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Humping>>>>>>

humping tsu’teys abs😫😫😫😫 what else does he have such a slutty little waist for? other bitches to hold???? I’m ravenous and barking

I AGREE.

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Spoil You

characters: tsu’tey x na’vi!reader

ratings: nsfw , humping , orgasm , praise kink , superiority

To explain how you got yourself in this position, back arched and legs straddling your mates waist was an embarrassing story. What wasn’t so embarrassing was the toe curling stimulation your clit was feeling each time you rocked your hips back and forth on Tsu’teys abs. His fingers were gripped into your hips, watching you with a bold smirk on his face knowing he had you wrapped around his finger just from letting you grind on his tones abdomen.

Your pace sped up, feeling your legs jerk away from the overstimulation rushing through your puffy clit to your spine. A choked whine left your throat, and you resorted to bouncing on top of him, pressing down your clit to the stiff ridges.

“Feel good, yawne? You look so pretty getting yourself off like this.” He said, his accent thick with each word.

His deep voice rumbled through his own body, feeling the vibrations on your thighs as well as your heated hunt, only making you more desperate for your release. You brushed your hair to one side and over your shoulder, leaning your head to the corresponding side while you shut your eyes tightly. Your mouth was slightly open, making it easier for small whines to escape.

“S’good, so good..” You trailed off, returning back to your soft grinds.

Finding one spot, you pressed yourself down firmly on his abs, rocking your hips back and forth feverishly. Another cry left your azure lips, hands grasping on his shoulders. Despite the urge to jerk your legs away from the continuous motion, you held steady to aid the growing flutter in your stomach. You can hear how wet you made his chest, looking down briefly to see all your juices glisten. Your eyes trailed up to Tsu’tey, his eyes half lidded. His own hips rocked against nothing, wanting to get himself off after seeing your desperate attempt to get yourself off using his toned abdomen.

Instead of digging into your skin, his fingers ran up and down your sides, trailing up your back before sliding back down to your upper thighs. The subtle touches drove you crazy along with the fact that each ridge your clit went over was slicked up from your aching hole, turning you on even more. Your eyes rolled back, finally feeling the bearing satisfaction you’ve been craving the entire time, your hands darted to Tsu’tey’s, a habit you two nerve dropped. His fingers intertwined with yours and rested on your thighs, feeling your hole that was pressed to his chest clench around nothing as you finally climax.

“There we go, pretty girl. You feel better, yawne?” He said with a teasing voice, his naturally stern eyes gazing down at the white liquid dripping from your core and onto his slick abs.

“Clean your mess up, you know what to do.” Tsu’tey said, hand letting go of yours and gripping onto your hair, bringing you down to his chest.

You whined lazily, still coming down from the high as you repositioned yourself, going down to straddle his legs. You saw Tsu’tey prop himself on his forearms, watching your every move with those intimidating eyes, the ones you loved so much. You dragged your tongue across his abs, licking up your own cum and wetness. Grimacing a bit at the tangy taste, you gazed into his own eyes while doing it, lapping up each bit while he caressed your hair, brushing some from your face and away from your mouth while you continued to clean off his torso.

Once he found it to be enough, Tsu’teys hand gripped onto your soft throat. He pulled you up to where you once were, your arms following to help pull your body up instinctively. “Good girl.” He mumbled before bringing you into a rough kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, exploring each bit before he pulled away. Your ears pinned back, tail swaying as he left you wanting for more.

“That’s enough for you today, I spoil you too much.” Tsu’tey said, jumping to a squat. He kissed the top of your forehead, raising to his full height inside of the hut.

You readjusted your loincloth, standing up to your own height, which was just below Tsu’teys bottom lip. You wrapped your arms around his own, “You can never spoil me too much.” You said, voice coming off like silk to his ears.

“Nice try, but I meant it.” He said, giving you one of his rare smiles.

He’ll give in eventually.

For @heavenbarnes

18+ Older bf!Simon who waxes your 🐱 for you (fem reader)

You originally bought the wax supplies to do it yourself, but it hurts. You get all sweaty and your hands start shaking after the second strip, finding it nearly impossible to push past the psychological aversion to pain.

Simon pokes his head in the bathroom, assuming by the gasps and whimpers that something completely different is happening in there. Nope, it’s just you, holding a popsicle stick in one hand and grasping your pussy with the other, trying to psyche yourself up for the next bit of wax.

It’s a learning curve, admittedly. His first time is a little patchy, and it takes a few strips to learn the correct angle that doesn’t tug your skin. But he improves rapidly after that, and you suspect he’s been watching some YouTube videos or something, because suddenly he’s laying the strips according to hair direction, and instructing you when to breathe in.

In no time it’s your monthly routine — you on the bed atop a towel, holding your knees open and cursing while he methodically tortures your poor pussy.

And the worst of it is when he keeps soothing away every rip with, “Aww, brave soldier, aren’t you? Breathe in, let me get this one quickly— Ahh, that’s a good girl.”

He never apologizes until the end, when he’s washed away the powder and gently rubbed some oil to your smooth, tingly skin. He finds your clit with his fingers and strokes it for you while he murmurs how sorry he is. He doesn’t like hurting you, but you did so well, and now you can just relax and let him make it up to you for a little while.

It doesn’t matter how much you whine and beg, he knows you’re not supposed to have any sexual activity right after a wax. You just get clean fingers, carefully avoiding the raw skin to dip into your fluttering pussy and rub your arousal into your hard little clit, again and again until you cum your forgiveness for him.

There, that’s better, isn’t it? What a pretty, satisfied pussy for him to admire. No, he doesn’t need anything in return. He can wait for a few days until it’s safe to give it some fucking. 🩷

You'll get him, you just need to... to figure out your plan of attack, and maybe stop the throbbing between your legs.

Thinking about ghost!reader rutting against Ghost while he’s asleep only for him to wake up. 👀

Fuck it.

(Cw: somnophilia but he's awake so not really, unnegotiated free-use, ghost!reader(f), Ghost's legendary self control breaking)

The clock strikes and you feel yourself heavy. You weight sinks into you, rooting you in place over your husband. You're testing his reflexes tonight. He's quite quick, your husband, and more agile than you'd have thought given his size. He's also a light sleeper. Not once have you gotten close to killing him, never spent more than a moment trying before he'd banished you back to the void with a grumble about dreaming and birds. You wonder if he can sense your murderous intent, or if it's your weight that gives you away, maybe the movement...

That's why you're here tonight, to find out.

You lean over him, slide your hands over his broad chest. It's softer than you thought, relaxed muscle cushioning your fingers. You tip your head. Stronger than you remember your husband being. Though you're sure his hand bruises the same way. You file it away neatly in your memory. Your hips ache pleasantly, muscle moved in a way you're not used to.

He draws in a full breath, his chest expanding and lowering under your hands.

There's something firm between your legs. It pushes against you, and makes your stomach jump when you shift over it.

You don't remember much about your husband's cock aside from your distaste for it. It feels much bigger like this, warmer, it twitches against you. You tug at your nightdress's skirt, pull it up enough to lift your hips and check the hard length that nestled itself so nicely against your cunt. Big.

Your husband makes a noise and your embarrassment burns through you, pops you back into the phantasm before you can cover yourself again. You hide your head in your hands, try to ignore the warmth on your cheeks, as your husband rolls over to continue his dreaming.

"Cannae believe you're gettin' turned on by dreams of some hen murderin' ya." Soap grumbles, rubbing his chin as he inspects the cards laid on the table. "Seems pretty on brand." Gaz makes a face, slipping Price a card under the table. "Didn't try to kill me this time, flashed me 'er pussy an' left." Ghost grunts, reorganizing his hand for a third time. "Are you picking up the river or not?" Price gripes as Soap hesitates his hand a fourth time.

You're resolved to keep your skirt down tonight. It took you a few days to work up the courage to continue your study, but you're feeling confident! The more you know about your husband, the easier it'll be to kill him.

He reads before bed, a novel with a ship on the cover. He still has black paint smudged in his lashes when he lays his head down. He never gets it all off in the shower.

Not that you're paying attention to that.

You avoid the bathroom altogether when he's in there.

It's only proper.

You sit on the bed to watch him sleep, count the hours as they pass. You lay your head on the pillow next to him when you get bored. Pretend you're sleeping too. When you get bored of that you go back to staring at him.

He's rather interesting, your husband. You don't know what he does all day, but it must be dangerous. He comes home with all sorts of bruises and scrapes, and that horrible mask. You wonder what he does that he needs to hide his face. It must be horrible. Criminal even. That tracks, you suppose. Your husband isn't a good man, but you knew that when you married him.

You climb onto his lap when the clock chimes a quarter 'til.

It's a good angle for him. His face softened, his lashes still clumped with paint as they rest against his cheeks, his scared lips parted on gentle breaths. You lean over him, study the angry pink scars that cross his cheeks, cut through his lip and over his nose. When did those happen?

You add them to your memory.

You heavy, and see his lashes flutter ever so slightly. His hips twitch. You freeze. You can't tell if it was a reflex from your weight settling on him or if he's waking up. Your nerves seize you and you feel your muscles tighten. You sit back on his lap, prepared to run and his- that presses against you.

You resist the urge to look, but you can feel it. The blankets haphazardly tossed over him, hardly do anything to cover the thick shape of your husband's cock pressing against your cunt. You swallow your fear, he's asleep, he can't do anything to you. Besides this is... you're just gathering information.

You don't know when the last time you felt his dick was, likely before he killed you. You don't remember it being particularly pleasant. Still, your curiosity gets the better of you a second time, and you scoot back onto his thick thighs to get a better look at it.

You pick at the blankets, trying to ignore the twist in your stomach at the sight of his cock straining against his boxers. It's difficult to ignore. You run your fingertips along the length of it, feeling the heat through the cotton. You bite your lip, press your palm to it, trying to feel the thickness, gage how badly-

"Fuck," your husband groans, his hand snapping over your own.

Humiliated heat explodes through you, and you pop back to the void.

"Bird's skittish," Ghost explains, scratching his cheek. He's pulled the balaclava up over his nose, just enough so the rest of the men can see his lip twitch as he looks at his cards. "Your reoccurring dream," Price clarifies, "is skittish?" Ghost hums in assent. "Again, seems on brand." Gaz shrugs. "No it's definitely a ghost," Soap says, scrunching his nose at the cards on the table. "For the love of God Johnny just take the fucking river." Ghost snaps when he pokes the run.

You're trying again. Third times the charm. You're not going to get scared off by your husband or his dick again. You're a married women, you've seen it, he's put it inside you, there's nothing to be scared of.

So what's the clench in your stomach when you climb onto your husband tonight? The heat on your skin? When you heavy and feel him press between your thighs, nestled tight against your pussy, why do you rock your hips ever so slightly against him? Why does it feel good?

You let out a soft whine, feeling the way the fabric of the blanket catches against your clit. The cotton rubbing at your slit isn't entirely unpleasant. It's been so long since you had anyone- anything- touch you. You've never had the courage to touch yourself, it wasn't proper, but-

But this is your husband. He's taken his pleasure from you enough times, you don't see why you shouldn't do the same with him.

You rock your hips against the blanket, grind down onto your husband's cock. It feels good. You settle your hands on his chest, feel the muscle twitch under your palms, and use the leverage to rock against him a little harder. The movement of your hips shifts the blanket, makes it roll and twist so you have new textures to grind against. Each little motion catches you in a way that shivers heat through you. You drop your head forwards, breathing through the jolts of pleasure.

Your pussy burns with heat, eager, drooling, sensitive to the limited attention you give it. You hum, your brows pinching together. The friction is just at the edge of what you want. There's something missing from the soft scratch of fabric.

Until it finally slides off and you wet folds slide over the soft skin of your husband's bare cock. Your breath hitches. He's so warm. You slide against him so nicely, his cock parting your folds as you grind against it, simple friction. Your clit nudges against the head, the back and forth rocking of your hips dragging his foreskin back. You can feel the coarse hair tickling your skin, the wetness that spills from you making what you're sure are blond curls darker, you want to look but you can't stop your hips for long enough to tug at your skirt.

The twitch of his cock under you should worry you, but you're too focused on the need thrumming between your legs. You feel desperate, aching for something you can't put a name to. Your hips move almost without thought, searching for that quick catch of a spark against your clit that makes you clench around nothing. Each drag of your pussy enforces the empty feeling in you, makes you swallow down the soft noises that seem to drip from your lips as quickly as slick drips from your folds.

You don't care when big hands grab your hips, holding you down tighter against your husband's cock, grinding you exactly how you need with practiced movements. All the weight you'd gained on the hour seems pointless, discarded easily by the hands that pull you back and forth. Your breath hitches, your lips pouting as you whimper and whine. Your husband's tip drags a focused path between your folds, your grinding concentrated on the part of him that seems as wet as you are.

"Tha's it baby," A low voice growls in the dark, "take wha' ya need."

You nod, rolling your hips with the guiding hands. His thumbs rub at your hips, silently rolling your skirt up into the palms that grip you. You feel when the air hits your bare skin. You steal the moment to watch the slide of your husband's cock between your legs. God.

Your brows draw together, your head tipping as your eyes glue to the movement of the ruddy head. It glistens with your slick, drooling against your husband's stomach, making the hair dark. Had your husband's cock always looked like that? More appealing than grotesque. It's not scary in the least.

Your head feels fuzzy, your skin hot. Your legs shake and your breath comes quick. Your stomach clenches tight and you feel the hands shift, tipping your hips to focus the attention on your clit. It feels tingly and sensitive, too much and not enough all at once until it's exactly what you were chasing.

You feel yourself clench, your muscles winding up only to unwind in a sudden burst. Your stomach flutters, looking for something to grip as you're worked against your husband's cock. It's all wet and warm, you make a noise you've never heard before as your vision goes blurry. Your nails rake over your husband's chest as you try to find purchase against the wave of wave of pleasure that washes over you.

The hands keep moving you and your lashes flutter. Everything is hot and slick, and you jerk when your clit is dragged against his cock. It feels like a crack runs through you, like splintering to feel his hands tighten on your hips.

Hands.

You look at your husband, meet the black eyes that watch you. Your heart batters against your ribs. You can feel flames licking at your skin, your shame and anger flaring. You press your hands to your face and scream. Your husband's eyes go wide.

Blood trickles onto the white pillowcase.

You feel the hard yank back to the ether just as you see white paint the red marks on his chest.

Ghost wiggles the finger in his ear, trying to get the ringing to stop. Christ this is a bother. Medical was useless, told him what he already knew: burst eardrum. "Cannae tell me a dream did tha'!" Soap waves a hand at Ghost's chest. The scratches you'd left definitely seem like proof of... something. "Could've done that to 'imself." Gaz reasons, picking up a card from the center and putting it on his pile. "What?" Ghost tries to keep his voice at its normal volume. "Said you're fucking 'aunted." Price tells him, raising his voice. Ghost grunts, taps a card against the table before picking up the last two in the center. "Scopa." "Aye 'e isnae listening," Soap shakes his head. "He can't hear mate," Gaz huffs, a poor attempt at disguising his laugh. Ghost glares. Ok, so maybe he was a little haunted.

😭😭 this was so cute and needed!!

don't look back in anger — gojo satoru.

“They have no right, my love.” you say, trying to keep your voice steady but failing. “After everything you’ve done, everything you’ve given—how dare they blame you?” Satoru doesn’t look at you, his bright blue eyes half-lidded, fixed somewhere distant. His signature smirk is missing, replaced by an unfamiliar stillness. “It’s not surprising, baby.” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. “They always need someone to blame. KIlling the higher ups is just a step. The rot still exists from some people’s thinking, you know?”

GENRE: post hidden - inventory arc (2010s)

WARNING/S: spoilers for chapter 269 of jjk, domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 3k words.

NOTE: i decided to write this really REALLY fast before uni because i can't stop thinking about how angry i am that satoru isn't being mentioned in the latest chapters. and i just needed to let this out. thank you a lot for reading it though!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

IT’S ONLY BEEN A DAY OR TWO SINCE THE BATTLE. But you hover over your husband so constantly that you can’t help but notice the subtle signs—he’s doing his best to be patient with you.

Satoru’s usually the one with the infinite calm, the one who never loses his cool. But every time you adjust his blanket, offer him water, or check in on how he’s feeling, you catch the slightest flicker of exasperation behind those brilliant blue eyes.

He never says anything, of course. Instead, he smiles at you, that teasing grin of his that you know too well. But you can feel it in the way his gaze lingers just a bit too long, in the way his shoulders tense every time you fuss over him. He’s trying to bear it without complaint—because he knows you’re only worried—but it’s there.

“You’re doing it again,” Satoru finally says, a playful edge to his tone, though you catch the weariness underneath.

You blink, momentarily taken aback. “Doing what?”

He chuckles softly, his voice low. “You know what. Hovering.”

Your lips press together in a thin line, knowing he’s right but not willing to back down. “I just want to make sure you’re okay,” you say, trying to keep the defensiveness out of your voice.

“I’m fine,” he replies, his smile softening. “Really. You don’t have to worry so much.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, unconvinced. “You’re still recovering. Let me worry.”

“I know.” He reaches out, taking your hand in his. “But if you keep this up, you’re going to drive yourself crazy. And me.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugs at your lips. “You? Crazy? Impossible.”

Satoru laughs, shaking his head. “Even I have my limits, you know.”

You lean back slightly, loosening your grip on him, but not without a lingering glance. “Alright, alright. I’ll try to give you some space. But just a little.”

He smirks, a hint of his usual mischief returning. “Just enough to let me breathe, maybe?”

You roll your eyes, but the tension between you eases, the moment settling into something lighter. Still, you can’t help but keep a watchful eye on him, even as you pull back. It’s in your nature to worry—and Satoru knows it.

The ride home from Jujutsu High is thick with tension, the echoes of the conversations from earlier still gnawing at you. Megumi walks beside you, his silence mirroring your own frustration.

The meeting had been a circus of finger-pointing and thinly veiled accusations, and even though Satoru wasn’t there, his name was dragged through the mud as if he had been. Blame for Yuji, blame for the crumbling system—everyone needed a scapegoat, and as usual, they chose Satoru.

By the time you reach the Gojo manor, you’re seething. You can’t shake the bitterness from the gathering—their condescending tones, the way they talked about Satoru like he was a liability instead of the reason half of them were still alive. As though being the strongest changes the fact that your husband is a breathing human being. 

In the view of the water gardens, it was peaceful. And yet all at once, a storm brewed inside of you. You and Satoru sit together in the quiet, as you have been for the past few days now. But unlike these past few days, the view does not make you feel calm and at peace at all.

Instead, your irritation is palpable, your fingers drumming impatiently on the armrest of the chair. Gojo Satoru lies next to you, still recovering, his usual vibrancy dampened by both physical exhaustion and the heavy burden of blame. The weight of jujutsu society’s accusations presses down on the room, though none of them are here to face him.

Across the room, Fushiguro Megumi stands silently, arms crossed, watching you both. He’s fully aware of the anger simmering just beneath the surface, not just at the accusations, but at the complete disregard for Satoru's sacrifices. If anything, he’s just as angry. But he knew better than to say anything. Especially knowing that you were angry. It was better at that point that someone was focused on remaining calm. Otherwise, it would be hellfire. And there was none needed, just after defeating the King of Curses. 

Yet, you both can’t help but feel how deeply it stings. It was ever so easy for everyone in your  world to just forget everything, to not acknowledge what your Satoru has done, reducing him to the villain, the perpetrator of the entire suffering of the Jujutsu world, just because he refused to follow an unjust order—to execute Yuji Itadori, a child caught in forces far beyond his control. 

Just because he could not stop powerful curses and cursed users from doing things that your husband would not have had any knowledge about. Your husband couldn’t have predicted thousand year old cursed users and their greed would do something like this to your world. How is it your husband’s fault, that the rot had gotten that deep in Jujutsu society either? 

You glance at Satoru’s pale face, his breathing still slightly labored. The hurt in your chest deepens, anger mixing with a fierce protectiveness. How could they not see what he’s gone through, what he continues to endure for the sake of others? All you can think is how none of them truly understand what it means to stand at his side, to witness the toll this cursed world takes on him every single day.

The quiet hum of the room feels suffocating, the weight of your frustration finally spilling over. You turn to Satoru, your voice sharp, but layered with concern. You just can’t help it, when it comes to him. You were always so protective of him, even all those years ago. Because if you would not do it, who would? Who would take his side and give such devotion, as equal as his own? Your husband isn’t the type to explain himself, nor is he someone that would let anyone know what he truly feels. He doesn’t think he has to. He does not care.

“They have no right, my love.” you say, trying to keep your voice steady but failing. “After everything you’ve done, everything you’ve given—how dare they blame you?”

Satoru doesn’t look at you, his bright blue eyes half-lidded, fixed somewhere distant. His signature smirk is missing, replaced by an unfamiliar stillness. “It’s not surprising, baby.” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. “They always need someone to blame. KIlling the higher ups is just a step. The rot still exists from some people’s thinking, you know?”

“But it shouldn’t be you.” you snap, louder this time. You catch Megumi shifting slightly in his spot, his expression unreadable, though the tension in his stance suggests he’s just as frustrated as you are. “You know you aren’t to blame for their ills.”

“They want things to stay the same, Gen–san.” Megumi finally speaks up, his tone controlled but edged with bitterness. “Blaming Gojo-sensei is easier than facing their own failures.”

You clench your fists. “They forget that he’s human. That you—” Your words choke off. You can’t bring yourself to say it. It feels like admitting too much. “It’s just not right.”

Satoru lets out a breath, a soft chuckle following it. “I don’t care what they think. I did what I believed in. I wasn’t going to kill Yuji. He deserves better than that. And... he’s a kid. Just like ‘gumi. I don’t... I don’t have the heart to... you know what I mean.”

His voice falters slightly at the end, and you catch something in his expression that makes your chest tighten. It's rare for Satoru to let his guard down like this, to even hint at the weight he carries, but you can see it now—just for a second, the flicker of doubt, the exhaustion behind those sharp blue eyes.

“You did the right thing,” you say, your voice softer now, though the anger still simmers beneath. “Yuji’s not a tool to be discarded. He’s just a boy.”

Satoru nods, his gaze distant. “Yeah, a boy thrown into the worst situation imaginable. Just like ‘gumi was. Like Yuta was. I couldn’t... I wouldn’t make him pay for their mistakes. I’ve seen what this world does to people like him.”

There’s a heaviness in his words, the unspoken memories of everything he’s witnessed, everything he’s tried to protect the kids from. You know how much it eats at him—how deeply he cares, even if he hides it behind his usual bravado. And as much as he pretends to shrug it off, the toll is evident in moments like this, when his façade cracks ever so slightly.

You step closer, unable to keep the frustration out of your voice. "And you deserve better than this," you retort quickly, anger flaring in your chest again. "You’ve given them everything, and they give nothing back. They act like you’re just another tool for them to use, like you don’t have a heart. And I’m just so angry….”

Satoru finally turns his head, the faintest glimmer of his usual self creeping into his eyes as he looks at you. “Hey, baby.” he says softly, his voice gentler now. “You know I’m not doing this for their thanks. I’m doing it for the kids, for you. For Satoshi. So we’ll be happy.”

You blink, trying to swallow the anger that lingers. “I know that.” you say quietly. “But I can’t stand watching them tear you apart.”

Megumi walks closer, his arms still crossed, a firm resolve in his expression. “We won’t let them, Gen–san. Don’t worry.”

Satoru chuckles again, the sound a little lighter this time. “You two…huh…” He looks between you and Megumi, his tired eyes softening. “Always so serious. So Zen’in, the two of you. Stop frowning. You’ll end up with wrinkles. Believe me, it’s fine. They’ll come around. And if they don’t—well, it’s not the first time I’ve pissed off people, you know?”

His attempt at humor falls flat, the usual brightness behind his words missing. But the effort doesn’t go unnoticed—it tugs at your heart, a bittersweet reminder of how hard Satoru tries to keep things light, even when the world around him is anything but. You can see it in the subtle shift of his shoulders, the slight downward tilt of his head. He’s tired, more than he’ll ever admit, and though he brushes it off with a smile or a joke, the weight of it all is still there—quiet, invisible, but crushing.

Despite everything—despite the accusations, the blame, the endless expectations placed on him—Satoru is still trying to carry the burden alone. It’s always been like this with him, hasn’t it? He wears his strength like armor, his humor like a shield, always standing tall so no one else has to bear the load. But in moments like this, when his defenses slip just a little, you can see the cracks. And it breaks your heart.

You reach out, your movements slow and deliberate, as if any sudden gesture might make him retreat back into that impenetrable shell of his. Your hand finds his, and you gently intertwine your fingers with his, grounding both of you in the simple connection. He doesn’t pull away; instead, he lets out a soft breath, the tension in his body loosening ever so slightly.

“Satoru,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, “you don’t have to carry this alone. You know that, right?”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at your hands, your fingers laced together, and there’s something raw in his expression—something vulnerable that he usually hides behind that ever-present grin.

“I know,” he finally says, his voice quieter than usual. “But sometimes... it’s hard to let anyone else help. I’m used to being the one who fixes things.”

You squeeze his hand a little tighter, your heart aching at the quiet admission. “You don’t always have to be the one to fix everything. You’ve done more than enough.”

He meets your gaze then, his eyes soft but still carrying the weight of someone who’s been fighting battles far too long on his own. “I’m not so sure about that,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with a rare uncertainty.

You hold his gaze, refusing to let him retreat. “You have. And you don’t have to keep proving yourself, especially not to those people. Let us help you. Let me help you.”

For a moment, Satoru just looks at you, as if he’s weighing your words, letting them sink in. And then, slowly, he nods. It’s small, but it’s a start—a sign that maybe, just maybe, he’ll let you share the weight of the world that’s been pressing down on him for so long.

“They don’t deserve you, my love.” you say, quieter now but no less fierce.

Satoru squeezes your hand lightly, a soft smile finally breaking through the exhaustion on his face. "Maybe not. But you’re stuck with me. Because you deserve me. Like I deserve you."

You hold his hand a little tighter, your gaze softening despite the frustration still simmering beneath the surface. "And I wouldn't have it any other way,my love." you murmur, your voice a little steadier now. Satoru’s warmth is a quiet reassurance, but the sight of him like this—so worn down, so unfairly burdened—fuels the anger you can’t entirely let go of.

Megumi stays quiet for a moment, watching the two of you before finally speaking again. “They won’t stop, all of this.” he says, his voice firm. “They’ll keep pushing this, won’t they? Trying to make him the scapegoat.”

Satoru shrugs, his usual bravado creeping back. “Let them try. I’m not exactly easy to get rid of. Living after all that is proof enough.”

You frown, your frustration bubbling up again. "You shouldn't have to keep proving yourself to them, Satoru. You’ve already sacrificed so much, and they act like none of it matters."

He looks at you with those pale blue eyes that somehow always manage to soften, just for you. “What do you want me to do? Step aside and let them tear down everything I’ve built? Everything you, me, and the students have worked for?”

“No, my love.” you say firmly. “But I don’t want you to bear all this alone. You’ve already done more than anyone could’ve asked for.” You pause, the words catching in your throat before you add quietly, “I just want them to think of you, for once. Not what they want from you.”

Megumi nods in agreement, stepping closer. “They’re too busy looking for someone to blame. And they’ll keep at it until they find a way to pin everything on you.” His blue - green eyes darken slightly, a shadow of his own frustrations showing. “But we won’t let them.”

Satoru sighs, though there’s a flicker of pride in his gaze as he looks at Megumi. “You’ve grown up, Megumi.” 

Megumi raises an eyebrow, his expression flat. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

Satoru chuckles softly, but the sound is laced with exhaustion. “No, you’re not. But you always will be to me, kiddo. And I’m glad I’ve got you two watching my back.” He looks at you again, the smile fading as he speaks more seriously. “But don’t let this consume you. I’ll be fine. They can push, they can complain, but I’ll keep doing what I know is right.”

Your heart aches at his words. His strength is undeniable, but it’s the toll that worries you most. You lean forward, your voice quiet but firm. “We’ll face them together. You’re not alone in this, Satoru. Not anymore. We’re here.”

His eyes soften even more, the weight of your words sinking in. “I know,” he whispers, squeezing your hand gently. “And that’s what makes it worth it.”

For a moment, the anger subsides, replaced by a quiet resolve between the three of you. You won’t let them tear him down. Not while you’re by his side. Not while Megumi is standing strong. Together, you’ll face whatever comes next.

epilogue

Satoru holds your hand for a beat longer, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. But then, in true Gojo Satoru fashion, the somber mood shifts as his signature grin makes a slow return now that you both were finally alone..

“You know, baby....” he says, tilting his head and giving you a playful look. “You’re always swooping in to save me. My knight in shining armor.”

Your eyes widen slightly, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. “What? I—” You open your mouth to protest, but the words stumble over themselves, not quite landing the way you want.

He leans closer, that mischievous gleam in his eyes growing brighter. “Oh yeah, always protecting me from the big, bad sorcerer world. It’s cute, really.”

You feel heat creeping up your neck, spreading quickly to your cheeks. “Satoru, that’s not—”

“What?” he interrupts, his smirk widening as he watches your flustered expression with clear amusement. “I think it’s sweet. I mean, look at you, always worrying about little ol’ me.”

“Little?!” you sputter, trying to keep your composure as he grins down at you. “You’re the most powerful sorcerer alive, you don’t need saving—”

“And yet, and yet!” he drawls, leaning in even closer, his voice low and teasing,.“Here you are, my personal knight in shining armor. Should I start calling you ‘Sir Baby’?”

Your face is on fire now, and you smack his arm lightly. “Satoru, stop!”

He laughs, the sound light and full of mischief, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Oh, come on. Admit it—you like being my hero.”

You narrow your eyes, trying desperately to compose yourself, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “I’m not your hero,” you mutter, though the words come out far less convincing than you’d intended.

Satoru’s grin softens into something more genuine as he leans back, still holding your hand. “Maybe not. But I wouldn’t mind being rescued by you a little more often.”

You blink, caught between the teasing and the sincerity in his voice. “Satoru…”

He winks at you, breaking the moment with a playful shrug. “What can I say? I like having you around. Blushing and all.”

You groan, turning away slightly, but the smile on your face is impossible to hide. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it, don't you?” he replies, completely unfazed, that cheeky grin never leaving his face.

And, despite everything, you can’t help but laugh. “Unfortunately, I do.”

This is gold!!!!!

PLAYBOY. fic masterlist

❥ mdni. various!jjk x fem!reader.

❥ canon divergence but still takes place in the jjk universe.

"let's fuck on that shiny car!"

IN WHICH itadori yuuji is completely whipped by his upperclassman who just came back from suspension.

OR

IN WHICH gojo satoru's favourite student is a playboy model.

WARNINGS!! slight manga spoilers, hardcore smut, mentions of drugs + alcohol, stalking, obsessive behaviour. all characters are aged up (21+)!!

status: ongoing. also available on ao3 and wattpad.

CHAPTERS:

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 001: GOLDEN GIRL.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 002: PINKY PROMISE.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 003: JUICY COUTURE.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 004: SUPERMODEL.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 005: POLARIS.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 006: PRETTY, PRETTIER.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 007: ZENIN NAOYA IS A BOTTOM.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 008: HEARTBEAT.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 009: BILLS, BILLS, BILLS.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 010: WHO RUN THE WORLD? GIRLS.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 011: STAR MODEL.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 012: THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM.

©potassiumivy, 2024. all rights reserved. do not translate / modify / republish my works.

🥵🥵🥵

ミi hear you like magic? i've got a wand and a rabbit!

part one | part two

🍓 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, size kink, virgin!reader, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, some mild second-hand embarrassment perhaps, sex toys, edging, failed masturbation attempts, ghost takes your virginity and also maybe ruins you for literally anybody else ever again

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

The ceiling over your head is drab grey and water-stained, the old paint peeling away in strips. It’s an ugly sight, but you barely see it; you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

The sheets beneath you are uncomfortably damp with your sweat, but you don’t have the energy to roll over just yet. You feel hot and itchy with frustration, and you scowl up at the ceiling above you as your fingers curl into fists. But even though you feel like laying in your now grubby-bedding for the rest of the evening, you can’t let yourself wallow. There’s going to be a knock on your door any minute, and this is not a position you want to be found in.

With an irritable groan, you haul yourself off the bed and to your feet. Your muscles ache and you feel too warm, but you reach for your clothes anyway. The worn cotton of your shirt feels scratchy against your skin, but maybe that’s just because you’re still over-sensitive and irritable.

You can never quite bear to look at the aftermath of what you’d been doing, so you avert your eyes as you gather up the bright silicone and plastic devices littering your mattress. It’s embarrassing now that the adrenaline has worn off and disappointment is beginning to set in, so you end up gathering them all up more roughly than necessary.

The term ‘toy’ seems incongruous to you. It sounds too childish, too immature. It makes you sound like a stupid kid, as though you aren’t a young adult past twenty fumbling your way through sexual self-exploration. It’s embarrassing, and much more frustrating than you ever would have predicted – despite all of your clumsy, desperate attempts at pleasuring yourself, you’ve never quite managed to reach that peak of pleasure you’ve heard other people talking about.

You grumble quietly to yourself as you try to wipe away the sticky lube that’s still coating your thighs. Your muscles are a little achy from all the tensing you’d been doing trying to come with that stupid vibrator, not even accompanied by the satisfaction you had been hoping for.

It’s not as though you’ve never gotten the opportunity to experiment with others; you’re not unforgivably ugly, you don’t think you have a bad personality, and for the past few years you’ve been surrounded by military men that certainly aren’t known for being picky. And it certainly isn’t like you haven’t received your fair share of offers. 

It just never seemed right. You’re not overly concerned about ‘saving’ your virginity or anything like that; it’s just that putting yourself into such a vulnerable position is scary. You’re aware of the irony, of course, that you’d trust many of these people with saving your ass from catching a bullet in the field, but allowing someone to see you so intimately feels like a step too far.

You’re still sweaty and flustered and naked when a knock sounds from your door, and you freeze. The doorknob turns, but doesn’t open; in that moment, you’re deliriously grateful that you had turned the lock – it’s something that you’ve forgotten to do on far too many occasions.

“Lass, you in there?” Oh god, it’s Soap. 

Cursing quietly to yourself, you jolt into action. Your pants are crumpled at the bottom of your bed where you had shed them, and you hurriedly gather them up and struggle your way back into them.

“Gimme a minute!” You yell, praying he doesn’t notice the somewhat frantic edge to your voice.

You stagger slightly as you worm your way into your pants, and then lunge to grab the stupid dildo you’d just been trying to use. You feel your skin prickle with humiliation as you try to force the stupidly large silicone cock into your already full underwear drawer, jamming it shut roughly to hide it from sight. You don’t want to even imagine what Soap might have to say if he were to see what you had been doing; you think you might have to go full deserter mode and abscond into the wilderness.

“Did ye forget about drinks?” Soap’s drawl carries through the thickness of the door. He doesn’t sound even slightly put out – if anything, he sounds a little amused.

You pause, close your eyes, sigh. Fuck. You had not, in fact, forgotten about drinks, you just thought you had more time.

“No, I– just a minute!” You yell back, shoving your shoes on and trying to fix your hair.

You had completely lost track of time, and now you don’t even have time to rinse your sweat-damp skin off – you’re going to have to sit through drinks with the squad all grimy, like a physical reminder of what you had been up to for the last two hours.

When you finally unlock the door and wrench it open, Soap is standing on the other side tapping a staccato rhythm on his thighs with his open palms. He’s dressed casually in just blue jeans and a black muscle shirt, and he gives you a look of semi-disbelief.

“What the hell were you—”

“Gym.” You interrupt, landing on the only explanation you can think of for your sweaty skin and messy hair.

Soap blinks, but apparently decides it’s not worth the effort to continue that line of conversation. He just shrugs, then turns and starts making his way down the hall, slowing his pace for you to catch up.

You exhale; Soap can be like a bloodhound when he suspects there’s gossip to be had, and you’re relieved to have dodged a round of his relentless questioning. You suppose he can be surprisingly tactful sometimes, and he knows you well enough not to press you. Or, perhaps it’s because you come across as such a non-sexual being that  it doesn’t even occur to him that there may be another explanation.

There’s an unofficial tradition that when the squad is on base, everyone gathers in the sparsely decorated recreation room for drinks and card games on Thursday evenings. It usually makes for an enjoyable night; Gaz and Soap can always be trusted to supply whatever bottles of alcohol they’ve managed to get their grubby little hands on, and it’s always amusing to watch Captain Price get increasingly more irate as Soap pretends not to understand the rules of whatever card game they’re playing. The whole illicitness of having contraband on base only makes the whole thing more exciting; the CO’s on base often turn a blind eye to the activity, so long as it’s kept under control.

But tonight, you’re distracted.

The others had offered a bit of good-natured ribbing when you and Soap had turned up late, but before long you’re all settled in a loose circle on the poorly-stuffed couches in the corner of the room. Gaz has already unstoppered a bottle of bourbon, and is attempting to convince a visibly unimpressed Price to play a game of Kings with them. You curl up on one of the worn-out couches opposite them, watching with a small if slightly stiff smile.

The atmosphere is relaxed and pleasant, almost enough to make you forget about the irritating buzz of unfulfilled arousal under your skin. You shift, trying to keep your movements small, subtle, to avoid the notice of your team. Your denim jeans are nowhere near as comfortable as usual, and you wonder briefly if you should have simply worn your cargo pants just to avoid the harsh friction of the denim.

You sit there feeling… unmoored. You fidget, drink your smooth bourbon in sips in an attempt to avoid wincing, and try not to look as obviously out of place as you feel. It’s been like this, recently. Joining the task force has been an accomplishment for you, a source of immense pride – you’re the youngest member (just narrowly beating Gaz for the title) and a woman to boot, and though the squad has never treated you any differently it’s hard to kick the belief that you have something to prove. 

You engage in conversations the best you can, but you’re distracted and you know it must be obvious. Your preoccupation gets you a couple of furrowed brows and glances, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement to give you some space.

You don’t even realise the extent of your distraction until a big body settles down on the loveseat next to you, and you jolt. True to his name, Ghost had appeared near silently, escaping your notice until he lowers himself down to sit next to you.

And damn, you forget how big he is sometimes. It’s an average sized loveseat, but the lieutenant takes up over half of it. He’s obviously being mindful not to consciously crush you, but he’s not being overly cautious when it comes to avoiding touching you. He’s dressed unusually casually, and his thick, muscled thigh is wrapped in blue denim as it presses carelessly against yours. 

“You alright?” He asks, his voice low and smooth as he nudges your knee with one of his big knuckles.

You haven’t been a member of the task force for long, but you would know Simon Riley by his hands alone, by the earthy salt-spice in your nose as he leans a little closer to peer at your face. You tilt your head up, unable to stop the small reflexive smile that breaks over your face at the sight of him.

“Yeah.” You breathe, hurriedly straightening up where you’re sitting. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”

His sudden proximity isn’t doing your current state any favours, and you take a quick sip of your drink in an effort to collect yourself. It’s taking a herculean effort not to stare at the way his biceps are bulging against the straining material of his black cotton t-shirt.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ghost asks as he stretches out his legs with a tired groan. The sound is gruff and gravelly, and you feel blood rush uncomfortably to your cheeks. 

“Nothing.” You say quickly.

He doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious, but Ghost never pushes and he rarely speaks more than he has to. He just gives you a glance, brief and knowing and far more penetrating than it should be, before turning his head back so he can watch the boys playing their card game. He’s holding a crystal tumbler filled with dark amber liquid, but he hasn’t yet pulled his mask up to drink from it.

Your eyes drop to the thick, pale scars that mar the backs of his hands. You trace the path of the scar tissue, eyes lingering around the thick knuckles and broad palms, the way that he holds the glass so casually confidently. He’s got nice hands, probably made all the more attractive by the fact that you hardly ever get to see them. Seeing Ghost without his usual long sleeves and gloves makes you feel like a Victorian pervert snatching stolen glances at a passing lady’s ankles.

A quiet snicker causes your eyes to dart back to his face, and you’re mortified to find that he’s caught you staring.

“What’s got you in such a mood?” He asks. Even through the mask you can tell that he’s smirking, though it doesn’t feel as though he’s making fun of you.

“Just one of those days, I guess.” You say without meeting his eyes.

It’s an evasion at best, but Ghost nods ponderously as though he’s giving this great thought. His stare is penetrating, those big brown eyes watching you as though he can see right through you. Maybe he can. You try not to get too caught up staring at his pale eyelashes, darkened by smears of eyeblack.

“Did something happen?” He asks. The question is casual enough, asked as he lazily swirls his whiskey around in his glass, but his gaze is sharp and assessing.

“No.” You sigh, finally looking properly at him.

It’s a little frustrating, but the squad has been like this with you from the start – protective. Your whole military career has consisted of you veritably clawing your way up through the ranks, and you’ve been surrounded by coarse, gruff men that have underestimated you all your life. 141 is different – they don’t baby you, but the way they treat you is unmistakably softer than how they typically treat each other. The concern can be touching, if a little tiring sometimes.

And maybe it’s because he’s your lieutenant, but Ghost’s attention has always been just this side of overwhelming. It feels like you’re pinned beneath his dark eyes, his gaze somehow sharpened as he watches you from beneath his more casual balaclava, the skull pattern printed on his jaw adding another layer of intimidation. But his shoulders are relaxed as he sits next to you on the small couch, settling the weight of his attention over you like a blanket.

You’ve always respected him, admired him. How could you not? He’s practically a living legend, his reputation larger than life, and he’s scary as fuck. But he’s also softer than you had expected, gentle when he needs to be. He still rides you hard in training, pushing you to your limits and taking no quarter, but you can’t begrudge that. Not when you know he’s working to keep you alive. Perhaps that’s how the attraction had first bloomed; once it started, it was hard to stifle.

Ghost hooks one finger into his balaclava and pulls it up just high enough to expose his mouth, and he presses his glass to his lips to take a sip of his drink. You struggle not to stare like a moron, but he makes it so difficult. His lips are full and pink, and there’s a rugged scar bisecting his top lip. His stubble is dark blond and short, and it doesn’t hide the various scars and marks that decorate his strong jawline. 

You almost jolt when he pulls the mask back down, hurriedly averting your eyes and forcing yourself to look out across the room. It’s not just the 141 that’s decided to take up in the rec room this evening; there are soldiers from other units littered all around the room, laughing and joking, playing lazy games of pool on the table in the corner and smoking. The smoke alarm has been jimmied off the ceiling and the window is open, and even Price is turning a temporary blind eye to the blatant disregard for regulations in favour of puffing on one of his cigars. 

Ghost shifts on the worn-out fabric of the couch, and lays an arm over the back of the headrest behind you. It’s a casual, thoughtless movement, but it ends up pushing his body slightly closer to you in a way that makes you feel as though you’re about to catch fire.

You cross your legs, but the seam of your jeans presses into your pussy in a way that sends a frisson of heat up your spine. You hurriedly uncross your legs, and attempt to school your expression into casual neutrality as you force yourself to tune back into the conversation.

“–ach, c’mon, Captain,” Soap is saying in a wheedling tone that he probably thinks is endearing. “One round of strip poker won’t kill ya–”

“No.” Price says in a voice like thunder, brooking no argument as thick cigar smoke pours from his nose. It gives the impression of an enraged bull.

Soap either is ignorant to the warning, or is choosing to wilfully ignore it. Judging by the sly gleam in his eyes, you can guess which. He turns to you then, and waggles his eyebrows.

“C’mon, lassie, you’ll play, won’t ya?” He asks with a grin that promises trouble. “I guarantee you’ll be a sight better than any o’ these louts.”

“Speak for yourself,” Gaz pipes up, already grinning. “I was looking forward to seeing the Captain in his jocks–”

Price promptly knocks his drink back, before pushing himself up to his feet with a grim groan. “Right. That’s enough of you lot for one night.”

Gaz and Soap break into peals of laughter, settling back into their seats as they watch their captain march away.

“Offer’s still open, love,” Soap says, still snickering when he looks over to you. “Wanna play?”

Ghost shifts, his wide thigh knocking into yours as his arm stretches behind your shoulders. He lets out a short exhale through his nose, but when you glance up at him you find him as stoic and hard to read as always.

You just roll your eyes. It’s not the first time that they’ve tried to rope you into strip poker, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You can always trust Soap to start stripping his clothes off when he’s three drinks in, whether he’s playing a game or not, so it’s not surprising that he tries to involve other people in his bad decision making.

And it’s not a big deal, really. There’s been countless missions and operations that have ended up with all of you staying in uncomfortably close quarters with each other. You’ve seen them naked countless times, and the same with them for you. It’s never meant anything, and you know that Soap’s teasing is exactly that – you don’t think they’ve ever once looked at you through any sexual lens at all.

But even still, the joke flusters you more than it should.

“Think I’ll be joining Cap in going to bed, actually.” You say, clearing your throat and setting your glass down on the low table in front of the couch.

The playful booing from Soap doesn’t do much to change your mind, and you stick out your tongue at him and Gaz as you push yourself up from the couch. You try to ignore the loss of heat at your side when you move away from Ghost, though you can’t help but glance back at the lieutenant. He’s not looking at you, his gaze directed into his glass. You try not to feel disappointed about that.

You say your goodnights, and retreat from the rec room.

By the time you make it back to your dorm however, you’re already playing the conversation back over in your head and wondering if you had made the wrong decision.

Perhaps you should have just played the damn game. Despite your inexperience with all things sexual, you’re not actually all that shy about your body. On missions, you and the squad are often forced into tight quarters, and they've all seen you in various stages of undress before. It's hard to be self-conscious around a group of people that have seen you at your worst, whether that’s soaked in blood, unshowered, sleep-deprived, or injured.

But you were so keyed up from your earlier failed attempts at masturbation that the thought of being so physically exposed in front of your squad is mortifying. It feels as though your unresolved arousal is still simmering through your veins, turning your thoughts slow and soupy and stupid. 

It’s not so surprising. Your preferred method of dealing with stress is coming back to your private bunk and messing around with your vibrator until you’ve forgotten all of your problems. The problem is, you’ve never quite been able to reach that climax you’ve heard so many talk about.

It’s not for lack of trying, and it’s not as though you haven’t come close to that toe-curling finish you crave so much. But it’s like there’s some sort of block, something that always holds you back before you can go plummeting over that edge. Something that makes the buzzing pleasure dissipate before your eyes like smoke, leaving you worked up and so frustrated. It’s probably inevitable that all those ruined finishes have built up like sludge in your veins, leaving you slow and distracted and irritable.

You eye your underwear drawer thoughtfully as you perch on your bed, before reaching inside and drawing out the same dildo you had been using earlier. You wonder if it would be too much to try again tonight – the muscles in your calves still feel a little bit over-worked from training all day, and you have a feeling that straining in an attempt to reach an orgasm you’ll likely never attain will only make it worse.

But the thought of Ghost in that stupid tight cotton shirt stays firmly stuck in your mind, and that really makes the decision for you. Before you can think too much about it, you’re sliding your jeans off and climbing atop your mattress. The sheets are dirty anyway, after all. May as well have some fun before you change them.

You slide your panties off next, then kick them to the side. It’s difficult not to feel a little pathetic, but you push those feelings aside. So what if you have an embarrassing little crush on a superior officer? It’s not like that’s unusual within the military, and you’re quite certain that dealing with all that unresolved attraction like this is the most sensible thing you can do.

You fish out the bottle of lube you had been using earlier, and drizzle it liberally along the dildo’s length before setting it aside on the blanket. While you’ve used your dildo plenty of times, you still struggle to grow accustomed to the stretch of it. It’s a good dildo – a vibrating one in the rabbit style, designed to stimulate your g-spot and clit at the same time. It was damn expensive too, but it’s one luxury you’re willing to indulge in.

You close your eyes, slide it between your legs, and hit the power button. A low bzzz emanates from between your thighs; you jerk at the immediate barrage of pleasure, your abs tightening and your legs twitching apart, creating more room between them.

Your body is quick to react, sweat prickling under your armpits and your heart thudding quickly in your chest. You can feel electric pleasure coursing through you as you press it against your clit, your toes curling into your sheets.

You bring the vibrator lower, your clit throbbing a little at its sudden absence before you press it inside, sighing. It slips inside much too easily – you’re almost embarrassed by the easy slide. You’re so wet, both from your failed attempt at masturbation earlier and from sitting beside Simon fucking Riley all evening. It’s a deeper, subtler pleasure now, and you clench around it with a quiet moan. 

You cycle through the vibrator’s different settings, making it buzz at odd intervals or lower intensities in your usual attempt to build up an orgasm. You wish, with sudden and mortifying clarity, that it could be replaced with a person. More specifically, a person with big hands and firm muscles that still have some soft give to them, and a toe-curlingly gravelly voice.

You squirm, shifting your hips to change the angle of the vibrator inside you. Without meaning to, you imagine Ghost. It’s hard not to, considering your close proximity to him all evening. Your cheeks heat as you imagine Ghost actually being here, watching you all still and silent with that penetrating dark-eyed stare of his. 

You huff out a breath, arching off your bed. This is always the best part. You have to ensure that you relish the build up, before it all fizzles out from between your fingers. You whimper, soft and quiet, clenching around the stiff silicone as it buzzes away inside of you.

Right as you press the soft little vibrating bunny ears to your clit, there’s a knock on the door. Then, horrifically, like a scene from your fucking nightmares, your door opens.

“Kid, you–”

Ghost is already half-way through the door when he lays eyes on you, and then he goes completely still in your doorway.

“Fuck.” You hiss, scrambling to knock the stupid thing off. 

You fumble for it, panicking. The end is slippery and you can barely manage to grip it. When you finally do, it’s difficult to pull out, your body still attempting to hold it inside. It’s another agonising few seconds to turn it off, the vibrator unfortunately featuring one of those awfully thought-out designs that makes you have to cycle through every single one of the settings rather than hit an off-switch.

And then, finally, silence.

Ghost is living up to his name right now; he’s as stock still and silent as a dead man, stiff as a board as he stares unblinkingly at you. You’re not even sure that he’s breathing, but you can see the whites of his eyes as he gapes at you, frozen.

You stare back at him blankly, hoping that your bed comes to life and swallows you whole just to put an end to your mortification.

At last, Ghost blinks, then finishes his sentence. “You left your phone.”

He lifts his arm. In his large, thick fist, is your stupid goddamn phone. You must have left it on the couch when you had gotten up to leave. You might have wondered at the lieutenant voluntarily bringing it to your dorm for you, but you’re hit with a wave of humiliation so strong that it wipes your brain completely blank.

“Ah.” You say, and your voice cracks. “Thanks.”

There’s a moment of mortifying silence, and then Ghost steps into your room. Your heart jolts right up into the base of your throat as he closes your door behind him. The click of the door is as loud as a gunshot in the silence that’s settled over the room.

Ghost still hasn’t blinked. He’s watching you with eyes that look almost black in the dim light of your room, intense as a predator. 

“I–” You attempt to speak, and your throat clicks dryly. “I didn’t–”

Far too late, you realise that your legs are still splayed open. You snap them shut, inhaling a choked breath through your nose.

“I thought I locked the door.” You finish lamely. 

Ghost apparently decides to simply disregard that, which you’re honestly a little grateful for. Instead he steps towards you – the enormous bulk of him feels as though he’s completely filling every bit of space in the room, sucking out all the damn oxygen.

“...‘S this why you were so distracted this evening, hm?” He says as he approaches the bed. “You were in a mood ‘cause you wanted to get back to playing with yourself?”

It’s not a question, exactly. At least, it’s not phrased like one. Ghost’s tone is knowing, with an undertone of gruff amusement. You’re certain that you’re not imagining the rough, breathless quality to his voice either, though the thought sends nerves fizzing through your bloodstream.

“No.” You deny uselessy; it’s plainly obvious what you were doing, after all. “No, I just–”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish. His eyes are still glued to you, even though your thighs are now pressed together. Before you can stop him, he reaches down and takes a hold of your hot pink vibrator where you had been trying to hide it beneath your thigh.

“Cute little thing.” He comments, tilting his head to look at the dildo hanging between his thick fingers.

Mortification burns through you. A panicked sort of screech escapes you and you yank it back out of Ghost’s stupid big hand, shoving it under the blankets. 

Perhaps if it had been anyone else, your humiliation wouldn’t be burning quite so intensely. But this is Ghost – your lieutenant, the gruff man that you’ve looked up to ever since you joined the task force. He’s not a man famed for his patience, nor for his eloquence, which is making this situation all the more unbearable.

“Lt,” You wheeze, scrambling to sit up and cover your pussy with your hands as you squeeze your legs closed. “I swear I didn’t– I’m sorry–”

But Ghost doesn’t seem interested in your apologies. He’s still watching you as though he can see right through the damn blanket, as though he’s measuring you up and trying to come to a decision about something. In that moment, you hate your reaction to him – no matter how humiliating this situation is, you want him to approve of you, even now.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He grunts, and then he sits down on your bed.

You gape at him. It feels as though your brain has stalled; you’re pretty sure you’re not reacting correctly right now. You probably should have screamed when the lieutenant walked right into your room without knocking. That surely would have sent him straight back out again. And even now, you should probably be ordering him out, telling him to leave. 

But you don’t.

“I was.. um.. finished anyway.” You manage to croak out. You sound so pathetic that you nearly make yourself cringe.

Ghost doesn’t answer immediately. He just watches you, his eyes as dark as ever beneath the mask. For a moment, you think he’s not going to answer at all.

But then he says, “Didn’t look like you finished to me.”

Blood rushes to your face so quickly that it makes you light-headed as you catch his meaning. Oh, what the fuck. This is just adding salt to the wound now.

“I wasn’t trying to–” You start, then cut yourself off. “That’s not why I was– I was just trying to relax.”

In the ensuing silence, you realise how silly you sound. At the very least, Ghost doesn’t laugh; he just tilts his head to the side, consideringly.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– sir–”

“Let me see, sergeant.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Ghost’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You have room to refuse. You could tell him to get out of your dorm right now, and he’d do it. Knowing the lieutenant, he’d never bring it up again, either.

You drop your knees apart, spreading your thighs in an unpracticed, self-conscious sort of motion. 

Under the lieutenant’s sharp gaze, your skin prickles and your nerves strain. Even sitting down on your bed, he’s a veritable behemoth of broad shoulders and thick corded muscle. His hulking form towers over you even now, and you feel so damn small as you lay there propped up against your pillows in nothing but a t-shirt.

Ghost has seen you naked before, obviously. You can’t afford to be prudish in the military, where you never know when you’ll next have true privacy, and you’ve changed out and showered with the squad countless times. It’s never meant anything, and the men in 141 have never made you feel anything less than comfortable with them.

This, however, is different. This isn’t just a case of catching a quick glimpse of your nude form as you shower in the group shower rooms when you’re out on missions – your whole damn pussy is out on display for him, still glistening wet and sticky from your ministrations and the lube you’d used.

Ghost’s inhale is as loud as a thunderclap. You’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable in another person’s presence. You feel a little ridiculous laying like this as he watches you, but another part of you feels so humiliatingly desperate for some kind of approval from your lieutenant. 

At first, that approval is nowhere to be found. Ghost is notoriously difficult to read, and you’re beginning to sweat as you lay there waiting for a response – any response.

At last, he makes a noise. It’s part grunt, part hum, and part groan.

“You’re still wet, sergeant.”

Are you imagining it, or is his voice an octave deeper than usual? 

Your eyes trace his face, trying to imagine what he looks like beneath the mask. You can see the suggestion of his nose, the square curve of his jaw. His darkened eyes are watching you so carefully that you feel as though you’re physically being pinned in place.

You swallow. “It’s just– I–”

“You didn’t get to finish.” Ghost interrupts, with the air of completing your sentence for you. 

You try to speak, but nothing more than a strangled sort of murmur escapes. You swallow hastily, then try again.

“I wasn’t going to. Sir.” You tack on the title at the end as an afterthought, but this whole situation is so far beyond professional that you probably needn’t have bothered. “Finish, I mean. I… I never do.”

You’ve admitted it before you can really think about it, and then you regret it wildly. You can’t help but wonder if you’ve overstepped a boundary, but then again the boundaries are currently so blurred that they’re virtually impossible to discern.

“You never finish.” Ghost repeats it. Slowly, staring right at your face, as though he’s confirming what you’ve just said. 

It sounds so much worse in his deep, gravelly voice.

Embarrassment blooms, thick and sickly in your stomach. Your legs start to twitch closed, too embarrassed to be having this conversation with your cunt bared like this, but then Ghost’s big paw of a hand reaches out to settle over your knee, keeping you open and exposed. It’s so rare to see his hands ungloved, and the bare skin of his callous-roughened hand feels almost scorching hot against your inner knee.

“I don’t– I’ve tried,” You say, and you can’t help but feel as though you’re just digging yourself further into a hole, here. “But I don’t– I’m not able to. I mean, I’ve come close, I’m just not able to… you know.”

You trail off lamely, feeling like the biggest fucking loser ever. Why are you telling him this? Why the fuck haven’t you reacted properly, and kicked him the hell out of your room?

Deep down, a shameful little part of you already knows the answer to that. You’re feeling awfully, sickeningly hopeful. Having Lieutenant Riley in your dorm, sitting on your bed and staring so hungrily at the wet, swollen parts between your legs feels like something out of your wildest wet dreams.

His eyes flick towards your pink silicone rabbit dildo, half-hidden under your blanket, and he grunts consideringly before reaching out and taking it into his hands again. It’s standard-size, but it looks small in his big hands.

“You ain’t doin’ it right, then.” He says, so bluntly that you just blink at him. “Show me how you use it.”

For a brief, wild moment, you wonder if you’re experiencing visual and auditory hallucinations right now. Surely you can’t really be experiencing this right now – and yet the lieutenant is still watching you, and you’ve never disobeyed a direct order before. 

He hands you the vibrator, then waits expectantly.

And… well. All you ever try to do is impress him. 

You shuffle your legs open a little wider, ignoring the flustered heat that scalds your cheeks. You’ve never been all exposed like this in front of another person, and the weight of Ghost’s eyes on you is reminiscent of being under a spotlight.

You swear his eyes darken even further when you press the stiff silicone rabbit dildo to your cunt, if it’s even possible for that gaze to get darker beneath the thick balaclava and eyeblack smeared over the narrow strip of skin that’s visible.

The dildo sinks in so easily that it’s almost embarrassing, and your breath catches both from the stretch and the way Ghost leans in a little closer to see. Far from turning you off, you feel your body throb in response to his proximity, and your cunt flutters pathetically around the plastic toy. You shift, attempting to get a little more comfortable, but you can’t dispel the nerves fizzing in your blood as you attempt to push the dildo a little deeper under Ghost’s sharp gaze.

His big, hulking body is so perfectly still as he watches you that it’s making you a little nervous. The only reaction that you get from him is a small, considering hum, but even then you can’t figure out what it means. Your movements are a little clumsy, so hyper-conscious that he’s watching every single thing you do that you end up fumbling a little. He’s looking at you in the same way he assesses threats, his intense dark eyes examining every movement and reaction you make. It makes you feel small and jittery, especially when you realise that he’s judging you by what you’re doing.

“You gonna turn it on?” He asks, and oh god his voice has definitely dropped lower and huskier. You know you’re not imagining it. 

You can’t even bring yourself to respond with words. You just make a strangled sort of sound of agreement, then clumsily hit the on button. The toy buzzes to life once more, and your toes curl absent-mindedly into the sheets as the soft silicone bunny ears pulse against your clit.

It feels nice, but you can’t manage to concentrate on the feeling. Hyper-aware of Ghost’s attention, you let out a quiet moan as you shift the vibrator inside you. It’s a little exaggerated, but you can’t help it – you feel like you should be putting on some kind of a show. 

You glance back at Ghost’s face, trying to guess what he’s thinking; even through the mask, you can tell that he’s frowning. You feel your stomach clench anxiously. Have you done something wrong?

“This how you usually do it?” He asks.

You swallow thickly, feeling a bit stupid. “Um.. yeah.”

Ghost grunts. He doesn’t sound impressed.

“No wonder you can’t come.” He says wryly.

You go still, eyes widening. In the silence, the bzzzzt! of your stupid vibrator is louder than ever. A sudden wave of shame washes over you, and you start to close your legs again in an effort to block the sight of the toy stuffed into your pussy.

“Oh,” You snap sourly, your embarrassment making you irritable. “So you’re the pussy expert now?”

That startles a loud bark of a laugh out of the lieutenant, a sound so rare that you find yourself desperately trying to commit it to memory.

“Think I might know a bit more than you, sweetheart.” He says. He’s relaxed now, his wide shoulders rolling back. He’s always so effortlessly confident, always so assured in himself and his abilities in a way that makes you feel like a silly little girl. 

Judging by the way the corners of his eyes are just slightly wrinkled beneath the mask, Ghost is smirking at you. He finds this funny.

“What about when you’re with other people, hm?” He asks, and his eyes drop back down to try and get a look at you again. When he realises that your legs are clamped tight together, he reaches out to guide your thighs apart again. “No one’s ever impressed you?”

His hands are big and rough and hot, and your willpower crumbles like wet paper as you allow him to open your legs all over again. The vibrator is still buzzing sadly inside you, mostly forgotten about; the stimulation is nice, but it’s never been enough for you.

You huff a weak laugh. You should have known that this would come up, and now you find yourself floundering a little.

“No one’s ever tried.” The confession comes out like a whisper, like a secret.

You can see the moment Ghost understands; realisation settles heavy over him like a physical weight, and the whites of his eyes flash as they widen just slightly. For a moment, he says nothing at all. He doesn’t move – it doesn’t even look like he breathes. 

“No?” He says, except it doesn’t really sound like a question. It sounds rough, and you can feel the almost convulsive motion of his fingers tightening around your knee. 

You shake your head wordlessly, beyond embarrassed now.

Ghost’s wispy blond eyelashes flutter softly as his eyes dart down to your pussy, still humiliatingly stuffed with your stupid little vibrator. He takes a moment to stare, then looks back up to your face. He’s so frustratingly confident about everything he does, not an ounce of shame in his posture even as you wilt beneath him.

“Never messed around with anybody?”

“No.” You say, and it comes out on a wheeze. He holds your gaze without faltering, and you realise that he’s expecting you to elaborate. “No, I– it just never happened. I was never… um, I was just always too busy, I guess.”

“Too fussy, more like.” He mutters, quiet enough that it seems like it’s a comment meant just for himself. You don’t know how to take that, so you chew your lip and stay quiet.

His eyes drop down to the vibrating dildo again, and you recognise something that looks like a flash of hunger. It feels like there’s pressure building up beneath your skin, tight and hot, and your thighs fall open a little further. You feel raw and so, so exposed, but you don’t even care when Ghost is looking at you like that.

“Let me try.” He says, the words falling out sharp and harsh as though he they’ve burst out of his mouth before he can stop them. It’s not like Ghost to speak without thinking it through, perfectly calculated, and your breath catches a little at the offer.

How could you ever say no to that? You don’t really think that he’s going to succeed in making you come – at this point you’re pretty sure your body is a little bit broken and you’re just not capable of orgasming at all, and that’s whatever – but the chance to get fucked by Ghost? To lose the lingering vestiges of your viriginity to your ridiculously hot, mysterious, massive lieutenant? It’s like something out of a dream.

“Okay.” You choke out, nodding stupidly. “Yeah.”

You want to be touched. You don’t think you’ve ever actually felt the yearning for physical contact this strongly in your life; you’re practically holding your breath as you wait for Ghost to make a move.

Finally, he reaches out. His first move is to pull the stupid little dildo out of you, still vibrating, and you feel yourself clench convulsively around nothing as he leaves you empty and wanting. He spares it a brief, evaluating glance, and you feel yourself burn as you realise he’s examining how you’ve soaked the toy.

He tosses it to the side, barely even taking the time to switch it off first, then turns his attention back to you. He’s got that same kind of laser-focus he usually only gets out on the field, and you take a moment to feel incredibly grateful that you’re never going to be on the receiving end of that terrifying scrutiny on the battlefield.

It feels like your skin is too tight for your body, every nerve and synapse strained and primed as you wait for him to touch you. But he’s slow about it, as though he just wants to torture you a little bit. 

When he finally reaches out to lay his hands on you, he doesn’t touch where you want him to.

His callous-roughened hands land on your hips, and pull you down the bed towards him. In the same move, he half-climbs up on the mattress, his huge form practically dwarfing you. Your head and shoulders are still cushioned by your pillows, but your legs are splayed open around Ghost where he kneels on your bed.

You glance down, unable to help yourself, unable to resist trying to catch a look at the outline of his erection pressing against his trousers, and oh. Fuck. He’s big. You knew he’d be big, of course, he’s big all over, but Jesus Christ, maybe you’re a little out of your own depth here–

His thick fingers tangle in the hem of your t-shirt, stretching the fabric out. “Take this off.”

You scramble to do as he says, grabbing at your top and pulling it up clumsily. You realise a moment too late that you’re not wearing a bra, but you suppose at this point it hardly matters. You drop your shirt to the side, and try not to feel too horrifically self-conscious beneath the burning hot gaze of the lieutenant.

Though you can’t see Ghost’s face, you can hear the soft exhale he blows out through his nose, just faintly muffled by the fabric of his mask. His eyes are trained on your chest, darting between each of your tits as though he can’t decide which one to settle on. After a long moment, he reaches forward and cups your left tit with one of his enormous hands, thumbing absently at one of your nipples.

It’s silly; Ghost has touched you before. Lots of times. A nudge of the elbow accompanied by a conspiratorial eye roll, a clap to the shoulder, rough hands pulling you to your feet after training or applying white-hot painful pressure to injuries. But this – you’ve never been touched like this before, not by Ghost, not by anyone.

The shaky breath you let out as his big, rough thumb rolls over your firm nipple comes out as a strangled sort of moan that honestly startles you a little. The noise catches his attention, and he snorts.

“Can’t be that sensitive.” He mutters, but then he reaches to thumb at your other nipple as though trying to be sure.

It’s because you’ve never been touched like this by another person before, you tell yourself. Truthfully, you’ve never even touched yourself like this before. You’ve never bothered to play with your own tits; you’ve always just gone straight to breaking out your vibrators. Now, with every brush of Ghost’s scarred fingers over the tight bud of your nipples, you think you must have been crazy to skip over this part of yourself. But then again, there’s no way that your own hands on yourself would elicit the same sharp jolt that shoots from your breasts down your spine.

“Sir–” You breathe, struggling not to squirm where you’re laying. You wonder, somewhat deliriously, if it might be rude to demand your lieutenant stuff his thick fingers into your pussy. You can already tell that they’re going to feel so much better than your own.

Ghost glances up at you, his eyes unreadable as he watches you bite at your lip. God, his little wispy eyelashes are so blond—

“What?” He says, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Say it.”

“Want to try your fingers.” You breathe before you can second-guess yourself. 

The laugh that rumbles out of Ghost’s chest is low and smoky. It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, so big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. You’ve witnessed those hands crack bones and snap necks and break down doors, and yet you can’t help but wonder desperately what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.

He adjusts himself on the bed; he’s a big man, hulking and huge as he kneels on your mattress, his weight causing it to dip. His palms wrap around your ankles with ease, and he hauls you into place with a grim efficiency that goes straight to your pussy.

“Big brute.” You say, a little breathlessly.

He ignores you, using his arms to hold your legs open and wide for him. And all you can do is just lie there as he stares, because goddamn it’s like he’s been carved from steel and you can’t break out of his grip. Not that you want to break out of his grip anyway, but you’d really appreciate it if he actually got moving instead of just staring.

“Fuck,” He grunts after a moment, with the air of talking to himself. “Been hiding this all this time, huh?”

“Jesus.” You breathe in response, subconsciously letting your legs drop open even more.

He makes a low noise of appreciation, and finally reaches out to touch you properly. One thick thumb swipes through the seam of your cunt, and you feel the way he’s smearing the clear sticky wetness that’s been leaking steadily out of you. With his now slick thumb, he drags up towards your clit and circles it with agonisingly light pressure.

You let out an embarrassing choked whine, your toes curling at the sensation. Somewhat ironically, Ghost is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your attempts, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow.

“D’you always get this wet?”

You can’t even tell if he’s asking you mockingly or if he’s being genuinely curious; it feels like every inch of your focus has narrowed down to the feel of his big thumb rolling those tight little circles around your clit, his touch scorching against you.

It’s not exactly surprising that Ghost is good with his hands. You’ve seen the way he handles weaponry, locking and loading and aiming to fire with the kind of swiftness that comes from muscle memory, working with unwavering speed and precision. He’s the same in hand-to-hand combat, moving with aggressive fluidity that overwhelms his opponents. You’ve caught hits from him before in training, and you know from experience that a punch from those big hands feels like getting hit by a cinder block.

But even knowing how deft and skilled his hands are, it knocks the breath out of you when he slides his middle and ring fingers inside of you, still rubbing steadily at the swollen bump of your clit. 

When you exhale, it accidentally comes out as a moan. Your cheeks burn, but there’s really no space in your brain right now for embarrassment to sink in. Two of Ghost’s fingers are the equivalent of at least three and a half of yours, and you feel yourself break out into an overwhelmed sweat when they twist and rub against the sensitive squishy spot in the front wall of your cunt.

You’re so damn worked up, your arousal coiled like a knot in your lower belly from your failed attempts to get yourself off all day. Your back curves, humping yourself near mindlessly back up into his hand as he plays you like a goddamn instrument.

You barely even have time to consider how unfair it is that Ghost is so good at playing with you like this when he doesn’t even have a pussy himself, because then he pulls his fingers out of you.

“Oh, no, don’t stop–” You start to protest breathlessly, your chest still heaving, but the quick glance the lieutenant sends you has you falling silent.

Ghost glances down at his fingers. They’re all glossy from fingering you, and he takes a moment to eye up the way they glisten in the dim light of your bunk. You might have felt self-conscious about it, if you couldn’t see the unmistakable gleam of hungry interest in Ghost’s dark brown eyes.

He wipes his hand on the crease of your hip, but you don’t even get the chance to protest before he reaches up to hook his fingers into his mask. You go still, holding your breath in surprise as he pulls the material up until it bunches up around the bridge of his nose.

And that’s– well. You’ve seen his jaw before, and his mouth (Jesus, you had seen it earlier that evening, when he had been sipping on his smooth whiskey of choice), but the sight of his strong jawline and blond stubble and corded scars on his pale skin always manages to knock the breath out of you. And this time, he’s rolled his mask up even further than before, revealing a nose that’s clearly been broken at least once before.

You probably shouldn’t stare so blatantly, especially knowing that Ghost always takes such pains to keep his face covered. You’re not even sure if the other guys on the team have seen his uncovered face, except for Price, and you know that they’ve developed a habit of averting their eyes when he pulls his mask up for whatever reason. It’s a habit that you never quite managed to develop yourself; you’re never able to stop yourself from gaping at him like a moron, drinking in all of the minutest details. He’s never said a thing about your penchant for staring, so you can only hope that he’s chosen to ignore it.

You’re so busy staring that it takes you by surprise when he grips your jaw with one massive hand and pulls you into a rough kiss.

The sound you make is small and startled, but it’s swallowed by Ghost’s demanding mouth. His lips are dry and a little chapped, but they feel scorching hot against yours. You reach up to grab at his arms – mostly just to ground yourself – but you find yourself almost immediately distracted by the firm bulge of his biceps beneath your hands.

Listen, you’ve kissed people before, plenty times. You’re in your early twenties, and just because you’re inexperienced sexually it doesn’t mean that you’re inexperienced full stop. But this, right now, kissing with Ghost, makes you feel as though you’ve been doing nothing but fumbling your way through all of those encounters, like you’ve been kissing wrong all this time.

It’s slow and deep, at first. All-consuming. It lights a fire in your gut, which expands and spreads throughout your body until you find your fingers grasping desperately at the short cotton sleeves of Ghost’s t-shirt where it’s stretched over his thickly muscled arm.

Ghost doesn’t just kiss with his mouth, either. It’s like a full-body experience with him; he puts his hands, his whole damn body into the kiss. He clutches you to him, holding you close even as the force of his kiss bends you backwards into the pillows beneath you. At the same time, it’s all you can do to concentrate and respond to the kiss itself, your attention stretched and strained by the feeling of Ghost’s hands running over you, stroking you sides and squeezing at your breasts and groping at the soft flesh of your hips and ass. 

 “Hah,” You gasp out when Ghost’s lips slide sideways to find the corner of your jaw. His mouth is hot against your skin, bruising, and you feel yourself grow embarrassingly wetter, just from a little kissing.

“You good?” Ghost grunts into your throat as he nips at the base of your jaw.

“Uh huh.” You manage to get out, still clutching at his meaty arms like they’re a lifeline. “So good.”

His breath is hot on your throat when he rumbles out a deep chuckle, and then his tongue flicks out against your earlobe. It makes you forget how to breathe for a second, and you’re distracted when Ghost’s hand changes course, easing beneath your legs so he can press his fingers against your clit again.

Then he pauses, and his fingers slide lower, lazily hooking back and inside you. You tremble, horny and humiliated as you realise that your arousal is glistening all over your damn thighs, impossible to miss.

“Fuck,” Ghost mutters. “All this for me, sweetheart?”

“Hnng,” You whimper like an idiot as his fingers return to your clit, now slick and slippery. “I’m just–”

He doesn’t wait for you to explain. Instead, he pulls his fingers out of you again and kisses you hard. The soft breathy noises you make are muffled into his mouth, and you wrap your legs around his waist automatically. He’s built like a damn mountain, your thighs stretched wide to accommodate the bulk of him as he settles against the core of you.

He likes that – he presses in close, and you can feel the hard line of his cock pressing up against you through the roughness of his jeans. You’re so sensitive that the coarseness of the fabric is almost unbearable, but you’re able to ignore it because you’re so distracted by the sensation of his erection because holy fucking shit that can’t really be how big he is.

You gasp, the sound high and breathy, and you try to grind against Ghost, but it’s impossible because he’s so fucking heavy and he’s pinning you down on the mattress beneath him. Instead, all you can do is squeeze your legs and pull Ghost in even tighter, increasing the pressure between the two of you.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” Ghost whispers, and it sounds like a promise. He drags his lips up your throat, then talks against the corner of your mouth. “You won’t be able to touch yourself again without wishing it was me.”

The wave of desire that rocks through you almost pulls you under, and you swear you might have actually gotten so horny that you blacked out for a second, because from one second to the next Ghost has somehow managed to muscle his way back down between your thighs so that he’s eye-level with your cunt.

“What are you–” You start to say, but then he loops his forearms under your knees to tug your legs wider, and you realise just how close his face is to your pussy. You swear you’re actually pulsing with arousal, and you wonder a little wildly if he can see that.

“Oh, fuck, yes — please,” You blurt out, before Ghost has even gotten his mouth on you. He chuckles, low and amused. His grin looks predatory, but in this moment you really don’t mind being the prey — not if it means you’ll be devoured by that mouth.

Then Ghost’s mouth is against you, wet and burning hot. You cry out, barely noticing as Ghost throws one of your legs over his shoulders, spreading you open.

It’s just the right side of overwhelming. Ghost’s mouth feels like it’s going to swallow you whole – his tongue is huge and flat and firm as he licks over your clit, making your thighs quake on either side of his head. It’s entirely unlike any of the fumbling masturbatory attempts you’ve ever made – you always enjoy messing around with your various little sex toys, but you’re swiftly beginning to realise that it could never compare to real human contact. Or at least, contact with Ghost.

His hands move from your waist to your asscheeks, his big palms squeezing the plump flesh there before using his grip to pull your body closer so that he can bury his whole face between your legs. The rougher material of his mask presses harshly into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, but you hardly even notice it.

Your pussy has never been this wet before; it feels like you’ve sprung a goddamn leak. You might have felt embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the way Ghost groans against you, his wide tongue laving flat and rough against the seam of your cunt as he practically gulps down all the sticky arousal you have to give him.

“Oh god– fuck! Sir…” You sigh, spreading your knees farther apart so that Ghost can wedge his head further between your thighs.

Your ears burn as your room is filled with sounds of him tonguing at your cunt, the lewd wet squish of him working you over until you’re keening, your hips twitching clumsily until his hands tighten where he’s gripping the plump flesh of your ass to keep you still. Then all you can do is twitch as he licks over your clit in repetitive lapping motions, working in circles and then dipping down to shove his searingly hot tongue inside you. You can feel his teeth press against your labia even as he sucks at your clit, and the sensation sends hot bolts of pleasure rocketing down your spine.

Though you don’t mean to, you’re pretty sure that you make his job harder. You can’t stop wriggling, tossing your head back against your pillows and squirming on Ghost’s tongue in a wild overstimulated dance, like a fish caught in a net.

Finally, Ghost seems to have enough of your unco-ordinated flailing attempts to grind against his face. He reaches around your thigh with one arm to reach your clit so he can keep it stimulated as he gulps at the sticky sweetness of your cunt like a man possessed – the action also works to keep your hips pinned down and still. You stop your frantic moving, but your spasms and sounds increase tenfold.

You can hardly believe it, but you feel something coming. A sweet, torturous build up starts in your belly, and you sweat and gasp as he licks and suckles at you relentlessly. You’ve never found yourself in this state so quickly before, with your legs trembling and your breathing heavy and shaky. 

“Oh.. oh…” You breathe, beginning to arch your back.

You know this feeling – this is where that sweet climax builds and builds, only to dissipate at the last agonisingly close moment. But this time, with Ghost’s big head between your thighs as his mouth moves against you, sucking, tasting, eating up everything you have to offer, the breath-taking pleasure doesn’t show any sign of slipping out of reach. It feels like for once you might actually reach that peak.

But then, right as you’re certain that you’re about to tip over that long-awaited coveted release, the bastard pulls away.

“No!” You practically shriek, attempting to sit up. “No, I was so close–!”

“Lie back.” Ghost orders, his voice like the crack of a whip. 

You drop back obediently before you can even register that you’re moving, so conditioned to react instantly to that tone of voice coming from Ghost’s deep rumbling baritone. Your eyes are wide and betrayed as you stare at him, admittedly a little baleful.

God, but it’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s staring up at you from between your legs like that. His eyes are dark and hungry beneath the mask, and since it’s all pushed up and rumpled around his nose you get a toe-curlingly good look at his lower face. His chin is wet and smeared with your slick, and his lips are plump and pink and swollen from all the kissing and suckling he’s done to you. In a moment of near-delirium, you think that you understand now why he covers his face – his mouth is pretty in a way that shocks you, in a way that needs to be hidden for decency’s sake.

“You’re gettin’ greedy,” He grunts, turning his head and sinking his teeth into the crease of your thigh just to make you yelp. “Wait for it, love. It’ll be worth the wait.”

You don’t think you have much of a choice, so all you can do is lay back and hold on for the ride. He presses his mouth to you again, and you whimper softly as he tongues at your clit. 

“No one’s ever eaten you out like this?” He asks, the words muffled into the damp curve of your thigh. It’s stupid, because you know he knows the answer to that is a resounding no, but it seems like he just wants to hear you say it out loud.

“No.” You say, your breaths sawing their way out of your chest.

“Hnn.” He makes some kind of grunting sound against you, his tongue flicking out to taste you again. “That’s why you’ve been so tense, huh? So fuckin’ desperate for someone to touch you?”

“That’s not– ‘m not tense,” You manage to get out, your breasts heaving as your thighs tense up where they’re thrown over his shoulders. “Maybe.. Maybe you’re too relaxed.”

Ghost huffs a hot little laugh at your hip because you both know that couldn’t be further from the truth. You doubt anyone has ever accused Ghost of being too relaxed before, but you don’t have time to feel stupid for it – not when Ghost is devoting the full force of his attention on you, deep breaths huffing against the wet skin of your pussy and making you shudder.

“That’s it,” He croons, his voice uncharacteristically soft and lilting. The rumble of it ripples through your limbs like lapping waves, his battle-roughened palm stroking and smoothing down your ass and thigh as he hauls you closer. “Relax, sweetheart. Fuck, such a pretty pussy. Fuckin’ criminal of you to keep this hidden away all to yourself.” And then, quieter, “Fuckin’ Christ, you’re wet.”

You’re not even sure that he’s talking to you. It seems more as though he’s talking to himself, and it just happens to be you he’s talking about. Your cheeks burn as the feeling of vulnerability sets in, but you keep your legs spread wide as he kisses your clit with his swollen pink lips. You want so badly to be good, for him to be pleased with you, that you push past your embarrassment as best you can.

There’s a budding anxiety in your belly that Ghost is wasting his time here. As much as you crave his touch and the build up, you worry that he’s going to get frustrated with you and your inability to actually orgasm.

But Ghost doesn’t seem to be in a rush. He seems perfectly fucking happy between your legs, and even with his mask all clumsily rucked up around his nose he presses his face into your pussy with his eyes heavy-lidded and hazy. Even when you shift a little in an effort to get him to go a little harder or faster, he just pins you still and continues at his own leisurely pace.

When he reintroduces his fingers, pressing inside and stretching you out with a light sting, you hiss and try to lift your hips again. His rough calloused knuckles brush against the inside of your soft inner thighs, making them quiver as he goes three fingers deep.

“Shhh, atta girl.” He mumbles into you, his words coming out wetly muffled since he doesn’t even both pulling his face back. “Fuckin’– shit, so good.”

The praise shoots liquid and molten through you, and you have to bite back a pathetic keen as you pulse around his fingers. You’re sure he must feel it, because he lets out an answering rumble and laps against your clit, then closes his lips and sucks.

“Oh god–”

“Shhh.” Ghost scoots forward so your knee can hoist over his shoulder. Then he angles his chin to kiss the skin on the inside curve of your knee as he pumps into you with slow, slippery fingers and ungodly squelching noises that only sparks you hotter. You can’t even tell if it’s sweat or tears dotting your face anymore.

Though Ghost’s eyes are heavy-lidded and a little fogged over, he hasn’t looked away from you once. The focused intensity of his gaze spears you through, because you’ve never been looked at like that. No one has ever seen you like this, no one has ever put effort into you like this, no one has ever been so determined to please you before. You don’t know how you’re ever going to recover from this; you have a terrifyingly distinct impression that he’s going to live up to his promise to ruin you for anyone else.

It feels as though your blood is boiling beneath your skin, and you nearly sob when Ghost pulls back. You’ve never been so close, and you want to scream when he takes his gorgeous fucking mouth away from your clit.

“Fuck.” You wet your lips, realising you were panting like a dog and your mouth is bone dry. “Fuck, Ghost, just—”

“Quiet, lovie.” His reply is hoarse and firm, his throat working hard to swallow as he peered down between you, his clever thumb delving slick circles over the taut bump of your clit, his other three fingers fucking with easy rhythm and purpose. It’s maddening, it’s infuriating, it makes you feel as though you’re about to break apart.

His fingers are pulled out, and then you feel firm pressure pressing into you yet again. Your head lolls as you attempt to sit up, your eyelids fluttering as you realise that he’s pressing your stupid dildo into you again.

“Oh, you bastard–” You start to complain, but Ghost doesn’t give you the opportunity to speak properly.

The dildo slides into you so easily, your sticky slick mixing with his spit making the slide almost effortless. You sigh, a build-up of pressure making your whole body feel as though you’ve been stretched out and pulled tight. 

Now that you’ve been pushed to the edge, you linger by it. Ghost keeps you on that edge for what feels like hours, until your breaths are burning in your chest and the ligaments in your calves are screaming from all the straining you’ve been doing. Every roll of Ghost’s thumb over your clit sends sparks racing through your nerves, and your breathing is harsh and uneven as Ghost starts fucking you with the stupid vibrating dildo. The rhythm he sets is firm and unrelenting, pushing the silicone toy in and out and visibly relishing the wet squish of your cunt as it takes it deep.

Ghost huffs against the wet skin of your inner thigh, making you shudder. It seems like he’s enjoying this as much as you are, judging by the subtle roll of his hips against your mattress as he absorbs himself in fucking you with the dildo. 

He experiments with the angle, adjusting the dildo until you cry out, jerking against the bedding, and whining “There!”. You needn’t bother telling him, though; Ghost has a sharp eye, and he’s so goddamn attentive. He’s already repeating the stroke, pushing the dildo in and bumping it against the same sensitive spot he had hit before.

It feels good, but it’s not enough. Now that you’ve felt the firm hot pressure of his fingers spreading you wide and the wet hunger of his mouth devouring you, you don’t think anything else will do.

He shifts, you catch the rolls of his hips against your mattress again, and you feel as though you’ve caught fire. You think of the glimpse you had caught of his hard cock, pressing against his jeans and making the fabric stretch taut, and you find yourself speaking without thinking.

Ghost pushes the dildo in once more, and you reach down to grab at his wrist as you ask breathlessly, “Can I try yours?”

He pauses; goes so still that it’s honestly uncanny, his eyes practically boring holes into you as he stares at your face. You grow flustered, your own eyes widening in response to your own words. Just because he’s deigning to touch you with his fingers and his mouth, doesn’t mean he’s actually planning to fuck you. Jesus, he’s your fucking superior officer. What were you thinking?

“I’m sorry,” You squeak. “That wasn’t appropriate. Fuck, forget I said that–”

Even beneath the mask, you can see the bob of Ghost’s Adam's apple as he swallows thickly.

“You sure?” He interrupts your rambling before you can get started. “I don’t... ‘m not good with virgins.”

There’s… there’s so much you could say in response to that. Namely, he certainly doesn’t seem like he’s bad with virgins, as evidenced by the throb of arousal still pulsing through your soaked cunt. He’s just had you sobbing at the mercy of his fingers and mouth, and all he has to say when you ask for more is that he’s not good with virgins?

Instead, what you say is a rather lame, “I’m not technically a virgin.”

Which is true. Sort of. Based on a technicality – you had bullied your damn vibrator through your stupid hymen years ago, and you’ve always thought the idea of virginity was a stupid one, anyway. 

“Plastic cocks don’t count, darlin’.”

Blood rushes to your face so fast you feel light-headed as humiliation burns through you. Jesus, okay. That’s just mortifying. 

“Oh, you think your cock is special, then?” You scoff, attempting nonchalance.

Ghost shifts, letting your legs drop from his shoulders, and kneels up on the mattress so that he’s looming over you. Fuck, every time you get a visceral reminder of how big he is, you feel a little faint. It’s like having a veritable wall of muscle caging you into your bed. Your thighs are spread wide to accommodate the size of him, and you find yourself absolutely captivated by the sight of him with his muscles straining against that stupid tight t-shirt, still panting lightly from his greedy gorging on your cunt.

He reaches out and drags a hand slowly from your cunt up over your belly, between your breasts, up over your sternum, to rest over your collarbones. It’s gentle – he doesn’t put an iota of pressure against your throat – but all you can fucking see is the swell of his bicep and the dark ink of his tattoo and the prominent veins running down the chiselled muscle of his forearm.

Good fucking lord.

“You’ll find out.” He says.

And oh. Okay then. Yeah, you sure fucking will.

He reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, and you can’t help but strain to try and watch. He pushes them down carelessly around his thighs, but doesn’t make any move to strip them off any further. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that you’re laying on the bed completely nude and exposed, while Ghost has only pushed his jeans down far enough to pull his cock out, but you don’t have any time to feel self-conscious about it.

His cock curves up against his belly, red and twitching. He’s fucking rock hard, and bigger than you had been expecting, bigger than any of your stupid little toys. Your mouth goes dry, and your eyes widen comically. Fuck. No wonder he’s confident. He’s not lacking in any way.

“D’you’ve a johnny?” He asks, one big paw of a hand taking his cock and stroking lazily at it until a bead of pearly precum oozes from the angry red head.

You’re distracted for a moment, staring at the way he fists his cock, before you blink back to yourself. “What?”

“A condom.” He enunciates slowly, as though speaking to someone he thinks is a bit thick.

“I know what you meant,” You snap, embarrassed. “But– no. Why would I? I’ve never…”

You can see the way his eyes crease and realise that he’s frowning beneath the mask, and you’re hit with a sudden bolt of panic – is he going to change his mind now? You can see the hesitation in the lines of his shoulders, but you think if he changes his mind about fucking you, you might just die.

“It doesn’t matter,” You blurt, “You don’t need one. I’m on the pill. I’m clean.”

Ghost cocks his head, but remains still. It’s almost unnerving, and you feel your toes curl into the bedsheets as you wait for an answer. He looks fucking predatory, hulking over you like a fucking behemoth as he watches you assessingly. You try your best to look confident, but you have a feeling that you just look desperately hungry.

He reaches up and hooks his fingers into the fabric of his mask and pulls it back down to cover his still slick-shiny mouth and jaw, and you’re gripped with sudden overwhelming panic and dismay that he’s changed his mind, that he’s about to leave you here wet and empty and wanting. In that moment, you throw your dignity into the wind.

“Please,” You beg pathetically, wriggling a little bit against your sweat-damp bedding in an effort to grind yourself against him. “Please, please, it’s fine, I swear, you don’t need one–”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost grinds out, his voice rough and a little hoarse. “How can a virgin be such a fuckin’ slut?”

Some part of you wonders if you should be offended by that, but instead a frisson of heat runs down your spine. You know you’re not a slut – you’ve never searched for any sexual attention, and you’ve never even experienced someone else’s touch – but goddamn you want to be a slut for your lieutenant right now.

Despite his harsh words, when Ghost hooks your legs over his hips and aligns himself with you, he’s gentle. He’s acting like you’re something fragile; he’s so big that your legs are spread wide around his waist, his shoulders so broad that he’s blocking out the dim light from your lamp, and yet his touch is light against you as though he’s afraid to break you.

He’s still gripping his cock hard, and he slides the tip of it against your slick heat. You have a brief moment of alarm; even through the haze of arousal, you can recognise that this is going to be a tight fit. You breathe deeply, then begin to wiggle your hips in an effort to take him inside you.

He hisses, then one of his big hands grabs at your hip. “Fuck, stay still.”

“Put it in.” You beg, your voice coming out thick and stupid-sounding. “Fuck, please, c’mon, c’mon–”

“Kid,” Ghost bites out through clenched teeth, his voice low and gritty. “Need you to shut the fuck up for me.”

You manage to bite down on your lip, but you can’t stop yourself from pouting mopily at him with wide, wet eyes. You don’t understand why he’s making you wait – can’t he see how mean he’s being? You’re so fucking wet, so empty as you clench down on nothing, and your clit is so desperate for any kind of stimulation that it’s throbbing needily. The head of his cock catches at your opening, dipping in for a second before resuming its maddening slide up and down.

Ghost is still watching you closely, his brown eyes flickering from where the head of his cock drags through your sodden folds up to your pleading pouting expression. You can only imagine what kind of a sight you make, because his chest growls with a choked sort of groan.

“I know,” He murmurs, almost mockingly soft with you. “I know, you want it. Gotta give it to you slowly.”

You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to give it to you slowly, that he can go as fast and hard as he wants to, but some sense of self-preservation shuts you up. Instead, you nod clumsily as he rubs his cock over the slick folds of your cunt, lubing himself up with your own arousal. The feeling of his cock dragging over you, iron hard and velvety soft, so close to where you want it, is enough to have your head spinning dizzily.

You want to beg again, but you’re still trying to follow his order to be silent. You shift restlessly, biting back a whimper when he taps his cock thoughtfully against your clit.

Finally, he decides to put you out of your misery. 

The thick crown of his cock pushes against the tight ring of muscle at the entrance of your cunt, and the gasp you let out is positively punched out of you. He goes slow, just like he promised, but you can still hardly believe it. He goes in and in and in, and yet he’s somehow not even halfway inside. 

“Fuck,” You wheeze, punctuated by a strange little yowl. “Oh god, wait–”

You feel stuffed just from the first few inches, drunk already on the quiet little grunts he’s making. The stretch and the sting and the pressure inside you is glorious, so tight that you can barely even flex around him and you can’t even decide if it’s good or if it’s too much. Your eyes are hot and wet as overwhelmed tears begin to overflow, and you find yourself arching in a weak attempt to flex away from him and the devastating stretch.

God, he’s massive. You knew he would be, of course, but his size seems so much more significant when you’re being impaled on the end of his cock. Fuck, you can feel your vision go blurry as your eyes fill with overwhelmed tears. You’re mortified when a sob is ripped from your chest, harsh and thick.

“Shh, shh.” Ghost coos, his deep voice syrupy thick as he leans over you, the enormous bulk of him caging you into the mattress until your whole world consists only of him. “Just a little bit more.”

“Fuck,” You choke out, trying to arch away again but failing because he’s so big that there’s nowhere to go. “It’s not gonna fit!”

“Shh, lovie,” He rumbles, ducking his face down so that the rough cotton of his mask is pressed against the sweaty skin of your neck. “Relax’n let me in.”

“I– ‘m trying–” You whine, clutching at his biceps. “Jesus–”

You blink your eyes open, vision blurry from the tears clumping your lashes together, only to be met with the sight of Ghost’s deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath the black mask. He’s looming above you, his gaze made all the more intense by the fact that it’s the only part of his face you can really see.

“All that messin’ around with those plastic cocks, but you’re still this tight for me,” He says, his voice so deep that you feel it reverberate into your bones. “Deep breath.”

The breath you inhale at his instruction is rough and ragged, and he snorts a low breathless laugh in response.

When he finally drives his cock all the way in with one smooth stroke, all the breath is driven from your lungs. It feels as though his cock has been pressed all the way up into your chest, and the noise you make when you squirm on it is utterly pathetic. 

Ghost’s hands are like steel clamps when they close around the plump flesh of your thighs, holding them up and pressing them back until they’re pressed against your belly. He looms over you, still almost entirely clothed as sweat beads over his thickly muscled neck. It’s like getting pinned down by a mountain, and you whimper as you’re speared open and prone by the weight of Ghost pressing down upon you.

He hasn’t even started to move yet, but you still feel overfull and raw.

“Too big,” You mumble, struggling to catch your breath. You choke on a sob and feel your eyes burn with unshed tears as your back arches. “Ghost–!”

“Shh.” He grunts. “Call me Simon when I fuck you.”

That… that does something to you. Molten heat rockets up your spine and pools in your belly, and you swear your pussy floods. It’s stupid, how being granted permission to call your lieutenant by his first name is somehow so much hotter than anything else he’s done so far.

“Simon,” You try it out. It comes out a little shaky, your voice little more than a weak whisper, but you swear you can see his eyes sharpen. 

Apparently having come to the decision that you’ve adjusted enough, Ghost pulls his hips back only to drive back in. 

“Oh!” You yelp, hips jumping, but there’s nowhere to go. 

All you can do is lie there as he slides out, out, out, slow and careful and long, and then his hips snap forward and he impales you, pressing all the way into him. He does it again, and again, and you try to bite down on your tongue, try to not sound so pathetically wrecked, but you can’t. It’s like Ghost is puncturing your lungs and every time he fucks into you, you let out the most pathetic little mewling ah ah ah sounds.

You’re not quite prepared for how different this feels; it’s nothing like your stupid plastic dildo. Ghost’s cock is bigger, but it’s also hotter and with more give than you expected, and you’ve never been able to fuck yourself like this. Your plastic toys could never compare to the sensation of being pinned by your giant of a lieutenant as he ruts into you.

Ghost reaches up and roughly pushes his mask up so his mouth is exposed again before he leans in deeper, almost folding you cleanly in half, stretching in to claim your mouth in a kiss that’s not quite a kiss, but rather a fierce mash of lips and tongue as his rhythm picks up, riding you down into the mattress until you realised the screaming noise isn’t coming from either one of you, but the cheap standard issue bed frame.

All you can do is gasp with each deep, raw fuck. There are tears tracking lazily down your cheeks, having overflowed from your burning eyes, and you honestly think your lungs might collapse. You’re bent like a fucking pretzel, in a way that’s making the muscles in your thighs scream, as Ghost pounds into you. 

He’s fucking relentless, but also shockingly aware of you beneath him. He doesn’t put too much pressure on you when he holds you, he never goes hard enough to hurt, and he knows just the right amount of weight to pin you down without being too much.

Your pussy is sloppy around him, wet squishing noises getting louder and louder as he finds more rhythm against your tight walls. Your whole world of awareness has been narrowed down to Ghost and Ghost only; his fingers digging into your thighs, your name in his mouth, his sweltering body pressing against yours. 

He’s holding back, you can tell by the way his voice is caught in his throat. He’s keeping all his dangerous muscles at bay as he pulls out and presses in again. Rough, fast, but not enough to break you, just enough to make you scream until you bury your face to the side and try to cover your mouth with your arm.

“Yeah, you needed this,” Ghost grunts, his uncovered mouth nipping at the hinge of your jaw. “This’s why you were so fuckin’ distracted earlier, hm? You thinkin’ about how much you needed to cream around a real cock?”

“Uh huh, yeah,” You slur out, not even sure what you’re agreeing with. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth, every nerve in your body raw and sparking. You must sound so pathetic, but Ghost seems to like it.

“Ain’t gonna be distracted anymore, are ya?” He rumbles, laving his tongue over your jaw in a way that feels filthy. “Just needed your little pussy filled, that’s all.”

You cry out for him because you can’t help it, delight bubbling in your throat every time he plunges into you. He keeps his pace for a bit, all rushed and blazing, transfixed on watching you suck him in, leaving slick trails along his shaft. But gradually he gets bolder, more desperate, big hands squeezing from your thighs to your hips.

You get lost in the feeling of him in your belly, searing and harsh, fat tip rolling against the spongy spot inside of you until you feel like you might snap. You feel him in your ears, your head pounding with every snap of his hips. You swear you even feel him in your toes, lightning zaps of pleasure down your nerves.

Then he leans back, lifting his weight off of you so you can breathe properly. He leaves his hand on your collarbones like a placeholder, his palm spread over the base of your throat like a reminder, a way to keep your attention on him. 

“Fuck,” He grits out, “That’s it, doll.”

You’re vaguely aware of the fact that Ghost’s gaze has shifted, no longer focused on your face but now instead fixed firmly between your legs as he watches the thick shaft of his cock sink into you. He obviously likes how you feel inside; you can hear him cursing and grunting quietly as his free hand grips your hip for leverage. 

With his mask rumpled up around his nose, you’re gifted with an incredible view of the way his teeth are sunk into his lower lip. Each time he sinks his cock into you again, he makes a raspy little groan, eyes fluttering briefly shut. It’s so painfully endearing that your heart quivers in your chest.

Your legs burn from being spread around his thick waist — any attempt for you to lock them around his back is useless, your legs slipping everytime his ass flexes with his thrusts. Every hasty drive of his hips has the ridge of his cock sliding against the spongy spread of your walls, making you feel more stuffed every time he ruts into you. With every sudden movement you feel the entirety of his fat cock; the veins are throbbing, skin heated and silken within you. Part of you marvels how you’re even able to fit him inside you.

“Never seen you look like this,” he grunts. “All fucked-out and perfect.”

Ghost leans in again, grips your legs so he can rearrange them over his shoulders, and you think you might die. The angle is different and somehow, impossibly, Ghost is fucking into you even deeper. You think you might actually be crying. There’s no question as to whether you’re drooling.

Your hands move to his arms, nails sinking into the hard muscles of his triceps as you cling on for dear life. He doesn’t even seem to notice the sting of your nails scratching him; or perhaps it only urges him on, because his movements take on an edge of desperation.

“Gorgeous girl,” He grits out, jaw clenched. “Squeezin’ so tight. Fuck. Gonna make you cream.”

 You had forgotten about his promise to make you come, too lost in the hazy pleasure of his cock. But now it seems as though he’s been seized by the compulsion to fuck you to the edge; he reaches a hand down so that his thumb can join the fray, and it startles you into moaning breathlessly aloud. 

His thumb is merciless against your clit. You’re vulnerable to his touch, clit spread and on display from the stretch of his thick cock inside of you, and he takes full advantage. His fingers are thick and blistering hot as he rubs at you, and you choke as your toes curl.

“Simon–” You manage to eke out before you lose the weak thread of your thoughts, scattering into nothing as he stimulates the stiff bead of your clit. 

He grunts to show that he’s heard you, but he doesn’t seem any more capable of words than you are as he rocks into the cradle of your hips. You’re practically blinded by your wet eyes, blinking frantically to try and clear your vision as you reach out clumsily to throw your arms around Ghost’s blisteringly hot neck.

It feels as though your skin is stretched too tight over your body, hot and prickly and too much. You’re trembling, your breaths coming in shaky gasps as agonising pressure builds in your lower belly. 

“Fuck, love.” Ghost says, his voice little more than a snarl. “You gonna come?”

No, You think hazily. No, you never come. But even as you think it, part of you recognises that it’s never felt like this before. Your stomach tightens, toes curling, your lungs burning, your eyes rolling. You hardly even know what’s happening.

You recognise that something is building, but it almost seems secondary to the way that Ghost is rutting into you like a man possessed, hitting that spongey spot in the back of your pussy that you’ve never managed to reach yourself and making your legs spasm every time even as his thick thumb rubs frantic circles around the bump of your clit.

“Fuck, fuck–” You wheeze, bucking your hips against him.

It doesn’t grow and dissipate in the way you’re used to. Rather, it creeps up on you almost without you noticing, until you’re whimpering and clinging to Ghost like he’s a lifeline. Your bottom lip trembles as you sob weakly, practically on the brink of diving into an oncoming tidal wave of desire. Then that coil in your stomach snaps like a rubber band, sudden and sharp as a slap to the face. 

Your back arches, your vision whites out, and you cum so hard that the world stops, your ears ring, your body goes limp. Your cunts sucks tight around him, pulsing, feeling every inch of him. It feels so sweet, that white-hot buzzing pleasure rushing over you and wiping your brain completely clean. 

You’re a little delirious from being stuffed with such a fat cock; every thrust just prolongs your pleasure, like his penetration keeps you from squeezing your very first orgasm out right away. It’s mindless ecstasy, your nails burrowing into the skin of his biceps as you desperately clutch at him for some kind of leverage. Ghost doesn’t falter, his hips continuing to work into you, wringing your orgasm out until you feel as though your brain is melting.

You sob – an actual, genuine, wet-sounding sob as your chest heaves for air and your eyes burn with overwhelmed, rapturous tears. Your head is spinning even as your climax subsides, leaving you limp-limbed and weak as Ghost continues rocking into you.

“Look so lovely when you come, sweetheart,” Ghost grunts into your ear, his bulky chest weighing you down as you clutch feebly at his shoulders. “God, that’s a sight. All for me, yeah?”

His praise only makes it worse, makes your eyes sting until there’s tears down your cheeks and stars behind your eyelids. He sounds so smug, but you can’t deny that he has reason to be. He’s the first man to ever touch you, first man to ever fuck you, the first person to ever tip you over the edge and wring an orgasm out of you. Fuck, you think your brain might have been reduced to mush permanently; you wonder wildly if you’ll ever be the same after this.

Despite the sting of Ghost’s punishing thrusts into your already oversensitive cunt, your body sings for him. The rhythm of his hips is getting gradually sloppier, as though he doesn’t care as much for precision now that he’s succeeded in making you come. Soft, guttural little grunts fall from his mouth, and his arms wrap around your waist to reposition you so that he can fuck quick and shallow. It’s almost tender, as though he’s aware of your growing sensitivity as you mewl under him.

There’s a profound, instinctual pleasure in seeing Ghost lose himself in your embrace. His dark eyes are heavy-lidded and his mask is still all rucked up, revealing the way his mouth is lolled softly open as he pants. You find yourself wishing feverishly that he had taken off his clothes too, because you think you would give anything to watch the roiling muscles of his chest and shoulders as he ruts into you.

Then just when you think you’re beginning to recover from the shattering, mind-numbing oversensitivity, Ghost comes inside of you.

He stops rutting to ride out his orgasm, his cock throbbing, pulsing, spurting inside you until you feel fuller than you’ve ever felt. And he comes a lot. 

You’re stuffed so tightly with his cock that his cum has nowhere to go, and ends up leaking thickly from where your cunt grips around him, messy and hot and spilling over your thighs and his. The sound he makes is breathless, all open-mouth and head lolled back as he groans, blissed out as he finds release in your cunt. 

The minutes afterwards are a blur. 

You close your eyes for what feels like only a second, but the next time you blink your eyes open you find yourself feeling miserably, uncomfortably empty and sticky as all that oozy cum leaks out of you. You somehow missed Ghost pulling out of you, and your thoughts are muzzy and embarrassingly slow.

For a moment, you think you’re alone. You’re becoming more aware of yourself, and you realise that you’re shivering weakly alone in your sweat-damp sheets. Where did Ghost go? Part of you, still a little hazy, wonders if he had left you alone as soon as he had come, and you feel your lower lip tremble at the thought. 

God, you feel pathetic. You shift feebly on the sheets, and suck in a sharp breath when you feel the ache inside you, proof that you’re going to feel the shadow of Ghost’s cock for days. You feel drunk off the afterglow, yet you’re swiftly becoming more and more aware of yourself and all the aches and pains that are coming to the fore now.

It feels like you’re too big for your body, and you’re clumsy when you try to sit up. Pushing yourself up makes a whole new set of aches light up, and you let out a quiet keening grumble.

You’re so caught up with trying to ground yourself that you jolt in surprise when big, paw-like hands land on you, pushing you back down onto the bed. “Shh, hey, lay down.” Ghost says, the rough edges of his accent softened. To your bewilderment, he has a damp cloth in his hand; he went to the bathroom, you realise hazily.

Maybe it’s just because you feel raw after your experience with him, pulsing like an open nerve, but you sniffle and blink and then suddenly there are tears dripping down your face.

“Thought you left.” You mumble, trying not to sound like a needy little idiot.

Ghost glances up at you, unblinkingly. His mask is fixed firmly back in place, and he looks annoyingly put-together; it’s an embarrassingly stark contrast to the way you’re still nude and shivery and teary-eyed.

“No.” He says simply.

The damp cloth is warm when it makes contact with your skin, and you relax as he drags it along your sweaty back and over your legs. He’s a little rough about it, but you don’t think it’s on purpose. Gentleness doesn’t come naturally to Simon Riley, and yet you can feel that he’s trying and that makes a warm glow settle in your stomach, replacing the cold anxiety that had settled in when you thought that he had left you alone.

When the cloth reaches the tender skin of your pussy, you hiss and try to pull away. It all feels too sensitive, and you feel your face crumple up as he wipes away the mess of slick and cum between your thighs. He gentles his touch as much as he can, but you still mewl at the electric zaps of oversensitivity that jolt up your spine.

When Ghost pauses and pulls the cloth away from you, you blink your eyes awake. Your vision is still all wet and blurry from tears, but you can still see the shape of Ghost as he stares down at you. You can imagine you look nothing short of ruined right now, even after having been cleaned up, and Ghost’s stare is burning.

You wonder if he’s about to leave now – you can recognise this whole thing had gotten out of hand, and you just about manage to stifle the panic at the creeping realisation that you’ve just fucked your superior officer. Ghost must have realised at this point that the two of you had just ripped through all those fraternisation rules, though it’s always been difficult to tell what he’s thinking. But you trust him – you have to, in your line of work. You have to trust that he’ll handle things.

Ghost tosses aside the cloth, and his big overbearing body climbs back into bed beside you. It’s a standard-issue bunk, and yet it feels comically tiny when Ghost has been added to the mix. He’s surprisingly agile, even despite his big size, and you barely have time to realise that he’s joining you in bed before he’s wrapped a thick arm around your middle, hauling you closer.

You’d love to act chill and cool about the fact that he’s now essentially cuddling you, but you miss the mark by a long mile. You take a breath, and allow yourself to relax into his big burly chest. He’s still fully clothed, and the rough texture of his jeans against your tender bare skin makes you shiver lightly from oversensitivity.

Your hips are sore from being stretched so wide, your joints weak and watery, and you’re perfectly content to close your eyes and forcibly ignore all your concerns about fraternisation or how you’re going to face Ghost in training. It’s a problem for another time.

“You still alive?” Ghost grunts, and his palm coasts down over your back to settle at your ass, his fingers squeezing absent-mindedly into the soft flesh there.

He sounds amused, which makes you grumble in irritation. He takes up so much space, his big body filling up all the free space on the bed and making you feel so fucking small as he holds you so that your back is pressed against his stomach.

“I dunno,” You mumble, words a little garbled. “Think… think you might have fucked me stupid, Lt.”

Lying like this, with his front pressed against your back, you can feel his laugh rumble into you. He’s touchy too in a way that surprises you; his hands are constantly moving, swiping over your sides and groping at any part of you that’s squishy-soft.

“Think I might have,” He agrees, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even if you can’t see it. “But I think you needed it, sweetheart. You were practically cryin’ out for it all day.”

You feel your face heat at the insinuation that he had noticed the arousal you thought you had hidden so well. But you still feel so fuzzy inside, and you can’t manage to drum up any genuine reaction.

Ghost’s roaming hand slips down between your legs, and you hold your breath as he reaches your swollen, tender pussy. His fingers are so big, but he’s aware of his strength and keeps his touch light, cupping rather than groping, his calloused palm catching on your puffy clit.

“Told you a real cock would be better,” He rumbles, and you feel the soft material of his mask rubbing against the back of your sweaty neck. “You’ve got a fussy little cunt – ‘s only gonna be satisfied by the real thing.”

You’d love to jab back at him, but the feeling of him rough palm against your oversensitive clit has your thoughts fizzing out into nothingness. All you can do is let out a quiet little whimper, and rock your hips into his touch. To your utter bewilderment, you feel your arousal, which you had previously considered entirely sated, pulse back to life.

As if Ghost can feel your cunt throb beneath his hand, he snickers. “Yeah. Fussy and greedy.”

He leans down, and you feel his lips brush against the back of your neck through the cotton of his balaclava. You quiver, and part your legs without conscious thought to give his thick fingers more room to work. Despite your exhaustion, and your soreness, and your sensitivity, you find yourself wanting. You wonder, with an edge of hysteria, if your body has somehow managed to rewire itself to only accept pleasure from your commanding officer’s hand.

“Ghost– Simon–” You breathe, your hips jumping as you grind into his palm.

“Yeah,” He says again, as though he knows exactly what you need and want. “One little orgasm wasn’t enough, was it?”

“No.” You choke out, throwing your head back so that it’s resting against Ghost’s broad chest. “No, ‘t wasn’t.”

You can hardly believe that your body is winding up for more, but Ghost’s touch is searing hot against your tender skin, and you can already taste the pleasure he’s going to bring you. This time, without the edge of urgency, you think you might even enjoy it more.

“Gimme five minutes,” He drawls, his voice low and muffled in your ear. “And I’ll give you your second.”

🥵❤

Bathtime

synopsis: When Uraume informs you about Sukuna's ability to lactate but his disdain for emptying his tits, you know exactly what to do to help

contains: fem reader, you're Sukuna's assistant, true form Sukuna, nipple play, lactation kink, masturbation, dry humping, mention of blood, dirty talk, sexual tension, porn with plot // wc: 6.6k

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Sukuna had grown quite irritable lately, more so than usual. It had been a few days since he started acting out, and you had no idea how to get closer to him to find out what was wrong. Sukuna wouldn't even let Uraume into his chambers to drop off his food, always making them leave it outside the door. It was a gamble whether he would even eat the food at all. 

Sukuna spent the majority of his time locked up in his room, or down the way at a nearby village, blowing off steam. This time when he came back though, he looked worse for wear. His face was in a permanent scowl, his muscles were twitching under his skin, and blood was coating every inch of his body. Not his, but he still looked rough. 

"Sukuna let me-" The king bumps his into your smaller body, making you fall back against the wall behind you, your arms reaching back to brace yourself. Uraume stood opposite from you in the room, catching your eyes before they fell to the floor. They kept their hands together in front of them, watching Sukuna's silhouette disappear from their peripheral vision. When the door to his chambers slammed shut, the loud sound echoing through the halls, Uraume let their gaze drift up as they made their way over to you.

"Are you alright?" They asked, brushing the dust off of your kimono. You ignored their question, your eyes latching on the outside of his chamber doors. "What is his problem? He's always grumpy but... this is new." You said, rubbing the ache from the back of your neck. Uraume sighed and placed their hands back together in front of them, putting some distance between the two of you.

"I know you haven't been this close to Sukuna-sama for very long, but this isn't out of character for him at times. There's a reason for it." You looked back over to Uraume, confusion evident on your features as you tilted your head to the side. "He- He doesn't like to acknowledge it, he's stubborn," Uraume said, averting their gaze. Their expression looked conflicted, their nose scrunched as they stared at the floor.

"Acknowledge what?" You asked, prying further. "Sukuna, he-" Uraume paused to clear their throat before they finished, "he lactates." It took a moment for their words to register in your head, but once they did, your jaw dropped. Just when you were about to question them further, they spoke again. "He knows he needs to drain them, but he hates the act of doing so. Which makes him ignore his problem. As a result, as you can imagine, the feeling is quite uncomfortable for him, making him more... grumpy than usual." Uraume explained, using the word you used earlier.

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, trying to find the right words before you spoke. "How long do these fits of his last?" You asked Uraume. The white-haired chef looked around at the walls that surrounded them, pondering. "His longest fit was two months. It was excruciating to try and care for him during that time, it always is." Uraume said, sighing. They sounded exhausted. 

You wanted to pat them on the back, you didn't know how they dealt with his attitude so well sometimes. "How does he go back to normal?" You ask, fidgeting with the fabric of your kimono absentmindedly as you speak. "All he has to do is relieve himself. He has pumps I keep in the kitchen. If he's ready, he'll come find them." Uraume said, suppressing an eye roll.

You felt bad the chef had to deal with this for decades. Just how many fits of his has he gone through while Uraume was at his side? He probably never thanked them either. You've always looked up to Uraume. They had the kind of elegance and patience you could only dream of achieving someday. You stared at the freshly swept floors of Sukuna's residence. The shiny black tile reflects the light from the chandeliers above you, blinding you. 

"I'll take care of it," You said vaguely, determination laced in your tone. Uraume's eyebrows furrowed together as they looked at you quizzically. "I hate to see you get treated so roughly by him all because he refuses to milk his tits." Uraume's eyes went wide, their hand shot up to block their expression from you, hiding the blush that crept up their face from your use of anatomy language for the man. 

"You- I don't know if you'll have much luck. He's a stubborn man." Uraume said, sounding like they were dismissing your idea. You were about to try and press them further when they spoke before you. "But if you really want to give it a go, I'll take you to where I keep his pumps." Uraume could swear your eyes shimmered at their words.

--

You took a deep breath before rapping your knuckles against the king's quarters, immediately dropping to your knees, the pump tucked away in a bag, slung around your shoulder. "Sukuna-Sama, I ran a bath for you and I-" The door swung open before you could finish your sentence. The door slammed hard against the wall, making you close your eyes, your body tensing reflexively. You saw two sock and sandal-covered feet in your line of sight, making your heart race. 

"Let me help you wash up Sukuna." It wasn't uncommon for you to help Skuna in the bath, help him get dressed, other mundane tasks, so your proposal didn't seem out of the blue. You wanted to give your reason for asking, as you usually just assumed you would unless he said otherwise. But you guessed if you had added that you wanted to help him because he seemed like he was having a hard time lately, he would mistake it for pity, and your head would be severed from your body.

Only Sukuna truly knew your worth to him, so he would never do such a thing, but you thought otherwise. Sukuna huffed out a breath before he walked past you and took a sharp left, heading to the bathroom, where you had already drawn him a bath.

You sighed in relief when he turned another corner, now out of your view. You briefly wondered what the hell you were doing. Hands clasped together in front of you, you pushed open the cracked door of the bathroom. You were met with Sukuna's rippling back, covered in now dried blood from his earlier massacre, contrasting nicely against his pale skin. Your eyes dared to travel down further, starting from his heels, up the strong muscles of his calves, and the tight muscles of his as- 

Sukuna's glowing red eyes peered at you from over his shoulder, making you swiftly avert your eyes, finding the floor of the bathroom. It was hot in the room as you shut the door behind you, locking yourself in with your king. You couldn't tell if the heat you felt creeping through your body was from the steam around you, or something else. 

Splashing of water took you out of your trance and back to the man in front of you as he descended into the tub, the clear fluid overflowing around him, creating a mess on the floor. Swallowing whatever saliva was left in your dry mouth, you walked forward, making sure not to sneak up on him and instead walking around the side of the bath to set your bag on the chair in the corner of the room, a few feet in front of the bath.

You didn't dare to look, but you could feel Sukuna's eyes tracking your every move from the moment you were in his sights. You squeezed your fists into the fabric of the bag, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath as you tried to ready yourself to turn around and face him. 

"You're nervous." Sukuna's deep voice cut through the tense, hot room, creating goosebumps along your flesh. You turned on your heels, making eye contact with him. You tried to ignore the now pinkish color of the skin of his chest in your peripherals, his body warmed by the water around him. "Nonsense, it's just a little hot in here." You explained, making your way towards the tub.

When you reached the side of the bath centered in the room, you reached out to grab the washcloth hanging off the side, half submerged in the water. Sukuna's hand gripped your wrist entirely, his stronghold keeping you in your place. you didn't dare to even breathe. "Lie to me again, you won't like the consequences." You tried to keep your breathing steady as your eyes traced the rippled in the water around his knee.

You nodded, still averting your gaze. The only thing you could hear was how intense your heartbeat sounded in your ears. His touch had been so unexpected. If you weren't nervous before, you certainly were now. Sukuna squeezed your small wrist, cutting off your blood flow entirely for a moment, your hand throbbing at the loss of it. You could feel his eyes cutting daggers through the side of your face. Finally, he released you, placing his heavy hand back along the side of the tub.

You took the washcloth in your hand and walked around the tub until you were met with his wide back. You took deep breaths behind him, trying to steady your racing heart now that you were out of his sight at least. Unfolding the washcloth, already hot and damp with water, you reached out and placed it against Sukuna's skin, not missing the way his muscles contracted under your touch.

Taking care of Sukuna relaxed you, you felt most at a place like this. Your eyes traced the markings on his skin as you rubbed the dried blood from his body, collecting it on the washcloth. You leaned down to your side, crouching a bit as you dipped the rag in a smaller bucket of water, cleaning the blood off of it before you went in again. The water turned a pinkish color from the first wipe. 

"Relax Sukuna, you did a lot of work today." You said, trying to ease him as you rubbed the rag over his shoulders, your other hand holding atop his other shoulder. Sukuna all but grunted at your words, his eyes darting around in front of him, trying to find something worthy of stimulating his vision. Your body relaxed from his tame reaction, the hot water must be doing wonders on his chest. You decided to push your luck.

Moving to the side of him, you brought the rag over his shoulder and around his collarbones, ridding him of the crimson blood there. The water was a big moggy from the blood that had coated the rest of his body, making it hard to see into the water. You could only see blurry shots of his body parts when you dipped the rag into the water.

Sukuna was watching you again, and this time you hadn't noticed. You were too focused on your job at hand, that you failed to notice the piercing red eyes tracking you. You leaned over the tub slightly, reaching the blood that stained his other collarbone. Sukuna was exhausted. The hot water bordering on boiling his skin combined with your soft touch was lulling him away into a calmer headspace.

His chest ached, the feeling standing out like a sore thumb compared to how relaxed the rest of his body was. You noticed his hand on the tub opposite from you had relaxed, his arm now just resting along the side instead of gripping it. You peeked your eyes over at his neck, looking at his face through the corners of your eyes. Sukuna's breathing was even, and his face was still, his eyes shut. You knew he wasn't completely unguarded, he never was, but he was relaxing.

You dipped your hand into the hot water of his tub, your gaze finding his hard chest as you rang out the towel. You couldn't tell if his nipples were red from the hot water, or from his little predicament. Seeing as how his chest was above water though, you could make an educated guess. 

It looked so swollen. Sukuna's muscles were impressive, yes, but you were extremely familiar with his body, and his chest was larger than before. He had kept you away from him for almost a week, so you had failed to notice it before. The skin of his chest looked taut and almost stretched. You placed the rag just above his chest, your eyes finding his face to check if he noticed or felt anything displeasing.

When he gave you no reaction, you dragged the rag down his chest, maybe pressing a little too hard as you went down, but you were determined to ease his ache. You only made it about halfway down his chest before you were being restrained again. This time, Sukuna was more dramatic.

He shot up from the tub, the water reaching about his knees as he kept a strong hold on your arm, distancing you from his chest. Your heart had started racing again, this level of stress seriously couldn't be good for your health. Sukuna's lip twitched in disdain, his eyes sharp and pointed as he glared at you, his jaw muscles clenching under the weight of his teeth. 

You forced yourself to speak, "S-sukuna are you alright?" You asked, feigning ignorance the best you could with how in shock you were from his abrupt actions. Sukuna's breathing stayed quick, his gaze angry. He looked as if he was trying to see if you were being honest, if your words were genuine. More time went by, and his nails digging into your skin hurt you more than you cared to admit. Your arm throbbing where he grabbed you.

"Not. Not there." Sukuna said, sucking in a deep breath. You stayed quiet, mustering a confused look on your face. "My pecs. Do not touch them." He clarified, seeing as how you didn't understand his words the first time. You nodded quickly, keeping your lips firmly shut. It was only then that you realized you were face to face with his crotch.

Sukuna had been naked in front of you countless times, but that doesn't mean you got any more used to it. You've never fully got a glance at his... down there, always stopping yourself from leaning into your desires and looking at him. For some reason in this atmosphere, you wanted to look so bad. More so than you ever have before. You were usually good at curbing your arousal for the king, but it was growing harder and harder the more time you spent with him.

Sukuna squinted his eyes at you before he crouched back down, two of his hands grabbing the sides of the tub as he descended back down, his face now coming more level with your own. You softly pulled back against his hand, reminding him he needed to let you go.

He obeyed seconds later, his eyes staying locked on your face the whole time. Dipping the rag in the water, you swirled it around, pretending you were cleaning it off good before you spoke. "Sukuna-sama, may I ask you something?" You said softly, not wanting to irritate him further. Sukuna stayed silent. Your eyes found his when he failed to answer, that's when you noticed the curt nod he gave you.

Looking back at the rag, you rang it out with two hands, the water droplets creating rings on the surface. "Forgive me for asking, but why am I not allowed to wash you there?" You asked, furrowing your eyebrows as you spoke, trying to give him the impression you really didn't know his situation. "You're... there's still blood on your chest." You added.

Sukuna's eyes stayed locked on yours, an unreadable expression on his features. "The water will wash it away." He responded, ignoring your question. You returned his words with a short nod of understanding. You knew better than to expect Sukuna to admit to you he was in pain. He wouldn't even admit it to himself. 

You dragged the washcloth along the side of his torso, along his ribs just under his arm. Sukuna's lip twitched, the pressure from his chest extended to the side of his pecs as well, making your touch irritable, but Sukuna was able to control his reaction, miraculously. 

You noticed the water shift with him as he pushed his hips forward, sliding down into the water more as you scrubbed his body clean of the blood. "Would you like me to abstain from touching you here too?" You asked, keeping your eyes on his chest instead of his face when you asked the question. "If I don't want you touching me somewhere, you will know," Sukuna said, his eyes squinting at you as he spoke.

Before you could stop yourself, you let out a soft laugh. More like a soft breath of air passing through your nose, but the small smile on your face made the sound have a direct correlation. You corrected yourself immediately, clearing your throat you distanced yourself from his body a bit and dipped the towel back into the water.

Walking around the other side of the tub, going behind him to escape his gaze for a moment, you started cleaning the blood off of his left side. You pressed your fingers along the sides of his ribs, making small circle motions almost at the end of his pec, giving him small relief through the discomfort. Sukuna was now staring at the ceiling, his jaw bulging under the weight of his teeth each time you pressed against the side of his sore pec.

Just when you were about to move on to another part of him, as you were dragging your hand away from the underside of his chest, a small white drop of fluid dripped down his chest and met with the water below him, right next to your hand. You froze in place, watching how the milky color faded into the crimson water, becoming the same shade.

You peeked your eyes up and noticed Sukuna was still looking away, meaning you could investigate a little. Biting your lip, you repeated the same action, rubbing right under his chest. This time though, you kept your eyes on his red nipples, as you had a pretty strong indication of what had happened, and you didn't want to miss it this time.

As you pressed against him, sure enough, another white droplet dripped down his chest, following the same trail as the last. The small droplet left an off-white streak along his pale skin. You pressed your thighs together, you had no idea the sight would be so erotic. Hell, you were starting to think you were going to be unsuccessful in your endeavors with getting to relieve Sukuna.

While you were ogling his tits and subtly rubbing your thighs together, trying to diminish the heat that was forming between your legs, Sukuna had dropped his eyes on you. You were foolish to think he wouldn't feel himself lactating, and especially stupid if you didnt think he wouldn't pick up on how you repeatedly rubbed him in the same spot.

Sukuna watched carefully as milk spilled from his chest, your watchful, lidded eyes not missing a single second of it. "Are you having fun?" His voice echoed in the hot room, making your hair stand on edge at the sound. You swallowed hard, slowly retreating your hand away from him. You let your eyes trace his tattooed skin up and up and up, until you were met with his face, which looked almost amused.

"You planned to do this all along didn't you?" He accused, making your eyebrows shoot up in shock. You distanced yourself, dropping the rag in the tub with him as you waved your hands in front of yourself. "N-no Sukuna, I just- I noticed it just now." You explained, looking anywhere but his face. "I put the pieces together just now. Y-you told me not to touch your t-" You quickly corrected yourself, about to use an extremely inappropriate word to describe your boss's pecs.

You cleared your throat before you spoke. "-Chest, and when I saw the liquid just now I-" "What did I say about lying?" Sukuna interrupted, making you find his eyes swiftly. You furrowed your eyebrows together, a drop of sweat sliding down your face. "Do you think I wouldn't hear you talking to Uraume in the hall? You were a mere ten feet away from my quarters, you think my hearing is so inefficient?" 

You felt all the blood drain from your face, your jaw falling open in tandem, you were going to die here. "Looks like I wasn't hearing things then," Sukuna smirked, your reaction giving everything away. Your skin was vibrating, and the heat you felt between your legs was gone in an instant, only fear remained inside of you.

Sukuna smiled, resting his head in his hand as he looked you up and down. "Well? Aren't you going to defend yourself?" He asked, a smug look on his face. 

You decided it was now or never, he was already for sure going to kill you. Might as well fess up. "I- if you knew, why did you let me go when I touched your chest the first time? Surely you knew my intentions." You asked, keeping your distance. Sukuna's smile grew, smile lines forming around it. "It's fun to tease you." He said shamelessly like the sadist he is. You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to look away from his intense gaze.

"Uraume tried to talk me out of it. If you're going to take this out on anyone, take it out on me. I couldn't stand seeing you treat them so harshly, so I took your pumps and ran you a bath, hoping I would be able to relieve you somehow." You blabbed, keeping your hands firmly in front of yourself. Sukuna clicked his tongue in his mouth, his eyes having a darker look in them after your confession.

"I half-assed ambush." He responded. "Just how did you think you were going to get those horrid things on my chest without me noticing? Hm?" Sukuna asked, his tone becoming harsher when he spoke of the pumps. You took in a deep breath and turned your head to the side, looking at your bag which had the pumps tucked away.

"Worst case I was going to ask you straight up and see if you cut my head off or not." You replied. Sukuna laughed at how casually you spoke to him, you must really think you were going to die. "But you surmised deceiving me would be better than being direct?" Sukuna challenged, his eyes giving you a one-over while you weren't looking. 

The atmosphere had gotten hot again. The heat started returning to your body the longer you stayed alive. Why hadn't he taken your life yet? You looked back to him and nodded, not giving him any more of your reasons, you had spoken enough. Sukuna dropped his hand back down along the side of the tub and tipped his head back, his slanted eyes staring at you from behind his bottom lashes.

"Ask." He said curtly, his fingers tapping along the side of the tub. You blinked at him, considering his words carefully. After a long beat of silence, you spoke. "Sukuna-Sama, may I help you relieve yourself with the pumps?" You asked, keeping your eyes on his. His toothy grin made you throb under your robe. "No." He replied. You still kept your eyes on him, challenging him.

"Ask again." He demanded, tipping his head to the side. "Sukuna-Sama." You paused at his name as you figured out the meaning behind his words. His disdain while he spoke about the pumps must mean he didn't want to use them, but what other way was there? Possibly he couldn't mean...

"Can I relieve you?" You asked, leaving out the part about the pumps. Sukuna released a soft laugh, amused and impressed at how quickly you had figured out what he wanted you to ask. "And how will you relieve me?" He pushed further.

The vagueness in his words made you fight the urge to press your thighs together, a fire burning hot between them. "Anyway, you'd like me to, Sukuna." You replied, not even daring to blink as you tested him. Sukuna licked his lips before tipping his head back down, looking at you straight on. "What are you waiting for then?" He challenged, his knees poking out the top of the water spreading to make room for... something, or someone.

You slowly walked up to the tub, your eyes never once leaving his. "Perhaps we should change the water first." You replied, leaning down to the drain on the outside of the tub. Sukuna's hand grabbed the back of your neck firmly as you leaned down, stopping you from moving any further. "That won't be necessary." He replied, pulling you upwards.

"You aren't afraid of a little blood are you?" He teased, one of his eyebrows raising in amusement. You shook your head, placing your hand on his that still held the back of your neck. Sukuna released you, the smile still evident on his face. Your heart was racing a million miles a minute. He wanted you to get in the tub with him right? That's why he said that? What if you were interpreting his words wrong? What if-"

"Get it. Keep me waiting for another second and I'm changing my mind." Sukuna's deep voice reverberated through your body, shutting down any insecure thought that popped into your head. He was fibbing, there was no way he could go any longer without having his chest milked, he was so sore but his teasing was the only way to get you to hurry up.

You pulled the bow keeping your robe together undone, the thick fabric falling off of your body, exposing a thinner, white robe underneath. Sukuna felt saliva start to pool in his mouth, he could see the figure of your body almost perfectly now, and he would see it even clearer once you got in the water with him. You kicked the kimono to the side and grabbed the edge of the tub.

You swung your leg over it, dipping it into the blood-stained water. Immediately the temperature made you tense the muscles in your leg as you inhaled a sharp breath. "There you go." Sukuna said softly, his large hand grabbing your thigh, pulling you into the bath with him. If the atmosphere didnt feel tense and intimate earlier, it sure as hell did now.

You slipped on the bottom of the tub when your foot reached the bottom, your kimono getting drenched with the water around you, making the fabric sheer as you reached out and Grabbed Sukuna's shoulders, bracing yourself. Sukuna tsked, blinking away the water that had splashed in his eye before your waist was being grabbed with two hands and you were pulled into the water, your thighs straddling his pelvis, just above his...

"Didn't know you could be so clumsy." Sukuna teased, making your face turn bright red as you retracted your hands from his shoulders, sitting back. He kept a strong hold on your waist, keeping you against him. "I wonder what else you're hiding from me." Sukuna purred, tiping his head at you. You swallowed hard before looking down at his chest, swollen and irritated.

It felt like millions of little needles were pricking your skin from the heat, but the sight of Sukuna's chest in front of you distracted you enough for the pain to not feel unbearable. "How- how do I go about..." You stuttered softly, fidgeting with your hands in front of you. "Ask your question in a way I can understand. You aren't a child." Sukuna retorted, making you scrunch your eyebrows together in embarrassment.

His glowing eyes on you didnt help how nervous you were feeling. "The liquid that came out of them earlier, what was it?" You asked, backtracking to make sure you knew exactly what you were dealing with. Sukuna looked unimpressed, staring at you like you were dumb. "What do you think? Surely you can't be that dense," he responded. You felt the vein in your head throb, was he incapable of answering a question straight on?

You were hesitant to ask your next question. How you should get the milk out. Usually, mothers would breastfeed or use a pump to get the milk out, was it really the same for Sukuna? "Why do you produce... milk?" You asked, reaching out slowly before softly placing your hands on his chest with featherlight pressure.

"I'm not a mother if that's what you're asking," Sukuna said, a hint of humor behind his deadpanned answer. You didn't even know he was capable of making jokes. "Of course not." You responded, softly squeezing his chest, resulting in a long inhale from the man underneath you, his nails digging into your waist.

Sukuna's eyes fell to your chest, which was not soaked with the water and sheer. Unfortunately for him, you were wearing a bra, but the sight of it through your now-see-through clothes was a treat nonetheless. "Just do what you feel is right." He answered your unspoken question, his eyes lazily sliding back up to find yours.

With a nod, your eyes left him and dropped down to his tatted chest. You unknowingly wiggled on his lap before you groped his chest harder, resulting in Sukuna rolling his head to the side. You pressed the tight muscles together, rubbing his chest in circles, trying to increase his blood flow there. Sukuna's eyes shut halfway at the painfully pleasureful. 

You worked your hands from the outside of his chest inward until you reached his nipples. You felt yourself throb between the legs repeatedly, the pace almost matching that of your heartbeat. You had no idea how worked up this would make you. Sukuna winced, almost unnoticeably, when you squeezed your hands right around his nipples, a white stream trickling down his chest.

You wanted to apologize, but once again didnt want him to feel self-conscious about feeling the pain. Sukuna rolled his eyes, his lip twitching at the feeling of his tits being milked bringing him relief in more ways than one. His cock had been hard from the moment you had started bathing him, his teasing and your facade of not knowing what you were doing to him only riled him up more. 

The pressure of your hands stimulating his irritated chest outweighed the pleasure with the discomfort, leading Sukuna to grip your waist harder and groan. "Use your mouth, this method is insufficient." He growled, his voice coming out more hoarse than before.

He wanted you to... suck his nipples? You knew better than to ask any follow-up questions, Sukuna was clearly irritated enough. He was at his breaking point. You squeezed your thighs around his torso, trying to press your clit against his lower tummy to bring yourself some relief, completely forgetting that his body was a part of him and he could feel everything you were doing.

Sukuna stayed silent about your arousal for now. With a soft nod, you leaned forward and latched your lips around his nipple, waiting a brief moment to gather yourself before you sucked. Sukuna immediately groaned, and you made a noise of surprise as his milk flooded your mouth, the taste of it sweeter than you imagined.

Sukuna's hand pressed firmly against the back of your head, his low groans filling the bathroom as you sucked harder, your tongue lapping over his nipple occasionally, soothing the bud. Sukuna groaned through his teeth, his head tipping back as he relished in the feeling of his chest being milked. 

Countless times he's had to relieve himself with the pump, and never once has it ever felt like this. Sukuna's cock twitched repeatedly with the need for attention each time you suckled around his nipple. "Yeahhhh, yeah this is doin' it." Sukuna groaned, shaking his head back and forth as he looked down at you. You peeked up at him, moaning around his nipple as you did your best to make eye contact with him, your eyebrows furrowed.

"Can't tell who this is for with how much yer rubbin' on me." Sukuna teased. He was right, you had been so absorbed in sucking on his chest that you failed to realize you had been steadily humping against his lower abdomen, giving your clit some much-needed friction. You stopped and pulled off of his chest the moment he exposed you, his hand still holding the back of your head.

Milk dripped out from his nipple, running down his chest. "I didn't say you had to stop, did I?" He corrected, raising his eyebrows in an unimpressed manner. "I told you, didn't I? Do what you have to do." 

You nodded quickly with a hot face before you leaned down and latched your lips around his other nipple. A loud, long groan was released from Sukuna's longs as you started sucking, some of the milk you were unable to swallow spilling out from your lips and down your chest. Sukuna pulled his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes threatening to roll back in his head at the nipple stimulation.

You heard a sloshing sound behind you. At first, you thought it was your body creating the noise now that you were grinding your cunt on his pelvis freely, but you quickly realized it was something much different when you felt his hand repeatedly bumping against your back. Sukuna was jerking off. 

"So eager huh?" Sukuna teased, his voice much darker and needier now. Sukuna was wasting no time with teasing himself by taking things slow, your tongue flicking against his nipples made his balls ache with the need to drain them, so that was exactly what he was going to do. Pulling back from his chest you sat up and began tweaking with the swollen buds, making milk leak down them.

Sukuna's hips jolted under yours, making your body jump against him. "Almost there, they're almost empty." Sukuna nodded, his eyes fluttering in their sockets. You weren't sure if he was talking about his situation under the water, or his chest. Nonetheless, you leaned forward and took a nipple back into your mouth again, sucking harder, trying to drain him completely. 

Your own humping was thrown off as Sukuna began fucking up into his fist, the tip of his cock poking you in the back each time he did so. The water sloshed around you, spilling out on the floor from the tub. "Uh-huh. uh-huh, keep sucking, keeeeep fucking sucking." Sukuna demanded, his head falling back along with his jaw.

His jerking was sporadic now. You moaned and whined around his nipple, your sounds coming out choppy and high-pitched from the movement of his body under yours. His pelvis was bumping forcefully against your clit, it almost felt like he was fucking you like this. "The other one, suck the other one, do it now." Sukuna groaned, his nails digging against your scalp, leaving a mean tingling sensation against it.

Sukuna's chest felt empty and much less taught than before, the previous throbbing all gone, save for the throbbing of his nipples from the pleasure you were giving him. Your lithe fingers tweaked the nipple you weren't sucking as you obeyed him and switched to the other, only getting small drops on your tongue now. You had truly sucked him dry. 

Sukuna's hips lost their rhythm, his body going taught under you as his arm went stiff, doing the best he could to jerk himself up to his high. His jaw fell open further and his eyes rolled back in his head. A long, deep groan was released as he came. Long white ropes of cum shot out from his cock right against your back. He rubbed his tip against your skin while he jerked himself off, working himself through it with your help.

His cum mixed in with the water around him. His balls twitched and clenched as they pushed out every last drop of his cum. Pulling away from Sukuna's nipple you pressed both hands against his now empty chest and started humping against his lower stomach, his hard pelvis muscles rubbing perfectly against your clit, making your head spin.

"Nghhh- S-sukuna-" You cried absentmindedly, resulting in a large hand smacking over your mouth, followed by an amused laugh. "Yeah yeah, get yourself off on me but be quiet about it, don't need anyone else hearin' you cry my name," Sukuna said breathlessly, his hand still holding the base of his now spent cock as he watched you finish yourself off.

His hands around your waist tightened and helped you rub yourself along his muscles when he noticed you were having a little trouble the closer you got. "You gonna cum?" He asked, furrowing his eyebrows at you, a hint of neediness in his voice. You nodded, your moans getting muffled by his hand. "Cum then, I'll help you," Sukuna said, pressing you harder against him, bringing more friction to your sensitive clit.

Your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling, now only seconds from crashing down into your high as you rubbed your needy pussy on him. Sukuna nodded at you, his jaw falling open in a small o, occasionally cracking into a small smile as he watched your eyes and eyebrows twitch and furrow in tandem. 

Your hand left his chest to wrap around his arm at the last second to ground yourself as your orgasm hit you. "There you go." Sukuna drawled, smiling to himself as your body jerked forward and your hips stopped moving on your own. He helped you move against him. Each time your throbbing clit bumped into his lower abs while you came another loud muffled moan was caught behind his hand. 

When you tapped repeatedly against his large arm, he loosened his grip on your waist and released your mouth. A string of saliva connected from your lips to his hand, something you would've been embarrassed about if you were in a clearer mindset. 

Sukuna pat your ass a few times under the water, trying to coax you back into the real world. "That felt good, huh? Looked like it felt good." Sukuna teased. Your eyes were all out of focus and your chest rose and fell heavily with every deep breath you took. "Don't get sleepy on me now, still gotta clean this mess up." 

You wanted to roll your eyes at his audacity. You just drained his tits and came on him and he was already telling you to clean up? "A...A thank you would be nice." You said, wiping your hand over your eyes, getting the sweat off of your face. Sukuna smiled before his hand gripped your chin firmly, shaking your face back and forth. 

"I think the cum I spilled was thank you enough." He said snarkily, making you sigh. He laughed at your irritation, glad to see you were coming back. "Have Uraume throw the pumps away when you get finished here." He said, making you tip your head to the side and look at him funny. 

"I don't think I'm going to need them anymore."

THIS^^^

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ i like my men older - simon riley♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

you knew that your friends from school raised an eyebrow when you told them that you were dating a man almost double your age. you were in your twenties, while this 'simon' guy was close to fifty. you told them that he was an army man who had a gooey center for you.

your friends could see the upgrade in your laptop and the new knapsack with a logo that proclaimed it was expensive. the small chain around your neck with a 's' on it that you toyed with when they asked questions about him.

you looked happy, healthier even! you weren't eating minute meals and surviving off of black coffee. there was a little roundness to your cheeks now and you looked more alive. a glow to you that wasn't that while you trudged through your graduate program. so honestly, how could they complain?

if you had a glow to you, it was because you were often fucked out. most women your age through that dating an older man would mean having to go slow. be patient about technical difficulties regarding their cocks. that was what you expected from a man that old. especially one with aches and pains like simon. your poor si, he had been in the military his entire life. barely had the touch of a woman during that time! poor guy! of course you'll teach him all the ways a woman should please a man. the first time you ran your tongue on the underside of his cock he cam all over your head, and while you whined. it made you crazy hot. fucking simon was like fucking a live wire. he hadn't slowed down with age. he fucked like a stallion in breeding season. and he loved when he pulled his heavy cock into you. you once told him that he could be a cervix breaker. and he simply said, "well, if i break it... i can't breed it." which made you go slack jaw for a moment before he continued to rut up against you. you didn't expect a man of his age to have a breeding kink.

you practically begged your doctor to give you birth control, because he was not buying condoms. "don't fit in 'em, lovie." he said as he patted his clothed cock when you started dating. you knew that was impossible, condoms could fit a lot of things and while simon was fairly big. he could fit in a condom. but, no. when you tried to put them on yourself, he simply took it off, tossed it to the side and pinned you under his heavy weight. legs in the air as he rutted against you like a hungry animal.

he was so much bigger than you. wide shoulders, strong thighs and a bit of a gut to keep you folded under him. there was a masculine heft to him. he was strong, picking you up was easy to him even when you tried to tell him your weight. one time he gripped you by the waist with one arm and moved you out of the way. you kicked and squeaked as you were moved. but to simon it was easy as lifting heavy equipment. but that softness to some of his muscles really got you hot all over. it didn't help that part of your role as his girlfriend was to make sure that your man was fed. you cooked him meals and he over devoured in your sweet dessert. he loved you in an apron. all domestic and sweet for him. you were real wifey material. could easily be cooking meals for him and the kids in a few years. you can have a graduate degree and a few riley babies. "look good cookin' for me, darlin'. know how to make a proper meal for your man." you wouldn't admit but his words excited you.

simon can be a little... chauvinistic. it was just his age. while he respected female colleagues in the military and was beyond happy that you were getting your degree. he'd do things for you that you could clearly do on your own. like when you tried to fix the leaky tap in your flat. or when you try to carry all the groceries inside. yes, darling, you're a strong woman. but let him take over. take care of you. that was what a man did right? he'll cut the onions for you and try to fix your buggy wi-fi connection. he's pay for dinner every time and even get you dessert after. he'd wipe your face clear of the sweet treat you'd have. "don't ask her anything too difficult, johnny. she doesn't need to be thinkin' too hard." he once said with his hands over your ears and glared at his teammate. which only made the scotsman laugh. simon didn't mind if he had to take over. he'd never pull the rug out from under you, even when you were under him. you looked prettier under him, letting him take charge of your fucking. he took care of his girl, even when you whined and told him you were capable. there was no need to whine. simon needed to take care of his much smaller, much weaker baby girl. no need to break a nail trying to do stuff that simon could easily do for you.

even with the grey in his blond hair, he still kept up to you. there were times that you were too exhausted from day-to-day that you let simon rut between your thighs until he covered your round ass with his hot cum. you'd whimper which would turn into a yelp when he easily slipped his heavy cock into your sweet pussy. where it belonged. he fucked you heavily as his cum coated your behind, even trailing down your sloped back as you had your head in the covers.

"don't spill a drop off that pretty ass, baby girl. or else i'd might have to mark you again." thank god you liked your men older. <3

❤❤

When your boyfriend begins his vampirism transformation, you can’t stand all this time apart from him but visiting him during his rut turns into a big mistake.

pairing :: Vampire!Yuji x Reader

warning :: feral Yuji, pórn with some plot, blood play, animalistic sèx, implied vírgin reader/Yuji, reader passes out, blood sucking, dry hùmping, grinding, making out, Yuji and reader are in college

note :: vamp Choso next? 😏

As a young child, Yuji’s vampirish tendencies seemed more like odd quirks to you.

The way his canines were always largely pronounced, and never seemed to stain or break despite constant blunders to the face via fist or hard ball.

The way he’d always greet you with a sharp smile and hug you with an impressive strength (once you’d received a fractured rib after not having seen him for a week). Whilst his arms trapped your body, he nosed your head, huff the scent of your hair like it was a drug and not letting go until you’d kick and yelp at him to stop.

The way he always knew when you were on your period and the day before you’d get it, murmuring a casual “Are you about to get your period?” And the very next day you’d have stained your sheets during the night or ruined a pair of underwear.

The time he was a toddler and dipped his finger into a puddle of blood that pooled around smushed roadkill and lapped it off his finger like an ice-cream seemed like the worst example of his odd quirks.

So when Yuji was found by other vampires like him, and informed of his heritage, you hardly needed convincing.

“Come here.” Yuji cooed, thick arms outstretched to you.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, you’re so needy today.”

After integrating into a vampire community, your life with Yuji had changed. He went to a different school, had new undead friends.

“I missed you.” He murmured, pulling you in and moulding your body into his against your bed.

“You saw me three days ago.” Like always, Yuji nosed your hair like a in-love cat and inhaled the smell of your latest shampoo.

And despite being with Yuji for so many years, the two of you hadn’t reached the point of having sex. The furthest you’d gone was innocent grinding with some wandering hands. Now living his life as a vampire, the time for intimacy seemed even scarcer.

“Too long.” He drawled, running his fingers in a fluid motion up and down your spine.

“I missed you too.” You huffed, allowing your body to melt into his warm embrace. “I wish your schedule wasn’t such a pain.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Gojo wants me to start getting used to being awake during the night.” His hand lifted to cradle your head, holding you into his chest.

“But you can still walk around in the sunlight.” You protested.

“That might change soon, we don’t know.” His tone laced a tired repetition, giving you the clue he’d likely parroted the same argument you had to his teacher.

“Hm, fine. I don’t mind. Whatever I have to endure to keep my sexy vampire boyfriend.” You buried your head into his chest, hearing the reverberation of his laugh as he pinched your side.

“I’m barely even a vampire.” He added, to which you kissed his chin, hoping to distract him from the thought. “Fushiguro can control animals, what can I do? Punch really hard?” He was too lost in the disappointment of it all, so you dipped a hand under his hood and ran your thumb over his abs whilst planting a wet kiss to his neck.

The loose touch made him shiver and forced a stutter from his hips. His semi-hard dick rolled into your thigh, flushing your face and body at the feeling of his arousal.

He loosened the arms that barricaded you, pulling you to his level. His palm rested at your neck, fingers pressing against your pulse to feel the pump of your blood, a rhythm that always soothed him.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, much too seriously.

“You’re my boyfriend, Yuji, you don’t need to ask anymore.”

“But I love it when you say yes.” His lips mould into a smile. Contagious, you smiled too.

“Yes, I want you to kiss me.”

With a swift breath, Yuji’s lips slipped to your mouth, catching you in a passionate lip lock that immediately informed you just how much he missed you.

His lips devoured yours, starting with a hard press before encasing you in open mouth kisses that demanded you keep up with his rhythm. Just like most times you’d make-out with Yuji, he took hungry charge.

Your hands dipped further, nails dragging along his v-lining and skimming the elastic of his shorts. He rolled into you again, humping the fat of your inner thigh.

The desperation to please himself against your body brought a whine to your lips, which he ate with a smacking intensity. He must’ve decided those sounds were too sweet to muffle because his moving lips traveled further, latching to the pulse on your neck.

“Can we— go all the way this time?” He asked, lips hardly freeing from your neck to speak.

“Mhm.” You shyly muffled, his pink hair tickling your cheek.

His hand dipped underneath your thigh, pulling your leg up and just before he ventured south to undoubtedly give you the best head you’d ever receive he returned to your lips for another kiss.

His teeth tightened around your bottom lip, his canine breaking through the pink skin, causing spurts of blood to fall into your kiss. As soon as the sweet taste met Yuji’s tongue, he pushed you away, eyes blown wide staring at the nip.

Tasting the metallic blood yourself, you wiped the thin drops away. “It’s okay, it didn’t hurt.” You assured.

A beat passed with Yuji glowering at your lips swollen with passion. He licked off the bloody residue from his own mouth, whispering. “I have to go.”

“What? It’s okay, Yuji, I promise.” Your assurance didn’t reach him and before you could speak again, Yuji had lifted himself from your body and left. You called to him again, only to hear the shutting of your front door.

Yuji was never one to go crazy over blood, sure he might like his meat raw, and there was that one time with the roadkill… but he never went stiff whenever you scraped a knee or got a paper cut. It was so out of character for him that your mind began to wonder if you had done something to turn him off.

You’d called Yuji not long after his quick disappearance, only to be left with his voice message, telling you ‘Sorry I wasn’t able to answer your call! Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’ In his usual cheerful tone. Your messages to him were left on read, too.

Yuji was the type to respond to you within minutes and call you just about every day. To go from foreplay to feeling like you were single dizzied your sense of reality. Did you touch him wrong? Kiss him wrong? Say something you shouldn’t have?

Days passed with nothing but silence.

The thoughts rammed your mind until you could no longer take it, deciding to see Yuji and confront him about his odd behaviour.

You were no stranger to visiting Yuji after he’d been brought into the vampire community, having met his classmates and even a long lost older brother. His living space had certainly doubled in size, now he stayed in a large mansion rather than his late grandfather’s home. Having vampire heritage usually came with a large sum of money and Yuji was no exception to that.

You slipped inside his home, meekly calling your boyfriend’s name. Your voice bounced off the dimly lit walls and faded.

Behind you loomed Choso, tall and dark. “What are you doing here?” His voice broke fear into your spine, and you turned, unable to keep your back to him.

“I—I came to see Yuji.” You stood tall, sure of yourself.

A frown scrunched his beautiful pale face. “He hasn’t wanted to see you.”

“I know, that’s— that’s why I came to visit him.” You willed your heart to be still, however each time Choso’s dark maroon eyes swept over your smaller, weaker body fear and panic jumped you.

He smiled and you caught a glimpse of his shining white teeth. “You’re Yuji’s young friend, from childhood, yes?”

“Yes, sir.” Sir? Despite his ancient aura demanding some kind of formality, sir hardly seemed to fit.

He chuckled, kind and hearty. Were all vampires so utterly handsome? It must’ve been part of their design, faces and voices so alluring humans couldn’t help but become victims. Despite being aware of this possibility, your heart still fluttered for him.

“Please— tell me what’s wrong with him.”

The handsome smile faded. “Yuji and I aren’t like most vampires.” His eyes clouded, lifting from your body and catching sight of the stairs leading up to Yuji’s room. “We were born from the union of human and vampire, whilst most are born human and are turned by a vampire late in life.”

“Half vampire, right?” You weren’t completely unaware of vampiric history, despite Twilight being the majority of your informer, it was based in some truth.

Choso’s eyes gleamed and he nodded. “Yes.” His impressions of you seemed to shift, because his eyes held an amused interest. “The vampiric genes lay dormant in us until we come of age. Do you know the changes Yuji is currently experiencing?”

Sweat cooled to ice on your back pulling a swift shiver from you. You shook your head.

“Human food becomes mush, no longer satisfying the curdling hunger that rages for something more. Your lust, your passion, your anger all doubles in intensity.”

You let loose a small whimper at the thought of Yuji experiencing all this alone his room, going through changes you couldn’t hope to fathom the feeling of. Choso’s nose flared and his mind seemed to be pulled from the memory of his own transformation.

“I’m frightening you, I’m sorry.” He murmured.

“No, it’s okay. Please tell me, what did you do to deal with… everything?”

“Hid myself for over a year.”

Your heart sank. A year? Yuji and you had hardly been seperate from one another for longer than a few days. How would he, much less you, survive a year without the other?

“However it’s much too early to know how Yuji might react, he’s a strong boy.” Choso leaned to soothe your visibly stressed figure, a featherlight hand reaching your shoulder in comfort.

A shattering bang echoed down the winding stairs, sharply drawing both your and Choso’s attention.

“You should leave.” Despite the words being laced with kind formality, his face held a fierce expression.

“Okay.” Your body hardly allowed you to hesitate, finally giving into the flight response and leaving the gloomy house. Once free from the gates, you exhaled an uncomfortable sigh that freed your lungs of a breath you felt you were holding in the entire time.

But despite your quick departure, you hadn’t stayed away for long, deciding you needed to see Yuji as soon as possible.

So, you had returned the next day. Waiting for Choso to leave before entering the Itadori home. The blackness of night made it hard for you to navigate your away around the interior, although you had managed to stumble your way to the winding stairs and reached the second floor, leading you to Yuji’s room.

No noise. You couldn’t hear anything. You pressed your ear into the door and hoped to hear some indication of his presence. Still nothing. Your hand gripped the door knob, and before you could twist Yuji’s muffled voice met you.

“Don’t come in!” His tone was stiff, almost choked.

His command ripped your hand away from the door knob. “Yuji? You’re in there?” Misplaced excitement bloated your chest.

“Why are you here? Didn’t Choso explain everything to you?” He was clearly worried, but you couldn’t understand why.

“He did, I— I just wanted to see you.”

Silence permeated the air, but you heard floorboards creak under Yuji’s feet as he stepped closer to the door you stood behind.

“I miss you, Yuji, I miss you a lot.” You continued.

“I—” The words thickened his throat like garlic. “I miss you too.”

The sound of pointed nails, scraping desperately against wood in long rakes echoed from behind the door. It made you shiver.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” So much need seeping from his words, desperate for you to understand the level of which he yearned for you in your absence. “I miss your smile, your smell, I miss your heartbeat. God I miss hearing your blood flow.”

“Yuji—”

“Yesterday, when you visited. I could smell you, sense your heartbeat,” A deep exhale, and the scraping stoped. “Made my mouth water.”

“I—” You’d got him discussing his passion towards you, now unable to get a word in.

“Then when you talked to Choso— he made you nervous, didn’t he? I could smell it. Almost tore him apart when you left.”

The words, however deranged, made your back ache to be cradled by him. “Yuji, let me come in.”

Weak willed, he thought to himself. “Okay.”

Despite his voice seeming so close, when you opened the door, Yuji kept to the other side of the room, crouching on the edge of his bed.

You approached him, feeling as though you were encroaching on a caged tiger. The warning sensation that he could strike at any moment was one you shoved away. You halted a foot away from the bed.

Yuji’s hand kept over his mouth and nose, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes glazed over you. “Are you okay?” You asked.

He nodded, strained. “You look good.” He murmured into his palm. “So good.”

“Good enough to eat?” You joked. Yuji’s eyes widened and he desperately grasped at the red hoodie covering his steaming body. You cringed, bad timing. “Sorry.” you took a seat at the end of the bed.

The weight of you shifting the mattress only seemed to make Yuji tense up further, eyes laser focused on where your butt and thigh connected with the bed.

“How are you feeling? Sick?” You asked.

“—Hungry.” The answer left him too swiftly.

“Right, Choso said you would be.” You gazed up at the ceiling. What could you do to help him? You felt useless, unable to even be near your boyfriend without him clamping up.

“I’m sorry— for leaving. The other day.” He huffed out.

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to apologise. I understand now. I wish you would’ve told me, though. I thought I did something wrong.” You admitted.

“No, it was me.” He shifted closer to you. “I got too excited, then I bit you.”

“I didn’t mind.” You shrugged, averting your eyes. “I liked it.”

Yuji’s grunted against his hand. His gums itched to stab his growing fangs into your warm flesh at your sultry words. “You did?” He drawled, affected like a drug.

“Yes.” You’d surely come to regret the next words that left you. “Can you do it again?”

His reserve to keep himself from you utterly disappeared whilst his desire to leave you pale with nasty bites all over your skin overtook him. Yuji crawled to you, pulling you further onto his bed and trapping you beneath his weight.

His cock was already hard at the pheromones you’d been oozing into his room, you could feel it pressing into your thigh the moment he moved between your legs.

Already his lips moved to yours, overtaking you with a passionate intensity. He licked over his previous bite mark, tasting the metallic healing before lightly pressing his canines into you again. Even a little prick from his sharp fangs was enough to fill your kiss with drops of blood.

Hungrier now, Yuji licked and sucked at your bottom lip. Without truely realising it, he began to grind his hard dick into you, rubbing himself into your thigh, then crotch. You gasped as he made contact, that sound being devoured by Yuji the moment it escaped your mouth.

Before your wound could close up, Yuji nipped you again, slurping up the heavenly blood your swollen lip had to offer. Furiously, Yuji humped your core, utterly driven by his own hunger and desire.

You forced your head away, Yuji attempted to chase your honey-blooded lips, until you gasped for air. His hazy eyes snapped from his bloodlust for a mere second to check your gasping form, when he saw your lips swollen with passion, raw and slicked with his saliva and your plum pink cheeks, he dived into your body again, unable to keep himself away.

“Y-Yuji— Yuji.” You called to him, unable to reach past the frenzied desire clouding his mind. In sweet recognition, he kissed your cheek, bringing you a moment of heartfelt clarity before he bit you.

Yuji slipped down your neck and made out with your pulse, licking along the line which pumped your blood and sucking the skin. His hot, thick hands grab your sides, keeping your squirming hips still as he fucked you dry.

“Wan’ more. Let me drain you baby, please, I need more. So hungry, so so hungry for you.” He spoke through riddled huffs of your hair, nosing your nape like a pet.

“Yuji—”

“Wan’ you to be my first, for everythin’.” He continued. You couldn’t help but fall into him further, letting up to help solve his desperate hunger.

“Just a little—not too much!” You added, hand clamping against his shoulder.

He hissed into the bare of your neck, munching the supple skin until your blood pooled into his mouth.

White flashed over your eyes and you yelped, pushing against him. The struggled only made him latch onto your more, moaning loudly whilst his hips jutted into you.

The speed which Yuji sucked and dry-fucked you was dizzying, the lightheadedness making it hard for you to push him away. “Enough, Yuji, stop— ahh.”

His fangs left your freshly penetrated skin, tongue licking over the oozing remnant.

“Feel dizzy, Yuji.” You slurred, having no response from him.

“No, no, not done yet. Please. I want more.” With painful regret, he left your seeping neck and eyed you.

“Yuji...” You whined.

“I’ll make you cum, yeah? Can I? Make you feel good.”

Faintly, you nodded. He kissed his way down your body, pulling off the articles of clothing as he did. First your shirt, then your bottoms. He huffed your underwear, taking a long drag of the moist fabric. “Yuji!” You gaped, squirming.

In retaliation, he forced down your hips, his impossible strength burying you still into the mattress. Again he scented you, before tearing at your underwear with just his teeth.

He barely looked over your cunt, instead mapping you out with his tongue. The first lap sliding around your cunt was merely for his own curiosity, licking over your curves and bumps, circling your weepy hole. The puffs of his hot breaths lulled you back into a flushed realisation, the woozy lightheadedness fading.

Despite Yuji being drugged on the high of your sex, he was aware enough to focus on your clit, spelling shapes into the nub with his tongue before licking up the slick you weeped from the pleasure and repeating the cycle.

You reached for him, threading one hand through his short pink spikes whilst the other grabbed at the hand locked to your hip.

The new sensation rocked your body, his wet, warm tongue slurping and squelching around your cunt as he ate you out.

You cursed loudly, a premature orgasm rippling over your body until you went limp under him. Yuji dragged his fangs over your twitching clit, coming dangerously close to biting you.

Still vibrant with your orgasm, you sat up, bringing his chin to you and kissing him.

His hands left your sides, and you didn’t need to glance at the red marks of his handprint to know that it’d bruise tomorrow.

“Was that good?” He asked, you nodded desperately and he groaned to know he brought you pleasure.

“You too.” You added, words unable to form correctly. “Wan’ you to feel good.” You opened your legs to him, and he moaned at your offering.

“Fuck.” He hissed, shoving off his pants and shirt sporadically. His boxers followed in suit, slower, suggesting that Yuji was somewhat shy to reveal himself to you for the first time.

You were just as bashful, looking up to the ceiling to avoid the sight. Your eyes only returned to him when his tip pressed into your cunt.

“Wanted to feel this f’ so long…” He drawled, sliding his hard dick up and down your wet pussy.

“Just b—be gentle, Yuji.” You uttered.

“I’ll try.” You could hear the disbelief in his voice, neither your nor him knew he would be able to hold himself back from fucking you desperately.

His squishy head slipped into the first ring of your chasm, moulding to the tightness of your cunt. The initial feeling made him buck his hips spastically, freeing a choked moan from his throat.

“Oh fuck, fuck.” He cursed, pushing himself halfway in before halting to pace himself. “You feel so good, so so good, fuck I’m gonna cum.”

He rested his hands around your bruising sides, his chest rising and falling with an intense rhythm. Although Yuji’s orgasm approached far too quickly, he pulled your hips onto him, his arms lifting your weight like you were a plastic doll.

Your hips connected with a tight smack!

You whined and Yuji gasped your name. His cock twitched inside you, aching to release against your gummy insides.

“Oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck.” Immediately his hips smashed into you, once, twice before you felt Yuji’s hot seed slash your insides. “Let me turn you, fuck—” He choked through the grunt of his orgasm.

“What??” He didn’t stop. Continually and erratically humping your gushy insides.

“I wanna fuck you forever, please, let me turn you.”

“Yuji—”

“You’ll be mine forever,” the mere thought hardened his sensitive dick painfully. “Forever.” He hissed.

“T-Think about what you’re saying, Yuji! That’s s-serious— nhg—” You pushed against his chest, trying to escape the intensity of his thrusts.

“Don’t try and leave.” His claws tore through the flesh of your sides. He kept you down, buried in the layers of blankets and plush. Deeper now, his cock reached the furthest part of your insides.

“D—Do you even know how?” You gaped, throwing your head back and moaning the moment his cock head massaged the spongey nerve bundle inside you.

“I’ll learn.” He seemed to take the show of your neck as an invitation, because he began lapping up the half dry blood his puncture wounds left.

“Nnno Yuji, I can’t think— fuck.”

“Don’t think, okay? Just say my name.”

As if the command cleared your mind, you did just that, voice cracking halfway the mewl of his name as Yuji’s teeth reopened the two holes in your neck. This time, the sharp stab hit you harder sending a jolt of pain through your body, clamping up your muscles.

The moment your blood waved over his tastebuds was the same your pussy tightened in reaction to the pain, at both sensations a thick drop of precum seeped into frothy mess inside you. His moan reverberated into the raw skin of your neck and you responded with a weak grunt of your own.

His humps into your cunt loosened, his aim becoming unfocused as he lost himself in your essence. Your impossibly ambrosial blood satisfied the hunger and desire he hadn’t known had been hanging over him since childhood.

Nothing could be more euphoric than fucking you whilst feasting on your neck.

“Yu…” your ears rang out, heart pumping escaping blood into Yuji’s mouth.

White steadily overtook your vision and everything but the sensation of Yuji’s hot cock working against your sensitive, gummy walls faded.

Your white-hot orgasm brought you back, jolting your body like a lifesaving shock of electricity that had your back contorting. It seared your empty veins with unfaltering love for Yuji. You’d let him turn you, you’d let him do anything to you. Your quick jolt ripped Yuji’s teeth from you, allowing his mouth free rein to moan your name as his own orgasm came quickly.

Your inside sucked Yuji in, desperately pleading for more of his seed. A slave to your cunt, Yuji came again, adding another clump of white, warm cum inside your pink chasm. Another few spurts of feral thrusts was all Yuji had in him.

You gasped at the air, feeling the weight of Yuji lift from you and fall into the space beside you.

His nails loosened from your raw hips, replaced with a kind hold of his thick hands. He pulled you in, cradling your pale cold body against his hot, sweaty skin like you were his favourite stuffed toy.

It had taken a mere minute after Yuji cleaned your remnant from inside his mouth before clarity hit and he shot up. “Oh fuck! Are you okay? Shit, I went too far.”

Glorious afterglow welled your fuzzy brain. “M’ okay..” You uttered, fluttering eyes and pale face telling him otherwise.

“Okay. Fuck. I’ll uh— get a cookie, for you, and a juice box.” He was gone for less than a minute, but within that time you fell into unconsciousness and came to wearing one of his shirts and having been noticeably cleaned up. Yuji cradled your head, prompting you to drink from a straw.

He’d reached clarity after being severely fucked out of his feral state. To you, he even looked calmer, eyes a cool brown and canines retraced. The sweet juice lifted the pallor from your body, and the slightest bit of colour flushed your cheeks. Yuji brightened at the sight.

“Do you feel better? I’m so sorry.” He apologised quickly.

“I’m okay, I’m fine.” You sighed, utterly fatigued. “Holy fuck that so intense.”

Like a praised puppy, Yuji beamed. “Was it good?”

“Yes— yeah. I’ve never… cum that hard before.” You admitted. Yuji’s invisible tail only wagged harder.

Internally, he fist pumped. “Yeah, me neither.” He stated, sliding into the bed beside you.

A comfortable pause enclosed the two of you, until your mind lingered on the words he declared while high on your blood and insides.

“You were lying before.” You stated, despite it really being a question.

“What’d I say?” He asked.

“You wanted to turn me, into a vampire.”

“Shiiiit.” He rubbed his shoulder, awkwardly nodding. “I did— do. I do, actually.” His brown eyes slid to you, gauging the expression on your face. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I don’t want to live forever unless I’m with you.”

“Sounds like a marriage proposal.” You huffed.

“It does, I guess. We wouldn’t have to get married right away, we’d have forever to figure that out.”

“You’re serious?” You shifted, turning to look him head-on.

“Yeah.” Yuji nodded, like he’d just proposed a casual date.

“I’ll…” An abundance of questions overflowed your mind. Was turning into a vampire painful? How would he even do it? Would you live with him? Would you have to kill to eat?

Most of all; did you want to live forever? With Yuji?

“I’ll think about it.” You finished.

Warmly, Yuji embraced you, pulling you into his chest and blanketing you with his thick arms. “No pressure, yeah? I love you, vampire or not.”

“I love you too, my sexy vampire boyfriend.” You mused. Yuji dug his face between your neck and shoulder, planting kisses over your mark painted skin.

“I think that nickname is pretty well suited now.”

Part two? 😏

❤❤❤

would you ever do a gloryh*le type thing where Simon or Konig visit and its readers first time working there and he decides that she’s his. i saw a video after the guy was done he kissed her legs sweetly then gave her some money. I thought it was cute.

awww i like this. quick drabble, but maybe i’ll do a full one shot later ;)

mdni, glory hole type situation, unprotected sex, creampie

könig would just stare at how pretty you look, bent over and arched so nicely. his large hands would trace over your ass and he’d get rock solid just hearing your sweet little whimpers from behind the wall. wouldn’t be able to help himself from spreading your cheeks and running his thick, gloved fingers through your sticky folds.

you whine and whimper when he sinks two fingers inside you, the stretch burning you, but you don’t care when he curls those same fingers and hits that spongy spot inside you till you’re squirting on his hand and he’s muttering pretty praises to you in german.

pushing his cock inside—fuck, he’s massive—your pussy squelching and sucking him inside. you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock, savoring the way he moans and grips your waist as he sheaths himself inside you.

begins fucking you slowly at first, but your pussy feels so good that he can’t help but start to pound into you. and when he hits that spot inside you that makes your toes curl, you’re coming on his cock, clamping down on him so hard that könig’s afraid you’ll push him out of you. his tip kisses your cervix so deliciously that it makes your legs tremble.

when he comes, he comes inside that needy cunt. it’s his cunt, after all. that’s what he’s decided as his cock throbs and he empties load after load into your waiting womb. after pulling out of you and cleaning you up like the gentleman he is, he’ll leave you a couple hundreds and his phone number, kissing your back sweetly and muttering that you’re his, and he wants to be the one to take care of you.

and of course you call him—how could you not after an encounter like that?

This is so❤❤❤

your new neighbor has taken a liking to you

simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader

tags/warnings: mdni, infidelity (ghost’s marriage sucks), size kink, breeding , unprotected sex, degradation/dumbification, squirting, corruption kink if you squint

Simon is in a loveless marriage.

It’s sad—he knows that. Ever since he got back from deployment, things with his wife weren’t the same. She would stay at work late, come home smelling of someone else’s cologne, trying to hide her swollen lips.

Military service took a toll on him. The torture, the abuse, the loss of life—sometimes it was too much for him to bear. His wife didn’t understand, and he certainly couldn’t talk to her about it. She was too busy being fucked by other men to speak to him anyway. So, he kept his trauma close to his chest.

Then he met you.

You moved in next to him while he was away. When he left for service, the house was empty—vines withering up the creaky wood, yard overgrown and barren. As soon as he drove into his front yard, he knew that changed.

The house was fixed up, vines trimmed. A new coat of paint covered the old wood and made it look new. A hammock hung between two large trees in the yard. And one other thing was different.

Flowers. They were everywhere in your yard. Rose bushes, lavender, tulips, sunflowers—the yard was a rainbow of color. Simon could smell them from his front yard when he went outside to smoke or to get away from the confines of his house.

It wasn’t until he was smoking one afternoon that he saw you. Fresh-faced and young, gloved hands trimming back your rose bushes. It took him a while to say hi, but he did eventually. You were everything his wife wasn’t—kind, bubbly, thoughtful…innocent.

He found himself in your front yard more than he was at home, offering to help you trim your flowers or plant new ones. He was always filling the heavy watering can and watering for you—“I got all this muscle, sweetheart, let me use it for somethin’.”

Simon wasn’t sure when he began spilling his trauma, but one day, he sat on your couch with a glass of lemonade telling you about the war. The torture, the loss of his military brethren—everything. He told you about his past and his present, about his failing marriage; and most importantly, that he trusted you.

The first intimate actions were small. A brush of a hand, a squeeze of a thigh. Lips brushed against an ear. Small actions that made your tummy clench and his face grow hot. Eventually, it led to something more. Soft kisses on tender lips, hands running over scarred skin and muscle, strong arms wrapped around you.

And tonight, you kissed him with a hunger he couldn’t ignore anymore. Your tongue swiped so slowly along his that his knees buckled and his heart slammed against his chest. His fingers gripped your ass so tightly, you thought it would bruise, but it sent heat to your core all the same.

That’s how you find yourself now—on your back in your bed, sheets sprawled around you and Simon eating you like a man starved. His tongue flicks so deliciously against your clit that it makes your toes curl and your grip tighten in his hair.

“Simon,” you whine, hips bucking as he sucks hard on the sensitive nerves. His response is a grunt, his middle and ring finger gathering your juices and teasing your tight entrance.

Your breath stills when he pushes his two thick fingers inside of your pussy, back arching and hips drawing back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Simon mutters against your clit, tugging your hips down with his other hand and curling his fingers inside of your wanting cunt.

All you can do is whine as his fingers scissor and stretch your squelching pussy, juices dripping down to your ass. His tongue rubs circles around your clit like he’s painting a fucking picture, and you can’t help but moan out at the pleasure. His fingers hit that spongy spot that sends an electric jolt to your toes, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the pleasure.

“S-Simon, I can’t—I’m gonna—” You can’t even finish your sentence, your voice breaking off in a moan as he speeds up.

And then you’re coming, babbling nonsense and his name like a prayer as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. You don’t even comprehend that you squirt all over his hand and mouth, or that he’s rutting his hips against the bed and moaning into your cunt as he tastes you.

Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, his hands running up to your waist. Your eyes flutter open—when did they shut?—and you look up at him staring down at you, his lips curled into a smirk.

“Such a nasty fucking girl,” he murmurs as he leans down, teeth grazing across your neck. “Squirting for me like that. Gonna do that on my cock, too, sweetheart?”

All you can do is moan in response, and Simon chuckles before pulling back and tugging down his boxers. Your eyes widen as you take in his fat cock—thick and veiny and leaking precum. He holds eye contact with you as he moves to hover over you, rubbing his tip along your soaked folds.

You squirm and whine, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t think it’s gonna fit.”

Simon grins, positioning his tip against your throbbing hole. “Gonna make it fit.”

Your lips part as he slowly slides his fat cock inside you, stretching you out in such a painfully delicious way that you almost forget to breathe. You can feel every vein in his cock, and Simon lets out a guttural groan when he sheathes himself fully inside you.

“Relax, doll. Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight and I haven’t even moved.” His voice is strained, and he lets out a breath as you try to relax.

His hand moves to your throat, squeezing slightly as he begins to move. Slow at first—painfully slow. You hold eye contact with him as he slowly ruts his hips against yours, his lips parted as breathy groans slip past. When you start to whimper and moan, he speeds up, his pace becoming almost animalistic in nature.

The tip of his fat cock hits a spot that makes you see stars, and you let out a soft cry as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. It feels so good, and you drag your nails down his chest because you don’t know what else to do.

“Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” He asks, grip tight on your throat. “You like my cock stretchin’ you out?”

You can’t even answer him, responding with whines and moans, tears sliding down your cheeks from the pleasure. Simon smirks, fucking you faster, and you cry out.

“Didn’t think I’d fuck you dumb, sweetheart. Can’t help it can you? Cock makin’ you stupid?”

You whine out, hiccuping out a moan as his other hand moves to your clit to rub in precise circles. Your eyes glaze over and you’re gone—submitting completely to him as he fucks you with his fat cock.

Your vision goes white as your orgasm hits you unexpectedly, stealing the breath from your lungs as your legs shake. Simon grunts and groans as you come on his cock, throbbing so tightly around him that you almost force him out. He simply fucks you harder, pressing against your cervix as your juices gush out of your cunt and you whine out, hips jolting.

Simon moves his fingers from your clit to your face, wiping your tears away and leaning down to kiss you. The kiss is hot and surprisingly sweet, and when he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Good fuckin’ girl. My girl. Gonna fill this sweet pussy up so good, baby,” he whispers against your lips, his arm hooking through your leg to open you up wider. His hips slap against yours, his breathy moans hitting your skin softly.

“Please, Simon,” you breathe out, voice catching as he fucks into you. “Need it. Please.”

That’s all it takes for Simon to crumble, moaning out curses and your name as his cock throbs inside of you. He gives one, two, three more thrusts before he buries his fat cock inside you, tip against your cervix, and you can feel his hot seed pumping inside of you.

He thrusts lazily for a moment before sliding out of you, pulling you to his chest. Your lips meet in a sweet, lazy kiss, and you feel his cum dripping out of you. Simon’s fingers trace down your back, and he looks at you so delicately, he’s afraid you might break. His hand moves to cup your face, thumb brushing right underneath your eyes. Then he utters four words that make your heart stop.

“I’m getting a divorce.”

—————————————

see this one shot’s counterpart here

Dude, sometimes it just hits me how utterly limitless shifting/manifesting is. "Well, DUH Angel, that's kind the whole point" BUT LIKE IT'S STILL CRAZY TO THINK ABOUT TO ME. You can grow wings and learn how to fly. You can go through a complete 180 glow-up without lifting a finger. You can rewrite history. You can customize every single thing about yourself down to nail color like a video game. You can date a celebrity as a non-celebrity. You can get instant fame. You can make an ideal family. You can make "fictional characters" reality. This is the cheat code to life. You can do, be, and have everything and more! You never have to worry. Isn't that just so amazing? Shifting/manifestation is the purest form of freedom

This issss fire!!!!

you noticed me ⚾︎

{mlb!megumi fushiguro x f!reader}

summary: megumi fushiguro is one of the best players on the major league baseball team, and when you finally spot him on the big screen after practically dozing off at every game you went to with your girl friend? you were absolutely IN LOVE, but IN DENIAL that he could ever like you back… but he does, and bad.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, NASTY NASTY MEGUMI, oral sex, SMUT, pussy eating in locker rooms HEH, mentions of drinking but like tiny just once, reader is oblivious to the way megumi wants her, DOMINANT AF MEGUMI PHEWW, cursing, flufffff!!, barely any angst, DIRTY TALK, pet names.

word count: 12.1k (IK IM SORRY ITS A CUTE ONE THO)

authors note: you GUYSSSS i love megumi fushiguro i want him so bad and i LOOVEEE this fic!! i worked like a little worker bee for days and i really hope it makes you guys happy :] MWAH!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

megumi fushiguro was the hottest baseball player you had ever seen in your life.

and you didn’t even like baseball to begin with, dozing off at every game your girl friend dragged you to because her boyfriend was on the major league team— but the one time you decided to open your eyes and pay attention to the big giant screen in front of you?

there he was in all of his emo glory.

number eighteen.

focused, half lidded eyes resembling borderline boredom as he waited for the pitcher to throw, his forehead glistening with sweat, flushed red cheeks, and his jet black hair slightly peeking over his forehead from underneath his baseball cap.

“my god—” your hand flew and you gripped your girl friends arm tightly, your jaw to the fucking floor as your eyes were gorilla glued to the screen, her quirking a curious eyebrow at you as she matched your frantic nature.

“what? what is it? who did you see? whats happ—”

you pointed your finger up at the screen, him swinging and hitting a fucking grand slam as he proceeded to get four runs with one hit, the one thing you knew about baseball besides a home run.

“that’s a— that’s a grand slam!” you pointed frantically, probably looking absolutely insane as you stood and screamed your fucking head off.

your girl friend laughed loudly, “you like fushiguro? megumi fushiguro?”

you jumped up and down, your girlfriend astonished and laughing as this was the first time she’d ever seen you energetic at a baseball game.

“he’s friends with yuji!” she yelled over the hollering of the crowd. “we can go to their locker room after and you can say hi! i heard he’s kind of mean though—”

“no!” you spun around, eyes wide and terrified. “i already know he’ll eat me alive then! i’m a loser, i can’t talk to him i don’t have game i—”

she rolled her eyes. “you’ll be fine—”

“no i can’t!” you shook your head frantically. “please he looks like the type to love bomb me and then leave me i don’t think i can handle that—”

she snorted. “are you sure?!”

you hesitated for a moment, biting your bottom lip as your eyes trailed back over to the screen, seeing megumi breathing a little heavy from running the field, his hands on his hips as he scanned the arena.

you sighed through your nose. “yeah i’m sure!”

“suit yourself!”

a year. a year you spent continuing to tag along with your girl friend to their games, staring lovesick and sad at the big screen over megumi, and standing outside far far away from the locker room once they scored another big win and not going in like you used to, waiting for your girl friend to finish up speaking to her boyfriend as you tried your best to avoid the chance of running into megumi.

she finally emerged from the locker rooms one day, a knowing smirk on her face.

“i told yuji.”

you blinked. “told him what?”

“that you like fushiguro.”

“no!” you gasped, a hand flying and smacking over your mouth. “please no im about to experience the biggest heartbreak of my life—”

“oh relax!” she grabbed your arm and practically dragged you towards the locker room doors. “he’s not even here megumi already left, but yuji wants to talk to you.”

“why?!” you exclaimed. “to let me down easy? to tell me he’s sorry on his behalf—”

your girl friend just about threw you in and went in after you as you stumbled, eyes blown wide as the air became humid and heavy, several of the players lounging about and refreshing themselves as the sound of lockers slamming shut echoed through the space— deep, broad voices laughing filling the room as yuji spotted you, his eyes friendly and polite. “y/n!”

you relaxed and smiled, “hi! you guys played really well today!”

“megumi also played really well today.”

“oh my god—” you groaned, throwing your head back as you spun around, heading straight for the exit.

“wait wait!” he laughed loudly, jogging up to you. “sorry sorry.”

“what do you want with me..” you mumbled.

he gave you a half smile. “i wanted to tell you that megumi’s weird.”

you snorted, “elaborate please.”

yuji threw an arm around your girl friend before continuing.

“you know we support your feelings and what you want…” he began.

your eyes narrowed. “why are you guys talking to me like you’re my parents—”

“but—” yuji cut you off. “i’m just gonna be straight with you. i’ve never ever seen megumi interact with anyone, let alone another woman, besides the team.”

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen him have a proper conversation with anyone on the team besides you actually…” your girl friend muttered to yuji.

yuji winced. “yeah…” he turned back to you. “back when megumi and i first got signed, he was really popular and a lot of girls would come up to him after games for his number or just to talk to him.”

“well obviously he’s a greek god,” you grumbled. “this is hurting me man get to the point.”

he sighed. “he basically scared all of them off. didn’t give a single one a chance and was kinda mean... he would either ignore them or straight up just tell them he wasn’t interested without them even being able to get a word in.”

you stared blankly.

“i tried to tell him that he needs to be nicer but he’s just not interested.”

you kept staring.

“that’s why i’m telling you this because we don’t want you to get hurt and i feel like if you try and talk to him he’s gonna be a dick and it might…” yuji looked at you sadly. “it might be a lost cause.”

you blinked.

“y/n?”

“that’s fine!” you squeaked, hands tight at your sides. “a part of me already knew. i read about it in an article, and i’ve seen his interviews.”

your girl friend looked at you with concern filled eyes. “are you okay?”

“yeah!” you waved them off. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“because your eyes are red.”

“ppffttt!” you blew out. “i’m fine! seriously. i never intended to talk to him anyways, i’m too much of a scaredy cat.”

you extended your arms out and engulfed the both of them, squeezing tight. “thank you guys for telling me though, i appreciate it.”

“y/n…” yuji trailed off.

“i’m gonna take off though, i’ll see you guys later, okay?” you waved and opened the door. “love you!”

and you scrammed, your heart in a million pieces.

it’s not like you didn’t already know. you knew, so why were you sad? why did you feel like you just got ran over by a double decker bus? why did you pathetically feel so sad?

this was the reality. you never stood a chance.

so why were you crying?

you continued walking down the hall and towards the main exit, utterly embarrassed at your sobbing and trying your best to hide it as you navigated through several groups of people, your vision entirely blurry as you were basically drowning in your tears.

you had barely escaped the crowd when you spotted a little secluded area in the lobby, trudging over pathetically and plopping down on the coushy seat as you wiped your cheeks, staring at the wall in front of you— a huge glass casing proudly decorated with the teams trophies and awards, gigantic portraits of the players on the team adorning the walls with megumi’s serious beautiful framed face right in front of you just making you feel worse.

you already knew, but regardless of megumi’s stand off ish personality, you liked it. you had curiously browsed his interviews and quotes in articles, and you always laughed at his responses, him almost every time offending the staff without even trying or knowing, and you found it so so funny, it only making you admire him and want to get to know him even more, even if it was just a friendship.

megumi fushiguro was one of the best players on the team in history, and as you closed your eyes, silent pathetic tears still slipping down your cheeks?

he never felt so out of reach.

“here.”

your eyes opened, but you literally could not see jack shit as your tears were still blurring your line of sight, you completely and utterly mortified that a stranger caught you sobbing as you wiped your face quickly in response.

“put on my sunglasses if you don’t want people to see you crying.”

the voice was gruff and lazy, but you could not care less as you took the sunglasses and settled them over your eyes, the lenses so freaking dark that you couldn’t see a single thing— your sight worse than before.

but it relieved you, as you figured no one could see your bloodshot eyes and therefore thankfully not notice you losing your mind over something so stupid.

“thank you,” you mumbled. “sorry.”

“for what.”

you felt the plush of the bench shift next to you, figuring that the stranger man sat beside you as you refused to look in their direction out of embarrassment.

not that you could even see in the first place.

“for looking like a loser.”

the stranger man snorted. “s’fine.”

you wiped your nose with your sleeve, sniffling.

“how do you see in these?” you muttered softly. “they’re making me claustrophobic i can’t see a thing.”

“that’s the point,” he hums.

“how come?”

“i get migraines everyday. they help.”

“oh i see.” you responded softly. “have you ever run into a wall because of them?”

you hear him huff out through his nose. “i did once, when i first got them.”

you giggled gently. “did you bleed?”

“no,” he spoke calmly. “i got a bump on my forehead.”

you snickered, “what? loserrr.”

you stood up and carefully tried to walk around a little, testing out how to guide yourself through the dark lenses and trying to be careful and not bump into a wall (which was literally impossible), your hands out, feeling around.

“jesus christ i’m just kidding now i feel bad. i think im gonna bump myself into a wall too so we can call it even.”

you couldn’t see, but the stranger man’s lips twitched at your comment.

“don’t do that.” he murmured. “sit back down.”

you listened and started making your way over, feeling him reach out and wrap his fingers around your wrist carefully and guide you to the bench, you plopping down on it once you felt it.

“thank you!” you responded sweetly. “…i’m actually glad i can’t see a thing right now.” you perked up, pushing the sunglasses back up over the bridge of your nose.

“why is that.”

“so i don’t have to look at megumi fushiguro’s big portrait in front of my face.”

the stranger man stopped.

“…why?”

“because he indirectly broke my heart.”

you heard a little audible laugh, and you smiled to yourself.

at least someone is having fun right now.

“how did he indirectly break your heart?”

“my girl friend’s boyfriend is yuji itadori. she spilled the beans against my will about how i have a crush on him, and yuji told me that he’s mean and he’ll basically bite my head off and tell me to scram.”

“did he?”

“uh huh,” you nodded. “they were trying to let me down easy, but it’s not like i was gonna try and talk to him anyways. i’ve gone a year without saying anything i can go on and on and on.”

the stranger man hummed.

“he’s so cool though…” you murmured, dazed. “he’s gonna be a hard one to forget about.”

“why do you like him?”

“i feel like im being interrogated,” you giggled.

you felt the stranger man lean back against the wall. “sorry, just curious.”

you copied him and crossed your arms, “mmm… because he’s really good at what he does. i admire that most of all.”

you tilted your head. “everyone berates him for being mean but i like that he’s supposedly mean for some reason…. he’s just serious about his profession and he doesn’t want to waste time. he’s also the hottest man i’ve ever seen so that definitely helps.”

the stranger man laughed a little.

“i don’t know,” you sighed sadly. “maybe i’m just demented. i am demented.”

“if yuji itadori told you the exact opposite about him, would that have encouraged you to go up to him?”

you sat in thought for a moment, but ultimately shook your head. “no. it’s too embarrassing for me and i’m also a big fat wuss so…”

you slid your fingers underneath the lenses and rubbed your stinging sore eyes. “maybe in the next life if i’m lucky, ill be reincarnated as a cool baseball man too and i won’t have to deal with this shit.”

“cool baseball man.” he repeated, tone seemingly amused.

“yup.”

the stranger man sighed. “is this why i found you crying?”

“maayybeee?” you dragged out shyly, your cheeks flushing.

it was silent for a moment, your vision completely black but his on your rosy cheeks, oddly staring that if you could see right now, you’d probably call him a creep.

“i’m sorry i made you cry.”

you jumped back.

“no not you!” you huffed. “have you not been paying attention? catch up man—”

you felt a shadow reach up and tug the sunglasses slightly away from your face, your eyes constricting against the bright lights of the hall as they tried to adjust.

and when they did?

megumi fushiguro was sitting right next to you, a tiny smile on his face dressed in all black with his teams baseball cap on.

your eyes widened dramatically and you slapped both hands over your mouth, beyond horrified as everything you had thought you were telling a stranger about him, you were telling him directly, your brain short circuiting and your body heating up like a fucking hot flash.

“oh my god i’m so sorry!” your voice was muffled, you shaking your head in absolute denial.

you immediately sprung up and grabbed your purse, slowly backing up further and further away from him.

his smile widened.

oh my god.

megumi fushiguro was smiling, a sight you’ve never ever seen during his games, practices, interviews, articles, or magazines as your cheeks increased in shade— wanting to mentally take a picture and remember forever as you knew you’d probably never see him smile like that again.

but he was smiling.

“pretend i don’t exist!” you stammered, “pretend this never happened i’m sorry this is so embarrassing keep winning your games okay and i’ll keep being an idiot far far away from you—”

“where are you going?” he chuckled lowly.

“—you’ll never see me again i’m going home and i’m going on lockdown—”

he laughed through his nose, his lips in an amused smile.

“you don’t have to do that.”

“yes i do—”

“you don’t have to forget me either.”

“that i definitely do—”

you were halfway out of the main entrance doors.

“hold on y/n—”

megumi stood, his long legs walking over to you and you froze.

y/n?

you slowly turned around, your face pale and afraid.

“how do you know my name?” you asked softly.

“your best friend is dating yuji, is she not.”

you nodded, eyes blank.

“i’ve been seeing you inside the locker room after our games for like… two years.” megumi mumbled.

oh.

oh that’s right.

you didn’t actually notice megumi until last year, when you decided to finally open your eyes for once during a game and that’s how you spotted him for the first time on the big screen in front of you, in all of his gorgeous handsome entity.

“oh.”

he raised a hand and pressed his index finger to your forehead, nudging you softly.

“dummy.”

“s-sorry..” you gave him a wobbly bashful smile, your cheeks pinky as you rubbed your red eyes.

his eyes slightly softened and he shook his head. “s’fine.”

megumi continued to stare at you, a stone cold face that always seemed to scare off the teams entire fan base, but only made you feel numb and giddy all over every single time.

you smiled wider then, and megumi’s lips twitched.

cute.

“i’m— i’m gonna go now.”

“do you have a ride home?”

you stopped. “no i was just gonna call an uber—”

he shook his head and walked past you, his shoulder brushing gently with yours with his hands stuffed in his pockets as you turned and stared at him.

he paused and looked over his shoulder.

“you coming?”

your eyes widened. “coming? w—where?”

he rolled his eyes. “i’m taking you home.”

“no!” you shot your hands out. “it’s okay! really! thank you thank you i appreciate it but—”

he stared lazily.

“come.”

you pressed your lips into a thin line and tipped your head down, taking tiny painful steps as you followed after him to the parking lot.

megumi led you from the public parking area to a secluded section around the back of the arena, one you assumed was for players and crew members only as you nervously gnawed on your bottom lip, feeling absolutely sick.

you both continued to walk down until you arrived to a private parking garage, megumi slipping out his keys from the pocket of his hoodie as you approached a shiny black luxurious car sitting neatly in a spot.

his car was really fucking nice, and you figured so being as he was one of the most popular players and probably had more than enough money in the bank— your fingers trembling as you gripped the passenger side door, settling yourself inside his plush cool leather seats and all black interior.

megumi pressed the ‘start’ button and his engine roared to life, the motor echoing through the structure as you clumsily tried to put on your seatbelt, your cheeks growing pinker with each passing second that you just couldn’t get the stupid damn thing to— click—

he reached over across the console and took the seatbelt from you, pulling it over your body and clicking it secure without a word.

“thank you.” you said softly, eyes trained to your lap.

megumi gave you a small nod and backed out of his parking space, driving around a couple of rows before making his way out with the night air softly breezing through your hair as he drove, his dash illuminated with blue lines that ran smoothly across.

“can you put your address in—”

“oh yeah!” you jumped. “sorry—”

you reached over and tapped in your address on his big touch screen, watching the way the gps registered the location and gave him the estimated time of arrival.

forty fucking minutes.

“megumi..”

his eyes looked over at you for a second before turning back to the road.

“hm?”

“i live kinda far from here and i don’t want you to drive the opposite way from where you live.”

you leaned a little, eyebrows pinched. “i can take an uber seriously, this is too much trouble i—”

“you’re already in my car.” he deadpanned.

“i’ll jump out.”

he pursed his lips, trying to suppress a smile.

“i have child lock on.”

“child lock?!” you gawked. “is this what you think of me?”

“you’re a little helpless… and you’re a crybaby.” he mumbled. “child lock stays on.”

you giggled after, your eyes shining and filled with mushy feelings for him as you nodded. “you’re probably right.”

he looked over at you then, and he smiled, softly.

“what do you do?”

you fidgeted. “h—huh?”

“do you um…” he ran his thumb over the top of his gear shift. “do you work? do you go to school?”

he’s asking you?

“i go to school!” you responded shyly but kind. “i go to a college that’s about fifteen minutes from your stadium. i usually go and meet up with my best friend after class if there’s a game.”

he hummed. “are you a big baseball person?”

you grimaced.

do you lie? do you tell the truth? do you roll down his window and attempt to jump out of the car that way?

you played with a strand of your hair. “i— i um—”

he raised an eyebrow.

“i— don’t?”

he cocked his head. “you don’t?”

you shook your head no, completely ashamed of who you are as a person as you covered your eyes.

“i knoww i suuucckkk,” you whined. “the only things i know about baseball are home runs and grand slams— which you did!”

you pointed at him excitedly. “last year! i remember you hit a grand slam! i got so excited that for once i knew what the fuck was going on and why everyone was going crazy…”

you fiddled with your fingers nervously, your eyes trained to the road. “i felt so included.”

he chuckled, and unexpectedly, reached over and gently ruffled your hair.

you then stared at him as he did so, doe eyes wide and cheeks pink.

megumi was truly just beautiful— his smooth face that didn’t have a single blemish on his skin shining under the moonlight, his black spiky hair peeking from under his cap that you had no doubt in your mind was soft and velvety.

you hated that you’d probably do anything for that man.

“i’m sorry i made you cry,” he repeated, you recognizing his words from before.

your eyebrows furrowed.

he was still thinking about that?

you shook your head furiously, “you didn’t! i swear it’s okay. i’m just crazy.”

he huffed out a laugh.

megumi thought you were odd, but in a good way. he thought everything you did was a little funny, as you were jumpy and clumsy and a crybaby and helpless, but he also took note of how polite you were. he noticed how considerate you were of him even though you were really upset, and you were kind of sweet… really sweet actually, your personality something that was totally different from the usual girls that came up to him.

well, the usual girls that used to come up to him back when he first started.

megumi pulled into your driveway and shifted the gear into park, the doors automatically unlocking.

you opened the door and stepped out before leaning down and peeking your head in.

“thank you for the ride!” you said sweetly, a cute smile on your face. “i’m sorry you had to listen to my confession against your will.”

he shook his head. “it’s alright.”

you went in to close the door.

“y/n.”

you leaned back down, “yeah?”

“are you gonna stop coming to our games?”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek, your eyes darting around the interior of his car nervously.

“i— i don’t think so.”

“good.”

megumi watched you close his door and walk back a bit, him shifting his gear into reverse as the corners of his lips turned a tiny bit upwards.

“i’ll see you then.”

as you watched him pull out and drive away, his engine roaring down the street, you could not stop or simmer down the way your heart raced against your chest, so much so that you were afraid it was going to burst through your chest and literally kill you.

the next time you went to a game, you hadn’t told your close girl friend yet as she led you through the crowd and down to the v.i.p. lower level seats like always, a kind courtesy of yuji’s that he did whenever he could.

as you watched, you embarrassingly spotted megumi almost the minute you arrived, stars and hearts in your eyes as you watched him do his thing and work magic through the field with his absolutely insane batting, strong and purposeful as he barked orders or observed the opposing team for leads.

once his and the opposing team switched sides, megumi looked up as he jogged, his eyes seemingly scanning the v.i.p. front sections until he spotted you.

he raised a hand and gave you a little wave, and your eyes widened as you timidly, hesitantly, gave him one in return— your cheeks turning pink.

“who are you waving at?”

your girl friend pressed a cheek against yours and looked.

“who is- fushiguro?!”

you looked at her sheepishly.

as you recounted the story to her, her eyes bulging out of her sockets and screaming her head off every two seconds, her head snapped to the field.

“i have to tell yuji—”

“no!” you gripped her shoulders. “it’s literally nothing! he drove me home and he probably just feels bad for me.”

“megumi isn’t the type to make a crying girl feel better or drive her home.”

“it’s because he knows that we know yuji.”

“mm i don’t think so..” she scowled, crossing her arms in eventual defeat as she stared straight ahead.

that’s how it went for about a month.

you would come to their games, megumi would wave at you from the field or you would catch his attention and wave at him, and you would briefly speak to him casually just after his games, your conversations with him usually lasting no more than three minutes as he was often pulled by his coach or a crew member.

but even though the conversations were short, they were really nice, and the both of you never seemed to notice the people around you wanting his attention until he physically had to get pulled away.

but you still refused to go inside the locker room, knowing that was surely the place where you had to talk to him for longer than three minutes. you were too scared, embarrassingly so as you bid your girl friend and yuji goodbye from just outside the door before leaving every time, completely unaware of the way megumi would stare expressionless at you from inside.

when your girl friend invited you to the team’s yearly banquet, you flat out said no, decision firm and unmoving as she begged you over and over and over again.

“please please you have to go! you can’t avoid megumi forever!”

“what is the purpose of me going though?” you sighed, shaking your head with a smile at the sight of her dramatically on her knees over you. “for you it makes sense because you’re with yuji but what’s the excuse for me? i’m not anybody’s plus one.”

“yes you are,” she got back up on her feet and wiggled her eyebrows, “you’re megumi’s plus one.”

“bye i wish,” you mumbled, plopping down on your bed.

“okay you’re my plus one, or yuji’s! so he has two plus ones!”

she walked over and sat down next to you, resting her head against your shoulder as she sighed. “please come. you don’t have to talk to megumi okay? fine. but just come with me, i’ll have a better time if you do.”

you gave her a silly smile and thought for a moment, her sad tone swaying you as you finally gave in.

“only if you swear you won’t force me to talk to him.”

she nodded eagerly.

“i swear!”

so you stood there, nervous and biting your thumb as you frantically looked around, dressed in a pretty black off the shoulder mermaid style gown with a high slit exposing your leg— fiddling with your styled hair as you waited and waited and waited for your girl friend to come back from the dessert table with yuji.

you hadn’t seen megumi yet as you were trying to keep on a look out, because the moment you did see him all dressed up? you were sure you were going to start pathetically bowing for him on your knees in front of all these people and end your social life forever.

finally, she came back and handed you a little pastry, you thanking her kindly and taking a small bite.

“wait no!” she gasped, turning her pastry around. “fuck, i got the wrong one. i meant to get the vanilla one this is coconut.”

“i can get it for you this time.” you smiled kindly, her looking at you gratefully as you patted her shoulder, making your way over to the dessert table.

your eyes lit up like stars at the sight of it, grand and luxurious as any kind of pastry you could ever possibly think of was present— neat and gourmet-like, each adorned with elegant toppings as multiple huge chocolate fountain stations ran from the sides.

“hi.”

you jumped and looked to your right, megumi standing there beside you with a bored expression, clad in a polished black button up and slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

you gulped.

“h—hi.”

“i didn’t think you’d come.”

he lazily picked up a tiny slice of chocolate mousse cake and looked at it.

“i was dragged by my best friend,” you puffed out a laugh. “she said i was her and yuji’s plus one or something like that.”

he nodded, biting his cake slice and swallowing.

“you stopped coming inside the locker rooms.”

you faltered.

he noticed that?

“oh yeah! i just—” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “i’ve been really busy with school so i study right after…”

for some reason megumi eyed you carefully, and your cheeks grew pinker the more he blatantly stared at you as you fidgeted.

“are you—”

“fushiguro!”

you both turned your heads to the source, and you spotted an unfamiliar guy, one who you assumed was on the team with them, smiling enthusiastically and throwing a heavy arm around megumi’s shoulder.

“who’s this? i’ve never seen you talk to anyone besides us!”

megumi only spared him a nonchalant glance before he looked back over at the dessert table.

the unknown man extended a hand out to you, and megumi’s eyes snapped to it.

“hi! i’m takuma!”

you cheerfully took his hand. “y/n!”

“are you megumi’s girlfriend?”

you gawked, guilt and embarrassment already filling your body at the thought of megumi finding that comment uncomfortable and being uncomfortable because of you.

at his own banquet.

“n—no!” you shook your head, eyebrows pinched. “i came with my best friend and yuji.”

takuma unhooked his arm and let it rest beside him. “oh nice! you know yuji as well?”

you nodded, “mhm!”

the rest of the crowd began to take their seats for the awards ceremony segment, and the three of you walked over to your designated table by yuji and your best friend, who’s eyes widened at the sight of you next to megumi.

you all sat, and takuma pointed to the empty seat next to you.

“is anyone sitting here?”

“oh no!” you smiled politely. “it’s empty you can—”

“take mine ino.”

megumi pulled out the chair next to you and plopped down on it, scooting up. “it’s closer to the front.”

huh?

“o—oh!” takuma scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “okay! thanks fushiguro.”

he only nodded in response and stuck his face in his champagne glass, sipping.

and he was right. you watched as takuma navigated through the circular tables before sitting in a seat that was right smack dab in the front.

“that’s really nice of you megumi!” you chirped. “he has such a good view now!”

“mhm.”

your best friend smacked a hand to her forehead with a shake of her head, and you looked at her quizzically.

the awards ceremony was the most fun you’ve ever had, as you were over the moon for all of the players that were awarded prestigious titles and recognitions, and even more excited for yuji and megumi, the both of them combined taking award after award that by the time the event was done, your table was filled to the brim with frames, medals, and trophies.

your doe eyes glowed over megumi’s earnings, pride and admiration bubbling in your chest as you took in the result of his hard work, feeling like he was the most talented person you ever had the privilege of knowing.

he stared at your enamored look.

“you’re so cool, gumi..” you gushed, not even noticing the little nickname you gave him.

but he did.

“cool baseball man?” he responded softly, referencing your words from when you first met.

your eyes snapped to his and you gave him the shiniest smile, nodding quickly. “yeah! cool baseball man.”

megumi looked down at his awards, and after a couple of seconds, picked up a shiny gold medal hung on a baby blue striped lanyard, holding it out for you.

“here.”

your eyes traveled down.

“what?”

“for you.” he pushed the medal forward.

shock crossed your face, and you frantically shook your head, pushing the medal back to him. “no! no megumi that’s yours you earned it—”

megumi rolled his eyes and held on to the edges of the lanyard, effortlessly setting it over your head and around your neck, the medal clinking and twinkling against your chest.

“i have four others. it’s fine.”

“no but—”

he carded his thumbs underneath your hair and gently slid your hair out from beneath the lanyard, setting it delicately over your bare shoulders.

yuji and your best friends jaws were on the floor, but you didn’t notice, too busy ogling over the fact that megumi fushiguro was the kindest person you had ever met, utterly amazed that he selflessly gave you something so precious. you.

your gaze trailed down to the medal, and you softly touched it with the pads of your fingers.

“t—thank you gumi…”

his lips twitched.

you realized then that the music had started and the crowd had already dispersed to celebrate, some dancing in the center while others mingled on the sidelines or hogged the dessert table.

and you spotted your best friend with yuji, the both of them smiling adoringly at each other, laughing and dancing— something bashfully wished for yourself as you grinned softly at them.

megumi followed your gaze, and he huffed an amused small laugh through his nose.

“they met at a party didn’t they?”

you looked to him and nodded, “uh huh! i was with her. she was so scared to talk to him and i literally had to throw her in.”

he scratched his cheek. “i remember. i was there.”

your jaw dropped. “you were?!”

he nodded. “and i remember you too.”

you sat there in silence.

how long had megumi been around in your life without you knowing? how didn’t you ever freaking notice?

before you could press any further, megumi squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to his forehead in pain, groaning softly.

you jumped, “are you okay? what’s wrong?”

he shook his head. “migraine. the lights are fucking with me a little.”

“oh!” you frantically looked around the table and around him. “where are your sunglasses? the dark ones the ones you ran into a wall with!”

megumi snorted and shook his head again, eyes peeking at you a bit. “it’s fine. i left them at home.”

your eyebrows rose, “you left them?”

he nodded and dropped his hand, sitting up straight and trying to open his eyes fully to seem normal, but his lids only dropped again and his forehead fell to rest against the table.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled. “just give me a minute.”

“don’t be sorry gumi…”

you figured the rest of the night was going to be like this, and if megumi stayed, he was going to end up dealing with the dull ache in his head for hours on end and not enjoy his banquet.

but you wanted him to enjoy it. this was his night, and you didn’t want him to spend it pissed off and writhing in pain.

“do you want to leave?”

he turned his head to the side and looked at you.

“we can um—” you fiddled with the medal around your neck. “we can go outside? or we can go for ice cream…”

you tilted your head to the side cutely, and you were oblivious to the way megumi’s cheeks went a little pink at the sight.

“ill pay though!” you smiled sweetly. “it’s the least i can do for the medal you gave me.”

he gave you an endearing half smile and nodded.

your eyes lit up. “really?! okay!— wait let me just say bye to my best friend and let her know—”

you quickly stood and walked over to the dance floor, megumi watching after you before picking up his black blazer and holding it underneath an arm, wondering how the fuck he was gonna pick up all of his awards himself.

“y/n!” your best friend gushed. “you’ve been talking to megumi for hours what the fuck is going on—”

you laughed. “nothing! it was nothing but i’m gonna go get ice cream with him!”

“what?!” her and yuji said in unison.

“did he ask you?” yuji pushed.

“no!” your eyes narrowed. “of course not i’m a big fat loser why would he? i invited him because he has a migraine so—”

your best friend hummed, a smirk on her face. “oh i see... use protection.”

“huh?!” your jaw dropped. “no! that’s not—”

“y/n!”

you turned and saw takuma walk over to you, a big smile on his face. “you enjoying the banquet?”

“oh yes! it’s really great!” you smiled kindly. “the dessert table is absolutely insane.”

“right?!” takuma stepped closer to you. “they go all out every year, it’s what everyone looks forward to.”

“i can definitely see why!”

he chuckled and nodded but then turned to you, speaking quieter. “listen um… i was wondering if you were uh— well if you wanted to dance? with me? y’know… maybe get to know each other better and then—”

yuji shoved his lips to your best friends ear.

“he’s stealing megumi’s girl.”

“i know!” she whispered harshly. “what the fuck do we do—”

“i don’t know!”

“well call megumi over—”

suddenly, a tall broad figure walked in between you and takuma, your vision blocked by his back.

“sorry ino,” megumi stepped to the side a little and placed a hand on the small of your back, ushering you towards the exit. “we were just leaving.”

yuji and your best friend gave each other a low high five before their eyes darted around, putting on false ignorance.

“sorry!— it was nice meeting you takuma!” you called from over your shoulder before the both of you stepped out of the venue and into the cool night air.

megumi’s car was parked right out front, him unlocking the doors with a button just like he had done the last time, you noticing how all of his awards were set neatly in the back seat.

“oh i’m sorry gumi! did you carry these over by yourself? i was gonna help you—”

you sat yourself on his passenger side seat, the leather creaking with every movement you made.

he shook his head. “i had my publicist team do it. it’s fine.”

“oh okay…” you mumbled, still feeling a little guilty that you didn’t help him.

you went to reach for your seatbelt when megumi’s arm flew in front of you and grabbed the strap, pulling it over your frame and clicking it securely before his hands wrapped back around the steering wheel, just like he had done a month prior.

you couldn’t make out his expression, as it was blank and stone-like and not a word was coming out of his mouth as he backed out from the parking space, but you smiled at him cutely nonetheless and thanked him.

the nearest ice cream shop was literally down the road from the venue, and the drive took less than three minutes before megumi pulled in and parallel parked on the side of the street.

you both stepped out and walked inside, the shop colorful and vibrant as what looked like twenty different assortments of ice cream were on display, your eyes launching across each flavor excitedly.

“i haven’t had ice cream in a fat minute…” you murmured as you pressed your hands against the glass.

“me neither.”

“which flavor do you want megumi?” you asked him sweetly, your eyes still glued to the flavors that it made him chuckle.

“um…” he stepped forward and scanned the different colors. “i’ll take whatever you get.”

you looked at him and your eyebrows softened, “are you sure? what if you don’t like it?”

the corner’s of his lips turned upward, the sight making your heart skip a beat.

“it’s okay. i trust you.”

you ended up getting your all time favorite flavor that you never skip— cake batter, one that tastes different depending on who’s palette it is, and something you anxiously thought over as you gnawed on your bottom lip and stared, waiting for him to try it as you both sat on a park bench not too far from the shop.

“why do you look like you’re about to cry.” he snickered lowly.

your eyes snapped to his and you giggled. “i might if you don’t like what i picked out.” you plopped a little spoonful in your mouth, the cold ice cream melting and spreading over your tongue as you swallowed. “cake batter is a hit or miss for different people…”

he hummed, “how come?”

“it’s either too sweet or just nasty.”

“i have a sweet tooth.”

your eyes lit up, “so do i! i’m a big sweets person. i love love desserts and chocolate and ice cream… but i’m not the biggest fan of candy.”

“you’re not?”

“i love candy but not how i love sweets… and i wouldn’t randomly pick it out like at the store because i wanted to. most likely i would get a cookie.”

megumi liked how much you talked.

“have you always had a sweet tooth?” he pressed on, looking at his ice cream cup.

you nodded. “have you?”

“not really,” he shook his head. “i didn’t pick it up until i met—” he stopped. “…my dad.”

met his dad?

megumi spotted your confusion and continued.

“my actual dad disappeared. dunno where he’s at. all i’ve heard is that he had a bad gambling addiction so i’m guessing it had something to do with that.”

your eyes softened.

“gojo is kind of like my dad…” he mumbled. “he’s supported my sister and i financially ever since i was maybe five or six.”

“you have a sister?” you murmured, eyes big.

he nodded. “i do.”

he scooped a bit of cake batter ice cream up with his spoon and plopped it into his mouth, smiling softly. “gojo gave me a sweet tooth. he can’t go a day without it.”

you’d never heard megumi open up so much before, and you felt incredibly lucky and special to be the one to hear about his family and share a precious moment with him over eating ice cream, something you wanted to treat delicately and remember for as long as you lived.

“do you like it?” you asked softly, gesturing to his cup.

“i love it.”

you beamed, and he took in your cute smile for a minute as you ate some more on your end.

“i’m sorry about your actual dad… but i’m glad you and your sister got the support you needed when you were young.”

he nodded.

“did he encourage you to do baseball? or was it you?”

“he did initially.” he shook his head. “he was annoying at first, was a cheerleader at every game and was so loud.”

you giggled.

“but i grew to like it… and that’s what i wanted to do for a career. if it wasn’t for gojo’s funding i wouldn’t have been able to.”

you hummed, savoring the ice cream a bit before swallowing. “that’s really nice, gumi. i’m really happy you got the opportunity to grow your skill out like that…” you swirled the ice cream around your cup with your spoon. “what you have is a solid gift, and i would hate to see it not get the recognition it deserves when you’ve worked so hard to make it what it is now.”

you looked at him. “so i’m really, really glad that it does get it.”

megumi stared at you, face blank and a scoop of yet to be eaten ice cream on his spoon, his cheeks growing hot.

“i don’t know why you think so highly of me.” he murmured.

everyone thinks he’s rude.

your eyebrows furrowed. “i don’t think megumi, i know. you’re not a mean person, you’re honest and serious about the important things in your life. and if the medal around my neck that you gave me selflessly doesn’t tell you otherwise? i might have to kill you.”

he laughed, loud, his eyes sparkling. “you might?”

you bit your lip to refrain yourself from freaking out over his smooth laughter. “i might.”

you subconsciously rubbed your hands over your chilling arms then and megumi eyed it before he put his cup down, reaching next to him for his blazer and opening it up as he gently placed it over your shoulders.

you looked at him like he was the world then, doe eyes big and round and shimmering, and megumi felt like he could do anything with that look as long as it came from you— a permanent red tint on his cheeks that was entirely your doing.

“thank you..” you mumbled shyly, your eyes glued to your now empty cup of ice cream on the bench as you clutched the sides of his blazer, the smell of him wafting in your nose that made you absolutely weak.

megumi timidly, slowly, reached up and moved a strand of hair from your eyes then, and you looked up.

“pretty…” he murmured, dazed even.

his hand fell and landed gently on your exposed thigh from the slit of your dress, but instead of moving it, he let it stay there, his hand smoothing over your plush soft skin as he was completely entranced by your heavenly face, his body pulling his lips closer to yours as megumi’s breath quickened with absolute need the higher up his hand trailed up your yummy thigh.

you couldn’t say a word, he practically didn’t let you as his lips pressed delicately and timidly against your plush ones, his mouth moving so slowly and his tongue parting your wet lips for the purpose of devouring more of you, all while his fingertips reached and felt the side straps of your panties— the material alone making him erratic and desperate while his other hand gripped your waist tightly.

your mouths moved faster now, the sounds of wet smacking and lips separating to reconnect with more greed than before muffling your ears as he breathed heavily through his nose, his eyebrows pinched together in pent up everything as he finally had you with him after months of you avoiding him.

and then you pulled away with a wet pop.

“i—i’m sorry!” you covered your mouth. “i didn’t mean to kiss you!—”

what?

megumi’s eyebrows furrowed, both of your chests heaving as his cheeks and lips were blushed red.

he shook his head, “no i kissed you—”

“don’t cover for me gumiii,” your shoulders slumped, your brain so in denial that he could ever like you back that it tricked you into thinking you were the one kissing and all over him. “fuck i’m sorry… that was so disrespectful and— and weird of me and i—”

megumi’s hands slipped away from your body and he shook his head, his eyes dead locked on yours with his eyebrows pinched together. “y/n no you’re not understanding—”

“i’m the biggest creep on the planet man i understand if you don’t ever want to speak to me again—” you covered your face and leaned forward.

megumi stared at you astonishingly as he listened to you ramble apologies and dramatic insults for yourself continuously, his shoulders slowly relaxing and his lips turning into a soft knowing smile, your random speech starting to make absolutely no sense at all and his heart aching at the fact of how naive you were.

“y/n.”

you stopped. “what.”

he reached over and pulled your hands away from your face. “you’re helpless, you know that?”

“helpless and a creep.”

he laughed and shook his head. “stop it.”

he stood and offered his hand out for you.

“it’s getting late, i’m driving you home.”

megumi decided he would properly speak to you about it the next time he saw you… except he didn’t.

you started avoiding him like the plague again, horrendously horrified about what you believed you had done, thinking that it was better if you stayed away from him and fulfilled your initial task of forgetting him, no matter how much it hurt you.

you didn’t want megumi to ever be uncomfortable or experience what you believed he experienced with you. he didn’t deserve that. he didn’t deserve a pathetic little fan girl that never left him alone and hindered his work on the field, even though you wished so badly you could see him again, as the taste of his lips and mouth never left your fuzzy mind.

you kissed megumi fushiguro.

“oh my god y/n, you’re so stupid.”

“no i’m not! do you really believe megumi could ever like me back? no! absolutely not. i kissed him and i fucked up and that’s it. i’m staying away from him.”

your best friend ran her fingers through her hair and almost tore a chunk out in frustration. “it sounds like he kissed you! he had his hand on your thigh—”

“that was for stability! he—”

“no it was to feel you up!”

you shook your head side to side with your arms crossed. “nope nope nope nope—”

“y/nnnn!”

as for megumi, the next game he had he looked for you while on the field like he always did, looking forward to seeing your precious face and giving you a little wave… except he couldn’t find you. after the game, he went around the stadium and towards the locker room, inside and back out, the parking lot, his parking lot—

and he couldn’t find you.

this went on for a full three weeks of game after game nearly every day him doing the same exact thing— him getting increasingly more confused and a bit upset at your disappearance, going as far as to staying hours after his games still in his sweaty baseball uniform and cap with hopes that you’ll turn up.

except you never did.

and at the end of the third week, he had had enough.

“oh hey megumi!” your best friend greeted him, her hand fixing around yuji’s hair in the locker room after a game.

“hi.”

he stood there and said nothing, and your best friend eyed him skeptically. “…yes?”

megumi shifted awkwardly. “have you um… have you seen y/n?”

she sucked in a breath. “uh yeah. i saw her this morning.”

“this morning?” his eyes narrowed. “is she okay? why hasn’t she been coming to our games with you?”

“because—” she stammered. “well because—”

“is it our place to say?” yuji muttered.

“is it our place to know?” she whispered back harshly.

“i don’t know!”

“let’s just tell him!”

“but what if!—”

megumi rolled his eyes and huffed. “nevermind. please tell her to come tomorrow, i need to talk to her.”

your best friend gulped and nodded, both her and yuji watching the way he walked away and snatched his cap off, throwing it inside his locker and slamming it shut with his foot before picking up his duffel bag and leaving, not even bothering to change out of his dirt covered uniform.

“i’ve never seen him so stressed,” yuji commented.

“it’s because he likes her and she’s being an idiot…” your best friend sighed sadly.

so when she came to you the next day and told you megumi needed to speak to you, she amplified how upset he was to get you to feel bad and feel the urgent need to come to the game tonight, which you of course did.

and you were worried. so so worried and scared that he was finally going to tell you off for kissing him, to tell you that you sucked and that he never ever wanted to see you again in his life and that you were a disgusting human being—

but the roar of the crowd pulled you from your thoughts, the team winning once again as many began to pack their things and take their leave. you were completely and utterly shitting yourself, petrified and already heartbroken over the fact that megumi was officially going to cut you off as a friend when you hadn’t even had the chance to try and win him over yet.

and the way he played on the field tonight was way more aggressive than normal. he was louder, meaner, and didn’t take his eyes away from the ball or his opponents as he nearly got into a fight with another player, yuji and a few others needing to pull megumi apart and set him aside to cool off— the cameras and reporters having a field day in regards to him.

and that bothered you like nothing else. why the hell were they so excited over him getting angry? to amplify the brand that he upholds as the teams meanest player? as if they’ve never had a bad day a day in their lives? what was the point?

and it was all because of you, you realized.

you made him upset.

you covered your face with your hands and groaned, feeling like you wanted to cry.

“y/n…” your best friend patted your back. “it’ll be fine… he just needs to talk to you! you don’t even know what it’s about.”

“i can take a wild guess.”

she looked at you worriedly before picking up her things. “whenever you’re ready babe… i think he’s in the locker rooms by now.”

she left you there to gather yourself, and you sat there for a couple of more minutes before finally getting up and making your way to the locker rooms.

most of the fans had cleared out by now, and the sun was beginning to set as you passed and squeezed through crew members and news reporters, gnawing at your bottom lip as you turned a corner and spotted the locker room, many of the players already leaving.

just as you had reached your hand up to open the door, a firm voice called out to you.

“y/n.”

you froze, retracting your hand as you turned to look.

megumi stood there at the end of the hall, his baseball uniform still on and his cap dangling from his belt loop, hands in tight fists with his chest rising and falling, an agitated look on his face that you had never seen before.

“h—hi-”

“are you trying to forget me? is that what’s going on?”

your eyebrows furrowed.

“what?”

megumi took stride full steps towards you. “you finally talk to me, you confess to me, you disappear for a month, i wait for you, you finally show up at the banquet looking like the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen in my fucking life—”

he stopped in front of you. “takuma tries to steal you from me, i get pissed off, i fall for you at the park, i kiss you—“ he threw his arms up. “and you disappear again!”

your eyes bulge out of their sockets.

fall?

“you what?—”

“so i’m asking you again,” megumi bent his knees to look at you at eye level, his hands coming up to cup your pink cheeks and his face so close to yours you can make out the exact color of his eyes.

“are you trying to forget me? like you said you would?”

you fidgeted.

“i— i was doing it for you—”

“why for me? i never said—”

the feeling of his big hands on your cheeks was making your heart do backflips and trick shots as your wide doe eyes looked at him.

“because when i kissed you i made you uncomfortable and i don’t ever want you to be so i thought it’d be best if i left you alone—”

“okay let’s fix that right now,” his hands tightened slightly around your cheeks and he readjusted his footing, knees still bent. “i kissed you. if anything i should be the one worried if i made you uncomfortable because i put my hand on your thigh like that and for that i’m sorry.”

“no but—”

“yes y/n. i kissed you because you’re polite and you’re sweet and you’re funny, and you don’t see me as rude like everybody else does. and even though you’re naive and helpless sometimes, i like that you are. i like you.”

“but you’re megumi fushiguro…” you squeaked.

“so?”

“and i’m a loser.”

he laughed so cutely and shook his head, his pearly whites fully shining at you so big that it took you back to the first time he smiled in front of you.

“no you’re not you big dummy.”

he let go of your cheeks and placed his palms flat against the brick wall behind you, cornering you in as he let his head hang low, the top of his spiky black hair the only thing in your line of vision.

“i don’t know how else i can make you see…”

he sounded so exhausted, and your heart clenched.

“was it—” you timidly placed your hands on his shoulders. “was it actually you that kissed me?”

he nodded, head still hung.

“and do you actually like me? like— like more than a friend…”

“way fucking more,” he mumbled.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to contain yourself from screaming.

you couldn’t believe it. the megumi fushiguro, number eighteen, the most handsome man you’ve ever seen and the kindest one you’ve ever met… liked you.

“i could’ve sworn i kissed you..” you spoke softly, trailing off.

“you didn’t.” his voice was firm. “i kissed you and i put my hand up your thigh…” his forehead lifted to rest on the crook of your neck as he sighed a deep breath.

“i told— i told takuma to scram at the banquet because i got jealous that you were talking to him more than me. i saw you crying in the hall that first time we spoke and i recognized you and i went up to you because finally—”

he picked his head up slowly, eyes serious. “finally, you noticed me.”

he was so close that your nose brushed gently with his.

“you’re so dense y/n…”

megumi’s eyes flickered to your lips, “i’ve wanted you since the party.”

“the party?” you murmured.

he nodded. “the party where your friend first met yuji.”

your breath hitched as you felt his hands slide down the wall and snake over your hips, holding you tightly against him as the shock of his words made your body numb and tingly.

since the party?

it all seemed to click into place then, every single moment megumi tried to get you to look at him, to talk to him, in his own discreet way that you were completely oblivious to. and you were so fucking caught up in this fog of denial, that a person like megumi could never be interested in a person like you, that it made you push him away for the longest time without even giving yourself a chance.

you were so fucking stupid.

your arms slowly wrapped around his broad shoulders, the rough feeling of his baseball uniform underneath your fingertips and arms as you pressed your nose up against his shoulder shyly, feeling so incredibly bad for avoiding megumi for so long.

“i’m sorry…” you mumbled. “i’m sorry i was so oblivious gumi.”

you felt him shake his head from the crook of your neck silently, the vibration of his heart beating rapidly against you making you sweat and melt at the same time.

“don’t be.”

“i just—” you struggled. “i just thought you didn’t like me like i liked you and i wanted to respect your space…”

“i understand,” he muttered. “but i don’t want you to respect my space anymore.”

you held him tighter.

“and—” your voice was slightly muffled by his shoulder.

“hm?”

“i liked it when you put your hand on my thigh…”

megumi stilled, you playing the night he kissed you over and over in your head again like you’ve done since it happened— the thought making you nervous and timid.

he gripped you tighter.

“did you?”

you nodded, “mhm.”

megumi without parting from you, slipped a hand under your shirt and soothed his fingers over the bare skin of your torso, your breathing stuttering, his rough hand radiating warmth.

“what else do you like.”

you gripped the fabric of his uniform.

“i like… i like the way you kissed me. and how you touch me… like right now.”

your voice was so so soft, practically a whisper as he seemed to shiver under your words, wanting more.

“what else.”

“you,” you mumbled. “your body… your hair… your face… your hands… the way you talk to people.”

“you want me?” he murmured breathlessly.

“more than anything.”

“what else do you like?”

you leaned your head back a little and pressed your lips to his ear. “the way you play ball.”

he hummed, “you like the way i play baby?”

you nodded, your heart hammering.

he lifted his face from the crook of your neck and shamelessly pressed his lips to your cheek, murmuring.

“you wanna see what else i can do?”

“what— what else?”

megumi’s face remained pressed against your cheek as he let both of his hands now snake underneath your shirt and upwards, slowly but roughly groping the cup of your tits over your bra, feeling you up as you gasped.

“uh huh..” he pressed an open mouthed wet kiss to your pink fuzzy cheek. “‘cause i can do a lot more than just be your cool baseball man.”

he roughly spun you around and pushed you up against the wall, his hands coming back up to your breasts to grope you as he shoved and rubbed his hardened clothed dick against your perky ass, your tiny skirt riding up and revealing your pretty pink panties that made him absolutely feral.

“gumi!” you gasped. “s—someone could see—”

“i don’t fucking care.”

megumi buried his nose further into the back of your neck and your hair, him being a little pervert in the most delicious and intoxicating way possible.

he dragged his mouth up against your skin and latched on to the nape of your neck, sucking and biting sloppily against it as he marked you aggressively, no doubt in your mind that a purple bruise would follow soon after as his hands slipped under your bra now, pinching your hard nipples meanly and laughing when you jumped.

you moaned and whined against the wall, your body trembling as you felt your slick arousal slip from your hole and dampen your panties, choked up embarrassment coating your face as he shoved his fingers down your skirt without warning.

“you’re soaked baby…” he whispered. “and all because i grabbed your tits?”

“megumiii…” you whined, and you squeaked as he quickly slipped his fingers in between your pussy lips and pinched your clit.

“gumi,” he corrected. “fix it.”

“g—gumi—”

“good, pretty baby...” he praised, his dick rock fucking solid against your ass at the way his fingers slipped and slid in between your lower lips without much effort, both of your chests heaving and panting as your brains frazzled erotically.

the sounds of footsteps echoed from the end of the hall and you both immediately froze, a gasp slipping past your lips before megumi quickly covered your mouth with the same hand that was just fingering you.

“shh.” he kissed the back of your head.

if anyone were to walk in and see the sight before them— megumi with his crotch pressed up against your ass, a hand pushing your top and bra up, squeezing your bare puffy tit and the other covering your mouth?

they’d drop dead.

without another moment wasted, megumi uncovered your mouth and turned you around, his tongue darting out and licking the patch of wet on your cheek from his fingers before shoving them in his mouth, sucking up your left over juice as he bent down and wrapped his arms around your legs, lifting and throwing you over his shoulder.

megumi was freaky.

your eyes widened as he walked to the double doors of the locker room and kicked it open with his foot, turning around to lock them shut before walking to a corner and setting you down gently on a bench, his palms flat beside you on the smooth wood as he towered over you.

“is— is everybody gone?”

“long gone.” he nibbled at your cheek.

“but— but what if someone wants to come in?—”

he pulled away and got down on his knees. “i’ll tell them to fuck off.”

you panted as he pressed his hands against your thighs and squeezed, spreading them apart slowly with his eyes trained to your drenched cute pink panties.

he slid his hands underneath your thighs and lifted, bending you and pressing your knees closer to you as your back hit the lockers behind you, your hands gripping the bench for dear life.

“has anyone ever seen your pussy?” he gruffed, licking his lips.

you shook your head, embarrassed. “n—no.”

“has any other man touched you the way i’ve touched you?”

“m—maybe in high school?—”

megumi sunk his teeth into your inner thigh and bit you as you yelped.

“thought you liked me.”

“i do!” you sputtered.

“clearly not if you’re being a little whore and letting other filthy men on you.”

your hole clenched.

“that— that was before you!”

he stuck his tongue out and pressed it flat against your pussy covered panties, dragging it slowly and agonizingly up until the tip of his tongue passed and flicked up against your clit, the tip moving around and around your little nub as your thighs shook.

“doesn’t matter.” he let a string of drool fall from the corner of his lips and over your ruined underwear, your eyes fluttering as you felt his warm saliva ooze in between your lips.

“and what about takuma, hm?”

you tried to open your eyes. “ta—takuma?”

“mhm. he was all over you.”

you hiccuped as he wrapped his fingers around the straps of your panties and pulled them down.

“i—”

“bet he wanted to do to you what i’m doing right now…” he hummed. “would you have let him?”

he stuffed his nose into your bare pussy and inhaled deeply, your jaw dropping as you squeezed your eyes shut.

your lack of response caused him to pull away and bite your thigh again, harder.

“would you?”

“n—no!” you shook your head quickly, strands of your hair lightly grazing your face. “i wouldn’t—”

“so who then?” he licked over his bite mark. “who would you spread your legs open for like this and let them see what a nasty fucking girl you are…”

“you gumi!” you hiccuped. “just you—”

“just me?”

megumi finally let his tongue slither itself in between your folds, slowly running over your flaps and clit as your hole continued to squelch out your arousal, pooling on the bench beneath you.

“y—yes!”

he slobbered and spit over your pussy like a starved dog, his face glistening like sugary glazed sweets.

“that’s what i fucking thought,” he hummed. “you gonna try and forget me again?”

“no!” you shook your head. “never! i can’t!”

he gripped your thighs tighter as he absolutely violated your folds then, wet sloshing and slurpings filling the air as he spat and shook his head side to side rapidly on your clit, you squealing and attempting to snap your thighs shut in response, his strong grip not letting you even if you tried.

“i—i can’t!” you cried. “gumi slow please it’s too much—”

“be a pretty baby and stop complaining.” he ran his slimy tongue over your pussy entirely before shoving it inside your hole.

you choked and clasped a trembling hand over your mouth, tears of ecstasy spilling from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut.

you whimpered and moaned and cried so pathetically, so cutely in his ears that he grinned as he pumped his tongue in and out of you filthily.

“you’re so fucking sweet—” he slapped your cunt and you jumped. “good thing i have a sweet tooth.”

your legs shook violently as you began to see stars, your tight hole clenching and sputtering around nothing as you felt your release approaching.

“gumi—” your hand flew back to the bench and you gripped it. “m’gonna cum! i’m— i’m gonna make a mess—”

megumi’s hand shot up and wrapped around one of your thighs so the tips of his fingers met your clit, his digits proceeding to rub and flick it as you climbed and reached your high, a high pitched scream echoing through the steamy locker room as your pussy leaked your sweet cum on his tongue.

you shuddered and jumped at the way he cleaned up your release and swallowed it, running his tongue soothingly over the bite marks on your thighs before coming back up and wiping his glistening face with his sleeve.

megumi leaned in and pressed a gentle loving kiss to your lips, a complete turn around from the feral beast you had in between your legs— you kissing him back with just as much feel and affection.

he pulled back and got back up on his feet, you watching him ditzy as he jogged over to his locker and turned the lock until it clicked open, him rummaging inside for a little before he shut it and came back with a fresh pair of gray sweatpants.

“put these on baby,” he murmured.

you nodded sweetly and took them from him, you slipping off your skirt and pulling his sweatpants over as you watched him bend and look over corners.

“what are you looking for?” you asked softly.

he perked up then and stuck his hand under a bench, pulling out your wet ruined pink panties and holding them up high like a trophy.

“oh my god—” you covered your mouth in embarrassment. “give me those!”

“nope.” he shook his head and walked over to his duffel bag on the floor, unzipping it before stuffing your panties inside. “these are mine now.”

megumi came back up and wrapped his palm underneath your chin, tilting your face up softly before planting a sweet kiss to your swollen lips.

“and so are you.”

and that you were.

you went on many many dates with megumi after that, each and every single one so incredibly lovely and fun, a genuine connection you felt with him and each other that you had never ever felt before in your life, absolutely enamored by the way he gently treated you and made you feel like the only one that mattered in his life.

your best friend was obviously over the moon for you, squealing like a maniac at everything you told her, and always teased megumi about his lovesick face whenever you came to his games or appeared in the locker room to help him change, sort his clothes, or fix his hair.

“megumi…” she snickered. “your cheeks are a little red! are you like— sick?”

he scowled at her and turned the other way, wiping his sweaty forehead as he watched you bounce down the steps cutely and onto the field after one of his practices, a huge smile on your face that replicated on his.

the minute you jumped into his arms, he peppered your little cheeks with kisses as you giggled and ruffled his spiky hair, asking him how he felt about practice and other things after he set you down.

without anyone noticing, a journalist was on the field, and at the sight of megumi fushiguro’s beaming toothy smile as he watched you run to him, they quickly snapped a photo and published it.

one was a perfect portrait photo of his shining white smile (that later became his signature picture) and the other was a photo of his arms out for you as you ran, the both of them causing an absolute uproar that altered megumi’s image from that day forward.

megumi fushiguro was thought to be the meanest player on the team since the day he got signed.

but when he started taking more pictures with fans, kind of stopped offending the people around him, signed more autographs, and smiled occasionally at the paparazzi— all while your pretty self stood right next to him?

megumi fushiguro was sometimes the meanest player on the team.

Papamin!!!!

"Hey, Nanamin!"

Kento looked over his newspaper, to the bubblegum boy gleaming into the staffroom. Kento hummed, his cover-all noise for greeting, confirmation, disapproval, etc.

"I'm buying us lunch today. Know anywhere good to eat?" Yuuji bubbled, pulling his wallet out with a flourish.

Kento frowned, firm in his chastisement. "You should save your money, Itadori-kun. You don't buy lunch when you're with me. It's wasteful, frankly, for someone with minimal income such as yourself. You should be more sensible with your money."

Yuuji's bottom lip puckered, but he remained bright and doubled down. "It's just, you buy lunch every time I'm on a mission with you, and-- and I'm really grateful, it's just that today--"

"I appreciate the offer." Kento stood, clipped, moving over to you, witnessing the exchange from your place by the coffee machine.

Kento turned away from Yuuji, pouring another coffee. "But it isn't necessary. I don't expect you to be offering to buy an adult lunch, when you should be building some savings. When you have time, I can talk you through what sorts of savings accounts you can--"

"Ahhh no no no Nanamin it's okay, I...I'm good. It's okay. I'm...I'm good." Yuuji deflated, his rainbows muting. "I'll uh...I'll see you after you eat, then, yeah?"

Yuuji closed the door. You tippy-tapped your fingers on the counter, looking shrewdly at Kento as he washed his used mug. You mused aloud.

"Yuuji hasn't got a dad." Silence. Splashing water. You sipped your coffee. "Hasn't got a grandfather either." Kento bristled, wondering as to your meaning, placing his mug upside down to drain.

"I assume you have a poin--"

"It's Father's Day." Kento froze. His brain whirred. "You buy your Father lunch on Father's Day to show you appreciate him--"

"Please excuse me." Kento walked to the staffroom door, frantically paddling below a smooth surface. The door closed, clicking politely. You heard Kento's steps speed up as he ran down the corridor, hearing him growing fainter as he called in the distance:

"Itadori-kun. Come back! Itadori-kun! Buy me lunch!"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento's fingers itched to reach for his card in his favourite coffee shop, clenching his fists instead as Yuuji counted out his cash. Kento couldn't deny, sat at the window with a casse-croute, that seeing Yuuji's face light up with the joy of gift-giving, made it all exquisitely worth it.

Yuuji's joy was fragile. He broke the silence over his panini.

"...I'm sorry it's not much."

"It's perfect. This is my favourite meal. I'm..." Kento broke off, his voice thick, his mind lost somewhere in the bustling crowds beyond the window. Yuuji brimmed with pride.

"...thank you, Yuuji."

This whole this is 🔥🔥🔥🔥

mail-order bride x simon "ghost" riley masterlist

this story is meant to be open-ended and vague. a collection of scenarios between simon and his mail-ordered bride.

cw: this piece isn't necessarily nsfw or dark, but i will not promise it won't contain these themes as these pieces are literally posted on the spot with random prompts (18+)

early delivery

no privacy

help wanted

get off my lawn

views

quiet hours

expectations

necessity

no past

laundry day

stars align

comfort place

summer heat

movie night

mirror thoughts

left behind

it's orange

oopsies

plan b

besties

lunch date

reality

#mail-order tag (lore + more lmao)

❤❤❤❤

Thinking about when you’re too tired + not in the mood for sex so Johnny takes your hand and wraps it around his cock and uses it to jerk himself off with, panting into the crook of your neck, muttering on about how grateful he is for even just the scraps of your attention

this is EVERYTHING!!!! 🥵🥵

❤❤❤❤

Again...

no plot, just ghost sneaking into your room at night to force you to orgasm without taking your clothes off.

a/n: this idea was literally taken from the book i was reading lmao. anyways, have some visual treats of ghost in sweatpants.

cw: smut, dub-con

simon "ghost" riley x afab!reader

wc: 1.6k+

masterlist

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓

Ghost had been staring you down more than usual lately, making you shiver under his watchful eyes. He looked like he wanted to eat you whole. 

You felt him brush against you after your last meeting and your whole body went hot. He must have noticed your shock because you could see his eyes squint in a smile. You felt your breath get lost in your throat when Ghost lifted you up during training, his hands lingering far too long on your waist. 

And so you were startled when you felt his body slip into the bed behind you. You turned your head and saw Ghost as he snuggled in against your back, spooning you.

“Ghost,” you said exasperated. “What’re you doing?” You hissed. 

“Soap’s snoring was driving me crazy.” 

“So your solution was to come to my bed?” You asked flustered. He had never actually made a move like this on you. He simply just fucked you with his eyes. His arms draped around your waist and you got goosebumps. “Your beds’ warm,” he cooed, his breath hot on your neck. You could smell the whiskey. 

“Any bed with a blanket is warm, Lt.” Your voice stuttered, and that only made Ghost grin in arrogance. 

“Been dying to feel you,” he mumbled against your shoulder. You gulped as he pulled you into him, your body flat against his, his cock unmistakably hard and digging into your ass. Your voice wavered, “Ghost.” God, what was he doing? You wanted to kick him out of your bed, and yet your voice was getting lost in your throat as his hands groped you. You shut your eyes momentarily as Ghost’s hands traced along your stomach, then over your thighs. One of his hands grabbed your breast through your sleep shirt and you shook yourself out of your daze. “You shouldn’t be in my bed!” You whispered harshly. 

He hummed against your neck, his mask brushing your skin. “You really want me to leave, yeah?” His hand squeezed your thigh while his other pinched your nipple between his fingers. “Y-Y-Yes,” you fumbled, your head leaning back against him in pleasure. 

“Sure doesn’t seem like it,” he teased. His hand snaked to your crotch, his hand cupping your pussy and his fingers digging into your clothed entrance. You yelled. “Why don’t you ride my fingers, pet.” 

You groaned, “No. This-It’s not appropriate.” You snarled. 

His fingers began to move against you to get you started and you gasped. Your hands gripped the sheets as he teased you. Suddenly, he halted movement. You whined. “Ride. My. Fingers”, he commanded in your ear. You don’t know what came over you but you began to slowly move your hips so your clit brushed against his hand. Ghost held still as he watched you use his hand. You knew it was wrong. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this. It was dirty and absurd. But, fuck, his hand felt better than your own. 

You could feel Ghost’s cock pressing against you harder now. You wiggled and rolled your hips as much as you could in this position, his fingers feeling so good against you. “Gonna come without me even having to do anything?” He asked, an annoying tinge in his voice. His words made you wetter. You groaned in your throat as you dug your hips down so his fingers pressed further against you. You swirled your hips and you could feel a warmth radiating throughout your body.

“That’s it, love,” he praised. He couldn’t help from grinding his hips against you. That sent you over the edge, making you whither and shake beneath him. You gripped his arms, moaning as he moved his fingers on his own, helping you ride out your high. 

When you relaxed back into the mattress, you opened your eyes in shame and stared into the dark. You could feel Ghost’s hot breath on your ear. What the hell were you doing? This wasn’t like you. You should not be doing this with your fucking lieutenant of all people. 

You went to tell him to leave but he was quicker than you. He rolled over so you lay under him, your face buried into the mattress. You gasped. “ Again ,” he said with a sudden darkness in his voice. It sent shivers straight to your core. 

“What? No, I can’t—“ Ghost’s hand remained against your core, the weight of his body making his hand dig into you. He began to grind against your back, pushing you into the mattress and into his hand. You moaned, shoving your head into your pillow to muffle the sounds. You wanted to scream from the overstimulation. Ghost’s cock rubbed against you with each thrust. His knee came between your legs and spread them, resting himself between your thighs. His cock dragged against your core with each rut of his hips now, his hand digging into your clit. You couldn’t move under his weight as he kept shifting on top of you. You whined, struggling to breathe under him. You were forced against his hand, your clit sending sparks up your spine. Finally, you were writhing under him again, your legs shaking and bending upwards, your mouth gasping for air. 

You sank loosely back into your bed, a sweet wave of your lasting climax washing over you. 

“ Again ,” Ghost growled lowly in your ear. 

Your eyes widened as he began to thrust against you again. You groaned in pain that slowly mixed with pleasure again. “Ghost,” you whimpered. You wouldn’t be able to orgasm three times in a row, there was no way! He grunted as he rocked his hips against you, his cock slamming into your clothed entrance with each go as if you were actually having sex. 

Ghost’s fingers curled so he pushed you roughly into them each time he rutted into you, making you yelp. It felt so good. You felt your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the overstimulation. Ghost picked up speed, humping against you faster and rougher now, your bed squeaking. You mewled under him, your legs beginning to shake again, your hands ripping into your sheets. You shoved your face into your pillow to muffle your scream as you came hard against his hand again. Ghost groaned loudly in your ear, coming in his sweatpants as he lazily thrusted against you a few more times. You didn’t even know it was possible to orgasm that many times.

He finally collapsed on top of you, your body still trying to calm down from the three orgasms. Ghost rolled over and pulled you with him. “You ever come three times in a row like that?” 

You looked down at his mask-covered face, your hands against his chest. “I told you to stop!” You hissed, out of breath. 

“Answer my question or I’ll make you come a fourth time.”

Your eyes widened. There’s no way you could… 

You shook your head. “No. I never came three times like that. Happy?!” 

Ghost pulled you down against him. “I love how much you wiggle and squirm beneath me.” You gulped, his grip tightening around you. He could feel your nipples harden against his chest. 

“On second thought, I think I’ll make you come again just for the hell of it.” 

“Ghost, I can’t. I’m too—“ You tried to plead. He rolled on top of you, your back pressed into the mattress this time. Ghost was settled between your legs, his cock already hard again and pressed against your core; this man was crazy. You squirmed as he looked down at you. His eyes were dark and hard to make out but you knew he was ravishing you with his eyes. He couldn’t get enough of how flustered you looked. Ghost began to grind into you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You immediately groaned lowly, pain and pleasure shooting through you. “Ghost,” you whimpered, his face resting against the nape of your neck. 

“Keep sayin’ my name, baby.”

You moaned into his shoulder as he thrusted against you. His cock dragged against your swollen clit with each snap of his hips. His body crushed you beneath him, barely holding himself up as he lazily humped you. Your nails dug into his clothed back. You mewled under him, bucking your hips up into him. “Mhmmm,” he hummed, the head of his cock bumping against your clit. His hand fisted your hair. “Oh my god, Ghost,” you whined breathlessly. Ghost immediately picked up speed until he was thrusting against you with such force that your bed was slamming into the wall. You didn’t care at this moment that others might hear the lieutenant dry-humping you into another universe as your bed hit the wall. You tried to buck up into him again but his weight overpowered you. You began to moan, your legs shaking, your nails dragging along Ghost’s back, making a chill of pleasure run down his spine. Ghost grunted in what sounded like pain as he came in his pants for a second time that night. You gasped, trying to catch your breath as this large man crushed you. 

“Fuck,” he grumbled, his accent heavier than usual. “Imagine what we could do without clothes.” He finally stopped moving his hips against yours and he rolled you both to the side so he spooned you like earlier. With him getting what he wanted from you, you expected him to up and leave now. “Aren’t you gonna go back to your room?” You asked, faking annoyance in your voice and trying not to sound so exasperated. You felt your forehead sweating from the power of your fourth orgasm. 

Ghost settled around you, his head nudged into your hair. “Nope,” he said with a grin, pulling you tighter into his chest, his hand far too close to your breast. “I wasn’t kiddin’ ‘bout Soap’s snoring.” 

🥵🥵🥵🥵

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Third time’s the charm. Simon/fem!reader. Handjobs, edging, cumming untouched, thigh riding, femdom behavior, somewhat submissive!simon, literally tried to cure my depression with this (did not work)

-

“You said you usually go three times in a session. We should try one more time, shouldn’t we?” 

Ghost looks at you like you’ve grown an extra set of eyes. He shakes his head a little, his eyes hard and disbelieving when they meet your own. “Have I not embarrassed myself enough for you?”

“Not really—? I mean—fuck,” you fumble, running a hand down face. “That didn’t come out right. I just meant that I don’t feel like you have any reason to be embarrassed.” 

He stares at you, through you, like if he looks long and hard enough he’ll be able to see your truth straight down to your bones. Well let him look. He hadn’t exactly bared his soul during the few weeks you had spent discussing this before meeting in person, but he had told you plenty: his issue had cost him relationships. It had cost him jobs thanks to lack of focus. Friendships thanks to neglect. You couldn’t imagine anyone willingly choosing something which gave them so much suffering. His lack of complicity cleared him of any blame in your eyes. 

At length, he must see that there is some honesty in you. Looking like it pains him, he nods his head, hulking shoulders deflating a little. “Fine. One more time. I’ll need a few minutes though.”

“That’s fine,” you offer, and it is, or at least it would be if it meant you both didn’t have to sit in complete silence, Ghost uneager to offer up conversation topics and you too awkward to try. 

He keeps staring at you, too. Or more specifically, your breasts. You’re wearing a simple t-shirt, but the effect is aided by one of your prettier bras. You had worn it unsure if Ghost was serious in his insistence that there would be no sex taking place between you both 

It seemed a pity for it to go to waste. 

“Do you want to see?” you ask him, fingers finding the hem of your shirt and gripping it tightly, folding it a little anxiously back and forth like an accordion’s bellows. 

“See? What? No—!”

“I don’t mind, honestly.”

Ghost reaches up a hand to rub at one eye like a headache is forming behind it. His mouth never abandons its signature frown, even as he says, “If you want? Jesus, fuck. I don’t know. I’m not going to stop you.”

You find that you do want. You kneel up, take the hem of your t-shirt into your hands and work it up over your breasts. For all his lack of enthusiasm, his eyes crack open straightaway and glue themselves to you, widening a little at the sight of your strappy, lace-laden bra. 

“I know you didn’t fucking wear that for me,” he says, sounding winded. 

“I’ll be honest, I thought this was just a ploy to hook up. I wore the matching panties too, do you—“

“Stop—talking,” he mutters, closing his eyes. His hand reaches down towards his (valiantly hardening) cock, but thinks twice, turns into a fist, and comes to rest at his side. “And under no circumstance should you take your pants off.”

“Got it. Pants stay on.”

Ghost sighs. “I’m ready. Let’s get it over with.”

That’s the spirit, you think to yourself dryly. You lift your hand to your mouth, creating a little cup with your palm and to spit in, your eyes locked on his own. You hear the click as he swallows, but it’s progress that he doesn’t cum, right? That must mean that he had experienced some level of desensitization, either to you as a partner or to the specific stimulus or a mixture of both. 

But that’s not how this is supposed to work. The whole point is to help him learn to last when he’s as desperate as possible, hoping that edging when he’s truly suffering will lead to a more satisfying orgasm and therefore a need for fewer of them. 

You lower your hand instead of spitting and grip the hem of your shirt, tugging it off over your head altogether. Ghost can’t seem to find his tongue, staring at you with dark, huge eyes as you reach around back and fumble with the clasp of your bra, but at last that comes undone, and you peel it away from you, letting it join his jeans and your shirt on the floor. 

His eyes rake over your naked breasts, mouth forming a curse that he lacks the breath to whisper. His cock is so hard and heavy that it lays against his belly, thick and twitching. 

You shift and straddle his thighs just proximal to his knees. He fists the bedsheets, abs tensing sharply as he watches you with silent awe and trepidation. 

“What are you doing?” He whispers. 

“Getting comfortable?” you suggest. 

Now you cup your hand and spit into it. Then you offer it to him, holding out your hand expectantly. Looking wary, he leans up onto his elbows, ducks his head, and spits into your hand too, quite delicately for being a giant of a man. 

You take your hand and place it palm down against where his cock lays on his belly, slicking the underside from top to bottom. Ghost groans, a low sound torn deep from his chest. He collapses off of his elbows and onto his back, hands finding his eyes and palming at them again while you slick his cock all over with a delicate touch, barely more than a tickle. 

“Are you teasin’ me?” he grits out. 

“I would never.” The tips of your wet fingers trail down over his balls, tight and drawn up against his body already. He hisses through his teeth, cock flexing. You fight a grin. 

Taking him firmly in your hand, you give him a series of smooth, slow strokes, your hand loose and gentle where it is cupped around him. His body writhes against the sheets. 

“Stop, please stop,” he gasps, and you do, letting his cock fall to rest against his belly with a soft thud. He opens his eyes, takes one look at your tits, and squeezes them shut again. ”Fuck, can’t believe you took your shirt off.” 

“I can put it back on if you want.” 

“Really don’t want that. Really fucking don’t. Just—sit there. Please,” he tacks on to the end like an afterthought. You’re grateful to have received a please at all. He takes deep, slow breaths, his nostrils flaring as he strains for air. 

When he gives you a curt nod, eyes still firmly closed, you reach down and use one hand to grip the base of his cock. The other you place toward the head so that you can softly drag your thumb over the deep red tip, tracing the sensitive ridge and over the leaking slit. He whines, honest to god whines, a sound which you feel viscerally in your belly and lower. You shift on his thighs, wondering if it would be so bad to just straddle one, to get some pressure right where you need it most. It’s not like there’s any sort of propriety in a situation like this. He’s getting his, why can’t you get yours? 

You use your thumb to trace a vein up the length of his shaft and smooth the slick over his tip, polishing it softly. 

“Fucking—! Stop! Stop!” 

You stop, and you swallow an unhappy sound. Things had just been getting fun—for you, at least. Ghost looks like he’s being put through the wringer, redness creeping down his neck to disappear under his shirt, knuckles white where he grips the sheets, breaths rapid and shallow. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. He laughs a little, a self-deprecating, unhappy sound. “You’re too good at that.” 

“Good with my mouth too,” you say on a whim. 

His eyes flash open, wide and surprised (and narrowed in on your mouth), his lips parted in a look of near comical astonishment. His hand scrambles to grip around the base of his cock, squeezing painfully. “You—you’re enjoying this aren’t you?” 

“Way more than I thought I would,” you admit. “An obscene amount, honestly—I’m so wet—“

Ghost releases his death grip around his balls and strokes his cock, once, twice, thrice, quick little strokes as his face crumples, as he gives up on the whole fucking thing. You can see it in his face, the defeat, the submission. He’s going to jerk himself off to a quick, unsatisfying release—but it doesn’t seem fair. 

“Stop,” you hiss, reaching out to grip his wrist. He lets go of himself like he’s been burned, immediately obedient even as his face twists with fury. He pulls away from your touch but watches as you shift until just one of his thick thighs is between your own. 

You give a soft, gentle sway of your hips against him. His face is so fucking expressive, his eyes and brows and mouth telegraphing his every little thought and feeling. He watches you with something like tortured awe, eyes flickering towards where your clothed pussy rubs against his bare thigh. 

“Don’t touch yourself,” you breathe, pleasure zipping up your spine at the friction against your cunt. “I want to see if you can cum like this.”

“Came went you spat in your fucking hand,” he breathes, abs tensing, cock twitching as precum pools in his happy trail, watching as you get yourself off against his thigh. “Can cum like this no fucking problem.” 

“You’re not as sensitive now,” you pant, planting a hand against his tensed chest to gain the leverage you need to lengthen the rolling of your hips. 

“Am too.”

“We’ll see.”

His face twists. “Will you—keep going? Even if I do?”

You consider for a moment and then shake your head, breaths too shallow to make words properly. You feel saturated, swollen and sensitive. Every drag of your hips sends muted pleasure up your spine. Normally this would take you ages to cum, but you haven’t been this worked up in a long time. Watching Ghost’s cock turn shades of red and plum is like live pornography, obscene and arousing. Feeling a little cruel, you tell him: “Gotta hold it.”

He tenses his thighs, heels digging into the bed. It does something to the muscle pressed against your cunt and makes your nails dig into his chest. 

He’s shaking his head. “No. Negative. Can’t.”

“Hafta.” 

“Can’t—fuck, I—“

“Goddamnit Ghost,” you whine, hips working feverishly against him. “Hold it and let me cum.”

He really can’t—really and truly. His cock spurts against his belly, a pitiful amount of pearly cum as he groans low and long, moan forming half-hearted, breathy apologies: sorry, ‘m sorry, couldn’t hold it—

You groan, a sound more frustrated than aroused. Your hips slow and stop, and your mouth fights to make a pout. You will it away. It really isn’t his fault. 

“You…you don’t have to stop,” he says, a little shyly. 

You shift off of him and swallow your own sigh, feeling sticky and unsatisfied. “It’s okay,” you reassure him. “Maybe next time I’ll get my pants off.” 

His cock, spent, still twitches against his belly. 

Im not deeply into the omegaverse but this was a good wild ride 😂😂😂

The Old Way

Listen... I don't even know what I'm on with this. Just... don't judge me. Omfg what is wrong with me.

AO3 Link -- TW: omegaverse wildness, biting, blood, etc.

Your people are starving, and your clan's Alpha has asked you, their only remaining Omega, to give yourself up as a sacrifice to save them. So, you agree, and you are to be mated to one of the Alphas of Clan 141, praying that it is to any of them except Alpha Price. He is known to have a knot that is impossible to take, but when you finally meet him, you're not sure of what's possible anymore. Will you risk it all to be with him, even if his knot might kill you? One way to find out…

The Old Way

You couldn’t see the stars. The shroud that hung over your head was made from fine, black silk, and through its thin organza, you could barely make out the shape of the Watcher in front of you, much less the glittering galactic expanse overhead. You were wrapped like a gift, and if you wanted to save the lives of everyone you’d ever loved, you would remain cloaked in your darkness, hidden, waiting for your big moment. More than anything, you wanted to pull your veil away from your eyes just to see the familiar constellations again, to comfort yourself with their shapes, to make one last independent choice before all of your volition was stolen from you forever. 

That wasn’t the right word. You couldn’t steal something that was given freely. You were not bound, and you were certainly not forced to wear the shadowed veil against your will. You had selected this path for yourself, and now you were living through the consequences of that decision.

As the only Omega in your clan – the first one born in seventy years – you were raised on the knowledge that you may one day be asked to give up your life for your clan. After the war, life was hard, and now that your people were stuck in a seemingly endless drought, it had become even more desperate. Your clan leader, Alpha Roan, had come to you six weeks ago with a terrible look in his eyes, a palpable guilt, still wearing his mourning collar for his long-lost mate, Omega Kiran, and he had asked you if you would be willing to undergo The Exchange.

His own wife had come to your clan through The Exchange, and although they had chosen to perform a private ceremony, you knew that it had been a challenge for her. Before she died, she had taught you much about your role, but you were still a youngling, and some things were just not for you to hear at such an age. 

You thought about the years that had passed after the loss of your clan’s Omega. Alpha Roan had insisted on your education, and your training, but the idea that you would be asked to leave your clan through The Exchange was always a distant threat. But, now, here it was. You had been called by your Alpha to sacrifice yourself for their benefit; not in a marriage of love, but in a clan trade. 

You had been asked by your Alpha to think about your choice. After he left you to ponder your choice, you sat down in your chambers surrounded by your Watchers, the women who had raised you, who had taught you to read, to write, to fight, and to charm. They looked at you with the same guilty, knowing eyes, and they asked you if you were prepared to make the sacrifice. 

“You do know what awaits you at the end of The Exchange, don’t you, Omega?” Watcher Trinity had asked you quietly, holding your hands in her shaking fingers, the wrinkled skin of her knuckles folding and stretching over her thin bones. 

You nodded, “Yes, Watcher. I am to be given to a new Alpha.”

She had looked at you then, her eyes sharp and calculating, trying to figure out how she would ask her next question.   

“Do you know the way in which you will be given, Omega?” 

Her tone chilled your heart, sinking through your body like ice across a pond, freezing you in place. You waited. There was more that she needed to say, and you allowed her to explain. 

And now that you knew the truth, you felt fully prepared to accept the terms of the agreement. You would deliver your people from their strife, and any pain, any shame, and any horror that you experienced from this point onward would be in service to your clan. You hoped that would be enough solace to sustain you. There was no shame in your sacrifice, you knew that. But, in your soul, you knew that knowing a thing and experiencing a thing were two vastly disparate sides of the same coin. 

You informed your clan Alpha, holding your chin high, 

“I accept the terms of The Exchange, Alpha Roan.”

“Your people are forever in your debt, Omega. Watchers,” he addressed your caregivers, “Please make preparations in the old way of our clan.”

“The old way, Alpha Roan?” Watcher Trinity had asked, her voice giving away her apprehension.

“Yes, Watcher. We will follow the law, no matter how… upsetting it may be. Clan 141 is too powerful for us to take any undue risks. If they do not accept her, we may not survive their engagement.”

Even in your sheltered little academy, you had heard of Clan 141. Their clan was small, but it was deeply feared. If any other clan dared step out of line, the 141 were there to rain hellfire and destruction down on them until there was nothing left. They were not cruel, but they abided no violent acts in their territory, and any whisper of rekindling the war efforts or of superseding the peace treaty was dealt with swiftly and decisively. 

Before the war, kings and presidents and generals had pulled the strings. Now that the world lay in ruins, the 141 was the only thing between your small clan and total destruction from larger, more aggressive packs. The 141 was the only reason your people still had other clans to trade with; they had made sure smaller communities had access to fair market costs for food and services, and no one dared to shun your merchants now that you were under their protective wing. 

Your Watchers had done their best to ease you into your preparations. Clan 141 would be at the neutral ground in six weeks, and your team had tried to make every moment of that window meaningful in your training. They had started slowly, teaching you to stretch your untouched hole with your fingers, showing you diagrams and depictions of your own anatomy, warning you of the physical trial of taking an Alpha’s knot. 

It was mortifying when you endured your first test. Watcher Gillar and Watcher Bhin had made you sit in front of a mirror and show them your progress. You were told to clench and release the muscles of your hole on command, fluttering it to prove its strength. Then, they had produced a carved, glass phallus, expecting you to practice on a smaller model before moving you up to a more advanced size. 

You took it from their hands, looking at its curved, rigid shape with wide-eyed curiosity, trying to swallow your grief at being seen doing the unthinkable by people you considered to be your closest friends and caregivers. It almost made you regret your decision. But, your people needed you, so you rested the smooth tip of the phallus at the entrance of your hole and began to shove it inside of yourself. 

This new feeling was overwriting your mind, so alien and yet so very comforting to you, confounding in its sensations yet overwhelming in its unique, bright pleasure.

It was a struggle, but you managed to slip it into your body almost down to the large, bulbous knot on the end. The sharp pain of being entered for the first time was not as terrible as you had feared, but when you pulled the phallic rod back out of you, it was cloudy with your slick and your blood. 

“Try the knot, Omega. Your Alpha will be twice as large as this, at least. You do not want your first experience to be at the ceremony. I know that you will want to appear strong in front of the other clans.” Watcher Bhin encouraged you, holding you to her shoulder as she sat behind you, trying her best to comfort you through such a harrowing ordeal. 

You put their practice cock back inside of you, slipping down further than you had, feeling the wide anatomy pressing against your entrance, but still unable to take the full knot inside. You pushed and pulled with your muscles, just like your Watchers had taught you, but it wouldn’t budge. You were panting, sweating, and teetering on the edge of an embarrassing orgasm in front of your Watchers, and you gasped out, exasperated, 

“I can’t. I don’t think I can do this, Watcher.”

“Lay back, Omega. I will help you,” Watcher Gillar said softly, replacing your hand with hers at the base of the phallus. 

You lay down on your back against your soft pillows, trying to avoid your Watchers’ pitying eyes. Then, you felt a cool gel being applied around the sore ring of your hole; something to ease the way since there was no true Alpha present to coax your slick from your glands. Watcher Bhin had held your hand in hers, gripping you tightly, letting you squeeze her through the pain, wiping away your tears as the glass bulb of the pretend knot began to split you, stretching your body before finally popping into place.

You Watchers had comforted you for a few minutes, but then you were told to begin your meditations.

With much difficulty, you sat up, feeling the heavy knot nestled against your walls. Then, Watcher Bhin handed you a firm pillow, and you understood that you must straddle it, and that it would push the knot against you. You were to train your body and your mind to accept it so that you would have the stamina to withstand the ceremony. 

“Do not be afraid to listen to your body, Omega. We will return to help you remove it and recover. I will light some incense for you. Concentrate on your strength.”

You nodded, uncrossing your legs and settling yourself over the firm pillow, feeling the deep, sacral grind of the phallus as you set your weight against it. When you were left alone, you began your breathing techniques, but all the while, a flush was rushing across your skin, the shadow of a rising desire to come, and yet subtly different. Something whispered in your mind, and you wondered if you could call your slick down yourself, without an Alpha’s help. 

So, you tried, rocking back and forth across the pillow, churning the knot within your core, feeling the rounded tip rubbing against your deepest parts. You removed your robes, letting the flush keep you warm, watching yourself in the tall mirror, meeting your own eyes. 

It took only minutes before a true orgasm was upon you, but you tried to hold it at bay, searching through the sparkling, cracking fog of pleasure for the part of you that made you special. No Beta would survive a knotting; they never did, and it was a crime to even try. But, you were meant for it, and you knew that your Watchers’ training would not let you down. You breathed through the bliss, reaching out with your mind towards your slick, imagining it, visualizing your success, manifesting it deep within you. 

When the Watchers found you later that night, they woke you with cool rags and worried faces,

“What happened, Omega? How did you…” Watcher Gillar looked down at your bare legs to where the pillow sat under you, seeing a torrent of slick and milky come covering your skin and the silk of the bolster, confused by how you could produce it without an Alpha’s beckoning call. It was just not done, not even considered to be a possibility. 

After that night, there was much chatter amongst the Watchers. They consulted old tomes, dusting off the pages in the library of your little academy where you trained far away from the rest of your village, kept up here in your tower like a Delphic oracle, buried like a treasure. 

The training became more intense, and each practice phallus that your Watchers produced became harder and heavier, each bearing knots that were unfathomably large. You used your newfound power to face each of your challenges, less ashamed now to perform in front of your team, but knowing that the ceremony would be something else entirely. 

You had asked about it one night as your Watchers were helping you bathe after a particularly difficult practice session, 

“Will there truly be none absent from the ceremony, Watcher Trinity?”

“Only the cubs and their mothers are forbidden from attending. Otherwise, all clan members are obligated to witness The Exchange. We will even invite Clan Farlight and Clan Seres to the feast as a token of goodwill. You know this, Omega,” her tone was a little impatient, wondering why you were asking such a basic question, “Your Alpha has asked for your ceremony to be conducted in the old way, according to the original scrolls.” 

“I am worried that I will dishonor you with my abilities. I cannot seem to take even these false knots without tears,” you repeated the old scripture, chanting it rote to your Watcher just as you used to do when you had started your adult training, “Omegas are vessels. They will silently submit. The ceremony will be still, honoring the sacrifice.”

Watcher Trinity knelt down beside your bath and made you look at her. Her eyes softened, and she told you,

“Yes, that is what is written, but it is not that simple. You have already honored us with your sacrifice. We have no grain. We have skinny, milkless goats, and our well is nearly dry. When we feast after your ceremony, the full bellies of your people will mean so much more than any perceived weakness that you are reluctant to show.” She grabbed your hand out of the warm water, holding it in hers, “If you need to cry, we will understand, and we will be comforting you from the crowd. Trust me, Omega.”

You tried to put it all out of your mind as you marched down the path, following behind your Watchers as they surrounded you, adorned in their own ceremonial garb. They had worn their armor and their long, red robes, carrying huge, black scythes like walking sticks, as was the custom of your clan. Your Alpha was walking in the front of your pack, guiding your clan to the meeting point. You could just see the white, canvas tops of the tents and yurts that had been constructed for the ceremony, meant to house hundreds of people for at least three days. Yours was the biggest, its adornment the most splendid. But that was little comfort to your frayed nerves. 

You were miles from home at this point, missing the comfort of your room and your books, knowing that you would never return there, and that perhaps your new Alpha would not allow you to keep any of your belongings from your old life. 

You’d heard horror stories from some of the Betas in your clan, tales of Alphas who used their Omegas like slaves, keeping them clad in irons, surviving in dark dungeons only to be used to breed and to give their Alphas carnal pleasure. 

While you were being prepared for this journey, a pair of Beta women had helped you paint your skin, drawing intricate symbols and prayers in gold flake, chittering about the ceremony and the feast without knowing what you had been through over the past six weeks.

“This is the first time I will witness a ceremony done in the old way,” Beta Lilia said. 

“Do you know which Alpha will claim you?” Lilia’s friend, Beta Tyran, asked you, not knowing how loaded her words were.

You shook your head; you didn’t even know how many Alphas belonged to Clan 141. Lilia gushed about them for you, taking the conversation out of your hands,

“Clan 141 has four Alphas! Can you imagine? I hear that they have an entire army of Omegas as well. Alpha Garrick is so handsome, and he has three gorgeous Omegas. They are almost too beautiful to look upon.. I saw him when I was at the central market once. He was leading a team, hunting the vagabonds who set fire to a farmer’s field, you remember when that happened? It was years ago now. He was so imposing. But, that other one was there, too.” 

She made a face that was strong enough to make you ask about it,

“Which one?”

“The Ghost, Alpha Riley. They say that no one has seen his face. He wears a terrifying skull mask. I heard from Yair that he has three Omegas as his guards, all masked as well. Yes! Guards! They have armor and weapons and huge, bulging muscles. Beautiful and lethal –”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Beta Tyran interrupted, “No one would give their Omegas weapons. No one would let their Omegas out in the public markets! Imagine the danger.”

Lilia shrugged, “Yair said that these Omegas were the danger.” 

Then, you heard about Alpha MacTavish, a descendant from one of the ancient warlords, charming and fearsome. He kept two Omegas as his brides, always pregnant, but almost as fearsome as Alpha Riley’s guards. Alpha MacTavish often expected them to travel with their Beta friends, to take their children up into the mountains, hunting and fishing and exploring outdoors. All sorts of stories about his large, loving family. You silently hoped you would be claimed by him. It would be nice to live amongst Omegas and their cubs. 

“Which one is their Apex Alpha? There must be one in a clan with so many Alphas,” you mused, asking the girls since you did not know much about Clan 141 yourself.

The Betas shared a look, and then Lilia shook her head,

“You will not be claimed by him, Omega. Don’t worry.”

“Why?” You pried, using your influence to force her to tell you.

“His name is Alpha Price, the leader of Clan 141. He’s the deadliest man in the entire land, and he’s the one who destroyed Clan Konni.”

The weight of that news sank in, and the dramatic tone of her story had attracted other Betas and Watchers to gather around you to listen to her tale, 

“Alpha Price has never claimed an Omega. They say that he had tried. He had found one of Alpha Garrick’s Omegas to be very pretty, but she tried to take his knot and failed, so Alpha Garrick took her under his protection instead.”

“Failed?” Watcher Bhin asked, shocked by the implication. 

“My sister was a medic who served with the Alliance in the most recent skirmish, and the 141 helped defeat the rebels who were killing members of Clan Darrah a few years ago. She said that she served under the doctor who had healed Alpha Garrick’s Omega. Said he’d never seen anything like it before in his life. She was so strong, and yet…”

Lilia’s words hung heavy in the air, and all of the women looked at each other and then at you, suddenly feeling the weight of your sacrifice, ashamed at their earlier levity. Tyran shook her head and patted you on the arm, 

“Don’t worry. Alpha Price will not claim you. You have nothing to worry about.”

That night, painted gold and covered in your black silks, you sat in your tent and meditated while you waited for the other clans to arrive. Your mind kept wandering to Alpha Price and his lonely existence. Had he really injured an Omega during his claiming of her? How large must his knot have been to do so? It made you shudder to think about it, and yet deep inside of you, your core warmed from the thought. If he imprinted on you…

But, imprinting was just a myth. Something only written in old texts as a footnote or a story. It was a part of the ritual of The Exchange, but it wasn’t real. 

“Omega,” Watcher Trinity interrupted your meditation and peeked her head into your tent, “It is time to present The Cloth.”

Clan 141 was here, then. 

The ritual of The Exchange began with The Shroud, which you were already wearing. Then, it was The Cloth. If all went well, it would then be The Meeting. And finally, The Ceremony.

The Cloth was a gift from the Omega to her new Alpha, a token of her affection and a chance for him to smell her scent for the first time. In ancient legends, this is when her true mate would imprint upon her, her Omegan scent bringing out his Alphic marks, dark spots or stripes across his neck and back, making him look like a big cat, ready to bite into her neck and claim her as his own. 

She tried to shake herself out of that fantasy world. All she could hope was that one of their Alphas would be drawn to her scent enough to accept her. Her people were depending on her.

“Here is your cloth, Omega. I embroidered it myself. I hope that it honors you,” Watcher Trinity handed you a wooden box, carved and adorned with great care, and when you opened it, you found a red silk square of fabric, sewn with the sigils and symbols of your clan in fine gold thread. You smiled up at your Watcher and reached out to hold her in your arms,

“It’s perfect, Watcher. Thank you for caring for me.”

You were both fighting off tears when she finally pulled away. You hoped that your Alpha would at least let you say goodbye after the ceremony, even if you might never see her again. 

Watcher Trinity and all of the other women left you alone again in your tent, giving you privacy to prepare The Cloth. You made yourself naked, and you began to rub the silk across your neck and glands, trying to soak your scent into the piece. Then, you wiped it between your legs, swiping up some of your wetness to coat the fabric. Usually, this would be enough. You could call your Watcher back into the tent and give her the box, and you would be done. 

But, something in your heart told you to try to call out your slick. You listened to your instincts, and you began to rub the soft fabric against your folds, bringing your own pleasure to a warm, shining height. Just when you thought you might not be able to do it, that your nervousness would make it too difficult or that you might black out again from the effort, you felt something inside of you slip free. Then, your hole was flooded, the orgasm making your vision go blurry and form spots at the edges, your whole body convulsing from the strength of your pleasure, and you had to lay down just to try and stay awake through your gushing bliss. 

You felt it coat the silk and your hand, a thick, milky slick, and your heart swelled with pride. You knew that a gift this special would sway the attention of at least one of their Alphas. You trusted in your skills and training that you were worthy of this ceremony and that your people would be saved. 

Sitting up, you carefully opened the box and returned The Cloth to its resting place, soaked with your scent. You took time to clean yourself up, stuffing wet blankets into your laundry packs and hiding them away, remaking your nest before your Watcher would know what you had done. You weren’t sure why you were keeping a secret from them, but you just felt like this was something between you and your Alpha. A promise, of sorts. 

You replaced your black silks and veil over your otherwise unclothed body and called your Watchers. They entered your tent along with Alpha Roan. 

His eyes widened as he approached you, taking the box from your hands. Quietly, as if knowing that this was an extremely private affair, he whispered to you, 

“What have you done, little Omega?”

“I am doing what needs to be done, Alpha. Please, deliver my message to my new Master.”

You use of the ancient terminology caught your clan Alpha off guard, but you were glad of it. If this was to be done in the old way, then you would withstand it, but you would also do it your way. You were the Omega, here, and you were the reason your clan would survive this struggle. It was time you started acting like the heroine that you were. You would be your people’s strength, no matter the cost.

“Very well,” Alpha Roan sighed, closing the box, calling out to your team, “Watchers, bring your Omega to The Cloth ritual.”

You were guided to the path again, leaving your tent behind and walking towards the big, outdoor theater. It was a crude coliseum of sorts, a large circular pit lined with rows and rows of carved seating that was cut into the land. People had already begun to line the viewing platforms, each clan decorated in their traditional garb. You felt proud to see the stripe of red where your people sat, holding each others’ hands and praying for your safe arrival. 

You were not greeted with raucous applause but instead with reverent silence. Alpha Roan walked in front of your Watchers, and you were the last one into the theater, dressed only in your sheer shroud, trying your best not to feel self-conscious about the fact that - because of the firelight - everyone could see your naked, painted body through the veil, even though you were covered head to toe in the organza. In the tent, the lighting was low and kept you in darkness, hiding your body under the thin silk. But, not here in the theater. Your skin was illuminated by the torches, and you knew that even your friends and neighbors could now see your most private parts. 

You made sure that your face did not give away your lingering shame. 

Alpha Roan took center stage, and you saw the Alphas of Clan 141 for the first time. 

Alpha MacTavish was standing between his two Omegas, and you mused that his oldest children must have stayed behind to care for his cubs. He was dressed in his Clan’s black gear, covered in armor like a gladiator, his head shaven into a mohawk, spiked and messy on the crown of his head. His body was huge and stocky, and the Omegas seated at his sides looked so tiny compared to his bulk. But, they were strong. Their bellies were round with the promise of future cubs, and their skin and hair glowed like the stars. 

Alpha Garrick stood next to him, his Omegas seated together to his right, dressed in the finest robes you had ever seen. He clearly had a type, and you thought that they looked like triplets, all decorated in jewels and gold, riches you’d never even dreamt of. Their Alpha was every bit as handsome as the stories had promised. He had pouty, full lips that were curled in a snarky sort of smile, and his soft brown eyes exuded pure confidence. His hands were wide and powerful, resting on his curved blade that lay sheathed at his hip. 

Alpha Riley was masked, as you had been told, as were his Omegas. They were not seated, and every bit of armor that was strapped to his hulking body was also strapped to them. They had glittering knives, bows, arrows, and slings, looking like they could win their own war by themselves. Their bodies were heavily muscled, and all four of them seemed as tall as Alpha MacTavish, standing proudly in leather boots. 

Then, you saw Alpha Price. He was holding a large wooden stick, at least seven feet tall, with hundreds of notches sliced into the side. You wondered what he was keeping track of, and you shuddered to know. His beard was neatly trimmed, and his hair was cut high and tight on the sides. He was certainly bigger and better muscled than each of his men, but that was not what you noticed about him first. It was his eyes. They were piercingly blue, like glacial ice, and they were looking right at you. Hungry. 

Something inside of your core tightened under his scrutiny, but Alpha Roan’s voice shook you from your trance,

“Clan Arlos welcomes Clan 141 to The Exchange. We present you with our offering, an unmated Omega, 26 years of age, fully trained in the old ways of our people. She is our greatest gift, and we ask for your acceptance of our sacrifice.”

Alpha Roan held up the box with The Cloth inside for all to see. He set it on the large, marble altar in the middle of the stage and backed away from it, waiting for the other Alphas to take part in the ritual. 

Alpha Price spoke, and your body nearly trembled at the sound of his deep, purring voice. You were more nervous than you thought, and you tried to breathe to manage yourself. 

“We will consider your honorable offering, Clan Arlos.”

With that, he slammed his huge stick against the stony ground and Alpha MacTavish stepped up to the altar. He opened the box, and along with the other Alphas in attendance, his body had a visceral reaction. His hands went to touch the cloth and he brought it to his nose, smelling your scent with a sort of wonder and amazement. 

Then, to your great relief, he raised his hand, palm outward, as a show of his acceptance of your scent. If you accepted him as well, you would be mated. 

But, the slamming sound of the stick shook you out of your celebrations. Alpha Price called up Alpha Garrick. 

This was most unusual. Typically, only one Alpha had to agree. It wasn’t like you had much choice in the matter. Even if Alpha MacTavish’s scent did not stir your heart, you would still submit to him as expected. This was not a marriage of love but of convenience. 

MacTavish looked back over his shoulder at Price, just as shocked as you were. His Omegas looked even more taken aback, strangely offended that you would not automatically join them. But, Alpha MacTavish returned the cloth to the box and made room for Garrick, disappointed and visibly confused. 

Alpha Garrick opened the box and buried his face against The Cloth, breathing in once, twice, and then tasting the fabric, right in front of everyone. It was his right, but it was a little audacious. 

His palm went up, high in the air, and his Omegas smiled and held each other’s hands, excited at your acceptance. 

Another loud slam. Another rejection. 

You may still end up with MacTavish or Garrick after negotiations, you remembered, but you were now wondering why Alpha Price had chosen to test you against all three of his men before making a decision. It was very odd. Alpha Roan looked greatly concerned. 

Alpha Riley approached the altar, his gloved hands prying open the box, then, he lifted the bottom of his mask to reveal his mouth and nose. The slightest murmur of shock rippled through the crowd. He bent to smell your scent, and he raised his hand in the air, signaling his acceptance before replacing his mask. You thought you caught the hint of a smile just before his pale lips disappeared beneath the skull plate again. 

Slam! The stick pounded against the floor.

All of Clan 141 turned to look at Alpha Price at once. Your heart stopped. Why would he… Why would Alpha Price want to undergo The Cloth ritual himself? He had no Omega. Surely, he wouldn’t claim you now, not after what had happened. You watched Alpha Garrick’s Omegas. One of them stared at Alpha Price with wide, glossy eyes. You thought that it must be his prior candidate for a mate. She was afraid for you. They were all afraid.

All eyes were on Alpha Price as he approached the altar, and the entire theater was silent as he took The Cloth in his hands. He lay it out flat, in no rush, inspecting the wet stain that you had left for him, using his thumb to feel the fine, gold embroidery. Then, his eyes darted up to yours. He was the first one to look at you while he held The Cloth to his nose, that icy gaze making you tremble with anticipation. 

You were so lost in his eyes that you didn’t see what was stirring the crowd. There was a loud gasp and then an explosion of whispers. You looked around, trying to understand what was happening. Then, when he tucked The Cloth into his breast pocket, keeping you for himself, you saw it. 

Long, red lines began to stain his skin like lightning. All of his veins tattooed themselves across his neck, and although his armor was covering his shoulders, you knew that the marks would be there as well. 

Alpha Price had imprinted for you. 

Then, he silenced the crowd by raising his right hand, palm up, staring at you the entire time. 

You were whisked away, surrounded by your Watchers, hearing Alpha Roan’s voice behind you, sounding like protest, but you couldn’t make out the words. Compared to the initial silence, the area erupted in a shattering din, clans shouting and yelling over each other, the drama from the ritual dividing the people. 

You thought you would be taken back to your tent, but you were brought to a large lake about five hundred yards from the theater. It was quiet again. No one was allowed to follow you here, it seemed. 

Watcher Trinity tried to explain in a rushed whisper, helping you climb into a boat and rowing you out to the middle of the lake,

“There is a dispute for your claiming. Alpha Roan will negotiate new terms, and Clan 141 must decide who will be your Alpha. It will be alright, Omega. It’ll be alright.”

She sounded like she was trying to reassure herself more than you.

“What now?”

“Because there is not just one Alpha who has claimed you, they will undergo a ritual called The Trial. It is a fight; a test of will. Whichever Alpha can win will be granted the right to appeal to you first. If you reject him, then you will be given a chance to hear the appeal from the second.”

“So, it will be up to me, then?”

“Yes. Alpha Price has put the choice in your hands. Very odd, and not in our custom, but we must honor his wishes. You will wait here for the winner.”

You looked around. You were now in the middle of the lake, and there was a platform lingering just below the water. It was a wide stone block, about three meters wide in each direction. Watcher Trinity helped you out of the boat and you stepped tentatively onto the platform. 

“Will you wait with me?” You asked, feeling the uncertainty and fear finally get the better of you. 

“No, my Omega. I cannot. These waters are forbidden to Betas. Only Alphas and Omegas can touch it. Take this. It is your flare. If you are in trouble, if he tries to get to you, fire it high into the sky and we will rescue you. You can do this. I know you are strong. Wait patiently for your Alpha,” she paused, grabbing your hand, “I realize you are doing this for us, but please, follow your heart.”

“I will, Watcher.” 

So, you waited. You meditated, standing in an inch of cool lake water as you tried to commune with the land around you. And you waited some more. Hours passed until, finally, you saw torches. Your Watchers lined one side of the lake, and they greeted the newcomers. Then, you saw him. Alpha Price was being stripped down by your Watchers. They took his weapons from him, and then his clothes, making him naked on the shoreline. He craned his neck, trying to look for you in the lake, but it was dark and you were dressed in black. 

You could see him just fine, though. His huge body was covered in short, curly hair, dense and dark against his skin. His muscles bulged and popped as he peeled away his layers of clothing. They left his undergarments on, little more than a linen loincloth. Then, you saw your Watchers attach a huge, metal collar around his neck. They clamped it together with a padlock in the back, and a huge chain was attached at the latch. 

They bound his hands, chaining them together, and then loaded him into the boat. They rowed toward you with his back facing the platform, and as he got closer, you saw his imprint markings, red and raised like jagged scars across his neck and shoulders. Your scent had marked him permanently. The welts would go down, and the red would fade, but it would always be there, evidence of his imprinting. 

The boat reached you, and he climbed out of it, sitting on the opposite side of the platform from you, just far enough to be out of range for your scent. 

His eyes found yours again, staring at you through your veil, finding your gaze with a natural ease. He held a small box in his hands, and you thought you saw the phantom of a smile across his lips as you looked over his face. 

The boat rowed to shore, dragging the long chain all the way back, and you were alone with him. It was quiet for a long while. You were just staring at each other, studying each other, trapped in a silent battle. 

You looked down at his hands, noticing for the first time his cut, bloody knuckles, and he saw the worry cross over your eyes.

“They’re fine,” he said quietly, “My men. If that’s what you were wondering.”

“But, you triumphed over them, clearly,” you replied, not trusting your own voice. 

He chuckled a bit, sighing, 

“I did.”

“You fought for me, then.”

The laughing stopped, and he lifted his chin, proudly, 

“I did.”

“And you are here for my acceptance.”

He didn’t respond to your cue, but instead, he took the box in his hands and slid it across the platform, skittering it along the surface of the water, making little splashes as it landed in front of you. 

You reached for it, opening it up to reveal a shining key. 

“Throw it in the lake,” he commanded you, using his Alpha’s voice to bend your will. 

It shocked you, and you were so close to obeying, but you stopped, cutting your eyes at him,

“What is this?”

“Throw. It. Omega.”

His voice seared through your blood, calling to you with old magic. You fought hard to keep your mind under your own control, 

“Stop! Stop it. Tell me what this is, Alpha.”

“It unlocks my collar. Otherwise, if I make so much as a shift in your direction that they don’t like,” his head turned to look back toward your watchers, “They will pull me into the lake, and I will drown.”

“And if I unlock it…”

“Then, you will be my mate,” his tone turned vitriolic then, “And you will die.”

You let his words sink in, your curiosity overcoming your fear,

“You believe your knot cannot be taken.”

He spat back, 

“My belief is not –”

“But, it’s not up to you,” you interrupted him, “Is it?”

The shock that washed over his bright eyes filled you with a sort of sick satisfaction. You should be afraid of him, but your roles were reversed out here on this rock, and you were holding him under your command. 

“Toss that key, girl. MacTavish fought hard for you. He’ll care for you. He’s a good man.”

“Are you a good man?”

“No,” he growled, his eyes dropping to the water, examining the chains around his own hands, inspecting them for the bloodstains that he obviously thought should be there. 

“I am here for my people, Alpha Price. I am not looking for a husband. I am a resource to be traded for other resources. My clan needs The Exchange. Our people are starving, and I –”

“I would not let them starve,” Price’s eyes shot back up, indignant that you would suggest that he would leave you and your clan without food or water. 

You let yourself smile slightly, teasing him, 

“Spoken like a good man.”

He twisted his lips over his teeth, but he stayed quiet. You continued to torment him, 

“Why did you raise your hand for me?”

He sighed, sitting forward, sloping his shoulders toward you,

“I couldn’t help it. My Alpha…He…” He paused, searching for the words, “I could smell you through the box. I knew you from the moment I saw you walk through the arena. And when my men all raised their hands for you, I knew you would be accepted as our Clan Omega. You are mine in every way that matters. And I cannot have you.”

His voice was full of bitterness. You wanted to smell him. What were the chances that he was your true mate? One-sided imprinting was rare, but true mates were one in a million. 

You stood, surprising him, and he jolted back, sitting up right. The chain around his wrists clattering. You looked over at the shoreline. Your Watchers held the long chain around his neck, heavy and sagging into the black water, ready to yank it tight if he lunged for you, if he fell prey to his Alphic instinct to breed you. 

He watched you approach, seeing how the water rippled with every step you took, gazing upon the dripping silks that clung to your legs, devouring you with his eyes. You stopped in front of his crossed legs, Knowing that he could smell you now. Your pussy was shielded only with a few layers of silk, and you watched him flare his nose, sniffing you right in front of his face, blowing a slow exhale of air through his lips, making the organza billow between your legs. 

“Can I smell your scent, Alpha?” You whispered, your voice slicing through the silence of the still lake. 

His chains clattered as he twisted his head to look up at you, peeling his eyes away from your pretty pussy to meet your gaze. Then, he bent his head to one side, giving you his neck, showing you his scent gland, a sea of red stripes emanating from its center. 

You bent over him, closing the gap, steadying yourself by laying a gentle hand on his huge shoulder. Then, you took a long pause and breathed him in. His scent swirled through your body, wrecking your other senses. It was only him. Alpha. Alpha. Alpha. Your Alpha. Your mate. Your true mate. 

You felt the red marks of your imprint streak across your skin, and his eyes widened in shock as he saw them branch through your veins and across your gland just as his had done. 

The click of a lock made his eyes flash back to you, and with that movement, his heavy collar tumbled into the lake, the drag of the chain singing as it scraped the side of the platform. 

“What have you done, my Omega?” Price breathed. 

It was the second time you’d been asked that question. Your response was still the same:

“I am doing what needs to be done, Master. I am giving myself to you, my true mate.”

The boats were in the water the moment the collar slipped from his neck. The Watchers were on you in moments, and Price’s Beta soldiers were there to collect him. You watched as they rowed you two apart, taking you back to your camps to prepare for the ceremony. 

Your Watchers were in a rush. There were only a few hours until sunrise. Your wet robes were switched out for red ones, and a red veil adorned your head. Underneath, you were rubbed and painted and sprayed with oils, until finally, Watcher Trinity came forward with a bowl of salve. She had made it herself, you could tell. She cared for you so deeply. 

“I trust you, Omega. I know you know what you’re doing. But, please take this. It will help your muscles relax for him, and it will make it easier to bring on your natural defenses.”

She was being coy, avoiding using the word to refer to your slick, knowing that you had your own method of calling it forth using your special power. But, you took it from her anyway, and after you were left alone again to meditate, you used two fingers to massage it into your hole, feeling its effects begin to warm you, making your flesh supple and pliant. 

A hand curled around your tent flap, pulling it open. Instead of your Watcher, you saw one of Garrick’s Omegas. It was her, the one who had failed to take your Alpha’s knot.

She stepped inside,

“May I speak with you?”

You nodded, motioning for her to sit,

“Yes, but I’m afraid I already know what you are about to say.”

Her eyes widened, 

“If you know, then why have you accepted this? Alpha MacTavish was his second. He is not to your liking? His Omegas are kind and –”

“No, they were all to my liking. I am eager to join your pack in whichever way I can, but Alpha Price is my true mate.”

You showed her your skin from under the red silks, knowing she could not see them through the red of the veil. She gaped at them, 

“Your… true mate? He could… This could kill you, Omega. I don’t want to see you come to harm, and it would destroy him. I saw how he was after my accident. I nearly blamed myself for his deep sorrow.”

“I trust my training, Omega, and I am so grateful for your support, but he is my mate. What is meant to happen to me, will.” You stood with her, seeing your Watchers hovering just outside the tent, signaling them that you were ready to leave. 

“Then, I trust you as well. The others are so excited to meet you. I wish you an easy path, and I hope your ceremony is just as you want it to be. After this, you will be our Clan Omega, and I will serve you until the end of my days.”

She kissed your cheek through your veil and left you to be delivered back to the altar. 

For a long time, you had wondered if this final walk away from your pack would be a sad one. You expected every step to be filled with hesitation and fear. But, the only thing you felt was joy. Your mate awaited you at the end of this long path, and you were ready to submit to him. He was worthy of your strength, and he would help you deliver your people from danger. You would rule beside him, helping him use the 141 for good, eradicating the evil from your land. 

The sun’s pink wash was rising out of the horizon line just as you reached the theater. The crowd was silent again, and you saw the pallor and shock painted on all of their faces. They were expecting a funeral instead of a feast. They had no idea why anyone would be so desperate as to sacrifice their only Omega to this Alpha, especially when it was not necessary. But, they didn’t realize that you were no prisoner. You were no one’s puppet. You were in charge, here, and your Alpha would breed you as you commanded him to. 

Your Watchers led you to the altar, kissing your hands through the thin cloth as they passed you to take their seats near Clan Arlos, tears in their eyes and staining their cheeks, and finally, your clan Alpha approached you.

“Alpha Roan,” you greeted him. 

“Little Omega,” he smiled, kissing your hands just as your Watchers had done. He didn’t need to, but it was his way of showing everyone that he trusted your choice, “I hope you know what you are doing.”

“I do,” you said, smiling at him through your red silk veil. 

Then, Alpha Price’s men came through the center of the theater, each of them bending to kiss your hands. But, instead of the back of your knuckles, they turned them over to kiss your palms, a sign that they would accept what you had to give them. Alpha Riley was first, and he lifted his mask to show you his mouth and chin, his kiss warm and tender against your skin. Then, Alpha Garrick knelt down, placing multiple kisses along your fingers and wrists, displaying his loyalty and respect. Finally, Alpha MacTavish knelt before you, daring to whisper to you as he kissed your palms, 

“Brave lass.”

You used your thumb to pet his lip, acknowledging his trust in you. 

Then, it was time for the Omegas to join you. They approached as a unit, not individually as their Alphas had done, and they helped you lay on the altar, guiding your body back onto the marble platform. They pulled at your silks, allowing the crowd to see your naked body, painted in fine brushes of intricate gold designs, of prayers and songs of your people, their symbols adorning you from neck to toe. Finally, they began to kiss you, licking and sucking at your mouth like lovers, showing their devotion to you as their clan Omega. 

As they kissed you, your skin began to flush hot, your body somehow knowing what was about to happen to you. The Omegas felt your fire against their lips, and they pulled your legs apart, each of them bending to lick and suck at your flower’s drooling petals, slurping and sucking up your creamy nectar. They were at your breasts, your neck, your belly, your hands and feet. You were overwhelmed with pleasure, shaking and trembling under their affection, yet moved by their deep loyalty. You knew you would be safe with them. They would care for you just as your clan had done. 

Then, you heard the familiar slam of a longstaff. Your Alpha had arrived. 

According to the ceremony, you were meant to be still and silent as a showing of your acceptance. If you moved or cried out in any way, you risked a clan war, as taking a mate without their consent was a dark offense. You had to prove to your people that you were here of your own free will, and even though you were feeling the static cling of apprehension beginning to worm its way into your chest, you tried to breathe through it, trusting your Alpha to lead you through this moment with his protective power. 

Your legs were lowered to the stirrup-style rests that were carved just below the stone table, keeping your knees wide apart, allowing your pussy to drip openly, glistening with the beginnings of your slick. You calmed yourself as they left you alone, each of them kissing you softly once more to show their reverence. 

Then, you heard the clatter of fallen armor. He was undressing, removing his warlord’s mantle and coming to you fully bare. You spotted him between the vee of your legs as he approached the dais, his imprint marks flushed a deep wine red, his body shining with the traditional oils, meant to give him another layer of aphrodisiacs, promoting his production of his seed, keeping his cock tall and hard. 

But, you knew that your imprint on his gland would do more than all of their drugs combined. He would kill every last person in this arena to get to you at this point, and although you had consented to this joining, you were no longer controlling it. He would take you, no matter what. 

Then, when he got close enough to your platform, you saw it. It was standing proudly against his thick, furry belly, dripping with precome and lubricants, glittering in the rising sun. His cock was immense. You had not practiced on one so large. And his knot was larger than your two fists pressed together. He was intact, and his foreskin was slipping down his flushed head, unable to contain the swelling glans. Your body threatened to quiver from your suspense, and you tried to move your mind into your meditative trance. 

As he approached, he did not go straight for his position between your legs. Instead, he walked around the front of the marble platform and bent to look you in your eyes, leaning his head down for a deep, heady kiss. He fed you his tongue and suckled on yours, letting it writhe inside of his mouth, rubbing against his own probing muscle.

He pulled away to gaze upon you, his eyes soft and full of joy. You smiled up at him, watching as he enjoyed the rest of your body, caressing your breasts, admiring your paintings. 

“Did my clan show you their loyalty, my Omega?”

“Yes, Master,” you answered quietly. 

“Are you prepared for me to show you mine?”

“Yes, Master. I am,” you replied, giving him a brave face despite the absolute weapon that was slobbering for you against his belly. You wanted to taste it, but now was not the time. 

He returned to the base of your platform, kneeling in front of your wet hole, bending to place his mouth against you. He began to suck, pulling your soft lips into his mouth like he was starving, lapping up the beginnings of your body’s fluids, moaning from the taste and the smell of your scent. You wanted to moan, you wanted to pin his head to your trembling quim, but you didn’t dare move a muscle or make a single sound. Breathing in, breathing out, letting the sparks of an orgasm rush through you, bringing tears to your eyes from holding back so much pleasure. 

Your Watcher’s salve was almost too effective. It had made you pliant, but now you were beyond sensitive, able to feel the pound of your own heartbeat through your hole, desperate for something to press inside of you. You needed his cock. 

But, he did not give it to you. He just sucked and sucked and sucked, and his fingers began to rub along the entrance of your slippery hole, pressing down on your pussy’s walls, testing their strength. You fluttered for him, just like your Watchers had taught you, and you felt him stumble in his movements, shocked by your power. 

He stood between your legs, his face and beard soaking from his meal, letting you drip off of his chin like a messy hound drinking from a river. Then, to test your resolve, he teased you with a little bit of meanness, stepping forward to let his cock lay along your body, measuring himself on the outside of you. He reached far beyond your navel, his lubed phallus warm and heavy, his knot resting in the softness of your folds, and you could feel him throbbing for you. 

You didn’t dare move, but you wanted to cradle his cock in your hands, to rub up and down his length, to feel the smoothness of his head and the firmness of his knot. But, you stayed stock still, showing the crowd that you would not waver. There was some soft chittering from the clans, the shock at his size obviously enough to break onlookers out of their respectful quiet. 

Then, he began notching his head at the entrance of your pussy, letting the tip slide up and down your tight ring of muscles that guarded your entrance.      

“Last chance, Omega. Call it off. Cry out, and my own men will cut me down,” he bade you under his breath, having a hard time holding his words and sentences together, his voice shaking in his throat. 

You looked up at him with closed lips, making a point to give him a soft smile as a response. 

No deal. 

You pulsed your muscles again, making your pussy lap up his sloppy precome like a little mouth, watching as he was torn apart by your action, no matter how minor. 

So, without any other choice, he fed himself into you. It was a fearsome experience, at first. You weren’t sure if you could actually handle him. But, you breathed through the stress, relaxing your body, finding that deep, secret place inside of you, making your slick drop down for him, flooding your hole to welcome him in. 

The confusion that painted his face was so satisfying. He couldn’t understand the sheer warmth and comfort he was experiencing. His cock was being sucked into you, deeper and deeper, and finally, you felt his knot. 

He pulled all the way out of you, and sheathed himself all the way back in, always reaching to that one spot, just above his bulbous anchor, and then starting his process over again. Each time his cock fucked its way through your body, humping himself into you, creamy, milking noises filled the quiet, open-air arena. The whole ensemble could hear him invading your hole, the lurid slap of skin on skin loud and unashamed. 

His phallus was large enough to rub against your most sensitive spot over and over, bullying it into producing more and more slick, making you come just by dragging his heavy cockhead over it, in and out, in and out, pounding into you with almost reckless need. 

You came for him, and your body began to shiver from the overwhelming bliss, but you held your voice. You tried to still yourself, not wanting to show weakness, but there was nothing you could do. You were shattered by his cock, coming over and over again. It was an endless wave. You had no idea where one started and the other stopped. 

You could taste blood in your mouth from biting the inside of your cheek. Still, you pushed through it, testing yourself with every push and pull of your body. 

His huge hands pawed at your hips and breasts, squeezing you, watching your plump flesh jiggle with every cruel strike of his hips. Your Alpha took your own slick and began to rub it all over your skin, swirling it around your nipples, letting it smear across your belly from his palm. Then, he painted himself, taking it from your well-fucked hole and rubbing it across his scent gland, down his chest, matting his hair with your wetness. 

Then, you felt his precome begin to pump out of him. You knew it had begun because this was when your slick was meant to wash through you, but there was no space for anything else. So, it began to pour out of you and over his knot. Every time he pushed it against your body, it threatened to slip into your hole, and you were filled with a twisted excitement, ready for it to be stuck inside of you, to churn and grind against your insides, to trap you in a blinding, rageful bliss. You nearly cried out from the heavy want you felt in your chest. 

“You ready for my knot, pretty Omega?” He growled, no longer speaking to you softly. There was no gentleness left within him. 

He shoved you back across the dais, climbing up onto it with you, breaking every protocol by doing so, but knowing there wasn’t a single other Alpha in attendance who would do anything about it unless you asked them to. But, he trusted you, lifting himself above you, bringing his face to your face, kissing you and beginning to lick your scent gland, making you see stars. 

Would he really bite you right here in front of all these people while you were about to take his knot? It was beyond intimate. Not only was it private, but it was dangerous. It was when an Alpha was most vulnerable. The audacity of this man shook you to your core. 

“Bite me, Omega. Please take me. Claim me as yours, sweetheart. Show them that you are mine. My Omega.”

His voice was ragged and deep, a hoarse purr of commands, all of which you were happy to obey. You began to lick his neck, putting your mouth over his gland as you began to suck at the round swell of flesh. Then, just as you canted your hips, feeling his knot slip inside of you, shoving and burying itself within the tight sheath of your pussy, you used your muscles to yank him the rest of the way in, and you bit down on his neck, hard, your body seizing from a hard, ruthless orgasm. . 

You heard the crack of his gland, and you felt him sink his fangs into yours, the pain and the pleasure mixing within you like a drug, his cock firing rope after rope of searing hot come into your belly, flooding your womb with his spend. He pulled his mouth away and stared into your eyes. His pupils were blown wide, his face full of disbelief, 

“My love…”

You kissed him, taking his lip into yours, suckling on it, trying to guide him back down from his tantric high. He was struggling above you, stuck deep inside of you, unable to stop himself from dumping heavy loads of his come into your body, his cock pulsing and throbbing with each burst of his cream. 

He rested his head on your neck, returning his mouth to your gland, and every time he licked it, now, you felt your pussy twist around him, threatening to slam you with another orgasm. You licked him, too, hearing him cry out against your skin, feeling the mirror of your sensations, his heavy phallus jerking as you sucked on his broken gland. 

Finally, he was able to rock back and forth, letting his knot slip out of you before popping it back inside, fucking you with it just like he did with his cock. He twisted his hips forward, driving into you with all of his strength, and then he would pull himself back out, the swell of his knot increasing with each thrust until, on the last thrust, he was finally trapped, unable to remove himself from your core. 

Now, though, it was your turn. You began to use your muscles to push and pull him from the inside, fucking him like a sleeve of smooth, soaked warmth, jerking his shaft up and down with your insides.

“Oh, fuck…” He whispered, not expecting your skills to be so advanced, but you had trained hard for this moment. You weren’t about to let it go to waste. 

You moved him inside of you, letting his knot take the brunt of your efforts, squeezing it like a fruit, making sure all of his juice melted into your skin. You made him come like this again, using the salve that your Watcher had given to you as an advantage, knowing that the heightened sensitivity you felt was now being passed on to him. He filled you up, his knot plugging your hole, preventing any of his seed from leaking out, and your tummy was swollen from his load, round and full for everyone to see. 

He sat up on his heels, looking down at you with his eyes full of adoration and wonder, watching your strong abdominals clench and twist as you used them to help you work inside of yourself, edging him over and over before pulling him down into the depths of another hard come with you. 

His hands went to the bulge of fluid in your belly, most of it flooding into your womb, unable to escape anywhere else. Your Alpha caressed your skin, marveling at the fullness. Then, he looked down at your stretched hole, playing with your clitorus that had been forced out from under its hood due to the sheer size of his knot, all of your skin bowing around it and pulled tight. 

Your Alpha forced you to come like this, milking him hard, trying not to make a sound but giving away your mind-bending pleasure with shaking, whimpering breaths. 

“That’s a good Omega. So full of my come.”

You smiled up at him, enjoying the full feeling of his come inside of you. But, you were losing your strength, and he could feel it. Alpha Price leaned over you again, grinding himself down into you and helping you reach one last orgasm, pulling himself along with you, squirting the last of his spend into your pussy. Then, he carefully twisted his cock out of you, watching the gush of his come coat the marble platform, dripping out of you and down the sides of the dais. 

You were so empty and weak, but you were being lifted, cradled in his arms, and the whole arena burst into revelrous applause. The feast had begun, but not for you. You would be in your Alpha’s tent, and there you would remain until he bred you, making sure that you were laden with his cub, sharing food and drink with him in bed while you were stuck on his knot, traditionally until sunset when you would be presented to the clans as the new Apex Omega, destined to rule beside him forever. 

“Are you done being quiet, my Omega?”

“Yes, Master,” you whispered, nestling into his broad chest. 

“Good,” he smiled, “I need to hear you scream for me.”

“And I need my Alpha to breed me. I need your knot again, Master. Don’t pull it out.”

“I’m at your command, my love,” he smiled, planting a kiss on your temple, smearing his own salve across your swollen flesh, working his cock until he was hard again. 

When you felt his knot for the second time, you knew you had made the right choice. Your people were safe, and so were you. You weren’t sure if it was the high of your claiming or the truth that you felt in your heart, but you were eager to be dripping with his come every night. Trapped underneath your Alpha was right where you belonged, knotted and full of his love. 

Seriously, send help. I was too ashamed to even reread it for typos. I'm so sorry.

Omg ❤❤❤🔥🔥🔥 love this

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

It's very reasonable to be a bit panicky when you're taken hostage at work. In fact, you're handling it very well, all things considered. Luckily, someone has come to rescue you! (The fact that you know him in a very specific context is a sensible thing to be thrown off by.)

Series Content Warnings: F!Reader (she/they), cannon typical violence, Kink and BDSM themes, hostage situations, high anxiety/panic, unplanned intersections of kink and non-kink identities, power-exchange, sexual content including manual, oral, vaginal sex

Note: Contains no instances of what the author considers humiliation, degradation, or punishment, but please use your discretion.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Mi-i-zori's Amazing Fanart of Part 2!

Main Masterlist

This is so unique and cute omg!!!!!!! ❤❤❤❤

retired ghoap going on a renovation competition show

ghost takes over the budget and he's ruthless with it; tracking every paint swatch and piece of lumber down to the last cent, haggling for every purchase and making the most of their coupons. soap's in charge of design; he can visualise floor plans better than anyone, seeing the completed spaces in his mind when they’re little more than a steel shell

they run their site like a military base, treating their builders like rookies; expecting them to follow orders but also waiting for them to inevitably mess up so they can fix it

they're an immediate shock to the judges; they fully expected them to have no idea what they're doing, to have no understanding of style or trends, but they didn't sign up just for shits and giggles

they know how to hit a brief and can do physical labour faster than the actual builders. with soap's discerning eye and ghost's practically, they design gorgeous rooms and become a real threat for the prize money. they handle the stress and sleepless nights like it's second nature bc really, it is; a few all nighters painting are nothing compared to being shot at

they also take great joy in messing with the other couples

it takes a while for them to figure out they're even married; they argue like it's going out of fashion, never holding their opinions or frustrations back but it's their love language as much as their banter. you can hear them barking at each other from across the site; callsigns and “It” and “sergeant” thrown around just like in the field

the challenges are where they have the most fun

the day to day? that's work; they're strict, both with themselves and the schedule, never letting anything fall behind or go incompleted. but the challenges? that's play time. they love pushing the brief, toeing the line of the rules purely bc they can

they get to a two part art challenge and ghost's scheming before before the host even opens their mouth. part one? one half of the couple has to design some kind of art piece that will feature in their house. part two? the other person has to gather supplies and tools and make the art

there's a time limit for how long they can take to gather the supplies; once it's up, they can't go back for more and they can only use what they can carry themselves to their station. they're in a warehouse filled with scrap and paint and tools, the choices almost overwhelming

ghost politely interrupts the host to ask for a clarification; absolutely anything in the warehouse can be used so long as they can carry it?

the host confirms; anything under the roof is their's to use

ghost thanks them and steps back in line, standing at attention and waiting for round one to start

ghost volunteers to be the one to do the art, shocking everyone since soap is well known as the artist of the two of them. but soap sees the mischief in his eyes; he knows he's up to something and can't wait to see where it goes

the timer starts and ghost immediately shucks his hoodie and gets to grabbing; stuffing the impromptu bag with everything he recognises from soap's own supplies. there's seconds to go when he bolts for soap, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry

the other couples are pissed and call it cheating, trying to get them disqualified

ghost just shrugs, soap still over his shoulder, "they said we can use anything we can carry. i followed the brief"

soap just laughs like a mad man

they win the challenge by a landslide

everything's going smoothly, they've won enough room reveals that they’re in a good financial position, they’re ahead in their current room and in a great headspace

then soap gets injured

it's an honest mistake, a part of the roof they thought was stable collapsing and hitting soap

and ghost, always calm and in control, panics

he's on the other side of the site when he hears soap cry out and goes running; shoving past cameramen and builders, screaming to know what happened before he even sees him. he finds soap on the ground, blood dripping from his temple and it's too familiar; a thing he sees in his nightmares

he doesn't know what to do with all his fear so instead, he channels it into anger

he goes off on all his builders, demanding to know how they could be so useless and careless as to miss the unstable roof; screaming at them in a way he hasn't done since he was on active duty, tearing down a rookie for poor trigger management

all the while, his gentle hands tend to soap; checking the wound, if he's concussed, soothing him before he can slip into a flashback of his own. he growls at the cameras, doesn't let the onsite medics anywhere near him; he doesn't know them, doesn't trust them with his johnny. it's only soap's gentle convincing that makes him step back, that forces him to stop and breathe; glaring the medics down from soap's side as they check him and come to the same conclusion soap already reached

he'll be iust fine; a few stitches and he'll be right back in it

ghost goes with him to the hospital to get the stitches laid, abandoning the site to their terrified builders to look after. it takes a few days before he can handle them being separated again, can't even handle one of them going shopping while the other site manages

but soap doesn't begrudge him for his clinginess, not when he knows it's rooted in the fear of losing him. he just keeps him close and calls him his good luck charm when they win the room reveal that week

❤❤❤ this is tewwww good!!!!

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand her horizons, gets her first tattoo from Simon. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

Toooooo cute!!!!!

warnings: mermaid hybrid satoru, suggestive nsfw🔞 this is a long one~

“nngh!”

sounds of distressed whimpers force your head out of your book with furrowed brows—you can barely hear the cries under the steady crashing of waves and birds singing in the wind. part of you thinks you might be going crazy considering no one is within your proximity on this side of the beach. you blink rapidly as you attempt to listen in on the sound and when it doesn’t fade, you hesitantly stand and attempt to make your way closer to it.

but when it leads you to a cluster of all different sizes of rocks near the shore, you sigh. you’re close to just deem yourself crazy, maybe your fantasy book is just encouraging your imagination. but when the whining turns into a faint cry, your curiosity only grows. you squint at the area in attempt to spot the source as you take your shoes off and throw them closer to the dry sand along with your book, as to not get them wet.

you take a step into the wet sand at the very border of the shore where the waves meet your feet as you eye the area.

“is someone there?” you hesitantly call, cringing at the sound of your voice as you look around to make sure no one is seeing you speak to the ocean like an imbecile.

immediately the whining and sobbing halts abruptly, making your brows furrow further with curiosity.

“are- are you hurt?” you ask, taking another step closer to the rocks. the rocks are a bit intimidating even though they’re not submerged much since the tide has shifted so you gulp as you near them.

you’re now ankle deep into the water, no longer needing to go in any deeper to approach the rocks.

it’s silent now. you’re now second guessing if you even heard anything in the first place, but it’s too odd that the noises seemed to stop once you had spoken.

so you finally approach the rocks, laying your palms down on a large one to peek your head over it, half expecting to see a child that’s lost their way.

and what you see makes your eyes widen and the blood drain from your face. you gasp in a mixture of shock, fear, and confusion when you make eye contact with what looks like a fairy tail creature.

you jump back in surprise, stumbling and falling straight onto your ass, completely soaking your bottoms and the hem of your shirt.

“w-what-what the fuck?” you stutter to yourself, shaking your head harshly as you clench your eyes shut and grip the wet sand. maybe these fantasy books are finally getting to you or maybe you fell asleep on the beach and this is all a dream.

a moment later, you blink rapidly as you shakily stand. and this time, you walk around the rock so you can properly see what you think you saw without something in the way.

and once you do, you see it again, staring at you with wide piercing blue eyes. you can’t even speak as you analyze it, much less breathe. it looks deathly afraid of you, whatever it is, and it eyes your every step with the upmost observation and fear.

it’s long scaly fish like tail is a beautiful blue color, but it’s torso and head is seemingly human. it has milky white skin, pecks with nipples like a man, toned arms with little blue fins attached, and hands with fingers— though they seem more webbed than a normal persons. it’s tail begins where a normal humans legs would. it’s some kind of a creature that’s half man and half fish. if you didn’t know any better, you’d say it looks like a mermaid.

you don’t dare to take another step closer, staying a few feet away with caution. it’s tail is caught in some kind of netting connected to the rock and it looks as though the grip it has on it’s tail is so tight that there’s a bit of red blood seeping from it.

it’s not moving one inch as the baby waves crash gently on it. the creature is so still, in fact, that you’d believe it was dead if not for its eery eyes watching your every breath and the way it’s blinking every now and then.

you’ve had the ‘do aliens exist’ talk before, everyone has, but no matter your stance on it, actually seeing something inhuman and seemingly otherworldly is a whole nother conversation entirely.

your breath is shaky as you squint at the netting because even though you have no idea what this creature is, it looks like it’s in pain. you can’t help but wish to help it.

you gulp and take a step closer to get a better look at the netting but the moment you do, it flinches and it’s tail begins to slam against the sand with force— like it’s trying to scare you off by splashing you with the small amount of water under it.

and if his intent was to scare you, it works because you fall right back onto your ass with a gasp as droplets of water litter your face.

“i-i-i’m sorry! i- won’t h-hurt you!” you stutter out, voice shakier than it’s ever been as you wipe your face of the water. you aren’t even sure if this creature can understand your language, but even animals can understand intent so you figure it’s worth a shot.

hesitantly, it slows it’s flopping and tears begin to fall from its beautiful, gleaming eyes as soft whimpers fall from its lips. it seems as though it’s accepted its fate, that you will hurt it or even worse, kill it.

your brows twitch in sympathy as you stand once again. its teary eyes follow you every step of the way as you inch closer to it ever so slowly with hands extended, as if to communicate that you won’t hurt it.

and once you get close enough to potentially touch its tail, you crouch in front of the mid part of it with caution, eyes trained on it’s terrified face.

you gulp. “i’m going to t-try to get this off, okay?” you voice, knowing it likely doesn’t understand you.

it’s face contorts with confusion and eyes flicker down to your hands that are steadily moving towards it’s tail.

you pause for a moment, giving it time to process what’s happening before attempting to make contact. as you get just inches away, it flinches violently, tugging against the netting and letting out a painful whine.

“it’s okay! don’t move— calm down.” you coo, attempting to adopt a calming tone to your voice. it seems to help a bit because its tail stills, though still obviously hesitant.

although your natural curiosity urges you to touch its tail to learn more, you don’t want to frighten the injured creature any further. this is your first time encountering such a being, and it's likely the creature’s first time seeing a human.

you gently place a hand on the net around its tail, careful not to touch the tail itself to avoid scaring it. you carefully maneuver the netting, examining what can be done. the knots are tangled, but not impossible to undo.

you gently let go and look at its face once again with sympathy.

“that must hurt, huh? poor thing.” you coo as it softly sobs, “i’m going to unknot it now.” you explain with a newfound determination.

you begin working, carefully untying the netting as gently as possible. when the creature’s whines intensify from a particularly painful tug, you pause, easing up to show that you mean no harm. this gesture seems to soothe it, enough that its gaze shifts from your working hands to your focused face, filled with curiosity.

you notice that whenever your fingers get close to its tail, there's a subtle resistance, as if an invisible barrier is pushing against you, protecting it from your touch.

finally, you get it untied and you pull the ropesoff of it’s tail with an accomplished sigh. “all done.”

it’s eyes widen in shock as its tail suddenly moves freely. you huff with a cheerful smile, watching as the creature realizes it’s free and no longer doomed to die here. you can’t help but wonder why it was so close to shore in the first place.

then, suddenly, as if realizing you might still pose a threat, it swiftly turns and glides gracefully into a deeper part of the ocean.

you stand up with an expression of bewilderment as you watch it swim into the water, disappearing with a splash of its large tail.

you chuckle to yourself in disbelief, rubbing a hand down your face. your eyes remain fixed on the spot where you last saw it, hoping to catch just one more glimpse before you leave. you know no one would believe you if you told them what you just witnessed, but maybe that’s for the best, given how cruel humans can be.

just as you’re about to turn to retrieve your book and shoes, your eyes light up when it’s white haired head pops up, exposing its face as it stares at you from afar.

when it doesn’t move to leave immediately, you lift a hand and awkwardly wave, mentally cursing yourself when you realize it probably doesn’t know what that gesture means. sure, the way it’s just watching you is a bit unsettling, but it doesn’t seem to have any ill intent. you’re fairly certain it understands that you set it free—or at least, you hope so.

and then, you exhale sharply in bewilderment when it surprisingly copies your gesture, lifting a hand and waving back at you before disappearing back into the ocean.

the next few days you can’t help but visit the same area of the beach again, hoping that maybe you’ll see the astonishing creature again. but you don’t, not for days.

after about a week, you finally see it again, but any hopes or expectations you had are quickly dashed when it merely observes you from a safe distance in the water. you don’t dare to push the boundary and enter the water, fearing that it might scare the creature away or even the possibility that it could hurt you.

in the days that follow, it surprisingly returns each day at the same time to watch you for hours at a time. whenever another human comes by, it vanishes into the ocean in the blink of an eye, only to reappear and gaze at you again. you’ve noticed that it seems particularly interested in watching you read for some reason.

unfortunately, you have college classes to attend still so you’re forced to skip a beach day. the entirety of the class, all you can do is wonder if the creature is waiting for you to show up.

the next day, instead of lounging on the dry sand, you sit in the shallow water, where it reaches up to your waist, wearing your swimsuit.

to your surprise, when it pops up like usual, it doesn’t seem afraid of your new proximity but it stays a long distance away as it eyes you. its expression reads curiosity but you can’t be sure from this distance.

after spending about an hour idly watching the creature and playing with the wet sand under your hands, you grow comfortable. you even close your eyes and bask in the sun.

but when you hear the gentle ripple of water— as if something is moving, you peek open your eyes to see it much closer now.

it scares you at first, making you gasp and scoot back a bit with fear. but your reaction seems to scare it too, making it quickly retreat into the water again.

“n-no! wait! i’m sorry— come back!” you plead in fear that it might never return as you crawl in deeper on all fours, unsure if it can hear you beneath the water.

a moment later, it peeks up at you again, much further than before but still close enough to see. immediately you smile and wave, hoping it recognizes your gesture again.

and it does recognize it, showing a sort of naïveté as its eyes light up and it swims closer, shockingly fast. it’s a bit unnerving how fast it moves but maybe you should have expected as much from a creature of the water. you try not to show any signs of fear or shock at its movement so you don’t potentially scare it away again.

it then exposes its entire face as it lifts a hand and waves back with wonder in its eyes, only feet away from you. it seems it’s hesitant to come any closer because you’re in a shallow part of the shore— though you think that’s for the best because even if it hasn’t hurt you thus far, it’s an unknown creature that you know nothing about. it’s best to keep a small space between the two of you for now.

you take a seat in the water that’s now up to your lower ribs as you examine its beautiful features while it examines yours.

it’s facial features are that of the most beautiful in the world, you think, surpassing even the most famous of beauties in the human race. and it’s eyes are a color that shouldn’t be possible, so piercing blue that they’re almost glowing. its hair is milky white, much more pure of a white than any bleach could ever turn a humans hair— matching its eyelashes and eyebrows. you aren’t sure, but it looks like a man in his twenties.

“beautiful, you’re so beautiful.” you breathe out in awe, making it’s head tilt in curiosity— reminiscent of a puppy.

and then it suddenly speaks, but the language scares you. it’s like no language you’ve ever heard before and it’s tone sounds bewildered. it’s voice is deep and raspy, like a man and you’re not sure what you expected but it wasn’t that.

you can’t help but flinch and gulp a bit at the sound of it, it’s only natural to be afraid of such an unknown sound but you’re trying your best to be open minded.

as if responding to your sign of fear, it begins to speak again but this time— in english.

“c-calm— d-d-ow-n, poor th-thing.” it stumbles over its words, attempting so hard to copy your words and cooing tone from weeks ago when you were freeing it.

you can barely grasp what it’s trying to say, but as you piece it together, your jaw drops in awe. you’re amazed that it remembered what you said well enough to repeat it—especially since it’s using the same calming words you used on it to try to soothe you. It’s as if it’s trying to calm you down, even though it probably doesn’t understand the meaning of the words.

“amazing,” you breathe out, blinking in utter disbelief.

“ama—zong,” it repeats with a curious tone.

you giggle with your eyes crinkled closed as it mispronounces “amazing” as “amazong,” and your laughter only seems to intrigue it further. its white eyebrows twitch as it swims closer, trying to catch more of your laugh.

when you open your eyes again, you find it closer than before, causing you to stiffen and gasp. it’s now only a few feet away, and because it’s in such shallow water, it’s forced into a horizontal position, with parts of its tail visible behind it.

then, it speaks again, slowly, but in its own language like it’s trying to teach you a word.

“sa-tor-u.” it coos, sounding out the word for you to learn with gentleness.

the fear that rose when the creature came closer is quickly replaced with fascination as you focus on the word.

“satoru.” you repeat the word slowly and immediately it smiles as it lifts its tail and splashes the water excitedly.

you chuckle at the sight as droplets from the splash of its powerful tail land on your cheek.

“satoru. what does it mean?” you question with a smile, more to yourself than the creature as you wipe the water away from your cheek.

and as if detecting your questioning tone, he quickly points at itself and repeats the word again.

“you? your name?” you ask, eager to learn more about the creature. but he doesn’t understand your words and simply blinks at you. it’s astonishing that he wants you to know his name—not that you think he’s unintelligent, but you weren’t sure of his level of awareness. ‘satoru’ is primarily a male name, you wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve come across some humans with the name.

“uh- um,” you then point to yourself and speak your own name slowly, eager for him to learn yours now.

he repeats your name with determination to pronounce it correctly, and you nod with a big smile, delighted by the sound of his beautiful voice saying your name.

then, as if the setting sun is a curfew, satoru suddenly turns and dives into the ocean with urgency. but before disappearing for the night, he resurfaces briefly, waves with a smile, and then vanishes once more.

the following days are some of the most exciting of your life, stories you’ll tell your grandchildren about teaching a beautiful merman to speak english.

unfortunately, the first thing you teach satoru is how to say, ‘stay back or i will hurt you.’ its a bit tough to explain the meaning but once you point to his tail to remind him of the painful netting, he understands for the most part.

you’re afraid someone less moral will come across satoru who’s so beautiful and naive and innocent to the human world. you have to explain that not all humans are like you and though he’s a bit confused, he mostly grasps the concept.

you’ve found that the easiest way to teach satoru about words and meanings is to read to him. he listens to you for hours and when you begin to pick children’s books that help in learning english, he excels quickly.

soon, he’s able to speak at a moderate level and you’re simply aching to ask him every question in the book as you sit in your familiar place in the shallow water by the rocks.

“are you a mermaid?” you inquire, knowing it’s a silly question to ask considering ‘mermaid’ is a silly human term for fairytales.

“‘mer-maid?’” he repeats with curiosity, and you chuckle to yourself. you should have expected that response.

“where were you born? how old are you?” you instead question, eagerly.

he points to the open ocean before turning back to you. “eight— six.”

you hum in thought, recalling how you’ve already tried teaching him about human days and years, but it seems he has his own way of measuring time. you’ve discovered that in his terms, eighty-six translates to twenty-six in your time.

“are there a lot of your kind?”

“yes. lot.” he nods, seemingly happy to be able to communicate with you.

“are you able to get out of the ocean completely? or do you need the water to breathe?” you ask.

“no, i can get out. but we are not supposed to. rules,” he grumbles, clearly annoyed by the rule. you wonder if he might be a bit of a rebel in his society. this also explains why he was treading so close to the shore when he got caught in the net.

“can i ask question too?” he suddenly questions.

your brows twitch in slight surprise at his curiosity and you nod with a smile.

“why do you save me?” he suddenly asks, referring to the time you met and you freed him from the netting.

you exhale with sympathy as you gaze at him.

“why not? i saved you because you were in pain.”

he blinks at you with utmost wonder in his blue eyes and then quickly refocuses onto his next question— as if he’s afraid he won’t have time to ask everything he wants to.

“how many are you?” and his question slightly confuses you until it clicks that he’s asking your age.

“uh— in your time, i’m eight-one,” you explain, converting your age of twenty-one into a number he can understand.

he immediately coos, “cute. you are young. in my home, you would be offered up to mate.”

you blush a bit and gasp a bit before chuckling nervously. “o-oh!”

“do you have a mate?” he asks with gleaming, glowing eyes.

you breathe out a laugh. “no. do you?”

“how do you say—” he hums in thought, likely looking back on your language exercises, “—hell no.”

immediately, you burst into a fit of giggles. that phrase was one of your favorite to teach him.

“beautiful. you are beautiful,” his smile broadens at the sound of your laugh, breathing out audibly through his nose— making a noise reminiscent of an awe.

your eyes widen at his compliment, blinking rapidly as your cheeks burn. “w-wow, me? says you.”

“thank you!” he cheers, like a child who has been taught to say thank you after every compliment— it makes you snap out of your flattered state and giggle a bit.

“what are these? why?” he questions and you jump when you feel his fingers graze along your calf under water.

“m-my legs? um- i’m not sure why. to walk i suppose.” you shrug, slightly shivering at his touch with a blush. you hadn’t made physical contact yet and it’s a bit unnerving. he doesn’t seem to be the shy type.

“painful?” he questions with concern, fingers still curiously exploring your legs gently.

you giggle softly at his assumption, and he tilts his head at you with a curious smile. you figure he thinks your legs must be painful since they’re split in two instead of being one piece like his tail.

“no, not painful,” you shake your head, attempting to eye his hand traveling up your thigh through the murky water as you grip the sand.

“soft,” he says before dipping his head under the water, intently examining your legs. he runs his hands along them, but when he reaches the inside of your thighs in exploration, you gasp and quickly grab his hands to stop him before he can reach your private area. he surfaces, looking at you with a puzzled expression.

“hurt you? sorry, i’m sorry.” he pouts, slightly pulling back and lowering himself to show that he’s a non-threat submissively.

you huff and gently pull his hands from your legs so you can interlock yours with his— partly to keep control of where he puts them and partly to just feel his skin.

“you didn’t hurt me. that area is just,” you pause, thinking on the right words to use for this, “-sensitive and private.”

he moves closer again, your friendly gesture of holding his hands helping him to relax, as his fear of hurting you fades and interest takes its place. he says a word in his own language and you blink at him with confusion.

“what’s the word for— is it—mating organs?”

“um— ‘mating organs’?” and quickly you realize that you had never taught him a word for your reproductive organs and your face burns in embarrassment. “oh uh— yes, sort of.”

“can i see?” he questions, making your embarrassment sky rocket. it’s obvious he’s simply intrigued with the human body, without ill intent.

“uh— that’s not a good idea,” you quickly utter, letting go of his hands and shutting your thighs tightly.

he starts pouting, and if there’s one thing you’ve learned about satoru over the past few days, it’s that he’s kind of needy and playful, and definitely prone to pouting when things don’t go his way.

“why?” he whines, hands returning to caress your ankles gently.

“uh-um because— well, that’s like me asking to see your- fish-tail-mating area,” you exclaim dumbly, unsure of if he even has male reproductive organs like humans do.

he blinks at you, pout still prominent.

“‘fish tail?’” he repeats, thinking for a moment before his brows raise in understanding.

“you can see and i can see!” he shouts, as if he’s just solved the issue easily.

you gulp and your gaze flickers around, avoiding his gaze in utter disbelief. you’re pretty sure that he’s insinuating a ‘i’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ situation.

“please?” he pleads, and you wish you hadn’t ever taught him the word because his sweet, graceful tone sways you, as if his voice has a spell woven into it.

you can’t deny your own curiosity about his tail and his anatomy, so you find yourself looking around the empty beach before gulping and nodding—for research purposes.

he brightens up and promptly adjusts into a seated position. using his palms, he scoots closer to the shore, encouraging you to move back until his tail is completely exposed. he rests his back against one of the many rocks by the shore as the baby waves crash against the both of you.

you gulp as your eyes linger on his stunning physique, sitting back on your calves while you focus on where his abdomen transitions into his tail. he seems to notice your ogling, taking your hand and gently guiding your fingers from the wet ridges of his abs down to his scaly tail.

“w-wow, you’re so beautiful.” you breathe, lips slightly parted as your breathing deepens in astonishment.

he giggles, as if he’s quite used to this type of admiration, and lets you explore his tail. when you reach his fin, he playfully flicks it up, huffing in amusement when you flinch and gasp.

you then bring your hand to press against his warm chest, where his heart is and your jaw drops when it beats in such an irregular way— unlike any human heart.

“your heart! it’s- amazing.” you breathe in awe, moving your fingers around slightly to feel it better.

his head tilts in wonder before reaching out and pressing his own finger tips to your chest, just between your breasts.

and after a moment of waiting, he gasps and hunches forward to suddenly press his ear to your chest.

“boom! boom! boom! boom! boom!” he breathes in astonishment, now understanding why you were so amazed at his heart beat. he thinks yours sounds so comforting, he could stay pressed to your soft chest all day.

you chuckle and blink down at him, slightly embarrassed that he’s pressing into the fat of your breasts. but after a few long moments of him simply listening to your heart, you gently pull his head up to lean against the rock once more.

“you keep feel?” he questions, asking if you’re done exploring his body or not.

although you feel a bit deranged for letting your mind wander, you can’t help but ponder how his kind reproduces. you don’t see any visible dick of any kind but you do see a slight bulge where his dick should be.

you tilt your head at it, hesitant to ask but it seems you don’t have to because he notices.

“under. like your cover.” he gestures towards your bathing suit bottoms with a slight blush dusting his high cheekbones.

“o-oh, i see,” you stutter with a bashful smile, lowering your chin in an attempt to avoid eye contact with the bulge beneath his scales.

as if reading your mind, he then tilts his head down to make eye contact with you.

“you want to see?”

you part your lips and stutter, blinking rapidly.

“um- if that’s okay.” you gaze up at him nervously, biting your lip coyly. you figure if you’re ready to reveal what’s beneath your bottoms, it’s only fair that he does the same.

though he seems quite shameless and confident, he grows shy as he moves his scales to the side and exposes a slit.

your brows furrow, eyes squinting briefly as you focus in on the area. you can’t help but gasp when a long, thick member resembling a human cock slides out. it’s nearly identical to a humans, except for the fact that it has blue scales near the base.

it bobs, seemingly hard, but you aren’t sure if he’s naturally this size or not. you wonder if it’s potentially arousing him to show his genitalia to a human but you can’t deny the possibility that you’re just demented.

“w-wow, big,” you gulp, in a slight haze as you watch a bead of what looks like pre cum dribble out of his tip. you don’t even realize what you just said until he’s chuckling.

“human not ‘big’?” he questions, almost slyly. he seems quite confident in his body, which he absolutely should be considering how ethereally gorgeous he is from top to bottom.

you clear your throat and force your gaze away from his throbbing member.

“n-not usually that big.” you mumble. “are those.. scales?” you point at the scales near the bottom of his cock.

“yes, touch?” he asks, reading that look on your face as a look of a creature that wants to mate— though he’s not so ignorant as to be unaware that you’re likely just curious like he is.

your eyes widen even wider and your mouth opens and closes as you try to put your thoughts in order. you aren’t sure if he’s so shamelessly lewd as to ask you to jerk him off.

“no mate, just touch,” he attempts to clarify, delicately grasping your willing hand and moving it close until it’s just inches away from the scales you were curious about.

how many human can say they’ve ever had this opportunity before? to explore a merman’s body? you figure as long as you just touch briefly, it’s fine, it’s not like you have harmful intentions.

you gulp and your gaze flickers up at him as if to make sure it’s okay to be doing this before focusing on his cock.

you softly brush your fingers along the ridges of the bumpy, slick scales at his base, causing his cock to twitch. you glance up at his face as he whines a word in his language and unintentionally thrusts his hips toward your touch.

the scales are soft but textured at the same time, and they seem to ripple in response to your touch—as if they’re just built to react to stimulus that way.

“o-okay you can put it away,” you quickly mutter when you form the instinct to wrap your hand around his cock and pull more of those adorable whines out of him.

he nods, eyes lidded and breathing deeper than before. you watch as it slides back into his slit and he covers it with his scales once again. it’s a bit bizarre the way it retracts and moves but mostly fascinating.

“my turn?” he questions eagerly, gently nudging your legs with one hand as to make them part while the tip of his fin grazes your outer thigh.

your nerves rise as you close your eyes and take a deep breath. a promise is a promise and though it’s nerve racking, you want to prove that even though you’re a strange creature in his eyes, you’ll stick to your word.

“y-yes.” you nod with a nervous smile.

excitement litters his face as he moves to lie on his stomach, tail playfully tapping against the shallow puddle of water beneath.

you tentatively and somewhat embarrassedly get into position, with your legs bent on either side of his head and leaning on your elbows to watch what he does.

you attempt to take deep, steady breaths as he gently pushes your thighs apart with warm hands.

shakily, you let them part ways, allowing him to push them as far apart as they go until you feel the subtle burn of the stretch. it’s really not his fault, he’s likely completely unaware of how far your legs can push apart.

you can’t help but imagine how startling this sight would be if someone were to stumble upon it. he then pulls at the material of the gusset of your swimsuit with confusion, making your abdomen gently flinch.

“is this connect to you?” he looks up at you. it seems he’s asking if your swimsuit is similar to his scales that cover his slit.

“no, i can take it off.” you utter shyly before simply pulling it to the side so he can see your pussy.

immediately his eyes widen and he leans in so close that you can feel his breath fan over your twitching folds.

you’re aware he’s likely never seen a humans genitalia before and has nothing to compare yours to but it doesn’t stop you from growing self conscious under his stare.

“like me?” he asks, blinking up at you with furrowed brows. he’s attempting to ask if you have a cock that comes out of your slit as well, though your slit does look very different than his.

“n-no, no. it’s just a.. hole.” you explain, humiliated, blushing, and gripping the sand to cope with the embarrassing words.

“what is this bump?” he questions, pointing at your twitching clit, fingertip only breaths away from making contact.

“um— mating.. tool?” you cringe at your choice of words but he chirps a hum as if understanding— though you aren’t sure how much he could possibly understand form your poor explanation.

“touch?” he asks, not taking his eyes away from your slit. he doesn’t miss the way your ‘mating tool’ spasms when he speaks.

you gulp and close your eyes with a sharp exhale through your nose, trying to collect yourself and your naughty urges.

“why?”

“to see more,” he explains, “so compact.” you can tell he’s referring to the way your outer lips keep your inner lips closed to an extent in this position.

“o-okay,” you nod, watching him like a hawk as he reaches out and pulls one of your outer lips to the side, making your folds straighten out on that side. it allows for a peek into your clenching chasm and it only intrigues him further, squinting his eyes to look into your hole.

“smells yummy,” he whines out, causing your pussy to clench around nothing and slowly leak a bit of arousal. you bite back a moan at his unintentional compliment.

“a-are you done?” you gulp, hoping he doesn’t question your slick leaking out.

“this is your mating hole?” he refers to your pussy and you bite into your bottom lip, mind racing with ideas of ‘mating’ with the beautiful creature in front of you and how it would work.

“y-yes,” you stutter, breathy.

“you have mated before?” he asks, gaze flickering up at you and gently letting go of your lips. it takes everything within you not to laugh at his question, he’s basically asking if you’re a virgin.

“no, have you?” you turn his question back on him with a small smile.

“no, that’s for life long mate,” he admits with a matching smile, leaning in and licking an affectionate stripe up your inner thigh.

you gasp pathetically in pleasure and your thighs clench, making you quickly cover your pussy with your bottoms once again in fear of your urges pushing this experience too far before you know it.

“o-okay no more.”

he frowns a bit at the sight of your covered pussy and gently pushes back into the water to submerge more comfortably.

you settle into a criss crossed position after scooting closer until the water reaches your waist.

“thank you for showing me, you are interesting,” he coos with a smile, gently lifting a dripping finger to brush it down your cheek, making you shiver.

you exhale slowly and lean into his touch. “will i see you again?”

he suddenly seems as though he has an idea or remembered one, face lighting up.

“i be back—wait,” he voices briefly before turning and diving into the water so fast that you’d have missed it if you blinked.

you can’t help but furrow your brows and reach out to the ocean in fear that he might never come back— even in spite of his words. but a few moments later, he re-emerges, making you exhale in relief. he seems to have brought you a large white shell.

“watch,” he coos, keeping eye contact with you as he brings it to his lips and blows. a beautiful sound comes out of the shell, inducing a peaceful tranquil feeling deep within causing you to light up with awe.

“you call and i come,” he explains softly, wrapping your hands around the shell like it’s a precious gift.

your heart flutters at his words and the feeling of his hands around yours, eyebrows twitching in a pout when he lets go.

the sun suddenly sets below the ocean and now it’s his turn to pout. “i must go.”

and just like that, he kisses the back of your hand before escaping back into the dark ocean, leaving you to wonder when you’ll see him again.

—————-

i am so in love with mermaid satoru bye

This is fire and such a unique idea❤❤

The Anomaly || JJK || Masterlist

summary : In which you're isekai'd from your (own) parallel Jujutsu Kaisen universe to the canon universe.

Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen X Reader, eventually Character x Reader (idk who yet tho)

Prologue

Chapter 1: Alone

Chapter 2: The Origin of Blind Obedience

Chapter 3: Accomplices

Chapter 4: Homesick

Chapter 5: It's Like That

Chapter 6: Evening Festival

Chapter 7: The Shibuya Incident

Chapter 8: Seance

Chapter 9: Flunctations

Chapter 10: Flunctations pt.2

Chapter 11: Thunderclap