#HIS EARS ! HIS TEST TUBES !!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

coffee-and-geto · 2 months ago

Text

A DISTRACTION? OR A DUTY-FULFILLING BOYFRIEND?

“You’re losing your mind again, sweetheart?” he mumbles as his lips crash against yours, hungrily devouring your mouth. “Then let me do it twice.”

pairing: professor!gojo x f!reader

summary: what could be worse than giving your all to a school assignment only to see yourself fail with no chance of catching up? helplessness is a real haunt. but having a boyfriend under your arm who fulfills his duties, that’s just downright better.

warnings: MDNI +18 ONLY, smut, nsfw, angst, fluff, fingering (f! receiving), sex p in v, unprotected sex, spoon position, morning sex, teasing, love making, overstimulation, creampie, art by @/3-aem.

wc: 3,749

masterlist | next part

Among all the sensations you may have studied during your PhD years, never, as a student, has the idea of feeling the world crumble around you in front of your powerlessness crossed your mind to the point of being a victim.

In fact, it’s more accurate to call it your world.

The Earth hasn’t stopped spinning, there are no earthquakes, no one is screaming or running away from the university to take refuge anywhere.

It’s just you, standing in front of a white lab bench littered with glassware of all shapes and sizes, from Erlenmeyer flasks to tubes and test tubes — there’s hardly any space to rest a hand. The oppressive silence seems to come alive despite the luxury of the large space provided by your university’s funds, which ensure that you always have the best equipment available for your students.

But it doesn’t matter when the silence wraps its anxiety-laden hands around your neck to strangle you like a sleep paralysis that urges you never to wake up from your nightmare.

Oh, if only it were a nightmare.

In your hand is your phone, the screen lit with a white light, leaving words typed in black ink at your attention, with nothing to defend you against, nothing.

No ammunition, no power, no control except an imposed acceptance in response to your research grant sent over a month ago that has perhaps 200 words to explain for the one word that remains etched in your retina was written, typed, and sent with the utmost cruelty:

Refused.

Once you’ve imprinted the word in you, everything collapses around you.

The clock in the room never stops ticking, advancing its hands with constancy, regularity and rigidity. Nothing stands in its way.

Whereas for you, it’s as if the world has stopped.

Nothing in you responds. All your limbs move, pick things up, move forward, backward, away. But something remains off.

The almost empty corridors of the few strolling students are invisible, the occasional muffled chatter in your ears, the cold wind scratching your face as pale as a sheet is nothing compared to the din your head produces.

No, no, no, no…

It’s a nightmare…

Just wake up…

The door to Satoru’s office swings open, the strength of the wood and your grip creating a draught that blows away sheets he’s carefully stacked to slip into his bag to end his day.

“What’s going—”

Remaining standing in front of the door, which you soon close with more force than you’d like, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking down in front of him, even though the urge is more than seductive. Your heart is pumping wildly in your ribcage — so hard, in fact, that the thought of tachycardia crosses your mind.

There’s little light in the classroom laboratory, so it’s the yellowish glow of the lights that melts onto your skin, casting tired shadows on Satoru’s face.

He scrutinizes you, cautious and hands still frozen just above his desk where his papers still lie. His normally impeccably pressed white shirt is slightly creased beneath his black tie. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms with colored veins sinuating his milky skin.

His mouth parted for a second, the words hanging on the tip of his lips but stopping all sound in their tracks.

“What happened?” he finally mouths.

The hand holding your phone tightens its fingers around the screen, which threatens to crack under the force of your pressure, and then the muscles in your face are the first to betray you.

Chin trembling, the lips curved downwards, eyebrows and eyes crinkled in a vain attempt to suppress tears, and a silent sob escaping like a sellout.

Immediately, Satoru’s two large, powerful and familiar arms encircle your body as it collapses against him. More sobs join the burning tears dripping down your cheeks, some of which crash onto his shirt while others get lost who knows where.

“Hey, hey. I’m here my love, I’ve got you.” Your boyfriend’s warm, comforting breath caresses your hair with the utmost tenderness. His embrace tightens slightly as you flinch. “Let’s go home together, okay?”

You nod feebly. An unpleasant headache tenses your skull and one thing is all you need: your home.

Your home is Satoru and his home.

The journey blurs through your eyes. The darkening sky is bleak, as is your mood. A few raindrops splash against the windscreen of Satoru’s car, driving with a certain tension and stiffness in his gestures.

One of his hands is busy driving while the other remains on your thigh, thumb drawing absent circles on the fabric of your pants as his serious gaze alternates between the rear-view mirror and the road ahead. Confronted by your ponderous silence, Satoru doesn’t utter a word, leaving you to curl up in your seat, your temple resting against the icy glass that relieves your headache a little.

In his apartment, the routine continues. Usually, you both shower, eat dinner, go about your university duties — him preparing lectures and correcting papers, and you studying lectures and doing homeworks. But just after the shower he gives up on swallowing anything when you shake your head as he beckons you to question your appetite.

And so, at 9pm, the two of you are curled up in his fresh blankets, your exhausted head resting on his comfortable chest.

He listens for a good hour as you tell him that your research grant has just been rejected — the one for which you’ve sacrificed your sanity, hours of sleep and even your social life to make it as perfect as possible — and that there’s nothing you can do about it. Your tears flood Satoru’s T-shirt as he listens intently, blowing your own nose when your sobs clog it red and runny. He wipes away all your tears, kisses your whole face, your hair, your neck, whispering words of comfort.

“You’re not a failure, love,” he whispers against the shell of your ear as you go silent after getting all your sorrow off your chest. “Just because you were rejected doesn’t mean you failed.”

“I failed,” you insist in a hoarse voice, eyelids closed. “Other people were taken, and I wasn’t. I deserved it, Satoru...”

“You did not.” He kisses your cheek and then your temple. “The person who turned you down may have been unfair, but you didn’t fail. Missing an opportunity doesn’t mean you’re doomed. Missing something doesn’t make the world stop, love.“

The words hit as hard as a punch, but fall as softly as an umpteenth kiss.

“There’s nothing stupid about your project, it’s perfect. It just needs to be seen by the right people.” One of his hands slowly strokes your hair, each finger passing between your strands as he gently detangles them. “You’re capable and brilliant, don’t ever doubt it.”

Your lips — swollen from your earlier tears — moisten again with more silent weeping. Under your weary nod, he sighs softly and adjusts the comforter over you both, making sure it covers you up to the shoulders.

“I love you, remember?” He peppers your head with soft kisses, closing his eyes as he feels you sniffle against his t-shirt. When you nod a second time, he lifts up your chin between his thumb and forefinger to press another slow kiss against your lips.

Your heart flutters by the second. With equal tenderness, you return his kiss, humming to keep from laughing as his hands slide up your torso to tickle you while he steals your breath.

Lips against lips, you feel Satoru’s stretch into a smile at your reaction and he releases you with an even firmer, more reassuring embrace.

“Love you so much, baby.”

“Me too,” you mumble, face buried into his neck.

He sighs, still stroking your hair back and forth while staying silent. In the bedroom, there is no sound. The simple silence of your love, which needs no words to express itself.

~~~~

Early the next morning, Satoru’s eyelids flutter open, bothered by the orange sunbeams that have managed to sneak in between the slats of the blinds at his windows.

His alarm hadn’t gone off yet, which earned him a smile of triumph: a delight — a luxury even — that even the wealthiest like him couldn’t always afford. Waking up before his alarm goes off is one of Satoru’s favorite moments in his life.

He can admire your sleeping face, still savoring oh how comfortable it is to hold you in his big, spoon-shaped arms in bed, how soft the steady sound of your heart beating peacefully in your chest is, or how steady your breath is, like a lullaby to him.

Then, taking advantage of the moment’s peace, he pulls you a little tighter into his arms, inhaling the scent of your shampoo as it drifts from your hair and nestles his chin in the hollow between your shoulder and neck. The warmth of your two hearts is enough to melt him.

He places a gentle kiss on your cheek, close to your jaw.

The action has the immediate effect of waking you up almost involuntarily. Of course, he wants to let you rest before tackling the long day ahead with him, but he also wants to be able to cover you with his love while you’re conscious.

A soft hum escapes your lips and you squirm a little, sticking your back even more to Satoru’s torso for added warmth.

A smile cracks his lips and he holds back a gasp when your ass rubs against his crotch. “Morning, sweetheart,” he manages to whisper close to your ear with a little raspy voice. “Did you sleep well?”

Keeping your eyelids closed, you continue to rub against him, a smile as amused as it is relaxed in his protective arms.

“Mhmmm…”

“What are you doing?” he mumbles, kissing your jaw, fingers creeping up your chin to make you face him.

“Need you,” you pant back, trying to take off the cover lazily because the heat on how turned on you’re getting is choking you, but it’s harder when Satoru is now pressing his mouth against yours with firm kisses.

“You’re losing your mind again, sweetheart?” he mumbles as his lips crash against yours, hungrily devouring your mouth. “Then let me do it twice.”

He helps you free yourself from the comforter and himself at the same time before running his hands up your shirt and pressing his already hard erection against your ass.

For a few seconds, the room is filled with nothing but breaths, a little heavy after the last one, warmer and faster. Sounds of wet kisses and rustling clothes too. Just your two bodies rubbing against each other in search of more until your first moan echoes louder when Satoru decides to play with your breasts, pinching a sensitive nipple under your t-shirt.

The gesture sends a delicious wave of electric pleasure to your crotch. In a reflex stride, you discard your pajama pants for a better sensation of friction, in hope to chase your highest pleasure.

“Oh God, you don’t even have to ask.” And Satoru gets rid of his own pajama pants and leaves himself in just boxers and a T-shirt. This is what he’s been loving in his daily life since you came into his life. Those warm mornings when you let your bodies do the talking for you.

Apart from the thin fabric separating your bodies, there’s nothing to stop you going further, but Satoru likes to savor and tease before tackling the main event. Sliding his palms first over your hot, soft-skinned hips, you take the opportunity to spread your legs without getting out of your spooning position with him, which makes things even hotter.

Access made free, Satoru’s fingers find their way to the wet spot on your underwear. A shiver runs through you, and you freeze, waiting for him to stimulate you in earnest. Slowly, his forefinger moves down your clit, wet with your active arousal. He taps it gently at first, then circles around it, spreading more and more of your juices as much on your core as on the fabric.

“Need me here?” he breathes in your ear, admiring how your face went from a pout to a little parted lips face and eyelids half-closed. “Or here?” He smirks. His index finger glides over your soaked panties to stop at your entrance. “It's pulsing, baby.”

“Need you on both,” you whisper in a breath. Your head is spinning like a dizzy woman drunk on pleasure. Or rather drunk on your boyfriend.

“As I see, I need to relax my girl to fulfill my duty.” He pushes your underwear to the side, and you gasp when his finger finds you, slipping easily between your folds. You moan, grinding into his hand, every nerve alive with the pleasure of his touch. He smirks, moving his fingers just how you like it, circling with precision.

He’s gentle in his gestures, but also teasing. He caresses with tender your most intimate parts — through your sensitive folds, rubbing your clit, and finally sinking a long, thick finger into you. From the last time the two of you had sex, Satoru doubts a second that it was longer ago than expected. Because God, you are so tight.

“You’re so wet for me already,” he whispers, the words sending a jolt of heat through you. He knows how to push your buttons, how to make you feel like you are falling apart in his hands. And you are — completely lost in him, in the moment.

Your walls squeeze his finger as if your life depends on it. He can barely pump at all with how it is sucked.

“Relax, darling, you’re tight.” As if to punctuate his sentence, he places butterfly kisses on the side of your neck, his breath tickling your jaw.

At the end, you obey, breathing out as your muscles unclench. Satisfied, Satoru resumes his activity and pumps his finger deeper into you, the pad looking for the sweet spot that will make you scream his name — as always.

Your moans multiply, little sounds that you try to muffle without much success as Satoru fingers you more and more, reveling in your sounds. A tight little knot forms in the pit of your stomach, a sign that you’re not long for coming.

“Satoru— Ah, ’m close,” you gasp, your hands gripping his wrist and forearm with all your might to keep from losing your head. “I’m—”

But your own cry cuts you off as your orgasm crashes over you, exploding around Satoru’s finger. The latter doesn’t stop yet, keeping it inside while it’s moving in and out of you until you’re dripping all over his knuckles buried deep.

Your breaths contrast, despite the fact that the room temperature feels like it’s risen by ten degrees. Yours is heaviest and fastest, in response to the aftermath of your perfect orgasm. Satoru’s is faster — slightly — due to the fact that he’s getting hotter and hotter by the arousal you’re giving him without doing anything (madly boys in love effect).

Slowly, Satoru withdraws his fingers from you, bringing them up to his mouth. You wince when he licks them as if they were covered with the most delicious flavor in the world. He punctuates each lick with a suction noise.

“You gross,” you mumble, feeling how weak your legs feel now. You try to sit up, but Satoru is quicker. He wraps his arms around your waist to hold you close. “What are you—”

You can feel his cock straining against his boxers, and the sound of his breathing growing heavier against your nape makes your own body ache with anticipation. Satoru’s grip was still soft, but there was an urgency to it now — like he is just as desperate for more as you are.

“Don’t you dare leave me like that, darling,” he threatens with a still playful, dangerous tone. “You’re not done with me yet.”

You swallow thick. Your heart hammers in your ribcage, anticipation coursing through your body like an electric circuit.

“Need you, sweetheart,” he breaths. “May I?”

“Just fuck me already, Satoru,” you mutter, ass grinding against his erection. He hisses, fingers clenching around your hips and waist.

“No fuck today. Love making only.” He peppers small kisses on your warm cheek before taking off his last cloth and guides his hard-rock and painful cock against your dripping slick. The fat head rubs teasingly against your entrance, tempting and enticing to make you ache and lose your mind. At every stroke, your walls squeeze around nothing, begging for something to stretch them.

“Don’t tease— Ah,” you whimper, lowering your hips for more. But it keeps the tip from sinking. So you pout slightly, a cute frowning your eyebrows. “I hate you.”

“Love you more,” he chuckles, still holding his length, brushing off how it’s twitching for you, as wet with pre as you are. “First, you need to say that you need me.”

“Satoru!” you protest.

“You know how I am,” he chortles. You wring your neck to meet his entertained eyes, a gleam of neediness but also frustration in your that turns him even more. “Beg, sweetheart.”

“I need you,” you mumble, your breathing hot brushing his lips.

Fuck.

He mouths, “Where?”

“Inside me.”

“Ask nicely now.”

You sigh in frustration. “I need you inside me now, please.” And to make him fall for you, you blink with your doe eyes, which work every time. “Satoru.”

He parts his lips, entranced by all your features, eyes lost into your soul. Lord, you are the most beautiful woman on the earth.

“Lift your leg for me.” It’s an order. But you happily comply, offering him your leg, every detail of which he worships, and take it under his arm to gain access to your welcoming entrance. When his cock stands there, ready and twitching just at your heat radiating like fire. “Ready?” You nod.

Then, in one smooth motion, he is inside you, and you gasp, your back arching off his back as he stretches you open. Satoru’s mouth finds your neck again, kissing and sucking as his hips begin to move up, slow and deliberate at first, letting you adjust to the feeling of him filling you completely.

“Fuck,” you moan, the stretch of him feeling so right, so perfect, that you can’t help but tighten around him. Satoru groans in response, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he sets a faster pace. One of your hands finds his forearm and holds it like a life preserver from his thrusts that are making the bed creak underneath the two of you, and the other tangles the nearest sheets.

“You’re so tight, so fucking tight,” he murmurs, his voice strained with effort as his thrusts grow harder, more urgent. Your nails dig into his forearm and sheets as you pull him closer, your legs trembling to the rhythm of a crescendo, one trapped because slightly lifted up by Satoru’s arm as you take him deeper.

Every thrust, every movement is a sweet, slow burn that makes your entire body shiver with need. In the wake of his thrusts, Satoru’s lips manage to find yours, kissing you deeply as his hands roam over your body, worshiping you like you are the only thing that matters.

“I love you so damn much,” he mumbles against your swollen lips while another deep slam into you drags you out a cry.

And then, without warning, Satoru shifts, adjusting his angle just enough to hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars. You gasp, your back arching off his back again as your body trembles before his.

He smirks against your lips. “Found it,” he whispers.

You can’t form words — only moans and gasps as he repeats the movement, his cock hitting that sweet, perfect spot with each thrust. Your nails dig into his back as you feel your body tightening, the pressure building in your core.

Satoru’s pace never faltered, his thrusts deep and relentless as he took you closer and closer to the edge. His breath was ragged in your ear, his fingers digging into your hips, and you could hear the sound of skin slapping together, the wet sounds of your bodies moving in sync.

“You feel so good, baby” he groans, his voice strained. “Don’t hold back.”

You can’t stop it — can’t stop the way your body reacts to him. The way the pressure in your core is building, until you are teetering on the edge of something incredible. Satoru’s name escapes your lips in a breathless cry, and that’s enough to push you over the edge. Your orgasm hits hard, your entire body shaking as the wave of pleasure consumes you.

Satoru doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking you through your orgasm, his hips not stopping rutting up against yours and his hands never leaving your leg up and hip as he continues to chase his own release. He’s close, so close, and you can feel it in the way his thrusts grew sloppier, the way his breath hitches in your ear.

With a final, deep thrust, he cums, filling you completely with a groan that sends a wave of satisfaction through your own body. You both stay laid down for a moment, catching your breath, still glued together as you slowly come down from the high.

You turn over painfully on the bed to face him, his member still softening inside you. Your limbs are still trembling from the intense physical activity, and Satoru takes the opportunity to pull you even closer by the waist. His forehead rests against yours, his hands gentle on your hips as he pulls out slowly, making you whimper at the loss.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he murmurs, his voice soft as he kisses your forehead.

You smile, still breathless, but feeling that delicious satisfaction spread through you. “Another round before heading off to uni?” you tease, your fingers lightly tracing his chest.

“We’ll be late, you know?” He traces the contour of your face with the tip of his fingers and pecks a kiss from time to time.

“Maybe my professor won’t blame me this time, will he?”

“You little spoiled princess,” he snorts, pressing another kiss on your nose. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You smirk. “And you’re so lucky to have me.”

“I will never deny that.”

a/n: hellooooo!! how are you guys? 🥹 first, i’m sorry for my inactivity :(( i’ve been busy with school and all (+ i wasn’t ovulating lol). i wrote this little part 1 because i was frustrated about a competion i lost (law will make you cry your soul, trust me). also sorry for the little angst, i can’t help myself lmao. i hope you enjoyed this and see you soon!

likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

for the tag list, i’ll try to add more ppl when i’ll have the time, i’m sorry in advance for those who came after i temporary closed it <3 you’ll be tagged for the next part for sure :) if you want to be tagged, pls put your age in bio and ask here.

tag list: @izumkay , @lostfracturess , @nariminsstuff , @superdonkeypatroleggs , @0hisu , @iheartgojoo66 , @cax-per , @not-aya , @petalsrdead , @kimkimoruo , @indiewritesxoxo , @paolarox01 , @reverrieee , @billiondollarworth , @myahfig4 , @lilac-witch , @markliving , @sukunaslilsocks , @hyori2 , @lilychan176 , @yvesdoee , @redbambii , @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore , @princess-bblgm , @oh-my-god-donald , @etsuniiru , @ethereal-moonlit , @lymsfm , @mutsu422 , @bearwithmoo , @chiiiiiichan , @ziggy0stardust , @purplegemadventures , @shibataimu , @chich1ookie , @c-moon20-12 , @cyrenees , @tbzzluvr , @kimvmarvel , @leabyjulia , @flowerpot113 , @luvvcho , @nanaosaki3940 , @rriwyu , @heybeebax , @satorugojoisamenace , @euhphoq , @aleviia , @hellowoolf , @petalshxwer , @gojo-caturo , @ssrist , @winniethepooh-lover , @kiriyue , @your-mum3000 , @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 , @satorusmochis

1K notes · View notes

alleycatrecue · 5 months ago

Text

This Giving Tuesday, we ask you to consider donating to Alley Cat Rescue’s Life-saving Program, which is used to ensure we can get cats with urgent medical care.

This program will ensure that ACR can continue to help save cats that are who are severely ill or injured. Cats in such poor shape don't have time to wait for the funds to be raised.

In the past, we have used Alley Cat Rescue’s Life-saving Program funding to save numerous lives.

.....

MAIZIE - Late one Sunday, we were alerted to a very young mama cat who was stuck at a city shelter and had been in labor all day. She had given birth to four stillborn babies early in the morning and was still suffering. She needed to see a vet as soon as possible.

Maizie was rushed to an emergency vet and it was determined that there was one large kitten still in the birth canal. Sadly, the kitten had no heartbeat, The vet performed an emergency c-section as Maze would not have survived otherwise. She was also severely anemic as she lost a lot of blood with the placentas for each birth. She was in intensive care and is now being monitored closely. Unfortunately, she's suffered permanent nerve damage to her back legs.

OLIVE was found by our Los Angeles team with her ears mutilated and a back leg broken in two places. She needed her leg amputated but after recovery, she was pain free and adopted.

SIMONE (aka Cally) came to us with three nursing kittens and a severe viral infection. Her fever shot up to 105 and we rushed her to an emergency clinic. Simone stayed at the clinic for a week, receiving IV antibiotics, fluids, anti-nausesa medication, and many tests.

ASH's jaw was badly broken in a domestic violence situation, leaving him in terrible pain and unable to eat. He required a feeding tube, hospitalization, and three surgeries.

TEDDY was only a few days old when he developed pneumonia. He spent several days at the vet, requiring round-the-clock monitoring and care. He also required a feeding tube because he was so congested that he could not eat and breathe at the same time, and he was placed in an incubator.

ROO was born with both back legs wrapped around his body and badly deformed. ACR got him physical therapy, massages, and laser treatment, which fixed his legs. Though he eventually lost his right paw, ACR was able to give him complete mobility.

BUBBLEGUM was born 1/4 the size of his littermates. He's had multiple issues including a heart murmur, digestive trouble, and delayed growth. we have taken him to the veterinarian and multiple veterinary specialists many times throughout his development to try to determine what is wrong. Almost an adult now, he shows signs of weakness and has an enlarged spleen and lymph nodes, inflamed gums and teeth, and ACR continues to work with vets and specialists on his healing

......

Some cats need emergency treatment for a week, recover, and then find their forever home. Others require continued or follow up care for much longer. We are gratified to be able to give happy endings to kittens and cats in dire need. Please help us continue to do this by donating to Alley Cat Rescue's life-saving program this #GivingTuesday.

#cats #cats of tumblr #black cats #cute cats #funny cats #kitties #animals #donate if you can #donate

1K notes · View notes

alexiroflife · 11 months ago

Note

Hello! May I request an angsty toji fic where reader finds out she's pregnant (post megumi) and she knows toji doesn't want anymore children so she just kinda leaves with little to no explanation? Maybe just a small note saying things aren't working out. It's up to you if it will be a hurt/comfort. Idk you don't have to do this request I don't want to overload you! I seriously love your writing. The way you right the character just warms my heart. I especially love ur hiding an Injury fic it was SO SO SO GOOD. 🩶🤍🖤

“promise”

toji fushiguro x reader

Synopsis: see above

to sum it up: you think it’s better to run away than to be the one to get hurt

WC: 5,668

Warning(s): angst, suggestive themes, yelling, pregnancy, mentions of abortion

You stare down at the plastic tube clutched in your trembling hands in awe, eyes blown with shocked grief as you peer closer to get a better look, as though those two bright pink lines could have been a trick of your vision.

Unfortunately, however, your vision remains just as crystal clear as it always has been. As you stand in your cramped apartment bathroom, illuminated by a flickering fluorescent gaze shining down from above, horror befalls you.

You’re pregnant.

You should have known sooner when you began feeling queasy every morning, taking trips to either your or Toji’s toilet to hurl out the contents of whatever swam inside your stomach. You always tried to be silent if Toji was around, for he slept like a dog that could not be woken even if a meteor struck earth, and you had been remarkably exhausted. You aren’t even sure if there is a word to describe how sluggish your entire mind and body had been feeling, but you wanted to rule out the very obvious answer to your problems before exploring it.

You begin to panic, your heart pounding in your ears and throat and every inch of your body you could feel the pulse, eyes blurry over the positive test. You’re conflicted. You don’t know how to feel. On the one hand, you would have been jumping for joy to learn that you are starting a new life with your boyfriend, to step into a new chapter of your lives and to provide his children with another sibling.

But hell, the celebration is far too naive and implausible to be had. The sage eyed man has told you time and time again that he does not wish to have anymore kids, that the ones he has are enough and he is not equipped financially or mentally to care for another brat. In honor of those wishes, you’re on the pill, and consequently, Toji has taken the opportunity to plow his load inside of you time after time after time.

And you really, truly should have known that with Toji’s uniquely abled body, what was meant to serve as a barrier and a means of contraception did not work.

You feel like throwing up. What would Toji say? What would he do? What are you supposed to do? Should you tell him, fill him in on what’s going on to risk rejection and abandonment, a nasty habit that Toji had to work to rid himself of when he met you? Would he even care? Would he listen?

You know Toji to be a very tough man, despite the softened interior he attempts to hide in others’ company that is only displayed for you and for his kids. If he has always been adamant about one thing, it’s been to never have kids again, to focus on where he fucked up before and to pour his attention into the little family he’s grown, the one that he has now.

His voice echoes through your head like the gong of a church bell striking upon the ear’s of a sinner.

“Hell, I already got my hands full tryna get Megumi through his teenage years. What the hell is another child gonna do for us?”

“That shit’s fuckin’ expensive. Not to mention, I’d have to baby proof the house again. That’s another expense.”

“If I was capable of givin’ you y’er own, I would, doll. But I ain’t cut out for it. You know that.”

You don’t even know why he would stress the matter so often. You suppose he’s caught the way your eyes linger on a mother tossing their giggling baby up and down into the air, innocent pools of joy beaming down at her each time it reaches the air and lands in her secure hold. Or maybe he’s seen the way you care so deeply for Toji’s kids as though they are your own, despite telling you when you first got involved with each other that he did not expect you to step into their lives in anyway - and yet, you have done that and more. You know how the kids must struggle each day with the trauma of losing their mother so early on, and you never wanted them to think that you were trying to step in as her replacement, but you love them so clearly, as much as you love the man who created them.

Which leads you to your next concern. How would the kids react?

It’s one thing for you, as their father’s girlfriend, to wander into their lives and help navigate them their teenage hood alongside the dark haired man, but to introduce an entire other child only leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

They may be crushed. They me turn to hate you, to despise how you have contaminated the life they have worked so hard to rebuild after numerous tragedies. And would Toji agree with them? Would he turn his nose up to you, that scowl of his melting over his harsh features as he shuns you just as he shunned every other woman who came after his wife and before you. Would he leave you? Would he kick you out of the world that has become your own because you failed to live up to your promise, though it technically isn’t your fault that you are pregnant now but it feels as though it is?

You can not stand the thought, of the man you love turning his once loving gaze stone upon the sight of you, of him pushing you further away, permanently, in the same manner that he tried to when he realized that he was falling in love with you, of watching Megumi and Tsumiki turn their backs to you as though the past four years of your lives had never happened, banning you from their acceptance forever more.

Tears well in your gaze, interfering with your vision. This can not be happening, you think to yourself, everything has been going so well, and now this? This is going to ruin your relationship with Toji for good. Even if you were not in a committed relationship with him, you assume that the idea of any woman getting impregnated by Toji would have been thrown away. You would be thrown away, just like all the others who gave Toji their bodies but not their hearts.

Not the way you have.

Your heart clenches thinking of just how much you love Toji and the kids, of how you would be willing to lay down your own life for the sake of them as Toji swears that he would for you all in return. Even so, despite the commitment to you that a man who swore never to be committed to accustomed, this would be going too far.

…You’re not even sure if he would love you anymore.

Now that you’re pregnant with his child, a child he never meant to have with you, you assume you will mean nothing to him any longer. In his eyes, you will simply become the slut that he took a chance on by a whim, carrying something he would never call his own. You believe the old Toji will resurface, the one who claimed not to care, the one who shoved women out of his bedroom before the sun rose in the sky, the one who often failed to remember to pick his kids up from school, the one who would no longer meet you at eye level but look down upon you, frown upon you for being so clumsy.

You know Toji is the one who did this, but this still feels like it is your doing. Like somehow, you trapped him and he now has no choice but to break free from the steel cage you have barred around him with your conception.

Your fingers clutch over the plastic, your eyes scrunching closed to release a fresh set of tears that cascade over your cheeks and onto the test. You can feel yourself mourning your relationship already, you can feel it slipping through your fingers, see it fading in the distance until it becomes nothing but a bittersweet memory that you can not determine as reality or a figment of your imagination any longer.

You tilt your head, bringing the test to your forehead as you think, grieve, cry. You mull over your options; you could hide this from Toji, get an abortion and never think of it again or you could tell Toji and lose him forever.

You open your bleary eyes, lashes decked with dewy tears, as another idea dawns upon you. You could leave, leave before Toji and the kids have a chance to leave you.

It’s a cruel thought, you think, especially abandoning those children without any proper explanation for them, but what else are you meant to do? You’d be doing them all a favor if anything by taking your leave without them having to be plagued by the knowledge of your unplanned pregnancy, of what they may view as a scheme to destroy their family in your new baby’s wake.

The thought kills you to even entertain. You had promised those kids that you weren’t going anywhere, that you’d stay with them for as long as they allowed you… but this is different. This is not what any of you had in your cards, how you believed your futures to go. Toji wants simplicity at home while he works through chaos through his occupation. He wants security, warmth, safety for you, Megumi, Tsumiki, and no one else. He would never welcome another child. You believe he’d be caught dead before approving of your pregnancy.

And therefore, you know what you have to do.

After taking a few more tests to ensure that the readings are accurate, which they are, you pledge to walk away. You pledge to leave the only man you’ve ever truly loved, the strongest family you’ve known, and the slim possibility that despite Toji’s wishes, he may accept you.

But you don’t want to take that chance and risk the humiliation and unplanned heartbreak. You’d much rather take matters into your own hands, and plan the shattering of your soul yourself.

You don’t sleep all night, for you’re too busy drafting about twenty different letters to Toji. Crumpled loosleaf paper litters the floor beside your bed as you try to think of how to best write down everything you want to say. You go through pages and pages until you are finally satisfied with the result, and the next morning, you slip the envelope into his mail slot and prepare to pack your life away.

It is late Sunday morning when Toji rises from his slumber. The first thing he does is lean over the sheets and drape his arm toward his nightstand to read your daily good morning text - only he finds there isn’t one. With pinched brows, he takes his phone to unlock it and visit your contact. Nothing.

The time reads 12:35 pm. Normally, you’re up and at it or even banging down his door by then to wake him. Maybe you’re just sleeping in?

He goes to give your cell a call, but nothing. Not only that, but your phone is also on do not disturb mode. His gut immediately swells with the suspicion that something is wrong. The dark haired assassin supposes he’s going to pay you a visit this afternoon as soon as he checks on the kids to ensure that they are alright.

His bedroom door opens with a creak, and he calls out to the teens gruffly through a yawn. When they don’t respond, he’s truly growing concerned.

He rounds the corner to prepare to head for their rooms when he finds Tsumiki and Megumi at the dining table. His brows furrow, his pace slowing as he takes in their faces. Tsumiki’s lips are pressed together tightly and the muscles in her face are scrunched as though she is about to cry, while Megumi stares ahead with empty eyes and a hardened exterior.

Toji frowns with quirked brows, approaching his kids. “What’s wrong with you two?”

His brunette daughter looks up at him with glassy eyes and wrinkled chin, lashes fluttering while Megumi does not bother to look at his father. Instead, he brings Toji’s attention to a torn envelope and a thick packet of papers pressed beneath the sixteen year old’s palm. Wordlessly, Megumi slides it toward him, brows slanting.

Toji, perplexed, looks between the papers and his children’s troubled faces. What is this letter? Overdue taxes? An eviction notice? That can’t be possible, because you had ensured that Toji and the kids’ place was secure long ago.

He crunches the papers in his hands and picks them up to read. The first thing that catches his eye is your scribbling handwriting, and the following words that send his heart plummeting to his ass:

This isn’t working out.

Toji whips his head up, baffled, and when he meets Megumi’s gaze again, his eyes are ablaze with resentment.

“What the hell did you do?” he growls.

The green eyed man is not even thinking before he’s dialing Shiu’s number, asking him to watch the kids for the next hour or so, and running out of the apartment after throwing rather unconvincing words of assurance over his shoulder to his kids, who are still with disbelief - Tsumiki with devastation and Megumi with rage, for surely his father pushed you away.

Toji does not bother finding a ride, electing to run to your place which is only a few blocks away. You two were just discussing moving in with one another, combining households, and this is what you spring onto him? Not even for him to stumble across first, but his kids who look up to you and love you like their own mother?

Oh, he’s fuming, a rush of emotions taking over his mind as it fuels his speed. The letter you wrote is still crunched in his fist, whipping through the air as he makes his way to you.

Dear Toji,

This is not working out.

But before you rampage and get angry with me, please let me explain. Let me explain how much I love you, how much those kids mean to me, and how every day I wake up I want to be greeted by all of your smiling faces. For the rest of time, forever. You are undoubtedly the only man for me, and I truly believe that. I know you may think I’m bullshitting because of how the beginning of this letter contradicts what im saying now, but it’s true. I have never loved another person the way I love you, and while it scared me at first when you were so stubborn and full of anger that you misdirected onto me, I stayed and I waited and I helped you and I’ve loved you through every single moment, ever week, every month, and every year. You brought purpose back into my life, and I can picture you scoffing because you’d say the same, but I mean it. You, Tsumiki, and Megumi are the best things that have ever happened to me. I love you all so much.

But in this case, that love is not enough.

I hate to be doing this to you, to the kids, but I have no other choice. Things aren’t going the way they used to, and it’s not your fault but mine. I’m the reason. And it is tearing me apart to know that and simultaneously know what I have to do in order to keep you and the kids happy. Stable. I wish I could explain to you more why I am doing this, but I can’t. Not just because I am dying to picture you reading this, but because I truly can not say. I do not want to ruin you guys’ image of me. While I think that’s a selfish thing to say because who knows how me leaving is going to hurt you all, you would not understand even if you knew the reason behind this.

By the time you are done reading this, I will be gone. I’m going away because as long as I am not with you all, I can’t stay here anymore. I am staying with my mother while I get my travel plans arranged, because I know how you worry when you do not know where I am or if im safe. I should be gone by Friday.

Please do not come see me. I have made my decision, and you will only be hurting us more by trying to stop me. I won’t be stopped.

Kiss and hug and apologize to Megumi and Tsumiki for me. I hope you find someone who fills the role of their mother, someone who knows how Megumi likes to do his homework in the silence of his room with no music or anything, completely isolated so he can focus. Someone who knows how to fix Tsumiki’s eggs properly - to add extra butter to the sides when you fry them so the edges get crispier. Someone who won’t try to feed Gumi’a demidogs because he hates when people assume they can coddle up to them upon first introduction. Someone who cares for the wholly the way I do and always will.

And you. I know how stubborn you are. I know how angry you probably are at me right now, and I will miss that about you, but please do not let that interfere with the possibility of falling in love again. Beneath the layers of grit, standoffishness, and indifference, you are a man with a big heart. For me. For your kids. For those you love and seek to protect.

You say you aren’t a good man, and while that may be true to you, you are an amazing partner and you’ve already become an amazing parent. I’ve seen you grow, and I am so in love with you and so proud of you. I know you’ll be okay without me. It maybe take some time, but you’ll adjust to what’s best. I promise.

With all the love that could possibly be harbored in this world, you are everything to me and that is why I have to go. I wish you every happiness this planet can offer you, and I know that without me, you can begin to find joy again.

Love,

Your doll

You had believed to time this perfectly, for you know that Toji usually does not wake until one, so soon as you are finishing up packing, you are trudging down the stairs to the leasing office to inform them that you will be moving.

You push open the door to the first floor, the breeze hitting you gently, and you round the corner only to be blocked by the last person you wanted to run into during this time.

Your eyes widen as you look up, the burly figure you have grown oh so familiar with over the years heaving as though enraged, ivy eyes crowding over slim pupils as Toji glares down at you, an image of indescribable fury.

Your heart drops and your words die in your throat. “T-Toji?” you whisper, horrified of an outburst. You are rattled by fear, having been so unprepared to walk into this. You did not put it past him to chase you down. But you figured that you’d be at your parents by the time he woke. Then, you could have at least told them to tell him off at the door.

But no. Instead, here he is, six feet and then some of bulking mass as he takes quick, deep breaths that expand the entirety of his chest.

You shift. “What are you doing here-“

“What the fuck is this?”

Toji swiftly, yet aggressively, lifts the papers in his hands, now damaged by his travels and his grip, shaking it firmly with the question. You gulp, lowering your eyes.

“Toji, I told you not to come…”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he swears firmly, and you jump, looking to see if anyone is around to hear you, as the two of you are standing outside your complex.

“We shouldn’t be- let’s just go inside,” you go to grab his arm, but he tears it away. He stares at you as though you have burned him, singed the heart in his chest from the inside out, and he is so unforgiving. So unforgiving before he hears directly from your mouth what this is about.

“I’m not doin’ shit until you tell me what the fuck this is, (Y/n),” he demands, his hand moving the papers about passionately with his speech, and you feel your heart hammering again. This is not how things were supposed to go. You are not supposed to be seeing him right now. “Cause I refuse- I fuckin’ refuse to believe that you’re breaking up with me.”

Your eyes gloss over as you look down at your feet, unsure of what to do or how to handle this confrontation. You can’t do this. You can’t, it’s too much. It’s too hard.

“…I am,” you mumble.

Toji steps forward, leaning down to get a peek of your face, his expression so angry that it worries you. “What?”

“I said… I am.”

“Uh uh, you better say that shit with your chest if you can write a whole damn letter about it,” he growls, fucking further as you continue to turn away. “Look at me,” he barks, and you cringe.

“Toji, don’t yell at me!” you shout back.

“What else do’ya want me to do, huh?” he throws his hands up. “How else do you expect me to react to this bullshit?! You’re leavin’ me? After everythin’ we been through, after everythin’ you and the kids’ve been through, you’re leavin? Are you fuckin’ serious?”

He takes a swift glance at the papers, the very sight sending him into a spiral, before he’s heatedly looking back down at you.

“I don’t buy this shit for one second. No. You’re not leavin’. Not in this world, or the next.”

“I am, Toji, the quicker you accept that, the easier it’ll be for everyone!”

“Easy?” he winces as though the prospect pains him. “You call this shit easy? You call up and tryin’ to abandon me easy? You call the kids waking up to your letter and reading it at the table before I saw it easy?”

Your face falls. “…what?”

“Yeah. You fuckin’ heard me,” he sneers. “Megumi and Tsumiki read this shit first. First thing in the morning, they see a letter about how the woman they love is leavin’ ‘em, just like their mom did, and for what?”

You close your eyes, his words stinging you as they cut through. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, ain’t it? Y’er leavin’ us, (Y/n), and you didn’t even have the decency to say why!”

Guilt crowds you, like a blanket of darkness consuming you from overhead, and as Toji stands before you completely torn apart by your letter, you see the fear in his eyes, the sadness, the unspoken plea for you not to go.

You try your best to keep your composure as you turn away again. “I told you, I can’t tell you.”

“Fuck that,” he lifts the letter and tosses it to the ground with a thud. You gasp, watching it slam to the concrete pavement.

“Toji!” you exclaim.

“You think you can just leave without me comin’ to hunt you down and see your face so I can figure out what the hell is goin’ on? You must not know me at all.”

“Why do you always have to be so aggressive about everything?!”

“Of all fuckin’ things, (Y/n), I think I got a right to be aggressive about this. You were gonna leave without sayin’ goodbye!” he tosses his arm out to the side with the exclamation, brows twisting and teeth bearing. “Is that what our relationship means t’ya? You think you can just toss us aside?”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” you beg, a lump forming in your throat as the two of you stand face to face, arguing without a car about who will see you.

“Then tell me,” he shouts. “Cause you’re not givin’ me shit to go off of!”

“I told you already, I can’t,” your lips quiver.

“Then our relationship is nothing to you.”

“No, Toji.”

“Clearly it ain’t, cause I’d think it’d be worth an explanation if you’re runnin’ away!” you frown and shake your head, turning to walk back into the complex when Toji cuts you off, moving in your way. “You don’t think I know you? You don’t think I see it all over your face that somethin’s got you scared, and y’re takin’ off because of it? You think I don’t know what that looks like, (Y/n)? I did that shit. I did it all the damn time before I met you, and hell, I tried to run then but you wouldn’t let me, so what the hell makes you think I’m gonna let you now?”

“This is different,” you say shortly, afraid to reveal the tremble of your voice to the man before you. You keep your gaze down as you try to go around him again, but to no avail. He steps in your path. “Stop!”

“I ain’t stoppin’,” he says gravely, keeping his eyes to yours though you try to avoid contact with them. “Not until you spit it out. I’ll be damned if I got another broken home cause y’re fuckin’ scared.”

“I said stop!” you try to find some bass in your voice, but against your will, it falters when you yell. Toji eyes you carefully, reaching his hand out to grip your shoulder and steady you into place.

You scoff, attempting to pull away, but it’s no use. The dark haired man is everywhere, keeping you from walking away.

“You talk to me like the grown ass woman you are,” he tells you sternly, stepping in. “You use that voice I know you have, and don’t you ever let me catch you writin’ a letter to me about how you wanna break up instead of comin’ to talk to me. Y’understand?”

You exhale shakily, lips pressing together and brows curling. “I can’t.”

“Y’re still not tellin’ me why you think that.”

“Because I can’t, Toji. I can’t tell you. It’ll- it’ll fuck up everything!” you break, and Toji feels the pit in his stomach shift as he looks over your aggrieved expression, depicting the same exact things he feels.

“(Y/n),” he calls your name firmly, the sound of it on his tongue only inspiring the urge to cry more. You continue to shake your head though Toji isn’t exactly speaking, and his green eyes wander you with frustrated concern. “Y’scared of what I’ll do if you tell me?”

You freeze, slowly peeling your eyes to look at his, his face tense with grief. You stare at him for a moment, mouth gaping like a fish as all of your insecurities that talked you toward this ledge run through your mind once more.

“Don’t look surprised,” he says. “I know you like the back of my hand, and I know that you knew I’d be over here to stop ya.”

Your frown deepens, and this time as you look at him, you see every second of your future that you were quick to stomp dow. You see the unbridled, unfiltered love he holds for you as well as the blood curdling fear of letting you go.

“You have to understand,” you whimper. “I know how you’ll react, I- I can’t do this to you. You have to let me go.”

“What the hell could be so horrifyin’ in that head of yours to make you think that I won’t stick with ya through hell and high water?” he grits out, searching your swollen hues of (e/c) hesitation. “You’d do the same for me.”

“I know, but-“

“There’s nothin’ else to say. I ain’t leavin’ until you spill, and when you do, y’re comin’ with me.”

You look at him, pained. It’s a trap, you think. If Toji only knew, he’d be running for the hills instead of trying to track you down.

“Out with it, now.”

You can’t. You can’t tell him. He’ll leave you, he’ll reject you, he’ll turn you away, he’ll never let you see the kids again.

“(Y/n)!”

“I’m pregnant!”

The earth seems to freeze and time seems to slow. You scrunch your eyes, anticipating the worst to come as Toji takes in your words, his tensed expression melting slowly.

You don’t open your eyes to see his reaction. You keep your head ducked and your fists closed as the white noise of nature flutters into relevance. You’re trembling, terrified, and Toji can not move but instead proceeds to stare at you, stunned.

His words about not wanting any more kids run through your mind again as you await his response, and the suspense kills you as you do. You can feel his grip on your shoulder slacken before tightening again, and you are terrified.

He’s going to leave you.

You are quick to step away when the sentiment arises once more, Toji’s hand falling from you arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, still unable to look at him. “I’m sorry, I know that you don’t want any more kids. I know, an I thought we were being careful, but- I took five tests. They’re all positive.”

“You’re pregnant?” he echoes, and you still. You knew it. You knew this would happen.

“I told you, Toji,” you exhale. “I told you that I couldn’t tell you, and now everything’s a mess.”

He twitches. “Hold on-“

“Don’t tell me all of a sudden you want kids,” you snap. “I know how strongly you feel about it.”

“So instead of talkin’ to me, you were gonna leave? Knocked up? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“What other choice do I have?!” you cry. “You don’t want more kids, and if I kept it, it would only be a nuisance to you. And Megumi and Tsumiki?”

He scrunches his face. “What about ‘em?”

“How do you think they’d feel if the woman you’re dating after their mother died surprised them with a new baby? They’d be crushed!” you say shakily as salty tears well in your eyes again. “I can’t overstep your boundaries. I just can’t. It’s easier for me to go.”

“And do what, (Y/n)? Raise a kid on your own without any help?”

“I can’t bare you leaving me!” you suddenly confess, tear striking past your cheek.

Toji examines you and frowns. “What are y’talkin’ about? You’re tryin’ to leave me!”

“So I can prevent the inevitable from happening,” you huff. “I’m okay with it. I’ve made peace with everything. That’s why you need to just let me go-“

“After everythin’, you think I’d throw you away because you’re pregnant with my kid?” Toji says incredulously. You falter, for you had been so sure of his reaction before. “You think that low of me?”

“No, but I want you to have what you want.”

“What I want is you, you fuckin’ idiot,” he hisses. “All I ever wanted was you, and I can’t fuckin’ believe you’re tryin’ to take that away from me.”

You furrow your brows, confused. “…You’re not mad?”

“Girl, I’m livid,” he scowls. “Not about the damn kid, but because you assumed what I would say before comin’ to me.”

“Toji, you have to understand that I was trying to look out for you.”

“There’s not lookin’ out for me or those kids or makin’ them happy if you’re gone, (Y/n),” he bites. “Who th’fuck put that idea in your head?”

You stammer, tears proceeding to flow down your face as you reel in the reality of the situation. “I… I just thought-“

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

Before you can respond, his hand is gripping your wrist and he’s tugging you toward him into his chest. You shake when you fall into him, listening to the pace of his heart rapidly beating against your ear as he breaths quickly against you. Large palms smooth over your head and down to your waist as he holds you tightly, and you notice how desperate his grip is. He’s holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, as though you’ll fly away if his hold is not tight enough.

He tucks his head into your neck, fingers grasping into your shirt, and suddenly the animosity of the moment prior is gone. You’re still trembling, leading Toji to hold you tighter to him.

“Can’t believe you tried to leave,” he murmurs into your hair. “Christ, (Y/n) you’re tryin’ to gimme a heart attack. The fuck is goin’ on with you.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest, looking off sadly. “I thought you’d be upset about it. I didn’t want you to know.”

“I should know about any and every single thing that’s goin’ on with you, y’hear me? This ain’t no exception.”

A weight flutters from your shoulders as you sink into Toji’s head, silent tears streaming for the life you almost sacrificed. “What are we gonna do?”

“I dunno,” he mumbles. “But we’ll figure it out. As a team. Alright?”

You nod meekly. “Okay.”

He groans, pressing himself impossibly further to you. “That letter… fuck, don’t do that shit. Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that. Without you, I ain’t shit- pregnant or not. And those kids would adore another sibling if you were bringing it into this world. Don’t say that shit about them again either. They need ya. We need ya.”

“I’m sorry,” you whine again, Toji’s hand stroking over your back soothingly.

“It’s okay,” he grumbles. “We’ll figure it out.”

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fandom #jjk fanfic #anime #jjk #jjk season 2 #jjk x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji headcanons #toji x reader #toji angst #toji fushiguro angst #toji #toji x reader fluff #toji x self insert #jjk toji

3K notes · View notes

sacredsorceress · 2 months ago

Text

lifeline / bob reynolds

PAIRING: bob reynolds x f!avenger!reader, enemy?void x reader SUMMARY: When you sleep, the Void visits you. This time, you can't hold your worries in and Bob is there to save the day. WORD COUNT: 3k A/N: originally based on this request, but I might have gotten a bit carried away with it! a lot angstier compared to my other bob fics so far but I hope you enjoy!! first time writing the void. WARNINGS: this one's a doozy! 18+, ANGST, violence, mentions of attempted murder, insecurity, general mental illness references, lack of self-worth, terror, anxiety- i probably missed something, but just anything that was in thunderbolts*

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・bob masterlist・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

When anyone asked you about your relationship with Bob, you'd reply that he was everything you asked for and more. They'd laugh and tell you that they were happy for you two. That they had had their doubts at the start, but seeing you now, smiling, a vision of the lovesick girlfriend, they were relieved to know they had nothing to worry about.

And you wouldn't correct them. By all means, dating Bob was everything you asked for. But that more... that addition that you hadn't anticipated, hadn't calculated for when you wished on shooting stars at night begging for another half...

'that more,' you wanted to tell them, 'they should be worried about.'

The thing about dating Bob, was that sometimes when you closed your eyes, you weren’t sure if you were living through a memory or a nightmare. Some were obvious- your teeth falling out, zombies, chainsaw killers- those were dreams and you knew it. But others, like a rewound record spinning you back to dance to the same song over and over, you weren’t sure were concoctions of your own mind or his.

Now though… this one you were sure was him.

“Where’s Bob?”

Your voice reverberated against the sterile, linoleum walls of the lab. Discarded lab equipment had been strewn across the floor and you could hear the crunch of test tubes under your feet.

On the far end of the room on an abandoned examination table, sat a familiar silhouette.

“Asleep.” The Void said.

His shaggy hair hung in front of his face as he pushed himself to his feet.

Your hands formed fists at your sides to stop them from trembling.

"Why am I here?" You asked.

The void chuckled as he made his way towards you. Although it wasn't your first time seeing him, it was more haunting now than it had been before you had truly known Bob. The void was a shadow, a cutout of the man you loved with the parts you admired most replaced with... nothing.

As if he could pull back the curtains and peer into your mind, he spoke again.

"You can't save him y'know." He said, "you can't even save yourself."

It was difficult to maintain your composure as he stepped ever closer. You knew the Void was a plague in your boyfriend's mind, but you never considered that he would be able to infect himself into yours as well.

It was hard to fight a demon who could get inside your head.

"What do you-"

His frame towered over yours just the same as Bob's did, but rather than comforting, it was menacing.

"I know you're scared of us." He chuckled, circling around you like a shark after his wounded prey. "He sees the way you look at him."

With love.. worry... concern. It wasn't that you were scared of Bob, but of him. Of the slithering, conniving darkness that loomed behind his eyes and whispered in his ears when you weren't there. Of the power that coursed through his veins that one day, you feared, you wouldn't be able to stop. You feared that some day he wouldn't be Bob anymore.

You knew you weren't scared of Bob, but did he?

Your voice trembling, you spluttered out words.

"I- I don't-"

The void's eyes narrowed.

"You should be."

His hand crushed your windpipe as your own rushed to your throat to ease the burn. Your feet dangled in the air, feeling for some sort of surface to push yourself off of but you were met with nothing. Instead, you thrashed in his grasp.

"How? How? How?" He asked, bringing his face to yours. "How will you save yourself against a god? You make it easy, y'know. Sleeping next to him. You want so badly to save him that you'll kill yourself for it. You're even more pathetic than him."

You gasped for breath and remembered Bob's words.

Get used to the pain. It won't kill you. Struggling will only make it worse.

"You think he's the sick one, but you're worse." He tilted his head, brighten golden eyes boring into yours. "You're the one sleeping next to a ticking time bomb. One of these nights," he whispered, breath fanning your face. "You're going to wake up with my hands around your throat, just like this, and see me instead of him."

You squeezed your eyes shut

"And the worst part?" He said. "You'll have no one to blame but yourself."

When you opened your eyes, the tangible darkness was gone... and had been replaced with Bob's face.

Before you had time to react, everything faded to black.

With a gasp, you shot up from your sleep. The comforter felt as if it was suffocating you and you needed out, out, out. Eyes burned in the darkness as you rapidly kicked off your sheets, climbed out of bed, and reached for the lamp on your nightstand. With a click it doused the room in its glow.

Still in bed, Bob tossed in his sleep, groaning at the blinding light.

It was Bob. Perfectly pink cheeks, a crinkle between his brow at the inconvenience, and his same soft fingers, reaching up to rub sleep from his eyes.

Not him. Not the Void.

Your brain might have known it, but your body hadn’t caught on.

Your heart raced rapidly in your chest and you wheezed as your lungs chased to meet its pace. Your hands shot up to your chest to try to quell your racing heart as you paced around the room, the burning in your chest growing insatiable.

“Baby?”

His voice cracked from the lack of use as he pushed himself to sit up, eyes still closed as he adjusted to the lamp.

“I’m… I-I-I’m fine, Bob.” You stuttered. “Go back to sleep.”

Bob had heard that story before. Usually from his own lips.

Hearing those words fall from yours- frantic, uneven- he sobered up quickly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, reaching his hand out for you. “What… what happened?”

You wanted to tell him. You did. A good girlfriend would be honest, wouldn’t they?

But would an even better girlfriend spare her boyfriend the grief of a monster he couldn’t control? What would telling him do? It would relieve your stresses at the price of his own, making him spiral knowing that the Void was just ever beneath the surface, waiting to make his mark on you.

Tears burned behind your eyes as you leaned against the dresser to catch your breath.

He was in your head. You knew its what he wanted: to get in your mind and make you second guess yourself, Bob, your relationship- but the knowledge didn't make silencing his eerie voice in your head, mixed with the smooth tones of the one you loved, any easier.

He wanted Bob and you were in the way.

But what was better? To tell Bob and only further upset him, giving the Void exactly what he wanted? Or to keep it to yourself and know that he was waiting, plotting on your demise while Bob was none the wiser?

You felt a warm hand touch your shoulder.

You flinched, and pulled away on instinct. As you did, you clamored into the dresser, knocking spare trinkets onto the floor.

Bob held his hands up in the air in surrender. The worry painted on his face made your heart plummet to your stomach.

"Bob..."

"Y/n," Bob said, ever so slowly lowering his hands. "Let me help. I can help."

You were never much of a crier. Neither of you were. It was a last resort- the water crashing against the dam, splintering its cracks over time until it could no longer hold and the floodgates were opened.

You felt it now: the concerns that you had tried so hard to repress for Bob's sake, shoved so far down that you yourself had almost forgotten that they existed. But it was a foundation with only more rooms built on top- rooms flooded with tangible memories, fears, worries. They had all built up, one upon the other until it felt like you had run out of room. Like one more thing would make its walls splinter and burst.

And he- that shadowy void that represented everything you hated about yourself- got in your head, took a look around and decided to torch the place. The smell of it all made your eyes water.

Unable to speak, you flung yourself into your boyfriend's arms with such a force that he let out an oof. And as you buried your face in his chest, a sob escaped your throat.

"Talk to me," he pleaded, cradling your head in his arms against his frame. "I want to help."

Although he had the untapped abilities of a god, after a year, Bob had finally learned to accept that he may never be the hero that he was promised. He may never be the guy that children keep posters of, or the man a bus full of people cheer on after he saves them from a cliff.

This knowledge hadn't come to him naturally from a budding self-confidence, but rather, the realization that he didn't need to be the hero of everyone if he could be one for you.

And you had enough of your own abilities that you didn't need his super strength or flying- or any of the other Sentry powers- all you needed was what God himself gave him: Bob.

"I can't." You cried, holding him tighter to you.

His hands that had been brushing back your hair stilled for a moment.

"Was it... was it him?" Bob asked.

The way you froze against him and your breath hitched told him everything that he needed to know.

Bob would be lying if he said a chill didn't run down his spine; it would have been a futile endeavor regardless because they all knew Bob was terrified of him. To know that he was there, lurking beneath the surface-

But this wasn't his turn to run. Bob had done that more times than he would be proud to admit. He had cried into your arms, screamed into the pillow, threw punches at dummies in the training room pretending they were him. Bob had been the victim.

Seeing you here, vulnerable than ever in his arms, he knew it was his time to be the hero.

"Hey, hey." Bob cooed, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "He can't hurt you."

Bob wasn't sure if that was true. What he was sure about, was that as much as he'd let the void consume his own life, he wouldn't let it touch yours.

"It feels like he can." You said, catching your breath. "And fuck, he knew it would get to me, so it would get to you and he could-"

He knew this spiral. It was as familiar to him as his own face.

It felt sick coming from your mouth. You believed you had to suffer in silence, bear it all with a grin so you could protect him. He didn't know whether to blush or cry.

Instead, he shut out the voice in the back of his head leading him right into the trap you told him about: that he was worthless, that he ruined your life, that made everything worse, that you were afraid of him, and brushed the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs.

"Do I look like him?"

You scrunched your eyebrows and shook your head.

"No."

And he could never. As much as he had Bob's shape, his voice... the Void could never be him. He could never be your sweet boy with the unruly hair who touched you like you were glass. The Void didn't sing along to songs on the radio to make you laugh or tuck you into bed. He didn't help you bake the team's birthday cakes or give you butterfly kisses when their backs were turned.

The Void may have been the monster in his head, but he was your Bob.

Bathed in the warm light of the lamp's glow, you could see the sweaty curls sticking to his forehead and the worry lines that had begun to etch themselves into his forehead. But mostly, you could see his pupils blown out from the love they held for you.

"Look I- I'm just some loser from Florida." Bob said. "With a girlfriend wayyyy out of my league. But that.. that other guy's a dick. And I'm... I'm gonna fix it." He nodded as if he was convincing himself moreso than you. "I don't want you to worry about me, okay?"

A snort escaped your throat as a barely-there smile graced your face.

"I'm always going to worry about you." You sniffled.

It was the most simple fact in the world. It didn't matter that he was physically impenetrable or that he had lived ten lives before you two even met: you were going to worry about him until your dying breath.

And he knew that. Every day when he woke up with you beside him, Bob could feel it in your love for him. It made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

He would be remiss if he didn't make sure you felt it too.

"Just let me worry about you for once." Bob whispered, a crooked, exhausted smile on his lips. "Please?"

And as you looked up at him, his tired eyes gazing down at you as he blinked, the Void felt worlds away from the man standing in front of you.

"Okay." You nodded, nudging your cheek against the palm of his hand. "I'm sorry for waking you up."

Bob shook his head and reached down for one of your hands.

"Don't be." He said, leading you back to bed. "I want to be there for you."

Bob lifted up the sheet and ushed you underneath it.

"My hero." You playfully sighed, reaching up to brush his curls back.

Bob didn't say anything, but at your adoring compliment, he stood up a little taller and felt a heat rise to his cheeks. Your hero. He liked the sound of that. The hero's hero.

Without another word, he leaned down, kissed your cheek, and shut off the lamp.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

The next morning when you had left to grab a coffee with Ava, Bob hesitantly made his way to the kitchen where he knew Yelena would be sat for breakfast.

When he entered the room- robe haphazardly thrown on, hair a tangled mess from his tossing and turning, and dark circles forming under his eyes from the lack of sleep- Yelena drank him in.

"You look like shit." She said bluntly.

It was such a contrast to the night before that he couldn't help but chuckle awkwardly, running his hand up and down the back of his neck.

"Yeah, yeah," Bob laughed. "I feel like it."

Eyeing him carefully, Yelena pat the stool beside her.

"Let it out." She said.

And when he sat, the events of last night flew out of his mouth like word vomit. Bob went into minute detail on how you flinched when he touched you, how scared you were, but mostly, how worried he was about you.

Here he was that past year, rejoicing in the weight you took off of his shoulders, without considering that now the burden had fallen onto you- and you were being crushed under its weight. Bob knew you would never blame him: he had had enough therapy sessions and late night conversations with you to know that, but he still couldn't help but feel that he had failed you.

"I just, I don't want her to worry." Bob said, playing with the frayed ends of his robe. "I just... I want to take care of her, y'know? I don't want this... void... in me hurting her. You should've seen her, Yelena. Because of me-"

Yelena reached out her hand for Bob's.

"She is not scared of you, Bob-" Yelena said.

Bob squeezed his eyes shut.

"I- I don't want her to be scared at all."

And it's like he's a child all over again. All he wants is to protect the woman he loves, but just manages to make it worse.

The lights flicker above them dishes and silverware rattle in their cabinets.

"Bob..." Yelena warns.

"I should be able to protect her."

The frustration, the upset, the way that your eyes looked at him in fear last night. Bob couldn't do it again; he wouldn't.

But Yelena knew him beyond words. She could see that this wasn't the anger of a man who couldn't, but a man who hadn't- and he wanted to fix that.

"You can," she said. "You will. I'll talk with Bucky and we will figure something out. We've pushed it off for too long anyway. We will fix it, Bob."

The lights returned to normal as the glassware settled on its shelves. Finally being able to bring himself to look at Yelena, he nodded.

"Just... promise me you won't tell her?" Bob asked. "I mean, she's worried so much about me and I just wanna worry about her now. Promise, Yelena?"

She nodded.

"I promise." Yelena said, squeezing his hand. "And I promise he won't hurt her. We will not give him the chance."

She shook his hand in hers and shot him a playful smile.

"Now eat." She said. "Maybe the void is just hangry."

And so maybe from then on your coffees with Ava or John got even more frequent, the two methodologically taking you out whenever Bob worked with Yelena and Bucky as to evade your knowledge. And maybe Bob slept on the couch during his bad days, fearful that he might hurt you in the night, but return to bed before the sun rose so you'd never know.

And maybe he felt guilty, lying to you like he was. But for once in his life, Bob didn't want to be the victim. He wanted to be the hero who- with the help of his loved ones- could save the day for you.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・inbox・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

#bob reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #void x reader #thunderbolts*#mcu fanfiction #bob angst

785 notes · View notes

hyunjincanraptoo · 3 months ago

Text

Limited edition- H.HJ

This is my present to beautiful @jehhskz. Happy birthday, Je!!! I hope you have a happy day, full of love and joy and surrounded by the most wonderful things. I wish you a lot of health, success and many more years of life. I truly love yapping about skz with you. Lova ya 🎂😚💜

Word count: 1.4k

No warnings

Alexa, play Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex

Hyunjin comes back from Japan the night before your birthday, tossing his suitcase aside like it means nothing compared to seeing you again.

“I brought you something”, he says, pulling a small gift bag from his hoodie pocket with a dramatic little wink, “Happy early birthday, baby”.

You peer inside to find six delicate tubes of lip balm in soft pastel colors, each labeled in delicate Japanese script.

You arch a brow, “You got me… lip balm?”

“I got you flavored lip balm”, he says proudly, “Limited edition. Special just like you”.

You laugh, touched and amused at the same time, “Are you calling me dry lipped?”

“I’m calling you kissable”, he teases, and then adds with a wink, “And now conveniently flavored”.

You scoff, but you’re already unscrewing the cap of the first one.

Hyunjin settles beside you on the couch, impossibly close, “Let’s test them. You want me to tell you how they taste?”

“No”, he says, lips curving into mischief, “I want you to put them on… and I will tell you”

You roll your eyes, but your pulse jumps a little, “Fine”

You apply the first one— a soft pink shade tube labeled Peach Mochi. And then, you press your finger lightly to your lips, brushing it against his bottom lip. He flinches slightly, caught off guard.

“That’s cheating”, he says pouting, “I need the real thing”.

You look at him, “Then come and get it”.

His lips brush yours before you can say anything else. Soft and careful at first— just testing. Then deeper and slower, his thumb grazing your jaw as he pulls you closer.

When he pulls back, he licks his lips and exhales a little laugh, “Tastes like sunshine”, he murmurs. “Like… waking up to you in the morning. When you are bare faced and your hair is a bird nest. It’s warm. Soft. The kind of kiss that makes me want to stay in bed forever”

Your chest tightens just a little. He is always so… poetic, breathtaking.

You reach for the next one— something pale lavender named Lavender Milk. You apply it carefully this time, but before you can lift your hand to his lips again, he catches your wrist.

“No hands”, he says, “Only lips”.

You lean in, and he meets you halfway. This kiss is gentler this time. You feel his hand settle on your hip, squeezing it a little. He doesn’t speak at first, just keeps the tip of his nose pressed to yours, breathing you in.

“That one feels like kissing you when you’re sad”, he says quietly, “Like I’d do anything to calm you down. Just the two of us, in a quiet room with your head on my chest. Safe”.

You feel your throat go dry, “You’re too good at this.”

He just smiles and nudges the third tube toward you— a coral rose labeled Strawberry Stardust. You swipe it on, and this time, you don’t even wait. You pull him in and press your lips to his. He kisses you back eagerly, mouth parting just enough to catch your lower lip.

When he pulls back, he’s grinning, “That one? That’s the kind of kiss we share when we’re laughing too hard to breathe”, he says. “Like kissing you in the kitchen while we’re cooking, or in the rain because we missed the umbrella. It’s… bold, electric”.

You can’t stop the blush that blooms on your cheeks as his words hit your ears.

The next one is darker, a deep red— Black Cherry. You twist off the cap and swipe it on slowly, already dizzy from the attention in his eyes. When your lips touch this time, there’s no teasing. Just heat. The kiss is deeper. His hand slides up to the back of your neck, keeping you closer.

“That…”, he breathes against your lips, “Tastes like kissing you when I miss you so bad it hurts. Like late nights, long distance phone calls, and me thinking about you until I fall asleep. The desperation of not having you for a long time”.

He kisses you again, proving what he just said.

You don’t even realize your fingers are shaking when you reach for the next balm— a cool baby blue named Vanilla Frosting. You try to act unbothered after the last one, but he sees through it. He’s already leaning in before you can think twice.

This kiss is cool at first, then warm. The contrast of the icy balm melting into something slow and smooth. He holds your face in both hands this time.

“It’s soft”, he says after, his voice husky. “Melts before you even notice it. Like kissing you in the middle of something chaotic and somehow, you’re the only calm part. Like the first time we kissed. When I wasn’t sure if I should. When I was terrified and nervous and falling all at once. But your kiss calmed me down. It reassured me that I was in the right place, at the right time— with the right person”.

Your lips part, your eyes fill with water. He kisses you again. You sigh into him, eyes closing gently. But there’s one balm left— Velvet Honey, wrapped in a light yellow tube.

The moment you both touch lips, Hyunjin’s whole face softens. He tugs you into his lap like you’re delicate, like you’d break at any time. Like he has all the time in the world to taste you.

"This one’s cozy” he whispers, “Like kissing when we’re wrapped in blankets and half asleep. Like the tenderness between dreaming and waking. A sweet, lazy, forever kind of love.”

He leans his forehead against yours to rest but you take his lips on your— soft and unflavored this time.

“Which one was your favorite?”, you whisper.

He laughs against your skin, “None of them”.

You blink, “What?”

“They were all missing one thing”, he tilts your chin up, “You. Just you. No flavor, no gloss. Just your taste”.

And when he kisses you again— bare lips on bare lips— you finally understand what he meant.

After the last kiss, Hyunjin doesn’t pull away. He stays close, as his thumb runs absently across your cheekbone, like he’s memorizing you all over again.

Then he murmurs, almost too low to hear, “You figured it out yet, baby?”

Your brows furrow, “Figured what out?”

He shifts just enough to look at you fully. “They weren’t just birthday gifts”, he says. “They were kind of my way of saying I missed you”.

You tilt your head lightly.

“I didn’t know how to say it in a way that could hold all the weight of what I felt inside”, he continues, eyes dropping for a second. “You know how tour stuff always ends up swallowing me whole. But after spending the whole day smiling for cameras and talking in interviews, every night I’d be in a hotel room thinking about you. And the kisses and cuddles I wasn’t getting”

You glance down at the lip balms again:

Peach Mochi: for the sleepy mornings.

Lavender Milk: for when you cry and he holds you.

Strawberry Stardust: for the reckless moments.

Black Cherry: for the ache of distance.

Vanilla Frosting: for being each other’s safe place.

Velvet Honey: for the homecoming.

Your throat tightens with a sudden wave of emotion. “They’re all my favorite”, you say, “Because they’re all about us”.

You lean forward and kiss him again. But not for a taste test, not for fun, just because you have to. Because the kind of love you share builds up in your chest until it spills out.

He kisses you back with a hum and pulls you, guiding you gently until you’re curled up against him on the couch with your legs tangled and your cheek resting over his heart.

And in that silence, you feel it— the truth of all the little things he couldn’t say but showed. “I missed you too”, you whisper, fingers gently tracing circles against his waistline, “So much”.

He presses his lips to the crown of your head.“Then let me stay like this. As long as you’ll let me. I don’t need anything else. Just home… just you”.

You hum against his chest, barely awake now, the soft sweetness of his lips still lingering on yours. You fall asleep like that, wrapped in the quiet kind of love— the one that doesn’t need big gestures or loud words, just a few flavored kisses and the boy who, by coming home from tour, brought your sense of home back to you.

Comment in any post if you want to be added to the taglist :)

Taglist: @hyyunjinnn, @jehhskz, @mbioooo0000, @nightmarenyxx, @rozsdascsaptelep, @thatonegirlonhere

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

417 notes · View notes

tsuyalovebot · 6 months ago

Text

collared.

pairing: xia yi zhou / caleb x reader (love and deepspace)

cws: MDNI and ageless blogs will be blocked. suggestive. caleb is kind of unhinged, lowkey kind of condescending while teasing. mc=reader. casual touches (knee, thigh, face). reader uses makeup. he puts his thumb in your mouth. pet names (pipsqueak, pretty). basically caleb-typical warnings.

wc: 2.1k (this was supposed to be a drabble. help.)

author's note: he occupies my brain too much. pussy inspection piece coming soon just trust .｡.:*☆

Caleb's a patient man. That's what he likes to think. Despite the amount of times he's had to expound on his cruelty and dichotomy as Farspace Colonel, he likes to think it hasn't truly changed him from his observational nature. That he's still the same boy in some sense. To watch and give commentary, grinning lazily and all.

You're really, really testing him though.

"Caleb," you repeat his name, annoyance in your tone. "You're not listening."

"I am, though?" He muses, stirring the pot of fragrant, ginger chicken congee with one hand. He looks at you, who's seated on the countertop beside the stove, kicking your legs out while watching him cook.

"Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh. You doubtin' me, pipsqueak? I'll have you know, I scored very, very high on the fleet's physical assessment on training our senses." Caleb teases, turning back to the pot. He takes the bowl of shredded chicken, adding it into the congee and stirring while you pout.

"You're hearing me, but you're not listening. What was I talking about, huh?" You insist with a frown. You've got his clothes on—a fact that's kind of, sort of itching at his brain in some way, shape, or form. He tries to not think about it. You're only in them because you spilled your drink on your dress earlier. And, who would he be to not offer you a change of clothes?

Prior to this, he'd given you a shirt and pants in your size. Said he bought them for you whenever you'd come over to Skyhaven and his place. Much to his surprise however, while you appreciated his kindness (even though you also called him weird), you still padded off to his room to steal his clothes. Which is why you're here now, in some graphic t-shirt that's a size or three too big on you and shorts.

Caleb is a patient man. He repeats this to himself like a mantra. Maybe he could gaslight himself into believing this.

"You were telling me about one of your colleagues from the Association. How he was impeding you from doing your patrol because he kept flirting, right?"

You blink, mollified. He finds your slackened expression cute, smiling as he lowers the heat on the stove. The congee bubbles, the fragrance potent. "Hmm. I should take a picture of you."

Just as he pulls out his phone to feign snapping a shot, you swat at his hand. He laughs, shaking his head at your antics.

"Okay, so you were listening," you admit. Sheepish, a faint flush to your cheeks.

He nods with a little smile. "Yep. You gonna keep going?"

"Mm. So, as I was saying—"

You're really cute sometimes. He wonders if you know that too, because there's been so many instances of him wanting to squish your face in his palms. Feel the soft pudge against his hands, drag the rough skin of his fingers over your eyelids and the cartilage of your ears, the bone of your nose bridge like one would admire a caricature beyond their comprehension.

There's something novel in seeing you come over. It feels like old times, when he'd just departed from Josephine's place and you'd come over to his place and loiter. You'd grin as you raided his house of snacks, declaring this and that as yours. Obviously, those were yours. Why do you think he always seemed to be restocked in your favorite snacks when you'd come over?

But it's more than simple visits now. You've begun incorporating yourself into his house. It's becoming a home now, with every hairtie he finds on the carpet or tube of lipgloss left in the bathroom. You've begun leaving your clothes for him to wash, which he doesn't really mind. How could he, when he gets to run his fingers over the cloth you've worn and marvel at its softness despite the washed out color—how it's probably been with you and seen you in worse states than he ever has in your entire life?

You left your eyelash curler once and complained over the phone how your makeup bag keeps eating your stuff. When he said you'd left it at his place, you decided the best possible solution wasn't to swing by one day and take it during a regular visit. You resolved to stay for a week in Skyhaven with him since so much of your stuff was with him.

"I can just use my vacation now and let the Association know I'm on leave," you had said, your voice carried through the speaker. "Do you guys have that at the fleet? Vacations? You should take yours, as well."

Caleb had been bulldozing through reports at the time, lifting a page of some lackluster maintenance report on a couple of vessels. It didn't even look properly done—seemed he had a lot of work to do if he wanted to correct the conduct of the other fleets.

But, with the most playful and assuring tone ever, he had replied with, "Oh, we got those too. I'll use mine. That way, we can spend it together, yeah?"

Funny, how paid vacation was not, in fact, a thing.

Now, he's here with you and he could get used to this. His space being yours, yours being his. A mutualism, reciprocity built on benefit and comfort. It doesn't hold the same familiarity of the past with regards to atmosphere, but it's changed. New, developed on this blossoming relationship of seeking answers but also caring so deeply for each other.

"Caleb," you say his name with such disdain it snaps him out of his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"You're not listening, again." You're scowling when he tears his gaze from the pot of congee. He reaches over and smooths out the little furrow of your brow and you let him. He smiles a bit.

"I am, I promise."

You shake your head. "No, you're not."

You reach over and pull on his dog tag. Hard. It surprises him, and he stumbles closer to your form. He looks at you, eyes wide.

You rarely initiated physical contact with him. Sometimes, he'd be blessed to have you jump on his back the way you always did. Maybe even feel grateful to feel your knuckles brush his wrist when reaching for utensils at the dinner table. But there's always a barrier, some sorr of invisible force that polarizes your forms and keeps you away from one another.

Yet here you aware, scowling so harshly he thought he made a grave misdeed that went beyond zoning out. Your finger looped into his necklace, demanding his attention. You're like a petulant child with your cheeks puffed up like this. It brings him back.

But it doesn't really bring back that signature brotherly attitude of his. Something else licks at the base of his spine. Something a bit darker, more subtle but nevertheless present.

Caleb can't help himself, smiling. A bit too giddy, slightly cheeky. You probably catch sight of it—you know him too well—and it probably aggravates you further, so you tug him again, by that necklace.

"Ah-ah," Caleb tuts, lifting his hand to gently wrap around your wrist. "Careful. You might break it."

Watching how your eyes flit down to the sight of his fingers winding around your skin, feeling the way your breaths stall at the sight. Hmm? He smiles a bit wider. He files away that knowledge for later.

Caleb relents at your tugs, though. Really, how could he ever deny you? Like an obedient dog, he moves, turning the stove off with one hand and snaking his way to be between your knees. His free hand placing itself on the countertop outside your knee, giving you his undivided attention.

You're a bit shy now despite getting what you wanted. Blinking at him like a deer caught in headlights as you hold onto the chain with your index finger. He could bite you, sink his teeth into your shoulder, and you would probably let him. Maybe even slip that neckline a bit lower for easier access, card your fingers through his hair.

You're spoiled rotten, and he wouldn't have you any other way. The product of his affections, the consequence of his actions.

"C'mon. I'm sorry for not actively responding, yeah?" Caleb coos, leaning in and subtly watching the flush color your skin. Careful to say actively responding, not listening. "You know I tend to focus too much when cooking. You got my attention now, though. Wanna keep going?"

You open your mouth, then close it again. He places his hand on your bare knee, watching in real time as you bluescreen, gaze darting.

Ah, he muses, his supposed patience waning. You make this too easy.

"Oh, I get it now. It wasn't that, was it? You just needed a bit of Caleb's attention, didn't you?" He drags his hand up, lets it hold your thigh. Gives it an experimental squeeze and observes your expression flicker between something akin to delight and mortification.

Maybe the mortification comes with him cornering you like this, even though you started. Or maybe you're coming to terms with the fact that you need him like he needs you. He'd hope that's the case. God, he'd love it if that were the case.

You stammer over your next words. Doesn't matter, he didn't hear it. Not over the sound of something like wedding bells in his head as he leaned in further. Deducting the space between you two, further enraptured by how all your thoughts seem to fizzle out at his proximity. His other hand, still holding your wrist, drops down to the counter.

"My attention is always yours, you know that, right?" He rubs his thumb into the softness of your inner thigh, tilting his head with a boyish smirk. It's playing at the corner of his mouth, and he has to stop himself from pouncing when you look at his lips too. "You don't gotta be rude, tugging me around. Have some manners."

And, like clockwork, his other hand comes up. In time with the gentle, swooping motions of his thumb on your thigh, he holds your chin. Lets you tilt your head up a bit, moves your head side to side lightly. He tests your pliancy and is pleased with his findings. You're slack, clay in his palms and he finds that he doesn't need to put you on a spinning plate to mold you.

Then, he tilts his head and narrows his eyes. Like a switch being flipped.

"Ah," he prompts, and presses his thumb against your lower lip. You're so good, so pliant as you open your mouth, letting him hook his thumb into your jaw. Presses it flat onto your tongue and lets you taste the slight spiciness of the diced ginger he handled earlier.

Delight sparks in his stomach as you remain perfectly still, save for the wobble of your lips. As if you didn't know to keep your mouth open or seal your lips around his thumb. He wouldn't particularly mind if you sucked—that should be for another time, though.

Caleb examines you like a mortician would a cadaver, his eyes dark. A piece of him satiating his appetite with the display before him. His digit in your mouth, your eyes a bit foggy as you breathe through your nose. In the palm of his hands, in his house, in his clutches.

You aren't the least bit resistant to his advances. If anything, you seem to welcome it, closing your eyes and letting your eyelashes flutter aganst your cheek when you open them to watch him too.

"You know I'm always listening to you. Always. Use your words like I taught you the next time you want my attention, hmm?" He leans in, smiling. Deceptively innocuous, saccharine with falsetto concern in a cheery tone. But he knows you see the desire lurking beneath the surface. Stewing in the cauldron of his gaze.

"Don't gotta be a brat to ask. Be good. Nod if you understand."

You nod, placated, dropping your finger from his necklace. Caleb smiles, pleased as he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. He feels the tension dissolve as quickly as it came.

He beams after, releasing you. His thumb leaves your mouth, hands off your face and thigh before returning to the congee. He ignores your pointed gaze toward him.

Caleb's a patient man. He'll wait, wait, wait, and wait some more. Doesn't make any difference to him, not when you're sitting pretty, waiting with him at his side. He'll wait, even as he watches you roll your tongue around in your closed mouth, like you're trying to taste him on your tongue.

"Now, keep talkin', pretty. I wanna hear how you kicked that guy's ass."

#𐙚 ; bǎo bèi.#mimi.writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lnd x reader #lnds x reader #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace caleb x reader #caleb x reader #caleb smut #lnd caleb #lnds caleb #lnds caleb x reader #xia yizhou #xia yizhou x reader

909 notes · View notes

luveline · 1 year ago

Note

Hotch request! Please sir, can I have a Hotch request? I'm trying to follow what you said about comfort but also Hotch being angry. So I get low blood sugars cause of my diabetes and I'd love if you wrote something about them being on a case and BAU!Reader is really busy trying to get stuff done, so she has a bad low blood sugar and sits down but one of the local officers thinks she's slacking off so she tries to keep going and Hotch comes in and defends her, making sure she has everything she needs and doesn't faint. Love you <3

ty for requesting!! hope this is okay <3 fem, 1.3k

“I understand.” You frown, phone pressed to your ear hard. “I totally understand, but it’s really important that I get to talk to her.”

“She’s on heavy medication,” the nurse replies, unimpressed by your asking, “she wouldn’t be much use anyhow.”

“I understand, but–”

“Listen, I’m sorry, but we have a lot to do here. I’m sorry we can’t help. Bye.”

You groan in frustration, bringing your phone from your ear to see the Call Disconnected notification flash across your screen. How are you and the team ever supposed to get answers if nobody wants to help? Your head rushes. You kid yourself into believing it’s annoyance like a hot flash, you’ve been sweaty for ages, but then reality cuts through. What usually makes you sweaty and dizzy?

“Where’s my test kit?” you murmur to yourself.

The door opens while you’re looking through your bag.

“Agent,” Officer Debs greets, a stout, sturdy woman with sharp eyes, “any news from Georgetown Psychiatric?”

You rummage frustratedly through your things. You should know better than to misplace your test kit. Doesn’t matter. You’ll just have to eat something quickly before you get any worse. “Uh, no, nothing they could help me with.”

“Did you call them?”

Your eyelids are getting heavier. You sit down on impulse, worried you’re gonna fall if you stay standing. “Yeah, I called them.” You’ve had diabetes for long enough to know what to do, but it’s always harder than it felt the last time when your blood sugar drops. It can be so sudden.

Realising you might need help, you clear your throat, about to ask Officer Debs if she can get the glucose tablets from your bag. You should’ve grabbed them —your thoughts are starting to thicken like someone’s poured cornflour into your skull.

“Is now the best time for a break?” Officer Debs asks.

You focus very hard on bringing your attention into the present. “No, sorry,” you say, standing up. You open your phone and direct to the contacts page, clicking your favourite contact at the very top.

Don’t know m where test kit is, you text clumsily. Hotch should still be in the precinct. Do u have it ?

“I hope you’re texting someone about the case,” Officer Debs says sternly.

You shove your phone into your pocket. “Um,” you say, getting confused now, and not wanting to be shouted at. You grab for the page of phone numbers you’d been making your way through, can’t get your hands to work. “I wasn’t. But I’m getting to it.”

“We really don’t have time to waste.”

“I know, but my blood sugar–”

She talks over you. “What’s the point in all our officers working day and night when you FBI agents can’t be bothered to put in the same effort?” Her voice rises. “It’s ridiculous!”

“It’s not ridiculous, we’re trying our best just like you are.”

“Clearly not!”

“My blood sugar,” you say, more insistently. “Stop shouting at me.”

The door opens quickly, creaking hard on its hinge. Hotch doesn’t slam it open, he never slams anything, but he doesn’t hesitate either. “I have it, you left it in the car after you tested this morning,” he says, your kit in his hand. He gives Officer Debs a surprised up and down. “Who’s shouting?” he asks, unimpressed.

You wouldn’t like to be on his bad side. “Hotch, I need a tablet.”

If he’s shocked at your lethargy, he doesn’t say. He ignores the officer from that point on. “Yes, I think so, too.”

Hotch is more efficient than you were, grabbing your tube of glucose tablets and shaking one out into his hand. “Can you take it yourself?”

“You want to chew it for me?” you ask.

He tips it into your palm. “Very funny.”

He opens the test kit on the desk and starts to extract the pieces. It’s quite complicated, especially for people unfamiliar with it, but you’re pretty sure Hotch learned how to use it the day he knew you had diabetes. He wipes his hands with an alcohol wipe and presses a test strip into the meter, careful not to touch the end, before wiping your finger with a new wipe, and readying the lancing stick.

“Gonna stick you, okay?” he asks quietly.

“Mm,” you hum, the glucose tablet like chalk between your teeth.

He sticks you. Some days it feels more painful than other days, but today it’s like a pinprick in a haze. He squeezes your finger, wipes the first drop of blood with a cotton ball, and dips the test strip into the second bead of blood, careful not to jab your cut.

In the five seconds it takes for you to get a result on the meter, he kneels down, pressing another cotton ball to your finger to stem the flow of blood. “Good,” he murmurs to you. The meter flashes on the table. “Not so good. Fifty nine, huh? How’d that happen?”

You shake your head slowly from one side to another. “I’ve no idea.”

“Okay. Well, that tablet’s not gonna do it, honey. Do you have any gels?”

“No,” you say apologetically.

“That’s fine. I’ll get you a drink.”

Officer Debs clears her throat. You may be foggy, but her awkwardness is palpable. “I’ll get it.”

“It has to be full sugar. Coke, if you can,” Hotch says. She nods in understanding and leaves in record time. Hotch turns back to you, his severity melting away. “She was shouting at you?”

“Tried to tell her about my blood sugar. She told me we’re not here to waste time.” You close your mouth, licking the glucose off of your teeth.

“How did you get so low?” he asks.

“Must have done something wrong this morning. Am I okay?”

“We’ll see. I think you’ll be alright.”

“Don’t usually get so dizzy.”

“When was the last time you were below seventy?”

“Don’t know,” you mumble.

Hotch peels the cotton ball from your finger and packs your things away cleanly. “Let’s see how you feel in ten minutes. After your coke. Now… what did the Officer say to you?”

He’s getting his facts straight. Again, you wouldn’t like to be on his bad side. You relay your conversation, Officer Debs hadn’t even been that bad, just uppity, stuck on her own assumptions rather than willing to listen when you’d needed a hand. Her lack of empathy could’ve really affected you. Low blood sugar is no joke.

You tell him, savouring in the warmth of his hand on your leg, how uncaring he is to be kneeling in front of you on the precinct floor. He frowns at you long and hard.

By the time Officer Debs returns, he’s on his feet again. “A word?” he asks her.

You don’t hear all of what he’s saying through the door as you sip your coke. He doesn’t shout, but he defends you with a heavy gravity. Officer Debs speaks up and he cuts her down, something about understanding, and then a more clear telling off, “I don’t want to hear about Agent L/N’s performance from you again. She’s my agent, and if she needs a break, she’ll take one. It’s none of your concern.”

“I understand.”

You feel much peppier when he comes back in, though he appears less so. “You’re nasty,” you say, smiling, happy to be defended, and happier to know you’re not gonna pass out.

He crosses the room. Still frowning, he takes your face into his hands, and he leans down inch by inch, until he’s pressing a soft, soft kiss to your lips. You barely have time to close your eyes before he’s pulling away, thumb pressed into your soft cheek. “Nobody gets to shout at you. Especially over your blood sugar.”

“It’s usually you telling me off for letting it get low,” you mumble.

He stands up straight, leaving you wanting for another kiss you won’t get, hands stolen back from your cheeks. “You’re ageing me prematurely. Drink some more coke, please, sweetheart.”

“What do I get in return?”

He touches your face briefly, as much of a promise as you’re going to get.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

3K notes · View notes

luigisbambinaaa · 2 months ago

Text

Please, Don’t Kill Me Mr Ghostface!

summary: it's halloweekend, you're dressed as Velma for the annual party, ready to blow off some steam. then ghostface dragged you upstairs and ruined you. are you sure you don't recognize the voice behind the mask?

content warning: CNC, cream pie, rough sex, choking, hair pulling, dub con, spanking, pronebone, overstimulation, squirting, mask kink, brat taming, ghostface!luigi

an: this is kinda based off this twitter link (NSFW). i have had this idea in my head all day and this is also for my anon that asked for dom lu!!! obvi had to throw some pronebone in this for my lovely palmers! and my girl soulsmangione for the help brainstorming. enjoy! send me your filthy ass thoughts! this is kinda long BTW.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

you were already pissed the second you stepped out of your dorm— not the cute type of mad either. no. you were livid, the storming-through-campus-in platforms type of livid. hair bouncing. hips swinging. shiniest lip gloss on. your rage barely contained.

why?

luigi fucking mangione.

he had you at your wits end earlier that day and he fucking knew it too. looking at you with a smug ass grin like he could see the steam pouring out of your ears.

you had made one slip during your presentation in your lecture earlier. ONE. and he didn’t even wait for the professor to correct it, he just leaned over, all casual, and whispered, “that’s actually not accurate at all but go off.”

go off?

you damn near did.

you turned and hissed, “do you ever shut the fuck up?” he just smiled, infuriating and unbothered. “not when you’re spreading false information.”

you were both separated before it could escalate any further. before you could slap that fucking smile off his face. before you could tell him exactly what you thought of his condescending ass tone, his stupid fucking perfect marks, and the way he ALWAYS stared at you like he wanted a fight.

so yeah, you were late to the annual halloween party. not because you weren’t ready, god you’d been ready since the second your professor let you all loose for the weekend. but because you needed a minute to cool down. also maybe another to make sure your orange top hugged your tits to perfection.

velma never looked this fucking good. tiny pleated skirt, tight crop top, and lip gloss that matched the glint you carried in your eyes. a loose cardigan hanging off your shoulders and glasses perched low. just enough to look like a costume, not enough to hide how fucking pissed and hot you looked.

you wanted a drink. maybe seven. you wanted to forget how he made you feel—like you were seconds away from either slapping the absolute shit out of him or climbing into his lap and ripping that cocky tone out of his throat.

you wanted him out of your head.

so when you walked into the packed house and were hit with a wall of fog and drunk, crazed frat boys and the latest rap hits, you didn’t hesitate. you made a beeline straight to your friends, all dressed as the scooby-doo gang.

“BIIIITCHHH! just in time for shots!”

you let them scream. let them grab you and shove a test tube shot in your hand. you tipped it back without blinking.

“you good?” daphne asked, eyes wide.

you just smirked. “i’m fine. just need to blow off some steam.”

that first shot hit your chest like a wildfire. the second made your lips a little numb. by the third, you were laughing—head thrown back, skirt riding up high, the whole thing. you and the rest of your scooby gang had migrated to the living room couch, legs draped over each other, plastic test tubes beginning to pile up on the sticky coffee table. somewhere between the back to back shots and daphne making out with shaggy, you all started loudly rating everyone’s costumes.

“dracula in the corner?”

“mid.”

“cowboy with the fake gun and vest?”

“seven. for effort.”

“oh my god is that the pope?”

“ten. immediately ten. i’d fuck a priest.”

you were flushed and tipsy, your lip gloss smeared from the last drink you were handed, and for the first time in awhile, luigi wasn’t on your mind. he was just a cocky little memory you were letting fade away into the music and booze.

and then—

the door creaked open again.

and in walked him.

ghost face. full black robe. the mask. the knife. tall. broad. walking in like he owned the room. whoever it was, he wasn’t stumbling around like everyone else. wasn’t laughing either. just stared, slow and deliberate, scanning the place.

you gasped, dramatically and tipsy as hell, clutching daphne’s arm.

“NO FUCKING WAY. MR. GHOST FACE HIMSELF.”

then, you didn’t even hesitate.

still giggling, teeth barred into a huge grin, you stumbled your way straight toward him, your platforms clicking across the floor like you were on a runway. and he didn’t move. didn’t flinch. just watched you come closer like he knew you were headed straight for him.

“oh my god,” you gasped again, eyes wide with a dramatic flair as you looked up at him, practically bouncing on your toes. “you look so hot. are you here to kill me oorrrr..”

he didn’t answer. just tilted his head a little.

and your drunk little brain went feral.

you reached up and grabbed his bicep, tight, firm, warm even through the tight sleeve, and squeezed with a grin. “let me get you a shot. wanna drink? come on, come on!” you tugged on him without waiting, fingers curling around his arm like you knew he wouldn’t fight you on it.

he let you guide him. silent. heavy. dangerous.

you didn’t notice the way his gloved fingers twitched. didn’t notice his breath stutter. and definitely didn’t notice the way he eye fucked you. taking in your bare legs, the way your ass peeked out under the skirt, and how lip gloss was smeared. thinking about earlier— about your voice, about how pissed you were, about how badly he wanted to shut you up with something other than words.

you were still giggling, dragging him to the kitchen, completely unaware.

“okay but seriously—you got a voice under there or are you really going for the whole creepy silent gimmick the entire night? because i kinda like it. it’s giving hot and dangerous.”

he just nodded once. and when you turned your back to grab him a shot from the counter, your ass brushing against him? he almost fully bent you over and fucked you right there.

but of course, he didn’t. instead, he took the drink from your hand and stayed quiet. slipping it under the mask and downing it. and that only made you even more obsessed.

“okay mister mysterious,” you grinned, biting your lip as you reached for his hand again, “you’re so coming with me.”

you laced your fingers with his gloved ones like you’d known him forever, dragging him right back toward the living room, giggling the entire way. your friends were still camped out on the couch, mid howl over someone’s costume malfunctioning when you burst into their circle.

“LOOK AT WHO I GOT HERE!” you announced like it was a toast of sorts, twirling dramatically with his hand in yours.

gasps. from all sides of the couch.

“no. shut up.”

“girl, where did you find him?”

“okay scream king!!!!”

“that is the hottest fucking ghost face ive ever fucking seen—“

daphne points, eyes wide. “say the line! say the line!”

you didn’t even miss a beat. you threw your body against his side, grabbing his bicep with both hands and putting on your best dramatic horror girl voice.

“please don’t kill me, mr ghost face—“ you fluttered your eyelashes, then gasped and flinched into him with a squeal, nails digging into his arm. “i wanna be in the sequel!”

the girls screamed.

ghost face? didn’t say a word. but you swore you felt his bicep flex under your grip. and when you looked up at him, breathless and tipsy and still grinning?

he tilted his head again.

and even though he hadn’t said a single word, your stomach did a flip. because whoever this guy was? he didn’t just wear the costume. he had embodied it.

and the way he was staring at you right now, even through the plastic mask?

you felt like the final girl. but this time you wouldn’t be running away.

you barely had time to recover from the attention, your friends screaming, the heat in your cheeks, or the weight of his stare. and then you felt it. a hand. on the back of your neck. gloved, firm, possessive.

“what the fu—?” before you could even fully register, the ghost face had leaned in and gripped you, dragging you off the couch like he was fed up with watching you play pretend.

“hey—hey!” what the fuck? i’m trying to hang with my friends—!”

you twisted and thrashed in his grip, stumbling in your boots, but he didn’t care. didn’t care to pause or speak, just latched his hand around your wrist, pulled you in tight and forcefully dragged you through the crowd like you weighed nothing. you were breathless by the time he pulled you upstairs, stumbling over the last step, heart pounding in your throat.

“okay, what the actual fuck, this isn’t—“

you didn’t get to finish. because he shoved you. your back slammed into the hallway wall, air rushing out of your lungs. the music downstairs felt miles away now—muted and useless. darkness swallowed everything, even the both of you.

he reached up and pushed the mask just high enough to reveal his mouth and crashed into you. his mouth devoured yours. hot, desperate, messy, with no hesitation or teasing, just pure, filthy need. his gloved hand shot up and wrapped around your throat, thumb pressing hard against your pulse, holding you there like he owned you. you gasped against his lips, body jolting, but he didn’t let go. he deepened the kiss like he wanted to taste your shock, tongue sliding past your lips like he had every right to.

your nails scratched against his robe, searching for something to ground yourself on, but your brain had already fogged over. you moaned, open, high pitched, and unintentional and the sound made him growl straight into your mouth, fingers tightening just right around your neck making you even dizzier. your hips rolled forward as if they had a mind of their own, grinding against him before you even knew you were doing it. he pressed in harder, his thigh slotted between yours. he kissed you like he fucking hated you. like he needed you.

and when you finally managed to gasp, “who the fuck—“ he cut you off with another bruising kiss, tongue sliding against yours, his hand keeping you pinned right where he wanted it. “w-we shouldn’t—“ you gasped, voice breaking against his mouth s you finally shoved his chest, breath ragged, lips swollen from how hard he had been kissing you. “i don’t even know who you are—!” he didn’t bother answering, not with words anyway.

his hand slid up into your hair, fingers tangling right at the root before yanking your head back, baring your throat. you gasped, a sharp little sound that got swallowed instantly when he bit your bottom lip hard enough to make you whimper.

“my friends—“ you tried again, breathless, dizzy, still trembling. “they’re waiting—i need to go—“ he didn’t care. he tugged your hair again, rougher this time, and ragged his lips down to your jaw, then your neck, biting, sucking, his tongue leaving a trail of heat with every pass. you moaned in spite of yourself, fists curled in the front of his robe.

“you don’t even who i am,” you said again, weaker this time. pleading.

he just leaned in and let his breath hit your ear, voice low and deep. “you will.” then he adjusted the ghost face mask back over his face, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. before you could run, before you could even think, he grabbed your wrist again, tighter this time, and yanked you down the pitch black hallway like you were nothing more then prey.

your boots scraped against the floor, breath coming faster, your free hand gripping the wall, the air cold, thick, and buzzing in your ears. “wait—!wait—“ you cried, stumbling as he opened the next door and shoved you inside. you didn’t even see what room it was. all you knew was the door slammed behind you and you were alone with him.

you turned around slowly, your back hitting the edge of something— a desk, maybe, or a dresser, just as your eyes adjusted to the dark. he was still there. ghost face. standing by the door. mask tilted. watching you. silent. you swallowed hard. “dude,” you said, voice cracking slightly as you backed up another step, hands raising. “come on. i don’t even know who you are. this shit isn’t funny anymore.” no answer. he just started walking. slow. steady. controlled.

your pulse skyrocketed as you felt your back press against the far wall. “seriously—“ you breathed, voice shaking. “let’s just go back downstairs, okay? we’ll forget this even happened!” but he didn’t stop. and when he got close enough, so close you could smell the alcohol on his breath again, you snapped. you bolted for the door. you barely made it two steps.

his arm hooked around your waist and lifted you back with terrifying ease, dragging you backwards before you could scream. your breath ripped from your chest as he spun you and threw you face down onto the bed. the mattress hit your ribs and you let out a choked gasp, but he didn’t give you a second to recover. he was already climbing on top of you, one knee on the bed, the other braced tight. and then, his full weight dropped on the backs of your thighs. you cried out, hips pinned to the mattress instantly, legs kicking uselessly beneath him.

“stop! get off!” you snapped, trying to twist, push up, scramble, anything, but you were stuck. his gloved hands pressed into the mattress beside your head, caging you in. you felt him lean in, the plastic of his mask brushing your hairline, his breath hot against your ear as he stayed completely silent.

your whimper escaped before you could bite it back. small, high pitched, and weak. and that was all it took. you felt him shift behind you, slow and deliberate. the bed creaked under his weight as he adjusted, dragging his body further down your legs, keeping your thighs completely caged. you tried to lift your head, maybe even crawl forward, or let out a shout, literally anything—but then you felt him.

his gloved hand sliding under the hem of your skirt and in one rough, practiced motion—flip. the tiny skirt flew up over your ass and settled around your waist, leaving you exposed in your tiniest little thong. the air hit your skin, and you shuddered, the cold hitting the intense heat radiating off your body. you gasped, hips jolting. “f-fuck!” he didn’t say a word.

just grabbed a handful of your ass, fingers digging in hard. no teasing, just a rough, possessive squeeze. you yelped, twisting under him, trying to kick. he didn’t budge. just leaned more of his weight down over you, pinning your legs between his thighs. your boots scraped uselessly at the sheets and your fists curled in the blanket.

and then—he spanked you. hard. a loud, violent crack rang through the room as his gloved palm struck the bare skin of your plush ass, sending shockwaves straight through your spine. you cried out, body lurching forward—but you couldn’t escape, not with him on top of you like that. absolutely not with his hand immediately following it up with another bruising grab.

you tried to lift your head again, breath catching in your throat. “stop—! i—i can’t—“ he didn’t listen. another slap, this one lower, firmer. you cried out again, voice breaking into soft whines and hiccuped breaths, your hips wriggling out of instinct, even though you knew he wasn’t letting you go. his free hand pressed between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest back down against the mattress while he ground his weight down harder into your thighs, keeping you completely pinned.

you felt him shift again behind you. felt the solid weight of him through his pants as he ground slowly against the curve of your ass, dragging it in like it was the most casual thing in the world. still silent. still masked. still treating your body like it was his and all you could do was moan.

he ground into you again, slower this time, cruel. dragging the thick length of his cock right along the seam of your ass, grinding down like he knew exactly where to hit. you gasped, body twitching under him, another pathetic little whimper spilling out of your throat before you could stop it. he let out a low grunt behind the mask, dark and rough. not even trying to hold it in.

then, without a word, he sat up, weight shifting off your thighs for just a second. you heard the rustle of fabric, the clink of his belt, and then the heavy thud of his robe hitting the floor. you lifted your head, just barely, still panting. he was behind you again in seconds. only boxers now, still masked. still silent. and cock straining against fabric.

wasting no time, his hands gripped your ass, hard. you yelped as he yanked your cheeks apart, spreading you wide without care, exposing everything like you already belonged to him. you squirmed, shame rushing up your spine, and then he saw it. the wet patch, dark, obvious. soaking right through the center of your tiny little thong. he paused and then let out a low, mean laugh. you whimpered, twisting beneath him, but his grip only tightened.

his thumb pressed directly over the soaked spot, rubbing a slow, mocking circle right over it. “look at you,” he muttered, voice low, muffled, and vile. “acting like you didn’t want this. dressed like a whore, whining like you’re scared. and you’re already dripping.” you gasped, eyes squeezing shut, hips bucking forward, but his free hand shoved your back down into the mattress, holding you flush and helpless.

“don’t you fucking move.”

his thumb pressed in harder, slower, circling again. “pathetic little slut,” he growled, almost to himself. “getting off on being dragged around like this. bet you were hoping i’d drag you upstairs and ruin you in this costume the second i walked in.”

you choked on a breath, body trembling under the weight of his voice and his hands and the humiliation crashing over you. he kept going—pressing, circling, controlling and you couldn’t stop your hips from pushing back into his thumb, just barely, but enough. enough for him to notice. enough for him to laugh again.

he kept rubbing. lazier now, even slower. like he had all night to humiliate you. and then his voice dropped low behind the mask, pure venom. “yeah?” a pause. “ain’t that right?”. you didn’t answer. you couldn’t, you wouldn’t. your jaw clenched tight even as your hips stayed pressed into his hand.

wrong move. his hand left your soaked panties, only for a second, before landing another sharp, brutal slap to your ass. you yelped, body jolting forward into the mattress. “answer me.” you shook your head, mouth stammering, voice barely holding together. “n-no,” you whimpered, even as your voice cracked. “let me go—please—“

but your body betrayed you completely. your hips pushed back again, your thighs trembled, and you nodded. just barely and just once. a broken little movement you didn’t mean to make, but he caught it and laughed. low, mean, and vindicated. “that’s what i thought,” he muttered, dragging his palm back down, fingers slipping between your thighs just to make you jolt again.

“say all the no’s you want,” he growled, breath hot through the mask. “this pussy already told me yes.”

you squeezed your eyes shut, shame and heat rolling through you in waves because he was right after all. you couldn’t hide the way you moved, the way you moaned, nor the way your body kept giving in. he stayed right where he was, straddling you, thumb pressing back into that soaked spot between your legs with a filthy purpose.

he didn’t say another word. just moved. you heard the rustle, the low shuffle of fabric, the drag of elastic, and then felt the shift in weight behind you. the sound of him stripping down and the cold air hitting your thighs where his body had been.

and then, heat. his cock dropped heavy between your ass cheeks, thick and hit, and already so fucking hard. the weight of it undeniable as it dragged low over your skin. he didn’t bother grinding or thrusting, just letting it rest there like a threat. you were flat on your stomach, cheek smashed against the bed, arms folded useless beneath you. you could feel the slick sweat at your temple. your thighs already trembling as his body lowered again over yours.

his bare chest pressed to your back. his hips locked in behind yours and you were pinned. chest, stomach, legs—every inch of you covered and caged. he shifted his knees wider on the mattress, and your thighs followed, pushed open just by the slow, grinding weight of him settling between them. you gasped, twitched, but didn’t move.

it’s quiet, then… RRRIP. your thong snapped like nothing between his fists. you yelped, your hips jerking forward from the sudden sting, but he was already dragging the ruined fabric out from under you like it was nothing. tossing it somewhere behind him like he never meant to give them back to you.

you were bare now, panting and open beneath him. he gripped your ass, hard. both hands spreading you wide with no hesitation, his thighs digging into the crease where your thighs met your cheeks. and then he looked. you could feel him staring, feel the way his cock flexed against you, feel the low grunt that rumbled through his chest. he shifted his hips just enough to drag the thick, swollen head of his cock between your folds. dragging slow through your heat, not pushing in yet, just rubbing it there, spreading you with his size until you were gasping into the sheets.

you whimpered. thinking you had a moment to brace yourself. but then, he thrusted, hard. his cock shoved into you in one brutal stroke, bottoming out in seconds. your body forced forward on the bed from the power of it.

you screamed, your voice breaking open. raw and feral. your mouth falling open in a moan that came from somewhere deep within you. his whole body dropped on top of yours again, chest flush to your back, the heat of his breath roaring in your ear through his mask as he started to move. not slow or gentle. he fucked you like he meant to break you. hips snapping forward again and again, driving his cock into you at a rhythm that left you reeling, your breath knocked out with every slap of skin.

your legs were useless. your arms were jelly. your cunt stretched around him again and agin, the pressure already making you ache, the angle perfect from how he held you flat to the mattress. “fuck,” he growled against your neck. “this little pussy—so fucking tight.” you moaned again, louder than before, your voice catching as your fingers dug into the sheets, hips pushing up weakly just to try and take more of him and he felt it. he knew.

“you fucking like this,” he hissed. “say you don’t but your body says otherwise.” you couldn’t even answer. you just cried out again as he fucked you harder, pacing snapping into something brutal now, hips hammering against your ass, cock driving so deep it made your toes curl. his hands grabbed your hips, dragging you back into every thrust like you owed him this. like you were just a thing for him to use. and you were. right now? you’d let yourself be nothing but his as long as he kept going.

he never let up. if anything, he fucked you harder. hips slamming into your ass with punishing rhythm, dragging your body into every thrust like it was his right. like it was all you were good for. you could barely breathe. your moans breaking apart now, cracked sobs, strangled whines, high and desperate, muffled by the mattress you were still face down against. every time his cock drove into you, it felt deeper and meaner.

that was when his hand moved. sliding up your side, past your ribs, and over your chest until it wrapped around your throat from behind. you gasped and your back arched automatically as he dragged you up with him, lifting you part way off the bed by the neck, forcing you to arch and your head to tip back.

“mmff—fuck!” your voice caught, barely there, basically crushed under the pressure of his hand clamped tight around your throat. your chest heaved. your eyes fluttered.

and that angle, that slight shift of your hips and your arch, it lined him up perfectly. his next thrust hit you dead on, spearing into your g-spot with such vicious accuracy that you choked on your own moan. your mouth fell open with such a high, pitiful sound. your body jerking from the shock of it, toes curling and thighs twitching around his hips.

he felt it and did it again. again. and again. every brutal stroke now punching into that spot over and over, each one harder than the last, until your entire body was convulsing under him. “there she is,” he growled, voice thick behind the mask. “fuckin knew this was what you needed.”

you couldn’t even speak. couldn’t beg. your hands scrambled behind you, gripping at his thigh, his wrist, literally anything, but he still didn’t let up. he just kept going. his cock driving into your sweet spot so hard and fast your legs went weak beneath him, your eyes rolling back, your mouth falling slack as those guttural moans spilled out of you in shameless, helpless waves. and still, his hand never left your throat. just squeezed tighter, not enough to hurt you, but enough to remind you who was in control.

and still you couldn’t form any coherent thought nor let out a full breath. his deep, punishing thrusts making your vision blur and and your fingers claw at anything you could reach. your moans weren’t even pretty anymore, just guttural. your legs kicked weakly beneath him, thighs trembling, toes curling as you took it, body locked tight beneath him.

that’s when it started. that pressure in your belly winding fast, tight, and unforgiving. your mouth dropped open and you tried to warn him. “i—i’m—gonna—“ your voice broke, slurred, barely louder than a gasp. “gonna cum—!” prompting him to let out a low, cruel laugh behind the mask. “oh yeah?” his hips didn’t even falter, he just fucked you harder. “that so?” he drawled, mean and condescending. “this slutty little pussy can’t take it anymore?” and you whined, high and ragged, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

“aww,” he cooed, mockingly, voice dripping in fake sympathy. “poor girl’s gonna cum for the masked man that dragged her upstairs and had his way with her?” he slammed into you again, forcing another scream from your throat. “go on, then,” he sneered. “cream on my cock. let everybody downstairs know exactly what kind of girl you are.”

you shook under him, stammering, trying to hold it back, but your body refused to listen. your mouth was saying “no—no—wait—“ but your hips were arching up. your cunt was squeezing tight around him and your legs shook. “fuckin knew you’d break,” he muttered, almost to himself. “tight little pussy acting like she didn’t want it. now look at you.”

you came with a scream, loud and shattered, thighs seizing, mouth falling open as your orgasm hit hard, every single nerve ending lighting up, your body pulsing around him in desperate waves as he kept driving into you. you were clenching down so hard he grunted behind the mask, low, breathy, and rough but he didn’t stop. he fucked you through it, letting you squirm and sob and twitch under him. you couldn’t even form words. just pathetic, open mouthed gasps.

after a beat, he finally pulled out. slow and cruel. you could feel every inch drag from your body, your walls clenching down like they didn’t want to let go, like you were trying to keep him inside even as you sobbed into the sheets. then, you felt the air, the emptiness, the slick spread over your thighs and pooling on the bed. you collapsed fully, face buried in the mattress, trembling all over, but he wasn’t done. not even close.

you barely had time to catch a breath before he grabbed your waist, flipped you over, and dragged your limp body down the bed until your hips hit the edge. your legs fell open without resistance, thighs shaking, everything about you wrecked. and he stood there between your legs, masked, silent. looking down at you, still crying. soft, overwhelmed tears slipping down your cheeks as your chest heaved, your body twitching every time a breeze hit your soaked, puffy pussy.

he didn’t say a word. just reached down, grabbed the base of his cock, still rock hard, soaked in your release and laid it across your cunt. hot and heavy. the thick, veiny weight of him pressing right over your clit made you jolt, legs twitching out of reflex. you whimpered. “no—no, i can’t—“ you gasped, voice shaking. “please, i can’t—“ he just laughed. “yes, yes you can,” he cooed, patting his cock down against your pussy once, twice, as if he was knocking. you let out a broken little sob.

“you’re not done,” he murmured, dragging the head of his cock through your folds slowly. “not until i say so.” “p-please,” you whimpered, legs shifting but he just leaned in and grabbed the insides of your thighs, forcing them wide again. then—smack! you cried out, hips jolting as he slapped your pussy with the weight of his cock, wet skin on skin, loud and filthy. “don’t tell me no,” he growled. “this messy little pussy’s saying yes just fine.” and you gasped, tears spilling over, your mouth open in a silent moan as he slapped it again. and still, your hips rocked up for more.

in the very next breath, he lined himself back up and thrust. you screamed again, broken and raw, back arching as his cock shoved back inside you in one brutal stroke, stretching you open all over again, the wet sound of it obscene between your bodies. “still so fucking tight,” he growled through the mask, voice ragged now, closer, lower. then, his hands grabbed your thighs and he dragged your legs up and around his waist, pulling you open and closer all at once. your knees squeezed around his hips as he leaned forward, body crashing into yours, chest to chest, heat and sweat and filth between you.

and he didn’t stop there. his hands slid up your arms next, fast and rough, until he found your wrists and forced them upward, pressing them into his shoulders. “put em around me.” you blinked, glassy eyed and overwhelmed. he leaned down more, voice thick through the mask, breath brushing your ear. “wrap your arms around my neck.” you obeyed before you even realized it, muscles limp but desperate, clinging to him like a lifeline. and once he had you wrapped around him like that, he started thrusting again. deep, slow at first, but so much deeper.

your moans poured out of you instantly—messy, slurred, your body jolting with every stroke he fucked into you at a new angle, the kind that made your toes curl and your voice crack from how full you felt. and him? he was groaning now. audibly. low, guttural sounds rasping in your ear through the mask, his hips shoving up hard into your soaked cunt, his body shuddering just like yours. “f-fuck,” he hissed, voice catching, almost desperate now.

every movement dragged you closer, your bodies flush, your limbs tangled, your sobs still hiccuping into the warm space between his chest and yours. it was too much. too much heat, too much depth, too much of him. but yet your legs squeezed tighter around his waist and you moaned louder. because you didn’t want him to stop.

he shifted above you, just enough to lift himself, to hover over you, arms braced on either side of your head. you blinked up at him, breath shallow, tears still slipping down your cheeks as your body pulsed with every slow, deep thrust. and then he said it, “eyes on me.” and your breath catches. your gaze flicked up through the blur of tears, locking on the only part of him visible—the narrow strip of skin behind the mask, the dark curls sticking to his temples with sweat, the gleam of his eyes watching you, staring at you.

and for second, you just knew. those eyes. that glint. that stupid look like he was always one step ahead of you. “lu…” your voice cracked. you swallowed. hard. “luigi…?” and right then, like you flipped a switch, his eyes lit up. smug, playful, and dangerous. you didn’t need to see his mouth to know he was grinning behind the mask. “hey, baby.”

your entire body tensed. rage. shock. humiliation. you started to push at his chest, your palms shoving up into him, struggling to sit up even though your legs were still wrapped around his waist. “get off—what the fuck, luigi—!”

“Nuh uh.” his hands gripped your wrists, slammed them back above your head, and he thrust, deep. you choked on a moan, your head falling back to the bed and that’s when you heard. your pussy, wet and filthy and squelching from how thoroughly he’d ruined you, echoing through the room. his voice dropped again. all cocky and cruel. “this pussy’s crying for me, and you wanna stop?”

you shook your head, sobbing, but your mouth betrayed you. “luigi—“ you moaned, helpless. he rutted into you again, harder. “that’s what i fuckin thought.” and you didn’t push again, just wrapped your arms back around his neck. you whimpered, breath caught in your throat, fingers trembling as they reached up and tugged the mask off. it hit the bed with a soft thud, and there he was.

luigi. his curls damp with sweat, jaw clenched, eyes glassy and wrecked, mouth parted like he was barely holding himself together, flushed all the way down his neck. his expression dazed and desperate as he stared down at you. you gasped. “s’too much, gigi—too much,” you cried, your voice high and broken, legs still locked around his waist even as your hands pushed weakly at his shoulders. ‘

he just leaned in, grabbed your jaw with one hand, and whispered against your lips. “i know, baby. i know,” he murmured, kissing you softly, sweetly, the contrast beyond cruel. “just a little more.” and then he fucked you. hard. his pace picked up, deeper than before, slamming into your soaked, overstimulated cunt with a rhythm that had your eyes fluttering closed and your back arching of the bed.

you moaned so loud it cracked. and then his mouth was back on you—kissing, sucking, and biting down the side of your throat like he couldn’t help it. his teeth grazed your skin before his lips closed over the same spot, sucking a mark so deep you could already feel the bruise forming. “mmmm, baby—just like that,” you whimpered, your voice catching as your legs tightened around him again.

his hand slipped down between your bodies, dragging over your slick folds until his fingers found your clit, and then he rubbed. fast. precise. and you jerked, a high, strangled gasp ripping from your chest. “lu—lu!” you sobbed. “i’m—i’m gonna cum again!”

“do it,” he growled, never slowing. “wanna feel you gush around me again, baby. give it to me.” his fingers moved even faster, his cock hitting deep it punched the air from your lungs. and then, you broke. your whole body locked up, your head thrown back as a scream ripped from your throat and you came so hard it soaked both of you, slick and shameless and loud, your pussy pulsing around his cock as you gushed.

he groaned, deep and ragged, his rhythm faltering. “fuck—gonna cum—gonna cum inside you—“

“no—no, you can’t—“ but your legs were still wrapped around him. tight. locked. pulling him in. “you’re saying no,” he panted, eyes lock on yours, “but your pussy’s holding me in like she’s begging for it.” you whimpered, helpless and overwhelmed, but you didn’t stop him.

and then he came. his head dropped to your neck, a long low moan tearing from his chest as he spilled deep inside you, his whole body shuddering as your cunt milked every last drop. and you didn’t let go. not your legs nor your arms. you just held onto him, shaking, panting and full.

you both stayed there for a moment—tangled, shaking, chests pressed together, breathless and broken. his cock twitched one last time inside you before he finally pulled out with a slick, slow drag. you gasped, hips jerking from the overstimulation, body too limp to flinch properly, and then you felt the rush. his cum, hot and thick, spilling out of you in slow, wet drips, smeared between your thighs and pooling under your ass like the final mark he’d be leaving on you.

luigi groaned, low and satisfied, as he looked down at the mess leaking from your wrecked pussy. “fuck,” he breathed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “look at that.” you didn’t respond. couldn’t. you just whimpered and blinked up at the ceiling, eyes glassy, chest still heaving. he stood, tucking himself back into his boxers with that same casual arrogance like he hadn’t just ruined you.

“come on,” he said, grabbing what was left of you panties and stuffing them in his pocket. “we’re going back to mine.”

you scoffed. loud. sharp. exhausted. “as fucking if,” you snapped, voice rough as you tried to sit up, legs trembling as you struggled to reach for your skirt and yank it back down over your swollen, dripping cunt. “i can’t fucking stand you.” he didn’t flinch, not even a blink. just leaned against the edge of the bed, arms crossed, lips curled into a smug half smile as he stared you down like he already knew he’d get what he wanted.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he said, cocky and cruel. “i thought you said you wanted a sequel.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@undeliveredlu @palmersluvr @mangionesdaisy @soulsmangione

#luigi mangione thoughts #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione smut #luigi thoughts #luigi mangione x yn #luigisbambinaaa

265 notes · View notes

chamomiletealeaf · 1 year ago

Text

Their Favorite Lipstick Shade on You

141 x fem reader

Warnings: suggestive themes, sexual content, MDNI

Simon - fucking loves lipgloss on you. He loves how shiny and delicate and soft it makes your lips and he can’t get enough of it. He loves the flavored kind so when he kisses you he can get a taste too and it drives him fucking wild.

Bonus if your lipgloss has a shimmer or glitter to it. He’s staring at your lips all day long. They’re just so dainty and pretty, and Simon is a sucker for dainty and pretty things when it comes to you.

And if you match your lipgloss to your panties? Expect to have Simon pressing your knees to your ears and fucking you until your lipgloss is completely wiped off.

Johnny - goes crazy when you wear anything that transfers to his skin easily. He loves when you mark him up. He prefers you wear bright colors for this specific reason because it shows up more on his skin. If you wear black lipstick? He's done for. You wear a bright pink? He's begging you to suck him off so he has your lipstick stains on his cock.

If you're out shopping for lipsticks he's coming with you so you can test how the color not only looks on your skin, but all over his neck and cheeks too. I feel like he'd get a cheeky little tattoo of your kiss mark somewhere on him so your lips are always on him.

Gaz - absolutely loves when you do lip combos where the outline of your lips are darker than the middle. He would adore the way you ombre your lips so perfectly making them look so beautiful and pouty. And if you put a bit of lip oil on over it to make it glossy? You have to fight him off so he doesn't kiss it off of you. It took you a while to blend the combo in correctly!

He loves lip oils on you. Especially just a basic clear one that accentuates your natural lip tone and makes your lips all glassy. They just look so soft and kissable and he just can't stop staring at them.

You could be talking to him and he never looks at your eyes. He's hyperfocused on your glassy, pretty lips and how he wishes they were on him, just nodding at whatever you're saying so you keep looking at him.

Price - Price is a simple man. He likes just plain, classic, red lipstick on you. His personal favorite is dark red matte because of how sexy and seductive the color is on you. If you show up on a date with him wearing dark red lipstick, he's holding your cheek and running a thumb over your lips while you talk to him, admiring how sexy they look.

He loves to watch you reapply your lipstick too. It's so mesmerizing seeing his pretty little doll dress up for him. He'd ask to help you reapply it which you comply and hand him the tube of lipstick as he delicately holds your head and swipes the velvety color over your lips. You watch him intently as he takes his time admiring your lips. When he's finished, and you're surprised at how well of a job he did, it doesn't last long before he's making out with you, smearing the freshly done coat of lipstick on his and your face.

Oh, and don't think that's where it stops either, because he's definitely pushing you onto your knees so you suck him off, leaving kiss marks all on his lower tummy and thighs as well as your lipstick smeared on his cock.

He would have a polaroid photo of you two with your signature red kiss mark on the bottom on the white tab of the photo that he keeps with him at all times. He laminated it so the mark never wipes off, keeping your kiss with him always.

1K notes · View notes

bbywhitefox123 · 2 days ago

Note

Can you pretty please with a cherry on top write something about teenagers being all turned on by Catherine and calling her milf and rafe scaring them off and fùcking her PLEASEEE

Summary: rafe and catherine are called in Kook Academy because mason is still causing trouble. some teens salivate over catherine being a milf and that works up rafe.

Warnings: NSFW (smut), jealous rafe, rafe threatening teenagers, protective rafe, possessive rafe, bathroom sex, sex in a tub, dirty language

Mason’s goggles fogged up as he leaned in closer to the bubbling test tube, totally zoning out the teacher’s stern voice behind the glass. Catherine’s heart did a little flip watching him—half amused, half nervous. Two weeks into 4th grade, and this was already the fifth time they’d been called in. Kook Academy wasn’t messing around.

Rafe stood beside her, cool as ever, phone pressed to his ear, voice smooth and steady as he closed a deal. He barely glanced at Mason, like this was just another Tuesday.

Catherine bit her lip. “Do you think they’re going to kick him out this time?” she whispered.

Rafe smirked without missing a beat. “Only if he sets the school on fire. And from what I’m seeing, he’s just experimenting.” His eyes flicked to Mason, who was busy making the girls laugh, goggles slipping off his nose.

Catherine rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re terrible.”

Rafe leaned down, whispering with a grin, “That’s why you married me, Mrs. Cameron.”

She squeezed his hand and whispered back, “And that’s why I need a drink after this.”

The hallway doors opened and the principal appeared, clipboard in hand. He barely glanced their way before pushing through the classroom door, clipboard clenched like it personally offended him. Catherine gave a polite smile—tight-lipped, anxious—and Rafe? Rafe rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck in the back of his skull.

“Of course it’s still this old fuck,” Rafe muttered under his breath, adjusting the cuff of his tailored shirt like he hadn’t just insulted the man responsible for their child’s academic future.

Catherine elbowed him gently, whispering through her teeth, “Language.”

“He’s the same prick who gave me detention for three weeks because I ‘looked disruptive,’” Rafe said, dropping his voice to a sarcastic baritone to mimic him. “Rafe Cameron, a walking distraction. Bad for the other students.”

“You were a walking distraction,” Catherine said, watching the principal murmur something to the teacher before pointing toward Mason. “Still are, unfortunately.”

Rafe smirked and leaned into her side, finally tucking his phone into his pants pocket. “You need to calm down, babe,” he said, eyes softening a little. “We were worse than him, remember?”

“Yeah,” Catherine breathed out, “but we weren’t in fourth grade.”

They both turned as Mason—goggles still on his head and lab coat flapping around his little finger—walked out of the classroom looking completely unfazed, like he’d just been promoted to head scientist at NASA.

“Hi,” he said brightly, waving at his parents.

Catherine smiled, trying to keep it together. “Hi, baby. Everything okay?”

“I mixed the wrong things,” Mason said cheerfully. “The bottle exploded, but it didn’t hurt anyone. It just burned through the desk.”

“Nice,” Rafe muttered under his breath.

The principal cleared his throat, motioning for them to follow him down the hall. Catherine grabbed Rafe’s wrist and whispered, “Please don’t say anything rude.”

“No promises,” Rafe muttered, casting one last glance through the glass as Mason put his goggles back on and grinned like a menace.

They walked through the gleaming hallways of Kildare High, the click of Catherine’s heels echoing against polished marble floors. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and lockers lined the corridor like polished cages. But what Rafe noticed—what he always noticed—were the eyes.

Upperclassmen stood in clusters, pretending to drink from water fountains or sift through backpacks, but they were really staring. Not at him. At her. At his wife.

Catherine, in a tight pink dress and a dior bag, didn’t even blink. She was too busy walking beside the principal, her voice honeyed and diplomatic.

“I’m sure it was just enthusiasm,” she said, lightly touching the principal’s arm. “Mason’s always been... curious. We’ll speak to him about boundaries, I promise.”

Rafe didn’t hear the reply. He was too busy throwing glares like darts toward a group of tall eleventh graders openly gawking at Catherine’s legs.

“Y’all got nothing better to do?” Rafe muttered, loud enough for one kid to flinch and look away. “Get to class before I call your dads.”

He leaned down to Mason, his voice low. “Why aren’t any of these little shits in class?”

Mason didn’t look up. “They’re on a break, while we have classes— I know, stupid.”

Rafe scanned the hallway again and gritted his teeth. “Break my ass. They’ve been staring at your mom like she’s about to teach Sex Ed.”

Mason snorted. “Well, she is hot.”

Rafe gave him a look. “Say that again and you’re grounded till you’re twenty-five.”

Catherine glanced over her shoulder, lifting an eyebrow. “What are you two whispering about?”

“Just talking about science,” Rafe said with a fake smile.

“Mmm-hmm,” Catherine said, unconvinced, before turning back to the principal. “He’s still getting used to the new subjects. New rules. It’s a lot of pressure.”

The principal sighed, shaking his head. “Pressure or not, Mrs. Cameron, he released a chemical reaction twice this week that ended with property damage.”

“It was just a desk this time,” Mason said brightly.

Rafe smiled proudly. Catherine gave them both a look that said please don’t make this worse.

And as they kept walking—Rafe trailing just a little behind now—he couldn’t stop watching the kids watch Catherine.

He wanted to pull her close, tilt her chin, and remind every hormonal teenage boy in the hallway who she belonged to. But instead, he settled for muttering under his breath again.

“Gonna start wearing a damn sign on you. Mrs. Cameron. Off limits.”

The principal held the door open with a stiff, too-long smile as Catherine stepped through. His eyes dipped lower than they should’ve, lingering on the tight blush-pink dress that hugged her hips like a second skin. Rafe saw it—of course he did—and clenched his jaw just as the door began to swing shut.

It almost hit Rafe square in the face.

Mason snorted under his breath.

Rafe glared, catching the door with a palm and shoving it open like he owned the place. “Careful,” he muttered darkly to the principal as he walked in, “old reflexes still work.”

Inside the office, Catherine was already settled gracefully in one of the guest chairs, legs crossed and hands folded on her lap like she hadn’t just been mentally undressed by a man twice her age. Rafe dropped into the seat beside her with less grace, legs spread wide, hand resting protectively on Mason’s back as their son stood between them, looking like he was trying not to smile.

The principal settled behind his desk, cleared his throat, and folded his hands like he was about to deliver a eulogy.

“Mr. and Mrs. Cameron… I’d like to start by saying we very much appreciate parental involvement.” His tone was clipped. “But this is the fifth incident in two weeks. I’m not sure appreciation is enough anymore.”

Catherine gave a diplomatic smile. “We understand, truly. Mason’s still adjusting—”

“With all due respect, Mrs. Cameron,” he cut in, voice sharp, “your son isn’t adjusting. He’s… disrupting. Entirely.”

Rafe’s brow twitched. “What’d he do this time?”

The principal pulled out a folder—a thick one—and slid it onto the desk with the flair of a magician about to pull out a snake.

“Today,” he began, “he tampered with the science lab’s compounds, initiated an unauthorized experiment that caused a minor explosion, ruined a very expensive microscope, and—”

“It was a reaction!” Mason chimed in, eyes wide. “It was controlled.”

“—and,” the principal said pointedly, “he distracted the two top students in the grade—Cassandra and Melanie—with whatever he was doing. They’re falling behind now.”

Rafe lifted a brow. “He distracted both of them? At the same time?”

Catherine elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“He’s only in fourth grade, Mr. Cameron,” the principal hissed. “He doesn’t take anything seriously. He treats the class like a playground. Whatever he touches, he ruins.”

“That’s a little dramatic,” Catherine said calmly, though her posture had stiffened.

“Oh really?” The principal arched a brow. “Last week he hot-wired a drone, flew it through the math class, and shouted “Viva la revolution” through the intercom system.”

Rafe turned toward Mason slowly. “Did you?”

Mason gave a half-smile. “It was educational…”

The principal looked at them like they were insane.

“Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, your son is… not stupid. But if he doesn’t learn discipline, I’m afraid we’ll have to consider other arrangements for his education.”

Catherine blinked. “Are you suggesting—?”

“I’m suggesting that if this pattern continues,” the principal said, standing up, “Kildare High and Secondary may not be the proper environment for your son’s… creative impulses.”

Silence settled. Catherine looked at Rafe, calm on the outside, but her hand was white-knuckling her purse. Rafe tilted his head, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he stood too, towering over the principal.

“Thanks for the chat,” he said. “We’ll talk to him.”

“Please do.”

“Also,” Rafe added, eyes narrowing, “Expect a call from my assistant. I’ve been meaning to donate to the school’s funds for a while.”

Rafe’s hand brushed lightly against the small of Catherine’s back, a silent cue to get the hell out before he said something worse.

“Let’s go,” he muttered.

But Catherine didn’t move. Instead, her soft voice cut through the tension like a scalpel. “I think Mason deserves another chance.”

Rafe froze mid-step. “Catherine…”

She didn’t even glance at him—her full focus was on the principal. She was composed, almost warm, but there was something steel-edged in her tone. That quiet power she always held when she was making something very clear, in the most polite way possible.

“Mason may be a handful,” she said, crossing one leg over the other as she settled back into the chair, “but he’s smart. Smarter than the rest, actually. And yes, maybe he’s not as disciplined as his younger brother—yet. But that doesn’t mean he should be written off.”

The principal blinked, clearly not expecting her to dig in.

Rafe sighed hard through his nose and dropped back into the chair beside her like a man defeated. “Here we go,” he muttered under his breath.

Catherine ignored him.

“Bradley is already thriving here,” she went on. “And Mason can, too. He just needs the right guidance. Someone who’ll encourage his curiosity without punishing him for thinking outside the box. Have you thought about another teach—”

“Mason launched a frog into the ceiling tiles, Mrs. Cameron,” the principal said, voice tight.

“And the frog survived,” Mason piped up proudly.

“Not helping,” Rafe muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Catherine smiled, cool and unfazed. “We’re committed to helping Mason do better. But if Kildare High prides itself on developing exceptional students, then maybe it should be able to handle exceptional minds. Not just the ones who sit quietly and follow instructions.”

Rafe side-eyed her. Damn, he thought, a little more impressed with his wife each day.

The principal stared at her for a moment, jaw tight, before finally sighing. “Fine. But one more incident, and we’ll have to take disciplinary action.”

Catherine nodded graciously. “Understood.”

Mason beamed as the principal walked out of the room when his phone rang. Rafe leaned back in the chair and shook his head.

“Hope you know you just gave him license to do round six.”

Catherine finally turned to him, smiling sweetly. “Then maybe you should start helping him with his homework.”

Rafe let out a groan.

Mason fist-pumped behind them. “Viva la revolution,” he whispered.

Rafe shot him a glare. Catherine fought a smile.

The Camersons weren’t just raising hell. They were raising Mason. And that was a full-time job on its own.

Mason grinned. “Dad.”

“Let’s go,” Rafe muttered, hand brushing against Catherine’s lower back as they turned to leave.

⛅️

Rafe sat on the wooden bench in front of Kook Academy, one leg bouncing with impatience while Bradley sat beside him, calmly flipping through a science textbook like he was twice his age.

He ran a hand down his face, staring at the red bricks and sterile windows of the building he once swore he’d never return to. And yet, here he was—again—because his fourth grader couldn’t sit still in class. Catherine, ever the peacemaker, was still inside talking to teachers, trying to reason with people who clearly had it out for their kid.

Mason, meanwhile, was on the far side of the yard, his uniform disheveled, tie loosened like he was running a Wall Street firm and not sneaking juice boxes behind the bleachers.

That’s when Rafe heard them—voices from the fence behind him. Teenagers. Loud, hormonal, obnoxious.

“Yo, who’s the blonde? That your mom?” one snickered.

“Shit, I’d kill to be that Cameron kid right now,” another chimed in. “You seen her walk in? That dress?”

“She’s bad. Like bad bad,” a third said, dragging the words out with a whistle. “Like I’d totally tap that.”

Rafe’s jaw tensed. He turned his head just slightly, eyes narrowing as he clocked the group of high schoolers leaning casually against the fence, passing around some soda cans and gawking like they were at a damn zoo.

“Me too, dude. Fuckin’ MILF,” one muttered. “Bet she’ll let me call her mommy and suck on those tits.”

“I’d risk it all to see those mommy milkers,” someone else said with a laugh.

Bradley blinked up at Rafe. “Are they talking about Mom?”

Rafe stood up, slow and deliberate, cracking his knuckles. The teens didn’t notice at first. Not until Rafe crossed the sidewalk and stopped at the edge of the fence, hands in his pockets.

“What’s up, gentlemen?” he asked, tone flat but dangerous.

The boys went quiet instantly.

“You like running your mouths about people’s wives?” Rafe tilted his head, smile cold. “’Cause I can help you run laps around the nurse’s office if you want.”

“Uh—nah, man, we were just—”

“Appreciating,” another added, backing up. “No disrespect.”

Rafe took a step forward, voice low. “I used to go to this school. Ask your dads. Find out how many of them tried the same crap and walked out with a nose that still pointed straight.”

The boys mumbled apologies and scrambled off like pigeons chased off a sidewalk.

Rafe exhaled slowly and walked back to the bench, sitting down just as Catherine emerged from the building, smiling, Mason’s backpack in hand.

“Everything sorted?” he asked casually, even as his pulse was still ticking from the confrontation.

"Well," Catherine began, adjusting the backpack under her arm, "Mrs. Wood and Mrs. Johnson think Mason is adorable and full of potential, but that old science sk—"

She caught herself mid-word and glanced at Bradley beside them.

“Brad, baby,” she said sweetly, “be a good boy and fetch your brother, will you?”

“Yes, Mom.” Bradley closed his textbook obediently and walked off toward the jungle gym where Mason was still holding court like a miniature CEO.

Catherine waited until he was out of earshot, then leaned in and hissed, “But that old science skank is such a bitch.”

Rafe snorted, almost choked on his own breath. “Jesus, Cath.”

“I mean it.” She turned to face him fully. “She said Mason was ‘experimenting too much with different solutions.’ Isn’t that the whole point of a science class?”

“He’s not making meth, is he?” Rafe asked, one brow raised.

“No! It was baking soda and food dye. And she said it like he’d set off a pipe bomb.”

Rafe chuckled, sliding his arm around her waist before tugging her gently down to sit over his lap on the bench.

“Rafe,” Catherine hissed under her breath, glancing around. “We’re at school.”

He grinned against her shoulder, hands planted firmly on her hips. “We’ve done worse things than this,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Remember the janitor’s closet? Or how we met?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, and I also remember detention for a week because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“Worth it.” His hand squeezed her thigh as his eyes flicked up—catching the same trio of teenage boys walking past the school yard fence again. Two of them turned to get a final look at Catherine. The third stared down at his shoes like he'd just remembered the concept of shame.

“Can he even keep it hard?” one of them smirked, “Like, I can’t keep it soft when she’s around.”

Catherine stiffened a little in Rafe’s lap, and he felt it. He kept his mouth shut, jaw tight, but his grip on her leg subtly shifted—protective and possessive. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

“They’re kids,” Catherine muttered, sensing his tension. “Hormones and bad parenting.”

“Still,” Rafe said, voice flat. “They look at you like that again and I swear to God—”

“Rafe.” She turned her head toward him, one brow lifted. “You gonna get banned from the school for fighting fourteen-year-olds?”

“Maybe,” he muttered. “Principal already hates me anyway.”

Catherine laughed under her breath, brushing her lips against his jaw. “You’re ridiculous.”

Rafe stopped himself from saying anything else the moment he saw Bradley and Mason making their way across the lawn toward them. Bradley held his textbook like it was an artifact, and Mason, still with his tie slung around his neck like a dishrag, had his usual devil-may-care grin on. Catherine stood up quickly, smoothing her dress and schooling her face back into serious mom mode. Rafe followed, sliding his arm around her waist as they waited for the boys to catch up.

“Mason, you’re grounded,” Catherine said instantly as they walked toward the Range Rover. “No video games, no TV, and definitely no more experiments in the living room.”

“Mom, it wasn’t even that bad—”

“Baking soda and food dye all over the poor girls,” she snapped, unlocking the car. “I’d call that bad.”

Rafe tried not to laugh, opening the door for the boys. He was proud, in a twisted way. Mason’s chaos felt oddly familiar. Catherine leaned in to make sure their seatbelts were fastened while Rafe rounded to the driver’s seat.

Just as she was about to close the door, Bradley looked up and asked, “Mom, what’s a MILF? We haven’t learned that abbreviation yet.”

Catherine froze. Rafe blinked.

“You don’t wanna know,” Mason mumbled, already sliding into his seat. “Trust me.”

Rafe raised his brows, glancing at Mason through the rearview mirror. “How do you know what it means?”

Mason shrugged. “I heard it at recess. Justin said it about some YouTuber’s mom and I think dad used it about you when he spoke to uncle Topper.”

Catherine slowly turned her head toward Rafe, narrowing her eyes. “This is your influence.”

“My influence? What—? I’ve never said that word around them,” Rafe said, gripping the steering wheel. “Besides, it’s technically a compliment.”

“To who?”

“To you,” he muttered under his breath.

Catherine gasped, smacked his arm, and then turned to Bradley with a calm mom smile that was just a little too wide. “Baby, it’s… it’s not school appropriate. And we’ll talk about it later.”

“Can I Google it?”

“Absolutely not,” both parents said in unison.

Mason snorted from the back seat.

Catherine sighed as she buckled in, muttering to herself, “This is why I should’ve just homeschooled them.”

Rafe leaned over, whispering with a grin, “But then no one would be calling you a MIL—ow!” He winced as she jabbed her elbow into his ribs.

“Drive, Rafe.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

☁️

Catherine stood in front of the bathroom counter, gently massaging her moisturizer into her cheekbones, silk gown loose around her shoulders and slipping off just enough to tease. The warm light of the sconces bathed her face in gold, and she looked almost too serene for the day they had. Meanwhile, in the mirror’s reflection, Rafe stood at the sink, aggressively brushing his teeth like he was ready to knock someone out with the toothbrush itself.

“Can’t even keep it hard,” he muttered through the foam, spitting into the sink. “What the fuck does that even mean? I’m thirty-one, not seventy.”

Catherine didn’t look over. “You’re still thinking about those boys?”

Rafe rinsed his mouth out, wiped his face with the towel, and leaned forward against the sink. “They actually think I can’t satisfy you. That they could do it better.” He looked at her through the mirror. “Little pimply-faced losers who’ve never even touched a tit without apologizing after.”

Catherine gave a soft, amused exhale. “Aw. You feel threatened by a couple of teenage boys?”

“Threatened?” Rafe scoffed, stepping behind her. His hands slid to her hips as he bent down, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m insulted.”

“They don’t know anything, baby.”

“They don’t need to know. They just need to shut the fuck up.”

Catherine smirked, taking her time applying eye cream while Rafe’s hands slipped up the sides of her gown. “You know you’re overthinking it. I don’t want some dumb kid who probably thinks missionary is an advanced move.”

He let out a dark laugh. “You better don’t.”

“I want the man who gave me four kids, two stretch marks, and a sprained ankle from last weekend,” she whispered, leaning back into him. “The one who can make me come in under five minutes and has me begging for a break after round two.”

Rafe groaned into her neck. “Keep talking like that and I’ll remind you exactly why those kids couldn’t even dream of touching you.”

“Good,” Catherine smirked, finally turning around to meet his eyes. “Show me.”

Rafe’s hands tightened on Catherine’s hips, pulling her flush against him. The cool marble of the bathroom counter pressed behind her, but all she felt was the heat radiating from him.

“Those little fuckers don’t get to look at my wife like that,” Rafe growled low in her ear, his breath hot and rough as he nipped her earlobe. “They don’t get to feel this.” His hands slid beneath the silk, fingers grazing the bare skin of her waist, tugging the gown up just enough to reveal the curve of her ass.

Catherine’s breath hitched. “Mmm, jealous, baby?”

“Fuck yeah,” he said, lips trailing down her neck to her collarbone. “Jealous that I get all of you, and they get nothing but whispers.”

Her nails scraped lightly down his chest, voice dripping with mock innocence. “Maybe they want to watch.”

Rafe’s teeth flashed in a grin. “I’ll take their dumb eyes out.”

Before she could reply, he spun her around, pressing her back against the cold sink. His hands roamed possessively, squeezing the swell of her breasts through the thin silk.

“Look at you,” he snarled, voice rough with need. “So fucking beautiful I can’t keep my hands off you.”

He kissed her hard, tongue slipping between her lips, and then his mouth moved lower—tracing a scorching path down her neck, to the swell of her chest.

Catherine moaned as his teeth grazed her nipple through the fabric. “Rafe—”

“Shhh,” he husked, tugging the gown fully off one shoulder, then the other. “I’m not done.”

His fingers found her pussy, teasing the slick heat trough the nightgown. “You think those boys could ever make you this wet?”

“No,” she breathed, hips already arching into his touch.

He didn’t wait. His fingers slid inside her, curling deep, stretching her open as his mouth closed over her other breast.

“Say it,” he growled, “Say I’m the only one who gets this.”

“You’re the only one, baby,” she gasped, voice shaking with need.

Rafe’s zipper hit the floor with a clink as he freed himself, pressing hard against her thigh. “Good girl.”

With a growl, he pushed inside her—slow, deep—and she gasped, pressing her body hard against his. The bathroom mirror caught every curve, every shudder, every slick sound of skin sliding on skin.

“Feel that, baby?” he hissed. “Feel how fucking perfect you are for me.”

“Fuck me,” she begged, voice trembling.

He didn’t need to be told twice, he sat her on the counter. Rafe set a brutal pace, hips snapping hard against hers, hands gripping her waist like he was trying to keep her from slipping away.

“You’re mine,” he snarled between thrusts, “And those little fuckers? They can’t even dream about touching you.”

Catherine’s nails raked down his back, her voice rough with pleasure. “You’re crazy, I’m already yours, baby.”

Rafe’s mouth found hers in a wet kiss, fingers tightening as he fucked her harder, faster, the mirror fogging up with their heat and sweat and want.

“Say it again,” he demanded breathlessly. “Say it.”

She gasped, voice barely a whisper. “I’m yours. Always.”

“Good,” he growled. “Because no one else is getting you.”

Her back arched sharply against the cold mirror, hands gripping Rafe’s biceps as he groaned deep and guttural. His eyes flicked between her face—eyes rolled back, mouth parted in a helpless gasp—and the slick heat where their bodies collided, skin slapping skin. He was so close, so fucking turned on by the way she was losing herself.

She was on the edge, about to shatter when a sharp knock on the bedroom door sliced through the heavy air.

Rafe didn’t slow down, pounding into her harder, desperate to push her over before Mason’s voice, “Mom!” could ruin everything. But Catherine’s firm hand on his chest stopped him mid-thrust.

“Answer it,” she said, voice still ragged with need but commanding.

Rafe groaned, reluctant, hips twitching, his cock still hard as steel. “Fuck, baby, can’t we—?”

“No,” she said, stepping away, silk gown falling messily around her.

He pulled his pants up with a frustrated growl, the ache between his legs throbbing, but he knew better than to argue. With one last look at her bare skin glistening in the mirror, he pushed open the bathroom door and walked out, closing it softly behind him, leaving Catherine standing there—breathless, wet, and craving more.

Rafe stared at himself in the mirror, shifting this way and that, trying to hide the stubborn hardness pressing against his pants. Nothing worked. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling in frustration before turning and walking to the door.

He cracked it open. “What?”

Mason stood there, eyes sharp and curious. “Where’s Mom?”

“Mom’s taking a shower,” Rafe said, forcing his voice to stay calm.

Mason frowned. “I don’t hear the water. Can I talk to her before she showers?”

Just then, the faint sound of water running started to fill the room. Rafe pointed toward the bathroom. “There. See? She just started.”

Mason hesitated, then nodded “Okay.”

Rafe leaned his shoulder against the door, glancing back toward the bathroom. He wanted nothing more than to slip back inside, press himself against Catherine, and finish what they’d started.

But Mason’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“I can’t sleep,” Mason complained, arms folded across his chest. “Bradley hogs all the covers and that light from his Kindle is too bright.”

Rafe took a slow breath. “Buddy, it’s late and your mom—”

“Dad,” Mason interrupted, “I’m the oldest. I should have my own room.”

Rafe fought the frustration flaring in his chest. He pressed a finger to the door. “Give it a rest for now, alright? Brad’s probably has a big test tomorrow and needs to study.”

Mason’s bottom lip jutted out. “That’s not fair. He’s fine. I just want my own room.”

Rafe softened his tone. “I get it. You’re growing up—”

“Too fast!” Mason blurted. “I don’t want to share a room with a third grader anymore.”

Rafe clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. His mind wasn’t on bedroom logistics—it was on Catherine, slick and glistening under the hot spray, her silk robe on the floor, her curves fogging up the glass. He swore he could still smell her skin on his fingers.

But Mason kept talking.

“The girls have their own rooms, why can’t we?” Mason whined again, arms flailing now for dramatic effect.

“Because Maisie is three, and no one wants to share a room with a toddler who talks in her sleep and wets the bed,” Rafe snapped, rubbing a hand down his face.

“And Lara throws tantrums,” Mason added helpfully, as if trying to build a case. “And she draws on the walls. I’m the oldest. I should have my own room. Not her— What about the guest room? Can I have it, I deserve it. Plus, it’s bigger.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes. “You’re not getting the guest room. You know who sleeps there when they’re in trouble? Me.”

Mason blinked. “You get grounded?”

“Because of you.”

They stood in silence for a second, Mason processing that his dad was apparently not above being sent to his room.

Rafe sighed, crouching to Mason’s eye level, though his patience was paper thin. “Look, bud, I get it. You want your own space, and I’ll think about it, talk to your mom. But tonight? You and Bradley are in the same room. Lights off. Kindle down. And if you bug me again, I’m making you sleep with Lara.”

Mason’s eyes widened with horror. “She kicks in her sleep.”

“Exactly.” Rafe smirked, standing back up and ruffling his son’s hair. “Now scram. I got… stuff to handle.”

Mason squinted. “Like what kind of stuff—”

“Grown-up stuff. The kind you’ll understand when you’re not asking to sleep alone every night.”

Mason mumbled something about unfair treatment but turned around and padded down the hall.

Rafe waited until his footsteps disappeared into the boys’ room before he exhaled and turned the knob to the master, ready to lose himself in Catherine all over again.

Rafe pushed the bathroom door open and stepped inside, already tugging his shirt off his shoulders. But the scene stopped him mid-movement.

Catherine sat on the edge of the tub, one hand delicately holding a glass jar of rose-colored salts, the other swirled into the rising water as the scent of lavender and sandalwood filled the steam-heavy air. Her silk robe had slipped open slightly, and the soft lighting made her skin glow. Her legs were crossed, her expression unreadable, somewhere between composed and quietly furious.

“Thought you were showering,” Rafe said lowly, still breathless from how badly he’d wanted her just minutes ago.

“I just did my skin care, Rafe. I’m not washing it off,” she replied, voice smooth as honey, not bothering to look up at him. “What happened?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Mason wanted to file a formal complaint about room arrangements. Said he deserves his own room because Brad is on his kindle.”

That made her lips twitch. “I don’t trust Mason alone in a room.”

Rafe stepped closer, kneeling down so he was eye-level with her, watching her pour the last of the salts into the tub before screwing the lid back on.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, reaching for the belt on her robe. “You looked too good standing there earlier. And then I had to argue with a fourth grader while I was still hard.”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Poor thing.”

“I should be the one soaking in this tub after the night I had,” he muttered, lips brushing the side of her knee.

“You didn’t have to run after a three year old because she was scared of peas.”

“I had high schoolers calling me a limp old man,” he gritted, kissing up her thigh. “They think I can’t satisfy my wife.”

“Mm.” Her fingers brushed through his hair. “I told you not to let them get in your head.”

Rafe smirked against her skin. “You know what would really clear my mind?”

She hummed, finally looking down at him. “Let me guess. Starts with an ‘f’, ends with me not getting in the tub?”

“No, actually.” He stood, pulling her by the waist so she stood too. “It starts with me showing you just how hard I still am—” he pressed her hand to his jeans, letting her feel exactly what he meant “—and ends with you screaming my name in the tub.”

Catherine didn’t argue. Instead, she pulled her robe off, stepped into the bath slowly, then turned over her shoulder. “Well?” she asked, water soaking up her legs. “You getting in or just planning to watch?”

Rafe undid his pants in seconds, stepping in after her, hands already reaching for her hips. “You know I’m not just gonna watch, baby. I’ve got something to prove.”

Rafe sat into the steaming water with a low grunt, the tub comically too small for his long legs, knees bent up slightly as he tried to stretch them out. Water sloshed over the sides, and he cursed under his breath. “Who the hell designs these tubs? This thing’s made for kids.”

Catherine just smirked, slipping a leg over his lap, then the other, straddling him slowly like she had all the time in the world. Her body slid against his wet skin, warm and soft, her thighs brushing the insides of his. The scent of lavender wrapped around them as the bathwater lapped up over her hips.

“Stop complaining,” she murmured, hands gliding up his chest before she settled fully on top of him, his cock pressing right up between them, thick and twitching under the water. “You’re exactly where you want to be.”

“Damn right I am,” Rafe muttered, gripping her hips tightly. “You’re gonna fuck me in this tiny-ass tub now, huh?”

Catherine rolled her hips against him just once, slow and teasing, her lips curving into a dangerous smile. “Well, you did miss your chance to finish earlier. I was being generous, waiting for you.”

“Oh, you’re generous?” Rafe said through a groan as she shifted again, grinding down a little harder this time. His head dropped back against the tub’s edge. “You’re cruel. That’s what you are.”

She leaned in, tongue dragging over his jaw before she nipped at his earlobe. “You said you had something to prove, didn’t you?”

“Still do,” he growled, hands roaming her slick back, water dripping down her spine. “Let me show you.”

But Catherine didn’t let him take control. Not yet. She kept her pace slow, grinding against him with infuriating control. Every rock of her hips had him gritting his teeth, his cock sliding between her folds under the water but not quite where he needed to be.

“You gonna beg?” she asked softly against his lips. “Make those teenagers proud, old man?”

Rafe growled into her mouth. “I’ll show you old.”

And then with one quick, rough movement, he lifted her just enough and slid inside her.

Catherine gasped sharply, nails digging into his shoulders, her back arching as the water rocked. “Rafe—”

“Feel that?” he whispered, grabbing her ass and slamming her down onto him again. “Still hard, baby. Still yours.”

She moaned, grinding down against him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, fucking up into her under the water now, slow and deep. “But I’m yours. Now ride me like you own me.”

Catherine pressed her forehead to his, trying to muffle the soft moans rising from her throat. The bathwater rippled quietly with every subtle movement between them, steam curling around their faces like a secret.

Rafe’s grip on her hips tightened as he guided her up and down, slow and deep, letting her weight sink down over him as he pushed up from below. Catherine’s hands braced on his shoulders, fingertips digging into his wet skin. She rocked her hips forward with each descent, their bodies meeting in perfect rhythm under the water.

“Shhh,” she whispered breathlessly, biting her lip to stay quiet. “The kids—”

“I know,” he gritted out, jaw clenched. “I’m tryin’, baby—God—just can’t help it when you feel like this.”

They moved together in a desperate, aching silence, broken only by the sound of water and quiet gasps against skin.

Her thighs trembled around him, his name caught in her throat as her body tensed. She came with a quiet cry into his neck, clinging to him, grinding down as he spilled into her moments after, his hands buried in her hair and his breath heavy in her ear.

Neither of them moved right away.

Catherine sat slumped against him, their chests heaving in unison, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as his hands gently rubbed up and down her back. Rafe was still inside her, softening, but not in any hurry to leave the warmth of her body or the moment.

She leaned back slightly and dipped a cloth into the lavender-scented water. “You’re a mess,” she murmured, starting to clean his chest, slow and tender. “All grumpy and jealous today.”

Rafe groaned, eyes closing as she rubbed the cloth over his collarbone, then up his neck. “You heard what they said.”

“I did. And Brad told me you scared the poor kids.”

“Good.” His voice was a low mutter, but she caught the smirk he tried to hide.

Catherine rinsed her hands again, now dragging them gently through his wet hair, fingers massaging his scalp. “You know I only ever look at you like that, right?”

Rafe opened his eyes, his arms still loosely locked around her waist. “Yeah. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to break all of their bones.”

“You’re lucky you’re good in bed,” she teased.

He laughed softly, voice rumbling against her chest. “Nah, I’m lucky you’re still into me at thirty-one.”

She smiled, brushing his hair back with her fingers. “Always, old man.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe obx #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron x catherine #rafe smut #rafe cameron x wife #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #husband!rafe

155 notes · View notes

lyn31 · 5 months ago

Text

Accident? 🐱😽

Summary:

When you grows cats ears and tails, how would you think your boyfriend react?

Notes:

This is a prompt from @chryssikyu I thought it was very cute, it still are but uh I might've gone overboard? Oops? Well hopefully it's still enjoyable ahahaha Pairing: Zayne x Reader/MC

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

It’s just like any other day. You’ve just finished your mission and returned home, standing in your kitchen, grabbing the leftover dinner Zayne made earlier. With food in hand, you hum to yourself as you walk toward the dining table, only to hear Zayne call your name. Then he appears at the door, holding a test tube.

“What is this?” he asks, his face as stoic as ever, but you can see a hint of concern. “Doesn’t look like something you should be bringing home, does it?”

"Ah." A closer look confirms it—you definitely shouldn’t have brought it home. “Where did you find it?” you ask, stretching your hand toward the tube.

Zayne doesn’t hand it over immediately. “In your jacket.” He tilts his head, waiting for an explanation.

“It’s nothing dangerous.”

At that, Zayne lifts an eyebrow.

“I mean, yeah, that shouldn’t have been in my pocket, but I have no idea how it got there.”

“Well, you do have a habit of pocketing anything in your hand.” You can hear the teasing tone in his voice.

You roll your eyes. “I do not!” But his teasing smile makes you pause. “Well… okay, sometimes. But not all the time! Either way, I should get that back to the lab. It’s supposed to help Hunter fight Wanderers, but it’s not quite a success yet.”

Zayne hums, waiting expectantly.

“I heard it’s nothing bad, though. The effect is reversible. The last guy who breathed in the fumes was fine after 24 hours.”

Zayne’s brow furrows. “24 hours? That’s a long effect. What exactly does it do?”

You shrug. “I didn’t hear that part.” You reach out again. “It’s better than most things their research usually—”

Zayne hesitates, his fingers tightening around the test tube before he finally exhales and hands it back to you.

“Alright. I’ll just put it in my pack and secure it properly.”

You take a step forward, but somehow, your foot catches, and—

Crash. The glass shatters against the floor.

Zayne reacts instantly, grabbing your arm and steadying you, his grip firm. But the damage is done. A faint wisp of blue smoke curls upward, and before you can even think to hold your breath, you inhale.

A sharp tickle burns through your nose. Your eyes water. Then—

Sneeze.

Zayne cups your face, his hands warm and steady. “Are you okay?”

You blink against the stinging sensation and rub your nose. “Ugh. All good,” you mutter between sneezes.

Zayne watches closely, scanning for any changes. When you sneeze, his hand steadies you before you even register the movement.

“We’re going to the lab, or the hospital.” His voice is firm, but his touch remains gentle, he slowly leads you forward.

“Ah, no, no, I’m fine.” You stop sneezing now and really do feel… normal. “Like I said, it should be fine. Even if something happens, it’ll go away. We don’t need to go.”

Zayne’s brow furrows further. “It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

But of course, you just shake your head. “No, really, I’ll tell you if I feel anything, alright? Besides, I want to eat.” You give him your best puppy-dog eyes, pleading.

Zayne scans your face, then your whole body, searching for any sign of distress. After a long moment of silence, he finally sighs, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Alright. Tell me if anything—and I mean anything—feels different, okay? Eat your meal. I’ll clean up.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead before turning to grab cleaning supplies.

With that settled, you return to the kitchen and start eating. After finishing, you wash your plate in the sink. You’re just about to look for Zayne when you feel an itch in your ears. You scratch them absentmindedly as you walk toward the living room. The more you touch them, the thicker and softer they feel beneath your fingers.

Zayne sits at his laptop, fingers tapping against the keys in steady rhythm. The soft glow of the screen casts shadows over his face. When he hears your footsteps, he barely glances up at first.

“Do you still feel—”

Then he really sees you.

His fingers freeze mid-keystroke, his grip tightening around the edge of his laptop before he slowly leans back, his gaze locked on you. His mouth parts slightly, but no words come out, as if his brain is still catching up with what he’s seeing..

“What?” You frown, rubbing your ears again. They still feel itchy, weird. “Something on my face?”

Zayne doesn’t answer immediately. He just stares.

That’s never a good sign.

You grab his phone from the coffee table, flipping it to the front camera as you sit next to him. The moment your reflection comes into view, you freeze.

“Oh shit—” You grimace. Slowly, you reach up, touching your ear, half-expecting them to disappear under your fingers. Your face hasn’t changed much, but your ears… they’re clearly different. They’ve turned into cat ears—white cat ears—starkly contrasting with your dark hair. You look at Zayne. He looks at you, he exhales slowly, measured. “…We’re going to the lab.”

Zayne starts to stand, but you grab his arm and pull him back down.

“No, wait! It’s fine. It’ll change back tomorrow!”

His frown deepens.

“Darling, listen.” His voice is soft as he gently touches your ears, making you shiver. “This is clearly not fine. We’re going back to the lab.”

“No, Zayne, really! I’ll just contact them, and you can ask them too, okay?” You really don’t want to get nagged about this. Handling it over the phone is a compromise. By tomorrow, when the effect wears off, hopefully the nagging will too.

You watch his expression shift—his jaw tightening, fingers tapping against his thigh as he debates whether to just carry you to the car anyway. But after a while, he exhales through his nose and sighs.

“Alright. Call away.”

So you call your colleague, report what happened, and let Zayne ask a million questions to make sure you’re really fine. After an hour, the matter is settled.

“See? All good, right?”

Zayne exhales softly, shaking his head. His face stays neutral, but you catch the subtle ease in his eyes—the quiet relief he won’t admit.

“All good, huh? Just don’t leave my sight, alright? We still don’t know for certain.” He kisses your lips—a quick, chaste kiss—before going back to his laptop, glancing at you briefly before returning to his work.

So, you grab the remote and turn on the TV. Truthfully, for the past hour, you’ve been feeling the same itch—not in your ears this time, but lower. And you have a pretty good idea of what’s happening.

And then you feel it. You flinch as an unfamiliar sensation prickles at the base of your spine. Your fingers twitch, reaching back—only to freeze the moment you feel it. Soft. Fluffy. Moving.

Your breath catches, and you shift in your seat, testing the strange new weight behind you. Zayne immediately notices, his eyes flicking to you before trailing downward. His gaze lingers for a moment, then slowly lifts back to your face.

“Well… they did say the tail would show up, right?” you say, voice uncertain as your fingers hesitantly brush over the unfamiliar appendage.

Zayne lets out a slow breath, his brow furrowing slightly. Without a word, he reaches out, resting one hand on your shoulder and the other over yours, stilling your movements. “Anything else feel weird? Any pain?” His grip is steady, grounding, his gaze locked onto yours as he searches for any sign of discomfort.

You shake your head.

After another moment of scrutiny, he gets up. When he returns, he has a blanket. Zayne wraps the blanket around you, his movements careful, deliberate. His fingers brush against your ears, barely lingering before he pulls away.

“Anything uncomfortable?” His voice is softer now, but the concern is still there.

You shake your head again.

He kisses the top of your head and heads to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he’s back with a cup of chamomile tea, setting it gently on the table in front of you before returning to his laptop.

You curl up with the tea, taking a sip. It tastes stronger than usual… or maybe your senses are sharper now. You refocus on the TV.

For a while, the sound of the TV and Zayne’s typing fills the room. You scratch your ears gently. It feels nice. Really nice. You remember how good it felt when Zayne did it earlier. You glance at him, still working, but… shouldn’t he be paying more attention to you?

Yes. Yes, he definitely should.

Feeling restless, you inch closer, nuzzling against his side, seeking his comfort.

Zayne glances at you, ruffling your hair, kissing the top of your head. But just as you start to enjoy his touch, he returns to his laptop.

Pouting, you move closer, pressing against his side, but when he doesn't react, you move with more intent—climbing into his lap, settling against him.

Zayne exhales lightly, amusement flickering in his eyes as his hands automatically move to steady you.

"And what exactly is this?"

Instead of answering, you nuzzle into his neck, arms draping around him. He hums, rubbing small circles into your back.

But then his hands return to his keyboard, and you frown.

Not acceptable.

So you shift, straddling him, tilting his chin up before kissing him—first softly, then trailing down his face, his neck.

“Darling,” His voice is teasing, “I’ll finish this in a bit, then I’ll play with you, alright?”

You shake your head at this, stopping your licking and clinging onto him. You take one of his hands and guide it to your tail. You hear his chuckle, and then he strokes it slowly, heeding your request. The moment his fingers brush your tail, a sharp jolt sparks through you—almost like static electricity. It feels really nice, like an itch finally being scratched.

“Hmm, this does feel like a real cat tail—”

You cut off his words with a sudden purr. The sound vibrates in your throat before you even realize it, and your eyes widen. Wait… did I just…?

His fingers twitch against your tail before going completely still. You feel the way Zayne stiffens when your purring starts—a sharp inhale, his fingers flexing against your hips before gripping tighter. His throat bobs, and for a moment, he doesn’t move, as if he's trying to gather himself.

A slow, teasing sway of your hips earns you a low, involuntary groan, his breath hot against your ear. He doesn't move, but the tension in his body is unmistakable but other than that he still doesn’t move.

“Zayne?” You pull your face from his neck, trying to look at him when suddenly, you’re pushed down onto the couch. Zayne is on top of you, caging you in on both sides.

“This is dangerous, don’t you think?” His voice is much, much lower now, sending a shiver through you.

Now that you can finally see his face, his hazel eyes are more intense, filled with desire that he’s still trying to restrain. The tips of his ears are red. You simply tilt your head at his question, nuzzling against his hand, holding onto it.

You hear him sigh. He touches your cheek, and you automatically lean into him, seeking his touch. So, he tilts your face up, forcing you to look at him.

“Are you aware of what you’re doing?”

“Of course I do?” What a strange question, you think. You’re definitely aware of what you’re doing—it’s not like you’re drunk. So, you keep nuzzling against his touch, holding his gaze.

His gaze flickers, like he’s calculating his choices again. Then, he kisses your forehead gently. Studying your face once more, he asks,

“What do you want, darling?”

His tone is so soft, the same as his expression, making your stomach flip-flop. You take his right hand and place it on your ears.

“Touch me, please,” you say softly, already closing your eyes as his hand makes contact.

And so, he does.

He strokes your ears gently, and you feel blissful—so nice, so relaxing. It feels really good. You find yourself leaning into his touch. He kisses the area just below your right ear, his lips warm against your skin. His hand continues stroking your left ear as he trails slow kisses upward.

You gasp when his lips reach your ear. He licks it, nibbling slightly, and the sensation makes you purr again—something you can’t seem to stop. You squirm beneath him, heat pooling in your stomach.

He chuckles softly against your skin, his warm breath sending more shivers down your spine. His fingers continue caressing your ear, slow and deliberate, as if testing just how much you can take.

“You’re really something else,” he murmurs, his tone laced with amusement and something deeper, something that makes your stomach tighten.

His fingers trail down, brushing along your jaw before tilting your chin up—slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment.

His hazel eyes bore into yours, dark and unreadable, as if weighing his next move. You hold his gaze, your breath unsteady, ears twitching under his touch.

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

“Zayne…” his name leaves your lips in a soft whisper, and that seems to be the last straw.

His breath ghosts over your skin before his lips press against your neck—slow and deliberate.

The contrast is dizzying—the heat of his mouth, the teasing stroke of his fingers against your ear. You shiver beneath him, your breath hitching as his lips travel lower, marking a slow, possessive path.

Then his fingers trace along your tail, and a warm pulse spreads through your spine, making your toes curl involuntarily. Your breath hitches, the sensation sparking deep in your core.

He notices.

Zayne's grip tightens, his palm gliding along the length of your tail with agonizing slowness. Your thighs instinctively press together, heat coiling low in your stomach. His voice, thick and rough, brushes against your skin. "That sensitive, huh?"

He strokes again, and this time a soft whimper escapes you, followed by another involuntary purr. His breath hitches, forehead pressing against your shoulder as he steadies himself before continuing. His teeth grazing the shell of your ear. His free hand presses against your lower back, keeping you exactly where he wants you, but he’s the one unraveling.

Your purring deepens, vibrating against his chest, and you feel his body tense even more. He lets out a ragged breath, his fingers twitching slightly. For a moment, he just lingers there, letting the sound wash over him.

“You keep making that sound,” his voice is rough, almost strained, “and I won’t be able to stop.”

You nuzzle against his touch again, silently asking for more, your tail curling slightly in his grip.

“Then don’t stop.”

He grunts, his fingers digging into your hips for half a second before he exhales sharply—then suddenly, you're flipped over. Your face is pressed against the couch now, your body pinned beneath him. His weight hovers over you, just enough to remind you how easily he could take control. His breath brushes against your ear as he leans in, voice thick with amusement and something darker.

“So, the kitty wants to play?” His voice is thick with amusement, but his eyes are dark with something else.

His words send a shiver down your spine, but before you can respond, his tongue flicks against your ear, slow and deliberate. His teeth graze the tip before he sucks lightly, making you gasp. One of his hands keeps him propped up so he doesn’t crush you, but the other? It slides back down to your tail, this time gripping, stroking with purpose.

A sharp jolt of pleasure runs through you, your body reacting before you can even process it. You arch against him, pressing your hips back, chasing more of that friction.

A strained chuckle escapes him, his breath hitching for a split second before he recovers. His grip on your tail tightens, his hips pressing forward, drawn to the heat of your movements. “Look at you…” His voice is lower now, rougher. His fingers flex, the pressure teasing, almost testing. “So sensitive here.”

His kisses trail down your neck, lingering, slow. He shifts, brushing your hair aside, exposing more skin. The moment his lips reach the back of your neck, he stills, his breath warm against you. Then, his mouth opens against your skin, tongue tracing slow circles before his teeth sink in just enough to make you squirm.

A deep sound rumbles in his chest at your reaction. He doesn’t stop, tracing a slow, burning path along your tattoo—licking, sucking, biting—as if branding himself into your skin. The sensation is overwhelming, a push and pull between heat and restraint, between teasing and claiming.

Your fingers find his free hand, gripping it tightly, nails digging into his skin as you writhe beneath him. You don’t even realize you’re pressing back against him again, your body moving on instinct. A low, guttural groan leaves his lips when he feels it—when he feels you.

“Impatient,” he murmurs, but his voice is different now—rough, strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. His hold on your tail shifts, fingers pressing in just enough to feel the way you twitch under his touch. He watches closely, taking in every reaction, his breath stalling for half a second before he strokes again, slower this time—almost like he’s testing both your limits and his own.

You catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye—his hazel eyes, dark and heavy-lidded. His breath uneven as he watches you, drinking in every movement, every sound you make. And yet, even now, he’s restraining himself.

“Stop teasing,” you whisper, breathless. “Touch me properly.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, but you can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten, the way his grip on you trembles just slightly. And then, his hand shifts, trailing down from your tail, following the curve of your body, stopping just short of where you need him most.

His lips brush against your ear as his voice drops lower. “You’re making this really hard for me.” His fingers press into your skin, his restraint slipping with every second. “You keep pushing me, and I don’t think you even realize it.”

He exhales sharply, his forehead dropping to your back. His fingers twitch against your waist before curling into a fist, knuckles pressing into the cushion beside you. Then, he shaking his head.

"I need a second," he mutters, his voice strained, like he’s barely keeping himself together.

He stills. The heat between you, thick and all-consuming, is nearly too much to bear. You shift beneath him, silently begging, but instead of giving in, he exhales, slow and controlled.

Then, his lips press against your shoulder—soft, lingering. His fingers, which had been tracing slow, burning lines along your skin, suddenly retreat.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” His voice is low, amused, and maddeningly composed.

You turn your head slightly, trying to catch his expression, but he only smile, his hands settling on your waist in a way that’s possessive yet withholding.

“Maybe I should make you wait a little longer,” he muses, his fingers brushing over your tail in a teasingly light touch that makes you shudder. “See how much you can take.”

Your breath hitches. “Zayne—”

He presses another kiss to your shoulder before shifting back slightly, as if deciding to draw this out just a little more.

His fingers trail lower, gliding down the curve of your back until they brush over the base of your tail. The touch is unhurried, intentional, and when you tense beneath him, he exhales softly—like he’s committing the reaction to memory.

"Still so sensitive," he murmurs, his voice quiet, almost thoughtful. His fingertips stroke over the spot again, this time with more intent, savoring the way your body shifts beneath his touch.

You shiver, pressing subtly into the sensation, but before you can move too much, his palm settles at the small of your back, keeping you in place. His other hand glides over your hip, his thumb smoothing slow circles into your skin.

"You wanted this," he says, his voice a deep hum, warm and steady. He leans forward slightly, his chest just barely brushing your back as his hand slides up your spine, fingertips tracing along the dip of it with aching slowness. "And now you're trembling for me."

His grip tightens—not rough, but firm, grounding you beneath him. Then his fingers drift lower, teasing along the inside of your thigh, never quite where you want them. The anticipation pulls tight between you, each second stretching unbearably.

"You always push," he says, his tone quieter now, almost indulgent as he watches you react to him. His fingers continue their slow path upward, lingering at the curve of your hip, never quite giving in. "But the moment I touch you like this…" His thumb skims higher, barely there. "You melt so easily."

His hand moves back to your tail, fingers tracing its base with the same aching slowness. The movement is tender, reverent even, as if he’s savoring every shift and sigh you give him in return. His other hand rests at your lower back, his touch warm, steadying.

He leans down, pressing the lightest kiss just below your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "You’re too easy to spoil," he murmurs, amusement lacing his words, though there's something softer beneath it.

Then, with one last slow caress over your tail, he chuckles, low and teasing. "I should keep you like this a little longer."

The words linger between you, a promise, a challenge—one that sends another shiver down your spine. But when he shifts forward again, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck this time, there's no mistaking the warmth in it, the quiet affection woven into his every touch.

Like he has no intention of letting you go just yet.

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

322 notes · View notes

celestialgalaxyglow · 2 months ago

Text

Batfam and Danny, Part 40

Jason and Roy's house in the Gotham suburbs

Jason: Thank you for agreeing to babysit Lian last minute guys.

Dick: Sure thing Jaylad, you and Roy go and enjoy your date.

Kori: What happened to Danny?

Roy: Danny had something urgent to do in the infinite Realms.

Jason: Now Lian behave for your uncle and aunt, ok?

Lian: Yes papa!

Kori: Has Lian had dinner yet?

Roy: Yes, if she wants she can have a snack before going to bed, but no sugar. If she has sugar she will not go to sleep.

Kori: Alright, Lian why don't you show me around the house?

Lian: Ok! Lian looked back at Roy and Jason. Bye dad, bya papa.

Roy: Good night sweetheart.

Jason: Good night princess.

Kori and Lian disappear into the house.

Dick: So you're "papa" now?

Jason: Shut up, when you become a dad you'll understand.

Roy: You and Kori talked about kids?

Dick (blushing): We both want kids, after we get married we will... start putting our energies to the effort. What about you two? Thought about having a kid together test tube style?

Jason: We've talked about.

Roy: Maybe in a year or so.

Dick: Oh poor Bruce will have so many grandchildren.

Roy: More robins to go around.

Jason: I fear for Alfred, he's going to have so many great-grandchildren.

Dick: Maybe even great-great-grandchildren. Alfred is only 54.

Roy: He's 54!?

Jason: Yeah he was 30 when... he became Bruce's guardian when Bruce was 10. So now 24 years later he's 54.

Roy: I thought he'd be older. Not saying Alfred looks old, he looks great, it's just the old-timey English butler aesthetic he gives.

Dick: Yeah, that fools a lot of people. But that enough, you two get going or you'll miss your reservation.

Roy: Right, thank you again.

Jason: Don't burn my house down.

Dick: No promises!

A few minutes later.

Kori: Jason and Roy have a beautiful home.

Dick: I can't wait to sign for our penthouse in Blüdhaven. Just a few more days and the deed to the apartment will belong to us.

Kori: Only downside is that we won't have a yard.

Dick: Once we have kids we can buy a small house in the Blüdhaven suburbs, we can have a yard there.

Kori: Ok!

Lian (looking at both of them): You both have a lot of hair.

Kori: That we do. Did you know your uncle grew out his hair for years and almost cut it above his ears?

Lian : What!? No!

Kori: That's what I said. His long hair is beautiful.

Dick: Yeah, your aunt convinced me to keep my hair long, and glad she did. I would have regrated cutting it.

Kori: Your dad also has long hair.

Lian: Not as long as yours. It only goes to his shoulders.

Kori (smiling while looking at Dick): Lian would you like to braid your uncle's hair?

Dick: What-

Lian: Yes!

Dick: I- Dick looks down at Lian, now bouncing up and down a little. Ok. Let's go the couch.

Dick sits down on the couch followed by Lian and Kori.

Dick (handing Lian a hair tie): Here you go.

Lian: Thank you.

Lian started to happy braid Dick's hair and tied it

Lian: Done!

Dick: Thank you Lian, it looks great.

Lian: You're welcome!

Kori: Lean would you like to watch a movie?

Lean: Yes!

Dick (getting up and looking at the DVDs): Jason and Roy have a lot of DVDs.

Kori: Physical media has merit to it!

Dick: True. What would you like to watch Lian?

Lian: Brave! Merida is an archer like dad, and rebel like papa!

Dick (smiling): Brave it is.

(Master Post)

Nightwing's long hair from Teen Titans 2003 has perfection

#dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc #jason todd #red hood #dick grayson #nightwing #kori anders #koriand'r #starfire #roy harper #arsenal #lian harper #jason x roy #dick x kory #danny fenton #danny phantom

193 notes · View notes

novemberheart · 11 months ago

Text

{overview} Johnny and Kyle take care of you…..you make a new friend

{warnings} fem reader, cursing, a/b/o dynamics, PRICEGHOST, SOAPGAZ, poly141, MDNI, oral- female receiving

Chapter 19 <- Chapter 20 -> Chapter 21

None of you wanted to spend hours in a car, especially with the boys and their long legs. They opted for a plane, causing you more nerves than you knew what to do with.

“Get over here,” Simon commanded, all of you spread out at the airport. Your eyes widened and you trotted over to him, breathing a sigh of relief when he sprayed you down with scent blockers. “I'm not sitting next to lemonhead the whole flight,” he tsked. You rolled your eyes, but relieved you wouldn't be stinking up the plane.

“Bon-Bon, I've got something for you,” Johnny smiled, patting the seat next to him. “You don't have to take one, but I think it'll help,” he explained. He pulled an off-brand over-the-counter stress reliever pack.

“Did you take one?” you questioned softly. You've always been wary of drugs, even when you’re hurt you hold off taking aspirin as long as possible.

“Not today, flying doesn't bother me too much. I take them to help me sleep sometimes, or calm down when I get in my head a little too much,” he continued, causing you to frown.

“Does that happen a lot?” You questioned, the pounding in your heart giving you enough courage to hold your hand out. He popped a pill out placing it in your palm.

“It's meltaway,” he explained quickly. You popped it on your tongue and it melted instantly, even though your mouth was dry. “Happens here and there. Happens to all of us, yeah?” He smiled reassuringly.

“Guess that's true,” you sighed. “If you ever need to get your mind off of something, I can always help,” you whispered the last part in his ear and you giggled when you felt him smile against your cheek.

“I'll have to take you up on that,” he whispered back. You jumped when you felt his teeth graze your earlobe.

“Johnny,” you swatted.

“Alright, lovebirds. Not that you heard but it's time for us to board,” John chuckled, eyeing the both of you.

You were content in your middle seat. Johnny urged you to sit in the window seat, but you didn't want to be reminded you were soaring through the sky in a tube. Johnny sat in the window seat, you in the middle and Simon on the end seat so he could stretch his legs. John and Kyle were a few rows behind you, and you would periodically sit up in your seat to look back at them. The medicine seemed to help, although it could just be a placebo. Regardless, you felt safe between Johnny and Simon. You rested your head against Johnny’s shoulder, his hand finding it home on your knee, fiddling with the fabric of your tights. Simon had his arms crossed over his chest, looking imposing as always. He needed a chill pill.

You had been thinking a lot about what John had said to you last night.

“Your heats comin’ up in a few weeks.”

You couldn't deny that it had been looming over your head, especially with how excitable you had been lately. Your heats have always been irregular. They followed the basic timeline of every eight weeks, but sometimes they would skip over, or be a week late or early. You had multiple tests done and doctors concluded that it was just because your hormones were out of whack from not being in a pack for so long. You wondered if that was true. If it was, how long would it take for you to even out? Did you need to be marked? Or just bonded? You had definitely bonded with them. If the timeline was correct then you would have about one week left from your last heat.

That timeline was for more than just your heats, though. It also was a timeline for your relationships. You wanted John to help you with your heats, you felt more than comfortable enough with him and you were overwhelmingly attracted to him. You also wouldn't mind if Kyle or Johnny decided to step in either.

There was one person you weren't entirely sure about yet.

Simon.

It wasn't that you weren’t attracted to him. You just didn't feel entirely comfortable with him in that way yet. While you two had your own interactions and bonding times, there was just something missing. He treated you like a friend more than an omega. Actually, he treated you like you were an annoying child who he was stuck babysitting. The rest of them had courted you, complimented you, and made you feel like you were the most important thing in the world to them. Simon had hardly done any of that.

There was also all the fighting that had gone on between the two of you. And all those things he said about you that night when you overheard him talking to Johnny. You know you should get over it, you thought you had, but sometimes when your room was too quiet you could hear those words echo throughout it.

You could only imagine how upset he would be if you admitted any of that. How hurt he would be if you said you weren't comfortable enough with him yet. Maybe you should just wait till you feel comfortable enough with him before having any of them help with your heats.

Yet the thought of waiting any longer to be with them, especially John, felt nearly tortuous.

You didn't want to hurt Simon though.

Seems like the best choice was just to wait.

Who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky eough to have your heat skip again.

Kyle was able to talk Johnny into booking an Airbnb in Inverness. If it was up to the Scot you five would be fighting for your lives in the most rural area he could find. As long as it was in the Highlands, Johnny could be talked into it.

“I don't want to leave,” you sighed, already getting a sore neck with how often you were turning your head to look around.

“Good thing we just got here,” Kyle chuckled.

“Come on. Let's get settled inside then we could do some exploring,” John ushered you inside a beautiful stone house. Your stomach rumbled at the sound of exploring. “We’ll take care of that too,” he chuckled, your bag slung over his shoulder.

It had two bedrooms, both with a large bed and a bathroom. Simon and John took the bigger bedroom, with Kyle and Johnny taking the other one. You put all of your stuff with the alphas because it had the most room. Everyone knew you would be bouncing around, though.

It was already almost dinner time and you were starving, the only thing in your stomach was a blueberry muffin from the cafeteria before you had left. Simon pulled out a box of your favorite crackers from his duffle, tossing them to you. He must have swiped them from the kitchen before you left. You thanked him heavily, already digging in. It was just another example of how Simon worked.

He could be incredibly thoughtful when he wasn't frustrated with you.

At least that's how you saw it.

The truth was more complex than you knew.

It was one of those nights he couldn't fall asleep, no matter how hard he tried. His legs are restless and his heart beats a little too fast for a trained soldier like him. He pulled himself out of bed, heading through the bathroom, and slowly pushing John’s bedroom door open. He hoped you weren't in there tonight. The alpha grunted, the slightest creak in the door waking him up.

“You alright?” John croaked, his voice sending a shiver down Simon’s spine. He didn't say a word, pushing the alpha out from the middle of his own bed crawling under the sheets himself, groaning as the smell of you drifted off of them. “Somethin’ eatin’ you?” John yawned, rolling onto his stomach so he was draped over Simon’s back. It's what Simon needed. Grounding.

“It’s shite,” Simon brushed off.

“Course it is, it’s comin’ from you,” John chuckled. Simon grunted, bringing his elbow back to knock against the alpha. “Spit it out.”

“She”- he cut himself off with a sigh.

“It's me, Simon,” John reminded, his lips holding still against a scar on the other alpha's shoulder.

“She doesn't like me as much as she used to,” Simon grunted.

“She didn't know you then.”

“Thanks, John,” Simon huffed, making the captain chuckle.

“I didn't mean it like that,” John sighed. “I mean to say, she's getting to know you now. You two are navigating a whole new relationship, and to be fair it has had its turbulence. In the beginning, she was just trying to not step on any toes or cross any boundaries. Now she's trying to work her way into the pack. Growin’ pains, Simon,” John explained. “You are both doing fine considering you've never been around an omega and she’s never had an alpha-let alone two.”

“You’ve hardly ever had an omega. Other than ones to help you through a rut,” Simon added. “You know what to do.”

“I was worried about it before she came. Wonderin’ if I could be a good alpha to her like she deserves. Then once she got here it just felt natural. You have instincts too, just allow them,” John spoke.

“Not like there's any room too,” Simon huffed.

“What's that supposed to mean?” John hummed, leaning on his elbow.

“You dogs are all over her all the time. Not like I could get a moment with her if I wanted to. Every time I think about doing something- one of you has already done it,” Simon explained. John supposes he has a point. You weren't high-maintenance and you were almost always smothered with attention.

“So do it anyway. No such thing as a too-spoiled omega.”

All of you went to a pub down the street for dinner. It felt so free being away from the base. Your pack was all yours without worry of being ushered to the ends of the earth.

You were situated between Kyle and John, just like back home. You trusted Johnny to pick you out something from the menu, as long as it didn't have eyeballs still on it when it came out of the kitchen.

“Steak for me and cullen skink for the girl,” Johnny winked over at you. You were half tempted to google it before the waitress left just in case.

“And what can I get you?” A waitress hummed to Simon. You didn't like the way she eyed him.

“Scotch pie,” he answered, eyeing her back. Not in the same way, this was to deter her.

“Mmmh, that's my favorite,” She smiled, turning to the rest of the table. “And for you?”

“Fix your face, lovie,” Kyle teased after she left. It was then you realized you were scowling at Simon. Well not at him, but at what just occurred. You could tell Simon was trying to bite back a smirk.

The waitress came back numerous times before the food was ready just to ‘check in.’ You could tell it was starting to bother Johnny too. It wasn't that Simon was just letting it happen, he was ignoring her, his eyes bouncing between you and Johnny. Regardless, he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it in the slightest. The final straw was her hand resting on his shoulder, causing everyone's chest to rumble with a warning. She quickly retracted it with a stuttered apology. You had a different waitress for the rest of the night.

It started off teasing and gentle. His lips ghosting over yours until you made a move to connect the space, only for him to pull back.

It's his fault really. Teasing you like that and then expecting you to just let him go after.

You pulled away, trying to get as much air in your lungs as possible. Kyle was relentless, his lips still attached to the corner of your mouth, making a path all the way down to your collarbone. Making out and breathing at the same time was still a skill you hadn't learned yet.

“Ky,” you breathed. He quickly reattached your lips with his, your body sinking further into the mattress from the force of it.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Johnny grunted, coming out of the bathroom. Kyle pulled away, looking over his shoulder at the Scot, who had nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. You were still panting under him, your lips red, eyes foggy. Kyle was in no better condition. Kyle winked at Johnny before turning his attention back to you. Your hands wrapping around the back of his neck, your heels digging into his lower back, desperate for him to be as close as possible.

You heard shuffling in the corner but your mind flew out the window when Kyle gently rolled his hips against yours. You gasped, your half-lidded eyes gazing up at Kyle. You bucked your hips, hoping to get an ounce of the friction.

“I got you, lovie,” Kyle whispered along with another roll of his hips. You heard Johnny curse again, the bed sinking under his weight.

“How mad do you think the alphas would be if we had a little taste?” Johnny murmured, his teeth grazing your shoulder. Kyle groaned, resulting in a whine escaping your throat.

“That's a good question,” Kyle hummed, mirroring Johnnys' actions on your other shoulder. You felt faint. “What do you think, love?” Kyle asked, making you shudder.

“Please,” you gasped. It was the only thing you could manage, still not entirely sure where this was going to lead. The tightness in your stomach was becoming painful. Kyle’s hands ran soothingly up and down your sides before dipping under your tank top.

“Tell us if you want us to stop any time,” Kyle assured. You could feel Johnny nod his head in agreement.

“Want you to feel comfortable, Bon,” he added. You agreed softly, your hands digging themselves into each of their shirts. Your tank top had been pulled above your chest, your hands leaving their shirts so Kyle could pull it off. You had no time to even think about being shy, your newly exposed skin being attacked by mouths and hands.

“So fucking soft,” Johnny growled. You were a lamb spread out for these hungry wolves. A tongue ran across your nipple making you jolt.

“So sensitive,” Kyle purred. “Anyone ever touched you like this?” he questioned, his hips twitching at the thought. You quickly shook your head, your eyes glossed over. They both growled, their teeth nipping at your skin to mark you as theirs. Their eyes met each other and a mutual understanding going straight over your head. The position suddenly changed, your back resting against Kyle’s chest, Johnny kissing between the valley of your breasts before stopping just above the waistband of your shorts. Kyle's hands rested on your inner thighs, keeping you spread so Johnny could fit his broad body between your legs. Johnny's dark eyes stared up at you for approval, his teeth pulling at your shorts. Your body was on fire, the scent in the room overwhelming. You nodded your head, your fingers running through his mohawk. He grinned his fingers curling in your shorts tugging them down quickly.

“Gentle,” Kyle growled, his hands maneuvering under the sides of your underwear. His thumb rubbing smooth circles on your hips to make up for Johnny’s actions.

“Says the one chewin’ a hole in her shoulder,” Johnny huffed back. Kyle smirked against your skin, placing a kiss against the red mark forming against you. You couldn't make eye contact with Johnny as he lowered himself between your thighs, pressing a kiss against your covered core. Your thighs twitched, and Kyle gripped them to keep them from slamming shut.

Not that Johnny would mind that. Johnny repeated his actions a few times before his tongue darted out. The fabric of your panties left you with little friction to ease the ache.

“Johnny, please,” you urged, rotating your hips slightly. Johnny groaned against you, the vibration going straight to your core.

“She asks so nicely,” Kyle complimented, beginning to pull down your underwear for you. Johnny agreed, tugging your underwear down the rest of the way.

“John’s going to love that,” Johnny smirked. You whined at the thought, your thighs starting to jerk shut again. You missed the way Johnny shoved your underwear in his pocket. “Fucking beautiful,” Johnny whispered to himself, his eyes falling over your body. “Missin’ out up there,” Johnny commented, his scruff rubbing against the inside of your thigh. His mouth was watering at this point and he made very little effort to hide it. The desire to please you is the only thing keeping his mind from shutting down.

Kyle grabbed behind your knees, pulling them up closer to your chest. The cold air chilling your core was quickly being replaced by Johnny’s desperate tongue. You squealed, your hands slapping over your mouth. They both chuckled, Johnny’s hands reaching up to tug at your wrists. He intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Kyle lulled, his hands rubbing up and down the insides of your thighs. “Already shaking,” he chuckled.

“It's too much,” you whimpered, your hands trying to push away at his face. He tightened his grip. You were being devoured. The sensation was already new to you, not to mention the passion behind it.

“Just relax, pretty. Let him make you feel good,” Kyle talked you through it. “You really want it to stop, just say stop.”

You ignored the feeling of Johnny's smirk against you. You tried to relax your body, giving up the little control you had against the two betas. Johnny switched the pattern of his tongue, causing a breathy moan to escape you.

“Do that again,” Kyle urged. Johnny was already one step ahead, the sensation making your eyes roll to the back of your head. It wasn't as overwhelming as his previous actions. It was just enough pleasure to make your body feel like it was floating, but not enough to make you want to scream. Your soft moans were timed with his mouth, the sounds making it harder for them to have self-restraint.

“How she taste?” Kyle asked, his hand gripping onto Johnny’s mohawk. He knew the Scot wouldn't separate his tongue from you even if the world was ending. Johnny groaned at the hand yanking him away.

“Like peaches just out of the oven,” Johnny said quickly, his tongue already darting out to catch another taste of you. He nipped your thighs, waiting not so patiently for Kyle to release his hair. He pushed Johnny’s face back against you, Johnny’s eyes rolling into the back of his head. “See what you do to us, love?” Kyle hummed.

You were close. Your whole body beginning to twitch, your moans mixing with breathy pants.

“That's it, baby,” Kyle groaned, taking every ounce of you in. “Fuckin’ beautiful,” He snarled, the grip on your thighs tightening. Every second felt like it would be your last, the pressure in your stomach building and building until suddenly it burst. The warmth in your stomach exploded, causing bliss to spread over every inch of your body. You couldn't even moan, or move, instead, your body stilled, before melting against Kyles. All of you were limp, your euphoria spreading to them even though they had yet to find a release themselves. The stillness left your body, the shakiness returning.

Johnny pressed a kiss against you one last time, mumbling something about ‘seeing her again soon’ before crawling his way up the both of you. They moved your body around, so everyone was under the covers. Johnny pressed a kiss against your cheek making you swat him away, feeling slowly returning to your body.

“Your face is wet,” you whined, rolling over to bury your face in Kyle's chest. You felt movement above you, pulling your head away only to see the two betas locked together, their tongues intertwined. You were too tired to care. As long as you were being cuddled you didn't care what they did.

“Tastes as good as we imagined, yeah?” Johnny chuckled. You heard Kyle agree, before falling asleep.

You were woken up by Kyle. You groaned, stretching your limbs as much as you could. You were a bit sore from all the twitching you did last night and you could still feel some wetness between your thighs. Johnny was purring next to you, strong arms wrapped around your waist. Your sleepy eyes peered up, locking eyes with Kyle. His gaze was soft and they held nothing but adoration in them.

“Morning, princess,” he whispered, making a snicker. The two betas did treat you like a princess, so the nickname was fitting.

“Go back to sleep,” Johnny croaked his grip on you tightening.

“Wanna go on a walk?” Kyle whispered. “It rained all night.” A sleepy smile spread across your face and you quickly nodded your head. Kyle unraveled Johnny's arms from you.

“Wanna come, Mac?” you questioned, pressing a kiss against his temple. His lips quirked, but he buried himself deeper in the bed.

“I'll keep the bed warm,” he yawned, already falling back asleep. Kyle grabbed your tank top off the floor, putting it over your head for you.

“So beautiful,” he murmured again, making you flush. No one had ever spoken to you with such sincerity. You luckily had the instinct to put your toothbrush in their bathroom last night. You couldn't imagine creeping into the alpha room after all the ruckus you caused last night. You're actually not sure if you could ever look them in the eye again. Not that you had done anything wrong…it…just felt awkward. You grabbed your shorts off the floor tugging them on.

You couldn't find your panties.

When you came out of the bathroom Kyle was already dressed in joggers, a sweatshirt, and a vest.

All your clothes were in the alpha room. Fuck.

“What's with the face?” Kyle hummed, pulling you between his knees.

“I don't want to go in there,” you muttered. Kyle cinched his brows before the realization hit him.

“This have anything to do with the little show you put on last night?” he smirked, making you flush even brighter. “Relax, lovie. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about. I can go grab some clothes if you aren't ready, though.”

“Thanks, KyKy!” you cheered.

As soon as he opened the door pillows were thrown at him. He caught them with ease, tossing them back on the bed. He cleared his throat at the heavy scent of alpha musk. Your room wasn't the only one that was busy last night.

“She’s with the two of you for one bloody night,” John growled. Kyle chuckled, opening a window. It was a good thing you didn't come in. You probably would've passed out.

“Best night of our lives,” Kyle tsked, watching the way both the alphas' faces curled. They were jealous. Not because of what happened, but because they hadn't been able to watch. Instead, they were confined to their room, only being able to listen. Using their imagination to pretend the bulky body under them was smaller, softer and sweeter.

“Come here,” John commanded. Kyle plopped a pair of your leggings on the bed, only for John to grab his collar pressing his nose against his neck.

“Good right?” Kyle chuckled, squirming his way out of the alpha's grip.

“She taste that sweet?” John hummed, stretching out, his muscles cracking.

“Sweeter,” Kyle smirked, shutting the bedroom door behind him, getting too much enjoyment from the groans on the other side of it. “Here you are, lovie,” Kyle smiled, passing you your clothes. He was all too pleased with himself.

“There’s a farm that has a petting zoo,” Kyle hummed, swinging both your hands back and forth.

“Really?!”

“They sell baked goods too,” he winked.

“God, you know me so well,” you sighed, shuffling closer to him. The earth was wet and clean, the feeling sinking deep into your bones. The clear air made you think. Made you think about something you've wanted to say for a while, specifically to Kyle. “Kyle, there's something I have to tell you,” you said slowly. “You don't have to comment on it, but I need to get it off my chest.”

“Alright,” he agreed cautiously.

“I love you,” you said it all in one breath.

“Oh thank god,” he said, relieved. “Would be weird if it was just one-sided, yeah?” he smiled at you. “I love you too, sweetheart. Very much.” he whispered the last part, bringing your hand to his lips kissing your knuckles.

You and Kyle were acting like true tourists. Stopping to take pictures with anything you deemed to be ‘exotic.’ The petting zoo was the most fun. You got to feed the animals and you even took a selfie with a sheep that looked like Johnny. It was sent to the boys group chat and Johnny quickly made it his wallpaper.

“Look! Puppies!” you grinned pulling Kyle over to the large pen.

“Lookin’ to adopt?” An older woman in a rocking chair asked. She had overalls on, a few chickens pecking at the ground around her feet, knitting needles in hand. You made a mental note to be like her when you grew up.

“Sadly no,” you replied softly with a smile. The excited bunch ran around the pen, stumbling over each other. Except for one in the very corner, halfway under a blanket.

“That's Peaches,” the woman sighed following your gaze. “She’s free.”

“Peaches?” you questioned mostly to yourself. “Why is she free?” you chimed.

“She’s deaf, not entirely sure she can see either. She doesn't move too much,” the woman frowned.

You frowned too, walking to the other side of the cage where she was.

“Hi, pretty girl,” you whispered, crouching down. Kyle was wincing already having a feeling where this was going. The puppy looked at you with her big black eyes, before moving towards you, her body staying low to the ground.

“Well look at that,” the woman chuckled.

“Do you have a blanket or something we can buy to wrap her in?” Kyle questioned already knowing you weren't going to leave that farm without her. At least it wasn't a sheep or chicken. Mission accomplished in his eyes.

Sorry, I didn't post when I said I would! This series is going by so fast! See you in two days for chapter 21! 🧡

759 notes · View notes

pearlywritings · 3 months ago

Note

Jiaoqiu with Ocarina (maybe with 2-3 kids)

guess who got carried away with the length on the very first fic...

Hide-and-Seek

pairing: Jiaoqiu x fem!foxian!reader

prompt: spending time with kids

word count: 1.5k+ words

~ The Music of the Night event ~

The house is quiet. Suspiciously quiet, if Jiaoqiu is being honest with himself. His big ears move, hearing strained to catch the tiniest rustle, a whisper of breath and maybe even a wildly beating heart, full of excitement.

The foxian cautiously moves from his spot in the kitchen, from where the little game has started, palm pressed to the counter until he reaches the doorframe. Gripping the wood with his clawed hand, the man turns his head from side to side, trying to detect any movement in the living room. His ear twitches and he inhales through the nose, sniffing the air. Hm, it seems like no one’s here.

Slowly crossing the room, a hand always gliding either the backrest of the furniture or finding the surface of the wall, Jiaoqiu walks out into the hallway, stopping close to the door frame again. His fingertips slide lower, catching the little horizontal scratches, and the pink-furred foxian smiles.

’Ah, they grow so quickly.’

He still remembers two tiny bundles, only minutes old and wailing, being passed into his arms, and one more was pressed close to your chest. Nowadays three little vixens start to display wonders of disguise, testing their skills and encouraging their dad to improve his own reactions and instinctual senses.

And is there a better game for that than hide-and-seek?

His next destination is the first-floor bathroom. Soft mat muffles his steps, as he walks in and takes a second to remember his surroundings. To the left should be the toilet, which means the vanity is to the right and the bath must be ahead of him- hm?

Instead of the bath tube’s edge, his fingers touch a curtain. Who closes the curtain if there is no one taking a bath?

The rings rattle against the metal bar when the man yanks back the fabric. He hears a hitch in breath, and slowly, almost menacingly, bends over the edge, face turned right to the insides of the bath. He must look either very funny right now or quite terrifying, he thinks.

A second passes, then five, then ten. With his eyes shut close, Jiaoqiu still seems to look right into the opponent’s soul, surely making them nervous.

“Well, well, it looks like I found yooouuu,” he finally sing-songs, and lowers his face further, sniffing the air again. His tail swishes in content. “Come on, little bay leaf, let's get you out of here.”

The bearer of the nickname - the youngest of the triplets, - lets out the breath she was holding and huffs in annoyance, uncurling from around her tail. Sitting up, she lifts her arms, making sure to touch her dad’s shoulders.

“This was too fast! Please say you didn't find me first!”

“Don't want to disappoint you, dear, but…” an amused grin tugs on his lips as she groans. He straightens up, lifting the girl in his arms, and she immediately wraps her limbs around his body. “Next time you decide to hide in the bathroom, don't replace things, namely the curtain.”

“I thought the additional cover wouldn't hurt…” she mutters, and he chuckles, kissing the top of her head.

They leave the bathroom together. His daughter clings to him and he needs only one hand to support her body against his. The other tightly grips the railing as he ascends the stairs to the second floor.

Next room he visits is so intimately familiar to him that he could put it on the same pedestal as the kitchen. Your shared bedroom. And sure enough he hears rustling from the bed when he walks in, and a moment later your voice graces his ears with its usual lovely lilt.

“Hi, beloved. Nice to see you too, baby.”

“Mom!” The young foxian in his arms twists around.

“She is waving at me,” you comment for your husband, and he nods, rearranging his hold on the girl.

“Thank you, darling. Do you mind if I leave her with you while I am searching for the other two?”

“Not at all! Give me my baby! I am making grabby motions with my hands by the way.”

Snorting, he makes exactly four steps to the foot of the bed and, gently grabbing his daughter’s sides, detaches her from his body and settles on the mattress. Giggling, she must be quickly crawling to you, because soon enough he hears smooching sounds and an exaggerated ‘mom, stoooooop’.

But as he is about to turn around and continue his search, something strange draws his attention back to the bed. He is supposed to sense the vitals of two (not counting him) people in the room. Then why is there definitely the third… His sharp senses can't be fooling him, right?

Hm, he'll let it slide for now. He was planning to join you once finished either way.

Jiaoqiu can hardly mask a smirk, when, stepping out into the hallway, his suspicions are proved by a quiet cheer of his other daughter and your rushed hush. Teamwork, huh? Tsk, tsk, how unfair.

Searching the second bathroom and the kids’ rooms appeared to be futile. His son is nowhere to be found, which isn't surprising - he's always been a bit more creative than his sisters. The healer still remembers the spiced chicken the boy tried to make - the connoisseur himself nearly teared up from the scorching mix- wait, spice?

To the best of his ability, Jiaoqiu hurries downstairs, through the living room and into the kitchen. His hand effortlessly finds the handle of the door to the storage room and yanks it open. Immediately the combined smell of all kinds of seasoning and dried herbs hits his nose and throws him off a little. If the boy has truly hidden inside, then that's some clever thinking. And quite reckless too.

Sniffing is pointless in a space like that, so the foxian can only strain his ears and fumble with his outstretched arms. The room is not that big, so typically it shouldn’t take too much time wandering around. But the man makes one circle, then one more, and on the fourth examination round with all the shelves patted upon and beneath, there seems to be no sign of his child.

And then he hears that. A tiny muffled sneeze somewhere above him. Above?

Jiaoqiu lifts his head, turning it from side to side. Everything from the top shelves was moved to the lower ones, so he could reach for anything he needed with a raised hand without utilising the ladder- Wait.

It takes half a minute to locate the set of bars, leaned against the wall. Sliding his palm up, the man almost has to stand on his tip toes, but it’s definitely worth it, as he soon touches the fur of a fluffy tail, successfully finding the cunning little fella who climbed all the way to the top shelf.

“Got you,” he muses, taking a step back. The next moment, however, the tone of his voice shifts to concern. “Are you alright, son? You are not feeling lightheaded, are you?”

Realizing that he’s really been caught and correctly indentified, the boy quickly climbs down the stairs and grabs his father’s hand, leading him out of the spice-filled room.

“I have a mask on!” He proudly declares, when Jiaoqiu closes the door. A light caress of the child’s cheek indeed confirms the boy’s words - he is wearing one of his father’s medical masks. When did he sneak it from his stocks, the healer wonders, hooking his finger under the rubber band, taking the surely soaked with breath a spice particles material off. “And I also had a wet cloth with me to wipe my face and nose from time to time.”

“It’s good to know that you are prudent,” Jiaoqiu sighs, rubbing his forehead. “And I admit, your hiding space is…creative, although it almost gave me some gray hairs. Promise me not to stay long in this room, alright? We wouldn’t want to cause you some respiratory complications.”

“I just wanted to mask my scent-” the boy falls silent when he sees his dad’s furrowed eyebrows. “Okay, I understood, dad, and I promise.”

“Good, and I believe you’ll keep it, little one. Now,” he claps his hand together, the frown gone as fast as it appeared, “go wash your face and hands, and better change clothes too. And while you're at it, I’ll go and get your sister from under her mother’s tail.”

“Wait, I am not the last one you found!?” His son gasps in disbelief and Jiaoqiu can only imagine the gobsmacked expression he is wearing. Oh, it must be priceless.

“Yes and no,” he smiles slyly, taking his small hand and tagging him to the exit of the kitchen. “Come on, the sooner you clean up, the sooner we all can cuddle.”

As the two go separate ways in the hallway - the boy heading to the bathroom and the man upstairs once again, - the foxian can’t help but hum a simple melody, thinking how lucky he is to have such a perky family.

#the music of the night event #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jiaoqiu x reader #jiaoqiu x fem!reader #hsr fluff

156 notes · View notes