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saetoru · 10 months

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”

satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?

“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.

you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.

“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”

your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”

“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”

satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on.

why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.

“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”

“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”

“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”

you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.

gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend.

not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.

but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned.

and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast.

he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?

satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?

it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up.

you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek.

and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand.

he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?

—————

breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway.

gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that.

satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake.

but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.

“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”

“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.”

satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit.

satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself.

you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness.

“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench.

“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”

you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him.

“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.”

your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself.

“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”

“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”

the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with?

—————

you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him.

in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded.

it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings.

you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too.

suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well.

there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend.

everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings.

every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted.

in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself.

you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on.

before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole.

satoru. of course.

he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.

you shouldn’t open it.

but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?

before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands.

“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”

“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”

you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know.

“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn.

“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”

“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff.

the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away.

“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”

and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here.

“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him.

“why did you leave me?” he asks.

“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”

“why? just tell me why.”

“i don’t have to—”

“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists.

and then you break.

you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love.

so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”

you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn��t showered in days.

“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”

“you can realize a lot in a month—”

“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”

“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly.

satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out.

“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”

“satoru, you need to leave—”

“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”

“i didn’t ask you to—”

“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”

“satoru,” you plead.

you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.

satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.

“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head.

his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.

“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying.

“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.

satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight.

“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper.

it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.

“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray.

satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion.

you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could.

“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”

“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”

“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.

“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t!”

“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt.

it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you.

“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”

“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”

you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”

“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”

“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.

he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating.

“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”

“promise?”

“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”

“you deserved that.”

“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”

“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”

“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”

“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.

yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known.

“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him.

but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.

“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”

read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

if this fic was a person i would want it dead.

#teepods.writings #fics.#rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst

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satoruhour · 10 months

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GO!

a/n: racer jjk men …….. mmgfnghgn..gg.f.. if u can tell i’ve never watched f&f, you would be correct. i only watched tokyo drift for research 😭 also im talking out of my ass by using random car terminology !!!! i don’t even know whether anything i said was possible so just close one eye please :3

warnings: essentially car sex & pet names & unprotected sex for everything, fingering, clit stimulation, praise, public sex, geto listens in on a call, riding, implied p → v penetration, implied creampie / breeding, implied threesome w/ stsg (gojo), clit stimulation, handjob, semi-public sex, p → v penetration, doggy, geto asks and then takes a pic of you, creampie / breeding (geto), praise, oral (f receiving), fingering, pleasure dom nanami, squirting, clit stimulation (nanami), age gap (reader’s early 20s, toji is forty), oral (m receiving) while driving, facefucking, semi-public sex, clit stimulation, daddy kink, implied p → v penetration (toji), n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

“my, my,” gojo smirks as he looks over to you in his 1999 Nissan Skyline R34 when your hand makes contact with his thigh, “couldn’t wait till we reached there?” on the way to the races that gojo loved to bring you to, it was a silent rule that gojo was one of the people that ruled the underground racing scene in tokyo — that means leaving his opponent sighing at the steering wheel and being the object of your kisses at the end of it.

gojo was talented, but he knew he wouldn’t sit well in the driver’s seat if he didn’t share the victory with you. the racer speeds at any opportunity, but today he takes the time to drive his baby just so he could have more time to fuck her.

sometimes gojo rubs off on you in terms of disposition, because you’ve become fairly good with composing yourself into times of tribulation with your constantly-horny boyfriend. your calmness could be commended, but your breaths still give off your aroused state, his fingers continuing to draw a faint line up your legs which are rubbing and squeezing against each other. even with the aircon on full blast, you still feel undeniably hot.

“so wet…” gojo hums as his hand feels the wet patch that’s pooling in your panties before slipping it to the side, driving unaffected while he keeps his eyes on the road. he’s fucked you so many times already, memorised the feel of your body that it doesn’t take him much to insert his fingers and find that sweet spot. you squeal, hands flying to grab at his forearm. your pussy clenches around his fingers, and it makes him hum, pushing him to adjust his pelvis in his seat. no doubt your cute sounds are affecting him.

“s-satoru! the race?” you panic and hope to distract his attention elsewhere, but gojo’s a master at multitasking.

“what’re you talking about? we’re on the way, princess.” he’s right, taking you through the familiar streets of shinjuku before switching to a lane that takes the car into an underground tunnel. it’s a route you can remember, but you hardly give a shit currently where you can feel your juices pool below you.

“sato—” you whine, your squeezing thighs doing nothing to deter him, “your s-seat’s getting soaked.”

“s’fine, i’ll clean it up later,” gojo grins, sparing you a quick glance where he likes you the most: lips parted with moans escaping, knuckles white from clutching onto the seat and your pussy leaking your juices all over his palm. “c’mon, you’re a good girl, aren’t you? don’t you want to cum?” gojo knows all of your habits, so he taunts you, teases you by slowing down his fingers just a little and plays with your clit. a ringtone doesn’t distract him, easily accepting the call from his phone on the dashboard.

there’s a soft on the way? from the caller, seemingly whispering into the phone like he was hiding from something and you’re struggling to keep from moaning too loud by keeping a hand to your mouth. you’re hyperfocused on your boyfriend’s fingers that you don’t exactly hear what they’re talking about, but you do faintly make it out to be geto on the other end. you’re so close that you might’ve left bruises on gojo’s forearm.

“satoru, you might wanna camp out in a nearby parking lot before comin’ over. officers are patrolling around the starting line.” it wasn’t weird for races to be pushed back, by engines malfunctioning, by police officers doing their nightly patrol but while the black-haired racer is just a little agitated at the delay, you’re surprised to see your boyfriend sporting a shit-eating smile.

“good, that just means i have more time,” gojo pauses to groan when you start to clench around his fingers. he knows you’re close and you want to fucking kill him when he easily reaches the spot that has you seeing stars, all the while having his best friend on the line, “to fuck my lovely girlfriend.”

“oh f-fuck… satoru! ’m cumming mmf…!” you don’t bother holding back on your mewls and whimpers, then, not exactly caring if geto hears cause he’s shared you with him before. gojo fingers you through your orgasm, your pupils blown wide and jaw dropping as you seek refuge in the hot pink seats gojo got for you while you continue to cry out his name.

within minutes, he’s pulling into an abandoned parking lot and swerving the car into a secluded spot before making use of the modification he made to his Skyline, reclining his driver’s seat (courtesy of your suggestion and he was driving off to the mechanic the next day) and beckoning you over with a smile.

you could only return his sly smile as he removes his pants, cock already hard and weeping from its tip from all the teasing he’s done to you, hard from knowing he’s the only one to get you moaning like a bitch in heat. and when you sink down easily, it’s like heaven on earth, the adrenaline giving the both of you a high.

it’s no surprise when gojo easily wins the race later, receiving you with open arms and a sloppy kiss, all while his cum’s leaking from your panties and your cunt still feels a little empty — so when you both receive a message from geto asking for a late-night drive with just the three of you, you’re quick to leave the scene to get stuffed full again.

✶ GETO

“suguru!” you smile as you enter the garage that’s housed suguru’s cars since he was a high school student, the familiar gold and black accents spread throughout the large space. he was lucky to have a father who’s a manufacturer, and despite the many engines and parts he’s gone through, it was a wonder his dad hasn’t exactly uncovered his rising fame in the tokyo racing scene, even if he comes home with some cuts and a roughed up car to match.

“hey princess,” he calls out, still focused on the minute parts of the 13B-REW engine and switching out his outdated intercooler for the Blitz, something that he had to persuade his father with with good grades and exemplary behaviour in his after school activities. “just making some changes to the Mazda. how’s my baby doin’— oh wow.”

your immediate reaction is to grin at him, heat blooming throughout your face as you descend the steps to where his vehicles were, sporting a cute little miniskirt and knee high boots. it’s not that you haven’t dressed like this before, but every time you do, it manages to make his breath hitch. that’s not the main attractive point today, though, eyes dropping to the fat of your thigh where a new tattoo had found its home — a black widow weaving chinese knots and it looks so damn good on you that your boyfriend wastes no time in removing the hood strut and slamming the hood close.

you don’t usually sit on his 1997 Veilside Mazda RX-7 much, but geto is determined to change that when you’re propped up like a doll on the sleek black design of the car, wandering hands slipping under your skirt as you’re humming into the deepening kiss. the other groans against your lips when he finds your clit, rubbing languid circles into it and you spread your legs further to accommodate his fingers, exposing your neck for his lips to suck on while his free hand gets busy with your perky tits.

“you’re so… fuckin’ wet,” geto mumbles into your neck, stifling your moans with yet another kiss. the way he’s rubbing at your bundle of nerves is so distinct, you couldn’t even replicate it if you tried, usually left dissatisfied after cumming on your own fingers. “my pretty angel.”

“yeah? you like me on your Mazda?” you say with a lilt to your voice, and although the pet names bring another wave of shyness and fire to your cheeks, your hands speak otherwise as they trail down his torso to the trousers he’s got on. it’s you against him to see who makes the other break first — geto moans when you fish out his dick, already semi-hard from all the teasing and your hand’s warm like how your pussy usually feels, stroking him in a pace that matches the hand on your clit.

“fucking love you on it,” geto laughs breathlessly, hot breath fanning against your lips and hips bucking into your palm, “love your hands on my cock, too.”

“ditto, baby,” you reply in a breathy whimper, but geto mutters something else along the lines of too bad i need my cock in you now before a surprised yelp leaves you when you’re flipped over suddenly. with hands flat on the hood and a knee propped up, he’s careful not to bring any discomfort to your new tattoo. bit by bit, he’s sheathing himself into your dripping cunt, pleas and obscenities flooding the spacious garage as you beg him to move.

your boyfriend’s a racer, ’course he knows how to do that, but he takes pride in teasing you, letting you feel every last bit of his dick as he bottoms out. “suguru… fuck me, please.”

“planning on it — shit, you’re so tight — let me enjoy your cute lil pussy for a bit, princess.” geto has both hands move down the expanse of your back, appreciating your attractive arch, and then then down to your ass and folds where he’s filling you with his fat cock. and when he starts to move, your mewls become incomprehensible and your fingers grasp at anything, but you’re afraid of scratching the smooth finishing of his Mazda, settling for holding onto his forearms.

“suguruuu… oh my g-god!” you love the way your obscene noises fill the space, juices flowing freely down your thighs as the other finds a steady pace. “right there— f-fuck…”

geto is no different, hypnotised with how his length disappears into your heat that he doesn’t notice your twitching body, but he still knows you’re close by how your clamp around him like a vice, pussy tightening up to make sure he gives you all his cum. by this time, you’re delirious from the squelching noises of your cunt and the slap of his hips into yours that your orgasm comes unexpectedly.

“cumming, cumming, suguru—!” your thighs shake and shiver through the euphoric feeling, still riding the wave of the orgasm before geto wraps his arms tight around your middle, mumbling confessions into your ears until he’s spilling deep into you, too. geto cums so much, and you moan at the feeling of being filled up, body slumping forward. between geto’s help and an aching question, you’re content to lay on the stunning car as he snaps a photo of you before cleaning you up.

it’s not until later when you’re at getting pounded again by him when you see his phone screen light up — the screensaver photo being the one of you on his car with legs pried open and cum spilling out your pretty pussy — that you know you’ve got geto wrapped around your finger.

✶ NANAMI

“mr. nanami?” your father calls out in the deserted shop, empty apart from the clang of metal against metal and the late night radio droning on about some love story sent in by a listener. despite how it’s almost 11 at night, your father was always happy to help with people’s cars due to a love for them since he was young.

even if that someone’s car was a 1968 Dodge Charger with a LS3 engine that he only knew the US had. when he comes around the back, he merely rubs his fingers together.

“this guy’s got money money,” you burst out laughing, landing a hit on your dad’s shoulder at his comment, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. looking out from the supply room, the man standing near the entrance of the shop looked exactly like the part: rich, tall, blonde, hot, and donning an annoyed look as he scolds someone named gojo who’s on the other line.

there’s a firm expression set into his features before he lunges forward at the sound of his surname and his pondering expression melts away to make way for a smile, and you swear you feel your knees buckle. but you have no time for daydreaming, also emerging from the room to collect money and complete the transaction like you usually do with clients.

“my daughter here will take your payment,” the older man nods his head toward you after explaining the changes he made to the engine, specifically the crankshaft which contained newer journals with older webs — this particular combination made the oil system faulty and rigid, and even for a tamer temper like nanami’s, it still irritated him to no end when the Dodge Charger wouldn’t start properly.

this would’ve been a piece of cake to solve, though, if it wasn’t for your dad’s japan-only parts, which function minutely different to american engines. so your dad had promised another day to fix nanami’s car after the parts had arrived, even refusing to accept nanami’s apologies and offers to pay for the america-based engine the first time he came to you guys.

it’s like the initial demeanour had faded, bowing profusely at the kind-hearted nature of your dad and he waves it off, passing it off as a passion that still burned strong within him; he only wrote a receipt for the repair of the engine, after all.

“collect the nice man’s payment and close up shop, okay?” your father places a kiss to your template and bids farewell to nanami as well who’s feeling still a little flustered, “i’ll head off to bed first.”

“thank you, truly,” nanami bowed again to you as he felt around for his card, producing a black card for you to process the transaction.

“it’s nothin’. dad’s usually like that, always so generous with his services and then blames it on his passion,” you laugh a little and nanami does too.

“i understand, tell him thank you again.”

you shoot him a thumbs up and a smile, handing him back his card with clammy palms and fidgety fingers. you both know you’re not exactly ready to say goodbye to this fine-ass man so you strike up conversation with a terribly stupid opener.

“so… you drive?”

“i would think so,” nanami chuckles as he makes his way over to his Dodge Charger, loving the way you almost want to dig yourself a hole from what you asked, “i race. actually.”

and you swear you can hear the pulse in your pussy quicken, swallowing a lump in your throat at the vision of being spread out on the hood of nanami’s car, blonde head of hair hidden between your legs.

you just didn’t know that vision would come true today; well — tomorrow, since one question led to a conversation past twelve, led to advances from the both of you and now you’re moaning out nanami’s name as your sensitive core is being devoured by the racer, kneeling at the front of his own car like the hood of his car is your throne.

you voice your concerns about being ate out so shamelessly with the garage door open, voice breaking as he eats and laps at your dripping cunt like a starved man, sucking hard on your clit as he plays with your hole, teasing his thick fingers around your entrance just enough for it to clench around nothing.

“it’s past 12, don’t worry your pretty little head about someone watching,” he reassures you, palms spread out against your stomach. “plus, you taste divine,” nanami groans from your core before he plunges a finger into you, causing you to jerk in shock at the intrusion — it’s so good you forget about your worries. “so tight too, shit.”

“nanami…” you drag out the last bits of his name in a whine, hips bucking up to take in more of his needy tongue and his replied hum sends vibrations throughout your body. you’re so wet that you’re able to take another finger. “just like that. oh my god, your t-tongue.” your hand naturally pulls at his blonde locks, pushing him deeper into your centre; he likes it, squeezing your ass in the process.

“can i cum, nanami?” you plead for it, the unexpected obedience has nanami reeling and he gives you the green light.

“’course you can, such a good girl, aren’t you?” the shop is filled with your moans and the dirty, sopping sounds of your pussy as he flicks his tongue, memorising the way your thighs clench around his head and how sweet you smell and taste. he’s definitely not letting this pussy go, “good girls get to cum.”

“i’m gonna— ooh shiitt…” nanami lets your hips go on their own accord and another groan from the racer is enough to have you cumming on his fingers and tongue, “fuuck, i’m cumming-!” he praises you like you’re his royalty while you gush all over him, squirting your release all over his face as he happily downs your juices like he’s done it before. he’s sure to do it again in the future.

“attagirl,” both the metal of his car and his affectionate names for you sends tremors throughout your body and legs, orgasming so hard you see white and it’s clear he enjoys giving head like his life depended on it.

you catch your breath briefly, brushing your fingers through his hair and admiring the sight before you until he returns to his intimidating and looming height, helping you to sit up and patting your thigh affectionately

“hope that’s enough payment for the parts. or would you prefer instalments instead?” he says the cheesy line with such a calm face you’d think he was in a business meeting, but the stoicism makes you stifle a giggle.

it’s not long before you’re returning your dad the money nanami had insisted on, but more importantly, being all dolled up in the passenger seat, his teasing hand on your thigh and a full pretty lace set underneath your miniskirt.

✶ TOJI

it’s not uncommon to find a veteran on the racing scene. fushiguro toji had his time of fame in the 80s, but now he’s back for more after fathering a whole child — something his close friends back then didn’t think he could do. it was an endearing sight, a large, burly man carrying something as precious as megumi but it didn’t halt his drifting trips on the mountains, taking his 1966 Chevrolet Corvette for a ride every time he needed to clear his mind; on a less safer note, megumi as a toddler was sometimes in the passenger seat.

megumi was already set to follow in his footsteps the moment he was born, showing a keen interest in cars more than robots or barbies (toji did buy one when megumi reached for a doll dressed in all black, though) and that only increased when he accompanied his dad on his drift trips, many times imagining himself in front of the wheel, gliding through the corners easily. even if the corvettes in the 60s weren’t exactly drifting material, he learned to do it perfect. plus, it still held memories for toji.

“who’s that?” your friend could hardly stop her jaw from hitting the floor after her comment, clearly a little flustered at seeing a forty year old stroll through the underground car parks like he owned the place. he did, 20 years ago, but his name seems to still precede him when hushed whispers and murmurs follow him. although he’s here to support his son’s first drifting race, he’s still fairly popular to be getting enquiries from curious mechanics and avid car enjoyers.

“megumi’s dad,” you grin with a hidden sense of satisfaction, because you didn’t just know him from afar. how his hips swayed when he walked or how he loved that stupid compression shirt, that was everyone’s perception of him, but you knew how his hips felt as it grinded against you. you always never fail to recall the raspiness of his voice against your ears as he mumbled the dirtiest things, only for you to hear. it’s why you revel in the way your friend’s jaw drop past the concrete into hell when the older man catches your eye (he always liked to look for you in crowds), and winks, prompting the gossip to only increase in volume.

“you’re in cahoots with megumi’s dad?” you didn’t care much if people suspected something going on between the two of you. even megumi didn’t exactly care, who was a few years younger than you in his last year of high school. he was content enough that his dad wasn’t alone after giving so much of him to raise megumi. anyway, you always had his trust fund to rely on and if anyone fucked you as good at toji did, you wouldn’t give two shits either way.

“hey doll,” toji’s grin matches yours, planting a sloppy kiss to your temple as you both wait at his Corvette, all roughed up from the race the day before. he hasn’t had time to fix it up, driving the familiar route to the mechanics before you sent him a text about how megumi’s got challenged to a race by some newbie at school — it was laughable so much so that it even prompted toji to use those emojis he hated so much.

it was a race worth seeing, especially if one of the contestants was the tokyo drifting king’s son. toji doesn’t need to say much, waving off megumi with a salute before the countdown begins like clockwork. the increasing revs of their engines draw you from your stupor, the newbie looking wrongfully excited despite the failure that’ll befall him in a few minutes. once go is signalled, they take off, giggling at you feel toji’s arm curl around your waist.

“he’ll win,” he’s as nonchalant as they come, but it rings true when he’s the one who had megumi going 15 rounds ’round the docks and mountains every week. with screeching tires, a RB26DETT engine and years of drifting lessons to back him up, megumi finishes the race first. he rolls his eyes when his friends and fans crowd his car like moths to a flame, but he can’t help shoot a wave to his father who smiles genuinely. it was unspoken that megumi was silently thanking him inside, before he drives off to celebrate the easy win.

“c’mon, baby. we’ve had our share. say goodbye like a good girl,” you pull your friend into a side hug who’s still barely able to wrap her head around the two of you, but she’s able to muster a brief goodbye before the rev of his Corvette draws eyes once again, speeding off into the night. it’s clear toji’s on a high from watching his son race and win, seeing it in the way he goes full throttle past shibuya square and down inokashira street with a laugh.

the fire in his eyes, the coy grin he’s got on reminds you of times you’ve experienced the feeling of toji deep in you, clutching onto the sheets on the tatami mats and face shoved into the pillow as he bullies his fat cock into you. the thoughts have you feeling up his thigh, and he doesn’t notice your wandering, needy hands until they come incredibly close to his cock. he shifts gears before grasping onto your wrist, shooting you a look of warning.

but you do anything but listen, rejoicing in your small victory when you feel the car slow down from his speeding spree so it’s safe for you. palming his bulge, you gasp at how hard he already is and he adjusts his lower half, clearly uncomfortable with his tightening pants.

“let me make you feel good, toji,” you mumble, hands fumbling with his belt and zipper before you pull his dick from his boxers, looking so pretty with its mushroom tip that leaks pre-cum. toji pulls lightly on your hair as a second warning before you’re able to twist your body to lean down, eyes flitting up to look at him in faux apology. “sorry, daddy.”

toji sighs once your mouth descends on his cock, eyebrows furrowed and hand squeezing your nape in pleasure. no matter how many times you get his length in his mouth, the size always catches you off guard and it causes you to choke when the car runs over a speedbump. you have to take a second to cough.

“sorry, babylove,” you wordlessly shake your head as a way to say it’s okay, because toji takes care of you without you needing to ask him; it’s only fair he deserves his own fair share of care too. “but your mouth— shit. feels so fuckin’ good on daddy’s cock.”

you suck in your cheeks and pump the places where your mouth can’t reach, sides already aching from the uncomfortable position but you continue to bob your head. toji’s groans and bucking hips has got you soaking your panties, spit and pre-cum dribbling down the sides of his length and you waste no time to lick a stripe to clean up, settling for circling your tongue around his tip.

toji moans out with a number of profanities and a fist tightly clenched around the steering wheel — your mouth is so soft and warm that he decides that he needs to pull over at a quiet parking lot behind a bar so he can focus on fucking your mouth and imagine it’s your tight pussy he’s plunging into, not that he has to imagine. your lips are still on him when the car halts and you feel more stable than ever, both hands pulling apart his thighs to take him deeper into your mouth.

“cock’s so big,” you babble and ramble like a little slut, slurping up your messy job with the help of your hands. just like your walls, the ridges along your mouth feel lovely and when his tip meets the back of your throat, he throws his head back. “need your cum down my throat…”

“yeah?” toji breathes out, hands tangling themselves in your hair before tapping your skull, a discussed rule for the two of you: two taps on your head when he wants to facefuck you, and two taps on his thigh if you can’t breathe. “i’ll have ta fuck your little whore mouth first, can daddy do that?”

you nod lazily, steadying yourself on the compartment housing the stick shift before his hips lift off the seat and he starts a pace that even he can’t keep up for long. one look at your cute doe eyes has got him whining and mumbling about how pretty you look right now, clutching on your head so hard that it has his knuckle turning white.

toji’s thighs are flexing and contracting from the movement, but you can point out when he starts to fumble and tremble at the mercy of your mouth. his thrusts are getting sporadic, just like how you’re reaching your limit, too, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “g’nna cum down your throat, baby, ya want that?”

you sound a hum of agreement before toji’s hips still and he shoots his load down your throat, thick blobs of cum that spill from his tip, “that’s it, doll, take it all like a good slut,” and you swallow at least twice to get it all down. you show him a small amount of cum left on your tongue before he brings you up to kiss you harshly, giving your ass a firm smack and then you’re plopping down onto the seat again, wiping the side of your mouth like a good meal well devoured.

the wind is immediately knocked out of you as he brings up the speed with a hand inching towards your core, and you’re so glad he’s switched out his 327 small-block for a 427 V8 engine, the lampposts speeding past you and his fingers playing with your cunt enough to give you an adrenaline high to last throughout the night, cause toji’s far from done with you.

okay i digress. / pt. 2 here

4K notes · View notes

jorrated · 4 months

Text

Redid my Maya Knux gijinka! Now with notes and sources on how I did the design (It's kinda long, around 2k words jsyk):

The hairstyle:

Knux has pretty long spikes, so I knew I wanted to give him long hair! Braids or dreadlocks look pretty fitting, so I tried looking for references of hairstyles to see if any fit what I was looking for:

Source: Mayavase.com (Photograph by Justin Kerr)

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=1092

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=1453

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=694

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=1340

While all the vases show a variety of interesting hairstyles, I particularly loved the look of the braids in K694 (the third picture). Being tied upwards wouldn’t really fit Knux however, so something like the man in K1340 (fourth pic) with his hair fully down, or the 5th man from left to right in K1092 (first pic) with a cloth holding the hair would be really nice!

I didn’t want to give him a headpiece, if only to not clutter his head, but also I didn’t think it’d fit Knux as a warrior. The ruler’s headpiece in K1453 (second pic) however allows the hair to come off it, and seems to have some dangly adornments on the end of the strands/braids/locks, which I found super pretty. Plus:

“Elite Mayan men and women styled their hair to show off their pointed heads, crafted through the careful head flattening they experienced as children. Women gathered their long hair on top of their heads in flowing ponytails. For special occasions they braided their ponytails and decorated them with ornaments and ribbons. Mayan men grew their hair long but burnt the hair off their foreheads to accentuate their elongated profiles. They would bind their hair into one or many ponytails or tie it in a bundle on top of their head. Mayan slaves had their hair cut short as one visible mark of their inferior status.” p.399

Source: Fashion, costume, and culture: clothing, headwear, body decorations, and footwear through the ages (Sarah Pendergast and Tom Pendergast, Sarah Hermsen as Project Editor), 2003.

https://archive.org/details/fashioncostumecu0000pend/page/n5/mode/2up

Taking all of that! I settled on tight braids with a few adornments made of jade and wood, with a red cloth to keep his hair from his eyes. Almost all of the braids are pulled together into a ponytails, but there are some smaller braids loose.

It’s somewhat of a mixture of styles, combining ornaments of special occasions, with the long hair of elites on a character like Knux. But I kept these ‘contradictory’ aspects of the design to remember that Knux kinda learns about his ancestors on the go, through murals, writings and technology, so I doubt he’d have a great grasp on what he should and shouldn’t wear. I think it adds character as someone who’s trying to figure out himself, his history and his place in the world.

Shoes and Accessories:

For footwear I kept it simple, just turned Knux’s existing shoes into sandals:

“Ancient Aztecs and Mayans of Central America adopted a thick-soled sandal with a protective legging attached at the heel, while the top of the foot and shin remained exposed.” p.135

Source: Encyclopedia of Clothing and Fashion (Valerie Steele), 2005

Although my gut instinct was to cover Knuckles from head to toe in accessories, I also tried to keep it simple like the shoes. He’s a very mobile fellow so he can’t have too much weight or annoying bits flying everywhere and getting in his face. So I kept his moon necklace, like in Fleetway, just adjusted the shape to have a bit more of details:

“The jewelry worn by the Mayan, Aztec and Inca people was rich in variety and quite beautiful. Without metalworking skills, Mayans made jewelry from many materials. Mayan men wore nose ornaments, earplugs and lip plugs made from bone, wood, shells and stones, including jade, topaz, and obsidian. Necklaces, bracelets, anklets and headgear were made with jaguar and crocodile teeth, jaguar claws and feathers.” p.402

Source: Fashion, costume, and culture: clothing, headwear, body decorations, and footwear through the ages (Sarah Pendergast and Tom Pendergast, Sarah Hermsen as Project Editor), 2003.

https://archive.org/details/fashioncostumecu0000pend/page/n5/mode/2up

As stated here, Mayans didn’t have metalwork, so I imagine this is an artifact that his ancestors got from another group of people.

Just a page before they also mention how the Maya people used to file points into their teeth, to make their mouths more appealing. This includes shaping them into pointy teeth, (like the classic shark teeth), but they could also file them into other shapes, like in this picture:

Source: https://www.archaeologynow.org/blog-3/blog-post-title-two-txwxl (I’m pretty sure this isn’t the source of the image, but I couldn’t find an actual source that wasn’t an uncredited blog)

The Maya people are also notorious for their good dentistry, as seen the stone ornaments in the teeth above. I think the filling is something Knux could do on his own, but anything that would involve actual dentistry would be too much. But it’s still interesting to read about!

(Here’s an article named “Mayan Esthetic Dentistry: Using Modern Techniques and Digital Imaging Technologies to Link the Past to the Present” by Yassine Harichane if you want to learn more!)

While a non-permanent version of stones on teeth seemed cool, like Jade incisor-coverings, at the end of the day I don’t think Knuckles is too vain, so I didn’t add that to the design. Although I think he’d definitely try out a bunch of things like this, just to try to understand them.

For additional outfits I gave him a red layered cape and a green huipil! The red cape is just to bring back more red into the design, since I gave him a lot of green. And the huipil is a nod to his poncho in the comics! (Although huipiles are commonly associated with women and girls, I still wanted to give him one, not only to bring up his partial detachment to his ancestors, but also because Knux probably wouldn’t think much about gender in general let’s be honest)

Source: Mayavase.com (Photograph by Justin Kerr)

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=638

Somewhat based the red cape on the 4th man in this picture, from left to right, but I kept it simple, as maybe just some fabric Knux found around the island, nothing too fancy.

For the huipil I wanted to do something more detailed but was having a really hard time coming up with designs. And I didn’t want to straight up plagiarize someone’s else work, so I kept it vague, maybe some day I’ll sit down and give it a more detailed version. I did come across a very nice store/ catalog that sells traditional Maya textiles, and this one was very gorgeous! Highly recommend give this and the other textiles a look!

In the end I made the huipil look vaguely like the ones shown in page 128 of the following book:

“In the Museum collection, costumes that looked very much alike usually turned out to be from villages that shared a language. Among Cakchiquel villages, dialect differences were usually mirrored by costume differences. Working on this principle we were surprised by the striking similarity of style in the huipils of San Antonio Aguas Calientes (fig. 195) and San Martín Jilotepeque (fig. 196). These villages, while both Cakchiquel, spoke very different dialects and were separated geographically (map, below). The similarity of their huipil was so remarkable we felt the need to investigate these two villages more thoroughly and found that a multi-cultural history probably accounted for these unexpected similarities of style. Huipils from these villages may well illustrate the earliest examples of pan-Maya acculturation after the Conquest.”p. 127

Source: Threads of identity: Maya costume of the 1960s in highland Guatemala (Patricia B. Altman, Caroline D.West), 1992.

https://archive.org/details/threadsofidentit0000altm/page/n7/mode/2up

Lastly on accessories, which I don’t know if it counts as an accessory but I didn’t know where to put it: the body paint. Last time I gave Knux a human design I couldn't find a good resource on Maya people painting their bodies. Every source mentioned and was in consensus that some of the people did paint their bodies, but that was the extent of the info. I wasn’t able to find any patterns or meanings of the body paintings, or even good visual reference for it. But! This time I was able to get a bit more:

“Body painting was a common Maya practice. Classic Period murals and polychrome vases depict warriors covered with red or black paint; sometimes their bodies were striped with red paint. Paint was also used around the eyes and nose to give a fierce expression. In the 16th century, these practices continued. Women also applied red paint to their faces and bodies, but presumably to make themselves look beautiful, not fierce. Small paint jars of red hematite mixed with mica were found in the houses at Cerén, and these may have been for cosmetic use. Unmarried young men painted their bodies black, and so did those who were undergoing periods of ritual purification and fasting. Priests often wore blue body paint. “p. 338

Source: Handbook To Life In The Ancient Maya World Lynn (V. Foster), 2002.

Source: Mayavase.com (Photograph by Justin Kerr)

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=2800

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=2573

http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=7996

I of course wanted to give him red paint, and I really liked this design of the red lining the cheeks on the face down to the neckline. However in most of these depictions the red on the body is accompanied by the white face, which I can’t actually tell if the face has white paint, or the body has black paint, like described in the quote before. Either way I chose to only use the red, to keep in line with Knux’s original design.

(It’s worth mentioning that these vases shown depict rulers, as you can see the intricate thrones and altars, which isn’t really fitting with Knux. But again, I want to keep some mismatched aspects into his design, not only warrior-related things.)

The main outfit:

Last but not least, the main outfit. Don’t have much notes on this I’m going to be honest, I just tried to keep in line with descriptions of warriors clothing:

“While some warriors may have been resplendent on the battlefield, the common Maya soldier fought with little clothing other than loincloth and body paint, based on battle scenes in the few Maya murals that remain (see figure 2.9, page 54).” p.147

Source: Handbook To Life In The Ancient Maya World Lynn (V. Foster), 2002.

I considered putting him in a loincloth for accuracy, but tbh I was scared people were going to be weird about it, and so I gave him a skirt with some fabric that emulates the look of a loincloth and some scrap fabric around his waist and limbs! He actually ended pulling up a lot from the dude I mentioned in vase K1092 (the very first ref pic in this post) lol!

And that´s all, hope y’all liked it :P

#jo.art #sonic the comic #knuckles the echidna #gijinka

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godnectar · 7 months

Note

Yan cheater is crazy

・✶ ｡ﾟ𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 ;

cw: cheating, stalking, attempted gaslighting, jealousy, some violence, sabotage, guilt tripping, etc. ( inbox link )

𖣠 YANDERE CHEATER! who's a master of deception. he will act shocked and hurt if you dare suspect him of cheating, putting on a convincing display of innocence in front of you and whoever who was the fucker you call friend placing such horrendous and disgusting but unfortunately true thoughts inside your pretty little head.

𖣠 YANDERE CHEATER! who, even if he doesn't really feel too guilty about his actions, quickly starts to see red the moment a goodbye text from you arrives on his phone. a few hours later, it's his knuckles, the ones splattering crimson against your bff's face, unhappy and frustrated with how easy was for them to undo the blindfold of your eyes and finally see how much of an unfaithful asshole your man was.

𖣠 YANDERE CHEATER! who would continue monitoring his darling's online presence even after your breakup, tracking your activities on social media and messaging apps to gather information about your emotional state and any potential love interests, jaw clenching furiously every time he finds out you've posted a new picture or story out with your companions.

𖣠 YANDERE CHEATER! who, if you ever start dating someone else, would definitely try his best to sabotage this recently formed relationship, employing nasty tactics like sending suspicious texts and pics about your new lover from a burning account to create doubt and insecurity in his sweetheart's mind. we could try and say that, if he can't have you, no one will– but that would still be dumb for him, as he knows you'll always end up coming back seeking his sweet, warm, and deceptive embrace.

𖣠 YANDERE CHEATER! who would also take his time to arrange situations where he can coincidentally bump into you, making it seem like it's fate the one bringing you back together as soulmates and not his dirty play. of course, he would double down on his previous apologies, promising that he has changed and is willing to do anything to make things between you two right.

𖣠 YANDERE CHEATER! who, if he notices at any moment the doubts appearing in your mind, will end up using his last but hopefully useful card, and question about whether you have ever truly loved him, suggesting that you're responsible for the fact that his heart has searched for someone else's affection when your touch started turning cold.

"baby... why do you cry? you're the one who made all of this happen– the least you could do is try and love me rightly."

2K notes · View notes

eveningepiphany · 10 months

Text

tease | H.S oneshot

summary: seeing harry tonguing his guitar last night has you finally admitting the state he puts you in. and that’s never good when you’re a tour photographer. especially now you have photographic evidence of the moment.

warnings: SMUT, oral (fem rec), dirty talk, praise, swearing

a/n: can’t stop thinking about that fucking video? like it’s on loop in my head I can’t. he was so slutty last night it’s illegal. also this isn’t 100% proofread so enjoy I hope it’s okay!

———

Some days at work are harder than others for you.

Today, you knew was going to be rough the second Harry walked out in single-handedly the most revealing outfit he could have. Borderlining absolutely slutty.

And as his tour photographer, that is quite a bold statement to make when you’ve seen every single outfit— and when his top half is often found shirtless up on stage.

But tonight, out backstage when you were prepping your SD cards and ordering your camera lenses, he walked out of his dressing room adorning his stage outfit to show you, and your stomach dropped the sight of him.

It was a new style, something he hadn’t worn before. A cropped, tasseled blue vest, paired with low rise pants that looked like they were clinging onto his hips for dear life.

“Alrighty, what d’ya think?” He asked, doing a little spin to shake the tassels.

Your mouth opened and words struggled to form as your head fogged over from just seeing his body. And the way his ferns were fully out— along with almost all of his other ink on display. Arms, chest and all.

You had sworn this, many times, was just your eye for art. For people like him who made photography electric. But as time and the tour progressed on from its earlier start in 2021, it was getting harder to convince yourself. Because even if you didn’t acknowledge it, there was no way to justify the heat that stirred in your stomach as just admiration.

“Oh— wow— I like the tassels,” you paused, tongue swiping over your lips, “they’ll be really fun in the photos, I’ll try to get some motion blur type shots with them.”

Your hand reached out before your brain even computed what it was doing, grabbing one of the rhinestoned threads at the base of his vest and running down it. Knuckles brushing the side of his chest.

“Excited to see them as always, m’lovely.” He smiles, the pet name making you flush.

“10 minutes till you’re on, H!” Someone called out.

You laughed at the panicked expression on his face as he realised he was probably dawdling, and in fact behind on his own schedule.

“Alright!” He confirmed back, then chuckling as he whispered to you, “I still gotta brush m’teeth.”

“Well, cmon let’s go, I’ll see what behind the scene shots I can get.”

And you thought that the time spent with him pre-show would ease your racing mind a little, but now that you’re out on the floor you’re almost jittering.

He looks fucking delectable. And by the sound of the stadium around you, they notice it too.

As he steps out you have to force your camera up to your face, which is something you never have to do? But looking at him through your viewfinder is hardly enough to satiate you.

Especially a little later in the show, when your camera is aimed to the back of him— and he’s squated down to get a drink of water…

His pants slipping so far down his hips that the waistband of his Calvin Kleins are easily visible.

Some girls on barricade behind you are going feral simply at the sight. And you can hardly blame them, because the sight of them makes you a little light headed too. Tonight he’s really not leaving much to the imagination.

You feel obliged to take a photo of it, lens aiming up to him— hearing the girls from behind you as your cameras shutters open to capture the moment. They’re shouting clearly, “Y/N, you get that pic girl!”

Another one yelling from your left, “SHES ONE OF US!”

You laugh at them. The fans are always an amazing part of the show. You leave with an array of adorable bracelets, funny shirts, and always lovely compliments.

You snap a few more photos before someone calls your name again, and you turn. A brunette girl, in an incredible replica of his recent purple and black heart overalls from the recent Wembley show, is standing.

“Y/N!” She reaffirms when you’re looking at her.

“Hi lovely, your outfit is amazing.” You smile, and she has fresh tears streaming down her face— a common love on tour occurrence.

“Ohmygod, thank you so much. I made you this tshirt, i wanted to give it to you!” She pulled a white shirt from her feet, presumably from a bag.

She held it out, unfolding it to show off the print on the front.

You immediately couldn’t help but let out a shocked laugh at it. A big pink shaded heart, with 2 also heart-shaped photos on each side of it— of you and Harry. But the best bit was the bubble written font, “my favourite parents!” that is above it.

“I— can I please take a photo of you with it first.”

She slaps a hand over her mouth, “No way, of course you fucking can.”

You take a few photos of her posing with the shirt, “I have 2, please feel free take them both!”

You can only assume one of them is intended for Harry. And even if it’s a little weird of you to take them, you do anyway because the girl was too lovely to even consider denying them.

“Thank you so much.” You chuckle as you hang them over your elbow. She still looks starstruck at the interaction that just occurred and you’re overly excited to edit the photos later on.

In the time of the short interaction, you turned to find Harry. He’s about to transition into she, and is over on the main stage.

You hustle to get yourself up from the floor and onto the stage area. Moving to chuck the shirts on the bench, where most of the bands essentials are for easy access.

Harry sees you over there and you decide to show him the design on the front before you can overthink it.

He’s beginning to sing the intro, and he chuckles the lyrics into the mic as he sees it. And fans around the whole arena scream at the shirt— which you didn’t realise was being displayed on the big screens.

You shake your head, struggling not to admire the tone of his laugh that just echoed around the stadium.

Also blushing a little at the fact you did genuinely just show him a shirt with both of your faces of it, deeming you both as a fans ‘parents’.

You go back to doing your actual job, moving to get a good angle, aiming to blend back into the background as you take more photos for the night.

Capturing the sway and jolts of his tassels as he sings. Getting a few shots that not only capture his energy but also his outfit perfectly.

You smile at yourself and at your work.

And you glance up as Harry joins in with Mitch while he absolutely shreds his guitar solo.

Sweat is beading on Harry’s chest and you’re all too aware how much money people would pay to see it from your angle. Thank god for Barcelona’s heat.

And, fuck, not only is it that. His arms look perfect as well. This outfit is really just showing as much of himself off as possible.

You change the settings on your camera hastily to alter the outcome of these next few shots.

He’d stepped away from the mic, turning to look at the band, mouthing something you couldn’t decipher.

He starts to lean down head getting closer to guitar. His tongue juts out…

Your eyes immediately pull back a little from your camera because, there no fucking way he’s about to let some kind of intrusive thought win here.

Time seems to slow. But not the movement of his tongue. It’s flicking fast, as if to mimic it playing the strings of his guitar. Or something like that anyway, because all you can think of is… well… something too inappropriate to even be entertaining in your head given he’s literally your boss.

You can hear the piercing screams around you, someone in the front shouting what the fuck loud enough you swear someone in the back of the stadium could’ve heard it.

You’re not even aware you bought your camera back up to your face and that you’d clicked the button a few times until it’s done and the moments over.

Harry’s laughing at himself, and Sarah is face palming at his lewd action. His smug smile after solidifies the fact he knows what the fuck he just did. And exactly the kind of effect it’s left on some people.

Just not aware you’re one of them…

Because you can’t deny the way you spent rest of the night with a nagging warmth between your legs. One that festered long after the moment was over.

After the show came to a close and you eventually ended up in your hotel room, freshly showered as you edited some of your favourite photos. Including the shots you’d captured of him and his guitar.

Which were fucking insane. You had just the right amount of contrast going on in them, and a certain degree of motion blur that indicated the movement his tongue was making.

The final product was amazing once you had edited it on photoshop. But you spent the remainder of the night in your hotel room ridiculously worked up. Left in bed toying with your clit lazily as you stared at the celling, acting like you didn’t have a specific person in your thoughts.

It got to the point in the next day where you stressed about what photos to show him. And whether or not that included the one you literally came to the thought of last night?

Usually you wouldn’t hesitate, especially since it looked incredible. But you were embarrassed internally. What would he think, or say? And could you even play off your sheer attraction to the image.

You placed your head in your hands with a groan, sat in the chair over by the window. You’re tired, and swear on your life your decision making is going to be impaired when he walks into your room.

Which you didn’t have much more time to stress much about it as a knock came to your door that you knew was him.

You rushed over to open it, finding him standing there, hair freshly washed and clad in much more clothing then you last saw him in. A plain white shirt and some gym shorts— that still made him look hot as fuck, without even trying?

He greets you with a good morning, voice a tad hoarse from last nights show. And he’s smiling as he hands you a cup, one you know is filled with hot chocolate. Just for you.

“I owe you like 100 hot chocolates for how many you’ve bought me just in this leg of the tour alone.” You laugh, letting him past you.

He glances at the unmade bed— you stopped making it a while after he started to come visit your room the morning after the show to pick which photos he liked best, and ones he also wanted edited. Sometimes he’d settle himself on it, legs crossed like a cute little kid.

“Think of it as a gift for all your talent. And putting up with me.” He chuckles, and plops himself down on the chair that’s opposite to the one you were sitting in.

So you follow suit, walking back over the your chair. Taking a small sip of the sweet liquid in your hands.

“Have any favourites so far?” He asks, taking a quick swig of his own drink— which you can only assume is hot tea.

Yes, you think, the one where you’re about to practically fuck your guitar strings with your tongue.

You substitute that for, “A few! The tassels were so fun to try and capture.”

You rotated the laptop screen to show him a cool shot you edited of him. It was a front on photo, his arms extended and washboard abs in their full fucking glory along with his tattoos.

He nods, a smile coming across his lips, crinkling the corners of his slightly tired eyes.

You showcase him a couple, all that he gives relentless praise on— regardless of if they had been edited or not. But you just want to show him your favourite.

You swallow as you stare at it on the screen of your macbook. Working up the courage to turn the screen to him as he waits cluelessly. Does he even know you took this?

“This one too…” you hesitate a little as you swivel the laptop around on your lap.

“Oh. I like this one a lot.” He says, nodding and then glancing up from the screen to your semi-flushed face.

“Didn’t know you took that.” He chuckles, shrugging and almost seeming… like he has more to say about this situation.

Like something is laying on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be said.

You think he’s not going to though, after a beat of silence, you nod.

“Yea… what actually are you doing in this photo?” You nervous laugh, and wonder what kind of answer he’s going to provide.

He runs a hand through his curls, brows raised a little at your question.

“What did you think I was doing?” He quizzes, the corner of his mouth turning up.

“I- well it looked quite… everyone in the audience was going wild. Were you trying to be a tease?”

“I wasn’t! I swear. I was playing the guitar.” He confirmed, yet smirking like he knew there was a two-way perception of the event.

“With your tongue?” You sighed out a laugh.

“You still didn’t answer me. What did you think I was doing?” He backtracks, eyes watching you intensely as you’re both entering some rather dangerous, untouched territory.

You’re quiet again, and he raises his brows still expecting a response.

You flush under his gaze, hand coming to cover your eyes. “It just looked very…”

“Very…?”

“Inappropriate.” You laughed, feeling like you were emotionally torturing yourself by letting this situation happen.

“How so?” He continues to push, wanting to hear more. Secretly adoring the way you get all flustered about it. How badly he wants you to tell him exactly what the movement of his tongue reminded you of.

“It just— you know what I mean, Harry!” You say, now being the one trying to backtrack out of this entire situation. That in the end is still technically your own fault.

You distract yourself with other photos, going in and trying to find another possible contender for his new post on instagram.

“Don’t try and avoid the conversation, love.” He chuckles at your sudden shy demeanour.

“Harry.” You place your hand over your face again trying to mentally reset yourself. Put your thinking back in line.

“Cmon! I’m just curious.” He tries to brush it off, but if he has to resort to begging, he honestly wouldn’t hesitate.

“I know you are, but— it’s weird!” You whine, wanting to die at the fact you had let this happen in the first place.

“I promise I won’t judge.” He places his hand over his heart, face serious, like he was swearing it on his bloodline.

You thought about it a little longer. He clearly was not going to leave you alone if he didn’t get an answer. You could try and lie, but he already knows anyway. He just wants to hear you say it.

“You know, Harry. You just want to hear me say it.” You murmur, bringing up the chocolaty drink to your lips to distract yourself.

“Sure, maybe I do. I wanna confirm my suspicions.” He proposes, a small shrug of his shoulders. You place the drink back on the coaster, staring at him. Eventually caving.

“It— everyone definitely thought it looked like you were, uh, giving oral.” You rushed out, trying to now act as nonchalant as possible to avoid further questioning.

I didn’t work.

“So everyone including you?” He asked.

“Well… yea.” Your cheeks were pink, and he smiled at your flustered voice.

“Dirty thing.” He chuckled, and you almost breathed a sigh of relief thinking maybe you could move on and pretend as if this never happened, but he continues on.

“Had you a little worked up, did I?”

“May I touch on how unprofessional this conversation is?” You bring up, trying to save yourself. But it’s evident in your voice you hardly mean it. You are admittedly a little curious as to where he’s going with this. Equally, if not more embarrassed than anything, but still curious.

“I suppose you can, yes.” He nods.

“But may I bring up how you undressing me with your eyes yesterday was unprofessional? Because unless I’m insane, you definitely were.” He’s cocky, and overconfident with his accusation.

Not that it can be really labelled as an accusation, given he’s not wrong at all.

“I—“ you swallow, “Okay. Whatever. Point proven.”

He laughs at your surrender, shuffling forward on the chair.

“So you were— that’s the kind of stuff you were thinking about me?” He rests his elbows on his knees, watching you intently.

“You are really trying to get something out of me aren’t you? What do you want to hear me say?” You raise your brows, adrenaline coursing through you.

“Just want you to tell me the truth. Be honest with me, since we’re talking about being professional. I think that’s a good start.” He sounds so gentle yet firm, and your devouring this dominant kind of trait he’s showing you.

“Communication and honesty is very important when it comes to professionalism.”

Pleasure has been simmering in your stomach since he walked through the door, and his persistence is beginning to pay off, since you’re starting to let your guard down.

“So you want me to tell you how wet I got after your little stunt last night? That if I wasn’t your employee, after the show you would have found me in your dressing room bent over on the table.”

“Waiting for you to come in there, all sweaty and ready to strip that teeny fucking vest off, and put your mouth to use.”

He’s got a dusting of red over his own cheeks now, blood rushing to his cock as he realised he cracked you open now. Your dirty words spilling out of your mouth after holding back seemingly since last night.

“That what you would’ve done? Bent yourself over my dressing room table waiting for me like a pretty little post-show gift?”

“Maybe so.” You feed into it, watching as his eyes darken with desire.

He sighs out, standing up promptly, “Alright, darling. I’m gonna offer you something. You don’t have to agree, but if you do we can stop at any time. Okay?”

“What exactly are you offering?” You ask as leans his tall frame down to you, hands bracketed on your hips.

“For me to pick you up, put you on that bed and strip you until I can bury my head between your legs.” He stated, matter of factly.

Your thighs are shaking so hard you’re clenching them together— clit throbbing at the pressure.

You can only look up at him and nod, to which he doesn’t take as an answer.

“Baby, need you to use your words. Tell me what you want.”

“Yes, Harry. Want that please.” You whine, very quickly becoming delusional at his close proximity.

He grunts as he picks you up, his arms firm around your body and he carry’s you the few feet to the bed. His lips hot as they suddenly come in contact with your jaw.

He pushes your legs open with his thigh, making you moan and push your hips forward.

“Needy girl.” He whispers, voice dirty and hot near your ear as he sucks on the skin below it.

His hands cascade down your body, finding the waistband of your sweatpants and tugging it down.

“Please, please touch me.” You’re wild, bucking your hips up. Wanting to get his tongue on you so bad.

He chuckles at your sudden spiral, how quickly you’ve unravelled before him. Truly like a present, all laid out waiting just for him.

He palms his hand over your damp front, “Soaking through already, fuckin’ hell.”

You groan as he rubs a pressured circle on your fabric-covered clit.

“Want to tell me who got you so wet?” He coos, slowly moving his fingers over you as he waits for an answer.

You give it to him shamelessly, “You. Want you so badly.”

He’s over the moon to finally have you like this. Because it became apparent rather quickly the crush he’d developed on you since you were hired. And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t fucked his fist at the thought of getting to touch you.

“Oh, you’re being so good for me now. Because I’ve got my hand between your pretty legs I bet.”

You cant even respond as he slides your drenched underwear down away from your tingling core.

He audibly groans at the sight of your bare, glistening pussy. Watching as you squirm under his stare.

“Jesus fuck, Y/N. How long have you been hiding this gorgeous cunt from me?”

“Too long.” You whimper.

His fingers slid through you, and he gathered up your arousal to play with your clit. Relishing the way it slides under his fingertips.

You were clenching around nothing as he gently rolled your clit between calloused fingers. Playing with it until you were a mess. Moaning and grinding up against his fingers. Begging for what he’d promised earlier.

“Your mouth, Harry. Need it. Anywhere.”

“S’that why your little hole is clenching so hard? Like it’s begging for me.” He watched, mesmerised as your hole pulsed around nothing, and leaked more clear arousal.

You look so delicious to him. And he took a moment to appreciate the fact you were about to let him clean up all that arousal pooling at your hole

He sunk down between your legs very slowly. Distracting himself a few times with mouthing over your fabric covered breasts.

Eventually making it there, so he could blow over your clit, letting you squirm at the teasing stimulation. You smelt amazing too, your sweet tangy scent making his mouth water.

He was grabbing at his cock, pushing at it trying to relieve pressure down there as he peppered kisses along your inner thigh.

“Stop teasing, H. Please I— fuck.” You hissed as he bit the seam of skin of your thigh.

“Cant handle it huh? Are you gonna come before I even get my tongue on you.”

“Want to finish around your mouth.” You plead with him. And he shakes his head with a laugh, anticipating your reaction as he leans forward to drag a long stroke through your slit.

Your whole body shakes with a moan. His velvety, hot tongue immediately leaving you a wreck.

“Harryyy…” You cry out, bucking your hips into his face.

“Gonna ruin your cunt, darling.” He murmurs into you, and you know it’s true with the way your hole is clenching.

He sucks your clit into his mouth before placing fast strokes over it. Flicking and rolling it between his tongue and lips.

The sounds of him lapping up your pussy are echoing through the room, further fuelling the fire that’s started in you.

Your whole jaw goes lax as he moves further down, gliding over your hole— pushing his tongue past your entrance.

“Fuck!” You moan, hips jolting, causing his hands to slide up and hold them into place.

He slides it into you as far as he can, nose bumping your clit. Making you realise very quickly that you’re going to finish around his mouth.

He moans into you, again the vibrations makes you writhe in his tight grip. “I- Harry- more!”

It’s making your whole body shake, and he’s pressed so far into you that it’s all you can feel. And it’s obvious that you’re about to come, just with the way your cunt is pulsing around his mouth.

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck. Harry, please, I’m gonna come!” You felt the burning spark fly through you, hitting you like a truck when his tongue curled and rocked inside you.

He’s humming and pressing himself so close you genuinely think he can’t breathe. And you realise immediately when the rubber band in snapped inside of you.

It gushed through your whole body, making you moan and cry in his grip. He couldn’t even explain the feeling of having you clenching around his tongue. It almost made him finish in his pants.

He lapped up every single drop he could. But he didn’t stop.

Your clit was so sensitive as he came back up to it with the same intensive pace.

You tried to push him off, “be a good girl, baby, give me another one.”

“So sensitive, Harry.” You whined, hand threading into his soft hair.

“Y’can take it.” He states, going back to sucking on your clit, and the outside of your entrance.

It made you a mess. A proper fucking mess.

You legs were being spread wide by the palm of his hands, and you were almost crying at how sensitive your pussy was.

You were always a five-minute-scroll-break kind of girl when it came to masturbation. So this came as a whole shock to your body. And it was so fucking hot from his perspective.

All he could hear was your filthy fucking whines, begging him one minute to stop and the next to go faster. And he was going insane at how sensitive your little hole was.

That was all he could feel. The clenching of your cunt, the absolute shaking mess your body was becoming.

His tongue flicked over your clit, just as you imagined he would after seeing him last night. And it was getting to messy, your arousal absolutely coating his mouth and chin.

“I-“ a deep suck of your clit, “I’m gonna fucking come!”

You writhed the whole way through your orgasm. Fucking into his face like it was a toy, grinding into it so hard your sure he was completely consumed by you.

And as you came down from the high, still shaking, he cleaned up down there again. Too good to waste, was his thought process. ‘You tasted like a dream’ you’re pretty sure you hear him mutter against you at some point.

His thumbs run over the dips of your hips to bring you back down to earth.

“Good girl, Baby. Took my mouth so fucking well.” He presses a final kiss on your clit as he stood up, your hands dragging up his back did.

“Feeling a little better too, i hope.”

“Yes. So good. H.” You panted, still in a bit of a daze.

“Next time,” he peppered a kiss on you shoulder, “tell me when you’re feeling all worked up okay.”

You nodded, hands sliding to rest in his hair.

“Or by all means, lay yourself out in my dressing room so I can make make come like you deserve.” He smiles at your little nod, still so out of it.

“My little gift, hm?” He coos, stroking a gentle hand down your face.

And he knows he’d do this moment a thousand times over with you. Just to see that smile flash over your lips.

———

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles barcelona #he is so fucking hot I cant #that clip 🧎‍♀️#smut

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lovings4turn · 1 month

Text

★ hedgehog . . . (oscar piastri)

— when he reunites with his girlfriend, oscar quickly learns that his attempt at a new look has one huge downfall

+ aka. becca saw the pics of oscar's new stubble and struggled to be normal about it !! very short n sweet n silly, but i hope you enjoy regardless lovelies <3 banner from cafekitsune !!

"hey bab- oh."

oscar pulls away from your hug with a confused expression, brows furrowed and bottom lip pulled into the slightest pout. he looks down at you and scans your face, before turning his scrutiny onto his own form, trying to find an answer for your unusual reaction.

you haven't seen oscar in about a week now, and normally, you're all over him, not an inch of his face nor neck left untouched with your kisses. yet you're currently standing in front of him with an almost dazed expression on your face, arms still linked around his neck from your hug.

before he can open his mouth and allow a nervous question to trickle from his lips, you speak up for him, your knuckles coming to graze against his jaw.

"this is new," you hum, tilting your hand to grant your pinky finger the chance to trace the growing stubble that dusts oscar's upper lip.

his nose scrunches, and his amused exhale hits your fingertips as he lets out a laugh at the tickle.

"how have you hidden this from me?" you continue, your voice taking on a teasing tone. "been on facetime to you almost every day and i didn't even notice."

oscar lifts his own hand to scratch at his jaw, the feeling of coarse hair against his fingertips becoming more familiar with each passing day. it's by no means a full beard, god no. it's glorified stubble, scruff you might have called it. but it's the most facial hair you've seen oscar with since... well, ever.

"yeah, i'm uh, trying something out, i guess," he says with a slight laugh, looking down at you to gauge your reaction. "couldn't be bothered to shave one night and just thought i'd see what it was like."

though his tone is casual, his heart pounds a little faster as he tries to detect any form of opinion radiating from your body language. oscar wishes he was a mind reader right now, able to tell exactly how you feel about the slight stubble without having to ask you outright.

the answer seems to satisfy you, and your lips curve up into a smile as you lean in to finally pepper soft kisses to his face.

oscar stoops down a little to grant you access to his forehead and temple, and you press another kiss to his nose before moving to attach your lips to his.

the kiss is tender, full of love, and bordering on passionate as oscar's tongue swipes at your bottom lip in a silent question. he hardly realises you're pulling away until he's forced to chase after your lips unsuccessfully.

his breathing is a little shallow as he speaks.

"why'd you stop?"

the question almost comes out as a whine, and it takes a lot for you not to tease him about it.

"y'scratching me a bit," you admit with an amused tone, nibbling at your bottom lip. "y'know, with the hair. 's a bit like i'm kissing a hedgehog" you clarify, rubbing at the skin of your own top lip as if to add emphasis.

oscar's mouth opens in a silent oh, and you can practically see the cogs turning in his mind as he puts two and two together. coarse hair plus friction against your own skin is definitely not an award winning combination for you, and oscar sees no more need for experimentation.

"gimme a minute to shave this off, sweetheart," oscar promises with a crooked grin, already making his way to the bathroom. "then you can give me a proper kiss, hm?"

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles #oscar piastri #oscar piastre x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri drabble #oscar piastri fic #op81 #formula one x reader #formula one x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you

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jukedy · 4 months

Text

gojo the type of guy who'd want to bridal carry you at all times

gojo the type of guy who'd kick his feet whenever you're texting him

gojo the type of guy to cling onto you whenever you have to leave for work

gojo the type of guy who'd imitate cheesy couples in public to embarrass you

gojo the type of guy to pull silly pranks on you and blame it on his students

gojo the type of guy to work out in front of you just to get you flushed

gojo the type of guy to wear your clothes sometimes just to piss you off (affectionately)

gojo the type of guy to only have serious talks with you whenever he's holding you close to him in bed

gojo the type of guy to get himself brown lenses to see your reaction

gojo also the type of guy who'd get OFFENDED when you didn't say you missed your iceberg king

gojo the type of guy who can't shut up about you to literally anyone

gojo the type of guy to complain about things while saying 'y/n would never do it like this'

gojo the type of guy to drastically hold you whenever you get a bit hurt (may it be stubbing your toe)

gojo the type of guy to fake wrestle with you whenever you're busy

gojo the type of guy to say 'draw me like one of your french girls' like the loser he is

gojo the type of guy to kiss each one of your knuckles to persuade you into doing something for him

gojo the type of guy to get himself into trouble often but is okay with it knowing you'll come to his rescue

gojo the type of guy to send you cat memes and say 'me and you'

gojo the type of guy to wear a suit when it comes to meeting your family

gojo the type of guy who'd flex having you as a partner

gojo the type of guy who'd text you during easy missions just to piss off the enemy

gojo the type of guy to gift you blue roses like a gentleman

gojo the type of guy to be a little selfish and secretly fill in your schedule with several dates with him

gojo the type of guy to kiss you on your nose the most

gojo the type of guy to teach you how to dance even though he has no idea how to either (he stepped on all your toes)

gojo the type of guy who'd get his students to put in a good word for him to you, like how he saved that cat the other day (there was no cat)

gojo the type of guy to pull your chair out for you while on date (hes on the verge of pulling it twice to make you fall on your butt)

gojo the type of guy to be a really soft kisser, even his touch feels like feathers

gojo the type of guy to have the ugliest pic of you as his wallpaper (they're all beautiful to him)

gojo the type of guy to ask you if you're single whenever he's drunk

gojo the type of guy to watch sappy romance series and takes notes for how he'll treat you

gojo is that guy

A/N: wowzers my first ever jjk post😲 feel free to request something

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk satoru #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo

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lvstcd · 1 year

Text

physical touch ⟶ jj maybank x gn!reader

REQUEST: "can you please do a pic where jj and the reader are in school and he plays with her fingers all day long like writes his name on her palm with his fingers please😭"

A/N: this is so fucking cute. omg i want this so bad.

SUMMARY: jj loves physical touch when it comes to you, and he shows it often.

WARNINGS: none

GENRE: fluff, drabble

WORD COUNT: 234

(gn = gender neutral) not edited!!

lower case intended

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆��⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

YOU and jj sat in the library holding hands while you were studying for a test that was coming up in a couple of days. jj, not caring for his schooling, sat there fiddling with everything he could land his eyes on.

your pens, your notebooks, your hair, your necklaces, your laptop, his hair, his necklace, his rings, everything. eventually, all of that bored him and he started fiddling with your fingers, holding your hand close to his lips and pecking soft kisses on your knuckles, tracing where he drew smiley faces earlier, and muttering soft "hi , what are you working on?, i love you"s to you.

after he got bored of fiddling with your fingers, he grabbed your red pen from your bag and gently forced your hand to lay flat on the table, palm up.

"what are you doing, jay?" you whisper, taking your eyes off of your notes. he looks at you with a smile and soft eyes. you watched as he wrote his name in your palm with a small heart next to it. you giggled and kissed his cheek before going back to your notes.

"sunshine?" he asked 5 minutes later.

"hm?"

"can i draw small hearts on your hand?" you nodded and smiled at him. he smiled widely and took off, drawing the smallest red hearts he could all over your hands, kissing each one after he finished.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

TAGLIST: @pappydaddy @slytherinambitious @instabull

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bitchlessdino · 1 year

Note

I voted for Joshua but, in my heart I chose both him and Jeonghan lol. I've been in a JeongShua drought lately

+ love your writing!!! would you mind to write some smutty jihan x reader? please

Pairing: bf!jeonghan x afab!reader x bf!joshua

Genre: humor, smut

word count: 1.5k

tags: established poly relationship, NO INCEST I cannot emphasize this enough, spanking, spitting, an*l play, double pen., sex toy, mouth fucking, throat bulge, degradation (cumslut, some objectification), unprotected sex

Summary: Just as conniving as your boyfriends, you convince both of them to get the same haircut without the other one knowing. The moment they came home, realizing what you've done, they show you the kind of consequences you've earned yourself by being a little trickster.

author note: so siblings or dating is a little thing where people guess whether a pairing in a picture is either siblings or dating and sometimes it what you least expect. So when I saw these pics separately for the first time I had to think long and hand how these two would work together, I immediately wanted this fic to be silly bc they are so so silly 😃 well enjoy!

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @honglynights @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han

“Babe what the fuck.”

Your camera flashed bright white, getting them both in the same frame. At this point, you were laughing your ass off as both your boyfriends stared at you unamused. “You guys look great. I have great taste.”

After dating for a year, you’ve had your fair share of pranks, leading up to countless photos and videos that haunt you to this day. Dating one of them was exciting enough, dating two of them became utter chaos. When the opportunity rose for you to get them both back at the same time, you took it.

You let out their collective sighs as you jumped around them with taunting laughter like a child on a sugar high. Their faces didn’t even look the least bit alike but when they got identical haircuts, the more similarities you were starting to see. Joshua was the first to speak up his bemusement while Jeonghan looked almost impressed, holding back a bit of his own laughter.

“It’s not that funny,” Joshua said, deadpanned.

“No, it’s really that funny,” You insisted.

He trodded off toward your laughing figure before throwing you over his shoulder. His hand came over your ass in harsh spanks, but it did not falter the boisterous notice you were making. “Stop”–spank–“laughing,”–spank.

“Josh,” you responded between giggles, “You and Hannie look so fucking alike right now!”

“Okay. I’m taking you to bed. I know how to shut you up.”

He brought you to your shared room before throwing you on the bed, Jeonghan following after in his chuckles, while a big and bright smile is still on your face. You felt none of the threat oozing from Joshua’s eyes but Jeonghan knew exactly what was coming and although he wasn’t as bothered by your practical joke like Joshua was, he was looking forward to giving you your just desserts.

“Say it.”

“Josh,” you moaned.

Joshua held your head down on the mattress, cheek pushed into the sheets, as his thick, long fingers plunged in and out of you. “Not that. You know what I want to hear. Jeonghan, remind them.”

Jeonghan’s raw cock stood mere inches from your face, a sinister smile on his face. He pressed the curve of the head to your lips before he slapped it against them. “You’re gonna play dumb for us, baby? Or are you really just that dumb?”

“Hannie…” you sighed into the sheets, breath hitching as you felt a knuckle curve into your warmth, “Give it to me please…”

His pristine bangs swept over his forehead, reaching his eyes. His gentle voice prodded into you just as much as his cock teased to be inside you. “Then say it. You’re not our little cockslut for anything, so say what we want to hear.”

You mewled in yearning for Jeonghan, gripping the sheets desperately. “I’m…sorry…”

“For?”

Your answer got caught in your throat, muffled moans only escaped as Joshua pushed in a third finger, twisting them inside you as strikes of his free hand handed on your ass already bruised with his clutches. Your arousal slides down his forearms, his thumb pressed against the rim of your puckered entrance and with that, you whine. Your shallow breaths took a slow release, looking back in the eyes of the boyfriend whose cock couldn’t look more edible and perfect to fuck the inside of your throat.

“I’m sorry…for t-tricking you…”

“Good,” Joshua replied, “before I forgive you, I need you to say something else for me.”

“Y-yes…”

He exchanged knowing with his boyfriend, eyes flickering with fire that had the power to burn every inch of your skin, once having let you suffer in the throes of being blue-balled. Edging was the bane of your existence, but their way of life.

“Say how much you need our cocks in you.”

“…I,” You swallowed, “desperately need your cocks me…”

“Are you going to be a good little slut for us?” Jeonghan joined.

“Yes…I’ll be your good slut…”

“Because that’s what you want, right?” Joshua added, “You’re made to be a couple of holes we can fuck in, right?”

“Yes…I’m just a couple of holes to be filled up by your cocks…”

“Who’s cumslut are you?”

“Y-yours, Josh…And y-yours, Hannie.”

“See, it does matter the jokes you pull on us, you’ll never beat us, we own you. You belong to us. You’re our perfect little slut for us to use up. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes…” your voice gave out, your climax coming and going, the clench of your warmth sucking in Joshua’s fingers, “I’m yours to fuck and nobody else’s.”

In that second, Jeonghan rewarded you and his girth stretched the circumference of your mouth. Your eyes, blown open from the adjustment, stared back at Jeonghan, a whimpering mess all over his cock. He let out a groan, and a hand of his ran down your hair. “What a perfect little mouth…”

Meanwhile, Joshua is sucking off the bit of you left on his fingers and his cock aligned at your arousal before he made himself known. You pounded your fist at your side, while the other fisted Jeonghan’s length so you can reach the base. Your tears ran away from your eyes in protest, burning down your cheek as you felt him enter your throat, a bulge taking shape at the column of your neck.

“Fuck, you look so good…” Jeonghan groaned.

He held his hand over the bulge, moving gently down and up to feel it form and disappear. Besides being utterly entertaining, the sensation it shot through him was I compared to anything else. Your throat was like a perfect home, taking every inch of him, molded perfectly to his shape.

God, did it hurt, but something about him filling you, holding himself inside you, as moisture leaked from your face in a scorching heart was heart-pounding, frightful, but all the more thrilling. Jeonghan pulled out for a moment, letting you take him at your pace—a wet, flustered, sob-stained mess that gasped for beyond oxygen—before abandoning mercy and fucked you to the depth of your throat.

Joshua, on the other hand, split your divide wide for the taking, and his cock doesn’t wait a moment to adjust, just fucking your insides until he could feel you swell around his girth. He threw his head back, your ass jiggling against every thrust like dessert, flawless collapsing around his hips.

In the midst of this, he has your toy, wrapping it around his lips to moisten it for comfort, and his saliva lubed its silicone exterior. “All your holes. Remember that.”

He spat at your puckered lip, a shiver ran up your spine, and he lathered it soft, prepping you for entry. As insurance, a translucent ribbon stretched from him and your toy before it finds plugged inside you, Joshua now in control of both your lower ends.

You shook beneath him, mouth full of cock, holes fucked full to the point you could be classified as your common electrical outlet, and you felt dirty. Safe to say it was in the best way.

Jeonghan, who has held himself back the entire time inside you, finally released his proof of sin, pouring it down your throat like a hot, strong faucet, making your body jump in response. In turn, you feel your arousal follow soon after, the buckling of your hips not bothering Joshua in the slightest, and you begin to gently come down from one high to move on to another.

Joshua, held you by your ass cheek, hand ensuring the toy inside you takes full advantage while tugged against your hole’s resistance, pushing in and out of you between your plush whines. “That’s right, cum…cum around my cock again…good sluts can handle more…”

Joshua pushed you against the mattress deep until there was nothing but your body and him, your thighs pulsated around him. Your screams were loud and satisfying as you spoke only in his name. His cock shot loads inside you, final thrusts taking their final strikes until he was empty. He pulled, his hot, molten cum oozing right out of you. His knees took a fall, folding his thighs flat against his shins and he’s catching his breath.

Jeonghan pulled out as well, laying himself out on your cheek, twitching on your face in utter fatigue. “Good fucking job, baby.”

“Damn good fucking job,” Joshua repeated before pressing a kiss to your side.

Clean-up wasn’t an option at this point with all the energy drained from all your bodies and at the moment it was fine, it was time to rest. Jeonghan, who usually can’t stand to be without his phone for a few minutes, retrieves it from the bedside table, seeing the screen plastered with notifications. “Y/n, what the fuck? You sent our picture to ‘Siblings or Dating’ on Instagram?”

You slightly chuckled, momentarily forgetting about that. “Oops. That I did.”

“Well, it looks like you have more to learn don’t you,” Joshua said, now fueled by sheer spite, “Good thing your ass is open and ready for us.”

#svthub #seventeen smut #svt smut #joshua smut #jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan smut #hong jisoo smut #joshua hong smut #hong joshua smut #yoon jeonghan #hong jisoo #joshua hong #hong joshua #seventeen #seventeen joshua hong #seventeen joshua #seventeen jeonghan #seventeen yoon jeonghan

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velvetm00light · 6 months

Text

Snowed In

photos: pinterest dividers: @benkeibear, @mariariley, @haerinism

Word Count: 4.4k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: The entire BAU team decides to take a vacation to snowy Vermont. After a day of traveling together and being the last of the team to show up to the cabin, Spencer and y/n are exhausted and in need of quality time with their friends. When alcohol and games are mixed, Spencer decides to get y/n worked up before sneaking into her room that night to show her what can happen when the sexual tension between them finally snaps.

Warnings: smut, choking, alcohol consumption, others in the house, teasing, sneaking into her room, fingering, oral (female receiving), sexual tension, games (Twister).

A/N: I know it's freshly November but that's close enough to Christmas for me. This idea has been plaguing my brain for literal days now so I just couldn't resist the itch to write this. I also don't want to keep a masterpiece away from you guys especially since I probably won't be able to write for a week after this :(. But, as always, I hope ya'll eat this tf up like I did while I was writing it. <3 Also, I think I like the 3 pic banner so much better than the gifs so I might start doing that :)

THE ICE THAT COATED the sidewalk became a mirror, the concrete beneath twisting into the twin of the gloomy, gray sky above. Y/n's frost-bitten fingers tremble against the ebony wool coat she was wearing tightly wrapped as close to her body as she could possibly pull it. The unrelenting wind bit at her cheeks, her skin raw and burning.

She and Spencer had decided to walk through the cabin's yard rather than risk slipping on the glassy ice, which proved rather asinine as both of their boots and luggage wheels caked in packed snow and mud the deeper into the yard they hiked, slowing their pace. She peered ahead at Spencer under her heavy hood. His chestnut boots a bit more worse for wear than hers, considering he's worn the same ones probably every day of his life.

One hand shoved into his pockets, the other gripped onto the handle of his suitcase so tightly his knuckles blanched. His head dipped against the sharp wind. If she had any energy left by the time they finally reached the cabin's wooden front door, she was going to one hundred percent rub it in his face. They had a negligible argument prior to arriving at the cabin - Spencer completely hellbent on not needing a winter coat, and y/n explaining that Vermont's climate is completely paradoxical to Virginia's at most times of this year.

When they had left Virginia, the sky had been a meager blue, and the wind had grown a bite to it, indicating the impending winter but not intense enough to warrant them to avoid being outside at all costs yet. Temperatures had called for slacks and the usual sweater under a proper coat during their last few cases prior to their very welcomed vacation time. She just wanted to laugh in his face at how right she had been proven in the 5 minutes since they'd parked their rental car in the snow-packed driveway.

When they finally reach the cabin door, Spencer fumbles with the brass knob, his frozen fingers barely able to grasp it enough to twist and open. The door opens without difficulty and y/n almost slams into Spencer's back in an attempt to flee the harsh cold of Vermont.

Y/n hastily shut the door behind her. She and Spencer didn't bother unwrapping any scarves or unbuttoning any coats until they could feel their extremities again as they made their way into the expansive living room, leaving their suitcases by the door. A fresh pine tree lay decorated in lights and garland in the far right corner, the smell of pine welcome in her nose, a large window hiding behind it, climbing halfway up the logged wall before stopping and becoming more logs, with a smaller window on top, shaped to a slope to match the cabin's sloping ceiling.

JJ, Emily, and Penelope sit perched on the chocolate-colored couch to the left of the pine tree turned Christmas tree, wooly sweater sleeves pulled over their hands as they gently hold warm mugs of hot cocoa, most likely.

"You're finally here!" Penelope calls, setting her chipped mug gently on the coffee table just a leg lengths away from the couch. Emily and JJ copy Penelope's actions as they rush over to greet the two latecomers.

"We thought you guys might've gotten stuck or frozen to death or something," Emily explained, engulfing y/n in a hug so tight she thought her lungs might have to escape her body entirely to relieve the pressure.

"With the way Spencer drives, I think we almost got stuck like 4 times," y/n teased, resulting in a malicious side eye from Spencer but giggles from the women in front of her.

"To be fair, we only actually got stuck once. We made it in one piece so I don't see the issue."

Y/n rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, the rest of her energy spent on the single ridicule, her mind unable to continue the back and forth.

"The rest of them are in the kitchen," JJ explains, leading them through an archway embellished with fake leaves and fairy lights.

Rossi's back is to them as he pulls a steaming mug from the microwave. When he finally turns to spot y/n and Spencer, the last two team members to make it through the treacherous countryside of Vermont, he places the mug on the kitchen island. "I was just making you guys some cups of cocoa, but it's the packet kind. I would've made it from scratch if I thought I could survive another trip outside."

The team erupted in chuckles, "Yeah, I wouldn't suggest going out there, Rossi. You might freeze on the spot," Morgan laughed.

"Hey, I'm old, but I'm not that old."

Spencer reached delicately for the mug resting on the kitchen island, sliding his fingers through the handle and carefully lifting it as to not spill it over his hand. He turns to y/n and holds out the cup for her.

"I'll take the next one," he smiles. She gives him a sweet smile back as she takes the hot cocoa from him, "Thanks, Spence."

Y/n rose to sit upon a marbled counter, her hot cocoa clutched into her hands, greedy for the warmth it brought to her numbed fingers. Her legs swung, feeling restless despite the exhaustion that weighed her entire body down.

Vacation had began to seem like a myth considering serial killers never cease to kill and each and every person in the kitchen with her had the same mindset when it came to their work. People need us. She can't remember the last time one of her coworkers had taken a vacation or even just a day off as if they were avoiding it like a contagious disease.

She had to admit, it did almost make her feel uncomfortable to think about taking a vacation. She didn't hold much trust in others to do their jobs for them. But, nevertheless, she was grateful to finally have some time to spend with her favorite people doing nothing but watching cheesy Christmas movies and playing board and card games like she was a child again.

With all her might, she pushed down the lingering guilt she always seemed to feel when she wasn't working towards catching a bad guy. Villains always need their heroes, and she didn't like the idea of letting the villains run rampant for too long.

Her internal battle must have shown on her face because Spencer laid a secretive hand over hers as he leaned against the countertop she sat upon. He tilted his face upwards to look at her, silently asking her, what are you thinking about? Spencer seemed to be the one person who could read her like a book, despite y/n keeping the book of her life and emotions locked, shut, and completely hidden away from everyone else.

She shrugged, not important. She diverted her gaze from his, the weight of his causing her mouth to part slightly, wanting to spill everything running through her mind - but she clamped her mouth shut because that is definitely not something she wanted to do in front of her entire team.

She could feel his gaze still on her, reading the emotions on her face like a book, as if he looked long and hard enough, her thoughts would display themselves above her head. "Stop profiling me, weirdo," she whispered, just loud enough for only him to hear.

He rolled his eyes at her, the corners of his mouth threatening to turn up into a smile.

"How was the drive, Spence? It seems like you guys got the worst of this incoming storm," JJ stated, her mug had been retrieved from the living room coffee table and now rested in her cupped hands as she rested her elbows on the kitchen island.

"Dangerous," y/n muttered. Spencer playfully elbowed her. "Hey! You can't tell me you didn't fear for our lives at least once during that drive."

Spencer didn't bother responding, knowing she was right. The drive hadn't been the worst it could've been, but the snow had began flurrying as they arrived to the airport, y/n's hood pulled so far over her head she kept her eyes locked on Spencer's boots in front of her to lead her. The roads were slick with snow and ice, and the winding strip of road leading up to the isolated cabin had not been the easiest or safest to navigate.

"It's a good thing you guys got here before it got too bad, we might have to really get comfortable with each other considering we'll most likely be stuck here longer than we want," Emily suggested. The team nodding in agreement. Y/n was grateful she had remembered to bring every card and board game she could get her little hands on - Monopoly, Cards Against Humanity, even Twister. She couldn't wait to get the team drunk and convince them to play Twister.

"Speaking of, I think it's time we whip out the alcohol and the games," Emily smiled, as if reading the thought directly from y/n's mind, taking a bottle of top-shelf Tequila by the neck and wiggling it in the air.

"Best idea I've heard all day," Rossi stated.

Y/n and her team made their way into the living room, spiked hot cocoa in hand. She relaxed in the middle of the couch after grabbing her Cards Against Humanity box from her suitcase by the door, Spencer to her right and JJ to her left. Rossi and Hotch taking the two reclining chairs and pulling them forward to reach the table. Emily gracefully sitting on a pillow on the floor, Morgan settling for sitting directly on the carpet, and when Spencer attempts to offer Emily his spot, she dismisses him with the wave of a hand and a suggestive glance towards y/n.

Spencer repositioned himself again on the couch, the meaning of Emily's glance fully understood.

Y/n takes the liberty of pulling the cards out of their designated box and separating them into piles scattered across the coffee table, making sure every has access to a pile of white cards. As she finishes, the conversation about who goes first and random rules to add immediately sparks. Considering the instructions clearly read that whoever pooped most recently was to be the one to start.

The conversation turned argument continued on longer than any thought necessary, laughter filling the cabin to the brim. "Well if we're really trying to have a good time, all the losers each round have to drink."

Once in agreement, the team finally quieted as Hotch reluctantly grabbed the black card on the top of the stack in the middle of the table and read it aloud.

Y/n's head began buzzing as they were a fourth of the way through the stack of black cards, the game no where within bounds of stopping. Her limbs finally felt loose from being curled up in a plane and car seat for hours, trying to avoid looking at the snowy danger they had to travel through.

The entire team shed their worries, stresses, and found it in themselves to be in the moment. Everyone had equal amounts of pain lacing their chests and stomaches from laughing too hard at cards played and also equal amounts of disgusted faces and a little bit of gagging after the rules began to increase the more alcohol consumed - they had began ranking everyone's answers by the fourth time around, the person in first being exempt from drinking anything, the person coming in last being required to take a shot instead of a sip of their drink. Y/n seemed to be on a losing streak.

Luckily, her team was too engrossed in the game to notice when she took smaller shots than she was supposed to. She didn't want to be totally inebriated in the first few hours of her first vacation in God knows how long.

Spencer's arm was outstretched on the couch behind her, his other hand holding his cards secretively, knowing that y/n would a hundred percent be trying to take peeks now and then.

Once they had almost completely blown through most of the black stack, y/n ceased the opportunity. "I brought Twister!"

The entire room cheered, and she stumbled over to her suitcase to grab it out. It was quickly set up within a minute and to her distress, they decided to make teams and compete, obviously.

The girls split into a group and the boys into another. Emily and Hotch started first, Emily easily more flexible than Hotch, his leg unable to twist towards the red dot in the corner, resulting in him falling over and a chorus of laughter echoing off the logged walls.

"Spencer, Y/n, you guys should do it next!" Penelope gasped. "You're both so lanky, it'll be a close match."

Y/n's heart beat against her throat and she felt the rush of heat bloom in her neck and rise towards her still raw cheeks. She took a deep breath, not willing to show how much of a reaction she had at the thought of being tangled up with Spencer.

JJ and Rossi finish their round, JJ sneakily leaning into Rossi enough to knock him over, giving the girls a 2 point lead. Y/n and Spencer stroll leisurely towards the edges of the Twister map. An arched brow climbs her forehead, "I hope you're ready to lose."

"In your dreams," he smirks, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

As Penelope spins the pointer, she begins to call out body parts and colors. Within minutes, y/n and Spencer are a heap of tangled limbs, her back resting against Spencer's chest as she's bent over to reach her left hand to yellow, Spencer's hand next to hers on green. Her hair obstructs some of the view of the colored circles beneath them but the look of Spencer's flexed, muscular forearm on the side of her head does little to ease her rapidly beating heart. His breath is hot on the nape of her neck, coiling a heat in her middle she desperately attempts to push down.

"I think I enjoy you being under me," he whispers onto the skin of her neck, sending shivers rattling down her spine. As Penelope calls out left hand blue, she racks her gaze around the mat beneath them.

She can practically hear the rush of blood in her ears when she finally sees the blue between her strands of hair. The closet blue dot is down towards her legs, considering her right hand was already on the blue next to her left, requiring her to bend her hips upward. She takes a deep breath and reaches her hand to the spot, her ass rising upward into Spencer's hips.

She can hear the catch of his breath as she tilts upward to get into her position. The next color is called too soon after, resulting in Spencer's right leg moving to the left side of y/n's body, their bodies no longer touching in the way that spooled heat further into her center. Their limbs fight for purchase on different colored spots as the game continues, their teammates shouting at both of them, the game obviously riveting from above, but completely distracting between the two players.

After a few more minutes of twisting her body in ways she never knew she could, her arms trembled as she reached towards a yellow. Refusing to let a man who probably weighed the same as her beat her in a game of Twister, she fought through the shaking of her body and painful stretch of muscles she probably haven't used in years.

She could feel Spencer's body tremble underneath her, placed in almost the same position as before, just on the opposite side this time. "I think I enjoy being on top better," she whispered in the same way Spencer did to her.

His body tensed under hers before he dropped to the floor, crowning y/n the winner of quite literally a battle to exhaustion in a drunk game of Twister.

The women on her team cheered and hugged each other before reaching out a hand to pull her from her spot on the ground in which she collapsed onto right after Spencer did. "That was probably the longest game of Twister in the history of Twister games," Penelope laughed.

Y/n and Spencer plopped onto the couch together, content to watch Penelope and Morgan go against each other from their comfortable spots on the couch. As Emily called out colors and body parts and the teams cheering on their teammates, Spencer leaned over to y/n's ear. "If you're gonna be on top of me I think it'd rather be able to see you."

Her pulse quickened, the heat that as been building inside her since the start of their Twister match is beginning to come to an edge. Get a grip, she chastised herself. They were on vacation with their entire team for crying out loud, now was not the time for flirtatious advancements or sexual tension.

"In your dreams," she murmured, trying to keep the want in her voice caged down, but with the way that Spencer's lips lifted in a smirk told her she didn't do a very good job at it.

"Certainly."

She couldn't get her eyes to leave his face, lowering them to his mouth, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from saying anything stupid.

He noticed her do this and his expression turned hungry as he watched her work her bottom lip between her teeth. It was one of the things that always set him off without her even realizing. Her nervous tic could be taken as flirtatious by someone who doesn't know her. Even though Spencer knows better, it still causes tension inside his pants every damn time she does it.

"If you keep doing that I'm not going to be able to stop myself," he growled lowly.

The sexual tension between y/n and Spencer was almost palpable as the team said their drunken goodnights and stumbled to their respective rooms. Y/n climbed into her bed, pulling the quilt atop her closer to her face. Her thoughts swam, unable to stop them from completely consuming her with thoughts of Spencer - of his body on hers, his breath on her neck, and god damn the stupid comments he made, knowing they were working her up and torturing the hell out of her all night as they continued to play other games with their friends.

Her thoughts fell away, like birds falling out of the sky, as she heard a low sound. She sat up in her bed, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness swallowing her room, in attempt to see what the noise was. Her door opened gently and a figure quietly stepped through the threshold and shut the door behind them, obviously trying not to wake anyone up.

"Hello?" Y/n called out softly, at first she thought it was Penelope, coming to tell her some new gossip she overheard somewhere. But, it wouldn't make any sense of her to sneak in if she thought y/n was asleep. It most definitely wouldn't have been Hotch, Rossi, or Morgan and the only reasonable explanation for any of them to be in her room is if they mistook her door for a bathroom, but she doesn't believe they'd be that quiet about it. Emily was so inebriated she almost didn't make it to her bed by herself.

A nervousness began in her chest as the figure stalked closer to her bed and didn't answer her. Before she could react, lips met hers hungrily. She gasped into their mouth, an opening they took to their advantage as they slipped their tongue between her lips and battled hers for dominance. She supposed that if this was someone trying to kill her, they wouldn't have kissed her first and damn it was a good kiss.

She allowed the kiss to overtake her senses, small moans rising out of her throat as her bottom lip was taken in between teeth and tugged. When her bedroom intruder finally broke their kiss, they were both panting. "I did warn you I wouldn't be able to control myself," the voice growled. Oh.

"Spencer?" Y/n whispered, "What are you doing?"

"Well I wasn't going to wait for you to come to me," he murmured, dipping his head to her neck, trailing sloppy kisses downward to her collarbones. Her fingers tangled into his soft curls, a moan slipping from her lips as he teased her sensitive skin.

"Shh," he shushes her, his voice vibrating through her entire body. "You don't want anyone to hear, do you?"

"Spence..." she whimpered.

His fingers played with the hem of her tank top, only the thin fabric separating him from her breasts.

"I can't get you out of my head and it's been driving me insane," he muttered against her bare skin, his fingers trailing lightly over her exposed lower abdomen, sending goosebumps over her skin. "I can't stop thinking about that pretty little mouth wrapped around me, or the sound of your moans that I coax out of you in every possible way I can, or the sound of you screaming my name as you come."

Y/n feels breathless at his touch, the skin beneath his lips burning with heat. "Are you okay with this?" He asks after y/n's silence.

"Absolutely," she whimpers. "Don't stop, please."

As if that was his undoing, he tears her tank top from her skin, y/n almost unable to raise her arms up in time to get it over. As soon as her tank top is thrown to the floor, his lips latch onto her peaked nipple and a cry of pleasure gathers in her throat but she clamps her lips shut, not wanting to let anyone hear. He continues to work her nipple in his mouth, using tongue and teeth, mixing pain and pleasure.

Her fingers grip his hair tighter, her back arching to bring his mouth as close as it could possibly get to her exposed breasts. Without budging from her nipple, he removes her pants swiftly, gripping her hips with his hands to swing her under him.

Her eyes can just barely make out his face in the dark hovering above her, her body begging for more. She squirms underneath him, hardly able to contain the desire coursing through her blood. His smile turns feral as he realizes just how badly she wants him to keep going.

He lowers himself antagonizingly slow, leaving soft kisses along her naked body until he reaches her inner thighs. He settles himself comfortably in between her legs as she widens them to give him complete access.

He slides his tongue gracefully through her folds and she lets out a gasp. "I've been aching to taste you," he groans against her center, gliding his tongue from the bottom up again. "You taste fucking delicious."

His pace starts out tame as he saviors every whimper that leaves her mouth and the taste of her on his tongue. Another gasp escapes her as he slips a finger in, wasting no time in gently sliding it in and out, curling it upwards to hit her sweet spot just right. She bucks her hips, riding his tongue and finger as her pleasure builds in intensity, her breathing ragged.

Suddenly, his tongue and finger abandon her and she lets out a whine of disappointment. "Someone's needy," he chuckles lowly. "I'd rather make you come with me buried deep inside you."

Spencer quickly undresses himself and gently lines up with her center. He slides the tip through her folds, making her arch her back towards him, her silent plea.

Without hesitation, he slips inside her and releases a groan. "You're so wet for me," he smirks. She can barely see his face, but she knows he has a smug look on it. It's as if he's known how crazy he makes her, how she has fantasized about this very moment before.

His thrust starts out delicate, like he's afraid he's going to break her apart. She wraps her legs around his waist, an attempt to pull him as deep as possible. "Careful," he growls against her neck as he teases her skin once more. "I don't want to let loose just yet and hurt you."

"What if I like it rough?"

"Tell me how you want it, then." A challenge.

"I want you to fuck me dumb."

"Your wish is my command," he smiles against her skin and immediately latches onto her neck, sucking and pulling on her delicate skin. His hands grip her waist to keep her steady as he pounds into her, the sound of his bare thighs hitting hers. He places a hand on her throat and gently squeezes, as if he knows exactly how she likes it.

"Fuck.." Spencer growls, unhooking her legs from his waist with his available hand and using his weight to lift her legs above her head and driving in deep. Y/n claps a hand over her mouth to keep her screams in, her other hand gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles turn white. "You're taking me like such a good girl."

"Fuck, Spencer," she whimpers under her palm.

"Say my name again."

"Spencer..."

"Louder."

"Fuck, Spencer!" She cries as he hits home, her pleasure reaching it's breaking point hastily.

"Open your mouth," he demands. She releases her palm from over her mouth and opens wide, Spencer wasting no time in sticking two fingers on her tongue. She closes her lips around his fingers and slides her tongue over their length. He groans in pleasure as she continues to tease his fingers.

"Come for me."

Those words were her undoing as she falls over the edge, Spencer following her over and her body releasing the pent up desire. Her entire body trembles as ecstasy floods her.

He releases her legs but stays positioned inside her, face hovering just inches above hers. Their panting breaths tangle with each other in the air between them. "You took me like such a good girl," he coos, cupping her cheek gently and rubbing her heated skin with his thumb.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Y/n whispers, trying to control her wildly racing heart.

"Of course."

"I've thought the same things," she confesses, pulling him by the hair to meet her lips again. "And I hope you're not too tired for another round."

An animalistic smile grows on his face as he pauses their kiss, "I'm going to tear you apart."

522 notes · View notes

xob1tchs · 2 months

Text

| mutual help ; l. berkshire

genre; smut 😜

warnings; bickering, NOT e2l sorry every1!!, no actual sex, mentions of blowjob, food play (?), oral (f receiving), public sex, fingering, dirty talk, name calling (baby, honey bc that’s readers nn and babe)

a/n; idk i saw these pics on pinterest and thought they were cute and then i just got to thinking abt how i could make smth and use them and yeahhhhh — but i actually like this a lot so im thinking this isn’t the end 😅😅 pt.2 maybeee

playlist; meddle about by chase atlantic, single by the neighborhood, cry baby by the neighborhood.

You smile around the ice cream filling your jaw, cheeks puffing out in a way that makes enzo's pants grow tighter, some of the pinkish-white cream dribbling from the corners of your mouth, making a mess that stains the pristine collar of your dress shirt.

He toys with the mechanical pencil in his grasp, running it along the seam of his lips, pressing them into a cat-like grin when you look up at him over the top of your textbook, eyes turning to crescents when your grin widens. Your book thumps against the table when you lean forward, caught between your chest and the hardwood, making you stutter over whatever you were gonna say, shiny lips falling into a confused pout, blinking down at the pages before you roll your eyes, nudging it to the floor with your elbow, letting it clatter against the wood without a care.

“You’re going to get us in trouble – ” Lorenzo warns, watching as the ice cream cone in your hand melts over your knuckles, seeping into the cuffs of your cardigan, forming sticky lines between your knuckles “Finish that, or i’ll throw it away.” he finishes, arching a perfectly trimmed brow as you bring the strawberry cream to your lips again, licking a thick strip from the base of the cone to the top of the cream.

You hum in satisfaction, ready to bring the cone back for another lick, when a group of students brushes past, one of their shoes knocking the back of your chair, grip on the come loosening for a moment before it topples from your fingers and lands in the crevice of your thighs. You gasp, scowling at the fifth years as they giggle, rushing around a corner.

“God damn it, honey” enzo growls deep under his breath, snapping his book shut, making you flinch as you look up at him from the mess between your thighs. Your brows draw together in confusion, used to hearing the nick name in a more saccharine tone. This wasn’t your fault.

You tilt your head “they bumped into me!” you whisper yell, uncomfortably rubbing your thighs together, only spreading the sticky mess further.

Frowning he scoots his chair back, leaning back enough to see the drying ice cream, something straight out of wet dream as you spread your thighs, chasing some sort of relief from the uncomfortable feeling - he can see your white panties, delicate lace trim along the edges and a cute little with bow just below your navel.

“You’ve made a fucking mess” his tone is annoyed, shoulders tensing as you gaze into his puppy like eyes, puffy lips parting in a pout once again.

This has been torture – weeks of tutoring you, dealing with the innocent pouts and whines, begging him to just lie to professor snape for you. Games of on and off, that he knows he’s definitely winning, because you were practically begging for his cock a fortnight ago. He’s thought about you so many times – thought about beating the shit out of the guys that talk about you.

He can’t fucking take it anymore, cock throbbing in his boxers as you squirm around in your chair, huffing out delicate breaths, wide eyes turned glassy – you look like you might even cry, and makes him tick, knuckles pale from how tightly his fists clench against the smooth hard wood table.

Gripping the table with one hand, and the hem of your skirt with the other, you sigh “I can clean it up enzo” you plead, nervous as he shifts in his chair, tugging the sleeves of his dress shirt up his forearms.

The whole library falls silent when he looks at you, rasping out a command that makes your eyes go wide “spread your legs” he mumbles. He drops to his knees not a moment sooner, brunette head of hair disappearing under the table, the drag of his chair back to the table making you gasp.

Fingers wrap around your ankles, forcing your legs apart, unveiling your clothed pussy to his sparkling eyes when your skirt rides up your thighs, the fabric is damp and stained with strawberry ice cream, molding your warm folds to the cotton, puffy pussy straining for attention against the threads. He blows out a soft breath between puckered lips, chuckling hotly when you squirm, thighs trembling against his strength.

“Lorenzo — we’ll be caught” you whisper, glassy eyes meeting his own dark ones, a gentle blush spread across the bridge of your nose and the apples of your cheeks. He tuts, leaning forward just enough for his nose to rub your clit, breathing in the musky-sweet scent emitting from your core.

“You don’t want me to help you out?” He murmurs, tongue darting out to lick a stripe along your seam, planting a wet kiss against your hole as one of his hands creep up the inseam of your thigh, toying with the outer hem of your panties.

You sigh, cradling your face in your palms, unable to voice the denial you thought you had wanted to say, overwhelmed by the heat from his breath ghosting your cunt.

“be a good girl and keep quiet” he mutters, peeking up at your flushed face between your fingers before he tugs your panties to the side, the threads snapping under the pressure, ripping the crotch right out of them, ruined as they fall to the floor.

he takes his time, as he leans in, eyelids fluttering closed, jaw hanging slack – pressing an open mouth kiss to your spread folds, humming in delight at the sticky slick seeping from your core, pressing in deeper for more, nails digging crescents into your sticky thighs.

his tongue toys at your entrance, the warm muscle prodding your tight walls until you let out the softest wine from above him, hips bucking forward against his face, pressing his nose into your clit.

“s’fucking good” he mouths against your cunt, shaking his face side to side, making your squirm against the wooden chair, thighs threatening to squeeze around his head if he were to let go.

“shit- enzo '' you chirp, drooping eyes casting a weary look around the library, despite knowing your meticulously tucked away study corner is shielded from most prying eyes.

one of his hands drifts from the inseam of your thigh, to the top of your pussy, pulling the hood up so he can wrap his puffy lips around your clit, gently tugging on the nub with his teeth, before giving it a lewd suck, slurping and smacking sounding from between your legs - he’s the one being fucking loud.

his other hand glides down your pussy as he pulls away, spreading your folds to watch your greedy hole wink, pulsing for something to fill you up - seeping wetness that runs down your asshole and the wooden chair, staining the hardwood floor below you even further.

he groans as he presses the pad of his middle finger to your pussy, watching as you suck him in, gliding to the second knuckle with ease “you can take more than that, can’t you baby?” you hum from above him, thighs spreading further in a silent agreement, etching a wicked grin across his lips.

he slides a second finger in with ease, cock jumping in his trousers when he feels the suction of your velvet walls around his thick fingers, clenching around him with need even when he doesn’t make a move.

when he leans in to flick your clit, your thighs clamp around his head, one hand tangling in the hair the crown of his skull, the other gripping the edge of a textbook so harshly you fear the pages will rip.

he groans against your heat, eyelids rolling back in his skull as he makes harsh thrusts in and out with his fingers, alternating between quick sucks and nips at your swollen bud, the weight of his cock in his boxers becoming unbearably heavy with every jut of your hips against his face, precum making his boxers stick to his length in an uncomfortable manner.

“m’so close enzo, baby please” you croon, leaning back in your chair to lock eyes with him, tears brimming at your lash line as you press a palm to your mouth, muffling the sounds that multiply with every passing second.

he doesn’t stop at your confession, the words spurring him on, desperate to swallow your cum and taste it on his tongue for hours to come, cock twitching at just the thought alone.

his hand drives into you with so much force that wet smacking sounds start to ring out, so fast and frequent that if anyone were near they’d surely know what you were up to.

it’s only a couple seconds later that you’re falling apart on his fingers, thighs squeezing around him so tightly that he begins to go lightheaded, surely not helped by the way he desperately laps at your seeping cunt like a man starved, groaning and moaning into your folds until he’s satiated, and your hips are squirming away from his mouth, pussy swollen and sensitive against the cool air of the library when he finally does pull back.

you look down at him through a bleary gaze, flushing at the sight, covered in a mix of sweat, cum and strawberry ice cream, smeared along his jaw and across the tip of his nose, you lick your lips, shaking your head when he meets your eyes “now we’ve both made messes” you mumble, using the cuff of your sweater to wipe some of the liquid from his face, glancing between his legs to where his cock strains against the zipper.

“now i should help you then, right?”

#lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire smut #slytherin boys #slytherin #slytherin boys smut #harry potter smut #fanfic #fanfic smut #slytherin smut

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toxicanonymity · 9 months

Text

Jailbird.

1.5k / Cellmate’s nephew!Joel x inmate f!reader

thank you @iamasaddie for the mood board!!!

PART 2 HERE: Collect calls

Summary: Your cellmate introduces you to her hot nephew and he comes to visitation hours. A/N: Part 1 of 3. This one is due to @beskarandblasters and @wannab-urs and their hilarious list of new joel tropes and @raccoonhandedhottie's nerve to put the idea of doing one in my head. My masterlist WARNINGS: References to sex work, ACAB. Horny phone/visitation talk, mild/non-explicit over-pants masturbation. Mickey Avalon Easter egg.

Without Mabel, you're not sure how you would've survived your first six months in lock-up. You were cuffed for solicitation when a dirty cop wouldn't pay what he owed. He says he took it easy on you -- you also clawed him and spit in his face. As soon as you told your new cellmate what really happened, she took a liking to you. She said you should've bitten him in the pecker. Mabel had been there, done that. She even knew of the cop who put you away. It wasn't Mabel's first time behind bars. She had the ink and reputation to prove it. Her knuckles said "TAKE NONE" and that was accurate. By now, nobody gave her any shit. Soon enough, no one gave you any either.

Mabel had a few photographs on her wall, mostly of her and a younger man. Not a particularly young man, but certainly younger than Mabel. He was probably in his early forties in the pictures, which were five years prior, before she violated her parole. She was giving you a poke and stick tat of a four leaf clover on your hand one day when you asked about the pictures.

"I was wonderin' when ya were gonna ask about my lil Jojo. I've seen ya lookin' at him, ya little horndog..."

She let you stammer around in response. "No, I, I'm just, making conversation, wanna get to know you better."

"It's okay, baby. He's my nephew. All I got left. He's a neat kid."

"He looks happy to be with you–ouch!"

"Don't be a pussy. Oh, he's a real sweet boy. Bet he'd like you, too."

"What makes you say that?"

She looked up from your hand "cause ya got a cunt and you're not bad lookin'," she laughed. "Hey,” she raised her eyebrows. “You ever wanna borrow one of those pics, you let me know, I'll give ya some privacy."

"No thanks."

"Oh, come on. You can fold it so ya don't have to see my pretty face."

You laughed.

"Bet he'd dick ya down real good, too."

"What?" You asked, quietly disturbed.

"He lives with me. Walls are thin."

"Ah. That must be awkward."

"Not really! We're all human. I could even tell ya the kinda shit he says if ya want. He can get real filthy. Or shit, I could just give ya his number."

"That's ok."

"Baby, he'd love to hear from ya. Trust me. I've told him all about ya." She put down the needle and picked up a tissue to dab your skin.

"You have??"

"Oh yeah. Here, I'm gonna write it down."

She took one of the photos off the wall and wrote his number on the back. Then she folded it in half and winked at you as she handed it to you.

—----------------

It only took a week of her nagging for you to call “Jojo.”

Your breath hitched when you heard his smooth, deep voice. The first thing he said was, “Ah, call me Joel,” and you could hear the smile on his face.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” you laughed. “Well your aunt’s told me a lot about you, Joel.”

“Yeah, I can only imagine what,” he faux grumbled. “Real character, ain’t she?”

“I love Mabel,” you blurted out.

You found yourself opening up about how in some ways, she was more of a mother figure than you ever had. Joel was easy to talk to. It just came pouring out. You told him about Mabel’s antics and the mischief the two of you got up to. Things you’d steal from the cafeteria. The way Mabel kept the ladies in line who tried to dom you. Next thing you knew, your time was up. You apologized profusely for talking Joel’s ear off about yourself.

“Nahhhh, it was nice,” Joel said. “Hell of a lot more interesting than my life.”

“Well it was good talking to you,” you told him.

He said, “Hey, call me back any time.”

There was nothing sexy at all about that first conversation, but his voice did something to you. You squeezed your thighs together when you got back to your cell and looked at the photo. Mabel kept giving you a knowing look.

—------

You started calling Joel regularly. Mabel told you he liked you a lot, but you weren’t sure if you should believe her. She seemed overly eager to set him up. The conversations were brief and casual. When you didn’t call him one week, the next time you spoke, he told you he missed the sound of your voice.

Something came over you and you broke the tension. “My voice?” you asked. “Joel, your voice. . . you dunno what it does to me,” you blurted out. Zero to sixty, just like that.

“Well damn,” Joel said. “Shoulda said somethin’. Coulda given ya better than stories about Mabel.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like whatever ya want, jailbird.” Your heart fluttered “Whatever gets ya hot and bothered.”

“Honey, you could read me the phone book,” you told him.

He chuckled. “Haven’t seen one of those in a few years.” His voice was sexy to begin with but the sharp edge of the phone connection made it even hotter.

After a moment of tense silence, he said, “Hey, uh, you notice any of your pictures missin’?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, Mabel mailed me one. Didn’t tell me you were a fuckin’ smokeshow.”

You laughed bashfully.

“Well she did. But I had to see it for myself, and shit”

“Well, thanks. You’re not bad looking yourself.”

Your time was almost up.

“Hey I’m comin’ to see Mabel later this week. Y’all got the same visitor’s night or what? Cause I’d love to see you, too, if it’s allowed.”

“Nah, mine’s the next night.”

“S’alright, i’ll come back for ya, sugar.” Your heart skipped a beat.

“I’ve gotta go.”

“I know. Be good, jailbird.”

—--------

It was visitation day and you were getting nervous. Mabel thought it was adorable. She helped you get ready. Did your hair nice. “He’s already smitten with ya, baby,” she said.

You were escorted into the visitation room and sat at one of the booths, separated by glass, with a phone on each side.

When Joel came in, you didn’t recognize him at first. In just those five years, his beard had turned half-silver. He was striking in person. He was wearing a tight t-shirt and jeans. Tight jeans. You couldn’t help but size up the bulge in them.

When you looked up at his face, he was raising his eyebrows at you like he caught you looking. He sat down and put his elbows on the table. You picked up the phone, a little nervous, but more excited than anything. He checked you out and smiled at you coyly before picking up the phone.

“Like what ya see?” he said softly into the phone.

You replied with a low whistle, then asked, “You always dress like a piece of meat?” He had a few hand tattoos of his own. Faded, blurred together. A spade between his thumb and forefinger. A spiderweb curving around one of his biceps. He’d probably done his own time.

“When the hell are ya gettin’ outta here?”

“Up for parole next month,” you said.

“No shit!” He looked genuinely excited.

“Mabel didn’t tell you?”

“Thought she was yankin’ my chain.” He stretched his free hand behind his head and you watched his bicep. “You been good? Think you’ll get out?”

“Haven’t been bad.”

“Good.” He lowered his voice. “‘Cause sugar, I’m gonna need to see what’s under that garb.”

You smiled with faux shyness, and he continued, “God damn,” looking at you like a juicy leg of lamb.

You stared at each other, checking each other out for a moment. You watched his pupils dilate as your chest rose and fell with desire.

You made small talk for a minute or two, all the while fucking each other with your eyes. But, things took a turn again.

“What do you miss the most?” he asked in a low, sultry voice. “Bet ya don’t miss the clients.”

You shook your head.

He lowered his voice further. “When’s the last time ya had a nice hard cock ya really wanted?”

Your eyes widened. “Shit, I dunno.”

“Ohhh you’re in for it.” You looked around, paranoid, in disbelief that you could get away with a conversation like this. “Ain’t nothin’ harder than mine, baby.” He reached his hand into his lap. “Fuck. ‘specially for you.” You could see his arm moving very slowly but there was no mistaking what he was doing. His eyes devoured you.

“Joel,” you sighed. “Fuck, I believe it.”

And just like that, a guard approached him from behind. “Time’s up,” the guard said and glared at you. You rolled your eyes as a guard approached you, too.

Joel said “Later, jailbird” and hung up the phone. When he stood up, his massive erection was visible and made your heart skip a beat. You glanced up to his face and he was wetting his lips. He winked at you with pink cheeks and your eyes immediately fell back to his crotch as he adjusted himself and the guard hurried him away.

FUCK. You were gushing. Mabel’s Jojo. Joel. What a man.

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Part 2

Ty for reading. strip club manager!Joel will be an alternate timeline of this Joel set in the past while Mabel was on parole. DIFFERENT READER. preview

this trope actually gave me so many more elaborate ideas lmao.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #toxicanonymity ☠️#cellmate's nephew!joel #CN!Joel Miller #CN!Joel #cellmate's nephew!joel miller #jojo ☠️

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