#power/reader
Note
kiss headcanons for aki, denji, and power?? Thank you!
Aki
Aki's kisses are slow and sensual. He takes his time against your lips, moving against you until everything else melts away and it's only you two, sharing a quiet moment. Even in a quick kiss, you can feel Aki's passion. A kiss with him is pure solace, stolen in a busy day, and always leaves your shoulders feeling a little lighter than before.
Kisses in the kitchen always end up with you trapped against the counter, Aki's strong arms on either side of you as he leans into the sort of kiss that makes the entire world feel like it doesn't exist out side of the way his tongue moves against yours. You can be doing dishes, chopping onions, or wiping down the counters, but somehow, no matter what, you two always end up lip-locked.
Your neck is like a magnet to Aki, and he absolutely loves covering it with kisses. When you're alone, he takes every opportunity to let your kiss melt into something steamier, more intense, as he kisses his way down from your sweet lips to the smooth skin of your neck. He leaves gentle kisses, wet, open-mouth kisses, any kind of kisses, all over you. If he's feeling bold (which he quite often is), he won't detach until your neck is littered with quickly-purpling love bites.
When he's kissing you, Aki's never content to leave his hands resting on your hips or against your cheek. No, he's always moving; fingers rubbing soft, warm circles across the soft skin of your cheekbones, fingertips dipping just underneath the hem of your clothes, hands traveling up and down your sides and coming to rest on the swell of your ass. His favorite position is one hand cupping your cheek, one hand delicately underneath your chin, gently pulling you deeper into the kiss.
Aki kisses you sweetly, and often. He pulls you into a lazy kiss first thing in the morning, even before all the sleep's melted from your eyes. He sweeps a kiss over your lips right before he leaves for work, even if he's running late. He gives you a quick kiss when he gets home, if he's had a good day, and a long one if his day was bad. He kisses you while you two set the table for dinner. And he kisses you, deep and slow, last thing before you turn out the lights and fall asleep. He'll never admit it to you, but the reason he kisses you so often is because he knows he doesn't have the time to kiss you for very much longer; so he's trying to pack as many in as he can. If you ask him why he kisses you so often, he just smiles at you tenderly and tells you he just likes to, silly (and, predictably, he shuts you up with a kiss).
Denji
Denji is...not very good at kissing, at first. But that's okay! What he lacks in experience he makes up for in enthusiasm, and boy is he ever enthusiastic. Yes, he might nibble on your lip a little too hard, or slip his tongue into your mouth a little forcefully, but he's an eager student. Denji welcomes any feedback you give him, filing it away in his mind. He's determined not to make the same mistake twice, and as he explores what feels good, and what feels really good, good enough to drag a moan deep from your throat, he gets better and better. As they say, practice makes perfect; and he'd love nothing more than to keep practicing with you!
No matter how often you kiss, Denji can't control the blush that ignites him, head to toe. Even a peck on the cheek will have him turning pink, a love-struck expression bubbling up in his eyes.
Denji's favorite place to kiss you is, well, everywhere! He can't pick! He loves the way you look up at him through your eyelashes when he kisses your forehead. And how your skin wrinkles up in amusement when he drops a kiss on the tip of your nose. And how soft your lips feel when you slot them against his. And how romantic it feels to press a kiss against your knuckles. There's benefits to every little piece of you, and you can bet that Denji won't leave a single spot neglected.
If Denji's ever lacks motivation, simply offering a kiss will be enough to get him moving. He will do anything for One Kiss. Want him to grab the remote? A kiss is payment enough. Trying to win a stuffed animal at the carnival? Offer Denji a kiss if he gets it, and he won't step away from the booth until the prize is in your hands. It's even enough to fix his mood whenever he's had a bad day. No matter what's bothering him, Denji always perks up a little if you ask him what's wrong and press a gentle kiss against his temple.
Denji is absolutely obsessed with flavored lip balm and it's a surefire way to get him extra excited. Whenever he notices the slight shine of your lips catching the light, he's eager to plant his lips on yours. "Hm," he'll say as he pulls away, "is that...strawberry?" He always guesses strawberry, always, even if he knows it's not. When you giggle and shake your head, he shrugs half-sheepishly. "Welp," he says, "looks like I better try again!" This time, he tries in earnest, but he's not too upset if he gets it wrong; it's another excuse to kiss you, that way.
Power
Initially, Power is wholly uninterested in kissing. "Human mushy stuff," she scoffs, "I am much too far above it!" But, eventually, her firm resolve wears down; your lips do look very soft, and inviting, and maybe she does think it could be nice after seeing people do it in the movies Aki and Denji force her to watch. "Do not expect me to do this with you often, human!" She bristles at you, blushing firetruck red as you cup her cheek. "I merely wish to try it!" It takes all of one second for her to fall in love with the softness of your lips and your subtle taste. Instantly, Power's sold on kissing.
After discovering that she really likes kisses quite a lot, Power demands them aggressively and often. Rarely an hour goes by where Power's not demanding a kiss, and scowling at you bitterly if you refuse to dish it out.
Power has two distinct ways of kissing you. The first is when she's not entirely sure of herself; when you two are all alone, and she feels so lost, no idea how to express this strange feeling that everybody calls "love." It's gentle, soft, timid, and usually only lasts for a second or two before she pulls away. The other is distinctly not gentle. At the same time, they're not the hot, searing kisses you'd expect right before someone pulls you towards their bedroom. It's something uniquely Power; harsh, but magnetic. She bites your lips and squeezes your arms a little too hard, like she's afraid you'll escape from her if she doesn't keep you in place, and holy shit does it ever keep you coming back for more. No one has kissed you like Power, and probably no one ever will. It's a strange, intense kiss, but it's so entirely her.
You're Power's favorite human, and kisses are her favorite way to remind you (and everybody else)! If she notices someone glancing at you, or a friend going in for a hug, her first reaction is to scowl. "Begone!" She belts, swinging an arm around your shoulder. "I have already claimed this human for my own!" She punctuates her statement with a rough kiss pressed against your lips. If the volume of her voice isn't enough to warn anyone else away, then the open, unashamed PDA definitely is.
Whenever Power thinks you're not paying her enough attention, her go-to solution is peppering you in kisses. She throws her arms around your shoulders, leans into you, and places wet smacks all over your face until you beg for mercy, or kiss her back; either works. (If this method isn't enough to make you acknowledge her, she grabs your shoulders and starts shaking you, violently, so it's probably best to give her the attention she craves. Especially if you get sick easily.)
#Chainsaw Man#chainsaw man/reader#chainsaw man x reader#chainsaw man headcanons#denji x reader#denji/reader#aki hayakawa#aki x reader#aki hayakawa/reader#aki hayakawa x reader#aki hayakawa x you#Denji x you#Power/reader#power x reader#power x you
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CSM characters watching a horror movie
Power
You'll probably put on a supernatural movie, like, Lights Out (which scared the shit out of my lil brother)
"Its just a movie, ya think I'll be scared of a dumb human movie??! "
She is
It brings back her fear of dark
Doesn't watch the full movie, she forces you to stop it after it's first scary scene
As a result, you make more popcorn to calm her down and you end up watching some shitty comedy movie (which was hilarious in Power's opinion)
Kobeni
You would expect Kobeni to be a bit more on the scared side, but she surprisingly deals with it better than Power.
She's still a bit scared tho so she cuddles into your warmth as you both link fingers.
NEVER watch any psychological movie with shitty parental characters unless you're ready to hear about her childhood neglect and trauma.
"Ooh I got locked up in a dark room for hoursas a punishment too, I thought it was just me :( "
You're like 👁👄👁 :(((
Girl will be uncomfortable but she's just so used to it at this point
She's always clingy after a horror movie tho, because she doesn't want to be alone
Kobeni enjoys watching a few too and would even text some reccomendations if something catches her now
Just don't make her watch gore too, it makes her feel sick
Denji
I feel like he'll be the type to like survival horror movies.
Will never shut up the whole time. The two of you spend the night laughing at the stupid characters or making up other better scenarios for a particular scene.
"I never trusted that dude from the start, ya can never trust shady old people in business suits!!"
Starts simping for the most questionable female character in the movie, gets shocked when she ends up betraying the MC or turns out to be the final villain.
I see your pattern denji
Himeno
Either she scares you shitless Or annoys the hell out of you by talking. There's no in between
She'll get up to make more popcorn, but then will sneak up behind you and yell, "BOO!!! "
May or may not has gotten whacked in the face quite a few times
Prefers mystery/comedy more, Himeno only watches horror when you want to watch it
If asked for recommendations, puts on shitty horror movies so you two can laugh at it
Himeno wants you more happy and at ease than being scared around her
Makima
💀
Why
She makes you watch movies, that she chooses
"Trust me darling, my taste is pretty good, you won't regret it"
Watches horror movie of every category/concept (such as body horror,psychological horror, dystopian horror) with you
She's curious to see what makes you irk. What scares you and what makes you feel intrigued
After learning, starts putting on the ones that terrify you. Holds you close to her body the entire time and doesn't skip a single scene 🤬
Slowly starts putting on the more worser ones since she likes seeing you scared and dependant on her presence. (But doesn't overdo it and switches with some other genre when ur really scared)
It also makes you more cuddly so Makima thinks that's a plus.
#denji/reader#csm#csm x reader#csm headcanons#himeno/reader#power/reader#kobeni/reader#makima/reader#makima one is horror in itself
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thinking about being the new addition to tf141. you are an asset given to laswell by the CIA, a timid little thing but your aim is always on target, and you are quiet, tech savvy, and you do as you're told. (18+, dark)
just how lieutenant riley prefers. he dwarfs you. the first time you meet, your eyes nearly come out of your head from how wide they go. he's so large, and you feel so tiny compared to him, and even though he does nothing but a disinterested once over, it is obvious to the rest of the team that you might just be his favorite.
it's most obvious in the subtle touches. when you're getting ready to jump, ghost comes up from behind and tugs on your parachute, nearly topping you over making sure it's secure. when you're getting ready in the back of the humvee, he reaches over and buckles your thigh holster for you when he notices the strap is coming loose. you nearly choke when you feel his big hand between your thighs, and you stare up at him with wide eyes when his pinkie moves up the seam of your zipper when he tugs his hand away.
and then the way he's on your six is unlike anything else. like glue, chest pressed to your back, his gloved hand squeezing your waist as he moves you every which way he pleases because you're so small to him, so easy, and he growls under his breath when he touches the curve of your hips or the fat of your ass.
maybe you might enjoy it if he wasn't so fucking awkward about it. if he didn't stare at you without blinking. if he didn't adjust his cock in his jeans right in front of you. if he didn't grip you by the back of your head, tugging you any way he wanted as if scolding a kitten using the scruff of their neck.
you think the team would notice by now--that they would step in, tell ghost to back off, but they turn a blind eye. they tolerate this behavior, and you don't know if it's because ghost is so good at his job, they don't want to, or that they are so afraid of him, they refuse to say anything.
or maybe they approve. maybe it keeps ghost at bay. maybe it keeps a lion in his den. a spider in its nest. maybe indulging ghost in his fucked form of flirting and socialization is what keeps the foundations of this team right where it needs to be--and you realize, slowly, that maybe that is why you're here.
because ghost likes them soft, and they need to put a muzzle on their dog.
so when you feel him in the dark, slipping a gloved hand under the blanket that keeps you warm at night, he is pleasantly surprised to find you awake. and even more surprised to feel your hand slipping the soft lace of your panties right into his fucking pocket.
"they teach y'that 'n basic training? how ta give y'r knickers to y'r lieutenant, eh?"
"no," you whisper, and when you meet his eyes in the dark, he looks so hungry. he's untamed, no training, he's used to getting what he wants with no resistance. you turn over in bed, and you don't get to see the way he sucks on his teeth when you let your knees fall, revealing the pretty place between your thighs, soft and puffy and wet, just waiting for a good mutt to eat her up. "but i learned other things."
"tha' right?"
"yeah," you say softly, and you turn over onto your stomach, pushing back onto your knees right in front of him. he bends, leaning over until he's pushing his masked face right into the seam of your cunt, and you grip the sheets tight when he inhales deeply, a rumble following as both of his hands grip either side of your ass and spread you open for him. you're drooling, wetting the nylon fabric, and you gasp when you feel the wet, warm muscle of his tongue suck on your folds through the mask. it's lewd, and you're wetting the material so much it sticks to the strong lines of his face, but he continues, tilting his head to the side as he laps at the pretty slick that dampens your thighs.
"what'd y'learn then, swee'eart?"
not how to fuck your lieutenant. but...you did learn to keep them happy.
"h-how to be a good girl."
and you think you feel him smile.
#mmmmm#i like them big and awkward and mean#and i like controlling big dogs with pussy 😃#makes me feel powerful ok#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost mw2#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost mwii#ghost x reader#cod#call of duty#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut#simon thoughts#dark!simon
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THE GRUDGE PROFESSOR!GETO for KINKTOBER 2023!
DESCRIPTION: everybody loves professor geto, and judging by the thousands of viewers you get on every live, a lot of people love you, too. but you and professor geto hate each other. you’ve had enough of his humiliation rituals, and decide to do something about it.
PAIRING: mean professor!geto x student!reader
WC: 5.3k i am an unstoppable beast
WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, teacher/student dynamic! adult age gap! (reader is in college, unspecified age), sw/camgirl!reader (don’t like don’t read! no shaming 😤), strong language, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, darling), reader calling geto "sir", unprotected relations, creampie, afab reader and terms
A/N: this switches between povs a lot so i hope that’s okay or at least readable lol! also i set out to write him so much meaner but he’s just kind of a simp... enjoy?
reblogs are very much appreciated i'll uwu for u :pleading eyes emoji:
it is said that those who cannot do, teach.
geto suguru could have done many things. he had the brains, the muscles, the features, the traits. the ambition to succeed in any field he desired. satoru says in a world ruled by the strong there is no place for humility.
but humility is not why suguru became a teacher. neither is ineptitude. no, he’d become a teacher because it was the right thing to do.
to use his gifts to help shape new generations, help unlock potentials long dorment and buried deep under years of a lackluster schooling system. geto suguru prided himself, above all, in being a righteous man.
but japan’s most upstanding citizen for 28 years in a row held a shameful secret. a secret in the shape of you.
he saw the darkest sides of himself on your face (eyebrows scrunched, eyes shut tightly, jaw slack as you—), your voice (higher in pitch with desperate moans that sound almost scared on the brink of your—), your body (taut and plump in all the right places, glistening with sweat, bouncing up and down on a—).
when you walked into his classroom that fateful day, the world tilted on its axis. his first thought was, fuck, then, it can’t be, then, most embarrassing of all, i’ll finally find out what she smells like.
(he did, when you went up to his desk to hand over your test. a whiff of vanilla, argon oil shampoo. too sweet, too youthful. and he’d watched you leave, tennis skirt flowing like a water lily, dick already chubby in his pants.)
it was slowly starting to consume him.
the first time you spoke in class, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. it was really you. the cute, slutty girl he’d been milking his cock to for the better part of a year.
god, when you finally said his name. you would never in your wildest dreams think that he’d been imagining those words coming out of your mouth, of him coming out of your mouth, dripping out of you, all over you—
he was losing it. this was not like him. this was never supposed to happen, and he has to put an end to it.
everybody knew of geto suguru, the prodigy professor. already getting a phd despite not even being 30, handling the administrative slack for the department while managing office hours every day of the week, promoting student events, helping organize spirit weeks and charity drives.
everything he did, he did for others. those not as capable as him — which was most people. in other words, it was really, really hard to hate him.
but you damn well managed to.
and to think you were excited to take his class. everybody told you to run, not walk, to sign up for his twentieth-century Japanese philosophy chair.
“oh, professor geto is just the best,” they’d said. “he makes it sound so interesting and engaging, he gives the most life changing assignments, he really cares about us.”
bullshit.
the first time you stepped into that classroom, suspiciously full for a philosophy class, you felt a shift in the air almost immediately.
and sure enough, professor geto suguru was eyeing you down like he’d just seen a ghost. it made you self conscious, like he’d taken one look at you and decided right then and there you were too dumb for the class.
it made your blood boil. sure, you stood out a little bit from the actual philosophy majors, but that doesn’t mean he gets to judge you. he literally doesn’t know you!
but fine, first impressions are tricky like that. for all you knew, you could’ve been misjudging him right there.
however, with each passing day, you grew more and more assured in your suspicions.
you knew the man had it out for you, always calling on you to answer when he knew you weren’t paying attention, never grading your papers above a B even though you did everything right, somehow managing to fucking avoid you during his excessive office hours.
his looks were almost the most infuriating part of it.
his beautiful face constantly set in that nonchalant look, his big veiny hands always gesticulating, his huge fucking arms straining the fabric of those dress shirts, his ear gauges and man bun contrasting the prim and proper image the rest of him conveyed.
under different circumstances, he’d make your mouth water. under different circumstances, you’d imagine him going down on you all night long, singing praise about how good you taste and how tight you are.
but in this timeline, you absolutely loathed him. and he loathed you too. why? you didn’t know.
but you knew for a fact that it was personal.
“i don’t care,” megumi said around a mouthful of meatball, cutting your monologue short. “i’m not doing it.”
you sigh, melting into your chair. “megumi. please. i am literally begging you, i just need some hard evidence so i can go report his ass.”
he eyes you curiously. “report him for what?”
“i don’t know. bullying? sexism? whatever the hell his problem is,” you pick at your food, huffing in annoyance.
“you’re overthinking it,” megumi replies, dismissively.
“okay, how about this,” you lean forward, putting an elbow on the table. “if you write the assignment for me, i’ll get your dog that expensive halloween costume you’ve been wanting.”
megumi lifts an eyebrow.
“you need to get one for each,” he says simply.
you grin. “deal.”
suguru really does give it his all to make your life with him a living hell. pulls out all the stops, years of friendship with gojo satoru paying off as he comes up with ploy after ploy to get you to drop his class.
it feels bad, being mean to you. but for the hidden, twisted parts of him, it feels delicious.
watching you huff and puff, all hot and bothered when he corrects your answers on the spot. watching you nibble on your pen at the increasingly difficult exams he hands out. letting himself wonder if you missed a stream this week because you were too busy cramming for a make up test.
he knows he’s pushing you to your limit, and even if there’s some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing you so agitated at his hands when it’s usually the other way around, he doesn’t enjoy upsetting you.
the problem is, suguru knows it’s either he gets his shit together or he continues tormenting you, and, well.
the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak.
he knows it’s getting worse, too, because he’s not infatuated by you only when you’re undressing on his screen, or all dolled up in class.
when you tie your hair up in a ponytail, when you suck on a hangnail, when you lick your thumb to erase a smudge on your paper… all of it drives him wild.
he can’t teach with a permanent half chub anymore. this has to end, one way or another.
you sit down in front of your computer, adjusting the camera before turning it on. soon, viewers start trickling in, little dings notifying you of their messages.
you smile, waving at the screen.
“hi everyone! i know i’m a little bit late today, i hope you can forgive me…” your eyes scan the chat, giggling at the compliments. “‘you look tired, sad face’, ah. i’m sorry. i guess i’ve been a little stressed lately.”
your robe falls over your shoulder as you readjust your position. a few donations come in, accompanied by supportive messages.
“you guys are so nice. it’s not a big deal, it’s just this dude giving me a hard time at college.”
you absentmindedly trace your collarbones, reading what your viewers are saying.
“you’ll kill him for me? that’s so sweet,” you joke. “nah, it’s not a student. it’s a professor. exactly, ynlover444, a grown ass man picking on me!”
you sigh deeply, allowing your body to finally unwind and relax on your chair. you prop a knee up against the armrest, giving your viewers a little peek in between your legs. you’re wearing one of your favorite sets, trying to get in the mood after the week you’ve had.
“ugh, sometimes i wish i could just…” you suck in a breath, clenching your hand into a fist before releasing it. “sit on his face and get him to shut up, you know?”
you laugh at the countless me firsts that flood the chat, bringing a finger to your lip.
“anyway! enough about that horrible man,” you reach beside you to grab a box your viewers know all too well by now. “let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we?”
as always, satoru is no help.
“why don’t you just fuck her?” he asks, eyebrows arching above his sunglasses. “ya gotta just fuck her.”
suguru clears his throat before taking a drag of his cigarette. “i’m not fucking a student.”
satoru shrugs. “everybody does it. besides, you basically already do.”
suguru wonders, not for the first time, why he ever told his friend about his situation. about your streams, that he’d stumbled upon randomly and innocently and had gotten instantly hooked, about you barging into his classroom like an angel at hell’s gates, about you you you you, everything about you.
“that won’t fix anything.”
satoru clicks his tongue, swirling his soda inside the can.
“poor, naive suguru. did you not just tell me about what she said on her stream?" and yes, regrettably, suguru had told him. "it’ll fix everything.”
suguru doesn’t even let himself consider it, except he does.
at this point it’s no secret that he’s thought about being inside you, but now that you’re here it’s just too real and too risky and completely fucking wrong.
it goes against the entire life he’s built for himself.
he’s lost. he wants you so fucking bad, wants you close, wants you so far away, wants to ravage you and never have to see you again.
it’s fight or flight. if he got you alone, it could go either way, he realizes that.
suguru wonders what part of him will win by the end of all of this.
your heels clack on the linoleum floor of the hallway as you approach professor geto’s classroom, megumi’s graded paper clutched tightly against your chest.
the thing about megumi is that he's a star student. he’s never gotten anything below an A on any of his essays, makes the dean’s list every year, tutors his seniors. so the big, bright B- on the page tells you everything you need to know.
damn right it’s personal.
you don’t even bother knocking, slamming the door open while still trying to contain your indignation.
geto is sitting at his desk, piles of papers sprawled on top. he has his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a surprised look on his face that would be cute if you didn’t want to slap it right off.
he says your last name like he’d been expecting you all his life.
“to what do i owe the pleasure?”
your jaw clenches as you take a few loud steps towards him. you slam megumi’s paper down on his desk, leaning over.
“professor geto, i demand an explanation. a real one, this time.”
the man takes a deep breath, lips twisting disapprovingly. he smoothes the paper over.
“as i already explained in my notes right here, the structure is fine, but i couldn’t help but miss a more in-depth analysis of the four nodal concerns of philosophy that we talked about in class, such as—“
“no,” you interrupt. “just no. you know you’re bullshitting me and i’m sick of it. this paper deserved an A!”
“miss—“
“what’s your problem with me?” you spit out. your eyes finally meet and there’s nothing in geto’s that could answer your question. your chest is heaving, lips wobbling and hands shaking, trying to contain your anger.
geto clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “like i said, your paper could’ve used a bit more—“
“no it fucking couldn’t have, because it’s not my fucking paper, it’s fushiguro’s fucking paper and the only reason you gave it a B is because i was the one who handed it in!”
he sits up, straightening his posture.
geto sounds austere when he asks, “do you realize how much trouble this could be for both of you if i reported it?”
you can’t believe this man. he’s been picking on you the entire semester and when you finally confront him about it this is what he chooses to focus on.
“are you fucking kidding me?” that earns you a stern look from him, eyebrow raising taller than that fucking high horse he sits on. “professor geto. what did i ever do to you?”
there must be something earnest in your voice because geto sighs, getting up from his chair.
he walks until he’s standing in front of you, leaning against his desk and crossing his feet.
“do i bother you?” is all he says. it surprises you.
you jut your chin out. “as a matter of fact, you do.”
the man hums.
“i bet that’s really difficult for you,” he speaks like he’s sympathetic, like he understands. he sounds almost sheepish when he says, “i bet sometimes you wish i would just shut up.”
you blink rapidly. “no, it’s not like that. it might shock you but i genuinely do enjoy your class, it’s just that—“
“or maybe you wish you could shut me up,” he continues, ignoring you. “maybe going as far as to say that you could… sit on my face to get me to shut up.”
your mouth goes dry.
before your brain can fully process the shift in the atmosphere or the fact that your professor is maybe possibly hitting on you, you realize where those words are coming from.
it’s what you said. about him. on stream. right before fucking yourself on your hot pink dildo.
you can’t speak, can barely even look in his general direction.
you had really thought things couldn’t get any worse. had barged into his office with nothing to lose, almost hoping he would cordially invite you to remove yourself from his class permanently.
but now? now you have no idea what’s going to happen to you.
“i…” you start, the words dying in your throat. geto chuckles, crossing his fat fucking muscly arms across his chest.
he says your name, low and syrupy. “is it true? you’d like to?”
you can feel your face flush hot in embarrassment, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing desperately that you’d never walked into his classroom.
you have half the mind to apologize to him, right now.
“it’s just a figure of speech,” you try. geto clicks his tongue.
“what a shame.”
your wide eyes shoot up and meet his. “w-what?”
he smiles sweetly.
“it’s a peace offering. you can take it, or we can forget you ever said anything,” and isn’t he just so slimey, actually, when he’s the one who brought it up. he had said it, and now…
now you can finally allow yourself to look at him.
those delicious, broad shoulders, the ever-present bored look, the stubborn fringe that falls out of his bun.
you could so easily forget what you came here for.
“so, like, a truce?” you ask, taking a daring step forward. geto nods, uncrossing his arms. “and you stop treating me like i’m fucking dumb?”
he tilts his head. “i think you’re a very smart young lady. determined. entrepreneurial…”
“geto—“
“professor geto,” he corrects you, hands reaching out to graze your hips. “you’re intelligent. i just like to push my students.”
you both know that’s a lie, but it’s okay, because now you know exactly why you got under his skin and it makes your own burn.
you run a hand down the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
“then… push me, professor.”
it’s so incredibly lame, the porn line you hit him with, but to your surprise it works, a low groan rumbling deep in geto’s chest.
he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing your lips together.
it’s ravenous, the way geto dips his tongue inside when you gasp in surprise. you moan against his mouth, slipping a leg in between his two.
he’s half hard already when he rubs up against your thigh.
geto picks you up with ease and sets you down on his desk, and it’s so fucking cliché, the papers crinkling under your weight, the pens clattering to the floor. but it turns you on beyond belief.
you share a few open mouthed kisses, an exchange of tongue and moans and hot breaths between your lips.
if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you've fantasized about it before. a silly idea, at first, something you'd just blurted out mid-stream.
but that little seed had been planted, and when you got yourself off that night, you might've imagined for a moment that it was your mean professor's cock squeezed tight inside you, making you come undone.
geto slips his hands under your skirt, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. you line up your crotch with his, moving your hips in tight little circles that make the both of you groan.
his fingers are tugging your underwear down, down, the soft patch sticking to your gooey cunt. he lets the soaked fabric dangle from your ankle, grazing the back of his knuckles on your core.
“mmm, fuck,” geto breaks the kiss, swallowing. his pretty lips are flushed and shiny, parted around his panted breaths. “you always get this wet or am i special?”
he’s smirking, the bastard, leaning back in to kiss your neck.
god, you smell so good, like lotion and perfume and sunshine and sin.
“shouldn’t you know?” you sneak your fingers up into his bun, pushing your chest against him. he works his lips expertly on your skin, using just the right amount of teeth, of pressure.
geto hums against your neck, kissing a line up to your jaw. he snakes a hand under your skirt, thumb pressing down hard to rub on your clit, two fingers slipping inside.
you immediately clench, a soft, drawn out mewl leaving your lips.
the slide of his fingers against your walls send a chill down your spine, filling you up so perfectly. you feel the thin skin at your opening stretch around him, burning at the friction as his fingers plunge in and out of you.
“god, look at that,” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and pulls the hem of your skirt up. “do you hear that, baby? so fucking wet for me.”
you whine, hands cupping his jaw so you can kiss him again.
“please…” you mumble against his lips. “more…”
you wonder how much of what you can say he's heard before, which exact words have left your lips and sent him over the edge. it makes you self conscious, oddly, like he can see right through you.
not-so-kindly ignoring your request, geto removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.
you watch as his eyelids flutter in pleasure, a hum rumbling low in his throat.
he looks so good like this, just edible.
you pull him in for a kiss before he can, relishing in the surprised little noise he lets out. your knees are wobbling, feet dangling from your seat as you taste yourself on his tongue.
he swallows your moan hungrily, forearms trembling with the need to hold back.
geto knows this is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, puts both your positions in jeopardy, it makes him feel perverted and primal and so fucking alive.
he’s been watching you fuck yourself on those silly toys for god knows how long now, knows every spot that makes your hips buck, knows exactly how to make you cream like a debased slut around a cock.
it should feel unfair, how easy it’s going to be for him to make you cum, only if it weren’t for the fact that your mere presence is enough to get him hard as fucking diamonds.
“tastes good, huh?” he whispers, thumb caressing your chin. you nod, smiling devilishly.
“tastes better on your tongue, prof.”
geto groans low like a starved animal, holding your throat in his hand with a loose grip. he’s overwhelmed, that much shows, not knowing what to do with you or where to start. but there’s one thing he’s sure of.
he presses one last kiss to your spit-slick lips before dropping to his knees.
you can hardly believe it. sulky, big bad bully professor geto suguru on his knees for you. you prop a foot up on his desk, your sole skidding on a piece of paper.
“scoot closer, please,” he asks, cordial even like this. you bring your ass to the edge of the desk, your dripping pussy hovering over his face.
he looks so good under you, hair already disheveled, a delicious tent in his tailored pants.
you tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistline so you can watch as he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s fucking relieved.
you throw your head back, fingers buried in his silky hair as geto’s fingers find their way back inside.
he fucks them in and out of you lazily, pushing out strings of slick. geto slurps it all up, spreading your wetness all over your clit and sucking it back in his mouth.
god, his cock is straining in his pants but he doesn’t dare touch it, can’t until he’s inside you. you taste like fucking heaven, like all his fantasies, like he always knew you would.
you’re whining softly, bucking your hips into his face almost shyly, as to disrupt his pace.
you sound so much better in person, although he can’t wait to have you moaning into his ear without needing the headphones.
“god, this perfect pussy,” geto mumbles into you, his breathing labored. he runs a thumb all over your cunt, gliding it over your soaked lips. “been dreaming about it for so long.”
“yeah?” you ask. “tell me. tell me how you stroke your cock to me every night.”
and every night might be overselling it. geto is a busy man.
but your words do make him realize that no girl he’s had since he found your stream has satisfied him quite like you do. your flirty smile, your moans, the way they sometimes turn into uncontained giggles as you stuff your pretty cunt with a dildo.
so he tells you, blush spreading across his cheeks.
“fuck, i do,” he tongues your clit, tracing lazy circles. “i do. just look what you do to me.“
and there it is, that cheeky, slutty giggle, directed at something he said this time.
he takes his fingers out, spreading your opening with both thumbs as he licks you all over.
geto gulps, tongue dipping inside of you, sucking your clit into his mouth, sliding down to your entrance, every clench of your pussy pushing out more and more slick for him. no one's ever eaten you out as thoroughly as this.
“oh, fuck, sir,” it slips out casually, the way it would were you talking to any other professor. but given the circumstances, you revel in the deep moan geto buries into your cunt.
you trap your lips between your teeth to keep anything else from tumbling out, but it’s useless.
“please, sir, i’m so close—so close just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“
“fuck,” he mumbles, pulling away to suck in a desperate breath. then, “fuck,” sultrier, right into your core.
you grind against his face, finding purchase in his hair as a final few flicks of his tongue push you right into the crest of a mind-numbing orgasm.
it’s so good, so much better than when you're alone. the friction so perfect, his long, thick fingers plugging you up last minute to viciously fuck into you.
“god…,” you breathe out, legs trembling as he runs his hands up your thighs.
his chin is glistening, bubbles of spit and cum gathering in the corner of his mouth. he looks so good like this, like he was meant to please you and nothing else.
geto feels like a fucking teenager, so goddamn close to busting in his pants at the sight of you. his dick hurts, balls tight and the head throbbing where it’s tucked into his underwear.
“please, sweetheart,” he can’t hold himself back any longer, slick fingers already undoing his belt.
you get to work on his zipper, pulling his pants down along with his underwear and damn.
you figured he was big. he was a tall man, broad shoulders, shoes the size of a yacht, and the bulge in his trousers was a pretty good indication. but it couldn’t have prepared you for the sheer size of him.
longer than it is thick, cleanly shaven, pretty veins and ridges and standing angry red in attention. god, you want it inside you.
he notices you looking.
“do you need more prep? i can—“
“no, fuck no, suguru, need it inside me now,” you wrap a hand around him and he hisses, caging you in with his arms on the desk.
he huffs out a laugh, blowing the fringe framing his face. “what happened to sir?”
you kiss down his jaw, squeezing right below his tip.
“sorry, sir,” you say against his ear. “are you going to punish me for my slip up?”
geto groans, pulling on your hair hard and making you face him.
“take your shirt off for me,” he instructs, and you obey, maneuvering around his tight grip on the back of your head.
his spirit is so unbreakable.
here you are, teasing him, coaxing him to rough you up, push you around, relieve both your frustrations properly once and for all, but he’s just so… adoring, and hungry, and just so irrevocably into you, and you find out that’s so much better.
geto relents his hold on you to unclasp your bra, cupping your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. you whine, caressing his hair.
“so fucking perfect,” he massages your tits, looking mesmerized.
“yeah? they haven’t gotten old to you yet?”
he laughs, so cute, and you can barely remember that just hours ago you hated the sight of him. you stroke his cock up and down, squeezing harder at the tip trying to milk all that delicious pre he’s been wasting on the inside of his boxers.
“no, f-fuck—never gonna get old,” he pushes your boobs against each other, imagining his cock sliding in between them, his balls nestled underneath, his load blown all over your pretty face—
fuck, he’s gonna cum if he keeps going like this.
he rips your hand away from him, ignoring your knowing smirk and pushing his tongue into your mouth.
“i’m gonna fuck you now, okay, sweetheart?” you moan, nodding, shimmying your hips so he can have the perfect angle.
a big hand clasps your thigh to wrap your leg around his hips as his tip pokes around your entrance.
you’re whining in anticipation, clenching around nothing, nails clawing his clothed back.
when he slips in, it feels like coming home. you’re like warm honey around him, cunt pushing him out but clinging to him at the same time, with every stroke. it’s fucking maddening.
“ahh, g-god, sir, ‘s too big—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat, feeling the tip of his cock in your guts.
he’s huffing, concentrated, bullying his cock into you inch by inch with shallow thrusts until he finally bottoms out.
“fuuuuck, angel,” he grips your waist with both hands, like he could just fuck you up and down his length if he wanted to. “took me so well, look at that.”
you do, dropping your heavy head to look at where you’re connected. you clench around him and he whines, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in.
the metal legs of the desk skid on the floor, papers and pens raining down to the floor as geto starts roughly plunging in and out of you.
you let out little ah, ah, ahs in time with his strokes, the ache deep in your stomach finally starting to fade.
“f-fuck, you’re gonna—topple us over, suguru, go easy—“
“can’t,” he chokes out, wheezing as he pushes his cock in as far as it can go.
he gives shallow little thrusts, his length straining the fine skin at your entrance so good, hitting a spot inside you over and over that makes your head spin.
your fingers twist into the back of his shirt, pulling him in to whine right into his ear.
he’s so big, stretching you out so thin that you feel every ridge and vein, can feel both your heartbeats inside your cunt.
“ohhhhh fuck, fuck sir, please please touch me—“
he grabs your ass before you can even finish your sentence and presses you flush against his hips.
geto’s tip is kissing your cervix now, his balls sticky and creamy against your ass, your clit grinding against his pubic bone as his thrusts violently shake the both of you.
“fuck, wanna do it so fucking loud but i can’t, we can’t, what if someone walks in—“
you moan wantonly at his words, expecting to be chided, but geto seems to love it despite his worries because his cock kicks deliciously inside of you.
“look how loud you’re being, listen to yourself,” he grunts out, the belt pooled around his feet clanging with every stroke, the absolutely lewd squelches from your pussy resonating in the entire classroom.
you two sound so good together, better than you’ve ever had, better than he could’ve ever imagined.
“so loud, so wet on this cock,” he spits out, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “do those toys make you feel this good? this full? answer me.”
“hahh, n-no, no one but you,” you can’t think straight, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes squeezed shut. “only you, sir.”
geto whines like he’s aching, pounding into you mercilessly and making a mess under the two of you.
“fuck yeah, that’s right. i’m making you feel good, baby?”
“mm-hm,” you mumble, tongue lolling out. geto's going so hard now, has you pressed up so tight against him, body caging you in, fucking every breath and thought right out of you. “close.”
“yeah?” he speeds up his effort slightly, and you’re sure he’s going to have desk-edge shaped bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “gonna cum on my cock? cream all over me?”
you let out a long, drawn out whine, tits bouncing up and down with the force of geto’s thrusts.
“let me see your face when you cum, darling,” he cups the back of your neck, breathing hard through his nose. “keep your eyes on me. that’s right, sweetie, so good, you’re doing so good.”
you preen at the praise, feeling suddenly self conscious with the man's laser focus attention on you.
you coo out little noises, growing in desperation, holding onto his biceps for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you.
your pull him into you closer and rub your clit against him, grinding helplessly as your orgasm creeps closer and closer.
the moment you open your eyes and meet his hungry ones, you’re cumming. your walls spasm around him, making the glide of his dick impossibly wetter with your release.
geto chokes on a sound, his cock hostage of your pussy’s vice-like grip as your greedy cunt milks him for all he's got.
“f-fuck, baby, look so pretty when you cum, always look so fucking sexy so fucking perfect that you’re gonna make me bust, i’m gonna cum for you god gonna cum inside, gonna blow my load all deep inside this pussy—“
it’s the most desperate he’s ever sounded, speaking through clenched teeth and a soaked mouth. you moan in return, letting him use you.
he slams his forehead down your shoulder when he thrusts once, twice, three times and cums, his balls drawing up so tight that it hurts. he fucks it into you with shallow thrusts, panting, almost wheezing in pleasure.
it feels like it lasts forever, his orgasm. like all of the blood in his body goes straight to his balls to push out the thickest, most satisfying nut of his life into the prettiest girl he's ever seen.
you feel it fill you up so good, hear it, too, squelching and sticking to both of you.
geto’s body slumps against yours and you stay like that for a while, catching your breaths. there’s cum sliding out of you, down his balls, onto some poor student’s essay you have your ass on top of.
when he pulls out of you, he takes a beat to watch it spill out of you some more, his face and chest red, his smile groggy.
“god, this,” geto has to fight the urge to say thank you for letting him fuck your brains out. he swallows.
“yeah,” you blink away the haze, feeling sore and fucked out. “this.”
“…is probably going to happen again, right?”
he knows it shouldn’t. he knows it will.
maybe both parts of geto can learn to coexist.
you grin, touching the tip of your tongue to his lips.
“well, i still haven’t made good on that promise of sitting on your face, have i?”
the next morning, in class, the students erupt in happiness at the news that professor geto had an accident that ended up ruining most of last week’s graded papers he had in his possession.
so he decided to give everyone an A for their troubles.
and finally, finally, there was peace in the world.
#OOF.#this was a doozy it feels like sooooo much more than 5k words tbh#i wanted to wait to post it bc im rly proud of it i dont want it to flop but :#i cant resist it i want it out#✩.kinktober#✩.geto#geto suguru smut#geto smut#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x y/n#geto suguru x reader smut#geto suguru x you smut#geto x you smut#geto x reader smut#ummm what else#jujutsu kaisen smut#tw power dynamics#jjk smut#kinktober#jjk kinktober#geto reader smut#✩.tw power dynamics#✩.petra.doc#geto suguru x female reader#geto x female reader
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genshin sugar daddies
premise: you have seven sugar daddies: one for every day of the week. a bit overwhelming, right? however, you somehow find ways to make time for each and every one of them, no matter how emotionally and physically demanding they are. it's just that, now they don't seem too keen on sharing, and you don't know what to do. (modern au)
tw: nsfw, dark content - minors dni
mondays are always harder in more ways than one. mondays are diluc's days, and that means that you're spending a good portion of your nights at angel's share.
on mondays, it's happy hour. which means that you're sitting at a booth in the corner looking pretty while diluc is tending to his customers. you're more than happy to sit back and relax while you wait for him to finish with work. when the drinks are on the house, you're willing to wait as long as it'll take.
periodically, when he's not busy, however, he'll walk over to you and engage in conversation. you act as a taste-tester for new drinks so he's always asking you if you like them. you two will talk about your day, any interesting events, and so on until diluc is pulled back into work again.
then you're back to fiddling your fingers and watching him work. over time, you've learned that he preferred that you not do anything while you were supposed to be with him. that instead, you fixated your gaze on him while he moved about. sometimes you'll catch him looking at you to see if your eyes are still on him.
even while he's dealing with a certain tone-deaf bard, there's something about the way he looks at you so intently that reminds you of a predator.
when angel's share closes, you're there to keep him company while he cleans up. when he's done, he'll sweep you away back to his manor.
you'll fall onto the sheets as he grinds against you. his shallow breaths brush against your throat. the look he gives you is nothing short of intense.
"everyone at the tavern was looking at you, you know," he mutters, running his fingers down your chest, sinking into your pants. he pulls them down effortlessly along with your panties. "didn't you feel it, darling? their filthy eyes on you. they want to ruin you. everyone wants to ruin you."
he throws your legs over his shoulders, his fingers crawling up your thighs. you jump when he suddenly inserts two fingers into your cunt, scissoring you. his free arm wraps around your leg to keep you locked against him. his eyes are glued onto you as he presses a kiss against your calf.
"but your eyes were on me all night, weren't they. couldn't take your eyes off me, could you. you're mine, dear. do you hear me? you're mine."
you don't overlook how tight his grip is. tight enough to make you wonder if he'll ever let you go. in the morning, he does, but you're scared for the day he wakes up and decides that it's for the last time.
tuesdays aren't as bad. when you’re sore from the night before, childe is there to take you out to meals, shopping, and sightseeing. he's not always available to spend time with you on tuesdays, because of his equally-demanding job and whatnot, but when he is free, he never wastes a second.
or a dollar.
childe smirks smugly from his sea. his posture is lax, one hand lazily tracing circles on the chair's arm while the other comes up to rest under his chin.
"how about you twirl for me, girlie? you look so beautiful."
you giggle, observing yourself in the mirror. "why thank you."
you bask in the way the soft satin kisses your skin. the way your newly-own earrings sparkle under the dressing room's light. just a couple years ago, you could've only dreamed of being dressed so prettily.
"do your side-bitches ever treat you as well as me?"
"childe!" you chide.
he laughs, getting up from his seat. but you both know better than to believe his little chuckle is genuine.
he approaches you, sliding his hands around your waist. tucking your head under his chin, he stares at you through the mirror's reflection.
you don't say anything, and childe doesn't either. it appears he's more than happy to enjoy just standing there. his gaze is glossed over, far away.
the two of you sway side to side for what seems like forever until he decides to say something.
"do they buy you pretty things like i do?"
of course they do, you think. although you spend one-on-one time with each and every one of them, they are all aware of each other. it's only right that they did. it was the first thing you said when you brought the idea up to them, that it wasn't going to be exclusive.
but when you see the way he looks at you, you can't really tell him the truth. not when his focus is redirected from his thoughts to you.
"the things you buy me are a special kind of pretty," you reply.
it seems like that answer is enough for him, because he doesn't say anything else. instead he hums quietly, letting the vibration ripple in the back of your head. he slides his hands down your hips and before you can say anything else, he whips his head around.
"i'll buy these sets." he motions over to the closest clothes rack to an attendant you hadn't noticed. "and that one. and the dress she's wearing. how many colors does this come in, by the way?"
the attendant doesn't hesitate. "five colors, sir. they come in bla—"
"great." he shuffles through his pocket to pull out a black card. "pack them up, we won't be here any longer," he retorts.
the attendant looks ecstatic, quickly shuffling out of the dressing rooms towards the cash register with newfound glee.
"childe," you whine. "i don't think these will fit in my closet."
his hands crawl lower, his finger hovering over your clit. "then they'll fit in mine. come over any time of the week when you want to wear one of my special pretty things."
your breath hitches as he rubs slow circles on your clit. he pushes the two of you back into the dressing room and closes the curtains.
"what are you doing, she'll be back any second—"
he kisses the corner of your jaw, pressing his lips close to your ear. "no worries. if there's one thing i'm sure about, it's that no one undresses you faster than i do."
wednesday is when usually everything calms down. kazuha will typically invite you to a new park, scenic route, or gallery. together, you'll write haikus, sonnets, and limericks together. some hours you'll just sit in silence, putting pen to paper. and when the sun goes down you'll exchange poetry.
out of the seven men, kazuha probably scares you the most. he was the first person you decided to do this whole ordeal with, after all. and since he's known you the longest, he also knows about your circumstances more than others. maybe that's why he's so focused on treating you as if you were a fragile cherry blossom petal. his touches feel like ghosts, running down your forearm as he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek.
in exchange for his protection, his money, and his care, you give him honeyed words. you act as his muse for when he's hit a creative block. you're there to listen to him read out verses when the wind can't bear the strength to carry them. you listen to his grief about his best friend, his loneliness when he was forced to leave his home country. as someone many of the locals looked to for wisdom, he too carried the emotional burdens of being someone's rock. emotional burdens that he let onto you (whether purposefully or not, you're unsure). but you listen anyway, hearing him talk about days of poverty, where sometimes he had to worry about things to eat, or how to get proper healthcare.
you can't lie and say you're always stable enough to hear some of the things he has to say, but you try.
even if you sometimes feel like you can't take it, you just smile and squeeze his hand tighter like you're supposed to. sometimes your mind will go on autopilot, and sometimes you'll stand up on the grounds of needing to go to the bathroom. but at the end of the day, this is what you signed up for. this. making men happy so that you yourself won't have to worry about your endless debt.
you peer over your notebook to see kazuha immersed in his own writing. but instead of his usual peaceful expression, he looks somber. his hands won't leave the paper, his eyes glued onto the words that he's drawn onto the pages.
"what's got you so worked up?" you ask curiously. "is it something new?"
it's like your voice snaps him out of his trance. he blinks, looking up at you. there's a smile you know all too well on his lips. "yeah, i suppose you could call it that."
"could i look at it? i want to see what's got you so focused like that."
his lips press into a straight line. "hmmm, maybe later."
his words catch you off-guard. usually he's the one who's eager to share his work, regardless of the quality. "oh? is it something you want to keep secret?"
he doesn't many any hint of an answer. instead, he puts down his pen and stares at the ground in contemplation. he's picking and choosing what words to say.
"i could protect you," he says, shuffling his papers to the side. you turn to him, curious. his expression slowly hardens. "by myself, i mean. i could take care of you."
"kazu—"
"i have the means to make a living for the both of us. i could sell more of my poetry, i know they'll sell well—"
"where is this coming from?" you move closer to him, brushing his hair aside. "kazu, are you worried about something?"
there's something that's stopping him from saying anything. his fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.
he purses his lips, before turning away and sighing. "no, not really."
after that, he doesn't say anything else. the two of you bask in silence once again. even though you're used to the quiet, there's something deep down in you that feels nervous. like something in the atmosphere changed. there's a sudden resolved glint in his eye as he get backs to writing so diligently on a piece of paper he won't let you read.
after all these days spent talking about himself, somehow you're scared for the day he suddenly decides to stop.
on thursdays you're usually at tighnari's greenhouse, watching him take notes of other plants while you twiddle your thumbs. once in a while, he'll begin rambling about the plants—what kind of species they are, how rare, their medicinal properties, and the like.
you're more of a companion, than anything. someone who can make his days a little less lonelier. and you appreciate it. it's much more tranquil with him. you can enjoy his sharp quips, especially when cyno comes to visit.
his sex-drive is relatively normal, if not a little below average. just like wednesday, you also expect thursday to be a typical rest day.
except when spring comes.
when spring comes, your routine get a little wonky. for one week, at least. because that's when tighnari's heat hits him like a fucking monsoon.
you can already tell when it's coming when he begins to hover closer to you. whenever you take your hand out to do anything, even the slightest gesture, he's already taking it and dragging it towards his sensitive ears.
the moment you've made your plans set to 'take the week off' and help him out, he's already on you, face pressed into your neck as if it's his oasis.
as you can tell, he takes this week very seriously.
"i bet—shit—those other fucks don't get to hold you as long as i do," he lets out as he fucks into you like there's no tomorrow. his hands hold onto your waist like he owns it, pressing sloppy kisses down your spine. "looking so pretty for me. i wonder what they'd say if you got pregnant with my babies. you'd be so much more beautiful plump with my kids. is that what you want huh? to make them angry with my cum stuffed in your gorgeous pussy?"
some days you almost can't believe how uncharacteristically aggressive he is. he dicks you down like he's trying to imprint his shape into the core of your body so that none of the others can fit inside.
and when he cums, he'll take whatever unfortunate portions slip out and smear it all over your chest. especially where your heart is.
then the process starts all over again.
when it's over, he'll spoon you. as if he didn't almost fuck you to death. his touch is tender, like a ghost's hovering over your skin.
"why won't you leave them all for me?"
you shift a little to look at him and kiss him softy, sweetly, on the line of his jaw. "oh, nari, you know i can't."
his ears droop at your words. "you can't, or you won't."
his words make you freeze a bit.
you think back to last week, and the week before, and the one before that. you think about why you started selling your services in the first place, the endless debt you used to be in, and the progression of the relationship between all seven of your...contacts. even if you wanted to, you don't think you could back out if you tried. you've dug a hole for yourself. one deep enough to cause some sort of disruption if you ever decided to stop digging.
so you just hum. "you know how much i love routine."
as some sort of apology, you give him and open-mouthed kiss, one he's almost desperate to return. he moans, hands cupping your face to bring you closer to him.
you're well unaware how much your words have an impact him.
at the end of the week, all al-haitham wants to do is unwind. it's the only logical thing to do. no late-night drinks with the colleagues, no stressful trips to some tourist trap. on fridays, al-haitham comes home to a meal made with love.
when al-haitham's at work during the day, you're usually running your actual errands. it's when you have time to make those one-in-a-blue-moon visits to your actual home, although it's getting harder to call it that.
when it gets to the late-afternoon, you'll usually head to al-haitham's place to start cooking. if you didn't know how to cook before, you do now. every ingredient is handled with care, measured meticulously just as you knew he preferred.
and when he gets home, tired and stressed out, you're there to welcome him with a chaste kiss on the cheek.
during dinner, sometimes he'll talk to you about work or the latest research he'd gotten himself immersed with. in return, you tell him about some of your childhood memories. your likes, your dislikes, what used to be your hobbies. you do your best to keep your personal matters out of the conversation, no matter how many times he tries to pry into your private life.
sometimes dinners feel like a full on investigation, the way he keeps greeding for more information about you. he watches you eat with calculating eyes. you pretend to pay no mind to it.
in the beginning, kaveh used to join you for dinners. you always liked the guy, the way he bickered with al-haitham and riled him up. but now you've begun to see less of him, as if he never comes home on fridays at all.
after dinner, there are two different outcomes depending on his mood:
outcome one is that you'll spend the rest of the night curling up on his couch, the both of you immersed in your own books. al-haitham leans on your shoulder as he flips through the pages as if they're nothing. you can't help but feel ticklish whenever his hair brushes against your jaw.
somewhere in the middle, he'll move one hand to start fidgeting with the end of your shirt, sometimes crawling underneath to caress your sides.
outcome two is less quiet. the moment he gets home with that solemn face, you know it's coming. his voice is huskier, his responses shorter. it's usually a result of an impending deadline, colleagues being more peskier than usual.
the moment you two are done with dishes, he gingerly takes your hand and leads you up to the bedroom.
his kisses tastes like green tea and dinner. his hands run up and down your torso, trying to imprint the feel of your skin into every inch of your brain. you whimper when his thumbs press softly into your nipples, rolling them around as they harden.
your hands find purchase on his collar, tugging him impossibly close. he groans at the contact.
you let out a yelp when your back suddenly falls onto the bed. your hands are pressed onto the sheets, al-haitham's fingers encircling your wrists. his knee nudges your legs further apart, rubbing at your clit.
"don't look at the ceiling, dear, look at me," he breathes out, his hands leaving your nipples to gently guide your face towards. "that's it. good girl. just me. just look at me. only me."
he smiles.
"now, let me do god's work on your divine body."
saturdays with ayato can sometimes get hectic. some saturdays you're out getting bubble tea together and enjoying the city, and other saturdays you're hurrying to some publicitiy event hosted by the kamisato clan.
on those type of days, you can expect to wear gowns layered with shiny nylon tulle fabric. it's not as revealing as what you'd try on in dressing rooms with childe. in fact, it's a bit more modest.
today you're wearing a light-blue gown to match with ayato. you turn around to get a good look at the cute bow attached at your waist, your diamond encrusted earrings swaying along with you.
it's as if you've put on another costume. another front to wear for the night.
ayato enters the room just shortly after. in his hands is a diamond necklace to match with your stunning earrings. small smile falls upon his lips when he clasps it on.
"you're beautiful," he mumbles. you giggle when he kisses you square on the lips, licking away the tinted color.
"ayato," you press in-between kisses. you place a hand on his chest to gently push him away. "you're going to ruin my lipstick."
he pulls away with a cheeky smile, taking your wrists to wrap around his neck. "you can always put on some more later."
you pout but kiss him regardless. he tightens his hold on you in reaction, moaning into your mouth.
at these kinds of events, you're there as his plus-one. just so that other officials could stop introducing girls to him when he clearly wasn't interested in them. it'd be arguable to say that you might even be there to make the events a little less intolerable.
somewhere along the lines, you'd sleep with him in addition to being his arm candy at parties. sometimes even before: you two rushing to put on your formal attires and fix your hair minutes before the event started.
but beyond that, you started to get to know him better. he'd whisper into your ear about funny stories relating to the guests as you meet them. sometimes you'd run away in the middle of the party to binge out on the food and talk about your other interests. surprisingly, he doesn't talk about the politics behind his duties as the head of the kamisato family. not as much as you expected, at least.
instead he talks about his dreams for a family. how many kids, what their names would be, how he'd raise them. and as he talked, he'd give you this heavy gaze that you're not sure what to do with. as if he was expecting something from you.
you're beginning to believe that ayato has somehow confused contractual girlfriend with actual girlfriend.
when you had met ayaka months ago, ayato introduced you as his girlfriend. you didn't attempt to correct him—that's ayato's business. not your's. but when you're expecting ayato to come clean to his dearest sister, you're sorely mistaken.
instead, while he kisses your lips so hungrily, he subtly slips a diamond ring onto your finger.
sundays are usually kaeya's days off. although the cavalry captain's duties are seemingly never endless, he takes the day off to take a breather.
in other words, he sees you.
at first, it was just candlelit dinners. he'd walk in with a bouquet of roses, complimenting your dress and staring at you as if he was undressing you with his eyes. he'd take you to somewhere fancy, pull out the chair for you and sweet-talk you all through the night.
conversations were fun with him. you didn't have to think much at all, not about how to pay the bills, the six men in your life who seemingly began to want yours to only revolve around theirs, or being someone your not.
kaeya was probably the only one who you felt you could be comfortable with. he made you laugh, he'd tell all sorts of interesting stories, and he never made the silence feel awkward.
at least, that's how you used to be.
you see, usually after these candlelit dinners you'd both go back to his place, with him ripping off your clothes the moment the door closed. but as of recently, he's been asking to come over to your place instead more often. almost too often.
and that's not the only thing that's changed.
the sex used to be rough. heated. almost as if he was consumed by all of his pent-up sexual frustration and was only focused on getting off. he'd slurp your cunt like a man starved but he'd still rail you as if that's the only thing he cared about.
but as time passed, he's been getting more and more...sensual. the sex is much more slower. personal, almost.
vulnerable.
after dinner, he slowly slips off your clothing. one article after another, until your left in your underwear. he first kisses you on the mouth, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach. slowly, he makes a trail of them down your body, as if no skin deserved to be left untouched.
although you made a rule that no one could leave your marks on you, it doesn't mean he doesn't try. as he kisses your lower lips, sometimes he'll attempt to leave marks close to your clit. if you're not careful, diluc will find it tomorrow.
his thrusts were always deep, but now that he's much more purposeful about it. it's rhythmic, as if he's trying to reach a new spot inside you. somewhere no one's touched.
the pillow-talks are much more longer as well. he holds you tighter now, wrapping his arms around your hips as he tangles his legs with yours.
instead of ranting on about the silly incidents he witnessed on the job earlier in the week, he talks about his feelings. towards you. towards diluc. towards himself. some nights you can handle it, some nights are too much.
but you can't say anything. not when he's holding onto you like you’re his lifeline. not when he helps you pay off your debt. and so you let his raspy voice whisper in your ear as he combs his fingers through your hair. you listen to him mumble sweet-nothings.
you're not sure if you like the adoring look he gives you as you drift off to sleep.
#genshin x reader#diluc x reader#childe x reader#tartaglia x reader#kazuha x reader#ayato x reader#alhaitham x reader#al haitam x reader#tighnari x reader#kaeya x reader#kaeya smut#genshin smut#yandere x reader#yanderes x reader#yandere imagines#tw yandere#male yandere#male yandere x reader#manipulation#tw power dynamics#fem reader#bro the way i've been lowk procrastinating on this#reverse harem x reader#yandere reverse harem#minors dni#jojo writes nsfw/dark content
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satoru physically withers and crumbles every time you return his belongings. he doesn’t know how to tell you that he can only accidentally on purpose leave his glasses on your nightstand, or his jacket on your couch, or his shirt in your laundry so many times before he loses his mind. every time you don’t take he bait, he folds into himself and wonders why you don’t love him anymore and it costs him $22.50 to hear ieiri tell him to suck it up and use his words because he literally has to buy her company (and drinks).
but when you do take the bait, when you do wear his things, satoru thinks it’s all worth it. he can’t explain why it does what it does to him. it’s a sinister kind of possession he wants to have over you, knowing you’re your own person, free to do as you please, but also knowing you’re caged in him. it’s a lovesick kind of gooeyness that melts his heart seeing you fumble with the sleeves of a sweater that’s too long for you. it’s the vision of you seeing you drowning in him—in his clothes, in his things, in him, in him, in him. he’s selfish, he wants to consume you in as many ways as possible, wants you to drown in him, would die happily knowing you were one tenth as enraptured by him as he is with you. he doesn’t know how or why or when you gained so much power over him, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t want you to ever stop, so if he has to keep pretending to leave his clothes and bags and glasses around then so be it.
#i don’t know how to explain that satoru’s love is so. beautifully consuming#he loves and loves and loves and he doesn’t even think about it it’s mindless it’s second nature#and sometimes he stops and pulls back and gets shy about how much you mean to him and how bad he wants you#he doesn’t know why you have this power over him but he doesn’t mind it and he wants more of it all the time always#oh…. my sweet sweet lover boy#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo fluff#jjk smut#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk imagines#jjk smau#💌.satoru
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good morning ࿏ wm
summary: in which you decide to get what you want first thing in the morning.
words: 3.9k
warnings: top!wanda, power bottom!reader, dubcon/noncon, breeding kink, cumstrap (r receiving), somno (r giving), blowjob on cumstrap (r giving), enhanced strap, brief choking, just imagining slutting top!wanda out like this woeidbsibfwioe its the power bottom in me
this fic is for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.
masterlist.
The room was cool and the bed warm by the time you woke up. Legs shifting smoothly under the crisp sheets, you could hear the faint chirp of a lone bird outside the window along with what sounded like a gentle spring morning rain shower.
Plat plat plat plat the rain softly tapped against the window and quietly onto the roof above you. It was a sleepy rain, an early morning rain whose clouds blocked the sun from glaring through your window. It made waking a little easier, a little more soft.
The other thing that made waking a peaceful experience was the warm body you were tangled up with. The soft, curled ends of light brown hair tickled your bare shoulder, and it was the first thing you saw in the dim room as you opened your eyes. Your head rose and fell slowly with Wanda’s steady breath. It was resting on her bare chest, the skin there hot against your ear. She always slept so hot.
Your legs were tangled with hers, your arm thrown across her torso. As you blinked your eyes awake, you tilted your head upwards to get an angle of her from below. The stretch of her jawbone, the mountain of her cheekbones just beyond it. Heavy eyelashes fluttered closed, deep pink lips pursed in her sleep. The crinkle between her eyebrows that was always there when she slept. She was starting to get a permanent wrinkle from it, and while she was embarrassed of it, you told her it was just the imprint of all the dreams she’d ever had right there in one wrinkle between her brows so she would never forget them. Wanda was always a deep dreamer, for better or worse.
The puffy comforter you shared rested right below her breasts, likely pushed down during her overheated sleep. Her hair was splayed over her chest, barely covering the peaks of her soft pink nipples. Her skin looked pale and soft under the dim gloomy morning light. You let your hand glide over the soft expanse of her tummy, fingers pressing into her flesh as you shift, waking up a little more. Letting out a silent yawn, you casually let your hand stroll further down beneath the blanket, being thrown off guard a little when your hand touches cool silicone between her legs.
It was Wanda’s new creation still left strapped around her hips via harness from last night’s endeavors. It took a lot of research and magical effort for Wanda to create her enchanted strap that functions like a biological part of her body. Using her magic, she enchanted the strap so that she can feel through it and cum through it. Let’s just say the first few tries once she perfected it could be described as very quick, hot, and wet on her end. It was the most mind-blowing feeling she had ever felt, being able to feel you inside. Even now, a few weeks later, she still warns you how sensitive it still is, which you could tell from the beginning because of how fast she came with you.
Wanda’s magic was very powerful—spontaneous creation. For that reason, she insisted on wearing a condom the first several times using the enchanted strap out of fear of accidental pregnancy, though you knew she secretly had a breeding kink. Finally, she stopped using condoms, but she still pulled out of you every time. It was hot, seeing her get so close to just doing it, to just letting go and planting her cum deep inside you. You could see it on her face every time. But every time, milliseconds before release, she pulls out and chooses to spill all over your tummy or back instead. Of course, that was also hot in its own right. But you desperately wanted her to cum inside. You weren’t sure if it was the risk or the ownership aspect of it, but you fucking needed it.
And you knew she wanted it too. She had a tendency to hold you down when she’s about to cum, almost as if she is about to force you to take her cum, which you willingly would take every single drop. You even told her in a heated moment of passion to cum inside you once, and she almost did accidentally. Hearing you say that made her orgasm immediately, and she had to frantically pull out right as she spurted all over your mound, making sounds you’d never heard her make.
And now, in the dim morning light with cozy rain coming from outside, and Wanda’s soft, warm sleeping body with her cock in your hand as you thought over all these times with the new magical piece, you wanted it.
But she was so pretty and peaceful in her sleep with her crinkled brow of dreams and her slowly rising and falling chest. You wouldn’t wake her.
Licking your lips, you shifted your body so that you hovered over her, taking great care in slinking down her body without moving the blankets or the bed too much. With the hem of the blanket resting at the back of your neck, you rested your elbows over her plush thighs, eyeing the strap that now sat right in front of your face.
Humming, you trail your fingers to the harness straps, fiddling with the fabric on her hips for a moment before you carefully let them trail to the base of her cock, taking it in your fist gently. Glancing back up to her, you saw the same image—her head resting on the pillow, turned to the side, sleeping peacefully like an angel. The warmth between your legs grew as you formulated the plan of your desires, licking your lips and coming closer to her strap.
You placed Wanda’s length in your mouth. It surprised you every time how big she was—an advantage she smugly gave herself when crafting her piece. Suctioning your lips, you began to swirl your tongue around the tip of the strap with a gentle but purposeful pressure.
It didn’t take long before your mouth ignited the spell within the strap, and her magic peered through the silicone in cracks that looked like molten lava in a crimson hue. That’s how you knew she was aroused now, and as you looked up at her again, she was still sleeping as peacefully as ever.
It took some practice for you to understand how to give your girlfriend a blowjob since it was your first time, but Wanda was patient and could get off with basically any touch you gave her with how sensitive the strap felt when she wore it anyways.
So you lowered your mouth further down on her strap that was warming up between your lips, keeping your hand on the base to keep it steady. Letting your other hand gently squeeze her thigh, you sucked her gently, wanting to make her feel good but not wanting to wake her up. It startled you when, as you took her entirety in your mouth so that the tip of her cock poked the back of your throat, Wanda’s legs twitched under you. It was only once and, looking up as you deepthroated her, you saw that the sleeping look on her face remained unchanged.
The depth with which you took her in your throat prompted tears to form in your eyes and saliva in your mouth. Sniffling, you kept taking her all the way in and then suctioning as you lifted your mouth from her, letting your tongue flick around her tip before deepthroating her again. You were slow and gentle, but she was hot and throbbing with magical arousal. You could even smell it on her now and, reaching down under the base where her slit was, you found that she was wet there, too.
Getting excited, you bobbed your head perhaps a little too hard, and she twitched again, this time letting her head sway to the other side. You paused, waiting for any sign of further movement or signs of being awake, but she was still deep asleep, the crease in her brow deeper now. You went back to sucking her off dutifully, and as wet sounds filled the air, Wanda moved again, this time arching her back. The movement sent her hips bucking up, which shoved her cock into your throat unexpectedly, causing you to choke on her girth.
Recovering, you continued carefully and watched as she twitched and squirmed in her sleep, somehow still staying deep asleep even as you could feel her throb faster. Her lips fell open at one point, soft gasps of air filling the quiet, dim room along with your wet sucking sounds. Her body heated up even more under your hands, and she started to buck her hips more.
Picking up your speed, you deepthroated her more and more, choking yourself on her strap while she grew even more restless. You knew she was seconds away from cumming, so you grabbed the base of her strap and sucked harder and faster. Finally, with a whispery, sleepy moan, and a more violent twitch of her hips, Wanda came in your mouth. You kept your mouth around her, feeling her warm cum gush at the back of your throat and ooze down it. You waited, letting her twitch and gasp and push out every last drop of cum before you finally swallowed it and took her out of your mouth. She was sweet to the taste with just a hint of metal, an interesting mix of her magic that reminded you of the taste of her real arousal.
There were many benefits to this magical creation of Wanda’s, one of many being that there was an unlimited supply.
Her cock now wet and shiny and slightly glowing, you carefully crawled back up her body and straddled her. She had almost immediately fallen back into utter stillness as soon as she came, except for her chest that was rising and falling much faster now. Biting your lip, you reached down and took her breasts into your hands, squeezing and letting your thumb roll over her nipples that were already rock hard for you. You could feel her cock, resting below your thigh, twitch and throb, basically vibrating with magic. All you could taste was her cum that coated the inside of your mouth, the taste still soaked into your tongue.
She just looked so pretty, even more relaxed now, having just helplessly cum in your mouth without even knowing it. Leaning down, you pressed a chaste kiss to her still lips before moving your mouth to her neck and pressing soft, wet kisses there. You let your hand grope her breasts for a moment before sliding it down and rubbing her tummy, lowering it further and further until you reached below yourself and took her strap in your hand again.
Still kissing her neck, and feeling her twitch once below you, you adjusted yourself over her cock and rubbed your throbbing, wet slit down her length, not letting it go inside. You remember the first time you did that, before she ever went inside you with the new strap, and she had prematurely came. She had been so embarrassed, taking off the cum-filled condom and tearing the strap off of her and getting up, but you’d found it so hot. You loved having this control over her. You loved knowing that you held this power over her, that you could make her cum so easily, that she desired you so much that she found it hard to even have any control. You wanted to tease her constantly, to degrade her and embarrass her by using her desire for you against her.
Wanda’s sleepy breaths hitched as you rubbed your warm, wet folds up and down her length, leaving a wet, sticky trail on the strap. She shifted under you, turning her head back to the other side. Her eyebrows creased deeper, her face contorting into a look of neediness as she subconsciously bucked her hips, pushing herself harder onto you. Chuckling, you gave her one last kiss on her neck before sitting up fully, unable to control yourself anymore. You wanted to get what you truly wanted out of her before she woke up.
Your breathing growing heavier, along with the rain pattering much harder on the window outside, you lined Wanda’s cock up with your entrance, letting it sit there pressed against it for a moment. You took a deep breath—her size still surprised you, and you still needed to relax and prepare yourself before taking her in. Thanks to the blowjob and how wet you were, there was enough lubrication for you to lower yourself down on her cock, feeling her slide right in and stretch your walls around her.
“Fuck,” you whispered as you stopped halfway, feeling a tinge of pain. Wanda shifted beneath you, which didn’t help, so you just took another deep breath and basically slammed yourself down on her, Wanda’s entire cock ramming deep inside you.
As if on cue, right as you let out a louder shriek than you meant to because of the way her cock hit your cervix, Wanda also let out a sleepy form of a moan, her head swaying to the side as her legs shifted under the blankets below you.
Placing your hands on her shoulders, you stayed still and felt her throb inside you as she squirmed, watching her eyes scroll side to side behind her eyelids. Biting your lip, you slowly lifted yourself off halfway before coming back down again, nearly seeing stars when she hit your deepest point again.
It was obvious that doing this wasn’t going to keep her asleep for much longer. She was still moving, eyelids fluttering, lips twitching as if trying to speak between her growing breaths. She was breathing faster now, redness blooming on her cheeks.
There was no point in being careful now. Grinding your teeth together, you rolled your hips, throwing your head back as she hit your sweet spot in your lower tummy. She was so big that her cock was basically all you could feel as you rode her, feeling pure pleasure bloom inside you as you anticipated the ending you were dreaming about.
“Mmmm-nnnn” Wanda murmured as she squirmed more beneath you, kicking at the sheets covering her feet and arching her back. “Ahhh…” She was starting to come to, being lured by your actions into an in-between state between sleeping and waking. She was arching her back off the bed and bucking her hips up into you, natural instinct to have more friction and be as close to you as possible coming through.
Power filled you as you stared down at the helpless witch, her cock lodged deep inside you, throbbing as you bounced on it. You bit the tip of your tongue and squeezed her shoulders, digging your nails into her skin as you rode her cock.
The feeling of your nails in Wanda’s skin was the one thing that brought her into awareness. Her eyelashes fluttered, mouth dropping open. Finally, her eyes opened fully, exposing those pretty irises that were usually green but were now a deep, sleepy crimson red from the magic she was subconsciously using.
A grin slashed across your own face, your tummy filled with excitement as you watched the look of confusion on Wanda’s once peaceful face. This was the second moment you were anticipating the most. Her eyebrows contorted in confusion as she stared up at you, her eyes blank with dumb sleepiness at first as her mouth let out heavy breaths. Then she blinked a few times, her eyes falling down over your body and to her own. She saw her cock, glistening with wet, appear halfway with every other bounce you made. She watched it appear as you lifted up, and then disappear again as you slapped yourself down on her lap.
Then she felt it. The tight, wet warmth. The squeezing of your walls around her. The more textured parts around your cervix, how much warmer and tighter you felt the deeper she was. Your lips smushed against the base of her cock when you had her fully inside. The ridges of your cunt massaging her length as you jerked up and down on her, the friction feeling like a white hot flame of pleasure with each stroke.
Her mouth fell open wider with a loud, startled moan, her hands immediately slapping onto your hips and holding them. “Baby!” she exclaimed in surprise, trying to blink the bleariness out of her eyes as you continued fucking yourself on her.
You giggled at her reaction, how she was confused but so turned on and so obviously overwhelmed by the feeling of you milking her cock as soon as she woke up, this being the very first thing her consciousness experienced this rainy morning. You felt her cock swell a little inside you, now that she was awake with her magic.
Her breathing turned into gasps, her eyes squeezing shut as she hissed through her teeth, her hips trembling as you slammed down onto them. “Fuck, baby, fuck, fuck,” she croaked, her voice sleepy and husky and burning hot in your ear.
“I always wanted to wake you up like this,” you whispered, scratching down her chest and over her nipples, causing her to let out the cutest little high-pitched whimper.
“Fuck,” was all she could whisper, holding your hips as they bounced up and down on her length.
You could see the sweat breaking on her forehead, the flush in her cheeks, the way her tummy tightened under your palm. She was getting close.
“D-Did you use prot-protection?” Wanda stammered, her brown hair starting to stick to her temples. She knew the answer. She could feel it, but she needed to ask anyway.
Chuckling, you let out a pornographic moan just to make her shudder and then said, “Nope.”
Wanda’s eyes widened a little in panic. She could already feel herself leaking a little, or maybe it was just your wetness, which was also dripping down her shaft and onto her thighs. Through the slight panic in your eye you could see the desperation, the idea she always dreams about sitting right there in her brain.
You purposefully clenched, and she bit her lip and threw her head back, her body lifting off the bed as she pushed herself into you. You gasped at the depth but used your strength to pin her hips back down to the bed.
“Baby,” she breathed, her eyes barely open. “Baby, get up.” Her voice grew breathy with quickness. “I’m gonna cum. Get up.” She slapped your hip a few times to make you get up, but you kept riding her.
“No,” you purred, leaning down closer to her face and smirking. “You can easily push me off if you want to.” You watched her, struggling to keep her eyes open, her body moving with your bouncing, look up at you with such a strong mix of horror and desire on her face. You waited, but she only continued to struggle beneath you, not making any effort to use her magic or strength to push you off. “So why don’t you?”
Wanda whined, throwing her head back and closing her eyes as if just looking at you was going to make her bust. Her nails dug into your hips as she trembled, looking like the pleasure was turning into pain as you continued to ride her. There was no way she would actively deny you. She could stop herself all she wanted when it was her in control, but if you were going to take it from her, she couldn’t not acquiesce.
“Baby, please,” she murmured through gritted teeth, tears forming in the corners of her eyes from the struggle to keep herself from cumming. You knew she could stop it if she wanted to—you didn’t have her physically wrangled, and even if you did, her magic could put an end to it immediately. “Please, get up, I can’t hold it.”
Grinning, you slam your hand over her throat, and she gasps, choking slightly as you squeeze her throat. “You’re so cute like this,” you whisper, “Begging me to stop. You’re the one who can’t control yourself.”
Tears were falling down her cheeks now. “Please, please,” she begged, her eyes squeezed shut. “Please, baby, I can’t—I can’t hold it—I’m gonna cum, fuck, please…”
“Do it. Give me all your cum,” you hiss, riding her harder to the point where the bedframe slams against the wall. Wanda, choking on the pressure of your hand around her throat, trembled and violently twitched below and inside you as she tried her hardest to hold it. But she was hot to the touch, and so were you, and your cunt felt so good squeezing around her cock, and you were taking complete advantage of her which she found to be so hot, and she hadn’t been able to stop dreaming about breeding you for weeks now, and it was all too much for her to even stop it.
“Fuck, baby, fuck, get off, I’m gonna… fuck, fuck fuck!”
Wanda’s nails dug into your hips as her words turned into incoherent babbles, her mouth falling wide open and her body lifting completely off the bed as she finally lost all control. You tried to watch her as long as you could, but your eyes fluttered closed when finally you felt her cock give one last hard twitch before loads of her burning hot cum went gushing deep inside you, splashing the wall of your cervix and filling your tummy all up.
The feeling made you cum, shivering on top of her and squeezing around her which only prolonged her orgasm even more. Wanda saw flashing images of you pregnant, which had been fueling what she thought was fear for weeks now, but she was learning just now that that fear was pure fetish. She tugged your hips down onto her and pushed herself as deep inside you as possible as she loaded you with her cum, surprising you with her strength as she kept you in a complete hold.
After a few moments, when she had filled you with all she had to give, which was a shocking amount this time because of how long she had held it, and you were limp against her chest, recovering from your own orgasm, Wanda finally relaxed, letting go of your hips and closing her eyes.
“Fuck,” she breathed, panting as sweat rolled down her tear-streaked face. You were quiet for a minute, relishing the feeling of a full tummy of Wanda’s cum, her cock throbbing gently in your cunt. You were so glad she’d enchanted that strap.
Finally, you hummed, looking up at her. She looked dazed and fuzzy-minded, her eyes hooded and cheeks blushing red from embarrassment. She sighed and grinned sheepishly, placing her hands over her face. You smirked. “That was a lot better than cumming on my tits, right?”
Wanda breathed. “Well, good morning to you, too.”
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff#scarlet witch#scarlet witch x reader#marvel#lgbt#lesbian#top!wanda#power bottom#subby top wanda#sub top wanda#elizabeth olsen#lizzie olsen#wanda maximoff x f!reader
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The Queen
Ryomen Sukuna x F! Reader
He never orders you around - rather, he requests.
Tags: slight gore, suggestive, fem reader, true form Sukuna
Word count: 1,7k
Masterlist
AN: Fanart used in banner made by the amazing @innaillus - be sure to check out their divine fanart
Written as a Secret Santa's gift for @zoyakuna - Merry (early) Christmas! (and pls stop slandering Giyuu, it's causing me undue stress)
There was little to amuse you in your secluded throne room underground.
Correction - there had been little to amuse you out of your throne room, so you had retreated back into your palace - and even then, was it a palace, when there were no servants, no great halls, no music, and no consort?
Just you - the Supreme Sovereign - and your throne made of roots and vines.
Which made it odd to hear a sound echo in your chamber. You feared nothing, no one, and your heart remained steady, not a beat out of place, your eyes closed as you rested from lifetimes of exhaustion.
“Who goes there?” you called out, not moving from your reclined position.
You were it to him, the holy grail of his searching - the Queen of Curses. Your name was feared enough that it had been scratched out from all written sources, the feats accredited to you terrifying… yet thrilling to Sukuna. He had needed to meet you, though he knew not why… A deep hunger for companionship, another who could stand at his level, who could reign with him from his Shrine, a craving so consuming he nearly went mad with his searching.
And he did find you, though hardly in the condition he thought he would.
“This is what You have become? The cynosure of all mortals reduced to a wretch.”
The voice was rough, forceful - distinctly male - though the tone held a hint of remorse and confusion. “All beauty is short-lived,” was all you said, a slight irritation churning your stomach for the first time in - decades, centuries, millenia? Who knows?
“Not for curses. We are eternal.” You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, and intense. It lashed out at your own, but like water parting around a blade, yours did too, accepting and redirecting the angry force, dispersing it, and eventually absorbing it. It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being suffocated under the weight of the world, a drop of water quenching a soul-deep thirst in the desert of life.
You opened your eyes and sat up properly as you studied him.
The man - curse - was tall, broad, and regal. A king would be a title befitting his posture. His hair was a light color you could hardly make out in the darkness of your abode. The dark marks adorning his face stood out starkly against his skin, as did the shape of the disfigured flesh on the right side of his face. Four gleaming eyes were focused on you, four arms relaxed at his sides.
This man was fascinating, and beautiful; he could easily sway the hearts of humans, bring them to their knees. Too bad you were not human.
“Join me, your Majesty.” Despite the wording, it was a plea. How odd.
“Who are you to ask anything of me?” You blinked slowly. You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, intense, … defensive, lonely. It enticed you, spoke to you in a language you understood all too well. It wasn’t in your nature to deny an honest request.
“Ryomen Sukuna, your Majesty,” he introduced himself. There was a sense of pride in the way he spoke, as if his existence was created, carved out, into the world by his own hands.
Perhaps Ryomen Sukuna would be the cure to your continued boredom.
You stood up from your throne, your figure hardly atrophied as your cursed energy kept you in peak form. The roots and vines retreated into the cave walls, leaving no trace of your royal seat, the chamber empty again for centuries to come.
“Very well.”
Living with Sukuna was hardly boring. Each day, you felt your apathy falling away as you spent time with the King of Curses, until you smiled freely in his presence. The day you realized he softened you to this degree came all too suddenly.
His cruelty to humans who sought to undermine him was but a flimsy curtain of who he truly was. Like a displeased cat, claws exposed, he scratched up those daring to approach him, but with you -
With you he was as playful and borderline affectionate as the tabby you used to feed back in your human days. It warmed your heart, and your cheeks, to feel his eyes on your figure. It made you feel unsteady on your feet. It made you question who was the ruler of the other, who held the power over the other; the power imbalance slowly became a balance - your energy dimmed by the way he could play you like a puppet.
All these feelings weaved together and knotted around your heart, snaring you in a complex web too tight to escape, exposing your throat to him like a delicacy to be gorged upon.
Only if you let him know, that is.
You somehow felt that a man like him wouldn’t settle, and more importantly, he was a man; just another one of the hordes who wanted a demure consort, you could bet. You were not a dainty flower he likely sought; you were a weed - growing strong despite the harshest of conditions, clawing out a place for your existence where there had been none before. The Curse of Curses.
So you buried those feelings like a female buried herself under layers of junihitoe - though you refused to wear that monstrosity despite the latest fashion in Japan, as all the fabric was too heavy for comfort. You made do with the yukata you stole from Sukuna’s wardrobe. It was definitely not because it smelled like him.
You kept away from the humans and the ruling in his Shrine, spending time with Uraume, him, or alone in the gardens - until you could not. He’d left you in charge of his Kingdom when he had business to do.
Human men were deplorable, thinking you were just a weak curse to be manipulated and slandered. You didn’t raise your voice at all, yet it shut everyone up in the hall - save for one local lord thinking himself too mighty to listen. No amount of flattery would have kept him alive after that. A wave of your hand made vines grow out of his guts - burrowing through his flesh as easily as tearing paper apart; sweet-smelling white flowers bloomed from the mess of red-coated plant matter in the middle of the chamber.
You sat in Sukuna’s throne of bones, regal and untouchable.
That was how he found you - presiding over his subjects like the Goddess you were, and bloody Spring sprouted in front of him, rubies glinting upon the stone floors like a grotesque decoration.
At first, he had wanted to study you - the Queen of Curses, the Supreme Sovereign, older than him, wiser, more powerful. Forgotten, yet not forgotten enough for him not to find any sources mentioning your title. He had been curious about you, and then he became curious about the feelings you evoked in him. Your presence in his home converted from an adornment into an emollient to him, smoothing the rough edges and softening the spikes of his defenses against you, yet you remained the centerpiece of his attention, even when you weren’t in his presence. He found himself thinking about you in all his waking moments.
“Everyone, out.”
He could not hide his devotion to you if he tried now - it had grown roots in his soul and fed off of his life-force, yet strengthened it twice as much. His heart was set ablaze every time he laid eyes upon your form, the blood in his veins searing hot, branding him from the inside - a slave to you forevermore.
And so he knelt at your feet, the bottom two of his arms supporting him as he leaned forward, his top pair carefully reaching for your foot and raising it to his face.
The King of Curses kissed your ankle, closing his eyes in silent worship to his Goddess, his World.
“Your Majesty,” he greeted you in a whisper, his lips caressing your skin.
Your eyes grew soft as you studied him, your posture proud but your expression fond. “Sukuna.”
Wet, hot tongue darted out to taste your skin, making you jolt and tear your leg from his grasp with pursed lips. The tabby was particularly impertinent today.
“You have no respect for your Queen, do you?”
“On the contrary, I hold all the respect for you.” His smirk was mischievous, he knew as well as you did neither of you were serious about this. Just a harmless teasing, if a bit skewed.
You used your foot to lightly push against his chest to tip him over onto his back - which he let you do, for he could have as easily resisted. Even falling down, he looked graceful. It made you feel warm inside your ribcage as you pushed a joyous smile down.
Sukuna turned the fall into a backwards roll, ending up on his knees again.
“At least you know your place - on your knees before me…”
“I-” he licked his lips, “I would gladly be on my knees for you all day, Your Majesty.”
Oh? It was your turn to give him a smile full of mischief as he slowly moved back to you. You remained silent.
“Has a cat got your tongue?”
Sukuna shuffled forward on his knees, his top pair of arms resting on the bones of his throne as he came even closer. Palms trailing to your thighs and covering them with his hands - an easy feat with his size.
You could do naught but marvel at the contrast of your limbs and his - each powerful and deadly in their own right, each in a different way. There was no tremor of fear in your muscles, only anticipation, even while he lightly spread your legs to fit his torso between them as you lounged on his throne.
“Let me feast on your nectar.” His voice, smooth like silk, a plea rather than an order, the nuance of his tone telling all you needed to know. He appeared unreadable to others, but he was as exposed and vulnerable as a newborn babe to you at this moment.
Even so, your lips parted in surprise at his request for you didn’t expect him to say it out loud at last. “Forward, aren’t you?”
His carmine eyes - all four of them - focused on yours with an intensity you were only just getting used to with him. Sukuna said nothing as he waited for your response.
The devil didn’t bargain, after all.
“Very well… Show me how you would worship your Queen, my King.”
dividers by the divine @benkeibear
network: @enchantedforest-network
#unleashing this in wake of zoya's exams#i hope this can cheer you up or idk#this fanart piece has been rotting my brain since it came out istg#and there is something immensely hot about women in power#and dangerous men being glorified guard dogs#anyway#jujutsu kaisen#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna#sukuna#jjk sukuna#sukuna fanfic#jjk fanfic#jjk#true form sukuna#desi the blue eyed kakushi#kakushino
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Yandere Short Stories:
Hell Fire
Yandere Priest x Herbalist Fem Reader
TW: abuse of power, yandere behavior, manipulation, and forced relationship
Pale hands affectionately cupped the soft cheeks of the sleeping maiden that rested on the bed in the dungeon. A bright smile on the young priest’s face as his fingers traced over her soft lips.
“You are finally here…” Aurel voice was as soft as a breeze. His blue eyes gentle and his lips pursed in thought. “You’re finally within my grasp.”
Aurel glanced around to make sure there were no other eyes watching before he crawled into the small bed beside (your name). His lanky arms wrapped around her vulnerable form in a vice like grip. Aurel buried his nose into her hair and deeply inhaled her sweet scent, a moan escaped his lips from how delectable (your name) smelled.
“I wonder if you’ll be happy to see me once you wake up.” Aurel thought aloud as his hands wandered her sleeping form. “We used to be so close when we were kids… we can get married just like we always wanted.”
Aurel brushed a few of his silver strands away from his blue eyes. His cheeks heated up at how beautiful (your name) had grown to be. “I’ve crawled my way to become a Cardinal, but I’m willing to bend the rules for you… so you just have to accept me.”
Aurel buried his face into her shoulders while he clutched her closer to his chest. His tongue clicked when he felt his she thinned out a bit. These heathens haven’t been feeding (your name) properly, have they? He’d punish them once he married her…
Aurel pressed a few stray kisses to her shoulders before he smiled to himself. He had destroyed her reputation as an herbalist by spreading rumors of her being a witch. It was a desperate and cowardly method, but she refused to be with him. What other choice did Aurel have? (Your name) had forced his hand for the last time and now she had the biggest choice to make.
Become his wife or burn at the pyre.
#female reader#yandere fic#yandere imagine#yandere#yandere x y/n#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere priest#yandere obsession#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc#power imbalance#yandere original character#yandere male#yandere concept#yandere imagines#obsessive yandere#yandere man#yandere insert#yandere headcanons#delusional#delusional yandere#TW.masturbation#tw.manipulation#yandere idea#yandere writing#priest x reader#not historically accurate#yandere short story#yandere stories
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𖤓⎸⎸ 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 ⎸⎸𖤓
A/N: You all voted on this poll, and this poll, and this poll, and after a LOT of voting, I present you this :) BIG thanks to @that-multi-fandom-hijabi for beta reading this go follow her writing acc rn (@novaaaaaa-writes). Here's my masterlist! Divider made by @cafekitsune
Warning(s): Enemies to lovers trope, mentions of burning, stabbing, blood, bad descriptions of both fire of water (ice, snow ?) bending, Zuko is whipped, just a little confused about it, reader is a baddie, water benders unite (not me tho), reader is GN but written with f!reader in mind, reader looks non-threatening, is underestimated a lot, this takes place at the end of season one, I think that's it
Pairing: Prince Zuko x GN!Reader
“You shouldn’t be here” you glare, your gaze sending shivers down his spine.
But that could just be because of all the snow and ice surrounding the both of you.
The fire prince remains unfazed though, his amber eyes sweeping over your form- assessing the threat you posed.
He could take you down in seconds.
Zuko doesn’t respond to your jab though, because he knew you were wrong. He had to be here, it was the only way he could finally receive his father’s favor- as the heir and as the son of Firelord Ozai. It was his duty, his honor.
And he wasn’t going to let a non-threatening waterbender get in the way of that.
Reaching back, he unsheathes his dual swords, the glint of the waning moonlight reflecting the dangerous glint in his eye.
And yet you didn’t back down.
Pooling some water from your waterskin, you assumed the stance you had trained yourself to take whenever you honed your skills. One with the water, one with the ice.
‘Power should flow, not force itself” Master Pakku had told you once.
People had always underestimated your skills, saying you were better suited for healing. But after showing Master Pakku how you could use your bending to control the falling snow around you, he gave you a chance.
He had told you to let the power settle in your body before releasing, instead of forcing it out immediately. Conceal and then control.
You met Zuko’s fiery gaze with an icy one of your own. You were going to protect your home.
With a yell, you form flurries of snow, whipping around your form as you channel your strength to change the form of your flurry, snow turning to water, water turning to sharp daggers of pure ice.
Zuko scowls, setting his hands ablaze and you run at each other, fire meeting ice.
Time slows down, as the intensity of your elements picks up, until all you could hear was the steady thump – thump – thump – of your heart, and the roar of crystalline knives swirling around you.
Flames lick the side of your leg, wincing as the raw burn of the fire sears through your skin in white-hot pain. Razor sharp icy shards cut into Zuko’s skin, finding chinks in his armor, piercing his flesh and drawing blood.
The snow beneath the both of you was dotted red now, both of you staring at each other, panting heavily.
“You really shouldn’t be here.” you repeat again, but this time, it was barely a whisper, swallowing down tears as the cold wind of the Northern Water Tribe stung your gaping wounds.
Zuko growls, grunting in pain as he pulls a shard of ice out of his skin. “I don’t take orders from a little waterbender” he spat, venom dripping from his words.
You reciprocate with a snide comment of your own. “This ‘little waterbender’ just sunk 5 icicles into your skin.”
Zuko was just about ready to tear your head off, hands igniting with vermillion flames before you collapse, the burns along your thigh and calf were much more severe than either of you realized.
You choke out a sob of pain but keep your control of the water left in your waterskin. You couldn’t die, not today, and not at the hands of the prince of the Fire Nation.
Zuko’s heart throbs unexpectedly, the look on your face too familiar for comfort. The face of someone who worked so desperately hard, only for all that effort to go down the drain. But he didn’t care for you. He couldn’t- couldn’t grow attachment to a non-threatening waterbender. Yet you sat there on the snow, dotted with blood, with that raw look in your eyes. His flames extinguished, without him meaning to.
You flinched as he threw his swords down frustrated, impaling themselves into the nearby snow mound, standing straight up.
He stomps over to you, and you frantically move back, but your leg flares up in pain again, and you yelp, hissing in pain.
“Stop moving, you’ll make it worse.” he says, glaring at you, but not as intensely as he had before.
You want to scream, kick him, punch him, anything, but your body betrays you as he sweeps you up into his arms, carrying you to the nearest place he can find, where he can keep you safe. You feel his strong arms hook under your knees and under your back, holding you securely to his firm chest. Even through his armor, he radiates warmth, a gentle heat, unlike the flames he threw at you merely minutes ago.
He hates this, with every fiber in my being, his voice screaming at him to drop you and burn your frail body to a crisp, vengeance for the blood dripping from his own body, but he keeps moving, step after painstaking step.
You try to stay awake, you really do, yet channeling so much energy from your battle, the numb throb in your lower leg, and the comforting heat radiating off the fire prince who refuses to look at you, you slip into unconsciousness.
Zuko feels a weight press against his chest, and he huffs, honey-colored eyes catching onto the details of your face, the curve of your nose, the apples of your cheeks, the slight pout of your lips as you nuzzle into his armor unintentionally, how pretty you were when you were at peace.
He stops himself there, reprimanding himself for thinking such things. He can’t have feelings for the enemy.
And yet, even as he and his troops head home, battle wearing and dejected from the loss of a major battle, Zuko can’t help but think about his little waterbender.
***
When you wake up, the kind woman tending to you tells you all about the mysterious and handsome man who carried your sleeping form across the entire Northern Water Tribe because he didn’t know where the healing center was.
#zuko x reader#zuko x you#atla zuko#fire lord zuko#prince zuko#zuko#avatar of the last airbender#atla#prince zuko x reader#prince zuko x you#prince zuko x y/n#water bender reader#help 'power should flow not force itself'??#I have mixed thoughts about this#zuko x y/n#avatar the last airbender#zuko avatar#zuko avatar the last airbender
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hobie and his bubblegum s/o
- I’m sorry y’all no i’m not, but i am not immune to the preppy x outcast trope and i
- no i am not submitting to the idea of being a rockers gf leave me alone i absolutely am
s/o to @dizscreams for prompting this idea
never claimed to be a writer ;; im just ramblin
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
hobie brown wasn’t afraid to go against the common narrative. wasn’t afraid of many things, actually (as we know). he was loud, abrasive. tough.
and then there was you. soft and all smiles. it was a little sickening to be honest: how someone so bubbly and sweet complimented him so well.
but let’s not get it twisted, it’s not as if you were the one to round out his edges. despite the obvious clashes in personal style, you both carried similar ideologies in life, and in so carried a mutual respect in each other’s individuality and comfort. and what more could hobie really ask for in a partner?
additional headcannons i can’t stop thinking of:
wearing his jacket casually around >> you’re in an all pink fit? don’t care, the jacket smells like him and he likes seeing you in his clothes (makes him proud to let others know your his not that he would conform to dated notions of ownership tho so shhh)
omg swapping styles?? did it one time as a joke, now you both catch yourself wearing pieces incorporated into your outfits that remind you of the other. (cutesy metal flower and butterfly chokers?? modified spikes added onto your accessories???)
firm believer in this man being so so comfortable in his own self and masculinity. fuck do you mean i’ll look girly? give me the damn plushy rn
thinking of u possibly doing dance or cheer and? y’all both going to each other’s shows and sticking out like a sore thumb in the crowd, but neither of y’all give a fuck bc that’s your baby up there and man are u proud
patching him up with hello kitty bandages (which he thinks are cool as fuck).
the bubblegum is from u btw says it reminds him of u
making playlists for each other???? omg → actually have more overlap than ppl think; both love to explore genres (also helps that they’re ur fave songs, bc if u love them there has to be something gud about them right?)
this song with y'all actually
if u see me adding more on this later, don’t worry ab it
⊗
#hobie brown x reader#hobie x reader#spiderverse x reader#spiderpunk#hobie brown#me??#writing????#and thats the power of hobie babey#across the spiderverse#atsv x reader#atsv#across the spiderverse x reader#spiderpunk x reader#hobart brown x reader#hobie۫ ִ✮
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Hi! Ur one of my favorite csm fanfic writers, and I hope you have a good day today. Since your request is still open, Im going to take advantage of it haha.... Can you write a headcanon for Quanxi, Power, and Makima where their s/o is a med student and they are struggling to adjust to a VERY busy schedule with almost no time for socializing outside of school and internships? There are also times where they sleep at 1:00 a.m. and wake up at 5:00 a.m., which is probably because I procrastinate A LOT and Im still wondering how I am still alive today.
Hi!! Thank you 🖤 I hope your studies are going well! (and dear LORD babe please get more sleep if you're reading this go to bed RIGHT NOW)
(Fem pronouns for Quanxi, GN for Power/Makima)
Quanxi
Quanxi isn't particularly social herself, so she struggles to understand why you miss parties with your friends or getting dinner with your family. After all, you're working hard towards a career you're passionate about, and the two of you have a good thing going. What more could a sweet, driven girl like yourself want? Still, she doesn't like seeing you stressed, so she makes it a point to get you out of the house on weekends. "You can do this later," she tells you, shutting your textbook despite your protests. "All your friends are already at the restaurant, and we'll only stay for a little while." She ensures you slip a little time for yourself in your packed schedule, even if going out to bowling alleys or movie theaters with your friend group isn't her favorite. At least she gets to hold your hand the whole time.
She's a master at taking care of her girl—Quanxi always makes sure that you're comfortable, even three hours deep into test-prep. She knows your favorite source of caffeine and keeps it on-hand 24/7. Whenever she notices your eyes start drooping, she wordlessly places a tall glass at your elbow, placing a quick kiss on the top of your head. If it's cold, she grabs a blanket and your favorite socks. If it's been a few hours since lunch and you're blatantly ignoring your rumbling tummy, Quanxi pops out to grab your favorite take-out. You never have to ask; she just knows what you need, and provides it without delay.
Though Quanxi worries about your sleeping habits and demanding schedule, she knows you're an adult and can manage yourself. She doesn't nag or chide you if you're putting your studies first, and forgetting to shower every now-and-then. She does what she can to help, and she always, always tells you she's proud of you. Whenever you're ready to scream at the paper you're writing or about to cry into a pile of flashcards, she gently rubs your shoulders. "Hey," she says, "You're working hard. I'm so proud of you." Maybe to anyone else it wouldn't seem like much, but Quanxi is so sincere and tender as she works the knots out of your tired shoulders. Her quiet words are almost always enough to give you a second wind.
Despite her policy to let you do your own thing, Quanxi does get after you if she notices you procrastinating. She knows you need a break sometimes, but she also knows if you put off your work too long you'll be ten times as stressed when you're staring down a looming deadline. "Hey, cutie," she pinches your cheek, gentle but insistent enough to make you scrunch your nose up. "You better hit the books." If you protest, she raises an eyebrow at you. "You know I'm right. Just work on it for a little bit, and then we can cuddle and watch your favorite show or something." As you pass her by, grumbling about your workload, she smacks your ass for good measure. It's usually enough to make you smile back at her, and stop complaining.
Quanxi buys you a set of scrubs in your favorite color. "So my girl won't forget about me, even when she's busy," Quanxi teases, and you roll your eyes. You reassure her with a kiss that of course you'd never forget about her, and she ruffles your hair fondly. It's your favorite set of scrubs, and you wear them almost twice a week.
Power
Power absolutely. hates. your jam-packed schedule. In her opinion, you should be devoting all that time to her! After all, you two could be having so much fun! Why dedicate hours to your internships and classes when the two of you could be out getting soft serve, going to fairs and winning goldfish, or eating exclusively the meat at monjayaki restaurants? She despises the fact that she has to share you with your studies. With a little help from Denji, though, she leaves you alone to do your work. If you ask her to scope out date locations, she's eager to hit the city and plan a perfect date for you two. Just bribe Denji with a handful of Family Burger coupons and he's willing to chauffer her. You get a nice, long day of peace and quiet to cram your studies into and, as a bonus, you get to look forward to whatever date spot Power's deemed a necessity to visit, whenever you've got the ever-rare free afternoon. The cramming might seem counter-intuitive, but it actually helps you get things done faster. It's harder to procrastinate when Power's asking for constant updates on your progress, eager for you to be done so she can have you all to herself.
Whenever you're settled on the couch for a study session, Power comes to cuddle up with you. She'll splay out across your lap or nuzzle her chin into the space between your neck and shoulder. She summons every single ounce of self-control she has to stay quiet and still, so you can keep studying. At first it's pretty difficult for her to resist the urge to poke your face or put Meowy on your head, but as she gets used to the quiet, she finds she starts to enjoy these gentle, low-key moments with you. Sure, she prefers being hyper and loud, but silently nestling into your side and soaking up your warmth is pretty nice, too.
Thrilled to have knowledge about something you're studying, Power is always eager to tell you about blood. How it feels when she's directing its energy, the way it almost hums beneath her fingertips as she molds it to her will. It's not something you'll find in any textbook, and your professors probably won't quiz you on how blood "feels"—but it's still fascinating stuff. Whenever you're diving into the specifics of how blood flows through the heart or mapping out arteries and veins, you tell Power about your studies. You listen eagerly as for every fact you give her, she tells you something about blood that you'd never find in any textbook.
Power absolutely insists that you get enough sleep. Pulling an all-nighter is simply not an option. "My human," she commands, closing her hands around your shoulders, " 'Tis time for us to go to bed." If you protest, telling her you'll come in a few hours, she pouts and shakes her head firmly. "Not an option! You must rest, and I must have someone to cuddle with." She'll physically pull you into bed if she has to. If you have to get up early to finish something, she'll begrudgingly allow it, but going to sleep together is non-negotiable.
All of your notes and flashcards are littered with Power's doodles. It's her way of cheering you up when you're three hours deep into studying the brain. Little scribbles of stars and hearts and hammers (don't ask), or sketches of Meowy doing impossible things like fighting a supervillain or rolling up some sushi. She's not the best illustrator but her pictures definitely have heart, and they do the job of cheering you up splendidly.
Makima
Makima's no stranger to a busy schedule, so she completely understands your struggles. For her, maintaining a planner is a must and she'll gladly help you start one. She gets you a plain faux-leather journal, your name embossed on the cover in gold. Inside is a neat chart laying out the week in precise detail. There's a spot for to-do lists, due dates, progress trackers for big assignments. She's also included reminders to eat, stretch, and drink plenty of water in the margins. She really thought of everything, and if you end up using the planner to its fullest extent, it pretty much kills your procrastination problem. (It's much easier to get things done when it's broken down into efficient, day-by-day steps for you.) Pay attention, and you'll find new comments from your lover packed inside the margins. Simple things, like "Be sure to eat something nutritious today" or "Remember, you have to be at your internship an hour early on Tuesday.", penciled in her neat handwriting. It's not an "I love you"—she struggles with those—but for Makima, the simple care is close enough.
Outwardly, Makima is sympathetic when you lament that you've got no time for friends and family. She nods her head and frowns when you tell her it's been three weeks since you've gotten to go out on the weekend, and assures you that you'll be able to hit an izakaya or bowling alley with your friends soon. Inside, though, Makima likes that your busy schedule keeps you from interacting with people too much. This way, she gets to have you all to herself. Makima loves that you have precious little free time, and that you spend most of it on her. The less other people get to claim your attention, the better.
Instead of eating on her lunch break, Makima dedicates that hour to you. She comes by your place to share a quick lunch, or drives you to your internships. Even if it's only a twenty-minute car ride and a quick kiss before you hurry into your internship building, decked out in scrubs and eager to learn, Makima cherishes this rare time with you.
Sunday afternoons are scheduled date times. No matter what might be going on at work, Makima pushes it aside to spend the day with you, and she expects you to do the same. It doesn't have to be anything fancy. Just getting coffee together or walking the dogs down a new path is enough. What matters is that the two of you, despite your demanding workloads, have time that's just for each other. She's not happy if you try to blow off your scheduled date to study. It's her favorite part of any week, so expect her to act cold for a few days if it's taken away from her.
Makima respects your work ethic, and she's incredibly proud of you. She makes it a rule not to bring her personal life into work—that would just make you a target—but she's hidden a photo of you, beaming at the camera in your scrubs, in her office. Whenever she's stressed, she pulls out that photograph and reminds herself how impressed she is with your hard work and diligence. It's enough to help her refocus and get her own work done.
Makima knows you're busy, so she likes to take care of your needs. Often, there's a healthy lunch she's put together for you in the fridge, a full bottle of filtered water in your bag, and a fresh notebook on hand in case you run out of paper. She prides herself on anticipating your needs. It sends a surge of satisfaction through her when you start to ask a question: "Darling, have you seen my—" only to cut yourself off as she holds up whatever you're looking for. She hands it off to you with a barely-there smug look and quick kiss to your nose. Now, if only she would look after her own daily needs with such dedication...
#chainsaw man/reader#chainsaw man x reader#chainsaw man#chainsaw man headcanons#quanxi/reader#quanxi chainsaw man#quanxi x reader#quanxi#power x reader#power chainsaw man#power/reader#power#makima x reader#makima/reader#makima chainsaw man
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Second Son
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...
Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.
Word Count: 2.9k
Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3
Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.
____
His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.
He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.
But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.
____
“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death.
“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.
“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”
“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.
He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.
What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society.
So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul.
“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.
“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.
____
She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even.
Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.
“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.
“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.
“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.
Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach.
“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.
Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.
“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought.
She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.
____
Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.
“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.
“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.
“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.
“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.
“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”
“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily.
You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit.
You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.
“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.
“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.
“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”
“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.
Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.
____
Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball.
He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony.
Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.
____
You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.
“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.
He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.
“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”
You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.
“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”
You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.
“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.
Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.
“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.
“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.
“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.
____
His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone.
Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.
He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize.
And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.
____
“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life.
“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.
And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future.
____
“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.
“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.
“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.
“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.
There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.
“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.
“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.
An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.
____
He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.
“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.”
Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep
#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton fluff#benedict bridgerton angst#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x female reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#benedict bridgerton imagine#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton#bridgerton angst#bridgerton imagine#bridgerton fluff#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x female reader#1k notes#1k notes omg you guys!#2k notes#2k notes holy crap you guys!#3k notes#3k notes WOAH that's amazing you guys#4k notes#4k notes is INSANE TYSM#5k notes#5k notes Ive lost the power of speech
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Yandere!SAGAU x Secret!Creator!Reader Part 2.5
Short Summary: After encountering a group of hilichurls on your way to Inazuma, you discover the benefits that come with being the creator of Teyvat. (i couldn’t sleep so i decided to keep my flow of thoughts going.)
characters: Xiao
warning(s): blood, violence, heart attack, ooc characters, xiao being weird
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─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *.☽ .* : ✧.───
You’re on your way to the harbor, pushing Grandpa Fuyi in his wheelchair. The grass crunches beneath your feet as you put a bit more force in pushing him. The two of you travel on the outskirts of the town away from the dirt path that leads to the main town.
Not long ago, a deep feeling told you that if you were to enter through the main town you’d definitely run into Zhongli. Just the thought of it sent shivers down your spine. To avoid being seen, you decided to take a detour.
As you’re walking, you see a group of hilichurls resting with their weapons laid by their side. You slow your pace, being very careful with your movements…but as your eyes scan the area, you feel your heart drop in your chest. Not far from the group of hilichurls, you see the large figure resting against a tree beside them… a mitachurl.
It’s your first time ever coming across one and even from a distance away you can tell how large they really are. Their size in real life is incomparable to the size you’ve seen on your screen. The sheer size of the monster makes you freeze in your tracks. Sweaty hands tightening on the handles of Grandpa Fuyi’s wheelchair, you slowly begin to back away. However, the squeak of the wheels, albeit quiet, is enough to wake them.
They, jump up, alert. Their eyes immediately turn to the two of you, snarls echoing into the air. The mitachurl wakes as well, the ground shaking as it jumps up. Their loud roars wake Grandpa Fuyi up. He realizes the situation you are in and you can feel how hard he’s shaking through the handles of the wheel chair. You too, are filled with terror, not only in fear of your life but for Grandpa Fuyi’s.
Despite his fear, he yells at you.
“R..Run… run away!” His voice finally snaps you out of your trance and you quickly begin to wheel him away as fast as you can. But your pace isn’t fast enough and Grandpa Fuyi knows this as well.
“Child… leave me…”
Your eyes widen and when you process his words, a tear falls from down your cheek. The glittering crystal falls to the ground as you continue running.
“No!” you tell him. Your voice is shaky, a stark difference to Grandpa Fuyi’s which is surprisingly steady. It’s as if he’s accepted his fate.
“It’s alright… I’ve lived long en-“ you interrupt him immediately.
“Are you insane?!”
You keep on running. You hear a low hiss in the air and you stumble, cursing when you feel a sharp pain in your back. You head twists, glancing down behind you to see golden blood dripping from your clothing and an arrow sticking out from your lower back.
Your pace slows from the pain, sweat dripping down your face. You can hear the footsteps grow louder and the ground shakes heavily from the mitachurl’s stomps. A slight turn of the head tells you that it’s too late to run as the mitachurl has caught up.
Unable to run any longer, the gears in your head turn fast as you think of way to get out of the situation. The mitachurl is only a few feet away from you, your body now filled with adrenaline.
The mitachurl swings his club, you can feel the wind as it comes down towards the two of you. As a last attempt to protect him, you shield Grandpa Fuyi with your hands up, hoping to take the majority of the blow.
Just as you feel the club collide with your arm, a golden light blinds you. The light clears and all of a sudden you see the monsters launched away from you, slamming into the ground, their bodies slowly disappearing.
Who… who saved us?
Your eyes scan the surrounding area for your hero, until you realize that it’s only you and Grandpa Fuyi. Realization sets in and you stare at your hands in shock.
Did I… was it me?
You’re snapped out of your thoughts when you hear Granda Fuyi gasping. You turn to see him grasping at his chest. It seems like the weight of the situation finally weighed down on him as his face is scrunched up in pain.
“My chest…” you kneel by his side, eyes wide. You panic once more, not knowing what to do. He’s having a heart attack.
Amongst your racing thoughts, an idea flashes in your head.
I-I’m the creator, you think.
You stare at your hands before placing them on his chest. A few seconds pass and nothing happens. Grandpa Fuyi’s groans of pain continue, frail hands clawing at your hands on his chest.
Your pillar, the one person to help you, is dying and you can’t do anything about it. Your hands shake, tears falling down. The tears harden into crystals, some bouncing off onto the floor, the others piling onto his legs as you lean over him. Grandpa Fuyi is too dizzy from the intense pain that he doesn’t even notice.
The time you spent together flashes through your head. You think of the times he helped you, the times he stayed awake late at night to comfort you when you couldn’t sleep from the fear of unfamiliarity. His kind smile and his corny jokes that took you a while to even understand.
As you’re lost in your thoughts with your crystal tears still steaming, a small light suddenly flashes from where your hands are placed against his chest. Letting out a gasp, you wait for the light to die down.
Grandpa Fuyi begins to relax and his eyes flutter shut. Your heart drops in your chest. It isn’t until you hear the soft sounds of his breathing that you realize he’s fine. You let out a cry of relief, resting your head on his knee.
Finally, you start to calm down and your breathing evens out. However, as the adrenaline leaves your body, the pain starts to sink in. You reach for your back, flinching as you feel the wooden arrow stick out. You curse, unsure of what to do. You know if you pull it out, blood will rush out like a champagne bottle with the cork popped off… but if you try and get help, your identity as the creator will be revealed.
Your eyes squeeze shut for a moment before you open them and grab a shirt from your bag. You rip the shirt into strips and roll up one of the strips into ball. With a deep exhale, you reach for the arrow, hoping for the best. Your hands pause, scared of the pain that is soon to come. However, with no other options, you force yourself to build up courage.
Finally, you rip it out, the pain of your skin tearing causing you to cry out. You can feel the blood pour out of you so you quickly press the cloth ball to your back and apply pressure to the wound. You wince and bite your lip to silence the scream you want to let out. Using the other strips from the ripped up shirt, you clumsily wrap the wound as best you can.
Finally finished, you let out a sigh, the pain still radiating from your body. After a bit, you realize you’re still out in the open with the sun almost completely set. The danger starts to sink in again, so you stand up, ignoring the pain. You wipe your hands, thankful for your black clothes that hide the golden blood stains before rushing Grandpa Fuyi to the harbor. As you rush, you forget to clean up the crystal tears and puddle of golden blood you left behind from the disaster you just experienced.
Filled with desperation and the need to leave Liyue, you don’t notice the figure standing on a hill not far from you, watching as you leave.
—
Xiao was doing his nightly rounds when he heard the echoing stomps of a mitachurl. He quickly rushed over to the danger, spear grasped tightly in his hand.
He arrived just as the mitachurl attacked you. Xiao cursed, seeing the mitachurl’s club collide with your arm, thinking he’s too late.
However, he’s shocked by the golden light that erupts from your form, knocking back the monsters and destroying them with a bright flash.
Xiao’s feet are locked in place as he finally takes a good look at you. At the golden liquid that seeps from your body and the crystal tears that pile on the ground. His heart is pounding in his chest so hard, he swears he can hear it.
Is he hallucinating?
He’s trying to make sense of what he saw but by the time his racing thoughts slow down, you’re gone.
Dazed and unsure of reality, he slowly shuffles over to the place you were just at, the scent of blood growing stronger as he draws near. Xiao drops to his knees beside the puddle of blood and tears. His hands shakily touch the heap you left behind. A choked gasp leaves his mouth as looks at the warm, golden liquid on his hands. Just by touching it, Xiao feels like his karmic debt has somehow lessened just a bit.
It’s you… it’s really you…
He’s delirious, unable to control his actions as his hands scoop up more of your blood, bringing it close to his face as if he wants to cover himself with the proof of your existence.
Xiao wrestles back his self control and his rationality returns. Though he’s able to calm down, the need to see you remains. Xiao jumps up to his feet, ready to chase after you but he stops in place.
What would he say to you?
That he knows you’re the creator?
What would you think of him?
Surely you’d be disappointed with him for not coming in time to stop you from getting hurt. Xiao doesn’t think he can handle it if he saw you stare at him with disappointment. Just the thought of it makes his heart clench.
Although he’s reluctant, he fights the urge to follow you. It takes a while and several deep breaths but he’s able to tame his impulsiveness. Now, somewhat calm, he bends over to collect your tears, very carefully placing them in his pocket like they’re his most prized possession. After collecting your tears, Xiao leaves, intending to share the news of your arrival with the other adepti.
—
You arrive at the harbor, breathing heavily. Grandpa Fuyi is still fast asleep. With a slight limp from the pain, you go around asking each of the ship members which boat you can take to Inazuma. However, each of the ship members give you the same answer.
The only ship leaving for Inazuma is the Crux. Despite it be being black, your clothes are still soaked with golden blood. You’re unsure if you can handle the chance of meeting both Beidou and Kazuha without them noticing anything. You want to give up but the radiating pain from your wound fills you with a sense of urgency that forces you to accept.
That’s how you find yourself in the lowest deck of the Crux, surrounded by sleeping ship members. Grandpa Fuyi lays on a cot by your side, not once waking up from his deep sleep.
You wait for a while, making sure every one is asleep before heading to the small bathroom. There, you take the time to thoroughly tend to your wound as well as wash out the golden blood from your clothes. As the last of it slips down the drain, you stare at yourself in the mirror, thinking back to all of the events that occurred.
You start to wonder, what other powers do you have?
You decide to experiment. Thinking back to aspects of the game, your thoughts land on one of the most useful devices… waypoints. The traveler is able to use waypoints to go anywhere they want in Teyvat. Deciding to put your powers to the test, you think of a place you want to go to. You rule out Inazuma, since the Crux is already on its way there.
Still unsure of any limits you may have to your powers, you decide on somewhere nearby, hoping that if it does work, you’ll still have enough juice to teleport back. Although you feel a bit wary on entering Liyue again, there’s a part of you that doubts the teleportation would even work.
This doubt allows you to close your eyes and concentrate. Your mind forms the image in your head and you feel a sudden rush of power. When you open your eyes, you’re exactly where you imagined, inside the Wangshu Inn.
You smile widely, excited over having discovered a very useful power.
“Y… Your grace,” a voice full of wonder calls out to you from behind. Your head snaps to the side, all excitement draining just as quickly as it came.
Xiao’s yellow eyes are wet as if he’s about to cry. A loud thud reaches your ears as he drops onto his knees in front of you. Ever since he saw you, your image was constantly on his mind. Because of your sudden appearance, he thinks that truly heard him, his desire to see you so deep that you decided to answer his prayers. His eyes are filled with an intense admiration and a twisted sense of worship.
“I-I… It’s an honor-“
“Fuck.”
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#yandere genshin#childe#genshin impact#yandere sagau#yanderexreader#zhongli#archons#kunikuzushi#xiao#yandere x reader#yandere zhongli#sagau#yandere sagau x reader#creator#impostor#creater reader#yandere#yandere xiao#powers#secret#secret creator#genshin#wanderer#inazuma#liyue
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shopping
#when torn apart - they are powerful incarnations. when put together they are dumb#orv#omniscient readers viewpoint#omniscient reader#omniscient reader fanart#orv fanart#kim dokja#kdj#han sooyoung#yoo joonghyuk#yoohankim#hankim#crit's art: orv
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Thinking of breakup angst with sukuna...
Thinking of the build up towards it, the way you have been fighting over the littlest things for months now
It leads you to think about how self centered he can be, how you always feel like you loved him more than he loved you and how crushing it felt to have that realisation fall upon you every time
He can be so career focused sometimes, with the long business trips, work parties, etc. always working vehemently to get higher, threatening to leave you behind
And one particular night, the argument gets so heated that you dont get a wink of sleep afterwards, only staring blankly at nothing as you try to calm the chaos in your head. Sukuna heads out without a word the next morning, and you make the final decision in your head, alone, by yourself.
By the time sukuna comes back home with the intent of reconciliation, he finds that youre packing the remainder of your belongings into a suitcase in the bedroom, ready to move out of his home.
"what the fuck is all this?" he asks, his tone coming out harsher than he means it to be.
"what do you think? i'm breaking up with you. i'm moving out," you can barely stop your voice from wavering. you've cried too much this week.
"oh, come on. you know you don't mean that," he reaches out to grab your arm, but you withdraw away from his hand so fiercely that it even surprises him.
"don't you talk to me like that," you speak firmly, "like i'm being dramatic. why won't you ever treat me seriously? i am leaving, sukuna."
you continue your work, neatly folding up some of your shirts. you're already almost finished. he looks around, and the house looks half empty.
oh. you really mean it. you're really trying to leave.
"no, you're not. you're not leaving. not after everything we've been through together," he tells you defensively, grabbing your wrist, stopping you from folding your last shirt, trying to get you to look at him again.
"like what? constantly yelling at each other until our throats are sore? i'm really sick of it. and i'm sure you are, too."
"don't put words in my mouth. i may have gotten sick of our fighting, but i've never gotten sick of you," sukuna hisses, refusing to let you continue packing your things. you feel yourself getting swayed by his words.
"well, i am. i've gotten sick of you," you say quietly through gritted teeth.
"oh yeah? say it to me properly then. look at me dead in the eyes," he demands, voice getting lower.
"you heard me. i don't need to say it again." you pull away from his grip and try to get this last shirt folded. he grabs you again, by the hand this time, and the piece of clothing unravels once more.
"no, i didn't hear shit. convince me that you really want to leave me - and i'll let you go."
in a fit of anger, you turn to face him completely, but your resolve crumbles away when you see his expression. not the one you'd assigned to him in your own mind, but his true features, under the bright bedroom lights.
he looks serious. he looks concerned. he's asking you to tell him it's not true. tell him that you want to stay.
"...let me go. i'm leaving..." you say, voice finally breaking. like a broken faucet, your eyes begin leaking tears relentlessly and your throat closes up in that painful way that you hate, but nothing compares to the pain in your heart at the thought of really breaking up with this man here and now.
he lets you go...
and calmly takes your things out of the suitcase to put them back. you didn't miss the relief in his eyes that showed up for that split second.
"bring it back! i hate you," you attempt to raise your voice, but really, it's only just your ego speaking.
"you can't even say that you hate me in the correct tone. we're not breaking up," he mutters, hanging up your coats and putting them into the closet.
having been defeated, your legs give way and you sit down on the side of the bed, sobbing.
through the blur of your tears, you watch as he meticulously goes through your suitcase, putting everything where they belong. and you sob harder. he knows too much. he arranges your creams, perfumes and accessories in the perfect order on the dresser. he spends a good fifteen minutes, putting all of your belongings back where they should be.
and by the time he gets back to you, he's like a different man. the mattress dips from his weight as he sits next to you, bringing a box of tissues with him to wipe your tears away.
"we can talk tomorrow since we're both tired today," sukuna tells you as he dabs your eyes with the tissue, "i'll take the day off."
you just sit still without responding. now that he mentioned it, the fatigue seems to fall upon you suddenly, like a brick. he coaxes you under the sheets.
soon, you find yourself in bed, in his arms. it's been a while since the two of you had cuddled so intimately. you feel oddly shy, the same way you did all those years ago when you first started dating him. there's a special kind of warmth that sukuna's body emits - and you're surrounded by it under these blankets.
"i'll try to do better... so don't go anywhere," he speaks with a softer tone.
because, it's true, he can't imagine living a life without you.
those are the last words you hear before you drift off to sleep.
the next morning, he's still in bed with you, and you're pleased to see he kept his word about taking the day off. checking the mirror, you're horrified and embarrassed about your swollen eyes from all the crying last night.
sukuna takes a look at you and chuckles without ill intent. but in your flustered state, you slap his arm until he's saying "my bad, my bad" in between laughs.
there's still some awkward tension between you and him, but going through breakfast together seems to melt some of that away, until you're ready to bring up yesterday's event.
it goes better than you'd expected, and after the discussion, the only thing that's left is to wait and see whether things will change for the better or not. whether his promises are empty or not.
"i didn't realise that you were so lonely. 'm sorry," he apologises as he plays with your hand, "i may work a lot, but you're always on my mind, doll."
it's like a huge weight off your shoulders.
and he begins to be more like his playful self again, after the talk.
"i'll need you to tell me that you love me today. since you told me you hated me yesterday," sukuna says with a smirk, hugging you from behind.
"well, you need to earn it," you shoot back, rolling your eyes.
"alright. will you say it back if i say it first?"
"sure."
"i love you."
"..."
"now that's not fair, is it?" he tickles you without mercy.
you burst out in laughter, thrashing around uncontrollably, trying to push him away.
"okay, okay! i love you!" you tell him in between breaths.
seemingly satisfied, he lets you go and pushes his face into the crook of your neck. he'll never let you go.
the following day after work, sukuna comes home earlier than usual, and he doesn't wear a grumpy expression in front of you. he greets you with a hug and kiss. it's a small gesture, but it makes you happy.
and slowly, the relationship begins to rekindle itself.
#crazyy how everything changes overnightt hahaha#blame it on the power of communication#my sensitive ass cant handle breakups or prolonged conflict so i had to make it cheesy at the end sorryy#maybe one day i'll be able to post proper heartbreak haha#sukuna#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#soft sukuna#jjk x reader#sukuna x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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