#-that respected and still respects my boundaries about it. he (friend) really is a sweet guy even if he doesn't realize it

[lupinqs]

THE WAY I LOVED YOU ━━ paige bueckers x ex-girlfriend!reader

☆ ━ summary: a night out leads you right back to your ex-girlfriend’s bed.

☆ ━ word count: 10.8K

☆ ━ warnings: smut (oral, fingering, strappp, scissoring, pure filth)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: not proofread and basically just porn goodnight

THERE’S NOTHING WRONG with Lucas.

You tell yourself that a lot. Not because you don’t believe it, but because you do. You believe it so much, it almost feels rehearsed.

Lucas is easy to love. Easy to explain. He says what he means and he follows through. He’s the kind of person who brings you flowers on a random Tuesday and remembers your favorite kind without needing to be reminded. He holds the door open for you—not in the forced, performative way, but just because that’s the kind of person he is. Thoughtful. Steady. Soft around the edges in a way that makes other people relax just by being near him.

Your friends love him. Your mom keeps saying things like “he’s a keeper” and “baby, he is so in love with you” and it’s not like she’s wrong. He texts back. He listens. He laughs at your jokes, even when they���re not funny. He gets along with your dad. He plays video games with your little brother. He always smells like laundry detergent and cinnamon gum, and when he kisses you, he cups your cheek like he’s holding something precious.

You like that. You like him.

It’s good.

It’s normal.

It’s healthy.

And for the most part, you don’t think about anything else. Not really. You’ve been… training yourself not to. You’ve developed entire routines around the art of not thinking about her—deleting old playlists and creating new ones, watching different shows, changing your route to class, rewriting entire chapters of your day-to-day life just so you don’t trip and fall back into the places where she used to live.

And it’s worked. Mostly.

Until it doesn’t.

Because Lucas will be saying something—something sweet, something thoughtful, something that would’ve made you melt if this were your first relationship—and you’ll feel this tiny flicker of something you can’t name. Not sadness. Not longing. Just… something. A quiet, sinking realization that you should be feeling more than you are. That what he’s saying is right, and hood, and all the things you’ve ever been told to want—but it’s landing in your chest like a feather instead of a thunderstorm.

And that’s the thing. Lucas is feathers. Warm, light, gentle.

But Paige?

Paige was fucking weather.

Not sunshine or softness or stillness, but storms. Paige was thunder and static and lightning under your skin. Being with her felt like leaning too far out of a window just to see what would happen. Like running a red light or driving a hundred miles an hour. Reckless. Stupid. Exhilarating.

Not that you think about her. You don’t.

You don’t think about the way she used to kiss you like it was the last time, even when it wasn’t. You don’t think about the fights that started over nothing and ended with slammed doors and tear-streaked apologies. You don’t think about the 2 AM screaming matches in her car that would turn into the 2:07 AM make-outs that made your head spin and send heat to your core. You don’t think about how being with her made you feel like a live wire—shocking, wild, electric.

Lucas makes you feel like you’re being taken care of. Like your future has clean lines and soft landings. He respects your boundaries. He never raises his voice. He doesn’t make you wait three hours for a reply, only to show up at your window like he’s in a movie. He’s never left you crying in the rain. He’s never made you cry in the rain.

It’s easy, being with him. Comfortable.

And maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe that’s why you said yes when he asked you out, and why you kept saying yes after that. Maybe that’s why you’ve tried so hard to get used to all this normalcy. You wanted someone who didn’t make your heart feel like it was constantly trying to break out of your chest. You wanted someone calm, steady, safe.

Lucas is all of those things.

He doesn’t make you feel like you’re on fire. He doesn’t make you feel like you’re on fire.

There are no extremes. No chaos. No bruised egos or tearful apologies or scream-raw throats. He doesn’t make you second-guess yourself, and he never looks at you like he’s seconds away from either kissing you or shouting at you. He just looks at you with kindness, with a quiet sort of adoration, like you’re exactly who he hoped you would be.

And still—still—there are nights when you find yourself lying awake next to him, the glow of your phone lighting up the ceiling, and you feel something sharp and shapeless pressing at the back of your mind. Not a memory. Not a name. Just pressure. The kind you used to feel when things were about to go wrong. Or when things were too good to be true. Or when she was around.

You don’t let yourself go there.

You shut it down

Because it’s not fair to Lucas, and it’s not fair to you. You’ve moved on. You’re fine. Everything is fine.

And besides, you already tried loving like that.

You gave everything—everything. You screamed and sobbed and kissed like your life depended on it. You threw yourself into someone like Paige Bueckers and got spit back out with bruises you couldn’t explain. It wasn’t sustainable. It wasn’t good.

You remind yourself of that whenever your mind drifts.

Lucas doesn’t make you cry.

Lucas shows up.

Lucas texts back.

Lucas doesn’t run hot and cold. He doesn’t storm out of rooms. He doesn’t pull you into closets at parties and fuck you until your legs are shaking, only to pretend like nothing happened the next day. He doesn’t keep you guessing. He’s consistent. Warm. Soft.

You can trust him.

You just don’t burn for him.

And maybe that’s what growing up is. Learning to choose what’s good for you over what feels good in the moment. Learning to stay steady instead of chasing the highs and lows of a love that made you lose your mind.

So, no—you don’t miss Paige.

Or, at least, that’s what you’re currently telling yourself.

You’re at Ted’s. UConn’s beloved, grimy, too loud and far too small campus bar. It’s girl’s night out—no Lucas, no boyfriends, just you and your friends. The music is bad, the floor is sticky, and you’ve already had one too many drinks, but none of that is really the problem.

The problem is that she’s here.

Paige fucking Bueckers is here.

Of course she is. Of course she���d pick tonight to show up, like the universe just can’t let you have a single night off. She’s across the bar, flanked by her teammates, posted up like she owns the place. And she kind of does. She’s got that charm, that draw—the one that makes people want to be near her, even if they don’t know why. She doesn’t even have to try.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen her since the breakup—seven months, not that you’ve been counting—but that doesn’t make it easier. The sting hasn’t dulled. The ache hasn’t faded. Every time you see her, it feels like getting burned in the same exact spot over and over again. Your body should be numb to it by now, but somehow it never is.

And worst of all?

She looks good tonight. So good it makes your stomach twist and shrivel.

She’s wearing black cargo id that sit low on her hips and cling just enough to the right places. A white collared crop top, short-sleeved and perfectly fitted, which gives you a detailed fucking display of her biceps and abs—both of which are bigger, sharper, more defined than when you had her. She’s been hitting the weight room hard this summer. You know it. Everyone knows it. She must want that natty bad.

She probably wants it more than she ever wanted you.

You hate how bitter that thought tastes going down, but it’s not like it’s new. That feeling—that doubt—was there the whole time. The fights. The jealousy. The nights she didn’t text back. The way her phone would light up late at night and she’d just turn it face down and mumble something about it being nothing. You wanted to trust her. God, you tried. But it was always like walking a tightrope with her. One wrong move and you’d fall.

She was a fuckboy before you got together, and you’re sure she’s a fuckboy again now. Probably worse. Seven months is plenty of time for her to rediscover all her old habits. You can practically see it written all over her tonight—the loose body language, the flirtatious smile, the way her eyes scan the room like she’s picking her next fuck. She’ll take someone home tonight. You don’t even have to wonder.

Some girl—probably sweet, probably impressionable, probably someone who has no idea what it’s like to be wanted and discarded by Paige Bueckers—will follow her home. She’ll get to experience first hand what all the hype is about.

You try not to think about how that was once you. Try not to think about the way Paige would toss you onto her bed and kiss you like she needed it to breathe. Try not to think about the desperate way she’d strip you bare. Try not to think about the skill her hands and mouth and hips held. Try not to think about the way she used to look at you—like she couldn’t believe she got to have you.

You try not to think about any of it.

You stare at her, hating her and wanting her and hating that you want her. And her hair’s down tonight—down—long and straight and golden under the bar lights. She never wore it down when you were together unless you asked, unless she was feeling soft, unless you were the only one she wanted to impress. She’d preferred it up, out of the way in a bun or ponytail. But now it’s out and shining like a fucking halo or something.

She’s laughing at something KK said, her mouth open and easy and happy, and you hate how good it looks on her. How it makes her shoulders shake just slightly, how her head tilts back, how she glows. She’s got a Dirty Shirley in hand—of course she does—and a devil-may-care look in her eyes like she’s on top of the world. Like nothing, not even you, ever touched her deeply enough to leave a mark.

She doesn’t notice you staring.

Good.

You tear your eyes away with more force than necessary, like dragging a splinter out of your own skin. It leaves you raw. But you want let yourself look again. You won’t.

Your drink is almost gone. You need more. You need to blur this out, soften the corners of the room until her shape doesn’t stand out in it anymore.

You mutter something to your friends and slip away toward the bar. Your legs feel heavy. Your skin too warm. You feel her presence behind you like a heat lamp, burning a hole in your back even if she’s not looking.

You shove through a group of guys yelling about the Celtics and wedge yourself between a couple of juniors who are too busy taking selfies to notice you. The bartender glances at you once, uninterested. You order a shot.

Then another.

Then, one more with your friend who just walked over.

You were tipsy before—now you’re full-on drunk. It’s dangerous and smart for this situation. You needed it, but it could also make things catastrophically worse.

You glance back—just once, just to be sure—

And she’s looking right at you.

Her mouth is still curved in a half-smile from the joke someone made. But her blue eyes are locked into yours, and for a second, just a second, the noise of the bar fades.

And you remember everything.

Every fight. Every fuck. Every late-night apology. Every quiet morning. Every lie you swallowed. Every truth you ignored. Every time she held you like she’d never let go.

And then did.

You break eye contact first.

Not because you want to. Not because you’re strong enough to look away. But because the heat of her stare is too much—it crawls beneath your skin, presses against your throat, makes your chest ache in that way that only she ever could. And you’re too fucking drunk to pretend like it doesn’t affect you. Too fucking drunk to pretend it doesn’t burn.

So you look away.

Swallow hard.

And then you turn your back on her, like the coward you swore you wouldn’t be.

Your stomach twists as you push through the crowd, arms bumping shoulders, elbows knocking against glasses. You’re headed for the bar bathroom, and you don’t even care how pathetic it looks. You need a second. You need air. You need to not be near her.

You make it to the restroom, barely missing the girl stumbling out with her heels in her hand and lip gloss smeared against her chin. You shut the door, lean back against it, and exhale hard through your nose.

It’s a shitty little bathroom. One mirror. Flickering light that doesn’t help stop your intoxicated brain from spinning. Peeling poster on the wall advertising Tequila Tuesdays. You avoid your reflection because you already know what you’ll see: mascara slightly smudged, lips parted, that look in your eyes—like you’re unraveling. You can feel it. You’re slipping. The drunk is mixing with the memories now. You’re seeing her hands on your skin again, hearing her laugh against your neck. You’re remembering the way she used to back you into this same wall when the two of you would sneak off here together, tipsy and breathless and stupid in love.

You press your palms to your eyes and mutter, “Fuck,” under your breath.

You hate her.

You hate her so much.

Except… not really.

You swore you didn’t miss her. You swore you over it. You promised everyone, including yourself.

But underneath all the anger and the betrayal and the hurt you still carry in your ribcage like broken glass, you do fucking miss you. God, you miss her. The way she smelled. The way she’d look at you. The way her voice would soften when she said your name. You miss what it was like when it was good—when she let you in, when she chose you.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Try to breathe.

Then—the handle jiggles.

Your eyes snap open.

The door creaks. You forgot to lock it all the way.

And there she is. She slips inside like a shadow and shuts the door behind her, slow and certain. Her eyes are already on you—the same icy blue. You can tell by the look in them that she’s just as drunk as you are. You want to scream at her. You want to melt into her arms.

“You were looking at me,” she says simply. But there’s a rasp to it that makes your skin tingle.

You swallow and straighten your, your reflexes all sharp and brittle. “No, I wasn’t,” you snap, defensive, even though your voice cracks halfway through it.

She steps closer—crowding you, closing the distance in two long strides. You stumble back, spine hitting the cool tile wall behind you, and she plants her palms on either side your head, caging you in.

Her gaze flickers—your mouth, your eyes, your mouth again. She’s reading you like she used to. And then she’s leaning in, breath fanning against your face as she tells you, “Don’t lie.”

Your breath catches. You look up at her, feeling small beneath her height. She was always good at making you feel that way. She’s still staring at your lips. You try not to stare at hers. “Don’t,” you say, and your voice is small, too small.

But she already knows that “don’t” means “do.”

Her hands find your waist, hot and certain. You should push her away. You should tell her to leave. But you don’t. You can’t. Your fingers curl into the collar of her shirt instead, and then she’s kissing you, and it’s not gentle. It’s rushed and tough and months too late. Her lips crash into yours like she’s staring for you, and you let her take what she wants.

Because you want it, too.

Paige’s hands are everywhere and nowhere, gripping and slipping and dragging fire down your sides. You can feel her breath stutter every time your hips tilt forward just slightly, like your body is trying to remember hers on instinct alone.

You’re both far too drunk, you know that. Her balance is all fucked, her touch a little too eager, a little too messy to be calculated, but she’s trying to make it feel that way. She’s trying to keep control. Her arm is braced next to your head, her body angled so your only exit is through her. She always used to do that. Always made herself a wall. And now she’s doing it again, caging you in like she owns the right to.

And worse—you’re letting her.

You’re letting her and kissing her and grabbing at her like you never want her to leave. You’re cheating. You know that. You know that Lucas is probably asleep at home, completely unaware that you’re pressed up against a bar wall right now with your tongue in your ex-girlfriend’s mouth.

And you should care.

But you don’t.

All you can feel is Paige—her mouth, her tongue, her teeth. All you can taste is her Shirley and whatever shots she’s been drinking and your lip gloss that’s been smeared across both of your mouths.

And beneath that—deeper than the alcohol and the anger—is the hurt. Yours and hers, bleeding through your kisses like you’re both too stubborn to admit how much it still matters. You hate her. You fucking hate her for what she did, for how she made you feel, for the way she stopped calling and let everything rot in silence.

But you also want her.

Desperately. Viciously. Shamefully.

She kisses you harder, lips slotting with yours like she wants to devour you whole. One of her hands drags up your side, long fingers bunching in your tank top until it wrinkles under her grip. Her other hand finds your hip and squeezes hard—possessive, rough, like she’s trying to bruise herself back into you. And you don’t stop her. You tilt your head back when her lips begin to trail downward, dragging along your jaw, your neck.

She sucks there, open-mouthed, like she wants to leave a mark. You gasp. Your fingers tighten on her shirt. Your knees almost buckle, and you’re suddenly very grateful the wall is there.

She knows what she’s doing. Of course she does. She’s always known.

When she gets to your ear, she nips—just the edge, sharp and quick—and you inhale so hard your vision blurs.

Then her hands slide from your hips to your waist and she presses her mouth right against the shell of your ear, voice low and warm and dripping with something that feels way too much like the past.

“Come back to mine, mama,” she whispers, pinching your waist for emphasis. “Let’s leave.”

Your breath catches. Everything slows, just for a second. You hear the music pounding from the other side of the door, the sound of someone laughing in the hallway. You feel her breath fan across your neck, her body flush with yours, her large hands holding you with a firm grip.

And you want to say no. You should say no.

But you’re drunk. And this is Paige.

You lean your head back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. Her lips brush your throat again.

“Okay,” you breathe, so quiet you’re not sure she heard it.

But she does.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and pink, face flushed. She doesn’t smile. She just lifts her hand, swipes her thumb across your lower lip and chin, wiping her spit away. And then she grabs your hand and pulls you toward the door.

You stumble out of the bathroom together, the door creaking wide and hitting the wall like a gunshot in the haze of noise and cheap bar lighting. Neither of you say anything—you just look at each other and then move in sync, turning toward the back entrance like it’s muscle memory.

It is muscle memory.

The same hallway, the same emergency exit sign buzzing slightly overhead. You’ve done this before—slipped out together, ducking before your friends could ask questions or try to convince you to stay, walking home in that stupid little bubble where it was just you and her and the fucked-up, magnetic thing that kept dragging you together. It feels like that again. Familiar. Dangerous.

You push the door open, and the rain hits you in the face like a slap. It sobers you up maybe half a percent, just enough to register how soaked the ground already is. You look up in disbelief. The sky is coming down heavy now, full-on pouring—of course. Of fucking course.

Paige lets out this short laugh, all breath and surprise, like she can’t even believe the timing either. “Jesus,” she mutters, throwing one arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer into her side. “We gotta walk.”

You just nod because you already knew that. Her apartment isn’t far—not that you’ve been to the new one, just that you know the building. It’s about ten minutes if you’re sober and walking with purpose. Which, neither of you are right now. You’re drunk. She’s drunk. You’re dressed for the bar, not a rainstorm. And you’re making the worst decision of your entire relationship history, possibly of your life.

But you go anyway.

The two of you start moving down the sidewalk, feet slapping against puddles, your arm wrapped tight around her waist now, because fuck it, she’s warm and solid and familiar. Her shirt is clinging to her by the minute—white cotton soaked through and sticking to her torso, giving you a clearer outline of the muscle she’s been building all offseason. You glance at her abs, now shiny and wet with rain, and immediately look away again. Mistake. Everything about tonight is a fucking mistake.

Still, your body keeps walking.

The rain is cold and heavy, but your skin is buzzing and hot from the alcohol and the adrenaline and whatever this horrible, electric thing is between the two of you. It’s always been like this—heightened. Too much. Like your nervous system doesn’t know what to do around her except overload.

You try not to think. You try not to remember.

But you do.

You remember the last time it was late at night and raining and you were with Paige. Screaming in the middle of the street, voices cracking and soaked to the bone, fighting like it was the end of the goddamn world. And it kind of was. You ended up having angry sex in her car afterward, teeth and nails and hands clawing for something solid, something familiar, even if it hurt. You broke up the next morning.

You remember the heat of her skin, the sting of her words, the way she looked at you like she didn’t know whether to worship you or run from you.

But that’s how it always was.

You and Paige were never soft. You were sharp edges and blood-hot emotions and never knowing whether the night would end in a fight or a fuck. You both went a little insane because of the way you felt about each other—because neither of you ever knew how to not feel too much.

And now, you’re cheating on your boyfriend just to feel it again.

You shove the thought down as hard as you can. Focus instead on the way Paige’s fingers dig slightly into your waist every time you slip a little on the slick concrete. On the way her hair, long and straight and down for once, is starting to curl at the ends from the water. On how your teeth are starting to chatter even though the warmth from her body is leaking into yours, bit by bit.

And then, out of nowhere, Paige just stops walking.

You barely register it at first—your steps carry you half a beat too far until she tugs you back by the hand. You turn to ask what the hell she’s doing, but then she’s already kissing you.

Right there, in the middle of the fucking sidewalk in a downpour. No warning. No buildup. Just her mouth on yours like gravity snapped and she had no other choice. And maybe she didn’t; maybe neither of you do.

It makes sense.

When you were together and she was drunk, Paige always got like this. Clingy. Touch-starved. She’d pull you into her lap at parties, curl up behind you on the couch, mouth against your ear saying dumb little things that would make you blush. Always wanting to be near you, in you, around you, on you—like proximity made it easier to breathe.

That version of her is here now, kissing you like she’s trying to devour you. Her hands cup your face, holding you steady, but her mouth is anything but—urgent, greedy, moving over yours like she’s trying to memorize every part she’s been missing. Her lips are warm and insistent even through the cold, even through the rain that’s coming down heavy, pattering against the sidewalk, running down your neck, getting between your clothes and skin. It’s kind of miserable, but it also kind of doesn’t matter.

Because Paige is kissing you like she’s pissed off. Like she wants to make a point. Like she’s angry she still wants you, and the only way to get it out is kissing you hard enough to bruise.

And God, you feel it. Your body is lighting up from the inside, every part of you buzzing. You can taste the rain between her lips, the mix of it and her chapstick and the alcohol on both of your tongues. Her hands slide into your hair, tugging you toward her harder. It’s enough to coax a gasp out of you, and that only makes her groan and lick further into your mouth.

It’s clumsy and wet and messy, teeth knocking a little, breaths hitching, the kind of kiss that leaves no room for rational thought. And you let it happen. You lean into it. You want to punish her a little, too—want her to feel it like you do. So, you kiss her back just as angrily, like she’s not the only one with something to prove.

But then the chill starts to creep in. You’re soaked to the bone now, both of you only in tank tops, and the wind cuts sharp across your face as it whips through the street. As hot as you feel inside, you’re suddenly aware your body is freezing. Besides, you need to be somewhere inside to satisfy your real need—the one resting between your legs, pulsing and aching with want.

You pull back just a little—your lips slipping away from Paige’s, breath fogging between you—and try to catch your bearings. But Paige isn’t done. She follows you forward, mouth chasing yours like she can’t stand even the smallest bit of distance. Her nose bumps yours, big hands still gripping the sides of your face.

“Okay,” you mutter, voice breathless, dazed, trying to push her back with shaky hands on her chest. “Let’s go, c’mon.”

She stares at you, blue eyes wide and glossy under the streetlight glow, lips kiss-swollen and parted.

“Needa—apartment,” you stumble, the words coming out in fragments because your brian is still somewhere back in that kiss. “Like, now.”

Paige blinks like she finally remembers where the two of you are. She exhales slowly before nodding quicker, saying, “Yeah. Yeah.”

It doesn’t take much longer to get to her apartment. She’s in a different building now, not the same one she lived in when you were dating. You don’t even get a chance to look around before she’s telling you, a little breathless, “Jana and Allie are both staying at Azzi and Morgan’s tonight. We ain’t gotta worry ’bout none of that.”

You nod. “Good,” you reply, but it’s barely out of your mouth before she’s already closing the space between you once more.

Her mouth crashes into yours with this messy, impatient heat that catches you off guard even though you probably should’ve expected it. You gasp slightly, back hitting the wall with a dull thud as her hands find your hips and press in like she’s trying to fuse herself to you.

She kisses you hot and desperate, tasting like her Shirley and rainwater and you, like she’s been starved for too long and forgot what moderation is. Or maybe she never knew in the first place. Her breath is shallow against your cheek when she pulls back just barely, only to bite at your bottom lip, gentle at first and then not. Your knees buckle a little.

She starts walking you backwards eagerly, quickly. Your shoes squeak faintly against the hardwood floor, and every few steps, she pauses to kiss you again—at your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—each one a little sloppier than the last, like she’s trying to leave her mouth on every inch of your skin that’s currently available. You stop for a second to kick your shoes off, Paige doing the same, before her hands are right back on you.

You let her guide you, stumbling slightly but somehow never really tripping, your hands tugging at her shirt now without hesitation. Your fingers find the hem and you push upward, palms grazing the warm skin of her stomach, the firmness of her abs. She lifts her arms to help you, eyes fluttering shut for just a second as the tank top peels off her like a second skin, damp from the rain and sticking to her in places. You toss it aside without even looking where it lands.

She’s gorgeous like this—hair damp and sticking to her temples, broad shoulders gleaming slightly from the rain, eyes half-lidded and wild, white sports bra soaking into her skin. You pull her back in. She lets you, fingertips digging into your waist as she spins you slightly and then walks you back the rest of the way.

The door clicks shut behind you, Paige’s hand still on the lock as she flicks it closed without even looking. You only catch a blur of her bedroom before she’s pushing you, your back hitting her mattress with a dull thud. The bed’s soft, and it dips underneath you as Paige follows right after, crawling on top of you without a second thought.

She kisses you hard the moment she’s close enough. No pretense. Just mouth on mouth, rough and messy and hungry. Her knee slips in between your thighs like it belongs there, and suddenly she’s pressing forward, using the weight of her body to open you up, her hands already sliding up your sides, tugging at the hem of the tiny tank top you wore out tonight.

She’s always been like this—especially when drunk. She got clingy, reckless, possessive. All hands and teeth and sharp exhales against your throat. She never hesitated to take what she wanted. Clearly, nothing about that has changed.

You can barely think. Your brain is cotton. Static. Her mouth moves down along your jaw, biting just a little at your skin as her hands palm over your chest through the thin fabric, rough and eager, hardening your nipples. It’s overwhelming in the same way you remember. Like she’s trying to devour your whole. Like you’re the last drink of water on Earth and she’s been crawling through the desert.

You let her take. You’re not even sure if you could stop her if you tried.

“Paige,” you murmur, just her name because you don’t know what else to say. She hums against your neck, doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t slow down. Her mouth catches your collarbone bow, her teeth scraping skin, and you can feel your tank top sliding further up, her hands bunching it near your ribs.

You try not to think. About anything. Not about where you are. Not about who’s on top of you. Not about Lucas. Definitely not about that.

But your guilt creeps in, just for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.

You’re cheating on your boyfriend.

You’re actively cheating on Lucas with your sort-of insane ex-girlfriend—who, to be fair, is currently kissing along your body like you’re something deserving of worship. Like she wants to go back to the night you broke up, grab it by the throat, and shake it until it gives you a different ending.

And the worst part is that you want her to.

You want all of this. Even if it’s wrong. Even if it’s messy. Even if tomorrow comes and you have to lie through your teeth about where you were tonight.

Thankfully, you’re pulled from your thoughts as Paige’s fingers hook into your tank top, pulling it up over your head in one smooth, urgent motion. It gets caught for a second, snagged under your arm, but she doesn’t even hesitate. Just lets out a breathy laugh and helps you lift your arms the rest of the way, tossing the top somewhere behind her.

She pauses when she sees you.

You’re bare from the waist up—unlike her, you didn’t bother with a bra tonight. The tank top was enough. You shiver slightly, skin still damp.

“Fuck, baby,” Paige mutters hoarsely. Her eyes roam across your chest like she’s recommitting your breasts to memory—which, she probably is.

And then she leans back in, mouth fast and greedy. Her lips graze across the swell of your chest, her tongue flicking out against one of your pert nipples. She sucks, cheekbones becoming prominent, as her hand stimulates the other bud. You arch into the touch, a quiet gasp escaping your lips, and Paige just groans in response.

She moves even lower, trailing wet kisses down your stomach like she’s trying to worship every inch of you in the fastest way possible. Her hair is still wet from the rain. It sticks to her forehead, her cheeks. You reach down without thinking and brush some strands behind her ear, and for a flicker of a second, her eyes spring up to meet yours.

There’s something in them—something messy and unspoken and so achingly familiar it almost knocks the breath out of you. She looks at you like she doesn’t know whether to say “I missed you” or “I’m gonna ruin you,” and honestly, it might be both.

You swallow hard as her fingers slide down your sides, wet palms skimming your hips. She shifts slightly above you, her knee pressing deeper between your thighs, and then she mutters, low and little slotted, “’M takin’ these off.”

It’s not a question, or a warning. Just a statement of fact, like she knows it’s already a done deal. Like she knows how much you want her. It pisses you off, but she’s right. You don’t bother trying to argue; you’re too impatient for that right now. Instead, you lift your hips, giving her room.

The denim peels off in slow, wet scrapes—Paige tugging your jeans down clumsily, muttering something under her breath about how soaked they are. Her hands fumble at your ankles, pulling the cuffs off before she throws the mess of fabric to the floor. Her hands are cold and your skin is goosebumped from the downpour, but somehow it just makes everything feel sharper, more alive.

You watch as her gaze returns to you before stilling. The grin sidles upon her face before she even says anything. Her lip quirks, slow and smug. She blinks once, then twice, like she’s confirming something.

“Well, would you look at that,” Paige murmurs, titling her head. Her voice is thick with amusement.

You frown. “What?”

She reaches out, brushes her fingers over the lace of your underwear before snapping the waistband against your stomach. “You wore these,” she replies matter-of-factly. The way she says it makes your face go hot.

You glance down, your stomach twisting the second you register. Lavender lace. The soft pair she got you when you were still dating, the one that belongs in the set with the bra. Purple is her favorite color. You hadn’t meant to wear them tonight. It just—happened. Bad luck. Or maybe subconscious salvatore. You’re not sure.

“Shut up,” you mumble quickly, but your voice is weak, defensive. You shift your hips slightly, trying to throw her off, but she doesn’t let up.

“Nah, nah,” she says, laughing. “You wore these. Tonight. These.” Her fingers curl just under the waistband once more like she’s framing the evidence. “These are my panties.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh my God.”

Paige just chuckles again—low and smug, the sound all warm breath against your thigh—and leans in. She presses her mouth to the inside of your leg, right above the lace, and bites. Not too hard, just enough to make you gasp, make your hips jerk. Her hands grip your thighs, holding you still as she drags her teeth across your skin again.

You feel her fingers trail up between your legs, teasing, lazy. She doesn’t even go for the waistband. Not yet. Just presses her fingers over the damp lace, at your clothed clit, where she knows you’re already pulsing for her. Her touch is light, maddeningly so. Just pressure, then a slow little circle, then nothing. Then again.

You exhale sharply, a little whimpering escaping before you can stop it.

“Yeah,” she breathes, all cocky and satisfied, rubbing at your pussy through your underwear—her underwear. “You want this, huh?”

You want to roll your eyes. You want to curse her out. You want to tell her to shut up again.

But you also want her hand between your legs, so.

“Obviously,” you mutter instead, shifting your hips closer to her fingers. “Jesus.”

She smirks. “Still so easy for me,” she murmurs, running her thumb in a slow, purposeful drag over your covered clit again. “Still so wet, even with these on. Shit.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Not with the way your body is reacting to her—how warm and staticky and shamefully good it feels, even after everything. Especially after everything. It’s fucked yo. It’s so deeply, stupidly fucked up. But the thing about Paige is that she’s always known exactly how to pull you apart, and tonight’s no different.

Her lips move up your thigh again, kisses slower now, mouth more deliberate. She’s still teasing you with her fingers, but at least she’s pressing harder now. Your legs twitch a little under her hands, breath coming faster.

You grab at her wrist. “Paige.”

She hums against your skin. “Mm?”

“Either take ’em off or don’t.”

Another smug little grin. “Bossy,” she mutters, but she finally starts to tug them down.

And you think she’s gonna rip them off just like the jeans and your tank top, quick and careless, like she can’t get them off fast enough. But she doesn’t. She goes slow with it. Real slow. The lace peels off your skin in soft, damp stretches, catching slightly on the curve of your hips, then your thighs, like it doesn’t want to let go. She’s careful with it, rolling them down past your knees, then over your ankles one at a time.

And then, instead of flinging them off to the side like the rest of your clothes, she hesitates.

She holds them, twisting the fabric around her fingers once. She looks at them for a second, like she’s remembering something. And then, without a word, she sets them down—right beside you on the bed, neat and deliberate like she’s placing something valuable. You roll your eyes; you know she’s trying to emphasize the fact that they’re “her” panties.

You watch as her blue eyes trail over you, before settling between your legs. She can see how soaked and slick you are. When she looks back up at you, that teasing edge in her expression is gone. Replaced by something darker. Heavier. Like the sight of you naked knocked the air right out of her.

“Fuck,” she breathes, more to herself than you.

And then she moves.

No more games. No more slow burn or smug comments or smartass remarks. Just Paige, leaning in with a newfound desperation.

The first thing you feel is her breath. Hot and shaky against your cunt, curling over you in waves that make your toes curl. Then her mouth—her lips, soft and plush and open, parting against you like a question she already knows the answer to.

Your hips buck involuntarily and she groans—low and satisfied and a little dizzy—like the taste of you hit her like a shot to the head. Her hands grip your thighs firmly, thumbs digging in just enough to hold you still as she licks a slow stripe between your folds.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Paige doesn’t say anything, but she hums like she’s pleased with herself, and the vibration makes you whimper. Her mouth works steadily, not frantic, not messy, just focused. Eager, but in control. She’s pacing herself like she knows exactly how long it’ll take to make you cum—and plans to stretch it out just enough to make you lose your mind before it.

You feel her shift, settling between your legs like she’s not planning on going anywhere anytime soon. One of her hands slides up, presses lightly over your stomach, while the other stays clamped around your thigh, keeping you open and spread for her. You’re breathing hard already, fingers fisting the sheets, head tilted back against the pillow.

But then she flicks her tongue just right—right there, straight on your clit, the perfect little spot she always used to find without trying—and your whole body goes tight.

“Fuck,” you choke out, hips twitching, hand flying to the back of Paige’s head without thinking. Your fingers tingle in her hair, damp and messy and soft, and she lets you, even leans into the pressure like it spurs her on.

“Mm,” she hums again, mouth still locked on you. Her eyes flick up for a second—just long enough for you to see the heat beneath them—and then she closes them again and gets back to work.

Her pace picks up, beginning to circle her tongue on your pussy with more pressure. Like she’s chasing something now. Like she’s chasing you. And when your hips roll up again, she moans softly like she loves that—like she needs it just as much as you do.

“Paige—” you stumble, her name coming out half-broken.

She pulls back for one second, breath ragged, lips slick and swollen, her nose a little wet too, and murmurs, “I gotchu, mama,” before ducking her head again.

And you know she does—in this position, she always does.

She sucks, lips around your bud, and your legs shake.

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

Her fingers finally move—trail up your thigh again, then find their way between your legs. Her mouth moves down, tongue finding your entrance, thrusting inside. Her fingers, on the other hand, rub over your soaked clit in slow strokes.

You’re a mess now. Moaning soft and breathless, biting your lip, fucking Paige’s face. It’s too much and not enough.

Paige’s grip tightens. She keeps moving her tongue, rubs her fingers faster. The sounds emitting are obscene. Your whole body is trembling, your thighs clenching around her shoulders, your heart pounding so loud you can barely hear anything else.

You’re about to cum. You’re right fucking there. You know it, Paige knows it too.

And then: she stops.

Just for a second. Just long enough to make you want to scream.

Her mouth doesn’t move far. Her fingers don’t leave. She just slows everything down—lets her tongue go lazy, softens the pressure of her fingers into something more like a tease than an intention. Just enough to cool the fire without putting it out completely. Enough to keep you hovering in that frustrating, impossible space where you can feel your orgasm burning in your gut, but you can’t reach it.

You whimper, pathetic and desperate. “Paige,” you say. It doesn’t even sound like a protest—it’s too soft. Too needy.

And she just chuckles. Low and rough and stupidly smug. “Sweetheart, I know you ain’t think I was gon’ let you finish that fast,” she chastises.

She licks a lazy stripe up your center, just enough to make you shudder, then pulls back again to speak. “Uh-uh.” Her lips brush the inside of your thigh now. “Nah, baby. Not yet.”

You try to buck your hips, to chase the pressure, but her hand flattens against your stomach again, pinning you down.

“Be good,” she scolds.

It’s cruel. So cruel. But it’s not mean. She’s not doing it to punish you—there’s no spite in it. It’s worse than that. She’s doing it because she wants to. Because she likes this. The control, the way she can make your whole body lose itself with nothing but her mouth and a couple fingers.

She starts again. Slow. Gentle. Just lips and tongue at first—no fingers—circling softly, tasting you with this lazy rhythm that makes your whole body ache. It’s good. God, it’s so good. But it’s not enough.

Every time she gets you close—every time your thighs start to tremble and your hands fist in the sheets and your stomach starts to tighten like you’re gonna explode—she backs off again. Pulls away just enough go to keep you right there on the edge. And it happens again. And again. And again.

You lose count around the fourth time. Maybe the fifth.

Your entire body is flushed, sweat beading down your neck and across your chest, your breathing ragged and high in your throat. You’re begging now, pride gone. Just soft, broken pleads slipping from your lips.

“Please,” you whisper, over and over. “Paige, please.”

She hums like she’s thinking about it. “Please what?” she asks, voice all innocent like she doesn’t already know. “Whatchu want, baby?”

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to cum. But mostly, you want her—her mouth, her fingers, her everything. The full weight of her attention. No more teasing. No more games.

“I want—” You can barely get the words out. Your voice is hoarse. “I want to cum. Please.”

She grins into your thigh, and you can feel it.

“Yeah?” she asks. “You want me to let you?”

You nod hard, nearly gasping. “Yes. God, yes, baby, please.”

She takes her time, still. Like she’s filing that away for later—your voice all cracked and pleading, your body practically shaking with want.

But then—finally—her mouth returns, this time with her fingers. Two of them, slow at first, just enough to ease inside, stretch you open at this perfect pace that makes your eyes roll back. And then her tongue follows—firm and fast and focused again.

She doesn’t let up this time.

Her fingers pump deep, curling just right with every thrust. Her mouth locks onto your clit, her tongue flicking and circling, and you feel it. You feel the difference. You feel her let you.

It builds so fast you almost don’t believe it’s happening—like your body can’t trust it yet, like it’s waiting for her to pull away again. But she doesn’t. She keeps going. Keeps fucking you with her fingers and sucking with just the right amount of pressure until you’re moaning like mad. Until your back arches clean off the bed.

And when you finally cum, you really cum.

It hits like a wave—full-body, all-consuming, a rush of heat and noise and sensation that floods your chest and curls your toes and makes your vision blur. You cry out, loud and unfiltered, Paige’s name breaking on your tongue as everything finally snaps.

She holds you through it. Keeps her fingers moving just enough to ride it out, keeps her mouth pressed against you like she doesn’t want to miss a single second of it. And when your thighs tremble and your hips jerk and you try to push her away, overstimulated, and breathless, she only pulls back slowly, letting you come down soft and dizzy and completely gone.

You collapse against the bed, boneless, the sheets twisted beneath you and your skin flushed everywhere. Your chest is rising and falling like you ran a marathon, your eyes fluttering shut, and your lips are parted like you forgot how to close them.

Paige crawls back up your body, slow and smug and glowing like she just won something. Her mouth is shiny, her chin wet, her eyes softer now. She leans in, kisses the inside of your knee, then your thigh, then your hip, then right between your ribs like she’s following a map only she can read.

And then she finally kisses you. You taste yourself on her tongue.

“Still alive?” she murmurs, pulling back just barely, her breath fanning over your lips.

You nod tiredly. She grins.

“Good,” she says, nudging your nose with hers. “’Cause I ain’t done with you yet.”

“Paige,” you whine, eyes squeezing shut. You can’t, you swear. After all the edging and teasing, you’re fucking spent.

“C’mon,” Paige breathes as her fingers trail back down, teasing light circles on your clit like she’s checking to see if you’re still there. Still dripping for her. Still a mess. You are.

But instead of going soft or gentle—instead of giving you a break—Paige just laughs, low and smug and annoying, leaning closer until her forehead brushes yours. She’s smiling down at you like she’s seen this movie a hundred times before and already knows how it ends.

“You can’t take anymore? Really?” she asks, faux innocent, like she didn’t just spent twenty minutes dragging you to the edge and yanking you back every time you even thought about finishing.

You shake your head, too wrecked to even be embarrassed. Your legs twitch under her, and your breath stutters when she dips her hand again, rubbing faster now, rougher. Quick circles.

Your eyes fly open. “Paige—!”

She’s right there, hovering, looking so calm it’s almost rude. Her voice drops low, warm and coaxing. “You got it,” she murmurs, then leans in, kissing you languidly. “I’mma strap you, ’kay? It’s gon’ feel good.”

You blink at her, heart stuttering. The words hit you like a wave of something—lust, maybe, or memory, or just plain old holy shit, it’s been a while type of adrenaline.

Because, with Paige, the strap is something different. And you remember.

You remember how it used to turn her into almost someone else entirely—more focused, more intense, like she stepped into a role made for her. All that cocky, athletic confidence of hers funneled into every thrust. It used to drive you insane. She’d smirk down at you, hold you steady by the hips, mutter stuff under her breath that made your brain go static. Always so good at knowing when to push, when to slow down, when to whisper something filthy in your ear like she owned you. And, back then, she kind of did.

So, if you already here, already ruined and half-gone and trembling in her bed—you might as well let her finish the job.

You nod, barely, and Paige’s smile shifts into something more serious. Still soft, but hungrier now. Like she knows this means something and she’s not gonna waste it.

“Okay,” she says, voice lower. “Don’t move.”

Then she kisses your cheek. Your jaw. Your collarbone. Her mouth is everywhere at once, moving down in quick little bursts of affection like she can’t stop touching you, even for a second.

You hear the drawer behind her open, the soft jingle of the harness. It takes her no time at all. She shimmies out of her cargos and boxers thickly, and fits the purple thing—same color as those panties she got you—to her hips with the same efficiency she’s got on the court.

She climbs back over you, eyes scanning your face like she’s checking in, making sure you’re okay—not just ready, but okay. Her hand slips under your thigh slowly, lifting it gently to drape over her waist.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just runs her fingers down your side again, resting them low on your hip as she settles between your legs. The silicone presses soft against your skin, and you twitch, already sensitive.

“Look at me,” she tells you, quieter now. Not demanding, more like a reminder. You do. You meet her eyes, and she gives you this look—tender, steady, locked in—that makes your stomach flip.

“You still want this?” she asks, even though she knows the answer.

You nod. “Yeah. Want you, P.”

Something flickers across her face when you say it. Then she leans down, kisses you once, deep and slow. Her hips roll forward just a bit, her strap dipping into your entrance.

“I’ve got you,” she mumbles.

Then she starts to move.

And—God.

You forgot how good she is at this. How well she reads you. How every stroke is meaningful—hips snapping forward in a rhythm that builds slow, steady, patient. She’s not fucking around anymore. She’s locked into this, onto you.

Your hands scrabble for purchase, fingers digging into her back, her shoulders, whatever you can hold. Your legs fall open wider around her hips, and the air goes thick between you—all breath and skin and sound.

She leans down, forearm braced beside your head, sweat already starting to gather along her hairline. Her voice is right against your ear now, rough and low, saying, “Fuck, missed this. Missed you.”

You gasp, nails digging into her skin.

She keeps going. Her hips rock into you steadily and your head tips back into the pillow. She’s so deep, so good, and your body is still humming from everything before—all that edging left you raw, still twitching and clenching down around nothing, and now she’s filling you. Driving into you with smooth, practiced thrusts.

She moves like she owns you—like this is hers, has always been hers, and you’re just finally getting back to what was supposed to be. You can barely catch your breath. The slick sounds between you, the pressure building low in your stomach, the quiet grunts coming out of her mouth every time she drives back—it’s a lot.

Paige’s body hovers over yours, strong and steady, blonde hair falling a little wild into her face—and yours—as she stares down at you. Her cross chain dangles above you as well. It makes you wet. Her eyes flick over your face like she’s tracking every breath, every twitch. Making sure she’s hitting the spot. Making sure you feel all of her.

You do.

Fuck, you really do.

Your fingers curl deeper into her shoulders, your voice slipping out in little gasps and stuttered moans.

“Shit,” you choke out.

“Yeah?” Paige says, breath warm against your mouth. She’s grinning again, cocky as ever. “That feel good?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. “So good. Jesus—”

“Mmm,” she hums, and then she leans in again, nipping lightly at your jaw and throat. Her hips roll deeper, sharper, like she wants to remind you exactly who is doing this to you. “Don’t bring him into this. You know I’m the one that fucks you like this.”

You shudder—because yeah. She is.

And this shouldn’t be different. Theoretically. Mechanically. You’ve been having sex with a man for months now—Lucas, your boyfriend. He has a real dick and everything. And, with him, it’s been fine.

But this?

This isn’t fine. This is Paige. And what she’s doing to you—this focused, obsessive, filthy thing she’s doing with her strap and her body and her mouth and her fucking words—it’s not even in the same universe.

It’s better. So much better.

She’s in a whole different mode now. Not the teasing, soft, cocky Paige from earlier—not even the sweet, grinning, “let me make you feel good” Paige. This version of her? The one who puts the strap on and immediately goes a little feral? You almost forgot about this side of her. Or maybe you blocked it out because of how goddamn dangerous it is.

She moves harder, faster, her rhythm never faltering as she slips a hand under your thigh and pushes it up, opening you more, giving herself a better angle.

Her voice drops again, gravelly and low, lips brushing your ear. “You miss this dick, huh?”

You gasp. “Paige—”

She laughs, all breath and grit. “Yeah, you do. Don’t lie. You’ve been lettin’ him touch you, yeah? That boyfriend of yours.”

You blink yo at her, brain short-circuiting, and she moans when she sees it—the way you clench around her strap, the way your eyes roll just a little. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

“You let him fuck you?” she asks, still thrusting, her voice starting to get breathless. “Let him hear you make all those sounds you used to make for me?”

You shake your head—not because it didn’t happen, but because that’s not what matters right now. Not when Paige is here, inside you, her hand gripping your thigh tight and her hips snapping forward like she’s trying to make you forget everyone who isn’t her.

She leans down, pressing her forehead to yours, still talking through shallow breaths.

“He ever get you this wet? Huh?” she asks. “You ever beg him like this?”

You’re too far gone to answer. All you can do is whimper, grabbing at her shoulders, your legs shaking with every thrust. Your body—your cunt, mostly—feels like it’s on fire.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” she mutters, more to herself now. “You can let him date you, whatever. But you always come back to me for this. Don’t you?”

You nod. Or try to. Everything’s blurry now—pleasure curling in your spine, building too fast again. The way she’s thrusting, angled to brush against that gummy spot deep inside you every time, it’s criminal. And she knows it. She keeps her hand on your hip, guiding you into her rhythm, using your body like she built it herself.

“Paige,” you gasp. “I’m—fuck, baby, I’m close.”

Her eyes flash, and she slows just slightly, grinding instead of thrusting, pulling out a ragged moan from your chest. “Yeah?” she whispers. “You wanna cum for me?”

You nod fast, begging with your eyes now.

She leans in again, presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your lips.

“Okay, baby,” she murmurs. “Go ’head. I got you.”

She thrusts—so fucking deep—and your body goes completely out of your control. That pressure builds too fast, too tight, and your thighs shake. You clench around Paige, voice cracking into a high whimper. Your legs go stiff, whole body arching. Paige rides you through it, hips still moving, her mouth catching the sounds you can’t control.

You cum harder than you have in a long, long time. Even harder than the first one tonight.

And Paige—sweaty, wild-eyed, her strap glistening between you—just smirks down at you like she knows.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, kissing your cheek again. “That’s my girl.”

She eases out of you slow, careful, knowing you’re tender, and even still, it makes you flinch a little. Your whole body’s buzzing—nerves fried, legs weak, brain a complete blur. And the second she’s out, that emptiness hits you like a gut punch. You sigh, deep and shaky, already missing the weight and heat of her even though she’s right there.

You’re still leaking, thighs sticky, body limp. You don’t move—can’t, really—so you just watch her through heavy-lidded eyes as she undoes the harness and slides it down her legs. She tosses it lazily toward the floor, not even looking where it lands, and then she crawls up beside you, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her pale skin is flushed and glistening. You feel the mattress dip as she pulls herself closer, wraps on long, sweaty arm behind your back, and drags to right on top of her like you weigh nothing.

You don’t resist. You just melt into her.

Her skin is damp and hot against yours, her abs tight beneath your belly, and she lets out a small, winded laugh as you settle in, tucking your face into her neck. Her other hand reaches up, pulls at the hem of the sports bra she’s still wearing. She shimmies it off with some difficulty, then flings it somewhere behind her with zero aim, sighing like she’s been dying to get it off for a while now.

You glance up at her, and she looks down at you, her mouth soft, a little swollen. Then, she leans in and kisses you again—slow this time. Not needy or rushes. Just warm.

You’re so lost in it that you barely notice the way she’s shifting—until her thigh hooks around yours and suddenly her cunt is pressed right against you’re. Skin to skin. Heat to heat. It sends a shockwave through you, makes your breath hitch in your throat and your hips jerk without thinking.

“One more, mama,” Paige murmurs against your lips. “Please.”

You almost say no. Almost.

Because your body is fried. You’ve cum twice—hard, both times. And you’re sore and wrung-out and still trembling in little aftershocks. But then she’s calling you mama in that voice again—sweet and wrecked and a little desperate—and you know exactly what she’s asking for.

She deserves at least once. She’s been so patient. So fucking good to you tonight. You don’t even think she cares about cumming, honestly—she’s always been the type to chase your pleasure more than hers—but still. You want to give her that. Want to watch her fall apart, too.

So, even though your body is screaming at you to rest, you give a little nod. And then another.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Yeah. One more.”

Paige kisses you hard this time, all teeth and tongue and gratitude, and then she’s adjusting your hips again, sliding one of her legs between yours and guiding your thigh up over hers. And then you’re there, pressed together, pussy to pussy, and fuck—it’s a lot. There’s no slow build. You’re already soaked and swollen, and so is she, and the friction is fast and immediate and sweltering.

She groans into your mouth as you grind your hips down into hers, and you can feel her grip tighten on your waist.

“God, baby,” she mumbles. “Fuck, you feel s’good.”

You whimper, already teetering on the edge again. “’M not gonna last,” you admit, breath catching. “I’m so—God, P—”

“I know,” she says, not missing a beat. “I know. Just wanna feel you. Wanna cum with you.”

She guides you with her hands, rocking your hips against hers, keeping the rhythm steady when your thighs start shaking.

“You’re so wet, holy fuck,” Paige breathes. “You’re makin’ a mess on me, mama. You hear that?”

You do. That obscene, slick sound where your pussies meet, the wetness mixing and sliding. It makes your cheeks burn, but it also pushes you closer.

You want to finish with her—you really do. You want to hold you, want to grind together until you both cum at the same time, messy and gasping. But your body has other plans. You’re too sensitive, too overstimulated, and it’s Paige. That combination doesn’t give you a lot of room to breathe.

So you finish first—again—your body seizing up on top of her. It’s not big like the others, but it’s sharp and sweet and hits you right behind your eyes, whitening your vision. You let out a breathy little moan and shudder all over Paige, your thighs twitching around her hips, your chest collapsing against hers.

“Fuck, baby, yeah,” Paige groans, feeling you cum against her, sliding along her own pussy. She doesn’t stop. She just keeps going, grinding up into you a little more insistently now, chasing her own orgasm.

Her grip on you tightens, essentially manhandling your hips now. She tilts up into you, breath catching, and you feel her tensing under you, her thighs locking around yours.

“God, I’mma cum—shit,” she yelps, one last grind of your pussy sending her over the edge.

Finally, you both go still, the air between you thick and humid and exhausted. You collapse fully on top of her now, cheek smushed against her collarbone, her arms wrapped loosely around your back, her heartbeat pounding under your ribs.

Neither of you talks for a minute. You just breathe.

And then Paige sighs, light and wrecked.

“Fuck,” she curses. “Are we gonna regret this tomorrow?”

You’re too tired to think about it. Too dazed to pretend like you have any clue what the hell any of this means.

So you just press your face into her shoulder, and mumble, because you do know this one thing, “Definitely.”

[pin-k-ink]

OFF THE RECORD ⋆✦⋆ gojo satoru

synopsis ➸ you know gojo too well to believe he’s here for a quick fuck. he’s here for a favor—one you have no intention of granting. too bad he’s never been good at taking no for an answer.

tags ➸ implied former student/teacher relationship, slight age gap, friends with benefits, possessive behavior, mild dom/sub themes, power play, manipulation, daddy kink, mild objectification, dirty talking, semi-public/public sex, mention of past sexual encounters, implied blackmail (it’s really not as bad as you think)

wc ➸ 10.9k

The steamy tendrils still clung to your skin as you stepped out of the shower, toweling off with a contented sigh. Mornings like this—quiet, peaceful routines before diving headfirst into the chaotic world of jujutsu—were increasingly rare these days. So you tried to savor each precious moment while it lasted.

With the towel secured around your body, you padded toward the bedroom to get dressed for yet another long day at headquarters. However, the second you stepped over the threshold, the hairs along your nape instantly prickled upright. A presence. An unmistakable shift in the air currents that could only mean—

"Well, good morning, gorgeous! Sleep well?"

You barely stifled the startled yelp as Gojo Satoru's cheerful baritone seemed to resonate from directly behind you. Whirling around, sure enough, there he was—all towering height, shredded muscle, and bright eyes glinting with clear amusement. How someone so powerful could also be so utterly shameless sometimes, you'd never know.

Doing your best to ignore the heat flooding your cheeks, you planted your hands on your hips in a stern facsimile of composure. "Satoru...what an unexpected surprise. Here I thought teachers were supposed to set good examples about respecting boundaries, not traipsing into former students' homes unannounced."

Rather than appear even remotely chagrined, Gojo simply chuckled and leaned back against your kitchen counter as if he owned the place. You watched in mild annoyance as his gaze slowly trailed up and down your towel-clad figure with undisguised appreciation.

"Hey now, no need for such icy formalities between us old friends," he chided, the barest hints of a smirk tugging at those infuriatingly full lips. "Besides, when have I ever cared about doing what's expected of me, hm? That's like...95% of my appeal, babe."

Rolling your eyes, you huffed out a resigned sigh and crossed the room to your closet, firmly squelching the instincts that urged you to yank the towel higher and more securely over your body. Gojo had seen—and thoroughly enjoyed—far more of you than this in the past. No sense getting flustered over his blazing regard now.

"Right, so does this impromptu visit have an actual purpose?" You shot him a pointed look over your shoulder as you fished out a crisp blouse and trousers to wear to HQ. "Or are you just being a pain as usual and raiding my fridge for a sugar fix again?"

You heard Gojo's low snort of amusement before his heavy footfalls sounded, clearly bringing him closer despite your protestations. "What can I say? Your kitchen is better stocked with sweets than most convenience stores. I can't help craving a little nibble now and then..."

The sultry undercurrent in his tone triggered a fresh blaze of heat along your nape. You could practically feel the smoldering weight of Gojo's stare boring into your ass as you bent to rifle through your bottom dresser drawer.

"But you're onto something with that other theory as well," he continued in a lower, more contemplative register. All traces of levity seemed to evaporate as his presence loomed larger behind you. "I did actually come to ask a favor of my very favorite former pupil. An important one that I wouldn't bother you about if the stakes weren't so high."

Curiosity and trepidation warred within your chest at the unexpected gravity clouding Gojo's usually buoyant candor. You instinctively straightened, clutching your clothes to your chest as you slowly turned to face him once more.

And just like that, the heated tension seemed to ratchet up several palpable notches as your eyes met and held in the claustrophobic space. Gojo's sculptured features had taken on a severe, intense edge—all sharp angles and tightly leashed power that instantly siphoned the breath from your lungs.

Suddenly, his earlier "playful" flirting and teasing manner seemed less like an act and more like a fragile facade barely containing his true tempestuous nature. You swallowed hard against the liquid lick of thrilling trepidation skating down your spine as Gojo maintained that weighty, piercing stare for several moments longer.

"...Is everything okay?" You finally managed in a hushed murmur, scarcely recognizing your own voice under the abrupt spell of Gojo's domineering energy. "What could possibly have you riled up enough to ditch the flippant act?"

Rather than immediately answering, Gojo closed the remaining distance between you with two long, purposeful strides. You had to crane your head back slightly to maintain eye contact as his powerful silhouette utterly consumed your space—the scalding brand of his body heat and crisp, masculine scent enveloping you from all sides.

"Believe me, kitten...if I came here for anything even remotely fun or pleasure-oriented, you wouldn't need to ask," he rumbled at last, voice pitched low enough to instill a full-body shiver along your nerves.

One of Gojo's large hands came up, and you froze as the rough pads of his knuckles grazed a feather-light caress along the line of your jaw. His thumb swiped over the seam of your lower lip in an utterly artless, possessive sweep—smoldering gaze following the motion with incendiary focus.

"I'd already have that smart mouth wrapped around my cock doing something far more useful than talking..."

Despite the crudity of his words, you couldn't quite stifle the punched-out whimper that slipped free at the graphic implication. Gojo's pupils blew fractionally wider in answer, tongue darting out to lave his lower lip as if tasting the charged undercurrents now rippling between you.

"Lucky for you, this is actually about business," he continued in that same resonant timbre that seemed to spark straight between your thighs each time his rich cadence washed over you. "The kind of serious business that even a lazy pervert like me can't afford...distractions for at the moment, got it?"

You managed a jerky nod, too disoriented by the heady spiral of desire cloying at your senses to do much else. Gojo's expression seemed to tighten further—a muscle feathering in his chiseled jaw as if steeling himself for whatever came next as he stepped back a bit.

"Itadori Yuji is scheduled for execution..." The blunt statement punched out like a missile deployment, brutally shredding the increasingly rapacious atmosphere between you. "And one way or another, I need that sentence postponed before it's too late."

You immediately shook your head, mouth set in a grim line. "Postponing Itadori Yuji's execution? That's not going to happen, Satoru."

His brows pinched slightly at your blunt refusal. "This is serious, kitten. That kid is instrumental to—"

"Don't you think I know how serious this is?" you cut him off, firming your voice into an authoritative tone. "I work directly under the higher-ups, remember? I'm well aware of the situation with Sukuna’s vessel and the potential ramifications of his continued existence."

Squaring your shoulders, you leveled Gojo with an unwavering stare. "My answer is final. Bringing this to the elders would be pointless at best, and could potentially jeopardize my position if they see it as insubordination. I'm not sacrificing everything I've worked for just because you showed up and gave me those stupid puppy dog eyes."

Rather than back down, Gojo simply regarded you with a contemplative tilt of his head—bright gaze assessing as if turning over your words from every possible angle. You could practically see the gears turning behind those piercing blue irises as he recalibrated his approach.

"Okay, let's table the business side of things for now," he said at last, tone losing some of its previous urgency. Straightening his body, Gojo prowled a step closer—effectively reclaiming the charged atmosphere from earlier. "Maybe you just need some...persuading to see reason."

You refused to be baited so easily, keeping your expression coolly neutral even as his scalding presence flooded your personal space once more. "I'm not some hormonal teenager letting her heart sway business decisions anymore, Satoru. Those games won't work."

Gojo hummed softly in response, head cocking as his lips curved into a slow, molten smirk. "We'll see about that..."

Without warning, his hands clamped down on your hips, thumbs digging in with delicious friction as he hauled you flush against the solid wall of his torso. You couldn't withhold the tiny gasp that punched free at the sudden, searing contact—every ridge and cording muscle of Gojo's powerful physique branding itself against your towel-clad frame.

"Does this position feel...familiar to you at all, gorgeous?" he murmured in a honeyed rasp right against the whorl of your ear. His nose trailed a path along your jaw as he dipped to mouth steamy, lingering kisses down the fragrant column of your throat. "Maybe sparks a few memories of the last time you found yourself pinned underneath me...crying out for more the whole night through?"

A shudder rippled down your spine at the crude allusion to your long-ago graduation celebration with Gojo. You remembered that encounter vividly—every slick rasp of skin against skin, the sweltering tangle of limbs, the exquisite ache of being split open on his thick cock over and over until the entire room reeked of your joined passion.

Gojo merely chuckled at your flustered squirming, nosing aside the collar of your towel to lave a heated path along your collarbone. "Mmm...that's right. There were points that night where I had my cock buried so fuckin' deep in this perfect pussy of yours that you could taste it on the back of your tongue with every breath."

You bit back a shuddering whimper at the crude imagery, willpower rapidly crumbling beneath his carnal onslaught. Despite your best efforts, the memories he so skillfully stoked were stoking liquid tendrils of arousal thrumming to life between your thighs. Gojo's grin stretched wider as you unconsciously arched into his scorching frame.

"Always did love ruining you on my dick that first time," he rumbled with blatant gratification against your heated skin. "Watching those gorgeous eyes glaze over while I split you open again and again until you passed out..."

Abruptly, Gojo detached his mouth from the thundering pulse at your jugular with one final lingering sweep of his sinful tongue. Smirking down at your glazed, panting expression, he tucked an errant lock of hair behind your ear.

"But hey...while fun memories are nice, I'd rather make some new ones together after work," he said, suddenly all casual nonchalance once more as he meandered towards the door. "I'll pick you up from HQ when your shift is over and we can...discuss this Itadori thing some more in private. That sound good to you, babe?"

You blinked rapidly, trying to reassemble your scattered thoughts as the searing proximity of Gojo's presence withdrew—leaving you bereft and utterly unbalanced by the shift.

"Don't worry your pretty head over giving me an answer," Gojo called over his shoulder as he palmed the doorknob. "I already know you'll say yes when I remind you again how much that tight little pussy loves being split open on my—"

The door snapped shut with a hollow thud, cutting off the rest of his filthy promise. Though the last rakish wink he slanted your way before departing was more than enough to sear the implication deep into your psyche.

Sinking heavily back against the wall, you fought to regain your equilibrium—limbs quaking and breath escaping in ragged pants that did nothing to dissuade the rising tide of feverish arousal still gripping your core. Gojo had utterly unraveled you into a breathless, squirming mess from just a few suggestive caresses and searing endearments.

And despite your best efforts, you got the gnawing suspicion he'd made up his mind to thoroughly capitalize on—and ruthlessly extend—that molten state when you inevitably saw him again tonight.

The long hours crept by at an agonizing pace as you tried to focus on your duties at headquarters. But the memory of Gojo's heated presence that morning, his crude allusions to your long-ago passionate tryst, made it utterly impossible to concentrate.

You vividly recalled the way his powerful frame had caged you against the wall, face nuzzling along your flushed throat as that rich, smoky timbre painted filthy promises about thoroughly splitting you open again soon. Just the phantom whisper of Gojo's searing lips tracing your thundering pulse was enough to catalyze wild tremors of molten arousal deep in your core.

Each time you shifted in your seat or bent over the piles of paperwork, you could've sworn a delirious ache throbbed between your thighs—muscles fluttering with unbearable emptiness. Like they instinctively yearned to be stretched taut around the thick, punishing girth of Gojo's cock once more, just like that rapturous night of your graduation celebration.

The explicit images and flashes of sensation made concentrating an exercise in futility. Only your rigid adherence to professionalism and composure prevented you from squirming like an utter harlot right there in front of your subordinates.

By the time the evening hours finally rolled around, you felt strung as taut as a high wire—electrified nerves screaming for any sort of reprieve from Gojo's lingering psychic imprint. So you hastily packed your bags and paperwork, determined to slip out before he had a chance to accost you again.

However, the second you passed through the main entrance gates, a powerful hand shot out to clamp around your bicep in an authoritative grip. You barely contained the strangled gasp as Gojo's sheer masculine presence enveloped you, dragging you into the shadowed seclusion of a nearby alcove.

The cool stone bit into your back as he firmly levered your wrists overhead, utterly pinning you in place with his hulking silhouette. Gojo's piercing blue eyes glinted in the dim light, scorching a path down your disheveled figure with undisguised intent.

"Leaving so soon?" The deep, resonant timbre of his voice washed over you in smoky tendrils, already catalyzing a fresh blaze of arousal in your veins. "And here I was looking forward to picking up where we left off earlier..."

To emphasize his point, Gojo surged forward until every inch of his powerful frame molded against yours in a delicious, searing brand. You whimpered softly as his weight pinned you fully, feeling the unmistakable rigid line of his erection notching against your lower belly.

Gojo ducked his head with a low rumble of approval, searing lips and tongue mapping a scorching path along the fragrant hollow of your throat. You instinctively tilted your head aside to grant him better access, shuddering helplessly as he indulged in long, openmouthed draughts of your scent and flushed skin.

"F-Fuck...Satoru, not here!" The words emerged in a reedy, breathless whine against your better judgment as his wicked mouth found that sensitive bundle of nerves just below your ear. You writhed beneath the slow torment with increasing desperation. "Anyone could catch us...this is crazy!"

Rather than immediately address your token protests, Gojo merely chuckled—the warm puffs of his amusement ghosting deliciously along your tingling nerves as he mouthed a stinging graze against your racing pulse. One of his large, calloused palms slid down to engulf your hip in a possessive squeeze, already kneading and grinding you in a slow simmer of friction.

"You say that like you've never been desperate enough to beg me to fuck you right here in these hallways before..." The low, sensually-charged growl shivered your bones down to the marrow. Gojo finally pulled back enough to cage your dazed features fully within his piercing stare—lips curved in a lascivious smirk of fond reminiscence. "Multiple times, if I'm recalling correctly."

Heat flared through your cheeks as the graphic imagery took shape against your fraying resistance—lurid memories of breathless encounters where the thrill of potentially being caught by patrolling sentries only fueled the delirious flames higher. You swallowed hard against the thickness now cloying your throat, squirming in feeble denial.

Gojo's smirk deepened into something utterly sinful as he drank in your expression with clear relish. "Do you need me to refresh your memory about the last time you had me backed into a supply closet?" he rasped, leaning in until the blistering brand of his body seared you from chest to hip once more. "How hard you came when I finally pulled those thighs apart and licked straight through your soaked—"

"Enough!" you gasped out before he could fully unleash the damning words. You renewed your efforts at wriggling free in earnest, well aware your weakening restraint wouldn't last against Gojo's relentless carnal onslaught. "I-I...maybe we should actually go somewhere more appropriate first. Dinner, maybe?"

Despite your sudden meek suggestion, you couldn't quite mask the desperation laced through the plaintive request. Gojo's eyes seemed to glitter brighter at the shift in your demeanor, clearly scenting weakness in the offing as he allowed his grip to relax somewhat.

"Dinner first, huh?" He pursed those full lips into an exaggerated pout of contemplation before relenting with a dramatic sigh. "Well, I suppose that's only fair since I'm the one working up an appetite here..."

With one last blistering look that robbed you of breath entirely, Gojo stepped back and pivoted on his heel to swagger away down the narrow thoroughfare like a man supremely assured of victory. You could only sag back against the alcove wall, chest heaving with exertion as the towering remnants of arousal slowly ebbed.

However, there remained little doubt in your overwrought psyche that this temporary reprieve from your joining was little more than the universe's taunting cruelty. You'd awoken Gojo's darkest, most lascivious appetites earlier that morning.

And if the way he slanted one final look over his powerful shoulder—bright irises already blown wide and jaw clenching subtly around what had to be punishing levels of restraint—then the true feasting was only just about to begin in earnest. With your achingly empty body as the main course.

The opulent restaurant oozed sophistication from every polished surface and perfectly-starched linen. The sommelier's formal bow and crisp recitation of the evening's premier wine offerings seemed utterly wasted on the two of you.

You eyed Gojo over the rim of your glass, the dry Cabernet doing little to dull the lingering tension still thrumming between your joined frames. As always, he looked utterly nonplussed about the lavish indulgences surrounding you—crisp white dress shirt straining across his muscular torso and sharp jawline rasped by the beginnings of late evening stubble. Like a predator eternally at ease, regardless of situation.

Gojo's piercing gaze roamed over you with the same slow, assessing intensity one might reserve for an exquisite delicacy awaiting consumption. You tried not to squirm under that molten scrutiny, clearing your throat pointedly.

"I'm assuming there was some purpose behind corralling me into this place," you remarked in your best professional tone. "Beyond getting me liquored up for some inappropriate table exhibition, that is."

Rather than rebuff your dig, Gojo simply angled his head in a catlike tilt—lips curling into a devilish smirk that telegraphed his carnal interest crystal clear. Leaning further back in his chair, he allowed one broad palm to splay suggestively over the crisp linen covering his lap, fingertips drumming out an idle staccato.

"Well now, I certainly wouldn't say no to having those gorgeous lips wrapped around something else for a change." His deep timbre emerged laced with sin and smoky insinuation. "You always did look like an utter vision stuffed under these fancy tabletops sucking me off..."

Heat blossomed across your cheeks despite your best efforts at composure. You knocked back another bracing swallow of wine, struggling not to dwell on the searing flashes his words evoked—memories of delirious encounters where Gojo had hauled you under secluded tables to properly appreciate your skills with relentless, undisguised gratification.

Swallowing thickly, you gripped your fork with slightly more force than necessary."I'd ask if you're always this disgracefully crass and lascivious in public these days...but then I remembered who I'm talking to," you said dryly. "So in the interest of not causing a scene, why don't we get to the point of this little ambush?"

One brow arched infinitesimally as Gojo cocked his head further, clearly drinking in your prim and vaguely irritated state with evident relish. "You seem awfully anxious to rush right to business," he murmured, fingertips continuing their idle rhythm against the tablecloth. "Where's that simmering self-restraint and haughty composure I remember enjoying unraveling piece...by...delicious...piece so thoroughly back in the day?"

You opened your mouth to fire back a scathing retort, only for Gojo to cut you off with a low, lush rumble. "Unless you've simply decided being insatiably thirsty for this cock is more your speed these days..."

With that quiet taunt, his free hand disappeared beneath the pristine linen swathe in a heavy, meaningful descent. You swallowed convulsively as his fingertips slid along the unmistakable ridge of his thick cock straining against the unforgiving fabric of his slacks. Every knuckle undulated in a deliberate, stroking glide that tightened your throat like a vise around trapped breaths and unspoken pleas.

"Can practically already taste how soaked you're getting beneath those prim layers just from the thought alone..." Gojo continued in a molten rasp heavy with undisguised gratification. "Imagining that filthy little mouth stretched wide around my girth again, glazing yourself in my cum right here in front of god and all these polite company..."

A tiny, reedy sound slipped unbidden from your constricted chest despite your best efforts at locking it down. Gojo's lascivious smirk turned rapacious as he correctly scented the spike of liquid want now cloying the humid space between you.

"So what do you say, gorgeous?" He pitched his timbre slightly lower, allowing each gravelled syllable to curl around your senses with lashes of pure elemental sin. "Going to be a good little famished cocksleeve and give me a hand under the table before we get down to—"

You cut across his brazen soliloquy with a forceful rap of your fork against the tabletop. Pulling yourself together, you fixed Gojo with a severe glower that finally seemed to give him pause.

"If you can't conduct yourself with any semblance of decorum befitting your station, then I'm through entertaining these adolescent displays," you bit out in a hushed tone edged with adamant warning. "I'm not some wide-eyed underling fresh off the training fields anymore, Satoru. I have higher standing and responsibility than you seem to grasp."

Silence stretched between you for a weighted beat—Gojo's heated gaze flickering over you with renewed focus you couldn't quite decipher. When he finally spoke again, there was a note of uncharacteristic control underpinning his typically buoyant candor. Clearly, he'd grasped the need to change tactics once more.

"You're absolutely right," he said after a prolonged pause. "Part of me forgets just how much you've grown and ascended the ranks over the years." One side of his mouth curved higher in a lopsided ghost of his usual smirk. "Clearly earned the elders' respect and esteem far beyond that of a simple 'secretary' as I put it earlier."

Before you could retort, Gojo pressed onwards—hand sliding almost absently back into view to wrap around the stem of his wine flute. "Which is exactly why your assistance is pivotal to turning the tide regarding Yuji's current...perilous circumstances."

There was a grim finality in his words that snapped you back to the seriousness of the moment like a sobering slap to the face. You shifted fractionally taller in your seat, expression hardening as Gojo continued in low, adamant tones.

"Whether you're fully aware or care to admit it right now, that kid is destined to be pivotal for the upcoming events on the horizon," he rumbled with quiet conviction. "Leaving him to get executed off the books tomorrow morning would be tantamount to losing our most powerful asset before the real battles even begin."

Swirling his wine idly, Gojo paused to take an unhurried pull directly from the bottle before continuing. "Which is why I'm going to need to call in more than a few favors getting his sentence postponed tonight. Starting with you, of course..."

There was a new current of steely focus glinting in his gaze as it bored into you with ruthless intensity. For several protracted beats, you simply held each other's stares—gauging the lengths and motivations rumbling beneath the surface beyond petty physical exploits.

Finally, you pursed your lips and shook your head in a solemn negation. "I'm sorry, but I can't overstep protocol and abuse my influence with the elders like that," you stated, quietly adamant. "Not even for you, Satoru. The ramifications could unravel everything I've worked decades to attain if word got out I went rogue."

Rather than exploding in his usual flashes of arrogance or wounded pride, Gojo merely raked you with a glower of narrowed, simmering intent. His next words emerged more pointed and resonating than any innuendo or filthy endearment preceding it.

"Are you sure about that stance?" he intoned darkly. "Because if memory serves, there are a few distinct...indiscretions we've engaged in that could certainly be construed as 'unraveling' by the elders' view, wouldn't you agree?"

The waiter's polished footsteps faded as he departed to fetch their entrees, leaving you and Gojo in a weighted silence. You could practically taste the undercurrent of tension simmering in the air between you both.

Sipping his wine slowly, Gojo dragged his incandescent stare over your features with undisguised intensity. "I'm serious about this," he stated in a low, firm rumble that brooked no further evasion. "We're talking everything from inappropriate use of jujutsu techniques to conduct we both know crosses so many lines..."

He trailed off meaningfully, leaving the implications to hang heavy as his tongue slicked over his lower lip. You swallowed hard against the rising heat prickling across your cheeks and neck.

"Like that night in the east gardens behind the training halls," Gojo continued, voice dropping into a deeper, more intimate register that curled straight between your thighs. "Where I pinned you down in the grass and ate you out until you came all over my face. And then I fucked you so hard, you nearly passed out before we got caught."

Despite yourself, a tremulous shiver raked through your nerves as the visceral flashes assaulted your mind's eye—the frantic rasp of his calloused palms roaming and kneading, the slick motions of his tongue probing and savoring parts of you meant for far more intimate settings.

Gojo noticed your reaction with a dark chuckle, clearly satisfied he'd reeled you back in completely. "Or what about the time you wrapped those pretty lips around my cock in the maintenance closet and let me rail your throat until you choked on my load? How many rules was just that one encounter bending, hm?"

The directness of his words scorched through you with dizzying potency, making you flush and squirm. You parted your lips on a shaky exhale, determined to regain some semblance of control.

But Gojo smirked knowingly and pressed his verbal advantage in a low, filthy rumble. "Face it, I've got enough material on you ruining me with that greedy little mouth and pussy all over campus to get you defrocked hard." His hooded azure gaze practically seared into your core. "And yet you really wanna risk me airing all those dirty details to the elders? Leaving Itadori's fate to chance like that?"

Your mouth felt suddenly dry as you wrestled with the undeniable truth behind his taunting words. For several fraught beats, the frustration and righteous indignation warred with your embedded sense of duty to the cause. Finally, you released a shuddery breath and lifted your chin.

"I'll...see what I can do about swaying things in your favor," you muttered in a low, slightly strained tone. "No promises, but I'll try discussing options with the higher-ups."

Rather than seem appeased, Gojo's expression only hardened further—carved features settling into a granite mask of tenacious stubbornness and smoldering impatience. "'Not good enough, kitten," he rumbled, forearms tensing atop the table. "This mission is too fucking important for halfhearted measures. I need you to outright insist on a stay of execution being granted, got it? No more stammering 'I'll try' bullshit that lets them sidestep."

His unyielding stare pinned you with the intensity of a physical force, raising your hackles slightly despite your attempt at diplomacy. Still, looking into those blazing blue embers, you got the distinct impression that you'd sooner achieve moving a mountain with vocal commands than sway Gojo on this matter. That steely resolve would accept nothing less than complete victory in postponing Itadori's fate.

Just as you began resigning yourself to digging in for another round of heated back-and-forth across the fancy tablecloth, the arrival of the main courses mercifully broke the combative spell between you. Gojo seemed to settle back imperceptibly as the waiter swept in—that scorching intensity banking down to a more companionable smolder for the time being.

Still, you recognized the temporary reprieve for what it was as you tucked into your meal with far less gusto than anticipated. Despite his best efforts to gloss over the previous tension with idle banter and lighter conversational tones, it remained silently understood that the evening's main purpose still hung unresolved and delicate between you until matters were final.

So it was with an undercurrent of somber expectation that you finally settled the check and rose to follow Gojo from the opulent dining hall at evening's end. A subtle snap of his fingers triggered a curiously disorienting sensation of compression and vertigo—only to release you blinking in surprise mere heartbeats later, finding yourself suddenly standing in the familiar living quarters you called home.

"I'd say you're handling that little trick with far more aplomb these days," Gojo remarked with a lopsided grin, clearly drinking in your adjustment to his impromptu teleportation with amusement. "Remember when I first started zipping you around like that? Pretty sure you heaved your guts all over those ugly penny loafers you used to wear back in the day."

Huffing out a noise of semi-fond exasperation, you aimed a swat at his sculpted arm without malice. "Yes, well I suppose youth and naivety breed certain...overzealous behaviors, don't they?" you retorted before immediately sobering once more. "Like making reckless judgment calls that imperil an entire system..."

Gojo's expression remained impassive, giving no outward indication whether your choice of words struck any particular chord with him. However, you caught the faintest glimmer flickering behind those incandescent blue irises - the barest hint that perhaps you'd underestimated just how much gravitas your dissenting opinion potentially held with the higher-ups.

After all, you were Gojo Satoru's first and most distinguished pupil back when he initially ascended to teaching status, weren't you? Not only that, but your judicious control and prime mastery of your innate techniques embodied many of the fundamental philosophies and fighting styles the old guard so staunchly valued. On numerous occasions, your skills had been cited as quintessential examples to uphold for future generations...

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard as the weighty truth of your potential sway with leadership gradually bobbed to the surface of your consciousness like drift debris after a storm. This entire evening, Gojo might have simply been maneuvering to forcibly realign your perspective on leveraging the hidden influence you apparently wielded without ever fully grasping it.

To truly comprehend the magnitude of the gambit he intended to play using your standing as the key gambit.

Before you could properly parse that sobering epiphany, however, Gojo had already closed what little distance remained between your frames with purposeful strides. The blistering heat of his body all but blanketed yours as he leaned in with that familiar aura of prowling, casual intensity that always made your breath stall.

"So..." he murmured, voice pitching into a lower register that seemed to slither straight down your spine. "Does that mean you're gonna be a good girl and invite me inside so we can continue this intriguing conversation in more...comfortable accommodations?"

Gojo punctuated the brazen implication by cocking one arm against the doorframe, effectively caging you between the cool wood and the searing, masculine planes of his torso and hips. You were abruptly overwhelmed by the reality of his proximity - each subtly shifting ripple of sinew and musculature utterly inescapable from this range.

That distinctly virile, elemental musk that always set your senses clamoring was back in full force as well. You swallowed hard, nostrils flaring fractionally as the delirious essence of Gojo's body heat and clean, faintly spiced perspiration flooded your olfactory receptors. Despite your most ardent efforts, you felt your lids grow heavy and mouth part unconsciously as liquid frissons of pure, burgeoning temptation licked through your veins.

Just like that, with a few deftly aimed strokes, Gojo had reeled you back to the precipice of helpless surrender once more. Still, you summoned the dregs of your stern resolve and planted your palms squarely against his chest, levering back an inch to preserve some semblance of boundaries.

"Subtle as ever, I see," you managed in a tone you hoped came across more dryly exasperated than outright breathless. "I should've guessed the moment we arrived you'd be angling to make yourself at home uninvited."

One brow arched higher, though you didn't miss the slight crinkling at the corners of Gojo's stupidly pretty eyes betraying his hushed amusement. "Oof, someone has their defenses wound just a tad tightly if they think I require permission these days," he shot back with a wry rumble.

Before you could summon a retort, that leonine physique surged forward in a slow, sensual undulation—once again pinning you fully against the unyielding wooden slab with the scorching brand of his larger frame. Gojo's free hand drifted down to palm the generous curve of your hip with sinful insistence, hips canting forward until there could be no mistaking the ridge of his erection notching against your lower belly.

"Better question might be..." His voice dropped several delirious octaves into those sandpaper-rough timbres that seemed to sizzle straight through your nerve endings. "Why even bother pretending at token protests when we both know how this little dance is gonna end...?"

Those incandescent azure irises flickered down to where his fingertips were already stroking teasing swirls against the exposed strip of skin between your top and waistband, silently daring you to rebuff such an implicit capitulation.

"So why delay the inevitable any longer, gorgeous?" Gojo rumbled against your lips, voice dropping into that gravelly timbre designed to liquefy your restraint. "Let's get down to stripping off all these formalities once and for—"

"You haven't even kissed me yet today," you blurted out, cutting across his heated soliloquy.

Gojo's pale brows pinched infinitesimally as the words seemed to momentarily stall his single-minded determination. You could practically see the gears turning behind those hooded azure irises as he processed your statement—likely running back through every provocative encounter and instance of attempted seduction throughout the evening.

When his piercing stare finally snapped back to yours, there was the faintest glimmer of sheepish realization burning there. "...Huh. You're right," he remarked in a slightly lower, more subdued tone. "Here I've been working overtime to rile you up, and I haven't even had the balls to properly lay one on you yet."

You tried not to visibly preen under the gratifying acknowledgment, but couldn't quite suppress the tiny quirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. Sensing a rare window of opportunity, you shifted your weight more fully against the solid contours of Gojo's frame, allowing your fingers to trail upwards in delicate spirals.

"Well?" You arched one brow in playful challenge, throat bobbing on a swallow as your digits mapped higher along the tendons of his powerful neck. "Are you going to actually follow through, or am I going to have to take the initiative here?"

For one heated beat, Gojo simply held your pointed stare in taut suspension—the atmosphere between you both seeming to atomize down into charged ionization particles awaiting the slightest catalyst to detonate. Then, his lips curved higher in a lopsided smirk you'd come to recognize as pure, unrepentant recklessness sublimating into physical form.

"You're going to have to come and get it, gorgeous," he rumbled, the raspy undercurrents sending delicious frissons shivering along your nerves. "Show me just how badly you've been starving for a real taste all evening."

His dexterous fingers slid up to cup the line of your jaw, thumb sweeping suggestively across your lower lip in a searing caress. You struggled not to whimper at the electrifying friction as Gojo leaned further into your personal space.

However, rather than ducking his head the final few scant inches to seal his mouth hungrily over yours, the insufferable tease merely arched backward—body undulating in a slow, sinuous retreat until he towered over you at his full impressive stature. The tip of his tongue darted out to lave his lower lip in clear relish, eyes glinting with wicked invitation as he silently dared you to make good on rising to his heated gauntlet.

A thrill of excitement and determination lanced through your chest as you instantly grasped the game afoot. With purposeful, unhurried movements, you allowed your palms to splay across the granite warmth of his abdomen before slowly, teasingly tracking higher in a worshiping glide. Every rippling corde and sinewy groove of his musculature became briefly profiled as you glided your touch upwards - mapping the scorching acreage in ardent appreciation.

Gojo watched your journey with blown pupils and ragged breaths, torso visibly expanding with each shuddering inhalation he dragged against his impressive restraint. You didn't miss the flex and bunching of his arms and shoulders as you passed over his pectorals, clearly fighting not to haul you bodily against him right then and simply crush your pliant frames back into mutual rapture.

But still, he remained steadfast and motionless—a living marble statue gloriously chiseled from pure virile perfection, awaiting your reverent indulgences with a banked smolder burning behind his hooded stare.

Finally, your fingertips dusted across the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones, body arching and straining upwards in your single-minded pursuit of that elusive, smug mouth you craved with mounting desperation. Try as you might to extend yourself onto the balls of your feet and go fully up on tiptoes, Gojo maintained a scant whisper of distance—always hovering just out of your reach with an expression of blatant masculine gratification at your squirming efforts.

A huff of breathy frustration nearly slipped free at the persistent denial, only to be silenced by the way Gojo instinctively dipped lower as if to grant your wish...only to arc back with a low, filthy chuckle that reverberated against your now-thundering pulse. It was as much a sensual dance of control and restraint as a taunt or test of wills at this juncture—simply savoring the delirious friction generated as your pliant, questing form sought to twine and pull him down into decadent oblivion, inch by maddening inch.

"Easy there, kitten..." he rasped in a low, smoky cadence designed to further short-circuit your resolve. "Why don't you try dropping to those pretty knees for me? Might give you better leverage and angles to play with in reaching those tempting lips that have been tormenting that insatiable appetite of yours..."

You answered with a full-body shudder and a needy keen spilling free from your very marrow—all thoughts of recalcitrance and willpower now thoroughly banished beneath the inescapable gravity well of Gojo's hypnotic presence and unholy temptations.

You whined out loud, an unguarded noise of pure pleading desire that seemed to momentarily crack through your usually reserved demeanor. "Satoru...please, wanna kiss you so badly."

The raw, plaintive tone of your entreaty hung in the air between you, heavy with naked yearning in a way that gave even Gojo pause. His brilliant eyes seemed to smolder brighter for an instant, no doubt dredging up fond recollections of past occasions where he'd so thoroughly unraveled your ironclad poise and reduced you to this state.

Rather than pounce on your vulnerability or tease further, however, Gojo's expression softened ever so slightly. One broad palm cradled the back of your skull as he ducked in closer, guiding your trembling frame until your brows nearly brushed.

"Since you asked so nicely..." he murmured, deep timbre emerging somewhere between a graveled purr and heated rumble.

You barely managed a shuddering inhalation before Gojo sealed his mouth over yours in a searing brand of possession. The initial clash of lips and tongue was something closer to an elemental force than a mere intimate exchange—not at all gentle, but rife with pent-up longing and ravenous need finally given free rein.

Your fingers instinctively knotted in the soft fabric of his shirt as Gojo laid an utterly thorough claim upon your senses. He swallowed each desperate little noise and whimper that punched free as if savoring the most delectable of delicacies. One thick forearm banded around your lower back to anchor you fully against his solid frame as he deepened the devouring cadence with relentless intensity.

A husky growl of clear approval and gratification rumbled against your slick, swollen mouth as Gojo momentarily allowed a scant parting for air. "Fuck...I'd almost forgotten how greedy and eager this talented little tongue can get," he grated with clear relish.

You could only pant and squirm fitfully in answer, thoughts scattered like dandelion seeds on a breeze. Gojo simply chuckled richly—the timbre vibrating straight through your very cells in a way that somehow untethered your feet from the ground entirely.

The next thing you clearly registered were his powerful arms banding beneath the backs of your thighs to haul you securely against his body in one smooth, easy motion. Your startled yelp melted into a tremulous sigh as the bunching plains of his torso and abdomen braced your arched spine in a sublime full-body embrace.

"Don't go passing out on me before the real fun starts," Gojo husked against the thundering pulse at your nape, even as his long strides carried you across the threshold of your apartment. "I've got plans for putting that gifted mouth to far better uses than just kissing..."

With your legs now locked around his narrow hips, you could feel every delicious ridge and twitch of his growing erection grinding against your dampening heat through the flimsy barriers separating you. A piteous whine slipped free as the swaying rhythm of his determined gait threatened to unravel you down to your very foundation.

"That's it, let me hear just how desperate I've got you aching to taste me properly again," Gojo growled against the whorl of your ear, each guttural rasp sparking fresh convulsions of need between your thighs. "Been waiting all fucking day to unwrap this gorgeous little prize and savor you inch...by...inch."

Gojo punctuated the lascivious promise by swiveling to carefully lay you out amidst the rumpled linens and cushions—each flickering shadow casting his chiseled features into harsh relief. No more levity or evasion glossed his expression, only the stark severity and zero-compromises focus of a predator fully engaged.

Rather than pounce on you immediately, however, Gojo seemed to pause and simply drink in the sight of your breathless, disheveled state with smoldering intent. His bright eyes roamed over every inch of your upturned features and the generous curves left tantalizingly displayed by your askew clothing.

"Goddamn..." he rumbled in a deep timbre thick with undisguised yearning. "Look at you splayed out for me, practically begging to get worked over already."

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away from the pure masculine intensity blazing in his stare. There was an undercurrent of restrained hunger there that made your pulse thunder—heady and distinctly feral even as Gojo slowly prowled over your prone body.

Rather than immediately claim you in a reckless flurry of lust, his calloused palms mapped your sides in a languid, purposeful glide all the way up to your rib cage. You arched instinctively into his maddening caresses, whimpering softly in anticipation.

"Easy there, baby..." Gojo murmured in a low rasp against the whorl of your ear. His nose trailed along the thrumming tendons of your neck, clearly savoring the scent of your desire. "You act like it's been months since this pretty pussy has been spread out and stuffed full. And after all the time I spent working you into this gorgeous, wrecked state..."

You squirmed fitfully beneath his unyielding weight, needy whines spilling past your parted lips as Gojo continued leisurely nuzzling and nipping along your jawline and throat. Despite the unhurried leisure of his attentions, you were rapidly spiraling into molten delirium between his hoarse endearments and the tantalizing friction where your bodies met.

"What, so impatient you can't even let me take a second to savor this?" Gojo husked out in a gravel-rough rasp that made you shiver. "I had to spend all damn day thinking about bending you over the second we were alone...so you'll excuse me if I take things slow now that I've got you all wound up and drenched for it."

Emphasizing his point, Gojo slotted one thick, muscular thigh between your parted legs, rocking forward in a slow grind that dragged the solid length of his cock against your molten entrance through the thin barrier separating you. You cried out sharply at the delicious friction, back bowing as frantic nails scoured tracks down his flexing shoulder blades in desperation.

"Yeah...that's it, squirm and moan for me like a good girl," Gojo growled in clear approval, tongue laving a wet path along the fragrant hollow of your throat. "Keep making those filthy sounds and just MAYBE I'll finally give you what you've been gagging for all night."

You could only whimper raggedly in compliance as his mouth moved lower, searing a path from collarbone to the generous swell of your breasts. His large hands cradled and kneaded the soft flesh with relish before tugging the stretchy fabric aside to bare one nipple to the calloused heat of his lips and tongue.

"That's right...let Daddy get his fill and reacquaint himself with every lush goddamn inch," Gojo growled around the rosy peak, sending lightning bolts of sensation zinging straight to your molten core. "Been thinking about sucking and biting these perfect tits all over again ever since you walked into that restaurant looking like a goddamn meal..."

Despite his crude admission, there was an undercurrent of clear reverence and tender devotion laced through his ragged cadences now. Gojo laved and nuzzled at your breasts with all the ardent indulgence of a penitent savoring their last meal before execution. His hooded azure gaze seemed to blaze brighter with each piteous keen and arch you offered up in answer to his lavishing.

Just as you felt yourself ascending the spiraling crescendo toward mindless bliss under his skilled attentions, Gojo abruptly detached from your saturated nipple with a low noise of harsh restraint. You whined plaintively, eyes glassy as your hands reflexively fisted in the front of his shirt—silently pleading for him to resume lapping away at the fiery deprivation swiftly devouring you inside out.

"Easy, baby..." he rasped through gritted teeth, clearly suppressing his own spiraling ardor through sheer force of iron will. "I didn't wait this long to absolutely wreck you just to blow it all on some half-assed foreplay."

Slanting his mouth over yours in another scorching, possessive claim, Gojo cradled your overwrought features between those rough, calloused palms with surprising tenderness.

His thumb smoothed along your cheekbone as the kiss gradually shifted into a slow, sensual undulation.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against the seam of your lips. "Let Daddy hear you ask for it nice and loud."

The command emerged as a gravelly whisper, though his blazing stare held an unmistakable glint of command. Still, the blatant carnal hunger etched into his expression made you feel positively giddy and invincible as your fingertips trailed along the corded lines of his powerful throat.

"I want you inside me, Sensei," you pleaded, voice pitching into a breathy whine. "Please, I need to feel you filling me up again."

Gojo groaned, clearly relishing the shameless admission and the way your thighs clenched reflexively around his hips. You could feel the rigid contours of his cock twitching eagerly against your slickened folds through the layers separating you.

"Fuck, the mouth on you," he rasped, nipping lightly at the underside of your jaw. "You know what it does to me when you call me that."

"Good," you purred, allowing your fingers to trail higher until they carded through the silky soft strands of his hair. "Now, are you going to stop stalling and show me how much better you are at playing teacher in bed?"

Your bold retort earned a snarl of pure male approval, though the sound quickly tapered into a groan as you deliberately canted your hips to drag the seeping damp of your panties against his throbbing erection. Gojo's fingers instinctively curled tighter around your neck, pinning you into place as he bucked and rolled his pelvis forward to reciprocate the delicious friction.

"Alright then, smartass..." he rasped, pupils blown nearly black with ravenous need as he stared down at your upturned, flushed face. "If that's how you wanna play it, I'm gonna make damn sure you're thoroughly re-educated on who exactly holds the reins here."

Without further ado, his hands drifted down to tug insistently at your waistband, practically shredding the flimsy fabric in his haste to free you from the rest of your clothing. You shivered at the way the cool evening air instantly pebbled across your newly exposed skin, though any instinctive modesty was quickly chased away by the hungry stare drinking in your naked form.

Gojo's expression shifted into a predatory leer, the sight sending another jolt of electric anticipation shooting through your already-jangling nerve endings. "That's better," he rumbled, broad palm skating a path up your inner thigh with unhurried reverence. "Nothing should be allowed to hide such a perfect view of my favorite fucking dessert."

You bit back a whimper at the possessive timbres lacing his gravel-rough voice, thighs twitching restlessly as Gojo's touch continued mapping higher. Finally, his questing fingertips slid into the sticky slick coating your swollen folds, dragging the copious evidence of your desire back to where your clit throbbed with need.

"Oh, look at that..." Gojo practically cooed, the filthy delight and awe laced through his voice sending a fresh rush of warmth spilling out against his dexterous ministrations. "Daddy's been neglecting his baby girl, and she's absolutely soaking wet already. How long has my gorgeous kitten been aching like this, hmm?"

The words emerged somewhere between a teasing croon and a gravelly growl, and you could only shudder and keen as Gojo continued rubbing maddening circles over your hypersensitive bud. The friction was already pushing you rapidly to the edge, and judging by the way Gojo's hooded gaze flickered up to watch your rapture, he could tell as much.

"Ah-ah...no cumming until you beg Daddy to fuck you properly," he rasped, even as his index and ring fingers dipped shallowly into your fluttering channel—teasing and stretching the seeping velvet heat in a way that made you sob out loud. "Don't make me have to punish you for being so naughty, kitten. You know I can keep you on the edge all night if I need to."

Your spine bowed and back arched as you writhed and thrashed beneath his touch, a litany of breathy whimpers and pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips. "Please, please, Daddy, don't tease me," you begged shamelessly, the words nearly slurring together with raw need. "I'll be a good girl, I swear. Please, please just fuck me..."

Gojo's gaze sharpened with clear gratification as you entreated his mercy, and he finally eased off on the merciless friction between your thighs. Your lungs burned with the force of gulping down ragged lungfuls of air, but you were given scant reprieve before his hands gripped and lifted your thighs, effortlessly hauling you closer and spreading them wide.

"There's my good girl," he murmured, the raw timbre of his voice sending delicious frissons shivering across your fever-warm skin. "Such a sweet little angel when you finally submit."

With one more brief nip at the delicate flesh of your inner thigh, Gojo began working the fly of his trousers open, finally freeing his massive erection. He stroked and pumped his straining shaft a few times for good measure, eyes raking across your splayed, naked form with clear relish.

"Look at how pretty this tight little pussy is, dripping all over my fingers and cock just begging to get filled," he grunted, lining the bulbous crown against your quivering entrance and rubbing it back and forth through the sticky arousal saturating your folds.

A pitiful keen slipped past your parted lips at the taunting pressure, and you could feel a fresh gush of slickness welling up in response to his crass praise. Gojo smirked at the telltale reaction, one calloused palm sliding down to part the plush folds of your pussy even further.

"Goddamn, look how wet and greedy this is for me," he rumbled in a low tone thick with pure male satisfaction. "Bet you were fantasizing about having Daddy's cock stuffing this pretty cunt the whole time we were sitting there in that restaurant. Isn't that right, kitten?"

Your brain was barely capable of stringing together a coherent thought, much less a snarky comeback, but somehow the words slipped free despite the mindless delirium clouding your head. "Y-you were the one who wouldn't stop teasing," you moaned, squirming fitfully against the delicious pressure poised at your molten core. "Can't say I wasn't tempted to drag you into the bathroom and suck you off..."

The words dissolved into a keening cry as Gojo abruptly slammed into the hilt, filling you to the brim and beyond in one brutal, unyielding stroke. Your legs reflexively locked around his hips and lower back as he immediately began pounding into your clenching walls, each powerful thrust punching the breath from your lungs.

"Is that so, sweetheart?" Gojo gritted out, hissing through clenched teeth as the clutching vice of your inner walls seemed to squeeze the very life from his engorged shaft. "You were just planning on being a dirty little tease the whole time we were at dinner? What a fucking minx..."

Gojo punctuated the statement by angling your hips upward to drill even deeper, each merciless thrust nudging the sensitive spot at the very end of your channel until the pressure sent stars exploding behind your eyelids. The only sounds that could emerge were a series of broken mewls and wordless whines, utterly incapable of doing anything but lay there and take the exquisite torment of his unrelenting, devastating pace.

"Yeah, that's it, let me feel just how desperately you've been needing this," he snarled, large hands gripping your waist as his pelvis hammered a merciless rhythm against your overstimulated sex. "Soak this fucking cock like a good little kitten. Don't hold back on me, baby. Show me how much you missed Daddy's cock and I might let you cum."

You could barely process the filth spilling free from his mouth at this point, each syllable dissolving into an electric buzz as his ruthless assault stoked the pressure mounting inside you. It was a familiar, heady rush of sensation—a coiling tension that seemed to grow tighter and more unbearable with every punishing roll of Gojo's hips against yours.

He was driving you toward a cliff's edge without pause or quarter, and the sheer force of his intensity was dizzying. Yet, despite the frantic, almost savage cadence, you could feel the subtle shift in his grip and angle as Gojo's gaze bored into your face. Even in the midst of his own delirium, the sheer focus and attentiveness in his stare was intoxicating.

"F-fuck, I'm so close," you gasped out, feeling your core spasming and clutching against the rigid pistoning length impaling you. You feebly reached out, desperate for any kind of anchor amidst the relentless tidal wave of sensation threatening to pull you under. "Satoru...please, want you to kiss me again."

Without missing a beat, Gojo's hands shifted, scooping you up until you were practically cradled in his lap. Your legs reflexively locked around his hips and midsection, ankles hooking together as his thrusts never paused. The new position left your torso arching up toward his chest, and Gojo quickly took advantage, slanting his mouth over yours with renewed hunger.

Each slide and curl of his tongue seemed perfectly in time with the driving roll of his hips, and the added closeness was swiftly becoming too much. You were hurtling toward the edge of the abyss, and this time, Gojo seemed intent on taking you down with him.

"My perfect girl, taking my cock like such a good little slut," he gritted out, one hand tangling in your hair while the other braced your back, keeping your bodies fused together. "Been dreaming about this tight cunt for fucking days, and it's even better than I remember. Now be a good kitten and soak Daddy's cock for me."

You could feel yourself tumbling over the precipice even before Gojo's hand snaked down to thumb your clit, and the dual assault was all it took to send you reeling into blinding euphoria. Your climax hit like a freight train, ripping through you with an almost painful intensity that left your toes curling and vision blurring.

Gojo continued thrusting his full length in a rapid-fire tempo, hissing out a strangled groan as the spasms of your inner walls finally dragged him into the depths of oblivion alongside you. Your limbs felt like jelly, and you were grateful for his grip holding you steady as the waves of rapture subsided.

He didn't release you, though, not right away. Rather, Gojo simply held you in his arms, his cheek pressed to the side of your head and the slow rise and fall of his chest syncing with yours. The two of you remained silent for a long moment, simply breathing together as the room gradually stopped spinning around you.

Eventually, Gojo pulled back enough to cup your jaw and slant his mouth over yours in another gentle, exploratory kiss. It was nothing like the devouring claims and searing conquests that had preceded it, and the tenderness in the simple press of lips left you feeling utterly weightless.

When Gojo finally withdrew, the smirk curling his lips was positively self-satisfied. "I'd say that’s enough foreplay, wouldn't you, baby?"

You could only huff a soft laugh in response, shaking your head as the residual tremors of bliss faded. "You consider thatforeplay?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I too gentle?" he retorted, feigning a look of innocent confusion. "Maybe we should try round two, then. I'll give you a chance to demonstrate what you meant about sucking me off."

The words emerged in a low, silky murmur as his large hands gripped and squeezed the supple curves of your ass, eliciting a soft squeal from you. You smacked at his broad chest ineffectually, unable to fight the grin tugging at your own mouth.

"You're incorrigible."

"That's not a no," Gojo pointed out, his smug expression practically radiating his unrepentant satisfaction. "And if you keep acting all cute and sassy, I can't promise I'll be able to resist the urge to bend you over and remind you exactly who's in charge."

Your stomach fluttered at the casual, nonchalant admission. It was an undeniable thrill knowing just how badly Gojo craved this—craved you. The thought alone was enough to send a fresh wave of warmth flooding through your veins.

"Maybe I'm not opposed to the idea," you murmured, biting down on your lower lip as you glanced up through your lashes.

The look was clearly too much for Gojo's self-control. His eyes darkened with fresh desire, and his grip shifted to lift and turn you so that you were sprawled facedown across the rumpled cushions.

"Well, in that case," he growled, the heat and weight of his body blanketing yours as his hips pressed flush to the swell of your backside. "Let's see just how filthy this mouth is, shall we?"

The room seemed to exist in its own hushed, velvety cocoon of tranquility - a stark contrast to the ferocious passion that had consumed every inch mere moments ago. You lay draped languidly across Gojo's powerful frame with your cheek pillowed on the rises and valleys of his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat reverberated through your lashes in a soothing cadence.

One of your hands traced idle, featherlight patterns over the expanse of his toned abdomen - mapping the ridges and grooves so recently sheened and flexing under your ardent worshiping. Gojo remained equally at peace beneath your sprawled embrace, those brilliant azure irises at half-mast while he reclined with one arm crooked behind his head.

Despite the palpable aura of repletion surrounding you both, a new undercurrent began to gradually assert itself in the weighted stillness. You felt compelled to disturb the quietude to address what this entire evening had truly culminated towards - the deal quietly brokered between heated sheets and joined bodies.

"I'll contact the elders first thing," you murmured, the words seeming to slip free before your mind fully grasped their implication. "About postponing Itadori Yuji's case, like you wanted."

Gojo's chest expanded minutely on a slow inhale, but otherwise his statuesque form remained comfortably inert as your words hung in the air between you. After several beats, you felt the subtle weight of his stare alighting on your upturned features.

"Yeah?" His resonant timbre emerged in a low, stripped rasp - sounding as thoroughly unraveled as the rest of his carefully compartmentalized composure. "They'll actually listen to your stance on something so high-stakes?"

You allowed your own eyes to slip shut in a protracted blink, thoughts rapidly trying to align and process how to even begin verbalizing the sheer revelations that had bloomed open tonight about your place within the jujutsu hierarchy.

"I didn't fully grasp it at first," you admitted, voice coming out slightly roughened from earlier exertions. "But now I'm starting to understand the actual leverage my positioning and reputation has afforded without me even noticing."

Rather than respond directly, the only sound came from a protracted exhalation through Gojo's nose - seeming to signal his grasp of the situation finally mapping out as well. You hoped he also understood just how monumental a gambit he'd set into motion by hammering the truth home in his uniquely heated approach tonight. Not to induce guilt, per se...but perhaps a smidgeon more humility about the harrowing stakes being juggled.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Gojo abruptly shifted his weight until you were rolled over onto your back - his solid bulk carefully blanketing yours without pressure. When your gazes met and locked, you felt that simmering connection arc back into incandescence once more between your joined frames.

"You continue underestimating yourself," he murmured in a timbre now rendered warm gravel thanks to its gravelly softness. He cupped the side of your jaw, thumb tracing the bow of your lips in a barely-there caress that spoke to so much more than surface motions. "Which is exactly why I'm never going to stop knocking some sense into that stubborn head of yours..."

With that throaty declaration, Gojo dipped his chiseled features lower until your foreheads brushed - noses scanting along one another in an electrifying gossamer graze. The intimacy of the motion seemed to steal your very breath straight from your lungs as he carried on in a husked rasp.

"So thank you. For listening to reason and actually wielding your power for once when it really mattered..."

Unable to resist the unspoken pull between your joined gravities any longer, you surged up to seal Gojo's mouth in a slow, simmering clash of satin flesh and indulgent possession. All the unvoiced sentiments and roiling tides of turbulence hovered for a suspended eternity within that singular nexus point before gradually dispersing into peaceful becalm once more.

Eventually Gojo broke away with the barest hint of a crooked smile tugging at those stupidly perfect lips, clearly satisfied with your acquiescence for the time being. The two of you simply basked in silence for a while longer, relishing in this well-earned moment of bonded lassitude.

That is, until the first stirrings of Gojo's impish irreverence inevitably bubbled back up in the form of his rich baritone laced with none-too-subtle swagger:

"So...I take it this means I get to thoroughly ruin you again before breakfast? No more insufferable teasing about you not putting out until your higher-up buddies get their precious signatures?"

You scoffed out a long-suffering sound of semi-amused exasperation, already anticipating the thick cloud of smug virility about to descend. Sure enough, Gojo's chest puffed with unrepentant satisfaction as he slung one heavy arm around your waist and lightly squeezed.

"That's what I thought. Face it kitten, that pretty pussy has officially been drafted into service under my uncompromising authority until further notice..."

He punctuated the lewd declaration by slanting his mouth over yours in a deliriously thorough deluge of hunger and virility, effectively stealing your very breath for a second rapturous cycle before exhaustion could dare creep back in.

And as your joined frames spiraled back into the delirious vortex of blissful dissipation once more, you couldn't help hazarding one last, bemused thought: somehow, you got the distinct impression Gojo would be exercising his latest "authority" over you with particularly unrestrained enthusiasm this time around.

[pedroscurls]

just the tip (one-shot)

summary: you're ready to take the next step with logan, but you're still a bit nervous. pairing: old man!logan x fem!reader content warnings: explicit smut (18+, mdni), inexperienced reader, missionary, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, logan can't control himself, implied age gap (but no mention of age), no use of y/n. word count: 3k a/n: ok, this is yet another one-shot of complete old man logan filth. it never really is just the tip, is it? 🤭 i'm just so obsessed with logan and can't figure out which version of him i want to write on most days lol. honestly, idk where this idea originated from, but here we are... i just have a fantasy of old man logan showing me the ropes ya know... anyway, hope you enjoy! 🙂‍↕️

Logan doesn’t know what he did in this life to ever deserve you. Someone so sweet, so patient, so kind, so pure. He doesn’t even know why someone like you would ever be interested in someone like him. He knows he’s no longer in his prime – his hair now a gray shade, beard overgrown with more gray than brown, crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, wrinkles around his face. 

And you… You’re obviously much younger than him – everyone is much younger than him – but your innocence and your purity makes you seem so much younger than you really are, despite being very mature for your age. You smile so sweetly at him, gaze at him with such kind eyes that he doesn’t ever feel deserving of you. 

But you had approached him first. All shy and unlike the rest of the girls in your group the night that you both met. You seemed so out of place, like maybe you had just been dragged along for the night because you were quiet, reserved, even when you had three drinks and one shot of tequila already. 

The rest of your group was loud, outfits way too revealing that everyone had eyes on them. They craved and yearned for the attention, but you were fine with being in the background. This wasn’t usually how you spent most Friday nights, but your friends had convinced you and you owed one of them a favor. 

You weren’t the prettiest in the group and you certainly never got the attention of anyone else when you were with them, but you didn’t mind. Your friends never made you feel less than you were, always the ones to reassure you and give you the confidence that you lacked. 

And that night was no different. They had given you the confidence to approach Logan who was keen on spending just a couple of hours drinking his problems and nightmares away. Alone. 

But when you sat next to him and flashed him that sweet smile paired with those kind eyes, Logan knew he wouldn’t have the strength to turn away from you. He tried to act like he wasn’t interested, tried to act like talking to you was an inconvenience, but it never deterred you. Instead, you remained seated next to him all throughout the night even well past the time the bar was closing. 

“Your friends left you,” Logan told you. 

“That usually is the plan,” you admitted. 

His head tilted. “The plan is to go home with a stranger? Sounds dangerous if you ask me, bub.”

“I don’t usually do this.” 

“Do what?” 

“Go home with a stranger.” 

“Ain’t going home with me,” Logan whispered. “I don’t do this either. Too old for this, actually.”

Logan didn’t miss the way your face fell at his words. All night, he kept asking himself why did you pick him? What was so special about him that you decided to spend the rest of your night talking to him? 

“If I did invite you back to my apartment, would you say yes?” You asked quietly, your kind eyes now filled with hope. 

“Don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. 

You didn’t push him, wanted to respect his decision and his boundaries. So instead, you grabbed a napkin off the bar counter and a sharpie before writing your name and phone number. “Call me?”

“Sure,” Logan lied, staring down at the napkin. 

Once outside the bar, you pulled out your phone. “Well, I better call a Lyft now. It was really great talking with you, Logan.” 

“Let me take you home at least,” he muttered. 

“Oh, you don’t have to.” 

“I’m a driver,” he chuckled lowly. “If you called a Lyft, there’s a high chance that it’d be me who takes you home anyway.” 

“Okay,” you smiled up at him and Logan felt his heart race even faster at the sight. 

And since then, you and Logan had developed a friendship that soon turned physical. Heavy make out sessions and lingering touches, but you hadn’t taken that extra step, hadn’t gone the full distance. 

–

“I think I’m ready,” you tell him, hands resting on his shoulders as you sit on his lap. 

“For?” Logan asks, head tilting as his strong hands rest on your upper thighs. 

“To have sex with you.” 

Logan clears his throat, can feel his manhood stir beneath his pants. He stares into your eyes, tries to search for any uncertainty but you look determined. You look like you’ve made up your mind. 

“Sweetheart,” he sighs. “You know I’m fine with what we’ve been doing. I don’t want to push you or make you feel like you need to do this for me. We’ll go at your pace.”

“I trust you,” you admit quietly. “I’m not… experienced like other women my age should be, but–”

“Inexperienced or not, I don’t care about that.” Logan lifts you off his lap and sets you on the couch instead, his hands immediately moving to cover the center of his pants. “We don’t have to–”

“I want this, Logan. I want you. All of you.” You bite your lower lip and move to settle on your knees on the couch, staring up at him. “I’m not a virgin, but I haven’t been with many men before.” 

Logan’s eyes narrow at you. “Oh, that so?” He isn’t sure why he feels jealous at your words, imagining other men who've had you in their bed. He’s had a taste of you, knows exactly what to do to get you to come and you’ve done the same to him. And yet, he hasn’t had you in a way these other men have. 

You nod at him, so innocent and pure written on your features. He can sense your nervousness, but he can also smell your arousal. It hits his senses all at once and his gaze darkens. “I just don’t want to disappoint you.” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Logan smirks. “I’ve seen the way you suck my cock,” he growls. “You ain’t gonna disappoint me.” 

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, feel the wetness begin to settle between your legs, dampening your panties at his words. You loved when he would talk dirty to you; it only excited you even more. “Y– You like that, huh?” 

Logan nods and stands up from the couch, lifting you into his arms without issue. “Of course,” he whispers, taking you to his bedroom as he walks into the room with you in his arms. “I love the fact that you like doing it too.” 

You nod in agreement. “I do love it.” 

Logan grins and sets you on his bed, watching as you prop yourself on your hands with your lower lip pulled between your teeth. And he wants so badly to respond and tell you that he loves you, but he doesn’t. Everyone that he’s ever loved was taken from him, so he doesn’t say anything. 

“I know, you’re like a crazed animal.” Logan chuckles. 

You pout up in his direction and gently reach out to tug on the waistband of his pants, pulling him to stand between your legs as your free hand moves to massage his crotch. 

“See what I mean?” He groans, hardening even further with every graze of your hand. Logan gently takes your hand from him and shakes his head, lifting you further up the bed as he climbs atop of you. “You sure about this?” 

You nod and move your hands to rest on his chest, feeling the muscle flex beneath your fingertips. “Yes,” you say almost breathlessly. “I’m just a bit nervous.” 

Logan’s gaze softens and he looks down at you. You had broken through his hard exterior, had nestled your way into his heart, and even Charles had taken notice. You make him feel young again, like not all of the world’s responsibilities are weighing heavy on his shoulders. With you, he feels free, at peace. You manage to quiet all of the voices in his head, but he’d never tell you that. 

“We’ll go at your pace,” he whispers, moving his hand down your side. 

“I’m just nervous I won’t be able to take all of you,” you admit. 

Logan chuckles and leans back on his knees to gently tug down your shorts and panties. He tosses it carelessly to the side and instantly, he smells your arousal hit his senses. He looks down at your lower half, sex glistening with your wetness. “It’ll fit,” he says lowly, hands moving up your legs. “We’ll make sure it does.” 

“Maybe just start with the tip?” you ask, grabbing the ends of your oversized t-shirt above your head. You lie back down, hair splaying on his pillows as your body is now fully exposed and on full display for him.

Logan nods, pulling off his white tank-top over his head. He stands up momentarily to push down his pants, his manhood now standing at attention and leaking at the tip. He reaches down and strokes himself once, twice, before he settles himself between your legs. 

“Gonna get you ready for me first,” Logan whispers, his large hand splaying over your abdomen as it slides down towards where you need him the most. He hovers above you, lips resting just near your ear as he slowly slides his middle finger past your folds. It slides in with ease, your slickness allowing for easy entry. Logan gently nips on your earlobe, grunting in your ear as you let out a quiet whimper at the intrusion. 

“Logan,” you moan quietly, moving a hand to rest on his large bicep, gripping it tightly. This isn’t the first time Logan’s fingered you, but the anticipation of what’s to come has you clenching around his digit unintentionally. 

“Already so wet f’me,” he whispers into your ear, slowly adding another digit into your depths. Logan ruts against the mattress, trying to find his own relief as he slowly begins to pump his fingers in and out of you. 

You turn your head and bury your face against the crook of his neck, teeth grazing against his skin. “Logan,” you whimper, gasping quietly as you feel another digit enter you. 

“That’s three already, sweetheart,” Logan growls as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you. When he feels your teeth gently bite down on his neck, he groans, thrusting his three digits inside of you as he begins to curl his fingers within your depths. “Come f’me, honey.”

“Logan, I–” you shut your eyes tightly and arch your back, your breasts pushing against his chest. Your walls tighten even further around his digits, your hips rolling upwards as you ride out your high. 

Logan smirks and pulls back slowly, looking down at you as your chest heaves up and down. He pulls his fingers from you and looks down at it, his digits glistening with your arousal. He brings it to his lips and sucks your arousal from his fingers, eyes staring into your own once your eyes open. “Ready?” 

You nod, biting your lower lip in anticipation. “Just the tip, okay?”

“Sure, sweetheart.” Logan says, leaning back on his knees as he reaches down to grasp onto the base of his manhood. He leans in closer, running his tip along the length of your sex, applying pressure to your bundle of nerves.

You look down between your legs and bite your lower lip. The sight of him holding onto the base of his length as he rubs his tip up and down the length of your sex, until his tip catches against your opening. “Logan…” you whimper, reaching out for him but he just uses his free hand to grab a hold of your wrists, pinning them above your head. 

Slowly, Logan pushes his tip into you, feeling your tight walls immediately surround him. He groans and then pulls back, running his tip once more along you. Logan’s grip around your wrists tighten, pressing them further into the mattress as he pushes his tip – and only his tip – inside of your depths. Logan looks down and slowly pushes further into you, hearing you quietly gasp as a few more inches past his tip enter you.

“Logan, wait, baby–” 

Logan growls and then suddenly slams all the way into you in one stroke. The warmth of your walls surround him, so tight and so wet as his lower half presses firmly against yours. “Fuck,” he groans, his now free hand coming up to rest on your cheek. 

You feel your toes curl at the intrusion – nothing Logan did would have ever prepared you for the size of him. You can feel every inch and vein of his length inside of you, throbbing and stretching you. It’s so much, all at once, that when he pulls back only to thrust back in all the way, it causes your eyes to flutter. 

“I said–” you moan. “Start with the tip…”

“Couldn’t help myself,” he groans, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. “You feel so good around me, sweetheart.” Logan feels your legs wrap around his waist, your ankles locking together at his lower back. 

You nod in agreement, tears stinging your eyes. Logan’s so deep and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You keep your eyes open and trained on him. He hadn’t removed his glasses, now staring at you from the top of his glasses. You try to wiggle your hands free, but Logan’s grip just tightens even further. 

“Logan, oh god,” you moan, his slow thrusts now picking up speed. He pulls out to his tip and then slams back into you, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust. His hand moves from your cheek to grip your hip, fingertips digging into the meat of your flesh. 

He knows that he probably won’t last any longer, the feeling of your tight walls gripping him, the way he’s easily sliding in and out of your depths due to how wet you are for him. It’s in moments like this where he doesn’t know why you still stick around, why you still continue to choose him. Logan releases your hands and grips your hips in both hands, pulling back to look down at you. Logan continues to thrust into you, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echo off the walls of his room. 

Your hands immediately move to grip his sheets and he can feel your walls begin to tremble once more, can feel you begin to tighten around his length. Logan groans, eyes moving along your frame, his gaze lingering at the sight of your breasts bouncing with each sharp thrust he delivers. He knows his grip around your hips will leave marks and the thought of you walking around, going about your day with marks of him suddenly makes him feel territorial, suddenly has this desire to make everyone know that you’re his. 

“Logan, I’m gonna–” 

“Yeah, baby,” he groans. “I know, come f’me.” 

And just on cue, your legs tighten even further around his waist as your walls tighten around his length. He can feel you shaking, can feel just a rush of wetness. “Logan!” 

He groans. He’d never get tired of hearing his name escape your lips at the height of pleasure. Logan’s hips stutter, feeling a tightness build in the pit of his stomach as he chases his own release. He releases your hips to rest his hands on the mattress near your head, slamming his hips into yours – once, twice, three times before he releases inside of you, his seed filling you. He should have asked first, should have thought about using a condom, but when he pulls out of you and watches his seed trickle out of you, the guilt disappears immediately. 

You stare up at him and then follow his gaze down between your legs, watching his spend come out of you and drop down onto his mattress, staining his sheets. “You’ll have to wash these now,” you tease, your voice almost breathless. 

“Worth it,” he whispers, leaning down and gently pecking your lips. 

“Was that– Was I okay?” you ask quietly, your hands slowly moving to his hair. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Logan says softly. “We’re gonna be doing more of that.”

 An excitement flickers in your eyes and you grin, leaning up on your elbows to gently capture his lips with your own. “And just so we’re clear… I don’t mind that you came inside.” 

Logan pulls back and looks down at you. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I like knowing that I can still feel you.” 

Logan smirks and he can feel himself slowly begin to get hard again. His regenerative powers aren’t all that quick anymore, so he’s surprised that his manhood is stirring awake, yearning for you yet again. 

“Next time we do this,” you begin quietly. “Can I ride you?” 

Logan groans as he moves his hips, his tip slowly brushing against you. He slowly lies on his back and reaches down to stroke himself, eyes running across your frame. “Come on, then.” 

“Wait,” you bite your lower lip. “You’re– How?” 

“You make it easy,” he winks, reaching out to gently tap your hip. “Take what you need, sweetheart.”

You move to straddle his hips and Logan looks down to see his release trickle out of you, dripping onto the hair at his base. He stares up at you, feeling you slide down his length and he watches you tilt your head back, a moan escaping your lips. Logan bites his lower lip, hands moving to your hips as he gazes up at you. Logan knows that you’re way out of his league, that you deserve to be with someone closer to your age, but fuck – he’s going to keep you for as long as you allow. 

Because Logan knows that he’s so deep in his feelings for you that he won’t ever choose to let you go. 

And now, as you’re slowly rocking your hips, he’s going to keep this image in his mind until the day he dies. 

His girl. His.

[fawnnlvr]

hear me out... spencer reid x fluttershy!reader.

i cannot lie, i have never watched mlp a day in my life but i have been seeing all these clips of her on tiktok either being the sweetest, most shyest, cutie pie in the world... or loosing her damn mind and i am loving it. also my mlp obsessed friend compared me to fluttershy and i love that because i love pink so i searched who fluttershy was and i think she is telling me i am a bit dramatic. (wait im also asian too who is about to due her hair light pink... is my friend trying to say something lol?!)

okay so you join the bau and you are timid and quiet but girly pop specializes in field work and communications so you get accepted into the bau. you can barely meet anyone in the eye and often stay close to yourself but since you and spencer are closer in age, spencer felt the sort of need to bring you out of your shell. since spencer is a professional yapper, you grew a bit comfortable as you simply listen to his rants. spencer also encourages you to share your ideas and reinforces the notion that your ideas and ways of thinking are valuable.

then the iconic crashouts. you grew comfortable with the team but are your same still shy and quiet self, especially when you are forced to meet new people for a case. hotch hopelessly assigns you more field work to talk to the families since people tend to open up more to an unsuspecting and non-threatening presence such as yourself. but when someone is shy, they csn be taken advantage of and being the sort of butt of the stick of anger.

hotch and the team defend you when those stuff happen but then here comes the crashouts. bad day on top of bad day and you simply just HAVE to loose your mind. incompetent police force who call for help yet don't want to accept it, media coverage who only propel more murders, and witnesses who don't want to cooperate with the fbi even though you guys are trying your hardest.

the crashout finally occurs when you go off on a mean police officer who was making fun of spencer for being such a nerd and that police offer has been making sly comments the entire time yall were there. "OFFICER! (APPLEJACK!). can you please listen to me!" all eyes on you and spencer shut his mouth as well. that was your first little crashout which resulted in hotch pulling you aside but during your time with the team, you had many more to come, especially when people want to step on you and twst your patience.

due to unresolved anger that transpired from pent up rage, hotch often tells you to let out your emotions more so they won't burst– he also assigned you more field work with morgan and it turns out, you really do specialize in that field as tackling bad guys became your favorite way to let out anger from being such an angel and sweetheart all the time. spencer and the others quickly learned never to cross you. (ew i feel so cringe writing this but i love fluttershy and i love supporting my unsuspecting baddies. sorry guys)

but like imagine, spencer falls in love with your kindness and sweetness and timidness. also the fact that you respect his boundaries and you listen to him. (lord i am so freaking lonely. what am i doing with my life) anyways. :P

i will write smth about this. like a proper series or oneshot so who's in (σ≧▽≦)σ.

[misshoneyimhome]

500 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL

“So you think my legs are just going to magically spread open for you?" I Andrei Svechnikov

Summary; Andrei is keen on asking you out, but considering the typical traits of famous hockey players, you've made a mental note never to be swept off your feet by any of them.

Tropes & warnings; No warnings; reader's working for the Carolina Hurricanes; sort of friends-to-lovers; just fluff really

Other notes; Alrighty babes, so next up for the 500 followers celebration we've got none other than #37 Andrei S. 💓 Truth be told, I wanted to do something like an enemies-to-lovers thing, but I just couldn't with this sweetheart 😉 Still, I hope you like it

Word count; 1.9K

Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50 @findapenny@justwanderingbutneverlost @cixrosie

➼｡ﾟ

Another night. Another home game. Another round of work.

You had been working with the Carolina Hurricanes for a few years, and even though you were just an assistant helping with game preparations and clean-up, you felt like nothing less than a part of the hockey family. The players were always friendly, treating you like one of their own, and you simply enjoyed the camaraderie, the playful teasing, and the way they appreciated your hard work.

Some players had even grown closer to you than others, and one in particular stood out: Andrei Svechnikov. It wasn't just his skills on the ice but also how he seemed genuinely interested in you.

From the moment Andrei had seen your sweet smile, he’d been captivated. He admired how you handled your tasks with efficiency and grace, always ready with a kind word or a quick joke. And over time, his crush only grew stronger, yet he didn’t know how to make a move. So he just watched you from the corner of his eye, noticing all the little things: the way you bit your lip when you were focused, the way you laughed with your whole body, and the way your eyes sparkled when you were amused. All these small details only intensified his feelings.

And while not entirely knowing how to handle his own feelings, he, like many young guys on the team, resorted to occasional flirting, trying to get your attention without coming on too strong. He’d make sure to catch your eye during practice, offering a wink or a smile, and he’d find excuses to talk to you, asking for your help with something trivial just to hear your voice. Sometimes, he’d even leave small gifts in your work area – a protein bar, a coffee, a note with a silly drawing – always signed with a simple "A."

You, however, weren’t easily impressed. You knew the reputation hockey players had and had no intention of becoming another story in their dating history. You’d heard the tales of their exploits and the endless parade of girls vying for their attention, and you simply didn’t need to be another notch on anyone’s bedpost, least of all a professional athlete’s. Besides, you liked your job and didn’t want to complicate things with a messy romance.

Yet, despite your resolve, there was something about Andrei that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he seemed genuinely kind and respectful, never pushing boundaries. Or perhaps it was how he listened when you talked, giving you his full attention as if you were the only person in the room. There were even moments when you caught yourself watching him, appreciating the way he moved, the determination in his eyes, the easy grace with which he handled himself both on and off the ice.

But  sill, you kept your guard up, distancing yourself with playful banter and cheeky remarks. Whenever he tried to flirt, you’d respond with a teasing comment, deflecting his advances with a laugh, as it was just easier that way, safer. You didn’t want to risk getting hurt, and you certainly didn’t want to become just another girl on his life.

Andrei, on the other hand, was determined to show you he wasn’t like the rest. He was so much more, and his feelings for you meant something to him. He respected your boundaries, never pushing too hard, and always making sure you were comfortable. His patience was unwavering, and his interest in you was steadfast, so he wanted to prove that he was different and that he cared for you in a way that went beyond superficial attraction.

And the challenge only made him more determined, as he found himself thinking about you more and more. How could he show you that he was serious, that he was genuinely interested in who you were, not just what you looked like? It was a question that kept him up at night, but one he was determined to answer. So, he continued his quiet pursuit, hoping that one day, you’d see him for who he truly was.

However, your defence mechanism didn’t make it easier for him. Your playful banter and cheeky remarks were a strategy that allowed you to maintain a comfortable distance. So when Andrei commented your work, it only made it more difficult for him to get past your walls. Every time he approached you with a compliment, you’d respond with a teasing, “Careful, Svechnikov, flattery may help with ladies out there, but in here, it will get you nowhere.” Even if he simply asked about your day, you’d throw in a cheeky, “Why, planning to steal my job?”

It wasn’t easy for Andrei to make a proper move on you, but as time went on, he kept his hopes high. He even practised a few English phrases that might help when the day finally came for him to ask you out.

And fortunately, that day wasn’t too far away.

_

One evening, as you were packing up equipment after a game, Andrei lingered nearby, as he’d often done before. The locker room was mostly empty, with the other players having already left or showered, and that’s when he gathered the courage to approach you, his usual confidence mingling with a hint of nervousness.

"Hey, need any help with that?" he offered, his accent colouring his words charmingly.

You looked up, slightly surprised that he hadn’t left like everyone else. "Oh, Andrei, you don’t have to do that. I’m almost done anyway." You flashed him a soft smile.

He couldn’t help but smile in return, leaning against the doorway. "I don’t mind. Besides, I wanted to talk to you."

And that made you raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. "Oh? What about?"

Andrei hesitated for a moment before gently stepping closer to you, leaving only about a metre and a half between you. "I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime. Just us. Maybe dinner?"

You chuckled, shaking your head slightly. "Why?"

It wasn’t an immediate no, he thought to himself, though he felt a slight disappointment when you questioned his intentions.

"So we could spend some time alone together," he emphasised, trying to flash a confident smirk, hiding any hints of nervousness.

However, that only made you think one thing.

"What... is this a bet or something? You ask me out on a date, and you think my legs are just going to magically spread open for you?" You grinned slightly, convinced that the other boys had set him up to it or something.

Andrei's face immediately turned bright red, clearly taken aback by your bluntness. "No, no! That’s not what I meant at all. I just... I really like you y/n, and I want to get to know you better. I’m not like what people say about hockey players. I promise."

You studied his face for a moment, trying to see any hints of falseness or sincerity in his eyes. And so, for a moment, you let your guard down, sensing he might actually be different. "Hmm… Alright, Andrei. One dinner. But if you try anything, you’ll be back to carrying your own gear. Got it?"

He couldn’t help but smile, a sense of relief washing over him. "Got it. I’ll be on my best behaviour."

And as you finished packing up, Andrei helped, and the two of you exchanged playful banter. Maybe, just maybe, he was worth giving a chance.

---

The next day, you found yourself thinking about the upcoming dinner more than you’d like to admit. You replayed the conversation in your mind: the way his eyes lit up when you agreed, the genuine relief in his smile. And it was enough to make you wonder if perhaps you had been too quick to judge him.

And when the evening finally arrived, Andrei gallantly picked you up, looking more nervous than you had ever seen him.

“Wow, you look… krasivaya…” he muttered under his breath as his English failed him.

“Thanks,” you smiled softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as you felt your cheeks blush slightly at his compliment. “You look quite good yourself.”

Standing there in the outfit you’d chosen for the night, it seemed that everything was suddenly changing, feeling more soft and romantic compared to the friendly banter you’d been playing at for months, if not years. Similarly, Andrei had chosen to dress up, trading his usual team gear for a smart, casual outfit that suited him well. 

And aware of your fondness for casual dinners, the restaurant he had chosen was a cosy Italian place, far from the glitzy spots the players usually frequented. It was intimate, with soft lighting and a warm atmosphere that quickly put you both at ease.

Throughout the evening, you found yourself enjoying his company more than you expected. The conversation flowed easily, and you discovered sides of Andrei you hadn’t seen before. And as the night went on, you realised that maybe, just maybe, you had been too quick to judge. Andrei was different from the image you had of a typical hockey player, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope that this could actually be the start of something special.

Throughout dinner, he was nothing but attentive, asking questions and genuinely listening to your answers. He shared stories from his childhood in Russia, his journey to the NHL, and the challenges he faced along the way. In turn, you found yourself opening up more than you expected, sharing your own dreams and fears. 

So when the evening slowly drew to a close, Andrei naturally walked you back to your place. And as often happens in situations like this, there was a moment of hesitation at your door, both of you lingering, not quite ready to say goodbye.

“I had a really good time tonight,” you admitted, surprising yourself with the honesty in your voice. Your eyes were locked on his, a new form of intimacy connecting you both as you’d enjoyed the evening more than you’d expected, just the two of you and away from hockey.

“So did I,” Andrei replied, his eyes softening as he looked at you. He couldn’t help but feel the intensity of the pull he felt towards you, yet he also reminded himself to be patient and, as he’d promised, be on his best behaviour. So, he restrained himself, settling to only imagine what it’d feel like having your lips against his. Instead, he took a deep breath before continuing, “I meant what I said, you know. I like you and want to get to know you better. I’m not like what people say about hockey players—at least, I try not to be.”

You couldn’t suppress a timid smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. “I’m starting to believe that.”

It was the truth. The evening with Andrei had been nothing short of amazing, and the more you got to know him, the more you started to trust his intentions. And just like that, as if drawn by a magnetic pull, you slowly and very gently leaned in towards him, closing the small gap between you as you let your lips delicately touch his.

It was brief, almost innocent, as you shared this sweet, intimate moment. And as you then slowly pulled back, you couldn’t help but bite your lip, mentally hoping that next time, he wouldn’t be on his best behaviour.

[smuthospital]

⭐️Yandere Gojo x reader⭐️

Premise: You're so lonely, and your boyfriend isn't paying any attention to you, so you download an app to make friends. You meet the wrong guy (Gojo), and bad things happen.

Content warning: NON CON, Cheating, gn reader

MINORS DNI

"I'm busy right now and you know that. I told you not to call me!" The phone beeps and the call ends, leaving you alone in deafening silence. Your boyfriend has always been rough around the edges, but you love him despite his flaws. He has his moments that remind you why you like him so much. Lately, he's been busy with all sorts of things. Work, family, his hobbies. You live together, but he's always out. He doesn't even return at night sometimes. You understand he needs his alone time, but it's been so long since you've seen him. You called to ask if you could visit him at work and give him a little surprise. You baked him chocolate chip cookies! They're delicious and made with love. Tears prick your eyes as you toss your phone to the side. You're so lonely. You've never had many friends, just your boyfriend. Too many people just make you tired.

You pick up your phone and almost call him again out of reflex. You just wish you had someone to talk to again. You saw an advertisement for a popular friend making app awhile ago. You decide to download it because you don't have much to lose. search it up. You write a few things about yourself, add your favorite song as well as a few pictures of yourself. You cross your fingers, hoping not to match any creeps. You swipe right on a lot of girls aswell as guys. You stated in your bio that you're in a commited relationship to ward off any horny guys. Girls don't reply to you, much to your disappointment. You end up getting quite a lot of messages from flirty guys. The relationship warning seemed to have no affect at all.

Toji: How much for a pair of pantys?

Sukuna: (Sent a photo) *Blocked*

Todo: I know it grips. Please lemme hit

25 new messages!

Geez. It's only been an hour. These guys are like hungry raccoons and you feel like a can of cat food. You scroll through and see one that looks relatively innocent

Gojo: Hey :)

You: Hello!

Gojo: What's up? I saw that you have a cat! They're so cute! Also, you're gorgeous

You: Thank you! That's my lil baby right there

You and him quickly get along. Still no word from your boyfriend, you sigh, defeated. The cookies can wait. You tell him about your boyfriend and how you never see him that much anymore. Be seems to take interest in this and becomes quite upset that you're not treated with the love you deserve. You friendship goes on for a few days. He occasionally trys to flirt with you, but you quickly shut it down each time, politely asking him to respect your boundaries. His nickname for you is gorgeous and although it makes you a bit uncomfortable, it feels too good to hear for you to ask him to stop. He's your only friend at the moment so you really don't want to make him go away.

You: Still no reply from my boyfriend. I hope he's okay.

Gojo: What the fuck. If I had a girl like you, I'd never leave her alone. He's probably cheating

You: What? He'd never. He's not like that!

Gojo: Trust me, I'm a guy, I know. Just look at the way he treats you. You're such a sweet and polite doll and he's making you feel this way, neglecting you. He makes you feel like shit. This is abuse😡

You: Oh it's really not like that, he's really sweet!

Gojo: There you go again...I can treat you better. Just give me one chance. Nobody has to know. You can leave this abusive relationship.

You: We talked about this, I'm have a boyfriend and I love him. Don't say stuff like that, please

Gojo: I'm just sayin

You: Thank you tho, it's sweet that you care. Do you like cookies? I was saving these for my boyfriend, but he's too busy to receive them. They'll go to waste if they're not eaten

Gojo: YES. SEND THE COOKIES. You wanna come over tomorrow? I know you're free. Come to my place, we can watch movies and cuddle with cookies!

You: What!? I can't go over to a guy's house! That's weird! And cuddle!?

Gojo: Nono it's not. We're just friends. And your boyfriend doesn't have to know. It's not a big deal. I have some old wine we can drink. Pretty please

You: I don't drink tho. I'm not sure. I haven't known you for too long. What if you try to take my kidneys! :0

Gojo: Common..would I do that!?? Ridiculous. Don't over think it. Let's watch a scary movie. It'll be real scary. I can't watch it alone! Pleeeeaaase!!!

You: ...Ok...as long as its scary. I wouldn't want you to get too scared

You've never seen Gojo in person, but you're sort of desperate to keep him around as a friend. In his photos, his eyes are covered. You don't question why. You step off the bus at the address he texted you, cookie basket in hand. It's a tall, expensive looking condo. You walk into the nice building and spot him leaning against a wall you in the lobby. He's not what you expected at all. You've seen a pictures of him before, but he didn't look so large and intimidating. He's stupid tall and He practically towers over your frame. He crouches slightly and wraps his arms around you in a tight hug, surprising you with the sudden contact.

"Hey, (y/n)! It's nice to see you in person! You're so much more sexy up close." His voice as soft satin sheets and deep and melodic as a cat purring. He eyes you up and down, his eyes half lidded. He's snapped out of his trance when you stutter a confused thank you. You're gonna brush that flirt off as nothing. "Common, let's go." He takes your soft, smaller hand in his ridiculously big hand and leads you to a fancy elevator and sticks a key into a key hole, confusing you. Since when do elevators do that? "The 21sr floor is mine." The whole floor is his? Is he loaded?

The whole time, you're blushing and stuttering, overly shy and nervous. 'Play it cool,(y/n)!' Your mind is over heating and he thinks it's absolutely adorable. When you get to his floor, he closes the door and silently locks it behind him. He plops on the couch, spreads his long legs out and patts the spot next to him. "Common! Take a seat!" You gingerly take a seat a little too far for his liking so he loops an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. You jump a bit. "Oh don't be shy! I don't bite." The last part of his sentence stood out to you a bit, but you're not sure why.

He offers you a drink and you accept. He hands you a cup of soda. "The conjuring is a classic. I actually haven't seen it before so I thought we could watch it." With that, he presses play and the movie starts. You're both eating the cookies you made. "These are so fucking good. You made these?" He whispers and you nod. Your blushing cheeks are so cute. He's already eaten three. It's heartwarming. Halfway into the movie, he shuffles in his seat and surprises you by picking you up and placing you on his lap with ease. "Hey! What are you doing!?" You try to slide off, but he holds you in place. "Hey hey calm down, I'm not doing anything!" You stop thrashing, but don't stop struggling. "Oh yeah!? Let me off, you said no funny buissness!" You feel slightly tired for some reason. "I'm only trying to cuddle you better! If not for me, then for you. I bet you miss being cuddled. I know you already have a boyfriend so don't worry, there's nothing weird about it!" With that, you stop struggling, too worn out to argue. "...Mm ok." Near the end of the movie, he shifts slightly under you. "Gojo?" No response. You feel somthing hard under your ass. He starts to shift you back and fourth a bit. "Huh? Gojo?" He just keeps shifting you, holding your hips tightly. "Ow! You're squeezing me too tight. What are you doin-"

One of his hands snake up to your chest and cup your breast. The motion freezes you in place.

"I'm better than your stupid boyfriend. He's so ungreatful. I bet you also miss getting fucked, don't you?" It was more of a statement rather than a question.I can make you feel good, better than he ever did. God, you're so hot. This guy is such a loser for passing you up. I'd never be like him. I've been wanting for this since I first saw you. I know you think I'm attractive too. I see the way you eye me"

The hand holding down your hip moves between your thighs to cup your clit. You heart sinks into your stomach as the weight of the situation falls upon you. You have never felt more stupid in your entire life. Just as you suck in a breath to scream, the hand on your breast shoots up to cover your mouth, muffling any sound. You try to slsp his hands off, but your arms are a little weaker than before. All you could do was patt his arms and wiggle around, which he completely ignores.

"Ah ah-be good. I couldn't stop thinking of you. I've only known you for a bit, but that's enough for me." He grinds his clothed cock against your ass and groans in pleasure.

After a few minutes, he stands up with you in his arms and walks with you to his bedroom. He tosses you on his bed and immediately gets on top, holding you down with his hips as he removs his shirt. He looks down at your horrified face and licks his lips. He wastes no time in literally ripping your shirt and bra off. You hear the tear as it leaves you. With one hand, he roughly palms your chest and tweaks a nipple. He unzips his dark purple pants with his other hand, his swollen cock practically flying out and slamming down above your belly button. You gasp at the sight of it, the weight alone is hefty. Much like his entire self, it's big and scary.

Your eyes fill with tears and you do the only think you could. Your body can't possibly struggle and even if you could, he could easily over power you. "Please-please don't hurt me. Please don't do this to me!" He looks at you with sympathy in his eyes. "Shh it's ok. I'd never hurt you. I'm not like your stupid boyfriend. I'm gonna make you feel good. Then you'll be mine..I see that drug I have you fully kicked in." You pail at his words. It's over. You're not getting out of this one. You're going to be raped by this psychopath. You think of your poor boyfriend. You wish he could burst through the door and save you. His name bubbles from your mouth pathetically.

"Speaking of him." Gojo slides your phone out of your pocket and clicks around. First, he disables your location, then he raises your phone and takes a photo of you. He quickly sends it to himself and your boyfriend.

You: We're having a good time. Bet you're jealous

A few minutes of groping later, your boyfriend responds.

❤️Geto❤️: Absolutely not. You're both disgusting. I fucking knew you were whoring yourself. You got a big head because you think you're pretty. I was wondering why you were trying to look nice recently.

❤️Geto❤️: You're like a bitch in heat. You're just an easy, worthless whore. Glad I didn't waste too much on you.

❤️Geto❤️: Go fuck yourself. Or better yet, have some guy do it for free. Get aids and die, bitch. You have a day to pick up all your shit before I toss it.

(You've been blocked by this number)

Gojo turns the screen towards you and your eyes tear up as you read the texts. You have no idea how your boyfriend could have possibly interpreted your situation as consentual. It could be that you're not tied up and gagged, nor unconscious. As he said, he expected this from you. Either way, he obviously doesn't love you anymore. Tears pour down your cheeks. How could he? After all this time? To do this to you. You'd never cheat! Your heart shatters in your chest, suddenly feeling hollow.

Gojo chuckles and sets the phone to the side. He wipes your tears away with his thumb. "See? What did I tell you? He was never the one for you. I'd never say that to you, sweety. I'd never treat you like that. I just exposed him for what he is; a scum bag." He tugs your pants down and off your legs with ease, despite your light kicking. A large grin on his face as he does so

"You ready?" He positions his cock at your dry entrance and laughs. "Because I am." He shoves himself in, but only makes it three inches in before he hits a barrier and you gasp in pain and start thrashing your body. "P-please take it out. It-it hurts!" He's genuinely shocked. "Y-you're a virgin? Didn't you say you have a boyfriend?"

You wiggle a bit, trying to elevate some pain yourself before answering him.

"We never...you..know.." Your face burns with shame. His cock only seems to swell with more blood at the news.

He bursts out laughing. "This makes so much sense now! No wonder why you looked elsewhere to fulfill your needs. He doesn't want to fuck. Is he gay?Does his dick even work? Maybe he's not cheating. He didn't even fuck you once. I could tell how bad you wanted it, but your limp dick boyfriend wouldn't give you any. I'm glad to be the one to have your first time."

Your bloodshot eyes drift to the side. You don't want to admit that he was right. Every time you would try to start something with your boyfriend, he'd push you away. Your boyfriend really didn't have much of a labido, but you didn't look for friends to have sex with other men.

"I know it hurts, but you can take it. It'll go away. Just hold still...or struggle. I like a challenge." His words are evil, but his smile is so charming. He's like the devil. He pulls his cock out and thrusts in again, deeper than before, breaking your hymen and forcing the air to leave your body. He then pulls out and slams into you again, bottoming out. His cock is so big, you swear you could feel it in your stomach. You look down, eyes blown wide as you see an imprint of his cock in your lower abdomen. He lets out a loud moan and throws his head back. "You're so fucking tight." You put your hands on his chest, hoping that would be enough to keep him still. Wishful thinking. He just takes your smaller wrists in his large hands and leans over you, lodging himself deeper than he was before, cock assaulting your cervix, making your body jolt. You accidentally let out a pained cry that could be mistaken as a moan.

Gojo smiles, perfect white teeth on display "Oh, you like that?" He slams into that spot again and again, making your eyes roll into the back of your head, and your tongue rolls out of your mouth. Lewd sounds spill from your mouth with the occasional "No." "Please." and "Stop." Your sobbing dies down, not having any more tears to cry. You feel a tightening in your lower belly and curl your toes. "Nng G-Gojo!"

"Fuck yeah, say my name!" He pounds into your poor pussy with astonishing speed and strength. "Say you'll be my girlfriend. I can take care of you, I can love you. You'll never feel alone again."

Your face flushes red at his words. Those words are all you need to tip over the edge. You aren't sure if he meant it or not, but just the thought of being so loved takes you to cloud nine. A warm feeling washes over you and you cry out in pleasure. You want what he promised more than anything in the world. With your last braincell, you weigh your options. Nobody loves you, you have nowhere to go, no one to turn to and Your boyfriend kicked you out. "I...I'll be with you." What choice did you have? Be homeless?

The bashful look you give him sends shivers down his spine. He leanes down and gives you a tender kiss on the lips which you very hesitantly return, much to his enjoyment. His hot breath tickles your face as his hips hammer into you, forcing cute music from your mouth for him. Your cunt tightening impossibly around his thick mass. His pace becoming sloppy and before you could ask him to pull out, he shoves himself deep within you one last time. With a lewd moan he fills your tummy up with his seed. Your eyes cross at the warm, pleasurable sensation. The feeling of being filled up like a puff pastry, his hot creamy cum temporarly stupifying you. Your tummy now bloated by the sheer volume. He takes another picture.

He wasn't looking for a girlfriend, but how could he possibly deny himself such a sweet little thing. A sweet, doting, cookie baking girlfriend as cute as you comes as often as a shooting star. You'd do anything for the man you loved. Too wifey to pass up. Finders keepers. He's going to make sure that no one ever does to you what he just did to you. You're his now.

He rolls the two of you so he's spooning your back, your ass pressed against him, his cock still firmy lodged into your weeping cunt. He pulls the blanket up and the two of you fall asleep together. You pretty much pass out from the exhaustion.

The next morning, he drives you to your now x boyfriends appartment to collect your things. You and Gojo take the elevator to the apartment. He stays out of sight, but stays where he can hear you. You knock on the door and your Geto opens up. The smell of alcohol hits you and you gag. "Well if it isn't the slut. Get your shit."

He turns his back and begins to walk away, but you grab his arm and gently tug him toward you. "Please listen to me...he raped me...I didn't want to.. do any-" You were cut off by him shoving you to the ground roughly, your head knocking against the wall on your way down. You grunt in pain. "Don't you use that shit on me!" He shouts.

Tears fill your eyes as you scramble to collect your things and run out. Gojo is at the front door now, having heard the commotion. He steps in the apartment and grabs your shoulders.

"What's wrong? Did he touch you?"

"...I..hit my head." Your tiny voice is unconvincing.

"Take your things to the car. I'm just gonna have a quick chat with him." He pays your butt and you walk off with your things. Geto has been watching the interaction with clenched fists.

"You're the fuck that stole my girl. You can fucking have her and pass her around to whoever the fuck you want. For your information, that cunt tried to tell me you raped her, using you as her scape goat." Gojo can just barley understand the drunken shouting of your x boyfriend. Gojo smiles, the smugest of grins crossing his face.

"...That's because I did"

Geto froze in place, not believing his ears. His girlfriend..was actually just raped? And not only did he do absolutely nothing, but he kicked her out and hurt her?

"...What?" It wasn't really a question.

"Finders keepers. I have no clue why you're so upset. You didn't love her. She was so lonely when I found her. I wanted her so I took her. Make no mistake, she said no. Cried for you. You should feel like shit. Not believing your own sweet little girlfriend and then laying your hand on her in her time of need. I'm not even going to beat you for that, you'd treat yourself like a victim. Better luck next time though. Try satisfying your bitch before they're stolen. Thanks for the girlfriend." Gojo says, walking back to the car, Geto still too frozen in shock to react. He falls to his knees, clinching his head. Gojo meets you in the car, your things already in the back. He leans over to your side and gives you a passionate kiss on the lips, tongue diving into your mouth. Your face burns brightly and you cant help but kiss him back. You disconnect, a string of saliva connecting you to him. "So what do you want to eat, baby?"

The car drives off and you don't feel so bad about the situation anymore.

Fun fact: I got the idea to make this when I was lonely and my boyfriend (now x) wasn't paying attention to me so I downloaded an app to make friends and a guy I thought was my friend started being really pushy and I found out men are stupid dogs.

[causeilikelix]

new to the blog but abt those felix throughts 😍😍 felix whos so tired of the members calling him innocent and babying him. yea its nice from time to time but hes a grown man ! so he goes 100% hard dom on you just so your moans can be heard in the dorm 🫣 also he would totally cover you in bite marks and hickeys just so he can get his point across to his group 💕

now THAT's what I'm taking about skhsfdlkfjsdlkfj

Like we all know that Felix is a lil guy with too much love in his body but soft =/= sub. He's a man very comfortable in his identity and the power he holds over you. Felix just wants to make his baby feel good but he also wants to prove a point...

Smut and warnings below the cut. MINORS DNI!!!!!!

↳  Words - 2.7k (and some change)

↳Warnings: SMUT duh, Soft!Dom Felix (I'm still getting used to writing Hard!Dom anyone) and a tough of Hard!Dom Lix at the end, afab!reader, relatively vanilla, fingering (f receiving), P in V, unprotected sex (don't), multiple orgasms, exhibitionism?, hickeys

You loved his innocent vibe!  You really did!  His angelic smile and his sweet words and actions is what drew you to him in the first place.  He was nothing but romantic and sweet all the time.  The best communicator, respectful of your boundaries, always treated you like a princess.  Honestly everyone needs their own personal Felix!!

But he’s tired.  He can’t help it.  All of his friends baby him so much!  Like Changbin said himself, Felix is happiness personified!  But enough is enough.  His sweet exterior is giving him a reputation he doesn’t want.  When his friends talk about their sex lives, they always make these jokes that Felix must be a little pillow prince who takes what he’s given and lets his partner take the lead.  In fact, his friends bet, he’s as innocent as can be and maybe you and him don’t even have sex at all!

He’s still grumbly about it when you get to the dorm one night, just to spend a little time together in between schedules.  He greets you with his normal warm hug and a sweet peck but you can sense something is off.  

Initially you stay in the living room to continue watching the movie the other guys are watching.  It’s some action film you couldn’t give two shits about.  Your legs are swung over Felix’s lap and he’s gently massaging your calves and thighs while he stares at the screen.  You can hear a few of the other guys snickering but you can’t make out what they’re saying.  When you glance at Felix, his eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is set.  Honestly it’s kind of hot and makes heat pool between your legs.  Let’s be honest though…. It’s Felix.  Almost everything he does can get you wet.

The boys laugh again and you note that it’s during a not particularly funny part of the movie.  This is where Felix breaks.  He pushes your legs off him and grabs your hand.

“Come on, babe, this isn’t very interesting.  Let’s go to my room.”  Felix whispered to you, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

Your body immediately went hot and you had a feeling you knew what was on his mind.  He dragged you to his room and tossed the door shut behind him. 

His hands were cupping your face and pulling you into a deep kiss before the latch had fully closed.  You could simply melt into his kisses.  They always were deep and full of every ounce of love in his body.  Tonight, however, his lips were urgent and demanding. 

“I need you baby, please.”  He whispered against your mouth.  The need to show his friends that he wasn’t a little boy anymore coursed through him, but he would stop if you gave the word.

“Lix, I need you too.”  You managed out between kisses, “But what about the guys?  They’re right outside and-”

“Remember what we talked about last month?”  Felix kissed down your neck and pushed you back towards the bed. 

How could you forget?  Most of the time you and Felix had sex it was very mutual.  You didn’t do a whole lot of powerplay.  Maybe a sprinkling here and there when the situation was right, but Felix loved it when sex was a mutual expression of love.  A few weeks ago he asked you about exploring power play a little more and maybe experimenting with some kinks.  One of them was being listened to.  Not necessarily the real thing, but pretending like someone could walk in on you at any moment. 

With the boys right down the hall, that one held more risk than normal. 

“You wanna try it?”  You asked.  The back of your knees caught on the edge of the bed and you sat down.  Felix weaved his fingers through your hair and bent down to kiss you.  You parted your knees instinctively and Felix settled between them. 

With him above you like this, you felt small under him.  The thrill it gave you made your heart speed up.  You gripped his slim waist to pull him closer. 

“I want them to hear you while I fuck you dumb,” Felix’s voice dropped and octave.  It sent a shiver down your spine.  You always loved it when he got like this.  When he got too horny, his voice dropped and it made you wet in an instant.

Felix’s hands made quick work of your clothes.  He wasted no time in getting you naked, leaving your top and jeans in a pile on the floor.  Even though you hadn’t expected to have sex on this visit, you still wore one of your cuter underwear sets.   Baby pink with a little bit of lace at the top of the cups of the bra and the top of the panties, made even more innocent by a tiny rose in the center of both pieces. 

Felix swallowed thickly at the sight.  

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”  Felix whispered.  He maneuvered you onto the bed and hovered over you.  You clawed at his shirt, urging him to take it off.  He smirked and tugged it off.  “Just say the word and I’ll stop, okay?  Until then you're going to let me do whatever I want with you, right baby?”

“Yes, baby.”  You nodded in understanding.

You groaned at the sight of his chiseled chest.  Those gorgeous, defined ab muscles and his perfect little pink nipples made your mouth water.  Everything about him was beautiful from his head to his toes.  Not to mention his cock.  Speaking of, you wanted to see it immediately.  You tried to reach for his pants but he grabbed your wrists and shoved you back against the bed. 

“No touching without permission, got it baby?”  He cooed, “I wouldn’t want to have to punish you.  I bet you’re already wet, aren’t you?  It doesn’t take much to get my baby worked up.”

Felix slipped his hand into your underwear and seemed unfazed by the amount of slick in your panties.  To be honest, you thought that there should have been more.  The sudden show of power had your cunt gushing and clenching around nothing and you needed him inside you, um, yesterday. 

“Felix, please!”  You cried, pushing your hips up into his hand.  His digits rubbed small, slow circles on your clit.  Just enough to feel good but not enough to actually get anywhere. 

“What do you want, baby?  Good girls use their words.”  Felix chided, his fingers slipping lower to tap against your entrance but not going in. 

“I want you to touch me!  Please!”  You kept your voice quiet so that no one outside the door could hear you, but that wasn’t what Felix wanted. 

“You want me to touch you?  Alright, baby, I’m feeling nice today.”  Felix kept his eyes on your face as he slipped two of his fingers into your tight hole with basically no resistance.  He watched as your face screwed up in pleasure and your lips parted in a silent moan.  “Come on you can do better than that.”

With that, Felix pumped his fingers into you.  Quick thrusts wouldn’t get him where he wanted to go so he opted for long, deep strokes that pressed the pads of his fingers onto that special spot he’d found a few weeks ago.  The ball of his hand pressed deliciously against your clit with every thrust.  You swallowed a moan and turned your head to press your face into your arm to help silence yourself. 

At this, Felix threw three quick thrusts of his fingers into you.

“Uh uh,” he chided, “I want to hear those beautiful noises of yours, baby.  Let me know how good I’m making you feel, yeah?”

He pressed a few more deep and precise thrusts into you and this time you complied with a long, drawn out moan.  Felix grinned.  He continued like this for a few minutes, pressing his fingers in as deep as possible.  He resorted to pressing his hand against your clit and his fingers massaging that spot within you. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight.  You’re drenching my fingers already.  I can’t wait until you cream my cock, baby.  Keep moaning, just like that.”

He has you clenching and cumming on his fingers in seconds.  It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he gets your thighs shaking.  You’re moaning so loudly that you’re certain that the others can hear you.  Felix smiles through the whole thing.  His eyes are dark as he watches you cum just from his fingers. 

“Good girl, there it is.  Let’s see if you can take my cock, yeah?”

“Please.”  You moan loudly. 

Felix pulls his fingers out of you and you whine at the loss.  He pulls your panties down your legs and tosses them somewhere in the room.  Next he strips from the rest of his clothes and his cock slaps against his stomach.  Precum pearled at his tip and your mouth watered.  You longed to take him in your mouth and suck him until he came but he had other plans.

“Hands and knees.  Now.”  Felix demands.  He pumps his cock a few times to make sure he’s hard enough.  How could he not be, though, as he watches you climb onto your hands and knees and present your ass and your glistening hole to him.  He leans over you and brushes his cock along your swollen folds.  “Good girl.  God, you have the most perfect ass…”  Felix palmed it appreciatively before pulling his hand back and landing a firm slap on the flesh.

“Fellix!”  you gasped when he landed a second slap.  

“That’s right, baby, remember who’s name you’re screaming when I make you cum.”  Felix’s deep voice rumbles. 

He lined up his tip at your entrance and rubbed it through your folds a few times, reveling in the way he could make you shiver every time his cock grazed your over-sensitive clit.  When you least expected it, Felix pushed his cock into your tight, warm cunt.  You both moaned out in unison when he bottomed out.  His long, thick cock filled you up perfectly.  It was as if your pussy was designed for him.  Felix swore that he could spend the rest of his life between your legs.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you, darling?”

With that, he began thrusting.  Sometimes adjusting to someone’s cock in you is a thing of myth.  You can never get used to how perfectly he fills you up.  It may not be the longest, but it’s thick and it stretches you more than anything or anyone else ever has.  His cock has a perfect little curve to it that hits that little spot inside you whenever he angles his hips just right. 

Tonight, he’s determined to get all of the sounds out of you that he can.  So every single thrust is designed to do just that.  He shoves himself into your snug heat as deep as he can go every single time.  It’s like you can feel him in your throat.  Every thrust pushes his hips flush with your ass.  He takes a hand and presses on your back to push your chest onto the bed.  

“Fuuuuuck baby, you feel so good.”  Felix moaned, “Always so warm and tight for me, baby.”

“You feel so good inside of me,”  You moan back, struggling to get your words out between Felix’s rough thrusts, “Don’t stop, don’t stop!”

“Come on, moan for me baby, show them how good I make you feel.”

As if you had a choice.  His thrusts were hard and he shifted his hips until his tip speared into that spot over and over again.  Felix had found that spot by chance a few weeks ago when he was fingering you and now he made it a point to seek it out every time.  

Felix’s hand curled around your bodies and his fingers made contact with your clit immediately.  At this, you keened and let out the loudest moan of the night.  Your cunt clamped onto Felix’s cock and he bit his lip to keep from cumming right there.  Your tight, wet heat eas driving him crazy but you had to cum first.  

He could have sworn that the TV volume lowered.

“Come on baby, cum for me.”  Felix grunted, his finger swirling around your swollen clit.

Your walls clenched and fluttered around him.  Something in your belly pulled taut and you rocked yourself back on Felix’s cock.  The extra bit of friction made the coil pull tight.  You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to let your body relax so that Felix could take over and bring you to orgasm.  Your moans grew louder and louder as you got closer.

“Yes, yes, yes!”  You cried, “Fuck, Felix!  Right there!”

“That’s a good girl, cream my cock, baby.”  

The sound of the TV in the front room had stopped all together.

The extra pressure of you pushing back onto his cock was just the right thing.  The intense pressure in your stomach suddenly released all at once.  Your legs trembled and your body shook.  Felix took over and gripped your hips tightly.  He slowly guided your hips down towards the bed so you were laying flat, continuing his intense thrusts into your cunt.  He leaned over you and pressed his lips to the back of your neck. 

“Felix, don’t stop,”  you moaned, arching your back into him to keep his dick lodged inside you as deep as possible.  

Your orgasm washed over you in waves, each one resulting in a gush of wetness between your legs.  His hips kept drilling into you diligently.  He kissed along your shoulders and neck, sucking dark marks onto your skin.  The second you rolled over, he’d give you hickeys on your neck and breasts to match these.

When he sensed your orgasm coming to an end, he slowed his hips but kept his cock lodged within your tight walls.  He hadn’t come yet but he knew he had to give you a short break before he sought his own orgasm. 

“Was I loud enough?”  You giggled,  “What was that about?”

“The guys were making fun of me, saying things like… I couldn’t be a dom because I’m too innocent, that I’m just a pillow prince and I let you do all the work.”  Felix peppered soft kisses on your skin. 

“That’s not it at all baby!  We just like sex to be reciprocal, that’s all.”

“I know, but I guess I needed a little ego boost.”  Felix shrugged.

“Well if I get to come like that every time we need an ego boost, by all means,”  You giggled, rubbing your ass back into him and making his cock slide against your puffy walls, making you both gasp.  “I think you could stand to be a little meaner, though.”

“What?  You want me to be mean to you?”  Felix stared at you with large eyes.

“Maybe a little more.”

“Oh, so you want me to call you my own little personal slut?”  Felix whispered in your ear.  That tantalizing voice of his made your cunt clench on him.  “Oh so you would like that?  I should have known you’d be a little cock-hungry slut.  Can’t go a single day without my cock in you, is that it?”

“Mmhm…”  You nodded, eyes suddenly a little teary but in the best way.  You pushed your hips back against his again.  He groaned and pressed a hand to your hip to stop your movements.

“If you keep going like that I’m gonna treat you like a little cocksleeve, got it?  I’ll stuff you with enough cum to keep you full for weeks.  You want that, baby?”

“God, yes,” your eyes rolled back at the thought of feeling even fuller than you were now.

“Then relax, my pretty slut, we’re just getting started.”  Felix growled. 

His hand slipped under you to press lightly against your tummy, the pressure pushing your g-spot effortlessly against the tip of his cock.  He’d hardly have to aim at all like this.  You let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll fill you up ‘til your cute little cunt can’t handle it anymore.  M’ cum is all yours.”

[yey56]

I have been seeing your Harley X Reader stories and I would really like to see in the oneshot request as in what if the reader find out the higher ups turned Harley into a robot?

Maybe they might get really mad by this point to try to get Harley out of this situation? At least until the Hour of Joy happens and the Reader have to take cover to avoid being eaten by the Experiments. They were trapped in the factory fending off for themselves while searching for the remaining food to survive, at least until Yarnaby find them and take them to Harley, now revealed to be alive and decided to keep them safe.

I already have this promp ln the part 3 of my main fanfic of Harley Sawyer but if you like I can do it more on detail how they confront the other executives and add more detail in general.

Heavenly related to Chap 2:

AU (Y/N confronts the executives)

Y/N was going to the upper levels, with all of their belonging in a box. After being relocated under Leith Pierres command they weren't very happy either. The absence of Sawyer didn't help.

It wasn't like him to disappear. If he ever did that, he was found soon after in the labs or in some deeper levels of the factory.

That wasn't the case obviously, YN had searched for them even in Yarnabys cage. He was nowhere to be found, not even Dr Bruno White, his new superior, knew where Harley was.

While walking with heavy feet through the endless corridors to the elevator at the end of the hallway, Y/N stopped on their tracks after hearing a very interesting set of words.

"So, it's done right?" They recognised Eddie Ritterman's voice, cautious but cold "Sawyer is taken care of." A chill ran though Y/Ns back because they knew what they were talking about.

"I rather it be this way, he was getting... Out of control... He is unbearable." The soft but determined voice belonged to Stella Greyber, a coworker with wich YN actually got along.

"Oh he will be STILL unbearable even considering his condition"The focus on certain words was Leith's thing. "The only difference is that now we can shut him up" He seemed somewhat calm by the situation. As if he had taken care of a tedious task.

"What about Dr Y/L/N? They spent a lot of time down there with Sawyer and I bet my contract that they were close somehow. Shouldn't we take care of them as well?" The mood swifted immediately after Eddie's proposal.

Leith looked absolutely offended by the suggestion, as if it was some kind of stupid thing to conceive. "Dr YLN has already been relocated under my orders with he innovation team" He enfasized to Rittermann. "The investors are more confident to investing their money when a professional supports the new projects" Pierre readjusted his tie and straightened his red suit "Moreover, Mrs Greyber will also work besides Dr Y/L/N I'm home sweet home, there's not need to deal with them. They are under surveillance" He finished dry as if he didn't want the discussion to last longer

Stella seemed the most conflicted one out of the three of them. On the one hand, she liked YN well enough. They've shared some breaks together in her initials days and they were good friends. She knew YN as someone professional, stubborn but willing to respect boundaries with the children. That was something that a lot of employees seemed to forget while working at Playtime Co

On the other hand, she has seen you get more obsessive over your patients over the years. Ever since Bigger bodies was suggested. Stella blamed Harley for your obsession. She had seen it with her own eyes.

Dr Sawyer would be at first professional and maintained a distance and his characteristic coldness, just as always. But after months and even years of working together in the damned project she could see how Harley was getting more comfortable with YNs presence.

He would be found very close to them when supervising experiments. Once in an interview in which both of them entered together to talk to a child, she saw how event though your knees touched, he didn't move. At all

Stella started to notice how your little reunions in the lunch break we're replaced by your interviews with the 'toys'. She had started to resent the damn project because it was costing her the friendship she made with the psychologist.

That is the reason why she could understand the doubt of Eddie. YM had changed a lot throughout the project and they were getting more unpredictable each passing day.

"I think Dr Y/L/N should be given a chance to... Reinvent themselves" That was the suggestion Greyber proposed, and everyone agreed with it.

But before they could continue the conversation, the silent psychologist who had been listening the whole time bursted in the room, their belonging scattered on the floor.

"Under surveillance?" Was the first thing that came out of their mouth. Leith looked like a deer in headlights, Eddie looked afraid and Stella looked as pale as a ghost.

"You have some nerve 'take care of me'?... That's what you did with Harley? Take care of him? How so, may I ask?" The scariest thing wasn't being caught.

To the trio, the scariest thing at that moment was the demeanor of the psychologist. Even with their eyes covered with dark circles, the glasses displaced and the eyes almost out of their orbit due to the anger... The voice, the voice they had was what scared them.

It was calm, controlled, it almost reminded them to the tone the prototype used. Like a Storm at the verge of unleashing at any given moment.

A time bomb ready to explode....

Leith was the first one to talk. With all of the strength he had, he gulped the limp in his throat and began talking.

"YN, I'm sure you can understand, only if you'd let me-" Before his hand could touch their shoulder, Y/N grabbed it by the wrist and commanded to know where Harley was.

None said a word, even Pierre, who minutes ago bloated about having Harley silenced was silent.

They knew the hadn't killed Sawyer, they needed him for the operation so one way or another he must be alive.

Leith was going to speak again but before he could register what happend, Y/Ns fist met with his cheek. The punch was so strong that Pierre fell to the floor and his face started becoming an angry shade of red. His mouth slightly bloody.

Ritterman and Stella were absolutely still. Eddie didn't have any idea how to react. This behaviour had never been displayed by Dr Y/L/N and Stella felt absolutely horrified. She never likes violence or confrontation.

Pierre, was starting to get up, with an angry face but before he could, Y/N was on top of him again, grabbing him by the collar with both hands.

"What the hel-" The head of innovation looked furious over the punch

"If you appreciate your face in the slightest you are going to tell me where is Dr Sawyer" Y/N voice was getting more agitated. Usually they didn't react with physical violence, but after knowing that it was all planed but those three, they felt absolutely enraged.

Leith didn't put any resistance. "System room, Dr White will explain" He said as Y/N quicky got off him and went to the given location.

Leith cleaned his mouth of blood and accepted the tissue offered by Stella while looking at the door.

Ritterman looked angry with Pierre. He never understood the patience he had with YN. He could understand that they've known each other since the psychologist first started working there but still, the amount of things that Leith let go of both Sawyer and YN because of the psychologist was ridiculous.

"What do we do now?" Stella ask, uncertainty straining her voice. "They are not going to take it well" She murmured

"Leith, this has gone to far, we need to do something about them!" Eddie exclaimed while helping Leith to get up on his feet again.

"Damage control, that's what well be doing."Leith said. Cleaning his suit with his hand.

Even if Pierre appeared controlled and calm again, he was absolutely furious. His attempt of controlling Harley was complicating things more. Everything was getting out of hand.

Meanwhile, Y/N was impatiently waiting for the elevator to reach the laboratories. When the door finally opened, the Psychologist bursted into Dr Whites laboratory.

Dr White and his assistants remained still when Y/N bursted though the door. White already had an idea of why would they be here with a look that said more than words did.

He didn't put any kind of resistance, he was only a surgeon, he was not a confrontational person and he didn't want to face the anger of his colleague.

"Hes in the table right there" He murmured while putting his head down while he signaled to his assistants to get out discreetly.

Y/N looked at the table only finding a monitor, confused, they redirected their gaze to White "What is this?" They asked pointing to the object.

The voice of the psychologist was the thing that made the monitor turn on. A big purple and black eye appeared on the screen, apparently scanning the room until the pupil contracted at the sight of Y/N

"Y/N...Is that you?" The voice that sounded through the screen was robotic but it sounded just like Harley. In shock, you looked back at Bruno White almost as if you couldn't believe he had been turned onto a computer monitor.

"Harley?" You asked hesitantly before approaching the new Sawyer "Is this you? Really you?" You started touching the monitor and examining it.

You got close enough to feel the static electricity of the screen. "He is now attached to the main system of the factory. He is assisting us on the surgeries" White explained again, his voice still small, not knowing how to interact with you in this state of rage.

You looked absolutely shocked. You felt your head hurt a little and you could already image how Harley must be hurting with all of the new information flowing through him...

What will you do now?

Eddie's neck has turned out really weird :/

Heyyy, sorry for being inactive so long. I've been drawing, studying and I'm starting The Walking Dead. I'm on season 3 and I'm liking it a lot so I've been. Thanks for wanting and thanks for the support. It makes me happy that you guys like it.

-Unedited fanfic-

[cannibalbuffe]

hi! I've honestly been craving some qpr headcanons with Alastor as someone who's also aroace! The concept piques my curiosity so much considering most of the stuff with him is purely romantic (no offense to those writers, I just wanna see more qpr stuff! :])

Of course! But do forgive me, annon, I got so carried away with this 😅. I just really like Alastor a lot.

I ended up writing some backstory to your relationship first, but I highlighted the start of the proper qpr headcanons if you feel like skipping that.

Obligatory I'm sorry if this is ooc, I'm still getting used to writing about these characters. This is also all based on my own perception of him.

(Also, I am aware that qprs are very different from one another and there is no single mold for a qpr, I'm just going off of what I think it would be like with Alastor.)

Uhh, I also finished this at 1 AM, so forgive any mistakes. And I'm pretty sure I changed the verb conjugations(? Is this how you say that in English?) from present to past at some point. Sorry. Enough with the A/Ns now. Hope you enjoy!

Alastor queerplatonic relationship headcanons

(gender neutral reader, Alastor x reader)

‼️Trigger-warning‼️: mentions of cannibalism (not graphic), a single mention of tongue-kissing and making out (spoiler: he doesn't want either of those things in this work.) Usage of the word queer, but not as a slur. Alastor is a grandpa and you have to explain LGBTQ+ stuff to him, but he gets it.

› At first, before you were close, it's likely that he didn't see you as an equal.

› Truly, in his eyes, it seems not really is his equal. He is the most powerful overlord in hell and he knows it.

› Unless you are someone he holds in high regard (and this is mostly based on vibes, barely anything to do with power, as we can see by how he is with Lucifer of all people) before your first meeting, like Zestial, you won't be on equal footing at first.

› You only really start getting close when his perception of you shifts.

› You respect his boundaries, you are interesting, you and him share quite a few interests (or not really, but you're at least interested in hearing about his), and you're, surprisingly, pretty wise and mature.

› And caring. I personally believe he would be drawn to that in a way that he may not even understand fully- or realize it at all.

› Still, the point is. He respects you, and you respect him.

› (And not in the way some others do, where they're only "respectful" out of fear. You would act like this regardless of his power.)

› This, by the way, is important. You don't treat him like a superior, but as an equal.

› You'd think someone like him would love to be treated like a superior, and it's true. He very much does.

› But he has to admit to himself that it does feel nice whenever someone isn't shaking in their boots and can hold really good conversations with him while still not being pushy, annoying or just generally disrespectful.

› Anyways.

› Ever since you became friends (which took long), one could say, you just kept becoming closer and closer.

› You were the first one to be vulnerable with him, of course. It happened on accident, but you trusted him enough for that.

› You were also the first one to share any more intimate information with him. Something you wouldn't tell just anyone.

› Between this, your conversations, and maybe even helping each other around (honestly, he probably helps you more than you do him, but you always offer it and always in a sweet way, never condescending, and he appreciates that.)

› He eventually felt more comfortable sharing personal things with you too.

› (He may have distanced himself a bit when he realized this, but it was short-lived. You can't be without each other for so long, and you were pretty upset at his suddenly withdrawal. You may not have mentioned it to him, but he could tell, and as much as he hated to admit it, it hurt him to see you sad because of him.)

› This marks the beginning of the path toward your queerplatonic relationship.

› I mean, you didn't initially label it as such, but it definitely started there.

› Surprisingly, I feel like the first one to ever do any sort of affectionate gesture towards the other was him.

› You knew he didn't like to be touched, so you didn't.

› But! He just started getting more and more comfortable with touching you. At first it was hands on your shoulders, or putting his arm over them.

› I can even see a head pat or two, which he probably passed off as some sort of joke the first few times, but, if you liked them so much, just became a thing he does to you.

› And then one day you, completely absent-mindedly, intertwined your arm with his while walking around.

› When you noticed you had done it and he hadn't said anything, you questioned him about it.

› "Alastor, I'm sorry I didn't ask... is this alright?"

› "This?... Oh, you mean the arms? Ah, dear, don't worry, if it weren't I would have simply told you so!"

› From them on you only got more and more physically affectionate with each other. At first you would usually be the one to start it, but eventually you were both shockingly equal in doing so.

› (You still would always ask if you could touch him beforehand, but after a while he just gave you a free-pass.)

› Not a lot in public, though. Mostly just hand holding, or intertwining arms (if in public, that is.)

› Alastor also was so protective of you. You were the person he treasured most, after all.

› Well, demon.

› Even if you told him you were going to be okay, he would watch out nonetheless. He couldn't afford to lose you, not when he's never trusted and cared for a person this much.

› You two also cuddle a lot. You were the first one to ask, as usual, but now both of you feel weird sleeping alone.

› Alastor loves being the big spoon, if you're doing that.

› But he is also quite fond of occasionally being the little spoon, although he wouldn't be caught dead admitting it.

› A hobby you two do together is cooking. Cooking with Alastor is fun... especially if you're okay with cannibalism.

› But if you don't like that, he won't insist, of course.

› He's pretty good at cooking, though! If you're also good at it, then great. If not, he'll tease you about it (in a friendly way), but still teach you.

› On teasing, he teases you quite a bit, but never in a mean way. If you don't mind, of course.

› You also may tease him occasionally, but he doesn't appreciate you teasing him in public.

› The two of you also have a good amount of inside jokes that probably confuse the hell out of the others.

› Kissing... well. I don't really see Alastor as the type who would enjoy kissing on the lips too much.

› Tongue is out of question for him, as well as any sort of making out, but otherwise... if you like it, he can do that for you.

› He might actually like a peck or two. An acquired taste for him. Don't overdo it, though.

› Of course, him being from the 1930s and not very familiar with anything LGBTQ+ related, he would, at first, be somewhat confused by the request.

› You would probably have to explain to him that nothing is inherently romantic, especially not if you don't want it to be.

› "A kiss on the lips? Well... we aren't courting, Y/n."

› "We can put our own meanings to things, though. Would you like this kiss to be romantic?"

› "Definitely not!"

› "Well, me neither. So it's not!"

› "... That is very sound logic! I can't believe I've never thought of this myself."

› Kisses on the rest of the face are something else, though. He does enjoy it whenever you kiss him on the cheek. He himself might occasionally kiss you on the forehead.

› But overall I don't think he's big on kissing.

› If you want to really solidify that you're in a queerplatonic relationship you'd also have to explain what that means to him, sorry.

› Again, he's old and not up to date with things.

› Thankfully he understands things easily.

› "I see... I suppose we do have quite the queer relationship, don't we? And it is certainly platonic. I don't see why not!"

› Going back to vulnerability. It will never feel fully natural for him to just be vulnerable with you — or anyone else, for the matter.

› (In case you couldn't tell, he's using the word queer as meaning odd (and doing a little pun. You know. Because it's a. Queerplatonic relationship. Queer. Hehehehe), as it defies the norm of what a platonic relationship usually looks like, despite being one.)

› But you know him well enough at this point to recognize whenever there's something going on with him.

› And if you show concern and give him enough time he will share whatever it is with you.

› If it's not anything too big he might even reach out to you first.

› He can also read you like a book and gives surprisingly good advice, and is also pretty good at comforting you.

› You are the only person allowed at his studio while he's live on the radio. You usually read as he speaks in the background, his voice is very relaxing. He enjoys having you around.

› He's also particularly gentlemanly to you, more than to the others. When you're with him you never have to open a single door yourself, for one. If it's raining, he'll hold the umbrella for the two of you. When walking together on the sidewalk, he's always on the side closest to the street instead of you.

› You two often go out for dinner. If you also fancy some cannibalism, he will definitely show you his favorite restaurants around. If not he will just pick the best non-cannibal places (but you know those are not his favorites, haha.)

› He just cares about you a lot, even if it took him long to admit (it may have seemed fast-paced during this, but Alastor is someone who really takes long to get close to.)

› And you care about him lot too!

› (And you're probably never going to be in a life-threatening situation again, at least not at the hands of most demons. Who would ever want trouble with Alastor?)

[bomikalover]

Austin & Ally (Auslly) Dynamic Analysis

Hello Again!

A while back I posted an A&A Analysis in which I asked what other things you want me to yap about. Well, this Yap Session was asked by @filmmakerdreamst so I was eager to answer!

The last one was about Auslly having horrid parental supervision and just bad parents in general. Which you can read here:

But today, we are talking about the Auslly Dynamic as a whole and in each season specifically in order to truly gauge why Austin and Ally have such a strong bond that any singular other character duo can replicate.

Warning: This is LONGGGGG lol

SEASON ONE: THE BESTEST OF FRIENDS

Season One was pure platonic friendship and I love that. Of course, they had that episode where Austin thought Ally had a crush on him and flipped out, but that was only because he didn't want to ruin their friendship and partnership with silly feelings and crushes. They were comfortable being friends and both decided to keep it that way.

-

During the first season, Austin time and time again makes mistakes that in other shows would cause episodes of drama and not get resolved till the end of the season. But Austin's respect for Ally and her feelings makes him think over his actions, realize that he did wrong, and handle the issue in a sweet and mature manner.

For Example, when Austin was continuously late and disrespectful of Ally's time, he got Ally a signed guitar by Bruno Mars (a favorite artist of Ally's) and gave her a planner to plan all the time she needed him since being her partner meant there was no more "Austin Time" but "Austin and Ally Time."

Another example is when the jealous blogger was ruining Austin's career because of Ally, yet he never blamed her. Even when threatened with never-ending blackmail he still chose Ally over his career. (Which he does all throughout the show which I will mention in other sections)

A Third Example, is Austin giving up his chance with the club owner at Trish's party to slow dance with Ally after getting rejected by Dallas (Ally's Crush in S1).

-

In S1 Ally had broken the personal boundaries and walls she had set up with everyone else for Austin and his career.

Like doing activities with Austin that she had never done with Trish. (The HorrerFest and doing a duo costume with Austin which led her to find out about Trish liking the Zaliens Franchise. Meaning she never went with Trish to any of these events before.)

Running onto a stage just to apologize to Austin even though she has extreme stage fright.

Also performing with him when Taylor Swift was injured.

Revealing how she had gotten stage fright in the first place in order to help him overcome his fears.

-

Season 1 was just the writer's way of selling their friendship to their audience. They weren't instantly friends, they had plenty of episodes of petty arguments and learning about each other to become as close as they were at the end of S1. It was realistic and fun to actually see them go from strangers to really close friends who entrusted secrets to each other. It was also refreshing to have Austin and Ally be opposites but have music be the thing that connects them. (Which I will give its own section at the end) Whether it be their parents' disbelief in their careers or just having someone to talk to who was at their professional musical level and truly understood music. Season One may not be the best season out of the four but it was extremely necessary for the realistic growth of auslly.

-

SEASON TWO: FRIENDS OR FEELINGS?

Season 2 is when things start to get interesting. Feelings were revealed, crushes were had, couples got together, people were jelly, and couples broke up. You could immediately see these two were WAY closer and their friendship has blossomed.

Austin realized his feelings after Ally but definitely had a harder time dealing with them than Ally. He gets with Kira Starr (daughter of the Owner of Starr Records - Jimmy Starr) after her bad breath is handled. (Kira Starr you deserved so much better as a character. I could write an analysis of her as well! Comment, if I should!) But when Ally starts to hang around an old camp buddy, Austin gets extremely jealous and Dez helps him realize his feelings for Ally. So after a lot of back and forth between Ally & Kira, Austin picks Kira....then kisses Ally...then dates Kira anyway. But after more back and forth, he breaks up with Kira and serenades Ally, resulting in them FINALLY getting together.

-

Ally realized her feelings before Austin while helping him go on the perfect date with Kira. Ally immediately pushes her feelings down and does the mature thing like always. She decides to focus on her career after Austin continues to unintentionally play with her feelings. Then finally gives in when Austin breaks up with Kira and sings a song she wrote about him to her since he feels the same way.

-

Though their relationship lasted one episode, I wasn't too mad. Once again, the writers are taking a more realistic approach and aren't making Auslly immediately a perfect couple with no faults. They are friends first and it showed this season more than last.

Austin was willing to give up his first magazine cover for Ally and Ally was willing to front flip off a building so that he wouldn't have to give it up.

Austin snuck out of his house to help Ally since he knew she was counting on him.

Austin tries to write his own songs since he is taking up the time Ally needs for her own career. (and his first successful song was about her.)

Austin gifts Ally priceless glass slippers which resulted in him carrying her for days since she couldn't walk in them. In the same episode, Ally helps Austin reinvent his childhood role model of a rock star's career.

Though they had a pretty big fight and realized that they had doubts about each other, they quickly made up and didn't let those past feelings control how they feel about each other now.

At the end of the season, they both agree it's better to be happy that both of their careers are taking off even if it's tearing them apart. This already shows growth from S1 Auslly who had the chance to be separated from each other (Ally going to NY for music school and Austin signing with another Manager and leaving team Austin) but chose each other over their careers.

Though they obviously have feelings for each other and both know that, they realize that if they truly loved and cared for each other...they needed to let each other go.

-

SEASON THREE: SEASON TWO BUT MORE COMPLICATED AND MORE ANNOYING.

Season 3 is a whirlwind of emotions. The first half of S3 is focused on Ally on the Austin Moon Tour and them in school WAY more often. (which makes no sense btw. A&A are both EXTREMELY popular teen idols yet they aren't bombarded every hall they turn down? Like how are paparazzi not at Sonic Boom or the beach they famously hang out at? If anything they should both be homeschooled or do online schooling. PLUS Ally was working at Sonic Boom, working on songs for her and Austin, doing school, attending all her clubs, doing all her other duties as an artist, was in committed relationships, AND finding time to hang out with her friends?! Give that girl an award..)

The second half is the part I didn't like. They did the same thing they did in S2 but with different love interests. Ally with Garett and Austin with Piper. Both relationships last like 2 maybe 3 episodes then get broken up since Auslly can't think of anyone else but each other lol.

They get together once again at prom and stay together till the end of the season. (They technically break up in the last episode but Austin professes his love in front of the whole world on live television and throws away his entire career for her so I think that means they are together lol)

Now Austin and Ally are officially a couple and the season ends with Austin joining Ally on her tour parallel to Ally joining Austin on his tour at the beginning of the season.

-

SEASON FOUR: MATURE SEMI ADULT AUSLLY

Season 4 is all fluff with very last-minute angst. Austin and Ally are finally together for good and it's a breath of fresh air. They help each other deal with their problems like Austin struggling about not being able to live out his passions and dreams. And Ally freaking out about her future and thinking she's not ready. Plus the constant problem of the two of them struggling to be a couple while being artists and now owning a factory together.

The overarching theme of Auslly blurring the lines between them as a couple and them as business partners and two extremely big names in the music industry is so intriguing to me. It was a slow buildup but S4 showed this buildup in its full intensity. Austin was so conflicted about being upset and saddened for himself but still extremely happy and supportive of his girlfriend that he was having nightmares of Ally living his dreams and leaving him behind. Also insecure about Ally going to Harvard and leaving him for a smarter man.

But Ally constantly reminds him that she loves him for him and only him which calms him every time.

But as always, good things always come to an end...Austin & Ally break up.

AND DON'T TALK FOR 4 YEARS!

Austin got back his career and Ally decided to go to college while still being a musician so they didn't have any time for each other. That distance took a toil and ended in them leaving each other's sides for a while. But with a little conniving from Trish and Dez, they were brought back together and realized that they never stopped loving each other. But the two of them still question how to be a couple when they're constantly competing against each other and being dragged away from each other. But then Austin had the bright idea of just becoming a singing duo instead of going head to head as competing artists for the rest of their lives.

That ends up being the right move and they live happily ever after with their two kiddos and music factory/museum.

-

This was my stupid long dynamic analysis but I'm not done.

I also want to more intently explain why Austin and Ally are so close.

...and the answer is music.

I know what you are thinking, no duh...that's like the whole show premise but I'm digging into it deeper.

Remember in my earlier post I mentioned Auslly writing their songs about each other like no one else is there for them like each other?

I believe if A&A were on a more mature network, we would see the straight pressure and anxiety these two felt while being in the industry so young. Like, think about it...Austin and Ally were 14-15 when Austin went viral and Ally became his songwriter. Then Ally was around 15-16 when her personal career went off. They were absolute BABIES! With little to no support from their families, friends who could never fully grasp the amount of pressure they were under, and the entertainment industry watching their every move. Trish and Dez both play parts that are behind the scene (Manager and Director) and allow them to still keep their youths to themself instead of the youth being taken away from them like Auslly.

Austin was on a full-blown multi-city and state tour at 16!?

Ally was doing the same at 16-17...

in NYC performing Times Square BY THEMSELVES

Like literal children.

look at some of the lyrics these kids wrote about each other...

Parachute - Ally - Her First Album

"I remember life before

Faraway dreams and locking doors

Then you came, then you came

Afraid to fall, to be free

Always my own worst enemy

Isn't what, what you see

I took time to realize

That I couldn't do it by myself, myself

There's no gravity

when you're next to me

You will always break my

fall, like a parachute

When you're holding me so

weightless I can barely breathe

You will always break my fall, my fall

Like a parachute

You're my parachute"

LIKE? IM SORRY?

(Pls listen to the whole song and read all the lyrics cause it's really deep and emotional.)

here is Austin talking about Ally...

Austin - Stuck On You - Austin gets over stage fright by only looking at Ally

"So, I'm singing all the words I'm scared to say, yeah So, forgive me if I'm doing this all wrong I'm trying my best in this song To tell you, what can I do? I'm stuck on you I'm hoping, you feel what I do 'Cause I told Mom about you I told her, what can I do? I'm stuck on you

And like the nightsticks to the moon Girl, I'm stuck on you"

(Austin's isn't as deep and sad as Ally's but that is the character difference.)

But either way, the song is extremely sweet and endearing.

And this is only 2 songs out of 4 seasons worth of dedicated songs to each other. There was never a single song dedicated to their families only a couple for their friends but never as deep and descriptive as this. I think I can safely say that Austin and Ally were each other's safe places and utter sanctuary. It makes sense why their hugs were so long and their simple glances turned to deep gazes. They were each other's home...a place of peace.

Austin and Ally grew up with parents who gave up on their dreams, settled, and expected them to do the same. To work in the family business and forget their dreams since they had a one-in-a-billion chance of making it. No one fully understood how hard they worked and how much it hurt to have no one on their side.

No one but each other.

Trish never had the work effort that Ally had or the ability to not like having attention on her like Ally hated.

Dez never cared about being the one on camera like Austin or cared about what the public thought about him like Austin constantly did.

Even their best friends could never fully grasp their dilemma.

No one understands Austin like Ally.

And no one understands Ally like Austin.

It makes sense...they were two in a million.

-

OK, THAT WAS SO LONG I AM SO SORRY.

But I love sharing my brain thoughts with you all so I'd gladly do more. Just give me recs in the comments even if they aren't A&A related.

This is the second yap session of this new series so you can always find this by the hashtag I put on each one...

#Yappin' with Shy

maybe next time I talk about the secret romance between Austin and Dez/Ally and Kira, or how Trish can be an aro-ace, or how Ally's dad's money problems root to something deeper than just being cheap.

But that’s a yapper-sation for another time - Shy

[lynzishell]

The Past 🩵 Asher

Once we’re seated and buckled, Lex turns to me to begin her interrogation before I even have a chance to pull out of the parking garage. “Okay, so, first things first, did you sleep with him?”

I glance over at her, surprised by her question. I figured that was implied considering we left the club together last night and I didn’t come home until this afternoon, but good for her for not making assumptions, I guess. “Yeah, I did,” I say, fighting a losing battle with the smile spreading across my face. 

She smacks me in the arm and gasps, “Really? How was it?”

This really isn’t the part of the night that I need to talk through, but I allow myself a moment to think about it anyway. I prop my arm up on the door so I can rest my head against my hand. My hair feels clean and soft, and still smells faintly of his shampoo, sparking a memory of running my hands over his body in the shower. The image makes my stomach flutter, and my voice comes out a little dreamy when I speak, “It was amazing.”

“Amazing? Well, I’m going to have follow-up questions.”

“And I won’t be answering any of those questions.”

“Ugh, fine,” she rolls her eyes in mock annoyance, “So, then what happened? How did things go from ‘amazing’ to you sobbing into my shoulder and getting snot all over my jacket?”

“I don’t know. Like, the whole night was great. It was fun, and he was so sweet, and it really felt like… It wasn't just a hook up, it was more than that. Or at least I thought so. Maybe I was just projecting or seeing what I wanted to see because I… fuck, I’m so embarrassed… whatever, I kinda put myself out there today, really thinking he’d reciprocate, but—”

“He didn’t?”

“No.”

“What did he say?”

“Same thing he always says. He doesn’t want to date me because we work together. He just wants to be friends. I don’t know, maybe I’m the asshole. How many times does he have to tell me he just wants to be friends? And I’m over here like, ‘are you sure? how ‘bout now?’ What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to stop.”

“Babe, c’mon, I think you’re being too hard on yourself. I know you. You wouldn’t do that if you didn’t really believe he felt the same way. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you, you’re not imagining it. Sounds to me like he’s saying one thing but acting another and he’s fucking with your head and that’s not okay. If he truly wants to be your friend, then he needs to act like a friend, and he’s not. If you ask me, he’s the asshole, and you deserve a hell of a lot better.”

“I hear you; I do. He’s not an asshole, though. He’s really not. I think maybe it’s more complicated than that. Like, he was so kind, and affectionate… I really felt like he cared. And then today, he just looked so sad when I was leaving. You know how he does sometimes. But I’ve never seen him more down than he looked today, and my heart just, I don’t know, I just want to take that sadness away. I feel like I could make him happy if he’d let me.”

“Careful, Ash. Don’t do that. Don’t fall into that trap of thinking you can rescue him or fix him or something. That’s some toxic co-dependent shit. Pretty sure you get enough of that with your sister.”

“Ow.” Leave it to Lex to stab you in the heart with her honesty. I respect it, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

“Did you or did you not drop everything to rush out to the Bay to help her the second she asked?”

“Yes, but—”

“Are your parents home?”

“Yes.”

“So, in theory, they could help her with her baby furniture or whatever today?”

I let her words sink in. I’ve gotten better at setting boundaries with Iris, but apparently, I still have some work to do. It didn’t even feel like an option to say no to her today, but now that seems ridiculous. Now, I wish I hadn’t rushed out on Atlas. Maybe we could’ve had a nice day together. Maybe I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself if I wasn’t so frazzled and trying to make everyone happy all at once. Damn. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think I’m doing that with Atlas though. Like, sure, I want to make him happy when he’s sad, and maybe I overestimate my ability to do so, but I’ve never felt a need to ‘save’ him or whatever. It’s not like that. I just… I like him so much, Lex. I really do. I love spending time with him. And I love the way he makes me feel when we’re together. I could’ve sworn he felt the same way. I mean, just the way he…” my voice trails off as I remember all the ways he looked at me and smiled at me and kissed me and touched me, and then his words “Ash, you’re perfect, you know that?”, and the tenderness in his voice and in his eyes when he said it. The sweet way he kissed my forehead in the bathroom. The way he held me as we slept.

“The way he what? Hello? Where did you go?”

“You know what? I’m not fucking crazy. I’m not. I know he feels it too. So, maybe he really is just super weird about dating people he works with. I mean, on paper it seems logical, right? To not mix your professional life with your romantic one?”

“I don’t know. I guess? What are you getting at?”

“Well, it’s an easy enough obstacle to remove, don’t you think?”

“You’re gonna quit your job over a guy you’ve only known a few months?”

“Why not? It’s better than giving up on a great guy over some job I've only had a few months. I’m not just gonna quit though, don’t worry. I’ll get something else lined up first. But I have a decent portfolio. I don’t think it’ll be that hard.”

“Okay. Well, what if it doesn’t work? What if he’s full of shit, making excuses? What if you leave for him and he still just wants to be friends.”

“Honestly, at this point, if there’s any chance of me being his friend, I think I’ll need some distance for a while to get over him. And also, if I call his bluff and tell him I’m going to quit, and he still doesn’t want to be with me, then hopefully he’ll at least have the decency to tell me the real reason why. Otherwise, maybe I shouldn’t even try being his friend. Maybe, in that case, I’d have to face that he’s not who I thought he was and move on. But I won’t be able to do that unless I know for sure. So yeah, the more I think about it, this seems like the obvious solution regardless of the outcome.”

She pouts at me, clearly not happy, but she doesn’t have an argument against it, so she concedes, “I hate it when you’re right.”

“I know.” I reach over and hold her hand, giving it a little squeeze. “Sorry about your jacket.”

She smiles at that, “It’s okay. Do you feel better at least?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Worth it then.”

Prev // Next

AN: Thank you so so much @madebycoffee for creating the perfect poses for this scene!!! This was my very first car scene and I was so nervous about it, but I love how it turned out and I couldn't have done it without you!! 🥹🩵🧡

[bloodyinkandquill]

Boombox x autistic Reader

update on me reading coraline, i finished it in a day, not even i started it at noon and finished right before midnight, i read it in 12 hours between all my school work and accidentally napping and getting dinner with my sister (the one who ate the brownie) and also making more of the brownies so more like i read it in 2 hours, anyways onto the hcs!

- “Loud party animal and quiet Alone time? Get you a man who can do both” You said bet, let’s do it

- Boombox is a very sweet and friendly guy, especially around you, when you first told him you were autistic so had some difficulty with certain things that day when he got home he researched it and common things about it so that way he could be as accommodating towards you as possible, and that carried over into your relationship

- One of the first things he gave you was a pair of noise canceling headphones, really high quality and super comfortable, if need be even custom made if your horns got in the way, it was the sweetest thing, you use them often, they double as regular headphones so you can listen to music he recommends you at your own volume, you loved him but on occasion his boombox could be a bit too loud and he understood that and was never offended if you wore your headphones or asked him to turn it down

- Since he more so enjoys just chilling with people it made you less worried about dates, you felt like you could unmask and be yourself around him in private, he never judged you for who you were, saying he loved who you were and didn’t want you hiding yourself from him, that made you feel really good

- He already had some fidgets, even if he didn’t know what they were, so you stole like half of them, specifically that one type that’s those slugs that make that really good sound, you shook it once and decided it was yours now, he just laughed and said that was cool

- Boombox understands raves and party can be overstimulating so never makes you go but he still asks if you want to go with him, if you do he gets really happy and packs anything you might need and tells you just let him know if you wanna leave no questions asked, if you say no he doesn’t mind, partying isn’t for everyone, the bright lights, sounds, all the people, while he loved it he could understand why it was too much for others

- He’s a touchy person but always respects your boundaries surrounding you and physical contact, if your someone who enjoys deep pressure* he is all for you resting your entire weight on him, makes him feel happy, more so if you don’t normally enjoy physical affection, he prefers smaller touches but makes an exception for you for those reasons

- He collects the little things you give him, small trinkets or stones, things that remind you of him, he smiles and thanks you even if he doesn’t quite understand how it reminds you of him, they’re special to him so he shows them off in his dresser all lined up, maybe in order of when he got them or their size or color etc, makes you happy that they’re in an order

- He has a visor, you cannot see his eyes, you don’t have to make eye contact, it’s absolutely amazing, and if you do your looking at pixels not real eyes, it’s wonderful

- That chain on his pants makes a nice sounds when he walks so you can hear him coming if your headphones are off (if he doesn’t have his music on) and it’s cold metal so you mess with it to ground yourself if need be, he sometimes doesn’t notice you messing with it, till he says something to you, you don’t respond, and he looks over to you to see you messing with the chain completely focused on it, unaware of anything else, he says your name and you just look up at him with the tbh creature face, it’s really funny

bros just saw bettlejuice bettlejuice so good, really funny, i like the first more but it was a really good sequel, saw it with my best friend so we had a lot of fun

*Deep pressure is a common neurodivergent love language, more commonly seen in autistic people, it is feeling love when laying your entire body pressure, or having the other person lay their entire body pressure, on you/them, makes many neurodivergent people feel safe and loved

[fall0utmind]

Hello, may I hear more thoughts about Valentino, who is taking care of Marc, when will it be over? The scenes where they reconnect, take care of each other. Oh, and thinking about how Alpha Valentino feels about his healing after Marc gets better, obviously his guilt should stay with him forever, but reuniting will make him feel relieved, I think? How do you see it?

Omg it has taken about 3 weeks to answer this rip - I am soooooo sorry

I have done something similar in some of my other asks. I am going to try to write a snippet and post it below

but here are the highlights

Alpha Vale is veryyy protective of Marc after he gets better and looks after him a lot

he is very respecting of boundaries

treats Bez much better - better understanding of Omega's

it's really important to me that they have a lot of soft scenes - Vale cooking for Marc, bringing him coffee, buying him sweet gestures

He is still super guilty yes - he tries to forget about it but it is always there and always will be

I do think that their reconciliation and him making it up to Marc will make it feel a bit better, relief yes, but also satisfaction to be looking after his partner and his omega!

Things were different now, Marc thought. Valentino was different.

He often came to Milan, usually when Alex wasn't there; Marc had yet to work out whether that was purposeful or not.

The first time he flew to Madrid, he didn't let Marc pick him up from the airport, insistent on hiring his own car. Secretly, Marc thought that it was so that he could make a quick escape if needed.

When he pulled up outside Marc's house, he sat in his car for at least 5 minutes - Marc knew as he was watching carefully from out the window. Valentino had never been here before, had never seen his house, his space. Not as his friend, nor as anything more.

Valentino knocked on his door, firm and confident, so at odds with the anxiety racing through Marc, zipping down his spine.

It took them about an hour to resettle into each other's company, relearning each other's quirks and boundaries. Marc tentatively nudged his feet next to Valentino's thighs, sighing contentedly when the older man laid his hand on Marc's shin. It was different, not bad, but different.

Valentino insisted on doing everything he could, fetching Marc drinks, keeping him hydrated, and even trying to convince Marc to let him cook. Marc laughed in his face.

"Absolutely not"

"Why not?"

"You are my guest, and this is my home. I may be an omega, but I can look after myself" Marc snapped.

"But I want to look after you", Valentino mumbled, and Marc softened.

And that was that.

[ghostfacd]

LACY — QUINN HUGHES43

“smart, sexy lacy, i’m losing it lately.”

listen to olivia rodrigo’s lacy for better experience!

summary; you have always been insecure of quinn’s girl best friend, so what do you do? you swallow it down. it wasn’t until the jealousy started to eat you up that everything explodes all at once, and what comes out of it was never something you’d expect.

pairing; quinn hughes x fem!reader, implied oc x fem!reader

genre; angst, midlife crisis arc goes hard! reader gets massive self realization, lots of commentary (you see through reader’s brain with this one) quinn is confusing, everybody’s so confusing

Would it be mean for you to say you didn’t really like Quinn’s friend? Sure, she was one of his best friends and made sure to always compliment you whenever you were in close proximity. But why couldn’t you just like her?

Lacy Willers. According to Quinn, she had gone to Umich with him and they became inseparable after he accidentally fell asleep during class because he had ended hockey practice late and stayed up doing his assignments. He woke up with zero notes in his computer and had awkwardly asked the girl next to him, Lacy Willers, for help.

Lacy Willers was beautiful, inside and out. She was sweet to you, always keeping her distance with Quinn and respecting your boundaries as his girlfriend. She had long blonde hair before dying it brunette because according to her “YN looks so pretty brunette, I wanted to try it out.”

How could anyone hate her?

Her skin was like puff pastry, and you hated how perfect Lacy seemed to be. You just wanted one reason. One good reason to hate Lacy and not hate yourself for doing so.

“Babe?”

The voice of Quinn makes you snap out of your trance.

“What’s up Quinny?” You ask, shooting him a smile so he wouldn’t notice what was up.

“Are you still going to my game?”

Ah right. Quinn’s game. Shit—you had been so wrapped up in your thoughts these past few days that you seemingly forgotten all about it.

“YN..”

“No no, I’m going Quinn!” You reassure him, “don’t worry. I’ll get all my assignments in by then so I can go to your game.”

Quinn gives you one of his small smiles, the smiles that is only reserved for you.

Or does he give them to Lacy too?

“You okay?”

Curse Quinn’s big brother instincts. He always knew when you were feeling down, and you hated it.

“I’m fine Q,” you say, standing up to kiss him on his cheek. He’s so cute, you sometimes wonder what you did in your past life to deserve someone like Quinn.

“Okay,” Quinn doesn’t seem so sure of your answer but he doesn’t push. If there’s one thing about Quinn is that he knows his limits. He pulls, not push.

When Quinn’s game comes by, you find yourself sitting next to Lacy Willers and the youngest Hughes, Luke.

You excuse yourself for a few minutes, needing a breath of fresh air. Even past the seats, Lacy’s perfume lingers through the air. You swear that you see her everywhere.

When you come back, you see Lacy with her hand on Quinn’s back, a bright smile exchanged between them.

A knot forms in your stomach.

“YN! Hi!” Lacy waves you over, “Quinnier here made a winning goal last minute!”

Oh Lacy, it was like you were out to get me.

“Really?” Your face brighten up, eyes looking up to meet Quinn’s. In the corner of your eye, you see his hold on Lacy’s waist, but you don’t say anything, too tired to overthink or accidentally start a fight.

The familiar toss of keys and the turning on of the lights seem suffocating to you. You had no idea what was wrong with you. Quinn was a great boyfriend, Lacy was nice, so why does it feel like you can’t breathe?

“Lacy asked me to ask you if you wanted to have a girls night with her.” Quinn mentions as he takes a bite of his peach.

“Lacy asked you to ask me?”

“That’s what I said, baby.”

You don’t know why you feel so nervous. Lacy Willers asked you to have a girls night with her?

“I mean, yeah, I guess.” You shrug. Quinn throws the seed of the peach he’d just finish into the trash, making his way towards you.

He wraps his arms around you—a all too familiar sight from when he previously had his arm around Lacy, and placed his hand on your head, pushing it slightly so he could place a kiss on it.

Saturday night. Girls night with Lacy. You were scared shitless.

You clear your throat, pushing away the negative thoughts. It’s just Lacy Willers. Umich Lacy. Quinn’s Lacy.

“Hi!” The excited voice of Lacy sends you into a spiral of emotions. She’s in a pretty white silk pajama set with little hearts all around. Her hair looks so naturally perfect that you wanna curl up and cry. Lacy Willers, without even trying, can already take your breath away.

Smart, sexy Lacy. You remembered Quinn mentioning how Lacy was a nursing major. She was good at the arts too, you knew as soon as you stepped in her living room and glanced at the portraits on the wall.

“So,” Lacy sits the both of you down, the beautiful smile of hers never leaving her face. “You okay? Did Quinn’s dumbass do something?”

Your eyes go wide, “no! What makes you think that?”

She laughs slightly, eyes genuine. “Call it.. girls instincts. But really, you can talk to me. I know we aren’t that close but I’d love to become closer. I mean, you’re beautiful and so kind, doing Quinn a charity case if you ask me.”

Although Lacy’s so genuine and her compliments would’ve made anyone else drop to their knees, they feel like bullets on skin.

“Well I don’t know, I just feel weird.” You say awkwardly. “Quinn’s great, don’t get me wrong.”

“Yeah,” Lacy wraps her hands around her hair, making a quick ponytail and grabbing a ribbon from her cabinet to tie it up with. “I get it.”

Ribbons in her hair. She looks as pretty as ever. Almost as if she was made of angel dust. Your stomach is all in knots.

That night you slept on the bed fort Lacy had made, your heart thumping in your chest. Even in your dreams, Lacy Willers is there.

“How was the sleepover babe?” Quinn asks, placing a kiss on your head. He shoots a smile at Lacy who smiles shyly at him.

“It was good,” you say, looking between the two. It was as if they spoke to each other with their eyes, a language you didn’t understand.

“Quinn,” you say as soon as Lacy says her goodbye after dropping you off, clearing your throat.

“Yeah?”

“Have I told you I haven’t been feeling well lately?”

Quinn’s eyes shift to concern, his eyebrows furrowed. “You okay babe? Is it the flu?”

He reaches to feel your forehead, searching for a burning sensation, but to his surprise, you seem perfectly fine temperature wise.

“No, it’s not that.” You say.

It’s never been that. It has never been about you being jealous of Lacy being close to Quinn. It’s never been about you being scared she was gonna take him away from you.

It’s always been about Lacy. Smart, pretty, kind Lacy Willers. The girl who made your stomach turn in knots and your words into stutters.

Lacy Willers, the girl you seem to loathe lately. The girl that poisons your mind and everything that you do.

The girl who made you despise your own eyes for how hard they fell for her.

Lacy Willers, the girl you’re in love with.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for breaking up with my boyfriend because I caught feelings for someone else? Context: I (26 F) had a boyfriend (28 M) of nearly 5 years. We met at the end of my college career and instantly hit it off. We moved in together not that long after we started dating, and things were great. A bit over a year ago, my boyfriend got a new job that requires him to travel a lot. We managed fine for a while, but him being gone for long stretches of time did put a bit of a strain on our relationship. I feel the need to clarify now that I have never had any suspicions of him being unfaithful during his travels. Despite the distance, he continued to be as sweet to me as the day we started dating. We used to do a lot of face time calls when able to, and he would take me out on date nights when he was home. So, at first, it wasn’t too bad. But as time continued, he got busier and busier with his job and had less time to face time me. Well, around 6 or 7 months ago, I ran into an old friend from high school. She (27 F) and I were practically inseparable in high school, but we’d grown apart after we both left for college. It was such a pleasant surprise to learn that she’d recently moved to my area. We’ve spent a lot of time catching up and hanging out in my free time, and she fit in with my friends super well. It was nice to have her as a friend again, especially when I was dealing the physical distance of my boyfriend. She’s honestly so incredibly wonderful and amazing. I really do care deeply about her. Back in high school when we were both single, we were far more affectionate with each other, but since we’ve reconnected she’s actually been super respectful of my boundaries as someone in a relationship. I know that’s the bare minimum but it really does make me happy that she was conscious of that. About a month ago, I got hit with the realization that, somewhere along the line, my feelings for my boyfriend had faded, and I had developed feelings for my friend. The moment I had this realization was when I was sick with a pretty bad cold, and she came over to my place to drop off soup to make sure I had at least something that would make me feel better. After she left, I was left with an immense feeling of guilt. Because suddenly I realized that I had very strong feelings for her, and because I suddenly realized that I may have unknowingly been emotionally cheating on my boyfriend. Of course, the next time he came home from work, I broke the news to him that I felt like we weren’t working out. He was devastated, and I feel really bad, but I feel like it would’ve been worse if I had stayed in the relationship even knowing I had feelings for someone else.

I haven't even brought up my feelings to my friend yet. Because I feel like it would be unfair to my ex-boyfriend to immediately get into another relationship, and also because I think maybe I should allow myself to be single for a while. But I still can’t help but feel like I’m the asshole for essentially emotionally cheating on him. So, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[chainera]

My Thoughts on Vercury + Doodles

To be honest, my relationship with this pairing is literally a love-hate one.

When I first heard about it, I’m not going to lie, I was super turned off. This was during SolarBall’s early episodes, where Mercury was shown constantly being bullied by Venus and I could not imagine being paired with my bully if I was in a similar situation. There was no chemistry between them, and even if there was, it wouldn’t be healthy. Especially during the whole Venus’ name arc, where Mercury constantly mocked him and got an asteroid to the face. Personally, the ship made no sense to me and sounded downright toxic. But of course, the more recent episodes came out. The atmosphere (even though there’s no atmosphere in space lol) between Mercury and Venus seemed… more neutral than hostile or tense. This is mostly because Mercury started to stand up for himself. Two scenes of note is the moment where Mercury laughed at Venus’ comment during the Rocky Planets episode and when Mercury snapped at Venus during the ‘Solar System by Size’ arc. What’s interesting is that after Mercury yells at him, Venus looked regretful, which was definitely new. Mercury didn’t shout at him about the consequences of him siding with the Sun or anything like that either, he simply said that he was fine with Venus hating him ‘for the sake of everyone else’. After that, Venus didn’t immediately change his mind but did try to explain his side of things, which was also new. As of right now I still don’t see anything happening between them, but I definitely do see the appeal in the ship and the potential for it to eventually happen.

From a settings standpoint- the potential is obvious. We don’t know what happened to cause Venus to pick on Mercury so much, we don’t know what their past was like, and with the answers to those questions revealed, Mercury and Venus might reconcile. Venus clearly has a lot of problems with his conditions as being called ‘a literal hell’ by the Earthlings, and Mercury also has his own insecurities and issues with the Sun. Mercury is already learning how to deal with these things, but Venus hasn’t quite figured it out yet. I’m quite interested on how Venus will be developed and how Mercury will play a role in this. I don’t think Venus downright despises Mercury, and vice versa, but they do have a ton of shit to sort out which may lead to a hopefully happy ending. Now, from a character standpoint there’s also a ton of potential. Venus and Mercury are kind of opposites, and yknow the saying… opposites attract. It would be really sweet if Mercury could calm Venus down when he was getting too ticked off, and Venus could treat Mercury nicely in his own way. Their personalities contrast really well. I didn’t like Vercury before because I felt if it actually happened Mercury would just allow Venus to treat him like crap, but now I feel like Mercury would know how to set proper boundaries and they would be equals. In a healthy relationship, there shouldn’t be a power imbalance, so with Mercury’s character development and Venus’ potential to change and be kinder (though not necessarily gentler) power imbalance shouldn’t be a problem. Another aspect is the fact that Venus and Mercury are both quite lonely. Earth and Mars are extremely close friends (or more haha), and while Mercury does have the Sun, he’s kind of forced to walk on eggshells in that relationship. They’re also neighbor planets, so there’s that. In all, I definitely agree with the concept of Vercury, but if it should happen, it should be after Venus and Mercury at least began to try and sort everything out. Here’s some (a bit spicy) doodles as a reward for listening to my rant again :D

As always, I’m open to other people’s opinions- especially on a topic as complex as this one. I just ask that you be respectful. Thank you.