, don’t want anyone hearing my wife, do we?” And his lips are grazing your inner thigh, his smirk against your skin, “good thing I relieved you of those pantyhose, huh?”

“Toru,” you whined, as his fingers parted your thighs, and he could see your all too soaked panties, a damp patch and the fabric nearly translucent while it clung to your clit, “please—“

“So needy — and now that mouth of yours is being as honest as this one,” his lithe fingers tug aside the crotch of your panties to expose your cunt, “all this f’me? Been like this since our make out earlier? Surprised I didn’t see your cum drip down your legs,”

And his words make you squirm, “Satoru, I swear to god—“ and his lips kiss your clit, as two fingers tease at your entrance, gathering your pre on his fingertips.

“You don’t have to call me god, Princess — just Satoru is fine,” he murmurs as his lips close around your clit, as his fingers work inside your walls, a delicious stretch that draws a pretty gasp from your lips, your head falling back against the leather headrest.

The sounds of the squelch of your cunt and the slurping of his lips against your clit rang in your ears — your fingernails digging into the seat as your other hand clamped over your lips.

“That’s it, just like that, Princess,” his tongue darts out to drag circles around your clit, while his fingers find the spot that makes you see stars.

“I’m—“ you manage, before you’re cumming around his fingers and lips, your toes curling as you do, head back against the headrest. Your eyes find him to see him looking all too perfect even ruffled, as his lips were glossy with your release, tongue darting out to clean it, before he licked his fingers one by one.

“And you were worried about the paparazzi noticing your missing pantyhose,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, a smirk against your mouth, “let’s hope no one saw that,”

And there’s a sharp rap on the window, “Sir and madam? We’ve arrived,” and his lips quirk, as he adjusts your clothes, cleaning your smudged lipstick with his thumb, as you reach up to wipe his lips where the lipstick had gone.

“Shall we celebrate my win properly?” He opens the door and slides out of the car, holding out his hand for yours.

“As we always do?” And your fingers find his, as he presses his lips to the back of your palm.

“Always, Princess.”

“Are you ready yet, Princess?” Your Prince’s arms slid around your waist, his lips already at your neck, as his ocean blues met your gaze in the mirror, “how lucky is our kingdom to have such a lovely future queen? And how much luckier am I to have her as my wife?”

“We do not know if the people will approve of me still, Toru,” you murmur, eyes shying away from his, your fingers finding the infinity around your neck, “you promised me forever, but will they grant it to us?”

“Do you have such little faith, sweetheart, in your future husband?” His fingers find your chin, tilting it upwards to meet your gaze, “I’ve already done the impossible — I charmed you over the last two decades haven’t I?”

“More like wore me down,” and he pinches your cheek, before he presses a kiss to the affronted skin, “re-defined the long game,” and he kisses your nose, “and stole my heart and soul while I wasn’t looking,”

“I never steal,” he smiles that same smile that was emblazoned in your memory all those years ago, when he emerged from the woods with not a unicorn, but a baby fawn he had frightened from very same thicket, “I only take what was given to me,” he smiles, “and you willingly handed over your heart the moment you let me into your life,”

“What was I thinking?” you murmur, cupping his cheek, “now I’ll have to deal with the politics of a kingdom for the rest of my days,”

His lips curl widely, as his lips find yours, a heat that simmers into passion and then into simple love, “I promise, in exchange, I’ll spend the rest of my days making you the happiest you’ve ever been,”

“The happiest, huh?” you murmur, foreheads pressed together, “that’s a tall order, so you think you can do it?”

“I know I can,” he smiles, his arms pulling you impossibly closer, “because I’ll never trying to make you happy, Princess.”

“You’re far too happy with this arrangement,” you say through the door, arms crossed as you pressed your back against it, “I don’t want to come out,”

“You agreed to this, c’mon sweetheart, you’ve taken countless pictures of me—“

“You’re a model — it’s literally your job,” you glare at him through the door, “I’m behind the camera — not in front of it,”

“But you’re just as beautiful in front of it as you are behind it,” and you can hear his pout through the door, “if you really don’t want to, sweetheart, I won’t make you—“

And the door opens, your lips curled in a pout as you emerge in a cerulean gown — the same color as his eyes, the very same that widened upon seeing you.

“Was this necessary?” you squirm in place, as he bites his lip, eyes raking over you, “Toru—“

And he’s in front of you in an instant, his arms winding aaaaaaaaround your waist, “I want to kiss you so badly, but I’ll mess up your makeup,” your breath catches, so his finger brushes against your lips and presses it to his own lips, a little of your lipstick sticking to his lips.

“Toru,” and his lips quirk at the nickname, “why do you want to take pictures of me?”

“Because, I want pictures of you that are just for me,” he gently takes your hand, pressing a kiss to your wrist, “because I’ll never have this moment with you again, but I’ll have these pictures with you,”

“And when do I get pictures that are of you and just for me?” And he presses a kiss to your head.

“Anytime you want,” he murmurs, “we have all the time in the world, don’t we?”

Time — that was the one thing Satoru Gojo always lacked. It felt as if his whole life was an hourglass, waiting for the sand to run out — and the one time it came close, blood seeping like sand through his neck, he was able to turn it on its head, until time was on his side agai.

He wasn’t sure if time was on his side now.

He could only see the winter sky above — flecks of white he could think were snow but never be sure if that was his vision going blurry. He couldn’t feel anything — but he heard the all too distant squelch of his blood against the ground, the sounds of footsteps, the feeling of his body being lifted, a smile still on his face.

He was going home — the one person who always made his world right side up — the only person who could catch the sand that slipped between his fingers and hold it between warm palms. He forced his body to keep running — to keep going, the flow of cursed energy may have come from the stomach and his brain may be able to power his reversed curse technique — but that didn’t compare to his will to make it home — make it to you.

“Toru! Satoru!” he couldn’t will his eyes to open, only managing the barest flutter of his eyelids, “it’s okay, Shoko’s got you, I got you,” you murmur, a soft brush that must but your lips.

Love was always the most twisted curse of them all — and he knew it had always been a curse to love him. Anyone drawn into his orbit seemed only doomed to fall around him — whether it was by their choice, his choice, or fate’s choice.

Fate. That was a word he never had put a lot of stock into. Suguru always said there was a certain order to things — sorcerers were made to defend humans, and that was our duty. He had replied that fate was an excuse for people too afraid to challenge the status quo.

Maybe Suguru took that too seriously.

When Suguru defected — Satoru knew something had to change — he couldn’t let others go even when they had that blue spring. The time that he had stayed frozen in — even as everyone else left, he still lived in those moments, and so he barely lived in the present at all.

Not until you had shattered his self made prison.

And it wasn’t without difficulty.

He told you so many times that it was dangerous to love him, it was foolish to love a person like him with a constant target on their back because inevitably the target would shift to you. And he didn’t want to live in a world without you — but he could choose to, as long as you were the one who would live.

But you were steadfast in your love, roots cracking through concrete until he was covered in your ivy, entangled so deep that there was no escape—because one look from you had stolen his reservations out from under him. Because loving you was as simple as breathing — it just was.

“I would want you to curse me — in every life.”

That’s what he told you the night before this battle — because he knew if he didn’t make it in this life, maybe he could be with you in the rest of them. But how many days would it take until you couldn’t remember the sound of his laugh, the smile on his lips, the way his face looked — because he always feared the same about outliving you. He would only want to outlive you, if only because he didn’t want you to have to bear the pain of outliving him.

Love was twisted, he thought — as your lips brushed his, he could hear you whisper sweet nothings, falling on deaf ears, but heard all the same — once one found it, they cannot live without it — until they have to.

His eyes flutter open, and he sees the blurry image of your face, scarlet smeared on your face, as his hand shakily lifted to your cheek, “I love you, sweetheart,” he manages barely a whisper, “I’ll see you again, I promise.”

Maybe he did curse you in the end — because your souls were bound together in existence — to fall into each other’s orbit and live together happily in every lifetime—

Your fingers gently shut his eyes closed, as tears streamed from your own — except in this one.

“Is it really a curse to meet you again?” you had murmured that early morning, as dawn peaked over Tokyo, and his lips brushed against yours, “sounds like a blessing,”

“You know that blessings often wear disguises — and words like that always carry a price—” but his lips curl, “but if the price is to meet you and fall in love again and again, I suppose I could pay it.”

“‘Suppose?’” you repeat, and he laughs at your immediate pout.

He kisses away your pout, as you slowly melt into his kiss, “Y’know I’d pay any price to fall in love with you again, sweetheart”

You smile, “Just stay with me in this one, that would be enough.”

Did other lives matter when this was the only one he had fallen for you in this life? He wanted to stay with you here — in this moment, in this time — he wanted you in every life — not just all the others.

And he vowed that he would— his fingers twitched—

He would love you in this life too.

✧ a/n: i hope you guys enjoy this one!! i had a lot of fun writing it. it might not be everyone's cup of tea but hey, i enjoyed it. although i questioned my writing ability a lot while writing it lmao

✧ taglist: @gojolova4eva, @xxemmarldxx, @gojolvrr34, @lilbrubby, @jaixxxsc, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @elaemae, @gojonegs, @captain-shittykawa, @sillyrabbitreads, @akumicchi, @satorustorm, @equikaz, @imaginativeghorl, , @dhoranbolt, @strawmariee, @catsgomurp, @that-goth-bisexual, @fushitoru, @dazailover1900

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfiction #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru fanfiction #gojo satoru x reader

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eddiesxangel · 5 months

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Redemption| Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie is forced to work community hours for a petty crime at a retirement home; what he didn’t expect was the pretty girl at the front desk, you. This is so self-indulgent don't come for me

Word count: 3.8k

Cw: mutual pining, male masturbation, Perv!Eddie, Dom!Eddie/ Sub!reader, unprotected sex, corruption kink? breeding kink, sex at work. (Briefly proofread)

An: after 85 years I finally got around to finishing this! It’s not where I thought it would go originally bc it was just suppose to be a fluff piece but the horny gremlin took over

Boredom wasn't even a way to describe how you were feeling. The phones were dead, the day had been dragging on, and it was not even 12:00pm. The residents of the home were also not doing you any favours. Having to repeat yourself about six times in a row at the top of your lungs was starting to get old; your day had just not been going the way you wanted. Any other day, you'd be happy to help, happy to repeat yourself, but today was not one of those days. You were irritated and annoyed; your work bestie was off today, so you couldn't even complain to her about your shit day.

A sigh of relief fills you when the phone rings, a rare occasion, but today has been so slow you were begging for something to do.

"Sunny Acres Retirement Home! How may I help you?" your customer service voice was overly sweet, too sweet. However you can't seem to turn it off, being the people pleaser that you are.

"Jesus Christ'' You hear mumbled from the other end of the line.

"Hello? How can I help you?" you roll your eyes, having to repeat yourself, but keep up the chipper act.

"Yeah, listen, I was assigned to do community hours at this place, and I need to talk to a manager." Damn, this guy had an attitude.

"Yeah! Sure thing. Can I get your name, please?"

"Seriously?"

What the fuck crawled up this guy's ass?

"It's company policy, Sir." You rolled your eyes again, not wanting to deal with more bullshit.

"Eddie"

"One moment, Eddie, I'll transfer your call." You put him on hold and transferred him to the manager with a good luck warning.

The next day, you were in much better spirits; your work bestie was with you, it was casual Friday, and you were allowed to wear jeans instead of business casual attire.

It was around 1:00pm when you saw Chief Hopper walk in accompanied by someone you had not recognized.

"Hey Hopps," you greet him with a smile.

"Hey, you." He said with a smile.

You and Chief Hopper had a friendly relationship because you're close friends with his girlfriend's oldest, Jonathan.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Brought in another delinquent for you to roughhouse into shape" he steps out of the way.

Your giggle dies as you lock eyes with the prettiest boy you've ever seen.

"This is Edward; he is here to complete two hundred hours of community service, and he will be starting today."

"It's Eddie," you hear him mumble under his breath.

Oh so this is the jackass you spoke to on the phone yesterday... a really cute jackass.

He looked to be around your age, but you didn't recognize him. You'd only been in town since the second half of senior year, hating your parents for making your move to a new school so close to graduating. You have been in Hawkins six years now you're here working 9-5 as a receptionist at Sunny Acres Retirement Home.

"Nice to meet you, Eddie." You introduce yourself and proceed to call the manager to let her know he is here. Once Hopper leaves and your manager shows him around, you immediately call your best friend, Robin's, extension.

"Get over here now! We have a code, hottie," you whisper into the phone. Whenever you see a cute person enter the building, whether it be adult grandchildren, paramedics, or firefighters, you always let one another know when there is one on the premises. No less than two minutes later, she approaches your desk.

"Where are they?"

" There," you point to the dining room directly across from your desk as he is being given a tour of the building.

"Eddie Munson?!" she half yells before covering her mouth.

"You know him?" you ask excitedly.

"Know him? He's the town freak," she scoffs.

"I'm sure he is a freak, alright?" You wiggle your brows at her."

"I'm serious! He's bad news."

"Clearly, he is doing community service hours."

"Seriously? That is what you're into?" she giggles.

"I don't know? There is something about him?" You bite your lip as you check him out from afar. He turns back to walk towards you, and you quickly look away, not wanting to be caught.

You've always been into bad boys, but your golden retriever, good girl image, always scared them away.

Eddie notices you staring at him because you're not very subtle. He isn't mad that he caught you staring because he felt that you were checking him out rather than judging him. Unlike your co-worker standing beside you...

Just his luck, he recognized Robin from high school. She was always neutral towards him and didn't say much, but he knew how the people in this town operated. She would turn you against him in no time.

"Buckley." He nodded.

"Munson," she mimicked back.

You watched the scene play out, hoping she would introduce you. Wrong. She goes straight in for the kill.

"My friend thinks you're cute." She points her thumb at you, and you immediately slap her shoulder as a gut reaction.

"Robin?!" you scold her. Mortified about what she admitted to him just to break an awkward silence, you feel like you want the ground to swallow you whole.

Eddie gives you a cocky smirk before the manager comes back to continue with the tour.

"Why do you hate me? Did I do something? Are you punishing me?" you whine.

"You know I just blurt out things when I get uncomfortable!"

All you can do is roll your eyes, you loved the girl, but she could be really dense.

Eddie couldn't stop thinking about your brief interaction all night. Was Robin telling the truth? Did you really think he was cute? Or was she teasing? He hoped that she had grown up since high school and was telling the truth because he also thought you were cute, like really, really cute. He hadn't seen you before, and Hawkins was a small town; he must have known you from somewhere? He wraps his brain around any memories of your face, but he comes up empty. He had to find out more about you. He needed to know you. Something about you infatuated him so much. He thought about how your body looked in the adorable outfit you had on. He thought about what was under the outfit to... Maybe being forced to volunteer his time at Sunny Acres wouldn't be the worst thing that happened to him after all...

The next day, you were assigned to show Eddie some of the duties he was to do for the residents. Talk to them, run bingo, help them with their phone if the line was giving them any trouble, or their TV if they put in the wrong input, serve them beverages, and get to know them and keep them company. A lot of them don't have families or anyone to come visit them. The staff are their family. That was the main reason you stayed at this job for so long.

Eddie was quiet the whole orientation. The tension from yesterday was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Small talk was not your strong suit; you dreaded it, but you also really wanted to talk with Eddie, so you went for it.

"So what did they book you for? Steal candy from a kid on the playground?" trying to make light of the situation.

"Murder," he deadpans to you.

"Ha ha. Nice try. They don't give community hours to murderers." you couldn't keep your eyes on the task in front of you.

He was dead silent, but you could feel his eyes burning into you.

"Okay, don't tell me; I'll just keep guessing until you do." you gave a cheeky smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Another eye roll was shot your way, but you swore you saw a glint of something behind those eyes.

"So what was it? Trespassing? Vandalism? shoplifting? Public intoxication? Speeding?" you raise a brow at him.

Eddie just smirked and shook his head as you interrogated him. Your bubbly personality was nothing compared to his. He noticed how you would light up the room when you walked in. The residents of the home adored you, and he could see why. You were one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen; your eyes sparkled, and he loved how you styled yourself. He wasn't used to being so infatuated by someone so cutesy. He noticed you wore a lot of pink and has yet to see you in anything black. He thought of what you would look like with black underwear... then he snapped back out of his thoughts. He tried to think of something less sexy, but as he was trying to do so, your top slipped down when you went to reach for the deck of cards across from you. He caught a glimpse of the frilly light yellow bra you had on under your top.

Eddie noticed the room was getting hotter, or was that just him? You made him nervous; he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of you more than he already has. He felt shame that we had to be waltzed in here by the chief of police, never mind what offence he committed. So he stayed quiet, not wanting the next thing to come out of his mouth to be offensive or crass. So he kept quiet, not saying anything or indulging in the conversation more than he had to.

Another week went by, and you still hardly spoke to Eddie. Work was unbelievably slow yet again. you thought that would give you a chance to speak with Eddie, but you hardly had time to see him because the residents kept hogging him. That was until your manager asked for you to help with the Bingo because everyone decided to show up today. Eddie was in charge of rolling and placing, and you were in charge of announcing and checking.

This was it, this was your chance to speak to him...

"How do you like it here so far?"

"It's fine I guess." He mumbled.

"Everyone really loves you." You smiled.

Eddie gave you a look that said what the fuck?

“No really! … Do you not like it here?” What you were really asking was do you not like being around me?

"Don't you get it? How can I serve these snotty rich people when all they do is look down on someone like me?"

"Eddie, are you blind? The residents love you."

Eddie scoffs at your confession. "I'm serious! When you are gone, Pat always asks where you are! And Linda always refers to you as her boyfriend, and I overheard Martha and June arguing over who got to braid your hair next. You're a real ladies' man around here," You giggle.

"A ladies man you say?" his mood slowly changes as he smirks at you. That made you blush, the heat rose to your cheeks as you looked away bashfully. He was just so pretty… and the way he looked at you like how he is now is making you so shy.

"Yeah, I'm kinda jealous of Linda, if I'm honest." You flirt. You feel like your stomach was in your ass by the time you finished the sentence.

"What's the next number! come on!" Bob yelled from the table. You had completely forgotten about the game.

Small glances were stolen throughout the following weeks. You would feel the heat rise to your cheeks every time he caught you, and you couldn't tell if he found it endearing or annoying. You never got a response out of Eddie after your admission to being jealous over an eighty-three-year-old.

Eddie definitely thought it was endearing and he can't seem to get you out of his head. He would think about you when he was alone in his room at night. He would think about how you always smelled like marshmallows, how your hair looked so cute with the little bow you put in it occasionally, or how you tease him by wearing those short skirts with stockings underneath. He knew you were teasing him. Everyone else bought the Goodie Two Shoes act, but not Eddie. He saw right through it, and he was fed up. He felt like if he didn't have you, he would actually explode.

Eddie had been watching you from afar this whole time. He would sneak around your desk, finding things he could take home with him as a keepsake. Like little doodles you would leave out, or the pen you were using, or your lip balm. The best was when you left your purse out, and he got a chance to take the travel-size perfume that was lying there on top of everything. There was a reason he got booked for defacing public property and not theft. Theft he was good at.

Eddie sprayed his pillow with your perfume and then used your lip balm that smelled and tasted like strawberries, fuck, everything about you was so sweet: your personality, looks and smell, even your fucking lip balm. He thought about how his lips were touching the thing that touched yours as he applied it to his own, and his dick got hard. Then he thought about how your strawberry lips would look around his hard cock.

You were taking over Eddie's senses as he began to tug at his cock. He thought about how he would love to flip up your skirt and fucking you in one of the empty rooms. His imagination ran wild. He thought about your voice, how your tits would look bouncing in that frilly yellow bra he got a peek at. He wanted you in every position, especially under him. He knew you would be the perfect little sub for him. He needed you to be; he was so close to cumming. He thought about you crying from how much you needed his cock to fill you. He thought about how good you would look and feel swallowing his cock. He needed to take what he thought, no needed to believe, was your virgin pussy.

Eddie came so hard that night, the first night he indulged in his fantasies of you with your smell lingering in the air of his room. The mix of your sent with his was too much. He needed you, and he would do anything to try and get you.

"Ok, I can't take this anymore, you need to talk to him." Robin shook her head.

"And say what?"

"Yo Munson, come here!"

"Robin!" You scolded.

As Eddie approached, you felt your heart rate go up; you could hear the blood pumping in your ears. What on earth was she going to say now?

"Okay, I can't take watching you two dance around one another any longer." "She thinks you're cute. Okay..." Robin gestured to you. "Do you think she is cute?"

Eddie didn’t say anything, he just slowly nodded his head.

The tension broke when the shrill of phone ring broke you out of your trance and shook you a little. You just stared at the phone and Robin butted in.

“I’ll take it, you take your lunch” she gave you a wink and you looked to Eddie.

“I could eat.” and he wasn't talking about the chicken they were serving for lunch.

You felt your stomach do a flip-flip; you heard the insinuation in his tone.

"Um, uh- yeah. Okay." You cleared your throat and went to find an empty room for some privacy.

You guided Eddie up to the eighth floor. There were a lot of vacant rooms up there, and hardly anyone went in the west wing since no one was living there yet. The elevator ride up was silent; you felt an awkwardness, like Eddie was looking into your soul even though he wasn't even looking at you... The elevator dinged, and Eddie let you step out first, guiding him to the privacy he yearned for.

809 Eddie read on the door as you fumbled with the lock and key. Finally, you opened the lock and guided him inside. The room was completely empty; it echoed a little as your footsteps filled it.

"So..." You started but Eddie had no time for talking. He wanted you and he wanted you now.

Eddie surprised you by cupping your face and kissing you passionately. No one had ever kissed you like this before; it was strong and hard but also careful.

"You have no idea what you do to me, sweetheart." He spoke into your mouth. The kissing got more and more sensual. You ran your hands up his middle before you knew what was happening he quickly turned you around and pressed you up against the wall.

"You think it's cute? Teasing me for weeks with your sweet little outfits?" Eddie's hand was wrapped around your mouth to keep you quiet as his fingers explored you meat of your ass.

"Mmmmmph" You were so scared someone would find you in the empty suite, but it also turned you on more than expected.

"What was that sweetheart? I didn't quite catch that?" His fingers found the waistband of your stockings and pulled them and your panties down with one swift motion. His hand loosened its grip on your jaw so you could speak.

"N-no," You whimpered. This was turning you on way more than it should. You thought you would come up here to talk; maybe he would ask you out on a date. You never thought you would be fucking!

"I don't believe you."

You felt your skirt flipped up and a cool breeze on your wet pussy.

"Tell me, sweetheart, has anyone ever filled this pussy?" Eddie asked as he ran a single finger through your wet folds.

"Yes," You admit shakily. You gripped Eddie's wrist of the hand that was clamped around your throat.

Eddie can't say he was surprised that you’ve had men before him. You were beautiful, smart, funny, adorable. It's too bad you had to be with them before he got a taste.

"What a shame you've had to suffer through that before meeting me, babydoll."

"Why is that?" you ask bravely.

Eddie chuckled darkly... "Because baby, I'm about to ruin you for all men."

That made you gulp. You can't believe you were about to fuck your crush in the middle of the work day. You didn't do stuff like this! you were a good girl, a rule follower.

Before you could think anymore about the consequences, Eddie, he slipped his throbbing cock into your needy pussy.

"Holy fuck!" You screamed, and Eddie's hand clamped back down over your mouth to keep you quiet.

Just when Eddie didn't think you could get any hotter, the curse word you let slip from your mouth made his cock twitch inside of you.

"Fuck me, you stretch me out so good," You whine, and Eddie thinks he will bust a nut right then and there. His perfect little angel had the mouth of a whore.

"Yes, you like that, don't you, you dirty little slut." Eddie jerked his hips up into you. It was sharp and hard and hit that delicious spot inside you each time. “You wanna be my good girl? Or my bad girl?”

“Good- oh fuck- good girl. I want to be your good girl!”

“That shut the fuck up and take it like I know you can”

"oh my god, you're so big." Your eyes rolled back into your head as he became more controlled with his rhythm. His hands gripped your hip, and he wrapped his hand in your hair, yanking your head back like he was riding you.

The view Eddie had was your ass bounced off his cock was making his head spin. He knew you would hand a perfect pussy. It was his now and only his.

"This pussy is mine now, understand? Im going to fill this pussy so good you won't know what to do for days. The only thing you're going to be thinking of is me and my fat cock."

All you could do was moan in response. "Yea you like that you dirty little whore. You like that I own this pussy now…” Eddie slowed down, he rolled his hips slowly into your pussy and he swore he saw the light “You have everyone convinced you're a goodgirl but all you are is a cumslut. Tell me how much you want my cum coating your walls"

"I want it so bad!" you cried.

You've never had a dick like this before. Eddie was right, he's ruined you for all men and he hadn't even made you cum... yet. You had full faith that he was able to do so because you could feel it. The warm fuzzy feeling was bubbling up in your core. Eddie had picked up the pace at your omission, and fuck if he wasn’t hitting your g spot with each delicious stroke of his cock hitting your walls.

"Fuck I'm going to cum!" You scream, all caution thrown to the wind, you'd forgotten where you were. The only thing you could think of was Eddie and his delicious cock.

"Fuck yes, babydoll. Come on this cock." Eddie's hand let go of your hair and wrapped it around your throat, pulling you flush to his body.

"More" You whisper.

"Greedy greedy girl."

"Please" You begged. You needed him to touch you.

"There is my good girl." His hand that had gripped your hip slid down and started playing with your swollen clit and your legs almost gave out.

"Next time, I'm keeping my word, and I'm going to eat this pretty little pussy." Eddie growled.

That did it for you; your inner walls squeezed, and you felt your orgasm rush through you. Eddie trusted in you as your body convulsed around him.

"Fuck you're so fucking tight," Eddie grits through his teeth, and he fights off his impending orgasm. He doesn't want this moment to end, he wants it to last forever. What if this is the last chance he has to feel your pussy wrapped around him?

"Please, Eddie, I want your cum! I want your cum so fucking bad, my pussy needs it."

That did it for Eddie, he let go and his hot seed was being shot into you with a roar.

After minutes of silence and heavy breathing, Eddie bent down and pulled up your panties and stockings for you, trapping his cum with it. You turn slowly, afraid to look him in the eyes, but Eddie doesn't allow it. He brings your cin up, guiding your eyes to look into his.

"Don't shy away from me now, babydoll. You're going to go back down to the lobby and finish the rest of your work day knowing my cum is going to be seeping through your pretty little panties, ok?" He ordered, and you dumbly nodded your head, still fucked out by the amazing dick you just received.

"Good girl" Eddie patted your ass, and you walked to the elevator with wobbly legs. Eddie laughed and held you stand straight before letting go before you reached the first floor.

You returned from your break fifteen minutes later than allotted, but Robin covered for you. You couldn't even look her in the eyes, and she knew you got freaky with the freak of Hawkins.

#eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson smut #perv!eddie munson #perv!eddie x reader #perv!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #dom!eddie munson #dom!eddie Munson x reader #dom!eddie Munson x sub!reader #dom!eddie x reader

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kilometeresmorales · 1 year

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both pro and anti an.akin fans are insane and i am convinced fandom in general has ruined people’s ability to sit with fiction

#whether he is wrong or right isn’t the point. the point is the struggle and the pain and wanting him not to fail and being angry when he #does. if we spend the entire movies saying ‘I hate this guy’ then the lesson about Choice and human nature doesn’t hit #he is sympathetic at times but he’s in the wrong but we have to see why HE thinks he’s right #everyone in these movies fucks up. and they’re all racist lmfao #we are watching a descent into madness and tragedy and how the selfishness of one corrupts the many; yes; but also #how we let power corrupt and change; how we avoid truth to maintain our happy bubbles; and so much more #I haven’t rewatched in awhile but a basic knowledge of story can tell me that much #idk what is up with the internet now. im too elderly for this #SW

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daisyvisions · 6 months

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✦ Day 26 - Corruption

⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Pairing: Pervy! Bestfriend Sunwoo x innocent!reader

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Word Count: 1.4K

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), corruption kink, slight manipulation (if you squint, don't read if triggering), dry humping, unprotected sex, a very pervy and kinda possessive sunwoo, ass grabbing, pet name (sweetheart, baby), let me know if I missed anything!

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. A/N: had to change the whole theme and plot for this one since I really couldn’t think at all on how to write it out BUT I still hope you like it! Wish I had more time to write it out better but here we are. This was also a combination of 3 asks that I haven't gotten to answering so here it is 😮‍💨 Proofread once

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Network: @deoboyznet

✦ Kinktober Masterlist ✦

Sunwoo loved touching you.

The way your soft hands would hold his, how you would lean your head on his shoulder, the feeling your body pressed up against his as he embraced you, he loved it all.

He loved it a little too much actually. So much to the point he thought about wanting to touch you in other places he shouldn’t be touching.

It was wrong, he knew that. But he couldn’t help himself.

He’d been dying to get his hands on you ever since you’ve become friends. But it was hard when your were such a sweet innocent little thing. He didn’t want to scare you off if he suddenly did it.

Sunwoo had to find a way to touch you. But how?

Suddenly, he remembered that it was your birthday coming up. And by coincidence he also happen to stumble upon an ad on his phone that made him grin from ear to ear.

He was gonna finally have his way with you.

“Come out sweetheart, let me see.”

“But Sunwoo I’m shy… are you sure this is okay?”

“As long as it’s on you I’m sure it’ll look beautiful I promise” You hear his muffled reassurance from behind the bathroom door.

When your best friend he had a surprise for you on your birthday you were not expecting this kind of gift at all…

You take a look at yourself for a moment, soaking in how your soft body looks covered in this really pretty laced lingerie set. He doesn’t even hide the fact that the tent in his pants are twitching just seeing you like this.

You took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled before opening the door to reveal your barely covered body.

“Sweetheart… you look fucking gorgeous.” Sunwoo says, soaking every inch of your body as he looks at you up and down. Your cheeks start to grow warm from the way he looks at you.

“Come here, I wanna take a closer look.” He motions you with his hand. You try to shield your body with your arms as you walk towards him sitting on the edge of your bed.

Sunwoo grabs you by the wrists and pulls you to straddle his lap, one hand tracing the patterned laced on your bra as the other hand rests on your lower back.

Your breath hitches at his bulge slightly nudging your core, making you feel something strange growing at the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck just look at you… I could almost eat you up-” His hands now slowly roaming your body, trying to make you ease into his touch.

When he shifts his position for a moment, you feel his bulge nudge you again. You let out a very faint whimper by accident, eyes growing wide from embarrassment.

But all you could see was Sunwoo’s mischievous smirk, knowing exactly what you’re feeling at this moment.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” He holds your chin up to look into your eyes as his other hand starts massaging your ass.

“C’mon, you can always tell me.” He whispers.

“I feel k-kinda weird...” You whisper back.

“Where does it feel weird? Point it out to me-” He asks. You start to become shy at first, wondering if this is something your best friend should even know about. You slowly move your hand to direct his gaze at your core.

“Oh, I see. So… if I move you like this-” Sunwoo places both hands on your waist and pulls you forward, making your core rub against his bulge once again. You gasp at the feeling as it nudges your core even deeper.

“Y-yeah. I don’t know what it is.” You look at him with worried eyes.

“Sweetheart, it’s not a weird feeling at all. It should feel good… Does it feel good for you?” He continues to slowly rock your hips back and forth, making you nod your head as you bite your bottom lip.

“You wanna know something?” He asks. You tilt your head slightly curiously.

“It feels really good for me too…” He groans, pushing your hips down to make you grind on him further. You moan at the sensation it brings you, even the way Sunwoo’s strong hands hold you down.

As Sunwoo continues to help you grind yourself onto his crotch, you can’t help but stare at his plump lips. Without thinking, you impulsively peck them. Your eyes grow wide as you just realized what you’ve done.

“Sunwoo I- I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have-” your apology is cut off as he kisses you back. His lips attacking yours aggressively as he moves your hips faster.

You pull away from him for a moment, trying to catch your breath as he leans forward to kiss your chest.

“Sunwoo wait-” He doesn’t listen as he licks and sucks the top of your breasts.

“We can’t. T-this is something only boyfriends do-” Now that phrase is what gets him to stop.

“But friends can do this too sweetheart, didn’t you know?” He looks at you like it’s a well known fact.

“And it’s even better because I'm your best friend. Best friends are supposed to help each other right?” He pouts as he rubs circles on the dips of your hips.

“Y-yes…” You stutter. Still worried that what you feel for him might drive him away.

“And it looks like we both have a problem down there. I can help us both. Do you trust me?” You feel his bulge growing harder as you nod in response.

“I’ll make you feel good sweetheart, I promise. Just keep this between us okay?” He kisses you before unbuckling his pants to lower them enough to his knees.

He wastes no time pushing your hips down again on his hard bulge, the friction of his covered cock nudging your sensitive bud is even more pleasurable as the layers of clothing between you have lessened.

“Feels s-so good…” You mindlessly mumble as pleasure takes over your senses.

Sunwoo’s hands grab your ass harshly, making you whine from the slight sting but it turns you on even more. You moan his name as you feel an unfamiliar sensation growing in your abdomen.

“That’s it sweetheart, use my cock.” He groans.

Your hips roll on their own as they move faster, trying to reach that peak you’re desperately craving. He crashes his lips onto yours, tongues moving together so erotically.

You don’t even have time to process what’s going on until you suddenly hit your orgasm, making you bite his bottom lip out of impulse.

“Fuck I need to be inside you right now. Can I? Fuck- please let me fuck you-” He moans.

“But is that oka-”

“As long as we’re helping each other right?” He asks, his thumb grazing your bottom lip.

“O-okay. Just… it won’t hurt right?” You look at him with worried eyes.

“Just a little, but it will feel so good. Gonna fill you up so good sweetheart I promise-” He fumbles as he slightly lifts his hips to pull down his boxers, kicking them to the side as he pulls your panties to the side. Your mouth waters at the sight of his leaking cock, eager to know how it will feel inside in a few moments.

Sunwoo helps you lift your hips, tugging at the base of his member as he aligns himself at your entrance before slowly lowering you down.

You start to feel the head stretch out your walls, whining at the pain as he bottoms out into you. He gives you a moment to adjust before he slowly grabs your waist again to drag your hips back and forth as his cock gliding inside your tight walls.

“I-feel so full-” You whine, wrapping your arms around his neck as you try to roll your hips yourself.

“Doing so good sweetheart.” Sunwoo kisses your neck.

“Fuck- gonna ruin you for everyone else. Got that? After this I can only fuck you-” He growls in your ear, slapping your ass as he bites your earlobe. You nod in response.

He wraps his arms around your waist and thrusts himself up into you. Pounding his member so deep that you practically feel all of him.

“Gonna make you mine baby. All mine.” He groans against your lips.

All the sensations happening at the moment numb your head, feeling yourself drift away to the point you don’t even realize you’re cumming on his cock, moaning his name like a prayer.

You thank him profusely. You don’t even know why you’re thanking him but you do. He smirks at you as he caresses your cheek and leaves a kiss on your forehead,

“That’s what friends are for…”

#deoboyznet #kim sunwoo #sunwoo #sunwoo smut #tbz smut #tbz fics #tbz scenarios #tbz #tbz hard hours #the boyz drabbles #the boyz hard hours #the boyz scenarios #the boyz fic #the boyz smut #kpop smut

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angelsrcute · 12 days

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SEX OBSESSION. 𝜗𝜚

(´∀｀*)ε｀　) ౨ৎ N–sfw content !! ; Dom!Fyodor and Nikolai + Angel!Sub!Fem!Reader ➜cws: unprotected sex, use of lube, crying, praising, biting, corruption, creampie, double penetration, multiple rounds, fingering, nipple play, blowjob, hair pulling. ᡴꪫ‎

‎ ꒰ † ੭‎ For the event! + Fyodor calls you MIlaya(darling) n Nikolai calls you Myla moya(my dear) ヽ(´▽`)ノ

Curious. You were a very curious angel, oblivious too probably, believing that the world is just so good. For some reason, you met them, Fyodor and Nikolai, apparently from some group called ‘Decay of Angels’, what's that? No clue, but they seem quite nice.

And what were you doing right now? no clue either but you know that whatever they do makes you feel all warm and fuzzy. A sensation you've never felt, it feels so good that you're ready to do it anytime, anywhere. They tell you that it's something very close friends do. Angelic mind all corrupted, well can you blame them? you're just so cute when you beg for them to fuck you stupid!

All you remember is that fyodor was pent up and wanted to get some relief, Nikolai nodded away while giggling. I mean you were living here free of cost so it's only fair that you help your best friend relieve some stress, right? Maybe a movie night, or a game night–

So here you were, sucking Fyodor off while Nikolai worked on your pussy, thrusting two fingers inside you as he whispered sweet praises to your ears, “Such a good angel you are, Myla moya!” Nikolai purred while he was twisting and pinching your nipples, taking them in his mouth as he bit on them gently. Giving each bud equal attention.

Soft muffled gasps and moans left your lips, causing Fyodor to chuckle as he wiped the tears from your eyes, looking prettily at him through your lashes.

“Really, how sinful are you myshka? Aren't you supposed to be a divine being, hm?” He cooed, “God would definitely punish you for such sinful acts.” Earning a whine from you, he knows how devoted you are to the so-called God. More fun to tease you.

You could feel you were close, making your tummy all weird and hot. Fyodor grabs your hair, making you take more of him as he chases his own high, eyes closed as he mumbled something you couldn't focus on. You feel his cock twitch as he climaxes in your mouth, cursing, your eyes rolling back.

“You did a good job, MIlaya, now it's only fair that we return the favour, right?”

Your pussy coming around Nikolai's fingers. He pulled them out, licking up your juices, you were laying your head on Fyodor's thighs, all tired.

You could feel yourself being carried by Fyodor as he put you on the bed. Nikolai in front of your legs while Fyodor was behind you.

“Wait n-no, m’ too tired–” You managed to breathe out.

Well how did it feel being fucked by two cocks? you were absolutely disheveled. Sweat glistening from your forehead, arms wrapped around Nikolai as you bit down on his shoulder. You were so sensitive at this point, you don't remember what round this was but the only thing you could focus on is how good their cocks feel. Shoulders littered with love bites, fyodor played with your hardened nipples.

You were so sensitive, gasping at every movement. They both let out a grunt when they feels your gummy walls clench around them. You can't even let words out, just whimpers and moans.

“Shit, Myla moya, you're hurting me.” Nikolai whines, drawing slow circles on your puffy clit to soothe you. Your eyes all glossy, nail marks visible on Nikolai's shoulder alongside the bite marks you gave him to calm down.

After some time you feel both of them coming inside your holes, filling you up to the brim with their hot n sticky cum. Your stomach bulging a bit. The scent was so intoxicating as you three caught your breaths.

“MIlaya, let me run you a warm bath, you must be tired.” Fyodor let's out a chuckle at how sleepy you were, he caressed your cheeks.

He picked you up as he heard Nikolai pouting about how he also deserves to have that type of treatment too! “Not fairrr! Fedya, run me a bath too..”

Fyodor's lips curl into a smile as he nods and takes you to the bathroom, putting you in the bathtub, Nikolai joins soon after.

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peachdues · 8 months

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GIYUU TOMIOKA NSFW HEADCANONS

I might revise Rengoku's after this one, but for now, enjoy my horny HCs for our favorite emotionally-constipated Pillar!

CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • creampies • mild corruption kink • mean dom!Giyuu and whimpering sub!Giyuu

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES

Giyuu has a very faint happy trail that begins right below his navel; but don’t be fooled — it leads to an absolute jungle below his belt

If it bothers you, he will trim it down, but if you don’t say anything, he’ll just leave it. Truthfully, Giyuu is a big fan of grinding into you (he LOVES the mess you make against his groin), so the friction his hair helps create against your clit is certainly worth the stray pube that may find its way into your mouth from time to time while he fucks your throat.

Onto his dick:

Listen

I know we all know the truth about quiet boys — and Giyuu is so very quiet

He’s hung like a mf horse

He’s not particularly girthy (though don’t get me wrong — he’s got well enough to satisfy), but he is long. Even flaccid, it swings between his legs. He’s about 7.5-8 inches when hard, and it sticks straight out. It’s slightly pink in color, and he has a very pretty tip that you just love to suckle on (he whimpers when you do). He has one prominent vein on the underside of his cock, and if you run your tongue against it, he WILL be shooting his load onto your face/down your throat.

As for his cum, I envision it to be a bit on the thinner side in consistency, slightly sweet, and he cums a LOT. He usually rolls his balls around while he’s cumming to make sure he gets it all out --and into you.

FOREPLAY

Giyuu is admittedly not as experienced with foreplay at first, but he’s committed to making you feel good, so, he’s going to learn and he’s going to learn fast.

I HC that he has really long, delicate fingers and the man knows how to put them to WORK.

You see, Giyuu has never been one to intentionally push another person’s buttons (always doing so accidentally), but with you???

Oh baby, those fingers are searching to press every one of yours.

Truthfully, you could fuck yourself on his hand all day and you’d be satisfied (and in fact, you do). He found your g-spot completely on accident while fingering you, simply by curling his fingers.

Giyuu also enjoys going down on you, because he’s fascinated at the way you fall apart beneath his tongue.

He takes his time exploring your core, curious as to what makes you gasp and writhe, as well as what makes you moan and scream.

The first time you cum in his mouth, you have to quite literally pull him off you, because that first taste unleashed a beast within him and he will not stop licking and sucking and fucking you with his tongue until you’re sobbing with overstimulation

HOW HE FUCKS YOU

Whether he's a sub or a dom really depends on his mood. If he's returning from a mission, he wants to be taken care of (read: he wants you to ride him until he goes cross-eyed). But if it's you returning, be prepared for him to break furniture with how hard he's fucking you -- as if you need to be reminded of who's waiting for you to return home.

When Giyuu subs...

WHIMPERER MAX 5000

I mean it’s almost pathetic how needy this man gets for you while you’re on top, bouncing along the thick length of him like your life depends on it

Expect to have some bruises on your hips from how hard he’s gripping you. Eventually, he gets so desperate that he’s lifting you up and down his cock too, thrusting helplessly up into you without rhythm. He’s just desperately chasing his own release, too drunk at the way your dripping heat constricts around him to the point that he sees stars.

He’s begging you to let him cum, and truthfully, you almost feel bad that you keep slowing down, choosing to rock slowly against him instead of continuing the relentless push and pull of your hips that you know gets him panting. Almost.

When Giyuu doms, however...

When he’s on top though, get ready. Giyuu is relentless and can get downright mean.

Honestly, you shouldn't be surprised. He spends so much time bottling up his emotions that they're bound to explode out of him at some point. Lucky for you that they happen to be exploding out of him and into you, with the way he has you bent over like his own personal cum dump as he ruthlessly takes out every pint of frustration he's kept locked up on your poor, aching cunt.

He’s pulling your hair, running his nails down your skin, and forcing you to say whose name is forever painted on your walls as his drips from your folds. He’s particularly fond of shoving your head down against the futon as he takes you roughly from behind. He’s not satisfied until you’re crying.

Oh and if you’ve been teasing him while out in public (particularly if you’re in the Corps)?? RIP to your pussy bc he’s about to slay it.

Not many people were aware of your relationship with the Water Pillar, but that was out of mutual agreement between you both. However, a few of your comrades had noticed a rather telling mark on your throat while you were being treated for a wound, and while you were able to avoid confessing the identity of your lover, you hadn’t been able to skirt the fact that you, indeed, had one.

“What was it like?” A fellow Kinoe named Ayane asked you, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

You could hardly meet her eyes as you mumbled, “It was nice.”

If you’d known the Water Pillar had been lurking nearby, ears carefully listening for your response, you perhaps would have been a little more careful with your words — but truthfully, you were flustered and a tad embarrassed, and so you’d answered her rather dismissively.

Giyuu, it appeared, hadn’t been amused by your assessment; not when his hand had shot out from the dark cover of the trees to snag around your wrist, yanking you into the shadows.

“Tell me, Y/N,” he growled in your ear, pressing you harder against the bark of the tree as he drove into you. “Does this feel-fucking-nice?” He punctuated the last three words with corresponding, pointed, sharp thrusts.

Your hands shot out to grip the rough wood to steady yourself as you whimpered, though the sound was drowned out by that of Giyuu’s hips slapping forcefully into your backside as he pumped into you with vigor.

The Water Pillar’s teeth sank into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, the sting serving as your warning. “I asked you a question.”

“Giyuu — ah — someone is going to see us,” You cried, though your protests were weakened by the way your hips ground back against him, desperate for release.

Giyuu’s hand wound around your middle and dipped down to between your legs, skilled fingers circling your aching clit. “Not if you keep quiet and come when I say.”

His other hand had to clap around your mouth as his hips drilled into you, his fingers sliding between your lips to choke off the whine of his name as your cunt began to seize around him, begging to be filled by his cum, desperate to feel it leaking out of you as he sent you on your way.

“I’ll show you fuckin’ nice,” he promised, and the Water Pillar wrenched you away from the base of the tree to bend you over before him.

KINK-O-CLOCK

hear me out: I think this man has a virginity kink

like he wants to TAKE your virginity

If you’re not a virgin, dw, he’s still obsessed with you

this is just like an added bonus for him — the idea that he’s the one who’s going to turn you into a whimpering, crying mess, that you’ll fall apart around his cock gets him incredibly excited. Especially because he plans on being the only man to touch you like this. It might translate into a greater corruption kink, but it goes both ways — he loves the idea of reducing you to a lustful, needy mess just as much as he loves the fact you do the same thing to him

big-time praise kink — he loves hearing you sing his praises, even if he gets extremely shy while you do it. He so rarely hears any form of praise or gratitude, so when you give it to him (both in bed and out of it), it means the world to him

EDGING — especially if he’s been away for an extended period of time. You’re overjoyed when he comes home, but you’re also steadily preparing yourself for a long-ass night. Giyuu isn’t one to rush things already, but if it’s been a week or so since he’s last been inside of you, you better prepare yourself for a loooooonnng night ahead of you. He will bring you right up to the cusp of your orgasm before pulling off/out/removing himself, leaving you to clench around nothing. He will do this several times before finally, finally, letting you cum.

creampies on creampies on creampies

Tbh he could give Sanemi a run for his money on this one (and his job at the Hostess donut filling plant)

The man is obsessed with his cum being in you. He’s not satisfied until it’s leaking out of you, and you’re laying on your back, knees against your chest, unable to do anything but hum in contentment because you’re so full of him. He will watch it trickle out of you, and then shove his still-hard cock right back in to give you one more load because fuck you look so sexy when you’re leaking him.

bestie how do you think babies are made

But if he’s not cumming inside of you, he is fascinated with cumming on your tits/face. The sight of his pearly seed covering your skin as you swipe your fingers through it, happily licking it from your hands is 100% guaranteed to make him rock-hard again

He always needs to be touching you in some way, but he especially loves holding onto your waist while plunging deep into you. It doesn’t matter if he’s on the bottom or the top — he just needs to hold you.

#🍑 — requests!!#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #tomioka giyuu #demon slayer smut #hashira smut #hashira headcannons #demon slayer headcanons #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny giyuu #kny smut #giyuu smut #giyuu tomioka

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taeyongdoyoung · 18 days

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strawberries & sunshine

summary: your adorable best friend takes you to a picnic in a secluded spot but his intentions may be far from innocent... pairing: haechan x reader genre: smut, established relationship warnings: cnc/dubcon, corruption kink, innocence kink, pet names (angel, sweetie, my flower, etc.), mention of doctors/made-up sickness, manipulation, bf2l roleplay, inappropriate touching, rubbing, fingering, unprotected sex (pls dont), public sex (there is no one around but still), creampie, safeword is referenced but not used, swearing, degradation (reader is called slut), aftercare author's note: this concept has been haunting me for a while now and i finally gathered enough courage to put it into words 🥴 word count: 1.7k

Your best friend is the sweetest guy in the universe. Haechan is thoughtful, funny and always does kind gestures like bringing you flowers or your favourite chocolates without asking for anything in return. Despite being talkative himself, he always listens to you rant about what’s bothering you, checking to see if you want advice or simply emotional support.

Haechan is also very cute and pretty. Spending time with him truly energizes you and you trust him to have your best interests at heart 100%. Which is why you don’t think twice when he asks you to go on a picnic with him. You love eating and nature, but more importantly, you love being around Haechan, so you find no reason to worry.

When he first mentioned this idea, you assumed you two would go to a park inside the city. But now that the sunny day you chose for your picnic finally arrives, you are stunned that Haechan is driving you two out of the city, entering the mountain nearby.

“Woah, isn’t that a little far away?” you ask in amazement.

“Relax, angel, I’ll take you to the prettiest place,” Haechan responds.

You nod absentmindedly, not even a little bit concerned.

After what seems like forever, Haechan stops the car. He insists on carrying the picnic basket, as well as the blanket, and leads the way into the woods. You walk for around 15 minutes when you are eventually greeted by gorgeous green grass, surrounded by tall trees and birds chirping.

“It’s so lovely, Haechan! How did you find this?”

“I like exploring every once in a while,” he shrugs humbly.

You lay down the blanket, spread out the insides of the picnic basket and sit down, satisfied with the results. There are strawberries, little croissants, ham and cheese sandwiches, French macarons, some homemade kimbap and lemonade. It is so peaceful and quiet here, you really needed an escape from the big city.

You don’t talk much, too busy eating, enjoying the sweet strawberries, the bright sunshine and the lovely atmosphere.

“Oof, I’m so full,” you groan at some point.

“That’s the whole point of picnics, isn’t it?” Haechan chuckles.

“So true!” you laugh.

You two put the remaining food back into the basket and place it on the grass, making space for you to lie down on the blanket.

“To be honest, I’m still kinda hungry,” Haechan murmurs bashfully.

“What? Why didn’t you say so before we put the food away?” you exclaim in surprise.

“Not hungry for anything inside the basket.”

“What do you mean?” you ask innocently.

“I’m not just hungry, I’m also in a lot of pain.”

“Huh? Should we go back to the city for you to see a doctor?” you are instantly concerned for your friend’s well-being.

“Oh, I’ve talked to many doctors already and they all said the same thing. There is only one cure possible for my sickness,” Haechan explains patiently.

“Well, what is it? If there’s anything I can do to help you…” you offer without thinking.

“There is, actually. But do you promise to do anything for me? You’re my best friend, right? You wouldn’t want me to be in pain?”

“Of course not, Haechan! I promise I’ll try to help you but you gotta tell me what kind of pain are you talking about?”

“How about I show you instead?” Haechan’s lips tilt in the slightest of smirk. You are confused by the change of his expression, when he grabs your hand and puts it on his heart. “First, it hurts here.” Then, he moves it so that your hand is now placed on top of his cock. “But it also hurts here.”

“Oh, Haechan,” you sympathize with him. Truly. “This is so strange but I think I might have the same sickness?”

You take hold of his hand and place it on your breasts.

“It hurts me here, as well,” you blink at him softly, then move his hand to your clothed pussy so he touches it through your floral dress. “And here.”

“My angel, I had no idea you were also suffering from this cruel sickness. Do you think maybe…we could be each other’s cure?”

“I don’t know, Haechan…Isn’t it wrong to feel this way?” you express your doubts.

“Oh no, sweetie, it’s completely normal, at least that’s what the doctors said. If we help each other, the pain will disappear.”

“Well, then I guess it’s for the best,” you concede. “The hurt is becoming quite uncomfortable.”

“Same here, my flower. I think we should hurry if we want to cure ourselves of this terrible illness.”

Haechan wastes no more time trying to convince you and climbs on top of you, pressing you down. He spreads your legs apart with one hand, touching and brutally rubbing you through your panties.

“Hyuck, n-no, this isn’t right,” you cry out and try to push him away.

“Shh, my sweet, I’m just trying to cure you first. Don’t you want it?”

“N-no, I’m not sure anymore, please stop,” you whine helplessly but he is too strong to fight off.

“It’ll be over before you know it, just stop struggling, my dear,” Haechan assures you and continues to attack your pussy with his hand. Eventually, he tears your panties apart, sticking his long fingers inside of you.

“P-please, you don’t ha-have to do this,” you try your best to resist but your damn pussy betrays you, squelching noises revealing your juices all for your best friend to see and hear. You would be embarrassed if you aren’t so turned on right now. You come around his fingers so quickly and powerfully that you are unable to think clearly any longer.

“You can help me now, no? I healed you, so now it’s your turn to give me the cure,” Haechan tries to talk you into this.

“I don’t know…” you shake your head. “Maybe there’s another way.”

“There isn’t. Trust me, okay?” Haechan insists. “You promised…”

His reminder, paired with his soft yet cruel smile is more than enough to convince you. But you say nothing as he unbuckles his belt, lowers his boxers and enters you in one swift movement.

“N-no, it h-hurts, Hyuck, p-please,” you whimper around him, as he goes deeper than you could ever imagine, stretching you out to your absolute limits.

“Take it, you slut, going alone into the woods with a guy, acting as if you had no idea what’s gonna happen to you,” Haechan’s words are so unkind, so unlike the sweet guy you’re used to seeing.

“I didn’t know, I swear,” you insist, pushing against his chest with your tiny hands.

“Shut the fuck up,” he laughs meanly, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“N-no, this is wrong, H-hyuck,” you sniffle pitifully. “We’re best friends, we shouldn’t do things like that.”

“Well, best friends ought to help each other no matter what. So, take it like the good little slut you are and cure me of this sickness you caused,” Haechan keeps fucking into you, making you feel so full and satiated.

“Am not a slut,” you argue.

“Oh yeah? Then, why didn’t you wear a fucking bra, huh?” Haechan asks, letting go of your wrists and sliding his hand under your dress, grabbing your tits roughly.

“F-for you,” you admit shamelessly. “Wanna be your good girl, Hyuck.”

“Too bad, because I wanna turn my good girl into a slut,” he snickers at you, spilling his seed inside of your pussy. You come around him without thinking and are foolish enough to think he’s done with you. Taking his cock out and using his fingers to fuck the cum threatening to spill out back into your pussy. You are too exhausted to fight back but you do your best anyway.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Making sure the cure is permanent,” Haechan explains calmly as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

Then, without bothering to ask, he flips you around so that you are on your knees, face down, and slips back inside of you smoothly.

“N-no, that’s enough!” you scream in frustration.

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough,” Haechan grunts loudly.

“Nngh, aren’t we cured already?”

“What are you talking about? The disease is only spreading further,” Haechan laughs maniacally at this point.

“Haechan, please, stop, I can’t…” you cry and plead and whimper, again and again.

“You know what to say if you really want me to stop,” Haechan reminds you. But when you say nothing, he continues using your body, right there in the middle of the woods, too far away from society, where no one could possibly hear you asking for help, where you are left entirely at your best friend’s mercy.

Eventually, he exhausts himself after cumming too many times, inside of you, on your back, on your belly, and all over the poor blanket. Haechan reaches his hand out to get water from the picnic basket, thoughtfully giving it to you. After you are both done drinking, he does his best to clean you up and make sure you are...well, alive. Taking a deep breath, he lies down next to you, enveloping you in a warm and soft hug.

“Was that too much?” he wants to know and brushes a piece of hair behind your ear gently. You melt under his touch, just like always.

There he is. Your sunshine boyfriend is back.

“No, it was perfect. So much better than what we talked about previously,” you reply honestly.

“I wasn’t too mean to my baby, was I?” Haechan needs to make sure.

“Just the right amount of mean,” you laugh. “Did I play the innocent angel part well enough?”

“Too well,” Haechan praises your acting skills. “Maybe because you were my innocent best friend back when we first met.”

“And look where that got me,” you sigh. “Miles away from home, overflowing with cum, no one to save me. Such a tragic fate.”

“Oh, come on, don’t pretend you don’t like it,” Haechan rolls his eyes.

You lean in to kiss him softly.

“Loved every minute,” you admit. Then, you grab his chin firmly. “But next time, I’ll be the one corrupting you.”

The End

#nct #haechan #nct smut #haechan smut #nct dream smut #lee donghyuck smut #nct 127 smut #haechan x reader #nct hard thoughts #nct hard hours #haechan hard thoughts #haechan hard hours #nct imagines #haechan imagines #writing

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blondwhowrites · 1 month

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Idk why, but I can see Mattheo falling for a hufflepuff girl, but he's too much of a pig headed boy to acknowledge it (also I think he would have a corruption kink just bc he'll think all hufflepuffs are sunshine and rainbows and love)

Mattheo had never been one to fall in love. With him, it was always quick infatuations, one-night stands, and simple hookups. This was different—much different.

You were different.

"Yeah, he's totally whipped." Pansy snickered as she nudged your shoulder and nodded towards Mattheo who seemed to be focused on watching you. "Congratulations! You've officially got the dark lord's son wrapped around your finger."

You clasped your hand over your mouth, stifling your giggles. You turned your head, and low and behold, across the courtyard, stood Mattheo with his friends. He stared right at you, his arms crossed, and he wore a blank expression. His gaze pierced into yours, and you felt your face heat up. You ducked your head and looked away, embarrassed.

"Oh, come on, Pansy, me and him wouldn't work out. We are total opposites. Besides, doesn't he usually go for girls, well, um, like you?"

"You mean confident and hot?" Pansy smirked.

You nodded and scooted closer to Pansy. "I swear he's been watching me like a hawk," you groaned, almost hiding behind your friend to avoid Mattheo's gaze.

"He is a bit obsessive, but he means well," she said, waving off your obvious concerns. She glared at Mattheo, a silent warning for him to leave you alone. It seemed to work, as he went back to talking to his friends.

You let out a sigh, your shoulders sagged. You finally relaxed now that he had quit his staring. You'd never been comfortable with so much attention being pointed at you. "He's like a guard dog."

Pansy laughed at that and nodded in agreement. Your words couldn't be any truer. "You know he follows you around in his animagus form. It's quite pathetic." She pointed out.

"So thats why there is a dobermann following me around?"

"Yep."

#slytherin boys #harry potter #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle blurb 🐍

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writing-fanics · 2 months

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silly little love affair [part iii.five of vi]

Lucifer Morningstar x F!Reader [Adam’s Sister]

[side chapter] this entire chapter takes place around two-three years before the show during the time Lilith and Lucifer divorced

[summary: y/n tells Lucifer everything about her past and her struggles this takes place when they were friends]

[warning: angst: depictions/implications of self-harm: mentions of depression: mentions of loneliness: adam being a jerk]

[a/n: hopefully I did justice of writing readers struggles with loneliness and depression, it doesn’t stem from being apart from Lucifer but something she’s dealt with since the beginning of time also there will be an eventual smut poorly written like in the last chapter]

previous part > next part

[Once again this takes place in the past]

Sera looked down at [Y/n] who stood before her sheepishly, “What is it, Y/n?” asked Sera, looking down at the human who fiddled with her fingers nervously.

“I-I, was wonder c-can I maybe have a partner as well?” She asked, nervously biting her lip. Sera looked at her raising her eyebrow, “You come to ask me now of all times?”

Her eyes widened, “I-I didnt mean?!” She stammered, looking at her. Sera looked down at her, “Lucifer Morningstar, has just corrupted the world with his concept of free will. Bringing evil into the world we created.” said Sera, and furrowed her brows at the human.

“You’ve come to ask me for a partner?” She growled. [Y/n] looked down and her body seemed to shrink, as tears brimmed her eyes feeling embarrassed.

“I-I was just feeling lonely.” Y/n said, sadly. She’d been jealous of Adam, he’d gotten everything he wanted served to him on a silver platter. His sister was an after thought, made up of whatever was left over. She wanted a partner someone who would love her and never leave her side, who would cherish her and value her.

Sera sighed and stared at the human, “I don’t have time for such a foolish request, Y/n.” said Sera, turning away from the human. [Y/n] lowered her head and frowned, slowly turning to leave tears brimming her eyes.

She sat alone at the creek staring into the water, at her reflection. Hugging her knees to her chest, sniffling as she cried. Was it too much to ask for? A simple request for a partner?

Is she being selfish for asking for something? She hasn’t asked for anything before, she thought that they would give her a partner. Someone to love and cherish her but maybe, she wasn’t deserving of such a thing.

What purpose did she have then, being here in paradise? To Wander around aimlessly, tending to the countless flora and fauna. She wanted a partner a family with kids of their own, was she going to die alone?

The thought scared her and shook her to her core, she hated being alone. The only thing keeping her company, the small amount of animal creatures in the garden. That would sleep beside her whenever she felt down, or would curl up on her lap. As she petted their fur.

Alone in the garden of Eden, sitting alone underneath a willow tree. Her rabbit friend curled up on her lap, as she stared at the dawn, the beginning of a new day. A lonely day, how she craved a human partner.

She sighed, leaning her head against the tree.“I-I just want someone to love me.” She said, scratching the top of the rabbits head.

“Yeah, and who would love you?!” A voice said, interrupting her thoughts causing her to sigh and groan.

Adam revealed himself from behind the bush, the rabbit on her lap scurried away. Leaning her alone with her annoying brother, “Talking to animal likes you’re Some freak!” He said, and she looked down.

As much as she hates being alone, whenever Adam was around she wanted to be. “Oh wait you are!” He laughed, hitting his leg as he laughed hysterically pointing at his “pathetic” sister.

She folded her arms across her chest, “Can you just leave me alone?” she mumbled, quietly. Adam of course didn’t listen, “Look at you without a partner,” he taunted, and she frowned clenching her fist as she looked down, trying to avoid Adam’s gaze.

“Says the one who’s first wife left him, and the second being casted out of the garden.” She said, furrowing her brows as she glared at him.

He glared at her angrily, “Fuck you bitch! At least I had a wife! Y-You you have nothing no one.” He said, and she glared at him but her shoulders fell to her side.

“Loner loser!” He said, causing her to clench her fist. She sucker punched him in the face, causing him to fall back. Cleanching his nose in pain, “Fuck you psycho bitch!” He shouted, as he clenched his nose and she stormed off angrily.

She knew he was going to tell on her, and at this point she didn’t care. She hoped, that they would destroy her then she wouldn’t have to worry about being alone anymore she’d be gone.

Adam gets everything served to him on a silver platter, she was forced to apologize for punching her brother. Sera had taken her request of given her a partner into consideration, but now was no longer an option for her actions.

Adam gets a slap on the wrist even though m, he said awful things to her he doesn’t even get punished she does.

Adam was cheerful, ‘calling her a loner loser’ it was brutal her time in Eden. She hated it, every little second. Lonely, watching as her animal friends found mates and had children of their own. Leaving [Y/n] behind, alone.

She watched as mankind was created, because of Adam. What was her purpose of existing, why was she even here? Adam had a purpose to be the first man? Y/n was made from the scrapped of whatever, the angels had left over. A second thought. A mistake.

She felt empty and distant, feeling inadequate with herself at times. The motivation to do anything she felt on a daily basis, she felt empty. Trapped in darkness that she couldn’t escape from, as the cuts on her wrist slowly appeared.

She didn’t know why she felt the need to do this, maybe to make her feel something? She just wanted the pain the feeling of loneliness to stop. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. She couldn’t bring self to talks to others, stammering nervously unable to get her words out.

Her own brother didn’t like her and even though, there were times she legitimately tired. He would always tell her off or call her names, and say things to her that. Slowly ate at her and she began to think were true.

She watched as seasons change and people die, as the world grew bigger and hers grew smaller. Adam being the first man he created mankind, in his words “everybody came from his nuts” he started calling himself “dick master” she couldn’t stand of egotistical he is. So full of himself.

[Y/n] on the other hand felt as if she had no purpose, why was she even created? If she was just a second thought a whim? They’d given her no guidance or anything to have her figure out her purpose on Earth.

Just telling her to tend to the garden that really didn’t even need tending to. Then take care of the creatures. They can take care of themselves.

She would wander around aimlessly, around the garden just doing minimal tasks to get her through the boring day. Hoping for a better tomorrow that would just be the same thing over and over.

Adam didn’t even seem to care or notice, that his own sister was hurting. He was so full of himself he didn’t even bat an eye. Calling her names digging a further wedge into their nonexistent brother and sister relationship.

Ironic, how the one person she should’ve been able to go to for help. Or someone to talk to wanted nothing to do with her. Same thing for the angels as well, as she was an after thought.

The Garden of Eden, was supposed to be a paradise. But to her it was an absolute Hell, being alone drowning in darkness when no one seemed to care everyone around her not even bating and eye to try and even comfort her.

she’s been in heaven for thousands of years at this point, and it hasn’t gotten better. maybe a tad bit, Emily a younger Seraphim that brought joy to those in Heaven.

Treated her with kindness and was her shoulder to cry on. Emily didn’t see it as doing her job and duty in heaven, but helping someone who really needed it.

someone who’s been hurting since the moment she was created, who didn’t get the help they deserved they needed. Emily knew she couldn’t help her with everything, but she was there to listen to her vents her frustrations.

—-

[Y/n] shuddered, as she brought her knees to her chest. “Even now, I still feel that way there are nights where I can’t sleep.” She said, bags under her eyes from the lack of sleep.

She reached down taking a sip of the wine, he had offered her. Lucifer knew how she felt heck, he was going through it right now. It’s only been around a year almost three, since him and his wife divorced.

The fallen angel and angel, seemed to bond over their feeling of loneliness, and failure. “Sometimes, I wonder why I’m even here why was I even created?” She mumbled, looking at the red sky staring at Heaven in the distance.

Lucifer looked at her sadly, “I wasn’t given any purpose when I was created, even now I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing?” She said, frowning. “Maybe, you haven’t found it yet,” He said, and she looked at him an sighed.

“Maybe, by the time I find my purpose the world would’ve ended.” She said, sarcastically. Her watch beeped, signaling it was time for her to go back.

“Already?” He asked, and she nodded sadly. Taking a final sip of her wine, finishing up the glass.

She looked at the rubber duck, her heart skipping a beat. “So you won’t be alone in Heaven,” He said, her cheeks turning a slight shade of red.

She carefully took it from his hands, “Thank you,” she smiled, looking at it in awe. It resembled him, “It’s not much but..ah.. I hope it helps.” He said nervously, and she smiled.

“It’s perfect.” She smiled, carefully placing the rubber duck in her bag. Her alarm going off again, causing her to groan in annoyance. “U-Um, I’ll see you later.” She said, as an opened a portal to her bedroom in Heaven.

“I-I’ll miss you!”

“I-I mean see you later,” he stammered, hoping she didn’t hear what he had just said. She smiled, and nodded waving goodbye to him and she entered the portal.

[no sneak peek cuz it will be spoilers]

A/n: I wrote this at time time when you know your typing out a story and your tired and is slowly drifting to sleep eyes getting heavy but force urself awake to finish the fic

also the next chapter will have a flashback of y/n telling Lucifer about her struggles before they started dating when they were just friends at the time

taglist

@lxkeee @the-attention-whore @httpakasha @dickmastersworld @littleladydemon @sugarpookie @aria-tempest @abby-likesdraw8 @bethleeham @azullynx @baileyohemgee @haleypearce @cheoriemoawa @kaileyn-everdeen @froggybich @chirikoheina

#lucifer morningstar fanfic #lucifer morningstar fanfiction #lucifer morningstar x y/n #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne #x reader #fanfic #angst #romance #headcanons #fluff #hazbin hotel

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variousqueerthings · 8 months

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okay I watched good omens s2 yesterday with my partner, and I was genuinely very surprised -- I think if you've grown up through superwholock/merlin/the 100/teen wolf type shows where (with the exception periodically of doctor who) you kind of had to make up the good show that something could have been in your head, that colours a lot of your viewing, and to be honest I thought season 1 of good omens was a fine little piece, honoured the book while modernising it somewhat, it was a nice, fun, low stakes time, with a couple of things I might have wanted a tad different but nothing overall awful.

so I was seeing all this meta and gifsets and discussion, while I was waiting to give s2 a watch with my partner and thought "ah, people have made up the good show in their heads again" not that I assumed s2 was going to be a bad show, but that people were taking extra deep plunges into possibilities, the way fandom does, and that was fine. I knew there was a big ol kiss, I had a sense of some kind of argument at the end, and that it was setting up a s3

I also knew that mainstream reviews were calling it (politely) self-indulgent and dependent on whether or not you enjoy david tennant and michael sheen having a good time for just under 6 hours

all in all, expectations of a somewhat mainstream show without too much to think about, a nice, fun low stakes time, moving on...

(EDIT: AND THEN I WROTE A LOT OF WORDS SO YOU CAN IMAGINE THAT MY REACTION WAS QUITE DIFFERENT)

as it turns out it seems these things that were being written on tumblr were discussing the actual text of the show and not things you could extrapolate if you squinted and tilted your head a little to the left as I'm so used to doing, so in fact there is much to think about!

and my first thought was "this is like when you read early discworld books that ask a question like a joke, only to find that over time the answer to that question becomes very serious (and also can be funny at times of course)." how terry pratchett would pick and pick at tropes and notions and social ideas and go "oh now hold on, this seems strange..." starting way back when he thought it was odd that women warriors always seemed to be dressed in metal bikinis and then realising he hadn't done a good enough job of subverting the trope, simply by depicting it and calling it a bit silly

why do goblins always get treated as the villains? what's with this divine succession of kings business? where are the female dwarfs? who do we treat as disposable?

good omens season one went: "haha what if heaven and hell were intensely incapable, bureaucratic, corrupt, and uncaring of the work they did, and we took an angel and a demon and had them actually care? wouldn't that be... a bit silly?" (and it was)

good omens season two went: "what are the consequences for caring when the people who have power over you are incapable, bureaucratic, corrupt, and uncaring? what are the forces that supersede systems built on fear, ignorance, and violent conformity? can people change and break out of/challenge/break down these structures by caring?"

and this was set up with a neat little sleight of hand (to reference aziraphale's switch-and-bait in the episode with the nazi zombies), because the majority of season 2 does feel a bit indulgent: hey, remember those two wacky angel-and-demon characters? watch some more wacky things they did through the ages, watch them take a sojourn through 1827 Edinburgh and do a magic show during the Blitz, and... stop the death of Job's and Sitis' children (actually maybe that whole segment ought to have been what they call "A Clue")

see them try to figure out a kooky mystery, all the while setting up a cute little same-gender romance on their street. watch as everything points towards a happy ending that's all about the two of them realising what they've been to one another all these thousands and thousands (and thousands and thousands) of years- but hold on. lest we forget - and the show has made this point over and over - there are powerful people who control them, who hurt them, and who plan on hurting others, throughout the whole season, and as it turns out they know what they've been to one another for far far longer, and know how to pull their strings...

season 2 then, has to show us these things, not because they're indulgent (well, maybe occasionally, but the apology dance is still important), but because in order to make the ending a tragedy, we first need to understand, properly, the impact that they have had on each other. we need to understand that Aziraphale relied heavily on Crowley to be his moral compass and leaned on black-and-white thinking in order to deal with things, because if it's all grey then where does he fit and what has it all meant and heaven has to be the good guys, even as Job's and Sitis' children are ordered to be killed, it's all he ever had...

and Crowley was always an anchor, needed to trust that Aziraphale was different, needed to bend to every whim that Aziraphale has, because otherwise what's his worth in all this? After having been already deemed worthless by the heaven that Aziraphale needs to believe in?

and that, simplistically described, is the narrative that we're seeing in s2, and alongside that the ways that the changes they have upon each other are noticed, and monitored, and placed under suspicion, and finally... broken up, not by the clumsy, brute force that's been attempted over and over again, but by a promise to return into a violent, controlling system and to "make it better from within"

and all of this is wrapped up in two queer relationships + a third queered-within-the-text relationship that creates the inverse of how it ends for Aziraphale and Crowley (so far). queer love -- whatever shape that has -- is explicitly the shape of non-conformity within this narrative, including within the symbolism of angel-and-demon love of Gabriel and Beelzebub, which in the context of the systems created is considered queer (and one can argue till the cats come home about casting cis actors, about angel-and-demon notions of gender/romance/sexuality, but the "queerness" comes from building something non-conforming to the systems they exist in), and enforced by the explicitly our-world-definition-of queer romance that Nina and Maggie have going on (which, while less high stakes, still contains the background controlling relationship that Nina initially is in)

all of this to say, that I disagree that s2 meanders, or that plotlines happen for the sake of showcasing Aziraphale and Crowley without purpose, or that characters get sidelined (I'd say it sets up a whole host of interesting characters to further get into actually), or that it's strictly mainstream easy-access narrative that's just an excuse for the main creators and actors to get back together.

the love is the point, and this show takes its time to show the love (and the unequal boundary-setting, and the fact that one of them has an undiscussed tragic backstory, and the desperation to belong again, and the fear instilled by oppressive systems, and and and), so that we understand why those last 15 minutes happen the way that they do

it's sleight of hand, and like all good magic, you don't notice until it's happened

#good omens #go2 #good omens season 2 #neil gaiman #david tennant #michael sheen

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bloompompom · 11 months

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Tits for Tat

I hope you have a good idea about how you're going to pay for that tattoo...

✦ written for @bastardblvd's slimeball collab event! ✦ pairing: sleazy tattoo artist!eren jaeger x sweet sorority girl!reader content: ~6.7k word count. female reader, dubcon elements (sex in exchange for a tattoo), manipulation, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, brief oral sex (m!receiving), rough sex, corruption kink, dirty talk/light degradation, exhibitionism kinda sorta, light impact play, mirror sex, explicit language, explicit sexual content, content some readers may view as dark. reader discretion advised. 18+

The last thing you expected was for girls’ night to end like this.

It was just past ten o’clock that Friday night. What was promised to be a night filled with gossiping over wine coolers turned into you and your two friends skipping through the uptown, loudly and practically elbow-locked like the best of chums. Or chumps, depending on whether the onlooker was a glass-half-full or half-empty sort of person.

For any other twenty-something, the night was still young—still in its mother’s womb, actually. Fellow students had started their treacherous journeys across campus, sneaking from their dorms as if no one could hear the conspicuous clamor of bottles each time their backpacks smacked against the backs of their thighs. But for others—let’s say, hypothetically, tattoo artists—the day was at its end. And that was exactly why your little trio of giggling idiots was making a mad dash before closing time.

The three of you had done everything together, and you meant everything. From ensuring you had the same lunch schedule since grade school, to surviving your awful calculus teacher senior year of high school, you were always at each other’s sides. If one of you didn’t have a prom date, then none of you did.

Like, if not for them, how else would you have gotten through that nasty breakup and lived to tell the tale? When your boyfriend, your first boyfriend—no, your first love—dumped you over the phone six months ago.

You could talk about them forever, really, but all that was to say, they were your very best friends. Sisters in every sense of the word now that you had rushed the same sorority. So what better way to commemorate something as wonderful as sisterhood than matching tattoos? Little crescent moons on your ankles, specifically.

So, as one could safely assume by this point, that tattoo thing you mentioned earlier wasn’t so hypothetical after all. You stepped through the doors of the brick parlor on the corner forty-five minutes before closing. The studio lights were still on bright, and the glow of that obnoxious open, open, open sign in the window spilled red over the sidewalk, as if reading it one time wasn’t enough.

The standee out front proudly welcomed walk-ins with big capital letters. It meant it too, because, after a brief conversation in the back, the receptionist said they had enough time to squeeze you in. The design was simple enough, according to her. ‘Simple enough’ still meant one hundred dollars, though. Shop minimum, blah, blah, blah. You each agreed and quickly signed the paperwork.

You waited for your turns, sitting knobbly-kneed with hands folded neatly in your laps, eyes wide and darting from one another to the art plastered across the walls.

Ten minutes felt more like ten hours, and yes, you could admit this sounded like a much better idea back at the house. But now that you were here, legs sticking to the plastic chair beneath your thighs, you realized how ridiculous this was. How ridiculous you—all three of you—were, looking more like you were ready for a slumber party than a spontaneous night out.

To be fair, you were just at a slumber party of sorts. It just so happened that your guests were also your housemates.

What was merely an offhanded joke from your friend snowballed into the ‘Are we really doing this?’ conversation. You know, the conversation all friends have right before doing something you probably shouldn’t. If your friends jumped off a bridge, would you?

No, of course not. But if the bridge was a tattoo, then the answer was yes. But now you were getting moony and hypothetical again.

Anyway, that was all it took (and some Pinterest scrolling) before you were on your merry way out the door and headed to the tattoo shop down the street—the only one you knew of. You even lacked the foresight to change, dressed in barely a thing since your bedroom lacked air conditioning and it was the balmy end of spring. You kept your arms folded over the Greek letters decorating your tank top, securing its neckline from slipping any further. You had already caught it twice before.

You just wanted to get this over with.

A woman you hadn’t yet seen waddled out from the hallway and, with a voice comparable to a bullfrog, called for your friend. With a tick of her head, she said, “I’ll take ya on back.”

She looked at you, then the friend still patiently at your side. Her left eye drooped a little, like she had a buzz going or something. “Your artists will be out soon.”

“Oh, actually,” you spoke up sweetly, perched a little higher in your seat. “We were hoping to get them together.”

Her expression didn’t change, her eye still drooped. “Listen, if I do that, then I don’t get to go home at eleven.” She leaned into you. You couldn’t help but wince. “And I really wanna go home at eleven, toots.”

Toots. You didn’t care for the nickname, but she frightened you nonetheless. You sealed your lips and waved off your jittery friend. Her mouth was more of a square than a smile as she looked back at you, nervous, and rightfully so. You wouldn’t want to be tattooed by that woman, either. Perhaps getting split up was a blessing in disguise.

It wasn’t long before your name was called out next. By a man, this time. You heard him before you saw him.

You perked your head and were greeted by a guy around your age. Well, maybe a few years older than you, but he wasn’t nearly as ancient as Toots. And at the very least, he didn’t appear drunk. If anything, his eyes looked a bit bored.

For whatever reason, you took it personally. And while it was probably just the hour, you couldn’t help but think he was bored with you. Bored with your little outline of a moon that’d cost him no more than five minutes of work and you one hundred dollars.

Twiddling your fingers, you teetered on over to him. He was dressed in black from head to toe, from the cuff of his jeans to the sleeves of his tee, rolled back to show off the tattoos littering his arms. Fitting, of course. He was exactly what you’d think of if you imagined a tattoo artist, albeit less burly and perhaps… prettier? That wasn’t the right word for it, but you could see it—see him—hidden behind his dark hair, messily tied back with sprigs and strands framing his angular face. Attractive in that bad-boy kind of way. Like, you just know your parents would kill you if you brought him home, but that was sort of hot in its own regard, wasn’t it?

He looked you up and down, just a once-over, and you were suddenly self-conscious of the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Eren,” he introduced once you were only a few steps away. He was tall and lean and loomed over you.

You kicked yourself for it after, you really did, but you went for a handshake. It was an awkward move, for sure. Polite, but still awkward. One would think he’d take your hand just to shrug the discomfort off, but no, he gave you his back. Not even a ‘Follow me!’ or a second look or anything! And you definitely took that personally. You couldn’t say why you wanted any sort of approval from this man, but you did—a true people-pleaser at heart, as always.

The back of the shop was larger than you had anticipated. You crossed through an open studio space, through the empty stations belonging to artists that, you assumed, had left for the night. You walked by each, passing rooms that appeared to be more private set-ups. Only one door was shut, and you discerned your friend's voice from behind it, then Eren led you to another.

The room was only as spacious as it needed to be for a workstation comprised of a desk, two chairs, and stacks of drawers in the corner. Your eyes flitted over the frames of art on every wall, reminiscent of the front of the shop. You tried to match his style to the work you saw out there.

Eren gestured loosely toward the chair in the middle of the room. You took a seat as he asked, “Ankle, right?”

“Yes,” you said. It sounded meeker than expected. You cleared your throat.

He slumped into his chair, leaning his weight into it to roll closer to the foot of your chair. “Which one?”

You blanked. Seconds struggled by as you fought to remember which ankle you and your friends had agreed upon. One half of your brain scoured your memory while the other kept shouting, ‘Say something!’ because Eren was waiting for you to do just that.

He stared at you while you stared at your ankles. The silence between you grew longer and more excruciating until you finally decided, “Left.”

Almost like he didn’t hear you—or chose not to hear you—he barely glanced at your ankle before sliding even closer. You felt the vibration of his chair’s wheels against the tile, or at least you swore you could. You only watched him ghost the tips of his fingers up your bare leg until he was no longer near your ankle but at your side. He didn’t even touch you and yet you still had to suppress a shiver.

“It’d look better here, you know,” Eren said. He didn’t point at your hip but poked it—the little spot bikini bottoms cover. He peered up at you, eyes locking onto yours with actual acknowledgment for the first time that night. That square-in-the-face sort of look. You noticed the vibrancy of his irises, green and piercing.

“I want it on my ankle. I’m matching my friends,” you replied, but again, there wasn’t much conviction in your voice.

“What if you’re not friends in a year?” He reached for the box on his desk and pulled out two gloves. Between his words was the snap of latex as he tugged them on one at a time. “Then you’re stuck with a dumb ankle tattoo with people you hate.”

It’s not dumb, you corrected in your head. If only he could have heard your inner monologue about sisterhood and whatnot on your walk over here. Besides that, his logic didn’t make any sense. Even if you moved it, then you’d be stuck with a dumb hip tattoo with two people you hate, which was really no different than a dumb ankle tattoo. But then again, fewer people would see it.

Still, the apathy oozing from his voice crawled under your skin. You sassed, “I don’t think that really concerns you, does it?”

“Whatever.” He shrugged as though he were indifferent to it. But if he truly were indifferent, he wouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place. Nor would he have continued with, “All I’m saying is that it’d fit the spot better.” He handed you a clipboard. Pinned to it was a cut-out of your soon-to-be tattoo. “And technically, you’d still match ‘em with the moon.”

He turned back toward the desk while his words lingered. You wriggled your ankle around, inspecting it, then looked at your hip. As if it were still there, you felt where Eren’s finger had been and used it as a reference to envision the tattoo. Maybe you should go out on a limb and trust him, considering he was the professional between the two of you.

“Fine. Let’s do the hip,” you rushed to say. “Do I need to change or anything?”

He peered at you from over his shoulder. “You have on underwear?”

Your face went hot. “Obviously.”

Eren returned to whatever he was doing—you couldn’t see past him. “That works then.”

The moment you stood, thumbs looped under the waistband of your shorts, you regretted relocating the tattoo to your hip.

Tomorrow was laundry day.

‘Why would that matter right now?’ some might ask. Oh, naive one, the reason it mattered was with laundry day just past the horizon, you were left with no choice but to put on your last-resort pair of underwear after your morning shower. A stringy, pink thong that you only saved for special occasions—aka exactly three times with your ex and the days you were too lazy to do laundry, like today.

Listen, you weren’t a prude. It was just that you wouldn’t necessarily choose to show off the skimpiest pair of panties you owned to a complete stranger.

This was nothing out of the ordinary for him, though. Right? It was his job, day in and day out. He’d probably tattooed areas much more private than a silly hip, a million times over even.

But no, his attention is undoubtedly captured once your shorts were off. His eyes flitted from your face, down to your thong, then back to your face. And it certainly didn’t make matters any easier that he had to be crotch-level with you in order to prep the spot.

You didn’t dare to look at him directly, especially once you felt him touch you. More than just a finger this time, he curved his hand around your leg as he quickly shaved and sanitized you for the stencil.

Your cheeks hadn’t cooled off by the time Eren asked, “How’s that?”

You angled your head around strangely until he pointed to the mirror behind you. You spun around to get a better look. He was right: the tattoo did look nice there. Hopefully your friends wouldn’t be too hurt by the last-minute switch.

“Good,” you concluded, still shimmying and studying the new addition to your body.

You caught Eren’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection. He was staring at your ass. Rather shamelessly, too, if you did say so yourself. He made a half-assed attempt to stifle the smirk at the corner of his mouth. You swore you would burn this damn thong after tonight.

You scuffled back into the chair while Eren stood up from his. He threw his gloves in the trash can by the door and told you he’d be back in a few minutes, that the stencil needed time to dry. When he returned, he smelt faintly of cigarettes. There was a waft of it right as his chair whizzed by you.

He situated himself, which didn’t take long, and rested a freshly-gloved hand against you. In it was his tattoo machine, the needle held just centimeters away from your skin. Your body tensed. You weren’t nervous about the pain; it would be over and done in a flash. No, it was Eren that made you nervous. Incredibly so, and you were sure he knew it, too.

“Ready?” he asked you before kicking on the machine, the whirring of it buzzing in your ears. He waited for your nod before starting.

It hurt. Not bad, but the sting was very much present. You finally let out that shaky, anticipatory breath you’d clung to, but it didn’t dull the pounding in your chest.

Eren stretched your skin with one hand and guided the needled with the other. It had been so long that to be touched there, on such an oddly intimate part of you, felt almost foreign. Indecent, in a way, having only been held there by someone you loved—someone who, at one point, loved you in return. How none of Eren’s prodding was inherently improper and still it led your mind astray, craving something as elemental as the touch of another human being, even if it was through the barrier of medical-grade latex.

“Done,” he announced. You sat higher up to get a better look. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

You responded with only a soft, affirmative sound.

Eren gave you a rundown of the after-care process. It was the longest sentence he’d strung together that night, and you didn’t even hear it. It was garbled up in your head, words that you’d inevitably have to find online later. Embarrassingly, you were more focused on the placement of his hand again.

In your defense, Eren was a little more daring now with the needle out of his hand, or at least you thought so, with fingers smoothing low as he cleaned your new ink. His touches dawdled and left you flustered, wondering if he was playing with the thin band of your panties or simply pushing it out of the way.

You were dazy, only snapping back to it once Eren said he could cash you out while you gathered your belongings and redressed. “It’ll be—”

“A hundred dollars, I know,” you said. You scrounged through your purse for your wallet. You tried to hand him your credit card, but he didn’t budge.

“Cash only.”

“What do you mean cash only?” you questioned, more like barked.

That was a head-scratcher. “I’m not sure how I can make it any more clear.”

“Why didn’t you—I don’t know, say anything earlier?” You were upright now, stiff as a board—still in a thong—and verging into panic mode, waving your hand at the cluttered walls. “Or at least, like, have a sign?”

“It’s in the paperwork,” Eren said as flatly as ever.

The paperwork you didn’t read but skimmed—okay, even ‘skimmed’ was an overstatement. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You sucked in a deep breath, let it hang in your chest until it hurt, then heaved it out. A very basic and very overt effort in collecting yourself. You fingered through your wallet. Then your purse next, every zipper and every pocket of it. You didn’t have cash on you, you never did, but you needed to stall while you hastened to think up a plan. Maybe you could stay and clean. Sweeping, washing windows, that type of thing. Yeah, that could work.

All the while, Eren observed quietly, waiting for your fussing to settle. He was calm for someone who may or may not be paid tonight, and for some reason, it only ramped up your anxiety, like a suffocating hand around your throat.

Eventually, your shoulders dropped with a very heavy—and very annoyed—sigh. “You want to see my boobs or something?”

Eren snorted. Snorted! The audacity of it, as if your offer was no better than a measly I.O.U scribbled onto a napkin.

As callow as your offer was, something about it coming from your innocent pout had Eren’s cock straining in his jeans. It was a final and lasting blow, one he absolutely couldn’t take, not anymore. It was already enough that he had to bear the sight of you in that skimpy fabric you called underwear—had to feel your warmth as he smoothed over your hip. But now, there was just one more thing he couldn’t possibly ignore.

“I think you might want to pay another way,” he said.

Was he teasing you? There was a roundaboutness to his voice. A knowingness. It frustrated you. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Before you asked, he answered with his eyes. You followed them down not to your tattoo but between your legs. The darkened and unmistakable dampness on the front of your panties. Evidence of you permitting your thoughts to run with reckless abandon.

It was humiliating. Heart-dropping-to-your-ass humiliating. You squeezed your thighs shut. “Hey—”

“What? Are you too good for a quick fuck?”

You almost snapped back with a defensive, ‘No!’ but if you did, what would you be confessing? That you wanted to, and you wanted to do it with him? That your mind had been plagued with filthy thoughts since the second you felt his gloved hand on you. That the most thrilling escapade you shared with your last boyfriend was in the back of his mother’s minivan—which he still drove.

You were certain he could see it. See on your maidenly face that you were actually considering the proposition. In fact, the scale tottered toward that option. It was much more plausible than trying to bolt from the shop with a free tattoo.

Eren leaned into you, his hand dangerously close to your thigh. He froze, almost with a flinch, before making contact. Skeptic brows crowded over his eyes.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“Of course not.” You said it with such force that it sounded like a lie. You had only slept with one person before, your ex, but it still counted.

That damn chair started rolling again. Over to the far corner of the room where Eren flipped on the stereo, then reached for the dial to turn up the volume. You couldn’t name the song, but it was loud, and that was all that concerned you.

Your heartbeat, previously thumping in your chest, was now in your throat. The was anticipation there. Of course it was; you were about to sleep with a stranger in his place of employment. But it was more than anticipation, there was a warmth—no, a heat—throbbing within your very core.

“Ever done anything like this before?” Eren asked.

You shook your head, opting to keep the minivan story to yourself. Truthfully, you didn’t believe you could speak even if you wanted to. Not with his fingers, now freed from his gloves, gliding up your thigh—nearly between them.

He reached underneath your chair to lower it. The surprise of the drop pulled a gasp from you, but when you looked up at him—realized you now had to look up at him to mark the hunger in his grin—your breath hitched. Then and there, it was established that you were the prey here. His prey. And the twisted part was, you didn’t mind it one bit.

Eren’s hand snaked between the crease of your thigh, skimming your panty line. He chuckled through his nose when your stomach instinctively flexed at such a chaste sensation. He toyed with your underwear, for real this time.

“Well, let me be the first,” he cooed, but his voice was as saccharine as artificial sweetener.

He bunched your thong to the side to trace between you. If that alone had you sinuously arching your back, Eren couldn’t help but muse over what more would do to you. Would it ruin you when he pumped a finger inside you? What about two? And once he had you split and bouncing on his cock, how debauched would you sound then?

So pathetically sensitive. He had you mewling, no better than a tiny kitten, once he circled your clit deftly, with the flat of his fingers coated in your slick. Delicate and restrained hums spilled from you despite the way you chewed at your bottom lip, like you thought you could literally bite back the sounds. Cute.

Eren handled you with authority, his touch gentle but at the same time, you knew it would be permanently seared into your skin. He was intentional, even as he stuffed a finger inside you, knuckle-deep.

Your head jerked forward with a whine. “Ah, that’s—oh,” was all you sputtered, your nails digging into the vinyl of the armrests.

He pumped a second finger inside you, expecting your wreckage but only discovered his own. Somehow you sounded more decadent—felt more decadent—than he had imagined. Silken and fluttering around him. Tight but still sucking him in for more. The thought of how snug you’d feel around his cock, how he’d have to bully his way in—

Fuck.

Eren slipped his fingers from you, leaving you panting, desperately clenching around nothing. The overhead light was unforgiving; you could see the sheen of your arousal dripping from his fingers. He stained his jeans with it as he palmed over the front of them, displaying his length to you in all of its glory. You swallowed hard.

The look on Eren’s face was one you could only describe as lascivious. You wanted to avoid it, but to dodge it meant facing the tent beneath his zipper. It was far more intimidating than his devilish gaze, an impatient reminder of how deplorable you were for wanting it.

“So you wanna help me out with this?”

He knew your answer, what with you already sliding off the side of the chair. He didn’t even need to ask. He only did because he wanted to hear your dumb, “Uh huh,” saliva thick in your mouth, as your sultry eyes heeded to the belt he had started to undo.

You wiggled your panties down and you kicked them off your feet. It was a vulnerable position, standing there between his spread knees as he unfastened the button to his jeans, the zipper next. His cock sprung out with a slight bob, like it was heavy. It made you achy. You unabashedly ogled, wondering how it’d fit, until he, like you, was bare from the waist down.

“Turn around,” Eren said. He was unceremonious about it, even stroking himself as he watched you obey without so much as a complaint.

Through your legs, you took his cock between your fingers, running over the length of it, your palm soft, your touch timid. You earned a sharp inhale from Eren, and you did just the same without having to be touched.

It was embarrassing, how you were no better than a touched-starved puppy. That even this—the tip of his cock nudging your clit, twitching in your grasp every time it threatened to dip inside you—had your thighs trembling.

Eren splayed a hand over your back as you took him slowly, sinking onto his cock, reverse cowgirl, with a slight bend to your knees.

There was a stretch. Enough that you had to grit your teeth. Eren was bigger, thicker, than your ex. Not to mention, it had been six months since you’d been dumped. Even longer since you last got laid.

But don’t mistake that for a complaint. It was far from it, actually. You missed the feeling. The moment that knot of pain unraveled itself into pleasure. When a once-clenched jaw goes slack, making space for teeny, breathy sounds to escape. The burn of skin smacking skin, your ass smushed against the tops of Eren’s thighs once you’d taken all of him, little by little, until you were hit with a fullness. It was one you hadn’t experienced before, settling deep in your stomach and making your eyelids flutter shut.

You lifted yourself just to let gravity drop you back down. You were languid, indulging in every vein and ridge of his cock, exploring the newfound feeling.

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” Eren muttered, the end of it nothing more than a drawn-out hiss. “You didn’t lie about not being a virgin, did you?”

“No,” you moaned. The rasp of his voice alone had you tightening around him more. “I’ve only ever been with my ex.”

Something about your answer did it for him. You could tell because he whispered, “Christ,” so low you barely heard it. He groped at your ass, spreading you, mesmerized by the sight of your pussy struggling to take him.

When Eren decided you weren’t fast enough for him, already losing your balance with your flip-flops sliding against the smooth tile floor, he firmly took hold of your hips. He pushed and pulled you, up and down, working you over his cock how he wanted.

“Oh—oh, fuck!” you cried out, unable to stifle the whine.

You jolted and squirmed for him. It was ruthless, the way he used you like a toy. But fuck, if it didn’t feel good. Good enough to scatter prickles across your skin, sweltering and shivering, somehow at once, in the cold studio. It was so much. Too much. You needed something to brace yourself on.

Bleary beyond belief, you couldn’t think of something to hold onto in time. Thankfully, it wasn’t you that tipped, but the chair. It rolled until the back of it slammed into the desk behind you. A few things you couldn’t make out crashed to the floor. Eren didn’t react.

From the other side of the wall—hopefully the far side of the shop—you heard a muffled, “Everything okay in there?”

“Just fine,” Eren replied, infuriatingly calmly, fucking you through it, while you writhed just to try and clasp a hand over your mouth.

With the desk as support, Eren leaned back with his feet dug into the floor. His hand curved around your hip—not the side that he tattooed, of course—and flattened it over your stomach. He yanked you down, your back shoved up against his chest, so he could pound into you, deeper than before, with you pliant and at his mercy.

You were an incoherent mess. Babbling at this point. Filling the room with pathetic sounds that didn’t qualify as moans and whimpers but whatever was even less than that. Ohs and ahs and chokes of his name, none of which you could swallow back.

You’d never been touched like this before, have you? There’s no way, Eren couldn’t help but think. Not by someone like him, at least. Someone willing to take what they wanted but also knew how to give—how to get you off—in return. He wondered how far you’d go if he were to lead you.

Eren snaked his hand between your legs, his skillful fingers navigating straight to your clit.

“Didn’t think you’d like this so much, huh?”

You felt every word of it against your neck, but you didn’t answer. He removed his hand from your clit, only for a second but enough to make you miss it, and replaced it with a smack.

You found your voice enough to yelp.

“I can’t hear you,” he condescended.

You almost wanted to stay quiet so he’d do it again, but you were eager to please. Always had been.

Unbelievably turned on, you rolled your hips against his cock, bleating, “So much. I like it so—ah—so much.”

Eyes screwed shut, you didn’t realize until you were halfway across the room that Eren had slid the chair. He had you turned to face the mirror, right in front of it. You were spread, wider, and on display as his slick cock pumped in and out of you. It was a sight lewd enough to be mistaken for a porno.

Your phone, resting on the chair behind you, illuminated in the reflection and caught your attention. There was a moment of panic. It had to be one of your friends. They must be wrapped up with their tattoos by now, left utterly confused as to why you were taking so long.

You hiccuped, “My phone. My friends. They’re gonna—”

For once, he slowed. You wrangled in your breathing but, naggingly close to coming, mourned the loss. Eren outstretched an arm and picked up your phone. Lazily rocking his hips into you, he held out in front of you. You went to grab it, thinking he must have been handing it to you, but he only needed to unlock it with Face ID.

You couldn’t believe he was using your phone while he was inside of you. “What’re you—”

“Buying us time.” He tossed the phone behind him, back into the chair. He didn’t start fucking you again but said, “Get up,” with a smack across your ass.

Your legs wobbled beneath you but luckily, you didn’t need them for long before Eren spun you around and yanked you down onto his lap. His cock, still warm and wet from you, slapped against your stomach as he bunched your shirt over your breasts. He took them between his hands, squeezing them together for him to nip and suck at. You knew he was looking at them earlier.

You tried to angle yourself to ride him, but he didn’t let you. Instead, he chuckled against your skin, “Look at you. Now you’re begging for it, aren’t you?”

Eren took one of your nipples into his mouth, letting his teeth graze over it. You whined much too loudly for the situation, and he solved it with just two fingers, stuffed straight into your mouth. You gagged immediately.

“C’mon. You can do better than that for me, can’t you, pretty?” His voice was like honey lined with acid and burned your stomach just the same. “Take ‘em well, and I’ll fuck you again. How’s that sound?”

His fingers drove deeper into your mouth, mashing down on the back of your tongue. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, but you fought past them. You suctioned your lips around his fingers, swirling your tongue around them like you would his cock.

He sounded no different from earlier when he said, “See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” With eyes keen on you, he slipped his fingers from your mouth with a pop.

Eren stood to his feet, but you didn’t expect to go along with him. You didn’t think he’d be strong enough to carry you, for you to swing around with a disgusting amount of ease like a rag doll, but he was and you did. He was so arrogant with it, so ungracious, that perhaps you could re-evaluate your self-worth because you folded to him. A submissive sound squeaked out from the back of your throat the second your shoulders crashed against the wall.

Your legs hitched around his waist, ankles crossed over his lower back, as he pushed inside you again. He hiked you higher up the wall with every thrust, smushing your tattoo between the crease of your skin. You felt the hot sting of it, similar to a papercut, but it fizzled away the closer he coaxed you into coming undone.

Without the bothersome swiveling of the chair, Eren pistoned into you unlike before—which, frankly, you didn’t think was possible. You collided into him with every snap of his hips, grinding your clit against his pelvis so nicely, sparking your body ablaze.

You didn’t want him to get the satisfaction of knowing he made you come. Even as you felt it, how the low part of your stomach tensed with delicious blooms, you stayed quiet about it, tucking your chin to your chest.

But you weren’t as artful about it as you believed yourself to be. Your chest went tight, your breath silent and strangled, and not to mention, you were clenching around him, pulsing like a heart. It was a dead giveaway.

“Comin’ for me?” Fuck. That tore a strained sound from you—how could it not? “Don’t be shy. Let me hear it. Let them hear it.”

Why did he have to remind you of your friends at a time like this? And why did you… like it?

You threw your head back, smacking it against the wall in sobs of pleasure. If they hadn’t heard your moans already, they had to have heard that. The blunt of your nails buried into his ungiving biceps as you rode out the last of your high.

“What a filthy little slut I’ve made, forcing your friends to wait while you come all over this cock.” He punctuated the last word by ramming inside you, deep enough that your toes curled.

After you finished, Eren has his way with you, as if he hadn’t before. He fucked into your willowy body, your mind long gone and fizzy, without restraint. Now, you were only there for his needs.

He panted against you, riled up with his face burrowing into the crook of your neck. He was close; you knew because he made a few breathy sounds against your skin. Then he dropped you to the floor unexpectedly.

“Knees.” Eren jerked himself off while he waited for you. “I wanna come in that sweet little mouth of yours.”

You scrambled to get onto your knees, and what a sight you were, like a faun on its newborn legs. Sweat glistened over your chest. Over your tits—which were out, by the way, with your tank top stretched beneath them. You had on just a singular flip-flop, the right one, without a clue as to where the other had gone.

Eren lined his cock up with your lips. You opened up for him, your mouth a small and tight O with the plush of your lips shielding your teeth. He tilted his hips back and forth, dragging his cock in and out of your mouth and along your tongue. You could taste yourself on him, tart on your tastebuds.

You wrapped your lips around his tip and sucked softly until he cursed under his breath. He brought a hand to the back of your head and pushed you further down his shaft. His other planted itself against the wall to hold himself up while he fucked your mouth. It was rough, but it had you tingling between the legs, greedy and ready for more.

Eren groaned after a few erratic bucks. You gazed up at him, your vision glossy, eyes teary and far away, and he threw his head back. You felt him, hot and dripping down the back of your throat as you tried to swallow around the thick of his cock.

He listened to you, whimpering around him, as he thrust into you languidly a few more times. Low growls of, “Fuck, take it, just like that,” erupted like thunder from the depths of his chest.

Eren pulled out and smoothed a palm over the side of your face. He pinched your cheeks together as you panted, coming down from one of the biggest rushes—and certainly the best orgasms—of your life. He kept his eyes on you as he smudged his thumb over your lips, spreading them with his thumb and pushing down on your bottom teeth. You had swallowed everything he had given you. Satisfied, he dropped your face.

You smeared the back of your wrist over your mouth, but it wasn’t enough. You used the neckline of your shirt to messily clean your mouth, hoping your friends would ignore the stain left behind.

Eren had already tugged on his jeans though his belt remained undone. He ran a hand through his hair, now freed from its bun, the ends of it dusting his shoulders. You weren’t sure when that happened, but it was most likely your doing.

You didn’t know how you should end this. There wasn’t an eloquent way to do so, was there? There wasn’t a manual or instruction book to follow when you paid for a tattoo with your body. Paid for it with your underwear, too, apparently. You stayed quiet as you watched Eren stuff your thong into his back pocket like it was his.

“Consider it a tip,” he winked. Fine. You didn’t want them back, anyway.

So after a business-like exchange of, ‘Are we good?’ and ‘Yep,’ all while Eren tidied his station as though nothing had ever happened, you left the shop still tasting him on your tongue—feeling him exactly where you had predicted his fingerprints would sear into your skin.

Your friends weren’t waiting for you in the lobby but huddled together on the curb out front. It was well past eleven o’clock now. The shop must have kicked them out before closing.

Bug-eyed and gawking at the mere sight of you, one of them commented, “I thought you texted me as a joke. I didn’t think you were actually serious.”

You had forgotten about your phone.

When you checked your messages—saw what 'you' had replied when she asked what the hold-up was—you wanted to die a little.

Fucking the tattoo artist.

Blunt and to the point and definitely something you didn’t want to share with them, even if they could have guessed it. You responded with an innocuous half-laugh.

“Hey, I thought we agreed on the right ankle,” she inquired. She looked to your left one to find it was just as bare. “Where’s your tattoo?”

“Oh, uh,” you stammered. “It’s, um, on my hip.”

You peeled back your shorts to show them, and thankfully, they didn’t mind.

The walk back to the sorority house was relatively quiet, and you blamed yourself for it. Only when your friend shook out her ankle and complained, “I can’t believe this little thing cost me a hundred dollars,” was the tension relieved. “Plus tip!”

“Right? And I can’t believe they expected us to have that in cash,” you remarked.

They stopped in their tracks—both of them—each shooting you a bewildered look.

“Cash?”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #slimeball alley on bastard blvd

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wileycap · 2 months

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Hi! I really want to hear your opinion about Agni Kai in Atla LA and why it's bad thematically. Thank you!

Hi! I've never been asked anything before!

Alright, so - spoilers. Also, sorry that this is so long.

In the original, Zuko does not fight back, and that's so important. It's clear that the Fire Nation has great respect for hierarchy, whether it be elders, leaders or superior officers. Ozai is the ultimate hierarchical superior to Zuko: his father, his superior as a royal, and - of course - the leader of the entire nation.

In the Agni Kai, Ozai repeatedly orders Zuko to fight for his honor, and Zuko refuses. He remains prostrate, and reaffirms his respect for his father. In the context of this hierarchical culture, he is doing everything right in the face of an order that, to him, is the ultimate paradox. And that's what earns him his scar. A disfiguring, dishonoring brand.

He gets burned because he wants so badly to do everything right. He gets burned because he wants to show respect. He gets burned because, in a cultural context, he is behaving as he should. Because his father is cruel.

But it's not just that: it also serves as a shorthand to the audience that the Fire Nation under Ozai and his forefathers is wrong, to the point that Zuko, the dutiful son, literally cannot do right under that system. And you don't need to do a deep dive into what the culture is presented as to get that - it immediately strikes the audience with a profound sense of unfairness. It efficiently communicates that the Fire Nation is rotten, that the system itself has become corrupted and distorted.

And this sets up Zuko's entire arc. He did right, and he got punished. At the end of S2, he does wrong, and he gets rewarded, but the reward isn't fulfilling to him, because everything he could ever earn under that system is tainted and his experiences outside the system have shown him that, even if he can't accept it at first. And it's so narratively satisfying to watch him then defy his father, who tries to punish him again with lightning, only for him to now be able to literally turn it back (with Iroh's technique, Iroh being one of the few sources of unconditional love in his life!). He then redefines his relationship with Firebending itself, going back to the original source of it. He literally rids himself of the corruption of his nation.

It forms such a tight narrative arc, and it sets up so much about the Fire Nation with no need for explanation. Even his interactions with Iroh also tske on a new light: he's intentionally disrespecting his uncle - another elder and superior, as well as a father figure - and Iroh never punishes him for it. Ultimately, that unconditional love and support leads him to reform his nation.

In the Live Action, Ozai orders him to fight back, and he does. He even has a chance to strike Ozai, but doesn't, prompting Ozai to remark that "compassion is a weakness" before he burns Zuko. Which was never the point of Zuko's arc. It waters down his entire primary character conflict, because if his takeaway is that he lost a fight because he was too kind, then the only thing that needs to happen is for him to get some kind of narrative payoff by being kind. Wow, arc over. It becomes this surface level morality tale about how compassion isn't weakness.

In the LA, he also gets multiple chances to speak out at the war meeting. He questions the plan, the general and Ozai lay out actual, sensible reasons for why the plan has to proceed as it is, and then Zuko says that it's a terrible plan anyways. In the original, he speaks out once, and his words even make it clear that he's speaking out because the soldiers "love and defend our nation." His objection is the mildest possible form of objection: he isn't questioning the system, in fact, he's reinforcing it by appealing to the virtue of these soldiers. And he still gets punished.

With all that and Iroh explicitly calling out Ozai multiple times in the LA, we don't get the sense that the Fire Nation culture itself has been warped by imperialism. We just get the sense that the leader is a bad dude. And that's a far less powerful setup, and it will lead to a far less satisfying resolution.

It's an incredibly watered down version of the original, and lacks so much thematic weight.

#avatar the last airbender #atla #netflix atla #atla netflix #atla live action #atla spoilers #zuko #zuko's scar #prince zuko #fire nation #ozai #iroh #ask

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charliemwrites · 4 months

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Uhhh this is sort of to get me back in the swing of writing since some people may have noticed I haven’t done much this week. It’s… it’s been a week, but that’s fine, those happen.

Anyway, concept comes from @ceilidho’s concept/drabble of “military asset Soap” and heavily inspired also by @391780’s Nikto version. Please go check out theirs because they’re brilliantly written.

(There will be a part 2 because this got longer than expected.)

Content: Verbal Threats, Dirty Talk, Objectification, Dub-Con, Name-calling. Please stay safe! 💕

You thought you were done with this.

Got out by making the best of a bad situation. Honorable discharge following an injury after your last base was infiltrated. “Data analysts” (hackers) can’t have unpredictable hand spasms in the middle of time-sensitive decryptions. So, you got out.

And now you’re all but being dragged back.

You don’t recognize the two stone-faced men flanking you, but you recognize the woman they sit you in front of.

“Laswell.”

She doesn’t look older, but she looks more tired. Like she hasn’t slept since she informed you of your discharge.

“It’s good to see you again,” she says without smiling. It’s good to see you; it’s not good that you’re seeing her. “I wish it was… I wish this wasn’t the situation.”

You arch your eyebrows. Have never known her to speak without measuring the exact dimensions of her words first. She always slides them into spaces perfectly designed for them, builds towers and forts out of syllables.

There’s a treacherous unintentional volume to the word “this” that prickles across your neurons.

“And what’s ‘this’ exactly?” you ask.

“A recently recovered asset,” she explains. You expect a dossier of some kind to be set in front of you. She links her fingers together on top of her desk and looks you in the eye. “He’s asking for you.”

You blink. Never was any good at staring contests with anything but a screen.

“And who,” you speak slowly, poking at the edges of whatever she’s hedging around, “is he?”

A pause, heavy enough to slowly start pressing the air from your lungs.

“Do you remember John MacTavish?” she asks.

You frown, rifling through mental files.

John MacTavish of Task Force 141. Soap. You remember liking him, even though he made a shy, anti-social part of you uneasy. He had a starting problem, and a smiling problem. Or maybe you were the one with the problem - with the way he would often stare and sometimes smile.

You taught him how to find files out in the field. How to take from the enemy and corrupt entire systems. He was good at it. A digital pyromaniac. Used to hand-deliver drives and disks to you, sometimes still bloody and bruised from getting them.

You heard through the gossip vine that he was MIA (or maybe went AWOL?) at some point. Was shipped out to your final assignment soon after.

“Is he the… asset?” you ask.

Her eyes do this funny flicker thing then, and the corner of her mouth tenses. You press your thumb into your palm as your fingers twitch.

“He’s asking for you,” she explains, “and he has information we need.”

Between the lines: we need you to get the information from him. The error code flashing in your mind demands to know why.

“Why?” you wonder.

Maybe you’ve been out too long; forgot that “why” is blasphemy to the government. The answer will always be “because we said so.”

You already miss being out.

“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” she answers and stands.

—

Laswell takes the lead, the same blank-faced guards bring up the rear. This doesn’t feel like you’ve been volun-told to do them a favor. It feels like you’ve been sentenced without a trial.

You’re led down silent, nondescript halls, through heavy gray doors, and into shiny metal elevators. Everything needs a keycard you’ve not been given. The quiet gets heavier, meaner the deeper you go.

There’s the vague sense that you’re underground when Laswell finally stops at a heavily guarded door. She pauses, steals a glance at you that starts a high-pitched alarm in your head.

“He’s different now,” she says finally, “I’m sorry in advance.”

A guard unlatches the door. She nods you ahead to enter first. You hesitate, don’t like the change in light beyond. Behind you, one of the guards shifts. Don’t like that either.

On tingling legs, you slink through the cracked door. It shuts with a gavel’s finality behind you. Alone.

The room you’ve been tricked into barely deserves the word. It’s more a tiny patch of sequestered floor, little bigger than an office cubicle. Clean linoleum and unmarked walls. In the corner, a camera blinks.

But in front of you are bars; a wall of them. A door interrupting the grid-pattern. Beyond, it’s pitch black. You almost make the mistake of stepping forward.

“Stay there,” Laswell’s voice commands. Staticky. An intercom.

From the shadows, a growl. Low, rough. Just this side of human. You plaster yourself to the door you came through, hair standing on end.

The lights come on. It’s only because you’ve frozen that you don’t scream, all of it trapped up in a constricted throat.

The man in front of you is not Soap. It’s not even John MacTavish. It’s a very convincing beast wearing his face. Sort of.

More scars than you remember. A thicker beard too. His signature Mohawk is just a suggestion in the dark brown mess of his hair - like he’s been running his hands through it and ripping out any tangles along the way.

He’s not moving now though. Not except the deep heave of his broad chest. Could be a statue save for that. He’s staring; his eyes are bluer than you remember. Bluer and blanker. Nothing in them except a flicker of something vicious, something covetous. Something that’s peering out from this man.

“We brought her, just like you asked.” Laswell’s voice again, wary and expectant.

Soap doesn’t respond. He inhales deep, gaze still locked with yours. It’s loud, purposeful. Your stomach twists.

“Just as sweet as I remember.” His voice is gravel on ice, resonates in his barrel chest. Fills up the room like a rockslide. You curl your fingers against the door behind you. “You remember me, bonnie?”

It takes your brain a second to realize he’s talking to you. As if he could be speaking to anyone else. Your shadow maybe; she’s always been braver than you.

His eyes twitch, narrowing ever so slightly. His patience winding down, tick, tick, tick.

You jerk your head in a nod. His eyes burn.

“Good.” He cracks his neck. It feels entirely inorganic that he can move just that part of his body. “Would have to punish you if you didn’t.”

You swallow, dig up your voice from the crevice it slunk into.

“Laswell.” Your voice is too high, too nervous. Soap bares his teeth, slams his fist against the all-too-bendable barrier between you two. It shocks you, frightens you. How he could be so still and then so alive all at once.

“John, we brought her. That was the deal.”

You feel sick with something unspoken as he shakes his head.

“No, the deal was you give her to me. Do you see my fuckin’ hands on ‘er? My teeth?”

“The information first.”

You feel sick with rage. Like you’re going to throw up with the disgust that poisons your blood. Your legs nearly give out as you slide to the ground, pressing a hand over your mouth, filling with saliva. Stomach rolling.

Force yourself to breathe through your nose. Would work better if you could close your eyes but prey instinct won’t let you, survival too strong to dare look away from the predator now pacing at the bars. He’s agitated, devolving quickly into anger. You’d tell Laswell to stop pissing him off if that didn’t mean tossing you to him. More than she has, anyway.

“We will take her back if you don’t deliver your end of the deal.”

Like you’re some reward to be given and taken at someone else’s will. An incentive for good behavior.

The military used to make you feel like a dog - sit, stay, bark on command. But you’d take that over being the training treat any day.

Soap snarls. He sounds feral. Spits out a set of numbers, eyes pinned to you. When he’s done, he crouches down. Knees against the wall of bars.

“S’alright, little bird. C’mere and I’ll make it all better,” he coos, beckoning you with two fingers.

You press your lips together against a whimper. His expression twitches. You suck in a breath—

“We’ll need to verify those coordinates first,” Laswell says.

The noise that rips out of Soap makes you shake. You didn’t know people could make sounds like that; like something with teeth and claws and blood matted in its fur. He stands, huge and terrifying.

He curses and threatens (awful, cruel) but Laswell doesn’t respond again. You doubt she’s even listening. And you just stay still and quiet, hoping to avoid his attention altogether, pancaked to the wall.

As is the pattern today, your reasonable hope is eventually dashed. Can almost feel the exact moment Soap’s attention refocuses on you. Like a the click of switch.

And he’s down again, crooning at you so sweetly. Like you didn’t just watch him come within a breath of destroying his cell.

“You know it’s not fair, don’t you,” he murmurs. “You know that I’m owed you. C’mere.”

“I’m not a thing,” you snip, still too high. Almost petulant if not for the frightened crack in the middle. He flashes teeth.

“‘Course you are, hen,” he says, almost laughing. You realize with a jolt that you’ve amused him. “You’re my sweet, pretty thing with the sweet, pretty cunt that I’m gonna fuck and breed.”

Your voice slithers back into the abyss, snatched away by the smoke and shadow promises in his own.

“And you know that’s what you’re for, don’ you?” he continues, voice dripping lower and lower. “You know that you’re mine.”

You shake your head, want to explain that you didn’t have a choice. Government goons have been shuffling you about from place to place, only the illusion of free will, like horse blinders. Keeping you docile and complacent.

You don’t think Soap cares about things like logic or personhood right now though. Or at all.

“Come. Here.”

Hard metal between you, and every atom in your body screams not to comply. So you don’t.

When you shake your head, he snarls and slams his fist into the barrier again. You squeak this time, can’t help it, and try to become one with the wall.

He rages for a few minutes. Demands you, your compliance. At some point you just have to draw your knees up to your chest and lean your head against them. If he could get through, he would have by now. Let his anger become a terrifying background noise, a soundtrack for fear.

It’s when he goes quiet again that the fear returns. Your head snaps up. He’s staring again, still. Just like before. His arms are crossed - biceps huge, straining. There’s a sizable bulge pressed against the bars. Obscene.

“Best get your rest now, little girl,” he rumbles. Even and deceptively calm. “Because when that door opens, I’m not gonna be nice about it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Stop it.”

A puff of air. You can’t tell if it’s amused or annoyed. “Say it while you can, ‘cause it won’t make a difference later.”

You shudder through your next inhale, heart pounding. Try to wrestle yourself under control, convince yourself that Laswell won’t actually give you up to him. Not when she’s already gotten what she wanted from him.

A sound breaks you from your frantic meditation, slick and wet. You look up without thinking. Soap is fucking viciously into his fist, eyes trained on you. The head of his cock is flushed an angry red, dripping with precum, shiny and needy.

“Regret being a little bitch now?” he growls. “Now that you see what’s going in that prissy little cunt?”

You clench and cramp at the very thought. He’s massive, not just long but thick. You wouldn’t be shocked if your fingers didn’t touch wrapped around him — not that you should be considering those logistics. It’ll just freak you out more.

“Can smell your wet pussy from here, hen. Bet I’ll knock you up on the first try.” He squeezes almost cruelly, knuckles banging against the bars as his hips jerk.

You press your thighs together, trying not to think about it. Not to think about all that bulk pinning you down and using you. Big, rough hands and sharp, mean teeth while he—

“Stop,” you grit out, to yourself this time.

His breath shudders, a rough noise dragging up his throat. You twitch back as cum splatters the floor, coats the metal in milky drops. You stare at the mess, mortified.

“Well?” he rasps and your eyes snap back to his. “Going to lick it up like the bitch you are?”

You swallow and curl up tighter. He takes that for the denial it is.

“S’alright,” he says, “you’ll get a taste soon enough.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #asset soap #asset John soap MacTavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader

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