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hoseoksluna · 2 months

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LIQUID STARS | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting

note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ

side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!

Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for.

It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift.

Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too.

While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?

You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?

He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed.

How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—

Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight.

You couldn’t.

Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair.

His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words.

“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”

You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely.

“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”

Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis.

You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed.

“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.”

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it.

He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—

“Let me kiss you, please.”

You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable.

Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?”

You exhaled, he inhaled.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek.

He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in.

“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.”

Your body panics, but you will it to relax.

“Does that come with the premium subscription?”

Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps.

“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms.

“I get to take Bam?”

Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?”

Probably not. Definitely not.

“But what about Bam?”

He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words.

“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.”

You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell.

Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it.

It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—

“Deal.”

Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly.

“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows.

He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead.

You make a face as if you’re thinking about it.

Jungkook groans.

It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity.

You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back.

He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body.

You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers.

You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline.

And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it.

You want him.

It began with a ring and ended right here.

And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled.

The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss.

Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t.

And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago.

Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you.

“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper.

Jungkook grips your waist hard.

“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy.

“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples.

“Kiss me, then.”

You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—

When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth.

The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission.

You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step.

“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.”

He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles.

“Bam, house.”

The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that.

“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him.

He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.”

You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him.

“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists.

He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.”

A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?”

He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them.

You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list.

His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course.

You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.”

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.”

Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting.

“You wanna know what made me hard for you?”

You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact.

“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?”

You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties.

“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.”

A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.”

He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.”

You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself.

The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him.

You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears.

No attachment, no liking.

Just sex.

There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm.

“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.”

You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted.

You broke him.

And now you have to face the repercussions.

Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal.

You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all.

There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.”

You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have.

Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it.

Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break.

The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in.

He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm.

No strings, no pain.

But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is.

“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid.

You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening.

He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning.

A lump forms in your throat.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.

You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.

You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship.

Flowery or deceitful?

A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out.

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.”

Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”

He blames himself, not you.

You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps.

“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.”

He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.”

His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened.

Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum.

He said it, so it must be so. You trust him.

The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun.

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin.

The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing.

You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself.

“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long.

“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?”

He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice.

“Of course I trust you.”

“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.”

Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline.

“Are you scared?”

You’re an empty canvas.

“Not anymore.”

Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?”

“Okay.”

He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?”

The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.”

You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt.

Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set.

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy.

Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks.

“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.”

Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie.

Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?”

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?”

You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod.

Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child.

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs.

Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red.

Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them.

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach.

“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?”

Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.”

“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?”

You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy.

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features.

You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good.

“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.”

Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens.

He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs.

There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you.

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear. “How do you touch yourself?”

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat.

Jungkook sees you.

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer.

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind.

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax.

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side.

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise.

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

He stills the buck of your hips.

You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you.

“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”

You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.”

He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.

Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you.

Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around.

“Feels good, baby?”

His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.

“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.”

It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.

You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.”

His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring.

Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.

“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”

“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?”

You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted.

Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff.

“Did so well for me.”

The whisper takes you back and you awake.

You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good.

He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.

You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.

Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.

You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.

“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?”

You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change.

“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.”

For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.

Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.

And then he sinks them into your mouth.

His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy.

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks.

He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration.

Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.”

You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is.

Musk, vanilla, wood.

The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout.

“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew.

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.”

A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?”

You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do.

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.

“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos.

You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts.

It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully.

He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?”

You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.”

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.”

You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number.

He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?”

You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.”

Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare.

He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him.

He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?”

You nod. “So bad.”

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough.

“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?”

You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.

“I’ve never let anyone get this close.”

Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?”

Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.

“I watch a lot of porn.”

Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance.

You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth.

“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him.

He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again.

Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go.

The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge.

He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore.

Neither, evidently, can he.

“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands.

So vulnerable.

You ache.

You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head.

When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth.

You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets.

But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny.

He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—

Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head.

“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.”

Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan.

He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.

Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind.

And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin.

“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?”

With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it.

Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans.

“Talk to me.”

You can’t. You don’t know how to talk.

He stares you down.

No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling.

“I won’t play with you, then.”

Panic. “No.”

He cocks a brow at you. “No?”

Silence.

He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm.

“Jungkook.”

Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs.

“Beg.”

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you.

Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You groan in frustration.

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.”

That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it.

“Where?”

A challenge. Your throat dries up.

“There.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that.

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.”

The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone.

And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that.

“Lick my clit, please.”

A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.

“Like this?”

You choke out a moan.

“Yes, please.”

“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”

He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—

“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?”

Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.

Your Daddy.

You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.”

The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you.

And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens.

You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you.

Daddy and little girl.

Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.

Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls.

And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror.

You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat.

“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.”

He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell.

“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?”

Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin.

“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed.

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.

Your frown deepens.

“But what if it doesn’t fit?”

You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake.

“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.”

It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected.

Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him.

He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow.

There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head.

Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.

“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him.

“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.”

You nod, trusting him.

He pecks you. Smiles.

“How many orgasms are we at?”

You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”

Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.

A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?”

“You obliterated my expectations.”

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.”

You blush, eyes twinkling.

“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.”

Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad.

“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness.

But Jungkook grows solemn.

“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss.

Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.

“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”

Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.

“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel.

“I don’t stop coming.”

Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.

“And you finger yourself?”

You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.

“How many fingers?”

You scoff. “Just one.”

“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?”

You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently.

He didn’t break his promise.

Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides.

And there you feel it.

The sensation unlike any other.

He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?”

Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.

You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms.

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.”

He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—

Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come.

You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you.

“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?”

“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep.

“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth.

Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much.

“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.”

Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam.

“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.”

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.”

White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak.

“Please, come for me.”

Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?”

The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.

“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.”

And it’s the truth.

Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat.

Jungkook grunts.

“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.”

He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length.

And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.

And you swallow it all.

Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way.

He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all.

“Good girl. Good little princess.”

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?”

You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.

The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes.

And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot

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obxsprincess · 4 months

Note

Just Luke shoving your head into the pillows while he moans the filthiest words in your ear (someone take my phone away)

yesyesyes especially when he’s brat taming !!

——— ⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

he watches you spring into another cabin boys arms after winning capture the flag, your hair all messy, giggling n laughing like a sweet perfect fool. his sweet, perfect fool. you looked so pretty. n luke knew the tall, asshole of a guy was thinking the same thing

he wasn’t ‘fuckin having it’

“I get, ya’ were just being friendly, princess. but that fuckers not thinking like that.” his hot breath fans the back of your neck, n you’d believe he was mad at you when he drops you onto your bed, all greedy n mean as he sucks hickeys all over your pretty tits

“agh b-ut luke, he was on my team n’ he helped us win-” his brown eyes furrow in annoyance, finally looking up. leaving your pebbled nipple glossy n achy from his salvia

“so you want to repay him? is that the fuckin case, cause he got the flag you want him sucking on these pretty tits mhm?” oh he is mad :(

“n-no I didn’t say tha-” you frown at the oh-so familiar tingle in your tummy, his hands moving lower and lower…

“nah it’s ok baby, wanted some time with my favorite girl anyways. just shush n’ let me give her some…attention”

you didn’t think he meant your pussy when he said his favorite girl :( n his way of shushing was shoving your face into your plushy, pink pillows. muffling your whines in the cotton things n your angelic whimpers when his cock slides into the warm, tight little fit of your gummy walls

“mhmm, fuck-fuck yeah, tightest little pussy I’ve ever felt. ahhhh fuck she grips me so good.” he’s moaning into your dizzy ear like he’s married to your pussy and your merely their for the ride “don’t she baby?” he coos

“l-luke auh! m’here too!” tears of salty jealousy brush your lash line ??

“f-fuck, shush princess. why can’t you be as good as this sweet little cunt? she’d never fuckkk let another dick inside of her.”

your mascara stains the pillow cases as you try to wiggle, clenching around his so tightly cause this is supposed to be about you!! n the angles so deep!! but his pounding thrusts made you forget all bratty sense. now he was just rubbing it in, groaning n moaning all over your flustered skin

“pretty pussy knows only I make you feel this good,”

“your” thrust “fuckin” thrust “mine” finally he was talking to you again!!

”m’ all yours l-luke! g-gonna mphmm! cum!” your squeals encourage his hips to snap against your soft ass even faster. his balls slapping against you shushing you even more than the fluffy pillows

“goddd I’m cumming inside my girl tonight, you thrust deserve it. this- fuck your dripping— pussys mine too right, ma?”

”y-yes!”

——— ⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

#luke castellan prompt #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan smut #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan #pjo luke #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan pjo #pjo smut

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tinycoffeeroom · 18 days

Text

just friends | lando norris

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

part 2 !

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📍 sass cafe, monaco

👤 bffstagram, landonorris liked by bffstagram, landonorris and 59,203 others

y/nstagram dj lando came out of retirement for the night🤠

landonorris 😎 only for you xx ↳ y/nstagram i'm honoured mr norris 🫡 ↳ fan i love my besties who don't know they're my besties

bffstagram bro my tummy hurts ↳ y/nstagram i'm coming round with coffee and croissants you big baby ↳ bffstagram i love my gf ♥️ y/nstagram

fan i wanna party with y/nlando so BAD dude ↳ y/nstagram if you ever find yourself in monaco hmu xx

user ew flipping off the camera so ladylike ↳ y/nstagram idk your mum quite likes my fingers 🫶 ↳ fan ☠️☠️☠️ i love her

fan bffstagram is so hot, i need her ↳ bffstagram thank u babycakes 💗

liked by bffstagram, lilymhe and 69,928 others

y/nstagram rainy days in monaco 🌧️

lilymhe i deserve financial compensation for the emotional turmoil tfios sent me through ↳ y/nstagram don't,,, sat and sobbed my eyes out at the last 100 pages

fan how to lose a guy in 10 days... tfios... who hurt you y/n? ↳ y/nstagram hahahah nothing like that! i promise i'm all good!

bffstagram i still have a headache from crying at that book, next time i choose what we're reading for book club ↳ y/nstagram BORINGGGGG who doesn't love doomed romance? ↳ fan you guys have a book club? thats so cute 😭 ↳ y/nstagram yep! it's me, bff, kika, lily and flavy!! ↳ alexandrasaintmleux and no one thought to invite me?? ↳ y/nstagram come join us babe!! ❤️

landonorris wow, didn't take you for a sappy romance reader ↳ y/nstagram there's a lot you don't know about me comment deleted ↳ y/nstagram tfios can make even the iciest bitch cry (it's me, i'm the icy bitch)

landonorris also answer ur damn texts ↳ y/nstagram sorry idk how to read suddenly ↳ fan The Lando Norris gets aired, there's hope for the rest of the bitchless community ↳ landonorris dude...

liked by fan, fan and 103,028 others

f1gossip Eagle eyed Sass Cafe goers managed to capture Lando Norris getting cosy with an unknown blonde girl. Rumoured girlfriend Y/N L/N was nowhere to be seen. Trouble in paradise for the young duo?

fan delete this rn y'all are fucking up my y/nlando chances

fan rumoured girlfriend?? i thought they were just friends ↳ fan that's what they both say, but they're always very close whenever they've been seen out together ↳ fan i'm pretty sure there was like a super grainy photo of them kissing but you can't really tell if it's either of them ↳ fan hey how about we don't speculate on people's love lives???

fan y/n has been absent from social media for like a month too ... its so over for us y/nlando'ers

fan her instagram is girlstagram! from what i could see before she went private, she posted a selfie of her and lando and they looked very close ↳ fan damn the fbi needs to hire you or smth

liked by bffstagram, estebanocon and 65,928 others

y/nstagram thuggin it out (i've listened to your best american girl 34 times today i think bffstagram is about to smother me with a pillow)

fan um who hurt my bestie ???

fan whoever hurt y/n must die at the hand of my sword

fan lando norris i am in your walls FIX THIS

bffstagram i would never smother you xx also come out of ur room it is boring as FUCK out here ↳ y/nstagram damn cant a girl go through it in peace? ↳ bffstagram absolutely not, i have wine and nibbles get out here NEOOWWW or i'm breaking into ur room ↳ y/nstagram the door is open babygirl

fan ik this is a parasocial friendship but are you ok y/n? ☹️ we love you ↳ y/nstagram oh sweetie ❤️ i'll be fine, sometimes you just gotta be a lil sad y'know? thank you for asking, ily ❤️ ↳ fan ily, take care of yourself 🥺 ♥️ y/nstagram

estebanocon chérie, i don't know what's wrong but i hope you're ok! lets grab coffee soon, flavy misses you! ☺️ ↳ y/nstagram thank u este 🫶🥺 text me when you're free! tell flavy i love her 💗 ↳ flavy.barla i love you too 💕 ♥️ y/nstagram

fan no lando like, i have one (1) fear ↳ fan do not even speak that into the universe

fan after f1gossips post, i have my speculations ↳ fan dude, if he fumbled y/n he really will be lando nowins

liked by flavy.barla, francisca.c.gomes and 10 others

y/npriv absolutely not thuggin it out lads

flavy.barla chouchou (sweetheart) 💔 that's it, me and este are taking you out for lunch tomorrow ↳ y/nstagram nooo don't let me ruin your date time!! ↳ flavy.barla nope it's already done! este's booked that little restaurant you like on pl. du casino ↳ y/nstagram le salon rose?? oh i could do a little weep, i love you guys 😭 ↳ flavy.barla we love you so so much y/n 💕

lilymhe i will hit him with my golf clubs ↳ y/nstagram i haven't even mentioned anyone? ↳ lilymhe we all know their name rhymes with bando borris ↳ y/nstagram wdym we all know? who else knows? ↳ flavy.barla ... me ↳ alexandrasaintmleux ^ ↳ francisca.c.gomes ^ ↳ lilynzeimer ^ ↳ heidiberger_ ^ ↳ carmenmmundt ^ ↳ kellypiquet ^ ↳ iamrebeccad ^ ↳ y/nstagram ok ok i get it damn

kellypiquet want me to ask max to rear end him with his race car? ↳ y/nstagram as if max would ever be behind lando ↳ kellypiquet 😳😳😳 ↳ y/nstagram i may l*ve him but i am also a realist ↳ y/nstagram ok no i do feel bad

y/nstagram uploaded to their story

[caption 1: love of my life, apple of my eye, the thelma to my louise 💖 @/flavy.barla] [caption 2: damn stole my girl from right in front of me 😔 @/estebanocon @/flavy.barla]

seen by landonorris, flavy.barla and 67,394 others

flavy.barla mon ange (my angel), you know you're the only one for me 💕 ↳ y/nstagram tell that to your giant of a boyfriend :(

estebanocon i'm not a giant 😠 ↳ y/nstagram stop reading flavy's messages weirdo ↳ y/nstagram but on a real note, thank you for dinner, i really needed it ↳ estebanocon of course, i'm not sure what lando's done but we hate seeing you so sad ↳ y/nstagram who said it had anything to do with lando? ↳ estebanocon whenever me and flavy have an argument she pulls out the mitski lyrics, i know the signs ↳ y/nstagram that's different, you and flavy are dating ↳ estebanocon and you and lando aren't???? ↳ y/nstagram what? no? we're just friends ↳ estebanocon oh mon amie naïve (my naive friend) friends don't look at each other the way the two of you do

landonorris can we talk? seen

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

anyone interested in a part 2?

#lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris social media au #f1 imagine #f1 smau #f1 social media au

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introloves · 5 months

Text

“apologize”

the word rang through your dizzy and blurry head- trying to breathe while your cheek pressed down onto pillows with every swing of nanami’s hips. you hadn’t seen his face for the better part of half an hour now.

having used every shaky word you were allowed to use in his presence with slip ups like these.

too needy, begging and vying for his attention so badly it slipped you into an uneasy and frankly snappy attitude. directing it to everyone except for him… until he stood directly in front of you with inquisitive questions as to why a pout was painted on your lips. arms crossed and straining against the pressed shirt that had absolutely no give.

heart sinking down to your tummy when your answer was uncharacteristically sour and borderline mean. accusing your sweet, overworking man of prioritizing work over you- lips snapped shut when he stepped forward and promptly pressed his fingers on either side of your cheeks and squeezing tight enough that there was a panic crawling up the base of your skull. hand immediately coming to try and pry his hand off before you thought better.

settling for the way he tugged you away and brought you to the point you were currently at- screaming and crying into the pillow saturated with tears and drool he had mercilessly fucked out of you.

messy cock bullying your poor cunt now after he deemed your mouth raw enough; ensuing you’d think twice about speaking to him like that.

he was good to you, patient- understanding when you got into your head over the silliest things and speaking before thinking. he could dismiss that; but he had been strung too tight, already missing you like you were him and being received in a manner where your kindness wasn’t there struck a cord within him that he preferred to swallow back.

but it was fine, he’d be here to straighten out any attitude you’d catch with him.

smiling when he saw you try and look back at him, knowing your lips were still sore and swollen from his thick cock previously. eyes barely able to meet his, rolling back every time he stopped and pressed his hips into the fat of your ass down so hard he knew it hurt.

stomach clenching with the painted look of hurt painted your pretty face.

“apologize for making me treat you like this.”

nanami spoke, reaching down to grab one swell of fat- spreading you open to see for himself the spattered wetness of orgasms ruined circling the base of his cock.

trying to keep the shiver that had him audibly groan down when your whole being spasmed at the words he directed towards your barely lucid self.

letting you suck in tufts of air before your lips trembled trying to form every syllable.

“‘m sorry.” it was warbled, every letter shaky and pitchy. a pathetic attempt in the midst of his hips pistoning in and out of you, swallowing after every word with the feeling that his cock itself was in your throat.

“nanami- ‘m sorry.” you whimpered, shame and embarrassment curling so tight in your stomach you could mistake it for a hot orgasm, ripped away when he finally ceased.

finally curled his body down to feel your heated skin, hand kept at the base of your neck but this time moving your head to bring your lips to his own. kissing you like he intended the first time he came back to you.

sweet and warm, silently apologizing in his own right for how he’d handled it- not regretting a single thing, but apologizing for the act itself.

“it’s okay, sweetheart- i’m here.” he whispered.

“good now, yeah?” nanami wondered, waiting for the nod of your head before finally lifting off you- eager himself to give you everything you wanted. knowing it was his fault for indulging you, especially like this.

waiting with a salivating mouth for the sight and feel of every messy orgasm he’d fuck out of you yet.

#nanami #nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami x reader smut #jjk smut #jjk #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk nanami #jjk.txt #smut #drabble

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rafecameroninterlude · 29 days

Note

cockwarming stebro!rafe but he can’t take it anymore and ends up pounding you from behind💗

warnings: stepcest, cockwarming, unprotected sex

rafe’s days of feeling guilty for wanting to fuck his bratty little step sister was long gone the second you stepped into his room wearing the skimpiest night gown he’d ever seen. “why are you still awake?” rafe got up, poking his head out the door to see if anyone might’ve seen you before locking it behind him. “can’t sleep..” you trailed off, doe eyes glancing up at him through your lashes. he studied you for a moment. “and what am i supposed to do about that?” he crossed his arms over his chest, the sight of his muscles making you swallow nervously. “can i sleep with you?” you leaned back, fully aware that your step brother could see your nipples through the sheerness of your top.

rafe glanced down, all his blood rushing to his cock. as if he needed another reason to let you be in the same bed as him, he watched as you crawled under the sheets, giving him a full view of your bare ass. he knew you knew what you were doing, but where’s the fun in not playing along? see just how far you’re willing to take it. “that’s some night gown you got on there.” he walked around to his side of the bed, turning the lamp off before getting under the covers. you smiled to yourself, your fingers fiddling with the small bow that was stitched at the hem. “yeah? you like it?” you turned your back to him, biting your lip as you felt the warmth of his body against your skin.

“yeah, it’s real pretty..” he pulled you against him, a gasp leaving your lips when you felt his erection resting on the curve of your ass. “you feel what you do to me?” he ran a hand down your side, lifting your thigh as he took himself out of his boxers. “rafe,” you whispered breathlessly. “don’t act coy. what else could you want when you walk in here with no panties on, huh?” he teased, “i’m gonna give you what you’re asking for.” you whimpered when you felt the head of his cock run across your clit. “please, ‘want you inside me so bad.” rafe shushed you as he entered you slowly, a groan falling from his lips as your hand found solace on his.

“don’t think i forgot about you mouthing off to me earlier today in front of my friends.” he used his other hand to wrap around your throat. “i don’t like bratty little bitches, you know that? i should punish you for that shit.” his words had you squeezing around him, desperate for any kind of friction you could get. “so do it.” he laughed bitterly, nodding his head before whispering in your ear. “that mouth is gonna get you in a lot of trouble.” rafe turned you over, the lack of movement making you groan in frustration . “i see the way you look at me, rafe. you’re punishing yourself too by not moving.” he hated that you were right. it was taking everything in him not to fuck you with your ass in the air.

you kept moving your hips, suddenly stopping when you felt his hand snake under your tummy, his fingers rubbing your clit. he stayed still as you clenched around him, the wet sound of your slick filling the empty air in his room. “please move.” you cried into his pillow. rafe looked down, regretting it almost immediately when he saw how desperate you looked back at him. “are you gonna learn something from this?” his restraint was dwindling down with every nod of your head. “yes! i promise i’ll be good from now on, ‘just want to be fucked rafe.” he cursed, holding onto you from the curve of your waist as he started thrusting into you.

the pressure in your stomach was building fast and it was becoming harder to stay quiet with each stroke of his cock against your velvety walls. with your hips meeting his, and the pretty little sounds coming from your mouth, rafe’s head rolled back as he struggled to keep his eyes open. rafe’s digits moved faster over your clit, his hand pushing your head into the sheets as you came with a cry of his name. he watched you tremble and shake, his thrusts turning sloppy as he pulled out, painting your cunt with his seed. “shit,” he groaned, still gripping his base as he continued to tease your entrance. “why didn’t you finish inside me?” you pouted. “we’ll save that for next time.”

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buckyalpine · 5 months

Text

Imagine shy beefy Bucky being the little spoon. He feels like he should be the one cuddling you since he’s so much bigger but he loves when you hold him instead.

However.

There’s this one thing you do that always makes him blush and flustered and he just doesn’t understand it.

You love rubbing his tummy.

You hold him from behind, peeking over his shoulder because you love how peaceful he looks when he sleeps. You know he's not actually asleep because his abs are still tensed, worried over how you'd feel with the beefiness that covers his muscular body.

He’s self conscious when your hand slips under his shirt, rubbing his soft but firm tummy up and down; his skin is so warm and you love how plush he is. He’s still getting used to the fact that he isn’t as trim as before. Not that he’s unfit. Quite the opposite. He’s a thick hunk of muscle mass. You can feel the iron like hardness that runs under his skin whenever you're pressed against him. He's so large and perfect to snuggle up with; your grabby little hands love finding their way to his stomach.

"Doll-" He whispers with pink dusted cheeks, holding your wrist away when you sneak over his waist, stroking your skin, "Doll, I- I'm not-" He struggles to get the words out, embarrassed he's not lean like Steve, "Baby, I-

“Shhh, I love you like this” you coo, kissing his shoulder. He shrugs, still not believing you. You tell him how much you adore him every time but he can't help but think back to the time where he was pure muscle without any pudge.

"Sweetheart, you don't have to pretend, I wish I was-"

You shake your head, pressing your lips to his to stop his spiral.

"But you're my big boy" You pout, shuffling over till your straddling him, forcing him to lay back. You huff, pulling his shirt up exposing him, shimmying your hips down so you can curl up on top of his bare torso like a little kitten. You let out a content sigh, pressing your face into his stomach, peppering kisses all over before peering up at him.

"I love your body so much baby" You say sincerely, kissing just below his belly button again for emphasis. "You're so warm and soft and strong, my perfect bear"

Bucky can't help but melt over the way you melt into him, your smaller form using him as a pillow to your hearts content. If you liked him like this, always kneading away at him or trying to burrow yourself into him, who was he to say no?

Cause imagine how fucking hot he'd be when he finally embraces how good he looks with a lil beef. Imagine he stops trying to cover up with large hoodies and henley's. He works out shirtless more.

You're not the only one who drools over him anymore.

All the other trainees can't help but swoon whenever they see him at the punching back or pumping with weights. You have to claw them off him from trying to climb up his legs, desperate to have Sargent Barnes carry them with one arm with ease.

Even the other Avengers can't help but cat call at him because he looks fine af.

Sometime he lets his hair out or ties it half up along with his scruffy cheeks and Tony's taken to calling him a man slut for walking around like that.

"Tony, I don't think thats what slut mean-

"I know what it means. You're telling me he's flaunting all that around and he doesn't know he's hot while doing it? He doesn't know he's getting all this attention?"

Bucky snickers to himself while you coo over your handsome boyfriend, wrapped around him like a koala while the others watch in amusement, your hands skimming all over his body and scratching his beard.

"See? Told you you're perfect like this, big boy"

Imagine he knows you find comfort in him and he no longer feels conscious over it. Whenever your sad and in need of cuddles, he holds you nice and close, usually sans clothing, all skin to skin contact.

He knows you're a little pervert and he'll give into your puppy like eyes, sometimes letting his towel drop after a shower while you grin, shamelessly watching him.

"You're staring again, you little creep" Bucky snorted while applying lotion, dropping his hands when he felt yours paw at his back to take over.

"Just a creep for you, handsome" You quip before continuing your journey exploring his body, moving your hand to his front, deciding to wrap around his co-

Anyway, I love this beefieee babieeee

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writemekpop · 2 months

Text

All Night Long | Lee Jeno

Summary: You’re pregnant, and the baby’s kicking makes it impossible to sleep. Luckily, Jeno knows just how to take care of you.

Genre: Fluff, established relationship AU, Babydaddy!Jeno

Word count: <1k

KICK. KICK. KICK.

You stroked your baby bump.

“Let me sleep,” you whispered. But it was no use. Your baby was beating you up from the inside.

You looked over at your husband, Jeno, who was fast asleep. His cheek was squished into the pillow, and his soft brown hair stuck up in all directions. Even like this, he was beautiful. You watched his bare, muscled chest rise and fall in time with his soft breaths.

You burned with jealousy at how soundly he slept, while you had been tossing and turning for hours.

You cleared your throat way too loudly.

Jeno jolted awake.

He sat bolt upright, eyes still puffy.

“Is everything okay? Is it the baby?” Jeno asked, voice rough.

His hands found your bump instinctively, and he started tracing circles on your skin. Ever since he found out you were pregnant, Jeno hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you.

“Can’t sleep,” you pouted. “It’s the baby. He keeps kicking me in the ribs.”

You’d taken to wearing Jeno’s shirts in bed – they were the only thing that fit. His hand slipped under the white cotton, stroking your bare skin.

He gasped softly when he felt a sharp kick.

“It’s been like this all night.”

Jeno shuffled so that he was lying in between your legs. He lifted your shirt, exposing your entire tummy.

“Let me talk to him,” Jeno said. “Man to man.”

You giggled when Jeno pressed his lips to your tummy and started to whisper.

Soon, it was becoming too ticklish to bear. Jeno held you in place, his large hands on your hips. He was holding you firmly but gently, just like always.

“Time to sleep, little one. Now, I know your mama is hot shit, but you’ve got to let her rest too, okay?” Jeno whispered into your bump.

“Hey!” you whispered. “You can’t say… the s-word in front of him.”

Jeno chuckled. “Sorry buddy. We’re don’t want you to end up a potty mouth like your mother.”

You whacked a pillow on Jeno’s head, which only made his smile grow.

His calming voice seemed to be doing the trick, as the kicking subsided. Your eyelids started to feel heavy, the weight of the day finally catching up with you.

Jeno shuffled up the bed till he was lying beside you. He pulled the duvet over you both and nuzzled his head into your neck.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him smirk.

“I’m the only one that gets to keep mama up all night.”

—

MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

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fiendishfables · 3 months

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Can I please request dom! Lucifer eating you out? I just know that man is very talented with his tongue

a/n: say less, really; short and sweet lovin' from Luci

warnings: nsfw, eating out, cursing, dom dom Luci

words: 676

additional notes: Thank you all so much for 110+ followers! It means the world to me that you guys enjoy my writing so much!

"Luxury of the King."

Dom! Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

The white, silk sheets beneath you rustled softly. Gentle puffs of air left your lips, saliva coating their plush surface in a light layer. The familiar black dots began aligning along the edges of your vision. Chest rising and falling with erratic patterns; a light sheen of sweat adorning your brow, seeping lightly into your hairline. You felt and looked like the epitome of an absolute wreck.

And it was all because of the man who's head was currently buried between your legs.

Despite your clear state of overstimulation, he was a relentless predator. Well, his forked tongue, rather. It worked against and inside you, like you would be the last thing it ever got to taste. Flicking against you, tasting all of the sweet nectar you had to provide for him. He was determined to eat you dry.

"I-I'm sorry, darling. You just taste s-so...fuck...so damn good."

His mouth continued its assault against you, making sure to take his time and devour you all in the same set of actions.

If he could just stay in between your legs all hours of the day, oh how he could die a happy man. No worries or strife, just you splayed out for him, presenting yourself as a canvas for his tongue to travel. He gulped at the thought.

You truly were the best luxury a king like himself could have.

Lucifer knew he didn't deserve you. He always asked himself how he got so damn lucky with happening upon you, but he never got too curious upon questioning, nor greedy when it came to your services. This was enough to take him all the way to Heaven and back. What more could he possibly ask for, other than your lovely company?

He noticed how your hips were now beginning to move more, as if trying to get away from his relentless tongue. Just the thought of your sweet taste being abandoned from his warm, forked muscle made his pupils slit and eyes narrow. In response, he placed a gentle yet authoritative hand on your lower tummy, pushing your trembling hips downwards to the mattress; that's where they were to stay until he was done with you. You were a gift from Heaven he was sure, and Hell be damned if he didn't savor it. Just thinking that seemed like madness. Lucifer wanted to taste everything you had to offer him. Every. Single. Thing.

"Stay still. Don't you dare try to move away from me." He growled, voice dropping much lower than its normal octave, causing you to flinch in surprise. His head had come up and out from between your legs, almost enticing a whine from your throat at the loss of stimulation, yet a sigh of relief at the same time for the smidgen of a break you were currently being blessed with.

The sudden change in his attitude was a bit of a surprise, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't hot as hell. The puppy dog side of your boyfriend was what you were most used to, so seeing him act this way instead was a very nice change of pace. You could never be scared of him; your safe word was always at your disposal if you felt he was being too demanding or rough, and he knew it too. So unless you used it, he would continue with his advances.

You looked at him through half-lidded eyes and offered the best nod you could manage with the state you were in, letting your head fall back to its original position on the fluffed pillows, lungs grasping for any sort of air they could muster up.

He gave a low nod back, a sly smile gracing his lips as he licked around them in order to clear off the remnants of your juices that he had yet a chance to devour like the other servings he managed to obtain.

"Good..." He said with a pointy smirk, before lowering his head once again to get right back to work.

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osachiyo · 3 months

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𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 & 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — fem!reader, size kink, manhandling, doggy —> prone bone, spanking, feral jing yuan, tummy bulge etc • aaaa my first work for hsr ! i hope it's not too bad :) happy reading and i hope you guys enjoy !! minors dni

JING YUAN who is just so, so big — and he knows it. he loves how much bigger his hands are compared to yours, he loves how he can effortlessly tower over you, he thinks it's just so cute how easily he can carry you or even throw you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

it's so insanely arousing to him, the way he can manhandle and pin you down anywhere and anytime if he so pleases — and take you right there. obviously he uses that fact to his advantage in the bedroom, bending you into all sorts of positions and watching as your face contorts in a mix of pain and pleasure — he simply loves it.

and today was one of those days. the general had you in doggy style, watching your ass ripple from his pelvis hitting it continuously — the sight almost had his mouth watering.

your face was buried in the heap of pillows — fingers desperately clawing at his silken sheets as you got pounded from behind by jing yuan. "hah, back your hips juust like that, sweet girl," he moaned, slapping at the jiggling fat of your ass — making you clench around him even more.

" 's too deep, ji—," you whined, which only made him let out a hearty laugh before slapping your ass again. "yeah? cock's too big for my little girl?" jing yuan cooed, condescension dripping from his words.

though he didn't make any efforts to slow down or give you a break — why would he? it would be a crime if he slowed down now, with the way you were gushing around his cock and blabbering incoherent sentences into the pillows — you looked the most pretty this way, he thought.

his hand reached down to press on your tummy when he felt it — a tiny bulge in your tummy everytime he thrusted in. now, he's usually not one to lose his control but that made his mind go blank for a second — hips slowing down to a halt, while you turn your head back to look at him. "ji?" you whispered his name so cutely — shit, you were peering at him through those wet lashes of yours while an adorable pout graced your lips. before you knew it, he was now plowing into you even harder, even faster than before — the poor bed creaking and slamming against the wall with each brutal thrust.

it was like something inside of him snapped — his pools of honey now darkened into a much, much deeper shade. one of his hands were holding you down by your neck, pushing your face further into the pillows, while his other hand was pressing down on your tummy — cock twitching inside of you every time he felt that goddamn bulge.

"fuuck, the things you do to me, angel," a growl left his chest, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust to your aching cunt. "good — s'good—!" you squealed when he moved his hand down from your tummy to your clit, flicking at the small nub with precision.

it wasn't long until your knees gave out completely, landing on the soft mattress with a "oomph," as jing yuan still continued to fuck into you with endless vigor. the man seemed to be in a trance at this point, eyes narrowed to slits as he lowered himself to lick and bite at your earlobes before whispering into your ear,

"better brace yourself, because you're in for a loooong night, my dear."

#𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒... ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr smut #hsr x reader #hsr x reader smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader smut #honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan smut #jing yuan x reader smut #jing yuan x reader

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fyodorloveclub · 10 months

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toji x afab!reader. 18+, mdni!!! size kink (huge dick toji agenda), missionary, tummy bulge

“t-toji, it’s not gonna fit,” you cry out, groaning in pain. the ring of muscle at your opening was stretched taut and throbbing just with the tip, and you seriously doubted it would accommodate the thickest part of his length.

toji only grunts in frustration. this wasn’t the first time the two of you had attempted going all the way, but you always tapped out when the pain of his obscenely thick, long cock got too much to bear. sometimes it wasn’t even the pain, the muscles just physically were unable to stretch enough to welcome him.

at this point there was nothing toji wanted more than to fuck you stupid and was praying this would be the time it worked, but he clearly was wrong. he had spent over half an hour eating you out, fingering you, and stretching you out with toys in preparation, and yet you still were struggling.

“just relax, baby, it’s okay,” toji coos, working hard to maintain his composure and not let his primitive side take over. it would be so easy to just shove your panties in your mouth, pin you down, and use his profuse strength to force himself in anyway, but that clearly wasn’t an option. “the more you tense up, the harder it’s gonna be, right?”

toji fushiguro wasn’t quite known for his patience, grace, and kindness, but you were and forever would be his one exception. the one he never wanted to hurt.

one thick hand rubs your waist gently as he uses the other to hover over you, piercing green eyes meeting yours in silent encouragement. the scar that ran perpendicularly through his lips warped as he offers you a small smile. “you can take me, love, i know you can. let’s take some deep breaths.”

you nod against the pillows, hand finding the one on your waist to intertwine your fingers together. your gazes meet once again to inhale and exhale in tandem.

“good girl,” toji praises, taking advantage of your mellowing demeanor to spread your legs impossibly wider and allow himself even better entry.

after three big, deep breaths, you almost tense up as you felt his tip prod against your cunt again, but toji squeezes your hand.

“breathe. stay relaxed. you can do it.”

“i can do it,” you parrot, nodding once again.

toji peppers sweet kisses up your neck and on your cheeks as he cautiously slid his cock into your hole, kissing away your quiet moans of pain and encouraging you to keep breathing. you do as you’re told, despite feeling the burn double with every centimeter of his length that entered you - but suddenly, pleasure blooms.

he must’ve finally hit the spot he only ever had with his fingers before, and your eyes go wide, keening as you moan unexpectedly. toji grins and takes the opportunity to sink his cock all the way in, growling as he finally, finally bottoms out. the feeling of his cock being completely enveloped and squeezed by your tight heat was something he had resigned to only experiencing in his fantasies, but it had become reality.

you were a crying mess, overwhelmed as you felt you were being torn in two while also feeling the shocks of pleasure that came from being filled to the brim. the puff of hair at the base of his cock rubbed against your clit as he fought to keep his hips stilled, making you gasp and whimper, wanting to hump against it.

“so fucking big, toji, can’t take it,” you cried, hands fisting the sheets and legs circling his waist.

“but you’re taking it already, baby, look,” he smiles, pressing a hand against your pelvis. peering down, you see what he’s talking about - a bulge had formed in your lower tummy, growing as toji angled his hips up and thrusted in just the tiniest bit more. “you like that?”

a smile lights up your face as you nod, proud of yourself. “good girl,” he coos once again.

the burn persists despite it all, but it’s drowned out by toji’s expert thrusts that hit all the right spots as he massages your clit, and soon, nothing could ever feel more right than being filled so full of your lover’s cock you can barely breathe.

“more, toji, more!”

#toji x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader

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babiexiao · 11 months

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HAND HOLDING WITH THE GENSHIN MEN

contains : fem!reader, smut (yeah this is smutty not soft sry not sry <3 lmaooo), mentions of cervix fucking, size kink, tummy bulges, breeding / impregnation kink, creampies woohoo, oooh the praise in this has me going a lil insane tbh, some degradation too, lots of oral, fingering, soft doms *sniffles* my weakness. includes scenarios for zhongli, kaeya, dain, tighnari, xiao and childe. this is not proof read at all, please ignore any mistakes i will not be fixing them cause i'm lazy :D

i thought about this scenario with xiao and then i spiralled from there. sorry not sorry i needed to get this out of my system actually... i am so unwell bye. likes / reblogs are appreciated and feedback is always welcomed <3 minors dni !!

zhongli : oh he is so big. listen, everythingggggggg about him is big okay, he's literally a dragon like? his hands? big. height? bIG. cock(s)? BIIIIG and he thrives off being big. sinks his cock into you while being in a half dragon form just because his dick is bigger than his human form. golden horns on top of his head, the colour of his skin changing from his normal pale one to somewhat mixed. hues of black, orange, yellow and golden the further you travel down his body. his hands and fingers are slightly longer in this form. nails coloured black, almost resembling claws. he enjoys this form because it lets him keep his human-ness but it also embraces his past. his favourite form when you two get intimate because he wants to see your cunt struggle to take him. "there you go darling, takin' me in so well." he'd whisper as his tip pushes past your entrance, thumb rubbing against your clit. "loosen up for me, that's it." as your cunt begins to flutter around himjdhfhf aaaaa don't even get me started on the bulge he'd make in your tummy :( it's inevitable. he's just so damn big.

favourite position is you on your back, couple of pillows under your body and him holding your waist to raise your lower half off the bed, claws digging into the flesh of your waist as your cunt clenches around his cock. it's only when he's bottomed out and you're bucking your hips to signal him to move that he'd lace his fingers with yours. pins them above your head. have i mentioned zhongli's big? he's so big that he only really requires one hand to have both your wrists in his hold. daddy zhongli is so strong too, doesn't matter how much you move or thrash around when he fucks you, trying to get your wrists out of his hold so you can just touch him, he doesn't budge. waits for you to really beg, tears in your eyes as you sob out "please, please, please" will he soften up. intertwines his fingers with yours as he rocks his hips slower, but sooo deep. leans over to place a kiss to the top of your head while you thank him for letting go, and he does that every time when you two hold hands :( he's so <3 mm yeah best daddy me thinks.

kaeya : this man,, lord kayea is a wild card in my very humble opinion. he's a tease, we all know this. but i think sex to him is so intimate, especially when it's with someone he would give his heart to on a silver platter. he's like the perfect mix of tease and praise and degradation and somehow giving you what you need all at the same time? idk, just listen okay. the word tease might as well just be kaeya's middle name, he's just that good at it. he likes to hear you beg, plays dumb too. "hmm? my sweet little thing, you're so quiet. what did you say, i'm afraid i missed it." all the while he is knuckle deep into your cunt, fingers curling up juuuust right so they nudge your spot. but only just. he knows your body so well it's almost annoying. the curl of his fingers isn't enough to give you proper satisfaction but it is enough to have you crave for more. enough to make you gasp and buck your hips to try and get the satisfaction you need. "ah ah ah, don't be like that. i can't reward you if you're being a needy slut for me darling. use your words." starts withdrawing his fingers and ultimately you need to grab a hold of his wrist and b e g for him not to do that, beg for his touch. it makes his head go a little dizzy if i'm being honest. "there you go. that wasn't so hard now, was it?" and he gives you what you've been needing :( slender, pretty fingers pushing deeper into you till he physically can't anymore. letting them curl against your spongy spot and making you cum with a cry of his name liiike he thrives off teasing you and giving you what you want.

puts his dirty fingers in your mouth while he kisses your stomach, slowly kissing his way up your body (he is a romantic man after all) and makes sure to give your tits a squeeze too. grabs a hold of your chin to make you look at him as you let go of his fingers with a little pop and presses his lips to yours. it's a little messy, slippery and sloppy but you can feel how in love he is with you. spreads your thighs apart so he can press his hard on against your cunt while you kiss, tangles his fingers with yours while he ruts against your centre like he has all the time in the world :(( he takes it sooo slow, grinding against your cunt, the fabric of his boxers rubbing your clit so nicely, his lips against yours, giving your hands a little squeeze as you fiddle around with the elastic on his boxers. he just holds his body weight up with one hand, the other still tangled up with your fingers as you pull down the material just enough to have his cock out and while he fills you up nicely, he just tightens his hold on your hand cause you feel so tight around him every damn time <33

dainsleif : starting this off by saying he is SO touch starved. honorary member of the touched starved crew. he still gets so shy when he sees you naked in front of him no matter how long it's been. dain might look rough and tough on the outside, but he is so soft for you. he adores kisses your body. your lips? he kiss. your cheek? he kiss. top of your head or your nose? he kiss. inside of your wrist where he can get a slight wiff of your perfume? he kiss. but his favourite you may ask? his favourite type (aside from your lips) of kiss is when you're laid out on the bed. where he's between your legs and he's lifting your shirt off, placing kisses along your tummy, the valley of your breasts, then a gentle kiss underneath your earlobe before he's tossing your shirt to the side and making his way down your body again. this time, he places kisses to both your ankles once your pants are off, kissing up both your legs and your thighs. the last kiss he places is to your clit before his thumb presses against your nub, gentle circular motions that already have you seeing stars. dain rests his head against your thigh as he teases and rubs your clit over and over, watching how your hole clenches around nothing.

"always so pretty for me, aren't you?" another soft kiss to your upper thighs that have you wanting to shut your legs at how sensitive you feel. "keep 'em open, that's it. there you go." he'd say, your trembling thighs spreading once again. he's not the best with words of affection but he'll be damned if he doesn't praise you, let you know how pretty you are. how good you are for him. and when your hands clutch his hair and the bedsheets the closer you get to your orgasm, he'd bring the one that was holding the bedsheets closer to his mouth – dain places a kiss to your wrist, to the tips of your fingers before he slides his fingers against it and lets you grip it. he enjoys holding your hand so much while he does this, i cannot stress that enough. he likes it when you feel real. and it's only then, will he place his mouth on your cunt, letting his tongue tease your folds and dipping into your hole to really get a taste of you. feeling a sense of pride when you gasp and whimper out his name, tightening your hold on his hand as the other one still in his hair, buries his face deeper into your pussy.

tighnari : furry king he's so cute, sighs. like kaeya, sex for him is very very intimate with someone he loves. it's not about getting off, it's more so about the gentle touches, the praises that come from both your lips and his, it's about the way you two latch onto each other when you make love and he will die on that hill. yes every now and then, his animalistic urges take over and it is about a quick fuck but more often than not, he likes to explore your body. he loves it when you're straddling him. his favourite thing to do is feel you up while the both of you kiss. even though tighnari takes it slow, his movements almost feel rushed, desperate to have your clothes off. but it's the gentle kind of desperate, you know? where he wants you to be naked so he can appreciate every dip and every curve on your body without any flimsy layers of clothing in the way. hearts in his eyes even though it's the nth time he's seen you naked. you're wearing nothing, seated on his lap while his eyes dart all over your body, never really able to linger on one part for too long. admires how out of breath you are just from a make-out, lips slightly swollen and pinker than usual. continues to place kisses against your jawline to your neck as his hands grope your hips and thighs, eventually one hand inching closer and closer to your heat, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you feel the pad of his thumb finally brush against your clit. "feels good?" he'd mumble against your skin, ears twitching with excitement every time you let out more content noises followed by a soft "yes."

tighnari's good with his fingers, great in fact. he pays attention to your body, listening to every noise and taking mental note of how your body squirms in his hold as he touches you – he's so good that your hands don't really know where they should go. sometimes digging into the skin of his shoulders or his biceps. sometimes when he hasn't riled you up to where the only replies he wets are broken whimpers, they're in tighnari's hair, patting just behind his ears which has him rutting his hips against you, or sometimes they're just tangled in his locks tightly as you need to feel something to ground you. but tighari's favourite is when you plead him for his hand. the little taps against his bicep or wrist make his heart melt, followed by the "hold me, please." it almost makes the animal in him want to manhandle you, toss you on the bed and pin you there while his cock is hitting your cervix and you can't do anything but lay there and just take it. but the rational part of him tells him no. the rational part of him brings your hand to his lips, places a kiss to each and every one of your knuckles before lacing his fingers with yours, all while his other hand is buried knuckle deep in your cunt and being soaked with your juices.

xiao : he is very very very desperate with how he holds your hands. it's more so to remind himself that you're there with him, that you're real. he's a very passionate lover, how could he not be after eons and eons of thinking he's alone? of eons and eons of being alone. he's also a honorary member of the touched starved crew god he is so DJKFDHJGKD i'm so in love w him <333 he just wants to please you okay? like. all the time. every day. whenever you ask him or hint at it, he's ready to give you anything you want. he would do aaaaaanything for you to be honest. he's not very good with words, he knows he's terrible with words. but what he lacks vocally, he makes up for it with his actions instead. slow, but deliberate. almost like he's forgotten all those little stripes and freckles on your skin even though he's been memorising every dip and every mark whenever you two get intimate. gentle, barely there touches while he takes your clothes off, ghosts his fingertips over your pussy and breasts at first. likes it when you inhale sharply but he does give in. he's not much of a tease like kaeya is, gives in so quick. "'m gettin' there. just wait." he'd grumble, but there's no bite behind it all all. places a kiss to your hip bone before he spreads your legs and laps your cunt like a starved man. he's so good with his tongue, i can't stress that enough. another man who makes sure you've came on his tongue or fingers before he thinks about fucking you. the thing about xiao is, he gets pussy drunk so quick, and so very easily. the second he hears you let out a sigh of satisfaction after his mouth is on you, he's gone.

he's soo gone. xiao is an adepti, he's much stronger than humans. it's super easy for him to hold your body down with his hands, whether they be on you waists or even hooked around your thighs, he's not moving his mouth off you until he feels your hole clenching and gushing. or unless you're trying to pry his head off cause you "wan' be filled, please xiao!" flips you onto your back and makes sure your face is pressed into the mattress and your ass is up ohh my goddjghf yeah,, fucks you like that actually, he's pussy drunk. let him bury his cock in your cunt any way he wants plssss. he may not be long, but fuck is he thick. makes you clench the bedsheets while your noises are muffled out by the bed but :( xiao needs to hear you – tugs your back flush against his chest, makes his cock go even deeper in you that you're going dizzy and you're even more dizzier when you feel his fingers on your clit aaaa. firm believer xiao uses one hand too rub your clit while the other turns your head towards him so he can kiss you :(( he loves kissing you so much when you're fucking, tries to kiss you every time before you cum on his cock. it's so romantic for him. feels you cum around his cock and he's trying to hold back a groan but but but that's when he moves his hand that was on your clit to hold yours :( still kissing you too till he orgasms and spills his cum deeep in you and makes out with you for a couple of minutes. doesn't really care how sloppy it is, he just likes kissing you while you hold hands like that :((

childe : listen... childe is actually so romantic (we'll get there soon) i dunno about you. hand holding is his middle name, it's true i've seen the birth certificate. a romantic, mean perv is the best way to describe him. such a tease too. he won't give you what you need till he sees tears in your eyes or you actually start crying. he's kinda mean about it too. gets you sooo close to an orgasm only to just rip it away. "nawww, you cryin sweets?" and proceeds to lick your tears away. "don't cry, you pretty thing. gonna give you what you need, 'kay? just lay back f'me. there you go." smiles darkly when you listen to him again and lay your body flat against the bed again while shaking. and he just keeps doing that until you're full blow sobbing. "aj– ha– 'jax! please.. can' take it a'more... need to c-cum please." and watches you grip his wrists while you cry. it sets him off. he loves that you can get so pathetic for him :( some days when he's made you cry by not letting you cum, his favourite this is having you on top. just to add a little bit more humiliation into the mix. lays down first and gets all comfy without telling you what he's doing and just pats his lap. "not gonna get over here? thought you wanted to cum." has you scrambling over and once you're straddling him he'd put his hands on your thighs and just stroke them since they're shaking so much. but gives them a little slap, just enough for there to be a sound but not enough to hurt when he feels you try to lift your hips to take his cock in "relax baby. didn't i say i'm gonna give you what you need?" hhhh and when your thighs have calmed down and he's made your lips all swollen from kissing you so much will he lift your hips for you, letting you guide his cock into your hole and gives you time to get used to the stretch when he's bottomed out.

while you're taking your time and breathing whilst trying to hold back the orgasm that's approaching once being filled up, he'd let his fingertips trail up your arm, hand cupping the side of your face and rubbing his thumb along your lash line to gather the tears that haven't fallen yet and makes you suck the saltiness away from his thumb... and that makes his cock twitch in you. doesn't let you move though, wants to see how ruined you look before he's even fucked you right. and once he's admired you enough he'd go "c'mere sweets." and proceeds to hold out his hand for you. coos at how your hand is sooo tiny in his though. and he lets his other arm wrap your lower back, essentially he has you resting your head against his tits while you two hold hands. it's gentle, a contrast to how he was being mean to you earlier. as you grind on his cock and the little tufts of hair on his lower tummy make you cum around his cock, he brings your intertwined hands to his mouth and places a kiss to the back of your hand and bucks his hips up into your pussy to get to his high. but the thing is, once ajax feels soft like this, he'd just keep you above him, kiss you and keep holding your hands till he's hard again and fuck you till your lower halves are all messy and sticky.

#genshin smut #genshin x reader #zhongli smut #kaeya smut #dainsleif smut #tighnari smut #xiao smut #childe smut #ajax smut #i'll add this to my mlist later i need to fix my tags anyway the genshin brainrot is strong today phewww

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shawtuzi · 11 months

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finking of morning sex w plug!eren

mdni pls and thank you///cw include: black fem!reader, drug usage (weed), a lot of sexual tension, lazy morning sex that eventually turns kinda rough, some fluff

9:03 AM

the early morning sun nearly blinded you as eren opened the blacked out curtains in your shared bedroom. “ren what the fuck,” you whined burying your face in the plush pillow you were just a few seconds ago sleeping so peacefully on. eren chuckled, bringing a blunt he had freshly pearled to his lips that were still a bit swollen from last nights activities. you’d recently gotten into nibbling and biting on his lips during your intense kisses and although he found it extremely hot he was definitely paying the price for it.

“suns up mama, time to get up….unless you want me to finish this without you,” he smirked blowing a fat cloud of smoke in your direction. you lifted your head from the pillow, a deep scowl on your face. you begrudgingly sat up making eren grin, “yeah that’s what i thought, go freshen up real quick i’ll roll another one while you’re gone.” you let out a dramatic sigh before making your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face.

when you walked back into the room eren was laid up on the bed, little o shaped clouds of smoke flying into the air. “turn on some music,” he grumbled and you quirked a brow waiting for him to finish his sentence with a ‘please.’ when he saw you weren’t moving the realization hit him pretty damn quick, “sorry i meant turn on some music please.” you smiled and happily complied, turning on the speaker. you put on ‘feels like summer’ by childish gambino before flopping onto the bed. “careful baby careful—almost made me ash on my chest,” he chuckled giving your ass a light smack.

“yeah yeah whatever gimme some,” you plucked the blunt from his hands and took a long hit. you maneuvered your body onto his lap, his morning wood definitely not going unnoticed. “what’s on the agenda for today babydoll,” he asked tracing his name over and over on your thigh with his index finger. you handed the blunt back over to him before speaking, “mika invited us to brunch at one, then i have my nail appointment at four, we’ll have to do some grocery shopping tonight, and then i was thinking for dinner i could make that cajun chicken alfredo you like so much.” eren was trying to listen he was really was!! but it was so damn hard when your clothed pussy was directly against his dick that was practically straining against his boxers.

“you listening to me ren?” you giggled snapping your fingers in front of his face. a lazy grin broke out on his face and he nodded, “mhm of course i’m listenin’.” the room was slowly but surely becoming boxed and the more it did the more you and eren we’re feeling the effects of the drug. “had a dream about you last night,” you hummed, leaning back, resting your hands on his muscly thighs. eren smirked, his eyes drifting to your cunt that was practically swallowing your panties. he grabbed the second blunt he had rolled and lit it, “yeah? tell me all about it mama.”

“you were eating me out…and you had those fuckin’ grills in. you were doing such a good job i think i might’ve came in my sleep from it,” you sighed dreamily thinking of how damn fine eren always looked when he had his grills in. you felt eren’s dick twitch but didn’t dare say anything, deciding to tease him a little and see how long he’d last. he handed the blunt to you, a low groan rumbling in his chest. “those grills always make you so weak in the knees don’t they?” he said giving you a lazy smirk. his rough hands trailed from your thick thighs, up your tummy, and finally to your breasts where he gave them a soft squeeze. his thumbs brushed over your nipples and you shivered, nearly dropping the blunt in the process.

you head felt like someone had yanked out your brain and replaced it with hot air bc by god all you could think about right now was eren eren eren. “you dream about me a lot?” he asked, mindlessly toying with your breasts. oh he didn’t even know the half of it. you ran your tongue over your bottom lip, nodding at his question. you were supposed to be doing the teasing, but as always eren had the upper hand and was able to turn you into mush with just a few lewd touches. he looked like a dream right now—his jade eyes were red and hooded, his hair that was usually up was down and cascaded beautifully over his broad shoulders, and he had this damn smirk on his face that was getting your panties wetter by the minute.

‘rendezvous’ by partynextdoor (a song that just so happened to be on your sex playlist) began playing, increasing the sexual tension tenfold. eren’s nonchalant façade began to crumble once of felt your wetness begin to seep into the material of his boxers. “you know if you wanna fuck all you have to do is ask, can practically feel your heartbeat on my dick,” his words made your breath hitch making him smirk for the umpteenth time. “no you…no you can’t! don’t be weird,” you pouted slapping his chest. you hadn’t even realized how turned on you actually were until you felt how uncomfortably slick your pussy had gotten.

eren slowly pulled your panties to the side and this mf actually whistled when he finally laid eyes on your soaked center. “such a pretty pussy,” he mumbled to himself running a finger through your slit. eren took one final hit of the blunt before setting it in the ashtray on the bedside table. without warning he plunged two fingers in your cunt making you gasp but as soon as they were in he pulled them right back out. he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked your essence off of them until they were clean. “i think i’m gonna let you do the work this morning,” he smiled, snapping your panties back into place. you were taken aback at his words a soft ‘huh?’ leaving your pouting lips.

“this weed got me feeling kinda lazy, use me to get off baby i know you can do it,” he gave your thigh a few soft pats and you whined. you sat up just the slightest bit to pull eren’s boxers down mid thigh, his painfully hard dick slapping against his toned stomach. it was a struggle to get your panties off without fully standing up but you managed, and as soon as they were off you began grinding your pussy up and down his dick. each time his mushroom tip nudged against your clit you let out a little mewl that was music to eren’s ears. “goddamn babydoll haven’t even put it in yet and you’re already making my dick wet as fuck,” he groaned, digging his fingers into the plush of your thighs. your slick had his dick glistening in sunlight and man oh man was it a sight to see.

you didn’t even care that he wasn’t inside you yet, all you could focus on was how hard n warm his dick was. “you already gonna cum? hm?” eren breathlessly chuckled and you replied with a weak ‘uh huh.’ one side of eren wanted to take charge so bad and just fuck you silly, but the other part of him was loving how you were taking the lead and becoming so so consumed in the pleasure you were getting just from grinding on his dick.

within minutes you were cumming on his dick with a pathetic whimper, your hands slamming onto his chest so you were able to ride out your orgasm for as long as possible. you were incredibly sensitive in that moment thanks to the two blunts you previously smoked, but that didn’t stop you from wrapping your hand around eren’s dick, using your cum as a lubricant to slowly jerk him off. “just…just need a minute to regroup,” you breathlessly giggled, flicking your wrist a tad faster. eren groaned quietly, his eyes fluttering shut. “take all the time you need baby i’m—s-shit, i’m content as can be right now,” and he really was!! he had gods most beautiful creation taking care of him how could he not be loving life right now??

“‘kay think i’m ready,” you whispered to yourself before moving your body up until his tip was at your entrance. you slowly lowered yourself down, whining at the stretch. it rlly didn’t matter how many times you and eren had fucked you just couldn’t quite get used to the stinging stretch from that first push in. you finally bottomed out and eren’s hands wasted no time finding purchase on your hips. you felt so full.

“feels s’good ren,” you mewled, slowly moving your hips up and down. you pressed your lips to his in a needy kiss which he happily returned, shoving his tongue in your mouth in the process. “i know baby i know. feel so fuckin’ good—like heaven i swear you feel like heaven,” he grunted, bucking his hips up. you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, giving it a few soft nibbles. ‘so cute’ he thought to himself as you suckled on his lip. he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing lazy circles onto the throbbing nub. “keep doin’ that m’gonna cum again,” your voice was becoming slurred as your second orgasm of the day was approaching.

you buried your face in eren’s neck letting out little chants of his name as your orgasm washed over you. your mind was so fuzzy the only thing keeping you grounded was the smell of eren’s pine scented body wash. “come back to me baby it’s okay i got you,” he murmured in your ear, stroking your back gently. “want…want some more but i can’t do it, need you to take control please,” you whimpered, twirling your fingers in the silky soft strands of his hair.

eren pressed a kiss to the side of your head and wrapped his strong arms around your back before bucking his hips up. usually his pace would be fast and unforgiving, but he knew you had plans for the day and didn’t want to make you completely fucked out. “yeah jus’ like that baby…love the way you fuck me,” your honey smooth voice moaned directly into his ear. oh how eren loved the praise. eren glanced at the alarm clock on your side of the bed:

10:37 AM

as much as he wanted to savor this moment he knew you’d need at least a thirty minute breather to regroup from the sex, and then it would take you about a good hour to get ready for brunch so unfortunately he had to make this quick. his thrusts picked up and you squealed from how hard his dick was bumping into your pressure point. yeah you’d definitely need a pretty long break afterwards. you removed your face from his neck and after what felt like an eternity eren was able to see your gorgeous semi-fucked out face. you couldn’t help the little droplet of drool that escaped from your kiss swollen lips—he was fucking you that good.

“c’mon renny gimme that nut i need it,” you pouted, squishing his cheeks together and giving him a sloppy kiss. eren moaned into your mouth, his thrusts becoming sloppier by the second. “m’gonna give it to you don’t worry—f-fuck gonna…gonna fill that pretty pussy up,” he practically growled, giving you a harsh smack on your ass.

“gonna fill you up so full you’re gonna feel me in your tummy all—”

thrust

“fucking”

thrust

“day”

really really hard thrust

“oh shit!” you cried, unintentionally biting down pretty hard on eren’s poor bottom lip. the mix of pain and pleasure had eren’s eyes rolling as he finally came inside you with a deep groan. you weren’t too far behind, your orgasm hitting you like a truck. eren stilled his movements completely but kept your body in an iron grip against his. he hadn’t even realized your head had found purchase once again nuzzled into his neck until he heard little sniffles. worry began to coarse through his veins as he lifted your head from his neck, inspecting your face with his brows furrowed.

“what’s wrong? what happened? did i hurt you? why are you crying? talk to me please,” questions were coming out of his mouth left and right making you giggle. “wha-what? why are you laughing?” the smallest pout was settling on his lips and you internally cooed at how cute he was being. you cradled his jaw in your hands, giving his nose a soft kiss. “m’fine ren it was just a little intense, that shit is strong,” you laughed again, referring to the two roaches in the ashtray. eren let out a tiny sigh of relief after hearing you were okay, a small smile now making its way onto his lips. “damn you bit my lip kinda hard huh?” he chuckled, sweeping his tongue over his bottom lip and tasted the faintest bit of something metallic.

“m’sorry baby,” you frowned giving his lips three kisses. you slowly lifted yourself off of him making you both groan in unison. “i should probably go shower—don’t wanna be late,” you sighed, sitting up, careful not to let eren see the wince on your face. although eren was tough as nails, seeing you in any kind of pain after sex absolutely broke him.

eren sat up as well and followed you to the bathroom, his eyes drifting to the cum that slowly made its way down your thigh. “didn’t you already shower while i was sleep?” you quirked an eyebrow as steam began to fill the room. eren wrapped his arms around you from behind, giving your neck a sweet kiss, “i did but i certainly don’t mind taking another one with you.” you felt something hard poke at your back and it was all starting to make sense. “really eren? really? we just got done not even ten minutes ago,” you giggled breaking out of his hold. eren licked his lips as he examined your naked body, “s’not my fault ole boy likes you so much.”

“yeah whatever horndog.”

<333

#eren smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut #plug!eren #eren x you #eren x black reader #eren x black fem!reader #eren yeager imagines #eren jaeger imagines #aot smut #attack on titan smut #eren yeager #snk eren #snk smut

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sargeant-bxrnes · 8 months

Text

late night

summary: your boyfriend visits you after your stressful week, only to find you asleep. will that stop him? not at all. [requested!]

warnings!!: free use kink, he’s a freak tbh, but it’s billy so it checks out. | SMUT: fingering, dirty talk, slight degradation, hair pulling, praise, orgasm denial, unprotected sex. ROUGH sex.

word count: 1.9K

my masterlist | my requests are OPEN

Your week had been exhausting, stressing and overall, a mess. So many shitty things had happened that by the time Friday came you had no social battery or temptation to go out, all you wanted to do was sleep in your comfy bed, at your own place, and not worry about a thing.

Unbeknownst to you, Billy was standing outside your bedroom door, taking a peek. Originally he'd came over to your place to check up on you since you hadn't picked up his calls, however he didn't expect to see you like that, sprawled in your bed, cuddling a pillow, almost naked if it weren't for his own shirt.

Your fan had broken a couple of weeks ago, and since you were lacking cash to replace it, your bedroom was one hell of a furnace, even if the window was open, which is why you slept in nothing but one of Billy's old shirts, no panties, no bra. Your boyfriend's shirt was an oversized fit to you, so you were covered enough to not care about anything while you took a nap.

He tried, but he couldn't resist his thoughts or impulses any longer, he opened slowly the door and walked inside your bedroom without making a sound. In your sleep, you nuzzled your head against the pillow, laying on your tummy comfortably, legs slightly spread for comfort and an attempt to fight off the summer heat.

Billy stepped slowly on the cold floor, avoiding to create any noise.— his hands moved gracefully across your mattress, reaching your soft skin, his fingertips barely touching up your thigh, as he approached closer and closer to your pussy. He didn't held back, you two had a mutual agreement about free use.

Billy softly nudged your right thigh to your right, to spread your legs until they were wide enough, exposing your perfect pussy. His finger touched tentatively, and he bit back a moan when he felt the wetness, he slipped his middle finger inside with ease, beginning to move it slowly.

Upon the sensation, you moaned in your sleep, already starting to wake up, the familiar scent of Billy's cologne reached your nostrils, which is why you didn't panic, once he sensed you were more awake, he slid his ring finger in as well, slowly pumping them in and out, the squelching sounds of your wetness were sinful.

Slowly, you took a hold of your right thigh and moved it up higher, giving him more access to your pussy while you did the bare minimum, still slightly drowsy, smiling lazily at your boyfriend. "You're a jerk, I can't even have a good night sleep."

"I know, I'm the biggest jerk but you love me for it. It's okay to suffer a little bit for your man." He taunted you and started fucking you faster with his fingers, making sure his fingertips massaged your G-spot every now and then.

Your immediate reaction was to moan slightly louder against the pillow, he knew exactly how to work his fingers in a way that had you satisfied but begging for more at the same time.

"That's it, love your jerk boyfriend." He whispered in your ear, teasingly biting your earlobe as he curled his fingers right over your g-spot and began to rub your clit with his thumb.

The pleasure was so good, it was deliciously overwhelming, you let out a whimper. "I don't know if I love you or hate you for this."

"You love me. If you didn't, would I be inside of you like this? No, my sweet girl... God, you're so pretty it hurts." He kept teasing and taunting you with a satisfied smirk as he thrust his fingers in and out faster while rubbing your clit harder, with the purpose of driving you closer and closer to your orgasm.

His efforts were paying off, your moans grew louder, your hips having their own will as they moved closer to his hand, wanting to feel his fingers deeper inside you.

"Fuck, you're so needy." He placed one hand on your hips to keep them in place as he relentlessly fucked you with his fingers while rubbing your clit harder.

"Says the one who came to my place in the middle of the night to fuck me." You couldn't help but bite back, despite the overwhelming amount of pleasure coursing through your body.

"And I'll keep coming to fuck you anytime, anywhere." He growls as he picks up the pace, his fingers digging deeper into your pussy.

At the sound of his words, you tried to move your hips again, in a futile attempt to try and ride his fingers, your orgasm was just around the corner, it only took a bit of pressure and...

Feeling the way your pussy greedily squeezed his fingers, he knew you were about to cum. Billy smirked as he pulled out his fingers.

"You little shi-" You whined about the sudden emptiness in your pussy and the blatant orgasm denial, but were immediately silenced by the sight of Billy licking your juices off his own fingers—the sight made your pussy clench around nothing.

"What? What are you going to say about your boyfriend who fucks you senseless whenever you ask, hm?" There was a hint of condescension in his voice as he leaned down and kissed your neck, trailing his wet tongue along the soft skin.

You hummed softly, reaching behind you to run your fingers through Billy's hair as you felt his kisses moving to your shoulder blades. "Oh, nothing, baby. Love you."

His smile grew wider as he felt your fingers in his hair. "I love you too, princess. Now come on, I'm going to take my clothes off and fuck you properly."

As soon as he removed his weight from your body. you bit your lip in anticipation, spinning around in bed, laying on your back, your tits jiggling under the shirt from the movement, Billy's eyes immediately darting down to them. "Took you long enough."

"Well, I wanted to take my time and make sure you were all nice and wet for me." He smirked as he pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing a well-defined chest. He grabbed the edge of your shirt and took it off your body, leaving you completely naked and exposed to him, one of his hands moved to pinch your nipple teasingly.

His hands traveling down to unbuckle his belt. Not wanting him to delay it even more, you helped him remove the belt from the hoops, and then unbuttoned his pants and pulled down the zipper.

"Good girl." He whispered as he took off his pants, pulling his boxers down as well, exposing his already hard cock, leaking precum from the reddened tip. He climbed onto the bed and positioned himself between your spread legs, rubbing against your slit, coating his tip with your juices, while making sure to rub against your clit.

"Oh don't be like that-" You complained, voice slightly high pitched due to a moan you held back, his damn teasing... you could feel his tip rubbing.

"Like what?" He inquired, biting his lip, teasingly tapping his tip against your clit.

"Billy-" A perfect mix of pleasure and exasperation could be heard in your voice, you needed his cock inside you badly, and the little shithead knew it.

"You like this, don't you?" He mocked as he positioned himself at your slick entrance, rubbing his cockhead against your opening before slowly pushing inside.

You felt his cock entering slowly, inch by delicious inch, the feeling of every vein and detail of his cock was absolutely amazing, a groan escaping your lips, your back arching slightly to ease it in, seeking more of that feeling.

"Fuck, you're so tight." He groaned huskily as he finally filled you up, his eyes full of lust and desire. He leaned down to capture your lips in a deep kiss while slowly thrusting in and out of you.

You whimpered against his lips and he swallowed each and every sound, moving one of his hands to hook one of your legs over his hip, expecting you to do the same with the other one, which you did.

"That's it, squeeze me tight." He grunted as he picked up the pace, pounding into you with more force this time, dragging his hips so his cock would drag against your walls with every thrust. His free hand reached down to play with one of your nipples while his other held on to the headboard.

You mumbled some praises, what you were saying didn't make an ounce of sense in your head, since your thoughts were completely clouded by lust and pleasure, he always knew how to fuck you, so, so good.

"You love this dick, don't you?" Billy goaded as he pushed deeper inside you with each thrust, going balls deep inside you,

"And you love this pussy." You bit back, giving the same energy, clenching around his cock on purpose.

"Fuck yeah, I love this pussy, I'm obsessed with you, baby," He hissed as he felt you tighten around him. His eyes almost rolled back in pleasure as he grabbed onto the headboard harder, pounding into your pussy mercilessly. "you're mine. Nobody else gets to have this pretty pussy."

"Mmm, is that so?" You two were in an exclusive and in a a stable relationship, but a little tease every now and then wouldn't hurt, you loved to rile the man up, especially during sex.

"Fuck yeah, it's mine, you're mine." He growled as he pulled out of you suddenly, flipping you onto your stomach. His rough hands grasped your hips before slamming back inside you from behind.

Your back immediately arched at the feeling, as you moaned a loud 'fuck!', your pussy felt so full in this position, he was stretching you out so damn good.

"That's it, take it like a good girl." He growled in response to your teasing, Billy grabbed onto your hair to pull your head back slightly. His free hand slid to your front and began rubbing your clit while he continued to pound into you from behind.

"You're so fucking wet, baby." Billy cooed in a mix of arousal and teasing as he felt your juices dripping down his hand. He continued to thrust into you roughly from behind while playing with your swollen clit. "You wanna cum? Hm?"

"F-fuck," Your eyes rolled back in pleasure as he kept pounding into you, your senses in overload. "yes, please."

"That's it baby, come for me.” He grunted as he increased the speed of his thrusting and fingers working on your clit, feeling your pussy squeeze around his cock, milking it for all its worth. "Come on, cum for me."

Billy moaned as he felt your body shudder in climax, your tight pussy quite literally milking him as he also came, filling you up deeply. "That's it, that's it, pretty girl."

"You're mine. I love you." He mumbled as he pulled out of you slowly, both hissing softly from overstimulation. He grabbed the shirt you had been wearing to clean the cum that had dripped down your thighs before throwing it to the side and laying down beside you, pulling you into his arms. "That was fucking amazing."

“Absolutely.” You agree, yawning softly while you lay your head atop his chest.

"Go to sleep, pretty girl." He murmured as he stroked your hair and ran his fingers down your back soothingly, giving you a soft kiss, nibbling on your lower lip a bit before letting go. “I'll be here when you wake up."

“Promise?”

"Promise.” He nodded, his heartbeat slowing down to match yours as he too began to get sleepy. "I promise I'll always be here for you."

And to your delight— the next morning you woke up in his arms, just as he promised. Billy was a man of his word, that much you knew.

#billy loomis #billy loomis fanfiction #scream #billy loomis smut #billy loomis scream #billy loomis fluff #billy loomis angst #billy loomis x you #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis x female reader #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis imagine #billy loomis one shot #slashers #slasher smut #scream smut

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seiwas · 6 months

Text

₊˚⊹。these traces of love, they outline you | gojo satoru

wc: 12.9k

summary: the 5 times gojo’s sure you’ve changed his life + the 1 time he hopes to change yours.

contains: f!reader, pronoun she, 18+ nsfw (not super explicit but the act is there), symptoms similar to synesthesia, reader’s cursed technique, sparring, drunk call, pet names (cutie, silly, pretty, baby, loml), nervous feelings, tummy ache, food descriptions, surprise appearance of one character, emotional tears!!, internal thoughts and insecurities.

a/n: primarily in gojo's pov! & best read if you’ve gone through the other parts in the series! (lots of callbacks and references + better context!), lots of songs as inspo (would gladly share if you’re curious!), will add descriptions for the food in the a/n at the bottom!, from conceptualisation to actual writing this piece is my baby!!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +04b (extra). if you're ready (let me) <- you are here

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

Gojo thinks he might pass out.

There’s a feeling of unease sitting deep in his gut, nervous and gurgling. His hands have always been restless and fidgety but never this sweaty, and his head feels like it’s floating—even more than that first time he attempted a 24-hour stint on keeping up Infinity.

It’s eerily quiet in his office as he waits for your meeting to end, the white colon on his digital clock taunting him as it flicks on and off—16:27. 3 more minutes until you finish.

He paces around the room.

Attempts at any distraction are thwarted when everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of you. There’s a photo hanging by the door, the mix-and-match of couch cushions in varying hues—all souvenirs you’ve given him from places you’ve been to. The coffee table books hold your touch too, and as he runs his hand over his face. he’s hit with that signature scent, clean and subtle from the hand cream you use.

Waiting in his office today has been absolute torture, but what’s made it more excruciating is the fact that he knows you’re aware of absolutely nothing.

To you, this is just like every other Friday.

You’d done your usual morning routine, kissed him on the nose with the promise to meet him in his office after work, as you always do. And it feels like a big joke when he thinks about it now, because while he’s been on edge this entire day about it, you really have no clue what’s coming.

To him, this could change everything with you.

He’s been feeling it for a while now, the ripple effect of loving and being loved by you—how he can recall every time a single drop of you has shifted something deep within him, marked and colored you.

There’s not a lot that Gojo wants now that he feels like he truly has it all, but when he thinks about all the times he’s sure you’ve changed his life, he hopes that with this one thing, he can change yours.

1 — UNDER YOUR TOUCH, WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH

The weather today is good—sunlight peeking behind cloud pillows and the occasional gust of wind passing through the space you’ve put between you and Gojo. It’s neither too humid nor too dry and though Gojo does get the occasional sniffle from his pollen allergies around this time, he woke up earlier completely fine.

So, the weather today is good, perfect even, for a brush-up on sparring practice.

You’ve kept a sizable distance away from him since it started, and every attempt he’s made to draw nearer, you’ve only moved away farther—a push-and-pull, an old dynamic that shows itself in the ways you engage in battle.

Gojo’s hands stay tucked in his pockets, his stance one you know perfectly well as relaxed but still guarded. He’s gotten a lot bulkier than the days you used to spar often, the past few years having filled in all the areas of what used to be slim, lean muscle. He doesn’t move because he knows the style you fight with, how you stay on defense until your opponent charges, utilizing their own strength against them.

It’s the only way you’ve managed to win against someone as deadly as Gojo, equal-parts lethal in speed and strength.

So when a cluster of clouds pass by and the sun glares directly into your eyes, Gojo smirks, then bends his knees as he lunges for an attack.

Your senses are sharp and reflexes quick; in the split second that a white-and-black blur appears before you, you attempt a high kick, only for it to be blocked with his forearm. He uses his other hand to twist around your ankle, trying to flip you over, but you see right through his motives. You huff, furrowing your brows as you narrowly escape, slipping your ankle out before he can fully grab a hold of it.

Most of this practice has felt like a stalemate, with the both of you waiting on the other for the most part of the hour. Gojo can see how it’s wearing you down, this entire thing being dragged out, and if he’s being honest—this is exactly what he wants.

Sparring out here with you today, while still meant for actual training, is also just an excuse to do this for old time’s sake—the way you huff and frown, jaw clenched as your fists ball up tightly like you’re doing right now.

He kind of misses seeing you like this, impatient and frustrated, so unlike the tenderness you always regard him with.

A smile threatens to form on his lips, and he bites it back down.

You only ever get like this sparring against him.

The tension breaks when you decidedly throw a punch; it’s a desperate attempt to get the fight moving but he ducks, arm securing itself around your waist as he locks your hip with his. Before you can even comprehend, your body is lifted across his back and lowered down to the grass below—the only thing in sight being two blue skies, beaming at you.

Somewhere during the commotion, he managed to remove his blindfold, hair let loose, fluffy and white almost like the clouds above you. Gojo isn’t taking this seriously at all; he’s way too soft, having cushioned your fall by carrying most of your weight instead of throwing you down like anyone seriously sparring is supposed to.

He doesn’t care though. All he really wanted this afternoon was to reminisce with you.

You’re kept underneath him, one of his arms remains wrapped around your waist while the other cradles the back of your head—and it’s there, that frown on your face, that pout he’s witnessed for years evolve into what it is now. Beads of sweat collect at the crease between your brows, your temples tensing as you breathe out.

Gojo at 17 would have teased you relentlessly for this, but he feels different now, warmth settling in his chest as he stares; he can’t help it, the words coming out of his mouth—

“You’re so—”

But he doesn’t even get to finish.

Everything around him blurs, green and blue blending in motion before he finds himself on his back, completely flipped over. He’s met with the sight of you, smug smile pulled wide with your hands resting on his chest. And his heart—

Can you feel it under your fingertips? How it’s beating a mile a minute?

A shiver runs down his spine, the pinpricks of grass tickling the nape of his neck. The shock is tingling, his eyes fully open as he processes what just occurred.

In the lapse of time he’d been a little too preoccupied staring at you, you managed to inch your leg to wrap around his, locking it at the last minute to flip him over—it lands you where you are now, on his lap, straddling his hips.

“Sneaky.” he gazes fondly, grin teasing.

You catch your breath, “Do I win?”

“Only because I let you get too close this time.”

Which is a lie, he knows, because having you near him like this, with some form of touching—you could never be close enough.

You roll your eyes, his fingers grabbing hold of your thighs. The grass pricks at your knees through the fabric of your leggings, and Gojo knows that if you stay like this any longer, it’s going to start to itch.

“Did I hurt you anywhere?” you ask, already assessing him for any point of injury. Your eyes go over his face before trailing down his arms, rarely exposed today in his black compression shirt.

“Yeah,” he pouts, pointing to his lips, all pink and puckered out, “kiss it better?”

Asking for this is against his better judgment, he’s aware; with the way you’re situated on his lap, this could escalate into something else entirely. You shake your head, swatting at his chest. His grip on your thighs loosens as you get off him, but the curl of your lips is extremely telling.

As you stand up to dust your knees, Gojo gazes at you fondly. The sun hides behind you from where you tower over him, but the halo effect around your head is just as blinding.

“Lie down with me,” he pats the space beside him. You quirk your brow but follow anyway.

He requests, not asks, because the weather today is good, and it’s making him a little bit sentimental, remembering earlier days with you.

You lie down, positioning your head to align with his. And for a few moments, Gojo doesn’t speak, just looks at you once and smiles before turning to face the sky, hand placed behind his head as he sighs.

You do the same for a while, this shared silence warm and just right.

“So rude,” he jokingly tuts, “interrupting me while I was talking earlier…”

“You shouldn’t have been so distracted then,” you tease back, sneaking a glance only to lock eyes with two skies.

He wonders if you can tell—how he’s always looking at you in the stolen seconds before you notice him.

“Well, you shouldn't have been so distracting then,” he holds your gaze.

It’s incredibly cheesy but a part of you still feels like melting—he sounds so sincere; no lilt, no tease, no Gojo-typical flirting laced into it.

You scrunch your nose, shifting on your side to face him, the arm used to support your head now resting against your cheek. He follows, taking one last look around him before turning to you. His other hand rests on your hip, fingers splayed out while his thumb draws hearts on fabric.

You reach for him.

The gesture is small, just your finger running across his cheek, but it nudges something in him—a memory of you and how you’ve always touched him like this: softly, kindly.

“Remember when you used to do this?” he takes your hand, long and lithe fingers wrapping around yours as he guides them over his ear.

Your eyes widen in recognition and he blinks, taking you in as he stares, “Wanna do it now?”

Concern reveals itself in the furrow of your brows, “Is it hurt—”

“No,” he chuckles, already knowing what you’re about to say.

The last time you did this for him, he didn’t even have to ask. One look and you knew—it’d been the night of his final conversation with Suguru. His skull-splitting migraine ensued after bickering with Shoko on what to do with the body. You were there; you heard everything, and when she gave up arguing and left, there was only one thing you could do.

With his head on your lap by his office couch, you tuned out the sounds.

He doesn’t prefer you using your cursed technique this way; it takes a considerable amount of your cursed energy to focus its effects solely on another body—and frankly, it’s a waste of time for you to spend all of that on him, at least in his opinion, personally.

You’d struggled a lot with your technique back in high school, having to learn how to fully manipulate different sonic hues: white noise, brown noise, any and all of it in the entire spectrum. Being able to amplify, distort, reduce, and isolate them into their respective hues covers only the bare minimum when it comes to understanding your technique.

It’s tedious work, and when one of your senses holds so much more power over the others, the information that flows through it can be overwhelming, overloaded even. Sorting through all that noise—he gets it, gets you, and how it must hurt too.

And yet you, at 17, still figuring out how to grasp it all, came knocking on his door when you noticed he hadn’t come for dinner. Quietly, you placed your hands over his ears and selflessly offered your discomfort for his relief.

The first time you did this for him, you’d only heard of his migraines from Shoko. You witnessed it yourself when he opened his door and looked so unlike himself: blindfold secured tightly but haphazardly, strands of hair sticking out oddly; his room seemed to be blacked out completely.

Gojo Satoru is no stranger to sensations beyond what any human should be subjected to, but when you laid your hands on him that day, cursed energy tickling his ears as it flowed through your fingertips—he’d never felt more normal, more human to be able to hear things without conjuring a visual of it.

It’s almost like you silenced his mind—enough to hear himself, and you, and the buzz of the white noise you’d amplified to flow through him in his blacked out room.

You’ve gotten a lot better at controlling it now, the task in itself barely causing you any ache or struggle at all.

“Just like old times,” he nudges you.

So you keep your hand where he’s left it, covering his ear with your palm as your fingers rest on his temples. Cursed energy flows from your touch, all sounds drowning out.

He keeps his eyes on yours, watching as your expression shifts with every sonic hue you focus on—an upgrade to your abilities the more you’d gotten the hang of it.

You concentrate hard for white noise, creating your own mix to emulate radio static, transitioning out to green noise the moment you highlight the sound of birds chirping. Then, you ease it to brown noise, intensifying the soft whistles of the wind to mimic it.

It’s weird how sentimental he’s been feeling lately—without any trigger or anything, but the more he leans into your palm, the more it gets him thinking.

Touch had begun as extremely foreign to him—a god revered and valued but never really truly loved, untouchable with infinity, and the pedestal he’s always stood on.

It was never supposed to be important to him.

Until you.

From your kindness that first day, and the many more that followed: of fingers brushing and hand-holding to breaths mingling and bodies moulding, moving—you’ve always touched him in ways no one else has, in places no one’s been able to reach.

And if it wasn’t important then, completely foreign, it’s important now, so much that he looks for it everywhere, all the time, even. The way you scratch the short bristles of his undercut, fingers dragging down to the nape of his neck; the way you tap his collarbone thrice, run your fingers across his lip, and intertwine your fingers with his at random.

When Gojo thinks about your touch, he thinks about how gentle it is, with intent and purpose. How it’s always been careful for him but never of him, and that’s made the biggest difference.

He blinks, and you follow two times, focusing on him.

All he hears is a heartbeat now, a little too fast to be at rest, but still steady and grounding—

The way he feels when he’s with you.

Whether it’s his or yours, from your cursed technique or just the blood rushing in his ears, he knows this is pink noise, the one you’d so excitedly shown him when you first mastered it.

The pink noise that resounded all throughout his twenty-somethings, when he first realized that you meant more to him than what you were.

2 — WHEN YOU CALL MY NAME

The bed feels cold tonight.

Gojo’s been staring at the lights on his ceiling for the past 30 minutes, and though his pillow is cool and blanket soft, he’s wide awake—nowhere near falling asleep any time soon.

He shifts to the side, the space beside him taunting, empty.

He misses you.

For the past week, you’ve been off to a much-needed girls trip with Shoko and Utahime. He’d even offered to pay for the entire accommodation—to which you and Utahime declined, while Shoko shrugged, crossing her arms as she snorted, “If he really wants. At least he’s being useful.”

You’d compromised and agreed that he could pay for an evening out in some nightclub.

Now, he regrets it. A little bit. Maybe.

Gojo’s bed is big, a king-size that fits the height of him and all his long limbs, and while it’s comfortable and spacious–supposed good things–he feels anything but comfortable in how spacious and vacant it now feels.

He turns to the other side, facing his sidetable instead.

The digital clock reads 01:17 and he sighs; you still have a few days left.

The next time you bring up being away for this long, he’s going with you. Even if he has to spend the entire day on his own, he’ll do it—as long as he gets to end it next to you.

If he’s really thinking about it, nothing’s stopping him from teleporting there right now. He could hop in quick, give you a hug, hopefully a kiss, and maybe even get lucky if you allow him to steal you for the night. He’ll teleport you right back in the morning and it’ll be like you never left, even.

He could do it. You can never resist him when he gives you his googly eyes.

If you’re already back from—

Bzz bzz. His phone vibrates.

He reaches for it over his night stand, instantly sitting up once he reads that it’s from you—the nickname he just recently changed your contact to.

(It was always just your name, simple and straightforward, easy to find; when you return, he’s probably going to change it back because you prefer it that way—for safety purposes and everything.

But while he still can, he’s going to keep it like this: a petname with an obnoxious string of emojis that he associates with you).

1:20 a.m.

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> satoourur are u awaeke??

The corner of his lips curl up, endeared at the image of you hunched over your phone, fingers slipping as you clumsily press the wrong letters. So cute.

1:21 a.m.

< yes cutie? ( ˘ ³˘) 💕

1:21 a.m.

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> casll?

He stares at it for a good minute or two, trying to decipher this rare, drunken code from you. But before he gets the chance to respond, your face appears on his screen, a photo of you he’d taken months ago, mid-chew special Daifuku.

You’re calling.

He grins, biting his lower lip. His feet slip inside the house slippers by the side of his bed as he gets up, swiping his phone to answer before holding it against his ear.

“Miss me already?” he teases, padding out of his bedroom.

“Satoruuu,” you drawl. Definitely drunk, if not tipsy.

Even like this though, Gojo aches when he hears you speak; there’s a twinge that pokes at his ribcage, making him wish he was right next to you.

The music around you sounds muffled, almost as if you’d stepped out just to make this call—another thought that makes him ache.

He walks down the hall towards his kitchen and stops, realizing: if you stepped out of the club, does this mean you’re alone? He trusts you can take care of yourself, but if you’re this inebriated…

“Are you with Shoko and Utahime?” he asks casually, attempting to mask his worry. His hand digs deeper into his pocket, shifting his weight to his other foot.

“‘Nside.” you slur.

You don’t actually sound that drunk, more sleepy if anything, really, but his heart still picks up pace. Maybe he should just go to you already.

“You should go to them,” he urges, continuing his walk to the kitchen.

“M’be later,” you sigh, and he hears a bit of rustling on your end—a soft curse and a small thud, “w’na talk t’you.”

Another ache.

He can picture it: you, in some sidestreet, phone clutched to your ear as you tuck your hair back before sighing, legs buckling as you clumsily drop down to sit.

“Oh?” he lilts, eyebrow lifting. A smirk forms on his lips, head tilting as he wedges his phone between his neck and shoulder. He reaches for his refrigerator, “Got something to tell me, pretty?”

He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting you to say, maybe a recount of your day, or something funny that he’s bound to laugh at, whatever it is.

“Just miss you.”

He wasn’t expecting you to say this—

—in an exhale, with a slight tremble, like it’s been waiting to be let out. Vulnerable.

There’s another ache, and he nearly drops the water bottle.

He should really just go to you.

His phone nearly slips from his neck, the thump of his heartbeat on rampage as he readjusts it.

He swallows, “I miss you too.”

And it’s odd, how it sounds when he says it, a bit shaky too. A stillness settles in the room and it echoes off every kitchen equipment and countertop. He can’t even get himself to tease you for this one.

“I can go there now, if you want.” he offers, almost a whisper, before attempting a chuckle. It comes out flat, tinted a little sad, “Blink twice and I’ll be there when you open your eyes.”

You giggle on the other end, and it fills him in this moment.

When he looks around his apartment now, steel finish and walls accented black, the backsplash of his kitchen a grayish hue of iron—it reminds him of luxury fit for a bachelor, sleek in its utility.

He’s lived here since his mid-twenties, and he likes how it’s designed, the colors and feel of it right up his alley. The furniture remains simple, modern and minimalist, filling the spaces of his open floor plan down to the two bedrooms and office space.

But right now, it feels so empty.

“Silly,” you chuckle, he can hear your grin forming, affection dripping, “my silly baby.”

Now his heart really aches.

The subtle static makes you sound unreal, strung together by radio waves; it’s rare enough for you to call him ‘baby’, and for you to say it when he can’t even see or hold you while you do it—it’s cruel; a test of his restraint.

He rests his back against the kitchen counter, arm coming across his chest to rest under his elbow, supporting the one holding his phone–you–by his ear. His teasing is softer tonight, tinged by yearning, so he hums, “Your silly baby, huh? Any chance it could be your silly ‘Toru instead?”

The way he says ‘‘Toru’ is a pitch lower, slower, and exaggeratingly more seductive in his banter; it’s what you call him in bed, or by accident, and in the moments you find yourself needing him in ways he can only satisfy by being your lover.

If you say it, he’s definitely going to teleport himself over.

You giggle again.

“S’that your fav’rite one?” you mumble, words blending together. He can imagine your cheek smushed against your knee, arms curled around your legs as you sit on concrete, “‘‘Toru?’”

When he thinks about it, you aren’t too big on his nicknames—at least, not as much as he is with you. You only call him three things: baby (which truthfully, he had to convince you to), ‘Toru (first whispered in the moment, heat fueling it), and Satoru (since you were 16, weighted and grounding throughout all the years you’ve known him).

Is ‘‘Toru’ his favorite?

For obvious reasons, maybe.

But—

“I like everything you call me,” he smirks, shifting his weight.

“Sweet-talker.”

He closes his eyes, head tilting back as he leans further—and he swears, he can see you, the image of you rolling your eyes and scrunching your nose seared into his eyelids.

God damn, he really misses you.

“You love it,” he murmurs.

A beat. He hears the faint honk of a car before you drown it out, sighing.

“I do,” you whisper, admittance ringing in his ears, “I love you, Satoru.”

He hears this all the time, but tonight it just aches; the way you say things so sincerely, so honestly even in an inebriated state—how you call him Satoru and it’s still weighted, still grounding, like who he is resides right there, in the softness of your lips.

Gojo’s always been relevant but when you call him Satoru, he feels more than just the name.

If you’re asking about his favorite, he thinks this might be it—in every handwritten note you leave, his name scrawled in your hybrid of semi-print-semi-cursive letters; in every call you pick up, opening always with a ‘Satoru?’, end pitched higher, sweet and curious.

“C’n I tell you somethin’?” you ask (even when you don’t need to, even when he’s already listening).

“Let me guess, Utahime has a travel ick and Shoko—”

“Satoru.” you scold, rolling your eyes, but there’s no bite. The next bit you say under your breath, a little fragile, “‘M serious.”

The nervousness sits in his stomach; this conversation feels significant.

He takes a seat on his barstool.

“Listening.”

For a while, it’s only your breathing; knowing you, you’re probably thinking, crafting what to say carefully.

You sigh again, and—

“I worry sometimes,” you admit.

He furrows his brows, “About?”

“That maybe bein’ with me’s a lil’ boring?”

And this… this aches in a different way.

How can you even think that?

You chuckle anxiously; he can bet you’re biting your lips, a habit you’ve picked up from him.

He rests an elbow on his kitchen island, leaning onto it as he tilts his phone closer to his ear.

“Apologize right now,” he commands, sternness making him feel a little guilty, “that’s the person I love you’re slandering.”

But you only laugh, real and more relaxed, nervousness dissipating.

“My bad, my bad,” you play along before mumbling, “‘m just sayin’, there’re lotsa others who are more everythin’ y’know?”

He wonders what’s got you thinking like this, if it’s triggered by seeing people at the club, perhaps younger and far livelier—how you spent those years of your life exorcizing curses and making a home for two kids.

“So what? They’re still not you.”

And he means it, genuinely.

Your breath hitches and he grins, swinging around on the bar stool.

Those years of youth were still fun, he thinks, and it’s precisely because of you—how you’d made the apartment the four of you stayed in as fun and homely as a teen barely pushing twenty could.

You had your fair share of mishaps and adventures—rushed breakfasts and Megumi’s ‘my dog ate my homework’s. Tsumiki had to miss a day of school once because you accidentally booked her a birthday gift trip to Disneyland on a weekday.

(And he got scolded a lot, ‘Satoru’ exhaled with a look. But it would only last a few moments; you can never stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try).

There was no way you and Gojo had the maturity and responsibility of actual parents (maybe more like inexperienced guardians, really), but you tried your hardest to give Megumi and Tsumiki a home.

Home, what he’s beginning to realize reminds him of you.

He looks around him now, at the details of his interior, and begins to think of yours—your apartment, a little more wooden and lived-in; there’s a lot more wear but also a lot more love, never empty like his feels right now.

“If being with you was so boring, I wouldn’t be itching to go to you right now.” he confesses, fiddling with the string of his sweatpants.

You laugh again before it falls into comfortable silence.

Muffled conversations and the occasional beep sound in your background. There’s a couple giggling around you and he thinks that could be the two of you—if only he were with you.

“Satoru,” you call him softly.

He hums, letting it sink in—the way you say his name, distinct in how you stress his consonants despite the softness around his vowels.

When you say ‘Satoru’, it always feels targeted, speaking straight to who he is.

“‘M so happy it’s you,” you whisper shyly, but it’s bright—unmistakably smiling, the visual of your eyes crinkling.

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, drunken affection and vulnerable confessions, but there’s that ache again, and all he wants to do is go to you, hold you. Be with you.

For a while, Gojo’s been resigned to the fact that there are some things he can’t give you: how you’ll never know true peace because he’ll always be linked to jujutsu society; how choosing him means choosing the tumultuous, the unpredictable.

And while you’ve already told him that you prefer this life with him better, for you to say you’re happy, that it’s him—

He’s thankful it’s you, too.

Tears collect at his lash line, pools of gratitude, “I love you.”

“Hmm? you’re coverin’ the mic w’your double-chin,” you joke, just to hear him say it again, he knows.

(There’s no way he has a double-chin from how you complain about his jawline being too sharp all the time).

“I love you.” he repeats, louder, steadier, pressing it into his phone’s microphone.

He’ll repeat it again as many times as you want him to.

You giggle and he echoes it—like that couple from earlier, your own version.

The clock reads 02:47, and he normally doesn’t like being up this late, barely getting enough sleep as is. But if you’re the reason why, he doesn’t mind staying awake.

3 — TUCKED IN BED, WHEN I LIE CORRECTED

“Satoru, you can’t keep eating sweets on an empty stomach.”

He turns beside you, the dull rumbling of the Shinkansen hardly masking how loudly he asks, “Why not?”

An old man seated across the aisle looks your way, grumpy by the folds between his brows—as if he’d been woken up by Gojo’s whining. You bow your head slightly in apology.

It’s been an early day so far, with you and Gojo catching the first train out from Kyoto to Tokyo. Departing at 06:14 doesn’t exactly leave room for food stops, so all you have are the two water bottles handed out from yesterday’s meeting and a pack of (now) half-eaten Hi-Chew that Gojo picked up from the convenience store last night.

“You’ll get a stomach ache.” you whisper, with emphasis.

He fiddles with the stick of Hi-Chew, tossing it between his fingers before popping one piece out.

The seats in the Shinkansen are spacious enough for Gojo to stretch his long, gangly legs, but despite all the free room in your row, he’s chosen to encroach on your space, sticking to you shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Nonsense,” he tilts his face, sunglasses sliding a few centimeters down the bridge of his nose, “I do this all the time.”

And his eye, clear and bright blue amidst the morning haze zipping past the windows of the train, winks at you.

Heat warms your cheeks; it’s too early for this.

The moment you look away, hiding your smile, he knows he’s got you.

Or not.

Because you seem to have gotten him—

—tucked in bed, nursing this stomach ache that could have been avoided if he just listened.

To be fair, he does do it all the time: a few candies, sometimes gummies first thing in the morning, last thing at night. So he’s right, it’s nonsense; he probably got this from something else.

(Even when you’d both eaten the same meals—how you always order to share because you like tasting a little bit of everything).

Which is why, you insist it’s from the sweets, his beloved Hi-Chew to be specific. And though he wants to, he can’t argue much when he’s curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach while writhing in bed.

“I made you tea,” you stand by your bedside, holding out your mug—small cereals patterned all over it.

He opens an eye, hair mussed up from all his squirming. The pain in his stomach is radiating, a knot that tightens in waves; this is different from the twist-y pop-y sparks of jealousy, and is nothing compared to the sting of multiple slashes.

Still, it’s a pain he doesn’t understand: a mixture of feeling gassy and bloated, like he needs to run to the toilet only for it to turn out futile. What makes it worse is that when he catches a glimpse of you, a lock of hair perfectly out of place, the sensation in his stomach intensifies—like butterflies flapping (or maybe just another wave of radiating pain).

“S’hot,” he grumbles, half of his face mushed into the pillow.

The mug in your hand is piping hot, steam lifting from it, and Gojo doesn’t like drinking hot things; he’s burnt his tongue enough times on hot chocolate that he swears any hot liquid is out to get him.

But you don’t know that about him—he’s never told you, he thinks.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed.

“That’s kind of the point, baby.” you chuckle, tone doting with a hint of pity, “It has to be.”

Your hand rests on his thigh, attempting to soothe him. He catches your eye and whines.

“If I blow on it, will you drink?” you plead, “Please?”

At this point, he doesn’t know what hurts more: this stupid stomach ache or how nice you’re being.

You could have said ‘I told you so’ the moment his stomach started gurgling when you both arrived in Tokyo—but you didn’t. Instead, you asked him what exactly he was feeling and had him change into his pajamas as you nursed him to bed. Then, you cooked him real food, a bowl of Okayu for his stomach to digest something plain and non-irritable.

You haven’t stopped moving since you both got back from Kyoto, unpacking both your things while simultaneously darting in and out your bedroom, checking in.

How you speak to him is so gentle, caring, doting—even when you have every right to hold it against him.

He pushes himself up, leaning back on the headrest. You smile, lovely, and beautiful, and every bit healing that it eases the pain a little, somehow. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you blow on his tea, scooting closer.

A gurgling sound comes from his stomach again, but it’s manageable, and he bears it as he takes you in—how you’ve barely had the time to change out of your clothes since this morning. You’re tired, he’s sure, but you don’t mention it as you take care of him.

The bed dips as you draw nearer, bringing the mug to his lips—he’s a grown man and he can definitely do this on his own, but you always take such good care of him.

Who is he to say no?

Sips of peppermint coat his tongue, warm as it eases down his throat. He wraps his fingers around yours, drinking a third of the mug before urging you to set it down.

“I’ll heat up a hot compress,” you motion to get up, placing the mug by your bedside.

He stops you, grip loose on your wrist.

“Have you eaten?”

You stare at him, a little surprised, but you nod.

“Just stay with me, then. Don’t need that thing.”

Your brows furrow, pouting, “But it’ll help,”

“Hug me instead,” his fingers play with yours, intertwining, “or I’ll hug you. Either.”

You shoot him a look, disbelieving, but he musters up a wink, for you, despite the new wave of pain arising.

“Okay,” you sigh, knowing you can’t exactly argue. As you get up, you land a kiss on top of his head, rubbing his knuckles as you get ready for bed.

When you come back, dressed in your pajamas, he’s turned to his side, lifting the comforter to welcome you in. You lie face-to-face with him, his arm reaching out to rest on your lower back, pushing you closer.

“You sure this is enough?” you whisper, breath tickling his chin.

“Mm, yeah,” he hums, hugging you tighter as he grins, “you’re hot.”

You hit his arm lightly, and he chuckles.

It turns quiet, then he shifts, resting his forehead against yours. White strands, as pale as your pillowcases tickle your eyes.

He nuzzles your nose, hiking your leg up to rest on his hip while slotting his leg between your thighs—like a pretzel, twisted into each other tight.

“You’re too good to me.”

He’s said this before, and no matter how much you say it isn’t true—he’ll always think it, believe it.

You frown, gripping his waist, “I don’t like seeing you in pain, you know.”

And he thinks you’ve always been like this: hands outstretched farther than his, offering yourself to help carry whatever pain, struggle, or burden you can. You cry for the sadness others feel, share the hurt of anyone who needs it. You’re the pillar, the support for everyone around you—from Yuuji, Megumi, and Tsumiki all the way back to Utahime, Suguru, and Nanami.

You’ve always been this way, ever since he met you.

“Does it still hurt?” you mutter, concerned, fingers grazing his stomach.

It does and it doesn’t—the pain is unfamiliar but he can take it, having gone through far worse. If he’s being really honest, a part of him just likes being babied by you.

“Better,” he inches back a little, lips curling into mischief, “would definitely go away with some Hi-Chew.”

You shoot him a look, then pout.

“Satoru.”

He figures there are still a few things you don’t know about him: how he really dislikes hot drinks, how discomfort turns him into a whiney, needy baby, and how he remains incredibly stubborn, maintaining what he stands for (but maybe you know this already).

“Hey, you should be thanking my Hi-Chew’s. It helps with energy when we fu—”

You swat at his chest in hopes of shutting him up.

He clears his throat, correcting himself instead, “—make love.”

This is hardly the time or situation to be talking about the other things you do on your bed, given that he’s been out of commission, curled in on himself the entire day on it. But you sigh, resting your palm on his cheek.

He turns to peck your wrist, hand coming up to cover yours.

“Just because you were fine doing it before, doesn’t mean you always will be.” you whisper, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone.

And Gojo thinks he’s right most of the time, if not all the time, but—

“We’re not old, but we aren’t as young as we used to be, you know? Have to take better care of ourselves now…” you continue.

—when you talk to him like this, you humble him. Immensely.

He’s always known that if he were to give in to anyone, it’d be to you.

Things are different now, he knows; his considerations have changed too—like how to lay the foundations of a new, ideal jujutsu society, with all the political and diplomatic gymnastics he knows is necessary; what to do with all this downtime, with all this life and no more death looming overhead; there’s also you, where this relationship is headed, what he plans to do.

“What will I tell everyone when the love of my life, Gojo Satoru, the strongest, gets knocked out by sweets?”

Then you joke around like this so casually, kissing his nose and calling him the love of your life like it doesn’t bear commitment that spans your–his–entire lifetime—it shakes him a little.

He holds his breath, eyes staring at yours. You seem completely unfazed—a slip of the tongue maybe, so he lets it go.

“Okay, okay,” he pinches your nose as you scrunch it, “I’ll try, but no promises.”

You kiss his wrist in return—the softness of your lips always turning him a little delirious when he feels it. He pulls you closer to his chest, palm pressed to the back of your head as his other arm wraps around you, squeezing you tighter.

“But don’t complain if I only last one rou—”

He gets kicked in the thigh.

4 — WHEN IT'S YOUR WAY OR DOWN THE DRAIN

There’s the right way, then there’s the Gojo way.

Sometimes there’s an overlap, but most times he’s just unorthodox. Gojo’s always had his own way of doing things, but now, he’s throwing all that down the drain in lieu of doing things your way (which in this case, he’s decided is the right way).

Between the two of you, you’re definitely better at cooking.

He isn’t inept at it per se; all these years, he’s managed to get by. It’s just that, he’s only ever made quick, simple things—barely having the time or need to make things on his own when you seem to have an extra plate on standby.

Long cooks like this, for real, big meals aren’t his forte at all.

This is the fullest his kitchen has ever been, a trip to the grocery store producing bags overflowing with the ingredients he needs. He tightens his apron (yours, actually) by his waist, pale pink a stark contrast to his black shirt and gray lounge pants. It’s tiny on him, barely fitting, but it covers enough to (hopefully) save him from any mishaps.

With all the ingredients lined up on his kitchen counter, he stares, hands on hips as he contemplates where to begin.

You’ve mentioned before how his kitchen is every cook’s dream: complete equipment, all high-grade with steel surfaces for easy wipe downs and more than enough real estate to move around. It’s a shame he’s barely used it over the years, either too busy out on missions or lately, too often staying at yours.

The unease makes him fidgety.

There’s an air of confidence that normally surrounds Gojo in everything he does, but it wavers just a bit with this one.

He has to get this right.

It’s your anniversary—the third (officially), but the number doesn’t matter as much when the years have always blurred the lines of what you are to each other.

The past two celebrations were cute and fun, adventurous in how you’d spent the first one on a trail date up north, and the second one fruit picking in a farm, just west of Tokyo—things you’d both done for the first time, together. Now, there’s added pressure because this is your thing; everything on the menu for tonight’s home cooked dinner is based on your recipes.

You know all of this by heart. And though he’s aware he doesn’t have to impress you, he wants to.

He glances at the clock: 15:05 in white, 4 hours until you arrive. The table hasn’t been set up yet and he’s barely dressed, an array of ingredients on the table waiting to be transformed into four of your recipes he plans to attempt.

Gojo is no quitter, but it’d be stupid of him to underestimate how fast time flies.

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contact list—then he shoots a text, pocketing the device as soon as he hits send.

In the amount of time between asking for help and said help standing outside his door, ringing the doorbell, Gojo’s managed to do most of the prepwork: slice all the vegetables, set the rice cooker, and mix together all the sauces and glazes so he can set them aside for later.

“Just type it!” he shouts from the kitchen.

Four beeps sound from the door, a soft woosh following as it opens. Help enters in the form of spiky hair and a deadpan gaze, putting on house slippers by the genkan as he drags his feet to the kitchen counter.

“Megumi!”

The younger boy sighs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his joggers, long sleeves wrinkling higher. “Why did you call me?”

“Oh!” Gojo claps his hands together, “I need your help.”

Megumi looks him over, eyes zeroing in on the pink apron, then the bowls of sauces and chopped vegetables in front of him. The rice cooker is steaming beside the sink while empty pots and pans line the burners of the stove.

“With cooking?” Megumi shifts his attention back to Gojo as the older male nods. He mumbles, “You made it sound like an emergency.”

(“Come here now.” in proper punctuation, lacking any of his usual emoticons—only ever being used in the most dire situations).

Gojo furrows his brows, “It is!”

Megumi stares.

“Anniversaries are emergencies.” Gojo stares back, holding the silence for a few seconds before he continues, demeanor turned serious, “Think of it as doing this for your Sensei, not me.”

There’s a crack in Megumi’s resolve that Gojo knows only appears when it comes to you; a soft spot that exists because you’ve always been closer, warmer—an accumulation of all the times you were adamant on being present because the kids deserved someone there, especially when he couldn’t be.

Megumi sighs, resigned, as he pushes up his sleeves, trudging over to the sink. He turns on the tap, soaping his hands until it suds, “You should have asked Itadori.”

“Yuuji wouldn’t know how it’s supposed to taste though.”

“Sensei’s recipes?”

Gojo nods, fanning out pieces of paper from the recipe folder you keep in your kitchen drawer, “Your favorites.”

Megumi scrunches his nose, embarrassed as pink tints the tips of his ears.

His relationship with Megumi has always been a bit weird, a not-quite-parent-maybe-kind-of-distant-guardian-and-good-but-annoying-mentor-slash-benefactor kind of weird. And he’s sure that the boy isn’t too fond of the idea that he knows small, seemingly trivial things about him like his favorite food, but if there’s anything they can settle on, it’s definitely love for you.

“Do you have another one?” Megumi turns to Gojo, pointing to the hair band pushing back his hair.

There’s a different kind of care in cooking that he’s now realizing, coming face-to-face with the pot of dashi he’s just started boiling—a patience that comes with waiting and an efficiency meant for multi-tasking.

During the 30 minutes of soaking the kombu, they split tasks: Gojo takes duty rolling the Temaki on his own, while Megumi seasons the Wagyu and prepares the Sunomono. It’s not long before Megumi is directed to setting up the table as Gojo focuses on the Miso Soup.

There’s a reference photo, some picture he pulled online. The gray plates and silverware on his dining table match the iron-hued backsplash and steel surfaces of his kitchen, sleek but softened by the vase of red and white camellias from the florist you frequent.

Megumi doesn’t say anything, frankly because he’s gotten used to walking in on Gojo searching up these things: a youtube video of trail dates and articles of ‘the top 10 best farms for fruit picking’. There was also that time he found Gojo’s browser open on a catalog of lingerie.

(Megumi’s been trying really hard to forget that).

These aren’t things Gojo’s done before, much less thought of—romance and all.

But he admits, it’s hard work, wiping off the sweat on his brow caused by the heat from the stove.

“Why,” Megumi sighs, “Why are you cooking anyway?” He mumbles, adjusting the silverware on the table, “Couldn’t you just reserve some place?”

Most of the cook has been silent, with Gojo too focused and Megumi barely saying a word. So while adding the katsuobushi after the kombu boils, the older male answers.

“I would have, but she said she wanted to stay home,” he turns away from the pot, leaving the katsuobushi to soak as he shrugs.

Megumi snorts, straightening out the black tablecloth, “Don’t you have anywhere you want to go?”

It’s a simple question. Innocent.

But it hits him then, how what you say follows; how ‘anywhere he wants to go’ is wherever you are, how he’s choosing to cook this meal for you instead of just ordering in—-how he’s now considering you, in everything.

This isn’t his strong suit, far from it, really, but because he’s thinking of what you want—suddenly he’s domesticated, cooking for you in hopes of romancing you (even though he already has you).

You come first now, and he finds that he doesn’t mind.

He turns back to the stove, straining the soup through a fine-mesh sieve before adding miso paste, dissolving it into the dashi.

“I guess not.”

The thought stays with him, even as he drops in the tofu, dried wakame seaweed, and green onion. Even as he waits for it to finish cooking, moving the pot atop a different burner while grabbing a spoon to dip in it.

“Megumi, come taste,” he calls behind him.

And when the boy sidles up next to him, he feels nervous, fingers trembling as he hands over the spoonful of Miso Soup. He stares at Megumi, eyes wide open, anticipating.

The boy arches an eyebrow as he takes the spoon, blowing on it gently. He takes a small sip.

“I added less salt because—” Gojo speaks up, a bit panicked, fingers scratching at his nail beds.

“She’ll like anything you make, even if it tastes bad.”

Gojo’s brows furrow, “Are you saying it’s bad?”

“Or bland.” Megumi adds, smacking his lips.

“So it’s bland?”

The horror on Gojo’s face is laughable, but Megumi continues, deadpan.

“No, it’s okay.”

Gojo sighs in relief, then pouts, “Don’t mess with me like that.”

“I don’t.” Megumi sets the spoon down, walking back to the dining table to finish setting up.

The 18:03 on his digital clock flickers, and the rest of the cook continues: he heats up the skillet for the Wagyu—Matsusaka Beef, grade A-5, heavily marbled, meant to be tender and sweet. Some oil is drizzled onto the pan before cloves of chopped garlic are thrown in, followed by the beef, cut into bite-sized pieces. He adds a bit of soy sauce and red wine, to draw out the sweetness (or so he’s read), then finishes it up by plating it.

And, there really is a different kind of care in cooking, he’s now realizing; how, when he stares at what he’s cooked in the past hour, he’s thought of you through it all—your preferences, the way you make things. How big meals aren’t his forte, but for you, he tries anyway.

“Do you need me to do anything else?” Megumi asks, adjusting the camellias in the vase one last time. He takes off his hair band and ruffles his hair, hands tucking inside his pockets immediately after.

Gojo looks up from the spread of food on the kitchen counter, motioning for the boy to come closer, “Taste test everything with me.”

Lined up are a plate of Temaki, a wooden board of Wagyu, a plate of Sunomono, and a bowl of Miso Soup. For every bite he takes, Megumi follows. And honestly? He thinks everything tastes… okay.

The Temaki bursts with the sweet umaminess of buttery salmon dotted with ikura, the yellow daikon pickles adding a tart balance that complements the salmon well by simultaneously being sweet and salty. The avocado adds extra creaminess, while the cucumber and corn provide a freshness that lifts everything else. For some added decoration, he uses radish sprouts to mimic leaves on the filler plants of bouquets—the main reason he chose to make this: it looks like the bundles of flower arrangements you keep on your desk. What ties everything together though, is the crunchy, crispy texture of the nori, giving contrast to the creaminess it holds inside.

There’s a reason why Wagyu is so expensive, and it’s being told in the way it melts into his mouth right now, sweet and tender. He paid a pretty penny for this, but it’s worth it because he can’t wait for your reaction.

The Sunomono is meant to be a palate cleanser—with sesame seeds sprinkled on it, mild and sweet, while wakame seaweed and cucumbers serve as the base ingredients. The sauce is meant to be light, just a mixture of rice vinegar and soy sauce, seasoned to taste—and maybe his is a little lackluster compared to yours, but he swears you have some form of magic when it comes to cooking.

After each bite, Gojo looks at Megumi for his reaction—but the boy gives nothing away, face blank and devoid of any emotion. None of them are as good as yours, definitely, but for his first shot at this, they aren’t too bad. He’d pat himself on the back for it.

“They don’t go together.” Megumi regards the entire spread with his chopsticks.

All his hard work? Shattered.

Gojo is dumbfounded.

It’s too late to change everything now.

Should he just scrap everything and order takeout?

“But they’re not bad.” Megumi continues, washing his chopsticks by the sink before heading for the bathroom to change out of the house clothes he’d borrowed in lieu of an apron.

When he emerges, long sleeves and joggers, he asks one last time if that’s all he needs to do, taking Gojo’s nods as a sign to take his leave. The older male remains rooted behind his kitchen counter, frozen from the crisis he’s facing.

You arrive a little later (thankfully), giving Gojo enough time to figure out this whole debacle. He’s ultimately decided to feel around for how the night goes, then he’ll act accordingly—if you show any sign that you aren’t happy, he has the delivery app ready.

He dresses in simple slacks and a white button down, fiddling with how he’s rolled it up; the thought of you finally seeing everything he’s prepared for tonight makes him nervous—the table set-up, the ambiance, the food.

(He’s even cleaned up his bedroom).

Then he senses it, faint traces of your cursed energy by the door, and he holds his breath. The beeps on his lock count down the seconds to your entrance; and when he sees you come in, surprised and so amazed at the entire thing, the tightness in his chest eases up immensely.

All he told you was to wear something nice.

And, by god you did.

You walk up to him, pretty and smiling in the simple dress you’d opted for tonight—a midi slip-on with a cardigan thrown on top. Black has always looked good on you, uniform or not, ever since up to now.

But in white, you’re radiant. Glowing.

He reaches for you.

The grin on his face is lovesick as he grabs a hold of your waist. You instantly tiptoe up to kiss him, hands on his shoulders as you land a soft peck that transfers a light sheen of lip gloss onto his lips. The view behind him shows the table set-up, a pop of white and red amidst all the food he’s prepared for tonight.

Your eyes widen, gasping, “Did you make all of that?”

He nods, pulling away from you as he grins cockingly, “Call me chef.”

But he immediately bites his lips, restless as he shifts his weight. He hopes you don’t notice how nervous he is—if you weren’t able to tell from his heartbeat, pressed against his chest.

“You didn’t have to,” you pout at him, eyes watery as you swipe your thumb across his lips, wiping off the residue of your lipgloss.

“Guess I’ll just undo everything then.” he chuckles, hands sliding to rest on your lower back, fingers tapping against silk.

You roll your eyes, and before his hands get the chance to grab you lower, you’re whisking him away, holding his hand as you lead him to the dining table.

He pulls out your chair and you sit, the rare gesture making you giggle. As he settles in the seat across you, there’s a disconnect between the expression on his face and his body language—eyebrows wiggling and lips smirking, meant to be lighthearted and teasing, but he won’t stop fidgeting, shifting as he readjusts his seating.

As you reach for the Temaki, he sucks in a breath, entirely hyper aware of every move you’re making. When you bite into it, he’s waiting. Anticipating.

Your eyes fall shut as you chew, humming, then you grin. But when you open them and they catch his, it’s like you can tell—what he’s feeling. The furrow on your brows deepens as you look at him, concerned, “Hey, what’re you thinking?”

How he hopes he hasn’t fucked this up, this dinner. What if the Miso Soup is too bland? Isn’t at all to your liking? What if the Wagyu’s dried out? Isn’t cooked properly?

If he can’t get this right, this seemingly simple thing, how can he do everything else? Consider you the same way you’ve always considered him?

He’s so sure of you his heart could burst at it, but what if he can’t ever come to terms with himself? With what he’s able to—

Then he feels it, your hand on his as you reach for him across the table, rubbing the back of it, soothing.

He doesn’t even realize how much he’s worrying.

“Megumi said it doesn’t go together,” he stares into your eyes, breathing slowly, grounding. It’s been a while since he’s given you a non-answer, but you accept it, patiently.

“Megumi was here?” you ask gently, brow arched curiously.

He nods, “Asked him to help a bit.”

You hum, looking back at the food on the table before taking his other hand, soothing, “Well, that’s Megumi’s preference. Mine will be different.”

The smile you give him is warm, like the Miso Soup you’re reaching for right now. He watches you take a sip.

“S’good, better than mine.” You hum and he knows you’re lying but it’s still comforting, the fact that you’d do this for him.

So if this is your effort for him, he isn’t going to waste it.

The rest of the dinner has you making the most exaggerated sounds, your ‘mmm’s and ‘ooo’s emphasizing how good the food is if he still doesn’t believe it. Your reactions are over-the-top and definitely overplayed, but it makes him laugh—has him grinning in his seat the more he relaxes.

You help clean up, even though he insists that you shouldn’t.

“It’s our anniversary, Satoru.” you bump his hip, shooing him away from the table as you stack up the dirty plates.

When he finishes washing the dishes and turns to find you, sitting atop his kitchen counter, nibbling on a piece of strawberry from the special Daifuku he put out for dessert, he approaches you.

“Don’t be greedy now,” he rests his hand on your knee, coming to stand in between your legs. You hike your dress up a little bit, just to give him some space.

You chuckle, cupping your hand under his chin as you feed him; he eats the entire thing, half-bitten by you already. And as the tips of your fingers touch his lips, sticky and syrupy from the strawberry coating, he takes them in his mouth, sucking lightly.

He holds your gaze.

“Thanks for doing all this,” you blink twice as he releases your fingers, interlacing them with his, “s’not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life.”

You say it again—how you call him that so casually.

What do you mean it’s not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life?

You do it for him all the time.

He hums, moving closer. His other hand rises higher, kneading the flesh of your thighs through the smooth silk of your midi dress.

“Thought you were going to spit it out for a second there,” he swallows his nerves.

“Stop,” you frown, grabbing him by his belt loops before pressing your lips against his forehead, landing a loud ‘smack’, “go away silly thoughts.”

He chuckles when you blow a raspberry on it, laughter easing up as you drag your lips down to the center of his brows, tense from all the worrying earlier.

You always seem to get it right, he thinks, this whole relationship thing—always knowing what to say.

He tilts his head up, leaning closer to kiss you on the lips, fully. The breath he lets out mingles with yours, sweet with hints of strawberry, and when he catches your bottom lip you lean back, hands coming to rest on his cheeks.

You nip on his upper lip, playful but lightly, and he groans, hand reaching up to slot itself by your neck.

It’s there, underneath his fingertips, the pounding of your heartbeat.

As you squirm on the kitchen counter, you pull away for a moment, restless from the growing heat. The action is subtle but dangerous as your cardigan slips off your shoulder, revealing the strap and lace of your lingerie.

Blue eyes land on familiar pink, one he’s certain he’s caught you in before, but seeing it now, under white, it does something to his brain—blood rushing, ears ringing.

He leans closer, grabbing you by the waist as he runs his lips against along your neck, nipping on sensitive skin.

“‘Toru,” you gasp, breathy as you grip his shirt.

“Tell me what else you want,” he murmurs against your skin, muffled. He sneaks one glance at you, pupils blown, before hovering over your temple, lips barely touching, tickling as he whispers, “anything.”

Your fingers trail lower, pinching at his shirt before you tug, untucking it from his slacks. You turn to him, finding his lips, sliding them over his as you match his rhythm. It’s careful and slow, the way you unbutton his shirt, but it’s like he said—

This is your way; he’ll follow anything you say.

5 — WHEN ALL I SEE IS ME AND YOU

Gojo never thought he’d make this decision all because of your joint streaming subscription.

It’s a normal weekend, regular in every way possible—just a night in for the both of you. He usually stays over at the end of the week, but it’s been bleeding into the weekdays too, lately.

The sound of splashing water against tile echoes along the hallway; you normally play songs when you shower, but he guesses today isn’t that kind of day.

He plops on the couch, pointing the remote to the TV as he selects the streaming app. Normal weekends consist of movie nights, half actually paying attention to the screen, and half paying attention to other things—either way, it ends in falling asleep.

When the homepage lights up on the screen, he spots two accounts: yours and his. And it’s joint, under one household—your home.

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s been thinking about this more lately: how the past months have been a slow realization coming to terms with himself, and where he sees this relationship going, but the visual in front of him sparks an influx of things he’s been noticing.

The pajama pants he’s wearing now exist as a pair to a matching set he has with you, but tonight, he’s opted for a white t-shirt because his pajama top is tucked somewhere in the drawers of your bedroom.

(You keep it with you because you like how it fits more, you say, but he thinks it’s because it smells like him, and you sleep with it when he’s away).

There’s another pair of chopsticks you always wash now, too, plain bamboo with a ring around the handle, light blue. You’d bought it from a market down the street a year ago, and told him it reminded you of him—how it’s his from now on, in the container of utensils by your kitchen sink.

He’s always known how intertwined your lives are, a decade and more of learning one another is bound to entangle you somehow. But the past few years have caused knots, impossible to unravel—a thought that doesn’t scare him as much as it used to; a thought he now thinks doesn’t sound so bad as long as it’s with you.

As long as it’s with you.

The creaking of the bathroom door snaps him back, the soft pads of your footsteps growing louder as it reaches the living room.

“Oh, you haven’t picked a movie yet?” you ask, ruffling your hair with your towel.

He puts on a smile, facing you as he hands over the remote, “You pick tonight.”

You barely pay attention to the movie, snuggled up against his chest, constantly looking up to kiss his neck. He’s the same, distracted, but not for the same reasons you are.

It’s a lot to resist, the way your hands creep under his shirt, warm against his stomach, but the sinking feeling in his gut makes it impossible to focus anywhere else.

“Not the time?” you tap his cheek, and he tilts his chin down, acknowledging you. The look on your face is anything but disappointed, and it tugs at him, makes him feel guilty that he’s making you worry. That he can’t give you what you’re looking for right now.

“Maybe later,” he takes your hand, lips grazing your fingertips, “I’ll get ready for bed.”

You nod, sitting up as he taps your hip. He knows you can tell something’s bothering him—it’s impossible to hide anything from you at this point, but this realization feels like a long time coming, like it’s been brewing, now spilling.

He gets up, kissing the top of your head before walking to the bathroom.

When he steps in, it still smells like you—the shampoo and bodywash you use. (Technically, it smells like him too—he’s started using yours because it feels like keeping you with him, everywhere he goes).

As he finishes brushing his teeth, reaching for his towel hooked beside yours, he remembers how none of this existed when it was just you. You only ever had one hook for one towel, how he used to share it with you only to realize that it would never dry in time for the next use.

Then he found it, some time last year, when he walked in to take a shower and saw a hook installed right beside yours, presumably his.

The lights are adjusted for him too; fluorescent white too bright, a pain for his Six Eyes. You noticed when you caught him washing his face in the dark, so you changed the bulbs to soft white, tinged a bit yellow, warm.

And the thing is, he never asked you to do any of this.

You just… did.

Because that’s you.

And it’s making him realize even more how he wants to keep it this way, how he wouldn’t mind if this was the rest of his life, everyday.

The mood shifts when you both get in bed, and if you notice it, you don’t tell him. Whatever was bothering him before has settled, his head clear, more focused to reciprocate your earlier advances.

He’s gentle when he touches you, taking the time to love you. Your clothes come off one by one with no haste at all, slowly, almost painfully.

But he kisses you all over, leaves marks on places only he can see—by your hip, at the center of your chest, and another one, visible, on your neck below your ear. This is more than what he usually does, but he feels determined tonight.

“Off,” you whisper, as you tug at his shirt, pulling it off before throwing it to the side of your bed.

He holds his breath when your fingers land on his chest, dragging across his collarbones before you tap thrice. This is a spot you’ve loved so intently, he’s become sensitive to it every time you come close. You leave kisses along it, some wet, others dry pecks, but it makes him shudder all the same, every time.

As he hovers above you, arm bent by your head, his fingers trace your lower lip, tugging only to let it bounce back; he kisses you, noses bumping, softly at first before it turns hungry—lips overlapping, biting. His tongue runs over your lips, smooth and warm.

There are more touches, more gazes; lips brushing and breaths mixing. The heat between you is shared, intermingling, and when he’s in you—

—it’s too much, how he feels looking at you right now, like you’re everything, the only thing seared into his memory.

There’s a life he wants to give you, and though he knows there are others who might be more able to—he can’t let go of you, refuses to. He can’t bear the thought of anyone else being this close, doesn’t even want to think about someone else waking up next to you—the bed hair he always looks forward to, the lazy smile against squished cheeks, the hands that always reach for him, first thing.

These traces of you have made him want the whole of you, and if this is him being selfish, then so be it.

His arms wrap around your back, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around him, and you’re both moving, timing in sync, and he’s crying.

He tucks his face into your neck, and he’s sure you feel everything—wet tears, shuddery breaths, but you don’t say anything. You hold him tighter, fingers scratching his undercut as he gets closer and closer.

Gojo Satoru is a man of impossibilities.

And this life he thinks you deserve—he wants to be the one to give that to you.

+1 — WITH MY KNEES ON THE FLOOR, WHEN I ASK FOR MORE

He shouldn’t even be feeling this way, because what’s the worst thing you can say?

It’s just you.

It’s just you—

And… maybe it’s because it’s you, that the .01% possibility of you even saying no—

—it makes him feel sick.

He looks back at the clock: 16:30. The walk from the conference room to his office will take an extra 3? 5? minutes.

The room feels tighter, smaller, floorboards practically worn down from how much he’s paced around it.

He’s rehearsed what he wants to say, how he’ll grab your hand and look you straight in the eyes as he does it. Fear and excitement churn in his belly, how he’s imagining the look on your face.

If you were here, you’d tell him to breathe—to follow you with every inhale and exhale.

If you were here, you’d smile at him, lips curled up softly, gently, the one he loves.

If you were here—

—the door opens, and you step into the room.

Now that you’re here, he doesn’t know what to say.

You stand before him in your uniform, smiling, just as he imagined you’d be. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, sparkling, the way he’s noticed they have since you were 17.

He must be doing a terrible job hiding how he feels because your demeanor instantly shifts, face contorting into worry, brows furrowed and frown forming. You drop your bag as you walk to him, hands reaching to cup his face.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice hushed and delicate, “Did something happen?”

Your fingers are warm on his cheeks (or is he too cold?), tilting his head lower so you can look him in the eyes. He can’t breathe, can’t hear you properly; you’re drowned out by the thumping of his heartbeat.

“Need to tell you something,” he manages to mutter.

Your eyes widen before you nod, lowering your hands as you speak slowly, “Okay, do you want to sit first? I have water—”

He shakes his head, hand reaching for your wrist, “I think… you should sit.”

The pause alarms you, your body turning rigid. He has no idea what’s going through your mind, and you give nothing away as you mumble an ‘okay’ while walking to the couch.

He stays beside you, not too far but still placing a bigger distance than he normally would—for the 0.01% probability that this isn’t what you want, that he isn’t too close, forcing you into an answer you might not want to say.

The words float in his mind, but none of them string together to form the sentences he wants to tell you. Does he take it from the start? How this whole thing has always terrified him? How he never thought this was meant for him, but here he is, still learning but loving every second of it?

There are things he’s never had to consider before that he cares so much more about now—all because of you, how it’s for you, how he wants to do better by you.

You call him the love of your life and he hasn’t told you, but you’re that and more for him, too.

He practiced this, damn it.

Why can’t he remember a single thing?

The silence between you is tense, tainted by overthinking on both ends. You look like you’re waiting for bad news, and Gojo’s too stuck in his head, turning over the right words to say instead of reassuring you.

“I’ve been thinking lately,” he starts, fiddling with his fingers. His feet won’t stop bouncing, knee fidgeting. He’s biting his lips, a tell-tale sign that there’s a lot he isn’t saying.

You place your hand on his knee to calm him down, and he stops bouncing it, looking at you as you muster up a small smile—far from being genuine, but it’s the fact that you’ve mustered it, as if to say: ‘it’s okay, you can tell me; i’ll always want to hear all of it.’

He swallows, “This arrangement isn’t working.”

Your face drops, brows furrowing, “What arrangement?”

His heart is pounding.

“I stay over at yours too much.”

Too much, that mine doesn’t feel like I belong there anymore, he fails to add.

“I think we need more space.”

Your hand slides off his knee as you tuck it between your thighs. There’s a frown on your face he can’t seem to figure out, and the fact that you’re giving nothing away, whatever you’re thinking—he’s turning even more nervous right now.

“Okay,” you finally say, tone flat, “when do you want me to return all your things?”

He tilts his head at you, confused, “What—”

“Actually, can I…” you shift around, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears before clearing your throat, “can I ask if it’s something I did?”

And his heart drops, straight into his stomach.

It’s not like that at all.

He’s hit with déjà vu; this conversation feels so familiar, so similar to one he’s had with you before—on the sofa chair across this couch, laying himself bare the same way he is now.

The couch dips as he scoots closer to you, reaching for your hands.

“It’s not—”

You scoff sadly, “Please don’t give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ thing,” then your tone drops, blinking away your tears, “if you’re going to break up with me, Satoru, just tell me why. Honestly.”

He blinks.

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he once told himself he’ll never tell you.

But now seems like it’s fitting—the right time to say it.

“You remember when I was unsealed?” he moves to the floor, getting down on his knees in front of you. You nod as he rubs circles over your knuckles, “When I first saw you, it was pretty scary.”

He brings one hand to your cheek, catching a tear with his thumb. You pout, the crease between your brows growing deeper.

“You ran yourself dry because of me.”

When he thinks about it now, he still feels guilty.

He believes that people are accountable for their own actions, and he still believes that with you, definitely—but he knows your reasons, why you acted that way, desperate for hope everyday. And for that, he takes responsibility.

“I didn’t want that for you, still don’t.”

Your frown deepens, tears welling up even more.

Do you still think he wants to do this without you?

He can’t take this, seeing you cry; he promised himself he wouldn’t be the reason behind this anymore.

“I’m not breaking up with you.” he tells you firmly, surely.

You blink.

Then your shoulders drop as you breathe out—what he hopes is relief. When your eyes meet, a little less sad, he sees the stars in them, glinting like they do when you look at him.

This should be his answer already, how much you brighten at the thought of staying with him. But—

“I still think you deserve more,” he brings your hands to his lips, brushing them against it, and as you’re about to interject, he chuckles, “but I’m also too selfish to leave that up to someone else, you know?”

“Soooo,” his hand reaches for his pocket, fishing around until he feels for what he’s looking for. He takes out his phone, swiping and scrolling until he finally stops, placing it on your lap for the both of you to see, “I’ve been thinking lately…”

He looks up at you, the two skies you’ve always been drawn to, waiting. The unease in his stomach returns, churning.

It’s a compilation of properties: houses, apartments, plots of land—all scattered around Tokyo, some central and some further on the outskirts.

Your eyes widen, tilting your head to the side as you attempt to read what’s on his screen. You turn to him immediately, eyes still watery; the expression on your face is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and confusion, like you don’t exactly know what he means.

“We don’t have to choose from these, it’s just a few brokers I talked to recently. We can look for others if you want, in quieter areas too—”

Then you smile, beaming, tears falling from your eyes, “Satoru,” and you breathe out his name but it sounds like I love you.

There’s a quiet life he can’t give you, but he likes this one with you much better too. He takes your hands, placing one on his chest, over his heart, and the other on his cheek. Then, he leans into it, kissing the insides of your wrist before staring back at you sincerely.

His heart is beating wildly, he’s sure, but if he can continue to make you this happy—

“Make a home with me?”

a/n: food descriptions—temaki is easy hand-rolled sushi, sunomono is japanese cucumber salad.

thank you notes: @stellamancer the actual birthday gift for u :') + @em1e for listening to me talk abt the entire plot and even reading the first few scenes!! + @mididoodles @kissxcore @itadorey @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for always being so supportive when am sharing my progress posts ilu + @crysugu @soumies @augustinewrites @ufo-ikawa no reason other than i just love u ᰔ i reply so slow when am writing smth...

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#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #gojo x you #gojo x yn #gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x yn #jjk x y/n #rated #shotorus.writes #col

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