gojo kisser

bella | 25 | she/her

[satorvs]

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𖥔 ݁˖ bella ˖ she/her ˖ 25 ˖ mdni ˖ heavy yumeshipper

    જ⁀➴°⋆ masterlist ˖ ao3

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✦ ݁˖ I do not take requests, but feel free to come chat with me in my asks!

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© satorvs  ∶∶  do not repost, copy or use for any ai training or content

[hidingwhere]

༯ birthday sex with Gojo

Gojo Satoru didn’t believe in just one round during your birthday, no, he was a firm believer of making you have orgasms all day, sometimes not in the most appropriate places.

The day starts with his head in between your thighs, morning sun filtering through the curtains and casting a yellow glow over your boyfriend’s white hair. His long, slender fingers grip the skin of your thighs roughly as he dives into your sweet pussy, head rolling back as you moan and whimper above him.

The second time, it’s in the backseat of his car. You want to visit a garden centre on your birthday? Sure, as long as he can bounce you on his cock in a quiet area of the car park afterwards. You’re far too cock drunk to notice or even care if the car is rocking violently each time he slams you down onto his deliciously thick length.

The third time, two of his fingers are splitting you open in your friend’s bathroom. You should’ve known that Gojo would try this when you said your friends had invited you round for the afternoon with an open invitation for your boyfriend too.

“Satoru,” you begin breathlessly, legs involuntarily spreading wider. “Someone could hear.”

He presses open mouthed kisses along your neck, nipping at your skin playfully. “Then let them. Let them see how well you’re being treated on your special day.”

You can’t contain your moan as his fingers plunge deeper, reaching that sweet spot that made your legs shake. “You’ve already-mm-treated me twice.”

“Not enough for me, baby. I won’t let you sleep until I’ve given you at least six orgasms today.”

You barely register his words as your eyes roll back, familiar feeling building in your lower stomach as you thrust helplessly against his palm.

The fourth time happens on the couch, right after getting home and unable to even get a word out before Gojo is pushing you down, fingers already straying to your underwear. Somehow, you end up face down ass up, drooling over one of your favourite cushions as Satoru pounds into you again and again, causing the nastiest of moans to spill from your mouth.

The fifth and sixth orgasm happens during the same event, in a fancy restaurant. Apparently, Gojo had no awareness of his surroundings even in one of the most prestigious places possible. He apparently also thinks it’s funny to rub the sole of his shoe over your clothed pussy during dinner until you finish, hands gripping your cutlery in a desperate attempt to look composed. And then to top it all off, he fucks you again in his car, the passenger seat now, one hand firmly wrapped around your neck so you don’t accidentally turn your head and notice how everyone can see the two of you this time.

[myuminji]

[yakichoufd]

based on this meme

[hanzya0]

[t4stl3ssh4z3]

[mystarstruckself]

Old Habits Die Hard ✦ Pt 3

Qifrey x BrimmedHat!Reader x Olruggio

Masterlist  Pt1 Pt2

Summary: You were only supposed to observe. Sit quietly, gather information, and leave without anyone noticing. Simple enough, except you forgot to account for the fact that Qifrey and Olruggio know exactly how you think. And now, thanks to one catastrophically backfired spell, you're not going anywhere at all.

Tags: Forced proximity, Tethered, friends to enemies to... lovers?!, Brimmed hat reader, Shared history, It's so complicated, Olruggio and Qifrey being a united front, Slow burn, Found family if you squint, ANGST ANGST ANGST, comfort tho dw!

Warnings:  This part is super indulgent icl... overly sweet, Morally grey reader, Complicated loyalties

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

As much as you hated to admit it, they were right. Olruggio’s room was large– more than large enough for your work. Unless, another one of your spells decided to fail you and end catastrophically. 

You grimaced before shaking away the thought. 

Now was no time to doubt your abilities.

Olruggio stepped into the room, closing the door behind you. Only then, feeling his presence so close to your back, did you realise you had stopped clean in your tracks at the sight of his room.

Though, no one could blame you. The bedroom seemed to have been repurposed into a workshop. A workshop with two floors none the less. 

Your eyes climbed up the stairs on the right towards the large window and open seating just short of an old desk. Your gaze wandered back down to the bottom floor, scanning. Short tables littered with books and scrolls were placed haphazardly across the length of the room. You made a mental note of their locations so as not to run into them later.

Though, you supposed that wasn’t necessary. If everything went well you would be back home by the end of the day.

Home.

The word left a strange taste in your mouth.

Qifrey stepped into your eyesight, gesturing at you.

“We’ll need that.” Qifrey spoke more to Olruggio than you.

Your brows pulled together, “Need what?” You didn’t try hard to keep the bite from your words. Qifrey had already annoyed you downstairs. He deserved every last fragment of bite you could will into your tone. 

He tilted his head as if only to get a rile out of you before his eyes darted down to your collarbones. “Your necklace. The spell.”

You blinked.

Of course. What else would he have meant? Heat rose to your cheeks as you looked anywhere but at him. Your eyes settled onto the far left of the room where there hung a sliver of fabric from the ceiling. 

You frowned, “Is that a hammock?"

Olruggio sighed, still behind you before he stepped forward.

You didn’t dare turn around. Standing toe to toe with the two men downstairs in the open area of the kitchen was one thing. Here, in the cosy confines of one of their bedrooms? You didn’t know how long you could maintain that steadfast annoyance here.

You willed down the shiver threatening to break as Olruggio stopped just short of you. You felt the air part slightly as his hand came up to hover over your frame before pausing.

“Your hair.”

A few loose strands of your hair danced with the exhale of his breath, fanning across the bare skin of your shoulders.

You wished you hadn’t forgotten your cardigan downstairs, but–anoyingly– Qifrey was right. It was hot.

You were so lost in your own thoughts you had forgotten Olly’s murmur. That was until Qifrey stepped forward to your side, with more courage than Olruggio, and slipped nimble fingers under the blanket of your hair. 

You shivered at the feeling of his fingers skimming the sensitive nape of your neck, searching for the clasp on your necklace. 

As if suddenly grasping your bearing you hissed in annoyance, stepping out of their space with a swift slap to Qifrey’s hand.

“I am perfectly capable of removing my own necklace.”

Your hands wound behind your neck to do just that. Once removed you tossed it to Qifrey who caught it with annoying ease.

“Regardless, it won’t help much.” You turned to level Olruggio with a stare, “The spell’s already been cast. It’s over now. I’ll have to write a new one to unbind us.”

He nodded, drawing his lower lip in between his teeth in thought. “So, it’s a matter of trial and error now then?”

You nodded, turning to scan the tables splayed across the room for components.

Qifrey hardly looked up from examining the necklace before he muttered something about a cabinet.

Your eyes narrowed, ready to retort before Olruggio brushed past you towards a row of cabinets on the far side of the room. 

“Any preference on a pen?”

Your gaze didn’t stray from Qifrey as your hard expression softened slightly into contemplation. How had Qifrey known you were looking for components?

Qifrey looked up, feeling the heat of your gaze before sighing, shaking his head. “Don’t look so surprised. There was a time I knew you inside and out.”

There. He did it again. It was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. Though you supposed he was right. There was a time he knew everything there was to know about you and you about him.

You fought down the look of surprise threatening to creep onto your face, instead looking towards Olruggio and shaking your head.  “I can work with whatever pen you have. It makes no difference to me.”

“But you like the ones with more space near the bottom so you can shift your grip.”

You cut another sharp look towards QIfrey. How you wished he wasn’t right so you could snap something clever back at him.

Olruggio nodded, “I still have your old one.”

Your narrowed eyes widened. You stepped away from Qifrey towards Olruggio, meeting him halfway across the room before plucking the pen from his grip. It was your old one.

You couldn’t help the breathy laugh that pushed past your lips as you turned the slender wood over in your palm. 

He had kept it. It was almost as if he had known. 

You shook your head.

No, it was as if he had hoped you would come back. How long would he have held onto that hope you wondered.

You looked up at him to find his gaze trained intently on you– on your reaction. You blinked looking away.

“I’ll need paper aswell.”

He didn’t move, as if the question hadn't been processed yet as he stayed staring at you. After a beat he nodded, gesturing towards a table behind you.

You turned and sure enough, a pile of paper laid there ready for your use. You sat, shuffling a bit to get into a comfortable position. Your fingers closed around the metal nib of your pen, jostling it a bit as if to check if it was still secure. It was. 

Your spell went wrong because you drew crescents at the end of your arrows. That made a sort of shield, reflecting that outward energy back inward. That was why instead of being launched away from one another, you had been pulled closer. That was your guess at least.

You dipped the nib into the well of ink at your side, tapping the tip against the glass before bringing the pen to the paper, hovering. 

You felt Qifrey and Olruggio creep closer to you, watching your moves intently. 

Your pen hovered over the paper.

To reverse the spell's effects, you only had to break the shield. A line through the crescent should do the trick.

Your brows pinched together. Your hand remained unmoved. 

You had a prediction– a course of action. So why couldn’t you act on it? Why was your hand stopping just short of the paper? 

A small, traitorous part of your mind laughed. Perhaps it was because you didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to lose this short three day reprieve. 

You bit down on your lip hard, as if trying to punish your subversive thoughts. No, you had made your choice long before. You couldn’t go back now. There was nothing to come back to. 

Your eyes darted up meeting Qifrey’s. You wished his expression was hard with frustration or even that cold anger you knew he could wield. You wished it was anything but that soft understanding he currently wore. 

You shook your head as your traitorous hands began to tremble.

Olruggio’s hand settled on your shoulder, light and tentative as if scared any push from him might make you bolt. Not that you could go very far.

“You're overthinking.” Qifrey’s voice wasn’t accusatory. You wished it was. It would have been easier to pretend you were just annoyed and felt nothing else about all of this– about them.

“I’m not.” To your credit, your voice came out a lot more steady than you felt.

Olruggio’s hand had moved to the small of your back, rubbing away the tension with small circles. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to feel too embarrassed as your shoulders slowly began to unbunch.

“You always hover like that when you’re overthinking.”Qifrey pushed.

You felt a flicker of something sad snake up your chest, leaving you in the form of a sigh, “Don’t pretend to know me.”

Olruggio’s hand stuttered as Qifrey’s mouth pressed into a thin line. You instantly wished you could have taken it back, though to your relief Qifrey just shook his head, looking away.

“You always tap your pen twice when you're sure. You’ve tapped it five times now.”

Your eyes shot down to your hand, frozen just short of the ink well, prepping to tap against it again.

You closed your eyes, cursing to yourself.

“What aren’t you convinced of?” Olruggio mumbled, so softly you could have cried.

Horrified, you suddenly realized you might actually cry. Your lids pressed tightly shut, willing away the mistyness in your eyes as you breathed in a shaky breath.

“You’re scared.” Qifrey’s quiet accusation seemed to pull the last bit of air out from your lungs. 

You willed your wobbling lip to still, “It I alter the wrong thing–” You cursed quietly as your voice broke off.

Neither of them commented on the tremors in your hands or the wobbling of your voice which you found yourself immensely grateful for. 

You cleared your throat staring again, “If I alter the wrong thing, I don’t know what will happen.”

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting the furrowed gazes of Qifrey and Olruggio.

The former nodded, as if several puzzle pieces had just fallen into place, “You're not hesitating because you don’t know. You’re hesitating because this is the first line you’ve ever been afraid to draw.”

You gnawed at your lower lip, not missing the way his gaze fell down to trace your movements before they moved back up so quick you weren't even sure it happened.

Olruggio squeezed your hip before moving back up to rub at your back, in an attempt to steady your trembling form.

“You’re accounting for every possibility.” He hummed, thoughtfully. “What if it binds us tighter, what if it breaks something else–”

“What if it throws us farther apart?”

Your voice was so quiet you hadn’t even realized you said anything if not for Olruggio’s hand on your back stilling. 

You looked up to find Qifrey’s face pinched into a pained expression, though mercifully he wasn’t looking at you. No, his gaze was trained on Olruggio to your right as they wordlessly communicated again.

Your eyes fell down to your hand still hovering over the paper. You willed it down to make a stroke on line or even a dot. Your fingers gripped your old pen in a vice-like grip. You noticed how your fingers still molded to the wood perfectly. The weight of the wand felt so familiar.

Your vision blurred with tears of frustration or fear you didn’t quite know.

A drip of ink fell from your pen onto the paper below, leaving a large, ugly blot of black.

You sucked in a breath.

Qifrey’s hand moved up to tenderly cup your face, his thumb swiping away the tear that had trailed down your cheek.

His gaze dropped down to your hand as if contemplating pulling the pen away from your grip entirely. Perhaps it was your white-knuckled grip that deterred him from acting on that.

“Im scared.” The words left you in a rushed jumble. It was a miracle that either of them could decipher it.

Olruggio pushed a strand of hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear. You couldn’t help but chase his touch.

“I’m terrified.” You whispered, slower this time. You nodded to yourself, pursing your lips in a sad, watery smile.

“The moment I write a line…” You shook your head, frowning as you considered what it was you wanted to say. “Whatever happens next, it’s permanent.”

You wondered if they could tell you weren’t talking about the spell. 

Your eyes clenched shut again, cursing yourself. This was terrible. You were terrible. You had no right to want this. To want them. After everything. After what you had chosen to become. You had no right to be on the receiving end of their comforting touches and longing looks. 

You gasped in shallow breaths “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Then don’t”

You looked up at Qifrey. You didn’t realize his hand still cupped your face despite the fact that you had nestled so far into his touch your neck was at a visible crook. 

Though it wasn’t his hand still at your face that made your lower lip wobble again. It was the fact that his previously hardened face had softened into something so tender– so familiar– it ached in your chest. 

His thumb swept back and forth against your cheek bone.

“What?” You breathed out.

“Don’t write it.” Olruggio affirmed from your other side. His fingers played idly with the baby hairs at the nape of your neck, sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

You looked up at him through watery lashes.

His gaze lingered at the way your brows were pinched together causing fine divots in your forehead. His eyes traced down the paths of your tears down to your trembling lip caught between your teeth. 

He pulled his hand from its spot against your neck so slowly you wondered what he must have been scared of. Or perhaps he was only trying not to spook you. His hand finally stilled just short of your mouth. His knuckles rested lightly against your chin as his thumb pulled the flesh of your lip free from your teeth.

“Don’t write it.” He repeated, so simply. “Not until you're certain.”

He looked toward Qifrey who nodded, “We’ll figure something else out.”

You couldn’t help the tiny, disbelieving laugh that pushed from your lips, “You two are still impossible.”

You wished you could believe them you truly did. But nothing would change the fact that in four days the Brimmed Caps were coming, regardless of whatever declarations you were sure were dancing on the tips of Qifrey and Olruggio’s tongues.

Your gaze fell back to the paper, finally pressing the nib to the sheet before Qifrey’s hand closed around yours, halting your movements.

You blinked up at him, pleading, but he only shook his head.

“Not like this.”

It didn’t take any force from him to pull the pen from your now lax grip, placing the slender wood on the table. 

“Let’s eat.” Olruggio offered, holding out his hand to you. 

You stared at it.

Once, taking his hand had felt intuitive– something that required no thought at all. Now it felt like crossing an ocean. 

You raised your hand before pausing, just short of his outstretched grip. 

Your gaze wandered to Qifrey. The corner of his mouth had softened into the smallest smile, one that reached his eyes in a way you hadn't seen in years. 

You felt your own lip curve up instinctually, mirroring his. You turned back to look at Olruggio.

You were selfish. It had been seven years and you still couldn’t leave this behind. 

Your head tilted as you took in Olruggio’s face. His usually hard set lines had softened into something fond. 

He hadn't moved. He simply waited.

Your fingers slipped against his, warm and familiar.

His hand closed around yours with impossible gentleness, as though he feared anything firmer might make you disappear again.

Gently, he pulled you up. 

Qifrey followed suit, briefly grasping your hand to give it the faintest squeeze before leaving the pair of you to open the door. 

Before the spell could tug at your waist, you found yourself taking a step after him.

Nothing had changed. The spell remained unbroken, the days still numbered. And yet, for the first time since arriving, you let yourself breathe. 

Tomorrow would still come. But for tonight, you let it wait.

a/n: This was so fun to write! I think this is gonna be the last part unless I get inspired to end this in a more concrete way or I get a real specific ask or something. But I hope it provides some sense of conclusion! Hope you guys liked!!

Taglist: As always, comment to be added!

@haniekai @theplanetmarzz @caramelmariechiato @breadpandesal @yo2d @sunshine-angel08 @boundlesswormseer @rockstarkkami @satorvs @rincommittedarsin @cielzombie @jungtothewon @peachesona @noabsolutetlynot

[satorvs]

Nothing Like Me

Qifrey x Reader

Qifrey is conflicted in his feelings, but he will never blame you. No, he's completely smitten with you.

wc: 850 cw: Manga Spoilers, He's lying again I'm sorry idk why i keep making him sad, I'm supposed to be writing smth else but I wanted to take a break and this happened, v short and sweet, posting this on my phone idk if the formatting is gonna fuck up or not lol, mention of blood (he cuts his fingie)

“Good!” Qifrey looks up from where he's peeling the fruits at the sound of your excited clap accompanied by Coco and Tetia's accomplished gasps. “Now, try again without my help.”

The girls are huddled around you, all three of you kneeling on the grass as they practice a slightly thicker spell. It's one of your own—they'd seen you use it a few times and seized their chance to pick at your brain after you'd arrived to see their master today. It's a personal spell, one that you'd learnt from your parents before becoming an apprentice all those years ago. Qifrey knows this, and a warm feeling tugs in his chest as he watches you gently and happily guide two of his girls through learning it.

He can't seem to remove his attention from you, caught in a daze as he stares.

There's a smile on your lips as you chat and point at the papers, getting them to retry with tiny pushes to help them learn. He supposes you'd gotten some of that from how he conducts his own lessons but he dismisses his own thoughts quickly. Maybe you'd picked some habits up from him, but it's more likely that it's just how you are.

You've got a gentle disposition for helpful guidance, that much is obvious with how his entire household feels comfortable with coming to you with questions or just to sit in your quiet company. He goes to you more than anyone else, albeit a little cautiously.

His mind drifts. He knows the girls trust him implicitly, they come to him in moments of terror or difficulty and he's overheard them say that they know he'll make it okay again—make it better. He's forever grateful to be such a safe space for them, and he wouldn't trade it for the world, even if it could make him better. However, he can't stop the way his lips press tighter when his stomach slowly tilts to make way for the sick feeling that pools in his gut. He wishes that they could come to him in more moments of calm. Being able to sit down comfortably with them isn't something he can do much, it's far too good for him.

He's seen you huddled up with them in the evenings when they've stolen your time away from him, and he knows as long as he has this curse inside him, he'll never be able to experience that tender love between himself and his apprentices. It makes him bitter. Not towards you, no, never towards you. It goes inwards.

He's nothing like you. He keeps himself at a distance and can't connect with people through fear of his own death. You wear your heart on your sleeve, giving love freely, taking their hands and bringing them into an embrace that doesn't need to be rushed out of.

A sharp pain in his finger shocks him out of his rapidly decaying thought process and a hiss leaves his lips.

Blood beads along his skin, running down his finger from where the knife had slipped and sliced into the flesh. How careless, now that piece of fruit is ruined.

“This is unlike you.” His eye flicks up to see you approaching. Was his reaction that loud?

“Ah, well, I was a little distracted,” he replies softly, setting the knife down.

Your form lowers next to him, and he watches with an almost despondent air about him as you pull out a cloth from the basket and bring his injured hand into your lap. He allows you this, almost atoning in his mind for the negativity that was previously building inside his head. Your touch is warm, gentle, grounding and he flinches when you press the cloth against the slice, mumbling an apology to him with a guilty look on your expression.

“Distracted by what?” You ask, looking over the bowls of fruit made for the girls.

“You,” he breathes.

“Me?” Incredulously, you chuckle, looking up at his face to see a smitten expression settled on his face.

Qifrey hums, leaning forward slightly. “You're very alluring, my love, you can't blame me for getting lost in you.”

His charms never fail to work on you, flustering you away from any line of questioning that would make him have to confront the darker side of himself that reaches its ugly hands out when he's left alone.

“You're impossible,” you tut, fighting the shyness creeping up the back of your neck. “Silly man, trying to distract me from your clumsiness.”

A deep and airy laugh leaves his lips and they crack open into a smile, “perhaps… or I could be telling the truth.” Tilting your chin with his free hand, he presses a brief kiss to your lips. The contact is sweet and warm, his lips fitting against yours like a second home.

“Flirting with me isn't going to clean your finger.” Parting, you huff, “go inside and wash it.”

“Yes, dear.”

“And bring me the first aid box, I'll take care of it for you.”

“Of course, beloved.”

© satorvs also posted on my AO3

[satorvs]

Comforts and Lies

Qifrey x Reader

Qifrey seeks you out after an argument, hoping to make amends.

wc: 1.4k cw: Manga Spoilers kind of (if you know about it then you will notice it, if you don't then like,, caution ig idk), qifrey is a little liar, angst, hurt/comfort, mostly hurt, this was supposed to go in a Completely Different direction but i got very distracted and now its sad!

Qifrey hates water. He hates the way rain patters against the roof, sending hollow knocks through the atelier that he and Olruggio built up brick by brick to house them, to home them. He hates the way the cold a storm brings with it seeps through the shutters, crawling up the walls and onto the furniture, reaching where he sits staring at the unlit hearth in a vacant stare. He hates the suffocating feeling that grips at his chest, tight, longing for comfort that he feels unable to ask for—no, he has no right to seek it out, seeing as he's the one who made you cry.

That's the type of water he hates most; The salty and warm blobs of water that first welled up in your pretty eyes after he raised his voice. He barely noticed that you were crying until he'd finally turned back to face you, searing the image of fat tears dripping down your cheeks, staining the skin with trails of moisture that served as pathways for fresh tears to follow into his frazzled mind.

Qifrey didn't mean to shout, it was a rare slip of composure, a panicked defense mechanism that raked its way up his throat in a final act of self preservation, which is ironic considering that's what you'd been squabbling about in the first place. 

You'd come to him after his most recent stunt in pursuing the Brimmed Caps. Olly had given him an earful previously, but you came to him with knitted brows and bitten lips, needing to understand why he so quickly discards all reason in pursuit of his revenge. Needing him to understand how worried you were—how worried you are for him. Whenever these topics arise, Qifrey finds it difficult to balance how much to lean into your assistance and comfort with how much he needs to close away from you, lest his roots find a place to start digging.

A sigh rises in his chest before he pushes himself up from the floor. It's obvious in hindsight. Running headfirst into dangerous scenarios, getting hurt, and all for the goal of saving himself. He supposes he's silly, really, thinking about his own juxtaposition as he approaches the bedroom door. What good partner wouldn't be worried when their beloved seemingly doesn't care for what could befall them?

The knock of his knuckle against the wooden door is soft, he doesn't want to startle you. It's late, after all. Everyone should be asleep. Qifrey briefly wonders whether opening the door is selfish, but before the thought can even settle in his mind, he's clearing his throat to the sight of your back. You don't turn around.

A soft click sounds from behind his figure when the door closes, but the witch doesn't move from his place. 

 “Love,” he rasps, suddenly nervous. “You're working at this hour?” The questions skirts around the edge of the bigger topic. He hopes you'll reply, turn around and take the bait so that he can continue to avoid accountability. Keeping the guilt of raising his voice at you close to his heart with no words of forgiveness uttered would surely keep him anxious for life. Perhaps it would grant a break from the constant hammering of rain, because scaring you feels much more terrifying.

Your pen pauses. The soft ball of light next to your haunched over body illuminates the space around the desk, warming the area with a soft and inviting orange glow. He wants to come closer. He can't. The silence he's greeted with makes his fingers itch and they pick at each other, his nails catching on and pushing his cuticles back into his skin. 

“Listen,” he mumbles, eyes downcast. “We don't have to discuss the details, but I need you to know that I am sorry for how I acted. Stay angry with me for as long as you need to, my feelings for you will never change.”

“You're such a hypocrite, Qifrey.” Your voice comes out wobbly. Perhaps you hadn't managed to stop crying in the few hours that had passed.

“I know…”

Putting your pen down, you finally turn to face him with puffy eyes. His soft gaze settles on your form as you shift on the wooden chair. Your figure is closed in, trying to shield yourself from any more hurt and he feels his heart crack at the sight. Tears still cling to your lashes, glinting in the lamps glow with every blink and the man thinks he's never seen anything more beautiful yet full of sorrow. He thinks you're pretty when you cry, but not for this reason, he can't stand it when you're hurting.

Wordlessly, he walks over to you with tentative steps, before taking a knee right in front of you. 

“Please, my sweet, don't cry.” One gentle hand rises to your face. His index finger curls, using a knuckle to carefully wipe the tears threatening to drip down from under your eyes before he cups your cheek. His thumb strokes over your skin, while his other hand rests on your knee. Your partner never breaks eye contact, the habit was drilled into him throughout his years as an apprentice and now as an adult he takes great care to shift around and make sure he can always see what's swimming in the hues of your irises.

“Qifrey—”

“I know,” he repeats, voice so soft that he wonders if the words even exited from his mind. His hand drops to your shoulder, the other mirroring the positioning before he runs his palms down your arms, letting his fingers trail over the length of them until his grip envelopes your own. With a tender grasp, he brings your hands up to his lips. A gentle kiss is placed across your knuckles before he breathes out again and bows his head to you. “I'm sorry.”

He looks like he's begging, praying for your forgiveness on his knees in front of your form as he holds the backs of your fingers to his forehead. Inhaling through his nose, his grip tightens almost imperceptively before he speaks again, “I never meant to shout at you, you didn't deserve such a reaction.”

“I was… overwhelmed, but that is no excuse. It will never happen again, my love, I promise.” He doesn't move, just keeps his forehead pressed against your fingers until they move in his grip.

Wiggling your fingers free, you brush your fingers through his fluffy hair, it's always so soft. Qifrey looks up then, with an expression riddled with stress. Guilt pulls his eyebrows together, curving the inner corners upwards. He still keeps your other hand hostage for now, gripping it under his chin while his glossy, baby blue eye watches your expressions. For a man so anxious, he exercises an impressive amount of patience.

“I know you didn't mean to yell,” You whisper, nibbling on your lower lip in contemplation, “I just—your lack of care for yourself scares me…”

Qifrey's stomach churns at your words. He knows, you'd said this earlier but he was so caught up in his own thirst that he couldn't hear it. Perhaps he didn't want to hear it. Perhaps he's reckless because he knows it scares people.

“If something happened to you, what would that mean for the girls? They'd be devastated; What about Olly? What about me?” The words tumble from your lips in desperation as if you're pleading for him to hear you, to reach out and grab onto the words and forever hold them close to his heart.

He can't. That would be too kind, too comforting. He briefly considers telling you the truth, confessing that he can't completely accept how your worry and love has slipped under his skin in a warmth akin to one felt only on a fresh summer evening that leaves you feeling completely at peace. He wishes so badly to agree. Tears well up in his lash line from the turmoil and he has to swallow down a scoff. The more he considers being honest, the worse the pain in his head becomes, so he decides to lie.

“I'll be more careful,” he nods, straightening his posture, “no more acting without thinking. I'll come to you beforehand, Olly as well.”

The headache lessens.

“You promise?” Cupping his cheeks, you brush his tears away this time, trading roles.

“Yes, I promise.”

© satorvs also posted on my AO3

[satorus-princess]

a/n: pretend satoru hasn’t learnt rct yet okay you have to be soft with me he was just a kid himself :( also pretend you didn't see this earlier

“ow!” satoru winces, muttering under his breath, cursing the pot that’s boiling on the stove. “fu-- damn stove, i’d burn you but you’d probably like that.”

that’s the first thing you hear when you wake up from your nap. you’re splayed out on the sofa where you fell asleep by accident, only to wake up to the sound of satoru speaking to himself. well, the stove.

you sigh, eyes still bleary with sleep. sitting up with a yawn, you stretch your arms over your head before you get up to join satoru in the kitchen.

he turns to look at the doorway of the kitchen before you even take a step inside. and he’s pouting, rubbing his index finger with his thumb to soothe it.

the strongest sorcerer, by the way. an eighteen-year-old boy who was taught how to utilise his powers and train them, but was never taught basic life skills like cooking.

“baby,” he whines, “the pot tried to kill me. the stove is its accomplice.”

you can’t help the snort that escapes you, shaking your head at his dramatic antics that never end. you walk over to him and gently take his hand in yours, examining his finger. his finger right next to the one that has a digimon plaster wrapped around it because he accidentally cut himself with a knife the other day.

“you’ll be okay. run it under cool water.”

satoru lets you hold his hand under the running tap. in fact, he hopes that you never let go of his hand. maybe he should burn himself more often.

“i could’ve cooked, you know. you just came back from back-to-back missions,” you say, your tone slightly scolding. but your face softens when you notice his tired gaze drag down to the floorboards of the kitchen, a pout still on his lips, shoulders hunched like something is weighing them down.

“you were sleeping,” he mumbles, more solemn now. “and i wanted to make sure that there’s food ready before we go pick megumi and tsumiki up from school.”

“satoru,” you say softly, waiting for his eyes to meet yours before you continue, “the responsibility isn’t all yours. i’m here. i always am. even if i’m sleeping. we’re doing this together.”

he sighs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “i know.”

you turn the tap off and gingerly pat his hand clean with a kitchen towel, and he watches you every second. even as you let go of his hand for a few moments to reach for the first-aid kit in one of the cabinets, taking out a gauze to protect his finger.

“i think i’m going to have to keep reminding you, though,” you say, knowing how stubborn satoru can be when it comes to sharing responsibilities, no matter how big or small. “i’ll finish cooking, we’ll get the kids, and then you’re going to bed.”

your tone leaves no room for argument, but of course satoru always finds a way to sneak one in.

“but i wanna spend time with you, i missed you so much these past few days. who even needs sleep?”

you look up at him with a raised eyebrow, and he grins down at you, snowy eyelashes fluttering like they do when he wants his way (it works 70% of the time).

“you’re going to sleep. you haven’t rested properly in almost a week.”

“i’ll rest with you. you’re like my little power bank.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t. we have kids together--”

“you randomly brought them home one day.”

“-- you take care of me.”

“because you whine and that doesn’t help anyone.”

“aaaand you love me,” he beams, a smile that makes your heart melt in a way that you can’t ignore.

that’s when you don’t say anything; you only stare at satoru and he’s still smiling because he already knows. he never needs you to say it even if he professes his love to you everyday.

he knows it in the way you always take care of him, physically and emotionally, being the safe space he’s never had. in the way you’ve stuck by him no matter what, no matter how hard things have gotten. and a lifetime isn’t enough for him to express his gratitude.

“so it’s decided. we’ll finish cooking, go pick them up, then spend time together.”

“no.”

this time was included in the 30%.

taglist: @sweethearticism @sugurusladyknightt @cupidstrace @man1cslut @chewiebee @besidesjustmyamour @kirsteinsring @hails-trom @theevilarcher @aquariusscollection @snooptoru @snailsolidarity @maximasx @luvsukei @sunbumglow @satorusdollie @chuiisi @kalihrts @satorvs @synd1caate @your-local-e-t @deadandhorny @dreamcastgirl99 @satorubunni @sovaintilla @paintedperidot @satorugojosinfinity @newpersonsameoldmistakez @myasfiction @lisabelhyhn @getorade @dogggggggblog-kaye @cinnamonnmar @un1v3rsalh0pper @catgvrl

[maimengg]

SUPER SPEEDY NEEDY BABY✮! 

Boothill x Gender Neutral Reader (NSFW) 5.3k words

mind the tags !

summary: boothill comes in for his regularly scheduled inspection but things go differently when his sensitivity controls malfunction. And unfortunately for him, the only way to repair it is to run a “few” diagnostic tests. 

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Your headquarters sat in the middle of the galaxy within an unassuming spacecraft, unmarked and untraceable. Perfect for those who needed to get mechanic work done on the down low. 

All your customers traveled for your services from far and wide. After all, despite your high prices, you did your work to utmost perfection. Thus anyone who couldn't go to a more standard and legal mechanic, would be told to turn to you first. Thus , it would make sense that you were someone who wanted to be perfect in what they did. So you made no mistakes in your work. 

Except one. Just a teensy, small mistake. And this mistake of yours visits the workshop a few times every year like clockwork. 

“Hey you son of a nice lady! It's me, let me the fork in!” A familiar censored voice appeared over the intercom, to which you had to stifle a laugh. 

“Alright baby, just hold on a sec’~.” you replied with a shit-eating grin, cutting off his incoming spew of more censored curses. It was always fun to tease his unusual lingo. 

A few taps on the console and the end of your spacecraft opened up to allow the infamous Boothill to dock, standing before you in all his metal glory. Oh that sleek design, if only he’d let you take him apart just for one day! 

“Hey Boothill.” you grinned. 

“Muddle fudger.” he only replied, one hand on his hip as he stepped towards you. You laughed. 

“Come on, be nice now. I'm your ticket out of that synesthesia beacon mishap.”

“Yer’ the reason it's forking like this right now, ya shirtbag!”

“Tomato tomato.” You waved him off before walking towards the repair room, the robotic Galaxy Ranger following behind you. 

“I've been studying the copy I made of the beacon from the last time you were here and I think I know what I missed last time. Today, you'll be censorship free, my dear Boothill.”

“That's what you forkin’ said the last time, you son of a nice lady!”

“Now now, don't be like that! You are the guy who decided to steal a beacon from the IPC of all places.” 

Boothill grunted, crossing his arms. 

“Well whatever, I'm payin’ ya, ain't I?”

“That you are. And I am gracious for your continuous patronage, good sir,” you grinned. 

“Fork you.”

As you opened the door to the repair room, Boothill stepped past you and hooked himself up to the many wires, already familiar with the procedures. As he did so, you booted up your computers to run a general diagnostic check on his systems. There had to be no errors before you could finally get to the meat of the actual reason he was here to visit. That damn synesthesia beacon. 

A general rule of yours was to avoid the IPC. It made sense, what you were doing was far from above board, and more than half of your income would probably be looted by the corporate bastards if they ever caught wind of your services. But Boothill was… overzealous, putting it lightly. The opportunity to rob the IPC, no matter how little, was a golden opportunity for him. And so he showed up at your workshop with a stolen synesthesia beacon in hand and you just about flipped. 

Fortunately, the IPC-stolen-beacon didn't consist of a tracker, so you put it back together and implanted it into the robot cowboy. It should've all been fine, but the moment a “fudge” came out of his mouth, you knew you had somehow cosmically “forked” up. 

A lot of time had passed since that incident. Too much time, actually. You were, frankly, pissed off that you had still not been able to find a fix for the synesthesia beacon. Out of all the greatness you could claim, defeated by a mere chip. The IPC's chip, of all things. 

But that all ends today. 

“Let me just upload the correct data!” You chirped, plugging in a wire from the system into one of the ports on Boothill's hip. Boothill reached a hand to pull down one side of his waistband, exposing the ports in his body, metal subtly reflecting the computer screens in the room. 

This was all normal, of course. It shouldn't have been any different. You went back to your computer to supervise the upload and nothing went wrong in the process. But when you walked back over to remove the wire from that same port, the cowboy grunted. You pulled your hands away from the wire, head shooting up in confusion. . 

“Muddlefudger…! What did you do this time- ngh!” Boothill spat out, turning red in the face. 

“Woah! I didn't do anything!” You snapped back, bending down again down for the cable. This time, ignoring his grunts, you yanked it out. That's when you realized that the cowboy was not grunting. He was moaning. 

You looked up at the man, his head now bent over, eyes squeezed shut and mouth hanging open wide. He was slumped over, held up by the large cable running from his back, the one you plug in to keep his power running while you worked on him. 

As you scanned his body, partly to confirm whether what you heard was correct, and partly to see if anything else had happened to him to have caused this, you saw the front of his pants had a dark spot in them. 

As Boothill's mechanic, you had his full schematics, which meant having the knowledge of whether or not the robot cowboy had the ability to get down and dirty, if he wanted to. The answer was yes, both ways. He had, to put it simply, both a functioning penis and a vagina, minus the actual reproductive qualities of these parts. Why his original mechanic gave him those was not something you knew, though you had asked before. You were cursed out in response, of course. 

Unlike the non-mechanical version of these parts however, the robot cowboy had the option to turn them “off”. To put it simply, the man was able to mess with his sensitivity settings, which could control how he felt pain, temperature, and, most relevant to the current issue at hand, pleasure. 

As far as you knew, Boothill always had that last part completely shut off. That was that. There was no reason to have information about his sex life. But now that something had gone awry in that department of things, and that your customer had just had an orgasm in your very own workshop, it seemed like you now had to inquire about the Galaxy Ranger's sexual escapades. 

“I'm going to pull the power cable out. Do you need a chair?” You asked, straightening up and walking around the robot, placing a hand on the large cable to disconnect it from the robot. 

“Why’re ya takin’ it out?” he asked, dubious, breathing heavily through his mouth. 

“Do you want to stay standing in that condition?” 

You were met with silence, and so you took that as a no and yanked the cable out. Watching Boothill collapse was something you had never thought you'd ever see in this lifetime. And when you walked around again to face him… 

The sight of him on his ass, looking up at you with a furious glare while red in the face. That did something to you. 

You couldn't help it. You smiled down at him. 

“Hey Boothill, baby, did you do anything to your pleasure settings before coming here?” 

“T-the fuck you wanna know that for?!” He said back. It was hard to take his threats seriously, what with his legs being spread underneath you and all. 

“Well I'm asking because it seems that in the process of fixing your synesthesia beacon, your pleasure settings have… malfunctioned.”

“The fuck do you mean malfunc-” Boothill stopped speaking, face showing his bewilderment as the curse word smoothly rolled off his tongue. 

“See? Now, as your mechanic, all should have been fine. This,” you said, pointing down to the dark stain on his pants, “shouldn't have happened. Unless, your settings were different. Get it? So. What did you do?” 

There was a moment of silence as you stared the man down. Then finally, he spoke, avoiding eye contact. 

“I… I jerked off.”

“When?” you pressed him. 

“Before I fucking got here! Fuck!”

“And you turned on your pleasure settings for that?” 

“Ugh...” he grunted. You took that as a yes. 

“And you forgot to turn it off before coming here.”

Another silence that spoke volumes. You sighed. 

“So that's the issue. Usually I'd fix a minor malfunction like this the next time you come to visit but… I guess you can't do any Galaxy Ranger work this way, huh?” 

“I'm going to have to run a few diagnostic checks to get this done in one session then.” You stepped back from him and turned towards your systems again. 

“Stand up, and take off your pants.”

“The fuck?!” he yelled, finally finding his words. You turned around, arms crossed. 

“Do you want this fixed or not?”

The man glared at you, but slowly got to his feet. You smiled with a nod and got back to work. 

Eventually, it was all set up on your end. You turned back around to see a red-faced Boothill standing in the middle of your repair room, hands hovering a very erect metal-silicone dick. It was bigger than the schematics made it seem, for sure. 

You wheeled over a table that was usually meant for strapping down non-sentient mechs, propped up the back so it resembled more of a chair, and motioned for Boothill to sit on it. Once he did, hands still covering his groin, you brought over a cable. 

“I'm going to plug this in. It'll probably feel like it did when I pulled it out.”

Is what you said, but evident by his full body reaction, it seemed to have felt better. 

You bit your lip, watching as Boothill threw his head back, a moan escaping through his pursed lips, body shaking at the sensation of you plugging something into one of his ports. Though, despite that intensity, there was no ejaculation. 

As you took mental notes over the situation, your nose wrinkled. It was strange trying to be proper while being so turned on yourself. Professionalism seemed almost useless when your very attractive customer was just half naked and splayed out before you. 

“Spread your legs.”

At this point, Boothill seemed to have resigned to not saying anything at all, keeping his mouth sealed shut, likely to prevent his moans from escaping. So he did just that, exposing to you for the first time the pussy that was built into his robotic husk. You leaned in to inspect it, maybe a little too excitedly, because Boothill snapped his legs closed again, almost taking your head along with it. 

“Fuck this. I don't wanna do this no more.” he began climbing off the bench and you stepped back, pushing your emotions down your throat. No meant no. And though you were doubtful how well he'd be able to function if he didn't get this repaired now, you were not his doctor (though you could argue a robot's doctor was their mechanic). So, if he wanted to go, he was free to go. 

Boothill yanked the cable out of his body, clearly using all his strength to suppress his reaction to it, before grabbing his trousers and pulling them on. Then he stormed out of the room, towards his ship, not turning back to face you at all. 

“I'll send you a receipt for the repairs today.” You called after him, and all he did was flip you off in return. Which, you couldn't blame him for. 

But the sight of the data, his sensitivity settings permanently locked on ultra high, made you nervous for Boothill's well being. How long could he handle it out there before coming back to see you again? 

The answer was not long at all. It had not even been a day since Boothill was at your workshop before he arrived at your airlock again. This time, the intercom message wasn't colourful at all, despite his synesthesia beacon being fully fixed. 

“Ugh… Let me in… Fuck…!”

When the airlock opened, Boothill stumbled onto your ship, collapsing to his knees with one hand clutching his stomach. And when you walked over close enough to see his face… 

Erotic. Extremely erotic. The look of someone who was so sensitive to everything that even the air touching his skin would bring him close to cumming. Aeons, that was so unfair. You gulped. 

Being alone in a spaceship had its upsides and downsides. Lack of human contact being one of the latter. It's not like you were needy for it. As a mechanic, it was never hard to use your scraps to make things that would keep you satisfied. But to feel sexual attraction… That was not something you had felt in a long time. Until Boothill became your client of course. 

Did the metal body have something to do with it? Maybe the insane mechanic in you was into the robot cowboy because he was partially a robot. Whatever the case, it meant that this current predicament was less than ideal, because the one person you were sexually attracted to was on his knees, begging you to release him. 

This time it didn't take much convincing to get the desperate Boothill stripped naked and sitting on that same chair he was last time, legs spread. He was too horny to feel shame now. All he wanted was for his sensitivity settings to be off again. 

“I'm going to have to touch you.” you said to him. Boothill spoke back, voiced laced with moans. 

“Just do whatever the fuck you want! I need this fuckin’ thing to be off! Please!” 

Could he tell your hands were shivering a little bit? You were equally tense and excited for the chance to explore the genitalia added to his metal husk. 

You poured some lubricant onto his erect silicon dick, watching the man shiver, and then wrapped one hand around his shaft. At that first contact, the cowboy let out a long moan, head thrown back and hips bucking up into the air. Holy shit. 

And then you jerked him off. Slowly at first, your hand sliding up and down, each movement the cowboy groaning and grunting under the sensations, body shuddering and drool dripping from his mouth. 

“F-fuck ugh! Can't you just… Ah! Turn it off?” Boothill moaned, probably wondering how a hand job was going to fix this malfunction. 

“Unfortunately, the only way to turn it off is to… Release the… pent up energy that is locking your sensitivity settings.” you said. But you both knew exactly what you meant. Boothill had to have an orgasm. But not just once or twice. 

You slid your hand again and Boothill let out a long fuck, panting as he raised his chin to look at you. And when he did, you suddenly felt embarrassed. 

“Why are you looking at me?” you retorted, taking your hand off his shaft. His response was to lurch his arms forward and push your hands back around his dick. 

“D-don't stop.” he said, breathlessly. And in that moment, the remains of your rationality disappeared. 

“Fuck.” you whispered, and then you bent your head down and wrapped your lips around his shaft. Boothill's eyes widened. 

“What the fuck are you doing- Fuck!” Boothill groaned, one hand instinctively going behind your head, hair tangling between his fingers and he gripped onto your locks tightly. You didn't stop, feeling the silicone dick touch the back of your throat as you bobbed up and down like a starved animal, determined to get him a moaning mess with your mouth. Then you added both your hands to the bottom of his shaft and there you felt it. A warm liquid spilling into your mouth. It definitely wasn't semen, but you weren't sure what it was, though it was surprisingly pleasant. As you pulled your lips off his dick, you stuck your tongue out over your opened palms and let the faux semen substance drip into your hands. Then you walked over to your work station, dropped the liquid into a vial for investigation later, and returned back to him, wiping the drool from around your mouth. 

Boothill was staring at you with eyes wide post-orgasm. The attention made you nervous, but also turned you on even more. He was watching you like you were the most attractive person he had ever laid eyes on, and that was so, so sexy. 

You knelt back down to be leveled with the slit between his spread legs. With a gentle tap to the inside of his knee, you prompted him to spread them wider, and he did so without hesitation. A tingle ran down your spine. His immediate obedience turned you on even more than before, if that was even possible.

You ran a hand down the inside of his thigh, stroking your fingertips near the opening, now being lubricated by whatever horny mechanism his original mechanic placed in the metal body. If it weren't for the silicon material, you would have believed this was a real pussy with how responsively wet it was becoming to your ministrations. Then finally, after leaving Boothill tense with anticipation over your light touches, you inserted a finger into his hole. Then another. Then a third, and with three fingers you started pumping in and out, his cunt now soaking wet and making lewd sounds as you fingered him. 

Boothill was so responsive to everything you did with him. But most importantly, he was loud and verbal, reacting to every stroke, touch, and movement with a grunt or a moan or even a whimper at times when you were being a tease. At one point when you found the area in his vagina that acted as a g-spot, the man clamped his mouth shut to stop himself from yelping in pleasure, but you pulled your hands away, to which he lurched forward at you. 

“Don't hide your pretty moans, cowboy.” you said. A furious blush spread on his face, but he relented, and so when you inserted your fingers again and found that sweet spot, you heard every sweet little “ah!” that escaped his mouth. Then you leaned over and wrapped your lips over his cock again. 

“Hold on-- Don't do that, ‘m too sensitive!” the cowboy protested, but you just proceeded to intensify your movements. It didn't take long for him to cum a second time in your mouth again, your fingers in his pussy slowing rhythm as his hips bucked erratically. You pulled them out eventually, noting how sopping wet he was.  It looked like it was begging to be eaten out, you thought, leaning down to now place your mouth over his vagina and start doing just that. Boothill let out another loud yelp at this, hands flying down to push your head away, but you instead wrapped your arms around his legs, keeping them spread and making it difficult for him to try and escape. 

“Ugh! I can't come anymore--urk… Hah… Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!” the cute cowboy's accent escaped his mouth alongside whimpers and moans as you worked on his lower lips, savouring the flavour of artificial cum that you swore had some sort of addictive substance added to it — you were devouring it up. 

You knew he was getting close when you felt him tense up under you, and that only made you eat him out with more gusto, one hand flying above you to stroke his shaft with a few delicate fingertips as well. You knew by now that the dual sensations drove him crazy. 

So for a third time, the cowboy came in your mouth (except this time the orgasm came from the other pleasure organ in his body). 

Boothill went limp under you as his orgasm shuddered through his body, and you stood up, wiping your mouth from the mix of all kinds of bodily fluids. 

“How are you feeling, cowboy?” you asked, looking down at his body, laying back in the makeshift chair, legs spread, mouth drooling, tongue lolling, and eyes teary from the effect of the multiple orgasms. The man didn't respond, so you waited a bit for him to catch his breath. 

“Is it fixed?” he asked after a short rest, though that gruff voice of his still sounded like he was in a daze. 

“That is something I'll have to check first.” you said, apologetic about it, almost. As much as you were enjoying yourself, you couldn't help but feel for the man suffering from the uncontrollable hypersensitivity of his body. 

Boothill slowly rolled his head over to see what you were doing and the sight of you pulling down cables incited a guttural sound of protest in his throat. 

“Hold on… Are ya gonna have to use those again?” Boothill asked apprehensively, voice on edge. You walked over with them in hand and nodded. 

“Yes. Sit up.” you said, patting his shoulder. He lifted his torso up, giving you easy access to the two USB ports on his hip, but most importantly, the dock on his back. 

“Tell me when you're ready.” you said. Boothill swallowed, and you waited for him. 

“I'm ready.”

At his permission, the three cables went into his body and the man hunched over in what anyone else would assume was pain if they weren't aware of the current situation. 

“I think that's enough to know that it definitely hasn't been fixed yet.” you said matter-of-factly. But just to make sure, you ran a quick system diagnosis, which confirmed what you thought was obvious. 

“Can you handle more, baby?” you asked, making a small joke to lighten the mood, but Boothill only stared back at you a little too seriously. 

“Yeah. Keep going.”

You swallowed. This man had no idea what he was doing to you. 

“Lay back down. Take a breather. I’m going to go grab some tools.” you said, and Boothill sat up as he watched your retreating figure with a mix of anticipation and fear. 

“What the fuck do you mean tools?!”

When you returned, it was with a cart of suspiciously phallic items lined up, and the robot cowboy’s breath hitched at the sight of them. 

“Are… Are you planning on using all of those?” he asked, eyeing them. 

“Only if you want to, of course. But more sensations will, in theory, solve your problem faster.” 

Boothill gulped. Took a visible breath. Then opened his mouth to say a sentence that changed you. 

“You can do whatever you want to me.” 

And that’s how Boothill found himself with his arms and legs tied up, spread eagle, with a blindfold around his eyes. You were debating gagging that mouth of his, but decided against muting the cowboy’s pretty voice. 

You leaned down to whisper in his ear, the proximity of your breath taking him by surprise. 

“You ready, cowboy? Let me know if you want to stop.” 

Boothill just moaned in response, which made you giggle. He was like putty in your hands, and it was beautiful. 

You picked up one of your toys and switched it on near his ear. The man jerked at the sudden sound of strong vibrations coming from the silicon rod in your hand. You grinned, placing the vibrating toy against his chest before sliding it down his torso, enjoying the thought that the metal of his body was likely amplifying the sensations. He was probably feeling it more than you ever would, which was made clear by every jerk, sigh, and groan from his body. 

Finally the toy found his pussy, still slick from earlier as you slid the rod over his entrance, slicking it with his wetness, making sure to avoid his shaft, as much as he was twitching to try make contact. Once the toy was sufficiently lubricated, you slowly pushed it into his cunt, watching his pussy lips spread around the toy and the man inhale at the feeling of his needy hole finally being filled again. You took your hands off momentarily, watching the man buck as much as his binds would let him, trying to get further sensation out of the toy. 

Eventually, satisfying your ears with his needy moans (but adamant refusal to properly beg you for what he wanted), you put your hands back on the end of the rod and began to pump it in and out of him. Not too fast, pulling it almost all the way back out, and then sliding in again. Then out again, then in a little bit harder. Until you were pumping that thing in and out of him, reaching the back of his cunt, a little white ring forming around the base of the rod as his juices pooled around it. And his voice. His sweet voice. 

“Mmh! Nngh… Ha! S-so fast…! Ugh!” he yelped. You were going to slow down, but then you realized he wasn’t telling you to stop. And you noticed his body tense as you kept fucking him with the vibrating toy. So you switched the vibrations on stronger and Boothill let out the most pleasure filled yell you had ever heard, crunching forward in his restraints, a panting and drooling, slobbery mess. His dick was hard and red, it was so aroused and yet the last few orgasms had not been from his cock. It almost seemed painful, you thought.

You were about to reach out and palm it, to give him another handjob while pumping the toy in and out of him, but you yourself were getting wetter than you anticipated being. You haven’t been this horny in like, ages. And Boothill looked so damn good. 

When you stopped moving the toy in his cunt, the man let out a whine.

“Don’t stop!” 

You didn’t answer him though, shedding your clothes before attaching a metal arm to the toy already in Boothill’s body. That way you didn’t have to fuck him while you were fucking him. 

“Are you still there?” Boothill asked quietly, a twinge of fear in his voice. He thought you were leaving him dry. The idea made you smile. Perhaps another time. But this time you had other plans.

You climbed onto the table and straddled over the cowboy, him feeling the movements but not yet grasping what was happening. Then you positioned your already lubricated hole over his shaft and as you sank down onto him, you used the remote control to switch on the robot arm and continue pumping inside of him again. 

“Wha- Ugh! Wait!” Boothill yelped, the sudden sensations of both his pleasure organs being stimulated nearly overwhelming him. But then you reached over to take off his blindfold and the previous rowdy Boothill seemed to freeze at the sight of you facing him while bouncing on your cock. But you didn’t care, you wanted him to watch you, throwing your head back with a moan as you got yourself off using the robot cowboy’s dick. 

“Oh! Oh my god!” you yelled, feeling his long shaft go deeper than you thought it would. Somehow, despite the dick feeling synthetic, it was warm, like body heat, skin-to-skin contact. You placed your hands on the man’s stomach to steady yourself as you rode him harder and faster, feeling yourself reach your climax. All this time, you felt that Boothill had not taken his eyes off you. But then he tensed, and you remembered that he was also being fucked in his cunt, and his orgasm was already building before this. You wanted to come at the same time as he did, so you bounced faster, unable to hold your whines and moans back as your climax builded. 

Then, just as you felt you were close, Boothill sat up and wrapped his arms around you. He held you down onto his dick, bucking into you with superhuman strength and speed, you almost didn’t register that he had broken free from his restraints without batting an eye. Then, his dick started vibrating. Shit. You forgot he could do that. Suddenly you were thrown into a world of ecstasy, drowning in pleasure as the robot cowboy fucked you with what seemed like all, if not a majority of his strength. 

“Oh! Oh fuck! Boothill! Ngh!” you screamed as he drove his cock up into you, holding you close in his arms tightly. Then finally, after what felt like an impossible mountain of pleasure building in your stomach, you both climaxed, Boothill shooting a massive load into your entrance. 

The two of you stayed there, your head against his chest and his arms still around you, reeling post-orgasm from how intense it was. You had never felt anything like it. And likely neither had Boothill. Or at least you hoped that was the case. 

Speaking of cases, you came to reality, slapped in the face with the knowledge of what you were doing, and what had to be done. So you pulled away from him with a string of apologies escaping your mouth. Boothill let you go with a perplexed look on his face. 

However, before you could properly climb off the cowboy, he suddenly grabbed you again, leaned forward, and pulled you into a kiss. 

“?!” you pulled back in shock, your hands covering your reddening face. Boothill's hand was placed on the back of your head, so the lack of distance between the two of your faces meant you could see how turned on the cowboy was. Red faced, eyes glazed, and panting from the last orgasm. But why kiss you? 

Your heart raced. It felt good. God you were so lucky to be able to kiss this robot cowboy… But… 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the cowboy’s voice. 

“Hey you shirtbag. Kiss me again.” Boothill mumbled. You shook your head. 

“You're not in your right mind.” you said, trying to pull away from him. The cowboy let out a frustrated groan and pulled you close to him again. 

“I want to kiss you, dense motherfudger.” he said, more gentle this time. 

How could you say no? 

What started off as a kiss filled with more love and tenderness than you ever thought a kiss with Boothill would have turned into something more hungry, filled with desire for one another. As Boothill's tongue found its way into your mouth you moaned for the first time, and that seemed to only encourage the man, one hand in your hair and the other on the small of your back, holding you close to him. 

When you broke apart from each other, you were the only one panting for air. But Boothill seemed to be in a trance, and so were you. That was more than just a kiss. There was something else there. He wanted you as equally as you wanted him. 

“...When I said I jerked off before meeting you here, it was because I didn’t wanna get a hard on around you,” he said looking to the side, ears turning red. 

“Wait, what?” you asked, pulling away from his face to look at him incredulously. 

“...You… turn me on, motherfudger!”

You laughed, but leaned in to give him a short sweet peck on the lips.

“You turn me on too, cowboy.” 

And then the cowboy pulled you close to him again, and you were suddenly aware that he was still inside of you as that sensation filled your lower abdomen once more. 

He grinned, leaning close to your ear with a sly look on his face.

“You got stamina for round two?”

You swallowed. My god. What have you awakened??

***

“Oh yeah, by the way, your sensitivity levels are fixed now, but unfortunately your synesthesia beacon is back to the way it was.”

“What?! Are you fudging- Oh motherfudger!”

END.  •• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Also posted on my Ao3 DO NOT repost or use for ai. ai cant match my freak

[erenlav]

husband!satoru when you keep kissing his face when he’s talking

satoru loved hearing himself talk. which was unfortunate for you. because once he started talking, he never seemed to stop.

today’s topic happened to be something about a movie he had watched yesterday. you had stopped paying attention five minutes ago.

“and then the guy looks at him and actually-“ 

you leaned over and kissed his cheek. satoru paused. “…anyway,” he continued. “then he was like-”

another kiss. this time a little closer to the corner of his mouth. he blinked. “are you listening?”

you nodded. “mhm.”

“good.” he continued. “so then-“

kiss.

his sentence died immediately. you tried not to smile. “what was that for?” he asks, pouty.

you shrugged. “wanted to.”

satoru stared at you for a second before continuing. “right. as i was saying-“

kiss.

“hey.”

kiss.

“seriously.”

kiss.

you could see him fighting back a smile.

“you know,” he says, trying to sound annoyed, “most wives let their husbands finish speaking.”

you hummed. “i’m not most wives.” 

he rolled his eyes. “obviously.”

satoru tried one last time. “so the movie ends and-“

you grabbed his face and kissed the tip of his nose. silence. he stared at you. you stared back.

“…forgot what i was talking about.”

you smiled. “finally.”

“don’t sound so happy.”

he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap. “you did that on purpose.”

“did what?”

“made me forget.”

you smiled innocently. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

satoru narrowed his eyes. then immediately kissed your cheek.

once. twice. three times.

until you were laughing and trying to push him away. “okay, okay!”

“no,” he said, grinning against your skin. “i wasn’t finished talking.”

“you literally forgot.”

“details.”

he kissed your forehead. then your cheek. then the corner of your mouth.

“will you ever let me talk?” he asks.

you kiss him to shut him up, wrapping your hands around his neck. his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in closer. 

“okay i would actually rather kiss you than talk.” he smiles and pecks your lips.

you grin and smush his cheeks. “cuteness aggression….”

[satorus-princess]

“ow!” satoru winces, muttering under his breath, cursing the pot that’s boiling on the stove. “fu-- damn stove, i’d burn you but you’d probably like that, huh?”

that’s the first thing you hear when you wake up from your nap. you’re splayed out on the sofa where you fell asleep by accident, only to wake up to the sound of satoru speaking to himself. well, the stove.

you sigh, eyes still bleary with sleep. sitting up with a yawn, you stretch your arms over your head before you get up to join satoru in the kitchen.

he turns to look at the doorway of the kitchen before you even take a step inside. and he’s pouting, rubbing his index finger with his thumb as if trying to soothe it.

the strongest sorcerer, by the way. an eighteen-year-old boy who was taught how to utilise his powers and train them, but was never taught basic life skills like cooking.

“baby,” he whines, “the pot tried to kill me. the stove is its accomplice.”

you can’t help the snort that escapes you, shaking your head at his dramatic antics that never end. you walk over to him and gently take his hand in yours, examining his finger. his finger right next to the one that has a digimon plaster wrapped around it because he accidentally cut himself with a knife the other day.

“you’ll be okay. run it under cool water.”

satoru lets you hold his hand under the running tap. in fact, he hopes that you never let go of his hand. maybe he should burn himself more often.

“i could’ve cooked, you know. you just came back from back-to-back missions,” you say, your tone slightly scolding. but your face softens when you notice his tired gaze drag down to the floorboards of the kitchen, a pout still on his lips, shoulders hunched like something is weighing them down.

“you were sleeping,” he mumbles, more solemn now. “and i wanted to make sure that there’s food ready before we go pick megumi and tsumiki up from school.”

“satoru,” you say softly, waiting for his eyes to meet yours before you continue, “the responsibility isn’t all yours. i’m here. i always am. even if i’m sleeping. we’re doing this together.”

he sighs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “i know.”

you turn the tap off and gingerly pat his hand clean with a kitchen towel, and he watches you every second. even as you let go of his hand for a few moments to reach for the first-aid kit in one of the cabinets, taking out a gauze to protect his finger.

“i think i’m going to have to keep reminding you, though,” you say, knowing how stubborn satoru can be when it comes to sharing responsibilities, no matter how big or small. “i’ll finish cooking, we’ll get the kids, and then you’re going to bed.”

your tone leaves no room for argument, but of course satoru always finds a way to sneak one in.

“but i wanna spend time with you, i missed you so much these past few days. who even needs sleep?”

you look up at him with a raised eyebrow, and he grins down at you, snowy eyelashes fluttering like they do when he wants his way (it works 70% of the time).

“you’re going to sleep. you haven’t rested properly in almost a week.”

“i’ll rest with you. you’re like my little power bank.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t. we have kids together--”

“you randomly brought them home one day.”

“-- you take care of me.”

“because you whine and that doesn’t help anyone.”

“aaaand you love me,” he beams, a smile that makes your heart melt in a way that you can’t ignore.

that’s when you don’t say anything; you only stare at satoru and he’s still smiling because he already knows. he never needs you to say it even if he professes his love to you everyday.

he knows it in the way you always take care of him, physically and emotionally, being the safe space he’s never had. in the way you’ve stuck by him no matter what, no matter how hard things have gotten. and a lifetime isn’t enough for him to express his gratitude.

“so it’s decided. we’ll finish cooking, go pick them up, then spend time together.”

“no.”

this time was included in the 30%.

a/n: pretend satoru hasn’t learnt rct yet okay you have to be sad with me he was just a kid himself :( also no one saw this earlier

taglist: @sweethearticism @sugurusladyknightt @cupidstrace @man1cslut @chewiebee @besidesjustmyamour @kirsteinsring @hails-trom @theevilarcher @aquariusscollection @snooptoru @snailsolidarity @maximasx @luvsukei @sunbumglow @satorusdollie @chuiisi @kalihrts @satorvs @synd1caate @your-local-e-t @deadandhorny @dreamcastgirl99 @satorubunni @sovaintilla @paintedperidot @satorugojosinfinity @newpersonsameoldmistakez @myasfiction @lisabelhyhn @getorade @dogggggggblog-kaye @cinnamonnmar @un1v3rsalh0pper @catgvrl

[apparently-artless]

Tongari Boushi no Atelier Episode 11 - Qifrey

[taacck]

witch hat NOW

Gif version feel free to use

[yokolate]

Trying to bring a little motion to some of Shirahama's beautiful pages.

[yokolate]

qifrey and brushbuddy