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hazelfoureyes · 2 months

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The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (a Valentino production)

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

Valentino has acquired a living, breathing human in hell. But at the begging of Angel, Alastor makes a deal in exchange for her soul.

tags: Alastor x reader, smut, dubcon, mentions of assault (Val intended to "fuck you to death”), Val's existence, overstimulation, forced (?) orgasms, bondage (shadow tentacles), choking (sexy kind, not murdery kind), cervix wrecked, your aunt is a bitch

(author's note: I've been in Japan for like 7 years and my English has suffered, but your fucking smutty writing on this site has inspired me to write for the first time in years.)

Minors DNI

Angel burst into the hotel lobby, winded. “Please, you gotta do somethin’!”

To the surprise of everyone, he ran straight to Alastor, tears forming in his eyes.

“Val’s gonna hurt her real bad. I don’t know who else to ask, please. I can't—-“ he cradled his head in his hands, “I can't watch him break any more people.”

Alastor didn’t seem to react at first, but Charlie appeared at Angel’s side and pulled him into a hug, “Angel, take a deep breath. He’s gonna hurt who? What’s wrong?”

“He got a new soul. Some fucking cultist offered her up as sacrifice. But she's not dead yet Charlie—- he dragged her down here alive.” His voice cracked, “He wantsta— he said he’s gonna fuck her to death on camera and wait for her to respawn in hell. He’s convinced he’ll make a fortune off the tapes. Please, for fuck’s sake someone has to do something.”

A human in hell? Well, that was something interesting after all. With a raised brow Alastor spoke, “And how exactly can I help this poor, unfortunate soul?”

“Make a deal or– rip his arms off, I don’t fuckin’ know! There has to be something you can offer Val worth her soul. I’d give you my soul if I could!”

Well that’d be worthless.

But a human? A living, breathing human? Intriguing.

“Alastor you have do something. This isn't right! Hell isn’t for the living.” Charlie’s hair flew upward as her eyes flashed red for a second, “I’ll repay it somehow.”

Well there's no harm in taking a look.

The demons and sinners who saw Alastor walking into the Vee’s tower oscillated between fleeing for their lives and live tweeting the event. Either a truce or a war would be breaking out and they knew they’d be fucked regardless.

“Alastooor”, Val exhaled, letting the name drag out lazily, “Come to ruin something, I’m sure.” Val hadn’t seen Alastor since his fight with Vox 7 years ago, and he hadn’t expected to see him in his studio— ever.

“Ha! No, not today. Word got around that there's a special little guest hidden in your studio.” Alastor’s eyes darted about the room, uninterested in the various parts and bits of the actors changing.

Val glanced at Angel, who’d suspiciously returned some 30 minutes before Alastor appeared.

“I didn’t say nothing, Val.” Angel’s hands went up in defense. “He came to me askin’ about her.”

“And what exactly do you want with my “little guest”?” Val dropped any pretense of politeness.

Alastor leaned forward on his microphone, and with a pop of static he practically cooed, “To see the poor creature, of course.”

Val ashed his cigarette into a cameraman’s hair and walked off, “Fuck it, sure. She’s back here.”

The back room was dark, perhaps some would call it mood lighting but what mood exactly it conveyed fell somewhere between dungeon and power outage.

You sat on your knees in the center of a round bed. Arms held above your head by a large clip attached to wrist restraints. Your body swayed slightly, a long rope anchored to the ceiling and tied to the clip above you. Your body was slightly suspended, knees barely making contact with the bed beneath you. The white nightgown you wore was bloodied and ripped at the collar, causing it to slip down your left shoulder. Jaw clenched, your eyes were covered with a red satin tie.

Alastor took the scene in. Your lip was cut and swollen, bruises peppered your cheek and exposed shoulder. Yet, you were breathing heavily, like a bull about to rush them. You were clearly defenseless, but somehow still defiant. His smile grew to his ears. It had been decades since he had a human in such a prone state.

“Have you …. broken her in yet?” He asked delicately, eyes never leaving your face.

“Nah, just roughed her up a little. I want to capture her raw reaction on camera when she takes her first demon cock.” Valentino clenched his fist to emphasize the word “first”.

Your head fell forward as you pulled down on your wrist restraints, a growl rising in your throat.

Alastor felt his breath get caught in his own, your nightgown riding slowly up your legs as you struggled.

“Hey!” Val snapped his fingers in your direction. “Don’t embarrass me. Our guest came to see you. He’s considering making an offer for you, I’m sure, so say hello like a good girl.” Val rolled his eyes, “Sluts always fucking embarrassing me.”

You tried to gather enough saliva to speak, finding the taste of blood still on your tongue. “Fuck you and your friend.” barely made it from your chapped lips. When was your last drink of water? Last meal? How long had you been unconscious before this all began?

“Not friends.” Alastor was quick to retort, “The name’s Alastor, my dear. It’s a pleasure.”

You sneered, a pleasure? What a sick joke.

“Alastor.” you repeated it, disdain dripping from your lips.

The absolute contempt with which you said his name did something to him. His eyes darted from your mouth back to your inner thighs, exposed from the rising dress. Your mouth was so rude but your body looked so sweet. A little lamb– no, a doe.

“Say it again.” It wasn’t a request, Alastor himself was surprised to hear himself say it with such demand.

You thrashed. “Oh is that what gets you off? You wanna hear your name in my mouth?” You said mockingly. “You’re just as FUCKED as him.” The nightgown rode up even further. Alastor’s tongue stuck to his teeth as his mouth went dry. Had you been delivered to Val without panties? Offered to him in just this sheer cotton night dress? What was happening to him…

Static bit your skin as a low hum filled the room.

“Say it.” Alastor’s voice dropped an octave, eyes suddenly taking on a slight glow. You couldn’t see the danger before you, but you felt it. Something primal in you knew you were in the presence of a predator.

No, you couldn’t see him, but his presence was pressing in all around you.

“Alastor.” You seethed, “ALASTOR.” Pulling down on the restraints yet again you tried to find the strength to stand, “ALASTOR! ALASTOR!!” Your legs buckled under you having gone numb hours ago, his name devolving into a gutteral scream. All of your anger and despair ripped from your chest as you shouted his name. The nightgown had now ridden to your hips but you couldn’t find an ounce of shame in you to care.

You were so full of rage, so defiant still. You were so…. alive.

He felt the blood rushing to his crotch in an all together forgotten sensation, and knew immediately his decision. “Let’s make a deal.” His eyes didn’t leave you, but Valentino knew he was talking to him.

Val let out a laugh, “I have some time to waste while they finish the set. Why not.”

Seated in his personal quarters, Val motioned for Alastor to sit opposite him. You had been left in the dark of that room, only knowing you were alone when the static died down and the hair on the nape of your neck relaxed.

“Listen, Radio Demon. There’s nothing you have that could tempt me to hand over the little bitch.” His long arms rested over the back of his sofa, a heart shaped puff of smoke leaving his lips. Alastor swatted at the air as it approached.

“What do you even need her for? You don’t deal in souls, but flesh. Surely you can find another toy to break on camera.” Alastor waved his microphone away.

“Hmm”, Val brought a finger to his chin in thought, seriously considering what Alastor could possibly offer him. “Oooh, I know.” His head lolled to the side, “People have seen me fuck a thousand times. But no one’s ever even seen you with a partner. ‘Radio Demon fucks human sacrifice’” He motioned from left to right as if reading the words off an imaginary marquee, “Now THAT would make money. Real money. Fuck GOD levels of money.” A red liquid leaked from his lips as they were stretched across clenched teeth, his hips involuntarily humped at the air, “oh fuck. Yes. You do the porn, and I’ll give her to you. Soul and body.”

Alastor was looking at Val but his mind was still in front of you, his name tumbling from your lips. The uninterrupted skin where your thighs met your hips. The desperation in your scream. How absolutely soft and fragile you were. He adjusted his hips, trying to calm the twitching of his cock at the thought of you helplessly before him.

“What exactly are you proposing?” His fingers came to rest entwined on his knee, one leg over the other.

“First, I have full rights to the video to do as I please.” Val counted out on his fingers, “The porno has to show penetration. No dry humping or some bullshit like that. I need you fucking that whore if I’m gonna sell this shit. Aaand”, A sickening grin grew on Valentino’s face, “She has to cum. And I’ll know if she’s faking it. If you don’t manage all three, the deal is off. I keep the human and all rights to the video for per— no, *in* pep-“ he sputtered, “perpur- forever! Fuck.”

Alastor’s default grin was now so wide his gums could be seen peeking past his lips, his eyes flashing to dials, “It’s a deal.” He extended his hand to Valentino as he stood. A green light was shining from the open palm but Val shook it regardless, confident the deal's conditions wouldn’t be met. He’d seen a lot of fucked up shit on his set, but the Radio Demon, famously uninterested in sex, wasn’t going to make a battered human cum. How stupid could Alastor be, he thought. And he’ll have the video of Alastor failing to please someone to broadcast all over the pride ring and beyond. “May I have a moment alone with her before the filming?”

Val rolled his eyes, “yeah but don’t fuck her off camera.”

The sudden feeling of a hand on your hip startled you so intensely you let out a yelp.

“Hello, my little doe.” Hot breath tickled the shell of your ear, then your neck, then your collar bone… “Unfortunately your shoot will still continue today. But if you do as I say, I promise you’ll leave the studio alive.”

You felt the nightgown being tugged back down your hips, hiding your exposed sex.

“I will be taking that pompous moth’s place. I will be as gentle as I can, but he will want to see you suffer. You must still fight me, must act pained. Can you play along?”

Your eyes darted behind your eyelids. He sounded— gentle? His voice was soft against your skin. Maybe he was truly the lesser evil of the two. You nodded. You’d heard all the gory details of what the other demon had planned for you, this sounded infinitely more tolerable. You dare thought you’d suffered worse before.

“And, one more little caveat, darling. I will bring you to orgasm, so please don’t fight so hard as to delay your release.”

You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until his words punched you in the gut.

“I-“

“Yes?” Alastor’s mouth was nearly on your neck, his smile ghosting your skin.

“I’ve never—- I mean I can only do that by myself. No one else has managed to-“

A large hand patted your head, cutting your train of thought off. How big was he? His hands could palm a basketball. Could he really be gentle? Was he capable of it? Were those hands going to be on you soon? Your mind was running away with the thought of this strange demon fucking you on camera.

“Oh don’t worry about that. Just focus on your performance. We have to put on a good show!”

Angel was practically chewing his fingers off as he watched the crew finish the set.

“Alastor what the fuck, I thought you were gonna help her!”

“I am, my effeminate friend. Have a little faith in me.” He adjusted his bowtie and took his place on set.

“I have none. I have negative faith, Alastor. Fuuuuck”, Angel slumped against the wall behind him and sank to the floor.

The stage was set. A red sigil was painted on the floor of a cabin, candles lit around the room as the only source of light (except the stage lighting hanging above the scene). Of the three walls they’d made, the far left wall had an altar haphazardly filled with flowers, a golden bowl, and small plaid satchel.

Someone — something? — led you by the restraints to the stage. Blindfolded, you were pushed down to the floor, forced to sit on your still numb legs. The leather cuffs on your wrist were unbuckled, allowing you to flex your hands. When you reached for the blindfold a hand smacked at yours.

“No no, keep it. I want you to look exactly how I found you.” The familiar voice of Val instructed.

Someone handed a script to Alastor, but he pulled his hands away from the demon as if the paper itself was an angelic weapon, “Oh, no thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

“I’ll tell you what to say” Val said, clearly to you.

“It’s—- it’s fine. I’ll just do it like before. I don’t need any help.”

You really didn’t. There was no improv needed. You could repeat exactly what you said yesterday evening when you awoke on the floor of an unfamiliar place. You’d been visiting your aunt one moment, and alone in a weird room what felt like moments later. Groggy, but alert enough to know something bad had happened.

You heard “action”, and then silence. You could feel eyes on you.

“Aunt Sara….” You whispered. “I don’t understand what’s happened… Are you still there?” You rubbed your wrists trying to regain some blood flow, readjusting your legs to do the same.

You heard a strange sound, both yesterday and now.

“Aunt Sara isn’t here. She’s made an exchange, she gets extraordinary power….and I get your soul.” The way Alastor said it, the way his breath seemed to almost hitch, surprised you. Something cold touched your ankle, causing you to flinch, “But I want more than that. I need more than that.”

You felt that something-unknown snake up your leg toward your center. Crawling backwards on your butt to create some distance you collided with the altar. The golden bowl rolled to the edge and spilled its contents across the table. You could smell the iron tang of blood before you felt the pitter patter on your shoulder. Alastor inhaled quickly before letting the air back out with as much control as he could manage.

“Who are you?!” You’d asked this already. But this time the disembodied voice of your captor replied, “Alastor, the Radio Demon! Pleasure to meet you.”

The right side of your face smacked against the floor of the makeshift cabin as you were dragged suddenly across the room and into the red sigil. The cold appendage on your leg now tightly coiled up your calf.

“No— you have to fuck her with your fucking dick! You can’t use shadow tentacles!” Val shouted, nearly falling out of his chair.

“Now now, the deal didn’t specify with what, only that penetration must occur. Plus, I won’t show up on your video recording device anyway.” Alastor took several steps back, ensuring he was not in frame, “Rest assured, your audience will know it is me.” His words cracked and stuttered like someone had changed the station midway through his sentence.

A small, “fine, whatever.” was grumbled and the scene continued, the tentacle snaking its way up your thigh as Alastor chuckled softly at how you flinched against him.

You rolled onto your stomach and tried to kick off the shadow but it held firm. Letting out a groan you used your hands to drag yourself back towards the altar. Before you could reach the table your other leg felt the pressure of a new tentacle twist around your knee as you were dragged back toward the Radio demon once again.

Your nightgown was forced up, your ass now exposed and in the air as your legs were pulled open. That was as far as you had really gone yesterday, before a flash of light delivered you into the Pentagram City studio.

Surprisingly, you felt embarrassed, self conscious knowing there were other people in this room. But as if he could read your mind, or perhaps just noticed the tremble in your legs, Alastor softly said, “It’s only us now, darling. There’s nowhere to hide.”

Third and fourth appendages appeared around your waist and neck. Effortlessly your hips were lifted off the floor, your cunt on full display to the man who now owned you. The tentacle on your neck slipped between your shoulder blades and pressed your chest firmly to the floor. You squirmed and struggled against the restraints but only accomplished to draw another chuckle from Alastor.

“Relax. We have forever, after all. We can take our time.”

You felt pressure at your entrance, and your pleas to stop were cut short as a shadow tentacle pushed its way inside you. It was cold, but quickly began to warm as your heat enveloped it. Your body was resisting it, too tight to take it all in one thrust, but you could feel it slick against your lips easily enough to make its way inside.

“Ooh, my dear, your wet little cunt betrays you.” He cocked his head to the side, antlers doubling then tripling in size, “Have my words affected you so much?”

You could feel the tentacle’s shape shift slightly inside you as if it were adjusting to you and not the other way around. True to his word, there was no pain except from the burning stretch of your hole against the girth of his shadow self.

Hissing, you thrashed against the sigil, “get OFF OF ME!” Pushing against the floor you barely got your shoulders an inch off the ground when you felt a nth appendage graze sloppily over your clit. You stilled, suddenly remembering your end of the deal. Your promise to the demon now circling your clit with his shadow. If you couldn’t do this, then the entire filming was for nothing.

“Don’t forget to breath. I can’t have you dying on me just yet, sweetheart.” The static was slowly building in the air around you again, a silent threat.

Your hand shot to your mouth, trying to smother the depraved sounds being fucked out of you. The tentacle in your pussy was now ramming against your cervix, curving and bending as it repeatedly forced its way in and out of you. The room was quiet, except for the slick, sticky sound of the tentacle coated in your fluids pulling nearly completely out of you before smashing back in. The pace was slow and cruel, but the pressure on your clit was fast and hard. Your mind was starting come undone, your thoughts splintering. You couldn’t focus on anything anymore, all over your body was pressure, pleasure, massaging, pushing, and pulling.

“Ah ah, that won’t do.” Alastor practically sang the words as an appendage pulled your hands from your mouth and brought them to the small of your back.

You whimpered, trying to find a balance between the overstimulation and the need to not let them see how much you were getting off on this. You needed to hate it more. Hate him more. Your cheek stuck to the wood of the floor as drool leaked from your open mouth, unable to keep it closed any longer.

“I’ll—” Your strength was nearly gone, but you managed to knock your upper body around the sigil, smearing the still wet blood across your chest. You only managed to whisper into the flooring a quiet, “I’ll fucking kill you for this.”

The tentacles stopped, for a second you felt tears sting your eyes at the loss of friction. A loud screech made you wince, but you had no time to question it as your body was violently flipped. Your hips were slammed down onto the ground, held tightly by a tentacle around your waist. The back of your head ached as it was jostled in the turn. The shadows on your thighs now seemed determined to bruise you as they constricted around your skin.

“What was that, dear?” The tentacle in your pussy seemed to swell inside you, the force of the thrusts picking up in intensity. He was ramming into your body with such fervor you felt the skin of your ass chaffing on the wooden grain beneath you. “Speak up, now”, you heard him exhale forcefully, his controlled appearance hanging on by a thread.

“I-”, your mouth opened to continue your resistance when a new sensation stopped you. A second tentacle was trying to squirm its way into your heat, just above the now uncomfortably thick one twisting around inside of you. The pressure on your stomach from the force made you feel sick, but the devoted ministrations on your clit had your legs twitching against the restraints. “Ah–! no, wai-” It managed to slip itself into you, and with no hesitation it was pressing against your g-spot in a matching rhythm to the tentacle swiping over your swollen clit.

You’d never before made a sound like the one that was pulled from your throat. It was ugly and animalistic and took you by surprise. Still struggling to catch your breath, you threw your head back. You were losing control. As your body was rocked against the ground, the blindfold got caught in the friction and slipped down your nose.

Bringing your head back up, you finally locked eyes with your new master.

“Alas-” Another chilly tentacle came to your neck and began to lightly squeeze. You could only breathe out the rest of his name as your eyes met with his. He stood some feet from you, just outside of the sigil, barely on the set at all. He seemed nonplussed, antlers looming over you and suit perfectly neat, except one detail. His pupils dilated when you finally set your eyes onto his. The grip on your neck only stopped tightening when you stomped your foot down in fear of passing out. You didn’t break eye contact, a fire burning in you that told him no matter what he did you wouldn’t be broken. That look in your eyes, the contempt mixed with overwhelming pleasure made Alastor shift one foot in front of the other in an effort to better conceal the erection straining against the zipper of his pants.

“Mmmhhh–” You finally broke contact as your eyes rolled back into your head, the pressure beneath your belly was building, a tightness threatening to snap. But this wasn’t like before, this wasn’t like when you were alone in your bed with your own hand. It felt like too much, your heart was pounding so hard you thought you’d really die. There was no way your body could continue this much longer, your heart would surely give out.

“Please–” You needed him to stop, the ghostly hand on your throat, the two tentacles pressing against your cervix and g-spot, the unrelenting pressure on your clit. It was too much, it was too sensitive. “I’m sorry, please. Pleeea-” you gritted your teeth, thighs twitching as the muscles in your core tightened.

“Going to cum, my little doe?” Through gritted teeth of his own Alastor asked you as if you had any choice in the matter. He forced your knees up to your shoulders, allowing the tentacles to reach new depths.

“AaaaHH” You convulsed, “I’m yours, Alastor!” You moaned, willing to say anything to stop the overwhelming feeling as the coil snapped, you were orgasming on this demon’s shadow and for the love of all that was unholy he wouldn’t fucking let up. You did what he said, but he wasn’t stopping. His thrusts didn’t slow, your clit was throbbing and your body shaking uncontrollably. All defiance was dead, your fire snuffed out. Your eyes were glazed and unfocused. Your head hit the floor again as you struggled to keep your thoughts straight, “It’s all yours. My soul is yours! Please- sto-” Another orgasm was being fucked out of you, no recovery from the first. “I can’t, I can’t” Your jaw locked, the way your cunt was spasming and tightening around his shadow appendages nearly pushed them out of your body with the strength of your first forced orgasm. The lights in the room flickered and popped, the candles blew out with a sudden gust, static drowned out your voice from everyone but Alastor as you screamed through the second orgasm. A green light erupted from the smeared sigil beneath you, blinding the crew and onlookers. “My body is yours! My soul! It’s all yours. I give you all of me, Alastor! Alastor!!” Your vision went spotty, and your throat seemed to close around your voice. Your face was red with the strain of your orgasm. You’d never felt unrelenting pleasure like that before and in that moment you’d have given him absolutely anything he wanted from you. Everything. It was his. You were his. He owned you inside and out.

The bullying of your cunt finally calmed after your orgasm began to edge away, your breath no longer stuck in your throat. He didn’t stop, but he slowed down to a lazy pace as what few lights managed to survive flickered back to life. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you looked over your wrecked body to Alastor. His eyes were wild, his bangs damp and clinging to his forehead. His smile was manic, sinister almost. He looked truly demonic. A wave of fear carried a chill down your spine.

The tentacles withdrew, the sudden loss making you feel colder somehow now than before. They had taken on your own heat and matched your temperature so perfectly, now your body felt empty. You felt naked. Your cunt was still clenching, but around nothing at all. It felt…like something was missing now. Your body seemed to be upset at the loss of contact. It made your stomach turn.

You flinched when the radio demon approached you, but instead of tearing you to pieces like his grin had promised, he slipped his suit jacket off and laid it over your body. You hadn’t realized the dress was torn and lying beneath you in a wet pile of blood and sweat. The confusion must have been evident on your face, because Alastor’s appearance shifted. Antlers now small, if not tiny between his ears. His eyes a red and pink, lids half closed. His smile was just a line across his face, no teeth at all. He looked like a gentleman, had you not known what he had just done to your pussy you’d have thought him incapable of such impropriety.

“Good job, my little doe.” He whispered before you were handed a glass of water by a tall stranger.

“Wow, you’re kind of natural at this babe. I haven’t seen a performance like that in ages. Are you okay?” You took the water from him but didn’t open your mouth to reply, instead transfixed on his appearance. You’d only seen Val and Alastor until now. “You can call me Angel. We’ll get you home soon. I swear.”

Your eyes flitted to Alastor’s, did he know? He must have, he must have felt it. Of course he knew. In those final moments, you hadn’t been acting. Not an ounce of your pleasured responses were disingenuous. Not a single word a lie.

Alastor helped you to your feet as Angel placed a robe over your shoulders. Alastor hummed as he put his jacket back on, a satisfied sound coming from his chest that almost sounded like a song.

Val sat in his director’s chair with his legs crossed, mouth open. His cigarette was mostly ash, delicately lingering on the stub.

Alastor placed a hand on the small of your back as you were guided to the door. Looking over his shoulder he grinned to Val, “It seems our deal is done here, Valentino. She’s mine, in perpetuity.”

(Part two)

༻Masterlist༺

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saintobio · 6 months

Text

blank canvas.

problems arise when your tattoo artist boyfriend starts getting too cozy with the girls that wanted him to do more to their bodies than just inking their skin. the thing is, they knew what he wanted and they knew what you couldn’t give.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags. nudity, insecure!reader, virgin!reader, dry humping, mentions of needles, mentions of cheating, slutshaming

notes. if you’ve been here for a while, yes this is a repost from an old hq fic :’D i rewrote and remodeled it for sukuna bc i feel like he fits this au!

part 2 | part 3

Sukuna had seen it all.

He wasn’t dumb and he most definitely wasn’t oblivious to the fact that he was attractive, bringing him a clientele of adoring women who would frequently visit his tattoo parlor. Who could blame them? He was handsome, had a good physique, and an overwhelming aura that pulled the attraction of many women, single or not, who were desperate to vie for his attention. His tattoos and his dyed hair even added to the overall bad boy persona that he had which, to be fair, was a girl’s guilty pleasure.

The women were very assertive, it seemed, to try and lure Sukuna into their little seduction game. Was he getting tempted into it? No. He was loyal and he’d like to stay loyal to his kind and beautiful girlfriend. After all, winning you over wasn’t as easy as it would with any other girl.

However, there were certain moments that almost tested his loyalty to you, especially when some of the women would ask to have their tattoos done on the most intimate places of their bodies.

Take yesterday as an example: one girl asked to have a tattoo on her buttocks and she was certainly more satisfied at the feeling of Sukuna’s palms on her bum rather than the actual tattoo she was getting. And to top it all, she bluntly asked if he offered more service rather than just giving tattoos. Crazy.

He had previously mentioned it to you that as part of his job, he was obligated to give his clients the tattoos they requested, regardless of where on their bodies they wanted them. It was strictly business. Ironically, despite dating a tattoo artist like himself, you had no single trace of inked art on your body. You were an untouched canvas that had never been painted on. Still, Sukuna respected your choice and he surely respected your boundaries even more.

He knew that you had always been a gentle girl when he first met you at the floral shop across the street. You were always prim and proper, always dressed modestly, always following the rules, and always doing the right thing. All you cared about doing was to express your love through the delicate petals you arranged in your flower-scented haven. You were happy to be in your own little bubble, content in the company of fragrant blossoms and soft-spoken solitude. Introverted. Reserved. Pure. Unassuming. He was the exception to your goody-two-shoes nature, because he ended up winning your heart despite being the complete opposite of you. It wasn’t an easy task, either. Deciding to get to know you was on a whim at first, since he was intrigued about your simple joys in life and how you weren’t the type of girls that would visit his tattoo parlor. Something about your demure nature pulled him in until he realized that there was nothing else he wanted in this world but to make you his. He began by greeting you every morning from across the street, then giving you the same bouquet of flowers he purchased from your shop, followed by sending you texts complimenting how beautiful you looked as he watched you from his store, and finally asking you out on spontaneous dates.

It may be a bit peculiar to see the two of you together, but Sukuna pursued you because liked you. He was undeniably in love with you. He liked your smile, liked how cute and adorable you were, and liked how a simple look at you made him want to be a better man. He loved the idea of being with a girl he could protect.

The main issue was, Sukuna dropped out of college and just decided to open a tattoo parlor business because he simply didn’t want to waste his years studying for something that he wasn’t passionate about. But that was the source of your parents’ distaste. They told you that you had no future with a guy like him. They said that they would disown you as a daughter if you decided to choose him. They called him dirty, rebellious, and uneducated.

At that point, he thought that you would leave him after learning his rather reckless choices in life, but you stayed.

You left your parents' home and stayed with him.

And he was grateful that you did.

So to ask the question again, would he ever do something to betray you after everything that happened between you two? Of course, not. Not in a million years, no

But then again, he was also just doing his job and it wasn’t like he was purposely flirting with the girls that often flocked him during work hours. He was simply accommodating a client. Nothing more, nothing less.

And on one of those typical days, he had to work overtime when one of his returning clients asked for her fifth tattoo to be done by him. He just finished picking up the tools he needed as she walked towards the recliner seat asking, “Should I sit here?”

He nodded once, turning around to face the girl who looked at him with her alluring eyes. “Yeah, just let me know when you’re ready.”

Oh yes, she was surely ready. She even had a smirk displayed on her face when she slowly unbuttoned her shirt, keeping her gaze at him while teasingly revealing her busty pair.

He didn’t really pay attention to the size of her tits but instead, just casually pointed to a certain part of her body, “Is this where you want it?” he asked, referring to the lower left part of her breast.

With a very flirtatious grin, she nodded, clearly knowing that her assets were her biggest weapon. “Yes. Would it be easier if I took off my bra, yeah?”

“You don’t have to. I can work it out,” he casually responded, reaching for his glove and busying himself with all the tool preparations.

The girl let out a silent giggle along with her best friend who sat on the side, waiting for her turn. Waiting to be the recipient of Sukuna’s full attention. Sigh.

“No, I can take it off for you,” the girl insisted, unclasping her bra and setting her huge breasts free for him to ogle at. They were perfectly round, probably a 40D, and a light pink shade for her nipples. With how firm they were sitting on her chests, she had probably gotten them done.

He cleared his throat, averting his eyes as he asked her to sit on the recliner chair. Sukuna had seen women half naked in his shop before, but this was the first time someone willingly got naked in front of him, most especially with other intentions rather than to simply get a tattoo.

Because of the awkwardness, he went ahead and blasted some heavy metal music to distract his mind. He had to think of something else and not stare at the girl’s luscious tits. He had to shift his mind to somewhere else like, for example, why the girl chose a calligraphy of the words ‘la douleur exquise’ on her skin this time.

“Is this French?” he nonchalantly asked, motioning for her to rest her back while he wiped the chosen area with a damp cotton pad. He specifically avoided brushing his hand on her breast, but it looked like the girl was actually angling herself to make him touch it more.

“It means exquisite pain,” she purred, batting her thick eyelashes at him.

His lips formed a smirk, impressed at how much of a skank she was willing to be for him. It wasn’t new, as established before. He’d also had a fair share of women who tried to get into his pants last week, but none of them were successful. He actually found it entertaining to watch them do all sorts of stunts to make him give in. To make him submit himself to his carnal desires. He was a man after all. He had needs, he had to get some form of release, otherwise it could pose a problem in his masculinity.

All while she was getting her tattoo done, the other girl got up from her seat to walk closer to her best friend. Sukuna decided to refer to them in his head as Slut 1 and Slut 2 because he had no intentions of knowing their names. He knew slut-shaming was terrible, but he never said he was a man of virtue and truthfully, how else could he describe them?

“Hey, Sukuna,” the other girl called, sitting at an empty stool with a smile. “You’re single, right?”

He kept his eyes focused on the skin he was inking on. “...No.”

Even from the corner of his eye, he knew that both girls looked surprised, “No way? You have a girlfriend?”

Was it really that much of a shock?

“Yeah, she owns the floral shop across the street,” he mumbled, wiping the trace of blood on the girl’s skin after he finished another letter.

There was a visible pout on Slut 1’s face as if learning that Sukuna had a girlfriend was more painful than the needle pricking at her skin. “So, what’s she like?”

Sukuna thought for a while because he didn’t know where to begin. It was too much of a long story for them to hear about. You were everything he wanted in a woman and that was all he knew. “She’s cute and kind.”

His words earned a giggle from Slut 2. “Is she like the good girl type?”

“She is.” He figured it would be okay to converse about you like this. Besides, he would rather be talking about you than to have these girls just try to flirt with him relentlessly.

“How much of a good girl, though?” Slut 1 egged on, “I bet she’s a virgin and a prude.”

That was obviously none of their business, but damn. They hit a nerve that they shouldn’t have. No one else had managed to bring up a topic like that to him, more so a topic that he himself knew not to cross. His sex life wasn’t as fruitful as anyone thought so, yet not once in his life did he complain. Not once did he talk about it to anyone. Not once did he tell anyone that he had been dating you for a year now and you two never really went further than making out.

“I respect her,” was his answer, much to the two girls’ dismay.

“That’s kinda boring, though,” the other girl claimed, draping her arm around his shoulder before leaning close to his ear. “You’re still a man and you have needs. If I were her, I’d sleep with you every day. In every position.”

The girl on the recliner chair grinned. “Totally! Like, you’re so hot and I feel like you’re good in bed.”

Fuck.

He almost messed up one of the letters because his mind just flew to somewhere unforgivable. It was a sin to even think about, but shit, he definitely missed the feeling of fucking someone. He couldn’t even remember the last time he did so.

“Sukuna?”

He snapped out of his trance and looked up upon hearing the familiar voice, only to find you by the door, your eyes filled with hurt.

“Hey—”

Your voice was caught in your throat as you avoided his gaze. “I just... I thought you were done.”

In a swift motion, you hurriedly walked out of the room before dashing out the door. You didn’t even bother to look back, dead set on leaving him alone with the girls. Your footsteps were far too quick to even catch and he was hoping that you would at least slow down.

“Babe!” he called, unable to chase after you as you shut the door. An exasperated sigh followed.

This was going to be a big problem

Just what was he thinking?

He had a half naked girl in front of him and another girl clinging to him like he didn’t have a girlfriend. It must have hurt you a lot. No, it definitely wrecked you.

“Uh-oh...” the girl mocked. “I can sense trouble”

He decided to leave it be for now and get his job done as soon as possible, even thinking of banning the two girls from going into his shop just to avoid further trouble. He had a lot of explaining to do and he couldn’t wait to go home to make sure that you would listen to him, not overthink the whole thing and place your assumptions because hurting you was the last thing he would do.

At least, he hoped you knew that.

You were washing the dishes when Sukuna came home and the first thing he did was to wrap his arms around you. He had your waist caged in his tight embrace, his chin resting on your shoulder as he whispered sweet nothings to you. To be real, you weren’t in the mood to see his face after what you saw this afternoon. You get it—he was exposed to all sorts of people with his line of work and most of them probably couldn’t just ignore his physical appearance. You were aware that some girls were only getting a tattoo to get close to him. Heck, you were aware that they all wanted to be with him.

But the only reason you were hurt wasn’t because he was desired by women, but because those very same women were all better than you in more ways than one. They fit his type more than you did and you were sure that they could give him exactly what he wanted.

Still, it awfully tugged at your heartstrings.

He was yours, not theirs. You had the right to be jealous when a girl was getting cozy with your man, but to see him letting them have their way? That was a different story.

“Baby, talk to me,” he mumbled, planting a soft, apologetic kiss on your neck.

You gave him the silent treatment as you walked away and dried your hands with a towel. What else would you say? He should already be aware of why you were acting that way. He should be the one to try and talk to you, not the other way around. And with your stubborn mind, you did your best to keep your insouciance, pulling his tattooed arms off of you and heading towards the couch.

You could hear his sigh as he followed you, but you were determined to keep your eyes glued on the TV screen. If he wanted to talk, he should do the talking, you reminded yourself over and over.

“You’re really pissed at me, huh,” he spoke as soon as he sat next to you, a hand carefully placed on your thigh. “I’m sorry.”

“They’re pretty hot, aren’t they?” The bitter question left your mouth before you thought of holding back.

He scooted closer and hooked an arm around your shoulder this time. “Definitely nowhere near as hot as my girlfriend.”

What a load of… You rolled your eyes, remembering how the girls looked and how comfortable he was with them. “Yeah, right.”

You couldn’t explain the tightness on your chest every time you recalled the scene earlier because you knew, you just knew, that there was more that could have happened if you didn’t check on him. You saw it in his eyes, even for a split second, that he almost gave in to temptation. How could he not? You were a prude just as they described—just because you didn’t have any sexual experience like they did. Perhaps when they called you boring, they were right and Sukuna wanted to agree.

He couldn’t be stuck with a girlfriend that he couldn’t even have sex with, could he?

“I shouldn’t have let them put their hands on me like that,” he admitted, showing his dire attempt to look apologetic. “Only you can.”

You took a deep breath and shook your head. “I don’t even know why you’re still with me, Sukuna. I put so many boundaries between us. Don’t you get tired of me?”

“Fuck no,” he quickly answered, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Never. You’re the only one for me.”

Truth be told, you did feel bad that he couldn’t fully experience you as a girlfriend, but he had been very patient and respectful towards you. He never crossed the line and never forced you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. He said he was doing that because you never gave up on him even when you had the choice to. He said that you were worth waiting for. He said that he was satisfied with what you two already had.

Maybe you could let this one incident go, after all, he was never really a bad boyfriend to you. Sure, he looked like a bad boy, but when it came to you, he was surprisingly soft.

“Okay,” you muttered, sighing in defeat and finally meeting his eyes. “Just don’t do it again. I don’t care if they get naked in front of you. Please set some boundaries and don’t entertain them too much or you’ll give off the wrong impression.”

Your leniency earned a smile from him, delighted to earn your trust again so he made an effort to peck your lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You love me.”

“I do,” you professed, placing a hand on his cheek, “so much.”

Pleased with your words, he leaned in again to give you a much, much deeper kiss. He knew it was all he could do with you, but he wanted to make you feel that his kisses were satisfying enough for the both of you. Just with the way he moved his lips against yours and how your tongue rolled around his—it was almost impossible to breathe at one point, but he softened the kiss to allow yourself to catch some air.

Gosh, you were jealous again. You were becoming annoyed as your mind ran at full speed, thinking of how those girls thought they could put their hands on your man. You were livid at how they tried to steal him from you.

“You’re mine, right?” you asked for reassurance, pulling away to look at his dominating eyes.

The smirk on his lips was replaced by a cheeky grin. “All yours, darling.”

You didn’t know what gave you the sudden confidence to straddle his lap after he said that, but it just felt right. You wanted more of his physical affection and felt like you couldn’t get enough. Both of you were taken aback, obviously, because this wasn’t something you would normally do, and so the heat on your cheeks was mixing with the surprised look on his face. You were sitting directly on his crotch and he was having a hard time to control himself.

“Babe,” he breathed on your neck. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

He was right, but the thought of the other girls constantly seducing him behind your back just gave way to your deepest insecurities. You didn’t have the most perfect body in the world and you most definitely didn’t have the skills in bed that he expected—you were scared that you might lose him because of these facts. Or that he would find someone better, even at the cost of having them on the side.

“Hey,” he spoke again, making you look at his eyes as you relaxed into his touch. “It’s fine. If you want it, I can be gentle. We can go slow.”

“I-I don’t know... I just,” you hesitated, not knowing exactly how to put it into words.

You didn’t know why sex intimidated you. It should be as easy as 1-2-3, just him putting his member inside you, right? But you weren’t really scared of doing the act itself, you were scared that once you did it, he would leave you because he already got what he wanted. Losing it to the wrong person sounds like a nightmare and that was why you were having trouble coming into terms of losing your virginity before marriage.

You could feel the hardness on his crotch pressing against your core and you didn’t expect a moan escaping your lips when you moved at the slightest. The fabric of your shorts were thin enough for you to feel the outline of his hardened member, displaying a prominent bulge on his sweatpants. You haven’t seen how big he was, but you could tell just by looking at his bulge that he was huge. Could you even take that?

He held your waist and guided you to move again, this time urging you to move your hips back and forth, allowing you to feel the friction from his hard erection. Lust was clouding his eyes and it made you feel weak.

“How does it feel?” he asked, his hot breath tickling your ear.

You continued grinding on him with your lips parted, releasing your silent moans, “G-Good.”

He leaned forward to kiss your neck, eventually sucking the soft skin to leave his beautiful marks. “I wanna eat you down there, baby,” he growls under his breath, squeezing your right breast, “You’re gonna taste so good, I bet.”

“Suku—” you whined, gripping his hair while he started matching your movements with his own. It was a foreign feeling for you to feel his bulge rubbing against your untouched core.

“Fuck,” he cussed in a low voice, squeezing your ass with his huge hands in growing excitement. “Let me get a condom.”

This was it.

It was happening.

Or was it?

Your eyes widened in panic as you pushed him back onto the couch. It was as though all of your senses were awakened and your body was telling you that you shouldn’t be doing all this. “N-No, I... I’m not ready.”

You didn’t mean to always chicken out when you two were almost about to do it. You just didn’t feel confident enough to give yourself yet and even if you badly wanted to, you just couldn’t make yourself do it.

You could see the hint of disappointment on his face and he was trying to hide it.

“Right,” he exhaled deeply with his head thrown back on the headrest. “It’s alright. Maybe next time,” he convinced himself.

“I’m sorry,” you softly mumbled, hand gripping on his shirt.

He gave you a quick peck on the lips before pulling you out of his lap and getting up from the couch. “Yeah, yeah. It’s fine.”

You stayed seated as you watched him walk away. “Where are you going?”

“I have to finish this off on my own,” he answered without looking back. You realized he was referring to the act of touching himself because you just couldn’t do the job for him. It was obvious how frustrated he was and for goodness sake, you did feel guilty, but then again, he didn’t act like this before. When you told him you didn’t want to do it further, he would simply laugh it off and say he would wait for you.

This wasn’t the same Sukuna that said that.

You became a little paranoid.

Considering that girls would still pay your boyfriend a visit at the tattoo parlor, you always ended up overthinking about what he was doing while you were supposed to be busy at the floral shop. In the middle of arranging a bouquet of beautiful peonies, your mind was on haywire. You just didn’t feel at ease. You felt like anyone could easily snatch him away from you because you weren’t particularly a striking girl to begin with. You were leaning on the simple, conservative side rather than the rebellious, liberated women that swarmed his shop in hopes of sleeping with him.

Because your thoughts were eating you alive, you decided to head to his tattoo parlor after closing the shop to make sure that he wasn’t doing any funny business.

And you were somehow right.

About three girls were in there this time, two of which you had already seen a couple of days ago, and they were already leaving the parlor just as you arrived.

“You’re really amazing, Sukuna,” one of the girls told him in gratitude, “I might get another one soon.”

You watched them walk past you with a smug expression on their faces as they left the shop. Sukuna had then seen you standing by the door with your arms crossed.

“Really?” you questioned, walking inside with a frown. “They’re here again?”

He sighed and walked back to his station while cleaning the mess from the tattoo session. He wasn’t even trying to win you over anymore. “I can’t just ask them not to come anymore. They’re still clients.”

“Let me guess,” you continued, “Did one of them get naked in front of you again? Did you let them put their hands all over you again? Did you perhaps forget that you had a girlfriend again?”

His brows, now furrowed in annoyance and his mouth, thinning in displeasure. “No. We talked about this.”

You held your breath, raising a brow in return. “I’m starting to think you’re doing more for them than just giving them tattoos.”

“Like, what? Sell my body?” His question was clearly a taunt. A spasm of irritation crossed his face, but he still managed to display a mocking smile. “Is that what you’re suggesting, angel?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Then, what?”

“You know what I mean,” you replied, trying to get your point across while keeping your composure. “You’re an attractive man and they’re the type of women you would willingly sleep with.”

“Jesus. You’re so insecure, it’s crazy,” he retorted, rolling his eyes at you.

Insecure? You couldn’t believe, just couldn’t believe he called you insecure. The air crackled with tension as your jaw tightened, muscles twitching with every suppressed urge to lash out.

“I wonder why!” Your voice rose hysterically. “If you weren’t busy flirting with those girls, maybe I won’t be so insecure.”

“I said I’m not flirting with them!” he argued, slamming his gloves on the floor. His face contorted into a mask of rage and he looked at you with frustration that you had never seen before. It hurt. It certainly hurt. He had been acting distant since the night you didn’t give in to him and you knew that his exasperation towards you was rooting from that.

Your breathing became unsteady. “But you know you’d sleep with them if given the chance. Since I couldn’t do it with you.”

“Then, just fucking do it with me instead of bitching about it every day!” he snapped, voice thick with insinuation. “I don’t wanna be stuck acting like I give two shits about your interest in flowers and whatever nonsense you like to talk about. I wanna be with someone I can have sex with, not sit on the couch all day with a boring person like you!”

His hurtful words left you frozen like a statue, unable to move while being dominated by the shooting pain inside your chest.

You knew this day would come—that he would eventually get tired of waiting around for something that he could easily get from others. However, what hurt you most was the fact you believed he wasn’t that type of guy. That he wasn’t with you solely for what you could give, but rather, for what you just had. You thought he sincerely understood your boundaries and respected your choices the very same way you respected his, but it seemed that he had another thought in his head all along.

After seeing the look on your face, Sukuna had softened his gaze and walked closer to you in reproach to his words and actions, “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean that.”

A tear fell from your eye as you looked at him with both anger and pain building inside of you. Your eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You wanna have sex? Is that what you want?” Your voice cracked in the middle of your sentence. “You wanna do it so bad, let’s fucking do it, then!”

Your fingers forced their way to spitefully unbutton your blouse despite his desperate efforts to stop you. You must be going crazy. But also, he drove you to this point.

“Baby, no,” he said in remorse, grabbing your wrists tightly. “No, I’m sorry. I’m content with you. I really am, I’m sorry. Please.”

Your chest heaved as you cried, unable to stop your emotions from exposing all of your vulnerabilities. “It’s obviously not enough for you.” Your voice quivered, each word a fragile whisper trembling with the weight of unspoken sadness as you sniffled and wiped your eyes. “You knew what kinda girl I am when you dated me.”

He pulled you for a hug and kissed your temple way too many times that you lost count. He felt absolutely sorry for ever hurting you with his words, but they just hit you so painfully to the point that your gaze grew distant and your face was clouded with resignation.

“I know what kinda girl you are and I’m in love with you for it,” he reaffirmed, as if trying to get it through your head but his words were beginning to feel empty. “Please, believe me. I really didn’t mean what I said. You’re enough for me, baby. You’re all I want.”

You didn’t feel comfort from his words, but you still returned his embrace because you loved him. Because you knew, even if he said more hurtful words, that you would still love him. Sure, you would be angry, but your love for him ruled higher than your pride.

You were just scared of losing him over something like this.

“I love you so much,” he whispered in your ear before placing a soft, apologetic kiss on your lips.

When he pulled away, your heart still felt heavy, but you managed to conceal your face with an agonizing smile.

“I love you, too.”

He ran his thumb across your cheek and held your waist on his other hand. You just couldn’t get his words out of your head even after he apologized, because you never knew he was seeing your relationship that way all along.

The girls were right. He was a man after all and he had needs.

The fact that he was staying with you despite not fulfilling his needs must be a work of charity for him, and eventually, he would get sick of waiting around. He would desire you less and less the more the days passed by and it wasn’t absolutely crazy to think that he could potentially meet another girl he liked that was willing to give it all.

The mere thought of it scared you.

“I’ll do it with you tonight,” you offered, your voice breaking, hoping that you could finally break the barrier and be enough for him.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna angst #jjk x reader

5K notes · View notes

melonn-soda · 4 months

Text

❝ PERSONAL STREAM (A Little Too Personal..) ❞

word count: 1.9k

warnings: subbot! cis male reader, domtop! cis male kamo choso, camboy! choso, slight dumbification?, praise kink, reader referred to as a size queen (term is used for a man), mention of edging (choso), mentions/descriptions of manhandling

prompt: congratulations! you just won a solo fan call with your favorite camboy! hope you have fun watching him getting off to you being just the goodest boy ever :)

notes: a gift for and and idea from @sooniebby I jus made it into a choso fic. I've been holding it off for a while now, I think. this isn't as good as had wanted it to be but it's fine regardless. not beta read, sorry not sorry

fem aligned dni

you can’t believe it.

you actually can’t believe what you’re reading right now.

in your email inbox, something you barely ever check unless needed to, had a message from the user of a porn website (not your proudest moment) that you signed up on just to watch his videos, telling you that you won this month’s drawing. you had to stand up, walk around, eat breakfast, and come back to your computer to see if it was still there. if it was still real. you swore you’ve never felt so excited yet so scared in your life.

to know that, somehow, you won that solo fan call, to know that he’ll be jerking off for you, to know that no one else can see him but you, talking to you, and- shit. you were getting hard. you looked back at your computer screen. the email is still there. you’re not crazy. you feel like you are though.

the roll of the cheap gaming chair you bought from amazon sounded muffled in your ears as you backed away from your computer, getting up to get ready for the day with that email still lingering like an itch on your scalp that you can’t seem to satisfy. you need to get to work.

your co-workers noticed the blank stare in your eyes as you slipped on your chef coat and pants, hands on autopilot as you tucked hair into your hat and tied the apron around your waist. it smelled of fresh detergent since they just washed your uniform. your friend had to even point out that you cut your finger when dicing onions because you were too out of it to even notice. or was it that working in the food industry made your fingers numb to the sensation since it happens so many times? ... huh.

when you got back home, you opened up the email again. it’s still there. it’s still real. did you want it to be fake? part of you says yes but the majority of you hoped not. i mean, you’ve been following this guy for.. what, months now? lord knows how much money you’ve sent to him. he wants to start the call at 7pm on discord.

you thought he might use something else other than that app but he was probably just using an alternative account and he most likely changes his user after every raffle. if you were him, you would do the same thing.

...

you should probably take a shower.

it was 6:40 and your hair was still damp with water, towel resting on your shoulders to catch any stray droplets from getting your shirt wet. you kind of wanted to back out. the fear of being one to one with the camboy you’ve been fantasizing about for a long while now was scaring you a bit.

fingers fidgeting with the paper stars littering your desk and your foot rapidly tapping against the floor, you watched the seconds go by on your desktop. your dominant hand reaches for your mouse and highlights his username to copy it and paste it onto the add user section, sending the friend request to see that he accepts it not even 2 minutes later. ...was he getting ready?

your webcam was sitting on your desk, not properly hooked onto the top of your computer. it was plugged in but you hardly ever use it so it just sits where it is. should you set it up? ..no, you didn’t feel like it. your mic was completely ready though, as always. you and your friends would always play together on call, so it was your most used piece of equipment.

4 minutes.

your stomach twisted in anxiety.

choso sighed as he applied lotion all over his torso, all too used to the way he prepared everything during streams and bonus videos locked behind an even bigger paywall. this sidegig he was doing felt like a chore sometimes but money was money, and by god did this account make him a lot of it.

lots of women flocked to his account, entranced by the way his voice stuttered whenever he close, his hips that instinctively jerked because his hand wasn’t able to move any faster, and the whimpers that teared into the mic when he came all over his hands and milked himself for all that he’s worth. they mostly talked about how perfect his dick looked but that was an average comment in his chat.

he saw the friend request notification pop up on his computer and figured he’d at least get his cock hard before the call even started. he put on some random porno in the background, stroking himself with little care and when he got half-hard, he figured that would’ve been enough. he accepted the friend request and close the tab with the video playing, looking over to see that he had 4 minutes until he would start the call.

fingers moving expertisley across the keyboard, he made sure to tell you that the first 30 minutes of this session was free, any longer and you would have to start paying up. you replied with a very short, “got it.” and left it at that. you seemed to type out something more before it quickly went away, causing choso to raise an eyebrow. were you scared?

35 seconds.

choso was getting tired of waiting, so he began the call. unbeknownst to him, you freaked out when you heard the ringtone rumble through your speakers, hesitating to accept the call. in the end, you did anyway because you didn’t have to pay for this private session for 30 whole minutes.

the half-curse’s hand went back to his dick, stroking it with barely any passion behind his movements. however, he wasn’t expecting to see the face of the winner from the drawing within 5 minutes of the call, teeth biting into his fist as his other hand’s fingers worked himself open. choso swore he was no longer half-hard, dick twitching to life in his hands, pre already leaking from the tip of his cock.

he was used to mostly knowing that women were behind the screen and heavily suspected that you might’ve been one- but fuck, to know that another man was getting off to his voice, his cock, drove him wild.

maybe he’ll get rid of that 30 minute rule.

you didn’t mean to turn your webcam on.

you could feel your stomach sink when you could see yourself on full display for the camboy in the discord call. it was too late to turn it off now. whatever. you only live once.

“aren’t you just the cutest?” you aren’t sure why you flinched but the way his voice carried those words certainly got you feeling things, “how about you turn your mic on too, yeah? wanna hear your pretty voice.”

shakily, the hand you were biting on reaches for your mouse and you click unmute. your fingers that were inside you accidentally pressed against your prostate, causing a loud moan to fall from your lips, immediately slapping your hand over your mouth to silence yourself. you don’t want to get a noise complaint from the neighbors... again. the first time having to explain that to an officer was embarrassing enough.

“good boy,” he grunts into the mic, bucking his hips up with a loud smack coming from his end of the call, “jus’ the sweetest little thing, aren’t ya? betcha’d be just absolutely adorable if i were to fuck you stupid. it hasn’t even been 15 minutes and you’re drooling all over your pretty fingers.”

you didn’t even notice that you’ve been panting so much that spit began to run down your chin, too absorbed in the way the camboy’s dick spilled even more pre over his massive hands. fuck, just how strong could he be? could he manhandle you? yank your head back using your hair as a handle while blowing your back out? shove you down on his cock because you simply weren’t riding him fast enough?

“you got a dildo on you, baby?” he asks you, his hand slowing down to a stop. his words pulled you out of your abundance of fantasies to shift your focus back into reality, vision a little blurry from the tears resting on your eyelids.

you managed to fumble out a small, “mhmm..” just loud enough for him to hear and he tells you to grab it. in a slight daze, you reach into one of your many desk drawers to pull out the toy that sat in its box, already cleaned from its prior use.

“do a favor for me, yeah? put it in nice and slow, imagine it’s my cock stuffing you full. how big ‘s your toy? five- six inches?” he sure likes to ask a lot of stuff, you notice.

“‘s seven..” you mutter, wincing when you push the toy inside your hole, stretching you full and your mind goes numb.

he chuckles, deep and breathy and shit- “so you’re a size queen? that’s what they call it, right?” he starts pumping his fist around his cock again, albeit slower than before. you would take a bet that he was edging himself, “that’s it. such a good boy f’me.”

legs quaking in place, you managed to get it all inside you. sitting on it was much harder on your chair than you anticipated, the current position you were holding getting uncomfortable. cautiously, you lifted your hips, wrapping your hand around your own dick and giving it a few strokes while breathy moans left your lips, slamming yourself back down on the dildo. your eyes widened in surprise as the tip of it pressed against your prostate, a loud whimper echoing throughout your room.

“fuck-! you’re so cute, mmph- k-keep going, baby. i’m getting close- ah!” you could see that his hand was moving much faster than when you last looked up at your camera, quick breaths and filthy pleas paired with the desperate thrusts of his hips.

stumbled cries left your lips when you began to keep up with his pace, fingers getting sticky with pre as you continue to stimulate yourself. through blurred tears, you could see his hips rut one last time before a stifled moan left his throat and his fist was coated with his cum, dripping onto his pants.

he winces at the overstimulation from just shifting his hand to let go of his softening cock, grabbing a tissue to clean himself up while watching you bounce up and down your toy. you could even say he was jealous. even so, he could tell you were pathetically chasing your own orgasm, breathy sighs escaping from the confines of your lips. eyes closed in slight shame yet concentration, your thumb came up to the tip of your dick and rubbed, causing a yelp to slip through and your eyes opened once more.

however, you weren’t expecting to see the gorgeous face behind the creator of all those inappropriate streams you’ve watched the second your hips slammed back down on the dildo.

“[name]..”

ropes of your own release spilling out of your dick, it finally registered in your head that the camboy was willingly letting you see this. your thighs quaked not only in nervousness but also in fear that you might get a boner again just from how handsome he was. his face was pale although dusted with a bright hue of red covering his cheeks, eyebags signaling a lack of sleep, he had some sort of black line going over the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, and slightly messy black hair tied up into short ponytails. if he wasn't attractive to anyone, he was at least attractive to you.

his pretty and slightly plump lips opened to speak once more, “do you.. wanna meet up in person..?”

“h-huh...?”

#x bottom male reader #bottom male reader #male reader #x male reader #sub male reader #dom male character #top male character #jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #choso x reader #choso x male reader #jjk choso x reader #jjk choso x male reader #gay #mlm #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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itadorey · 5 months

Text

𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐞— gojo satoru

pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: even after you leave the jujutsu world behind, gojo satoru finds himself unable to get over you. genre: fluff! some angst but happy ending, friends to lovers notes: inspired by the song "haunt me (x3)" by teen suicide, gojo is awful at realizing his own feelings and dealing with them wc: ~4.8k

the day that you leave tokyo jujutsu tech is a dull one.

gojo think this must've been months in the planning, especially considering the fact that you're standing with nothing but a backpack slung over your shoulder with the rest of your belongings nowhere to be seen.

(he later learns that they had already been moved to your new apartment, and nanami and shoko had helped you move out over the course of a month.)

he also discovers that he's the only one that hasn't been informed of your departure, especially since he seems to be the only one taken by surprise as you stand by the entrance and say your goodbyes. he wonders if it's his fault for taking so many missions after geto's defection, and he feels his stomach lurch uncomfortably when he realizes that he's been so distracted that he once again couldn't see something happening with one of his friends.

and now you're leaving.

"you have to promise to visit," shoko says, engulfing you in a tight hug. gojo feels his mouth run dry at the sight, and he can't help but feel panicked when you give shoko a soft grin.

"i'll certainly do my best," you respond, reaching over to tug on her hair. she sighs in return, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you gently as she stares you down.

"answer your phone, ok? you can't ignore my texts now that you're leaving."

a quiet laugh leaves your lips at her words, and you nod reassuringly before giving her a loud smooch on the cheek and moving down the line. gojo watches you closely as you say your goodbye to yaga, the older man turning away from you to brush a fake tear away from his eye. he presses a soft, floppy doll into your hands before you move away from him, and gojo can see the distinct shine in your eye that lets him know that you're holding tears at bay.

he looks down at the ground when he realizes that he's the only one left for you to say goodbye to, and he can't help the way he tenses up when he sees your shoes come to a stop in front of him. there's a moment of silence during which gojo can feel everyone's eyes on him, and he begrudgingly looks up at you and removes his sunglasses.

if this is the last time he's seeing you, he's going to make sure he remembers every little detail.

there's a sharp intake of breath as you steadily meet his gaze, and you find yourself rendered speechless at the sight of his eyes. gojo can hear shoko cough lightly, and he steels himself before giving you a forced smile.

"so you're leaving," he whispers, his eyes widening slightly when he realizes what he's just said. you seem to be caught off guard as well, eyebrows raising in surprise before giving him a nod. he takes a moment to breathe, aware of shoko's lingering gaze as the two of you face each other. "oh. i didn't know."

"yeah," you breathe, rubbing your arm as you look away from him. "i hadn't gotten the chance to tell you. it seems like you're always off on a mission these days."

"you could've texted," gojo attempts to say jokingly, wincing when his words fall flat. you laugh lightly at his words, recognizing the teasing undertone even if the delivery had been less than perfect. you always seem to understand gojo, regardless of whether or not he wants you to.

"we both know you never look at your phone," you tease back, giving him a pretty smile that he hasn't seen in a while. he chuckles breathlessly at your jab, and he nods his agreement before glancing at shoko.

"neither do you," he shoots back, the corners of his lips turning up into a small smile when you follow his line of sight. "you gotta get better at that. can't risk pissing shoko off."

the space between the two of you is filled with uncertain laughter at gojo's remark, and you take a moment to study gojo before taking a step forward and wrapping your arms around his neck. he stumbles back a step or two at your sudden action, tensing up when you tuck your face into the crook of his neck.

"i'll miss you," you whisper, your breath warm against his neck. he tries to ignore the goosebumps that rise up along the smooth expanse of his neck, too focused on wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer to him when he feels you start to step away.

gojo knows that everyone else is watching the two of you, he can feel shoko's soft gaze and yaga's sad look as he does his best to ignore them and bury his face into your hair. there's an intense urge to ask you to stay building up inside of him, and he clamps his lips shut tightly in order to keep himself from blurting out his plea. the two of you remain in each other's arms before you finally take a deep breath and step away, giving gojo a watery smile.

"i'll miss you, satoru," you whisper, looking away and blinking back your tears. "i'll see you later, yeah?"

gojo nods dumbly as you finally walk away, giving everyone one last wave before slipping into the car that's been waiting for you this entire time. it isn't until he sees it disappear from view that gojo realizes that he didn't tell you that he would miss you too.

he wastes no time in slipping his sunglasses back over his eyes, clearing his throat quietly before turning and making his way back inside the building.

a week later, gojo hears that nanami has left jujutsu tech as well, and he can't help but wonder if he'll ever see either of you again.

gojo likes to think that he's matured, even though shoko might say otherwise because she's certain she's right. and also to piss him off.

but the truth is, he's no longer the same spunky, reckless teenager he was before everything went wrong in his life. he knows how to sort of work through his emotions now— in a way he thinks is healthy, he might add, but he can't help but find himself frozen in this very moment. there's a weird ache in his heart, one that he silently notes seems to be brought on by the flurry of emotions he's feeling in that very instant.

he wonders if they're visible on his face. they are.

gojo satoru is the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer in japan, maybe even in the world, and yet he feels like he's been reduced to almost nothing when a familiar face slides into the seat across from him.

five years is clearly not long enough to forget you, gojo realizes, physically wincing at the way his heart seems to race at the sight of you. his eyes meet yours, and he holds steady eye contact with you for a few seconds before ducking his head and quietly excusing himself from the table.

he takes a deep breath to attempt and soothe his rattled nerves as he takes a seat at the bar, squishing himself into the corner so that he's not visible from your table. he orders a soda from the bartender, ignoring the disbelieving look he gets in return before he ambles off to prepare the drink.

gojo has barely taken a sip of the soda before shoko is crashing into his side, settling onto the barstool next to him and digging her elbow into his side as she calls her order out to the bartender. neither of them speak until shoko gets her drink, and she immediately lifts it to her lips and takes a big sip that makes gojo shudder with disgust.

"surprise," shoko says dryly, glancing at gojo as he spares a look in your direction. he notices three extra people at the table, and he lets his shoulders drop in relief when he sees familiar heads of blond, white, and brunette.

"yeah, quite the surprise," gojo huffs, taking another sip of his soda. he stares at shoko until she turns to face him, a mildly displeased look on her face as she takes in his furrowed eyebrows. "i didn't know you still kept in contact with them."

"i didn't know you didn't still keep in contact with them," shoko shoots back, raising an eyebrow as she studies gojo's conflicted expression. she continues before he can gather his thoughts, earning a loud sigh as she speaks. "you kept in contact with nanami just fine. in fact, all he does is complain about how you never leave him alone."

gojo swallows harshly at shoko's words, and he thinks long and hard before deciding to remain silent for the time being. he can't find it in himself to admit that the thought of reaching out to you hurts him more than he cares to admit. you had left the jujutsu world, the one part of your life that included him, behind. even if he wanted to, gojo doesn't think he can find the words to express how he's feeling.

"switch seats with me when we get back to the table," gojo says suddenly, pausing to slurp up the rest of his drink. shoko glares at him when he sucks on nothing but air, the obnoxious sound causing her to reach over and flick him in the cheek. gojo grins widely when she hits nothing but air, his infinity protecting him from shoko's incredibly violent wrath.

"no," she says, getting off her barstool and picking up her drink. gojo realizes too late that she's heading back to the table, and he scrambles after her in an attempt to get there before her. his attempts are fruitless, and he finds himself awkwardly standing behind shoko's seat as she takes her place two chairs down from you.

gojo acts normal when everyone turns to glance at him, and he stiffly makes his way back to his own seat, avoiding your questioning gaze as he sits down. it takes a second for the table to break out into chatter again, and gojo doesn't hesitate before turning to the seat next to him and striking up a conversation with utahime. he notices mei mei grab your attention out of the corner of his eye, and he can't help but sigh in relief as he focuses on utahime once again, disregarding her annoyed look.

gojo is certain that ignoring you is much easier than dealing with whatever the hell is causing him to feel like he's dying inside.

the days that follow the dinner at the restaurant are unnervingly quiet, and gojo finds himself sitting on his couch and wondering if he should reach out to you.

there are no missions to take at the moment, and gojo is left with nothing to do but stare at his phone and wait for a message that never comes. megumi takes note of his sullen behavior, and although a part of him is curious about gojo's sudden attitude change, he doesn't think he actually cares enough to ask the white-haired sorcerer about what seems to be bothering him.

a few more days pass before gojo ultimately decides that reaching out to you would do more harm than good, especially with the way he completely ignored you at dinner. he's given no time to even think about changing his mind, and the very next day, he's being sent out on yet another mission.

he eventually falls into the same monotonous routine his life had prior to his run-in with you, and he wonders what would've changed if he had decided to take the chance and reach out the day after seeing you. there's a dull ache in his chest that seems to linger even after he makes his decision, and it only seems to get worse whenever shoko deigns to share updates about you with him.

the two of them know that gojo is more than grateful for her updates, even if he refuses to ask about you outright. he's certain that if he were to fully give into his curiosity that his heart would feel like it's giving out on him, and not even shoko's displeased looks are enough for him to get over himself and just ask you directly. he's even stopped pestering nanami, too afraid that he would give in and ask him questions about you.

it isn't until a long time passes (a year and a half; he's kept count) that gojo thinks he's finally getting over it— getting over you. his heart finally starts feeling lighter and breathing becomes a little bit easier and he can't help but think about how silly he was being, staying hung up for so long on somebody who probably never even thought twice about him.

they're small improvements but they're still improvements, and gojo reminds himself of that even as he walks down the busy streets of tokyo. he breathes out a sigh of relief as he slips into the local pharmacy, the cool air conditioning a welcome reprieve from the sticky heat outside.

he mumbles to himself as he moves through the aisles, scanning the shelves as he looks for children's allergy medication. the sudden weather changes had affected megumi and tsumiki in a way none of them had expected, and gojo was left alone to deal with their pitiful sniffles and soft complaints.

"allergy meds," he whispers, reaching out to grab a box only to put it back when it's not the one he's looking for. "there's so much cough syrup, where's the aller—"

"gojo?"

so maybe he hasn't improved, gojo thinks to himself as he freezes up at the sound of your voice. he holds his breath as you approach him, and he squeezes his eyes shut when he feels your sleeve brush against his.

six and a half years isn't enough to forget about you either, it seems.

"it's been a while, huh?" you ask, giving him a soft glance before looking at the shelves in front of you. there's a light hum that escapes your lips as you bend down to grab something before straightening up and holding out a box in your hand. "allergy meds, right?"

gojo nods silently as he takes the box from you, quickly scanning the text on it to make sure it was the right brand. there's an awkward silence as he thinks about what to say, and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind when you turn your face away from him.

"it's not for me!"

a noise that gojo thinks might be a giggle leaves your lips at his proclamation, and he mentally kicks himself for starting up a conversation with you.

"it's for megumi, right?" you ask softly, unaware of the way gojo's eyes widen at your question. "that zenin kid you took in?"

when you notice gojo's shocked look, you hastily ass onto your statement. "shoko told me about him when i asked about you."

'shoko told me about him when i asked about you.'

gojo thinks he feels his head spin when he hears those words come out of your mind. he does his best to remain calm, reaching out a hand to lean against the shelf comfortably and wincing when he instead knocks down a row of the cough syrups he had been studying earlier.

"uh, fushiguro, actually," he mutters, doing his best to focus on straightening out the products he knocked down. "his dad took his wife's last name or something like that. but yeah, the medicine is for him and his sister."

he finds himself shuffling awkwardly as you look down at your watch, eyes widening slightly when you take note of the time. he watches as you turn to face the shelf behind you, quickly plucking some eye drops off the shelf before turning back to him.

"i have to go, i'm running late for a meeting," you say sheepishly, giving gojo a soft smile. he gives you a half-smile in return, accompanied by a lazy wave as he waits for you to leave. you stand in front of him for a second, hesitating slightly before leaning in and wrapping your arms around him in a quick hug. gojo tenses up in your embrace, his breath catching in his throat and hands freezing mid-air before he hesitantly places them on your back. you pull back slightly after a few seconds, looking up at gojo with a stare that makes his heart feel like it's about to beat out of his chest before you address him once more. "it was nice to see you. we should catch up sometime."

you're gone with a smile and a wave, quickly paying for your eye drops before darting out the door. gojo remains in his spot for five minutes after your departure, only moving when he sees the amused look the cashier seems to be giving him. he doesn't speak as he pays for the allergy medication, and he hastily makes his exit back into the stifling heat. he starts walking down the street as he tucks his change into his pocket, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when his fingers brush against a piece of paper that hadn't bee there before.

there's an annoyed grumble from a passerby when gojo suddenly stops in the middle of the street, his fingers clutching onto the paper that contains very familiar handwriting.

'can't wait to see you again! :)'

the line is followed by what he assumes to be your phone number, and gojo can't help but wonder when you had the chance to write the note. he begins moving down the street again, his steps sluggish as he hesitates near a trash can. before he can think any harder, he lets the paper flutter into wastebasket, only pausing for a brief second before moving away.

not seeing you over the past year and a half made his heart feel lighter, yet all it took was a five minute interaction with you to make his heart feel worse than it ever had before.

the world loves to play cruel jokes on him, gojo thinks.

the past two years have been a whirlwind of chaos and uncertainty, and he's had no time to stop and think about you while dealing with geto, sukuna, and the emergence of the cursed spirit that calls itself mahito.

if he really thinks about it, he's had no time to sit and rest. from geto's attack to yuuta's training to megumi's missions to yuuji's interesting choice that led to him eating sukuna's finger, he's had no time to sit and truly enjoy the little things life has to offer.

(not that he's ever had the time. the life of a special grade sorcerer is a busy one, but gojo can't deny that things weren't always as complicated as they have been the last couple of years.)

so when yaga tells him that nanami is returning to jujutsu tech, gojo thinks that it's the perfect time to let yuuji learn from someone other than him while he takes care of some unfinished business. what he doesn't expect however, is to see you standing next to nanami, a pretty smile on your face as you greet yaga with a hug.

ten years. ten years and somehow, you still manage to make gojo feel the same way he did way back then.

there's something wrong with him, he thinks, especially because it's starting to seem like he's cursed to always somehow coexist with those he cares about without ever fully being a part of their lives. there's no way he can turn around and pretend he never saw you, not with the way yaga is already yelling at him to go over and greet the returners.

gojo wonders why this happens every time he sees you. he doesn't know how to label what he feels whenever you pop up in his life, and it isn't until you give him a hesitant greeting— your tone shy and awkward after receiving nothing but radio silence from him— that gojo thinks he might finally know what it is he feels for you.

and when the thought of him being in love with you crosses his mind and makes him feel like he wants to die, all he can do is tamp down his swirling emotions with a goofy grin aimed at nanami.

"nanami! what a pleasure to see you here," gojo sings, immediately pulling the blond man into a reluctant hug. he gives you a polite nod in greeting, and he can't help the way his heart sinks when you nod in response and look away.

"likewise," nanami replies, his tone strained as he pulls away from gojo. he fixes his shirt as he steps over to you, and the two of you stand silently as you wait for yaga to speak.

"introduce them to yuuji," yaga says, turning around and heading back towards his office. "and don't cause trouble. i mean it, satoru."

gojo giggles at yaga's words before clapping his hands and motioning for the two of you to follow after him, leading you down a series of hallways before you come to a stop in front of an empty room.

"yuuji! there's someone i'd like you to meet!"

you're taken slightly aback when your eyes meet bright, brown ones, and you can't help but stare as a teenage boy with pink hair comes to a stop in front of you and nanami.

"this is nanami kento!" gojo all but yells, once again slinging his arm around nanami's shoulders and swaying him back and forth. the boy, yuuji, looks at nanami curiously, his eyes focused on the glasses perched on his nose. he has no time to speak before gojo is introducing you as well, his voice softer than it had been when introducing nanami. yuuji's eyes sparkle as they shift to you, and all of a sudden he's breaking out into a boyish smile that only serves to remind you just how young he really is.

"woah! i didn't think you were actually real!" he proclaims, earning a strained laugh from gojo. "when gojo mentioned you he said you were really p—"

the rest of his words are muffled, gojo's hands clamped tightly against his mouth as he pulls yuuji away from you. out of the corner of your eye, you can see nanami staring at you, and you only give him a shrug in return as gojo pats yuuji's head and lets him go.

"you'll be following them around on missions," gojo finally explains, pushing yuuji towards you and nanami. "they're both grade 1 sorcerers so don't worry, you'll be safe! now if you'll excuse me, i have to go."

gojo's out of the room before either of you can breathe out a goodbye, and you tense for a second before excusing yourself and following after him. he hasn't gotten terribly far, but his long legs give him the advantage of staying ahead of you even as you start jogging lightly in an attempt to catch up to him.

"gojo!" you call out, huffing lightly when he ignores you and turns a corner. "hey! gojo, wait! satoru!"

the sounds of his given name has his steps faltering, and he reluctantly turns around when he hears your footsteps getting closer and closer. there's a rigidity to his stance that you've never seen, his shoulders hunched in an almost defensive way as you finally come to a stop in front of him.

"yeah?" he asks, an uncomfortable grin settling on his lips as he looks anywhere but you. he's grateful for his blindfold in this very moment, the dark fabric preventing him from seeing you in your entirety and preventing you from seeing the way he can't seem to look at you for more than half a second.

"i—," you say, starting to speak and cutting yourself off before looking down at the ground. you sigh softly, shaking your head lightly as your shoulders slump. "never mind. forget about it."

you turn to walk back to the room, and gojo feels like he might actually keel over and die right then and there if he lets you walk away yet again.

"how have you been?"

gojo's question hangs in the air, and he can't help but flinch when you finally look at him again, your eyes swirling with hurt and sadness and other emotions that pass so quickly that gojo isn't sure he could figure out what they were even if he tried.

"you'd know if you hadn't thrown my phone number away," you retort quietly, crossing your arms as he approaches you. gojo breathes in sharply at your words but remains quiet, his throat going dry as he realizes that you had seen what he did that day. "why, gojo?"

gojo weighs his options, vacillating between telling you the truth or spewing a lie. the words seem to spill out of his mouth before he can even think about whether or not to say them, a trend he notices is extremely common whenever he's in your presence. "because you've ruined my life."

okay, so the truth it is.

your eyes widen in hurt when you take in his words, and it takes everything you have to not burst into tears on the spot. "oh, i see."

"wait," gojo says, scrambling to fix the situation that just keeps getting worse and worse with everything he says or does. "that's not what i meant."

"then what did you mean?" you ask sharply, your eyes narrowing slightly as you stare him down.

"what i mean is that i think i love you," he says in a rush, ignoring the way your eyes widen in surprise at his admission. he doesn't give you the chance to respond, too focused on saying everything that's been building up for the past decade before he gets cold feet. "you've ruined my life, you know? it's been ten years but it's damn near impossible to get over you. my heart still feels as heavy as it did the day you let, maybe even heavier, and i threw away your number because i didn't see any benefit in reaching out to you. why would i torture myself by keeping in contact with you when i belong to the world you wanted to leave behind?"

"i wanted to leave the jujutsu world behind," you interject softly, taking a hesitant step towards gojo before coming to a stop. "that doesn't mean i wanted to leave gojo satoru behind."

"oh," gojo breathes. he wonders if you can hear how loud his heart is beating in his chest, and he decides that maybe he doesn't care. "does that mean that—"

"i liked you?" you interrupt, nodding your head softly. "or like, i guess. i agree, ten years isn't enough to get over you."

"i was talking about you," gojo mumbles dumbly, earning a shrug in response from you. a loud crash sounds from the direction of the room you had left nanami in, and you give gojo a hesitant look before motioning in the direction of the noise.

"i should probably go and check that out," you say quietly, a smile twitching at the corners of your lips. "y'know, make sure that nanami is okay."

"um, yeah. yeah that sounds reasonable," gojo says, his mind still focused on your impromptu confession.

"i don't think this conversation is over yet," you continue, breathing out a laugh when gojo nods in agreement. he jumps slightly when you take his hand in yours, slipping a piece of paper into in before tugging him down to press a kiss to his cheek. "let me know when you're free, yeah? maybe we can get dinner or something and talk."

"are you asking me out on a date?" he asks cheekily, doing his best to compose himself.

"maybe i am," you say slyly, squeezing his hand once before letting go. you turn to walk down the hall, only pausing to look at him over your shoulder once before you turn the corner. "don't lose my number this time, okay?"

gojo chuckles at your words, nodding in agreement as he gives you a lazy salute. "i wouldn't dream of it."

it isn't until you're out of sight that gojo realizes his heart feels the lightest that it's ever felt in years, and he finds himself once again wondering when you had gotten the chance to write the note.

reblogs are appreciated <3 ty for reading !!

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inkbybambi · 7 months

Text

bodyguard!simon riley who takes a bullet for you —

words: 2.9k rating: e warnings: nightmares, guns/shooting, gunshot wound, hospitals, smut, creampie, cunnilingus, mentions of threats against reader, threat against reader, lowercase writing — please let me know if i missed any! notes: 18+ content, minors dni. warnings have been provided.

he's been assigned to you for two-ish years now. you weren't thrilled at first, and neither was he — but he didn't make it as obvious as you did.

"i don't need a babysitter," you had damn-near hissed when he was introduced.

"i wasn't hired to be one," he counters coolly, which only serves to irritate you further.

actively ignoring his presence — as much as you could when your company moved him into your apartment — even though you begrudgingly made room in the counters and fridge for his things, even going as far as investing into a better kettle so he could make his tea and clearing out an entire cabinet for all his tea, sugar, and steeper.

he trails you quietly as he was hired to; keeping close enough to always have you in his sights but far enough away that people wouldn't be able to clock his association to you — or so he thought.

six months into his contract with you — an unknown amount of time left, as price never answered and soon he stopped asking — he wakes in the middle of the night from a scream he never thought would come from you.

he rushes into your bedroom, gun in hand with his finger resting on the side and not the trigger. the front door is locked as he had left it, windows unbroken. he almost thinks he might've associated it with one of his own nightmares, until he sees you.

curled in on yourself, face tucked into your knees, fingers threaded through your hair as you struggle to breathe properly, hiccups and sobs breaking between your stuttered breaths.

he knocks gently on your door, not wanting to startle you. you jump just a little, regardless, but lift your head to look at him.

"'m sorry," you mumble, voice rough, "i didn't mean to wake you."

and you hadn't. you thought you were done with these awful nightmares, the ones gnawing at the edges of your mind during the day.

"'s'alright," he replies, tucking the gun into the waistband of his sleep shorts, walking carefully towards your bed. "you okay?"

the look he receives damn near breaks his heart.

he learns, that night, that an attempt had been made on your life before. more than once.

they never got close enough to do any harm, you say, but then swallow thickly and clutch your bicep where simon sees a scar that he never took notice of previously. they didn't get close enough to do anything worse, you amend, chancing a look at him.

"i had security then, too," you explain, wiping your tears with your hand, playing with the blanket. "it didn't change anything."

something shifts after that.

he starts cooking for you — with you, when there's time — and you bring him a cup of tea each morning. the bookshelf in the living room, previously only half-filled, collects simon's books. you give him the login to all your streaming services, and ignore the pointed look he gives you when he sees some trashy reality tv show in your "continue to watch" queue.

he doesn't complain much when he stands behind you during an episode, arms crossed, asking a question here and there. you sigh, exasperated at having to explain everything, telling him to sit down and you start the series from the beginning.

nine months into his contract, your nightmares become more frequent, and worse. you don't understand why. you were getting better, you cry in simon's arms after a particularly rough night.

"sometimes these things happen," he tells you softly, gently carding his fingers through your hair, tucking you under his chin.

"make them stop, please," you beg, even though you know he can't. he wishes he could.

he starts sleeping in your bed.

he's so warm, your cheek pressed into his chest, feeling more secure than you have in months when the weight of his thick, tattooed arm slings around your waist. he presses a kiss to your forehead at night, and you burrow into his side.

he starts taking the balaclava off at night.

a morning where you blessedly don't have to be up early, grey clouds hang in the sky, the promise of a storm later.

"g'mornin'," he says, voice rough with sleep, feeling him flex and stretch beneath you, groaning as his body relaxes. a flash of heat snaps through you.

"morning," you reply, only half-awake, tilting your head up to drag your lips across his jaw, prickling with stubble.

his fingers are in your hair, thick and comforting, tilting you back until his mouth slants over yours. he cradles the back of your head as his tongue slips into your mouth, hot and heavy.

the sheets rustle as he moves to lay over you, free arm resting by your head as your legs hook on his hips, trying to draw him closer to you.

he nips at your bottom lip as he rolls his hips, the heat of his cock through his boxers frazzling your brain. you mewl, his tongue back in your mouth, moving his hand to grip your waist and drag you up against him, moaning low in his throat when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties.

"fuck," you breathe out as his mouth moves over your cheek, down your jaw, kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"say please," he rumbles.

"simon, please," you whine, fingers curling at the base of his skull and scratching, and he snarls against your skin, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck as he tears your panties off, pushing his boxers down enough to free his cock.

you're so wet for him, slick coating your thighs as he drags his cock through your folds.

he usually takes his time — using his fingers and tongue to open them up first, wanting to feel the wet heat of their cunt and the spurt of their release to know they're relaxed and ready for him. he eats pussy like he'll die if he doesn't, will happily spend hours between your legs if you let him.

but you? he feels feral with need.

"it's big, sweet thing," he rasps into your skin, right above the mark he sucked into your skin, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. he's not trying to brag, it's just a fact.

you claw at him, the sting of open scratches burning his skin so pleasantly.

"it's okay, don't care," you pant, gripping him hard enough to leave deep crescent marks in his skin, angling your hips up to draw him into your cunt yourself.

he grips your hips with both hands, slowly pushing his thick length into you, nails digging even deeper the more he pushes in.

"feels so fucking good," he says, tongue laving over your throat to collect the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin. "could fuck you forever," he groans, your breath hitching.

you make a strangled noise low in your throat. it's been awhile since you've fucked anyone, and you've never fucked anyone as big as him before.

the stretch feels so good, though. your cunt clenches around him as he sinks in deeper, mind glazing over as you focus only on him.

"fuck," he whines when he finally seats himself fully into you, nuzzling into your neck, overwhelmed by the heat and slick, "good fucking girl, taking me so well."

he swallows thickly, waiting a couple heartbeats to enjoy this — it's been awhile for him, too.

"think you can take it, love?" and his fucking voice. you would agree to do anything as long as you could hear that rough accent along your throat, teeth skimming your skin.

"yes," you breathe out harshly, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, close, closer.

for a man of few words, simon has a filthy mouth as he fucks into you, accompanied by groans and growls into your collar.

"never had a cunt this perfect." "fuckin' made for me." "can't wait to get my tongue in you, feel you cum on my face." "no one else can have you." "you're mine."

and you, normally far more verbal than him, are reduced to nothing more than mewls and pleas and moans for more.

you mouth and nip at his jaw when you can, wanting to mark him just as much as he's marking you. you'll be his forever if he lets you, but you'll be damned if anyone else gets to have him either.

"simon — " is the only warning you give before you cum on his cock, head thrown back as you moan through the waves of pleasure, release coating his legnth and thighs.

"that's it, baby, good girl, give it to me," he says, blunt nails digging into your waist as he grinds himself deep into you. you feel so warm and pliant, the pleasure numbing your mind as he rocks himself into you.

"wanna feel you give me one more, angel," he bites at your throat on the other side, wanting to give you matching marks. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, fucking into you deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars and your toes curling.

you grip at him again, clawing as he fucks into you, the sound of your wet cunt taking each thrust creating a symphony with his groans and your cries. he feels so fucking good, splitting you open and making you whole, desperate for him to cum inside.

the way your nails dig into his shoulder is the sign that you're getting close, and he thrusts just a little harder, a little meaner, your cute whines growing more desperate as you walk the precipice of another orgasm.

no one's ever made you cum more than once — sometimes, not even once — and you've never been able to do it yourself either.

but simon? fucks a second orgasm out of you like it's his life mission, ankles tightening around his neck as pleasure lines your veins, shaking as he continues to hit that spot inside you as you cum, prolonging it as much as he can.

"baby — " he chokes out, sharp teeth on your shoulder, thrusts getting sloppy. the slick of your two releases sounds so loud in your bedroom, feeling the desperation as he thrusts, deeper, harder.

"cum inside," you mumble against his cheek, nails scratching at the base of his skull as he thrusts once, twice, three times — the warmth of his release flooding your cunt.

he fists the sheets in one hand, nails dragging down your thigh as he pumps deep into you, your slick and his release seeping out of your hole, dripping down his balls and your asshole.

you stay like that, lips brushing, breathing in each other's air as you slowly come down from the high.

simon gently — so gently — lowers your legs, carefully watching your face for any signs of discomfort, settling them on his hips, hands moving up and down your thighs. "y'alright?" he asks. you swallow thickly and nod, both hands now at the base of his skull, affectionately scratching at the nape of his neck.

he slowly pulls out, and you miss the stretch and the warmth immediately. you push up on your elbows, watching as the mixture of your pleasure leaks out of you, biting you lip.

"fuckin' beautiful," he says almost reverently, mesmerized.

he spends the next hour cleaning you up, and you think your nails create permanent marks on his shoulders.

time bleeds together.

his contract renews on the twelfth month.

he heard rumors that price might switch him out for another guard.

you're at the meeting — it's your bodyguard, after all, they figure you should get some input. price has two separate folders prepared. a sharp look from simon is all price needed to know about how he feels. the tongue lashing you give your higher ups has price raising his eyebrows, and simon sits forward a little more should he need to haul you out over his shoulder.

he wouldn't mind that too much, he thinks, but he'd rather not.

ten minutes later and you're angrily signing his renewal papers, a blotch of ink at the start of your name as you didn't even read the contract before signing, lungs burning from your rant about personal safety and what the fuck are you thinking and i didn't just buy an entirely new tea set for nothing.

you grip his wrist as soon as he signs himself, dragging him to the nearest bathroom.

his hand covers your mouth as he fucks you deep and slow.

"don't worry, darling, 'm not going anywhere."

eighteen months into his contract, and he's never felt so little control before in his life.

he's meticulous, prepared, tactile.

there's a gun in his holster for distance threats and a knife in his sheath for those who dare get too close.

he makes sure to memorize the exists before you even get to the venue, now making no effort to conceal himself.

he's like a shadow, or a guard dog.

you've never felt more secure. more protected.

until —

he doesn't know how it slipped past him.

he let his eyes linger a little too long on the curve of your neck, where a new diamond pendant lay with his initial engraved on the back. he admires the dip of the dress you wear, open-back that shows the enticing expanse of your back, the dress covering you above the curve of your ass. you look back at him briefly while whomever you're with speaks, eyes sparkling in the bright light of the room, a smile reserved just for him.

he hears the cock of a hammer and his eyes snap to a gentleman who brandishes a gun like he's never held one before in his life. his eyes, though. his eyes are like fire, black with rage, staring at you with such hatred.

you look one second too late.

simon is on you right after the click of the trigger, pushing you to the floor and caging you with his body.

"stay down and don't fucking move," he growls as he reaches for his own weapon, up in a flash.

you can't hear anything except white noise and screams that sound muffled, heart pounding and making it hard to breathe. two shots ring out, in tandem, and there's the telltale sign of a body hitting the floor.

simon is by your side, eyes scanning, frantic, looking for any signs of harm.

"you okay?" he asks, carefully outstretching his hands to let you stop him from touching you should you want. you don't.

"fine," your voice cracks, and you can't stop shaking.

"you're okay, you're okay," he says, cradling your cheeks, thumbs wiping under your eyes. "i'm so fucking sorry," he adds, guilt heavy in his chest.

you grab his wrists lightly, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look him over. you gasp, unable to catch a real breath, unable to look away from his stomach.

"simon — " you say, horror laced in your voice.

he looks down, seeing the red seep through his shirt.

fuck.

at least it wasn't you, he tells himself.

nineteen months into his contract, and he isn't dead.

while he's been shot before — a fact he tells you, assuming it would comfort you, but only got him a venomous glare in return — it's been awhile.

the hospital, the stitches, the gauze and needles. he hated it then and he hates it now.

price comes to you in the hospital — they're keeping simon for a little, to make sure there's no complications with his healing — offering another guard in the interim while simon recovers.

you've never shot down a proposal so quickly in your life. the nerve.

twenty-two months into his contract, and the last of the moving boxes are taped shut and labeled. some of them in your writing, the others in his. the keys to your new house are tucked into his pocket, alongside a black velvet box.

"why do we have so much shit," you whine when packing, only two boxes deep and so many rooms left to go. you're too busy stuffing a manatee shaped steeper into a box — mana-tea, you giggled when he opened it, him rolling his eyes fondly in reply — and don't see him pause, looking at you softer, never hearing "we" before like that. never dreaming he could hear it like that.

a lot of stalling on your part and encouragement on his, and the last box is packed and placed in the back of the truck.

he laces your fingers together as you drive to the new house, a bottle of champagne already chilled.

twenty four months into his contract, and you come home with something hidden behind your back.

you smile like you have a secret, which would be a first.

it's awkward to bring around from your back, but there's a large german shepard puppy wiggling in your grip, tail wagging furiously.

he feels his heart stop for a moment, unable to take his eyes off the puppy, and then the band that's sitting around your finger. he touches his own subconsciously.

you set the ball of fur down, who immediately launches at simon, whining and wiggling and trying to give him kisses.

there's a collar and tag already there, and you watch with your heart beating faster than ever, unable to stop the smile on your lips, as he wrangles the pup enough to read it.

riley.

#ink by bambi #simon riley/reader #simon riley x reader #ghost/reader #ghost x reader #simon riley/you #simon riley x you #modern warfare imagine #modern warfare fanfic #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #mondern warfare smut

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xhatake · 1 year

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thinking about how light ya.gami reflects the worst in us which makes me rabies

#ooc.#i am making the blog tho i take forever to make blogs / establish new muses #but thinking abt how even without the death note he is still a self-serving person with the ' its ok if i do it for the greater good' compl #because he would have become a detective for the same reason #as L #because he lieks to win #he likes to do what he defines as ' good ' & be good at it #regardless as the context so long as he's held in that light of supreriority #then these parts of him are just amplified tenfold when he's given access to a power that renders him untouchable as far as he is concerned #i will keep thinking about this #i cannot stop #something that is so important tho is that all of this is in reference to his overexaggerated impression of what he's capable of #he becomes so lost in his power that he thinks he's untouchable which is ultimately his downfall #he could of kept doing what he was doing if he didn't get cocky after l's death #it wouldnt have been easy& i have no doubt that near & mello would have taken him down regardless eventually but if he exercised #the same caution he did in his rise to power he could have at least kept the facade up for longer #i have so many thoughts #tomorrow i am gonna embark on refamiliarizing myself with the series i do not know death note as well as i know naruto i love it but #naruto i watch obsessively #the last time i watched the entirety of death note i was deep in a two day acid trip #& i kept rewatching the episode where l died & crying because it was beautiful aesthetically and just a really good climax for the series #in my humble opinion #i am also obsessed with l but i think i would rip my skull in half if i ever tried to write him #love him dont get me wrong & it would be sooo interesting #but his self importance is in a different perspective that is not as easy for me to dip into

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onlyswan · 3 months

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summary: in which you sacrifice your strawberries and eyelash wishes for the boy knocking at your door.

idol!jungkook x reader, strangers to friends (?) to lovers / fluff and a pinch of angst / word count: 5.5k

content/warnings: allusions to death and grief / jungkook is a cutie patootie and a blushing hopeless romantic mess / he wants to kiss oc so bad (me too bro) / oc is a sunshine <3 / they do chores and watch movies together :((( / in one scene he was worried oc would think of him as a perv lmao / they’re dorks and i love them / seokjin cameo hehehe

> in which masterlist!

note: to make up for the pain i may have caused and will cause <3 LOL. i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing :D as always reblogs and feedback are appreciated! come chat w me. ily 🌼

—

“it’s so cold,” you mutter through chattering teeth.

the grocery bags sit on the hardwood table with a thud— the careless bringer too hasty. you shove your icy hands in the deep pockets of your jacket, breathing in and out with a sense of relief.

you are not granted the mundane euphoria for much longer, however. the doorbell rings and you are padding across the floor against your will. the cold air hits your face before it enters your apartment.

however, the happy smile that greets you blankets your heart with a type of warmth that is difficult to describe.

if you had to guess who was behind the door, you wouldn’t say the boy you’ve been fiercely pining over for the past month, but it is certainly who you’d be hoping for regardless.

“good morning!”

“oh! wait there for a moment!”

jungkook stands motionless by your open front door as you disappear into your apartment. confusion accompanied by curiosity, he tries poking his head inside, but then decides that he shouldn’t.

upon your return, his face lights up again.

“here you go!”

he accepts the jar of honey faster than he could think.

“w-why are you-?”

you tilt your head, lips forming a small pout. “isn’t that what you’re here for?”

“uh, actually-” he awkwardly pauses, hand that carries the heavy paper bag behind him suddenly feeling weak. “i came here to give you something.”

your eyes animatedly expand in surprise of the size of it, not at all expecting to receive a gift from him today. you do know that he’s fresh from japan, as you converse on the phone almost everyday… why would he come here almost immediately? and didn’t he say they weren’t given the chance to roam the city because of their work schedule?

“i just grabbed things i thought you might like. i hope i got most of them right?” he explains with a nervous chuckle as you take a look inside.

a diverse array of snacks; a beautiful journal painted with cherry blossoms; a hello kitty plushie; stickers, muji pens…

“oh my god, jungkook… these are too much. you didn’t have to.”

oh, curse the hopeless fluttering of your heart.

“wow, gifting your merch- that’s real idol behavior for you.” you tease him, referring to the hooded jacket that has their group logo on its plastic packaging. “thank you!”

“no but it seriously warms you up! i have one too!”

“jungkook, why are you so cute?!”

“ah, shut up! i’m getting embarrassed!” he whines, blushing. “just look at them later after i leave, how about that?”

“let go! it’s mine!” you glare at him, hugging the paper bag to your chest to deny his advances on snatching it away. “are you not leaving? don’t you have work?”

“i told you— it’s my rest day.”

“you did?”

“while we were texting last night.”

“oh,” you blink. “i don’t remember reading that.”

“you? what are you doing today?”

you bite back the smile threatening to give away the thoughts running in your mind a thousand miles per hour. why does he want to know?

“nothing special. just chores the entire day.”

jungkook puts his hand inside the pocket of his coat, an attempt to appear casual as he offers you his valiant effort. “do you want some help? i’m good at doing chores.”

you stare at him, perplexed, as if he just said the most ridiculous sentence you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

“it’s your rest day and you want to do chores?”

“sure,” he grins playfully, not at all seeing how that could be wrong. “why not?”

“you know…” you pause— observing his expression, considering shutting your mouth, but that plan rarely ever works out. “you can just say that you want to spend time with me, right?”

your bluntness sends his heart racing. you’re a danger to his health.

he sinks his perfect teeth on his bottom lip, bringing his dimples into view. to be honest, you didn’t always have a thing about dimples. you didn’t consider them all that special. but why do they make him look cute and sexy at the same time?

his cheeks become tinted with a pale scarlet. you’re wearing that friendly beam again; he doesn’t know how to act. he never knows whether you are joking or not.

“well, now i know.”

—

jungkook sets down the jar of honey on the table as he settles in the living room, fascinated doe eyes darting around every inch of your place. it’s not his first time here, but somehow, it looks different each time. the two frames hanging above the sofa captures his attention all over again, colorful drawings against the plain white wall. gifted to you by your siblings, you said.

a tall castle with a happy family. a little boy slaying a dragon to protect a princess from its savage fire.

he is blissfully unaware of the knowledge that the drawings are the lone survivors of a school bus and a tragedy. you want it to stay that way. you want people to feel the opposite of the sadness you feel when you look at them. that is how you seek your peace.

“are you wearing toe socks?”

“huh?” he makes a sound of confusion, only processing your question upon seeing your gaze trained to his feet. “ah- toe socks- yes.”

“i’m only noticing them now. they look funny.” you scrunch your nose, chuckling.

“don’t laugh! they’re so comfortable!”

“really?” your eyes widen with genuine interest. “i should try them then.”

“yeah, you should!”

he whips his head around as he jokingly voices out an observation.

“but ____, your house kind of looks different today… it’s almost like it’s cleaner than the last time i was here.”

you bury your face in your hands with a high-pitched wine, hiding from him in humiliation. you did not plan on inviting someone over that night, and he had to watch you run around organizing and picking up things— the scattered books all over the table and the floor; the jackets that have created a big heap on the small couch; the jewelry box that ended up on the dining table for some reason.

he laughs in endearment, unable to take his eyes from you. even the way your hair bounces as you furiously shake your head is pretty. wait, does that sound weird?

“that’s right, it should look different! the first thing i did when winter break started was clean up my mess.”

“what’s the first chore on the list then?” he catches the grocery bags in the kitchen from his peripheral. “were you putting away your groceries?”

“you really want to do chores? you don’t want to watch a movie or something?”

“aigoo, it’s fine!” he waves off your reluctance. “stop worrying! i already said i’d help you.”

“but it’s embarrassing…”

it’s either jungkook is denying your advances or he is simply dense. but the fact that he showed up at your door unannounced on his day-off despite complaining about his exhaustion from their hectic work schedule, you want to lean towards the latter and believe that he is… as good at chores like he claims to be.

“you must like fruits a lot.” jungkook comments as he is squatted infront of your fridge, sheltering the freshly bought perishables one by one.

kimchi, lettuce, strawberries, tangerines, shine muscat, apples…

this is an entirely different world through your lens.

it feels strange to watch another person restock your fridge for you.

“they’re easy to eat and i’m lazy to cook.”

he chuckles as he looks back at you, who is sat on the dining table, airy and carefree as you snack on a bag of assorted chocolates from the paper bag he brought. almost all of the white chocolates are gone, he notes.

“not because they’re nutritious?”

“that’s the bonus!”

“what is this?”

“cranberry juice.”

“and this?”

“oyster sauce.”

you energetically hop off the table, an idea lighting up the bulb in your mind.

“i have another recipe for you. french toast with strawberries, then drizzle some of the honey. should i make it for you?”

“ah!” he gasps as if he is in pain, but the truth is his mouth is watering. he hasn’t eaten breakfast, and he wanted to eat more for dinner last night but sleep proved to be much more enticing than food. “that sounds so good! i’m starving!”

“stand up!” you begin pulling at the back of his sweater, forcing him to remove himself from the floor. “i’ll make it! just go relax in the living room, okay?”

“but you just said you’re lazy to cook.” he tilts back his head, meeting your gaze. “i’ll help you.”

“i’m not lazy when it becomes to being a host.”

you bend down with a sweet smile, merely inches away from him, and jungkook swears the earth has stopped spinning on its axis. your face is natural and bare, except for the sheen of lip balm across your lips— and dear heavens, having you this close, you are so breathtakingly beautiful.

“they’re playing christmas movies on channel 36.” you announce, giving him the bag of chocolates. “and the remote is… somewhere on the sofa… or maybe the floor.”

and as he gets practically kicked out of the kitchen, your hands roughly pushing his back, he daydreams of kissing you and tasting sugar on your lips.

—

the sweet, addicting smell of the french toast— strong hints of butter and cinnamon— invades every corner of your apartment. consequently, it also compels jungkook to break your rules and insert himself in the kitchen again.

“you never give up, do you?”

“i don’t,” he agrees, nodding eagerly. he has successfully stolen the task of washing the strawberries, and then slicing them after. he endures the freezing water rendering his hands numb. “it’s a known fact.”

“are you saying i should study harder?” you cross your arms, expression painted with faux vexation.

“yes! exactly!” he humors you, grinning of amusement. “what’s my favorite color?”

you sigh, looking at him from head to toe.

“anyone can guess that from a mile away, jungkook.”

“fuck, okay. that’s fair!”

the sound of his laughter reminds of you reasons to stay through the cycle of the seasons. you don’t understand why, but for some reason, it has finally begun to feel like christmas. the only comfort that comes along with the cruel winter that nips at your skin; the blanket over your heart that provides a type of warmth one can travel to seek but will never be able to find alone.

“what’s my height then?”

“aren’t you six feet?”

the silence that follows is an answer enough for you. the noise of the television emerges now that none of you is talking. he pretends to be too busy to speak, transferring the strawberries over to the chopping board.

“yes, you’re ri-”

“liar!” you point an accusatory finger at him.

and he winces, guilty as charged.

“you hesitated!”

“tsk, i should’ve said yes faster! i wanted to experience what it’s like to be tall!” he regretfully purses his lips, eyebrows knitted as if he just lost the lottery. “but haven’t you read it online? even my shoe size and weight are there.”

“what? why do people even need to know that…?” you exclaim, flabbergasted. “i mean- of course i’ve searched up your name, but it feels like cheating on a test. does that sound silly…? it’s just more fun learning about you from you.”

you briefly walk away to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and jungkook is left at the counter with fondness blossoming in his chest, bleeding into the chopped strawberries staining his hands red.

he calls out your name.

“mhmm?” you hum in question, muffled by the water in your mouth.

“want to hear a fact about me?”

you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, eyes expanding with fueled interest. “what?”

“i’m actually very good in the kitchen.” he boasts his skills with the kitchen knife, quick and precise, the blade against the wood creating the satisfying click you usually only hear from cooking shows. “are you seeing this? huh…? what do you think?”

“so i’ve noticed. i want something new!”

at that, his shoulder sags in disappointment. to his demise, there goes another failed attempt at making you acknowledge that he is boyfriend material.

“what do you want to know? ask me questions.”

“what’s your ideal type?”

being in your presence for the past hour has gotten jungkook re-adjusted to your personality— straight-forward, bold, smart— so vivacious that it’s dizzying. you make him nervous and comfortable at the same time, and he doesn’t quite know how to explain it either. but you’re a breath of fresh air, the change that he has been anticipating to disrupt his routine.

“why do you want to know that?”

you shrug coyly, smiling like the troublesome vixen that you are. you rather enjoy the tension that has hung in the air. if you’ve learned something from the past: men are easy to get, not easy to keep. because they relish in the chase, getting strung along like this. so, shouldn’t you have your fun too? but even if jungkook’s intentions were pure, you can only imagine that seeing someone whose life revolves around their career is… the perfect recipe for disaster.

“i think who you like also says a lot about who you are as a person.”

“i like someone who is kind and funny…” he hums in thought, unconsciously slotting a piece of strawberry in between his lips. “and passionate about the things they love… mhmm, someone who can be honest with me.”

his words form a constellation named after you, unbeknownst to you, and he wants to say more but anticipating what comes next after you connect the dots makes his stomach twist. he doesn’t feel like an adult yet. he’s still just a young boy with a gorgeous crush and high ambitions that coalesce in his dreams.

“i like someone who has a really pretty smile, too.”

and he should probably stop staring, erase the dumb lovesick smile on his face. for fuck’s sake, it would be easier for him if you would just do the same. behind the sparkles of your eyes, there is something he’s been dying to decipher.

“okay, why are you looking at me like that?”

because you are so pretty, especially when you smile.

“nothing,” he replies innocently. “you? what’s your ideal type? who do you like?”

“i don’t know… no one has captured my heart yet. they’re not trying hard enough!”

every romance you’ve had so far has been a letdown.

“but i’m still looking. i’m young, and hot, and the universe is vast.”

“mhm, i see… that’s true, but maybe… you don’t want to be looking too far.” jungkook suggests.

you smirk. “so you agree that i’m hot?”

“you know. you don’t need me to say it.” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“but i want to hear you say it.”

“you’re very beautiful, ____.”

“but that’s not-”

“the food is ready! let’s eat it before it gets cold!”

he runs to the living room without waiting for you, and you seize the opportunity to squeal without a sound, punching the counter without actually punching— releasing the giddiness threatening to spill from the seams of your heart.

you don’t know if this is heading somewhere, nor do you expect it to, but where you are right now is a good place to be.

—

the movie playing on the screen has become more of a white noise to you, a family comedy far less fascinating compared to jungkook drizzling honey over strawberries and bread from a spoon. you wonder if he is aware how often he creates sound effects while he is doing something.

beside you, his body quakes with cackles during the scenes that an editor would definitely insert the classic sound of an audience’s collective laughter and holler. you stumble upon the understanding that his happiness lies in a myriad of things, and you would envy him for it if not for the fact that he is currently sharing that happiness with you. you laugh when he laughs, and being becomes a little less heavier at that moment.

another commercial break rudely interrupts and jungkook turns towards you. the two of you sit cross-legged, knees knocking against each other as you occupy nearly the entire sofa.

“hi!”

“hi.”

“what are your plans for the holidays?”

“my best friend’s family invited me to stay with them for christmas until the new year. it’s kind of been a tradition since…”

the end of your sentence hangs suspended in the air. you still can’t say it out loud.

jungkook knows they’re gone and you’re alone: only the plain and brutal truths.

the reminder that this is the third christmas you will not spend with your family; the thought that this would be the third christmas they would spend without you if the afterlife was real— they bring tears to your eyes at once, but you forcibly blink them away, shoving enthusiasm down your throat.

“how about you?” you take a bite from your toast, attempting to divert your thoughts to… anything else. “are you coming home?”

you hide so well behind a smile. it doesn’t occur to jungkook that his question rubbed salt on an open wound.

“i miss my mom but i can’t go home yet.” he pouts. “i have work on christmas day as usual. we’ve been preparing hard for it.”

“oh, that’s right! gayo daejeon?!”

he nods in confirmation.

the music festival has been an annual event for his group since they debuted, and he never feels the need to complain because not everyone is given this kind of opportunity. what’s extraordinary for most has become his ordinary, and what was once his ordinary like everybody else’s has simply become a thing of the past. nevertheless, he does not have regrets. he is living a good life, one that he believes is his fate. as long as he has a voice and it is being heard, then his existence has meaning.

“your family will surely watch you, so they’re still celebrating it with you in a way. making them proud is the best christmas gift you can give!”

and right now, in his life, you are the cherry on top. you were so cheerful and supportive about the final shows of their tour as well, raving about how amazing it is to perform three nights in a row at gocheok skydome.

“i’ll watch you too!”

he can’t help it— you’re driving him to be better at what he does. childishly, he wants show off and be the one to capture your heart.

“ah!” he groans. “that means i should work harder at practice tomorrow! i can’t mess up infront of you and my family!”

“why not me? you want to make me proud too?” you interrogate him jokingly.

“of course, it’s my job. it’s what i do best. i’ll make you see!”

“use me as motivation then. you can’t mess up, okay? you have to do well, jungkook! you better not make a mistake! my eyes will be focused on you only!”

his face is reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights— the headlights being your wide, threatening eyes.

he releases a shaky sigh in dramatic fashion. “i don’t feel motivated, though? i’m getting pressured?”

you wheeze; the plate over your lap tilts along with its contents.

“this is tough love!”

jungkook nearly staggers to his feet. “…love?”

you roll your eyes, small corners of your lips still cheekily lifted. “was the french toast good?”

jungkook is interrupted before he can form a response.

“but if it tastes like shit, just lie to me!”

“what are you talking about?!”

oh my god, you’re too fucking good at making him laugh.

“you’re eating it too! you know it’s delicious!”

“maybe you got a bad batch!”

—

“i’m going to the laundry shop across the street. i’ll just be a minute.” you announce, hauling a laundry basket to the living room.

your strained grunts prompt jungkook to look up from his phone, and eventually to stand up with urgency and relieve you of your heavy, heavy burden.

“shit, how heavy is this?”

you’re not given a chance to protest as the basket is immediately stolen from your grasp; your lips part open but no words come out.

“i’ll come with you!”

“well, hopefully not more than twelve kilos.”

it’s definitely heavier than usual; mainly comprised of the thick and layered clothes you’ve been wearing to shield yourself from the unforgiving cold.

“let’s go.”

jungkook wraps his hand around your wrist, gently tugging. the butterflies in your stomach wakes up earlier than spring’s arrival.

“this thing is bigger than you.”

an extremely obvious exaggeration.

“i’ll be the one to carry it.“

—

jungkook wears a cap and a face mask underneath his hoodie, eyes barely even visible in his all-black getup for the public to see; and somehow you also find yourself with a scarf around your neck, pulled up over the bridge of your nose.

when the year 2017 rolled in, you predicted that more crazy, life-altering stuff would happen. it has been an on-going theme, a relentless domino effect that has brought you to your knees time and time again. but you never would’ve fucking imagined that this is how you would be wrapping it up. how the hell did you cross paths with a famous idol, and why is he carrying your laundry basket right now?

“wait here for a bit.” you bring both hands to the basket’s handles, coaxing him to let go. “i’ll just bring it inside.”

“are you only dropping it off? that’s expensive!”

“what?” you stare at him in bewilderment, not expecting him to utter such statement at all. “you’re talking like you’re not rich!”

“i’m not! and still,” jungkook becomes flustered underneath his disguise. “it’s good to be practical. anyway, we have a lot of time.”

“you sound more like a mom than my mom did.”

“shhh!” he shushes you, putting a finger over his face mask. “let’s just do your laundry ourselves.”

“why would you do laundry right now? you’re supposed to be resting in the first place!”

a tug of war ensues infront of the laundry shop. strangers doesn’t know better. you look like a married couple bickering over who should take responsibility of the chore.

“____, just let me, mhm? i’m a pro at doing laundry too! we’ll be done before you know it!”

“how are you good at everything? honestly, it sounds like a scam!”

“how dare you doubt me?” he gasps in offense. “i do my own laundry!”

“seriously?” you quirk an eyebrow.

“i’m serious!”

“i don’t think i believe you, though…”

“if you search online, you-” your voice echoes in his mind, and subsequently, jungkook cuts himself off.

‘it feels like cheating on a test. it’s more fun learning about you from you.’

“oh, nevermind. let’s go inside already. i’m freezing!”

“jungkook!” you whine, stomping your feet on the ground as you refuse to let go of the basket despite jungkook beginning to head inside.

“why?” he copies the childishness of your tone, and although you can’t see his face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell you enough.

“we can’t…”

the adorable sight of you appearing to be so shy is foreign to him. he can’t help but to chuckle. “why not?”

your lips form a pout.

“my panties…”

you bring a finger to point at the basket.

“they’re in there too… i was only going to drop them off today because you came with me…”

“ah…” jungkook awkwardly freezes, unblinking. “wait, you’re right?”

why didn’t he think of that? he’s a fucking idiot. of fucking course. what if you take things the wrong way and you’re creeped out by him now?!

“fuck, sorry. i’m sorry. i wasn’t- um, i swear i wasn’t trying to…”

his tongue becomes tied, struggling to search for the words that won’t make him sound like a damn pervert.

yeah, way to go, jungkook. you’re not the fucking boyfriend yet and you’re ruining your chances.

“did i make you uncomfortable? i’m sorry. it probably looked li-”

“hey, breathe, calm down. it’s alright, jungkook.”

you giggle in amusement, placing a hand over his chest— his heart. it’s meant to ease him, but the knowledge that you’re feeling his racing heartbeat only causes it to further intensify. he swallows the lump in his throat, dumbfounded by the turn of events. he wants the ground to swallow him whole, but he also wants to stay in this moment a little while longer.

“it’s alright. i’ll go bring this inside then i’ll treat you to lunch at the restaurant over there! don’t run away from me, okay?”

—

“the yukgaejang looks good.” you utter absentmindedly, admiring the spicy beef soup with plentiful vegetables from afar. “i’m jealous of you.”

the other tables are already having a feast while you and jungkook are waiting for your take-out to be prepared.

“then you should’ve ordered it too.” jungkook scolds you lightheartedly. “should i go?”

“no! i’m not good with spicy food. spice makes me cry.”

he smiles softly. once again, you complete the picture from his eyes. “what is there to frown so sadly about?”

“i feel like i’m missing out.” you complain, the pout on your face almost permanent. “spicy food is like one of the trademarks of korea, you know? but i can’t handle it!”

“so cute…” jungkook has decided to give in to his impulses, it seems— the evidence is him pinching your cheek for the very first time, and with the discovery of its delightsome softness, it will definitely not be the last.

“oh, oh, oh! an eyelash!”

his doe eyes glisten with pure wonder and excitement, and the air in your lungs becomes suspended when his hand moves to tenderly cup the side of your face. as he is absorbed in capturing the tiny eyelash that has fallen and glued itself on your cheek, your mind reels with the size of his hand, the sensation of his innocent touch against your neck.

“aaand-” jungkook takes your hand, passing on the eyelash to your index finger. “there you go. make a wish!”

your eyes flicker down, and none of you speaks for a moment or two.

a wish…?

what does one wish for when they have given up on wishing for miracles?

“did you do it?”

you peek at jungkook, nodding. at last, you blow the eyelash away, outside the window, where it becomes one with the snowflakes that came from the same sky where wishes are supposedly granted.

“what did you wish for?”

“i’ll tell you when it comes true.”

—

jungkook eats so well— you feel full just by watching him eat. so when he asked you, eyebrows knitted and legs bouncing, if he could have more rice, you were left with no choice but to plug in the rice cooker for the second time today. you cooked only enough for two meals today: brunch and dinner for one. you’re more than happy to have given him the dinner portion. you like that your apartment is providing warmth for another soul, despite the old times that it housed ones that ended up haunting you.

“are there any more chores to do? while we wait for the rice?”

you gaze switches from him to the living room.

the boy who was knocking at your door is now vacuuming your floors.

you sit on the couch with your legs hugged to your chest, chin propped on your knees. an unexplainable feeling swims in your chest, but your heart calls to welcome it. not to be delusional, but technically, isn’t this a marriage proposal?

it falls on dear ears— the infuriating sound of the cheap vacuum cleaner your landlord lended you and never came back for. underneath it is jungkook’s mellifluous voice, humming and singing, and it’s all you can hear.

the only use you knew of honey is the magic it does with tea for a sore throat. when you learned about his demanding occupation, he is all you can think of in relation to the elixir. since then, you’ve been taking the god awful amount of honey your pesky neighbor provides without any complaints.

this is nice… this is good. you are glad that you opened the door.

—

after a hearty and satisfying meal, you and jungkook retired to your previous spots infront of the television screen. more of the snacks he bought for you ended up being shared. near your stacks of books are colorful food wrappers and half-empty glasses of water. two mediocre yet entertaining movies later, you tell jungkook that you should pick up your laundry before the shop closes in an hour. however, after he has excused himself to the bathroom, he is greeted by the sight of you peacefully asleep on the sofa.

once more, a new side of you is laid bare, and his affection grows. he doesn’t know when he can admire your face this close again without melting from your stare.

heedful of disturbing your much deserved rest, he carefully places a pillow beneath your head, and he pulls down the blanket you’re wrapped in to cover your cold feet.

with one last stolen glimpse, he grabs your key and receipt from the bowl and leaves.

—

“is it time for you to leave?” you delicately rub at your eyes that are still half-closed; voice quiet, barely there.

you were awoken by the front door opening and closing, but nothing has quite registered to your fuzzy brain yet, except for the coat that you neatly kept and is already re-worn by its owner.

and he knows you’re most probably just sleepy, but the way you’re gazing at him as if you’re sad to see him go makes his heart clench.

“no, i picked up your laundry.” he enlightens you, consciously speaking with refined tenderness, as to preserve the serenity that has enveloped the atmosphere. “i can stay until eight. is that okay?”

you release a weary sigh, nodding. “of course… and you’re such a nice friend, thank you.”

he plops down on the sofa, filling the jungkook-shaped space beside you.

tired… you’re so tired… despite the given privilege to finally sleep to your heart’s content, you’re still so tired. your forehead lands softly on his shoulder, and unbeknownst to you due to your stupor, jungkook’s breath hitches— the polar opposite of the steady rise and fall of your chest. you make him swoon. he deliberately ignores the fact that you just called him a friend.

you peer down at the floor, past the curtain of your disheveled hair, slowly blinking. those ridiculous toe socks… you giggle in secret.

“jungkook?”

“yes?”

“are you cold?”

“freezing.”

you lift your head and he knows— you have to be playing games with his heart, bringing the temptation to kiss you so painfully close. “do you want some tea?”

—

the performance has commenced but the passionate screams of the audience still rings in jungkook’s ears as he runs backstage, chased by the staff attempting to wipe the sweat he is practically bathing in. he squeezes one eye shut as beads of sweat threaten to enter it. his chest heaves with exhaustion and his heart pumps with overwhelming adrenaline. most of the time, this job doesn’t feel real. he feels high. this is the textbook definition of a dream.

“where’s my phone? please? does anyone have it?” he yells in the midst of the chaos and clamor as he completely strips off his in-ears.

a hand reaches towards him with the device, and his expression of gratitude gets lost somewhere among the repetitive reminders of the remaining time before they should have returned to their designated seats.

he allows the hair and make-up stylists to do their jobs, him as their doll in need of a retouch. on the other hand, he impatiently waits for his phone to power on.

the tapping of jungkook’s foot ceases, and from his glowing reflection on the vanity mirror, the clueless people surrounding him witnesses love strike.

guess my eyelash wish worked like a charm. your performances went really well

and you looked so cool on stage ☺️

merry christmas jungkook ❤️

“jungkook-ah, what are you smiling at?!”

seokjin cackles. jungkook didn’t even notice him roll his chair so close. he then decides to play dumb to tease their youngest one.

“wow, who is this ____ you’re texting?”

“hyung!” jungkook panics, hissing underneath his breath. “lower your voice!”

“ouch!” seokjin yells, rubbing his arm that was hit as a punishment.

he allows a moment of silence.

his expression goes blank and he avenges himself.

“ah!” jungkook gasps as the slap on his thigh resonates, forced to be ripped away from overthinking a text message. “hyung! you better start running!”

Draft: i know it’s late.. but can i see you later?|

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook smut

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dilfartist · 11 months

Text

A foolish endeavor

Pairing; Yandere Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You manage to snag Miguel’s gizmo and escape to another universe. How long will it take before he, or the spider society, find you?

Word count; 2.8k

Reader description; Female/GN

TW; kidnapping, probably terrible spanish (i did use sources Spanish-speaking users suggested), non-con touching, yandere themes, dark writing.

Notes; {if i mistranslated any of the spanish please do contact me in my DMs. I wanted this fic to be better but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Did not proofread.}

Midnight coated New York in a dark blue hue. Most nights the city lights illuminate the darkness, providing the ability to see. However, the motel you find yourself ambling to is the more isolated part of the city.

Rain poured down heavily, producing cacophonous echoes of raindrops slamming against the concrete. Clad in a drenched hoodie and damp black yoga pants, you scurry to the other side of the street just in time to avoid being hit by the passing truck.

Cigarette smoke and frigid rain overwhelm your senses, mainly due to the cigarette buds scattered on the motel parking lot.

The motel is okay looking. By no means does it look nice, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Guess this is where I’ll sleep tonight,” you mumble to yourself. You take a brief glance at your surroundings. Night overcame the sky, giving the atmosphere a dark hue but the lights gave you a clear standpoint.

Numerous lights hummed irritatingly, not even a minute passed and you found yourself obtaining a headache. You navigate the main office, which is on the left side of the horseshoe-shaped building, and a blue neon sign points in the direction of the office. You started sauntering over, putting pep in your step when the cold rain declined heavier than it did the last five minutes.

Six months ago, you wouldn’t be having this problem. At least that’s what you believed. You could’ve been at your apartment, catching up on a show you’ve failed to complete thanks to your busy work schedule.

Unfortunately for you, doing a task as simple as watching your television, in your home, was truly impossible. Why? Because the earth you roam isn’t yours, to begin with. Your apartment isn’t yours. The job you work isn’t yours. You aren’t certain you even exist in this universe.

You can’t find the strength to complain. Honestly, you’re delighted to be away from the man who stole you away from society.

Miguel O’Hara.

Otherwise known as Spiderman 2099. You know, the superhero.

It must be confusing to hear that a superhero kidnaped a poor civilian. Superheros don’t normally commit unforgivable acts. Regardless, Miguel didn't care. Miguel is aware he is different from other heroes given his beliefs. Abducting you was just one of the many wrongs Miguel fulfilled.

You just wished you knew his motives at the beginning. If you did, you wouldn't have to search for sanctuary. You wouldn't have to lie low in a different universe.

Before Miguel, you lived a decent life that included a decent job. It was a Tuesday afternoon with sunny weather and clear skies. Your friends invited you to a picnic at the park and, for once having a clear schedule you agreed. You recall the sun beaming down on you, overheating your body to the point shade was a necessity. You moved from the picnic blanket to a nearby bent tree. One moment you're enjoying the shade, the next you're falling. Then something transpired. You jerked in the air, something white clinging to the front of your shirt. You felt your body floating in the air, legs thrashing in fear when your body conceded it was in mid-air.

You must have fainted because you have no recollection of what transpired next. What you do remember was watching through bleary eyes as four strangers hovered over you clearly disputing. Currently, you know them by Jessica Drew, Peter B. Parker, the iron spider, And Miguel O’Hara.

The accountability for your well-being somehow landed in the hands of Miguel. In the beginning, Miguel had such a short patience for you, not that he didn't possess an attitude with anyone else, he just happened to have a really short fuse with you.

His explosive temper with you was undeserving. You hardly gave him any reason to blow up. Your presence alone just pissed him off, at least it appeared so.

You avoided him as much as possible; Departing a room when he entered. Ensuring any errands were accomplished before he arrived home, so you didn't have to leave your room to aggravate him.

Then he began to seek you out; popping up wherever you were in his apartment. Alone watching television on the couch? Not anymore. Miguel joined you on the other side silently watching as well. Sitting silently in the dining room eating lunch? Miguel enters with a bowl of cereal, starting a conversation about the day’s news. Enjoy video games and decide to play by yourself? Miguel grabs a controller and questions the rules and certain controls.

For someone who was as snappy at you as a feral dog, he sure did like to invade your solitude.

By the second month of staying at Miguel’s, he found solace in your presence. He became relaxed. Nice even. And then by the fourth month, you became friends. You never visualized being anything other than friends, but unbeknownst to you, Miguel did.

When you first caught the news of Peter figuring out what universe you belonged to, you were ecstatic. After all, the mystery of your universe's number had been the sole reason for crashing with Miguel and not immediately returning home.

You turned to Miguel, asking when was the appropriate time to drop you off. To your astonishment, Miguel’s brows furrowed, and his lips morphed into a grimace, “you will not be returning.” he affirmed.

Miguel shocked not only you, but everyone witnessing the scene. A gauche silence conquered the atmosphere.

You and Miguel stared at each other for a beat, then you voiced your perplexity. “What do you mean “I will not be returning?” Miguel, I need to go home.” you took a step closer to Miguel.

Miguel gazed at you with an uninterested stare. “What I say goes, (Name). And I say you're staying here.” he spun around, returning to whatever he had been working on before. “We all have a busy schedule and dropping you off will only alter it.”

“It’s not worth it,” he said like he was ending the conversation.

“Okay, then Peter can take me home when he needs to drop off Mayday.” you insisted, looking over at Peter to see if he’d be alright with your plan.

No expression was needed for you to catch on to the attitude Miguel began to gain. “(Name), I won’t tell you twice. The answer is no. Now, Peter take her back to my apartment. We’ll speak about the matter later, at the moment there are more important issues happening.”

You found it laughable. To think the minute you stepped into the man's sight he wanted you gone, but now Miguel was fighting you to stay with him. Ironic, isn’t it?

That night you and Miguel, the very moment he came inside his apartment, quarreled for an hour in a half. Your argument being you did not belong to him and could do whatever you pleased. Miguel’s argument was the insignificance of the matter to him.

You detected Miguel’s temper was starting to get out of hand. The way his fists began to clench, the way his brows creased, and the frown deepened after every sentence he uttered. You’ve seen his strength. His fierceness. And you’d rather leave than have any of his tantrums directed at you. Doing what any rational person would do, you attempted to leave the room. You advised him to de-stress before speaking to you again.

Miguel was having none of it. Not even a second passed before you were yanked back by the forearm.

You’re face-to-face with Miguel. Miguel towered over you, looking down at you with his signature red piercing stare. He bends down, momentarily staring at you until he finally speaks. “I can't allow you to leave.” The way he talks is low and if the room weren't already quiet, you wouldn’t have heard him. “I love you,” he confessed, voice cracking, closing his eyes as if it pained him to say it. He opened his eyes again. “And I won't allow myself to lose any other person I care for.”

Pulling twenty dollars out of the torn-up wallet you found on the side of the road, you slide it forward on the mahogany brown table. The fatigued receptionist glances at the money, then gazes at you with an irked expression.

“This isn’t enough.” She states matter-of-factly. She slides the twenty back to you.

You purse your lips, staring down at the cash. Twenty dollars is all you had. What were you to do now? The next nearest motel could be miles away; it was a miracle you made it to this.

Your eyes flicker back to her. You take two fingers pushing it back to her, giving her your best puppy eyes. “Please! I don't have anywhere else to go tonight. If I can’t stay here I’ll have to sleep on the streets.”

You were lying. You would’ve taken off by dawn, needing to be on the move after getting rested.

Her hardened expression softens. She takes a deep breath, eyes studying the money. Shaking her head, she takes the cash. “One night only, alright?”

You propose to her a smile, nodding with gratitude. She allotted you a key. A small golden-greenish key, with the number five engraved on the head. Tonight you’d sleep on the grounded floor of the motel.

The inside was decently prepared, having a dingy tone that gave off a haunted vibe. You hum in displeasure. Two queen-sized mattresses are positioned on the right side of the wall. They appeared stiff, and the blankets laying upon them looked thinner than a sheet of paper.

Sighing, you softly booted the door shut. Flopping down on the nearest bed, you groan at the sensation of the rough mattress.

When tomorrow comes you’d have to find a fresh location. Miguel could continually find your locale, thanks to not only Lyla but the whole Spider society. Perhaps you postponed his search this time. His watch or gizmo- whatever the hell it was- rests on your wrist.

Shifting your head to the side, pulling your hand out of your pocket, you glance at the gizmo.

Tightly clutched in Miguel’s hold, you stare quietly at the ceiling. You debate acting on your next actions. There were times Miguel slept lightly, aroused by creaks in the floorboard. Other times when the sound of glass shattering did not bother him even a little.

Glancing down at the arm wrapped securely around your midriff, you endeavor to gradually lift his arm up. He unconsciously retaliates, arms consolidating, resulting in a small gasp slipping from your lips. You’re quick to rub his arm, to offer him comfort, and to calm him.

It works. Miguel grumbles, his grasp faulting. You carefully move his arm aside, then unhurriedly get up from the bed.

Before leaving the room you observe Miguel. Miguel sleeps soundly, an angry expression inscribed on his face. But he is asleep, so you take your chance while you are able.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, you immediately spot the gizmo on the marble counter. Compared to the technology you have at home, it was top-notched, a huge improvement. Of course, he lived in the year 2099. Obviously, there would be a difference in technology.

You grabbed the gizmo, examining the complexity. From monitoring the spider people using them, you know it’ll take you wherever universe you request. Great. However, you weren’t a spider person. If you teleported in the middle of the air, you couldn't grapple on the closest object with a web. Or claw your way down a building

Fuck it.

If dying meant escaping him, then so be it.

You didn’t really mean that. Every time you went to teleport to a different universe, you cringed retreating your hand.

“Jesus! Alright, I'm doing this!” you softly berated yourself. Bracing for the impact of the possible fall you might face, you shut your eyes tight and twisted the gizmo. “Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground!” you cried.

How long would it take them to find you? How far could you get?

God, being on the run was stressful.

Your eyes flutter closed, plush pillows luling your tired mind. ‘I should get some sleep’ you thought. Warmth spread throughout your numbing body, as you finally permitted yourself to sleep.

When you awake gasping for air, almost as if you’d been suffocating. Instantly you arise, a hand rushing to your chest confirming it still thumped with a beating heart. Your skin is sticky with cold sweat, making your clothes uncomfortably cling to your body. “What the fuck?” you barely uttered, mouth arid.

Suddenly you had a gut feeling to check the window. You stand, groggily walking toward the large window adjacent to the front door. Pinching the hem of the curtain, you haul it aside.

The night is still pristine, the stars glowing in the dark sky. Nothing seems out of place. And yet you continue to have that gut feeling. Look outside, there’s something outside. Your eyes move to the parking lot.

You see it.

Blue and red. Something blue and red is making its way toward the motel. Squinting, you can make out what it is. Miguel. It's Miguel!

“Oh, shit!” you expressed, dropping the curtain. Wasting no time you locked the bottom and top locks. You veered around, frantically searching for a place to hide. You are no fool. Locking the door was simply a distraction; Miguel would tear the door off its hinges in a second.

Hiding underneath the bed is a childish strategy. That and hiding underneath the covers. Still, you drop to your knees, squeezing underneath the bed, using the blankets to cover any spaces revealing you. Pressing the palm of your hand against both your mouth and nose, you listen closely to everything around you.

At first, all you hear is the air conditioning blowing cool air, and the people next door’s baby weeping. Then you hear it. The doorknob oscillation. Your eyes widen, fear causing your breath to hitch. When the door refuses to open, the person behind the door commences kicking in the door. One kick achieves them access to the room. The door slams against the wall, shaking the ground, sending a vibration under you.

“¿Qué carajo?” you know that voice anywhere. It’s Miguel speaking in his native language. A habit Miguel has when he’s angered or stressed. “¿Dónde está ella?” Miguel snaps, striding into the room with anger-powered steps.

You can see through the tiny slit in the blankets, Miguel turning to the table where you placed the gizmo. Miguel picks up the gizmo, putting it back on his wrist.

He shifts his concentration to finding you. He calls out your name, malice dripping from the way he shouts it. He disappears from sight, presumingly moving on to the bathroom. Many things are heard being tossed around. Miguel probably was looking for evidence of you staying here, apart from the gizmo.

You gather the courage to, oh, so carefully stretch your leg out, then proceed to quietly shuffle from under the bed. You waste no time, rushing out the door, feet bare without socks or shoes. The gravel burns the soles of your feet, scraping and imprinting on the skin.

You practically succeeded in leaving the lot until you caught a glimpse of what stalked behind you. On all fours, Miguel sprinted at you, claws scuffing the concrete, like a predator running after its prey.

“Holy shit! What the actual fuck!” you panic aloud, taking your eye off what was in front of you, your mind solely focusing on the man hunting you. Big mistake on your part. A concrete parking block is in your way, but you don’t see it. You jolt forward, tripping over the block, your other foot catching you before you hit the road.

Just when you thought you still had the chance of running away, you’re sorely mistaken. Miguel pounces on you, and the clash of your bodies colliding results in Miguel tumbling down the road, you secure in his arms.

The tumble ends; you’re struggling not to vomit, head resting on Miguel’s firm chest. The world spins. It’s easy to forget your position when the urge to throw up is fresh.

Miguel holds your head, pressing a myriad of kisses on every part of the skin visible, muttering with his eyes closed. “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.” He sounds so frantic, reciting those same words, his tongue stumbling over the utterances.

His eyelids raise, uncovering his red orbs. He presses his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes. It’s a domestic stunt that makes your stomach churn. “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.” he huffs, then continues, “I’m happy you’re alright. I don’t know what I'd do if I lost you, mi alma.”

Taking your hand, he places a soft kiss on the back. “Had an anomaly harmed you, I would have ripped their fucking throat out!”

————————

Translations

- “¿Qué carajo?”/ what the fuck?

- “¿Dónde está ella?”/ where is she?

- “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.”/ I should be furious with you, but I'm not.

- “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.”/ thank god you’re okay.

- mi alma/ my soul

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moondirti · 11 months

Text

animalic (1)

series masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader rating: mature word count: 1.9k summary: he won't stop until he gets you warnings: enemies to lovers, injuries, kissing, minor ATSV spoilers, size kink (?), mentions of gore and death, not spell checked nor edited, honestly not my best work but the horny is all that matters notes: stayed up all night for this because i had to get it out of my system before finals. there'll be a few more parts, i promise i'm not this cruel haha

“I thought grace was a prerequisite for your little spider-club.”

Your quip sounds disjointed – even to your own ears – entwined with wheezes that rattle your splintered rib cage. In all honesty, the circumstances don’t seem to be favouring you; he’s got you confined upon the wreckage of your own fight, hanging off the remnants of a crane that dangerously tips over a quarry. And though this isn’t the worst you’ve faced, Miguel’s presence always seems to make things more complicated than they need to be.

You’d had a stable hold on the beam, ready to pull yourself up and dematerialise to wherever he wasn’t. Until, of course, the asshole kicked your elbows off. Now, your fingers remain as your only attachment to the structure, shaking violently with their diminishing strength. Your torso isn’t faring any better, either – the bleeding both internal and trickling from the gashes in your hoodie.

(You wonder if he’s toying with you, like a panther with its food. Of the rare times he’s assigned another spiderman to pursue you, they didn’t tend to drag it out for this long.

But, you suppose, Miguel’s different.)

He takes a small step forward, lifting his foot over your digits. He could crush them like this, turn the bone to powder and keep pressing until it macerates in the gore. You can’t put it past him, really, not if you utter one more self-sabotaging word. You’ve seen him rip through steel and silk alike, fueled on the resentment that simmers deep within his very essence. Yours is merely the same fate that’s befallen every other obstacle that’s dared to come his way.

But the tension buzzes between you two, thickening until it’s palpable enough to taste. Miguel is quiet as ever, completely still save for the flickering light of his dimensional travel watch. You envy his position – that resolute stature, brimful of power as his shoulders square, his calf rippling with subdued strength, still stretched over your hand. You blame that, or the mask, slick with sweat and humid as it sticks to your nose. Or the glasses that slowly slip to reveal your squinting eyes. You blame anything apart from what it is; that fear that steadily begins to flood your senses, numbing it all into one, cohesive panic.

You’ve never been good at life or death scenarios.

“Or, maybe, the big boss thinks he can break his own rules?”

The air snaps. With an infuriated roar, he lunges at you, razor-sharp talons swiping at your face. In your frenzied dunk to avoid them, your fingers drop.

You plunge to the bottomless chasm below.

Okay. Let’s try to get this right, one last time.

Your name doesn’t matter. It hasn’t, not for a while now.

For the past year, you’ve been on the run from the Spider Society. You don’t exactly blame them for it, either. Every world you’ve crashed has gone to shit, despite serious lack of trying. Food-barren wastelands, borderless warzones. Truthfully, after the mantle of Earth 7BB-1 convected in on itself, you were inclined to turn yourself in.

Independant of the fact that Nueva York seems to be the only place you can’t fuck up. Regardless of the relatability you have with the residents of its lobby. You were bitten by a radioactive spider just the same, and for all the good you’ve tried to do, you’ve never been a spider-hero. If it meant that no one else got hurt, you really would have been able to cope with lifetime confinement.

(Greater good and all that.)

Would’ve. Could’ve. If it weren’t for Miguel O’Hara’s interjection, and his goddamn alternative solution, things just might have turned out that way.

You’re not dead.

The realisation whips your consciousness into high alert, eyes snapping open to survey your surroundings. You process the light first, its brilliance piercing through the bromine-doused cotton that stuffs your skull. Then, it’s the pain that, up until this point, had been thrumming in the background. It crackles, marrow-deep, tearing down the tendons in your shoulders to the throbbing area around your ribs. They’re in doubtlessly worse shape than they had been at the quarry, the ache searing across to engulf your spine too.

He had let you fall on your back, that dickhead.

But–

You’re not dead.

It doesn’t take you long to figure out why that is.

A red forcefield entraps you, droning its monotonous hum, partially obscuring everything beyond your own reflection. You can see the faint impression of a silhouette – no, multiple – stalking you on the other end, a great shadow court. They warp and grow with every passing second, gorging on your offered vulnerability, awaiting some wordless signal from the harbinger of death, to execute justice upon the one who’s been causing them so much trouble. Jess Drew. Hobie Brown. Ben Reilly.

(They’d been more forgiving, once. Willing to negotiate peace, to treat you more than the screw up you’ve proven to be.

His voice overrode theirs. Always.)

It’s easier to make out the devil himself – more so than the others. You’ve come to memorise the slope of those shoulders, how his fists clench at his sides as he circles you. You imagine the smug set of his jaw and those eyes, just as luminous as the cage you curl within. The puck at the base is recognisable, akin to the capture weapons he’s thrown at you previously. He’d saved your life, then.

On a technicality. You’ll bury that thought to rage over later.

“How–”

The question hardly forms before you’re ripped in two, the atoms of all but your spirit splicing into one another in a defect of blue and orange. The glitch exacerbates the fractures that threaten to knock you out, racking through your system as it rearranges your matter into amorphous forms. It’s only when something is thrown into the enclosure do you snap back to. A bracelet clatters to the floor.

“Didn’t know whether you’d be used to the glitching yet.” A disembodied voice remarks. It’s at a particularly whiny pitch – you assign it to Ben.

“We… tried to get it on you, kid. But you–” A feminine inflection crops up. Jess sounds the same since the last you spoke.

You glower at them from the corner of your eye – unsure if they can actually see you – and snap the day pass on. Your spectral abilities were handy at the best of times; to shift from the corporeal, coming into immateriality, makes the most complicated situations evadeable. You credit it for your continued survival, if nothing else. Yet to speak like you could control it, especially while unconscious, was pushing it. You clearly weren’t able to activate it when you needed it the most.

And now you’re here.

“I’m not going to ask what you want, so let’s keep this short– y-yeah? Either you let me go, or this Earth’ll be the next to unravel.” Despite your intentions, the demand escapes you in a long-winded croak. You hear Hobie snicker, the laugh teetering the edge of approval. Anyone can tell the promise has no foundation.

“That won’t be happ–”

“Leave us.”

The room clips into white noise. You fail to focus on anything but that echoing order.

His voice comes across clearer than all else, too, cadence resonating past any natural boundary, tugging your heart right where it’s tender. There’s that fear again, that singular dread, only ever triggered by his indifference. Perhaps more potent than fury, his patience gives away an all-assured determination. Deadly.

You bite your cheek, steeling your expression into one of similar apathy. It feels like a child’s attempt at dress up, grubby hands clutched around mother’s lipstick, painting on a clown’s complexion. Crackling apprehension brushes across your most vulnerable parts; layer by layer, you’re skinned as the group files out. Bare nerves are all that’s left for your faceoff with the hulking man.

He throws another puck to the floor. His own forcefield conjoins to yours.

His cheeks have gotten hollower, you notice, emphasising the cheekbones that are just as keen as everything else about him. He offers no smile, no grand boast of victory. Instead, he breathes – calmly, fixedly, and lets you absorb the overwhelming magnitude of his size once more. He’s aware of what it strikes in you, can see it in the way you falter upon every reintroduction. Miguel is colossal, a reality that has never been more apparent than in this cramped enclosure.

You know that if you stop to ponder it, it’ll ruin you.

Rearing on your heels, you bounce from your place on the ground, making a grab for his watch. He anticipates it, having caught the decision blaze in your pupils, and side steps, pivoting to gain the upper hand while your back is still turned. You rebound off the field wall, stumbling back when he yanks you by your hoodie. Your shoulder presses into his chest, and he moves to wrap himself around your form.

Your skin prickles. His body passes right through you.

His recovery time is nearly nonexistent relative to your last fight – quick learner – but you’re still swift on your feet, bolting to his watch again. It’s a millisecond too slow, for his talons sink into your forearm when you start to pull away.

Your pained yelp loses momentum as he slams your back against the wall, using a knee to pin your other arm in place, his free hand wrapping around your neck.

He’s close. Too close. Your stomach flips, pushing up on your oesophagus until you choke with the bile that sears its lining. Your breaths are as deep enough as his clutch will allow, index and thumb cutting off the circulation on both sides of your neck.

Ichor blooms from the puncture points at your wrist, the warmth puddling at your palm, not yet heavy enough to drip down onto the floor. You don’t think he realises how deep his claws are, how near he is to scratching bone. You don’t think you do, either. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should, and while you’re sure you’ll regret not prioritising it sooner, you don’t think– Don’t think–

“I-I’m not goi…going home,” You gasp.

“It’s not up to you, Wraith.” Miguel growls, chokehold loosening.

It hits you, then. Animalic. He smells addictingly animalic. Like musk, a blend of brine and hot air and hints of a patchouli aftershave that still clings to his jaw. Your eyes flutter, seeking all you can get of the latter. Unwittingly, you move in closer.

You haven’t been this close to anyone in a long time.

His expression oscillates between a sneer and a grimace, nose pulling up to reveal the very pointed ends of his two canines. Set side by side with plush lips, you zero in on the thought of experiencing the contrast with your own.

He’s huge.

Closer.

Completely overwhelms you, in size and presence and–

Closer.

Your ribs ache. Your back groans. You’re quickly losing feeling in your fingers, and movement – soon – if you don’t do something.

Your breath weaves with his. He doesn’t reciprocate when your lips brush, but he doesn’t pull away, either.

You kiss him for longer than you should. Longer than you need to. It’s firm, and not unlike what you expected.

(World-shattering, all the same.)

Your skin prickles. It takes all of your rationale to pull away – dematerializing out of his grasp, and into the portal you’d activated from his wrist.

chapter 2 →

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myouicieloz · 4 months

Note

You overhear Karina talking about how clingy you are and from then out started being distant and non-affectionate towards her and she eventually confronts you and asks why you keep pushing her away, to which you tell her

Over her

Yoo Jimin x reader

Warnings: a little smut in the end (just a little). reader and yn don’t really talk abt it tbh. skipping meals (? idk how to word it better than this).

Word count: 5.4k

Notes: I’m alive!!! sorry for taking forever to answer 😔. I think your message got cut off? so I got a little creative, I hope you don’t mind :). If you do, I can still cut out a few things n stuff. anyways, merry early christmas ig ^^ ps: I also didn’t know if this was supposed to be smut, so I only wrote a little and in the end.

You’ve always been utterly, embarrassingly, completely enamored with your girlfriend. It was obvious to anyone who looked at you for even a single second; you would always be caught staring at Karina with loving eyes, often going out of your way to simply please and spoil her rotten, showering her with kisses and gifts. For you, it was physically impossible to be without her for too long. Her absence made your heart ache, almost as if there were something missing from you. It was difficult to go on with your routine if you didn’t have her by your side. You missed your late night talks, walks at the park, parking lot dates, eating too much junk food together… You missed her, truthfully. All of her.

Naturally, you understood her duties as an idol: being away for shows, events, and photoshoots were part of her life just as much as you were. However, you knew Karina’s time was precious and scarce— which was why, whenever she was back in Seoul, you tried to spend as much quality time together as possible.

Even now, as the group’s busy with their latest Mini Album’s promotions, you couldn’t help but to feel glistening with happiness to have the four girls back in Korea, regardless of them still being so occupied with fansigns, program attendances and rehearsals for their upcoming stages and festival performances. Having them in town gives you the opportunity to join them backstage, which you absolute love; whether it’s the artistic atmosphere, or being able to understand how this industry truly works, with all the engines running frantically in the girls’ background to ensure everything goes as planned… And, of course, getting to watch Karina perform and be the astonishing, all-rounder, talented version of herself was the best part of it all. Anytime you look at her through the big screens, you realize how lucky you truly are— to be able to see all sides of her. To witness how sweet, shy and caring she could also be, once the cameras were not around.

You loved her so much.

“Congratulations, girls! You absolutely nailed it!” You praise the four girls as soon as they leave the stage, breathless from performing at a University Festival. They all smile back, trying to recompose themselves as best as they can, the adrenaline from being on stage slowly running out. You wait for them to calm down, too, before reaching out to give your girlfriend a big hug, in hopes to express yourself through your touches. You mean to tell her how wonderful she had done, but she ends the hug quickly, although her smile still lingers.

“I’m all sweaty, Y/n.” She explains, which you nod and take a step back to give her space. The two of you walk side by side, towards the big dressing room. “I don’t want you to get dirty, too.”

You shrug, trying to hide the uncomfortable feeling that stood on your heart, with the lack of her touches. You understood, though. Karina’s just taking care of you, like the sweet girlfriend she is. So you follow her, without complaints, even though all you want is to jump from excitement and tell her how perfectly she performed, setting the public on fire. Instead, you force yourself to stay still and calm down, laying with the others on the couch as you watch them change into normal clothes and relax.

The cafe’s atmosphere is cozy and calm, a much-needed contrast for the girls after a whole morning of practicing at the company. The place’s barely occupied— lunch break is nearly over for most of the workers— and the only sounds that can be heard are the wind’s peaceful breeze and the girl’s voices, engaged in a nonchalant gossip.

“I’m so hungry.” Winter complains, resting her head on Karina’s shoulder. You all chuckle at the sight; she’s too cute, even when she’s whiny.

“Me too.” You nod, and reach out for your girlfriend’s arm, tugging it slightly to steal her attention from Ning’s excited storytelling. It takes a few moments, but she finally hums, acknowledging you. “Love, do you think the food will take long? I need to use the restroom, but I’ll wait if it’s coming soon.”

Karina frowns, looking behind you for a few seconds. After examining the balcony, she seems to think otherwise. “It might take quite a while, still. We’ve ordered a lot, and we just got here, too. You’re safe to go.”

You nod as you get up and excuse yourself, leaving the girls to their own conversations. Their reserved table, set in a pretty well-hidden corner of the cafe, is the reason you’re able to observe their faces from afar, once you make your way back from the stalls. None of them notice your arrival, too engrossed in their conversation to pay attention to your frame.

Giselle, Winter, and Ningning’s faces are uneasy as they listen to Karina’s rambling. Their fingers twitch on the table, and they shake their heads every once in a while, leaving you to wonder what’s gotten them so serious. Trying to understand the matter, you frown behind their backs, approaching the group in slow, unhurried steps.

“… She’s constantly all over me, too. I swear I don’t even have time to breathe without her on my skin, as if she has nothing else to do. It’s so fucking annoying, really. Like, you remember, right? And there was that time when we were all at the park and Y/n was just insufferab—.”

You decide not to eavesdrop on the rest of your girlfriend’s conversation. Instead, you focus on keeping your steps as light as you can, once you turn around and nearly run back to the restroom, ignoring the heavy pitch just forming in your stomach.

You only allow yourself to relax once you reassure your mind that none of them were aware of you listening to Karina’s harsh, hurtful words.

Instead, your hands go to your face, and you try to focus and take deep breaths to prevent the tears from coming. The moment they start, you know it’ll take long to stop. It was one of the things Karina always teased you about: how you’ve always been such a crybaby, drowning yourself in tears for absolutely anything.

Oh, Karina… how could she speak such things about you? You’ve always put on so much effort to be the best, supportive girlfriend you could, with extra care to respect your girlfriend’s boundaries and still express how much you loved her.

It hurt to know she found you annoying and clingy, specially since all you’ve ever meant was to reassure her of your love. Allowing your body to sink into the restroom’s floor, you reach to the ground, hugging your knees in hopes to feel some comfort.

Flashes pass through your mind like rockets, analyzing every single moment you’ve ever spent with Karina. Even if it was the last thing you wanted to do, your mind doesn’t seem to give you any relief, overthinking about each one of her touches, phrases, and actions towards you. Did she even love you? What was she doing with you, then, if she found your presence to be so suffocating? What have you done wrong?

Was your whole existence the problem? The way you acted, your bubbly personality…

The questions, now clearly etched on your brain, did nothing but deepen the lump in your throat, one that left saliva building up in your mouth, making it impossible to swallow. Even the simplest actions were difficult to be executed, just like it was when you were away from your girlfriend for too long.

Despite all, you couldn’t help but let a light chuckle, forcing yourself to get up and wash your face in the sink. You feel like you’re going to collapse if you stay in the cafe. No, that won’t do— you have to go home. Even if it means facing chaos herself.

And her friends, too. They must’ve been aware of Karina’s feelings towards you all along, yet they still let you smile and be all over like a fucking idiot.

You look up, trying not to ruin your mascara and risk having any of them finding out what you’ve just heard. Without rush, you force yourself to even your breathing, inhaling and exhaling in slow movements, focusing on your body’s movements instead of giving in to desperation.

You feel like you’re at the bottom pit, and it fucking sucked.

After minutes of calming yourself down, you dried the remaining tears and got up, sighing as you excited the bathroom. Your hands trailed the walls as you walked without rush, looking for something, anything to provide some strength. Eventually, the walls of the hallway gave way to the open area of the tables, making you gulp. Your legs were wobbly, and you felt too weak, almost as if you were going to pass out at any given moment. Your usual confidence was all gone, and you weren’t at all sure you’d manage to speak to them without stuttering or crying.

“Thank fucking God, Y/n. We thought you got kidnapped or something.” Winter was the first to say, giggling. Giselle and Ningning smiled too, mumbling how you must’ve gotten lost or thrown in a portal to another dimension, perhaps.

Karina nods. “You really took too long out there, Y/n. I almost went looking for you.” Even though her tone is light, your girlfriend’s smile fades once she takes a proper look at your face.

You try your best to smile back at her, hands going unconsciously to your arms, scratching them nervously. You’ve always liked to be the center of their attention; the little moments where they’d ask you for an opinion or actively listen to your rambling… you thrived on them. It felt like they were spoiling you, giving up one of the things they cherished the most to focus on you: their time. Even if just for a few seconds, the feeling of being observed by them brought you a strange feeling of being fulfilled, of being someone important.

“I actually need to go, now.” You mutter, grabbing your stuff whilst refusing to meet your girlfriend’s piercing gaze.

Karina’s already aware something is wrong, though. She knows your body, your expressions, your mannerisms… she’s more than capable of telling when you’re off, much to your discomfort.

“Is everything ok? What happened?” Her hands grab a hold of your elbow, and you nearly joint, throwing your phone and sweater in your purse as fast as you can, to escape from her fingers on you. Her touch hurts, electrocuting your skin as if she were a storm set on a windy, loud night. You couldn’t stand it.

“It’s just a family emergency, don’t worry.” You take a step back, with your wallet in hands to pay for your drink. Bowing slightly to acknowledge the pain you were bringing onto the conversation, you add. “Please keep up with your lunch. I’ll make sure to update you about it soon.”

Karina’s hands rest on top of yours, taking the card from between your fingers and back to the wallet.

“It’s ok, I’ll pay.” Her voice, calm and soothing, is much different from her previous, livid tone. She gives your hand a squeeze, getting up herself. “Do you want me to go with you? Manager unnie will understand.”

The girls nod, their faces also filled with worry. However, you dismiss your girlfriend, diverting your gaze to the ground as you inhale deeply. You’re unable to face her by any given means; you’d fall apart in front of them if you did as such. In fact, you find yourself unable to face any of them. They’ve made a fool out of you for too long, and that single thought is enough for bile to rest in your throat, threatening to spill. You can’t deal with that, not at the moment.

“I mean it: I’m sure I can handle it.” Your muscles tense, and you don’t even notice your body’s backward steps. It was clear you wanted to leave, which was mostly the reason they didn’t pressure further, watching as you hurriedly made our way out.

Karina’s eyes were the most trained, her mind racing with thoughts that left her wondering what had gotten you so shaken, visibly out of place. Clueless, she stared at your frame until you’ve reached the door. Only then, you returned her stare.

The watery look in your eyes is more than enough to make her shiver, gripping her chest to get rid of the heaviness that had installed in her heart. Everything was fine, Karina told herself. You’d soon deal with your incident, and be back by her side as fast as you could, as always.

With that in mind, she relaxes, turning her attention back to her friends’ conversation.

Karina doesn’t understand why your distance hurts so much. She should’ve been relieved: you’ve stopped spamming her phone with updates of your day, no longer sending thousands of pictures and videos of things that, according to you, reminded you of herself. She doesn’t have to deal with your constant neediness, nor does she have to reassure you that you were loved, and she missed you. It’s all she’s ever wanted— to not be disturbed at all, being able to focus on work and just have a good time, overall.

Instead, she feels awful; as if something’s missing. Everything feels wrong; she’s unable to concentrate at all, her skin itches and her thoughts constantly linger on you, wondering.

“Hey, Jimin unnie.” Ning looks up to you from the ground, stretching herself out on the floor. “Is Y/n coming soon? She always brings the best snacks.” Resting on the couch, Karina lets out a long sigh, looking at the clock displayed above the dance room’s door.

“She’s not stopping by to watch us today.” The oldest explains, shrugging. She tries as hard as she can not to sound affected by it. “It’s Nutcracker season. She’s rehearsing until late, most likely.”

“Most likely? Haven’t you talked to her today to know that?”

Giselle’s sharp tone hurt, specially since Karina’s phone was currently burning in her pocket, with a lot of unread messages she had sent you. Karina twists her fingers to prevent herself from putting her hands on her face, in a tired manner. “No, I haven’t. Like I said, she’s busy. We haven’t talked much since this morning.”

“Wow, this is serious, then.” Giselle’s lips turn into a smirk, as she brushes the sweat out of her face. “Y/n’s never missed a pre-comeback rehearsal of ours. Like, literally never. Not even if she had her own rehearsals to attend. Have you ever attended any of hers, by the way?”

Karina grits her teeth. She knows Giselle means well: she’s friends with you, and is simply curious. Knowing that doesn’t keep the girl from wanting to punch the Uchinaga for annoying her, though. With the engines running inside her head, Karina tries her best to focus on exhausting her body, in hopes of having the burning sensation ease her troubled mind. Still, she couldn’t help but constantly wonder what was going on in with you. Why were you suddenly so distant?

The questions clouded her head, making it difficult to focus on the choreography they were learning. It seems like she wasn’t making up stuff, after all: Giselle’s questions made it clear you were different, weirdly so.

Nodding, Karina added, “Yeah. It’s not like herself at all.”

Giselle meant to continue the conversation, but the dark look Karina shoots her is enough to get the Uchinaga to gulp, focusing back on her movements, along with the melody of their upcoming song. It was none of her business, anyway.

Once the girls make their way back to the dorms, Karina decides she’s had enough of whatever you were intending to do. She’d stop by and confront you, finally. It frustrated her, having to guess your feelings, specially since you’ve been dating for quite a while — now. But she’d do it, if you were so willing to be petty. She’d be the one to reach out first.

“Thank you, girls. I’ll see you in a bit. I won’t be late, promise.” Karina’s words reverberate through the car, as she waves goodbye to her friends.

Her three bandmates were, as always, more than quick to encourage her to reach out to you, after the distance between you lingered for weeks. Even though it would cost her hours she should be spending in the recording room, they’ve immediately told Karina to talk to you, urging to have both of you in good terms once again.

Ever since you’ve become a shell of the caring, sweet girlfriend you once were, Karina’s been jittery; she was easily irritated and often picked arguments over the simplest things. It was clear the situation was taking a toll on her, in ways she’d never admit. Karina would die before confessing how much she missed your voice, your care, your touches. She’d never admit it. After all, she did constantly complain about how clingy and annoying you were— it was only fair she lived up to her words.

With a sigh, the girl enters your Dance Studio, tugging at the tiny Christmas decorations that hang through the reception area, the doors, and the walls. She realizes she’s never actually been inside the massive building for more than three, maybe four times. Usually, Karina would just wait for you by the car, never bothering to get to know the place you spent the majority of your time, whenever you weren’t attending your classes. Karina mutters a curse under her breath, silently punishing herself for not paying enough attention to you, as she smiles at the receptionist and asks about your location.

“Second four, third door on the left. She’s booked up a private room for a few hours, but they should be near the end, now.” The woman told her, as Karina bowed her in recognition, making her way towards the elevator.

Once she’s walking through the hallways, a big, colored paper with numerous names catches her eyes, standing out in the sea of decorations and adornments. It’s a casting list, and Karina’s chest fills with pride as she reads your name: first in line, cast as the lead dancer. She vaguely remembers of one of your rambles months prior, the low tone of your voice exposing how ashamed you were to confess about your nervousness to audition. At that time, Karina had been so focused on her own stuff she barely gave your topics any attention at all, dismissing them with a few hums until you focused on her rants again.

Now, Karina desperately wished she had paid you more attention. She urged to be active in your life: to know what was happening in your routine, your troubles and whatever was making you happy at the moment. Filled with guilt, the dark-haired girl slides the door slowly, delighting herself in the sight of your perfectly arranged frame, stretching yourself by the bars.

“You haven’t told me you got casted as Clara.” She says, quietly, staring at how precise and eloquent your moves are, even though the music that comes from your phone is faint, nearly inaudible.

You take a look at your girlfriend through the mirrors, trying your best to look indifferent. In reality, the first thought you’ve had as soon as you got cast as the lead dancer for the company’s Winter play was to call her, screaming in excitement for accomplishing something you’ve wanted for so long. But her words were still livid on your mind—which was why you simply shrug, going on with your barre routine, back straightened and arms arched. Once again, it was difficult to act like her stare didn’t burn, consuming you completely, but you reverberated through it.

“It’s not that big of a deal. I only got it because Seowon unnie is injured, anyway. She didn’t even audition.”

“I see.” Karina says. Her eyes examine your body so intensely you gulp, reaching out for your water bottle. She follows your every move, like a fox out for a hunt. “Do you want to have lunch? We can finally have some time for us, then. You’ve been so busy.” Her tone is sarcastic, and you know she’s fully aware of the distance you’ve been putting on between them. Her message is clear: she’s done playing and waiting for you to gather your thoughts and come back to her on your own, as you’d usually do whenever you argued.

Only you weren’t backing up or apologizing, this time.

“I can’t put on weight. I have fittings in 3 days.” Karina frowns, approaching until you were unable to continue your moves.

She looks at your body, eyes searching for any flaws with such hunger, you instantly feel heat invading your cheeks.

“You’re good.” Leaving no space for denial, she turns around and holds the door open, motioning for you to go first. “Now, let’s have lunch.”

“Is it something with your family?” Karina is the first to break the awkward silence that lingers on the lunch table, in hopes to stir anything inside you to make you stop playing with your salad and look at her face. It works: you look up, genuinely confused.

“What? No, they’re good.” You tuck your hair behind your ears, clearly not enjoying the date. If anything, your moves are mechanic, hesitant.

If it were any other day, you’d be talking until you had to grasp for air, filling Karina in every detail of your life for the second or third time, probably. She thinks she’ll go insane at the sight of you, sitting idle on the desk, with big, sad eyes.

“Good. It’s good they’re all well and healthy.” She says, then adds, lifting her brows. Even though she tries not to express how irritated she is by the situation, Karina’s not good at hiding her expressions. “What is wrong? You’re clearly different, but keep acting petty and not telling me what it is.”

Your mouth opens in a perfect “O” as the words leave your girlfriend’s mouth. Does she think you’re that immature? She must simply not care about her own words, then. You’re sure of it. “I’m not fucking petty.”

Karina stares at your arms, tightly crossed against your chest, and at your pout. She almost laughs, thinking about how adorable the sight is, but the fire in your eyes reminds her of the current situation. She leans back on the chair, motioning for you to do something. Anything.

“Talk, then.”

She infuriates you. Just sitting in front of you, so sure she’s done nothing wrong, as if you’re the only one to blame.

“You’re really clueless, aren’t you?” It takes some deep breaths to not point a finger at her, so you just let out a dry laugh. “I’m just giving you what you want.”

“What do you mean by that?” Once again, she looks genuinely confused. Before you get to answer, thought, Karina’s phone rings. She picks up immediately, not at all pleased with how you rolled your eyes at the interruption. It’s Aeri, calling to say Bada had already arrived, and she’s the only one missing for them to start cleaning the choreo.

You get up before she has the chance to say anything, with a fake smile as you wait for her to call the waiter and pay for your date.

“I have to go, too.” You say, walking up slightly faster than her. When it’s time for you to actually part ways, though, you stop, unsure of what to do. You would rather not touch her; it still hurts, and part of you was indeed petty enough to deprive her of your touch, after her complaints.

Karina beats you to it, however. Before you register, she seals your lips in a delicate kiss, one you can’t help but melt on.

“See you soon, Y/n. I love you.” She says, before entering her company’s car and being driven away. She doesn’t wait for you to acknowledge the situation, and you’re happy for that.

Huffing in frustration, you make your way back towards your studio, in hopes to keep your strained relationship out of your mind, even if just for a few hours.

As much as Karina thinks it through, she can’t fantom where she’s gone wrong. You’ve just distanced yourself so suddenly, and it has left a hole in her heart, along with a lingering itch on her skin that makes her want to scratch her arms until they’re red and sore. She’s busy, and she knows you’re busy, too, but she’s had enough of this. She misses you, and she hates herself for complaining about how you’ve always shown her nothing but love. She took it for granted before, but she won’t anymore.

Her palms are slippery as she knocks on the dressing room’s door, not waiting much until she’s given permission to enter. She’s not surprised to find you alone— your friends told her you were usually the last one to change into normal clothes, as crowded spaces made you breathless and anxious. She is, though, surprised to find you looking down at your hands, so small and filled with sorrow, despite having performed flawlessly not even an hour ago.

You’re surrounded by stuffed animals, letters, and gifts from your friends and family, yet it still seems so… empty. And you know what’s lacking.

The girl standing by the door knows it, too.

“You looked beautiful.” Karina says, carefully placing the huge bouquet she bought you on the empty part of the table, the one your hands rest. “As always. My beauty.”

You nod, gripping your chair as you try to ground yourself. Even your body navigated towards her; it was hard not to run into her arms and forget how hurt you were.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” You truly didn’t, even though you had sent invites to her and the girls, they were always so busy— they’ve never attended, before.

It’s Karina’s turn to be hesitant — now. Trapping her hands in her pockets, she adds. “I don’t want to be absent from your life anymore.” The statement, all you’ve wanted to hear for so, so long, makes your heart nearly joint. You try to speak, but she’s still immersed in her words. “I miss you. And I have no fucking clue of why you’ve been so distant lately, but I miss your laugh, your touches—fuck, I miss everything about you. I know I’ve been so fucking selfish, and I’ve never realized you were the only one making efforts for us for so long.” You’re still looking at her through the mirror when she places her head on your shoulders, hands playing with your leotard’s thin strap to have something to occupy herself with. “I’m sorry.”

You gulp, looking at the beautiful flowers she got you. Being without Karina had turned you into a mess, but you still feel just as uneasy in her presence. No matter how much you try, you can’t seem to forget her words. How irritated she sounded, at the time, as if you were such a bother.

Your girlfriend was still waiting for her answer, so you take some flowers into your hands, as you ask, hesitant. “Don’t I suffocate you? I’m too much, I guess.”

Karina shakes her head. “Of course not. Where’d you get that from?” Her hands move to your waist, subtly, her light fingers barely noticeable as they brush your covered skin.

“You can stop lying, you know. Just tell me if you do.” Your voice cracks, and it’s enough for Karina to realize how hurt you truly were, by the affirmation.

It comes to her, then, that you weren’t being petty, all over the past weeks. You were just hurt, and needed some time. She feels guilty for being the reason for such feelings.

Hugging you with a strong grip, she decides to be honest. “There was a time… where I felt like it, for a bit. I was overworked, and annoyed at everything. But then you vanished, and… it felt like there was something missing, I guess.”

Her face is all red from the confession, making you smile. It’s a rare occurrence, for Karina to talk about her feelings, and even more for her to confess anything. It’s the real proof she missed you; the girl’s willingness to be vulnerable, even if for a small moment.

You missed her so, so much. As always you’re the first to give in, no longer fighting the rational part of your brain that screamed for you to distance yourself and leave Karina.

“Let’s go home, ‘Jiminie.” You murmur, humming as you feel her hands all over your body, groping and twisting your skin, touch starved for anything you could provide. You whine, looking at her through her lashes. In this love bubble, your drunken state is enough for Karina to kiss you, her sweet taste marked with hunger.

“I don’t want to wait, though. I’ve missed you for too long.” She looks at you dead serious, adding, “Far too long.”

You nod, a moan escaping your mouth when Karina pushes all the makeup and the gifts onto the ground, her lithe hands gripping your thighs and urging you up on the vanity with ease. Once again, her fingers try to get through your leotard, huffing when she’s met with tights instead of bare skin.

You grab her wrists, giggling at her urgent moves. “Don’t.” You warn, turning your head when Karina meets your lips for another breathless, hungry kiss. Her mouth meets the corner of yours, instead. You’d forgotten how much you loved to tease her. “I have to perform tomorrow, and for weeks after that. Don’t ruin them.”

She retreats completely, then. Stepping back, she places her hands up, following your demands. Her body language is relaxed, but her voice is strained, stating how she truly feels. “You better take them off — now. And give me a show.”

You roll your eyes at the lack of sweetness, but another sharp look from Karina and you’re quick to do as told. Her attention is solely on you, admiring your precise moves. You’re just as graceful and beautiful as when you went on stage, and Karina drinks on the vision.

Without rush, you unbutton your costume until it falls from your body, lifting yourself up to let the fabric dangle on the ground. Your body is exposed to your girlfriend’s touch. You’re drenched, desperate to have her after so long apart. You can feel the heat on your skin, as you reach out to have her close once again. It lingers, only deepening with the hungry, messy kiss you and Karina share. Her hands meet your neck, and you gasp the moment you feel her fingers blocking your airways. The dizziness, along with her wet mouth on your chin, then marking your neck as she has her share of you, just as starved. You’re too light-headed to complain about the bruises, being so quick to turn into a moaning, breathless mess.

“I missed you t-too much.” You murmur, drawing your head back as she licks her way down on your body. You watch, starstruck, as she falls down on her knees, hands spreading your thighs with ease.

You take a hold of her long, dark hair, but don’t motion to force your girlfriend’s face into your cunt— you know better than that. Instead, you wait, eagerly, as she parts your folds. Her other hand comes to collect your juices, proving on your sweetness.

“I’m obsessed with you.” She mutters, breath hot on your clothed cunt. Her eyes meet yours, and she’s just as breathless. “Fucking obsessed. Do you understand? This is all mine.”

Without a warning, she licks a big stripe of your pussy, her nose bumping onto your clit without much pressure. The action, though not rough, is more than enough to have lewd, loud sounds come out of your mouth. The only thing on your mind is your girlfriend. Her touches and the pleasure she was always so eager to give you.

“I’ll worship you because you’re mine.”

Perhaps your relationship was built on empty promises. But as for the moment, the only thing that matters is Karina’s hot, warm breath on your skin, and how right it feels.

#sol writes #sol’s works #yoo jimin x reader #yoo jimin smut #karina aespa smut #karina x reader #karina smut #karina aespa #aespa x fem reader #aespa smut #aespa x reader #aespa x yn #aespa x you #kpop smut #kpop x y/n #kpop x reader

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mrswint3rs · 4 months

Text

The Pornstar Next Door

pairings- fan! Geto x Fem Pornstar! reader

summary- Geto is your biggest fan, so when he finds out you’re moving in next door he can’t let the opportunity pass by.

NSFW WARNING:

contains- filming, brief gagging and oral sex, fingering, manhandling, size difference, belly bulge, unprotected sex, squirting, shit plot

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Geto steps outside of the apartment complex, not really paying attention to his surroundings. That is, until he notices you. His eyes light up as he recognizes you instantly. He’s a huge fan, having watched all your videos countless times. You were everything he wanted in a girl. And now you’re moving in right next door.

He was so used to seeing you in a provocative light, but now, seeing you being real and human was kind of surreal.

Geto couldn't help but stare for a moment, taking in your real life appearance, having never seen you with clothes on before. You looked almost innocent, struggling to carry your belongings into your new home. But he knew you were far from innocent. In your videos, you were a complete cock slut. He’s watched you fuck so many guys he can’t even count.

But here you are, a pretty, normal looking girl. Looking at you like this, it’d impossible to guess you were a pornstar.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He took a deep breath, trying to control himself. He couldn't show himself to be a creep, he had to act like a gentleman. “Looks like you could use a hand, neighbor.” he offers a polite smile as he makes his way over to you.

Smiling back, you shake your head. “Thanks but i’m fine…don’t wanna inconvenience you or anything.”

Truthfully, you could use some help. You had been moving stuff all through the morning and afternoon by yourself. Having to take break after break, feeling exhausted. There were no elevators in this place, and you scored a place on the 4th floor. So when he takes the box from your hands insistently, you don’t bother to protest any further at his generosity. “No worries, i’ve got no plans for the day.”

“Names Suguru, by the way. Suguru Geto, in 404.” holding the box in one arm, he extands a hand. Introducing yourself in return, you shake the mans hand. Not the name you used online, he noted.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He helped you for the rest of the day, carrying 90% of your stuff. Not once complaining about it. You were definitely not used to being taken care of like this.

It took several hours to unload the whole moving truck. but he didn't waste any time, and before long, all your stuff was set down in your new apartment. Completely cluttering up your living room, but you were too tired to unpack anything at the moment.

“Want something to eat?” you offer, opening your fridge. “I have….”

Nothing. You had nothing. It hadn’t crossed your mind to stop by the grocery store to buy anything prior to coming here. You were to focused on getting the moving all finished. But now you felt shitty.He did all that heavy lifting for you and you couldn’t even offer a glass a cup of water because your kitchen ware was still in boxes.

He notices the way your eagerness to repay him vanishes as you look inside your fridge, quickly understanding. “It’s alright sugar,” this was the perfect opportunity for him, “How about I cook for you at my place? Stores are probably all closed right now.”

Geto didn’t exactly know what he was thinking anymore. He didn’t know if he was offering out of the kindness of his heart, or if he was just wanting to get closer to you. He’s been completely infatuated with the idea of you for so long. You being here right in front of him was absolutely insane. Just an everyday girl. His new neighbor.

Regardless of his intention, he couldn’t allow you to go hungry. Leading you into his apartment. It had almost the exact same layout as yours. “Have a seat wherever you’d like.” he urged as he went to the kitchen and began to cook. you watched in awe as he worked.

Geto worked with perfect precision, mixing, cutting and making the food look so appetising.

He put a pair of oven mitts on and opened up the oven, putting a tray of food into it before setting a timer.

While the food was cooking, he turned around to face you. There was a silence between the two of you, before he spoke again "This is quite a new experience for me. Knowing someone without really knowing them.”

What the hell was he going on about? You were confused on his random statement. And then it hit you.

A moment passed before he spoke again "I'm proud to be your fan. I’ve seen all your videos hundreds of times." he admitted with a small cheeky smile.

You wanted to deny it at first but it was no longer possible with your face covered in embarrassment. “Why didn’t you say something earlier…?”

He looked down at you with a small smirk "Why would I? You would've never come to me if you knew who I really was.” You wanted to argue with him but he was right, you would've never come if you knew the truth earlier.

"If you're willing, I was wondering if we can film a video together" he spoke up casually, not showing even a slight hint of shame in his voice.

Your face immediately turned bright red, you never thought he would go as far as to ask him this. His boldness was unexpected but his words were like smooth honey to your ears.

You hesitated, unsure if you should go through with it. The thought of sharing your time with this mysterious, handsome stranger was exciting but you have never felt so conflicted before. Usually you only filmed in a professional setting. But you didn’t really know those men either. It wasn’t that different.

"If my request makes you uncomfortable, you can say no." he said while gazing intently at your face, he was waiting for your answer. The thought of refusing his request was out of the question now, you wanted to do this. For once, you were willing to let go and agree.

You nodded your head while still feeling butterflies in your stomach "Okay, but I have certain conditions." you spoke up. "This video stays private. You're not allowed to distribute it anywhere." you stated firmly.

He listened intently to the terms you gave him, and he simply nodded in agreement. "Of course, I have no intention of leaking anything. Just want to keep it for myself."

You felt relieved after hearing his response, glad you were in agreement. You trusted that he was a man of his word.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"I'll set up my camera while you prep yourself," he was so happy he could die right there on the spot. “Just sit there and look pretty for me, yeah?”

Sitting on the living room couch, you strip down to nothing, making sure you look presentable as he sets up his phone.

Everything was in place, the lights and camera was set, the scene was perfect.

"Are you ready to be the star of the show?" he spoke up with a smirk, removing his own clothes. You nod, watching and awaiting to find out what he’s hiding underneath.

When he shows you what you’re working with, you’re a bit shocked. Sure, you’d taken a big dick before, you were a pornstar. But never in your life had you been faced with a size and girth like this. and he was only half hard. Certainly not what you were expecting, looking at him casually. Made you consider if it would even fit.

“how are we starting this..?”

“On your knees sweetheart, wanna get the camera a nice view of that pretty ass of yours while you get me nice n’ hard.” he instructs straight to the point, setting his clothes along with yours to the side.

You lower yourself to his carpeted floor, with him sitting where you once were. Settling onto your knees you get to work, leaning forward and pressing tiny kitten licks to his leaky tip. Making sure to arch perfectly as you bend forward for the camera. Slowly dribbling your saliva onto him, letting it run down before taking him into your mouth. You struggle the farther down you go. He was too big, already reaching to the back of your throat as you were only halfway down his length. Only being able to fit that much, you use your hand to stroke the rest. Twisting with slow strokes, you bob your head on the top half, making sure not to use teeth despite struggling to hold your jaw open so wide. “Aw, c’mon don’t tell me you can’t take it all? I’ve seen you do worse baby you can handle it.”

You try, but you can’t bring yourself to take it any further. That is, until his hand shoves your head down all at once, making you gag so hard you almost throw up. He holds you there for a moment with a growl, before pulling you back up to let you breathe.

“See? Told you, you can take it.” he grins, “how about you come on up here, on my lap.”

“let the camera see your pretty face, baby.” You obey, repositioning onto his lap, your back to his chest. His legs go between yours, spreading them apart to give a better view. One hand coming down to play with your pussy, the other groping your tit. “gonna get you nice n’ wet for me, okay?” his digits slip up into you, curving up and pumping in and out of you, making you moan. “that feel good baby?” he teases, his voice low and soft, right into the shell of your ear.

“mnn-…mhm..” you mewl, gnawing at your lower lip. his fingers scissor in and out of you for a while before coming out to rub at your clit. Circling over and over until you were a puffy, dripping mess.

“ready to take me?” hesitantly, you nod.

Gripping from beneath your thighs, he lifts your small frame with ease, sinking you down on his fat rod. Forcing the tip to go in. “shit-,” he groans into your neck, “how’s it possible for a pornstar to be this fuckin’ tight?” he was almost afraid he was gonna hurt you. Slowly stretching his way into you.

“Holy fuck…” he gasps. Looking down from above you as he completely fills you. He takes in the sight of your stomach bulging, the outline of the top of his dick visibly poking through. “m’ god..are you okay? does that hurt?” Though he finds it to be incredibly hot, he can’t help but be concerned.

“mhm…s’ just weird,” you breathe, “can feel you all the way in my stomach…”

Curiously he takes a hand to feel at your lower abdomen, feeling where he’s at. He’s absolutely amazed.. “sure it’s okay for me to move?”

Ar your nodding approval, Geto starts to gradually pump his hip’s into you. Watching each time his girth makes your stomach elevate. Picking up pace the more you moan. Nothing like in your videos. Now you sounded genuine. Each of your sounds, making him lose himself more and more. The squelching of your tight little hole, the whiny noises escaping your throat.

He loved it all. His own voice letting out animalistic moans. Huffing breathlessly in your ear. He jackhammers into you as fast as he can, chasing his high. Making sure to keep your legs spread wide for the camera. He was never gonna need anything more. The ding of the oven timer drives him to hurry up. He was already getting close anyways.

“rub yourself for me pretty girl, gonna cum soon…” he moans, continuing to rut into you.

You do ask he asked, rubbing relentlessly as your clit and spraying all over him. He loses it. Cock throbbing and exploding inside of you. Your walls clamping down on him, emptying his balls. “m’ fucking god…” he’s practically whimpering. Your body shaking in his arms.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The oven timer steadily sounds. Hopefully the food didn’t get burned.

mlist

#geto suguru #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #jjk suguru #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto smut #suguru geto #jjk x reader smut #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #smut #fanfiction #fem reader

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vanteguccir · 1 month

Text

Always yours | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Y/N and Chris are secretly in love, but Chris is the one that acts shy around her; OR 4 times Chris loved Y/N from afar and 1 time he didn't.

Warning: None.

Requested?: Yes, by anon.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N and Nick had been inseparable since they were children, having grown up together in Boston, their bond of friendship was the strongest among all others. Nick was the type of boy who exuded energy and extroversion, while Y/N was more thoughtful and quiet, and the two of them fit together perfectly.

So, when the triplets decided to move to Los Angeles to better advance their career on YouTube, the girl went with them. Her high school years were over, and, as luck would have it, she had received her acceptance letter to the LA college she wanted to attend.

Obviously, her closeness with Nick throughout her life brought her close to Matt and Chris equally, as the three of them came as a complete package to any relationship, regardless of which trype it was.

The only difference was that with Chris, things were different. A strange and unfamiliar feeling grew more and more inside Y/N's heart whenever he was around, making her blush and stumble over her own words. It didn't take her long to realize that she was madly in love with the youngest triplet, but the fear of rejection prevented her from confessing her feelings.

What Y/N didn't know was that Chris also had deep feelings for her. However, he was also paralyzed by the fear of ruining his friendship with Y/N, or worse, destabilizing the girl's friendship with his brother if his feelings weren't reciprocated. So the two were content to flirt shyly and exchanging furtive glances and meaningful smiles that spoke volumes about their feelings.

But there was something more, something that everyone but Y/N seemed to notice. When she was around, Chris transformed completely. His posture softened, his smile became more genuine, and his eyes shone with a special tenderness reserved just for her. He became more embarrassed and cautious, as if he was afraid of messing up in front of the person he secretly loved.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

1. Shyness

The sun was beginning to peek shyly through the window curtains when Y/N woke up. She snuggled under the sheets for a moment, enjoying the feeling of comfort. With a soft yawn, the girl got up from the bed and stretched momentarily before putting on the Fresh Love hoodie that was on her gaming chair, throwing her hair up in a quick ponytail.

Y/N walked down the stairs of the floor she shared with Nick towards the kitchen, following the tempting aroma of fresh coffee and warm toast.

Inside the kitchen, Matt was talking about a movie he watched the night before, Saltburn, while Chris laughed loudly at the faces of disgust and strangeness Nick displayed at certain scenes.

"Wait, you reminded me of a TikTok I saw yesterday!" Exclaimed Chris, his eyes shining with excitement. "It was from a guy who apparently wrote a song about a girl who looks innocent but ha-"

Before he could continue, Y/N entered the room with a smile on her face.

"Good morning, boys!"

Chris's face instantly turned a bright shade of red, and he swallowed hard, abruptly stopping talking. He looked down at his plate with a sudden intensity, as if he were trying to concentrate on each bite of his food.

"Good morning, Y/N." Nick smiled, breaking the brief moment of awkward silence. Matt just nodded, chewing on the piece of toast he had in his mouth.

Y/N approached the counter behind the table, noticing the sudden discomfort in the air but choosing not to comment on it.

"What was the TikTok about, Chris?" She asked softly with her back turned to them, standing on tiptoes and opening one of the cabinets above the stove, retrieving her favorite mug.

"I... Um." He fake coughed, clearing his throat. "I think I... forgot." The last word came out in a subtle whisper.

Y/N smiled, feeling the skin of her face burn at the thought of how shy the boy became in her presence, shaking her head quickly to shake off the thoughts when Nick started talking again, bringing up another topic.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

2. Admiring from afar

The Space Camp Wellness studio was filled with vibrant energy as Nick, Chris, Matt, and Y/N prepared for yet another promotional photo shoot. Nick, as the founder of the lip balm brand, was busy adjusting the final details, while Y/N was preparing to be one of the models in that series of pictures that would be used to promote the new line.

Sitting on the other side of the room, Chris, Matt, and Nick exchanged hushed murmurs among themselves, discussing the details of what the next steps for Nick's brand would be. However, to Chris, the sounds seemed distant, completely muffled to his ears.

His eyes remained fixed on the girl, watching every movement she made as she changed her positions. He couldn't shake the feeling that the whole world seemed brighter when she was around, his heart beating wildly against his chest.

"Chris, you're drooling again." Matt teased, giving the boy a playful poke in the shoulder.

Chris blinked, brought back to reality by his words. He blushed slightly, embarrassed at being caught.

"Shut the fuck up, I'm not drooling." He barked back, trying to hide his flushed state.

"Oh, come on, Chris. Everyone knows you're head over heels in love with Y/N." Nick laughed loudly, exchanging knowing glances with Matt.

Chris squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, trying to find a suitable response to his brothers' teasing. He knew he couldn't deny his feelings for Y/N, but he also didn't want to make the situation more awkward than it already was.

"You two are ridiculous." He grumbled, looking at Y/N again.

His eyes widened when he saw her already watching them, her gaze carrying a curiosity as to why they were laughing so loud - not that it was something strange coming from the brothers.

The brunette quickly turned his neck to the side, focusing his eyes on a random place while scratching his stubble, gulping loudly.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

3. Acts of service

The frigid air of Boston circulated Y/N as she walked alongside the triplets, enveloped by the welcoming atmosphere of their hometown. The night was particularly cold, with a biting breeze that made everyone shrink into themselves for warmth.

"Oh my God, it's so cold!" Y/N commented, rubbing her arms in an attempt to warm them a little.

Chris, who was next to her on the outside of the sidewalk, immediately noticed her cheeks flushed by the wind. He frowned, feeling a tightening of concern in his chest when he saw her body shaking slightly, being covered only by a long-sleeved blouse and thin leggings.

"Here." The boy said, taking off his hockey jersey and offering it to her. "You can use this to protect yourself from the cold."

Y/N widened her eyes in surprise, stopping her steps abruptly.

"But what about you, Chris? You're going to be cold-" Chris shook his head, cutting her off.

"Don't worry about me. I can handle the cold better than you can. Besides, you need to stay warm or you will cath the flu."

Finally convinced, but still reluctant, Y/N accepted the jersey, feeling the comforting warmth that emanated from the fabric as she took it in her hands. She smiled wide at Chris, slipping it over her shoulders, his Dior parfume automatically filling her nostrils, warming her heart.

Chris watched in silence as Y/N wrapped herself in his jersey, name and number clearly visible on her back, lightly covered by the strands of her loose hair. An intense blush took over his cheeks, a feeling of heat different from the cold taking over his body.

He felt his heart speed up to a thousand miles per hour, pressing his lips into a thin line to stop the involuntary smile.

"It looks good on you. Better than on me."

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4. Distraction

The kitchen of the triplets' house was full of energy as the brothers prepared to record another Wednesday video for their YouTube channel. Nick adjusted the camera and arranged the equipment while Chris and Matt arranged themselves in the two chairs behind the wooden table, facing the tripod.

Chris, especially, was beaming with enthusiasm, his words flowing with energy as he addressed the camera after Nick positioned himself behind the two, giving the go-ahead to begin recording.

"What's up, guys? Welcome back to our YouTube channel! Today, we have a-"

He was in the middle of introducing the theme when Y/N passed through the divide between the living room and kitchen, her hands holding her phone and her eyes fixed on the screen, heading towards the stairs that led to her shared floor with Nick.

Chris's gaze instinctively shifted towards her, his heart racing almost automatically as his pupils seemed to take the shape of a little heart, his eyes following her every step and his mouth opening slightly.

His brothers, noticing Chris's sudden distraction, began laughing, teasing him as he struggled to regain focus.

"Wow, Chris, I think someone's a little distracted." Matt, who was sitting next to him, joked, receiving a hard slap on the shoulder in response.

Chris blushed a red hue, embarrassed at being caught. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to hide his state as he tried to remember what he was about to say.

"Hm..." He cleared his throat, still a little disconcerted. "Where did I stop?"

Nick laughed louder, stumbling back and slamming his back against the stove, cursing loudly as he tried to steady his balance.

"You were talking about the challenge we're going to do today, but I think you were more interested in keeping up with Y/N than recording the video." Matt scoffed, smirking to the lens.

Chris shook his head, adjusting the cap over his hair in an act of nervousness, his mind still a little clouded by the sight of Y/N.

Needless to say, he got almost every picture of the challenge wrong, his mind replaying the image of the girl he loved over and over for the rest of the day.

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5. When he finally makes a move

The night silently enveloped the house, as Chris found himself lost in his own thoughts, his body lying flat on his bed and his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He knew it was time to finally confront his feelings for Y/N and express the love he had been secretly holding onto for so long. However, he was feeling completely lost on how to do it.

With his heart beating wildly in his chest, the boy decided to seek advice from Matt. His brother always knew what to say. Chris walked quickly up the stairs, going to Matt's bedroom door, knocking gently with his closed fist against the wood before turning the handle, opening it.

"Matt?" He asked, his voice slightly shaking with anxiety as his eyes darted around the room, quickly finding the boy in his gaming chair, playing something on his computer. "Can I talk to you?"

Matt looked up, frowning in concern when he noticed the boy's distressed eyes.

"Of course, did something happen?"

Chris entered the room, closing the door behind him and walking over to the bed, sitting on the edge in front of his computer desk.

"Nothing happened, I just... need some advice." Chris began, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment at being so vulnerable. "I've finally accepted that I love Y/N, but I don't know how to tell her... I'm scared of ruining everything, Matt."

Matt smiled slightly, taking the headphones off his head and placing it on the keyboard before moving the chair so that he was facing Chris.

"Why don't you write her a letter?" Matt shrugged, crossing his arms and watching his reactions.

"A letter? Isn't that too old-fashioned?" The youngest frowned, pushing his bangs back with his right hand, expanding his vision.

"With every girl you've ever been with, you've always been direct, unrestricted, and unromantic. But with Y/N it's different, right?"

"She's not just another one, Matt." Chris rolled his eyes, feeling disgusted as he remembered all the times that he tried to erase his feelings for Y/N.

"Exactly, so treat her like she isn't, be romantic and different, surprise her."

It took days for Chris to finally have the courage to open his heart in a letter. He wasn't used to revealing his feelings often, so writing them down on paper was harder than it seemed. But the day finally arrived, and surprisingly, it didn't take more than an hour for Chris to finish his words.

The brunette spent the rest of that day wandering around his room while carrying the letter hidden in the front pocket of his hoodie, looking for the ideal moment to give it to Y/N.

His courage to hand it to her face to face was almost non-existent, and that's why he used the only moment when the girl moved from her room to Nick's. With shaking hands, he placed the letter on Y/N's bed, leaving it in a place where she would certainly find it.

One last look at it, and Chris turned abruptly, running back to his own room with his face flushed with shyness and anxiety.

Meanwhile, Y/N returned to her room, unaware of the surprise that awaited her. Her heart beat with strange anticipation as she approached, immediately noticing the letter carefully left there.

Hesitantly, Y/N took it, feeling the weight of the paper in her hands. She took a deep breath before opening it, her eyes widening comically as she recognized the handwriting, her eyes running quickly through the words with a mix of surprise and excitement.

As she read Chris's passionate declaration, Y/N's heart seemed to expand in her chest, overflowing with all the best feelings.

To my Y/N,

I am completely sure that I have loved you since the moment I understood the meaning of the word love. I remember the day I noticed that I felt something different about you; we were 14 years old and you showed up at our house to spend the day with Nick, and as soon as you saw me, you smiled the most beautiful and wide smile I've ever seen, taking away all my breath.

Whenever I go to sleep I think about you and, maybe, an us, wondering if you feel the same. And whenever I wake up, I can only imagine what it would be like to have you on the other side of the bed, forever in my arms.

What would it be like to have you? This probably sounds cliché and ridiculous, but I created a whole imagination of what it would be like, and I know it would be a dream come true.

And I tried so hard to resist it, out of pure fear and cowardice of losing you and your company, but resisting you became my most difficult task.

Everything about you makes me feel more alive and lighter. The sound of your voice seems to silence all the noise in my head, and your smile erases all the bad smoke in the world around me. And suddenly there's only you.

If you gave me the chance, I would make you feel everything and much more than you already made me feel.

Say the word and I'll be your yours.

Always,

Chris.

Y/N remained static for long minutes, letting the magnitude of what she had just read sink into her heart and mind. She felt her fingertips numb and her heart racing so much that she was almost sure it would jump out of her chest and run to wherever Chris was.

And then, with renewed determination, the girl got up from her bed, running downstairs towards Chris's room, goosebumps rising through her body in anticipation.

Upon arriving at the door of the room she dreamed of being able to live in one day, Y/N raised her closed fist, knocking it against the wood with nervousness, anxiously waiting for an answer.

When Chris opened it, their eyes met in a moment of pure connection, and Y/N knew it was the right thing to do.

"Chris." She began, her voice soft but shaky. "I love you too."

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My asks are always open. My requests are closed at the moment since I have many to work in, but you can always send questions or simply talk to me 🩷💋

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

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