∘quinn☾ || any and all pronouns✰ || 20✧ || dom 99.999% of the time
∘i promise i'm friendly and (mostly) won't bite so feel free to interact w me!
🍃𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜:
𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: --open but expect them to be quite slow, my rules to request are here-please read before requesting
∘this blog will most likely be 90% smut, so minors be advised.
i'd rather you unfollow if you're under 18 and come back when you are but we're strangers on the internet and you probably won't listen to me anyway so do what you want ig
∘i am extremely busy rn so expect things to be very slow--i have a whole other blog that i'm writing on as well as personal matters
∘will be pretty much only dom reader, i don't write for sub reader really ever so don't expect anything besides that first fic (i was in a mood, okay😭)
∘feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged
🌿𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧:
∘extremely obsessed with jjk rn so that'll be most of my thoughts but will write for other anime as well
∘blue lock, chainsaw man, attack on titan, the arcana, and currently watching demonslayer, probably more that i'm forgetting-i'll add more if i think of them
∘feel free to request others although there's no saying that i've seen it/read it or that i will write it
needy!drunk!gojo satoru x gn reader-based off this post
synopsis: gojo is a lightweight, vowed to sobriety to keep whatever bit of shame he has left to his name. but he really can't help but take a few shots when he sees you doing the same.
warnings: sub gojo, gn dom reader, both reader and gojo are drunk, gojo's a lightweight, handjob, semi-public sex, he cries-like a lot, he also had nipple piercings bc i couldn't help myself, reader's kinda a hoe, feelings, think that's it
The warm press of hands against your hips is what makes you gasp. The soft touch of lips traced over your throat is what makes your head spin.
What a delightful feeling.
What a human desire.
“Touch me.”
The room spins around you, the warm feeling of being held making you sigh, leaning into it. The scent of him, the greedy claiming of his presence in your mind. So selfish. Of him not to think of the effect that this has on you. To not care about the war going on in your mind.
“Touch me, please?” A whine this time. A meek sound, spilling from his lips, making your body light up in return.
“Satoru,” He practically purrs at his name on your lips. Pathetic. How easily riled up he is. How easily you’re able to make his knees feel weak. How much he loves the sound of your lips forming his name.
“Mmmm, say it again.”His nose sweeps delicately over your neck, working over a heavy sigh as he tries not to get drunk on the smell of your shampoo. Or more drunk than he already is, that is.
“Your name?” You mutter slowly.
“Yeah….” His words have been gradually slurring over the span of the night, with the amount of shots he’s taken, with the amount of drinks he’s had. With the inches of space between you closing until there’s nothing between you but the thin layer of clothing that does nothing to hide the bulge he shamelessly presses against you.
Even so, you know that he's always been far beyond measures of shame, but this is a whole new level, the way he continues to press his body impossibly closer to yours, his broad chest against your shoulders, his hips canting against you.
You’ve always hated how he’s been taller than you, his incessant teasing when he throws you over his shoulder as you yell and pound on his back. He takes advantage of it all too often.
You don’t mind now.
“Why, Satoru?” Maybe you’re cruel for the teasing, for liking your friend’s reactions all too much. Shivering, nearly violently, throbbing against your lower back.
He whines, “Sounds so…-so much better when you say it. Makes me wanna just…”
His breath is heavy with the scent of alcohol and you’re still not entirely sure how Shoko and Suguru managed to get him to break his vow of sobriety. Not when you’d seen him turning them down for the first bit of the night.
The next time you saw him he was getting dragged along by you, gulping down whatever liquids you shoved into his hands.
With his feverish hands tracing up your body and his sinful hips pressing against yours. Muttering about how he wanted you and needed you, whispering about things he'd never have said in the harsh reality of day, but was that not the beauty of getting intoxicated beyond belief?
“Hmm? Just what?”
He simpers, “Wan’ you to touch me, play with me, like I’m just a toy for you~” He grinds slowly and you wish you could kiss him. Kiss him until he’s breathless and red and can’t remember his own name. Dazed and dizzy and muttering gibberish while loosely gripping onto you.
You don’t think if you’d even have to kiss him to do that right now, but the taste of his perfectly pink lips would just be an added pleasure to this delectable mix.
But you shouldn’t. And you won’t.
Not because he’s your friend and this will surely be crossing some unspoken line.
Or because it’ll throw off the axis of your entire friend group. You'd never let that stop you before. And you wouldn’t let something like that stop you now. Not when you've clumsily pressed your lips to Shoko’s, high out of your mind and hidden under the blanket of dark nights. Or when you let your hands wander along the lengths of Suguru’s skin, promising to make him feel things he’d never felt before.
Not because Satoru Gojo is one of your best friends.
But because Satoru Gojo is currently drunk and so are you. And despite the fact that you’re practically drowning in the warmth of alcohol and all that is Satoru Gojo, you want whatever you do with him to mean something-be something. Not just a clumsy night of drunken mistakes and hazy flashes, not something you’ll forget in the morning and agree to never speak of again.
He’s too…important for you to treat him like that. And you’re too selfish to let anything you do to him to mean anything but the fact that he would be yours. But he’s not yours. And you’re not his. And all this thinking is only making a steady ache build behind your temples.
You sigh, twisting around in his arms. Blue eyes blinking back at you, slowly searching over yours and fuck, his lips are so kissable. Pink and plump, trapped between his too white teeth.
“Let’s get you back to Shoko and Suguru, they’ll take you home and make sure you don’t kill yourself.” You’re not entirely sure where they went or why they’ve left the two of you behind, all alone where they'd know neither of you were in the right mind to make good choices.
“No,” He shakes his head, white hair tossing, ruffled and mussed from a night of clinging to you like this. Far too close for comfort though you still couldn’t bring yourself to pry him off. “No, n-no, don’t wan’you to leave…”
You begin to tug him off either way. He’s not sane enough to make decisions for himself and you don’t think you are either. “C’mon baby, let’s go find your friends.”
He shudders and grips your hand, refusing to move an inch. Tears pool in his eyes and your jaw hardens.
You sigh. You didn’t know why you thought this was a fight you’d win either way. It was a losing game trying to argue with Satoru. His lips wobble and you can feel your resolve withering away by the second. Tearing down every single defence you put up around, being ripped away by him and his stupid tears as if they were paper.
“Don’t leave.” He whispers and he looks pathetic but you know you’ll give in to him if he asks you to. “Don’t leave me…please.”
You cup his cheek and he purrs, melting into the touch as if he were a cat, pushing into you for more attention. Basking in your attention as you sweep his tears away with your thumb, letting him close his eyes and pull you into the soft cushioning of a booth.
You feel heady or maybe it’s the alcohol talking. More tears roll down his cheeks, tracking along the slopes of his flushed face. Crystalline and sacred and you realize with a twist in the pit of your stomach that it’s arousing.
The sight of him. His sweat-soaked skin and his eyes big and glassy. And the fragile mask he’s worked so hard to keep up deteriorating beneath your very eyes, each tear breaking and cracking apart the image of the powerful man he claims to be.
A crumpled facade of a God into a something more, something divine and corrupt, something vulnerable and weak and so very human in your arms, falling apart by a mere touch.
Maybe you’re more fucked up than you realized. Maybe you’re just horny. Maybe because it’s him. And he’s Satoru Gojo and everything about him is perfect. Powerful. Transcendent. A God against humans, finally falling apart like this, before you, ready to fall to his knees. Perhaps he was always meant to.
“Don’t wanna be alone…don’t wanna…ngh~”
His hips thrust up, a whiny gasp working past his lips. He pants as if he’s run a marathon and you want to do such delectably sinful things to him and you’re sure you could do them all and more and he’d only beg and plead for more.
Perhaps…
“Kiss me.”
Your heart thuds in your chest, you wonder if he can hear with how loud it is. “Satoru,”
He whines and grinds and you moan. And it’s a losing battle.
“Shut up,” he insists, hand cupping the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair, almost obsessively. “Shut up and just kiss me.”
“You know we can’t. You-“
“I, am perfectly fine.” His words are a pant, a plea, whispered with a kind of reverence of a worshipper to a god. “Just kiss me, fuck me. Use me,” white eyelashes flutter, blue looking all the bluer rimmed with red and filled with tears. “Use me until you’re bored of me, until there’s nothing left-i don’t care.” He breathes, desperate and pleading and looking like he’s ready to get down on his damn knees on the dirty sticky floor. “Just-please.”
A losing fucking battle.
Maybe it always was. Trying to keep your hands off him, now, you realized it was like setting a treat on a dogs nose and telling them to wait. A crazy amount self control with the eventual prize just in sight.
All you can think as you cup his cheeks, flushed and wet from tears, warm against your hands is how fucking pretty he is. How you want him more than you think you’ve ever wanted anything. “Fuck, Satoru,” you mutter and he moans deep and appreciatively and then you’re pulling him in to slide your lips against his.
And now all you can think about is how much of a dumbass you are for not doing this sooner.
He tastes like alcohol and cigarettes-when he had one you don’t know but you do know that it’s the most intoxicating mix you’ve ever encountered. You feel like you’re floating, high off his taste and his moans; like he’s a drug and you’re the addict, injecting him straight into the vein.
It's far from elegant and he’s not perfect at it in the way you’d expect from a man as beautiful as him-godhood hasn’t blessed him in every aspect. But he’s desperate and he's eager to take everything you give, mewling against your lips.
He’s so needy and it's crazy the way it sends you into a sort of reverie. His hands gripping your hips hard, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go, like he’s hoping you’re real and not a apparition of drunken hysteria. He pulls you closer, as if you could get close enough that no one could find where you ended and he started, that you might be able to meld into one.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same sentiment. If you didn’t try your hardest to do the exact same; nails pressing into his skin, making him whine as you tilted his head back and slipped your tongue into his mouth, exploring, feeling, taking, using.
Just like he told you to do.
He vibrates against you, nearly shaking with choked noises. He mutters soundless words, each and every one swallowed by you as soon as they’re spoken. Pleas and prayers, worships and praises.
You’d show him what real ascension felt like.
You probably should be embarrassed, or at the very least shameful to be putting on such a show in front of what you know are watching eyes. But you know that Gojo is far past shame at this point and you're too enamoured by the beauty that is Satoru Gojo clinging to you like he’s about to break.
To be honest, you can't find it in yourself to give a shit about any of them. About anything but him, focusing your attention on devouring him whole as he shatters, ready to catch every piece as they fall into your waiting hands. No matter if the shards rip apart your skin and leave you a bloody mangled mess.
You break away first, fighting a smile at his whine as you pull away from him, panting.
He looks unravelled, messy. His usual flirty facade lost to pleasure. His watery eyes and heartbroken whines gone as well. Overwhelmed by swollen lips and gasps to make up for lost air. A blush like he’s just realized where he is, burying his face into your neck to hide from the probing eyes. To whisper, "You're too good at that, you know?.”
You bark a laugh and he nuzzles into your skin.
And then you’re redirecting him to your lips again.
In a flurry of hands and lips, messy steps and you’re clumsily stumbling into the bathroom. Quickly, Satoru is shoved against the door, fingers fumbling for the lock.
Your lips find his neck, fluttering a barrage of open-mouthed kisses over the heated skin, dragging your tongue along his thrumming heartbeat.
He whines and he begs, muttering nonsense that makes it to your ears but not to your head as you hum against him. Slender fingers knit through your hair, holding you close to him, pleading for you to never leave him.
“Touch me, touch me, touch me.” He repeats, slurred and slow, his eyes drooped shut, his voice husky with want, with lust and everything he’s been just barely repressing all this time.
But you've only ever been a slave to his desires.
So you respond in tenfold, nipping and sucking, leaving evidence that you've been here, staking a claim that doesn't exist and maybe never will but for tonight maybe you can play pretend.
Because he keens when your teeth sink into his skin and his back arches, pressing evidence of his wanton yearnings against you like you might devour him whole.
Like he wants you to.
He quieter when he whispers something that could change everything. “Love me?”
Your heart pounds in your chest but you’d never turn him down.
Fingers deftly undo the buttons on his tight-fitting button up, revealing porcelain-like skin underneath. His nipples are hard and pink and fucking pierced.
He gasps when you touch them, pinching them between your thumb and forefinger.
And you've never been particularly mean but you can make an exception for the God in front of you, leaving him to tortuous touches all while he throbs and thrusts into nothing but the fabric of his too-tight pants, whining from the stimulation that's all too little.
He's been begging for this all night. Whispering dirty words like a little tease, like a shameless slut.
He got you all riled up and for that you think that he should take his own share of teasing.
For retribution, for your own piece of mind and the pleasure it is to watch him squirm against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and tearstained and begging in small breathless whimpers barely over a whisper.
But you've never been able to resist him long, not then, not now and not ever.
Your hand finally reaches for his waistband, his body shivering with the feeling of your fingers dipping onto hot, untouched skin.
But he stops you.
His hand, large and pale landing over your own in a quick moment of lucidity.
His voice emerged, a whisper of uncertainty and longing. "Y-You'll take care of me?"
You met his vulnerability with a promise because you could never leave him with any less. "Yes," your words a whispered caress, a undying oath in itself, a vow that you'd take beyond this in whatever may happen.
Your lips brush over his ear, his eyes squeezing shut as your hand wraps around him, dragging a ruinous moan from deep in his throat.
"I promise, I will."
And your hand is wrapping around him, hot and wet and hard, all for you. Just for you. And his head is turned off, just sensations and feeling and you.
Just you.
"F-fuck, yes, please," so broken, fragile almost as ironic as it is. "Yes, pl-please, feels so go-good."
He doesn't last long and you don't know if it's from all the teasing you've administered or from how long he's been worked up for.
But you rather like the thought of him being sensitive enough that your voice and a few strokes is enough to bring him to the edge.
To have him pulsing in your hand while his arms wrap around your shoulders, blunt nails scraping into you skin as his hips thrust with reckless abandon.
His body quivering with pleasure as your hand forms a loose hole for him to fuck into, your thumb playing with the sensitive head of his dick.
"Please, please I need it, need it so bad," And he has no right sounding this good, looking this good while fucking into your hand like a goddamn dog. "Need it more than anything."
He always has been one for dramatics.
His head falls back against the wall, throat bobbing with the moan deep in his throat, fuck how the marks of your teeth stand out on the pale skin of his neck. Your lips permanent on his body for now, forever maybe if he'll let you keep replacing them.
"Fuck, Satoru," You free hand threads through his head, pushing his lips to meet yours, messy and slopping as he arches against you, hips thrusting erratically to match your pace. Keening when you nip at him, teeth tugging at his bottom lip, nails scratching at his scalp sending tingles down every part of his body.
He breaks away with a gasp and a cry when and only when he absolutely has to, eyes shining and chest heaving with breaths to fill his burning lungs.
And he's crying. And he's beautiful.
More beautiful than anyone or anything you've ever seen in your life.
"Shit, I'm close, m' so fuckin' close-!"
You’re half out of your mind and you couldn’t feel more sane. Like this was meant to happen-like he was meant to be yours.
"Don' stop, please don't stop," he gasps, like you'd ever think about it, like you'd could even if you wanted to.
“Satoru,” And he shakes.
“Satoru,” And he sobs.
“Satoru,” And he breaks, head falling back as if in prayer, a finger pushing his chin up, clashing against a higher power he didn't think possible.
“My one and only Satoru.” Soft and sweet and just for him and only him. And he’s gone.
Ropes of cum spurt out, rope after rope, covering your hand and the floor. Covering his thighs and his stomach in a mess.
Everything feels fuzzy and his cheeks are pink. A stupid grin crossing his face as he melts, boneless in your arms. "I love you." He mutters, distantly, foggily.
Perhaps somewhere beneath the haze he thinks that maybe you've said the same back. But he isn't quite sure anymore. He needs to be sure.
Slowly, he's lowered onto the floor into a sitting position. The tile is cold against his bare skin but it's okay because you're still caressing him, holding his face in your hand, thumb wiping at his tears.
"You love me right?"
You leave for moment and a whines at the loss of you pressed against him. Even if it's only for a few seconds he feels lonely and empty without your touch.
But then you're back and you're wiping him down with a wet towel, cleaning off his skin so gently, as if he's made of glass of porcelain, like he something to be cherished and taken care of.
"Hey pretty boy, you good?" He recognizes your voice even throughout the cloud in his mind. He nods and you smile and he's melting all over again.
"Do you love me?"
You roll your eyes and for an awful second he thinks that maybe you're going to say no. But then you're pushing the hair off his forehead and kissing him so fucking gently he thinks he'll cry.
"I do love you Satoru."
And his heart is bursting-he swears it is, it's beating so fast and so hard he's absolutely sure that you can hear it and that the quiet laughs escaping your pretty lips is because you can tell how dumbly in love with you he is.
But that doesn't matter.
Because right now he's normal person and you're a normal person and nothing else will matter but the fact that he's your's now.
"I love you too, y'know?" He mumbles.
You kiss him again, and again, and again. On his forehead and his temples, his cheeks and the tip of his nose and each of his eyelids. You kiss everywhere on his face until his lips are pouted out and he lets out a little whine of frustration.
And then you kiss his lips. Barely a peck, too fast and short for his taste but he doesn't have time to complain as you pull him off the floor.
“C’mon pretty boy, let me bring you home.”
“Mmm,” He doesn’t move, boneless against you. “Will you fuck me again?”
You laugh, soft. “Like I’d be able to resist you.”
sub denji who'll approach you while you're sitting on the couch watching tv, reading a book, whatever...he'll nudge your legs open and just rest his head on your thighs, looking up at you with big, sweet, needy eyes...
sub denji that will just rest like that, nearly purring as you start to play with his unruly hair...then it'll turn into slightly nosing against the plush of your skin in a silent question
you laugh quietly 'you tryna say something, puppy?' bc let's be real, he ofc likes to be called puppy
he unabashedly nods, letting out a whine...until you slightly tug on the roots of his hair and he lets out a moan😮💨
He gets to work immediately after that, using his mouth on you with whatever you want from him 🤭 he'll let you use him if it means he gets to make you cum
Just make sure you let your puppy have a piece of action too or else he'll get too pouty with you
Gojo is a silent type of desperation. Something about grief, something about the weight of loss, makes his throat sticky with need and unable to spit it out like choking on a piece of apple that only ever expands. It makes his chest screw up tight and uncomfortable under the pressure of it, his eyebrows twitching downward when he feels his lungs constrict under his ribs. Under his heart.
Satoru always holds you close, like a little lego toy clicking into place, there is nowhere else he needs to be. He kisses you as if he were to consume you entirely, caresses you because he needs your scent to be branded into his skin completely like you own him. In a way, you do. Gojo doesn’t understand when or how it happened. Too many late nights with memories that smell like sake and deep talks; Too many mornings that feel like warm thoughts and long walks. Innately there is just something about you that is understanding, and present. You fill up this space in ‘toru that has been vacant far too long, flooding it so suddenly like a hurricane, overflowing him overwhelmingly and wrecking the walls and beliefs he’s built up over the years like nothing. Like swiffering dust from a wooden table.
Nights turned into days, days turned into a week, and a week turned into weeks where he can’t go by without thinking of you. What would you like? What’s one thing he can do to make your day better? He stresses over it like a squealing kettle with bubbling water inside, un-ignorable, and needing immediate attention. He’ll show up at three in the morning with a burning question like, “how many times have you actually made coffee for yourself in the morning? Do you drink it all or only some?” There is a need to know everything about you as deeply as you’ve sunken into him. As much as you’ve captivated him. He clings to it like a wet kitten sinks it’s claws into the side of a tub.
“What’s wrong?” Such a simplistic question. You blink and there’s a dip in your brow of worry, but only slight. Conversational. Such a simplistic question but, it means so much to him. You notice, you notice too much and that’s part of the problem but, how does he tell you that you’ve melted into the crevices of his mind? How does he tell you he can’t sleep a wink when all he can worry about is your safety? Everyone around him, everyone he loves never lasts. Never lives. How can he tell you that he’s doomed you to a fate of death with a longing he can’t shake? He is a pillar, holding the world on his shoulders and you’ve crumbled him, cut him off at the knees. He would sacrifice the world just to touch your cheek on more time. Burn it down just to kiss you for the last.
It’s late and your bedroom is cold, shivers lick at your toes and he can feel the prickling rise of goosebumps on your skin against his own. Two bare chests lay against each other in the dark of your room and your fingers thread through his hair like a needle stitching him back together again. He might not be perfect, but in this moment he is no longer broken, his long fingers and cold palms prod at your back and spine to push you closer and crawl into your skin. His heart thutters with heavy thuds of devotion and his nose breaths you in from the juncture of your neck.
“Don’t leave me” he whispers, into the dead of night, where he can hide in the dark from the humiliating weight of emotion and vulnerability. He whimpers lightly when your lips nuzzle his forehead with an unspoken promise of care. Like a dog grooming their puppy.
“Not as long as I can help it ‘toru” you whisper back, softening further into the cracks of his skin like butter into flour and eggs. Burrowing yourself deeper into him like a tick. As long as you can help it scares him. As long as you can help it means it could end. So he presses his lips against your neck, doesn’t kiss, just rests there. Just claims that spot as his for now and forever.
please please please do make that nasty drunk sex i need gojo crying and sobbing saying the most embarrassing shit he'll regret in the morning (if he remembers)
no because i definitely will write this soon,
sobbing and pleading incoherently, mumbling on and on about how much he loves you and how much he needs and how he'll die if you don't fuck him right now.
sitting in your lap and clinging to you as he does, his face buried into your neck, grinding needily back and forth all while moaning at how it's not enough.
i think definitely a soft sub. i just honestly don't seem him as much of a brat or anything either, i think he'd maybe play around and try to tease you a bit but never go far enough to actually get punished or anything.
he's a soft boy at the end of the day who just wants to be praised and taken care of, he overworks himself so much and deserves to be treated like he's nothing but your baby, your channie for the night.
he's your good boy even if he thinks he doesn't deserve it sometimes. because he is insecure and sometimes you need to remind him how deserving he is and how much you love him and you need to keep telling him that until he has it cemented in his mind
even if that means sitting him between your legs in front of a mirror, jerking off his pretty cock while you call him lovely and good and talented and pretty and yours.
making him repeat all of your words back to you between whines and cries, stopping every time he hesitates. edging him over and over again until he's repeating over and over again that he's your good boy, your pretty boy.
which is probably the most of a hard sub you'll get from channie.
I saw other people say this too, if you write a Msub oneshot and have the absolute audacity to end it with ‘he flipped it over to show who was really in charge’ kind of shit, how could you. Like.. girlie, bestie, Pookie bear.. you don’t have to appease to both sides. Just write the dom reader one shot and move on Pookie
Can I request a Lucifer x male reader smut with like... Breeding? I read the last fic with the F! Reader but I really need that man to get it filled😭 and it's fine if you don't wanna do this! :)
hey anon, i think the fic you're referring to is one i reblogged by @/bigfatbimbo
i am open to writing for hazbin hotel characters but if you like the writing style of that fic because it definitely is amazing, i'd head over there!
