#bedsheet cocoon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skzdarlings · 1 year

Text

04. sharing a bed series ; skz ; hyunjin

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 4/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: sexual content. friends2lovers, sharing a bed trope. penetrative sex n the pull out method lol. also hyunjin n reader were drugged the night before, premise is based around them getting married in vegas under the influence and not remembering how it happened in the morning. drama llama antics ensue.

Hyunjin has the heart of a sentimental corvid; he loves his people, but he’s weird and sneaky about it. His propensity for dramatics is only in certain situations and the rest of the time he is quiet and tends to balk at grand displays. He definitely does not like cuddling or hugging. He will only begrudgingly suffer through it when his more physically affectionate friends get the bright idea to attack him with their loving arms.

So you are wildly confused when you wake up in your hotel room with Hyunjin plastered to you, hugging you so tightly that you are halfway convinced he glued himself there. His chin is nestled on your shoulder, his breath coming softly against your neck. The hood of his grey sweatshirt is pulled over his head but some of his long blonde hair still falls on your face. You blow at it unsuccessfully, getting some in your eye. He holds you tighter.

What the hell?

You arrived in Las Vegas yesterday and while most of last night is a foggy blur, you do remember the room had two twin beds. Sure enough, there is a second bed just a few feet from yours, the covers completely untouched. The neatly made bed is a stark contrast to the mess of your bed: the duvet sliding off the foot, the pillows on the floor, the bedding partially untucked. All the sheets are wrapped around your body like a cocoon while a shivering Hyunjin clings to you, presumably for warmth.

You try to roll over but your bedsheet-burrito has you trapped, never mind Hyunjin’s death grip of a spoon.

“Hyunjin,” you whisper. “I can’t breathe.”

He grumbles and squeezes you, making you squeak.

“Hyunjin,” you say, a bit louder. “Wake up.”

He groans in his sleep and buries his face further in your neck. His nuzzling sends shivers shooting down your spine.

“Hyunjin.” It comes out like a croak. You try wriggling your shoulders. “Hyunjin, wake up!”

He makes a disgruntled sound but doesn’t move.

“Oh my god,” you say. “How are you such a bitch even when sleeping? Wake up!”

When he stays sleeping, you are forced to take drastic action. You turn your face and blow, hard. His face scrunches up and he finally stirs.

“Ew,” he says, slowly blinking his eyes open. His mouth draws into a sour pout, his brow tight. “Stop. Your breath is so disgusting.”

“Ahem.”

He makes a fist and rubs his eyes. His dark brows are still furrowed but there is modicum of clarity when he looks at you. It takes a minute to fully register your proximity, his eyes flicking here and there. Finally, they open wide.

With remarkable speed, Sleepy Hyunjin concedes leeway to Drama Queen Hyunjin. He mewls like a frightened cat, ripping away so quickly that it knocks the air out of you with an oof.

“What—” he starts.

He is interrupted when his thrashing makes him slide. You are still bundled in your bedsheet-prison and can only watch as the clumsy oaf slides backwards right off the bed. All those long limbs make a frantic windmill as he shrieks on his way down, hitting the floor with a heavy crash and groan.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Ugh,” he replies. “My head.”

“Are you dying?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well, when you’re done, come help me.”

His hand appears first, thumping onto the messy bed. His head follows with an exhausted peek over the mattress. His hood has fallen back and his long hair is infuriatingly neat considering everything. Hyunjin is so beautiful that it is ridiculous. All he does is run his long fingers through his hair, shake his head a little, and he looks picture perfect.

“You’re staring,” he says with a scowl.

“It’s because you’re so ugly,” you say.

“Liar,” he says. He makes a V with his fingers and licks between them. “I’m sexy and you love me.”

He is correct, so it is only natural that you try biting him.

You chomp at him when he approaches, threatening to bite his fingers when they get too close to your face. He pinches your nose between two knuckles and squeezes.

“Hyunjiiiiin, staaawp,” you say in a nasally whine.

He does, but only after playfully snapping his own jaws in your direction.

“I should just leave you here and have a peaceful day,” he says.

“I’ll kill you and bury you in the desert.”

“Gross. Can’t you bury me on the strip?”

“I’m gonna feed your carcass to some desert scorpions.”

“Ew.”

It takes some effort, but Hyunjin manages to find where your blanket-burrito starts. He grabs it and tugs like the annoying bimbo he is. Your protest comes too late and he whips the blanket open, sending you flying off the bed. You land with a heavy thud of your own.

“Oops,” he says. He rustles through the sheets to peer over the edge of the bed. “Are you okaaaa—whaaaat are you wearing?”

You were already dizzy before Hyunjin decided to throw you around like a human tennis ball, but now it’s even worse.

You have no idea what happened last night but it clearly involved a hit of something way, way, way stronger than usual. It takes you a minute to come back to reality. After shaking your head a few times, you are able to push yourself into a sitting position. You finally look down.

You freeze.

“Hyunjin,” you say. “What the fuck am I wearing?”

“That’s what I just—”

“Hyunjin. What the fuck am I wearing?!”

It is an utterly useless question because it is abundantly obvious that you are wearing a wedding dress. A big, poofy, princess wedding dress with giant puffed up 1980s sleeves and enough cleavage on display that Hyunjin almost falls off the bed because he is tilting his head so much.

You yank up the skirt as if that will offer any answers. You find a pair of white stockings, one still neatly clipped to a thigh garter and the other halfway down your calf. You stare at that stocking for a long moment, the vaguest recollection of something fighting its way through the fog of your druggy, drunk memory.

“Uh,” Hyunjin says.

You look up at him but his eyes are downturned to his own wrist. You look there, your own eyes widening when you see what he sees.

Your missing garter is looped around his wrist like a silky white bracelet.

An image comes flooding back. The periphery is still in smog, but you distinctly remember Hyunjin kneeling in front of you, gathering his long hair into a ponytail as he smirked up at you. You remember him lifting your skirt, his head disappearing under the pile of white lace.

You look at each other at the same time. Did he just have the same memory? Does he remember more? You have no idea and you can’t bring yourself to ask. Your voice is shot to hell, swallowed up by the heart that seems to have jumped into your throat.

The silence is tense. It is hotter than the desert in here.

“We didn’t…?” he finally says, pointing between the two of you.

“No way,” you say. It sounds very uncertain.

He lifts his other hand to tuck some hair behind his ears. That’s when you see it. Hyunjin wears so many rings so often that you completely missed it at first. But right now his hands are bare save for one unfamiliar ring in a very particular spot.

Hyunjin follows the trajectory of your horrified gaze and freezes when he spots the wedding ring. He slaps a hand over his mouth, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“Oh my god,” you say. You are afraid to check your own hand but it is imperative. Hyunjin looks at you, his shocked hand still covering his mouth. Together, you watch as your hand shakily rises out of the pile of white princess lace.

There is a wedding ring on your finger too.

You and Hyunjin scream at the same time, him clapping both hands over his ears as he hollers and you shaking your head and kicking your feet. After your mini-freak out, you wave your hands to silence him.

“Stop, stop!” you say. “It’s okay. Be calm. Be quiet. This is okay.”

“We got married,” he wails, dragging his fingers down his face. “My mom is gonna kill me.”

“Your mom? YOUR MOM? Hyunjin, I’m gonna kill you before you even leave this city, so don’t fucking worry about your mom.” You mime throttling him because he is too far to reach.

Hyunjin flops down on the bed. He lays on his back with his arms folded like he is ready to be mummified.

“Oh my gawd,” he says. “Oh my gawwwd…”

“Look, we might not have even done it,” you say. It takes a lot of effort and you fall on your ass twice, but you manage to stagger ungracefully to your feet. “Some rings and a dress don’t mean anything. We were probably just goofing around. What do you remember?”

He is still in a mummification pose, his eyes closed.

“Nothing,” he says. He frowns. “No, wait. You were hitting on some ugly bitch of a man and didn’t listen to me, as usual, and the loser put something in your drink so I drank it to prove a point. But then you still drank it because you’re the worst, and I dragged you out of there.” He covers his face with both hands. “Then we got married and ruined our lives.”

“Okay, the last part you don’t know for sure,” you say. You stumble around the bed. “I’m gonna go wash up and clear my head and sort this out, because there’s no way we—” You stop when you spy something sitting on the television stand. It takes a few clumsy steps to reach, but you get there.

“Uh oh,” you say.

“Is that a marriage certificate?” Hyunjin asks.

“No.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.” He rolls over so he is facedown on the bed, his voice muffled by the messy blankets. “I love this.”

“I’m gonna… go… wash up still,” you stay. You sigh and gather up your dress to stomp over to the bathroom door.

“Brush your teeth,” Hyunjin says. “Your breath is gross.”

“I hope you suffocate over there and make me a widow.” You close the door with a pointed shove.

You want to disobey him on principle, but there is a truly nasty taste in your mouth so you brush your teeth before anything else. You avoid your reflection for as long as possible because the crazed madwoman in the mirror is a terrifying sight to behold.

You reckon with her monstrous appearance eventually, tidying up as best you can. You remove the stockings and garter, gulping when the memory returns. You splash a lot of cold water on your face and it helps ground you.

Just as you begin to feel cleansed, you feel an itch on your throat. You crane your neck and tentatively touch the sensitive indentation, the raised bruising of a hickey. Touching it awakens another memory, one that strikes hot at your core.

Hyunjin. You. This hotel room. He pressed you against the door and caged you in, forearms on either of your head. Despite his presence looming over you, you did not feel nervous. You touched him as if that intimacy was something you always shared. You remember him cupping your face in one hand and turning your head, him kissing you softly on your temple and cheek, him breathing lightly over your throat before sucking a hard kiss under your jaw. He was all teeth and tongue, drawing moans out of you while you bucked against him. You remember him grinding against you, remember him pinning you to the door. You remember stringing your arms around his neck and him picking you up, then it all goes black again.

You turn away from the mirror, still holding your neck.

Did you… no.

Did you?

No.

You didn’t fuck Hyunjin. No way. You would have remembered that much. If nothing else, there would be evidence now. A used condom or a mess somewhere, a twinge between your legs. You are both fully dressed. You even have underwear on. It’s not the underwear you were wearing when you first left the hotel room, but it is underwear nonetheless.

One thing is certain; you did not go that far. He took a bite out of you and carried you to the bed where you probably passed out. How you got into a blanket-burrito, you are not sure, but at least it protected your dignity. Whatever was left of it, at least.

You step out of the bathroom only to walk straight into a pacing Hyunjin. You bonk heads and cuss each other out, swatting the other person out of your way.

He walks over to the bathroom and is about to step inside when you release a sigh.

“I have a hickey,” you say.

He pauses in the bathroom doorway.

“You gave it to me,” you add.

You cross your arms when he turns around, his gaze suddenly too hard to meet. You tap your foot and stare at the wall.

“I know,” he says. “I remember it.”

That draws your attention. You look right at him and plant your hands on your hips.

“Well, what else do you remember?” you ask.

“I—I—ugh! This is so annoying! Ugh!” He grabs his head and shakes it like a snow globe.

His stupid beautiful hair is barely ruffled and he still looks amazing when he surfaces. He runs his teeth over his plump bottom lip and you suddenly remember him grabbing your face with both hands, him smiling at you as a hot breeze fluttered around you, him holding you steady as he planted a big, wet kiss on you. It makes your whole body lock with tension, barely paying attention to the Hyunjin in front of you now, the Hyunjin on the verge of a meltdown as he intentionally smacks his head against the doorway.

“We came back here,” he says. His whole face is scrunched up with disgust like he just ate something bad. “Then I gave you that.” He slaps a hand over his face. “Then you… tried…” He puts the other hand on his face too.

“I tried what?” you ask, heat creeping your neck.

“You put your hand down my pants,” he croaks, hands over his eyes. “I said we should wait until morning and you started crying. I think you tried to give me a lap dance while crying, actually.” That does sound like you, drugged or not. “Then I…” He points to the messy bed. “I wrapped you in the sheet to protect your honour.”

“My honour? Ewwww. Don’t call it that.”

“I’m gonna go drown myself in the shower.”

“Hyunjin, wait.”

Once more, you stop him before he crosses the door. He sighs and his shoulders deflate. Pushing a hand through his hair, he turns around.

“What?” he says.

“I’ll take care of this, okay,” you say gently. “We weren’t ourselves. Thank you… for taking care of me. Seriously.”

He sniffs and looks aside, the tips of his ears turning red. You try to ignore the pitter-patter of your heart.

“It’s Vegas,” you say. “I bet they have drive-through divorces. I’m just… I’m just sorry this happened.”

“You are?” he says, staring at the ground.

“Of course,” you say with as much sincerity as you can muster. “Hyunjin, I know you. You’re a goofy old romantic. I’m sure you’re not happy about your first technical marriage happening while you were drugged up, and to someone you don’t even love. Right?”

He looks a little panicked when he meets your gaze. It flashes in his eyes for a second, then he looks away. He crosses his arms protectively over his chest.

“Hyunjin,” you say. It feels like someone just lit fireworks in your chest. “You… don’t… love me, right?”

There is a long moment of silence then he throws both hands in the air.

“Why do you say it like that?” he demands. “Would it be that bad if I did?”

“What.” Your jaw falls open. “You love me?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Sorry for inconveniencing you with my goofy romantic feelings.” He snarls at you. “It just happened. If I could have stopped it, I would have, but I can’t. So live with it.”

“What kind of love confession is this? You’ve watched like a million romance dramas and that’s what you come up with?”

“I’m a painter, not a poet. Good-bye.” He is quick this time, jumping into the bathroom and slamming the door closed.

It leaves you standing there, jaw still hanging open.

Hyunjin loves you.

Of course Hyunjin loves you. How could you be so stupid? All this time, you had yourself convinced your best friend was unattainable because he’s the most gorgeous creature on earth, but all this time he loved you and you didn’t even notice. He drank a drugged drink just to protect you. He got a bit nutty in the head and married you, but even at his most fucked up, some intrinsic part of him sprung to your defense. No matter how out of his mind, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything that could potentially hurt you.

Oh my god.

Hyunjin loves you. You love Hyunjin.

You are pacing when Hyunjin exits the bathroom and smacks into you. You bonk heads and curse, again, then he brushes past without saying anything more. You watch him go to the clean bed, watch him fold back the covers. He takes off his hoodie and his pants. Despite how many times you have casually dressed down around each other, this time you find yourself looking away, hot in the face. When you look back, he is in a t-shirt and his boxers, sliding under the covers.

“What are you doing?” you ask, fiddling with your thumbs.

“Going back to sleep,” he says. “I’m tired.”

He doesn’t look at you once. He rolls onto his side and faces the wall, laying stiff as a board.

You touch a finger to the mark on your neck and shiver.

“Hyunjin,” you say, to which he just grunts in reply. “I want to sleep too. I’m sorry, but can you help me with the dress?”

He exhales and closes his eyes, shoulders dropping, but then he flips the covers down and gets out of bed. He still doesn’t meet your gaze. His strides are long and quick and, before you can blink, he is in front of you.

You open your mouth to speak but he grabs you and spins you around. It feels like an electric zap from your heart to your pussy, hands instinctively clutching your chest in surprise.

You can feel him fiddling with a few buttons, muttering expletives to himself.

He is still wearing the ring. So are you.

“Hyunjin,” you say softly. “I love you too.”

He has his fingers on the zipper. He stops.

“What?” he asks. He stops touching you entirely so you look back at him. He is tucking hair behind both ears, shaking his head. “Don’t just… say it,” he says, still staring sideways. “That’s worse than not hearing it.”

“Hyunjin,” you say. At least he looks at you this time, even if it is with uncharacteristic uncertainty. You smile at him. “Unzip me please.”

You turn back around, chewing on your bottom lip.

It takes a second, but Hyunjin does what you asked. You feel one hand on your back, the other circling the zipper. He tugs it down slowly and you shiver as the cool air conditioned air kisses your back. His fingers brush your bare skin when releasing the zipper.

“Thank you,” you say, glancing back at him.

He nods curtly and spins around. You smile, watching him march back to the bed. You turn your back to him when you let the dress drop, then you remove your bra. His open luggage is nearby so you slip a t-shirt out of the suitcase. It smells like him, his favourite cologne, and that alone gets you hot.

With a final tug on the hem of the t-shirt, you turn and walk up to the bed he is in. He is sitting upright but under the covers, his hands folded neatly in his lap while he stares at you.

“Can I sleep here too?” you ask. “The other bed is a mess.”

He nods. A second ago, he refused to look at you and now he can’t stop staring. It makes you grin, beaming at him as you slide under the covers.

“You’re staring,” you say.

“I’m not,” he lies, still staring at you. He slumps against the headboard and slides down until he is laying flat. His hair pools around him on the pillow. Ridiculously gorgeous man.

You lean over him, staring back. You rest a hand on his chest and can feel his heart palpitating as quickly as your own.

“You are staring,” you say, then giggle a little because his expression is still wide-eyed. “You look like you’ve never seen a woman in bed before, and I know that’s not true.”

You say it jokingly but he doesn’t laugh. He tilts his head, his expression softening. His tongue touches his upper lip then he smiles at you.

“Not like this,” he says with heart-stopping sincerity. “Not you. Not… my wife.”

Oh god. People always act like there is something supremely unsexy about wife or husband, some stagnant nothingness that kills sex appeal. But the second he says that word, it feels like an electric storm ignites between the two of you. His gaze is dark, his breathing hard, his heart still pounding under your palm. You suck in a deep breath, a shuddering release. You are already aching.

“Hyunjin,” you whisper.

His hand comes up and cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. It passes over your bottom lip and tugs at it. It feels like you have a heartbeat between your legs.

“Fuck,” you say, and swing yourself over him.

He makes a noise the second you are straddling him, both his hands dropping to hold your hips. You lean down, your hands on either side of his head. His eyes are already closed when you start kissing him. You rock against him, feel him getting harder in his boxers as his hands run up and down your thighs.

The kiss breaks for a second, just to breathe, and he sighs.

“Good,” he says. “You brushed your teeth.”

“You are soooo…” You try to sound annoyed but it’s impossible. He laughs, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Ughhh, the worst!”

You roll off him as if you have any intention of denying him, but he doesn’t give you a chance to tease him. He just follows, rolling on top of you so it’s you pinned under him, the weight of him between your open legs. He goes right back to kissing you, taking his time, almost torturously slow while pressed so intimately against you. He licks into your mouth, nips at your bottom lip, steals your breath and comes back for more.

“Hyunjin.” You are out of breath. You grab his face with both hands, gasping against his open mouth.

“Mm?” he replies, pecking your lips.

A part of you thinks you could lie in bed all day doing nothing but kiss Hyunjin. Just a small part. The rest of you is burning up with the need for much, much more.

“Make love to me,” you whisper. His breath stutters. “Please,” you say.

He nods frantically. If you weren’t so hazy with want, it might have made you laugh. As it is, you string your arms around his neck and pull him down for another kiss. This one gets heated quickly, wet and sloppy and pressed messily to the corner of your mouths, your hands moving over each other, trying to find the hems of your shirts without breaking apart.

It happens in a frenzy, but you somehow get down to just your underwear. His boxers land on the lamp and the shirts could have flown out the window for all that you care. He is laving kisses all over your body and you are so wound up that you get a little teary, arching under him and tugging on his hair.

“Hyunjin, please,” you say, dragging your nails up his back. “I need you.”

He looks up at you. You smile and bite your lower lip.

“I need my husband,” you say.

You are pretty sure you can visibly see his brain short-circuiting. The next second, he is fully above you, pulling your panties down your hips. It stays hooked around one ankle but the thought of it leaves your mind quickly. He slides his hands under your thighs and spreads you open, leaning down to kiss you as he finally eases inside you.

You both look down at where he inside you. It feels like your clit is jumping for attention, your whole body shaking when he gently rubs you there while sinking fully in.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he says, mostly to himself once he fully inside you. He closes his eyes and breathes a little harder. “Don’t move,” he says. He leans down so his chest is against yours, your faces close. “If you do, this is gonna be over really quickly.”

“Really?” you say with a giggle, pleased he is as unravelled as you.

He just nods, his eyes still closed. You kiss his cheek and hold the back of his neck, stroking there lightly and giving him a minute.

“Feels good,” you say, because it does, even just like this, pressed so tightly together, him so full and hard inside you.

He just groans, dropping his face to the crook of your neck and shoulder. You rake your fingers through the hair at his nape when he rocks a testing thrust into you. You have only just adjusted when those hips starting rocking with fluid determination, rolling steady and deep. He feels almost impossibly good inside you, driving you into the mattress again and again.

“Oh my god,” you squeak, putting both arms around his neck and clinging tight. “Hyunjin.”

He just makes noise, unintelligible sounds that make him sound crazy despite how deftly he is moving. You feel a bit crazy yourself, blinking at him with your mouth open when he lifts his head. He kisses you, swallowing up your gasping moans, and presses his forehead to yours. For someone who claimed to be close, he lasts a long time at a steady pace, the subtle, corded muscles of his slender frame holding taut as he moves.

“Touch yourself,” he says, and kisses you without waiting for an answer.

You kiss him back, very messily at that, but you do what he said. You lick your fingertips and slide that shaking hand between your bodies, getting yourself off just seconds before his hips get erratic and he has to pull out. He strokes himself to completion just over you, coming on your thighs. He manages to reserve his strength long enough to gather you in his arms and roll over. He guides you to rest on top of him, your face in his sweaty neck and your rising-and-falling chest against his own.

“Why haven’t we been doing that for years?” you mumble.

He laughs, his hand flying to his face to cover his mouth while he giggles. The ring catches your eye and you reach for that hand. He gets quiet, watching you.

You lace your fingers with his, looking at the ring then looking up at him.

“We’re a little crazy if we stay like this,” you say.

He leans in and kisses you for so long that you almost forget what you were saying. You remember when he smiles down at you, when he squeezes your hand, when he leans in and says, “That’s okay. I like a little crazy.”

In agreement, you smile back.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #skz x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut

4K notes · View notes

rabbitblackx · 11 months

Note

I really love your works!! Could i please request our quiet boys (Jason and Michael) getting scared by reader not waking up in the morning, think this way, reader loves to make breakfeast for them, or even wake them up with kisses, and even when they wake up before reader, they are too easy to wake, but age comes for everyone, and one day they just wake up before reader and they just wont budge, what would they do? ((reader is alive!!! they were just having a good sleep 😉))

Ahh thank u!!! :’)💞

Michael and Jason when Reader won’t wake up

Michael Myers💖

Michael was very much used to waking up to the smell of you making breakfast. That, or having to shove you off him from kissing him. So this morning, you could’ve imagined his displeasure to find you still asleep

Michael slowly rose from bed, beady eyes locked on your sleeping form. He lost internet in you quickly though, throwing his legs over the bed and getting up. Usually, this was when you would stir awake. He was aware that he was warm and… cuddly. The instant lack of this next you should’ve done the trick, but you still slept

Michael decided that he was not starting his morning without you. He was not making his own breakfast. He walked over to your side of the bed, looming over you menacingly. Instead of stabbing the shit out of you, he rose his hands and shook you. You did not budge. Michael shook you harder, harder, rougher—but still nothing. He tilted his head. You weren’t…? Dead, were you…?

You laid before the killer dead still, draped in blankets with a relaxed face. Michael lifted his pointer finger, and jabbed it roughly into your cheek. No reaction

In a fit of panic, Michael grabbed the sheet itself from under the mattress and yanked it up. He threw it to the floor, with you, the pillows and blankets all inside

“MICHAEL, WHAT THE HELL?” You screeched from under the pile of bedding

Michael stared down at the mess he made, feeling a little silly… okay, you were clearly not dead. Now what? You struggled to get out of your bedsheet cocoon, not really understanding what was happening. When you finally broke free, you looked at the bare mattress on your bed, then at Michael

“What the hell happened?” You demanded

Michael obviously didn’t reply. He was just relieved you were alive, and a little embarrassed. He simply left the room, to the kitchen and set his butt down at the table. Okay, you were awake. It was Michael’s breakfast time now :)

Jason Voorhees💖

Jason was always lovingly stirred from sleep by the smell of hot breakfast on the table. That, or you attacking his unmasked face in kisses. It didn’t matter which. He was happy with either. But this morning, Jason woke up before you

You laid there next to him, stiff as a board and draped in blankets. He stared down at you for a few moments, before rising from the bed. Usually, the loss of warmth and weight from Jason woke you up. But you still slept…

Jason stood there awkwardly, waiting for you to stir. He didn’t care for starting his morning without you. He had grown too attached. When you still wouldn’t budge, he shuffled over to your side of the bed and shook you. Still nothing

Jason tore the blankets off your body, shaking you rougher than before. He was starting to get a little worried now. He grabbed your face in his big hand, shaking your head too. He hadn’t felt panic in so long, and didn’t know what to do. Jason grabbed you by your ankle, and tugged you off the bed with a mighty pull

“Ow!”

You hit the floor face first, your limbs all jumbled up. You turned on your side, an unimpressed frown on your lips as your stared up at the culprit. Jason’s eyes widened in surprise, tense shoulders slowing relaxing

“Jason…? Why am I on the floor?”

Jason bent over slightly to carefully pull you back up, perching your bum on the bed. He stared down at you for a few long moments, looking like a guilty dog. You were too tired and grumpy to break the silence, your arms crossed over your chest

Jason was overcome with an alien joy that you weren’t dead. He didn’t know what he’d do without you. He slowly sat down next to you, shakily wrapping his strong arms around you. It was hard to stay mad at him. You leaned your head against him, offering a sleepy hum

#slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slashers #michael myers #michael myers x reader #michael myers 1978 #rz michael myers #rz halloween #halloween #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #friday the 13th #rab.reads

2K notes · View notes

wyvernest · 10 months

Text

honeymoon love

previous parts - (part 1) (part 2)

pairing: miguel o'hara x wife!reader

warnings: smut, fluff, unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink, talks of pregnancy

summary: with the opportunity of a surprise, miguel makes the most of your honeymoon

“Te amo. Tu eres mi alma”, he kisses below your temple, “mi corazón-”, he moves to your jaw and right below it, “-mi vida.”

He licks at your neck, kissing the sensitive skin with insistence, pressing himself closer to you.

“Y siempre lo serás.”

"Miguel", you manage to speak, placing the name upon a breathy, calm moan.

"I love you, Miguel. You make me so happy."

He stops in his tracks, raising his head and hoping to catch the look on your face immediately after the words left your mouth.

He's all you see, all you hear, all you smell; under the thin makeshift shelter of the bedsheet.

The proximity shrouds all your senses, intoxicating you with his low voice, the scent of cologne on his feverish skin, the stirring look in his eyes that renders you irrevocably vulnerable, willing to submit to anything he has in mind.

He replies with a peck on your cheek, full of love and sincere fondness. Your eyes meet for a quick second before you both lean in to catch each other's lips in a searing kiss, tongues slowly intertwining, a dance you know all too well.

You feel the shy beginning of a stubble graze your cheek while you make out in the comfort of the clean, cotton white sheets, and you yearn to feel more.

Your hands wander over his firm pecs, settling on his huge shoulders, palming at the muscles before hiking higher to hold the back of his head. Your fingers massage his scalp, his dark chestnut hair silky soft under your touch.

"You're always so good to me." he praises, honest and infinitely affectionate. He inhales sharply, as if meaning to continue, but he stops, muffling whatever confessions were about to exit his mouth with another kiss.

His hot palm wraps perfectly around your breast, as if you were made for him. He massages the soft tit, eliciting a whimper out of you.

"Go on, say it.", you manage to dare him.

"Say what?" he looks, at the very least, caught off guard.

"What you were thinking, just now. Tell me."

He groans in defeat, nestling his face in the crook of your neck, not missing the opportunity to kiss the over-reactive skin one more time before speaking.

"I want you to be the mother of my children.", he stops for a moment , scanning your face for any trace of doubt or hesitancy. "You're perfect, mi vida. You're all I could ever ask for, and so much more.", he attempts to urge an answer out of you. A reply. Anything.

Truth is, you have talked about children before. But whenever he would bring it up, after having seen Mayday on a casual weekend, or after having noticed you stare just a little longer at the baby aisle when shopping, you would brush it off with a fearful smile, saying that "when the time is right, it will happen".

And deep down he knew you were scared. Scared of the whole process. The pregnancy, the birth itself, the responsibilities and obligations that come with such a decision. But the very last thing he wanted to do was rush you, subconsciously or accidentally guilt tripping you into giving in and only accepting because of him.

He wanted you to want it too, just as much as he did.

Little did he know, the thought had been lingering on your mind for much longer than he would have fathomed. Every day, the fever got stronger and stronger. Everyday, the doubts and questions diluted more and more into 'I trust him enough to be sure that we'll figure it out on the way.'

And finally face to face with another one of his voiced desires, you feel the enthusiasm bubble in your heart.

"Miguel."

He raises a questioning brow, attentive and focused as if ready to pounce.

"Put a baby in me." You squirm into his embrace, your feet protruding through the white veil cocooning you as you squeeze your legs around his waist. Intimacy, my ass, you mentally joke to yourself. Anyone ski jetting by would know exactly what you were doing only judging by the position of your legs, obvious even through the cover.

But who even cares about that,

when he's on top of you, asking you to carry his babies.

Asking you to give him a child.

You watch his pupils dilate, a familiar red glow taking over his vision as he evidently loses his mind right in front of you over your admission.

You lose count of the swarm of feelings flashing across his face in a timespan of a few seconds.

"I wasn't joking." He forcibly chuckles at the end of the warning, wanting you not to feel in the least bit intimidated or pressured.

"I wasn't either." You're quick to reassure him, brushing a wild strand of hair from his face.

He almost can't believe it.

His brain is short-circuiting.

But before he can ask again, because you know him well enough to tell that he was going to, you pull him into another kiss, more violent, more powerful. One of the kisses you give him when he's back from a long mission, tired and bitter, when you've missed him for so long you could've sworn you'd go insane if you had to stay one more second without him by your side.

He returns the same need, taking the chance and slipping one hand in between you, pulling your summer skirt down your thighs along with your soaked panties.

You shudder at the feeling of his warm hand so close to your core, your body reacting before you could fully process what is about to happen.

With a gasp, you break apart to breathe as the precum-stained head of his cock comes in contact with your cunt, threatening to breach you.

You feel its generous length drag along through your folds. Even with impatience heavy in the air, he carefully prepares you for him. He knows you’re fragile, he knows it's difficult for you to take all of him, and for whatever self-control he has left, he wants to make it well worth it.

Your brows crease in slight pain as he pushes in with a groan, feeling the wet heat of your pussy swallow him inch by agonising inch.

Through barely open eyes, you see him stare down at you.

A horde of fantasies are running wild in his head, but his lust-addled brain stops at one, one that has him nearly drooling on the spot.

He sees you, finally pregnant, breasts overflowing with milk, in a delicate yet flimsy summer dress that flaunts everything that makes you so beautiful to him, everything about you that makes you, you.

Nothing less than a goddess.

But most of all, he sees you by his side.

An arm hooked around his, proud to call him the father of your child.

By his side, for everyone to see. To see that you're his.

He lunges forward with no warning, his hips colliding with the soft flesh of your ass. Strong hands curling around your waist with a bruising grip, he starts making love to you. Avoiding a steady pace, he delivers deep, fast thrusts before drifting into slow, dragged out strokes, only to resume the rough ones again.

It's torture, yet you're drowning in pleasure.

You feel every ridge and vein of his cock, the tip brushing against weak spots you didn't know you had with every drive of his body into yours.

He knows he won't last, yet he wants to prolong your pleasure for as much as he can.

His head falls back into the crook of your neck, hot, shallow pants puffing onto your flushed skin. He groans in pure bliss, the intensity of his feelings nearly pushing him over the edge prematurely. You moan his name, hands travelling over his back and into his hair, not aiding him in his struggle to last longer.

"Te amo. Te amo tanto." (I love you. I love you so much) He begins, grunting in your ear, offering you the deepest of his thoughts in the most vulnerable point he had gotten, "No puedo - ugh, no puedo vivir sin ti." (I can't live without you.)

You can't do anything but whine broken fragments of his name, hoping that he'll catch on to the fact that you're so deep in raw pleasure that any coherent thought would mean ripping yourself apart from the euphoria.

"No puedo respirar sin ti." (I can't breathe without you). He rasps low as you flutter around him, earning yourself a strangled moan from the man on top of you.

"Ah, mierda-", He starts to lose his rhythm, the bed creaking under every thrust of his fat cock into your tight heat.

Your blurred attention falls upon his biceps, impossibly big compared to your meagre shape underneath him, flexing by your sides each time his abdomen undulates to drive his dick into you.

You feel claimed. Owned. In the best ways possible.

But most of all, you feel loved.

Suddenly, you feel him stagger, arms flexing hard, his whole body going rigid against you as a low groan shatters in your ears. Through your climatic haziness, you feel his dick twitching inside your walls as he comes. You can’t help the whine it squeezes out of you, the symphony of your pleasured screams compromising whatever secrecy you could have hoped for.

He lets himself collapse on top of you, knowing that the comfort of his body weight on you gifts you an extra feeling of intimacy every time he can't help but try to catch his breath, face pressed snugly into your neck.

You turn your head, coming down from your own high, kissing his forehead, caressing his back with the one hand you managed to squeeze out from under him.

"You make me the happiest I've ever been." he mumbles, defenceless and open.

And you swear you haven't ever been happier yourself.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara x reader one shot

2K notes · View notes

livinghostly · 4 months

Text

hey there, sunshine — suguru geto x reader

a/n: not in love w this !! but couldn't get the idea out of my brain when i was trying to sleep. was also intended to be for choso but got too ooc sooooo wc: 2.3k yet another date didn't work out for you, and your roommate bears the burden of listening to all your complaints. he also may or may not have a crush on you. fluff/humor

the soft orange of the painted sky poured through your blinds, slipping through the cracks and almost deliberately shining down on your eyes that just barely peeked beneath your comforter. your curtains waved back and forth with the fan, soft whirrs that once lulled you to sleep now drawing you from your slumber with a ragged groan. far gone was the fulfillment of your soothing dreams, your memories running farther and farther away as you tried to recall them and sink yourself back into that peace of mind.

you screwed your eyes shut in defense from the harsh rays of the sun, huffing in the warmth of your pillow before lifting your head and sandwiching yourself against the mattress. your fists squeezed the pillowcase with irritation, pulling as hard as you could manage to encase you in the comfort of your bed.

the birds chirped in unison, chattering as they built a nest on the apartment balcony your roommate refused to relocate (he called himself a humanitarian, but you were sure part of him refrained because he knew it bothered you). the slight creaks of your rotating fan were becoming more noticeable even as you tried to calm yourself back to sleep. you were uncomfortably warm now, the frustration culminating beneath your comforter and suffocating the air.

buzz.

your phone, shaking itself to life with a notification. you sighed.

buzz.

you thrashed the bedsheets away from you, your pillows and plushies cocooning in your blankets landing on the ground with a soft thump. the palm of your hand slammed against the hollow wood of your bedside table in a blind rage, desperately scouring your clutter in an attempt to locate your phone.

finally, you dug your nails into the rubber case and snagged it from the charger with a thwack. you rolled over to your side, squinting at the sunlight as you turned it on. three new messages, and an aspiring text bubble all from one person.

080-7766-5289

hey

good morning

would you want to get coffee with me?

the pondering text bubble finally popped, and your phone vibrated again.

maybe some breakfast too?

your groggy eyes glanced at the time. 8:23am. you barely had a chance to think through the onslaught of messages. the unrelenting number belonged to a guy you’d met at the bar last week, who was sweet enough for you to trade numbers with. last night had been your first date, a simple dinner and a movie.

unfortunately for him, you felt a better connection to the movie that night than to him. he was strangely stiff when you were around, answering any questions with caution that made you feel like an intruder for asking. comments and questions of his own were dry and anything but open-ended, his punctuation hanging in the stale air while you worked overtime to keep the conversation going.

it really didn’t seem worth it.

you shut off your phone and placed it on the table again, taking a deep breath. all at once, the scent of brewed coffee beans and pancakes wafted in from the kitchen. your stomach rumbled in response, mouth slightly watering as you came to terms with just how hungry you were.

you pulled yourself out of bed, dragging your feet along the plush carpet of the apartment. sluggishly, you ran your hands through your hair in an attempt to tame what mess it made of itself. it was cooler in the open loft, the windows propped open, welcoming the dewey air and various chattering of wild critters. those damn birds.

your roommate, suguru, was in the kitchen, his back to you as he worked his magic on the stovetop in front of him. his red apron was tied into neat bows wrapped around his neck and his waist– the words ‘kiss the cook’ plastered in bold font on the front of it with puckered lips, a gag gift from gojo last christmas that he had now worn to the point of the ends being frayed and stained with various ingredients.

he was wearing a black t-shirt that squeezed the tightness of his muscles, tense and working diligently as he flipped a pancake. his black basketball shorts hung loosely around his waist– surely thrown on haphazardly as he woke up –and he donned a pair of mismatched neon-striped socks. truly, a sight reserved for you, and only you.

on the island behind him, two steaming cups of coffee were presented next to empty plates. the pink one was yours, the black one was his. your utensils had a few extra napkins stuffed underneath them.

you make a mess one time and he can’t let it go.

he acknowledged your presence with a soft hum, before turning his head and offering a small smile. it was soft and captivating, just as he was. his charm washed over you as his gaze followed every part of your figure, raising a curious eyebrow at the sight of you missing a sock. nothing he hadn’t seen before, in fact, he’d seen you much worse and much more grumpy.

“good morning,” he said, his voice a low rumble. he met your tired eyes, taking in the delicate hues that warmed his skin. your eyebrows were still pinched together as you recovered from the confusion and discomfort of your untimely awakening. “rough night?”

“rough everything,” you huffed, grabbing your coffee and shuffling next to him. you hoisted yourself up to sit next to the stack of pancakes he’d created and leaned your head against the cabinets.

suguru watched carefully as you took a sip of your coffee, a sense of pride fluttered in his stomach when a content smile graced your lips. his motions came to a slow stop as he stared you down. you paid him no mind as you wrapped both hands around the mug for warmth and basked in the taste again, then kept it close to your chest as you licked the sweetness off your lips.

after many months, he’d refined your coffee blend to your ideal taste. pestering you each time if you liked it enough, or what he could improve on to make sure that his handiwork was no less than perfect in your eyes. he reveled in the way you adored his cooking, putting pieces of himself– his adoration, compassion, and sentiment –into his creations and curating your taste closer to his own.

his grip on the spatula loosened, nearly slipping out of his hand and bringing him back to reality.

suguru cleared his throat and resumed his task, sliding an additional pancake onto the tower, slowly but surely resembling the one of pisa. he kept his head low with a merciless blush refusing to back down. you didn’t notice. “did it not go well?”

“it was… fine, i guess.” you sighed, beginning to zone out as you stared down a picture frame hanging not too far away.

it was you and suguru, one of the first few nights you had finally gotten comfortable being around him and he’d invited you to meet his friends. more so, he begged you to come out of your room and gave you no room for escape when he sandwiched you between himself and the couch’s armrest. shoko took the photo, stealthily enough you didn’t realize it existed until you saw it hanging in the hallway.

suguru’s arm was thrown over the back of the couch, a lazy grin on his face as he looked at you. (gojo told him he looked goofy with that expression. lovestruck didn’t ‘suit’ him.) you couldn’t stop laughing at one of his many sly comments he’d whisper to you, covering your face as you cackled and peeked through them to get a look at him. his stare made your face burn hot and you kept it covered until gojo managed to grab everyone’s attention, like he always did.

it felt so long ago when suguru existed as your shy, withdrawn roommate who would stare at you with, seemingly, a dull interest when you spoke to him. despite his staring, he was always polite and considerate of your needs, your time, your privacy. he invited you to the food he’d make, setting aside extra servings for you. if you had already eaten, they’d go in the fridge with a sticky note on it.

then he was recording your shows, buying your snacks, anything he got for himself he seemed to get one for you as well, in a different color. it all came with ease, drawing you into his routines like he had his own gravitational pull and you were stuck in his orbit.

as he’d gotten to know you, he learned how spiteful you were to any form of change. you hated it when your go-to brands changed their packaging, when your restaurants were out of your preferred foods, or when your route to work was partially under construction. but you adjusted, without contest, to suguru’s rituals like it was nothing at all.

“i don’t know. maybe i’m being mean, but he was so, like, hard to talk to,” you shrugged. “it is so tiring to be the one doing all the talking.”

suguru doesn’t say anything, just nods.

“and then he texted me good morning. in what world are we in the good-morning-text phase?” you pouted, looking at him. “so weird. i barely know him.”

“and he asked me out for coffee. and breakfast. why would i do that?” suguru’s gaze flutters over you as you take a sip from your mug, his eyes lingering on the way you bite your lip in thought afterward. he chooses to stay quiet, inviting you to ramble for as long as you pleased, as long as he would be the one to hear your voice. “i don’t think i have the brainpower for either of those things and carrying an entire conversation on my back. it’s not even 9 in the morning.”

he turned the stovetop off, taking the pan over to the sink to wash. the mixing bowl and other utensils were taken care of earlier and already set aside on the drying rack, always so tidy.

“so, not well,” suguru concluded, his lips turning into a smirk. he teased, “i won’t get to meet him?”

“no, never. but also i got a free dinner and a movie out of it. so, something went right...”

he chuckled. the one thing men are good for, you’d told him before. in that way, he really wasn’t any different from the rest of your roster. he supplied you with food and outings, and wouldn’t dream of you paying for them, paying no mind to the way you’d protest and nearly brawl at the register.

suguru never met any of your dates, you’d disappear into the night– or days on end, not allowing them the gratification of crossing the threshold of your apartment.

he began to separate the pancakes onto your respective plates and set a small bowl of sliced fruit between them for you to share. he cleared his throat. “on to the next, then?”

“maybe… i don’t know. the thought of going out and all the dates is just so exhausting.”

suguru hummed again. a man of few words. he liked the idea of you staying in– staying home, with him. he honestly wasn’t sure how many horrible date stories he could handle, you could do so much better. you deserved better, and he could give it to you.

he twirled his fork as you slipped behind him, gently caressing his back as you passed. a warm trail remained in the absence of your hand, burning into his skin before dissipating into nothing more than a longing to reel back into your embrace again. “are you still interested in that bodega that just opened up? i don’t want to exhaust you.”

“no, that's not…” you paused, slipping into your stool, mouth agape as you found your words. “it’s different, with you, you know. it’s easy.”

“i’m easy?”

it was too early in the morning for his games. you sputtered. “no– stop! that’s not what i’m saying.”

suguru chuckled. “we don’t have to call it a date, you know, if it makes it easier.”

“what?” you blinked, then narrowing your eyes at him. the sun from the loft brightened his toffee-colored eyes that bored into you expectantly, though not bothering to repeat himself. he’d rather watch you squirm while he kept that stupid grin on his face. “do you think you’re making me feel better?”

the gentle glow of his skin was unmatched to anything, or anyone, you’ve seen. his hair was unbrushed, the slight curls framing the sides of his face and tickling underneath his chin. he was always elegant. and pretty. unfortunately, he was just as aware as you were.

he shrugged half-heartedly, taking note of the way your fingers bounced your fork in the air as you stared. “don’t worry if you don’t want to go.”

“i do want to go.”

“so, it’s a date, then.”

suguru took a quick bite of his pancakes, poorly hiding his taunting grin with stuffed cheeks. maybe later he would feel guilty, making you all flustered so soon after waking up, drowsiness anchoring your posture against the stool. but, for now, with you in front of him, he found himself giddy as he toyed with your reactions.

“you’re impossible sometimes, do you know that?” you opted for taking a sip of your coffee, an anxious whisper in the shell of your ear warning you that you were going to embarrass yourself by chewing with your mouth full. as if he hadn't seen it before. it was hard to avoid his stare, to escape the painful position he put you in. was he serious?

you mumbled into your mug, “you hang out with gojo too much. is he gonna tag along, too?”

(gojo, the master of getting anything he wanted, any time, anywhere, no matter what.)

“it hurt's me, that you're thinking about him at a time like this.”

he smiled, more genuine this time. you watched him carefully, catching the nervous twitch of his fingertips he combated with a melodic thrum against the island. you considered how sincere his tone was, his gentle demeanor somehow becoming more soft as his playfulness subsided.

"let me take you out."

you blinked, chewing on your lip thoughtfully. "to... the bodega?"

suguru laughed. "of course. i was thinking of a few different places, though."

"as in more dates?" you poked in his direction with your fork. he nodded. "who says we make it past one?"

"why not? we've already made it to our 'good morning' and 'eating breakfast together' phase."

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk suguru #jjk suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru geto fluff #suguru fluff #geto fluff #jujutsu kaisen suguru #gojo mentioned #lol #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu geto #spleen writes

610 notes · View notes

buckyalpine · 1 year

Text

Bucky vs you vs bedsheet

Random fluffy thought. Bucky and his adorable smaller girlfriend. He loves the way he can swoop you off your feet and whisk you away anywhere. You come to him for everything. Opening jars. Prying open your nail polish. Moving heavy things around. He loves how easy it is for him to toss you over his shoulder, manhandling you like a doll.

He’s so handsome and strong and there’s nothing more he loves than being able to use his strength to love you.

Except when it’s bedtime.

Suddenly his little bunny has the strength of 100 men. He feels a shiver and realizes you’ve stolen the blanket and cocooned yourself into a burrito of warmth while he shivers in his boxers. The first time he tugged the blanket, he blinked at the fact that it didn’t just slip from under you. He had to use strength to pry it from your hands and it still didn’t budge.

You let out a disgruntled whine when he tugs again, burrowing yourself further, your eyebrows knitted together into a cute frown.

But this is anything but cute.

Bucky doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry, trying a different approach, trying to find the corner of the blanket so he can at least cover some part of him.

He has no idea what absolute indestructible roll you’ve managed to tuck yourself into but he can’t for the life of him find a way to get the blanket back. Eventually he just lifts you up, untangling the sheets, shaking you out of them, much to your discontent.

“James” you whine, huffing, your eyes still closed as he plops you back down, covering you both up under the blanket.

“You stole the blanket” Bucky playfully pokes your side before pulling you to his chest, kissing the top of your head. “Blanket hog”

“You’re the super solider, why didn’t you just pull the blanket” you nudge him back, his cheeks heating up, still perplexed over how someone so small could hold so much strength when it came to bedsheets.

“Well?”

“….”

“Go to sleep, bunny”

#bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

sanjisjuul · 5 months

Note

hewo can i request soft sleepy cuddling with sanji that turns into something a lil more?? 🤫

anything for you mush <3

cw: fem reader, dry humping, somno?

Word count: 411

As always mdni 18+

never had you felt so much comfort. you lay on your side, heat radiating off none other than your lover and sends your whole body into a cocoon of safety. your limbs intertwine with his, legs wrapped around each other as you rub your icy feet onto his much warmer ones. his arm lays around your chest, large hand resting on your breast as his soft breaths tickle the hairs that rest on the nape of your neck.

you hum in approval, grinning to yourself as these are your favorite moments. the ones where you're alone, wrapped up in each others arms, reveling in the quiet chatter that comes from the tv and the silent intimacy you share.

just as you're about to drift off, you hear a grunt from behind you and a hand tightens around your breast, causing you to stiffen. you hear the sheets ruffle behind you before you feel a hardness press into your lower back.

"sanji?"

no response comes from the other side of the bed, but the feeling continues. another hand falls to your hips as he grinds into you. you position yourself closer, lifting your ass to meet his thrusts, although you're comfortable, you find it almost impossible to ignore the growing ache between your legs as your boyfriend continuously presses his hard member into your backside.

you stifle a moan as he continues. you part your thighs, allowing his clothed cock to slide between the gusset of your panties, creating a pleasurable friction.

"y/n..."

a soft breath of your name comes from behind you, sanji's hot breath tickling your flushed ear, causing you to shudder in pleasure. you relax into him, allowing his wet dream to take control, as his hips pick up the pace.

his ragged breathing turns into desperate pants as the grip on your hip tightens further, his fingernails digging into the soft fat of your hips. you cover your mouth, small moans desperate to escape your parted lips as his tip comes in contact with your clit with each roll of his pelvis.

"please baby"

sanji's hips twitch, a warm liquid covers your panties along with your bedsheets as he rides out his orgasm. breaths of your name fill the hot air around your shared bed before his movements slow down to a halt.

he reassumes his original position, loosening the grip on you before nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.

"i love you angel."

love, bia ૮ • ﻌ - ა

#reqs ૮ • ﻌ - ა⁩#love bia ૮ • ﻌ - ა⁩#moots ૮ • ﻌ - ა⁩#sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #sanji smut #one piece smut #one piece fan fiction #sanji one piece #sanji oneshot

368 notes · View notes

pin-k-ink · 16 days

Text

apodyopsis // gojo satoru

tw ⇢ teacher-student relationship, wet dreams, implied masturbation, teasing, face fucking, blow job, degradation, name calling, unprotected sex, fingering, spanking, cunnilingus, begging, dirty talk, biting, squirting

wc ⇢ 6.7k

The pre-dawn stillness was a weighted hush blanketing the dorms in velveteen quiet, its silence broken only by the occasional murmur of a somnolent student or rustling of restless bedsheets. For you, however, slumber remained an elusive wraith dancing maddeningly at the periphery of your consciousness.

You tossed fretfully beneath the covers, limbs tangling amid the cocooning bedlinens as your mind whirred with feverish wakefulness. No matter how you willed your thoughts towards blissful oblivion, they continued spiraling back towards that same smoldering nexus.

Gojo Satoru.

Just the whisper of his name through your internal musings was enough to rekindle those now all-too-familiar tendrils of forbidden yearning. You groaned in frustration, scrubbing your palms over burning cheeks as you struggled to dispel the intrusive visions that lurked behind your tightly squeezed lids.

Your teacher's powerful frame, taut with sinewy grace as he demonstrated the day's forms with that typical indolent, feline confidence... The fall of his shimmering hair shifting to reveal scorching sidelong glimpses of his ruggedly chiseled features... His voice, pitched in those low, velvet-hushed registers that somehow seemed to caress your very nerve endings...

You bit back another strangled whimper, already perilously close to losing yourself in the intoxicating imagery flowing through your mind's eye. A part of you recognized the madness of such hopeless infatuation - Gojo was your teacher, after all, as well as one of the most lauded sorcerers of your generation. To covet him in this way was pure fantasy, a suicidal taboo.

And yet, another more insidious whisper urged you onwards, fanning the smoldering embers of desire until your body felt fever-flushed and thrumming with taut, maddened yearning.

With a shuddering exhalation, you surrendered to the delicious torture. If this was insanity, so be it - you would gladly go feverishly mad dreaming of him. Already, the visions grew more twisted, more lascivious, thrilling darkly through your veins like a sudden injection of searing sin.

Your breath hitched in tiny, frantic pants as the fantasy unspooled, cradling you in its velvet-gloved depravity. Gojo looming over you in the sweltering dark, gaze caged by the curtaining fall of his white lashes yet somehow still managing to scorch like twin supernovas. A sinuous grin of dark promise curving the hard angle of his mouth as he leaned closer, closer, until all you knew was the searing brand of his body aligned hotly against yours.

Those wicked lips would descend in a punishing sweep, laying claim with blistering intensity as his powerful frame bracketed your far slighter one. Each delirious moan was swallowed, consumed, stoking your ardor to conflagrant new infernos with every dizzying exchange. There was nothing tender, nothing gentle in this devouring rapture, only a raw and desperate hunger as he feasted on your body.

By the time his hips rocked against yours in a teasing slide of his heavy arousal, you were utterly undone, lost to the sweet torment of his touch. You could feel the delicious drag of his length, already so slick and slippery with your dripping need, poised at your aching core. The blunt tip nudged against your opening, once, twice, and then-

You writhed beneath his dominance, any hope of restraint or inhibition burned away in that molten inferno. A vocalized litany of need poured from your bitten lips, shameless pleas for Gojo's mercy, for the benediction of his touch through every sin-scorched landscape of your body-

With a violent start, you jolted awake, chest heaving and skin damp with sweat-slicked exertion. The feverish remnants of that delirious fantasy clung to your addled senses like the ephemeral wisps of a shattered dream.

You were scarcely aware of the muffled groan that parted your lips, nor of the shaky hand that slid downward to ghost over the throbbing ache between your legs. It was only when you felt the dampness of your panties, the swollen nub of your clit twitching under the feather-light pressure, that you realized just how deeply you'd fallen into that heated fantasy.

For a dazed handful of breaths, you could hardly process what had just occurred - the stunning loss of control, the buckling submission to something as dangerously seductive as the forbidden fantasies of your teacher, your mentor-

Were you moaning his name?

A smothered whine slipped free as the reckless recollections took root anew. How could you possibly face him later, meet the searing weight of his stare and not combust from the inside out? Mortification and shame warred with that same plaintive, desperate longing still thrumming hot through your veins.

With trembling fingers and only the faintest grasp on coherence, you groped blindly for your phone on the nightstand. The light from its cracked display seared your overly sensitized retinas, but you refused to let it deter you as you fired off a hasty text to your most trusted confidant detailing every filthy, depraved facet of the fantasy.

There, you thought with a shaky exhale as the final message sent. Maybe purging the lurid details would also help purge the fantasy from your overwrought psyche.

Famous last words.

The dull glow of your phone's cracked display seemed to blaze like a supernova in the pre-dawn stillness of your dorm room. You blinked blearily, still caught in the smoldering vestiges of the deliriously vivid dream that had finally relinquished its feverish hold on your slumber.

With trembling fingers, you tapped out a hasty text to your best friend, the only person you could conceivably confide in about the lascivious, wildly inappropriate fantasies featuring your teacher that had plagued your unconscious mind.

The words fairly poured out in a torrent of hushed desperation, each lurid recollection more scandalous than the last. The exact timbre of Gojo's velvet-husked growls as he pinned you beneath the scorching brand of his body...the exquisite agony rapture of his cock plunging into your tight, dripping core...the searing bliss of his cum painting your skin in his possessive claim...the way his fingers tangled in your hair, forcing your head back and jaw open wide for the hot spurt of his seed as he claimed your mouth...

You spared no detail, no filthy nuance or whisper of depraved intimacy. The fantasy - if one could even call it that - had consumed you so thoroughly, searing away every pretense of restraint or propriety until you were left bare and aching with the desperate need for release. The consecration of being possessed utterly by a man you should never have yearned for in the first place, let alone fantasized about with such explosive fervor.

With a trembling exhalation, you hit send and let the damning record spill out into the cold digital ether. There, you thought with a sickly lurch of equal parts shame and lascivious relief. It was out of your system, safely partitioned away where it could no longer wield such dark, heady influence over your tenuous grasp on coherence.

At least, that's what you desperately hoped as you slipped back into an uneasy slumber, haunted by echoing Whispers of unholy raptures still lingering from the night's delirium.

If only you had known the true, devastating ramifications your little midnight confession would bring...

Hours later, the jarring blare of the morning wake-up klaxons lanced through your groggy consciousness like a cacophonous call to penance. You stirred with a piteous groan, every muscle protesting the demands of wakefulness after so little rest.

The usual flurry of morning ablutions and dressing passed by in a bleary blur of motion and muffled sounds. But it wasn't until you padded into the dojo's hushed antechamber, fingers deftly securing your hair into a simple topknot, that full awareness came crashing back in a sickening wave of dread.

There, awaiting you just on the other side of the shoji door, was the very man who had starred in your sordid, lust-soaked fantasies. The man you had spent the better part of the previous night dreaming about plowing into your sopping, desperate core until you were screaming his name and begging for release. The man you were now utterly petrified to face, let alone hold focus beneath that banked, smoldering stare without combusting from the inside out.

You froze in the entryway, poised in the heart of a sleepwalker's stillness as guilt and illicit desire warred for dominance. How could you possibly look Gojo Satoru in the eye today, of all days? To weather the weight of his piercing crimson scrutiny and not simply confess every mortifying detail on bended knee?

The prospect was unthinkable, untenable. Which meant the only sane course was to...what? Flee? Abandon your duties and sacred calling over some inconvenient fevered dreams, no matter how deliriously inappropriate?

No, you couldn't do that. Not after the endless hours of dedication and struggle to claw your way to this hallowed state. You were stronger than your base desires, stronger than the tangled morass of desperate cravings that still thrummed thrillingly beneath your straining composure.

Straightening your spine with a fortifying inhale, you slid the chamber's door aside to reveal the already unfolding morning session. The training floor stretched before you in a polished immaculata of gleaming hardwood, sectioned rice papel screens filtering the daylight into hushed jade-tinged refractions. A handful of junior students moved through the opening forms under Gojo's watchful crimson scrutiny, his presence as undeniable and potent as a bonfire amidst the frigid tranquility.

You approached with measured, silent strides, endeavoring to overlay your turbulent inner discord with an aura of serene poise. Just take your position among the ranks and maintain focus - that was the key. Gojo was your teacher, your esteemed mentor, and nothing more. He deserved your utmost respect and dedication.

He would never know the depths of the unholy reverie you'd indulged, the shameless fantasies in which you'd utterly surrendered to his imagined dominion. This was just an ordinary training session. Routine and sacred, just like any other.

Little did you realize, you'd already forfeited what tattered shreds remained of your composure the moment you pressed 'send' on those scandalous confessions...

The thick tension blanketing the dojo was utterly suffocating as Gojo's molten stare bored into you from across the training floor. You fought to maintain your composure, limbs flowing through the familiar forms and stances with practiced precision. But despite your staunch outward control, your mind whirled in panicked disarray.

There was no way, simply no feasible possibility that Gojo could know the depraved, wildly inappropriate fantasies you'd indulged in last night. The sordid images and sensations were still fresh enough to ignite tendrils of blazing mortification licking through your veins. Just the fleeting recollections alone - his powerful frame looming over you, lips trailing liquid fire paths across your fevered skin as he urged forth your unraveling - were enough to bring a scorching blush to your cheeks.

You chanced a furtive glance in Gojo's direction, immediately regretting it when you found his gaze locked onto you with unsettling intensity. There was an edge to that stare, a dark promise lurking behind the usual disaffected ennui. Interpreting it sent a convulsive shiver streaking down your spine.

As if sensing your covert appraisal, the slightest of smirks curved Gojo's lips. "You look a little flushed over there," he drawled, the rasped insinuation making you flinch. "Was your mind wandering to...inappropriate places again?"

You sputtered, mouth working soundlessly for a moment as panic gripped you. There was simply no way he could be privy to your indecent daydreams, no plausible avenue for them to manifest beyond the iron walls of your discretion. Right?

Gojo tsked, straightening from his lazy lean against the wall to stalk towards you with leonine grace. Each rolling stride seemed to ripple with coiled power and masculine potency. You swallowed thickly, fingers twitching against the desperate urge to tug at your collar.

"Still playing coy, I see," he murmured, coming to loom at your back so near you could feel the scorching whisper of his breath against your nape. "But we both know you've been having some very...naughty thoughts about your sensei. Forbidden little fantasies unbecoming of a focused pupil."

Your face flamed, confirming his suspicions as you cursed your inability to force down the telltale swell of arousal kindling low in your belly. How could this be happening?

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," you stammered, cursing the thinness of your voice. "Those are just baseless accusations-"

"Is that so?" Gojo all but purred, the words shaped in a salacious lilt against the sensitive whorls of your ear. "So you didn't spend last night writhing in drenched sheets, desperate fingers plunging into your slick little cunt while you fantasized about your sensei pounding you into a screaming, sopping mess?"

You jolted, a strangled keen escaping your constricted throat at the shockingly explicit parallels he had described down to the lascivious detail. There was no possible way...unless...oh gods.

With a sudden spike of visceral recollection, you remembered the drunken texts you'd fired off last night. The breathless, incriminating confessions of every lurid, soul-scorching facet of that all-consuming fantasy laid bare for your confidante's eyes. Or rather, who you thought had been your confidante.

A wrecked sound of pure chagrin slipped free as you connected the final pieces - you must have tapped the wrong contact in your addled, post-reverie haze and sent those torrid details directly to Gojo himself. Which meant...he knew it all. Literally every lascivious intimacy you had entertained about your mentor now lingered in his possession like some unholy bounty.

"I see that horrified little sound means you're catching on," Gojo chuckled then, the deep reverberation tinged with sadistic delight. "Good girl. I was wondering when you'd put it all together like the clever little minx you are."

His mouth hovered a hairsbreadth from the feverish hollow beneath your ear as his next husked words sank molten hooks into your sanity.

"Now, since I know every last depraved detail already, why don't you go ahead and give your sensei a little replay, hmm? Don't leave anything out, no matter how filthy or profane it might be..."

The world seemed to tilt dizzily underfoot as Gojo's soft rumble of mocking commanded you to voice every blasphemous, lust-drenched nuance of your forbidden reverie aloud. You were paralyzed, throat insistent and arid as the mortification of such obscene admission warred with the increasingly feverish spiral of yearning coiling low in your abdomen.

This was madness, a line too profane to be uncrossed surely. Yet you wavered, lingering on a precipice overlooking nothing but the most scintillating transgressions...and eternal rapture beyond.

A heavy silence fell over the dojo, the weighted tension near suffocating in its intensity. You remained rooted in place, paralyzed beneath the scorching heat of Gojo's stare and the utterly salacious implications he had voiced.

Part of you trembled with humiliated revulsion at the thought of confessing the depraved nuances of your fever dream aloud. It felt like a transgression too profane, too far across the boundaries of sacred student-teacher trust to ever be uncrossed.

And yet...another part of you, one you found increasingly difficult to silence, thrilled with illicit fascination at the prospect. Gojo's words had ignited smoldering embers of forbidden yearning in your depths, whispering insidious permission to shed propriety's shackles, if only for a few breathless moments.

You wet your lips, casting about for some fragmentary thread of denial or composure to cling to. But there was only the weighted tension spooling out between you and your darkly magnetic mentor as he awaited your answer with supreme, unruffled confidence.

"Well?" Gojo's silken prompt sliced through the stifling quiet, edged with a mocking lilt that made tendrils of pure molten desire unfurl low in your belly. "Don't tell me the deliciously depraved fantasy that had you whimpering and thrashing has flown that pretty little head already?"

You flushed deeply, chagrin and arousal swirling in a dizzying eddies. He was enjoying this far too much - dangling your unforgivable indiscretions before you like the ripest forbidden fruit. Worse, you could feel the first tremulous fingers of capitulation beginning to loosen your restraint and unlatch the dam of pent-up cravings.

Gojo's smirk deepened, somehow both seductively inviting and indecently vulpine all at once. "I'm waiting, pet," he purred, the words shaped in wicked promise. "Give us a taste of whatever lewd scenarios had you so thoroughly undone. Don't be shy now..."

A whimper slipped free as your resolve crumbled in increments. You opened your mouth to unleash the first husked, sacreligious confession...only to be silenced by the sudden, shocking collision of Gojo's mouth against yours.

It was a kiss utterly devoid of preamble or finesse, all scintillating possession and scorching demands as his hand fisted in your hair to angle your stunned submission. You made a strangled sound against the velvet plunder, every nerve ending erupting into searing detonate as he brought the full brunt of his virility and dark intent to bear.

This was no mere impulsive breach of propriety, but rather the gleeful obliteration of all remaining boundaries in a blinding conflagration of pure, untempered desire. Gojo consumed your gasping whimpers and pleas, stoking your shuddering capitulation higher with each lascivious sweep of his tongue and punishing nip of teeth.

By the time he at last wrenched away, his chest was heaving in a matching cadence to your own ragged pants. For a suspended breath, you could only gape at him, insensate and utterly undone in the most profoundly carnal sense imaginable. His grin was nothing short of wickedly conquering as he dragged a calloused thumb over your abused, desire-slicked lips.

"Somehow, I get the feeling mere words won't suffice for properly indulging your lustful appetites any longer," Gojo rumbled in that gravel-husked timbre that seemed to vibrate straight through your enflamed senses. "Lucky for you, I'm in a generous mood to demonstrate, pet..."

And with no further preamble, he hauled you flush against the searing brand of his body once more as the world shattered into fevered shards of blissful, profane rapture.

There was no hesitation, no pretense of restraint or propriety left in the wake of Gojo's all-consuming dominance. Every caress was a claim, every heated, growled command a sacred edict, each and every one intended to reduce you to a shivering, whimpering mess utterly enslaved to his will.

He had you naked and keening beneath him in a matter of heartbeats, fingers twitching and twisting at his belt buckle until he batted your hands away. You pouted at the denial, only to have him chuckle darkly as he loomed over your writhing, needy form.

"Ah-ah," he rasped, seizing both wrists and pinning them above your head. "This isn't about your pleasure. This is a lesson, pet, and I intend to take my sweet, sweet time in teaching it."

He leaned down, the hard planes of his muscled torso dragging sinuously against yours as he claimed your mouth in another brutal, searing kiss. He swallowed each moan and gasp as he plundered your depths, his tongue a velvet-honed weapon as he stoked your pleasure higher and higher.

By the time he released your mouth, you were panting, utterly undone and writhing with unquenched need. Gojo smirked, his azure gaze searing with the weight of a thousand unholy vows as he began his slow, torturous descent down the length of your body.

"Now let's see if that naughty little fantasy was as filthy as you professed, hmm?" he rasped, fingers teasing down the slope of your breasts to tease their pebbled peaks. "Or should I say, 'fantasies?'"

He grinned wickedly, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your inner thigh and making you buck and cry out.

"Yes, I believe that's what you said, weren't they? You spent last night fantasizing about my cock stretching your pretty little cunt open, about my cum painting you from the inside out..." He groaned, the vibrations humming straight through to the tender, aching apex of your thighs. "What else? Tell me, pet. Let me hear how depraved that filthy little mind truly is."

A strangled, needy whimper tore from your lips as he resumed his leisurely, agonizing torture. Each lick and scrape of teeth against your fevered flesh stoked the smoldering coals of arousal even hotter, until you were practically trembling with need.

Gojo chuckled, the sound vibrating against your swollen clit and making you arch and keen. "Tell me," he commanded once more, his voice a low, dark threat that made your walls flutter around nothing. "Don't make me ask again, pet."

"I-" Your voice broke on a choked groan as his tongue flicked out once more, circling the throbbing apex of your clit with maddening, featherlight pressure. "I-I dreamed about you fucking me on the floor of the dojo, sensei. Just like this. Pinning me down and filling me with your cock, with your cum until I was dripping and stuffed full of it-"

A wrecked sound tumbled past your lips as Gojo rewarded your compliance with the first thrust of his fingers, long and thick and curling just so within you. He smirked against your dripping folds, the expression pure depraved indulgence.

"That wasn’t all, was it?" he rasped, the words shaped in a filthy litany against your sex. "You said something else. Something...filthier. Why don't you tell me all about it?"

His fingers curled mercilessly inside you, stroking and rubbing in tandem with the maddening swirl of his tongue around your clit. Your thighs trembled, a fine sheen of sweat misting your fevered flesh. The pleasure was a delirious inferno, threatening to engulf you and consume you in its white-hot embrace.

"Tell me," Gojo growled once more, the vibrations rippling through your overwrought senses. "What was the rest of it?"

The dam finally burst, spilling forth a tidal wave of sordid revelations.

"I dreamed about you using me, fucking my mouth, forcing your cock down my throat, sensei. You were using me like a toy, fucking every hole until I was full of your cum and screaming, begging for more. You made me worship you, forced me to swallow every last drop like the good little whore I am, and I loved every second of it-"

Your babbling confession broke on a choked scream as Gojo's mouth sealed around your clit and sucked, his fingers stroking mercilessly within you until the world was nothing but the searing heat and unbridled rapture. Your climax swept over you in an engulfing torrent, the sheer force of it leaving you blind and breathless.

Gojo continued his relentless assault, wringing every last gasp and tremor from your trembling body until you were a boneless heap, utterly wrecked and undone. His grin was positively savage, the crimson blaze of his gaze a dark promise as he crawled up the length of your spent body.

"Look at that, a perfect little dream come true," he murmured, his lips tracing a path up your heaving, fevered skin. "What else do you want, pet? What more could a shameless little slut like you possibly desire?"

His fingers twined with yours, pressing your palms back into the hardwood as his mouth hovered mere breaths from yours. Your pulse skittered wildly, still reeling and thrumming from the intensity of your climax. But despite your dazed exhaustion, the need remained, a deep, gnawing ache in the core of your very being.

"You know," Gojo husked, his smirk widening. "If you're feeling up to it, we could always play a little game of...what was it again? Oh yes, 'fucking my mouth and forcing your cock down my throat'?"

He chuckled, the low reverberations vibrating through you and making you moan.

"Is that what you want, pet?" he continued, his voice pitched to a husked rasp. "For me to use that pretty little mouth like the cock sleeve it was clearly meant to be?"

You nodded frantically, unable to resist the lure of his words, of his potent, dark promise. The need was an absolute frenzy, an unbearable ache you were desperate to quench.

"Say it," Gojo growled, his grip tightening as he pinned you beneath the blistering weight of his stare. "Say it aloud, pet. Beg me for it."

"Please," you whined, hips rocking and straining for more contact. "Please, sensei, fuck my mouth, force your cock down my throat, use me like the dirty little cock sleeve I am. Please, I want it, please-"

You were cut off by the searing press of Gojo's lips against yours, his mouth claiming yours with a raw, possessive edge that sent shivers cascading down your spine. He kissed you breathless, consuming every needy whimper and plea until he was all that remained.

"That's a good girl," he growled, the words shaped in a heated rasp against the hollow of your throat. "So good for me. Now open up."

He was already shifting into position above you, his powerful frame looming in a sinuous predatory crawl. You could see the heavy length of his cock jutting from the part of his unfastened trousers, a thick, angry curve of flesh and iron. A fresh surge of arousal coursed through you, making your thighs clench and walls clamp around nothing.

You barely had a moment to take in his virile, dominant stance before Gojo's hand was fisting in your hair and guiding the fat, swollen crown of his cock past the part of your lips.

"Open," he ordered, his menacing stare pinning you in place as he fed his thick shaft into your open, willing mouth.

The salty tang of him exploded across your tongue, a potent mix of salt and dark male musk that made you moan. He was impossibly large, the girth stretching your jaw wide and stuffing you nearly to the point of discomfort. But you wanted more, craved it desperately, and so you sucked and laved at him with unbridled enthusiasm.

Gojo's eyes fluttered closed, his head lolling back as a guttural groan escaped him. The sight was intoxicating, empowering, knowing you could draw such a visceral reaction from him.

"That's it," he rasped, his hips pumping a slow, steady rhythm into the wet clutch of your mouth. "You were born to suck my cock, weren't you, pet? Who knew the prim little pupil I had in my classroom would be such a filthy little cocksucker beneath the surface."

You moaned around his shaft, the vibration making him hiss. You could feel the feverish slick of arousal coating your thighs, the desire for him to plunge between them, to claim you completely in the most base way possible, mounting to a fever pitch.

Gojo's grip tightened in your hair, forcing you to look up at him. His expression was positively carnal, his gaze blazing with lust and dominance.

"You want more, don't you, slut? Want me to fuck your throat, to make you choke on my cock and use you like the perfect little whore you are." It was a statement, not a question, but you nodded anyway, desperate to have him claim you in every possible way.

He smiled then, a slow, wicked baring of teeth. "My pleasure."

Without further warning, he thrust deep, driving the blunt tip of his cock to the back of your throat. You sputtered and gagged, eyes watering as your throat convulsed around the intrusion. But he didn't relent, didn't show a modicum of mercy as he fucked you in long, deep strokes.

You were completely at his mercy, utterly enslaved to his dark desires. But as the world narrowed to nothing beyond the thick, punishing thrusts and the salty-slick taste of him on your tongue, you were certain there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

He used you thoroughly, taking his fill and then some. And when he finally pulled free, you were gasping and drenched in a sheen of sweat, the rawness of your throat and the swollen mess of your mouth the only proof of what had just transpired. He didn’t stop, only tugging at his cock as he stared down at you, his gaze searing with unholy promise.

"Now wrap those pretty lips around my balls, pet," he rasped. "I want you to suck on them until I say you're done."

You obeyed, eagerly parting your lips and drawing his sack into the damp heat of your mouth. You lavished attention on the velveteen skin, reveling in the groan that tore from his chest and the way his muscles tensed.

"Fuck, yes, just like that. You love sucking on my balls, don't you, slut?"

You moaned around his heavy sack, the vibrations making him hiss and thrust against your face. He was so hard, the veins of his cock throbbing as he pumped his length in rough, urgent motions.

"You want it, don't you? You want my cum. Tell me where, pet. Where do you want me to come all over you?"

"On my face, sensei," you whimpered, releasing his sack with a lewd pop. "Please, I want it, want your cum on my face."

"Good girl," he purred, his gaze raking over you in a molten caress. "Keep those pretty lips open and that tongue out."

You did as he commanded, your heart pounding in anticipation. He stroked himself with renewed vigor, his cock glistening with your saliva and the pre-cum beading at the tip.

"Here it comes, slut. Take it all."

His words were barely out before his cock twitched in his hand, a thick, pearlescent jet erupting from the head and painting your face. You moaned, the taste of him flooding your mouth as his spend coated your tongue and cheeks.

He worked his shaft through the throes of his orgasm, painting your skin with his release until you were completely marked by him. You were breathless, trembling, your own climax an insistent, gnawing ache between your thighs.

"What do you say, slut?" Gojo rasped, using the tip of his cock to swipe a dollop of cum from your cheek and pressing it past your lips. "Show some respect for your teacher."

"Thank you, sensei," you whispered, the words a reverent prayer on your swollen lips. "Thank you for using me."

His answering grin was positively wicked. "You're very welcome, pet. Now roll over and present that dripping little cunt for me."

The command sent a tremor rippling through you, a desperate thrill of anticipation and apprehension. Because you knew there was no turning back now, no chance for retreat or denial. You had already crossed too many lines, shattered too many sacred boundaries, and there was no going back.

Gojo was the living embodiment of your darkest, most depraved fantasies, and now, he intended to bring every last one to glorious, rapturous fruition.

Your breath caught as he nudged your knees apart and settled his weight atop you, his cock a scorching brand against the fevered curve of your ass. He was so much larger than you, his power and masculinity a palpable aura that enveloped and consumed you utterly.

His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his voice a seductive growl. "Do you know how often I've imagined this, pet? How often I've wanted to bend you over my desk and fuck you raw until you were begging and screaming for release? Do you know how difficult it's been, to maintain even a modicum of restraint when every part of me wants to claim you, to ruin you, to make you mine completely?"

He punctuated his words with a sharp nip of teeth against the vulnerable skin beneath your ear, sending a shudder rippling down your spine. "When you sent me that naughty little confession, the one where you dreamed about me using you, fucking your mouth and forcing my cock down your throat..."

He groaned, his hands flexing against your hips as his cock slid against your sopping folds. "It nearly broke my restraint, pet. To hear how badly you wanted me to fuck you, to use every hole like the perfect little cocksleeve you were destined to be..."

He pressed forward, the first teasing press of his thick cock against your aching entrance stealing the breath from your lungs.

"I've waited so long, been so patient," he murmured, the words shaped in a velvet-honed threat. "But now that I know the depths of your depravity, now that I know exactly how filthy that naughty little mind of yours can be, I intend to claim you in every possible way. Until the only name you remember is mine, the only touch you crave is mine, the only thing you feel is me, deep inside you, branding you as mine, over and over again. Understand?"

You nodded, your mouth too dry for any sound but a faint whimper to escape. But that was enough, for the next moment, he was pushing inside, his thick shaft parting your tender, dripping folds inch by torturous inch.

Your breath hitched, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth hardwood beneath you. It was so much, too much, the sensation of being so thoroughly and completely filled by him making your head spin and walls clench around his girth.

He was unrelenting, forcing you to stretch to accommodate his size, his strength, his virility. You could feel the sweat misting your fevered flesh, your nails digging furrows in the polished wood as he bottomed out with a guttural groan.

"So tight, so perfect, pet," he gritted out, his grip on your hips punishing. "I knew you would be, but this, this is a goddamn revelation."

He drew back, only to slam back inside with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. He set a brutal pace, fucking you with long, deep strokes that left no doubt who was in control, who owned every gasp and whimper and plea spilling from your lips.

"I love how you clench around me, pet. Like you can't get enough. Is that what you want? For me to fill you up, to breed you, to stuff your pretty little cunt with my cum?"

"Yes, sensei," you sobbed, the pleasure bordering on agony. "Please, use me, fuck me, fill me with your cum, make me yours, please-"

Your babbling entreaties were cut off by his palm smacking down on your ass, the impact and sting making you yelp.

"You're not the one calling the shots here, pet. Behave yourself or I'll punish you, and we won't get to the good part until I'm damn well ready for it."

His words were a harsh growl, but they sent a frisson of pure, illicit pleasure coursing through you. The thought of him disciplining you, of being punished for your misbehavior, was a dark, depraved fantasy too delicious to ignore.

"Maybe I like being punished," you dared, your voice a breathless challenge.

You weren't prepared for the growl that tore from his chest or the sudden, punishing thrust of his cock inside you. You cried out, the pleasure and pain blurring into an indecipherable haze of white-hot ecstasy.

"Is that what you want?" he snarled, his teeth sinking into the nape of your neck. "To be punished, to be used, to be broken and remade under my hand, my body, my will? I can do that, pet. I can take you to the precipice of madness and leave you begging for more."

He punctuated the threat with another brutal thrust, making you keen and buck beneath him. Your thighs were trembling, the tension in your core a tight coil threatening to snap at any moment. You could feel him thickening inside you, his own release drawing near.

"Answer me, slut. Is that what you want? To be punished, to be broken, to be used and fucked and ruined until you're screaming and writhing in my hold, unable to walk, to speak, to breathe, without feeling the memory of me seared into every inch of you?"

You were barely coherent, the pleasure and pressure an overwhelming deluge threatening to drown you. "Yes," you sobbed, the word a wrecked plea on your lips. "Yes, sensei, please, punish me, ruin me, use me, please, I need it, need you, please-"

The last syllable had barely slipped free before his hand came down in a punishing smack against your ass, the impact forcing the air from your lungs in a strangled cry. The pain and pleasure blurred together in a searing torrent, and before you could process it, he was spanking you again and again, the harsh impacts and stinging pain making you writhe and buck beneath him.

Your ass was on fire, but you were helpless, pinned and skewered and utterly enslaved to his will. His palm connected with your burning flesh once more, the sensation making you clench around his girth and keening whine.

"I can feel you clenching around me, pet. You love this, don't you? Love being used and fucked and punished, being treated like the slut you are."

You couldn't speak, couldn't think, the only sounds coming from your mouth incoherent whimpers and pleas. The pleasure was a blinding inferno, and you were helpless to do anything but ride it out, clinging to the edge of sanity by the thinnest of threads.

You could feel the tension coiling inside you, the pressure building and mounting to a crescendo. Gojo's own strokes were growing ragged and uneven, his breaths a harsh, erratic cadence against your skin.

"Come for me, pet. Come for me while I fuck you, while I breed you, while I mark you as mine."

He punctuated his snarled command with a merciless thrust, and the tension inside you finally snapped. You came apart with a hoarse cry, your entire body trembling and convulsing as you gushed an obscene amount of hot, fragrant liquid all over his cock and the floor below.

You were lost, adrift in a sea of bliss and pleasure and rapture, and still, he didn't stop. He fucked you through your climax, his cock plunging deeper and deeper until the only thing that mattered was the feeling of him inside you, filling you, claiming you, owning you.

He came with a guttural groan, his cock pulsing and twitching as he painted your inner walls with his seed. It was filthy, depraved, and still, you couldn't help but moan at the sensation of him flooding your cunt. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, dripping down your thighs, but still, you clung to him, unwilling to let him go.

You lay there in a spent heap, panting and trembling, your whole body flushed and sweat-damp. The only sounds were your labored breaths, and even those were beginning to even out as you recovered from the intensity of your shared release.

Gojo was still inside you, his cock softening and your walls still fluttering around him in the aftershocks. You could feel the sticky remnants of his cum leaking out, coating your thighs, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You felt utterly and completely fucked out, and there was no other place you'd rather be.

With a low groan, Gojo finally pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and used in the best possible way. His hand stroked along your spine, the gesture strangely tender and possessive at the same time.

"What did I say, pet? Perfect, just like I knew you'd be," he murmured, his lips tracing a path along your neck. "You took me so well, so perfectly. I could stay here forever, buried deep inside you."

You shivered, a fresh wave of desire coiling low in your abdomen despite the fact that he had just fucked you senseless. "Then do it," you whispered, the words shaped in a sultry invitation. "Take me again, sensei."

His answering chuckle was dark and wicked, sending a frisson of anticipation and desire rippling down your spine. "My sweet, greedy little slut," he murmured, his teeth scraping against the delicate curve of your ear. "We'll have plenty of time for that. For now, I have a lesson to finish teaching."

Your breath caught, a fresh shiver of arousal coiling low in your belly. You couldn't see his face, but you could hear the wicked, teasing smirk in his voice. "What was it you said earlier, pet? That I would be using every hole until you were stuffed full of my cum?"

The words sent a shudder rippling through you, and already, you could feel yourself growing wet and aching for him once more. "Yes," you breathed, barely daring to believe your fantasies would come true.

"Then it's a good thing I've got all day to show you exactly what that means, isn't it, pet?"

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru

288 notes · View notes

fudgelling-away · 3 months

Text

Valentine's gift for @amalia-uwu ♡ Enjoy!

A short ficlet (350 words) under the cut. SFW, but a bit suggestive because I just can't behave.

You wake up to the rustle of the bedsheets.

The cold, spring air somehow sneaked into your bedroom and filled your lungs.

Who has left the window open again?

Not you, that's for sure.

Frowning in discomfort, you curl up and realise that bony hands are wrapping a blanket around you. The phalanges click softly against each other as Sans pulls the blanket all the way up to your nose. Immediately you grab it with cold hands and hide your face in it.

"good morning, starlight…"

His deep voice, still groggy from sleep, encourages you to finally open your eyes. Sans lies back down with a sigh. You look at the beautiful crescents of his closed eyelids and watch his smile widen as you answer his greeting.

Even though you are freezing, you take your hand out of the blanket cocoon and reach to caress his round face.

How are his cheeks so soft?

"heh, i thought i was in trouble, but i see you coldn’t care less."

You sigh at the terrible pun and remind him that he's the one who is going to help you around if you catch a flu.

He chuckles in that special way which makes you roll your eyes and close them, because you know what's coming.

You feel him lean closer to you. Warm breath on your face. Sharp nasal ridge poking your nose.

"i could tell you a joke about the flu… but you are not going to get it.

Despite your sincere efforts, you snort with laughter, less because of what he said but more because of how he said it. So happy and giggly. Ridiculously adorable.

Groaning with fake annoyance, you lift your blanket and pull him flush against you, enveloping you both with the fluffy fabric. You keep your embrace tight as he playfully tries to wriggle out of it.

He stops the moment you kiss his forehead and murmur something in a quiet voice. He listens. With your hand on his back you feel his ribcage expanding as he inhales deeply. Magic warms up his bones.

#sans x reader #sans x self insert #sansnomaly #sans #I resisted the urge to keep writing #not today #not this time #hmm this reminds me that I really need to get my AO3 account ready for all the more than suggestive stuff #suggestive #cw suggestive #my art #my writing

367 notes · View notes

ervotica · 4 months

Note

Domestic fluff with Lucien

Just soft compliments, cuddling, hugs and fluff

My baby deserves the WORLD

pairing; lucien vanserra x fem!reader

warnings; none! just fluff and a little suggestive flirting

The apartment is quiet this time of morning. Blazing hues of orange and yellow and pink creep over the horizon, and iridescent rays push their way past the curtains and onto your sleeping face, illuminating the gentle scrunch of your features as you rouse from softly dozing.

A yawn cracks your face right in two, and your limbs stretch and twist in voyage of your mate, of the warmth of him that you so desperately want to curl into- you find only crumpled sheets and a bare space where he should be.

Then you're reluctantly rolling out of the cocoon of comfort between the thick bedsheets, and tiptoeing your way down the stairs in nothing but your thin sleep shorts and a bra.

A flash of bright auburn draws your eye to Lucien, his back to you as he pours two mugs full of scalding tea, the steam rising and curling around his long, ring adorned fingers that clasp the teapot. A smile tugs your lips up at the corners, even more so when he turns to set the pot down, his rasping cadence humming a lilting tune that pulls you toward him like a magnet.

Your hands move of their own accord, snaking their way up the base of his spine and flaring out until your fingers are splayed against miles of bare, golden skin. He shivers under your touch, leaning back just as you twine your arms firmly around his midriff and plant your face against the dip of his back.

"Hi, gorgeous," you murmur, voice thick and sticky with sleep. The heat that emanates from him wreaths itself around your very bones, crusting lashes falling closed when he amusedly tugs on the mating bond and exhales a deep breath through his nostrils.

"Morning, sleepy girl," he laughs, twisting in your grip until you're eye level with his chest, cheeks red-hot with affection and smushed against the smooth plane of muscle of his pec. "You're up early."

"You weren't in bed," you murmur; the vibrations of your words reverberate against Lucien's bare skin. His boxers are hung low in his hips, enticing your hands to sweep lower, tips of your cold fingers breaching the thin elastic.

"Easy," he groans, stopping you short on your journey beneath his underwear. "You little minx."

You tip your head back to meet his eyes - one russet and one of incandescent gold that whirs when he tips his gaze down to watch you.

"You love me," you tease. "You can't get enough of me, handsome."

"Mm." The grating scratch of his voice has you arching into his touch, tucking your shoulder beneath his armpit as he stretches to the counter and places a mug in your free hand. You hum appreciatively, nose scrunching tight when he leans down to smear a kiss over the crown of your head. "You're insatiable."

The words are a murmur against your hair but you don’t miss them- you never do. Your head tilts up to scrape against the sharp curve of his jaw, and then you’re tugging him to the living room, forcing him down into the soft leather and haphazardly attempting to lay across him; you’re a mess of sprawled limbs and frazzled hair, draped messily over his lap as you try to avoid sloshing him with your cup of tea and barely succeed.

He hooks a corded bicep over the nape of your neck and sinks into the sofa, softening at your reverent touch, the way you idly twist the ends of his hair and shuffle yourself closer to cover more of his body with your own. Your breath is hot and tickling at his bare chest.

“I love you, y’know,” you sigh, watching the way his face contorts with adoration at your words; your sticky lashes kiss at the corners, pushed together by your beaming grin. “Didn’t think I’d ever find my mate. But you. You’re perfect. I wouldn’t want anyone else to be tied to my soul.”

“For a descendant of Satan, you’re pretty cheesy, my darling,” he drawls, crows feet crinkling with laughter as you gasp, features morphing into a scowl that only serves to make him laugh with more fervour.

“I won’t stand for this, Lucien. Don’t make me take it back!”

“You wouldn’t,” he roars with amusement. “You love me.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, flushing white-hot all over.

“I love you too, my little devil.”

378 notes · View notes

thejakeslayla · 8 months

Text

pairing bf!jake x gn!reader ୨୧ genre fluff, idol au ୨୧ warnings none ୨୧ wc 0.3k ୨୧ req; dialogue 29 (“you’re unbelievable cute when you’re tired.”) dialogue 40 (“let’s spend the whole day in bed.” “we have a few more minutes.”) dialogue 49 (“do you have to leave right now?” “i can stay for a little while longer.”)

. . . . . -ˋˏ ✎ author's note! this one is quite short, sorry.

as the morning sun softly filtered through the curtains, you slowly stirred in bed. you felt a warm, comforting weight beside you, and as your consciousness returned, you realized that it was none other than jake. he had stayed over after your late-night date, and you couldn't help but smile at the thought of him being there when you woke up.

turning to your side, you watched him sleep, his features relaxed and peaceful. his messy hair tumbled onto his forehead, and the soft morning light danced on his face. gently, you reached out and brushed a strand of hair away, just as you had done the night before when eating ramen. jake stirred in his sleep, but he didn't wake up.

"you're unbelievably cute when you're tired," you whispered to yourself, unable to resist the urge to lean in and plant a soft kiss on his forehead.

jake's eyes fluttered open, and he let out a sleepy, contented sigh. "morning," he mumbled, his voice still heavy with sleep. he stretched his arms and then wrapped them around you, pulling you closer.

"morning," you replied, snuggling into his embrace. "let's spend the whole day in bed."

a playful smile spread across his face. "c’mon angel, you know we cant. we have a few more minutes, though."

you chuckled and traced your fingers along his arm. "do you have to leave right now?"

jake yawned and shook his head. "i can stay for a little while longer, pracitce can wait."

with that, you both settled back into the cozy cocoon of your bedsheets, content to savor a few more stolen moments of warmth and intimacy. the day was just beginning, and you knew that, whatever lay ahead, you had each other to share it with.

you both settled back into the warm embrace of the bed, cocooned in your shared affection. you listened to the gentle sounds of your own breathing that harmonised with your boyfriend’s, feeling the steady rhythm of jake's heartbeat beneath your ear. little did he know that jungwon already called him seven times and left multiple messages, informing him that he’s two hours late.

#thejakeslayla #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enha x reader #enhypen x you #jake x reader #enhypen #jake x you #jake x y/n #jake drabble #jake drabbles #jake imagines #jake fluff

411 notes · View notes

livvyliveslife · 5 months

Text

2024 Prep + Plan ✨

when going into the new year, there are so many different feelings about this time. Whether you've had one of the best years of your life, or whether you're still in your cocoon phase of becoming a butterfly. This reset routine will set you up for the year you deserve, you're allowed to feel however you need to feel about the upcoming new year but for me, this year screams hope, creativity and becoming the best possible version of me.

Deep clean your space both physical + mental - Change + create a rotation for bedsheets + towels. - Clean floor + surfaces in your room / apartment. - Journal: Reflect on what went well and what you accomplished, things to do, events, goals, ideas. - Spend the weekend before Monday 1st to get the last of the errands done for the year. - Clean out your closet Hygiene reset - Create the simplest skincare that works for you - for me all my skin really needs is a good cleanser and an even better moisturiser - Eyebrows - either get them done or do them yourself - Nails - either get them done or do them yourself - i have some perfect clean girl nail aesthetics - Hair - I love oiling + putting a hair mask every sunday that i can - Wash makeup brushes - i am a victim of procrastination + i cannot remember the last time i washed my brushes - HAVE AN EVERYTHING SHOWER - they're healing. Relax + Renew - Spend the 1st of Jan without your phone as much as possible - be reasonable x - go out n spend a significant time outside. - Digital Detox - reorganise phone, apps, camera roll, set screen limits + alarms to keep you on track. - Spend time outside journalling / reading - Do whatever makes you relaxed + happy x Set intentions for the new month - Pick 3-5 small goals for the month of January - Decide on the habits required to achieve a solid schedule in the daily habits, either into your morning or night routine - Anticipate anything that might make the habit difficult to achieve and come up with a plan to combat that - e.g. if your goal is to drink more water, then anticipate that you will need to bring your bottle everywhere. - Download / Make a habit tracker to track progress on new habits throughout the month. - Set a reward for yourself after the month - you deserve it - Schedule some events to look forward to

#becoming that girl #self care #self love #self development #that girl #clean girl #it girl #pink pilates princess #self improvement #girl blogger

284 notes · View notes

cherrysha · 3 months

Text

Ritual

Summary: Choso Likes sneaking into ur room when ur out on missions...

Warnings: Stalker Choso, Invasion of Privacy, Masturbation

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: This was a blurb from a bigger fic that just felt a little too bloated,,, and if you've seen this before its because i posted it on a backup acc! also if formatting is off, ill fix it in the morning <3

It’s a secret. Something he doesn’t plan on letting anyone else know, something he doesn’t ever want you to find out either. Something that, deep down, he knows he should be ashamed of, but he does it anyway.

The halls are quiet as he creeps across the wooden floors of the teacher’s dorms. Lamplight flickers, moths lazily flitting around them as his shadow blinks in and out of existence, the only proof of his late night rendezvous. Rounding the corner, his eyes sharply analyze the inky darkness, ears tuned in to the listless noise of the night, crickets chirping and the sound of trickling water from the koi pond outside. Easily he finds his way, knowing the path all too well. When he approaches the door, the knob lets out little more than a dry creak at the pressure of his hand, but he’s still careful of how the old wooden door moans in protest at his intrusion.

Your room is as quiet as it usually is when he makes these visits. You’re always gone, off on some mission he knows with certainty is below your pay grade. It leaves an ache in his heart he won’t admit to but still feels every time you leave. A deep-seated worry for your safety. He knows your capable, but then again, he had deemed his younger brothers capable of holding their own too.

He soundlessly closes the door before rubbing his sweaty palms on the pajama bottoms Yuuji picked out for him. Still trying to figure out if he likes this new style of dress, arguably finding his robes more comfortable to wear.

When he steps deeper into the room he’s greeted by the sweet smell that tends to linger around you, and it calms the mad thumping of his heart. Your room is neat, organized, like it usually is whenever you leave. Your bedsheets, however, are a different story, and his hand’s twitch that the sight of them. It’s been too long since he’s had this pleasure, its sick, he knows, but he finds solace in the feel of your sheets around him. Cocooned in the scent you leave behind and wrapped in what feels like the proverbial softness that you spare to him.

With a shaky sigh Choso climbs into your bed, cool sheets slowly warming up to him stirs something deep in his chest.

It’s not the first time he’s done this, not even the second, but the searing guilt that momentarily burns through his stomach still makes his wandering hands falter. Of course they continue down his body, lightly grazing the dark hairs that dust just below his navel before continuing lower, past the confinement of his bottoms and down, down, down, until he’s reached his destination. His cock is already firm, warm to the touch and more sensitive than it needs to be as memories of you lazily drift in and out of his consciousness. His skin feels hot, throat tight at the intimacy of it all.

Would you be as open and welcoming if you knew? If you saw how his hand lazily pumped his cock in the one place you thought you had privacy? He tries not to think about it. Instead, busying himself with tracing his fingers on the underside of his shaft, a whimper drawn tight in his throat and only breaching the air once he exchanges the lazy touches for a too firm grip at the base. His grip only lessens once his hand moves upward, coming almost completely off before slowly sliding back down. It’s something that should be savored, he doesn’t get this opportunity very often, and so he takes his time. He’s seen you once, all dolled up to take Nobara and Yuuji shopping in Tokyo. You were wearing tight fitting clothes, something he enjoyed about this century’s fashion. He could see so much skin, your legs on display in a pair of shorts, a blouse that did nothing to hide the valley of your cleavage to his prying eyes. Choso was extremely grateful when you left. Hiding himself away until the urge became too irresistible. Until his hands had greedily pumped his swollen cock at the thought of you. Just as they did now, except this time his movements were careful, precise.

With a lick of his lips, he shifts his gaze to your bedside table. It’s almost ritualistic at this point, an itch he just can’t scratch that rears its ugly head the moment his sweeping gaze finds the picture frame. Your smiling face stares back at him behind the glass. There are other people, but he can only see you. Can only smell you and hear the tinkling sound of your voice as you say his name. His pace becomes faster, breath heavier as he imagines how it’d sound to hear you moan it. How it would feel to have your lips on his neck and your hands on his body. An audible choking noise echoes in the emptiness of the room as Choso’s free hand cups the weight of his balls. As if the movement was unintentional on his part, shocking him with the warmth of his palm and he has to tighten his fist against the base of his cock to keep from cumming. The movement doesn’t work in his favor, the elastic of his pants rubbing against the sensitive underside and making his hips stutter on a broken whine as his orgasm washes through his body. Hot lashes of cum paint the skin of his hips and the front of his pants. Whimpering, he quickly picks up his pace in an effort to prolong the sensation, hand tightening around his balls and eyes dotting with tears as he breaches into the feeling of oversensitivity and forces his body to continue. It’s not fair, none of it is fair. He shouldn’t be so sensitive, biting back a whine he continues lazily fucking his fist, hips arching into the rough feel of it. Surely, you’d be so much softer, your mouth, your hands, your pussy. The thought alone is enough to make his hips jerk up in search of something more. By the time he’s finished torturing himself, cum has started to dry on his pants.

It’s not a big deal, Choso knows exactly where you keep tissues. Knows that once he wipes himself down, he needs to take the evidence with him, stuff the mess into his own pocket. He’ll hesitate as he goes to leave, a sickening urge to stay roiling in the pit of his stomach. Just like always.

The cycle will inevitably repeat itself. You’ll leave, he’ll invite himself in, curse as he gets droplets of cum on your sheets, and leave once the excitement has worn off. You’ll return and give him that same warm smile you always save for him.

Deep down he’s wondering how long until your face twists in disgust. How long until you find out who he truly is. His cock twitches at the thought, blood shooting to his pelvis, his fingers clamp hard around the base as he tries to catch his breath, suddenly winded at the thought. Lazily, he starts pumping again, the only noise being the wet glide of his fist and whispers of your name spoken into the cool night air.

#choso x reader #jjk choso #choso x y/n #choso kamo #choso smut

105 notes · View notes

starrierknight · 6 months

Text

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞

For you to like him, he doesn't need to be perfect—but he's pretty damn close to it.

MASTERLIST | AO3

wc— 3k

pairing— gn!reader x gojo satoru

cws/tags— acquaintances/flatmates to lovers, fluff, suggestive themes, satoru being obnoxious, ft. satoru’s happy trail, is it still counted as “body worship” if this is sfw

The silent hold of the wee hours left you with far too much to think about, if you do say so yourself. In this nocturnal solitude, you found yourself compelled to confront not only your thoughts, but the echoes of loneliness that reverberated through your cavernous chest, leaving your heart to tremble in the corner. The unrelenting grip of weariness rendered you captive in the cocoon of your bedsheets, their tendrils entwined with the threads of your restless musings.

Despite being a steadfast denizen of these late-night hours, tonight was different—an occasion when the relentless routine of surrendering to the purgatory of your bedroom had worn away at your resolve. The solace offered by the quietude was undeniable, and the shroud of darkness, a gentle balm for tired eyes—though not for weary heartstrings.

As you rose, the floor beneath your feet felt cool, sending a shiver through your body, and the door swung open soundlessly. The corridor awaited, a narrow passageway obscured by conspiring shadows so that you had to place a hand on the wall, trailing your fingertips over the plaster to find your way. The darkness here was thicker, pressing against the walls, and the only companion was the soft exhale of your breath.

A faint light spilt from the slightly ajar door, a beacon that prompted you to squint as you approached. It became evident that Satoru must have left the lights on, a small yet comforting revelation. Upon opening the door, the kitchen burst into luminosity, momentarily dazzling you as your eyes adjusted.

Satoru had his back turned to you, doing the washing up, shirtless. His back was broad, as if carved out of marble, and toned to perfection. Though his face was obscured, he carried himself with a distinct air of confidence that only those of a certain beautiful visage have—all movements were deliberate, executed as gracefully as could be. He didn’t respond to your presence, nor did he turn around, continuing to wash the dishes as the gentle slosh of water and clatter of plates filled the room.

Your gaze swept across the kitchen, a subtle amusement dancing in your eyes as you took in the scattered evidence of Satoru's attempts to corral the week's accumulation of clutter. The peculiar surge of productivity in the late hours hinted at a shared restlessness, a tacit acknowledgement that sleep eluded him just as it did you.

Returning your attention to Satoru, a quiet fascination seized you as you observed the rhythmic dance of his shoulders. They gently sloped, guiding your eyes down to the graceful curvature that traced the arc of his spine. The muscles, flexing and contracting in harmony with his movements, held a hypnotic allure that further captivated your already-addled mind.

The subtle rasp of your cleared throat echoed in the kitchen, a deliberate attempt to compose yourself and redirect your attention. The sound elicited a flinch from Satoru, his head tilting in acknowledgement without turning around. Your gaze wandered, initially fixating on his hands immersed in soapy washing-up water, then traversing the sinuous lines of his arms, the broad expanse of his shoulders, and back again to the rhythmic play of muscles along his spine. A fleeting imagination tempted you, picturing the sensation of placing your palm between his shoulder blades, curious about the palpable strength concealed beneath his skin.

Shaking your head to dispel the reverie, you took tentative steps forward, crossing the quiet expanse of the kitchen. Leaning against the cool granite countertop, your elbows found a resting place, and you propped your chin up on your fist. Your eyes remained fixed on Satoru, lingering on the meticulous yet effortless movements of his hands. A small, tentative smile graced your lips as you observed his actions, wondering if he could sense the unspoken sentiment in your expression.

Breaking the lingering silence, you mustered a simple "Hi," but it was met with a stony quietude.

You wondered if speaking up was the wrong choice, but delirium and the ache to be close to another person had brought you this far. Satoru glanced over his shoulder, his gaze meeting yours with a slow blink. A subtle raise of his brow conveyed a hint of amusement, seemingly deriving pleasure from your visible unease.

His response finally fractured the silence, a sly smirk accompanying his words, "Enjoying the view, are you?"

The low, husky timbre of his voice carried a weariness, likely a residue of a day spent teaching. It forced a certain softness to his tone, you thought.

You shrugged off his inquiry. "Sue me."

Satoru's response wasn't a hearty chuckle or a deep guffaw, but a light, breathy laugh that filled the quiet kitchen. There was a quiet amusement in the sound, and a trace of a smirk lingered on his face as he looked you over. Your heart responded with a subtle clench beneath your ribs, particularly at the sight of a faint shadow of a dimple on his cheek, carved there just to taunt. The moment, though fleeting, etched itself into the quietude of the night as he returned his attention to the dishes.

"What d'you rate it? A ten out of ten?"

Your response, offered with a playful quirk of your eyebrow, "You want me to rate you?"

Satoru's smirk morphed into a pleased expression as your gaze trailed over him. The contours of his skin, smooth and unblemished, seemed to glow like moonlight in the spill of light from the windows. Intrigued and sufficiently drawn into the distraction your company provided, he turned to face you, leaning against the kitchen cupboard. As he dried his hands on a towel, his arms folded across his broad, rippling chest, the subtle flexing of his pecs synchronised with each breath drew your attention.

"Come on, give me a score anyway. Out of ten."

After a moment's consideration, you offered a teasing response, "A nine."

Satoru's amused countenance swiftly transformed into a scowl the moment your rating escaped your lips. His eyes locked onto yours, and he spoke with feigned indignation, "Only nine?"

The palpable teasing in his voice was accompanied by a puffing out of his chest, a subtle rise onto his toes, and a slight shift in his weight—an adjustment that added a touch of theatricality to his stance. His gaze fixed on you with an impatient yet expectant intensity, resembling a playful, albeit puzzled, puppy.

Your chuckle, a note of satisfaction in provoking a reaction, accompanied a dismissive wave of your hand. "Ah, I don't know. You're missing a certain je ne sais quoi."

The scowl on Satoru's face evolved into a lopsided frown, confusion and amusement vying for dominance on his expressive features.

"Je ne sais quoi?" he echoed, his head tilting in curiosity, a teasing glint in his eye. The amused twinkle hinted at his attempt, albeit futile, to resist giving you attention.

"Well... You're just a little too perfect, aren't you? Like a sculpture."

Satoru's lips curled into a cocky grin at your explanation. "And what's wrong with being a sculpture? People look at sculptures all day, right?" His smirk widened as he leaned in ever so slightly, a challenge lingering in the air. "Maybe you should do that, then."

Suppressing a grin, you bit the inside of your cheek, allowing your eyes to trail along the line of his left shoulder, up the side of his neck, and to his jawline. "I might," you mused.

The rhythmic rise and fall of Satoru's chest betrayed the subtle restlessness within him, his breaths a steady cadence of inhales and exhales. The heat radiating from his body made the glistening sweat on his skin all the more apparent. His lips, licked in a moment of contemplation, added an unintentional allure as his eyes momentarily darted away from yours. Every inch of him exuded an undeniable appeal, and your gaze couldn't help but be drawn repeatedly to the contours of his chiselled body, a clear testament to where your attention lingered.

As he shifted his weight onto his right foot, a cock of his hip added an extra layer of invitation. "I might let you," he declared.

"Who says it's a question of 'letting' me?"

"I do," Satoru shot back, his eyes taking on a steely glint as he jutted his chin in a clear challenge. The air crackled with tension as he asserted, "I'm not a pushover, and I don't take orders from anyone. If you think you're gonna boss me around, you're sorely mistaken."

The shift in his expression, from cocky to cold and steely, echoed through the space. Your heart quickened its pace as his gaze, those vivid blue eyes glinting like precious stones, locked onto yours. The challenge hung in the air, a silent dare.

Satoru's face transformed, breaking into a wide grin, and a warm laugh escaped him, lighting up the atmosphere once again. It was evident he had been playfully messing with you, and the realisation prompted a quiet laugh of relief from you, your cheeks flushing warm.

"You got me.”

"You know me. I wouldn't say no if you were offering."

His words, delivered in a hushed whisper, lingered in the air, barely audible above the rhythmic cadence of your breathing. Your gaze involuntarily drifted to Satoru's lips as his grin faded into a more contemplative expression. There was a subtle hint of shyness in his features, his cheeks now adorned with a magnificent shade of red as he shifted his weight to the other leg.

“Offering?” you queried.

Satoru's laugh, more relaxed this time, accompanied his response.

"I'm not completely clueless, you know." His gaze finally returned to yours. "You were eyeing me up, weren't you? I didn't mind, though," he drawled, glancing down at his own body. "Well, I don't blame you." With a wink, he added a touch of assurance.

Suppressing a snort, you reciprocated with a wink of your own, much to his bemusement. Satoru's gaze descended from your face, lingering on your body for a moment that felt like an eternity before swiftly returning to meet your eyes.

"The attraction's definitely mutual, so maybe you should just c’mere and kiss me," he suggested, his words teasing, yet there was a genuine note beneath the surface.

"Who says I want to?" you countered.

"My ego, mostly—I'm the prettiest guy you've ever seen. Why wouldn't you wanna kiss me?"

The familiar arrogant half-grin adorned his face as he tilted his head to the side, shifting his weight onto one leg and cocking his hip once again. When your reaction amounted to little more than a gawp, he theatrically fluttered his long, white eyelashes at you.

"C'mon, you know you want to..."

A stunningly triumphant expression illuminated Satoru's face as you walked around to his side of the kitchen island, leaning against it as you beckoned him closer. For a moment, he observed you, searching for any sign that your actions were merely a tease. Upon finding none, a cheeky grin spread across his features, and he took a step toward you.

Closing the distance, he stood in front of you, leaning in until your bodies were almost touching. "What are you waiting for? Kiss me already.”

Rather than yielding to the demand, you countered with a smirk, meeting his gaze through your lashes. Simultaneously, your hands rested on his bare, narrow waist, and your thumbs brushed against his skin. From such proximity, you could discern the faint marbling of bluish veins beneath his pale skin.

Tracing the pad of your thumb along one of these delicate lines, just underneath his ribcage, you elicited a sharp intake of breath from Satoru. His chest rose and fell, hands clenched into fists at his sides. You could almost hear his heartbeat quicken—although, your own heart rebelled against your ribs to try and tunnel its way out of your chest and to him.

Undeterred, Satoru met your gaze without a hint of hesitation or shyness, a defiant smirk still playing on his lips. His eyes, those endless blues, were sharp as they studied your face—though his judgement was tentative. The heat from his skin warmed your palms, and you could see goose bumps forming on his flesh as it reacted to your touch.

"Is this okay?" you murmured in a sweeter voice.

Satoru, still captivated by the proximity, was brought back to the moment by the sound of your voice. Slowly, he opened his hands, relaxing a little. "It's more than okay..." he admitted, a smitten look adorning his features.

The exchange continued as he let out a quiet laugh, shifting his weight and allowing his free hand to caress your cheek, tracing along the line of your jaw. Leaning in, he pressed his forehead against yours, his gaze soft, and his touch gentle. Wisps of Satoru’s downy, white hair tickled your temples, tempting your fingers to comb through its softness.

"You're adorable," he complimented, a genuine smile gracing his lips, before leaning his head back slightly to get another look at your face.

Your fingertips, gently brushing against the white trail of hair just below his navel, drew a soft gasp from Satoru. His abs tensed at the touch, his cheeks blushing a deeper shade as a slight shiver coursed through him. In the ensuing silence, the only audible sound was the subtle intake of breath, a shared moment suspended in the quiet kitchen.

Satoru glanced down at your fingers, his body language a blend of tension and receptivity. Swallowing thickly, his eyes flicked downward momentarily before meeting your gaze again.

"What gives?"

"I take it back. You're a ten," you admitted, a playful twist to your tone.

Satoru laughed, his breath hitching before he composed himself. His response was light-hearted and teasing, "Why the change of heart?"

His cocky grin returned as his gaze dipped down to your hands once more.

The soft brush of your fingers against the hair of his happy trail prompted a soft groan to escape Satoru's lips. His eyes shut, exhaling slowly, and his jaw flexed in response to the sensation.

"I found the one you needed," you declared smugly.

Satoru couldn't contain another soft groan at your touch. He licked his lips, swallowing, his gaze shifting between you and your hands as you continued to explore. His weight shifting onto his other foot, he adopted his best flirtatious expression. Leaning down toward you, his smile widened as he lowered himself to your eye level.

"You're lucky the feeling's mutual, then. So, about that kiss?"

His right hand cupped your cheek, and you instinctively leaned into his touch. The warmth of his palm, surprisingly soft, conveyed a sense of comfort, even as the faint scent of dish soap lingered. Time seemed to slow as your faces inched closer. Something citrussy, you noted vaguely.

“What about it?” you whispered.

"I'm sick of waiting for it..."

The kiss ignited a cascade of sensations, a marvel that transcended the mere meeting of lips. His hands, so gentle, cupped your cheeks, their journey extending down to cradle the vulnerable expanse of your neck. Fingertips, like feathers, grazed the back of your hairline, leaving a trail of tingling warmth in their wake.

Soft, syrupy lips, vessels of unspoken words, melded seamlessly with your own. As the kiss deepened, your hand remained a steadfast companion on his waist. The caress, a silent declaration, pulled him incrementally closer, drawing him into your orbit. His hands, still cradling your face, mirrored the tenderness. Satoru, in response, leaned in, his lips maintaining their pillowy softness against yours, his entire body communicating a tranquil surrender to the moment—to you, if only briefly.

Your fingers, entwined in his whispery, silver hair, brushed away the few locks that always seemed to fall just right. As you both pulled away, the affection shared in that fleeting gaze lingered, plain for all to see on Satoru's face.

"And what would you rate that?" Satoru said breathlessly.

You hummed and wrinkled your nose, making a show of thinking it over. "A nine."

“Not a ten?" his voice was low and intimate. He brought his hands down to your waist to hold you, and you could feel the heat radiating from his bare skin.

"Well, I'm kind of banking on you to keep kissing me until I give you a ten," you murmured.

He huffed out a laugh as he shook his head, followed by a soft, ironic, “Of course.”

A mischievous grin adorned Satoru's face as he leaned in for another kiss, this time more intense, more hungry. Tilting his head, he skillfully avoided a direct alignment of his lips with yours, adding a delicious edge to the kiss. His tongue ventured, a slow exploration that gradually deepened, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

Your fingers dug slightly into his waist, a feeble attempt to keep your mind tethered before you lost it to him completely. Satoru's tongue pressed deep into your mouth, his grip on the back of your neck tightening slightly, intensifying the kiss. The softness of your lips pressed against his body allowed you to feel every sculpted muscle. The passion of the kiss remained gentle, not rough, yet the sensation left you craving more.

As you both eventually pulled away, a quiet panting filled the space. Your nose brushed against his jawline, a content smile playing on your lips.

"Still a nine?" he inquired, a teasing note in his voice, his voice quiet but carrying an undeniable edge of confidence.

Satoru shifted his hands to your shoulder, fingers lingering for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest. His warm breath caressed your face as he looked down at you. Pressing his forehead lightly against yours, he closed his eyes, savouring the touch.

“Still a nine.”

"Just you wait," he added, a promise whispered. "I won't stop until it's a perfect ten."

a/n: alternative title, “Gojo Satoru is so pretty he makes me stupid” haha. I wrote this to get out of my writing slump lolol. and ooooo first sfw fic on this blog!! how exciting :3 -> based on this ask!

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

277 notes · View notes