#<- I HAVE NEVER BEEN AND I WANT TO GO SO DESPERATELY

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: light daddy kink Flashback to the first time Captain Riley met Raspberry girl.

The bakery is slow. 

He’s only been coming here for a few days, but he’s already figured out the best time to stop by so he can avoid the crowd. Before eight hundred, it’s always packed, too many people in line for tea, coffee, breakfast, pastries, half of them headed to base, the other half to somewhere else. 

He starts his day early, and then swings out here for a mid morning breakfast, or coffee, depending on how his day has gone. Usually, it’s filled with paperwork and overseeing training exercises, all of it as boring as the next. He welcomes the reprieve of a pastry, a togo container closed over a massive raspberry sweet roll (or two) that he usually eats in truck before he makes it back to base. It’s hard to leave it alone when it’s sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for him. He fucking dreams about things at this point, their sweet dough and cream cheese icing, raspberry jam, he assumes, swirled in every layer. If he’s lucky, he arrives just after or before a new batch is brought out, and they’re still hot. 

A few tables are occupied inside, people with headphones in clicking away on laptops, or casually chatting over a tea. It’s never too quiet here which he appreciates, there’s always music flowing, and noise coming from what he assumes is the kitchen, hidden behind a typical swing door you��d see in any restaurant. 

The familiarity is comfortable. There are no surprises, usually. 

Except today, something new catches his eye. 

You. 

You’re holding a plate of flaky pastries of some kind, standing at the edge of the counter. Mara, the girl who usually works the register, makes coffees and teas, plates or packages things from the case, is giving you her full attention as you speak. 

You stun him. Perfect from head to toe, beautiful in a way that’s making him believe you were created just for him. 

A possessive pulse pounds under his jaw. Locked in just at the sight of you. 

“They have nuts in them. Almonds. But they’re sl-slivers, so they’re just… they’re hard to see. So uh… make sure I guess, that people know?” 

“Okay, I’ll put it on the sign.” She holds the little placard up and you nod approvingly. 

“Right.” Like you’ve been holding your breath this entire time, your chest deflates shakily. Gun shy. Anxious. Fearful. 

Precious thing. 

That craving inside him perks up, hones in. Heat seeking missile. 

For once, it’s not only sexual. Not only about keeping someone for the night, the morning, putting all his energy and care into them just to cut that cord, close himself off and send them on the way. 

No. This is different. This is more. 

“Can I get one of those to go?” The guy waiting at the counter in front of him points to the plate. “Almond croissants, right?” You tense. There’s a lapse, and he can see your gears turning, sifting, before finally settling on something. 

“Sure?” 

“Sure I can get one, or sure they’re almond croissants.” You flinch. It would be hardly noticeable to someone else, but to him, it reveals another piece of the puzzle. You picked the wrong thing. He knows could soothe this burn, honor these parts of you that don’t seem to fit in, keep your mind, your heart, safe. Love you in the ways you desperately need. 

“Oh. Yes.” You nod, sliding one into the bag and pushing it across the counter as Mara cashes the man out, only looking up once he’s turned to leave. 

It only takes a second before you’re locking eyes with him. 

You freeze, and swears there’s a whisper of a whimper. Mara gives you a curious look, and then follows your line of sight right to him, her mouth quirking to the side in a small smile. Your hands clasp together at your waist, fingers interwoven. Immediately, they clench around one another so tight, he wonders if it’s hurting you. He wants to pull them apart, cover them with his own, hold them. Hold you. 

His instincts are churned up. They scream at him, trying to run away with a fantasy of a future. 

He thinks briefly of John and Grace, his old captain’s little blueberry pie, a sweet girl watching a movie and curled up on her daddy’s lap. His jealously is not from a desire of Grace herself, but of the relationship, the life John has carved out for himself, the purpose, the control, the ability to tend and care for someone who can give themselves so endlessly, be so trusting they let all their defenses go and fully let go. The love.

He’s never thought it was the right time for him, but now he knows he was wrong. It was never about the right time. 

It was always about finding you. 

Mara must see something, because she clears her throat and says your name, nodding in his direction. 

“This is Captain Riley.” Military brat, she knows the rank of every uniformed person who sets foot in here, and always addresses them as such. You gulp. 

“It’s n-nice to meet you.” Mara fills the gap quickly, nonchalantly, trying to ease your discomfort. 

“Captain Riley is the one who buys out all the raspberry rolls.” You brighten. 

“Really?” His chuckle rumbles in this throat. 

“Really. Think I eat two or three a day now." He pats his stomach, and you grin, before it gets lost immediately, unsure, glancing at the ground. 

“G-good, That’s… I’m glad.” It’s enough of a starting point. He can’t push too hard. You’re already trembling, looking up at him now, both with trepidation and wonder. Mara’s boxed up his order, quietly placing it in front of you, and you’re careful when you pick it up, handing it over like you’re handling a bomb, lips parting when he touches you. He forces the contact, intentionally brushing his fingers against yours, pleased when there’s an immediate reaction, a sharp inhale, a bob of your throat. He gives you a very gentle smile. 

“Thank you sweetheart.” Your eyes go incredibly wide, and you squeak. 

“You’re welcome!” He’s unable to get another word out fast enough before you’re practically running into the kitchen, door swinging wide enough for him to see just inside, eyes like saucers, nervous smile stretched across your face, your hands brushing your apron repeatedly, even though the batter and flour crusted on it doesn’t move. 

Precious, sweet little girl. 

You need someone to take care of you. Someone who will carve out space for you to exist, without fear. Someone who will understand your needs and instead of trying to force you to go where you don’t fit, they’ll protect you, encourage you, hold your hand. Someone who will build you a castle, a fortress, an entire world, just so you can be yourself, be happy as yourself, not a person the world wants to change. 

You need him. 

You need a daddy. 

[bishovapls]

I think you both need Daddy, hm?

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: When Carol asks you out in front of Wanda, she snaps. She takes you home, desperate to claim you, to mark you, to own you. But it’s not just her bed you belong in, and when Natasha comes home to find you both absolutely lost in the scene, she makes one thing very clear: if you’re going to be ruined, it’ll be by both of them. Together.

Warnings: 18+, Mommy Kink, Daddy Kink, Age difference, Older WandaNat/Younger Reader, BDSM, Dom/Sub, Strap-on, fingering, Cunnilingus, Punishment (kind of), Safe word/gesture check-ins. Aftercare, but also idk if it counts because it happens, and then they start up again like the feral animals they are.

A/N: There was never meant to be a part two to this, but after a request from @tomy5girls, who am I to say no? I know this isn’t exactly what you asked for, I may have taken a few liberties and run with it a bit, but I hope you still enjoy it!

I think there’s enough context to catch you up on what’s going on, so you don't need to read part one. But if you want to, the first part is here.

As I mentioned last time, smut isn’t something I’ve written too much of before, but the reaction on here to the first part was crazy. Thank you, everyone, for being patient and supportive as I step a bit out of my comfort zone!

Word Count: 10,143

Anywaaays, sorry for the yapping. NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3.

The café was warm and quiet, with sunlight streaming through the windows and spilling across the wood-panelled floor. The clink of mugs and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine created a soft, rhythmic background hum, while indie music played quietly from the speakers overhead. You were tucked into your usual corner seat, your laptop open in front of you, a half-empty latte sitting forgotten beside it. Across from you, Carol was scrolling through the shared project document, her brow furrowed in concentration as she absorbed the final bits of the work.

It was your last study session with her. After two months of grafting, revisions, and back-and-forths, this was it. The project was finished. And you were proud of what you’d done together. The project was solid, clean, well-written, even a little brilliant. Maybe even an A.

Carol had been more than tolerable during the process. She was smart, dry in her humour, and easy to get along with. You’d laughed, found a rhythm, and she never made you feel stupid for missing something or needing more time. But that wasn’t what had your skin buzzing, you weren’t thinking about the project. Not really.

What had your attention was Wanda.

She moved around the café with quiet grace, her apron snug around her waist, hair clipped back but a few strands escaping to frame her face. She hadn’t looked directly at you for a while, but you could feel her eyes on you, her presence heavy in the air.

Every time Carol leaned in a little too close, every time she gestured to the screen or shifted in her seat, you felt Wanda’s gaze flicker over to the two of you. You could sense the tension in the room, even without looking up from your work.

Your girlfriends hadn’t approved of the arrangement from the very beginning. You’d tried to be reasonable, explaining how it was strictly academic, that Carol was nothing more than a project partner. You reassured them, over and over, but it never truly landed, not with either of them.

Wanda’s eyes would darken every time Carol’s name passed your lips, her jaw set just a little tighter. Her touch would change, no longer casual or gentle, but possessive. A hand curling firmly around your waist, or fingers digging into the softness of your thigh like a silent warning. 

And Natasha? Natasha didn’t say much. She didn’t have to. The shift in her body was enough, the rigid line of her spine, the way her mouth pressed into a tight, unreadable line. You’d catch the flick of her gaze, sharp and calculating, as though she were already cataloguing the best way to make Carol disappear.

You weren’t naïve. You knew what it looked like when they were on edge. And with Carol, they weren’t just on edge, they were poised, barely leashed. Jealousy burned hot in both of them, but it manifested differently. Wanda clung to you like you might slip through her fingers. Natasha watched like a predator, calm and still, but lethal just beneath the surface.

They didn’t trust Carol, not because she had done anything wrong yet, but because they knew how easy you were to be taken. They knew how easy you were to corrupt. After all… they’d done it first. They knew the way you softened under attention, how you craved approval. They knew exactly what it looked like.

And they weren’t about to let anyone else try.

—--

The first night you’d gone to Carol’s to work on the project, they’d summoned you to their place the moment it ended; it didn't matter that it was late, or that you had an early class the next morning. There hadn’t been a choice, and you obeyed, of course, you always did. Because when they gave you an order, it wasn’t a suggestion. 

You’d barely stepped through the door before Natasha had you pinned against it, the sharp click of the lock still echoing when her hand curled around your throat.

“Get undressed,” she had commanded, her voice low and steady, like it was taking everything in her not to snarl. “Mommy and Daddy need to see if anything’s been taken from us.”

And they’d checked everything. Every inch of your skin, your scent, your breath, your neck, your breasts…your thighs. Wanda had traced the inside of your legs with her fingers, like she could feel if anyone had dared to touch you. Natasha had knelt before you, her gaze laser-focused on your pussy. She stared as if trying to figure out whether you were still truly hers, before leaning in to taste, just to be certain.

Some might have called it toxic. Obsessive. Overbearing. But you’d discussed the boundaries long ago. This was part of it. You weren’t afraid of their jealousy.

You needed it.

Before them, you had been quiet. Ordinary. Invisible, almost. But now, with them, you were something worth claiming. Protected by two beautiful women who saw the world as full of thieves trying to steal what was theirs. And what was theirs was you.

Three sessions at Carol’s were all it took before they’d reached their limit. Every time you were at her apartment, they were climbing the walls back home, restless, pacing, barely keeping it together until you walked through the door and they could get their hands on you. 

You remember that conversation clearly. You were lying in bed, your skin still flushed, marked, every inch of you thoroughly inspected, claimed all over again. Wanda had been the one to speak, her tone deceptively gentle as she tucked herself beside you, fingers dragging slowly over your hip.

You had two options: Natasha could pull strings, lean on her department contacts, and get you reassigned to a new group entirely. Or you could keep working with Carol. But only under Wanda’s roof, in her café, where her eyes could stay on you the entire time.

You’d chosen the café. And now, when you came home, there was no need for the checks. No demand to strip or let them inspect you. Wanda could see everything. Every shift of your body, every glance. She knew, without asking. She always knew.

—--

Your thighs pressed together under the table as you thought about them. About the possessiveness, the way they made you feel like you were something to be desired, something that belonged to them. 

Carol was still talking, but you were still only half-listening, lost in the anticipation. Eventually, Carol’s voice broke through your thoughts, her tone softer than before. “Hey, I was wondering… if you wanted to keep seeing each other, even though the project is done?”

You stiffened, but you tried to remain casual. There was no way your girlfriends would allow this. You gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Carol, I don’t think I can. But I’ll see you in Professor Romanoff’s lectures.”

Carol’s expression faltered, the corners of her mouth dipping into a subtle frown before she masked it with a casual, almost cocky smirk. “Why not?” she said, her voice dipping slightly, trying to sound playful. “We have chemistry, don’t we? We click, we laugh… Let me take you out. Just once.”

“I’m taken, you know that, Carol,” you said, keeping your voice steady, even as that familiar flicker of nervous energy crawled up your spine. And she did know, because Natasha and Wanda had made damn sure you’d told her. Had made it clear that you weren’t available. That you weren’t free to be taken.

Carol chuckled, but there was something more confident about her now, a playful lilt in her voice. “Oh, come on, baby. I bet I could treat you better. You haven’t even told me your girlfriend’s name. Can’t be that serious, can it?”

You wished you could’ve told her the truth, that the woman behind the counter was your girlfriend. That Wanda, along with Natasha, loved you in ways you’d never even known to dream about. 

That they touched you, ruined you, worshipped you, and made you feel things you didn’t think were possible. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t tell Carol that you belonged to Wanda, because everyone knew Wanda was Natasha’s wife. And if you were with Wanda… then you were with Natasha too. And that was a line you could not admit to crossing. Not without consequences.

The only time you were allowed to blur those lines was when the three of you escaped the city, trips to quiet towns or distant coasts where no one knew your names, where eyes didn’t linger and gossip didn’t follow. 

Or on rare nights when they brought you into their private circle, introduced you to the few friends who didn’t flinch at blurred boundaries. Friends who didn’t care that you were sleeping with your professor, only that Natasha’s smile came easier with you beside her, and Wanda’s eyes softened whenever you curled up in her lap like you belonged there. 

You’d gone quiet for too long, lost in the swirl of your thoughts, still reeling from Carol’s boldness and the weight of Wanda’s gaze. The sharp crack of glass hitting tile jolted you back to the present. Wanda had dropped the coffee pot, the sound slicing through the café like a warning bell. 

You looked up, and the moment your eyes met hers, you knew it hadn’t been an accident. The tightness in her jaw, the deliberate stillness of her posture, this was a message. A command. You scrambled to your feet without thinking, moving to her side as quickly as you could, heart thudding, because you understood exactly what she wanted: your attention, your obedience.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll text you, Carol,” you said quickly, kneeling to help Wanda clean up, the tension in your chest growing tighter.

Carol, unsurprised by your quick retreat, nodded as she picked up her bag. “Think about my offer, darling,” she said, flashing you a small, almost knowing smile before she left.

—--

Wanda was eerily silent as the two of you cleaned up the broken coffee pot, but the sharpness of her breath was impossible to ignore. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, and it was clear she was fighting something. Some dark desire that had taken root inside her, a simmering need she was trying to control.

You glanced quickly around, relief washing over you when you saw the place was clear. No one to witness whatever was about to unfold. You moved to the door, flipping the sign to closed as if marking the boundary between the world outside and whatever was waiting for you inside.

When you returned to kneel beside Wanda, paper towels in hand, the glass was in the bin, but her eyes were still fixed on the spill of coffee. Every inch of her body was taut, coiled, like a tightly wound spring ready to snap.

You wiped up the mess, taking extra care to get every last drop, even though you knew she wasn’t paying attention to that. She was watching you, studying every movement, every shift in your posture. You hesitated for just a moment, then whispered, "Mommy?"

Your voice came out softer than you intended, trembling slightly, betraying the nervous excitement that rushed through your veins. 

You knew exactly what kind of mood she was in. This wasn’t the woman who caressed you to sleep or soothed you with gentle words. This was the side of her that demanded everything and took what was hers with a force you could never deny.

She didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive, but you could see it, the tightening of her fist, the tension in her jaw. Wanda was struggling to hold herself together, not to give in to whatever force was swirling inside her. It was both terrifying and… thrilling.

"Mommy… I’m yours. All yours," you said, a little breathless, your words coming out almost like a plea. You needed her to hear you. To feel your devotion, your submission.

She finally looked up at you, and your breath caught in your throat. Her eyes were cold, unrecognisable. There was something in them that made your pulse spike, a jolt of fear curling low in your stomach. For the first time, you felt a rush of real fear, the kind that made your knees weak, and your breath shallow.

"Mommy, please… please," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a tremor in your words as your body reacted to the mix of fear and something else, the something inside you that wanted this, craved this. Loved this. 

Wanda’s voice broke the silence, low, smooth, and terrifyingly calm. "Get your things, little girl. We’re going home."

—--

The drive back was consumed by an uncomfortable silence. You didn’t try to make conversation. Wanda’s presence in the driver’s seat seemed almost too quiet, but the energy she radiated spoke volumes.

Her hand said everything. It was firmly planted on your thigh, fingers gripping tight, the pressure almost unbearable. You swore you could feel her nails through the fabric of your jeans, a constant reminder of the simmering tension. 

The moment the car stopped and you stepped inside the house, the door barely clicking shut behind you, she was on you. Her body pressed into yours with a heat that knocked the breath from your lungs, pinning you against the door so firmly it rattled in its frame. 

Her lips found your neck immediately, and there was nothing soft about it. The first press of her mouth was hungry, almost desperate. She didn’t leave room for you to react, her lips closing around the sensitive skin of your throat, sucking hard, leaving a bruise in its wake. 

The sensation shot through your entire body, a mixture of heat and pleasure laced with a sharp twinge of pain that made you tremble.

Her hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, your waist, pulling you even closer. She was marking you, claiming you with each kiss, each bite. There was no hesitation, no gentleness, just raw possessiveness. 

She moved to the other side of your neck, the pace never slowing, her teeth grazing your skin, her lips locking onto every inch, every vulnerable spot she could find. You couldn’t escape it. You couldn’t even try.

She was determined to cover you in her marks. And she was succeeding.

Her hands slid up, cupping your face as she angled you just the way she wanted. You felt the sharp pull of her mouth once more, and this time it was even harder. She sucked at your neck until you moaned, the sound strangled as she left another mark, darker than the last. 

You couldn’t stop the shudder that wracked your body, couldn’t stop the way your knees threatened to buckle beneath you. 

She pulled away for a breath, her eyes narrowing as she studied you, searching for something that only she could see. “You didn’t defend me,” she whispered, her voice low, almost a growl. The words felt like a physical blow, and they twisted your stomach into knots. “She said she could treat you better… and you didn’t tell her otherwise.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of her words sink in. Before you could respond, Wanda’s hands were on your shirt, ripping it from your body with a kind of frantic desperation. You gasped, her actions both shocking and thrilling in their intensity, leaving you breathless in more ways than one. Her lips found your collarbone in an instant, her bites sharp and insistent.

Your heart raced, your thoughts scattered in a whirlwind. “I… I got lost in my thoughts,” you finally managed to stutter, your voice trembling.

She paused, just for a moment, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, and the tension between you crackled in the space that remained. “Oh yeah? What were you thinking about?” she asked, her voice rough and demanding, as though she needed you to confess something.

You swallowed, the fear and excitement mixing into something potent. “You, Mommy,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I was thinking about you.”

“Not her?” she growled, her lips brushing over your skin like she was tasting your response. “Your needy little pussy didn’t get wet at the thought of her taking you? Using you like the little whore you are?”

“No, Mommy,” you breathed, your voice shaky. “I was thinking about you and Daddy, how well you treat me, how good you make me feel.” You could feel the heat of her breath against your chest, her teeth scraping against your skin, each bite pulling you deeper into the tension that threatened to consume you both.

Her lips curled into a dark smile, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she leaned in again, her mouth brushing against the raw, bruised skin. 

"You’re mine," she murmured, the words sending a thrill through you. "And I’ll remind you of that every chance I get."

You nodded quickly, your throat dry, the weight of Wanda’s gaze still heavy on you. She stepped back just enough to give you space to pass her, but the moment you moved, she was on you again. 

Her hand slid to the back of your neck, firm and unyielding, guiding you forward and up the stairs with a force that left no room for hesitation. 

When you finally reached the bedroom, she released her hold on your neck. You felt the absence immediately, the air growing colder without the heat of her touch. 

But before you could gather your thoughts, she spoke, her voice low, controlled, but still carrying that dark, possessive edge. “Strip."

The command was simple, but it sent a rush through you, a tight knot forming in your chest as you quickly obeyed.

You could feel her eyes on you, watching every movement as you undressed. And the second you were done, she spoke. "Get on the bed. Arms up, legs spread," she commanded, her voice dark and unwavering as she undressed too.

Once again, you complied, your body responding to her authority as if it had no choice.

She approached with measured steps, a quiet authority in every movement. Her hands were steady as they guided you into position on the bed. She took her time securing your limbs, each secured with practiced precision. 

Her fingers brushed over your skin afterward, double-checking each restraint, making sure you were held but never harmed. The care in her touch was unmistakable, control, yes, but wrapped in a kind of reverence.

Even in the grip of her possessive rage, Wanda was measured, deliberate. She ensured your safety with every touch, her care never faltering. 

Her eyes, which had burned with jealousy moments before, were now steady, focused, scanning you for any sign of discomfort. 

“Colour?” she asked, her voice quieter now, gentler but still laced with the simmering remnants of her earlier fury.

The weight of the scene clung to you, every nerve alight, every sense overwhelmed. But beneath it all was something deeper, trust, safety, the grounding memory of how careful she’d been. How her anger never once translated into recklessness. You loved this. All of it. Especially the way she’d handled you like something precious, even as she claimed you.

“Green, Mommy,” you said, clear and steady, no hesitation in your tone, only devotion.

Her lips curled into a small smile, dark and approving. “Good girl,” she whispered, the praise both soothing and possessive, before her eyes darkened again, the storm of her desires never far from the surface.

When she finally climbed over you, it wasn’t lust that drove her, it was obsession, a force bigger than her body, bigger than her fury, something relentless and consuming that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with possession. 

Her fingers skimmed your sides, reverent but firm, her touch dragging goosebumps in its wake, and her eyes locked on yours, dark and unblinking, daring you to look away. 

Something about the way she held herself above you, barely restrained, seething with intent, made it impossible to breathe, and yet you didn’t want to move. You wanted this. You needed this.

And then she began again, just like downstairs, her mouth returning to your skin with a single-minded purpose. Her lips pressed against your collarbone, soft at first, almost deceiving, and then her teeth followed. 

You gasped, your back arching slightly off the bed, your fingers twitching uselessly against the restraints. Her touch ignited something low in your belly and high in your chest all at once. 

Another mark, lower now, then another just beneath it. Wanda was painting a story across your skin, one bruise at a time, and every single one echoed with the same word: Mine . 

The heat of her mouth was matched only by the fire burning inside you. When her teeth grazed just beneath your ribs, sharper this time, a heavy moan escaped you before you could stop it.

It trembled out of your throat, like your body was pleading for more even as it trembled under the weight of what it had already been given. 

Between every bite that still throbbed and the sting of the one currently being delivered, you could feel yourself cunt begin to ache. Soft whimpers slipped from your lips, your body aching to move, to beg, to chase more. But you didn’t. 

This wasn’t about your pleasure, not right now. Wanda needed this. She needed to mark you, to own you, to feel you give yourself over without asking for anything in return. So you offered her your stillness, your obedience, your surrender.

You caught her gaze again, her pupils blown wide, her breathing uneven, and for a flickering second, something shifted in her. Not softness. Not even calm. But relief. A raw, aching flash of gratitude that you were still here, still hers, still letting her claim you like this.

She leaned in again, slower this time, her lips dragging beneath your navel, warm breath ghosting across your skin, shaky, uneven, trembling with the weight of what she was holding back. “Mine,” she whispered, hoarse and low, like the word itself was a vow and a warning wrapped in longing. “Only mine.”

It wasn’t just a claim, it was Wanda pleading with the universe, needing to believe it. Needing to feel that she hadn’t lost you, that even in the wild, blurred aftermath of everything, you were still hers. Her hands gripped tighter, possessive, grounding herself in the feel of your body beneath her.

But beneath the burn of her touch, the worship in her voice, a flicker of something deeper pulled at you. Natasha. You knew you belonged to her, too. And yet Wanda didn’t speak her name. She didn’t leave space for her. Her world had narrowed until you were the only thing in it, and Natasha had been pushed outside it entirely.

You wanted to say it. You wanted to remind her. But the weight of Wanda’s devotion crushed your resistance, the sheer need in her pulling the words out of you before you could stop them.

“Yes, Mommy,” you whispered, voice shaky but sure. “Only yours.” Even as guilt curled warm and quiet in your stomach.

When she finally pulled back just enough to take you in, her eyes swept over her work like a woman on the edge of something unspoken. There was nothing untouched now, your neck, your chest, your hips, your stomach, your thighs, even your arms. Every inch bore her claim. Every inch screamed hers .

“So fucking pretty like this, printsessa (princess), ” she said, her breath hot against your thigh, her lips barely brushing the freshest mark, her voice ragged, torn from somewhere deep inside her chest. “Mine. All mine.”

You nodded instantly, your eyes wide and glassy. You could feel the ache she’d left behind, all over you, and you needed her to know you welcomed it. “I’m yours.”

Her smile returned, that slow, dangerous curl of her mouth that promised she was far from finished. “Say it again,” she murmured, her voice low and breathless, barely even a command this time, it was breathless and hungry, like she needed it to live.

“I’m yours,” you repeated, stronger now, even as your breath hitched, even as you squirmed beneath her.

She tilted her head, assessing, and you knew it wasn’t enough. Not yet. “Louder,” she commanded. 

You swallowed, your throat dry and tight, but you forced your voice through the tremble in your chest. “I’m yours, Mommy,” you said, louder now, loud enough to fill the room, to echo off the walls, to blot out everything else. “Only yours. Always.”

She must’ve been at least partially satisfied, because after one final glance at the marks she’d scattered across your body, she shifted, rising off you, and the loss of her weight made you whine, high and broken, a sound pulled from somewhere deep. 

Your skin felt too bare without her, your chest too open. Everything in you was aching now, not just with need but with dependency, your senses lit up and stretched tight, every inch of you focused on her. 

She had pulled you so far down into a space where nothing existed but her voice, her hands, her mouth, and now, without them, you felt unmoored, trembling. You needed her. You needed her. 

Her eyes caught yours, and for a moment, just a flicker, her gaze softened, something quieter slipping through the crack in her control. “Just going to the closet, Little one,” she murmured, her voice dipping into that gentler tone she only used when you were already falling apart. And even though the warmth in her voice was slightly forced, it was enough. 

She disappeared into the closet without another word, leaving you alone in the thick, buzzing quiet, your breath shaky, your body still thrumming with heat. When she returned, it was with her strap, a deep scarlet colour, the sight of it enough to make your breath hitch, and your mouth water, the anticipation knotting low and tight in your stomach. 

Your thighs shifted instinctively, trying to press together, to find even the smallest flicker of relief, but the restraints didn’t allow it, and your frustration only made the ache worse. Wanda noticed. Of course she noticed. Her eyes dropped to the movement, her gaze catching the way you writhed and failed to hide it. 

The smirk that curled across her lips was sharp and knowing, and in an instant, the softness was gone again. The Wanda who looked at you now was all shadow and fire again, dark and certain. The Wanda who would ruin you, just to put you back together again, mark by mark, breath by breath.

She crawled back onto the bed, her eyes locked on yours, hungry and unyielding. She moved between your legs and settled into place without hesitation. “Just stay still and let me use you,” she murmured, her voice low and controlled, but with that same simmering edge that had been there all night, that quiet storm of rage and want and need barely restrained. 

And then she buried her strap inside you, hard. No warning, no warm-up with her fingers, not even any gentle licks against your folds to get you ready. Nothing, as if she couldn’t bear to wait another second. As if being inside you is what gave her air to breathe. 

The sound that ripped from your throat was sharp, raw, somewhere between a cry and a scream. The stretch hit you like a wave, sudden and overwhelming, pain blooming fast and bright. 

For a heartbeat, it was too much. Your breath caught, your muscles tensed. But then, just as quickly as it came, the sharpness blurred, twisted into something hotter, something unbearable in an entirely different way. 

Wanda’s thrusts started slow, deliberate, and deep, her movements laced with restraint, but it was a fragile kind. 

But you could feel the tension winding tighter in her limbs, in the way her breath hitched, the way her jaw clenched. She was holding back, barely. She was trying to stay composed, to be gentle, or at least gentle enough, but it was written in every shaky inhale, every flicker of heat in her eyes that she was close to losing it, again. 

With every thrust, her desperation climbed higher, simmering just beneath her skin until it bled into everything she did. There were no soft praises, playful degradations, or the coaxing, honey-sweet lilt you’d come to expect; just raw, consuming need. 

Your body arched beneath her, straining hard against the restraints, every muscle taut, your thighs trembling with the effort of keeping up. You were gasping now, breath hitching in sharp, uneven bursts that never seemed enough, stolen too quickly as she thrusted again, deeper, rougher, like she couldn’t help herself.

“Such a pretty little fuck toy for me. Mine, my pretty whore, Mine,” she whispered the words into the crook of your neck as she sank into you again, barely audible over the thundering of your heartbeat and the rush of sensation unravelling you from the inside out. It didn’t even feel like she was speaking to you, more like a reminder to herself.

You whimpered, your hips twitching helplessly, straining for more. You had heard the word ‘mine’ more today than ever, and it hit something raw inside you, something so deep it felt like your soul reached out for her in response. Yes. You were hers. You wanted to be hers.

And then suddenly her rhythm shifted, less controlled, more frantic, every thrust and motion sharpened by her unraveling restraint. Her mouth was everywhere again, biting, branding, her lips dragging across your neck, your chest, down your stomach, as if she couldn’t decide where to leave the next mark.

Her hands tightened at your hips, fingers digging in with a bruising kind of need, anchoring herself to you like she might fall apart without the contact. She was slipping, further, faster, into that frenzy of need, of fury, of desperate, aching possessiveness that she'd tried so hard to cage since attaching the stap to her hips. 

But now with her cock slamming in and out of you, your moans and whines gracing her ears, it surged forward, unfiltered, dragging her under. You could feel it in the way she clung to you, in the way her breath hitched and her nails pressed harder. She wasn’t trying to hold back anymore.

And then she was chanting. “Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” Over and over again, like it was the only word she remembered, the only thing that mattered. She was barely even present now, barely aware of the room, of anything but you. 

Your entire body shook beneath her, your lungs struggling to keep up with the broken sobs and gasps that kept clawing their way out of your throat. Her voice was low, hoarse, and relentless as it poured over you like a spell, dragging you deeper under with every breathless repetition.

And you didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. You just let go, let yourself be hers. Be claimed. Be ruined.

—-

You had no idea how long it had been, but you were both so far gone you didn’t hear the door open, didn’t register the familiar creak of the floorboards or the call of “I’m home” echoing down the hall. Nothing existed beyond the frantic rhythm of Wanda’s body against yours, the relentless chant spilling from her mouth, her teeth grazing your skin, her hands branding you with every touch.

It wasn’t until you heard a sharp, animalistic growl, low and guttural, torn from Wanda’s throat, that your hazy focus shifted. Your eyes blinked sluggishly through the haze, breath catching, and when you managed to look past her, you saw Natasha standing in the doorway.

Her arms hung at her sides, her expression unreadable. But her eyes dragged over you like a blade. Every bruise, every mark Wanda had left behind, every shiver and tremble of your overstimulated body catalogued in a single glance. Her jaw clenched, the muscle ticking once, like she was biting back something sharp.

Wanda didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. She kept chanting under her breath, a broken, breathless litany of “mine, mine, mine” spilling from her lips like it was the only word left. She was lost in it, lost in you. Her hips were steady, relentless, as though Natasha’s presence didn’t even register.

But you felt it. The air went taut, almost brittle. Natasha’s silence carried weight, thick with jealousy, with hunger, with a cold, simmering possessiveness that was entirely her own. She stepped forward, slow and measured, her gaze locked on yours, and something inside you fluttered and clenched all at once. You didn’t know what she was going to do. Punish? Claim? Interrupt? Join?

And yet, even with her rage coiled under her skin, even with her dominance thrumming off her in waves, her first move was exactly what you needed.

She shifted to your side with quiet purpose, her presence grounding as she reached for one of the wrists Wanda had bound. Her fingers ghosted over the edge of the restraint with precision, double-checking its snugness. 

The tenderness of it made something flutter deep in your chest, a soft ache blooming in contrast to the intensity you’d been caught in. And then, without a word, she laced her fingers through yours, anchoring you with that simple, intimate gesture: A single squeeze.

Because no matter how tightly jealousy coiled in her gut, no matter how fiercely the hunger flickered in her eyes, Natasha’s instinct was always the same. 

Just like Wanda earlier, she put everything else aside, possession, dominance, the sharp edge of being left out, and she checked on you first. 

That was who they were. That was what it meant to belong to them. Your safety, your wellbeing, your headspace…All of it came before anything they might want for themselves. 

The squeeze said everything she needed to ask: Are you okay? Are you still with us? Do you feel safe?

She didn’t bother to use words. She knew you couldn’t answer like that, not now. Not with your mind fogged and your breath stuttering and your body twitching with every slam of Wanda’s hips. She could read it all, your eyes, your moans, the pitch of your breath. So you squeezed once in return. Green . 

She knew what that squeeze meant: Yes. I want this. I want her. I’m safe. And something else, less clear, buried beneath the rest. I want you too. I miss your hands. Your voice. 

Her body eased, just barely, the tension rolling back a single inch. But the hunger in her never dimmed. It sharpened instead, focused and precise as she looked back down at you, at the mess Wanda had made of you.

After a beat, Natasha’s focus finally shifted, her eyes dragging away from you and locking onto Wanda, taking in the sheer, unhinged desperation driving every thrust of the strap into your battered pussy. She saw it immediately, the way Wanda had spiralled, and Natasha knew it couldn’t go on like this. 

She moved without hesitation, stalking around the bed with quiet authority, climbing on behind Wanda, one hand fisting in her hair and yanking her back just enough to make her spine arch. “Yours, huh?” she bit out, voice low and edged with something dangerous. “Just yours?”

But Wanda didn’t falter. Didn’t even slow. She snarled the word like it was a war cry. “Mine.”

The scene throbbed with tension. Wanda was still pounding into you despite Natasha’s hold, her chant relentless. “What the hell happened?” Natasha asked, voice tight but controlled, like she was clinging to the last shred of calm.

You couldn’t speak, your mouth too slack, your body too gone, and Wanda didn’t answer either, not until Natasha gave another sharp tug, pulling harder, her tone slicing through the fog. “I said,” she growled, “what happened?”

Wanda whimpered, her breath catching like the question had torn through something raw. Her voice came in pieces, ragged and splintered, every word punctuated by a desperate thrust. “Carol. Tried. To. Take. What’s. Mine.”

Natasha’s gaze snapped back to you. It was cold and brimming with something territorial. You braced yourself, expecting her to descend with that same consuming intensity, to tear through Wanda’s marks and press her own into every inch of you until her claim was carved just as deep.

But she didn’t. The sharp edge dulled, tempered by understanding as her eyes swept over you and then her wife. 

Wanda wasn’t just fucking you. She was holding on for dear life. Natasha saw it clearly now, recognised it for what it was. Wanda had lost too many people, too many pieces of herself over the years. The fear of losing you had cracked her wide open.

Natasha could’ve taken what she wanted. Could’ve made her own claim in kind. But for now, instead, she exhaled, letting her dominant instinct soften just enough. You needed grounding, and Wanda needed pulling back. And Natasha would be the one to do it. Even if every part of her still ached to take.

She reached around, her hand locking firm around Wanda’s waist, stilling her movement with ease. “What’s ours,” she said evenly, the correction deliberate as her grip tightened. Wanda whined at the restraint, hips twitching against Natasha’s hold, and you whimpered too, aching at the loss of friction.

Wanda’s control began to splinter the moment Natasha kissed her, slow, grounding kisses against her cheek, tender in a way that cut through the haze like a balm. 

Her head lolled back against Natasha’s shoulder, her body still tense, but wavering now. “Do you need to safeword, Wands?” Natasha murmured against her skin, the calm, coaxing cadence unmistakable. “You seem... out of control, lyubov' (love). ”

Wanda shook her head, a near-frantic movement, “No! Need to cum, wanna cum!” Neither of you had cum yet despite how long it had gone on, despite the desperate grind and the bruising rhythm.

Hearing that desperate plea fall from Wanda’s lips while she held so much power over you felt dissonant, but it lit a fire in you all the same. She usually took what she wanted, came when she wanted, without a second thought, but now it was clear she was floundering. 

The scene had shaken her, and no matter how hard she had been trying, she couldn’t do it alone. That crack in her composure did something to you. It slipped under your skin, tangled in your chest, and before you could stop it, a moan fell from your lips, needy, involuntary, betraying just how much it affected you.

Natasha turned to you at the sound. “If she hasn’t,” she murmured, voice gentle now as her eyes found yours again, “then I’d wager you haven’t either, have you?” You shook your head, breath still coming in shallow bursts.

Something in her expression changed again the moment she realised you’d been holding back this entire time. The flicker of pride came first, swift and searing, lighting her eyes with approval. “Good girl,” she murmured, and the praise landed like a reward you didn’t know you’d been waiting for. 

But then her gaze gentled, the pride ebbing into something softer, sadder, closer to regret than triumph. Like she could see how much you’d given, how much you’d endured, and how long you’d waited. “I think you both need Daddy, hm?”

It wasn’t often that Wanda submitted to Natasha, twice, maybe three times since you’d all been together, and only ever when she wasn’t fully in control of her headspace, when she needed grounding but needed to continue. But Wanda nodded slowly, the fight draining out of her body as she leaned back into Natasha’s hold, surrendering.

Natasha’s hands moved, settling on Wanda’s hips, allowing her to move again but slowing her movements with firm, steady pressure. “That’s it,” she murmured low against Wanda’s ear, her voice soft but commanding. “She’s been so good for you, Detka (babe). Took everything you gave her, didn’t she?”

Wanda shuddered, still panting, still half-lost, but she nodded, her body giving into Natasha’s lead without resistance. 

Natasha kept her tone gentle, coaxing, like she was taming something raw and shaking. “How about you let her finish now, hm? Let her cum for us.”

Wanda didn’t speak, she didn���t need to. She just followed, pliant under Natasha’s hands, her breath catching as she thrust her hips in rhythm with the guidance she was given. And Natasha, her mouth brushing Wanda’s temple, praised her low and warm, “Good girl.”

Wanda whimpered at the praise, her body trembling and her mind still fogged with the frenzy that had consumed her, but Natasha’s presence gave her something to hold on to, something solid to ground herself against. 

You could feel the shift, the difference in how Wanda moved now. Her thrusts lost their wildness and turned into something more intimate, more focused, like she was being taught how to feel again.

And god, you felt it too. Every inch of it. Your breath stuttered, hips jerking involuntarily with each movement, your body already so close to the edge it ached. The pressure coiled tight in your core, a simmering burn that had been denied too long. Natasha’s eyes were on you, catching every flinch, every gasp, every tremble.

“She’s close,” Natasha murmured into Wanda’s hair, her voice rich with heat and reverence. “Can you feel that? I bet her cunt is so tight around your cock.” Wanda let out a broken moan and nodded, her pace faltering for a moment under the weight of Natasha’s words.

Natasha’s hand left Wanda’s and slid up to her throat, not choking, just holding, grounding, a firm reminder of presence, of who was in control.

Her other guided Wanda’s towards your clit, silently reminding her to provide the stimulation you needed, and it shattered you, the added touch stealing your breath as you cried out.

“That’s it,” she purred, low and commanding.. “Let us have it, Little one. Let go.”

And you did. It crashed into you like a wave, hard and fast and all-consuming. Your back arched, the restraints biting into your wrists as your body bowed under the force of your release. 

You screamed and whimpered, and they were both there, holding you through it, Wanda clinging to you like she could anchor herself to your pleasure, Natasha murmuring praise that bled into your skin like balm.

With Natasha’s guidance, Wanda stopped thrusting and began to grind, the base of the strap finally giving her the stimulation she needed. She came not long after you with a desperate sob, body trembling violently. Natasha’s voice, a blend of filthy praise and affection, slid into her ear, coaxing her through it. As Wanda’s body went limp, attempting to collapse against you, Natasha caught her effortlessly, aware of the soreness you’d likely feel.

Wanda whimpered at not being able to snuggle into you, and Natasha pressed a kiss to her temple. “She’s right here,” she murmured softly, before gently laying her down beside you. Wanda instinctively curled into you with a sigh, seeking the comfort of your warmth.

Natasha pressed another gentle kiss to the top of Wanda’s head before shifting her attention to you. Her movements were practiced, instinctive, and soft as she moved to unbuckle the restraint on your wrist.

The second the leather came loose, your arm dropped like dead weight, boneless and sore. Natasha caught it gently, guiding it to rest over Wanda’s back. You curled your fingers into her skin instinctively, craving the contact, the reassurance.

The other restraint came next, then your legs, Natasha working with slow, deliberate tenderness, her hands steady and reverent. Every time you winced, she soothed it with a murmur, a stroke over the inflamed area or a kiss.

Wanda wasn’t moving much now. She was pliant, completely surrendered, clinging to you with the last threads of adrenaline. Natasha knew that look, knew Wanda had dropped deep, and you weren’t far behind.

Her voice softened even further as she pulled the blanket up over both of you, tucking it around your bare limbs like armour. She leaned down, her hand brushing tenderly over your cheek, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “There’s our girl,” she whispered, her voice low and thick with pride. “You did so fucking well. Mommy really used you, huh?”

Your throat was too raw for words, your mind still floating in that hazy space between pleasure and exhaustion, but you nodded. 

Natasha kissed you once more before slipping away from the bed. You assumed she was going to get water, and you were right; she was back within seconds, moving with her usual calm efficiency. 

She guided your head gently, coaxing the glass to your lips until you took a few slow sips, then shifted to pry Wanda up just enough to do the same for her. Neither of you drank much, but it was enough to get you at least a bit hydrated.

Wanda exhaled, her breath hitching before she whispered, “Didn’t mean to lose it like that.” A pause, a stillness between you, broken only by her unsteady breathing. “Carol wanted you... said that... that she could... treat you better.”

Her voice cracked slightly, the words filled with vulnerability, and your chest tightened at the pain in them. 

Then her tone shifted, rising into a whine, hurt lacing her every syllable as she clung to you tighter. “She tried to take her from us, Nat,” Wanda whimpered, her eyes flicking to Natasha even as she clung to you like you were the only thing keeping her anchored.

Natasha’s jaw tensed, her eyes flicking up for a moment, but she said nothing. Instead, she settled in behind Wanda, wrapping herself around her wife like a shield. Usually, you were in the middle, the one cocooned in their arms, but it was clear Wanda needed that security now. 

Natasha began to stroke her hand gently over Wanda’s spine, her touch slow and comforting. She didn’t forget you either, though. Her other hand reached across the space to where your wrist was still faintly marked, fingers brushing the bruised skin in slow, soothing circles.

Time passed in a slow, syrupy kind of stillness, thick with warmth and the quiet hum of three heartbeats finding their way back into sync. Wanda lay curled against your side, her face pressed into your collarbone like she could disappear into you, her breath evening out in slow pulls that softened with each minute. 

You felt the shift in her, how the tension bled out of her muscles with every exhale, how her fingers that had clutched you with bruising desperation earlier now merely rested, featherlight and unmoving.

Natasha’s hand never stopped. She trailed her fingers lazily up and down your arm, over Wanda’s spine, keeping you both tethered to the present. 

Eventually, Wanda stirred. Not much, just a shift in how her legs tangled with yours, a blink that stretched long enough to signal she’d returned to herself. She looked up at you, her cheeks still pink, her hair tousled from earlier. But her eyes, they were clearer. Worry creeping back in.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice hushed. Her gaze scanned your face like she expected to find something broken.

You gave her a tired, lopsided smile. “Course I am. I don’t break that easily,” you said with a wink, even if your voice was still a bit scratchy from earlier. 

She looked relieved. Kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, a soft, fluttering press that made you giggle as her breath brushed against your skin. “Good,” she whispered against your mouth, and you could feel the last of her tension ebb as she rested her head against your shoulder again.

“Alright,” Natasha said eventually, propping herself up on one elbow and glancing down at you both, her voice light but edged with unmistakable command. “Time to soothe those marks, you must be sore, hm?”

You groaned immediately, flopping back onto the pillow. “Do we have to?” you whined, dragging out the syllables like a sulking child. “Can’t we just stay here? Forever?”

Wanda let out a sympathetic sound and buried her face back in your chest for a second. “She has a point…”

Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You two are impossible. Yes, we have to. Wands, you went feral. She's covered in bruises and bites.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you rolled your eyes. “You make it sound like she mauled me.”

Natasha sat up straighter, grabbing the lotion bottle off the nightstand. “She did maul you. Look at this—” She tugged the sheet down just enough to expose your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. The marks were everywhere, hickeys darkening by the minute, deep, vivid bursts of colour in the shape of Wanda’s mouth. “You’re a goddamn work of art. Or a crime scene.”

Wanda peeked down at your skin and let out a low, sheepish laugh. “Oops.”

“‘Oops,’” Natasha repeated dryly, her tone somewhere between fond and chastising. She gave Wanda a light nudge with her shoulder. “You’re lucky she likes being ruined.”

“I love being ruined,” you chimed in helpfully, grinning as both their eyes snapped to you with matching looks of exasperated affection.

Wanda leaned down and nuzzled your jaw, her voice a little lower now, velvet-soft and sincere. “I do still feel bad. I got… swept up. Possessive. Jealous. Like I had to prove something. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said gently. “And you didn’t. I promise.”

Still, she dipped her fingers into the lotion and rubbed them together slowly to warm it, her movements suddenly careful. She started at your wrists, your poor, bruised wrists where the restraints had bitten deep, and touched you like she was handling something sacred. Her fingers glided over your skin in slow circles, whispering apologies into every motion. 

Natasha joined in a moment later, taking your other side. She pushed the sheets down further, exposing more of your bruised body to the soft lighting, and began to work the balm into your sore muscles. Their hands moved over you in tandem, smoothing across the worst of the bruises, ghosting over the places that still burned faintly from overstimulation.

And for a while, no one spoke. The only sounds were your soft sighs, the quiet slick of lotion on skin, the muted creak of the bed as they shifted around you.

Once they were done, Natasha glanced down at your neck and snorted. “There is no way you’re going to college looking like this,” she said with a laugh, dragging a fingertip lightly over a particularly brutal hickey under your jaw. “You look like you tried to join a vampire cult.”

You snorted softly, still squirming beneath their slow, soothing touches. “If Wanda were a vampire, I’d definitely let her bite me.”

You thought it was harmless. Wanda certainly looked pleased. Her eyes glinted, teeth flashing as she leaned close again, brushing her lips along your throat. "Careful," she breathed, her voice low and smooth, “I might take you up on that.”

A shiver ran through you at the sound, your breath hitching as her words sank in, stirring something deep inside. Your body responded without hesitation, already aching, already yearning for more despite the evening you’d already had. 

And just like that, Natasha froze, her eyes locking onto Wanda, as she once again threatened to claim. But now, as she saw the way you were reacting, the way you were craving more, Natasha’s restraint faltered. It was different from before. You were ready, and that knowledge twisted something deep inside her, making it harder to hold herself back.

“I better be allowed to bite too,” Natasha murmured, her voice low and simmering with tension. It wasn’t loud, but it had a sharp edge to it, a warning wrapped in something darker. “You’re lucky I’m not already. Wanda stole you, made you hers, and hers alone.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to deny it, but she was already moving. Her fingers left your skin only long enough to catch Wanda’s chin in a firm grip, tilting her face up, forcing her to meet her eyes.

“You ever forget that she is ours again,” Natasha said, quiet and razor-sharp, “you will regret it.”

Wanda swallowed hard, the flush on her cheeks deepening, her pupils dilating wide as she whimpered under Natasha’s hold. Her legs squeezed together as if that could do anything to stop the ache building between them. Her body instinctively allowed Natasha to take the lead again, as if it knew that was what Natasha needed. She nodded once, quickly. “Yes, Nat.” 

“Good girl,” Natasha praised, brushing her thumb across Wanda’s cheek with maddening softness. But she didn’t let go. “You don’t get to take her like that without me, ever.”

She finally released her chin and turned back to you, eyes darker now, warmer, but hungrier.

“And you,” she murmured, smoothing both palms down your sides, fingers slipping over your hips and between your legs, “you were very good letting Wanda use you, weren’t you? Letting her get drunk on jealousy and ruin your pretty little pussy without even thinking to let me join.”

You gasped as her fingers brushed over your slick again, slow and unhurried. You were soaked already. Every part of you felt raw and needy, but Natasha was in no rush.

“But you are ours,” she said, sliding two fingers through your folds, not yet pressing in, just letting you feel the threat of it, “ Ours .”

Wanda let out a soft, broken noise, eyes fixed on where Natasha’s hand was between your legs. Her hand moved as she was about to reach for you, but Natasha caught the movement without even looking.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” she said, like it wasn’t up for debate. “You don’t get to help until I say so. You had your fun.”

Wanda whimpered, chest rising and falling fast, her cheeks glowing with shame and lust.

Natasha finally slipped a finger inside you, slow and shallow, barely enough to satisfy, but your back still arched up from the mattress. Her other hand splayed across your hip, holding you still.

“You’re so fucking wet,” she murmured with a smirk, leaning down to kiss your inner thigh. “You like this, don’t you? Being good for us. Letting her make a mess of you, and then letting me put you back together.”

Wanda’s breath caught as she watched, her hands fisting in the sheets beside her thighs. “Natasha—”

“Shh,” Natasha interrupted. “You don’t get to speak unless I tell you to either.”

You whimpered at the sound of Wanda’s submission, it added fuel to the fire burning through you. Natasha added a second finger, pressing deep this time, and you cried out, your whole body tensing around her.

“That’s it,” she cooed. “Such a good girl. Ours. Not hers. Never just hers.”

You nodded frantically, brain already fogging under the slow, relentless pace. “Yours, yours, yours. Daddy, please!”

Natasha smiled, pleased, eyes gleaming as she leaned in to kiss your jaw, your ear, her tongue darting out to taste the sweat there. 

Wanda’s hands were trembling as she watched, the heat between her thighs unbearable. She couldn’t stand the fact that she had to watch.

Each sob, wail, moan, and sigh that left your lips only deepened the ache in her chest, reminding her of what she had done, of how she had left Natasha out when she should have known better. 

It was the perfect punishment, but Wanda couldn’t help but try her luck again. “Please, Nat,” Wanda whispered, her voice thick with need and desperation. “Please let me—”

Natasha turned her head, eyes flashing. “No,” she said simply. “Not yet. You want her? You earn it. You wait.” 

And then she curled her fingers just right, again and again, dragging you higher with each pass, her thumb barely brushing your clit until you were trembling, too far gone to do anything but moan.

The room pulsed with the sound of your breathing, with your soft cries and the wet sound of her hand moving in and out of your cunt. Every stroke, every whispered word sent a rush of heat through you, the world narrowing to nothing but the feeling of her fingers inside you. 

Even as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, Natasha never let up. Her movements were unrelenting, rhythmic, a steady push and pull that kept you coming without giving you so much as a chance to truly catch your breath. 

You didn’t know how many times you’d screamed in release, each one blurred into the next, an unending rhythm that left you gasping, skin slick with sweat, your body trembling under her control.

Eventually her pace slowed, and your eyes fluttered open, the world around you a haze of soft light and warmth. You turned your head slightly, and your gaze found Wanda. Her eyes were wide, her breath equally as erratic. She was flushed and panting like she’d been the one writhing beneath Natasha’s hand.

“God, look at you,” Natasha murmured, eyes still on you, even as she addressed Wanda. “So fucking needy, you only had her an hour ago. Pathetic.”

Wanda whimpered as her hands twitched again, and this time, she couldn’t resist; she reached out, just enough to brush her fingertips against Natasha’s arm. “Please,” she begged again, her voice barely a whisper, but it was a plea nonetheless. 

“Fine, but only because I’m generous,” Natasha murmured as she kissed your temple, and then your cheek, her fingers never stopping. “I’m not cruel. I share. ”

She tilted her head, her gaze soft yet commanding as she finally looked over at Wanda. “You want to taste her?” Natasha’s voice was low, deliberate, as if she already knew the answer.

Wanda's breath hitched at the words, her entire body tense with yearning. Her eyes flicked to Natasha, wide and pleading, before they dropped to you. 

Your skin was glistening with sweat, your chest rising and falling in the haze of pleasure still swirling through you. She nodded, the movement almost frantic, her voice trembling with need. “Yes, yes, please, Nat! I want to please!”

Natasha’s lips quirked into a small, wicked smile, a brief flicker of satisfaction passing across her face before she leaned down, her kiss slow and deep. It was a kiss that said she was still in control, even if she was letting Wanda in. She pulled away just enough to speak, “Then come here.”

Unlike her usual poised self, Wanda wasn’t graceful as she moved, urgency in her every motion. The moment she reached your legs, her gaze lifted, her eyes locking with Natasha's. 

Natasha moved her hand, slowly, so slowly from between your folds, her fingers glistening with your cum. “Open your mouth.”

Wanda obeyed. Natasha pressed two fingers past her lips, watching her take them in eagerly, greedily. 

“Good girl,” Natasha praised, eyes softening just a little. “Now you can touch her. You can thank her. And you can show her just how sorry you are.”

She shifted to one side, but not far, not giving up control, just… allowing space. Letting Wanda kneel between your legs, hands shaking as she lowered her head.

Wanda’s tongue slid over your folds and your clit gently before diving in fully, like a woman starved. It was as if the act of watching had only intensified her need, making it raw and undeniable despite the fact that she had already claimed you so thoroughly. 

“That’s it,” Natasha murmured, stroking your stomach, watching Wanda devour you. “She’s ours. Not yours. Not mine. Ours.”

Her hand slid up to cup your breast, squeezing gently, her thumb brushing over your nipple, squeezing and teasing in perfect time with Wanda’s mouth. 

Every touch sent waves through you, every whisper tangled around your spine. Natasha’s voice wrapped around you, her praise both tender and unrelenting, while Wanda’s lips and hands moved like a vow, her remorse bleeding into every lick and every suck as she drank you dry, bringing you closer and closer.

You couldn’t hold yourself together. The intimacy, the intensity, it was too much. You splintered under it, unravelled into the space between their bodies, between their worship and their claim. And this time, when you broke, it wasn’t just your body giving in. It was your heart, your trust, your submission. 

And through it all, Natasha's voice, low and reverent at your ear, became the centre of everything, grounding you even as you soared.

“That’s it, Little one,” she murmured, almost like a prayer. “That’s what you needed. That’s what we give you, together.”

[karmicmortal]

Wife!reader who's thinking of a divorce and obsessed sunghoon who makes sure she has no way out by babytrapping her

content warnings husband!sunghoon, toxic relationship, toxic!sunghoon, manipulation, coercion, unprotected sex, breeding, baby trapping, aged up (28)

don’t like it? don’t read it!

sunghoon was not taking the separation well. the two of you have been married for just under three years and it was already falling apart in front of him. you’d been arguing a lot lately, always on edge, and it began to take a toll on both of you. it just seemed like you couldn’t find a middle ground and it was frustrating. but he never wanted you to leave.

he watched helplessly as you packed some of your things, preparing to leave and stay elsewhere. god knows where. if it’s not with him, he doesn’t care and it’s not good enough. you told him that it would only be for a little while. just long enough to sort yourselves out. then you’d be back in his arms and your marriage would be back to normal.

it’s been a month and you still hadn’t come back. the house felt empty. the house the two of you decided to buy together in hopes of growing old together and raising a family in it. he often tried reaching out to you, calling and texting, desperate to win you back, but nothing seemed to be working. you always ignored his attempts to contact you.

yesterday he received a text from you. it was a simple, earth-shattering text.

you: i’ll be coming by tomorrow to collect more of my things.

collecting more of your things? sunghoon couldn’t allow that. if you’re getting more things, taking them away instead of coming back to him, that can only mean one thing.

he made sure he called off from work the next day. he wanted to be there when you showed up so he could convince you to stay with him. even if he had to get on his knees and beg you. when you married him, you made a vow to stay with him through thick and thin, for better or for worse, and he was going to make sure you upheld that. there’s no way he was going to let you leave him.

you were surprised to see sunghoon when you walked into the house. the last time you saw him in person was the day you left. that was after a big fight, so really, the last time you saw sunghoon was when he was angry. when sunghoon is angry, he can be harsh and vicious, which is why you decided that it would be best to leave. but much unlike those moments, now he looks different. regretful? resigned? just wordlessly looking at you as you cautiously stepped foot into the house.

neither of you say anything. you slip your shoes off, putting on your slippers that were right where you left them a month ago, and begin to make your way to your bedroom. sunghoon doesn’t follow you immediately, but he eventually makes his way into the room as well. he finds you having pulled out a suitcase from the back of your closet, laying it out on the floor, waiting for you to fill it with more of your clothes.

you try to ignore his stare. you can feel him watching your every move. he’s stood by the doorframe, watching closely, tracking your movement with his eyes, still not speaking. then he moves. he walks toward you and begins pulling your items out of your luggage. each neatly folded top, dress, every pair of pants and even your panties that you had placed in there was pulled out and thrown haphazardly to the side. some landing on the floor, on the nightstand on your side of the bed, on the bed itself — it didn’t matter.

“what are you doing, sunghoon?” it’s the first time he’s heard your voice in a month. and that almost makes him start crying.

he drops to his knees, crawling toward you and reaching out. his hands grip the backs of your thighs as he pulls you closer to him, resting his head on your stomach. “please,” he begs. “don’t do this. stop…don’t go.”

you sigh and try to take a step back. sunghoon sniffles.

“i love you,” he tries again.

a mix of a laugh and a scoff slips past your lips. “you love me?” he nods. “it sure didn’t feel like it that day. or all of the times before it that we fought. is that what you call love?”

he shakes his head, looking up at you from his position on his knees. “i’m sorry, please. i love you. i really do. i don’t want this — i can’t live without you.” you made eye contact with him but quickly looked away. he was looking at you with pleading eyes, the same eyes you fell in love with many years ago. if you looked at him, you’re sure that you would fold, which is the opposite of what you intended to do. “we’re supposed to be team and work through our problems together. we were going to start trying for a family. do you really want to start over now?”

that hits a nerve. you were initially very excited to have all of the talks with sunghoon about starting a family. planning everything, from when you were going to stop taking your birth control to whether you want a boy or a girl first and what you’d name them. then, you guess, the stress of planning began to take a toll on the both of you and you guys became more irritable. which led to more fights than ever before. most of which started on sunghoon’s side, so you’re not sure why he’s bringing that up now. he was the one that would lash out at you when you asked him for just a few minutes of his time. just a quickie in hopes that it would knock you up. so for him to bring up the fact that you wanted a family so casually like this…you can’t help but feel betrayed. and angry.

“are you serious right now?” your voice was thickly laced with venom, much different than the usual soft tone you’d speak to your husband with. “of course i don’t want to start over! i wanted to be with you forever. wanted to carry your babies and raise them in a happy family! you’re the one who took that away from me because you never wanted to try!”

tears cloud your eyes and a tension begins to choke you. “sure, maybe i was a little pushy about it. i’ll admit that. but is it so wrong for a wife to want to have her husband’s child? is it so wrong to think we were on the same page because you said so? if you didn’t want to have kids with me, sunghoon, you could’ve just said so.”

“i do want to have kids with you, baby.” he squeezes the backs of your thighs again, trailing his hands up the curvature of your ass to finally rest on your lower back. “i want to get you pregnant so badly. i was just worried about the future…this is a big change, but i’m ready. i promise. we can work this out and have the family we always wanted.”

sunghoon begins to press kisses to your lower stomach, so dangerously close to your pelvis that you take a shaky breath. you weren’t wearing anything elaborate, just a regular tee you’d stolen from sunghoon long ago when you were just dating and a flimsy pair of leggings that were see-through when you bend over, so you can feel his breath and kisses through the fabric. you try to push sunghoon away, but he presses closer to your body. his hands that were on your lower back begin to pull the shirt up, exposing your skin to him. “you’d be so pretty pregnant, carrying my baby in your belly. i can’t lose you. don’t want another man to have you. i’ll do anything to fix my mistake.”

though you tried to fight it, you find yourself letting sunghoon guide you to the bed. the same queen sized bed you used to share, cuddling and talking for hours about your plans for the future. he doesn’t waste any time pulling your leggings and panties down, taking in the sight of you finally with him after what feels like forever.

“such a pretty pussy. already so wet for me,” he kisses right on your mound, purposely not getting as close to your clit as you want him. “like always.”

you told yourself that it was just going to be one time. this was your break-up sex and you’d still leave him in the morning while he’s sleeping, maybe leave a note telling him that you just can’t do this anymore. but as sunghoon pushes his thick cock into your soaked cunt, moaning about how you take him so well and he’ll fuck you as many times as he needs to until you’re pregnant with his baby so you can’t leave him, the thought leaves your mind as quickly as it entered.

[luminous-whispers]

With a sickening lurch and crack of my spine, the spell started to take hold. We swapped places, and pain exploded everywhere. I feel my throat go raw as my screams transcend dimensions, warping my voice into something guttural and otherworldly.

My bones elongated, snapped, my muscles tore and reformed. Fur erupted across my skin, growing thicker with each second of utter agony. My fingers and hands became sharp claws, and my face morphed into a permanent sneer that left my tongue dangling from my mouth.

I looked terrifying. Pathetic. Monstrous.

"Poor, weak human,"

My head snaps up, startled by the sound of my own voice. I open my mouth to speak, but a growl escapes in its place.

"Let me see how you enjoy the hunt. The endless hunger." It smiled wide, revealing sharp fangs behind my lips. Mine. That face was mine.

Its words were meant to be a threat, a last warning of what is about to come. But I feel myself slowly start to smile— rough, jagged, and free.

I lick my sharp new teeth with my long new tongue, and I realize. I became the moster, and that monster became me.

It turns around, walking straight into my life.

And I ran.

I ran away from everything I once called mine, from all that has ever held me back. All that I have ever known.

On these new limbs, too long and too strong, I carried myself out of the city and deep into the forest. The cool air of the early morning was fresh and clean, and it whooshed in and out of my lungs with every powerful breath. I've never felt so commanding.

Birds fly far away when they hear the sound of my heavy footsteps. Bears turn the other way, not paying me any mind. There were no people out here, no one to tell me how I should live my life.

I slept soundly each night, listening to the wilderness chirp and chatter. With my heightened senses, I can hear the twinkling of the stars, and the booming of rain clouds up in the sky. I hear the murmuring whispers of rodents, scuttering about in the dead of the night.

I was in bliss. Pure, undiluted bliss, and I did not want to change that.

Three days later, I watched from the shadows as the monster walked down the street in my form. It twitched at every car horn or at any time a person laughed too loudly. It hadn't slept. It couldn't have slept, even if it tried. Not when my body avoided sleep like the plague, carrying insomnia as if it were a right given by the Gods.

I laugh in my mind, not wanting to draw attention by gurgling.

Every math equation, each missing assignment sat in a large pile that weighed down its shoulders, making it drag its feet through the daily unfortunate course of events I called my life.

It wasn't used to fake smiles and a crazy workload. The sheer and utter lack of control.

It tried to feed on someone once.

But my body is and has always been weak; Not strong enough to lift a chair, let alone kill someone.

Naturally, it resorted to the only other thing it knew to do. It yelled, complained, and threatened people, but no one paid it any mind. Just like they hadn't for me.

But academics and social life weren't the only things it struggled with. My apartment had become a mess, no less dirty than a pig's sty. Dirty clothes and clean clothes lay mixed on the floor, which was stained from muddy shoes.

The bed sat unmade, papers thrown all over my desk. Posters were ripped down, tossed, and the wall was lined with bloody scratches.

The kitchen wasn't something it was familiar with, either. That too, became insanely messy, and eventually the monster stopped eating. It didn't know what to eat, and so it went hungry, starved from the lack of raw meat and bones.

Barely over a week, it came to find me. Panting and desperate, it stood before me with shaking legs.

I was under the cool shadow of a tree, resting after a successful hunt. The fur around my mouth was crusted in blood—rabbit, not human. Even as this hideous monster, I was more in control than it had ever been.

"Let us swap back," it pleaded. "Please!"

I let myself laugh then, the loud gurgling echoing in the space around us. "Why?" My voice was inhumane, barely more than a growl.

"Look at you! You're hideous!" it shrieked, alarmed, and the vulnerability on its face filled my heart with glee.

Was that what I had looked like, begging my teachers for an extra day? Apologizing for mistakes that were never mine?

"I'm free," I corrected, leaning my back against the trunk. I looked down at my small frame, shaking my head in pity. "Are you breaking already? I kind of like it here."

Its eyes widened. "But you're cursed!"

"For someone so small and so weak, you sure demand a lot."

"Please."

I laugh loudly again. "It's just meat and instinct out here. And my instincts say no."

Backing out of the clearing, I never stop smiling.

Why return to that cage when I've just grown my claws?

A monster forcefully switches places with you. You become a horrible creature, and the monster assumes your form. Unfortunately for the monster, your life absolutely sucks—and you have no intention of swapping back.

[littlelovelunette]

Hello♥️ I had this idea of Sevika and reader having sex for the first time after the reader had a baby, just some careful and gentle smut<3 (And maybe kinky breast milk stuff? 👉🏼👈🏼)

Lifting (3)

Sevika x New Mother!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

Sex, lactation play, sex after childbirth, mating press, nipple play, slight suffocation, g!p Sevika, drinking breast milk in sex, breeding.

The baby was deep asleep. Sevika had done all the things you'd never thought you'd see her do. She had the nursery painted a pastel colour, bought all sorts of toys she could all the way from Topside. Rose was her absolute weakness after you. The way her small fist closed around Sevika's thumb as she slept on, drooling from the corner of her plush pink lips.

All the softness aside, due to the healing time you needed after giving birth, you and Sevika hadn't been engaging in anything even mildly sexual. Sevika didn't want to be the one to bring up the matter but you've seen the way she eyes you when you breastfeed your baby girl. You've seen the way she loves to stare whenever you're bending down to grab the laundry basket. She was like a desperate dog in heat, shameless about it too.

Once you told her it was okay to feel that way, she didn't hold back. Her cock lined against your slit as her hands massaged the sides of your body, "I'll go slow if you want me to," Sevika said, her voice low to not wake Rose up who was asleep in her crib next room.

You nodded, looking down where her cock head was already dripping precum at the mere sight of your beautiful pussy lips drenched with your own arousal from anticipation, hole twitching with the hopes of getting fucked hard.

Slowly, her cock slipped inside. The first few inches felt overwhelmingly big before the stretch made you wince uncomfortably, fingers digging into the sheets as your other hand grabbed Sevika's flesh arm, "H-hurts a little, wait..."

Sevika paused, her shaft halfway inside your pussy as she waited for you to get used to the girthiness. She rubbed your lower abdomen, "It's okay, sweetie. You're doing well, just take deep breaths." She said in a tone softer than her usual. "Let me know when it's okay to move."

You nodded your head nervously, gasping when Sevika's thumb found your clit, rubbing slow yet deliberate circles around it. "Yeah? That feels good?" Sevika teased gently as she pressed a little harder onto the bundle of nerves. You yelped out softly but then bit down onto Sevika's neck to keep your volume low.

Sevika didn't stop, her finger still easing circles around your twitching clit. Your legs wrapped around her waist as you pulled her flush against your own body, "Sev," you whispered needily, pulling her closer so her cock sunk deeper into your pussy. It disappears against your tight opening, stretching you out all the way. You moaned softly, walls fluttering around her in need, "I need you to rail me hard," you muttered.

Sevika smirked a little, "Yeah? You want daddy to pound you in?"

You nodded with a little shy giggle, gasping again when she bottomed out. "Oh!"

You bit down her neck again making Sevika groan, her brows furrowed as she started thrusting in a steady pace, the tip of her huge cock grinding deliciously against your cervix.

"Daddy, please, harder," the bed creaked dangerously as Sevika held your thighs with both hands and folded you.

You whimpered, her cock reaching deeper into your wet cavern. Sevika let go of your thighs and squeezed your tits making you gasp for air, her thrusts were brutal and you were almost suffocating because of the intensity of how she was pounding you into the mattress. All the wet schlik sounds that filled the room was enough to make your cheeks glow red, fingers clutching the bedsheets so tight than your knuckles went white. It had been a while since you both fooled around so it was ten times more intense than the usual.

Sevika squeezed your breasts a little harder than before a small amount of milk spurted out. She stopped, eyes wide with a little bit of surprise dancing within the grey orbs before it dissolved into amusement. "Oh?"

You hid your face with your hands in embarrassment, but Sevika's warm, bigger hands pulled yours down from your face. "Don't be shy now, baby, you're so hot," Sevika rutted her hips into your body harshly making her dick sink deep and hard.

"Ah!" You cried out, watching as Sevika's plush lips wrapped around your hardened nipple. She suckled softly at the start before she gave it a powerful suck, milk oozing out of the nub and filling her mouth. Sevika smiled against your skin.

"You're such a baby," you mumbled, playing with her hair as you squeezed down on her length.

"Mhm?" Sevika chuckled before she tugged at your nipple using her teeth, you jerked a little from sensitivity.

"Don't do that!" You whimpered, gasping for air once again as Sevika's hips continued rutting her length into you albeit a little sloppier than before as she got closer and closer. "Sev!" Your head lolled back, "Cumming!"

Sevika looked up at you, mouth partially full of milk. "Mm," she bottomed out two more times before her warm seed filled your insides up. She swallowed, "There we go, my baby mama," she grinned victoriously, "Once again, pumped full."

[distantreverbs]

I just want to acknowledge how blatant it is that Tommy Kinard is being set up to have his big 7x04 wish granted.

“I was super jealous… All of you. The 118. How it’s become like a family over there. I mean, how you all… were willing to put everything on the line for one another. I wanted to be a part of that.”

Can anyone—BuckTommy shippers, Buddies, whoever—look me in the eye and seriously try to argue that so much of Tommy’s reintegration into the show hasn’t significantly been centered around gradually giving him what his heart desires?

I don’t think you can, and I would also wager that Tim Minear, for all his previous mistakes, is not so cruel that he would reintroduce Tommy back into the 118 family fold via Buck, only to rip that away from him, especially when Minear has made it very clear to anyone watching and listening that he really enjoys what Tommy has to offer. This is why I never bought into this idea that the breakup in 8x06 was the end for the BuckTommy romance and his character, not when Tommy’s entire narrative is clearly being built around fighting through his demons and getting the loyalty and love he so desperately craves as his reward.

When Tommy left the 118, he allowed Buck to take his place and find the family he always wanted. Now that Tommy has returned, it’s Buck who is going to be the through line to helping Tommy get his family, too.

I see the web being weaved here, and it’s about the hope and reward that can occur when one pushes through the self-deprecation, self-doubt, and the darkness. It’s about the good that can happen when one drops the borders and allows other people in.

[vonbabbitt]

hiroaki too. i think this is the last one i have from pink

hiroaki loredrop tw for hiroaki things

HIROAKI!! hiroaki was born in tokyo, specifically in the shibuya area, so hes always been living in a very urbanized and busy environment. he was a fairly normal and actually surprisingly boring child, but also very independent and didnt rely on his parents for some of the more basic parts of his life like getting to school and taking care of his needs and such. his parents were fine and he got along with them fine for the most part but he wasnt super close with them or anything. mostly co-existent! regardless: growing up in shibuya meant that he was around a lot of very interesting fashion that he was completely fascinated with. he eventually got into the habit of bringing a notebook with him when he took the bus to school every day and doodling any particularly interesting outfits he saw. this eventually bled into designing his OWN unique outfits during class instead of paying attention!! BECAUSE…..

HIROAKI GREW UP WITH VERY UNCHECKED ADHD. he was a super flighty child and didnt really pay attention in class because he just couldnt focus that well, especially if the topic wasnt super interesting for him. he did a lot of drawing and a lot of socializing, so those are the two things he ended up developing the most skill in. that said, he would get in trouble a lot for not paying attention in class and his grades were not fantastic, which upset his parents and had them nagging him fairly constantly to study and have better grades and pay more attention etc. etc. when really they maybe should have just gotten their son tested. anyway hiroaki persists with his not paying attention and his parents persist with their being very disapproving of his academic career!

hiroakis parents are not particularly invested in hiroakis interests at this point. they dont really care about fashion or his designs or any of that and would really prefer he just focus on school, so they dont really get invested in anything else he does. hiroaki is used to this from them - him and his parents are just not the same types of people at all so he never really tries to click with them - but regardless he continues drawing CONSTANTLY. hes just pumping out designs 24/7 because he loves it and hes passionate about it and its one of the only things that can hold his focus for a super extended period of time.

when hiroaki hits age eleven he decides its time to start realizing this hobby a bit further and he learns how to properly make a pattern and sew! this opens a WHOLE NEW WORLD for him. it blows his mind that he can make his drawings real. so now instead of just drawing all the time, hes constantly doing odd jobs around his neighbourhood to get enough money to buy new supplies and continue making outfits for himself. nothing else really matters at this point because he is fully invested and having a blast. grades continue to slip and his parents are not jazzed about it! when he hits middle school, his parents get a bit stricter. he needs to study, he needs to bring his grades up, no exception, no argument. so he loses some of his free time privileges because his parents are doubling down hard on making him study. he is PISSED about this and it drives a bit of a rift between him and his parents. hiroaki is a kid with very big dreams!! he wants to go into fashion and see other people wearing the things he designs!! he wants to make people feel confident in themselves!! his parents want him to have a more standard career that he'll actually be able to rely on. it is a conflict of interest. regardless back to the point: hiroaki is focused on academics for the time being and he is NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT.

key point: hiroaki's academic problems are only due in part to his obsession with fashion. the other part is, again, he has very unchecked ADHD! so he struggles HARD in the standard school environment and by thirteen hes in serious serious desperation for something that can help him. he does not understand whats wrong but he knows that he needs to be fixed so he starts looking for solutions. eventually this leads him to falling in with a bad crowd who insist that he can self-medicate with opioids and itll calm him down. hes thirteen and hes stupid and theyre all stupid because they are kids. regardless, he starts taking pretty low-level opioids and sees some success! hiroakis addictive personality kicks in and by the time hes fourteen hes a full blown opioid addict. needs them to do literally anything at this point. his parents are aware and concerned but also his grades are turning around so theyre not really sure how to react.

the OTHER thing that happened when hiroaki turned fourteen: his designs started BLOWING UP. by this point hes posting things online and people are LIKING IT. they start wanting to buy and he starts going full steam ahead on production. now his grades are slipping back down. parents are mad again! tension between hiroaki and his parents continues to build and his relationship with them continues to be not great. he doesnt really care: hes been independent his entire life and its paying off, so why should be bother paying attention to them now? he goes full force on building his brand and it pays off - soon the novelty of a kid his age being as talented as he is starts carrying him UP. hes getting interviews, hes getting invited to events, hes big news. hiroaki, very socially aware but also kind of a loner, does not know what to do with all this newfound fame and falls in pretty deep with his vices. hes hanging out with cool and popular people that do not have his best interest in mind. hes smoking because he thinks it looks cool because hes fifteen. he’s down a bad path.

this bad path culminates in hiroakis drug addiction getting a LOT worse. hes gone from opioids to help with focus to heroin to help him not have a complete panic attack at the massive amount of social pressure on his shoulders. while hes making a shit ton of money pumping out designs, he’s losing money FAST because he is BLOWING it on drugs. his friends think he’s cool and his parents don’t really notice so this goes pretty much unchecked, if not actually encouraged! eventually he’s doing so much heroin on a daily basis that he is not getting anything else done and he has a bit of a mental health spiral from here. his life is gonna fall apart and he knows it and he’s terrified. but as always, he is hiroaki nakamigawa and he is a lone wolf and he can handle this on his own! except no he cant and while he eventually gets himself on a much lesser dosage rate and focuses himself on art again, he still has a serious addiction to opioids and heroin. he doesnt really see it as an issue anymore because its not super obvious to the outside world and its not preventing him from designing, so its probably fine! everything is good and fine! except everything is not good and fine. the good and fine things: he is rich, he is successful, he is famous, he is doing everything he loves and he is living big in tokyo. the not fine: he is extremely anxious, missing any real connection in his life, very depressed and addicted to drugs! he is also SIXTEEN YEARS OLD so this whole lifestyle is a massive massive amount of pressure. hes a bit of an asshole but in his shoes its somewhat unavoidable. hes a dumb kid.

so age seventeen: hiroaki on an island of his own. same as always. hes finally not in debt anymore but hes on and off drugs about 90% of the time and has no real relationship with his parents anymore. the only things he cares about are the things that can give him something in return: his fame, his work, his drugs, his shitty friends. he makes a few attempts to turn his personal life around but ultimately deems it unnecessary because hes popular and rich so what could he be upset about? at this point in his life it’s easier to just repress. so he does! and then the killing game starts

[scarlett-draws]

Elsje Wodan/Glass

Prompt: "I may not like you, but physically speaking, I do see the appeal."

Rating: T

Tags: Enemies, Honest Grump/Flirty Thief, Non-Canon, Enemies with Benefits

Glass had begun to make it a habit to show up in her room from time to time. Seemingly just to talk, despite her protests. Ordering him to leave never worked, and she wasn't foolish enough to try and fight him. He was a... tentative ally, despite the very idea of attributing him as such made her skin crawl. He was a liar, a cheat, a manipulator- he was part of world Elsje knew she could never see. One where conversations could have layers and double meanings on top of double meanings. A world where lies were passed around like pleasantries.

It wasn't possible for her to play his game and win, and trying would just get her in more trouble. As such, she vowed to just always abide by her morals and inner compass. She wouldn't allow him to manipulate her into doing anything she didn't want to.

The problem, however, was what she /did/ want to.

The man smirked at her over his glass of wine, baiting her. She hadn't touched her own glass yet. Every time he'd visited so far he's brought wine, and every time she's waited to drink until he himself drank from her glass.

"You're so paranoid, Elsje, here." He picked up her glass and raised it slightly as if toasting her before taking a sip. After swallowing, he ran his tongue over his lips- and Elsje's eyes flicked up to look him in the eyes instead. He was already staring, the smirk on his face wider. He shrugged and placed her cup down— the part of the rim he drank from facing her.

She raised her glass to her lips and drank the whole glass in one go.

Glass chuckled, "You know, if you're so desperate for a kiss I could give you the real deal."

Elsje swallowed her wine and glared, "I'm far from interested."

His eyebrows raised and her chest was far too hot.

"You'll have to do a lot better than that if you want to lie to me Elsje, I can practically see your heart racing." He said coyly, eyes trained on the soft skin of her neck.

Gods it had been so long. So, so long since she's gotten to let loose. Even longer since the last time in bed with someone, and he was so /easy/. The banter, the teasing, the coy looks. That very specific way he got under her skin in ways very, very few people ever have or could.

She wanted, Gods did she want so /badly/.

"I've seen you looking," He continued, "I know exactly how much you like me."

"I do not like you."

"No?" He tilted his head, raven black hair curled around his neck in the choppy wolf cut of his.

"I..." Elsje licked her lips, swallowing around a dry throat, "may not like you, but physically speaking, I do see the appeal."

Glass's eyes widened and, if possible, his smirk got wider.

"Do tell." His voice sounded deeper, a scratch rougher as he leaned forward.

"As if that's necessary. You're ego is unhealthily engorged." Elsje scoffed, but Glass didn't back away.

"The perhaps," He teased, "You could show me instea-"

She didn't let him finish before she roughly grabbed him by that stupid haircut and smashed his lips against hers in a biting kiss.

The relief was immediate as the tension snapped. She hadn't even noticed how tightly he'd wound her up until it was finally released. She was damn hungry, and Glass was there to satisfy. So she'd devour as much as he'd give her until they both went back to being who they were. It was also an exceptionally effective way at shutting him up. Glass was still smirking against her lips, never protesting for a moment as she pushed forward and found herself in his lap, straddling him. She broke away to breathe, and she glared at him.

"I hate you so much."

"You wish you hated me as much as claim you do."

She kissed him again to hide the fact that he was right.

i was reading through your masterlist of prompts and i realised something i dont see often: enemies to friends with benefits. do you have any prompts for this?

The question is: are they becoming actual friends or is it more like enemies with benefits?

Enemies to Friends with Benefits

Text Prompts

One minute ago they were fighting for real, next minute they were wrestling on a nice and comfy bed.

They called it friends with benefits or fuck buddies, but they were definitely still neither friends nor buddies.

Once was an accident, but that accident just kept on happening.

They would have to end it eventually, but in the meantime they could have a little fun.

Meeting your enemy for a little tryst should feel wrong, but it surprised them how exciting and just right it felt.

They knew what would happen if people found out about this, but it was too tempting not to try it once and too good to stop afterwards.

Dialogue Prompts

"This does not mean I like you. I just like to have fun."

"Don't even think about falling asleep. I'm kicking you out as soon as we're done here."

"I need someone to scratch an itch, and I hate to admit it, but you're good at scratching."

"If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you."

"Just some stress relief."

"I will never ever admit to this."

"You're good at this... not a compliment, just a fact."

"I may not like you, but physically speaking, I do see the appeal."

Have fun!

- Jana

[catiuskaa]

playing Pocky's magic.

sum. teasing, sweet treats, challenges and all, it’s about time minho admits how bad he wants to kiss you.

wc. 1.9k

cw. pocky game, harry potter spells and magic references, crushes and fluff and one unit of a kiss, minho is FUCKED (positive), and I think that’s all, folks!

req! right here, from my gorgeous baby @4ln-stay8! POOKIEEE missed you so much<3 this was so cute! hope you like🙂‍↕️‼️

[🎀★🍬★🎀]

Has anyone ever gone to see a magician perform?

Even if that didn’t happen —which, for your information, is an experience I recommend, just for fun— we can all agree that everyone is familiar with those typical magic tricks. Like that one where the magician has this colourful cloth, and he starts pulling it out of his hat, and then pulls, pulls, pulls, pulls…

“Felix, what part of ‘we only need sodas, water, and the peach juice that Jisung said he wanted’ did you not understand?” Seungmin blinks, deadpanning as he watches his roommate get things out of the supermarket bags.

As if summoned —maybe the magic still lingers around?— Jisung pops his head inside the kitchen, with another two bags.

“Did I hear my name?” Han smiles, rubbing his hands together to easy the red, tight feeling the plastic bag left in his hands.

“Yeah, bitch,” Seungmin scoffs, “tryna max out your credit card—wait. Who paid for this?”

Jisung blinks, gasping. “Oh, I left the water bottles outside.”

“The juice was me, by the way,” you let out softly, moving side to side as you sat on the kitchen stool.

Cans clatter onto the counter, a bunch of parsley poking out from under a loaf of bread, and somewhere in the mess, a rogue apple rolls across the floor. Between the crinkling of paper and the thud of boxes, it feels like the bags will never end. Jisung and Felix should never go to the supermarket again unsupervised.

You hold back the need to laugh, not only at the crazy scene, but at Seungmin’s puzzled face.

“Are there more things there?” You giggle.

As you grab a plastic bag and peek inside, you frown. “What’s this?” you ask, fishing out a brightly colored packet with a name you didn’t dare to pronounce.

Silence.

Several heads snap toward you, as if you’ve just confessed a crime.

“You’re joking,” Seungmin says flatly.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Hyunjin echoes as he gets to the kitchen, already halfway to dramatic fainting.

“You’ve never had Pocky?” Felix gasps, a smile on his lips. “Where have you been—under a rock? On the moon?”

You blink, holding the snack defensively. “Am I… supposed to know?”

Jisung stares at you like you’ve just insulted Felix’s baking skills, leaving the water bottles on the floor.

“You’re not supposed to know,” Jisung says, snatching the packet from your hands like it’s too sacred to be handled by a novice. “You’re supposed to have lived it. This was childhood. This was lunchbox gold. This was—”

“—currency on the playground,” Jeongin chimes in solemnly, taking a seat on the stool next to Hyunjin.

“You know there’s a flippin’ day for this in Japan, right?” Felix chuckles, taking the other Pocky box from the bag and settling on the kitchen aisle, ruffling your hair.

“There is?” You look at the package with amazement in your eyes, to which Seungmin snickers.

Just as Hyunjin tears the Pocky box open with ceremonial flair, footsteps sound in the hall. Minho walks into the kitchen, eyeing the chaos.

“Why does it sound like someone just uncovered a forbidden artifact?” He snorts. “Oh, Pocky,” he smiles, sitting around the kitchen aisle and grabbing a box, tearing it open.

“This one right here just discovered gunpowder.” Seungmin rubs his eyes in fake desperation, actually amused.

Minho pauses after taking a bite. Looks at you. Blinks.

“You don’t know what this is?” He presses his lips together, failing to hold back a smile as he swooshes the bitten Pocky on his hand in the air, like some kind of wand.

Han looks at you like he’ll Avada Kedavra your ass. “Imagine never having one!” Jisung whines dramatically, holding up the package like a sacred offering, grabbing one.

Your arms shoot up in ginger frustration, a smile still on your face. “Why is this such a big deal?”

Minho grins—not as much mocking like the others, but amused, like he’s secretly delighted by the whole thing. “It’s just… You’ve really never even seen one?”

“No!” you say, half-laughing now. “And what do you mean there's a day for this?" You grin, grabbing one and staring at it.

“Okay, so Pocky Day is like—November 11th, right?” Felix explains, waving a half-eaten stick like a pointer. “Because the date looks like four Pocky sticks. One-one-one-one. It’s a whole thing in Japan. People gift them, take pictures, post cringe, whatever—”

“And the real tradition is the Pocky challenge. It’s like a trust exercise. But sexy. And dumb,” Hyunjin chuckles.

“It’s dumb-sexy,” Seungmin nods.

Meanwhile, Minho isn’t listening. Well, technically, his body is facing the group. He even nods a little, like he’s following the conversation. But his eyes? Always trailing back to you, like some new magic trick.

Focus, Minho. Leave her alone. Don't be a creep, his brain scolds him.

So while teacher Felix explains Pocky day to you, Minho grabs a stick from the box, settles it on his lips, and spins to face Hyunjin with dramatic flair. “Heyyyy,” he drawls, voice muffled slightly around the chocolate-covered end. “You wanna kiss me?”

Hyunjin's eyes turn to crescent moons as he laughs. “Please stop.”

“Come onnnn,” Minho says, leaning in like he’s about to seduce a houseplant. “I’m irresistible. It’s Pocky Day. It’s sacred.”

Your laugh stands out to him in the group as Hyunjin keeps making dramatic faces, and like some Accio spell, his eyes go back to you.

He can see how you’re swinging your legs slightly, brow furrowed in concentration, actually trying to make sense of this absurd little candy holiday. Your hair’s a little messy from the wind, your cheeks still pink from the cold. And every so often, when the others laugh or make a dumb joke, you smile—slow and genuine, like you mean it.

Minho feels it like a punch to the chest every time.

God, he thinks, heart doing something stupid. She’s so—she’s just—

Then you straighten, wiping a tear from your eye. “Okay, but wait. I wanna try the game.”

“You know, Minho is the king of the Pocky challenge,” Felix smiles, faking innocence.

Minho’s internal monologue hits DEFCON 1. He’s already halfway to cardiac arrest when, like sharks circling the blood, Felix and Seungmin lean in with matching devilish grins.

Minho wakes up from his daydreaming. "What?"

“Yeah, Min," Felix snickers. "You’ve pulled this exact move four times at parties.”

Minho blinks. Brain: static. Limbs: gone. Soul: ascending. He feels every cell in his body yell, STAY CALM. But his blood has turned into hot soup, and his mouth is suddenly so dry. Did his knees always feel this weak? Had he ever actually known how to breathe?

"I wanna try it," you repeat, still laughing, still not understanding that you’ve just shattered Minho's reality. "But Minho doesn't have to do it if he doesn't want to."

Minho silently beams regret and death at them while his brain screams, THIS IS NOT A DRILL, IT'S HAPPENING, STAY CALM, STAY FUCKING CALM—

Heart jackhammering in his chest, Minho has a single, profound thought: Don’t combust. Don’t combust. Don’t combust. He’s already reaching for it before his body catches up with his brain. “No— I mean, yeah,” he croaks. “Sure. Totally. Why not."

The room holds its breath. His ears are definitely red.

In the blink of an eye, you’re sitting on the stool right next to him, and he turns to face you.

You lean in, slowly, and every inch closer is a personal attack on Minho’s ability to remain upright.

Okay, he tells himself. Cool. You’re fine. It’s just a game. A snack. A stick. A proximity-based ritual of emotional doom. Totally normal.

Your eyes flick up to his again and—boom. There goes his brain. Just gone. Replaced with white noise and the echoing reminder that your lashes are stupidly long and your nose crinkles just a little when you smile, and he’s so, so doomed.

He can feel your breath now. Warm. Sweet.

Abort. Abort. You are not built for this.

You’re smiling like you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

Nope. Just trying the challenge. Calm down. This isn’t about you. Except it is about you. Because you picked him. You wanted to try this—with him.

He doesn’t know where to look. Your eyes? Your mouth? Somewhere neutral, like the ceiling?

His lips are millimeters from yours now. Time has completely stopped. His hands are clenched at his sides because if he moves them, he knows, he knows, he’ll reach for you.

You’re so close now.

The room has gone quiet in that strange, electric way—like even the air doesn’t want to interrupt.

The pocky stick trembles slightly between you, balanced between your mouth and his, and Minho’s pulse is so loud in his ears it feels like a countdown.

You’re leaning in slowly, a little hesitant, like you’re trying not to laugh, like you can’t quite believe you’re doing this either.

Minho can’t hear the others anymore. Can’t remember his name, the challenge, the context—nothing. All he can see is you.

The soft part of your smile where your lips meet the stick. The tiny shift in your expression as you get closer. Your lashes lowering just slightly. The edge of pink on your cheeks.

And then, something in him snaps.

This might be the only time, his brain whispers, already folding itself into silence. The only chance. You don’t get this twice.

So he leans in just a little more. Not enough to scare you off. Just—closer. Closer than he should. Enough to feel the whisper of your breath against his skin.

Your eyes flick to his. Wide, surprised.

But you don’t pull away.

So he doesn’t either.

The stick between you cracks softly as you near the middle. And still, he keeps going.

Your breath hitches.

And just before the Pocky snaps—

Your lips meet.

It’s soft. Just a brush. Warm and uncertain and far too short. But it hits him like gravity suddenly tripled, like he’s stepped off the edge of something tall and forgotten how to land.

He barely remembers the crunch. Barely hears the explosion of screams behind him.

All he knows is that your lips have touched his—and that nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared him for how right that feels.

Minho doesn’t move.

He isn’t sure he can. He’s frozen, standing perfectly still like his nervous system has short-circuited and just… shut down. His ears are ringing. His heart is somewhere in his throat, possibly on fire. And you’re still right there, eyes wide, fingers covering your mouth in stunned shock—and maybe, just maybe, a tiny smile hiding beneath it.

His lips tingle. Every neuron in his brain has turned off except the one whispering, You kissed. You kissed. You actually kissed.

Someone claps him on the back way too hard. “That was the smoothest thing I’ve ever seen you do, you absolute menace.”

Minho blinks. He’s barely processing it. The voices are background static. You’re still the only thing in focus.

You’re biting back a laugh now, cheeks flushed, glancing around like you can’t believe this is happening.

But then—your eyes meet his again. And it hits him all over again. This just happened. You kissed him. Or he kissed you. You kissed.

Minho tries to speak. Fails. Swallows. Tries again.

“You—uh. That was…” he manages, rubbing the back of his neck.

You give him a look—shy and warm and teasing all at once. “Happy… Pocky Day?”

He laughs. A little too breathlessly. “Best holiday I’ve ever celebrated.”

Across them, Felix bites his lip. "Let's not tell them we're still in April." Felix snickers softly at Jeongin. "What? I wouldn't want to ruin the magic!"

If one were to cast a spell and see into the future, this author thinks it’s quite obvious to think that Minho couldn’t wait until November to kiss you again.

Propperly, this time.

[🎀★🍬★🎀]

~kats, who is craving pocky rn.

catiuskaa, may 2025 ©

[ permanent taglist! ] @svckrpvnch @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @lyramundana @cheeksung

[pomegranatelifethis]

Escape

The air in the manor was thick with secrets, each room a gilded cage draped in velvet and stone. You’d been here for weeks—maybe months; time blurred in the absence of freedom. The Batfamily, Gotham’s shadowed protectors, had woven a web around you, their love a chain tighter than any lock. They called you family, their *treasure*, but you knew better. You were their prisoner, a bird with clipped wings, adored but never free.

Tonight, that would change.

The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked ominously, its pendulum a heartbeat echoing through Wayne Manor. You crouched behind a mahogany table, clutching the stolen key you’d swiped from Dick’s utility belt while he’d been distracted, his warm smile masking the predator beneath. The key was cold in your palm, a promise of liberation. The cave entrance was close—just beyond the study. If you could reach it, you could slip into Gotham’s underbelly and vanish.

Your breath hitched as you crept forward, bare feet silent against the polished floor. The manor was a labyrinth, but you’d memorized its twists, counted the steps in the dark. Bruce’s voice lingered in your mind, low and possessive: *“You’re safer here, Y/N. The world outside will break you.”* Safe. The word tasted like ash. His protection was suffocation, his love a noose.

A floorboard creaked behind you. You froze, heart hammering. The shadows seemed to shift, and for a moment, you swore you saw Tim’s silhouette in the doorway, his calculating eyes glinting like a cat’s. But it was just a trick of the light. You exhaled shakily and pressed on, slipping into the study.

The cave entrance loomed ahead, a hidden panel behind a bookshelf. You’d seen Jason trigger it once, his rough hands brushing yours as he’d murmured, *“Stay close, Y/N. I’d hate to lose you.”* His words had been soft, but his grip had bruised. You pushed the memory aside and fumbled with the key, slotting it into the concealed lock. The mechanism clicked, and the shelf slid open with a low groan.

Freedom was so close.

“Y/N.”

Damian’s voice sliced through the silence, sharp and cold as a blade. You spun, stomach plummeting. He stood in the doorway, his Robin suit glinting faintly in the moonlight, green eyes narrowed with betrayal. At sixteen, he was smaller than the others, but no less dangerous. His katana hung at his side, untouched but a silent threat.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, stepping forward. His tone was soft, almost tender, but it dripped with obsession, the same suffocating devotion they all shared.

You backed toward the cave entrance, fingers trembling. “Damian, please. I just need—”

“You *need* us,” he interrupted, closing the distance with predatory grace. “You think you can survive out there? Without us? The world is full of monsters, Y/N. We’re the only ones who can protect you.”

“I don’t want your protection!” The words burst out, raw and desperate. “I want to be free!”

His expression darkened, a storm brewing behind his eyes. “Freedom is an illusion. You belong here. With us. With *me*.”

Before you could bolt, a shadow dropped from the rafters. Dick landed silently, his Nightwing suit a sleek contrast to the warmth in his smile. But that smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Y/N, sweetheart,” he said, voice honeyed but laced with steel, “you’re breaking my heart. Why would you want to leave?”

You stumbled back, the cave entrance just steps away. “Stay away from me!”

Dick’s smile faltered, but he didn’t stop. “You’re upset. I get it. But running won’t fix anything. Let’s talk, okay? Just you and me.”

The lie was almost convincing. You might have believed it, once, when you’d thought Dick was the kind older brother, the one who’d ruffle your hair and tease you. But you’d seen the truth: his love was a cage, his kindness a leash.

You turned to run, but a hand clamped around your wrist, yanking you back. Jason. His leather jacket smelled of gunpowder and rain, his grip unrelenting. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he growled, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of pain. “You know I can’t let you go.”

“Let me go, Jason!” You thrashed, but his hold tightened, bruising. Tears stung your eyes. “I’m not your doll!”

“You’re not,” he said, voice rough. “You’re more than that. You’re *ours*.”

A low chuckle echoed from the shadows, and Tim stepped into view, his Red Robin cowl pushed back to reveal a face too young for the cruelty in his gaze. “You almost made it,” he said, tapping a tablet that no doubt tracked your every move. “Impressive. But you didn’t think we’d let you slip away, did you?”

You glared, defiance burning through your fear. “I’ll keep trying. I’ll *never* stop.”

Tim’s smile was pitying. “Oh, Y/N. You don’t get it. There’s nowhere you can go that we won’t find you.”

The cave entrance was right there, a yawning promise of escape, but the Batfamily closed in, a wall of dark silhouettes. Bruce emerged last, his presence a tidal wave of authority. He didn’t wear the cowl, but he didn’t need to. His eyes, cold and unyielding, pinned you in place.

“Y/N,” he said, voice deceptively calm, “you’re home. Stop fighting it.”

“I’m not your family,” you spat, voice trembling with rage. “I’m your prisoner!”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he nodded to Dick, who stepped closer, a syringe glinting in his hand. Panic surged through you, and you lunged for the cave, only for Jason to yank you back, his arms a vice.

“No!” you screamed, kicking uselessly. “Let me go!”

Dick’s hand was gentle as he brushed your hair back, but his eyes were hollow. “This is for your own good, Y/N. You’ll thank us later.”

The needle pricked your skin, and the world blurred. Damian’s hand rested on your cheek, his touch feather-light but possessive. “Sleep, beloved,” he murmured. “We’ll be here when you wake.”

As darkness claimed you, Bruce’s voice followed, a vow etched in stone: “You’re ours, Y/N. Forever.”

[moonstruckme]

Hiiii I don’t know if you are taking requests….but if you are I have a slightly odd one of you don’t mind.

I was just rewatching the hunger games and idk if you have read or seen the book/movies but I was wondering if you could do any of the marauders x reader in a sort of hunger games AU?

Okay hear me out… it’s like the cave scene in the first movie, one of the marauders (your choice) is injured and the reader finds them and tries to help them and it’s angsty with hurt/comfort and confessed feelings and the reader is like “I need to go get medicine for you” and the marauder is like “no I don’t want you to risk your life for me”

Anyways just a silly little idea bc I love your writing smmm

<3333

Babe calling this idea "silly" is absolutely absurd of you haha, thanks for the request <3

cw: disabled Remus, typical thg universe angst, imaginings of death

tribute!Remus x tribute!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Since Remus’ name was drawn at the reaping, he’s known he was going to die. He can’t run fast or far. He’s no good for throwing spears or swinging an axe or really wielding anything that requires him to use both hands. He doesn’t have the charisma or good looks to win sympathy from sponsors. His best bet was always to survive on the vegetation in the arena for as long as he could and then curl up in some hidden place like a sick cat to die. 

But you. Lovely, generous, softhearted you. You just won’t let it happen. 

Your cave is damp. Dirt clings to Remus’ clothes and the air tastes of mildew. Every now and again, a drop of water will fall somewhere to his left, making an echoey plopping sound in some unseen puddle. It’s the loudest noise that’s passed through the cave for nearly an hour. Maybe it’s that taut silence that makes Remus’ voice come out so soft. 

“You’re not really thinking of going.” 

“I’m not?” you hum, noncommittal. 

“No. You’re too smart for that.” He watches your face carefully. You’re looking down at your hands, practicing knots on a bit of rope, but at his words your brow tenses. Remus says gently, “You know it’d be a fool’s errand, and you’re not a fool.” 

Your eyes flicker up to his. Dark in the low light of the cave, though it’s daytime outside. They’re Remus’ favorite color. “It doesn’t seem foolish to me.” 

“It is,” he practically pleads. “It is.” 

“Remus.” Your expression is resolute. “You need medicine.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You do.” 

“It won’t matter.” His right leg is as fucked as it’s always been. Remus wasn’t allowed his cane in the arena, though it hardly mattered; even when he found a good stick to use as a substitute, he was never going to be as fast or as lethal as the other tributes. The throwing knife that sliced through his left thigh seemed almost a cruel joke of fate. Now he truly is useless. “I’m no good to you.” 

“Yes, you are,” you insist stubbornly. You tug at the knot you’ve made, tossing the rope away from you.

“Sweetheart,” he gentles his tone, “I’m not. This is nothing to give your life for.” 

“What about yours?” 

Remus gnaws the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t know how to tell you what he’s known for weeks; that he was never going to make it out of here. That he was never driven by survival, only a half-desperate hope to distract the careers well enough to keep you safe. Now, your safety relies on him in a different, much more frightening way. 

You move closer to him. Your hand twitches as if on instinct toward the torn-up shirt bandaging his leg, seemingly forgetting for a moment that you checked on the wound only a couple hours before. 

“If they have medicine there,” you say, your voice gone quiet, “it could save you.” 

“That’s a lot of ifs.” Remus looks at you imploringly. “If they have medicine, and if you’re able to get it back here, and if it works, I still won’t be any use to you.” 

“Would you stop saying that?” You sound pained. “I don’t care about how useful you are. You’re not a tool.” 

“Y/n, these are the games,” he says. “Please, listen to me. I’m the worst ally in this arena. You need someone who can protect you. Or if not that, at least someone who can watch your back and keep up with you. I can’t do any of those things.” 

“I don’t need you to.” Your hand lays over his on the cold stone floor of your little home. Remus thinks he might be trembling. He loves you so hopelessly it twinges like a stitch in his side when he breathes. Your next words come out in a whisper. “They said tributes from the same district can win together. All I need is for you to stay alive.” 

Remus shakes his head. It hurts him to make you so solemn, but he needs you to understand. “That rule won’t do us any good if you die first.” 

“I won’t.” You sound surer of yourself than Remus thinks can possibly be true. “I’ll go tomorrow, at night—” 

“The careers will be waiting.” 

“—and I’ll make some sort of distraction somewhere else to be sure they’re not around. It’ll be quick.” 

“You can’t know that will work.” Remus’ voice scratches against the emotion welling in his throat. “They could leave someone behind to keep watch, or they might not go at all.” 

You’re resolute. “It’s our best bet.” 

“Our best bet is for you to stay here.” He’s definitely trembling now. He doesn’t care. You can chalk his shining eyes up to the fever or whatever you wish, all that matters is that he convinces you. “Please, y/n. Please. I’m asking you not to do this. Not for me. It isn’t worth it.” 

“It’s not just for you.” Your fingers tighten over his hand. In the dark of the cave, some of your fear finally shines through. “It’s worth it to me. I need you to be okay. And I’m—I’m sorry if you want to die peacefully, but I can’t just watch it happen.” 

Remus shakes his head. His thoughts won’t stop running a feverish, horrific loop—your terrified, panting breaths as you sprint away with the careers on your heels; you not returning by the nightfall, and Remus crawling outside to watch your picture project across the false sky; your mutilated corpse being scooped up by a hovercraft’s unfeeling claws, a vial of useless medicine falling from your pack to lie on the forest floor. 

“I can’t help you,” he says. “You can’t go. I won’t do you any good.” 

“Remus.” You say his name like your throat tightens around it. Like a wish, or an ache. “I can’t do this without you. Okay? I won’t make it. I need you.” 

Remus feels like his chest is cracking open. “Why?” 

“Because I do,” you say, and now it’s you who sounds pleading. “I just do.” 

You’re both silent for a heartbeat, one that feels too heavy in Remus’ chest. And he finally understands. Maybe it’s something he’s known for a while, only he hasn’t wanted to know. Because it’s so, so much easier to think that he could just die here, with this awful, twinging, unrequited love for you, and you could simply go on. It’s worse if you both have to weather the ache. 

“I need you more,” Remus tells you selfishly. 

“It’ll be okay.” You lean against his side, letting his head rest on your shoulder and combing your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “I’ll come back, and we’ll get you all healed up, and then we’ll get out of here together, yeah?” 

Remus has about a thousand and one objections to that. The first being that he’s simply never letting you leave this cave until the packs of supplies are surely gone and you need to go out again to find food. Whatever you think, his life isn’t worth you risking yours. He’ll restrain you if he has to, or threaten to crawl out of the cave and shout until somebody comes to kill him and your fruitless mission is truly for naught, or do whatever he has to to keep you from letting your tender heart get you killed. 

But for tonight, you’re still safe. He can indulge you in your sweet fantasy. So Remus only utters a soft, “Yeah,” waits for your breaths to even out, and goes to sleep. 

[heartyluv]

. ⟡ 📼 ݁₊ [ ▷] ⊹. 📽.ᐟ

Note: Guyssss, I love this. Like so, so much. Caleb is so in loveee LOLL.

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Warning: Smut, Somnophilia

Word Count: 2,475

Summary: You and Caleb get paid a big sum of money for him to fuck you out of your sleep.

Camboy!Caleb/Reader

You’re sitting in the living room when Caleb walks up to you with a smirk on his face and a raised eyebrow. You can’t stop yourself from smiling at his goofy expression as he plops down next to you before laying sideways to rest his head on your lap. He looks up at you and you look down at him, brushing his hair from his pretty eyes.

“What did you do?” you question jokingly.

“You check out our requests lately?”

“No,” you purse your lips. “You know you’ve been picking the ones we’ve done the last few times. Why? Everything okay?”

He lifts his hand to show you his phone. You take it from him while he stares at you to gauge your reaction. You read a few of the handful of requests sent in.

Blowjob - $100

Anal - $660

Regular Intimate Sex - $400

Mutual Masturbation - $350

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, the list including some things new and some things you’ve done before. You and Caleb don’t do anything for cheap when it comes to requests, so you appreciate that fans really do pay good for the things they want. But when your eyes land on what has Caleb smiling, you look between him and the screen with complete disbelief.

Somnophilia - $3,000 + a bonus $1,000 if it’s not staged and she wakes up during. I would love it to be gentle yet desperate. Thank you guys for all the phenomenal content!

“Caleb, there’s no fucking way,” you gasp.

“I know, right?” He chuckles. “I do that to you for free in the morning and someone wants to give us four grand for it.” He kisses your palm when you hand him his phone back. “Baby, you know I’m down if you are.”

“Of course I want to do it, but for that price, we have to do it good. Like, really good. I love to keep customers returning, especially when they’re paying like that.”

“You’re right,” he agrees, nodding. “What are you thinking? I don’t know how we could do it so that it’s not staged since you know about it.”

You hum as you look up at the ceiling in thought. “I think doing it in the bed is the best way, but maybe you should be the one to pick day. If I don’t know when you’re going to do it, it covers that non-staged aspect.”

“That’s smart,” he smiles. “I love that brain of yours.” He sits up to kiss your lips.

“And we already have our safe word, if anything. Make it yours, babe. I know you’re going to kill it.”

Caleb stands up, his mind already racing with new things he could try with you to fulfill this request in the best way possible. He wasn’t lying when he said that he already does that to you for free, so he’s a veteran at fucking you awake. In fact, being woken up by him sliding his cock into you has been one of your favorite things.

“I’ll get something going,” he winks to you as he walks off.

“I can’t wait.”

Caleb has been thankful you’ve been so busy this week with helping your best friend with moving because he knows his wife. You already tend to forget things easily, but when you’re busy? The only thing that sticks to your brain is what you’re currently tasked to do, so he knows the request has slipped your mind.

It’s perfect. And it’s why he’s deemed today as the day because he knows that you both are so desperate to feel each other. You’ve been sleeping at your friend’s house the last few days so that you didn’t have to deal with going back and forth. Doing that has made it so that it’s been almost an entire week of not fucking your husband, something you’ve never done.

Caleb’s been home alone, has streamed twice, but he missed you and he knew it was mutual. He waited patiently the day you came home, his sweet girl so tired as you dragged your slippers across the floor on your way to the bathroom to shower.

He made sure you ate and waited with an aching cock until you fell asleep for a quick nap in your bedroom.

The first thing he did when an hour passed was check on you. He heard your steady soft breathing and immediately, he went for his phone to get ready to fill your tight cunt like he’s been wishing to do for what feels like eternity.

He presses the red circle to begin the recording and angles the camera down to catch how his length strains against his gray sweatpants. The strong muscles of his toned abdomen move and shift with each breath and movement. He’s not wearing any underwear either, so his print is even more prominent. He rubs himself over the fabric, his breath shuddering as his cock bobs underneath with each touch. The pants hang low, letting the veins that trail down and into his pants make anyone watching want to see what he’s hiding.

He steps into the room, letting the camera see you beneath the blanket and sleeping so peacefully. You’re laying on your back, the thin sheet covering you letting him see how you’re positioned with one leg arched and the other laid straight and flat. Each step he take towards you makes his cock pulse with need.

When he stands beside you, his hand grabs your breast, letting the nub peak beneath your light green tank top. He does the same to the other, loving how still you stay for him without even knowing. Slowly, he tugs the sheet down, recording how it’s trails off your body to reveal the lower half of your body in simple cotton white panties with a bow.

That little fucking pink bow on the front makes this feel even more erotic than it should and he loves it.

He loves even more that you’re a heavy sleeper, so he has to work a little harder to get you to open those eyes he loves to look into so much. When the sheet is completely off, he climbs into the bed and rests on his knees in front of your sleeping form.

“Fuckk.. look at that,” he groans as he spreads your legs. Your fat pussy strains against the sheer material, making his already hard cock throb. He rubs his thumb down your slit and you never move, never quiver as he teases it.

“She’s been gone for too long,” he whispers as he works his sweatpants down just enough. He pulls out his dick and it stands tall, clearly begging for release as how flushed it is.

With his pants at his thigh, he tries his best to hold the camera steady as he rubs his cock over your panties, letting small droplets of precum spill onto them. Where it lands makes them almost see through.

Caleb whimpers lowly as he teases himself, letting his cock feel where it’s going to be inside of in just a few moments. The camera shakes slightly as he works with one hand to pull your panties to the side, looking up every now and then to make sure you’re really sleep. But he doesn’t pull them all the way over.

No, instead, Caleb pull them over just enough to let half of his cock nestle in between your pussy lips and pulls them back over to keep him sandwiched right in between your pillowy flesh.

His hips gently rock back and forth and he can feel your warmth enveloping him without even filling being inside of you.

“Oh fuck, I could come just like this,” he whispers through a moan. “She’d hate me for ruining these. They’re her favorite.” More precum leaks from his tip, smearing on your skin and falling between your lips as his cock pokes against your panties over and over.

He pulls back the camera some so he can get a full angle of his strong hand lifting your top and letting your pretty tits come into view as he circles one nipple with his thumb as he humps you. You stir slightly as this and that makes him smile.

“She’s getting there. My baby knows who’s making her feel good.”

Caleb would love to come right now, but he hasn’t been inside of you for what feels like too long, so he’ll have to save cumming in your panties with you for a another day. Your panties tug at his cock as he removes himself from between your folds, pumping himself in his hand as a thick creamy drop leaks onto your stomach.

He pulls your panties over tighter, your pussy weeping for him when he spreads you wider to get a good view of your tight hole.

He grasps his cock, using his seeping tip to tease your clit and smearing you and him together, but he knows you’re ready for him just as much as he is for you.

“Wake up for me, baby,” he says softly as the tip catches at your hole. It makes him ecstatic when you hum, your breath rate increasing as he starts to slide inside of you.

He makes sure he catches how tightly you wrap around him, how good and tight he fits inside of you, how snug you are—and it’s all for him to feel.

Inch by inch, he disappears inside of your body.

“I’m not gonna last,” he breathes out a soft laugh as he holds still so that he doesn’t come too quickly.

“Is it cheating if I kiss her? I love kissing her,” he voices. Caleb knows how much his fans love to hear him speak, even when he’s praising you. They know what they signed up for when they decided to pay a married man who only fucks his wife for content.

There’s a ledge on your headboard, so he places his phone there, making sure him and you are still in frame. He winks at it once before putting his attention back on you.

He gently grips your hips, slowly sliding inside and out ever so slightly. He feels you clench, knows that you’re about about to wake up.

“Fuck it.” He leans down, kissing your neck and inhaling your freshly showered skin. He couldn’t give a damn if you didn’t get paid at all for this. You’re his wife and he’ll fuck you however he wants to, especially after not getting to feel you for days.

“Mm..” you whimper as his hips continue to slowly move while he peppers your skin in kisses.

You know your husband like the back of your hand. You know how he feels on top of you, in you, how he smells, so you know it’s him filling you up when your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks before your eyes slowly open.

“Caleb..?” you mumble as he kisses your jaw.

“Forgive me, princess,” he says against your skin and you feel him smirk.

Your tired hand comes into his hair and you feel your bare nipples grind against his hard chest. He lifts himself up, bracing himself on his palms. You look down to see him sheathed inside you and your shirt pulled up.

He watches how your mouth falls open when he gives you one good full thrust.

“Shit.. shit..” you pant as you look up at him. You bite your bottom lip, bringing him down to kiss his lips. It’s so intimate and intoxicating, the way he licks your lips and sticks his tongue inside.

“Can I?” he asks briefly. You just nod and Caleb doesn’t need another confirmation to start fucking you. The wet sounds of your soaked pussy fills the room and the video catches all of this as he grabs the headboard with one hand and your hip with the other.

You don’t even know he’s recording. All you think is your husband couldn’t wait to fuck you and lets you feel how much he’s missed you.

“Caleb… I’m gonna come already..” you whine.

“I treated you so good, baby,” he pants as his pelvis slaps against yours. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”

That’s when you know and that makes you clench even harder. You felt something good in your sleep, but you thought it was a dream. Now that you know it was him that made you feel that flutter in your stomach and that mind numbing pleasure, you can’t wait to watch what he did to you.

He buries his face in your neck, moaning loudly and licking at your ear as you scratch up his back. He presses against yours so closely, your breasts not having any room to jump like usual.

“Come baby,” he begs you. “I missed feeling how good you squeeze me when you do. I was so good for you, I promise.”

“I know,” you mewl. “Right there.. You feel so fucking good…”

He slams into you just a little harder because he can’t help himself at how you praise him, and that slight increase in force has you crashing. Your body tenses and you jerk beneath him as he pumps his seed into your womb.

His hips starts to come to a stop as he breathes you in. When he pulls back, he looks into your eyes and kisses them and your nose before sitting back to look at the masterpiece that you and him create every time you make love.

He grabs the camera, showing you first. You truly look tired and fucked out. He adores putting that look on your face.

“Say hi baby,” he smiles behind the phone.

You shake your head and smile. You love to end your videos off on a good note, no matter what you record.

“Hi,” you say sleepily. “Thank you so much. I hope you love this.”

He pans the camera down to where his softening cock rests inside of you. His hips push and pull a few times so that the cum can spill out and you bite your lip at the overstimulating feeling.

His load spills out of you and once he gets the final shot, he stops the recording, sends it off and accepts the money.

Throwing the phone down to the bed, he kisses you deeply.

“Felt good?” he asks with a knowing smile.

“You’re so stupid,” you chuckle.

“You think they’ll like it?”

“They’ll be touching themselves for daysss.”

He laughs hard at that. “Let me clean you up so you can get some more sleep.”

You still feel him inside of you. The feeling of how his thick and sticky cum spills out and it makes you clench a little bit. “Or not..” you say suggestively.

“Or not,” he agrees, pressing a final kiss to your forehead.

[cribabey]

perv!m.g x bsf!r

a/n - my own dirty filthy thoughts about pervert mark grayson who's just recently gotten his powers, and his sense of smell is insane....

MDNI- thigh fucking, pervy mark, he can smell you (?) porn w/o plot somnophilia

mark's powers came in gradually. first was his increased sense of smell, then his hearing, and then the rest of his powers.

his sense of smell, well....it came in at a rather bad time. he'd just come over for another movie night between the two of you, and he could suddenly smell everything clearer.

the smell of the flowers on your dining table was crisp in his nose, despite being in your room, a floor above the dining room. the smell of your perfume on your skin, and the smell of you.

mark has always had some kind of feelings for you, that he had realised suddenly. he started getting hot every time you brushed up against him, and his eyes began always dropping lower than they should be, at a respectable level. his pants were too tight around you, and seemingly innocent things would get him all bothered.

but it wasn't like he just wanted to fuck you, he actually had feelings for you. he wanted to take you on dates, wanted to be able to love you in the open, not just internally while hiding it from everyone else.

the problem? he was your best friend, and it wasn't like he could just come out with his emotions, in the fear of losing you.

so mark was content to wait, until he gets the go-ahead from you, he'll just wait, however desperate for you he was.

but the other problem? you did like him. but he didn't know that.

suddenly, mark had become this insanely attractive guy to you overnight. initially you just started noticing the small things, like the flex of his forearms when he was doing something as small as writing, and the strain of the muscle in his back and arms when he threw you around in circles. i mean, you'd always known mark was attractive, but it all just suddenly hit you. he was sweet, smart and considerate, always being so tuned into you. he'd know when you were cold, and would drop his sweater around your shoulders without you even having to ask.

so in all, you were down bad, both romantically and physically.

which brings us to the present.

mark had come over for your typical movie marathon friday night.

you'd both sat on your bed together, your leg thrown over his as you'd watched your tv on your bed. an idea that always had him popping a chub, as dirty thoughts raced through his head. you, taking his cock so pliantly as he drilled you into your frilly blue bedsheets, him, in between your legs, discovering what heaven might actually taste like. you, choking on his cock as you looked up at him with those eyes of yours.

safe to say, he was definitely sprouting a boner.

it was a miracle you never noticed, with how often it happened. once, you had gotten dangerously close, your cheek smushed right above his groin when you were lying on top of him. he had to think of his poor dead grandmother's dentures in a cup of water to get it to go down. per usual, you'd been lying together on your bed, and when you both fell asleep, he woke up first.

at some point during your sleep, you'd both moved, so that you were pressed to his front with your back to him. your ass pressed against his dick, which was getting harder with every second.

he needed to move away, to scoot away or else he'd lose all semblance of control, so he tried to scoot away just a little. it gave him a temporary measure to get a break, but the next thing he knew, you were following, ass pressing to his groin again. he groaned out loud, quietly, and he just stopped moving, afraid to wake you to the feel of his hard on your ass. you started moving just a little bit in your sleep, and the friction that mark felt was insane.

his voice caught in his throat, and he tried his best not to moan immediately. this was bad, this was really bad. you were basically grinding on him in his sleep!

while this may have been one of his fantasies literally come to life, he could only think about how you might wake up to it and never want to speak to him again.

but he couldn't move, not at all.

but something switched in mark when he smelt it. saccharine sweet and light at the same time, and so unbelievably you.

it took mark a little to realise what it was.

you were wet.

from him.

because of him.

and you wanted this just as badly as he did, because even in your sleep you were grinding on him.

mark let out a guttural growl, needing more of that smell. he can't hold back anymore.

the next thing he knows, he's pulled his sweatpants down. the waistband is around his thighs, and he's pushed his boxers down with them.

he pulls his dick out, pumping it a couple times next to your sleeping form, pressing his nose to your pulse point as he inhales.

oh god, you smell so good. he thinks to himself. he feels the precum beading at his tip, and uses it as a lube for his dick as he fists his cock, pretending it's your hand as you smile up at him.

if it was you, he thinks of how your hand would struggle to wrap around his girth, and you'd drool at the thought of him slamming into you, making you cum over and over again.

using his thumb, he plays with his slit. he screws his eyes shut, his breathing heavy as he imagines your tongue playing with his slit, gobbling up his precum as if it was something valuable.

he'd get you so cock-drunk, you'd never be able to look at any other guys ever again, and you'd only ever want his dick inside you, always. he'd bend you over every surface in your house and his, and fuck you till you're screaming his name and unable to walk.

mark starts rutting against your body, before he gently manhandles you as to not wake you up, lifting one of your legs so he can slot his dick in between your soft thighs.

you're warm, and it makes him groan. this is literally so hot to him, your body compliant and responsive to his, and he can feel the tightening of his stomach muscles, knowing he's close to his climax.

he briefly acknowledges the obscene, wet sounds that come hims precum dribbling from his leaky tip, the slap, slap noise of his hip bones hitting the back of your thighs as he chases his high.

his climax hits him hard, and he groans into your ear, licking a stripe up the column of your neck as he chases the end of his high. his cum splurts all over your thighs and your frilly bedsheets, and he can only think of how good you smell, with the saccharine sweet of your arousal mixing up with his cum.

once he's finished from his ejaculation, he tucks himself back into his boxers and sweatpants, leaving the mess for you to find later. he knows this won't be the last time he uses you when you're sleeping.

you wake up to a sticky substance coating your thighs, and your own panties dripping wet. you don't know what's happened as you've always been a deep sleeper, but you have a feeling that mark's got something to do with it.

you can still feel boner pressing against your ass still, so you have a guess as to what it is.

doesn't matter though, because you're happy to help this one go down as well.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n omg this is my first smutt.....mark has had an absolute chokehold on me lately....... anyway! let me know what you think!! comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

[eraserbread]

𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚 part 3 masterlist, listen, nanami tag

god help me be a good wife, cause he needs me even when he's not right, he still needs me read part 2 nanami won't tell you he's hurting, but he can't keep you a secret any longer.

a/n: holy shit u guys... don't say i didn't warn you... this one is, uh... that's all from me. see you on the other side... cw: 18+ mature themes, canon-typical violence

♫ - salted wound - sia

Kento doesn’t wince, he doesn’t even move a muscle as he’s doted on. This time, it’s not by you, it’s by his colleague. One of the only sorcerers at Jujutsu High who can use reverse cursed techniques to heal. Her hands are warm, but her aura is cold, not like yours. Never as comforting as you. 

Facing the aftershocks of a fight against what he deemed to be a Special Grade, his side is gashed. It’s deep, too, bleeding into Ieiri’s silicone gloves as she pokes and prods. 

“I need to make a phone call – afraid it can’t wait, either, so please do not listen.” 

“No promises.” She replies coolly, pushing her rolling chair back to switch out her bloody gloves. In her sterile, white office, Kento leans his back against a plush, reclining chair. His dark blue work shirt is unbuttoned and messy, hanging off his shoulder. Blood is soaking through it, he’s cold, and Kento wants nothing more than to be home right now. 

Home will have to wait, but he can make up for some of it easily enough. He reaches for his smartphone, blinking drearily as his weak fingers stumble upon your contact. It’s well past the time he should’ve been home, now, and knows you’re up, worried sick. A message won’t suffice in this case; he needed to speak. 

Not even a full ring pass until the line clicks. Your smooth, sleepy voice licks the receiver. 

‘Kento?’ 

“Hello, dear.” Kento shuffles, taking a breath as Ieiri rolls back to his side. She has already used her technique; now it just has to settle in. “I know you are worried about me. Don’t be.” 

‘What’s happened? Are you okay?’ The way you sound – so worried and broken against cell static, shatters Kento’s psyche. He just wants to reach through the phone and tell you he’s okay, but he can’t. 

“I was struck by some falling rubble at work. Again, don’t wor-”

‘-fallen rubble? Kento, please come home.’ 

He presses his eyes shut. Your pain is palpable and laced throughout your caring tone. “I cannot come home yet. I’m getting the wound patched up.” 

Out of his sight, you’re chewing over your pristine nails, stewing with angst. He can hear the crack in your voice when you go to speak. ‘I’m terrified… this is the fourth injury this week.’ 

“I understand you’re worried, but I want you to know that I made that promise for a reason. I will never leave you.” He’s lying. He can’t believe he’s lying to you again, but it’s the only way he can keep you. His stupid, selfish nature needs you close when he knows he should cut ties and let you lead a life without constant fear.

‘And I want to believe that so bad.’ You’re crying now, or about to – Kento can hear it in the way your voice, damp with emotion, shakes helplessly. He knows if he were home, you’d play with his hair and kiss his forehead. You’d let him know that you can be his rock if need be – that’s your safeword, it’s his crutch. 

“How about you get some rest, dear? When you wake up, I’ll be right there… just like always.” 

‘No mysterious midnight missions?’ 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s hard to control that.” 

‘Then, just lie.’ You’re desperate for anything, now. Any lie, any amount of reassurance or stability – you were clawing at your skin for it. 

“No missions. I’ll be home with you all night.” 

You take that with a contented hum, sawing your bottom lip over the line. ‘Please come home safe and sound.’ 

“Mhm�� okay.” 

‘I love you so much.’ 

“Yes, you too. You know that.” 

‘I’ll be waiting…’ 

Kento hangs up first – knows he has to, or you’ll be shoveling more worrisome phrases into his ear for hours. Then, he feels the guilt hit him like a ton of bricks, weighing his shoulders down as Ieiri finishes patching him up. Silently, she’s been listening – of course, she has. 

Notoriously mysterious, Kento never utters a word about his personal life when he’s on campus. He was aloof throughout his high school years, then just disappeared. It's safe to say that nobody truly knows him here. Not even the apparitional comrades he sees when he closes his eyes at night. 

However, Ieiri is not stupid. That shiny, silver band on Kento’s fingers was not just for decoration. He’s never worn an ornament in his life, save for the thick watch he ties some of his Curse to. She noticed – she could make out your worried ramblings in the quiet, and smiled at who you were. 

“Marriage… It’s definitely your style.” She finally stands, pressing the trash can open to toss away the sterile packaging she used. Kento sits up, following her gaze shortly. 

“I told you not to listen.” 

“Oh, geez – it was impossible not to.” 

“Then just pretend you respect me enough to listen.” He’s standing up, buttoning and tucking his bloody shirt back in his pants. He knows you’ll work your domestic magic on it when he goes home – the next time he’ll see this shirt, it’ll be like nothing happened. “If you don’t mind, I will be running home to my wife.” 

“Don’t… actually run. It’ll exert the site.” 

Kento lets the door swing shut as he leaves Ieiri’s office, not giving her a goodbye or thanks she already knows she has from him. 

Now, he’ll be the first to admit that he’s pulled away since his return. There hasn’t been a Welcome Back dinner like Satoru promised, or those occasional nights out they’d hop into after missions. Nothing is the same this time around, or maybe they just aren’t kids anymore. 

And much to his bad luck, he ends up running into an open conversation in the First-Year hallway. The door is just a stone's throw away, but Ino and Satoru are leaning against either wall, relaxed and uncaring of Kento’s presence at first. 

“If I have to talk to the higher-ups about that, it won’t be pretty.” 

“Satoru, you can’t keep letting them throw me into missions I can’t handle.” Ino grimaces, scratching an anxious hand behind his head. He barely scraped away with his life today, and he’s had enough. He’s gone through two too many near-death experiences this week. 

“Don’t mind me,” Kento mutters as he pushes through their invisible conversation. Satoru stands on the right, giving him the perfect view of the bloodied stain on his pristine clothing. He can also see it in Kento’s face – can hear it in the mumble he gives. 

“Bad mission?” 

“I do apologize – I’ll have to brief you tomorrow.” Kento’s trying everything – scraping by the skin of his teeth to avoid any and all distractions. Satoru could talk for hours about nothing, and Ino would pay to listen in. He can’t let himself be roped in. 

“Nanami, I faced a Special-Grade in Kamakura. Had to flee or die… this is getting out of hand.” 

“Struggling is not inherently bad.” He finally stops, giving Ino a passing look over his shoulder. He takes a few steps, hands tucked in his pockets. “Neither is fleeing. Sometimes it’s the only thing we can do – you have to be okay with that.” 

Ino gives him a meek nod, gazing down at his feet as reality washes over him. “B-but if we all flee… Who will exorcise all these Curses?” 

“Me. When I have time.” Satoru speaks, standing up straight as if he’s planning on walking away. In reality, he’s exhausted. Running on a night of no sleep and constant, back-to-back Special Grades, whilst teaching and lugging around Sukuna’s vessel, marred him to the bone. He was beginning to see stars through his thin, dark-framed glasses. “Thank you for helping with Itadori, Nanami. Saw he got back safely.” 

“It is my duty to put his life over my own. Now, I must be going on-

“Get lots of rest tonight,” Ino adds as Kento begins walking off, standing straight and at attention. 

“You too.” 

Kento can’t face you right now. He knows you’re behind that door, can feel your presence calling his name, but can’t give in. It’s so late now. Well past midnight, and he’s just now shuffling through the front door. He knows, and hates, that you’re not waiting up for him. The house is dark. Lifeless. It’s like you haven’t been in here all day. 

He waits in front of the cracked bedroom door, hand hovering over the knob as he works himself up. He’s still covered in blood – his shirt is stained and he looks like Hell. You’d wake up as soon as he sets foot inside, and he’d have to calm your shaking demeanor again. Selfishly, he’s far too exhausted to exert more energy that way. 

All he wants to do is sleep. He doesn’t want to exist on this day anymore. 

So, he turns around and makes his way to the couch, slinging off his belt and loosening his tie so he can sink into the downiness. He closes his hands over his face, breathing deep, thinking about that pathwork curse, dreaming up ways he can work around the technique, and stewing over it for far too long. Surprisingly, he skated away with his life today, but he knew it was a lucky draw – he needed to be more careful, far more conscious. 

Somewhere, lost in those late hours, he drifts off with his vapid thoughts running circles in his mind. It’s a sour mixture – a foul mood and visions of failure, which is why he dreams that night. 

He never dreams. 

You’re awake when that call comes, stepping out of the bathroom fresh from a shower. Somehow, he can hear you from the serenity of the shared bedroom. He wonders if you can feel him as you approach your wailing phone, looking so meek, wrapped up in a towel the size of him. 

Every step is deliberate as you cross the bed, reaching against the whiteness of the spread to retrieve the device. When you turn the screen over, an unknown number is painted across the top, and he can sense the hesitant dread that crosses your features when you notice. 

Kento knows you want that person to be him – you’re hoping he’s just at a payphone, or using a colleague's cell to update you on his status. His only call home was that evening around 7 – he whispered to you that he was being called into a situation around Shibuya, warning you not to worry and that he’ll be home soon. How soon, he couldn’t promise. Timelines are so flimsy, now. Your life together is built on promises he can’t keep. 

But you understand. You won’t fight him this time; you’ll accept defeat and spend another lonely night wrapped up in his smell. It’s the only comfort you can find anymore. 

“Yes?” With a pruned, shaking hand, you bring your smartphone to your ear to answer the call. 

‘...Is this Mrs. Nanami Kento?’ It’s a voice you’re not used to – feminine, yet powerful as it overtakes you. 

You repeat, “Yes.” 

Then, a broken sigh makes you stand up straight. ‘This is Ieiri Shoko from Jujutsu High.’ She begins, shaking her head where you cannot see. ‘There is no easy way to say this, but we have probable cause to believe that Kento either went AWOL, or is MIA after the incident he was called to in Shibuya. I don’t want you to panic yet, but considering the worst-case scenario… We’ve been able to recover a few bodies from the scene earlier this morning…’

You can feel it – the entire structure of your world falling to its knees as you shake still. Your grip tightens invisibly over your device, eyes lost in the room as you shudder on words you know you need to say. “W-what?” 

Another sigh. Just a sigh for her – you wish you could just sigh. ‘I don’t want to confirm anything I am unsure about, but it is unrealistic for him to shrug off on missions without a word.’ Pacing the morgue, Shoko navigates the chaos of bodies she needs to identify, tag, and store. Only one issue – one glaring, faceless issue. She takes a second to stare at the covered body on her table, bloodied brown shoes lying lifeless, and swallows. 

“I-I don’t… I don’t understand.” You swallow, dislodging a pile of angst from your throat. Your mind has already shut down, and your heart is sure to follow – they’re protecting you. Taking the news and eating it until there’s nothing for your soul to feel. “I don’t understand.” 

‘I know this news… It’s confusing. For us… too.’ Though level-headed and seasoned, Ieiri knows how fragile this situation is – how fragile you are. Tokyo Jujutsu Society would never function the same again, and she’d feel it to her grave. ‘Kento was an integral part of not only the School, but also of our society. We need him more than ever, which is why we won't rest until he is accounted for. I imagine he hasn’t reached out to you since yesterday?’

You don’t respond. You can’t respond. You can’t even fucking move. 

‘Nanami?’

You shake your head, but Ieiri can’t hear it. You don’t care. 

‘I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, so I will not press further… May I ask that you come up to the school to identify some remains?’ 

“If it’s him…” You stop, finally moving even when it’s just a step closer to the mattress so you can collapse in a shapeless heap. “I don’t want to see it.” 

‘Of course, I understand completely. Might I just add that DNA testing is a lengthy process, often taking over a month in this case. I can go ahead and start that for you, but if you need closure sooner, coming in to view the bodies is your best option.’ 

You’re sinking into the mattress, hoping it swallows you whole as Ieiri treats you like a name on a paper. She’s telling you that Kento is missing – he’s gone. She thinks he’s dead and wants you to confirm her suspicions by looking at corpses. You don’t think she understands — you will not be able to function if your eyes fall upon the body you married without an ounce of life in it. It’d be better to twist the knife and take that spot next to him in the refrigerated room than to live anymore.

But, you also prepared for this… In that sick, if it happens, it happens way that Kento shoved down your throat since he took the position. The least he can do, since he’s throwing his life to the curb, is to make sure the transition into a life of your own would be just as easy as falling in love with him. You wouldn’t have to work for a while with the money he has stockpiled. You have this house he fine-tuned for you, a brand-new car, and a free life – you could start over. He wants you to start over. 

But he doesn’t want you to marry again. Not ever. 

Not even once you begin to forget him. 

Over the phone, you whisper to Ieiri, “I will come.” 

Somewhere in a dream-like state, Kento watches you slide on a pair of loose-fitting pants, staring unblinking at the wall as you pull on a baggy shirt. He believes it’s his, it smells like him, and that’s what you needed right now. You wouldn’t drive, Ieiri scheduled someone to retrieve you by mid-morning, and that was quickly approaching. 

The one thing – the feeling that’s playing you in a loop is… emptiness. The bleak wall becomes your mirror as you stare into it, no longer caring to polish the appearance you had kept so pristine for your husband. He never asked for too much when it came to that, knowing you’d be able to steer your self-care the way you need to without much nagging. Now it all seems so trivial. 

If no Kento was waiting at the end of the tunnel, you didn’t want to trek. 

So, you’re swept away. Unshowered, unbrushed – unpolished, into the back of a sleek black, mysterious sedan. A woman in a suit waits by the back door as you leave the home Kento gave you. The air smells like his skin as the door pushes that faithful scent out into the world. It feels as if you’re losing pieces of him slowly. 

Luckily, the assistant understands the gravity of the situation as she ushers you into the vehicle. She sees the look on your face, that shadow in your eyes as you avoid eye contact. Not even a word – just a nod. You’re lowering yourself into the calm, polished leather expanse. 

You just can’t feel anything. It’s so odd, so mysteriously antagonizing, as the city you navigated your entire life starts to feel… unfamiliar. The first time you laid eyes on your Kento, once a small, shy blonde, was shoulder-to-shoulder at a bar in Azabu. Now, that lively night strip is jarring and uncomfortably empty. You have to let your eyes flutter shut. 

You don’t even have the strength to pull them open when the car slows to a crawl, shaking you back to sense before stopping altogether. 

Car bells ding, doors are pulled open, and cigarette smoke is in the air. You steady your shaking hands, finally letting your eyes creep open. 

You’ve never been to campus, Kento never told you where it was, but the whispers of the countryside are vibrant and green, stretching far beyond the traditional campus. From first appearances, it looks like every other private High School, and that’s what you would have clung to if you didn’t know the unfortunate truth. Every one of these selfless sorcerers was working their life away just to meet an untimely end. It’s all shit – the system is shit, but you understand that choice was a luxury. Just like Kento, he didn’t have a choice. You never blamed him. 

“Sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” That familiar voice, warm and welcoming, is shadowed against the smog of her balanced cigarette. Standing in front of you, brunette hair, light makeup – you could only deem this reflection as Ieiri Shoko. 

You step out of the car, leaving the door hanging open for the assistant to close. When she steps behind you and lets a gentle hand push it shut, the sound sends a chill up your spine. You shiver. 

“I apologize for startling-

“I-it’s fine,” you rush, voice sounding unfamiliar and meek in your throat. 

Ieiri ashes her smoke with a flick, gaze downcast and red with lack of sleep. Little did you know, last night was one of the most troubling of her career. Bodies upon bodies and injured colleagues stacked upon each other. Some were MIA – a scattered few meeting a supernatural fate that the higher-ups have yet to learn. She figures you haven’t turned on the news and heard about the devastation. She hopes you didn’t, it’d make this showing easier. 

“Nanami…” Ieiri approaches, holding her smoke to her side to stop the onslaught from meeting you. You blink. “I apologize for the chaos, and… for finally meeting you in these circumstances.” 

You’re nodding, too afraid to say more and risk sobbing in a pile on the polished cobblestone. 

“I won’t burden you for too long.” She’s reading your reflection, understanding that baseless words to break the silence will just make this difficult. Ieiri drops her cigarette, stepping on it as she turns to lead you. “Nor will I talk your ear off about formalities, or the fact that I am drowning in bodies and unknowing.” She’s walking fast, swinging doors open for you to pass through. These hallways, although designed for students, seem completely empty. There’s no sound of joyous teenage angst, no chaos that should fill a school – just a veil of blackness, devoid of laughter and emotion. 

You can guess it’s why Kento is so bleak at times, similarly devoid of laughter and emotion. He slaves away all day to this. 

“Now, I won’t tell you much, but this happens sometimes. Shibuya is in ruins, half of our Grade-1s are MIA or are down for the foreseeable future, higher-ups are scrambling – it’s a mess.” 

“And my husband…” It’s the first sentence you speak to her face-to-face. Ieiri thinks it’s as bleak as she imagined it’d be, and it’s not like she could blame you. Poor girl, tied unwillingly to sorcery through devotion. No human is fit to thrive in these conditions. 

“Mixed up in it all, I suppose.” She stops at a heavy set of swinging doors, sending you screeching to a halt. When she turns around, that confident, exhausted gaze is just exhausted. “Now, we found him just after the sun broke, along with some of his few… surviving colleagues.” Ieiri knows – of course she knows, there’s no other sorcerer who yielded a wrapped, spotted blade. It was at the scene, plain as day, and disregarded during clean-up. However, there is a slight, off-putting chance that she could be wrong. It’s why you’re here, it’s why she’s stepping away from your sight, heading towards the corpse. 

You don’t even need her to lift the pristine white sheet. You can smell him in the air – an odd, muted, clean sort of familiar musk. Right there, in that moment, is where it hits you. 

Your husband is gone. 

“I’m so sorry… the state we found him in is…” Ieiri doesn’t finish, she doesn’t even give you a second before she’s peeling the sheet away from clothed, cold ankles. 

Your soul falls. You can’t look. 

You can’t even think – your husband is gone. 

Kento jolts up as if he were being doused in smoldering coals. His heart is hammering in his chest, forcing him awake in a cold sweat. He’s still on the couch, neck sore from the odd position he drifted into. It had to have been hours, now. That dream felt like an eternity… your pain was palpable. He feels like Hell – guilty to the bone. 

With those downcast eyes, he leans his elbows to his knees, rubbing the tension in his face away. Slowly, he’s coming down from that nightmare, focusing his breathing on the late-night hum of city traffic. He can’t find a time, has no idea where his phone is, and is exhausted. There was only so much stewing he could do for the rest of the night, so he decided to call it and climb into bed. 

Except you’re not cuddled on your side when he walks into the room. The bed is barren, with messy covers strewn over the mattress. Kento’s disappointed, but he’s far too tired to think twice. He crawls into his side of the bed, lying on top of the sheets, reaching to clutch your pillow to his face. Perhaps, he thinks it’s you in his sleep-daze, or he knows it’s not you, so he whispers, 

“I’m sorry.” 

You step out of the bathroom three minutes later, hands damp from washing them clean. The bedside clock reads 24:23. Kento is curled up with your pillow. You smile. 

“Sorry. I had to pee.” 

“Come here.” He’s not really asleep, you know he isn’t asleep. His body is still tense. So, you make your way to him, footsteps light in the night before they morph into knee-crawling over the mattress. Kento finally cracks open his eyes, and a smile blooms. He’s happy to see you. 

You won’t mention his injury right now, he won’t mention his burdens as he drags you into his arms. He just holds you, letting you fall back asleep with your head on his chest. 

Like he promised, Kento held you all night until the morning birds awoke. 

Then, it’s the weekend and he’s home. You don’t dare move from this closeness when you wake up before him. It’s just too peaceful, the outside breeze, the beat of his heart, the sound of his breath. He’s a steady, sleepy rock. 

Hours fade, you doze off again. Morning melts into the afternoon, and the sun is hot. You blink awake in the same position, watching hairs of sweat bead against your husband's chest. Leaning forward to kiss him, he stirs. 

Then, mid-afternoon hits, and you’re finally crawling out of your bed with Kento following suit. He’s quiet, yawning into his hand as he cracks an eye open. “You didn’t wake me.” 

“It’s Saturday.” Waiting for you on your closet door, you walk to slide your robe on, pulling the windows open once it’s tied around your waist. “Didn’t talk much last night.” 

“Neither did you.” He’s looking at you over his shoulder, back hunched towards you as he sits on the edge of the bed. “You’re beautiful this morning.” 

“Afternoon.” You correct with a smile on your face. You’re doing nothing to appear more attractive than your half-asleep state allows, but he doesn’t care. “I love you.” 

Kento grunts when he stands, limping slightly as he makes his way to the wardrobe. He’s yawning again, stretching his big arms in front of him. Your eyes fall to his side – the big bandage covering his milky skin. 

You swallow down words, craning your neck when he passes you with a kiss to the cheek. “What’s for breakfast?” 

“Lunch, dear.” You remind him, sawing over your bottom lip as he strips in front of you. His movements are hardly sexual, but the way his body bends and moves as he steps out of his pants is adjacent. Wearing no briefs, he reaches for a pair you laundered for him. “Chicken katsu, maybe?” 

“Mm…” He hums, filtering through his hanging selection of casual shirts. He settles on a deep grey one, sliding it over his fluffy hair and his chest. “If that’s what you want to do…” sounds excellent.” 

“Careful – your side, baby.” 

“What? It’s fine.” He's giving you the cold shoulder, like he’s trying to blow you off. What he wants to do is pick a pair of comfortable pants that he wouldn’t have to squeeze into. It’s the weekend, after all. He had no career obligations. “Katsu is good, go do that.” 

“Pick me out something to wear. Comfy like that, it’s cute.” You’re mentioning finally pushing from the wall to head to the kitchen. Kento doesn’t respond, but you know he’ll do it. On weekends, you shower together in the evening. You know he’ll appreciate peeling the outfit he chose from your skin a little extra. 

While Kento gets ready for his rest day, you’re stewing in the kitchen. Starting with prepping chicken, cleaning, prepping vegetables, cleaning, then actually turning around to your hot oil to start cooking. Somewhere in the middle of the process, you turned on music from the house speakers, keeping it low but audible over the sound of the stove. It makes it so you don’t catch Kento sliding into the room, book tucked under his arm as he sits at your counter. Never speaking a word, just watching. 

“Didn’t hear you walk in.” You’re mildly startled when you turn around, heading to the sink to grab a utensil from your pile of dirty ones. 

“You’re just in your own world. Didn’t want to intercept.” Light, down-tempo jazz backs the sound of his words. You’re smiling under his warm gaze, proud like a child at his sweet attention. 

“Thinking about you.” You add, hands scrubbing under running water as you wash. You’re faithful, your chicken won’t burn behind you, so you let this mood carry. You can tell he wants to dote on you right now. “Halloween’s in a few days. Remember, we used to celebrate every year when we were dating.” 

“Mhm… I remember when you forced me to watch that anime so that I could dress as that character. All of our friends seemed to love it, but I don’t think a blonde Yagami Light was very convincing.” 

You’re giggling, fond memories flooding the front of your mind. A peeved Kento, a smiling you, friends, drinks, and love. It was the last time you two celebrated as young adults. “Well, I was very convinced.” 

“I’m sure you were. You had no problem putting on a wig and playing Misa.” Kento opens his book to his marked page, eyes flicking over your shoulder. “My love, your chicken.” 

“Oh!” You jump, turning around with your clean utensil to remove the cutlets from the oil. On your right, rice is cooking – steaming into the air, mingling with the scent of warmth and home. 

Every few seconds, you can feel his eyes bore into the back of your head. It’s like he wants to say something, but comes up empty every time. 

“If it’s not too much to ask, some coffee would be nice.” He mentions briefly when you turn back around. Nodding immediately, you place your things on the counter, wipe your hands, and move to the machine to brew him a cup. 

“Sorry, I’m so distracted this morning.” 

“Afternoon.” He replies cheekily, smirking up at you when you gawk over your shoulder. “And, it’s okay. You woke up later than normal, starting with lunch instead of breakfast, too.” 

“I actually woke up right on time, just didn’t want to wake you by getting up.” 

“You’re extremely thoughtful. I do appreciate it.” 

A few moments later, you’re cradling a steaming mug of black coffee in your hands, blowing over the top before you hand it to Kento. 

“It is sweet, how you do that.” He starts, so soft spoken, putting his book down so he can take a scalding sip. “It’s like a little indirect kiss.” 

“I have no choice, you drink it as soon as I hand it to you, and always end up burning yourself.” 

“Coffee burns are the least of my worries.” You’re stuck staring stars into Kento’s eyes, studying the fine lines, the familiarity, the gentleness. You don’t even realize how much time is passing until he does. Kento clears his throat. 

“Um, dear.” He nods back towards your stove, and you’re flustered, trying to reel your attention back. “I’m sorry, I’m distracting you.” 

“No!” You reply, shaking your head as you remove the too-crispy chicken to drain. You’re lost in your own skin, unsure what to do with your hands and hyper-aware of his presence now. “No, don’t go, I’m sorry.” 

“I won’t go, just don’t want you to burn down your kitchen.” There’s a chuckle there, faint, hidden behind his words. You can hear it.

While it’s still hot, you serve Kento his lunch, taking care to slice the meat against the grain and keeping its presentation as neat as possible.

A scoop of rice, chicken perched perfectly on top. You pick out his chopsticks, his sauces, and a beautiful, fresh pile of grated cabbage on the side. It’s only ready to eat when you place it gently in front of him, turning the plate so he can get the perfect bite of rice first. 

This attention to detail – Kento craves it. He needs it. By now, knowing exactly what he needs is second nature; he never expects you to falter. And that’s your fault for always being so perfect and loving. He expects the world from you, now—one bowl of chicken katsu at a time. 

Early evening comes with Kento’s gentle voice amongst the cracked windows, piercing through the outside noise. You two love the cooler weather – cuddling up close when there’s no other reason to. 

Back pressed to the couch, Kento’s balancing a thick hard-cover book about Japanese Folklore in honor of Halloween. His sweet, gentle voice makes the troubling stories seem like fairy tales. He’s speaking so wholly, stopping to nod you through any questions you had. Little by little, Kento has been explaining bits and pieces of his world – how curses are born, why he has such an overflow of Cursed Energy, and why he chose this life. 

The thing is, he didn’t. Nobody chooses to be scouted, or, in his case, completely abandoned by his family because they swore he was too abnormal to live a regular life. Desperate for normalcy in those first few years of High School, he lived his off-time nose deep in books that couldn’t talk back. 

He’s only recently started to let you in on those years – the darkest in his life. He speaks about them so solemnly, finally starting to tell himself the truth when it comes to what he saw all that time ago. His best friend's warm body sliced in two, blood gushing. Tears. Angst. Sleepless nights, early mornings, and dull breakfasts. 

He’s getting lost in his head again, words are starting to melt together, and your body is too warm. He shakes his head. “Sorry…” 

“Hm?” You look up at him, hand drawing pristine designs on his clothed chest. Being honest, you didn’t notice the minor stutter of his words as he droned on. You’re more focused on the grotesque human amalgamation that exists within the walls of a city school. The description he read made you shudder. 

“Sorry, I just-

Kento is sighing, sliding further on the couch with the intent to sit. You’re sitting up with him, the backs of your thighs pressed into your heels as he swings his long legs off.. He’s clutching the front of his head like a headache is brewing, eyebrows knitting in phantom pain. 

It’s like… ever since that dream he had the other night, he can’t think straight. He can’t get that fucking night out of his head. 

“Ken…to..?” You mutter, reaching to pull his hand from his face. Unfortunately, this has become familiar to you – these bouts he works himself up into. It eats him alive, rendering him speechless and distant even when you’re close enough to touch. “It’s okay.” 

“Just a… It’s been a week.” Is what he lies with, looking down at his feet. There’s a crook in his neck he has to roll out; it’s uncomfortable. Everything around him is on fire; his skin is churning. 

It’s a slip you witness in real time, heart thrumming painfully as his eyes go ghost. You feel so helpless right now, his hand flexes against yours like he wants to pull it back to his body, but he sits motionless. 

You stand, stepping in front of him to pull his limp frame into your chest. “No, come back to me.” You plead, voice as light as a whisper. “It’s not lonely in there? Just you and your thoughts?” 

Seconds pass, and Kento blinks. Then, shuts his eyes and breathes out a laugh. You feel accomplished, beaming with strength and knowing. “You are sweet.” 

“...are you okay?” You try, biting your lip, trailing fingers over his hunched shoulders. Kento finally blinks up at you, sleeplessness showing in the shadows under his eyes. He nods, but it’s not enough. “Hm?” 

“I’m okay. Yes, it’s okay.” Ken’s stumbling over his words like he’s distracted, sighing as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your sternum. His long arms are warm – strong as they take hold of your waist. 

“I wish… You can just stay here with me all the time.” He’s purring like a kitten pressed to you, humming deep in his chest. You’re tangling a hand in his mess of blonde locks. “Never go to work, never sleep, never dissociate. Is that selfish of me?” 

“Very.” His voice is muffled. You don’t care. “That is okay. I tell you often, but I just want to reinforce…” Now, he’s peeking up at you, red-faced and ruffled. A reflection only saved for you in the darkest of nights — the most private of rooms. “You deserve a husband who lives for nothing else but taking care of you. I am so sorry I failed you in that sacred mission.” 

You’re not sure what to say, but you know he’s feeling down right now. You blink at him, eyebrows knitted up in worry. “Would you stop saying such vile things? It’s not true.” 

“I understand that you love me enough to lie, as well.” Wordless for a moment, Kento’s hands find their way under the back of your shirt, thick fingers pressing into the bare flesh. You shiver. “So, we will lie to each other then.” 

When he finally sets his stress to the side, he’s all yours. Kisses start at your stomach, lingering there over your shirt as his hands massage your back. You know this kiss – this feeling, it’s all the love he can’t quite figure out how to say to you, so he’s determined to show it. Each kiss is pressed to you in sloping curves, delicate signatures, and expensive lust. Kento loves everything about you, the way you shudder and whine when he ghosts that ticklish patch under your belly button. He can’t help himself. He has to paw your shirt off. 

Then, it’s like he’s trying to bury himself inside of you. He wants to cut you open and make a little home right under your skin. It must feel so warm in there, like it does when he’s making love to you. All he wants is to feel safe in a space where no one can find him. 

Losing himself in your skin is the only way he can seem to chase that feeling. It’s what he dives into every single day, rain or shine, blood or sweat, fighting or loving – being inside of you is his biggest vice. It’s all he needs to survive in a bitter world unfit for his mind. 

His lips are so hot, slick tongue leaving traces of him in his wake as he trails up your torso. Above him, you’re chewing at your lip, holding your breath when he ghosts over your pelvis. You want him there, but Kento wants to eat you alive. 

He starts at your hip, sinking his teeth through skin and flesh. You whine, a hand falling back into his hair to pull him close, yet he turns away. 

“Ouch.” You complain, breath stalling as his nose drags across the waistband of your loose pants. You’re not wearing any underwear – you’re his. Just a touch away from having it all. 

“I am so eager to be inside of you.” He’s talking through kisses, lips wet and warm. When he pulls away, hands playing at your pants, you’re purring – equally as eager, desperate. Loved. “Have you any clue how much I need you?” 

“Just a hint.” 

Finally, he’s pulling down your pants, letting them bunch at your thighs as he gets that beautiful, warm eyeful of you. Slick pools hot between your legs as he cranes his fingers between them, gasping at the silky feel of your wetness against the softness of your folds. 

Then, he’s muttering, “Wow,” Before bringing those two damp fingers to his lips, sucking them quickly into his mouth. It’s a newly formed habit of his, reveling in the taste or smell of you lingering in a room. It’s as if he’s picking up on something you didn’t know existed. And, it’s so sexy. 

“All this teasing…” You’re dragging a hand back over his face, fingers sliding against his ear, pressing into his jaw. Instinctually, he bares his neck. Now, it’s your turn to dive in. Sliding into his lap in a kneeling straddle, you attack the base of his jaw with feverish kisses, core rocking over his jutted sweatpants. You’re eager like a rabbit, licking and biting just like he did. However, Kento feels no pain from your nipping – nothing like the steady, dull ache that pangs your side every time you grind upwards. But it’s satisfying seeing his pristine skin bloom in pretty shades of red. It’s like he’s showing you off, with his neckful of kisses and marks – it makes you so weak. 

“I just want it,” you catch your earlier thought in midair, whispering against his lips. 

“Come and get it.” He replies, almost like he’s challenging you. His eyes are so fucked and heady when he pulls away. But, when you reach for his crotch, so ready to feel him stretch you full, he catches it. “Actually–

Kento takes over, leading you into a kiss, pressing his hand into your back as he stands, carrying you in his grip. You’re expecting to go far – perhaps to the bedroom, maybe to the kitchen counter. You’re not expecting to be slammed onto the couch, winded as Kento’s bodyweight pins you down. 

He’s so strong now, it’s like he doesn’t know his own strength. But, you won’t tell him that you can’t really breathe with him holding you like this, shoulder to shoulder, warm chest pushing you so far. But he feels so good grinding down on you, letting himself be needy and unrestrained in your presence. After all, you are the only escape he gets. The only home he truly has. You need to memorize every side of him. 

“Want you to put it in.” You’re whispering every little breath you can steal, fingers clawing into the thinness of his shirt. “Take it off.” 

“Demanding. Which first?” 

“Take it off.” You’re fisting grey fabric, pulling it out like it’d make him move faster. Against your nakedness, you want him to be with you. 

He sits up for a moment, letting you get a lungful of precious air. Even better than that, the closest possible view when he tears his shirt over his head, fluffy hair out of place, and chiseled chest rising and falling with need for you. 

You truly think you’ll combust. 

“Put it in.” 

Kento hums, a tiny smirk on his lips, when he reaches into the front of his pants. Your eyes trail down his chest, swallowing at the thin patch of hair that blooms just under his waistband. So sexy, so familiar. 

You’re whining. Sawing your bottom lip when he tugs his cock free. Kento is so swollen, so pent-up and needy for you. 

Just when you think he’s about to drop his guard and fuck you into the cushion, he leans down and kisses you, thick cock grinding right between your strewn legs. He’s never done this before – drawn this out in such intoxicatingly needy ways. Humping your legs, whining your name, pinning you down. It’s like he’s on a mission; something is still in the back of his mind. 

So, you tell him again. “Put it in.” 

Though he laughs, he listens. Finally, finally, he’s pressing into you so gently, getting you into that sweet, familiar stretch. It stings at first, always for him, but you love it. It just means that pleasure will follow, his love will fill you whole. 

And, it’s at that first touch of your strangling warmth that he screws his eyes shut, trembling on a sigh. “Oh, I love you.” 

“Mmfh – thank you. Thank you so much, baby.” 

“Shh…” he coaxes, kissing the small line of drool that falls from your open mouth. “Just take it.” 

Kento doesn’t want you to talk, but he does want you to scream his name. It’s how he fucks you, slamming so deep inside of your weeping hole that you can’t help but choke on a sob. 

“Don’t mean to – mm… Be so rough.” You can tell Kento is overcome, neck blooming a dark maroon as he fucks into you. You’re so wet – sopping, and sticky against his skin when he pulls out every time. “B-but, you’re so…” Sweat’s beading, he’s ignoring your pleading moans, holding you so tight you will definitely be marked tomorrow. “...perfect.” 

“I love you.” You’re crying now, squeezing tears from your eyes as he kisses so impossibly deep inside of you. With every thrust he’s giving you, somehow, he feels deeper than the last. It’s like he’s making a home inside your womb – just like he wanted. 

“Sweet… sweet girl. Just so sweet to me.” 

He’s talking so much, giving you so much, touching you so much. 

Then, you’re cumming, nails scratching deep in his back as your world stops… then, starts again. Kento leans down, groaning obscenly in your mouth as your cunt grips and tugs at him, pulsating milky streams of you everywhere. 

Though your arms go limp around him, thighs quivering as they lock onto his waist, Kento is sure he can milk one more orgasm out of you. So, he fucks you in your favorite way – silently, lips pressed to yours, his tongue slipping over your teeth. One big hand clutches over the back of the couch, leather creaking in the strength he knows he can’t exert on you. 

He wants to break this couch, to pin you through the soil and fuck you so deep until you’re begging him to stop. The only thing is, you never would – He knows that, you know that. And, your bodies know that, it’s why he controls himself. 

Kento lets you cum for the second time to the sound of skin slapping skin. He drinks up your cries and feeds them back to you in a kiss before he’s finally cumming. Still as a statue, he’s breathing through the feeling, Adam’s apple bobbing down moisture, sweet lips parted. 

He’s so beautiful, you’re so taken, life is so perfect. 

It’s all you’re thinking as you come down, eyes heavy and swollen with tears. Weakly, your hand rises to his cheek, pressing your palm there for reassurance. Any moment now, he’ll come back to his senses and ask if you’re okay. This is your way of beating him to it.

Though he knows you’re okay, thorough to the bone, Kento presses his forehead to yours. “Thank you for letting me do that.” 

He can’t see the small smile on your face, but he can hear the way your breath hitches. “I love you.” 

Spending that weekend so entirely trapped with you ultimately did help Kento’s mood heading into Halloween week. It’s a notorious time for curses to pop up – old ones returning, and new ones popping up in decorated, dimly lit alleyways. 

But this year felt different… almost calmer. 

It’s why he’s holding your hand through the late city streets on a Tuesday, watching how those street lights bless your lovely features. It’s a reckless decision. Kento knows that he’ll spend all of tomorrow wishing he slept all night, but the old ramen shop on the corner was calling his name – yours, too. 

It’s a hole-in-the-wall establishment. A married couple moves behind the sitting bar in perfect unison – passing noodles, spooning broth, and grilling meats. He sips over smooth liquor, you’re shoveling him smiling stories about holidays past. He thinks that right here, with you, past two in the morning, is his happy place – his Heaven. 

That feeling is truly the only thing keeping him sane, even when he’s mid-sip, nodding to your sweet voice, when an unmistakable presence, grating as ever, passes through the dinging front door. 

You’re giggling sweetly, he’s closing his eyes, praying Gojo wouldn’t notice. But, he already has.

It’s a lucky gamble, who knew the ever stoic Nanami would be frequenting the only open ramen shop in the neighborhood? So, of course, he has to approach. It’s just in Gojo’s blood. He’s starry-eyed behind his blindfold, fresh off a mission and ravenous for anything. His underclassmen’s attention is just as good as cheap ramen. 

“Dear, I am so sorry,” Kento mutters before Gojo closes in, bracing for impact and suddenly exhausted. The liquor softens the blow Gojo exudes, but it doesn’t make this situation easier. You’re looking at the white-haired stranger like he has you at gunpoint. 

“Wha-

“Nanamin!” Though moderately voiced, Gojo is elated, smiling ear to ear and totally shrugging off any feeling that wasn’t contentedness. “Why are you here!?” 

“It’s a big city… Gojo-san…” Another sip, Kento bears the weight of Gojo’s long arm slung over his hunched shoulders. “And you are in my neighborhood.” 

“Heh.” Gojo laughs, face falling when he notices your piqued attention. Of course, he saw you as he walked in, but assumed you were a diner. After all, Kento never told them about a partner… let alone a wife. “Hi, there.” 

The wave this stranger gives to you is curt, but you take it with a furrowed brow. 

Kento speaks for you. “Gojo, if you’d please take the blindfold off while speaking to her…” 

Then, you finally understand – blaming it on the lack of sleep. This brooding reflection in front of you seemed awfully familiar. “Oh, h-

Gojo takes orders like a god, immediately pulling the black binding from his eyes and over his head. The energy in this room is blinding, but he can hold out long enough to see who you were – this beautifully patient stranger sitting next to Kento. Surely you couldn’t be…

“Nanami, this is… Satoru Gojo, the one I was telling you about.” Kento mutters, losing himself in the rim of his glass. 

“Nan– wait, you tell stories about me? How sweet.” 

“Please, get your food and be on your way.” 

“Satoru.” You smile, bowing lightly in his oddly familiar presence. It’s genuinely like you know him, knowing how much Kento loves and loathes him. He would never say it, but in your mind, you equate their turbulent relationship to love… in some form, perhaps brotherly. “It’s so nice to meet you finally.” 

Gojo’s staring at you with a half-smile on his face, waiting for his colleague to expand, perhaps explain. But, the restaurant is silent save for sizzling stoves and gentle conversation. 

Kento drags his teeth, letting his forehead fall into his stretched palm.

“I do not believe I told you, but Gojo, this is my wife… Please, be respectful.” 

[meganwritesfanfics]

As It Was (Dr. Jack Abbott x Reader)

This is a companion story to The Highway Don't Care

Word Count: 2224 

TRIGGER WARNING: Discussion of injury, negative self-talk.

This one gets a bit spicy. I tried to make it even spicer, but I learned I am not good at it, lol.

Jack hated physical therapy. He hated the sound of the machines, the clicking and stretching. He hated the smell. He hated the obnoxiously bright lights. All of it reminded him of the countless visits he had. It brought him back to a very dark time after he lost his leg. It brought him back to the feelings of hopelessness and desperation. 

But this time, he wasn’t there for himself, this time he was there for Y/N. After multiple surgeries to repair her femur, Y/N was on a recovery track. But it was a slow and grueling one. 

He sat in a corner trying to read but he just kept reading the same sentence over and over because his focus was on Y/N as she tried her best to walk with her physical therapist. 

“Fuck,” She screamed as she crumbled her therapist catching her. “I think we are done.” 

“You still have 10 minutes…” The therapist started. 

“No I’m done!” Y/N screamed and Jack was instantly on his feet heading towards her. 

“I’ve got her.” He said and the therapist just walked off. “Baby, are you ok?” 

“I’m fine, I just want to go home.” She snapped at him. 

Jack sighed. Ever since Y/N had started physical therapy, she was constantly short with him. It felt as though she was pushing him away. He knew the pain and frustration she was feeling, and he knew that eventually she would confide in him. But Jack also didn’t want to push her too far, knowing it could break her. So he had patience, and tried to be there in whatever way he could. 

“Come on,” He said as he got her crutches and handed them to her. “Let’s get you home.” 

The whole car ride rome, Y/N remained silent, her attention focused out the window.

“Why don’t we order pizza for dinner.” Jack chimed in. 

“Sure,” She sighed but she wasn’t fully paying attention. 

“Y/N, baby, are you ok?” He said and he reached out for her hand but she pulled her hand away. 

“Jack I’m fine. I’m just tired.” She said as she ran her hand over her face. 

“Ok,” He said as he nodded. He just accepted her answer. He knew her, he knew her better than most anyone, and he knew at some point she would let him in. He knew she would breakdown and he would be there to catch her when she did. 

When they got home, Jack came over to her side of the car to help her out, but she didn’t grab his hand. “I’ve got it.” She snapped and again Jack just nodded. He stayed by her side ready to catch her if he needed. 

Ever since she had gotten out of the hospital, Jack had been by her side. He had taken off work, using all of the PTO he had built up and never used. He had also spent so much time making sure that everything in the house was set up in a way that would make it easier for Y/N to recuperate. He had set up their guest bedroom into their makeshift masters so that Y/N wouldn’t have to struggle up the stairs. Event though he offered to carry her up the stairs every night but she quickly shut that down.He had also moved her entire wardrobe down into that room. 

“I’ll order the pizza, you want your usual?” Jack called. 

“Sure,” Y/N called back as she made her way to the kitchen. 

“What are you doing?” He asked. 

“I’m going to get us plates.” She said. 

“I can get them.” Jack said as he made his way towards her. 

“Jesus Christ Jack, I’m not helpless I can get the fucking plates!” Y/N screamed as she threw her crutches to the ground. 

Jack froze looking at Y/N his eyes wide. “Baby…” 

“No, I can’t fucking do it.” Her voice cracked hard as she started to take a step she let out a cry of pain and she collapsed to the ground. 

“Y/N,” Jack rushed to her side. 

“I’m sorry I’m so sorry.” Y/N cried as Jack sat down next to her. 

“What are you sorry about?” He asked.

“I’ve been such a bitch to you, for so long. And you have just been absolutely wonderful with everything. And I have been so horrible.” 

“You have not been horrible.” Jack tried to sooth. 

“No I have, I have been horrible to you and I have been horrible to everyone.” 

“I know it’s hard baby, trust me, I know.” 

Y/N let out another sob as she placed her head in her hands. 

“Baby, talk to me. What’s going on in the beautiful head of yours?” He asked as he rubbed her back. 

“I feel so guilty.” 

“Why do you feel guilty?” 

“I shouldn’t be feeling so bad about how badly my recovery is going. I’m alive, and I will be able to walk again. I should be grateful. And I hate that you have to witness all of this. After everything you have gone through, me being upset must feel so ridiculous to you.” She sobbed. 

Jack was shocked. He had never thought about the fact that Y/N may have thought he was judging her for her journey, based on what he went through. 

“Baby, I do not think you are ridiculous. What you are going through is really hard. Really hard. Just because my recovery journey looked different doesn’t mean I’m judging you for yours. How long have you been feeling like this?” 

“Since the first appointment, I could see how uncomfortable you were being back at physical therapy.And it just got me thinking about how stupid you must think I am. I didn’t lose my leg, I shouldn’t be complaining” 

He pulled her into his arms. “I would never think that, and you know it. You’re right, being at physical therapy does bring back bad memories of a very rough time in my life. But I can be a little bit uncomfortable to make sure that you are supported. You are worth it.” 

Y/N just groaned as she buried herself further into Jack’s embrace. 

“Look at me.” He said as he held her head in his hands. “I don’t want you to not talk to me because you think you don’t deserve to complain. Physical therapy is the absolute fucking worst. And I am going to fully understand what you are feeling and going through. Hell I am a wealth of knowledge when it comes to surviving the recovery journey. I just want to help you. You know I hate seeing you like this. It tears me up inside. I just wish I could fix it for you instantly so you wouldn’t have to go through this.” Jack’s voice cracked slightly. 

“I hate feeling so helpless. I hate that I can’t work. I hate that I don’t feel like I’m making any progress. And I hate how I feel like I am such a burden to you, and I…” She hesitated her eyes looking into Jack’s. “I hate that I feel like you would have been better off if I died in the crash.” 

Jack’s heart stopped. He hadn’t realized how bad things had gotten with Y/N. He felt horrible that he hadn’t recognized the signs, and hadn’t done more to help her. 

“Y/N.” He said firmly. “Don’t you dare say that. I was an absolute mess when I thought I was going to lose you. You are my life. If I lost you I wouldn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize things were this bad.” 

“I didn’t want you to know. I wanted to pretend I was ok, and pretend I wasn’t a hot fucking mess.” Y/N sighed. 

“Baby,” Jack pulled her in for a kiss. “You are not a hot fucking mess. You are just hot.” He teased and she cracked a smile. “There is that beautiful smile I have been missing.” 

“Have I told you how wonderful you are lately?” Y/N sighed burying her face in Jack’s chest again. 

“I know I’m a fucking catch.” Jack replied and Y/N laughed. 

They sat for a while before Jack scooped her up and carried her back to the couch. He sat down holding her tightly in his lap. 

“I love you.” Y/N said as she ran her fingers through his hair. “I love you so much. You are the best part of my life.” 

“I love you too. Will you promise to let me know when you are getting overwhelmed or feeling guilty. I want to be there to tell you how much I love you and how proud of you I am.” Jack said.

“You are proud of me?” Y/N said her eyes watering again.

“I am always proud of you, my girl.” Jack replied as he pulled her in for another long kiss. “You are a badass doctor who is absolutely brilliant  and so unbelievably kind.

The sweet kisses suddenly turned passionate as Y/N began kissing Jack’s neck. 

“Y/N,” He moaned. 

“Take me to bed Jack.” She purred in his ear. 

He quickly scooped her up and started towards the guest bedroom. 

“No, I want you to make love to me in our bed.” She insisted as she sucked on the spot right below his ear she knew drove him wild. 

“We aren’t going to make it there if you keep doing that.” Jack growled as he started to carry her up the stairs. 

Y/N giggled. “I thought you pride yourself on your patience. Dr Abbott.” 

“You make being patient a struggle darling.” 

He walked them into the bedroom and he dropped Y/N on the bed gently and then he was on her in an instant. 

His lips kissed down her throat as his hands roamed her body causing her to moan. 

“Jack,” She moaned as his hands wandered under her shirt. 

“You are far too dressed.” He said as he instantly pulled her shirt off over her head. 

Y/N blushed a little bit remembering what outfit she was wearing. Her sweatset, sports bra, and least flattering pair of underwear. 

Instantly Jack could feel the mood change and he pulled back. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. 

“I just look super sexy in my outfit right now.” She said trying to make a joke out of it, but he could hear the sadness in her voice.

“Y/N, I would find you sexy in whatever you wore. Hell I think you are sexy in scrubs.” 

Y/N smiled. “That must be really hard for you at work.” She teased. 

“Oh it’s impossible. I constantly want to pull you into a room and fuck you senseless.” He growled. 

“Jack!” Y/N gasped but Jack’s mouth was instantly back on hers. 

*********

Y/N woke to the sound of whimpering. She groaned sleepily trying to find the source of the sound. She instantly sat up when she saw Jack thrashing in his sleep. 

“No, please, no.” He mumbled in his sleep. 

Y/N was no stranger to Jack’s nightmares. While they had gotten better since he started going to therapy, ever since the wreck, they had become more frequent. 

“Y/N no,” He broke and she could tears falling down his cheek 

“Jack, honey.” She said as she gently placed her hands on his chest. “Honey, you need to wake up.” 

“Please I can’t lose you, please.” He sobbed. 

“Jack, wake up, it’s just a nightmare.” She shook him a little. 

“No, no, no.” He just kept repeating as his body started to tremble. 

“Jack!” She said a bit more forcefully as she grabbed his face with her hands. 

His eyes snapped open and his brown eyes frantically searched hers. 

“Are you ok?” He asked terrified. 

“Jack I’m fine, everything is fine, you were having a nightmare.” Y/N said running her fingers through his curls trying to calm him down. 

“I thought… you were…” He started his breathing becoming erratic. 

“Baby, Jack, I need you to breathe ok. Look at me, look at me.” Y/N quickly grabbed his hand and placed it on her throat so he could feel her pulse. “You feel that, I’m fine, it was just a nightmare. I’m here. You saved me.” 

Jack took deep breaths, as he hand shifted from her throat to her cheek as he ran his thumb gently over her cheek. 

“You are ok,” He said mostly to himself as he pulled Y/N into his embrace. 

“I am ok.” She comforted as she felt him kiss the top of her head. Her head was resting on his chest and she could feel how rapidly his heart was beating. 

They just lay together in silence as Jack tried to calm down. 

“Clearly you aren’t the only one in this relationship who is a hot fucking mess.” Jack sighed. 

Y/N playfully gasped. “You said I wasn’t a hot fucking mess.” She teased. 

Jack laughed. “We can be hot fucking messes together.” 

“I love you Jack.” Y/N said as she snuggled into his embrace. 

“I love you too Y/N.” He sighed happily, and it wasn’t long before sleep found them once again.  

Tag List: @pear-1206 @frazie99 @brnesblogposts

[exhaustedpirate]

kiss prompt: bucktommy 9 + 41 (combined)

you sneaky genius hehe #9 - in public #41 - bc the world is saved (hmm, some 8x17/8x18 spec? wishful thinking?)

The last ambulance's door closes. It feels like all the first responders still left at the scene finally take a breath.

The building is in ruins, there is dust still covering the air, the smell of blood, the echo of screams and cries for help still in their ears. But they breathe, they take a second.

Tommy looks around him.

His side twinges, his shoulder stretches painfully. He'd fallen down to the basement of one of the building's while trying to help a teenager out of there. Chimney got him out, Hen patched his side up and tossed him an ice pack for his shoulder. There wasn't much time, really.

Tommy sees him.

He had been ignoring that crippling fear in the back of his head of seeing Evan get hurt, get lost...die. He had been ignoring it so he could do his job, the job the people needed them to do.

Seeing him walking towards him brings all those fears crashing back.

Evan could have gotten hurt, Evan could have gotten lost.

Evan could have died.

They hadn't talked yet. Not after the lab, not before the funeral, not after it, not in the couple of weeks that had passed until this methane water disaster hit LA.

They hadn't talked yet.

They could have never gotten to talk again.

He needs to be brave. Needs to talk.

Tommy tries to get his wits about him as Evan reaches him. He needs his wits if he's gonna ask Evan to get back together, to confess how much he loves him, how much he missed him. To try again.

He tries. "Evan-"

He tries. Evan has other plans.

With a hand on the back of Tommy's head, Evan pulls him into a fierce kiss, reminiscent of the kiss they shared in the hospital lobby on the day of Chimney and Maddie's wedding.

Reminiscent but not the same.

There is desperation now where there was awe. There is relief now where there was surprise. There is 6 months of being together where there was a couple of weeks.

He feels his heart stitching back together.

They pull away to breathe, their foreheads pressed together. They take a breath, two. Evan's hand on his side avoids his injury and he wonders faintly how he knows. His hands grasp onto Evan's arms, wanting to keep him there. Another breath.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

They speak at once and let out a humoured exhale, noses brushing one another. His heart is put back together with a finishing stitch.

"It's about damn time!"

They pull completely away at Hen's loud teasing comment, looking back to see the rest of their teams watching them. Tommy feels his cheeks warm up but smiles at the way Evan's forehead lays on his collarbone, hiding.

"Yeah, yeah, get back to work." Tommy waves them away.

"We're not the one being unprofessional." Lucy teases back.

"Alright, alright," Evan calls out laughingly, raising his head. "Go away!"

The others' taunts are ignored with the way Evan's eyes find his, so shiny and happy and god, he l-

"I love you."

It's a whisper, sudden and surprising from the way Evan's eyes widen and he bites his lip. Tommy's heart pounds in his chest, leave it up to Evan to take the steps that Tommy is terrified of.

But the fear doesn't come. Not anymore.

"I love you too." And Evan's eyes are shinier, happier and god- "I love you too, so much."

It's barely a kiss from the way they are smiling, mostly teeth but he isn't complaining. No. Never. Even when the others' taunts get louder, almost harder to ignore. Almost.

"We'll talk later?" Evan's teeth find his bottom lip again. Despite the confession, there is still fear.

"We'll talk later." He confirms with a nod.

"Good," And his smile is bright. He missed his smiles. "We do have to be professional now."

It's a smacking kiss now, only so he can hear the way Evan laughs. He succeeds.

It's very easy to ignore the others with Evan's laughter in his ears.