loserboy! satoru truther

#LEVI: “tch. i can’t get that stupid brat out of my head.”

[meowguru]

꒰𐔌 ‧₊˚ welcome to ESS’ bookstore ༝ BLK ༝ 23 ༝ wtv prns .ᐟ

♡⸝⸝ ‘toru’s pretty puppy, sugu’s spoiled kitty, levi’s clingy bunny .˖⁺ ݁ ˖ plagued by a domesticity brain-eating parasite </3

⤷ about me . masterlist . navi . rules . selfships

[meowguru]

I took fuwago with me to the mall on saturday and I think he’s still all tuckered out >o<

[meowguru]

thinking about bully! stsg x amab! reader….

[meowguru]

bully! satoru who makes fun of how much smaller your dick is than his. he makes it seems like you have some kind of micropenis when you’re technically average in size, his cock is just freakishly huge. you’ve even had the chance to get a really good look at it as he grinds it against yours, one large hand holding your cocks together as he jerks you both off. it’s slick and sloppy, a wet mess of pre and cum coating both lengths. he laughs when you twitch against him, says you’re only good for being their little slut cause your dick simply isn’t big enough to make someone cum.

and satoru’s mockery is bad enough, but bully! suguru only makes things worse. cooing in your ear as he thumbs and pinches over your nipples, “reassuring” you that size doesn’t matter anyway. easy for him to say when he has a girthy length that you can feel the full 8 inches of deep inside you. grinding his hips against your ass, nudging his leaking tip against your prostate to make you see stars. suguru calls you cute, kisses your spit-slicked lips in between sucking on your tongue and making your head fuzzy. between him and satoru, literally, you stand no chance.

[aurora-rph]

reblog this if you're fine with your mutuals sending you asks unprompted

[meowguru]

I was gonna leave the post up for a couple more hrs but I got shy and also a little anxious

[meowguru]

past two weeks suessa kids have been HEAVYY on my mind it gave me a bit of baby fever..

[meowguru]

Esssss m tireddds wat do I dooooo

WE NAP TOGETHER!!! I’m also tired I’ve been out allll day shopping w my bsf for our bdays….time 2 sleep….

[sillyandquiteawkward]

sneakerhead swansea and his herdier.......

[chopstickskillissue]

I LOVE THIS HEADCANONNNNN

[probuccalfat]

i’d love the opportunity to fumble you catastrophically

[meowguru]

thinking about bully! stsg x amab! reader….

[a-mel0n]

reblog if you’ve had an online friendship that’s lasted more than 2 years

[meowguru]

telling satoru you’re gonna start eating the rich (him) and he doesn’t know if you mean literally cannibalizing him or if his ass is on the line but ykw…both sound sexy so who cares

[sweethearticism]

──── ℛ𝐔𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 ₎ა ˙˖

♡ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟓 :: 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐄 ੭ ⌗ clan head!gojo x wife reader

gojo satoru didn't love, he lusted. that's what the rumours said. and blissful, innocent you assumed better of your husband to be. arranged to marry— or perhaps doomed? your dream come true turned nightmare once you realise that your new husband; man of your dreams, despises you. and worse, that you'll do anything for his affection. including ruining your own innocence in a desperate endeavour for his attention in the only way you know how. . . lust.

⌗ wc : 4.1k :: pinterest board :: playlist :: masterlist

♡ ₊˚‧ cws : arranged marriage :: unrequited love :: slow burn :: so much sex :: infidelity :: broken marriage :: loss of innocence :: pregnancy pressures :: duty vs love :: love vs lust :: violence :: abusive clans :: prostitution :: mean satoru :: sexism (not from satoru) :: side samurai!suguru x reader :: f.oral :: marking

♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart : now the fun begins.

꒰ chapter 04 :: ruin yourself m.list :: chapter 06 ꒱

In the three months of this tormenting marriage, these last few days had been your worst.

Almost as worse as your dreadful wedding night.

With the banquet looming in the distance, you sought out your husband to tie up any loose ends. You were a woman of punctuality. If you could help it, planning would be concluded a month in advance.

But Satoru's foul mood rained all over your parade.

You assumed the worst; that it was your fault. Everything was your fault. How you could trouble a man who you barely spoke to was beyond you, but whenever he looked over the dinner table at you? It was as if he wished you were grilled like the fish over your rice.

He outright refused to plan anything with you. Shutting doors in your face. Hardening the icy barrier of infinity.

His words cut deeper on these days. But you're healing quicker.

So be it. You were your father's daughter. Only child. Shouldering responsibilities was your bread and butter. Even with the bitter taste of your husband's cruelty staining your tongue.

Your skin was growing thick to his coldness.

Warmer, to Suguru's caress.

"Go do something better with your time." Satoru had snapped at you this evening.

Better, was calloused hands spreading your thighs. Better, was a devoted tongue worshipping you from the inside out.

Better, was your samurai. Whose sole duty was to love you.

Your spine curved off of the wooden floors of your office. Hips craning from the cushion and into his hot face. Dragging your arousal all over his eager mouth.

Suguru had ways to comfort you from Satoru's cruelty.

Pleasure bloomed at your core. Weeding out the blade that your husband wedged in your gut. Soothing the deep ache in your muscles, replacing it with heat. Heat, and bliss, and Suguru.

If only it could replace the fact that your three month anniversary was the next day.

Your fingers still twitched in his hair. Still clung to him by the strands rather than the roots. You still scolded your hips for bucking into him. Even after all this time.

The tenseness in your thighs. The tenderness in your throat. You wished it was from Suguru's tongue. Not the thorn of your marriage lodged between your ribs.

Not the torment of your empty womb.

"Petal, what did I say?"

Your fingers tensed in his hair. Tight with the fear of disappointing him too. But his violet eyes were soft. Tender pools that reminded you his hands were devotion and his mouth was love.

Suguru's smile tickled your folds. His thumb rubbed assurance into your inner thigh. Gentle, as he always was. "Go on."

You looked to the ceiling. Trying to ground yourself. Trying to answer him. His patience swelled your heart.

"Said I should. . . "

"Yes?"

"I can't."

He chuckled. A chaste kiss pressed to your clit. Made you squirm, but he held you against him. Tethering you to this comfort. To him.

"Take what you want," he spoke. To your cunt. To your heart. Dark eyes watching you from beneath his lashes as his lips ghosted over your twitching slit. Kissing quivers. Encouraging.

"Take what's yours."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, the nervousness. Failed. How could you take what you want when your throat was always parched and your hands knew nothing but barrenness?

Still, you tried for him. Fear weeding your fingers into his hair as his mouth traced along your slick. Promising pleasure. All you had to do was take it.

Take it.

Take control.

Your hips stirred. Meek drags against his face. His head nudged into your hands. Prompting them. His kisses taunted you. Enough to bloom bliss but not enough to spill your nectar.

Fingers flexed. Nails grazing his scalp. Your hips bucked. Chasing his mouth. Once, twice. Letting your body follow the rhythm. Of what felt right. What felt good.

"There you go. That's it." His groan rumbling into your slit rattled your heart into a helpless flutter.

Your head hung back. Brows pinched as you focused on the pleasure. On his mouth. On taking what you want.

Taking what was yours.

Taking, taking, taking what you.

Didn't deserve.

Your hips stuttered. A whimper caught in your throat. Not pleasured. Fingers loosened their grip. Eyes cracked open to stare at the ceiling. Curse the heavens for making you like this. So unworthy of love. Even for yourself.

Suguru caught on. He always did. One of his hands caught yours. Thumbing on your knuckle as his kisses bloomed over your thighs. Across your hips. Your tummy. All the way up to your trembling ones.

He squeezed your hand. You refused to look at him.

"Still shy?" He asked. You knew that he already knew the answer. But he gave you a choice.

He always did.

"Guess so." You chose to lie.

His warm palm pressed against your cheek. Warm kiss against your temple. You wished his warmth was enough this time.

"You deserve love." He said.

You wanted to believe him.

Moonlight streamed over you. Soon it would set, and the sun would rise to mark three months of your marriage.

Three months, of not being deserving of his love.

You wished it was as simple as Suguru made it sound. That when you returned to your empty bed in the night, it was easy to ignore. Tell yourself that you deserved love even when the sheets were cold.

Loneliness no longer laid beside you. It crawled into your mouth, one night when Satoru stumbled in. Dishevelled. Covered in red marks across his neck. Blue eyes bright but not for you.

No, loneliness now hardened in your throat. Tight with an emotion you rarely felt. One you swallowed. In bitter flames and hot coals.

Anger.

You were growing tired of your empty bed. The empty promises. Your empty womb. Satoru had hollowed out the word duty, all you had ever known, and spat out scraps. Expected you to adhere.

Where was his honour?

You swallowed the question as did you the anger. Let its all-consuming sister take its place: sadness.

Sadness for your cold sheets. For the brittle promises. For your barren womb.

As you dreaded, the morning sun gave you hope in warmth on your skin.

You wore your finest kimono today. A bridal gift from your cousin. White, with red accents, because that was the colour that drove any husband mad, she said. You fiddled with the fabric in the mirror. It was hardly your style. Definitely not your shade.

You spent a longer time prettying yourself up than you would like to admit. Paid too much attention to your hair. Your makeup. All for a man who probably didn't even know what day it was.

Hope was a cruel thorn. Made itself look like a blossom, but wretched deep in your heart.

The dining hall was empty.

The food was plentiful. The sun shimmered across the table and all its delights. Promising warmth and the bitter taste of hope.

But the head seat of the table was vacant.

Hollow like your heart, as you sat. Thanked the servants for your meal. And ate, by yourself, on the morning of your third month anniversary.

Loneliness throbbed at the back of your throat. The sun's warmth burning. Hotter, and hotter— blistering the back of your tongue in that same flame you tried to swallow with your rice.

A crystal presence froze it over.

White hair. Blue eyes. Posed, and as perfect in every way you could only dream of being.

Aiyuri.

"Satoru truly is a lot like his father," she mused. As if you were supposed to know what any of that meant.

She sat at the table. Did not bother to thank the servants as they set her food down, because it was their duty. Even the way that she handled her chopsticks demanded respect.

"You look sullen." She said, not looking up.

You struggled to hold your tongue.

"It is my anniversary and my husband is not here."

Her stare cut from below her lashes. You did not flinch, even when every inner part of you shrivelled up under her stare.

Then, she smiled.

"My dear, you live in a fairytale." She shook her head.

You should stop. You didn't. "It's not a fantasy to want love."

"What makes you think that you are deserving of it?"

Your breath hitched.

She ate in peace. As if she hadn't stabbed through your gut and ruined your appetite. The clink of ceramic drowned in the ringing of your ears.

"My dear," she said again. As if she were a loving mother-in-law. As if she cared about anything other than your ability to bear an heir. "In this life, a woman's love should be to her duty. And your duty is to your husband."

When she looked at you, the heat blistered the back of your tongue again. Pulsed in your soul. A painful reminder that she was right.

You weren't here for love. Your sole purpose was duty.

But how could you fulfil that duty with a husband who could not even bother to look at you? Let alone touch you?

You dug deep into yourself. Into your hollow pride. Into your honour birthed as the first and only child of your clan.

You were your father's daughter. And his honour burned in your veins.

Clanheads often drove themselves insane for the sake of duty. You were sure that you danced that line, now that you stood here. A bowl of cherries in your hands and your eyes on a door that you knew all too well.

You dreamt of it. Shut in your face time, and time again. The same as Satoru did, day-in and day-out. His office was off-limits.

The floor was hot coals, burning into your heels. Cautioning you to turn back.

But the fire in your throat burned hotter. The scathe of failure. Disappointment.

You had heard in passing that cherries were Satoru's favourite fruit. Giggled amongst the maids and servant girls. If it was no more than a crude joke, well, you were familiar enough with the sting of his rejection.

Even with that in mind, your hand hesitated to knock. If you did, you were sure your voice would lodge itself in your gut. Betray you, because it knew you better.

Suguru's words rang through your racing mind.

Take what you want.

Take what's yours.

Yet despite all the fire, you stood frozen. Strung between possibilities. Would he ignore you? Snap at you? Worse, humiliate you on your anniversary?

The red of your kimono mocked you. Stuck to your skin. Clawed into your pores and taunted you: to run away, because you weren't the kind of woman that had what it took to drive her husband crazy.

"Good day, Madame Gojo."

A tender voice, and yet it had you jolting. Nearly toppling over some of the cherries. You spun to face who had addressed you and saw a beautiful woman. A servant girl, probably around your age.

In her hand was a letter, and she held it out with a bow of her head. "Forgive me for the startle, but this arrived from your clan today. The messenger implored that it was urgent."

"Thank you." Your voice was meek as you took the letter. The parchment smooth under your fingertips. Reminding you of the perfection back home.

The servant nodded, eyeing the bowl of cherries as you used the letter as an excuse to scurry back to your room.

"Would you like for me to deliver those to Gojo-Sama in your stead?" She smiled.

Was she one of the servants you had caught under him? The curl of her lips said so. Satoru had a taste for pretty girls with bright eyes. That looked innocent but were probably as ruined as him.

You wouldn't remember even if you tried. Too many faces, and all of them merged into one, painful reality: not yours.

Still, you gave her the bowl of cherries. Knowing well she probably wouldn't say they were from you. It was better that way.

You scampered back to your bedroom. Ignored the empty sheets and loneliness that had slipped back to sprawl across the bed. Occupying yourself with the letter. Your clan came first. Always.

You broke the seal. As you expected, the ink was perfect. Elegance etched in calligraphy. The kind of grace only your mother was capable of.

My dearest daughter, how I miss you.

The first line already had your heart up in knots.

Your mother's love was duty disguised. Not tender. Warm in a cruel way.

I expected to hear from you sooner, but I suppose you must be busy. How has married life been?

Three months ago, we gave you away. Your father and I patiently await your letters each and every day. We understand that you must be kept busy with your new duties.

We haven't heard any news from the Clanhead nor the former Madame. Other than she, too, is waiting.

Remember that lotus root, kabocha, fresh fish and mugi-cha will help increase your fertility. You need body warming foods.

Avoid the cold. Your womb must be warm for conception.

You will be in our prayers. We hope to hear from your soon.

The single sheet of parchment hung heavier than a pure steel katana in your hand.

The ink was elegant, sharp. Stabbing into your fingertips in a thousand needles. In your family's criticism. Their watchful eyes that loomed over you even when you were far, far away.

Your mother's words were short, but a reminder.

The room tilted. Nausea trapped your throat. You sat on the edge of the bed as your vision blurred. You were running out of time. People were talking.

The letter quivered between your fingers. They bit into the paper and crinkled it at the edges. As you placed a hand over your stomach.

Your womb must be warm. She said

But there was only cold.

A cold bed.

Cold promises.

And the cold eyes of your husband who refused to touch you.

Your womb might have been frozen, but your heart was hot as you watched him.

Whether in the sun's rays or moonlight, Satoru was gorgeous. His white hair caught the silver streams. It shimmered in his blue eyes that you caught glimpses of in the mirror.

You sat on the bed, watching as he readied himself. A black yukata that complimented his broad shoulders and contrasted his pale skin. He fixed himself in the mirror, unaware that neatly tucked away in one of the drawers in front of him was the letter. The letter that emphasised the infinity between you both.

He had not said a word to you since he had entered. Simply freshened himself in the washroom and dressed in fine robes. You assumed it was for dinner.

Maybe he did not forget your anniversary after all.

Or maybe it was to please the elders. If he was even capable of that.

As you watched him, your mother's ink faded into your vision.

Fertility.

Conception.

A warm womb.

Suguru's words rung in your ears.

Take what you want.

Take what's yours.

Both merged into a nauseating blur. Spiralled by your nerves and thrumming pulse. The hairs at the back of your neck stood. Your palms were hot with anxiety.

Three months ago, you sat on this bed. Nervous. A virgin. Fumbling with your own wedding robes in a pitiful attempt to be good for your husband. Wrapped in pristine white and purity.

I'm forced to be in here. With a bumbling, inexperienced wife who whines, and cries, and barely even knows how to kiss.

You remembered his words. Remembered how they shocked you. Remembered the offence you felt when your handmaiden told you that your husband, didn't like the innocent ones.

Now, as you sat here in white with reds stitched in ornate patterns, you asked yourself the same question that you did on your first day married.

What were you willing to sacrifice for your duty?

What were you willing to become?

The answer guided you from the sheets. Your feet cold against the floors as you rose to stand.

Satoru paid you no mind. Smoothing out the creases in his clothes. You noticed that he took longer to get ready than any other man you knew. As if he was a woman prettying herself up instead.

You embodied the grace you had seen the servant girls poise. The confidence that Suguru instilled in you. To act, to take, because you deserved it.

You deserved love.

And you loved your duty.

"Are you staying for dinner?" You asked, softening your voice. As scarlet as the roses outside your window.

His answer never came. Silence.

But you weren't so easily swayed tonight. Not with the letter glaring at you even from within the drawer.

You stepped closer. Ears ringing. Eyes blurred. Imagining her ink. Remembering his words. A slew of black, and violet, and red, and white.

"It would be nice. Maybe. . . we can have some time to ourselves." The words sounded foreign to your ears. Silk, in the way that Suguru spoke to you. In that way that bloomed warmth in your core.

You slipped behind Satoru. He had stopped moving. Eyes fixed on the mirror. Sharp. Frigid. Watching you over his shoulder like a predator.

His head crooked slightly.

As if he was inviting you.

Fire pumped through your veins. Your heart pounded in your ears. In your pulse. In your chest. Ready to claw out of your ribcage and scamper away, because she knew you.

And this wasn't you.

So close now, you could feel his chills. Prickling at your skin. Seeping into you. Freezing you from the inside out.

Your heels pulled at you. Begging you to run. Your soul wailed, screamed for you to stop.

Barely blinking. Barely breathing.

"I'm beginning to miss my husband." Your words were smooth.

You so desperately wanted them to be that you missed the tremor at the edges.

Your fingers reached out, brushing along the length of his bicep. Tentative. Tender.

Take it.

Take what you want.

You slowly, gingerly pressed your fingertips against his arm.

Snap!

Blistering. Freezing. The buzz against your fingertips hummed through your muscles, your bones, your teeth.

Infinity.

The space between you and him. The symbol that your husband not only refused to touch you, but refused to let you touch him.

You weren't breathing. Weren't moving. Frozen, like your hollow, barren womb. A thousand thoughts racing.

Satoru's eyes held the same warm cruelty that your mother's did.

"How cute."

You would rather that he shattered the mirror, picked out shard, and gutted you instead.

"My wife thinks she's learning new tricks, what a sight for sore eyes." At least he did not laugh at you. Out loud, that was. His eyes took that pleasure. Bright, and blue, and brutal in every, twisted way.

Your hand fell to your side. Cramped against your thigh. Your gaze unable to leave the mirror. Fight or flight? No, fawn. Freeze. A statue of your misery and failed attempts of being anything appealing to the man you called husband.

Satoru scoffed, fixing his clothes one last time. The sadistic amusement melted back into that cutting frost. His stare lashing at yours through the reflective glass.

A reminder.

A warning.

"Come back when you've gained more confidence. You might be worth something then."

With that, he walked out of the room. His footsteps haunting you from down the hallway. Leaving you with your heart in your hands that he had dug out himself.

Worth something?

No, you weren't worth anything. Not like this.

Not as the woman who could barely keep her husband's eyes on her. Let alone drive him crazy.

Satoru did not join you for dinner. You knew this even though you did not bother checking the dining hall. Your appetite had seeped between the wooden planks of your bedroom floor.

For hours, you laid on the bed. Subjected yourself to the torment of repeating the interaction.

Come back when you've gained more confidence.

You might be worth something then.

Worth something.

Worth.

Something.

What were you worth if not your duty?

What other purpose in this life did you have?

What did worth matter, when you could not even fulfil the one task that you were given?

Loneliness was not laid beside you nor in your throat. It nestled in your abdomen. Tucked away in your cold, hollow womb. Reminding you that you were a failure.

That you were failing.

Knock knock.

You shut your eyes. The knock came again from the window, this time thrice. You weren't sure if you could bear looking at Suguru's face right now. If you could wear a smile and believe his lies when your heart still slumped on the floor, in front of the mirror where he had left it.

There was a rustle. A shift. The window beams creaked and when you eventually found it in yourself to open your eyes, Suguru was stood at the foot of your bed.

You sat up, brisking your tongue.

"I know," he smiled. "I shouldn't be here."

You had not the heart to joke with him tonight. He noticed.

He always did.

Your samurai sat beside you. On the bed that he fed you lies, that night. Both to your heart and your body that greedily accepted him because you craved something warm. Something yours.

"I got you something." He said, lifting you by the chin when your eyes could not lift themselves.

Your brows furrowed. A gift?

Smooth, cold pearls kissed your skin. Slid over your fingers and hugged around your wrist. When you looked down, soft shades of red awaited you.

Agate, shaped into perfect pearls to form a bracelet that snugly fitted your wrist.

Your throat thickened. Your own husband hadn't given you a gift on your anniversary, and here was Suguru. A man who was meant to kneel to you, worship you.

Not love you.

Not bring you gifts on your anniversary night when you're on the verge of tears.

"Suguru," you croaked. His hand found your face, cradled it. You pressed into the warmth of his palm. Desperate for something. Anything. The smallest tinge of comfort.

"Sshh." He whispered, thumbing on your cheekbone. "I know."

He didn't.

Didn't know the ache in your heart. Didn't know what your mind was saying. Still, he guided you into his lap. Cradled you, as he always did.

You clung around his robes. Clinging, because he was all you had. Everything you shouldn't want. Everything you couldn't have.

But still, all you had.

"Teach me." You whispered, face brushing against his.

He watched you from beneath dark lashes. Violets pouring into your gaze. Reminding you of that lie he always told you: that you were worthy of love.

"Anything." He whispered, hands mapping down your sides. Smoothing over your waist and squeezing affection into your curves.

You hated their softness. Hated how you would take advantage of it.

"Teach me how to take what I want. Teach me how to—" your hands braced on his shoulder. Breath thin. You locked eyes with him, and asked yourself those two, frightening questions.

What were you willing to sacrifice for duty?

What were you willing to become for it?

The answer was simple. Whatever it took to warm your womb.

"Teach me how to be like you. To be confident. To be. . . "

Your hands slipped to his chest. Breath thin. Eyes lidded.

"Wanted."

His hands took yours. Guided them to his throat. You almost flinched. Still as a stone as you watched him position your fingers.

Suguru smiled at you. "Do what feels right, petal."

The fire reigniting within you told you to squeeze. So you squeezed. Felt his pulse and breath hitch. So did yours.

His other hand slipped down. Cupped your hip. Guided it against his. Once, twice, luring you into a rhythm.

"Tell me I'm yours," he rasped. You felt it under your palms.

"You're mine." You shook.

"Firmer."

"You're mine."

Your hips pressed harder on his. Hands squeezed tighter. Suguru's back hit the bed and a deep, depraved moan rumbled against your hold. Hips rocking up in pure, raw.

Need.

"That's it. See? I'm yours." His lashes fluttered at you. Eyes staring into your soul. Hand raising to stroke at your face even as he taught you sin.

"Now," he whispered.

Deep, dark.

To the dark and deep part buried within you.

"Take what you want."

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/kodaswrls, @/dollywons. art cred: @/_3aem (twt)

♡ ₊˚‧ enjoyed this piece? consider joining my patreon or commissioning me <3 I appreciate all the support!

[sweethearticism]

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[meowguru]

(places a suspiciously satosugu shaped box beside your bed with a cupcake and birthday breakfast on top)

(listening to suspicious whispers and giggles coming from inside) hmmm…whatever is inside🤨 (giggles getting louder)

CUPCAKE!! is it vanilla :33 or strawberry I love those flavors hehe 😼 making room in my stomach for the break cause I also just ate the free pulled pork sandwich and wings I got as freebies 😋

[catasters]

[ccarl-deactivated20171114]

[kamislop]

club night with fwb!enjin /heavily suggestive!!

normal people usually do something relaxing when they want to take a break from a grueling week of work. well, you and enjin are far from being normal people, because this is your scene— a shady-looking club in the shadiest part of town, a rundown warehouse that could only be classified as a huge, barely-standing safety hazard.

if the beat of the music hit a wall the wrong way, the whole thing would certainly tumble down like a jenga tower, but there’s not a single person in there who’s aware of their surroundings, mind heavily dazed by one party favor or the other.

the bouncer let you in almost instantly, the line of people waiting by entrance throwing a fit as you flashed the guy a smile (an enjin slid a twenty in his hand).

there’s many other people you could ask to come to the club with you, but none of them bring the vibe you need quite like enjin— he knows what you like, is what you tell yourself.

as soon as you step in, you both make a beeline for the bar for the mandatory couple of shots you need to get the night started. you cringe at the sight of other patrons idling by the counter with their forearms resting atop the wooden surface. the rash you got that one time from the sticky mixture of substances was a very important lesson for you.

with two shots down and a comforting warmth left in your throat, you try to find a spot in the crowded dance floor that you can claim. “see anything?” you nudge enjin’s side with your elbow, growing somewhat impatient since you know the dj’s going to start playing good music soon.

“girl, it’s packed,” enjin quips, patting his ribs just to be dramatic. “girl, you’re six feet stupid, make yourself useful,” you volley right back. he rolls his eyes, then turns his head to survey the area once more. you zone out for a second, and the next you’re being dragged through the crowd.

enjin’s shoulders are wide enough to pave the way for you, though you still bump into some bodies, too lost in the tunes - and definitely something else - to even have any semblance of spatial awareness in them. his big hand is laced with yours, and you try so hard to not let your slightly altered brain stray to any improper thoughts.

not yet.

“does your majesty like it over here?” enjin asks, loud enough for you to hear him over the loud music. he managed to flesh out a spot near one of the booths, the floor slightly elevated, a makeshift railing separating the area from the main one.

“awww, jin! see, i know you could get the job done!” you pat his cheek twice, grinning wide. you see the bulge of his tongue rolling over the inside of his cheek, before his head jerks to the side, trying to bite your hand. you screech, withdrawing just in time, and debate if you should punch him square in the stomach when he barks out a laugh.

“you’re the worst!” you glare up at him, only to be met by half lidded, golden eyes peering down at you, the sarcastic “uh-huh” on his lips ringing so loud in your head even if it’s completely muted by the loud beat. you’re still deciding whether you want to continue this petty back and forth when the dj makes the decision for you, blasting one of your favorite songs.

and enjin watches it happen right before his eyes, your face changing from a grumpy glare to a radiant smile, eyes growing big and sparkly as you spin on your heels to start hooting along with the crowd. now it’s his turn to do what he does best— match your energy.

that’s how the two of you spend the first hour, singing at the top of your lungs, the usual playlist that blasts through the speakers one that you’ve memorized by now. he keeps you close when your small spot begins to get more crowded, but he takes the responsibility to watch out upon himself, making sure you can enjoy your night without worrying about one single thing.

though it’s hard to keep it together when you rub all up on him like a cat in heat, back flush against his front, gyrating to the beat. you use the railing as leverage, ass moving in rhythmic circles that get him hypnotized.

his hand finds your waist almost instinctively, inked finger hooked around one of your belt loops, his only semblance of stability in case he passes out. enjin still tries his damn best to catch everything you throw his way, hips rolling in sync with yours, bucking upwards every time your ass came down.

it doesn’t take long for the silly dancing around to get heated. when the tune shifts to something slower and intimate, enjin gets bolder. he uses your belt hoop to haul you closer, free hand snaking around your side, large palm splayed along your ribs with his thumb stopping only shy of the underside of your breast.

he doesn’t hear your gasp but he feels it, the way your breath hiccups, a slight tremble in your shoulder. he loves it when you fit so pretty and perfect against him, bodies falling into a familiar harmony.

your arm slithers upwards, wrapping around enjin’s neck, your head falling against his collarbone while he buries his nose in your hair. his breathing is heavier, and you know it’s not only because of the heat, or the dancing— his hard-on is quite impossible to ignore, and with all your squirming around, you’re not exactly helping the situation.

and as much as you’d love to taunt him until he basically has to rip you away from the place and brings you back to HQ - if he can even resist all the way there - your parched throat becomes your number one issue.

“i’m so fucking thirsty!” you whine, making your chapped lips pop a couple times as you turn around to face him. you gotta give it to him, he’s very good at hiding the fact that he’s currently dying with a raging boner. “i’ll go get something,” he points his thumb in the direction of the bar. “you try not to get kidnapped or anything, ‘kay?”

“mhm, yes sir,” you purr, nuzzling your nose into the curve of his jaw. enjin knows you’re just being cute because he’s giving you what you want, but he can’t deny that he absolutely loves it.

you idle around while waiting for him, chatting up a girl and dancing a couple songs with her since you figure the line for the bar’s got to be insane at this hour. when enjin finally makes it back, the color of the drinks he’s holding is already a couple shades lighter, melted ice cubes watering down further whatever concoction is contained in the plastic cups.

“thank youuu,” you sing-song when he hands you the drink, lips immediately wrapping around the thin straw to take in a big, freezing gulp. the liquor leaves a trail of liquid fire from your tongue down your throat, your nose curling into a grimace at the absolute foul taste.

“god, this tastes like shit,” you cough out weakly. “i love it.”

after a couple sips you resume your ministrations, like enjin’s chest was a magnet for your back. he is absolutely mesmerized by the way you look, the way you move. the hand that’s not full with his cup is splayed over the small of your back, keeping you all pretty and arched as you whine your hips right against his crotch once more. it’s almost like you love to torture him like this— well, he knows you do.

so he decides to double down, make you taste a bit of your own medicine. his hand slides up your back, fingers coming to hold your hair in a makeshift ponytail and move it out of the way. you straighten up, head starting to move to the side to ask what he was doing, before he stopped you.

the cold plastic cup came in contact with the nape of your neck, your body instinctively wincing from the sudden change in temperature, then you melted into the refreshing sensation. enjin watches the droplets of condensation that were clinging to the plastic transfer to your skin, mixing with your sweat.

when he withdraws the cup, he’s quick to replace it with his tongue, licking along the cool patch all the way to the side of your throat. you try to muffle a noise, but he feels it rumbling in your chest, and the clench of your thighs is another giveaway.

oh, how he wishes it he could hear it over the deafening music, your soft, breathy ”jin…” when you become a needy little thing. he goes over the same strip of skin, this time with languid, wet kisses, biting into the juncture between your shoulder and neck— a promise.

he can’t hear you but he sure can see how worked up you’re getting with all your squirming around. you back your ass into him, but you’ve already tortured him enough. and you don’t have even half of the self control he has.

“awww, someone’s getting antsy,” he chuckles into your ear, gripping your hip to stop you. “be nice, and maybe i’ll take you back. we’ve barely been here for a couple hours, you really want to call it a night so soon?”

you look back at him from over your shoulder, lips curled into the cutest little pout. “jin…”

there it is.

you fully turn to face him, pretty tits squished against his chest as your hands interlink behind his neck. “wanna go back?” you offer, sugar-sweet words dripping from your tongue. long, inked digits dance along the curve of your ass, your hip, pretending he’s actually pondering on the question.

“are you gonna scurry away after you get what you want, pretty girl?” he taunts, the flicker of vulnerability gone as fast as it flashed behind his honey pools. “i’ll stay,” you mouth, parted lips moving against his own after you tug him close.

tonight, you’ll stay until the morning. next time? who knows.

┊┊a/n. og idea from the great mind of the lovely @lxnarphase, with my own added twist :p i miss throwing ass in the club icl

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