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Yan!Satoru and Yan!Suguru Pt2!! (｡’▽’｡)♡

A/N: I plan on making a recent gojo and geto hc or fic, and then maybe a fic of the yan teen sillies!

CW: barista!nonsorcerer!gn!reader, murder, creepiness

word count: 491

Yan!satoru who became a regular (and by regular i mean coming back everytime you had your shift) at the cafe you work at, nagging to take an early break so he gets to ask you all about your day. Yaga is on his ass everytime he makes a detour from his mission if it's near the cafe, but to him, it's just a cursed spirit, why can't he just take a peek on how you're doing? He'll keep up the line to blabber how jujutsu high is just too mean on him and that he doesn't deserve the mistreatment, which often leads you into pushing him out of the way. (Which is fine by him, anything is fine if you're doing it.)

Yan!suguru who isn't fond of coffee, but sucking it up because it's you we're talking about. If you're making his coffee, it's the sweetest thing ever, even if it's pure black coffee. If he's having a bad day, a simple latte you made yourself makes it the brightest day ever. He'll ask about your day and subtly persuade you to go on a date (to him, atleast) after your shift is over. What a smooth talker. Geto is also a great listener, if you're ranting to him on your break about how nagging these customers are or how you got a burn from a customer spilling coffee, he won't try to shut you up.

Yan!SatoSugu who goes shopping with you after your shift, making you try on all kinds of luxuries, all kinds of jewelry, everything. They stop by some stores with house decor too, if you like it, they'll buy it, one for you, two for them. You ask if they liked it too, they just shrug and say it feels special to them.

Yan!SatoSugu who have practically a makeshift shrine of momentos and anything you like or has your dna (Suguru got his hands on the pencil you chewed on before Gojo, Satoru is still mad at him.), with pictures of you all together, or photos of you sleeping, everything you do is cherished with love and admiration.

Yan!SatoSugu who refuse to let you near an area that they're in a mission on. Oh, this is your apartment? Too bad, cursed spirit, you can't get killed. Satoru will whine and try to get you to live in the dorms, not like Yaga would let him anyways. But it's much safer than your apartment, think of all the cursed spirits crawling there!

Yan!SatoSugu who don't let anyone get close to you, either they go missing or cutting contact with you, your friendships never last long. They're the only friends you need, why be friends with everyone else? Not to mention those people could be trying to get their way close to them, to make them let their guard down just to stab them in the back. Don't you care about their protection??

Yan!Patron!! ♡＾▽＾♡

A/N: I'll be making a masterlist and introduction soon! (˘³˘)♡

CW: gn!artist!reader, manipulation, stalking, candid photos, indebt!struggling!reader, kidnapping, murder, torture, handcuffing, and slight manipulation.

word count: 510!!

Yan!patron who commissions you weekly for a new piece of art every week or so. Either stating that it's to impress some rich folks or just to display around his mansion(s). No piece goes unanalyzed, he'll inspect the type of paint you use, how thick or thin the strokes were, the way you painted every detail with him in mind, all so adorable.

Yan!patron who is actually a really important figure in political and economical business. Not that he'd ever tell you, he uses a pen name whenever he contacts, though whoever is delivering your new piece actually has to deliver to his door. Even going as far as to order the delivery guy to wear gloves so their fingerprints don't ruin your precious work.

Yan!patron who has a whole room dedicated to you and your art, yes, you too. Candid photos he took of you painting and doing everyday things, it's not his fault he just happened to have a spare mansion coincidentally built recently near your lowly apartment! His favorite one (which is you looking like an angel while sleeping) is framed in old Amazon wood he gained at an auction.

Yan!patron who pays you more than your commissions ask for, but he takes so much pity on you! You're a struggling artist trying to balance bills, deadlines, and college debt! Why can't you let him spoil you?? (And in spoiling means little by little making you feel like you owe him something)

Yan!patron who only wants the best for you, which is why he kidnapped you. Look, he has hitmans on him all the time! What happens if people found out you were valuable to him? They could harm you!! He made sure that the basement is cleaned and there's to be no speck of dust to be found, following with a lavish bed and wardrobe (some which are from your own, and some that are Yan!patron's choice) that could be your old bedroom based on size. Not to mention your favorite flowers, a bathroom, and a pile of welcome gifts!

Yan!patron who treats you like glass, carefully stroking your red, tear stained cheeks like you also were a piece of art. So the saying that the artist was as beautiful as their art was true after all. Not to worry, you'll be out of your binds soon, just as soon as he finds you not wanting to escape.

Yan!patron who still makes you paint, having plenty of canvases and rich paints. Oil, acrylic, water colors, pastels, any you could imagine. He likes the self portraits you make for him, he'll have a room dedicated to those soon.

Yan!patron whose maids go missing after they say something distasteful or even go as far touch touch your art, how dare they? Can't they see your art surpasses the great mona lisa itself? Don't worry, they're not in the basement with you, isn't it great that Yan!patron has a Victorian mansion WITH a torture chamber? What a bargain!

Simp.

summary: prompt fill. a silly little subby Wally drabble because our clingy boo is fun to write. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x masc!reader

warnings: smut. sub!Wally Clark. flashfic. crying after climax. Wally Clark has undisclosed mommy issues. same 'verse as Boy Noise.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🖇️

Simp.

"So good, baby," You praise, "Keep going. You wanna make me come, don't you?" Fuck, yes, Wally does. It's all he wants in the whole word. "Just like that. Such a good boy for me."

And the words go straight to his cock. Flush through him like the heat of the sun, burning in his belly.

You're at his house, dragged there after school because today was a shitty day and he was vibrating with restless energy. He needed you so badly and you never made him suffer.

You lounge in his dad's armchair like a king, one leg hooked over Wally's shoulder, the foot of the other propped on the seat of the armchair, spread wide to accommodate him as he whimpers and whines and probes his tongue as deep as he can get it, kissing your pussy in a filthy wet rhythm.

He hears the clink of your glass on the side table, gives a little moan when you plant the heel of your foot on his shoulder and push, dislodging him. Wally makes an unhappy sound, pouts up at you with big, pleading puppy eyes, but you only smirk in return.

"Stand up," You command. And he does. No resistance, just obedience.

He gets to his feet and takes in the image you make, sitting there mostly naked, your button-down open to reveal your naked body, tie loose and still around your collar. You lick your teeth, grinning like a lion that's about to eat its first meal.

"Strip." You say, tone making Wally's belly squirm.

Again, he does as bidden without question. Tries to do it slow, give you a sultry performance how you sometimes want him to, but apparently not today.

"I don't want a show, baby," You tell him, husky and rich, eyes dark with fever, "Get naked. I want you to make me come on your cock."

Wally's out of his jeans and t-shirt faster than lightning. You stand in a single, sultry motion, lead him by his cock to the armchair and push him down. He spreads his legs wide, arms clasped around you as you as you crawl into his lap.

You take another long sip of his dad's whiskey, the ice tinkling when you place the glass down again, and then, quick and hard, you drop down on him. Take him as easy as a breath after the long minutes he spent pleasuring you with lips and gentle teeth and sloppy tongue.

He's fucking needy now.

You don't move. Not right away. Giving him a chance to adjust, to breathe, to center himself before, "You're gonna be a good boy for me, aren't you?"

Jesus, he will, he promises. He'll do anything for you, he just wants so badly to make you happy. Tell him how to make you happy, please, fuck, please.

Wally whines, hands loose on your hips, desperate for you to let him show you how good he can be as you take control. It's slow at first, driving him crazy, the heat inside him fogging up his brain, his body tense with desire and need.

"Please," He begs when you begin to ride him a little faster, just enough to get him to the edge before you stop. Shit. No, please, no, he needs to come so bad. Has needed to come since you got him on his knees and grabbed the back of his head, brought his face to your pussy and told him to eat up, sweet boy.

It's intense, everything he feels for you, with you, from you. His body shakes as you start again. Slow. Too slow. And then harder, sharper rolls of your hips until, yes yes yes like that, you start moving in earnest, taking him over and over, deep and tight and hot.

"Please," He gasps, whimpers, eyes clenched shut, hands squeezing your hips, "Please, I need to come."

"Not yet, baby boy." You say, somehow stern despite how you're panting. "Let me come first and then you can have your turn. I know you can wait." He can hear the feline grin on your face, can feel your heavy eyes on him, "You're my good boy, aren't you?"

"Yes!" He sobs, the pleasure and frustration making him that much more sensitive, "I'll be good for you, so good, I promise!"

You lean over, still bouncing on him, his cock throbbing inside you as he tries so hard to keep himself in check. "So perfect for me, baby," You reassure him, "Such a perfect boy for me."

Wally spent years trying to be everything his mama wanted him to be. The man, the myth, the legend. In control always. Perfect son. Perfect player. Perfect student, friend, partner, upcoming pilar of the community.

And he did it. Everything she asked, Wally did, getting him nowhere and nothing except more pressure and expectation and criticism.

Maybe that's why he's like this. He's not a psychologist, but it makes sense. How much he fucking needs you to take control and tell him what to do so he doesn't have to think. At least you give him the chance to be good, instructing him from point A to Z, no judgment, just praise. Your sweet, perfect boy; all yours, only yours—

"Please," He whimpers, every touch electric. "Please, Mommy, I need to come," He begs and the title is new, coming from deep within him, ushered from some part of his soul he's kept tightly sealed until now, but he couldn't give less of a shit. Especially with how you moan and squeeze around his cock like a vise.

"Yeah?" You purr, still so together. So in charge.

He gasps, shivers, head falling back.

"Look at me, baby," You order, and Wally listens. Mouth parted as he pants, eyes half-lidded and soft, "Are you close?"

"Yes, yes, please," He can't take much more, not even if you ask him to. And he doesn't want to disappoint you, doesn't want to come before you do. Desperate to be everything you say he is.

You move faster, harder, more frenzied, back arching, tits in his face, moaning when you come. Jesus, fuck, the feeling of you coming around him makes him dizzy, he can't hold back, begging over and over because it's too much stimulation, too good, too right, oh God.

"Please," He practically sobs, "Oh, oh, please!"

You lean in, nip his ear and then command, "Come for me, baby boy. Be good and let go."

Just like that, Wally submits to it and comes harder than he can remember doing before. His whole body tenses and then releases, shuddering as he sobs in relief, fucking up into you as he spills inside you with the force of a fucking train.

"That's it, baby, give me everything," You groan, and it just prolongs his climax.

You're so good to him. So understanding and kind and generous and Wally can't help it. He doesn't mean to, hates himself a little for it, but his eyes sting and his breath catches and he clamps his arms around you as he body shakes.

He's crying. He's never cried during or after sex before now. It's just...there's so much inside him, emotion and feeling, and he has to let it out or he'll burst. Small whimpers and needy whines, tiny little sounds of love and pleasure and thankfulness. He feels so fucking clingy, desperate to hold onto you so you won't slip away and leave him alone to fend off the world by himself.

With fingers in his hair, you draw his head into the crook of your neck, other hand stroking his back as you shush him sweetly.

"I've got you, my good, good boy. You did so well. You made me feel so good."

And he sniffles, nods, holds you as close to himself as he can until the moment passes and he's calm. Vulnerable. Embarrassed. Cheeks bright pink and lower lip between his teeth because you force him to look at you.

"How do you feel?" You ask in such a kind, affectionate tone that Wally feels—

"Better." He admits. And then, quieter, "Safe." In a way he's never felt until you came into his life like a beacon of hope.

A slow smile forms on your lips and you kiss his forehead, "Good. That's all I want, baby."

Wally sniffles again, clears his throat, asks timidly, "Did you like it?"

And you pet his hair, hold his jaw, and say with certainty, "I loved it, baby boy. I always love it."

Warmth blossoms in Wally's chest. He grins up at you, proud of himself.

🖇️___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

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if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Boyfriend Wally Clark (NSFW).

a smutty flashfic Wally Clark headcanon outlining who he is as a boyfriend.