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hantenguclonesimp-minuszoha · 1 day

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wait how would wife reader react to seeing Zohakuten get formed? Does she already know or is it kept a secret?

Imagine: wife reader on a date with Hantengu and they get attacked so the clones come out. They can’t fully fight off whoever is attacking them so they know what they gotta do. I imagine wife reader would be so shocked and traumatized at seeing her angry husband shoving his hands into the other clones faces just to absorb them AND also shedding out his skin to reveal none other than the little guy himself!

𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐙𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

Hantengu (clones?)/Zohakuten x Fem!Reader [Drabble]

Synopsis: basically the request.

Warnings: Gore, Cannibalism, Blood.

Note: That's quite an interesting ask, Lumi. I like the idea of reader just being there, TERRIFIED as she holds the tiny Hantengu in her palm, staring at Zohakuten with wide eyes, face pale as if she's seen a ghost and waiting for him to explain. I imagine that this is her first time seeing him and is absolutely traumatised. (Ignore the other few hcs, this an au)

Note 2: This feels like a drabble but idk, I don't do drabble's since they're apparently supposed to be a 100 words exact. Other people say otherwise but hey, idk. Anyways, happy reading! (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠*)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

She was told to hide in one spot near the clones by not only the clones themselves but also Hantengu. "It's safe here. Do not move from this spot." She recalled Karaku saying and despite having said that with his usual relaxed tone, there was a hint of firmness beneath his laid-back façade. One second, she was laughing and giggling, chatting with her husband about how her day went when she arrived home near sunset, the next, she's hiding for her and his life because of a sudden a sudden ambush. The only time she and Hantengu would be moved to another hiding spot is when one of the clones themselves would approach them and this time it was Urogi, who was currently flying them elsewhere. "Urogi!" "Don't you worry your pretty little head, songbird. We'll take care of it." Urogi giggled as he landed and placed her in a tree where she and him would be safe. He gave her a kiss on her lips before quickly flying off into battle once more while the wife watched with fearful eyes. She nervously watched them fight the exceptionally strong slayers as she hid and would close her eyes everytime their limbs got cut before she eventually stopped watching the fight altogether due to her weak stomach.

Suddenly, however, they were approached by a demon, clearly hungry and out of control. It must've been a newborn. It immediately sniffed the air and looked up at the nearest prey, that being Hantengu and his wife before jumping up and tackling her to the ground hard enough to leave her senses rattle. Hantengu had fallen out of her delicate grip and landed into a nearby bush but was quickly on his feet again. His first instinct was to run but the shrill pained shriek of his beloved wife stopped him right in his tracks. "AHH-HHH!!!" What was the matter with her? He peeked out of the bush to see what was happening when he was met with the sight of a rabid newborn demon digging his claws into his dear's thigh, hurting her as he tried to bite her face. He was terrified! His poor wife is getting attacked and he couldn't do a thing. As she struggled to keep the demon away, she caught sight of her small husband and yelled at him to run before letting out another shriek of pain when the demon dug its claws into her stomach from the side, dangerously close to anything vital. She was scared and rightfully so because she thought she was going to die. Having and seeing no way out, "SEKIDO!!!" she cried out loudly for her other husband to come and safe her, pushing the demon away and looking towards the four who were in battle.

She expected them to immediately turn around to the sounds of her screams of pain and terror but... she saw Sekido, arms raised – the slayers were quickly recovering as this happened – and in the blink of am eye, had drawn in both Karaku and Urogi, almost as if they had teleported! "H-Hey!" Her eyes widened in pure horror when she saw both of them get absorbed by Sekido through his palms, leaving no trace of their existence behind. Then came Aizetsu, who surprisingly, willingly approached Sekido albeit quickly before he met the same face. Her eyes then quickly darted to the demon above her that was still trying to rip her to shreds and eat her, wrestling with it and try to survive for as long as possible. She kicked it off of her body for a brief moment before she was tackled down into the same position. Again, her eyes went to the spot her husbands were, desperate for them to save her when she noticed that only Sekido remained though at a bigger distance. He had fallen to his knees and appeared to be almost struggling? Shaking? Whatever the case may be, she noticed his struggle until... his hair began to grow... shorter? The kimono he is known for slowly shed and disappeared to ash, his entire body began to shrink – though his muscular form remained – and his arms were now covered by long sleeves similar to Aizetsu's but tighter. If her eyes could go any wider they would when she noticed that what was once her tall husband, was now a young boy too muscular for his age with floating drums behind his back.

She would have taken a closer look at him but before she could, he was gone faster than she could blink. Then, suddenly, the demon she was struggling against was gone as well, almost as he had been kicked towards a tree as it laid here, trying to catch its breath and regenerate. She saw as the slayers looked around aimlessly while she immediately got up and limped towards her small husband, taking him into her hands and looking around the same way the slayers were before being startled by the loud thump of a drum. Nothing happened... for a few short moments. In those few short moments, she turned and jumped nearly everything the same way Hantengu would before letting out a scream of surprise and fear when she felt the ground shake and saw multiple tree trunks grow from the ground which almost appeared like dragons. The quaking of the ground had caused her to fall on her rear but that was the least of her worries. She as fast and best as she could despite the dust that had been released from those dragons blinding her, desperate to get to safety as she held Hantengu. "W-What was that?!" Hantengu felt sorry for her about the fact that she didn't know about his existence as well but was too scared to even utter a word, only hiding deeper into her palm. They both heard the distant screams of agony from the slayers that had ambushed them before their sudden silence and seeing the same demon that had attacked her crash into a nearby tree. She instantly flinched back and slowly backed away at the demon, who was slowly regaining his senses—

"How dare you!!" A new voice growled causing her to flinch for the umpteenth time. It was deep, possibly deeper than Sekido's though lacking the same amount of gruffness yet holding far more command and pressure. The wife looked towards the direction where the voice came from, holding Hantengu with shaking arms and preparing to run when she is stopped by an orange shine in the dark which were clearly eyes. Though they were not directly staring at her, the woman could not move a single millimeter and suddenly, it was hard to breathe. Then, the person who stood in the shadows revealed themselves. A boy no older than seventeen or even sixteen covered in blood. She took in every single feature of his, from his beautiful lashes to the same similar long nails on his hands and feet. Her fearfully curious eyes then landed on the kanji etched onto the floating drums.

"Hate"

She's never seen that one until now and wondered if he was a clone as well. "You dare touch what is mine?!" The only clones she knew of were the main four and Urami! She didn't know there was one more! And so young too! The youngest She's seen! The boy's eyes are trained on the rabid demon which was frozen in the same spot as the much younger demon in appearance gets closer. "An unforgivable sin that you will atone for with your life!!" As he spoke, the words he said before processed in her mind. What did this boy mean 'touch what was his'? She is not married to him! Only to Hantengu, Urami and the main four, not this child. She was too scared to even think properly as she watched the rabid demon get ripped limb from limb while the boy yelled. "You will suffer whilst you die!!" He used his hands and dug his long nails into the demon's flesh, dragging it up to his ribs before pushing his hand in deeper and pulling out a rib. All the terrible noises and howls of agony could be heard as he continued on with the demon's arm, breaking it like a twig as the first arms had gone to its leg and tore it from the hip. He repeated the process with the other arm and leg until the demon was simply a limbless mess squirming like a worm. The boy then crouched and aimed his hand directly for the neck, digging his nails in before swipping his head clean off. "Such scum who bring harm to my benignant bride will not live to see the next sunset." He growled before quickly turning around at the strong smell of his main body, Y/N and her blood.

Once she made eye contact with her, even her breathing ceased. It felt like she was going to die! That looks can kill should only be a saying, not a statement! As he began to approach her, glare never changing, her breathing only hitched as she instinctively hid Hantengu behind her back. Her heart was practically in her throat and she swears she could cry on the spot but she was just frozen. Just as he was in within arm's reach, he froze, eyes darting up to hers and staring intensely. It was silent for a few moments before be spoke. "Why do you fear me, my wife?" The only response he got was her staring at him as if he were crazy, like he had grown another head or something. "I am Zohakuten. Hatred. The main body's youngest self, your husband also." The boy introduced himself, gently grabbing her hand and kissing the back of her palm. So that was his name. Her only response was to stare at him wide-eyed for a good while until she let out a breath that she had held due to his intense gaze. "I—ughnnn..." The pain of her injuries caught up to her, the adrenaline having run out as she collapsed, however, with his lightning fast reflexes, Zohakuten caught her into his arms and took her into the bridal carry, as he then examined the extent of her injuries.

"I'm sorry I didn't arrive earlier, my wife. I would never let such evil savage touch a hair on your beautiful head." The way he spoke certainly caused to feel a certain way. That certain way being flustered and embarrassed. "I-I... Thank you." The woman said softly and let herself be carried by the demon boy. As he walked with her through the forest, eventually beginning to sprint, she could feel herself lose consciousness, the exhaustion having caught up to her. Zohakuten noticed and only went faster but remained as calm as he could, he knew she would survive with him around. "Sleep, my darling wife. I'll take care of you."

Note: So that's how. I mean I can't blame her 'cause bitch, I'd be terrified too. Hope you liked that one.

#𝕾𝖕𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #upper moon 4 #hantengu #zohakuten #hantengu x reader #zohakuten x reader #hantengu x fem!reader #zohakuten x fem!reader #y/n #x reader #x fem!reader #fem y/n

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the-travelling-bitch · 1 year

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I can’t stop thinking about bachira with an oral fixation

[f!reader]

mmhhh bachira who can’t stop staring at your mouth while you speak -he wants to listen, he really does- but the way your lips wrap around the spoonful of dessert occupies most of his mind, merely humming along

bachira who takes a moment to notice your lips stopped moving when you realised not a single sentence registered in his brain

bachira who instinctively brings a hand up to wipe some dessert from the corner of your lips, never removing his hand after tracing the plush of your bottom lip

bachira whose cock twitches at the way you wrap your lips around his finger to diligently clean the digit as your eyes meet his blown out ones

bachira who pulls you in for a desperate kiss; it’s messy and all-consuming but you welcome the way his tongue tangles with yours as he gently lays you down on your couch

bachira who makes his way down your body oh so slowly; every new patch of exposed skin gets lavished in attention as more and more specks of reds and purples bloom in his wake and detail a map of his journey

bachira who wraps his lips around your pert nipples, flicking them with his tongue, suckling until the skin turns red and shallow bite marks litter the flesh

bachira who unconsciously licks his lips at the string of arousal sticking to your panties as he exposes your core to the air in your living room, growing more excited at the way your hole clenches around nothing at the temperature difference

bachira who does not believe in teasing you - or himself, rather- as he dives right in, licking a fat stripe up your folds and playing with your clit just to rile you up more

bachira who eats you out more for his pleasure; the amount of times he’s cum untouched just from driving his tongue further and further into your cunt is something you’d normally tease him about but by that time you’re too far gone, not able to form a single cohesive thought between the fog of overstimulation

bachira who can go at it for hours, his jaw seemingly never growing tired as he grips your thighs tightly so he can push your legs further apart, slotting his shoulders between them and pushing them further towards your chest

bachira who laps up all your juices feverishly as you writhe in his hold, golden eyes gleaming from underneath his sweat-slicked fringe, moaning at your taste as he ruts against the cushions

bachira who, with every orgasm you give him, pleads into your puffy folds that “you can give him one more, right honey?”

#˗ˏˋ– signed by holly #˗ˏˋ– meet & greet #˗ˏˋ– fan mail from nonnie #i feel like i’m barely scraping the surface here nonnie #i hope this is something along the lines you imagined #it’s certain however #you never walk around without any marks on your body #he basically can’t keep his lips away from your skin #doesn’t matter where #minors dni #bachira x reader #bachira smut #bllk x reader #bllk smut #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #blue lock #bachira meguru #bachira thirst

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screampied · 1 month

Text

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ TALKIN’ BODYYYY ! ’﹒⺡

gojo, toji, geto, nanami, sukuna.

જ warnings. fem! reader, praise, lots of dirty talk + degradation, face-riding, unprotected, spit, dumbification, breath play, spanking, squìrting, size kink, brat taming, edging, mdni.

𖬺 — SUGURU GETŌ.

“…girl, you can’t hear or something?” he’d drag out in a coarse voice. you were heaving, puffs of air leaving your mouth as you panted—ass hovering over his mouth. you were so sensitive, the string that resided between your thighs was lazily pulled to the side. geto brings a kiss toward the very crevices of your clit before sighing. “take a seat on me ‘n gimme another. not done eating.”

you briefly grind against his face, perking up your ass against his mouth. you moan, feeling him bring a wet kiss against your cunt. a good sum of sheeny spit departs and he sloppily laps it up with his tongue. “s-suguruuu,” and he was forevermore such a sloppy eater. your legs felt so hot. it was a sweet feeling of pure heat roaming all throughout your skin. all from his touch too. he liked eating you from behind, a perfect position to have the tip of his tongue brush up against your folds, even bringing a thumb to prod against your neglected and needy hole. “you said to give you one more the l-last time.”

“i know what i said, princess,” he’d reply in a rasp, and you whimper once you feel his teeth tug against the fabric of your underwear. you were covered in your own slick. the same exact slick that ran all down his chin. happily so, he casually laps up his bottom lip that had a remainder of your sweet before giving your pussy a sweet and tender kiss. “wait be quiet,”

and you do, pursing your lips together before feeling him ease a finger inside. your folds make a loud squelching pop, and geto hums before slowly sliding his tongue between your entrance. with his mouth full, he mumbles out a low, “so nasty. listen at how she’s tryna talk back to me, baby.”

“park that pussy for me, theeeere we go,” he’d continue in a whisper against your cunt — you moan, feeling him lick a single stripe between your labia. you felt the near coldness of geto’s tongue piercing titillate against your sopping entrance. he’s been eating you out for hours, tracing the alphabet all over with his tongue to make you drag out orgasm after orgasm. “just one more. f-fuck, ‘m so starved.”

his voice was a gritty low, you bit your bottom lip, finally sitting down on his face and geto continues to suck on your clit again. a long suck, it was so lewd that he’s basically slurping everything out of you. the bottom of his chin was wholly covered with your glistening slick. he playfully laps his tongue in such a slow way to make your knees buckle, thighs aching, teeth damn near shattering…

“s-suguuu,” you’d whinge, feeling the flatness of his tongue slither all over your most sensitive areas. his tongue had such length to it too—you felt him locate every spot with such deepness, the tip of his tongue slurps against your inner folds and you whine loudly. he makes sure to not focus directly on the clit. instead, he fixated his tongue everywhere. all throughout your hood and your wall, he’s nose deep. the point of his nose brushes against your pussy before his tongue lathers at the mere taste of you. he feels you pulsate in his mouth and a smile slants against his lips. “right there, keep going. gonna c-cum.”

“but you said you couldn’t give me another,” he snickers, his tongue starting to go in multiple swift directions. the speed had your legs just trembling beneath him. geto breaks his lips away before spitting right on your folds, running his middle finger down the entrance before giving it a kiss. “such a sloppy girl. dripping like this. messy fuckin’ wet girl,” and he blows right against your pussy to watch you jerkily squirm. “you’re my messy wet girl though, right? all for me?”

you don’t reply and he brings mean spank to your cunt, the palm of his hand now shrouded and covered with nothing but your sweet wetness all over it. he slides his tongue against your entrance, his thumb still gingerly prodding against your hole before grunting. his moans and groans, so pretty to listen to. it got you wet in more ways than you could imagine, it almost sounded like a low purr. “when i talk, i expect a answer back, princess.”

“y-yes,” you’d moan, feeling yourself gradually reach an incoming euphoric high. “yes, sugu.”

“yes what?” he grumbles. “i didn’t tell you to say just yes, dummy.”

him dumbing you down with just a few sentences made you throb. he felt it all in his mouth, on the various nerves of his tongue. you arched your back a bit before speaking in a sweet shaken tone. “i— i’m your messy wet girl. sloppy just for you, suguru.”

“yeah you are,” he huffs out, bringing both rough hands to grip your ass. he gives it a spank, the recoil turning him on. a tent pokes through his pants and he’s hard. geto watches strands of his own spit drip down his pointed chin before giving your cunt a final spank. right before you could finish though, he lightly moves you off of him. you’re panting—a jagged breath being caught in your throat. you’re laid back with your legs now sprawled, staring at him with hooded eyes and he gets right between your legs. “i bet you’re kinda hungry too,” and he leans up close—dark pretty tresses of his hair tickle against your skin before he grips your chin firmly. “loll out that tongue ‘n stick it out for me. say ah like a good girl.”

you whimper, feeling his thumb softly strum against your plump glossed lips. “a-ah,” you’d hum out with your pink tongue rolling out your mouth. geto stared at you with a pussydrunken stare, leaning up close before spitting right into your mouth. your tongue gets gifted with a long string of his saliva and he squeezes your lips together just a little more.

“mm. what do pretty messy girls say afterwards?”

“thank y-you.”

𖬺 NANAMI KENTO.

“sweetheart, if you’re gonna sit on my…lap, you gotta behave yourself,” nanami murmurs—you’d be straddling him while he’s hard at work trying to jot a few things down. a plethora of scattered papers pile his desk. he’s probably been working for hours on end. you could tell from the droopiness of his eyes. he had a hand gently gripping your waist before smiling once you kiss near his neck. “i gotta finish this by midnight or ‘m not gonna hear the end of it tomorrow.”

“kento, i want you,” you’d whisper, softly nibbling against his skin, past his collar, he lets off a groan. as you start to grind against his slacks, you feel his bulge arise. nanami tried to focus his attention towards the dozens of paperwork he had to skim through, yet you teasingly wrap your arms around him. “wouldn’t bending me over this desk be more fun? you work too hard.”

kento grunts, and his groans were a pleasure to listen to. so raspy and strained. feeling himself grow more and more aroused by the sweet sound of your voice—you play with the strap of his belt before planting a wet kiss near the corner of his lip. “hmph. maybe,” and you giggle, grabbing the ballpoint pen away from his hand before tugging on his tie. he leans back, manspread and all before rolling his eyes playfully. “alright. ten minutes. ‘s all you’re gonna get from me.”

so you give him ten minutes, ten precious minutes that ended up turning into two straight hours. you’d be riding nanami so good that the tips of ears start to grow hot. his breath hitched and he can’t help but moan from your hypnotic hips. such filthy hips, it was as if it was on cruise control from the pure rocking movement alone.

“goddamnnn,” he rasps out before his right thigh starts to bounce. he was balls deep, buried all inside of you that you felt him reach every corner and crevice of your walls. nanami had a girth to him, a girth that never failed to make you salivate in your mouth a little. so fat and thick, always the perfect fit for you. he throws his head back before starting to pant. “with you around, ‘m not gonna get anything done.”

“good,” you tease, peppering his chin with multiple sugared kisses. nanami grabs your right ass cheek before giving it a soft spank, caressing it shortly afterward. you allow your hands to slide up his button up shirt before whispering in a needy tone. “talk dirty to me, kento. i like listening to your voice.”

he pants, feeling you jerk and jerk against him. your hands feel all over his body including near his muscles that poke through his shirt. “do you now?” he smiles, beads of sweat starting to race down his eyebrow. he was suddenly amused. he was never really one to talk dirty. nanami was always one to shower you with praises, besides just that alone was enough to make you soaked. “well what do you want me to say, pretty girl?”

nanami wasn’t being a tease, he was genuinely curious—yet he’s taken by surprise once you grab one of his hands, swiftly wrapping it around your neck. “stare into my eyes and um,” you pause, thinking of what to say. he chuckles lowly, feeling your tempo leisurely speed up. you rode him so good that his thighs started to ache and jitter. “call me a d-dirty whore that’s just obsessed with your cock.”

“oh? but that’s too mean,” nanami sneers. “besides, you’re not a whore. you’re my good girl.”

“kento.” you grumble, and now he was teasing.

he chortles at the cute pout on your lips, bringing his left hand to squeeze your right hip—another gingerly wrapping around your throat. light fawn eyes stare right back into you before he hums. “fine, i’ll speak to my girl how she wants,” and his tone was so smooth and rich. you gasp, feeling the abrupt sensation of his plump tip thwack against your g-spot, making your vision see straight stars for a moment. “look at my whore who’s just a obsessed with heh, my cock,” and he’s about to laugh again before feeling you grind against him. “all you think about is dick, i bet? thought you was a smart girl.”

you moan, feeling nanami gently caress the middle part of your neck before tightening his grip on your hip just a bit, making you rock against his lap even further. “you just wanna be my precious cum dump, ‘s that it? overflow your pussy ‘n then i can pull out only to stuff it back in for you?” and then he kisses your cheek. “you’re messy like that, aren’t you, my love?”

“y-yes please,” you’d whimper, rotating your hips in a circular motion. it drove him crazy, you drove him crazy. nanami feels so full, preparing to dump such a thick load right into you. burying your face into his neck, you sneak a hand up his shirt. “fuck your work, just fuck me.”

“oh don’t worry, darlin’ i will,” he grumbles, and that’s when right before you were already to finish, nanami lifts you up before spinning you around. he takes both of your wrists and pins them behind your back. you had the most lewd arch over his desk, your chest pressing up against his scattered papers before he leans right up close to roughly yank your hair back. “now bend over ‘n let your husband kento carry the rest from here.”

𖬺 SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

“hmph,” sukuna scoffs. “you must forgot who you were fuckin’ speaking to,” he’d snarl, and if looks could kill you’d most likely be six feet under. his mere presence made you throb, sukuna makes you lie down on your back before spreading your legs open.

“fuck you,” you mutter, and of course you didn’t mean it, you just liked getting on his nerves, under his skin. “you never fuck me right anyway. i fake my orgasms and everything.”

sukuna smirks. “with me? oh please,” and you nearly chew your words once you watch him rub his fat length right between your folds.

“lotttt of disrespect from a woman with a pussy this wet.” and his tone was dangerously low, you stared right into his eyes and he returns the same gaze. you loathed how currently soaked you were though, irking his nerves was always one way to make him yank climax after climax out of you.

he doesn’t like wasting time, within seconds of straight glaring at you, sukuna starts to sink his fat length into you. slowly but surely, he’s so thick, you felt the texture of him and it instantly made you so full. he watched your eyes flicker and then a hand wraps around your throat. “stare at me the entire time. don’t look away or else.”

“or else wh—”

“listen bitch,” sukuna grumbles.

you were just about to giggle, yet that’s when he makes you shut up by pressing a palm against your stomach. he was in so deep, you felt it all. it felt as if your walls were closing in, soaking in such hefty inches of his cock.

it was almost enough to make you drool. his lukewarm body that felt so tepid against you starts to grind and grind. just a single movement of your hips as a cute attempt of fucking him back and you only end up moaning right in his face. he had such salacious strokes, making sure you felt every inch buried inside of you. “you’re gonna listen to me. you know what—i don’t care if you don’t listen because this pussy’s just gonna do it for you regardless.”

sukuna releases his hand from your tummy and instead wraps it around your throat. with a light squeeze, he adds a little more pressure on your neck and you stare at him. he had you in a mating press potion—it was so lewd, and after a while he was pretty much jackhammering into your cunt. your legs were just idly dangled in the air before locking around his slim waist. “s-sukuna, fuckkk.”

“nasty girls like you don’t deserve to moan my name,” he huffs out, and he’s straight pounding into you. he pulls his hand away from your neck before squeezing your pretty sheeny lips together. “do you even deserve this right now? tell me.”

“y—yes,” you’d squeak out, feeling his weight just pounce and spring against you. his cock plugged so deep inside that you started to feel dizzy. your mind was clouded with nothing but straight blankess. sukuna glares at you and that stupid impish grin that slowly went against your lips. “i deserve to be f-fucked by you.”

he rolls his eyes, and you whimper once his hips strike further and grow more vigorous. “let’s not lie, little girl. you don’t deserve shit.”

he sounds annoyed, yet despite that he still leaned in to give you a wet kiss on your lips. you whine, kissing back and he was thrashing his hips into you so good that you cutely had to cling onto his biceps for support.

“s-sukuna, ‘m gonna cum.” and you knew you were. that feeling was forever imaginable, the intense build up had you nearly breathless. he watches as you’re reaching your peak and you’re starting to whimper and whinge from how deep and slow his strokes suddenly get. the bed — the loud creaks could be made into a mixtape from how vocal it was. “fuckkk, ‘kuna. i’m c-cumming.”

and once it hits you, it was at full impact. it came in waves, you felt a sudden rush come to you and your orgasm was so cute.

he felt you pulsing continuously even afterwards. you needed a moment, a moment or two. each and every muscle throughout your body felt ridged. vibrations coarse all throughout your veins before you slump back with the most dumbest post expression. you were so dumb, you knew you probably looked like a mess, all cock-drunk.

“was that real, baby?” he hums, squeezing your lips even more before pulling out. you attempt to glare at him but you only moan once he leans in to lick near your neck.

“shut u-up.”

“make me, whore.”

𖬺 SATORU GOJO.

“really?” gojo says in a sweet tone, he’s more amused if anything—especially after hearing how his pretty best friend’s never had a man make her squirt before. “never ever? as in like, never in your life?”

you shake your head, being propped up against his bare chest. he’s so warm against you. with a single hand, gojo’s got your legs sprawled all open. he reaches down to toy between what’s between those sweet plush thighs of yours. “they’ve all tried but it never w-works.”

“oh you poor thing,” he says with a faux tone, you moan once he starts to swiftly maneuver tender circles against your panties that were still attached to you.

laced panties, a thumb of his brushes against the fabric before he sighs. his breath was minty, that low sigh was right up against your ear and it made you soak profusely. speaking of scent though, his cologne was madly loud.

so redolent, it was a scent you’d always get used to whenever you were so close to him like this. “tell ya what. i’ll make you squirt within five minutes. put all those stupid guys to shame. you want that?”

you nod, desperately craving it. that was all he needed to hear.

once you gave him to go ahead, gojo was determined to make you create such a filthy mess on his fingers. he knew all the right directions to go, his fingers alone knew just where to occupy against your pussy. not even a minute passed before you’re already coating his thickly slender digits with such amounts of your slick. he then slides your panties to the side before continuing.

“oooooh,” he purrs, hearing the squelches your own cunt makes. “she’s so talkative today. poor pussy’s been so neglected though, fuck,” you whimper, parting your legs apart just a bit more as he’s just mindlessly mending your walls. the stretch he created, your eyes were hooded and you dug your hands into his wrist. “i’m gonna make a little mess out of you, angel.”

your head leans back against his chest and you let off a loud squeal once gojo’s fingers position a certain way. he inserts another—yet this time, it’s his middle finger. as of now he’s immitating a bowling ball grip. two thick fingers shoved deep inside of you to where you can barely hold your legs open. “s-satoruuu,” you’d whinge out, feeling your left leg start to sporadically bounce. his tempo was just right, you swallow thickly before gasping once he spanks your pussy twice. “i think ‘m gonna s-squirt.”

“no, you are gonna squirt,” he slyly says, bringing a soft kiss towards the left part of your collarbone. whilst your leg bounces, you fell in love with the way he massaged your inner walls. it was so hypnotizing—the grip he had with his fingers. he tickles near your nub, all inside of your clit before you choke out a needy sob. you were preparing to say something but he shushes you. “shhh. i don’t wanna hear you right now, let this pussy talk for you instead.”

it was such silkiness in his tone, you lean into his touch before he starts to repeat the direction of his fingers. they curve all inside of you, flicking against your pussy before thrusting in and out, in and out. “yeah. lie back ‘n let me show you why they call me the honored one.”

if you weren’t so dumb from his fingers, you’d roll your eyes. after a few concise moments, he pulls his fingers out and your eyes roll anyway—this time out of pure pleasure and ecstasy though. you don’t even realize you’re squirting before gojo grins and points it out.

“thereee she goes,” and you felt so drenched, soaking his fingers — cool air wafts against your skin as you sat still before he softly trails his free hand down your waist. gojo glances at his watch before a dumb smile spreads against glossed lips. “three minutes. heh, new record for me baby. now let’s try to make it under thirty seconds.”

𖬺 FUSHIGURO TOJI.

“the fuck you touching my pussy for, woman?”

toji snarls, and you moan once he smacks your hand away. he had you on all fours—dumbly getting a glimpse of your pathetic reflection through the mirror directly in front of you. you just came and your legs were insanely wobbly. his voice was so deep and stern, it made you throb as you were cutely arched over for him. “thought i taught you well. keep your hands to yourself, only my hands get to feel.”

“but—”

“but nothing slut,” he mutters, and you gasp once you feel his angry mushroom tip start to open you up again. it eases its way into you and you don’t even realize the drool that’s seeping down into your pillow. “touch yourself again ‘n i’m gonna leave you on this bed to make yourself get off. you got me?”

you moan, your ass all up in the air with your left cheek practically smushed against the mattress.

“yeah but can i please touch myself toji.”

all he replies with is a subtle “nah,” and you whimper once he deftly drills his way inside of you. such thick inches that eased its way into your walls, your mouth opened and you let off the sweetest whimper. “saying please isn’t gonna change the fact that this pussy’s only for my hands to touch. not you, girl.”

but toji doesn’t even straight up fuck you.

he’s fully inside before he’s suddenly pulling straight out — then he slaps his fat tip against your folds, smearing the remnants of his cum against your entrance and watching you pulsate. he hums to himself, nudging his cockhead in and out of your slit just to watch you wriggle. “go ‘head, doll. ask me to touch y’erself again, do it. try me.”

it’s a trick, you knew that. it was apparent, yet your lips pursed and you were preparing to ask anyway, toji knew you all too well because he chuckles, shoving your face into the pillow.

“yeah, exactly,” he mutters after about twenty seconds of pure silence passes. a mere awkward silence. “no fuckin’ back talk,” and then you whimper once he continues to slap his tip against your slick entrance—you just wanted him back inside. he was a constant tease, going in only to pull out. the pout that stretched against your face was so adorable, he saw right through the mirror and grins. “aw. want me to start up again?”

“yes,” you immediately reply in a soft tone. “want you to make me c-cum again, toji.”

“tell me sorry first ‘n i’ll think about it.” he gripes.

you whine, this current position — this angle, it was so lewd.

being all hunched over with your ass in the air. you made a cute attempt at trying to wiggle your ass against his dick but he purposely spanks you to quit it. you’ve never felt more soaked purely from his words alone. “i’m sorry.”

“fuck your sorry. make me believe it.” he utters.

“i’m…..sorry for touching myself,” you corrected yourself, cutely growing frustrated—you speak in breathy pants.

the entire atmosphere felt so humidly hot. once toji runs a finger down your spine, you shudder. as he traces against your back muscles, his tip was just inches away from deepening further inside you but he pauses, awaiting for your sweet little attempt of an apology. “i shouldn’t have t-touched what belongs to you. i love you.”

toji smirks. “i agree,” and then he makes your chest collapse further down against the bed—you glance near the mirror and he’s staring dead at you before replying in a husky.

“i love you too, princess,” and then your heart flutters, yet your smile fades once he breaks away, snickering. “but i don’t think you’ve learned your lesson. we’ll try this again tomorrow, brat.”

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fuckmyskywalker · 9 months

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Pussy pleaser — Anakin Skywalker.

— CW: 18+, smut! Anakin eating pussy, Anakin worshipping it, fucking it, basically existing just to eat cunt. Slay. (I may have overused the word "pussy" but hey, can you blame me?). — BASED OFF THIS THOUGHT I HAD AFTER BEING SLEEP DEPRIVED. || WC: 1.2k – Not proofread :P.

— A/N: IMPORTANT! I tried not to use a specific pronoun to refer to reader's vAGINA because I know some people that wanted a larger version of this don't go by she/her pronouns! I hope I did it well and if I missed something please let me know! Your opinion matters to me 🫶🏻. Woops, what's missing here?! ;)

Anakin is an exceptional lover, but if there's something he lacks… is patience.

Especially when it comes to you.

After a rough day, after a good day, to cheer up after some bad news, to celebrate after some good news, after the council either scolded/congratulated him… Anakin always ends his day buried in between your thighs. It doesn't even matter how, if it is his cock, his tongue, his fingers— As long as your pussy is involved, he’s in, figuratively and literally speaking.

But like I said, his patience is little to none, and it shows. Anakin will not only overwork you, overstimulate you and completely ravish your sweet pussy at any given chance, time and place— but he also will give you a short time to even accommodate and keep up with his passionate urges. His large hands start caressing your thighs, trying to hold himself back every time but failing miserably, he will pry them apart slowly, trying to savor the moment (mostly for himself), tracing your skin with practiced ease. He knows every curve, every freckle and mole, Anakin has memorized every inch of your body and he is proud to know what makes you crumble and beg for more.

Anakin tries to be gentle, but having your heavenly offer just inches away within his reach and not be buried deep inside you is a crime. He licks your pussy until you have no idea if you are this wet because of the arousal he provoked on you or his own spit.

Which, let me add to the list how disgusting he is sometimes: Anakin is filthy, and his devotion to you only seems to make his obsession even worse. One of his favorite activities is parting your lips with his thumb, before licking a long, lazy stripe from your entrance to your clit— and then spit right on your cunt. He will throb like a horny teenager, he will hump the mattress of the cheap beds in the Jedi Temple like a desperate bitch while watching how his saliva slides and mixes with your own wetness.

Speaking of his obsession, Anakin lives, fights and comes back home every day for you, of course… but for your pussy too. His favorite breakfast, meal and dinner. His favorite treat and his favorite prize.

Countless times you had laid down on the bed, legs open wide like a cheap whore from a dirty brothel straight from the most dark, disgusting corners of Coruscant, with his head buried in between them, tugging on his blonde curls moaning and grinding his nose against your clit for him to mumble something so quietly you mistake it with an insect flying across the room.

“I missed you.” He whispered, his blown out irises fixated on your pussy. “My pretty thing.”

The first time it felt flattering. It was nice to know your boyfriend missed you so much. You ignored him, thinking he was just eager.

The second time, it was the same.

Same quiet murmurs, same praises: “God, I can’t get enough of you…” Anakin had his eyes closed, sucking on your clit and pausing every now and then to whisper sweet words to you.

Sure, to you.

Over and over, you gobbled up his praises, his need, his lust for you. Anakin had the power to push you to heavens, to reduce you to a blabbering puddle, to lit up your darkness fantasies, so why stop him? He sounds like he’s enjoying himself, and who are you to deny him such pleasure?

There's always a breaking point though.

Remember how I mentioned how impatient Anakin is? Well, this time it didn't worked on your favor. Instead of prepping your pussy, allowing you to have a nice, slippery stretch to be able to fit his thick cock without any discomfort, Anakin couldn't wait. It wasn't particularly painful, but a sharp sting was there, something momentarily but significant. Anakin bottomed out, groaning loudly at how tight your pussy was in that moment, his horny, selfish mind not being able to register his lack of consideration.

“You are tighter than usual.” He huffed, his fingers digging in the supple flesh your waist. You tried to protest, to tell him he didn't stretch you first, but he began to trust relentlessly, hitting your sweet spot over and over.

Every complaint quickly died in your throat, replaced by moans of pleasure and delight. Even if it felt amazing, your pussy was still struggling to accommodate to his size, and Anakin, the little shit, was in heaven.

“You missed me? You missed my cock pretty thing? Missed me using you like a toy?”

Despite your blissful state, something about his words just seemed… off.

Almost as if he wasn't talking to you.

Anakin’s hips slammed against yours again and again giving you no break at all. Your hands had to grab the edge of the wooden bed frame at some point, the discomfort of his girth now long forgotten. He hovered over you, staring at your pretty, glassy eyes, watching them roll back, silently beg him for more and then looked downwards, locking his devil eyes with your pussy. If there was something Anakin would never, ever, not in a million years get tired of, was the breathtaking view he had every time he had the privilege to witness how your tight little hole struggled to keep him inside, as if your delightful, hot cunt was desperately trying to keep him inside forever.

“Fuck… I missed you too, wish I could stay inside all fucking day.” His incessant gibberish began to have an effect on you, your hazy mind slowly putting the pieces together.

“Anakin—” You called him with such a tone that he snapped out of his trance.

“Yes?” He asked, not stopping his movements, just slowing them.

Next, a question you never imagined asking. Your sweaty, flushed face had a hint of confusion, a pretty valid confusion.

“…Are you talking to my pussy?”

Anakin froze, looking almost— guilty?

“What if I am?” He answered your question with another question, something you hated.

“Anakin, answer the question.” You sighed, waiting for his answer as if you two weren't naked on his bed, him buried balls deep inside of you.

Your boyfriend pouted, was he really throwing a tantrum? “Maybe.” He whispered. In response, you laughed quietly trying not to ruin the moment. It wasn't odd, probably a bit perverted and a bit— hot? The fact that Anakin was so in love with your pussy he treated it as if it was another whole being worth his wholehearted attention.

“I think it’s… hot” Your words were followed by a shrug, staring at him, batting your eyelashes.

Giving him that look.

And if Anakin Skywalker isn’t the most patient person in the Galaxy, he certainly is the designated pussy pleaser of the Galaxy.

He pounced again, wasting less than five seconds to resume his reckless assault on your poor, overworked pussy. “See?” He practically growled, his teeth sinking in his lower lip, curving into a wicked smile. “This tight, little cunt missed my big cock so much.” He is on full rampage mode, fucking you brainless.

“Feel how I stretch your tiny hole, angel?”

“Look at you, is my cock too big for you?”

One hand let go of your hip, grabbing your face and squeezing your cheeks, breaking eye contact with your bodies merged into one and forcing you to look at him. His face was inches away from yours, his hot breath hit your face and a string of drool falling from his lips landed on your lower lip. The fire in his eyes was incomparable.

“This pussy belongs to me, not you, do you hear me?”

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya writes!#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x you #anakin #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin skywalker prompt #anakin skwalker #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin eating pussy like a champ.

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steddielations · 4 months

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Upstaged | Part 2 | Part 1

It all makes sense.

When Eddie comes back from taking photos with the fans, he looks a little sheepish for the first time. Steve has about a million things to ask, mostly he just wants to laugh about the fucking odds, but he remembers the grace Eddie extended to him about the press ordeal.

Instead, he settles back with his lime soda and a simple question, “So, what kind of music are you into?”

A grateful smile breaks out across Eddie’s face, ecstatic to dive into that with Steve. Their lunch extends into dinner. Steve doesn’t have anywhere to be these days and Eddie practically jumps up and down when the meeting he was in the area for gets canceled. They stay there for a couple more hours, just talking.

Their music taste overlaps at certain points, Eddie talks about how getting his first guitar from the pawn shop pretty much saved him, Steve recounts a little league story that makes Eddie laugh so hard he chokes on his soda.

It’s the most monumentally casual time Steve’s ever had with a new friend in public and he’s not ready for it to end. Even after exchanging numbers and promising to meet up again, they still linger together outside.

“So uh, I remember where I know you from now."

Eddie leans against the side of the building. It’s getting dark, they’re tucked away from any eyes so Steve freely scoots closer to Eddie, waiting for him to explain. He does after a moment, seeming nervous and fiddling with his rings.

“I hate to ask, but my Uncle is huge into baseball, especially you and your general all-around-awesome thing. There weren’t players like you to look up to when he was young, all that. I’ve seen you on his tv so many times, you’re basically part of the family— ah shit, that’s weird, sorry,” he cringes a little, scrunching his nose in a way that makes Steve’s chest clench with affection, “But he’s getting old and like I said earlier, he’s my rock, he raised me and I won’t forgive myself if I don’t at least ask you to come see him sometime.”

The way he rambles is pretty endearing, looking at Steve with a wide-eyed hopeful expression, as if there was even a chance Steve would say no.

He reaches out, gently takes Eddie’s hand to stop his restless fidgeting, “You want me to meet your folks already, hm?”

Eddie lets out an amused scoff, looking down at their hands and back at Steve like he can’t believe it. “You’re not as funny as you think you are, Steve.”

Steve knits his brows, “Why’s that?”

“C’mon man. Y’know how hard it is to find someone who can handle this lifestyle, let alone all the shit that comes with me,” shaking his head a little, Eddie smiles but there’s something aching in it, “Then the nicest looking guy I’ve ever seen comes outta nowhere and saves my life, agrees to go to lunch, happens too know as well as me that life in the limelight ain’t always pretty and turns out to be one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

His fingers thread through Steve’s, holding tight like he’s not sure it’s real. “Even if I never see you again, I’m gonna write songs about you. I’d take you home and keep you right now if I could, but that’s not happening.”

There’s a part of Steve he’s kept shut down for years that comes pumping through his veins then, hot and alive. He realizes that he’s been trying so hard to keep his life as normal as possible that he’s been missing out on actually living it. Now he has this wonderful, crazy, wonderful man spontaneously in front of him and he’s not letting him slip away.

Steve moves in, slowly crowding Eddie against the wall. Eddie’s eyes go a little wide with surprise then darken with desire. Steve watches his face shift through so many emotions, his mouth parting with a soft gasp, wanting this just as badly as Steve.

“Wanna bet?” Steve asks before he crashes into Eddie again.

This time it’s a hot press of lips instead of a full-body collision, but it’s just as breathtaking.

Steve deepens the kiss, thrill prickling all across his skin when Eddie opens up for him right away. Steve licks passed the bright hint of lime on their tongues to get to Eddie. The heady taste of him makes Steve’s world spin, all the desperate noises between them going straight to his head.

“Want you so bad, Eddie, wanna keep you too,” he threads his fingers into all that hair, reveling in the shiver it elicits from Eddie, “God, just wanna have you.”

Eddie chases his lips, “You can, Steve, you can have me— please do.”

Steve loves the sound of that, going in for a longer, more indulgent kiss before pulling back.

“You can’t take me home tonight,” he professes hotly against Eddie’s lips, “My place is closer, you’re coming with me.”

#and at some point eddie admits that he's jerked off to steve's magazine covers before #might keep this going we'll see #steddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #rockstar eddie munson #famous eddie munson #famous steve harrington #rueswriting

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ghostaholics · 11 months

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𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 '𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓' 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

➸ PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!Reader

➸ CHOKING: he doesn't squeeze that hard – just applies enough pressure the way you like it until that familiar glassy-eyed expression falls over your face, something lust-addled; he always uses his left arm, the one that's all tatted up, consists of intricate pieces he's collected over time until it's formed an elaborate black and white collage that’s inked into his skin – he enjoys seeing how you try to enclose two hands over the entirety of his muscled forearm but can't quite round off the circumference of it, not even trying to get him to pry his grip from your throat, but to keep him there and occasionally prompt him for a little bit more constriction if you need it (❝ Look so fuckin' good like this, don’t you love? ❞)

➸ FAVORITE POSITIONS: anything that can get him as deep inside you as possible, bottomed-out so that he can watch you take every thick inch of him which includes, but is not limited to

(1) mating press or any other variation of it – basically an aggressive 'missionary-style' that gives him the advantage of pile-driving into you, will try to ease your legs onto his shoulders for as long as you can handle it; also likes this because he can still see your eyes roll back in between thrusts when he just grinds into your cunt for a bit while he takes a break and plays with your clit (❝ Greedy cunt's just swallowin' me whole, innit? ❞)

(2) face-down, ass-up - has to pull on your hair a little so you bring your head up to make sure your mouth's not muffled by the pillow (he needs to hear each long, drawn-out moan he can get from you every time he brushes up against that special spot inside you); very primal and powerful, allows him the opportunity to see the arch of your back like this while he's gripping onto your hips for leverage but it's also just so fucking tight and deep (❝ You can take it all, can't you, sweetheart? Yeah, that's my girl. ❞)

➸ DIRTY TALK: typically more reserved in day-to-day conversation, had to work up to being vocal in the bedroom, which now consists of a diverse mixture of low groans, lots of swearing (fuck, shite, or whatever other word that accurately expresses everything he's feeling when he hasn't got a single coherent bloody thought at the moment), as well as any filth like

❝ Gotta stretch you out – work you open on my fingers… Y’know it’d be a shame to wreck this tight, little cunt before I’ve had my fill. ❞

❝ Can’t wait ‘til you milk every last drop of cum from my cock, love. ❞

❝ Where’d your manners go? Say ‘please.’ Let me hear you beg for it. ❞

❝ Christ, I’m gonna flood this fuckin’ cunt. ❞

❝ Do I look like I’m done? Lettin’ my cum leak out… I don’t think so sweetheart. Gotta fuck it back into you now. ❞

❝ Again – love, I'm not stopping until I get another one outta you. So be a good girl and fuckin' come for me. ❞

➸ SPITTING: has a few places he’s fond of; will lift up his mask just above his mouth in order to make it happen

(1) in your mouth, tongue held out in anticipation – he discovers that you’ve got a thing for spit play after a particularly hungry and feverish kiss that has him starving for you, swallowing down your moans, and when he pulls away there’s sort of a wet, glossy little sheen left behind on your lips that you run your tongue over; so, you ask him if he can spit in your mouth because you feel like you need more than just a kiss – he obliges because it reminds him of his cum on your tongue after he asks you where you want him to finish sometimes

(2) on your pussy – absolutely no valid reason for this other than the fact that he really likes rubbing his spit into your cunt and watching it mix with the slickness in between your legs just to make an even bigger mess than the one that’s already there

(3) in his hand, covering his palm – uses it to coat his cock with a few passes over the length of it with his fist, a few harsh tugs at his shaft and a smear of his precum at the head; doesn't really have to because you're wet enough (still wishes he had the opportunity to get you completely fucking soaked, except the circumstances won't allow it), but he's pressed for time, knows it won't be better than the natural lubrication of your own arousal and doesn't care too much since the idea of it makes him that much harder right before he slides on home into your cunt

➸ EATING YOU OUT: he loves it, needs it; heaven between your legs, groans whenever he gets a taste of you, can't resist grabbing handfuls of your ass to bring you impossibly closer to his mouth, tongue flattening and stroking and licking its way into your cunt as you rock down, hips rolling, squirming under the iron-clad grip he's got on your thighs – craves the hot slick rushing out of you, doesn't want to waste a single drop but can't control the way your orgasm liquefies into a sticky and clear wetness that paints his lips and his chin (❝ C’mere. Gonna have you make a mess on my face. ❞ )

➸ DACRYPHILIA: when you're wrought with overstimulation, so, so sensitive after he's ripped the first few orgasms from you – tears prick at the corner of your eyes, a stinging, burning sensation growing in your throat as you try to tamp it down until the first wayward drops of brackish water escape, rolling over your cheeks unsolicited not because the sex hurt but because it was too good and you can't sort out the knotted tangle of emotions you harbor for simon; he asks in a rough and hoarse voice if you're okay, brushes the tears away in a questioning gesture with scarred knuckles until you admit exactly what the cause is, which elicits a deep moan from him signaling that he might just give you another reason to cry

➸ TEASING: rubs the head of his cock against the entrance of your awaiting cunt, back and forth, slowly, just so he can hear you whining impatiently for him to put it in because you hate the feeling of being empty; maybe you should ask nicely, try being polite – it might be the solution to putting an end to your misery

#banner credit to cafekitsune #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #ghost smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #cod mw 2 smut #cod mw x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty headcanons #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty smut #ghost cod

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charliemwrites · 4 months

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Part 9 of Charmed Slasher Simon

(CW: this is all basically noncon. Like, yeah they had a “deal” but it’s not like it was agreed on in good faith ya know? Stay safe while reading, please, and let me know if this warning needs to be more descriptive)

You shake as Simon trails his fingers absently along your tummy, amused by the way it twitches, tickling and frightened in equal measures. So much he wants to do to you, but only so much you’ll be able to take for this first little triste.

Besides, though not long for this world, there’s only so much he wants that little worm to see of you.

“You ever spend so long fantasizing about something that when the moment finally comes, you’re just spoiled for options?” he muses aloud, pinching your nipples through your thin shirt. He can hear the high pitched noises trapped in the back of your throat, tsks at the denial.

“I’m usually a decisive man, you know that, sunshine. But all the things I want to do to you…”

You squirm when he pinches a bit harder, adding a little twist. He shuffles his knee between your thighs and pulls you back, making you grind against his thigh with every involuntary twitch and shudder.

“Could bruise this pretty ass for running out into the snow like that, reckless thing.” You jolt when he palms the plush fat of one cheek. “Or I could just torture your tight little hole. Leave that pretty pussy aching…”

You make a noise like a sob as his thumb rubs through the layers of your pants and underwear. You try to lean away but he’s got such a tight grip on your wrists that all it does is arch your back.

He inches his fingers over the crest of your hip again, dips back to your swollen clit and soaked cunt. Hell, you’re even wetter than before, a sticky line running down your thigh, fabric clinging to overheated skin. He groans against your throat, has to see it for himself.

You try to protest as he yanks your waistbands down to mid thigh, but he quiets you with those same two fingers stuff in your mouth, teeth scraping his knuckles. You nearly gag as he pets the back of your tongue, imagines how it’ll feel against the fat head of his cock.

In the firelight, you’re gleaming, something out of a fever dream. He leans you back farther and forces your legs wider with his own, lets the heat caress at the insides of your thighs, the creamy slick webbing between your lips.

“Fuck, maybe I should just play with this, huh?” He rasps. “Watched you do it so many times. You don’t know how to edge yourself properly, luv. Always let yourself give in too soon.”

You make a startled noise, huge, watery eyes finding his. He chuckles at the mortified question in them, teases his fingertips over your slit.

“Yeah, sunshine. I watched you fuck this pretty pussy, cryin’ ‘n pleadin’ for me,” he purrs in your ear. “Took everythin’ in me to let you have your fun, to keep from showin’ you how it’s done…”

He circles a finger over your clit, a barely-there brush that makes your pretty wet lashes flutter. Over and over, watches that flush bloom steadily over your face, down your neck. The haze glossing over your eyes.

“How about that, hm? We’ll start from the beginning and work our way through my list.”

He slips his fingers from your mouth, watches you lick unconsciously at the taste of him lingering on your lips.

“Y-you’re not gonna…?”

He tilts his head, narrows his eyes. Fills in the blanks and can’t help growling.

“Oh, you want me to hurt you, is that it?” he asks. “You want - no, you need an excuse to hate me. You’re hoping I tear you up so that you have an easy out for all these confusing feelings.”

You try to babble out a denial but the shock in your eyes is all the confirmation he needs. He tamps down his anger by dragging his teeth along your neck, working a dark mark into the skin.

You don’t know any better, he reminds himself. But you will.

“Don’t you worry, luv, there will be plenty of punishment for you,” he rumbles. “But you’re going to beg me for it.”

You open your mouth, maybe to deny it, but he pinches your sensitive little clit between two fingers and revels in the way you squeal.

He instantly soothes the ache with gentle circles, trailing kisses along your jaw. Tastes fresh salt on your skin.

“Best save your tears, precious,” he warns, smirking. “You’ll need them.”

He parts your lips with two fingers, leaving you open and exposed, groaning through his teeth at the sight of you. Wet and swollen, so needy for him. You try to buck away when he rubs a finger over your clit, firm strokes up and down.

“If you don’t stay still and take it like a good girl, I’ll tie you down and make you be a good girl.”

You duck your chin, eyes squeezed miserably shut as you try to lock down your body. It’s ridiculously endearing, how you wiggle and then catch yourself, breath hitching as you wait for him to lose patience. He hums whenever you start getting to squirmy, delights in the way you shiver and sink your teeth into your lip. Settle down only for him to change the tempo or the pattern and ruin all your self control.

He amuses himself drawing patterns all over your pulsing clit - circles and stars. Hearts that make your eyes roll back in your head. Zig zags from your weeping hole up to the very top of your slit.

It takes a while for you to truly approach your orgasm with the way he denies you a proper rhythm to build on. But he notices the moment you finally start to reach that peak, not even his reminder to hold still can keep you from twitching and rocking, helpless little jolts of your hips.

He coos. “So desperate to finish. Is it because you think I’ll be done with you once you do?”

You don’t answer, too busy trying to get more friction, more pressure. He lets you rush right up to the edge and then stops, skipping down to circle your hole. Luxuriates in the fresh flood of wetness coating your thighs. It yanks you back like a dog on a leash, your orgasm right there but just out of reach.

You don’t even seem to realize what’s happened for a second, mouth hanging open and a cute little furrow between your brow. When he chuckles, teasing up to that sensitive bundle of nerves again, it seems to click. You shoot him a dismayed look, the most precious hint of betrayal lurking in your glassy irises.

“N-no…” you nearly beg.

He smirks, nips at your puffy bottom lip. “You can say no if you like. Or even stop. We had a deal, though, didn’t we?”

“R-Riley…”

You scream when he spanks your pussy. Not nearly as hard as he craves, but it sends pretty streamers of tears down your hot cheeks. Another, two fingers directly to your clit. You nearly crumple, only his hold on your wrists keeping you upright.

“My real name, sunshine, or I’ll give you a reason to say no,” he warns.

“S-Simon,” you whimper, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He shushes you, petting apologetically at your throbbing core.

“I know, luv, I know. But you’ll never learn if I don’t teach you right.”

The tears don’t stop as he drags you right up to the edge again, bullying through the lingering sting of getting spanked with overwhelming pleasure. When he pulls back a second time, you start up the “no’s” again, voice shattered into pathetic little pieces.

“That’s alright,” he murmurs, “say whatever you need to get you through, I won’t be mad.”

He gets you so so close once again, cock twitching against your ass as it grinds back against him. But he lightens his touch, not stopping but not letting you fall, easing the pressure up and up and up until even the slightest graze would break you.

Instead, he pulls away entirely to squeeze at the plush of your thighs and hips, cooing over the way they shake for him.

“Simon,” you sob, tucking into his chest. He slows his touches, watching you try to curl into him, chest burning with something bloodier than love. “Simon, please. It hurts.”

He hums, sliding his hand back up to your pussy, massaging your labia. Careful not to touch your needy clit.

“It hurts, hm?” he croons, unable to keep the mean pleasure from his voice. “It wasn’t supposed to. Where does it hurt?”

You hiccup, sniffle. “M-my… my…”

“Tell me, sunshine, or I can’t make it better.”

You fold a bit, bounce, almost like a tantrum. So out of control on sensation and emotion that you can’t keep it together as you form the words.

“M-my pussy. It — I need…”

He hums again, fingers trailing down to your hole. Teases his finger at your entrance and feels it spasming around nothing.

“So empty,” he breathes. “Is that it, luv? Your little cunt is aching to be filled?”

You shudder on a cry but nod, face hidden against his neck. He lets you, far too endeared by your attempts to find comfort from the man torturing you in the first place.

“Hurts,” you repeat.

“Do you hate me yet?” he mocks.

You keen softly. “Y-yes.”

A tap to your clit again. If you weren’t so strung out you’d probably even find it pleasurable but right now it makes you writhe and beg him to stop.

“Dont lie,” he warns, voice low, “where are my good girl’s manners?”

“‘M sorry,” you whine.

“One more time now - do you hate me yet?”

Your words seem to get caught up in your throat so you shake your head. Hes tempted - so, so tempted - to make you admit it aloud. But he doesn’t want to be too mean, not yet.

“Good girl,” he whispers, “that’s my girl. You want me to make you feel better now?”

You sniffle again, lean back into him a bit more. “Please.”

“There we go,” he praises, “nice and polite. I’ll take care of you, luv.”

Your body is so ready that it’s nothing for him to slide a finger into you, slick already running down his palm.

“N-no no,” you mumble.

“No what? I’m making you feel better.”

“‘S not — need more. Please, please, Simon.”

It’s hearing his real name in your small, reedy voice that finally appeals to what little mercy he has. He fits two fingers into your cunt and curves them to rub your silky walls.

“Fuck, you’re tight, sunshine,” he groans through his teeth. “You’re gonna choke my cock.”

You squeal as he starts rocking his hand, fucking you at an easy pace, getting you accustomed to the new stimulation. Starts building up your orgasm again, piece by moaning piece, finding every spot that makes your back bow with pleasure.

“Please, please, lemme cum this time Simon, I’ll be good, I promise.”

He huffs in amusement, caressing his thumb over your crossed wrists.

“Oh baby, you don’t have a choice.”

He flattens his palm against your core and pumps his fingers faster, harder. The heel of his hand grinds against your clit with each twitch of his wrist. You get tighter and tighter, voice pitching up and up, until your entire body goes taut, walls clamping down almost painfully.

He strokes you through it, brutal and relentless until you’re screaming at him to stop. That it’s too much. He releases your wrists to wrap his hand around your throat, obsessed with how delicate it feels in his palm. Just the slightest squeeze of his fingers and your eyes roll back. The second orgasm gushes from your abused cunt, all over his wrist and your thighs, dripping puddles onto the carpet.

He loosens his hold slowly, work you over through it, feeling you squeeze and pulse with aftershocks.

When he glances at your pretty, flushed, and tear-stained face, your eyes are shut. Out cold.

He chuckles and gently lays you out closer to the fire, grabs a pillow from a nearby chair to set under your head. Lingers for a moment, rubbing over your back, massaging gently at your shoulders. Your wrists are already bruising.

Then a muffled noise calls his attention.

Brandon.

“Now the second half of the deal.”

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #charmed slasher ghost #final girl reader #non con #dub con

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yanderenightmare · 6 months

Text

Mahito

TW: slight NSFW, degradation, dehumanization, Stockholm Syndrome, Mahito in and of himself, platonic to romantic yandere

fem reader

Mahito makes it a point to treat you like an animal – his human pet.

Ever since he first took you. The cage, the collar, the petting, and the treats.

Most of the time, when he talks to you, he acts as though you’re incapable of understanding complex conversation, using only a few words and simple commands – a smile stretching his face, stroking your head when you do good. Other times, he acts as though he’s forgotten you can even speak at all. The worst part is – you don’t really know whether he’s faking or not.

He takes you for walks and plays with you – letting you off the leash for a game of hide´n´seek in the forest where he chases you down barefoot – he doesn’t really care about the rules or that he’s breaking the basic premise of the game. He just laughs, liking the way you pant and wince against the mossy floor after he’s hunted and tackled you down for the umpteenth time, sweaty while you beg him to take you home with teary eyes and puffy cheeks. Home – being where he keeps you.

You used to refuse, you used to run away and fight him when he caught you – with scratching and clawing and biting and barking, but you soon learned to behave. He told you he had no use for rabid pets and threatened you with transfiguration, warning you not to bore him, and ultimately – after having seen him twist enough people into mockeries – you stopped doing much more than obey.

You’re constantly blue with bruises and stinging from scratches – but you wash in the hot springs when Mahito brings you along – soaking your aching muscles in the warmth while he cheats in playing Marco Polo, sneaking a peak and tagging you with a laugh – awfully resembling that of a child. You swear you often have to shake the feeling of mothering him out of your head before doing something regrettable.

Other times, he’ll take you to the beach. You asked him once how it was possible, but he’d just booped your nose with a smile and told you it was something you wouldn’t be able to wrap your little head around – and, looking towards the horizon of the never-ending sea, inside what you could have sworn was a concrete building, you couldn’t help but agree with him.

Sometimes you see his friends and hide behind him. He thinks it funny and excuses you, laughing out that you’re shy. And you suppose he’s right.

You used to be shy around him, too. You don’t know when you accepted it – being his pet.

Lately, he’s been inviting you to sleep with him in his hammock instead of your cage. And everything except your left brain betrays you as you lie snug against his side, with his arm softly holding you around your midriff. He’s so warm, and your whole body feels cottony at the pleasantness of another’s embrace after having gone so long without it. Actually, you almost cry, resting your head atop the rise and fall of his chest, closing your eyes to the steady beat of his heart thumping just beneath your ear. In the moment, you even forget he isn’t human. It just feels nice.

You don’t even mind when he dances his fingers up your arm in ticklish touches. Instead, you nuzzle into him with something so vulnerable as a moan leaving your lips.

His eyes travel from reading the pages of his book to the blissful look on your face and the way your smaller hand grips his tunic – but he doesn’t make much of it aside from raising a brow.

He’s seen scenes like this at the theatre – sappy love stories Junpei used to cry his eyes out over – awkward teenagers in dark silent bedrooms and clothes on the floor, then kisses and hugs and naked flesh and sweat and heavy breaths and moaning. He can’t deny it makes him curious despite never having felt any personal need to truly understand any of it. It's a human thing after all.

Your warmth makes him wonder, though. He’s always enjoyed the soft feel of your skin on his fingertips, whether you’re trembling or not – it has an interesting texture – warm and doughy. He could imagine it would feel good pressed against his body, too.

Without a word, he tugs your shirt up your torso, pulling on it until you raise your arms and allow him to remove it entirely. You became a little tense then, hiding your naked chest from him by folding your arms.

He takes off his tunic just as casually, and you don’t understand it, but suddenly you feel a little blushy. But you don’t say anything – almost as though you’ve forgotten you can speak just the way he pretends.

His skin’s ashen and pale – but his torso is just like a normal guy’s – toned with muscles, two nipples, and a belly button. Oh, and stitches. Like a patchwork.

He lifts his arm, and you take the cue, laying down again – now skin to skin. He’s even warmer now, you note – and something about the feel of bare skin makes your head hot. And you can't help how that heat spreads between your thighs – but you keep it to yourself.

He lifts his book and begins reading it again, turning the pages with the same hand he holds it up with. But his free hand travels from resting on your hip to your chest.

You suppress a shudder by biting your lip, and he cups your tit with absentminded curiosity – paying you not a glance while his eyes lazily skim the words in front of him, giving your breast a firm squeeze.

He keeps track of your small shufflings despite you trying to keep them to yourself – charting what touches elicit your reactions. Soon, he finds your nipple, feeling it stiffen with yearning beneath his thumb, pushing it like a button only for it to bud out again. You stifle a sound he hasn’t heard from you before.

He reads his book finished, then lets it drop flat on the floor beneath you. His statement is like a resolution. “Let’s play a new game.”

You peek up at him from the nook of his arm. “Game?” You ask, but he's already maneuvering your body despite it causing an unsteady swing in the hammock.

He ignores both it and your question. Giving you those very curt commands one would say to a trained pet. “Up on my lap.”

You follow. “Okay-”

You’re straddling him next. Bare-chested while he lifts both hands to cup each tit.

You’re fully flushed now, face steadily getting dewy from the heat as you look away – bowing your head off to the side with your teeth sunk into your lip.

He’s playing. Groping the pillows with fingers now swallowed in the fat before releasing again, twisting the perky nips with eyes feeling a little foggy at the sight. His mouth suddenly waters, thinking about how it looks as though they were made to be eaten – no, not eaten exactly, but something else, something similar...

Indulging the thought, he leans in and envelopes the sensitive things between his lips, sucking on them with his warm wet tongue circling and flicking the point.

Old instincts resurface at the pleasant feeling and you grind your hips down on his lap without thinking.

He falls victim to it, too – taking your hips in both hands while grinding whatever it is that’s gaining weight between his thighs up into that place between yours.

The feeling is more than nice, forcing his entire body to be both mellow and tense with a hunger for more all at the same time.

He presses his face entirely against your chest, nuzzling between the soft mounds there with his cheek. Hands slipping from your hips to pull you closer and grind you harder down on his lap, slithering his arms around the small of your back and hugging you hard.

And you don’t want to think about how fucked up it is when you need it so badly – rolling your hips down, riding that bump you feel nudged against your crotch – like it's the only source of comfort you've had for months. You think about its size – it feels big – you can’t help but picture it – long and pale, probably with a curve and a sharp spine – fuck, you need it – want it pounding your guts, want his pelvis slapping against your clit as his fat cock shoves against your womb – filling you up with thick and filthy warmth-

You still with a shudder when you climax, breaths heavy and shaky. In the blind chase, you’d caressed his head and held it to your chest like a lover would, hugging him close with your body pressed flat against him.

He’s also panting, hot and damp huffs dewy against your skin.

There's something sticky in his pants… and he could have sworn your souls had merged there for a moment...

He’s never felt that before.

#yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk mahito #mahito smut #mahito #yandere mahito #mahito x reader #mahito jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen mahito #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #jjk headers

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hollandsangel · 15 days

Text

casual | m. sturniolo

i’ve been scheming for weeks !! (actually started this before move over AND voice. so.)

basically i’m obsessed with this song

summary: the most dangerous label is the casual one; or you both want more

warnings: matt x fem!reader, use of y/n, ANGST, cursing, happy ending bc i’m a sucker & a lost cause

wc: 6.5k

the sun is dipping behind the horizon, painting the sky pink and orange. you have your window rolled down, letting the salt air breeze pick your hair up as you rest against the car door. matt has elmer’s new song playing on aux, something lofi with a bit of spanish mixed in.

“like what you see?” he speaks up, taking his eyes off the road for a second to look over at you. he stares for a second, your skin illuminated by the fading rays of the sun, kissing the tops of your cheeks and giving you a warm glow.

you press yourself up to sit properly and catch his hand resting on the center console. you always loved that he drives with his left hand, the right always close enough for you to touch.

“it’s pretty,” you say, poking your head back out of the window, looking overhead at the passing trees, “the palms are so tall.” matt squeezes your hand, and when you look back up he’s already looking at you, smiling when you meet his eyes.. his hair looks lighter in the setting sun, the side of his face lit up all golden and warm. you bite your lip and smile, turning away with a slight flush.

“it’s green,” you tell him and he flicks his head back forward, muttering a curse under his breath.

“my bad,” he admits, refusing to drop your hand.

it looked like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, just takes a breath and lets it out before turning back to the road.

when the car pulls into the garage you reach to the back to grab your overnight bag. matt’s already out of the car, coming over to your side to open your door, “c’mon,” he says in that silly high pitched voice, just to hear you giggle.

you make your way to his bedroom, knowing the ins and outs of the triplet’s house like the back of your hand. matt follows behind you, his footsteps echoing amongst the hardwood floors.

“i can’t wait to lay down,” you sigh, the effects of the sun's heat catching up with you now that you’re in the cool, air conditioned house.

“yeah, i’m feelin’ pretty tired too,” matt agrees, his voice heavy and suddenly cloaked by fatigue.

you’d been out all day, shopping on melrose, walking by the beach. dinner and ice cream and the beating sun soaked up all your energy. nothing sounded better than getting cozy in matt’s bed and watching a movie, maybe catching a bit of a nap before deciding to head home. you knew he’d insist on driving you, and that always hurt more than you’d like to admit.

the two of you weren’t dating, he wasn’t your boyfriend and you told yourself you didn’t mind. it wasn’t a very convincing lie though, most everyone around you could tell. it’s not that you hadn’t talked about it, you had, there were just things getting in the way.

matt was worried about how his fans would react, and he absolutely did not want it to be at your expense. you hated the thought of pushing him, like forcing him or asking too much, being too needy would only drive him away. all your friends had told you to stop, that you were only going to get yourself hurt, but you’d honestly rather have half of him and a broken heart than none of him at all.

you never doubted that he cares about you, in fact you know he does. he always picks you up from classes, knows your order at all your favourite fast food places and keeps an extra toothbrush in the bathroom for you. it’s things like that that make the title of causal or just seeing each other sting a little bit more.

here though, all settled in matt’s bed, you try not to think about it too hard. there’s some liam neeson movie he insisted on showing you playing on the tv, and you’re happy to be watching it, but mostly happy to be watching it with him. his chest rises and falls under your head with each breath and it’s making you more tired than before.

“i’m so warm,” you say through a yawn, all comfy now in your sweats and matt’s crewneck, although the comfort comes mostly from his arms wrapped around your middle.

“you can throw on a pair of boxers if you want, top drawer,” matt offers, his arms unmoving, keeping you mildly trapped against him.

“let me goooo,” you groan dramatically, making a big show of sliding out from under his arms and grinning to yourself when he laughs.

“come back,” he pouts, reaching for a stuffed animal to take your place while you cross the room to his dresser.

“just give me a sec,” you giggle, rummaging around in the drawer and pulling out a pair of plaid boxers. there’s something stuck to it, all tangled up in the mess of his clothes, “what the– is this my bra? i’ve been looking for this for like a month.”

matt lifts his head just enough to see what you’re holding up, huffing when he hits the pillow again, “i dunno, sweetheart, you probably left it, you’ve got a lot of stuff here,” he sounds tired, and the words are pressed against his pillow now that he’s rolled onto his stomach.

you’ve got lots of stuff here.

it digs into you, how casually he says it, an almost physical ache you feel beyond your ribs, right where your heart is.

quickly you try to shake it off, shucking off your sweatpants and sliding the boxers up your legs so you can hurry back into bed before allowing yourself to think about what he said too much.

“c’mere,” there’s a little smile on his face when he says it, arm outstretched for you to crawl under. immediately matt tucks you up against his body impossibly close, his nose stuffed into your hair and breathing you in. it feels nice, right, and you let yourself bask in it, like maybe the state of your relationship (or lack thereof) won’t be in limbo forever. he has to feel it too, the pull.

“i think you should just stay tonight,” he says quietly against your temple, leaving a little kiss there.

“are you sure?”

he nods, “it’s late, ‘m not gonna kick you out,” you can see his smile in the dark, his features lit up delicately by the dim light of the movie, “and i kinda wanna cuddle,” he admits sheepishly, trying to hide his blush when you turn to him.

“awe, matty,” you tease, scooching closer to him, hardly an inch away.

“hey,” he says all high pitched, making you laugh again.

“that voice always gets me,” you tell him, snuggling up under his chin.

“that’s why i do it,” he tells you.

it doesn’t take long for you to slip into an easy sleep with matt holding you, the mindless noise coming from the tv luring you deeper into unconsciousness. he’s being extra gentle, finger tips dragging along your waist under your top. you hardly feel him slide out of bed or tuck you in all snug under the covers.

nick’s in the kitchen when matt emerges from his bedroom for some water, hunting for something in the pantry. matt rubs his eyes.

“hello?” chris leans forward on the couch, his voice startling matt.

“jesus, what– you’re just both out here at fucking two in the morning?” he grumbles, eyes squinted against the harsh lights.

“we ordered food,” chris stands up, walking into the kitchen.

nick nods, closing the cupboard, glass in hand, “we thought you were at y/n’s or something, i didn’t hear you come in,”

matt grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and a takes a sip before answering, “nah she’s here, she’s asleep,” he says, nodding towards his bedroom.

nick groans, “god, are you guys dating yet,” he asks, head rolling back against his shoulders, exsapertated.

matt’s eyes widen at the sudden outburst of noise, looking back at his door to make sure nick didn’t wake you, “dude, be quiet,” he urges.

you’d felt matt’s absence after a few minutes, the warmth of his body leaving the bed when he did. slowly you sit up, pressing the heel of your palm into your eye and swinging your feet to the floor quietly. you stand behind matt’s closed bedroom door, prepared to silently creep out and go to the bathroom when you catch his voice.

“and no,we’re just casual,” he continues to answer nick’s question, who glances over and chris. “what— don’t look at him like that,” this earns him another sideye, “i mean it, it’s not serious.”

“matthew” nick starts, “isn’t she asleep in your bed right now?” nick points an accusatory finger in his brother’s direction, emphasizing his words.

it’s matt’s turn to look at chris, who holds his hands up in surrender, “don’t look at me, i’m with nick,” he says, looking away from his brother from where he remains on the couch.

“well she’s not my girlfriend, if that’s where this is going,” matt turns back to the fridge, not really looking for anything, just trying to hide from his brother’s judgmental, but justified, stares.

it hurts to hear, even if you know it’s the truth.

“and why not, idiot,” nick asks, getting fed up. he can clearly tell how his brother feels and is getting frustrated, mad even, with the idea of him toying with your feelings.

“i just—i just can’t do it.” that hurts more, a sharp pain you feel in your chest. you swallow dryly, and that hurts too.

you decide you don’t have to go to the bathroom that badly anymore, and slowly sink back into matt’s bed. you know you and matt aren’t together, that he’s not your boyfriend, but a part of you has always clung to the idea that one day he would be, that he’d finally make the move. you thought he liked you enough to at least try.

tugging the duvet up to your chin you roll over onto your side to face the wall. matt comes back into the bedroom and you can hear nick and chris talking quietly for a second before the door closes again. you’re not too sure, but you think one of them mumbles your name amidst the conversation. matt slides back under the covers with you, coming as close as he can to wrap his arms around you.

it makes your head spin, his words rattling around in your mind, saying he “can’t do it,” but here is, body tucked perfectly against yours, holding you so tight you’d think he never wanted to let go.

—

matt seems notice that you’re a bit quieter than usual the next morning, but you try to hide it under the excuse of not feeling well. he offers to drop you off and you take him up on it, knowing that marinating in the misery you feel won’t solve anything but seems to be the easiest thing to do at the moment.

“text me if you need anything, okay?” his tone is concerned and you can feel him looking at you even though you’re trying to avoid eye contact. you know you’d cave, catching a glimpse of the light blue with all that worry clouding it.

“yeah, i will,” you sigh, reaching into the back seat to grab your bag.

matt catches you, palm placed delicately along your jaw so you’ll look at him, “hey,” he says all soft, “c’mere,” he guides you forward slightly and you know what’s coming, you know it’s gonna hurt but you do it anyway.

he kisses you gently and you fall into it with ease, reaching out to touch his arm. when he strokes his thumb along your cheekbone you pull away, licking your lips.

“i’ve gotta go,” you whisper, afraid the full volume of your voice would shatter something, you’re not too sure what.

“yeah, okay,” he nods, pulling his hand away from your face and trying to smile as you open your door, watching you walk into your building.

he stays there in the parked car for a minute, wondering what’s wrong, pretending he doesn’t know that this whole situation hurts you just as much as it hurts him. he’s staring up at your apartment window, tapping the steering wheel and taking a long, deep breath.

“fuck,” he mutters to himself, pushing his hair back and putting the car in reverse.

—

you and matt don’t talk excessively for the next few days, only a few texts exchanged here and there and one phone call after he knew you’d just written a midterm.

he called to ask how it went and tell you he was proud of you, and also to invite you out to dinner with his parents on the upcoming weekend. they were flying out to l.a. for a few days and he wanted you to meet them. it felt cruel.

“i dunno matt, i’ve got an assignment due sunday at midnight, i might not be able to make it,” of course you wanted to go, but the tug of self preservation was starting to become more equal to the pull you felt towards him. you were starting to lose sight of what was more important, him or yourself.

for so long it had been him.

“please, sweetheart, i feel like i haven’t seen you in forever,” matt slumps into his desk chair, spinning back forth.

you cave and somehow your vision clears. it was him again.

“yeah, yeah, okay, i wanna see you too,”

matt smiles on the other end of the phone, “yay,” he says sweetly, making his joy obvious, “i can help you with your assignment if you want, too,” he offers, and you know he’s just trying to get a smile out of you.

you laugh without meaning to, “matt, you know nothing about the course,”

“i’ll figure it out, anything i can do to make sure i see you,”

you bite your lip, trying to keep a smile at bay, “careful, you’re gonna make me think you like me or something,”

“aw, well i can’t have that now can i?” he teases, and it cuts deeper than he realizes it does.

“no,” you mutter, trying to hold onto the smile on your face even though matt can’t see you, “um, i should probably get going, if i wanna finish my assignment on time,”

“oh, yeah, okay. i could come by a little later with some food?” he poses it as a question, sensing your hesitancy.

“you don’t have to do that,”

“i know, but i want to,” he says it so easily, like there’s no reason in the world he wouldn’t come to your house after eleven pm just to sit on your bedroom floor while you do school work.

“canes?” you finally offer.

“be there in half an hour.” you hear the car keys jingle through the phone, the front door latching shut.

—

the triplet’s parents land on friday afternoon. you haven’t seen matt since wednesday night when he called and brought take out to your place, and you’re starting to feel a little nervous at the thought of seeing his parents.

you’ve spoken to them over facetime once or twice when matt had called them, but this is real, this is serious.

you think you’ve completely driven yourself insane with that, thinking of it as serious. for days there’s been a battle in your head about whether or not this means matt wants to make your relationship offical. it’s become such a problem that you’ve forbidden yourself from thinking about it.

taking a deep breath you refocus on yourself in the mirror, fixing your hair and trying to decide on a lip product for the night when your roomate wanders into your bedroom.

“how are you doing?” she asks, leaning against the door frame. you don’t answer, just look up at her with what must be a miserable expression, because she chuckles sadly at you, “that bad, huh?”

you groan and clench your fists, “i’m just confused!” you exclaim.

“i know, but i think tonight should clear some things up,” she tells you hopefully, and you really want to believe her.

“i hope so,” you sigh, “i just really like him,” you whine, defeated.

your phone dings then, a message from matt of course.

matt sturn

be there in twenty

ive got the kids

you laugh sadly at the text.

“‘s that him?” your roommate asks.

“yeah, him and his brothers are on the way, they’ll be here soon.”

“you’ll do great, don’t sweat it,” she tries to reassure you, giving you an over enthusiastic thumbs up before shutting your door again.

matt, nick and chris have been in the car for about five minutes and already matt’s debating driving into oncoming traffic. him and his brothers have had the same fight at least three times since you stayed over last week, and if he’s honest, he’s getting really sick of it.

“enough of this ‘i can’t do that’ bullshit, matt, she’s coming to dinner with our parents,” nick says pointedly, running out of air at the end of his setence, “you don’t just bring your hook up to that shit, so fucking stop talking to her if it’s that much of an issue,” he continues, leaning froward against matt’s seat, staring holes into the side of his brothers face.

matt is clearly aggravated, gripping the wheel a little too hard, “shut the fuck up, nick— she’s not just a hook up,”

nick’s eyes get wider at this and he leans over matt’s seat, voice exponentially louder when he says, “you just proved my fucking point!!”

“you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” matt mumbles in a deft tone, staring harshly out onto the road.

chris leans over from the passenger seat, gesturing in matt’s direction, “and you do? you never shut the fuck up about her, and she’s always at the house but you’re too much of a pussy to do anything,” he yells over matt all in one breath, words coming out too fast.

matt’s mouth is set in a firm line and he’s shaking his head, “you guys don’t get it!” he finally yells back, signaling and switching lanes before he can finish his thought, “i can’t do that to her,” the car’s stopped at a red light now, allowing him to look nick in the eye from the rearview mirror. both him and chris shut up for a second.

“i can’t do that to her,” matt emphasizes again, making his point with his hands, bracketing the last two words, “the internet would chew her up and spit her out. you think i don’t want to make her my girlfriend? do you think i like doing this to her? every fucking day i think about cutting it off because i don’t wanna hurt her, but i’m too fucking selfish to do it.”

“it’s green,” chris mumbles.

“shut the fuck up,” matt says through his teeth as he turns back to face the road, driving through the light.

“so what are you gonna do?” nick asks, softer now, arm hung over the back of matt’s seat.

matt looks up at him in the rearview again, taking a deep, anxiety ridden breath, “i don’t know.”

the three boys are silent for the remainder of the drive to your apartment. matt puts the car in park and mumbles something about being right back before getting out and heading up to your floor, slamming the car door a little bit too hard.

“jesus christ,” chris breathes, feeling the tension finally break.

there’s a knock at the front door, and you take a deep breath before opening it. matt stands with his hair a little bit messy and his cheeks a little bit red, but he softens when he sees you.

“hey,” you say, “let me just grab my bag,”

“wait, y/n,”

“yeah?” you turn back around to look at him. he’s standing in the middle of your kitchen, looking a little bit deflated.

“can i have a hug?”

your heart nearly shatters. is he feeling it too?

“wha– of course baby, of course,” you cross the kitchen over to him and he already has his arms open. immediately he locks his arms around your waist, resting his head against yours. you gently rub his back and rest your cheek on his shoulder.

“is everything okay?” you wonder after a second, feeling him breathe heavily against you.

matt squeezes you a little tighter and kisses your hair, “yeah,” he sighs, “nick and chris are just annoying,”

“you love them though,” you remind him.

he pulls away but keeps you close, hands on your hips now, “sometimes i think about reevaluating that,”

you laugh at him, fixing his messy hair, “no you don’t,”

its his turn to smile, “you’re right,” he leans in for a quick kiss which you grant him, letting it dampen your nerves and reservations on the evening.

“i know, now c’mon, we’ve gotta go,” you slide your hand down into his.

“you don’t have to be nervous, by the way,” matt says to you in the elevator, still holding your hand.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and he squeezes your hand, letting you know he’s there for you, “it just feels serious,” you finally admit what you’ve been thinking for the last few days. you’re a little bit afraid to look over at him, so you keep your gaze towards the closed elevator doors.

matt gives your hand a quick squeeze and glances at the side of your face, you can feel his eyes on you, “it’s not serious, don’t worry,” it’s a little strained when he says it, as if he means something else but you can’t quite decipher it. it’s too much to think about now and yet it’s all you’ve been thinking about for days, how ‘unserious’ it all is to him.

when you do get to dinner, marylou and jimmy are already at the restaurant. marylou is being so sweet to you, asking about classes and how you met the boys, what you like do to in your spare time and things about matt that you tease him over. you feel like a girlfriend, you feel like his girlfriend and you don't think you can take much more of it. she tells you how much he talks about you when he’s home, that even justin has started making fun of him for it.

when you look over at matt he’s blushing but staring directly into his plate, avoiding you.

the smile you plastered onto your face fades and you dig your nails into your plam under the table.

“excuse me, i’m gonna run to the bathroom,” you say to no one in particular, catching nick’s eyes. he seems to notice your pleading gaze, and sends you a text after you’ve left the table

nick stromboli

you okay?

you lock yourself in the single bathroom and stand staring at your phone screen.

you

this is brutal

your mom is being sooo sweet but matt won’t even look at me

i feel like he's embarrassed

nick stromboli

he's actually the biggest idiot that ever lived

chris is lowk giving him a death stare rn

nick was being serious, chris staring at matt as marylou goes on about how nice you are.

nick elbows matt in the side and he looks over, more than slightly fed up.

“i think you should go check on y/n,” he whispers, making matt perk up a bit in worry.

“why?”

“i don’t think she’s feeling good,”

“oh, i hope she’s okay,” marylou interrupts herself.

“i’ll be right back,” matt stands from the table and walks to the bathroom, knocking on the door gently, “y/n/n? it’s me sweetheart,”

a slight panic drops through you as you push away from where you were leaning against the wall, trying to catch your breath.

“c’mon let me in, nick said you weren’t feeling good,” he knows you were nervous about tonight, and he’s hoping that’s all it is, that he can fix it.

you sigh, head tossed back to your shoulders as you breathe out before letting him in, hoping you look more composed than you feel.

“hey, you okay?” he asks gently, closing the door behind him.

“yeah, uh, i think i’m gonna go,” you mumble, looking away.

“what? d–do you want like a gingerale or something?” his brows are pinched and he’s reaching out for you. you step back without thinking about it. you don’t even notice you’d done it until you see the hurt look on his face. he reaches out again, slower this time.

“y/n…”

something in you clicks, or comes crashing down when his fingers brush your wrist, “i’m not your girlfriend matt, stop worrying about me like i am,”

he's a little bit stunned at that and pulls back, saying your name again.

“no, don’t do that, i heard what you said to the guys last week, and you keep telling me we’re causal and we can’t be anything but we’re at dinner with your fucking parents. i can’t keep prenteding to be your girlfriend, or–or that it doesn’t hurt, i just can’t do it anymore,”

there’s tears in your eyes you don’t notice until matt whispers, “don’t cry,”

“i’m going crazy,” you tell him, voice so soft, so fragile that his heart breaks a little bit.

“no you’re not, c’mon– we can work this out,” the words are so comforting, and normally he’s the one you’d run to for comfort, but he’s hurting you.

“are we gonna make it official, matt? or are we just gonna keep sleepingover at eachother’s houses four days a week and tell all our friend we aren’t dating?” you ask, pressing your fingertips underneath your eyes, “are we gonna do this for real or are you gonna keep telling your parents about me when you’re in boston, and–and keep coming to my house after midnight with take out just because i don’t wanna be alone working on assignments,” he doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with a solemn look, so you keep going.

“i can’t take the sorry fucking look chris keeps giving me when i’m walking out of your room, it hurts, matt,”

he steps forward finally, trying to make up for more than the physical space that separates you, “no, c’mon, just–just come back to the table. i’ll stay at yours tonight and we’ll talk about this,”

you hold back a scoff at the irony of him mentioning he’ll stay over, “i need an answer now.” you tell him. he’s gone back to standing a few feet away from you, not touching you anymore.

“an answer for what?”

“can you commit to this now? to me?” you feel like you’re pleading with him and you hate how desperate it is.

“we aren’t having this conversation in the bathroom right now, can we please just talk about it later?” matt asks.

you shake your head, “matt, we’ve been doing this for four months, i don’t wanna wait any longer, i’m not a toy.”

he stares at you, licking his lips. you stare back, suffocating in his silence. it’s all the answer you need.

“i’m gonna go,” you mutter, “tell your parents it was really nice to meet them, and that i’m sorry for leaving,” you add, looking away when you walk passed him to open the door.

you leave the restaurant and call an uber, hardly sparing a glance in the direction of his family’s table on your way out.

“is y/n okay?” jimmy asks when matt comes back alone.

matt shoves a hand into his hair to push it back, not meeting anybody’s eyes, “she went home, she wasn’t feeling good”

“and you didn’t offer to take her?” marylou scolds, sure she raised her son better than that.

“she didn’t want me to,” matt admits, defeated.

nick and chris share a look, knowing that isn’t the whole truth, or really the truth at all.

—

a few days later, after their parents had gone back to boston, matt’s shuffling into nick’s bedroom, where him and chris are laying on the bed on their phones.

matt looks a mess, hair wild and eyes sunken in. he’s been in his bedroom all day, blinds drawn and door latched shut

nick thinks he’s wearing a hoodie of yours, the faded smell of your perfume lingering when his brother walks in.

“…you okay?” nick asks, glancing up from his phone.

matt shakes his head and sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes with his fists, “i feel like fucking shit,” he admits, still looking down, “i hate that i hurt her,” he tells the two, as if his brothers weren’t already acutely aware, “i was trying so hard to keep from hurting her and i fucking did it anyway,” they wait for matt to finish, knowing he has a little more to say, “i was so fucking scared of making things offical that i lost her all together, she’s never gonna talk to me again,”

nick sighs and looks over at chris, the two of them sharing a sympathetic look before he moves forward and puts his arm around matt, who slumps against his shoulder, “that's not true,” nick says, “she probably should never talk to you again, but she’s a good person, and she’s our friend,”

“yeah, and she cares about you a lot, matt.” chris adds, sitting on the matt’s other side.

matt groans and covers his face, “i know, and that’s what sucks,” he wipes his palms over his face, “god, why was i so fucking stupid?”

“because you really like her,” chris offers, “and you’re gonna try and make it up to her…right?”

matt sits back up, staring at the wall, “i dunno, i want to, i don’t…” he takes a deep breath, willing the pit in his stomach to go away, “i’m more afraid of losing her all together than i was of any of that other shit, but i don’t know how to fix…this,” he says, dejected.

nick perks up, because he’s never seen matt half as lively as he is when he’s with you, or talking about you. he’s pretty sure matt was on his way to falling in love with you (if he hasn’t already) and refuses to let him lose hope,“i have an idea,” he says.

matt looks at his brother, desperate. the circles under his eyes a shade too dark, his cheeks sunken in, his lips chapped. nick continues.

“we’ll need waffles.”

—

it’s been over a week and a half since you walked out of the restaurant, and since you’d spoken to matt. nick’s been messaging you, asking if you’re okay and telling you he’s there for you. there’s been a bit of him telling you how stupid matt is, which you’d agreed with solemnly.

nick’s messaging you now. you’re posted up at your kitchen table trying to review for one of your exams, but more so warding off another wave of tears, pressing your fingertips into your eyes.

you pick up your phone to answer the message nick had sent, something about a sleepover at your place this weekend and a promise of a hannah montana binge, but there’s a knock at your door. you’re confused at first, wondering who’s at your door this late.

“did you order food?” you ask your roommate as you get up, looking in through the crack of her barely opened door. her headphones are on and she's hunched over a textbook with a highlighter, oblivious to any visitors.

your heartbeat speeds up a little bit as you begin to think about who’s on the other side. with a huff you look through the peephole, met with a slightly distorted image of matt anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot.

he keeps looking down the hallway and biting the inside of his cheek. he’s holding something. a paper bag in one hand and a bouquet of delicately wrapped flowers in the other.

you turn the lock, hand shaking a little bit as the door swings open. he whips his head from where he was looking down the hall to the now open door, your eyes locking immediately.

“matt,” you whisper, not even meaning to say it.

he stares at you for a second, seemingly forgetting any words he would have said for a second before holding up the bag.

“i brought waffles.”

—

“please let me in,” he says breathlessly, as if he was holding his breath waiting for you to open the door. “i know i probably don’t deserve a chance, and you probably don’t wanna hear me out, but…but please,” he licks his lips, grip tightening on the stems of the flowers, (you didn’t think he was listening when you told him your favourites all those months ago) “i miss you,” it’s quiet, the way he says it. he’s pleading with you.

there’s an ache in your chest, you’re trying not to mistake his tenderness for pity. and yet you still find yourself letting him in.

“okay,” it takes so little convincing. you missed him too.

there’s little talking at first, mostly just you and matt grabbing plates down and dishing yourselves out. he went to your favourite diner, because of course he did. the waffles are still warm and are making your kitchen smells like butter and sausage. you move your books and laptop out of the way to make room for the two of you to sit, elbows touching when you start to eat.

you’re half way through your first waffle when matt speaks up. you could feel him staring, his body half turned towards you in his chair. some of your hair falls into your face and his finger twitches before you tuck it away. all he wants to do it touch you. hold you, kiss you, anything. he’s such a jerk.

“i’m sorry,”

you freeze for a second, still facing away from him. after you finish chewing you set your fork down and turn slowly, finally looking him in the eyes. the blue has grown a shade too dark, melancholic.

“for what?” you ask stupidly, just needing to know how he’s felt about it all.

“fuck, everything?” he says, forcefully pushing his hair away from his eyes.

you shake your head and turn back to your plate.

“y/n,” he sighs, “c’mon look at me,”

you do, but it hurts.

“i’m sorry for what happened at the restaurant, and i’m sorry things got so out of hand and–and that…this went on for so long,” he gestures between the two of you, fixing his wild hair again.

“this?” you ask, voice breaking, thinking the worst, that he regrets it all, that it’s over. it’s really over.

“this stupid fucking dance we’ve been doing for four months, it’s crazy. it was always crazy.”

you huff, probably a little bit too dramatically as you shift to face him fully, “matt, what are you saying?”

“i’m saying that i like you! and it was so stupid to fucking…dilute that becuase i was scared or some shit,” the latter end of his sentence loses volume, he’s getting shy again.

“but–but you just wanted to be casual–” you start, looking down at your crossed legs.

“no, i never wanted to be fucking casual, i was just…. fuck i was just scared.” he says around a mouthful of waffle. the air smells like syrup.

“i wanna be with you all the time, i like you so much– i just– at first i didn’t want things to be weird between us, which is why i thought a relationship was the wrong idea, but then we started…doing relationship things and it only got better.” he starts, messing with his hair and pushing his food around his plate, “after i stopped being so afraid of that i just, i got scared of another thing,” he finally looks up at you, eyes a little sad, a little heavy.

you can tell that he knows how he’s made you feel, and despite that you hate that he’s sad. you never want him to be sad.

matt continues, “i’d hate for you to get hurt because of my fans, and i knew it was gonna be hard to keep things private, to keep things…ours. i thought that was something i didn't wanna do or i wasn't ready for but…” he sighs, cutting himself off and taking in another big breath. you want to reach out and rub his back, knowing he’s anxious and just trying to calm himself down.

“you being mad at me i can deal with,” he starts again, “you being mad, or–or upset because of me, is harder to handle, but fuck, not having you at all? that's worse than anything else we’d have to face,” he looks up, dead into your eyes to make sure you understand the weight of what he’s about to say, “together.”

“matt…” you whisper. you’ve forgotten about the food. it’s getting cold but it doesn’t matter.

he shakes his head before meeting your eyes again, “i’d rather go through all that bullshit with you than go through nothing without you,” he sounds so sincere that you think your heart skips a beat.

“what are you—”

“i wanna do this. for real.” he nods once, watching you closely.

“do you mean that?” he hates how doubtful you sound and he hates that he’s the one to have put all that doubt there. he thinks you might cry.

“y–yeah of course i mean it. i should have said it a long time ago, and if it makes you feel any better nick’s been giving me shit for like, two months, and i think chris wanted to beat me up last week.” he offers you half a smile, hoping you’ll give one back.

instead you breathe out laugh. he basks in it.

“i want you to be my girlfriend,” you’re looking down again and your hair falls from it’s place behind your ear. he doesn’t stop himself this time, nimble, ring adorned finger pushing it back, “i wanna be your boyfriend,”

you look up at him, studying his face for a second before you speak. he looks tired and a little worn, like he’s been thinking too much and too hard and worrying even more.

“yeah?” you finally say.

matt smiles at you. he has such a pretty smile.

“yeah.” he nods, smiling now.

“so we’re not just casual?”

matt scoffs out a laugh and stands. you stand too and he wraps his arms around you, tucking his chin atop your head when your arms go over his shoulders. he kisses your hair and breathes you in, the lingering scent of your shampoo and your perfume and you. it’s all over his clothes and his sheets, but nothing beats having you in his arms again.

“we were never just causal,” he assures you, as if you didn’t know.

tags ! @st4rswrld @urfavvev3lyn @mattsturnioloarchive @averysbestyears @its-jennarose @strnilolo @cherrypostsposts

also tagging some of my faves (writers & other creators!!) 🥹 @pettydollie @wcters @grimholic @floristmatt (if you don’t wanna be tagged lmk!!)

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets

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rinhaler · 7 months

Text

Baby I Know How To Use a Gun (𝒢𝓊𝓃.. 𝔊𝔲𝔫)

✧˖*°࿐ : 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ ⁭toxic!megumi fushiguro x f!reader

Genre: smut Notes: this concept has been making me insane for WEEKS I just had to get it down, it's icky as usual = bon apetit ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ p.s. i dont know anything abt guns uwu Warnings: 18+, dubcon, vaginal sex, alcohol consumption, cheating, toxic!relationship (they are both toxic af), gaslighting, manipulation, coercion, co-dependency, gun inaccuracies (probably), gunplay ♡ physical abuse?, pussy drunk!megumi, choking, dacryphilia, daddy!kink, bruising ♡, spanking, masochism, minor dildo use, fingering, dumbifcation, pussy spanks, scratching, breeding kink, calls your pussy ‘she’. Words: 8k (I'm so sorry)

part of my toxic lovers collab

Nothing bothers you when you’re with Megumi. It’s impossible to feel any emotion besides pure, unadulterated lust whenever he’s with you. You were always such a prude before him. Absolutely disgusted whenever you’d see a couple hold hands or peck each other on the cheek.

It made your skin crawl when you saw couples kiss with tongue.

But he’s turned you into something you hate. You don’t care if you’re sitting with a group of friends, you couldn’t stop yourself from straddling him and basically dry fucking his thigh while making out with him. And it was worse when you drank.

So here you are now, in the back of a taxi on the way home from a mutual friend’s party. You haven’t seen Megumi in two days after a particularly vicious fight. You’d think an invisible force was driving the taxi, the way you’re kissing and wriggling around for him. You’ve rolled your hips so much that the uncomfortable driver can see a tease of white cotton between your legs under your little cocktail dress.

Megumi’s mouth is wet. A combination of sticky lip gloss and a mixture of saliva’s. He pulls away from kissing you every so often just to hear you whisper desperately for the feeling to return. He pulls little moans from you as he teases between your sodden folds.

“Knew you’d miss this dick too much to say no.” he grins before kissing you more. You laugh into it, not an ounce of remorse or regret behind it as you feel him against you. “Say you missed me. Tell daddy you missed ‘im.” he demands, grunting against you.

You ignore him, trying to shut him up with a kiss. A perfectly manicured hand traverses from his shoulder to his thigh, a subtle tease to distract him. A noble attempt results in failure when he stops playing with you and grabs your wandering wrist.

“Tell me.”

You avert your eyes, deciding to look out of the window while wiping the spit and gloss from your chin. He watches you, carefully, eye twitching as he tries to deduce what you’re keeping from him. A finger presses into that soft flesh of your cheek bending quickly and forcing you to face him yet again.

“What are you hiding?” he asks, the friendly lilt behind his voice being betrayed by the unamused sneering smile on his face. “Who did you fuck?”

“None of your—”

“Just tell me, you know you’re going to fucking spill so just do it now.” he instructs. You hear an amused scoff from him as you cross your arms petulantly and pout like a child who isn’t allowed a toy from the store. His face gets closer to yours, but you’ve already had enough of him. It’s been two days and you thought you were gonna die if you didn’t see him. But a few minutes in a taxi has reminded you why you didn’t want to see him in the first place. “Did he at least make you cum?” he whispers into your ear.

A soft breath leaves you as his hand slithers down your stomach and under the hem of your dress. You want to protest as you feel him prodding over the damp spot of your panties, but your mouth turns dry. Words turn to ash as he repeatedly tortures you with featherlight touches against your clit.

“Hm? Did your new little boyfriend make this pussy cum?” he wonders, voice a lecherous buzz that vibrates from your ear to your cunt. You fucking hate him. You can’t stand how difficult it is to stay true to your morals and self-respect when he knows every single square inch of your body and exactly which titillating button to press. “Mmm, bet he didn’t. Bet he couldn’t. ‘cause she only listens to me.”

“Megs…” you groan. Your hips involuntarily rolling up into his touch. The teasing barely there presses making your mind hazy, your body instinctively chases for more as the touch feels less and less the harder you buck. “D-Don’t stop, Megu—”

He softly kisses your lips to silence you, still refusing to continue touching you properly. You moan, a chaste sound as his lips stray from yours to kiss along your jaw like he loves you. He sucks at your neck like a fucking vampire before alternating to those sweet kisses again. You hate him, you hate that he’s trying to be something he’s not to get you to tell him your secret.

These kisses are so fucking sickly, like a stranger is forcing himself inside of your skin with each delicate press against your neck. And it’s making your teeth rot. You’re a stupid girl. His stupid girl because you’re falling for it. Your candy-coated tongue is loosening and preparing to bare your entire fucking soul to him so long as he keeps touching you and giving you your sugar fix.

His hand holds your waist, a weight for himself more than you. Two whole days away from your perfect cunt has been hell for him, and not being able to touch you is a fate worse than death. He wants to tease your pressure points until you’re dying for him. He wants your every breath to be agonising without him.

Without seeing him.

Without feeling him.

Without breathing him.

He needs your every thought and whim to be aching for him and him alone. So, he needs to control himself. By showing restraint and fighting his primal urge to make your pussy fucking purr for him, he’s keeping his hand on your waist.

You smirk as he decorates your neck in bruises, you feel the sickening smile sprawling across his fucking face. And again, you want to protest, you want to tell him what you think of him and how much you can’t stand him. But when his hand begins another journey, you can’t. You can’t as your body jolts into his touch as his fingertips tickle your ribs. They don’t stop, teasing traces of his finger cover your body despite being clothed.

How can such a light touch feel so powerful?

You try to stifle yourself as he cups your breast, the flesh and swollen nipple are exposed thanks to your decision to forgo a bra. You still have your dignity, Megumi isn’t that perverse to allow this random old driver the honour of seeing your tits.

You’re just that weak.

They’re covered, entirely, and still his rubbing and tweaking are too much for you. Your attempt to bite your lip is just that. An attempt. A feeble attempt to withhold your pleasure from him which only ends in you mewling harder for him. Your heavy, lust-filled breaths fill the cab as he rubs his thumb slowly back and forth over your nipple. His teeth bite and kiss at your jawline once more, albeit he is barely present either. He’s almost as fucked out as you are, he can’t silence his pleasure. His breathing heavier than you know it to be. His eyes lidded heavier than they’ve ever been.

“Yuuji—” you pant, your body is limp in the back seat as he feels you up. His fingers dig into the supple flesh of your thigh as he kisses your neck and sinks his head until he reaches the top of your breast. “Did you hear m— ow! Megumi!”

“Shut up.” he chides. He sank his teeth into your tit before speaking.

You stare into his emerald eyes as you contemplate his next move. That’s the one bad thing about being with Megumi.

That’s a lie, there’s a lot of bad things, you just choose to ignore them.

But you know you’ll never be as clever as he is. You’ll never be able to fully read him like he does you. He knows every move you’re going to make before you’ve made it. He can read you like a book and it fucking scares you.

“Yuuji couldn’t make you cum… you wanna know why?” he asks, his thumb strokes your earlobe between gentle pulls. It’s too sweet again, you think. There’s no way he’s this calm after finding out you fucked his best friend. He’s always been jealous. You think he’s just possessive but deep down you should know the truth. He’s scared you’ll leave him. He’s insecure and that is why he makes such a show of making it known that you are his.

“Why…” is all you can think to say. And he smiles at that. His fingers no longer toying with your ear. The way his fingers draw along your skin makes your hair stand on end. He feels no sympathy as he sees your arm breakout in goosebumps despite knowing he is the cause. And he feels even less as he wraps his hand around your pretty little throat.

He squeezes tight.

Tighter.

“Because you don’t belong to Yuuji. You belong to me.” he tells you, his grip is bruising. His teeth are bared as he feels your pathetic pawing, desperately trying to pull his fingers from your neck.

He’s going to kill you, you think. His voice full of vitriol and malice as he effortlessly wrings the life out of you with one hand. And the taxi driver doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to intervene because it isn’t his place.

A lovers quarrel.

That’s what he must think. You were all over each other a moment ago after all, maybe you’re just a slut who likes it a little rough.

You are, but that’s besides the point.

He probably doesn’t want to risk sticking his nose in and getting more involved than he needs to be. You know yourself that Megumi doesn’t care. He’d only tell him to mind his own fucking business.

“You think I didn’t know?” he whispers, his breath warming the shell of your ear as he doesn’t let up. “You reek like him… you smell like a fucking whore.” his words, his tone, his breath all dripped with virulence. He lets go of you, practically throwing you to the other side of the taxi as tears spill over your cheeks.

You wipe them, quickly, but the damage is done. The way you’re sniffling and trying to do damage control to your perfectly done makeup is nauseating to him. Silence fills the taxi and the air is thick. You roll down a window, the cold air lashes against your face and dries your tears as you wait to reach your destination.

The car pulls up outside of your apartment. You barely wait for him to come to a stop before you open the door and rush out to open the security door. The bite in the winter air has you trembling as you fiddle with your keys. The little dress and lack of coat certainly wasn’t a wise choice, but you’ll always place looking hot ahead of being practical.

But in truth, the weather isn’t the sole culprit. It’s barely bothering you, honestly. Megumi’s casual callousness and unyielding grip around your throat are what has you shaken up. It’s not the first time he’s choked you and you doubt it’ll be the last. But it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him do it with that look in his eye. A look that told you how little you mean to him. How unfazed he would be if you died by his hand.

You’re wrong, though. While you’re fiddling with your keys Megumi pays the driver. He tips him a fair amount and then follows you out, approaching slowly as he waits for you to open the door. His eyes weren’t cold because you mean nothing to him, it’s the opposite. You are everything to him. Why do you think he’s being so cruel to you? To get it through that pretty little skull.

“You didn’t answer me, princess.” he tells you, and by now you don’t even know what he’s talking about. “Did you think you could fuck anybody and I wouldn’t find out? I always do.”

“Shut up.” you tell him, though it’s quiet and meek. Your usual bravado and confidence lodged in your dry throat. You finally slot the key in the hole and turn it, allowing him to enter with you. “You said it yourself… I was always going to tell you I fucked him.”

He scoffs, watching you climb the stairs. Even now he has no shame. He’s unable to stop himself peaking up your dress to see your panties riding up your ass as you walk. You can be as mad at him as you like, you both know you’re too weak to say no to him.

He follows, eventually, catching up with ease. You allow him to take the key from you and walk ahead, unlocking the door like it’s his apartment. It may as well be, he spends so much time here after all. Most of his things are here, you’re here. Though he’s been banished for the last few days to stay at his dad’s house after your latest fight.

The door opens and he makes himself at home. He collapses onto the couch, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and crosses one ankle over the other. You go inside, slowly, locking the door behind you and looking at him suspiciously.

“… What are you doing? I know you aren’t here for a fucking movie night, Megs, are we going to bed or not?”

“No. We’ve gotta talk first.” he tells you. You roll your eyes and leave him alone to walk to your bedroom. He sighs, annoyed, following you. “Back to being a brat? You only fuckin’ behave yourself when I make you cum.”

“Fuck you.” you sigh. “What is there to talk about?”

“You cheating on me with my best friend springs to mind, baby. We should probably clear that up, shouldn’t we?” he’s talking like it was a silly misunderstanding. Like you almost walked away with his suitcase at the airport that just so happens to be identical to yours. But nothing you do will ever match up to what he does. You can go low; but there’s no sight to the depths he’ll stoop to.

“Fuck! You!” you tell him, pointing your finger in his face like you always do when you’ve had too much vodka. “You are the reason I don’t have any friends anymore because you fucked them all! I broke up with you when I fucked Yuuji so whoever I fuck in that time is none of your business. I—”

“Baby—”

“No, shut up. I forgave you every single time you fucking cheated on me because I’m an idiot and I love you. So, stop talking about Yuuji, it doesn’t matter. We weren’t together. In fact, we still aren’t! You should count yourself fucking lucky that I’m even giving you the chance to fuck me tonight.”

He walks to you, slowly, and you don’t have the energy to be a brat anymore. You let him get closer and closer until you’re looking up into his eyes while his hand rests on your hip and the other cups your cheek. His head tilts, and your eyes instinctively flutter closed as his lips press against yours.

“I know ‘m lucky, princess. Missed you so much baby.” he tells you before deepening the kiss.

You’re too weak to be with a man like him and expect to be anything but a plaything. The hand lingering on your hip wraps around your back before down to your ass. The pudgy softness of your ass swells between his fingers, the white material of your dress warming his hands as he grips you roughly. He smirks against your lips before landing a harsh smack against your supple flesh. The yelp he extracts from you is fucking delectable. He could quite happily gorge himself on the sound and make it his life essence until the end of time.

“Daddy missed his perfect girl ‘n her perfect pussy… didn’t even fuck anyone else. No one compares to you, y’know?” he tells you quietly, almost like it’s a secret only meant for you to hear. He hikes up your leg so it’s settled around his waist, your other instinctively follows so that you’re completely in his hold. He walks you to the bed, his mouth suffocating yours and you can’t think of a single coherent thought as your brain feels starved of oxygen.

You giggle as you fall onto the bed, your shoulder blades against the mattress while he presses his weight fully on top of yours. He keeps a thigh between both of yours, and he revels in how pathetically you’re rutting your hips against it just to satiate the slightest bit of tension formulating at your core because of him.

Your arms wrap around his neck and you slip your tongue into his mouth. The moaning sounds trapped in your throat break free and he devours them as he feels you up in every way he can to make your mind dizzy and drunker than vodka could ever make you.

“Do you believe me?” he asks, breaking the kiss to see how needy you are. Your eyes give you away in an instant, filling with water the minute he pulls away. You feel so in love with him when you have your arms around him like this. When he’s caging you in like you’re his property.

You are.

That’s how he sees you, and that’s how he makes you feel.

No matter how dehumanising or fucked up, you just don’t care. You wouldn’t want to belong to anyone but him, anyone. And isn’t this what the main goal in life is? To find your person? To fall in love and be adored so wholly it makes you insane?

You feel that with him.

He feels that with you.

“N-No…” you confess. You aren’t scared of him; you never really have been. You’re scared of what he can do to you. You’re terrified of how strong he is and how unyielding he is in his pursuit of having all that he wants in the world with a cherry on top for presentation. But he doesn’t scare you, not really. Not enough to hide how you really feel. “Why would I believe you when you’ve cheated so much?” you ask.

He’s a little surprised by your brazenness and resolve. Usually with a little kissing and humping you stop caring about what kind of a person he is and what he’s done to you in the past. You aren’t scared; but you’re making him feel fear.

“Mmm, baby. You really need to cum, hah? Is that why you’re bein’ so dumb f’me? Can’t think because you need to cream for daddy…” he insults you with ease, and your brows knot into a bemused frown. “Awe… you’re s’cute when you’re confused, baby. Jus’ let me touch you, don’t think too hard. I forgive ya.”

“W-Wha?” you hum, the determination to continue questioning him falls silent as he pushes your panties into the crease of your thigh. The breeze rolling through the open window causing a shiver to roll through you and truly feel the difference between your freezing body and the sopping warmth betwixt your thighs.

“You said you didn’t cheat when you fucked Yuuji. So how can I cheat if I fucked other girls at the same time?” he asks. “I didn’t, though,�� he spreads your pussy lips open and collects the ever-dampening slick on his fingers. He buries his head beside yours, kissing and breathing against your ear as he swipes softly over your throbbing clit.

“But you—”

“I fucked my fist ‘n thought of you.” he whispers, his fingers not stopping the lackadaisical stroking. “Whenever I got hard… jus’ thought of your pretty cunt swallowin’ me and made myself cum so fast. Looked through your Insta feed ‘n your selfies, imagined cumming all over your face.”

“Fuck.” you keen, hips bucking wildly in search of more pleasure than his modest touches. You fully wrap your arms around him, kissing him passionately and he begins to pick up the pace. “I love you.” you mumble, like the pathetic person you are. He grins and bites your lower lip before kissing you deeply.

He’s got you right where he wants you.

“I love you, baby.” he confesses, though you’ll never know if he really means it. Maybe he loves fucking you and loves having a pretty little trophy on his arm to call his and show off to his friends. Maybe he loves the idea of you and what you can do for him in terms of looks and status.

But is he in love with you?

You can only hope.

All you can do is hope he never lies to you. He never hides his cheating from you, you think he’s always honest with you so is it possible he can actually love you when he says he does? It’s enough to make you cry. Knowing that you’ll never really know makes you feel sick with an excruciating desire to make him.

You have to be his perfect girl.

You have to take all of the negatives that come with loving Megumi Fushiguro.

He stands above you on his knees, reaching over you to grab some pillows to place under your hips. You wriggle and squirm in his absence, awaiting his return to you. But you forgot about the pillows. Your head snaps in the direction he’s reaching as he picks up the two nearest pillows to him. Any attempt to object would be fruitless now that you’re too late.

Your body fills with heat and shame as he lifts the pillows to see a purple, silicone dildo beneath where they once were. The laugh that escapes him is boisterous as he looks between you and the toy. You shield your face with your hands, almost ready to cry, and his laughing doesn’t cease.

“This is pathetic, princess. Did you even fuck Yuuji? Or did you just spend the last two days riding this stupid thing?”

“I fucked him!” you protest. You reach to grab the purple dildo from his hand but he’s too fast for you, still far too amused by this discovery to let up on teasing you. “He did make me cum, by the way—”

“You are a fucking liar.” he snorts. “Bet ya hurried him out of here so fast so that you could stuff this purple cock up yourself and pretend it was daddy fuckin’ you. Bet you were tryin’ so hard to cum and you couldn’t.”

“I hate you.” you sniff, attempting to grab the toy once more to no avail.

“You just told me you love me. So again, you’re fuckin’ lying to me, princess.” he continues.

You feel his body press against yours once more as he cages you in. You just watch him and prepare for whatever he’s about to do. There’s no point in trying to fight him when you know you’ll always lose. You cringe, slightly, as he starts to trace the tip of the cock over your swollen lips. His own mouth widens, a silent action, he’s coaxing you to mirror. And perfectly, you do.

You’re almost certain you see a heart-shaped twinkle in his eye as he softly pokes it in and out of your mouth, enamoured by the way your tongue instinctively swirls around it. You see more of his sharp canines the further he pushes it in. And it’s a full-blown snarl as he shoves it down your throat until you’re sputtering.

“I fucking hate you!” you yell and grab the toy quicker than he’d anticipated, snatching it from his grasp. “Get off me, now.” you command, pushing him off you. You know he let you when he moves away effortlessly. If he wanted to keep you trapped, he would.

“You’re so easy to tease.” he smiles.

You ignore him completely as you stand up. He watches you intently as you pull open the second drawer of your nightstand so hard the entire cabinet shakes. He tries to steal a peak of whatever other treasures you might be hiding in there, but you kick it closed before he can torment you any further.

“Awe, you’re no fun. Not gonna let daddy see what other toys aren’t good enough? Can show you how to use ‘em when you’re missing me.” he grins, he gets closer to you. Close enough to smooth his hands over your sides as you glare down furiously at him. You grab his hands, basically throwing them back at him.

“You are such a dick all of the time. I actually can’t stand you; I hate you.” you tell him, knowing yourself it’s a weak response even for you.

“You’re always such a good fuck when you’re pissed off.” he smirks, he takes off his shirt and throws it aside. You do your best to keep eye contact with him, not wanting to let your eyes wander and rake over his chiselled body. He sees you steal a few glances; he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. “Stop bein’ such a brat. Don’t be embarrassed, daddy thinks it’s cute that you touch yourself.”

A black silhouette in the drawer is stuck in your mind. Despite your cunt growing wetter and your thoughts becoming cloudy, you can think of nothing else. He is a dick. And part of you does fucking hate him. So, you open the drawer again. He doesn’t watch you, this time, he’s more focused on reading your body language now. What are you thinking? What’s on your mind?

“’m really pissed off, daddy.” you tell him with confidence. His body stiffens like a corpse as you pull a gun from the cabinet. A Glock 40. He does all he can to maintain his composure, to remain control of the situation and of you. But it’s clear he’s worried. He’s never seen you like this before, ever.

But he knows you. He knows what you’re thinking before you even do. He can read every little muscle pulling on your face. It doesn’t matter if you’re trying to look angry, he knows what you look like when you’re really angry. You’re pissed, sure, but you certainly aren’t capable of doing any real damage with that thing. Not on purpose, anyway. And definitely not with the way your hands are fucking trembling.

“You gonna kill me, baby?” he asks.

“I might.” you tell him, you can feel the way your hands are shaking while gripping onto the gun. There’s no question he’s noticed, too. You’ve made a declaration by standing here like this, willing to toy with his life as well as your own. You can’t just put it away and pretend nothing happened, you need to make some kind of statement or you’ll never here the end of it.

He’ll ridicule you ‘til his dying breath.

“How?” he asks, getting closer to you. You back away, but you’re against the wall before you know it. He sits on the edge of the bed, his feet planted firmly against the ground so you know he can lunge at any moment.

“I’ll shoot you…” you speak, he hears an unintentional warble in your voice, and you can see the fucking smirk stretching across his face at the sound. You fucked up, he knows you don’t have it in you. But he’s probably known the whole time.

He grabs your wrist, and you yelp. Your eyes widen in horror as he moves your hands so that the gun is aimed at his chest.

His heart.

“Here?” he asks, and it’s so casual, you think you might throw up. You want to protest, to snatch your hands away and tell him to stop being so stupid. But you can’t, you can’t give into his mind games now. You can’t. Your hands are tremoring as he moves the gun again, resting it right between his eyes. “Hm… here? Probably the quickest. Won’t leave much mess if it gets stuck in my brain.” he explains.

“Stop it.” you mutter, he can feel the way your hands are trying to get free from his hold but he’s much too strong. “I’m s-sorry, stop it, please.”

“Could make me swallow a bullet too, but I don’t think you’re gonna shoot me anywhere.” he smiles, forcing you to aim at his perfect, gleaming teeth. “Where the fuck did you get this anyway? You really are stupid.”

“My dad gave it to me!” you inform him, and you’re aiming at him with new courage and will. “I know how to use it; I have a license.”

“Your pussyof a dad got you this?” he laughs.

You shove the gun against his teeth, not taking kindly to him insulting your father unprovoked. He looks up at you with a heavy-lidded gaze, he’s never been so attracted to you, really. Seeing you do all you can to stand up to him but both of you ultimately knowing you will never truly be a match for him, it’s quite interesting. Arousing, even.

He widens his mouth, allowing you to slot the black chamber between rows of white. The blinding contrast is almost enough to make you consider what you’re doing. Are you sure you want to do this? You are dangling his life in your quivering hands, after all.

“I should make you choke on this.” you whimper a little, a tear finally rolling down your cheek and giving your true cowardice away. You aren’t going to hide it this time. There’s no point in trying to clear away what he’s already seen. And you have no intention of holding a gun with just one hand when you’re already so shaken up.

He grabs your wrist, shocking you, but you don’t falter. You watch him carefully as he sinks his mouth down the chamber until it hits the back of his throat.

You hate him.

You hate how easily he can take any ounce of power you feel over him and turn it to nothing but a grandiose idea. A fleeting thought that you could make him tremble and weep before you. Maybe even apologise and promise to change because he’s the one scared of you for a change. But you should have known he’d never let you have that over him.

Hell, he won’t even let you embarrass him.

“I should fucking kill you.” you start to cry, thinking back to how he’s treated you tonight alone. He hasn’t even broken a fucking sweat. You thought you might be able to humiliate him like this. Making him choke and sputter around the gun like he’d made you with the dildo, just to see heat sear through you and add to the already burning shame you felt having been caught.

But instead, you watch him as he takes the gun as far as he possibly can. His stare is still lidded and hazy with lust and adoration for you. He does it a few times, repeatedly, and somehow still with a fucking smirk on his face.

He holds your hands still, pulling away from the gun as an obscene amount of drool pours from his mouth and down his chin. And then, he finally does begin to hack up choking breaths. Despite it being almost entirely on his terms, the feeling of cold, hard polymer clogging up his airways proved to be too much for even him to withstand for too long.

“Did you really think you could embarrass me like that?” he asks, sincerely. “You really are pathetic.”

“Megumi I—”

“Good thing you’re daddy’s stupid little girl, my pretty li’l airhead.” he grins, snatching the gun away from you. Your back slides down against the wall as you watch him fiddle with the gun, pulling out the magazine with a sadistic fucking snarl on his face. “The safety was on the whole time. And there aren’t even any bullets in here. You’re s’fucking stupid. It’s adorable.”

“I can’t do this anymore.” you sob into your hands. He watches you for a moment, not an inkling of remorse lingering in his body as he sees you crying inconsolably. You feel his fingers dig into your arms and pull you towards him.

Quiet protests die the instant he throws you down onto the bed. You’re underneath him once again, but you feel even more trapped as he shows no intention of letting go of the gun. He aims it between your eyes and you can’t stop crying.

His choking was unrelenting in the taxi.

And now he has a weapon that could end your life in an instant.

But would he? Is he capable?

“I’m sorry… I love you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” you weep, you don’t think you’ve ever cried so loudly or so hard in your life. You wouldn’t be surprised if a vein was bulging in your forehead, and you can without a doubt feeling a migraine bursting through your brain. But you can’t stop, you can’t stop crying. “Megumi I love you, I’m sorry.”

You know it’s empty and you know the safety is on because he told you so. And Megumi is always honest with you, isn’t he? And still, you’re panicking. You’re worried that he’ll pull the trigger and somehow wills a bullet into existence simply because he often gets what he wants in life.

He keeps the gun aimed at you until your head is resting on the pillows still remaining against your headboard. He’s donning a facial expression you’ve never seen from him before. A stoic yet somehow manic stare as he watches you cry and plead for your life beneath him like he’s some sort of God.

His expression doesn’t falter as he turns the gun and aims it at his temple. You’re screaming now. You dread to think what your neighbours think. It’s not like they’ve never heard you two fighting and fucking before, but it must be concerning for them to hear.

“Megumi I’m sorry! Please!” you wail, fear stabbing through you as you see him begin to shake. You close your eyes, expecting the worst yet still begging with him to see sense and stop this.

He lowers the gun again, his eyes wander to follow it as he drags the cold weapon between your clothed tits and down your body. You shudder as you feel him use it to move up your dress and exposes your still bare cunt, having not moved your panties back into place.

You feel the chilled polymer dip between your folds.

“P-Please…” you beg, hoping he won’t put it in you. Your eyes screw shut as he moves it, sliding it through your soaking flesh again and again as butterflies soar through your stomach. He pulls the trigger, the vibration almost assaults your clit, despite the empty clacking filling the room. “Hnnff—”

“You’re so wet f’me… or is it just the gun? Is it turnin’ you on, princess?”

“N-No, please. I don’t wanna play with it anymore, d-daddy.” you tell him, each hitched breath you take scratching your throat. Your cries still evident as you gasp and plead with him to finally stop. You should never have pulled it on him, you should have known he’d do this.

He moves from you, opening the drawer you’d taken it from and puts it back inside. Even though it’s gone, out of his reach, you end up crying tears of relief as he places gentle kisses against your forehead and cheeks.

“You’re such a good girl, y’know? Did so well… proud of you, baby.” he whispers, and you hate yourself. You hate yourself because you’re brimming with confidence after he tells you he’s proud. Your heart crescendos to a place you know there’s no going back from now. Even after almost threatening to end your life; you’re still in love with Megumi Fushiguro.

You’re too tired.

Emotionally exhausted and physically defeated. There’s no fight left in you anymore as you feel him carefully peel away your dress from your body. He rolls the top down to your midsection, exposing your breasts to him and your still hardened nipples. He does the same with the skirt, fully revealing your glittering cunt and what a drippy mess he’s turned you into.

No one makes you wetter than he does.

He pushes your thighs apart, and lightly spanks your pussy to steal a quiet whimper from you. It’s not a punishment by any means, he just wants to make sure you’re still here with him. Still relishing this moment. Still honoured by the fact he’s even giving you the time of day to play with you like this. To satiate the burning need to be toyed with until your mind goes blank. He’ll do it for you, and it’ll take no time at all.

He kisses down from your left knee towards the apex of your thighs. He’s admiring his handiwork on your body as he does. Purple bruises he left you before your last fight have begun to turn greenish yellow as they heal.

You love his little reminders of who owns your body.

He hurts you so good. And you wouldn’t feel conquered without the bruises that his tenacious touch bestow upon you. You sink into the mattress as his tongue laves over the doughy skin of your thigh, reminding you where every single bruise is.

You gasp, back arching off the bed as you feel him insert a thick long digit into your sopping entrance. He’s slow, prodding and twisting deeper and deeper. He can make you cum like this, and you think you might gush as he teases the sweet spot buried within.

“What are you—?” you start, watching him push your legs further apart as he suckles at your clit. You feel the fingers on his free hand trace along your skin, the sensitive bruises almost pulsating beneath his touch. The way your head throws itself back seems like an out of body experience. An involuntary response to the way his finger pokes harshly into a particularly nasty looking bruise. “Hnng— fuck, daddy!”

He spanks your clit before swiping over it rapidly with the tip of his tongue. Your fingers lace between black tendrils of hair and pull as you deliquesce into the empyrean feeling that only his tongue has ever offered you.

Your mind is stripped bare as he continues his assault. Manipulative fingers push carelessly yet purposefully into your ageing bruises to extract those ethereal moans from your weak little throat.

“’m gonna c-um, daddy.” you groan, eyes fluttering white as he presses harder into your marked body.

“Show me.” he whispers, breath fanning across your sex as he speaks. “Show daddy how a slut cums.”

Every inch of your body feels tarnished and stained by him. With him. A cloying film embedded to your skin that is purely the work of Megumi Fushiguro. His insults as well as his loving touch. The fear as well as the adoration. Even his eyes ravishing you with nothing but a salacious stare leave their mark on you.

His tongue doesn’t stop as your cunt begins to spasm. He feels how your pretty pussy pulsates against his greedy face. You cum hard and coat the lower half of his face in a shimmering gleam. He’s loud, unable to hide his pleasure as he begins to hump into the mattress at the sight of you coming undone for him. It extends your own pleasure, hearing how fucking noisy he is purely from giving you head.

You hate him.

He’s so vile.

But you can’t help wanting to make him proud.

You can’t stop feeling proud when you’re a good girl for him.

And seeing him like this makes you think that he might actually love you. His eyes are definitely dotted with hearts, now, as he savours the taste from devouring your essence. There are two words lodged in your throat. Two stupid little words that you would do anything to choke down and forget right now. Maybe he won’t care, not when he’s like this. Not when he’s pussy drunk and utterly enamoured by your mere existence.

“Kiss me…” you almost suffocate as you speak, tears spilling down your cheek as your cheeks burn with heat and shame. Your eyes scrunch closed, preparing for a barrage of insults from him. You know he’s going to call you stupid, pathetic. Maybe even an airhead again.

But it doesn’t come.

He finds his strength, holding his body up on his knuckles as he drags his body up yours like a wild beast. He lowers himself, his lips locking perfectly against yours before he cups your cheek. Why isn’t he always so soft and gentle with you? You feel yourself cry more as he swipes his thumb softly across your cheek as he kisses you. His tongue teases yours, licking it and smiling when you can’t quite keep up.

You know he loves you.

Why else would he do this?

Why else would you allow this?

He pulls away, familiar green eyes staring into yours as he studies you. They’re intimidating, clinquant. The most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. He wonders if you know he thinks the same about yours.

“You want me to put it in, don’t you?” he asks. He chuckles softly as he notices you nodding before he’s even finished his sentence. Your eyes are pleading and desperate, and he’s never been one to deny you of him when you’re so needy and polite. He stands on his knees again, unbuckling his belt slowly while he examines you. The way your hips roll in anticipation, the way you’re biting your lip and forcing yourself to not allow your fingers to dip between your thighs to toy with your clit. It’s too much. It’s too long to wait as he undoes the button and pulls down the zipper. You’re almost salivating when he finally frees his cock. “Missed me that bad, hm? Missed daddy’s cock, didn’t you?” he asks, ignoring the fact he knows the answer is obvious.

“Y-Yeah…” you struggle to speak. To think as your mind runs rampant with so many sex flashbacks you have; courtesy of the very cock you’re ogling. It’s thick with gorgeous veins and flushed with the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. “Need it— need your daddy cock.” you tell him, your chest jittering with hitching breaths as you try and maintain some semblance of composure.

You’re far from composed.

You’re nothing more than a mammal, burning with a white-hot intensity from trying to control your basic instincts. The primal urge and need to fuck. He’ll help you, though. You never need to worry about those needs being neglected while Megumi has nothing but you on his mind.

The pleasure is blinding as he presses his tip against your entrance. He pushes and pushes until he’s fully sheathed in your welcoming cunt. His cockhead rests at your sweet spot, and you know he’ll waste no time in forcing your vision to white out as he fucks you.

His fingers wrap around your throat, the prettiest necklace you own, and he squeezes tight. It’s not without reason. It isn’t just to give you more bruises or to cut off your air supply. He wants to keep you focused. Focused on him. He dips his head down to slot his tongue inside of your mouth once more. It’s a sloppy, drool induced kiss that shows no signs of stopping as he rocks his hips against you. His cock slamming deep and hard against your g-spot.

You can’t talk.

The only words that swirl around your brain are expletives anyway.

His kiss is suffocating and so is his grip on your neck. He releases you, slightly, giving you the chance to breathe once more. You can barely sense where you are, you don’t know if your eyes are open or closed as the only thing occupying your mind is his cock slamming into you and bringing you to your second release of the evening.

You’re brought back to reality, though, as he lightly taps your cheek a few times before slapping you hard.

“L-Love you, daddy.” you pant, you moan for him again and again until drool leaks from the corner of your mouth. You don’t care, you don’t even notice. And the sight is making him feral as he realises how there’s truly no one for you but him.

There’s no one for him but you, either.

“Fuck.” he grunts, knowing he’s going to cum sooner than he’d anticipated. He could stop fucking you, of course, but he can’t think of a worse fate. He wants to cum. He needs to cum inside of you and flood your pretty insides with his seed. He needs to make his mark on you and remind you who you fucking belong to. “’m cumming, baby, auh—”

“D-Don’t stop!” you warn him, desperate to reach your peak with him. You try to keep him in place, your legs wrap around his back and your fingers claw into his porcelain skin. He groans, quietly, hissing as you drag your fingers across his back deep enough to draw blood. He doesn’t mind, how could he when he leaves you covered in bruises at any given opportunity? If he marks you, he owns you. If you mark him, you own him.

And he wouldn’t want to belong to anyone but you.

“S’perfect… so fuckin’ perfect f’me. Unnff— oh, oh fuuuuuck.” he finishes, still pistoning his hips to fuck his sperm deeper inside. He’d knock you up in a heartbeat if you let him. Not because he wants to be a dad. Not because he wants to have a family with you. But he wants everyone to know you’re his. He continues to moan as he imagines you with a big swelling bump and everyone knowing that he is the cause.

You can’t ever leave him.

He’ll go mad without you.

“Such a good girl… look so pretty when you cum on daddy’s cock.” he tells you. He dips a hand between where you’re joined and rubs torturous circles into your throbbing clit. Your body jolts relentlessly from the aftershocks, unable to withstand the teasing.

His touches slow, and he pulls out as you begin to catch your breath. Your breathing deepens as you feel him part your pussy with two fingers so that he can watch his seed drip out of you and onto the mattress below. He smiles, brimming with pride that he did this to you. That no matter how much you claim to hate him, he’ll always be able to do this to you.

He collapses by your side. He’s staring up at the ceiling as your bodies shine with sweat and sex. He’s panting, loudly, with the biggest smile on his face you’ve ever seen. You’re staring at him. Trying to understand what actually goes on in that fucked up head of his.

But you never will.

So, you stare up at the same ceiling as he is and keep your thoughts to yourself. Where does this leave you, now? You never said you were back together, but you think he might have already decided.

But it was always going to end up like this.

You kick up a fuss and banish him to his dads house. But he always comes back. Always. And it’s because you want him back. Because you are too weak willed to stay away from him and do what you know is right. You could move on. You could fall in love with someone that doesn’t play mind games and make your life miserable.

But you love him.

You’re so stupid, because you love him.

“I love you, Megumi.” you whisper.

He’s quiet, he’s thinking.

“I know.”

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iwaasfairy · 8 months

Text

┌─ “ ! „ CHALKBOARD AND NAILS

tw. noncon, yandere, dumbification, objectification, daddy kink, some degradation, some praise, threats, brief mention of murder and blood, hair pulling, forced oral wordcount. 4.5k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by the amazing @totalleelee ♡♡♡ here you are my loVE!!! happy late birthday to your friend as well, and I really hope you guys enjoy it! I always like getting to write new characters and Nanami was definitely a fun one. I had to make the fic longer bc I wanted moreEeeeee but yea i just really really hope you enjoy it, and thank you again a miLLIOn for commIng me iM so sO HONOUREDDD

nanami kento x fem!reader

You should think about what you’re doing. Lying upside down off the couch with your eyes big and long, distracting lashes and your hair hanging; casting playful shadows on the floor when you move. His couch. He’d like to believe you’re doing it on purpose -hell, most people would probably be inclined to- when you’ve got that coy, little smile on your face and your shirt rides up to reveal a sliver of skin above your pants.

He would assume if you had ever dared to come onto him in any way. But you haven’t, and so he can’t, not when you remain the perfectly sweet, kind, respectful graduate they hired only a few years ago— and it makes him too aware of you.

Nanami’s not the prim and proper bootlicker Gojo jokes he looks like; so among the other sorcerers, it isn’t even too illogical that you would cling to him a little. A kouhai dumped on his doorstep when the higher-ups decided to employ them fresh out of school. If it were anyone else, he would’ve complained until the choice was overruled. But you’re not anyone else. He can’t even lie about the fact that he’s grown quite the attachment to you.

Your bubbly, engaged energy and blueberry scented shampoo and cheap coffee in styrofoam cups that you always, always forget to throw away at the end of the day. Your chattering that rings through his brain before he goes to sleep and the way you talk and talk and talk when he won’t. You’re the exact opposite of an enigma, because that would require that you left him with some mysteries, and you don’t have the ability to keep your mouth shut. He hates how easy you wind him around your little finger, and he hates that he hates it.

Nanami’s not a dependant guy- and it seems to be your goal to prove him so fucking wrong.

“Why wouldn’t that be possible? I mean, it’d be hard if suddenly a curse shows up and you’re called up in the middle of the night and have to rush to work, and our rates of serious injury are pretty high. But I think I could make it work! Y’know, communication is key and all that.” Your pretty lips shine as you ramble on. You prop your head onto one arm, and turn over so your leg is basically straddling his furniture. “Have you ever dated a non-sorcerer while you’ve been a grade one, Nanamin?”

He lets out a slow exhale, and shifts his gaze back from the lines of your throat to his book so you don’t catch him looking. “No.”

“Not once? In like twelve years?” You raise a brow like you’ve suddenly discovered he’s some ancient fossil dug up from the canal.

“I prefer not to leave my partners for weeks on end with no explanation because the sorcerer world forbids it— so no. And I didn’t graduate twelve years ago, brat.” With the spine of the book he taps your nose, before getting up from the chair to join you on the couch. The few drinks have been abandoned as you finally let the blood back out of your head and wobble like a deer, blinking too slowly. Even now, you’re pretty. Prettier than he wants you to be, taking in the soft slope of your nose and the pillowy lips and your stupid flush on your face. Brat is right.

“I think I’ll do it,” you declare after a few seconds, and rest your head back into the couch with a pout. “I get lonely. And most sorcerers have giant egos.” He’s not sure if it takes him aback -can’t place the emotion that washes over him a few inches at a time- but he finds himself watching the side of your face a little too tightly. The cogs turn in his head and send some uncomfortable cold to gather in the pit of his stomach. Your lashes flutter and some wetness lines your waterline, and he can tell that you mean it. It isn’t the alcohol, he knows you better than enough.

When you look up at him, your faces are only a few inches apart— soft breaths filling the narrow space between. Has he ever told you he loves you? He’s not a man of too many words, that’s always been more your style than his— so probably not. But he does. So much it carves a gaping hole in his chest upon impact. He doesn’t have to say anything to see the way your eyes flutter shyly with the near perfect closeness. As your silence hangs as the room disappears, his hand twitching on his thigh. Aren’t you partly his like he’s yours? That’s how it should work. It’s the only logical course of action, and so he can’t help but lean in.

You’re just too shy to say anything- right? You wouldn’t hang out with him so much if you didn’t, wouldn’t trust and touch him, or confide in him so much if you didn’t. His heart burns in his chest the closer you seem to get. But before he can finish up the gap, you giggle and back away. “Wow! Hey, we almost kissed.” Your voice is a higher pitch than normal, but still rambly. Fuck. “I didn’t expect you to be so close when I looked up,” your nose and cheeks are burning hot, “you scared me, Nanamin~”

You stand from the couch instead, and lean towards him with that little smile that drives him crazy at night. “Senpai, it’s clearly time for me to go home. I’m getting sloppy.” You are. And as much as he wants to use that as an excuse to grab you by your waist and pull you into his lap, it wouldn’t do any good. Not when you’re too busy running your mouth to understand the consequences. He loves you, but you’re one infuriating little runt. You run your hand through his hair like it’s an intrusive thought, spilling loose locks onto his forehead, and then you smack your lips. “Will you see me to the door at least?”

For not the first time, he blames your loose lips for making it so hard for him.

You’re entirely different outside the four walls of his apartment.

It’s a coincidence that he finds himself across the street as he spots you walking under the streetlights with a little jump in your step. You look a different sort of formidable— clinging to the arm of some plain fucking loser that is so very clearly drooling all over you. It’s almost pathetic how easily swayed the guy is, as you bat your lashes and smile at him. And somewhere in the back of his mind, it rings a little familiar, but common sense and logic get pushed down a little under the feeling of anger that he feels bubbling up in him.

Not at you— though he told you he didn’t think it a good idea, you’ve always been a bit dense. In need of protection. It isn’t an option, and Nanami’s responsible for you. He looks out for you. This fucking loser though, is oblivious about anything but the skin your dress is showing off. In the brief few moments he gets to spot you walking off towards your street, that much becomes clear. You love making it hard for him. You’re basically magnetic, dragging him along from whatever chore he was doing to follow behind patiently, getting more and more agitated.

See, Nanami has thought quite often about what he is, and isn’t. You forced him to think it over whenever he found his mind wandering back to you each time it had the chance, squeezing around his cock and whining out your dramatics into his mouth. In his imagination, he’s easy to wrap up into a neat bow. With a begrudgingly growing interest each time you landed on his couch, or trailed behind him like a puppy at work. It’s because of all that introspection that he decided he isn’t a good do-er. He does good, and he is perfectly adequate at doing it too. But he doesn’t do it for the praise of it.

Nanami isn’t a hero. He isn’t a vigilante.

He’s a simple guy with simple wants: you. So there’s only one reason that crystalizes in his mind as he finds himself walking a good distance behind this fucking loser that you’re blinking stars up at. It isn’t a noble one. Just that every fiber in him aches to grab the guy by the back of his neck and kick his head like a soccer ball. You wouldn’t like that much, but he still wants to do it.

You’re beaming and chattering along like you do at such a pace that you don’t even notice that he’s started to follow behind. Hell, you barely even acknowledge a passerby to move out of the way. You’re totally zoned in to your doe-eyed, little fantasies— even as the distance gets closer and closer, and he’s walking down the now familiar streets towards your apartment. And as much as he wants to blame you, he can't. Not really. It’s not like he didn’t know what a sweet little cheerleader you were when you were prancing around his office with the shortest skirts known to man and a coquettish blink of your long lashes. But it’s different when it’s some two-bit, middle aged non-sorcerer with a five o’clock shadow.

It’s different when it isn’t him. Even you must know that. You must feel it.

The sky’s darkening as your conversation goes from enthusiastic to clearly flirty, letting your giggle ring out down the lane— as he makes up the last bit of distance. The guy’s probably musty breath reaching you as he swings his arm over your shoulder, as he pulls you close. As he fills your head with all kinds of promises that he definitely won’t actually meet as soon as he gets your pretty hands around his cock. He knows it, and he knows that even your innocent, sweet personality would take a hit if that happened. You wouldn’t be able to perform well at work, and maybe even your relationship with Nanami would suffer if you got your heart broken.

There’s a very clear path before him that ends right where you’re walking up the steps towards your door, and those pretty lips form words he can’t focus on. He walks up to the door, and only now do you glance behind you and your pretty eyes go curiously wide at him. “Nanami?” You’re so fucking cute. But that stupid fucking arm around your shoulders is in his way. It blocks you from view, and ruins the sight. It’s a bother. There’s only the faintest hints of jealousy and rage left in his veins - when he gives you a quick nod, then turns towards the guy who’s now got an awfully dumb expression on his face. It reminds him a little of a curse, blank and narrowed and disturbed. He feels eerily calm, really. It’s a simple problem with a simple solution, isn’t it.

“What are you doing here-” you start to say, before you stumble back.

Blood splatters all over, and with an awfully easy motion that stupid head rolls and drops to the floor. It’s quick, and there’s a few seconds where he waits for the resistance. The uncomfortable feeling of guilt. But it doesn’t come—

Until your shaky hand clutches almost painfully onto his shirt, pinching him. “H- Nanamin. What the hell do you think you’re doing? What did you-” You gasp, breaking off into a choked cry when your eyes take in the sight before you, before squeezing your eyes shut entirely and starting to shake harder. “What’s- why?! What did you do? Why did you do that?! I can’t- I can’t even- what- why?!”

You shove him aside, and his foot lands in the mess as you fumble sticking the key into the lock— too shaky to control your own extremities well. But your mouth still hasn’t stopped running. “Stay away! Go away! You’re- I- hick- I don’t wanna look!” You finally manage to get the key turned by the time the tears are making your cheeks entirely shiny, snot running and lip wobbly like a five year old— and sink down into a crouch to start sobbing it out into your arm. “You just killed a-an-” You can’t even make it halfway through without breaking out into another squeak. “F-for no reason. I invited him here- seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

Your face doesn’t come up again for breath until he grabs you by the arm to help you up, and you shove at him again, almost yelling this time. “No, no, no no no! Leave me alone!” This little scene you’re making is gonna attract attention, you know. “Leave me alone, I want to go in!” Before the situation can get out of hand, he pushes your door open enough to toss you inside, and the body after you. There’s a muffled little whimper from you when it lands with a thump on your floor. But as soon as he closes the door, the surge of adrenaline calms.

He just has to explain it to you, give him a minute.

“I don’t wanna- I don’t-”

For some reason, the entire situation winded him, and his beating heart bangs loudly in his chest. He drops his weapon aside and kicks off his shoes, and goes to you— where you’re cocooned in your own arms, knees to your chest. “Hey, it’s-”

“Leave me alone!” you squeak, knocking his hands away from you, only briefly looking up. “Go. Hck- go away!” You’re crying so much that your eyes are red and your cheeks puffy. But he still grabs you by your arms and hauls you up into his chest, ignoring the way you make yourself dead weight. Brat. He wants to say it, but he’s pretty sure you wouldn’t be too happy to hear it at this very moment. It’s not like he blames you. He’s always tried to shield you from the more gruesome parts of the occupation as much as possible. Of course you’d be upset. “Nanamin~” you whine.

“Shhh, just calm down. It’s all good now.” His heart still beats so loud. Maybe he was angrier than he first imagined. He carries you -much to your dismay, if your sniveling cries are anything to go off- out of the hall and into your bedroom. Where it smells of perfume and girly body lotion, and so overwhelmingly like you it takes him aback a little. You’re still crying, and still talking- but he does his best to drown it out in favor of explaining. See, he’s always been such a sucker for you. Swallowing down the slight rasp in his voice, he allows you to drop back into your bed, and looks down at you. You’re still pretty even with your eyes clenched closed, and crying like a baby. “There, ‘s okay.”

He runs his thumb along your eyes, then settles down next to you on the plush mattress. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Listen-”

“How can I -hck- listen?!” You’re quick to turn your face away from him, and wrap your arms around yourself a bit tighter— probably unaware of the distracting way you push up your tits that way in that little implication of a dress. Really, Nanami swallows, you can obviously do much better than that loser that’s probably staining your carpet at the entrance. Your lip wobbles again, before you suck it into your mouth. “I don’t know what- or how- but that isn’t okay, Nanamin. I just-”

So again, he tries to get your attention, this time by grabbing your arm. “Just listen. I did it for you- if this was anyone else I wouldn’t have been so pressed.” It’s true. No one is a priority like you are. “I had to.”

“What are you talking about? How- is killing someone- oh god, there’s a dead guy in my house, Nanamin! I don’t k- what am I gonna do? Why would you-”

“I’m trying to tell you something.” His voice is lower and sharper this time, and your eyes finally shoot open to look at him. But it isn't that adoring little look you normally have, and somehow that pisses him off too. You really need to have everything spelled out for you, huh. He loves you though, really, he genuinely, genuinely does. As more than just an equal— if he could, he’d give you everything. He just doesn’t know how to say it, staring back at the wobbly tears on your face. “I love you,” is what ends up coming out, and then a breath.

And he’d say more if you weren’t such a talker.

Your face goes a little distant for a few seconds, before you shake your head. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I will tell you, if you just-”

“I can’t accept that, senpai! You can’t just go around and kill-”

“I was protecting you!”

“From what?!” Before you even give him a chance, a real one, you start righting yourself on the bed and run a hand under your nose. And you stare at him with such disbelief and broken trust that it makes him feel a little dizzy. He doesn’t know exactly how he imagined himself spilling his guts, but it wasn’t like this. “You need to leave. And I need to contact someone from the higher ups to- take care of- I don’t even know,” you sob, “I don’t know how any of this goes. That’s so messed up, Kento.” That’s the first time you’ve ever addressed him by his first name. Scolding him for a choice he made purely for you. He did this for you. “You need to-”

He can’t let the first time end this way.

“Stop talking.”

“Stop talking?” You echo back to him, and glare, also getting up off the bed and farther away from him— and he can’t help but follow. “What did you think was gonna happen? That I wasn’t going to say anything?” As he gets up with you, you walk back a step, and your eyes flick back and forth between him and the door a few times. But he chases, and you jump in surprise when your back meets the wall, effectively trapping you between the wall and him. “I- Nanami-”

“Kento.”

You barely blink as you take a sharp intake of air, and then hold your hands up to his chest to keep some space between you two. “Look- just- we can talk about this, but I can’t just ignore that there’s a dead body in my house, Kento.” He’s really sick of you talking. You’re lucky he loves your voice so much, because if it was anyone else, he wouldn’t stand for it. Whatever you see in his expression must have you worried, because that slight defiance that remains gets awfully feeble when he reaches for you this time. “You’re scaring me. Please, just- hck- just back up. Let me process this, and then we can talk.”

“No, all your talking just gets in the way.” Your eyes go wide and a wave of heat washes over your features, making you look even more attractive. If he can’t tell you, he’ll just show you. You’ve got it all fucking wrong. What he feels for you is true love. Before you can go on another mad ramble, he grabs you and drags you back to bed, as gently as he can while having his hand screwed tight around your wrist. He wouldn’t ever actually hurt you. As you land on the bed, he holds you down— watching as you open your mouth to talk. But you can’t, because he’s already shoved two fingers between your lips and feels the way your hot, wet tongue squirms as he pushes them down your throat. “There, that’s better.”

Still you’re trying to talk, it’s almost funny. You whine around his fingers and gag when you can’t, breathing his name into an uncomfortable moan that just turns him on. You try to pull your head away, but you can’t. “You’re a lot sweeter when you’re not running your mouth sometimes, baby.” He can’t help it, it just comes out. He likes you so much, and you just look so cute gagging on his fingers and grabbing his sleeve like you’re not sure whether or not to pull or push. Tears start welling up along your waterline when he runs his fingertips over your soft, pink tongue. And his cock twitches in his pants.

That’s the good part, see. Even with all this fighting, you two still get along so well. You make him a better man when he’s around you. At least, in theory. He’s not crazy, he knows that holding you down and making you choke on his fingers isn’t really the best course of action -but you left him no choice- and he’s better off finishing what he started. “If you shut up,” he draws his fingers out of your mouth to start unzipping his pants, “I’ll let you breathe. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you won’t want to talk again.” It’s all up to you, pretty girl. Simple cause and effect. You take one sharp breath as you try to get out from under his weight, but there’s really nowhere you can go.

So you do what you do best, and whine. “Nanami~” It’s a baby-ish little whimper that makes him name sound so fucking good. But still. He grabs your face to squish your cheeks, and stares down at you with such intensity that you keep your cries in.

“It’s Kento.” His voice is a low, soft rumble. He wonder if it gives away the way his body feels right now, standing above you while his cock strains against his pants. They’re getting too tight to be comfortable. “Or daddy- you like that better? Say it.” You shake your head into his grip -but your ears start glowing another color brighter, almost like he’s caught you in a lie. Of course you do. You and him are made to be together. You let out another little squeak before he lets go of you to start undoing his pants.

That apparently seems to be too much, because suddenly you’re trying to get up as you speak. “No, no, I’m not-” You’re trapped when he forces you back down and now yanks your head back by your hair, making you cry again. “Ow, please senpai— I like you, I really do- but I can’t- I- hang on.” The heat crawls up his neck to his ears watching your eyes go big as the belt falls and his pants go down his thighs. You really do look good on your fucking knees.

“I told you to stop yapping, didn’t I?” He asks in return, and finishes sliding his boxers down, kicking them aside. Then he pulls your face towards his cock and watches as you whine. “Open up for daddy. There’s only one thing your mouth’s good for.” You’re so easy to hold in place, and it sends unimaginable gratification through his body when your little tongue comes out for him. You’re really such a brat, making everything so fucking hard for him.

You open your mouth enough for him to start pushing inside at just the slightest yank of your hair, making you whine and whimper as you shuffle around between his legs. Your hands come to rest on his thighs, but that doesn’t hold him from sliding the hot head of his cock as far as he can into your mouth right away. You look amazing drooling all over his cock, choking when he starts to move with the most patient moves he can manage. It’s not easy to do much of anything except rock himself on your soft tongue and feel your whining go down his shaft and balls. “There, now you’re making yourself useful. That’s what you do best, hm, fucking brat?”

“Agh, fuck- that’s- such a soft little mouth.” You make him feel heavenly, and by the way you’re shifting down there on the floor -trying and failing to get the friction you want- you’re also feeling it. He can tell by the way you blink up at him so slow, swallowing around him and letting that pretty voice out in the cutest, little moans. Just for him. Only ever for him. “You’re so lucky you’re this fucking cute,” he ends up rasping out, before letting you finally pull back to breathe when you start jittering. “Say something smart again, brat.”

“Agh, daddy,” you sob, drool spilling down your chin, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He can tell you are. Your big eyes glossy and cheeks hot, you try to get up from the floor, and he yanks you up to turn you over instead. Your little dress rides up too easily, giving the rest of the way when he shoves it up your back. It’s almost embarrassing to see how wet you are, lacy panties soaked all the way through and peeled too easily aside to reveal that needy pussy. And you don’t even deny it, just shiver when he runs his finger up and down your slicked up cunt. “Please.”

He’s such a sucker for you, fuck. It’s almost like you know it. “My little cock slut, look at that. You’re dripping down your thighs, brat.” He spits on your center once before lining up and sliding in, and watching as your little pussy stretches around his cock with some effort— as you let out a lewd, almost desperate whine. “Fuck.” And Nanami hoists himself over you to start fucking into you, hips meeting your ass as he bottoms out, as you open your legs further to let him in. Your back half hangs pathetically over the end of the bed as he fucks into your tight, hot -so fucking hot and wet and beaming- pussy and his balls clap against you. You feel so good it’s hard to hear anything over his own heartbeat hammering wildly against his ribs.

“Daddy feel good inside?”

“Mhm, agh-yea.”

You too, baby. Nothing in the world feels as good as letting your pussy swallow and suck him in deeper, like you’re trying to hold him in that impossibly hot, blissful clutch forever. He can’t even hear much of your whining and moaning and pitiful struggle, but you probably haven’t stopped. You don’t even have the energy to close your mouth, trying to push back to meet his thrusts more even as he bumps against the end of your pussy— and his one hand is squeezed around your neck. But you look pretty this way. You look useful.

“Tell me how much you like me.”“So~ much, so much, fuck. I’m gonna cum, Kento. Daddy.” Your mouth’s still running when he snakes his hand underneath you to start rubbing at your puffy clit, and feels the way his own body starts to tighten when your walls clench wildly around him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. I want you to cum too, want to feel it- I wanna have you deep inside me forever, ah, ah. Oh, you feel so good, fuck.” It’s almost ironic when he thinks about it. How much he likes you running your mouth like this, begging for more. It’s poetic.

#nanami x reader #nanami smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #tw.noncon #tw.murder #tw.blood #tw.dark content #tw.yandere #🍯honey.pot #💫ch.nanami

2K notes · View notes

pandoraslxna · 1 year

Text

Three is always unfortunate

Stepbro Neteyam x female Na‘vi reader

Words: 1.8k

Summary: Neteyam is ready to do everything in his might to protect his precious little sister. Especially from mean boys that can’t keep their hands to themselves.

Warnings: explicit smut, minors dni, stepcest (= they’re not related by blood), bully!aonung, slight age difference, everyone is aged up!!, kinda dark / mean neteyam, degradation kink, overprotective & possessive behavior, hints of sexual harassment, graphic description of violence (not towards reader) , blood, rough sex, oral, implied voyeurism,… damn this really has it all

That was his first mistake.

To be fair, you weren’t even supposed to talk to him at all, Neteyam told you that enough of times already. But the moment Ao'nungs very fingertips made contact with your skin –the soft, warm skin of your thigh, that was strictly forbidden for anyone to even look at– even though you told him no several times already… That was his first mistake.

"You heard what she said", Neteyam all but growls at him, shoving him away from you with a rough push to his chest, "Back. Off." His fist itches, ready to knock that guy out, just like his dad had taught him from a young age. But Ao'nung just laughs in his face. "Oh, look at that. Big brother comes to the rescue", he says mockingly and his hand reaches out for you again. Teasingly, he pulls at your tail and you shriek, before you rush over to hide behind your older brother‘s back. That was his second mistake.

"What? We were just talking. She’s old enough to hang out with a real men, you know, have some fun. It’s not that serious", Ao'nung winks at you, tongue darting out to lick his lips and he’s clearly being ambiguously. Neteyam can see it in his eyes, the way they’re basically undressing you, how he imagines your taste on his tongue, his ears twitching as if he could hear your moans in his head.

And that was his third mistake.

He was so dead.

Neteyams fist hit him with full force, hearing a crack as either a tooth or the bone under his left eye socket shattered. Ao'nung stumbles and falls to the sandy ground with a grunt and in the blink of an eye, Neteyam was on him. Four punches later and he landed a hit on his nose, breaking the cartilage with a sickeningly satisfactory crack that sounded disgusting to your ears.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"I'm– I‘m sorry", you whine in all honesty, "I won’t do it again, 'Teyam– fuck!"

"You know I hate, hate, hate when you talk to these guys", Neteyam hisses, underlining each word with a thrust of his hips. "Can’t fucking listen to me for once, huh? Always getting yourself in trouble just for your big bro to come and rescue you." He pistols his hips against yours, fast and hard, the obscene sounds of flesh against flesh filling both of your ears. You’re just glad Neteyam had dragged you further away from the village, before you’ve found yourself in your current position. Like this, you were at least free to be as loud as you liked. As loud as he liked. Only the great mother herself knew what would happen, if your parents would ever find out about this thing going on between you and your step brother. But you had other things in mind right now, your brain too fucked out already, to form any coherent thoughts anyways.

"You know, I’m slowly starting to believe that this shit turns you on", Neteyam’s tone is mockingly and you can’t help but clench around his cock as he speaks. "You like it when I get my hands dirty for you? Like when your big bro beats them unconscious just for looking at you the wrong way? Yeah bet you do, dirty girl." One of his hands loosened from the bruising grip he had on your hip and then slides all the way up to your breasts. Instead of teasing or kneading them, he goes straight to grabbing a nipple inbetween his thumb and index finger. He rolls and pinches, until they turn to hard pebbles under his rough treatment and you whine, your back arching even more. "Answer me when I‘m talking to you", he tsks.

"Yes, oh fuck, 'Teyam", you moan ever so sweetly it makes his heart ache, "Like it when you pr– oh! W-when you protect me!"

"And you know what? I like that too. Fuck, I love it. I’d beat them all to death– every possible mate, every man that tries to lay their hands on you, because you’re mine. My sweet little sis, I’ll always protect you. None of them will ever be good enough for you." And you know he’s right. He had already ruined you for everyone else the first time he laid his hands on you, the first time he looked at you with that spark in his eyes, the first time he made you cum. You would never consider anyone else for you. It was him or nobody.

Neteyam lowers himself to kiss you softly, in contrast to the almost brutal force of his hips smacking against yours, hard enough to leave bruises he’ll need to find an excuse for later or his dad was going to skin him. His fingers move to press against your clit, rubbing and stroking and you moan into the kiss.

Your velvety, wet walls are enough to drive your big brother crazy. Neteyam doesn’t think he could ever fuck anybody else, having been so used to your pussy afterall these years of spending time with you, discovering each others bodies and all the first times you’ve shared with him. Knowing what makes you twitch, what makes you melt. Moments ranging from cuddling and sweet-talking, then escalating to him balls deep inside your pussy, the friction of your jointed bodies driving you closer to the edge until you came around him with those sweet, familiar moans.

"And I’ll ruin you for everybody else", he groans, "I’m gonna fuck you so good, until you finally behave like the good little girl that you are and until you finally fuckin' listen to me and shit— no one will ever satisfy you the way your big brother does, am I right? Tell me I‘m right, pretty girl, let me hear you say it."

Your older brother is absolutely relentless when it comes to fucking you. Sure, he can have his sweet moments, but not on days like this. Not when he was proven right, that men only ever want one thing from you, that they want to corrupt his sweet and innocent sister and when he has to be so overprotective of you, because you’re just too dumb to realize people’s true intentions. And not when he’s so, so jealous of other men just looking at you the wrong way, let alone touch you.

You swear you can feel him in your stomach, the head of his cock bruising hard against your cervix again and again. "Yes, yes fuck, you’re right! Right— right there 'teyam!", you brabble whatever nonsense comes to your fucked out mind, your need to climax so shamefully on display that it made him groan in delight. Only he could make you feel this way.

"Are you coming already, baby? Gonna cum on your brothers cock? Such a dirty girl, look at you all fucked out, drunk on my cock and I’m not even done with you yet", his words come out as something between a moan and a laugh and it’s degrading, but you love it. You can’t help it. You love when he’s mean, love when he takes his anger out on you like this because he’s even sweeter to you afterwards.

Like a good brother, he helps you ride out your orgasm– hips still snapping against yours, even if they’re not set in rhythm like previously. Neteyam moans when he feels the flood of your own cum on his cock, a feeling that should never even feel that good. You’re like a curse. Or more like drug to him. What else would describe it best, because you made him feel so incredibly good, yet you were something forbidden. Something he shouldn’t even have consumed in the first place because it was wrong. But he was already addicted and now couldn’t resist anymore.

"I‘m gonna fill you up, gonna cum inside that tight pussy, yeah? You’re gonna let your brother cum inside you? Make you feel all hot and sticky inside, my precious girl", Neteyam hisses out, manhandling you with the rough grip of his hands placed on your hips along with his cock bruising your insides. Your legs shake and tremble, harder this time due to the absolute wave of pleasure washing over your step brother, as he keeps fucking into you like you were begging for it. And in your mind, you were.

Neteyam’s orgasm hits him full force, his hips bucking and hands clawing your hips in a death grip, while you feel his hot and thick, gooey cum dump itself inside your pussy. His eyes are squeezed shut as his rhythm finally falters and then he slumps over you with a thud.

He’s heavy on top of you, almost crushing you under his weight but you relish in the feeling. His face is pressed in the space between your neck and shoulder, and his warm breath tickles against your skin. Waiting for a few moments to shake off the overwhelming feeling, he then starts to leave wet kisses here and there, littering on your jawline and the space behind your ear.

"No more talking to boys, alright?", he mumbles against your skin and you can’t help but giggle. "Alright", you assure him with a smile. You can feel him shift on top of you and then one of his legs nudges your thighs further apart. His kisses travel lower with every beat of your heart, until he’s passed your navel and reached your pubic bone. With his thumbs on either side of your core, he spreads you lips until your clit comes into view. You inhale a sharp breath when cold air brushes against your wet skin. "This is your last chance, sis. Be glad I‘m in a good mood today", Neteyam says with kiss to that little bundle of nerves and a gasp falls from your lips, "If you don’t listen to me again, I won’t let you cum at all. Maybe I’ll even let Ao'nung watch you beg for my cock, before I kill him."

You nod your head, eager to please him and with that, Neteyam completely buries his head between your thighs— licking and sucking on every inch of skin he can reach, until you’re nothing but a moaning, shaking mess below him. Because he truly was the only one to ever make you feel like this.

#avatar 2 #avatar #neteyam sully #neteyam #avatar the way of water #neteyam x reader smut #avatar way of water #awow #neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam x female reader #atwow neteyam #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x sister!reader #neteyam x you #neteyam x na'vi!reader

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formulaforza · 9 months

Text

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. winter, the first time. the start of the year, the start of it all. minors dni, nsfw warnings under the cut. 7k words part two part three part four part five

18+ because: brat taming, fingering, oral (f receiving), name calling, spit, unprotected sex, overstimulation, booty call!, masturbation (f receiving), voyeurism, mad sass, fucking porn without plot basically.

There’s nothing special about the club scene in Monte Carlo. If you’ve been to a club in any major city, anywhere in the world, you’ve been to a club in Monaco. It’s all neon lights and kaleidoscope colors and poorly lit dance floors and mid-tier DJs who think they’re the next coming of Jesus.

Tonight is no exception. The air is thick and heavy with the scent of floral perfume and alcohol, the entire room shaking with the pulsating beat of the bass, reverberating off every single corner and shaking the liquor in your glass. Bodies move—yours included—half in sync with the music, half in step with their drunken stupor. Perched in the safety of Charles’s section, away from the swaying forms of laughter and shouting and screaming, your entire body thumps alone to the beat from the DJ booth a couple meters away.

Across the section, Charles sits stoic on a couch, taking up a seat and a half and frozen like some magnetic force. His eyes are stuck on you in a way that pulls goosebumps from your skin, makes you irrational angry at him. You’re feeling particularly bratty today, egged on by the tequila and his visible annoyance.

You’re on your way to interject into his pity party when your sister catches your arm, pulls you by your bicep to dance with her. Her palms are sweaty and cold and you hope that it’s the condensation from her cold glass that’s got her all clammy. The two of you have always been quite a sight after a few drinks. You get your tolerance from your mother, are both disastrous lightweights, feel the need to give any and everyone around you a show.

The two of you twirl to the music with little effort, laughing like you’re seven and the hazard littered floor under your feet is the old brown carpet from the family room you grew up hosting dance parties in. It’s all hair and giggles and hands in the air like you just don’t care. Everytime your glance catches his, he’s staring back, nursing his drink and half participating in a conversation with your brother-in-law and Jo.

“What’s his fucking problem?” you ask, leaning over to shout into your sister’s ear.

“He can’t dance,” she slurs. You snort. He can dance.

You whistle, loud and commanding and cat-call-ish even though he’s already watching you. “Charles! Get out here and dance, you fucking buzzkill!”

Your sister joins in on the fun, playfully swaying her hips to the music, tossing out an imaginary fishing line to her husband and reeling him over, calling along teasingly to Charles. “Yeah, show us what you’ve got, Il Predestinato!”

Charles rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “I don’t dance,” he calls back with a soft chuckle. He tries to play it cool, like always, but everyone in the room knows you’re pushing his buttons. You always are. The reason he keeps you around is the same reason you stay around; your families’ relationship predates any animosity between the two of you. That, and the friend group was founded before you loathed each other and it would be too much work to try and split it up now. You’d probably never see Joris again.

You dance closer to him, putting on a dramatic show and a poor fight against the urge to continue challenging him. “Come on,” you tug on his arm, just out your bottom lip into a pretty little pout. “Live a little.”

He’s never been able to turn down one of your challenges, however thinly veiled they might be. It’s his own personal sore spot, the one that you poke and prod as often as you can. Competition has always been the foundation of your mutual annoyance, it’s not going to suddenly change after some eighteen years of consistency. Finally, he relents, lets you think you’re pulling him to his feet, dragging him to dance with you and your sister.

His moves are stiff and awkward, almost hard to watch. You laugh, because he’s wound up so fucking tight in two weeks you’d have a diamond. “See!?” your sister laughs, the contagion of it spreading to even the brunt of the joke. “I told you!” she continues, slinking her arm around her husband’s neck sloppily. His arm grips her side to hold her steady. It makes you feel sick.

A smirk tugs on his lips, and for a brief moment, there’s a hint of something more in his eyes. Not annoyance or frustration. Something seven, something innocent and childish. It’s fleeting, and you take a deep breath because the music feels quieter now. You down what’s left of your cocktail to clear your head, to calm the sudden flutter of nerves.

The more he drinks and the longer he’s forced to dance, the lighter and more magnetic he becomes. “You know, Charles, I never thought I’d see the day,” you tease. He’s been in a near constant state of pity-party for weeks now, ever since his dumb ass got dumped by another girl wildly out of his league.

He rolls his eyes, but his tone is as amused as it is drunk. “Don’t get too excited. It’s the liquor,” he retorts, a piss poor attempt at downplaying how much fun he’s having. He wouldn’t dare to give you the satisfaction. You lean in closer, brush your body against his, fueled by the noise and the alcohol.

“The liquor doing the touching, too?” you ask.

He’s always been a touchy drunk. Since before you and your friends were allowed to drink, he’s been hands-on. And maybe it’s because this is the first time he’s grabbing your hips, the first time his broad hand is flat over your stomach, but you’d never noticed him as this touchy with his girlfriends or his girls that appear when he’s around. Whatever it is, the more he drinks, the more comfortable he is with his hands on you, and the less you find the nerve to care.

It doesn’t matter how many times he does it, though. Every touch burns your skin. It’s a sick little game you two play. Sick and twisted and so, so unlike the two of you.

Watch yourself—he warns, hand on the small of your back. You play with fire. Well established and well documented, though; you never back down either. No, the thrill of annoying him is enough to dive head-first, to push his buttons until they stick. “Am I?” you ask, as innocently as the tequila can muster, taking hold of his wrist and moving it so his arm is wrapped around your midsection, fighting to settle in the space between your waistband and shirt hem.

You respond to every one of his careful touches, ever lingering finger on your arm and your waist and your back. When you close your eyes, you imagine the nonsense patterns he draws on your skin like it’s on canvas in a museum, hung front and center just for you. Your inhibitions are slipping too, and you let yourself trail wandering fingertips over his body, too.

This isn’t the Charles you’re used to, the one you go head-to-head with every fifteen minutes. This is something entirely new, so far into uncharted territory you’re not even sure which way is north. There’s something particularly intriguing about the nerves bouncing around your gut.

Everything fades away into the dark and crowded club. You don’t know if your sister and brother-in-law are still standing there, if any of your friends are. All you know if the electric charge of this, of every teasing remark and touch that draws you closer, forces you to test the waters of the newfound layer of tension.

Everything is building, it feels like, to some grand crescendo of emotion and desire. Before there’s room to explore it, though, to dive deeper into the unspoken shift, the moment is interrupted by the return of the friends you didn’t notice leaving.

The night drags on, the lines between annoyance and attraction blurring into some chaotic muddle of intoxication. Nothing is clear, nothing except the sobering and unignorable pull. It lingers in the air above you, in the space between like a secret just begging to be unraveled.

You’ve got another drink now, because you can only think of one decision that would be worse than more tequila. In due time, you’re worried you’re a lost cause when it comes to that choice as well. His eyes stay on you, even from a distance, and you revel in the glory of his attention. Embolden by it all, you continue fucking with him. “Having fun yet, Charles?” you ask, knowing smile, voice dripping in subtle suggestion.

He raises a brow, the corners of his lips quirking up. You don’t think you’ve ever spent much time looking at them, the soft shade of pink and the softer skin. “I suppose I can tolerate it,” he replies with teasing eyes. He’s irritated by your laugh, by your proximity, by your lips brushing against his ear when you whisper; you’re not the only one here trying to have fun. His jaw tightens but he doesn’t take your bait. Instead, he pulls you closer, sways in rhythm with you and replies, “I’m here to enjoy myself, not entertain you.”

He sends your brattiness running full-tilt. Forces you to carefully consider every movement, every ounce of playfulness that you allow to seep into your demeanor and the proactive sway of your hips. You grin at him every chance you get, sly and calculated, daring him to resist.

You lean in close, brush against his ear and can blame it on practicality, on the bass and the music and the DJ if anyone were to question your actions. You rest a hand on his chest. “I know you love my attention.”

His breath hitches at your audacity, heart racing so quick you can feel it in your palm. He pulls you closer, dangerously close to your lips and says, “you talk too much. Maybe it’s time someone shuts you up.”

You scoff, low and teasing. “I’d like to see you try.”

[18 minutes later]

You step into the well-lit lobby less than a pace behind him. Your hands are interlocked, have been for every block of the darkened streets—since he grabbed yours and pulled you out of the club. “Admit it,” you giggle. “You love having me push your buttons.”

He remains stoic, jaw set as he pushes the button on the elevator. The tension is at a boiling point. You’re either about to kill each other, to be on the news for some grand double murder, or something so, so much worse is going to unfold.

He leads you to the apartment without a word, but as soon as the door closes behind him, all is lost. Your head is bumping into the drywall before you even realize what’s happening, his lips harsh against yours, the pent up frustration and desire snapping like a dried twig.

It’s fierce and passionate and while you never, not for a single moment in your life, imagined what he would taste like, you somehow knew it would be like this, cool and fresh and drunk. He licks into your mouth, messy and intense, teeth clacking and both of you fighting for some nonexistent upper hand.

Fireworks are going off outside. They shake the windows with explosive gravitas as you’re blindly led by his backwards steps down the hallway. You realize that in an entire lifetime of knowing each other, this is the first time you’ve been in his place. It’s not what you expected, from what you can gather—all clutter and red cars and a boy who never had to drop his dream. “They’re going to look for us,” you say between sloppy, open mouthed kisses.

He mumbles against your skin, strong hands on either side of your jaw. “Let them look.”

You walk through a doorway, into a bedroom clad with clutter and blue sheets. He would have blue sheets. There’s another firework, loud and booming, it makes you jump. You check your watch over his shoulder, pretend your hand doesn’t shake. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Okay.” Your knees bump into his and he sits on the edge of the bed.

You laugh, climb onto his lap, your arms strewn around his shoulders, broad and strong and you laugh again–this time into his mouth. What the fuck is going on. Seriously, what the fuck is this? “Happy New Year.”

He sighs, pulls his mouth from yours long enough to roll his eyes, to speak annoyedly into the hot air between your lips. “Yeah, whatever. Happy New Year.”

“Charles,” you mutter, hand on his chest. You think he’s going to regret this more than you will. People have always told you he’s the best kind of person. You’re not held in the same regard, and you know it. Some people are made to regret and others are made to be the regret.

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs, but it’s curt and passive. Annoyed, as always, even when he palms at your ass, traces his hands along the bottom of your hiked up dress and pulls you down against him with a bruising grip. “Shut the fuck up.” You tug at the hem of his shirt, pull it off over his head in a swift movement.

“You’re doing a piss-poor job at making me.”

He moves you like you’re a fucking doll, like it’s lightwork, tossing you down against the mattress and swapping your positions in a swift movement. The strength and agility of it makes your head spin. He’s not supposed to make your head spin, he’s supposed to make it ache.

But no, no. You do ache for him. All of you aches for him, for his calloused hands and the roughness of his jeans against your thighs and the soft contrast of his lips against everything else. It’s embarrassing. You can’t believe he’s got you like this, hands pinned above your head while he buries his tongue in your mouth, grinds his hips against yours. The coarse denim is almost painful on your sensitive skin, but the growing bulge pulling the fabric tight is more intoxicating than any cocktail.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he says, bites a bruise against the skin just above your clavicle. “Spoiled little shit.”

He sinks to his knees, big blue or green or whatever fucking color his eyes are today watching you intently, boring into you with blown, hungry pupils. His fingers trail along your underwear, pulling the thin, lacey fabric to the side, and then removes them all together. He gloats when he runs his thumb through your folds. “So fucking wet.”

“It’s not for you,” you goad.

“Oh?” He nods slowly, spreading your slick with the steady digit, watching you carefully for reaction. “For who then?”

Your eyes flutter shut when the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, circles it slowly, teases you. He’s unfocused, his mind lapsing and giving you a much needed in, a clear shot to piss him off. “Your teammate.”

“Fuck off.” You first.

“You’re right, Charles,” you speak slowly, careful to control your breathing, to hide every tell you might have. “Someone should shut me up. Do you know anyone?” Without warning, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curls them like someone had given him a diagram of your body. You gasp at the suddenness of it all. Yeah, he mutters, utterly delighted with himself. Yeah, I think I know someone.

You roll your eyes, push his head down, down, mouth onto your core. There, in the midst of licking a long stripe through your cunt, he fucking laughs, shakes his head with a subtlety you’d never perceive if it wasn’t for the tip of his nose bumping your clit when he does it. At least he can follow basic fucking instructions.

His dick must hurt pretty damn bad, all hard and swollen in his pants, because he’s unbuttoning his jeans and freeing himself from the constraints of the fabric while lapping at you, the other hand still fucking into you with steady pace and hazy curl. You can’t see it, view obstructed by the mattress and limbs and hair, but you can tell by the way his shoulders move that he’s trying to get himself off at the same time he works on you.

You’re not going to make his job that easy. You require all of his attention, pure and undivided and hopefully just as infuriated as you are. You reach down to the apex of your legs, pull his head up by his chin. “Just fuck me, already, you prick.”

He rises to his feet, shakes his head, “you’re a needy little thing,” he remarks. Needy? You haven’t fucking seen needy.

He guides the head of his cock through your folds, spreading slick and spit and smacking himself against your cunt.

Your lips purse into a sharp line. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” He taunts, “you’ve been teasing for hours.”

“It’s different,” you grumble.

“How?” You could strangle him, him and all his questions. What’s a person have to do to get fucked properly around here? You already sacrified your morals by pulling tight against the navy blue sheets. A woman can only make so many sacrifices.

You groan, heavy and exasperated. He’s such a pest. “It just–oh, fuck you–” without warning, he plunges into you, buries himself in your cunt until he bottoms out, skin on skin and the sore sting of him stretching you. Your fingers bruise into his arms, nails scraping over his shoulder blades with a gasp. He gives you no time to adjust to him, rutting into you with deep, measured thrusts. What was that, he prodes. Somehow, you find the poise to stabilize yourself, to reply smugly. “it just is.”

His objective isn’t your pleasure, no. That would be his prerogative, a side privilege, a requirement in his quest to get you to close your mouth and stop pestering for once. Making you come is just another box to check.

You don’t fuck someone if you’re not going to finish, though. Sleeping with Charles might be a lapse in judgment, but being someone’s play toy, letting him reap without sowing, that’s a complete disregard of your dignity

Your fingers find your clit, circle it in just the right sequence, combining with the curve of his cock to push you closer, closer, closer to the edge of the fucking world. Your entire body burns, everywhere, all over, all at once you sweat. Tell me–he insists, voice short and breathy. Tell me when you’re going to come. “I thought you were trying to shut me up?”

“Just, fuck, just tell me.” He palms over your breasts, still covered by your bra and the fabric of your dress, however thin. “So many fucking clothes,” he grumbled, stalling inside you, hands slipping under your back, between you at the mattress to pull you off the bed. You hastily pull the dress over your head, toss it somewhere onto the clothing cluttered floor. Better? You ask. “Better,” he nods, bites your bottom lip roughly, licking against your teeth. One of the hands that explore the skin of your back make quick work of the clasp on your bra, dropping the straps from your shoulders and your back is against the sheets again, his hands groping at you, pinching your nipple between his middle and ring finger, working over it until you’re humming profanities and huffing into his mouth.

Hate and desire is such a fine, blurry line. Anyone who tells you differently is a liar.

“M’gonna,” you choke on your words. “I’m–shit–I’m coming.”

“Yeah,” He picks up his pace, maintains a steady, toe-curling rhythm. “Come for me,” his voice heavy and growled. “Come on my dick.”

You do. You come for him, hard and long, wrapping a leg around his hip in a failed attempt to still him, to just be full of him and nothing more. He’s stronger, though, and fucks you through the whole thing, faster, harder, big hands braced on your hips for leverage. You explore the idea that a person really could be fucked in half, forced right open.

“Good try,” you sputter, shaky and broken words leaving your lips before you’ve found a gravity that isn’t him. You lean up to kiss him, wrap your hand around the back of his neck and pull him to meet you halfway. Your fingers tickle the short hair at the nape of his neck, raise goosebumps to his skin. “Maybe next time,” you hum into his open mouth.

He spits a long string of saliva into your mouth when you move to close the gap. You laugh around it, down it in a single gulp and lick your lips, sticking out your tongue to showcase your empty mouth, big innocent doe-eyes watching his reaction, his eye roll and devilish smirk.

“Like I said–” you start, but he’s flipping you over, tossing you around like a ragdoll. You giggle, high on the teasing and the taunting and then he’s fucking your face into the mattress. He’s got your hair gathered up into a ratty ponytail, uses it like a handle, forcing your back into an arch, your ass to perk up into the air.

God, he’s so fucking deep, turning you into a mess of bruises and sweat stricken skin. Your hips bounce back against him, angle in any imaginable way in an attempt to feel him deeper, to feel him in your stomach and your chest and your head. To feel him everywhere that counts.

“Putain, taking me so good, baby” he groans, lets the praise and the pet name slipping past his lips in a moment that goes unnoticed by neither of you. He smacks your ass with a firm hand, trying to mask his words after they’ve already been spoken. Your eyes roll back into your head and you come again, without warning. You decide before you get to think about it that it was the stinging imprint of his hand that pushed you tumbling over the edge. Whatever the real reason, you’re up two-nothing, or, depending how you look at it, he’s the one winning.

That’s all any of this is, one big game. A power struggle. You’re always fighting to win, and this is not different. If there’s a way to lose at a game where everyone is supposed to win, one of you is going to fucking find it and force it on the other.

You’re the one doing the flipping, now. The pushing and the shoving so he’s on his back. You straddle him and he gives you this look like he’s fully pussy-drunk, sick and euphoric and floating somewhere far from here. You’re so winning at this. “Jesus Christ,” you poke, “wipe your fucking drool.”

His entire face contorts when you sink down onto him. Everytime you think you’ve reached a limit, he finds a way to hit a spot impossibly deeper than the last. His hips lift up off the bed to meet you halfway, rutting into pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had, hand moving to your cunt, thumbing lazily at your clit, leaving you fuzzy and drunk in a mess of mumbled moans above him.

When you come for the third time, messy and sweaty, nothing that leaves your lips is distinguishable, a mess of French and English and curses and nonsensical mewls. “Fuck you,” he moans, breath shaky when he pulls himself out of you. Your body clenches around air, aches for him to return.

He does, after he moves you back into the position it all started in. “So close,” he tells you, sinking slowly into you, his sigh hot and alcoholic on your shoulder. His pace is slow, then fast, then slow again. He’s as rapid as his breath is irregular. You better pull out–you groan, every muscle in your body strung out and exhausted and you’re coming again. It’s blinding white behind your closed lids, ears ringing and muscles flexing involuntarily. He’s wrecked you, finally, left you a mumbling mess.

He pulls out almost in sync with your orgasm, jerks himself no more than twice between your legs before he’s coating your stomach in hot stripes of cum, loud, guttural moans leaving his lips in a way that looks and sounds practically pained. “Christ,” he heaves, watches on as your fingers dance through his orgasm, spreading it over your skin and coating your fingers. You don’t break eye contact when you stick two of them into your mouth, swirl your tongue around them tauntingly, sucking them clean and pulling them from your mouth with a pop. You hold the clean hand up for him to see, palm facing him. When you turn it, you pull down all but your middle finger, flip him off cockily.

He swats you hand away, “Never fucking again,” he tells you.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” you scoff. “I never want to see the inside of this apartment again.”

“Why are you here, then?” He remarks, turning the corner into what you assume is the bathroom, tossing a towel to you from across the room. You clean yourself up before anything dries, before coming up with a quick rebuttal.

You don’t come up with one, mind as tired as the rest of you. This game has been exhausting. “We’re never talking about this,” you say, pulling your dress over your head, stuffing your bra into your handbag because you aren’t sure you have the strength to clasp it closed. “Ever.”

“No shit,” he says, tosses your underwear in the general direction of you.

You bend over to pick them up, step into them with the snap of the elastic. “Promise me.” You have no idea where your shoes are, but he’s already ushering you out of the room, herding you down the long hall with wide, swooping waves of his arms.

“I promise.”

“Pinky,” you say, spot your shoes haphazardly stepped out of in the entryway. You don’t have any memory of them ever being on.

“Absolutely not.”

“Charles,” you lean against the wall to slip your heels on, hook up at him with a sober glare. He closes his eyes like you won’t be able to see them roll behind his lids, pinches the bridge of his nose and squints before dropping a heavy breath, holding out a pinky to you. You interlock it with yours. “Thank you.”

He pulls his hand from yours, turns the lock on his front door and swings it open, fingers wrapped around the edge, other hand gesturing out into the hallway. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“With pleasure,” you say, stepping past him and into the well-lit hallway of sprawling marble floors. You stop in front of the elevator, press the button and wait for his inevitable comment.

“The whole brat-schtick you’ve got going on isn’t as believable when your leg shakes underneath you,” he calls down the hall. You don’t turn your head to face him, just extend your arm in his direction and flip him off. You hear his chuckle as he latches the door shut behind you.

Everything about today has been dreary–from the near constant mist that falls over the city, to the chilly temperatures, to the poor excuses for men that grace the screen of your dating app. This is not how Fridays in your twenties are meant to be spent, sulking in the dark of your bedroom after a miserable day at work.

You’re supposed to be out, partying with friends and making drunken decisions that have you waking up in a stranger’s bed after a good night you hardly remember.

God, you need to get fucked. It’s been months. Two months and ten days–not that you’re counting. Because you’re not. Counting. You aren’t.

You’re just restless, basking in the loneliness of the night, unable to shake the weight of your thoughts, of two months and ten days ago. Of Charles and how infuriatingly good he’d made you feel. The complexities of your relationship, the shift in the very DNA of what you know, it makes your heart race–a messy muddle of annoyance and desire that yearns to be untangled.

You give up on the dating apps, know that even if you do match with someone, there’s nothing that can be done to solve your problem tonight. You opt instead to scroll through social media aimlessly, searching for any distraction from the ache in your gut. Your hand unconsciously slips under the hem of your shirt, cups your breast while you scroll and scroll and scroll. It does little to quell your struggles. In fact, the game is over the moment you become conscious of your hand’s placement, the moment you start to massage your breast, to run your fingers over your nipple until it’s hard and perky.

You switch to the other breast, fingers gently tracing over the skin, sending chills up your arms, pinpointing the ache in your core. Your hand slides down your stomach, dips below the waistband of your shorts, into your underwear. You’re so worked up–pent up, reaching a boiling point.

Your middle finger glides through your folds, grazes over your clit, teases the slick at your entrance before dipping in, collecting enough to spread it around. Your clit is swollen, needy like the rest of you, and the pad of your fingers do little to relieve the pressure. Your fingers move clockwise, then counter. Vertical and horizontal and every combination of every direction and even though you can’t remember the last time you were this horny, this desperate to come, you can’t.

You slip in a finger, and then another, try to find the right curl and the right spot–to no avail. Now, you’re thinking about his fingers, about how much bigger his hands are, how his nimble fingers pumped in and out of you with sheet-gripping, whimper-inducing pace.

Your phone taunts you, his contact behind the locked screen just waiting to be messaged.

You try to resist. You hate him. He hates you. God, he knows how to fuck you, though; veiny hands and thick cock leaving you a writhing mess. Fuck. Fuck, why can’t your fingers move the way his did?

You cave, reaching over to grab your phone and text him. Hey. What are you up to tonight? It’s a mistake, you know that it is. He’s so damn annoying, there’s nothing about him that doesn’t drive you up a wall. Frustration makes the heart go fonder, you suppose, or maybe the cunt ache harder.

Within moments, your phone is buzzing against your palm with his reply. Chilling at home. You coming over?

You roll your eyes. No.

Ok.

You bite your bottom lip so hard you think you might accidentally draw blood. It’s phantom, almost, the way you can so perfectly imagine the sting of him stretching you out, the soreness of his bruising kisses, the swollen, wet head of his dick slapping against your clit. Come over.

You couldn’t pay me.

Door’s unlocked.

Give me 20.

You’re in the bedroom when he knocks. Three times, you wonder why he isn’t just walking in. You ignore the banging, let the universe decide for you if he’s meant to turn back and walk his happy ass out of your building. The universe decides he won’t be doing that, though, because he knocks again. Louder this time.

You pull yourself out of bed, feet creaking on the hardwood floors as you move to pull the door open. “I told you it was unlocked,” you grumble.

“Eh,” he shrugs, dumb fucking grin on his face. “Wasn’t up for your games.”

You internally debate just how bad you need him here, if it’s worth all the trouble that is him. It’s not, almost certainly it isn’t. You invite him in anyway.

“So, what’s the deal? Can’t get yourself off, so you call me?” He teases. Your frustrated blush gives you away before a witty comeback can slap the smirk off his face. “Oh my god,” he chuckles. “I was fucking around, but really?”

There’s no point in trying to lie now, not when your face has already betrayed your trust and revealed the truth. “Calm down,” you groused. “The last thing this world needs if your head to get any fucking bigger.”

He continues laughing like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him. You want to smack the smile off his face, dimples and all. “The last thing this world needs is for this–” he gestures between the two of you, “–to become a thing.”

You mock his movements, the dumb look on his face. “This is not a thing. It’s just two friends–”

“–We aren’t friends.”

You sigh through gritted teeth. “Two not friends helping each other out.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, chews on the inside of his cheek while his eyes trace your finger, head to toe and back to head again. “You do know how ridiculous you sound, right?”

You breathe out in resignation, heading down the hall towards your room. “Can we just get on with it?”

“No.”

You stop in your tracks, turn on your heels. What the fuck is he here for, then? “No?” You close the gap between the two of you, plant your hands firmly on either side of his jaw and kiss him, all tongue and spit and rough lips. You knock him off balance, falling out of step when he kisses you back with a matching intensity, hands hovering over your hips. He doesn’t rest them there, you can feel the warmth in the space between your skin and his, the force that pulls you together.

When he does settle his hands, it’s not to deepen the kiss, to swallow any more frustration. It’s to put distance between your mouths. “I want you to–”

You nibble on his earlobe, cut him off with your hushed words. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, I want–”

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he commands, voice failing to waiver to your hushed level, an air of snugness to him.

“Charles,” your voice cracks with his name, a hint of your under the surface insecurity peeking through, putting themselves on display for him. Here! Here! Look at me!

“Show me, or I’m leaving,” he says, and it’s all throaty and husky.

(Eleven minutes later)

Legs spread for him, two fingers moving busily against your core, circling your clit, teasing your hole.

He stares at you like he can see your fucking soul, watches from his spot across the room, leant against the old wooden dresser, arms folded and ankles crossed. You stare back–harder, maybe–like if you win the little contest your cheeks won’t burn so bright, you won’t feel so exposed, so vulnerable, so embarrassed.

Those feelings fade, they do, with each flick of your wrist. With every glance of his hungry eyes to your fingers, to your cunt, tracing their way up and down your body, you feel calmer and calmer. And when he runs his hand over his mouth, along the stubble of his jaw and off his chin, you’re closer and closer.

It pulls whimpers, soft and slow and sweet, from your lips. There’s a sick thrill to it, to him seeing her like this, all needy and open and sensitive. It’s empowering, almost.

He breaks no more than twice, watches every brow quirk, lid flutter, and lip twitch with raw, intimate eyes. He’s less interested in what you do to yourself, the curve of your fingers or the noises they create, than he is in the way you react to the movements.

“You’re not even fucking watching,” you say, the letter sounds falling to your breath, hitching as your fingers angle just right.

“Watching what matters.”

“Oh? And, uh–” you huff. “What’s that?”

He laughs, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. You’ve always thought they made his smile so childish, like you can’t take anything seriously when it comes from someone with primary-school dimples and giddy eyes. You don’t struggle to take it seriously, now. “You’re thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh parting your lips. “Says who?”

He pushes himself off the dresser, saunters over with heavy feet, stopping at the foot of the bed. “What are you thinking about?” He humors.

Your eyes roll. You’re thinking about a lot of things. Half a dozen, atleast. About your fingers, the way they move against your swollen cunt, sticky with creamy slick, and how his fingers are that much longer than yours. About how loud he walks, how his heavy feet stand at the end of your bed, crossed arms that pull his t-shirt tight across his chest. About the fact that you’re not sure you locked the door behind him because you were so distracted by the way his sweatpants hung from his waist. About how he doesn’t bother to adjust or hide the protruding bulge under the fabric right now. About the curve of his cock, about how pathetic and full it makes you, utterly unable to spend time thinking about anything but how well he stretches you out. About his hair, flat and straight and wholly unstyled, how your hands would mess it up so nicely, tug and twist until he has something smart to say. Beyond frustratingly, he’s right. As you quickly approach a high, breath quickened and movements desperate, all you’re thinking about is him. “Things.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, ever the rake, unsatisfied with your response.

You add a third finger, steady pace and a held stare. The muscles in your leg twitch. You’re so fucking close. “What are you thinking about?”

He sways, rocks his weight from his left foot to the right, runs his tongue over his teeth. “Things.”

A coy smile upturns the corner of your lips. “Mmhmm,” you mock.

He moves around the bed, trails his fingers over your skin; from your ankle, along the bone of your shin, a bruise on your knee. They stall on your thigh, trace small, soft circles on the inside of your leg. “You really want to know?”

He’s such a tease, keeps moving up, up, up, over your stomach and through the valley of your breast. “I–ah– I,” you stutter through your words, fingers working tirelessly to push you over the edge. Restless, further irritated by his delicate touch, his fingers up to your jaw now, slotting themselves there, you nod. “Yes.”

He leans over you, your lips inches apart, open and hot breathed. “Too bad,” he whispers into the space between, closing the gap and kissing you with an insatiable kind of fervor. Your fingers still, your other hand reaching to grip the back of his neck, to pull him deeper into the kiss. It’s a kiss that’s half as good as the sex, the breaking of the unbearable tension that’s filled the room while he’s watched, the promise of what’s to come. A lustful implication. His hand leaves your jaw when you pull apart for air, moving over your stilled hand. “Let me?” He asks, and it doesn’t feel like much of a question, the way he’s already slipping his fingers under yours before you can even squeak out an answer.

There’s something entirely different about his fingers, like the way that you can’t tickle yourself. You can’t predict his moves, every movement of every ridge of his fingerprints is something entirely surprising. “Yeah, fuck, you make, ah, make yourself…” You give up on the sentence, your body failing your mind in its ability to spit out a comeback. Yeah, you wish you could tell him. Yeah, make yourself fucking useful.

He laughs, slides his long middle finger inside you, pumps it twice and slips in another. You gasp at his sudden movement. “You’re embarrassing yourself, baby.”

Your back arches off the sheets. “Don’t call me that,” you seethe.

“But,” he curls his fingers against the spot you’ve been trying to reach all night. A moan tumbles from your mouth and he smirks. “It makes my job so easy.”

“Fuck you.”

“I was going to let you come first, but,” he chuckles. He’s so proud of himself it makes you ill. “If you insist.”

His hand stills, threatens to pull out of you entirely, but you’re covering it with your own, holding him there when you look up, hips instinctively grinding against him. “I’ll kill you. I will.”

You’re pushing him out of your apartment by the end of night, locking the door behind him. Your leg shakes when you slide down the door onto the floor. This is the last time, it has to be. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence. Thrice. Thrice would be a pattern. You won’t let it become a pattern.

You wake up at seven-thirty and your hair is still in knots, your body still aching from him. You find a new bruise every time you look in the mirror. You can’t shake the image of his messy hair, of the feeling of the brown locks between your fingers and the sound he’d make when you’d tug on them.

It won’t be happening again.

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