Ⳋ᧙ ꒰ CW ꒱ NSFW, dubcon/noncon, yandere satosugu training a fem!darling to take them b/c her pelvic floor is too tight, treatment, oral (fem. receiving), fingering, foreplay, don't be mistaken these two are so far from actually gentle. [WC: ~1K]
a/n: i suffer from tight hips... also i can't seem to stick to a format
"We have to go slow with this," Geto starts, while gesturing for you to rest on your back. "Get in those poses we went over earlier. Those are supposed to help."
Clearly, he isn't pleased that he has to take baby steps with you, but seeing as there's nothing else he can do to get you relaxed enough to take him or Gojo--both two men with impossibly huge dicks at that--he's had no other alternative than to be a little merciful.
As merciful as a psychotic kidnapper can be, you guess, because their only other goal is to properly break into you.
"Which one?" you manage to ask, not daring to meet his eyes--the way they always seem void of emotion except when he evokes reactions out of you sends shivers down your spine. "We went through several."
Not only has he taken the liberty of looking up pelvic floor treatments, he's putting you through pelvic floor therapy. This can't be real, and yet it is.
Gojo's too impatient to walk you through this, but he's still hovering nearby, lazily fisting his cock while keeping his gaze locked on you both from his corner of the room.
"Butterfly pose," he grunts, fisting your thighs and yanking you closer toward the edge of the bed, and helping you into positioning your legs into a diamond. The roughness transmutes into a strange gentleness against the fleshier parts of your inner thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your bare skin. "And we're breathing through it."
His eyes drop to your exposed pussy, your hole already fluttering around nothing which must a confounding factor because your hole is actually too tight even for a finger to get in there. And you don't have to look up to know that he's practically salivating at the thought of breaking into it.
It's not just because you're too fucking scared to even be aroused at all, because even in those circumstances, someone should be able to take something in there. Be it a finger. A toy. Anything! It's something you've struggled with in the past with previous partners and everything. Sex is downright hard, uncomfortable, and painful which shouldn't be the case at all, only because you can't even get a finger inside of you.
The fact that out of everyone who has ever taken an interest in you like this, to actually work past the problem, is someone who, not only kidnapped you but is intent on keeping you as their pretty pet for the rest of your life is downright tragic.
Of course that's your life. Of fucking course it is.
"That's it," he coos, "I can see you're trying, darling. I told you we're going to go slow, and all I'm going to try today is a finger inside."
He wiggles his pinky for reference with an easy grin. "And of course, we'll add some extra cushion. Don't worry."
"Maybe it'll help if we used both our mouths?" Gojo suggests, and Geto scoffs.
"You had your chance to help her out. I'm taking care of this for now."
"Rude."
You clench your eyes shut. It hasn't even been fifteen minutes into the pose, and Geto's patience is clearly wearing thin too because now he's helping you into a straddling pose, pinning your ankles over your shoulders.
"Satoru, hold her down while I take care of her," Geto commands before his nose tickles your clit, making you breath hitch the moment his lips sucked your folds into his mouth.
The bed dips a little behind your head, and your eyes snap open again. In your line of vision is Gojo's stupid face grinning down at you while his hands replace Geto's to keep you firm in place.
"Breathe, Princess, we don't want to hurt you. Much," he snickers while kissing your temple. You wish you could make a smart retort but words die on your tongue. Geto's hands rest over the jiggly flesh of your ass cheeks while his tongue laps and laps at your pussy. "We want you to relax, and let us make you feel good. It hurt our feelings learning you never had good sex, but now we're here to remedy that."
Geto makes such loud slurping noises while digging his tongue in there that you bite down on your lip to suppress an embarrassed whine. Gojo pouts down at you.
"Come on, don't be like that," he croons, "He's being so generous so the least you could do is not hide those pretty noises you make."
At that, you feel Geto take an experimental dip of his tongue into your hole, already starting to suck just that wet muscle inside and he groans.
"Fuck." Talking with his mouth full. Disgusting. "I know how badly you want to be fucked, but we need to be gentle with you."
"Yeah, we'd love to fuck you so hard you're seeing stars but look at how much you're struggling to handle his mouth," Gojo taunts, "You gotta relax. Breathe, we said. Breathe."
And you're fucking trying to, but there's no way you can find it in you to relax when--
"--G-geto!" you yell, hands reaching for his shoulders as he inches more of his tongue inside of you. "Please, please..."
He laughs, retracting his tongue for a moment to prod your opening with the tip of his pinky. His tongue joins the flexible digit, rimming the hole while his pinky goes inside--
"--aah!"
"Shhhh," Gojo consoles, "Just relax into the feeling, alright? We have to get you relaxed enough to open up."
"Please... it's..." Geto's tongue lapping at your clit while inching the rest of his finger inside of you isn't unpleasant but it still feels... "It's..."
"Working," Gojo breathes with a look of approval. "You feel that, baby? That's how good we're going to get to make you feel when we make more progress with this."
"Maybe we might even work up to two fingers tonight," Geto remarks while pumping his finger, slow, gentle. "How does that feel? Does it still hurt?"
Your eyebrows furrow at the intrusion, and you dare to take a peek. It's just his pinky. The tip of his tongue is barely grazing around the rim.
"It's... okay," you mutter, "I-it.. feels g-good."
Geto grins in approval.
"See? Told you to trust us," Gojo purrs, and Geto doesn't quicken his pace, keeping to that gentle rocking of his pinky and the soft kitten licks of his tongue. Despite everything about this which is clearly so damning, you don't hate how it feels, it feels kind of nice. The nicest it's ever felt for you, and, the more Geto does it like that, and suddenly you're--
"I'm... gonna cum!" And the way you're squeezing around that singular digit has Geto moaning into the sensitive, damp skin of your pussy, and you're thrashing a bit into the mattress to the point where Gojo loosens his grip on you.
"That's it. You did so good," Geto praises, "You took that so well."
something something journalist reader going undercover in john price's cult with another journalist who is playing the role of your dutiful husband.
cw: manipulation, character death, breeding kink if you squint, unedited, abrupt ending
john price's cult isn't a religious one at first glance, your editor told you straight off the bat. there's no second coming, no promise of a perfect afterlife, nothing like that. it's a cult of ideology, with price positioned as someone who's got it all figured out, who can lead the lost and confused through the world with his guidance- but there's whispers of a messianic figure with dreams that he treats like prophecy, a secret militia, illegal weapons, and underground bunkers. all from anonymous sources that you're assured are legit.
"we can't get anyone to talk on the record-" your editor says, taking a drag of his vape by his open office window, carefully exhaling blue raspberry clouds into the clean, fresh air. "-so you and cody have to go in. just spend a few months there, see what's up, gather any evidence you can, and report back here to write up the story."
"cody?" you echo, skeptical. cody's a good writer and a nice enough guy, but you don't think he's cut out for this kind of undercover journalism. from what you've heard, price runs a tight ship, and cody's the kind of guy who has his vices. you give it a week, tops, before he gets busted smoking or drinking or something equally stupid and preventable.
"i know, i know, but no one else will go- and besides, you need backup. it's best if you play at being a married couple- it'll make you less conspicuous- don't argue, yes it will. a single woman joining a group like this is bound to get you far more attention than if you come attached at the hip of a man." he points out, waving his vape in the air to punctuate his statement.
you sigh heavily, arms crossed. shit. you need this story, need to scratch the itch in your brain that's wondering what the fuck john price and his little cult are up to way out there in the middle of nowhere... so if you have to pretend to be the doting wife of cody of all people, so be it.
"when do we leave?"
your editor grins.
~
not even two days later you're at the compound, going through 'orientation', which seems to comprise of watching established members of the group meticulously paw through everything you brought and having to justify keeping it.
you have a much easier time than cody does- you'd been prepared for this. the only things you brought were clothes, toiletries, a journal, some pens, and a burner cell phone. the phone was the only thing close to a stumbling block- you'd had to point out that there were no saved numbers, pictures, or anything else personal in it in order to sell the idea that it was just for emergencies. you winced as you watched a woman dressed in grey rub nail polish over the camera lens, ruining it completely.
(at least she didn't think to get the selfie camera, thank god. whatever pictures you're able to take will be awkward as hell to shoot, but it's better than no pictures at all.)
cody didn't fare nearly as well. his personal phone is confiscated, as well as three bottles of liquor and countless kratom pills. they let the poor bastard keep his nicotine patches, but with the stern warning that if he hasn't weaned himself off of them within twelve weeks that the rest will be confiscated.
"jokes on them," he whispers to you later, "we'll be long gone by then."
after your bags are re-packed and handed back to you, the tour begins. luggage in tow, you're shown around the compound, which is just several trailers and makeshift buildings scattered throughout the woods.
your guides, kyle and alex, are nice enough, answering your questions and introducing you to the folks you come across. they explain how they have a deal with a nearby village- an agreement that the compound will purchase any and all fruit and veg not sold by the end of the day on the thursday market. sometimes they'll trade labor or the handicrafts that people make out here for bigger items, like the time the two of them helped build a shed in exchange for a backup generator.
you take mental notes as you walk around the colony, trying to remember faces, buildings, facts about the group that kyle recites for you with all the forced charm of a real estate agent. you're still in the 'honeymoon' phase of this thing, where they know they need to butter up new members to keep them from bolting. you play along dutifully.
cody, however, does not.
"i dunno, man. my wife might be into this, but i'm not sure. seems like a big commitment without a lot of return, you know? like we're out here giving you free labor in exchange for what, exactly?" your elbow finds his ribs.
"cody!" you hiss. "we talked about this!"
"is there a problem here?" a gruff voice asks from right behind you, startling you with a gasp as you spin on the balls of your feet. standing there is none other than john fucking price himself, the self-imposed leader of this whole operation. shit, it's game over, cody's fucked this mission before it's even started, time to think of something. fast.
"mister price, i'm so sorry about my husband- i've heard such wonderful things about what you can do for people, and i really think that seeing it in action will help him embrace everything you have to teach here." never in your life has the bullshit flown so easily, and to be honest, you're instantly a little proud of how sincere you were able to make that sound.
judging by the way his expression softens, it looks like price buys it completely. a scowl melts away into something softer than indifference, but not quite committing to a full smile.
"it is out of respect for your lovely wife and her wishes to better herself that i am not asking you to leave this compound immediately. i will not, however, tolerate further disrespect of these good people or our mission together. is that understood?" price's voice rumbles with warning, like a rattlesnake right before a strike.
"thank you." you say softly, before reaching over and squeezing cody's hand as hard as you possibly fucking can.
"yes, and thank you." cody says with the sullen attitude of a teenager in detention. price just looks him up and down before nodding once, curtly, and marching away with a gaggle of very large men in tow.
price looks back at you once, blue eyes locking on yours before he slips into a residential building- one you presume is his, based on the fact that it's bigger than everyone else's.
"wanker." cody mutters under his breath, catching an elbow from both you and kyle at the same time.
~
early in the morning, before the sun has deigned to make an appearance over the hillside, you wake up to loud banging against the hollow door of your little 'couples home'.
"open up! right this bloody instant!" a man's voice calls out from the other side. you're on your feet faster than cody, pulling on a robe and yanking aside the chair you'd wedged under the doorknob last night when you'd found there weren't any locks. hard as his knocking is and cheap as the door seems, it's a wonder he hasn't simply burst through what you'd swear is just weatherproofed balsa wood.
when you swing open the door you're dumbfounded to see john price again, the big man in charge, standing on your stoop- and he looks furious.
"good morning." you say, nervously clutching at your robe, holding it closed in nervous hands. you don't even know why you're shaking, you haven't done anything wrong, but something about those wild blue eyes glaring right at you from under furrowed brows is very nearly activating your flight response.
"what's this?" he says in lieu of a greeting, stepping into your home without invitation and pointing to the chair by the door.
"oh, well, there wasn't a lock-"
"bloody right there isn't." john crosses his arms and tilts his head, tucking his chin to his chest. "i know you're new here, but listen well: we have rules here at the colony, and one of them is that you will allow access to yourself at all times. to deny any of the colony this right is to spit in the face of community itself. you do not have the right to make the others feel unsafe in this way."
you blink, dumbfounded, trying to parse out this word salad for any real meaning.
"unsafe? all i did was lock the door-"
"and who told you to do that?" john asks, eyes darting over your shoulder at cody, who's only just now shuffling in behind you. "was it you?"
"i- now, look," cody stammers, clearly taken off-guard. "locking the door at night is a perfectly reasonable thing to do-"
"stop." john practically spits, nostrils flared as he pauses to find his words. "it's one thing to come here with your poisonous ideas about our community, but to infect your wife with it? when she so clearly wants to be here, to see the kind of life we have to offer? shame on you, taking advantage of such a dutiful woman."
"i- what?"
"this is your last warning. you don't have the right to treat people like this." john barks before turning on his heel and storming out, taking the chair with him. the door slams shut, leaving you and cody alone and reeling, staring at each other with open mouthed shock.
"what the fuck?" cody whispers, and you can only shrug. what the fuck, indeed.
~
a few more weeks go by without incident. cody has finally learned to shut the fuck up, and you've managed to make friends with a few of the more senior members like kate and farah. price, however, has been conspicuously absent as of late. you've been told that he's normally the one giving the daily talks, but something came up and kyle's simply been gracious enough to fill in for the time being.
you try to imagine kyle's words of empathy, community, and honesty coming out of john- but it's difficult. it doesn't pair with the man who, in the first two times you ever saw him, only spoke directly to you in order to scold you. people talk about him being charismatic, unpretentious, grounded- but that's not the impression you've gotten. it's hard to make anything of him based on those two interactions, but you can hardly imagine him being someone you'd want to go to with your troubles.
during the days you spend your time alternating between listening to lectures and working in the kitchen. you can't pretend you haven't noticed how gendered the division of labor is here, with women taking on domestic duties and mostly men going out to hunt, fish, or travel to town to earn money with labor.
it's hard to swallow your pride and not say anything- but you're here to get a story out, and if you call attention to yourself, go against the grain, you're likely to get kicked out before you have the chance to get anything good. so far all you have is 'they're weird about traditional family values but at least they don't make us sing'.
cody tends to disappear for hours at a time, claiming he's doing some snooping for the story's sake, but based on the way one of the younger women in the cantina suddenly can't seem to look you in the eye anymore, you're guessing he's doing a lot more than that.
whatever. you're both settling into a new routine now, one that seems to be working out. you're making connections with the women in the kitchen, and hopefully can keep cultivating those relationships until someone confides something in you about the inner workings of this group. so far all you've managed to pick up is that a few of the other senior members used to be in the military with john, and that john apparently has dreams that can tell the future. it's a red flag, for sure, but not enough to make you run. if anything, it makes you wish he were around again, just so you could maybe talk to him, find out some things for yourself.
but until then, you just content yourself with early morning motivationals, midday crafting lessons, then sweating over a hot stove right before a generous meal that's accompanied by another talk. in a way, it reminds you of summer camp. the rigid schedule, the emphasis on comradery, eating around a campfire on warm evenings, and the frustrated sighs of your instructors as you attempt and fail at the fiber arts they're trying to teach you.
in another life- one where you'd heard far less about what the leadership is up to, one where you didn't mind automatically being assigned to 'women's work', one where you had fewer connections to other people or worse self esteem- you could see yourself loving this place. the air is clear, you eat well, and you genuinely enjoy the company of some of the people you've met.
but having heard the anonymous sources, not just the information they gave but the way their voices shook when speaking against john price, you can't get too comfortable. lives are at stake, ones you plan on saving if you can by exposing truth to sunlight.
you just have to work a little harder to get what you need so you can save mary, who has a gap in her teeth and the prettiest smile you've ever seen. and jane, who snorts when she laughs and can't tell when people are kidding. and kate, one of maybe a handful of women you'd call handsome. and marta, and simone, and princess, and giselle, and so mi, and jordi, and-
so you keep at it. keep rising before the sun to make breakfasts, keep stone faced while people recite price's words about community like it's scripture, make journal entries using a series of innocuous seeming code words and phrases, pretend you don't smell pussy on cody's breath, gossip with the girls in the kitchen, and wait for price to return.
~
two weeks later, john comes back. he starts giving his speeches in the mornings and evenings, and lingers around the colony during the day, overseeing lessons, cleaning, cooking, all of it. nobody says anything about his absence, or even his return, so neither do you. after all, the name of the game is blending in, not attracting attention, slowly building up enough trust that these women will share their gossip with you- and tonight, it pays off.
"-heard he had another dream, that he went off to the woods to parse out it's meaning." simone whispers to giselle in the walk-in freezer, clearly unaware you're behind her. giselle's eyes go big, and simone jerks around, staring at you.
"i heard nothing, marta just needs more chicken." you say casually as possible, immediately going for the chicken breast you were sent for, doing your damndest to pretend like you don't care. you do, even if it's just mystical bullshit. it speaks to the hidden culture in the camp, a part of the narrative you will need to incorporate in your story. mentally, it's already a quarter of the way written. there's more to be learned here, and right here and now, you have the opportunity to prove you're chill enough to gossip around.
so turning on your heel, you force yourself to immediately leave the freezer, acting as nonplussed as possible while the nosy bitch in your head (the one you credit with making you such a good reporter) screams at you to turn around.
during dinner you can feel simone and giselle staring at you as you eat and listen to so mi gush about this new books she's been reading. every now and again you can see them whisper to each other out of the corner of your eye as you nod along to so mi explaining her book series to you, bemoaning the fact that all the blurbs on the cover indicated it would be much spicier than it actually is.
for the past three dinners, cody keeps disappearing with that girl whose name you refuse to learn. fucking idiot. dinners are an all hands sort of situation, his absence next to your side is glaring, and you can see price is also glaring your direction- although seeing as you've had no interactions with him since his return, you imagine it's not at you so much as the fake-husband-shaped empty space by your side.
after dinner you walk back to your abode alone, well-worn dirt path lit by torches in the rapidly dimming evening sun. you can hear the patter of hurried footsteps behind you, heralding an arrival you already expected.
"uh-" you hear simone before you feel her tap on your shoulder, and it makes something behind your ribcage twist with worry as she flinches back.
"hey, you okay?" you ask, brows furrowed. in the distance you can barely make out giselle waiting around the corner of one of the simple homes, clearly playing lookout.
"yeah, sorry, i just. like." she swallows hard. "i'm not supposed to talk about that stuff around new people. freaks some people out, scares them off. i really like you, i don't want you to leave."
she sounds so sincere, so earnest, that you can't help but feel touched.
"i'm not scared." you assure her. "and i'm not gonna tell anyone, not even cody. i don't want to get you in trouble, because i really like you, too. both you and giselle have been so welcoming, you've really made this transition smoother for me. thank you, and i'm sorry i never told you that before."
the open flames of the torches reflects in simone's watery eyes, her smile wobbly and wide, and when you open your arms she steps right into them, hugging you back.
"pardon me."
simone practically throws you off of her as she vaults back at the sound of john price's voice, sending you stumbling back a few steps. price gives her a tight little smile, one that stretches out his moustache into a straight line over his lip but doesn't crease the corners of his eyes.
"didn't mean to break up this lovely little meeting, but i need a word." he says directly to you before throwing a glance simone's way. "alone."
"oh- uh- of- of course. goodnight." simone scurries away without waiting for your own goodbye, giselle hot on her heels.
"did i do something wrong?" you ask, voice small. it's hard to say, but if your instincts about him are right, price might be the kind of man where deference will go a long way- and judging by the way he coos, smiles softly, and gently holds your shoulder, you'd say your instincts are right on the money. again.
"no, no. you're a lovely addition to our little colony, pet. a sweet girl and a hard worker... no, no, you're just fine." he pauses for a moment, expression shifting to something unreadable as he stares at your face. "however, i must ask that you pass along a message for me to your husband. skipping meals with the group- well. it's simply not done. bad enough he leaves you unattended at all hours."
he tucks his chin to his chest and leans back a bit, giving you a serious look.
"you'll tell him?"
you nod, dropping your gaze to your shoes, trying to disguise your annoyance at cody as humiliation. price's hand slides up the slope of your shoulder until he's cupping your face, tilting your gaze back towards him.
"i want you to know that even if things don't work out for cody here, you are always welcome. you don't have to leave with him, pet." john slowly leans in, and klaxons blare in the back of your head.
danger! danger! danger!
"i- uh- i should wait for my husband. at home. where he's expecting me." you demure as you step back to avoid a kiss, putting space between you. his hand hovers in the air where it had cupped your cheek, before slowly being lowered with a sigh.
"of course. don't forget about my message, pet."
"i won't, i promise. goodnight, mister price."
"just john, sweetheart." he calls after you as you turn to leave.
"goodnight, john!" you call back, powerwalking back to your domicile, leaning your weight against the door in lieu of using your confiscated chair.
shit. all this time and energy, potentially squandered because cody's bad at pretending to be married. there was no point to him being here at all if this is how he's going to behave- he was supposed to be your cover, and instead all he does is attract the wrong kind of attention. part of you wants to believe that maybe he's making progress, that he's found something and is investigating a lead, but likely the only thing he's found is willing pussy back at the cantine.
two things keep you from outright kicking cody off the piece and sending him packing- for one, you don't know how this group would respond to a 'divorce', but you don't imagine it would be favoriable considering all the tradwife bullshit you've been fed.
for another- john very nearly kissed you tonight. even if the group is cool about divorce, you get the feeling that suddenly becoming single is not in your best interest, that things could go very, very sideways if you aren't careful.
fingers crossed you can work fast enough to get what you're looking for before cody, that incredible fuckup, blows shit up for both of you.
~
after passing along john's message (and your own thoughts on the matter) cody finally takes the hint and glues himself to your side, making a menace of himself in crochet class and the kitchen, but at least he's behaving himself, you suppose.
john, conversely, has seemingly disappeared again, but this time, the girls in the kitchen seem more open to talking about it. apparently word has gotten round that you're chill, and you content yourself just to listen as they chirp their theories to each other like clucking hens.
i heard he had another dream.
i heard he's off meditating in the woods.
i heard he just went to the city to get more supplies for winterproofing.
cody, for once, also shuts the fuck up, kneading bread dough at your side, occasionally throwing you an impressed look. you may not ever want to work with him again after this, but you can't deny it feels good to have this proof that you're good at your job, that you can get people to trust you (and by extension, him) enough to talk freely.
after a long day of classes and chores on the compound, the two of you come back to your couples quarters to find price himself sitting on your couch, lighting a cigar.
"sit down, both of you." he says, tossing two throw pillows to the carpet, a silent invitation to sit at his feet.
"now, as shepherd to this flock, it is my solemn duty to look out for my people. the two of you may be newer, but i still consider you both exactly that- my people." embers crackle on his inhale. "which is why this meeting pains me so."
he pulls a folder from behind his back, throwing it between you and cody. warily, you reach for it, flipping it open to find pictures of cody with the girl from the commissary, printed out on cheap copy paper. there's a handful of them, clearly taken over a series of days on one of the many security cameras on the compound. he's got her bent over a stack of milk crates, clearly having a much better time than she is, judging by the look on her face.
cody's poker face is fucking terrible, embarrassment clearly visible as he throws you a guilty look. he had one job- pretend to be a pious married man. just watch and listen. go home later and write the story. and he fucked all of that up just for some brainwashed pussy.
pathetic.
"i had a dream the night before the two of you came here. i was in a field, walking by a river, and i saw a beautiful horse. she was pregnant mare, outfitted with a golden saddle with my initials embedded into the leather. she was clearly mine- meant just for me. but there was a venomous snake sitting in the saddle, threatening to strike her and infect her with it's venom. i didn't know what it meant back then, but i understand it now."
whatever this metaphor is, it's lost on you. price is known for his dreams, the ones he claims give him instructions from god- 'just as he did with joseph', price always says.
"i have allowed this... union..." price spits the word like it tastes foul in his mouth. "... to exist solely because the missus here seemed happy. i thought to myself "who am i to break up a happy, pious marriage?". so i let it continue. but now i can see she's not even surprised. upset, certainly, but that's understandable. but not surprised."
"now, john, our marriage is not your bus-" price cuts off cody with a two, sharp, snapped syllables that pierce through the air like a whipcrack.
"quiet."
price gets to his feet, looming over the two of you, and you can't help but flinch at the suddenness of it.
"easy, love. not you. never you." price reassures, hand outstretched like you're a skittish animal. he affixes his glare at cody. "but you-"
with a solid boot to the chest, price kicks cody over. you'd swear you can hear ribs cracking on the impact, and a shriek slips from between your lips.
"god gave you a perfect woman, who you bound yourself to in holy matrimony, and you disgrace your union with a nineteen year old?" price kicks cody again, the laces of his boots slamming hard into his side with a sickening thud.
"john! no! please! don't do this- you dont have to do this!" you scramble across the floor and hold onto his kicking leg, using your weight and grip to prevent further blows. you press your forehead against the outside seam of his jeans, clinging tight whispering a desperate pleasepleaseplease against the denim.
"lookit that. still a loyal wife, even after such a betrayal. you don't deserve a woman of this- this caliber." john spits down on cody, who merely flinches amd whimpers, curled up on the floor with his hands still protecting his face. judging by how hard john kicked him, cody's probably dealing with broken ribs.
you can feel the heat of john's palm against your head as he pets over your hair like a dog.
"i cannot abide by your presence any longer, cody. you are an infection, an infestation, a rot that must be removed." price pontificates, reaching into his jacket pocket.
a pistol glints in the meager overhead light.
"john, please- i forgive him, i do, please, you don't have to do this-" you beg as cody stares wordlessly, eyes wide, clearly in shock.
"i do, pet. it's my job, in fact. part of being a good shepherd is knowing when to cull the herd- and he needed to go a while ago, pet. it's time. "
the silencer mutes the two shots, but you shriek anyways. cody's body jerks wildly as his skull explodes from the back, coating the wall in blood, brains, and bone. your pulse pounding away in your ears is the only sound for a while, and you find yourself still wrapped around price's leg, too shocked to even let go.
after what feels like eternity, john finally breaks the silence.
"sit down on the sofa, love. let's talk about the future." it takes a beat before you slowly get to your feet, knees wobbling as you make your way to the couch. you watch silently as price opens the door without a word, ushering in a few senior members who quickly remove cody's body, wrapping him up in a sheet and carting him away before closing the door behind them. now all that's left of him is the mess on the floor and the hole in the wall.
"where are they taking him?" you ask voice small and frail. john smiles at you from over his shoulder as he fills your kettle with some of the potable water in your cabinet, your boxes of tea already set on the counter, clearly preparing to make a cuppa on your little burner.
"it's always best to bury the dead quickly, before they pump his body with unnecessary chemicals and preservatives." john explains simply, as if the barrel of the gun in his holster isn't still warm.
you're so fucked. beyond fucked, really. you've been incommunicado for months now, and nobody is expecting to hear from you for another few months yet. nobody will know cody is dead for a long time- and shit, the same could happen to you. easily. imminently, perhaps. after all, you've seen too much. know too much. the only thing that you think is keeping you alive is john's attraction-
-or is that what killed cody in the first place?
"how did your dream end?" you ask. you don't really care, but the silence as you wait for water to boil is oppressive, stifling, threatening to choke you.
"hm?" he cocks an eyebrow your direction before slowly sauntering over.
"your dream- the one about the beautiful horse and the snake. how did it end?"
john drops himself onto the couch next to you, arm snaking over the backrest as he scoots a bit closer, boxing you in against the edge of the couch.
"i lured the snake away from my horse with a rat, and crushed it under my boot. the horse gave birth to the sun, which lit my path as i rode the horse on a star bridge out into the edges of the galaxy." price says with such a nonplussed, matter-of-factness that the bizarre statement almost doesn't click. as soon as the dots connect, you feel sick.
"i'm the horse." it's not a question, just a statement you need confirmed. john hums in affirmation as you feel him trace his fingers gently against the back of your neck. "but i- i'm not pregnant-"
"no?" he asks, free hand sliding across your belly without warning. you bite back a reproach, withhold your instinctual slap, hoping he mistakes the way you freeze and go quiet as submission and not you muzzling your own anger.
"no."
"how can you be sure? you have one of those- those implants some of these modern women have?" he practically spits the word, disdain clear on his face.
"i- no, it's just- well, cody and i- he lost interest in me some time ago." you lie, dropping your gaze to where he's still petting at your soft belly, hoping the way you stumble over your words will be interpreted as a byproduct of humiliation and not rusty improv skills.
"oh, sweetheart." price closes the already tiny gap between you, his hip pressed firmly against yours as he leans into your space even more. "don't worry, it's all right. i'll fix it. we'll make you a mum yet. just need some time."
his lips find yours with the help of his hand anchored on the back of your neck, holding you in place and his beard scratching the thin, tender skin of your lips when he tries to deepen the kiss.
"john- my husband-" you press against his chest and he relents with an exhausted sounding sigh, but still keeps his grip on your nape.
"i believe the phrase is 'til death do us part', love- and death has parted you. so you're not doing anything wrong- just fulfilling your destiny. our destiny."
you gape at him, eyes wide and mouth open in shock- and you can tell he clocks when your eyes dart over to the gore splattered on the wall when he chuckles a little too warmly as he presses his forehead to yours, forcing you to look deep in his eyes.
"now, you just forget that git. no more wastin' tears on him- i don't ever want to hear his name again. from now on, i'm the only husband you know. heard?"
the hand on your stomach slides down, deftly unbuttoning your jeans.
"w- i'm- we're not married-"
"oh, yes we are. we are if i say we are, because what i say goes." john refutes, biting at his lip as he yanks at your jeans- a clear signal for you to lift your hips so he can undress you.
"john-"
a solid hand clamps over your mouth as he bullies you sideways against the armrest, practically climbing on top of you.
"now you listen to me- i saved you from that snake, and you will give me the sun in return." he practically snarls in your face, hand sliding off your mouth for only milliseconds before he's pressing another clumsy kiss against your lips.
calloused fingers tear at your clothes as he mumbles to himself, and through watery eyes you stare up at the ceiling, listening to john talk to himself as you mourn not only the death of cody, but also your freedom.
i LOVE the ren path in btd2, there are sooooo many survival endings which to me says he just isn’t as into the killing part as strade is, he just wants someone to be with him!
also in the world that this is the same ren who turns into fox (read on gatobobs site that it’s kinda up to the audience whether or not ren is “doomed” to become evil and they said no, and this is just one of many paths for him which i loved!) he clearly adapts and learns to love the kill later on, with it becoming much much harder to survive in tpof which is so so interesting to me!!
ALSO just finished all of masons endings!! loveeee that there’s literally nothing u can do to get him to keep you like the other 3…. he is literally all about the hunt and i love that!!!
as much as a love a dark romance i love that there’s no reasoning with him in any way
It always hurts in that big, bright way, like a thousand sticks of dynamite blowing a tunnel open through a mountain, giving you a way to pass to the other side. Like whispering the same wish over and over again until your lips go numb and your voice goes hoarse, your plea still unheard after all these years.
Perhaps it would hurt less to desire if you could fill that hole every once in a while. If you could wet your tongue with the taste of satisfaction, of a want fulfilled, of the opportunity to say to someone, “Oh, look what I got” or “Look at what all my work has amounted to.”
That’s never been the case though, has it? Never been lucky enough for a wish to come true. You work like a dog for the barest scraps of what you know you’re worth (what you know and what every day seems less and less true).
Vacations that you never had enough money to take, jobs that never came to fruition, mistakes that couldn’t be undone, memories that you could never remake, friendships that grew apart or that never materialized altogether.
It’s not all doom and gloom. You have a good job and a decent network of friends and acquaintances, parties you attend on occasion and warm nights at home curled up in bed. You have a roof over your head. There's more than enough in your life to be grateful for.
But the wanting never goes away. That, you have in spades. That, you have in heaps and bounds. That multiplies itself tenfold.
And it happens that way with your heart too.
There’s a coffee shop down the street from your office with a decent amount of seating and an app to order your drink ahead of time, and every day at around two, you order your coffee ahead of time and walk over to pick it up, rain or shine.
It’s always busy to some degree when you walk in, a handful of people waiting by the counter and a short line at the register snaking around the merchandise display. The whirr of the coffee grinder hums in the background, just a touch louder than the music, always filling the café with the rich, pleasing scent of freshly ground coffee.
The same chairs are always filled by the same people. Plenty of them you’ve even grown to recognize over time—students bent over thick textbooks, elderly men creasing newspapers in ink-stained hands, and laptop screens glowing with blank Word documents, scarcely a sentence added in the time it took to order and finish their coffee.
You recognize most of the takeaway regulars as well.
They’re harder to remember at first. Quick to come and quick to go. Hard to commit their faces to memory. But some give you no choice—some boisterously loud or ostentatious in dress, eye-catching enough to hook you like a fish, drag your attention down river with them.
Then, to him.
He, like you, comes in every day around two for his afternoon coffee. He, unlike you, comes striding in full-chested, confidence nipping at his heels, no world-weariness weighing him down.
Hard not to notice him. Of course you notice him. He takes up space like a living sun, all bright smiles and radiant energy, handsome in the way that, when men are, they draw people in like moths. You feel no better than a moth sometimes, particularly in his presence.
Tea-coloured eyes. What you notice at first is that there’s a beautiful man waiting for his coffee next to you, a tall man with the sculpted physique of an athlete, all long limbs and broad shoulders tapering into a lean frame, and what you notice next are those tea-coloured eyes, honeying under the sun.
You stare so long that you only realize how dry your eyes have gone when the door swings shut behind him.
It’s no wonder then, that you latch onto his presence like so, a little flutter in your chest on your way to the coffee shop every time after that first time, hoping that you’ll cross paths again.
And you do. Cross paths again, that is. Only a few times those first couple of weeks, and then seemingly all the time, the two of you always in at the same time.
That isn’t unusual. There are plenty of other familiar faces picking up their afternoon coffees at the same time as you, people that you recognize at the mobile ordering station and laptop stickers that you’ve come to memorize, the same people sitting at the same seats. People like routine; you’re no different. Neither is he.
It comes over you like an ague, a desperate, eager thing, quiet enough at first when you’ve only seen him in bits and pieces, not studied him at length yet, but it—
It grows.
It grows like a vine in your chest, weaving around your heart and squeezing until you can feel it with every beat.
You don’t entirely blame yourself. How could you? You swear you’ve never seen anyone even half as good-looking as him—broad-shouldered and lean, perfect smile, perfect teeth. Haircut always fresh, his edges neat. He squints with the force of his smile, always effusive with his gratitude and praise, so earnest in his kindness that it makes your teeth ache.
He’s objectively a handsome man. Perhaps the handsomest man you’ve ever seen. What else could you do but go a bit crazy?
Want may not be a strong enough word for what you’re experiencing. It’s more of a torsion of the soul. A desperate, yearning ache that both releases and constricts when he walks into the café to order his coffee.
You don’t know what to do with yourself when he doesn’t show up at the same time as you. Your schedules are so in sync that you’ve grown to expect him, fattened and spoiled by the timeliness of his presence. But he doesn’t owe it to you to show up, and there are days when he doesn’t, held up for some reason, or maybe simply not in the mood for a coffee.
You practically drag your feet on the walk back to the office, a sorry sight. Pathetically despondent. You hardly know what to do with yourself the rest of the afternoon, oscillating between dejection and self-reproach. It’s pathetic that the mere absence of your crush would reduce you to such a state, hardly able to concentrate on your work because the stranger that you’ve become infatuated with wasn’t at the coffee shop where you see him for a total of twenty seconds every other day.
Forgive yourself though. Nothing you’ve ever wanted has come without pain.
What you don’t expect is for him to finally notice you.
It happens on a day when you cross paths rather than arriving at the same time, him leaving the coffee shop as you’re about to enter. Your heart skips a beat when you look up and see him staring down at you, both of you taken by surprise when you go to pull the door open and he’s already pushing on the other side.
“Traffic jam,” he laughs when you both lean left and then right at the same time, trying to let the other go around. “Here, I’ve got you.”
He extends an arm to hold the door wide open and angles his body to let you pass through. You thank him as you pass, your heart pounding against your ribs. His gaze follows you as you step inside, and you nearly jump when his voice calls a farewell after you, leaving through the same door.
You stand near the doorway for far too long, other customers coming in and going around you, cutting you annoyed looks on their way to the cash. Your drink must already be waiting for you on the counter and still you can’t move. It takes someone actually stumbling into you to jolt you back into the present.
That wasn’t part of the plan. It’s thrilling, initially, a rush so overwhelming, so kaleidoscopic, that you ride it all the way back to the office and all the way home, replaying the memory again and again in your head until even you start to tire of belabouring it.
And still you roll around in bed that night thinking about it, heart racing even hours after your short little conversation, picturing it over again in your mind—the crinkle of the corners of his eyes, the smile nearly pulling across his face, all white teeth and soft, supple lips.
The only problem is—
Now he knows who you are.
You don’t expect him to remember you after such a quick encounter. He’s not the one that’s been pining these past few weeks. He’s not the one that’s been beating himself up for crushing on a stranger.
But he does remember you. And not only does he remember you, but he looks for you the next time he’s in.
It’s one of those days when you get there first, coffee already ordered and paid for by the time he walks in, in dark trousers and a quarter-zip today, and filling them both out nicely, the sweater clinging to the muscles of his arms. You expect him to head straight for the cash like he normally does, blessedly and lamentably unaware of your presence.
Instead, your breath hitches when his eyes drift across the café and settle on you, a spark of recognition glinting in them.
His gaze immobilizes you, stronger than any paralytic. It’s what holds you in place as he approaches, the distance between you halved in an instant, and then fully collapsed, the gorgeous man in front of you doing what Zeno’s Achilles never could.
“Hey stranger, no dance today, huh?” he asks, clearly addressing you.
You don’t know what to say. This is your worst case scenario, your category five emergency. In the weeks you’ve spent crushing on him from afar, you hadn’t considered the possibility of him ever noticing you in return.
“Sorry?” you croak.
He gestures with his thumb towards the door. “From the other day, remember?”
You don’t know how you’ll make it through this interaction without making a fool of yourself. “Right. Haha. I guess the dance floor’s closed today.”
You could throw up on the spot. Of all the abysmal conversation rejoinders there have ever been in the history of humanity, the one you just offered must rank comfortably near the top.
For whatever reason though, whether divine intervention or something more dastardly, he chuckles, amused. He seems to like talking to you. Seems to like you even. That only becomes clearer when he approaches you the next day, and then the day after that, and then every day when you stop by at two p.m. for your afternoon coffee, your coffees now handed out together by the barista, as if you had ordered them that way.
The small talk alone almost makes you consider switching to a different coffee shop. It’s too much pressure. You feel sick with anxiety at the thought of him figuring you out.
And he will figure you out. You haven’t exactly played it subtle.
Then he gets your number. Somehow. And your name too, pried so easily from you that you don’t even notice, like freeing a pearl from a clam; barely a flick of his wrist and you offer it up without a second thought, embarrassingly malleable.
You get his too. Kyle Garrick. He spells it for you as he watches you save his number into your phone from over your shoulder, so close to you that your fingers fumble with the keypad, mistyping it almost four times before getting it right.
Kyle doesn’t seem to care that you can barely seem to string together a sentence in front of him. If anything, it seems to endear him to you.
His attraction makes itself apparent in tender words and a new penchant for touch, a hand always reaching out for you.
At first, it’s nothing more than the casual brush of his fingers against yours as he picks up your coffee from the bar and passes it to you, no different than a handshake or a high five. Ostensibly perfunctory. But that too changes over time. A fleeting touch becomes a hand at the small of your back as he guides you to a table for a quick chat before heading back to work, fingers squeezing your shoulder when he laughs at a joke you didn’t realize you made, and quick hugs that grow a little longer each time.
Maybe. Or maybe you’re imagining it.
“So when are you gonna let me take you out for real?”
That snaps you out of the daydream, reality crashing down with such force that it leaves your ears ringing. His words leave you dumbfounded, gaping up at him in that stupid way that you can’t seem to suppress.
“For real?” you repeat.
“On a date,” Kyle clarifies, as if the word alone weren’t enough to wreck you.
“Oh.”
You tell him yes because the word no evaporates from your vocabulary. By the time it returns, he’s already gone, disappearing into the world (likely an office building around the corner from yours, but it might as well be Timbuktu).
This isn’t what was supposed to happen. You were supposed to pine in agony until you died.
It’s everything you ever wanted, and yet, you couldn’t want it less in the moment, terrified for some reason that you can’t quite articulate. You count down the days with growing apprehension, jitters giving way to a full-body sweat.
You’ll break it off at a later date. That thought comforts you to a point. At some point, there will be a moment for you to bail entirely.
The problem is the longer you say nothing, the harder it is to say anything at all. Already guilt stays your tongue when all you want to do is tell him that you can’t do this anymore. You need to leave—go anywhere else, run home and lock the door behind you, never go back to the coffee shop again.
But there’s a text in your phone telling you the time and place, and every time you look at it, it leaves you feeling off-kilter. Sea legs without leaving dry land.
What is it about you that you feel the need to run as soon as you get too close? What about this isn’t what you want? Do you even know what you want?
Of course you know what you want. You want love and affection.
But having is not wanting. Wanting is safe. It’s the having that’s dangerous.
You contemplate cancelling on him about a dozen times until suddenly it’s too late, the man in question standing in the lobby of your building to pick you up. He must know someone in the building because he’s deep in conversation when you spot him, his head turning to meet yours at the same time, as if even in conversation, he wouldn’t allow himself to be distracted enough to miss you. Your heart squeezes when he wraps it up in the same breath, crossing the lobby to meet you.
Dinner is a restaurant in a different part of town, one you’ve seldom spent time in before, trendy in the way that would unnerve you were it not for the abrupt realization that to everyone else, this is simply a familiar part of town.
To some, the restaurant must be familiar as well. There might even be regulars. To you however, the small, dimly lit room with the booths on one side and the chairs lining the bar at the other, an eclectic assortment of framed photos and decorative porcelain plates on the wall beside you, is lovely, uncharted territory.
Over dinner, Kyle peppers you with question after question until your head spins, each answer that leaves your lips betraying some nervous tendency towards clandestinity. You have to keep some things to yourself. You have to keep some things private.
You have to shut your mouth before you—
“A long time,” you reply without thinking, the whole world blowing open when you admit it. You hadn't even consciously registered the question before answering. When was your last date?
Kyle doesn’t seem phased by it though, warm smile somehow warmer than the blood boiling under your skin. “I must be one lucky man then.”
He sweet talks you into agreeing to a drink after dinner, probably sensing the nervous animal in you, the fear about to take flight.
You assume he means a drink at a bar until you’re standing in the kitchen of your apartment, Kyle standing behind the island with a bottle of wine in one hand, uncorking it with practiced ease. When it pops out, you flinch.
What a strange thing, to lose time like that. You lose it again after he pours you both a glass, coming to on the couch with his arm around your shoulders, pinned between him and the side of the couch.
He turned the television on, you notice distantly, staring at it through your glass, red wine sloshing from side to side. It’s not a program either of you would care to pay much attention to, possibly by design.
“Do you have, um…any plans tomorrow?” you ask, swallowing when he drags his fingers over the bare skin of your upper arm.
“Nope,” he answers, playing with the sleeve of your shirt now.
You can hear it coming from a mile away. He makes it too obvious with his fingers trailing over your skin and the heat of his gaze searing into the side of your face.
The sky outside your window is black, the moon only a sliver of its usual brilliance, but your living room is bright, turning the window into a mirror reflecting the two of you, the picture of a couple in repose.
You watch his reflection lean over yours in the window, his lips grazing your double’s ears, your breath catching when his touch yours as well. “If I give you an inch, you’re going to run a mile, aren’t you?” he murmurs.
There’s a lump in your throat when you swallow. “No,” you lie.
He must see right through you though. Must see the creature inside you about to succumb to its instincts.
He must be good at chess, you think to yourself, staring down at him with a stupid look on your face as he lowers himself to lie flat on the bed between your legs, spreading your thighs wide enough to wedge his shoulders between them. Any game of strategy.
If you never give your opponent a moment to breathe, they can’t gather themselves enough to retreat.
That thought crumbles to dust when he makes you watch him lick the first stripe up the seam of your pussy, crudely spreading your lips with his tongue. Nothing more substantial materializes after that.
He eats pussy like he hasn’t had enough to eat. Lips and tongue and hollowed cheeks when he sucks your clit into his mouth and your back nearly arches right off the bed, twisted into such a complex shape that you almost don’t know how to unravel yourself. Fingers grasping at his head, his ears; rasping over the coils of his hair, fingers committing the texture to memory.
Your thighs tremble and squeeze, pried open again and again every time you try to shut him out. The muscles in his arms barely even bulge with the effort it takes to keep your thighs spread.
You are wound up in ways that would be a challenge to anyone, but Kyle doesn’t seem to care. He just holds you down and forces you to come on his tongue, rolling it over your clit until you actually start crying. Big, belting caterwauls. His poor baby, he croons.
When have you been someone’s ‘poor baby’? Someone’s darling, sweetheart, honey, that’s it, I’ve got you, that felt good, didn’t it? God, you’re so pretty, I can’t believe you let me—
He flicks his tongue over your sensitive clit and you yelp, reaching down to slide your hand between his mouth and your swollen sex only for him to lace your fingers together and pull your hand to the side and lick it again.
“It’s still sensitive,” you complain, and he lifts a brow, unmoved by your bellyaching.
“So what, you got twitchy little orgasm legs, that means I’m not allowed to lick your pussy anymore?”
“No,” you hiss, embarrassment warming the blood already pooled under your cheeks.
Warm hands rest on either side of your face as he eases his cock in for the first time, holding your gaze in place as sinks in to the root. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut.
They don’t stay shut for long. He pries them open without words, without touch, every ounce of his ardor poured into you and lifting your own to the surface.
Sweat drips from his forehead onto yours. The sweat makes his hands slip up and down your face with the force of his thrusts, fingers tugging on your lips and pulling them apart, sliding over your gums and teeth.
“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Kyle pants, sweat dripping off his forehead and onto yours, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them, glassy and feverish.
“Don’t—don’t say that,” you gasp.
He dips his head down to press his forehead against yours. “You can’t tell me that. You can’t tell me what to do.”
Whatever this is, it’s nothing like anything you’ve experienced before. Proper lovemaking. Real kisses with passion, with fervor, with delight; the messiness contained between you, in the sweat rolling down your back and soaking into the sheets, the saliva dripping from his mouth into yours, the squelch of his shaft splitting you over and over, never giving you a second to catch your breath.
Coming a second, no, third time is painful, like a thing wrested unwillingly from you, and you fall back on the bed windburned. Kyle follows you down, hips bucking into yours faster and faster, his own end nearly on his heels.
He comes with a grunt, without warning; a sudden surge of heat and warmth, his fingers biting into your cheeks where he holds your face in his hands, his lip curling up into a snarl that you swear you can almost hear, and—
You expect it to be over after that. For him to roll out of bed and pull on his pants, maybe give you a courtesy kiss for a job well done before leaving you to stew in the mire of another rejection, the small win eclipsed by the enormity of losing him.
What you don’t expect is for him to lay down beside you and pull you into him. Kyle laughs softly when he notices your stiffness, jostling you slightly in an attempt to coax you into relaxing.
“That’s right, baby,” he chuckles a touch breathlessly, pressing a kiss to the bridge of your nose before relaxing back down. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Coffee the next day is different than usual. Early for one, the sun still a syrupy morning gold, not yet the starchy afternoon white, and in a different location than usual, the coffee machine on your kitchen counter hissing through its second cup of the day.
Kyle maneuvers around your apartment too naturally, a stark contrast to the way you scurry from the bedroom to the bathroom like a stowaway. He’s entirely at home in your space though, helping himself to coffee and breakfast, only glancing at you for permission, the slightest cock of his head and arch of his brow, and you fold under the pressure instantly.
When you try to skirt around him, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side, the touch of his lips against your chest shocking you still, electrical impulses still skittering under your skin.
“I can feel your heart racing,” Kyle teases, caramel-smooth voice sending a low vibration through your chest.
And why shouldn’t he? Your heart is racing after all. “I’m nervous.”
“I know you are, baby,” he murmurs. “This is hard for you, isn’t it?”
It is. A few too many years on your own have turned you to stone, the slightest touch almost too much to handle. You’ve long learned to expect anything you touch to shock you.
“Want me to make this easier on you?” he asks gently. You’re not sure what he means by that, but you have an inkling.
And wouldn’t it be nice to not have to worry? To not have to second guess what you really want or what you should do?
You nod.
“Okay, honey. Then you don’t have to do it. No telling me to go away. I’ve got it from here.”
When Kyle takes your phone from your hand, you don’t stop him, even typing in your password for him when he turns it towards you, watching over his shoulder as he shares your location with his phone.
You exhale shakily, the tightness in your shoulders easing. There he goes with that oyster shucker again, opening you up.
So be it. What use is there in protecting something that’s already his?
🏁 ꒰ ✩ smut ⋆ mdni ⋆ pro hero izuku midoriya & fem!reader. oral sex, somnophilia, established relationship, dom and sub dynamics, care taker izuku. -> izuku implements a seven step nightly routine that always ends with the taste of you on his tongue.
nightly routine with izuku includes a shower together where he scrubs you clean n puts a hand between your legs ton wash you up but he doesn’t touch you and pretends … pretends not to notice the way your thighs quiver around his wrist or how you reach back to curl your fingers in his hair for stability. sudsy kisses pressed on your shoulders and soapy digits splayed against your tummy to keep you still. “gotta make sure you’re squeaky clean, hm baby?”
then he oils and moisturises you up before bed, he’s already picked out your PJs — something that smells like baby detergent, clean and lacy and barely there and you know what the fabric means and he just pretends that they’re ordinary jammies. big scarred hands working through the knots in your body, squeezing and tugging on your thighs and the fat at your hips and thumbs pressing into your nipples and even still — izuku will smile as though nothing is happening, nothing is going to happen. playing with you, toying with his sweet baby who grows sleepier by the second.
you’re already drifting by the time izuku pulls away from your embrace, an iron grip not quite iron when he’s so easily able to break free. he’s over you, a finger to his lips making a shhhh sound when you whine because he’s not going anywhere, not really, shimmying his way down your torso — tongue circling your belly button, hot kisses against your warm flesh. “sleepy time, baby, don’t make a fuss,” he hums, because you will attempt to kick your feet and bring izuku back up for cuddles. “hands to yourself please.”
so you sling your arms over your sleepy face and let him draw your knees up to a bend, his teeth already grazing at your swollen clit from over your sweet little boy shorts. pulse erratic just like your heartbeat which is no where near calm enough to sleep. “miss you, come back.”
“don’t be a silly girl, ‘m right here,” deku’s voice pinches and peaks with condescension. the sound rumbles through your syrupy, tortured cunt — clenching around nothing, self-lubricating as she lies in wait for your boyfriend’s fingers or tongue. you’ve been waiting all day to be touched properly, the teasing and the taunting putting you on the edge where you toe the line between heaven and hell. “relax for me, let’s go to sleep — yeah?”
slick glues the seam of your shorts to your aching, vacant hole as izuku carefully peels them away, tucking one leg behind your pudgy pussy lips. clear and stringy between your folds — tantalisingly good enough to eat, and while the position of your clothing is awkward and uncomfortable, it’s irritation is minuscule in size when compared to that first stroke of his tongue against you. curling at your clit, knocking the little nub from side to side. slurping sounds slip between moans of gluttony, that mimics that of a man sheathing himself inside his partner raw for the first time.
jaded eyes sparked with a mischievous or borderline evil emerald peek from over your stomach, rising and falling with heavy breathing that only comes with someone losing consciousness to sleep. “lift your hips, c’mon pup,” he coos, slack jaw, words breathy whilst he tongues at your quivering entrance — carefully thrusting along your silken walls. you slowly begin to obey, rocking upwards and bowing into his eager open mouth. “look at that, there we go. you listen so well.”
your body does. only to him. as soon as you’re up, nimble fingers slide up to the base of your spine and hold you in place — against the mouth that works on you until you’re drenched and dripping down his chin. the flex of his jaw, as he drinks you down as though you’re aged whisky. rare. a treat undeserved by a mere man such as himself.
“baby, tell me about your day.” izuku drawls like a man lost without water for days, pausing for air, lapping at the wet inner crease of your thigh where spit and arousal marry to become one.
he latches onto you, while you find mental strength to mumble about your day plans. sucks a swollen fold between perfect white teeth, sending blood flow straight down south. “was good — mmnph — got my nails done ‘n went shoppin’…” the hero keeps you talking until you’re hazy, heated and half a second away from sinking into sleep. blinking away the blur that fades the edges of your vision, pleasure melding with exhaustion — you meet eyes and they’re already on you as though he hasn’t given a thought to look away from your parted lips and bobbing throat. just as you open your mouth to continue, his tongue laps at your candied cunt and squirms into you, pressing against the gushy, gummy spot nestled deep within. “oh, oooh! got somethin’ new for you.”
and you’re so sweet, god you are. in taste and in physical form. izuku gets the kind joy from you as a kid would at a candy store — static straight to his brain when you whimper into night’s humid blanket and squeeze your thighs around his head. arousal seeping through your sleep shorts to fuel him on as you pour your chalice straight into his mouth.
“for me? god, ‘m a lucky guy. aren’t i? can’t wait to see it…” he chuckles, almost humbly. words nestled against your soaked slit like a promise of other worldly ecstasy. a whisper in the wind, a heart shaped signature against your clit. “i think i want you to cum now, angel. nice and hard, let your body unwind. give me all you can.”
you listen again, every fibre and nerve ending in your body following izuku’s command like a dog who’s well trained and knows her tricks off by heart. at this point, you’ve barely any strength or will to stay awake. the stars align and moon flashes bright behind your drawn curtains — you cum against greedy lips and a tongue that smooths over your sluice sex like a salve, blacking out and falling victim to the soothing voice of sleep.
“lights out, baby,” izuku coos through the after shocks, all in a days work for his pretty baby.
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
request for @themoonknowsyourname hope you enjoy!!! recs open!!
divider credit: @pixopix
It felt like every five seconds you were glancing back at the clock, wiping the sweat from your palms onto your knees.
You glanced around the shop, hoping the many different tattoo designs that covered the walls would help take your mind off what you knew was coming. It didn’t. The smell of disinfectant also not doing anything to calm your nerves.
It was while you tumbled down this rabbit hole that the gruff mention of your name snapped you back to reality. Looking up, you see who you assume to be your artist standing in the entryway of the lobby.
And looking at him only made things worse.
He was tall, tattoos covering his arms, and you were instantly ten times more nervous.
He could probably see it in your face (and in the fact that you hadn’t moved from your spot at all) and he quirked up and eyebrow, smiling as he waved a hand at you, telling you to “Come on back!”
You scrambled to your feet, mumbling quick apologies as you rushed to follow him.
As you walked to his room in the studio, he was quick to introduce himself. “My names Enjin, and I’m your artist today! I already got the design you submitted so we’ll just make sure it’s sized right and we can get started!” His voice was cheery but casual, clearly trying to do his best to calm you down from your obvious panic.
Once you made it back to his studio, he shut the door behind you both, leaving you to look at the doctor office style examination table and mirror that covered most of the opposite wall.
Enjin moved around to sit down in the stool by the table, multiple sizes of your design already stenciled out and ready to go, and you couldn’t help but appreciate the preparation he had already gone through before you got here.
“Where did you want to put the design? Pretty much anywhere would work but it can really change how long things could take.” He was looking up at you as you stood by the table, breath stuttering as he made eye contact and held it.
“Um… I was thinking my thigh, close to my hip?” You phrased it as a question, silently hoping for his approval. It already felt like you had made enough of a fool of yourself getting so nervous, you don’t think you could take the embarrassment of him questioning your choices.
Thankfully he seemed totally on board. “That sounds perfect! Thighs are one of the least painful areas that you can get tattooed, so that is perfect for a first-timer.”
You sighed in relief. The fear of the needle still living in the back of your mind, but knowing you picked well felt good. You did good. He said you did good.
Shaking off the thoughts that began to invade your mind, you watched Enjin again as he prepared the stencil.
Once he was ready, he looked up at you expectantly, and it was then you realized you were going to have to take off your pants.
You felt heat rush to your face, eyes wide as you let out a quick “oh!” and began to unbutton your jeans, pulling them down on one side to your knee. Using your shirt to cover your panties the best you could.
You made your way in front of Enjin, facing the spot on your thigh that you knew was going to be tattooed towards him. He wiped down the area, lightly touching your thigh with his gloved hands. He pressed the stencil to your skin, holding it down with his hand, slowly peeling it off to reveal the design that meant so much to you in purple ink.
He looked up at you, eyebrows raised. “Do you like the placement?”
You couldn’t muster more than a quick nod. He grinned wide in response. “Perfect! just go lay back and we’ll get started.”
He scooted back, starting to put together the tattoo gun, as you made your way to the table, awkwardly situating yourself in a way that allowed Enjin easy access to your thigh.
He made his way over, taking his tray with him, ink ready to go. He gave the gun a few test buzzes. Once he was satisfied, he looked at you again and asked, “You ready?”
With him sitting here, tattoo gun at the ready, knowing it would be pressing into your skin at any moment, you felt your chest constrict. You knew what you were signing up for, but the reality of it happening any second caught up with you.
“Um… sorry can we just take a minute? I’m just a little nervous about the needles and all.” You refused to make eye contact with Enjin, not wanting to know what he would think of you having such a basic and silly fear. With how covered he was in tattoos he must have thought you were a silly coward.
To your shock, he just smiled at you again with that easygoing grin. “I got you! We’ll take all the time we need. I got allllll day.”
You took a breath, letting your head fall back against the table. In your panic, you hadn’t realized that your shirt was riding up, exposing your panties to Enjin.
He rested his hand on your thigh, rubbing his thumb in circles as you had your mini panic attack. You absentmindedly brought your hand up to your mouth, biting on your nails to bring yourself some comfort.
You had been so focused on your fear that you hadn’t noticed Enjins hand moving further up, the tips of his fingers barely tracing the outline of your pussy.
As soon as your feel it, your thighs clench together, face heating to an impossible degree as you look down at him with wide eyes.
And as if you couldn’t get any more flustered, he asks “Would something in your mouth help calm you down?”
As if on autopilot, your head was nodding.
He chuckled, rearranging both of you so his body was halfway between your thigh and your face, and before you knew it his gloved fingers were in your mouth.
It was instant, the comfort that washed over you as you sucked his fingers deeper and deeper. Eyes fluttering shut as the weight of his fingers pressed down on your tongue.
You were so focused on his fingers you barely noticed when he started tattooing your leg.
Once you felt the pain, your breath caught, eyebrows knitting together as you whimpered at the pain. Enjin was quick to shush you, “It’s ok baby, you’ll get through it, just focus on my fingers.”
And you did. Getting lost in the feeling of the latex on your tongue.
You didn’t know how Enjin was tattooing one handed, but apparently it became too difficult when he pulled his fingers from your mouth, a whine slipping out before you could stop it.
He chuckled, watching your face as you pout at him. “Jesus, you look fucked out just from sucking my fingers.” He brought the hand that was in your mouth down to his belt, palming himself through his pants. “You want something else to suck on? Need both my hands to make sure I’m doing my job right.”
It wasn’t even a question. You quickly rearranged your body, moving so Enjin could easily access your thigh and so you could easily access his cock.
You undid his belt, your lust overriding any sense of embarrassment you would have felt. You pulled him out of his pants, already so hard it looked like it hurt.
You leaned forward and licked the head of his cock, the taste making your thighs clench together. You bring the head into your mouth, eyes rolling back into your head.
You leaned your head back, laying comfortably while keeping him in your mouth, already lost in your haze. Enjin was groaning, looking down at you as you essentially hypnotized yourself on his cock.
i def think ran likes to fuck specifically with him being almost fully clothed while his partner is completely naked, that power imbalance just does something to him
Hi, can I ask Isagi Yoichi fucking Itoshi Rin's little sister just to spite him (he loves her just didn't realise it) because he lost a game? Maybe some nice creampie and overstimulation if you can include them? Thank you btw. I binge-read your fics in one sitting hehe. Sorry this is my first time request something
— a bllk fanfic // where isagi yoichi wants revenge.
☆ sweet revenge!
synopsis: whenever rin defeated yoichi, yoichi never took it easy. in fact, he came to you to extort his revenge.
pairing: afab!reader x aged up! isagi yoichi
wc: 2.5k
cw: MDNI. KINDA CRAZY??? no explicit consent. slight porn logic. mean!isagi. slight stalking (but not really???) nsfw includes: mean sex. p in v. fingering. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. creampie. he's very dense because he REFUSES to admit his feelings. dubcon. i think that's it.
old m.list. | new m.list.
the soft click! of your window latch opening is enough for you to rub your thighs together in anticipation. you bite your bottom lip, tightening your closed eyes as you shift under your sheets. the now-open window bring in a gust of strong winds that make you shudder.
the room is quite. too quite. you hear nothing over the loud roar of blood in your ears and his soft footsteps. they fall in line, inching closer and closer till you feel him standing right next to your bed — ghost-like, omnipresent. you shudder yet again, and you cannot decide whether it's because of the cold... or him. isagi yoichi.
you know yoichi isn't here to make sweet love to you, not here to praise you or love you, he's here to fuck you till he feels like he's taken his revenge from the itoshi household.
you knew he would be here — in the middle of the night, in your bedroom — ever since rin came back with a match won. you knew that yoichi — seething with rage and revenge — would take it out on your poor pussy. you knew all of that. maybe... maybe that's the reason you hadn't locked your window. you knew he'd come. you wanted him to.
a masculine hand comes down to your waist, kneading it through your comforter as isagi's voice whispers next to the shell of your ears. his voice fans across your jaw, "i know you're awake."
you gulp but stay unmoving, hiding under the guise of sleeping. but it's hard to fool your intruder. he's as smart as they come, after all. yoichi grins above you, cocky and shrewd, "oh? you wanna play it like this, huh?" you feel a chaste kiss pressed just beneath your ear. he purrs, grasping your cheeks and pulling them into a pout, "look at me."
your eyes flutter open. yoichi smiles at you and for a second you see a moment of genuine happiness flicker in it. then it disappears, and all that remains is amusement; like he was the predator, and you his favorite prey. he muses, "there she is."
"stop..." you whisper, "rin... he's in the next room."
"oh? i know that." your comforter is all but ripped apart from your body. yoichi manhandles you, pulling you on your back and roughly pulling your sleepshirt up your chest. your tits jiggle at his force, at the aggression with which he treats you. the cold air pierces your skin, erecting your nipples. he licks his lips, ravenous eyes looking all over you like a hungry beast. "that's exactly why i'm doing this."
yoichi grins again, running a soft palm up and down your exposed waist and stomach. you squirm as he questions you, "you know what happened today?" he laughs to himself; something soft, something dark. "well, of course you do. i'm here means you know what happened."
what happened is that yoichi lost the match, and now he wanted his revenge. it was something sick and twisted, for which you found no explanation in your mind.
you didn't play soccer. heck! you didn't even attend either one of your brothers' matches! you couldn't bring yourself to care for the sport, or for the people involved in it. but the one time you did go to one of rin's matches... it was the match where rin's team defeated isagi's. isagi had his eyes trained on you the entire time, making note of how rin — the ever-cool player — doted on you. how he fretted over you. how he loved you more than he possibly loved soccer. so, you were rin itoshi's weakness.
sure, isagi yoichi couldn't exploit it on the field. but off the field? you were all isagi's. that day, after losing for the first time, he fucked you in the locker room wearing the same 'itoshi' jersey rin had bought for you. and ever since then... you've just been a post-losing trophy for isagi yoichi.
isagi's voice is cool, "i'm gonna fuck you." you whimper softly, and he is only egged on to continue reminding you exactly who he is, "yeah. gonna fuck you real good. your brother's sleeping peacefully next door, yeah?"
you don't answer. you don't need to. isagi knows.
"i'm gonna fuck you so hard that rin's gonna listen to it. every bit of it. he can say goodbye to a full night of sleep." he smiles to himself and you bite down a gasp as you feel him tug a nipple, twist it between his fingers and promptly suck on it with his warm mouth. the coldness of the room in contrast with the warmth of his skilled tongue makes you squirm. he licks and nips the skin, bites down new hickeys on your chest where old ones are barely fading. his warm, calloused palm travels down your soft skin, teasing your waistband and slipping down your sleep shorts.
two fingers expertly part you open, another finger pressing down on your nub, moving up and down your wet slit. isagi hums, "you're so wet. were you waiting up on me?"
"n-no." you whimper, shying away your gaze from him and tucking it to your side.
"oh?" he pulls your face to focus back on his. "are you having fun fucking your brother's rival?"
you shake your head, "no!"
"liar." his pace increases, expert fingers swiping against your nub in a carefully crafted dance. you try not to move, try not to moan out those pathetic whines of his name. he slips in one finger, then two. curling his digits in your velvety heat, he groans, "why'd you leave your window open, then?"
another hand of his circles your throat and clamps down. isagi nags you, "do you desperately wait for the days when rin defeats me? so that you can get fucked dumb on my cock?"
your lips part open but no sound comes out. the sopping wetness of your pussy speaks for itself. he quickens his pace, curling and cramping his digits till you are cumming all over them. his hand is soaked, your essence dripping from his palm and onto your bedding. your thighs shake, your swollen clit aches with every merciless swipe of his fingers. he fucks you on his fingers till you're cumming again 'n again.
"y-yoichi... please." your sweet voice runs it's course straight to his dick. he groans as he finally pulls his fingers out of your devilish cunt. he licks your gleaming essence and hums, "please what?"
under the pale moonlight, he seems more like a devil than a man. you meet his eyes with your own teary ones. your wobbling lips manage out, "f-fuck me...?"
"awh. why'd you gotta be so sweet, huh?" but his charming words are a stark contrast to his primal actions. turning you around, isagi all but tears off the flimsy pair of shorts. burying his erection into your heat, his clothed skin rests over yours. he groans against your skin, "the sweeter you are, the more fun it is to ruin you."
you cry into your sheets softly, fisting and unfisting your bedsheets as he pierces you on his length. his length burns, even with all the prep. his tip kisses your womb, his protruding veins massaging your walls so intimately.
despite the sick and twisted nature of your relationship, you feel the man press a soft kiss to your jaw. he hums above you, "why're you so quiet?"
"p-please, isagi..."
he kisses your jaw again, gritting out words next, "stop with that tone. just- just tell me what you want... and i'll give it to you." he punctuates it with rough rolls of his hips, "everything you want. it's yours."
"he's... he's gonna- nggh- hear us. please go...!" your voice is so sweet, so vulnerable. isagi breathes heavily above you, taking a moment to himself before his pelvis is smacking into yours dangerously fast. he knows rin would hear. he wants that. he wants that as carnally as he wants you. so, yoichi grins, "sorry. can give you everything but that, ah-angel."
the lecherous sounds of your intimate dance reverberate in the whole room. the plaps and the groans ring loud in your ear and your entire body curls in part-pleasure, part-fear. isagi destroys your cunt and in some foggy, deep-seated crook of your mind, you are scared that rin would hear you. hear as you cry out, "yoichi- haaah, fuck please... please fuck me- ngh faster."
scared that rin would hear as isagi grunts and hikes your legs apart and fucks into your sopping cunt harder and harder. he would hear as isagi nips your jaw and groans, "fuck. fuck. this is s'much better than winning that- that stupid fuckin' match."
you're afraid that rin would hear as you beg — beg — isagi yoichi, your brother's rival, "please, please... i'm so close. please don-t- don't stop."
isagi moves his body faster. resting his bodyweight on yours, he fastens more 'n more till he feels you whine out broken chants of his name, till your pussy spasms around him and milks him for all he's worth. you feel his hot cum fill your womb, the thin tendrils of milky white seeping out of your cunt as he weakly keeps fucking your spasming, overstimulated cunt. he refuses to stop.
your eyes water, teeth bite into your fluffy pillow as the man above you reels his pelvis back and smacks it back into you, unstopping. your entire body shakes under him, you feel your sticky juices mixing with his and running down your thighs. there's a wet puddle under your sheets, the one that squelches obscenely with each short, hard thrust of his.
dry-mouthed and cross-eyed, you beg him with the last bits of sanity that you possess, "e-enough, please."
he pants above you, "no. more. c'mon. fuck. give it to me."
"i- i can't. y-yoichi."
"no." he refuses to entertain your ideas, especially when it meant that he had to pull himself away from your perfect pussy.
groaning and blinking down tears of frustration, you can't help but allow him to use your pliant body for his own use. in the moment, in the middle of the night, crushed under isagi's bodyweight and all sweaty, you're nothing more than isagi yoichi's personal, favourite fleshlight.
"oi!" rin's muffled voice creaks through the door and your eyes widen. isagi wraps a strong hand around your mouth, breathing down your neck as he keeps up his beast-like pace.
"don't answer him," isagi whispers, and you can barely make out his voice over the loud thumping of your heart in your chest. "you're supposed to be asleep, right? focus on me, baby."
hot tears prick your eyes. your brother's at the door, and here you are being defiled by his rival. you cry, muffled against his lips, "he's- he's gonna find out—"
"shh." isagi coos, gently kissing your cheek, "it's okay. it's alright. i'm here. right here." he punctuates his words with sharp thrusts that leave you gasping and biting into your pillow below. the pillowcase is wet with your drool, the sheets crumpled up and dirty with your cum and his.
"yoichi..." you whimper. meanwhile, rin yells from outside, "i heard strange noises. answer me! are you okay?!"
"look at that. fuck. looks like, haah— he heard us after all." isagi eggs you on, whispering lowly as he fucks into you harder. his cum sloshes about in your pussy, gushing out of in messy splatters as isagi keeps fucking you.
"open the door." rin says impatiently from outside, "i'm worried out here."
tears fall down harder, fear running rampant in your body as isagi yoichi keeps fucking into your cunt. you whisper to him, "p-please... yoichi... j-jus' go."
"it's okay," he coos, kissing down your jaw, "jus' tell him tomorrow that you were asleep, you couldn't hear him. yeah? you can do that, right? do it for me?"
you nod almost automatically, like it's second nature for you to do everything for him.
"words, baby."
crying softly, you choke out. "y-yeah."
you hear sae's voice from outside, "what's wrong?"
"she's not answering—" rin explains quickly and sae sounds frenzied, rattling your door with his strong bangs, "what? what the fuck? OPEN UP."
"i don't fucking know. i've been calling her and—" sae cuts off rin and threatens you, "listen. we're gonna break this fucking door down if you don't open it in the next two minutes."
your heartbeat quickens, sanity all but leaving your wrecked body. you beg for mercy. whimpering under isagi, you use the last of your coherence for a last plea. "they're gonna see you... p-please."
isagi laughs, something short and airy as he shoots another round of cum into your pliant cunt. his body jitters and shakes above yours, his muscle worn down and burning. he slumps over your body and his essence overflows as it dribbles out of you. his body is hot and sweaty over yours. he answers back, breathless and undone as much as you, "don't worry 'bout me, baby."
two minutes later, you're at the door with wobbling legs. pulling the door open, you rub your eyes and practice a faux yawn. you lazily groan, "what...?"
rin and sae blink at you. rin looks like he is ready for murder and sae has abandoned his usual bored look for something which circles around concern.
"what? you're asking us 'what?'" rin bunches his eyebrows, glaring at you, "what the fuck were you doing in here?"
you press your thighs together, feeling the mix of fluids nestled between the juncture of your thighs. his cum seeps out of you in a steady stream, something sticky and perverted. lowering your gaze, you mumble, "i was sleeping..."
"like a fuckin' corpse? who sleeps like this?" rin scolds you. "you should pay attention to your surroundings, for fucks' sake."
sae doesn't say anything but he crosses past you and stands at your opened window. you hear him snag it shut. you older brother sighs, "you should close your window before sleeping."
you mutter again, just as sheepish, "sorry... i forgot."
"that's reckless." rin sighs as he walks to the window and peers down into the itoshi household's front yard. he looks back and shakes his head, disappointed, "someone could have broken in."
sae sounds monotonous as he faces you. he stares at your for a moment. his face is unreadable. finally, he nods, "alright. we should all sleep."
crossing over to you in a couple of short steps, sae ruffles your head, "you had us scared."
you tug the hem of your shorts downwards, not meeting his eyes, "sorry... i was- was okay. don't worry."
rin follows the older itoshi out of your room. however, the younger itoshi lingers at the door. eyeing you, he says, "i heard a boy."
you freeze. your thighs press together at the slight burn in the cunt, the one isagi left you with as a parting gift.
rin waits for you to answer. finally, you find it in yourself to scoff, "what? you're insane if you think i'd let a boy sneak in here."
"yeah." rin nods in agreement, "if me and sae ever find a boy in your room, he'd leave this room in a body bag."
you laugh, though it doesn't look realistic at all. "shut up."
rin doesn't say anything but you feel his teal eyes narrow down at you. giving in, he sighs out miserably, "jus'... i don't know, don't get yourself into lukewarm situations. or next time," the smallest of smile tugs at his lips, "we might really have to break down your door."
you smile, "yeah. i'm gonna be okay. don't worry."
"goodnight." rin rubs his eyes as he closes your door behind him.
you only breathe once you hear the faint, distant clicks! of your brothers' doors drawing shut. pressing your fingers to your cheeks, you can still feel the marks where hot tears had ran down the planes of your face. you could still feel isagi's hot cum dribbling down your thighs and onto the flimsy fabric of your sleep shorts. looking back, you stare at the closed window and sigh out.
isagi yoichi had extorted his revenge, surely. but you couldn't help but remember the kiss he had pressed to your temple before he had left, just a quick peck followed by the words, "see you later."
well... isagi yoichi probably couldn't 'see you later', not until he lost yet another match against your older brother, rin.
a.n: NOT PROOFREAD. kinda feeling like i outdid myself on this one. thankyou anon for the req!! it was sm fun and i genuinely hope that your first time requesting something hasn't let you down. enjoy the nasties. mwuah mwuah!
old m.list. | new m.list.
You always knew Tsukishima was tall. Obviously. But it hits you differently when you’re pinned against his chest, looking up at him with wide, needy eyes.
“God, you’re so tiny,” he mutters, voice deep and lazy with arousal as he towers over you, his fingers brushing your jaw to tilt it up further. “Do you even realise how small you look under me like this?”
Your face burns hot, thighs clenching involuntarily as he smirks down at you. His glasses slide down his nose slightly, hair damp from practice, and you swear you’ve never seen anyone look so unfairly good. He chuckles low when you squirm.
“Bet you like it though,” he hums, leaning closer so his breath fans against your lips. “Being so small compared to me… letting me handle you however I want.”
You whimper when he suddenly lifts you up by your thighs, your feet leaving the floor with such ease it makes your stomach flutter. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist, clinging onto his shoulders. He clicks his tongue, smirk widening.
“Pathetic,” he whispers, but there’s a softness in his gaze as he presses you against the wall, rolling his hips into yours slowly. “You’re so desperate for me, aren’t you?”
You nod shakily, and Kei chuckles again before kissing you hard, tongue licking into your mouth as if he owns it. His hands tighten under your thighs, squeezing the flesh there, making you gasp.
“Don’t worry,” he breathes against your lips, eyes half-lidded, golden gaze locked with yours. “I’ll take care of my little thing.”
And as he rolls his hips again, letting you feel just how big he is against your core, you know you’re completely and utterly at his mercy.
