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screampied · 1 month

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‘ THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER ! ’

ᡴꪫ‎ synopsis. university sucks major ass. on the bright side, you’re on break—you decide to go pay your father a visit. this 'visit' ends up to you being introduced to his best friend, toji. who’s he? maybe your panties know the answer.

wc. 7.4k

warnings. fem! reader, dad's best friend! toji, age gap (reader is over twenty), praise, cunnilingús, squìrting, implied multiple órgasms, unprotected, degradation, size difference, impact play, poor dad is kinda clueless, almost caught, overstimulation.

dbf! masterlist

“who’s he?”

a simple question — yet the moment the words ran out your mouth, it felt as if all eyes were on you. in reality, it was though. the tall man who was quite a few staggering inches taller than your own father had such a gaze. he had hands buried into the depths of his pockets, shifting his weight as he stood still before burning a stare right into you. an intense stare, you could almost make out somewhat of an intriguing smirk. that sly smile with an everlasting scar running down the right side of his mouth.

“hey honey,” your father waves out with a brief gesture. he throws an arm around the buff man before giving him a rough pat on the back. “this is toji. met him ‘bout a year ago at one of those boat races. heh, news flash—he lost.”

“woah. no need to embarrass me, man,” toji murmurs in a raspy tone and by all means was his voice deep. laced in pure baritone, far deeper than your fathers. by a mile, to be specific. his voice has a jagged huskiness to it, insanely attractive. as he spoke, his eyes flickered towards you and he’d occasionally look away with that same chaffing sneer. “but anyway,” toji averts his eyes back towards you. his cologne was loud, you could smell it from miles away from you. he pauses for a few good seconds before uttering. “it’s nice to meet ya, sweetheart.”

you gulped, suddenly feeling small. you couldn’t pinpoint what it was about him — his demeanor, the way he carried himself, anything was. but it was something that had you a bit drawn in so to speak. “i um..”

“she’s not that much of a speaker,” your father chuckles, giving you a soft rub near your back. “poor brain’s probably all fried from those midterms. right honey?”

“you don’t say.” toji raises a brow, glancing away for a moment and a smile tugged right against his his dimples—and for a moment, he was suddenly intrigued by his best friend’s daughter.

that was the initial first reaction between the two of you. you ended up staying at your father’s house for the remaining duration of your visit.

nothing too much sparked between the two of you, of course there’d be subtle moments. real subtle moments—stupid things, like having him help you grab something from one of the top shelves.

of course he’d help, he was taller than you by many many inches. effortlessly towering over you. it’s the way he’d press up against you. it was quite hard to shut those thoughts of yours up. those lewd salacious thoughts that were forever kept into the very back of your brain, silently fantasizing about your father’s best friend.

apparently, he stayed for quite around the same time you did since he and your father would typically hang, do all sorts of men activities you never really cared about—golfing, shooting ranges, watching the most recent football games. that was the most annoying part, how they’d both obnoxiously yell at the screen whenever their favorite team was pathetically losing.

your room was directly upstairs, you heard everything. it was as if the walls were merely thin. in a way, they were. the constant repetitious hollering from the two men were so irksome. eyes merely rolled to the back of your head whilst you were trying to scroll on your phone in peace.

you never did understand why a dumb game of balls would drive men so crazy. nevertheless, you let off a tiny sigh before plopping right down in your bed. immensely, you stared off into space.

you had no idea why, but the minute your eyes linger into the white nearly peeled off drywall near the ceiling, you thought about him. toji.

stupid, maybe…

it’s been a few days and you hardly knew the guy. encounters between him were subtle and brief. he’d nod his head at you, barely acknowledging your existence and going straight back to some meaningless conversation with your father.

there was one day however, one day that had you hot all over. it was when you walked in on toji, he was using the spare shower that no one really uses, it’s reserved mostly for guests—perfect for him in this case.

you remember it like it was yesterday. since you were wide awake during this time for whatever reason, your dad sent you to go replace some towels from downstairs since he was doing laundry so you mindlessly make your way downstairs. the door was visibly cracked. sure, you probably should have knocked but who takes showers around three am?

apparently, this guy.

toji was literally just getting out the shower when you walked in. steam fogged throughout the entire space.

it was hot, stuffy and dampened with mist clinging against the rectangular mirrors. smothered with fog, you practically end up bumping right into something hard.

to be specific, that something was toji’s broad chest. maybe you were a bit delusional but you could have sworn, the moment you made contact with his bulky pecs, it moved upon impact.

“excuse you, sweetheart,” toji would scoff teasingly, his low voice was a bit more rougher since it was late at night. you were definitely speechless, barely able to process a single word from your mouth. thankfully a towel was wrapped around his slim torso—yet you started to wish maybe he didn’t have it protecting his lower half.

your eyes stuck to his chest the entire time, talk about embarrassing. immediately, your pretty dilated pupils ran down his chest, down his v-line, his perfectly structured build . . and then, his happy trail. he was well trimmed of the sort, practically. toji’s version of well trimmed was a bit hairy. regardless, it was still an attractive feature.

the more your eyes rove, the more you glance at his nearly perfectly sculptured structure. his chest was painted with a plethora of battle scars, now you were the one intrigued. you wanted to know more.

“you’re a little rude, huh,” and you abruptly snap from your thoughts. it was so brusque…

returning back to reality, out of that lewd trance you were so desperately trapped in—you blink twice, not even realizing how he was right up close to you. toji stares down at you before sneering. “it’s like three am. shouldn’t you be in bed?”

you shift your feet a bit, maintaining a little distance before trying to reply in the best nonchalant way possible. “uh no,” and then you utter awkwardly. “shouldn’t you be in bed? who randomly wakes up to take showers this late?”

“guys my age,” he jibes. “ya wouldn’t get it.”

you deadpan, fully aware it was a joke but you held everything in you to not have your eyes roll all the way back. “whatever,” and then you nearly forget what you were about to do. he watches you, you open near the lower cabinet and replace the clean towels. it grew profoundly quiet, a pin could drop. the moment you turned around, toji scoffs to himself. “did you need anything? something else?”

“ah. thank you, i’m fine, princess,” toji huffs with a sly grin. he reaches near the small wooden table to grab what seemed to be a half-used lotion bottle. however, you didn’t expect for him to completely change the topic, flipping your own words around with a blunt, “do you need something?”

“huh?”

“you heard me, girl.”

the banter…

he was definitely cocky, playful, literally any other synonym would fit.

you hated how he’d get you speechless everytime. you loathed how he was such an effect on you. with a brief gnaw on your bottom lip you narrow your eyes, mumbling out a, “stupid question.”

“i agree,” toji smirks. “but eh. y’er a smart girl. ‘m sure you can come up with a good comeback soon.”

he was so annoying, entirely so.

it’d be simple interactions like that between the two of you. much to your surprise though, nothing really else happened. toji would tease you a bit then pretend nothing happened, throw you a compliment or two and call it a day.

toji would often visit daily or twice a day, mainly to hang with your father. you could care less about what they did, but you were bored out of your mind from being in the house all day. you could go out, but it’s not like you had anyone to go with. everyone was either busy or … busy. besides, most of your friends were on exotic vacations or out of the country—you sighed, rubbing a hand against your stomach as you stared in the ceiling wall.

but then, the most lasciviously filthy thought made its way into your thoughts. you thickly swallowed before reaching a hand down between your legs. the air grew abnormally dry, shame…

to be completely honest, you couldn’t even remember the last time you touched yourself. this couldn’t have ever been a more perfect time. you were sure your father and his cocky best friend was out at top golf, probably.

intaking a single breath, you lean back against your pillow—slowly, you started to focus on your breathing.

parting your legs, you lightly pull down your shorts before tugging your panties to the side. you wince for a little, realizing how you were already a bit soaked. a little dampened spot right towards the front part of your underwear. you knew it had to be from pondering about toji.

speaking of, you remember that time where he helped—well, ‘attempted’ to cook dinner that one time. all you could focus on was his hands. such rough thick hands, you wondered what’d it feel like to have those same hands gingerly wrap around your throat. such thick fingers shove down your throat while he calls you such degrading names—just anything.

the more you were deep in thought, the more drenched you started to become. you went slow, being patient with yourself. you imagined it was toji’s fingers instead of yours. such big fingers thrusting in and out of you.

steadily, you start to insert a single finger in. a middle finger, it felt good, you suppressed a single moan and by this point, your imagination was running wild. you allowed your body to relax for a few moments before you slipped another finger inside. seconds later, you started to gentle move around inside your clit. your pace was sweet and precise—you let out a soft moan that rang throughout your thin walls. “toji—f-fuckkk.”

your voice was shaky, imagining toji being here right now made you throb ten times more. just propped all up behind you, thrashing his fingers against your swollen folds made you more aroused than you ever thought. your thrusts against your own entrance was small, a steady pace but irregular enough to make your knees start to buckle.

throwing your head back a little, you started to whine as each second dragged. your breath became insignificantly heavy, hitched and all. you made sure to stimulate in all the right areas, adapting to a perfect rhythm, then that’s when you’re rudely interrupted. talk about a cliche.

“hey. is it anymore detergen—”

toji pauses mid sentence, literally trying to process the scenery in front of him. he stands still and his initial reaction was slow. the first thing he does is chortle lowly. “well, shit. is this a bad time?”

you’ve never felt anymore embarrassed in your life, a sudden wave of heat rushed over your body before you quickly shielded yourself with your blanket. “oh my god,” you’d squeak out, and toji averts his eyes elsewhere for a few seconds. “i thought you all left already.”

toji hums. he takes a moment, and it’s as if he’s thinking of what to say. he was amused, seeing your flustered state and he looks back at you. “we were but it got canceled last minute since a storm’s approaching,” and you let off a soft gulp, hearing his footsteps creak against your wooden floor as he got closer. “thank god it was me who came in here ‘n not your father, right princess? now that’d be embarrassing.”

“stop calling me that,” you grumble, and you don’t even realize how soft and weak your voice was. you slowly pull your fingers out before intaking another sharp breath. he glanced at you before simpering. “haven’t you heard of knocking?”

“girl,” toji utters in a low rasp. “the door was wide open. i can’t knock on air,” and you mentally eye rolled — he was so insufferable. incredibly so, toji’s eyes roam across your old room that was a bit scattered with some boxes from when you moved out four years ago. it was a bit unkempt, your father usually used your room sometimes just to store things from the attic. toji buried his hands into his pockets before chuckling. “i heard you, ya know. moaning my name all loud like that.”

you blinked thrice, sitting up before compressing your eyebrows together. “what?”

“whaaat?” he jeers, mocking you. toji inches closer towards you until he was right beside your bedside. you gaze up at him and he had a blunt sticking out from the corner of his lips. he looked so appetizing, even while dressed down. ripped jeans and a sweatshirt. you could tell he was fit, of course he was—you saw him shirtless. he was well likely in his early thirties, dressing so laid back and casual. “between you and me, sweetheart, you can do better. ‘s cute ‘n all but that’s not how ya finger yourself. been a while, yeah?”

this guy, he was so bold. casually speaking his dirty mind, not afraid to say anything.

you don’t know why, but those last few words made you throb. you loathed how right he was, it was as if he could read you like a book. between studies and actually living a university student’s life, you barely ever get time to yourself. time to please yourself.

“whatever,” you utter. “yeah... it’s been a while.”

“poor thing,” he clicks his tongue before taking a seat on your bed. it jitters from his weight for a bit before he peers a gaze at you. “hm,” he puffs out, dragging a hand against his jeans. “i’d be happy to help though. those useless fingers of yours can only please you so much, right? heh.”

this indescribable effect he had on you, it heavily irked your nerves. “…please,” and you don’t even register what quickly came out of your mouth.

you were so pent up by this point, being interrupted. you wanted to finish, you desperately wanted to finish. your soft breaths hitched, and toji’s intimate stare lingered on you for a bit. his loud cologne started to waft across the entire room, so intoxicating. “just make me finish, please.”

“there’s those manners,” he coos in a husky tone, and he gets up closer. he was purely teasing you, you just wanted to feel his touch . . . feel something at least. he pulls the fat cover that went over you, yet at a more tantalizingly slow pace. he was a mere tease, you nearly let off a whine once you felt the tips of his warm fingers skim past your thighs. “messy girl,” he mumbles, and then he pauses to glance at you. “are you sure? jus’ wanna-”

“toji,” you mutter, and you liked hearing you roll his name so sweetly off your tongue. seeing you grow purely frustrated was utter amusement to him. the way your eyebrows would curl and furrow, irises flaring and your jaw slightly tensing. you had such readable body language by default too. “please. i want you. just touch me.”

he simpers. “pretty please.”

“……”

again, he was so infuriating. you felt yourself starting to pant, not knowing how much longer you could take as he started to softly trail a thumb against your skin. his touch was so warm, it was intense and ignited something within you.

“touch me—pretty please, toji.” you mutter out, sprawling your legs out just a bit. it was so hot, the temperature surrounding the atmosphere of the room was so humid. he glances at you before smiling.

“that’s a good girl.”

his words warmed your heart in such a lewd provocative way, you just wanted his touch.

desperately yearning for it, toji leans up close, bringing a big hand to part your legs apart and he was so slow. he takes the blunt that was propped up between his teeth, setting it aside near your nightstand. you prepare to inhale deeply, not expecting him to then bring a tender kiss towards your inner thighs. he started to create a trail—a trail that gingerly went up and up and up.

“so sensitive,” he’d purr, watching your own body melt from just the softness of his lips against your skin. you wanted him to hurry, you replayed this exact scenario over and over at least a dozen times. now that it was reality, you just knew that your body wanted him. “oh. don’t give me that look,” and he smirks, watching the pout grow against your lips. “gonna stare at me all day or are ya gonna tell me how you’d like for me to start?”

“i need you to—eat me out,” you huff out in short singular breaths. you were throbbing rapidly, each moment he stalled to speak, the more aroused you grew. his warm breath just fanning against your folds had you nearly going weak.

he snickers. “need?” he repeats, and you moan once he swiftly drags a finger down your soaked cunt. it was drenched, but it could be a bit more. toji hums to himself cockily. “you don’t need shit, girl. fix your sentence ‘n talk proper..”

“i—” you gripe, starting to grow more and more frustrated. your vexed facial expression amused him. he raises his darkened brows, awaiting for your answer and the cute pout that continued to stretch across your lips was so cute. “i— i want you to eat me out, pretty please.”

“much better,” he says in a low gruff. the moment he finally hovers his mouth over your sopping clit, toji gently strokes a thumb up and down. opening you up slowly, he creates a single slow lick to make you whimper. “i’ll make ya cum quicker than you ever could, princess.”

and you knew he probably wouldn’t lie about a simple fact like that. toji’s touch, it was sloppy.

without a doubt, he was a messy eater.

just one taste of you and he was hooked—a new addiction for him and it wasn’t gambling.

you tasted sweet, candied even. he was in so deep, occasionally the tip of his nose would prod against your entrance. you slumped back against the bed, your legs twitching in pleasure. not before long, your lips started to part and you started to gnaw on your hardened knuckles. you didn’t wanna be too loud—you just remembered your father was right downstairs.

he didn’t have the best hearing in the world, but knowing you, you could be a bit overzealous with your moans.

the noises his tongue made, sliding his tongue between your folds, sucking and nibbling. he even broke away his lips just to spit a nice wad onto your pussy. you watched the entire time, mesmerized. he was so nasty—nasty and you only wanted more. toji continued to drag a thumb against your slit, lapping up your slick arousal that was already starting to drip down his chin. it ran further down, a bit of his trimmed facial hair now soaked with your sweetness.

“how’s it feel, princess,” he’d mutter out, briefly departing his lips away. as he does—you stare as a pretty cobweb of his own spit tugs against your own entrance. glistening and all, it was so sheeny. he was right between your precious thighs, and you couldn’t help but give his ruffled dark hair a light pull. “tell me how i make you feel. talk to me nice, girl.”

“good,” you whimper, nearly choking on your own saliva. your words were so trembly, you could hardly recognize yourself. it’s been a while since you’ve been eaten out, let alone being intimate. as you continued to let off irregular breathing patterns, you swallow. “f-feels good.”

“just good?” he’d tease, bringing a long suck towards your clit. you let off a whine once he playfully nibbles near that particular spot with his teeth. his tongue scrapes against your folds time and time again. it’s indescribable—toji’s head shook back and forth as he was nose deep into your pussy. for a moment, he sounds offended.

toji gives your cunt a sweet little kiss, and he feels it start to hastily pulse from doing so.

he knew you were getting close, all from a simple cue from his tongue. speaking of toji’s tongue . . it was lengthy.

so long, it reached areas that had your eyes mindlessly rolling back.

cute little cacophonies of, “oh my g-godddd,” repeated ghosts past your lips as you started to practically drag his face against you. the texture of his tongue—so moist and slick, already wet from obvious reasons, but grew even more dampened from your sheer arousal. it was a taste his tastebuds grew to crave more of. “gonna c-cum toji. f-fuckkk.”

“you’re gonna wait for me, little girl,” he grouses, and your irises fleetingly dilate. he gifts the entrance of your cunt with another string of spit, then he rubs a few circles against it. mean vigorous circles that made your legs pathetically twitch. “you make a mess when i tell you too.”

he was so mean.

such sternness in his tone, yet it turned you on. that slight secretive rasp that hid underneath his voice. toji breaks his lips away for a moment, glaring at you before focusing near the crevices of your thighs. he teasingly slides his tongue upward, away from your most sensitive area just to watch you squirm.

“toji,” you’d whimper, feeling his tongue just roam everywhere from below. he was so skilled, you’ve never had a man be so sloppy. at least in a way that toji was. he greedily sucks near your thighs, gently sinking his canines into the plush of your thighs before going back towards your pussy. “i can’t—can’t hold..”

you were barely able to finish your sentence, and that’s when you came — it was so sudden and abrupt. gushing all out of you and your nerves had your mind spiraling. a constant crazed loop.

it felt like a wave, a tsunami crashing down and it felt so good.

your orgasm that shortly followed was so loud, you didn’t even bother trying to cover your mouth. toji chuckles, cupping his mouth around the very top part of your achey slit before lapping his tongue against your hood. your hips temporarily quavered due to his tongue, and you still maintained a rough grip on his head.

“easy on the fuckin’ hair,” he’d grunt after feeling you roughly yank on his strands bringing a kiss towards your slick entrance. you swallowed, your legs feeling practically mush before he brings a terse spank towards your clit. “cute ‘n all, but i didn’t say you could finish yet.”

“s-sorry,” you’d breathe out, still feeling the after effects of your intense high. it was so good, your eyes were all hooded and droopy. toji saw a bit of drool seeping from the corners of your mouth and hums silently.

he sighs, leaning up before getting on top of you. he hovers himself and you stare up at him. he rests both arms over you, groping near the rickety headrest before leaning up close to your face.

“are you sorry, sweetheart?” and he gets up a bit closer, green viridescent eyes glance right into you—you smelled the mint and brief tang of alcohol residing on his tongue. using another hand to grab your chin, he softly pulls your bottom lip down before derisively grinning. “aw. nothing to say? no back talk this time?”

“i… want a kiss,” you pant, feeling his warm body just inches away from colliding against yours. just a single inch and he’d be grinding on you. “kiss me.”

“oh i dunno. sounds like a demand, babygirl,” he’d sneer, and your eyes leer near his scar. it was damp a little from him just being between your thighs a moment ago. perhaps it was a bit filthy, but you wanted to taste it. taste him. “ask me the right way.”

you pout, staring right into his eyes. “i wan— can i get a kiss, pretty please. i just want a kiss.”

“course ya can,” he utters, and that’s right when he squeezes your chin. your lips were plump and glossy. toji stares at you back for a long while, studying your cute expressions before he leans right in. the kiss was passionate, it felt so wrong but felt so right. you moaned the second his lips crashed onto yours. he finds it cute, feeling your arms rub and feel around his slim waist. you were pulling him closer — a sign that you wanted more of him. toji teasingly grinds his hefty body against you, and you whimper in his mouth once you feel his thick bulge prod against your panties that were halfway on you. “mhm.” he’d groan.

while his tongue skims against yours, you part your lips a bit for him and the incoming savory taste you’d get a treat out of.

you made sure to savor it, so sweet with a bit of spice.

running your tongue against his, breaking away to lick near his chin, softly making sure to lick near his stubble—you cleaned your own mess off of him. without him asking you either, toji grunts as he watched you through his peripherals. he’d never expect his best friend to have such a nasty girl for a daughter.

“y’er fuckin’ filthy,” he mumbles, breaking away and watching both strands of spit leave and depart. your lips curv into a cute needy scowl before he heard your father suddenly call out from downstairs.

“honey? i said, was that a scream…? is everything okay?”

your eyes widen, not even knowing your father was speaking—yelling actually. toji snickers, and now he’s the one suddenly quiet. prick.

“o-oh um,” you clear your throat, sitting up and that’s when toji starts to create soft chaste kisses near the inside of your neck. you nearly moaned before turning your head to speak. “i’m—i’m fine. i thought i saw a cockroach.”

“cockroach? do you need me to come up and—”

“no!” you’d quickly reply before clearing your throat once more. you let off a sigh, feeling toji start to suck near your collarbone. “i mean, no dad. i’m okay. thanks anyways.”

“okay honey, if you say so.”

toji chortles. “fuck. you’re bad at lying. just tell y’er old man you were getting eaten out by me.”

you glare at him, immensely bringing your brows into a furrow. “no, i’m not gonna say that. are you crazy?”

“maybe.”

you eye rolled, yet part of you felt like he wasn’t exactly lying. after all, he could probably be insane—perhaps he was.

you didn’t know, and to be frank, you didn’t really care. all you really cared about was getting pleasured—riding out orgasm after orgasm with him, and that’s exactly what you ended up doing for hours on end.

toji would find himself leaned back against your pillow, studying your hips carefully before grinning.

the moment you lightly shove him back, he clicks his tongue. “oh?” he says, and you already sprung his dick out. he was very much hard, presenting you with an upward slight curve. you licked your lips, hovering over him before giving him a few strokes. a groan slips past his lips and your thumb brushes against the various veins that ran just below his foreskin. “y’er gonna ride me? can a sweet girl like you even handle it?”

“shut up,” you’d fuss, and he just smirks at you. you wanted to wipe that smug expression from his face. he knew just how to irritate your nerves. toji watches you throw your leg over him, a simple hook around. you’re straddling him now and he brings two rough hands to attach near your hips. you lean in to kiss him again and he returns it, slowly tilting his head back and your arms wrap around him. he feels you reach down, grabbing ahold of his shaft before softly sliding the head of his dick near your slick entrance. “s-shit. you’re big.”

“i try not to disappoint,” he slyly says, sliding a thumb near your hips. his voice was so low, so pompous and arrogant. you give him a glare but he only hums out of pure amusement. “barely the tip in ‘n y’er struggling. need my help, sweetheart?”

you ignored him and he smirks, allowing you to do your thing—you bring one hand towards his chest, gently feeling near his perfectly chiseled abs. he was so toned, tracing against his tense muscles and he watches your every move. it was as if time was stood still, he chuckles at how eager you were. you weren’t like him, you weren’t patient and thorough. you were a bit more rushed and sloppy—cute, it was very much cute to him though.

a moan goes past your lips once the wet tip of his slowly starts to sink inside. it had a few droplets of pre-cum leaking down, and you slowly rocked your hips in place to get comfortable. his eyes go lower to focus more on your body, the grip he had on your waist was so rough and sensual. because toji was so thick — it took you a good six minutes, six precise minutes to reach all the way down to the base. your lips opened a bit, and you let off a soft shrilling whimper once you did a cute attempt at jerking forward.

“take it slow,” he purrs in such a rasp, you leisurely started to lurch back and forth once he was buried all the way down to the hilt. you inhale deeply and he was so hefty. balls deep, swollen balls that was hidden and engulfed beneath your inner walls. “atta girl.” he praises, watching you try to maintain a decent rhythm.

ringing went throughout your ears, you felt all hot.

toji playfully brings a hand to feel near your tummy. you were wearing some old university hoodie. it was comfortable, but much to his surprise, you didn’t have a bra underneath. he hums to himself, and you let off a moan once his hand trails ever further. further and further until his thumb brushes against your perky nipples.

“t— toji,” you’d moan, and another hand of his was tightly clinging onto the left part of your waist. you were riding him smoothly. yet since he was so big, you started to feel your thighs building up with drowsiness. your efforts were cute to him, so desperately eager to get off.

his black lashes flicker, and the way he’s all leaned back and manspread was so attractive—you felt your back start to naturally arch and it didn’t take long for toji to reach that particular spot. once you felt his tip prod against there—way past inside the orifices of your cunt, you let off a sweetened whimper. “found it,” he whispers, bringing you close towards his chest. you lean into his touch, intaking his cologne into your nose before your hand starts to wander all over his body. he liked how handsy you were, slipping a hand right underneath his shirt to feel a part of his abs. you made sure to trace directly on each line, each tender flexing muscle. all the way down onto his sharp v-line. further down, you started to feel his happy trail. your favorite.

he grunts, feeling the softness of your hands meander freely. “that’s it, sweetheart,” he gruffs in a sharp breath. an imaginary lump getting caught in his throat — he was holding both of your hips upright and by this point you were slamming right onto his thick cock. “touch me more. feel all over me baby.”

“can i—” you started, leaning in to kiss near the crook of his neck. your voice was soft, a bit trembly before your hands went up this time. feeling near his pecs before a breath gets caught in his throat. “can i feel here, toji?”

“f-fuckin’ girl,” he groans, a chill running down his spine the second he feels you gently rubbing a thumb against his nipples this time. toji was surprisingly far more sensitive despite his rough front he was putting up, it was a bit cute. after all, he did say feel all over you. toji was panting now, while you rode him continuously, he swiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead. “whatever.”

you giggle, watching him now be the one with a pouty expression this time. you plant a kiss near where his slanted scar went down his lip before he spanks your ass. “just ‘cause ‘m sensitive there doesn’t mean ‘m gonna get all whiney for you, girl,” he utters in a raspy tone. the sharp sting from the spank felt good.

you felt yourself twitch between your thighs whilst your hips moved in harmony. you do a little back bend with your hips, constantly jerking against him and he grunts with how slow yet sloppy your movements were. “keep goin’ slow like that. ‘m gonna—cum.”

his voice consistently got deeper, and the tips of his fingers gently pierced into your skin—you were vocal yourself though. moan after moan, a constant repeat. you found yourself whining out his name as if it was a lewd mantra. over and over again, to toji though, it was purely music to his ears.

he feels you start to slow down a bit though, exactly at the minute he tells you he was approaching his incoming release. toji clenched his jaw, gifting the fat of your ass with another mean spank. “f-fuck. keep fuckin’ me. make me fuckin’ cum.”

you plant kisses near his neck this time, near the very inside and you swiftly quicken your pace a little. he was stuffing you full of thick inches, full of such girth that had your tongue salivating right in your mouth. you could only imagine what it’d feel like to have his seed pouring into you. you couldn’t lie to yourself, ever since you saw toji shirtless. his bulge sticking out through his towel, you only imagined he’d be so full of cum to give. you tilt your hips backwards, and he lets off a husky groan.

that particular spot reached so deep, you felt it too. his cockhead pokes and taps repeatedly against your sweet spot and you sob out a needy, “f-fuck, ‘s right there,” you tilt forward and he’s just about reaching his peak. the longer you took, the more spanks you received.

toji was a patient man, but only for so long.

the bed frame creaked constantly, it was the only tune that played in the background. he slithers a hand down between your thighs and spanks your cunt a few times. you whimpered, already a bit sensitive but felt something else approaching. “toji— toji.”

toji groans, the build up nearly taking his breath away. with your rhythmic thrusts against him, his eyes merely roll and he has to take a minute to catch his breath. you wrap a hand around his throat—tenderly of course—then place your lips onto his once he finally finishes inside of you.

he didn’t expect for you to choke him, but he liked it.

he liked how forward you were, your thumb lightly grazed against his adam’s apple, and a deep grunt gets trapped in his throat. your cunt was practically overflowed with such dumps of his cum—you’ve never felt more filled. toji shook a little, a hand gripping your ass as you kissed him.

slowly, he started to feel himself get addicted.

he already was addicted from having a simple taste of you earlier, but he was getting infatuated. you had him whipped, and he knew this probably wouldn’t be a one time thing.

albeit, the last thing you expect is to pull away from the kiss once you feel a sudden pressure brewing up within you.

momentarily, you whine—feeling a sudden familiar wetness coat his base. nerves all throughout your body had you locked in a trance, and you pause your hips before toji tsks.

“little girl,” he mumbles with a sly smile. “did you just squirt on me?”

it was so unexpected, you pant heavily—heave after heave leaving your lips before you moan out a sweet, “y-yes.”

“don’t be shy about it. i like when it’s messy,” he sneers, his eyes tantalizingly trailing down your body once more before he lifts you up just a bit from his shaft. he observes the lewd mess, how much cum trickled past your thighs and he hums. “wanna do that again? i bet i can do it in five minutes, baby.”

to say you were being treated like a rag doll was an understatement.

toji was ruthless with you, ruthless with you in your own house. well, ex-house. you didn’t live here anymore but you used to.

he coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of you like it was nothing. making you imitate and try positions you’ve never even heard of—you were getting stretched, easily said. it’s been hours by this point, you weren’t even in your room anymore. you were in the bathroom with him.

toji had you propped up against the door, you’re taking him from behind and you’re roughly biting down on your lip.

entirely so, it was still risky.

your father was right outside near the living room doing who knows what. probably watching some sports program—yet of course, he started to grow curious of where his best pal went. initially, toji said he had to use the restroom.

like four hours ago . .

he was so mean too, spanking your ass numerous times. your ass was perked upright for him, and you’re leaning against the door. you whimpered, feeling him grip on your panties that he refused to pull off of you.

oh, he likes seeing it dangle and thwack against your skin. the pretty fabric just cutely rubbing against your thighs. his weight just barely hovers against you and he’s smacking right into you.

your cunt swallowed his hefty inches each and every time—by this point, you weren’t sure if you could even give him one more.

you lost count of how many mind blowing orgasms that you were just completely intoxicated from his dick and his dick alone.

toji’s rough bare hands grab onto both parts of your ass, spreading it before deepening his strokes just a bit. you moaned, feeling every inch store inside of your sweet cunt. he knew just where to hit you. you breathe through your mouth and your nose at the same time, heavy cute pants that started to fog up the door’s material.

“fuck, fuck me f-fuckkk,” you’d drag out, and your back naturally arches just from a teasing touch of his finger racing down your back.

your ass was held up high and your cheek was softly nudging against the cold door. another build up was approaching and you were just so in awe—you were literally thinking, where has he been all your life? “close, ‘m getting closer.”

“bet you are. drippin’ all on me ‘n it’s fuckin’ nasty,” he replies—yet you freeze once you hear footsteps approach the door. it was your father, right when you were about to cum—you feel toji’s hand wrap around your mouth. your eyes roll backwards, and then he speaks through the other end of the door.

“toji? hehe, did ya fall in there man? you’re missing the game. we’re down by four points.”

toji chuckles, hearing a tiny muffled squeak go past your lips. he was balls deep, giving you such thick vigorous inches. that’s when he leans right up close to you—a hand still propped to have your mouth shut before whispering in a raspy tone. “you gotta be quiet, sweetheart. you want y’er old man to hear you make a sloppy mess on me?”

you shake your head, making an attempt to try and suck on his fingers and be smiles. “messy baby.”

your mouth was now stuffed with nothing but his thick fingers. you moaned, coating each digit with your glistening saliva as he pounded right into you. the grip your cunt had on him made him groan. eyes roll into the depths of your cranium so far back that your vision was pure black. squelch after squelch, it was so erotic. the build up of your incoming release yet again.

it was so slow and tense, you felt your thighs ache and tremble the more you were arched all over for him. the most sluttiest arch he’s seen in a while.

“huh—oh, nah man i’m good,” toji replies with a simper. you were trying so hard to be quiet, if your father heard anything, that’d be a wrap for you.

dying out of pure embarrassment certainly wasn’t on your bucket list for sure. the way toji responded was so casual, almost as if he wasn’t just happily drilling into his best friend’s cunt in his own home. “four points? shit. defense can’t do anything right.”

“telllll me about it! i could play better with my eyes closed, damn.”

you found it so irksome how they were casually having a dumb conversation whilst you were just about to gush right onto toji’s shaft—you felt him dip his hips into you deeper though, and you let off a sweet whine.

toji leans into your ear and whispers. “you’re doing a good job, sweetheart,” and then he chuckles. removing his hand, you nearly let off the most loudest orgasm imaginable but you kept it together by biting your tongue. it was a cute squeal, and as your legs part you made such a mess.

again…

it was probably the umpteenth time.

while you ride out your release, he’s slowing down his strokes and stares at the excess cum filling up your entrance. toji licks his lips, dragging a thumb to plug it all back in once he pulls out. he didn’t like putting things to waste. you whimper, feeling so taken aback from how stuffed full you were.

it was an awkward silence, you felt a sharp scare in your stomach once you thought your father heard everything — but thankfully so, he plopped right back down on the couch. toji lets you take a moment to calm down, and then he brings a wet kiss towards your lips. you were so sensitive, trembling within his hold—you didn’t want him to leave just now.

“atta girl,” he purrs, that same sly smile pressing against his lips as he brings a thumb towards your lip. his gaze was so hypnotizing. such pools of green eyes looked like it had a story to tell, and perhaps you wanted to know just who toji fushiguro really was.

maybe that story is ready for another day though.

thankfully you didn’t get caught.

or did you—you had to leave out the bathroom first, then toji after about a lengthy minute time difference so it wouldn’t be remotely suspicious. once the both of you were out, after about an hour of you all crammed up and watching the boring never ending basketball game, your dad ends up going to the bathroom.

while he was occupied, you leaned against toji and he wraps an arm around you. he could tell you wanted more—but his gaze was stern, telling you with his eyes to basically be a good girl and be patient.

a few seconds pass before you father bellows out a pitched, “erm. toji? is this shampoo—? what’s this white stuff over the sink? doesn’t look like shampoo.”

the both of you share the same frozen expression, impish smiles fading before you nudge toji to speak after long seconds passes.

“huh? oh, that’s uh mayonnaise. i forgot to clean up after myself.”

“aren’t you allergic to mayonnaise?”

you mentally facepalm, watching toji break into a sheepish sweat before he gruffs out a low, “i guess not that brand of mayonnaise.”

“right. riiiight,” your father mutters, and you heard sudden shifting. it was abrupt, and you felt something fall — probably a brush from the familiar after sound, you then hear your dad add a follow up question. “wait a minute,” and he glances down near the floor. “are these panties?”

#★vegasbaby.#toji x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #anime smut #female reader #cw sex mention #jjk x reader smut

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evilminji · 3 months

Text

You know what would be both Cool(tm) AND Pants Shittingly Terrifying? Eldritch Space Whale Danny!

Except NOT! Because he's not a whale! Just snoozing and Giganto-Fuck-Off HUGE!

Imagine it! Danny. Joint Custody Child of The Ancients Of Time And Space. Space is SALTY AF because their BITCH OF AN EX has used his FUCKING POWERS, AGAIN, to CHEAT. Clockwork how DARE YOU.

You knew he'd be our Son in advance!

YOU SNUCK IN AND STARTING BONDING WITH OUR CHILD BEHIND MY BACK!

YOU [REDACTED]!

Danny? Sitting off to the Side as a Sentient Everything and Nothing made of galaxies and starlight, howls expletives at their Ex, who is being... REALLY snippy back? WOW, Clockwork. I mean, JESUS, man. Danny's from "oh bless their heart" Nowhere, Midwest. And even HE thinks that last one was both backhanded and cold af.

......he should take notes. *continues to eat his popcorn*

Anyway! APPARENTLY, Space Parent has taken him in the divorce. With much huffing. Tucked under their arm Like The Football(tm). And honestly? This is kinda hilarious, so he's cool with it. Byyyyyy~ Clock Dad! See you on weekends~☆!

*Exasperated Time Noises*

It's pretty cool! He learns a lot. Learns he's probably? Gonna be SOME variation of Space Ghost. Might even take over Space's... well, EVERYTHING, should the unforeseeable occur. So obviously, gonna have to learn The Family Business, as it were!

Which?

UNSPEAKABLY HYPED, YES PLEASE.

SPACE AND STAR STUFF! HECK YEAH!

Unfortunately? Still a Halfa. Bleh, squishy need to eat and sleep. Why they get in the way of Hyperfixation? Why no more space dust? Nooooo, don't drag him away from the controls! He can still learn! Sleep is for quitters! Cowards! *whining in Give Me Back My Blorbos, You Monsters*

But, no. He apparently has to "take care of his body" and "not burn out". Eat "real food". A protein bar counts! He probably ate one of those! Give him back his STARS! He doesn't CARE if he sounds like a toddler! That's DIRECT ACCESS TO THE SECRETS OF SPACE ITSELF! He'll BITE, so HELP HIM-! *Is scruffed like a cranky infant being carried off to beddy bye*

Injustice! D:<

But, none the less, body's require sleep. He shovles down his food, washes up, and flops down in his bed. In the nice lil cozy "Safe For My Half Apprentice Who Is Also My Adopted Son" corner. He passes out in that corner. Starts to float, as he has done countless times before, when agitated before bed. Floats OUT of that corner.

That Safe Little Corner.

IN THE CENTER, THE BEATING HEART OF SPACE.

You know... the place ALL OF SPACE connects too. Where Universe Form and Die. The Grand Recycler. Dust to Dust, from the ashes of old, to the creation of new. Where PORTALS are randomly assigned. So that the Omniversal Ectoplasmic Levels may always be balanced at near to perfect levels, allowing free flow of Souls through the various Reincarnation cycles.

Space, of course, doesn't MANAGE the Ectoplasm itself. Nor the Souls! Different Ancient for THAT, but they DO manage the PORTALS. We live in a SYSTEM after all. Everyone has their "departments" as it were. So really, it's quiet... Danny? Honey? Awful quiet back there! You, uh, fallen asleep, Starlight?

*empty room*

(O.O)

*inhale* AAAAAAAAAAA-!!!!!!!

Meanwhile! He be Snoozin'! And Ghostin'! Ghost Snoozin'! Is extra comfy, cause he weightless and got not booooones~☆!

But! He? Is not a child anymore! Has learned to... for lack of a better term, Let Go. To finally ACCEPT his Death. His inhumanity. His Amortality. Death no longer holds him, can no longer let him go. He is... not immortal. He is disowned, by his own doing and his own choice, at his timeless moment of Ending.

When Life let go of his hand and Death kindly offered theirs, he did not take it.

And that's okay.

It took awhile. Talking to older ghosts. Most vague and vast, near formless. Because it's... it's scary. And it's all you know. All, really, you've EVER known. Inherent to your identity, even after you leave that part you behind.

You are "human". "Martian" or "Xy'xeruian", something else, and you never question it. Even when you've left behind everything ELSE. Your name, your eyes, your history and skin. Yet you fly around and pretend. Still alive, still human.

But is that YOU?

Or just the form you found your start in?

And like? It's okay if it IS! Sometimes, yeah, you ARE. You look down deep and find a "don't know what you were expecting, buddy" sign stapled to a mirror. But more often? It's that last hurdle. The final step in Letting Go.

Everyone mourns at their own pace.

And they are the ghosts of who they were.

It helped. Mourning for the kid he was. Who was fourteen and wanted to be an astronaut. Who died and will never have a grave. The longer he exsists, for he can't technically be called Alive, the more painfully young that child seems.

It was okay.

To cry for Danny Fenton.

Then? To let him go. Let his memory, be memory. And his Past be the grave that child rests in. Loved dearly and remembered, but no longer binding his soul.

He doesn't have to wear that face anymore.

No tributes to the Dead.

He got? Kinda... BIG. Like REALLY big. Spiraling, serpentine, cracking ice, and burning galaxies. Like a fourth dimensional dragon, of ice and stars, somehow forcing its way into a three dimensional space. Atop it all, between two vast, impossible horns? Made of glacial ice coating the warping hearts of black holes, who's shape themselves seem to shift in unknowable ways? There burns, like comet trails, with super novas, compressed to decorative gems beneath glittering morning frost, a Terrible Crown.

He? Thinks? He MIGHT have wings.

He can't tell.

Because APPARENTLY he's a fuckin tesseract! Oh, no, sorry. He might me a Zone DAMNED PENTERACT!!! Is THIS what he gets for hanging out with Clockwork all the time? He just liked the quiet! Now his "true form" is PHYSICALLY PAINFUL for most people to look at!

Clock Dad WHAT THE HELL?!

(You see, now, why Space broke up with him? An ASSHOLE)

So! Danny stays, usually at least, in his "Hi, yes, I am Normal Human Man" Ghost form. But NOW? Now it PINCHS. Because it's TOO SMALL. But hey, that's fine! It's not like he has an ingrained habit of transforming when super tired and stressed! To float sleep for Maximum Restfulness(tm).

Ha ha!

Why does that feel like foreshadowing?

BECAUSE IT IS!

Danny? Snoozing! Space? Has LOST THE BABY! Portals? Have done a Jood Gob in Portalling, something they are vaguely sure they are supposed to be doing! Yay them! They have no brain cells but still enjoy helping! They moved a thing! That's helpful right? Yay! Probably!

And on DC's planet Earth?

They? Just choked on their fuckin coffee. One moment? La dee daa~ oooh~ look! Stars! Deep space! Oh, hiiii~ Watchtower! The NEXT? *every alarm in the building starts LOSING ITS SHIT* Giant World OBLITERATING SHAPE completely takes up the screen.

From near PLUTO.

There are NO WORDS TO DISCRIBE HOW FUCK OFF BIG THIS THING IS, MR. PRESIDENT. It will eat our nukes and LAUGH. Call! EVERYBODY!!!

Obviously? Superman. I mean really, OF COURSE Superman. Frankly, all the Supers. Because we would like to KEEP having a planet, thanks. Only? The more reports that come in? The more everyone is getting "oh fuck. This is a Workd Eater" vibes.

A massive, massive, Sleeping Titan of a Planet Destroying World Eater.

That MIGHT BE MAGIC.

*highly stressed Everyone noises*

And WORSE? Superman? Can't TOUCH it! Oh sure, at FIRST he could! But then he apparently pushed too hard in just one spot! And it felt POKED AT. So now, after flicking superman HALFWAY BACK TO EARTH to make him stop? No one can physically touch it!

But! There is hope!

Because? The creature is GREEN. Bright, luminous, Lantern Green! And Earth's Lanterns have already sent for back up. Combined? The were able to move a... hand? Paw? Something. But! With the combine forces of several nearby sectors of Lanterns? They promise the power to either relocate the creature or at least hold it in orbit until FURTHER forces can be deployed!

They refuse to harm the creature until it proves actively hostile, as it could have been seeking a place to nap and chosen one inconvenient to established planetary life. Frankly? Earth doesn't CARE where you relocate the giant Eldritch Space Dragon. Just NOT IN OUR BACKYARD, PLEASE.

....YES WE ARE SURE! We don't CARE if the scientific community of our planet is begging you to set up an area for them to place an "observation satellite"! No giant Eldritch Space Dragons in our solar system! It might WAKE UP!

Naturally, about half way THROUGH this Highly Delicate Operation?

Danny Wakes Up.

@hypewinter @hdgnj @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @mutable-manifestation

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #minji's writing

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 10 months

Text

Honey Girl.

Synopsis - The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the Universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5.1k

Warnings - cursing. sexual content towards the end. mild alcohol consumption. age gap. smut in next chapter(s).

Author's Note - part one is finally here!! thank you so much to everyone who asked to be tagged, and who liked and reblogged the masterlist. i am SO excited to share this with you. i've built this world in my head and trust me it is gorgeous - salty ocean breezes, sunsoaked sailboats and billowing white linen shirts. i hope you can lose yourself in my little seaside town with bucky for the time it takes you to read this, just as i did while writing it. i can't wait to write more of this series for you x

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Requests. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight.

Tethering /tɛð(ə)rɪŋ/

An event in which two soulmates are bound together forever. Only occurs when the Universe decides it is time. No sooner, no later.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The gentle ocean breeze gives you a moment of respite from the scorching sun that's beating down. You're half asleep, laying on the cool tile of your balcony when your phone rings.

"Babe! Babe! Babe!"

"Lacie? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I am freaking out right now, oh my god. I didn't know who to call. You'll never guess what just happened to me!"

You can guess. In fact, you already have.

Lacie's Tethering. It's finally happened.

You're taught, growing up, that your Tethering is the biggest moment of your life. It shapes who you are forever. Sets you on your eternal path. You're presented with your soulmate in a big display of love and affection and metaphorical fireworks. It's supposed to be magical.

You wish people would shut up about it.

The World seems to be split into two categories - the people that have been Tethered, and the people that haven't.

You fall into the latter.

You're repeatedly told it'll happen one day. It'll happen when the time is right. It'll happen when you least expect it.

You're not sure you ever want it to happen.

The idea that the Universe determines the person you're with forever has never sat right with you. What happened to free will? What happened to personal preference? You believe you should at least have a choice in the matter. It's your future, after all.

Not everyone shares the same sentiment.

"Babe, you still there?"

Lacie's excitement filled voice pulls you back to reality.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Are you busy? Can you meet me for coffee, like, now?"

You take a deep breath and plaster a fake smile on your face.

"Sure. I'll see you in ten."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Oh my god babe, it was just incredible! You won't even believe it. There's nothing like it, truly."

You remind yourself quickly that Lacie is your best friend, and that you owe it to her to be happy for her. Personal feelings about soulmates aside.

"Tell me all about it, Lace!" you encourage, grabbing a hold of her hand excitedly.

The blonde girl squeals before shuffling closer to you, pressing her knees against yours.

"Okay, so. Picture this. I'm at my gym, doing my usual routine. I'm wearing my super cute pink Lulu Lemon set, you know the one with the flowers?"

She waits for you to nod in affirmation before she continues.

"So, I accidentally drop a weight on the ground, and it makes the biggest noise. I'm super embarrassed, and I'm trying to pick it up, but it's so heavy. And then, the hottest guy I have ever seen appears. Like, seriously gorgeous."

As much as you despise the whole soulmate thing, you can't deny how happy Lacie seems. She's almost vibrating with it, bouncing up and down in her seat.

"He comes over and picks it up for me, sets in back on the rack. And then he introduces himself, and shakes my hand, and it happened."

"What was it like?" you smile, eager for her to carry on.

"Like fucking magic."

You've heard that before. A million times. From literally everyone. Surely it can't be that magical if billions of people have experienced it.

"Magic?" you prompt.

"It is indescribable, babe. It's like... it's like everything just falls into place. Like everything finally makes sense!"

She jumps out of her chair, hugging you tightly. She's practically sat on your lap in the coffee shop, but neither of you really care.

"So, what's his name? What's he like?"

"His name is Cameron. He's new in town, he just moved here for work. He's a personal trainer, so he's like, super fit. And gorgeous. Did I mention gorgeous?"

"Maybe once or twice," you laugh.

"I'm so happy," Lacie whispers, emotion choking her voice. "I can't believe it finally happened. This is the day I've been waiting for since I was a little girl."

You hug her tighter, and ignore the look you get from the barista.

"I love you," she declares, suddenly serious. "You know that me being Tethered now doesn't change that, right?"

"I know," you confirm. "I love you too, Lace. I'm really happy for you."

You genuinely mean it. Lacie has talked about meeting her soulmate every day since you met her in the 3rd grade. You may have never quite shared her enthusiasm, but you admire her passion. And you adore her, more than anyone.

"So, what now? Are you gonna get married tomorrow and run off into the sunset?"

"I'm choosing to ignore your sarcasm because I know you're using it as a coping mechanism," she tells you pointedly. "And I know that there's a tiny part of you that wishes you'd been Tethered already, so you don't have to deal with everyone talking to you about it."

Jackpot. She's read you like a book.

"No, we're not getting married tomorrow," she rolls her eyes before continuing, "but we are going on a real date tonight. We're gonna get dinner and get to know each other. Isn't this crazy? I'm going on a date with the guy I'm gonna be spending the rest of my life with!"

"That is kinda crazy, actually," you laugh. "What are you gonna wear?"

"It doesn't matter - we're going to be together forever anyway!"

You make Lacie promise to send you a picture of her outfit as you're leaving the coffee shop, which she agrees to with glee. On your way home, you pick up some of your Mom's favourite wine, and prepare yourself for another soulmate based conversation that will inevitably happen when you tell your parents the events of the day at dinner tonight.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Hi, sweetheart!" your Dad beams as you step through the front door of your childhood home.

"Hey, Dad," you greet, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. "Where's Mom? I brought wine."

"Kitchen," he gestures with a nod of his head. "She's making that mango dessert you like."

Walking into your Mother's kitchen is like dipping your feet into a pool on a scorching hot day. The windows are propped open, curtains billowing softly in the wind. The ocean breeze drifts through the room, ruffling your Mom's dress and floating the hair away from her face. The evening sun beams in, illuminating the space with a golden glow. It smells like fresh fruit, mint, and salt water. It's a haven.

"Hi, Mama."

"Oh, my love! Just in time. I was about to call you to see if you were alright."

She makes her way over to you and kisses you on the head swiftly, before walking to the cabinet to grab wine glasses.

"Sorry I'm a little later than I said. I changed my outfit three times - it's warmer than I thought it was going to be."

"I know! Summer, finally. We've been waiting long enough."

She takes the bottle of wine from your hand and pours it into the glasses.

"You've poured four, Mama."

"Didn't your Dad tell you? Bucky's joining us for dinner."

"Oh. No, he didn't mention anything."

"He's back from his vacation. He promised he'd show us all of the pictures he took!"

She grabs the glasses and floats out of the room, leaving you alone in the kitchen, thoughts of Bucky Barnes swirling around like dust in the sunlight.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.

Your Dad's best friend.

They met a few years ago, when Bucky moved to town. He said he was looking for something quieter, sick of city living. He wanted to slow down a bit, finally take a breath.

He was out for a run around town, getting his bearings, when he stopped your Dad on the driveway to ask about his car. They bonded over their love for motorcycles and vintage vehicles, and the rest is history.

Bucky's been a regular fixture in your life for so long, you can't remember a time before. All you know, is that it was probably a little more peaceful. His boyish charm is infectious, bringing out the youth in your Dad. They're like teenagers, when they're together. Long lost frat brothers, your Mom jokes.

She's got a soft spot for him. Most people do. It might have something to do with the fact he's devastatingly handsome.

It's no secret that Bucky Barnes is a ladies man. He is without even trying. He's charming, gorgeous, funny in all the right ways. He's mysterious, but not disarming. Tough, but not scary. Rebellious, but not a liability. He's a catch.

A catch, with a taste for beautiful women.

Your Dad always jokes that he's the towns most eligible bachelor. You can't count on two hands the amount of women you know that have dated him - but nothing seems to stick. He isn't Tethered, after all.

Some people choose not to date, if they haven't met their soulmate. They wait and wait, and when the time comes, they're complete. Others take pleasure in dating before it happens. Might as well make the most of the freedom, Bucky said once. You can't help but agree.

Might as well make the most of the freedom.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Hey, buddy!" you hear from the hallway. You make your way out of the kitchen to be met with the sight of Bucky, sun-kissed and practically glowing. His hair has a few light streaks from the sun, and the faint freckles on his cheeks are more prominent now. His steel blue eyes meet yours, mischief rife in them.

"Hi, honey," he greets, draping an arm around your shoulders. He kisses you on the cheek, light stubble scratching your skin. You throw an arm around his back and look up at him.

"There's no way this tan is natural," you tease, nudging him slightly.

"It makes me even more gorgeous, doesn't it?" he jokes, winking at you. He squeezes your shoulder before letting go, grabbing a bottle of wine from his bag.

"I brought your favourite, Lori."

"So did I," you echo, laughing.

"Great minds, honey. Great minds!"

"You can never have too much wine," your Mom yells out from the kitchen doorway. "Bring it in here, Buck. I'll put it in the refrigerator."

"Yes ma'am," he obliges, making his way to her with a smile on his face.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Guess what happened today," you begin, in between bites of your strawberry salad.

The three of them look at you intently, urging you to continue.

"Lacie got Tethered."

"How exciting!" your Mom squeals.

"That's a long time coming," Bucky chimes in. You look at him and smirk.

"Tell me about it."

"Here we go," your Dad smiles. "Our two anti soulmate protestors."

"Don't make it sound so political," Bucky laughs. "She's the only one that gets it."

"I've said it a thousand times, and I'll say it again. Just. You. Wait," your Mom lectures. "The two of you don't get it."

"Magic, fireworks, eternal love, blah blah blah. Trust me, I get it."

"She gets it," Bucky echoes. "And so do I. The Universe decides our fate, and we get no choice whatsoever. I don't believe in it, is all. I have no faith in the system. I should get to choose."

"But you feel like you are choosing," your Dad defends. "It didn't feel like it was being determined for me. It's hard to explain."

"It's just so... backwards," you justify. "I can't believe we live in a Universe where we have all the choices in the world, but don't get to choose the person we spend the rest of our lives with."

"It's worked out pretty well for us," your Mom smiles.

And it has. The first thing anyone notices when they meet your parents is that they are undeniably in love. You've never met two people more perfect for each other - which should solidify your belief in the Universe, really. But it doesn't. You can't explain where your lack of faith in it came from. It just appeared one day, and you haven't been able to shake it since. You're grateful every day to have two Tethered, happy, smitten parents. You've seen how hard it is for people with Untethered Mothers and Fathers. The judgment, the uncertainty, the hushed whispers. It sounds unbearable.

"Yes it did," your Dad confirms, shaking you from your thoughts. He reaches for your Mom's hand and kisses the back of it tenderly, eyes never once leaving hers. You look to Bucky next to you, who smiles at you gently. Feelings about soulmates aside, the both of you love these two people sat across the table with all your heart.

"Trust me, sweetheart," your Mom begins. "I know you're against the idea now - God knows I was the same at your age. But when it happens, you'll forget about all of your rebellion. You'll just be happy."

You nod in agreement, praying for the conversation to be over. As if he can read your mind, Bucky pipes up.

"Let me show you some pictures from Italy. I did promise I would."

You shoot him a grateful look before picking up your empty wine glass and making your way to the kitchen for a refill.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The dining room is now lit solely by candlelight, wax dripping onto the white lace tablecloth like condensation on a cold glass. The sun fell asleep hours ago, the four of you enjoying each others company with no regard for time.

"Oh, shit. It's late," your Dad says suddenly.

"You got big late night plans?" you tease.

"We have Clara and Mike's wedding at the weekend, so we're flying out tomorrow. We should probably get some sleep, so we're not exhausted."

Your Mom rises from her chair and kisses you on the head, before grabbing the dessert bowls from the table. Your Dad helps, smiling every time his hand brushes hers accidentally.

"Thanks for coming, kiddo. Your place next week?"

"Of course. I think I'll try that salmon recipe you sent me."

"Can't wait," your Dad assures you, giving you a one sided hug. He squeezes you once before letting you go to grab your shoes.

You can hear your parents saying their goodbyes to Bucky as you tie your laces, smoothing out the skirt of your dress as you stand. They all join you in the hallway, Bucky leaning over to grab his jacket from behind you. Fuck, he smells good.

"Have a great time at the wedding, you guys. Send me pictures, please!" you say as you hug your Mom goodbye.

"We will! Drive home safe, the both of you!"

They shut the door softly, leaving you and Bucky stood on the porch. The evening air chills your bare legs, salt in the breeze sticking to your lips.

"Where's your car?" he asks, looking around.

"Oh, I walked. It was a nice day, and I'm trying to be a little greener. Save the planet, and all," you chuckle.

"You want a ride, then?" he offers, leaning against the side of his truck.

"Uh - maybe," you hesitate, shifting your weight from foot to foot. You feel antsy, for some reason. There's a buzz flowing through your veins, making you a little restless.

"Maybe?" he smirks.

"I just, I'm not sure if I wanna go home yet. It might be that I've had three glasses of wine, but I'm kinda... jittery? Think I need to burn off some energy. Maybe I'll walk home."

"Like hell you will," he grumbles.

You quirk a brow in confusion.

"It's dark, and all those college kids are in town on their break. I don't trust 'em."

You fight to keep the grin off your face. You weirdly like it when Bucky gets protective. He's always so calm, so relaxed - it takes a lot to rile him up. He looks hot with a clenched jaw.

"Why don't we go somewhere?"

"Where?" you ask tentatively.

"I don't know," he thinks for a second. "How about the beach?"

You smile, gazing at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

"I fucking love the beach."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The ocean waves break the shore steadily, the repetitive pattern calming you both. You're sat on the sand, grains slipping through your hands where you're pouring it out through your fingers. The light of the moon reflects off the surface of the sea, illuminating the abandoned cove. It's just you, Bucky, and the night sky.

The alcohol in your system has evened you out, warm buzz keeping you sheltered from the chill. Bucky's stretched out next to you, strong arms folded underneath his head. His shirt rides up slightly, exposing a slither of sun kissed skin. You pretend not to notice his Adonis belt, or the little trail of hair that leads down into his waistband.

The silence is easy, comfortable. You don't get to hang out like this often, just the two of you. It's nice.

A notification on your phone breaks through the tranquility. You both flinch.

"Sorry," you mutter, checking the screen. "It's Lacie, telling me about her perfect date."

He chuckles lowly at your tone, sitting up to look at you.

"This is hard for you, isn't it?" he asks. "You hate the whole soulmate thing, but you like seeing her happy."

Bingo. It's like he's read your mind.

"I don't know why I hate it so much" you confess quietly. "It's a part of life. I can't avoid it. I just think - what if... what if I'm like, the exception, or something? What if I never meet my soulmate - or - what if I meet them when I'm like, seventy? That happens, you know! And then I'll be fucking cursed to spend my entire life feeling like this."

"And what is this?"

"Hopeless. That's what this is. I just feel pretty fucking hopeless."

You're not sure why you're baring your soul to Bucky tonight. You could blame the wine, but you know that's not what it is. Maybe it's because he seems to be the only one that understands.

"Me too," he whispers.

You whip your head around to stare at him in shock. He laughs at the look on your face, and continues.

"You're young - you have time. I'm forty in a couple of years. Every single one of my friends is married to their soulmate - except for me."

You bite at your lip nervously, but refuse to tear your eyes away from his steel blue ones. His face is lit by the glow from the moon, and it takes your breath away for a second. He looks almost ethereal.

"You always act so... unbothered. I didn't realise... I guess I just, I didn't -" you try to gather your thoughts before continuing. "This fucking sucks, huh?"

He laughs with his whole chest, and you're convinced the sound is so special, so rare, that you should bottle it. Sell it as medicine. It'd cure anything, you're sure of it.

"Yeah, it does," he agrees with a chuckle. "It's the waiting around that's the worst part. The unknown. It could be minutes, it could be decades. I just don't know."

"At least for now, we have each other," you joke.

"Every cloud has a silver lining, huh?" he teases, nudging you with his shoulder.

You allow your weight to press into his side a little, leaning in. He's warm, and he's familiar, and in this moment, he understands you better than anyone else in the world.

"We'll be okay, honey," he murmurs. "It'll all work out the way it's supposed to."

You close your eyes, and allow his words and the breaking waves to calm your nerves. Bucky wraps an arm around you, and all the tension melts from your muscles.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're not sure if it's the honest conversation, or the brisk ocean breeze, but you've sobered up in record time. Your body registers this, and sends a shiver down your spine.

"You cold?" Bucky asks you. "You wanna go home?"

"Not yet," you whisper. "Not yet."

He shrugs off his worn brown leather jacket and slips it over your shoulders. It smells so strongly of him that it makes you dizzy. Bucky settles back down in his original place, returning his arm to where it was draped over you. His rough fingertips rub patterns into the material that now covers your arms, and you wish, for a fleeting moment, that it was your bare skin instead.

"You been working on anything new recently?" he enquires in a hushed tone, careful not to ruin the atmosphere.

"I made a damn good batch of macarons yesterday," you reply, beaming smile etched across your face. "Raspberry and lemon. I'll bring you some, next time I pass the Garage. You're gonna love them."

"You know, I think the only reason I ever get Mechanic of the Month is because you bring by all of your sweet treats."

You laugh melodiously, and the sound makes Bucky's heart stutter in his chest without warning.

"Happy to be of service," you tease. "I take requests, too, if you ever want something specific. Just let me know."

"You're the best, sugar."

You sink into Bucky's hold a little, daring to rest your head on his shoulder. When he doesn't stop you, you exhale, and relax even more.

"Are you working tomorrow?" he asks.

"Nope. You?"

"Nah. I'm going sailing, finally. It's been way too fuckin' long," he grumbles. "Your Dad's usually my right hand man, but he'll be in Ohio. You wanna come?"

The idea of laying on the deck of a boat in the blazing sunshine with a shirtless Bucky Barnes sounds like heaven. Who could say no to an offer like that?

"Yeah, of course. I'll bring a picnic, if you like. It's the least I can do."

"Sounds perfect," he replies, squeezing your shoulder.

Suddenly, he rises to his feet, extending a hand out to you. You grab it, and he pulls you up, the both of you shaking sand off yourselves.

"It's late, and dark, and a little cold. You ready to go?"

You nod your head, and make your way over to his truck, ignoring the heat that blooms over your chest when he opens the passenger door for you before his own.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Thank you, for tonight," you say as he pulls up in front of your apartment building.

"Thank you," he replies, killing the engine. "It's nice to have you back, you know. Wondered if you were gonna finish college and stay out there in California. Thought we might not see you again."

He almost sounds... relieved. The idea that he might have missed you if you didn't return effects you more than it should.

"I liked it there, but... I don't know. My family's here. I'm only twenty three. I've got time to move around the country. I missed this place too much when I was away."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that," he chuckles.

"I know, trust me. They do say absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Yeah, they say a lot of fuckin' things," he jokes.

Bucky swings his door open, hopping down from the drivers seat. He makes his way over to your side, holding out a hand so you can jump out.

"Careful," he warns. "It's higher than it looks."

You grab his hand, and step onto the metal sill. Your foot slips slightly, sending you tumbling down and forward, out of the truck. Luckily, Bucky catches you, one hand in yours, other on your hip.

"Woah, easy. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," you breathe.

He places his hands on your cheeks and cradles your face, searching for any signs of distress. You place your palms over his, silently reassuring him.

And then, it happens.

Warm, golden, molten electricity surges through your veins, lighting up each and every one of your nerve endings. Your surroundings explode into glorious technicolour, everything suddenly brighter and more vibrant. It feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest, only to be replaced by one that beats in a slightly different rhythm. There's flowers blooming in your ribcage, new life happening inside of you. You catch eyes with Bucky, expecting to see his stormy blue ones looking back at you. Instead, all you see is your future.

Vivid, flashing images of Bucky Barnes fill your mind, each one of them tinted with a warm, rosy hue. You feel like you're being reinvented. Your skin is alive, hyperaware of the way Bucky's palms are still gently cupping your cheeks. Your fingertips tingle with anticipation where they rest on his, itching to touch every inch of him. You feel as if the oxygen has been stolen from your lungs, and replaced with love.

Your knees are the first to buckle, the weight of the moment taking you down. You hit the ground, and so does Bucky, his palms not once leaving your face. You're both kneeling on the warm concrete, ocean waves providing a distant soundtrack. Blood is rushing in your ears, and you wonder for a second if you're about to pass out. You squeeze Bucky's hands so hard, it's a miracle you don't break his fingers. He squeezes back, eyes locked on one another.

After what feels like an eternity, you both break out of your reverie. You lean forward, resting your forehead against Bucky's, both of you panting.

You're trying to catch your breath unsuccessfully. You move one of your hands to rest on Bucky's chest, right on his heart. You swear the steady beat of it spells out your name.

He mirrors you, and moves his own hand to rest above your frantic heart, the other still glued to your cheek. You both breathe, in and out, trying to match each other. When you finally do, it's as if time stops. It's just you and Bucky. One heartbeat. One soul.

You break away from him to look into his eyes again. They look different, you think. He looks different.

He gazes back at you, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. The moonlight dances off your faces, illuminating the moment both your lives changed forever.

"It's you," he breathes in disbelief.

A laugh escapes your chest, surprising you both. He chuckles with you, and before you know it, the both of you are in hysterics, sitting on the sidewalk at three in the morning.

"Of course it's me," you giggle. "The two people that hate soulmates, Tethered together. You couldn't write it."

Bucky grins at you, clutching at his stomach.

You both take a breath, and realise your surroundings. Bucky gets up first, heaving you up by your arms. He towers over you, suddenly close. Not close enough, you decide. Never close enough.

You lunge forward and crash your lips to his. Bucky instinctively wraps one arm around your back, moving his other hand to hold you by the back of your neck. He tastes like salt and spearmint and every kiss for the rest of your life.

Bucky presses himself into you, attempting to tangle your bodies together. He wants to feel every inch of you against his skin, willing you to come closer. He aches to climb into you, sew himself into your ribcage. He'd be content to live there, beating your heart, forever.

You whine, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You tilt your head back, and fist your hands into his shirt, plastering yourself to his front. He shoves his thigh in between your legs, the rough denim a welcome contrast to your soft skin. You buck your hips forward, and the friction is so delicious it makes you dizzy. You've never been kissed like this. It's almost feral. You're both surrendering to your fates, giving in to the animalistic urges coursing through you.

A seagull caws on a nearby street lamp, and the sound makes you both jump. You suddenly realise your scenario. Your Dad's best friend, who also happens to be your soulmate, has you pressed against his truck in the street, kissing you like he's running out of air and you're his only oxygen source. If it goes any further, you'll both get arrested for public indecency.

"Fuck, sugar," he murmurs against your mouth. "My pretty girl. My honey."

"My soulmate," you whisper.

The reality of it comes crashing down like a tsunami, drenching the both of you.

Bucky kisses you again, gentler this time. The tenderness makes you want to cry.

"What do we do now?" you mumble, fear coating your voice.

He senses your trepidation instantly. He feels it, actually, right in the front of his chest. It's like you suddenly share one body. There's no guessing, anymore. He knows exactly how you feel.

He takes a deep breath, trying to settle his building anxiety. He knows that if he stays calm, you'll stay calm. That's how Tethering works, right? He has to keep it together for the both of you, despite the panic that's rising in him, vibrating in his bones.

"How about... how about we both go to bed, get some sleep - and then we go sailing, later on today, just like we planned? And no matter what, we take everything one step at a time."

"One step at a time," you repeat, attempting to pacify you both.

"We'll figure it out," he reassures. "I know we will."

You find the will to step apart, which proves harder than you thought. It's like Bucky's an anchor - fastening you to peace, to happiness, to serenity. The more distance you put between your bodies, the more unsettled you feel. When you're not touching him, it's as if everything becomes unsteady, more difficult. You feel like you're on a rogue sailboat, battling the waves, threatened to be thrown overboard. Bucky is your lifevest, your lighthouse in the dark night. You're not sure how you're supposed to live your life any more than two feet away from him at all times.

You breathe, and smooth down your dress, running your fingers through your hair. You reach out and adjust Bucky's shirt where it's been wrinkled due to your tight grip.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he murmurs, fingers tangling around your own.

"Goodnight, Buck," you echo.

He leans in to press a chaste kiss to your lips, savouring the taste of your cherry lip balm. He wraps his arms around you, unable to resist. Bucky breathes you in deeply, smiling uncontrollably. Nudging your nose with his, he murmurs gently against your mouth.

"My honey girl."

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kiwisbell · 3 months

Text

Gloves Off [joel miller]

You enjoy watching him bleed, but you love to watch him succeed. He builds ‘em up just to knock ‘em down. He’s The Contractor, and he’s your reigning king of the ring.

my masterlist!

pairing: boxer!joel miller x f!reader

tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), no outbreak!joel, blood and violence (by virtue of joel’s career), boxing, joel’s got that dawg in him, established relationship, oral fixation, weightlifting, cleaning wounds, protective!joel, soft!joel, joel is a munch, cockblocking, fingering, squirting, riding, unprotected piv (let's not follow this example), creampie, cum eating, dirty talk, light choking, mirror sex, “she” pronoun used — switches to “you” a little ways in & stays that way, some light playful smacking, some light playful blasphemy, a hint of exhibitionism, they're a bedroom-ceiling-mirror couple™️, no i do not know the intricacies of boxing, it's violent and i'm just a girl

word count: ~ 9k

read on ao3!

a/n: this is mostly porn and some very light plot. we're mostly just establishing these two for now – but more will come in the future as i build on this universe! thank you so much mya @cavillscurls for beta reading this mess, for giving joel's girl her fightin' name, and for generally holding my hand. ilysm honey

dividers by the lovely @saradika

follow @kiwisbellupdates and turn on notifications if you'd like to be notified when i post a fic!

It’s loud. Loud enough to bruise. Monstrous pulses of bass resonate from the ground into veins and lungs and muscles. No choice but to swallow.

In those rare moments when the music recedes, it's the swell of the audience, the cloying aroma of beer and the crunch of peanut shells underfoot. It’s the rapacious jeers and whoops from a crowd who refuses to let silence infest. Chest-deep belching and beer-guzzling and bet-placing. Illicit handshakes that become permissible for the next hour.

The lights of the arena dazzle—rhythmic hues of flashing yellowblueorange strobing brilliantly above to the throbbing bass. He always gets uproarious applause, makes an indelible impression: the stoic, humble shake of his wide shoulders as he bounces impatiently on the balls of his feet, the royal blue robe embroidered with gold, the eager kiss he gives his girlfriend as she gently slips the fabric off and gives him a brilliant smile.

He isn't shy about the way he takes his girl into his arms, one big callused hand pulling her in at the small of her back. The audience roars. Cameras flash. Some sort of pre-fight ritual, some unfamiliars presume. Presses go wild for shit like this. Maybe he’s doing it for the cameras.

Then he cups her face, her ear comfortably situated between his thumb and forefinger, briefly bunching her hair in his fist before he lets her go. And—no, this isn't for show. She says something nobody but he can hear, slipping his robe over her own shoulders, too-big and draping off her body, and he grins crookedly, half-listening to his coach rattle off the game plan.

She kisses him chastely on the cheek, but it lingers, some whispers—promises, maybe—softly exchanged. Then she saunters off, hips swaying, tying his robe around her waist.

“And now—”

The drawl of the announcer heralds a cheer.

“Your heavyweight champion, your boy in blue, your reigning king of the K.O.—”

Another piercing uproar. There are few here in Austin who favour the opponent. They toast their cups of foamy beer to the man approaching the ring, still bouncing and shaking out his limbs and popping in a mouthguard.

“You know him. You love him. You enjoy watching him bleed, but you love to watch him succeed. The Contractor—”

It’s his girl who screams this time, banging the flat of her palms on the floor of the ring, her eyes alight with excitement. Under the robe wrapped around her body is a tight black dress. She's a picture of paradox. Elegance rubs up against the ravenous spirit of the arena. The lights dance in her eyes. Hunger thrives in those irises. Her eyes don't waver from the man entering the ring.

“Joel Miller!”

He slips under the ropes and raises his fists, now adorned in bright red gloves, high in the air. He’s dressed in blue shorts that reflect the strobing colours, torso bare, greying hair tousled. Tousled, no doubt, from her fingers. He stands like a Grecian statue before the crowd, made to be admired, and yet they feel distinctly as if they have intruded on an obscene, private moment.

The judge, dressed in an old polo and a pair of dress slacks, exuding the illusion of propriety, enters next. Joel doesn't smile or wave at the crowd. Fans know his shtick—the cold, calculated killer with the K.O. record last season, disinterested in reputation, a man of focus. But he glances down at the girl just outside the ring and winks. Her answering grin tells a story. But it is not one for the cameras and the press and the beer-guzzlers. It’s just another length of the thread spooling between them.

The opponent arrives—some up-and-coming challenger who goes by Ricky The Great and wears a plastic gold crown as he emerges from the darkness; yawn—and the audience promptly begins their jeers. It’s Texas. Here, Joel Miller owns the scene. That's just the way the cookie crumbles.

Ricky The Great, all glamorous smiles and brush-offs in the face of so much heckling, shrugs off his fire truck-red robe and climbs into the arena. He bumps gloves with Joel, who kneels down and bumps gloves with his girl’s bare fists. The judge speaks to both of them—something about a clean fight, nothin’ dirty now—and the crowd draws a collective breath. The music peters. For a moment, there's silence.

The bell rings and the roar of the crowd crescendos.

Joel makes the first hit. He doesn't bother circling his opponent for long; he strikes precise and true and knocks Ricky’s head back. The rippling of his muscles as he throws his first punch is taut, intricate. A delicate transfer of energy. There's none of the same finesse in the way Ricky strikes: he’s flighty, uncertain, too stiff in his attacks. But he’s got strength, and his blows land.

The first strikes Joel on the left side of his face, a low thud of impact that makes the audience recoil.

She’s lurching forward, spitting venom, hurling fire at the challenger: Oh, fuck that! Is that all you can do? My mother’s dog hits harder than that!

The Contractor shakes it off, back on the defensive, and look at the boy in blue carry the fight, he’s got his arms up to block the next, and he’s returning each punch like he’s making conversation, and folks—folks!—the first round is over, the Contractor is fired up, and he’s not going to let another hit get past him, don't mess with Miller, folks, don't mess with Miller!

With a thick forearm, he swipes his sweat-matted curls away from his sticky forehead and lowers himself into the opposite corner from Ricky The Great.

“You gotta keep your guard up, Texas,” says a sweet, sultry voice—she’s hopping up into the ring, handing him a water bottle. “Don’t get cocky.”

He squirts the water into his mouth and all over his face while his coach Fred takes a knee beside him. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Your lady’s right. Don’t gotta be on the offensive the whole damn time. Hit him, but hit him smart. He’s a rookie.” Fred claps him hard on the shoulder. “Yeah?”

Joel nods, his brow lowered, his face set in a firm scowl. The Texas Hold ‘Em, she calls that look. Means he's done playin’.

Fred smacks him twice on the cheek. “You gonna fight like you mean it?”

“Goddamn right.”

“You gonna hit the kid like he owes you money?”

“Goddamn fuckin’ right.”

Fred grunts, satisfied. “Good. Then get your ass up and fight like a man, so you can take your girlfriend to dinner. Eh, asshole?”

She bites her bottom lip. “You gonna take me out?”

Joel inhales sharply through his bruised nose as she toys with the tie of the robe around her waist. “Tomorrow night,” he says. “White Rose.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes are doe-like. “Better win this fight, then, Texas. Maybe I’ll treat you.”

She slips under the ropes and winks, settling in for round two. Joel knocks his gloves together and stands up, shaking himself out.

Ricky The Great is giving him a great, bloodied smile, rolling his head around his shoulders. “Hell of a fight you put up,” he says good-naturedly as they meet in the centre of the ring to bump gloves again. “Hell of a pretty girl, too.”

A minute narrowing of brown eyes gone beetle-black. A careful and measured silence as he awaits the next words he knows will decide the course of the night.

“You’ll let me have a go with her after, right?”

The bell chimes. The crowd roars.

Headlines stamped bold-faced on front pages by morning will only beckon a bigger crowd by the next fight.

RICKY THE GREAT K.O.’d IN SECOND ROUND: THE CONTRACTOR REIGNS

You listen to the rhythmic thud, thud, thud of his fists hitting the bag as your teeth absently chew the end of your pen to plastic mulch.

His back is facing you, huge and muscled and rippling with every blow he lands on the bag. Gruff exhales are punched out of him, the deep purple hue of the bruises on his chest pulling taut over tanned skin. He's quiet, typical after a fight, the adrenaline of the ring accumulating in the weight of each punch.

“Joel, honey, a couple venues are asking for you by name. Say they want you in… let’s see, Wyoming, New York, and Las Vegas. Should I tell them you're local only?”

He doesn't answer, the rhythm of his punches never faltering, the cascading path of his spine flexing, dripping beads of sweat. There are dimples in his lower back.

“Joel?”

He isn't just letting off steam.

He’s mad.

You sigh, peeling yourself away from your desk and placing your hand between his shoulder blades. He shows his blows, grasping the bag to keep it still, his head briefly lolling low as you rub his sweat-slick back.

“Come with me,” you say softly, pressing a soft kiss to one of the bruises on his shoulder. He takes a moment to shuck off his gloves, dropping them to the floor and following you to the desk. His hands are still wrapped, knuckles bruised beneath. You guide him gently to sit in your chair while you shuffle through items in the drawers to produce a cloth. You wet it with your water bottle, now lukewarm, and gesture for his hands as you sit on the desk. You begin to unwrap the gauze on his left, letting it rest in your lap.

You make quick work of the wraps and his split knuckles, gently cleaning away the dried blood and making sure no dirt has accumulated. He flexes his fingers when you're finished and seems to relish the twinge of pain that accompanies it.

“You should take it easy on your hands after a fight, honey. Rest up before the next.”

It's lost on him, of course. He hardly sleeps. But he nods, one hand on your thigh, rubbing circles over your hip bone. “I know.”

You smile faintly, touched by his attempt to placate you despite the distant glaze over his eyes, and begin to clean the cuts on his face: one on his lip, his chin, and just below his swollen eye. To his credit, he doesn't flinch much. You've been patching him up long enough.

“Wanna tell me what happened, Texas?”

His eyes shutter, head ducked to evade the tender press of the washcloth to his chin. You frown. “Joel.”

He just shakes his head. You shouldn't have to hear shit like that. And he knows that you know, but you don't say a word, humming softly, the melody of letting it go. Joel grasps your free hand and threads his fingers through yours, his mouth meeting your unmarred knuckles.

“Baby,” you coo, “I need to get you cleaned up. Look at me.”

He lifts his eyes as best he can with one sealed a quarter shut, and you click your tongue softly. “Nobody gets a hit in on my man. Fucking asshole.”

“‘s okay, baby.” He kisses the inside of your wrist and you bite down on a laugh when his moustache tickles your sensitive skin. “I’m okay. Had my coach there with me.”

“Fred’s a pretty good guy,” you say coyly.

Joel hauls you abruptly onto his lap. You yelp, winding your arms around his neck to steady yourself. His lips find your jaw, ghosting along the line of it. “You know I ain't talkin’ about Fred.”

“Take it easy,” you implore him. “You’ve got a split lip and a swollen eye, killer. Can’t go getting all sweet on me.”

He harrumphs, your grumpy old dog, and continues to kiss you anyway, nosing at your cheek so you’ll turn your head to the side. He places his lips on your pulse point and lets them linger there awhile.

At last, he tells you the truth. “He asked if I’d share you.”

You scratch your nails at his scalp, tousling his sweaty curls. “Hmm. Wouldn't be the first time. Remember Galveston?”

His grip instinctively tightens around your waist. “Fuckin’ asshole.”

“You got him good, though.”

“Goddamn right.”

“And I got a real nice night out of it. Fuck, that hotel room. The continental breakfast. The bath.”

“That fuckin’ dress,” he adds, nipping your jaw. “Could've eaten you alive.”

“You did.”

Joel chuckles, kissing his way back to your mouth. “Never goin’ back to that bar again, though.”

He’d started a good-and-proper fight in the dive bar that night a few years back over some piece of shit who pinched your ass in front of Joel. Your killer had made quite the reputation for himself… after you and Fred bailed him out of the county jail with a decent rap sheet to take back home as a souvenir. From the proud gleam in his eye that night, you guessed he'd happily paste that record to the refrigerator if he had his say.

“I don’t know, honey. Folks in that town know not to mess with Texas.”

He gives you a hard look. Goddamn right.

“You had me going there for a minute during that first round,” you tell him, cupping the good side of his face. “You feel okay?”

He studies you, fingers idly tracing your vertebrae. “Yeah, baby. I’m good.”

“You still feel like that dinner at the White Rose?”

He grins crookedly. “If you let me pick your dress.”

You smile, brushing some wet curls away from his forehead. “Anything you need.”

Kissing him deeply, you lick your way into his mouth, your thighs hugging his hips. Joel groans, pulling you snug to him by the small of your back, and you feel him begin to fill out his shorts, his length warm and heavy against his leg. You roll your hips, desire tingling at your fingertips and spreading inward.

It’s warm and sticky, this love he has. It’s the way the sunlight glues a gold shine to his skin when he first wakes and it’s the boundless crooning melody of “Purple Rain” in your ear as he's winding down from a fight. He’s the muggy fingers of dusk, languid and lazy on your body, gold darkening to black as you become a thing he seeks to cover, conceal, make only his.

He suffocates. It’s how he best knows to show you his love.

Joel tugs your hair so you’ll tip your head back and leaves sloppy, open-mouthed kisses up your throat, stern in his nibbles and bites, teeth scraping along the cut of your jaw.

“Joel…”

“You know what I need.” Joel jerks his chin in the direction of the bench. “Go and spread ‘em, nice and wide for me.”

Oh, you think, noting the tension that still coils in his shoulders. Oh.

Your heart thunders as you obey, crossing the room and lowering yourself onto the adjustable bench, thighs straddling the cushion. Joel’s eyes are catlike, pupils puffy, predatory. He prowls toward you, dropping to one knee, near-clinical in his assessment of your posture, your heaving chest, the slight quiver of your thighs as he lifts his hands to squeeze your soft flesh.

“Wanna see you,” he says plainly. “Show me.”

You’re giddy with excitement as you lift the hem of your top and toss it aside, giving him a good view of the white lace cupping your breasts. Joel hums, shifting closer, easing your thighs open to fit his broad shoulders.

One of his hands migrates from your hip to your ribcage, his thumb brushing over the soft swell of your breast. You shudder, letting him explore you, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“Take this off,” he says. You reach for the clasp of your bra and let it join your discarded shirt. The rough pad of his thumb rolls gently over your nipple as your skin puckers and you begin to stiffen.

“Joel,” you whisper. He tuts you into silence and warms your sternum under his palm.

“Relax, baby. Let me see you play for a little while.”

Leaning back on the bench, your hand trails down your body, fingers dancing on your soft, sweet skin, and Joel’s licking his lips before you can even reach the apex of your thighs—lifting your skirt and showing him the simple cotton panties covering his meal. You’ve darkened the fabric with your arousal.

“Goddamn vision,” says Joel. “So fuckin’ pretty. You need someone to pay her some attention?”

“Please,” you mewl, your fingers swiping lightly over your clit. “Please, baby, I need you so bad.”

Joel lowers himself beneath your skirt and presses a soft kiss to your pussy over your panties. Your hips buck instinctively, seeking his mouth, but Joel presses his palm flat against your lower belly.

“Joel…”

“Lie still, sweetheart. I need a taste.”

You whine, a bit petulant, but let him take his time, his tongue darting out to lick you over your underwear. The muffled pleasure makes you choke on air, your head falling back against the bench. You lose sight of his head under your skirt, unable to grasp his hair or guide him closer, unable to do anything except let him take what he wants.

Back when he used to smoke, Joel found a replacement drug between your legs. He’d lick and suck at your clit until he no longer craved the sweet stick of nicotine to his lungs; sometimes, on fight nights like this one, he’ll spend hours with his mouth on your body to quell the buzz of adrenaline that beat his heart against his ribs. He needs his hit in the shape of you.

His new habits had carried over in the years since he quit. Now, he’s dimpling your thighs with his fingers, keeping you spread open as he teases you with his mouth, making out with your pussy. He swallows your sweet little moans and inhales your scent and loses himself entirely in the pleasure of being between your thighs.

“Fuck, baby—” Your voice breaks into a whimper as he at last shifts your ruined panties aside and slides his hot tongue through your weeping slit. “Ahhhh, fuck. Yeah, right there.”

He groans at the first real taste of you, drenched and puffy and practically crying for him, your hips grinding in time with the swirling motions of his tongue. The sting of the cut on his lip, soaked in your wetness, does little to deter him. He delves into you, the slope of his nose pressed against your sensitive little clit as he glides the tip of his tongue around your hole. Your hands find your tits, squeezing and rolling your nipples between your fingers, head lolling against the cushion of his bench.

Joel slides the flat of his tongue through your slit repeatedly, lavishing attention on your folds with his lips, kissing you deeply and fervently, the consistent pressure pooling in your core. Your stomach tightens when he sucks your clit between his lips, moustache prickling your thighs as he hugs your thighs around his shoulders. They rest on his back, your toes curling with the mounting pleasure as he flicks his tongue over your slick pearl and takes it into his mouth.

“Ohhhh, yes. Yesyesyes, just like that. Fuck, baby, that feels soooooh!”

Joel growls, crushed into your pussy, deafening himself as he holds your thighs firm around his ears, split knuckles stinging. He needs this. He’ll die if he doesn't have this. Your gooey-sweet body cups him in a soft, glowing light, warmth wiggling out from the core of you and splitting him down the middle. He eats you until you're sobbing his name, begging to come, jerking your hips around under the weight of his tongue against your clit.

“Joel, I’m…”

He knows. He can feel it. You pulse slowly, rhythmically, your stomach tight and your hips grinding up into his face. With one finalistic twitch of your thighs, your leg kicks out, and you come, your head thrown back against the bench, your entire body seizing with Joel’s head fixed between your legs.

He doesn't stop when you begin to shiver on your way back down, licking up the release from your tight little hole and slathering it over your folds just to drink it back up again. You give him a gurgling moan, reaching down to shuck your skirt up and reveal his face: pupils wide, fingers dimpling your thighs, he looks intoxicated. Gently licking your puffy clit, he swirls his tongue over it, and you gasp, your fingers curling in his sweaty locks.

“Joel, up,” you plead, tugging on his hair. He groans, absconding from your oversensitive pussy, his mouth leaving messy kisses up your belly.

He rests his chin there, looking dazedly up at you. He slowly drags his tongue over his bottom lip, his moustache slick with you. Your thighs suffer a phantom twitch as you watch him idly clean himself up. “Kiss me,” you croak, hauling yourself upright and cupping the back of his neck in your hand.

He does, licking at your kiss-bruised lip, begging for entry. You grant it, tasting your own release on his tongue, a little dazed yourself by the heady tang. Joel’s big arms wrap around your hips, pulling you closer by the small of your back. He breaks the kiss just to tilt your chin up with his nose and nestle his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m all yours, Texas,” you whisper, letting your eyes flutter shut. “Always have been.”

And the smug bastard grins, the shape of it burned into your throat. “Yeah, I know.”

“Miller, your girlfriend's here.”

Ben doesn't even bother to look up from the books as you breeze past his desk with a paper bag in your hands.

“Hi, Ben,” you chirp.

“Hi, honey. He’s in the ring.”

“Thanks!”

Joel, meanwhile, unstraps his gloves, clapping Hank on the shoulder. “Good fightin’, man,” he says.

The younger guy wheezes out a cough as he sheds his own gear. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get the shit kicked outta me by you anytime, Miller.”

You appear around the corner, all smiles, carrying his lunch. Joel hops down from the ring and scoops you up in his arms, setting you down on the edge of the platform. You playfully dig your heels into his ass to pull him closer.

“Smells so good, baby,” he says, grinning against your mouth, the kiss turning into a mess of lips and teeth.

“Me or the food?”

He gives your ass a swat. “What'd you bring me?”

“BLT on rye from Nico’s. Because you didn’t eat breakfast,” you say pointedly.

Joel drops his forehead to your shoulder. “Shit. Sorry, coach.”

“You can apologise later,” you purr, tilting his chin up with your fingers, “the way you do best. For now, just eat.”

“Get a fuckin’ room, Miller,” booms Willie from the opposite side of the gym, barrel-chested and big-headed, wailing on the pads his much smaller trainer holds at arm’s length. You roll your eyes, handing the sandwich to Joel.

But he puts his hands right on your ass and yanks you closer, his teeth gnashing out to catch a nipple through your dress. “Don’t you dare go all male,” you chide. “You're just hungry.”

“Fred won't let me fight him,” grumbles Joel, unwrapping the sandwich and diving in, one hand still kneading your ass. His second nature is touching you. His fingers drum along your vertebrae in the back-and-forth rhythm of a fight.

“That’s because Fred wants you fighting strangers only,” you remind him, plucking his towel from the rope and tousling his sweaty curls. “And so do I.”

You dry him off, sweat and a little blood soaking into the pile, as Joel buries his face between your tits. You smack him upside the head.

“Miller,” calls Fred, hurrying toward the pair of you, “I need a syllable.”

Joel huffs, dropping into a chair and pulling you with him. You toss the damp towel aside and brush his curls away from his forehead. He continues to devour his sandwich like it's his last fucking meal despite your slow downs and don’t chokes, one strong arm banding around your waist.

Fred tucks a cigarette behind his ear, his eyes a little wired. “I’ve got Danny Cain on the phone in my office, and he's asking' for you.”

You frown. “He reps The Preacher.”

“Yeah. He fuckin’ does.” Fred sounds damn near breathless. “And The Preacher wants to fight you, Miller, so you'd better get into my office and answer that fuckin’ line.”

Joel pats your ass and stands with you. “Jesus, Fred, all right. C’mon, baby.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the coach plucks the cigarette from his ear. “I’m going for a smoke. Don't fucking fuck each other in my office, or I swear to God—”

“Keep your whistle on, Freddie,” you call over your shoulder. You can feel the backdraft of the steam billowing from his ears when Joel gives your ass another firm swat.

“Baby, this is huge,” you tell him, locking yourselves inside Fred’s office. His line blinks red. “If you can win against the Preacher…”

“I get to rub it in that God-fearin’ asshole’s face forever.”

“And you’ll steal his record.” You playfully gnash at the tip of his nose, and he grabs a handful of your ass, pulling you with him.

“You're goddamn right I will.” Joel grins, lounging in Fred’s chair and picking up the receiver. “Miller.”

His hand beckons you as he tucks the phone between his chin and shoulder. You slide back into his lap and put the phone on Speaker.

“It’s good to finally talk with you, Joel.” It's the gruff drawl of Danny Cain, extremely-former heavyweight champ. “My guys and I have been sniffin’ after you for a while now.”

Joel draws little rings over your spine with his fingers, connecting them like links on a chain. “Y’know, I used to watch your fights as Genesis all the time with my pops before he went.”

You nip his ear over the subtle dig. “Listen, man, after the ratings you drew in for the fight against that idiot kid the other night, it’d be idiotic not to put you up against David.”

Your brows lift suggestively, and Joel’s teeth gleam in the relative darkness as the corner of his mouth pulls up in a crooked smile. “That so?”

A brief pause. You picture Cain’s chest deflating in a cold sigh, frost creeping over all that he breathes on. “That's so. Ratings gold, and we’re willing to split the difference on travel if you're willing to meet in the middle. Crowd’ll go crazy to see the biggest names in heavyweight knock skulls. If you agree, I’ll be calling your agent.”

Joel’s grin widens, calluses playing upon the soft flesh of your inner thigh, inching his way under your dress. “My agent will be mighty pleased to hear from you,” he says, punctuated by a firm press of his palm to your warm core. “Better be nice to her. She can be a real biter if you ain't careful.”

You grasp his wrist and use his hand to pull your panties aside, bringing two of his fingers to swipe through your slit. Joel watches them emerge glistening, eyes slits beneath his lashes, as Cain says, “Gonna need a yes or no from you, Miller.”

Joel’s gaze is hawklike as you bring his fingers to your mouth and slide your tongue along their length. “Yeah.” His voice is coarse as the white scarring over his knuckles. “Yeah, you got yourself a deal.”

Cain grunts his approval, and you both clock the gentle scratching of pen on paper. “Is your agent around to talk now, or should I wait ‘til later?”

You lift your brows, sealing your lips over his fingers, letting them slide, hot and wet, down your throat. You taste the tang of your arousal, blooming outward from your core as Joel’s free hand greedily bunches the fabric of your dress. You’re pressed flush to his chest, your tongue licking sweat and slick from his fingertips.

“Sorry, Danny, my agent’s got her mouth full at the moment. Can’t quite talk.”

Joel’s pupils are puffy in the darkness. Your body is illuminated by the small window in Fred’s office. He likes it when he's swallowed by black. You're the one who looks best in the light, anyway. “Later’s good. Lookin’ forward to takin’ down your Preacher.”

“Careful, Miller. Ego like that will get you in trouble,” says Cain.

“Ego’s got me this far,” says Joel. He’s stopped listening. “See you in confessional.”

And he hangs up the phone, yanking you around the waist so you're straddling his hips, sitting nice and pretty on his lap, his fattening length sitting heavy against his thigh.

Your smile is a wicked, crawling shiver that begins at his tailbone and creeps upward. “You Godless bastard.”

“Tell me all about it,” he says, reaching around your body and shucking your skirt up around your hips. “C’mere.”

You bite down on your grin, cupping his cheek in your palm and kissing him. Joel capitalises on his chance to swallow you whole, prying your mouth open, sliding his tongue along yours, his palms sliding up your arms, conjuring goosebumps.

“My beautiful girl,” he groans, nipping hungrily at your bottom lip. “My perfect, sweet, mean fuckin’ girl. Gonna take down that goddamn Preacher. Gonna take you to Italy.”

“Mmm, Italy.” You sigh happily against him, tasting memory. Gelato and baked ziti. Suntanning on white sand. Rolling around beneath fresh linens and lounging, catlike, on beach chairs, a drink always in hand. The cloying coconut notes of sunscreen and the supple flesh of your ass as he took his time rubbing it all in. “I miss Italy.”

Joel preens at the sound of you practically purring, your body flowering for him, nuances hidden in the slight swirling of your hips, the greedy fistfuls you take of the hair at the nape of his neck. He tilts his chin up, drinking down the proximity of you, your skin silk and perfume and memories of years he’s given you. Your lust-soaked pupils expand, wet and rimmed red near your waterline, desperation you will not vocalise. He watches you teeter on the precipice of your pride and pulls you closer, priming your body to tip sweetly over the edge.

You gasp into his mouth as he hooks his fingers beneath the straps on your shoulders and abruptly yanks down the top of your dress. The fabric pools at the flare of your waist, your nipples stiffening as your tits confront cool air. Joel’s eyes droop, black as pitch, watching the light shift over your heaving chest.

Your breath catches when he touches you. And his hands are there, because they must be, because there is no other choice, curling around your ribs, thumbs brushing the supple swell of your breasts. The shiver wrecks you, coiled tight around your spine, your underwear dampening. You sit right atop his thick, persistent length, grinding absentmindedly to relieve the pressure winding around your stomach, and the fact that you’re in Fred’s office becomes a microcosm of you-and-Joel. There is nothing but.

Joel studies you like he’ll be tested: eyes following the path of his hands, he does not once blink, that suffocating black gaze cupping hot wax over your belly, letting the makeshift bowl tip out in increments. He knows how to keep you alight just long enough to turn needy, desperate, close to inhuman.

“Baby,” you croak, watching the callused tips of his fingers meet your nipples, pinching softly, not quite enough to hurt, just enough to feel it in the steady dripdripdrip of your arousal. You’re pooling in your panties, heady and warm and too-big for this small, small room. Need pushes outward against the walls, boxing you in tight, locking you in gravity with his body.

Joel clicks his tongue. “Be nice ‘n’ quiet, now. Fred’ll have a bird.”

“Oh, please.” Fred doesn’t know half the things you’ve done in his office. You grind down on Joel’s erection and watch his bared teeth glimmer. You need him now.

Head swimming, honeyed and slow, Joel languidly nuzzles his face between your breasts, alternating between soft licks and playful bites. Your sternum is electrified, your bare skin humming for his touch. Joel cups the scruff of your neck in his rough hand and leaves open-mouthed kisses from your throat to your jaw. You moan, your head lolling backward, cradled safely in his palm, pushing out your breasts to give him better access. He grins, chest puffing up, leaving a deeper-than-usual imprint of his teeth in your pulse point. Your answering shudder, your throaty little groan, your tug on his hair, bordering on painful, please him to no end. His cock twitches underneath you, aching to be freed.

“Actually, baby, go ahead and be as loud as you like. I sign his checks.”

Your reproach is halfhearted, muffled in his throat, the echo of the fightin’ bell vibrating low in your body. “I sign his checks,” you point out, nibbling his earlobe, your fingers tugging his too-long curls. He needs a cut before his next fight.

Joel chuckles, pressing his fingers to your clit over your ruined panties. “You need me in here? Need me nice ‘n’ deep?”

You moan like a whore at the friction, hips bucking. You pulse uselessly, emptily, the slow grind of your clit along his length not enough. “Joel, please… fuck, I need… need you inside. Please fuck me, honey, please. I’ll die if you don’t fuck me.”

“Oh, baby,” he says mockingly, shifting your panties to the side and sliding his fingers through your soaked slit. “So fuckin’ wet. Poor baby girl needs a mean old man to show her a good time.”

Your eyes are frenzied, wild, sweat glistening at your temples. You nod frantically, your hand dipping between your bodies to squeeze his cock over his shorts. Joel grunts, fisting your hair. “I need it,” you mewl. “Fuck, I need it. Need your big fucking cock. You’re so big.”

The harsh rapping of knuckles on Fred’s office door deters neither of you. Still grinding, still palming at him, you don’t stop, arousal clouding your judgement. “Dirty fuckin’ girl,” Joel grits out. “He’s right outside. You wanna make him mad?”

You whine. You don’t want to piss off Fred—not really.

But you’re nodding anyway, rocking yourself against him, puffing out incomplete wisps of his name that dissipate as smoke on the air.

The knocking escalates, now desperate.

“I swear to God,” shouts Fred, pounding hard on his door, “if you two don’t stop right now, I’m banning the both of you for fucking life.”

Joel groans, letting Fred hear it, his forehead resting against yours. “Goddammit.”

You pout, hips slowing to a crawl on his lap. Your core is still tightly-wound, his erection no less firm against your inner thigh, but the moment has passed. For now.

“Later,” you whisper.

He gives your tits a fond squeeze before he helps you secure your straps back over your shoulders.

Later.

“Just like that, baby. Good. That’s a good girl.”

“It doesn’t feel right, Joel.”

“That’s because you’ve never done it before. It’ll take time. Now, c’mon, arms up.”

You huff, raising your fists the way he’s taught you, letting him adjust your stance as he circles you. “Higher,” he says plainly. You obey, your left hand obscuring your face; Joel curls his own fist around it and untucks your thumb. “Thought I taught you how to throw a good punch. What’s this?” He wiggles your thumb.

Your Joel is all business when it comes to self-defence. Your face warms as he puts his hands on your waist to shift your feet, but he’s clinical. He doesn’t let you steal a kiss or flirt your way out of a lesson.

Plenty of time for that once I know you’re safe, he says. Bastard.

“That’s good, baby. Much better.” And fuck it all, his praises make you a little more pliant to his commands, buzzing with the prospect of finally getting him into bed tonight. If you listen, you’ll get out sooner, and you’ll get his dick. You cycle your mantra in your head as Joel lifts his naked palms to you.

“Now,” he says, “you ready to fight?”

You glare. “Not before you announce me.”

The grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. He may be stern about your teachings, but he’s a sucker, and he’s always been.

Joel raises his voice to a rare boom, alerting those few stragglers still packing up their gear around the pair of you. “You know her. You love her. If you don’t, you better check your goddamn priorities. You wanna see her kick some ass.” He’s cupping his hands over his mouth and mimicking the roar of the crowd. “She’s The Agent, and she’ll sign your contract… for termination.”

A few stray whoops and whistles erupt from the meagre crowd. You take an extravagant, swooping bow and bring your fists back up at the ready.

“C’mon, now. Show me what you've got,” says Joel, clapping his palms together and presenting them for you to punch. “Keep your guard up.”

You only waver for a moment, and you’re certain he sees the frown that ticks across your brow. “I don't wanna—”

Joel shakes his head, beckoning you with a flick of his fingers. “You can't hurt me, baby. C’mon. Be mean. Be a killer.”

Your face screws up in concentration as you aim a blow at his palm. You’re thrown off balance more than he, who barely budges. He steadies you with a hand at your waist and merely repositions you to hit him again. The only satisfaction you find is in the demarcated circle of tender pink that’s begun to grow where your punch landed.

“Not bad, if you could stay upright,” says Joel.

“Do you want to get your dick inside me tonight, Miller, or would you prefer to sleep on the couch?”

His crooked smile ignites your competitive side. “Hit me again.”

“I was put on this earth to be pretty and shout at people, Joel. I was not meant to fight. That’s why you’re here.”

“And you do a beautiful job, baby. Now, hit me.”

Throwing less of your body and more of your arm into the second blow, you manage to strike at his hand hard enough to rock it backward. He grunts his approval and nods for you to go again. “Don’t overextend your arm. You’ll pull somethin’ that way. Keep it tight to your body, block your precious organs, and hit me nice ‘n’ controlled.”

You’re alarmed by the low pitch of his voice as he instructs you, the timbre pulling taut at your core. It’s the same tone he uses when he wants to direct your body, mould you the way he likes, make you bend to the shape that pleases him best. Your fist tightens and you hit him again.

For making me wet at the gym, you asshole.

You throw another punch, remembering to keep your arm tucked in, your gut protected, and a satisfying groan rumbles in his chest.

“That’s it, baby.”

You’ve backed him into the corner of the ring, his spine on the ropes, your knuckles stinging from impact after impact until—

“All right, killer,” he says, closing his hand around your fist when you land your final punch. “That’s enough. Your knuckles are gonna split, and it’s my job to be the bloody one. Right?”

Your chest glistens with a thin smattering of sweat, your noses mere inches apart as he sweeps his gaze over your weary body and licks his bottom lip. Your mouth opens as if to catch the breath he lets go.

He brings your sore hand to his mouth. “Home?” he says gruffly.

His moustache bristles around the crest of your knuckle, mouth pursed to slot perfectly in place. There are few spaces he could occupy that don’t feel as right as this.

His mouth is on you before you’ve turned the key to the front door of your home. He stumbles with you in his grasp, his hard chest flush to your back, walking you toward the bedroom with little ceremony. He’s feverish in the way he mouths wetly at your throat from behind, his fingers splayed over your belly to maintain his own balance. Still, his desire is clumsy, staggering, his other hand kneading your ass despite the fact that it’s wedged between your bodies.

“Easy, Texas,” you laugh. It turns breathless as he sucks on your pulse, his hot mouth drawing blood to the surface just beneath your jaw, the hairs of his moustache tickling your sensitive skin. Your hand flies back, burying your fingers in his locks, as Joel’s grabby hands fiddle with the straps of your dress.

“Want it off,” he grumbles.

You coax him with a couple slow downs while he fumbles with the fabric, and he just shakes his head. “No. Want it off. Lift.”

“Caveman.” You roll your eyes, raising your arms above your head to placate him. He tugs your dress up and over your head, tousling your hair in the process, reaching around your body to squeeze your tits in his hands.

Another laugh bubbles up. “No taking it slow tonight?”

He lands a smack on your ass. “Fuck that. Bend over.”

Your shared bedroom boasts a California King, a smattering of houseplants (your idea—for fresh air), and a mirror on the ceiling, directly above the bed. That was Joel’s idea.

Giggling, you lower yourself over the mattress as he drops to his knees behind you, kissing all the way down your spine, mouthing at the small of your back, hands roving and groping. He squeezes your hips, pinning you against the mattress, his hot breath lifting the hairs on your skin. His lips are wet, warm, pliant against your core—and you choke when he slathers his tongue over your panty-covered asshole, his huge arms hugging your thighs around his ears.

“Joel, holy fuck. Oh my God—”

He bites into the flesh of your ass, his fingers sliding achingly slow up your inner thigh. Your mouth hangs open, cheek pressed to the mattress, as he slides your panties aside and licks a hungry stripe between your folds.

“Ohhhh, God, baby, yeah. Yeah, keep going. Please keep going.”

And he may be a complete asshole, but he’s nothing if not indulgent—so he yanks down your panties, grabs you by the hips, and roughly turns you on your back.

“Keep goin’?” he says gruffly, pressing his middle and ring fingers to your tight hole. “Then look up and watch yourself come in that mirror, baby.”

You shudder, tilting your chin up to catch your own eye in the mirror on the ceiling. It’s fucking obscene to see yourself spread out on the bed, Joel lying between your thighs, your chest rising and falling in the dim light of your twin orange lamps. You watch his hand creep up your belly, pressing gently on your sternum as if to anchor you in place, and a whimper leaves your mouth when he dips his head to taste you.

His fingers slide through your wetness and stretch open your cunt as he laps lazily at your clit, keeping you malleable and relaxed and soaking-fucking-wet. Your back arches into his rough palm, a crescendo of Joel oozing from the corners of your mouth. He hums, adding to the chorus, his fingers’ percussive rhythm (in-out, in-out, punctuated by a tortuous curl against your sweetest spot) dragging out the song of your pleasure. He’s an expert by now. A fucking maestro.

“Ahh, yes, right there,” you gasp, your fingers threading through his hair, “rightthererightthererightthere! Yes, yes!”

You squeeze him as he fucks you with his fingers, relentless in the pursuit of his victory, your high. His lips, briefly mesmerised by the crease where your thigh meets your hip, now migrate to your pussy, flattening between your folds and flicking at your pearly wet clit. In the mirror above your head, you see the flutter of your thighs, the intake of breath, the greedy curl of your hand in his locks.

He’s going to fucking kill you.

You taste iron and realise you’ve bit your lip. Joel, of course, occupied by your pretty clit but spying to make sure you’re still watching your reflection, spots it, and slides his hand to your throat, squeezing gently at the pulse points on both sides before he slips the pad of his thumb past your bottom lip.

You moan around him, your jaw forced open, blood smearing around the tip of his thumb, mingled with saliva. It blinds you, the fucking filth of it, as he removes his thumb only to hook his hand around your chin and flatten two fingers to your tongue.

He likes to open you up this way. Your body takes him in so readily, happily sucking on the fingers in your mouth and squeezing down on those in your pussy like a goddamn bear trap. His healing knuckles sting from the sensation of being trapped deep inside you, where he fucking belongs. Tongue lapping at your clit, a cat to milk, Joel watches as your body begins to writhe underneath him, your eyes still dutifully fixed on the mirror, and he knows.

He knows exactly the tells you begin to display for him: the hitch of your breath halfway up your throat, the way it hollows in a little pool, the perpetual grinding of your hips against his face. Your stomach is tightening, your cunt slick with the relentless push-pull of his fingers.

He removes his mouth briefly from your clit, using the heel of his palm instead, letting you roll your hips up against him. “Gonna come, baby?” he asks, a little breathless, eyes wild and black.

You nod, whining, your fingers tugging at his scalp until tears prickle in his ducts. He groans, biting into your thigh, and watches as your pussy convulses, a drop of your own wetness splashing onto his forearm.

A minute tick of his brow.

Oh, yeah. He knows.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath, the frothy slick of your arousal webbing between his fingers. “Yeah, you’re gonna fuckin’ come. You’re gonna get me all fuckin’ wet with this creamy pussy, baby.” He grins at the sight of the tears slipping from your eyes, your eager sucking as you take his fingers down your throat. “You’re gonna watch yourself squirt. You hear me?”

Your thighs twitch, your hips bucking in his hand, and he feels fucking strong. He feels like the goddamn winner.

He takes his fingers from your mouth so he can hear your cries, your bruised lips spilling over with molten gold pleas and chants. It’s garbled, it’s nonsense, you’re coming—

And Joel, the fucking asshole, gets you there with a smile on his face, his palm rubbing hard against your needy clit, his fingers curling into the spot that forces the pressure up, up, out…

“Thaaat’s it, baby. Soak me, c’mon. Get me all wet.”

“Joel, Joel, Joel, ffffffffffuck—”

It’s the intermittent hiss of a pressure-release valve, your juices splattering onto Joel’s chin, glistening obscenely in the hairs on his chest, your hips bucking wildly against his face. He growls into you, his hand pressing down on your belly as he fucks his fingers in and out, in and out, the filthy shlick of your wet cunt warming your cheeks. Joel’s mouth is latched to your hypersensitive clit as you writhe beneath him, lengthening the torture just enough to make you scream, your thighs suffocating him.

More wetness spurts from your cunt as Joel retracts his fingers. Crawling back up your body with gentle kisses to your soft, sweat-slick skin, he pulls you slowly back into yourself, no longer staring absently at yourself in the mirror but blinking up at him, a sleepy smile crinkling the corners of your eyes.

“Knew you could do it,” he says with a crooked grin.

You smack his shoulder. “You're such a dick,” you croak.

“That any way to say thank you, baby girl?” Joel takes your nipple between his teeth and playfully swats your other breast.

You tug his hair. “Joel!”

“Not quite.” He presses his lips to your sternum, his hands kneading your tits.

Your moan is soft and sighing, your hips wiggling underneath him with what little room you have. “Mmm, yeah. Like that, baby. Touch me.”

“All I ever wanna do”—his mouth moves, carving a path to your jaw, the strong curve of his nose tilting your chin up so you’re forced to watch yourself in the mirror once more—“is touch you.”

His dick is a heavy, throbbing weight in his shorts, which he shucks down with little ceremony, tossing aside his shirt and socks so he can hover, skin-to-skin, above your body.

Briefly, he studies you, swiping your tears away with his thumb, his arm flexing next to your head. You smile through your daze, cupping his cheek in your palm. The prickling of his beard makes an imprint on your skin as he nuzzles your hand.

“Your turn to watch,” you whisper, brushing the pad of your thumb across his chin. “Lie on your back.”

Joel rolls you on top of him, sitting atop his length, hot and pulsing beneath your messy cunt. You place your hands on his chest, gently rolling your hips. Joel groans, his hands flying to your hips.

“Jesus, baby.”

“You need someone to take care of you, Texas.” Your hands caress his chest, the rippling muscles of his biceps, the taper of his waist. “You worked hard today. You signed a deal.”

“You signed a deal. Shit—” His voice breaks as you take a playful bite of his throat, smacking your flank in feeble retribution. “Shit, baby. Sit on my dick.”

“You wanna come?” You grind down on him, coaxing precum out of his tip and cleaning it off his belly with your finger. Joel watches with lidded eyes as you spread it around your used clit. “Watch the mirror, baby.”

With your guidance, your nose tilting his chin skyward, Joel obeys, admiring the curve of your naked spine in the mirror, the way your body undulates on top of him. You're a fucking vision. He’s void of a reason you’d pick him, but your reverent hands are trailing up and down his muscled torso, and Joel doesn't give a fuck why as long as you keep choosing him.

You finally reach between your bodies and sink down to the hilt. He bares his teeth, fingers ironclad around your hips. You’re careful in your study of him as you lift yourself up and drop back down, admiring the cut of his jaw as he keeps his head angled toward the mirror.

And fuck, he stretches you—wrenched open around him, you’re consumed, filled to the throat, ruined, and Joel’s pleading with you to move, baby, but you don't know if you can. Your thighs tremble with the effort, your body weak from your orgasm, and you feel you’ve all but failed him until his hands begin to slide up your spine and pull you down, flush to his chest.

“Just like this,” he says into your ear, wrapping his fist around your hair. “C’mon, baby. Ride me just like this.”

Your teeth latch onto his shoulder as you bob up and down on his dick, eliciting precisely the strained groans you want to hear from him. “That's it,” he huffs, his mouth perpetually open, sliding against your temple.

He's still watching you writhe in the foggy mirror, the delicious dips and planes of your figure haloed by the fuzzy light pooling in the room. His cock twitches inside you, hot and wet and so fucking tight, your chests sliding together with the rhythmic dance of your joined bodies.

It's a tangle of limbs and extremities and it smells like the musk of sweat, sex, perfume still lingering. It's the dizzying scent of your shampoo. It's your mewling cries of his name as you ride him like a spoiled fucking princess. His balls pull tight, his head swimming, spiralling with the feel of you so warm and soft in his arms.

Joel’s tongue loosens, his high a foregone conclusion. “You wanted to ride me in that chair today. Ain't that right, baby girl? You wanted to get fucked all loose right out in the open. I’d do it. I’d sit you right on my dick in front of everyone else and let ‘em see how fuckin’ pretty you are when you come. None of ‘em could touch. All of ‘em wanna fuck you. They think you’re so goddamn pretty, so tight and soft. You wanna show ‘em?”

You suddenly seize, your hands grasping his hair, face buried in his throat, and you're gushing. You're fucking squirting again, and it’s everywhere: beading in the trail of hair on his belly, dripping down his balls, smearing between your bodies as you continue to ride him in the haze of your climax.

“Oh, Jesus. Goddamn—shit—”

Joel groans, his eyes at last shuttering as his arms wind around your body to clutch you tight. Teeth bared against your cheek, he pumps you full. It's hot, sticky, messy. It’ll need a change of bedsheets. It wrings every ounce of energy from his bones and fogs up the mirror until you're both smudges of skin and hair.

You begin to giggle, your face hidden in the crook of his neck, your entire body trembling. Joel isn't sure what's funny, but he starts to laugh in tandem.

“Gotta clean you up,” he mumbles, absently pressing kisses along your jaw. “Made a fuckin’ mess, baby.”

“Hmph. I’ll think about it.” You’re settling in for a winter’s nap, it seems, tucking yourself into his side. Joel caresses your back, delighted by the thrilling little shivers that visibly travel up your spine.

His ears stop ringing after a minute or two. He stares up at the mirror for twice as long as that as clarity begins to seep back into the glass from the corners. Your lashes flutter against his bare skin every time you blink.

“Do you really think I can beat him?”

The question lingers long after it's asked, the way smoke from a candle still swirls after it's burned out.

You make a soft sound of acknowledgement. “What makes you think you can’t?”

“He’s a good fighter. Don’t matter that he’s an asshole.”

Your soft, melodic hum tells him you're falling asleep. “Funny. I say the same thing about you all the time.”

“Just…” He swallows. “Just promise me somethin’.”

You lift your head, eyes alert and blinking. “Promise me that we’ll be good,” he says tightly. “That we could lose it all right now, right this second, and we’d still be okay. You’d still be here.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow. He wants to wipe away the gash between your brows. “I must not have done a very good job of lovin’ you if you really think I’d leave,” you say sweetly, your fingers trailing up and down his arm. “I’m in your corner, Texas. And it’s not just because you need me. We don’t need a big house and a pool and a home gym. We never used to have any of that.”

You’re smiling now, eyes glittering in the relative darkness. Joel exhales, and his entire body shudders as if plucking out his lungs and lending them to you.

“I’ll love you when you win, and I’ll love you if you lose,” you tell him. “You’re my guy.”

Joel nods: a simple tip of his head. He doesn't need much more than that.

He may not need to win, but for you, for this, he will.

#kiwisbell's fics #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller fluff #boxer!joel #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #tlou fic

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helluvapoison · 2 months

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I just read your Lucifer ABC's and the idea of him knowing everything about reader, but also needing words of afirmation just gave me an idea. Just imagine Lucifer truly asking to be tested about how much he knows reader, and they just start asking "Who is the person that i love most?" "Who makes my heart flutter and beat so loud even heaven could hear it?" "Who lives in my head rent free that even while dreaming he's there making everything brighter?". Lucifer would crumble.

I cant take this image from mi mind, please honey, show me the sweet baby crumble.

The Answer

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

“C’mon!”

Lucifer’s smile threatens to crack his face in half.

He’s been begging you to quiz him on your knowledge of him even though you assured him, you believe he knows everything about you. A part of you knows this isn’t for you; it’s for him. Lucifer wants to prove he’s a worthy mate by sharing the information he’s collected about you. His crimson eyes are big and beautiful and straight up impossible to deny. With a smile of your own, you sigh and drop your phone. Turning to give him your full attention, you rest your head in your hands.

“Alright. What’s… my favorite color?”

Suddenly his smile drops, eyes rolling dramatically to the left.

“Pfft! That’s way too easy. You need to give me a harder one than that, darling!”

Pursing your lips to the side for only a moment, you don’t need to wrack your brain very hard for a question that would stun Lucifer. A smirk tugs across your face. It’s returned tenfold. He’s vibrating with excitement when he sees you’ve conjured something, something he thinks he can answer. That only makes you more ready to win the battle he’s started.

“Who’s the first person I’d tell a secret to?”

Lucifer inhales like he’s been holding his breathe the whole time.

“That’s—!” He chokes, pupils shrinking to slits, “That’s, uh…”

You make sure to give him a few seconds before dropping the next question.

“Who’s the person I want to see every morning, noon and night of every day?”

“I-I know this one!” Lucifer assures but deflates, shoulders slumping with the amount of uncertainty weighing him down.

“Who am I thinking about every waking moment because they’re my favorite person in the universe?”

Lucifer looks like he wants to say the answer, but he’s afraid it’s wrong. His mouth opens and shuts unsure of itself. His eyes scan your face for any warning signs and although he finds none, it’s as if he can’t trust any of his senses.

Who makes me smile and laugh more than anyone?

Who’s so creative they always have me in awe?

Who can make my day brighter just by being themself?

Question after question, you tug him closer by his hips until he’s flush against you. You will your hands to deliver to reassurance your words cannot. Fingers glide up his neck and comb through his blonde locks, every stroke an apology for dragging the game on.

“Who do I love the very most and thank Heaven every night for sending him to me?”

Your hands steal the apples of his cheeks and tilt his head up. Your eyes grip his in a staring competition fueled by adoration. The games over and forgotten but it has a clear winner. Lucifer’s a blushing disaster, his voice failing him and melting to a whine. He swallows hard on nothing, eyebrows pinching together making his expression appear dangerously hopeful.

Your voice drops to an agonizingly soft whisper. Syrupy sweet yet serious.

“I’ll give you a hint. He’s my angel… His name starts with an L… He’s looking at me like he wants a kiss…?”

“I—Is… Is it.. Me?”

“Yes, Luci. The answer is you.”

Closing the small gap between you both, you finally give him a reward for answering the question correctly.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar headcanon #lucifer morningstar imagine #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader

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hakunna-potato · 1 year

Text

I love my boyfriend so much he is the best human being on this plant

🧿

#I want to cry #like this man is real and in my life #thank you my bobo honey #life is that much sweeter with you #laughing is better with you #there’s never a moment where I am not astounded by your beauty #evil eye #I hope everyone receives only good karmic energy and connections though this #thank you universe #thank you gods #I am so grateful for him yall don’t even understand like life is meant to be lived for love and how amazing it is to bathe in life’s #greatest but sometimes most elusive or enigmatic gift- a celebration #he fell asleep on call with his lights on my sweet gentle darling

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tteokdoroki · 4 months

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So did jock!yuji ask weird girl!reader to wear his jersey the first time, or did she just pull up in it as a surprise...

࣪𖤐๋࣭ — JOCK BF!YUUJI ENTRY #3. team jersey.

about. the all star jock asks his freaky girlfriend to start wearing his jersey to games. it shouldn’t be a big deal, right? since she’s always asking to live in his skin and all ! ( 2K )

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, suggestive, college!au, characters aged up to 20s, make outs. brief mentions of self consciousness, reader wants to live in yuuji’s skin n he accepts it, supportive jock bf!itadori, weird gf + fem!reader.

“so, i’ve been thinkin’,”

from your place at your desk, you spin around in your chair to face yuuji, your boyfriend, with a curious smile. thinking things through isn’t exactly yuuji itadori’s forte — he’s one for jumping into things headfirst and doing whatever feels right in the moment. he’s always been like that, aside from two major occasions.

the first time he’d asked you out and the time he’d asked you to be his girlfriend.

those were two decisions he’d thought through extensively.

“thinking, huh?” you muse out loud, standing up to stretch your limbs. you’ve been staring at your laptop for what seems like millennia to finish a science paper for your biology class, and yuuji is supposed to be studying for one of his econ exams coming up but you decide that you need a break…and a kiss from your boyfriend at that. “what about?”

he’s already waiting for you with open arms on your bed by the time you make your way over to him — it’s a silly sight, the view of your big, strong, athletic boyfriend nestled amongst your mountain of plushies from obscure animanga series and marvel marvel movies. but it fills you with joy to have yuuji there, amongst all of the other things you love. accepting them with ease.

“‘bout you,” yuuji mumbles through a pout, waiting impatiently for a kiss as you snuggle into his muscular arms and rest your head on his plush chest.

reaching up, you rap your knuckles against his skull — brushing tufts of soft baby pink hair. “you’re corny. you should have been thinking about your exams.”

“mmyeah, but i got bored, and you’re too pretty to not be on my mind twenty-four-seven.” comes the jock’s sassy reply as he decides he no longer wants to wait, swooping down to steal a kiss from your precious lips. yuuji gently grasps your chin between a thumb and forefinger to coax more of a kiss out of you, his tongue affectionately rolling over yours while you squirm and mewl in his hold. you’re flustered, and embarrassed, and he really couldn’t care less. he likes having you like this underneath him.

when he finally lets you come up for air, itadori’s calloused thumb swipes under the swell of your bottom lip to wipe away the traces of wetness he’s left there and grind, slow and sexy, when you try to hide your face in your sleeves. “so as i was saying,” he mumbles lowly, causing your body to break out in a set of yuuji-induced shivers. “i was thinking about you.”

“yeah?” you whisper meekly, taking a peek up at his handsome face and honey brown eyes that make you feel all gooey and warm at the centre, where your heart is. like a marshmallow.

yuuji nods, tugging you into his side again, stopping you from rolling away out of shyness. “mhm,” he purrs. “been thinking about you coming to one of my games in my jersey,” he trails off, this time turning into the shy one as he casts his gaze aside. “if you’d want to.”

you’ve seen yuuji’s jerseys — the ones that come with the territory of being on your university’s soccer team. they look good on him, always, just about stretching over the firm muscle of his arms and chest. you know that if you were to wear the soft, cotton material — you’d surely drown in it. swamped by the cosy, fresh scent of your boyfriend and wrapped up in all of his love for you.

rolling over so that you’re the one caging yuuji in this time, you bite down on your kiss swollen lips hesitantly. “is that a requirement of all athlete girlfriends then?”

“n-no! i just…” itadori coughs to clear his throat, realising that it’s not so fun being in the receiving end of such teasing. his hand on your waist traverses upwards, splaying out against the curve of your spine. “i want — i would like to see you in my clothes at my games. i dunno, show you off a little? with my name across your back, it’s like, people will know i belong to you and you belong to me? if that makes sense…”

“belong to each other, huh?” you walk your fingers up his chest, drawing a circle over the place where his big heart is supposed to be. “we’re not objects, yuuji. you’re not an object to me.”

the tone of the conversation shifts as itadori sits up, causing you to shuffle back onto your knees — his hazel brown eyes sweep your face, reminding you of an amber with the way they catch the light. “i-i know that. of course not,” yuuji whispers delicately, as though not to hurt you. “you’re not an object to me either. you’re everything to me. i just think…it would make me feel good? if you wore something of mine? like, just knowing you have it. i dunno — it’s stupid.”

it’s almost biological, a genetically programmed reaction — the way you reach out instantly to comfort your boyfriend. your hand finds his amongst the cotton peaks and streets formed in your bed sheets, giving it a firm squeeze. yuuji offers you a half hearted smile in response.

“you don’t have to —“

“ — i don’t know if i’d look good in it. your jersey,” you breathe out before your boyfriend can finish his sentence. both of you pause, itadori doesn’t push, giving you the space and time to express yourself. “i want to wear it. i just, i know i’m not like the other teammates’ partners. i’m not…peppy and enthusiastic like them a-and i don’t know if your jersey would even suit me…”

the hand that you’re holding reaches up to cup your chin once more and your gaze leers over to yuuji, who only chuckles fondly in response. “of course you’re not like the other partners. you’re special, and you’re mine. i don’t need you to be anything else but the way that you are, okay? i love you.” yuuji has always been direct and worn his heart on his sleeves with his words already formed on the tip of his tongue. some might think he’s dumb, especially for a jock, but he’s the most emotionally intelligent person you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

you know now, what he means when he says he’s the luckiest guy in the world, for being with you.

you feel the exact same way as he does.

“i love you back,” you blurt, making yuuji beam at you warmly and kiss your nose. “i’ll wear it.” you tug on the fabric, feeling the fleeciness beneath your fingertips along with the warmth of yuuji’s body. “are you sure you won’t miss it?” you explore the material further as it stays wrapped around his bulky frame until you brush over the plasticky vinyl that forms the letters of his name and the number one on the back of the jersey.

i-t-a-d-o-r-i

your itadori.

why wouldn’t you want to show everyone that he’s yours just as much as you are his.

“i’ve got plenty back at my dorm, coach satoru made sure to splurge in that aspect, besides if i give it to you now… when i get it back, it’ll smell like you!” yuuji pulls back from you ever so slightly, and rolls his eyes at your pout when he does so. “then i’ll just keep changing them out,” it only takes you a second to realise that he’s stripping his jersey off, and your eyes greedily shoot to the small, exposed slit of his tummy as he does so. “perv.” comes his teasing voice once his head pops through the other end — salmon pink hair mussed and ruffled out of place.

your pout deepens. “i am not a perv!”

“mhm, yeah. sure you aren’t. now c’mere,” itadori manhandles you into straddling his lap — your knees sinking into the comforter on your bed and your hands hovering above his broad shoulders, hesitant to touch the pure muscle that bursts from the sleeves of his plain white t-shirt. “i don’t believe for a second that you don’t get off on this,” he goes on to mock you, smirking up at you despite how you glare at him. “arms up, beautiful.”

through the haze of your mind (deployed by a very flirty yuuji itadori) you’re able to follow his command — shakily raising both arms above your head and allowing your boyfriend to pull his team jersey over it. “who’s more of a perv now? you’re giving me your dirty clothes to wear.” is your weak argument, a defence mechanism to protect yourself from getting too flustered.

it doesn’t work, however, yuuji has mastered the art of making you nervous.

the material of his team jersey swamps you, it’s almost like you’re drowning in an ocean of yuuji’s scent as it wraps around you, keeping you safe and secure.

“it’s not dirty, i just put it on today!” he says petulantly. “if you’re gonna be like that, then give it back.”

“n-no!” you squeak, tucking your nose under the collar with hooded eyes. it smells like yuuji, smells like home. “i like it. it’s like i’m wearing you.”

“the next best thing after my skin, right?” he makes reference to your constant comments about living inside his skin, wanting to be closer to yuuji than humanly possible. others find it weird, but to the jock, it’s endearing. even if it means being swatted in the chest for joking about your unusual displays of affection. “c’mon! i’m jokin’, i’m jokin’!” yuuji laughs between each smack of your palm against his peck. eventually he falls back into the sheets, this time taking you with him so that you’re snuggled on his chest once more. “so…you’re coming to the game this friday? in my jersey?” he asks tentatively after you’ve both calmed down.

nodding, you curl into the pink-haired jock further, as if trying to fuse with him. “where do you want me to sit?”

“not with the others, i know they’re a little rowdier than you’d like. you could try coach, but he likes to pester you.” your boyfriend muses wistfully. everything is warm and comfortable — the steady beat of his heart beneath your head, the hand that he lazily drags up and down your spine, the heat of his jersey and his body under yours. you could sleep right now — even if you do have to study.

a quiet yawn escapes your lips and you wriggle further into the oversized jersey, lulled into a slumber by the presence and scent of your perfect jock boyfriend. “will professor geto be there?”

yuuji shrugs, squeezing you close to help you drift off. “to oogle satoru, probably.”

“then i’ll sit with him, and we can oogle our boys together.”

“awwh, baby, you wanna oogle little old me?” he coos in response, his lips finding the crown of your head.

something about his sugary tone makes you shudder in yuuji’s hold. you’ll never get over how much he teases you, how much you loves you but it makes you giddy to know that he’s yours. and that he wants you to wear his jersey, so he can already the news to the whole world.

or what feels like the whole world.

“i do yuuji, i want to see you play,” you mumble through your last moments of consciousness — gripping onto your boyfriend as though he might disappear. “i want to be in the crowd so when you look up, you see me there, dressed in your jersey, cheering you on.”

for a moment, yuuji is quiet — a thousand ways to tell you how much he loves you rushing to the forefront of his mind…but then he notices the evening out of your breath and the way your pretty lashes flutter against the centre of his chest. the jock decides it’s better to let you rest, he can always smother you with his love when you wake up.

but for now, yuuji itadori will spend his time marvelling the way you look sleeping with the letters of his name printed in bold letters across your back.

#⋆｡°✩ — jock bf!yuuji #itadori x reader #itadori fluff #yuuji itadori x reader #yuuji itadori fluff #yuuji itadori x you #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #itadori x you #jjk smut #jjk x you #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #angelshubnetwork #ghostqueues

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hollyskywalker · 5 months

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Worst nightmare

She had him wrapped around her little finger.

Coriolanus knew she did. He's no longer the same teenage boy trying to wrap his head around what this achy feeling in his chest is. He no longer convinces himself it's hunger, or that he's just confused. He knows the feeling is longing, desire, lust, or maybe even love.

After everything that happened in District 12 with Sejanus, with Lucy and the people he left behind he had hoped he'd never have to go through this again. A foolish hope, he realizes now. He's a human being and it's almost unavoidable there are people out there who would know just the right thing to say or just the right thing to do for him to lose his ambition focused mind in the fog that is love, or obsession in his case. He's not sure there's really a difference between the two.

But he thought he knew better than to let someone in again. He hadn't liked how Lucy made him feel vulnerable, and how it had hurt when he realized she'd left him in the woods.

Yet here he was, pressing this infuriating woman against the wall with her legs wrapped around his hips, their lips barely parting to breathe before pulling the other back in.

She was perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

She was also his close friend's wife.

He always thought of himself as a gentleman. Sure, he did questionable things and studied under the most questionable woman of Panem during his time at university, but at least he was polite about it. Or at least, he acted in the way one would expect a gentleman to act.

Kissing your old classmate and close friend's wife is not very gentleman-like. He knows this but when she tangles her hand in his hair the way she does, he can't find it in himself to care.

“Festus will come find me” she murmured into the kiss. He ignored her and started to kiss his way down her neck. He's not going to acknowledge another man's name coming from her mouth when his mouth is the one making her keen so sweetly.

She repeated her words and when ignored her once again she gently nudged him back a bit so she could look into his eyes “Coriolanus, you know he can’t catch us. Everything will be ruined”

He thought he might start laughing. He honestly pities the tree somewhere out there whose single purpose is to replace the oxygen her husband wastes. “Festus Creed does not have the capability of ruining anything for me”

She hummed and brushed his hair off his face. “Your mood before we came here seemed pretty ruined to me”

His grip on her waist tightened at the memory of Festus drunkenly clinging to her, embarrassing her, during the entirety of the evening before Coriolanus had cleverly thought of an excuse to whisk her away.

“Very daring, to take me away from my husband in front of all those people” she whispers, her hands coming up to rest gently on his shoulders. “Not at all like you to take that kind of risks”

He didn't bother responding to that and simply rested his head in the crook of her neck, pulling her body as close as possible to his. She rolled her head to the side, giving him better access as her eyelids fell shut. His nose grazes up and down the length of her neck, breathing her in.

It had been a long day. His path to becoming Panem's president was set and he was prepared to wait for the perfect moment now that he has the right people on his side. He was not an impatient man, but so close to his goal it was hard not to long for time to speed up just a little bit.

That's why he'd already been annoyed when he arrived at this fundraiser which must be the 10th this month, and then he had to watch Festus wrap his arms around her. It was just too much.

When they are together, it's like all the noise is cancelled out and he can finally feel at peace. His mind finally rests and he enjoys when they focus solely on each other and nothing else.

“Marry me” she murmurs in a voice like honey.

He's taken aback, pulling away from her to look at her wide-eyed. He hardly noticed anything around him; he felt disorientated, dizzy. His mind worked feverishly. Did she really just ask that? Did he imagine things?

It takes a moment for him to gather himself enough to answer her. “What?”

She tilts her head to the side with a grin, linking their hands. “Marry me. You want to become president and you have all it takes to become one except for a wife. People will expect you to have one by the time the campaigning truly starts, and you know no one works a crowd better than me. I have them hanging onto my every word within seconds,” she pulled him down slightly so she could comfortably wrap her arms around his neck “With my family name, and influence, and your talent as a natural leader, combine the two of us and Panem would be yours by the end of the year”

He stared at the wall on the other side of the room.

Laying her fingers on his left cheek, she turned his face to look at her. “Just imagine how powerful we could be together as a couple”

He was imagining it. But...

“They'd never allow you to divorce Festus” he said with certainty. This he knew for sure. The family name and influence she spoke of would not be as impactful if everyone knew she divorced someone from the Creed family. They'd call her crazy, and steer clear of her.

“We could not marry unless Festus were dead”

Her eyes darted between his, her hand cupping his face. She truly was ethereal.

“I know”

Her response is entirely too calm and he frowned at her.

During events he would often watch her socialize and play the crowd just like she said, until they were hanging onto every word that fell past her pretty lips. She always seemed so genuine when she talked to people, but he had caught the glint of ambition in her eyes, just like him.

She was an impeccable liar without a tell. She could lie to whoever she wanted to. Despite that she tended to be a very honest woman. He knew he would be able to count on her if she was on his side. Her, with her always impeccable appearance and her fashionably styled hair wearing nothing but lavish clothing standing out blindingly, concealing her still very much venomous nature. Perfect. Absolutely perfect she was.

Festus was undeserving of a woman like her. He'd always thought it but now he was sure of it.

He could already picture it. Him, waving down at the crowd with her by his side, the envy of Panem. There would always be people against him and his tendency of making unethical choices. But how could they doubt his leadership if a woman as good as her was married to him? They'd believe she'd keep him on the right path.

She was working her way to the top, and she was succeeding. So it would only make sense for her to ask him. Festus had his sights set on presidency too, but if she believed Coriolanus had a better chance... Coriolanus tried not to let it get to his head.

Was she insinuating he kill Festus for her? So they could marry and she could become Panem's First Lady? Did she know he'd killed before? If she did, she obviously wasn't bothered by it or scared of him because of it.

But then there was Festus. Coriolanus didn't particularly like the guy, in fact, seeing Festus trip was the highlight of his day not even a week ago, but could he kill the Creed heir? He had killed before but in this situation it's less trivial. It's not about survival, nor about making it to the top. He was sure he could make it without her...but still... did he want to, without her? Is she not worth it? Is having her by his side worth killing Festus Creed for?

She's not worth it, he thought and tasted the lie as soon as it crossed his mind.

He met her eyes and thought of her smile – the smile he can't ever seem to get out of his head – and-

He was going to kill Festus Creed.

Memories of Sejanus flashed across his mind. Sejanus had been in the way of him ever returning to the Capitol. So he took choices that haunted him, but he didn't regret. Just like he wouldn't regretting ridding her of her infuriatingly incapable husband.

Truthfully, Coriolanus was surprised Festus was able to stand with a spine that weak. Always following what others told him to do, never thinking for himself, so easy to manipulate. Yet he saw himself suitable for presidency?

His hands have settled on her waist seemingly out of pure instinct. His throat felt dry, and he swallowed several times before he tried to speak.

“Yes” he nodded, decision made “Alright”

Something bright flared in her eyes as she looked at him. After a pause, she practically launched herself at him, knocking into him so hard that he had to take a step back. He laughed quickly. One of his hands is still on her waist, but the other cups the back of her neck as his thumb strokes over her throat.

She tilted her head up and pecked his lips. Something horrible tugged at his chest, and he knew. There's no one more dangerous in the world than her. Because he's obsessed and in love as she gazed up at him through her lashes.

The blood was thundering through his brain. Happiness filled his chest; a dizzying sensation and his head swam with emotion. His arm slid around her waist, his hand coming to rest on her hip.

“Mrs Snow” he whispered like a promise, smoothing his thumb over her cheek.

"What is it?" she chuckled "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, roughly but passionately.

"You are my worst nightmare and the woman of my dreams all at once"

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #tbosas #tbosbas #president snow #coryo x reader #coryo snow #the hunger games #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x you

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 5 months

Text

you are somebody that i want to keep ; satoru gojo

synopsis; you aren't sure what you have with satoru gojo, but you know that it’s good.

word count; 6.7k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, colleagues to friends to something unlabelled, you love each other though!!, fluff, hurt/comfort, very very soft, reader falls first but gojo falls harder, both of u are afraid of intimacy lol, a lil angsty if u squint, satoru gojo cherishing u for ~7k words straight <33

a/n; basically just a collection of moments between you and gojo throughout the years <33 (a significant amount of time has passed between each part!!) hes an emotionally repressed loser but i love him and he is smitten w u.

in the soft luminescence of daybreak, your kitchen looks something like a dream.

tainted with a hazy sunshine, simmering with warm colours and pleasant scents, it almost seems to sparkle in the peripheral of your vision. brimming with that feeling of home, a home you’ve broken your bones building, desperate to shape it into something safe — and you think you’ve done a pretty good job.

it’s soothing, comforting, all of these sensations. bleeding into each other like smudges of paint on a canvas; hyacinths blooming by the windowsill, espresso-flavored steam wafting up to the roof, soft meows stemming from the cats by your feet. absolute bliss.

indulging in a peace yet to be shattered by the strain of the working world, you rub the sleep from beneath your weary eyes. blinking and yawning like a drowsy child.

beyond the translucent glass of your windows, glimmering with the light of a sun soon to rise, the world is painted pink and indigo — save for that one hint of gold, a streak of honey slathered across the surface of the sky. fluffy clouds drift through the chilly air, melting in the wake of a new day, and you think they look a little like tufts of cotton candy. soft enough to sink your teeth into, if only the glass wasn’t in the way. keeping the cold out.

it’s a new day. a pleasant morning, sitting comfortably on the brink of dawn, before the city has a chance to rouse from its slumber.

a kind of solitude you so rarely get to bask in.

a false solitude, really. because, for once, there’s another human being in your home — one you don’t know nearly as well as you’d like, for him to be fast asleep on your couch, cheek smushed against the leather. snoring softly.

satoru gojo.

like this, he looks very… human. vulnerable. hair just slightly tousled, from tossing and turning on your not-so-comfortable couch, blindfold only covering one of his eyes and close to slipping off entirely. his expression has melted into one of something vaguely resembling relaxation, as close to unguarded as you assume he can physically get.

even in his sleep, he looks a little stiff. not entirely at peace; like a stray cat sleeping under the hood of a car.

(you’re curious. fascinated, maybe, by the loneliness that clings to the strongest person in the universe. by the paradoxical innocence of his grin.)

honestly, everything from last night is kind of a blur. you remember accompanying the strongest sorcerer on a mission, one long enough to leave you completely and utterly spent, fatigue nestled deep into your bones. remember gojo getting a sudden migraine, so earth-shattering that you thought he was going to keel over and throw up in the middle of the street.

then you remember bringing him back home with you. very hesitantly, only after he begrudgingly accepted the fact that he didn’t have much of a choice. because you were fucking exhausted, and so was he, and your apartment happened to be conveniently close. you remember him practically passing out on your couch, still somehow managing to crack a bad joke you can’t recall, while you went to collapse into the comfort of your bed.

and now you’re here. dyed in half-transparent sunbeams, caffeine bubbling in your veins, gazing at your sleeping coworker from your spot by the kitchen table. waiting for the world to open its weary eyes.

it’s still early. some part of you expects him to sleep a while longer, but you can’t say you’re particularly surprised when gojo begins to stir.

a splotch of sunshine splatters across your living room window, staining the floorboards, falling over the contours of his pretty face. in the light, he looks positively holy; white lashes, pale skin, plump lips. like a goddess.

when he opens his eyes, it’s even worse. a single iris cracked open, pooling with unbridled brilliance. eyes so blue they seem to cut through the stillness of the air.

(— and the world wakes up.)

a little groan slips from his lips, barely audible. with groggy movements, he brings a hand up to his face, obscuring the grating light of the sun flitting in. you think you can almost see the gears of his mind turn, as he takes notice of his surroundings, remembering what transpired just hours before.

faster than you thought, he regains some semblance of composure. huffing under his breath, as he forces himself into a sitting position.

it feels a little wrong, to see the closest thing this world has to a god act so human. be so human. morning-fatigued, just like you, wearing droopy eyelids and a soft, sleepy pout. a little disheveled. groggy with lost dreams.

when his gaze meets yours, you can’t control the breath that hitches pitifully in the back of your throat. a meek skip of your heartbeat, like you just saw something you shouldn’t have. oops.

gojo cracks a grin.

“.. watchin’ me sleep?” he calls out, cheeky. paired with a drowsy yawn. composed, unbothered, but there’s something almost performative about it, something you’re sure you’d miss if he wasn’t still in the process of collecting himself.

“good morning,” is all you offer him. ignoring his teasing remark. he doesn’t push it, to your surprise. “sleep well?”

a hum. absentminded, jovial. one of his large hands goes to adjust his blindfold, the other to fluff up his hair. kicking off the blanket you just barely had the energy to throw over him last night. your fluffiest one, warm enough to protect him from the chill gnawing at the windows. hopefully.

“like a log,” he quips, stretching idly, muscles straining under his baggy uniform. they must be sore, after that mission. or maybe he’s above such things.

choosing not to comment on his obvious lie, you put your lips against the ceramic of your cup. sipping from the bitter brew, a tinge of hazelnut on your tongue. letting him gather his bearings without you scrutinizing him. a little favor, one liar to another.

“thanks for letting me crash,” he grins, lazy. toothy. stumbling to his feet with a low groan, gaze flitting around the room — looking for the exit. “i’ll get outta your hair,” he mutters, and you raise a brow.

“not staying for breakfast?”

gojo stills. your question rings out, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, into the living room.

his smile twitches, ever so slightly, in what you think must be surprise. then it’s back to normal; like putting on a mask, not allowing a sliver of weakness to slip through the cracks. he exhales a raspy chuckle, a sound that flows through the air and crawls down your spine.

”generous, aren’t you?” he hums, voice rich with amusement. dappling sunlight licks at the white locks of his hair.

you shrug. “i wouldn’t mind the company.”

the words climb up the walls of your throat, a little reckless, eager to catch a glimpse of the miracle before you. satoru gojo, framed by the simplicity of your home — somewhat hard to let go of. sunkissed skin, restless hands. a little out of tune. shifting from foot to foot, eager to get away.

(a little like a frightened fawn, you amuse yourself by thinking. he’s really more like the fox who scared it.)

you think he must be bit uncomfortable. forced to spend the night in a coworker’s apartment, one he doesn't even know that well, one he probably doesn’t have any intention of getting to know. still trying to politely excuse himself. persistent, stubborn.

maybe he didn’t expect this. maybe he was convinced he could sneak away, before you had a chance to wake up. maybe he thought you’d be all too eager to let him leave, and never speak of this again. maybe he’s not used to being wanted.

“ha… i’m flattered, believe me, but —“

“what do you usually eat?” you ask. cutting him off, gently, tapping your fingertips against the edge of the table. “for breakfast, i mean. i’ll whip something up.”

a chuckle slips from his lips. you can’t put your finger on it, but something about it bothers you. “really, there’s —“

“if you’re worried about inconveniencing me, don’t be.” you pause, unsure of what to say. but the words end up spilling out of your throat, oddly honest. ”it’s been a while since i had the chance to make breakfast for someone else.”

it’s strange, really, how intent you are on seeing this through. how much effort you’re putting into making him stay. you barely even know him. actually, you don’t know him at all — all you know is that his smile makes you happy and his strength makes you envious. that you aren’t afraid of him, even though you probably should be.

something about him just feels safe.

“i’m pretty good at making pancakes,” you hum, a small smile playing at your lips. polite, jovial. pale light flits in through the window and slips into its curve. ”do you want some? before we go to work.”

(something in his fingers twitch, when you say that tiny word; pancakes. a little tell. you just barely catch it, before it sputters out. before he reels it back in.)

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, a rubber band bound to snap.

gojo stands there, a very subtle contemplation etched into his features. behind him, your cats begin to scratch at the couch, but you don’t scold them. just waiting for something to happen. beyond the glass of your windows, the sun unfurls in the sky, stretching its arms to envelop the world.

he grins, suddenly. soft light reflecting off the white of his teeth. cocky, composed. not quite performative, a little more natural.

“well, if you insist.”

he strolls over to your side, just a tiny bit sluggish, lazy steps and comically long limbs. he must still be tired. but he takes a seat, right across from you, plopping down on the chair with an effortless air of confidence. lighthearted, leaning his elbows on the table, crossing his legs under it. comfortable. settling into his role.

you’re pleasantly surprised.

“how would you like them?” you ask, and you think some of your excitement may have spilled out with the question. if it did, gojo doesn’t comment on it. ”your pancakes.”

“with chocolate chips, please!” he shoots you a sweet smile. “and whipped cream on top.”

so demanding. for some reason, it makes the corners of your lips quirk up. kinda like a bratty younger brother.

“got it.”

the smell of dark chocolate hangs heavy in the air as you get to work, shuffling around the open space. all while gojo waits, patiently, tapping his foot under the table and staring out the window. leaning his jaw on the heel of his palm. listening to the humming of nightingales on the branches of the apple tree down on the ground, and the buzz of your old radio.

the kitchen fills with motion, sounds, smells. life. splotches of sunlight, crinkled cartons of orange juice. the clinking of plates. two tired adults, seated at the same table, indulging in a fleeting peace and the promise of something new. something almost concrete.

a small, precious moment. enough to make your fascination shift into something you know must be fondness. or close to it.

gojo grins at you, mouth full of pancakes, eagerly telling you about something the kids did last week. wolfing them down, chocolate smeared over his bottom lip. you laugh, and suddenly the world feels a little safer than it should. a little more intact.

you wonder what it means. where it’s going to lead. this feeling of something wonderful beginning, something you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.

a budding connection.

the city lays blanketed beneath a layer of thick snow. blurry pale dots dancing in the wind, obscuring the sky, frost engulfing every building in a bone chilling hug.

with a slight shiver, you dig your hands into the comfort of your pockets, seeking the fleeting warmth you find. admiring the frozen landscape before you, the hustle and bustle of people going about their day. the saffron light of the lamp posts, the glittering snow by your feet, the skeletal apricot trees and their bare branches. this monochrome city you find yourself in.

gojo exhales. strolling cheerily down the street, in tandem with you, a frosty breath to your left that scatters and melts into the open air. it smells minty.

today, he’s wearing black shades — like he usually is when you meet outside of work. it’s kind of nice. when you angle your face a certain way, you can almost see the blue pooling in his eyes, the white of his eyelashes.

he’s beautiful. he always has been. but like this, you think his beauty is simply unfair, highlighted by the winter wonderland you find yourselves in. mesmerizing, the red flush of his cheeks, how he hums along to some jolly tune playing from a little corner store further down the street. all bundled up, in a stylish overcoat and a nice scarf, untouched by the snowflakes fluttering about.

protected by his infinity, always. the silly god you call a friend.

he looks content, despite the cold that keeps nipping at your bare skin, smiling widely. blabbing on about the movie you’re about to watch, how he saw it back in high school but never thought it’d get a remake. how his friend thought it sucked but that friend always had bad taste so his opinion is irrelevant. how he has faith that you’ll like it.

(cute.)

distracted by the pretty man so close by, close enough to touch, you don’t look ahead. maybe just a little bit entranced. which would be fine, if you didn’t happen to be walking on the right side of the street —

crashing straight into a lamp post.

”owch!”

it’s sudden. and it’s a harsh collision, enough to leave your nose stinging, an ache that makes you whine. cursing under your breath as you take a couple steps back, hands reaching for the part of your face that took the brunt of the hit.

and gosh, is this embarrassing. you dance on the edge of death for a living, and here you are — whining over walking into a fucking lamp post. because you were too enamored by the beauty of your own coworker to pay attention to your surroundings.

a coworker who is currently looking at you, silently. having failed to warn you in time, stuck in his own memories, caught up in his in-depth, spoiler-filled review of a movie he’s been waiting to watch all week.

for a moment, all he does is blink. long eyelashes fluttering, like a dove flapping its wings.

then he starts laughing.

scratch that — gojo is downright cackling, thoroughly amused by your clumsy mishap, like he just saw the funniest thing in the world. laughter ringing out into the cold air, white breaths to compliment the red of your burning ears.

asshole.

with a harsh furrow of your brows, you attempt to look angry; but before long, your lips are curling up. infected by his joy. a soft punch to his shoulder is all you manage, biting back a little puff of laughter. you’re embarrassed.

(so embarrassed you don’t even notice how he puts his infinity down.)

”don’t laugh, you piece of shit!” you hiss, grinning even still, flushing and trying to ignore the curious glances you get from passersby. ”it really hurt!”

but gojo doesn’t stop. doesn’t even attempt to. you think he just grew even more amused, if anything, practically bending over from how hard he’s laughing — clutching his stomach.

”sorry, sorry — ’m just…” he tries to speak, taking deep breaths in between bursts of giggles. ”how the hell — how’d you —”

he stops trying. laughing, again.

and it’s a genuine laugh. a little wolfish, spilling out from his pretty parted lips, showing off his sharp teeth. from the very bottom of his gut, clear and bright, deep and infectious. melodic. shades close to slipping off the bridge of his nose, eyes tearing up behind them. trying to collect himself, muffled giggles turning to soft vapour in the cold air. dimples visible on his rosy cheeks.

and suddenly you can't think, can't speak, can only look at him and wonder how a human can be so very beautiful. how it’s metaphysically possible. like a crushed cluster of stars was given human form, a body of celestial light.

he looks so young, like this. a millenia younger, no weight on those broad shoulders, no immovable wall to separate you both. he looks like one of the guys you used to hang out with in middle school, running through corridors and play fighting and holding back shared laughter in the library. before the bite of the world left a mark in your skin.

he looks like himself. like someone pulled the mask off, and all that’s left is the human. none of the godhood he was saddled with at birth.

while you’re busy staring, gojo finally finds his composure again. wiping at his glassy eyes, a chuckle slipping out here and there. distracted by the breathtaking sight, you begin to forget the sting of your collision — until you feel something warm trickle down your chilled skin.

searching for it with the pads of your fingers, you feel a trail of wetness beneath your nose. and when you bring them down, to get a look, all you see is red.

”ah.”

gojo moves closer. maybe just a little alarmed, by the blood dripping from your nose, staining the white of the snow beneath your feet. a chilling contrast, one you’re frighteningly used to. it’s almost comforting. blood on your skin, that sting of pain clogging up your nose, enough for you to get lost in. colours melting together, memories rising to the surface —

when suddenly, something touches your cheek.

one large hand goes to keep your jaw in place, gentle. smooth leather, sneaking under your chin, lifting your face up ever so slightly. warmth trickles from his fingertips through the fabric, and you can smell a hint of his perfume. strawberries and vanilla.

gojo looks at you fondly. wiping the blood from your nose, smudging his expensive gloves. from this angle, you can see his eyes, a blue shimmer in an evening painted white and gray — the sole flicker of colour in this monochrome city. they’re crinkled at the edges.

he looks awfully amused.

(you stay still, not breathing, like any slight motion could have him pulling away.)

”careful,” he croons. so low you barely hear it, almost a purr. the word has a soft underbelly, something you don’t need to dissect to feel.

a sentiment that seems to simmer in the air around you, drifting past the little corner store, a dog tied to a lamp post, your reddened cheeks. past the blue of his eyes, a peripheral that stretches to cover the city before you. words too heavy to speak aloud.

stay safe for me, silly.

then he’s letting go. sudden, the bite of the air replacing his hand. it lingers on your skin, like a memory, like the ghost of a memory. but it’s there. strawberries and vanilla, leather and warmth. something kind. warm.

and it stays there, even as gojo takes a step forward, no longer facing you. walking confidently, the wind bending around his tall stature. long legs and large steps, leaving an imprint in the snow for you to follow. a northern star.

he turns his head, and grins. hair tousled by the breeze, white locks glittering with snowflakes. ”you coming? it’s starting soon.”

a moment passes.

”or do you need me to call shoko?”

you puff out a breathy laugh, at that, stumbling forward. reaching up to wipe more of the blood sticking to your skin. sniffling, but smiling, teeth peeking out between your lips.

”yeah, yeah,” a roll of your eyes. ”’m right behind you.”

gojo’s eyes crinkle, disappearing behind his shades when he straightens his back and raises his head. moving forward, while you follow; his back turned to you, snowy hair melting into the white all around you. like something out of a painting.

with a pep in step, you catch up to him. eager to hear more of his voice, his memories. still basking in the warmth of his hand on your jaw.

a touch from the untouchable.

gojo’s lying on your couch.

he usually is, to be fair, so it shouldn’t be surprising. kicking his legs up, watching tv — or sleeping, snoring loudly, like the couch belongs to him. like your home belongs to him. like he pays rent, and doesn’t just laze around and devour all the sweets in your kitchen cabinets.

(he’s there so often that you’re starting to wonder if you should give him a copy of your keys, or something. but you have a feeling that’d be just a smidge too intimate for him to ever accept.)

this time, however, gojo is doing neither of those things.

he’s on your couch, but he isn’t manspreading, or draping himself over the leather with a lazy grin. he doesn’t have that air of effortless confidence. and it’s palpable, in the air, the open space, enough that you can feel it. an itch on your skin, a lump in your throat. you could practically feel it as soon as you walked through the door.

he isn’t wearing his blindfold, or his shades. he isn’t even smiling. and gojo is always, always smiling.

you think he might be having a rough day.

even the cats are noticing that something’s off. jumping up in his lap, trying to comfort him, brushing against his legs. purring, when he cradles them close — always so gentle with them. hands petting down their backs, softly, the same hands he uses to rip out the throats of curses and curse users alike.

then they mewl and run away. and for once you wish they wouldn’t, wish they could keep clinging to him like they always do. just to make him feel better. right now, in the state he’s in, you wouldn’t even mind gojo’s usual smug declarations of how does it feel to know they like their papa best?

you can’t help but feel unsure of yourself. gojo isn’t doing anything, and he isn’t saying anything. he’s just lying there, on his back, eyes closed. letting the darkness of the room engulf him. drowning in his own thoughts.

he must know that you’re there. he must have heard you come in. but he isn’t saying anything, and you wonder if that means he wants you to leave him alone.

you’re reminded of that one morning. when he woke up on your couch, and looked more human than you’d ever seen him. how you wanted to avert your eyes, how wrong it felt to see a god rouse from its slumber.

(but you know better now.)

hesitantly, you begin to inch closer, step by step. quiet, floorboards barely creaking beneath your weight. tentative, as you settle down on the couch. brushing against the infinity between you.

gojo’s eyes flicker open. like an old tape beginning to play. they still shine with that same brilliance, they always do, but now you think they look just a little dull. a little red.

a moment passes. agonizingly slow.

before you can properly think it through, you’ve done it. almost on instinct, jumping the gun before he has the chance to cover everything up with jokes and laughter. opening your arms; a silent invitation.

gojo only stares.

his gaze moves down to your outstretched arms, and then up to your face. your pursed lips, nervous eyes, worried crease between your brows. one second passes. two, five. you stop counting.

for a moment, you’re almost certain that he’s about to get up and leave. that he’ll flash you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, walk out the door and then never return. like you flew too close to the sun, just another icarus too mesmerized by the glow of his grin to notice your melting wings. like you stepped over the fragile line that separates his bones from yours, his heartbeat from your greedy hands.

— but then he sluggishly gets into a sitting position, and doesn't look at you.

when gojo collapses into your embrace, you’re so surprised that you almost forget how to breathe. almost forget your own name, forget whose home you’re in, why your arms are wrapped around a pale man. all you can think of is how warm he feels, how he’s like a weighted blanket against you. how he trusts you enough to come so very close.

cheek pressed against your chest, arms loose around your waist. no infinity, no barriers. just a single touch shared between two damaged human beings.

a brief inhale gives you the composure that you need. air flowing into your lungs, your brain, as you settle into a comfortable position. no words leave your lips; you just continue to hold him, one hand on his back, testing the waters. letting him hear the echo of your heartbeat. unsure, the both of you, but something about this feels right. close to right. almost there.

gojo is stiff. when you strain your ears, you hear a sharp intake of breath, and a full body shiver courses through him. a tremble of his spine. like he’s itching to run, like he doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. so painfully unused to a proper embrace.

(a little like a frightened fawn.)

a tender something unfurls within your chest, and you feel almost devoured by the fondness rooting itself into your beating heart. delicate, as you begin to brush away his tousled bangs, leaning close. pressing a kiss to his forehead, glistening with sweat. letting your lips linger on his skin.

he’s pale, shining in the bleak moonlight cast from the translucent curtains of your living room windows. pale like a ghost. and there are dark crescents beneath his dull eyes.

nightmares, you surmise. they haunt him too, don’t they? of course they do.

eyes brimming with emotion, you gaze at him; quiet as a mouse, closing his eyes. leaning into your touch, ever so slightly, breathing out a sigh tinged with pure exhaustion. and a certain realization washes over you, akin to a tidal wave, sudden and inevitable. so obvious it’s funny.

you’re not a god at all, are you?

a coo slips from your lips. barely a sound, more like a soothing breath. warm against his cold skin.

you’re just like everyone else. just as fragile.

one of your thumbs goes to smooth over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. so, so gentle. like one wrong touch could have him crumbling into little grains of stardust, spilling out over the worn leather of your couch.

there are so many things you wish you could say to him. so many things you’ll never be able to say, because you’re afraid that if you give him too much it’ll scare him off. like love could burn him if it were to leak out too fervently. like it’s burned him before.

so you don’t say anything. but you think it, you repeat it inside your mind like a prayer, and some part of you thinks that’s enough. i’ve got you — a whisper that you don't dare to voice.

one gojo still manages to hear, somehow, if the way he tugs you closer and snuggles into your neck is anything to go by. a shaky exhale brushing against your collarbone.

(if you feel something wet touch the skin of your shoulder, you don’t mention it.)

you simply hold him, and don’t even think the thought of letting go. even though it takes him hours just to fall asleep, hours you spend anxiously wondering if he’ll change his mind and pull away. but he doesn't leave, even though his body may want him to, and that's enough, and you don’t let go. not even once. he stays cradled to your chest the same way you’d hold a tiny puppy, something fragile. something you need to handle with care.

and when his heartbeat finally mellows out, when you hear little barely audible snores flow from his lips, you finally begin to relax. melting into the couch beneath you, watching him get the rest he deserves. praying that any nightmares of his will be given to you instead.

sleep comes, eventually, to the both of you. tangled up on the couch, him on top of you, comforted by the flutter of each other’s heartbeat. by the warmth of another human being. safe in each other’s arms.

(the next morning, through hazy sunshine and the clinking of coffee cups, he teasingly tells you that just satoru is fine.)

it’s barely daybreak when satoru wakes you up.

a rude awakening, to say the least. he pulls out all the stops, intent on not letting you sleep even a second longer; poking at your cheek, pinching them when that doesn’t work. tickling you, blowing cold air into your ear, flopping down on top of you like a big dog. anything to rouse you from your deep slumber.

and he just will not give it up. no matter how hard you try to ignore him, no matter how many times you swat him away with your duvet pillow or turn to bury your face into the sheets. that’s how satoru always is, how he’s always been, how he hopefully always will be — an absolute pain. one you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.

so, when he starts whining for you to just wake up already, voice tinged with a sadness that tugs at your heartstrings, you find yourself opening your tired eyes. all while he murmurs on and on about something unintelligible, still trying to bribe you.

”i’ll make you coffee, okay? just get up. c’moooon.”

”… what time is it, satoru?” is all you mutter, voice leaving your lips in a raspy, disgruntled fashion. stirring a little at the promise of coffee.

he cracks a grin. ”don’t worry about it! just come with me.”

despite your grumpy attitude, and the ungodly hour at which satoru shakes you awake, you find yourself letting him scoop you up and set you down on the kitchen counter. placing a hot cup of coffee in your hands, made just the way you like it, before grinning mischievously in a way that has you feeling ill at ease.

and ten minutes later, you find yourself on top of a hill. overlooking the woods, and a big lake below you, no city lights visible no matter where you turn — god knows where he’s taken you, but it’s pretty.

breathtaking, even. all frost and wildlife and peace, sweet solitude, tiny flowers blooming on the patches of grass around you. a murder of crows takes flight in the distance, scattering into the indigo of the sky.

gojo grins, boyish and bright, excited breaths turning into vapour as he speaks. awfully proud of himself.

”i can’t take you on vacation, but —”

he drags you with him, arm looped around your own, plopping down on the ground. not before taking off his jacket, to cover the ground beneath you. grass tickles the skin of your palms, as you comfortably spread your legs, making sure to sit as close to him as possible.

and your heart softens a little.

because he’s mentioned it, before; how it’d be nice to go on a road trip, someday, just the two of you. all around the world, wherever the wind takes you. basking in that feeling of freedom. it’s no more than a fever dream, though, with how busy satoru is, the responsibilities you both shoulder.

so this’ll have to do. that’s probably what he’s thinking.

”the sun’ll rise soon. it’ll be pretty, i promise,” he beams, so close that you feel his warm breath on your skin. that you can see the dimples on his cheeks, his barely visible freckles.

”oh, so that’s why you woke me up so early.”

his smile widens. ”nice, right? i wanted to surprise you. d’you like it?”

a smile blooms on your lips, in tandem with his, honeyed and content. indulgent. gojo looks at it, and immediately knows your answer.

”yeah. it’s really pretty out here,” you face forward, taking a deep breath, fresh morning air entering your lungs. cool and crisp, stirring your sleepy mind. ”kinda nostalgic.”

satoru hums, and follows your lead. looking ahead, admiring the beauty of an empty world.

the big lake looks like a mirror, from here, glittering in the peripheral of your vision. the sun licks at the frozen sky, not quite breaking through, not entirely ready to rise — but it paints everything a rusty gold and you can almost feel spring shining through, taste it on your tongue, that promise of something better, something more concrete. a warmth you don’t have to question.

a warmth that’ll stay with you for a long time to come.

it takes about ten seconds for the man by your side to start speaking, again, shattering the peaceful silence. but you don’t mind. his voice is nice, a mellow melody to your morning-fatigued brain.

side by side, you wait for the sun to rise. sharing hushed whispers and laughter, like two kids having a sleepover. like nothing exists but the space that cocoons you, wraps you up in a nostalgia so palpable the entire world feels like a fond memory.

(it makes you feel a millenia younger.)

satoru giggles like a child, telling you about something shoko said, or something megumi did, and you don’t miss a single word that spills from his glossy lips. hanging on to every word he’s willing to give to you.

he looks so unbothered, like this. eyes crinkling, humming some tune you don’t recognize, like a little nightingale ready to take flight into the skies.

you part your lips, admiring his features. every patch of skin you can see. words making themselves manifest, hungry to see inside his brain, to know more about him. a fascination that’s never quite left you — though now you think it may be better described as love. ”hey, satoru?”

at the sound of his name, he turns to you. the weight of his eyes feels so light, like this. those blessed eyes staring into yours. he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips. ”mm?”

”if you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be right now?”

satoru blinks.

he looks at you, a mild surprise flitting through the lines of his face, as he takes you in. measures the weight of your words.

then he smiles, again. lopsided, almost a smirk, rich with amusement. a hum buzzes in his throat, like a butterfly itching to break out.

”.. you teasing me?”

a huff fills the air. ”it’s a genuine question!” you insist, moving your leg to nudge his own. ”c’mon. anywhere in the world. i’m just curious.”

another hum. he narrows his eyes, playfully, biting at the inside of his cheek to hold back a chuckle when that makes you grumble. pouting softly, tilting your head. he’s amused, you can tell.

but he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering, glimmering with morning dew. and you can tell he’s taking you seriously. tasting the question on his tongue.

something shines in his eyes, when he opens them again; crinkling at the corners, soft lines of crows’ feet. you can almost see that burst of aquamarine, breaking through the black glass of his shades. like the laws of physics can’t contain it. and he smiles, as always, a smile so beautiful you wish you could live on the curve of his lips. flimsy, no teeth peeking out, no dimples to admire. but sweet. slathered with honey, as sincere as can be.

his voice comes out a little raspy, tainted with a tinge of fatigue, a smokey residue that sticks to the walls of his throat. but it's genuine, like he just woke up, like he's too sleepy to be dishonest. like every word he says can be no more or less than the absolute truth.

and when he turns to face you, tilting his head enough for you to see that shade of blue you love so dearly, his eyes shine with an honestly so palpable you feel like you’re being devoured.

satoru parts his lips.

”right next to you.”

a moment passes. silent, endless, no sound to be heard but the beating of your own heart.

at last, the sun breaks through that layer of frost, peeking up from the boundary of the world — and the morning begins to thaw. streaks of sunlight cascade down the contours of his handsome face, painting him a mellow gold, and it’s almost enough to distract you from the warmth of his hand finding yours.

for a moment, satoru looks unsure. smile shifting in the light, into something slightly stiff, and you know that means he's nervous. silent, as he wets his glossy lips. pink tongue tasting strawberry chapstick.

then he’s leaning forward.

it’s chaste, the kiss he plants on your forehead, soft as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. but it lingers, even after he’s pulled back — a warmth on your skin. a silent declaration.

he doesn't have to say anything. when you look up at him you can see the red flush of his ears, and when you strain your ears you can hear all those unspoken whispers. the sentiment neither of you will ever have to say out loud, because you know. it’s there. and it means everything.

and you know that for as long as you live, you’ll both have this. one single thread of normalcy, in your unorthodox existences, one single glimmer of something almost entirely good. something that heals, something that isn’t a blessing and a curse all in one. something soft to the touch.

there’s no need to find the right words for it. there never was.

”kinda looks like melted ice cream.”

the words pull you out of your stupor. satoru’s looking at the sky, and you follow his gaze, watching the sunrise in tandem with him.

it’s beautiful. soft clouds melting into pinks and oranges, dappling sunbeams lapping at the trees, a saffron shade washing over the empty world in front of you. a world that may not be so empty, after all, because you hear crows in the distance, and someone’s fishing by the lake, and you think you spot a squirrel in the tree closest to you.

and you have someone, right next to you, right by your side. someone who won’t ever leave.

sometimes, loving satoru gojo feels a little like strolling on the edge of a cliff. like one wrong step could have you tumbling down, a mess of broken bones and unspoken words. but if you do stumble and fall — you know he’ll be waiting at the bottom of the precipice. arms outstretched, wearing that same innocent grin, ready to hoist you both back up.

so you know it’ll be fine.

swallowing down a bout of fresh laughter, like a flower unfurling in your chest, petals brushing against your ribcage, you give in. opting to bask in the moment, in his presence.

”yeah,” you puff out a chuckle, head slumping against satoru’s shoulder. he makes a little noise of approval, and your grin grows. ”it does.”

he doesn’t say anything. smiling, wordlessly, admiring the way the sun kisses up your collarbone. lighting up your face. and you bask in his warmth, how right it feels to be tucked into his side. how safe he feels, even now. how safe you make him feel.

you look at the man to your left, and he looks back at you, and that wonderful unnamed something unfurls inside your chest again. and, without having to speak it aloud, you know it will continue to do so.

many, many years later, he’ll still be satoru, and you’ll still be you. the distance between you will be what it always was; breachable.

and that will be enough.

#someone sedate me i giggled while writing this. im so in love w this stupid weasel #this is rly just my attempt at writing a more canon-aligned gojo and the kinda-sorta relationship i could see him having in canon #i firmly believe that he’d feel most at peace w a love that sits somewhere right between platonic n romantic !!#”me n the bestie <3” (selfie of u wearing matching rings)#its the kinda love that u dont need to label bc its just There. its just love !! a love that comes easy #im happy w how this particular gojo turned out i think!! :'3 hes my lil baby #in other news hes so bambi coded ☹️ i need to nurse him back to health #listen to capable of love by pinkpantheress btw its so gojo to me #jjk x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x gender neutral reader #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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novalpha · 1 year

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𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘺𝘶 𝐹𝑖𝑐 𝑅𝑒𝑐𝑠

♡ Fluff || ୨୧ Angst || ★ Smut || ꗃ SMAU || ⌗ Series || ✿ Drabble || ♤ Mature (No smut) || ✹ Humor

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ The other woman ♡୨୧♤⌗ -> @idyllic-ghost Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

synopsis: you're married to wonwoo, but his parents desperately wants him to have a child - which you cannot have. he gives into his parents wishes and meets the other woman, whom he eventually agrees to marry as well. you're left heartbroken for a few years, seeing the man you love build a family that you had always wanted, but happiness is on the horizon as you meet someone new.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Love and warmth ♡୨୧♤✹ -> @viastro

synopsis: in which you blackmail your employee, mingyu, to marry you in order not to get deported back to canada due to your expired visa. [based on the proposal]

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Sugar and you ♡ -> @97-liners

synopsis: in which mingyu is an idealistic pastry chef, and you’re a cynical wedding planner who doesn’t believe in love.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Dry Humping ★ -> @undermoonlightst Part 1 , Part 2

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Parties, Yachts and Wishful thinking ★ -> @ithinkilikeit-reactions

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Hot or cold ♡ -> @jjuniehao

synopsis: when looking for something on his phone, you find an email you didn’t expect…

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Honey boy ♡୨୧★ -> @chocosvt

synopsis: when you graduate high school, you realize you’re not really going to miss anyone, apart from a cute boy who doesn’t even remember your name. five years later, after accepting an offer to pass the summer at a friend’s lake house, he’s standing right in front of you. the universe doesn’t give second chances very often. you’re not going to let the honey boy slip away twice.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Puppy love ♡୨୧★ -> @smileysuh

synopsis: Mingyu is stuck in the puppy love phase, he can’t get enough of you, and can’t seem to grow out of it either- luckily, as your Black Lab Hybrid, he never needs to.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Lilac lace ♡୨୧★ -> @starlightxsvt

synopsis: without much options left on your hands, you become Mingyu's roommate. things take a wild turn after a few weeks.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ His smile ♡୨୧★ -> @angelwonie

Summary: falling in love with your fake boyfriend isn't a good idea, and it's even worse if that fake boyfriend happens to be Kim Mingyu. but you just can't help it — he's got the prettiest smile you've ever seen.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Hallmark moment ♡୨୧★-> @onlymingyus Part 2

synopsis: The kids have been watching too many Christmas movies, and are now determined to have their very own magical moment with their parents.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Local lover boy ♡୨୧♤ -> @cheolism

summary: after you've had a long week of work, mingyu decides to help you wind down for the night.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Oh no, he's hot ★ -> @ncteez

Synopsis: The first time you drove your very trashed best friend home was because you had a crush on him. All the times you drove him home after that were because…well, his dad is sexy.

or the one where you have tension with your crush’s dad at four in the morning and maybe secretly fuck while said crush is asleep on the couch.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Spoiled ★ -> @wonusite Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

summary: you have never been spoiled, but that changes after you meet the man your mother is going to marry.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Confidently lost ★ -> @gfcheol

summary: it's not easy to work your way through college, luckily for you, your babysitting job pays exceptionally well. and your boss is absolutely gorgeous.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Stay at home ♡୨୧★ -> @celestiababie

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ I can't run away ♡୨୧★ -> @gyukult

summary: everyone expresses love in different ways. that doesn’t exclude you.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ We don't usually hold hands ♡୨୧★ -> @gyukult

summary: when a friend brings up the potential feelings of a fuck buddy, you’re left wondering what to do when you confirm it’s true.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Stop kissing me please ♡★ -> @jejuboo-s

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Break the curse, break my heart ♡୨୧ -> @savventeen

summary: what's supposed to be a simple hex job turns into something much deadlier, and suddenly the two of you are fighting just to stay alive

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ One last time (for old time's sake) ୨୧♡ -> @tonicandjins Part 2

summary: you receive an invitation for the worst day of your life.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ A sheep in Wolf's clothing ♡★ -> @rubyreduji

summary: kim mingyu is the biggest player on campus, so why is he coming to you for sex help

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Drift away ♡୨୧★ -> @playmetheclassics

Summary: You made the biggest mistake of your life, and now, Mingyu is trying his hardest to forget and forgive you, but how long till your infidelity rips you both apart? Besides, it’s not like you’d blame him. You hurt him. You did the one thing you promised never to do.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ To the brim ♡★ -> @toruro

description. all your sweet husband wants is to put a baby into you—is that so bad?

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ The secrets kept from roommates ♡★✹ -> @cheolism

summary: you are hiding a secret from mingyu. little do you know that he's hiding one from you too.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Trust (fall) ♡★ -> @toruro

description. your boyfriend insists he's strong enough to carry you and fuck you at the same time, but you have your doubts. of course, mingyu is more than ready to try and prove you wrong.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ — jealousy, jealousy ♡★ -> @monamipencil

synopsis; a trip to the convenience store with your boyfriend takes an unexpected turn.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ pretty like this ♡★ -> @madeforgyu

summary. you think mingyu's hands are pretty. he thinks you look pretty coming undone. (cw. very heavy ddlg themes)

[ More Mingyu fic recs will be updated ]

Want more Seventeen fic recs? -> Click here

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spiriteddreams · 1 year

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dan heng, who, in the middle of a conversation, will say something flirtatious only to realize it two seconds later then cough into his fist to hide a blush while turning away. he didn't mean for it to come out that way, but he finds he likes the way you freeze up at his words and try to regain your composure

dan heng, who carefully chooses his words as if they were delicate strands. he weaves them together in eloquent sentences that spill from his lips like honeyed poetry

dan heng, who uses his index finger to gently tilt your face towards his so you make eye contact with him. he adores the way your cheeks warm as he leans closer, voice dropping in octave as your name rolls off his lips

dan heng, who puts his hand on your lower back when you walk together, fingers dancing at the hem of your clothes. he's typically not one for pda, but with you, he likes the feeling of watching you flush at his actions

dan heng, who is the type to duck his head down when you're in a crowd of people, leaning closer to speak in your ear. you can feel his breath tickle your neck and he smiles shyly at your reaction. he knows what he's doing

dan heng, who curls his hand around your waist when you're standing next to each other. you can feel each finger lay its claim as he tugs you closer, as if his hands were meant to linger there

dan heng, who isn't the most open about his past, but in quiet moments when it is just you and him and the stars, he feels peaceful enough to reminisce his time before the express, telling you stories as nostalgia clouds his eyes

dan heng, who finds secrets spots on the astra express to stargaze with you, pinkies intertwined as you lie in silence. sometimes you ramble about your day and he listens thoughtfully, his ever expressive eyes giving away all you need to know

dan heng, who kisses in pairs. the first is soft, a gentle brush against your lips as you chase after his. the second is more firm, hands coming to pull you closer as you pours his emotions out

dan heng, who is soft for you and you only, gentle voice and touches that are oh so comforting and warm. he could travel the universe and live amongst the stars but it would never compare to the time spent with you

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated <3

a/n: i’m sooooo down bad for this man send HELP

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng x reader #hsr x reader #dan heng #spiriteddreams writing #spiriteddreams

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moonrisecoeur · 3 months

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adoration — leon kennedy

author’s note: this is absolutely disgustingly horrifically soft. not my usual content but i hope you like it! also to anyone who doesn’t follow me i don’t usually write sub!reader so please don’t request it!

wc: 2.3k

content: leon x reader, fem!reader, not really sub or dom tho i guess it leans more towards dom!leon but it’s super soft, so many pet names, lots of praise, lots of compliments, possessiveness, leon’s down bad but we already knew that, work stress, a little bit of reader being insecure about her looks, riding, unwrapped p in v sex, boyfie leon !!

—

“there you are,” his voice is gentle just like him. he smiles as he embraces you in a sweet hug, wondering why the universe was so cruel as to pull you away from him for so long every single day. he wishes he could stay right next you, arms wrapped around you, head resting against yours, never letting you go.

he’s only a little possessive, in a cute way rather than a unnerving way. he just likes being with you too much to ever be content when you’re not around.

the best part, in his opinion, is how you hold him back. arms around his waist, mumbling to yourself more so than leon about how much you miss his hugs, “awh, it’s okay, honey. know you missed me,” he teases, and it’s so blatant that out of the two of you, he’s the one who’s down bad, absolutely gone. he’s lucky that you’re not super greedy because he would give you anything you asked for.

your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck is more than enough to make him adore you for the rest of eternity. he reaches a hand up to your face, and watching your head tilt up to sweetly meet his gaze has to be the most deadly thing you’ve ever done. he feels physically giddy as you look at him curiously, wondering if he has someone to say as his fingers caress your cheek and jawline. soft skin beneath his rough fingers. he adores you. endlessly.

“so pretty…” he mumbles, sweet nothings murmuring their way past his lips as his hands cup your cheeks so he can hold you and look at you head on, blue eyes taking in every feature on your sweet face. he can’t help but love it all. he loves your face, he would stare at you for hours if you wouldn’t think it’s weird. he breathes in, inhaling your scent, so recognizable it’s comforting, “my pretty girl, mine all mine.”

you sigh comfortably, melting into him and his touch. it’s alright; he’s got you. he always does.

he leans to press a kiss to your forehead, “all mine..” he whispers again, like he’s reassuring himself, “want you all to myself. hate it when you’re gone.”

you giggle, a little bit breathless. he can tell his own effect on you and it strokes his ego wildly. he knows you secretly love his more possessive side, enjoying that he can’t even be bothered to look at another woman without being reminded about how much he loves and adores you. you’re his baby! he couldn’t ever want someone else!

“can i have you all to myself?” he asks, lips trailing down to your ear.

“mhm,” you hum, nodding your head cutely, and he can’t help the way he absolutely crumbles. god he’s really losing it, you’re absolutely everything to him. you’re too precious for him to ever let go.

“i love you,” he whispers as he kiss your jaw, your face still cradled in his hands like you’re too fragile for him to ever let you go.

“i love you too,” you whisper back. that’s all he’d ever need from you: your love. he could want a million things, but this moment tells him the truth. he’s yours. completely, and helplessly yours.

one hand still steady on holding your face, smiling as you lean more into his touch, his other hand dips back down, over your waist and hips and between your thighs in a way that aches so pleasantly. it’s impossible to tell when exactly you got so wet from this completely normal interaction but he notices too and he’s already too confident. it’ll go to his head at this point. oh well. you’d get back at him another time to bring him back down to earth.

“oh, pretty girl, i can tell my words are affecting you…” he says softly. he says it like it’s a question but he already knows the answer, “but…. if you need something, you can tell me.”

his voice is the only thing you can sensibly hear right now, everything else drowned out with his strong arms holding you close. the way you pout makes his heart race because god you are so adorable that it kills him.

“baby, if you need me to do something, you gotta let me know. i’m not a mind reader,” his voice, thick and syrupy, seeps into your skin and drives you mad with a need to be his. in all ways humanly possible.

and for him to be yours too. you know that this is all an act, that every moment so far in this interaction has been real but with an undertone that you both can easily sense. you control leon in all the ways that matter. you mold him into exactly what you want, and he contorts himself willingly because he wants to be everything you want and need in a man. he’s yours just as much, if not infinitely more, as you’re his.

“can you praise me..?” you whisper, soft and timid. even if you’re not normally the shy type, it all seems to come crumbling down when leon holds you close.

“that’s my girl,” he smiles. sure, he could tease you more, especially with how nonspecific your request was. but you’re desperate and he’s too soft on you to make you wait any longer, “pretty and sweet and all mine.”

even as you huff, muttering something trying to push back against his words. i’m not actually that pretty, or something like that, leon’s shaking his head, in disbelief that a being as ethereal as his lover could ever, even for a moment, believe themselves to be unattractive.

but this isn’t the moment. he can tell you don’t want a lecture on self love or positive self talk right now. it wouldn’t do any good to tell you that he thinks you’re beautiful if you wouldn’t believe it, so he just does as you ask like the obedient boyfriend he is. he’ll tackle that beast another time.

“my pretty girl, my good girl…” he whispers, hands cradling your head against his chest, fingers tendering brushing against your skin as you close your eyes and just let leon speak to you. he’s never been good with words until he fell in love with you, “so proud of you, sweetheart. you worked so hard, even with everything you got going on. my baby’s so strong, isn’t she?”

you nod even as he holds you, maybe just a little too emotional to respond any other way.

“but you don’t always gotta be strong, you can let your walls down when it’s just me, baby. i promise i’ll take care of you,” he whispers, lips pressed against your forehead again. and once he thinks he’s buttered you up enough, he mumbles something like, “tell me what’s bugging you, princess.”

“i… i don’t wanna go to work anymore…” you mumble against his shirt, and he’s looking at you like you’re the cutest thing in the world, “i hate working. just wanna be with you.”

he laughs heartily, and you can feel the vibrations against his chest. his presence just entices comfort, one of his hands resting atop your head, “i know, baby. i wanna be with you always too,” he says.

“it’s not fair..”

he pouts when you pout, the world just had to be so unfair, “i know it’s not. if it were up to me, you’d never work a day in your life, but… you know, unfortunately i’m not that rich.”

you chuckle, and he’s relieved he at least got that out of you.

he can’t help getting distracted, “god you’re so fucking pretty,” he mumbles, hands dropping down to your waist, holding you close like he’s preparing to never let go, “so beautiful, baby. and you’re so perfect,” he tilts his head to look at you, making dangerous eye contact again, face just inches apart, “you’re so… lovely. i could stay here with you forever.”

you smile softly and it lights up the room and his entire life. you hold him close like you never want to let him go, and he feels pretty little butterflies in his stomach.

he leans in to kiss you, finally, and one arm stays wrapped possessively around your waist, as if to steal you away from the rest of the world, and one hand reaches back up to cup your cheek. he kisses you sweetly, not too rough or aggressive, just enough to make you want to drown in his touch, his scent, his presence.

“leon..!” you gasp between kisses, and he’s never liked his name as much as he likes it when your lips say it.

he pulls away to search for any hint that you need him to stop, that your breathless whisper of his name was a plea for escape, and he doesn’t seem to find any. his eyes trail down to your lips again, as if taunted by them, “what do you need, baby?”

“you,” you whisper, your lips finding his neck, kissing him softly. he’s not sure when you exactly decided you would try to kill him but the way your lips feel against him is lethal in its own way.

“yeah? my baby need me?”

“mhm,” you smile, he feels it against his skin, “your pretty girl needs to feel as pretty as you think she is.”

and something pulls at leon’s heart at that little statement. it’s not sad or pitiful, nor is it said with a sad tone, but he wonders what it means to you. do you believe him when he calls you that? god, you have to, he’s too obsessed with you for it to even be questionable if he thinks you’re pretty.

he practically drags you to bed, sits down on the edge and pulls you onto his lap, fingers immediately between your legs, feeling that familiar wetness that he loves, pressing down on your clit with his thumb.

“good girl, just like that… grind on my hand, let yourself feel good,” he murmurs, “this is about you, so be selfish, baby. take what you want from me.”

he likes how needy you get because maybe, just maybe, that means you need him just as badly as he needs you. it soothes him, in a way.

“i’ll fill you up nice and full later, but for now… just sit here with me… just let me touch you, pretty, i’ll make you feel good.”

and you just curl up into him, holding onto his shoulder for support as takes every whine and moan and absolutely devours them. his fingers have gotten rougher over the years, but that roughness feels good when he’s rubbing figure eights on your clit, fingers moving in circular motions inside your pretty pussy, bringing you to closer orgasm sooner than you thought. he’s just that good.

“there you go, princess. just feel it all. just close your eyes… and feel me against you,” he whispers, “you’re so cute when you’re feeling good. well, you’re always cute, but you know what i mean.”

“leon…” your whiny voice is met with a chuckle from him.

“hm?”

“i’m gonna cum…” you mumble, resting your head in the crook of his neck again, must be your favorite spot.

he likes that you don’t ask permission because why would you? he’d never deny you, not pleasure nor anything else you want in life. no, you say it like a warning, like a don’t you dare stop kind of warning. he wouldn’t dare.

“c’mon, pretty. let yourself have it,” he mumbles, lips almost touching your ear, that’s how close they are.

leon’s selfish, he can’t help it. he makes you orgasm because he wants to give you pleasure, sure, but he’s also doing it because he loves watching you cum. not so much right now, with your head buried away, but he likes seeing your orgasm face, he likes that you shut your eyes tightly and your eyebrows furrow and your mouth hangs open just slightly. you’re so pretty when you cum.

if he’s being honest, he should have made you look at him when you came, but he knows you were feeling a little shy today so he didn’t push.

and the feeling of your cunt clenching on his fingers turns him on beyond belief. he feels the pressure of the orgasm, and he knows it’s a big one, so of course he helps you through it, fucking his fingers as deep as possible, loving the achy moans that escape your throat. you’re not super loud but you’re also right by his ear so he hears every gasp and moan and whimper as you cum for him. he adores you so painfully.

“there you go, good girl…” he whispers, cradling you close as you both fall back against the bed, holding each other as the wetness on his hand starts to dry but your body still pulses with a reminder of how much pleasure just flooded through you.

it’s almost too paralyzing to speak, and you make pretty little sounds as you shift to get comfortable that make leon’s heart jump. he holds your waist as you lay half on top of him.

he looks at your face, radiant with a comfortable glow you’ve been missing this whole time. in his arms, in your shared bed, it’s safe and soft and leon holds you close with no intentions of letting go.

“should we…” he starts, and you lift your head slightly to look at him as he speaks, “cancel our dinner reservations? order in, we’ll get whatever my sweet lover wants, and we can just stay in bed all night?”

you can’t help but giggle, “yeah. i wanna keep kissing you for at least another hour.”

“yes, ma’am.”

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