Oh jeez, where do I start. Well firstly, Hi! I'm Moe! I was a new writer, but unfortunately I may not be getting back into it. Just no motivation haha. Hopefully I'll work on it again one day, but for now I'll just reblog the writings I find :)
My preferred pronouns: she / they
Since I AM an adult there will be NSFW things posted on my page and in my likes. Minors PLEASE (PLEASE I CAN NOT STRESS IT ENOUGH) stay away.
I'm into bunch of anime like My Hero Academia, Attack on Titan, Spy x Family, Demon Slayer, Jujutsu Kaisen, Dr. Stone, ect. - current fixation: Jujutsu Kaisen -
I am also an artist and mainly draw anime OCs and MLP OCs (currently fighting art block - no motivation)
Also I like pink. If that wasn't obvious.
~♡ ғᴀɴғɪᴄ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ ♡~
a/n: since I'm a beginner my fics aren't the best, but I hope you enjoy! I do plan to go back and re write some of them one day, but for now I'm just trying to get through this writer/art block rut. Thanks for reading!
cw: fluff, readers a little shy, soft sukuna, girlies who get extra nervous on first dates and meeting new people RISE
it's not like you've never kissed anyone before. it's not like he was a stranger either, you've seen each other around campus and at parties, even exchanged a few words here and there. but even then, it was different with sukuna.
if you had to be honest with yourself, had he not asked you out on a date, you would've never guessed he had any interest in you. even then, he was aloof. so fucking casual about it all.
you were intimidated by him.
he had to have known.
your first date wasn't really all that, just dinner at a local restaurant. he offered to pick you up, but you insisted on meeting him there just to avoid a potentially quiet, and uncomfortable, car ride.
the pounding against your chest started the moment you started your car and was almost unbearable by the time you pulled up to the place. it was 5:20 pm, you were ten minutes early, yet you didn't get out until he texted you he was there. maybe it was just the fear of getting stood up.
why would he do that? he was the one who asked you out and made the reservations after all. was it insecurity? you don't know. all you knew at the time was that you couldn't stop your hands from trembling as you turned the ignition off.
he was already seated when you had walked through those doors, eyes scanning over the menu, looking as bored as always. he didn't even notice you walking up to the table, only looking up from the laminated paper when you had murmured, "hey."
you were already kicking yourself over the smile you had given as you sat across from him. it was quick, you immediately looked at away right after. dinner was quiet, as expected, and you silently kicked yourself over that too-- how he was the one to carry the conversation, trying to get to know you better by asking casual questions. some about school, but mainly about your life outside of it, like what your hobbies were, what kind of music you were into.
you were convinced that the first time he asked you out would also be his last, but he was back in your messages just days later.
| r. sukuna: there's gonna be a night market a couple towns over this weekend. wanna go?
| you: yeah! that sounds fun.
| you: what time?
| r. sukuna: like 8-ish. gonna let me come pick you up this time?
| you: sure lol
| r. sukuna: atta girl (: see you then.
the second date was a little better. maybe because you were a little more comfortable with him, but you couldn't take much credit for that. he was touchier since he finally had the chance to. throwing his arm over you just moments after you two got out of his car, guiding you through a sea of people like it was second nature to him. he let you pick which stands you wanted to check out, leaning down and lending you his ear each time.
so casual, yet so intimate. it shouldn't have effected you as much as it did, yet there you were, feeling your cheeks warm up and heart skip a beat everytime he murmured something in your ear. everytime he held out a skewer, insisting you take a bite out of it.
he was still somewhat intimidating, but he made you feel comfortable-- safe, making it easier to let your guard down. you actually let yourself have fun with him, abandoning any pessimistic thoughts you would've had if he had kept his distance.
yet your heart picked up once more as he walked you back up to your apartment. you said you'd be fine, but he insisted, walking slower than you usually would've had you been alone.
he kept his hands in his pockets the entire time, not giving off the energy that he wanted to go in with you, but there was still something in his eyes that said there was something he wanted from you.
you two were only a few doors down when he finally spoke up.
"i had fun tonight, did you?" his tone was softer this time around, like he was searching for some sort of validation. it was sweet.
a word you never would've associated with a man as big and burly as him.
your lips curled into a smile as you slowly nodded, "i did." you almost sounded like you were surprised when you said it, pulling a low laugh out of him.
"that's good. almost thought you were gonna turn me down when i asked if you wanted to go."
"why's that?"
he shrugs, "you were pretty quiet that first time we grabbed a bite to eat. you're usually a lot more talkative at parties."
"sorry," you stifle a laugh, stopping at your door and turning to look at him, "guess i'm just a little shy when im not taking shots with a bunch of people."
"don't be," he smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "i think it's kinda cute."
"yeah?" you hold your breath a little as his hand stays, snaking it around your neck and rubbing his thumb over your cheek rather than pulling away.
"yeah," he murmurs, eyes tracing down to your lips for a moment before looking back up.
and there was something about it that made you lean into his touch a little more. you could tell he was going to ask you something, but watching the way your lids slowly dropped was all he needed to abandon the question altogether.
his lips were soft.
that's the only thought that went through your mind after he pulled you in and closed the distance, tasting the faint remnants of the mint he had to erase the beer he had earlier. it wasn't dizzying in the way you had imagined what kissing sukuna would be like.
it was warm.
tender.
and it's not like you've never kissed anyone before, but it was the first time a man had ever kissed you so gently.
Story Summary: He doesn’t care anymore. His past won’t haunt him. Toji let you go so you could fulfill your duty and get married off to the head of the Gojo clan, he doesn’t care whether you live or die– But he must say it is kind of weird that the brat next to you looks like his carbon copy.
He’s not the ideal man by any means. The disgrace of the Zenin clan is the last person that should stand by your side. A man with no trace of cursed energy with the woman that’s betrothed to the head of the Gojo clan due to her abilities. An older single father with zero to little aspirations next to a spring flower ready to bloom.
The moment Toji set his eyes on you, he knew that he couldn’t pursue a relationship with you. Coming close to you would bring consequences which is why he was wary when he first came into contact with you. Toji thought because he was older, he’d be wiser yet he finds himself in the same situation he was years ago. He’s making the same old mistakes.
“What time does Megumi get home from school again?” You’re walking around his home with his shirt on, eating the food that he works so hard for. You’re licking your spoon clean, trying to scrape every little bit of the yogurt cup that Toji buys for his son. Then you proceed to sit down on his couch, resetting your feet on the coffee table as if you owned the place. Toji doesn’t mind one bit either.
“Three thirty,” he answers, fighting back a smile when your head rests on his shoulder. His eyes fall on you for a second, and he has to tear them away before he finds himself fawning over you. You’ve opted for a sitcom today, and he has to say that the laugh track is grating. But you like it so he doesn’t have the energy to turn it off. “Are you going to train him today?”
“Depends on how much homework he gets, the poor little guy always gets bombarded with homework,” you respond, a yawn leaving your lips immediately after. Perhaps your response is heavily influenced with the fact that Toji has worn you out for the day. Hell, for the next decade. “He’s only nine, he wants to go out and play! Why force him to stay inside and do math. He has more important matters to get to.”
Toji hums in response, taking the yogurt cup from your hands and setting it aside. You’re scraping at nothing, simply making additional noise which he can’t handle. The stupid laugh track from the television is more than enough.
“What’s today’s date? When is he out for summer break?” you look for your phone, recalling that the last time it was in your hands you were on the couch. Except now that your hand searches for it, it’s nowhere to be found. “Stand up, you must be sitting on it.”
“Huh? I’m not!” he quickly defends himself, though he gives you leeway to check under him. Your hand ultimately doesn’t feel the phone under his seat, making you stand up and look for it in his bedroom. “Do you want me to call it?!”
“It’s on silent!” you respond, which doesn’t stop Toji from reaching for his phone and dialing your number.
“It’s July 4th by the way!” he informs you. You walk back to the living room with your phone in your hand, and before Toji asks where it was, this strange look on your face catches his attention. He doesn’t say anything about it, if you want to speak you’ll do so unprompted.
“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” you share before sitting down next to him again. You don’t get as comfortable as you were before. You’re rather tense dare he mention. You begin to massage your temple, hoping that the act will make you suddenly remember. “What was it?”
“That’s why you write it on the calendar,” he teases, making you flick his forehead. He doesn’t use the calendar that he bought Megumi for shit, which is why he mentions it to annoy you. He’s going to make a comment about how you’re weak, but your eyes widen as if you’ve seen the weirdest creature. “Is the worm out of its cage?”
“I have dinner with my parents tomorrow,” your hand goes to your forehead as you remember the crucial detail. A couple of curses leave your lips and you stand up from the couch without a general purpose. You pace around the living room, freaking out. “I have to go back to Kyoto tomorrow and–”
You ramble, making Toji lose track of what you’re saying. Realization kicks in. The smile that was on his face fades away, and a look of dread settles in. You were never his to begin with.
“I have to tell them that I’m ending the engagement with the head of the Gojo clan,” the words bring him back to reality, but a smile doesn’t appear on his face. You’re ready to leave everything you’ve known behind to be by his side, that’s a reason to smile… Right? But why can’t he accept it?
“Have you thought this through?” he asks, cutting off your rambling. You stop moving, and stare at him confused. You’ve told him countless times that you are more than willing to leave everything behind to be by his side. One week into your relationship and your engagement to the head of the Gojo clan was disregarded in your mind. You don’t understand why he asks the foolish question.
“You think my decision came out of thin air or what?” you reply, and he sighs.
“It’s dumb,” he claims. Toji knows just enough about your family to know that if you back out, they’ll never speak to you again. While he isn’t very fond of the people that he grew up with, he knows you enough to know that your family is your whole world. “Do you know how offended they’ll be if you back out of that marriage because you think you found better?”
“They’re not gaining a lot of power from this, Toji. Our family is pretty small,” you remind him. Your situations are vastly different. While Toji was born into a lineage of sorcerers, you’re only the second generation with the newfound abilities.
He scoffs at your naivety. “Do you think they just put their daughter’s liberty up for sale for the heck of it?”
You bite down your lip before shaking your head. Then you’re silent for a moment, staring at him with the intent of saying something but your brain becomes blank. You sigh, sitting down besides him once again. You stare at each other, completely silent for what feels like an eternity. “Do you want me to get married, is that it?”
“Did I say that?” he knows he’s implying it, but he won’t outright say it. But he’ll outright deny it if you ask.
“No, but you’re–” You end up sighing before you can finish the sentence. You cross your arms, turning your head away. “I’m not getting married to him and that’s final.”
“Suit yourself, princess,” Toji clicks his tongue. “Just don’t say my name when you’re breaking the news to them.”
“You’re so annoying,” you flick his forehead again before lifting yourself from the couch. He watches you walk to the bedroom, knowing by your walk that you’re pissed. “I’m going on a walk!”
“Have fun!” he yells back, rolling his eyes and grabbing the remote, immediately turning off the television. He can’t tell you anything without getting mad, it’s infuriating.
While you’re living in your own little bubble, he’s forced to live in reality. You’re by no means ordinary, you won’t get the luxury of settling down and living a normal life. Even if you claim you’ll ignore everything, he knows that your wishes won’t come true; he wants to prepare you so reality won’t come crashing down on you.
Toji nearly jumps when he hears you slam the door, caught off guard by the attitude. He scoffs and mutters, “What am I going to do with her?”
The summer sunset guides you back home after hours of mindlessly walking around. You tend to admire the pink sky with Toji this time of the year. You drag him out on the balcony and stare into the horizon until it’s officially dark. You ramble about anything that crosses your mind– Usually it’s about the future that you want together. Toji usually grows quiet when you plan your future together. He’s never accepted a future where you grow old alongside each other, you’ve noticed.
And now you’re bitter. As you walk back to his home you’re bitter about the possibility that Toji simply does not want a future together. Your annoyance started as that, mere annoyance, but now you find yourself upset with him. Mad because there’s a chance that the man that claims he loves you, doesn’t see a possible future by your side. There’s a possibility that Toji doesn’t value your relationship the same way you do.
You’re literally kicking rocks as you make your way back to his home, mocking him in a low voice, “Did you really think this through?”
Before you can get your feelings in order, your feet are stepping on the welcome rug that you bought for Toji once your relationship became serious. Either you can turn around now, or enter and face him. You know that you’ll pick an argument with him, and while you know you need to have a serious conversation, the last thing you want is to end things on a sour note before your trip back to Kyoto.
You sigh, opening the door and deciding to go in– Where you’re immediately met by screaming, smoke and the smell of burnt food.
“I told you the recipe was wrong!” Toji yells, putting the pan under the water, running cold water over it. Toji clicks his tongue and mutters, “My fault for listening to a nine-year-old.”
“You can also look it up!” Megumi claims, crossing his arms and stomping out of the kitchen.
“What did you two do?” you ask as you step into the apartment, leaving the door open so the smoke doesn’t linger for too long. When Megumi sees you, he goes running to you and hugs you.
“He’s being mean to me,” he mutters as you pat his back. You can’t help but chuckle as you watch Toji roll his eyes at the child’s claims.
“He sucks at giving instructions and looking up recipes,” Toji responds, earning a glare from the boy. “I mean how hard is it to find a simple meal on the Google.”
“There’s no the before Google, Toji. Also why would you be trying to cook?” you question, wondering if he’s joking around. Toji doesn’t respond, instead he’s waving around the smoke, trying his best to clear the apartment.
“He wanted to surprise you,” Megumi reveals, letting go of you. Toji pretends like he can’t listen to the interaction in the small apartment, eyes choosing to stare down at the pan. Your Toji can be a sweetheart, but he’ll never admit to being one.
Suddenly that anger that was within you fades away, long forgotten in a matter of seconds. A sheepish smile comes to your face as you step toward him. Megumi is staring, and when you notice the child looks away you take the opportunity to kiss Toji’s cheek.
“Don’t ever try that again,” you warn him, and Toji acknowledges it by nodding. It’s almost ridiculous to say that to a grown man, but Toji isn’t exactly dexterous in a kitchen. There’s a reason you keep him out of the kitchen and it’s because the man can somehow burn water. “Thank you for trying to surprise me though.”
“Can we order food?” Megumi sees the opportunity and he makes sure it doesn’t get away. He wants a proper meal that doesn’t consist of instant noodles (his father’s go-to after yet another failed cooking attempt).
Luckily you answer before Toji gets the opportunity to respond, “Of course, what do you want?”
As Megumi looks around for the delivery menu that he’s been holding onto, you focus on Toji. You watch as he grabs the sponge to clean the pan, and you poke his cheek when you realize how his lips almost look pouty. He clears his throat. “You know, I could have saved us some money if you would have just let me–”
“Give Megumi a break from the instant food,” you tell him, your arms wrapping around his waist as you take the opportunity to hug him from behind. Your face nuzzles into his back, smelling the fresh scent from his detergent.
“Just this once,” he answers.
You laugh, hearing the hurried footsteps of Megumi who can’t find what he needs right now.
“Should you help him? You did put him up for the task,” Toji tells you, and you hum in response. But you don’t move. You’re too comfortable right now, and there’s a question you want to ask Toji too. You’re just letting the courage settle in before springing it on him.
“Why don’t you,” you begin before you bite down your lip. He hums, his simple way of acknowledging that he’s heard you. You clear your throat before speaking again, “Why don’t you come to Kyoto with me?”
“What for?” he asks, turning off the faucet. You let go of him, allowing him to turn and face you. You’re avoiding eye contact, almost as if you were embarrassed about asking him. Toji almost feels guilty. But he nods. “I’ll go.”
“Really?” your eyes widen, as if you were in disbelief over his response. You smile from side to side, when he reassures you that he’ll accompany you.
“I’ll go with you to Kyoto.”
“We have to leave early tomorrow— What are we going to do with Megumi?” you’re walking back to the bedroom after a short shower, attempting your best to keep your towel from falling. Toji’s eyes are watching as your towel begins to slip, and he’s licking his lips, patiently waiting for it to completely fall to the ground. When you realize his attention lies elsewhere, you roll your eyes. “Hey! I’m talking to you.”
“Whatever you say, beautiful,” he nods, his hands going to your waist before pulling you toward him. You giggle as you fall on top of him. His thumb caresses your cheek before his lips land on yours. It’s a simple peck, but it won’t stay simple; nothing ever stays simple with Toji. Your boyfriend isn’t a very affectionate person, so when he suddenly starts getting physical, you know he wants something more.
“Are you listening?” you ask even though you know he’s not listening. Before you can get another word out, Toji kisses your lips again, stopping any trail of thoughts on your end. His lips work like a charm, and he knows so. That’s why he’s so dangerous.
He moves down to your neck, making sure to trace all the spots he went over earlier today. The places he loves to kiss and give all his loving to. You’re a weak woman. Everything you were planning to talk about has been completely forgotten– But you can’t beat yourself up for it. He’s intoxicating. With a swift tug he’s able to get you completely naked, an advantage for him.
His tongue traces over your breasts, mouth wrapping around your nipple. A soft moan leaving your body from the subtlest touch, still sensitive from earlier in the day.
“Toji–” your breath gets caught up in your chest as you feel his hand go down in between your legs. Two fingers run through your wet folds before he applies some pressure to your clit. For a second everything is forgotten, and you couldn’t be happier.
He pushes a finger into your pussy, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. He shouldn’t get such a reaction out of you, but your body is weak for him. It’s why you go back to him so easily. You feel his tongue lick up your breasts to your shoulder before he bites down. The pain is quickly overshadowed by pleasure when Toji pushes in another finger.
“Don’t be too loud, princess,” Toji whispers into your ear as he curves his fingers so they brush against your sweet spot. Your breath begins to get heavy, and all proper thoughts have completely left your brain.
You mindlessly moan his name, your body turning into putty with his touch. Your hand goes over your mouth, reminding yourself that you can’t be too loud. You know that Toji loves to work you up, knowing that you have to be as quiet as you can be. He loves to watch you struggle all because of him.
“Right there– Fuck,” you whisper as you feel his thumb rub your clit. It’s becoming too much for you to handle.
“Does that feel good, princess?” Toji’s voice nearly drives you over the edge. His lips kiss back down to your breasts, tongue flicking your nipple. Your hand goes to the back of his head, pulling his hair as he bites down.
“You asshole,” you curse, quickly cut off by a soft moan as you feel the sweet sweet feeling build up in your body. Toji’s looking up at you as his mouth sucks on your nipple. He’s watching your face contort with pleasure, and he feels satisfied, knowing that no one will ever please you as much as he does. You’ll never react like this with anyone else. No matter what happens, you’ll always think of him when it comes to sex.
Toji keeps sucking on your tit until your legs quiver in pleasure, and you reach your high. Toji continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, until he’s satisfied with his work. Until you’re a complete mess around him.
“You’re just too cute,” Toji tells you as he unlatches from your nipple, taking his fingers out of your quivering cunt. His lips kiss yours over and over again.
He switches positions, getting on top of you before running the tip of his cock through your folds. He won’t give you a minute to calm down. Before his cock can fill you up, you stop him.
“Toji, grab a condom,” you remind him, and he lets out a low laugh. He kisses you again before you feel his lips on your ear.
“Let me feel you raw, princess. I want to feel every part of you,” he whispers, and you’re tempted. You bite down your lip, and Toji can see the temptation written all over your face. You love when Toji fills you up with everything he has to offer, there’s just one problem.
“You know I’m not on birth control, right?” you ask, and he’s unphased by the question. You’re practically attached to the hip nowadays, and you certainly have been pretty intimate– No sort of contraceptive has been brought up, he knows.
“We’ll be okay,” he assures you, and you nod in response. With that, Toji slowly pushes his cock into you. You bite down your lip to not pathetically moan as his cock fills you out again. Toji feels so perfect inside of you. He always does.
Your legs wrap around his hips as Toji slowly begins to move in and out of you. He’s holding a moan in his throat. God, you feel so good. Your nails go to his back, digging into his skin as his thrusts pick up speed.
He’s slowly losing control as he gets lost inside of you. He needs you. You’re the perfect woman for him. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you– He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when you’re no longer by his side. It’s funny to think about during sex, truly. It might seem like it’s just that but in this state he’s his most vulnerable.
“Toji–” you moan, and Toji is glad that your voice drowns out the moan that escapes his throat. He mutters your name, as he feels your pussy squeeze around him.
“Is it good?” Toji is fighting back a smirk before his mouth goes to your shoulder again, biting down again when he feels your nails drag on his back. He knows it’s good, and it takes everything in you to stay quiet. He’s hitting every right spot, he knows that you feel euphoric. Your hand goes down to play with your clit, eyes rolling to the back of your head again.
“Cum in me,” the words that leave your lips aren’t unexpected whatsoever. He feels your cunt tighten around him as your orgasm approaches, answering all of his questions. He knows that you’re rather risky when you’re in the middle of the act. It’s not an opportunity that he’ll pass up on, not when you look at him with those pretty little eyes. “Fill me up, Toji. Please.”
He watches you shut your eyes and softly moan his name as you reach your climax. You’re making a mess all over him.
“Fuck,” He mutters, his breath getting caught up in his chest as his thrusts get messy. He’s picking up speed, losing control until he finally comes to a stop and his warm cum fills you up.
He stays still for a moment, watching your sweaty face as you catch your breath. The most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. And you only keep getting prettier each and every day.
He pulls out and lays down beside you, where you naturally get closer to him. His arm goes over your body, bringing you even closer to him. You’re silent as you both try to regulate your accelerated heartbeats. Toji shuts his eyes for a second, and when he opens them, you’re looking at him with wide eyes.
The best part of your day is when you find yourself in his embrace, silently staring at him. Toji loathes it, hating the pair of eyes that watch him intently. Usually he tells you to stop since there’s nothing too interesting for you to look at. Toji knows he’s attractive, but he can’t help but feel self-conscious as the pair of eyes he adores watch him.
“I love you,” you smile at him, and his hand cups your face. His thumb traces lazy circles on your cheek, fighting back a smile as he looks into your eyes. He’s become far too attached. You were just supposed to be some momentary fun. He wasn’t supposed to remember your face; yet, he’s able to draw every crevice as if it were his own.
“I love you too,” he replies with words that he was never supposed to say. But he’s been saying them for far too long, and he can’t stop himself now. You kiss the tip of his nose before pulling away from his embrace. “Where are you going?”
“Bathroom,” your brows furrow in confusion, considering Toji knows your routine. He’s not clingy with you whatsoever, so it’s a little strange to hear him ask that. “Why? Do you want anything?”
“No,” he shakes his head as he sits up on the bed. He watches you grab another one of his shirts and throw it on.
“What are we going to do with–” you begin, only to be promptly cut off by him.
“The neighbor agreed to watch him tomorrow,” he tells you, and you nod in response. You could’ve sworn she was out of town, but it seems you were wrong. Perhaps she’s back and you have failed to notice her presence.
“We have to leave in the morning,” you say, making him hum. “We can meet at the train station, I have to grab a couple of things from my place.”
“At what time should I show up?” he asks, and you take a second to think about it.
“Before ten,” you tell him before walking out of the room. Toji lets out an exasperated sigh before sinking into the bed once again.
He’s not sleeping tonight.
He’s not sleeping ever again.
You left in a hurry in the morning, not thinking too much about leaving the place behind. Before 48 hours pass, you know that you’ll be back in the place. You catch a glimpse of Megumi, kiss the top of his head and say your goodbyes before rushing out the door and going back to your apartment to get what you need. You leave Toji sleeping, trusting him enough to wake up on his own and be there on time– At the very least a couple of minutes late, but nothing the next train can’t fix.
Even though you’re only going away for the night, you’ve packed for a week’s stay. Considering you’re traveling with Toji, you know it’s best to travel overprepared than under. You know your boyfriend better than anyone, you know he’ll show up with a pair of underwear in his pockets and claim he’s ready for the trip.
You’re trying to reach him but he keeps sending you to voicemail. You’re rolling your eyes, knowing that your boyfriend is probably still tossing and turning in bed. You’re already anxious over what awaits you when you get back home, and Toji not picking up his phone isn’t helping you in any way. You’ll give him the benefit of the doubt– Maybe he doesn’t feel the phone while it’s in his backpocket.
“Hey, babe… I’m at the train station– Are you almost here? Please tell me you are. Anyway, I think the train just left, the next one leaves in around thirty minutes…? I haven’t bought our tickets yet. I really hope you’re listening to this and aren’t just tossing and turning in bed because I swear Toji I will beat you with a stick if–” you’re cut off before you can finish your voicemail. You click your tongue, although it’s probably best that you don’t finish your threatening message.
You stare at all your luggage, sighing that you have to carry it around before Toji gets to you. It’s best if you stare and cry about that detail instead of dwelling on the thought that you are ending your engagement of ten years. All for a man who can’t show up on time.
Before you can get too mad at Toji, you remember his failed cooking attempt from last night with the intention of surprising you, and you smile. Your Toji is a dumbass, but he’s definitely a sweetheart under all of his flaws.
You check to see when the next train to Kyoto leaves, and when you realize he still has some time, you let out a breath of relief. He’s just slightly late, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. He’ll be by your side soon enough.
You still decide to call him again, and when the ringing seems nonstopping, you sigh. You bite down your lip as you prepare to leave yet another message. “Toji, you better be running to the train station. I want to do a couple of things when we get to Kyoto and– You know what, just be here on time. Please, I really need you by my side.”
You’ll wait until the last train if it’s needed.
“Hey mom,” you’re staring out the window, waiting for the train to set in motion. “I’m going to be a bit late, I apologize for the inconvenience. My deepest apologies to the head of the Gojo clan.”
“I know, I know. I forgot, I’m sorry, but I’m on my way. I’ll be there in about two hours."
“No, I did not change my mind about the engagement.”
𝜗𝜚 you thought toji didn’t want you, but the only reason your husband slept on the couch was to stop himself from giving in . . .
( mdni. cw: arranged marriage!au, hurt/comfort, age gap, size kink, praise kink, oral (f. rec), fingering, creampie )
you didn’t choose him.
and truthfully, neither did he.
your families had known each other for decades— tangled up in promises, contracts, and unpaid debts. it was never about love, or even choice. everything had already been decided long before you were old enough to understand what it meant. you weren’t even given time to mourn the death of your autonomy. no arguments, no bargaining. only your father’s voice, stern and tired, eyes dull with the weight of duty, saying, “he’ll protect you. you’ll be taken care of.”
those were the final words that sealed your fate.
and just like that, you became mrs. fushiguro.
the wedding passed in a haze of stiff silk and tense silence. you wore white, he wore black. no one smiled. at least, not in any way that felt genuine. even the photographer didn’t bother faking it. you recited your vows without ever meeting his eyes— the rings felt heavier than they should’ve. there was no kiss. just the sound of distant applause and the quiet, sinking feeling that nothing about this was truly yours.
toji was a quiet man.
stoic, broad, and nearly impossible to read. he didn’t waste time on small talk, rarely showed emotion. it seemed as though your overall presence didn’t faze him in the slightest, as if he’d already adapted to the idea of living with a stranger. he wasn’t the kind to leave messes or linger in shared spaces. everything about him was precise, detached. not out of cruelty, but habit, like he’d spent his whole life perfecting the art of keeping people out.
you’d heard rumors about him growing up. how he used to be the type of man who never stayed in one place for too long, who didn’t give his name to the women he fucked and never spent the night. toji’s never been a one-woman kind of guy. settling down wasn’t in his vocabulary. and definitely not with someone as young and out-of-place as you.
he was older. rougher. the kind of man who’d seen too much and felt too little. you were the opposite— softer around the edges, not naïve, but still idealistic enough to believe marriage might eventually mean something.
but the truth was, you were strangers playing house.
and he made no effort to pretend otherwise.
he never yelled or raised his voice, but he also never smiled. didn’t ask about your day or crack single joke. the most he ever said to you was the occasional, “you eat yet?” or “lock the doors when i’m out.”
he wasn’t cruel. but he wasn’t kind either. he was just… distant.
and every night, without fail, he took a pillow from your bed and laid it on the couch. like it was some unspoken rule neither of you had agreed to, but followed all the same.
you told yourself it didn’t bother you.
it’s better this way, you thought. less awkward. more space. at least he wasn’t forcing anything on you. at least he wasn’t trying to play pretend.
but it still left a strange hollow in your chest, watching him retreat down the hallway like some unwelcome guest, his broad back disappearing into the dark. it was your house, your marriage, but it didn’t feel like either belonged to you.
you could hear him sometimes through the thin walls— the creak of leather, the shift of his weight on the couch, the low sighs he tried to keep quiet. you’d often wonder, did he ever sleep soundly? did he ever think about coming back to bed? or was this just as unbearable for him as it was for you?
you didn’t know what he saw when he looked at you. just a kid, maybe. just another favor he owed. a girl too young for him. a wife he didn’t ask for.
and yet… there were glimpses. brief ones.
he’d linger in the kitchen after grabbing a drink, eyes flicking to you like he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. his gaze would catch on you when you bend over to grab something. there’d be times where his fingers would brush yours when passing a mug across the table, only to quickly pull away and act like the contact burned him.
but none of it meant anything. not really.
he still felt a million miles away, always avoided your eyes, and spent his nights on the couch.
and every time you lay in bed alone, facing the empty space where your husband should have been… you wondered how long it would be before either of you finally broke the silence.
+
months passed.
coexistence— bland, neutral, suffocating— was the best words you could find for it. two strangers living under the same roof. two shadows moving through the same space.
you learned his footsteps before his voice. heavy boots against the tile, always coming home late, reeking of steel and smoke. the scent of blood sometimes lingered longer than it should’ve. cuts along his knuckles, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a cigarette tucked behind his ear he never once lit indoors.
he never offered answers. and you never asked questions.
your conversations always felt transactional— brief and stripped of anything personal. he moved like a man who’d locked his entire life behind closed doors, speaking only when necessary, silence curling in the spaces between
but sometimes, he surprised you.
like when your cough wouldn’t go away, and he left a steaming cup of tea on your nightstand. no note. just honey, lemon, and a quiet gesture you pretended not to notice. or the time your car wouldn’t start, and by morning it was fixed, keys hung on the hook with a single post-it note: ‘battery’s old. don’t leave the lights on.’ or when you dozed off on the couch and woke up in bed, tucked in gently—your socks gone, your blanket neatly arranged over your shoulders, the air warm from the space heater you hadn’t turned on yourself.
little things. fleeting and wordless. barely there, but enough to leave a mark.
enough to make you wonder.
does he care? or is this just guilt? pity? obligation?
you caught him watching you sometimes, too. not lecherous. not overt. just… lingering. like he couldn’t figure you out. like he was trying to memorize you without getting caught. his eyes would trail over your face like he didn’t quite believe you were real.
but he never touched you.
never kissed you.
never allowed himself get too close.
and maybe it was better that way. maybe it hurt less to imagine he didn’t want you than to accept the possibility that he did, and was just too afraid to act on it.
until one night, everything changed.
it was starting to rain. the steady patter against the window, soothing enough to lull you to sleep with a book on your chest and the bedside lamp still glowing, thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. you curled beneath the blankets alone, as always, half-asleep before the storm even settled.
you didn’t hear him come in.
but you felt it— the sudden shift in the air, the creak of the floorboards, the dip of the mattress under his weight. his warm breath near the nape of your neck.
your heart kicked in your chest.
“…toji?” you whispered, uncertain, afraid to turn around.
a pause stretched long.
“…can’t sleep,” he murmured, voice rough, like it scraped against something inside him just to speak.
your pulse quickened. “you… wanna stay here tonight?”
he hesitated. the air thickened, heavy with tension.
when he finally responded, his voice was low. remorseful.
“should’ve been sleepin’ here from the start.”
you didn’t know what to say. but when you shifted, he took it as an invitation— easing into the sheets behind you, his massive arm hesitating before wrapping around your waist.
his touch was delicate. almost reverent.
you held your breath as his fingers brushed your stomach. then your ribs. then lower.
“you sure?” he whispered, lips grazing your ear.
you didn’t need time to think before you breathed out a barely audible, “yes.”
a pause. then a low groan, rumbling in his chest.
“good,” he growled, voice thick with restraint finally snapping. “been holdin’ back for too fuckin’ long.”
and then he finally kissed you.
it was messy. desperate. months of pent-up frustration crashing all at once. his mouth was warm, his lips greedy, tongue sweeping against yours like he needed to taste every piece of you. every part he’d denied himself.
you whimpered, hands fisting in his hair, and he groaned against your mouth— deep and guttural, as if it physically hurt to hold back.
“fuck, baby… taste so sweet,” he murmured, breath warm on your lips. his hands roamed, rough palms caressing your hips, your thighs, your stomach.
he pulled back just long enough to sit up and yank your nightshirt over your head in one swift motion, tossing it to the floor. you lay bare beneath him, chest rising and falling, lips parted in anticipation— the look in his eyes darkened, heat blooming behind his lashes. his gaze dropped to your underwear, and a crooked smirk curved his mouth.
“always sleepin’ in those little fuckin’ panties,” he muttered, laced with amusement and need. “you do it to tease me?”
“n-no, i—” your throat tightened as he hooked his fingers into the waistband, dragging them down your thighs with excruciating slowness, knuckles brushing your skin.
“you do now,” he said, eyes never leaving you. “so pretty… ‘s all mine, yeah?”
you nodded quickly, heart thudding in your chest. “yours.”
he leaned down, kissed your collarbone, your chest, your waist— leaving no place of you untouched. his stubble scraped your skin, rough enough to make your thighs twitch, your breath hitch. you shivered as he moved lower, lips brushing along your inner thighs until he was nestled between them
“spread those legs, sweet girl,” he rasped. “lemme taste what i’ve been missin’.”
you obeyed instantly, trembling.
and then he was on you.
your cry cracked the silence, body jolting as his tongue met your folds— slow, deliberate, filthy. he devoured you like he was starving, tongue flat and thorough, savoring every bit of you with obscene groans vibrating against your pussy.
“fuck… so wet for me already,” he breathed between licks, voice muffled and wrecked. “this pretty lil’ cunt’s been waitin’, huh?”
“t-toji— ah!”
he moaned in response, sucking your clit into his mouth while two fingers pushed inside— curling just right, filling you so perfectly it made your toes curl. you were already so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but he didn’t slow down, didn’t give you a second to catch your breath.
he kept going, relentless, mouth and hands working in tandem until your thighs shook around his head and your fingers tugged his hair, your orgasm ripping through you in thick waves as you cried out his name.
only when you fell back against the pillows, panting and soaked, did he finally stop.
he sat back on his knees, eyes half-lidded, licking his lips like he couldn’t bear to waste a drop of you. he made quick work of his belt, unbuckling it with one hand while the other gently stroked your thigh, soothing you. his cock was thick, flushed, the tip glistening. heavy in his palm as he stroked himself slow, watching the way your chest rose and fell.
“gonna fuck you slow,” he promised, “but i ain’t gonna be gentle.”
you whimpered. “want you… please, toji.”
he leaned in and kissed you again— deep and messy, still tasting like you— before guiding himself to your entrance and pressing in, steady and thick, easing deeper until your walls stretched to take all of him.
“fuck,” he hissed, jaw clenched. “grippin’ me like a fuckin’ vice…”
he stayed still at first, letting you adjust to his size, forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning across your lips. then he rolled his hips, slow and deep, dragging every ridge of him along your walls. you were already gasping, body arching into his, overwhelmed by how full he made you feel. your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, grounding yourself against the dizzying pleasure.
and then he started to move— faster, deeper, driving into you with smooth, powerful thrusts. the bed creaked beneath you, the headboard thudded against the wall in rhythm.
“yeah, take it, baby,” he grunted. “takin’ it so good for me.”
his mouth found your neck, then your shoulder, then your lips again— hot and open, tongue sliding against yours between moans. you couldn’t think, couldn’t speak— only hold on and feel. your nails raked down his back as he fucked you harder, each thrust making your breath hitch.
“always thought about this,” he confessed between gritted teeth. “every fuckin’ night on that couch. wanted to come in here… split you open.”
his hand came up to wrap around your throat, not choking, just holding. “look at me.”
your eyes fluttered open, and he looked down at you like he was worshipping you. you were already teary, completely undone, and somehow still falling apart beneath him.
his lips were back on yours, languid, teasing, yet driven by something deeper. like he finally understood what it meant to want.
“mine,” he growled, low and steady. “you hear me?”
“yours,” you whispered back, broken and sure.
he groaned as he came, burying himself as deep as he could go, hips grinding into you while he spilled inside— thick and warm, pulse after pulse. you felt it fill you, every drop, your walls fluttering around him as you whimpered through the overstimulation.
you clung to him like a lifeline, barely able to breathe.
and still, he didn’t move.
he stayed there, chest heaving, one hand cupping your cheek, nose brushing your skin like he couldn’t stop touching you. he kissed your temple, your cheek, your jaw. soft and sweet and quiet.
“shouldn’t’ve waited this long,” he murmured against your skin. “you… you make this place feel like home.”
you blinked up at him, bleary-eyed.
“…i thought you didn’t like me,” you hesitantly confessed.
his brows pulled together. “didn’t like you?”
you nodded. “you always slept on the couch. you never talked to me…”
his expression softened, almost ashamed.
he lets out a shaky breath.
“did it ‘cause i didn’t wanna scare you. didn’t think i deserved to sleep next to you yet.”
your heart clenched so tightly you thought it might break.
“…you do,” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “you do now.”
he leaned into your palm.
then kissed you— slow, tender, like he meant every breath of it.
that night, for the first time, you fell asleep in your husband’s arms.
and for once… he didn’t leave.
i don’t think i’m very good at writing angst but i tried 🤧 i rlly hope i executed this well enough bc i never wrote arranged marriage trope before but i feel like this wasn’t that bad idkskdksk
Let’s just say that, in that moment, you weren’t entirely sure what the correct emotional response was supposed to be.
After all, it wasn’t every day that you discovered your new boyfriend —Toji Fushiguro— stored a gun in the shower. Casually. On a shelf. Like shampoo. Or conditioner. Or some sort of deranged home décor choice.
Yes. A gun.
It wasn’t your first time at his place. But it was your first time showering there alone, which apparently unlocked a bonus level you hadn’t signed up for. One involving cheap toiletries, questionable hygiene habits, and—nestled neatly among them...
The gun.
You didn’t know much about firearms, but you hoped, deeply, stupidly, that it wasn’t loaded. Because it almost looked fake. Like plastic. Like something you’d win at a fair. Which, frankly, made the situation worse.
Next to it sat the soap.
God. The soap.
Seven different bars, once distinct, now melted into a single multicoloured crime against nature. A soap rainbow. A soap tragedy. And right beside it, a very real instrument of death. The contrast was so absurd it bordered on performance art.
“Toji!” you yelled from the shower, staring at it like it might suddenly develop opinions.
The water, as if sensing your vulnerability, immediately turned cold.
He appeared in under a minute, grumbling about a rugby match and scratching his jaw, looking deeply inconvenienced by the concept of your impending demise.
“What?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe. “What’s wrong, doll?”
You said nothing. You simply stared. Then swallowed.
“Why,” you began carefully, “do you have a gun in the shower?”
Ah. Right. That.
Toji almost laughed. Almost. But the way your voice wobbled —half horror, half curiosity— made him reconsider.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he replied, genuinely confused. As though you’d just asked why he owned socks.
You pulled the curtain aside just enough to glare at him, water dripping down your hair, expression caught somewhere between disbelief and secondhand embarrassment.
“Because most people don’t live like they’re preparing for a siege while showering?”
He shrugged and glanced at the mirror, fogged beyond recognition.
“In case there’s a threat.”
“A threat,” you repeated. “In the shower.”
“Oi. You never know.”
You tilted your head, unimpressed.
“What, exactly, do you think is going to happen? You slip, lose a testicle, or Shiu decides he wants a shared bathing experience?”
Toji snorted, officially done with this conversation and with you, who treated irritating him like a competitive sport.
“Stop it,” he muttered, turning away. “And don’t touch it. It’s loaded.”
That was when all the humour died.
You stared at the gun. Then at the closed door.
Then back at the gun.
Slowly, your eyes drifted to the sponge. Then to the soap abomination. And you realised, horrified, that reaching either of them required standing far too close to the gun.
The loaded gun.
You sighed. Deeply. Tiredly. Like this was your life now.
“TOJIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!”
⤷ author's note: here, writing toji shi bc the thought of him having a gun in the shower is stronger than my need to sleep.
Corbeau and his writer partner that uses him like a thesaurus.
“What’s another word for, like, nicely?”
Without looking up from his laptop, “pleasantly? Delightfully?”
“…yeah that’s good.”
Philippe asks Corbeau why he doesn’t buy you a thesaurus, jokingly, and Corbeau actually gets upset because he loves when you ask him questions like that so much. He’d literally throw out your own dictionary or thesaurus so you’ll ask him.
Word Count: 2321
Pairing: Corbeau x Gender Neutral Reader
Warnings: Cursing, fluff, and a little angst. Flangst, if you will
Summary: You never would have expected Canari to play such a key role in your relationship.
Corbeau x Reader Masterlist
*Jessica Simpson voice* With nothin' but a T-shirt on...I never felt so beautiful...
You’d had no reason to believe that the bottle of club soda would explode when you opened it. As far as you knew, it had been sitting on the counter of Corbeau’s wet bar for hours, but when you’d cracked the cap open it flew out of your hand, bubbly water spraying up at your face and down the front of your shirt.
Hearing the scream you let out, Corbeau came quickly around the corner, then stopped to laugh loudly at your shocked, blinking face. He took the bottle out of your hands and picked up a towel, patting your face and neck while you waited for your heart to slow. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before moving to wipe the counter.
“I’m sorry for laughing,” he said. “That wasn’t what I was expecting to find when I heard you scream.”
“You’re telling me,” you said, laughing a little yourself. Then you looked down at your soaked shirt and frowned. It was sticking to your skin uncomfortably.
“Do you want to borrow something to wear?” Corbeau asked, still cleaning up. “You can go get something out of my closet, if you want.”
“That would be amazing, thank you,” you said, turning to leave the room.
Corbeau’s closet was huge. For a guy who wore the same thing nearly every day, he had a lot of clothes. You stepped through slowly, letting your fingers trail over the multitudes of purple button-downs, and looked around for something a little more casual. You were planning on staying in tonight, and wanted to be comfortable. Eventually you came to a shelf with a small stack of t-shirts, and the one on the bottom caught your eye.
While the shirt itself was black, there was a bright, colorful design on it. You pulled it out from the stack, curious. You held it up and let it unfold, and in front of you was Canari’s winking face, her hand holding up a peace sign next to her cheek. Her name was written across the top in a graffiti font, and her Eelektross was included in the design as well. You laughed, deeply confused about how and why Corbeau came to own this shirt. He didn’t dislike Canari in the same way he loathed Jacinthe, but he’d never shown any particular fondness for her, either.
You slipped the t-shirt over your head, and it fit loosely, maybe one size too large, but it didn’t swallow you. Though it wasn’t a surprise, you were happy to find it smelled like Corbeau, and you took a moment to hold the fabric to your nose and breathe deeply, letting the scent of him warm your heart. You made your way back out to the living room where Corbeau was waiting on the couch, having made your drinks and queued up the movie you were planning on watching.
“Where did you get this?” you asked, tugging the shirt so the design would be displayed clearly across your torso.
Corbeau looked up, a small smile crossing his lips when he saw what you were wearing.
“I forgot about that,” he said as you sat down beside him on the couch. You crowded into his space, pushing him back so you could rest your head on his chest. “Some event a few years ago. Her grandfather wouldn’t let me leave without one.”
“Hmm,” you hummed, closing your eyes as Corbeau placed a kiss on your hair. “I like it. It’s mine now.”
-
The Canari t-shirt became your favorite to sleep in. You wore it nearly every night, but particularly on the nights you and Corbeau couldn’t be together. You’d caught Corbeau wearing it a few times too, particularly in the morning when he picked it up off the floor, having pulled it off you and carelessly discarded it the night before. You loved when he wore it, there was something about the sight of him in a simple t-shirt, his tattoos spilling out of the sleeves, that made you want to run your hands all over his torso.
Corbeau loved when you wore it too, you knew. He was always a little extra affectionate when you had it on. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you, coming up behind you in the kitchen and wrapping his arms around your waist. You let him hug you as you continued to cook, his hands sliding up under the shirt to settle over your sides or stomach, just enjoying the feeling of your skin on his.
And if you were really lucky, he’d spin you around, pulling you to him and taking one of your hands before beginning to turn slowly across the tile. You’d tuck your face into his shoulder, smiling widely, and let him lead you. Corbeau’s lips would find your ear, and he’d sing whatever song was in his head, low and pleasant. You’d stay like that as long as you could, wishing those moments could last forever.
-
“Well, I didn’t ask you to do that.”
You blinked, hardly able to process what Corbeau had just said.
You’d hoped this would be an easy conversation. With anyone else, it probably would have been. You were in his office, trying to convince him to work more closely with Quasartico Inc, which he was hesitant to do because they’d recently gotten a rather sizable donation from Jacinthe.
“You have to look past this grudge you have for her,” you said, exasperated. “This beef is one-sided, you know, she doesn’t have anything against you.”
Corbeau’s eyebrows knitted together, though he didn’t look at you.
“It’s none of your business,” he said.
“It is too my business!” you huffed. “I love this city as much as you do, you know. I want what’s best for everyone here.”
“And how could you know what’s best for everyone?” Corbeau asked angrily, his eyes flashing to yours with more frustration than he’d ever directed at you before. “You’ve lived here for what, a year?”
“That may be so, but have you forgotten everything I gave up for Lumiose?” you asked, your anger matching his. “I was supposed to come here on vacation, and I ended up getting roped into saving it from literal destruction. If I didn’t care for everyone here so much, you’d all be dead!”
“Well, I didn’t ask you to do that.”
Corbeau turned back to his laptop, and you stared at him in shock. Pure, unadulterated hurt coursed through your veins, and at the same time your vision went blurry from tears, you thought you might throw up.
Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the office, not looking at him even when he called your name, and jamming the elevator door button as hard as you could. When you reached the ground floor, you ran past all the Rust Syndicate grunts and out the door, jumping into the first taxi you spotted and asking the driver to take you to Hotel Z.
Corbeau tried to call you, but you didn’t pick up. Then he tried to text you, and you turned your phone off.
You put the cab fare on Corbeau’s credit card, because fuck him.
Luckily, no one was in the lobby when you reached the hotel, and you were able to go up the elevator and to your room without having to speak to anyone. You threw open the door and then slammed it shut behind you, and you threw yourself onto your bed, hugging your pillow to your chest and letting yourself cry.
How could he say something so hurtful? Why would he let whatever problem he had with Jacinthe come between the two of you like this? You’d thought he’d loved you more than he hated her, but clearly you’d been wrong. Did he resent you, for some reason, for saving Lumiose? You didn’t talk about it often, but when it did come up, he’d never expressed anything less than gratitude. Had he been lying through his teeth this whole time? Why would he want to be with you if that’s how he felt?
You cried until you couldn’t anymore, the sun long having set outside your window. You decided to shower, hoping the water would help wash away some of your sadness.
It didn’t work.
You pulled open your dresser drawer, instinctively reaching for the shirt that always managed to bring you comfort. When it wasn’t where you usually kept it, you dug through the drawer, making a mess of your tops as you pulled them half out. Then you looked in the drawer above and below, but it wasn’t there.
You had left it at Corbeau’s.
You pulled out another shirt at random, sliding it over your head and hating the way it felt on your body. It wasn’t the same, it wasn’t your shirt. Slowly, you sat down on the floor again, unable to stand any longer, and cried again.
After a few minutes, there was a hesitant knock on your door. When you didn’t answer, you heard a key turn in the knob, and the door opened slowly.
“Are you in here?” You heard Lida’s voice call.
“Y-yeah,” you sputtered, still crying. You pulled the neck of your–wrong–shirt up, wiping your eyes and nose.
“I’m sorry for using the master key,” Lida said, stepping into the room. You watched as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. You hadn’t bothered to turn on a light. “Corbeau called me, and when your phone went straight to voicemail I got worr– oh, honey, what happened?”
When you woke up the next morning, your head hurt. Lida, ever the wonderful friend, had planned for this, and there was a bottle of water on your nightstand. You sat up slowly and opened it, powering on your phone with a sigh. You took a long drink as you waited for it to boot up, not wanting to deal with anything you would find there, but knowing things would only get worse if you put it off any longer.
You had six missed calls, five from Corbeau and one from Lida, and a myriad of texts. You opened Corbeau’s scrolling through them as you drank your water.
Please come back, I’m so sorry.
I was an asshole.
I didn’t mean it, of course I didn’t mean it.
Please call me.
Just let me know you’re safe.
I’m so sorry.
You locked your phone and set it on the bed next to you, still contemplating how you wanted to respond, what you wanted to say. Your stomach rumbled, and you decided you’d have better luck thinking after eating and having some coffee. In your sadness, you’d skipped dinner the night before, and your stomach hurt as it practically tried to digest itself, dissatisfied with only water.
You didn’t bother to change out of your pajamas before heading downstairs to the kitchen. When you reached the lobby, Naveen was standing behind the desk.
“Hey, good morning,” he said hesitantly, looking at you with concern and pity that you would have hated if you had the energy to.
“Hi,” you replied, hoping that was the end of it. You didn’t have the energy to talk about it, or anything yet.
“Um, Corbeau came by last night,” Naveen said, and you stopped in your tracks. “Lida wouldn’t let him up, but he left something for you.”
Naveen slid a small paper back across the counter, and you took it. The top was fastened together with a small piece of tape, and you pulled it open. Inside was a familiar pile of black fabric, the slightly faded yellow, pink, and blue design was instantly recognisable to you, even folded over on itself the way it was.
You hugged the bag to your chest, tears filling your eyes again, but they weren’t from sadness this time. You turned and headed back upstairs, eager to get dressed. Corbeau could make you breakfast. Corbeau would make you breakfast, and he’d have to look at both your face and Canari’s while you ate.
-
“I do have to give a special shout out,” Corbeau said, “to Canari.”
Corbeau stood at the front of the room, champagne glass in hand. He was in the middle of a toast, addressing all the guests of your engagement party. You smiled brightly, understanding what he was saying before anyone else did. When Corbeau spoke Canari’s name, all eyes turned to her, who looked shocked and surprised.
“Early in our relationship,” Corbeau continued, pulling out his phone. He pressed a few buttons and suddenly there was a picture of you, from about two years prior, projected onto the wall. You were leaning over his kitchen counter, chin in your hand and smiling brightly. You were wearing the Canari t-shirt, and it looked far newer than the faded shirt that was tucked away in your dresser drawer at home. “My betrothed borrowed a shirt and never quite gave it back.”
Corbeau slid his thumb across the phone screen, and another picture appeared, this time you were napping on the couch, blanket loose around your waist and the t-shirt’s design fully on display.
“Whether you knew it or not, Canari,” Corbeau said as more pictures slid across the screen. You covered your hand with your mouth and laughed quietly. The shirt grew more faded with each picture that was displayed. How many of these did he have? “You’ve been with us through every up and down, every fight, every moment of joy. Your eyes have probably seen more than you’d want them to.”
You watched as Canari laughed along with the rest of your guests. Everyone in this room made your heart swell with love, but no one more than Corbeau. Your eyes met his, and for just a moment you were alone in this room, spinning slowly to his quiet singing, and he never let you go.
i have a desperate need to see how grisham and corbeau would handle seeing someone flirt with their s/o. like, grisham seeing it happen while he’s on the clock at the cafe and corbeau watching some new grunt shoot their shot
cw: jealousy,
characters: Grisham, Corbeau
🔥Grisham☕️
Nouveau Café had become a frequent haunt for you. It was a quiet place to collect your thoughts, and the coffee was simply wonderful. Griselle naturally had your order memorised and had it ready by the time you approached. Though, she hardly had a chance to bring it out to you. Rather, you went directly to the truck yourself and got it from the baristo. There was a light exchange between you both. If anyone paid close enough attention, they would see how his hand lingered on your own for a moment when you took your coffee.
Sitting on the couch, you sipped your coffee while looking at your phone. Your pokemon was across from you, snacking away on a croissant that had been prepared to its tastes. Grisham had been determined to make something your partner would enjoy. You unconsciously snuck a glance at him, watching him work for a moment. His movements were dazzling in how they never seemed to reflect any hesitation. Griselle gave a silent giggle at your obviousness.
Grisham was truly a sweet man. Your heart could not help but be captured by his gentle flames. Though, neither of you were too open publicly about your relationship, it was obvious to anyone who knew you both. Neither of you could get the other off your minds. You would sit here all day until they closed shop, but that would leave you too longing – Desperate for his warm embrace and loving kisses pecked along your jaw.
“Hello,” a voice snapped you from your thoughts. You turned to see a man at your side, holding a coffee in his hand. “Do you mind if I sit with you? All the other seats around here are taken.” A glance around confirmed that there were no lies in his words. You gave a nod, and he sat down across from you. His smile was polite. A light conversation followed, but it ultimately came to a natural end.
He scratched the back of his neck. A light colour had come across his cheeks. “Ah, you're pretty cute,” he mumbled to himself, “You seem like a tourist. Did you come here to find love by any chance?” The question caught you off-guard. Your coffee nearly choking you. Though, you struggled to speak now thanks to that. “I… I'm pretty familiar with everything,” he nervously shifted, “Would you care to join me for dinner—”
Griselle slammed down another plate in front of you, cutting him off. You could feel the rage emanating from her. As you thanked her, she shot a glare at the guy. He tensed, clearly unsure why she had an otherwise unexpected mood change towards him. Turning your head to look at Grisham, you noticed he was gone from the truck. Hands rested on your shoulders suddenly.
“Please do not make the other patrons uncomfortable,” a deep voice came from behind you, “We will have to ask you to leave if you continue.” You caught a glimpse of his face. His eyes were open, burning flames almost directed entirely at the poor fellow across from you. Charizard took cue from his trainer and stumbled over to glare down at him. The guy shifted.
“H-hey, how do you know they're uncomfortable?” he retaliated.
Grisham tightened his grip on your shoulders. You brought a hand to rest over one of them, an attempt to reassure him. His touch softened at that. “They're a regular,” he spoke carefully, “They are already in a relationship.” The guy's mouth hung open for a moment. He blinked. An apology came from him.
Quickly, he collected his stuff and got away from the café. It was only then that Grisham let out a breath. His eyes closed once more. Charizard leaned in, wanting a pet from you. A sigh left you at how surrounded you were.
Turning your head up to look at him, he gave a gentle smile. Then, he spoke lowly so no one else would hear.
“… I wish to claim you in a way that leaves no room for doubt that you're mine.”
Somehow, despite the coffee, you felt like you might pass out.
💜Corbeau💎
A call from a certain someone to come play was no longer anything uncommon. Rather, the days he did not call were the surprising ones. You tended to still pop in just to check on him, but it was often that he was away from the office doing something the poor receptionist refused to oust for your knowledge. Some small part of you was sickly curious, yet the majority of you knew that the information was better off unknown.
Today was a day he did not call. You felt a bit lost with what to do. Despite the likelihood Corbeau would be absent from the building, you stood in front of the headquarters. The days when he was gone left you oddly longing for his attention. Most of the time, you could hardly escape his hold – he tended to prefer you in his lap while he worked. Trying to peak the screen would have him slide a hand over your eyes. Any protests were silenced with kisses to wherever he felt most appropriate.
Your heart raced. He had not seemed the affectionate type at first, but as soon as he adjusted to being comfortable with you… A sigh left you. He never had space to do it with anyone else. Of course, he would surround you with his love. You reciprocated wholeheartedly – deeply in love with him despite everything. Light jokes about him trapping your friend in debt to just meet you were met with silent glares by him.
“Oi,” a deep voice called out, “You got business here? We don't appreciate loitering.” You glanced at who has snapped you from your reflective thoughts. A Syndicate Grunt approached you. Was he new? Most tended to do their weird bow to you and call you some high-ranking term. You stared at him blankly, a bit annoyed. Though, there was no need to be mean. He just did not know yet. Granted, there being no one else around was not helping.
You watched as his cheeks suddenly flushed with colour. “… Damn,” he mumbled under his breath, “You're pretty cute.” Your hand rested on your hip. That confirmed it. He really did not know. Before you could explain who you were, his hand caught your own. Sparkling eyes revealed themselves from behind his uniform sunglasses. “You caught in debt or something? I could help you, you know,” he gave a flirty grin, “I wouldn't mind helping someone so pretty.”
A sigh left you. Poor thing would be in deep shit. Though, no one else was around. You would just explain to him and tell him to not let a soul know he did this—
“You,” a controlled voice cut in the air, “Hands off them. Now.” The grunts tensed and instantly let go. He fell into a bow, calling out a title you can only imagine made him shake. Most held reverence and respect towards the man – but he also commanded fear.
“B-boss!” the grunt exclaimed, “I was just trying to do my duties as a guard—”
“And chase off my lover?” Corbeau seemed utterly menacing with how he stood over the grunt. You watched the grunts face twist in terror. “Apologise. Now.” The grunt fell to his knees and then into a deep bow, pleading for your forgiveness. You shook your head at the sight and accepted his words. Then, you shot a glare at Corbeau and mouthed for him to be nice.
“… Consider this a warning,” Corbeau strolled around to take to your side, “You're lucky they're so nice, you know. Otherwise, who knows what might have happened.” The grunt was shaking. With that, the man caught your shoulders with his arms and led you into the building. Everyone almost noted his mood instantly as he brought you into the elevator. It was silent while it rose to the office that had become all too familiar to you.
Stepping out, you hardly had time to react before he had you pinned against a wall. “Wear the pin,” he hissed, “You need to make it more obvious that you're mine.”
A sigh left you. Jealous Corbeau was not an easy beast to satiate.
Word Count: 4507
Pairing: Corbeau x Female Reader
Warnings: nfsw, drug and alcohol use, cursing
Summary: Corbeau will make you behave, one way or another.
Corbeau x Reader Masterlist
I hope this is what y'all wanted. I feel like I need to go to church in the morning and atone.
You weren’t sure what you had expected out of Phillipe’s birthday party, but an all-night rager certainly wasn’t it. It had been a long time since you’d been to a party that had gotten this out of hand. Music blared from some very large and very expensive-looking speakers in the living room. Bottles and cans of various booze were piled on the kitchen island, making a mountain of alcohol, at the center of which was a large bucket full of…something. People had been dunking their cups in it all night and you had been steering clear.
The smell of smoke, both cigarette and pot, drifted in from the open windows. You clutched your cup to your chest, making your way through the crowd. Vibrations from the music pulsed through your body as you bumped into others. You looked around the room, hoping to catch a certain, familiar pair of eyes, but they were nowhere to be found. It was too hot in here, too stuffy, and things were starting to spin just a little in the dim light. You should go outside. Maybe outside would know where Corbeau was.
You pulled open the door clumsily, stepping out into the chilly night air, which felt amazing on your flushed skin. You took another sip of your drink, chewing on your straw a little, and looked around. Cups and cans littered the lawn, and somehow the sofa had made its way out here. A group of people were kicking a ball in circles around it. Then, two people ran across your view, one screaming and laughing, and the other chasing them with a flopping Magikarp in their hands. You watched as they bolted across the yard and disappeared around the side of the house.
And there he was.
At the other end of the long porch, Corbeau was leaning against the railing, cigarette in hand. He was listening to something someone else was saying, and laughing. He had one hand in his pocket, his tie was loosened and the top button of his shirt was undone, though his jacket was still on. He looked happy and relaxed and you couldn’t help but stare. At this late hour, there was a five o’clock shadow beginning to make itself known. You were enthralled by the way it followed the curves of his throat, and you wondered what it would feel like under your lips. Under your tongue.
A movement caught your eye, and you were pulled out of your trance. Corbeau was looking at you with a bemused expression and giving you a wave. You felt a blush explode across your cheeks as you made eye contact, and you bit down on both your lips. You didn’t move, a little unsure of both your footing and what to do with yourself in this moment. Another breeze went by and this time it was a little too cold, picking up the sweat on your body and chilling it, making goosebumps rise on your arms.
Corbeau smiled, excusing himself from who he was talking to and walking over to you. As he approached, you discovered that it hadn’t been a cigarette in his hand, but a joint. You set your drink down on the railing as he offered it to you. You took it, putting it to your lips and inhaling deeply as he shrugged his jacket off and wrapped it around your shoulders. It was warm and comforting.
“Hi,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms and smiling softly. You blew the smoke out of your lungs toward the yard as you handed the joint back to him, then you stepped closer.
“Hi,” you said back, letting your fingers slide around his sides, bunching in the fabric of his shirt. You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips, only misjudging your balance a little and stepping forward to catch yourself. Corbeau put a hand around your back to steady you.
“Are you having fun?” Corbeau asked when you pulled back. He used the pinky of the hand that held the joint to brush the hair back from your face, and, now that you could see it up close, you were once again distracted by the stubble that was peppered along his jaw.
“Mm hmm,” you hummed, letting your hands slide up his chest until you held his face in both hands, gliding your thumbs across his chin and neck. The texture was both soft and rough and you wanted to spend the next hour just feeling it under your fingers and lips. Then you remembered why you were looking for him. “Lida needs you.”
“What does Lida need?” Corbeau asked, taking another drag from the joint. You watched the muscles in his neck flex as he inhaled. The alcohol and the weed were starting to dance together in your consciousness, making everything feel warm and light and pleasant.
“I…don’t know,” you said. Well, you sort of remembered why you had been looking for him. Corbeau chuckled.
“Is she okay?” he asked. You really wanted to stop talking about Lida.
“She’s fine,” you said, and you leaned in to kiss him again. His hand was warm and wide on your back under his jacket, and you thought you could feel actual sunshine radiating from it. Corbeau kissed you back, but slowly and soberly. He really needed to get on your level.
You let your hands slide down from his neck and over his chest again. Then, further down, you hooked your fingers into his belt loops and tugged him closer to you.
“Okay, handsy,” Corbeau said, breaking the kiss. You pouted. “Go find Lida. If she really needs me, I’ll be right here.”
“What if I need you?” you asked, and Corbeau grinned, hitting the joint again.
“You’ll just have to wait until we get home,” he said, low and dark in a way that made excitement twist in your stomach.
You started to slide your hands back up his stomach but he caught your wrists, pulling them down and behind your back. He held them together there, and your heart began to race in your chest.
“Behave,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to have to tie your hands together.”
That sent a jolt of electricity into the lowest part of your abdomen, and as you looked into his eyes you could see the same dark, hungry spark in them. The tension was thick, surrounding the both of you with a heavy weight that you would have been more than happy to succumb to.
Corbeau let go of your wrists suddenly, stepping back. The sudden cold that replaced the spot where his body had just been was shocking, and you felt dizzy both from your intoxication and the sudden change in his proximity.
“Okay,” you said. Trying to regather yourself. You picked up your drink and took a sip before shrugging off Corbeau’s jacket and handing it back to him. “I’m going to go back inside. I’ll… I’ll see you later.”
You had to go in and get away from him and distract yourself from everything you really wanted to be doing right now. You couldn’t do that here. You’d have to wait until Corbeau took you home and brought you upstairs to his apartment and–
Lida. You had to go find Lida. She would undoubtedly have something else for you to focus on.
You hardly saw Corbeau for the rest of the party, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about him. You could still feel a tingling around your wrists where his fingers had held them. Though the music, chatter, and laughter that filled the house was loud enough to feel in your bones, it did nothing to make you forget the way he’d looked at you.
A few more hours went by before you felt a familiar arm wrap around you from behind, and a pair of lips brushed your ear.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked, pulling your body flush against his. You nodded, tilting your cup up to finish the last of your drink while he placed a few kisses to your neck. “I’ll call the car.”
And then he was gone again, and you wanted to scream.
You made your goodbye rounds, making sure to say one final happy birthday to Phillipe, who was only partially conscious on the sofa in the yard. When the car pulled up, Corbeau held the door for you, sliding in after you. His hand immediately found your thigh, and you delighted in the feeling of his skin against yours.
As soon as the car was moving, Corbeau turned to you, his lips at your ear again as he whispered.
“You have no idea what you’re in for when we get home,” he said, and heat ignited in your blood. “I’ve been watching you in this little skirt all night–” his hand squeezed your thigh a little harder “–and you really thought you could get away with putting your hands all over me like that?”
You turned toward him then, intending to catch his lips in a kiss, but he leaned back, removing his hand from your thigh. You almost whined, and you would have if the driver hadn’t been there to hear you. You reached out to him, desperate to pull him back to you and have him close again, but he just caught your wrist again, looking at you intently as he held it between you. You wanted to pull your hand free, grab him, and climb on top of him in that back seat, but something in the way he looked at you made you want to do as he said even more.
The rest of the car ride was almost unbearable as electricity thrummed between your untouching bodies. In order to prevent yourself from trying to jump Corbeau again, you had to lean against the opposite door. You bit down on your own thumb as you watched the lights go past the window. Eventually, Corbeau’s hand found your thigh again, but when you turned your head, he was looking out the window on his own side.
Pulling up to the apartment building, Corbeau was a complete, infuriating gentleman. He held the door for you as you got out of the car, and walked by your side into and across the lobby with only one hand touching you on the small of your back.
As you approached the elevator you were practically jittery with anticipation. The elevator attendant was a wonderful perk of the building, but for once you wished you could just–
“I’ve got it, thank you Antoine,” Corbeau said. You saw him slip the attendant a tip, and he nodded, stepping out of the elevator without another word.
The moment the door slid shut behind you, Corbeau was sliding his hands into your hair and pulling your lips to his. You gasped a little in surprise and, still a little tipsy and unsteady on your feet, you grasped the front of his jacket to help balance yourself. Corbeau guided you back a few steps until you were pressed against the wall, and he used his grip on your hair to tilt your head to the side so he could slide his lips down your neck, biting and sucking all the way down to your collarbone. He had one leg pressed between yours, and you leaned into him, desperate to relieve some of the sensitivity that had been building for hours.
The elevator came to a stop, and just as suddenly, Corbeau dipped down and grabbed you by the thighs, lifting you up. You couldn’t help the peal of laughter that came out with your surprise, wrapping your arms and legs around him as the sudden movement made the world spin around you. Corbeau carried you out of the elevator and you kicked off your shoes as you entered the foyer, only partially noticing that one ended up back in the elevator as the door closed.
In the hallway, Corbeau pushed you against the wall again, his hands having made their way under your skirt, gripping your ass firmly as you kissed him again. His tongue was hot and heavy in your mouth, and you were glad he was holding you up because you felt like you were melting. You slid your hands around his neck and started to undo his tie, and then he was setting you down and leaning back.
“Go get on the bed,” he said as you tried to focus on remaining upright. You tried to step into his space again.
“But–”
Smack!
Sparks of electricity danced along your skin, reaching all the way to your fingers and toes as his hand made contact with your ass, your skirt having ridden completely up when he set you down. It concentrated between your legs, making you clench desperately around nothing. You looked into Corbeau’s eyes and found that the dark hunger from earlier had returned, his irises molten gold. It stopped you in your tracks and made your heart race.
“I said,” Corbeau said, low and dark. “Go get on the bed.”
This time, you did as he said, stepping the rest of the way down the hall and into his bedroom. You left the door open and climbed onto the bed, settling yourself in the middle. You closed your eyes, letting the scent of Corbeau take over your senses. The bed was soft and warm and you felt like you were sinking into it. You couldn’t help but let one of your hands slide down your body and between your legs. Over your underwear, you pressed down firmly on your clit, rubbing in slow circles. You let out a quiet sigh of relief.
“Did I say you could touch yourself?”
You froze and your eyes flew open, meeting Corbeau’s where he stood in the doorway. You pulled your hand back, letting it rest on your stomach as he stepped into the room. His jacket was gone, but he was otherwise still dressed. With one hand, he undid the knot in his tie and slid it out from the collar of his shirt. You leaned up on your elbows as he climbed over you on the mattress, and Corbeau pulled you to sit up fully, lifting your shirt over your head in one swift motion before leaning you back again and kissing you.
You were starting to grow desperate, what had felt like hours of teasing was making you need his body on yours more than you had ever felt before. Every inch of you craved him. You reached up and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. He pulled your hands away, placing them back at your sides, but you ignored him, reaching up again as soon as he let you go.
Corbeau’s hands wrapped around your wrists again, pulling them over your head and pressing you back into the pillows. He held them there as he hovered over you.
“You’re having a hard time listening tonight,” he said, lips brushing against yours. “I told you I was going to tie your hands up if you couldn’t keep them to yourself. Do I need to do that?”
Instead of answering, you lifted your head and kissed him again. He allowed it, kissing you back slowly and firmly. Soon you felt cool silk sliding over your wrists. When the knot was secure, Corbeau sat up, his eyes raking over your body. You couldn’t help but notice that you were mostly naked while he was still fully clothed. Instinctively, you tried to reach out to him to start undressing him, but the tie around your wrists caught on the bedframe, holding your hands in place. Corbeau’s eyes caught the movement and they darkened.
“Corbeau, please,” you whispered, and he leaned over you again, pressing a warm kiss to your lips before beginning to trail his way down your neck. He took his time, pausing to bite and suck at every soft dip in your flesh. You closed your eyes and pressed your head into the pillows, letting yourself enjoy the gentle scraping of his scruff against your skin. He stopped at one of your breasts, pulling the cup of your bra back so he could flick his tongue against your nipple, nipping it gently before sucking it into his mouth. Sparks shot from the nerves there down to your center, making your hips twitch as you sucked in a gasp.
Corbeau moved over to your other breast, giving it the same treatment, before sitting up again, his hand sliding warm and wide down your sides to your hips. The skirt you were wearing zipped all the way down, and he pulled it open, sliding it out from underneath you and tossing it to the floor. His hands found your hips again, and his thumbs traced the waistband of your panties.
“You’re so pretty like this,” Corbeau said quietly. “Completely at my mercy.”
“‘Beau, I can’t–” you started to say, but he cut you off.
“Shhh, I know,” he said. You opened your eyes and watched him as he looked between your legs almost thoughtfully. He pressed one thumb over your clit, over the fabric of your underwear, much like you had before he walked in. You almost sobbed from the combination of pleasure and relief.
Your eyelids fluttered shut again as he rubbed slow circles, the pleasure beginning to twist and tighten low in your belly. After a few minutes he pulled the fabric back, letting the fingers of his other hand trail between your folds. They slid easily through the wetness there, down from your clit to your entrance, which twitched under his touch, and back up again.
“Please, please, please,” you whined, trying to press your hips up into his hand. Corbeau pulled his hand away, and you almost protested before he was using both to grip your painties and quite literally tear them off of you, the scraps of fabric joining your skirt on the floor.
Without another moment of teasing, Corbeau slid one finger into you, and then two. He pumped them in and out of you slowly and purposefully before picking up their pace. It made heat dance along your skin and every exhale became a moan, but it wasn’t enough.You tried to push your hips up again, desperate as your hands pulled against their restraint on their own accord, but Corbeau’s other hand came up to press down on your lower belly, holding you against the mattress.
“Don’t get greedy,” he said, but he moved his thumb down, pressing it firmly to your clit and rubbing it back and forth. The tension was becoming too much to bear, the pleasure searing hot as it shot through your body, and you knew it was going to snap soon.
“Oh my god,” you said, your chest heaving. “I’m going to come, I have to, I can’t–”
Corbeau didn’t stop, and your orgasm hit you like a tsunami, a wave of pleasure that wracked through your whole body, making you squeeze around his fingers and leaving you gasping.
As you came down from your high, Corbeau settled himself down on his stomach, putting your knees over his shoulders as he started placing gentle kisses on your thighs. You looked down at him, your fingernails digging into your palms above your head.
“See what happens when you’re good?” he asked. His lips ghosted over your clit and your hips twitched from the oversensitivity.
Your heart was still thudding in your ears as he peppered soft kisses all around your pussy lips and his hands massaged your shaking thighs. You let out a low moan as one hand slid back around, his fingers spreading you open gently. His tongue was warm and soothing against your entrance, and your head fell to the side as the dizzy, melting sensation began to take over again.
Slowly, the oversensitivity faded and the pleasure started to build in earnest again. When Corbeau slid his tongue up and over your clit, sucking it into his mouth gently, you cried out, wanting nothing more than to slide your hands into his hair and pull him closer to you. Instead, your hands pulled without purchase at the tie attaching your wrists to the headboard.
Corbeau’s hands pressed your thighs up until your knees hit your chest and slid his tongue back down between your folds, then across your entrance, dipping just inside. He stayed there for a few minutes, laving and sucking and tongue-fucking you as his nose bumped into your clit. With his hands holding your legs up, you could hardly move at all anymore, and you had to let go of the last of your control in this moment as you felt your second orgasm approaching. Corbeau moved back up to your clit, his tongue wide as he rubbed over it with steady licks.
This orgasm was softer than the first, dancing warmly across your skin and making your ears ring. Corbeau didn’t move and you whined as the oversensitivity set in again, one of your legs falling across his back. The room was spinning again, the last of your orgasm and the last of the alcohol making its way through your system. You heard a zipper and the thudding of fabric, but you couldn’t tell from which direction.
Then Corbeau was over you again, one hand on the mattress next to you and the other cradling your face. You looked up at him, at his flushed cheeks, his wet, red lips, and his eyes studying your face the way you were his. Your fingers flexed again, wishing you could hold his face in your hands.
“Hi,” you said, unable to think well enough to come up with anything else.
“Hi,” he replied, letting his thumb graze over your lips. Without thinking, you sucked it into your mouth, biting down lightly and running your tongue along the length of it.
Corbeau groaned, pupils blown wide as he watched your mouth. He reached down with his other hand to rub the head of his cock against you, meeting your eyes again as he began to press in slowly. You held his gaze as you moaned around the finger in your mouth, sucking on it a little harder.
Drawing his hips back and pushing them in again, Corbeau grabbed your thigh with his free hand. His fingers squeezed, pressing hard enough into your skin to leave bruises, as he began to fuck you in earnest. Almost reluctantly, he pulled his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, but his hand didn’t stray far. It moved just down to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat and squeezing. He used the leverage to pull your body against his as his thrusts quickened.
The pleasure made your head spin, growing impossibly inside you again. The slide of his cock in and out of you was maddening in the best way, grazing every spot that drove you crazy. His hand around your throat made your heart beat wildly, the rhythm of it almost matching the loud smacking sound where Corbeau’s skin met yours.
You pulled against your restraints again, almost frantic in your need to put your hands on him. Pleasure tightened and flourished inside you, and you just couldn’t take it anymore.
“Corbeau, please,” you begged, breathless and gasping. “Please untie– I need–”
Something hit just right inside you and you whined, throwing your head back as you continued to try to pull your hands down.
Corbeau let go of your throat, reaching up and tugging the tie loose. You ignored the painful rush of blood returning to your fingertips as your hands flew to his back, bunching in the fabric of his shirt, before sliding up to his shoulders and down his arms. Now that you’d regained this freedom you wanted your hands on every inch of him. You slid them up into his hair, gripping tightly and clutching his face to your neck.
He wrapped both arms around your back, holding your body tightly to his as he bit down into the soft skin above your collarbone. Your eyes squeezing shut was a mirror of your core squeezing down around him, your third orgasm creeping up on you.
“‘Beau,” you gasped, barely more than a breath. One of your hands left his hair and slid down to his arm, gripping it and holding onto him in your attempt to hold onto reality. “I’m– I– I don’t–” You couldn’t finish a single thought, the white-hot pleasure in your blood drawing all your attention.
“It’s okay, baby,” Corbeau said into the skin of your neck. “Go ahead, I’ve got you.”
With just a few more pumps of Corbeau’s hips, your orgasm shook through you, hitting every nerve in your body. It took you over completely, and you would have screamed if it hadn’t taken your breath away. Corbeau groaned, pulling your body impossibly closer to his as his hips stuttered, coming inside you and filling you with warmth.
You gasped for breath when your orgasm released you, still clutching Corbeau like a lifeline. Your legs trembled, almost painful as you tried to relax them. Corbeau’s breath was hot against your skin as he, too, came down from his orgasm, kissing gently at whatever skin was closest to his lips. You loosened the fingers in his hair, stroking gently at the nape of his neck as you breathed together.
When he pulled out of you it was gentle and careful, and you felt what he’d left in you rush out, dripping down to the sheets. Corbeau pulled his shirt off and used it to clean you off, one hand gently stroking your thigh as you flinched from the overstimulation.
He laid back down beside you carefully, resting one hand gingerly on your neck. His thumb brushed gingerly over a sore spot– a budding bruise, you assumed. He leaned and kissed you softly before leaning his forehead against yours.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, and you smiled.
“I can’t move,” you said. “But I’m good.”
Corbeau kissed you again slowly, gently, and full of love. You stayed like that for a few minutes, quietly enjoying each other’s presence. You tucked yourself into his side, resting your head on his chest and braiding your legs together. Corbeau’s fingers trailed along your back absentmindedly. Exhaustion began to settle in as you listened to the soft lullaby of his heart under your ear.
“Don’t fall asleep just yet,” Corbeau said softly.
“Why?” you asked, pouting.
“You, my love, are an absolute mess,” he said, stroking your hair. “You’ll be mad at me in the morning if I let you go to sleep without showering.”
“I told you I can’t move,” you grumbled half-heartedly, knowing he was right.
You protested weakly as Corbeau untangled his body from yours before standing up and scooping you into his arms.
“Don’t worry,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you.”
Word Count: 1520
Pairing: Corbeau x Female Reader
Warnings: A little nsfw at one part but honestly not that graphic?
Summary: If you could suspend time for one short moment, when would you choose?
Corbeau x Reader Masterlist
I was a little drunk when I started this.
“This is it.”
The first time he said it, you weren’t even sure you really heard it. The rhythmic thumping of his heart under your ear was making your eyelids heavy, drawing you to slumber like a lullaby that was written just for you. The ebb and flow of his breathing was tranquil ocean waves, reaching out to kiss the softest sands before retreating in their amorous dance along the shore.
You were tip-toeing on the edge of consciousness, not quite certain of what was real and what was the beginning of a dream, but you thought, for a moment, you heard his voice through the fog. His voice dripped warm, sweet, and golden in a perfect match to the honey of his eyes, and though yours were closed, the vision of them was at the forefront of your mind. The salt of his scent would not be forgotten as it swirled through your senses, the bite of cloves and tobacco chasing it as if they found no greater joy than making themselves known.
You could stay here forever, in this place, with this person, at this moment. There was nothing to draw you away from him, and only the desire to be somehow closer, though there was no way to be closer than you already were. How could you ache to be nearer to someone whose skin you were touching? To someone whose being you knew as intimately as your own?
Somehow, you would find a way. But not before you tipped over the brink of sensibility, falling down, down, down, and under.
-
“This is it.”
The second time he said it, it was barely more than a whisper. A mere breath between you, mingling with the flame of the lit candle you were holding and causing it to flutter. You couldn’t look away from the way the glow pirouetted in his irises, the swirls of red and gold two dancers in a ballet reenactment of the sunset outside the window.
You’d sung to him sweetly and quietly, settling yourself on his lap as the day drew to a close. Corbeau closed his eyes and extinguished the flame with a soft exhale just as the sun slipped below the horizon. His breath washed over your face in the dark, tickling your cheeks, ears, and collarbone. You smiled, discarding the candle and peeling back the paper on the cupcake. You held it up to his lips and he opened his eyes to meet yours, and didn’t look away as he took a slow bite.
He took the cupcake from you then, pulling back more of the wrapper and holding it up to you. You watched him, too, as you took your bite, and giggled as he miscalculated and a dollop of frosting ended up on the tip of your nose. Although, it may not have been a mistake, because he grinned, and the arm that was wrapped around your waist tugged you closer. A feather-light kiss removed the icing from your skin, and another, more forceful kiss met your smile. His lips were sweet from the sugar and for a moment you thought that if nothing stopped you, you would stay right here forever.
Your arms went around his neck, carefully holding your messy hands away from him as he kissed you more deeply. It was the perfect replacement for the heat of the candle flame, and it sparked between you in a sweltering sultriness that rivaled the hottest summer nights. And then his thumb was pressing into your jaw and sliding down your neck to your collarbone. In its path, it left a trail of frosting that his lips were quick to follow. You tilted your head back and, messy fingers be damned, slid your hands into his hair.
-
“This is it.”
The third time he said it, your focus was elsewhere. He was watching from his desk as you battled a client from a few cities over. Not being familiar with Lumiose, he’d made the mistake of underestimating you. When Corbeau had said, “you can pay back your debts, or you can battle anyone in this room. If you win, all will be forgiven” he’d gotten cocky, overconfident, and pointed directly at you from across the room. You’d feigned surprise, but little did he know that he’d fallen directly into the trap that was set for him.
You moved through the battle arena in Corbeau’s office, an expert dance with your Pokemon as you guided and commanded them with perfect timing. There was no challenge here, it would be over in under a minute, so you had to find your own source of entertainment from this battle. You ducked and weaved and drew out the battle in a slow tease. Maybe you were showing off a little.
You wanted him to watch. You wanted him to see you totally and completely in your element. The feeling of his eyes on you made you feel wanted and valuable. So you did what you could to extend that time, holding this moment and this feeling as long as you could.
And when it was over, and Corbeau had collected his money, you stood beside his chair. The client’s ears were tinged red as he entered the elevator. You gave him a wave, but his eyes didn’t leave the ground.
Corbeau finished counting the cash, separating out a few bills and handing the large stack to Phillipe, who promptly left the room. He opened one of the drawers in his desk and took out a thick envelope, sliding the allotted money in and tucking it away again.
“What’s that for?” you asked, unable to suppress your curiosity. Corbeau grinned.
“That,” he said, reaching up and grasping your chin in his hand, “is your pretty things fund.”
-
“This is it.”
The fourth time he said it, he was everywhere. Every one of your senses was overtaken by him. His face was only inches from yours, his eyes molten gold, cheeks flushed, and lips swollen and shiny. His scent enveloped you, from the pillow beneath your head, from his skin against yours, from his shirt that you wore, which had been pushed up but not discarded. It was sweet rum spice and tobacco, bitter black pepper and whiskey, salty sweat and cool metal where his chain dangled from his neck and bumped into your chin.
His hands held yours, fingers locked above your head, and with every meeting of your hips you could feel him everywhere. Stars erupted behind your eyelids when you couldn’t keep them open anymore. There was a small cramping in your foot that you ignored as you drew your knees up, your mouth falling open as you tried to plead for more, but you could hardly hear anything over the sound of your own heartbeat.
His lips found yours again, and you couldn’t help but whine against them as pleasure rolled through your body in waves, like a sea overtaking the ship that was your body and pulling you down into its depths. There on the ocean floor, you were surrounded not by water, but by warmth, comfort, and love. It churned gently around you, and you would have been happy to remain in its embrace for the rest of time.
With a kiss of life Corbeau pulled you back to the surface and you gasped. You squeezed his fingers where they still held yours as sparks flickered across your skin. Your eyes met, and you looked into the deep waters you’d just swam in, a reflection of everything you’d just felt.
-
“This is it.”
The fifth time he’d said it, it was with a deliberation and intention it hadn’t had before. His voice was low, but his lips were tucked right behind your ear. He stood behind you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, and his chin resting on your shoulder. He held you to him firmly as the both of you stood on the terrace, overlooking the skyline and watching as the first few rays of pink and blue began to put the stars to rest.
A breeze drifted through the city, stirring up loose flower petals and fallen leaves. The quiet of the morning was like the calm before a storm, and you reveled in it. A moment of time that was free from the bustling business of everyday life. It was peaceful in a way you envied, and slow in a way that felt precious and expensive. If you could stop things right here, right now, just to hold onto this feeling for a little bit longer, you would.
You sighed as the city began to wake up. Doors creaked open and slammed shut. The sounds of far-away music and the smells of breakfasts being cooked drifted to you from hundreds of open windows. You wanted nothing but to stay right here, in this embrace, with him.
You leaned back into Corbeau’s body, and he spoke again.
“I won’t ever fall in love again,” he said. “It doesn’t matter what happens. I don’t want love if it isn’t with you. I won’t even try.”
slight NSFW under the cut, also yearning corbeau because y'all can't tell me HE DOESN'T!
word count: idk wrote with my heart
tags: corbeau x reader, slight nsfw/mention of doing the do, yearning corbeau, gender neutral reader
divider by @/cafekitsune! Picture from Pintrest
"I think I love you."
corbeau's words were soft and barely there as he watched you pad around his bedroom. you hadn't heard him, too occupied with fixing your top in that color he adores and picking up your discarded skirt off of the floor. he watched you for a moment, the rising sun casting light from his window signaling another day of meetings and shady business deals in the shadows of Lumiose. watching the way you moved so gracefully across his floor like a dancer. or an angel. corbeau was sure it was the latter.
"corbeau." oh he loved your voice saying his name all soft and sweet like a siren's song. he shifts to face you just as you hang up his coat by the door, yellow eyes soft with sleep and an overwhelming fondness he doesn't try hiding. he yearns, he yearns so fucking hard and so much for you that it distracts him. consumes him like a fire that he wants to feel in his lungs and soul. it'd be all too easy to ask him to give up this life to spend eternity with you. and for a fleeting moment its what he wants.
"corbeau." his name falls from your lips again as you turn to him, eyebrow raised at the man's neutral expression. "are you gonna be busy today?" he wants to lie and say no strictly on the mere shred of hope that you'll stay with him all day if he does. but he doesn't, opting to nod instead.
"m'kay! I'll visit you later for lunch then." you smooth out your clothes and walk towards him, leaning down to place a kiss against his forehead and then one more against the tip of his nose.
this relationship is all so new to him. he was used to having you around his office with that chipper demeanor and strong Pokemon team. he wonders if that's when he fell for you. he certainly fell for you again last night, mesmerized by the way your body arched against his bedsheets. watching your eyes flutter as soft moans and cries of his name fell from your lips like it was religion. your naked form bathed in the glow of the moonlight as corbeau wondered how the hell he ever got so lucky to experience it all.
corbeau starts to watch you leave and his hand reaches out to gently clutch your wrist, pulling you back down against the sheets. he ignores your playful giggles, your gentle scolding about how he needed to get ready for the day, opting instead to pepper warm kisses against your neck. his arm wraps lazily around your waist and god corbeau loves the way you sink into him, your back arching slightly against his chest.
"stay." it comes out as a command that makes your breath hitch but in corbeau's mind its a plea, his hands gentle but impatient as they try to tug up the hem of your shirt. trying to get a feel of that soft skin he adored. it felt like a shock when his fingers found your nipples, when your head fell back and a soft "b-beau" left your lips.
he thinks knows he loves you. he'd give it all up for you if you asked. but you don't need to know that yet.
Word Count: 2522
Pairing: Corbeau x Gender Neutral Reader
Warnings: Alcohol, Tobacco, Cursing, Sexual Implications
Summary: Corbeau invites you to dinner at his home, you couldn't anticipate what you would learn.
"he's just a broken little boy, and I can fix him!" i scream, thrashing violently in my straight jacket.
Your head snapped up, startled out of your focus. The scattered papers and tablet on the coffee table in front of you all but disappeared as you looked up at Corbeau from your seat on the floor of his office. He had offered you a chair, or your own room to work in, many times, but you always insisted you were comfortable right where you were. You were never working for long anyway, this was just a landing zone to plot out the next steps in your research for Mable.
“You cook?” you asked, unsure what else to say.
“Yes, it’s one of my many talents,” Corbeau replied dryly, looking back at his computer.
Oh. You had yet to be invited to his home. You made a mental note to ditch the research and go shopping today.
“Do you have a kitchen here?” you asked.
“Why do you always ask so many questions?” Corbeau asked, quiet and rhetorical. “It would be at my place, obviously.”
“Obviously,” you repeated, standing up. You walked over to him, leaning back onto his desk next to his chair. “Color me intrigued. What’s the dress code at Château Corbeau?”
Yeah, you needed to do some shopping today.
He flashed you a wicked grin.
“Suits,” he said. “Exclusively birthday suits, to be more precise.”
“Noted,” you said, returning his smile. “Should I bring red or white wine?”
“You don’t have to bring anything,” Corbeau said, frowning and shaking his head again.
You were halfway to the elevator when you heard a disgruntled “Hey!” behind you, and you smiled to yourself, not turning around. The door opened immediately when you pressed the button, and you stepped inside, only turning to give him a smirk and a wink just as the door closed.
He turned to return to his work, but you stepped one leg over his lap, leaning forward and placing a hand on the back of his chair, effectively trapping him and forcing him to look at you. Your face was only inches from his, and although no parts of your body were touching, electricity sparked and crackled in the air between you.
“Tell me, or I’ll bring both,” you said, barely more than a whisper. The scent of him was intoxicating, all rum spice, tobacco, and black pepper. It drew you in and almost pulled you under.
“Red,” Corbeau answered immediately. He closed his eyes and leaned toward you, but you were already gone.
Corbeau’s building rivaled the Hotel Richissime in terms of grandeur. Every surface in the lobby appeared to be plated in gold and encrusted with diamonds. You suddenly felt self conscious and out of place as you stepped across the marble flooring toward the elevator. A man in a neatly pressed uniform stood before the door. He smiled kindly and gave a small bow as you approached.
“Good evening,” he said. “Which floor?”
The attendant nodded, pressing a button and gesturing for you to step through the opening door.
The elevator ride was the longest you had ever been on. You weren’t sure if you should try to make small talk with the attendant, but because he made no effort to, you decided against it. You looked around, eyes landing on the set of elevator buttons. There were five rows of three, with one button sitting alone above the others. Only the one at the very top was lit, and you had a realization. The P of P-1 stood for “penthouse.”
You smoothed the front of your coat, gripping the neck of the wine bottle you’d brought tightly. You’d assumed Corbeau’s place would be nice, but you didn’t expect this.
There was no sound as the elevator stopped, but Corbeau was already waiting on the other side of the door. He stood in the foyer with his hands behind his back. He was wearing the same thing he had been when you saw him earlier that day, but his jacket was off and his glasses swung loosely from his neck. His tie was gone and the top button of his shirt was open.
“It’s about time you got here,” he said, a warm teasing smile on his face. You were right on time.
You stepped into the foyer, momentarily unable to process his joke. If the entrance was this nice, what did the rest of the place look like? You forced yourself to focus, not wanting to make a fool of yourself. You smiled back at Corbeau, holding out the bottle of wine you’d brought.
“So sorry,” you replied. “She was feeling a little austere. Should be good now.”
Corbeau let out a quiet huff of a laugh, thanking you and taking the bottle out of your hands. He set it on the nearby console table, then helped you out of your jacket and hung it up. You noticed his sleeves were rolled up, folded neatly just below his elbow, and for the first time you saw that he had tattoos. They curved enticingly up his forearms and disappeared beneath violet silk. Before you could ask about them, Corbeau’s hand was on the small of your back, guiding you through french doors.
It was hard to not let yourself get completely sidetracked, looking around the space. Corbeau’s home was decorated very similarly to his office, but things felt just a little brighter and more relaxed here. The living space was just across the gallery from the foyer. A fire glowed from its place in the living room as you passed through to the dining space–the table was already set–to the kitchen.
“You look incredible tonight,” he said, low, and then louder, “I apologize, dinner isn’t quite ready. Would you like a drink while you wait?”
“Scotch, on the rocks. With a twist, please.”
Corbeau pulled a seat out for you at the expansive island, then disappeared behind a set of swinging doors. From inside you heard the sounds of ice clinking, bottles opening, and liquid flowing, so you assumed that room contained some sort of wet bar. When he returned, Corbeau placed his hand on your back and your drink in front of you, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek and lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
“Thank you,” you said as he moved away from you and into the kitchen. For a few minutes you sipped your drink and watched him move about the kitchen. He was confident and elegant in this environment, but you’d also never seen him so relaxed. “So,” you started when you couldn’t sit in the silence any longer. “Who taught you how to cook?”
Corbeau was quiet for a few seconds, but he didn’t stop moving. He didn’t turn around when he spoke, and you almost didn’t hear his answer.
“My mother,” he said. “She was a divine cook.”
You wanted to ask more, but it didn’t feel like the right time.
Corbeau didn’t respond, he just looked you in the eyes and waited. You almost forgot your question, watching the warmth of the fire flicker in his golden eyes. Part of you hated to potentially ruin this moment, but the timing felt right and you would hate to lose the opportunity to grow closer to him.
Dinner was heavenly. You would have been happy if he had simply heated up frozen paupiettes, but he’d expertly crafted three courses of gourmet food that could rival the chef at Le Wow. The conversation and the wine flowed smoothly, and though you did your best to savor every moment and morsel, you soon found yourself sitting to Corbeau’s right on the sofa, glass in hand with his arm stretched along the back of the couch behind you. Soft music drifted from the record player in the corner.
“Beau,” you said softly, turning to face him. You pulled your knee up onto the cushion, and you let the fingers of your left hand dance along his collar. “I want to ask you something, but please feel free to tell me if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“How did you end up in Lumiose?”
Corbeau didn’t react at all at first, still looking directly at you with an unchanged softness to his expression. Then he let out a sigh, turning his head to watch the flames dance. He lifted his hand from the back of the couch, and his fingers wrapped warmly around your wrist by his neck. His thumb stroked back and forth across the back of your hand while he thought.
“Liver failure took her a few years later. Then I was fifteen, with nowhere to go, having lost everyone who’d ever loved me, on a train being shipped to an orphanage in a city I’d never been to. I was given directions on where to go when I got off the train, but when we reached the station, I just… put them in the trash.
“My father… was not a good man,” he said finally, still watching the fire. “He did not treat my mother well.” Corbeau took a sip of his wine before continuing. “When he died, my mother felt immense guilt. Whether that was from relief or responsibility, I don’t know. But it took her over wholly and completely. She became a shell of who I knew her to be, and she turned to drinking to fill that void inside her. I guess there’s a reason I favor poison-types.”
Corbeau frowned at his wine glass, and you twisted your fingers up to entangle with his.
“I wandered the city until I found a restaurant that needed a line cook. The pay was next to nothing but it meant a sense of direction and at least one meal in my stomach every night. But I had higher ambitions. I had only been in the city for a handful of weeks before I met Lysandre. He saw some potential in me, I guess. He gave me the money I needed to feel security again. He gave me the opportunity to further my education, which led to building the Rust Syndicate as we know it. He was very much a father figure to me, and I looked up to him. When I thought he’d died… it was just another person who loved me who was gone. I felt cursed.”
Corbeau went quiet. You carded your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, stroking gently.
“‘S not such a bad life, though,” he said, turning to you again with a weak grin. “I think I’ve done pretty well for myself, all things considered.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” you said. He turned his head and placed a kiss on your palm. The record player drifted to a stop with a soft click, and the room fell to silence, save for the crackling of the fire.
When you awoke, your first thought was about how soft the sheets were. Your second thought was that Corbeau was no longer in the bed beside you. Confused, you sat up, looking around the room. There wasn’t much need for your eyes to adjust, as bright light from the full moon spilled in from the expansive porte-fenêtre. Through those doors was where you found Corbeau, sitting on the terrace in nothing but a pair of loose shorts. Smoke rose lazily from a cigarette in his hand.
“Corbeau,” you said softly. His only response was a soft hum as he leaned his face into your hand. “I love you.”
You stood up, looking for something easy to cover up with. There was a dark robe hanging off the door, and you slipped the silk over your shoulders, tying the belt around your waist as you stepped toward the open door.
Corbeau didn’t turn as you approached, and you leaned down to let your hands slide down his shoulders, over his chest and the tattoos you’d just spent hours getting to know. You tucked your face into his neck and kissed it slowly and gently. Corbeau took another drag of his cigarette, then snubbed it out in the ashtray next to him. His hands came up to rest on your arms and he exhaled. You watched the smoke drift toward the stars, dissipating among the clouds.
“I’m a difficult person to love,” Corbeau replied, and you could hear the frown in his voice. Though he couldn’t see, you smiled in response. You pressed a kiss to the soft skin behind his jaw, just under his ear.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say it back,” Corbeau said. You were quiet. “You have to understand how frightening that is for me, considering everything I told you.”
“It’s okay,” you said. “I know.”
And you did. You could see it in his eyes when he spoke to you. You could hear it in the hushed tones of his voice that were saved only for when you were alone. You could tell from the time you’d mentioned to him that you wished your favorite cafe would carry peppermint syrup for the winter months, and it was on the menu the next day. You could sense it in the way he went out of his way to instill fear in the hearts of anyone who dared to look at you with anything less than respect. You could feel it in the way he’d held you, soft but firm, like you were his most precious commodity.
“Have you ever known me to shy away from a challenge?”
Later, after a long, warm shower and an even warmer goodbye kiss, you found yourself wandering back to Hotel Z. The loud bustle of the city was a stark contrast to the quiet of the night before, and once again you found yourself feeling a little out of place. Hoping to take some time for yourself to process everything that had happened the night before, you stepped into the lobby of the hotel you called your home, only to be greeted by some very peculiar expressions on your friends’ faces.
“What?” you asked them.
“Nothing,” Lida said. No one else spoke.
You shook your head as you walked through the hallway to your room, unlocking it with a practiced twist of your wrist, when you pushed the door open, you came face to face with the reason for your friends’ strange behavior.
“Okay…” you said, unsure what to make of the energy in the room. “I’m going to go upstairs for a bit.”
“You do that,” Naveen said. You ignored him and entered the elevator.
Inside your room, every single surface was covered in deep purple roses. They were in vases, scattered loosely, and tucked into every nook and corner. The scent was almost as overwhelming as the sight. You stepped over petals and looked around in awe. Just when you thought there couldn’t possibly be any more flowers, you found another. Eventually, your eyes fell on a small card propped on the small, round table across from your bed.
Word Count: 1469 (nice)
Pairing: Corbeau x Female Reader
Warnings: NSFW
Summary: Corbeau has to go out of town, but you use that time to your advantage.
Happy happy birthday, @vanillianbean!! We've known each other *checks watch* five days and I'm gifting you softcore porn. Thanks for encouraging my brain worms, and I hope you had the loveliest of birthdays and have the loveliest of years!!
“Three weeks?”
Soft sheets pooled around the small of your back as fingers trailed softly up and down the length of your spine. Your own fingers traced the curves of the tattoos across Corbeau’s chest in front of where your head rested.
“I know,” Corbeau replied. You loved the way you could feel the low vibrations of his voice under your ear when the two of you laid like this. “Trust me, if I could get out of it, I would. But if I don’t go clean up this mess, it’ll be bad for everyone involved,” he sighed.
Though he couldn’t see, you pouted, fingers still sliding along deep purple swirls. You had asked him once when he had gotten them and where.
“Five or six years ago,” he’d said.
“Did it hurt?” you’d asked, and you saw something mischievous flash in his eyes.
“Not too bad,” he’d said. “It’s kind of like…”Corbeau trailed off, reached a hand up and slid the corner of one nail across your collarbone, digging just deep enough to leave a slight sting and a warm burning in its path. You’d shivered.“That’s not so bad.”
“You could always come with me,” Corbeau said, pulling you out of your memory. Without realizing it, your hand had drifted to his collar.
“No,” you said sadly. “I have too much work to do. Plus, someone has to spy on your grunts while you’re gone and report back on who was slacking.”
Corbeau chuckled, the sound warm and sweet, like golden honey.
–
Maybe you could have gone with him, maybe you could have rearranged some things on your schedule to make that possible, but the minute he said he’d be gone for three whole weeks, you knew it was the perfect opportunity to put your plan into action.
Still, it was a hard three weeks. You hadn’t been apart so much as three days since getting together. The days dragged on, and you spent more nights at his place than your own, just hoping to feel close to him. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he had a jetted bathtub, either. And you definitely never called him from that bathtub.
Then, of course, the day his train was set to arrive, it was an overnight trip and he had to go straight to his office upon arriving in the city.
Didn’t being the boss mean he should be able to do whatever he wants?
Well, at least one of you had free will, so bright and early that morning you got up, took extra care as you got ready for the day, dressed in what you knew to be one of his favorite outfits, and headed to his office.
That’s where you were now, sitting in his chair with your feet propped up on the desk. You twirled one of his pens between your fingers, sliding it across your lips absentmindedly as you waited. Those few minutes felt almost as long as the past three weeks had been, but eventually–finally–you heard the light ding of the elevator, and the doors slid open.
Electricity shocked through the air as you and Corbeau locked eyes from across the room. A small smile tugged at his lips as he stepped across the marble floor toward you.
“I… forgot something downstairs,” Phillipe said, pressing the elevator button and disappearing again.
Smart man.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for these sore eyes,” Corbeau said as he approached the desk.
“How was your trip?” you asked, fluttering your eyelashes as he rounded the corner.
Corbeau wrapped his arm around your knees and placed a hand on the back of the headrest behind you, abruptly pushing it back further than you knew it would go. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest, and you reached up to grab the front of his jacket tightly.
“I don’t want to talk about my fucking trip,” Corbeau said, deep and low, before kissing you just as deeply.
It was rough, passionate, and just a little too hard in its desperation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You slid your hands up into his hair, trying to pull him somehow closer to you. Suddenly, Corbeau scooped you up, turning around and setting you on the desk. He stepped between your legs and began placing warm kisses down your jaw and neck.
“God, I missed you,” he said, almost to himself, and your heart soared. Corbeau sat down on the edge of his chair and hooked one of your knees over his shoulder.
“Actually,” you said, dizzy as he began kissing your inner thigh. “I got you a little ‘welcome home’ gift.”
“Thank you,” he said, his hands warm and wide across your skin as they made their way up and under your skirt. “I’ll open it later.”
You almost said fuck it. You almost just let him keep doing what he was doing because, god, you had missed him too. But you’d put too much thought and energy into how you wanted this to be revealed.
“Beau,” you said sternly. You let your knee fall from his shoulder, and he froze immediately. He looked up at you with a dark frustration, black pupils nearly completely overtaking his gold irises. There was no malice in this expression, it was saved only for when you were intentionally teasing him. “It’s not down there.”
Corbeau stood up, placing his hands on the desk on either side of your hips, and leaned down for a slower, more purposeful kiss.
“Fine,” he said, straightening back up after a few seconds. “Where is this present?”
You said nothing, you just leaned back on your hands and shook your shoulders a little. A look of shock, confusion, and annoyance crossed his face.
“But I was just–” he said, gesturing between your legs.
You shook your head and smiled, biting your lip. You shook your shoulders again, pushing your chest out a little more so he would understand.
“Oh, I see,” he said, softening. He leaned in to kiss you again as he began undoing the buttons of your blouse. “Did you do some shopping while I was gone? This is new.”
He was right, your bra was new. Dark purple–almost black–and lacey. But more importantly, it was a front clasp.
When Corbeau had finished with the last button he pushed your shirt open and leaned back to take in the view. It was only a moment before he completely froze, staring directly between your breasts. You pressed your lips together and watched his face as he placed his hands on your sides, using his thumbs to trace along the black ink peeking out from under the fabric of your bra.
Corbeau was silent as he used both hands to gently undo the clasp of your bra, letting it fall open to reveal the Rust Syndicate logo, now permanent across the base of your sternum.
“When did you…?” he asked, warm hands holding your breasts up and out of the way so he could see the whole thing.
“The day you left,” you said. “I went straight there after dropping you off at the station.”
Corbeau’s eyes met yours suddenly, and you couldn’t quite read his expression. You were starting to worry you'd upset him. Maybe you should have asked first. Maybe this was too much, too fast.
“Did you have your shirt off for another guy?” He asked. Oh, that’s what this was about. You smiled and shook your head.
“Girls can be tattoo artists too.”
You swear you saw something short-circut in his brain.
“Do you… like it?” you asked after a few seconds of silence, still feeling unsure. Corbeau seemed to snap out of his reverie.
“Do I–?” Corbeau grabbed you by the knee again, pulling it up roughly, which sent you backward until you were flat on the desk. He climbed on top of you, pressing his whole body into yours and kissing you so deeply you thought you would both somehow end up inside the furniture.
You lifted your thighs up around his hips, hooking your ankles together behind his back, and you could feel just how much he liked it.
“Best present ever,” Corbeau said against your lips.
“Maybe you should leave town more often,” you joked, and you felt him smile as he huffed out a short laugh.
“You,” he said, peppering kisses down your neck, “are such a brat.”
“Mmm,” you hummed as his lips made their way down between your breasts, lingering over your new tattoo, and down your belly. “You love it, though.”
Corbeau sat back down on his chair, lifting both of your knees over his shoulders this time, and using his grip on your thighs to pull himself closer.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I was in the middle of something.”
Word Count: 1303
Pairing: Corbeau x Gender Neutral Reader
Warnings: Alcohol, Cursing
Summary: You're late meeting Corbeau, and he isn't happy when he finds out why.
Shout out to @vanillianbean for accepting my very formal request for friendship and falling down this rabbit hole with me.
Your footsteps echoed off the linoleum as you walked through the lobby of the Rust Syndicate. It was late, later than you normally cared to visit, but you had an apology to make. Pressing the elevator button and stepping inside, you tried to think about what you would say. You twisted side to side as the elevator slowly moved upward, stretching the sore muscles and letting out a sigh. You had no idea what to say, or how upset he would be.
The soft ding of the elevator felt loud in the quiet of the late night, and as the door slid open, you noticed that the already dark, windowless room seemed somehow even less void of light than usual. Philippe was long gone at this hour, and you felt a poisonous tension in the air.
Corbeau didn’t look up from his laptop when you entered the room. You took one step, then two, through the thick suspense. You almost felt like you were in a nightmare, the way the walk to his desk appeared to get continuously longer the further you walked. You tried to read his expression as you grew closer, but you were unable to glean a single thought from his face. He was tired, you could tell. His hair was a little disheveled, his jacket off and tie slightly loose, and a darkness was beginning to spread under his eyes. You stopped when you reached the desk, hoping he would speak first, but he still didn’t give you his attention.
“Hi,” you finally said, quietly.
“Hi.” He didn’t look at you.
“Corbeau, I’m so sorry.”
Corbeau pursed his lips for a moment, typing a few final words on his laptop before shutting it.
“For?” he asked. He still didn’t look at you, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulled out a decanter and set it heavily on the desk along with a glass. It looked half-empty– much less full than it had been last night.
“Being so late. Not calling,” you said as he poured a few ounces of whiskey. “I-”
“You know I hold myself to certain expectations, particularly those of punctuality,” he cut you off. He took a sip. “I do my best to recognize that it’s unrealistic to always expect others to do the same but–” he glanced at his watch “–six hours is a little more than my patience can handle.”
“I’m sorry,” you said again. You took a step around the desk, trying to put yourself in his line of vision. “I didn’t have my phone. I still don’t have it.”
“What do you mean?” Corbeau asked, and he finally looked at you, his eyebrows pinched together in both frustration and confusion.
“I lost it.”
“You lost it? How could you possibly lose it? They float and follow us around.”
You turned around, growing frustrated as well, you put your hands over your face and took a deep breath.
“Look, it’s been a long night,” you said. “I didn’t come here to get treated like an idiot, and I don’t have the energy to deal with–” Corbeau’s hand caught your elbow, and he spun you around to face him again.
As he did, your wrist collided with his forearm, sending a fresh flash of white-hot pain through your fingertips. You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth, taking a step back and bringing your hand to your chest instinctively. Corbeau’s expression changed in an instant, no longer angry but surprised and concerned. He stared at your hand in its brace.
“What happened?” he asked. He reached for you again, this time slowly, giving you every opportunity to stop him. You didn’t though, and gentle hands found your hips, gently guiding you to lean back against his desk. As he moved you, you began to explain.
“I was on my way here,” you began. He took your injured hand in both of his, turning it over gently and inspecting it as you spoke. It throbbed lightly, but you didn’t pull away. “My phone was dead, and I figured I’d just charge it when I got here, so I didn’t stop. I was almost here, too, just passing wild zone sixteen, when I heard someone yell for help. I looked around, and someone had gotten himself into trouble with that alpha Ampharos that always seems to be in there. So, I went in to take care of it.”
“Our favorite do-gooder,” Corbeau said, low, still looking at your hand. You let your fingers lock with his and gave a weak squeeze before continuing.
“It was my fault,” you said. Corbeau’s eyebrows knitted together again, but he didn’t interrupt you. “I wasn’t paying attention. I tried to jump out of the way of an attack, but didn’t realize the ledge was right behind me. My foot caught the edge and I went down. Landed just wrong. My phone fell out of my pocket and I didn’t notice. Then I had to go get this–” you waved your hand a little to indicate you were talking about the brace “–and they were pretty backed up, so I had to wait a while. Now I’m here.”
Corbeau was quiet. You watched a ballet of emotions dance across his face. Weighted silence hung in the air, but the tension had all but dissolved. When Corbeau’s face settled, it had returned to frustration.
“So some moron got in over his head and you ended up hurt,” he said. He stepped around you, leaning over his desk and opening his laptop again. “Who was it? Do you know his name? I’m going to find him and–”
“Beau, don’t,” you pleaded, turning around.
“It’s his fault that you’re hurt and your phone is lost, he deserves to pay! If you thought your friend’s interest rate was high…” Corbeau trailed off, typing away. You reached over and closed his laptop over his fingers.
“Don’t,” you repeated sternly. Corbeau’s eyes flashed to yours, more angry than ever. His hands braced on the desk, knuckles white as he pressed his fingers into the wood. The tension in his shoulders was obvious even through his shirt. “He was just a kid, and he’s learned his lesson. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Corbeau said through his teeth.
“I am,” you insisted. “I can buy a new phone. And this brace is mostly a precaution. Nothing’s broken. I’ll be good as new in a week or two.”
Corbeau sighed, taking his glasses off and letting them hang around his neck. He ran a hand over his face, thumb and forefinger pressing into his temples momentarily. Then he picked up his whiskey glass, finishing off the drink with one tilt of his head, and reached for you again. He pulled you to him, and you let him. His lips found your shoulder and you felt him take a deep breath.
“I don’t like that you’re hurt,” he said, placing a gentle kiss to your collarbone, then your shoulder.
“I mean, I’m not exactly thrilled about it, either,” you joked. He didn’t laugh.
Corbeau trailed slow, purposeful kisses down your arm, to the inside of your elbow, over your brace, and on your fingertips. He lifted his head up, eyes meeting yours, and he was so close you could feel his breath on your face, the intoxicating scent of whiskey washing over you.
“If this happens again,” he said, his hands finding your hips once more, “I’m hiring a security detail.”
You rolled your eyes and smiled, reaching up with your good hand to grasp his tie, and you let the silk slide and twist around your fingers.
“For who?” you asked playfully. “Me? Or my enemies?”
You caught just a glimpse of Corbeau’s smile as you tugged on his tie and pulled his lips to yours.
S. Shinazugawa x reader where she comes to his home to tutor Genya
Watching The Fragrant Flower Blooms With Dignity really made me think about mechanic Sanemi Shinazugawa and a published writer college student reader who, for a little additional money, gives English tutoring.
Genya was in his last year of high school. Despite being hard stuck on not going to college, Sanemi and their mother didn’t even want to hear about Genya failing any classes. So, the two eldest family members pooled some cash and decided to get a tutor for the subject that Genya found the toughest.
Living without a father forced Samemi to grow up quickly. There were two working adults at the household – himself and his mother. Enough to pay the bills, not enough to oversee a few missing banknotes.
Sanemi was sure he had some of these lying around his desk. He looked at the tabletop, picked up every piece of paper and searched around the floor. They had to be somewhere, he was sure he planned out this little extra cash for Genya’s tutoring.
Tapping his foot on the floor he scrunched his eyebrows. The money had to be somewhere.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang.
“Sanemi, can you open it?” Genya’s voice echoed from the bathroom, to which the eldest cursed under his breath.
“Coming.” He answered and stomped towards the entrance.
“Is something wrong?” A wet dark haired head popped from between the bathroom door. “You look angry.” There was concern stitched into Genya’s voice.
“No.” Sanemi answered and went past him. “Hurry up.
”He was still pissed off about the money. Did he count it wrong? Did one of his younger siblings mistake it for candy money and took it? Now he’s a bit short on the tutoring payment.
Maybe he could pay her next week? No, that would be unprofessional, she could even resign from tutoring after not receiving a full payment the very first day. He could quickly stop by at mom’s work and ask her. He’s gonna do that.
Sanemi swung the door open, trying to even out his face as much as he could.
He had a bit of an issue with his appearance, or rather others created that problem.
As a teen Sanemi had a car accident. It left him only mildly hurt, but the amount of shattered glass and bad luck resulted in scars scattered all over his face and body. Then his albinism, which made him not only stand out in the crowd, but also face a lot of finger pointing.
Others paid money to buy contact lenses that could mimic the lilac colour with which he woke up every morning. Yet, others could take out these contacts whenever they wanted to merge back into the dull crowd. Samemi was forced to create uneasiness by simply looking around.
Lastly, his need to let go of pent up anger of the everyday world led him to start training. A bit of saving and gear bought made it possible to let off steam in the solitude of his room. Also, once investing made working out pretty much a free hobby. And because Samemi got angry a lot, he also gained a lot of muscles. It came in handy at work though.
To try and sooth the gangster look he sported everyday, he tried to make his face straight before opening the door.
When he saw you standing in the doorway he expected a certain type of reaction and well… he was not mistaken. You were taken back, a tiny breath hitching. Samemi rolled his eyes, prepared to let you through the door when a whisper reached his ears.
“Handsome.” You unconsciously let that one slip aloud. In an instant you recollected yourself, eyes wide with shock at your own cheekiness. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to say it, well, at all. Oh god, what a first impression is this?” The look on your face was a mix of embarrassment and apology, with a tint of redness to your cheeks.
This time it was Samemi being taken back. Out of all the things in the wide world, this was the last one he fathomed to hear this day. He quickly snapped out, seeing you squirm on the doorstep, cracking your fingers and looking sideways.
“No problem, come in.” And you stepped through the door.
Didn’t he sound too nonchalant? As if he got comments like that at least twice a day.
Seeing you standing next to the dining table he felt like asking you if you fancy any tea, coffee, maybe a snack or dinner if you were hungry. Then, just before making the same mistake of opening his lips without thinking, he stopped and felt stupid. A woman complemented him once and he was acting out of character. What an idiotic trait, he should probably get rid of it.
After finishing the tutoring, which went quite well, Samemi was seeing you to the door.
“About the payment,” he sighed, “I must–” and then he put his palm in the back pocket of his trousers, just where the missing banknotes were hiding. “Nevermind.” He said, handing you the cash.
“Thank you. Have a nice evening.” You smiled at him, from cheek to cheek. “See you next week.”
Waving, you took off.
Like that you stepped into the Shinazugawa household. Once, and as it was about to turn out, forever.
I don't know maybe there will be more pieces of this tiny au
ᴀ/ɴ: Hello you all! In favor of the good news that I have received, I have decided to give you all a little treat in form a fic. I hope it will suffice. And while I am at it: It has been fun writing for you all, and I would like to thank you for all the hearts, reblogs and comments you have left behind on my writing. It meant and means a lot to me! Thanks for your time in general, it's an honor you spend it on my blog.
I hope this little Sam fic finds you well. :)
Hugs and kisses!
~Spirit
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x Fem!Reader
ᴡᴄ: 2236 words
ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: cursing, slobber, pierced dick, slight sub and dom dynamic, unprotected sex, desperate fucking, slight spanking, mating press, cream pie, dirty talk
This.
This was more than puppy love. This was soul-consuming, heart wrenching; a fire inside his body that made his blood spread a fuzzy feeling throughout his body, a fire that warmed him from inside out whenever he looked at you. Fucking hell, that he even got to look at you. Look at you in your full beauty, and especially now in that pretty little dress that hugged your body like a second skin. He didn’t fucking know what he had done to be the one that not only got to take you on dates but also was allowed to take you home, but Samson would make sure to keep it exactly that way, no matter what.
“Can you stop staring at me? I am feeling naked over here!”
Your voice, sounding so sweet and chipper with a little giggle that accompanied your words, and Sam should have been ashamed that it went straight to his dick. But youhe just loved you so much, you know? And all these little things just added up – the way you looked all dolled up for him, your eyes sparkling almost mischievously, the grin on your sweet lips that he had been craving to kiss ever since he had picked you up; no, that was not it that had sent the blood rushing from his pounding heart to his pierced dick that had started to grow stiff in his pants, it was all of you.
Another small giggle made his blue eyes shift up to yours, his head tilting to the side. “What’s so funny?”
His tongue almost stumbled over his own words as he spoke, too lost in the thoughts of what he could be doing to you right now if he just got your hands on you, but whenever he had reached out of you, you had moved away swiftly. Always staying out of reach just enough for him to feel your presence with full force while not being able to do anything about it. Now that he was thinking about it, you had been teasing him all night, hadn’t you? Playing with your hair, squishing your tits together, leaning forward so he could look down the front of your dress, running your hands down your body. Once you had even dramatically bent over, shaking your little ass pretty much right against Sam’s crotch, but before the poor man had been able to react, you had stepped away and had told him you were ready to go. But Sammy’s brain could not focus on those thoughts for long, because the pretty ass he had been dreaming about was pressing right against the raging boner he nursed in his pants as you had sat down on his lap.
“That you want to fuck me so badly and yet sit on the couch like a puppy that was denied its favourite treat. It is simply so cute.”
“I am not cute!”
It was an attempt to defend his honour, but the poor blonde had so much trouble focusing when his lover’s gorgeous tits were so dangerously close to his face – he would only need to lean in a tiny little bit and he could let his pierced tongue run over your cleavage.
“No? Oh, right. You are such a strong, dangerous meanie. A brute. Not a cute little pupper.”
Sam’s eyes peered into yours again, but the blue sea in them was not clear anymore but hazy.
“Mhhm. Not cute at all.”
“And not well behaved, waiting for me to give you a go like a good little doggy would in front of his food bowl.”
“Not well-behaved at all!”
But he was drooling like a dog, feeling a small trail of spit run down his chin. You, of course, had caught a glimpse of it, too, and of course it coaxed a hearty laugh out of you.
“Right. How about you prove it, boy.”
And Sam was happy to prove that to you! Prove that he was not a cute, well-behaved puppy boy!
Not realizing he had just listened to your command like a good little puppy.
Or maybe he did not yet care about it, brain too clouded with the excitement of getting to rip that tease of a dress off of the body he adored so much. Or maybe he did care and decided to make it a problem for future Sam, as this one was too busy to drool over the tits that were revealed once the fabric was pulled off and thrown in a random corner of your living room. Thank the heavens that you had decided to let him come inside, and he thanked the heavens even more that he was the one that was allowed to lick a fat stripe down your cleavage as he pinned you down against the cushions of the couch. He had been craving you all fucking night, and now he finally had you.
The speed of which the clothes you had been wearing were scattered across the floor would have been gotten him a gold medal had there been an according Olympic sport. And even though Sam’s brain was fuzzy with lust and need, he allowed himself to take a moment. Take a moment to it up and take you in. Your beautiful face, your sweet lips that he just needed to press a kiss on, your skin, so soft and inviting for drool and hickey to be scattered across, your hips, your legs, your arms – you. It was unbelievable what a work of art you were. It was like the most skilled artists all over the world had gathered together to create you out of the finest materials. It felt close to spoiling your beauty with his sheer presence, let alone the marks he planned to leave on you.
But Sam was a selfish dog, and shamefully aware of that. Because his tongue dragged down your body, his lips sucked into your skin as his teeth nipped at your flesh, all with so much greed that it had your world spin. The poor blond didn’t even really know where to start, too overwhelmed with what he wanted to do to you to be able to decide. So, he tried to do it all at once. Leave hickeys on you, suck on your nipples, hump his hot erection against your pretty thighs, grip and grab at you with dirty paws.
“Sam!” You gasped as he sucked your nipple into his mouth with sloppy slurps, his other hand fondling your breasts, thumb rolling over the perked nipple, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the drooly and pierced head of his cock caught your throbby little clit in the desperate action of rutting against you.
“Sam, please-“
Blue eyes snapped up to you, tongue still dangling from his mouth, head tilted to the side as a drip of drool met your already flushed skin, but the rutting of his hips never stopped. Fuck, if he angled his hips just right, you could feel the metal of his piercing roll over your clit, making your thighs twitch together in lustful anticipation.
“What?” He croaked, voice hoarse as the lust heavied his vocal cords, cock throbbing almost painfully when he caught the look in your eyes. Clouded with lust, half-lidded. And then your lower lip trembling? Shit, it had his balls pull tight.
“Please what?”
“Fuck me-“
The words had not yet fallen from your lips completely and Sam was already fumbling, two fingers pinching at the base of his cock to angle it right, both of your breaths hitching when the red head of his penis caught your twitchy little hole, forcing him to suck in a sharp breath through his gritted teeth as you moaned his name so sweetly. Even when you said such dirty things did you sound so fucking sweet, helping him to gloss over the fact that he was doing little to deny the accusations of being a good, cute boy as the head of your cock pushed past the entrance of your sweet cunt, savouring the high-pitched moan that filled your living room. Getting to sink his cock into your wet fucking cunt always felt like he got a taste of heaven; had his head spin with ease as your walls wrapped around him so snugly as his breath hitched in his throat.
“This pussy-“ he started, but did not find the words to conclude the sentence in any way coherent or appropriate. He just had to thrust instead. Pulling back slowly just to sink balls deep inside your sweet little cunt again, swallowing thickly when yet another moan left your lips so deserved to be kissed. He just had to lean down, suck your lips into a deep kiss as his hips slowly started rocking, slowly and steady at first, making sure to make you feel every single fucking centimetre of his dick, to make sure you would remember every damn vein.
“So-“ He really tried to praise you, but his brain just could not keep up with the amount of pleasure that flooded it. He did what he knew best when he did not find the words; show it through his actions. His lips dragged over your body, teetering on the edge of sweet and desperate as he pecked his love for you into your skin, sucking marks into spots that he deemed extra sensitive.
“Sammy!” The nickname, sweet like honey, made him growl lowly, his heart pounding in his chest as his hands found your hips, tongue lolling out of his mouth. The slow and steady thrusts became more frantic, more desperate. He wanted to hump his into you, wanted you to feel every single bit of the emotions that had his soul and heart in a fucking iron grip, wanted you to feel the way you made his heart pound with every step you would take in the morning.
The blond was truly fucking you now, pounding into you like a bitch in heat as sweet little whines and whimpers dripped from his lips, mixing with yours in a sweet melody that he would try to replicate in his next song, but all those thoughts did not matter now when he got to bully his pierced dickhead into your drooling pussy like this, drilling his dick in and out of you in a way that had you stretch out so sweetly, your back arched in to take more of his fat fucking dick than possible.
“More, Sammy! More!” you whined, gasping for air as you rocked your hips, eyes rolling as Sam spat on your clit, eyes fluttering close in bliss.
“So- so insatiable,” he breathed, smacking your thigh before gripping both of them with shaking hands, pushing them into a mating press.
“Sammy!” Another whine, more high-pitched than before as you took his cock, the sweet stretch making your nails scratch down his back. “Yes, yes, yes!”
It was a cry of ecstasy, high pitched and spoken in unison, as Sam’s dick pounded into you, hitting that sweet little spot inside of you that had you sob out.
“I-I-“
“Me too,” he gasped, whimpering with his head thrown back as a rush of hormones made his whole body feel like he was set on fire. He could feel your thighs twitch under his touch, body shaking as your orgasm neared. God, he wanted you to cum for him. He wanted you to cum all over his dick and have you take his cum. He needed you to.
His shaky finger found your pulsing clit, rough pad drawing tight little circles into it, coaxing high-pitched sounds out of you.
“Cum for me,” he whined, and despite the attempt to make an order, it sounded more like a beg. But it was enough to push you over the edge.
A cry left your lips as you came around his throbbing dick, your body twitching and squirming as if the pleasure was overwhelming you, and given the way you held on to him, it probably was. Your cunt was spasming around his length, having his eyes roll into the back of his head. It was too much, just too much. You were milking his dick, and he could not resist his urges.
Pushing deep, Sam gasped your name as his cock pulsed, filling you up with his load of sticky seed, pumping you full with each and every throb. He had to hold on to you, as if scared to be pulled away with the wave of bliss that crashed down over him.
The need to thrust his cum inside of you, to create a mess between the two of you, sloshing sounds of your orgasms mixing together joining the sounds of your gasps and moans. He swallowed thickly as he looked down at you, eyes almost watery, breath taken away by your beauty. You in the glow of your orgasm, fuck, he could have grown hard right away. But his muscles gave way, making him collapse next to you. Yet that did not keep him from pulling you close, his chin resting on your head. Fuck, he loved you. He just needed to regain his words. Until then, he had to catch his breath.
Until.
“That’s my sweet, well-behaved boy,” you whispered, running your fingers through your boy’s blonde hair, making him freeze to ice.
“Fuck-“
Monopoly money scattered across the floor, Chance cards shoved under the couch, and Megumi sitting smug with his arms crossed like a print-sized yakuza boss. Meanwhile, you were clutching a pathetic wad of singles like they could save you from the wolves circling.
“Rent’s due,” Megumi said, sliding his piece onto your hotel with zero remorse.
You gawked. “Megumi, you can’t just bankrupt your own mother. I literally carried you for nine months.”
“Cool,” he said flatly, holding his hand out. “Now you can carry my debt.”
Across the board, Toji barked out a laugh, leaning back on his palms like this was better than pay-per-view. “Shit, kid’s got teeth. You might actually be mine.”
You whipped toward him. “Don’t encourage him! You’ve been cheating since the first roll. I saw you pocket money from the bank.”
Toji tilted his head, grin slow and sharp. “Yeah. And I’m winning. Crazy how that works.”
“Winning?” You jabbed a finger at him. “You’re supposed to be teaching your son not to be a criminal.”
“Relax,” he drawled, flexing his hand obnoxiously. “World don’t run on rules, ma. It runs on who’s got the bigger hands. And I got some big ones.”
Megumi nodded solemnly like he was in class. “Makes sense.”
Your jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? I’m in a den of thieves. This is organized crime.”
“Cry about it,” Toji muttered, voice low with amusement. He jerked his chin toward Megumi. “Oi, brat. Give your mom a kiss before she calls the cops.”
Megumi groaned like he’d been asked to carry a fridge, but he shuffled over, gave you the driest little peck on the cheek, and muttered, “There. Happy?”
You slapped a hand over your chest. “That was the weakest kiss I’ve ever received in my life. From my own son.”
Before you could finish your tirade, Toji was suddenly behind you, arms heavy around your waist as he pinned you in place. His mouth brushed against your neck, voice lazy and warm. “Quit bitchin’. You got two kisses. That’s a good deal.”
You wriggled uselessly, glaring at him over your shoulder. “This is harassment.”
“Nah,” he smirked, kissing your jaw slow just to rub it in. “This is me comforting my broke-ass wife.”
Megumi sat back down, already stacking more bills like a Wall Street villain. Without glancing up, he muttered, “At least you still have us.”
You blinked at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Toji chuckled, voice vibrating against your skin. “Means you lost the game, sweetheart. Don’t get dramatic.”
Megumi finally looked up, face blank but eyes smug. “Don’t take it personal. You’re just really bad at Monopoly.”
You stared between them, betrayed. “I am surrounded by absolute heathens.”
Toji pressed another kiss to your cheek, smug as ever. “Yeah, but you married one and made the other. So whose fault is that?”
And that was it. You banned Monopoly forever while your two boys high-fived over your fake bankruptcy, looking way too satisfied with themselves.
