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alchemistc · 2 days

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i like your voice in person

Evan's staring at the bed like he's trying to navigate a minefield.

Six months ago that would have sent Tommy on another journey of self-deprecation, a reminder that he'd known Evan wasn't ready for this, known this was a possibility, but Evan, for all his own insecurities, knows what the hell he wants and if he'd felt even an ounce of pressure or remorse up to this point he'd have said something long before now.

Sometimes Evan likes to work it out himself, and sometimes he needs a little nudge, and Tommy watches the head tilt and the angle of his pursed lips for cues as he settles under the sheets.

"Something on your mind?" he prompts, and Evan blinks, like he hadn't realized he'd gotten lost in his thoughts.

"Uh...nothing, maybe."

"Sounds like something, probably."

Evan's smile tilts up at one corner, and he settles on the bed a little stiffly. "It's nothing major. Just. Something I've been thinking about?"

He can feel his brows jumping, can see the way Evan takes in the look with a fond expression. Evan steels himself for something -- they're still muddling through past experiences and learning how to be a bit more intentional in some of their conversations, because they both have a bad habit of reverting to flirting and deflection.

"You remember what we talked about last weekend?"

Tommy can genuinely remember about 93 percent of what he and Evan talk about at any given time, which is an astronomically high number and not at all an exaggeration. He'd be embarrassed about it if he didn't have clear evidence that Evan was as deep into this as he was.

They talk a lot, is the thing, about inconsequential shit just as much (definitely more) than the important stuff. They talk far more than Tommy can remember talking in any other relationship he's been in. But Tommy can pinpoint the exact one he means.

"You mean the roles thing."

Evan hadn't been a stranger to a little daddy talk in bed when they started to explore it, and he'd brought it up right at the start for a reason, but Tommy had taken a while to come around to the realization that Evan had sort of internalized the 'I don't have daddy issues' of it all in a way that Tommy hadn't actually meant it. There'd been little things, here and there; like Evan reaching a door before him and then bashfully waiting with it half open like he'd made a misstep; like twisting his mouth a little funny when he snatched the bill from the table before Tommy could get it. Little things.

Things that, in the abstract, yeah, Tommy liked to do for his partners, but in reality weren't actually that big a deal to him.

He'd needed to clear the air.

Evan nods. Curls a hand around his knee before he shifts his body so that he's facing Tommy. "So, I like taking care of people."

(A conversation, a month ago, Evan grimacing around "My therapist says I have to stop calling myself a people pleaser in a derogatory way.")

Tommy hums, something to remind Evan he's listening.

"And I guess I sort of built up this idea in my head that that was like, a hard stop with you."

("Everyone likes being taken care of sometimes, Evan.")

"And I'm not -- I'm not upset at you, or like, feeling guilty, I just -- I've been thinking about it, and I feel like I forgot to ask you how you wanted to be taken care of."

The thing with Evan is that no matter how often he'll deflect with a joke, when he wants to say something serious he's blunt as hell about it. There might be some hemming and hawing to get there but sometimes he says things that just make Tommy wonder if he'd ever actually learned how to say things before Evan.

"I don't really have a list, babe," he says, and then sort of hates himself for it. Deflect, distract, hey baby how about I blow you about all these big feelings inside my chest I can't articulate.

Evan, though, Evan squinches his eyes and runs a heavy hand through his hair. "I...sort of do?"

"Lay it on me."

Evan grins. "That's actually one of the things on my list."

Tommy blinks. Tries to figure out that trail of thought, but he's coming up with nothing. "Okay, can you expand on that?"

"Like --listen, you know I'm a huge fan of being the little spoon. I'd let someone put screws back in my leg just for continued little spoon privileges. But sometimes I miss being the big spoon, and in my head the idea sounded so stupid to bring up but now I'm wondering if, like, maybe I've just been denying you the joy of being the little spoon?"

Tommy thinks of Evan's hands spread big and warm across his belly, of knees tucked up behind his, warm breath on the back of his neck like when Evan stumbles up behind him in the mornings whining about coffee, and maybe he blue screens a bit because he's never actually dated someone so close to his own size, because there's always been an assumption at the outset that he wouldn't want that.

Alex had been a little too into the same dynamic he'd seen Evan stumbling through, and Colin had hated sleeping with someone's flesh touching his own. Beyond that he hadn't really dated anyone long enough to really form a preference.

Maybe Kara might have been willing, back when he'd been closeted enough to pretend it wasn't an effort to get it up when she had his dick in her mouth, but they'd been young enough that staying the night wasn't really a consideration.

"And like -- listen, I don't necessarily prescribe to gender roles as a thing in general, but a few weekends ago I spent like twenty minutes staring at a bouquet of flowers in Trader Joe's and convinced myself you wouldn't like the gesture so I didn't buy them but you have a few vases in your moms old china cabinet and the moment I remembered them I felt stupid for not buying the flowers."

There's something curling tenderly underneath Tommy's ribcage that he's not sure he's ever felt quite like this before. It's not new, exactly, but it seems to be thrumming particularly hard tonight.

Three months in, Tommy had gotten the man-flu from hell, temperatures so high he'd been grounded and sent packing to rest it off, and he'd texted Evan a jumbled mess of barely discernible things when they'd tucked him into the Uber.

Evan and Bobby had made chicken noodle soup at the station and Hen had sent Evan off with a laundry list of things he could do to help drop the fever, and Tommy had spent the duration sulking and glowering and dragging himself out of bed every time Evan had wanted to change the sheets, to keep Tommy as comfortable as he could, but when Evan had caught it four days later he hadn't hesitated to do all the same shit with gusto. Evan hadn't been particularly grateful either, because neither one of them liked being laid up when the world was out there waiting for them, but he'd at least had the grace to not be an asshole about it.

He had, though. Been grateful. A little awestruck, too, at the mere idea of someone so unafraid of just being there through all the moaning and groaning and hacking and coughing, keeping the tissues from piling up on the bedside table and switching out cold packs to the freezer so he always had one ready in case he wanted it. In the clarity of a full day without fever making his brain feel like cotton candy he'd stared down at a sleepily wheezing Evan and known he could absolutely lose his heart to this man.

"Also I don't want to toot my own horn here but I give excellent foot rubs, and I feel like there's about a million other things I've just been -- holding back from doing?"

"Because of the role thing, or because all your stupid exes told you you were needy?"

It's not a night to pull punches. Also Tommy wants to send thank you cards to every single one of them and attach them to boxes with a bark scorpion inside.

"Both," Evan says without a second of hesitation. His smile crinkles at the corners of his mouth, and Tommy is suddenly annoyed with the space between them. When he holds out his hand to tug Evan into him, Evan melts into it for the space of a moment before he pulls back. "I actually kind of desperately want to be the big spoon right now, if that's something you'd be into." Evan had definitely clocked the look on his face when he'd mentioned it, but he's keyed into the way Tommy checks in and reciprocated in kind since the start of this, so.

Tommy peels his glasses off, snags his bookmark to keep his spot in the monstrosity of the Wrangler maintenance manual he'd stopped being cagey about the fifth time Evan caught him flipping through it, and watches Evan settle comfortably into bed next to him. The problem is, Tommy actually isn't sure where to go from there, which is a ridiculous thought to have because Evan hadn't either and he'd figured it out just fine.

"How do you want me, Buckley?"

The roll of his eyes is so bitchy that Tommy has to remind himself that for all his people pleasing attributes, Evan Buckley is, at heart, a huge fucking brat. Evan tugs and twists and maneuvers his arms and Tommy sort of sinks into it, head tucked in the crook of his shoulder, draping his leg over one of Evan's when he shifts his knee pointedly, a massive, unruly breath escaping Tommy once they're all done shifting.

"You should absolutely try out the rest of your list," he murmurs into the space where Evan's shoulder meets his neck. "Although you don't need to woo me anymore, I'm actually fully wooed."

Lips against his crown, pressed tightly enough that he can feel the smile against his scalp, Evan chuckles. "You don't know how good my wooing is."

The fingers shifting up and down his arm feel somehow different, from this position, even though Evan has done it a hundred times before from the spot he likes to claim with his head right over Tommy's bleeding, three-sizes-too-big-for-him heart. It's ridiculous, and it shouldn't feel any different, but it does. He wants to be greedy with it, soak it in and then never let Evan do this again because he finally understands the appeal and he doesn't want to deprive Evan that.

"This is nicer than I expected."

Evan's soft laugh ruffles his hair, and Tommy wonders if he's dumb enough to ask Eddie how long he should wait before he can reasonably beg Evan to spend the rest of his life with him.

"Save the reviews for when I actually spoon you. It's gonna rock your world." His hand drifts up, fingers digging into the dimple of Tommy's skull.

The hum in his throat has a mind of it's own, going thin and reedy and --

Evan pauses, and Tommy can practically see the gears whirring in his mind, because this is new information.

To both of them, actually, but Tommy doesn't have time to process it because the fingers on the back of his skull spread and sink deeper, just enough pressure to be more than a glancing ruffle, and Tommy can't quite help the way he tilts his head back into it, or the way he hitches his leg to press his groin a little more firmly to the outside of Evan's thigh.

They're both too tired for it to really mean anything -- both off 48's and a fumbled round in the shower while they were already bone weary -- but Tommy wants the reminder for them both when they wake up in the morning.

He can feel his eyes drooping the longer Evan scrubs his fingers against him, and the thought pops into his head as he's drifting off. He doesn't want it to disappear into the fog, though, so he murmurs it into the soft, warm skin of Evan's neck. "I like camellia's. White ones."

Evan hums, and Tommy just knows that the moment he drops off, Evan will be reaching for his phone to google the language of flowers.

#bucktommy #buck x tommy #bucktommy fic #911 fic #tevan fic #as if shoehorning sportsball into a fic wasn't enough now i've gone and added the language of flowers back into the lexicon #white camellia means 'you're adorable'#but once buck actually finds what he's looking for he ends up ordering a ridiculous bouquet of red camellia baby's breath and red salvia

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neil-gaiman · 3 days

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Hiya Mr Gaiman!

It's probably unlikely that you'll see this, since ofc you're probably busy rn, but incase you do see this in your inbox but don't have time to answer due to other stuff, i just wanna let you know that i still appreciate you somehow having time to read this lil ask I've sent you! Again, thank you Mr Gaiman!

Anyway, so this would probably sound *kinda* weird in terms of the ask i'm writing to you, but do bear with me!

Ok, so uhh Mr Gaiman, if you were to have the ability to time travel to alternative dimensions/universes, would you go to an alternative universe where Monty Python member Graham Chapman never got throat cancer and was still alive and well and happy in his 80s and living his best life in said alternative universe? If so, why? If not, why?

Again, sorry if it sounds a bit out of league and sorta philosophical in terms of the question for you to answer, Mr Gaiman, but I've been thinking about this for quite a while now and it does make me both happy and emotional to think about if Graham Chapman was still alive today, and if he was still alive today, what kinda projects he would've been in, both in terms of writing and acting? Would Graham still be in contact with the other Pythons? Would Graham probably also have a Tumblr account? (ok that's a bit of a stretch but it's a bit funny to imagine imo).

I certainly think that, if Graham was still alive today, he would've been absolutely happy that same-sex marriage was finally made legal plus many other achievements for LGBTQ+ rights, and that he would've probably gotten legally married to his partner David Sherlock, with the other Pythons being the guests of honour for the wedding ceremony!

I also wonder that, if Graham's adopted son John Tomiczek (who unfortunately died from a heart attack in 1992) were to also live, would've Graham finally become a grandpa/great-grandpa?

Idk, it's just some thoughts that I've been thinking about. Thoughts about the many upon many possibilities of Graham doing lots of stuff today if he were still alive. Things he *would've* and *could've* have had the opportunity to do......that is.....if the universe didn't decide to be a dickhead one day and give Graham throat cancer for no absolute reason, and to make it hurt even more, have him pass away on the eve before the 20th Anniversary of "Monty Python's Flying Circus" airing on the 5th October, 1989.....

Again, I understand if you can't be able to answer rn due to other stuff, but I thought I'd ask you this rather hypothetical (rather philosophical of sorts) question cuz I have been thinking about it for quite a while now, and I wanted to hear your personal thoughts on this hypothetical AU situation!

Thanks Mr Neil Gaiman ❤️

It's a lovely idea. I never knew Graham (although I've met most of the other Pythons, and am friends with Terry Gilliam). I like thinking of worlds in which wonderful people didn't die.

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huexuri · 3 days

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!! keep talking ⋆ — k.th

NSFW, MDNI!!!

summary: smut w little plot, taehyun likes ur voice like a bit too much

warnings: fem!reader, switch!reader, switch!tyun, lots of dirty talk, pillow humping, masturbating, video call mutual masturbating

wc: 1.9k

taehyun misses your voice. a lot.

the both of you used to live in the same apartment to accommodate transportation to your designated campuses. until, taehyun had found a more convenient place to stay for a while before he would come back to live with you.

it was supposed to be just a few months, but those few months felt like years to taehyun. he missed the way you would come home and talk to him about things that happened that day, ramble to him about useless things. he never really paid attention to your silly stories; he only ever really enjoyed listening to the tone of your voice, the way the words roll off your tongue like butter. it's like music to his ears, the way your voice sounds like silk to him. he'd listen to you ramble on forever if he could.

especially when you sing your favorite songs over and over again, bustling around in the kitchen for any snacks, taehyun always thought of you as a smart girl with a pretty face and the voice of an angel.

he never expected he'd miss your voice so much.

so much so, he'd simply grow hard listening to your voicemails — feeling as if he's deprived of your voice, he's replaying them over and over again, wishing it was whatever you said whispered in his ear, even better if that voice of yours is put to use, moaning in his ear and calling out his name as you grind down on him; making sure all that rings in his puny head for the rest of his life are your moans.

my god, your voice. it's dizzying to him, hypnotizing even. he doesn't know what it is in your voice that he loves so much. like some type of drug. he loves everything about you as his best friend — but your voice,, it's everything to him.

so, imagine the guilt that washes over him when you ask if you could video call with him and play games. he's going to hear your voice for the first time in forever. shouldn't he be ecstatic?

no, because he knows he's going to fucking bust the moment you start to speak.

“taehyun? why isn't your camera on?” you spoke through the phone, half your face in frame.

“no, nothing. if i turn on my camera it'll be very laggy.” taehyun chuckled, a tinge of fluster behind his words.

“okay then! you should join me now, i'm already in game. i sent you the code earlier.” you said before putting your phone down so your camera faces the ceiling.

“o-okay.”

you guys played for a few rounds before talking again, and taehyun doesn't know how he survived listening to you yap for the entire time the both of you were playing. not in a bad way, but in a way where he's surprised and relieved he didn't make a mess of his shorts.

"anyways, finals are killing me. i feel like i've been living in the library," you complained like you usually would.

"ugh, tell me about it!” taehyun scoffed as he waited for you to continue the conversation.

"organic chem is so hard. it's like a bunch of nonsense i'm looking at.” you continued.

"at least you're not doing what i'm doing. it's like a different language. i keep questioning my life choices every time i open the textbook," taehyun said, his voice slightly shaky, but you thought nothing of it.

you nod at the camera. “uh huh, i get you. these days i think i've been okay though? i hung out with sumin and yeeun at karaoke recently. you know, we sang till our throats were hoarse. and also—”

your words go in one of taehyun's ears and come out the other. no, to him that's not important, not as important as the sound of you talking. all he can think of is how he's filled with guilt as he slips a fist beneath his boxers, grabbing onto his already leaking erection and jerking off… to your voice.

i'm really sorry, the thought rings in his head over and over again as his cock springs out of his boxers the more he pulls his waistband down to his thighs, leaning back against his gaming chair.

the tip of his cock glossy and starting to become a pinkish hue, he pleasures himself, free hand clutching his headphones to listen to your voice clearer, increasing the volume of the call.

he bites his lips as he closes his eyes as he starts to near his high.

“—she literally bumped into me and didn't say anything! she looked at me up and down with a dirty look, like i swear i would've—” you go silent. “taehyun?” you suddenly ask.

taehyun jolts from his seat, letting go of his cock as he readjusts his position.

“y-yeah? what?” he responds, throat dry as his adam's apple bobs up and down.

“are you even listening?” you frown at him through the camera.

“yeah,, uh, of course i am.” taehyun clears his throat.

you sigh. “okay, because you're awfully quiet. anyways, so she hit me—”

fuck, that was close. he thinks. his hand slowly picks up it's pace and he's stroking his cock again, back arching against the backrest of the chair as he throws his head back, mouth slightly agape and huffing.

“i don't even know what's her problem! right, tae??” you ask for his approval.

“r-right, ss—aah, keep talking, ‘m so close,” he whispers, his voice cracking. he doesn't register why you went quiet for an awkward 10 seconds before it finally clicks and he clasps a hand over his mouth.

“taehyun.. are you touching yourself ...?” you realize why his camera is off and why he seemed like he wasn't listening. then, silence. “taehyu—”

“i'm so sorry, y/n!!” taehyun blurts out desperately, with nothing else to say, he goes quiet again. guilt travels all over his body in the form of goosebumps as he thinks of what kind of stupid pervert he is, when all you wanted to do with him was chat.

“fuck, dude. if you just wanted to jerk off to my voice you should've told me.”

“huh? wait what?” taehyun's eyes soften.

“it’s kinda hot.” you mumbled as you shifted your camera down to your chest, touching it and rubbing the plushness. “come on, turn on your camera. don't be shy.” you said in a more demanding tone, testing the waters on what he liked the most.

“fuck, y/n, don't do this to me. your voice is…” taehyun sighed as he turned on his camera, showing his fucked out face, hazy eyes and swollen pink lips, glossy with drool all over them.

“you have a thing for my voice?” you asked as you smiled, positioning your camera slightly far away from your chair so he could see you fully.

“i've loved your voice since the beginning of time, i just… i-i don't know. ever since i moved out i realized i collapsed at the sound of your voice just so much more easily..” taehyun also adjusts his camera perfectly so that the frame cuts at his lower abdomen. you can see his shirt ride up above his pecs and his abs slightly moist with sweat.

“tell me what you want me to say then, this is your chance.” you fondle with your clothed breasts in front of the camera, nipples perking up and visible on the cloth, and taehyun slightly flinches at the sight.

“sssshit, i can't focus when you look and sound like that, stop doing that.” taehyun trembles under his breath as he fists his cock again. you can see his hand moving but you can't see his cock out. for some reason, the excitement turned you on way more.

“it's okay, take your time.” you said gently as your hands traveled under your shirt.

“fuck, need you to moan so badly. just whatever, fucking need you to use that voice of yours. please.” taehyun begged, his voice raspy and out of it.

“really?” you grabbed a pillow nearby and placed it beneath you. wearing nothing but a pair of dolphin shorts, you held on to the chair as you rocked your hips back and forth, arching your back to find the angle, starting slow and throwing your head back.

“p-please watch me, tae. i'd grind on your cock like this if you were—aah, mmfh~” you found your pace, looking at your phone screen with dazed eyes. you see taehyun running his fingers through his disheveled hair, holding on to the headphones as he bites his lips and fists his cock at unimaginable speeds.

“talk,” he breathily orders as his hips jitter in his hands.

“show me you're jerking off first,” you said, and taehyun sits slightly further away from the camera, showing an angle of him fisting himself.

“yeah, stroking that cock because my voice turns you on that bad, huh?” you chuckle as you increase your pace, your cunt rubbing onto the surface of the silk pillowcase. “f-fuuuck, tyunnie. a-aah—feels so goddamn good, just wish you were here so badly—!”

“yeah? i'll fuck your ability to walk out of you if i were there right now, holy shit.” taehyun pants and groans as he spits onto his cockhead. “does it feel good? does my cock rubbing against your cunt feel good?” taehyun fists his shaft to simulate the pillow you're humping.

“yeah, oh fuck, fuckfuck—” your mouth is wide open and your head is thrown back as you ride the pillow at incomprehensible speeds, your pussy throbbing and pulsing against the fabric as your slick begins to stain the cover. “you'd feel even better inside me, mmh~”

“keep talking like that and i'll actually go insane, spewing nothing but filth out of that pretty mouth of yours.” taehyun's hips thrust upwards into his fist as he watches you reach your high.

“isn't that what you wanted, taehyun? got off of my voice because you wanted me to moan and whimper in your ear?” you continued to hump the pillow as you felt yourself go dizzy. “gonna cum, a-aah–!”

“you're gonna make me— holy shit,” taehyun's moans became irregular and gradually louder. eventually after you came back from seeing stars, you could see his load splattered all over his fist and abs.

you stared at the screen blankly, mind barely able to function as the both of you pant heavily.

“i'm coming back tomorrow, i don't care.” taehyun remarks as he puts his pants back on and wipes the stripes of cum off of his abdomen.

“isn't it inconvenie—”

“i don't care about conveniency as long as i get to fuck you immediately after i see you again.” taehyun firmly said with a shit-eating grin plastered all over his fucked out face.

“promise?” you said, smiling at the camera.

“promise.”

later that night, you're shocked to see taehyun standing at your door with a bunch of huge ass bags and a pair of his favorite sneakers.

“you're still holding on to what you said?” you asked him as you let him in with a giggle. “come, i'll help you put these things down first.”

“i don't make promises i can't keep, love. i missed that voice of yours so fucking much, you have no idea… over the phone was clearly not enough.”

you cleared your throat. “i think i do have an idea, after what happened this afternoon..”

#taehyun x reader smut #taehyun scenarios #taehyun x reader #taehyun smut #taehyun #kang taehyun #taehyun hard thoughts #taehyun hard hours #txt smut #xuri writes

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gojosatorubrainrot · 2 days

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Scars don't define you💫

Summary: Gojo starts to feel insecure about your love for him because of his scars

Feat: Gojo Satoru x reader

Content: fluff, mentions of Gojo vs Sukuna fight, reassuring, body insecurities, husband!Gojo x Wife!Reader. Ch 261 doesn't exist lol

Wc: 1121

Author's note: Hi!! I've never thought I will ever be doing this but here we are! Encouraged by my gojo friends in discord to continue this drabble🥰 Sorry in advanced for my poor grammar, English is not my first language 🫡

The Shinjuku incident meant a reborn for the the strongest sorcerer, and you, his wife as well. You almost lost the love of your life by the hands of the King of Curses. At first, you thought everything was over when you saw him laying down on the floor, his lifeless body starting to be covered by the heavy snow storm that had began to fall minutes earlier.

You felt useless, after all, you were a non sorcerer, so,as a civilian, you didn't to have another choice than staying where Shoko and the others were watching the battle being broadcasted.

But its been a long time since that jumpscare and you thanked every existent God and also Shoko for bringing your reason of living back to your arms.

Satoru and you both were laying in bed together, you are running your fingers along his scarred face; each fingertips of yours feeling every single injury of his skin.

As you continue with your doing,he closes his eyes at the softness of your sweet touch, at first, he enjoys it a lot, he always loved the way you did it, always being careful as if he was a glass meant to break, but fear set up on his mind;he thought you hated his scars, that you despise them and those marks ruined his pretty face, that you wouldn't love him anymore and, eventually, you would leave him alone as everyone did during his life, but this time, he wouldn't have a reason of living because you are his everything.

He doesn't even want to think how a life without in it would be, how alone he would feel again just like he did after Suguru's departure.

When that event occurred, when he was ordered to kill his best friend, he has never felt so useless as a sorcerer, but most of all, as a human being, so that was the reason he chose to stay alone for the rest of his days, to prevent someone from getting hurt by the mere fact of being involved with him. That was his idea until he met you at his favorite kikufuku store. He didn't believe in love at the first sight until he met you nor how does it feel to be in love until you.

you, his everything

He was afraid of losing you again, but now it was because of his appearance, he hated those scars because that meant you won't call him pretty angel or pretty face ever again. On the other hand, they were his reminder of a second opportunity, an opportunity he would take advantage of. His second chance to make things right and spend as much time as he could with you: not spending nights working or on mission trips, only with you, his home.

Now he is debating if telling you or not about his insecurity with his scarred skin, because he thinks you would laugh at this and ignore him, but call him silly for thinking that.

As he thinks about that, he sits up, preparing to get his shirt on. You can see how the mood changed, how an intimate moment filled with love and adoration became one filled with insecurities and non spoken words. He is looking for his shirt to put it on and leave the bedroom towards the balcony, so he can spare his mind off a little bit.

You wonder why he was feeling troubled and why he decided to ignore you and not talking with you as he has always done before. You are hesitant about ask him or not, you always wanted to give Satoru his space, you always respected that because after some time, he will come to you and tell you everything between thousands and thousands sorry for not telling you before.

All you can see now is his scarred back, and your intuition is screaming at you to do something so he could open himself up to you. After few seconds, an idea popped up in your mind; while satoru has his head between his hands, you approached to him slowly trying to not get noticed.

Satoru, who was lost in thoughts, suddenly felt your plump and soft lips along his scared back, giving it small pecs and smooches, replacing your lips with your small fingers tracing every single scar. He didn't understand what you were doing so he let you do so. Suddenly,he feels something he has only felt with you and you only: loved, adored, cherished, he was seen as a human, not a pretty face as he has been called few times, the strongest weapon for the jujutsu society, he was Satoru Gojo for you, your Toru.

He turned his head to where you were tracing your fingers and stared at you: you were focused and determined to make him feel alive again.

His small chuckle made you look up and meet those blue eyes you fell in love with many years ago;

"Hi sweets" he whispered without looking away" What are you doing?"

"Hi Toru" you giggled at that nickname he gave you only when you both were in an intimate moment "Nothing, just admiring your beauty" you responded never looking away from his mesmerizing blue eyes.

"Nothing about me is beautiful, princess" he said defeated. "Look at me" he pointed at his scarred skin, despising it, hating it.

"I'm looking at you, Toru. I'm always looking at you and all I see it's the prettiest, the most caring, loving man that I've ever met" you said putting his face in between your hands "I love you,Toru. If you ever think those scars will stop me from loving you, I must tell you don't me well. These scars are telling me that you are here" you give him a kiss in the tip of his pinky nose "alive, with me in our home"

After yours words, Satoru’s eyes immediately fill with tears, but before you notice, he closes his eyes to stop them and leans his head to your warm and reassuring touch, a warm feeling inside his chest arises.

He feels so grateful with you, you are his everything.You stopped caressing him at the moment he opens his eyes, blue like the ocean itself "I love you, angel" he says at the same time you started caressing the scar across his cheek.

"I love you too, Satoru and remember that you can tell me any trouble or inconvenience you are living through, okay? I'll always love you until my last breath" you said finishing the sentence with a quick kiss, which is immediately reciprocated

With this Satoru knew that he would never feel alone again.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk manga #jjk x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff

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s-brant · 17 hours

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Three’s Company

When Patrick visits his best friend at Stanford University, Art’s new fling finds herself stuck between two very attractive men.

9k (18+)

Warnings: smut, threesome, unprotected p in v, double penetration, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, they’re all pervs, and strong language.

The room is stiflingly hot.

There is no air conditioning in her study/fuck buddy's dorm to keep up with the late April heat that has descended upon Stanford's campus so quickly. Three different fans are plugged into outlets around the cramped living space, yet it does little to keep her body cool enough to feel comfortable.

Sleeping with Art was an impulsive decision. The first time was merely weeks ago after he politely asked if she would share her notes from a class he was absent from. They exchanged numbers to organize the meeting, and she ended up talking to him for the better part of an hour in the dining hall. Although she did not recognize it as flirting—the oblivious little thing she is—he shyly commented on seeing her at one of her gymnastics competitions and refused to let her get dinner with her meal credits. Looking back, his intentions should have been obvious to her, yet she does not think badly of him over it. If anything, she likes how wanted he made her feel. He knew what he wanted and ensured that he got it.

They came back to his room to study—only to study, he claimed with his hands held up to proclaim his innocence—for their approaching final exams.

"Good," she said with a teasing lilt to her voice, slinging her bag onto her shoulder and turning to walk in the direction of his dorm building. "Cause it's way too hot to be doing anything else."

They were both laughing as he set down his racquet bag to unlock the door. It was muffled through the wall, but Patrick heard it just fine from where he was perched on the foot of Art's bed with Tears for Fears playing on the unlabeled CD he dug through desk drawers to find. The sound of a distinctly feminine giggle made his mouth turn up at the corners in a smirk. This will be fun to tease his closest friend over until his cheeks flush pink and he has to hide his face in his shirt.

When the door swung open, the laughter died out as soon as they realized they weren't alone, but it was quickly replaced with wide smiles and warm greetings.

Patrick tried not to look her up and down so blatantly. Instead, he chuckled and said, "Art, you conveniently left out that you had a girlfriend on our last call."

To this, Art set down his bag and tackled him onto the bed, starting a minute-long wrestling match that only ended when they began to sweat from the heat and physical activity. It was then that Art remembered to have manners and introduced her. He scrambled to sit upright on the mattress and met her curious gaze.

"Y/N, this is Patrick. I'm sorry, I forgot what day he was coming."

She smiled.

"It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." A pause, and then she turned her attention to Art. "Do you wanna study another time? I don't wanna intrude or anything."

Before Art could open his mouth to tell her to stay, Patrick aimed one of his charming grins at her, then said, "No, please intrude. I'll just hang out. You won't even know I'm here."

The last sentence caused a disbelieving scoff to leave Art’s lips.

As of right now, as she sits on the chair in front of the desk and the boys share the bed, they have gotten halfway through the study guide they meticulously constructed after one of the two classes they share, but it grew boring once an hour and a half passed. They typically end up getting distracted and make out by now, but with Patrick here, neither of them considers that an option. So, she suggests they take a half-hour break to sit, drink, and talk to allow their brains to decompress from the constant stimulation.

He already had a few beers inside the mini fridge beneath his desk, along with a hard seltzer for her seeing that she finds the taste of beer disgusting but quite enjoys being drunk with him. Also kept in the freezer section of the fridge is a pack of ice pops she bought a few days ago when the heat wave began. They prove to be very useful right now as the midday sun bakes the building alive despite the closed curtains and blowing fans.

The CD has moved onto Nine Inch Nails, and she remains quiet to hear it over the sound of the fans as she holds a red ice pop to the side of her neck to cool herself off. Sometime along the way, both of them had stripped down to their underwear after asking her if it was alright because it was so hot. Patrick joked that he was alright with her taking her clothes off too, which she laughed at while Art playfully shoved him over it. Yet now she isn't laughing. Her small exercise shorts are as forgiving as any item of clothing could be in these circumstances, but the long-sleeve shirt she wore because it was the only clean one left is sticking to her skin.

"So, how did you and Art meet?"

Her eyes open to find Patrick glancing back and forth between them.

"It's a boring story, actually," she says. "He asked if I took notes for a class he missed, and now he's stuck with me all the time."

"No, no, okay, maybe it was boring from her perspective, but I was trying to work up the nerve to talk to her for at least a week before then. I went to one of her competitions and recognized her from class," Art explains. "She won, which wasn't surprising at all."

Although she already knew this, this is the first time he has admitted to it out loud, and her stomach flutters at the idea of him becoming so enamored with her from one glance. The popsicle is sweet on her tastebuds when she raises it to her lips and sucks with her eyes looking between them both. As she expected, Patrick shifts a little in place and looks away for reasons not at all related to how she was looking at them while sucking her popsicle.

She chuckles.

"So, you were just interested in befriending me 'cause I win a lot?"

Her tone of voice is taunting, but they know it's all in good fun. Art is quick to play along, shrugging his shoulders to feign aloofness and taking a quick swig of his beer before responding. Their eye contact grows intense in the seconds before he speaks.

"Well, there were some other contributing factors."

"Mm," Patrick hums in agreement. "I've never seen you compete, but you are really hot, so Art's right about that."

This makes her pause for a second, her gaze shifting to find Art's to see if his friend crossed any lines, but he appears strangely calm about it. What she doesn't know is that he has never had any problem sharing, at least, not with Patrick. They shared a room in boarding school, jerked off together to the same girl, and shared the court together—what was his would always be Patrick's, and what was Patrick's would always be his.

"You're flirting with me right in front of him?"

Art interjects, "I'd be shocked if he didn't."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he's standing up from the bed to get another beer. The dorm room is small, so it only takes a few strides for him to meet her where she sits before the desk and kneels down to open the mini fridge. His left hand braces itself on one of her thighs while the right swings open the fridge door only to find there is no beer left. Rather than complain, he simply grabs one of her least favorite hard seltzer flavors and gives her thigh a firm squeeze before standing up.

The bed creaks beneath his weight when he sits back down on it.

He settles into a comfortable position with his back against the wall and legs spread, balancing the seltzer can on his bent knee. Patrick sits close to him, and she finds it difficult to peel her eyes off the pair of them in their current state of undress. Her gaze mostly lingers on Patrick seeing that she has already explored every inch of Art's lean body in the plentiful amount of times they've hooked up over the past few weeks. But, that being said, she cannot resist looking at Art either. Having two beautiful men laid out before her in their underwear is a treat she never expected to indulge in today. They each have the strong, masculine figures of athletes—showing mostly in their shoulders, biceps, abdomen, and thighs.

When Patrick notices her staring, she turns her gaze to the floor to avoid the embarrassment of being caught. If he did catch her, though, he doesn't call her out for it. Not yet, at least.

With one last bite of her popsicle, she stands from the desk chair to toss it into the small trash can beside his nightstand. It isn't until she lets it go that she realizes how close she now stands to the two of them. Only a foot or so from the bed, her heart begins to hammer in her chest at the proximity.

The way she sees it, she has two options. The first would be to retreat to the desk to let her long-sleeved shirt give her heatstroke while the men get to sit in front of the oscillating fans with their shirts off, or she can strip down to her undergarments and join them on the bed. Needless to say, she opts for the latter of the two.

Y/N lets out an exaggerated groan at the heat and fans herself with her hands for the sake of appearing somewhat innocent in what she's about to do, then reaches down for the hem of her shirt with a huff.

Art and Patrick can do nothing but watch with rapt attention side by side as she pulls the fabric up her torso and over her head. The shirt ends up falling to the floor beside her feet alongside their discarded t-shirts and pants. This leaves her in her most comfortable bra—which is Art's favorite since her nipples can be seen through the mesh material—and a pair of tiny spandex shorts.

Patrick's tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight of her—almost angelic in her beauty—and tries to burn the image into his mind to hold onto forever. Definitely going in the spank bank, he thinks to himself as his cock begins to harden in his boxers. Beside him, Art has been stunned to silence. Even though they've fucked like rabbits since the first time, he isn't sure if he'll ever get used to seeing her like this. Those shorts hug the delicate curve of her hips, as well as that lovely ass that has been sculpted from years of training as a gymnast, and all he can think of is how badly he wants to take them off.

They sit there, dumbfounded, with their mouths hanging open just enough for her to notice and suppress an arrogant smirk. But to allow herself to smirk would be to reveal her cards, and she doesn't want them to see this as anything other than her innocently trying to cool down. Truth be told, she hasn't thought this through. It's not as though she planned this as she was sitting at the desk. It's more of an impulsive, irresistible urge. And if they will tease her so blatantly with their half-naked bodies, she is entitled to do the same.

"You," she says, jutting her chin in Patrick's direction. "Scoot. I wanna sit in front of the fans too."

Underneath it all, she's thankful that she took the time to do her hair the way that makes her feel the most confident and put a little makeup on. Not that either of them is focused on her damned makeup. No, they're far too busy ogling her figure to notice anything north of her collarbones.

After a delayed second of staring, what she said seems to register within him and spark him into action. He's quick to scoot closer to the end of the bed if it means she'll be inhabiting the small space between them.

She offers a quiet, "Thank you," and crawls onto the bed, turning around and settling into place with her back against the wall. The cool air generated by the fans blows faintly against the front of her sweat-slick chest, and she can't help but shut her eyes and hum in appreciation of it.

With her eyes shut, Art and Patrick are both scrambling to quietly conceal their growing erections. If they don't, it'll be glaringly obvious when she opens her eyes and sees a tent in their underwear on either side of her. Although the life-long friends don't speak, there's an understanding formed between the two of them. Whatever she allows them to have of her tonight, if she allows anything, they'll share nicely. Patrick knows that if anything happens, he is to assume it is a one-time thing unless she or Art expresses a desire for an arrangement of some sort to be made.

Her eyes open again a few seconds later to find them staring at her.

Breaking the silence, she asks, turning her head left to right to address each of them, "Did your mothers never tell you it's rude to stare?"

Patrick doesn't miss a beat.

"Did you know it's rude to be a tease?"

The sound of Art sucking in a deep breath meets her ears, but she doesn't look away from Patrick. Their eyes are locked, and she can see the mischief present in his. It's almost as if he dares her to do something...like he knows that she wants him just as badly as he wants her. Part of her feels guilty, feeling like she should remain loyal to Art even though they aren't exclusive, but a much more dominant part of her desires it too much to resist the temptation.

"Patrick, don't pressure her. If she doesn't want to—"

Her head turning to look at him halts him in his tracks. The look she's giving him...

Much to his shock, she was a virgin when they met a few weeks ago. He questioned her relentlessly, claiming there was no way someone as beautiful, smart, and talented as her could've gone so long without doing it, but she held firm. It was the truth, he realized after she sheepishly relayed the story of how she made out with a basketball player on Halloween and wimped out before it could go further. That first night, she was a bashful, blushing little thing. He treated her with the tenderness and reverence she deserved, first making her come with his tongue and fingers before fucking her. It was so...intimate. Her nails dug into his shoulders when he made that first, breathtaking thrust into her. Just the thought of it was enough to get him hard the next day, but he knew not to expect anything after how shy she was the previous night. Little did he know, he awakened something within her, and from then on, she would be insatiable.

He almost got whiplash from how quickly she changed from a nervous, flushed-faced girl asking him, "Am I doing this right?" when she got on top to a cock-hungry temptress ready to jump onto him at any moment. Truth be told, he found it so fucking hot. To think that he was the catalyst for this behavior was beyond comprehension. Though Art did well enough in his dating life, Patrick was the one that the girls they liked gravitated toward when they were in school together. But she was his, and he thinks, even now, that he'll always have the satisfaction of having gotten to her first no matter what happens tonight.

Y/N shifts around on the mattress so that she's sitting on the side of the bed opposite the wall, facing them with her hands on her knees and legs tucked beneath her ass. Both boys perk up a little at this, and they watch every minute movement she makes and listen to every breath she breathes with unwavering focus.

She meets Art's gaze first before doing anything. Her brows raise in question, and, in answer, he gives her a slight nod. Those pretty, cherry-stained lips of hers curve into a smirk she doesn't even bother to hide in response to this.

"Have you ever fucked the same girl before?" she asks out of pure curiosity, her tone calm and even. Her hands leave her knees to grab one of their thighs each, slowly rubbing up and down to allow her fingertips to brush the edge of their boxers. "Two guys at the same time is a first for me..."

To say that they are in a state of shock would be a gross understatement. Surprisingly, their mouths are not hanging open, and they aren't drooling at the mere thought of what she's proposing.

Somehow, Patrick finds his voice and says, "No." A second of pause, then—"Is this for real? Like you're not just fucking with us?"

The silence that follows is ripe with tension. All that can be heard is the sound of voices passing in the hallway outside of the dorm room and fans blowing on their highest setting. The hands on their thighs come to a halt at the edge of their boxers, and the softened expression on her face shifts into one of unabashed lust as she looks at Patrick.

In answer to his question, she starts to crawl over to him. Seeing that the mattress is a twin, it doesn't take too long for her to reach him and settle into place on top of him. Her hands slide up to cup his face, forcing him to only look at her when she lowers herself onto his lap. The spandex shorts hugging every inch of her figure do little to keep him from feeling the warmth of her cunt against the bulge that formed the second she took her top off.

That first brush of her lips against his is gentle, as though she has him under a trance, but it doesn't take longer than a few seconds for him to snap out of it. Patrick's hands grasp her hips first to keep her from moving away, then they slide down to knead the soft, supple flesh of her ass as he begins to kiss her back hungrily. The kiss quickly begins to descend from her lips to her jaw until he reaches the soft skin of her neck.

While he nips and sucks at the sensitive spot along the side of her neck, Y/N opens her eyes to find Art staring, unblinking, at the pornographic display before him. The sight of him alone—between his messy blonde hair, piercing eyes, and masterfully structured face—is enough to pull a breathy moan from the back of her throat. One would think that she would get used to the way he makes her feel when he looks at her like that, but she never does.

One of the arms wrapped around Patrick's neck uncurls itself to reach for Art, fingers wiggling to beckon him to her.

He's already invading her space by the time she whispers, "C'mere, baby."

Art practically melts into the two writhing bodies he kneels beside at the casual use of a pet name from her. The word echoes in the farthest reaches of his brain until it is all he can hear on a loop. Even as she grips the back of his neck and pulls him until their mouths collide, his cock twitches from the memory of her calling him baby.

Patrick continues to suck, lick, nip, and kiss his way down her neck as she slips her tongue into Art's mouth with a groan. He leaves marks behind everywhere he goes with the thought of his friend finding them on her for the next week and a half in mind. It only makes it more thrilling for him to imagine the strange mixture of frustration and arousal that will arise within Art when he rediscovers them the next time they hook up.

Slowly, she is guided onto her back by his mouth slipping down to take one of her nipples into it and his callused hands peeling her shorts, along with her soaked cotton thong, down over the swell of her ass. The freshly washed sheets are soft against her bare back as she lays back and watches Patrick worship her breasts with both his mouth and hands. In the midst of their repositioning, Art took it upon himself to squeeze into the cramped space next to Patrick, slotting himself between him and the wall the bed is pressed against. Without a word of warning, he dips his face down to kiss the breast Patrick is cupping in his hand.

She feels hands everywhere, unsure of which belongs to who. Hands grapple for purchase on her hips, her waist, her breasts, her thighs, and her ass—always moving in search of new territory to claim. Although they have no way of coordinating their actions, they seem to move in sync with one another. The second Art's mouth lowers to kiss down her stomach, which flinches inward at the feeling, Patrick follows. If she weren't so overwhelmed with everything right now, she'd likely laugh at how eager they are to race each other down the length of her body.

Their heads bump every few seconds by the time they reach her parted thighs, but they are too focused on getting a taste of her to care at first. They work with the same synchronized harmony they once had as doubles partners, Art tugging her left leg over his shoulder while Patrick shoves her right up and out until her thigh is flush with her chest. She can't help but silently thank her parents for enrolling her in gymnastics lessons years ago. If they hadn't, this would be a tad uncomfortable.

Finally, Patrick tries to shove Art to the side a little, complaining, "Come on, man, you're with her all the time."

To her surprise, it works for the first moment or so. Art places hot, open-mouthed kisses on her inner thigh as Patrick's tongue makes a broad stroke through her, but it isn't long before he grows dissatisfied with his current role in this impromptu threesome and decides to fight back. He doesn't shove or push like Patrick had, instead, he gently nudges his head against Patrick's until they can share her.

Having Art go down on her alone always feels pleasurable, but having both of their mouths on her at the same time is another sensation entirely. It's indescribable. Spit drools from their lips as they kiss her sodden cunt, taking turns flicking the tips of their tongues against her clit for the sake of hearing her moan over and over. From where she looks down at them, they're nearly kissing each other as they eat her out, and she has to tip her head back onto her shoulders to keep them from seeing her smirk.

When she looks back down, she makes a breathy, gasping sound at the sight of them. Patrick is looking up at her with an intensity no man has ever had when looking at her, not even Art, and there is no ignoring the feeling it stirs in the pit of her abdomen.

"Fuck," she whines and pushes herself harder against their faces, but it's never enough. "More—I need more. Please."

Neither one hesitates. In fact, they seem to form a plan without speaking it aloud. As Art's free hand raises from where it palmed his cock through his boxers, Patrick's lips close around her sensitive, puffy clit and start to suck. The tips of Art's middle and ring fingers brush tentatively against her hole, then, teasingly slow, push inside until they're buried knuckle deep.

The contrast of the men as lovers—Patrick being unforgiving and passionate, Art being tender and desperate—threatens to dizzy her. But Art cannot control himself for too long. He often starts slow and gentle, his eyes flooded with genuine affection for whoever is pinned under his body, then loses his composure the farther things go. By the time he's inside of her, he's almost brutal in how hard he fucks her, and it isn't out of malice, it's out of animalistic lust.

So, as per usual, the pace Art sets to begin with shifts into something harder and faster.

Over the sounds of the fans and music playing on the CD player across the room, a symphony of panting breaths, whines, and wet noises can be heard. It wouldn't surprise any of them if the people who were talking in the hallway could hear it, but it's not like they care right now.

When she closes her eyes and tries to fall back against the mattress, Patrick stops for a second to murmur, "Don't look away," before getting back to work. Something about the way his voice sounds forces her to submit to his demand without hesitation. There's an edge to it. An underlying promise that he will stop and leave her here to suffer if she doesn't listen, so she does. She watches with a slack-jawed expression at how they work diligently to get her off.

The combined sensations of the fingers pumping into her at a steady, rushed pace and the lips enclosed around her sensitive bud push her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Art slips a third finger in and licks between her sticky folds as Patrick sucks her clit relentlessly. Everything they do is motivated by a dire need to take as much of her as they can, as though they can't quite believe what's happening and want to savor it before they wake from the dream. Seeing their desperation only fuels the fire roaring to life inside of her.

They feast on her the way starving men would if presented with food—humming and groaning in satisfaction at the taste of her on their tongues. Through the haze she's fallen under as a result of the present situation, her gaze lifts from where both of their faces are smushed together between her parted thighs to find that they're both humping the mattress. It seems like they don't even realize they're doing it, which, of course, only makes it hotter for her. To think that she wields enough power over them, that she renders them so useless and needy...

Her brows pinch together at the feeling of Art's fingertips finding the sweet spot inside of her.

"Right there," she breathes out in a shaky voice, hand shooting down to grasp anything she can find for support.

It ends up being Patrick's dark hair that is weaved between her fingers and used as her lifeline, tugging nearly every time Art's fingertips find the spot inside of her that makes her throw her head back on the bed and cry out for them. If they didn't have her pinned down, her hips would be lifting to meet every thrust, but she cannot do anything other than take it. Every breath she takes turns rapid, her chest rising and falling dramatically, as the familiar feeling of her impending release grows nearer by the second.

She says, half warning and half pleading with them, "I'm"—The sentence is cut off before it can be said by a high-pitched moan that makes Patrick moan and Art whimper into her—"Please"—What she's pleading for, none of them know, herself included, but she continues to babble nonsensically anyway—"Ah!"

The hand that isn't pulling on Patrick's hair reaches down instinctively for the hand Art grips her thigh with, and she doesn't even need to ask him for it. He entwines their fingers and allows her to squeeze his hand until circulation is lost as she finally feels the wave that was building within her begin to crest.

It hits her harder than she ever knew it could.

Everything explodes into a sensation of bliss so strong, she loses herself in it. The only thing tying her body down to the earth is the feeling of the hands on her—touching her, fingering her, caressing her, and holding her hand—yet even that is not enough to keep her from floating away into another world entirely for the first few seconds of her orgasm. The muscles in her legs, so exhausted from being forced into a position like this, shake violently with every wave of pleasure rushing through her, and her walls clamp down around the fingers thrusting into her.

If she could live forever in these fifteen seconds, she would, but it soon becomes obvious to her that there's no chance of that happening. Gradually, the intense sensation starts to recede like the tides, and they are both there to help her ride it out to the very end. But once it fully fades, she wriggles beneath them in sensitivity.

Using the hand wrapped up in his hair, Y/N pulls Patrick's mouth away from her clit with a strength he didn't know to expect despite her obvious athletic background, and when Art notices this, he too slows the rhythmic pumping of his fingers inside of her throbbing heat to a stop. Wary of hurting her, he waits another five seconds before slowly pulling them out.

She has gone boneless where she lays on her back with her eyes shut and chest heaving for air.

Knowing she cannot see them, Patrick cuts his best friend a look and jerks his chin in her direction in a silent urging to check on her. Both men start to move at the same time, crawling over her until they reach her face. While Patrick lies beside her and trails his hand up and down her naked, sweat-soaked torso to occupy himself in the time it takes her to recover, Art licks her arousal from his fingers before grabbing her by the chin.

He asks with a teasing inflection, "You still with us?"

Her eyes slowly open to find them both staring at her, and she cannot help the slight smile that comes to her face at this.

"You guys almost killed me," she murmurs. "I think my vision got spotty for a second there."

They allow her another moment to catch her breath and recuperate in the aftermath of what she endured. She takes turns looking at them as she pants for air, laying with her arms above her head and thighs squeezed together due to her current state of sensitivity.

Patrick is the first to break the silence.

"We're not done with you," he says softly, the hand on her chest climbing up until it cradles the side of her neck. "But you know that, don't you?"

"I'd be a little bummed if you were," she replies.

Her head is whipping around at the sound of Art's voice.

"Only a little?"

She pushes herself up from where she's lying supine on the bed, which is now a mess of tangled sheets and sweat, to smack him on the arm. It's all in good fun, of course, and Art is hardly hurt by the playful blow she landed on him. Giggles escape her mouth as they begin to play fight, swatting and trying to pin one another down with Patrick there to spectate. He encourages Y/N to fight dirty, telling her where to strike, which causes Art to curse under his breath and declare him a traitor.

It ultimately ends with her on top, her legs straddling his hips and hands pinning his wrists to the bed. Based on the faraway, longing gleam in his eyes as he looks up at her, Patrick can tell immediately that she only won because Art allowed her to. Because there is something about being pinned to the bed underneath her that turns him on. And she knows it. It's easy to tell by how his erection presses up against her naked center through the fabric of his boxers.

Suddenly, she comes up onto her knees and moves back until she's hovering over his thighs. Her next words are a soft-spoked explanation for why she's reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

"Too much clothes."

But, to her surprise, another pair of hands comes to her aid in shimmying Art's underwear down his hips and legs. The way Patrick sees it, the sooner he helps her get them off, the sooner she'll take his off. And he isn't wrong. As soon as they get the boxers free from Art's body, the garment is tossed to the side without a care in the world. Neither of them looks to see where they landed, they're far too busy leaning in to kiss each other than keep track of their discarded clothing.

Her left hand is wrapped around Art's cock, pumping at a torturously slow pace, as she pulls away from Patrick with a string of saliva connecting their lips.

"Take those off," she says with a pointed look at his crotch.

To say he is sent scrambling to take off his underwear at her command would be an understatement. If this scenario itself wasn't hot enough to make her cunt throb with a desperate need to be fucked, she'd be giggling at his eagerness. But it's hard to find anything funny when she's faced with Patrick standing, one foot on the floor and his other leg braced against the bed at the knee, with nothing to conceal him from her anymore.

It must inflate his ego to heights it has never reached before to see her tongue dart out to wet her lips at the sight of him. The hand stroking Art falters as she admires Patrick's cock. It's about an inch longer than Art's yet equal in girth, curving up a little toward his hair-speckled, defined abdomen. A drop of precome has dripped from his tip, and she has to dip her head forward to get a quick taste. Those pretty lips wrap around him, not pushing down to take the rest of his shaft into her mouth but remaining where she is, flicking her tongue against the slit where the drops of sticky, pearlescent fluid secrete.

A taste is all she allows herself, though.

Her lips pull off of him with a soft popping sound, and she makes sure to maintain eye contact with him as she licks a drop of pre-come off of her top lip.

She turns to look at Art, then Patrick, then back at Art, asking, "How do you want me?"

Seeing that she was a virgin before she started seeing Art, she figures she isn't qualified to direct this in a way that'll be comfortable for everyone involved. No, if she had to bet, Patrick has the most experience between the three of them—with Art following closely behind—and he will have no problem taking control from here based on how he has acted thus far.

To their surprise, it's Art who answers first.

Patrick was still in a faraway daze from having her mouth around his cock only to be kicked when he was down by the question she asked. How do you want me? God, it's like she's trying to kill them.

"On my lap."

Art pushes himself up from the mattress and repositions so he sits on his knees in front of them, reaching for her hips to pull her closer without a second of hesitation. Her arms instantly reach for his shoulders to steady herself as she maneuvers into the exact position he had in mind. Buried beneath the music that has become white noise to them and the fans running on their highest setting, he thinks he hears her breath hitch in her throat once she's straddling his lap, the tip of his cock nudging against her clit.

Absentmindedly, she starts to grind against him, coating him in the slick arousal that seeps from her, but it's slow. A tease compared to what's coming next.

"Patrick," he says, his voice unwavering despite the excitement that makes his stomach churn. His hand slides down from her neck, caressing her breast as it passes by at a lazy speed, until he takes hold of himself and pumps a few times—as if he isn't hard as a fucking rock already. Over her shoulder, he meets his friend's intense stare. "If you wanna fuck her, you should probably get on the bed."

And while he would usually fire back something equally witty or taunting, Patrick cannot manage to do anything but nod. There's something about seeing Art this way that subdues him. He would like to think that the sole reason he's standing naked in front of his best friend is because there's a girl involved, but that isn't true. Not completely. Although Art would never admit to himself that he feels the same way, there's something familiar about this. Comfortable. Right.

The mattress dips with Patrick's shifting weight, squeaking a little beneath his knees until he settles into place behind her. His chest presses against her back, and his hand reaches up to grab her jaw, guiding her head to tilt so he can kiss her neck while Art lines himself up with her. The feeling of Patrick's cock pressing against her ass as the broad tip of Art's sinks inside of her.

Having Patrick's face buried in her neck, her shoulder, and back to her neck again provided her and Art a rare second of private intimacy. Her eyes, glazed over with lust, lock into his and refuse to look away. The intensity present in his gaze does not frighten her. If anything, it sends a rush of adrenaline through her body, and she takes a second to admire his soft, wide eyes. She's never mentioned it aloud before, but she has always been fascinated with making eye contact with him due to his right eye. Half of the iris is a striking, clear shade of blue while the other is a warm brown hue.

"Fuck," he says under his breath at the feeling of her squeezing down around him, her tight cunt resisting a little until she relaxes and sinks down until there's nothing left to take.

There's nothing that compares to the feeling of the first thrust he makes.

Every time, it makes her bite her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. To feel him so deep is almost undoing in itself. Then she feels another hand slide between her legs, and her mind goes utterly blank. Everything outside of this room falls away the second Patrick starts to rub her clit in gentle, languid circles to help her adjust to the stretch of Art inside of her. Patrick's lips lavish every accessible inch of her bare skin with kisses as his friend, with a hand on each of her hips, starts to lift her up and down at an unhurried pace.

Their noses and lips brush without completely touching. When she pushes her face closer to Art's, hoping to lock lips with him, he pulls away for the sake of seeing her grow hot in the face from embarrassment. The mouth worshipping the back of her neck curves up into a smirk in reaction to the games Art plays with her. Who knew he's just as fun in bed as he is out of it? Certainly not Patrick.

She mutters, voice breathy and weak, "Feels so good..."

"Yeah?" Patrick murmurs into her skin and presses his fingers hard against her clit. "Tell me how he feels."

If he could see her the way Art can right now, he'd have to suppress a chuckle at how her brows pinch together at the command. Regardless of her sudden shyness, the words he says only make her ride Art harder. Over her shoulder, Patrick searches for those pale blue eyes only to find them staring through him already. Every smooth rocking motion of her hips pushes her ass against his neglected erection, providing him with a brushing touch before pivoting away again.

"He feels"—she says, chest rising and falling faster—"He's so hard." Her sentences are hardly coherent. "Perfect—mmm—fucking me so deep." One of her hands reaches to tug his down to press it against the southernmost part of her abdomen. "Feel."

With her palm molded over the back of his hand and forcing him to push down on her belly, Patrick can hardly keep from groaning at the subtle bulge of Art's cock moving in and out of her. It's strangely intimate for the three of them to share this experience, but for him to feel every thrust through her is more than he anticipated.

Unable to fight what instinct drives him to, Patrick shifts his hips until the angle of her grinding against him allows his tip to brush up against the hole she and Art have yet to touch. He doesn't do anything more, not without her asking for it, but it's clear to both Art and Y/N that he desperately wants to. All of this physical affection shared between the two of them has made Patrick needy and jealous, so she decides to grant him mercy.

She reaches behind herself blindly to guide him elsewhere, nudging him against the hole Art is already filling. It takes them a couple of seconds to understand what she means in doing this, but, once it clicks, they start to go a little crazy. For the moment, she has stopped bouncing on Art's cock for the sake of allowing Patrick to push in beside him, and he has to surge forward to kiss her. If he doesn't distract himself with a kiss, he'll be too tempted to move.

As Art kisses her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth and caressing her own, Patrick's hand wraps around her throat for leverage with his teeth nipping at her earlobe. His hand wraps around where hers grips his cock to guide it to her entrance, and with his help, they manage to squeeze the tip in.

Her jaw drops at the overwhelming sensation, and the sloppy kiss is interrupted when her head rolls back onto Patrick's shoulder. Art doesn't seem to care, though. Now that her head is tipped back, her neck is exposed for him to mark, and he takes advantage of the opportunity as soon as it presents itself. His lips brush against Patrick's fingers a few times as he kisses her fervently, sucking hard on the delicate skin that has already been bruised by his dear friend.

"You're beautiful," Art whispers into her neck between kisses. "So, so beautiful."

Taking it slow for her sake, Patrick has to force himself into her inch by inch, stretching her little cunt to take far more than she's accustomed to. But, as hard as it is, it works. After another few moments of him pushing in and pausing to let her adjust, he finally bottoms out with his cock flush against Art's. Her walls clamp down around them tightly. They both share a nervous look at this, wondering if they'll manage to last longer than thirty seconds if it already feels this good.

Slowly, she raises her head from where it slumped against Patrick's shoulder and meets Art's intense stare with one of her own. His hand raises to cup the side of her face, his fingers grazing against Patrick's, and he brushes his thumb over her kiss-swollen bottom lip. Every breath taken between the three of them is labored.

Pulling her lip down with his thumb, he asks, "Feeling okay?"

A half-second later, Patrick chimes in.

"If it's too much, you have to tell us."

Not a question, not a request, but a demand. The way he said it left no room for debate, so she nods in compliance and responds with an eagerness that neither man can miss, "M'fine, please, just fuck me..."

Patrick does not need to be told twice.

Having been sidelined for too long and forced to watch them fuck without him, he pulls out slowly, then cants his hips back against her ass with a force that takes her breath away. Amidst this, Art cannot do anything but let his face fall forward into her chest and whine in ecstasy. Just the movement of Patrick's cock rubbing against his with every thrust renders him useless. He knew it would feel better than any sex he'd had before, but this...He'll likely spend the rest of his life chasing the hedonism experienced tonight.

One of her arms reaches behind her to grab Patrick's hip and dig her nails in hard while the other closes around Art's neck to pull both of them as close as can be. And now that he has forced himself back from the edge of a premature release, Art begins to move too, searching for a rhythm that feels right. Soon enough, he manages to find it. Both of their heads lift to look at each other, faces inches apart with their chins pressing on her shoulder, and they work with the same synchronicity they had while eating her out not even fifteen minutes ago.

She turns her head to the side to watch their stare-down as they rut into her like feral animals—utterly insatiable and overcome by their baser instincts. And it's only now that it occurs to her that, underneath it all, they want each other as desperately and pathetically as they want her. Patrick's gaze relentlessly bounces back and forth between Art's eyes and lips, and it makes her smirk to herself. The pleasure of fucking her as one, their pulsing cocks rubbing together in the warm walls of her cunt, has lowered their inhibitions, and the idea of being intimate with one another isn't as daunting as it would be if they were fully aware.

Leaning in to brush her cherry-flavored lips against Art's ear, she whispers, "I want you to kiss him."

The arm looped around the back of his neck pulls tighter in encouragement, bringing his body so close to hers that she can feel his ribs expanding with every breath. His only reaction to her request is a quick glance at her face once she pulls away from his ear with a sensuous lick as a parting gift. It's almost as though he doesn't believe what she's saying, but the reassuring expression she wears tells him that it is real. She truly wants him to see him kiss his best friend, not only for their enjoyment but hers as well.

One second, he's looking at her, and the next, he's slotting his lips against Patrick's with a passion previously only reserved for her. Their hands both grapple for purchase on her sweat-slick body, Art aggressively kneading her breasts and Patrick squeezing her hips for dear life, as they moan into each other's mouths.

As they kiss each other hungrily, Y/N has nothing left to do but bask in the tension swelling inside of her. There's something about how wrong this situation feels to her that makes it so much more arousing. Girls are always raised with the idea that promiscuity lessens their value, and she was not an exception. Having been raised in a family of devout believers, she hadn't kissed a boy until she was seventeen years old. The next person she kissed was Art, and in the time since their first kiss, he has thoroughly corrupted her.

And even as distracted as he is by the all-consuming, wet kiss he's engaged in, Art feels her cunt start to squeeze around their cocks and immediately drops one of the hands on her breasts between her splayed thighs. His finger rubs in tight circles on her clit in hopes that she will reach her end before he and Patrick come pathetically soon.

Her body jerks where it's trapped between them when his fingers make contact, pulling their focus away from each other for the first time since their lips touched. Patrick reaches up to hold her neck in one hand and forces her face to the side so both of them can look at every subtle expression she makes.

"Don't stop," she pleads, eyes glazed over. "M'so close, Art"—Every merciless thrust elicits a high-pitched whine from her—"Patrick, please!"

The body trapped between them has gone boneless and twitchy, utterly useless at holding herself up or aiding them in any way. But they wear it like a badge of honor. With her face falling forward into Art's neck, she loses her grasp on all that is around her and lets them prop her up to fuck her like a toy existing solely for their gratification.

With one hand cradling the back of her head and the other between her thighs, still dutifully rubbing her clit, Art asks under his breath, "Isn't she fucking perfect?"

Although it was a question meant for Patrick, she can't help how she moans and clenches her walls around them when she hears it. Panting breaths from the three of them flood the sweltering dorm room, but they are too far gone to notice or care how much sweat drips off of their bodies onto one another. It's almost hard to get a firm grip on her as a result of it, but they manage to keep her in place by smushing their bodies as close as physically possible on both sides of her.

Patrick bucks his hips up into her with a recklessness that gives away how close he is to his climax.

He says, "Oh, God, yeah." The hand still collaring her delicate neck squeezes just enough to take her breath away for a second. However, once he released his hold on her, that hand moved to wrap itself up the roots of her hair. "Best pussy I've ever had. So fucking tight, it's like she wants us to come inside her." A pause, then, "Is that what you want?"

A second passes of silence from her, and he sharply tugs back on her hair until her face is no longer hidden in Art's neck. This allows them to drink in the sight of her—face twisted up in pleasure and mouth gaping open.

He asks again, "Is that what you want?"

Her response is immediate.

"Yes, yes, yes," she murmurs incoherently and takes quick turns to look between their faces. If the expressions they wear are any indication, it won't be long before her wish is fulfilled. "I'm—mmm-gonna come! I need you to fill me up, please; please!"

To this, Art rubs her clit faster while maintaining eye contact with her and finally lets go of whatever remaining scraps of self-control he has left. Knowing how close she is pushes them closer themselves, and they start to pound her hard. Hard enough that even they, as soon-to-be professional athletes, have difficulty sustaining this intense degree of exertion.

The arm that she looped around his shoulders is still there, but now her hand is sliding down from the back of Art's neck to explore the toned musculature of his upper back. Under her searching palm, she can feel his muscles contracting and relaxing beneath his pale skin.

To both her and Art's surprise, the world begins to shift in their peripheral vision until he falls flat against the mattress on his back with his length still sheathed inside of her. It takes a second for their brains to catch up with what happened and deem Patrick responsible for the position change. He laid his hands flat on her back and pushed with just the right amount of force to pin Art to the mattress beneath them.

Art says, breathless, "I can feel you squeezing us, baby, just let go."

Hearing those words sets fire to her blood, and that, paired with the toe-curling sensation of them pressing deep inside of her, hitting that spot over and over and over, is what tips her over the edge.

Patrick keeps pulling on her hair to force her head up so that they can feel and watch her come, and what a beautiful sight it is. Art, the lucky bastard, is face to face with her as she tenses up in their arms with the onslaught of her climax. But he can see the side of her pretty, flushed face and drink up every little sound she makes, so he doesn't feel left out in any way. No, he is experiencing this right beside Art. They're both trapped inside of her, pumping into her throbbing heat and letting themselves be swept away into oblivion by the feeling of her coming undone.

She digs her dig into Art's shoulder hard enough to break skin as she whines and writhes between them with each pulse of pleasure that runs through her, and it isn't until she's starting to come down, riding out the high, that she feels them spill into her at the same time. Every sensation attached to it prolongs her orgasm—the throbbing, the spreading warmth, and the dying undulations of their hips that grind their cocks together within her. And beyond the physicality of the act, just knowing that they're filling her to the brim with their come makes her head spin from how fucking hot she finds it.

It isn't long before their thrusts slow into a sensuous grinding as they come down from it together, then come to a full stop to keep from overstimulating themselves. They both are starting to go soft, panting and leaning against her limp body in exhaustion, and know they wouldn't be able to continue even if they wanted to.

Her head is laid back on Patrick's shoulder with Art's nose nuzzling her bare breasts, which rise and fall at a rapid rate with how she tries to catch her breath. There's nothing they can do except remain still and try to recover from the euphoria that has rendered them useless, so that is precisely what they do. With their bodies nearly melting together from the heat, the three of them hold onto each other for support until they manage to return to full consciousness after what they went through.

It isn't until another couple of moments have elapsed that Patrick and Art start murmuring to one another while she remains slumped between them. A second later, both pairs of hands are squeezing her hips; lifting her off of their softening cocks, slowly, gently, and minding her sensitivity.

The three of them collapse side by side on the twin bed, bodies squeezed together like sardines, and she finally comes back down from the clouds her head floated into at the feeling of them touching her. It isn't sexual. No, they wouldn't dream of putting her through anything more than she could handle right now. Both touches are tender and featherlight—Art's hand molds over her breast simply to cup it as they cuddle while Patrick brings her hand up from her side to brush a kiss over her knuckles.

The silence continues to stretch on, then—

"We're definitely gonna have to do that again," she says, turning her head to look at each of them before laying her cheek against Art's shoulder. "That is, if don't mind sharing me."

His gaze softens, the hand cupping her breast ghosting up over her skin until it finds her and Patrick's entwined hands.

"I don't mind one bit."

Thank you for reading this! I probably won’t write any more Challengers fics but I saw the movie like five times in theaters and needed to crank this out to satisfy the part of me that is obsessed with the hotel scene. I would really appreciate a comment to let me know what you thought if you’re open to that 🫶🏻 The oral part of this fic was inspired by these two (1) (2) I read, so def give them a read cause they're great!

#fanfiction #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #no editing other than grammarly cause idgaf #art donaldson x patrick zweig x reader #challengers #listened to white mustang by lana the whole time 😩#and uncle ace cause duh

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penvisions · 3 days

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gone to the dogs {chapter one}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Bared teeth and instincts are all you have to defend yourself while out beyond the walls of the zone. And sometimes, you have Joel Miller, though he's just as apt to turn on you as anyone else.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, canon typical gore, outbreak fic, age gap (only by about ten years), dark fic, dark joel miller, mean joel miller, joel miller is uptight, degrading language, sexual language, sexual proposition, violence, heated interactions, adult language, fighting, references to injuries, blood, one (1) instance of joel miller bashing someone's head in, gun use, gun violence, reader chokes someone out, reader is snarky, reader meets joel toe-to-toe with insults and it's amazing both reader and joel pov, lemme know if there are any i missed!

A/N: this is different by far than anything else i've written and shared. dark joel miller content tends to be so controversial sometimes but i've been wanting to explore this part of his character for quite a while. the reader insert is also far more...robust than any i've written but it's all so exciting! please lemme know what y'all think?

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

The tracks are faint, you’re barely able to make them out yourself as you crouch low to the ground and move your hand in the direction they look like they’re headed in.

“Hey, you missed somethin’.”

“The hell you talking about, there ain’t nothin’ to miss.” He’s suddenly hovering over you, his own footfalls silent despite the pain you know he carries in his back and the swagger he has to adapt to not irritate it. He’s shining his flashlight on the imprint you had managed to find among all the dirt and rubble, a barely there scrape in the dirt that could be mistaken for anything. His voice is harsh, degrading in tone as he scoffs at your find. “You didn’t find shit, stop trying to make somethin’ outta nothin’.”

“Yeah and I suppose the marks that look about the same depth and span out in an even trail heading north ain’t shit either, huh?” You ignore the heat of his legs clad in faded and dirt smeared denim far too close for comfort. It would be easy to brush against them if you turned just slightly. Straitening back up to your full height, you don’t step back as you aim your own light over the similar marks that lead down a narrow path between the scattered and broken bricks. “It’s someone’s staggered gait, would bet they twisted their ankle or knee and it’s dragging enough to leave ‘em behind for us. Need to trust the younger pair of eyes we’ve got out here.”

“Don’t mean it’s our guy.” Joel doesn’t budge, ignoring the double whammy insult, head turning back at the hush of wind sweeping between the crumbling buildings. He turns his light off, securing it between his belt and waistband on the back of his hip. You know he knows there’s some truth to your words with how he ignores them. A habit of his you picked up, silence in the wake of begrudging agreement. Never voiced lest someone overhear that he had his moments of amenable tendencies, even if they were very rare and far between.

“Could be.” You insist, you knew what you were doing. You knew how to get the damn job done and if he heeded your words even once, he would realize it could make the situation go a whole lot smoother than it had been. But of course he doesn’t, he’s as stubborn as you are. Something you loathe about the man who had become one of your partners. It was hard to trust him when he didn’t trust you, constantly at odds with the gruff way he insisted he knew better. It was beginning to get on your nerves, the days harder when you had to interact with him in such close proximity.

“Could be isn’t good enough.”

“Do you need a blowjob or something?” You turn slightly to face him, his strong profile highlighted by the dark golden hues of the setting sun.

“Excuse me?" He pinned you with a dark glare, not taking kindly to your question. He’s chest to chest with you now, hard expression aimed down at you as you don’t move an inch. You wouldn’t back down, never had before and wouldn’t now. He may be intimidating, but you were too in your own ways. Hell, the first encounter you had with the man ended up with your knife at his throat and your knee over his crotch.

Him and Tess had been in your apartment, staking out the smuggling ‘competition’ once they had arrived in the Boston zone. Coming home from a rather painful migraine after shoveling ashes of deceased people had been one of the highlights of the day, if such a thing could even be considered that, only to find two strange people rummaging around through your things. Joel hadn’t been prepared for you to turn on him first, thinking he had hidden himself well in the shadow of your door and following it as you slowly closed it behind you.

A warning shot fired off at Tess had her scrambling behind the beat-up couch in the middle of the room while you turned on him. Only after demanding answers from them and getting them from the woman as she crouched behind the furniture, had you backed down from a stoic Joel.

“You heard me. You're pent up and snapping at everyone, need some relief?" Tilting your chin up, you meet his dark gaze head on, smirk pulling your lips up on one side. His eyes dilate just the slightest bit before narrowing, but you caught it and he knows you did. His voice is the deepest you’ve ever heard as he slowly responds with only one syllable.

“No."

"I think you do. Don't think I haven't seen the way your eyes drag down my body when you're walking behind me.” A bold statement, but a true one nonetheless. His eyes were a heavy and heady weight whenever they did exactly what you taunted. The thrill of the older man merely looking at you when he thought you wouldn’t see it perked up your self-esteem in a way you weren’t completely immune to, even in the shambles of what the world had turned into.

"Delusional. you're a delusional little-“

"I’m not a little girl, and you damn well know that." You punch the tip of your pointer finger into his chest, the dirty denim warm from his body heat. He’s a big man with a big reputation and it’s hard not to feel powerful as you obviously found one of the weak spots of his soft underbelly. An attack dog, a guard dog, a rabid dog, they all had one thing in common. They were only as strongest as their weakest point.

And you think you just found his.

The mischief of the unexpected discovery must glint in your eyes because his brows furrow impossibly deeper. The frown lines around his mouth pulling his thick mustache down, though it does nothing to shield the pale pink of his full lips.

He scoffs again, a harsh sound from the depths of his chest. Smacking your hand away from him, he takes off to follow the trail he can see a little better now that you’ve pointed it out.

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Act like you’re hot shit around the zone, only reason people don’t mess with you is cause of me.”

“I was doin’ just fine on my own. Remind me again, who staked out who to scope out the competition?”

“Wouldn't let you touch me if I was at the end of a barrel, and it was my saving grace."

“Fuck off, Miller.” You spit back, unable to rise to his taunt even as you fall in line beside him. That one stung, you had to admit. It was your own stupid fault, for finding him so attractive. From his dark hair threaded with silver to the way he carried a lifetime on his shoulders.

But his attitude muddied it, he was no better than a lot of the men you had run into before reuniting with your brother. The end of the world bringing out the worst in people, just like you had never one to sling insults so harshly or tease people easily a decade older than yourself who could snap your neck with a well-placed grip. Just like you assumed the man Joel had been before all this wouldn’t have even dared to think of talking to a woman with such spite and malice, if his faded accent told you more than he ever would.

The trail ends just at the shattered glass of what was once a revolving door entrance to a skyscraper looms ahead. There’s fresh blood splatter and the bag of supplies stolen from where they had been hidden for you and Joel to pick up. Two shells from a gun lay on the ground beside it, and you quickly grip your handgun to survey the area for the culprit who fired the shots.

Joel holds up two fingers, your attention going to him almost instinctively as he motions for you to crouch and round the left side of what remains of the door and into the building after the drops of blood. His eyes are focused, his full lips a hard line as he nods once to make sure you understand him.

Only looking away once you return the gesture. He turns so his back is to yours and makes sure there’s enough coverage for you both with his own gun at the ready. As quietly as you can manage with what’s still hopefully inside the pack, you pick it up with your free hand and avoid as much glass as possible.

No shots ring out, no bullets lodge themselves into your shoulder or Joel’s, everything is eerily still as you both move in tandem to seek the protection of the building. It seems to be blocked off inside, large pieces of plywood secured over the doors that had once been for elevators. The emergency exit off the right barricaded with all the furniture that once filled the ground floor waiting area.

“Fuckin’ told you it was a trail.” You mumble as the conflict seems to be over, the body of the man who had taken off with your hidden pack behind the front desk. Fresh blood seeping from a gunshot wound to his neck and the bandage wrapped thick around his ankle. You don’t flinch when Joel brushes past you harshly to stomp the bottom of his worn boots into the man’s head or the sick crunch that echoes slightly in the open space. Ensuring he doesn’t turn if he had been infected.

He rounds on you quickly enough to stir your instincts, the fleeting fear of him doing the same to you flaring up and making you take a half step back at the fierce look in his eye. The words he practically growls at you making your heart stutter painfully in your chest, suddenly breathless at the combination.

“Would you shut your fuckin’ mouth before I shut it for you? Tired of hearing that shrill voice all the god damn time.”

You huff, trying to play off the fear as indifference, shoving the bag of supplies at him. He doesn’t move to catch it, allowing it to hit him square in the chest, the pills and bullets contained inside rattling as the entire thing fell to the ground with a thunk.

Joel could only watch as you stalked off without another word, shoulders tense and hands shoved deep in the pockets of your jacket. He had seen the dilation of your eyes, the way your chest had risen with a quick inhale at his intensity. He had scared you.

That was new and he wasn’t sure if he liked it any better than you teasing him about being uptight and needing a little bit of pleasure in his life. An unpleasant lump rises in his throat and he tries to swallow it down.

Frowning, he bends to pick up the fallen pack, shoving it into his own nearly empty one before following after you. The silence that had fallen allows him to pick up the faint sound of labored breathing. But it isn’t coming from you up ahead.

It must’ve registered as a third person in the same instant for you because you’re turning to him with a finger pressed to your lips as you crouch behind a chunk of blasted concrete, gun already in hand. He mirrors you, reflections of each other as you each move around the barrier and take an assessing peak around respective corners.

Another man is laid out a few yards away, upper body slumped heavily on against the tire of a rusted car.

He’s barely alive, his breath rattling in his chest at a timbre that could only signal his impending death. A stark sound he recalls from a time long ago, both painfully fresh and numbed by years of oppression. He blinks the sound away, eyes closed for barely a second before you’re closing the distance with quick and quiet movements. A lunging dog at the sight of a threat. Constantly poised to take out anything that challenged the life you clung to.

It’s a reminder of why he willingly works with you, the way your smaller hands close around the man’s neck and clench. Shoulders displaying the strength you possess even with rationed food and improper amenities for life. If he wasn’t on your side, you would turn those same hands on him without a second thought. You had the first time you had met, when he had willingly gone into the den you had created for yourself in search of answers. In search of the name people gave when asked about who had the most knowledge on how to sneak out of the zone he now resides in.

He watches as you pick the man’s corpse clean, ration cards going in your pocket that he doesn’t think to demand a fair share of. Of the gun you hold out to him in silent offer.

No words are exchanged as you lead him back to the perimeter of the zone as the sun dips completely below the horizon. Moonlight illuminating your body effortlessly slinking and squeezing into places you had picked out that would allow for him to do the same with little trouble. You knew the operations of the zone, hell you probably were the reason some of them were orchestrated the way they were. The fear he had seen in you may have been fleeting, a response that allowed you to recognize the threat he could pose to you as well, but the way he admired your will to survive was not.

You only stay at his side long enough to relay the run to Tess, who had stayed behind and worked to ensure an alibi for you both. Signing your names and hers with one of the soldiers who traded with you on the roster in a perfect imitation of keeping up appearances for the demanded duties of all that reside in the zone. The ration cards slid into your back pocket are handed off to the older woman, no words or sounds coming from you before you slink out the door to their shared excuse of an apartment and down the hall to yours.

But he knew better than to think it was with wounded pride and your tail tucked between your legs, because he could hear the way you moved about your own space through the thin walls as if it had just been another day. Tess is watching him as his head tilts where he slumps on the couch, ears following the shuffle of your steps and the sound of clinking as you go about your own business. When he turns to meet her gaze, it’s unreadable but she doesn’t ask the reason for his short run down of what happened or the silence you had fallen into.

next chapter

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tealvenetianmask · 2 days

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I think it's pretty cool that Blitz mentioned Stolas's imp butlers as part of his rant. I hope that Stolas heard him there among everything else happening between them.

"Treating me like one of your little butler imps!" The way that Stolas behaves toward his servants has clearly been on Blitz's mind for some time- as confirmation that Stolas fundamentally sees imps as below him.

I've hoped for a while that at some point the way that Stolas treats this guy

would get addressed. Or at least that we'd see a respectful interaction to show that he's changed. But where we are now . . . at the beginning of Full Moon, Stolas is literally seen throwing the contents of his fridge on the floor in the midst of a meltdown while the butler stands there looking utterly done. Do you think Stolas is about to clean up that mess? There's no way.

If he's going to be in a relationship with an imp, Stolas can't be the guy who treats his imp servants like furniture and doesn't give them two thoughts. The way he moves through the world has to fundamentally change- not all at once necessarily- but he has to at least understand the extent of his privilege and how it's impacted Blitz-- and others around him.

When I thought that throwing imp butlers around was just a gag, it made me a bit uncomfortable. But I'm excited now that it seems like this sort of behavior from Stolas was actually an intentional sign from the writers that he still has a lot of growing to do.

Edit- go see Sam Haft's tik tok video on Full Moon where he breaks this topic down better than I ever could.

#stolitz #helluva boss full moon #helluva boss imps #my helluva meta #stolas goetia #stolas #blitz #blitzo #blitzo buckzo #helluva boss spoilers

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permanentswaps · 3 days

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Hello, Dad

Read Part 1 by @possessionbodythief.

Two years have passed since that fateful night, and I’ve settled into my new life as Jake with surprising ease. Watching the residents of the house over the years has proven invaluable in adapting to the modern world. My mannerisms have changed, but since the real Jake had always been uncertain about how his dad would react to being in a new body, it didn’t matter much. People around me simply chalk it up to growing up and finding myself.

After some time living with "my dad" - or Jake now in Robert's body - in the old house, I realized I needed my own space to truly embrace this new life. Moving out was a big step, but one I knew I had to take. I found a small apartment downtown with a view of the city skyline, a far cry from the haunted house I was confined to for decades. This place, with its modern amenities and vibrant surroundings, felt like a breath of fresh air. The sense of freedom and independence was exhilarating, something I had never known in my previous life.

"It's so good to be free," I whisper to myself, a smile spreading across my face.

My phone buzzes, pulling me out of my reverie. It's a text from "my dad."

"Hey Jake, you wanna grab dinner tonight? Been missing you."

My smile widens. I quickly text back.

"Sure, Dad. There's a new spot near here I've been meaning to try, wanna meet at 7?"

"Perfect. See you then, kiddo."

I put my phone down, thinking about how much has changed. Lately, I've been working out a lot. I feel a bit bad for Jake; he was just kinda impatient. It would've happened for him eventually if he had kept with a routine. I mean look at the transformation from then to now:

But hey, his impatience is my gain. I'm still more lean than buff right now, but that's how I like it. There are a bunch of cute guys checking me out all the time. I've even managed to get a hot boyfriend.

But it seems Jake has noticed the changes the most. He even jokingly muses, "Damn, what I would've done to have a body like yours at that age." He's kidding, of course. He never experienced this age. In fact, we still have never mentioned the swap – thank God, 'cause I don't want to risk him finding out who I really am in this body. Jake seems to be completely comfortable in his new body, never showing any signs of sadness or jealousy. He truly embraces his role as Robert and appears genuinely happy.

But sometimes, he throws in these playful comments that catch me off guard. Like the other day, I was stretching after a workout, and he walks in, giving me an exaggerated once-over.

"Look at you, all limber and toned. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to impress someone," he said with a wink.

He smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "Well, you're definitely turning heads. Just make sure you don't break too many hearts."

I grinned back at him. "And look at you, Dad. You're in fantastic shape. You've got those muscles everyone dreams of."

Jake's eyes gleamed with pride as he flexed his bicep. "Damn right. I know I've got it going on."

Another time, we were out for dinner, and I mentioned I was thinking of getting a new wardrobe.

"Oh really?" he replied, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Trying to show off those gains? I can't blame you. If I had your body, I'd probably never wear a shirt."

I chuckled, feeling a flush creep up my neck. "Maybe I'll take your advice and start a new trend."

It's not just my body that's improved, though. Jake has also been hitting the gym hard. He's in fantastic shape, even better than when I first took over this body. His muscles are more defined, and his confidence radiates in every movement.

As I step into the upscale restaurant, the blend of modern design and rustic charm immediately catches my eye. String lights are draped across the space, casting a warm, inviting glow over the wooden tables and cushioned benches. The walls are adorned with lush greenery and vibrant flower arrangements, creating a serene and picturesque ambiance. The gentle sound of a nearby water fountain adds to the tranquil atmosphere. The tantalizing aroma of freshly baked pizzas and herbed garlic bread fills the air, making my mouth water.

Jake is already there, waiting at our table. He looks up and grins when he sees me.

"Hey, kiddo," he says, standing up to give me a hug.

"Hey, Dad," I reply, embracing him warmly. "This place looks amazing. Ready for a feast?"

"You bet," he says with a laugh as we take our seats.

We start by ordering a variety of appetizers: bruschetta topped with fresh tomatoes and basil, crispy calamari, and a charcuterie board that looks almost too good to eat.

"These bruschettas are amazing," Jake says, biting into one.

I nod. "Definitely. This place is awesome."

As we work our way through the appetizers and move on to the main course, a handsome waiter catches Jake's eye. He can't help but flirt, turning on the charm with every word. The waiter, clearly interested, flirts back, and by the time dessert arrives, Jake has the waiter's phone number scrawled on a napkin.

I can't help but laugh. "Wow, Dad, you're really on fire tonight."

Jake grins, waving the napkin. "What can I say? When you've got it, you've got it."

We finish our meal with splitting a tiramisu. As we're wrapping up, Jake leans over, a serious look in his eyes. "Hey, why don't you come back home tonight? I've missed having you around recently. I'd really like it if you stayed over."

"Sure, Dad," I say, smiling. "I'd love to."

When we get home, he catches me looking at myself in the mirror, admiring my progress. The muscles I've worked so hard to develop are finally starting to show, and there's a newfound confidence in my reflection. Jake walks up behind me, his presence warm and reassuring.

"You know, you've got this whole 'boy-next-door' vibe going, but with an edge. It's... intriguing."

I chuckle, a bit embarrassed but also pleased by his words. He steps closer and grabs my waist, his hands firm yet gentle.

He looks at me in the mirror, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "See, I told you," he says with a twinge of irony, "You just needed to wait for your growth spurt."

I turn to face him, our eyes meeting. "I guess you were right," I say, with a knowing smile. "It just took a little time."

A look of lust flashes over his eyes, and I feel a thrill run down my spine. He moves closer, his hands sliding up to my shoulders, giving them a firm, appreciative squeeze.

"And now you’re all grown up," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

Before I can respond, his lips are on mine, capturing me in a deep, passionate kiss. My body reacts instantly, pressing against him, the heat between us igniting something primal and intense. It's been two years since we last shared this kind of intimacy, and the hunger in his eyes tells me he’s been waiting just as long.

He guides me to the bedroom, our kisses growing more urgent, our touches more desperate. The anticipation builds as we shed our clothes, revealing the bodies we’ve both worked so hard to perfect. The air is charged with electricity, the desire between us palpable.

Jake pushes me gently onto the bed, his eyes roaming over my body with a mix of pride and lust. "You're perfect," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

He joins me on the bed, his hands exploring every inch of my skin, rekindling the flames of our past encounters. I gasp as his lips find the sensitive spots on my neck, my chest, my inner thighs. The pleasure is overwhelming, each touch sending waves of ecstasy through me.

When he finally enters me, it’s like coming home. The connection between us is deeper than ever, our bodies moving in perfect harmony. Every thrust brings us closer to the edge, the intensity building until it’s almost unbearable. I grip his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as I match his rhythm, our breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"It's been too long," Jake groans, his breath hot against my ear. "I’ve missed this."

"Me too," I gasp, my hands clutching at his back, urging him deeper. "God, I've missed this."

His pace quickens, each thrust more powerful than the last. The room is filled with the sounds of our passion—the slap of skin against skin, the low moans and gasps, the whispered words of desire. I can feel myself getting closer, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in my core.

Jake's hands grip my hips, pulling me closer, deeper. "You're mine," he whispers fiercely, his eyes locked on mine. "Always."

"Yes, Daddy," I moan, the words slipping out naturally, a thrill of submission coursing through me. "I'm yours."

The intensity of his gaze, the possessiveness in his voice, sends me over the edge. I cry out, my body arching beneath him as pleasure crashes over me, wave after wave. He follows moments later, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he finds his release, collapsing onto me, spent and sated.

We lie there, tangled in each other’s arms, the afterglow of our lovemaking still shimmering around us. His weight is comforting, his presence a soothing balm. I run my fingers through his hair, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against mine.

"That was incredible," I murmur, my voice soft and breathless.

He leans down to kiss me again, slow and sweet, a promise of more to come.

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your-local-asylum-escapee · 2 days

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ok so i've been trying to read a bunch of 'arthur returns' fic and i belatedly realized that Merlin probably suffered from 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦 ptsd and now im crying cuz i just visualized Merlin going through his ptsd like i did and now it just makes the fics 10× sadder

(spoiler: a lot of yapping)

like i can see Merlin watching Arthur sleep, checking if he's still breathing, checking his pulse and everything but then Arthur doesn't breath for 15 seconds and now Merlin's panicking, overthinking if he should nudge Arthur to stir him a bit to check if he's alive still then Arthur inhales and then Merlin breathes in sinc with Arthur. and then Arthur doesn't breath in what Merlin feels like a long minute (but in reality its probably just been less than 30 seconds) and decides to check his pulse to see if its still there but he's too impatient so he couldn't even wait 5 more seconds to find his pulse and just wakes Arthur up, this happens very often (every day) and Arthur's confused at first but when it keeps on happening he becomes irritated. he gets annoyed one night and was about to get mad but then he sees Merlin in the brink of tears looking straight at him, Arthur's hand is being held by Merlin like it's the only thing keeping him alive. Arthur tries to make Merlin sleep (he's seen the state Merlin was in and even a blind man can see that he wasn't healthy) but Merlin refuses to. Arthur decides to not sleep at all and stay up with Merlin.

they don't sleep the entire night and Arthur thinks this was just a one time thing but then he realizes that he's never seen Merlin sleep ever since he came back. he decides to stay awake and pretend to sleep until Merlin sleeps. when Arthur realizes that Merlin wasn't going to even lay down and 𝘵𝘳𝘺 to sleep he starts to get worried. hours past by and Merlin's fingers check for Arthur's pulse every now and then. Arthur's awake with Merlin the entire night and until dawn.

he still denies the thought that this was how Merlin spends his night ever since Arthur arrived but he still wanna check so he pretends to sleep that night again. the same thing happens again and Merlin doesn't sleep. when a few moments go by and Merlin doesn't check his pulse again Arthur thinks that Merlin finally slept out of exhaustion. but he could still feel Merlin's eyes on him so he decides to hold his breath for one minute.

not even 30 seconds go by and now he can feel Merlin's trembling hands on his wrists. Arthur still holds his breath and then Merlin tries to nudge his shoulder to stir him a little bit. Arthur 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 holds his breath until he feels Merlin nudging him a bit more aggressively than before. Arthur takes pity on him so tries to act as if he just got woken up. Merlin apologizes for waking him up. Arthur was about to insult him to make it seem natural but then he sees Merlin's teary eyes and he suddenly hugs Merlin. both he and Merlin are a little shocked by this but none of them move. Arthur 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘥𝘦s Merlin to sleep by telling him that he wont sleep until he does. Merlin's stubborn at first but the days of not being asleep finally catches up to him and he 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 sleeps. Arthur decides not to sleep until Merlin does and he does this every night since.

ok wow, that was a lot of monloguing, even for me. anyways see you later after I finished reading 'and like the cycle of the year, we begin again'

#bbc merlin #merthur #arthur pendragon #merlin #arthur x merlin #merlin x arthur #merlin bbc #merlin emrys #bbc merthur #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #prince arthur #king arthur #arthur returns #ptsd #merlin has ptsd #poor merlin #and like the cycle of the year we begin again

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andysorbit · 3 days

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how long do you think it would take jisung to match your freak? i feel like it would take him months to let out his inner perv but it’s definately in there 🫣

I feel like I said some of this before or maybe because I had most of this in my drafts already and I've been kinda chipping away at it?? if you've seen this before, no you didn't.

but lezgetit!!

Jisung x fem!reader

he would be so eager to start matching your freak but the shyness would have him dragging it out for a few centuries and I know most of the time everyone has him made out to be this soft lil whisper of a guy and I mean I do see him being shy but he's definitely got some kinky marbles rattling around in that big ass head of his ugh bless his heart.

so... here are some ways that Jisung would let you know he got that dawg in him but he's just not ready for you to meet said dawg

as always... minors, fuck off t(-_-t)

• he praises you so casually.

if you tell him about a petting you've done, no matter how tiny it might be, he's gonna praise you for it.

"Okay so I managed to get my dresser drawers reorganized," You tell him as you drop the mail down on the coffee table. "That's wonderful, baby!" he exclaims and pulls you down to sit beside him on the sofa. You turn and press a kiss to his lips, "You always gas me up for nothing. I love that," You whisper appreciatively.

Jisung bumps his nose against yours, "S'not for nothing," he mumbles, "That's a good thing you did and you worked hard on it so I need to acknowledge it and tell you what a good job you did. What kind of a jerk would I be if I couldn't tell my girlfriend how proud I am of her?"

You smirk, "You're proud of me?" You chuckle softly. Jisung shifts to kiss you harder, "Of course I am. You're handling your big girl responsibilities and pretty girls who do good things like handle annoying big girl responsibilities are the best girls."

• he roughs you up but playfully

"So, you little punk... are you gonna tell me what you were out shopping for all day or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?" he asks you as he softly grabs you by the collar of your shirt and backs you against the door.

"Just stuff," You reply with a smug smirk. He tightens his grip on your shirt and kicks your feet apart, " What kind of stuff? Anything you'd like to model for me?" he asks, lowering his voice in longing. He kisses you hard then pulls away and you shake your head, "Mind your beeswax," You tease him dreamily. It's too easy to fall for him. You love where this is going and immediately decide to make this as hard on yourself as possible.

Jisung grabs you by the shoulders and turns you around, pressing the front of your body to the wall, "I'll get the answers I want... You don't have much of a choice, baby." He gently traps your arms behind your back and gives your ass a rough squeeze. You whine in anticipation.

• He jokes a lot but they're jokes very 😏👀😏👀 and then he's a fkn dweeb about it

"would you choke me if I told you I forgot to get your chips when I went shopping?" You ask as Jisung fills a glass with water. He takes a drink then turns to you, "Oh c'mon, I'd choke you just for the fun of it... I didn't mean it like that... Like... I meant I'd- Nevermind, that sounded better in my head."

"No don't start getting shy now! C'mon! Elaborate!" You ask as you float across the kitchen to circle your arms around Jisung's waist, "Keep talkin'."

Jisung takes a long drink from his glass and you watch his Adam's apple bob. You wait for him to find his words and he finally does, "I might've thought about it when I'm fucking you..."

"Might have?" You tease. He kisses you harder, "Maybe."

• Until one day... he's collected enough receipts to know just how to handle you...

he wants you to ride him until he's seeing stars and he wants it to be nasty but he's not gonna just say it. he'd be thinking about heavily one day while laying back in the bed watching you shuffle through your drawer for some pajamas and when I tell you his ass is watching you like a hawk like yeah you've heard of a mean mug but get ready for a subtle horny mug from a very shy boi. I feel like he's more of a hint dropper so he wouldn't say anything ever like he'd just be laying there watching you

after you slip your nightgown on, you turn to look at him and eye him suspiciously, "what's on your mind, pinhead?" he perks up a bit, thrilled that you're taking his bait, "nothing... you just look pretty," he hums, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nervously. you crawl into bed and make your way up to sit adjacent to his long frame. he's lounged against the pillows, squeezing and releasing the stress ball in his right hand.

"do I?" You ask him softly. he nods and pulls you in for a soft kiss. his free hand softly cups your cheek, "you always do... pretty princess," he whispers as his lips brush against yours, "let me get a better look at the lace." he slinks his arm around your waist and pulls you into his lap. he's smooth, almost getting over on you as he examines the pink lace around the plunged neckline of your nightgown. you gasp when you feel him growing hard against you. the thin material of your panties cling to the dampness of your pussy and you both hiss. he presses kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and across your chest; dropping the stress ball down onto the mattress.

"the details in this lace are really good, baby. are these... peonies?" he asks "marigolds, sungie. they're marigolds," you whisper, hips rolling slowly as his cock pulses against your heat.

"they both look alike. does it matter?" he asks, rutting against you and squeezing your ass with his large hands. he's leading this but he does it in such a way that has you positive that you're the one in control.

"that sounds racist against flowers," You whine, "fuck... sungie." You grab his shoulders and drop your hands down to roam over the firmness of his chest.

he chuckles, "sorry flowers. I meant well." You wriggle as you drag your pussy over his cock, "can I ride you?" You ask him longingly. he smiles against your lips and nods, "That's different. are you sure?" he asks you teasingly. he slots his mouth against yours harshly and pries your mouth open. "mhm," You muffle against his open mouth. you raise up when you feel him trying to push his pants down; mewing when his cock thumps against you. one of his hands reaches down to pull your panties aside, "fuck, baby. gonna take it all?" he growls. You nod, "all of it... need it."

Jisung eyes you, "Sit."

You don't hesitate to follow his orders and you slowly begin sinking down on his cock. "That's my girl... That's my good little girl," he groans. You clench around him and he brings a hand up to stroke your cheek, "M'not gonna give it to you, sweetheart. you gotta take it. you asked for it so you gotta take it for yourself. show me how you want it," he groans, fingers digging into your hips. he's done it again; achieving exactly what he wants without having to say it. he smiles briefly; smugness fading as you begin riding him. his head rolls back and he grunts softly, his hands grabbing and squeezing at your hips, "Just like that, baby. you like riding me?" he breathes heavily, hips bucking as he looks at you with a twinkle in his eyes.

"sungie... love it. love it, baby" you pant. jisung let's you ride him but his hands stay tight against your hips, "m'not your Sungie... m'not your baby either... put some respect on my name little girl."

you open your mouth to speak but quickly shut it, head falling back for a moment as your back arches. "look at me, young lady... right now. c'mon," he coaxes you softly but firmly. you raise your head back up to look him in his eyes. jisung's cheeks burn a deeper shade of red, "close your fucking eyes back. damn," he gushes as he brings a hand up to cover your eyes, "Stop looking at me." you giggle breathlessly and bounce a little harder on his cock. your hands busy themselves with pushing his shirt up. he quickly pulls the reins in on his shyness, "if you wanna see mine, you gotta show me yours," he purrs and slowly begins lifting your nightgown. it feels like a matter of only a second before Jisung is tossing it aside and kissing the heated skin between your breasts. he pulls back, voice even and fond "daddy's turn, princess."

your mouth falls open and you pant as your hands claw at his shirt and clumsily pull it off. Jisung takes the shirt from you and throws it somewhere behind you before pulling you back in for a greedy kiss, "is my pretty girl getting tired?" he asks.

you nod, "don't wanna work for it anymore... please fuck me. please," you plead. your voice breaks and Jisung circles his arms around your torso and plants his feet into the mattress, "please what," he whispers as he slowly fucks into you. it's painfully slow and you whine, "please, daddy," You beg softly.

Jisung bucks his hips up into you, pounding you mercilessly and pulling a string a squeals and whines out of you, "So fucking big," You warble in awe at how his cock always stretches you to your limits. "tell me you love my dick, baby. tell daddy how much you fucking love it," he moans. you nod though you're not sure why you are, "Uh huh," You whimper, pulling a laugh out of Jisung. "Oh my God, am I fucking you stupid? aw, y/n, stop you're so cute, baby," he coos as his hips continue delivering harsh blows to your pussy. your cheeks heat up and you wrap your arms around his neck, "harder, daddy... fuck," You mumble longingly.

Jisung fucks you like he'll never stop, desperately and equally as hard; sending your mind jettisoned into a world where he is the only thing that could sustain you. his mouth, his hands, the feel of his tongue stroking over yours, the way his hips meet yours so needily...

his voice.

"is this hard enough, honey? tell me how you feel," he drawls. you close your eyes again and let the sweet sensation of his cock stroking your walls melt your brain even more, "s'good, daddy... th- mmmm fuck... thank you, daddy..."

"anything for my good girl. good girls always get what they want, right?" he whispers against your lips. you nod, "Yes, daddy... yes, yes, yes, yes..." You cry. Jisung brings his hand between your hips and his own before rubbing circles into your clit, "want you to take daddy's cum... all of it. can you do that for me? wanna... fuck, baby... wanna breed your tight little pussy. tell me it's okay baby," he practically begs. you nod, knowing that to speak right now would be in vain. Jisung's hips and fingers show no mercy, "how many times are you gonna let me make you cum, princess?"

pressing your forehead to his, you whine again, "I dunno... daddy, please. Just want it," You plead. jisung kisses you then rolls you both over and he sits up between your parted legs to push his pants off. you watch him, wonderstruck by the sureness of his movements and his hands grab at your panties, his eyes meet yours and he crumbles again, "would you stop it?" he breathes bashfully and his eyes fall down to where his hands rest on your hips. he does a soft and steady sway from the left to the right as he tosses a thought around in his head. he comes to a halt when you speak,

"Whatever it is you're thinkin' about doin'... just do it. A hundred percent of the choices you've made so far have been fuckin' awesome so... Don't stop now," You whisper. jisung grips your panties and hesitates for a moment before shaking his head, "it's not about whether or not I should but whether or not I can..." he sighs. "but?" You whisper. "we'll never know if I don't try but you'd not fuckin' laugh at me."

you giggle, "I won't, baby. promise." jisung beams at you and gives your thighs a playful slap, "Oh shut up you're already laughing," he laughs. you lock your legs around his waist, "just wanna feel a little helpless," You whisper. jisung nods and makes an attempt tearing the flimsy material but with no success. you both laugh and he tries again with the sand results as before, "never mind then. I can think of a few other ways to make you feel helpless," he says and pulls them off.

"how?" You whisper and pull his hands down to your breasts. he smiles, "like this," he hums and traps your hands above your head. his fingers stroke you, "not gonna stop until you're begging me to," he breathes, "I wanna see if I can get your to cry a little."

#andysorbit #nct smut #nct #kpop smut #nct hard hours #nct hard thoughts #nct dream #nct dream smut #jisung park smut #andyception #park jisung smut #jisung smut #neoculturecollectives

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