#YOU ARE IN A LIFE OR DEATH SITUATION!!! DO NOT FALL FOR THE MAN ACROSS FROM YOU!!!! FUCK!!!!!!
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STOP PUTTING ROMANCE IN MY HORROR MURDER MYSTERY BOOKS‼️‼️‼️‼️
walks away
proceeds to go clink silly oc's together like barbie dolls and giggles and kicks my feet
#I'm a conflicting being#I will GAG seeing sudden romance in horror/murder mystery novels but deadass I have so many oc's of mine that are in relationships#They make me happy!!!#BUT IF I'M READING SOMETHING AND I FULLY 100% EXPECT HORROR DONT GO GOO GOO EYES ON ME RN#YOU ARE IN A LIFE OR DEATH SITUATION!!! DO NOT FALL FOR THE MAN ACROSS FROM YOU!!!! FUCK!!!!!!#STARES at my ocs from horror themed games but they still fit into their situation without seeming out of place
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DC X DP Fanfic idea: It's all Fun and Games Kids!
Danny Fenton moves to Gotham.
He moved there not because his parents ran him out of the house. His dad was bawling and begging him to stay while his mother spent three full days writing up different graphs to show how much safer was by nearing by so they could protect him.
(It's not like he still lived with them. Danny had moved out to his own place in amity when he was twenty-five. Moving clear across state lines wasn't much of a difference in his eyes)
He moved there, not because the ectoplasm was high. Ectoplasm is everywhere on Earth, and quite frankly, Gotham's was as polluted as its water was. It made the air spicy.
He moved there not because he was offered an amazing job or a life-changing opportunity. Danny's full-time job was writing novels. They were all based on his adventures in the Ghost Zone -with changed names of course- and were a hit online. He also had all of the Ghost King's gold.
He moved there simply because Danny wanted to.
Something about the city called to him, in a way that said "Hey this could be your home." He visited once for a Humpty Dumpty concert and fell in love with the sights, the people, and the life of Gotham.
Now some people would accuse him of being mad. Those people probably had a rebellious teenage stage where they had done crazy things like sneak out of the house, underage drink, sleeping around, or smoke something.
Danny, when he was a teenager, was fighting for his life and the lives of the ungrateful townspeople.
He didn't get to his rebellious stage. He didn't get his rush of doing something stupid because he was young and thought himself bigger than life.
So here Danny is, living his life as he pleases to make up for it.
He doesn't have to sneak out of his house since he owns it, he rather not drink or smoke (would they even affect him? His healing factor has never been tested against it) and Danny would like to be emotionally attached if he decided to sleep with someone.
What then does a man with too much time, too much power, and not enough bad young person decisions do?
He flirts with Death.
Death just so happens to be Batman-shaped.
Now it's all fun and games. He knows he doesn't have a real chance with Batman- it's Batman. Way out of Danny's league.- but that doesn't mean he can allow himself to fall into stupid situations and be dramatically rescued by the crime fighter.
Now if only his kids weren't so good at their jobs.
"You really should be more careful, Mr. Fenton. This is the third time this week" Nightwing says while untieing him. Danny does his best not to pout at the other. He had been having fun finding the answers to the riddles.
He wasn't at all worried about the fact he was placed over a pool of burning chemicals. He had been tried to a chair that was carefully balanced on overlapping ropes. It wire would snap with each correct answer, until he would fall his demise unless they could outsmart the Riddler.
Danny had gotten five out of ten correct before Nightwing burst through the ceiling.
"I don't mind," Danny says rubbing his wrists. "Better me than someone innocent."
Nightwing's lips purse "You are innocent."
"Yes, but I hardly matter in the grand scheme of things." Danny waves his hand missing the look of distress on the hero's face. He looks around the darkness of the ceiling hoping to spot a certain crouching figure.
"Is Tall Dark and Daddy here with you?" He asks Nightwing when he fails to see him.
"Please don't call him that."
Danny shrugs, suppressing his smile. He twirls back around to Nightwing pulling out a piece of paper from his jean's pocket. "By the way, I found the other victims, hid them in the cellar, and drew a of map of Riddle's bombs for you. You're welcome."
Nightwing stares before carefully taking the map. He taps his ear twice, muttering in a code- for that may be English but sounded like gibberish that it can not be anything else but code- and only after he hears a voice respond back does the hero give a strained smile. "Thank you, Mr. Fenton. This helps a lot."
"You're welcome!" He repeats with a bright smile. It's so odd for his efforts to be appreciated. Odd but nice.
Danny waits for the other to do his Bat-trained disappearing act- sometimes he wonders if Gotham gave her Knights a form of invisibility- but the man remains.
He shuffles his feet uncomfortable and Danny's eyes light up. Oh! Another attempt to get him to stop flirting with his father. What fun~!
"Mr. Fenton.....last week Red Robin rescued you from the Joker. Do you remember?"
"Yes. Red Robin is a great kid."
"A kid....weird for you to call him that when he's only a few years younger than you." Nightwing starts but Danny holds up a hand.
"I'm older than you"
There is a tight frown on the other man's face now. "You are not."
"I am." Danny pulls out his wallet flashing his ID card. The downside to his Ghostly powers is that he seems to be aging at a slower rate- at least physically. His parents theorized that he would take two years instead of the one that his aging required. Not an accurate number but the closest they had especially since both his parents were late bloomers and had baby face.
While Danny might be thirty-eight he appeared to be no older than nineteen.
"Mr. Fenton I don't think you should be carrying a fake-"
"Stay away from my father Harlot!" Robin screeches falling down from the shadows above. He points a very sharp sword at Danny's neck, sneering the whole time. "He has better things to do than rescue a love-struck worthless fool!"
Danny, leans on the top of the sword, eyes drinking into Robin's slight flinch when it cuts his skin a little. This is it. The Rush he had been craving for.
"I don't mean to be kidnapped Robin honest. It just sort of happens in Gotham." He makes his voice and body innocent in a way even Orphan can not tell he is lying. He knows because Clockwork confirmed the last time they met that the girl read his body language just as he wanted her to.
The two ghosts met up regularly to watch his overly "sweet" eyes fluttering and cheerful "Oh Batman you rescued me~!" performances together for a good laugh.
"You lie! You plan for this to happen to try and seduce my Father!"
Huh. The kid was smarter then his foul mouth and snobby behavior looked. Still Danny only had to twist his face into confusion for Nightwing to step in. The other vigilantes pulled the scowling child away, scolding him for harassing frightened civilians.
It was fun to see but nothing beat making polite come-ons to Batman- nothing gross like catcalling but more of overly thankful and dreamy sighs. Maybe he should see what Two-face is up to?
Surely the man would take him hostage and Batman's many children would be too busy to save him thus leading the Dark Knight himself to come to his aid.
Or in a world where Danny Fenton decides that it would be hilarious if he took on a Brucie Wayne persona in Gotham. Complete with a Heart-eyes-it's-beefy-Batman mentality that tricks the Batfam into thinking he is a Himbo who has bad luck for always getting caught up in villain schemes for being at the wrong place and wrong time.
Also, the Bat kids make it their life goal to keep Bruce from rescuing Danny since they do not like watching Fenton flirt with their dad. Even if Bruce himself ignores the boy they can't really threaten him.
Danny Fenton isn't being malicious or anything. He's just a boy with a crush who doesn't know better.
Clockwork is cackling, recording his favorite parts of Danny's interactions with the Bats.
#dcxdpdabbles#dc x dp crossover#It's all fun and games kids!#spirit halloween#The Batkids are stressed#Danny pretending to be a Himbo#Like Brucie but only towards Batman#Danny looks young as hell#Bruce is ignoring him for now#Slow burn???#Maybe???
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Christian Woman
König x Nun!Reader
Word count: 12.5 k
Tags/warnings: 18+ pure FLUFF & SMUT & COMFORT
First time/loss of virginity, implied consent, teasing, corruption kink, fingering, cunnilingus, thighing/intercrural sex, protected p in v. Silly, sweet, kind of innocent, kind of naughty. Romance, forbidden love trope, love as a religion, happy ending.
Part 3/3
Everytime König enters your life, you start to lie.
You lie about where you’re going and where you’ve been, you lie about who you see and what you do. People think you’ve helped some foreign man to hospital, that you were away last night to make sure he got safely into treatment. You told them he was some poor fellow who got stabbed and robbed on the street and that you called the ambulance from his phone and that the police needed to see you today for further questioning.
You lie and lie and lie, and then slip out to see König, who’s hopefully alive and still in the same place you left him last night.
When you enter the old, half-demolished building now serving as a B&B, the same old man from last night looks up with wary eyes. He immediately relaxes back to reading his paper when he sees you’re only the harmless, grey nun from last night.
You sneak upstairs without exchanging a word with him and go straight to König’s door. Giving it a quick knock and uttering, “It’s me,” you half expect to get shot through the wooden entrance. But there only comes a happy “Come in” from behind the door, and you notice König hasn’t even locked the damn thing. Is he expecting you, or is he simply that confident with his gunslinger skills?
Turns out he’s probably both, because you freeze right there on the doorstep when you step in.
He’s wearing nothing but boxers this time, and your eyes fly straight back to his eyes after being glued to the prominent package between his legs for far too long. And good God, the man’s got some muscles on those legs...
“Hallo, Kätzchen,” he greets, giving you an obnoxiously flirty smile upon noticing how flustered you look.
“You… You shouldn’t be up yet,” you quickly turn to close the door.
“I have to use the bathroom, no?”
He looks at you from across the room, so innocent and sweet and, at the same time, so mischievous that you don’t know what to do or where to look. He’s gotten rid of the hood, but there are traces of black paint around his eyes, it still clings to his brows, making him look like someone who just came home from a carnival. You want to go to him and wipe it away and tell him that he missed a spot and that he’s clumsier than you thought, but you can’t... You can only fall deeper into your awkward shyness as he raises his brows.
He turns what appears to be the shreds of his old shirt in his hands, then dumps it into the bin, suddenly a little nervous too. There are moments when you have suspected that König might suffer from social anxiety or shyness around people, but he covers it very well. Around you, the man seems to be at ease, flirts and jokes with you often and is very straightforward with his intentions.
You wonder if he likes you so much simply because you are unattainable.
Maybe you represent some girl next door to him, perhaps you remind him of his first love. Perhaps you happen to be something so sweet, innocent, and unreachable that he feels strong and safe in your company. Perhaps holding hands and trading a few passionate kisses feels safer than going after a real relationship… Perhaps this Will they, won’t they situation is enough excitement for him, too.
Or perhaps König has been so wounded by women that he prefers to be around a frigid – or at least very virginal – nun rather than face the dangers of approaching a real, attainable woman.
But flaunting himself like this in front of you is yet another clear sign that he, at the very least, loves to tease you to death. He looks like he’s in far better condition than yesterday, and starts to peel off the bandage like it’s just a scratch he suffered.
“Let me help you with that,” you rush to him, silently relieved when he lets you clean the wound and change the bandage. He even lays himself down to be treated by you and smiles with his signature grin as you fuss around him.
“Not a word,” you risk a glance his way while gently cleaning the wound.
“Not a word,” he promises with a cheeky smile, and gets another erection.
It’s even worse when he’s wearing nothing but his underwear... You can see the bulge stretching the fabric, forming a tight, thick curve right next to you as you try to focus on your task.
“Perhaps you should put some clothes on,” you offer while trying to concentrate on examining the skin for any signs of irritation.
“Eh. They’re dirty.”
“I can go and ask if they have a laundry room here,” you propose. “I could wash them for you. Do you need a new shirt?”
Ugh, what a stupid question...
“Why not,” he shrugs. “If the view is unpleasant...”
“Behave yourself now,” you say with a soft smile. “XL…?”
“At least.”
He must be getting better if he’s behaving like this... The man’s insufferable enough when he’s uninjured, but now that he’s getting pampered, he’s somehow even worse. You bite your lip as he dares to moan on the bed, too. You’ve brought him food last night, and he’s being treated carefully and touched softly, he’s getting his clothes washed for him, he’s got his own personal nun worrying about him 24/7. Of course he’s moaning.
And you’re in danger because you just love to pamper him. It feels more meaningful to treat his wounds and run on errands than do the eternal dishes at the convent. You feel like you’re saving a life here... Like someone actually needs you, depends on you. You feel so wanted, and König seems to fully agree with you.
“I could live the rest of my life like this,” he purrs on the bed as you gently put a fresh bandage in place.
“I have no doubt about that.”
“Are you really going to get me a new shirt…?” He asks with bright puppy eyes – the faked innocence is so blatant you want to throw a pillow over that face.
“If you give me some money to buy one, then yes.”
“You can have as much as you want. Buy yourself something nice while you’re at it, hmm? As a reward.”
“I don’t do this for the sake of rewards.”
“I know... But you could buy yourself anything you want. A new dress, new jeans, lingerie… Give me a little fashion show when you get back?”
König knows you’re probably the last woman on earth who’s interested in shopping sprees, let alone new jeans or sexy lingerie. Your only summer dress resides at your parent’s house as a relic from the past, a token from your life before sisterhood. But that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t want to see his face when you do a little twirl before his bed, wearing nothing but a laced bra and some matching strings…
“Give you a fashion show?” you laugh. “When did thanking me turn into you profiting from it?”
“I’m just saying... If you need new underwear, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”
You snort and shake your head slowly. “You’re far too cheeky when you’re injured. I truly hope you get better soon.”
“I don’t,” he crosses his arms behind his head, looking perfectly pleased with himself while lying there in nothing but his underwear. “And neither do you.”
“Excuse me? Of course I do…!”
“No, I don’t think so. You like to take care of people, I can see it. You’d make a good field medic.”
“I doubt that.”
“You remain calm under pressure,” he says. “And you take good care of me.”
“That’s only because you were silly enough to get shot.”
“...And I would do it again if it leads to this,” he grins.
“Cheeky,” you shake your head reprimandingly. “Far too cheeky.”
“You are an angel,” he says gently. “And I mean that.”
You rise to put the trash in the bin, then look back at him. “No, I’m not. I’m just some woman you bumped into in the street.”
“That’s exactly what an angel would say.”
You sigh: it’s useless with König, hopeless, like trying to wrestle with God. No matter what you say or do, he always turns it against you in the sweetest possible way. It’s like he's stripping away pieces of your armour – you fear nothing will be left before this visit is done.
“Did you eat any of the food I brought you…? You need to eat something, and drink a lot of water–” You take a look at the side table, noticing he has already eaten everything you got him last night. “Gosh. You must be getting better if you have an appetite like this...”
König only laughs on the bed. “I’m sorry, Kätzchen, but that was just a snack.”
You brought him three sandwiches, at least a dozen apples and a bag of walnuts, but they’re all gone. Of course a soldier of his size eats like a horse, and he needs all the food he can get, having gone through the wringer last night.
“I’d kill for a Schnitzel and a tall beer,” he sighs dreamily on the bed, no doubt knowing you well enough to tell that you’ll get him anything he wants if he only plays this wounded soldier role right.
You begin to doubt if his injuries were ever that serious. It just looked bad last night because he was so tired, and there was blood everywhere... With a bleak blink, you realize most of the blood you cleaned off of him last night probably wasn’t his own.
He’s in a cheery mood now, looking at you hopefully from the bed, arms crossed behind him, legs out long, wearing nothing but those stupid black boxers and that goshdarned, sweet smile.
“Do you think you could get me one of those big Schnitzels somewhere…? You know, the really big ones.”
“Maybe,” you cross your arms over your chest, and furrow your brow when he visibly perks up on the bed a little. “I said maybe. We’ll see. And you’ll get water instead of beer.”
“Shame.”
“You don’t need alcohol right now. Plus I can’t just go and buy beer looking like this.”
He smiles. The man’s all smiles today… Probably because of all the blood loss. Or maybe because you’re the girl next door who’s going to bring him his favourite food.
“Of course not,” he says, with hazy love in his eyes. “I am already forever in your debt, Kätzchen.”
…
It’s not a sin to take a nap together.
That’s what you tell yourself as you curl next to König after you bring him his Schnitzel, shirt, and a few bottles of sparkling water.
“There’s plenty of room for both. Come on, I won’t bite,” he shifts on the bed and extends his hand to invite you in.
You lay yourself down next to him and tell yourself it’s just to please a recovering man. There’s nothing sexual about it, so why not?
Still, your body is singing by the time he takes your hand in his own, wrapping both your arms around your middle like you’re an established couple about to get some sleep together.
Raindrops are slowly tapping on the window, and you tell yourself you’re just resting your eyes a bit as your lids drift closed. König is already snoring behind you, with another erection pressed against your back. You’re not intimidated by it: it only feels natural to cuddle him like this. The rain turns into a languid rap, and you know you won’t be leaving this building in a while. With the contentment of a cat who’s finally warm and safe, you fall into a deep sleep.
You stir after an hour or two, waking up to such a pleasant, safe feeling you don’t quite remember when you’ve ever felt this good. König has buried his face in your neck, somewhere in the folds of your coif, probably in an attempt to reach some skin. He pulls you closer when you try to shift, rumbling contently behind you.
“Sleep well…?”
“Mm...”
The moment is so lazy and cosy you don’t want to get up. A large, warm hand flexes against your stomach as König buries his face deeper under the veil. He reaches the skin of your neck and inhales deeply, making all the tiny hairs across your body shoot up.
You let him kiss you there, and he does it with reverence, like he’s kissing a holy idol. It’s chaste enough but makes you go taut in his hold – in fact, you have to use all your willpower not to moan out loud.
“I think I need to go now,” you whisper, doing absolutely nothing to act on that threat.
“Mm–hm,” he agrees while keeping your body hugged tight against him.
“König… Really, I need to get back...”
“Ja... Ok,” he mutters, hand traveling up the thick black cotton of your habit. It meets your breast and cups it without shame. You feel the hot, hard length twitching against your back, making leaving this bed less and less tantalizing.
You whine when he starts to fully paw your breast, thrusting his hips up and against your butt. The kiss turns into a love bite right after as he starts to use teeth on your neck – your back arches on instinct, a broken sigh slipping through your lips. He can't be serious... A hickey-covered neck is the last souvenir you want to bring back from this nap.
“You said you wouldn’t bite,” you whimper, but he just laughs softly. The sound is thick and breathless, cinders and smoke so close to your ear that you’re shamefully wet even without his other… advances.
The afternoon is mellow, it has stopped raining, but you wish you could stay on this spun sugar bed with him forever. You know what you want already; in your heart, you’ve made a giant decision, but the overwhelming realisation is too much to bear.
And so you rip yourself away from his arms and flee once again. He’s the devil himself, smiling on the bed with another proud erection tenting his pants. Rushing back to the convent, adjusting your veil as you go, your mind is plagued with the image of König reaching a hand down those boxers and enjoying a long, drowsy masturbation session while you have to hurry home for Mass.
Christ…
It only took 24 hours to make you melt in his arms like snow.
And the “naps” become a habit as you haul him food or clothes, new from the store or clean and warm from the drier. You bring him a fresh pair of boxers, too, since he only had the clothes on his back when he was shot. He’s ever so grateful for his saving angel, who he gets to cuddle “as a reward”. You don’t quite know if it's a reward for you or him.
Sometimes, he’s cleaning his gun or doing wall pushups when you arrive, indicating that he’s still recovering but getting better every day – and more restless by the minute. At some point, you’re not even napping anymore; you only lay down with him to snuggle and make out, feeling like a shy teen when you only let him touch you over your clothes. His hands explore you literally everywhere except between your legs because that’s when you gently guide his eager paws away.
You wonder if this is what drugs feel like to some people. You’re fully in the present moment, swimming in a soft bliss, calm and whole and sweet and good. Everything in the world is just as it should be.
“If you ever come to Austria, I will take you to the mountains,” König mumbles nonsense into your hair, freed one day from the confines of your veil and coif. It’s a surrender in every meaning of the word – your clothes are the last literal protection you have against his attempts to worship you.
“Perhaps we’ll stay there... Forget all this,” he chatters lazily, clearly in the same sweet bubble as you. “Ja, that sounds good… I’ll keep you there until you come to your senses.”
“That sounds like a kidnapping scenario,” you comment with a soft smile on your lips.
“Ah. My plan is ruined.”
You crane your head to look at him. “No... Not ruined.”
“No?”
“Just exposed.”
You figure it was only a matter of time before this snuggle turned into another make out session. This time, the shared kiss is purposeful, full of presence and slow need. The anxiety is gone, the rights and wrongs of this world tucked somewhere far away.
“We need to stop doing this,” you whisper into his mouth, brain turning into mush from the way he holds you so gently.
“Why…? It feels nice…”
You can’t argue with that, and when his hands start to travel, you do nothing to stop them.
He slides a palm down your curves, pulls you closer by the waist, cups your butt when you don’t seem to protest. Usually, this sort of behaviour has been a little too much, you have treated it as a bridge that shouldn’t be crossed. Now, you let his hand travel down your thigh, you allow him to grab a handful of your skirt and slowly, slowly drag it up.
When you still don’t protest, his unhurried kiss turns into a delighted, hungry one.
He finds nothing but skin underneath your dress, and starts to explore your thigh with a trembling hand. He's warm and big, both gentle and calloused, and you can’t help but think how obscene you must look with your black robes dragged up like that, a man’s hand desperately searching for the treasure between your legs while your mouths devour each other in a slow, sloppy kiss.
His fingers slide up, up, up until they meet the fabric of your panties, then come to a halt right above the mound of your sex. In both horror and thrill, you find your thighs parting, inviting him in, heart racing in your chest as König finds your underwear not only wet but soaked through.
That’s when he groans – into your mouth, hot breaths hitting your face as he examines you through the panties like it’s business as usual that you’re so wet. You’re both ashamed and exhilarated – you haven’t even shaved. And he’s about to…
“Mh–”
You feel him probe the side of the fabric, then casually sliding your poor, soaked underwear aside. Your wet folds are exposed to cold air and warm fingers; the last of your armour, your pride and shame and vows, drift away like they were made of nothing but simple steam.
He drags his fingers across your folds, unhurried and pleased to meet you so ready. The fact that this man could crush your windpipe or break your spine, he could grab your thighs and force them apart like sticks, have his way with you if he wanted, doesn’t make you afraid of him like it probably should. You know he would never hurt you, but the intensity, the intimacy in his glare and touch, are enough to make the air around you feel electric.
“You’ve never been with anyone…?”
The question is breathless and thick, causing your core to tighten.
“No…”
Is it that obvious…?
“Hmm.”
“‘Hmm’ what…?”
“Nothing. You’re sweet.”
He doesn’t try to steal a peek at your glistening sex, all bared and slick for him. He only has eyes for you. Your rushed breaths, how they hitch in your throat when he brushes a thumb over your clit. Your lids, fluttering over defenceless eyes as you try to search for something to ground you. But there’s nothing to hold on to but him, so you anchor yourself in the dark hunger of his eyes.
“I tried to leave you alone. I truly tried, Kätzchen… But you’re so sweet it’s illegal.”
The words hit you, loaded with lust, but you’re too weak to answer him anymore. Pitch-black darkness stares back at you as the sounds of your drenched pussy fill the room. You want to touch him too, but you’re too shy, still trying to silence the buzzing beehive of your brain and come to terms with the fact that this is actually happening.
“I should’ve come back for you… I knew I should have, right away. I was too dumb, meine Liebling…”
Starved and dreamy, he looks down at you, whole body tight as you hold on to him and take in his confession. Only, you feel like you’re the one who’s confessing here… He seems to read you like a book, giving you just enough to keep that adoring look on your face.
He slips a finger in, and you stop breathing for a second, the room seems to go darken, even when it’s high noon. Time slows down while your heart thunders in your chest, giving you a sense of urgency where there is none. Pulling out and adding another finger straight away, he ushers a mewl out of you.
Your fingers curl around his shirt, pulling and tugging it as you try to keep intact. A deep rumble echoes in his chest when he sees you so pliant, clutching him like you’re drowning.
“I know you want this,” he says, voice so rough that you barely recognize it’s him. “Don’t hold back…”
You try to beg him for more but the words come out as a whimper without a voice, causing something dark to flash behind his eyes. That’s all the reply you get: a pleased, filthy stare of someone who’s about to wreck you up. He must like his victims like this, too: on their backs, begging for mercy before he finishes them…
Blinking in despair, you try to drive the intrusive thoughts away, but he’s already upon you. Crossing the last breath of air between you, he captures your mouth in his.
You can do nothing but take, take, take: his fingers and his mouth, greedy for the rapture that’s already blooming in the distance, rising like a tidal wave. He won’t stop kissing you even when you spread your legs further – to what end, you don’t even know, because he fucks you without effort, keeps you pressed against him in a way that says you’re his.
You squeeze your eyes shut, tasting him, your whole body going tense before you erupt with a miserable, pained moan.
You reach the peak and break, right into his mouth, around his fingers, the weight of it all almost unbearable. He groans on your tongue, kissing you while you milk his fingers, your inner walls hugging him in waves.
Nothing moves except you, the shudders and squirms gradually leaving your body while he draws circles on your clit, lazy and somewhat absent-minded, like you’re his favourite toy now.
The release brings with it a roaring wave of sadness, a deep grief, something that has been locked up inside you for months – no, years, now brought to the surface from the bottom of a stagnant sea.
He lets you go reluctantly, releasing your mouth so you can breathe more freely. Burying his face into your neck, you decide to do the same, escaping to the solace of his strength while trying to prevent tears from welling up.
König doesn’t yet understand that your release continues as a cleansing wave of relief; he only pulls out, slowly and carefully, gently sets your panties back where they were, straightens your dress, and hugs you as if nothing ever happened.
You start to cry in full, not even knowing why. You just know you’ve wanted this for ages. This connection, this ecstasy, this mutual presence and fulfilment, this sense of belonging to someone.
“Scheiße… Did I do something wrong?”
König finally realizes you’re crying, and grows taut from the middle like an iron cord. The pure concern in his voice only makes you bawl louder and grip him tighter, and the man starts to veritably panic.
“Kätzchen, I–”
“No, no,” your jaw is shaking as you try to explain. “I just… It’s…”
You’re hugging him so tight that you don’t know where you end and he begins, but as König caresses your back, swallowing as he does it, you eventually come back down to planet Earth and back to this bed.
“Did you like it…?” He asks, still with so much worry that you could announce your love for this man right away.
“Yes… Very much.”
“Gut.”
You think about returning the favour, but selfishly, you’d want nothing more than to stay here like this, in his arms, for just a few more minutes. Or an hour... Well, if you got to decide, you’d stay here for the rest of your life.
“Come here,” he says while you’re already locked in an inseparable embrace. He doesn’t make a single move to coax you into touching him in return, and after a few seconds, your voice comes out as a frail question.
“Should I… Do you want me to–?”
“Shh.”
…
Six months without him.
Six months, and now you couldn’t bear to be apart from him for six hours.
You’re glad you were sensible enough to shave before running to him that morning. Making up more excuses about how you’re seeing your friend because she just suffered a terrible loss and needs some spiritual and emotional support, you sneak a couple of blocks down the street to see König. If anyone suspects something, they say nothing, but you feel the lies as a grimy cloak upon your shoulders as you hurry up the stairs of the B&B.
The shadows dissipate when König catches you in his arms. You get smothered with kisses as he spins you around, making you chastise him for being so careless with the wound.
It’s, of course, difficult to scold a man who’s kissing you so profusely… You’re starting to feel like he wants it to open again so that he never has to leave this place. To be honest, you wouldn’t mind it either if you two stayed here forever.
“You’re crazy, and silly, and I like you,” you tell him while looking down at him – a strange thing to do, even if the man has picked you up like this once before.
“Is that so?”
His eyes always light up when he sees you, but now, he looks like a man in love.
“Yes... I like you a lot.”
“And I like you. Do you want to see how much?”
He gives you that slightly crooked grin that reminds you of feline predators, or fantasy creatures who are up to no good. He also moves quickly for a man of his size, and before you know it, you’re thrown on the bed like a sack of potatoes. As you laugh and try to adjust yourself on the bedding, he’s already on his knees, head quickly disappearing under your robe.
God, he’s not going to–
“What are you doing…?”
“Giving you a kiss,” comes a muffled voice under your dress.
He’s headed straight between your legs, two days worth of coarse stubble scraping the insides of your thighs as he goes.
“But… But what about your injuries?” You try to scurry upwards on the bed, hands shooting instinctively to hold his head in place before he does something utterly shameless.
“König–”
“Sei ruhig.”
God – you’re not the most confident woman when it comes to these things to begin with. It’s one thing for a man to lay his fingers on you and look you in the eyes while you cum, and another thing entirely to place his mouth where you’re wet and aching.
What if he won’t like it...?
What if you’re not beautiful enough there?
...What if you taste odd?
You’re shy, as any woman would be on their first time getting head. You’re infinitely grateful to yourself for shaving because there’s a delighted, surprised sound under the robe when König strips you from your underwear.
“For me…?”
He’s smiling at your pussy, voice dampened by the thick cotton, and you thank God that he can’t see your mortified face right now.
You brace yourself for a delicate kiss, maybe a tentative lick or two. But the soft tenderness of yesterday is gone as König presses his whole face into your sex, giving it a good inhale followed by a good, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.
Wrenched awake from your semi-relaxed state, you jerk up on the bed as he does it again. Then come the flat-tongued, starved licks – your pussy wakes up after recovering from the initial shock, giving a full throb against his stubbled jaw. König breathes a short laugh against you, pleased with this response.
The noise of him “kissing” you is obscene and only gets worse when he drags his tongue up and down your slit. You truly hope the doors here are solid wood because you can’t stifle all the sounds that escape you. For some reason, it is vital for you not to let the old receptionist know that a humble sister of Christ is getting licked to ruin in his establishment.
You’re stunned, and a bit appalled – was this all it took to turn your nose up to your vows? A big man with big arms and a big gun? Some guy who wants to get under your dress after a few weeks of acquaintance…?
Because that’s what this is, a few weeks’ acquaintance currently under your robes, eating you out like you’re his last meal.
The things you’ve imagined him do to you are shameful; even now, you fantasize about König picking you up and taking you against a wall when he gets better. This man treats you right, he treats you sweet, but you want more, you need something earthly and raw, and him lapping you under your habit is precisely that. It’s ravenous and adorable at the same time, so conflicting that you don’t know who you are anymore.
You’re going through several stages of ego death and bliss; you’re going through a crisis of faith and multiple rebirths while König is having a field day with your pussy. It should concern you that he’s so eager to wreck you like this. It should arouse suspicion that the playful aura of this man changes whenever he gets between your legs... He becomes deliciously dark somehow, dark and base and addictive, and you wind into another plane of existence with him, to someplace only reserved for you two.
“König,” you whisper. “I’m– I’m about to cum…”
“Uh-huh. You have my permission.”
It’s dark, again, so smooth and rich that your inner walls clench, then flood with pleasure and pain. The inevitable orgasm is thigh-shaking and soul-ripping, your moans long and pitiful now. They’re not whimpers but cries, bare and pained as he continues to bully you with his tongue, grunting silky sin into your core.
You can feel yourself leak on his chin as you cum, violently, forgetting the whole existence of the man downstairs. He turns you into an overstimulated, limp, heady mess – your chest is heaving by the time König emerges from under your robes.
“Oh God…”
It simply escapes from your lips when you see how wet his jaw is. There’s a pussydrunk look in his eyes as he takes a look at his good work.
All thoughts of What if he doesn’t enjoy it evaporate when you see the demanding erection between his legs, pointing at you so viciously that you feel pity for the fabric of his pants.
“Ja... I made you see God?”
“Stop it… You’re so cheeky...”
“Eh. And you’re technically still a virgin. We need to fix that, don’t you think?”
“I don’t feel like a virgin.”
“Well… I can take the blame.” He gives you a naughty little wink. “Remember? I would go to hell for you.”
And as if you weren’t in over your head already, he starts to drag your robes up. Too limp to do anything about him unravelling you like that – not even wanting to prevent it – you continue to catch your breath as his eyes go wide.
“This is what you’ve been hiding under here all this time…?”
He tucks the thick fabric up until your breasts are exposed. You’re not wearing any bra; you stopped wearing them years ago as useless and immoral. Your nipples perk up from excitement under his stare, your panties wrenched down in a hurry, now crumpled and forgotten somewhere between your thighs – the look on his face is priceless as he takes in the view of your exposed body like you’re a Christmas present he just opened.
“You naughty girl…” he says thickly, and while you’ve received plenty of attention these last two days, it still makes you feel odd to be adored like this. His hawk eyes fly back to you, the corner of his mouth tugging up with some new, nasty idea.
“Want to see what I got?”
Oh God…
You don’t even get to express your consent – which would be enthusiastic – before König pulls the waistband of his boxers down.
The cock that springs free is long and thick, heavy and red-pink from the tip that’s pointing straight at you. Curving slightly to the side, it’s even bigger than you thought, somehow having been rendered harmless by his pants, making it seem hefty but never that tall.
Your friend was right about him – tall men have tall dicks… Big hands indicate a big dick, too, you remember as you watch how he wraps tall, lean fingers around himself, giving his shaft a slow half-stroke.
“You want to practice with me?”
You quickly rip your eyes up to his – you’re the world’s lousiest nun, caught staring at a cock like that. König only seems proud that you’re so intrigued by it, his eyes watching over you with dark amusement.
“Uh–huh,” you swallow and nod – Christ, your voice is breaking…
And whatever he means by “practising”, you can only hope that he’s not going to put it inside. There’s not even a condom for crying out loud.
It’s a sigh-inducing thing when he gets to it, rests the heavy head of him on your clit, then drags the fat tip down across your folds.
“F–uck…” his head falls back a bit, lids fluttering closed from the way your slickness feels against him. That’s the most sensitive spot in a man – more of your friend’s advice floods your brain as you watch how he does it again, rasping while guiding himself up and down your slit.
You’ve never seen him so serious: his brows furrow together as he explores your folds, spreading your wetness all over himself while stroking his length. Agonizingly slow, you can see his balls hang heavy and gradually pull tight as he continues to work his cock.
You know you should touch him, return the favour at last – but it’s hard to interrupt a moment like this. You’re mesmerized to see him already tensing from the chest up, the tendons on his neck becoming visible as he grits his teeth together.
“Kätzchen…” he rasps, “Would you mind if I…”
You fear that he’ll ask for permission to slip it inside, tempted and weak-willed. And to be honest, you’re not sure if you’d have the will to deny him.
But that’s not what he has in mind, apparently, as he begins to fist himself in a slack hurry, with half-lidded eyes and a slightly open mouth. He just wants to cum like this and ease the pain that must be terrible after days of sexual tension…
And seeing you laid out before him, naked and dreamy and bare, licked stupid just moments ago isn’t helping, that’s for sure.
“No,” you whisper, “No I won’t mind…”
You brave your heart to reach out and touch him: it’s just a shy hand gliding down his chest, but it makes him groan from pleasure. A brush of fingertips across his abs, and his muscles contract, and when you slide your palm over his hipbone and coax him to come closer, he finally leans forward and on top of you.
“Kätzchen…” he groans in whispers now. “You’re so wet…”
He could slip it in from this position, search for your opening and rough it inside. It’s tempting, so alluring that you almost say please – but that would be a catastrophe, and so you only look up at him, speechless when he supports himself on his hands and starts to glide up and down, fucking himself between your thighs.
The bulged tip caresses your clit each time he pulls back – you doubt you can cum another time like this, but he sure as hell tries his everything to get you off too.
“You want it…” he grunts above you. “You want me to fuck you. Right...?”
“Yes… But–”
“I’ll get a condom.”
“No, wait–”
Now it's your turn to panic. You were always taught that condoms are unacceptable, while simultaneously, you know you could never do it raw, not even with König.
This is a moral choice you've never had to face before, and your brain is no use to you now. It's riddled with chants of Put it in and Forget about the bloody plastic because even with your zero experience you know it wouldn't feel as good as skin.
"No? It's a sin or something?"
König pants above you, both tired and needy, and you nod with pleading eyes, not knowing what else to do.
"Ok… Ok," he adjusts to the new reality while hovering on the brink of eruption. "I'll talk you out of it later..."
You give him a small smile, and he answers it with his own, slowly, starts to move again. Just the feel of the smooth surface of his cock dragging up and down your slit is enough to bite your lip and moan. Sliding your hands over his waist and down his butt, you give him a good squeeze–
And were he inside you, the effects would have been disastrous.
He cums abruptly, with a stiff, broken groan as soon as your nails dig into his skin. Hot, heavy seed meets your folds; it’s thick, the spurts neverending as he continues to fuck himself between your thighs with little control. How you still have anything left to give, you cannot comprehend, but the sudden, messy orgasm of this indomitable man makes you cum as well.
Everything’s hot and sticky and dreamlike, almost pornographic, your thighs drenched in cum as he ruts through the orgasm with you. You roll your hips in sync with his, arriving at the end of your own mellow, beautiful peak, wondering how on earth it can only get better every time you have sex…
The afterwaves are magical; you basically came together, and it hasn’t even been in yet. If this is what sex is like, mind-blowing and relaxing, hot and sweet and fulfilling with the right person, then you feel both dumb and proud for saving yourself for König.
And you’re starting to realize that you might just have a boyfriend…
No – not a boyfriend.
You have a man.
…
König orders food – or goes downstairs in nothing but his shirt and boxers and makes the poor man order it – while you lie in bed, under covers, still high from all the lovemaking. The room must be smelling like a sex cave by now.
You take a quick shower while waiting for the delivery, mentally berating yourself for being so reckless. Having a man cum all over your folds is not exactly a safe way to practice sex… You’re doing everything wrong, asking König if he has any diseases when he comes back.
He just pulls you back into his arms with a gentle laugh and says: “What do you take me for, a jerk? Of course I’m clean, silly kitty.”
That calms your nerves a little. You’re feeling anything but virginal right now, and putting on the black, heavy robes of a nun doesn’t sit well with you. You leave them on the floor, making König a very happy man by deciding to sit on the bed completely naked.
You reach for the comforter when there’s a knock on the door, and clutch it against your chest like a paid woman while König pays the courier – still in his black boxers and t-shirt, like he’s just a guy who happens to live here.
“What...? Eat?”
The smell of Nepalese food fills the room: the rich, mouthwatering scents in stark contrast to what you’re used to at the convent’s kitchen. Butter chickens, lamb koftas and flatbreads are laid out steaming on the bed between you, and König attacks the food like someone who hasn’t seen a meal in weeks.
It makes you smile; him being so happy with simple things such as good food and some kinky sex, a nice cuddle and a nap to top it off. He munches on the food with his mouth open because it’s so hot – the man’s secretly so greedy that you can’t help but wonder if he had enough love, food and shelter as a child.
“Do you do this often?” You ask when he rips another handful of flatbread to dip in the sauce.
“Seduce women.”
“Seduce…?” He laughs. “Kätzchen, I couldn’t seduce a woman even if I tried.”
You’re unsure if he’s dodging the question or being humble – or worse yet, if it means you’ve been an easy conquest.
“You just did,” you point out, realizing you’re sulking when König tilts his head with curiosity.
“Oh. I’m sorry… Did it hurt?”
You grab a pillow to throw at him, but he dodges it and laughs.
“Careful with the food…!”
And of course he isn’t.
You decide it’s useless with him, and besides, jealousy is not a good look. But you just can’t help it... You’re so in love that it’s not even funny anymore.
To you, he’s a hero and a God in one man, he’s both Satan and the Saviour. But to König, you’re probably just a nice foreign friend... Some cute nun he met months ago, who he finally gets to grope and taste and, hopefully, soon fuck. He says he doesn’t have time for women, and yet he licks you like a professional – not like you know what a professional in this area feels like, but it’s pretty clear that König is not a virgin even if you are.
It must be nice to live a dangerous life and bump into women on the street... Woo them off their feet and leave them yearning, then get shot and cared for by some fussy, naive nun who’s head over heels for him. Perhaps it’s his favourite pastime hobby to torture ladies with flowers and letters and some cock and then leave like a cowboy. You wonder if he has a girl in every city – girls who aren’t nuns, girls who know how to show him a good time.
“Kitten... I’m not like that,” he says, a curry-drenched piece of bread dripping sauce over his fingers. “I only hold hands with you. Now that you finally let me.”
And you don’t know what’s more decadent: eating naked on the bed after making love, or being a Catholic nun who’s about to beg a man to fuck you, with or without a condom.
He finally notices he’s about to make a mess on the sheets, and gobbles the food as quickly as he can before there’s sauce all over the bed. Licking his fingers with dark, glimmering eyes set on you, you quickly focus your attention on the food.
The bastard is flirting with you every chance he gets, even when you two are trying to eat...
“Is this what you call holding hands?” You ask, reaching for a piece of bread he's offering you.
König looks at you a while longer, with an expression he sometimes wears when conversing about serious, deep subject, the issues of God and Heart.
“This is what I call liking someone so much it hurts.”
…
König learns your body language; he knows it like a native speaker by the end of the week.
You, on the other hand, learn that he’s ticklish on the sides of his stomach and behind the ears. You discover that he gets hard if you caress his abs or whisper in his ear that you like him... You learn everything about what kind of handjobs he likes; you find out that he almost rips the sheets apart when you take him in your mouth.
You lie on top of him, you lie under him, you let him hold you any way he likes. He moves you around like a doll, kisses you until you’re soaked, laughs into your neck when you tell him he’s being impossible again. He loves your breasts religiously, bites and nibs and licks them until you grab his head and tell him you can’t take it anymore. He has an oral fixation for your body and has to kiss every part of you: your inner thighs, your hip bones, the quivering place just below the navel; your neck and fingers and arms, even the arch of your foot.
You receive attention only reserved for saints, and fear that someone will notice the smell of cum on you, or the musk of a man, lingering in your hair. Your sisters could easily notice your flushed lips if they wanted to. They could see the dreamy smiles, eyes that have just seen God, but everyone is looking inward, and no one sees how you rebel against the Lord right under their nose.
You stay strong in your no condoms policy, but practice with König every day; you practice so much that his wound opens and starts to bleed.
“Oh my God…”
“Heh… It’s okay,” he says as your stare drifts down to the side of his stomach. The bandage is slowly blooming with red, and your crazy soldier would simply go on if you didn’t order him to lie down.
You’re both naked as you start to patch him up, convinced that this is some sort of a punishment for being so reckless. König only smiles on the bed while you treat him; it’s like his master plan finally worked.
“I like it when you take care of me,” he explains while you clean up the wound. You raise your stare, and in place of a horny, able-bodied man, there’s briefly a boy, a kid who used to make himself sick as a child to get at least some attention.
“Has no one ever taken care of you…?”
“Not really.”
He grunts when the antiseptic seeps inside the wound – you wince, sympathetic to his pain.
“Is that why you like me?” You try to chitchat and take his attention away from it, secretly nervous when fishing for details on why he would want to be with someone like you.
“There are many reasons why I like you.”
“Such as…?”
“Your smile, for starters... I like that. And then… I really like your ass.”
“König...”
“What, I’m not allowed to?”
You purse your lips to scold him, but really, your heart hurts so much it burns. There are a million doors to this man, but he only keeps one or two open at a time, to prevent an attack of some sort.
“I like your devotion,” he says, finally with some serious air about him. “Your kindness. You don’t hurt people.”
“...But you do,” you whisper. It’s not an accusation, only a comment.
“I would never hurt you.”
The playfulness is gone, and while you miss it, you also like it when König gets fragile like this, stripping himself of all the shields that make him a strong, confident merc.
“Sometimes we have to fight for the things we love,” he continues, probably explaining why he endorses violence.
“Killing is a sin,” you say, more to yourself than to him.
“Kätzchen... You can’t tell me it’s a sin to kill the ones who would try to hurt you. You can’t tell me it’s not love to hurt them back.”
You look at him, calm and adoring on the bed. He’s so sure of his choices, like an archangel set on the borders of Eden with a flaming sword in his hand...
And the rose is starting to unfurl, the enigma finally unravelling itself. You’re the sacred Other, the opposite of him, you’re the great Mystery he’s infatuated with. You have peace and faith and hope and love: everything he lacks.
And he’s the opposite of you. Fierce, vengeful, violent… Hopeless, suffering, without peace. Ready to dive into the world and bathe in it, be it a pool filled with love or blood.
He’s searching for the answers, too, only in different ways.
“And no one ever will.”
“No one’s trying to kill or hurt me,” you whisper, trying to stand brave under that flaming stare. But he’s stronger than you, even when recovering. He pulls you back to the bed and in his arms because that’s where you simply belong now, and caresses your cheek, as gently as you caressed his withered flower in your cell.
…
You know your days at the convent are coming to an end, but when the abbess gives you a warning after the fifth day of you skipping half of your chores, appointments and prayers, you go to see her.
Without mentioning König or what you’ve been up to lately, you simply tell her you’ve decided to move on with your life. You say you’ve studied your soul for months now, coming to a conclusion that the life of a nun doesn’t suit you after all.
These things happen, and people have left before; it’s nothing new under the sun that a nun or a monk wishes to return to the world. This is not a prison, you remind yourself, knowing that your departure will send some waves through the place but that eventually, people will go on with their lives.
You will probably be forgotten in a year: someone else will take your place, and you will continue your adventures someplace far away from here… Or that’s what you hope.
But even if things didn’t work out with König, and you somehow ended up alone, it has become clear that you can’t stay here and continue this double life.
König’s offer doesn’t sound too bad: the Austrian Alps sound very enticing, actually. A simple life away from the buzz of the city is a golden opportunity for you; peace and faith can remain in your life without preventing you from participating in it. If only you knew whether he was kidding when he said that…
“Are you sure, sister? This seems like a rash decision.”
“Yes. I’m sure. I… I think I have found something,” you try to awkwardly explain.
“Something… Or someone?”
“I just know that I can’t stay here. It’s not right.”
“On that, I agree.”
You go through the procedures, ritualistic, almost. The abbess asks whether you understand that this cannot be undone: you can’t just leave and then come back if you change your mind. The doors of the Church will always remain open to you, but your vows cannot be renewed, not in this convent. If this acquaintance of yours turns out to be a disappointment, you cannot simply come back here, don your robes, and start over.
She’s only doing her duty, and you try to listen respectfully, nodding as she lists the things that will be out of your grasp after you walk out those doors. Thinking that everything’s settled, you inform her you’ll leave today, to which she puckers her brows.
“My dear. Don’t you owe it to this convent to meditate on this for one more day? Don’t you owe it to yourself, to the Lord...? I’m sure the world can wait a few more hours.”
You sigh, bow your head, and bend to her will.
She’s right; you can’t just leave as if all the years of joy and peace here meant nothing. You have people to say goodbye to, and you owe it to God to say your prayers, not your last, but last behind these walls. You haven’t even attended the evening mass these days; it’s like you stopped being a nun when a certain Austrian soldier asked if you wanted to take a nap with him.
You receive lots of well wishes, hugs, even tears when you tell others you’re leaving. Embarrassed that you almost got rid of your robes and sneaked out to another secret lover’s meeting without even saying farewell, you meet everyone with full presence until you find yourself crying too.
You catch very little envy in your sisters, but there are some who look at you with jealous disdain when you tell them that no, you don’t even have an apartment yet, nor a job, but that you’ll take your new life as a gift and face it like an exciting adventure.
Thinking about König all day long, you can’t wait for tomorrow so you can tell him the good news. You hope he understands that you can’t visit him every day, even if it has been your silent agreement that you knock on his door before noon. It’s a good thing that the poor man gets some rest: you can tickle and giggle and practice with him tomorrow to your heart’s content, it’s not like he’ll disappear in the next 24 hours.
He’s in König now; all that bliss resides with him and the moments when you two break bread together, or wash each other, tell each other silly secrets on the bed, fall asleep after a round of good sex.
Except that that’s exactly what you fear while you go about your day.
Sorrow and excitement mix in your heart with bittersweet torment, but what haunts you most is that you no longer find God in the great hall where your sisters sing. You don’t feel His presence during the Mass.
Sun sets behind the window, and you sigh while peeking out of your nunnery turned prison. Silence weighs upon you like a blanket, but you can’t get any sleep.
There’s a sudden “clack” on the window, followed by rap, small pebbles or something clattering against the glass. You rise to sit on the bed, instantly thinking of König and his stupid, silly threats.
The longing is awful, it’s even worse when König was away for half a year because now you actually have something to miss. You wonder if he’s watching the same sweet skies as you, if he’s worried or hurt when you didn’t visit him today.
You wonder if the man has only shrugged his shoulders and left…
It can’t be…
There’s another clack, then another, until you jump from under the covers and go to the window, opening it without even remembering to be quiet.
As soon as the windowpane glides open and you peek out, you meet König and his stare.
“What are you– You can’t be here...!”
“I was just about to sing,” he grins without even bothering to tone down his voice, letting the remaining gravel in his hand fall to the ground.
Bending his knees, he swiftly jumps up, pulling himself to the window sill like it’s easy parkour, probably opening that goshdarn wound again in the process. No wonder men die younger – you’d have to tie this specimen to a sturdy lamp post if you wanted him to stay put...
Throwing a pair of long legs over the sill, he makes himself at home, forcing you to take a good few steps back as he simply waltzes inside your room.
“You didn’t come to see me today,” he says like it’s some kind of an explanation for this silliness.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” you roll your eyes. “Something came up, and I had to stay here.”
If you tell him that you’ve just renounced your vows, there’s no way you’ll get him out. He’d just say you must celebrate the good news by making love all night.
“That’s alright,” he says amiably. “I’ll just visit you.”
Trying to argue with whispers doesn’t really help your cause. König only smiles down on you like a cheerful, jovial sun.
“But... It’s... You can’t be here…!”
“I promise I’ll behave.”
“You and your promises… We both know how well you keep those. Go back before you get me into trouble, silly. We can see each other tomorrow.”
“But I want to see you today.”
“Well, you’ve seen me,” you extend your hands to your sides, knowing you’ve already lost. “You can go back now.”
“I don’t think so.”
He takes another step, forcing you to back away until you bump into your bed. Crossing the final breath between you, he pulls you into a kiss.
So much for contemplating your choices and dedicating your last night as a nun to God…
And it’s laughable how fast he rids you of your clothes these days. It’s stupid how fast you’re able to help him get undressed… You all but tear the clothes off each other; actually, you can hear a seam rip when you both yank the shirt over his head, the new black t-shirt you just bought him a few days ago.
Does he even know what he’s doing to you…?
Muscles rippling in the fading sunlight, he’s a god mortalized. Body built as a weapon to rip or ram his way through enemies, to you, he’s only ever been the source of joy and pleasure.
You could pray on the altar of his pecs, sing songs and chants to his lips, worship the bunching muscles of his thighs, kneel before the thing that rests thick between them. The sheer width of him is enough to make you drunk: desire pools, brims, until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore.
You lay yourself on the bed, and he follows, like a big panther or a prowling titan. The bed sags as he sets his knee on it, it wails when crawls on top of you. Heavy cock swinging between his thighs, it seems like a cruel joke that you chose this man to be your first.
And you didn’t expect that you’d lose your virginity this way: in your old room at the holy convent you swore yourself to a few years ago. You didn’t expect you’d lose it to a giant soldier who starts to frantically search for a condom after you whisper to him you’re done with practising.
While theoretically a sin, you’re more sullen with the prospect that you won’t be able to feel the silken hardness of him now that he rolls the plastic on. A little too enthusiastically – as if he hadn’t seen a woman in weeks, let alone cummed all over one two times yesterday.
Still, you find heat pooling down your stomach as he approaches you, keen and eager and as hard as a man can get when he sees something that he likes.
He doesn’t need to part your legs: you do it for him, and when he sees your pussy all puffed up, leaking a thin stream down on the bed, his brows knit together, the expression reminding you of approaching thunder in summer.
His gaze is heavy like midnight when he guides it back to you – always back to you and your eyes, even if there’s a whole feast down there, prepared just for him. The backs of your thighs meet his as he slowly crawls forward, spreading your legs further apart before the battering ram.
“Kitten...” he rumbles. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”
The springs continue to wail beneath you: it’s like the whole world is against you today, even the stupid bed making it far too likely to get caught. And if you get caught, it won’t be just by some shocked sisters screaming when they find a man inside your room… It will be by them screaming when they find him inside you.
And he doesn’t seem to even care.
“Ach so my little nun… I hope we don’t break the bed,” he smirks.
“I hope you don’t break the bed…”
“You want me to take you down there instead?”
He nods in the direction of the floor, and you can only blink – your soldier boyfriend is offering to fuck you on the cold cement as if it’s some kind of an option.
“I’m not having my first time on a floor,” you grump.
“Heh. Thought so, princess.”
The possibility of getting caught makes him visibly excited. Hell, it makes you excited... You wonder if he’s an adrenaline junkie, leading a dangerous life and having a life-threatening job, now choosing to try his luck at fucking a nun at a cloister.
You don’t want to be a challenging conquest or a kinky story told to some fellow soldiers at a bar… You want to be a commitment; you want to mean something to him. But you can’t escape the fact that this setting is turning you on. You’re even worse than him, spreading your legs and hoping he’d touch you with that cock; just drag it down your lips and glide it in already.
His gaze is heavy, blue steel, blazing in the darkness as he looks at you so wanton on the bed, a simple crucifix on the wall as the only witness to your deeds. This must be one of the craziest things you’ve done in your life…
Replacing his hand with the head of his cock, he finally lets you have what you need. The tip of him is hot, even when covered in thin plastic, and the sight of him, large and powerful and dark, looming godlike above you, makes you think of pagan heroes and kings. To you, he’s all men in one, the sheer mass of him making your thighs tremble from want.
With a curious finger sliding down the wet, heavy seam of you, he swears when meeting you so pliant and wet. Thanks to your constant “practising”, you’re always slightly aroused, getting in the mood the instant you see him.
Contrary to your belief, having sex multiple times a day doesn’t, in fact, stifle sexual desire but adds to it… It’s like you’ve opened Pandora’s box together, only the box contained all the pleasure in the world instead.
“Are you ready, kitten…?”
“Yes,” you breathe. “Just… We need to be quiet…”
His smile is a flash of a grin in the falling darkness. “I’ll try my best.”
The sound that leaves the back of his throat is a deprived, hoarse moan. He seems to be enjoying it more than anything while you’re trying to remember how to breathe, but when he settles fully in and stays there, you start to actually feel something… Something thick, and heady.
Settling to your entrance, he tells you to relax, and you try your best with that; you truly do.
But nothing can prepare you for it, the fat head of him sliding in, smoothly and with a spread that leaves you gasping. The fulfilment is phenomenal – you try to remind yourself to relax your muscles as he pushes a few inches in, and then some more, and then some more. More, more, more, until you start to feel your inner walls wake up with alarm.
Seated so deep that his balls arrive to touch your flesh, your body starts to accept him, squeeze him, hug him.
And it feels good. In a way, it’s the best feeling in the world.
He groans, slightly high-pitched and surprised; perhaps you’re tighter than he expected, or perhaps he can feel the hugging thing…
Your cheeks are panging with heat – the whole building is silent except for the broken breaths of you two, and the lewd sounds of fucking on your chaste bed not made to take this sort of abuse. Growing only wetter and wetter, you try to keep your moans lodged inside your throat as he starts to fuck you with determination, seeing that you’re enjoying yourself.
Pulling out the slightest bit, he chooses to head straight back, apparently not wanting to be deprived of your heat even for a second. Thrust by thrust, he pulls out more, allowing you to get used to what it feels like. The bed is absolutely horrid, creaking every time he buries himself back in.
It’s a punishing of sorts, his cock knocking the air out of you every now and then. The slap of his balls against you is sinful – your room has seen nothing like this, nothing but some shy solo action every few months. Now you’re spread wide open for a good pounding, his hips reaching a pace that makes the rest of the world slowly dissolve.
Realizing he might be a bit too enthusiastic with a woman who’s a first-timer, he swallows and slows down his pace, causing you to almost scream with frustration.
“Am I being too rough…?” He asks, panting like he just ran ten miles. Plugged deep inside you, you can feel his cock throbbing and pulling near the point of cumming – perhaps another reason why he stopped.
“No… No.”
You sound puny under him, fingers flexing over his skin, the great ribs flaring in reply under your touch.
“You want more?”
“Mm. Needy little thing...”
“...Yes.”
Huffing in the hollow of your neck, he breaks into a smile and licks his lips.
You barely catch the hint of degrading tone in his voice, a mocking, something about the way you’re so wet and needy for him stroking his ego just the right way.
Knowing that he’s here for reasons other than just sex doesn’t change the fact that you enjoy getting sweaty with him, spiralling into a state of total surrender. Ten times more powerful than the most blissful experiences with your God, you want to come here for worship again and again, to have his body entangled with yours.
Ecstatic that you just came, König no longer holds back; he doesn’t even let you gather the remaining pieces of your sanity before he starts to chase his own peak. Taking what he needs from you, the trusts turn into short, quick pumps, some foul German curse hissed between his teeth just before he cums.
When the tide swells, it’s a bit different: not just external stimuli and shallow friction, but areas never explored now getting nudged as well. The delicious drag of his length in and out of you, the thickness making you feel overstuffed, does make the pleasure well like never before.
You’re not accustomed to this, being forced so dumb by a cock. Cheekily anticipating the swelling wave, it breaks upon you almost without warning. There’s nowhere to escape, and the climax is blinding, the euphoria leaving you without air for a moment.
You can feel every thick pulse of his cock, and fear for the condom that looked far too tight to manage to take both him and his load. You whimper and cling to him as he ruts through his heavy bliss, entire body throbbing with heat from the joy of spilling inside you.
When done, he sinks half his weight on you, thoroughly spent, and you feel fulfilled, some deep-seated joy taking hold of everything that once was hollow. Curiously, all shame is absent. The man on top of you is sweaty and catching his breath, but you’re only glad to swim in the messy, sweaty newness of you two.
“You ok...?”
You want his weight on you… You want him to stay inside you until he grows soft, you need him to be as drowsy and complete as you.
Hugging him tight in the middle of your post-coital bliss, you feel König rumble into your neck.
“Better than ever,” you breathe a smile. “How about you…?”
“...In heaven,” he replies, and you have to stifle a giggle pushing up your throat. He has never sounded so spent. So tired, happy and fragile…
“I just want to be with you like this,” he continues to mutter on your skin. “Can I be with you like this…?”
“Yes.”
He slowly rises to lean on his elbows, propping himself on them one by one. Weary, pleased eyes slowly focus on you, and the back of his palm comes to caress you, knuckles gently brushing your temple, thumb swiping away an escapee hair.
“Kitten… I’m serious. I don’t want to live without you.”
“We have a tradition in Austria where men sometimes steal the bride.”
“How convenient,” you smile.
“I know you belong to someone else, but I’m going to steal you.”
Your eyes are full of stars, you just know they are. If this is another one of his jokes, you can’t bring yourself to care, not as long as he looks at you like that, eyes so set and determined.
“I’m sure He won’t mind,” you mirror his gesture, raising a hand to caress his cheek.
“I’ll fight Him if he does.”
“...You can’t fight God,” you laugh.
“Why not?”
You don’t even know what to say to that. You open your mouth, then close it, shaking your head on the pillow. In a way, you can imagine him taking up arms against God if it came to that. If there was someone foolish enough – or brave enough – to rise against God, that someone would be him.
“König… I renounced my vows today.”
“...You did?”
The happiness, the pure joy in his eyes, is heartbreaking. At that moment, you know that all his silly jokes, follies, and babbles about taking you to the mountains and whisking you away have been real. They have been true, honest wishes... There is no lie in him, no jest, no fakeness. Just pure, simple joy from hearing that you finally chose him, too.
“I tried to leave in the morning but the abbess made me stay for one more day.”
“Ah... So you’re being held a prisoner here?”
“Kind of.”
The familiar twinkle in his eyes tells you that he already has another plan coming right up. That grin means mischief; but with you, only the sweetest kind.
“Well. You’re in luck, then, because I’m here to save you.”
“You just said you’re going to steal me,” you laugh.
“Call it what you want, kitten,” he winks. “But I’m not leaving without you.”
…
The sun has set, but the evening is bright, the sky filled with stars visible even through city lights. It’s dark in the courtyard as you sneak out of the window with König, trying not to giggle as you escape. You call it a prison break; he calls it Einsatz Rapunzel. Whatever it is, it feels like freedom.
The old man doesn’t even care to look surprised when he sees you clothed in jeans and a simple shirt this time, smiling as you rush upstairs, hand in hand with König.
He whispers promises on your skin, saying that you won’t stay here for long; his contacts will get you to the heart of Europe, tomorrow if you want. You can’t wait to sleep with him tonight: simply sleep with him, finally, curl up together in safety, do the most basic thing all lovers do. You can’t wait to wake up to a fresh dawn together, lovely, curious, and new.
Night covers you with beauty and grace, his pulse against your palm both a promise and a blessing. You take new vows: promising to yourself to live each day fully and bravely, and never again shut your heart.
The only thing left of you on your old bed is your black and white robe, and on it, a crucifix and a rose, and a note that says:
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love… But the greatest of these is love.
#könig x reader#könig x you#könig smut#könig fluff#könig x female reader#konig x reader#konig x you#könig cod#könig fanfiction#cod smut#könig x nun!reader#könig x virgin!reader
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For what it’s worth, Draco tries not to be in love with him.
Once the war ends, the world is dim and hazy and wild. For two months, it rains incessantly in Wiltshire. Draco watches his mother’s rose garden flag and flutter, run amok with weeds and ivy from his bedroom window. He spends May and June not doing much of anything but staring— out the window, at his ceiling, at his parents when they try to coax him to dinner. House arrest is not a death sentence, but Draco is empty and vacant and a little dead anyway.
He thinks of Harry sometimes. Harry, limned in fire on a broom, reaching for him, Harry, dead, not dead, clambering to his feet, wand raised, calling the Dark Lord Tom, Harry, who had met his eyes over the Aurors’ shoulders as they handcuffed him to accompany him to the Manor until the Wizengamot had the time to figure out what to do with the Malfoys. Harry, and the world winces into sharper focus, bleak and dull and unbearable. Draco tries, for all he’s worth, not that it’s much, to stop thinking of Harry when that happens.
There’s the trial. Harry Potter is in a suit, his hair damp and brushed and unfamiliar. He speaks for Draco and his mother. Draco recognises the image of Narcissa emerging in Harry’s testimony— haughty and determined and fearful and loving, a mass of contradictions worthy of exoneration after the payment of some hefty fines. His own image he recognises in snapshots and flashes— scared, yes, Merlin, yes, indoctrinated from a young age, that too, in the grip of something bigger than himself, yes, he’s never felt so small. There are other things Harry says, new, like an ill-fitted outfit hanging off him— brave when it mattered, really? and never killed anyone, technically true but the intent was there all through sixth year, doesn’t he deserve to be punished for that? and helped in bringing down the fall of Tom Riddle at great personal risk, a tall order at best, an embellished lie at worst.
Harry believes in a man Draco isn’t sure he ever was. The Wizengamot seems to believe him, and he’s exonerated too, with a magic-monitoring charm on his wand for eighteen months.
No one testifies for Lucius. He goes to Azkaban. Draco watches, dispassionate, as the Aurors handcuff his father again. Lucius watches him back, equally dispassionate. “Take care of your mother,” he says before he’s pulled away, and Draco manages a short, tight nod. That’s that.
Love, or the situation about Harry Potter as Draco takes to calling it, begins two more months after the trials.
“Malfoy,” says Harry, the picture of wide-eyed surprise. They’re in a bar on Knockturn. Pansy, Blaise and Theo finally dragged him here, Draco you need to leave that stuffy old Manor for your own good.
“Harry Potter,” Draco says, because he can’t bring himself to call him Potter anymore, and Harry sounds awkward outside his head.
“It’s good to see you,” says Harry, a sudden grin stretching across his face. Draco has to blink the light of it out of his eyes. “You’re looking better.”
It starts then, in the bar. The stirrings of life in a dead man. It’s annoying and brutal and the kind of thing that keeps Draco waking up and getting himself out of bed every morning and the nightmares occasionally at bay.
They run into each other at the bar, over and over, and each time, Harry begins conversation. Each time, it lasts a few minutes longer, until they’re spending half an hour or more chatting over drinks at the counter. Or, rather— Harry chats, Draco listens and tries not to let his heart spring out of his chest. Each time, Pansy looks considering, Blaise rolls his eyes and Theo peers studiously into his drink when he comes back. Draco wonders if Harry’s friends have their own set of patented reactions and if they’re half as lenient as his friends’.
Draco starts sleeping with Theo about it, eventually. Which is to say Draco starts sleeping with Theo hoping the sex will take his mind off dark hair and green eyes and that rapid, quicksilver smile. It doesn’t help that Theo has dark hair and blue eyes, and smiles at Draco like the sun. It makes him ache with want and loss, and the sex is great, but Draco has to end it within a few weeks.
“It’s Potter, isn’t it,” Theo says when Draco tells him.
There’s no point denying it, so Draco doesn’t. “It’s not you,” he says, and Theo’s lightly amused baleful glare is enough for their friendship to remain stable, if a little stilted.
Blaise takes him shopping and Pansy brings him alcohol and when Greg starts stepping out of his house again, he tells Draco awkwardly, “Well, Potter’s missing out, isn’t he?” Millicent, who starts coming to pub nights gives Draco a once-over and tells him he needs to get a job. Daphne tries to set him up with her sister, and takes it astonishingly terribly when Draco tells her he’s sure Astoria’s lovely, but has an entirely wrong set of bits.
“You should be more open minded,” she tells him, sniffing. “Astoria‘s open minded!”
Draco can only think to blink at her.
Harry’s in the papers almost every day. Sometimes because he gives speeches, but mostly because The Prophet’s society section can’t think to write anything better than “Harry Potter spotted in Diagon’s Sunday Market, with turnips! Turn to page 6 for seven delicious recipes that make fresh and inventive use of the Chosen One’s Chosen Veg!”
It’s all well and good except for the part where the accompanying photos of Harry, scowling or blank or frustrated or very occasionally, smiling at children, sends Draco’s body into overdrive. He finds himself tracing the line of Harry’s mouth, the tops of his cheekbones, his hairline. He thinks his mother notices, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Would you like to get a drink sometime?” Harry asks.
They’re not at the bar. They’re in a cafe and Draco is reading a horrible romance novel at the window.
“We get drinks all the time,” Draco says. He wants to step on his own toes.
“Yeah,” Harry says, laughing. He runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, course, just— I was wondering if you maybe wanted to. You know. Just us.”
“Just us?”
“Forget it,” Harry says, and sighs. He turns away and turns back. “It was good seeing you, Malfoy.” He turns away again.
“Harry,” Draco says. The look on Harry’s face when he turns back again is wide-eyed surprise again, like that first time in the bar. “I— a drink sounds lovely.”
Harry looks uncertainly pleased.
“Just not on Knockturn,” Draco says.
“We could go to Hogsmeade,” Harry says. He’s— the ridiculous man— bouncing on the balls of his feet, fidgety and buoyant and beautiful. “Or London. The Muggle bit. Or Diagon, really, but the reporters—” He grimaces.
I’ll go anywhere with you, Draco wants to say. “Anywhere,” he says instead, hacked short and inadequate.
But Harry smiles at him like he’s the sun. The persistent ache throbbing through Draco abates for a moment.
So this is peace, Draco thinks. Meets Harry’s smile with his own, wonders how Harry thinks it looks. There you are.
for the @drarrymicrofic prompt, “cranes in the sky”. this is a little all over the place and i’m not particularly happy with it, but here’s a decidedly-not-microfic about failing at not being in love with harry james potter. oh draco, you’re exactly like me.
#drarry#drarry fic rec#drarry fic#drarry recs#draco x harry#hpdm fanfic#hpdm#draco malfoy#harry james potter#drarry microfic#geets microfics
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DEMO || FAQ || PINTEREST
The North has been all that you’ve known your whole life— residing within its icy landscape as part of House Eirlys; Wardens of the North. You’ve never thought you’d one day leave to head south to Vela’thian— the kingdom of the elvhen— much less that you’d head there due to your betrothal with the king himself.
What will await you once you arrive? Is everything as it seems? Or is there something more brewing beneath the surface of the seemingly pristine nation?
Will you find your way back home? Or will you find something, or someone, worth staying for?
Let’s see how your story unfolds…
❄️ Play as the youngest heir to House Eirlys that’s been arranged to be married to the Elven King. Explore the wondrous world of Arlatha and the great elven nation of Vela’thian and its capital Ilyransari! You’ll meet a variety of characters, uncover plots (varying levels of angst), and potentially find love along the way! This game is rated 18+ for depictions of explicit language, alcohol consumption, potential sexual content, violence/blood, and death.
❄️ Customizable MC: name, gender, appearance, sexuality, hobbies, and some skills. (You can choose to not be attracted to men and tell Daeron, the king, this, don’t worry.)
❄️ Bond with your Lycana— a winged wolf that’ll stay with you until death. Customizable: name, gender, and fur color.
❄️ Explore Ilyransari and learn more about the fantastical world of Arlatha!
❄️ Meet a variety of characters— from reclusive dwarves to hotheaded goblins— that’ll bring unique experiences throughout your story.
❄️ Learn more about your own shrouded past and how you came to be where you are now. Will the truth finally set you free?
❄️ Keep in contact with your older brother— Kaladin. He’ll want to know how you’re doing.
❄️ Romance one of characters from your potential betrothed himself— the Elven King— to an orc commander that takes everything a bit too literally or a creature from the depths of the Vesperion Sea. Or maybe someone else will catch your eye.
❄️ Remember, above all else, to have fun!
Daeron [M] — The King — High Elf
The Elven King himself, a man known far and wide for his prowess in battle and resilience in the face of almost insurmountable odds. You’re not sure why he chose you to be his betrothed— after all he must have received hundreds of requests over the years— but you were instructed to not look a gift horse in the mouth; not when an ally like him would help your family and people immeasurably. With a hardened exterior, from years of battle and sacrifice, Daeron isn’t someone that’s easily accessible in the emotional sense, but you can’t help but notice how his eyes begin to soften every time you enter the room. Will something real begin to grow between you?
Daeron stands at around 6’3” (190.5 cm) with a warm beige complexion. Raven black hair falls across his forehead in gentle curls, a delicately crafted crown always situated atop them. His golden eyes, that seem to rival the sun in brilliance, are filled with a cunning intelligence; he has a toned physique, still holding a lithe quality that all elvhen seem to possess.
Larak [M] — The Commander — Orc
Seeing an Orc within Vela’thian is like seeing a starless night; it happens, but it doesn’t make it any less of an odd occurrence. Not after centuries of war between the Elven Nation and the Infernal Plains. Larak, however, seems to have taken his position in stride, ignoring all the looks he receives without a backward glance. After all, what is an orc to do without his clan? Especially one that was well on his way to becoming a chieftain of his own? Will you give him a reason to stay?
Larak stands at around 7’2” (218.44 cm) with a green complexion. Dark auburn locks are shaved on either side of his head, while the rest is kept in a long ponytail that falls down his back. He’s a hulking mass of muscle and brute strength— his most prominent feature, barring his sharp canines, being the twin scars running down his chest that pairs well with the one through his left eyebrow.
Calypso [F] — The Wanderer — Siren
The Vesperion Sea is an anomaly to most within Arlatha; for a creature from its watery depths to appear means one of two things. 1.) Something bad is about to happen. or 2.) It’s a pilgrimage of sorts that a few depth-striders take up every other decade. Meeting Calypso it’s easy to tell which one she is; her general amazement at the world around her being something that’d warm even the most hardened of hearts. With a desire to learn, and an aptitude to do so, she tries to take everything in stride, observing Vela’thian, and it’s inhabitants, with an ardent fervor that would be quite off putting in any other circumstance. Will you uncover things together?
Calypso stands at around 5’1” (154.94 cm) with a dark brown complexion— iridescent blue scales intercepting the expanse of it across her forearms, collarbone, and sparsely across her legs. The sea green of her gaze complements the deep royal blue of her hair beautifully— the voluminous curls falling down to just beneath her shoulders. She has an hourglass figure.
Shanaera [F] — The Spymaster — Dark Fae
The Royal Spymaster within Vela’thian, Shanaera is the longtime friend, and closest advisor, to Daeron. There isn’t much information about the early life of Shanaera— something she’s gone to great lengths to keep that way— and she’s rarely seen enough by the general populace to get a concrete opinion on. Keeping to the shadows, only appearing in court once in a blue moon, and with walls of ice surrounding her, it’s unsurprising why she has the reputation she does. A woman that’s just as deadly with her words as she is with any blade or poison— getting on her bad side isn’t a smart idea… But is it even possible to get on her good one?
Shanaera stands at around 5’11” (180.34 cm) with a sun-kissed complexion. Locks reminiscent of woven sunlight falls down to her hips in a cascade of gentle waves and soft curls— the strands bringing out the luminescent quality of her amethyst colored gaze. Grand wings of iridescent black are situated on her back, giving her elegantly slender body a broader appearance.
Fáelán [M/F] — The Best Friend — Wildling
You met Fáelán when you were ten years old during a winter ride with your family— something you had done dozens of times before— coming across their slight form underneath a snow drift, after your horse almost trampled them, wasn’t something you had been anticipating, but they haven’t left your side ever since. Not even when they had been offered an escort back to the village deep within The Thaeg; an ancient forest that covers over half of The North. You were best friends from that day onward— one never seen without the other. After all of that, should you truly be all that surprised when your self-appointed guard decides to come along to Vela’thian?
Fáelán stands at around 5’8” (172.72 cm) with a light gray complexion. Strands of hair, the color of which reminds you of freshly fallen snow, fall down to just beneath their shoulders in messy waves— usually kept in a intricate braid— pairs well with the deep crimson of their gaze. Their toned body is a far-cry from the scrawny individual they had been when you first met them— an intricate tattoo making a home on their right arm.
Valerian [M/F] — The Exiled Heir — Draconian
Tales of the land across the Vesperion Sea tell of the grand opulence of Edras— home of the draconian; dragon-kin. Valerian isn’t exactly who you’re expecting when imagining the royal family of Edras, but at the same time they seem to fit right in. With a smile that never reaches their eyes fully, a voice that never has to raise to be heard, and a presence that could command a legion, they bring a slew of questions and very little answers. Why were they cast out? Why are they in Vela’thian? And why do they seem to always find themself in your company? Will you be able to uncover any of these answers?
Valerian stands at around 6’6” (198.12 cm) with a fair complexion. Crystalline blue eyes seemingly burn with a fiery intensity— despite their icy coldness— which brings out the argent quality of their silver locks; M!Valerian keeping them down to his shoulders and F!Valerian keeping hers to her mid-back.
#omen of ice#interactive fiction#interactive novel#interact if#no demo#high fantasy#dashingdon#hosted games#choice of games
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𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶; 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢
𝖞𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖑 𝖔❜𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗
𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 2: 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰, 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭
𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 3: 𝔦 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔨, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭
𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 4: 𝔰𝔞𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴
CW: self-awareness, stalking, obsession, delusion, ptsd, mention of a brother's death, thoughts of kidnapping. Written in the third person. Use of Y/N.
Spoilers for Spider-Man: Across The Spiderverse.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ heaven have mercy on my simple soul. we might have another dearest series on our hands, but for miguel. god. jesus. i made this in one (1) day. it's two am.
wc: 1.7k
𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻❜𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘀.
Miguel knew that feeling all too well. Gabriella faded away in his arms, a flash of technicolour and geometric shapes. An entire world, falling away and escaping from him, like grains of glass as fine as sand but still so colourful.
That's what kept him moving. He never wanted someone to make the same mistake.
But he was only a man. he couldn't be alone in the isolation of his own making forever. He built up those walls, praying he'd have the sense to never knock them down.
But brick by brick, other people did.
First was Jess. She was his friend, his sister in arms. Then Peter, then a thousand other faces and names and hearts and morals and everything that made Spider-Man, Spider-Man. They each took a brick, as though it was nothing.
It was just by pure chance that she was the one to take that last brick.
She was a new addition. Friendly, witty, quick on her feet. Just like everyone else. Another Spider in another place and another time. Another in a million, another clone, another warm body as fodder. But when Jess brought her to him, Miguel knew; she was one in a trillion.
She had stood next to Jess, firm, with a thousand yard stare like she'd been digging around Miguel's soul and yanking out her favourite bruises. Harrowing was a good word for it. Her estranged brother, a captain in the police, had died. She looked like she'd seen Hell. Fresh bruises, scarring, her suit torn in some places...and she stood tall.
"Spider-Woman, from Earth 7290. Also known as Y/N."
Jess spoke softly, a hand on Y/N's shoulder. Her breathing was steady but her eyes had glazed over, completely tapped out to the situation. Miguel felt his heart tug. He knew what it was like. Everyone did. Most Spiders were sad, upset, but she simply seemed...angry. Furious, even. Like if Miguel made a move towards her, she'd chew him up and spit him out. He'd seen people try to tame horses before, ones that would buck and kick and neigh until someone's leg was broken. It was like Jess was doing that. The one hand on Y/N's shoulder, keeping her in place.
"Miguel?" Jess spoke up, and he came out of his haze. "Are you listening?"
"Yeah." He nodded, quietly clearing his throat. "Sure. Get her a watch."
Jess shared a look with Y/N, one that he couldn't quite tell the reasoning behind, but the glance of her eyes was enough.
Spider-Woman of Earth 7290 took the last brick.
He'd see Y/N around, walking around the Spider Society and speaking with other Spiders. She seemed to hold that anger close to her heart, despite the other Spiders telling her that it'd get better over time. They'd healed, or got over it, or pushed it out of their mind. But not Y/N. She stayed mad. She stayed angry.
Miguel understood that more than most. Mourning took time. So many had gotten over it after years. It wasn't fair to expect Y/N get it over it so fast. He didn't think so, anyway. After all, it was an anomaly that took her brother's life. A mistake. It had fallen off the proverbial map, but according to Jess, Y/N had 'handled it her own way'. Whatever that meant. Miguel didn't really care.
All he worried about was her.
Rather than just taking the brick off his walls, she smashed it in with a hammer and ran it over with a bulldozer. She had a wrecking ball to smash a single blue and red brick.
And he hated it. Because what about Gabriella? What about his wife? Did their deaths mean nothing now? And how was this healthy? Granted, Miguel wasn't a healthy person. Not like that. But the sudden way his mind dedicated himself to her was absurd. Did it have to do with his DNA? With the spider mutation? Rapture? Mating season? There had to be an explanation. A cure.
But there was none.
Now, Miguel's mind was rotting away. He wished he could pry it open and take to it with tweezers, to prod out the parts that he hated. But his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long, and he knew he didn't stand much of a chance anymore. It was all Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. Even just the faint, passing scent of her was enough to drive him up a wall that very much shouldn't exist. Passing word of her wellbeing made him tune into conversations he was never part of. He began to develop a seventh sense: touch, hearing. sight, smell, taste, spidersense, and Y/Nsense.-the uncanny ability to know when she needed help. Trademarked, owned by Miguel O'Hara exclusively. Peter once teased him about how Miguel would suddenly jump up and scoot over to the cameras, checking in on Spider-Woman 7290.
The teasing didn't last long when given way to the severity of the situation.
Gradually, Miguel leaned into it. If he couldn't fight it, then join it. Revel in it. Let his eyes linger on her frame. Let his waking hours resort to thinking of her. Let him suffer. He deserved it.
He began to follow Y/N around. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. And sometimes, Miguel would see enemies-a Vulture here, a Doc Ock there-and he'd help when she wasn't looking. Little favours here and there began cropping up. Getting her groceries. Taking care of her cat. Fiddling with the gas for the car of the one creep that kept following her around that was so sure she was Spider-Woman. Granted, the creep was right. But he didn't know that.
(He did. Love comes in many shapes and forms.)
Y/N never seemed to notice. She was off, battling her own demons and fighting the good fight in her own world. She was good and kind and still angry but she used that anger so well, and Miguel loved her for it. She burned with the anger of a thousand dying stars. She was everything.
When Y/N would stop by the Spider Society, Miguel made sure to look good. Brush his hair, brush his fangs, make sure his eye bags weren't too obvious, or if they were, then they looked good. He was trying to get her to like him, after all. Check to make sure his suit didn't have any tears or holes. Because Y/N was gorgeous. She could drag herself in with her guts spilling out like roadkill and he'd still think she's the most beautiful thing to grace the multiverse.
The beauty of delusion, he supposed.
He was aware how delusional this was. He knew how absurd it was that he saw her and fell immediately. Was this what happened in fairy tales? Is this what Prince Charming felt when he saw Cinderella? The world completely spinning the moment there's even a hint of her? The complete dedication of his heart to this woman that barely acknowledged him...someone who would only glance his way if it was a requirement. Y/N was cordial to him, but little more. And it made his heart ache. She spoke to Jess more than she spoke to him. It felt wrong. It felt cruel, like a tease, trailing up and down his spine but never providing relief. One word to him was ten to Jess.
Miguel refuses to admit it, to accept that he was willing to stoop so low. But there was a brief moment where he thought about hurting Jess. Or getting her on some mission that would take forever. Breaking her bracelet when she least expected it so Y/N would have to come to him.
He'd never act on it. He was sure of that.
If there was one thing Miguel was proud of for himself, it was his restraint. He had the unparalleled ability to simply...hold off. Another day, he'd tell himself. Next time, he'd self-assure. Then another next time. Then another. Until heaven knows how many next times it's been, and he's aching for her to even look at him, but why won't she glance his way? Why was she so cold? He's done everything he could. Just look at him! For god's sake, just fucking look at him! That's all he wanted! Five minutes with your eyes on him, your undivided attention.
But no. Another day, he said. Next time.
But maybe he could simply...take Y/N away. Her world was inconsequential. It'd be easy to take care of any villains. He'd do it for her, single-handedly. She were everything. He could just keep her there, in his office, never allowed to leave. He could come back after a long mission to her loving arms, her warm embrace, flush to flush to flush to flush. He'd do unspeakable things just for her to trace the vague outline of his body with her eyes. If Y/N told him to kill, he'd do so without question anymore. Miguel barely had any control over himself.
The next time he saw her, it was while dealing with Miles. It was so much, all at once and never at all and undying and swarming his senses. It was so much that he didn't realise how much she'd been smiling at the two teenagers, how sweet her gaze got, the gentle touches and warm laughter and how Gwen and Miles looked up to her.
He didn't know Y/N had a soft spot for kids. And he found out most vividly when she was the first one to help Miles escape, blocking off what must've felt like half of the Spider Society with the same undying rage, now spent on protecting her new friend, the child she called such sweet things. That she saw as her own.
Miguel felt his heart shatter when he had to take her down. The way she fell into the floor, limp and dangling like she was nothing more than occupied space. His heart was wounded, wailing like a dying dog. She picked the newcomer, the anomaly, over him. Him, her one true love. Did it matter that she'd known it yet? No. It only mattered that she helped Miles escape.
Lord, he thought. I worry that love is violence.
#divagaciones (per)#yandere miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#yandere miguel o'hara x reader#i am a girlboss i am a war criminal i am a lunatic and i am clinically insane and the next virgin mary and i am never going to die
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if you don’t mind me asking, could you share some of your favorite fanfics or authors? thanks ❤️
oh hi hello!! yes of course!! i actually haven't read any spn fic in a while but i have spent a lot of time organizing my bookmarks. i'm going to assume that you meant samdean fic but i'll add a few non-samdean ones at the end.
authors!
@zmediaoutlet (deadlybride on ao3)
candle_beck (ao3)
@goshen-applecrumbledore (ao3)
whereupon (livejournal)
Linden (ao3)
sevenfists (ao3)
there are so many more great authors but these came to mind :)
fics!
i am going to list my forever-favorites first - the ones i would recommend to anyone and everyone, screaming-from-the-rooftops kind of love - and then many many more under the cut.
beloved by urchinesque (2016, 1.9k, NR, warning: death)
It might be the gentlest thing that's ever happened to them.
in my opinion everyone should read this once. it's quick. they die. it's-- happy, somehow. beautiful. i think about it all the time.
Last Day on Earth by candle_beck (2009, 10.8k, E)
A list of things to do if you only have one day to live, presented in inconvenient non-list form.
last year my best friend and i were pondering which fic felt quintessential to samdean for us and somehow settled on this one. i still agree with the choice.
Odysseus, American by coyotesuspect (2010, 10k, M)
Dean finds Peter O'Toole's recording of the Odyssey in a bin marked “Audio" in Casa Grande's only used bookstore. The place smells like cigarette smoke and old books, and it reminds him of Sam. Stanford era.
my favorite stanford era fic. i think it captures dean's loneliness and desperation beautifully.
A man with his insides out and his outsides off by britomart_is (2016, 5.3k, E, time travel, underage)
They say there are only two stories in the world: man goes on a journey, and stranger comes to town.
another fic i want everyone to read. it's so short and feels like a novel. sam is messed up and dean is in love and everything is miserable.
Breathing Hard by whereupon (2009, 9k, E)
The day Dean figures it out.
this is so simple and yet-- everything to me. i can't think about dinosaurs without thinking about this fic, which doesn't tell you much, but you'll see. sometimes this is really all you need.
The Last Outpost of All That Is by gekizetsu (2008, 59k, E)
The world ends while they’re asleep.
this fic has stayed with me my whole life. i thought about it even during my years away from spn and fandom entirely. they're alone and you don't know why and they build their life together and you end up wondering, is this hell or heaven? whenever i come across a screenshot of the last couple of paragraphs i want to cry.
see things so much clearer by deadlybride (2020, 11.7k, E)
Sam's been acting oddly. Dean learns how to use the history on an internet browser and finds out why.
this is a fic that hits the spot for me personally so well. another favorite preseries fic. i love the idea of sam using livejournal, and of dean finding out this way.
Stay The Distance by lazy_daze (2011, 24k, E)
Sam is dependent on Dean's touch and closeness after the wall falls - Dean's presence reminds him of why he chose to wake up, and keeps the memories at bay, allowing Sam to function.
i love enmeshment, and i love that here it's literal. i love that they're just sort of fine with it.
more fics below!
in absolutely no particular order whatsover. please check the warnings and tags on these before reading!
Recall by De_Nugis (2012, 6.3k, E)
Sam's having a hard time telling what's real and what isn't, especially when it comes to some voicemails from Dean.
Living in god's blind spot by applecrumbledore (2022, 25k, E)
Of all the situations Dean didn’t need his dad to see him in, ‘getting off to being pushed around by a guy’ was in the top three. And ‘a guy’ was a massive glossing-over of reality. Any guy—any other guy—would be bad enough, but Sam was fucking cataclysmic.
Almost At Home by balefully (2008, 24.3k, E)
Sam graduates from high school in early June in rural Tennessee. He and Dean start the summer with an all-nighter of celebration; the day after, while both fight hangovers, John calls to assign them their first hunt by themselves.
they said it was the fall of man by jukeboxhound (2016, 7.4k, M)
Sam gets his soul back on a Monday.
When I Fall Asleep It Is Your Eyes That Close by britomart_is (2009, 1.9k, E)
Post-Season Two. Sam is alive. Dean is happy.
Life As We Know It by sevenfists (2007, 13.7k, M, curtain fic)
On the morning that Sam woke up, Dean ran five red lights on the way to the hospital, his half-empty coffee cup sloshing in the holder.
tied up like two ships by orphan_account (2014, 3.1k, E)
Dean liked to hold hands.
Gospel Truth by Cerberuss (2020, 15.2k, E, case fic)
‘DOES YOUR BROTHER KNOW THAT YOU WANT HIM?’ Individually placed letters, bold and tinged brown with the weather. Sam can’t look away and he prays, dream dream dream.
Buy You A Mockingbird by candle_beck (2011, 10.3k, M, underage, outsider pov)
A genuine horror story.
because you want to die for love by hathfrozen (2021, 27.3k, E)
Sam and Dean settle into their Heaven—and into each other, too.
the constant vow by deadlybride (2022, 119k, E, fem dean-ish)
They've just finished up a pretty standard job and are killing time in snowy Wisconsin when Dean wakes up no longer looking like Dean. That's just the start of their problems.
This Fortress Made of Us by mickeym (2009, 10.8k, E)
Sam really didn't do very well without his brother. Coda for Mystery Spot.
State of Love and Trust/As I Busted Down the Pretext by cormallen (2010, 2.9k, M)
When you know exactly what your brother's thinking, there are some chances you just don't take.
Quiet with the Rain by Linden (2014, 5.3k, T)
Dean can spot an undercover cop at thirty paces, a hooker at twenty, and rims that will match his baby's at ten. But the fact that his little brother is in love with him—that, he can't see worth a damn.
have a cigar by deadlybride (2020, 5.6k, E)
What happened with Andy and Ansem unsettles Sam. Dean doesn't seem worried.
Heart Shaped Balloon by winsive (2022, 18.5k, E, underage)
Sam and Dad are fighting. No surprise, but it's the weekend before Valentine's Day and Dean isn't missing out on the chance to bang a cheerleader just to console his bratty little brother. He does bring back a heart shaped balloon for him, though. It's not supposed to be cursed.
Bare by gracerene (2022, 2.2k, T)
Of all the things Dean hasn't done before, Sam never expected something as innocuous as skinny dipping to be on the list.
Speechless by candle_beck (2008, 11.2k, T, case fic)
Dean loses his voice and their rapport is only moderately impaired.
Like It Was Yesterday by nomelon (2014, 4.9k, T, fem dean, amnesia)
Sam can't remember a time when Dean wasn't there. Dean is always with him. Sam's whole life, there's never been anyone else.
Like a Ghost with Two Voices by Dyed_Red (2022, 46k, E)
To cure Dean from the Mark of Cain, Sam has to let Dean, in all his demonic glory, possess him for 28 days. It goes about as well as expected.
Breathe You In (Choke You Down) by orphan_account (2021, 5.9k, E, pwp)
Dean really likes the way Sam smells.
lost in yesterday by margaryes (2023, 1k, NR, john pov)
John hasn’t seen his youngest son in 18 months.
Unraveling by Linden (2017, 855 words, E)
No, he’d said, the first time Sammy had tried to kiss him, sixteen and half-drunk and stupidly beautiful, even though he’d wanted so badly to say yes.
pack up the moon by deathdreamt (2021, 5.9k, T, pre-slash)
Sam storms back out from their room, his backpack on and his duffel hanging off his shoulder and isn’t it kind of tragic that his whole life fits in two bags. He looks suddenly much younger than he is, eyes shining. John is back at his guns, whiskey at his elbow, and Dean can hardly believe how rapidly his life is cracking down the centre.
Yesterday, minnesota by applecrumbledore (2022, 30k, E, case fic)
Any initial awkwardness filtered away over a hundred miles of highway as Sam thumbed through the missing witch’s diary again. Some people had secret coke habits or secret second wives, and some people had passionate, pitch black, no-kissing sex with a family member every four to six months and never talked about it. You had to find ways to cope.
All Heartless Spectres, Happiness by orphan_account (2021, 5.6k, E)
Lisa Braeden receives an email with the subject line, "You Deserve to Know." It contains a single video file and nothing else. (soulless sam)
The Palm Oasis by fictionallemons (2022, 12.3k, E, underage)
John strands Dean and Sam at a middle-of-nowhere motel while he investigates possible demon omens in Arizona. The place is nothing to write home about, but at least it has a pool. Dean resolves to think of this as a vacation for him and his studious little brother, but when their money runs out sooner than expected, he considers turning tricks at a nearby truck stop so he can feed Sam.
Other Brothers by homo_pink (2020, 7k, M, underage, outsider pov)
A callow boy can go from infancy to someone’s lover in the space of two wildflower summers.
Leader of the Pack by astolat (2007, 14.9k, E)
Teaching old dogs new tricks.
Underground Wires by eggnogged (2012, 15.8k, E, fem sam, underage)
It’s hard enough being a teenage girl even without all the extra crap: they move around all the time, her family is as far removed from normal as it’s possible to get, and she’s in love with her older brother. Sam has no control on any of it, she’s just trying to stay afloat.
Multitude of Sins by Linden (2015, 4.4k, T, outsider pov)
Every now and again, Jim Murphy would look up from his altar and find the Winchester boys at the back of his church.
Like Arrows in the Hands of a Warrior by ADeedWithoutaName (2018, 10.3k, E, underage, dub con-ish, john pov)
John Winchester loves his boys, and would take a bullet for either of them. He knows that he's doing it right, the way he's raising them, the things he's teaching them. Not every problem, however, has an easy answer. Like what to do after an incubus case in which their target got his pollen all over both of John's sons.
You Can't Lose What You Never Had by nigeltde (2016, 5.6k, E)
You can't spend what you ain't got, and you can't lose what you ain't never had.
Flagstaff by Linden (2014, 7.3k, T, pre-slash, john pov)
John tracked Sam down in Flagstaff, four days after he got home to find him gone.
I'll take my chance on a beautiful stranger by fleshflutter (2007, 3.8k, M, outsider pov)
If Chase were a better friend, he might try to end the game now, before Brendan loses even more money. But if Brendan is a dick at Stanford, it’s nothing compared to how he is on break.
Cupid's Got A Gun by geckoholic (2012, 13.5k, E, non-con)
Fuck-or-die, set in early S4. But they've been fucking for years, so that shouldn't be a problem, right? Wrong. Ever since hell, Dean's in no hurry to get that show on the road again.
Someone Else's Blood by sevenfists (2006, 6.7k, E)
The first time, of course, was an accident. (pretend dating)
How Many Floors to Realize by lazy_daze (2009, 26k, E, swesson)
AU from the end of It's A Terrible Life, in which Zachariah decides to keep stringing them along a little while longer, because damn if they aren't somewhat entertaining, right?
Worthless cartography by applecrumbledore (2022, 15.6k, E)
Dean didn’t know what finally made him go for it. The djinn’s dream was a catalyst, but the call was coming from inside the house, and he’d been letting it ring for a very, very long time. (They get one night together right before Sam is taken to Cold Oak. Dean has to deal with that.)
The Space Between Sense and Memory by orphan_account (2021, 4.8k, T)
There are a hundred unwritten rules on all the acceptable ways brothers should touch each other. There are hardly any ways at all to break them. Or; five times they follow the rules and one time they don’t.
Ions in the Ether by nigeltde (2019, 10.9k, E, case fic)
When was the last time you trusted happy.
Crossed Wires by rivkat (2015, 10.9k, E)
Dean thinks Sam is dead.
Crown and Anchor Me (or let me sail away) by Sena (2010, 23.7k, E, underage)
Sam Winchester is fifteen years old, at yet another new high school in yet another state, he doesn't get along with his distant, distracted father, he's figuring out that he likes guys just as much as he likes girls, his clothes never fit and his limbs ache at the joint ever since his growth spurt started, he has to study for the PSAT and, oh yeah, he's a little bit in love with his brother, Dean, who's taken a break from hunting monsters to work at a local garage for minimum wage.
Wear Him Lika a Habit by sevenfists (2008, 2.2k, M)
Their first kiss isn't an accident. It's anticipated well in advance, discussed for weeks, argued over, second-guessed.
Amor Prohibido by phoenixflight (2020, 3k, M, underage)
They spent the spring of Sam's sophomore year living in a shitty apartment south of San Antonio. Every Friday night the clearest channel played three hour marathons of a Spanish soap called La Casa del Corazón. There was a mutually understood truce about watching it, because the alternatives were infomercials or creepy kids’ cartoons that futzed into static every fifteen seconds.
Open Road by Mollyamory (2010, 2k, T)
Sam's old enough to know what's good for him.
It's the Blueprint of Your Life by queenklu (2011, 38.4k, time travel)
Sam jerks awake in the middle of the night and everything goes to hell. Well, not literally, though Dean is staring down the barrel of less than a year before his deal comes due. In the midst of dealing (or not dealing) with his impending death, a killer ghost ship, and Bela showing up out of the blue, Dean also has to figure out what’s going on in Sam’s head to make him so twitchy, why he’s suddenly breezing through this case while writing endless notes in a notebook he won’t let Dean see.
North of Wednesday by Mollyamory (2008, 3.5k, G)
Sam's behind the wheel before he realizes he doesn't have the keys. Coda to Mystery Spot.
non-wincest fic.
dean/omc. We Drank a Thousand Times by glorious_spoon (2010, 43k, M, warning: death)
They meet in a bar fight in North Carolina when Dean is nineteen, broke, and desperate, then again when a hunt brings the Winchesters into town a few years later. Neither one of them ever puts a name to it but every once in a while, through the years, Dean finds his way back.
dean/cas: terror & desire intertwined by rupertgayes (2022, 39k, M)
Faced with Castiel suffering a fate worse than death, Dean makes the decision to let Cas use his body as a temporary vessel. All things considered, Dean thinks, it could have gone worse.
gen, sam&dean: what lasts by deadlybride (2021, 17.2k, M)
Not long after they move into the bunker, Dean loses a leg. Most of a leg. After the hospital, Sam brings him home, and they figure out how to live with what remains.
gen, dean-centric: To Repair Broken Men by procrastin8or951 (2015, 3.1k, T)
Dad and Sam keep fighting. Dean can't fix his family, so he fixes things around the crappy apartment they are staying in.
dean/michael: our hour came round at last by orphan_account (2015, 1.8k, NR, pwp)
"I want to be inside you," says Michael, low and velvet and hungry and that really shouldn't turn Dean on but it does.
dean/lucifer, dean/cas: exploratory by sp8ce (2022, 4.9k, E, non-con)
One night, Castiel proposes he and Dean have sex. Except it's a little more complicated than that.
dean/cas: for a healthy heart by Askance (2013, 2.4k, T)
A strange black box appears in Castiel's bedroom one afternoon.
gen, sam&dean: charmer & gentle by Askance (2015, 3.7k, G, outsider pov)
The afternoon girl calls them Big and Tall, the strangers who come in late every now and then, buying this or that. The night girl doesn't think those names fit quite right.
dean/cas, past sam/dean: whose wings, though tattered, shall carry me home by fleshflutter (2009, 2.2k, T)
There is a breeze moving across the field. It stirs the long grass in lapping waves like the sea. Castiel runs his fingertips through it and remembers flying.
#asks#fanfic#wincest#whatever it is#anon i have you to thank for getting me back into spn fic <3 i've been rereading some of these over the past few days#i was going to post this for ww yesterday but i fell asleep :( so here you go now sdfksdfh
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It's Cold Outside
Space isn't as cold as one expects.
Oh sure, in the shadow of something; it's freezing, but exposed to a star and no way to naturally dissipate the heat? It gets hot quickly. Having a robust method of cooling one's ship is vital, otherwise the crew would cook within hours. One's ability to cool one's systems is the deciding factor of how much a ship can do in most situations. Problem arise though when that system goes on the fritz and doesn't stop cooling.
On its own, Neil wouldn't have really had an issue. Maybe put on an extra jacket or hoodie? Sure, it was cool, but it wasn't cold. Unfortunately, Yil'ro was a ssypno and cold blooded.
She wasn't cruel, evil, or mean. She was not cold blooded in that sense, but more literally; she made very little of her own heat and without enough heat, she would slow down, become sluggish and eventually fall into a coma. The ship wasn't huge, it was enough for a grand total of eleven crew members. Yil'ro was missed when she didn't appear at breakfast.
When the human had gone to check on her in her, comparatively to her size, tiny quarters, he'd keyed the door open to find her trying desperately to warm up. Blankets covered her and several instant hot food snacks resting against her gently steaming into the air-conditioned room.
"It's... Not... not enough..." She explained haltingly. Coiling herself into a tight knot, causing the hot-pots to wobble.
Neils, unafraid of the blue Titanoboa, stepped up and placed a hand on the nearest loop of her tail in a show of care and solidarity.
"Is there anything I can do? I can bring more blankets?" The man suggested, genuinely concerned for his friend of the last three months. However, she reacted to his touch, pushing into his palm.
"By the storm snake's blessing, your hands are like a fire..." She murmured, seemingly not hearing him.
Emboldened, the man rubbed his palms together quickly and placed both back onto the coil, which surged up again and into his hands. Neil had always delighted in the deep blue scales of Yil'ro, they were so dark that without light they looked almost black. Currently they shimmered and moulded under his touch.
"Is this helping?"
"Yes!"
"Should I get everyone else?"
"It doesn't work like this with t-them. Too much fur. Feels cold."
The skin. Humans were alone in the universe with regards to how little they had to cover them. A bit of hair, here and there, but nothing even close to the full head to tail covering of pelt that most of the other races had. Skin on scale transferred heat with such efficiency, that it had been reported that humans who touched the draconians, geckins or the ssypno; felt heavenly.
Neils frowned as he tried to think of a solution, before his mind offered him one.
There was a second of debate, but all it took was to see Yil'ro's miserable face, pulled tight against her coils to make the decision for him.
The man put his weight onto the coil in front of him and vaulted it, swinging a leg up and over it. The size of a ssypno can not be understated. They regularly reached forty to forty-five feet in length with the potential to get much, much bigger. Even with his leg thrown over one of her smaller coils, his toes barely touched the floor.
"Ooh.. What-? Neil?!" Yil'ro started, apparently opening her eyes to see what had just briefly provided two legs' worth of heat across one section of her tail. "What are you... you doing?" She asked, flinching as she shivered with the cold.
"It's an old human trick, sharing body heat."
"But-"
"In life and death situations, skin on skin contact can save your life. I'm not offering, I'm instructing you-" Neil removed his top, the frigid air making his skin pebble. "-To coil me. Shut up! Just do it." Neil ordered with a firm tone, silencing Yil'ro before she could say another word.
Despite her cooled state, the speed at which a ssypno could move shocked the human as her torso appeared from the depths of her coils and embraced him with all four arms. Then, thick, muscular coils wrapped and coiled around the pair of them, sandwiching them together before the outside world was lost and all the remained was the sound of the ssypno and the human's breathing.
She was cool to the touch and Neils could feel the heat sap from him, before the air in the confined space began to warm notably.
"Oooh..." the chest Neil was pressed to rumbled. "Oh my..." Yil'ro murmured.
"I had always wondered... what it was like to hold you- I mean a human..." She corrected hastily. Neil just grinned.
"Enjoy what you like, I just want y-" Neil's words were cut off as he squeaked. One of the broad hands that were clasped down his back had twitched sidesways and given his rump a hard squeeze having him jerk forwards into her.
"You said 'enjoy'..." Yil'ro giggled, already seeming much closer to her old self. "Can we... do this every morning? It would definitely help me get moving..."
[r/WolvensStories]
[Ko-Fi]
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Savior Her Pt.1
Demon! Colby Brock x Fem! Reader
Main Masterlist Series Masterlist
Warnings: small gore, being followed, blood
Word Count: 901
Summary: You're being followed and you pray to any Being that will listen to save you. A Demon is the last thing you expect to help you but you're not complaining.
~~
If someone had told you this is how you were going to die you would tell them it was a disappointing end and never leave the house again.
Truthfully though, perhaps you were being a little dramatic, this guy could just be going in the same direction as you… for the past five blocks…. After making a lot more than 5 lefts and 4 rights.
But out of the 75% of women who have been followed in America how many of them died?
Maybe you dropped your wallet?
God, your optimism does not work in situations like this, and it didn’t help that you were shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.
You clutched your bag a little tighter, your knuckles probably turning white from how hard you were holding onto it. It was getting late, later than people were beginning to be out on a Tuesday night. Not to mention it was the middle of November so it was freezing once the sun went down, which it did, hours ago.
Your feet are starting to hurt and your phone call to the police consisted of the male operator telling you to go somewhere public or find a police station and asking you too many times if you were sure you were being followed. Your attempt to lose the stalker in an antique shop did not work, turns out going to a public place does not prevent creepy men from following you into said public place.
You’re sure your local police are busy helping people who need it more, at least, that’s what you tell yourself when you google map the closest police station to your location and it’s an hour's walk away.
Soon after you have the terrifying realization that you don’t really recognize where you are.
Shit, maybe your father was right, maybe your stupidity really would get you killed
You feel tears trickling down your cheeks, unaware you’d even been on the verge of crying but you don’t really blame yourself.
You spare a glance behind you to see the man has gotten closer, he too seems to realize all of your attempts at safety are falling short.
He’s an intimidating height, something you only realize now that he’s closer, you can’t tell how buff he is under his hoodie but maybe God was on your side and he was small enough for you to break an arm.
You flinch lightly when you feel a stinging in your palm, realizing you’d been clenching your fist so tight your nails broke the skin, a small amount of red blossoming in little crescents on your skin.
Briefly, you find yourself praying, or calling out to any God or Being that would listen and save you from this nightmare. Maybe death would be more merciful than what this bastard was going to do to you.
In true victim fashion, you somehow manage to trip over a raised piece of the sidewalk, your bag flies out of your grip and you see your belongings scatter across the concrete. At least if you die the last thing you’ll see is your watermelon-scented hand sanitizer and your smiley face keychain smiling at you one last time.
It was a cinematic way to go out at least.
You’re sure there’s probably some metaphor that can be made about this.
You hear footsteps approach and prepare for something, anything to happen. Tears still pour from your face and you think about your family, your father, and your brother. Would they miss you? Would they mourn you? Would they care?
You spent so much of your life wishing they would care about you, or at least leave you alone.
You’re startled out of your thoughts by the sound of grunting behind you, you’re a little scared to turn around, fearing what you may find but you find the strength to lift your body into an upward position.
Flinching when your open wounds press into the dirty ground.
When you turn to look behind you you’re surprised to see the guy following you being held by his collar by another man.
You can only see the back of him but you take notice of his short-ish hair, black jeans, boots, and a leather jacket with two twin red flame designs running parallel with his spine.
You watch him land another blow onto what is probably an already beat-up face, when he pulls his arm back you spot blood on his knuckles and spattered on his hand.
The mysterious stranger finally lets go of the creep and you nearly let out a gasp as he stumbles back. There’s blood flowing from his nose and mouth, and he looks like he can barely stay conscious enough to stand.
Before the creep can even think of fighting back or running, the leather jacket guy punches him right in the stomach and he crumples to the ground, coughing up more blood that splatters onto the gray concrete.
The mysterious guy bends down to whisper something to the other guy and then stands, giving the guy one last non-committal kick before turning around.
You gasp as haunting blue eyes look around and land on you, there’s blood speckling across his face and he looks as surprised to see you as you are to see him, but what stands out to you the most are the two black masses protruding from his head.
Horns.
Pt.2
-
This is my first ever Colby fic so please let me know what you think!~ Starry (also the title is a play on words- save her and savor her)
#fanfiction#sam and colby#colby brock imagine#colby brock#colby brock fanfic#colby brock smut#colby brock x reader#colby brock fic#colby brock x y/n#colby brock x you#colby brock fluff#upon a starry night writes
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It’s All Coming Down ~Broken!Aaron Hotchner xFem Reader
Summary— [S5Ep09 SPOILERS] With the events of S5Ep09 going down, Hotch can’t cope. He breaks down and falls into Reader’s arms. Luckily, Reader is there and ready to comfort Aaron through one of the hardest times of his life.
Mommy… Master List
Requests & Prompt-List
Warnings: fluff, little angst, blood, implied deaths (multiple), trauma, traumatic situations, canon character death, comforting, breaking down, physical comforting, crying, etc.
Enjoy (;
Aaron couldn’t keep up with what was happening. One second he was on the phone with Haley, and the next, he was kneeling in front of her body, hands bloody. Or was it Foyet who was on the ground, body bloodied? He couldn’t remember. The walls of reality were coming crashing down on him. It was all happening so fast, yet at the same time, it seemed as if time had slowed. The man had managed to make it out of the family home, stumbling across the lawn. He could barely make out you rushing out of an SUV and coming quickly him.
You rushed up to Hotch, asking him if he’s alright, asking what you can do, when the man collapsed on the front lawn in front of you. You swiftly catch him to the best of your ability (and considering how much man Hotch really was, you were doing pretty good) guiding and slowly his fall to the ground. Aaron pulled you close, practically in your lap, as your body enveloped his. And then you heard sobs. Aaron had started sobbing into your shoulder, uncontrolled, unbridled sobs.
“Shhhhhh, it’s okay it’s okay. You’re safe, Hotch.” You comforted the man.
The team started to slowly filter out of the house, collecting evidence and making sure the bodies were properly taken care of. Jj was leading Jack away from all the blood and gore, going out the side door and putting him swiftly into a black SUV. Her gaze swiveled and met yours, as you comforted the broken man on the ground a hundred feet or so away from her. She gave you a sympathetic nod which you curtly returned, before tucking away into the vehicle to care for Jack.
Your attention then turned back to Aaron, who was now practically koala, clinging to you, his big hands and arms wrapped tightly around your frame. He was shaking. And his tears were soaking your shoulder and down your back. You allowed him to tremble and cry in your arms, allowing the world to pass by as you stayed in the grass and comforted the man.
Things started to become busier, more fbi agents coming out of the house, along with a new wave arriving in SUVs. The commotion seemed to finally get to Hotch, as he poked his head up slightly. You saw his grief stricken, broken eyes for a moment, before he turned his head away. He suddenly sniffled and retracted enough to speak to you but not meeting your gaze ashamed.
“I’m— I’m sorry that was extremely innapropriate of me…” he stammered, trying to distance himself from you.
The man stumbled to stand up and slam it shoved himself away from you. He shook his head, attempting to get his bearrings, attempting to shove all of his emotions deep down, compartmentalize like he usually always did. But you wouldn’t hear it, standing up swiftly and pulling him back towards you, holding him close by his shoulders, so that he had to meet your gaze.
“Nonsense. Hotch, you just experienced an enormous loss. You are allowed to feel. You’re allowed to grieve. Come here” you whispered caringly.
Aaron tried to blink back the tears that threatened to spill once more, instead pulling you into a tight hug on the lawn. His arms wrapped around your back as you embraced him in turn. You two stayed there in silence for a moment.
“Thank you” he finally whispered.
“Anytime, Aaron. Anytime.” You whispered back.
From the side of the road, Morgan shot Prentiss a knowing look, raising his brow and indicating to the two of you in the grass, which Emily returned with an equally intriguing expression.
~~~
Aaron Hotchner Masterlist ~Coming Soon (;
#criminal minds spoilers#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch hotchner#hotch x reader#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch fluff#aaron hotch fic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fic#thomas gibson#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds series#criminal minds hotch#angst#trauma#blood#fluff#aaron hotchner angst#criminal minds angst
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👉🏽👈🏽 spare any jjk faerie au headcanons you have cooked up for a desperate lass?
of course because man do i have some thoughts as a lover of faeries. i could probably go on about this for hours
gojou satoru | elf
a prince hailing from a seelie court
his very birth shook faerieland as foretold by the stars red, blue and purple stars that soared through the sky the night of his birth and his eyes are ones that can see mana and the shape of the soul among other things
presents himself as a revel-loving fool he simply enjoys games, but he is a lot more observant and calculating than he lets on
in his youth he often toted on and on about the stupidity of love, likening it to more of a curse and an ailment that turned the sane into fools so outside of the obligation of having heirs, he doesn't desire love in the slightest
until he meets falls in love at first sight with you, a banshee who saved his life when you coincidentally happened to be passing by after he found himself in a bloody situation
causes the entire court to go into an uproar when he immediately announces his intentions to make you his queen never mind the fact you haven't even accepted his proposal yet
his mother doesn't like you in the slightest. she gave birth to one whose very birth has shaken the earth and if her son is going to marry anyone it is going to be someone more fitting of that position
satoru ignores all that in favor of doing his best to woo you now that you're stuck living in his palace until a revel thrown in your honor passes
yes he knows this very much so makes him a hypocrite but he doesn't want anyone else
asks you all sorts of question about being a banshee. how your cries work, if there are different wails for different situations, how long you've been heralding death
at least you know the man is nothing if not passionate. it's hard resisting his charms as he asks you gently each time to marry him. you think you just might say yes when you feel the ghost of his lips against yours
getou suguru | phouka
if he isn't being an advisor to seelie prince satoru, suguru is a human-hating phouka who is, unfortunately, stuck living with one
unlike humans, the folk are creatures who keep their word so when you are able to best him in something for a favor he's inclined to keep his promise
and yes, he promises that he won't harm you or your loved ones after your deal has come to a close. yes, this includes things you personally consider harmful ranging from murder to physical attacks
for a human, you're quite clever in looking out for any loopholes. you apparently weren't lying when you said you were a faerie enthusiast
but that's the extent of suguru's praise when he learns why you were so adamant to find a faerie to help with your problems ー
apparently you took a botany elective thinking it would be an easy A only to now be just barely passing the class
yes, that's right. you want a member of the folk, a phouka, to be a glorified tutor until the end of the semester just to make sure you don't get a failing grade. apparently, suguru gave you far too much credit
still, you end up growing on him overtime with your sense of humor and you're way of looking at things. he hates to put it so simply but he supposes you aren't like other humans he has come across
(suguru later nearly destroys your textbook because he himself grows frustrated with your class. the human sciences are just as confusing to him as it is you. but your grade has technically improved since he began helping you so it's not entirely a loss is it?)
nanami kento | elf-kobold hybrid
an elf-kobold hybrid with horns that gently curve atop his head akin to an imperial demon
a record keeper often has work writing down events as they take place as well as organizing historical texts as he sees fit. it's a tiring and thankless job but it is something his family has been doing for generations and he sees no reason to break tradition now
the one saving grace he has are naps he enjoys taking between late afternoon and dusk, religiously, by a lake close to the palace
you're a swan maiden who calls the lake home and his quiet company. it's winter in the human realm and rather than fly south with your flock, you decided to spend the season in faerie and decided that particular lake would be home
you're a playful, impish thing who enjoys presenting nanami with riddles as he grows tired and you watch over him to keep him safe while he sleeps. a deal you've both made in favor of him bringing you delicious sweets from the palace
it's quite the favorable deal for you both
of course, inevitably you two get to talking and find yourselves having more and more in-depth conversations as the week goes by
what would nanami do if he decided to break family tradition?
where have you traveled in the human realm?
as a swan maiden, you seldom ever take off your cloak of feathers. there's no reason to ask, nanami knows the rules that swan maiden and selkies follow. should your cloak or coat be taken, you're forced to follow their will
as such, nanami never refers to your coat in the slightest. he never even asks about it
it's a great sign of trust among your kind to ever be vulnerable with your cloak. something nanami learns first hand when he wakes up one particular evening and finds that you have covered him with your cloak to make sure he stays warm
fushiguro toji | boggart
a lord in an unseelie court of faerie, who works in service to the high king as his sword
had a mortal wife who died centuries ago and together they had a half-human son
his son lives among humans presently and while they don't readily talk to one another, toji often has his men sent to the human realm to watch over his son and give him reports on his wellbeing
doesn't imagine himself ever loving someone he did his wife again until running across you a human who stumbled into the wrong mound
allows you to stay in his fief until it is otherwise safe for you to return home
you say you're a dancer so you dance for him and keep him entertained as a sort of thanks for not promptly killing you when you trespassed on his territory
the tension between you both is palpable to many. his staff who are forced to wait on your hand and foot as his guest and to the gentry you see at unseelie revels
the ones that gossip about how it isn't strange for toji to take human lovers
and yet despite that, no matter how close you get, toji keeps a distance between you both that. he fell in love with a human once, still remembers the sting of watching his beloved wife grow old and wither away in front of his very eyes
it's a pain he doesn't want to revisit ever again
okkotsu yuuta | human
unlike most stories of selkies and their evil human spouses, you're marriage with yuuta is quite the happy one in the seaside town you call home
yours was an accidental love story where he accidentally caught you in his net, only to release you
the next day, you brought piles of fresh fish and crabs and shrimp by his beachside home as thanks, much to his confusion as to where the catch came from
you usually followed his boat when he goes to fish and he learns how to recognize you, often laughing sheepishly when he saw you, warning you not to get too close so you don't end up in the net again
it isn't until a stormy night when yuuta fell overboard that you did anything drastic such as save his life, taking him to the shore and giving him cpr
you stayed with him all night until the storm passed keeping him warm
when yuuta woke up to seeing a beautiful, naked person by his side, he was understandably surprised. even more so when you transformed into a seal right in front of him. that was his introduction to the folk, to magic
now he's surrounded by you and your ocean-filled magic everyday in your little cottage by the sea
you come and go as you please, sometimes for weeks sometimes even for months at a time depending on the time of year
but you always come back and yuuta is happy to see you every time
#look she's answering#anon#jjk faerie au#headcanons#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojou x reader#gojo x reader#getou x reader#geto x reader#nanami x reader#toji x reader#yuuta x reader
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Ghostface Rindou like I’m talkin serial killer Rindou
Apologies for making this a couple days late. Work and getting prepared to travel this weekend has been draining. Hope you like it.
☩Pairing: Rindou Haitani / Female Reader
☩Word Count: 1,045 words
☩Content: Dubious content heading towards non-con, sex with strangers, mask kink, semi-blood play, knife play, hinting of death, drug and alcohol use, intoxicated female reader, characters under the influence, dirty talk, morbid fetishes, unfamiliar environments.
☩Author's Note: So, with kinktober closed and myself barely finishing it, I'm glad that you guys are reblogging and liking my content. I appreciate everyone who looks over my stories. You guys are awesome. This story can contain disturbing imagery so, read at your own risk. As always, minors, ageless blogs, and kink shamers do not interact. Thank you, guys.
The coldness compliments the warmth of two bodies. One that towered above a drugged-out body of a woman drunk in her mindless stupor. The other body, a man towered you with a presence that lingered nothing but caution, yet for some reason the ignorance of your arousal wanted more.
While fondling over the endless bliss of wanting to get handled raw over a rotting tree that stood on its last bits of life, you looked over to the man. Your drunken face quip his uncertainty. The glasses that rested against the bridge of his nose gleamed. Each head movement given to make sense of his environment.
An environment that made you question your gullibleness in people.
The atmosphere became filled with humidity, wet earth, and the lingering cologne that hindered the senses of smell. You wonder about the questionable events being at play. As the moonlight luminates the open space of hidden wetlands to marshes, the effects of the various drugs in your system were beginning to wear off. Looking around your surroundings, you questioned yourself about the situation that you were in.
The only memory that you had was that a man in glasses was conversing to you about random things at a gathering. You remembered how his warming, yet not intimidating charisma won you over. A soft smile crept through his face as you talked to him about the dull atmosphere surrounding the party. If memory serves correct, you told him your name and exchanged friendly formalities. Then, those friendly formalities changed into sensual conversing. Body exchanges coming closer as you complimented his costume of choice. You didn’t mind the stench of alcohol that reeked across his breath. A choice that many others like yourself have seen before with given popularity. Hell, you didn’t even seem to notice it until you got closer to his neck and whispered suggestive compliments.
Rindou...
Rindou was his name.
You wondered why costumes like his give off the arousal of the unknown. An unknown face that could be anyone, along with anonymity. It wasn’t something to dwell upon hardly. It was something more of a simple fetish that deemed attractive enough to mindlessly suggest a spot to talk more in “private”. Or, what he says.
Still, it was nice to let a masked person know about your sexual fetishes and how it correlated to his fetishes.
What wasn’t nice is that you were now in a position of something more than hooking up with a random stranger. A random stranger that was fully studying his surroundings. Looking around the dreaded atmosphere, the sounds of crunched, wetted leaves sounded from the bottom of your feet. You readjusted your standing position, unsure about what was going to happen next. The sounds weren’t comfortable at best, but realized now that the man standing above you grew to come closer. The personal space that was present grew to be more slim as the man now studied your frightening stance.
“I won't bite.” He laughs, a soft click of the tongue was made as his breath dances across the goosebumps of your neck. The uncalm nature of your stance was soon to fall as you respectfully joked back. You knew full well that the uneasiness was growing to be more uncomfortable. As you were about to retort with a smart remark of your own, you noticed his eyes grew more narrowed behind his glasses. The brown eyes that you were now enticed with were unrecognizable.
A low chuckle came from his chest as Rindou licked his tongue across the nape of your neck. A rough feeling of sorts, you couldn’t help but to squirm in front of his view. The sexual, yet uneasiness tension is continuing to cloud your hazy judgment as you look at him with a small pout, quite fitting for the moonlight.
“Why is it that I can tell that you’re lying?” You slurred your question, barely knowing that you almost tripped against a rooted tree stump hidden in the leaves. Rindou looks at you with quick concern before grabbing you by your wrist. A meek yelp came from your lips as you reacted from the quickness that came from your body movements.
“Promise. I won't bite.” He repeated his words, this time in a deeper tone of voice. It rumbles against his chest as he brushes something against your legs. While going through guessing games in your head, it was sharp to the touch, and cold. The object carelessly drags across the skin as your breathing begins to hitch. Your breathing begins to come shallow as you are now putting the pieces of what yet is to come. As each breath rises from your opened chest, the pressure from the object becomes harder to your skin. The bluntness of the object that slowly sank to your skin, soon to penetrate your opening layers.
You tried to back into the nearest rotting tree, hopefully the leverage of placing your back against something will hinder the pain but, the constant stabs of the man's knife grew to be unbearable.
A shrill scream came from your hitched voice. The pooling of a warm liquid that came from the open wound slowly ran across the opening layer of your skin, Rindou looked at the wound site, pleased. The sight of a woman in her most vulnerable state sent him to the edge of ecstasy. He continued to mark deep, puncturing wounds in your skin, ignoring the heads of mercy that spilled endlessly from your agape lips.
Each stab made you cry out in fear.
Each stab made Rindou moan out.
“Then again, of all the times I’ve done this with drugged out sluts like you, I probably will.”
The atmosphere filled with ominous sounds overlapped with Rindou’s barking laughter. Hearing it made you wince out in pain, along with fright.
You wanted him to stop, but your begging fell on deaf ears. Rindou wanted this as an opportunity for dominance. Having you fall to your bloody knees, begging for your life while shamelessly suggesting sexual favors was ideal. The thought of a person pleading something so desperate was enough to make the man grow a familiar dent in his jeans.
Even more so to a full-fledged orgasm as the thought of you clinging to the last pieces of life.
Rindou hoped that you wouldn’t pass out before receiving his pleasure.
It just wouldn't be fair.
#tokyo revengers smut#tokyo revengers x you#tokyo revengers fanfiction#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers#tokrev#tokyo rev smut#tokyo rev x reader#tokyo rev x you#tokyo rev headcanons#tokrev x you#tokyo rev#rindou haitani#rindou smut#rindou x reader#tokyo revengers rindou#tr rindou#haitani rindou#rindo haitani#haitani rindo x reader#haitani brothers
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//peeks in here//
I am shyly going to ask if requesting where the reader is Goo’s younger sister and where Samuel somehow gets hired to protect Goo’s younger sister (despite the younger sister knowing some self defense) / the reader falling for Samuel? Would be okay with you? :0 (if that makes any sense-)
If not, that’s totally fine :>
Just thought I’d give it a shot aha-
Sure that's ok with me anon! Sorry for the delay! Man I miss the days before Sammy was fully unhinged.
Samuel Seo x Goo's Younger Sister!Reader: Plushie
Goo doesn't like this.
The way your eyes widen upon first meeting, the way his linger a moment too long.
If he wasn't busy being out of town, running around like Charles Choi's very well paid dog, he wouldn't need to do this.
But Samuel, with his terrible daddy issues and irrational need to prove himself-
Goo might as well take advantage of it.
"If she misses even a hair on her pretty lil head then I'll cut yours off, ok Samuel?"
"Oppa!"
.
.
Sammy-
(Or Samuel as he likes to be called. Which you learned after you earned a disapproving glare and a correction each time. Good thing his glares have no effect on you and you don't care what he likes.)
- is more patient with you than his haughty and bored expression may suggest.
To your annoyance, it seems that he has taken your Oppa's word to heart and has made it his current life mission to keep you in sight and within reach almost all times.
"What do you like to watch, Sammy?"
As if on reflex, the glare comes. Except it doesn't hold anywhere near as much frostiness as it did in the first couple days. He's still exasperated, but becoming resigned to his unfavourable nickname.
"Nothing."
You're also getting used to his short, curt responses.
If you think about it, It's kind of ridiculous that this man is sitting next to you in your apartment. Very close quarters. Shadowing you for over a week now.
Dressed down. In a hoodie that is at once large and comfy, yet extremely tight in certain areas, and sweatpants. His dress code has gradually loosened. From expensive tailored suits, to casual shirts and chinos, and now to this.
This situation can be read as intimate. Except he's only here because he has to be, and your Oppa doesn't believe you can protect yourself.
(You wanted to tell Goo that he's wrong. He was the one that trained you up, after all. But there's no stopping him once he gets something in his head.)
"You must like to watch something. Action? Thrillers? Comedies? Documentaries?"
"I prefer to read."
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, "What about when you were a kid? You must like something then."
An inscrutable expression flashes across Samuel's face, his next words come out forced. "Nothing. I couldn’t- didn’t watch anything."
Oh.
You file that away for another time, maybe when you don't have whatever this wall is between you. If that day ever comes.
That small bit of insight into what sort of boy this man used to be.
Because the likely reasons he couldn’t are either he wasn't allowed to or couldn't afford to, and neither of these are great choices.
You decide to breeze over it. For today. Deciding that Sammy is not the sort of person that would want any sort of sympathy. That he would most likely interpret it as pity.
"Well, let's watch this. It's my fave."
Unfortunately your fave is nothing short of absolute trash.
.
.
Samuel sits silent throughout the full 30 minutes.
At the end, you turn to him and press for his thoughts.
"It's... not bad."
His answer stuns you. You don't hide your expression and receive a small smile in return.
You look at him in a new light.
If someone was to ask either of you when it started, both of you would probably answer this moment was when the fondness started to grow.
.
.
Goo would likely kill him.
Trace a blade along each of his tattoos, dig in and watch the crimson flow.
If Goo knew that Samuel had any sort of anything towards you, Samuel would suffer a fate worse than death.
Still, the close quarters are doing nothing to help his budding interest.
The show was a turning point. From you being Goo's somewhat bratty and annoying sister-
(Goo is extremely bratty and annoying himself, of course it would run in the family.)
- to you being… Well.
You.
A fully formed person in your own right.
Your laughter changes from grating to infectious.
Your questions from prying to simply curious.
Your 'Sammy' from exasperating to endearing.
Even his assigned job to look after you no longer feels like a chore, another chance to nurture his Secret Friend status.
It's enjoyable.
.
.
Your shopping habits test the limit of Samuel's patience.
Your shoes are also testing the limit of your foot arch, but you decide it's worth it to see how long he can bear traipsing after you.
He might be winning this one as he follows you obediently, store after store.
Reaching for his wallet each time you carry an item towards the register. You rebuff him with a wave of your black credit card (technically, your Oppa's black credit card) and Samuel seems to suffer from not being able to perform this act of gallantry.
Offers his opinion even when you don't ask, usually in distaste at something you're looking at. A huff of laughter when you accuse him of being the one with no taste.
Accuses outright you of being tasteless when you ponder over purchasing an adorable plushie.
Samuel dismisses it. "It's ugly."
"Well it reminds me of you!"
He stills for a moment, shock briefly crossing his face before chuckling. Eyes lighting up with mirth.
And you think 'damn him, he's not ugly at all.'
Annoyed, you return the plushie back to the shelf with force.
You're still petulant as you continue to look around afterwards, and he seems to relish in the way you stomp around heavy footed.
His apology comes hours later, when you're waiting at the food court. In the form of some greasy junk food you demanded in one hand; the plushie you squealed over and he physically recoiled at, in the other.
"To remind you of me," he smirks.
That night, as you lay awake with the plushie in your arms. You also think 'damn it, it does remind you of him.'
And squeeze it tighter to your body.
#lookism#lookism webtoon#lookism manhwa#lookism x reader#lookism fic#samuel seo x reader#samuel seo#seo seongeun x reader#seo seongeun#wannaeatramyeon
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after hours ⤑ gojo satoru | m.
⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: ❝ thanks to the missions assigned by the higher-ups, you've not seen your boyfriend in two weeks. thus, when he asks you to meet him in his office, at two am no less, there's little you can do to refuse him. ❞ established relationship. pwp.
❥ pairing: gojo x f!reader
❥ genre: fluff ∴ smut
❥ word count: 14.7k don't look at me
⤑ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: hard dom!gojo, bratty sub!reader, big cock!gojo, bdsm themes, office sex, teasing, hickeys, marking, fingering, degradation, dirty talk, finger sucking, spanking, pain kink, thigh riding, masturbation, praise, grinding, thigh spanking, choking, nipple play, nipple torture, bondage, anal play, gojo is mean, orgasm control, orgasm denial, cum eating, excessive rubbing/grinding of genitals, wet & messy, self exhibitionism & voyeurism, unprotected sex, riding, rough sex, crying, begging, overstimulation, objectification kink (i.e. she wants to be used as a cocksleeve), deep dicking, hair pulling, once again gojo is fucking mean, spit as lube, anal fingering, multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, squirting, brief cum play
➵ 𝑎/𝑛: nothing but gojo brain rot for the rest of the gowhores out there because i am v much obsessed with this man. 12/10 would sell my soul for 1 [one] lick of his dick
― read it on AO3 here
It’s a Tuesday night when your phone buzzes from under your pillow. Considering it’s way past midnight, and you’re attempting to fall asleep—though to no avail, sleep generally didn’t come to you until the early hours of night—you decide to ignore it. Whoever it is, can wait till the morning. After you’ve had some well deserved rest.
At least, that’s what you tell yourself at first.
That is, until your phone buzzes again after a couple of moments. Then again, and again, and again. Until the buzzing sound drives you insane and you have no choice but to answer whoever was messaging you. Whoever it is, it better be a life or death situation—if it’s anything short of mass curses terrorising midtown Tokyo and slaughtering everyone, you’ll be the one committing a series of murders. Especially if it’s the higher-ups sending you on another mission.
When your phone buzzes again, this time with a slew of vibrations, you groan and blindly reach under your pillow to grab it, your eyes squinting at the harsh light when you see multiple notifications from your boyfriend. Curiosity speckling your being, you unlock your phone and open his messages.
asshole💖: u up?
asshole💖: baby?
asshole💖: baabbbbyyy
asshole💖: come on wakey wakey sweet angel
asshole💖: its not even 3am i know ur not asleep
asshole💖: honey?
asshole💖: sweetheart?
asshole💖: pretty girl?
asshole💖: princess?
asshole💖: little dove?
you: no, i am asleep
asshole💖: haha, knew you weren’t :)
asshole💖: where r u rn?
you: ?
you: in bed
you: where else would i be???
asshole💖: which bed, mine or urs
you: mine obviously
you: ur luxury penthouse is 2 big n bougie for me to stay in it comfortably without u
you: all that space to myself is… disconcerting
asshole💖: u deserve luxury n bougie baby
asshole💖: nothing but the best for my girl
That has you pausing, a warm fuzziness settling within your stomach. You pull your lower lip between your teeth and gnaw at the flesh, your eyes roving across the text over and over again. Satoru spoils you like no one else would, like no one else could. Lavish dates at fancy, completely booked out, reservation only restaurants, extravagant holidays and cruises to beautiful countries across the world, expensive gifts from luxury brands with far more zeros than it’s worth on the price tag.
But none of that compares to the way Satoru is completely and utterly enamoured with you; nor the way he claims you as his. My girl. Something about the honeyed possessiveness in his words blooms butterflies within the pits of your abdomen. And if you close your eyes, you can envision the carnal lust in his eyes as his gaze roves over your body, feel the greedy hunger in his touch as his imaginary fingers skim over your flesh, setting it afire with need. You’ve never felt as loved, or desired, in your life as you have with Satoru.
A smile curls at your lips involuntarily and you begin typing again.
you: ok that’s sweet
you: but also it’s fine, i like my room
asshole💖: ok so ur at the school then, yeah? come meet me at my office
you: what
you: ???????
you: no
you: its 2am
you: some of us are trying to sleep
asshole💖: without me? unfortunate.
asshole💖: and also unacceptable
you: not my fault you’re on a mission
You pause, your exhausted brain slowly parsing his words as you reach over his previous texts once again. In your tiredness, you’d somehow missed the fact that he’d asked you to meet in his office—an office that was definitely in Tokyo, Japan and not London, England where he’d been sent on a mission. As soon as it clicks, you shoot up in bed, the covers falling to your waist. The warmth you’d enveloped yourself disappears, your flesh prickling with goosebumps as a shiver runs up your spine at the sudden drop in temperature. Ignoring the sudden chill, your fingers hastily glide over your phone screen as you reply to him.
you: wait. did u say meet u at ur office????
you: satoru r u back???
asshole💖: lol yeah
asshole💖: also not my fault i was on a mission either :((((
asshole💖: blame the higher ups
asshole💖: maybe i should kill all of them <3
asshole💖: if it weren’t for them, i would never have to leave u
you: 🙄
you: you’ve been saying that ur gonna kill them all for years and yet… here we r, so either follow thru or move on 🙄🙄🙄
you: but also gojo… when tf did u get back 🤨
asshole💖: gojo?!
asshole💖: who tf is gojo
you: ??? u lmao
asshole💖: no tf i’m not
asshole💖: it’s satoru, or toru, or baby, or love of my life, or my one and only, or the best dick game ever to u
asshole💖: not gojo
you: ur literally so annoying
asshole💖: you love me
you: right now? debatable. i am TRYING to sleep
asshole💖: but u can’t sleep can u?
you: well, i could if SOMEONE stops blowing up my phone with texts 😐
asshole💖: hahaha
asshole💖: ur so funny
you: oh my god. WHAT do u want???????
asshole💖: i literally told you. meet me in my office lol
you: ? yeah u mentioned
you: but why?
you: can’t we just see each other tomorrow morning
you: u know
you: at a more reasonable time
asshole💖: no i have something to show u
you: what?
asshole💖: a surprise :)
you: i literally hate you. its 2 ! AM !
asshole💖: yeah but i just got back
asshole💖: and i missed u
you: …
you: i missed you too toru
asshole💖: okay good. so you’ll meet me in my office then?
you: that is not what i said
asshole💖: come ooonnn baby. i really, really missed you :(
asshole💖: and that pretty pussy
you: you dick!!!! surprise my ass
you: this is just about u getting ur dick wet!!!!!
asshole💖: hahahaha u got me
asshole💖: but no i srsly have a surprise
asshole💖: so my office, yeah?
you: satoru, it’s so late
you: i rly am trying to sleep
Despite your blatant refusal, you find yourself complying. It wasn’t very often that you could truly deny Satoru. More than that, you have missed him, and in spite of the late hour, you couldn’t wait to see him. Throwing the covers off of yourself completely, you slip your feet into your sliders and walk across your room to your closet.
asshole💖: i know u can’t sleep till u get this gojick
you: wtf is a gojick
asshole💖: gojo dick 🍆💦🍆💦🍆💦
you: 😐
you: yes i can. watch me do it rn
you; 🥱😴💤
It only takes you a brief few seconds to type out the messages, before you open your wardrobe and begin looking for some clothes to wear. It’s the middle of winter, and considering the school’s location high in the mountains, on the far outskirts of Tokyo, you would not be able to get away crossing the campus from your accommodation to Satoru’s office—no matter how short the walk—in just your scant pyjamas. Not without you first freezing your tits off at least.
asshole💖: hahaha come on u know u want ur gojogasms
asshole💖: so come to my office
you: you ! are ! so ! annoying !!!!!!
you: also why ur office?
you: you can literally warp here and it’s be easier. hell u could even walk. the office isn’t far from my room
asshole💖: yeah but where’s the fun in that lol
asshole💖: office because i’m doing paperwork
you: haha what a joke. u never do paperwork
asshole💖: well SOMEONE said im too mean to ijichi. so now i’m doing my own paperwork
asshole💖: but it’s boring. and i want u
asshole💖: i promise i’ll make it worth ur while
you: ….
asshole💖: come on angel
you: ugh fine
you: this surprise better be worth it too
asshole💖: ur gonna love it
you: if the surprise is just ur dick i’m going to be so mad
asshole💖: 😈
asshole💖: alsoooooooo
asshole💖: wear something sexy
Flicking your eyes from the message on your phone screen, you look at the pair of sweatpants and thick jumper you’d rifled from your closet. Warm but definitely not sexy. You haphazardly throw them back into your cupboard before texting your boyfriend back.
you: fuck u
asshole💖: don’t worry sweetheart, gonna fuck u so good
Twenty minutes later, you’re walking through the empty corridors of Tokyo Jujutsu High. Thick shafts of moonlight filter through the glass windows, the hoary effulgence your only source of light as you navigate through the school. The wintry air is crisp against your skin, the brittle wind seeping through the cracks of the window and nipping your naked flesh. Limbs trembling, you pull your boyfriend’s jacket closer to you—the article one of many he’d left in your room in the year you’ve been together—it’s warmth your only reprieve from the cold.
Other than Satoru’s jacket, you’re not wearing much else—just a skimpy lingerie set— and though his coat is warm, and oversized enough to cover you to mid-thigh, your outfit does little to shield you from the frigid weather. Nonetheless, with how you’re practically running across the campus grounds, you’ve built up enough heat to keep you warm. As thrilling as it is to walk around the deserted school grounds practically naked for a rendezvous with your boyfriend, you’d really rather not have one of your fellow faculty members—or god forbid, a student—catch you in your current state of dress.
It’s clear you’re not here to complete paperwork. More than that, no one in their right mind would be caught dead out and about in an outfit like this in the middle of winter. Sexy, but definitely not warm.
Thankfully, within moments, you arrive at the door to Satoru’s office and, with a brief knock, you enter. The second you do, however, you halt, a frown forming on your lips. Your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. Eyebrows furrowed, your expression coloured with confusion, you approach his desk. The lights are dimmed low, a soft amber glow cast over the space. Your gaze flickers around and from the abandoned papers sprawled on Satoru’s desk, along with his jacket slung over the back of the chair, you know he has been here.
So where the fuck is he now?
Just as you move for your phone, you hear heavy footsteps echo across the hallway. Cocking your head to the side, you watch as Satoru enters his office, only to pause when he sees you. Your boyfriend seems to have abandoned his blindfold, lambent eyes of cerulean on display as they rake over you, a hum of appreciation rumbling through his chest as he takes in your outfit.
“Satoru,” you breathe heavily.
The sound of your voice has him moving once again, your breath hitching as he closes the distance, until he’s standing right in front of you.
“Satoru—” you choke out a second time, your throat tightening at the sight of his blown out pupils, the inky wells dilated with lust and obscuring the ethereal blue of his irises.
Your boyfriend simply hums again, the rich timbre of the sound reverberating through the air and straight to your core. Inadvertently, your thighs clench, molten desire pooling within the pits of your abdomen.
“So pretty in my clothing,” he murmurs, dark possessiveness overshadowing the lust in his eyes. His hand wraps around you, a gasp falling from your lips as he pulls your chest flush against his own, only to lift you up and perch you on the edge of his desk. In a smooth motion, he steps between your legs, your thighs instinctively spreading to make room for him.
You stare at him through the thick of your eyelashes and swallow thickly— an attempt to soothe your dry throat. “W-Where’s my surprise?” you finally ask, grimacing internally at the stutter in your voice.
It’s been a little over two weeks since you’ve seen Satoru—both of you passing each other like ships in the night. Whenever you were back from a mission, it’d seem like Satoru was scheduled on one, and vice versa. You have no idea if the higher-ups had purposely done it, but if you had to bet money on it, you’d bet that they had. The animosity between Satoru and them was no secret, and you wouldn’t put it past them to take out their frustration with him on your relationship.
Two weeks may seem like a short time, but you couldn’t deny just how much you missed him in those days, and reunited now, it was even more evident in the way your body ached for him, the way your pussy wept to be filled by him.
Running his glossy lips along the column of your throat, “You’ll have to wait for it,” Satoru murmurs before lightly nipping your flesh. A gasp of surprise slips through your mouth, your head falling to his shoulder before lolling to the side as you grant him further access. The heat between your thighs intensifies—your arousal dripping out of you and onto your thighs.
“I—I want it now,” you somehow manage to force out, your eyes fluttering as Satoru blooms bruises into your skin—his lips suckling and his teeth scraping your flesh. The hand around your waist drops to your hip and, gripping it, he pulls you further into him. Feeling the hard outline of his throbbing shaft, you let out a small moan; Satoru lowly chuckles.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” he responds, his voice heavily laced with a taunt. The pet name drips from his lips, thick like honey and as sweet as sin. “You want it now?” he mimics. As he speaks, his hips buck forward, your mouth parting in a loud groan when his cock presses further against your core. Your pussy clenches at the sensation, your hands moving to grip Satoru’s shirt.
“T-Toru,” his name spills from your lips in a needy whimper, your hips thrusting forward to push against him. Your actions cause Satoru to laugh, the sound low and dark against your neck.
“Tell me, what is it you want?” Satoru taunts, a knowing lilt to his voice. You can’t see his face from the way it's buried into the delicate column of your throat. But you don’t need to see it, you can feel the shit-eating, teasing grin that paints his plump lips—in more ways than one.
A ripple of annoyance flutters through you at his cockiness. He has you exactly how he always does—wanton and desperate for him—and he knows it, feels it in the way you squirm under him. Hell, he could probably smell it, your arousal dripping out of you and onto your thighs, his desk, his crotch. You’d be damned if he had you this easy, he’d never let you live it down. Thus, gathering as much of your willpower, you allow a teasing smile to curl at your lips.
“I want my surprise, Gojo,” you purr out your demand, drawing out the syllables of his name in a sultry tone. When your voice comes out steady, you internally cheer. Instantly, Satoru lifts his head before harshly biting the soft flesh of your earlobe. The action tears a soft cry from your lips, Satoru’s fingers digging into the soft flesh at your hips, so hard you’re sure he’ll bruise his fingerprints into your skin.
“What did you just call me?” he questions, eyeing you with his unimpressed gaze.
“Gojo,” you goad once again. You stare at him with wide eyes, the faux innocence belied by a mischievous twinkle.
“You’ll regret that, baby,” Satoru sneers.
His long fingers move to push the hem of his jacket further up your thighs, uncovering more and more of your skin. With each inch of flesh revealed to his gaze, Satoru devours you, his grandidierite eyes following the movement of his hands up your legs. With a final push, Satoru bunches the hem of his coat around your hips, his hand slipping underneath the material. A guttural moan emanates from your throat when you feel his warm palm pressing hard against your abdomen.
Immediately, his hand begins trailing down until his fingers reach the waistband of your lace panties. He doesn’t bother divesting the coat from your body. Instead, he watches your face as his fingers dip under the elastic.
“Spread,” comes his command; his deep voice cutting sharply through the air.
You don’t have to be asked twice, your thighs immediately parting as you grant him better access to your folds, your pussy desperately aching for his touch.
“Someone’s being good,” Satoru chuckles.
Before you can retort, however, his hand darts further into your underwear, his fingers slipping between your folds and causing you to hiss at the sudden contact. Completely ignoring your clit, Satoru’s fingers begin softly massaging your soaked, puffy lips—the pads of his middle and pointer finger rubbing against either fold of your sex.
“S’toru,” you gasp, your eyes fluttering as you feel him play with your folds.
“Aww, is my baby all swollen and needy? Have you missed my cock in you, princess?” Satoru jeers, a lopsided smirk on his face.
Your nose wrinkles at the taunt. “F-Fuck you,” you stammer.
In a flash, Satoru’s hand moves, his pointer finger and thumb swiftly pinching your swollen clit. The sudden pain, mixed with pleasure, has you crying out, your hand shooting to grip his arm as you dig your nails into its flesh.
“Such a fucking brat, aren’t you, sweetheart,” Satoru practically spits out the endearment. “But it’s all for show, isn’t it? I know how much you want me, know how much of a desperate little cockslut you really are for me,” he continues with a hiss. Thighs trembling, you mew out your disagreement, though the high-pitched, needy inclination of your voice gives you away in an instant.
In indolent movements, Satoru circles the outline of your clit with his fingertip, lightly rolling it under his touch. Whining at the action, you feel your pussy clench around nothing; a gush of wetness floods out of you and down your thighs.
Moving his fingers through your slit, Satoru smirks. His gaze firmly locked on yours, he runs his long, nimble fingers through your cunt, gathering as much of your wetness onto them as he can. Then, travelling further down, he comes into contact with your rippling entrance. Satoru lets out a soft coo when he feels the slick, heated hole.
“God, you’re already so wet. Bet I could slide my cock into this tight little hole right now if I wanted to, bet you’d take it all like a well-trained whore,” he derisively sneers.
Reflexively, your pussy begins to pulsate, twitching around his fingers. The pads of his pointer and middle finger press against your entrance—just enough pressure to draw your attention to it, but not enough to press into you. No matter how much you buck into his hand.
“Oh? I can feel this pretty cunt twitch, baby. Is that what you want? To feel my fat cock slide into this little hole and fuck it open?” Satoru jeers, emphasising his words by sliding two fingers into you.
Pliant in your state of lust, the walls of your cunt easily spread open around his digits, the ringed muscles contracting and sucking him deeper into your velvet depths. Your forehead drops to rest on his chest in response, a low keen escaping your chest when you feel his fingers thrust inside you. Unrelenting, Satoru pushes them deeper and deeper—the motion incredibly slow and deliberate, making you feel every centimetre of his fingers, until he’s pushed them hilt-deep.
“P-please,” you stutter out, your hips grinding into his hand as you try to get him to move.
“Look at me, baby. I want to see how fucked out you are just for my fingers,” Satoru commands.
Unable to disobey, you shift your head and look up at him through the thick of your eyelashes. Gaze locked onto your own, Satoru groans at the turbulent, heady lust clearly visible in your eyes. Pleased by your obedience, he begins leisurely thrusting his fingers into you, the digits wriggling inside you with every plunge. Soft whimpers fall from your lips, your fingers curling around Satoru’s arm tighter as you moan in pleasure.
“Shit—Look at you. Look at the way you’re fucking into my hand. Needy bitch,” Satoru laughs lowly. And sure enough, you grind against his palm, your ass rocking onto his fingers. Swivelling your hips, you thrust into him harder—your cunt walls pulsating as your pussy tries to swallow his fingers deeper. However, all of a sudden, Satoru’s pulling his hand out of your panties, his fingers pulling out of your cunt and leaving you feeling empty all of a sudden.
“No!” you sob, your hips bucking wildly in an attempt to chase his fingers. Softly, Satoru hushes you, pressing soothing kisses against your neck—even as he keeps his hand between your thighs—his fingers rubbing your nether lips and wiping your slick onto them. Pulling away from your sex, he brings his fingers to your lips.
“Awww baby, it’s okay. I’ll ruin that sweet little cunt soon. Fuck you so good, you’ll be crying on my cock,” Satoru cajoles.
“Toru—Toru, please,” you whine, your hips squirming over his desk. You should feel ashamed, you know you should, with the way your pussy is leaking all over his desk. Yet, you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when the emptiness in your cunt aches to be filled up.
“Yeah, baby? Want me to fill you up nice and tight with my cock? Want me to cum inside till you’re leaking?” he taunts. The sinfulness of his words has you releasing another gush of arousal, the walls of your pussy tightening around nothing as you feel the dull ache return with a vengeance. Brushing his fingers against your lips, he paints them in your own essence.
“Suck,” Satoru orders as he pushes the digits into your mouth and onto your tongue. Reflexively, you wrap your mouth around the appendages, licking off your own arousal—the heady flavour heavy on your tongue. Satoru hums in approval. Then, he’s stepping away, his fingers slipping from your mouth.
With laboured breaths, you watch as he steps away from you and towards his chair. Eyes glued to his figure, you watch as he takes a seat, his thighs spreading out to accommodate his lengthy legs. In his new position, you can clearly see the way his trousers tent—his indurated cock straining within the confines of his jeans. Staring at you with lust-filled eyes, Satoru beckons you over to him with a crook of his fingers, and on wobbly legs, you walk over to him. When you’re a few feet in front of him, Satoru raises his palm—stopping you in your tracks.
Hand falling down to his side, “Take off my coat,” he orders.
Obediently, you comply. Your fingers move to unfasten the buttons of his jacket, hastily undoing each one before you clasp the material in your hands and shrug it off. The moment your figure comes into view, Satoru’s jaw clenches—the corner muscles flexing.
“Fuck,” Satoru breathes out.
Deliberately, his dark gaze wanders over you—practically feasting on your figure as he drinks you in. Pale blue and black lace cling to your skin; the skimpy material doing nothing to shield you from his predatory glower.
“Come here, pretty girl,” your boyfriend calls out to you. You hop off the desk and close the short distance, stopping when you’re between Satoru’s thick, spread thighs.
“Fuck, baby. Is this a new set? I’ve never seen it before,” he asks, his eyes trailing over your body.
With a teasing smirk, you look down at him. He’s asked you to dress sexy, so you have. Thankfully, you’d had this little piece hidden away, bought after one of your recent missions in Ginza. It was also one of the few pieces you hadn’t shown Satoru yet, something you were grateful for now. It’s a pretty set—made of a mix of delicate lace and soft satin. Of course, it had cost a small fortune—but it’d been worth every yen.
The cups are made of see-through baby blue lace—clearly revealing your hardened nipples as they poke against the material—while the thin straps are made of black satin, each wrapping around your rib cage and breasts like a harness, while a thicker one reaches from between your breasts to wrap around your neck like a choker. The panties are designed in a similar manner—thin, barely-there lace covering your sex while multiple black satin straps sit on your upper hips—just under your waist. You completed the look with a pair of black garters and stockings, the black suspenders clinging onto the lace tops of your thigh highs.
Definitely sexy, just like he’d asked.
“Mhm, do you like it?” you ask before twirling.
All of a sudden, with your back turned towards him, you feel Satoru’s hands grip your hips—halting you in your movements. Lips curling into a devious glint, you know your boyfriend’s seen the best part of this set. You’re glad he was more preoccupied with the way your cunt had felt against his fingers earlier—otherwise, you’re sure he would have realised sooner.
“Fuck are these—” Satoru breathes out, his voice a little strained as he stares at your ass. Turning around and looking at him over your shoulder, your eyes flash with playful delight.
“Crotchless? Mhm,” you hum in response. Satoru sucks in a sharp breath, and instantly, he’s pressing against the lower curve of your spine, pushing you to bend over in front of him.
The movement causes your ass to spread slightly, the thick bands of lace resting against fleshy cheeks pulling apart in tandem. Hissing at the sight, Satoru’s hands grip your ass before his thumbs press against the lower part of your cheeks: spreading the globes and further revealing your sex to him. A strangled moan slips from his throat, his eyes trailing from your ass to your slit, watching as the two thick pieces of fabric turn narrow, resting in the junction of either of your thighs before attaching to the thicker material that he knows covers your mons pubis.
You feel his heavy gaze rest against your ass and, with his hands spreading your cheeks, you know you’re completely on display for his viewing pleasure. Growing wetter against his gaze, you feel him move one of his thumbs from your ass, the other holding you open wider, while he brushes the pad through your soaked slit. A soft moan slips past your throat at the gentle touch, his thumb lightly dipping into your messy hole.
“Sexy enough?” you innocently question. Then, lowering your voice a couple of decibels, “It’s got easy access,” you purr.
Instantly, you feel your boyfriend spank your ass—hard. Heat sears across your skin, a cry tearing through your lips at the sudden strike. Flesh smarting with pain, you feel your boyfriend’s thick lips press against the tender skin: lavishing it with soothing kisses.
“Easy access? God, you’re such a dirty fucking slut. I should spank your pretty ass raw for being such a filthy, depraved whore,” Satoru sneers. His words cause you to clench around his thumb.
“Oh? Do you like that sweetheart? You want me to spank you?” Satoru taunts, pushing his thumb deeper into your dripping hole. Eagerly, you nod, bucking your hips back into him at the prospect. Leaning forward, he presses a tender kiss to the base of your spine, the soft touch making you sigh heavily.
“Oh, I know you do, baby. You’re such a desperate little pain slut,” Satoru says. Then all of a sudden, he’s bringing his hand over your bare ass cheek. Sharp pain flares across your ass, causing you to whimper out his name. When he brings his palm onto your ass, lightly gripping and caressing it soothingly, you let out another deep sigh. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” Satoru coos.
Abruptly, he’s pushing you away. Stumbling forward, you manage to catch yourself, your palms bracing against Satoru’s desk—your boyfriend holding onto your hip to steady you, before he turns you around once more so you can watch him. Through lust-fogged eyes—your thighs rubbing against each other in a bid to alleviate the intense ache between them—you follow the way he unbuckles his jeans: a ripple of anticipation thrumming through you. Time passes slowly, and it feels like Satoru can’t move quick enough. Eventually, he pulls his cock out from under his jeans, a low whimper falling from your throat when you see it.
Perhaps it’s just that you haven’t seen it in a while—but, somehow, he looks bigger than usual. With a thick, angry pink head: the bulbous tip leaking precum, and a swollen shaft: long, thick and ridged with dusky-rose veins, you can’t help the way your mouth waters. Eyes fixated on him, you watch as he runs his large hands over his cock, swallowing thickly as it pulses in his hold. When he runs his thumb over his own tip, covering it in his own precum, you let out a pained whimper—your cunt aching to be filled by him.
“Is this what you want, baby?” Satoru asks sweetly whilst lazily palming his cock. Swiftly, you nod, your hand shooting out to grip his member. The moment you move, Satoru tuts and smacks your hand lightly.
“Satoru,” you whine, once again reaching for his cock. Again, Satoru tuts and bats your hand away.
“I didn’t say you could touch, sweetheart,” he reprimands while clicking his tongue. “In fact…” Satoru continues.
The moment he drawls out the words, you feel an inkling of despair, paired with excitement, course through you. Indolently stroking his cock, your eyes following the movement surreptitiously.
“You’re not allowed to touch at all, do you understand me, princess?” he commands, practically purring. Hearing the words, your face immediately falls—petulance etched across your features.
“Noooo, Toru,” you whine, a pout curling onto your lips. Your fingers twitch to touch him. it’s been so long, you want—no, need—to feel it. Hand shooting out, it moves to curl around his thick shaft. However, anticipating the movement, Satoru brings his hand down onto your thigh hard, causing you to mewl in pain.
“I said no,” Satoru hisses, his voice low, and dangerous.
Whimpering, you squirm harder. However, with how slick your thighs are—covered in a light sheen of your own wetness—the movement does nothing to alleviate your wanton neediness. A broken sob falls from your lip; Satoru moves his hands to your hips and pulls you closer. Dipping his head down, he runs his nose along the length of your torso: from just under your breasts, to the top of your mound. He places a tender kiss against the waistband of your underwear—his supple lips causing your flesh to tingle with pleasure.
“I told you to be good for me, baby. Don’t you want to be good for me?” Satoru taunts. An impertinent retort sits at the tip of your tongue, but you bite it down; mainly because you’re desperate to feel his cock in you—or even on you at this point.
“I’ll be good,” you murmur back.
Satoru smiles against your skin, and with a soft kiss, paired with a hum of approval, he pulls away. Then, in one fluid motion, he pushes his thigh between your legs before bringing your hips down onto them. Hissing through your teeth at the movement, your cunt clenches around nothing—the rough, hard fabric of his jeans pressing against your aching pussy. Satoru lets out a soft grunt, his thigh twitching slightly as he feels the heat of your core seep through the denim.
“God—you’re so hot. And so fucking wet…” Satoru murmurs through gritted teeth. The rough denim against your bare, swollen folds has you whimpering, and before he can say anything, you’re already fidgeting over his thighs.
“Depraved little slut. Does it feel good, baby? Hmmm, I bet it does… finally having something other than yourself touch your needy pussy,” Satoru taunts, a wry grin on his face. Eagerly, you nod, your hips moving harder.
Suddenly, he spanks your thigh, making you cry out his name. The flesh blooming with pain from the sharp impact, Satoru soothingly runs his palms up and down your thigh. “Now, I want you to be good, sweetheart. Can you do that?” Satoru asks, his voice coming out in a deep hum.
Hastily nodding, “I’ll be good,” you repeat once again.
“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Satoru chuckles, knowing that your obedient streak would run out sooner or later. “Now, here’s what I want you to do… I want you to ride my thigh,” Satoru commands.
You mewl in pleasure, nodding eagerly once again. You’ll ride his thigh for the rest of the night if it means he finally plays with you. Then, after a brief pause, and with a borderline sadistic smile, “But I want you to keep your hands to yourself,” Satoru finishes.
Despair washes through you at that.
“Satoru, that’s not fair. P-Please. W-Wanna feel you,” you whimper out in protest.
“I know you do, baby. But this is your punishment for behaving like a little brat. How many times did I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself, hmm? How many times have you called me Gojo, huh baby?” Satoru snarks. The deep baritone of his voice resounds through his office and involuntarily, your stomach twists.
“I’m sooory,” you whine out your apology.
Satoru chuckles darkly. His hand moves to your hip, and dipping it between your thighs, he lazily brushes it against your exposed clit. Crying out, you begin rocking over his thigh—your eyes fluttering open and shut as he continues stroking your clit with featherlight movements.
“Oh, I bet you are, sweetheart. I bet you’re soo sorry,” Satoru coos, and if you didn’t know your boyfriend better, you’d believe the false sympathy in his voice.
However, you do know better, and you’re proven right a few brief seconds after, when that same sympathy disappears. All of a sudden, Satoru flicks your clit hard, his fingernail scraping against the sensitive bud. You cry out, pleasure blurring your vision as your head falls back.
“But I told you you’d regret it, didn’t I?” Satoru laughs wryly, a sardonic smile curling at his glossy lips. “So, now, you’ll ride my thigh and watch me play with myself knowing you can’t touch. I think that’s fair, don’t you, baby?”
It’s not often that anyone would call Satoru sweet, but to you, he is. He’s sweet, and loving, and gives into every single one of your whims. But Satoru’s dominance is not to be tested—and you know that he won’t budge—no matter how much you whine or beg. At least, not until he’s sure you’re at your wit’s end.
Spanking your thigh suddenly, “I asked you a question, princess, I expect an answer,” Satoru hisses.
“Y-Yes, Toru. That’s fair,” you snivel.
It’s not. You know it’s not.
And every part of you wants to rebel, to scream that no, it’s not fair and you want to touch him, need to touch him.
Nevertheless, you know that will only result in Satoru punishing you with something worse. More than that, you’re too caught up in how good the coarse fabric of his jeans feels against your naked, sopping cunt.
“Good girl. Now, ride,” Satoru purrs as he leans back in the leather chair.
Yielding to his dominance, you gyrate your cunt against his thighs, your hands falling to grip your own—your fingers twitching to touch him. Whiny gasps and moans fall from your lips; the abrasiveness of his jeans causes you to cry out in pleasure. His thigh is thick between yours, your clit dragging across the length as you try to press it harder into him. With every movement of your hips, you leave broad trails of slick over his jeans—the thick material covered in a light coating of arousal. Though, with each motion of your hips, the fabric grows wetter.
From his reclined position, Satoru simply watches the way you move: your hips swivelling and your stomach writhing enticingly as you do your best to grind over him. Captivated by your erotic motions, Satoru begins palming at his heavy length. Lazily, he strokes his pulsating member—rhythmically squeezing it whenever you get to his tip. Mushroom tip leaking translucent beads of precum, he swipes at his slit every now and then, coating his thumb in the sticky substance as he wets his dick with his own arousal.
Seeing his movement, you let out a soft whimper; your mouth watering. You’d give anything—anything—to feel his cock. Plagued by the way it pulses in his large hands—how the angry bulbous head leaks all over him—your movements become more feverish: each motion a little faster, or harsher than the previous one.
Meanwhile, Satoru’s lust-darkened gaze trails down your body, stopping when he gets to your chest. Within the confines of your bra, your nipples are twisted hard—the buds straining against the lace mesh of the cup. A large part of him wants to remove the bra and tease your nipples until you’re begging him to cum—but he can’t deny just how undeniably good it looks on you, the sight of the baby blue and black material against your skin causing his cock to throb painfully in his hand. So, instead, he reaches out and lightly brushes his thumb against your covered nipple.
“Fuck,” you cry out, your fingernails digging into your thighs as you shudder over him.
Nonetheless, repeatedly, Satoru begins swiping his thumb over your nipples—dragging them under his pad—while his other hand leisurely strokes his own shaft. Almost painfully tightened to hardness, each of his movements has your sensitive nipples brushing against the coarse material of your bra, the sensation only heightening your pleasure. Briefly, you pause your motions, simply sitting on his thigh as your cunt erratically clenches, while you relish in the way he teases your hardened bud.
God, you desperately need to touch him.
In an instant, Satoru pinches the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, before twisting it painfully. A sharp thrum of stinging pain shoots from your breast and straight to your core: your cunt clenching and releasing a gush of wetness at the pain.
“Did I say you could stop, sweetheart?” Satoru hisses, his pretty features twisted into a domineering sneer.
Despite his words, the pain has you arching into his hold, a moan of ecstasy emanating from your throat as you wordlessly beg for more. Satoru growls, and twists your nipple harder this time; his fingers pulling the hardened peak painfully.
“Don’t be a fucking brat. I told you to move,” he scolds.
Having had enough of your own obedience, petulance rises in your chest, and for a moment, you don’t do anything—simply looking at him, defiance rife within your eyes. Seeing the mischievous spark, Satoru raises a single eyebrow at you.
He trails his hand up your chest, his hand splaying against your sternum before he wraps it around your throat. The thick lace band of the bra’s choker pulls tighter against your throat, Satoru’s warm fingers simultaneously flexing around your neck. With his hand spread over your throat, he tenderly brushes his lips against yours. Then, pulling your lip between his teeth, he nips at the soft petal.
“Do you really want to be a brat now, princess? When you’re so close to cumming?” Satoru’s sweet voice breaks the silence; his breath wafting against your lower face.
He doesn’t say it explicitly, but the warning is there: as clear as day. If you don’t obey him, he won’t let you cum. The threat of your boyfriend edging you has your eyes widening. Usually, you would push him more—loving nothing more than when your boyfriend punishes you by pushing you to your limits. But it’s been so long since you’ve had him that you’re sure if he edges you even once, you’ll go insane, each of your brain cells fried by ravenous lust. You already can’t touch him—the restraint driving you crazy. So, instead of challenging him further, you begin moving on top of him again.
“That’s my good girl,” Satoru praises, his head dropping so he can brush his thick lips against the outline of your collarbone.
The appraising action has you mewling—and unable to help yourself—you drop your head; your nose buries in his thick hair as you breathe him in.
“Come on, sweet girl, don’t you wanna cum?” Satoru asks as he purposely tenses his thigh. His ministration causes his muscle to contract to hardness, the tense flesh pressing against your swollen clit.
The action draws a deep, guttural groan from you and you begin moving over him again. Not having had a decent orgasm in over two weeks—the orgasms you wring from your fingers or your toys nowhere near the blissful intensity of the ones Satoru reaps from you—you can already feel your stomach begin to twist; the dull heat intensifying into a searing vengeance.
Your eyes drop to where Satoru is once again playing with his own cock, palming at the heavy length in long, slow strokes. Mouth drying at the sight, you can’t resist any longer. Hand shooting out, you press your palm against his length and caress it. The moment you feel it—thick and pulsating—under your touch, you whimper needily.
Instantly, Satoru pinches your nipple—twisting and pulling it harshly. Pain flares around your breast, the stinging sensation causing your entrance to quiver and release another gush of wetness onto his jeans.
“What did I say?” Satoru hisses out.
“Please,” you whine, your hand reaching out to stroke him again. However, batting your hand away, Satoru lets out a low growl.
“Hands to yourself or I’ll tie them up,” Satoru warns through grit teeth.
Pausing for a moment, your throat constricts as you imagine being bound and at the mercy of your angry, dominant boyfriend. A thrum of excitement flitting through you, you simply quirk your eyebrow. Then, with a mischievous smile curling on your face, “You have nothing to tie me up with,” you purr out, a challenging twinkle sparkling in your eyes.
“I don’t need something to restrain you, princess,” Satoru spits out.
Then, as if to prove a point, he’s twisting your hands behind your back. Eyes widening at the sudden movement, he leaves you no room to react, one of his strong hands already gripping both your wrists in his hold. Wildly, you thrash against him, trying to release your wrists from his hold. However, Satoru is much stronger than you, the strongest, and his fingers curl around your wrists tightly in a warning.
“Toruuu,” you whine out, and moving your thigh up, you brush your knee against his cock. The unexpected movement has Satoru hissing; his grip around your wrists loosens. Using the opportunity, you break away from his hold before palming at his cock. Swiftly, you run your hand along the entire length, high-pitched keens resounding from your mouth as you relish in the velvet feel of it.
All of a sudden, Satoru spanks your thigh. In a swift motion, he buries his hand into the pocket of his jeans, before pulling out his crumpled blindfold. Your eyes widen at the fabric, and swiftly, Satoru has your hands behind your back—his fingers expertly moving to bind your wrists. Ferociously, you struggle against his hold, doing your best to prevent him from restraining your hands, but Satoru is used to your disobedience, and without much trouble, he has you tied up.
“N-No. No, wanna touch you,” you whimper out, your knee once again rising to brush against his cock. However, anticipating the movement, Satoru brings both his hands onto your thighs—holding them down with his strong grip.
“I said no. Now, I’m willing to let this slide—I know you’re desperate to touch me. But if you disobey me again, I won’t let you cum. Are we clear, princess?” Satoru hisses in a warning.
With your hands bound behind your wrists, you pout. Momentarily, you try struggling again against the binding; however, the knotted material only tightens, making you whimper.
“What did I say, sweetheart? Are you going to try disobeying? Or do you want to cum?” Satoru growls.
You pull your lip between your teeth, gnawing at it as you contemplate your next decision. Again, you want to disobey—you want him to punish you until you can’t take it anymore. However, the overwhelming need to cum overtakes your brattish tendency, and giving in to him, you submit once more.
“I want to cum. I’ll be good,” you mumble out. The corners of his lips pull into a smile, and Satoru leans forward to brush them against yours in appraisal.
“That’s my good girl. See, you do know how to behave,” Satoru hums. Preening under his praise, you nod, your thighs twitching. “Come on, baby, ride me,” Satoru urges, his hands softly massaging the flesh of your thighs.
Wrists flexing around your restraint, you let out a series of short cries and whimpers—your hips moving against him once again. One of your boyfriend’s hands moves to grip your hip, the other wanders up your body to leisurely toy with your nipple—pinching and tugging it through the lace of your bra.
The hand resting on your hip grips you, his fingers digging almost bruisingly into your pelvis as he helps you grind on him. Harder and harder, you rock on top of him: dragging your swollen, aching cunt over the entire length of his thigh as you chase your own pleasure. It’s been so long since you’ve had Satoru play with you like this that even the rough friction of his jeans against your swollen clit is going to have you cumming.
Dark eyes falling to where your thigh clenches his, your cunt moving on him, Satoru lets out a hiss. Fingers tightening on your hips, “That’s it. Good little whore. Get yourself off on my thigh. Look at you, you’re so fucking soaked I can feel you drench my jeans. Desperate fucking cockslut,” Satoru spits out. His words have you whimpering; your pussy involuntarily clenches around nothing—the contraction only serving to emphasise the emptiness of your walls.
Eyes dropping to his cock, you let out a low mew. Left untouched, it stands erect, pressed against his abdomen as it continues leaking into the cotton of his shirt. Imperceptibly, it pulses—the prominent veins pulsing every time blood is pumped to the thick, swollen shaft.
“S’toru, please. P-Please. W-Want your c-cock,” you stammer out as you begin moving in a more frenzied manner.
Humming noncommittally, Satoru presses his thumb against your nipple before rolling it in one tight circle. The ministration has you mewling his name, your spine tingling with pleasure.
“Is that right, sweet girl? Are you already that desperate for my cock? Do you want me to sink into that tight cunt? Feel my cock stretch open that tiny, needy little hole as you cum around me? Is that what you want, baby?” Satoru taunts. His voice is sweet—mellifluous and syrupy. Yet, there’s a darker undercurrent to it, a sinful undertone of dominance that causes your stomach to flip.
“Oh fuck—fuck yes… Toru, I want it. I want it so bad, please,” you beg over him.
Satoru lets out a dark chuckle, his hand moving from your hip to grip your ass. Large palm splaying across the plump flesh, he grips it in his hold before rolling and palming at the muscle.
Satoru hums.
“But I don’t think you can take it, sweetheart. It’s been so long since I’ve fucked that sweet little cunt. Mmmm… that’s right, your tiny pussy is probably too tight to take my fat cock now,” Satoru taunts. Swiftly, you shake your head, your head dropping to his shoulder as you sob out his name.
“I can take it. I can! I want to feel you stretch me out. Toru, please. I want it—want you to ruin my cunt and fuck it open, please,” you wail, pleading with him over and over again; your hips writhing wildly on his thigh.
“Needy fucking whore. God, you’re so fucking desperate,” Satoru hisses
Sitting up in the chair, he pulls your chest against his—both his hands falling to hold your ass—helping you move harder over him. His head dips into the curve of your throat, his nose running up the flesh until his plump lips tease your earlobe.
“Did you miss my cock, baby? Did you miss how good it feels when I slide into that tight little pussy? How I push into that little hole, stretch it open before fucking you hard and deep? I know I did. I missed feeling your dirty little cunt milk my cock,” Satoru groans out.
You let out a shuddering sob, your eyes screwed shut as his deep, melodious, throaty voice reverberates through your eardrum. Nodding against his shoulder, you whine out his name—his words only causing the emptiness of your pussy to intensify.
“You’re already so wet you’ve completely soaked my jeans, you know. I bet you’ll soak my cock just as well—get it nice and wet and messy so I can fuck you hard and fast and rough. Just the way you like—just the way you deserve,” Satoru continues taunting.
Gasping for air, you bury your forehead further into his shoulder, wishing that you could wrap your arms around his shoulders and cling to him.
Between laboured breaths, “S-S’toru… wanna cum… please,” you heave out.
The hands grasping your ass moves to spread your cheeks, his fingers dipping between them. Indolently, he strokes the pads through your wet slit, gathering up your wetness onto them, before trailing up to circle the puckered rim off your ass. Feeling his fingers tease your asshole, you let out a sharp cry, your back arching in pleasure. You push harder against him, shifting your weight so you can grind your clit into the top of his thigh.
The hard material repetitively brushes your throbbing, engorged clit—forcing tingles of heated pleasure to prickle at your skin. Every writhing motion, every time you squirm over him, you climb higher and higher to the brink of your own pleasure. Continuously, Satoru teases your asshole—his slick fingers tauntingly circling the outline of your rim.
When you whine in pleasure, “God, I missed how much of a slut you are for me. Missed how eager you are to take me into any hole,” Satoru admits, his voice thick with torrid hunger. He pushes his finger against the ring of muscles, applying just enough force to tease your asshole, but not enough to push through. The pressure against your ass has the emptiness of your pussy flaring up.
“M-Missed you too. P-Please, Toru… N-Need… Need something,” you force out.
You’re so incredibly close—teetering on the precipice of your orgasm as you ride his thigh. Rocking harder onto him, you grind your clit into his leg, trying to force your own orgasm. Sparks of pleasure jolt across your spine, and you let out a low moan as you feel your end near. However, just before you can fall off of the edge, Satoru lifts you off of him. Swiftly, without any friction against your clit, the intensity of your orgasm fades; the searing heat in your stomach dwindling into a dull ache.
“N-No. You said I could cum! Please! I’m being good!” you sob out in protest, fighting against his strength as you attempt to continue riding his thigh. Tears sting at your eyes, your vision blurring slightly.
Hand coming down onto your thigh sharply, “Not yet. You’ll cum when I say so,” Satoru scolds.
Shaking your head, you scrunch your eyes, a single tear rolling down your cheek, and wail in objection, “But you said! You said I could cum! Satoru, please! I’m being good.”
“Then continue being good and I’ll let you cum. Be patient, princess,” Satoru admonishes. Whimpering as you continue writhing in his hold, Satoru’s strength keeps you from pressing against his thigh again. His hand falls onto his cock, and wrapping around the base, he lifts it up.
He drags his palm over his shaft, till he gets to the weepy tip. Then, swiping his thumb against the head, he coats the pad of his appendage in the sticky wetness of his arousal. Your throat constricts, watching as stringy ropes of precum cling to his thumb. Satoru tears his hand away, and bringing it up to your lips, he swipes it against your lip. Your eyes flutter shut at the movement, Satoru painting your mouth in his essence. Helpless under the action, you poke out your tongue and lick your lips, keening as his heady flavour taints your tongue.
“Filthy cockslut,” Satoru purrs, a praising lilt to his voice. “Do I taste good?” he coos while pressing his thumb between your lips.
Feeling the weight of it on your tongue, his arousal bathing your taste buds, you moan. Instinctively, your tongue roves over his digit, your eyes slipping shut as you relish in his heavy taste. Eventually, Satoru pulls it out, only to swipe at your swollen, precum stained lips.
“That’s my good slut,” your boyfriend praises.
Dropping his hand to his cock, he grips the shaft and holds it up once again. His other hand shoots to your hips and pulls you so you’re straddling both his thighs. With your legs spread open, Satoru drags his cockhead through your puffy folds. Crying out in pleasure, your head falls back; your hips instinctively squirming on top of him.
“Want it, S’toru,” you mumble, your hips swivelling in a circle.
Moving over him, you drag your slit across the velvet head of his cock, trying to position it at your aching entrance. With every second that passes, your walls throb tortuously—the emptiness of them only heightening as Satoru continues to teasingly drag his cockhead through your folds. When his tip catches on your entrance, your cunt rippling around him involuntarily, you both gasp.
His eyes fixated on where his cock strokes through your cunt, Satoru simply watches. Thick, filmy strings of your arousal drip from your pussy—hanging in the air and over his hand and cock in gooey ropes. Each and every time he swipes his head through your slit, you release another gush of wetness, until his entire shaft is coated in your arousal. The stickiness of your sex is only aided further by his own wetness—his precum gathering in thick globs around his slit—and with every drag, he only coats your cunt in his own arousal.
“Fucking shit, you’re so fucking messy. Look down, baby, look at how your needy cunt soaks my cock,” Satoru urges. With a keening moan, your gaze drops to where his cock presses against your pussy.
Gripping his cock harder, he positions it at your clit and—when you feel him press his head against your throbbing, engorged clit—you can’t help but let out a strangled moan. Satoru lets out a low hiss, the hardened bundle of nerves throbbing intoxicatingly against his slit. The surreptitious motion stimulates his cock, causing more of his precum to leak out. Moaning in ecstasy, you feel your throat tighten when his warm arousal drips over your clit, coating the swollen bud in more of his stickiness. Squirming over him, you begin rocking your clit against his tip, dragging it back and forth as you try to stimulate yourself.
“That’s it, be a good cockslut and rub that pretty little cunt over me. Get it nice and wet so I can fuck open your wet pussy,” Satoru orders.
Mewling in pleasure, you do as he says, repeatedly grinding your throbbing bud into his oozing cockhead. Agonisingly, the entrance to your cunt quivers—your entire sex weeping for him to fill you up.
“Fuck me,” you gasp out. Satoru only hums noncommittally, moving both hands to grip at your hips.
“Hmmm, I don’t think you’re ready. I don’t think you want it enough,” Satoru purrs—the low vibrations of his voice shooting straight to your core. Shaky breaths falling from your lips, you squirm harder on top of him.
“I do! I want it so bad. S’toru, please, fuck me. Want to feel your cock in me,” you croon desperately.
Dark chuckles resounding through the air, the sound heavy with dominance, Satoru positions his cock at your entrance. Feeling him press his cock against your entrance—just enough to tease, but not enough to enter you—you cry out in pleasure. Responsively, the tight rings of muscles clench, trying to pull him further into you.
Laughingly lowly, “God, I can feel your tight little cunt clenching. Are you desperate for my cock, pretty girl?” Satoru asks, the inflexion of his voice dripping with taunt.
“Yes. Yes. Want it,” you reply, unhesitant.
Pressing his cock harder against your entrance, Satoru grips your hips tightly, preventing you from sinking his cock into you. Desirous mews and whimpers fall from your lips; tears sting your eyes as your boyfriend continues to tease you. Every passing moment has the heat in your stomach growing wilder and wilder—until wanton desire courses through your bloodstream, overtaking your entire being.
“Are you sure, baby? You want it?” Satoru coos, the taunt heavy in your voice.
He drops his head to your chest, his lips wrapping around your bra-clad nipple. Lazily, your boyfriend laves at the hardened bud—wetting the fabric of your bra as he teases your nipple. His action draws a hoarse cry from deep within your throat; your voice cracks for a moment.
“Yes. Yes. Please. Please, I’ll do anything, Toru, please,” you gasp out, your hips once again squirming on top of him. Satoru chuckles lowly, the sound laced with a sinister inclination.
“Anything? Are you sure, baby?” Satoru questions.
The mischievous intonation of his voice should alarm you, and if your mind wasn’t hazed with desire, if you weren’t so incredibly fucked out and desperate, it would have. But right now, driven to the brink of insanity by Satoru’s teasing, you can’t bring yourself to care. It doesn’t matter what he has in store for you, doesn’t matter what Satoru choose to do, you’ll take anything he gives you and more; especially if it means Satoru fucks you right here, right now.
“Yes. Yes. Please. Anything. Anything, Toru, please just fuck me,” you sob, your dry throat straining to force the words out.
“You have no idea what you’re getting into, do you, sweet girl?” Satoru questions. However, you barely register his words. Instead, pleasure thrums through your breast—the vibrations of Satoru’s words shooting straight to your core.
“Don’t care! Don’t care. Fuck me. Want your cock. Toru, please, just fuck me. Please. Please, please, please,” you repeat over and over again.
Arms struggling behind your back, you futilely tug at the restraints as you try to free yourself. At least if they were free you could hold onto his shoulders and fuck yourself onto his cock. You feel Satoru smirk against your tit, and then suddenly, he’s pushing your hips down. Feeling the intense pressure of his flared cockhead against your entrance, your mouth drops open in a silent scream.
Satoru was right, you weren’t ready for him—because two weeks may not seem like a long time, but it is. It is when he’s huge—ridiculously long and absurdly thick—and you’re far too small to take him when you haven’t felt him stretch you out in days. And it’s been so long that despite how wet you are, how wet his cock is, he still struggles to open you out. Nonetheless, unrelentingly, Satoru presses into you—his hands pushing your hips down onto his cock—and eventually, he pops into you.
The moment his head breaches your walls—you throw your head back and let out a strangled wail. He’s incredibly thick inside you, the ringed muscles that make up your entrance pulled thin around him. Eyes slipping shut, you moan in a mix of pain and pleasure, relishing in the delicious burn of him stretching you out. Ruthlessly, he pushes the rest of him into you, ignoring your cries of ‘Too much’ and ‘Slower’ as the taut flesh of your inner walls is forcibly pulled apart around his hard length. Thich inch by inch, he fucks his cock into you; refusing to stop until he’s buried into the hilt. Then, roughly pulling your hips onto him, he sinks the last few inches into you in one sudden movement—burying himself into your cunt to the hilt.
Wired beyond belief, pleasure consumes you, the veined ridges of his cock hitting every erogenous spot inside your cunt. When the blunt tip of his cockhead hits the back of your supple cervix, a high-pitched wail tears through you. Toes curling, your thighs begin trembling violently as you suddenly cum around his cock. Back contorting violently, your fingers grip your own wrists behind your back as you sob out his name. Orgasm rocketing through you out of the blue, you vehemently convulse over your boyfriend. Over and over again, you cry out his name, twisting and writhing as blinding ecstasy courses through you. It’s been so long since you’ve had a decent orgasm, that the intensity of your first one has your vision blurring, thick tears rolling down your cheeks.
“Fucking cockslut,” Satoru hisses. “Did you just cum from being fucked open on my cock? Fuck—you got so much tighter,” Satoru harshly grunts out.
Then, without waiting any longer, he begins fucking into you from underneath. Gripping at your hips, he rams his cock upward, pulling you down harshly onto him. With each motion, your own orgasm is drawn out—making you cry out his name loud, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Cunt rippling around him, you milk his shaft—Satoru forcing himself into your erratically tightening and untightening walls. Viciously, you convulse as you cum over your boyfriend; Satoru groans when thick rivulets of your cum begin flowing down his cock. The additional wetness adds to the mess between your thighs, and only aids his motions, his cock slippery enough to batter into you.
Through it all, you let the tide of our orgasm wash through you, drifting on its wave of euphoria as it drowns you in nothing but utter, unadulterated ecstasy. Reduced to a sobbing, quivering mess on top of your boyfriend, you heave for air as you try to satiate the burn in your lungs. Ceaselessly, however, Satoru fucks into you—refusing to give you any reprieve from his cock.
Coming down from your high, you whine as you feel the blunt head of Satoru’s cock enter your pussy—over and over again—as he impales you onto his cock. His thrusts are forceful, your body jerking up and down over him. With every movement, you struggle against your restraints harder—wanting to dig your fingers into his shoulder blades as he bounces you onto his cock. Instead, you settle for falling over him, your head resting on your shoulder, and your face pressed into his neck.
All of a sudden, Satoru spanks your ass, causing you to cry out.
“Sit up, I want you to ride my cock,” Satoru commands.
Limply, you pull yourself off of him, Satoru’s head immediately dipping to take one of your nipples into his mouth. Gathering your strength, you plant your feet firmly on the ground before flexing your thighs as you begin to ride him. The both of you hiss; your bodies writhing harder together.
Every time he impales his cock into you, you feel the ridges of his cock drag against your sensitive inner walls, causing you to cry out in pleasure. Sensitivity still grips at your sex, the ache of overstimulation only turning you on more. With a swivel of your hips, you bring yourself down onto his cock harder—both of you gasping when the motion causes his cockhead to slam against the back walls of your pussy. He’s so deep inside you, that there’s an intense, nauseating, pressure inside your stomach, and the back of your cunt throbs, Satoru relentlessly battering your cervix.
“H-Harder. W-want you to f-fuck me, h-harder,” you stutter out.
His pace is already intense, your entire body bouncing on top of him as you take him deep inside you. Still, you voluntarily clench around his cock, purposely tightening your walls against his shaft as you beckon him deeper.
“Harder? You want it harder?” Satoru asks, causing you to hastily nod.
Throat tight, and mind addled with pleasure, you can barely string together a coherent sentence. Rather, you push your hips harder into his, undulating them over his cock. Satoru grunts when you clamp down around him again.
“Fuck. Hold on, princess, I’m going to fucking ruin you,” Satoru breathes out, emphasising each word with a brutal thrust, his cockhead dragging against your sweet spot.
Eyes rolling into the back of your skull, “Please, want it,” you gasp out, white spots already blinding your vision again.
“Oh, I know you do. Love when I fuck you hard and fast like this, don’t you baby. Love when I fuck you dumb; leave you a speechless, quivering mess, don’t you, baby?” Satoru derides. Again, your throat tightens, your toes curling in pleasure as he purposely, vehemently, drags his head against your g-spot before battering it into your cervix.
“Yessssss, want you to use me, please,” you hiss. Satoru grips your hips tighter.
“Is that what you want, my sweet girl? Do you want me to use you as my own personal cocksleeve? Cum inside and fill you up?” Satoru gibes. Fingers flexing behind your back, you whimper out—the walls of your sex clenching around his throbbing shaft.
“Say it, I want you to say it. Tell me what you want,” Satoru hisses out, his hand coming down onto your ass hard. The sharp pain has you wailing out his name, Satoru soothingly rolling the cheek in his palm.
“W-Want you to u-use me as your c-cocks-sleeve, pleeeassse,” you mewl. Again, out of the blue, Satoru spanks you; your back contorting in euphoria.
“Then hold on slut, I’m going to use this tight little cunt however I want. You’re here for my pleasure now,” Satoru whispers against your ear, his words low and gravelly.
“S’toru, wanna cum again,” you slur out. Satoru only chuckles at that.
“You either cum from me fucking you, or you don’t cum at all. Don’t forget, you asked for this. Said I could do anything,” Satoru replies.
Then, one hand gripping your wrists, the other curling around your waist, Satoru pulls you flush against him. Using your weight to brace himself, Satoru increases his pace. Viciously slamming into you from underneath, the thick of his girth spreading your soft, sensitive walls around his cock with each rapid stroke. Immediately, your mouth falls open as you begin wailing out his name.
Blindly, your fingers flex for some sort of purchase, but with them tied up, you find none. Thus, helpless, your body bounces over Satoru—jolted up and down onto his cock—as he uses you in the way you had asked for. Hips surging into you from above, he batters your cunt, the ringed muscles releasing another gush of wetness. Euphoria tingles at your spine, your entire body heating as you feel your second orgasm thrum through you. However, without any stimulation to your clit, you can’t bring yourself to cum.
Instead, you teeter over the edge, your orgasm practically taunting you with every one of Satoru’s deep, hard thrusts. Between the friction of his jeans rubbing against the bottom of your thighs, and the way his cock repeatedly plunges into your silken depths, tears of pleasure sting your eyes. Eyelids screwing shut, the tears gathered in them begin to spill down, and you sob out his name—the ecstatic bliss of euphoria causing you to grow mad with lust.
You’re so close, but you know you can’t cum. Not without his permission, and definitely not without him playing with your clit.
“Toru, wanna c-cum,” you once again croon out. Again, Satoru brings his hand harshly onto your ass, the soft muscle smarting with pain.
“And I told you, you either cum from being used like my cocksleeve, or you don’t cum at all,” Satoru responds. Through it all, his pace doesn’t falter for a single moment.
You feel Satoru’s cock pulsate inside you—the rhythm falling out of place—and when he swells with a throb, you feel despair course through you. You know your boyfriend well enough to know he’s close, and if he cums before you do, you won’t cum at all. Vigour renewed by your realisation, you squirm over him, trying your hardest to grind your clit into his abdomen, or the open zipper of his jeans resting on either side of his cock.
“Fuck—I’m cumming,” Satoru groans as he thrusts into you with reckless abandon. “You’re gonna take it, aren’t you, baby? Gonna lemme fill up this tight, pretty little cunt with my cum? Fuck I know you will. Your cunt always looks so pretty when it’s sloppy with my cum.” His words have you moving in a frenzy, thrashing your hips against his abdomen as you futilely try to stimulate your own clit.
However, it’s all in vain, because swivelling your hips in his hands, Satoru rocks you further onto him. Then, all of a sudden, he pulls you down with one, fluid motion. The action has him burying his cock as deep as he can into you, and you find yourself winded—his blunt cockhead pushing painfully deep against your cervix. Satoru grinds his cock into you, using your cunt to sheath the entirety of his length: from tip to shaft.
“Fuck.” With a low groan, Satoru cums.
His cock pulsates inside you, swelling a little as it releases rope after rope of his cum into you. Feeling his warm seed flood your depths, you wail out his name, desperately needing to cum. Nonetheless, Satoru ignores you. Instead, he continues spilling inside you, thick pools of his cum gathering deep against your cervix, painting your inner walls white. Warmth fills you from the inside, and with the sheer amount he’s cum inside you, you wonder if he, like you, hasn’t had a good orgasm in a while.
“Toru—Toru, please,” you sob dryly.
Frustrated tears flow freely down your face, your words almost garbled and unintelligible as you plead for an orgasm. High-pitched keen slipping from your throat, you writhe against him harder; your thighs flex as you try bouncing your ass on his cock again—urgently chasing your own orgasm. Fingers digging into the flesh of your ass—hard enough that you know he’s bruised you—Satoru halts your motion, using his strength against you.
Satoru pulls away from your neck to look at your face. He takes in the sight of you, your eyelids teary, half-lidded and completely fucked out. He trails over the tear stains over your cheeks, your lips bruised and swollen, the precum he’d swiped on them dried out by now. Leaning up, he gently kisses your cheeks, his tongue swiping up to lick at the salty trails of your tears.
“Beg for it,” Satoru sneers.
“Please,” you breathe out. You look up at him through the thick of your lashes, your doe-like, teary eyes and swollen, precum-stained lips causing Satoru to groan.
“That’s my sweet girl,” Satoru praises.
Immediately, he retreats from your cunt, ignoring your moans of displeasure. Satoru draws up to his full height, easily lifting you up in his arms, before manoeuvring your trembling body so you’re bent over his desk. The side of your head rests on the table, cheek pressed against the wood, and bracing your feet on the ground, you thrust your hips back into him—chasing any form of friction.
Gripping your hips, Satoru holds your ass up and then, in one smooth thrust, he’s completely buried in you. With how rough he’s just fucked you, paired with his cum staining your walls and your own wetness, he should slide in easily. Nonetheless, the abrupt intrusion has you howling out, his girth splitting you apart once more as he leaves you no time to adjust. It’s too much all at once, your hips jerking forward as you try to pull away from him.
Satoru’s fingertips dig into your hips, holding your ass flush against his hips, and you cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain, your walls throbbing around his vascularised length. The uncontrollable clenching of your walls only highlights how incredibly big he is, his length buried so deep inside you, the head of his cock once again sits flat against your cervix. His sudden thrust has his cum spilling out of you, milky white rivulets smearing his cock, dripping down his balls, and onto your thighs.
“Fuck, baby. Always so tight for me like this,” Satoru moans, his hand coming down to spank your ass in tandem. The sharp impact has your hips jerking, a moan tearing from your throat. Satoru’s head falls back, revelling in the way your cunt tightens around him.
“Toru, move,” you urge, your hips squirming under his. Satoru bends over your back, his clothed chest pressing into your bare back.
“Who knew my Kitten was so cock-hungry?” Satoru purrs against your ear, emphasising his words with a deep thrust.
Your thighs shake and you fall further onto the table, your hands splaying on either side as your chest presses flat against the surface. Drawing back up to his height, Satoru begins thrusting hard into you. Over and over, he plunges his cock into you. His pace isn’t fast as before, but with his feet anchored to the ground, his thrusts are somehow more forceful, deeper. With every forward drive of his hips, your entire body jolts, your own hips digging into the edge of the table with how hard he impales you.
“Too—Too much,” comes your strained protest. Nonetheless, Satoru only laughs derisively behind you. One of his hands moves from your hips, caressing up the delicate curve of your spine and up to your neck, only for his fingers to curl into the roots of your hair. Tugging harshly, he forces you to arch your neck, your back bending in unison.
“Isn’t this what you asked for, princess? Begged me to use you as a cocksleeve, said you’d do anything just as long as I fucked you,” Satoru sneers, the derisiveness in his voice causing your skin to flash with heat. A deep, throaty mew is your only response, your brain unable to form words anymore. When you don’t respond, Satoru pulls your hair once again, simultaneously driving his hips forward in a brutal thrust.
“Hnnn—Deep, too deep, S’toru,” you gasp, your words slightly slurred. The pain of his cockhead battering into the walls of your cervix intermingles with the way his veiny cock strokes every nerve ending inside your cunt.
“I told you to be good for me, sweetheart. I asked you a question, I expect an answer” Satoru hisses, his fingers uncurling from your hair to spank your ass instead.
“Yes! I-It’s what I w-wanted,” you choke out, your voice faltering. Satoru caresses your tender cheek, a hum of approval tremoring from deep within his chest as he feels the heat of pain emanate from your flesh. Then, hand trailing down to your thigh, he grips your flesh before manoeuvring it to rest on the desk, your knee bending with the action.
In your new position, Satoru can press deeper into you, your wet, tumescent cunt peeking from between the apex of your thighs. Satoru’s lips curl sardonically before he swivels his hips. The rolling motion shifts the angle of his shaft inside you and you sob out his name once again. His entire length is hot inside you, the shaft throbbing rhythmically—completely different from the way your own walls ripple erratically. With a hard thrust, Satoru angles his cock to brush against your g-spot as he slides in. Instantly, you screech out his name, your thighs quivering violently.
Ruthlessly, he abuses your cunt—his cockhead brushes against your g-spot with every plunge of his cock. Dark eyes roam over your helpless form, Satoru watching as your muscles tremble almost imperceptibly from pleasure. Every time he impales his cock inside you, you jerk forward, only for him to pull you back onto his shaft. Each movement causes your sensitised, lace-clad nipples against the smooth wood—drawing out further sensations of pleasure as you gradually grow delirious.
Satoru’s hands move to drop to your ass, and thumbs pressing into the fleshy cheeks, he spreads them apart. A throaty groan resounds through the air, Satoru’s cerulean eyes fixating immediately onto the way your tumid cunt is stretched thin around his girth, how your wetness—mixed with his cum—leaks out of you and onto his cock, your thighs, his balls, with every thrust; and just above it all, is your tiny little asshole, the puckered rim twitching with pleasure.
Unable to stop himself, Satoru spreads them further apart, only to bend down slightly and spit. Instantly, you feel the warm wetness trail down the seam of your ass and onto your asshole, a small whimper resounding from your throat. Ignoring you, Satoru traces the puckered ring, relishing in the way it trembles under his touch. Then, running his fingers through your soaked slit, he gathers as much of your sticky arousal and his cum onto his middle finger, and with featherlight touches, he circles your asshole before dipping the tip of his finger into you, the muscles reflexively tightening to deny him entrance.
“Ah—Toru,” you hiss, the intrusion causing your stomach to clench.
“Relax, baby. It’s not the first time I’ve used this tight little hole, is it?” Satoru orders. Taking a deep breath, you will yourself to relax, Satoru groans when his finger slides in easily, the intrusion aided by the excessive amount of slick that coats his digit. When he’s buried knuckle deep into your ass he stills, the hot muscles clenching tightly around his appendage. Experimentally, he wiggles his finger inside you and you let out a heavy moan of pleasure.
“That’s it. Only filthy whores like you enjoy having their asses played with, don’t they, princess?” Satoru ribs, his voice mocking as he thrusts his finger deeper into your asshole. Whimpering, you only nod your head—your mind clouded with ecstasy from the feeling of your boyfriend’s finger inside your ass, while the head of his cock is still burrowed in your cunt.
When you don’t reply, Satoru pulls his finger out, only to shove both his middle and pointer finger into you this time. Blissed out, your pliant asshole initially stretches readily to let him in, however, the moment they probe further, the muscles clench involuntarily. Unhindered by the sudden contraction—more than used to loosening up the tight hole for his use—Satoru thrusts both his fingers hilt deep into you, before curling them and stroking the sensitive nerves inside your ass.
“Fuck! Toru,” you cry out, your hips jerking to pull away from him.
“Say it,” he hisses before swivelling his cock, the movement causing him to expertly stroke your sweet spot.
“O-Only filthy whores like me enjoy having their asses played with,” you cry out in pleasure.
Humming in approval behind you, Satoru begins fucking into you once again, his cock thrusting in and out of you, his fingers mimicking the rhythm as he forces them into your ass.
“S’toru—” you whimper.
This time, your voice is incredibly low and nearly inaudible; almost drowned out by the slick sounds of his cock fucking into your cum sodden cunt and the slapping of his skin against yours. Taking pity on you, Satoru leans over and presses a kiss to your shoulder blade. It’s a warming gesture, one meant to comfort you. However, the movement forces him slightly deeper into you making you jerk.
“Toru!” you sob.
“Fuck—cum for me, pretty girl,” Satoru orders.
As he speaks, the hand spreading your ass cheek moves to curl around your body before two fingers press against your clit. A strained sob escapes your lips as the sudden pleasure hurtles you off the edge. Body quaking, you wail out his name, the sound coming out more like a strangled groan as your throat strains under the sound. Satoru hisses, his jaw clenching as he feels you clamp down impossibly tight around his girth. Emboldened by your orgasm, he wildly thrusts both his cock, and his fingers, into you, drawing out the delirious pleasure that ricochets through your body.
“Fuck yes, that’s it sweet girl, cum around my cock,” Satoru urges.
All of a sudden, he rips out the fingers in your ass, using the hand instead to press into your back as he ruts his cock into you. The abrupt exit of his digits has you yelping, your slightly gaping hole clenching around nothing as Satoru thrusts into you with reckless abandon. The fingers toying with your clit increase in their vigour, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. Under him, your thighs tremble, your toes curling as he draws out your pleasure.
“Cum again. Fuck, cum again. Wanna feel you milk my cum out my cock,” Satoru commands.
“N-No, c-can’t. Too much,” you refute with a sob, your head shaking as your eyes screw shut. Satoru laughs mockingly at your weeping form.
“You begged me to cum, cried for it like a desperate slut. So cum,” he orders, his fingers rolling and pinching your tumid bundle of nerves. Simultaneously, his cock pierces into you, his bulbous head dragging against the sensitive tissue of your sweet spot.
With an ear-splitting wail, you cry out his name as your body locks. Ecstasy suddenly rockets through you, hurtling you over the precipice and sending you diving head first into your orgasm once more. Drawing into yourself, your body curls and shudders under him as you quietly sob. Your walls contract painfully, Satoru hissing at how you tighten around him.
“Fuck—fuck,” Satoru groans out.
The vehement rippling of your walls milks his shaft as he begins chasing his own high. A lewd squelching fills the air, the sloppy sounds of your cum-filled, dripping pussy loud in the night. Through it all, Satoru continues plunging into you, heightening your climax, and soon, the pain of overstimulation ripples through your over-stimulated sex. Through your desire-clouded mind, you vaguely register the burning ache that passes through you.
“N-No more. S’toru, please, too much, hurts,” you slur from underneath him, unable to articulate a coherent form of thought from the unbridled euphoria that clouds your mind. Relentless in his pursuit of his own pleasure, however, Satoru continues toying with your clit, revelling in the way the messy, wet walls of your cunt erratically tighten around him.
“Fuck, you can do it, sweet girl. Wanna cum deep in you while you milk my cock,” Satoru softly coaxes. When he pinches your clit once more, you scream out his name.
Pleasure blurs your vision, and eyes screwing shut, white-spots blind the darkness of your mind. Abruptly, the knot within your stomach unravels, and feeling the sudden relief spread through your abdomen, you’re forced over the precipice of blissful ecstasy once again. Jaw slackening, your mouth falls open and your throat strains as you force out a silent cry. Without warning, your walls tighten—almost painfully—around Satoru’s cock, the forceful contractions causing pelt after pelt of your cum to gush out of you. When he feels wetness pelt against the material of his slacks, Satoru groans, realising you’ve squirted all over him and his desk.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Satoru hisses.
Satoru’s hands move to grip your ass cheeks, and forces them apart, his eyes dropping to where his girth splits you open. Then, with two stuttered thrusts, he impales his cock as deep as he can into you, his balls tightening. For a second time that night, his thick cum floods inside you, shooting out of his length and straight against your cervix. Through the overstimulated fog of ecstasy, you feel the torrent of his seed pour into you, your womb overwhelmed with his warmth.
While your body uncontrollably spasms—your muscles still reeling with the aftershocks of your orgasm—you slowly come to. Drifting back to reality, the high of your climax ebbs into a post-orgasmic haze. Breath laboured, the two of you heave for air as you stay completely still. Feeling the dryness of your throat, you swallow thickly in a bid to soothe the raw muscles.
As your mind slowly clears, the inescapable warmth of Satoru’s cum within your belly becomes apparent. You whine softly, relishing in the comforting sensation. Behind you, Satoru stays buried deep inside you, hips moving imperceptibly as he rides out the aftershocks of his own climax. When the erratic clenching of your walls becomes too much, Satoru hisses in overstimulation before drawing out.
As he pulls his cock out from your depths, you whimper, his bulbous cockhead stroking against your over-sensitised walls. The head retreats with a slight pop, your hips jerking when your tender walls stretch around his tip once more, before you’re left empty. You lay limply on the table, your entire body trembling. Gasping for air, you try to catch your breath, your muscles involuntarily twitching.
Satoru flops onto his chair, a groan of appreciation emanating from his throat. In your position, bent over his desk, you’re completely bared for him, ass and cunt on display. Your raw, abused sex drips with a mixture of cum, the sloppy essence spilling out of you are your cunt clenches around nothing. Unable to help himself, Satoru caresses your folds, two fingers stroking up your slit and toward your entrance. Gathering up his cum that had spilled out of you onto his digits, he presses them into your gaping entrance, pushing his seed back inside you.
“S’toru, sensitive,” you whine, your hips sluggishly squirming in a bid to pull away from him.
Satoru rolls closer to you, presses a soft kiss to your ass cheek in an apology. Pulling his fingers out, he reaches out for you. Strong arms circle your waist and, gathering you within his embrace, Satoru pulls your boneless form onto his lap. You settle into your boyfriend, your back flush against his chest as your head rests against his shoulder.
“God, I fucking missed you,” Satoru sighs. He nuzzles his face into your neck, lavishing the delicate column with tender kisses.
“Missed you too,” you reply, your voice hoarse. Snuggling further into him, you allow his scent to wash over you and exhale in contentment. After a few short moments, you tilt your head to the side and look up at him.
“So, where’s my surprise?” you question, your eyebrow cocking. Satoru chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest and into your back.
“It’s inside you right now,” he smirks in response, arrogance dripping in his voice. You frown, confusion painting your features as you attempt to make sense of his words. Then, realisation dawns upon you, your eyes narrowing instantly.
“Gojo Satoru, was my surprise your fucking cum?” you screech, only to wince when your aching, dry throat protests the sound.
“Told you you’d love it,” Satoru grins.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” you scowl.
Satoru’s only response is to laugh in that annoying, purposely high-pitched tone of his.
a/n: this is my first fic in a while and i am probably v rusty with my writing but i hope you all enjoyed it :)
m.list
#jjk smut#jjk fanfic#jjk x reader#jjk x fem!reader#jjk x you#gojo x you#gojo x reader#gojo x female reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x female reader#jjk gojo x reader#jjk gojo x you#gojo smut#gojo fluff#gojo fanfic#mdni#gojo satoru imagine#gojo satoru smut
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Flight Deck // Bob Floyd
-> Prologue: Conspiracy Theories
Summary: In an attempt to prevent Bob from running for the hills believing you’re a murderer. You sit him down to discuss your past.
Warnings: Mentions of Death of a loved one. Mentions of house fire. Bob Floyd x F!reader.
Word Count: 3.4k
Author Note: Day Twenty Four of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Disowned by Family, Oxygen Deprivation, Silent Treatment. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.
Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Flight Deck Masterlist
The cafe was closed. The flashing open sign that signaled to patrons that premium coffee beans were ready to be freshly ground and a plethora of pastries, toasted sandwiches, crumbly but oh so gooey cookies and massive muffins were fresh and ready to be devoured, was switched off against the window.
The awkward silence that filled the atmosphere was almost too much to handle as Bob sat across from you in the book nook. There was a flat white with one sugar and a macaroon sitting on a small tea plate before him. He didn’t like macaroons, but there had only been a few items left to choose from come closing and his favourite apple and cinnamon muffins had all but vanished from the menu.
It was his fault really, he’d been caught up in his own insecurities for far too many weeks to realise the damage he’d unintentionally caused. You didn’t deserve to be ghosted like he ghosted you. The silent treatment was a poor representation of the man he wanted to be. He never should have believed you were capable of such things. The rumors he had heard about you had a nasty bite. They left a sour taste in Bob's mouth—sometimes he wished he’d never listened, and especially the Jake fucking Seresin of all people. What Hyde saw in him Bob would never truly know.
“You don't owe me an explanation—“ Bob began as he looked down at his hands that rested between his thighs under the table. He’d been picking at his cuticles for the past ten minutes as you shut the cafe down to other customers and locked the front door. It was one of those rare occasions where your son, five year old Oliver Lipscombe, was at after school vacation care.
“You’ve already heard the rumours.” You replied, there was a sadness in your voice Bob couldn’t miss. He knew he’d hurt you. It was never his intention, but his fight or flight response had kicked in and his immediate reaction was to avoid you at all costs. It was his brain's defense system telling him that he was in danger, to run as far away as he possibly could so that he wouldn’t be hurt.
He grew up doing that, running away from any situation that could have caused him any kind of pain. Emotionally or physically. Bob Floyd was a runner, a flight risk of you will.
And that’s exactly what the Weapons Systems Officer who had started to fall in love with you did, despite his heart screaming at him to stick around and just ask you what the hell was going on and why there was a rumour:
A rumour that you’d killed your fiancé and burned your house to its very foundation to hide the secrets you kept close to your chest.
“I've never talked about this with anyone besides my lawyers before.” The zucchini and corn fritter that sat on the tea plate in front of you had gone stone cold. Usually you looked forward to a treat after you closed up.
But sitting across from Robert Floyd, the first man you’d ever bothered to look at let alone entertain the idea of beginning a new chapter of your life with, since your entire life was turned upside down, you hardly had any appetite.
“It’s always stayed with me—and it’s taken me three years to push it back from this cortex part of my brain.” You point to your head, hopefully explaining what your therapist had told you to Bob. “To the frontal part of my brain, the memory.” Again, you pointed to your head—only this time your finger touched your forehead gently. “It took me three years to just put him somewhere else in my mind with the help of psychiatrists and the clinicians.” Bob could tell you were already becoming visibly upset, the teary look of numbness and pain lurked behind your gaze as you looked towards him, but not at him. It was like you were looking right past him as he sat before you. “They helped me move him around so that he wasn’t going to be in my mind's eye in the daytime or in the night time—or any time.”
Three years ago your entire life changed. Just shy off three months ago you thought the missing pieces to your very traumatic puzzle were coming together again. When you first met Bob you were a little weary, afraid to put yourself out there. But he lingered. His presence was welcome and soon enough you found yourself making unapologetic advances towards the reserved but gentle man who adored your apple and cinnamon muffins.
But six weeks ago, Robert Floyd took you and your son, Oliver, out for dinner at the Hard Deck and he never returned your texts after. He didn’t call or stop by. Your apple and cinnamon muffins began to rot and go stale in the display. Turns out you really were just making that particular recipe for him.
“The human body, or the human mind, Bob—isn’t perfectly equipped to deal with trauma despite our very need to believe it can handle everything life throws your way.” That’s what your therapist had told you when the nightmares wouldn’t go away. That’s what she had told you when you could smell the smoke in your room when you laid awake at night. That’s what your therapist had told you when you had been named a person of interest.
Bob sat quietly, watching and listening to you speak like you were on autopilot, like you were reciting an analysis done by some professional who had assessed your physiological state of mind. Still—your eyes remained trained on him, but you were looking right through him. It was eerie, to say the very least.
“The brain can't be positioned to deal with the tragedy of another human being being murdered, it just reminds you that it could’ve as easily have been you or someone you love, and when it is someone you love, when something like that happens to someone close to you—the brains just doesn’t know how to exist with that kind of trauma.”
“So—“ Bob spoke up in the lingering silence as you dropped your eyeline down to the cup of tea that was now lukewarm that sat beside your fritter. “What exactly does the mind do?”
You let the silence echo off the walls of your humble cafe. The Flight Deck as it was appropriately called for the Navy Town that had taken you in with open arms. Accepting the stray you were like you had done with your cat, Oreo, that was older than some of the Admirals that frequented your caffeine corner. You let the silence go for as long as you could—until it was thick and all consuming and you had to remind yourself to breathe again. It was always that burning feeling, your lungs igniting from a lake of oxygen that reminded you to breathe.
“It starts to play games.” You sighed as you tried to let go of the pressure that had built up in your jaw. Anxiety laced your nervous system as you spoke and Bob could practically smell it. “It starts trying its best to process the grief, the loss, the pain.”
It made sense in a way, Bob had truly never stopped and looked back at his own past, he’d never tried to process his sorrow or his own feelings about what had happened to him during his early childhood and teenage years. He just repressed the rage, the anger, the feelings of betrayal and despair that he felt and ran. He ran as far away as he could and never looked back.
Now? He was sitting in a small but beautifully designed coffee shop owned by the most beautiful woman on the planet, listening about how the mind isn’t equipped to deal with trauma. Ironic isn’t it?
“Sometimes if you’re lucky your brain just decides to block the memory all together, but sometimes it begins to create scenarios.” You reached out to rip a little bit of your fritter off as Bob remained still, he was just trying to soak up everything you were saying. “It starts to question the ‘who done it’s’ and the ‘how comes’ and the small intricate details that could have been avoided to avoid the disaster and the choices made that ultimately led to it.” You paused for a second, taking a small but satisfying bite of the cold fritter to stop your stomach from doing backflips. “And when none of that helps? It looks for a different angel, conspiracy theories are born, it’s the very reason why the whole ideology that the Bush administration was responsible for September Eleventh came about.”
In your book nook there sat a book that had always caught Bob's eyes. Ground Zero by Alan Gratz. He could see it behind you just off to the left, shoved between an array of true crime, fiction and biographies. The books were communal—like a library built on a trust system. You take a book, you bring it back and if you have any old books at home you’d like to share? They always have a spoke on the oak shelves.
“People need answers to help them process the utter magnitude of such a tragedy, and when they don’t find it internally, and still can’t process the facts laid out in front of them, the brain searches elsewhere.” Your sudden chuckle caught Bob by surprise as you wiped away tears that streamed down your cheeks. “And you always think conspiracy theories are wild and far-fetched and exactly what they are—theories designed to help people’s minds deal with trauma that their brains can’t comprehend.” That’s when you really took a deep breath in for a moment and looked up at Bob through watery lashes and deep sorrow.
“You always think that conspiracy theories are fake and aren’t grounded in any kind of truth or reality until you're suddenly in the middle of one and your brain is running a million miles an hour trying to understand what the hell is happening.”
Bob knew that your name was shrouded in rumors he never should have believed. He felt so guilty for allowing his own personal issues with trust and loyalty to alter his perception of you. As he sat across from you and watched your tears fall freely, he knew he should have just asked sooner, he never should have grown distant, tried to back away, he should have just asked what happened.
“My fiancé was murdered.” You explained as quickly and as calmly as you could. “We’d been arguing earlier that same day about some upcoming bills that were due to be paid towards our wedding.” It seemed so arbitrary the more you said it, whenever you did think about it you caught yourself wondering had things been less heated that morning, you wouldn’t be sitting here—defending yourself in front of a man that had broken your heart before he even got a chance to officially be anyone beyond the title of ‘Close, sometimes we have sex, my son thinks you’re his best friend, friends.’
“He decided that he was going to go for a run around the estate.” You had to pause for a moment as Bob raised an eyebrow your way. It wasn’t the mention of murder that got his attention—it had been the mention of an estate. “The Lipscombes are old money, estates, luxury homes, cars, hotels, restaurants, you name it.”
“What was his name?” You hadn’t been asked that question ever. It took you a moment to process as you just stared at Bob in shock. “Your fiancé? What was his name?”
“Harrison—“ A little over two years had passed since you had said his name out loud. “He liked Harry.” Bob saw a genuine smile creep itself across your face, he adored it. It was one of the many things he admired about you—your infectious smile. It didn’t last long however. “It was such a petty argument and I spent a lot of time wondering if we had just paid what the photographer wanted then he’d still be here.”
“Can I uh—“ Through a nervous croak Bob cleaned his throat and shifted in his position. “Sit next to you?” It was a simple question really, but the weight of it was truly something else.
Bob really did like you, he’d just made a horrible choice in judgment.
You nodded in response silently as your bottom lip trembled with a sorrow all consuming. Bob was quick to move from sitting across from you, to beside you with an arm slung up and around your shoulders to draw you into him for comfort.
“He never came back.” You continued explaining your past through tears that seeped into Bob's flight suit. He’d come straight from work to the cafe with another bunch of apology flowers. He was as unrelenting as he was endearing. “And I can still remember that feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, that feeling that something was wrong, Ollie was only young, he doesn’t know that his dad was killed, he just knows that he died.”
“What happened?” Bob asked tentatively as he held you, your face was pressed into the comfort of his shoulder and chest as you slid down the booth a little.
“It’s still unsolved.” It gave Bob the chills. “But after three days of searching the property we found his body in the shrubbery that led into the forest, beaten up, stabbed, he was unrecognisable.”
“Oh my gosh—“ It was pretty confronting to hear, but as Bob held you close and guided you through what he could only describe as remembering the worst day of your life, he knew that the more he knew, the more he understood, the easier it would be to move forward.
“Yeah, he was the love of my life.” You didn’t want it to be a secret. “Besides the odd argument, which just so happened to have happened before he died, we were good.” You could remember quite easily what it was like to be loved by someone. “We loved each other so much, there was no malice or spite or secrets.” That’s when you paused and sat up out of Bob's hold to take a sip of your tea. The lukewarm liquid soothed your throat, calmed your nerves and grounded you in reality.
“So when I was being asked to come in for questioning a few days after his body had been found I didn’t know what to think.”
“The police thought you were the one who killed him?”
“Them and the entire town.” You nodded as you pressed your lips together. “Trial by judgment doesn’t leave a hell of a lot of room for innocent until proven guilty.”
“What about his family?” Bob was invested now, not that he wasn’t before. But the more you spoke and the more you told your story the more Bob felt himself understanding. “What did they think?”
“Oh—“ You had to laugh through the painful memories, Bob just pulled you back into him when he saw you shake your head in defeat. “They were the first ones to point blame, someone killed their baby boy and the only possible person who could have done it was the soon to be wife.”
The Lipscombes were old money, which meant they had a hell of a lot of assets to protect. It made sense why they turned on you so quickly when their son turned up dead after an argument with his soon to be wife. But what didn’t make sense was how easily they portrayed you as a woman with ill intentions.
“I loved him so much, with all my heart for five beautiful years Bob, and those people who I considered family, who are my son’s family, decided without any hesitation that it was my doing, that I was capable of murder.”
But the worst part of all was still yet to be told. You had never spoken to anyone about the events that took place the night before you decided to run and never look back.
“Family isn’t always forever.” Bob understood better than most just how easy it could be for the people who were meant to love you the most could turn their backs on you. “And I gotta say, if they were so quick to ostracize you then they weren’t good enough to be a part of your life.”
“Little hypocritical coming from the man who thought he was going to be my next victim don’t you think?” Okay, Bob deserved that. He took the hit but instead of pulling away to sit in his own shame, he leaned in and gently tilted your chin up. For a second he hesitated, wondering if he was crossing some invisible line. But when your teary, water filled eyes trailed between his baby blue orbs and soft lips that tasted of spearmint gum, he knew that it was safe to gently press his lips against yours.
The kiss was fleeting, but was well received. You didn’t hesitate to kiss Bob back in your moment of weakness. Talking about your late fiancé’s death in your cafe with the man you so hoped would love you with all your baggage in toe seemed like something right out of an episode of the twilight zone. But, you pulled away and continued telling your story. You wanted everything laid out on the table for Bob to access and decide if he could handle it.
If he couldn’t? You wouldn’t blame him. You’d be all alone again but at least that meant no one could hurt you.
“Eventually the police dismissed me as a person of interest, they had no evidence to support that I was involved and the security footage from the front and back doors all showed I didn’t leave the house in the timeframe the coroner determined the time of death.”
You could smell it, the burning smell of smoke that deprives you of oxygen. It lingered in the air around you as much as it did in your memories. You hadnt smelt it in years—the smell of your entire life burning down around you.
“Logan, one of Harry’s best mates since high school had come over to help me clean up the house, he cooked dinner and I put Ollie to bed and said goodnight and I ended up just crashing on the lounge.” Bob knew what was coming next, he remembered Hangman telling him when he was on his high horse.
But knowing the rough outline never came close to the actual details.
“It was the smell.” You sobbed as Bob held you tight. “I couldn’t breathe.” Oxygen deprivation was something you’d never experienced to the degree you did that night. “The smoke was so thick and consuming, I woke up coughing and couldn’t see.”
“The house was on fire.” Bob mumbled against the top of your head, he was just trying to process everything you were telling him. And you were trying not to spiral back into that moment.
“HELP!!” The house was full of thick black smoke as everything went up in flames. “HELP ME! SOMEBODY?” You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face as you shot up from the couch. “OL—“ Allconsuming smoke filled your lungs as you coughed and splattered and tried to cover your mouth. “OLIVER!”
“I crawled my way over to where I thought the stairs were and raced up to grab Oliver from his room.” You remembered it all too well, the feeling of not being able to breathe, the smell, the fear of losing your child after losing his father. “I was practically hanging him out the window by the time the fire brigade arrived, the neighbours who owned the estate across the way were up and saw the orange flames.”
“Do you know what caused it, the fire?” Bob asked as you calmed a little in his warm embrace. The next two words that left your mouth sent chills down Bob's spine. He thought maybe you left a candle burning, that maybe the oven was on? That perhaps there was an electrical fault or lightning stuck somewhere.
While Bob was searching for an explanation, he could still smell the smoke. All the oxygen from your body had been absorbed and you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t see. It was like you were being totally consumed once again by that deprivation. That all consuming smoke that nearly killed you. But when you felt Bob's hands in yours? Suddenly—you could speak.
“It's still undetermined.”
***~***~***~***~***~***~***
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Woke up and started going into character analysis mode while drinking my coffee. This is about Aizen of course.
Thinking about how much of a loose canon (and lowkey suicidal/fate-tempting) Aizen actually is. He plays it all cool, but he isn't actually always as meticulous as he comes across.
-fused himself with Hogyoku without knowing for sure it was a wish granting jewel (he just suspected). Even disregarding that, he went into battle before it even "understood" him. He had no guarantee it would actually keep him alive. He also had zero guarantee it would bring him back to life after a fatal injury. These were all just hypothetical.
-allowed White to give its powers to a Quincy because he wanted to know what would happen. Total fluke, but he went with it. Presumably, he knows that a Quincy is unlikely to survive this process.
-recruited Kaname knowing he could never control him with Hypnosis.
-risked Gin being by his side knowing he was planning his death because he wanted to "see how he would do it". He even told him how to neutralize his power. He was just like "okay kid, I like you, freebie shot at killing me," !!!. Like omg.
-risked empowering the Vasto Lordes, not knowing if they would become stronger than himself or not (they did not). He even said he suspected they would.
-decided to help Ichigo become stronger, not knowing what would happen
-risked Orihime finding someway to use her power against him (okay this has become more of a headcanon. I like to think he was curious to see if she would actually try to erase Hogyoku).
-furthermore he pits Ichigo against his Espada, not knowing who the victor will be, made 0 effort to keep Ichigo alive.
-completely went power mad and off guard after evolving. He arguably had to have some of those qualities before fusing.
-fought Yhwach with 0 guarantee of success. Put himself in extreme mortal peril to defeat him. Sure it was becoming a very "do or die" situation but it doesnt feel out of character
(Notice how None of his risks went wrong until Ichigo)
There's probably some more things I'm not thinking of.
I was thinking about how Aizen comes across very "a man with nothing to lose". It really matches up with who he is. He has mastered all his powers and there's nothing left because he feels no connection to those around him, no sense of purpose or love or comraderie. It must drive him insane, and make him lose some regard for his own safety, in some sense. So he decides he will keep reaching higher because what else is there. If he cannot be like anyone else, he must go above them. He thinks the current system is fuckin BS but he can't tell anyone because it's illegal to even question the status quo lol. It's almost like fate to him.
But deep down he still wants to fall, wants to fit in like Stark did, wants his own hubris to knock him down like Icarus reaching for the sun. He wants one of these gambles to catch up with him deep down. It's like a fantasy. And he knows it.
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