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argreion · 4 months

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Respect Your Elders.

A/N: Changed my thought mid writing about sleepy sex with Leon so now we just go basic. FUSSY TIRED MAN DIDN'T LIKE BEING CALLED OLD! Transitition from cuddle to sex might be a little weird but EEEEEE! Got really fuckin' invested in writing smut and giving another go. Feel better about this one, ngl. I'm not sorry for this, I literally sat down for like an actual hour so immersed in writng this. ALSO, FUCKING SAW ONE MISTAKE AND I CAN'T FIND IT. So, possibly might have a few mistakes here and there.

Warnings: Just Sex with Leon, so P in V! Breeding kink. Breathplay. Cunnilingus! Small bits of degradation near the end. A little spit exchange too. DI Leon in mind but you can pick and choose! AFAB reader too, btw. All I can say is... Slutty Leon Kennedy :3

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcomed!

Let's be honest, being with Leon wasn't easy. Constantly reminding the poor man to not squint, to take his medication, and to even shave. Watching him pass out on the couch, bed, and even on the floor! Sadly, you can't carry a man that's heavy and full of muscle!

At least he passed out on the bed, and you slowly following afterward…

“Baby, c'mere, it's cuddle time.” He would say in that oh-so lovely voice. Made the girls scream mentally whenever he was just nice. All they could see was the pretty man, unknowingly batting his eyelashes to everyone around him. That pretty smile, too.

Leon's arm wrapped around you, and chest against your back. Gently squeezing your torso, muscles tensing and relaxing with each squeeze. The T-shirt you wore from him, stolen from his closet. He liked when you did that, made him hard. When you would bend over the kitchen counter and possibly wear his boxers? Old man got a poor boner, daddy is a little horny, baby.

“You're heavy.” You whined, not that you'd admit you liked it. I mean, you loved Leon. He loved you. It was just how the things with you two. Liked the heaviness, the stupidity, the stress, you liked the attention of a broken man picking up his pieces.

“Mmmm, heavy? The only thing heavy here is your ass.” A snort came from him as he said it. Yeah, he liked ass. Always did a smack-by whenever you walked past him. Especially when you were in the kitchen. Made his little domestic mindset bust a nut, literally.

His stubble brushed into your neck, with the purr of delight that he captured a beauty. Wrapping his other arm around you, under the side of your waist. Uncomfortably pushing into your side.

“So pretty, like an angel, baby. God must've been here to send you from the heavens. Must've hurt when you fell. Could've caught ya.” Oh, those sweet words he would always say. You knew he meant them, of course he did. If you had to say, it was a little depressing. Something just about the way he moved, spoke, and acted made your heart ache. It was probably the drinking he did, albeit it was better than a year ago.

“Don't think God sent me from the sky, Leon.” You responded with, head buried in those satin pillowcases. They felt nice on your skin, and nicer to grab when you got fucked.

“Would've broke a bone, and plus, I doubt you could catch me, old man.”

Oh, you poor poor soul. Don't call him old! He might cry, see, he's crying from his dick! Little slut, he liked that. Go ahead, weep a little more, baby boy! Also, the fact you just called him an old man to his face? Pfft, you're so on.

“I'm not that old, c'mon.”

He grunted, huffing into your neck like an angry toddler when they didn't get to snack on their favorite dino nuggets. Exaggerated heavily, and his grip tightened to push the point, he didn't like that.

“Ever heard the term respect your elders, little kid?” Leon asked, a threat hiding beneath it. Knowing the way he is, you have three seconds before he pins you to the bed and makes you squirt.

Already knowing what was going to happen, you made a lazy attempt to get out the 'terrifying' grasp of this old man. Moving to slide off the bed, but that didn't work.

His hand grabbed your shoulder, screaming this is your fault. You made me do this, and he wasn't going to be sorry at all. Pulling you back into the bed, head pushed into the pillow. Eyes staring wide up at him as he pinned you to the bed. Brows furrowed and face determined to prove otherwise. Hands pushing you into the bed by your shoulders. Yet gentle enough to not leave a bruise. That made your thighs clench, so cute.

“This old man still got it, baby doll. You really wanna play this game? I'll play it, too.” He'll play this game dirty, naughty, sexy.

Leon leaned forward, gently capturing your lips in a kiss. Passionately and slowly making out with you. Twirling your tongues around like it was his day-job. Maybe it was, seeing how he eats pussy so fucking good. Trying to ignite that burning passion he always liked. On the kitchen counter, his motorcycle, the car, work, the list went on and on. Hand trailing lower and lower as he occupied your mind. Tongue occupying your mouth. Expensive cologne pungent off his body, surrounding you in him.

Your whines being muffled from the kiss, making the old man pull away. That damning cocky smirk on his face as he taunted you,

“Oh, sorry, I didn't hear you. Speak louder, honey.”

A moan came from your lips as he pinched your clit. Making you claw at the pillows beneath your head. Hand slapping your cloth panties. Electricity running up your spine to your head.

“Fuck, d-daddy!” You choked out, watching as he teased and toyed you. He just had to fuck around with you. Put the young one in his place, like a rookie at work, the karens at stores. Leaning to your ear

“She's so needy, babydoll. Need your old man to make it better? But you probably don't like an old man, hm? Rubbing his fingers over your folds and clit.”

He hissed into your ear, nibbling on the edge. Pulling away to look down at those cute cotton panties. He always ruined them, sniffed them, came in them. His panties, too. Always will be his panties. Moving to move those panties aside, tugging them to reveal that glistening feast. Sopping wet for him to bury into. Like the breakfast at IHOP or McDonald's he would get. Devoured in mere minutes.

Leon positioned himself between your thighs, nose buried in your folds. Sniffing the sweet scent it emitted. That slightly tangy taste it had as well. He breathed it in like his last breath. The last meal he would have before death row. Being executed for serving his country too well, and serving your cunt, as well.

“Could get used to this any day. Wish my job was as easy as sitting down and eating this precious purr-ty pussy. Mewing for some milk, like always.” He purred, staring at you through his eyes lashes.

“P-purr-ty? What the fuck doe— AH!”

His tongue buried into you, licking up, down, left, and right. Coming up every once in a while to suck your clit. Make him drown in that pussy, baby. He needs it, he needs it like God. Make him get on his knees and pray.

“Didn't say you could talk, baby. Maybe you need a lesson on listening, again.” He tutted, sucking on your nub, again. Making your toes curl and hands clench again. Too good at this, imagine how many moms or younger girls would want this. Those twenty-year-old college girls wanting a middle-aged guy between their thighs. Mmmm, made you wet just thinking about how he's yours.

Tongue swirling, your hips bucking, and hand now buried in his locks. Threatening to pull his hair out. You pressed into his face, in which he pressed back. Drown him, suffocate him, make him die, honey.

Your legs tensed as you neared that high. C'mon, keep going! “I'm gonna— I'm gonna!—”

Selfishly, he pulled away. Wet dripping down his nose to his stubble. Looking at deranged as he looked up, sitting up. Hands fumbling with his shirt as he rushed to fuck into you. He wanted it. No, he needed it. Needed to be buried in that fat fucking pussy. Make it drip with his cum, eat it out, and impregnate it if he could. Wanted to see you leak breastmilk and be full of him.

“Not yet, I didn't say you could. Little slut.”

Noticing the change of pace, you reached out, only to be met with him yanking you. Stomach pressed into the bed, and head pulled back. His free hand tugging his jeans and boxers down. Fuck, he was hard. Harder than steel. His bicep wrapped around your throat, and his nose buried in your hair. Pants of exhaustion coming from him. He got so tired easily, old man in his heart.

Harshly, his hips thrusted against yours. Not even being enough of a gentleman to give a warning shot. No head against your little hole, fully sheathed in. The groan that came from his lips could've made you cum on the spot.

“Oh fuck…”

The claps followed afterward, body moving up and down with his rhythm. Ass moving at the rhythm, as well. Your fingers digging into his arm as he tightened the headlock. Enough to make it pleasing enough, your eyes rolled back. Mouth agape as you sprouted out moans and small noises. Squishy wet sounds following after his thrusts.

Leon looked down at you, a toothy smile on his face. Always what he wanted, that fucked out look. So sweet, like an angel. Should've gotten his phone, but he was too enthralled in this now. That pretty little mouth needed a little love. So, he pulled your head back more. A small pained moan coming from your lips.

“Need a little loving from daddy, huh? Need daddy to fill this fuckin' cunt with his kids. Wanna stay in this bed full of 'em? Such a good slut, baby. Fuck the Redfield bloodline, Kennedy bloodline is gonna be bigger and stronger than that fuckin' boulder.”

Leon spat straight into your mouth, making you clench. Hitting the back of your throat. It tasted so disgusting, but it was hot. Alongside the few drops of spit, he let drip so slowly into your mouth. The wait was killing you!

“Swallow daddy, baby. Better than Gordon Ramsay, too. With this pussy, you put him to shame.”

Who couldn't obey a man like him? Strong government agent who kills for a living. Wouldn't want to anger daddy, would you? So, you swallowed. Right down your throat, and it made you gag a little. Couldn't say you hated it, it would just make him concerned. He was a softie deep down, always stopping whenever your face changed slightly. Got annoying when you literally just wanted to cum! Like, shut up, and just FUCK ME!

"S'close. Gonna cum for you! Wan' cum!” You whined, moaning pitifully. Ass raised against his pelvis. Balls slapping against your lower half. How would you explain to your parents you're a little cock sleeve to a government agent? I mean, at least it pays in a free apartment, car, and food! Plus whatever you counted Leon as.

“Really baby? That drunk off me? Mmmm, we love to hear that. Let daddy do it for you.” He whispered, voice still like honeyed whiskey.

Hips picking up its pace as it abused your cunt wider and wider. Only for him, and always open for him. Bringing him to the tip of the iceberg as he came inside you. Hips pushing against yours fully, and his tip at your cervix. He panted, burying his face in your neck. Those words, the pace, and his arm. You came on the spot, leaking down his cock and balls. Hands wanting to rip those sheets in front of you. Balled the fabric into your fist. Dripping onto the sheets below.

“Post nut clarity, damn.” Leon chuckled. Arm falling from around your neck. Bringing it down to interlace your fingers. “You good? I didn't, like, y'know? I'm not the best with words, c'mon.”

Mmmmm, body already responding as he gently pulsed around him. Head nodding in response to his query.

“Mhm, happy. Happy you actually didn't worry!”

You smiled, resting your head in your arms as he slowly moved off of you. Not pulling out, of course. He wouldn't do that just yet, gotta keep the package warm.

“Still an old man, by the way.”

His brows furrowed, sighing in defeat. You were supposed to say you learned your lesson! Regardless, he loved you, even if you were very stubborn.

“You're lucky you're cute…” He muttered, kissing your temple. Those very arms from earlier coming to wrap around you again. His chin propped on top of your head. Seemingly pleased he did a good job. Both of you leaking out onto the bed. Would have to clean that up later…

“You're lucky I like old men, Mr. Kennedy.”

He hummed, closing his eyes. A smile plastered on his lips.

“Think this old man needs a nap, honeybun.”

No, Leon DON—! And he fell asleep, right on top of you… In mere fucking seconds. The sex was a 10/10, but the napping part? Wouldn't recommend.

"Dammit..."

Honestly, you gave up right about now. You'll deal with it later, like you always did. Right now, maybe it was about time for a nap. Even if he was heavy, it was a free blanket. Another cuddle, another round of love-making, and a horrible nap?

You'd always do this again and again.

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut

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dilftaroooo · 5 months

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Uraume who only does anything with you after getting permission from Sukuna + he demands to watch 😒

Omg this is my first ask with uraume?? Im stunned, they r fine tho im ngl. can’t say too much with them since im not all that familiar with their character but i’ll try my best!

wrote this with true form sukuna and afab reader in mind ;)

If you’re Sukuna’s little plaything, his property, then Uraume most definitely needs to ask for permission to touch you with lust-ridden fingers. And I know their wishes will 101% be granted because their voice easily coaxes Sukuna into acceptance. Their tone is just embraced by the sweetest of chocolates when they implore their lord for access to touch your weeping pussy.

"I do not ask much from you, Sukuna-sama, but my innermost carnal desires have overpowered me. If you could be so thoughtful and let me touch your plaything, just this once. As long as you grant me your word."

They've had enough of watching and Sukuna had enough of entertaining. Thinking of his decision wasn't hard because he was already shoving you off his meaty lap and watching you collide with the floor--one of the hands out of the four rests idly on his cheek.

"Have her your way." But not before saying that he must be present during your session.

And ofc Uraume is pleased by this! Their fingers already protruding through your damp folds as the smell of soft jasmine caresses your nose when kissing you deeply. Your tongue already tastes so good with the remains of Sukuna's tangy cum still lingering on the slimy appendage.

They're even more thrilled that the person they revere is watching them both with aggressive libido!!!

#argghh!#i know sukuna is using his second arm to stroke himself #and the third to tweak his nipple!#sukuna x reader #jjk smut #uraume #nonnie!

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xxsabitoxx · 6 months

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Sanemi's Hands.

A/N: just me rambling about Sanemi's hands and fingers, Reader is female in this! Hehehe enjoy my scrambled thoughts about scar boy

Warnings: this is just hand p0rn I’m ngl

~ Sanemi’s hands are rough but not the uncomfortable kind. Not in the sense that they are dry and in need of care but in the sense that they have callouses from the hard work he has put into his training and his body.

~ And still, they are somehow soft and warm at the same time. It’s an addicting feeling really, when his large hands are sliding down your sides and settling on your hips. The way his fingers dig into your skin slightly, just enough to keep you in place but not enough to hurt.

~ The way you can feel the tension as his fingertips twitch, kneading the flesh of your hips slightly as his lips press to yours over and over again.

~ His hands are on the thicker side, both his palms and fingers have some weight and size to them. His fingers are long but they are not slim, you could hold two of his fingers with your whole hand, your grip doesn’t even wrap around his wrist all the way.

~ Sanemi loves the feeling of your hand in his, his much larger one easily encompassing your smaller one

~ Sanemi is mindful of his hygiene, keeping his hands clean and nails trimmed. He’s mindful because he doesn’t want to hurt you in any way, especially when touching your most delicate bits. He files his nails with no shame, making sure they are clean and smooth for you.

~ He’s slow when it comes to touching your pretty cunt, using one finger to dip between your slick folds and collect your sticky arousal on his digit. He’ll pull away slowly, pushing his finger past his own lips to swirl his tongue around it, tasting your sweetness.

~ He’s all about teasing you, sucking his finger clean of your arousal before pushing two of his fingers past your own lips. You struggle a bit, tongue lapping at his warm fingers until they are slick with his spit. “Atta girl.” Soft and seductive as he moves his hand back down.

~ You squirm beneath him, two slick fingers circling your clit leisurely before sinking even lower. He’ll push and prod your entrance but not quite enter, just watching as more shiny arousal weeps from your entrance and collects on his skin.

~ Sanemi is gentle with you though, only pushing one of his fingers past your entrance and moving it slowly. He thrusts slowly, relishing in the feeling of your velvety walls against the pad of his finger as he massages various points before slowly introducing a second.

~ Sanemi’s tempo speeds up the wetter you get, addicted to the slick squelches that emit every time his fingers plunge into your tight heat. Two of Sanemi’s fingers alone are bigger than some of the dicks you had experienced. And fuck was he aware of it.

~ One of Sanemi’s favorite things is to touch your body after you’ve ruined his hand. He’ll grope at your breasts just to see your arousal smear across them, pinching and tugging at your pebbling nipples just to see them shine with your cum.

~ One of his hands can encompass your entire breast, allowing him to squeeze and knead the flesh as he pleases while you whimper beneath him.

Idk man brain going brrrrrrrr

#kny #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer smut #demon slayer headcanons #hashira #sanemi headcanons #shinazugawa sanemi x reader #demon slayer sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny sanemi smut #sanemi smut #kny smut #sanemi imagines #kny sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #sanemi shinazugawa

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empresskylo · 7 months

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beneath the mask ✩ chapter 11 ⬅ch.10

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | sexual assault implications/ptsd. blood. wc 4.1k ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | this ch gave me butterflies ngl /:

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“now, let’s get you outta here.” ghost said softly as he carried you out of the enemy building. his gentle tone made you want to weep—to forget everything that had happened between the two of you, but you knew you couldn’t. you could, however, forget it for the time being.

ghost held you as he loaded you up in one of the trucks. you didn’t pay much attention to the person driving or your surroundings, all you could focus on was the terrible doom that was lingering in your chest when your thoughts went back to that feeling of abandonment. when you felt like they’d never reach you in time and you were left to the hands of the enemy.

ghost sat beside you in the truck, the side of his body against yours. you would have told him that it was okay and he didn’t have to watch over you, but you didn’t have the energy to voice anything. and you had a feeling ghost wouldn’t have obliged anyway.

after being in the vehicle for a few minutes of silence, you finally felt the weight of your situation. your emotions weighed on your chest like a boulder. you sank into your seat and leaned against ghost on instinct, your head resting on his shoulder. he didn’t seem to mind. his gloved hand came out and rested on your knee, reminding you that you were safe and no longer alone. it was a physical reminder that he was there.

ghost insisted on carrying you aboard the plane too. you could have argued, but you didn’t exactly trust your legs.

soap was at your side the second ghost set you down in a seat of the plane. “jesus, thank god you’re okay,” he whispered. soap’s voice was far more erratic than usual. he held your hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “how are ya feeling?” he asked, looking you up and down.

ghost sat across from you and tentatively watched the way you and johnny interacted. “i think i’ll be fine.” you attempted a halfhearted smile, but with the way soap’s face sank, you wondered what you actually looked like.

“iaso,” laswell said making you look up.

“kate, thank god,” you said unsteadily. a temporary feeling of guilt entered your system. you hadn’t even asked about laswell since being rescued.

you appraised her. she looked well. she still looked like herself. she didn’t appear to have any injuries at all. a despicable part of you was envious.

“what did they do to you?” she asked, kneeling in front of you.

“i…” your words faded. you knew you’d have to talk about it. and really, nothing they did was that bad, but your adrenaline was wearing thin and you knew your voice was going to shake if you spoke.

“i think she just needs some time to come back to us,” soap said lightly to laswell. laswell nodded before putting a hand on your shoulder and giving you a warm look. “you did good out there, sergeant.” a small sense of relief filtered in through your thoughts at her praise—even though you didn’t think she meant it.

it didn’t take long for the plane to land back at base, johnny talking to you the entire time, making sure you were truly okay. he didn't ask you to respond to anything he was saying, he simply filled the void with his soothing accent. you even felt your lips form a smile at one point.

when you started to unbuckle and push yourself to stand, ghost’s hands were on you, scooping you back up into his arms. his hand rested on your lower back and the other under your knees.

“you don’t have to carry me,” you said without much conviction.

soap glanced over at the two of you then ducked his head and finished gathering his things before exiting on the ramp. you felt your face warm, wondering what soap was thinking about seeing your lieutenant carry you like this, especially after your pitiful confession to soap.

ghost didn’t reply to you as he walked down the loading dock and brought you in through the entrance closest to the infirmary.

“no, please,” you said in panic, seeing where he was taking you. ghost’s eyes flickered down to look at you for the first time since he picked you up. his attention made your throat close. “can you just take me to my room?”

“you don’t wanna be examined?” his voice was rough as he spoke like he had been shouting. being a medic yourself, of course, you knew you should be examined. even though your injuries weren’t that bad, you could still have internal damage.

you shook your head. “no. i just want to lie down in peace. i don’t want to answer anyone else’s questions. at least not yet.”

ghost hesitated for a moment before he resignedly obliged.

“god,” you groaned. “i hope my roommate isn’t back yet,” you mumbled absentmindedly. ghost could hear the whimper in your words. if she was back, that meant she was sure to hound you with questions and make you go to the infirmary.

“hmm,” you heard ghost hum in reply.

a few moments later, ghost placed you down on your bed— no, wait. this wasn’t your bed. “this isn’t my room,” you said dumbly, looking around.

“i know. it’s mine,” he replied darkly.

you felt your face heat. “w-why would you take me to your room?” you sat awkwardly on his bed as ghost clicked the light on.

“no one will bother you this way,” he said matter-of-factly as if this was simply something he did all the time.

“but–but where will you sleep?”

he shrugged. “doesn’t matter. not tired anyways.” he was still strung up on adrenaline, but he was definitely lying when he said he wasn’t tired. ghost felt beaten down. exhausted. like he would never catch a fucking break.

he rubbed the back of his neck, his mask itching. ghost gave you one last look over before turning to leave the room, to give you your privacy to sleep, or do whatever else you needed to in order to recuperate.

“wait, don’t leave me!” you said quietly but with clear panic laced in your voice. you had leaned over to grab ghost’s hand and you grunted in pain. you sat back on the bed to quickly disguise the anguish that covered your face at the sharp pain in your ribs. “don’t leave me with my own thoughts.” you twisted your hands on your lap, too embarrassed to look at him.

ghost’s eyes traced your silhouette, clearly annoyed with the way you groaned in pain as you reached for him. he wanted desperately to drop you off in the infirmary.

“what kinda thoughts?” he asked, his tone stoic but with a hint of concern.

it felt like that night you had a nightmare and ghost stayed with you even though he probably didn’t want to—but that couldn’t be further from the truth. the memory sent a wave of bashfulness through you.

“oh, uhm.” you looked up as he approached you, standing right before you on the side of his bed. “i guess i’m just blaming myself.”

even though ghost still had his mask on, you could tell he raised an eyebrow. “it’s not your fault you n’ laswell got captured. no one—”

“no. not that. i guess i just… i feel like i don’t belong here.” you looked away from ghost, trying to will the tears to stay put. you were so sick of crying. “you, and soap—and even gaz—spent so long training me, and it’s like it all went out the door the moment i was put in any real danger. i should have been able to escape. to fight them off.” your eyes betrayed you and you quickly wiped the tears away “i should have been able to fight him—”

it was ghost’s turn to cut you off. he sat on the edge of your bed where your feet were, making the mattress dip in. “iaso,” he said, gaining your attention. his fingers itched to reach out and wipe away your tears.

“i like it better when you use my real name,” you said shyly.

when ghost didn’t respond, you looked up. his eyes were pouring into yours; the way he was staring at you made you shift uncomfortably. “what?”

“nothin’,” he finally said. he had been debating telling you he preferred it when you called him simon too, but it got lost in his throat.

“no one thinks less of you for what happened,” he said.

you gave him a skeptical look, expecting him to laugh. “you don’t know that.”

“if any of ‘em do, i’ll be sure t’knock some sense into ‘em.”

you softly laughed, then winced in pain from the movement of your ribs.

“you’re hurt,” he said tersely.

“i’m fine.”

ghost stood from the bed. “i’m gonna go get someone t’take a look. i can ask soap—”

“no, wait. please don’t go.” you felt your body retract in on itself feeling so vulnerable in front of someone you had respected so much. that you still respected so much.

something behind ghost’s eyes sharpened as he looked back at you. he walked over to the side of the bed, inches away from you. “then you gotta let me look.” his words were deep and smokey.

you gave him a hesitant nod. he sat on the bed beside you, making the mattress sink down. his hands came to the hem of his shirt you were wearing and he slowly pulled it up over your head. you whimpered in discomfort as you extended your arms up. your ribs didn’t hurt quite this bad earlier, that’s how you knew the adrenaline was wearing thin.

you were immediately flustered as you sat in your ripped shirt and tank top. reminders of what had happened— what had almost happened —fled back to you.

ghost saw your apprehension and nudged you to take the ripped shirt off. he threw it to the floor and looked back at you. you now sat in only your black tank top, and you were glad for it. the shredded shirt just haunted you, reminding you of the way his knife felt cool against your skin and the ripping noise it made as he dragged it down the front of your shirt.

ghost fingers gently gripped the hem of your tank top and edged it up, bringing you back to reality and out of your dark thoughts. his eyes flickered to yours to make sure you were okay with this. you were glad he had his gloves on—and so was he. if his skin had made contact with yours…

he shook the thoughts away and focused on what he was doing. you squinted in pain as he lifted your top up to your bra and breathed your name. your real name . if it wasn’t for the situation in which he said it, you would have swooned.

ghost’s hands clenched where they gripped your shirt, making fists as he looked at your bruised rib cage. the bruising stretched across your whole abdomen, deep purple and red. “is it bad?” you asked.

ghost took a breath in before lowering your shirt. “i’m gonna go back for that son of a bitch,” he growled.

“what? no! you can’t go back. didn’t you say you killed everyone?”

ghost tried to calm himself by looking away from you, unable to focus as he looked at your cut-up face. “a couple got away. and if the man who did this to you was one of them… i don’t know if i can live with that.”

his eyes danced over to yours before he looked back down at his lap. “simon,” you breathed. you were exhausted. your eyes felt like they were burning the longer you kept them open.

“i need you to wait here a second.” you gave him a worried look. “i’m jus’ gonna go get ya some ice. i’ll be right back.” he wanted to add ‘ i promise ’ at the end of his sentence but thought better of it.

when ghost returned with an ice pack, you had slid under his blankets. he noticed you put his shirt back on and his chest tightened at the sight.

“comfy now, are we?”

“i was going to fight you on staying in your room. had all the talking points ready in my head and everything. but i can’t keep my eyes open,” you said through a yawn. your eyes drooped.

he passed you the ice pack and you gave him a small smile. you bit your lip as you rested it over your ribs. it hurt at first, but the coldness was immediate relief. “thank you.”

you watched silently as ghost shifted on his feet, observing you for a moment, before uniting his boots and kicking them off. next was his tactical vest that he dropped on his desk. the metal of his belt clanked as he undid it. your eyes went wide. “what’re you doing?”

ghost smirked under his mask. “you told me not t’leave. you don’t think i wear all this to bed, now do ya?”

you swallowed and looked away. ghost removed his belt, gloves, and helmet. “care if i…” his words trailed away but his head gestured forward, implying he was asking permission to sit beside you on the bed.

of course, you two had shared a bed before, so how would this be any different? and you were the one making him stay. and it was his bed. you really had no room to say no.

you nodded and ghost clicked off the light, sending you both into darkness. you heard the ruffling of clothes and realized he was taking his mask off. the light from the hallway shone in through the crack of the door and illuminated a sliver of his face as he turned to you. he slid into the bed, above the covers, beside you and you desperately wished he’d turn the light back on.

it was quiet for a few minutes and you were surprised it didn’t feel uncomfortable. “at least i have a reason for my nightmares now,” you joked.

you could hear simon’s head turn on the pillow, his face now looking towards you. he didn’t say anything, but you got a feeling he was telepathically reprimanding you for saying that about yourself.

“aren’t you hurt, too?” you whispered. even though you didn’t have to talk quietly, the darkness of the room made you anyway.

“i’ll worry ‘bout it in the mornin’.”

you wanted to fight him on this but you didn’t have the energy.

it couldn’t have been earlier than six at night and yet you fought to keep your eyes awake. finally, you fell into a restless sleep, simon’s arm warm where it rested against yours.

you awoke hours later and pried your eyes open. the room was still dark—it must have been one or two in the morning—and you could still sense simon beside you, his smell surrounding you: gunsmoke and mint. that’s when you tensed. simon must have shifted in his sleep because now he was on his side, his arm draped across your waist. your cheeks went red hot.

you debated between pretending like you never woke up, letting him keep his arm on you, or asking him to move—you really had to pee. finally, you slowly sat up, his grip on you tightening. “s-simon,” you stuttered. he groaned in his sleep and you felt his hand that was draped across you grip your shirt protectively. your heartbeat kicked up speed. “simon,” you said again.

that last attempt finally woke him from his slumber because he shifted his head to look up at you. he must have realized his arm was wrapped around you, but he made no effort to move it. you swallowed hard. “what is it?” he asked. your breath hitched in your throat at the deep baritone and rasp of his sleepy voice. holy shit , you didn’t think his voice could get any deeper than it already was, but you were wrong.

“i have to use the bathroom,” you said embarrassed. simon breathed in before rolling away from you, taking his arm with him. you felt your heartbeat steady, but you also pouted at the loss of contact.

being a lieutenant had its perks. simon had his own bathroom. it was small and simple, but still, it was a private bathroom. you would have killed for a bathroom of your own.

you slipped off the bed and scurried to the toilet, all too aware of his gaze following you.

once you were finished, you stared at yourself in his dirty mirror. you gently lifted your— his —shirt and looked at your rib cage. even with the faint light in the bathroom, you could tell it was pretty bad.

you startled at a soft knock at the door. obviously, it couldn’t be anyone but simon. you gulped before opening it, trying to step around him, assuming he had to use the bathroom next. but to your surprise, his arm stretched across the doorframe, caging you in.

you looked up at him, your lips parted in shock, and he backed you up against his small sink. his hands were on your hips before you could say anything and he heaved you up and sat you on the counter of the sink.

you watched him in silent astonishment as he pulled out his first aid kit. he began digging through the bag and you saw him crack a very faint smile. “like what ya see?” he teased, his voice still groggy from sleep.

your fists clenched as you looked at him. looked at him . his mask was off. you knew he had taken it off earlier, but you couldn’t really see him in the dark of his room. but now, in the bathroom, regardless of the poor lighting, you could really see his face.

simon pulled out an antiseptic from the bag and looked directly at you. even though you were propped on the sink, he still towered above you. he ignored the way your eyes watched him, widened in shock. his hands softly stroked the side of your face where he began to clean the cut that sliced down your cheek. “shoulda taken care of this earlier,” he mumbled, annoyed with himself for letting you not only skip a visit to the infirmary but to let you go to bed with your face still sticky with dried blood.

you let him clean your face, his eyes obviously avoiding contact with your own. after he was done, he set the bag away. “you should let me look you over,” you said quietly.

he shook his head as he looked at you. and jesus christ, every time he looked at you he took your breath away. he was so handsome. his hair was rather short, but still stuck up in odd places from sleep. he had scruff that covered some of the scars on his jaw. there was a clear scar that slit through his lip, you remember feeling it when he kissed you that night that felt so long ago. his eyes were a dark brown and his lashes were soft and light against the charcoal face paint he still had yet to wash off.

“m’ not hurt,” he said.

you jumped off the sink, making him take a step back, and your hands found his chest. he swallowed and his lips parted ever so slightly at your contact. “no? so this doesn’t hurt?” you asked knowingly as you pressed your hands up his chest. your small boost of confidence came from being a medical professional and wanting to mend simon, knowing he was hurt. and also a bit of sleep deprivation.

you studied his face, unable to look away, and knew he was holding back on wincing. “simon, just let me look,” you said defeated.

he surprised you when he tore his short-sleeved shirt from his top half and let it hang in his hand. his torso was exposed to you in all its glory. you tried not to think about how toned he was as you examined his chest, the small amount of hair trailing down beneath his pants. you could see the way he was breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling in rigorous patterns.

you saw old, faded scars marring his chest. then your eyes found the one lower on his torso, a scar from where you had sown him up weeks ago. then your eyes traced up higher and you saw fresh, bright red blood. there was a clear cut on his side, higher up towards his armpit. it wasn’t deep and had stopped bleeding, but he needed it cleaned.

you grabbed for his med back and pulled out what you needed before ordering him to lift his arm so you could clean his cut. his eyes watched you intensely the entire time you worked. you felt your fingers waver momentarily—the combination of him shirtless, staring at you, and maskless was leaving you starstruck.

you finally set everything back away and looked up at him, a bit awkward about what to do next. simon looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on the way you were swimming in his long-sleeved shirt. he took a step towards you and you mirrored him, backing into the sink. the light in the bathroom flickered. your hands gripped the counter on either side of you as you let simon edge in closer. he hunched over slightly, his head tilted, his eyes locked with yours.

you held your breath as he moved, somewhere between wanting him to continue and wanting him to stop. simon’s hand reached up, desiring nothing more than to cup your face and pull your lips to meet his. but he refrained. he stretched his fingers in phantom pain and settled on tucking a stray hair behind your ear. he watched your throat bob as you gulped and fire blazed behind his eyes.

he wanted to lean into you. to say he was sorry. to have both his hands all over you. to kiss you until you both lost your breath.

you gazed up at him through your eyelashes, waiting for something to happen. “i was right,” he grunted. you raised an eyebrow at him. “it fuckin’ sucks lettin’ people get close, jus’ for them t’leave you.”

you matched his firey gaze. “simon…” you breathed, at a loss of what to say. so he let you in? he listened to you, at least somewhat, when you told him it was worth having people in your life who care about you. how it hurts like hell losing them, but you would gladly take all the pain that comes with loss if it means not being alone.

and then he thought he lost you. and every fear he ever had, every attempt to keep people out so this specific situation wouldn’t happen, came to fruition.

finally, simon stepped back and gave you a sideways look. you wished he wasn’t so beautiful under his mask, maybe then this would have been easier.

you followed him back into his small quarters and obliged when his hand found the small of your back and pushed you towards his bed. he was only slightly worried you might have wanted to leave after this.

you crawled back into your spot and watched as simon sat on top of the covers, his back against the wall, propped up as he got lost in his own thoughts.

“you’re not going back to sleep?” you asked quietly.

he didn’t look down at you as he spoke. “close your eyes,” was all he could muster.

you tried to hold back any sense of rejection as your eyes fluttered closed, desperate for sleep.

after several minutes, you heard simon shift. he looked down at you finally, curled up in his bed, thinking you had fallen back to sleep already. you could feel his gaze on you, burning holes through you. he sighed before sinking down so his head was on his pillow and crossed his hands across his torso. his head turned sideways on the pillow and he couldn’t stop the half-hearted grin as he looked at you beside him.

he hated that he was already on the verge of falling asleep again. this would be the second time he slept in a bed beside you. the first time being in your own bed after you had nightmares. and he hated— absolutely despised —the fact that this was going to also be the second time he slept peacefully and would wake fully rested.

chapter 12 ➡

#ghost #simon riley #smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost call of duty #ghost angst #cod mw2 #cod fic #call of duty fanfic #mw2 fanfic #beneath the mask

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coriolantha · 2 months

Text

‧˚₊•୨ Patience ୧•‧₊˚⊹

mike schmidt x GN! reader

summary: mike comforts you after you've had a long day₊˚⊹:˚｡⋆୨୧˚

tags: fluff, mike being a sweetheart (as always), anxiety, reader has bad self image, insecurities, reader is overwhelmed and needs a break (so real), hugging, cuddling, comfort

wc: 1.1k

notes: hii this is my first fic i've posted on here. ngl i'm... scared. im not proud of this but i can't scrap it this time otherwise i'm never gonna get anything posted LMAO. please leave any criticism in the comments if you'd like, feel free to share any opinions, i want to improve the quality of my writing! thank you sm for reading! 🫶

today has been punishing.

rain trickled down the foggy window, making soft tapping sounds as they hit and fell, reluctantly racing down to gather in the weep holes. the rough, scratchy carpet beneath you beginning to burn as you shuffled around your desolate home.

exhausted, you gave up trying to distract yourself from your main task; your bedroom.

your eyes darted around your cluttered room, glossing over as you noticed every individual piece of clothing that wasn't hung up, organized, and neatly put away. you began to have a headache thinking about where to even begin. you felt like a filthy slob, your surroundings perfectly reflecting how you've felt all day.

you flicked the lights off, the warmly lit room now becoming pitch black, except for the small gleam of light that came through the open door. you sat on your bed, absentmindedly kicking your various pants and t-shirts away from you to give yourself some room to lay down.

mike wouldn't be back home for a while now. it was only 12:45am, which gave you 5 hours and 25 minutes to attempt to sleep before having to get ready for your office job... which would leave little to no time to spend with mike.

fuck mondays.

turning over to your side, you hugged your knees, shivering. no amount of blankets could fix how cold you felt. the truth was, you missed your boyfriend; longing for his cozy hugs and soft, gentle kisses he'd press against your cheek as he consoled you.

you missed him more than anything in the world.

with a blink, the tears that have been collecting in your eyes came down your flushed face at once. laying there, you accepted your pitiful reality, slowly drifting off into unwanted slumber, in solitude.

the time was around 2am when you felt a dip into the bed. panicking, you quickly awoke, shuffling to sit up as fast as possible. although you didn't know of the time, something felt off. mike wasn't supposed to be home yet, that's for sure.

panic turned into confusion as you heard mike, obviously feeling guilty for having jumpscaring you so badly.

"oh, shit- baby, it's me," he whispered apologetically, reaching his hand out to cup your cheek. turning on the dim lamp, he quickly turned back to face you. his eyes bore into yours, scanning to make sure you were going to be alright.

all day he was desperate to see your face, even after his shorter-than-usual-shift. mike couldn't get enough of your perfection, although you always brushed him off whenever he ever mentioned this to you.

he noticed your terrified expression which started to wear off, beginning to blend into relief.

"it's just me... you don't need to worry about anything, okay? i'm right here, no one's gonna hurt you," he muttered, leaning over to press a chaste kiss on your lips, lingering longer than usual.

weight lifted off your shoulders as you began to put pieces together. now, all you needed was an answer to your burning question.

"mike, why did you come home so early? did something happen?" you asked anxiously, looking right back at your boyfriends affectionate, adoring eyes.

"oh, sweetheart..." he soothed, "i got let out early today. nothing worth worrying about. i guess they didn't need me as much as i thought they did," he let out a quick, dry laugh, shaking his head dismissively.

"fuck, i've missed you all day, i'm so damn glad i could leave that job early. anything to see you, my love," he cooed, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, delicately tucking it behind your ear

you were in awe; it was a miracle he came home early, especially today. you were fighting to hold your tears back, mouth quivering as you bit your bottom lip. mike noticed your change in emotion immediately.

"hey hey hey," he whispered urgently, quickly grabbing your hand and giving it a light squeeze, "what's wrong?" his voice drowned in concern.

"i did nothing all day. the only thing i've done is just stand around and... thought of doing something, but i couldn't. i was so tired, but of what? like, why didn't i clean our room? and the worst part is, you have to come home, tired as hell, ready to go to sleep, only to see your messy room and your partner who still hasn't done anything about it," you quavered, sniffling softly as warm tears fell from your eyes.

mike said nothing, but you could sense how hurt he felt after you talked so badly about yourself. he sighed, laying down on the plush mattress. he patted his chest, inviting you to rest your head there. you did so immediately, closing your eyes as you listened closely to his heart beat.

"you know i love you, right?" he asked gently. you stayed quiet, knowing he wasn't expecting an answer.

"i love everything about about you. but the only thing i don't love is how badly you talk of yourself. i hate it. it doesn't make any sense to me," he stressed, stroking your hair soothingly.

"so what if our room is messy? i don't think about that when i come home. all i think about is how i can finally be with you. i'm not going to let some clothes on the floor get in the way of us, ever. or anything, in fact."

you nodded in agreement silently, your tears dry on your cheeks.

"we can tackle this room together. we can do this however you want- i can pick up your clothes while you organize them into whichever area they go to, and i'll pick up my clothes too, but you won't have to organize that, i'll take care of it. how does that sound?" he asked delicately.

you instantly felt a huge weight lift off your shoulders.

"thank you so much, mike. you don't know how much i needed you today," you exhaled, "really."

he looked down lovingly at you, curled up beside him. he kissed your head tenderly, rubbing up and down your back.

goosebumps spread across your arms. you felt so loved and safe.

"the real question is," you suddenly asked, "how are you so perfect? were you made in a factory or something?"

"says you," he laughed, holding you tighter.

the two of you basked in the love you had for one another for a while. no words were exchanged, only him occasionally rubbing his thumb against your arm, while you began to doze off, which caught his attention.

"want me to turn the light off?"

you nodded, wrapping your arm around his stomach.

he turned over once more, pulling the cord of the lamp light, the room now pitch black.

"i love you," he whispered, turning to his side a little more so he could be pressed closer against you.

"i love you too, mike. always," you mumbled back, the two of you drifting off to sleep.

₊˚⊹:˚｡⋆₊୨୧₊˚⊹:˚｡⋆₊

dividers by @f-loqweres 🫶

#josh hutcherson #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x gn!reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x y/n #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader fluff #fluff #mike schmidt x gn!reader fluff #comfort fanfic #comfort fluff #comfort #lovers #self love #jhutch #fanfiction #fanfic

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judeswhore · 2 years

Note

Request - Steve jerks off to a photo of you 🫢😏

this is kinda hot ngl

18+, minors dni

steve's fist tightened around his cock, squeezed the tip with a soft grunt as his hips rose from the bed, meeting his hand on each slow stroke. his stomach clenched, chest heaving just slightly and it was becoming increasingly more difficult for him to keep his moans to himself. glazed over eyes met the polaroid picture gripped between the fingers of his free hand, just a seconds glance at it pulling a whimper deep from his throat, cock twitching in his palm.

the photo of you was down right filthy, dirty but oh so perfect and the sole reason that steve was fucking his own hand at three in the morning. the picture in question was probably one of the best he’d ever taken of you, sprawled completely naked on his bed, fingers twisted into the white sheets, legs up and wide so only your knees were really visible. your face was contorted in pleasure, plump lips parted and he swore he could hear your moans, his hips bucking pathetically towards his fist. your boobs were on full display, littered slightly with marks from his mouth, nipples hard and begging for attention. steve’s hand was pressed into your lower stomach, something that always drove you over the edge but his favourite part was the bottom of the photo. he’d just managed to capture his cock half inside of you, your pussy wrapped tight around his thick length, stretched to take him in and he glistened with your wetness, the area between your thighs already a sticky mess.

he’d taken it on the new camera you’d bought him during one of your not so innocent nights together and hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since, the image burned into the backs of his eyelids. he wanted to keep it in his wallet so he could see the pleasure on your face whenever he wanted but the fear of someone seeing you like that had him keeping it tucked into the pages of a book on his nightstand.

“fuck, baby, not even here and you’re driving me insane.” his hand jerked a little faster, thumb swiping over the leaking tip as he brought himself closer to his release. he stared a little longer at the polaroid, at the grip of your pussy around his cock and the fucked out look in your eyes he’d caught so well. he let his mind wander, let himself think about that night, about the way you felt and tasted, the sounds you’d let out, the way you’d whimpered and begged him for more.

as he twisted his wrist and fucked his hand quicker he imagined it was your walls wrapped wet and snug around him, clenching and squeezing every time he hit that special spot. he thought about taking you from behind, fucking you hard until you were collapsing into his sheets, face buried in his pillow to muffle your moans and whimpers. he’d have one hand gripping your ass, already marked up and real pretty, his other would pull at your hair, force your head up so he could hear you, hear you cry his name when he finally rubbed his fingers over your clit.

he dropped the picture and cupped his balls, rolled and massaged them the way you did, his own head tipping back into the pillow, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, his chest heaving. he jerked himself at a fast pace, made sure to pay extra attention to the weeping tip as pleasure licked up his spine, made his stomach tense and his cock twitch. he was so close, wished he could be buried in your pussy or your mouth, wished he could stuff you full of his cum and hear you beg him not to stop.

steve thought about the way you always squeezed around him when he praised you, the way your pussy gripped him so tight he went a little light headed, all because he’d called you a good girl or told you how well you were taking him. he imagined that as he squeezed himself tighter, let his hips chase his fist as his orgasm crashed into him. your moans were loud in his ears, your whimpered cries of his name playing on a loop as his head conjured up image after image, his mind replaying what you looked like when he fucked his cock into your tight hole.

“fuck, baby just like that.” steve’s moans were more whines and whimpers, high pitched and desperate, a little cracked in the middle because his thumb had teased over the sensitive tip. he came over his hand and stomach, the sticky substance pooling beneath his belly button, dripping over his fingers as he slowed his pumps and rode himself through it. he milked himself until he had nothing to give, shudders wracking his body, hips jerking away from his loosened fist. his body felt light, cock softening in his palm as he stroked himself a few more times, once again imagined you between his legs, licking up his length to clean him, swallowing his load with a grateful hum.

steve gave a breathless laugh, one that sounded more like a moan and let his arms collapse at his sides, his chest flushed and heaving, body slicked with sweat and sticky with cum. despite his orgasm he still couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t get your doe eyes and pouted lips out of his mind. he tucked the polaroid back inside the book but the image printed on it followed him into sleep.

#sinclaiirs baby blurbs #baby blurb #stranger things #stranger things blurb #stranger things fic #stranger things smut #stranger things one shot #joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #leigh’s baby blurbs

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pocoyo-yo · 1 year

Text

'𝟒𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀'

SUMMARY: when toji anime concept art dropped millions of panties dropped around the globe

WARNINGS: smut, fem!bodied reader, slight daddy kink, praise kink, degradtion, breeding kink, slight breath play/slight choking, fingering, mating press (pos.), unprotected sex, creampie, slight lactation, mentions of preganacy, sorta.. kinda baby trapping, petnames (baby, ma, pretty girl, daddy) toji is a toxic, manipulitive baby daddy ngl

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BABY-DADDY TOJI who knows you can't live without him. who knows he's the only one who can keep you satisfied.

you complain about him and yet you let him in. everytime he uses the same excuse as to why he's there 'just wanna see the baby, nothing more'.

he finds himself playing with the one year old daughter you two shared, catching you giving him glances here or there. you may not have even known it yet, but he could tell you were needy. your breathing pattern, the fact you had your thighs pressed so tightly together, it was so obvious you wanted him to fuck another baby in to you.

"megumi 'nd tsumiki miss you," he tells you while playing patty-cake with his baby girl. it wasn't a lie either, the two did prefer you compared to toji's previous girlfriends (if you could call them that)— shit, tsumiki preferred you over her own mother. "they keep askin' about lyric.. they wanna spend time with their lil sister.."

you attempted to make a point, "they can see her when it's your days," you added. "but i do miss them too.. they're very sweet kids, nothin' like you."

toji scoffed, "yeah? but i still made megumi just like i made lyric.. they're somethin' like me, and besides,"

he held up lyric and placed her face next to his own.. a smug smirk on his scarred lips.

"doesn't she look just like daddy.."

────────────────────

BABY-DADDY TOJI who sloppily makes-out with you on the couch after you put the baby for a nap. one hand squeezing your jaw and the other cupping your pussy while he thrusts two thick fingers inside of your weeping hole.

"talk to me, ma," his fingers curled, pressing firmly into that spongey spot within your walls while rubbing your clit with his thumb. "talk to me.." he huffed in between kisses.

your hips jumped as you rolled yourself on his fingers, trying to apply more pressure to that spot.

"feels s'good toj'.." you whimpered and dug your heels into his shoulder blades. he forced your face back from his, making sure you could lock eyes with him. those same emerald eyes your daughter had inherited.

"mhm i know, pretty girl," his strong hands squeezed your cheeks together, your lips were swollen from the kissing, and tears clung to your lashes. you were just too fuckin cute. "nobody can please this spoiled lil pussy like i can, yeah? .. not even you, ma.." he chuckled as your eyes flicked back in your head, his movements had become faster and his fingers pushed deeper than before.

your hips bucked erratically, trying to chase your approaching high. you babbled on moans as your arousal rolled down his knuckles. your pathetically wet pussy was all you could hear besides your own whimpers.

"nobody," you cried. "nobody but you daddy.."

you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to supress your moans and not wake the baby while you squirmed from the overwhelming pleasure.

"did ya miss me as much as i missed ya? fuck.. how bad was it─ not bein' able to make yourself cum like i do─ like daddy does?" he asked, groaning at the sight of your puffy pussy growing bruised from how hard he was fingering you.

"soo bad.. so so bad," you moaned, his grip on your face loosening. "you reach so fuckin' deep.. make me feel so good, toji.. missed you so much.."

your voice quivered, "toji.. i need it bad.."

"need what, ma?" he asked you.

"need," you sniffled. "need your dick, toj'.."

he scoffed, "i know but i gotta prep you," he chewed on his inner cheek as you slid your hand under your tanktop and began playing with your sensitive tits. "just cum on my fingers and i'll give it to you.. i know how needy you've been without me, ma. my poor baby's been sufferin without this dick, yeah?"

you whined, "that's it..?"

"that's it," he kissed your nose. "that's all daddy wants.."

────────────────────

BABY-DADDY TOJI who has you so cock drunk that he had to cover your mouth 'cause at that point you didn't even consider the fact you'd wake the baby.

but he couldn't blame you.

it had been about five months since he fucked you and right now it seemed like, even with prep, he was splitting your lil cunt in two.

it was a sloppy mess down there, you had forgotten how many times you had creamed around his cock.. but it was enough that it made each thrust make a wet, gushy squech-like noise.

only he had you like this.. so pathetic and desperate for a man's dick.

but it wasn't just that alone, of course he was blessed with a big ass dick, but toji actually knew how to fuck. he knew where to touch, what to tease, how fast or how slow he should go to get the ideal reaction from you.

"so fuckin messy," he grinned, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin as his heavy balls slapped repeatedly against your ass. toji found himself slipping out of you and he rubbed the tip of his cock over your clit. ".. so fuckin sensitive.."

you whined and bucked your hips against him til he finally pushed his cock back into the warmth of your gummy walls.

"you love this dick don't you, ma?" toji grunted, pulling his hand down so that you could speak.

his tip kissed your cervix and you gasped, "love it so much, toji!"

"ya can't live without this dick, can ya? just gotta fuckin' have it like a lil addict," toji chuckles, his thrusts grew harsher and more precise by the second. "what? you addicted to this dick, baby?"

you sobbed, "m─ mhm!"

"at that point then," his hand snaked around your throat. your thighs were now pressed firmly against your leaking breasts.. your pussy spread open and getting fucked 'til it was turning red. "might as well call this my fuckin cunt.. 'cause you can't please it properly without me.." toji huffed, squeezing your throat just a bit.

"it's," you whimpered. "it's your cunt, toji.. only yours!"

you could feel yourself coming to another orgasm.. your entire body was feeling it─ feeling him. that was his effect. every nerve, fiber, and ounce of your being could feel him when he fucked you. shit, even when he wasn't fucking you. lyric was an perfect example of the fact that toji was never going to be out of your life for good.

"missed you so much.. oh m'gonna cum! m'gonna cum again toji.." you warned him, clawing at his chest as your tits bounced with the newfound speed of his thrusts.

"fuck, just wait a sec, ma.." he rasped.

"can't," you whined. "gotta cum now.. please!"

he squeezed your throat tightly and groaned, "listen to me," you gasped for air as tears rolled down your hot cheeks. "do ya love me, baby?"

you blinked tears away as air filled your lungs once again..

"y.. yes, I love you too much toji.." you admitted.

"love ya too, ma," he smirked. "let me cum inside this pussy, yeah? let me make sure every man who looks at you knows i've been inside this pretty pussy.."

you let out one final gasp as you gushed around toji's cock for maybe the fourth time already, and in response to your cunt spasming around him he buried his cock deep inside you, shuddering as he let his jaw hang low and thick ropes of cum painted your inner walls.

toji kissed your calves while kneading your bare tits as you tried to collect your thoughts.

but only one echoed throughout your mind

everything hurts.

────────────────────

BABY-DADDY TOJI who laid next to you in your bed, letting you rest on his chest. his lips pressed into your forehead while holding you close, softened cock nestled in your walls.

"toji.." you mumbled, voice hoarse.

"yeah, ma?"

"i'm not on bc.." you confessed shyly.

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BABY-DADDY TOJI who fucks you to sleep raw after hearing those words, making sure he claimed you on on every surface of your apartment before your daughter finally sturrs awake. he mumbles something about you resting.. and that he'll take care of her til you wake.

that familiar smug look on his face as he watches globs of his cum drip from your hole.

he knows good and well that he finally had you.. he finally caught you with your gaurd down..

now you were for sure stuck with him 'cause after all that, baby number two was definitely guaranteed.

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jesterwriting · 7 months

Note

Hello!! So excited to be mutuals!! I’m ngl I’m about to blog crawl your posts so if you see me in your fics 🌝 hehe no you don’t!!

I was hoping maybe you’d be interested in writing some Sanji comforting his partner after they’ve had a really bad day? 🥹💕 thank you so much for considering and I hope you have a lovely day!!

pairing: sanji x reader

contents: fluff, comfort, slight sensory distress, sanji gets flustered easily

word count: 1.1k words

note: HI OMG! so excited to be mutuals too <33 and to celebrate i hope you enjoy this little sanji morsel :3

playlist: sweet chamomile - ruth b

You’ve had bad days before, but this one took the cake.

First, you woke up late and your breakfast was cold. Not bad, could be worse, you could handle cold breakfast. Sure, your boyfriend would happily heat it up for you, but you didn’t want to bother him over something so trivial. You were an adult, you could handle a bit of congealed egg.

Then, you got rained on after you went into town to explore. It was sunny when you left, not a cloud in the sky, how were you supposed to know to bring an umbrella? In your hurry to get back to the ship, you tripped and fell right into a mud puddle, completely ruining your favorite outfit. All at once, everything was getting to be too much. No matter what you did, nothing seemed to go right. It was days like this that left you exhausted and crying into your pillow, desperate for some way to unleash the emotional maelstrom that had made its home inside of you.

Your mud encrusted shirt felt sticky against your skin and you fought the urge to shake. From rage or disgust, you weren’t sure, all you knew is you wanted to be clean. You hated the way the clumps of dirt weighed down your shirt against your shoulders, or the way the fabric clung to you uncomfortably. You loved this shirt, and now it was ruined. It would be hard to find a similar replacement, though you could always try to hand wash it yourself.

Yes. Right. You could always wash it. This wasn’t the end of the world. With a deep breath, you clenched your fists to ground yourself, and marched into your room to get a change of clothes. Once you were finally clean again, you hauled your dirty clothes into the laundry room. With a brush in one hand, your shirt in the other, you unleashed all of your rage at how the day had gone onto whatever flecks of dirt you could get your hands on.

“Take that!” You cackled, watching the soapy water turn brown. “Die by my hand you wretched stain.”

Too focused on your one-man war, you didn’t realize how much force you were putting into your motions until a loud ripping sound filled the small room, and you were left staring dumbly at what was now half of your shirt. Your favorite shirt. The one you’d had for years. Nothing in your wardrobe was both as comfy or as warm, and now, it was ruined. Forever.

You couldn’t help it. Fat tears plopped into the basin as your breathing hitched. You felt ridiculous crying over an article of clothing, but now that the waterworks began, you couldn’t stop them. Weeping, you threw the torn fabric into the basin and tried not to focus on how the water splashed onto your front, soaking yet another outfit. With your hands over your face, and your clothes stuck to your skin, you muffled your cries into your palms.

Hopefully no one would walk in on your little temper tantrum. That would make a horrible day only that much worse.

As if on cue, the door squeaked open and you were left frantically trying to wipe your cheeks dry. Before you could blink, Sanji was within your field of vision, concern drawing his curly eyebrows together. With your cheek cupped in his hand, his thumb drew gentle circles into your skin. The gesture was so comforting, you couldn’t help but lean into his touch.

“Sweetheart, you’re crying. What’s wrong?”

Remembering what you’d been upset about, you gave an embarrassed jerk and tried to rub the redness from your eyes. “I’m just being stupid. It’s nothing.” When Sanji didn’t seem convinced, you gave him a watery smile. “Really, don’t worry so much, you’ll get wrinkles.”

“I’ll always worry when it comes to you, my love.” Instead of helping you to your feet, he sat down next to you, one leg outstretched, the other drawn up so he could rest his elbow on his knee. With his free arm, Sanji wrapped you into a side hug, tugging you closer to him until your head rested on his shoulder. You hummed and stared at his blush. Even the smallest acts of affection could make your boyfriend flush bright red. It was cute. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can help.”

“It’s stupid,” You muttered.

“It obviously isn’t if you’re this upset,” Sanji countered, his fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve. You could tell he wanted a cigarette but would rather not smoke with you in such a small space. The second hand smoke would fill the room in seconds.

With a sigh, you gestured to the muddy basin, the remnants of your shirt sunk to the bottom. “Today has sucked.” Sanji hummed and nodded. You took that as your cue to continue, “I got rained on, fell in the mud, ripped my favorite shirt, and my breakfast was cold because I got up so late.”

“Why didn’t you come find me? I would have reheated your breakfast for you, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not going to go bother you over something so trivial. I’m an adult, I can eat my cold food. It was just that… coupled with everything else.”

“Come here.” Without another word, Sanji wrapped you in a warm embrace, his chin settled on the top of your head. You buried your face into his shirt and inhaled his scent: cigarettes and spices. Gently, Sanji began running his hands through your hair, playing with a loose strand every so often. In his arms, it felt like every weight that made its home on your shoulders disappeared. You slumped into him, your own hands home between Sanji’s shoulder blades.

“I feel better, thank you.”

“I knew a hug would help you, my love.” Even with his voice rumbling against your ear, he sounded smug. You glanced up, noticing that he was blushing so deep, the redness disappeared underneath the collar of his dress shirt. When you snuggled into him, his flush only got darker. Smug indeed. You smirked to yourself, the heaviness in your heart replaced with a light, fluttery feeling.

“Can we stay like this for a little while longer,” You asked

“As long as you need,” Sanji replied.

The two of you remained, tied tightly together on the wet floor of the laundry room, for hours. It wasn’t until Luffy found the two of you, wondering when dinner was going to be ready, did Sanji untangle himself from you.

By then, you felt like the day wasn’t as bad as you thought.

#one piece x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x yn #one piece imagines #one piece scenarios #.jesterwrites #I HOPE YOU ENJOYED WHAT YOU READ WHEN U CRAWLED THRU MY BLOG :3

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namazunomegami · 2 months

Text

Atonement

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: How can you cleanse yourself from the sin that has been tainting you since your attempt to escape? The answer is easy: walk on barefoot for him, suffer some misery, risk your health for him, open yourself up for him and you can earn his forgiveness.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, toxic and complicated dynamics, religious symbolism, porn with feelings, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising, gaslighting, m!receiving oral, fingering, non-consensual edging, good old unprotected sex + creampie

WC: 5.3k

Credits: my lovely @notveryrussian who worked so hard to get this fic proofreaded. Ngl they deserve all the praise and respect because we lost literal pages from the already edited draft because windows is crap and they had to start over again. Take one big break darl, you deserve it 💕

Song rec: mythical creature by pregnant whale pain was my main inspiration during writing but i think tumblr dot com is not ready yet to listen to an unknown hungarian avantgarde metal band while reading porn lmao. Maybe i'll drop the acoustic version later.

A/N: Here is part 1 in case if you missed it. I think you need to know what happened to completely understand the buildup and have a general idea about their relationship. This fic is probably my fave I’ve written so far, a special lil brainchild of mine. These two are living in my mind rent free with all their lore and they'll never let me go.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated 💕

Minors don't interact unless you want me to stand outside your house at 3 am with a pitchfork

It was very hard to explain to your family what happened to you. The worry which they approached you with, especially Mimiko and Nanako just stirred a weird sense of guilt in your chest. The twins even offered to help you out with chores, eagerly telling you to rest, let your body heal. Your heart shattered to pieces in that moment, weeping endlessly with fat, salty tears. Your precious darling girls, so considerate of you, so caring, their hearts filled with everlasting gratitude. And you wanted to leave them. You felt like a piece of shit of a parental figure, obviously.

Days passed as if nothing had ever happened. Even in your private moments with Geto, the issue was never brought up. He took care of your wounds, of course, but your escape attempt wasn’t a topic of conversation at all. You swept it under the rug.

Which means it was only a question of time until he was going to wield it against you.

“Leave the scabs alone.” he reprimands you softly, dragging your wrist away from them. The hot water softened your scars, making them itchy, easy to pick away at them. But Geto is so thoughtful for looking after you like some kind of crazy mother hen, right? Even sitting in the tub behind you.

He takes hold of the edge, stepping out of the tub swiftly. The water suddenly drops around you, goosebumps dot your skin from the sudden touch of the moistened air as he hides that broad, sun-kissed form of his beneath a bathrobe. You ache for a bit of peace, a bit of me-time, but since the so-called “accident”, he just couldn’t stop himself from keeping an eye on you constantly.

Your hand dances along the surface of the water, bunching the bubbles together into various shapes, like they’re islands. Like you’re a young god, decorating the plane you’ve created. But his outstretched palm appearing in your vision disturbs your creative process.

“Come, I’ll take the stitches out.”

Compared to when your wound was sutured, cutting out the thread is a relatively quick process. Especially with his competency. The tweezer lifts and holds the knot, as he severs the thread with a pair of scissors and pulls it from your flesh before he moving on to the next. It’s uncomfortable, not in a way that it hurts, but it makes your skin crawl and your bones bend. An overall disgusting feeling. But when it’s over, it does feel better. And knowing him, you wonder if it’s purposeful or not.

“Must you make it painful?” you complain, thumb pressing down on the closed, marred skin. For the wrong reasons though, but you can freely complain.

“I didn’t intend to hurt you.” his voice is soft like silk, but not without a sharp edge in it, slowly unfurling, like the jaws of a venus flytrap. “I just wanted to teach you a lesson.”

You glare at him, your eyes piercing him like a dagger.

“Me? I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

This… was a bit too far, you must admit.

You storm out of the bathroom, like you could get away from the conversation.

“Go on, speak.” his words echo through the walls of the bedroom, making your movements halt immediately. You glance up at the window, faced with his reflection as he leans against the doorframe. “What should I learn from you? That you’re not afraid to run? To put your life in unnecessary danger?”

A long sigh leaves through your nostrils.

“If it comforts you, then yes, I realized that I had made a dumb decision.”

You don’t have to turn around to know he’s standing right behind you. Looming over you, shrouding you like an evil trickster spirit.

“I must admit I enjoyed your little attempt…” his palms are heavy on your shoulders, just like his words echoing close to shell of your ear. “Catching you, watching your resolves crumble, the raw terror plastered on your face…” the way his voice caresses you is just like the way he would hold a blade right against your throat, pressing down on the pulsing veins that could be cut open so easily. Like needles slowly being inserted into your ear canals. Eventually it softens, getting more serious and chiding. “But you did scare me. Have you ever thought about what would’ve happened if I didn’t go after you?”

You’d die, you would definitely die. Bleeding out amidst the leaves and grass, letting the frosty night bite you tense and weak. All alone in the dark.

Hold on…

You wouldn’t be injured if he hadn’t frightened you in the first place.

Did he just… no, it can’t be.

He slowly walks away from you, and you hear the bed creak under his weight. The choking feeling finally lifts from your throat. You turn towards one of the incense burners, already filled, it merely needs to be lit. But you do it slowly, just for the sake of appearing busy, to not feel obligated to carry on with the conversation.

But you should make peace with him before he does. He’ll make you face all of your mistakes and their consequences, if not outright making you suffer because of them. Rub all of them into your face until you have no choice but to plead for forgiveness.

It’s not easy, but you open your mouth. The scent of sandalwood lowers your guards, helping you be honest and brings forth the thoughts you’ve been trying to hide for a long time.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. And I wonder even more about that if we’ll fail before reaching our goal. Fail spectacularly. Because we want to do the impossible.”

“What is exactly the right thing? Being selfless? Forgetting all about our grudges and letting the world trample all over us? Or being selfish and crushing anyone under our feet to keep each other safe?”

Like an elastic band being strained for far too long, you snap. Luckily, the bronze lid of the incense burner holds out under your grasp.

“It’s too fucking late for moral arguments! Can’t you speak to me more directly for once? Instead of hiding behind your… carefully crafted scenarios that only prove your point.”

You should have avoided looking at him. At your serpent, who made you sin, who was cursed alongside you, your serpent who devoured your beloved Adam. You yearned for the remains, sitting in the bottomless pit of his stomach.

But you swore those remains spoke to you, through layers of flesh, scales, and deception. Soft and calm like a light summer breeze.

“Do you have doubts about me, darling? Are you giving up on me?”

The question breaks you, evaporating all of your anger and resentment in a flash. Devoid of any playful tone or hidden meanings, so raw that it takes hold of your heart and squeezes it so tight that it couldn’t possibly beat anymore.

You know how he twists the truth, striking right into the softest parts of you. He feeds you poison – yet you swallow it right down every single time.

“Faith has no zenith, my dear.” you answer, low and sweet, like you wanted to comfort him. The lid on the incense burner closes, giving you enough time to build up the courage to approach him. You weave your words carefully, in such fashion that it can be interpreted in multiple ways. If he switched just one little word, he’d immediately gain more insight into what’s really been weighing on your heart. “There’s no such peak we can reach on which we can stagnate forever. Faith sometimes wavers, sometimes we question our beliefs. Sometimes we’re unsure if our prayers are heard.” you get down on your knees before him, taking his hand into yours, giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “But I do want to have faith in you.”

His features visibly soften. Heavy lids close in relief, and you feel his thumb brushing along your knuckles.

This is your chance! Go on, there’s no time more perfect than this to try to convince him.

“We should really get away from the temple.” you start with an almost resigned sigh, but your excitement soon starts to show. “Just for a few days. Manami will handle the followers while we leave for the countryside, or an island. We can bring the girls even.”

A faint glimmer in his eyes tells you his answer is going to disappoint you.

“They don’t know about the girls, but they certainly know about you.” he reminds you sternly. “The higher ups want us dead and the last time I offered to protect someone, they ended up getting killed.”

His voice is faint, almost shaky. He rarely talks about the death of Riko. And if he ever brings her up in a conversation, you know he means it.

The heavy lid above his eyes drops, violet irises hiding behind his lashes, averted from you. The words coming out of him are barely above a whisper, like his lips are made from lead, like forming the words is a tiring task because they’re so heavy, and filled with something violently torturing him.

“This is a risk I’m not willing to take again. Not even for you. Especially for you.”

You feel something pooling on your waterline. Translucent pearls of tears appear so involuntarily when you see him like this. Sometimes you do want to hurt him, but when you see him in pain, it torments you even worse.

“I’m not asking you to take risks for me. I never did. But you should take some for you. You could use some respite.” you lace your fingers with his. It brings you a strange kind of comfort how your hand just loses itself in his, but it’s yours that looks more lively and powerful. Like it’s you what keeps him together. As if without you he would shatter into pieces. “You take on an awful lot of responsibilities, I think sometimes more than you’re capable of handling.”

Affection sweeps through his features as he caresses your head, from the roots of your strands to the thick bone of your jaw. A lonely thumb brushing along from your cheekbone to the lobe of your ear. And there’s nothing you can do, only stare at him, wide-eyed with reverence, like he’s an ethereal being.

“This is not your cross to bear.”

He wanted to ease your concerns, but you’re much more stubborn than that. You won’t stand there, at a safe distance, watching him drag himself to his Calvary, whipped and crowned with thorns. You’ll push through the crowd, smash them to bits just to reach him and offer your veil to wipe his face. A thousand times, as many times as he needs.

“Of course it is, what do you expect from me? Unlike…” No, don’t say names, do not compare yourself to certain figures in your past and the way they treated him. “I’m worried about you, for no other reason than I genuinely care about you. That’s why I want you to put our plans to aside - let’s unwind a little, recharge. Before all of this drives us insane.”

He deliberately avoids answering, your concern grows and grows like vicious vine. Is this too much to ask for? A small moment of normalcy can’t be granted to you? What are the two of you really? Idols of worship, if not gods at this point because your sheep do regard you as such. But can’t gods long for a visit amongst mortals? Can’t they shed their divine status? You could, but maybe, before he’d let you leave, he’ll feed you pomegranate seeds.

Would you eat them again? Of course you would. Even if you fight and snarl a little beforehand. Because love is the death of duty, and of a peaceful mind, of comprehensive decisions. Love is so mystified, shrouded in the illusion of an immortalized existence, just like death. Love is, indeed, death.

Your palms cup his face, his skin radiates warmth through you. The warmth of the evening sun that makes the sky bleed with the prettiest colors you can imagine. Your touch slowly encourages him to look into your eyes, finding a strange kind of determination and care mixed with your obvious worry. A Magdalene dwells within your gaze, who already washed her prophet’s feet with tears and dried them with her hair before he starts his last journey to Golgotha.

“I told you a million times, if you fall too deep into your misery, when you feel like you can’t come back to the surface on your own, let me know, so I can pull you out. Or let me know so I can go after you. And we’ll drown together.”

All those little pacts and vows you made during the years echo through you. Even the first one, the most ancient of them all, when it was still easy to hide your concerns behind your techniques.

I’ll keep an eye on you.

It’ll keep an eye on you.

You lean closer, foreheads and the tips of your noses touching. Eyes closing in almost perfect synchronicity.

“Promise me, Suguru. Promise me again.”

You wait and wait, until his warm breath brushes your skin like fine silk, like a feather.

“I promise.”

You sigh in relief. It hurts, it hurts so much. There’s so much place in your heart for him to dwell in. He owns it and he won’t give it back. Ever.

You only wanted a chaste kiss, but a special type of hunger wakes deep below your navel. You taste his words, you swallow them down, nipping them from his lips. You look for the rest of them, his thoughts that hadn’t been formed into words yet, the rest of the sentence, you search for it with your tongue inside his mouth.

You grab onto the sheets, trying to push yourself up. Like you could overpower him, like you could battle against him. To have him laid out on the mattress, defeated. But he stops your advances with a palm resting on your shoulder, gently pushing you away.

“You’re not healed yet.” he whispers, truly concerned.

“Then I’ll be on top, I don’t care.” you oppose breathily, your fingers trying to pry his robe open.

“The cut on your hand could re-open if we’re not careful.”

Oh, how you adore him when he’s so tender with you, but now, this is the last thing you want. You want to bare your teeth and go right for the throat.

“Then you’ll stitch me up again.” There’s a playful edge in your voice, and you kiss him again with the same curve of a smile while he lets you crawl on top of him.

And he smiles against you too, delighted by your eagerness. You, trying to eat him up, digest him - he’s just enjoying you and the feast you’re having. Taking everything from you. He only wants to capture you, to cage you in his hold. He’s kneading your flesh leisurely and humming into your mouth contently, almost lazily.

In the crooks of his body, you find your religion.

The sharp line of his jaw, the tendons of his neck, the hollow caverns around his collarbone. But your mouth carefully avoids the scars slashing through his chest, after all those years, it still pains him when the lightly coloured, textured skin gets touched. As if these lips of yours and your aimlessly trailing fingers were the same blades, penetrating the flesh again and again.

There’s not a morsel of him that you weren’t intimately familiar with. In a way that rivals how much you know about yourself. And what you know even better is that how can you venerate them, dote on them, adore, and idolize with such devotion you could anger all deities created by man and make them scream blasphemy on you.

You take his cock in your hand, teasingly working your palms around him. Pumping it, stroking your thumb along the underside to make his breath hitch. His dick grows beneath your hands, getting harder and heavier. The first beads of precum get smeared along the length by your skillful fingers.

“You know you don’t have to- “but you cut him off while settling between his legs.

“Just relax and let me do all the work.” your response comes out a bit more deadpan than planned. “You deserve it once in a while.”

And with that, you wrap your lips around him, enveloping him in warmth and wetness, your tongue slowly swirling around the head. His thighs twitch, more precum oozes into your waiting mouth as the muscle between your teeth works eagerly. You give him a few, gentle sucks, slurping up the mixture of your own saliva and his arousal. Between ragged breaths, he reminds you to breathe through your nose as you take more and more of his length. You relax your jaw, your fingers tense around the base of his cock and you’re trying as hard as you can to defeat the urge to gag. When you fit all of him inside your mouth, you empty your lungs and give him a harder suck, hard enough to make you cheeks hollow and his chest heave. As your free hand is occupied with kneading his balls between your fingers and knuckles, a moan bursts out of him.

The sound boosts your confidence, filling you with a wicked kind of playfulness. The kind of wicked that makes you pull back your tongue a little, as to not keep your teeth hidden. You drag them along his sensitive, pulsing underside, balancing the pressure between pleasure and pain. Like you could prove to him that you’re ready to bite back, that this is the only moment when he can’t control you, that he shouldn’t underestimate you.

And just as if he could read your thoughts, his hand goes for your head, fingers getting lost between your strands. But he’s not as cruel as to push you down on him, instead he guides you, increases the rhythm that you’re working with. Steady and firm, but not too fast. You earn yourself his praises, soft curses pitched higher than his normal voice.

This is what real worship looks like.

When you feel the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensing up, you stop. You emerge from the space between his legs, wiping your lips clean and admiring your work. All that flushed skin blooming in pink on his chest and face. You move, trying to get into a new position, settling your calves right next to hips. You start aligning yourself with his cock to finally start grinding on him.

He sits up and traps you with an arm coiling around your waist.

“Since when were you so reckless?”

His hand creeps around the apex of your thighs. A finger barely brushes along your slit. By adding another digit, he spreads your folds, finding hot, smooth, slippery flesh.

“I would’ve prepped myself.” that’s all you can say in your defense.

Fingertips circle your hole, applying a bit of pressure, checking how much you’ve loosened up. He invades you slowly as your lungs empty, the hardened skin on his fingers stroking and massaging your sweet spots before he starts working you open.

You wrap your arms around him, slowly undoing his bun to have something to grab onto as you jolt, as your bones melt, as your brows furrow in bliss. The moans coming from you are breathy and tender, and you hide them in his strands. He twists his fingers inside you, stretching your warm muscles further, making your back arch and you press your hardened nipples to his chest. Your essence engulfs his knuckles, clear and sticky like honey.

The heel of his palm settles right against your clit and you shamelessly grind on it. Your mewls pass over his ears as he’s nuzzling into the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin of a faint scar. But you resist giving in, you stop him, telling him that’s enough, but in reality you just want your control back. Take back the lead and revel in it.

And somehow he obeys, laying back into the sheets.

You slip out of your robe, showing yourself fully. The bruises on your skin can finally bathe in the dim lamplight, painting the complexion of your sides, shoulders, and upper arm in different shades of blue and purple, like paint on bare canvas. Like the night sky carrying storm clouds, like you’re rotting, decomposing. You find a twisted, perverted joy in the fact that he must be seeing them for the whole time.

“Slowly, slowly.” he murmurs softly as you’re pushing the head of his cock inside you. “There’s no need to rush.” Trimmed nails trail up and down from the flesh of your thighs to your bruised sides. Tender and slow like a ghost, goosebumps pepper your skin from the tickling feeling. “I’m already yours.” He purrs and your heart flutters.

And there’s so, so much pride in you that only you can render him to this state. Too powerful for the world to bear him, capable to burn this plane to ruins, defying the barriers between a mortal and a god - or something way worse than that. Maybe you should receive twice the respect from your herd, for being the only person who can enslave him in this way, that only you can have this sort of power over him. Only you can overthrow him. Because you’re just too dear to him, too close to his burning heart.

Maybe it’s your time to warn him. Tame him like the monster he is.

You move with your own rhythm. His hand caged between your fingers and pressed down against the sheets. You give him no other choice but to venerate you back and he does, with pleased, low rumbles coming from his throat. Only a singular hand is allowed to roam your form freely. On your back tracing the shallow line where your spine lies beneath skin and flesh, wandering towards the inner part of your thighs, then to your stomach and chest. And you reward him with a prayer of your own, encapsulated in deep, long sighs.

But you’re too trusting of him. You let your guard down too easily.

You’re holding onto his kneecaps, leaning towards them a little, allowing every inch of you to be seen. You want to give him a show, but your knees are too worn and tired.

He takes hold of your hips, helping you guide yourself along his length. His pelvis moves along with you in synced rhythm. Your teeth are pressing down on the soft skin of your lips, but you can’t keep your whimpers in. You’re getting close, your muscles and nerves are st tight and pulsing, your walls are pressing down on his length. His name mindlessly slips out of your mouth.

Maybe you can say you love him before you shatter.

But his fingers clench around you, strong and firm, stopping your movements. Lifting your hips up so high that his cock is barely inside, robbing you from your incoming orgasm.

You’re shocked, eyes staring into the nothingness, open wide. Your stomach drops, stirring up all kinds of feelings dwelling in you. A chill races down your vertebrae as you glance down at him.

“Suguru..?” Your voice is weak, shaky.

Fear courses through your being, primordial and all-consuming.

And when he speaks to you it’s all dark, shrouded in malevolence.

“You forgot one thing, darling. After I brought you back from the forest.”

No, no, no, he can’t do this to you! He can’t hold your orgasm hostage for the sake of toying with you! You should puncture his flesh your nails, scratch him, tear him up, but you can only grit your teeth. Your features twist from bliss to rage.

“You…” boiling anger swims through your voice. It’s like it’s not even your voice - more like a hiss, a growl.

There’s an undecipherable mixture of pity and amusement in his eyes. He twitches inside you but you’re too upset to notice.

“Apologize.” he sneers - almost commands.

His words cause anger to bubble up in you.

“Oh, you piece of shit…!” you seethe, but sob and moan when he slams you back on his cock, stretching you around his length again. Wanting to quench your rage with the sensation you crave the most right now.

“I hope, for your sake, I don’t have to repeat myself.”

It doesn’t matter how much you try to squirm, fuss and wriggle, he forces you still. His behaviour frustrates you to no end when you’re so desperate for a bit of friction, the horribly hollow and burning feeling of your lost peak torturing you seemingly endlessly. To the point where you’re too tired to put up a fight, when you’re teetering on the edge of breaking. You know you must swallow your pride, you have let him have it his way.

“I… I’m sorry.” you apologize meekly, teary-eyed, your voice a pathetic mewl. He finally starts lifting you up and easing you down, building you up slowly. But it’s not enough. You need more but he won’t give it to you just yet.

“You do?” he asks you in a way that it cuts deep into your marrow. It’s not even close to a loving tease – no, he’s outright mocking you.

Vicious bastard. You should grab his throat and squeeze the air out of him.

“Yes, I do!” you cry out without thinking. “I’m sorry for running away from you.” you push the words out through your whimpers. He increases the pace, making you yelp and shake, you end up closing your eyes reflexively. He robbed you from the sensation for so long that you became sensitive, it’s easier to make a mess out of you. Your face is red with shame, so much so you can’t look him in the eyes. The humiliation is like an invisible rope tightening around your neck.

“Promise you’ll never do that to me again.”

He pushes your hips further along his length this time, shifting you a bit towards his thighs. Creating a perfect angle, he uncovers a sweet spot inside you that makes you almost incapable of forming coherent words. And he eats the sight right up.

“…I promise… I promise...” you manage to get your answer out in the form of a choked hiccup. Your vision blurs. Everything is too intense for you to handle. You swear that the very shape of you could dissolve at any given moment.

Faith is desperate. Gods are hungry for despair. So they deliberately make you suffer and only then reveal themselves to you.

His fingers dig into your waist so hard it burns. You feel the world shift with you and then you collide with the sheets. Your bruised back ripples with pain. You’re unsure if he did it out of spite or not. You don’t know if he’ll completely shatter your dignity, or if he’s fine with just enforcing the feeling that you can never be above him, that you can never defeat him.

His weight on top of you is overwhelming. The midnight dark locks of his hair spread around you like spilled ink. And through the thick fog of your mind, too far gone in twisted, masochistic pleasure, you lock your legs around his waist. You don’t want him to go away. You might as well cease to exist if he does.

“And what do we say when we apologize?”

The soft plea coming from you is more instinctual rather than deliberate.

“Forgive me.”

You ache for him to move, you’re starved for the incoming high. Like a ravenous beast, all devouring. When he finally gives it to you, his thrusts make you feel possessed, make your back arch, your head falls back into the pillow as if you were offering your neck to him (maybe one day he won’t be able to resist the urge and will bite down on the jugular, through your trachea, putting you out of your misery) - you don’t dare to beg for anything else.

Maybe just for a little blood. A mark he can wear, just like you wear your bruises. Your nails somehow acquire a will of their own, your scratches have him excited and pleased.

His fingers meander around your jaw, gently coaxing you into letting him guide your gazes to meet again.

He’s imitating you, admiring his work like you did with him. And what he sees is a being stripped from any likeness of a dignified human being. With eyes so blown he can see the bottommost pits of Hell in them.

And he’s satisfied, rewarding you with a soft kiss on your temple.

“I forgive you.”

Your release crashes over you like a tide, submerging you, burning you to cinders on the inside. Tearing you apart. And when he collapses on top you after filling you to the brim, you feel like a festering wound.

He’s a disease, miasma, a flesh-eating parasite crawling inside you.

“You’re…” you huff. “You’re awful.”

“I know. But you love me all the same.”

You wonder what you should have done to earn a different outcome, but you give up soon. Looks like he already had plans for your atonement in mind. After all, gods are impatient creatures. They’re dependent on your reverence and servitude. And you’ve waited for too long to make things right.

Why, why, why - it echoes inside your head.

But if you think about it… he’s your serpent. The vilest, most horrendous creature created by God. The one who charmed you, tempted you with sin and has now sunken his fangs into you. Of course he did, and instead of trying to heal from his venomous bite, you want to catch him - to find out his reasons, to prove to him that you didn’t deserve that.

And yet you could never, ever prove him wrong. Your serpent will always think it was right to bite. It’s in his nature afterall.

“Is your hand alright?”

He makes it up to you with spoiling you again. He cleans your wounds so sweetly, so thoughtfully, looks after you in a way that nobody could, which confuses you even further.

He cherishes you, destroys himself for the sake of keeping you safe - not like it’s a choice, but a must - just like a mother would. He scolds you, reminds you not to make the same mistake again, collars you, keeps you on a tight leash, only loosening it (just a little) when he succeeded at making you play by his rules, just like a father would.

And somehow, he excels at both. Way better than those two ever did when it came to you.

You wish your glare could pierce right through his skull when you hand the empty glass back to him. You don’t have it in you to play nice. You don’t even attempt hide that you’re sulking, he probably finds it funny - adorable even.

“Go to hell.” you spit and lay back into the sheets, your bruised back facing him.

“Oh, darling…” he coos, but the surface level sweetness of his tone hides a sharp edge of condescendence. He crawls into bed, right behind you, caging you in his embrace, forcing you to feel the warmth of his body. The warmth that you’re so used to, the one you can’t sleep without it. Nobody has ever made you feel this safe, and the fact makes your heart ache and your stomach twist.

“If there’s a Hell, I’ll see you there.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x y/n #getou suguru x you #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #meesa writes #DAAARLING GUESS WHOS COME BACK FROM JAIIIIL #Idk what kind of deep psychological issue of mine is in that fic but now its your job to decipher #just please dont bring Freud into the picture I hate that man

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jamespottersmixtape · 6 months

Text

rosekiller microfic: goldilocks 1,632 words

a bit of soft rosekiller!! this is inspired by @myrows rosekiller art which you can find here! it made me want to weep a little when I first saw it, so naturally I had to write something haha :) ngl this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and it's by no means perfect but enjoy!! <3

Barty has always cherished quiet nights at Hogwarts.

When the chatter in the halls finally dies down enough for his thoughts to come back to him and homework has been carelessly tossed aside to save for tomorrow.

There’s a sense of serenity to it all that Barty rarely finds elsewhere. A break that he craves most at the end of a particularly stressful day.

Sixth year courses have been—to put it lightly, beating his ass—no matter how well he does. Today, it had taken him ten tries to get the nonverbal spell to work in Transfiguration. Ten.

Usually Barty needs no more than six tries for complicated spells, less than that for complex potions. Disregarding that he still did it faster than over half the class, now he’s just fucking tired.

He groans and shoves his schoolbag off the bed, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud, then flops backwards dramatically onto his pillows. The dorm room is dim, save for a few small candles on his bedside table. Cloaked in various shadows that dance around the room from the flickering flame.

Barty closes his eyes, taking a spare second to just breathe. There’s the soft white noise of the shower running in the background—Evan is taking forever, as usual—and sometimes Barty imagines he can hear the push and pull of the black lake against their walls. Lack of windows be damned.

It isn’t long before the water shuts off, and Barty feels the smallest smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It’s just the two of them for now, Regulus off doing god knows what at this hour. So naturally, a lot of built up restraint is needed for Barty not to rip open the bathroom door. To go and take in the sight of a freshly showered Evan and gather him in his arms before he can be stopped.

He’s been in there for less than thirty minutes but fuck it, Barty misses him.

Grumbling, he goes to change into the first clothes he can find. Settling for some years old joggers and a loose tank top, the soft fabric already making him drowsy.

The bathroom door creaks open and his head snaps up, immediately catching Evan’s eye. Barty really can’t help it when his heart skips a beat.

Evan raises his eyebrows, chuckling when Barty takes no subtlety in checking him out. His hair is dry, most likely done by magic. A thin blue t-shirt hangs off his shorter frame and each step taken towards Barty casts golden shadows over his skin.

Looking like everything warm and comfortable; the smell of his shampoo in the air so familiar that it hurts.

Barty’s smirk is wicked when he tugs Evan by his shirt into a light kiss. He makes a startled noise but melts into Barty’s touch regardless, fingers cupping his chin. The kiss is short but effective in making Barty’s head go all fuzzy.

“What happened to hello?” Evan asks when they pull apart—though not very far—now standing chest to chest. Evan’s bare feet fit in between his socked ones.

Barty makes sure to slather his words in extra charm, grinning. “Hello, gorgeous.”

“Wow, smooth talker,” Evan deadpans.

“You know you love it, Goldilocks.”

Barty takes a blonde strand between two fingers, tugging lightly at the end and earning him a deep scowl.

“I told you that nickname is stupid.” Evan rolls his eyes but Barty catches the blush high on his cheekbones. A light dusting of pinks and reds that work to compliment his freckles. Barty pokes him on one cheek.

“And I told you I don’t care.”

“Brat.”

Barty hums noncommittally, threading their fingers together. Warmth settles in his chest from the steady weight of Evan’s hand.

He leads Evan past the emerald green curtains of his bed and down onto the soft mattress. It’s a routine they’ve created over the last few months, and every time Barty wraps the covers around them it becomes harder and harder to let Evan slip back into his own bed. Something about having him in his arms means a night free of restless tossing and turning.

They lie facing each other for a few minutes, minimal space between them and their heads resting on one pillow. Quiet voices and even quieter laughs, a sacred bubble that neither of them dare to pop.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Barty laughs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You told Cresswell what?”

Evan frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I told him…that if he feels the need to keep staring at you in class then maybe I should tape his fucking eyes open. You know, that way he wouldn’t miss it when I inevitably snog you right in front of him.”

“Evan!” Barty can’t help it, his laugh is loud when it bursts from his chest.

“Well, maybe I left out that last bit…”

It takes him a minute before his laughter dies down, the quiet settling back in. “You jealous?” Barty teases, raising an eyebrow.

Evan purses his lips. “No.”

Barty stares at him knowingly.

Silence.

Evan averts his eyes.

“Mhm sure, come here.”

He drags Evan in by his waist, the pair of them fumbling around until Evan’s head relaxes in the crook of Barty’s neck and his forearm rests over his chest. Their sides pressed together, Barty smiles—fully content now.

Wordlessly, Barty ghosts his hand over the warm skin, relishing in the way Evan shivers from the cold metal of the ring on his middle finger.

There’s silence for a few minutes. Evan’s hair brushes the side of his face and his warm breath fans across his chest, their hearts only slightly out of sync as they beat so close together.

It’s a lot for Barty to take in sometimes—the whole idea of them. Having someone so delicate, yet so utterly untouchable, be his. If anyone took the time to ask him, though, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Barty knows Evan’s eyes are closed, can see the shadow of his eyelashes. He takes the opportunity to trace over his freckles; a messy constellation that follows the high points of his cheeks, crosses sporadically over the bridge of his nose.

Evan scrunches his face up, which should not be so endearing. “That tickles.”

Barty turns his head, placing the quickest of kisses atop of Evan’s forehead, debating whether or not he should just give in and lick the side of his face. Then ultimately deciding against it—Evan did just take a shower—he’ll be nice for once.

“I wasn’t jealous. I don’t get jealous,” Evan mumbles, his voice lulled and tired sounding.

“Of course not, Ev.” Barty resists rolling his eyes, Evan can’t see his face anyway.

“Besides,” Barty continues, “If you were jealous, I don’t mind you threatening people for me…it’s kinda hot.”

Evan smacks him lightly across the chest, but snuggles deeper against his shoulder. Which definitely does not do a weird flippy thing to Barty’s stomach. Nope, not at all.

“Mm okay,” Evan yawns. Which, Barty can’t blame him. Exhaustion is slowly taking over his body the longer they lie here. At this point all he wants to do is blow out the candles and fall asleep. Keep Evan next to him the whole night.

“Hey Goldilocks.”

“Mhm…” Evan must be too tired to even rebuke the nickname.

“Reg is going to freak out if he finds you here in my bed.”

Evan huffs, not very different from a petulant child. He makes no move to get up or even open his eyes. “I don’t care.”

This time Barty can’t hold back his yawn. He shuts his eyes and allows his body to sink further into the bed. Further into Evan. “Maybe we can tell Potter how madly in love with him Reg is. Then they can finally leave us alone.”

“Payback,” Evan snorts.

They both fall asleep without really meaning to. Tangled limbs beneath the covers and hands that aren’t inclined to let go. As his mind quiets down, something in Barty feels settled. A puzzle piece slotting into place after searching and searching for the edge that matches. Evan tends to have that effect on him, he’s come to notice.

All is quiet for a while, the whole school in a coinciding state of slumber. A time when portraits snore softly and only ghosts roam the halls, the usual lively presence of magic at bay for now.

But not even thirty minutes later they’re awoken with a loud thud and a significantly darker room—Barty had blown the candles out after all—just in case.

“Lumos,” someone whispers.

Regulus stands at the end of Barty’s bed, hands on his hips and a look of annoyance on his face. His wand is now lit and shining far too bright for Barty’s liking.

“What the fuck, Reg?” he asks groggily. Evan groans beside him and tries to hide his face.

“Not my fault I tripped over your fucking books, Barty,” Regulus hisses. “And you guys are gross. You said no PDA in the dorm.”

Barty squints and gestures for him to lower his wand. Regulus does so slowly. “Yeah, well I’m a fucking liar. Let us sleep.”

It’s with a lot of grumbling and a sharp glare that Regulus turns and stalks to his side of the room. When he shuts himself in the bathroom Barty reaches for his own wand and spells his curtains closed.

He has Evan back in his arms in no time, steady and real and here. Absolutely not going anywhere, if Barty has a say in it. His fingers resume their path over his arm, tracing nonsensical shapes that neither can decipher. Before they both drift off again a thought pops into Barty’s head.

“We are definitely getting him back for this.”

#ahhhh another microfic i missed them #this is silly and self indulgent but i love them sm #so soft i'm kinda dying #shoutout to evan's freckles for being the sole inspo #and myro's lovely lovely art ofc #rosekiller #rosekiller microfic #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #barty x evan #evan x barty #rat's silly microfics

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