#because he fucking hates the attention he gets back home
Note
might i request ur thoughts on cock warming the whb kings + amon perhaps
Bark bark bark cockwarming!!!
Aaa
Whb Kings+Amon
Cockwarming reaction!
NSFW mdni
You ended up tying him down because he didn't want to be a good boy and sit there patiently.
Satan
To his credit, he did last for a little while. You heard all the delicious sounds he made while his hands roamed and groped your body. It felt good at first. A feeling he had never felt before, their walls snug around his cock; he felt so warm, so hard. But after a while, it became agony. Especially when you would clench around him; you felt so good... All he wanted to do was move. He was gritting his teeth, grumbling in protest when you would discipline him for pushing his hips against you.
Oh yeah he can get behind this, He can't stop running his fingers over the little bulge in your tummy from his big heavy cock nothing right up against your warm walls. Look at you sitting pretty in his lap your ass on display for him to grab. And the best part is, He could admire all his possessions while you use him like one.
Mammon
You're 100% in control of this large beast of a man, even though it really doesn't feel like it. Especially when his big cock stretches you so good even when you're not moving, every twitch makes you clench and gasp.
This is terrible! But it's so good. Oh Fuck- you're clenching! And his eyes are rolling back. It hurts so good! He doesn't even remember the last time he has been this hard. Hes fucking throbbing. That you feel so warm. Every slightest movement which he hates so much, because it's not fair! He's so jealous that you're still allowed to move your hips even though he can't move it all. But he can't tell you to stop. Because when you do move ever so slightly, that painful, heated pleasure hits him tenfold. He's losing his mind and it's your fault! He's almost at his limit if you move one more time, He's going to throw you down and fuck you till you pass out.
Leviathan
What the fuck, is this torture?! Please!! Please move he'll do anything!! Beel is whimpering begging moaning for you to move your hips. Tied down with no real way to move, He realized on you for his pleasure; too bad you're a sick and twisted human!!
Beelzebub
You feel so good, so tight, so warm. He wants more!! He needs more! Like Satan you had to tie him down and he still tries to move his hips. Acting more like a beast than a devil his eyes glazed over with lust. There was nothing left but hunger has he still tries to struggle and break the binding so he could fully have you.
His nose nuzzling into your shoulder, His arms wrapped tightly around you pulling you against his naked body, his hand slowly roaming every part of your body feeling every part of your soft comfy skin as he lays against it like a pillow. His cock at home deep inside you, so warm so soft.
Amon
"mmh So good for me."He murmurs against your neck. He could fall asleep like this. He wishes all of his naps were like this.
Now that he knows that something like this exists. That he could just stay inside you for however long he wants; fucking you and resting at the same time, that he could fall asleep and feel this good at the same time.
He wants to have you on his cock always. When you're sitting down next to him Amon will rap an arm around you pulling you closer. Trying to convince you to warm his cock for a while.
So sinful, how is he supposed to pay attention to his paperwork while you're sitting so pretty in his lap. You're so small and you fit around him so good. Your skin is so soft. The softest thing he have ever felt in his life as an angel and a devil. With his arm wrapped around you his head buried in your hair the pen scrabbling on the paper begins to slow. A whimper escapes his throat as he tries to grind himself deeper.
Lucifer
"You're not supposed to move."You say with a cute smile that's sinful looking your eye that he is grown to love.
#smut#whb beelzebub#whb satan#whb#what in hell is bad#whb x reader#whb lucifer#whb leviathan#whb amon#smut otome#adult otome game#whb fanfic#whb headcanons#whb x mc#what in “hell” is bad?
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black water - one !
ft. og4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader
tags. cop!leon, corruption, mentions of harassment/rape/drugs, body horror, raccoon city incident never happened but there r bioweapons, suicide ideation bc leon, character death, there’s smut in later chapters i promise, public sex, creampie, hate sex, slapping, choking, gore descriptions
note. hi trying something new! i know raccoon city is in the midwest somewhere but to be frank idgaf ab the usa and know nothing about any part of it so i decided that it’s a southern state in this fic bc i wanted to make reader have the cute accent bc she’s a farmer :3 only the first chapter so like um this is honestly just more of a test to see if anyone would like this erm smut comes soon prommy.. reader implied poc but like um :3 PLEASE GIMME FEEDBACK N IGNORE MISTAKES!!
summary. there is something in the water, you want it gone before it eats more than just your livelihood.
You know pigs, so you know men.
This one has blue eyes, it is the type of blue you’d dip your toes into, you let the waves lap at your calves until it drags you under. His gaze taps a gun to the back of your head and demands full attention.
He is subjecting you to himself, and you hate it.
The glint of his blue-gold badge is nebulous in the dark. “Officer Leon S. Kennedy.” He offers you a look at his ID card - has the sort of face that lets him get away with things. “Criminal Investigations Department.”
Beside him, a dog with intelligent eyes stands sentinel. Officer Kennedy drops the leash and the dog sits back on its haunches. “Now, what’s this about pigs?”
The RPD is one great big circle jerk. Brian Iron’s doctrine is an easy one to follow, and Leon is not opposed to easy. His innards spill into the middle of it all as the lump in his throat dislodges, adding to the slurry of toxic waste that coats their blackened underbelly.
There is a horrible liminal quality to the place, footfall echoes in halls lit by jaundiced bulbs. The scent of sex is a wisp of smoke in his nose as he passes the chief’s office.
Raccoon City is a backwater bog, and to match the inhabitants are insular primitive beings who cling to antiquated ways. To be stationed here by choice was a lapse in judgement - snark is the currency of social interaction.
Leon is often taken by women.
He met this one back in Brooklyn, where he and his family lived above a Deli, an older southern lady with a gap in her teeth. Had the pleasure of crossing her path—Something about her just stuck. Led him to believe that all women round these parts had big hearts and even bigger bosoms. A place to rest his head for the night, a neck to hide his face in, blonde curls just shy of silver to tickle his skin flower-pink.
She talked all like:
Well, ain’t you just the sweetest peach I’ve ever seen! Oh, I could just eat a feller like you up, get me full as a tick.
Whatever it was that she said and meant, he liked it. And so guided by the expertise of his dick, Leon landed himself here.
There are a handful of beautiful women that Leon has seen, met, fucked.
(He weeded out the ugly ones the moment he was given access to the file room.)
The thing is, small town beautiful is different to New York pretty.
He has an ex over in Manhattan who could turn the sidewalk into a catwalk. She had Leon, a man built like a god, fumbling like a teenage girl. The last girl he fucked here was homely - she had the hushed urgency of a military wife and her monotony was sobering.
One girl he dated on and off for a year or two. She worked at a car wash and she was needy. Real needy. She missed the taste of his dick so he provided her with the scent of pussy instead. Every weekend he’d drive over and watch her clean the sex from the backseat of his cruiser just because he could.
Things are slow in this marshy cesspit, a never-ending conveyer belt of nothing much. The wind carries the scent of magnolia blossoms and sewage. It gives Leon a lot of time to think of the filth that is his underfurnished life. He lowers his head to the desk, allowing himself to fall in and out of spasms of lucidity.
Leon has done bad things, but he doesn’t qualify as a bad guy. The badge and the blue forbids it. Take Redfield for example, that guy got deployed in Penamstan. Y’know what happened there? He shot a kid or two and now he can’t get it up. He’s not a bad guy, not at all, he’s got a photo of his smiling face plastered in the lobby.
He’s a hero.
The only problem folks have with him is that heroes have nice, hard cocks and they fuck for hours. No matter his sex drive atrophied by gore splattered on the barrel of his gun, or how the studded underside of his boot caused flesh to crumple like the newspaper with his name on it—It doesn’t matter. To be built like a brick shithouse and have something soft between your legs, well, that just ain’t right, is it?
Over in Penamstan, he would say, you introduce yourself over the sound of gunfire, shake hands as the earth is split in half, kill an orphan to bond.
A good man for sure. So good his little sister went ghost.
(Leon finds her postcards in the mailroom. For Redfield’s sake, he hides them in the bottom drawer of his desk alongside all sorts of ephemera. He’s acquired quite the stash.)
Valentine is alright. She’s quiet. The moral fibre has been plucked out of her with a pair of forceps, and now she doesn’t think much about where she points her gun. They often sit in shared silence, and sometimes it is like looking in a funhouse mirror that creates a shape far slinkier than his bulk.
Chambers is too nice. Vickers is fat. Burton is old. Frost is ugly. These are all irrefutable flaws, but none of them are bad, and none of it is intentional. Not bad by Leon’s standards at least.
(The entirety of the STARS unit would be better off if they stopped kissing Captain Wesker’s flat ass, but that is like asking for sympathy from the devil.)
Man, he has too much time on his hands.
“Kennedy, you busy?” Rita knocks on his desk. The fabric of her shirt creases inwards to grasp the dip of her waist as she places a hand on her hip. She’s poised, but something about her gait is wobbly.
“Mighty busy.” He nods.
What they have is not history, but something much smaller. It is a word blotted out on a torn page from a burnt book, it is ground into powder by mortar and pestle.
It is Leon’s hand in her back pocket when nobody’s around.
“I’m sure.” She straightens her spine, eyes heavy with the weight of her lashes. “Up in Black Water, something about a dead pig.”
“They have gators,” Leon points out. He may be bored to the point of suicide, but he is not in the mood to wrangle any gators.
“I know,” she says, lifting her eyes from the ground to meet his sidelong gaze, “go check it out, she sounded real spooked, take a dog if you have to.”
She, huh.
Wonder what she looks like. He hopes she has big tits. He hopes she isn’t a cousin-fucking, peat-smelling hick.
Black Water has a lot of those.
“Took ya long enough.” Your voice skims the air like a bullet, it strikes Leon in the chest.
You are she. And you, well—You’re both the needle and the spoon.
Doused in the lantern glow, the egg-whites of your eyes are streaked by small, bloody streams, your mac is zipped up to the chin, and your rainboots are the same colour of boxed rubber duckies.
You’re no sole-crushed peach, making the ground its canvas in a pitiful splatter, you’re a tart cherry that he would like to pick, melt into a glaze and store in a jar.
“Oh, we’re mighty busy.” Leon wipes Rita’s wet from his fingers on the front of his tailored pants, it’s gotten sticky like pomade. He thinks of her tailbone digging into the flesh of his stomach as he sits her on his lap.
“I bet.” You raise your brows. “How many lines did’ja do?”
Leon leans forward to watch your face with unblinking eyes. “Don’t say that too loud, Wesker’s gonna get worried, y’know, start digging through his stash.”
“Hah.” Your laugh is hidden into the collar of your mac. “He seems like the type.”
“You met him before?” An unpleasant squelch is heard when he steps where you do, it seems deliberate for a moment, that you’re avoiding a well-trodden path to give him a hard time. He stumbles forward in the dark—His shoes are fucked, and these socks deserve a funeral service.
“Think we all have.” Your body is lost in the shapelessness of your attire, clothes draped over your frame like you are more hanger than human. Effortless femininity lost to androgyny. “You’re not from these parts.”
“You don’t look like you’re from these parts, pumpkin pie,” he mocks your twang and is met with a tut.
You stop and Leon bumps into you with a grunt.
He shines his torch at the ground and isn’t quite sure of what he’s looking at. “That’s a pig alright.”
#leon kennedy imagine#leon kennedy angst#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy smut#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy smut#leon s kennedy x you#leon s kennedy angst#resident evil angst#resident evil x reader#resident evil smut
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Follow the Leader: Chapter 1
I wrote this because I love body-switching trope stories and I decided to share this one.
Story Summary: David switches bodies with a stranger, Michael Emerson, after a motorcycle accident. Michael has to take on the role of a vampire gang leader while David has to adapt to a domestic human life until they can figure out how to change back.
Chapter Summary: David has to deal with the stresses of being the lead vampire of his pack. There is more to making life run smoothly as a vampire besides existing and looking cool
Word Count: 3165
David stood just outside the cave, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes scanned the horizon, watching the last rays of the sun disappear beyond the water. Food, he thought to himself. Fuck, we need gas… he adjusted his gaze to his hands as he mentally listed off the chores for today. Eating, refueling, mending part of his jacket. The list went on and on.
The thing about being the leader of his crew was having to keep track of everything happening. His boys were demanding when it came to lifestyles. He had to keep track of getting fuel and repairs for the bikes. He had to keep up with all of their little hobbies. Buying the cigarettes for himself, the weed that they shared, the alcohol, the art supplies for Marko, the list never ended.
Being a vampire came with a lot of responsibilities.
He finished his cigarette and headed back into the cave. The other three boys were finally awake. When the bleach blonde arrived, the boys sat up and gave him their attention. “Breakfast?” Marko asked immediately.
“Yes. There were a couple of those assholes from the other day-” David began.
“Dewy and Martin, right?” Paul cut in quickly.
David inclined his head. “Yes. I expect we’ll find them on the boardwalk. They’re our target tonight.”
“What about that chick Donna?” Marko asked.
David shook his head. “No, not yet. Later this week.”
“But what if I’m still hungry?” the youngest whined.
The leader sighed softly, looking over the curly haired vampire. He hated having to ration food. It wasn’t fair. “We can grab a snack on the boardwalk later,” David promised. “Let’s head out.”
The crew followed David obediently to the bikes. The vampires mounted the motorcycles and headed to town.
How’d the stalking go last night? David telepathically asked Dwayne over the sounds of their engines.
Just fine. Dewy and Martin should be heading to the arcade tonight if nothing’s changed, Dwayne responded.
Good. Let’s hope they’re there. David led the pack straight into town towards the main parking lot of the boardwalk.
We could go after Donna as a plan B, Dwayne responded as they rolled up to park their bikes. It’s Tuesday and last I checked she had a spinning class that ends at nine.
David sat back on his bike as he cut the engine. He fished a pocket watch out of his coat to check the time. Then we don’t have much time. Those brats better be at the arcade. David was quick to lead the way onto the boardwalk. He couldn’t risk missing out on the potential meals. Grabbing someone random was always a huge risk.
The pack of vampires stalked down the boardwalk. David kept his eyes ahead of him, never faltering from the entrance to the arcade. He brought the rest of the pack up behind him as he slipped into the largest arcade on the boardwalk. Fan out, let’s find them, he demanded.
The vampires scattered quickly. David’s eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s. He scanned the tourists, searching for the two late teens who had harassed Paul almost three weeks ago. The teens were quickly added to their menu, but David didn’t want to snatch them right away. They were young and foolish. Someone would be looking for them if they didn’t come home. But he waited and watched. Last week, Dewy got kicked out of his family’s house for attacking his younger sister. Martin was housing him at his folk’s house, but Martin’s family was away in Los Angeles this week. Two boys, all alone. No one would know they’re gone for days.
The bleach blonde carefully admired the people he passed. He felt compelled to start stalking them. Tourists were so curious to him. He loved following them and figuring out their lives. He’d watch them from the windows of the hotels. He’d follow them on the rooftops across town. He’d listen in on their conversations and find out who they were and what they did. There were plenty of perfect meals wandering the boardwalk. He just had to find the right one and strike when the time was right.
Found them! Paul’s voice cut through the leader’s skull.
David sensed his companion and snaked through the crowd. The four vampires surrounded the teens without their knowledge. David’s eyes scouted through the crowd. The arcade was busy this evening. He could start a scene and provoke the teens into a fight. But then security would be called and tourists would remember their faces. Loss of good prey.
Marko, Dwayne, wait outside by the river. Paul and I will lure them there. Dwayne and Marko were quick to follow his orders. David liked to keep Marko out of potentially heated encounters since the young vampire had a temper.
The bleach blonde approached the teens. “Well,” he stated, alerting them to his presence. “Dooby, right?” His tone was drenched in mockery.
The hot headed Dewy whirled around on David. It took him a moment to recognize the older boy and his companion that he saw a few weeks back. “Oh, it’s you,” Dewy remarked. The teen looked David over before giving a sneer. “Couldn’t find anything else besides your grandmother’s dress to wear today?”
David gave a small mockery laugh. “It’s called having class, kid. Something you’ll never have.” The vampire looked the brat’s outfit over. He lashed out a hand and snatched the boy’s chain around his neck. He yanked it off harshly, resulting in hatred flashing across the kid’s face. “Only dogs wear chains,” David teased.
“Oh you’re on pal,” the boy hissed.
David turned on his heel and shoved through the arcade. Get to the edge of the boardwalk, and quickly, David instructed.
Paul nodded and quickly disappeared among the crowd.
The boys weren’t interested in his taller companion. Dewy and Martin stayed on David’s heels as the vampire brought the two straight out of the arcade building. He paused just enough to rile up Dewy enough to lunge for him. David sidestepped the teen and then ran towards the river.
Paul stalked just out of sight. He followed the chase past the roller coaster and down towards the river. Dwayne and Marko stood their ground in the darkness, waiting for the ambush.
David brought the teens towards the river bank and paused. He looked over to Paul who came behind the boys. “You want this piece of junk so bad?” David taunted. He tossed it over their heads to Paul. “Then come get it.”
Dewy shoved the bleach blonde backwards. David took a short stumble back and scanned the surroundings. The boys turned to Paul who stood his ground with the necklace held over his head.
No watchful eyes. The coast was clear. Go. Feast.
Marko and Dwayne were quick to swoop in from the shadows. Paul threw the chain to the ground before latching onto one of the teens.
The three vampires tore the boys apart before they could make a sound. David kept a few steps back to watch his pack feed. The scent of blood forced his fangs to slide out. His stomach cramped in hunger, but he kept his distance. Marko pulled at one of the boys, trying to get more than his fair fill. Dwayne and Paul shared a glance but they tugged the second boy closer to them.
David turned away from the carnage to get away from the blood. When the boys were finished they washed up in the river. Marko splashed Paul with some of the water, causing the two of them to start wrestling playfully.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Dwayne whispered to David softly.
David glanced over to the playing blondes. He exhaled. “I’ll grab a snack later. You’ve seen how Marko gets when he’s still hungry. I can handle my hunger.”
“That’s fair,” Dwayne commented.
David let the dark haired vampire break the two fighting blondes apart while he turned his attention to the bodies. He scooped them up easily and admired the work that his boys did. Teeth and claw marks all over their bodies. David grabbed at Dewy’s arm with his teeth trying to get a taste of his blood. There wasn’t much left, but he managed to get a couple swallows in. He took to the sky and dumped the bodies into the ocean.
He rejoined the other vampires on the boardwalk. The three of them anxiously waited for their leader to return. The second he did, Paul headbutted the bleach blonde playfully. David grunted and Marko gave the taller vampire a smack. The two of them started nudging each other until David clicked his tongue for them to cut it out.
“David, can we go back to the arcade?” Marko begged.
“Got no money for arcade tonight, boys,” he replied. “Why don't you and Paul put those quick fingers to work and snatch some cash, hm? Bring me back a pack of cigs.” The blonde vampires playfully saluted their leader before charging off into the sea of people. “How's Veronica?” He asked to his last companion.
Dwayne shrugged. “Haven't seen her in a week or so. Not since Tony showed up not long ago.”
“Put them on the menu for tomorrow,” David ordered. “Get an idea for where they'll be.”
Dwayne nodded. “You want to come with?” He offered.
David pulled out a cigarette and lit it carefully. “I wish, but I have to meet with Max. We'll all catch up at the bikes later. We'll need to fuel up and then we can get back to the nest. Hopefully the blonde terrors can get a good stash tonight. We could use the money.”
Dwayne gently put his hand on David's shoulder. David leaned into the touch to show his appreciation. “I'll bring you home something to eat,” he promised. David gave him a warm smile. He trusted Dwayne picking something safe for him. Dwayne was always his rock. The man could steady David through any storm. “Got my eye on this kid down by the docks. No family. No friends. Real loner.”
“You're quite the hunter,” David praised. “Tell you what. Let me finish up with Max and then I'll meet you by the docks. We can grab the kid and then stalk Veronica.”
David made quick work of his chores knowing that he'd get something to eat when he was finished. As Max's oldest boy, David took the role of being second in command. He met with Max regularly to discuss the town and what plans they had for it. Max wanted to expand his reach into the local government whereas David wanted more freedom. Max didn't mind what the boys did, as long as it kept the city on their toes, but didn't have the locals with torches and pitchforks searching for them. Max liked the uneasiness of the town. He could use fear to control the local population. And since David and his crew were the root of the fear that drove this town wild, Max had more control than anyone realized.
After their meeting, David returned to the docks to meet Dwayne. The poor man's boat dock, as the boys took to calling the smaller one, had fishing boats and was the main launch for canoes, kayaks, and other small boats. For the rich who had nice luxury boats, they were stored on a separate dock with security cameras and a regular patrolling guard.
But on this dock, a young boy sat at the edge of the dock. David had seen him before but sorted him into a “starvation” category on his menu. The boy was barely in his early teens, but clearly running on his own. Scars coated his visible skin showing signs of abuse over many years.
The boys didn't typically eat kids. Kids didn't have nearly as much blood as their adult counterparts. They weren't as filling and oftentimes would only result in angry parents. Of course during the off season all humans were game, size and age no longer mattered. But when the summer was full swing and thousands of new meat hit the streets each night, there was no need to feed on the young.
But tonight David's hunger was gnawing at him hard. The kid had no one to go home to. No one to love him. The vampire saw it more as a mercy killing.
Dwayne watched as his leader swooped down onto the child and quickly ended him. There was no fight. David knew when it was appropriate to play with his food and when he just had to go for the kill. When he was finished, the two vampires returned to their bikes to refuel and regroup with Paul and Marko.
David and Dwayne sat on their bikes in the parking lot as the blondes came barrelling from the boardwalk. David held his hand out as Marko dropped a pack of cigarettes in it. It wasn't a brand that he preferred, but it didn't matter when it was given to him. He examined the pack seeing that they must have lifted it from someone's pocket. “Good work boys,” he praised, resulting in a happy noise from the smallest.
“Got two hundred dollars today, David!” Paul bounced over to his bike excitedly.
David gave him a warm smile. “That's very good. Why don't you two grab some gas on the way back and meet Dwayne and I at the nest later? We're stalking tonight.”
“Can we come?” Marko pleaded. He gave David his big, puppy dog eyes.
David propped his wrists up on his handlebars. He liked having the younger two learn hunting skills, but they tended to get in the way. “If you want to do some stalking, why don't you two check out that motel on Edmund? Watch the residents and see if you can get a running list of who's there and who'd make a good meal.”
“Got it!” Paul cheered.
“Remember, it has to be low profile. Figure out their check out date so we can figure out when to grab them.” David started up his engine. “No snacking.”
The blondes, given their new orders, excitedly got onto their bikes and headed off to complete them. The motel on Edmund was a good mark for fresh blood, but it wasn't in the best shape so the place was never fully booked. Even with it's low prices, people liked to avoid it. It was a common motel to hide from one's spouse while hooking up, or a cheap place for drunken men to bring women they met at the bar. But every once and a while, a good meal would stay for a few days.
David pulled out of the parking lot with Dwayne at his side. They had to make sure dinner was still on for tomorrow.
Veronica lived outside of town. Dwayne had met her several times on the boardwalk. She was young and excited to get his attention. But it turned out she had a fiance. While Dwayne was looking for an easy mark, it got easier knowing that the fiance returned and was pissed at the situation. Tensions aside, the two lived together in a small home with next to no neighbors. Tony was her high school sweetheart, but she started to see other men on the side while Tony would go on “business trips”.
Tonight, neither were home. David and Dwayne parked their bikes down the street and flew to the house. David picked the back door open and they started pawing through the place. David only cared about finding a schedule or calendar that would have their plans safely jotted down. And it didn't take him long to find one. He found a small notebook at the kitchen table. “They're having dinner with some friends tonight,” he commented. “Must be out late.” He flipped through the handheld planner.
Dwayne stalked around the house. “Washer and dryer here,” he commented.
“Great, it's about time we did laundry,” David grumbled. He hated domestic duties, but when you're a stinky vampire you have to maintain a healthy relationship with hygiene to keep living alongside humans. “They've got no plans for tomorrow. We can swing by after dark.”
“Sounds good.” Dwayne continued to go through the house, examining all the knickknacks that he considered taking.
David left the planner on the table as he found it. “Let's go back.” He waited for Dwayne at the back door.
It took the brunette vampire an extra minute before he returned to his leader. In his hand was a little trinket. “What's this?” He asked, passing it to David.
The bleach blonde took the spherical trinket from him and examined it. “No idea.” He couldn't read the engraved words on the little bell-like thing. David played with it in between his fingers before sliding it into his pocket.
The two vampires turned back to their bikes and began to head home. They took the winding back roads at a speed no human should. The two teased each other with a little race.
Nothing got them more competitive than a race.
David swerved onto a side road, cranking up his speed to try and cut off Dwayne up ahead. Adrenaline raced through his body as the boys couldn't see each other and tell who was winning. David didn't want to lose. He was the leader and he had to prove his mettle.
He popped back up onto the main road. Dwayne wasn't ahead of him, though he could hear the engine of the other bike. He turned his head over his shoulder, barely seeing the headlight of his companion through the winding trees.
He looked behind him for a fraction of a second too long. He snapped his attention back in front of him when movement caught his eye.
Movement from an SUV.
The vampire was blinded by the headlights of the vehicle. His vampire eyes were too sensitive to such lights in the darkness. His entire world went bright white. He was so overwhelmed with the race that he hadn't heard the sound of the car coming towards him. He tried to close his eyes and use his other senses, but it was too late.
He instinctively swerved, but the SUV collided with his back tire. The vampire was thrown from his bike, crashing down onto the asphalt. For any human it would have been severed limbs and instant death.
David couldn't feel anything, but he knew he wasn't dead. He wanted to open his eyes and get up, but he couldn't feel where his arms were. He knew for certain he hit his head and that his senses were gone for a duration of time. The only thing he could do was lay there and wait. There was no pain though. Maybe it was shock but he knew that consciousness was slipping away and fast.
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satoru wasn't a fan of lingerie, he hated the fabric and hated the fact that he had to be delicate when stripping it off of you. of course, he's all for making love, satoru was the king of making love, but he also likes when you can be comfortable before the both of you start fucking.
the thing that turned satoru on the most and had his dick standing at attention for you was some shorts and a tank. when it looks like you just got out of the shower and settling into bed, that's what got him going.
everyone else can keep the lingerie, the only thing he wanted to see from you was no bra and your shorts riding up on you so that he has an excuse to get them off.
“fuck, you look so good.” whispering in your ear how good you look while his hands jointly slide down into your shorts. there was no need for you to dress up for him, especially when it came to panties and a bra.
natrually he loved how everything fit and looked on you, there was no doubting that, but he didn't want you to get into a frenzy about what new set to get to please him and him only.
“hey… don't even worry about it, just throw those shorts on hm?” and you'll smile at hus reassurance, because he loved the basic shit and there was no need to get riled up over not knowing which color bra to get.
satoru loves to get down and rough with things, it was in his nature too, he just can't help it. the feeling of the thin fabric on your skin got him aroused, it's like your tank top was telling him to rip it out of you and to not hold back.
those tiny shorts that you wore that didn't even go mid-thigh brought out a side of him that by the end of the night he couldn't even recognize. his mouth gets dry at the sight, and his dick gets harder when he sees your nipples poking through the shirt.
“that's something i wouldn't be able to see if you had a bra on.” he joked while rubbing over your inflamed nipple he was playing with as he rubbed over your aching core.
whenever he comes home to you wearing that tank top and shorts combo, he will bend you over and pick you up and put you on the counter and gets to work. that was his favorite thing ever, seeing you in comfort with that pretty face of yours made him cum in 0.5 seconds, there was no denial there.
he wouldn't even bother taking them off, he just slides your shorts to the side and does what he needs to do. satoru knew what he liked and was a man of his word when he says that he needs no impressing from someone as beautiful as you.
#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#x reader#gojo satoru#jjk satoru#satoru gojo#jujutsu kaisen satoru#satoru smut#gojou satoru x reader#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#jujutsu gojo#gojo smut#satoru#jujutsu satoru#satorugojo
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love living in a house with a younger brother who’s first reaction to something minor (his phone dying mid facetime call with his girlfriend) is physical and verbal anger. like slamming closed the recliner he was in, yelling fuck, throwing his keys into the seat, i think he kicked his desk when he got into his room and continued to yell fuck and stomp around. just….. love it (grinding teeth)
#wes babbles#it’s not anger directed at me i know but it’s scary and startling and i hate it because i still have bad reactions to that sort of behavior#because my old ex roommate did that and she made me physically jump and flinch and almost cry at slamming doors#i can feel my back clenching up hard#also he was just facetiming in front of me on speakerphone with his girlfriend?#who sounds like she’s going through a tough emotional moment and like. i’ve been listening to her crying for the past 30 minutes.#i just want to lay down in my bed and relax#but i was woken up this morning after four hours of sleep by everyone being stressed as fuck and yelling at the dog#because he had scratched his eye accidentally and was bleeding and so then it was an hour of me trying to take care of him#straining my shoulders and back from holding him still before my younger brother came back with pain meds and a cone for him#but i’ve been sitting upright on the couch all day and i’m fucking exhausted#yesterday was so long and then today was even longer it felt like#and my younger brother came home early because he was too sick to do football practice#and then he asked me to get him food. so. i’ve just been having a rough day#i tried to get through an introductory video for my online classes but i was in too much pain at the moment#so im just. ough. i just want to lay down#and now im gonna have to take care of his dish because he left it out and now the cats are eating off it#just. oof#i’ll probably delete this so. don’t pay attention i just needed to vent
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The Radio Demon has a WIFE??? And She was a WHAT??? (Alastor x Fem!Reader)
Summary: Mimzy stops by and brings up a little detail that Alastor forgot to mention: he has a wife...oh yeah, and she used to be a nun. How the fuck did that happen???
-Or-
I was watching 'Call the Midwife' and got Alastor brainrot ideas while watching the romance between Sister Bernadette/Sheila and Dr. Turner.
Tags: Fem!Reader (for obvious reasons), She/Her pronouns, No Use of (Y/N), everything I know about being a nun is from a TV show (don't kill me pls), Husk is...so fucking tired, also I couldn’t find a midwife house in New Orleans so I made one up (don’t kill me pls x2)
TW: None, other than my possible terrible idiocy regarding nun shit and Catholicism, I feel like me being the author should also be a TW in and of itself ngl
Word Count: 2.4k
Read it on Ao3 <3
"WHAT?"
Husk winced as Angel's voice echoed throughout the lobby, loud and full of indignation.
"There is no fuckin' way tall, dark, an' creepy is married," he insisted, staring down Mimzy as she took another swig from her glass, "you've gotta be fuckin' with us, right Husk?"
Husk pointedly ignored the question, turning his back to the two idiots and their quickly gathering crowd of spectators—the other residents of the hotel. Alastor didn't like people talking about him unless it was with hate, fear, or admiration- (the arrogant fuck) -and he liked people spreading his personal business around even less.
He wasn't stupid enough to get involved in this conversation, even if Mimzy and Angel apparently were.
Mimzy laughed, "oh please, that's not even the best part! Alastor's sweetheart actually used to be a sister!"
"A sister?"
"Yeah-"
'Don't fuckin' say it-'
"-like a nun!"
'Motherfucker.'
That statement had Angel choking on his drink, everyone else letting out various exclamations of disbelief—all of which only made Mimzy's smile widen. She was enjoying the attention.
"Yeah," she continued, "the pretty thing was actually part of one of the few nunneries that were up and running back in our day—although hers also served as a sorta home base for the midwives in New Orleans before it all became a hospital affair."
"So not only did Smiles somehow manage to get 'imself a sweetheart, but he managed to bag a fuckin' NUN?!" Angel asked incredulously, "how the FUCK did that happen?"
Mimzy grinned mischievously, "well-"
"Mimzy," Husk said, caution and warning in his tone. It was one thing to drop a couple facts and then shut up—Alastor was fond of her- (as "fond" as the bastard was capable of) -so she might be able to get off with a warning—but to start telling stories about his life? Spilling all his carefully guarded secrets?
Yeah, that'd get her killed. Or worse.
Even so, Mimzy either didn't know how secretive Alastor was- (doubtful) -or she was just under the delusional belief that he wouldn't hurt her for her slight- (bingo) -because she just waved off Husk's warning.
"Hm...where should I start?"
---------------
What everyone in Hell tended to forget was that the cruel, bloodthirsty, "Radio Demon" they all feared...used to be a man, used to be human just like all the rest.
Quite the human he was, though.
Obviously he did his fair share of terrible things, he didn't end up in Hell for being a saint, but before any of his...transgressions came into the public eye, people truly thought he was. He'd come from a poor home, his father ran off when he was young, and yes he was an odd child—but all of that seemed inconsequential the older he got.
He worked hard in school and worked his way up in the world until he finally became a famous radio host, the crown jewel of the French Quarter. Even so, all of the attention never seemed to go to his head. His mother's son, always his mother's son, he was the picture of a true gentleman—always polite, always chivalrous, always helping others. It certainly didn't hurt that he was handsome too, and his charm was unmatched by any other man in the city.
As such, it was no shock that he attracted all manner of attention from people vying for his affection, but no one seemed to catch his particular eye. That was, until he met her...
---------------
“Now, keep in mind, I don’t know very much about his missus before they got together,” Mimzy admitted, “but, from what I can tell, she'd always been a mystery, so I don’t think it really matters-“
“Obviously it matters!” Angel interrupted, his drink and everything else long forgotten, “for someone to get together with Smiles willingly, they’ve gotta have some of their own skeletons in the closet! C’mon toots, you gotta know something.”
Mimzy circled a finger around her glass, playing coy, “well…maybe I might know a thing or two…”
Husk wanted to bash his head against a wall.
Fine, fine, fine. It was one thing—one really fucking stupid thing—to talk about Alastor, but to talk about his wife? Especially to fucking gossip about her?
Yeah, no, these morons were definitely dead as soon as Alastor found out.
“Well?” Angel pressed, looking downright desperate for more information.
“Well…”
---------------
Alastor's sweetheart had always been an enigma since the day she arrived in New Orleans, every bit of her covered in that modest black and white clothing—all except her face and hands, of course.
By all accounts, she was a sweet girl—kind, attentive, always willing to help—but she was also very…secretive, one might say. It wasn't that the other nuns weren't reserved, because they were, but she was especially so, and her brand of reservation came across as more underhanded than anything else.
She never talked about her hobbies, her family, her life before taking her vows—hell, she never talked about her life before she moved to New Orleans. So it was no surprise that a fair amount of rumors followed her around, no matter how sweet she appeared to be.
Some said that she was a runaway, trying to escape an abusive father; others said that she moved there to get out of a loveless marriage; and a few even claimed that she was on the run from the law. There was never any evidence to support any of those rumors, of course, but people loved to talk.
One might think that Alastor was drawn to her because of all of those whispers, just chasing down another story for his radio show, but it was actually a mix of pure luck and her work as a midwife that brought those two together.
You see, midwives didn't only deliver babies, but they also offered all sorts of medical assistance to anyone who needed it. These services eventually brought her to his mother’s home one day, and it just so happened that Alastor was also visiting his ma at the time.
The two started talking and, between his magnetic charms and her sweet demeanor, it was no surprise that the two got along like a house fire.
From then on, every time she visited his ma to take care of her, he was there too. Then he started showing up at all of the events hosted by Saint Charlene’s, always finding his way to her side. And there even came a time where he started visiting her frequently, always welcomed by her fellow sisters and the other midwives with open arms.
---------------
“Wait a minute,” Angel interrupted, “I thought nuns weren’t allowed ta be in relationships. It goes against the whole point of bein’ a nun, don’t it?”
Mimzy huffed, “I was getting to that part!”
---------------
Obviously nuns weren’t allowed to have relationships, romantic or sexual, and most people of that time didn’t believe that men and women could simply be friends—so the friendliness they both shared fell under quite a bit of scrutiny. Everyone that knew a thing about that sweet girl knew she would never betray her vows, and everyone that knew a thing about Alastor knew that he’d rather die than be anything less than a perfect gentleman.
But, like I said, people in New Orleans liked to talk.
Neither of them paid any mind to it, though. Alastor was already dealing with the bullshit that came with showbiz and his sweetheart already had a bunch of rumors circulating about her, so what did they care if a few more whispers were added to the pile? But eventually, a painfully long time after the two first met and became friends, there came a day when something that wasn’t quite platonic bloomed between the two of them.
Obviously the two of them were horrified by this; Alastor, because he would never ask her to forsake her vows for him, and her, because she was worried that she was betrayin’ her God by feeling that way.
Eventually she talked to the other nuns, though, and got some help figuring out her emotions and what she wanted to do, and Alastor talked things through with his ma—who was, frankly, overjoyed that he’d finally found someone who he fancied.
Let me tell ya, even with all of the others helpin’, it took fuckin’ forever for those two to finally get together. Between their shared emotional constipation, everyone’s expectations of them, the worry that the other didn’t feel the same way, and the fear of crossing each other’s boundaries…yeah, it took over a year after the two of them figured out they liked each other for them to actually say something.
By the time they finally got their shit together, Alastor’s mom and the other midwives were already planning their wedding. Hell, the nuns were just about ready to rescind her vows themselves, they were so sick of the pining!
Everything worked out in the end, though. The two confessed, his sweetheart did the whole dispensation thing, and the two eventually got married.
----------
“Blah, blah, blah…they got a happily ever after and a white picket fence,” Mimzy finished with a lazy wave of her hand, “so, that's the story."
Angel just stared at her, mouth hanging open slightly, “huh, I didn’t know tall, dark, and creepy had it in ‘im.”
Mimzy hummed, “yeah, he might seem all big an’ scary, but underneath all that he’s a total doll!”
Husk shuddered as the prickle of static suddenly made his hair stand on end, signaling Alastor’s entrance into the room—along with Charlie, Vaggie, and Lucifer himself. His eyes immediately found the small group that had gathered by the bar, and it probably wasn’t hard for him to figure out what exactly drew everyone there.
“Now, now, Mimzy, what have you been telling everyone about me?” Alastor chastised, making his way closer to their group. His tone was teasing, but it had a subtle warning at the end—one that said he wasn’t asking for shits n' giggles. It made Husk want to disappear into the wall, to get out of the way of what would follow if Alastor found out the subject of their conversation. Hopefully Angel and Mimzy would have enough sense to keep their mouths shut, but he doubted it.
“Oh, nothing you need ta worry about!” she said, waving him off playfully, “just a couple old stories from back in the day.”
“Is that so?”
Mimzy hummed her affirmative, finishing off her drink, and for one blissful moment Husk thought that the subject would drop and everything would be fine. He was wrong.
“Yeah, and I gotta say I’m surprised atcha Smiles,” Angel snarked, “who knew ya had a missus back home keeping ya on a leash.”
The room went dead silent.
The lights suddenly flickered, a dark red glow casting across the room as they did—mangled shadows dancing on the walls. Husk shrank back, trying his best to blend in with the bottles of alcohol that lined the shelf behind him.
Alastor’s voice was pure radio static, barely restrained rage filtering through, “w̶͚̫̰̰̟̌̆̓̚̚h̵̩̤̹͓̗̾̔͗̇̉å̴̱̩̝͚̎́̐̔̏͜†̸̡͔̲̠͔̔̎̆̀̕ ̸̲̠͔̟̗͗͑̾͐͘Ð̷̡̠̥̞͚̔̾̋̋͘ï̶̩̼̻̱̣̓̀̅͆̑Ð̸̣͍̞̬͖͋͑̽͗̚ ̶͈͙̤̺̲̒̒̒̎̀¥̷̭̻̥̘͈̇̓͑́́ð̵̢̲͕͈͇͐͊̓̀̓µ̴͕̬͕̟̟͊͊͂͗͘ ̵̪̲̫̳͍͑̑͒̔͐j̶̨̦̹̪̟̄̽̽̄͘µ̸̧̭͖͇̞̈́̔̀̒͒§̵̺̠͚͓͓̓͂̚͘͝†̷̛̖̤̰̗͓͋̄̇̑ ̸̢̩͙̙̫̊͗̃͘͝§̷̻̣̼̼͙̎͋̂͆͝ą̸̡̛̱̣̻̊̈́̈́̑́¥̶̢̟̼̘̲̃̿̐͑͠?̴͉̞̠̞̦̒͌̋͗̓”
‘Fuck.’
----------
You hummed quietly as you sat on the couch in your and Alastor’s shared home, sketching whatever came to mind in one of the small notebooks he’d bought you—working away the time and trying to ignore his glaring absence. It wasn’t often you were left yearning for your husband’s presence, finding plenty to do during the times he was gone, but today you wanted nothing more than for him to walk through the door. Luckily, you got your wish, although things certainly weren’t how you expected.
As soon as Alastor walked in, you could tell he was pissed. It was in his posture, his strained smile, the violent crackle of interference in the air. Even his shadow seemed agitated, flitting from one spot to another as if it simply couldn’t sit still.
“Al?” You asked carefully, “is everything alright?”
He turned to you, obviously trying to pass off the illusion of placidity, “everything is fine, my dear, why do you ask?”
“Well you just seem–” the lights around the house flickered, and you could hear a few of them bust in the other rooms, “...tense.”
He kept up the mask for a moment longer, still trying to fool you, but it dropped soon enough and he let out an irritated sigh.
“...certain people need to learn to keep their insignificant little mouths shut.”
You set aside your notebook and gestured for him to sit next to you, a request he obliged. Almost immediately your hands went to his shoulders and you began massaging them, trying to alleviate some of the tension practically radiating off of him—drawing an almost relieved sigh from his mouth.
You pressed a barely-there kiss to the back of his neck, “what happened, love?”
…
“Mimzy stopped by the hotel today and during her stay she decided to fucK̶̝̥̘̪͍̉͋́̈̅Ḭ̴̛̭̪͇̀͋̐̍͂͜ñ̷̡̤̩̖̰̈́͂̑̐͝G̴̞̯̭͈̘͋̒̑̅̚ ̵͇͕͓͕̗͆̃͛͊̂Ġ̶̝̱̪͈̘̽̌͗͝Ö̶̼̲̬̪̟̏̌̄̚͝§̴̺̱̲̫̝̍̈͆̃́§̶̧̞̣̼̮̂͊͋͌͠Ì̷̲̰̹̰͚͌̀̌̇̂þ̴̢̥̰̖̬͒́͌̏̿ ̸̝̺̪̟̈́͊̅̏̆ͅÄ̷͎̘͓̬͇̋̍͑̏͠ß̵̢̫͇̣̻́̊͆͆͝Ö̸̡̤̤̤͙̀̎̿͛͝Ú̸̟̯̺͈̪̇̓̊͐̊†̸̘̺͎͖̣̂̍̽̋̚ ̷̪̺̖̜͇̀͂͒̚͝Ö̴̮̯̗͙̑̆̽̄̚ͅỨ̸̫̯̰̺̼̈́̄̐͝R̸̨̢̧̭͓̒͊̋̇͘ ̵̧̥̗̰͖̅̌̒̿̃þ̶̦̞̫̙͕̈̒̀̿̚Ȩ̵̞̖̲͖̀͗̂̎͝͝R̸̢̪̟̜̮̉̌͒̉̃§̴̢̣͇̠̫̓̀̈͗̽Ö̴̟͕͓̤̀̈́̒͘͜͠ñ̶̛̙͍̼͖͔̎̓̐̋Ä̶̢̬͇͙̟̌͌̃̈͌L̴̨̪͎̟̦̄̇̈̓̿ ̶̨̧̰̼̮̈͒̀̒͝L̸͖̬̙̮̗̂̓̀͘̚Ì̴͙̠͈̺̣͌̓͊̓̓V̷̯̭̞̙͖͆̐̾͗̔Ę̴̪̻̤̀̾͑͆͜͝͝§̷̛͚̤͇̫̘̑͆̾͘.̵̡̥̪̫͇̽̋̑͝͝ §̶͎̣̝̳͓͋̊̀̌͆ð̵̢̼̖̝̭̏̇̕̕͝ ̵̘̜͚̠̫́͊̈́͐̽Ì̷̢̧͖͚͙̆̔̌̓̏ ̸̻̩̪͓̞̀͑͒̇͋†̴̧͉̯̻̳̒̽͋̾̋ð̵̟͙͍̳͈͒̈́̑̍̑ð̸̲̤̞̞̙̄̅͛̓͠k̷̖̪̩̭͇͋̒̀͘͘ ̶̢̛̗̞͍̱̒̅͐͘ï̸̢̢͕̩̰̍̍̽̈́̈́†̵̠̥̖̗̌̌̾̿͠ͅ ̵͙̹̦͎̬͆́̈͗͛µ̸̧̼̲̮̙͊͂̑̓͌þ̶̹̬̫̥̹̓̑̆͘͝ð̷̡̺͖̣̇̅̔͐͑ͅñ̸̼͙̦͕̼̏̐͗͘̕ ̵̢̱̺͖͋̄͌͊̊ͅṁ̸͉̜͙͖͍̓̍͗͝¥̶̨̠̜̮̜̑͑͗̎̌§̵̧̜͉̣̓́͛̇̓ͅḛ̸̠̲̝̤̂̓̎̓͌̈́ĺ̵̛̻̭͚̝̹̽͐̍£̵̠̫̲̹̬̍̊̾̍̕ ̴̧̭̘̞̀̀͋́̄͜†̵̨̰̠̫̖̎̋̃̂͘ð̴̨͍̭̤̙̄̑̎͝͠ ̴̯̟̟̖̜͒͂͌͒̉§̶̪̜̙͎͎́̒̍̾͝h̷̝̻̞̖̄̅̔̆̕͜µ̵̨̨̛̣̬͓̍̑͋́†̶̨̢̰̤͙̌̀̈̈́͆ ̴͔̟̻̫̐͊̓͑̉͜ĥ̴̢̯͔̯̈́̇̑͋͜ê̵̡̳̠͖̺͋͒͐̍̇r̸̝̘͍̙̂͑́̃͊ͅ w̷̸̼̠͓̟͍̣͓̪͚͊̈͗̉̄̊̍̍̇̀͜h̵̥͓͕̲͉̋̓͊́̈́ð̴̨̡͚̲̦̄̃̄̓͋r̸̖̲̮̮͐͌͑́̃ͅę̴͖͇͙̥̂̐͛͌͒̽ ṃ̷̨̱͈̭̀̃͂́͘ð̵̧̛͎̗̟̒̇̈̊ͅµ̴̨̛̖͈̱͈̑̋́̕†̵͚̝̜̟͍̔̈̀̈́̆h̵͚̞͔̗̖̀͒̀͛͘.̴̳̙̞̗̬͒́͆̂͂”
The sudden surge of static and shadow didn’t phase you, even as Alastor struggled to not shift into his demonic form—sharp cracks of green light appearing on the walls.
When you’d first found out about his…extracurricular activities, you had been afraid and confused, but now it was nothing more than background noise. He was still the man you fell in love with, still your husband, even if he occasionally killed and ate the degenerates of the world and anyone that pissed him off.
All things considered, you were just glad that you’d ended up in Hell with him, even if the things you'd had to do to ensure that were...distasteful.
You wrapped your arms around him, nestling your head into the crook of his neck. A luxury that no one else enjoyed but you.
“That does sound stressful. Is everything handled now, at least?”
“Yes,” he drawled, leaning back further into you, “unfortunately I was unable to get rid of the other l̷̡͈̼̘̩̾͌̉͝͠ï̸̗̭̝̥̺̈́̓̐̿̚†̴̢̡͕͖̹͌͌̋̈́͗†̸̢̣͖͚͔̓̌̉̾̐l̶̡̪͙͕͗͐̍́̕͜ę̴̡̦͕̜̂͋̏̅͘͝ ̵̰̥̩̺̪̀̋̉͑̍§̸̖̥̦̗͓̏̋̉̈́̃h̶͓͙̯͔͇̎̏̾̕̚ï̴̧̡̱̗̻̈́͗͆̃̀†̴̣̖̯̭͉̂͐͒̍̀§̵̧̡̹̼̹͒̿̍̋͠, as Charlie has taken a liking to them, but I trust that I got my point across.”
“Good.”
You pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.
“Now…when do I get to meet these ‘little shits’ that get on your nerves so often?” you teased, drawing an amused chuckle from him.
“Don’t even start, darling.”
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor x reader#devotion’s posts: fic stuff 🪻
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FREE USE WITH MIGUEL? LIKE ANYWHERE ANYTIME?
a/n: YES NONNIE, ANY--FUCKING--TIME. AND HERES ONE OF THOSE TIMES :^) idk if this is free-use or feral!reader or both. anyway, just enjoy it lol. like every time, this got away from me
special thanks to mona (@whatthefishh) for letting me scream this shit to her over discord + for helping me figure out exactly what 'free use' is lol
cw: smut (18+), free use kink, small very small bit of somnophilia (CAN'T ESCAPE IT), non-explicit oral (m-receiving), afab!reader, mentions of ovulation (+ period) horniness, fingering, cockwarming, fucking w/ multiple orgasms, the same Spanish pet name used over and over, reader is basically a bothersome cat, writer is so all over the place it's confusing.
wc: 2.4k (this was supposed to be a quick thot but wtvr)
---
miguel is a gracious boyfriend, he practically lives to please you. so when you approach him in the middle of the day with nothing but his shirt draped over your figure, he has a hard time rejecting your advances.
sure, he tries, but every time he gives you what he wants.
you're spoiled, really.
miguel works at home as much as possible. he hates having to leave you before the sun rises, walking away from a perfectly cozy bed and wet cunt (😳).
miguel convinces himself that Spider HQ can survive a day or two without him on site. he has several capable Spiders that do most of the heavy lifting for him and LYLA isn't afraid to take charge, sitting her holographic ass in the boss' chair.
he can set up mission plans and keep track of everything from his laptop, and he's always on call if he is needed for anything. the only issue is that working remotely doesn't work when he can't get anything done.
he's trying to go over notes from a meeting that was held earlier this morning.
he was supposed to be there, but you physically wouldn't let him out of bed. he swears you're a Spider yourself with the strength you have when you're especially needy and sleepy.
he smelled it when he woke up in the middle of the night to you mouthing over his boxers, that decadent sweetness that indicates you're ovulating.
you were desperate to get a taste of him, to fill that unbearable emptiness inside of you, whimpering with relief when you finally feel his fingers bury themselves in your hair to push your further against his bulge.
he learned early in your relationship that your insatiable appetite for him increases tenfold during your window of fertility (don't even mention your period). and so does your need for sleep. so he caters to your needs accordingly.
you passed out after convincing him to fuck the heat out of you, to snuff out the fire until your neediness recedes. apparently, the only time you aren't horny is when you're sleeping (though that isn't true... you wake up horny all the time??).
you've been sleeping soundly ever since, utterly exhausted by his thorough support, but he knows that once you wake up, you'll be crying for him again.
he crawled back into bed with you after telling LYLA to take over for the day, but after a few hours of almost suffocating because of the way you curl up on his chest like a cat, he got up to get some coffee and finish some computer work.
as soon as his warmth left you, you fussed. eyes still closed as you whined and moaned for his body. he shushed you, gently smoothing down your bedhead until you settled.
it didn't last for long.
you padded out of bed with bleary eyes, clearly looking for him when you walked into the living room. he offered you a quick "morning, cariño." before focusing back on his computer. he had to limit as much contact with you as possible if he wanted to finish his work.
just a few more pages and a couple of emails, and then he can give you all the attention you need.
his shirt brushes against your thigh like a summer dress as you make your way through the room.
he looked adorable with his loose white long sleeve on and black dad-glasses. his hair is still curly and fluffed, telling you he wasn't planning on leaving you anytime soon.
you shuffle over to the couch, sitting next to him with a sigh.
he doesn't react.
somehow, the minimal recognition that you're there, his adamant refusal to look at you, turns you on as much as it irritates you.
he's really trying his best to be a good boss, hm? trying to resist a temptation that's barely a foot away from him.
it makes you feel dirty and deprived. you blatantly rub your legs together, urging him to look. your gaze washes over his sharp jawline watching as it clenches at your soft coos.
"...baby."
"'m working, amor." his voice is still soft, despite the efforts he's taking to ignore you.
you huff.
"but--"
"not right now."
you scoot closer to him, strategically allowing the hem of his shirt to ride up on your thighs. so he's really going to make you do it...
you tug at his sleeve, taking his arm away from his work (though it doesn't look like he was working on much at all, he's been sitting on that exact page for 5 minutes now).
"not right now, mi vida..." he protests lightly, but he doesn't move away. he's not even trying, you think.
you smirk at his empty words. you can see the way he's looking at you: your messy hair, bare legs, the shadow of his shirt hiding away your most sensitive spot. his breathing grows heavier and so does his stare.
"i have work--" miguel is always so soft and sweet to you, melting in your hand though he has all the power to stop it.
"please, miguel? just one, for me?" his lips part as you place his hand against your bare thigh, slowly dragging it upwards until it meets your center.
he doesn't take his hand away, doesn't even pull back a single inch, instead, he instantly complies, cupping his warm hand over its entirety. he chokes out a low groan. you're not wearing anything underneath.
"ok, i guess if it's only once..." he whispers, already breathy. he's leaning over you, almost on top of you, forcing your legs to spread impossibly wide.
he watches as his finger rubs against your slick center, spreading your wetness until you're glistening for him under the late morning light. he pushes in slowly, so slowly, eyes flicking up to your face to witness the small o your mouth makes as he presses in deeper.
his mouth waters as he fingers you, he wishes he had enough time to go down on you, and taste your slick straight from the source. he knows how much you love it when he fucks you with his tongue and suckles on your clit. but no, he has work to do. he needs to get you off so he can finally focus.
"this what you needed, cariño?" it's all but growled into your space, his voice low and taunting. all you can do is nod with bleary eyes as your hands grip onto his thick bicep for support.
he adds another finger and thrusts them into you quicker, angling them just so his palm can gently nudge at your clit. he can feel you tightening around him already, fluttering with each pass that he makes against your g spot. he presses harder, drinking in your choked gasp and shaking thighs.
you're so wet, spilling over his fingers and dripping against his hand. the noises between you are deafening. a mixture of sopping thrusts, heavy breathing, and quiet mewls fill the still silence of the living room.
he's so good at this, too good at this.
how can he make you fall apart with just his hands, caress every sensitive nerve with a single stroke?
you're at the cusp of euphoria. your body, filled to the brim with pleasure, urges you to let go, to take what you want. but you don't want to. you want to stay at the edge forever with his hands on you, to be at the center of his affections, always just one breath away from transcendence.
you're not ready for him to stop touching you anytime soon, you realize. you still need it and after you'll need it again. you need him.
his glasses start sliding as he looks down at you, dropping until they're barely at the tip of his nose. he's focused, eyes locked on how he fills you again and again.
his fingers speed up, expertly aiming against that special spot inside of you. your hips rise from the couch, needing him as deep as possible. then it all falls apart.
you cry out, back arching and eyes rolling. your body is barely touching the couch under you and it feels like you're being lifted up by unknown forces as you reach your climax. white fills your vision and heat thrums through your limbs. you can't hide your one orgasm from him, it's too intense.
before you could recover, he slips his fingers out of you.
"alright, honey, we're done." he casually sucks your essence off of his fingers before propping his glasses back to the arch of his nose.
"ok, ok, i get it. you're busy." you pant, still pulsing from your high. and...he's already back to work. he wasn't kidding when he said he had stuff to do. "i'll just...be sitting here."
so you watch him get back to work, or you try to. the incessant scrolling, typing, reading, and muttering thoughts that accompany his work is usually enough to put you to sleep. it's an unusual lullaby that's attached to him. one that brings you the comfort of knowing he's near.
but he's hard.
he seems so relaxed, so content to work, but his erection presses so desperately against his sweats, outlined perfectly by the grey fabric.
so how could you not touch him? he clearly needs your help... and if he doesn't, then you need it.
you want to be good, you do, but when he types so effortlessly like that with the fingers that were just stuffed in your cunt, or when he looks over his dad-glasses to look at something like a hot fucking nerd, you can't help it.
it's been, what, 12 minutes? that's enough work for the day in your opinion.
you start slow, hesitantly, watching to make sure he's not looking at you (though he can clearly see you from his peripheral vision). you stand up on the couch right next to him. you're a bit unstable on the squishy cushions so you use his shoulder for support.
he looks over at you, confused as to why you decided to walk all over the furniture like a toddler.
you carefully maneuver over his arms to settle yourself on his lap. you're a koala around him, holding your torso to his, looping your arms around his neck and sharing your shimmering lustful body heat. he grunts when you scoot even closer to him, your bare pussy pressing entirely against his covered cock.
but he ignores it.
he doesn't say anything, barely even moves, and just continues to work. you pout a bit, but let him. you convince yourself that you're content with just sitting here and enjoying his company (despite the large distraction that pulses against your pussy, pressing so sweetly under your needy clit).
you listen to his steady heartbeat and slow breaths, the occasional sound of tapping keys. you nuzzle against the soft shirt that stretches over his chest. you're fine.
it's not like you're leaking all over his sweatpants, leaving a puddle at the apex of the fabric. you're not crying on the inside, so empty and fluttering around nothing. you're fine.
until you arent.
you lazily lift your hips above his, nearly head-butting his chin in the process. his arms lift to help you get settled, hands resting on your waist, as patient as ever.
you reach below you and he stiffens. he wasn't expecting you to--
your hand buries itself under his sweats, delicate fingers brushing over his erection. he breathes out your name when you squeeze him teasingly before pulling him out.
"what did i say?" he grunts, hand swiftly wrapping around your wrist. the words are lost on your ears as you caress the silky steel in your fist. it pulses at your touch. he needs this.
he says your name once more.
"you're working."
"then why are you trying to fuck me?!"
"i'm only going to sit on it." you give him an innocent look. you slowly lower yourself so your dripping center meets his before sliding your glistening lips over his hardness. "won't move or say a thing, promise!"
"cariño..."
"just wanna warm you, baby." you position him right against your entrance. "is that so wrong?" you lower yourself before he can say anything else.
you take him easily with how wet you are, and he fills you perfectly. he sucks in a breath at the feeling then growls out, "don't move."
well, you do move (is anyone surprised). you move a lot. but he moves too. harsher and more competitive. who the hell fucks competitively?
you moan over him, bouncing on his cock eagerly. his hands hold your waist, guiding your movements just how he likes it: fast and hard. his laptop, somewhere on the other side of the couch, is forgotten and probably long dead by now. so much for working at home.
you've cum at least four times already, but who's keeping count (you're not. you're so fucked out, you have to manually breathe now.)
he won't let up anymore. you asked for it and you're getting it.
"do i gotta fuck you to sleep, hm? is that the only way you'll leave me the fuck alone and let me work?"
you only admit now that you're eyes were definitely bigger than your stomach. you're practically drooling as he takes control once again, snapping his hips from under you, harsh and punishing. as if this is a punishment.
he has to carry you back to bed that afternoon. he couldn't just leave you on the couch, naked and shivering. plus you'd be a distraction with your bruised hips and fucked out cunt.
you murmur adorably in your sleep as your body unconsciously nuzzles further into his arms. he places you lovingly on the bed and you immediately curl up. he sighs, brushing your hair out of your face because he knows how much you hate it when it gets in your eyes or tickles at your nose during the night.
you look so cozy and comfortable. but so alone in this huge bed.
he debates laying down with you, only until you're in a deeper sleep.
maybe just a few minutes?
LYLA had a few choice words when he woke up in the morning....
#anon#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#atsv#2099
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❛ if you die, i'll kill you. ❜“i cant live without you” “don’t die on me, we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet” “i lied i never hated you”
eddie x reader enemies to lovers 🥹🥹
pls enjoy this absolute heartache of a fic :D — you and eddie hate each other until he almost dies (angst, enemies to lovers, cw for mentions of gore, 1.1k)
“Wanna make out?” Eddie had asked you, some hours ago now, when you first arrived at the Upside Down version of Skull Rock. You’d just narrowly survived a gang of demobats, and the stale air smelled distinctly of copper pennies. He managed a smug smile anyway. “I mean, we might as well. Looks like we’re gonna die out here, anyway.”
You scoffed and rolled your tired eyes. The annoyance you felt for him then momentarily distracted you from the fear swirling in the pit of your stomach. “I’d rather,” you’d quipped.
You feel a little like you’ve prophesized something now.
Eddie bleeds out in your arms with a hundred little bites on his stomach that were supposed to be yours. He’d distracted the circling demobats when you twisted your ankle, too hurt to run away. And now he’s dying. And it’s all your goddamn fault.
You sit with him while Dustin rushes into the Creel House, in search of help from the older crew. You watch him attentively over your shoulder until he disappears behind the rotted front door. When you turn back to Eddie, you find his eyes have fluttered shut.
“Eddie—” you call for him, clearing your throat when it comes out garbled. “Eddie! Hey!”
“Hm…” he hums tiredly in response, eyes still shut.
You sigh with the subtle relief that he’s not dead. The breath catches in your chest. You try to fight away the panic attack clawing behind your ribcage, even though it makes everything around you seem more and more distant. You try to stay as present as you can despite the horrors swimming all around you — for Eddie The Freak Munson.
“You have to stay awake,” you tell him, voice thick with emotion. “Open your eyes.”
“I’m just… I feel a little tired right now,” he mumbles, slurring slightly.
Your chest wrenches. He’s getting paler and paler by the minute. The tourniquet you made from the bottom half of your shirt is now soaked with deep red blood. Panic burns a wildfire in your chest because you’ve done everything you could think to do.
You can’t lose him. That’s all you’re telling yourself now. You can’t lose him, you can’t lose him, you can’t lose him.
“I don’t care. Keep your eyes open, alright?” Your heart wrenches again, with something short of hope this time, when Eddie’s eyes flutter open. They’re glassy and dilated, but the deep chocolate of them hasn’t changed. You muster a small smile. “There you go, Eds. There you go— Now, just keep talking to me, okay? Keep talking.”
“I’m tired,” he mutters under his breath, too weak to do anything more.
Your face screws together as you choke back a sob. You swallow down every instinct to cry. You’ll cry when this is over, you tell yourself, when Eddie’s safe and back in Hawkins.
“I know, Eddie. I know,” you babble through stinging tears. “But you gotta— you gotta keep talking, alright? It’ll help you stay awake. And I need you to… I need you to stay awake for me, okay?”
He nods. At least, you think he’s nodding, because the movement is terribly faint.
His eyes fall shut again. You feel the loss of his melted chocolate gaze like a stab in the chest. Your hand grips his jaw, a little less than gentle.
“Eddie,” you bite through gritted teeth.
“Mm…”
“If you die, I swear to god, I will fucking kill you.”
The familiarity of your aggression reminds him of home. He opens his eyes and cracks a small, barely-there smile. Blood glistens on his mouth. “I thought you hated me?” he slurs in an inaudible mumble.
“I do,” you tell him without thinking twice, laughing through the sob in your throat. “But I’ll love the shit outta you if we make it out of here together.”
Together, you say, because either both of you make it out or neither of you do.
His grin widens softly, chapped and lopsided. “Metal,” he murmurs.
A whimper sounds in your throat when his eyes flutter shut again. “Eddie…”
“‘M sorry, sweetheart,” he whispers, breathing sharply through his nose.
It’s getting harder and harder for him to breathe. You can tell by the harsh rise and fall of his chest. There’s little oxygen getting to his brain, accompanied by the weeping bites on his stomach— where the fuck is Dustin Henderson?
“I don’t know if I…. If I’m gonna make it outta here, babe…”
Your chest tightens. He only ever called you babe to piss you off. You wonder if he’s still being the annoying asshole you knew back home or if the term of endearment is too engrained in his head.
“Don’t say that.”
“If I don’t—”
“Eddie.”
“If I don’t make it out,” he repeats, sterner this time. He drags a sharp breath in and opens his eyes, just barely. “I want you to know that I never… I never hated you… ‘M just a liar… And a total fucking coward…”
“You can make it up to me when we get back home, okay? You just gotta stay awake.”
His lip quirks into a faint, crooked smile. “I’ve been dyin’ to kiss you since ninth grade… Did you know that?”
“I know,” you nod with an emotional laugh.
“I did make it kinda obvious, didn’t I?”
“You can kiss me when you get better. I swear.”
Eddie nods. You feel him grow heavier and heavier in your arms. His smug smile starts to fade, and you panic. “Eddie? Eddie, don’t— don’t die on me, okay? Please. We haven’t— We haven’t gotten to the good part yet, asshole. You have to stay awake.”
You shift him in your arms, trying to sit him up more when he slumps. He does little to fight you. He doesn’t have the strength to anymore.
“‘M sorry, babe,” you hear him whisper.
“No— No, don’t— Don’t fucking say that,” you scold bitterly, less angry at him and more at the rest of the world. It should’ve been you lying here, after all, not him. You’d trade places in a heartbeat if you could. “You can’t die, you asshole! How am I supposed to— fucking— keep going without you annoying the living shit outta me?”
“Henderson’ll annoy you for the both of us,” he manages to joke as life spills from the weeping wounds on his stomach.
“Fuck that. It’s not the same— I need you, Eddie. I need you, okay? I can’t— I can’t fucking live without you,” you cry over his pale, bloodied body.
You hear yelling and a set of rushed footsteps. “Eddie!” Dustin calls as he dashes down the decrepit porch steps of the old home — with Steve, Nancy, and Robin following close behind.
The sight of them makes you sigh. Your chest starts to sparkle with a hope you’d thought you lost — damn near aching when Eddie’s glassy eyes flutter open once more.
The fucker grins weakly up at you. “I knew you had a crush on me, babe.”
#published by bug#eddie munson x reader#stranger things x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson imagine#stranger things imagine#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#st drabbles#eddie spaghetti
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could you do a plug! eren x reader where eren gets super overprotective 🩷
yesss ofc! im sorry this took a while i just had to get some damn motivation 😭 i been slacking.. my bad pookies!
his hands stayed wrapped around your waist as you walked through the mall, he promised to take you on a shopping spree. and right now the only thing you really needed were shoes— so foot locker it was.
it was like eren could sense all the stares you were getting, in his eyes those tiny ass the shorts you wore barely covered up anything.. (he was just being dramatic, the shorts weren’t that tiny but he still hated them.) he made a mental note to toss the shorts out as soon as you two made it home.
he tried getting you to change before you guys even arrived at the mall, but of course you weren’t going to listen to him— you never did. that’s one of the characteristics he loved about you but that didn’t make it any less annoying.
when you finally reached the famous shoe store, you couldn’t hide your excitement. you’d always been a sneaker head after all, always having the newest pair of dunks or jordan’s, a lot of people envied you because of it honestly, but oh well.
you couldn’t resist snatching out of eren’s hold and practically running towards the shoes on display. the dunks that you’d been wanting for months finally dropped, and you just had to get them before they sold out.
“ma you know how i feel ‘bout you walkin’ off on your own,” he made his way back over to you, annoyance evident on his face. eren hated when you did this, he wanted(needed) to be by your side at all times. why couldn’t you understand that?
“im sorry babyyy, i just really need to check if they have my size!” you bent over to take the shoe off the rack— completely forgetting that your shorts were the type to rise up when you did so.
you didn’t think too much about it and stayed in your current position— throughly inspecting the shoe. the color looked better online but shit, it was still cute.
eren eventually got tired of standing, he knew how you got when it came to shoes. he’d be standing there for a whole damn hour fucking with you, so he just sat down on one of the benches used to try on shoes.
he always got so bored coming to stores with you because you always tuned him out and wandered off on your own. you were addicting to shopping and even more addicted to shoes.. the only thing he could do was sit down and go on his phone, since you’d clearly be taking forever.
you were so focused on the baby blue shoes that you hardly even noticed anyone’s presence behind you, turns out one of the workers had been eyeing you for quite a while now.. waiting for his chance to make a move. your beauty caught him off guard and he knew he couldn’t let a fine thing like you just walk away.
“hello welcome, did you need help with- oh god damn..”
that was enough to finally get eren’s attention off his phone as his eyes snapped towards the scrawny dude licking his lips— enjoying the sight of your shorts working against you.
with a low chuckle your man stood from his seat, slowly inching towards you to make his presence known. he snatched you by your waist— easily causing your form to straighten out. he took his eyes off you for one second and you’re bent over with them little ass shorts on?
he had half a mind to just fuck you right here and now to let all these muh’ fucka’s know who you belong to, but luckily he had enough self restraint.
“i’ll kill you right now man, ion even play like that. better walk yo’ ass on somewhere,” eren slightly lifted his black tee— flashing his gun that was strapped on his waist. he roughly yanked you behind him so the fucker wouldn’t dare to look at you again, and the only thing you could do was let him.
not that you would’ve resited anyway, you loved when eren got aggressive like this (not that you’d ever admit it).
“o-oh that’s you? i apologize i didn’t-“
“’fuck up talkin’ to me yo, you got five seconds to walk away before i put a bullet in you.” one death glare from eren was enough to send the worker running off in fear.
you stayed silent because you knew better than to say anything when he got like this, you were in for it once you got back home.. that’s for sure.
“fuck those shoes, we’re leaving. and as soon as we get in the car i want them shorts off,”
#malora’s works!#req’s 💋#inbox answered <3#whewww let me know how i did yall idk how i feel about this#yes this is black/chubby reader but anyone can read#black y/n#chubby reader#black reader#aot x black reader#plug!eren x black reader#plug!eren x chubby reader#plug!eren#plug!eren x reader#aot x reader#aot x chubby reader#aot fluff#aot smut#eren jaeger smut#eren jaeger x black reader#eren jaeger x reader
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"𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪." | dark!jackson rippner x reader
(I'm sorry but also no I'm not because wes craven knew exactly what he was doing when he put that line in the movie... he fucking knew...)
𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | after following you for weeks as part of his job, jackson got a few ideas in his head about making you his, but finding out you had a boyfriend meant he needed to change his approach.
𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 | just under 9k (wow what the actual fuck)
𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | DARK NONCON SMUT (18+ only, don't keep reading if you're not physically or emotionally mature enough to manage your own content consumption please and thank you), knife kink, stalking, forced exhibitionism, forced infidelity, humiliation, vaginal and anal sex (whoops), pain kink/painal, ass to pussy (god this fic is disgusting lmao), hair pulling, brief breeding kink/forced breeding, some angst but really it's just filth
once again, this is a dark character being dark and I don't wanna hear y'all acting brand new about it so no hate please. that said, if you do enjoy this (which I very much hope you do) please consider reblogging to support my work :) comments are especially appreciated and literally make me so so happy!!
Following you was just part of the job— and Jackson did not like his job mixing with his personal life.
The problem was, he hadn’t had much of a personal life lately. No time for it; one or two hook-ups, women he met in bars, but that’s it. And believe it or not, he wanted more than that. Nobody would accuse Jackson of being sentimental— not really an attitude you can have when you organize illegal weapons sales and political assassinations— but he wasn’t made of stone. He wanted to be able to share at least part of his life with someone… or, you know, have a nice set of legs waiting for him at home that he could get between every night. Either, or both, would do.
It was an unfortunate coincidence that his realization that he wanted a girlfriend, or at the very least a plaything of his own, came right around the same time that he started to follow you. He was only doing it to pick up on your habits, figure out a way to get to you so he could blackmail you into being his inside man for his next job. It was supposed to be pretty simple: you were a museum events coordinator in charge of an upcoming lecture series which would feature a speech from a Bolivian presidential candidate who was unfortunately unfriendly to cartels. The American government not only endorsed him, but had him under incredibly tight security. This speaking event was going to be a rare chance to get to him in a public space without metal detectors, and Jackson was being compensated generously to ensure your museum would let a few extra attendees in the back.
But see, the Bolivian presidential election was the last thing on Jackson’s mind as he watched you through your window. His eyes drifted all over you, mesmerized by the way you prepared yourself for your day— styling your hair in the mirror, smoothing the wrinkles in your white button-up, pulling those stockings up your thighs…
He caught himself biting his lip and shook it off, straightening up in the driver’s seat of his car; he knew he should probably leave then, beat you to your work and then wander into the museum to feign interest in a few artifacts before striking up a conversation. But he loitered a bit longer, letting himself imagine how quickly he could rip off those clothes you were so thoughtfully dressing yourself with.
Eventually, he managed to pull his attention away from you and start the car, sighing as he tried to remember his plan of attack for ‘accidentally’ meeting you later today.
~
The museum might’ve been interesting, if he wasn’t so distracted by you. He was loitering, hands in his pockets, pretending to look at the paintings and artifacts as he waited for you to be near enough to strike up an innocuous conversation with. Early in the day, he saw you give a tour to a couple considering the museum for a wedding location, but kept his distance— it could be a while before you were available and he didn't want you to notice him yet, or he'd have to justify having been in the museum all day by himself.
For the first time since he’d started this job, Jackson felt slightly nervous to speak to you. It was always a big step, going from following someone to actually approaching them, but usually it didn’t give him any specific emotional reaction. Sure, he might feel a certain amount of pressure to do this correctly lest he blow the whole thing by tipping off his target, but he never was worried something would go wrong. This time, though, he felt his heart picking up every time he glanced at you from across the museum, closer to you than he’d ever been. His palms were even a bit clammy when he saw you walk by and realized this was the moment he needed to strike. God, did he really have a crush? How pathetic… but he couldn’t worry about that now, he was about to lose his chance as you brushed by him quickly.
"Miss?" he got your attention, gently touching your shoulder through your shirt as you passed by; you seemed a little startled by the physicality, yes, but not exactly offended.
"Oh, um— can I help you?" you said. He’d heard you speak before, on the wiretap and all, but it was a little different in person like this— and directed at him.
"I was gonna ask you about this sculpture, if you didn't mind," he explained with a gentle smile.
"Oh, well, one of our dosants would love to talk to you about our collection—" you began, starting to look for the closest staff member designated to help him, but he interrupted.
"So, you don't know anything about the stuff here?"
Your attention moved back to him and you smiled to hide your obvious defensiveness. "No, I do," you assured, "I actually am uniquely equipped to tell you about this sculpture: I studied Incan art specifically during my master's program."
He gave his best 'quietly impressed' face and nodded; he knew he could get you with that, you had kind of a know-it-all thing going on, which he happened to find annoyingly attractive. "Alright, then tell me about it," he challenged.
"Well," you sighed, crossing your arms as you looked at the piece, "we got this one a few years ago, it's actually a ceremonial vessel— there’s the llama head and the bird on this side here, those were both animals with a lot of cultural significance…”
As you pointed out elements of the vessel, he leaned in ostensibly to look at where you were gesturing— but it was all an excuse to get close to you, warm you up to him.
“They would’ve used this to pour essentially a form of beer on the ground,” you continued, “in hopes of increasing the strength of the crops and fertility."
"Fascinating," he smiled at you, and you didn’t back away when he stood closer. Like fish in a barrel. "How old is it?"
"It's estimated to be about four or five hundred years old,” you explained.
"Wow," he nodded, looking at the stone carving behind the glass again. "It's interesting to me that humans have always made art— and always been superstitious. Though I have to be honest, if I was living before the invention of birth control I don't think I'd be praying for fertility."
You smirked a little, and he hoped he hadn't gone too far— but it was fun to look at you and know what you must be thinking about. He could only hope that you were thinking about it with him in mind.
“Jackson, by the way,” he introduced himself, “my name’s Jackson. It feels unfair that you’ve gotta wear the nametag and I get to be anonymous.”
You laughed a little, glancing down at the silver nametag on your blazer and then back up at him. “Fair enough; welcome to our museum, Jackson.”
“So, wait,” he tilted his head, “forgive the late reaction here, but— if you’ve got a master’s degree of that caliber, how’d you end up as an event planner?”
“Well, believe it or not, the position does require historical knowledge,” you explained. “I started in curation, though— just moved to events because I was too cooped up in the back offices… I like meeting new people.”
Although Jackson would never consider himself particularly empathetic, he did think he had a decent sense of people— specifically, when they were lying. And that felt like a lie— a white lie, maybe, but still. A lie you were telling yourself most of all, that this was what you wanted to do. And it wasn’t that he really thought you disliked your job, moreso that his two weeks of following you did not indicate you harbored a strong desire to meet new people. You were a total homebody: rejecting offers to go out for drinks or dinner from friends and coworkers, staying up late watching TV instead of hitting the town or something, shrinking into your room every night and staying there until it was time to go to work again. He’d only seen you leave your house once that first weekend, and it was to pick up groceries— that’s it. No hot date, no concerts… almost no social life at all. Either you stayed late at the museum, or you went home.
And he also found that annoyingly attractive. Jackson, after all, was a workaholic himself; he imagined he would go out and do fun things, if he had the time, but right now nothing sounded better than going home and cuddling up with a sweet girl like you, being lazy couch potatoes together, resting after a long day of espionage, cyberterrorism, actual terrorism, and whatever else his work day got him up to.
….Jesus, when did he get so goddamn sentimental?!
“It certainly seems like a unique job,” Jackson replied.
“Every day’s a little different,” you agreed.
“Sounds like my job,” he snorted, “but I don’t work with other people much— I think it would be more entertaining with other people around. Especially when they can tell me everything there is to know about Incan art.”
“Okay, I don’t know everything,” you backpedaled, not seeming to really notice the larger sentiment of his statement, “but I can certainly hold my own. I like to think we all have something we know a little too much about, and could ramble for ages about.”
“Yeah, I hope so, or we’re just weirdos,” he chuckled. “For me it’s probably cocktails. I’m not an alcoholic or anything— I actually don’t drink that much, just socially, you know— but I have this thing where I can guess anybody’s favorite drink order.”
“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” he smirked, “but hold on, I can’t guess yours until I really get the vibes.”
“Oh,” you nodded, “yeah— vibes, sure.”
“Hmm,” he pondered, narrowing his eyes as he looked you up and down, biting his lip like he was really thinking about it.
Here was the hard part: he really hadn’t seen you go out for drinks this whole time, so he was actually going to have to guess. Of course, the fun part of this game was not actually getting it right— if anything, it worked better when he got corrected. All he really needed was to get you alone long enough to tell you who he really was, what he needed from you, and how he was going to motivate you to do it… but if he could actually seduce you first, that would be a hell of a bonus.
“I’m thinking something a little sweet, not too fruity though,” he thought aloud, “something classic— you have an old soul, I think.”
You seemed to be a little surprised by that analysis, but he figured that meant he was mostly right.
“Your cocktail of choice is, obviously, a sidecar,” he announced.
For a second, he thought he might have got it from the way you smiled, but then you started to laugh. “You were on the right track,” you admitted.
“Damn,” he snapped his fingers in playful frustration. After a pause, he realized, “you’re not gonna tell me?”
“I figured I’d give you another guess,” you explained.
“Or,” Jackson countered, “I could take you out tonight, and you could show me yourself. Your drink order, I mean.”
Alright, that was forward, but he figured he’d been doing well so far. Instead, though, you tensed up a bit, causing Jackson to knit his eyebrows together for a moment. “I would, really, but, I have plans tonight… with my boyfriend,” you said.
He swallowed behind a barely-suppressed frown. Following you for all this time and he hadn’t noticed any boyfriend; were you lying just to get him to back off? You’d seemed so flattered before. “Oh?” Jackson tried to get out in his most neutral voice. “That’s great— is he taking you somewhere nice?
“Even better,” you blinked quickly, a shy smile lifting your face. “He works here at the museum, but he’s been gone almost an entire month to pick up some artifacts from around Eastern Europe… hasn’t even been able to use a phone out there. So he’s promised to come over and give me a first look at everything he got, and apparently he’s brought something just for me, so…”
“That’s sweet,” Jackson replied, willing his nostrils not to twitch. “Nice to know he was thinking of you all the way over there. I travel a lot for my work, actually, and it’s… hard to find somebody loyal these days.”
You nodded in agreement, sighing slightly. “Yeah, it is.”
“I mean, gone for a month, no communication, no reminders of you— just out there surrounded by opportunities and nothing keeping him from them,” Jackson went on. “That’s a lot to get through without at least one drunken encounter.”
You furrowed your brow, looking at him with a sort of grimace. “I… I guess,” you mumbled in reply. “I do have a lot of work to get done so I think I’ll just let you explore,” you decided.
“What if I have more questions about the pieces?” he asked.
“Try reading the little plaque underneath it,” you suggested flatly, already turning and walking away.
Jackson watched to leave for a second before scoffing to himself. Bitch. But it didn’t make a difference anyways: one way or another, he was going to get to you— for the sake of the job, of course. Although this boyfriend character was certainly a spanner in the works of his secondary plan to get you in bed, Jackson had to admit that he was ultimately an advantage for his actual purpose with you: an attachment, something he could exploit to get what he wanted. Do what I say, or he gets hurt.
Of course, he knew he should use that to make you be his inside man for that stupid lecture series— he wasn’t going to get the second half of his payoff until the cartel had their chance to make an example out of the visiting politician. But, as a small smile crept over his face while he walked out of the museum, he realized that he could use his leverage for so much more than that.
~
The door was unlocked when you got home; beaming, you realized it meant that your boyfriend beat you here, and was likely waiting for you just around the corner.
“Babe?” you called out, shutting the door behind you and shirking your purse and blazer to set down on the wooden credenza.
And yes, he was waiting for you around the corner alright, but you gasped in shock and felt your stomach sink when you saw him. He was bound to a chair with zipties, restrained at his wrists and ankles with tape over his mouth, looking a bit roughed up and absolutely terrified.
“Oh my god!” you gasped, running to him, but he oddly seemed to pull away from you as much as he could when you tried to break one of the ties. “What the fuck, what’s— oh my god, are you—?” you rushed, not even knowing where to start and just focusing on freeing him. But he just kept letting out muffled grunts and shaking his head— like he didn’t want you to keep going. Of course, you’d been so shocked by it that you hadn’t even considered why he looked so scared, why he seemed to want you to get away from him: whoever did this was still in the house.
It seemed obvious in retrospect, but it was too late now; you screamed when someone grabbed you, but the sound was muted by a hand over your mouth. “Shh,” a voice beside your ear soothed as a blade pressed to your neck. “Nobody’s going to get hurt if you behave.”
Your boyfriend hung his head defeatedly, and you thought you heard the sound of him crying though it was hard to tell.
“You missed him quite a lot, didn’t you?” the man asked, and you wrinkled your brows together as you wondered how he could’ve known that he was gone for a while. “Left you all alone here, poor thing— probably got all worked up, lonely, needy… like three nights ago, when I saw you through your bedroom window, touching yourself."
Your face burned with humiliation— not even that he saw you doing that, really, but just knowing he'd been watching you for god-knows how long. That made you feel more violated than anything.
“Wanted to help you so bad,” he purred, “but I had to wait. I’m not waiting anymore— you’ve got me feeling pretty fucking impatient these days.”
You kept thinking about what you could do to get him away from you— his feet were just behind yours, you could stomp on his shoe and hope it hurt enough to distract him, or maybe you could wrench your elbow back into his side— but with the knife at your throat, you were afraid that he’d be faster than you if you tried anything. “Please just— don’t hurt me, please,” you begged, whimpering a little, not sure what else to say at a time like this.
“Oh, honey,” he cooed, “you sound so sweet when you’re scared.”
It was the way he said that word: sweet. It reminded you of before, something you’d done your best to forget about all day. Something a little sweet, not too fruity— that weird guy at the museum, he’d said it just like that. “Oh my god,” you breathed, “it’s— it’s you.”
“You remember my name, don’t you?” he smiled.
“Jackson,” you recalled, “you— oh my god—”
“I’m sure you’re a little relieved,” he chuckled, addressing your boyfriend with a grin as you turned your head enough to look up at his semi-familiar face. “She was so into me when we met today at the museum,” Jackson informed him proudly. “You wanted me to fuck you then, didn’t you, baby?”
“No I fucking di—” you began to deny with a sneer, but he quieted you with a finger over your mouth— of course, a finger from the hand still holding the knife, to remind you exactly why you should stop talking.
“Now, try anything, I might just have to hurt you— or, better yet, your shitstain boyfriend over there,” Jackson warned. “I’m just waiting for an excuse to break a few of his fingers. Don’t give me one.”
Swallowing, you shut your eyes for a longer moment— you couldn’t believe this was actually happening, like one of those horrific news articles you read before bed just to torture yourself. Like one of those horror movies guys think are campy and fun but give you the most awful sick feeling because that could really happen. And now it was really happening, and your first thought was somehow to wonder what you did wrong to let this happen.
“So, are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, tilting his head down to look at you questioningly.
You nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied.
“Say it.”
“Yes,” you answered quickly, and he snarled with frustration.
“No, baby, say it like I said it,” he insisted, his tone a warning not to test him again.
“I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be a good girl…” you choked out.
“Whose good girl?” he taunted, and you groaned as you shut your eyes, feeling him pull you closer to him and press his face close to yours.
“Yours! Your good girl,” you spat out, breath picking up as you heard him purr against your cheek. “Jackson— please, you don’t… you don’t have to do this. Please don’t do this.”
You shivered as the knife pressed against you again and moved from your neck down to your shirt, gently slicing off the top button and exposing a little more of your chest. “Mm, but I want to,” he explained, “wanted you since I first saw you.”
You hated the realization that he likely first saw you quite some time ago, before you ever knew he existed, and that he’d been waiting for this ever since then.
“I think it turns you on, knowing I can do whatever I want to you,” he presumed, cutting off a second button from your shirt.
“Please just go,” you begged, starting to properly cry as his teeth grazed your neck. “You’re right— you can do whatever you want. I can’t stop you. Isn’t that what you wanted to prove? Just… just don’t make me—”
“Make you?” he repeated. “No, no— you wanted me. I could tell. Only thing stopping you was him.”
He pointed towards your boyfriend with the knife in his hand, who looked devastated and horrified to say the least.
“You could do better, by the way,” Jackson informed you. “You should be with somebody who can really treat you right.”
Another button fell to the floor; your bra was visible now, baby pink lace, and your nipples hardened from the cool air on your skin— that, and the way Jackson’s breath fanned across the nape of your neck.
“Are you getting wet for me, baby?” he whispered to you as his knife trailed delicately over your skin, tracing the curve of your breasts. “Think it’s time for me to finally give you what you need?”
You took a deep, but shaky, breath as you tried to put on a brave face and brace for what was to come. “My… my bedroom is upstairs,” you whispered, and Jackson laughed in a way that made your skin crawl.
“Oh, eager already,” he taunted.
“I just wanna get this over with,” you insisted.
“Sure,” he said facetiously with a mischievous smirk and a wink to match; you felt like you were gonna be sick. “But bedrooms are a little, you know… basic? That’s probably what you’re used to, real traditional stuff: missionary, in the bed, in the dark, for a few minutes on weekends only. That’s the vibe I’m getting, at least. You’re not used to being with somebody romantic— you know, spontaneous.”
He turned you around to face him, making you yelp a little as he spoke by your ear.
“Somebody who just has to have you; right here, right now,” he cooed, running his tongue along the outside of your ear before suddenly kissing roughly along your neck.
“N-no, please,” you begged, imagining the humiliation you were in store for if he really did fuck you on your living room floor in front of the man you loved. “Please, I— I said I’ll be good for you, just— take me to my room, please.”
"No, baby,” Jackson purred as he held your chin, “let’s show your little boyfriend here what you look like when a real man fucks you, huh?"
Whining, you jerked your arms forward to try to break away, but it only ensured the bruises his fingers would leave on your skin.
A second later, you were shoved to the ground, and he was on top of you wearing a wide grin. You could hear your boyfriend kicking and screaming in the corner, but your attention was more focused on Jackson starting to open his belt.
"Fuck! Get the fuck off of me!" you yelped, kicking and shoving as hard as you could and finding each one more helpless than the last. "You— you fucking piece of shit!"
He smacked you across the face only to pull it back harshly by the jaw, glaring into your eyes. "Better be careful with that dirty mouth," he warned, shoving two fingers between your lips until you gagged on them. "Don't need to wash that out with soap, do we?"
As you choked, you shook your head, hoping it would be enough of an apology to get you some air.
"How about come?" he joked, making you gag for more than one reason, and he laughed at the tears that rolled down your temples.
He took his fingers out of your mouth and reached down to his fly again, letting out a small satisfied sigh as he freed himself. You sobbed a little when you accidentally caught a glimpse of his erection in his hand; he grunted when you tried to push him off again, and responded by grabbing both your wrists and pinning them down above your head. He hummed as he stroked himself a bit, looking down at you trapped under him.
“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me,” he recalled, chuckling when you bit your shaking lip. “You sure you don’t need me to hurt Romeo over there, give you a little motivation?”
You shook your head. “No— I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say. Don’t hurt him.”
“Open your legs,” he ordered.
Hesitantly, you lifted your legs up a bit and spread them, cringing at the happy groan you heard when your skirt started to roll up your thighs.
“Don’t move your hands,” he warned before he let go of them, leaning back and looking down at you: spread out under him, his for the taking.
He snapped off the last few buttons of your shirt, humming when your torso was exposed further. His hand started at your neck and ran down to grope your chest through the lacy bra; he purred, pinching your hardened nipples until you were forced to react.
Pulling it down, he took a quick breath at the sight of your bare tits— his chest rising and falling— and he set his knife aside to knead them both with a hum. "Been thinking about these for a while…" he mumbled. You gasped when he leaned down and captured a nipple in his mouth, suckling with a wide mouth as you scrunched your nose and looked away. Still, it made your insides pulse when he swirled his tongue around, only to pop off a second later and move to the other. "Damn," he breathed, leaning back again to move his attention lower.
Starting at your knees, he rubbed your legs carefully, moving a little higher every time until he was gripping needily at your thighs; his own breathing was a little faster as he did it.
You hadn't exactly imagined how this would be, obviously, but you still were surprised at how long he was taking. Was he just trying to build up the anticipation to scare you? Or was it for his own benefit?
He was gentle for just a few seconds before suddenly flaring his nostrils and ripping your stockings open. Through the new hole in the fabric, he rubbed your panties and you bit down on your tongue to avoid crying any harder.
“Fuck,” he breathed, then laughed, as he pet your cunt through the lace— they matched your bra, of course. Your boyfriend was coming back from a long trip, you’d wanted to do something nice for him… that idea backfired completely. “All dressed up, matching and everything… you’re too good to me, babydoll.”
You were about to correct him, make sure both of them knew that this had nothing to do with Jackson, but your open mouth only let out a gasp when Jackson pulled your panties aside to touch you.
“Oh, baby,” he groaned when he slid two fingers between your lips. “So wet. Fuck. When’d you get like that, huh? Hmm, it was the knife, wasn’t it?”
He looked over at your boyfriend and gave him a terribly smug look while he slipped a finger inside your hole.
“Women like a sense of danger,” he informed the tied man flatly. “But… I think your girl likes it even more than most.”
You flexed on his finger, turning his attention back to you, and he licked his lips as he slipped another finger in until you winced.
“That’s too much for you already, baby?” he noticed. “Fuck, I might break you…”
He curled the fingers inside you, clearly trying to get you warmed up for him, and you shut your eyes tight in hopes your face wouldn’t show any reaction. There was a sense of relief when he stopped and pulled his fingers out, but it didn’t last long since the next thing he did was grab your jaw and press those fingers to your lips.
“Ever tasted yourself before?” he asked, and you tried to turn your face away but it was useless. “Come on, it’s good, I’ll show you.”
He licked his own fingers first, moaning in satisfaction as he did it.
“Fuck, it’s sweet,” he promised. “Now you try it.”
This time, when he put his fingers to your mouth, you opened it and let him push them inside. He slid them over your tongue, watching you with dark eyes.
“Suck them,” he instructed you quietly, almost a whisper, and though your cheeks burned you wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks. “Mm, that’s it— see, you can be a good girl. Knew you could.”
You were panting a little, for some reason, when he took his fingers away, leaving your mouth slack and wet. He brought his hands down to his fly to finish freeing his cock, and you looked up, to the side, basically anywhere but at… that.
“Look at it,” he encouraged you, and you shook your head. “Don’t you wanna see it before I put it inside you?”
You figured you could get him to shut up if you just did it, so you went ahead and took a glance down at his erection in his hand, only for a terrified whimper to catch in your throat.
“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he grinned. “Trying to remember the last time you had a dick this big, right?”
Trying to figure out how that’s supposed to fit.
“Get on your hands and knees for me,” he demanded suddenly, sitting back enough to get you room to do it.
You hesitated, and he suddenly looked angry as he grabbed your wrist and yanked you up a bit until you yelped.
“Go on! Hands and fucking knees, did I stutter?” he ordered, louder.
You were a little sore and weak all over, and it became even more apparent when you awkwardly got up off the floor; you avoided your boyfriend’s gaze as you took the position, opting to just stare down at the rug under you instead, suddenly fascinated by every detail in hopes it could somehow distract you from this. From the feeling of him delicately pushing your skirt up over your ass and his hands all over you, from the way he pushed your knees apart with his own and settled between them, from the sick drop in your stomach as his cock’s head rubbed over your clit and lined up to your opening. Yes, it sure was a riveting pattern on this rug alright…
But, of course, Jackson wouldn’t let you get through this that easily. “Beg for it,” you heard his firm voice from behind you.
“Jackson, come on, I—” you choked, “I— just—”
“It’s okay, babydoll, go on…” he egged you on, as if shyness was the reason you were hesitating.
“Please…” you began, shutting your eyes tightly. “Please fuck me.”
You tried not to react too much when he pushed inside, but it was big, and he himself let out a husky groan at the feeling as he filled you. You managed to stay silent at first, but a little squeak came out halfway through, and it turned into a loud sigh when he was all the way inside. “Fuck,” he breathed, dropping his head back with a breathy laugh. “Fuck, it’s tight. Guess that’s what happens when nobody’s here to treat you right— and I don’t just mean because he was out of town. I can tell nobody’s given you what you need in a long time…”
Before you could wonder what could possibly make him capable of telling that, he took a tight hold of your hips and began to fuck you— slower than you expected, but not quite delicate.
Shaking, you tried to keep yourself propped up on your wobbly arms as he set his pace, and tried to keep yourself quiet while he did this. The last thing he needed was any more reasons to think you liked this.
Still, you couldn’t fight the whimper that came when he suddenly slammed himself into you, rougher than before; your thighs even quivered for a moment. “Fuck,” you choked out, under your breath, and he hummed back at you as he sped up a little.
“Not too deep, is it?” he asked, though it didn’t seem like he was actually concerned for your well-being (obviously). “Not used to anything this big, huh?”
You were afraid he was going to force you to answer that, but instead he surprised you by putting a hand between your shoulder blades and shoving you down; you gasped and grunted when your chest pressed to the floor, your face thankfully turned to the side against the rug— but unfortunately, it meant you were looking right at your boyfriend. You had to shut your eyes, too ashamed that he was seeing you like this.
“There, you like that better?” he purred as he held your hips up against his, but the new angle only forced him deeper until you were choking on nothing with every thrust. Your hands searched wildly along the floor for something to hold onto, but eventually just had to settle for gripping the rug for dear life. “Mm, fuck, s’good— you feel so fucking good, baby…”
The compliment sent an unwilling shiver up your spine, and your back arched even deeper than he’d forced it to. It was too much, it was all far too much, but your toes were curling inside your (ruined) pantyhose and you bit down on your lip without thinking about it.
“Oh, see how much she likes it?” Jackson grunted, apparently still addressing the captive boyfriend in the chair— you really wished he would just leave him out of this. “Fuck, what a pretty little whore…”
Not only could he switch from sickly-sweet to rageful in a moment, but you realized that he could somehow seem to be both at once. Still spitting out praises and insults all at one, he fucked you rougher and meaner as your moans— pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t want to— grew louder. He kept getting more aggressive— harder and faster, harder and faster— until you were all but screaming and you couldn’t keep your hips up anymore. Each thrust pushed you down until you were flat against the floor, but he kept fucking you and holding the back of your neck. One thrust seemed to go too deep suddenly, and you yelped as you reached back to try to grab his thigh out of instinct.
“Shh, shh, s’okay, baby,” he assured with a hiss. “Fuck.”
But he kept doing it, kept fucking you deep (if a little slower) as you whined and shook under him. “Jackson,” you heard yourself breathe, “please— I-I can’t—”
“God,” he growled, “say my name again. That’s so hot.”
You hadn’t meant it like that, but now it was too late. “N-no,” you tried to deny, but that didn’t last long as he grabbed you by the hair and forced your head up, laying over you enough to speak right against your ear.
“Say. My fucking. Name,” he spat.
“Jackson,” you choked out against the strain on your throat from having your neck cranked back like this. “Jackson, f-fuck—”
He groaned and dropped your head, propping himself up so he could fuck you faster again; his gaze moved down to where his body filled yours, where each thrust made your ass bounce under torn pantyhose…
As he slowed down for a moment, panting, you wondered if maybe it was almost over— maybe it already was, but that seemed too good to be true. He was still holding you down just as hard, anyway; he put his whole weight on your arms as he turned to look at your boyfriend tied up in the chair.
"Does she do anal?" Jackson asked him point-blank.
Your struggle renewed as you screamed angrily— but you couldn't keep it up, it fell into a helpless sob a moment later. Your boyfriend didn't give much of an answer— couldn't, really, on account of the duct tape— just kicked around against his restraints again.
Jackson shrugged as he looked down at you crying under him. "Well, you do now," he decided, pulling out and spitting into his hand.
You’d never felt so helpless, laying there on the floor while he pushed his fat tip up to your puckered hole. “Please,” you begged for mercy, but you didn’t even have the energy to lift your head from the rug and it was all muffled and pathetic.
“It’s really not that bad,” he insisted as he started to press forward, but your whole body jumped and you let out a loud whine when his head slipped inside with a sort of pop— all that pressure giving way to a sick, stinging stretch.
“Oh my god oh my god,” you whimpered, feeling goosebumps break out all over your body from the sharp pain. “I can’t— please, I really can’t—”
“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna go real slow,” he promised under his breath, moaning loudly as he pushed in a little deeper. Laying on the floor like this, there was really nowhere for you to go, no way to run from the feeling. “Just breathe, long slow breaths— focus on staying relaxed.”
Frustratingly, it was actually pretty good advice; it certainly didn’t make it painless, but when you shut your eyes and thought as much about breathing and as little about anything else as you could, it helped.
“See? Just relax, babydoll,” he whispered, but relaxing could only do so much as he slid the rest of the way in and you felt like your whole body might go numb. Your eyes rolled back, your insides (all of them, it seemed) flexed, your heart was pounding… you felt sick, and disgusting, and used.
He breathed heavy as he laid his weight on top of you, slipping an arm under you to wrap around your shoulders and neck.
"Fuck, that's a tight fuckin' ass," he grunted, laughing a little as he glanced at your boyfriend, slowly beginning to move again. "This one's got you spoiled, huh? How'd a loser like you get your hands on a perfect fucktoy like this?"
He bit down on the shell of your ear as he picked up his pace quickly— way too quickly— and soon he was growling each time he slammed his hips against your ass. You couldn’t even tell what noises you were making anymore…
"But you're gonna be mine now," he whispered to you. "Oh fuck, s'all gonna be mine. Gonna fill these pretty holes of yours every fuckin' day."
You dropped your head down defeatedly onto the floor, though shocks of pain were still making your fingers and toes curl while he roughly fucked your other hole.
“Yeah, fuck, you fuckin’ like it,” he snarled as he fucked you faster. “Needy little slut. You like getting all your holes filled, huh?”
You simply bit down on your lip, not realizing it wasn't a rhetorical question.
"Answer me," he insisted.
"I-I don't like it," you said— quietly, because if you spoke any louder it would've been mostly unintelligible with sobs.
"Huh?" he taunted, leaning in closer.
"It hurts, Jackson," you choked, pleading.
“No?” he noticed, feigning shock with heavy sarcasm in his tone. “Are you saying you don’t like it up the ass?”
“Please, please,” you choked out, “fuckin’ hurts— god, please, hurts—”
"You don't like it, sweetheart?" he cooed at you, cloying condescension dripping from every word as he roughly pet the hair out of your face. You whined and shook your head. "Well, I could always put it back in your cunt, would that make you feel better?"
He chuckled at your grimace of disgust.
"Is that too dirty for you?" he wondered, clicking his tongue. "Aw, it's okay, just gonna give you what you wanted— hold still, baby."
You winced when he pulled out of your ass, only to whine as he slid back into your cunt; you hid your face, feeling how absurdly warm it had become from all this, and tried not to think about how dehumanizing what he had just done to you was.
He picked his pace right back up when he entered you, letting out a deep groan of satisfaction. "Oh my god you're fucking dripping, is that from being fucked in your little ass?" he noticed. "Jesus Christ, wettest fucking pussy I ever had... somebody likes it dirty, hm?"
You wanted to deny it, but he wasn’t lying about your physical reaction; you were soaking, and you didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like you found much pleasure in that experience physically, it was rather agonizing— and then there was the thought of it, of knowing you’d been used that way, and it just made you feel dizzy and weird. Regardless, it was true… your body responded even when your mind was running in circles convincing itself there was nothing enjoyable about this.
“Such a pretty thing,” Jackson purred at you as he sped up again, shaking your whole body against the floor— that arm around your shoulders was the only thing keeping you from being pushed away, and he held you tightly like he really was worried you’d get away somehow, even though you’d stopped resisting quite a while ago.
At least it didn’t hurt anymore— except that you were still a little sore, and he was holding you too tight and his weight made it hard to breathe, and you were probably going to get rug burn, and you felt disgusting. But in a literal sense, it hurt less.
“Think I need to turn you over and get a good look at that pretty face,” he decided, pulling out of you and rolling you onto your back. Maybe it was just because you knew it was only for a moment, but being empty wasn’t as much of a relief as you expected. You were pretty much limp by this point, letting him turn you over and simply looking up at him blankly. “Oh,” he said as he smiled proudly, “look how fucked out you look— and I’m not even done with you yet.”
Lifting your legs and pressing them against your chest, he slid back in until he was deeper than you thought possible, and you gasped and shivered helplessly. “F-fuck, wait—“
He started to fuck into you quickly, and you nearly screamed, reaching down to try to hold his thigh or push him back or something to keep him from going so far inside you, but nothing deterred him. For how drained you were a moment ago, the shock of this gave you renewed energy, and you hated feeling your walls bear down on him in sick, overwhelming pleasure. “Oh god,” he moaned, “so fucking good.”
As hard as you were trying not to be loud, your efforts were lost when he reached down and roughly rubbed at your swollen clit; again, you tried to reach to stop him, holding onto his wrist and pushing his hand away with all your strength, but he bested you easily and kept going. “Fuck!” you screamed. “Please, please— it’s too much, I—”
“It’s okay, baby,” he soothed, watching proudly as your back arched and your head tilted back with a gasp.
You hadn’t even realized you were building to an orgasm— you would’ve sworn you weren’t, before, but now you felt all sensitive and sticky, and his thumb on your clit was relentless, and the shivers that had been running all over you all evening were turning into hard, heavy jolts of— of something. Something you’d been holding back longer than you realized. Something you hadn’t felt in much, much longer than three weeks.
“It’s okay,” he kept encouraging you with a proud grin that turned into a growl through his teeth as he fucked you harder. “Show him what it looks like when you’re not faking it, babydoll. Show him who you really belong to now.”
“Please,” you cried, the word barely spoken and more just a shape you made around your cries. If he didn’t stop now, you wouldn’t be able to, either; you were spasming uncontrollably, inside and out, it was just getting worse and worse (or better and better, depending on how you looked at it).
It felt fucking good. You would die before you admitted it, but you didn’t have to— it was obvious. And it was overtaking everything now, even your shame, until for one impossible moment, you were completely shameless. You weren’t sure you had ever felt quite like that before— not just physically, but spiritually. Shameless. Even though all you’d felt until now was ashamed. “Good girl,” Jackson praised you, though it was sort of lost on you as you were coming down from a high that hit you hard enough to not even feel real until it was nearly over.
It was like time had slowed down, and then snapped back to superspeed, to hyperreality, when he finally pulled his hand away and let you have a small reprieve.
"Fuck, I'm gonna come, oh my god," he gasped, his voice getting oddly high-pitched as he said it. "Want me to come inside, babydoll, or paint that pretty face?"
“Not… not inside,” you warned, just conscious enough to remember that.
“Mm? Why not?” he smirked.
You were still blinking away the blurriness in your vision, panting, trying to process all that you’d just felt— so you really didn’t have any energy for stupid questions like that. “What?” you just asked groggily. “Why… why do you think?!”
He just laughed briefly— more like a hum— and kept going. Of course, you should’ve known he’d do it once he realized your boyfriend didn’t; but wasn’t it enough that you and your boyfriend used condoms and Jackson had already gone past that?
“Just— just don’t,” you begged again, shut up with a firm hand over your mouth suddenly as he grunted lowly above you with each thrust.
“Fuck,” he said, a sort of warning though it wasn’t specific. “Fuck!”
He bit his lip when it happened; you shut your eyes, not wanting to see his face all slack and flushed like that with his hair falling forward and his neck and jaw flexing. But closing your eyes only made the feeling inside you more undeniable: the rush of warmth, the flexing against your walls as he pushed himself in as deep as he could. You whimpered a little, though you weren’t sure it was audible to anyone but yourself, and Jackson sighed as he emptied himself into you.
He took his hand away with a deep breath, and all you did was let your mouth fall open and your eyes blink numbly— what else was there to do?
As he caught his breath, he laughed a little, very softly; he put his hands on the floor beside your head, propping himself up but letting his head hang down loosely for a second— he was still smiling.
“You’re… you’re really something else, you know that, babydoll?” he informed you.
You didn’t say anything, and he sighed again just before he pulled out— you both winced, for different reasons, and he took a moment to hold your legs open so he could look at what he’d done to you; you felt filthy and exposed like that, but you were too weak to try to stop him or even to close your legs.
“Now that’s just beautiful,” he decided in reaction to whatever he saw; you didn’t want to picture it, how stretched out and used up you must look, but you could feel his come oozing out, running down.
Some of the numbness was already wearing off, at least physically, and you were beginning to realize how purely un-ergonomic it was to get fucked on the floor. Your back and shoulders were sore, your legs were tight when you finally got to lay them down again after being held up for so long… you tried not to imagine how long you’d be feeling the effects of this, wearing bruises and feeling knots and having to know exactly where they came from.
“Come on,” he mumbled as he lifted up your limp upper body, pulling you closer to him. He held your face for a second, petting your cheek which was still a bit clammy with sweat. “Kiss me,” he demanded, though he said it somewhat softly; you didn’t actually sit up and do it for him, but you let him press his lips to yours and you tried your best to half-heartedly mirror his movements as he did it.
He held your head and neck more firmly and slid his tongue into the kiss, making you whimper a little but that was the end of your protest. You thought it was a little strange that he wanted to kiss you now, but maybe it was just a matter of claiming you in the final way since he’d pretty much covered all the others.
When he broke away, he brushed his thumb over your cheek and smiled at you sweetly.
It’s over, you told yourself, hoping to feel more relieved. It’s over, he’s finally done with you. You did it. It’s over. But as those words repeated in your mind, you only felt emptier than ever.
“Look at your boy over there,” Jackson mumbled beside your ear, a smirk on his lips as he shook you a bit with the arm around you. “You see it, don’t you? He looks different now.”
You dared to glance at your captive boyfriend, who you realized you hadn’t heard muffled protests from in quite some time. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, but dark, too; his stare was heavy and piercing. You suddenly felt sick.
“He looks at you different now.”
You bit down on your lip as it started to shake; you felt worse than ever with him looking at you like that. Things hadn’t been perfect before he left— nothing’s ever perfect— but they were good, and easy, and now you felt like he hated you. But what had you done wrong? All you’d done was try to keep him unharmed by appeasing this awful, horrible person…
Jackson had already been speaking quietly, but he dropped his voice down to whisper as he rubbed your shoulder. “I don’t think he’ll look at you the same way ever again,” he posited, and you swallowed as your stomach dropped.
“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you whispered under your breath.
“He’s never seen you like that before,” Jackson explained, “and he understands now that he can’t do for you what I can.”
Jackson brought his hand to his own chest as he said that, but then reached up to wipe up another tear that rolled down your cheek. “Please,” you said, looking at your boyfriend though he wouldn’t meet your gaze, “don’t— don’t think that I— it’s not my fault! I didn’t want this to happen!”
“Shh, you don’t have to lie anymore,” Jackson cooed at you, “we’ve all seen the truth now, it’s alright.”
You were exhausted, you were devastated, you were too overwhelmed to even feel terrified anymore; you dropped your head onto Jackson’s shoulder defeatedly. After all you’d been through tonight, you were starting to lose track of what was real anymore.
He let you cry quietly against him for a while, petting your head, until finally breaking the silence. “Now, the thing is, there’s actually just… one more thing I need you to do for me,” he admitted, and you started to cry harder again.
“Please— please, I did everything you asked,” you sputtered out through your tears, “you took. Everything. From me.”
“Hold on, that’s not true,” he frowned, “you’ve still got your cuck boyfriend over there, even if he’s not quite what he used to be— you still love him, don’t you? Can’t help that?”
“O-of course I do,” you insisted, feeling oddly guilty as you said it.
“So, you don’t want me to hurt him?”
Even if this was the end— even if he would hold what was done to you against you, which would break your heart— you couldn’t have that on your conscience. You shook your head.
“I didn’t think so,” Jackson nodded, “you’re too sweet for that. I won’t hurt him, and I’ll let him go, if you promise to do what I ask you to.”
“What more… what more could you possibly want…” you breathed, shaking your head, trying not to imagine what else there was for him to do to you.
“Something a lot less fun than what I wanted before,” he smirked. “What I need from you now is purely work-related.”
You wrinkled your brows together with a sniffle as you began to slowly compose yourself. “Work…?”
“Let me tell you a little bit more about what I do for a living…”
#jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner smut#jackson rippner dark fic#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy smut#red eye fanfic
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JEALOUS SATORU PLEASE🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾
satoru's jealousy could sometimes get out of hand, instead of trying to prove to the person he was initially trying to make jealous, it turns into a lesson your part.
it doesn't matter where the both f you are, he's going to take you somewhere where no one else was and try to "scold" you, but you don't even let him try to pull that shit on you, but somehow that does not work, and you're twisted like a pretzel when the both of you go back home.
"mhm. no one else can fuck you like me. say it." while pushing his hips into your ass and the tip of his dick pressing into your sweet spot so hard that your stomach starts turning, and you can't stop moaning.
satoru thinks fucking is a substitute for his ego, and it is actually. when satoru gets jealous he gets so riled up.
satoru did this every time he felt saw though someone was flirting with you or trying to get at you. after slipping his arm around your waist and grabbing your ass a few times in front of the person, then he would throw it back on you.
"do you like attention like that?"
after throwing a few snarky remarks at you then he's bending you over and fucking the shit out of you, there is no hesitation about it or talking, he is going to show you better than he could tell you.
people flirting with you was his biggest pet peeve, you could be with him, and they would still be in your face gawking over you. so what did satoru do? make you gawk on his dick.
having your pretty mouth wrapped on his dick was a reminder that you were his and his only. that wasn't up for debate and never will be. if he had to fuck you into oblivion until the point you couldn't form sentences in order for you to understand, that is what he was going to do.
"say it now. say you like getting fucked by me." whispering in a raspy deep voice by your ear while he's deep in your guts, knowing you couldn't utter a word.
he was so possessive but claimed he wasn't and just didn't want you around anyone who was attracted to you because they "knew what they were doing." who could blame him though, there were certain individuals who would try to push it, and he would have to show them that he was not to be fucked with.
although he was a little unhinged, the sentiment was definitely nice to deal with, plus you got overstimulating sex.
he wasn't always like this, when the both of you first got together, he would get pouty whenever someone would flirt with you, but then the poutines turned into irritation, and he just had to show you how he got down.
everyone had a side that they hid from their partner when it came to jealously, craziness, and possessiveness, so the common and regular response would be to push it down, but satoru couldn't. it irritated the fuck out of him and he hated it.
so fucking you and telling you to tell him how better of a man he is and how he fucked you so good, made him feel better.
the next time you think about making satoru jealous, just think to yourself these exact words... "is it worth it."
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk x you#x reader#jujustsu kaisen x reader#gojo satoru#jjk satoru#satoru gojo#satoru smut#gojou satoru x reader#satorugojo#jujutsu satoru#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#jujutsu gojo#gojo smut#satoru#gojo saturo#jujutsu kaisen satoru
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stepdad!ghost x crybaby!girly!reader where he yells at her n it scares her cuz his voice is so deep n booming n she immediately starts crying. it all starts when he’s stressed because of a ton of paperwork he has to get done by that night and he hasn’t been able to because of different things that keep popping up. on top of that, he has to watch over you because your mom is out of town for a few weeks doing god know what.
so it’s safe to say he’s beyond stressed.
it all comes crashing down when you come skipping into his at-home office, a dvd in your hand for a movie he had promised you two would watch that day—before he was emailed a ton of paperwork.
you skip over to him, a small, “what’re you doin?” leaving your lips quietly as you peer over his shoulder.
he knows you just want attention right now, and god, does he want to give it to you.
but he can’t right now, and unfortunately for you, you don’t realize it.
he replies to your question with a gruff, “paperwork.” as he rubs his temple with his index and middle.
“oh.” your reply is short, and you look down at the dvd in hand sadly. “thought we were gonna watch a movie?”
simon tries to ignore the disappointment in your voice, because he knows he would immediately drop everything for you, but he just can’t.
“i know, love, but ‘ve got so much shit to do..what about tomorrow?” he asks, now watching u walk around to the front of his desk as you lean forward on it with your hands planted on the hardwood.
“tha’s what u said yesterday..” you pout, and simon can feel his irritability building in his blood. he doesn’t want to take any of his stress out on you, but if you push further, he’s worried he might.
“i know, princess. ‘m sorry, okay? i promise we will do it tomorrow.” he is now shuffling through his work.
you hate when he isn’t paying attention to you.
your eyes burn as you begin to feel tears sprout to them.
“si..” you squeak, trying to express that you feel lonely—what, with your mom being out all of the time. however, simon seemingly ignores you, too lost in his work. trying to get his attention, you call him what you know will achieve that. “daddy, can u take a break? please?” you beg, fidgeting with the dvd case. ghost’s heart squeezes in his chest at the nickname.
he mentally shakes his head. he has to focus.
“y/n, i already gave you my answer.” he speaks, his voice edging on pure annoyance.
“b-but you promised me! you always have somethin’ more important than me!” you’re fully crying now, and simon genuinely feels bad, but he just has so much to do.
he sighs, standing up to grab a pen from the coffee table. you follow behind him, crying.
“why’re you ignorin me?” you sob, and ghost rolls his eyes. he knows if he doesn’t look at you he won’t give in.
“y/n, stop.” he spits, walking back to his desk and hunching over to sign something.
you continue blubbering nonsense until— “enough! fuckin’ christ!”
his eyes burn into yours until he sees your utter hurt and he’s immediately back-tracking.
“angel..” he says softly right before you run off, and he begins to follow until you slam your bedroom door in his face. “fuck.” he sighs, exhausted.
he knows he scared you. he’s never yelled at you like that before.
he can hear your muffled, hiccuping cries, and he rests his forehead against your door—eyes shut tightly.
he tries your door handle but it’s locked. he knows you need time to decompress right now, so he reluctantly goes back to work for another hour before checking on you.
“princess?” he knocks on your door, and he can hear the movie you two were supposed to watch playing on the tv in your room. “let me in, baby.”
he can hear the sound of you getting off of your bed, then the clicking of the door unlocking. you run immediately back to your pink bed, whimpering like a puppy out of fright.
simon sighs for what seems like the 20th time that day, sitting down on your mattress. his large hand rubbing over the expanse of your back slowly.
“sweet’art, lookat me,” he speaks softly. “didn’t mean ta scare you..’m sorry. jus’ was stressed, baby.”
you turn your head, and he can see the reddening of your puffy eyes from crying so much.
“awh, angel,” he kisses the top of your head, brushing the hair away from your face. “can you forgive me?”
his voice is so soft and gentle you want to cry some more.
you nod, chewing on your lower lip. simon’s jaw ticks as he traces his thumb over the slope of your nose and down to the cupids bow of your soft lips. “sweetest girl ever, y’know that?” he asks, and his heart flutters when you giggle.
he leans forward and gently places a small kiss on your lips.
JANDKD IDK IF I LIKE THIS BUT WHATEVER
#simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader#stepcest#dark!simonriley#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost x innocent!reader#simon riley x crybaby!reader#simon riley#cod#stepdad!ghost#stepdad!simonriley#stepdad!simonghostriley#stepdad!ghost x reader#crybaby!reader
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singledad!sukuna x neighbor!reader; the promised prequel, you and Sukuna gaslighting each other into a relationship. You don't need to have read the first story to get this one but it's here! Yuuji is Sukuna's little brother but Sukuna has raised him since birth and Yuuji calls him dad.
cw: the vibes are bad but mutual so? like Sukuna is lying, scheming his way into being your husband but you are also lying, scheming to be his wife
Phase 1: Gaslight
Sukuna walked to the top of the landing feeling pretty fucking incredible. Today, he'd managed to beat the shit out of some crusty, old fucks who thought they could get some of their old territory back from him and Uraume. As a bonus, he'd managed to embarrass that nosy cop Yaga who was always bothering them.
Nothing like important evidence in a upcoming case mysteriously vanishing to get you some side-eye from the city. Sukuna thought that was what they deserved for using a closed circuit security cam system they'd probably bought in the 90's.
To add to this amazing day, he was about to get to eat dinner with his little brother and his gorgeous neighbor who was watching him.
His phone buzzed and Sukuna looked down to see a text from Uraume.
Where are you?
Another message followed shortly after.
Did you already go home? Is this about your neighbor? It's getting sad.
Sukuna chose to ignore his only friend and head for his apartment, which was conveniently across yours. Well at least it had proved convenient for him.
You had moved in a few months ago and Sukuna had been instantly smitten. As soon as you had introduced yourself to Sukuna, he knew it was over. He wanted you to look at him all the time, although he supposed he could let you give Yuuji some of your attention.
You had looked at his tattoos, his piercings, his dyed hair with some obvious interest, but then talked to him like he was a normal person. Maybe it was the effect of a clinging Yuuji calling him 'daddy', but you seemed to find him nonthreatening to an almost offensive degree. He found he didn't mind it.
He had offered you any help you might need, just from one neighbor to another and you had thanked him with all of your good manners on display.
You had taken him up on his offer of help when your radiator had stopped working a few weeks after you moved in. The super in your building was notoriously shitty and as such, had not been answering any of your calls or texts. Sukuna had fixed it while you and Yuuji drew some pictures and listened to some overly peppy pop music. When Sukuna had finished, you had insisted the two of them stay for dinner as payment and Sukuna couldn't help but accept.
You didn't need to know the radiator was broken in the first place because he had picked your lock and fucked up the valve the night before. You were clearly just as eager to get to know him as he was you, you just needed a little push and he was happy provide it.
Later, when telling you a story while you cooked, he knew he hadn't mistaken the pleased look in your eyes when he mentioned he was a single parent. He didn't let on that he noticed though and he continued telling you a story about Yuuji and Megumi's nearly successful attempt to kidnap a very confused hound from the dog park.
The boy had protested at his correct version of events. "His owner was mean!"
"Yuuji, he was a thousand and so was the mutt. He probably thought Megumi was the grim reaper finally there to take him home."
Yuuji had kept arguing while you laughed and laughed. Sukuna was quickly addicted to the sound.
Dinner had been delicious and the three of you spent the whole evening together. Sukuna couldn't help but think that it felt right.
Maybe he was growing soft in his old age, but he didn't hate the idea of coming home to this every night. After a stressful day of blood, gore and various shenanigans, it would be nice to come back to a kind face and a warm home. It helped that Yuuji, the brat, spent the whole night smiling so hard it looked almost painful.
After he put Yuuji to bed that night, Sukuna made a decision that he would be coming home every night to that. He just needed to get you on board.
He'd tried asking you out the normal way, but you had been hesitant. You had spouted some bullshit about a bad ex, needing to focus on your career, blah, blah. In your defense, you did look genuinely remorseful about turning him down, and Sukuna recognized in you a strong sense of self preservation and wariness that he understood. Sukuna told that it wasn't a problem. And it wasn't.
He just had to change tactics.
The idea had come to him a few weeks after you turned him down. You hadn't rejected him because you weren't interested, he knew that. Sukuna had seen the way you smiled at him, the hungry stare when his shirt would get caught when he took off a sweatshirt. You had clearly been hurt by people who hadn't deserved you and you were justifiably nervous. He needed to show you that he was here to take care of you.
God, he would be so good to you, you just didn't see it yet. By the time you realized what was going on, you would be so happy that you wouldn't mind the steps that you you there. He wasn't going to give you any other option.
This all led to him to the next part of his plan. Even though he had Yuuji in the most expensive daycare laundered money could buy, he had decided to tell you that there was a sudden issue with the center. He had kept it vague and you hadn't pressed him for details. The fact those details led to Yuuji needing childcare when you happened to not be at work, well that was just good fortune.
Like the good girl you were, you immediately agreed to watch Yuuji when he had called telling you the fake problem with the daycare. When it had happened again the next week, this time a work emergency he couldn't get out of, you agreed to help again. And then again and again and again until you were watching Yuuji at least two or three nights a week.
Now, some people may have a problem weaponizing their four-year old to get a woman to date them. Sukuna did not have this hang up. Afternoons watching Yuuji quickly turned into dinners with the three of you, and every day just brought you closer and closer to finally being together.
Sukuna had even worked up to some light touching. Just a quick brushing of his hand on your shoulder when thanking you, moving you aside by your hips when the two of you were in the kitchen. At first, you'd seemed a little unsure but now you had even begun returning his affection. You were quick to squeeze his hand or lean against him on the couch during your little family move nights.
Thinking about what he could get away with tonight, Sukuna knocks twice on his door before using his key to unlock it. Upon entering, he's immediately tackled by a mini-linebacker.
"Daddy!"
Used to the boy's antics, Sukuna caught him and closes the door with his hip before walking over to where you were stirring something on the stove.
"Hey kid, how was your day?" Sukuna asks Yuuji as you shoot them both a fond smile.
"It was amazing! Megumi's mom brought one of their dogs to daycare today and he was so fluffy...."
Yuuji goes on and on about his day while making sure to slip in how they should definitely get a dog every couple of sentences. Aside from how the idea of a creature existing only be to owned and loved at will by it's owners disgusting Sukuna, he also still keenly remembers the time Yuuji found a dead earthworm outside and cried for an hour. Being responsible for a living, shitting thing that would eventually die was probably still too much for him.
You find Yuuji's ramblings charming and even though you hadn't arrived at pick up early enough to see Megumi's mommy with the dog, you agree with Yuuji that he must have been a very fluffy boy indeed.
"Sounds like you had a good day," he says before looking over at you. "Thanks again for stepping in to watch the brat, I really appreciate it."
While Yuuji protests his less than affectionate nickname, you distract him by pinching his cheek. "No worries, Yuuji and I had a lot of fun. Right, Yuuji?"
"Yeah!"
Insult forgotten, Yuuji leans against Sukuna's shoulder while you put the finishing touches on dinner.
You're keeping Sukuna company while he does the dishes later when you bring something up that almost trips him up.
"You know, I talked to the daycare worker today and she was wondering why you weren't picking up Yuuji as much. She said you'd never missed a day before a few months ago."
You say it innocently, but there is a question implied there. What has changed?
He keeps it casual as he dries a plate with his newly aquired sunflower hand towel. "Yeah, it sucks not being able to get the kid every day, but work has really been on my case lately."
This wasn't true. Work was work, and even in the past he'd always prioritized time with Yuuji over getting extra jobs done. Now, he thought of the time he was gone as investing in Yuuji's future by making sure you would be a part of it. The extra cash he was bringing in would probably end up in Yuuji's college fund or as a down payment on a house for your soon to be growing family anyway.
Sukuna was actually quite thoughtful when you got down to it.
You take his words at face value. The two of you are chatting about some play the daycare would be putting on, where Yuuji would be starring as a particularly cheerful acorn, when his phone rang. Sukuna would normally ignore it, but the ringtone was one he had set specifically for Kenjaku and that fuck was not to be left unattended.
"Give me just a sec," he tells you before heading into another room.
"What the fuck do you want?" he asks, already bored with the conversation and impatient to get back to you and Yuuji.
It's some nonsense about a late shipment and incompetent people who are not Sukuna, and he gets more pissed as the minutes keep ticking. Finally, he tells the creep what he's going to him if he doesn't figure the mess out himself. It starts with some mild dismemberment and ends with an unspeakable act with his open skull once Sukuna rips out the stitches he'd recently gotten under mysterious circumstances.
He hangs up and goes out into the living room where you and Yuuji are watching tv. You're picking at your nail beds, something he's only seen you do when you're upset, but you give him a smile as he comes to sit down next to you.
He tells himself that he's being paranoid. The tv is loud and you're too good a girl to eavesdrop.
You leave not too long after the call and as you go to the door, you hesitate.
"Something on your mind," he asks wondering if maybe you heard something after all.
You shake your head and smile at him again. "No, it's nothing. I'm just so tired from work, honestly."
You turn to leave and he gently grabs your arm and pulls you closer. You look too taken aback for him to try and kiss you now, so he just presses his lips against your temple, taking in the smell of your hair and the warmth you give him.
"Good night, princess."
You give him a shaky good night in return and he watches you go into your apartment before he shuts the door. He can't keep the smug grin off his face, everything was going according to plan.
Phase 2: Gatekeep
You weren't going to stop anywhere on your way home from daycare but Yuuji really wants to go to the park and you just couldn't say no to his cute face. Sukuna said he would be home late anyway, since he was stuck at the office. Again.
You still didn't know what 'office' Sukuna worked at exactly ,but the hours seemed pretty wild. This was the fourth time in the past two weeks he'd called you, contrite in a way that didn't seem natural to him, asking if you could pick up Yuuji from daycare. You didn't mind helping him, in fact you loved hanging out with the four year-old. It definitely beat going back to your quiet apartment every night.
But still, it seemed weird for someone as in control as Sukuna to not have a better handle on his childcare. He's presumably had this job a while, and Yuuji hadn't been born yesterday. Considering you'd once watched an entire elevator of people in your building get out when they saw Sukuna get on, you doubted he could count on his other neighbors for last minute childcare.
There also that weird phone call you'd overheard that night at his place.
"Look, it's Megumi!"
You look to see where Yuuji is waving with his free hand while his other one is dragging you with inhuman strength towards a small boy with black hair and a very cultivated resting bitch face.
"Hi Megumi, it's nice to meet you. Are you Yuuji's friend?" The little boy nods and looks you up and down as you finish introducing yourself.
"Yuuji's talked about you." The boy looks like he's about to say more but Yuuji laughs and starts pulling him away towards the swings with calls for you to watch and see how high you can go.
Watching the two boys run around, you almost forget how cold you are and how confusing the past few weeks, few months really, have been.
"Ah, so you're the neighbor."
You turn and see a beautiful man walking up to you. His hair is long, styled in a half up-half down style that would make you look like you belonged to a weird religious cult, but on him looks fashionable. His coat is plain black, but you recognize the logo and are in awe that someone so wealthy would just bring their kid to a random public park.
You really don't get rich people.
"Um, who are you?"
The man laughs but it isn't a nice sound, it's a pretty sound, everything about this man is pretty, but his laugh isn't giving "laughing with you" vibes.
"I'm Suguru, Megumi's parent. I'm sure you'll meet my other half soon enough," he says with a fondness that makes you smile.
"Is your wife still at work?"
"Husband," he corrects kindly, as he sips from one of those expensive water bottles you're always seeing online. "And I suppose, I mean he's at work in the same way that Ryoumen is at work."
You feel that unpleasant feeling well up in you again, the one that told you the valve on the radiator had been there and been fine when you went to sleep that night. "Sorry, do they work at the same company or something?" You laugh but it's forced and the look in his eyes sharpens.
"Company?"
You're irritated now and with a look to confirm the boys are still preoccupied with each other you turn to this infuriating stranger with all the uncertainty and anxiety that has been building in you since Sukuna kissed your temple when you left the other night.
"Alright, what the fuck is going on? I don't know you or your husband or even Sukuna lately but it's obvious you're mixed up with some shady shit-"
"You're right, you really don't know anything." The words are said with the same kind tone from earlier, but there's something nasty underlying them.
"Let me help you out," Suguru says and his height helps him look down on you literally as he does so with his words. "Ryoumen is not your friend and all of these little situations you're finding yourself in, he's making them up. Normally, I wouldn't mind. However, Satoru and I made a bet on when you'd figure it out, or run for the hills. If this goes on much longer, Satoru is going to win and believe me, he'll be insufferable if that happens."
"How kind of you," you tell him and he just smiles in a practiced fashion. "So what is it exactly that I need to know? I already knew that Sukuna liked me."
"Like is an interesting word," Suguru says.
"What word would you use?"
Suguru thinks about it for a minute and takes another sip of his water. "Obsessed, possessive, irrational."
"I see why I would run for the hills," you say dryly and he laughs, actually amused this time.
"Maybe, it depends on what you're looking for."
You were curious despite yourself. "What do you mean?"
"I'll deny it if you ever tell either of them, but your Ryoumen and my Satoru have a lot in common. They're strong and self absorbed in a way that most people rightfully find off putting. They don't think other people are as substantial as they are, which they may be right about." You listen as he continues, unsure where this is going. "This means they don't have many weaknesses, but the weaknesses they do have are crippling."
"What weaknesses are those?" you ask but you have an idea, watching the two boys continue to chase each other around the swings.
"They don't care about many people, but the people they do carry about, they'll burn the world for. Satoru did the same bullshit with me that Ryoumen is pulling with you. Just pushing himself into my life little by little and rearranging everything until he was right at the center of it."
"What did you do when you found out?" You wonder how that had led to a marriage, and wonder if this was some basement wife shit. Suguru gives you an amused look like he can read your thoughts.
"He's not a....subtle creature, I knew almost right away."
You still feel lost. "Why didn't you confront him, tell him you knew what was happening?"
"He doesn't need to know everything, he has plenty on his mind as it is. Some information is better kept just for me."
In fairness, it is hard for you to see the man in front of you being manipulated into anything, but you still push. "It just sounds like you're excusing his behavior."
"I let Satoru have me, because I wanted what he was offering. He wanted a partner, someone to raise Megumi with after he killed his old man," you really felt like this required more explanation but Suguru kept going like he was talking about the weather. "He was my best friend and I loved him, I didn't mind if he wanted to make me his little housewife. I was tired of dealing with all that shit, anyway."
"So what? It's okay that he manipulated you into marriage, because you love him? That seems fucked up to me."
"Maybe, but I don't mind. You may not understand this, but I came from the middle of nowhere before I met Satoru. I was poor, I had nothing going for me except I was smart and was willing to do whatever work I could get, and I also happened to be the only out gay person I had ever met." You winced in sympathy and he sighed before shaking out his long, glossy hair.
"Besides, you're missing the point. You can either hold on to your false illusion of independence and move through life at the will of people and institutions bigger and more powerful than you," he says and gives you a pointed look. "Or you can choose to put your life in the hands of someone who can stand up to those institutions and people in your name."
"It just seems like picking your poison to me," but you can see what he means in spite of yourself. Years of shitty exes, jobs that exploited your labor, a life that had been harder than you wanted and at the end of the day an apartment empty of anyone to go back to. What did you really want here?
"Well I love Satoru, I know he loves me and Megumi, and that there is nothing and no one that he wouldn't face in order to protect us. What else could I want?"
Before you can answer his question, the same one you had asked yourself. Megumi calls out he's hungry and Suguru tells him they are going home. Both boys start to run over to the two of you.
"Just think about it. Soon it won't be your choice at all."
"Why are you really telling me this?" you can't help but ask and he looks at you.
"Because I think it should be your choice. They may be gods among men, but that doesn't mean they have to rule us." He gives one last calculated smile that sends shivers down your spine. "Having the ear of a god gives you a lot more than just a pretty ring, if you use it right."
Suguru and Megumi wave when they leave and Yuuji grabs your hand as the two of you make your way back home.
"Megumi's mom is so nice!"
"Yeah," you say a little distracted. But with every step towards your apartment, you become more sure of what you want and that gives you a sense of calm you'd been missing since Sukuna came carving his own path into your life. "He was lovely."
Phase 3: Girlboss
Sukuna looked at the ceiling of your apartment, which was just raining down water, and then looked at you.
"You said you woke up and it was just like this?"
He tried not to sound incredulous but damn, you must sleep like the dead. It was like the a fucking typhoon in here.
Your eyes teared up a little and you tugged at the baggy t-shirt you were wearing, which just brought his attention to how it barely reached your thighs and were you even wearing panties-
"I just don't know what to do Sukuna, do you think there's something wrong with the pipes?"
Sukuna tried his best to make eye contact with you and maybe if he'd been paying better attention, he would have seen your eyes were shining with victory, not tears, but alas he was only a man.
"Yeah, it looks like a pipe burst upstairs. That apartment has been empty forever, useless super must have not done anything to make sure it was good for winter."
You nodded and then let out a big sigh that managed to nearly drown out the water. "What if I can't stay in the apartment? Where am I going to live?"
Sukuna shook his head and wiped away a tear on your cheek. "Let me go check it out upstairs before you freak out, okay?" He took his key out and handed it to you. "Just go wait in my apartment okay, I'll let you know what I find."
You nod and Sukuna leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead before heading upstairs to the vacant apartment. The door is unlocked, Sukuna assumed to make it easier for prospective tenants to check it out.
As soon as Sukuna gets to the bathroom he sees the problem. A pipe is leaking. It seemed careless for the super to let it get to this point, but it wouldn't be hard to fix. In fact, Sukuna doesn't even have to go back to his apartment for any tools. A toolkit is stashed under the sink, next to where the pipe is leaking. Sukuna grabs a wrench and it doesn't take more than a minute to tighten the pipe up.
"Weird," Sukuna says but whatever. Not his job to critique shitty workmanship in a building he doesn't own at 3 in the morning. As Sukuna puts the wrench back, he notices the kit looks a lot like the little starter kit you have in your own apartment.
The super should really have better materials.
Sukuna returns back to his apartment to see you pacing across his living room and you just look so lost that he can't help but pull you into his arms. "It's fine, I fixed it. We'll just dry out your apartment and I can call someone to come look at it in the morning."
"What if it's not fixable? What if I have to move out-"
"You're leaving!"
Sukuna looks over your head to see Yuuji standing there, the little boy probably woken up by all the movement this late at night.
"No, no one's leaving Yuuji," he said but Yuuji's eyes still filled with tears anyway and you seemed stressed as well.
"I don't know, I might have to if there's any permanent damage."
Yuuji is actually crying now and you seem on the brink too, so Sukuna holds out his arms and you both crowd in, your face now hidden in his t-shirt.
"Even if something is wrong, you'll always have a place with us. It's all going to be fine." He held both of his precious people to him, unaware that he wasn't the only one smiling. "Don't worry."
Yeah, you weren't worried.
But, maybe Sukuna should be.
this took a weirdly long time, it maybe was meant to be broken up more, but hope everyone enjoys. next up is the closing arc of my singlemom! series.
the Suguru scene was the hardest thing I've written for this page and it got way more serious than I thought it would but it was the first scene I thought of for this story.
#jjk sukuna#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen sukuna#ryomen sukuna#sukuna ryomen#sukuna x reader#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jjk smut
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