#DART Probe

[foldingfittedsheets]

Working at the mattress store generally means a lot of long shifts. Ten hour days are not uncommon. You come in, sit alone in a box for a long time, maybe sell a bed, it’s fine. It’s not usually an issue of safety, though, because who’s coming in to shakedown a mattress store? We have no cash and nothing really portable.

But there was one night where I was whiling away my time and a guy came in. He was a big guy, muscular and very punk, tattoos, piercings, the works. We got along fabulously and while helping him a middle aged white couple came in. I was pleased to have a livelier night than I’d anticipated. I bounced back and forth between the disparate parties, eventually finding beds for both.

I finished sooner with the couple but they lingered uneasily by the front of the store instead of leaving and eventually beckoned me over. I trotted along to ask if everything was okay and the woman whispered to me that they were scared to leave me alone with the guy. It was getting late and he appeared quite menacing to them. I wanted to laugh, he was an absolute sweetheart, but instead I assured them that all was well and they could go.

They departed and I immediately told the guy what they’d said. We both had a hearty laugh over it. He finished his purchase and went on his way.

In the last hour, I had my final customer. A young white man in immaculate clothes, button down shirt with freshly shined shoes. Reader, I wanted to bolt. The man had the discordant energy of a cracked bell. Something was deeply wrong with his vibes despite his polished exterior. I desperately wished the nice couple would come hover in the doorway and stare.

I gritted my teeth and greeted him, projecting a friendly and unconcerned air. It seemed clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t actually that interested in getting a bed, which alarmed me even more. I tried to go through the process of fitting him for a mattress but instead he would segue off into telling me about his life while making unblinking eye contact. He asked probing questions about me. I longed for the nice punk man to come back in with a question.

I soldiered onward, visualizing my panic button and refusing to show the slightest hint of unease to him. Eventually he told me that he played piano. He asked if I would like to see a video of him playing piano. I said okay. He then turned his phone over and showed me his screen. In it, he sat staring directly into the camera while playing piano. Above the screen he stared with the same intensely unhinged energy in the video, two sets of serial killer eyes fixed on my tiniest reaction.

I smiled politely, pinned in place by social niceties. After an eon the video finally ended. It was clear he was not going to buy a bed. I insisted that I needed to lock up. He asked if he could stay for that. I firmly informed him he needed to leave for that. With reluctance he drifted out the door as I radiated calm assurance of my own safety and power, locking the door behind him. I turned out the lights and crouched behind the desk in the darkened store, peeking out to watch.

He sat in his car for a long time. But eventually he drove away. I darted out to my car and got home as quick as I could.

The encounter remains one of the most unsettling I’ve ever had in retail. In my decade of serving the public I helped a parade of characters from the harmlessly eccentric to the genuine creeps but this man truly frightened me unlike anyone I’d ever dealt with.

[huh-i-guess]

Fever

(Task force 141 x F!reader)

Summary: While out on a mission you are injected with a substance that might lead to a shift in the dynamics between the 141.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, sex pollen, fingering, dub-con/non-con (under the influence of sex pollen), choking, nasty Simon, Gaz has morals

Word Count: ~ 4.2k

(Reader's callsign is Pepper)

I don't own MW2, the characters, or the gif above.

“What the fuck was that?” You shouted as you felt a sharp pricking sensation on your left ass cheek. You reached behind you to feel what was causing the sensation and groaned as you felt a syringe protruding from your behind. You looked down and noted that you had stepped on a pressure plate of some kind and triggered the laboratory’s defense mechanism.

“Oh fuck, lass.” Johnny mumbled.

“Shit, Pepper.” Gaz exclaimed in disbelief.

“No fucking way. Why does this shit always happen to me?” You yanked the dart-like needle from your behind and examined the leftover contents. The remaining contents appeared to be a blue syrup-like fluid. You sighed and pocketed the syringe hoping you could take it back to base to have it examined by the scientists at the lab. 

“Pepper, what was that?” Price called over the comms hearing the distress in everyone’s voices. Your thoughts ran at a mile a minute as you tried to figure out if you should tell your captain, that you probably had a mild crush on and always wanted to impress, that you just stepped on a trap. Or if you should lie. You hated lying to Price. It felt like you were letting him down and any time you did, you found yourself immediately retracting your statement and telling him the truth hoping he’d forgive your indiscretion. You readied your mouth to let out some kind of answer but snapped your mouth shut as you heard Gaz from your right side, “Looks like they tranqed Pepper or something. We were sweeping the lab and she was the first one in.” You turned your head toward Gaz and offered him a look that was a mix of thankfulness and regret. 

“Shite. You're still standing, lieutenant?” Price probed in a tone that, only those close to him could tell, was full of doubt and concern.

“Yes sir.” You pushed further into the lab taking extra care where your steps landed. The lab had been recently abandoned by russian terrorists working on some kind of bioweapon. You could only hope that you didn’t just get dosed with whatever they were concocting. As the three of you pressed further into the dingy lab you felt like the mass of your body was slowly doubling. 

“Soap. Gaz. If I drop, I need two to keep moving. We need to get this intel out of here as soon as we find it.” You could faintly hear the heavy footsteps of the terrorists behind you.

“No way in hell we’re leaving you behind.” Gaz contended. 

“Listen I-” 

You were quickly interrupted by Laswell’s voice in your ear, “Pepper. Evac will get to you and the boys in 11 minutes. It’ll be 2 clicks north of your current location. We’ll get you to the safe house from there.” 

“Copy.” You replied as Soap took a step closer and fixed his mouth to ready a response to your order. 

“Lass I don-”

“Listen. We don't have time for this. I don’t know what I got hit with but I know that at the moment we have a job to do. Let’s keep moving while I can and clear the files we came for. You will keep moving if I drop and that’s final. This mission can't be a waste of time.” You were met with an apprehensive “Yes Ma’am” and a “got it LT” and you snapped your head around to continue sweeping the lab. 

You knew you were being harsh but if you gave them room to argue you’d be stuck here going back and forth with them about it. Truthfully it was a ruse to make it look like you weren’t basically shitting bricks. You couldn’t stop the thoughts that flew through your mind.  I’m going to die today. Holy fuck I’m not making it out of this. I don’t know what I got hit with. How long do I have? You didn’t have much going on in your home life so the thought of a family didn’t even cross your mind until you thought about who around you did have one. Soap had his sisters back in Scotland that loved to “force” him to watch those really crappy rom-coms that he claimed he hated so much but then recommended for team bonding nights. Then you had Gaz who had his mom waiting at home for him. She always sent him care packages with little hand written notes that gave him updates on the status of his neighbors’ cat who had slowly been making itself comfortable on their property back in London. She even sent him photos of the cheeky little tuxedo cat. Your mind shifted from thoughts about yourself to thoughts about them. I have to get these boys out of here. They have so much going for them. They really are some of the best we have to offer. I can’t let them down. If I can't get out of here at least they can. 

Gaz went to the computer and plugged in a decryption device and began to sift through the scientist's digital files while Soap went through some of the scattered papers left in the room.

“They were in such a rush to get out of here they weren’t even effective at scrubbing their drives. Pep, I think I might have something.” You walked to the computer Gaz was stationed at and noticed a folder titled “Project Vitality”. 

“Good job, Gaz get it and we go. Soap anything?”

“A couple of poorly redacted files with the same name.” Soap chipped from your left. You made your way to him and patted his shoulder in praise.

“Alright we gotta move.” You heard the footsteps boom as the incoming enemies approached. You felt yourself slowly start to stall and noticed you had a difficult time focusing your eyes. It was like you were wearing a pair of glasses that weren’t meant for you and you couldn’t take them off. You willed your eyes to focus but it was becoming a hassle. Fuck me. You turned your head to Soap on your left and said, “Soap I need you to take point on the way out. I'll watch our backs as we exit.”

“Are you-” he started then pressed out a short, “Will do.” The look on his face was filled with so much concern, that for his sake, you almost wanted him to ask you if you were okay. He turned and rushed out of the room followed by Gaz and you at the back. The three of you navigated the winding corridors of the combatant base and made your way back, passing the rooms you had previously cleared. 

“Pepper. How we doing?” Price questioned over comms.

“Got the documents and drives, sir.”

“I know you did. That’s not what I’m asking about.”

“What kind of answer do you want, Cap?

“You know what I want to hear.” You knew Price wanted the truth but you couldn't let him know the fact that you might be starting to lose motor function and that the mass of your body felt like it had doubled. There was a large part of you that wanted to make him proud and craved his approval so the thought of disappointing him always stirred something deep inside you. But then there was Gaz and Soap. They were your sergeants and they often looked to you for guidance. The image they had of you rarely faltered from confidence and strength. They were right by your side and were clearly worried for you. If you told the truth to them they probably want to stop and question your status or maybe even try to do some kind of makeshift field evaluation on you and you’d definitely lose out on valuable time. 

A shaky, “I’m doing just fine, sir.” fell from your lips then silence. A sigh from Price that was then followed by a gruff, “Bring it in safe. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Of course sir.” You acknowledged. He knew you were lying. The slight tremor in your voice told him exactly what he needed to know. 

Soap led the three of you out of the compound but not without running into a couple of the remaining terrorists that missed your group upon arrival. You, although struggling to see and move, caught the slight movement as you three made your way to the entrance of the compound. A brown jacket sleeve that moved just a bit too slow was all you needed to gather that the combatants had reached your location. Years of intense practice and strenuous training had you firing your weapon with a practiced precision that was barely impacted by your declining physical state. 

As soon as you exited the compound you were met with a glaring brightness from the snow of the siberian tundra. The almost blinding whiteness was a massive contrast to the dimly lit compound so the massive shift in intensity had your head spinning. Gaz noticed you stumbling but only met you with a face of concern and a hand on your shoulder as he watched you struggle to get your bearings. 

Trekking through the Siberian tundra in your worsening condition was one of the hardest things you'd had to do in your career. The whirling of the wind was so intense that it felt like someone was screaming directly next to your ear and the pressure of it was enough to make your head pound. The snow was coming down so hard that each snowflake that hit your face felt like a tiny pin prick over and over again. Your feet were so deep in the snow that it felt like you were gaining an extra 20 pounds of weight with the effects of the drug starting to control your movements. You tried to pull yourself together. It was undeniable at this point that you would not be winning the battle against whatever medication they injected you with.

“2 minutes till evac” Ghost chimed in your earpiece. Your hearing was so sensitive that you could almost feel the loud mechanical static and the whirl of the helicopter in the background of his response.

“Oh my days. Ghost is the one flying us out? I don’t want to end up out the bloody chopper again” Gaz groaned. Oh. I wasn’t the only one to hear the helicopter then. 

“It was either me or you freeze out there, Sergeant.”

“LT, if you fly that thing the way you drive, Gaz might be better staying down here. Less chance of him getting thrown from the bloody thing.” Soap chirped. 

The world slowly started to look like a mass of colors and shapes with no definite beginning or end. The only thing you could do at this point was push and pray that you were gonna have enough strength to make it to the evac point. Everything was so intense that overwhelming wasn't even the right word to describe the feeling. You struggled to pick up your head as you began to hear another distinct whooshing sound that could only belong to that of a Puma HC2.

“I’m here aren’t I?” Soap and Gaz stopped moving as Ghost put the helicopter on the ground. 

“I’m glad you are sir. Good to see you, Ghost.” Soapsaid as he flung the door open and made his way on the aircraft.

“Always good to see that ugly mug of yours, Johnny.” Ghost turned his head to get a good look at everyone. “ Pepper, you don't look too hot.” Ghost concluded as you dragged yourself into the seat next to what you could have only imagined was Gaz. The words that came out of your mouth were something along the lines of “Not” and “Good” but no one really understood you with how slurred your response was. They did however understand that something was really wrong when your body slumped backward and went limp next to Gaz. You could vaguely hear the commotion of Gaz, Soap, and Simon, around you as they shouted your name and desperately tried to keep you from slipping out of consciousness. The last thing you heard was Price pressing to be informed on your state and him telling Ghost to get all of you to the safe house. 

---

“A neurotoxin that sends the body into overdrive. Increases nervous sensitivity and impulsivity, and impairs functionality of the prefrontal cortex and hippocampus.” Price read from the lab report with a stubby cigar in hand.

“Why the hell would they want to make something like that?” Gaz questions.

“Apparently in small doses it can be used as an aphrodisiac that it increases blood flow throughout the body, promotes sexual stamina, and increases pleasure outcomes? They must’ve been trying to develop something to sell on the streets.” Price continues.

“Right so they dosed her with super viagra?” Soap questioned. 

“That's what it sounds like?” Gaz said. 

“I thought that stuff didn't work on women?” Simon interjected. 

“It looks like they’ve altered it so it impacts both sexes but they haven’t been able to work out the less desirable symptoms. Tachycardia, fever, headache, dizziness, loss of consciousness, heart failure, and death.” Price paced as he read the outcomes. 

“Oh shit.”

“Heart failure? Death? How do we make sure that that doesn’t happen?” Gaz frantically questioned.

“The only way the toxin can be expelled from the body is through coitus…” Price trailed off as he dropped his cigar into a bowl. That can’t be right. He read it three times just to be sure and the words on the page didn’t change. 

“Steamin�� Jesus.” Soap deadpanned.

“No blood way.” Gaz stood with an open mouth. 

“Someone has to fuck her.” Simon said. 

---

When you awoke, you noticed you were lying on a firm mattress and were surrounded by the smell of smoke laced with a heavy sweetness that only came from Price’s cigars. You felt undeniably cold and couldn’t help but to shiver. You rubbed your fingers across your palms and felt them drenched in sweat. As you slowly began to turn to your side, you were overwhelmed with the feeling of the rough sheet that laid under you. 

“What the fuck?” You noticed that you had been stripped out of your vest and snow gear and were left in your black polyester thermals. You could feel every inch of fabric that you wore and immediately moved to take off the thermals. You were left in your sports bra and underwear.  Why am I taking off my clothes? I’m freezing? You ran your hands up and down your body trying to get a semblance of warmth but then decided that putting thermals back on would be too much for your unusually sensitive skin. As you dragged your hand down the sides of your thighs you couldn't help but notice how good it felt to touch yourself. You moved your hands to your inner thighs and couldn’t contain the moan that slipped from your mouth. You brushed your hand over the gusset of your panties and whined at the feel of your hand gliding over your already sensitive clit. 

“Pepper?” rushed out of Gaz’s mouth as he entered the room. He looked over to the pile of thermals on the end of the bed. “How are you feeling?” he probed.  When did Gaz get so attractive? He wore a red henley that hugged his arms perfectly and his soft curls made an appearance without the presence of his well worn UK hat. He made his way over to you and touched your forehead. “You’re burning up. Damn. The fever’s started.” The feeling of his hand on you was almost indescribable. He was warm and firm and exactly what you felt you needed at that moment. 

You felt yourself acting on purely impulse as you grabbed his hand and dragged it down to your mouth. You started to kiss his palm and moved your attention to his thumb. You placed it firmly between your lips and began to suck. “Oh fuck.” Gaz exhaled as he watched you with wide eyes. You continued your ministrations and moved from his thumb to his index and middle fingers. You began to lick around his digits before you engulfed them in your mouth with a guttural moan. You could taste the salt and gunpowder from the mission and it only made you crave him more. You lifted your gaze to him and willed your eyes to meet his. The groan that fell from his lips was divine. You removed his fingers from your mouth and helped his hand descend to where you really needed him. “Fuck. No. I can't do that princess. Not when you're like this.”

“But I really really want you to. Come on, Kyle. It’ll help me feel so much better.” You purred. Gaz let out a shaky breath, pulled his hand from you, and walked out the room but not without you noticing him readjusting himself in his pants. Fine, I'll do it myself. You sighed and pulled your panties down your legs till they rested at your ankles. You slid your fingers between your legs and gasped at how wet you were. You slowly started to trail your finger through your folds, collecting some of the wetness that had dripped from you and began to rub your clit. As soon as your finger pressed against your reactive little nub you were in heaven. You started in small circular motions and rubbed until you felt you needed more. You moved your other hand to your breast and tugged at your nipple. You kneaded and grabbed your breast like it was the key to your survival. You’ve never felt like this before. It's like you can feel everything, everywhere, all at the same time. You felt the rough fabric of the sheets, the scratchy wool of the pillow behind your head and you felt the soft cotton that was resting around your ankles.  You were still shivering from the fever but you felt like you could feel the stimulation of your clit in your toes. You needed more. 

You moved your hand from your plush breast to rest right at your soaked opening. You circled your middle finger a few times just to get it wet, and sank right into your leaking entrance. “Oh fuuuuuck”. You could feel the pressure of the finger at your walls as you started to curve your finger inside of yourself searching for your g-spot. You continued rubbing your clit and curling your finger inside of you hoping to seek your elease. It felt so good but it just wasn't enough. You slipped in another finger and moaned at the intrusion. You started to pant and whine with how good you were feeling, but you felt yourself needing more. You continued the calculated movements and felt your orgasm approaching. You just needed a little more. One more push to get you there. One curl of your finger turned to two, then to three, then the pleasure turned into frustration. “Fuuuuuuck.” You groaned as you  pulled your fingers from your body and layed on the mattress in a heap of sweat and frustration. You felt yourself slowly drift back into the unconscious void even as you worked to steady your breaths.  

---

“She sucked my fingers. Wanted me to fuck her. With my fingers. Uh she begged me to. And she was down to her knickers” Gaz confessed as he dropped his eyes to his combat boots, too unsure to look at his team. 

“Did you lad?” Price probed. 

“No, I couldn't do it. I really thought about it and I- I don't know. She definitely has a fever though.”

“Hm.” Was all that left Price's mouth. 

“We're gonna have to check up on her. Make sure her heart isn't working too hard and see how to keep her satiated. For her sake.” Simon stated matter of factly. 

“Does it say it has to be expelled through “sexual intercourse” or can she just, ya know, uh.. “Get there”, and work it out her system.” Soap questioned, looking toward Price and seeking the answers he normally has. 

“Johnny. It says coitus.” Simon replied. 

“No one’s gonna fuck her like this. It’s not right.” Gaz stated.

“What if we have to?” Soap doubted.

“Maybe we should see if an orgasm is the solution. If that doesn't work then last resort, someone will do what needs to be done.” Price said with a sense of finality. 

---

You felt the press of two fingers at your carotid artery and shivered at the warmth they offered. You fluttered your eyes open and nearly jumped out of your skin when they met dark brown ones behind a human skull mask. You’d seen Simon before and regularly worked with him but you'd never woken to him standing over you like the grim reaper.  

“Jesus, Simon.” 

“‘Just checking your heart rate.” He confirmed. Simon almost always has his gloves on. To feel his fingers at your neck had you craving more of his touch. You grabbed his hand that was at your neck and splayed it across your jugular. You looked up at him with full, pleading eyes and felt him squeeze a bit. A light moan left your lips as you begged him to squeeze harder. The groan that left his mouth would surely implant itself in the depths of your mind for years to come. The sound coming from him went straight to your core and you felt yourself clenching your thighs. 

“Simon, please.”

“Fuckin’ hell. Don’t look at me like that. Not while you've got your knickers round your ankles.”

“Please. Si. I need you. I’m so fucking horny. I can feel everything Simon. Please just help me feel good. I promise I’ll be good. You can use me however you want. However you need to. Please.”

“Don't say that y/n.” He turned his gaze away from your face. 

“I mean it. Please help me.”

“Just my fingers darling.” 

“Yes. Yes, thank you so much.” You nodded your head eagerly and bit down on your lip. If your fingers weren't working to get you there, maybe his would. You parted your legs for him and he hung his head and rolled his shoulders while he let out a deep “Fuck”. His grip on your neck tightened and you felt your head go light. “Oh fuck yes.” His other hand made its way between your plush legs and ran between your folds. Simon’s eyes were locked onto your pussy and he was in awe of how wet you were. He knew what the toxins effects on you were but to see them in person had him stiff as a board in his pants.  Fuck this was so wrong of him. He knew he wanted to help you but part of him was living out his sick and twisted fantasies. To have you, a stunning woman, dripping wet and begging for him to fuck you, he’d be insane to not feel at least a bit aroused. He dragged a finger around your clit and almost purred at the whine that left your lips. He continued to make slow and tedious circles around your clit. 

“Simon, please I need more. Can you - mmm fuck- can you fuck me?” How could he deny you when you’ve asked him so nicely. 

“Only with my fingers, darling.” He slipped in two fingers and groaned at how tight you were. Your back arched so deeply and he wondered to himself what it would be like to be behind you when you arched like that. Simon began to work his fingers inside of you. He started with slow but deep pumping motions and moved onto scissoring his fingers inside of you searching for that special spot that he knows will make you tick. Your breath hitched in your throat and you let out a long high pitched squeal. 

“Is that it, darling? Right there? Hm?” He beamed with a sense of condescension that made your pussy tighten on his fingers. 

“Oh fuck Simon. Please, please let me cum.” His fingers were hitting all of the right parts of you and you felt your orgasm nearing. 

“Of course you can come, darling. Fucking soak my fingers. I know you need it. Come on, darling.”

You slid your hand down to your clit and rubbed it in furious circles. His grip tightened on your neck and you felt fuzzy everywhere. “Cum all over my fingers. Make a mess, why don't you.” And at that final comment from Simon, you felt the band within you snap as you had one of the most intense orgasms of your life. Your toes curled and your back was nearly curved into a C shape. Your pussy clenched and unclenched as Simon continued his assault. You felt your ears ringing from the intensity of the orgasm and felt like you lost hearing for a little moment. As you panted and tried to recover from your climax, Simon removed his drenched fingers from you, lifted his mask to just below his nose, and brought his hand up to his mouth. He locked eyes with you and you watched him in amazement as he cleaned you from his fingers. Your eyes flutter at how intense the sight was. His strong jaw, scarred but pink lips, and traces of stubble left you wanting more. He moved the hand that was on your neck back to your pulse point to check your heart rate.

“It’s slowed a bit. Get some rest," and with that he left the room and you felt yourself slip from consciousness.

[writers-potion]

Let's Talk About Pacing Our Fight Scenes.

For Fast-Paced Parts:

Short words with single syllables. Immediately > at once/ endeavour > try/ indicate > point at/ investigate > check out.

Short sentences, the shorter the better.

Partial sentences to blaze through multiple senses and actions within a few lines.

Short paragraphs

Lots of verbs.

Few adjectives and adverbs.

Cut down on -ing form of verbs, as it can make words longer

Use simple past tense

Avoid conjunctions and link words.

Avoid internal thought - your characters are irrational, ruthless and in the flow of pure action.

For Slow-Paced Parts:

Use medium/long sentences

the paragraphs are longer: three lines minimum

Include longer words with more syllables

Use adjectives and maybe a couple of adverbs.

Insert the thoughts of the PoV character.

Words for Action Scenes

act, alter, attack, avert, back, block, bang, bash, battle, beat, beg, belt, bend, best, bite, blacken, bleed, blind, blister, blow, blunt, boil, bolt, boot, bore, bow, box, brace, brag, brash, brawl, break, breathe, brush, buck, bulgde, burn, burst, cackle, call, can, carry, cart, carve, catch, check, chop, chuck, clack, clank, clap, clash, claw, clear, cleave, click, cliff, cling, clip, close, club, cock, coil, cold, collar, come, con, connect, corner, cost, count, counter, cover, cower, crack, crackle, cram, crash, crawl, creep, crinkle, cross, crouch, rush, cry, cuff, cull, cup, curl, curse, curve, cusp, cut, dart, dash, deepen, dig, deep, dip, ditch, drive, drop, duck, dump, ede, effect, erect, escape, exert, expect, feint, fight, fire fist, fit, flag, flare, flash, flick, fling, flip, flock, force, gash, gasp, get, gore, grab, grasp, grip, grope, group, hack, harden, heat, help, hit, hop, hurl, hurry, impale, jab, jar, jerk, join, jolt, jump, keep, kick, kill, knee, knock, knot, knuckle, leak, leap, let, lever, lick, lift, lock, loop, lop, plunge, mask, nick, nip, open, oppose, pace, pack, pain, pair, pale, palm, pan, pant, parry, part, pass, paste, pat, peak, peck, pelt, pick, pierce, pile, ping, piss, pit, pivot, plot, pluck, plug, plunge, ply, point, pool, pop, pose, pot, pound, pour, powder, pray, preen, prepare, prey, prick, prickle, print, probe, pry, pull, pulp, pulse, pump, punch, pursue, push, quarry, quarter, quest, race, raise, rake, ram, rap, rasp, rear, retreat, rip, riposte, rivert, roar, rock, roll, rope, round, rouse, run, rush, sap, scale, scalp, scan, score,scream, seek, seep, shake, shape, sharpen, shock, shoot, shop, slap, slap, slash, slice, slick, slip, slit, smash, snap, snare, snatch, snipe, sock, space, spar, spark, speed, spike, spill, spin, spit, splash, spoil, spring, spur, spurt, spy, squirm, stand, steert, step, stick, strap, strike, stuff, suck, support, swat, sweat, sweep, swingm tack, tag, take, target, taste, team, tear, tent, test, thrash, throw, thrust, thud, tick, tide, tilt, time, tire, top, toss, tower, toy, trap, trick, trigger, trip, triumph, trouble, trump, try, tuck, tug, twril, twitch, weaken, wet, whip, whirl, whirr, whoop, whoosh, whop, work, zap, zip.

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[kalims]

⋆ too drunk to recognize your boyfriend

feat. third years of diasomnia

malleus

"I.. have a boyfriend,"

to an extent. the guarded, suspicious look on your face would have concerned malleus to no belief, to others. he wouldn't have bat an eye whatsoever, but it's you so the feeling crawls up his spine and clouds his heart. he can't help the slight nudge of offense clouding his face cause you definitely shouldn't have any reason to make such a face to his.

the more his arm reaches out towards you—to ground your swaying form perhaps, the more you seem to be inching away from him. which shouldn't make sense at all! "child of man?" he murmurs. dropping the attempt to console you, to which you squint at him. back pressed against the front door to his dorm.

"who are you?!" you point at him, and he blinks. mortification spreads in his head. you've.. accumulated amnesia?!

malleus' fingers clench around the fabric on his chest, just after he had retracted the outstretched limb in fear of frightening you even more. there's a certain stiffness to his hand that illicit a drop of sweat from his forehead. him? he's your mal?

if he had the nerve to cry, he would.

but of course, you remain a priority. you exhibit unnatural behavior. no one just forgets important details in a day! you especially, won't forget about him! and he won't let you, ever.

you sway. your eyes darting around, and squinting like you're struggling to focus on one subject of your attention, a factor that might affect it is the fact you keep looking around instead on settling on something, preferably him. and, malleus is torn between steadying you, or him.

he chooses you.

despite your half hearted protest that audibly makes him sulk more, he twists the door to the dorm open and ushers you inside. not too much of a struggle, if anything, you seem lighter, and he almost actually hauled you around with minimal effort.

"must be a good night," a voice purrs, malleus doesn't have to glance at the source to know that it's lilia. years spent with the man does wonder with familiarity. it took him a couple of decades to get used to him. strangely enough he feels like he's known you longer, despite not.

the statement makes the taller male frown. lilia though, keeps the tiny smile, now tickled with a hint of amusement as the rubies shift from your blubbering form to malleus' face. oh? he's upset now. lilia muses. it's easy to ascertain his boy's move, like a sixth sense.

so lilia decides to probe further. "no? your face tells me otherwise."

malleus huffs a little. one of the habits he never seemed to grow out of ever since he learned to keep his... more draconic traits at bay. "you are less than accurate with your assumption," his eye twitches, either torn between distressed or irritation. despite the conflicting behavior, he still manages to treat you with a gentle hand while leading you towards the couch.

"it is a very terrible day." malleus continues. sad enough to complain, but fond of you enough to take the hint from your apparent cautious behavior towards him. lilia almost laughs when he spies him gloomy, sitting on the far end, away from you.

the lightning strikes just as the clouds roll in. lilia peers behind the curtains, chuckling a little at the weather.

well! he just hadn't seen malleus moping around this much since, what? when that gold trinket wouldn't fit in his tower anymore? "why so, my dear?" lilia coos, positively charmed by the 'adorable' disposition.

of course, he already knows. he'd heard your exchange moments ago.

lilia retains the easy look. "the child of man has forgotten about me," malleus explains. looking more stressed by the second. "whoever has done this, will pay." from a sad, faraway look to rage suddenly. "I beg of you, please return them." then switches back...?

he has half the mind to pretend like you're never gonna return normal but decides against it.

"of course!" lilia chirps. "they'll be well by tomorrow."

and, malleus looks like he had been holding the world by his shoulders seconds ago, a sigh of relief.

the next day, you're not sure why malleus is introducing himself in concerning detail. do you really need to know what color his assigned blanket was when he was given birth to...?

lilia

if anything, he's really the one who enabled your behavior.

"just one more." , "oh my, need another?" , "you look like you need it, come on now, don't be shy, you only live once~"

concerned, silver steadied you as you wobble on your feet. babbling about some nonsense under your breath which only illicits the boy to cast a disapproving glance at lilia (who only wears an amused smile).

"seems like they had quite the night." a cheery comment from the latter, and silver makes no move to resist when he moved closer with silent steps, then pries you to his side inside with a gentleness that would prove that he isn't.. actually the reason for your state, but not really.

lilia cooed, like he'd coddled them before. silver thinks but it is so distinct from the way he used to coax them into bed. "time for bed."

you peel your eyes open, squinting with a crease between your brows. you tug at your arm, of which doesn't really budge but lilia decides to humor the struggle so he lets go and raises his brows. "I'm not a kid!" you say, then turn your head to the side—like a kid.

oh, so adorable. lilia croons, swooning inside his head for a bit. how he'd like to simply hold you for hours end...

the romantic monolog of his daydreams though, is interrupted by you once more. ironic since you were the one he was just day dreaming about.

"oh, my. is that so? how lucky of me." he chooses to say instead.

silver sweatdrops. glancing between your hazy... anger maybe? it's not really anger in all honesty, just bordering. then to the lax demeanor his father exhibited. a glance would find normality in it, but he hasn't seen him pick on someone so...

he doesn't know the word for it, perhaps insisting on bothering a singular person as much as he can?

you gasp, snapping your head to silver. cause apparently you recognize him, but seemed scandalized by lilia's presence. "silver! protect me!"

amused, lilia watches you scurry back behind the boy.

"there's nothing to protect you from..."

"there's a man!"

"I'm a man too..."

"there's a bad man!"

your head peeks out from silver's confused frame, lilia's head follows the action. tilting to the side as you eye him hilariously warily. hmmm.. so very cute. "I'm an innocent, only wishing to steal my beloved." he replies, with a usual lightness. though the usual relaxation you had around him is replaced with irritation.

"you can't steal me away, my boyfriend and his children will strangle you."

lilia shares a look with silver. where did they get the idea of... such violence?

silver shrugs. not a clue, he seems to reply back, committed to just remaining a bystander even if he's technically in the middle.

"is that so?"

you nod vehemently, a more open vulnerability clear on your face than before. you point to lilia (well, technically you don't actually know its him! or maybe you're just playing with him?) squinting, accusing at all with him at the end of your pointer finger. the male only raises his brow, and flashes you a cheeky smile.

lilia contemplates playing with you. as in, replying 'why don't you guess?' because knowing you, even in this state you'd probably tell him: "how would I know?" then proceed to guess anyway.

you would have a cute expression, perhaps. but he isn't so cruel to the point where he would waste time—time you could be using to rest instead, preferably get sober, remember him when you wake up, and return to your lovey dovey self.

alright. maybe not lovey dovey on some days but he would definitely prefer that than you using his son as a shield against him, like the boy could actually hold him back.

well, it is technically his fault... but lilia had all the intentions to care for you if you ever got too drunk, he'd hold you up if you were too unsteady, guide you away from possible fiends, and make sure you recovered well the following morning.

but, this definitely didn't enter his area of expectations.

"yup!" you cry. "he might be short, but he can kick butt." for someone who's heard many arrogant words, he's never seen one who says one thing—a threat in your case, then you proceeded to cower behind the nonchalant silver.

you nudge silver.

silver blinks. "um... that's correct."

you glance back at lilia. as if to say I told you!

"so... he will kick my... butt?" lilia hums, indulging in using the word. goodness, good thing sebek is not here. that boy definitely would've kicked you out for endorsing such foul language.

he feigns a look of horror, to his amusement you seem to brighten.

simply adorable...

long story short. you seem to believe you've truly scared him off when he disappears.

concerned even more, silver watches you welcome lilia back with a dreamy sigh. like... you actually recognize him as your lilia, and not the guy you were just... threatening to bite the curb.

this is absurd... I should just rest... silver sighs.

lilia only beams at the showering affection.

[hellmunsonfire]

The dimly lit room was filled with the sweet scent of sex and sweat. The air was thick with tension as Eddie's chest heaved against yours, his breathing ragged from exertion. You could feel his heart pounding against your skin like a drumbeat.

Eddie pulls out of you, his cock glistening with your combined juices.

He collapsed onto you, his weight crushing you into the mattress. You wrapped your legs around him, holding him close as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"Eddie," you whispered, your voice husky from passion.

"Mmm," he moaned, nuzzling deeper into the curve of your neck.

He slowly lifts himself off you and positions himself between your thighs.

Eddie's gaze locked onto yours as he leaned in, his tongue darting out to taste the tender flesh of your pussy. You felt a shiver run down your spine as he licked you hard, his tongue probing every nook and cranny.

Eddie's fingers spread your folds apart, exposing you further.

His eyes never left yours as he delved deeper, his tongue dancing across your clit with reckless abandon. You arched off the bed, moaning loudly as pleasure coursed through you like liquid fire.

The sensation was almost too much to bear. You felt yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm when Eddie pulled back, leaving you gasping for air.

"No," You protested weakly, trying to pull him back down.

Eddie just chuckled against you skin before resuming his assault on your pussy. This time, he added his fingers to the mix, pumping them in and out of you with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

You're writhing beneath him, your body trembling with pleasure.

You was lost in the sensation, unable to do anything but feel. Eddie's tongue and fingers worked together like a well-oiled machine, driving you closer and closer to the brink.

And then you were there – plummeting over the edge into an abyss of pure bliss. Your body convulsed around Eddie's fingers as he continued to lick you hard, drawing out every last drop of pleasure from you exhausted form.

Eddie slowly lifts his head off your pussy and looks up at you with a satisfied grin.

"Mine," he whispered against your skin before claiming another kiss.

[void-my-warranty]

Ghost in the Bedroom (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content Warnings: Voyeurism, PIV sex, Oral (f-recieving), masturbation, emotional hurt/comfort, she/her reader Word Count: 4.8k

Service Dog Johnny Part 9 (full part list here)

“Ready for another, y’think?”

“Okay.”

You huff a quick breath into Johnny’s neck while he works that second finger inside you. It aches, but not in the way of being stretched out too quickly, not at all. It’s that burn in your pelvis which screams you won’t last long when you finally get a different part of him in you. 

At this point you’re too worked up to do anything but roll your hips into his knuckles, mentally taking hold of that throbbing sensation and beginning to paint the picture of your upcoming orgasm by how it feels. It’s going to be thorough, licking fire through every inch of your body thanks to how much foreplay they’ve given you, and how long you’ve been anticipating this. 

Johnny uses his free hand to just barely tug on your nipple, and you make a little gasp at that dart of pleasure. 

“Is this sensitive?” he asks, doing it again. 

“Mhmm.” Everything feels sensitive and tingly right now. Every piece of your skin seems to want his hands on it — in varying degrees of roughness, although you’re pretty unlikely to get any of that tonight. 

He seems inclined to make you drag your own pussy up and down his fingers, so you oblige, straddling his thighs and keeping your face hidden in his neck. 

“What do you like?” Johnny prompts. 

You pull your face back to get a look at him. “What do you mean?” 

He pushes his fingers apart a little to stretch you, then curls them in deep. “Got nothing better to do than come over and have disgustin’ amounts of sex all week, so what do you like?”

You don’t do yourself the disservice of glancing towards Simon for permission. This isn’t about him, it’s about you. And besides, he already knows a lot of your kinks, because it was just one of many getting-to-know-you kinds of things that you talked about as the relationship became more serious. He’s always been interested in you, even the parts he can’t exactly experience firsthand. 

So you do tell Johnny a little bit about what you like - some things you know for sure, and a few others which you’ve never actually tried - speaking plainly enough that Simon can probably hear if he’s listening. It doesn’t seem horribly awkward to talk about, when Johnny was the one to ask, and he’s steadily curling his fingers inside you while you tell him. This is basically your golden opportunity to experiment sexually, so you’d have to be stupid not to take advantage of it. 

“Does any of that sound fun?” you probe nervously, when an entire two seconds of silence have elapsed since you finished talking. 

“Aye, I’m game for all of that.”

That’s exactly what you thought he’d say. That’s such a Johnny thing to say.

That warm ache in your pussy fades to nothing when his fingers retreat from you, reaching over to the side table to grab the condom he apparently put there.

“I’m actually on the pill now,” you tell him enthusiastically. Two weeks gave you a chance to get your affairs in order this time around.

“Ooh, brilliant.” His face lights up, but he still tears the condom open. “Maybe just this once, though. Can’t be makin’ a mess on your nice sofa.”

Oh.

Well, that’s… disappointing. You try not to let it bother you, because really, there’s no such thing as being too careful with contraception. But you really were quite happy to finally contribute something to this whole arrangement, besides a needy pussy and emotional baggage.

That disappointment remains hidden, though, tucked away deep down. You keep a pleasant expression on your face while Johnny gets ready for you, reminding yourself that getting pregnant by him would be incredibly inconvenient, and you desperately try to think about something besides your unjustifiably hurt feelings. 

The good thing is, there’s nothing like getting fucked when you need it to erase those stale thoughts. You finally get to sink down onto Johnny’s thick cock, and he prepped you so well that it’s nothing short of delicious from the very first inch. 

It’s exactly what you needed, and you don’t give a shit that it’s just regular sex. It’s unoriginal, plain vanilla fucking, but it’s you and Johnny and Simon. All in the same room, all breathing the same air and wanting the same thing for each other. You wrap your arms around this wonderful man’s neck, careful to avoid his sore shoulder, and you kiss him like you want him. Soft and sloppy, taking him into your body and letting him feel how much you enjoy having him close. 

You want him to be fucked and happy and cared for, and maybe for tonight you can give him two of those things. You can wander your fingers through his hair while you kiss him, make him feel like he deserves to have a warm body and a soft heart looking after him. He may be injured from top to bottom, but you can do this for him. You can let him relax under you while you use each other to feel good. There’s no power dynamic, just kisses and scruff and a warm pussy for someone who deserves it. 

Those invisible fingers of release wrap around you from the inside, and you can’t help but whine into his mouth while you chase it. 

“Shite.” His hand lands on your hip for a moment to slow your movements, making you groan in frustration. 

Just a little bit more, come on. You don’t need much. Look, you’ll just grind yourself on him for a minute while he calms down, just a tiny bit. You’re good, see? You’re almost there, and you’re being so good, so—

“Alright,” he finally allows with a deep exhale, sliding his thumb around to your pussy instead of keeping you locked down. 

Suddenly your clit is getting rubbed in a way you can’t escape. You make a muffled gasp into his mouth, your entire world narrowing to only what you’re feeling between your legs. Realistically it’s just in-and-out, rub-rub-rub, but physiologically it’s a steady trickle of dopamine, and a primed, blissed out nervous system. 

And then all of a sudden you’re just cumming. All you can process is that rolling flash of pleasure which feels so right. Your body is so willing and open to receiving every scrap of it, that for a moment it feels like you’ve entered your natural state of being. Sweet, floating pleasure, and tingly skin, and a strong hand on your hip grinding you deeper into it when you’re no longer able to do it on your own. 

Jesus, it’s good. 

You come back to awareness slowly, with your cheek pressed against Johnny’s, and his palm running up and down your back. You try to roll your hips a little, because you’re pretty sure he hasn’t cum yet and you’re here just selfishly resting.

“Still with us?” Johnny asks, his breaths coming faster than before. 

You pat his cheek with an open hand, rousing yourself to drag your eyes open and straighten up. “I’m great.”

You swear there’s a soft, second laugh coming from the other side of the couch, at your sprightly resurrection. 

You’re more than great. You’ve still got that burn in your thighs that tells you it’s going to happen again, so long as you keep getting fucked. Johnny still hasn’t finished, so you’re going to keep going, and you’re going to cum, and it’s going to be amazing.

That trembling in your legs is nothing when you need this so bad. Johnny has the most lovely, fucked-out expression on his face, kneading your ass with one hand and playing with your nipple in the other. You’re just his lap girl right now, naked and touchable for him. The way he’s looking at you under those thick lashes - with his head tilted back over the top of the couch, lazily watching you bounce on his cock - is just the hottest thing ever. It sends that roll of need through your belly again, making your breath catch in your throat while you come to terms with how you’re about to cum under his gaze like this.  

Instead, to your fucking despair, the worst thing happens. Johnny’s head flexes back and he starts panting, pushing you deep onto his cock. 

Shit, shit, you were so close. It’s no use, though. You weren’t quite able to get there, and he’s forcing you to stop moving, holding you in place and grinding up into you for the last few pulses of his release. 

Not fair, not fair, not fair. 

You do your best to act happy for him, stroking your hands up his neck while he shudders a little. He gave you a fucking good one just a minute ago, and it’s not realistic to expect that he’ll last forever, especially since you put your mouth on him earlier. This is just… life. Sometimes you don’t get what you want, and you have to accept that. 

It’s not until you drop yourself down to the couch beside him that it occurs to you that you could… it could possibly be an option to ask for more. With boyfriends in the past, you’ve typically hid the problem away and tried to find time to rub one out later in private. But everything is complicated with Simon here, and Johnny seems nice enough that maybe he’d be interested in continuing, even after he’s finished. Even though your mind is screaming at you how unsafe it is to ask for what you need, Johnny’s made it sound like it might be okay to do that. 

“Johnny?” you ask quietly, ignoring that overwhelming feeling of danger, of needing to escape. 

“Eh?” He’s just getting his first leg back into his jeans, huffing like he forgot his ankle hurts. 

“Do you… Do you think you could, um, finger me a little bit more? I’d like to try to cum again, if that’s okay.” 

Danger, suicide, humiliation. Why are you doing this to yourself?

Johnny smiles, lowering his eyes to your knees which are clamped tightly shut. “‘Course you can have some fingers. Askin’ so nicely, too.”

“Gets all polite when she’s wet,” Simon confides, his voice full of affection. 

You shoot him a look of feigned annoyance, but dutifully pull your knees up when Johnny gets down to the floor in front of you. 

You’re shivering a little, from the anticipation and the rollercoaster of ups and downs you just went through. And, okay, maybe you enjoy the way they talk about you to each other. Maybe you like it just a tiny bit. 

Johnny pushes your thighs a little wider, works two fingers inside you and gives you that first rolling tide of pleasure. “Are you a very good girl when you need to cum?”

Dammit. You definitely like that. It seems like a rhetorical question, so you just make a little sound in your throat and focus on the feel of his fingers, the way he’s putting pressure on all the best spots while he fucks them into you. 

Asking for this was so difficult that you’re replaying it in the back of your mind, still wondering if you’re being too much of a burden, and he’s just going along with it to avoid the awkwardness of turning you down.

Your eyes are fastened on Johnny lowering his head to your pussy, when Simon’s quiet rumble pokes through your thoughts.

“Quite easy to look after, this one.”

He says it right as Johnny begins to suck on your clit, so you have to blink through that flash of pleasure for a second in order to look over at your boyfriend.

Simon regards you with the side of his knuckle resting lazily against his mouth, elbow draped over the top of the couch. He seems happy, content to watch you receive exactly what you asked for. Maybe even a little proud, if you really care to read into his expression. 

“Just needs a little loving,” he says, keeping you suspended in the loveliness of his eyes, “and a little fucking sometimes. Easy.”

Johnny gives you his fingers a little harder, making your pussy flutter around them while you gasp softly. You can’t seem to pull your gaze away from Simon’s face, not when he’s looking at you like this. He doesn’t touch you, but you swear you can almost feel the warmth of his eyes as they slide over your flushed chest, your breasts, your trembling knees. 

Suddenly all you need in the entire world is just to cum like this. That rushing feeling is already bubbling up and threatening to overtake you, now that you’re positive you’re allowed to have this. You close your eyes and splay your fingers into Johnny’s hair, needing to connect with him in some way, needing to convey how thankful you are for this, even though you’re incapable of speech at the moment. 

You’re doing everything you can to keep yourself in place, but one of your legs seems to have a mind of its own when your pussy begins to seize up. Your heel kicks down to the carpet with that first flood of pleasure rolling over your skin. You’re vaguely aware of Johnny hooking his arm around your hip to keep you in place, anchored just enough to reality that you don’t pull too hard on his hair while your body feeds you a long taste of heaven. 

Someone’s hand is in your hair, sliding down to your cheek, taking advantage of your incapacitation to make contact with your skin while you cum. Multiple people’s hands on you, inside you, but you still feel safe. Your mind is blank and unbothered while the man between your legs brings you down with gentler movements of his fingers, slower sucks on your clit.

“Okay,” you whimper, pushing against Johnny’s forehead, “okay, alright.”

Yep, you’re demolished. Completely spent and limp, and still floating in a blurry haze of endorphins. 

“You can always have that, you know.” Johnny’s voice sounds nice, smoothing pleasantly across the void of your mind. “Any time I’m around, whenever you want.”

You finally drag your eyes open to watch him get to his feet, collecting his clothes from the floor. He grins at you, seeming entertained by whatever dumb look is still on your face. Yeah, okay. How about you make him cum one more time, and then you can compare your mental states. 

You feel awfully like a snail on the sidewalk when Simon reaches across to collect you, cuddling you into him and draping your legs over his lap. He wipes your hair off your sweaty forehead and neck, encouraging you to rest on him.

“I love you,” he whispers. You’re pretty sure Johnny just stepped away to clean up. 

“Love you too, baby,” you mumble back, wrapping your arm around his stomach. “I’m feeling so good right now.”

“Good.”

“How are you feeling?” you ask, as you usually do after this sort of thing. 

“Fucking good.”

“Fucking good?” you peer up at him, smiling. “I must have done a good job, huh?”

Shameless begging for praise.

His fingers skim your jaw. “I don’t think you know… sort of… seeing how brave you are with all this. How much it helps.” 

You’re absolutely not brave, but you’re not petty enough argue the point. You kiss him for a minute, as your mind comes back to reality and your body starts to feel more under your control. 

Simon pulls away from the kiss, nudging the bridge of his nose against your cheekbone. “Fancy going back to the bedroom with me for a bit?”

You blink for a moment in confusion, staring at the back of his neck. “Do… do you mean…”

“Won’t promise anything will come of it, just—“

“Yes,” you blurt enthusiastically. “Yes, of course.” 

You push yourself upright, suddenly experiencing a major second wind, and just absolutely ecstatic that things are apparently going so well tonight. You knew he was in a good mood, but for him to be feeling this good, that’s fucking incredible. 

Uncaring that you’re still naked and drippy, you get up and grab Simon’s hand to haul him to his feet. The last thing you want is for him to sit in an awkward moment that’ll make him second guess himself. He’s pushed you through your insecurities, and you can extend him the same compassion. 

On your way, you pass a fully dressed Johnny leaving the bathroom. Your mouth opens to explain the situation, but before you can, he meets your eyes and gives you a lazy, two finger salute. “Have fun.”

Wait. 

He knew. 

Simon’s hand on your waist keeps you walking, but your mind is whirling when you finally realize the significance of insisting on a condom. He wasn’t concerned with getting the fucking couch messy, he was avoiding getting you messy ahead of your time with Simon. 

The click of the door closing behind you has your thoughts instantly rushing back to reality. Your boyfriend pulls his shirt off while he nudges you closer to the bed, apparently not keen on wasting any time. 

“How do you want to do this?” you ask, sitting down once the backs of your legs hit mattress. 

He removes his jeans a little slower than the shirt, staring down at you in that way he does sometimes, where you can practically see the wheels of his thoughts turning. 

“I’m not sure how far I’ll be able to go.”

“No pressure,” you assure him. “Whatever you can think of that feels doable, let’s do that. And it won’t hurt my feelings if you need to stop.”

He leans down to give you a quick kiss while he gets the pants off his feet. God, now you almost wish Johnny hadn’t made you cum quite so good, so that this would be a little more sexual and a little less therapeutic. But Simon did it this way on purpose, and honestly, he’s probably right. Your horny brain doesn’t need to be getting in the way.

“Would you… do you think I could just.. possibly try…” he swallows, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably while he tries to overcome the walls in his head. He’s always had trouble communicating verbally when he’s at the edge of things like this.

You keep your eyes on his face, and your voice steady. “How about you get yourself where you want to be, and then I’ll come get where you want me? That thing in your head, that’s what we’re going to do, okay? You don’t have to explain it first.”

Simon takes a breath and nods. Holy shit, this is happening. 

You stay where you are while he climbs onto the bed, until he gets stretched out on his back and pats his chest. “On top.”

A heady thrill shoots through you, and you crawl over to him, unable to keep your breathing anywhere close to normal. Is he going to touch you? Does he want you to fuck him?

You swing your knee over his hips and let your pussy kiss his stomach with all your cum that’s still between your thighs. You hope he doesn’t mind it, that maybe he’d even appreciate experiencing your wetness like this for the first time. It’s not dirty, Johnny made sure of that. 

Simon seems to take you for your word that you’ll go where he wants. He hooks his arms under your knees and pulls you up his stomach until you’re practically sitting on his chest, pussy just a few inches from his chin.

“Can you breathe?” you whisper, nervous to have all your weight on his lungs like this. 

“Mhmm.”

Simon’s in the thick of it, you can see that in his eyes. He’s tunnel-visioned in on the objective, reaching those thick arms over your thighs to presumably pull himself out of his underwear. He releases a relieved breath at having some contact finally on what you can only imagine is an awfully achy bit between his legs. 

This is interesting. You can see why it occurred to him, having you sit here specifically. He can see your whole body and also your face, but you can’t see anything of what he’s doing behind your ass. 

To a casual observer, this might seem like a strange arrangement, but to you, this is everything. This is the direction he wants to go in, he wants to feel pleasure that you’re a part of. He wants your body to be touching him while he cums. He wants those trauma pathways to shift, for his nervous system to stop connecting all the wrong wires. He wants to be naked with you, and feel safe. 

“Can I have your hand?” you ask softly, once you’re certain he really is jacking off right now behind you. 

His eyebrows do a confused flick for a second, but he obediently stops moving and lifts his hand into the air in front of you, his fingers hesitantly curled like he’s not sure what you want it for. 

You grab that thick wrist with a gentle pressure, and you deposit a big glob of your own spit onto his palm, smiling at him and wiping your chin when you’re done.

Simon blinks slowly and his mouth twitches into the absolutely loveliest smile for a moment. He cups his hand around your offering and worms it under your knee this time, so he’ll have an easier time of reaching his cock. 

Oh god, you love this so much. You’ll do anything for that fucking cock, which you’ve never even seen erect before. You don’t care if it’s beautiful, or scarred, or crooked, or polka-dotted. It’s his, and you love it by extension. 

You just wish you knew what you’re supposed to be doing. Should you being saying something? Sweet nothings, or dirty talk? Should you be squeezing your tits, or giving him a bunch of eye contact, or maybe no eye contact? God, are you even sexy at this angle? He’s looking straight up your body, so he’s got a front row seat of your double chin.

Don't get nervous, you’ll psyche him out. He just watched you fuck his friend in a similar position, so even if he doesn’t find this particularly sexy, maybe he can pull from those recent memories. 

Simon’s breathing starts to pick up, but his eyes don’t look right. They start getting twitchy, his lids stuttering and not landing on your face as often. You’re just stupidly sitting here doing nothing, waiting for a splash of warm cum on your ass, but his movements start to slow down.

Shit, something’s wrong. His lungs aren’t expanding as much as they should, and then his free hand finds your ankle and grabs onto it hard, like he’s trying to communicate something. You think maybe he hit a wall, because his movements stop and his eyes go a little unfocused and blinky.

“It’s okay,” you quickly tell him, cupping his cheek with your hand. “It’s alright if we stop right now.”

His pupils are shrunk down tight when his eyes finally focus on yours. “You sure?” he pants out, leaning his face just slightly away from your palm.

“Of course, baby.” You brace your hand on the pillow instead, and you’re rewarded with that grip on your ankle finally relaxing. “That was so good. I’m so proud of you.”

He clears his throat a little, scrubbing at his face with his hand. Hiding. 

“I love you so much,” you babble, because he’s having trouble talking, and he generally doesn’t mind if you do. “If we have to do this a hundred times before we get it right, that’s totally fine. Or if you never want to do it again, that’s okay too! Day by day, okay? You did good.”

Simon just nods, moving his arm in a way that makes you think he’s putting himself back in his underwear. He’s having some trouble meeting your eyes. 

Once you’re sure he’s decent, you haul yourself off him and lay down on your stomach nearby. Close enough that he knows he can touch you if he wants that. 

“How about this,” you try. “You go take a nice shower, and do what you need to do to feel better if you want to. Then we can cuddle and watch TV or something.”

“Yeah.” He lets out all the air in his lungs, then leans over to kiss the side of your hair. “Alright.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

It’s not until the bathroom door closes behind him that you let yourself drop the encouraging smile. You bury your face in your hands and just breathe for a moment, going over everything that went wrong. 

He was in such a good headspace earlier, and really he made leaps and bounds of progress. Surely it just seems like a failure right now, because the dopamine is gone and you’re alone in bed, and he didn’t get off. Everything is literally fine, you just got fucked as good as any girl could wish for, and Simon touched himself in front of you. That’s a fucking amazing night, so why are you being so dramatic about it?

It’s too quiet and lonely in here. You know if you stay and wait for Simon to be done with his shower, he’ll walk back in on your depression spiral, and be forced to comfort you in a way he’s maybe not equipped to do right now. 

Wait, Johnny. Is he still here?

You quickly throw on some underwear and Simon’s shirt, and peek your head out the door. The TV is still playing soccer, but it’s otherwise quiet.

Your bare feet make no noise on the laminant when you cross over and look past the top of the couch, finding Johnny stretched out there with his face turned towards the game. 

“Johnny?” you prompt quietly, so you won’t scare him. 

His face turns to look at you, and… fuck. Just having someone else around, someone who you trust, has the worst of your emotions suddenly seizing up your lungs. 

Seeing the look on your face, Johnny uncrosses his arms. “Aww, what happened?”

“It went really well,” you say, though your voice is cracking with the beginning of tears. “He made… a lot of progress, I think.”

“That’s good.” He’s got a very concerned expression on his face, so you must look like a mess. 

The first bit of water slides down your cheek, and you quickly wipe it away. “Simon’s fine, I think. He’s taking a shower. It’s just—“ 

You try to swallow down that lump in your throat, but it just gets bigger, and before you know it, you’re admitting out loud the debilitating truth. “It wasn’t enough.” 

Johnny purses his lips sympathetically, and you just fucking burst into tears. “Everything was p-perfect, and it still wasn’t enough.”

You cover your face with your hands to sob behind them, and Johnny says, “Aww, lass, come here.”

You do your best to blindly make your way around the couch while you cry, and then Johnny drags you down to his chest, pulling your body over his and holding you close. 

“It wasn’t anything you did,” he tells you thickly, “it’s just the way it is.”

That just makes you cry harder, because it shouldn’t be that way. 

“I hate them,” you sob into his chest.

He curses softly, petting your hair. “I know.” 

“I hate them, I hate them!” You just start wailing it into his chest, your lips pulling back in your fucking fury. 

Johnny’s shoulders shake a little, and you’d almost think he’s laughing, except that one of his hands moves to wipe his face. “I know.”

He lets you cry on him for a long time. Long enough that you’re very glad you came to him for comfort, because you’d probably be doing the same exact thing by yourself in the bedroom.

You don’t hear the bedroom door open, but you do hear the sigh when Simon wanders over. 

“Can’t have a bloody wank without you lot fussing over it like a couple of grans.”

You get scooped up in your boyfriend's fresh, clean arms, and Johnny sits up so you all can recover on the same couch. Simon doesn’t let you apologize for your outburst, keeps shushing you when you try. 

It’s quiet for a while after that. Johnny’s team wins, so that’s something. He stays the night, and that’s nice, too.

Next Part

Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop

Chronological Read-Through Path

[harmonysanreads]

hi harmy its me :3c ur son

anyways yeah,,, im back with brainrot,,,

and more about ouppy phainon!!! something about mighty warriors melting when you call them good boy scratches my brain in such a way YOU HAVE NO IDEAAA i will never forgive you for enabling this thought process btw this is all your fault /silly

AND AND AND,,, kitty anaxa,,,,, smirks i need to pet him vigorously until he gets annoyed and tries to bite my hand YOU GET ME,,, but it never works bc i will simply coo and pet him harder and call him even more obnoxious nicknames until he is forced to give up and accept my pets

petpetpetpetpetpetpetpet forever and ever and ever

You'll not deny, you've scarcely pondered the true weight of your position, your power.

At unpredictable intervals, between the pauses of your fingers weaving through his hair, in the shade away from the light of his gaze — it crosses your mind, briefly. That the hands that cling to the ends of your garbs are of no ordinary man's, the voice that prays your name is not one that'll be ignored in a crowd.

That despite how much he places himself beneath the shadow of reverence, the light of devotion in Phainon's eyes will remain ever incendiary.

“Tired?” you guess, cautious. He responds by burrowing deeper in your lap, his knees stop just before your ankles.

Your eyes settle on the tufts of ivory hair, they shy away as soon as your grip softens. It would not seem so to an eye that hasn't observed, but there is always a reason behind this particular behavior of his. Sensing his unwillingness to speak, you see fit to use your last option.

“Who's a good boy?” a zephyr carries to his ear, the sun peeks from behind translucent clouds.

“Me?” you can feel his nails dig into the hem of your chiton, his breaths at a halt — it'll gladly remain so until you command.

Your eyes search for a trace of your answer among the torches that light his abode, unsatisfied, “Where is my good boy?”

His clothes rustle as he straightens his back, before leaning fully towards your lap, “Here.” his admission is firmer than last time.

His eyes close in relief as you reward him by patting his head, much pleased at this development. You don't allow the sigh of solace to escape from the confines of your throat, indulging this interlude from the sun's attention.

Your eyes follow the journey of your fingers ; dodging the corner of his eyes, brushing past his cheeks, dipping towards the arch of his neck. Phainon cannot resist joining your observation, as your finger traces the gold of the choker wrapped around his neck, the tip of your nail teases the skin — before you withdraw altogether.

You laugh at your own trickery, not courageous enough to look back at Phainon's face.

Your indulgence is stopped short as you feel a familiar grip around your wrists, clasping wholly onto your palms and settling them back on Phainon's face.

Unlike before, there is strength in that grip — not enough to hurt, just enough to serve as a reminder of how worse it can get. You find your throat parched when you swallow, there's a veiled warning in those eyes of his.

Do you dare still, to wield this dangerous weapon?

“You really remind me of a cat, did you know?” you probe at the brooding scholar.

Anaxa takes a moment to digest the new piece of information, he's heard several unflattering monikers throughout his life. This one, even his brilliant mind nearly toppled over trying to decipher.

“That is quite insulting,” he mutters, glancing at you pointedly.

“How so?” you but lean over the tree, light dancing across your pupils.

“You're comparing a scholar and no ordinary scholar at that, to a mere feline. Is this you indirectly calling me lazy, or pointing out that my wisdom is insignificant compared to the intelligence of a c—”

“I love cats.” you stress, unflinching before his scorn.

The pupil of his visible eye darts across your smile, apparitions of neurons firing in his brain could almost be seen reflected on it. He parts his lips to speak, but closes them instantly, an absence of what he deems are the correct words being indicated.

You bite your lip to stifle the laughter bubbling in your chest.

With great effort he finally says, “So... what?” though his gaze is averted.

“So, I'm implying that,” your steps shrink the distance between you two.

“I adore you enough to compare you to cats.” Anaxa holds his arm out in defense, unfortunately for him, your proximity is close enough to reveal the blood that rushes to his cheeks.

“Nonsense—”

Taking advantage of his stupefaction, you hold two tufts of his hair and hold them in the shape of cat ears. Your giggle brings the scholar back to Amphoreus, he weakly attempts to swat you off but you take the opportunity to deliver a pinch to his cheeks.

A ‘hey!’ heavy with disbelief escapes him, his palm rises to cradle the teased skin. Rouge stains his cheeks.

“Okay okay, I'll stop.” you raise your arms in surrender. There are always unsaid limitation to a person's patience. You may indulge in testing where they cease, but even you know not to cross certain territories.

You spin on your heels to depart but a new interference introduces itself.

You don't recall Anaxa's grip being this strong, the thought passes as you feel his fingers dig into the curve of your waist. His chin settles on the dip of your shoulder, his breath warming the skin.

Perhaps, you shouldn't have teased him.

[sturnioz]

꒰ STURNIOZ KINKTOBER '24 ꒱ !

shy!matt isn't the biggest fan of horror movies, so he uses you for a distraction.

thank you @bernardsbendystraws for the idea, love you <3

matt flinches beside you as another jumpscare flashes across the screen, his body tensing as ringed fingers grip the blanket tightly, knuckles turning white as he pulls it close to his neck, squinting through long lashes in a desperate attempt to continue watching the horror movie.

you can't help but grin in amusement at matt's reactions, grabbing a handful of buttery popcorn and trying to stifle your laughter by shoving the popcorn into your mouth, but the sight of matt's wide eyes and fidgeting makes it nearly impossible for you to remain silent.

when a figure suddenly appears on the screen, matt gasps loudly — a sound that's half a squeak, and half a started yelp. you watch as he sinks further into the couch, knuckles turning an even paler shade of white as he pulls the blanket up over his chin, leaving only his wide, terrified eyes visible.

"i hate this," he mutters, his voice coming out slightly muffled from the safety of the blanket. "i hate this movie."

"it's not that bad," you hum, casually shoving another handful of popcorn into your mouth. "it's predictable as fuck."

"does it look like i'm predicting the jumpscares?" matt whines helplessly beside you, his voice a mix of exasperation and fear which causes you to laugh, reaching over to gently stroke his hair in a comforting gesture as he continues. "how am i supposed to know when—"

matt is abruptly cut off by another piercing scream, and you aren't sure if the sound came from the movie or from him, and you choke on your popcorn as matt flings the blanket over his head, trembling beneath the comforter.

"matt!" you call out his name, laughing loudly, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. you cough and splutter, thumping your chest with your fist to clear your throat, and the sight of him quaking beneath the blanket only makes you laugh harder.

under the blanket, matt stays hidden, completely overwhelmed and refusing to even watch the rest of the movie, and you allow him to do as he pleases, but your laughter dies down and is replaced by curiosity when you feel matt shift beside you, moving to lay between your legs beneath the blanket.

you go to call out his name, to question him on what he's doing, but the words get caught in the back of your throat when matt pulls your shorts and under to the side, gently parting your folds with trembling fingers.

"matt..?"

"shh.." his breathing shudders as he shushes you, and you feel his nose brush against your skin as he leans in close. "need... need a distraction, okay? just.. just need this."

his tongue is already darting out to taste you before you could even reply, and your mouth hangs open in a silent gasp, your hips raising towards his face as your hand slips beneath the blanket, tangling your fingers in his hair and guiding him closer to your heat.

soft moans escape your lips, the horror movie playing in the background fading into white noise — you don't even care about the movie anymore, and you most definitely can't concentrate when you're feeling matt's tongue lapping at your pussy, mouth sucking gently on your clit.

you arch your back off the couch, pushing your pussy more firmly against matt's mouth as you breathlessly whisper his name at the smooth slide of his tongue. his hands begin to wander, caressing your thighs and thumbing circles over your clit.

the dual sensation of his talented mouth and fingers pushes you closer to the edge, and you roll your hips in time with matt's licks, seeking more friction and pressure.

the messy noises is what makes your body tense too, your toes curling as the knot inside your stomach wounds tighter and tighter with matt's relentless rubbing on your clit, your gummy walls clenching around matt's probing tongue as you buck wildly, grinding your soaked folds against his face as your orgasm hits.

matt continues lapping at you until you collapse back onto the couch, panting heavily as you desperately try to catch your breath while matt crawls out from beneath the covers, capturing a glimpse of his glistening chin and lips as he moves up your body, refusing to meet your eyes as he lays above you comfortably, tucking his face in the crevice of your neck as his arms wind around your back, holding you close as you come down.

© STURNIOZ

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 14 ] || [ Chapter 16 ]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.9K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: white-knighting johnny.

Chapter 15: Mo leannan

Johnny isn’t stupid. 

Or blind, for that matter.

Since the first time that Ghost went on that ‘date’, he’s noticed how different he’s been acting.

And weeks ago, he caught him and Gaz leaving base together in civvies. Civvies that neither of them would wear to go out for just a pint.

And either way, if they were going out for a pint, they’d have invited him and Price to go with.

No, this was different.

Personal.

And when they came back, and for the days after, he caught them sneaking glances at one another.

They’d exchange this sort of… look, that he couldn’t quite decipher.

But he could swear Ghost was smirking behind that balaclava of his…

And Gaz would bite his tongue before looking away.

It kept happening… The two of them disappearing for the night over the course of a few weeks, and coming back just in time for morning training.

Both of them way too glued to their phones…

His brain filled in the blanks as best as it could… 

And it decided that they were in love, Ghost and Gaz. 

That they were sneaking off base to get together in secret…

That they would text each other sweet nothings…

That they would exchanges glances to signify ‘I love you’s they couldn’t say aloud.

And, well, it was none of his business…

But it kind of stung a bit that he wasn’t trusted with it.

So, he tried probing.

Just a little.

Going up to Gaz during training and sort of nudging at him, poking him to see if he could get a reaction.

He made up some lie about having a date and asking Gaz if he needed help finding one too. The other lad said no with a decisive head shake.

Then, another day, he told him a story he heard of some sergeant, their age, who was caught in a relationship with a superior in their direct chain of command. And he didn’t miss the way Gaz’s eyes darted away before he muttered how stupid those soldiers were.

But Gaz didn’t fess up to anything…

And Soap wasn’t about to go up to Ghost and try the same… 

So he froze his investigation for a moment.

And he picked it up right. now.

As he stands on the next aisle at the corner shop, getting a few snacks to stock up on, he hears Simon’s distinct voice… it seems to be coming from a phone.

Peeking over what does he see if not you, listening to a voice memo with the butt of your phone against your ear, thinking the volume is low enough not to bother anyone else.

And it is low, but Johnny has good hearing, and could recognize his L.T.’s voice anywhere.

The audio is long and you’ve been listening to it for a while and giggling at it occasionally as you put things into your basket that hung from the crook of your elbow.

He’s sure you’ve been listening to the audio for like 4 minutes now, just a constant flow of Simon’s voice into your ear, probably telling you some sort of story.

Now there was something Soap hadn’t considered.

An extra piece of the puzzle…

He recognizes your face from a couple months ago on Tinder, when all four of them matched with you and, jokingly, Johnny said to Price, Gaz and Ghost that he did all the work in getting you with Price…

There was no way Ghost and Gaz were meeting up with you, was there?

Could they just have a new friend? Or… could you be more?

Thinking of approaching you and asking you directly, Johnny only catches on too late that someone is beelining right for you.

A tall, lanky bloke, maybe 6ft1 or 6ft2, with a look like he’s ready to kill someone stops grabs you by the shoulder and spins you around.

Your eyes double in size and recognition. “Who do you think you are?” He asks you.

“What the fuck do you want, Ethan?” You complain as you tap around on your phone, probably pausing the voice memo and sticking your phone in your pocket.

“What do I want?” He asks you with a humorless laugh. “I want to find out why the fuck you’re suddenly having multiple other blokes over at the flat for the whole night.” He replies.

Johnny’s eyebrows raise as he watches the scene from around the corner into the aisle.

“Since when is that any of your business? And how do you even know? Have you been spying on me?” You ask him, taking a step back.

“Spying? No. But multiple times now I’ve gone to your flat to get the rest of my things and when I was in the elevator got surprised by seeing a bloke going in or out of there.” Ethan reveals.

“Oh, piss off, Ethan!” You retort.

“You’re not denying it.” He replies. “That’s it, innit? You decide to break up with me, saying how you “deserve better” and you’re “not happy” and now you’re going around with a bunch of other blokes?” He says and chuckles dryly again.

“Oh, you’re such a knobhead!” You insult him, your feelings slightly bruised. “How dare you, honestly?! I’m not-” You add.

“You selling yourself now, ‘s that it?” He asks mockingly. “There was an old one leaving in the morning a couple months ago… now there’s black one too… And I’m pretty sure I saw one with a mask the other day. Your clients’ too embarrassed to show their faces around you, huh?” He taunts you.

“I’m sure if I went back tomorrow I’d find another bloke slipping out the door, wouldn’t I?” He continues, his words venomous. “I saw three so far, but I’m sure there’s been more. How many, hm?”

“Oh, my, God… You’re disgusting!” You tell him as you take a step back again, your fingers tightening around the handle of your basket. “I’m not selling myself, not that I need to justify anything to you! Now get away from me!”

“What’s wrong, lovie? You’re embarrassed to say that the break-up was all just an excuse for you to go around and be a whore?” He continues taunting you.

Johnny ses the panic in your eyes and before he can think about it, he’s standing behind this ‘Ethan’, who seems to be your ex. 

“They said ‘Get away from me’, I think that’s your cue, mate.” Johnny remarks with disdain dripping from his voice. Ethan turns and looks down to find Johnny. 

Johnny’s a palm shorter than him, at only 5ft10, but he’s built like a brick shithouse. Big, beefy arms, broad shoulders, strong pecs… Not to mention he’s in full military garb, minus the vest and pistols. 

His appearance is more than enough to strike a bit of fear in men taller than him… And Ethan is definitely intimidated.

“This doesn’t concern you. I’m talking to my partner.” Ethan tries defending himself.

“I don’t think so.” Johnny replies and stalks around him to your side. “Way I see it, they’re my partner.” He bluffs easily while snaking his arm around the small of your back.

He prays that you play along, silently hoping that you remember him, if nothing else, from Tinder.

“Yours?” Ethan sputters and glares at the two of you. You look up at Johnny like he’s your saving grace and lean closer to him, as a sign you recognize him and appreciate the help.

“Aye, mine.” Johnny replies with a curt nod. “This is that Ethan you’ve been telling me about, mo leannan?” [my love] Johnny asks you as his hand gently rubs your back.

Looking up at Johnny, you end up nodding in agreement. “Yeah…” You say softly, knowing that you can’t quite lie, because Ethan knows you well enough to pick up on it.

“I figured.” Johnny says as he looks at Ethan again, playing the part of the overprotective boyfriend pretty well.

“All these blokes ye’ve been ‘seeing’ out of their flat are my mates.” He explains and forces a crooked, not-quite-nice smile on his lips. “They were making sure they were alright, safe and sound, while I was overseas.” Johnny gestures to his outfit.

The realization that you are ‘dating’ a serviceman seems to extinguish whatever revolt was inside Ethan’s body immediately, like a candle that has been blown out.

Johnny lies like it’s second nature to him. His pulse and his breath are not wavering… And you can tell, because the way he has you pressed against him, you can hear both.

You finally realize what Simon told you months ago about “lying enough” while on the job and striving for honesty when he’s out of it… These soldiers are trained to lie like it’s nothing.

“And frankly, now that I saw ye accostin’em like this in a public place, I’m glad I didn’t skimp out on asking my mates to keep an eye on m’eudail.” [my darling] Johnny continues. 

“Now, if you don’t mind. We have shopping to do before we go home. So how about ye piss off?” He concludes and smiles politely. “Or else this is gon’ get very ugly.” He adds and his eyebrows shoot up in a silent lunge of a challenge.

Ethan doesn’t seem to quite believe the lies, but at the same time he’s intimidated enough to not try and argue. So he grumbles under his breath, throws his hands up in an exasperated groan and turns on his heel to walk back out of the store.

Only when he’s fully out of sight and Johnny’s sure the coast is clear, does he unwrap his arm from around you. “Ye alright?” He asks you. “Sorry for the sudden manhandling, could tell ye needed a hand… and had to get ‘im away from ye somehow.” He adds, apologetically.

You nod and look away a bit sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” You say softly as you fix your grip on your shopping basket.  “Just never thought something like this would happen.”

Johnny nods as he looks at you, noticing your face seems extremely stressed, set into a grimace that he does not like. You’re clearly shaken up.

“Hey, it’s alright. He’s gone.” He tells you calmly and taps you lightly on the shoulder. “Do ye need me to walk ye home?” He suggests.

Nodding softly, you force yourself to smile. “I think… I think that’s a good idea.” You end up saying.

Johnny nods as well. “Want me to call Simon and Kyle to meet ye there?” He asks.

Your head snaps up to look at him and your eyes widen. “You… you know?” You ask him in surprise, your breath catching in his throat.

“They’re not as discreet as they wish they were.” Johnny says, once more lying through his teeth. 

He would never admit it took him the better part of two months to realize Simon and Kyle were ‘together’, and that it only clicked they’re together with you right now… the confirmation having come from your stalker-y ex.

“Oh…” You say sheepishly and clear your throat awkwardly.

“It’s alright, I promise.” He assures you. “I’m not judgin in any way. They’re my mates, ye ken?” He adds in a surprisingly gentle tone. “Just tryin’ to help.”

From the stories you’ve heard out of Kyle and Simon, and even Johnny’s own bio on Tinder, you’d never have guessed he was so tender… They always described him as an anger-prone, grown-up class clown… And yet here he is.

Gulping down a breath, you nod. “Yeah… Please.. And I can… I can tell them what happened when we’re home.”

“Alright.” Johnny replies. “Ye wanna finish yer shopping first or d’ye wanna just go?” He asks you carefully.

“I… I’ll just get what I’ve already got in the basket… I want to get out of here…” You add as you shuffle toward the one register counter of the small corner shop.

“Right behind ye.” Johnny remarks as he follows after you.

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

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!): @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

[spacenutspod]

In this episode, we explore new revelations about near-Earth asteroids and their evolution over time. We also dive into the ongoing enigma of the sun's superheated corona, and the Kremlin's latest plans for a new Russian orbital SpaceTime station plus Skywatch highlights for August...what you can see in the night sky this month.. Join us for these intriguing updates and more! - 00:00:00 - This is spacetime series 27, episode 96, for broadcast on the 9 August 2024 - 00:00:44 - Five new studies provide fresh insights into the ways asteroids change over time - 00:10:50 - Russia has unveiled the latest designs and timeline for its new space station - 00:15:22 - Astronomers describe stars in terms of spectral types based on temperature and characteristics - 00:19:58 - Messier four is one of 103 fuzzy objects discovered by Charles Messiere - 00:22:16 - Sagittarius is known for its many nebula and clusters - 00:23:23 - Ophiuchius contains several star clusters and other interesting features - 00:27:02 - August is also the peak of the annual Perseids meteor shower - 00:29:00 - The Milky Way is directly overhead in the southern hemisphere at this time of year - 00:30:21 - The southern cross is visible in the evening sky during August For more SpaceTime, visit our website at www.spacetimewithstuartgary.com www.bitesz.com Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/spacetime-with-stuart-gary--2458531/support

[persicipen-archive]

𑑛 “CLAWS” ﾉ FEIXIAO. HONKAI STAR RAIL

fem reader ﾉ words 2.9k ᯽ sponsored through @ficsforgaza project ﾉ wolf and bunny dynamic. bunny-aligned petnames. reader is feixiao’s concubine. lesbian sex waaah! fingering. oral — reader receiving. biting. rough handling. overstimulation. magical strap. big cock feixiao <3 ᯽ ADULT CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ᯽

you bring a special scroll from lingsha to your general, who commissioned a secret spell. as her favourite concubine, such visits in a tent during the resting hours could only mean one thing. and you would gladly oblige.

Your task was simple. Important, but simple.

To have the special scroll from Lingsha, the new Cauldron Master of the Xianzhou Luofu’s Alchemy Commission, be delivered into the hands of your beloved general, the Merlin’s Claw herself, Feixiao of Xianzhou Yaoqing. Both women treated this as a form of alliance, sharing secrets ebbed into the silken paper and smug glances back when they were discussing the mysterious context of said spell.

It took a while — not a short one — but once it was ready, you were the one to bring it back.

Encouraged by the phantom of the lingering touch of the general, a sweep of her fingers on your chin to keep your head up right before your leave, you rode through the skies with curiosity and naive excitement in your heart to feel it anew at your return.

In every sense of the word, to enemies she was the storm, but to you — your sun. So dazzling and full of pride, capable of bearing everything as though it weighed nothing, even the blows of evil barely scratching her muscles.

And she treated her concubines with care, not to be so bold to say — with love. And you were her favourite, for some reason, given the large amounts of luxury gifted to you on occasion. Before your departure, she gave you her most precious white borisin fur, hiding underneath layers and layers of gilded and elegant silks that emitted a sweet perfume scent with every movement. You loved the fur, similar to the mane on her forehead, like she gave you a part of herself to keep you warm.

Now, not even the moon fully settled on the night sky, you come back and — long story short — end up in the general’s bed.

The bond between you feels tangible, woven into the very fabric of the evening. She will be the fury, and you will be a steady river, welcoming, caring, never turning away from her.

Swept from your feet and put under her body, you’re smiling at her grinning features that demand obedience. To give yourself to her, at last, after she waited and waited for you to bring the scroll — its contents safely tucked away by the nightstand for later use.

“Come on, sweetling, I didn’t send you to Lingsha for you to slack off.” Feixiao’s voice is electrifying, sharp against your body. “Didn’t she teach you the ways of pleasuring demanding lovers, eh?”

“Like you, general?”

“Heh, like me.”

Her long fingers knead you, with the goal of having you warm and soft for her. The contrast between her pointy features — silver ears flicking above her head, icy eyes darting from your face to between your legs, sculpted arms from bearing the weapons swift as a lightning— and yours gets her going. How could it not? You’re a real treat, and all she can think of is to bite into you with joy.

Sharp as a knife, the general feels like you are so close yet still too far away, even when her hand slams into your mouth, probing at your tongue so you may drool all over her wrist, a pliant creature you are.

Why should she waste precious time when you can salivate this much and all it takes is just to bring her own palm down and smear the moisture all over your puffy folds?

“Hah, hot already. And here I am thinking you need to be more wet… Look at my pants, fuck, all stained from your juices, ha!” She grins, her laugh thunderous in the room as you sigh and whimper, trying to touch her wherever you can, while Feixiao bucks up against your thigh and hisses at the friction.

You hump into her hands, but she takes you off, rising and kissing you with savage delight.

The smell of steel is not so prominent on her, mostly soot and blood; she’s not fresh from the battlefield like this morning, but she still carries the war with herself, the traces of fire and ashes never really leaving her even if there’re no weapons on her person. She holds you with eyes almost feral, as if she hasn’t eaten in days and only a mere strip of flesh will satiate her hunger.

A turbulence of messy undressing and pulling at each other’s robes lasts a flicker of time and she keeps that silk veil on you like a ribbon on a gift.

She lets go of you, laying you down and taking off her clothes quickly. You rest there like a delicate sacrifice, all too willing to offer yourself to the god of war, yet not without complaining about how she takes too long for it’s unnecessary for her to be naked, and this was your job anyway — just to lay and smell deliciously with your legs open.

“And what do we have here? A bunny who knows how to bite?”

“Only if you want me to, general.”

She shuts you up with another rough kiss, smashing her lips into yours and forcing her tongue into your mouth. Her firm tits glide up and down against your own, pebbled and scarred nipples digging into your skin.

When she parts, she takes hold of your chin, pinching and turning your head left and right, admiring her handiwork — how hazy your glossy eyes are, how you pant desperately.

You whine a little, your lashes fluttering against your flushed cheeks, and Feixiao gives you a gentle slap in the face. She then grips your face hard, whispering to you how cute you are and what a pretty little thing ro be devoured.

The power and strength in her hands make you shudder in pleasure. Her praise makes you beam.

“Bunny, I cannot ever decide if I want to get to you immediately or savour the time together. Mm, but now I see you and I cannot tease you any longer, so— legs wide.”

Her free hand squeezes into your knee, while she roughly spreads you open, letting go of your face and sliding down, sitting between your legs. She eyes you up and down before her claws, beautifully manicured nails, drag across your soft thighs, leaving angry red marks on the surface. Her luminescent gaze is almost poisonous, turning your blood into lead, hot and burning within you.

It takes all your might not to fall apart right there and then, but she decides to spare you some humiliation for once, drawing closer to your mound.

Your insides are warm and slick, reddened by all the rubbing you received earlier, and the general doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of this. She licks a long stripe between your folds, the tip of her not entirely foxian tongue leaving a trail of saliva to coat and slick up your skin. You stifle a moan and bite your lips, hands balled into fists on your sides as you fight the urge to make a noise, letting her hear only the echoes of her own harsh breaths.

She goes in deeper, flattening her tongue against your most sensitive part and slurping obscenely, because she knows it gets you worked up. She wants you to say her name. How your body convulses is delicious to see, especially when she, as your lover, feels you getting close. The buildup elicits a whimper out of you, chest rising and falling rapidly as she laps at your cunt.

You have been edged for too long, and you feel tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed with all these sensations — the slight tickle from her nose rubbing against your clit, the strange coldness of her silver piercings, the moist heat of her mouth eating you out.

“Ah—! General, general, please…!” Your words sound like an enchantment to her ears, like music, so she only groans louder and slaps your thigh a few times, relishing in how your muscles tremble. Your toes curl into the sheets as the general holds your legs up and over her shoulders, grabbing your ass up from the splayed sheets and rocking you back and forth against her face.

When you finally reach your peak, your cries are wanton and high-pitched, lost to the wind that roams through the tent. The storm rising outside together with desire stirring within the Merlin’s Claw heart.

With her relentless mouth still on you, licking all of your juices, you slump down into the pillows, sighing heavily.

Feixiao comes up for air after a while, laughing at how limp you look, arms above your head, thighs still spread open with your swollen folds in full view. She scoffs, calls you a whore for this with a proud smile, and dips her hand there for the last time, giving you a few circular rubs, causing you to buckle and wail into the mattress.

“Hah, the more you have, the more you want. Good thing I asked Lingsha for that spell… You know which one. One of the few good uses of the curse within my body.” She exclaims, purring, one arm already reaching for the parchment with the handwritten enchantment.

Before your eyes, as she tears down her military pants, a shroud of mist and storm gathers in her loins, tamed and shaped by her claws until it takes a phallic form. Its glistening dark blue is marbled with streaks of molten silver, solidifying into cloudy ridges and bumps as you stare at it with interest.

“Naughty woman, she didn’t lie…” Feixiao hums to herself, weighing the newly acquired body part as it tingles against her clit when the spell links her senses to bore it with confidence.

“I didn’t know it’s possible.”

“Haha, now there’s only left to try if it’s as good as the real thing.”

“Like the jade one?” You ask curiously, tilting your head at the memory of some previous experiences shared with your general.

“Mhm, good old times, bun. I will leave it up to you to decide which one is better. A wind or a stone? A storm or a jade?”

She sighs when the magical cock twitches under your watchful gaze, and she continues stepping towards the bed. Your tongue pokes out a little as you are mesmerised by the erection, a hypnotising gleam sparkling off of the sharp head. Feixiao strokes herself slowly, adjusting the tempest to her liking, holding your chin up with her other hand.

“I assume that your more than ready. I don’t want to waste this magic, so hold on to something until I’m fulfilled. Hah, it does look beautiful, but we don’t have much time, and I cannot make it less formidable, you know. Anyway, how about you spread those pretty pussy lips for me?”

Feixiao barks out orders with her usual steadiness, yet her eyes are filled with feral hunger as she descends upon you as you’re turning around with your ass arched up and your trembling fingers parting your cunt for her sharp gaze. Her firm hands take a hold of your waist, not too gently, as simultaneously she aims for the nook between your legs, pressing at your entrance.

She growls in pleasure when the wet heat welcomes her. It’s not entirely possible to feel it like men do, but seeing your creamy cunt open up and a sizzling tingle run to her own loins are more than enough.

The thrust is powerful and sudden, yet precise — pushes into you without hesitation. Her cock is a bit wider than usual toys, with bumps all over that remind you of rocks in a river. You scream in unexpected satisfaction, tearing into the sheets as she immediately pulls out and bucks in again, snarling.

Feixiao looms over you like an omen, letting you feel her heat on your back as her strong arms rest by your head, girth gliding in and out of your hole. Her taut nipples brush against your skin on your shoulder blades with each roll of her hips. She nibbles on your neck, lapping at the bruises with a devilish smirk on her face, silver streaks of sweat decorating her cheeks, making the motions of her jaw more visible and pleasant to watch.

You try to match her rhythm, but you fail, getting lost in the rough fucking. You get on all fours to steady yourself, putting a pillow between your arms.

The general chuckles at this, wondering if this is the moment you realise how fragile you are under her and give up.

It doesn’t bother her much though — there is something wonderfully obscene about being underneath her, your round ass presented to her like this. It gets her blood pumping even harder, especially when you whine into the fabric, muffling your voice.

Eyes flaring red, which she must control; a bloodthirsty urge to claim you in entirety and claw at your constitution like a festering fever, a raging pulse on a wound.

You’re warm and wet, just how she likes it. Allowing herself to slow down, she hums, not stopping altogether as she begins to thrust more precisely. Your walls clench around her at random intervals, and she grits her teeth, taking one of her hands to squeeze your hips, feeling how they move along with her, just slightly, but it makes her ecstatic nonetheless.

Your hands slip downwards, while you try to keep yourself upright, accidentally pushing the pillow away. It falls to the ground, and Feixiao glances down, an evil grin creeping on her lips.

She reaches down to take hold of your hand and brings it between your legs.

“Touch yourself. Make yourself come on my cock,” she hisses into your ear, gritting her teeth, forcing you to flatten your palm against your mound, with your middle finger already near your swollen clit. You moan and lean back against her chest, clenching hard, which is making your walls feel more stretched than ever.

Her hips pound against you faster, allowing the tip of her length to smack into you with ease. It hits a spot inside you, sending tingles all over your body as she snickers, only amused at your wild flailing, almost knocking the vase from Xianzhou Zhuming — a lucky charm gifted to her during one of the recent campaigns — from the nightstand. She grabs you by the neck, pushing you down into the bed with her looming figure pressed up against you.

In a chaos of emotions, you reach the peak of pleasure just like that, your mouth agape and tongue hanging out as your thighs tremble, insides twitching as if they want to keep Feixiao there forever.

The storm within you hardens even more, making you let out a painful moan as your orgasm dies down.

In the midst of the delirious haze, she takes her time, thrusting in abandon into you as she continues to play with your pussy, ordering you to sit up on your knees. When you are firmly perched on her magical cock, she grips ‘round your love handles roughly, like intended, mounting for the final round what is rightfully hers. Her hand sneaks to your mound again, swirling around the sensitive nub, collecting the slick and pushing it back between your folds.

Her other hand leaves your chest, moving downwards to fist her shaft, squeezing at the base. It pulses and grows inside you, throbbing even more than before; it makes you whine like in heat, wanting to sink into the mattress, yet she is still there, holding you, chasing her own release.

You slide against the headboard of the bed, curling your back and sobbing at how oversensitive you become. She says something to you, but you cannot hear, all your senses clouded by the blood rushing through your veins, your chest waving with each gasp.

Once she pulls out, it makes a wet sound that rings in your ears and sends shivers down your spine. You shake with relief as she slaps her cock against your thigh, thick beads of clear liquid dripping down your skin. Her eyes glint at this, before she lunges forward to lick it off you, hissing when she presses her mouth against your burning skin.

“G-general!” You moan, raising your palm to push her off, not gifted with her stamina to keep going. “Please, cease at last… I cannot!”

Feixiao gazes up at you from between your legs, digging her sharp teeth into your flesh as she sits up, pouting with your juices smeared all over her chin.

“A pity,” she grunts, fingers splayed on your thighs, kneading them roughly and sinking her fingertips in. She admires the lines left behind by her nails, eyes shining wickedly as she glances at your sweaty form. A strand of hair has fallen onto your face, sticking to your cheek, your ribcage heaving up and down with each shaky exhale. “Yet you did exceptionally well, bunny!”

“A-anything for you, my general.”

There and then you hear her huff whilst she licks her lips and nuzzles into your stomach, like a wolf after a successful hunt — a mass of muscles and heat slumping down to relax.

You let her rest for a while, with her breathing turning steady. She leaves a trail of drool and love bites on your stomach, humming as you thread your fingers through her hair. You massage her scalp with your fingers and brush the coarse tips of her fluffy ears that flick with contentment. There’s no strength left in you, but the duty to care for your lover is too strong. A thin film of sweat glistens on her skin, dotted with goosebumps from the night chill.

The beast has been satiated. For how long, no one knows. For tonight, for sure, and you’re glad she has wore herself down enough to fall asleep with her neck heavy on your lap.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — jokes aside, i really hope i did somewhat well and didn’t get lost in describing weird thing that is a cock made of stormy clouds lmao </3 it’s not really my first time writing adult content with fem characters and fem reader, but definitely my first time posting such fics. thank you very much for reading!

[hans-wh0re]

Thinking about pussy drunk Han who would greedily bury his face between your creamy thighs, dragging his slick tongue through your dripping folds in one long, languid stroke. He'd moan like a starving animal finally allowed to feast, shamelessly slurping up your tangy essence while swollen lips suckled and tugged hungrily at your engorged clit.

His hands would knead and clutch possessively at the supple cheeks of your ass as he dove in ravenously, sopping beard drenched with your honeyed juices. His tongue would probe and dart relentlessly, ravaging your throbbing entrance until you were shuddering and mewling desperately against his face.

The growls vibrating from his throat would only spur him to devour you more fervently, nose bumping against your twitching bud as he plunged deeper into your molten core. He'd groan in delirium over finally indulging his craving, savoring every delectable note of your rich ambrosia.

The harder you gripped his hair and writhed, the more ravenous he'd become, fingers spreading you obscenely wide as he burrowed tongue-first into your sopping entrance. He'd feast until his lips glistened and your honeyed rush flooded his mouth without restraint.

Pussy drunk Han who would ravenously nuzzle and slurp your dripping furrow the second his aching cock finally breached your exquisite sheath. His groin would pulse with undiluted rapture, finally giving in to the sweet friction of spearing his iron-hard length into your suckling velvet walls.

The brutal ecstasy of your rippling depths milking his rigid cock would rob him of his senses, every nerve ending igniting as he rutted into your dripping core with animalistic thrusts. Your shrill cries and slick essences smothering his pistoning hips would only spur him to ravage you harder.

He'd become untamed, rutting into your writhing cunt like a beast in rut as your honey streamed down his groin and thighs. Your pleas would go unheeded as he hilted himself to the sheath over and over, chasing his high by burying his bone-deep into your molten silk.

His calloused fingers would cinch around your thighs hard enough to bruise, wrenching you open wider to bury his pulsing shaft as far as it could reach into your rippling tunnel. Your body would jerk with every punishing grind, but his grip would remain merciless.

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 5 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, from naoya not satoru)

ꨄ words: 8.3k

ꨄ a/n. here we go guys 🫣 idk what to even say, so i'll see ya'll at the bottom. enjoy♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

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ch 5 // a leap of faith

You stare out the window of Satoru’s limousine, the city lights blurring into streaks of color as the world rushes by—but your thoughts are too loud to let you fully take it in.

You’d think the upcoming interview at the gala would be your primary concern, considering that’s where you’re currently headed, but instead, your mind is trapped in a loop—the memory of Satoru’s phone call.

Do you really know him at all?

The bone chilling temper you overheard has left you questioning everything, only heightening your doubts in him.

There was something in his voice that you can’t shake—a bite that fills you with fear, a kind of fear that whispers in the back of your mind, warning that one day his icy detachment could be directed at you the moment you fail him.

Satoru sits across from you in the luxurious backseat, but despite the close proximity, it feels as though a vast distance separates you now—a chasm of unspoken thoughts and lingering doubts.

And you—so consumed by the questions swirling in your mind—fail to notice that Satoru is watching you—his gaze steady, searching, as if he’s trying to read something in your expression.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” he observes, “Is everything okay?”

You stiffen, pulse quickening.

Fuck.

Can he see right through you? Does he know about the doubts gnawing at you, the secrets you’ve been keeping?

His eyes search your face for something you’re not ready to reveal, and your defenses go up instinctively.

“I’m fine,” you blurt out, but the moment the words leave your lips, you inwardly cringe, the tonality of your voice holding an unintentional harshness.

Well, shit… it wasn’t meant to come out like that. But it did.

He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Uh…you sure?”

“Yes,” you counter abruptly, too abruptly, and your gaze darts away from his as if meeting his eyes might unravel the carefully constructed facade you’re desperately clinging to.

You feel the anxiety begin to bubble, threatening to spill over, and as your eyes fix on the window, you watch the world blur by, anything to avoid the weight of his scrutiny.

But Satoru’s sapphire eyes remain steady, unwavering. He rakes a hand through his tousled white hair and lets out a soft sigh, laced with a quiet frustration.

“You know… we’ve been living together for a while now,” his tone gentle, yet probing, “I think I can pick up when something’s up. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think. I mean, you tried to put the TV remote in the fridge this morning.”

A flush of embarrassment colors your cheeks.

Okay…rude, why does he have to call you out like that? Yeah sure, you have been out of it today—but how can you not be? The pressure you’re feeling is unbearable.

You let out a small, forced laugh, trying to brush it off, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in your tone.

“Uhh, it’s called ‘mom brain,’ Satoru.”

He furrows his brow, his expression softening even as a playful grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Mom brain? What the heck is that?”

Your eyes meet his for a brief moment, and in that split second, you catch a glimpse of the genuine concern lurking behind his playful facade. Your heart drops at the sight, a pang of guilt twisting in your chest.

Dammit, why does he have to look at you like that?

Why does he have to make this so much harder?

The frustration bubbles up inside you, not just at the situation, but at him—at the whole confusing mess that’s become your life. You don’t know what to believe anymore, and that uncertainty gnaws at you, leaving you feeling raw and exposed.

You break eye contact, looking away from him yet again, and an exasperated sigh escapes your lips.

“It’s what happens when you’re a mom and you’ve got a million things on your mind at once. Sometimes, your brain just… short circuits. It’s like, where did I put the keys? Oh, they’re in the fridge next to the remote. No big deal.”

Satoru chuckles, the sound low and warm. For a moment, it feels like the tension might ease.

“Sounds like a pretty convenient excuse to me,” he remarks playfully, but as his voice softens, the teasing edge gives way to genuine concern.

His gaze turns serious as his eyes search yours, intent and piercing, as if he’s trying to see past the walls you’ve put up.

“Mom brain or not… I know you, y/n. And I know when something’s really bothering you.”

Double fuck.

There’s a moment of panic, a fear that he might see right through you. The truth you’ve been burying deep inside threatens to surface, and the pressure of keeping it hidden feels suffocating.

You can’t let him see it. You can’t let him know.

“I’m…I’m just nervous about the interview,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate attempt to deflect, to steer him away from the dark, treacherous waters he’s unknowingly wading into.

But the excuse feels flimsy, like a poorly constructed lie that could crumble under the slightest scrutiny—and so you reach deep within yourself, trying to find a way to make it more believable.

“Not everyone can be like you Satoru, all carefree with no worries in the world. Must be nice.”

The moment the words escape, you feel them slicing through the air, sharp and jagged, and you know you’ve made a mistake. Regret twists in your gut like a knife, its cold blade cutting deep as you realize the bitterness laced in your voice, bitterness that surprises even you.

Triple fuck.

What the hell are you doing? Why are you attacking him like this?

The resentment, the fear, the overwhelming sense of inadequacy—all of it comes crashing to the surface, bubbling over before you can shove it back down where it belongs.

Great. Now you’re lashing out, emotions spiraling out of control, your composure slipping through your fingers like sand.

You can practically see the words hanging in the air between you, ugly and heavy, and the guilt that follows is instant, a crushing weight on your chest.

God, get it together.

For a moment, Satoru says nothing, his expression unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s angry, hurt, or simply trying to process your outburst.

You bite your lip, a nervous habit you’ve never been able to shake, and you force yourself to look away. Satoru does the same, both of your eyes falling yet again on the familiar blurred scenery outside the window, searching for answers that aren’t there.

The silence stretches, thick with tension, until finally, Satoru shifts across from you. He turns his head just enough that you catch the movement out of the corner of your eye, and you force yourself to glance back at him.

The corners of his mouth twitch upward, but there’s no humor in the gesture, just a faint, almost imperceptible sadness.

“You think I don’t worry?” he murmurs, voice so quiet you almost don’t catch it.

The rawness in his tone cuts through you like a blade, slicing through the walls you’ve built around your heart.

You turn to face him fully, really looking at him, and for the first time, you notice the subtle signs of weariness etched into his features—the shadows beneath his eyes, darker and more pronounced than you remember, the way the light in his eyes seems… dimmed, like a flame that’s burning too low.

Has he always looked this… tired? Or is it only now that you’re seeing it?

“Well…you’re always so confident and composed. It’s hard to even imagine you worrying,” you admit softly, and the defensiveness that had been there moments ago slips away like water through your fingers. “You’re able to handle all this with such ease. It’s like… nothing ever phases you.”

Satoru lets out a soft, almost bitter chuckle, the sound tinged with disbelief, as if your words are some kind of cruel joke.

“Yeah, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” he shakes his head slightly, “It’s not that I don’t worry. It’s that I can’t show it. People expect me to be… well, this,” he gestures vaguely to himself, “Confident, capable, always in control.”

You blink. The realization hitting you like a wave, washing over you and leaving you unsettled.

All this time, you’ve seen him as an invincible force, someone who could handle anything with a smile, who never let the pressures of his life touch him. You’ve relied on that image, drawn strength from it, without ever questioning the reality behind it.

But that’s not the case, is it?

Beneath the polished exterior, behind the confident facade, he’s been playing a role, just like you. He’s been hiding his fears and insecurities, presenting a version of himself that the world expects to see, while the real him remains concealed.

Your heart aches at the thought, a pang of guilt threading through the tenderness you feel for him. He’s been carrying this burden, this expectation of perfection, and you’ve been too wrapped up in your own struggles to see it.

You were right—you truly don’t know the real him. But… you want to. Desperately.

You take a deep breath, eyes searching his face for the truth behind his words.

“But… why?” you ask gently, “Why is it so important to you to keep up this image? Why can’t you just… be yourself?”

There’s a moment of silence, a heartbeat where you think he might not answer, where the vulnerability in his eyes seems to retreat behind the familiar walls he’s built. But then, he speaks, and the words that spill from his lips are raw, tinged with a quiet resignation that cuts through you.

“Because ‘myself’ isn’t good enough,” he admits quietly. “Not in this world. Not with the expectations people have of me.”

The sheer weight of his words, pierces through you, and your heart aches with an almost unbearable tenderness. There is a deep vulnerability in his admission, and the need to reach out, to comfort him, burns within you.

But would he even accept it? Could you close this growing chasm between you, this distance that feels both vast and fragile?

“But Satoru, who says you have to meet these expectations?” you whisper, voice trembling with emotion.

He lets out a bitter laugh, the sound devoid of any real humor, and the gesture is almost painful to witness, as if he’s mocking himself more than anything else. When his eyes finally meet yours, there’s an emptiness in them that chills you to the core, as though he’s become a shell of the person he once was.

“I’m a Gojo, y/n. There’s a certain… standard that comes with that name. It’s not just an image, it’s a legacy.”

He pauses, his gaze drifting away from yours and settling on the passing scenery outside the window yet again. There’s something almost haunting in the way he stares out, as if he’s lost in a world you can’t reach.

“People look at me and they see the name before they see the person. And if I don’t live up to that legacy… if I don’t maintain it…”

“—but doesn’t that mean you’re living for them, and not for yourself?” you interject softly, the question hanging in the air between you like a lifeline.

Satoru’s eyes flicker to yours quickly, a flash of something unidentifiable crossing his features, but then he looks away again, his gaze returning to the window. This time, there’s a distant sadness in his eyes, a melancholy that seems to settle over him like a heavy shroud.

“You shouldn’t have to sacrifice who you are just to fit into a mold that someone else created. That’s not living, Satoru. That’s just… existing.”

The silence that follows is thick and palpable, stretching out between you as if the very air around you has become denser. You watch him closely, searching his face for any sign that your words have reached him, that they’ve touched something deep within.

But as the moments pass, a new question begins to form in the back of your mind, creeping in slowly with an undeniable urgency.

Is Satoru truly happy with this life he’s been forced to live?

Or has he become so accustomed to the role he’s been given, the expectations he’s been made to carry, that he’s forgotten what it means to live for himself?

The smile he often wears—the one that dazzles everyone around him—feels different now as you think about it. It seems less like a genuine expression of joy and more like a carefully crafted mask, designed to hide the cracks beneath.

But then there’s the smile you’ve seen when he’s with you and Haru, one that’s softer, more genuine, like a fleeting glimpse of the man he could be if he weren’t weighed down by the immense burden of his family’s legacy.

If Satoru were truly as calculating, as cold and self-serving as you once thought, then why does he seem so… trapped?

Why does it feel like he’s just as much a prisoner of his circumstances as you’ve felt in your own life?

The thought sends a pang of guilt through you, a realization that maybe, just maybe, you’ve been too quick to judge, too quick to believe the worst without truly understanding the complexities of the man sitting in front of you.

You know that feeling all too well—the suffocating pressure to be someone you’re not, to live up to the expectations others have placed on you.

It’s a burden you wouldn’t wish on anyone, least of all someone who, despite everything, has shown you kindness and care.

“You know…there was a time in my life when I was just… existing, too,” you murmur, the words fragile yet heavy as they slip from your lips.

His eyes flicker to yours briefly, a small spark of interest igniting in the blue depths, but he doesn’t turn to face you. His posture remains angled toward the window, his gaze distant and unfocused, as if the world outside holds the answers he’s searching for.

“When I was with Naoya,” you continue, the name tasting bitter on your tongue, “it felt like every day was a performance. I had to be what he wanted, do what he expected, or face the consequences. It was like I was living in a cage, unable to be myself because ‘myself’ wasn’t what he wanted.”

You steal another glance at him, wondering if he understands, if he sees the parallels between your experiences. The memories flood back with each word you utter, their weight pressing down on your chest.

“I was just going through the motions, trying to survive,” you admit, voice trembling slightly. “It was… exhausting. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t, always afraid of what might happen if I let the mask slip.”

Satoru remains silent, his profile bathed in the soft glow of the city lights as they pass by outside the window—but, in the dim light of the limousine, you catch sight of his expression—thoughtful, pensive, as if your words have found their way into a place in his mind where he rarely allows anything to dwell.

“It sounds… suffocating,” he finally says, his voice quiet, almost reverent. His gaze remains on the world outside the window, though you know his words are meant for you. “Living like that, always having to be someone else. I can imagine… how hard that must have been for you.”

“It was,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart drops as you experience a sudden realization—a realization that…with Satoru you are falling into that same pattern.

Forcing yourself to put on this façade of being the perfect wife of a Gojo—trapped in a life that doesn’t feel like yours, performing a role that someone else wrote for you.

How is it that your entire life, you have been a victim of control—first by Naoya, the man you once loved, and now by Satoru, the man you are beginning to care for?

All you have ever wanted is what’s best for you daughter.

“But… I did what I needed to do, for Haru’s sake.”

Haru’s sake.

The words echo in your mind, a reminder of the choices you’ve made, the sacrifices you endured to protect her. And as you sit across from Satoru in this limousine, another question lingers at the edge of your thoughts—a question that fills you with uncertainty.

…what is the right choice to make for Haru’s sake?

Would staying with Satoru mean condemning yourself to another life of pretenses and expectations? A life where you continue to lose pieces of yourself, where you’re forced to hide behind yet another mask?

You steal a glance at Satoru, searching his face for answers you’re not sure you’ll find. His expression, though calm, doesn’t give much away, and it only deepens your turmoil.

Could he break free of these shackles with you?

Could he let go of the image he’s been forced to uphold, and be the person he truly is, without fear of judgment or rejection? Without being dictated by the weight of legacy and obligation?

The questions whirl in your mind.

Do you risk telling him everything, laying your soul bare in the hope that he will abandon this life for you? That he will choose you and Haru over the cold, unyielding expectations that have bound him for so long?

Or do you betray the man you’ve come to admire so deeply, the man who, despite his outward strength, is already so fragile, so vulnerable, hidden behind a mask of confidence?

As the silence stretches between you, you realize that the answer to one question in particular might be more important than anything else.

Because if Satoru can’t break free—if he can’t be himself, even with you—then what kind of future could you possibly have together? What kind of life could you offer Haru if you’re both trapped in a web of lies and half-truths, forced to play roles that don’t fit?

Your heart clenches painfully at the thought, and for the first time, you begin to doubt whether you can keep playing this role, whether you can keep pretending that everything is okay when deep down, you know it’s not.

But…you want to believe in him. So, so badly.

You want to believe that Satoru is different, that he’s capable of more than just playing the part assigned to him. You want to believe that, together, you can carve out a life that’s real, that’s yours, free from the weight of expectation and the shadow of legacy.

The desire to believe in him, to trust him, is almost overwhelming, and it takes every ounce of your strength not to reach out to him, to demand answers, to plead for him to show you that he’s more than just the image he projects to the world.

“So how did you break free?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he’s afraid of the answer.

Your breath hitches as his words hang in the air, and for a moment, the weight of his question feels like it might crush you.

You let out a trembling exhale, your emotions teetering on the edge of control, threatening to consume you whole.

“Just… a leap of faith,” you manage.

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve survived. And in that moment, you hope—no, you pray—that it’s enough.

Enough to show him that there’s a way out, that there’s more to life than the roles you’ve been forced to play. Enough to convince him that he can take that same leap, that he can be more than just the legacy he’s been bound to.

Because if he can’t… then you’re not sure you’ll survive another fall.

ꨄ︎

The rest of the car ride passes in an unusual, heavy silence, but as the limousine nears the dazzling venue that will soon thrust you both into the public eye, you steel yourself for what’s to come.

The quiet, introspective moments you shared with Satoru within the backseat of this vehicle start to morph into something else—an unspoken agreement that whatever doubts, fears, or conflicts surfaced during this ride must now be hidden, locked away beneath yet another carefully constructed facade.

After all—in this world you are both living in, there can be no room for hesitation, no cracks in the image you both must maintain.

Satoru straightens in his seat, his expression sharpening into the confident mask you’ve seen him wear so many times before—like an actor preparing for a role.

It’s as if every trace of the man who moments ago, shared his deepest insecurities with you is now tucked away, replaced by the flawless persona the world expects to see.

And the way he does it so effortlessly—well, it only intensifies the ache in your heart.

But you have no choice to follow suit—the night is just beginning, and so, just as he did, you force your own worries into the back of your mind as you too prepare to play your part.

The limousine comes to a smooth halt at the gala’s entrance, and your eyes widen in awe.

It’s not as if the last charity gala you attended wasn’t elegant, certainly it was, but this—this is on an entirely different scale, a spectacle of grandeur that borders on the surreal.

The venue—a massive hotel nestled in the heart of the city—stands like a beacon of luxury. Its grand entrance a marvel, adorned with sparkling lights that bathe the surrounding area in a warm, golden glow.

The red carpet stretches out like a river of crimson, flowing beside the gleaming wheels of limousines that pull up one after another.

Their doors open to reveal the crème de la crème of society—elegantly dressed attendees stepping out, their outfits glittering under the lights and the air filled with the lively murmur of conversation and bright flashes of cameras.

You recognize several faces in the crowd—renowned actors whose performances have moved you to tears, musicians whose songs have been the soundtrack to your life, influencers who have set trends you've tried to keep up with.

These are the people who’ve always seemed larger than life—whose lives have played out on magazine covers and in the flicker of movie screens. And now, here they are, mere feet away from you, mingling in the same space, breathing the same air.

God, this is terrifying.

You’ve stepped into the domain where every glance, every whisper holds weight—every word you utter, every expression that crosses your face, will be scrutinized, dissected, and judged.

The world is watching you.

Bright lights from cameras flare up, nearly blinding you as your foot touches the red carpet.

The media presence is quite overwhelming, and instinctively, you reach for Satoru’s hand, seeking some sort of anchor in the chaos—without even considering how, just moments ago, you could barely bring yourself to meet his eyes.

As soon as your fingers brush against his, you hesitate, unsure if it’s the right move.

You steal a quick glance at Satoru, trying to gauge his mood, to see if he’s feeling the same dissonance. But before you can pull away, he responds immediately, his hand closing around yours with a gentle squeeze, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His expression remains carefully composed, and he offers you a small, comforting smile—one that feels reassuring in its familiarity.

But… isn’t that just how it is between you two?

Pretending like nothing happened, like there isn’t a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface.

His smile is a mask, you know that, but despite it all, it’s still a small comfort—a quiet reminder that, despite everything, you’re not alone in this.

At least, you’re in it together.

As Satoru leads you down the red carpet, carrying that familiar unshakeable confidence—the second skin he effortlessly slips into—you can’t help but feel a subtle tension in the air of attendees, an undercurrent you can’t quite shake.

Why is it that the media’s gaze feels sharper…more pointed, as though they’re all waiting with bated breath for the slightest crack in the façade, for a single moment of vulnerability to pounce on?

And you can’t help but feel like that crack might come from you.

You catch sight of the interview station ahead—a stage set for judgment with its sleek, modern setup. The charity event’s logo glows prominently against a backdrop, creating a space to remind everyone of the event’s significance, yet for you it feels more like a gauntlet.

Oh, God…

Suddenly everything feels unbearably heavy, magnified under the relentless scrutiny of so many watchful eyes: Naoya’s threat, loosing Haru, Satoru’s intentions and your conflicted feelings for him.

Guests are ushered forward one by one with rehearsed smiles and practiced answers ready for the waiting reporters, and microphones glisten under the harsh lights, capturing every word, every inflection, while cameras click and whir, immortalizing each moment.

Throughout the chatter, you overhear a famous actress gushing about the importance of supporting children in need, her voice carrying a practiced sincerity. Next to her, a well-known musician is cracking a joke, easing into the limelight as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They make it look so easy.

But for you, every step closer to the cluster of reporters feels like a step closer to the edge of a cliff. The knot in your stomach tightens, coiling like a snake ready to strike. The distance between you and the flashing cameras, the probing questions, the scrutinizing eyes—it’s closing in too fast, and there’s no escape.

This is it. This night will test your resolve and your ability to maintain this façade, perhaps more than any before it, and the cost of failure is far too high.

Satoru glances at you, his expression a mask of calm and composure, but there’s something more in the way his thumb traces soothing circles against your skin.

A silent reassurance—one not for the cameras. A promise that, despite everything that happened in the limo, despite the unresolved tension still hanging between you, he’s here.

He’s with you.

You look up at him, and for a moment, the noise and chaos around you fade into the background. In his eyes, you see a softness that’s only privy to you—a vulnerability that he keeps hidden from the world.

It’s a look that makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest, a look that almost makes you believe that maybe everything will be okay.

“You ready?” he murmurs.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm within, nodding slightly as you force a smile onto your face. The muscles in your cheeks feel tight, strained, but you hope—desperately—that it’s convincing enough.

“Yeah,” the word sticks in your throat. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

As the reporters spot you, you can practically feel their collective gaze zeroing in. The intensity of it is suffocating, and as you step into the designated interview area, the cameras flare to life, their bright lights nearly blinding you.

A female reporter steps forward, her smile bright and impeccably professional. She’s poised, microphone at the ready, her demeanor polished to perfection, as if she’s trained her whole life for this moment.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, you both look absolutely stunning tonight,” she begins, voice smooth and tailored for the camera.

“Thank you,” Satoru responds effortlessly, slipping into his role with grace. “We’re both so honored to be able to attend.”

“You’re one of the most talked-about couples this evening,” the reporter continues, her eyes gleaming with interest as she watches you both closely. “Tell us, how does it feel to be here supporting such a noble cause?”

Your heart races, pounding so hard in your chest that you wonder if she can hear it over the noise of the crowd. But you can’t let it show—this is the moment where the facade must hold, where you must be the perfect wife, the perfect partner, the perfect everything.

And so, you force yourself to smile again—stepping into the role you’ve rehearsed in your mind a thousand times.

“We’re here to support a cause that’s very close to our hearts,” your voice is steady, though beneath the surface, you feel a faint tremor threatening to break through. “The work this charity does for children in need is truly incredible… and we’re honored to be a part of it.”

Satoru steps in smoothly, his voice rich with a warmth that seems to effortlessly draw everyone’s attention.

“Absolutely,” he adds. “As parents ourselves, we understand the importance of giving every child a chance at a brighter future. We’re here to do whatever we can to help make that happen.”

There’s a sincerity in his tone that makes it easy to forget the mask he wears, eliciting nods and approving smiles from the reporters.

For a moment, even you are almost convinced, but you know the script, know the words.

You catch a subtle glance he throws your way—a silent check-in, his eyes asking the unspoken question: Are you okay? And you manage a small, almost imperceptible nod in return, meeting his gaze briefly before turning back to the reporter.

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she responds. “And how have you both been? The public is so curious about Haru.”

Here it is—the anxiety settles as you transition from the safe ground of charity work to the more precarious territory of your personal life.

You can feel the eyes of the crowd on you, the cameras zooming in, capturing every flicker of emotion, every nuance of your body language—as though the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for you to falter.

Satoru’s hand releases yours only to wrap around your waist, pulling you close, and the warmth he provides brings you a fleeting moment of comfort.

“We’ve been great,” his smile unwavering. “Life has been busy, but we’re grateful for every moment we get to spend together with our little one. Haru keeps us on our toes, that’s for sure.”

There’s a practiced charm in Satoru’s voice, the kind that can turn any situation into a favorable one. You muster a smile, trying to match his composure, nodding in agreement.

“Yes, she does,” you add, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “It’s a whirlwind, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The reporter’s smile widens, clearly pleased with the smooth delivery, but there’s a lingering tension in the air, a sense that she’s searching for more, for a crack in the veneer.

“There’s been a lot of speculation about Haru,” her voice soft yet probing. “Many are wondering Satoru… is she your biological daughter?”

The question hangs in the air like a loaded gun, the implication sharp and clear.

The crowd seems to lean in, the cameras zooming closer, waiting for your reaction, for any sign of hesitation or discomfort.

But Satoru anticipated this moment—it was one of the questions he had prepared for, a part of the script meticulously crafted to navigate the murky waters of public scrutiny.

The media has been relentless, swirling with unanswered questions about Haru, speculating about who she is and what she’s like.

It’s no secret that you’ve both been fiercely protective of her, keeping her out of the spotlight, away from the prying eyes that would dissect her every move.

For that, you’ve always been deeply grateful to Satoru.

And so, he handles the question with the same effortless grace that he’s maintained throughout the evening.

He chuckles softly—a sound that feels almost disarming warm in its sincerity, as if the question is nothing more than a casual curiosity, easily addressed and dismissed.

“Haru is my daughter in every way that matters,” his tone firm yet kind. “She’s our pride and joy, and we love her more than anything in this world.”

His answer is flawless, designed to reinforce the image of a perfect family. Yet, as the conviction in his words leave his lips, you feel a surge of bittersweetness.

Haru deserves what he is saying…she deserves that reality.

But alas, it’s nothing more than a rehearsed line delivered in front of an audience that’s eager to believe in the fairy tale.

The reporter shifts slightly, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as she continues.

“I see. It’s clear that family is important to both of you. What’s the secret to balancing your high-profile lives with raising a young child?”

You force yourself to smile, the answer ready on your lips.

“We just focus on what’s important,” you begin, the words flowing smoothly despite the tightness in your chest. “We make sure to carve out time for each other and for Haru. It’s all about prioritizing what really matters.”

“It’s not always easy,” Satoru nods in agreement, “but we cherish our time away from the spotlight, and we’re very protective of Haru’s privacy. At the end of the day, we’re just like any other parent—we want what’s best for Haru, and we do our best to make that happen.”

Another perfectly crafted answer, one that’s sure to satisfy the reporter and the audience watching from behind their screens. You can almost see the checkmark being made in her mind—a box ticked off; a line drawn under the discussion of family life.

The reporter, sensing she’s reached the natural conclusion of the topic, shifts her stance slightly.

“Thank you for sharing. It’s clear that Haru is very lucky to have you both.”

Her gaze sharpens, the glint of professional interest cutting through the pleasantries.

“And what about your own relationship? How do you manage to keep the spark alive amidst all the chaos?”

Here it comes. The question you were dreading, the one you hoped she’d skip over.

It’s one thing to talk about Haru, to present a united front when it comes to your daughter...

But your relationship?

That’s a minefield, one littered with unspoken truths and half-hearted lies. And it sucks. It really sucks that Satoru has to deal with this kind of intrusion daily—a life where privacy is a luxury you can barely afford.

“Communication is key,” you begin, the words flowing out of you like second nature. Lies. “We make sure to talk about everything—our hopes, our fears, our plans.” Lies. “And we make an effort to have regular date nights, just to reconnect and remind ourselves of why we fell in love in the first place.” Lies.

As the words leave your lips, you can almost hear the hollow echo of them in your mind, a mantra you’ve repeated so many times it’s lost all meaning. You know it, and Satoru knows it, too.

But he plays his part flawlessly—lifting your hand to his lips, brushing a tender kiss on the back of it. It’s a small gesture, one that seems innocent enough, but you feel the weight of it—the expectation, the need to present a united front, to sell the illusion.

As the warmth of his lips lingers on your skin, your heart clenches with yearning.

“That’s right,” Satoru adds, his voice carrying that practiced sincerity that makes everything he says sound like the absolute truth. “We support each other, and I’m so lucky that y/n is my biggest cheerleader. We’re a team, and that makes all the difference.”

The reporter nods thoughtfully, her smile curling up in a way that suggests she’s found the narrative she’s been looking for.

“You know,” she begins, her tone shifting into something more conspiratorial, as if she’s about to reveal a tantalizing secret, “speaking of… you two have quickly become the talk of the town—everyone’s eager to know more about your story. Satoru, you were once considered the world’s most eligible bachelor, but now… here you are. How did this all begin?”

There it is—the question that forces you both to delve into the past, to recount a story that’s been polished and perfected, but one that still feels strangely disconnected from the reality you’re living.

You shift slightly in Satoru’s hold, the rehearsed answer poised on your tongue, designed to fit the narrative you both agreed upon—but before you can even open your mouth to speak, Satoru takes the lead.

“Well," he starts, calm and measured, "Y/n was looking for a new job, and I needed someone with her expertise. It was professional at first, but we just… clicked. Like it was meant to be.”

The familiar words from the script slip effortlessly from his lips, just like you practiced, and the interviewer’s eyes light up, clearly pleased with the response—at least on the surface. But there’s a glint in her eyes, a spark of curiosity that suggests she’s not quite done yet.

The microphone inches closer, capturing every word, every inflection, as if she’s trying to draw out something deeper, something more than the polished story you’re offering.

“That’s wonderful,” her voice takes a more intimate tone as she leans in. “But Satoru, what was it about y/n that made you realize she was the one? I mean, surely there was something that stood out, something that made you think, ‘This is the woman I want to spend my life with.’”

“I’ve always admired how she puts Haru first," he begins reciting the script, voice steady and composed. "Her dedication to being a mother, to making sure Haru has everything she needs, it’s something I truly respect…”

But then, there’s a pause—a brief, almost imperceptible silence that stretches time, making your heart skip a beat.

Did he just hesitate?

His gaze flickers to yours, and for a moment, the practiced facade slips. There’s a softness in his eyes that makes your breath catch—but before you can process it, he continues.

“Actually, you know… when I first met y/n, there was something about her that I couldn’t ignore. She was different from anyone I’ve ever met—strong, intelligent, and fiercely independent."

Wait… did he just change the script?

An unexpected flutter stirs in your stomach, and your pulse quickens as the weight of his words sinks in. This wasn’t part of the agreed-upon answer… so why is he veering off course?

Your eyes narrow slightly as you search his face, trying to decode the sudden change.

"It’s strange,” he continues, his voice softer now, more introspective, “because at first, I thought it was just her strength that drew me in."

A small, almost nostalgic smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and there’s a warmth in his expression that makes something inside you twist.

"But as I got to know her, I realized it was more than that. Y/n has this incredible ability to make everyone around her feel seen and valued… she’s honest, sometimes brutally so, but she’s also kind in a way that’s rare."

The interviewer’s expression changes, the curiosity in her eyes deepening as she senses a sincerity in his words.

Is he… speaking from the heart?

It feels like a quiet confession, one meant only for you, despite the audience that surrounds you both.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you find yourself holding it, afraid to let go of this moment, afraid to shatter the delicate truth he seems to be laying bare. His words wrap around you like a cocoon, drawing you in, making you feel both vulnerable and cherished in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

This isn’t the Satoru you’ve come to expect—the one who carefully controls every word, every expression, ensuring that nothing slips through the cracks. It’s as if he’s just lifted a curtain, showing you a glimpse of something real, something you didn’t think you’d ever see.

But why now? Why here, in front of all these people?

Is…he willing to take that leap of faith?

In that instant, the hope blooming inside you feels almost tangible, like a fragile flower unfurling its petals for the first time. It’s delicate, yes, but unmistakable, and it fills you with a warmth that you’ve longed for—something you thought you’d never find again. It’s enough to make you believe that maybe, just maybe, everything can change.

For so long, you’ve hidden behind masks, playing roles that never truly belonged to you. But now, if Satoru is willing to step beyond the boundaries you both created…

The world around you—the blinding lights, the flashing cameras, the buzz of the crowd—seems to fade into the background, blurring into insignificance.

All that remains is the two of you, as if you’ve stepped into a world of your own making, where nothing else matters.

Satoru shifts slightly, and when his eyes find yours, there’s a depth and intensity in them that you’ve never seen before.

It’s as if he’s seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you—not the roles you’ve played, not the masks you’ve worn, but you, the person beneath it all. In that moment, it feels like you’re the only person who matters.

“For the first time in my life, I feel like I have someone I can truly trust. Someone who doesn’t just see me as ‘Gojo Satoru,’ but as a regular person, with all my flaws and imperfections.”

Trust.

A knot forms in your chest, constricting each beat of your heart as Satoru’s confession echoes in your mind.

The burden of that single word feels unbearable as the guilt you’ve been suppressing resurfaces, suddenly making it hard to focus on anything else.

Here Satoru is, baring his soul to you in a way you never expected, revealing the depth of his feelings, his vulnerabilities, and all the while, you’ve been holding onto a secret—a lie that could shatter everything.

No… it’s not just a lie—it’s a betrayal, and the full weight of it settles on your shoulders, heavy and suffocating.

Fuck, you’re losing your composure.

You’re acutely aware of the cameras, their lenses trained on you, capturing every fleeting emotion that flickers across your face.

The pressure is immeasurable and you swallow hard, desperately trying to hold his gaze, to anchor yourself in the sincerity you see there, but your smile feels brittle, like it might crack at any moment.

Satoru leans in closer and instinctively, you want to pull away—terrified that the closer he gets, the more he’ll see, the more he’ll understand the depths of your turmoil. But you’re trapped, rooted in place, every movement scrutinized, recorded, and you know you can’t falter.

His breath is warm against your skin as he places a gentle kiss on your temple, a touch so gentle that it nearly undoes you. This wasn’t part of the script, unlike the calculated kiss on your hand earlier, and the tenderness behind it, is almost too much to bear.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, and his words—intended for the camera—feel like they’re meant for you alone.

“I guess you could say that y/n has this way of making me feel… grounded. Like I can be myself, and that’s enough.”

His words cut through you like a knife. What are you doing? You can’t keep lying to him, not after this.

As the crowd around you buzzes with life and the cameras continue to flash, capturing this moment of intimacy, all you can think about is the price you might pay for this secret you’ve kept.

Once he realizes you’ve been hiding this from him, will he ever be able to look at you the same way again? Will he still see you as someone he can trust?

This new fear surges forward, and you feel your composure slipping, the mask you wear cracking.

Fuck. Is it obvious?

Can they all see the turmoil roiling inside you, the fear that everything is about to come crashing down?

Is your panic written across your face, as clear as day for the world to see?

“That’s such a beautiful sentiment,” the reporter’s approving voice cuts through the haze, snapping you back to the present with a jolt.

But before you can fully regain your bearings, her gaze shifts, locking onto you with an intensity that makes your heart pound against your ribcage.

Her eyes seem to bore into you, searching for something beneath the surface, and suddenly, you’re terrified that she might find it.

“And how does it feel to hear him say that, y/n? To know that you have such a profound effect on someone like Satoru?”

The question hangs in the air, and for a moment, you’re frozen, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a physical force.

What are you even supposed to say?

You practiced for this, rehearsed the lines until they were second nature, but nothing could have prepared you for the raw honesty in Satoru’s words.

How does it feel?

God, the truth is, you don’t know how to feel—happy, surprised, comforted, terrified…there are too many emotions surging through you at this moment, too many to untangle and make sense of.

But…you have to say something, the world is watching.

Blood rushes in your ears, drowning out the noise of the crowd, and you force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels, searching for the right words, the ones that will satisfy the reporter.

“It’s… I’m so lucky,” you manage to say, stammering slightly. “Knowing that I have that kind of impact on him… it’s an honor. I just hope I can continue to be that person for him.”

Is it enough?

The words feel hollow, a weak echo of the truth, but they’re all you can manage. You just hope they’ll hold the world at bay, at least for now.

The reporter nods, her professional smile unwavering, but you can’t shake the feeling she’s watching you closely, searching for any cracks in your veneer.

Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer, as if weighing the sincerity of your words, but then she steps back with a practiced ease, seemingly satisfied.

“Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with us, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As she moves away, you experience a fleeting sense of relief once the crowd’s attention shifts, the cameras swiveling to capture the next moment.

Satoru’s hand finds yours, guiding you away from the spotlight as the next couple in line takes your place under the glaring lights.

The silence between you is thick, and around you, the crowd blurs into a haze of indistinct faces and flashing lights.

You try to decipher Satoru’s mood, searching his face for any clue, but his expression remains an unreadable mask as you both maneuver through the throng of people, each step carrying you further from the intensity of the interview and deeper into the swirling uncertainty of the night.

Then, as you cross the threshold into the grand ballroom, the change in atmosphere is immediate with the soaring ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and the soft hum of polite conversations—yet, despite the grandeur surrounding you, your focus is entirely on the man beside you—the one who just moments ago bared a piece of his soul to you in front of everyone.

Almost instantly, Satoru is swarmed by people—important figures and familiar faces, all eager to exchange pleasantries with the man of the hour.

You watch as he slips effortlessly into casual conversation, his charm and charisma on full display—a scene you’ve witnessed countless times before.

But that’s because, to the outside world, nothing has changed—he’s the same confident, untouchable figure he’s always been. It’s as if the heartfelt words he spoke moments ago, laying his heart bare before you, were never uttered. As if they were just another part of the performance.

But you know better.

You saw the look in his eyes, felt the sincerity in his voice. And now, as he engages in yet another conversation, flashing that same easy smile, you can’t help but wonder…

What is he really thinking?

His gaze lingers on you as he effortlessly navigates each conversation, and there’s something in his eyes—an almost imperceptible signal, like he’s reaching out to you, a silent communication that only the two of you can understand.

You’ve made up your mind.

You want more with Satoru—something real, something unburdened by the lies and pretenses that have cast shadows over your relationship.

You can no longer allow this secret to fester, growing like a dark cloud that threatens to eclipse whatever light might still exist between you.

To truly move forward, you have to release the fear that’s been holding you back—you have to come clean, to trust him, just as he has placed his trust in you.

But you know the timing isn’t right—not here, not now, surrounded by the glittering facade of this world you’ve both learned to navigate so well.

When you finally lay bare the truth you’ve been hiding, hopefully Satoru will understand.

All you can do is wait, hope, and wonder what the night will bring.

hello lovelies, thank you so much for reading and supporting my fic 😭 i cannot tell you how much it brightens my day to read your comments! to be completely honest, i really wasn't expecting much with this fic, it has really transformed into something that i had no intention of doing, but the thing is, i'm really enjoying writing it, so SO much, and i'm glad ya'll are enjoying reading it 🥲🫶🏻 this is only 2/3rds of the original chapter 4 i wrote...lol. i still have to edit the last 1/3 (apparently i cannot stop yapping) so it just seemed right to split it up and let this section breathe a little bit too, it felt like a natural stopping point before we delve into y/n getting that closure with satoru. y/n finally got the push she needed to make up her mind 🥲 i know it took her a bit, but being in an emotionally abusive relationship has left her with a lot of trust issues, and seeing satoru open up to her made her realize that despite their differences, they are going through similar struggles. poor baby satoru 😭 he needs a hug. like my heart literally breaks for him. this chapter felt really vulnerable to write...maybe that's why i was so hesitant on posting it. like it just hurts my soul lol. anyways, i wanna let you know that with this month coming to an end, my schedule is going to be getting pretty busy as i will be starting classes. it's my first time returning to school after 10 years...and i'll be doing it while still being a mom and working. i'm literally gonna be feeling like y/n, juggling a lot (the mom brain is a REAL THING YA'LL) so if my updates take longer that is why. much love to you all, and again thanks so much 🤗 -aly 💕 → onto the next chapter ꨄ

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@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer

@stevenknightmarc @maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@alwaysfreakingout @valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @evalynanne @tbzzluvr

[transvampireboyfriend]

Eddie would come up with the most elaborate schemes to kiss Steve for the first time.

here's mine: He realizes Steve is a gossip early on, like the first time they all hang out someone mentions a rumour in passing and Steve latches on. Eddie is delighted. He's enamoured by the twinkle in Steve's eyes and the intensity in his probing, even the enthusiasm in giving out the information he has about the people in question.

So Eddie knows what he has to do.

Whenever Eddie sees or hears something that frankly should not be any of his business he makes sure to tell Steve. He doesn't mention it to anybody else and most of the time he doesn't care about it much, but he needs to tell Steve.

And he only does it when it's just the two of them. He finds Steve in a secluded corner of the Family Video, says "i think my boss is cheating on his wife" and is rewarded with a gasp.

He follows after Steve when he goes to refill the popcorn in the middle of movie night and casually asks "you know who I saw the other day coming out of Laura's house at 3am?" Steve raises his eyebrows higher than Eddie has ever seen.

He calls Steve at midnight on a Wednesday and opens with "my neighbors are definitely getting back together" Steve answers with a devastated "noooo!"

He leaves the kids in the cookie aisle to go catch up to Steve and lean on the shopping cart shoulder to shoulder and whisper "dont look now, but Heather and Monica are here together, right behind us. They ARE dating" Steve looks immediately.

And Eddie's not only excited about his initial reactions, but he thanks the heavens for his discovery because it gets him Steve's total, undivided attention every.fucking.time. without fail.

Steve turns fully to him, touches Eddie's arms for emphasis, shoves him when Eddie says something dumb, tugs on a strand of his hair a bit when Eddie says something silly, opens his eyes SO wide or squints at him and his eyelashes look sooo pretty. Steve leans in and whispers back and grins and teases and scrunches his nose in the most adorable gesture Eddie has ever seen in his life.

With practice, Eddie goes from having to give Steve's shoulder a back handed slap to get his attention, to just looking at him directly for like 5 seconds and then Steve knows Eddie has something to tell him.

so he does it at dinner, on a nondescript date at a nondescript hour because, mostly, Eddie just kinda can't take it anymore.

He's listening to Steve tell this story about a costumer and frankly, forgets to look away from him and Steve interprets this as Eddie having something to say. He cuts himself off, tilts his head and asks "what?" with mirth in his voice.

Eddie smiles, a little mischievous and says "c'mere I have to tell you something"

Steve smiles back, but says "we're the only ones here, Eds" gesturing to his kitchen.

Eddie rolls his eyes a bit and threatens "do you want me to tell you or not?"

Steve leans across the table, his cut off tank almost touching their spaghetti.

Eddie wants to shove his hands through the armpit holes, but he settles for holding Steve's jaw and threading his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

Steve's lips are as soft and warm as he expected, he tastes of the red sauce they cooked together and he smells good enough to eat. Eddie indulges in a thorough kiss but keeps it short.

No matter how many times Steve looks at him like he's the most interesting person in the room, he hasn't outright said that he likes Eddie like that, so he'd rather be careful.

Eddie pulls back and finds Steve smiling, his eyes closed still.

Steve blinks his eyes open and looks at Eddie, his tongue darts out to swipe across his lips and he says "I think that's the best one you've told me yet"

Eddie snorts and feels his cheeks burn "Yeah?" he asks.

"Mmhm" Steve confirms against his lips, already kissing Eddie again.

It takes a while, but eventually Eddie realizes Steve doesn't only give him his undivided attention when he has gossip. He does it pretty much all the time.

Maybe at some point it expanded to everything Eddie has to say.

Or maybe it was like that all along.

[pastafossa]

"Love Leaves A Mark" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic, Pure Fluff)

I've been working on this for a bit to celebrate the release of our older Born Again!Era Matt, and happily I can say this one's now done, which means I can finish up another little oneshot I have and then get back around to The Red Thread's next chapter. This is written with TRT!Reader in mind, but I also tried to write it vaguely so it's easy enough to enjoy even if you haven't read that massive saga. Also if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings for this fic: None that I know of, they're just being cute and in love as they grow old together. There ARE some vague physical changes described that are standard in aging but that feels pretty normal.

Fic Summary: You and Matt are growing older together, and you're both loving every second of it, including the physical changes that come with it.

“Did you get more toothpaste today?” you called sleepily, lifting one leg to idly scratch at your calf with your foot. You worked your toothbrush over to the other side of your mouth, wrinkling your nose at the taste. Nine years you’d been using your husband’s toothpaste and you’d never gotten used to the flavor, or lack thereof. You’d be damned if you didn’t use it regardless, though. “And Mini’s food?”

“Picked up both.” The low rumble of his voice was sleepy and distracted as it drifted out of the bedroom. Outside the little brownstone you both now called home, the snow continued to fall in thick, heavy flakes, muffling the roar of the wind and the few cars still out on the street despite the late hour and travel ban. You were grateful for that storm. In all the time you’d been with him you’d never had a problem with the Devil’s nightly rounds. Loving Matt meant loving Daredevil, too. But you still treasured evenings like these when he was able to stay in with you, your purring, cuddly husband happily playing the role of your favorite blanket. “I may have also stopped at the bookstore and gotten you something on the way home.”

You paused, shifting your gaze meaningfully toward the open bathroom doorway. You probed curiously at the psychic connection between you, a subtle attempt to discern what it was he’d picked up for you. All you got was a playful nudge back. He didn’t even have to try all that hard anymore, smoothly deflecting you with all the ease of swatting away a pillow.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” His voice was an amused whisper in your mind. “You’ll have to figure it out the old-fashioned way.” 

You scrubbed faster at your teeth, grinning at his laugh in the other room. 

“I don’t know how you have any gums left considering how often you do that,” he mused as you leaned down to rinse your mouth out. You quickly shoved your toothbrush back into the penguin-shaped toothbrush holder before flipping off the light and padding out of the bathroom. 

“The benefits of genetic tampering,” you said dryly, joining him in the bedroom. He was already settled into bed, sitting up with his back against the headboard, a well-worn book beneath his hand. Down atop his blanket-covered feet, a large, round black void of fur had arranged itself into a perfect circle, no head or tail to be seen. Matt tipped his head as he tracked your eager circling of the room, the barest little smirk quirking his lips. You scanned around for anything new, hunting along the walls and the bookshelves that had managed to migrate their way into the bedroom once your shared office slash library had gotten too full. Books had a tendency to breed like rabbits between you and Matt. “Where?” “Your nightstand. I figured you’d probably want to dive in.”

You darted over towards your nightstand.

“No way,” you breathed, sitting down on your side of the bed and snatching up the first of the three new hardbacks he’d placed on your nightstand. “This one—I thought it was going to take another week at least before they released it. How did you…?” “I kept checking with Hanna every time I passed by her bookstore.” He cleared his throat as you flipped open your new copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy to a random page, the much-loved scent of new paper and ink filling your nose. “Eventually she took pity on me and finally let me buy this one early with cash. Although she wasn’t sure why you wanted this one when you have so many other translations already.” 

“It’s Palma’s new translation,” you murmured distractedly, dragging your finger down the flowing lines of poetry, your eyes skimming rapidly over the page. You could already spot some of the changes. “I have the first translation he did of the Inferno, but this is the first time he’s done the entirety of the Divine Comedy, and he’s tweaked his previous translation. It’s supposed to mimic the rhyming scheme Dante created more closely. Not easy when you’re shifting it from Italian to English. Dad’s going to have kittens when he hears the Devil got me my copy before he got his.”

Even without looking at him, you could feel Matt’s smug satisfaction. “You should call him so I can hear him swear.” “Call him yourself if you want to rub it in.” You snorted in amusement at Matt’s neverending desire to goad your adoptive father Ciro, who admittedly had a habit of goading back. At the very least their jabs had become less hostile over the years, the two of them now closer to sparring partners than actual enemies. You leaned over to look at the other two books Matt had gotten you, your brows shooting up. “And you got me Emily Wilson’s translations of the Illiad and the Odyssey? You’re spoiling me, husband dearest.” “You said last month you were thinking about picking them both up. I figured I’d check if they were there.” There was a rustle of blankets behind you, and a slightly irritated, ‘mrrp?’, presumably as Matt adjusted his feet beneath the fuzzy black hole curled up atop them. “Consider it an early anniversary gift.” “Not that I’m not grateful, but you and I both know it’s January, dear.” You set Dante back down atop the stack of books before swiveling on the bed to face Matt. You started crawling across the mountain of blankets and silk sheets toward his grinning form. “Our anniversary is months away.” “The anniversary of our first kiss, then.” His smile only grew wider when you reached him and threw your leg over him to sit astride his waist. It was something he welcomed as he always did, his hands setting aside his book immediately in favor of you. He slid his palms warmly up and down the fleece covering your thighs, pausing here and there to knead at the muscle just because he could. It never seemed to matter that he’d touched you a thousand times before. He treated every moment like this as if it were the first. “A few hardbacks are the least you deserve.” “Lines like that make me want to marry you.” You sighed, draping your arms comfortably over his broad shoulders, lifting one hand to idly card your fingers through his dark hair. He hummed beneath your touch, tilting his head openly into the fond drag of your fingers like a big cat. “Buying a woman hardbacks? In this economy? Put a ring on me, Mr. Murdock.”

“Now Mrs. Murdock, how would your husband feel about you saying things like that?” His voice was a playful purr, words thick and glutted thanks to the drag of your nails. You were pretty sure his eyes had rolled back behind his closed eyes. “He’d, mmm, hunt me down until his dying breath if I laid so much as a finger on you. As for me, my wife is… not inclined to let me go gently.” 

“You’re goddamn right I’m not.” You sprawled out against his chest, dipping your head. He met you halfway, touching his lips to yours. You gave him a warm, lazy kiss, faint traces of copper and cinnamon passed from his smiling mouth to yours. The familiar taste of him, the softness of his skin, the sweet warmth of his breath in your mouth soothed you in a way little else could, and you drew him deep into you on a slow inhale, humming against his lips. His chest rumbled contentedly beneath you in response, his hands sliding up from your thighs to squeeze and rub affectionately your hips. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

“Never,” he murmured against your mouth, chasing after you to steal another kiss when you tried to lift your head. You ran your fingers through his hair again, sighing at the soft, playful brush of his tongue against your lips, giving it a mischievous nip of your own that made him rumble another pleased noise beneath you. His voice dropped further, all lazy warmth and possessive hunger, shades of the Devil coloring the edges like a painter’s brush. “Mm, my wife, all mine.”                                     “Your wife,” you agreed fondly. “One who’s cut people before and will happily do it again if it keeps you safe.”

“Your services are very much appreciated.”

“They should be since I fully intend to sit in a pair of rocking chairs with you one day in our old age.” You brought your hand around to scratch your fingers lightly through the coarseness of his beard, making him groan breathlessly in delight, his back arching just a little beneath you. He’d been letting his beard grow in for the past week or so. You were unsure if it was by choice or if it was simply that he’d felt too busy to take the time to shave. It had been a while since you’d last seen him with a full beard, though, a few years at least. And to your pleasant surprise, there were a few changes. Your fingers petted curiously over the small patches of silver scattered around. “I’ve even kept you alive long enough that you’ve got grey here in your beard now. That’s new.” His brows rose in surprise, his eyes fluttering open where they’d fallen closed. “Really?”

“Yup. It’s very handsome.” You stroked at the prickly grey strands before your hands slid back and up to his temples, tracing the few strands of grey there just as affectionately. His cheeks had even turned the tiniest bit pink at your praise. “Some here, too. Just a little at your temples. You gonna be my silver fox, Matt?” “I guess so. That’s what I get for letting you pet all the color out over nine years.” He heaved a great sigh beneath you as if his care sheet instructions didn’t specify he get at least ten minutes of petting each day, without which he would wilt away. “You made me look old.” “Oh please. You don’t look old. You look human.” Your fingers left his hair so you could poke him pointedly in the chest. He threw you a wounded look, all furrowed brow and big sad eyes that you weren’t falling for even a little. “Also, you gave yourself those grey hairs, thank you very much. You’re the most stressed man I’ve ever met. Half of what you put yourself through would have turned anyone else’s hair white by now.”

“Fine. I’ll admit that I may have done… a few things that were somewhat stress—” “Got a building dropped on you. Fought Nobu in tissue paper. Got shot in the head. Used a neti pot to snort some fucking rusty tap water full of amoebas and tiny shrimp—”

“That last one still really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“You have no idea. One day I’m going to kiss you and taste brain shrimp, I just know it.”

He snorted. “You say that like I don’t have my own list of all the things you’ve done that have almost given me a heart attack.”

“Alright, so my list is also… a bit long.” You tilted your head, watching his eyes shift absently around. After so many years with you, he was no longer self-conscious about letting you watch his eyes this closely, much to your delight. In the low light of the bedroom, his eyes were a soft, dark brown rather than the green or grey they could shift to during the day. Beautiful as always, especially with the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, lines that now seemed permanent even when he wasn’t smiling. You brushed your thumb over a few of those lines, your playful tone falling away into something more serious. “What if I like it, though? These parts of you that are getting older? Like these laugh lines.”

He furrowed his brow pitifully. “Now you’re telling me I’m wrinkly, too?”

“Oh, fuck you!” you huffed, his body shaking beneath you as he laughed. “You know that’s not what I meant. Stop deflecting, I’m serious.”

“I’m know you are, even if you’re telling me I’m a grey, grizzled, wrinkled husk.” He groaned theatrically, rolling his head back. “You should just bury me if I’m that old.”

“Not a chance. Not when I love everything I’m seeing. Like these…” 

You leaned in and planted a kiss on the laugh lines in question, feeling them grow deeper under your lips as he smiled.

“And these…”

Another kiss, this time against one of the grey patches in his beard, making him sigh. 

“...and goddamn do I love all this, too,” you murmured, sitting back so you could drag your hands hungrily down the front of him. There was no part of him you didn’t love, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little obsessed with the dark hair now edging up past his shirt collar—so much of it now that he’d finally given up on shaving his chest and let it all grow back—and the slightly thicker lines of his abdomen and hips, both of them a touch softer than they had been almost a decade ago when you’d first met him. You’d know; you’d been laying on him almost every night for most of that decade, barring a few rough patches and business trips.

“Mrs. Murdock,” he breathed in feigned shock, as if he wasn’t aware of exactly how much you enjoyed both his chest hair and the whole of his body from top to bottom, “are you insinuating something about me?” “You mean like insinuating I’m the reason you now eat regularly and aren’t so dehydrated that I can practically draw a map of your veins by sight?” You squeezed at the meat of his abdomen and hips greedily, your voice growing smug as you kneaded at him. Your touch made him chuckle and squirm beneath you, only drawing more protests from the cat trying to sleep on top of his feet. “Yes. Yes, I am. You’re welcome for the health, by the way. You’re aging like a fine wine, husband dearest. And it makes me happy.” 

His face softened at that, one hand leaving your hips to lay against your sternum. “If your heart wasn’t beating so steadily, I’d say you were just trying to flatter me,” he mused. “But… me getting older really is making you happy, isn’t it?”

“It is. I…” 

You paused for a moment, struggling to put into words what you were feeling. His hand at your hip edged up under your shirt until he could rub his thumb soothingly at your skin, content to wait while you figured out how to say what you wanted to say.

“I think it’s that… there was a time when I wasn’t sure if you’d live long enough for me to see you grow old with me.” You cupped his face in your hands, treasuring the way his eyes fell slowly closed and he leaned into your touch so openly, so easily. It had taken so much work to get him here, where he felt comfortable accepting your love and your affection, but it had been worth every ounce of effort. You traced over his laugh lines again with your thumbs before skipping down to the faint smile lines at the corners of his mouth, a mouth that pursed to kiss your thumb when you swept one over his lips. “But you did. I’m getting to see it. That’s special to me. I want to see that… that you’re still alive, that you’re living long enough for these things to happen. I want to see all these little grey hairs, and wrinkles, and the way your body has gotten a bit softer, because every little piece of you that gets older represents a moment I didn’t know if I’d get with you.”

He drew in a shaky breath before his eyes fluttered slowly open again. And in the dark of his eyes there was such a reverent joy, such a bone-deep love filling their depths that it almost took your breath away. You’d never tire of seeing it, even if you both lived for another fifty, another hundred, another thousand years, joined in this lifetime and in whatever came next. Religion had nothing on being loved fully, wholly by Matt. 

“I could say the same thing about you,” he breathed, his hand at your sternum sliding up to cradle your neck, thumb sweeping gently over the thin skin above your pulse. He pressed just a little, just enough to tug your skin back and forth. A moment later, he tugged you in until he could feather a kiss against your pulse where his thumb had been, lingering there as you nuzzled into his dark hair. “And spots like right here.”

“What’s changed there?” 

“The texture of your skin. How much it moves when I touch it. I like to think,” he whispered against your throat, “that your skin’s a little looser here now, more worn in, because I’ve stroked at it so much that I’ve changed you permanently. It’s a sign of just how much I’ve touched you, how many times you’ve trusted me and let me put my hands here. It’s never mattered to you how scarred those hands were, how covered in blood. You let my love leave a mark.”

He tightened his other hand against your hip next, taking hold of the curves that had changed as you’d journeyed through the years with him. “And you’re softer now, too, just like me.” From there he smoothed his hand affectionately upwards over your ribs and up past your breasts, mapping over all of the places your body had begun to show your age like his: stretchmarks and small wrinkles where once skin had been smooth and tight, scars from old battles now faded and ragged with time. The journey his hand took was made with reverence, tender and heavy with intent, his smile so very soft and almost… wondrous. “I may not be able to see you, but I can feel you growing old with me, too, sweetheart. More curves, a few wrinkles. It’s like I can feel your body sinking deeper and deeper into a life with me.”

“That’s what happens when love winds up being your gravity.” You leaned in to kiss his forehead lines. “A decade of being drawn in by you.”

“Mhm. And up here.” He shifted his hand at your throat to cup your face like you had his, his thumb tracing the corners of your eyes. “Laugh lines. Because our life’s made you laugh so much that it changed you. They weren’t there the first time I put my hands here. But they are now. Signs of how happy you are with me. And there are more every year, because you… love me enough to stay.”

“Hey, my Devil-Man,” you whispered, tilting his head up until your forehead could meet yours. He didn’t bother to hide the vulnerability in his eyes, this old wound of his. It was mostly mended now, when it came to you, but sometimes that furrowed scar inside his heart still made him ache. “Do you need me to remind you again? I’m not going anywhere, husband of mine. There’s nowhere you’ll go that I won’t follow.”

“I know.” His eyes fluttered as you stroked at his skin. His arms left your face until he could wind them tighter around you, pulling you in tight against him until his every breath became yours. That seemed to settle him some, the weight of you against his chest, especially when you dropped your head to his shoulder, nuzzling in against his neck. “That’s… that’s just it. With me, you see… moments you didn’t think you’d have because you didn’t think I’d make it. And I didn’t think I’d have this with you, either. A home, wrinkles, greying hair. Not because I didn’t think you’d live long enough, but… but because I never thought I’d find someone who could love me enough to stay this long. To love me this long. Long enough that I could feel you grow old with me.”

“Loving you has never been a chore, Matt.” You breathed in the scent of his skin, soap and the faint copper of blood, traces of cinnamon and just him. It was a scent you knew better than your own. You  lifted your hand to run your knuckles down his cheek, tracking your way through his greying beard, hoping that your touch would help your words sink in. He slid his hands up under the back of your shirt to drag his palms smoothly down your back, comforting himself with the feel of your skin as he tilted his head, listening to your heartbeat. It wasn’t because he thought you were lying, that much you knew. But he’d told you once he found the truth soothing when hearing something that might make him feel otherwise vulnerable. Something like this, this old wound of his, absolutely qualified. “And it never will be, no matter what comes at us. If you need me to remind you of that every day, I will. I’ll tell you that over and over again, until the day we die and get buried in matching coffins.”

“The same coffin,” he said quietly, tipping his head to nuzzle at your temple. “There’s a reason we took ‘Till death do we part’ out of our vows. No parting, even in death.” 

“Do they even sell double coffins? If so, I’m down.” “Even if they don’t, I’ll tell Foggy to make sure I end up in yours with you.” “I think I should end up in yours.” “Why?” “Because everyone will just assume your coffin’s extra heavy due to your goddamn audacity.” He burst out laughing beneath you, his body shaking and almost throwing you off him entirely. “I’m just saying,” you continued, trying not to grin as he choked out more laughter, “you live your life in a very particular way, man without fear. ‘Christ, why is his coffin so heavy?’ And our friends can just say, ‘well, you know, it’s Matt Murdock’ and it’ll explain everything. No one will notice me shoved in underneath you so you can lay on top of me forever.” 

“It’s a date,” he said, still huffing in amusement. A pointed paw tapped at your back before starting a walk up your spine. “Speaking of which, looks like someone’s eager to get in on the cuddling.” “Behold, offer to cuddle and both Matts will appear,” you snorted as roughly twenty pounds of scarred black cat trod his way stubbornly up and onto your shoulder, rasping out an indignant meow that sounded like he’d been smoking a pack a day for the past seven years, because how dare the two of you do this without inviting him. “I’m about to be sandwiched, I think. Hello, Mini-Matt.”

Sure enough, Matt’s smaller clone enthusiastically rammed his head against your temple, making you grunt, before doing the same to Matt’s chin. He was already purring like an old motorcycle engine in a request to get in on what seemed like a nice, cozy cuddle pile, as if Matt would ever turn the cat down. Sure enough, Matt leaned in, planting a kiss to Mini’s big fuzzy forehead before turning and laying a much gentler kiss on yours as Mini draped himself over your shoulder, stretching one paw out to pat Matt's face. “Something tells me you don’t mind, though.”

“Not even a little.” 

[twola]

I have one simple request, getting back from a successful mission with Arthur , reader and Arthur are all excited and happy about the job and can’t wait to get their hands on each other with reader trying to discreetly suck him off behind a wagon at camp. Or something along those lines, I’m a sucker for keeping that man quiet when others are near. Work your magic girl!

Uh. *checks notes*

Filthy. I hope you like filthy.

Success

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

“Reckon that’s a winning combination,” you laugh, swinging down from your horse and tying its reins to the hitching post. 

Arthur swings down from his horse as well, grunting in agreement, patting his mare’s flank before he follows you deeper into the camp, past the folks cleaning up their dinner, breaking into their first (or fourth) drink of the night—Dutch’s gramophone lilts in the background.

As the two of you walk closer to the table where the contribution box is set out, Arthur opens his satchel to pull out the ill-gotten gains.

“Course, like anyone would believe a pretty little thing like you could rob a man blind.” Arthur places the overflowing jewelry bag into the camp’s money chest, but not before nicking a pair of earrings that he knew would look good on you. 

“Are you being facetious, Mister Morgan?” You smile overly sweetly at him and move quickly ahead of him, walking backward toward your destination of his wagon.

“Reckon I don't have the brains to be so, Miss.”

“What did you tell that man that he was so damn excited about getting in a room with me?” You continue slyly, playing with the ends of your hair in a flirtatious manner.

“Told him ain't nothing ever been sweeter than your mouth on my cock.” Arthur rumbles lowly, his tone teasing.

Oh, it was one of those nights.

You push his shoulder. Once. Twice. You know you could never move the mountain of muscle that he is. But he allows it, letting you push him backward until he smacks against the side of his wagon. He smirks as you press yourself against him and he eagerly meets you as you lean up to kiss him. 

What he doesn’t expect is those warm little hands of yours deftly unfastening his gunbelt and immediately working at his pants.

“What are you doin-” he harshly whispers and immediately shuts up as you wind your hand through his hastily opened buttons and encircle his cock.

“Shit-” he hisses, leaning back against the wagon, watching you draw out his engorged cock from his pants and stroke it gently, teasingly.

“Can you be quiet for me, cowboy? Can you hold yourself together as I suck you off?”

Arthur smashes his hat onto his head to block his vision as you sink to your knees, biting his lower lip.

“Look at me, Arthur Morgan,” you whisper before kissing his shaft, your nose tickled by the wiry curls on his pelvis.

He looks down at you, hand coming off his hat, his other arm braced against his wagon.

Loudly swallowing, he looks around for anyone who would be able to see. The rest of the gang were mulling about- only steps away, 

“Watch me, dearest.” You smile, sickly sweet, before your tongue darts out and licks a warm, wet stripe from base to head.

He whines, whines, trying to keep quiet. Arthur’s breath comes out in hurried pants as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. You look up at him again, bright-eyed as you lap at the sensitive skin of his member.

“Fuck, honey, I -” he grits his teeth as you lick again, the tip of your tongue probing against his slit, tasting the first bitter, salty drips of his arousal.

You frown up at him, hand wrapped around his base, and pull away, “You want to be caught? Be quiet.”

His jaw immediately clamps shut as he nods dumbly, following your order. Arthur cannot help but to spread his legs further, his spurs jingling, as his head passes into your mouth. 

“Hah-”  he wheezes, watching you slide your mouth further down his shaft. Each inch of him disappearing into the warm, wet cavern.

“Oh, Jesus-”  he throws his head back against the wagon, his hat falling to the ground, as the very tip of him hits the back of your throat and begins to arch downward as your nose presses against his pelvis. He knows he’s leaking like a dripping faucet, blinking up to the stars, breathing out through his nose loudly like a bull to stud.

Your mouth is perfect - wet and warm and your tongue presses against the underside of his cock insistently. You make a small noise around him and he looks down at you. His entire cock is in your mouth, prodding the back of your throat, and you blink up at him with doe eyes.

He’s a goner, even before you hollow your cheeks and suck.

Arthur barely has enough time for his hands to find your head, holding you still as you groan, and with one half-aborted thrust, he comes, hot and sticky down your throat. You gag a little, and he realizes he’s choking you, and his hands move down to your shoulders, gently pushing you back.

You gasp, coughing a little as his cock leaves your mouth, bobbing slightly in front of your face. For a moment, a pearly string of saliva and spend is suspended between your lower lip and the head of his cock. He grits his teeth again, fighting off the moan that he wants to let loose into the night air.

The string breaks as a large drip of pearly spend escapes his cock, falling to your chin.

You blink away tears as you look up at him, gasping for breath, his spend bright on your skin in the moonlight.

“Oh honey, here-” he’s wincing as he tucks his sensitive cock back into his pants before stooping over to take your shoulders and help you up.

You press your hands against his chest to steady yourself.

Arthur’s hand leaves your shoulder and his thumb wipes slowly across your chin, collecting that last drip of spend.

You grab his wrist, preventing him from moving, as you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking off the last drop of spend from him as he gazes upon you dumbfounded.

You let go of his thumb and suddenly he’s crashing into you, his arms thrown around your body, crushing you to him, his lips insistent against yours, his tongue pressing into your mouth. He kisses you like he needs your love to breathe.

You melt into his embrace, kissing him back with equal fervor. He swings you around to change places, with you leaning against his wagon, the boxes of bullets inside clinging as he pushes you against it.

“Christ alive-” he grits between kisses.

“If I ain’t-” Arthur’s hand paws at your rear and you gasp. “The luckiest man-” Your skirts are drawn up.

“West of the Lanaheechee-” Your bloomers puddle around your boots. You bury your head into his shoulder as you gasp, his fingers zeroing between your legs with a practiced ease.

“Look at my hand, honey.” Arthur teases as you squeeze your eyes shut, your knees shaking as his other arm wraps around your waist, keeping you upright.

You heed him though, looking down between you and grabbing at your skirt, lifting the fabric enough so that you can see his hand cupping the entirety of your cunt, where just the smallest tuft of dark hair is visible where his palm ends. You suck in another breath as his middle finger parts your folds and presses against your opening.

Arthur is looking down at you with a confident hunger as the first part of his finger slides into your cunt. Your eyes squeeze shut as your hands clench at his strong trigger finger pushing behind the first, both sliding into your body.

He crooks those fingers and a cry escapes you. His other hand covers your mouth and he shushes you, lowering his head to yours as he whispers lowly,  “You want to be caught? Be quiet.”

Your eyes widen as you nod your head, but he doesn’t remove his hand from your mouth, instead leaning in and taking your earlobe between his teeth as he starts his ministrations in your cunt again.

His hand muffles your sounds as he begins to thrust those fingers roughly. His tongue traces up the helix of your ear before he harshly whispers into it.

“You may play the whore but ain’t no man ever gonna touch you but me. Ain’t no man ever gonna make you come, right honey?”

You nod vigorously, about to trip over that precipice.

“Good girl, now come for me.” Arthur orders, pressing his thumb hard against that bead of nerves above your cunt and curling his two fingers inside.

Your knees shake as your eyes squeeze shut, moaning into his hand as you obey, a small gush of your arousal coating his fingers and dripping down his knuckles.

Arthur slowly removes his fingers from your body, and your skirts drop as his other hand uncovers your mouth. You pant, leaning heavily against the wagon. He looms over you, and as he also breathes heavily, a smile cracks across his weathered face.

“Reckon any more and we’re really gonna get caught.” He nuzzles his forehead against yours.

You smile, laughing softly, “Any more and neither of us will be able to stand up.”

Arthur snorts as he holds out his hand for you to take and hold on to. “C’mon, let’s show our faces a bit before disappearing again.”