#I would simply like to give all of them my time and attention | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cheapshrimpysheep · 21 hours ago

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True Feelings Chocolate - OB Students

SUMMARY: It is normal on Valentine's Day for friends or schoolmates to exchange chocolates with each other. However, the quality of the chocolate reveals how the person really sees you. And homemade chocolate is the greatest message of love that someone can receive on this day.

CHARACTERS: Overblot Students (Riddle Rosehearts / Leona Kingscholar / Azul Ashengrotto / Jamil Viper / Vil Schoenheit / Idia Shroud / Malleus Draconia) x Yuu (Reader)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Kiss

WORD COUNT: An average of 1.280 words per character.

COMMENTS: The number of words varies depending on how much the character is the type to hide his true feelings.

I also would like to be able to write more eloquent lines for characters like Malleus, but as English is not my first language this becomes a bit difficult sometimes.

(and yes, I'm thinking about doing this with other characters, maybe the freshmen, if a lot of people like and reblog this post.)

I hope you enjoy and Happy Valentine's Day 💝

REAL WORLD CONTEXT: You may already know this, but Valentine's Day in Japan is different than in Western countries. In Japan (from what I know and have researched) this day is not exclusively related to romantic love but also to friendship or simple connections between schoolmates or work colleagues.

Just like in the West, it is marked by the gifting of chocolate, but the quality of the chocolate differs: If it's a boss or colleague you're not friends with, they're usually cheaper, more common chocolates. The quality and even price of the chocolate increases according to the relationship with the person to whom it is offered. And a chocolate made by the person themselves is the most valuable of all and is usually, from what I understand, almost like a confession of love.

On Valentine's Day, it is women who offer chocolates to men, but in this case I just kept the logic of chocolates and excluded the gender thing.

Another thing is that since it is normal to give chocolates to friends as well, it becomes more discreet to give more special chocolates to a certain person and it doesn't draw attention to simply give chocolate to someone.

NOTE: Thaumarks would be the equivalent of US dollars.

The rules are clear: the quality of the chocolate represents the quality and importance of the relationship between the giver and the person to whom it is given. And a chocolate made by the giver is the most valuable of all. Which meant he could buy chocolates for his schoolmates, but not for you!

According to the rules and analyzing what he felt for you, your chocolate MUST be made by him and it had to be perfect! Or as close to perfection as he could get.

He has no shame, nor does he think twice before asking Trey for help. He had that smile of someone who wants to mess with him a little the entire time, but knows that wouldn't be a good idea... Okay, maybe just a little comment to see how he would react.

“So... homemade chocolate for (Y/N).” He said as they waited for the chocolate to melt and Riddle prepared the molds.

Riddle continued with what he was doing, but he had blushed a little.

“Those are the rules.” he replies. "The quality of the chocolate should represent how the giver sees the person to whom it is given.”

“I know. I just never thought I'd see you making this kind of chocolate so soon.”

Riddle did not respond, probably because he thought the same thing.

What Riddle didn't know, because it was supposed to be a surprise too, was that you were also making chocolates for him. You made chocolate dipped strawberries. Knowing that Strawberry Tarts are his favorite food, this seemed like the best choice for Valentine's Day chocolates. Once they were ready, you placed them in a red box that you had bought at Sam's Mystery Shop and finished by tying the box with a bow.

The next day, Valentine's Day, you are preparing the boxes of chocolates to give to the Heartslabyul boys when there is a knock on your door. You open it and find Riddle with his hands behind his back.

“Good morning, (Y/N). I believe you know what day it is today.”

You confirm and say that you were just preparing the chocolates to take to his dorm.

“Oh, that's a coincidence. Because I came here to offer you mine too.” He takes his hand from behind his back revealing a beautiful heart-shaped box with golden designs. “And...” in the other, a small bouquet of roses. He's blushing just a little bit

You take the box and the bouquet, and Riddle smiles when he sees your reaction. But before you open it, you remember and go to the bag where your chocolates were and take out his box and offer it to him. He wasn't surprised that you gave him chocolates, but he was a little when he saw that the box wasn't from any brand. You also take the opportunity to place the roses on the entrance table so you can open the box.

When you take the lid off you see several heart shaped chocolates with your favorite toppings, however, some of the hearts were a little bit crooked and some of the designs on the hearts seemed to have gone slightly wrong. You ask if he made them, unable to contain a small chuckle.

“Y-yes.” he sulks a little seeing you laugh. “I picked the ones that looked best... the first ones burned.”

You taste one of them and feel your favorite filling on your tongue. You say it's very good and Riddle can't contain that sweet smile of his.

“Truly? I... I am so glad!”

And then he remembers the box you gave him. He opens it and sees the chocolate covered strawberries. You say that since he liked strawberry tart so much you thought he would like them. He looks at the strawberries with a sparkle in his eyes, picks one up and tastes it before giving you a cute smile again.

“It's incredible how something so simple can taste so good.” he tells you “So... were they made by you too?” You confirm, but then he asks: “You... did you also make chocolates for the others?” he seemed ashamed to ask that.

You say no, that those were the only ones you made, all the others were bought.

“Really?!” he says smiling, but then immediately clears his throat to assume his usual posture again.

However, he realized what it means, that you felt the same way about him as he felt about you, and it made him chuckle. He holds your free hand, while the other still holds the box of chocolates, gets closer to you and kisses your cheek gently.

“You said you were preparing to go to Heartslabyul.” He tells you with a tender look, as if he can finally look at you the way he wants and you deserve. “Allow me to escort you there then. And I insist on helping you carry the boxes.”

He will take you to Heartslabyul with your arm intertwined with his like a gentleman, while his other arm carries the bag with the chocolates that you will offer to your friends.

Ace and Deuce will argue and compete because they both bought you the exact same box of chocolates that were your favorite. Cater bought you the cutest chocolates he could find and wanted to take a picture of the two boxes together, the one you gave him and the one he gave you. Trey says he wished he had made the chocolates himself but, you know, rules and possible misunderstandings to be avoided, so he ended up buying some chocolates that he also liked as a sort of sharing of favorites.

Regardless of whether you would get chocolates back or not, you bought chocolates for Jack and Ruggie, and you wanted to follow the "rules" and make the chocolates for Leona yourself. But what chocolate would he like? He loves meat, but this doesn't help much. Or maybe it does... you search on the internet for chocolates for meat lovers and see what you can find.

But you didn't find anything, or at least nothing that didn't also involve wine. However, you noticed that dark chocolate was the most used, if not the only one, so you decided to use it and make the famous, perhaps even cliché, heart-shaped chocolates. Once they're done, you put them in the yellow box you bought at the Mystery Shop.

On Valentine's Day, you prepare everything to go deliver the chocolates to Savanaclaw.

Of course Jack also bought you chocolates, your favorite ones by the way. He struggled to keep his tail still when he saw how happy you were and the chocolates you gave him.

Ruggie seemed... struggling to give you the chocolates he had bought for you. He would have liked to have bought the cheaper chocolate, but he didn't want to give you a chocolate that meant you were nothing to him. So he had to spend a little more money and that was what was hurting him. However, his pain was eased by your chocolates.

Leona wasn't with them, so he could only be in his room. You go there and knock on the door.

“What?” You hear Leona's voice on the other side.

You open the door and enter his room. It's no surprise to see him lying in bed as if he had just woken up from a nap. He looks at you with his hands behind his head and smirks.

“Oh, yeah, did you come here to deliver your friendship sweets?” he says mockingly.

“Actually, yes.” you answer, walk towards him and stretch out your arm, handing him the yellow box. “This one is for you.”

He glances sideways at the box for a second, but then lifts his torso and sits up on the bed. He picks up the box and opens it to find dark chocolate hearts. You tell him that you tried to find some kind of recipe with meat but didn't find much. However it seemed like dark chocolate was the best one to pair with meat so that's why you chose it.

“So, you're saying that you did these little things?” Leona picks up one of the chocolates with a smug grin on his face. “Let's see how you did then. I must remind you that my palate is quite delicate.” He takes a bite and seems to enjoy the chocolate, but doesn't say anything.

Instead, he puts the box on the bed, gets up and seems to walk away from you. But then you notice that he's walking over to a chair in the corner of the room covered in clothes. He lazily removes one of the pieces of clothing from the seat and reaches for the white box that was hidden underneath. He comes back and hands you the box.

“Good enough. Here's your prize.”

You take the box and look at it. It’s white with gold details, texture and embossing. It's also relatively heavy for a box of chocolate, and thick. You don't even recognize that brand. Leona laugh at your reaction.

“You've definitely never seen one of these.”

You can't open the box with only one hand, you had to put it on Leona's bed to be able to open it with both hands. He complained like you expected him to, but then he just sat there watching you open the box and see what was inside, while eating more of your chocolates like they were snacks.

You open it, and inside the white box there is a wooden box. You remove the wooden box and see another wooden thing, like a square plate, with a kind of small wooden tongs. Leona is amused by your reaction. You took this out of the white box too, underneath is a booklet, and underneath that, there's a brochure. And after that there finally seems to be nothing left to take out.

“If you're wondering which one is the chocolate, it's the wooden box.” He points to the first thing you took out of the box and take another chocolate of yours to eat.

You pick up the wooden box with a little golden square on the lid and opens it. You pick up a large square wrapped in gold paper. At the bottom of the box, in a smaller diamond-shaped hole with a single cocoa bean.

“That is chocolate.” Leona casually pointed to the large square wrapped in gold paper.

You decide to see what that wooden thing with the tongs was before that. You pick it up, take the tongs off the top and remove the paper it was holding, revealing a gold square with engravings and what looks like a wooden frame around it. You read the title on the sheet of paper: “Testing utensil and plate.” And realizes that these are basically instructions on how to taste the chocolate using tongs and putting it on the golden plate.

You finally decide to search for those chocolates on the internet and you only had to type the name of the brand to see that the first result was: ‘The most expensive chocolate in Twisted Wonderland’. You found that same box and discovered that it cost almost 500 thaumarks. Leona just laughs at your shocked face.

Before you could say anything, maybe even say that you couldn't accept a chocolate like that, Leona takes the golden square and unwraps it, revealing the chocolate, which by the color seems to be your favorite. He breaks one of the triangles that formed the square and places it in front of your lips.

“Go on.” He smirks. “Open your mouth and say what you wanted to say.”

You open your mouth, but instead of talking you take a bite of the chocolate, as he wanted you to do. And it's incredible! He puts the rest of that piece of chocolate on top of the golden plate.

Knowing that the handmade chocolates were an “I love you” message, Leona felt completely confident in doing what he did next. As you were standing, he also stood up, put one of his hands on your waist and pulled you against him to kiss you.

You already kind of knew that it was possible to receive some kind of chocolate from Azul. This tradition can also be seen as a way of strengthening ties or showing respect for colleagues. He would not miss the opportunity to be “generous” to certain people whom he may or may not have selected as people of interest.

But no matter what kind of chocolate he would give you, you wanted to follow the rules and make yourself his chocolate.

You weren't sure which type of chocolate he would like best, so you decided to make a few of each, some dark chocolate, some milk chocolate, and some white chocolate. ‘By chance’, Sam had some molds for sale that you could use to make chocolates in sea-themed shapes like shells, seahorses, starfish, crabs, etc. One of the molds was even of a cute little octopus. You also bought a beautiful lavender box to put the chocolates in.

The next day, Valentine's Day, you were preparing the chocolates to give to the Octavinelle boys when someone knocked on your door.

“Good morning, (Y/N).” Azul greets you with his charming smile and his hands behind his back. “Were you getting ready to go out? I hope I'm not taking up too much of your time. I'm sure you have a lot of chocolates to deliver today, knowing how many acquaintances you've made at this school. But let me be the first to present you.” He takes his hands from behind his back revealing a beautiful lavender box with the Mostro Lounge logo in silver.

He must have prepared several boxes of that for his... acquaintances (clients) as well. But you accept the box anyway and take the opportunity to give him yours. Azul doesn't seem too surprised that you give him chocolates too, but he is when he sees that there is no brand on the box. You open your boxes at the same time to see... the same chocolates, the exact same shapes.

“Have you also-” You two start saying at the same time and then stop when you realize you're talking over each other.

“The molds in Sam's mystery shop.” Azul continued with a sweet tone. “You bought them too. So... that means...”

“These chocolates.” You say. “Were they made by you?”

“Yes, they were!” He smiles proudly. “Please, go ahead to taste them. Tell me what you think.”

You can see he used your favorite type of chocolate. You pick up one of the chocolates, take a bite and discover that it has your favorite filling. He can see that you loved it by your face, but he wants to hear your words and you only increase his pride with them.

You then ask him to try your chocolates. You confess that you didn't really know which one would be his favorite so you made some of each type. This makes him chuckle.

“Don't worry, they all look delicious. Let's see if the same applies to the taste, shall we?” He smirks before taking one of the chocolates to his mouth and biting into it.

He looked surprisingly intrigued and you didn't know what that meant. So you ask him if there's something wrong with the chocolates.

“No, that's not it. Your chocolates are very simple, without any special filling or anything that improves the original flavor of the ready-made chocolate. So why...? Why does it taste so good if it's nothing special? Did you use something that my taste buds aren't detecting?”

It was wierd, Azul almost seemed insulted, like you were tricking him somehow. Or like he wanted to figure out the logical explanation for that flavor. You say you only followed a recipe and seeing that he seemed dissatisfied with this explanation you say that people say that something made with love tastes better.

“Don't be ridiculous." He says despite starting to blush a little. “Feelings do not change a well-made recipe or a cook's skills. It might make them lazier and less willing to do things properly." he says, clearly thinking of a certain someone. "But it doesn't suddenly make someone an extraordinary cook. That's not how it works. It doesn't make sense."

And then his subtle indignation gives way to a quite seductive smile.

“Maybe I should see how you do them to find out your secret. And in return, I can teach you how to make the fillings and stuff them. What do you think? Cooking together and teaching each other.” He gets closer to you and tilts your head with a gentle finger on your chin. “Doesn't that sound like a good deal, my dear?”

After this you tell him that you were preparing to go to Octavinelle to offer him, Jade and Floyd the chocolates. There was still the boxes to be delivered to the twins.

“Oh, I wonder what you got for them.”

You say that for Jade you found some mushroom-shaped chocolates and for Floyd you bought some that said they all had different flavors but didn't say which ones, you realized that it was one of those sweets that you only find out if you were lucky or not with the flavor after tasting it.

Azul's mood seemed to improve when you said you had bought the chocolates and not made them. He also highlighted your excellent ability to choose gifts and added that you could be an excellent... business colleague. He liked the idea of a special personal assistant. He will accompany you to Octavinelle and insist on carrying him your gifts.

Jade loved the chocolates you chose for him, although it's hard to be sure even with all those smooth talking praises. For you, he asked his parents to send him some special Coral Sea chocolates. Azul asks you to examine that box and doesn't even hide his distrust towards Jade, who appears theatrically sad. He recognizes those chocolates with the box still sealed and knows that there is nothing wrong with those, so he returns them to you with more peace of mind.

Floyd was a little put off at first because the chocolates looked boring, but he soon became interested when you told him about the surprise flavors. He tried one that he said tasted like octopus and started laughing with great amusement. For you he bought shrimp-shaped chocolates and commented something about finding it funny to see it as a kind of cannibalism.

Kalim would definitely give you chocolates, but you had no way of knowing if Jamil would do the same. You already know how reluctant he is to call someone a friend, let alone give someone chocolates, that is not out of pure politeness, on a day like Valentine's. But either way you wanted to follow the rules and offer him chocolates made by you.

You weren't sure which type of chocolate he would like best, so you decided to make a few of each, some dark chocolate, some milk chocolate, and some white chocolate. But you didn't want to make just boring chocolate hearts. However, you didn't know if there was any filling he liked with the chocolates, so at Sam's Mystery Shop you try to find at least pretty molds. And you found heart molds with beautiful line art. That, and a pretty dark red box with a golden bow.

The next day, Valentine's Day, you were preparing the boxes of chocolates to take to the Scarabia boys, but they were faster than you.

“GOOD MORNING (Y/N)!” Kalim greets you enthusiastically when you open the door after hearing the knock on it. “Happy Valentine's Day!” He stretches out his arms with a huge smile and a huge basket of chocolates. It even had a heart-shaped balloon tied to it.

You need both hands to pick up the basket. You try to tell him that he didn't need to offer you so much, in fact he didn't need to offer you anything, but all that...

“Don't worry. I love giving gifts to my friends! And it's okay if you can't eat them all before the expiration date, I'm sure Grim can help you with that. There's enough for both of you in there. Hahaha.”

“Or at least we hope it's enough for both of you.” Jamil comments behind him. “Be careful Grim doesn't steal them all from you. And I'm sure Kalim would love to spend a little more time with you, but he has to go deliver the rest chocolates.” He frowns wearily and helplessly.

You can only imagine how many chocolates someone who treats practically everyone as a friend has to give away. But you ask them to wait just one more minute. You put the basket on the table in the hallway, take the one of the chocolate boxes you were preparing to take with you and hand it to Kalim.

Just like the chocolates he gave you, yours were also bought, except the brand you bought was much cheaper. But none of that mattered to Kalim, he was thrilled just because you gave him chocolate at all. But then he remembers and looks back at Jamil.

“We’ll open them in the dorm.” Jamil says. “I'll just try one and you can eat the rest. I know (Y/N) is trustworthy.”

Kalim celebrates and thanks him for allowing him to eat the chocolates. You wait for them to turn their backs to call Jamil in a whisper that you knew he would hear and Kalim wouldn't. He turns as Kalim walks to the gate and you hand him the dark red box with the golden bow. He looks at the box in surprise, glances at Kalim and thought quickly. He takes the box and says: “I'll text you.” before he turns and walks towards Kalim with your box in his hands.

If you had given him that box while Kalim was looking, he would have been super curious and happy for Jamil, maybe even started saying that he should offer you a box too and ask about it. And you knew how much Jamil liked to be discreet and not draw Kalim's attention to his affairs.

You had time to go to all the other dorms and deliver your friendship chocolates before he sent you the messages:

“I'm sorry I didn't thank you for the chocolates when you gave them to me. We only just finished delivering Kalim's chocolates, and he went to the Pop Music Club. I wanted to ask you if there would be a possibility of you passing through Scarabia today? I would like to thank you properly.”

You say you can and he asks if it can be in an hour. You don't ask him why, even though you're asking that to yourself, but you say yes and the meeting is set.

At the agreed time you go to Scarabia and you don't even need to tell Jamil that you have arrived, he is already at the doors of the main building waiting for you. And as if that wasn't enough of a surprise, when you approach him he holds out his hand for you to place yours on top and he kisses the back of your hand. He has a charmingly confident smile on his face. He leads you like a gentleman through the dorm hallways.

“I apologize again for being so curt with you when you gave me the box.” He says as you walk with one of your arms intertwined with his. “You truly caught me off guard. I wanted to thank you at that moment, but I was so much more focused on being quick so that Kalim wouldn't... you know... intrude.” That was the least rude way of saying what he really wanted to say.

You ask him what happened after you gave him the chocolates. The box wasn't small, he wouldn't have been able to hide it from Kalim.

“What I expected.” he sighed. “Kalim started making questions right away. But don't worry, you made the right decision by handing me the box when he wasn't looking. I hope he didn't bother you about it though.”

No, Kalim didn't text or call you after that. Jamil discreetly whispered a "excellent" with a somewhat sinister smile. You ask him if he liked the chocolates and tell him that, since you didn't know which was his favorite chocolate, you decided to use them all. He gives you a slight smile.

“I can appreciate them all. When they're done well.” he smirked. “The shape was nice, probably because of the molds you used. The taste... was good enough.”

You look at him a little sadly, or maybe a little sullenly. He laughs.

“They were good.” he says more gently. “But I think you can do better.” The smug smile returns. “Maybe if I teach you a few things? Or if we cook together? I wouldn't mind that. I bet it would be... interesting to be your tutor.” He seems to like the idea, probably because of the hierarchy you would have (in addition to the one you already have).

You arrive at his room and he invites you to come in and sit on his bed.

“My roommate is also at a club meeting.” He explains, as he picks up a box, that didn't look like anything special, from his desk. “Here.” he gives you the box and sits next to you. “I thought about making you chocolates too.” He can't look you in the eyes and tries to hide the blush that was starting to appear on his cheeks. “But... I didn't want to give them to you without knowing... I made these when I got back to Scarabia, after Kalim had gone to the club meeting.” he points to the box on your lap. “I didn't have much time to get a nicer box, sorry.”

You open the box to find several heart-shaped chocolates made with your favorite type of chocolate. But the ones in the middle had letters that, the way they were arranged, formed the phrase “I love you too”.

“You bought the ones you gave to Kalim.” Jamil says, still reluctant to look you in the eyes. “And made the ones you gave me. That's what it means, isn't it? ...Try it.”

You do so and take one of the chocolate hearts, bite into it and discover that it has your favorite filling. As you expected, the flavor is divine and you say this to Jamil when he asks you what you thought of them.

“I haven't tried them yet after they're done. Can I steal one from you?”

You say yes, but instead of his hand going towards the box, it goes towards your face, holds your chin to turn your head towards him and he kisses you.

You knew you were screwed. Vil is demanding about everything and anything. But you also know he can still appreciate someone’s effort and dedication. Even if your chocolates don’t turn out perfectly, which is most likely the case, you know he’ll still be happy with your hard work and thoughtfulness.

Your real problems lie elsewhere: nutrition and healthy ingredients. Your best bet was dark chocolate, it’s the healthiest of all. But you couldn't just make boring plain chocolates, and making them in the shape of a heart wasn't enough. You search for healthy chocolate recipes for Valentine's Day and you find a recipe for dark chocolate with fruits and nuts.

It was a lot of work to remove the seeds from the kumquats, chop the almonds, dry the cherries and do everything as the recipe said, but eventually your heart-shaped chocolates with fruits and nuts were ready on time. You just had to buy the prettiest purple box you could find at Sam's Mystery Shop and a good red bow.

The next day, Valentine's Day, you took your chocolates to Pomefiore to deliver them.

Rook would be happy with any type of chocolate you give him. The simple fact that you give him a box or even just a bag on such a special day makes him beam with joy. And of course he also bought you a box of chocolates, your favorites, by the way. (Regardless of whether you told him which ones they were or not)

The best chocolates you can give Epel are the ones you know he likes but that Vil wouldn't let him eat. Even if Vil found out, it would be rude not to accept such a kind gift, so according to etiquette he would have to accept your gift. The two of you smile mischievously at each other. And yes, of course he also bought you chocolates. He asked his family to send special chocolates typical of Harveston just for you.

All that was left was to deliver the last box to Vil, but before you turned around to go to his room to see if he was there, he was kind enough to appear in the lounge at that moment. The way he walked towards you with his eyes fixed on you and that beautiful discreet smile made you feel like the most special person in the room.

You say he arrived just in time because you were about to go look for him, and you give him the pretty purple box with a red bow. He smiles in satisfaction and pick up the box.

“Well, I can't say I'm surprised to receive another box of chocolates today. And I see that this box is not of any brand. May I then assume that they were made by you?” His smile softens even more when you confirm, but even so he doesn't miss the opportunity to add a little smugness to it. “Well, let's see how you did then?”

Vil opens the box and is actually surprised by what he sees inside. He picks up one of the chocolate hearts and examines it.

“Dark chocolate.” He says in an approving tone. “I see almonds, dried cherries and... are those candied kumquats?” The fruits were what surprised him the most and he looks at you in such a neutrally curious way that you don't know whether he approved of those chocolates or not.

You tell him that you know how much he values his good nutrition, so you tried to find the healthiest Valentine's chocolate recipe, and that was the recipe you chose. You add that you followed the recipe to the letter as if defending yourself in case he doesn't like it, but at that moment you see his shoulders relax, the smile return and his eyes look at you with affection.

“You aren’t the first one to give me handmade chocolates.” he starts saying and looks at your chocolates in his hands. “But you are the first one who knows me well enough to know what I would actually like to receive. Except for Rook, but he's a strange exception. All the other boxes that arrived were of the sweetest and most caloric chocolates imaginable. I understand and appreciate the gesture but...” He looks back at you and gives you a small smile. “They don't really know me, do they?”

He takes a bite of your chocolate and looks serious about tasting it for seconds that feel like minutes to you. You ask how they are and if they taste good, he looks at you seriously and then starts laughing when he sees your worried face.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to mess with you a little. I would like to say that these chocolates are quite good, but to do so I have to add that they are, for the skills of someone who is not a professional cook. I don't think I've ever tried this kind of sweets before. Could you give me the recipe?” and even eats the rest of the chocolate he has in his hand, with an expression of clear delight.

Your instinct tells you that something is going on behind you. You look over and see Epel slightly uncomfortable with the way Rook is looking at you and Vil as if he was watching the most wonderful and touching romantic play in the history of theater. He doesn't say a word as if a single syllable could ruin the moment, and he looks like he wants to burst into tears with emotion.

You feel a gentle hand on the small of your back, you turn your head again and see that it is Vil pulling you slightly to invite you to go with him.

“I can imagine the work it took you to remove the seeds from these kumquats and candied them. Such thoughtfulness and well done hard work deserves a proper reward. Don't you think?”

His gaze alternates between looking at you sweetly and looking at Rook in a subtly threatening way, as if warning him not to snoop around. The same look could be given to any other student who looked at you with the same nosy curiosity.

Vil invites you to go with him to a place, you follow him and you arrive at the door of his room. He looks haughtily at the corridor and sees that no one followed you, or if they did they would be left behind in that same corridor. He invites you in, saying that he also has something for you. After he closes the door behind him, he goes to his desk and picks up a small, beautiful, heart-shaped golden box to give you.

“Seeing me enjoying your chocolates was a spectacle and proof enough of your value to the public.” he says referring to the other Pomefiore students who were in the lounge. “They don't deserve to witness more.”

He makes a gesture encouraging you to open the box and you do so. There were few chocolates, at least compared to the ones you gave him, but not only were they beautifully decorated, they were also made from your favorite type of chocolate. Even if your favorite is the least healthy of all. You look at him in surprise.

“Don't get used to it.” he warns you, raising a finger. “I did less on purpose so as not to be so detrimental to your nutrition.” he pokes your nose gently “This is a rare exception, you hear?”

Even though you know what his answer would be, you ask if he was the one who made them.

“Yes, they look astonishing professional, don't they?” He smiled with the greatest pride, before returning to his regular speech. “I also thought about preparing something nutritious, until I thought about what you would like to receive and not what I would like to give. If I did what I thought was best for you while neglecting your own tastes, it would not only be wrong but an insult. It would be the same as all those fans who offered me chocolates without knowing what I would like or even wanting to try. Those chocolates would convey the message that I like you but I want to mold you into the person I want you to be and that is both a lie and a blasphemy. I want to help you improve of course, but that doesn't mean I don't like who you are now. So I used your favorite chocolates and fillings regardless, but did it in small quantities. However, if you wake up tomorrow with a stomach ache because you ate them all, don't blame me, understood?”

If you hug him he will tell you to be careful so the chocolates don't fall out of the box, but he will hug you back, maybe just more delicately.

You taste one of the beautiful chocolates and they are delicious. The pride on Vil's face only increases when you tell him this. Catching you off guard, he gently holds your chin with his index finger and thumb and gives you a sweet kiss on the cheek.

“This is my thank you for your gift.” he then puts his face right in front of yours, your noses almost touching “And this is my thank you for you.” and he kisses your lips.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?!” Idia tells Ortho. “Me? Cook? For THEM? Do you want them to hate me for giving them food so poorly prepared that it could poison them? Should I check-up you? Your cause-and-effect conclusions seems to be miscalculating things.”

“I don’t detect any abnormality in my data processing.” Ortho guarantees him. “But that's what the rules of Valentine's Day tradition say. And I can even use quotes from your games and mangas to support my argument.”

“OI! Don't use those things against me, it's a low blow! Besides, like you said, those are games and mangas, or even movies, they're not real. Real life is not a fairy tale where you always conveniently fall in love with the right person who feels the same way about you. There is a much greater chance that you will fall in love with someone you don't deserve and end up preferring Prince Charming.”

“So what?”

“W-WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'SO WHAT'?”

“You don't need to declare yourself to them. You just have to offer them chocolates. If the feeling is not mutual, just leave it at that. But I'm sure that (Y/N) will offer you something. Especially knowing how much you like sweets.”

“Oh yeah, sure, it's so much better to receive a friendzone chocolate than nothing at all. It must be the new trend to replace the bucket of ice cream to eat by the spoonful while crying watching a romcom wrapped in a blanket in the middle of the dark.”

“Come on. You know (Y/N), they would appreciate anything you did simply because you tried. They are the type to appreciate the effort and intention more than the end result. I've heard them tell how happy they were with a mere postcard from Malleus Draconia during the winter break.”

“That’s because he's The Malleus Draconia. Anything coming from someone like him is spectacular. Even a curse would be a source of pride for someone to receive simply because he acknowledged their existence.”

While Ortho was trying to convince Idia to At Least Try to make some kind of chocolate for you, you were looking for molds for your chocolates at Sam's Mystery Shop.

And ‘coincidence of coincidences’ Sam had in stock molds in the shape of items from a mobile game that Idea loves. Funny enough, they were also sweets, items for the cards if you're not mistaken. But the problem arose when you saw the price: 130 thaumarks. Sam approached you when he saw your certainty in wanting to buy that item turn into doubt and consideration.

You told him you wanted to buy that, but it was too expensive for your tight budget. So, knowing that you're a trustworthy little imp, he lets you pay what you can for it and work a day or two at the store until you can pay the rest. But he wouldn't need you anytime soon, he'll tell you when he does. You accept the deal and get the molds in addition to the ingredients and the bright blue box with a black bow.

Knowing that he loves sweets, you decide to use white chocolate and milk chocolate. And you made a lot of them, enough to fill the box almost to its limit.

Meanwhile, the only way Ortho found to convince Idia to get you chocolates was by suggesting that he make some and buy others and wait to see if you would give him chocolates and what kind. If you gave him friendship chocolates, he would give you the box he bought; if you gave him chocolates you made yourself (as if), he would give you the ones he made... and the ones he bought too. “I'm terrible at cooking. It's better to play it safe if they come out inedible.”

The next day, Valentine's Day, you take your gifts to go to Ignihyde to deliver them to the Shroud brothers.

You give Ortho a cute heart-shaped power back. You tell him that you would like to give him chocolates too, but since he doesn't eat you try to find something equivalent. And even if it's not a very good charger, it's still a cute decoration. Ortho completely agrees with you and is very happy that you put so much thought into his gift. He gives you chocolate in return, a box of your favorites.

Idia is nowhere to be seen, but Ortho knows you know where to find him. You go to his bedroom door and knock on it. The door opens for you. As you might expect, he is sitting in front of his computer. He pauses the game he was playing, takes off his headphones and turns his chair to look at you.

“Hey, um, you don't need to give me chocolates out of pity if that's the case. I don't need to get something just because my brother received a gift.”

You assure him that it's not out of pity, it's because you really wanted to give him those chocolates.

“I hope you didn't spend too much. I don't want you to regret it to much.”

"I may have spent a little more than I expected," you admit, handing him the box and placing it on his lap. "But I'll be keeping the molds.”

“Molds?! You didn't actually...” He stops to first check if what he thought you had done was true.

He opens the box and it takes him a few seconds to analyze those shapes well. You are startled to see him jump out of his chair.

“THESE ARE GROOVY SWEETS! Where did you found them? Wait! You said you found molds? I didn't even know there were molds to make them! How much did it cost? This game is quite niche, it must not have been easy to find. Or cheap.”

You say finding them was easy because you simply saw them in Sam's Mystery Shop and recognized the shapes and the game logo. Idia asks you about the price again and you try to change the subject until he says that if you don't tell him he'll look it up online. And you finally tell him the price.

“And isn't that a little tight for you?” He doesn't seem the least bit surprised by the price. “I mean, the money you have comes from the headmage as far as I know, right? And I don't think he gives you much more than the bare minimum.”

You tell him about the deal with Sam.

“WHAT?! Oh, No! You won't get into debt because of me!” He says determined “I'll send Sam all the money you spent and what's left to pay for the molds. And if you don't tell me how much it was, I'll just send him, like, I don't know, a 500 thaumarks or something and you can buy whatever you want with what's left.”

You say he doesn't need to exaggerate so much, you could even accept him paying for the molds for you, but the rest was ridiculous.

“Hey, I may not be a prince but my family is still quite wealthy, you know.” he says with a smug, which then turns into his cute smile. “You must have had so much work making them, let me at least help with the expenses.” the smug returns “You know I'm going to send him the money no matter what you say right?”

You sigh a ‘Fine’ and ask if he could finally taste the chocolates. He takes one of the white chocolates and bites it. You even say that you thought about putting something else in them, but you didn't know what, however it seems that this wasn’t necessary. He was eating the chocolate with such a cute smile, and the ends of his hair started to turn a slightly pink.

“Did you try them after they were done?” he asks.

You say you ate the first one you made to taste test it, but not the ones you gave him. He takes another one and brings it to your lips for you to eat. You open your mouth and grab the chocolate, it was good, but what you liked most was the fact that he fed it to you. After this episode of confidence, he becomes embarrassed again.

“I... um...” he then proceeds to speak in the speed of light. “Ortho made me make chocolates for you because it was like the rules of tradition or whatever but you don't need to eat them they definitely suck. B-b-but I bought better ones for you.” he picks up a relatively large box and returns to speaking at a more intelligible speed. “I bought the biggest box of your favorite chocolates they've ever sold.”

You accept the box, but still ask what he said about making chocolates for you.

“What? How can you still understand what I say at that speed? Don't tell me you're one of those people who puts a video on x2 speed or something.” You look at him disapprovingly, showing that you know he's trying to change the subject again. He sighs. “Listen, I know the rules are that when you... really... like... someone you should make the chocolates yourself, just like... you... did. But what does it matter how or who does them, what matters is whether they taste good or not, right? It all ends in the same place anyway.”

“So... these chocolates,” you point to the box you gave him “or any others would be the same to you?”

“Wait! No! That's not what I meant! T-t-the ones you made n-needed to be made, t-they can't be bought.”

“So, would you prefer if I had bought them? Surely they would be better made by a professional, right?”

“N-n-no! You are distorting what I... No, actually, that's exactly what I said... B-b-but that does NOT apply here, not to you, I just... I SUCK AT COOKING, OKAY!? I didn't want to give you something ugly, poorly made and with horrible taste. But fine! If that's what you want!” He goes to the closet and takes out a pink heart-shaped box to give it to you. “You can have it. Don't say I didn't try to warn you.”

You pick up the box and open it to find cute hearts made with your favorite type of chocolate with sprinkles on top. They didn't look bad, they even looked well made. You pick one up and taste it, and it tastes good to you. You actually liked it and tell him that.

“Y-you actually enjoyed that amateurish attempt at cooking? You feeling okay? Are your taste buds buggy? You don't need to say that just to be nice, you know?”

You assure him that you're not just being nice, that you really liked it. Of course they could be better, just like yours could be too. Maybe you should try doing them together sometime?

“First Ortho makes me cook and now you? Do you really like me or just like to see me suffer?”

He insists that you keep the ones he bought too because they were for you anyway. If you give him a kiss on the cheek to thank him he will get all flustered and the ends of his hair will turn bright pink.

You knew very well what kind of chocolates you wanted to make for Malleus: ice cream! But you didn't want to offer him a bowl of ice cream, so you search the internet to see if there was any type of Valentine's Day chocolate that involves ice cream and you find the ice cream bonbons, which are basically balls of ice cream, covered in chocolate.

The recipe you found was for vanilla and chocolate ice creams, which also seemed like the safest choices. You don't make a lot, but you can still make several of each type of chocolate and decorate them with white sprinkles on the dark and milk chocolate ones and rainbow sprinkles on the white chocolate ones.

Unfortunately, since they are cold sweets, you can't put them in a normal box, so you put them in a container and store them in the fridge.

The next day, Valentine's Day, you wonder how you're going to get those chocolates to Malleus. You don't want to ruin them and you're afraid it could take so long to find him that the chocolates will start to melt even if you use a container designed for cold food. At that moment, someone knocks on your door.

“Good morning, (Y/N).” Malleus greets you when you open the door. “Happy Valentine's Day. I hope you had a good night's sleep. I'm here to fulfill the tradition of offering chocolates to my loved ones.” He snaps his fingers and a beautiful black heart-shaped box with a translucent green bow appears floating.

Malleus takes the box and hands it to you with a slight but sincere smile. As you pick up the box and thank him, you remember that ever since you woke up you were almost certain to hear movement outside Ramshackle Dorm. And that's why you ask Malleus if he was there for a long time.

“I will not hide the fact that I arrived before you woke up, but it has not been that long. Only two or three hours perhaps?”

He tells you it's no problem, for him it's not that long, but you still invite him in since he's been out there for so long to you. The two of you sit on the lounge sofa and Malleus can't take his eyes off you, he's so eager for you to open the box. When you finally do, you find beautiful hearts of your favorite chocolate with detailed and delicate line art. Malleus was so happy with your reaction, especially if you say you feel sorry for eating them because they are so beautiful.

“Im glad you enjoyed the presentation so much.” he says with an amused smile. “But please do not let that stop you from consuming them. Unfortunately, their edibility is ephemeral, so don’t let your desire to appreciate its exterior prevent you from savoring its interior and appreciating it in its entirety. Furthermore, I truly wish to know your opinion about my cooking.”

“You were the one who made them?” you ask.

“Yes, it was I.” he confirms with a proud smile. “That is why I'm rather looking forward to hearing your thoughts.”

You take one of the chocolate hearts and bite into it to taste your favorite filling too. It was delicious and Malleus couldn't have been happier about it. Then you remember your chocolates and get up to get them without telling him what you were going to do in the kitchen. You return with a modest-looking container for cold food in your hands and sit down next to him again.

You apologize for not having a box as pretty as the one he gave you and explain that you didn't know how you were going to get those chocolates to him since they had to be kept cold.

“There is no need to worry about that.” he reassures you with a loving smile. “I completely understand your dilemma. Fortunately, you needn't to think about that anymore for I am already here.”

He gladly accepts the container and opens it.

“They certainly look lovely” he says, smiling. “Am I right in concluding that your container dilemma indicates that you made them?” When he sees you confirm, his smile grows and becomes even more affectionate. “From the looks of it alone you seem to have done an excellent work. I'm looking forward to trying them.”

He carefully picks up one of the chocolates and bites into it, his eyes widen when he realized what the inside was.

“Ice cream...” he mutters to himself with a charming smile and then looks at you lovingly. “Is this why you had trouble figuring out a way to preserve them while transporting them? You focused so much on doing something to my liking that you ended up neglecting the logistical aspect.”

You confirm and he laughs heartily.

“I believe you are as aware of the rules of this tradition as I am.” his smile becomes seductive. “Chocolate made by one's hands should be a declaration of love, shall it not?” He takes your reaction as a confirmation.

He caresses your face before giving you a delicate, loving kiss on the cheek. You look at him and see his lime green eyes shining with the most love there could be.

After that he will offer to accompany you to Diasomnia so you can deliver your chocolates to the others. He will never leave your side again and will find any excuse to get so close to you that he will respectfully put his arm around your shoulder or waist.

Silver is too oblivious to realize what's happening between you and Malleus. As for the chocolates, he doesn't give you your favorites because he doesn't know which they were, but he gives you the ones he genuinely thought and hoped you would like. And even if they weren't your favorites, they were ones you really liked.

Lilia will have that smile every time he looks at you two and will try to mess with you a little. As for the chocolates, he said he would have liked to have made your chocolates himself but, you know, rules and misunderstandings to be avoided. (For a moment you shared Riddle's adoration for rules) So he offers you the most beautiful chocolates of your favorite type that he could find.

Sebek will enter into an internal conflict because he doesn't know whether to be jealous of you or happy for his liege. As for the chocolates, he doesn't give you anything too fancy, the chocolates even seem quite simple and basic, but “coincidentally” they are your favorite type and with your favorite filling too.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

*Sorry for the Cook Leona kinda bait, but let's be real, he would never even try to cook for anyone, not even himself, haha. Also, he is fully aware that he is terrible at cooking and he didn't want to give you poorly made chocolates when he could buy the best ones out there.

Did this get too long? Sorry 😣

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hotchnersangel · 1 day ago

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YOUR LOVE IS MY OXYGEN

Aaron Hotchner

You and Aaron had been in a relationship for a few months and it was getting to the point where conversations of your relationship were becoming serious and really authentic and genuine. After a case, Aaron is sat in your living room, watching the tv, some silly reality tv show he claimed to despise- yet, he always kept watching them with you, even opting to put them on without prompts from you. Simply because he knew you loved watching them.

It was a routine, you watch, he finds something to complain about and you give him a kiss and suddenly he can stand it again.

Today was no different, Aaron was on the sofa when you went to sit besides him, now in comfier clothes. You sit on the edge of the sofa, Aaron side eying you to catch your attention but you don't look at him. He sighs, again another move to try and encourage your attention. Though, you refuse to give into his antics and you watch the show kick off into drama.

Another sigh escapes Aaron's lips, slightly louder now but you ignore him again, which he evidently did not like as you feel the couch dip and hands slide under your thighs and your back as he pulls you softly across the sofa and into his lap.

"Is that what you wanted?" You smirk at him amused as he gives you a faux cold glare. "Seriously? All that fuss for me to sit on your lap?"

"Yes, maybe if you had just done it there would not be so much 'fuss'." He muttered into your hair, pressing a kiss to your crown.

You move back, looking over his face directly and smiling at him. You love every detail about this man. The way his hair eventually loses its gel throughout the day and returns to become fluffier and more enticing to you hands to run through it. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles and his eyes always dart to catch yours when he makes a joke or sees something funny, making sure you saw or heard it too. The way his eyes softened when he stared at you, whether it was during more intimate times or just in general, he made sure you were always taken care of before even himself. Every small detail about him, his heart, his body, his personality.

You even loved how he fake hated reality tv to encourage you to kiss him, he could just ask but it became an unspoken tradition by now.

You continue watching the show until one of the stars cause a fuss and create drama and Aaron sighs. "Seriously, I don't understand how you can enjoy this."

You stay silent knowing he will keep talking.

"This is crazy, it's the same thing over and over. Jenny kisses Alex and Maura gets upset. It's the same situation as Olivia and Jaques getting together when she was still with Liam."

You smirk at him, noticing that he does pay attention to the goings-on.

"For gods sake, look at George and Lana's body language, clearly they don't even like each other- I bet they just want the money. You know what, we could go on this and just try win the money because I'm sure as hell we would win considering we are in an actual relationship and these absolute degenerates are all faking their relationships so they get lots of money." He huffs after he lets out a rant, you staring at him as he can't depart his eye line from the tv.

"I'm actually angry just watching this." He scowls at the tv before turning to see you smiling delicately, you eyes roaming his face. Immediately upon seeing your smile, he grins at you. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing just my boyfriend." You shrug, continuing to look at him.

"I like it when you call me that." He replies, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Both your heads turn as you continue to watch the show once again and you look at Aaron once more, just wanting to stare at him for the rest of your life.

"I love you." You blurt before you could even process what you said. You widen your eyes as you see him do a double take with a wide smile on his face.

"Sorry what?" He asks amused and you bite your lip, laughing in shock.

"I didn't mean to say that." You admit but shake your head, "Not that I don't mean it, I just-" You ramble but his hand lifts to your cheek.

"Say it again."

"I love you." You repeat.

"Again."

"I love you." You say again, giggling this time.

"Again."

"I'm in love with you." You grin softly, looking at him nervously as you see a twinge of pink caress his cheeks.

"I hate that you've just ruined my plans." He says with a grin but you look confused so he carries on. "I scheduled you to receive some flowers this weekend, I planned a whole thing out to tell you that."

You blush and look to your hands then back into his eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah, but somehow I think it's very endearing that you couldn't hold it in." He grins kissing just below your eye now, then moving to your cheek, then forehead.

"Loving you is like breathing to me honey, I don't even have to think about it to know it keeps me alive."

#aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x reader #agent hotchner #hotch #hotchner x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #established relationship #i love you #love bombing #idiots in love

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wannabe-fic-writer · 3 days ago

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Be Mine - Chapter 1

Summary: A long day of work turns out better than you expected it would.

Warnings: Minor Language, Partial Nudity, Sexual Themes

* * * * * * *

The car door shuts with a loud slam, the sleek black sedan slightly shaking from the force of your actions. With a huff and a sigh, you slouch in your seat, reaching a hand up to rub your temples.

From the front seat, your driver/bodyguard looks through the rearview mirror. Blue eyes take in your stressed and agitated state, a slightly amused smirk pulls at his lips.

“Everything alright there boss?”

You sigh heavily again,“ do I look like everything is alright Steven?”

The blonde man snorts and laughs, pulling away from the curb and into New York traffic.

“Belova give you a hard time?” He asks with a chuckle, making his way to your next destination.

“Every damn time.” Is your reply, focus shifting to the stacks of folders beside you. Tossing the one labeled “Belova” aside, you pick up the next one.

By the time you’re done reading through financial reports and new staff profiles, Steve has pulled into the lot of your next stop.

“Turn her off, I know you have a reason to come in.” You tell him while tucking your files away and getting out.

With a nod, Steve shuts the car off and follows after you. Together you head up the sidewalk to the club. ‘Red Room’ is displayed in red neon lights above the door. In your opinion, the neon lights are pretty tacky but with the building being so nondescript and easily missed, especially on this street, the sign attracts the attention it needs to.

Steve is checking over his shoulder subconsciously all the way to the door. The bouncer simply nods to the two of you and lets you in.

The club lights are dim, save for the two lights pointed directly at the stage, strobing in time with the music.

It’s good to see the club packed, even better to see the money raining from thrown hands. Drinks are flowing and the scantily clad bartenders are receiving more than decent enough tips.

“Boss.” Steve’s voice cuts through the music and draws your attention to him, where he nods forward.

Standing at the door leading to the office and staff rooms is one of your most trusted advisors and businessmen.

You approach with a stoic expression,“ Barnes.”

His face matches yours as he nods,“ Y/ln.”

The two of you, followed by Steve, walk into the back. As always the man leads you to his office where he pulls out three beers and passes them out.

Your hard exterior sags a little as you relax in the private setting. Steve is quick to let a smile form on his face as he fully takes in the brunette man you’re with. They share a smile, then a kiss before you all settle around the desk.

“Alright alright, business then pleasure.” You say while setting your bottle on the desk.

Both men nod, doing the same, then Bucky interlocks his fingers on the desk. His eyes lock with yours, business now written across his features.

“I’ve read over your reports.” Your pause would make most of your other associates sweat but Bucky is confident in his business and you’ve worked together too long for him to not know your tells.“ I’m not disappointed. Everything is in order and over recent months you’ve tripled revenue. On both ends. I really have nothing to add, you run a tight ship and you always have.”

“Oh? A compliment within praise, you in a good mood?”

“I just came from Yelena’s,” you say which elicits a snort and laugh from both men,“ I’m far from in a good mood. But-” a sliver of a smile tugs at your lips,“ you’re my friend and a damn good colleague so there’s no reason to lie or beat around the bush.”

He hums, tipping his head in a nod.“ I appreciate it boss, truly.” A smile plays on his lips as well.

From there, he pulls out a fairly thick folder and for the next hour you both go over the contents of it, comparing his books with yours and ensuring everything is in order. Another thirty or so minutes are spent going over details for the new hires and with that taken care of, the majority of your work is done.

Releasing a deep breath, you grab the new beer bottle off the desk, having finished the first while working, and the shoulders of both men drop as they copy the action of sipping their drinks.“ I’d like to see the new girls,” your gaze raises to meet Bucky’s,“ not that I don’t trust your judgment but your tastes are more versed when it comes to the other team.” You teasingly nod towards the man’s partner sitting beside you.

Steve and Bucky chuckle, then the brunette rises with a check of his watch.“ I believe one of them is about to go on now.” With a hand gestured towards the door, he leads the way back out to the main space.

The lights in the place have shifted to a low intimidating red color, slow instrumental music begins to play, and the spotlights point directly at the golden pole on stage.

You hear the clicking of heels before you see anyone. A silhouette appears from the left stage entrance and you find yourself watching with slight intrigue.

You’re used to acts like this from the, for lack of a better term, veterans who work here. But this is a new girl and she seems to have already become a fan favorite and she’s good enough to have been given a special show.

With an anticipatory pause in the music, the woman steps into the light. Not fully, at first all you get is a view of seeming miles of smooth milky skin as her foot steps forward, the light shining on her leg.

A hand follows, slender fingers trailing from ankle to thigh in a way that makes every man in sight holler.

To you, the noise around fades out as she finally puts herself in the spotlight.

Smooth milky skin continues, it dips and curves in all the right places, almost completely on display thanks to the barely there emerald green bra and panty set. It’s lacey, the intricate patterns highlighting the most intimate parts of her. There’s very little left to the imagination and the desire to uncover the rest rises in you.

It’s almost startling when your gaze lands on her face. Striking green eyes are looking into yours already, perfect cheekbones and a pretty jawline framed by fiery red hair. Her face, you find, is even more gorgeous than her body.

A hand on your shoulder pulls you from your near trance-like state. It’s Steve who meets your eye, brows knitted in worry.

You give a dismissive look, letting him know you’re fine. So he jabs a thumb in the direction behind him, you lean forward to see Bucky back over by the door now accompanied by a familiar dark haired woman.

Glancing back to the stage, you catch sight of the redhead as she arches her back away from the pole, forming a shape reminiscent of Cupid’s bow, and meets your eye. It takes every ounce of willpower to tear your gaze away and head back down the hallway towards Bucky.

“Melina.” You greet, leaning in to kiss both of the woman’s cheeks.

She returns the gesture, hands on your arms gently squeezing.“ It’s good to see you, Y/n.” Her accent drips over her words like honey and it sounds just as smooth.“ I was told you wanted to meet the girls.”

Bucky lets you pass, both he and Steve staying behind as you follow the older woman down the hall to the dressing room, but you don’t miss the way they slip into Bucky’s office a second later.

The moment you step inside you’re met with the sight of naked and half naked women. They all vary in appearance, but each one is beautiful as is expected in this business.

Melina calls the names of a number of women and they all approach. It’s clear they know you’re important, each one smiling seductively and trying to put their best assets on display.

“I trust that they’re all good.” You look away disinterestedly, focusing on Melina instead.“ And that they’ve been taken care of?”

“Of course.” Melina says, reaching out to fix a curl on one of the girls’ heads.

The majority of the women who work here were found by Melina. She started working for you after leaving a place that horribly mistreated her and she was able to find girls in positions like the one she was in and, with your help, give them something better.

After being vetted by Bucky and Melina, the women were taken to the penthouse Melina lives in. There, she takes care of them however they need and as long as they need. As long as they have the skill for it, they’re given a job here where they’re paid enough to start standing on their own two feet.

“The woman on stage-” you begin in hopes of learning more about the mysterious redhead.

“Natasha.” She tells you.

With a hum, you nod.“ She’s a little older than the girls you usually bring in.”

“Mhm. I’ve known her for years, I couldn’t help her before and I couldn’t find her after I had the means to.” The woman explains, furthering your curiosity.“ A few weeks ago we ran into each other. Seemed okay but she wanted out of the organization she was with.”

Speaking of her seems to make her appear.

Your eyes follow her as she walks in, taking in every one of her facial features now that you can see them clearer. Her plum shaped cheekbones, perfectly arched brows, the faint wrinkles between her eyebrows, and the small knick just below her hairline.

Her red hair flows down her back in waves and draws your attention to the tattoo on her back: roses and a lamb.

“Natasha.” Melina calls, the woman looks over and smiles.

When she comes closer, she and Melina share a hug and you can sense their relationship is more than the usual one between Melina and the girls.

“This is Miss Y/ln,” Melina introduces.“ She owns the club.”

Your reply of,“ please call me Y/n,” is accompanied by the outstretching of your hand.

Natasha eyes the action, then looks back at Melina without sparring you a glance.“ I thought Mr. Barnes owned the club.”

“He might as well,” you say before Melina responds, getting the redhead to look at you.“ Bucky does all the heavy lifting so to speak, my name just goes on the paperwork.”

That at least warrants you a change of expression, her stoicism replaced by the slightest frown. You smirk at that, happy for any reaction at all.

“I’ve never met a woman whose-”

“Ass looks like mine? Whose tits stand up so perky?” She attempts to finish for you, clearly very fed up with the kind of compliment she thinks you’ll give.

Melina frowns at the younger woman, a hiss of her name escaping her lips.

You remain amused, a raised eyebrow expressing as much.“ Whose eyes are quite as alluring. I’ve seen some of the rarest gems in the world and their beauty pales in comparison to that of your eyes.”

Her jaw slackens ever so slightly, eyes widening a fraction. She schools her expression just as quickly as it came.“ How often do you use that line?”

“I’ll have you know, that was the first time. Or did you miss the ‘never met’ part?” The playfully sarcastic tone of your voice makes her lips quirk into the smallest of smirks, green eyes trailing over your form immediately after.

Before she can give a response, you turn to the brunette at your side.“ Melina, I look forward to seeing you again, hopefully soon.”

“As do I.” She reaches up on her toes and kisses your cheek before you look at Natasha,“ have a good evening Natasha, it was a pleasure meeting you,” you then turn and leave.

With a bye to Bucky you’re out of the club, sliding into the back seat of your car and shredding the black blazer from your body.

“To the bar?” Steve asks.

“God please.” You huff, slouching in your seat.

Steve nods and pulls off, taking a familiar route to the bar you frequent.

Today has been insanely busy and you need a drink desperately. Then again, no one said it would be easy running one of the most influential organizations in Manhattan.

Being in the mob seemed so dangerous and thrilling when you were a kid and would see your father come home after one of his “missions.” While it is both of those things, since inheriting this business from your father, you’ve found that the day to day is more paperwork and meetings than dangerous and thrilling.

Between calls with international business partners and ensuring that both your legal and illegal operations were running smoothly, the thrilling part of this life is rare. That’s also not to say things haven’t been interesting.

You’re not the only crime family in New York. The Odinsons run Queens, the Guardians have Brooklyn, the Bronx remains unclaimed, and the headache that is the Rumlow family operates out of Staten Island.

Your relationship with the Odinsons and Guardians is a good one, you’re not allies per se but you’re not enemies either. Your relationship with the Rumlow Family is tumultuous at best, you try not to have dealings with them at all.

Lately though, he’s been making moves on the Bronx. He has some sort of connection that’s allowed him to buy property that is beyond difficult to acquire given who owns it.

“Looks like you could really use that drink.” Steve chirps up, voice completely cutting your train of thoughts off.

It’s then you realize you’re already at the bar. For what feels like the hundredth time today, you both get out of the car and head into the building, Steve looking over his shoulder like it’s second nature.

Unlike the majority of the places you’ve walked into today, this one brings an instant smile to your face.

The chipped red oak bar, the scattered wobbly chairs and tables, the flickering light above the bar and stage, all accompanied by the melody coming from the stage feels like home. A familiar face sits on the bench, fingers stroking the keys of the baby grand in a pattern that creates one of the songs you love.

“Well if it isn’t the boss lady.” The bartender says as you slide onto the stool, a glass being sat on a coaster in front of you.“ Whiskey sour?” He confirms to which you nod.

He begins making the drink and you spin on your stool to face the stage, only to find your view partly obstructed by the person sitting three stools down.

Long copper tendrils fall down her back, a green cardigan covering her body. You make out a soft but defined jawline, the ever so subtle swoop of her nose, and perky cheekbones.

When she looks up, head turning to face the bartender as her hand raises in a call for another drink, your jaw damn near drops. For the second time in one night you’re in awe of a woman’s beauty.

You sip your drink, almost spluttering as her eyes land on yours. Green eyes twice in one day.

“I’m sorry, am I in the way?”

Her voice makes you blink, and then realize you were staring at her for far too long.

Smiling apologetically, you shake your head.“ No, no, of course not. I should be apologizing, I couldn’t help but stare.”

An instant blush rises on her cheeks and she legitimately splutters.“ I- you- wh- what were you staring at?”

“Only one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen many women.” Your words deepen her blush and that makes you smirk. With ease, you shift into the seat beside her.“ I don’t mean to be too forward, I just prefer not to beat around the bush.”

She shakes her head.“ No it’s okay. I- thank you. You’re also very easy on the eyes.”

“Why thank you. . .”

“Wanda. Wanda Jar-” she shakes her head softly,“ Wanda Maximoff.”

You nod, refraining from pointing out her seeming mistake,“ it’s a pleasure Miss Maximoff. I must say, I’m curious how you stumbled across this little hole in the wall. It’s usually just me, Scott, and Phil around here.”

“Plus your shadow over there.” Her gaze shifts over your shoulder and you follow it to find Steve watching you from his usual spot in the corner booth.

Chuckling, you turn back to the redhead.“ That is my friend Steve, he’s protective, rightfully so.”

Her eyebrows furrow, little wrinkles forming between them.“ Are you out here looking for danger or something?”

“Not looking. But it has a way of finding me. Though Steve is always there and I’m far from helpless so it’s nothing to worry about.” You explain to her.

There’s a brief pause before she nods.“ Well, to answer your previous question: this was as far from my old neighborhood that I felt like going and I heard the music from outside.”

“Phil is a rare talent that’s for sure.” You compliment the pianist.“ Far from the neighborhood though, we running from something?”

She lets out a heavy sigh.“ A failed marriage.”

“Oof. Well, if we’re running from it, I assume talking about it is out?” She nods and you offer a smile.“ So a distraction would be better.”

That causes her eyes to drop to her drink: a margarita.“ This is the distraction.”

You shake your head.“ Nooo. That is a decent stress relief, but a distraction can be provided, if you’re interested.”

Her eyes bore into yours, there’s a decent amount of intrigue but you see the caution as there should be, you’re a stranger though you have no ill intentions.

“I think I’ll pass. I shouldn’t be out too long.” Your eyes flick to the clock above the bar, it’s well past midnight.

So you nod.“ I completely understand. I probably should be getting home soon as well.” You down the last of your second drink and stand.“ It was lovely meeting you, Wanda. And if you ever happen to want a distraction, call me.” Your business card, with the addition of your personal number, is slipped onto the bar top beside her glass.

“It was nice meeting you too.” She mumbles, trying to process that you’re indeed the Y/n Y/ln your business card says you are (no wonder you looked familiar to her).

“Get home safely.”

With that you wave a hand to Steve who is quick to finish his beer and stand. On your way out you slip an overly large tip to Phil who nods in thanks while still playing, then you disappear from the bar. The whole while, the green eyes of the redhead remain on you.

#mafia au #marvel mafia au #mcu #mcu x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader

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juniperskye · 2 days ago

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My Valentines

Based on the following ask: @lucreziaq2001 Thanks🙂. Here's the new request: It is inspired by this video= https://youtube.com/shorts/DveJG0lXFQM?si=HAU2VM0SkjIf8O3H . It would be a One Shot in which Spencer and a female reader have twin daughters aged 5 and on Valentine's Day, Spencer takes the day off work to make sure he is not away on a case and takes the girls out. He brings them flowers and basically shows them how he'd like their future boyfriends to treat them. I think it would be very cute. If you'll write it, thank you💜. You pick the twins' names. – Hi gorgeous, I love this fic idea, also Reid is 10000000000% a girl dad – you won’t convince me otherwise. I hope you love it

Spencer Reid x Wife! Fem Reader Fluff Word count: 1716

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, mom! reader, mentions of pregnant reader and pregnancy, mention of valentine’s day, dates, mentions of food, promoting positive relationships, implications of Spencer having a tough upbringing, let me know if I missed anything.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

When you found out you were pregnant, Spencer was over the moon. He couldn’t have been more excited to expand your family and become a dad. Here’s the thing about Spencer though, he liked to do research…too much research. You had to tell him to stop giving you statistics about pregnancies and things that could happen to the baby.

Finding out it was twins, that only made things worse. Spencer didn’t let you do anything, always making sure you didn’t do any lifting and that you weren’t on your feet for too long. He needed to ensure that you were okay at all times, not wanting to risk the health of you or your unborn twins.

Four weeks after the discovery of it being twins, you’d gone in to find out the sex of the babies. You’d been hoping for a boy and a girl…but you knew Spencer only wanted girls. He’d told you time and time again that he wasn’t super masculine, and he was scared of having a son…he felt like he’d fail him. Of course you had reassured him, telling him that he’d give your child, regardless of gender, all the love in the world.

He jumped for joy when the doctor confirmed it was fraternal twin girls.

Spencer had gone through hundreds of thousands of potential names for your girls, and after vetoing the majority of them, you’d agreed on two names:

Audrina: An English name that means "noble strength".

Iliana: A Spanish name meaning ray of light.

He’d wanted their names to hold meaning, he wanted them to know that their names, their souls, their existence brought the two of you strength and light. And when Audrina and Iliana were born, the names fit perfectly. You’d been worried that you’d see them and it wouldn’t feel right, but in that moment, nothing had ever felt more right.

He’d been the most attentive father, explaining to you that he wasn’t spoiling your girls, he was simply setting the bar as high as they deserved it to be. In the four years of fatherhood, Spencer had made sure to prioritize his girls (including you of course). You’d take the girls on mother-daughter dates, going to the zoo, the children’s museum, the park, lunch, the list goes on. Spencer had also adopted this tradition; he’d wanted to go and spend time with them 1:1 too.

This year, he’d decided to start a new tradition. The day before Valentine’s Day, he was going to take the girls out for a date. You were going to get the girls dressed and done up and he’d pick them up and take them to a “fancy” dinner. February 14th was reserved for you.

Spencer let you know that the girls would need to be in semi-formal attire, and he’d be picking them up at 6:00 pm. He had started their day off by giving them a gift certificate to your nail salon, so you could take them to get their nails done.

You’d taken them right after lunch, Audrina went with a glittery pink, while Iliana chose a neon purple, you’d gone a little simpler, a French tip.

Once you got home, you let the girls play for a little bit before curling their hair and styling it. The girls had matching outfits, light pink sweaters covered in lip prints, paired with a light pink tutu-style skirt. Their shoes are where they differed, Audrina wore these red cowgirl boots (she’d been exclusively wearing them lately) and Iliana wore her high-top converse – wanting to match her dad.

By the time the girls were completely ready, Spencer was just arriving home. He’d prompted the girls this morning, informing them that he’d be taking them out on a real father-daughter date. They replied with squeals, thrilled to be going out with daddy…while you were excited for a night off and a date with the bottle of wine you’d been saving and your bathtub.

A knock on the door had the girls running, tripping over one another to answer it.

“Girls slow down! The last thing we need is scraped up knees to go with your outfits.” You shook your head.

Opening the door you were met with three bouquets of roses, each a different shade. You couldn’t help the smile that took over your features, even though this night wasn’t about you, he’d gone out of his way to make sure you felt acknowledged as well.

“Hi baby.” You greeted.

“Hello, my gorgeous girls.” He handed each of you your flowers, happily taking in the sight of your adorably matching daughters.

“Daddy! Daddy! Are we going now?” Audrina shouted.

“Well babygirl, are you both ready? I don’t want to rush either of you.”

“We’re ready!” Iliana said grabbing her tiny toy purse.

Spencer leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips as goodbye, before leaning down and placing a big smooch on each of the girls cheeks. You lent down and followed suit.

“I love you guys, have fun!” You called as they made their way to his car.

Spencer took the time to open the door for both girls, assisting them into their car seats, letting them choose the music they listened to on the way to the restaurant. He’d chosen a nice steakhouse; one you had frequented on special occasions, he knew the girls liked the food there and would actually eat something.

He helped them out of the car and held each of their hands as they headed up to the entrance, once again holding the door for them.

“Reservation for Reid.” He told the maître d.

Once the three of them were led to their table, already accommodated with booster seats for the girls, he lifted them one by one into their chairs. They were all smiles, enjoying the attention they were getting. Though the girls don’t really notice…it truly kills Spencer that he still has to work so much. He’s done a lot to lessen his workload with the BAU, taking a few months of the year to teach at the university so he doesn’t have to travel with the team. Needless to say, nights like these were his favorite.

“Alright girls, what would you guys like to drink?” He asked

“Juice please.” Iliana replied.

“Can I have sprite?” Audrina asked.

“I will tell you what, if you both want a sprite, you can have one…after that, how about we switch to juice or water?” Spencer negotiated.

“Okay!” Audrina replied.

“I want a sprite too!” Iliana changed her mind.

“Sounds good.”

The night was continuing on wonderfully, Spencer had ordered the food, steak and French fries for the table, promptly cutting the steak into bite size pieces for the girls. Conversation flowed easily, the girls told Spencer about what they learned in preschool this week, they talked to him about getting their nails done, showing him their now-greasy fingers.

He had been listening intently when Iliana asked him a question.

“Hey daddy, why did you bring us here?”

“Well sweetheart, one day when you are much, much older, you will have a Valentine of your own…” He began.

“Like you and mommy?” Audrina interrupted.

“Yes, just like mommy and me. You’ll each have a special person, and I want to make sure that you understand how important it is to make sure someone is treating you right.” He explained.

“Like you did?” Iliana inquired.

“Yeah baby, like I did today. But I also want you guys to know that not only does someone need to treat you well, but you need to treat them well in return. Like mommy and I are always doing things for one another, trying to meet one another where we’re at.” He finished.

Both girls nodded, clearly not old enough to really understand the weight behind the words Spencer had shared. He just knew that he’d have to continue this tradition of showing the girls what love looked like, not only through these little dates, but also through his interactions with you.

When they arrived home, he had a teddy bear on each of the girls beds waiting for them (you’d been so kind as to place them there after they left). They’d been so excited, giving Spencer no trouble when he put them to bed.

He found you soaking in a bubble bath once he made his way to your shared room. He was so happy to be with you after a long day.

“Hey sweetheart.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Hi baby, did you guys have a good time? I got your picture!” You smiled recalling the adorable photo of Spencer sandwiched between your daughters, each of them pressing a kiss to his cheeks.

“We did. I will say, I am glad to be home though. Can I join you?” He asked

“Of course.”

Spencer had gently slid in behind you, holding you close to him. The two of you just relaxing after a long day. You leaned back, nuzzling further into his grasp, releasing a deep breath.

“You alright?” Spencer questioned.

“Yeah, he’s just especially active today.” You said, letting your hands run over your prominent bump.

Spencer reached his hands up and ran them along the expanse of your belly, feeling the kicks of your unborn son. His chin coming to rest on your shoulder. Spencer let out the quietest of sighs, and if you hadn’t been paying close attention, you’re sure you’d have missed it.

“You okay?”

‘“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Spence, you’re going to be a great boy dad. Just like you are with the girls. I know you’re worried, but if anything, your experiences will allow you to teach our son compassion and the ability to express his emotions. He will be capable of making someone incredibly happy, because he has a daddy that makes me so happy.” You gushed.

Spencer sniffled lightly before pressing his lips to the side of your neck. You could feel his lips turn up into a smile, bringing one of your own to your lips. You truly loved him, and you knew from the moment you met him that he’d be an incredible husband and father, and he continues to prove that every passing day.

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fishiefishieluvr · 1 day ago

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🍎🐶 caleb relationship headcanons🍎🐶

my heart is now shared by both rafayel and caleb so i had to succumb to my desires and write headcanons for our favorite colonel… forgive me these are a bit rushed i wrote it in like 20 minutes i’ve been thinking about him waaaayyy too much!

a/n: i tried to make it gender neutral as possible. warnings for nsfw content, implied obsessive / yandere tendencies, alcohol mention, that’s all i can think… enjoy!!

———

♡ — literally will drop almost anything he’s doing when he gets a text from you, whether it’s just simply chatting about your day or a new interest, or — better yet, inviting him over — he always responds and makes time for you.

♡ — even after graduating and heading off to the DAA, he still felt… intertwined, to say the least with you. as mentioned before, even in the brief absences between texts and phone calls, i feel like caleb definitely is the type to somewhat feel or understand what you’re feeling even while away. oh? you’re sad and depressed? that explains why caleb has been having kind of a shitty day without even knowing.

♡ — constantly fiddles with the necklace you had gifted him. it’s a habit, practically second nature to him. it especially helps him when his nerves are in overdrive.

♡ — this isn’t even a headcanon but gooood god did it piss him off somewhat when girls fawned over him. it wasn’t the girl's faults and he can’t really blame them it's just….. his heart has been dead set on you since the beginning. the only attention he thrives on is yours, whatever sort of attention even.

♡ — snuck one of your plushies away with him when he went off to pilots academy. he stashes it away whenever one of his guy friends (cause caleb never allows any girls in his dorm who aren’t you lol) stops by. he’s even freakier too, practically bathing it secretly in your perfume or body spray before he sneaks off to pack. it’s safe to say he sleeps with it almost every night.

♡ — when you do finally meet again whether during holidays or after he graduates, he sticks by your side almost constantly. regardless! he is respectful of your boundaries and will immediately retreat away if you seem even the slightest bit uncomfortable by it (that’s not to say he won’t sulk a bit. but he’ll do it in the comfort of privacy).

♡ — loves to cuddle and embrace you, fucking thrives on that shit. pre-relationship and growing up wise he snuck what he could from long and warm embraces, nights spooning you on the couch or in his bed, and little forehead kisses… even holding your hand causes his pulse to quicken and his cheeks to turn a rosy hue.

♡ — you thought he was clingy pre relationship? ohhhhh boy it’s increased tenfold when you both finally confess feelings. he feels physically and emotionally unwell when without you for a certain period of time. he only feels the slightest bit better when he goes on week to month(s) long missions as colonel once you finally relent and move in with him. coming back to you, his anchor, his home, his heart… his everything. it makes it all so worth it.

♡ — speaking of this man definitely spoils you in every aspect. i just know he gets paid so damn well so he spends all his earnings on you. don’t mention something that caught your eye even in passing because next thing you know it’s in your hands either the next day or a week later.

♡ — i believe without a doubt that caleb is the type to have planned on getting married to you the second he realized his feelings for you. why else would he chase off anyone who sought your heart if he wasn’t planning on a future entirely with just you and him (and some little ones. but not relevant rn!)? whatever sort of wedding you wanted, he’d give you in a heartbeat. proposes to you for sure pretty early on, which isn’t all that surprising seeing as you spent your entire lives together.

♡ �� the bane of his existence is the nights you decide to go out with friends. regardless if drinks are involved, caleb insists on picking you up at the end of the night. and if a sleepover is in the works? oh he’s so pouty about it… i think there are a select few people who he trusts with your safety (even though you insist you’re grown enough to defend yourself), one of them is definitely tara. so yaaay! every now and then you can have a peaceful girls night ^^

now onto the nsfw part :o

♡ — i’m the biggest virgin caleb supporter ever. i agree that he’d read up and study on how to perfect his first time (and potentially yours if you’re losing it too). he definitely is pathetic though in my eyes and doesn’t last very long at all despite his long studying, cums under a minute whether it’s from oral or inside of you. prepare to comfort him because he will feel slightly pathetic about it…

♡ — finds comfort in rutting against your thigh, your ass, you name it! puppy caleb is so real… he’d whimper in your ear, breath hot against your skin, practically drooling as he warns you of his impending orgasm.

♡ — on the nights where his duty as colonel is far too exhausting, he definitely thoroughly enjoys cockwarming. after being apart from you for soooo long and even after work duties, he just needs to be connected and intertwined with you. there’s no work to be done so long as he has you in his arms and he’s inside of you in some shape or form.

♡ — gets fucked-out and drunk off of you way too easily. again with the first headcanon, he cums in his pants just from witnessing your pleasure. anything with you will get him off.

♡ — caleb definitely is the type to experiment with you. his only no-no’s are stuff that could risk seriously rendering you injured. choking? absolutely, that’s fine! just nothing too extreme. gun play? gets off sooo much watching the barrel of his gun in your mouth, no bullets inside, of course! he’s not picky, your pleasure is his pleasure, after all.

#caleb x reader #caleb x mc #love and deepspace x reader #lads caleb #lads caleb x reader #love and deepspace caleb x reader

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goblinontour · 2 days ago

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Down On All Fours

part 7 | series masterlist

release

warnings: implied age gap, daddy kink, mentions of death, suicidal thoughts, crying, rough fucking of all the holes, therefore piv and anal, heavy dubcon (and i really mean it, it’s a lot and please don’t read if that’s something you’re not comfortable with), mentions of bodily fluids (pretty much everything you can think of…well, not everything), choking, strangulation, i hope that’s all. anyone under 18, it’s time to respect my wishes at least this one time, do not read it, do not interact.

word count: 13.8k

Intrigue.

To arouse one’s curiosity or interest — or to put it simply…

Fascinate.

That’s what he was to you. What he meant to you. And you to him, to a certain extent. Though you were sure his reasoning for that was much different from yours. You’d never asked, and he’d never offered. There were things that lived in the silence between you, words neither of you dared to shape because speaking them out loud might make them real. And maybe that’s what kept it alive — this fragile, flickering thing that neither of you wanted to name.

Come to think of it, you didn’t even know what it was that intrigued you about him. Not really. It wasn’t the kind of thing you could hold in your hands, examine under the light, give shape to with words. It was slippery, like something submerged just beneath the surface, catching the light only when you weren’t looking directly at it. A shadow always half a step ahead, just out of reach. But you felt it in the marrow of your bones, like a splinter that never quite healed.

Like you, he wasn’t special. Just a man. Troubled, somewhat deeply, by what? You hadn’t found out yet. And maybe you didn’t want to. Perhaps knowing would ruin it, pull back the curtain and reveal nothing but an ordinary man with ordinary demons. But there was something in the way he carried them, like fragile things he cradled close to his chest, never letting them slip from his grasp. A hollow space carved somewhere inside of him, filled with shadows he didn’t try to chase away. He wasn’t trying to be free of them. No, he wore them like a second skin, stitched into the fabric of who he was. You knew, though, that he liked that feeling. Because, like you, he didn’t try to get rid of it. He didn’t want to let it go. It sat inside him like an old friend, familiar and corrosive, and he nurtured it in quiet ways — a glance too long at nothing, a sharpness in his voice when it wasn’t needed, the distant look that lingered even when you were right there.

He was handsome, yes, in your eyes at least. That might’ve had something to do with it. The kind of face that made you pause — not because it was perfect, but because it wasn’t. His beauty wasn’t the kind that begged for attention. It crept up on you, like a bruise darkening just under the skin. There was something fractured about it, sharp angles softened by exhaustion. The kind of face that looked carved, not crafted. And those eyes…dark, rimmed with sleepless nights and thoughts too heavy to carry. His eyes drew you in. Beyond the dark circles and sadness, there was something else. An embedded hope inside of them. A fragile, flickering thing tucked away like he was ashamed to have it, and have it show, and to have it be seen. That made him beautiful, more than anything else.

But you didn’t think beauty alone would make you let him get away with so much, if it weren’t for something else.

It had to be something else.

Maybe the way his hands felt on you before he’d even touched you. A ghost of contact, imagined but tangible enough to leave a mark. You knew they’d be rough in their grip, but the skin in the middle of his palms was softened — worn down by years of holding things too tightly, of letting go too late. You could picture them, resting idle but never relaxed, like they were always ready to take or break or hold…or maybe even be held. The kind of hands that knew how to destroy and sometimes forgot how to be gentle, except with you. Hands that smelled faintly of metal, of old leather, of something colder than the room itself.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you sometimes — like he was trying to memorise you, not because he thought you’d leave, but because part of him already believed you were gone. Like you were a ghost he could only see when the light hit you just right. Or maybe it was the way he didn’t look at you at all, the way his absence filled the room louder than his presence ever could.

Maybe it was how he felt like a place you could crawl inside of and hide, even when he was the thing you needed hiding from. A contradiction wrapped in skin.

Maybe it was just him.

The sum of all his contradictions, stitched together with frayed threads of grief and anger and something softer he didn’t know how to name. The way his silence filled the spaces between your words, like punctuation marks carved from bone. The way his presence pressed against your chest even when he wasn’t near, pulling at something invisible beneath your ribs.

It was in the small things. The way he lit his cigarette but never smoked it past the halfway mark, as if finishing it would mean admitting to something he wasn’t ready to confront. The way he’d stare out the window, not looking at anything, but seeing something only he could. The way his jaw tightened when he thought no one was watching, but knew you were. You were always watching.

You couldn’t help it.

You studied him like he was something fragile and volatile all at once — a cracked glass filled with gasoline. A single touch could shatter or ignite him, and you never knew which it would be until it was too late. And maybe that was part of it, too. The not knowing. The anticipation of something sharp beneath the surface, hidden under the quiet.

But there were moments — brief, fleeting — when the darkness receded just enough to glimpse something else beneath it. The way his hand would linger on the small of your back a second too long. The way his breath would hitch when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way his voice softened when he called you his, like it was the only thing in the world he wasn’t trying to forget.

And maybe that was why you stayed.

Not because you wanted to fix him — you weren’t naive enough to think you could. Not because you were waiting for him to change — he never would.

But because in the spaces where he didn’t know how to be anything other than broken, he made room for you. In the sharp edges he didn’t bother to smooth, you found something to hold onto. In the dark, tangled parts of him, you saw your own reflection.

And maybe that was it. Maybe it wasn’t about intrigue or fascination or even love.

Maybe it was recognition.

A mirror held up to the parts of yourself you didn’t want to look at, wrapped in the shape of a man whose hands felt like both a promise and a threat.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe it was everything.

Or maybe it was nothing.

And maybe that should have been enough of a reason to stay away.

But it wasn’t.

Because even knowing all of this, even recognising the sharp edges of him, the jagged teeth of whatever it was that gnawed at his insides, you didn’t move away. You only watched, only lingered, only let yourself be pulled deeper into the orbit of whatever force he carried inside of him.

It wasn’t just intrigue. It was something worse. Something more like…inevitability.

You could have turned back, could have left before his hands ever found you, before his words ever sank their claws into the soft parts of your brain and made a home there.

But you didn’t.

Because the truth was, you wanted to see what was inside him.

You wanted to crack him open, spread him out under the light and sift through the wreckage. Wanted to understand what made him flinch at kindness, what kept him up at night, what filled his lungs when he went quiet for too long. Wanted to see if there was anything left of him that was soft, or if he’d let it all rot away a long time ago.

And maybe that was cruel. Maybe that made you just as bad.

But he didn’t turn you away.

He let you press closer. Let you watch him, let you follow, let you sink into his space like you belonged there. And maybe you did. Maybe you always had.

Maybe that’s why he never stopped you.

Because maybe he wanted to be seen. Even if he wouldn’t admit it. Even if it hurt.

His presence was overwhelming.

You could always feel it before you even saw him — felt the heat radiating from his body, the way the air seemed to thicken, to become something heavy in the space between you. It was like being trapped inside an electric storm where the tension crackled in the silence and you were both just waiting for the inevitable spark that would break the stillness.

His hands slid around your body, a promise in the way his fingertips barely brushed your skin. They found your ankles first, pressing into the soft flesh stretched taut over bone as he guided you, pulled you closer, making you feel every inch of his strength as he moved over you. You could feel the heat of him now, close enough to touch, too close to escape. The sheets under you were cold, the fabric brushing against the bare skin of your legs, the sensation almost jarring against the warmth of his hands.

You could feel him looking at you before you lifted your gaze. His eyes were already fixed on you, like he could see right through the parts of you that you wanted to hide. There was something terrifyingly possessive in the way he looked at you — a way that made you feel both seen and exposed, as if there was nothing left to hide, nothing left to protect yourself with.

He towered above you, his figure framed by the dim light in the room, a shadow over you, yet somehow he seemed to glow. You couldn’t help but notice the way his body was tensed up with restraint, the muscles in his arms, his chest, his shoulders. Every movement he made was deliberate, like he was trying to control every aspect of you — every sensation that flickered through your body, every breath you took.

And still, you didn’t fight it. You didn’t resist. You never did. The reality of the moment was both familiar and foreign at once. You had lived it before, and yet it always felt new, always felt like the first time. Your mind was caught in a whirlwind of memories — his touch, his words, the way he made you feel — but now, here, in this moment, all of that faded away. It was just you and him, and the weight of what he needed from you, what he expected, pressing down on you.

His fingers brushed your lips as he leaned down closer, and you could feel the roughness of his touch against your skin, a sharp contrast to the softness of the sheets beneath you. His eyes never left yours as he hovered above you, his breath hot against your face, his presence so consuming that you couldn’t breathe without feeling him.

Then his voice cut through the haze of thoughts that swirled in your mind, low and rough. “You want a big girl kiss?”

His fingers parted your lips, his rough pads pressing against the soft, tender skin. The movement was sharp, purposeful. You felt your body respond to him without thinking, your mouth parting for him even though you hadn’t made the decision. He wasn’t asking for permission, and you didn’t offer resistance. It wasn’t meant as gentle. It wasn’t supposed to be. It was demanding, possessive, molding you into what he needed you to be. A toy. An object. Something to bend to his will.

And you let him. Because deep down, in the place where the edges of desire blurred with need, you knew you wanted it too.

“My girl wants Daddy to kiss her?”

Your body went numb. Not in the way most would think — numb from fear or from discomfort. No. You were numb in the sense that you simply stopped feeling the way you normally would. You stopped fighting the chaos within you. You let yourself be moulded, let yourself be reshaped by the heat of his touch, the weight of his presence. You weren’t sure you could feel anything at all in this moment. But then again, you didn’t need to feel.

You just let things be felt.

The quiet hum of tension between you two filled the space. It was almost comfortable in its own unsettling way. And he needed this. Needed someone, needed some…thing — anything. He wanted to break something. Or perhaps he just wanted the release of control.

“Stick your tongue out.” he demanded, his voice turning deeper.

It was a struggle. He had your lips held too tightly, pressed together in a way that kept anything from escaping your mouth. Barely words could slip through the cracks, let alone anything solid. But the order didn’t leave room for hesitation. You forced yourself to obey, stretching your tongue outward, the motion clumsy, unsure, but obedient.

There was a moment of stillness then, a lingering silence between the two of you as he observed you. His eyes were heavy, weighted, watching every little detail of your movements with a hunger that seemed to burn deeper with every passing second.

“Am I too heavy?” His voice broke through, soft in contrast to the way his body pressed down on yours.

He straddled your thighs now, his body holding you down, pinning you to the bed with a force that was more than just physical. It wasn’t his pair of legs and arms, his torso, and his head, and every other part that added up to him — it was his presence that was the heaviest thing in that room, bearing down on you with an intensity that made every breath feel too thick, every moment stretched longer than it should have been.

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to answer. You could barely think, the pressure of him making everything in you feel like it was sinking, drowning in the tension. You shook your head, your cheek pressing into the cool pillow beneath you, the small motion your only response, the only thing you had left to offer.

“No.” you whispered.

And then, his lips curled into something dangerous.

“I’ll give you the best big girl kiss.”

Like smoke, lingering, staining, his words weren’t meant to be comforting. They weren’t meant to soothe. They were the kind that promised no mercy, no release, only the need for you to bend further, to surrender yourself fully to him, stretched between cruelty and tenderness, between something real and something imagined. His fingers lingered against your lips, pressing just hard enough to remind you he was there, to remind you once again that you belonged to him in this moment — whether you wanted to or not.

When they loosened slightly, enough to let your mouth part, your breath trembled out as though it belonged to someone else. His thumb brushed over the raw imprint left on your bottom lip, soft skin compared to his, calloused from work, from time, from whatever had carved its history into him. But beneath that was warmth, subtle and hidden, refusing to die. His thumb dragged along the corner of your mouth, smearing the wetness of breath and submission, tracing the shape of your compliance.

His breath was against your lips then, hot and near, a promise of what was to come. But he didn’t move yet. He let the tension build, letting every second between you stretch and tighten until it felt like the very air was vibrating with the weight of what was about to happen.

He didn’t kiss you.

He didn’t kiss you, yet. He hovered there, his mouth a ghost just above yours, close enough that you could taste the phantom of him — something faintly bitter like regret — and he stared. Right into you, past the fragile mask of your face. His pupils were dark pools with no bottom, swallowing everything you gave without the courtesy of reflection, pinning you down not with strength, but with something worse: understanding.

“Look at me.” he whispered, voice raw, as if the words themselves were knives he’d swallowed.

And you did. Of course you did. Because how could you not? There was gravity in him, in the way his jaw clenched, in the faint tremor beneath his skin like a storm he was getting too tired to outrun.

His breath hitched slightly. He wasn’t used to being seen.

Your eyes met his, and it felt like standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable, swallowing everything — your face, your thoughts, your fragile attempts to be more than just a shape beneath him.

Then, finally, he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t rough, either. It was something else — something hungry, not for flesh, but for proof. Proof that you were still there, that he was still here, that something in this hollow world could still be tangible if he pressed hard enough. His lips bruised yours with meaning rather than malice. It wasn’t the kind of kiss people wrote about in soft, safe stories. It wasn’t tender or sweet. It was simply necessary, like tearing open a wound or peeling back a scab just to feel the sting and see the blood. His mouth claimed yours with a desperation that felt too old to still be so new.

He’d been starving for years and only just realised it.

Your hands moved without thought or permission, clutching at him, pulling — not to bring him closer, but to keep yourself from drifting. He was the anchor, and you were the thing trying desperately not to float away in the eye of the storm. You, too, were tired of standing on the edge.

When he pulled back his forehead rested against yours and both of you breathed like it hurt to do so.

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me.” he whispered, almost to himself.

You wanted to say, me neither. But the words lodged in your throat. Instead, your fingers found his wrist, tracing the faint pulse beneath skin — fragile, steady, proof. Proof that he was real. Proof that you were, too.

His eyes fluttered shut, his expression softening just enough to show the cracks beneath. “I don’t think I know myself anymore.”

The words fell between you, sharp and raw, bleeding into the quiet. You didn’t try to fix them. You just stayed, your touch gentle, your breath syncing with his until it felt like you were holding pieces of him together — not with strength, but with presence.

I can feel the weight of your presence even when you're not near me, he thought. Like a shadow that looms over everything, even in daylight. And when you’re close? When you’re here, your touch is more than just a presence. It’s something that consumes.

It was suffocating, but he didn’t know if he could fight it anymore.

His fingers pressed against your skin, rough, methodical, as though he was trying to learn you like the contours of some strange, unfamiliar object. He couldn’t stop tracing, couldn’t stop touching.

You didn’t flinch.

You wondered, though, somewhere in the depth of your mind, if he ever wondered why he kept coming back. Was it really about needing something to bend, something to break? Was that why you were here? Was it why you, too, stayed? Because beneath everything, beneath the touches, the silence, the tension, there was an unspoken understanding that you were both just trying to hold on to something…anything.

You could feel him everywhere, and you hated how it made you ache for him, for something more. But you didn’t dare ask. He wasn’t ready for that. Maybe he never would be…unless…

“You always make me feel like I’m drowning.” you whispered, barely audible, the words slipping from your lips as easily as the tears that gathered in your eyes.

“That’s good.” he murmured. “You should…feel it.”

And there was something in the way he said it…

He wasn’t just talking about the act anymore. He wasn’t just talking about the desire that had built and built until it had nowhere else to go but here. He was talking about that darker something that lurked beneath the surface, that neither of you could face the finality of.

And still, you didn’t fight.

This urge.

It was getting stronger. He could feel it, growing inside him, clawing at the edges of his mind like something feral and desperate. It was hunger, aching, gnawing at him with the kind of intensity that drowned everything else, made him lose himself in the fire of it. His head was throbbing, sharper now, a beat that didn’t sync with his pulse, didn’t match the rhythm of his body. He wanted to shut it out, to push it away, but it was impossible. It was too much.

The pressure was unbearable.

“I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

His voice cracked, rough and fractured like he was holding back something violent — something that wanted to break free. Exactly that. His chest tightened, desperate for release, for something to stop the ache, but there was no escape. Not from this. Not from him.

“What do you mean, Al?”

Your voice cut through the thick silence like a blade, soft, innocent. But he knew you weren’t that. Not anymore, anyway.

He flinched at the sound of his own name, the rawness of it still unfamiliar, still sharp in ways he didn’t want to admit. But he didn’t fight it anymore either. He couldn’t. It was too late for that.

“I want to be inside your darkest everything, sweets.”

The words spilled from him like poison, but there was something almost tender in the way he said them. A yearning. An offering. And it sent a tremor through your body, one that you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried.

You held his face then, the warmth of your hands pressing into the coolness of his skin. Your fingers traced the sharpness of his jaw, and for a moment, everything stilled. Your eyes locked — no words, just the weight of everything that’s been unsaid, everything that had been waiting.

And then you spoke.

“I think I mostly just want to hold you.”

You could see the shift in him. The way his breath caught, the way his gaze softened, just for a second, before the hunger came rushing back, like an unstoppable tide.

He didn’t answer and he didn’t speak. Instead, he moved closer, his lips brushing against yours, soft and searching at first, as if to test the waters, to gauge how much of this — of him — you could truly bear.

It was written in the way he looked at you, in the way his fingers gripped you tighter, as if you might slip through his hands, as if you might disappear into the dark.

He didn’t need to say it. The words were there.

You could feel it too.

Save for the rhythmic sound of your breath and his, tangled and heavy, the quiet was the loudest thing, pressing in from every angle, demanding attention. A silence that, in its own way, spoke volumes.

He shifted, his body now hovering just above yours, the weight of him pressing against you, the darkness of him filling the space between you. He moved closer, inches, then closer still, until there was nothing left but the space you shared. Nothing but the inevitable.

And you let it drown you. You let him, because you had no other choice. Because you both were caught in the same endless spiral of need and destruction. You were just as broken, just as lost, as he was.

So you didn’t speak. You let him keep you here, keep you in the silence, in the darkness.

Silence, too, can be its own kind of truth.

But he was ready for confession.

“I had someone. I had…I had everything.” he murmured, his voice so soft it barely broke the air between you, yet it felt as loud as thunder.

It felt…divine to hear him like that, raw and exposed, even though it was more sacrilegious than it could ever be considered something holy. His words were broken, fragmented pieces of a past that had never truly let him go, all spilling out in a quiet rush.

He lay on his back, his body still but his mind racing, staring up at the ceiling as though the cracked plaster held the weight of all his secrets. Once he started, there was no stopping him.

“Everything…I had everything. And I couldn’t save them. It was a special day, that day when I…when I hurt you.” His words faltered, his chest tightening as he paused, grappling with the memory. “I could see them, and then I couldn’t. And it was like losing them all over again. And it felt so painful…it still…it still feels like pain, like the inside of my body is on fire, and it’s burning, and it’s angry, and bright, and…and it’s great, but…sometimes I just want someone to spread me open and pull my ribs out.”

His voice trailed off, each word more fragile than the last, as though he were admitting something that had been festering for years because, well, he was. The darkness in him was so raw, so deep, that you could almost feel it seep into the room.

You didn’t respond right away. You let his words hang in the silence between you, heavy and broken. There was a part of you that wanted to pull him back, to shield him from whatever it was that made him hurt this way, but you knew you couldn’t. Not this time. He needed to say it. He needed to feel heard, to feel understood.

“Like a thick black cloud covering everything.” you whispered, your voice soft but steady, almost like you were echoing his pain. Your hand moved slowly, tentatively, over his chest, settling over the center, right above his heart. You could feel the pulse beneath your palm, slow and steady. Despite everything he’d just shared, it was calm, almost as if it were trying to ground him, to bring him back to something solid in the midst of the chaos.

He let out a quiet, almost inaudible chuckle, the sound so out of place, so delicate in the depths of the rawness. “That sounds super depressing.” His laugh was light, a soft giggle that seemed to float in the air like a sigh of relief, just like everything he’d confessed had, for a fleeting moment, lost its grasp on him.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sound, the way it cut through the tension between you, as though you were both reaching for something to hold onto in the aftermath. And maybe, just maybe, that lightness was the beginning of something else that wasn’t wrapped in pain. Something that might still have the power to heal.

But the silence crept back in, heavier than before. It was a quiet kind of comfort, one that existed between two people who had shared something broken, something ugly, but still, in some way, still needed each other.

He was still staring at the ceiling.

And when he broke it, there was something that wasn’t quite anger in there, but something close to it.

“I just want to tell them…” he murmured, the words slipping out like he hadn’t intended. “Like…it’s weird that you died. Because I can still see you. I can still feel you. I could hold onto you, but it’s like...you’re still here, but not here. Like you’re stuck in my head. I can’t forget you…and I don’t know how to make sense of that.”

You watched him. He wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was lost in the faded cracks, praying that he might find the answers in the chipped paint right above him. He often did that. And you wondered if he ever found peace in it. Or if he even wanted to.

“Nostalgia is just proof you’re living a life you can be proud of, Alexander.” you said, your voice steady despite the heaviness that settled in your chest. You had no reason to believe the words, but they felt right coming from you in this moment. “I think it’s a privilege to yearn for your own memories.”

You could see the way his jaw tightened, how his lips pressed together, like he was trying to resist the urge to let something else spill from him. He finally turned his head towards you, his eyes searching yours, a kind of vulnerability flickering behind them.

“Do you?” he asked, his voice quieter now. He needed you to tell him that it wasn’t all as messed up as it felt in his head.

You almost laughed. A hollow sound that didn’t quite fit. “No.” you replied, your words dripping with bitterness. “I want to forget them. I’m a sad, bitter, weak human being.”

The truth was spilling out too easily. You, too, were now letting go of something you had held onto for too long.

You were weak.

You were just like him.

And that hit you harder than you wanted to admit.

“You’re so fucking clever, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” you muttered back. “I don’t know. Maybe I just tell myself that so I don’t have to admit what I really am.”

He was back on top of you then, shifting his weight once more as his body pressed against yours, the change in his mood palpable. The smile that had once lingered on his lips, playful and light, now twisted into the hunger, giving in.

“I love you so much.” he whispered. That almost made you flinch, made you ache some more. He wasn’t supposed to say it. Not like this. Not in the middle of all of this. “That’s fucking insane for me to say that out loud, isn’t it?”

You couldn’t help it. The laugh that bubbled up from your chest felt strange, almost hollow, but it was all you could manage. “Yeah.” you giggled, brittle, fragile. “It’s pretty insane.”

His lips found yours again, but it wasn’t the kiss you had expected. It was different — even rougher, even more desperate, trying to erase all the pain that had just spilled from his words, trying to fill the emptiness between you with something else. His hands were everywhere, gripping, pulling, demanding. His fingers dug into your skin like he was trying to claim you, to pull you back from whatever darkness was threatening to swallow him whole.

You squirmed beneath him, your breath hitching as his lips traced the curve of your neck, his tongue leaving a burning trail in its wake. “Stop it.” you whispered, your voice strained, though you knew it wouldn’t stop him. You never wanted it to. “Stop it.” you said again, a desperate plea wrapped in the guise of resistance.

His laugh was low, almost mocking, and you felt him adjust again, his body heavier, pinning you to the bed. “Will you run away if I don’t tie you up?” he asked, slipping from his lips with a strange sense of certainty, since he very well already knew the answer.

You swallowed hard, your chest rising and falling unevenly beneath him. “I don’t know.” you said. “You’d better tie me up.”

There was a pause — one that lingered. You could almost feel what he was about to do. The moment felt like it was stretching out longer than it should have, both of you suspended in it, trapped between the here and the there, between the desperate need for release and the terror of what it might mean.

The way he adjusted, the way he moved…you knew then that he wasn’t going to wait for you to change your mind. He was going to hold you. Whether you liked it or not.

A shadow on your skin, suffocating in a way that wasn’t painful, but still felt like you were drowning. His hands — rough yet so intent — kept pulling you into this thing you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t resist. There was something about him that kept you tethered, even when everything inside you screamed for air, for space.

“Don’t…don’t try to fight it.” he murmured against your ear, his voice low, laced with that certain undertone. His breath against your neck sent a shiver down your spine, but you stayed still. Still enough that your body felt like it was being molded to fit around him — just the way he wanted.

You were just a soft curve in his hands, something pliable and easy to manipulate. You were, in his eyes, a beautiful piece of clay waiting to be shaped. But it wasn’t about shaping anymore, was it? It had shifted. To taking what was his, what he had a right to, and leaving marks on your soul that were harder to erase.

“Are you wet?” he asked, just as his fingers skimmed the insides of your bare thighs — featherlight, like he wasn’t really touching you at all, just a ghost of contact, enough to make you ache for more.

“I-…yes.” you whispered, breath catching in your throat.

“Yeah?” he nagged, his tone sharp with that cruel, playful edge, the corners of his mouth twitching, holding back his grin. “We need to make sure though…don’t we, baby?”

“Mhm.” It was all you could manage, your body tensing under the weight of his gaze, your skin prickling with anticipation.

And so he touched.

Beyond the edges of decency and towards the end of no return. His fingers slid inward, slow, unhurried, slipping between your folds with a precision that felt both casual and calculated. He didn’t press inside — not yet. There was no intrusion, just exploration, his fingertips gliding through the slickness he found there. The wet sound of it was obscene in the quiet, and somehow that only made it worse. Or better.

He lifted his hand slightly, holding his fingers up between you, glistening in the dim light. His eyes darkened as he stared, fascinated — not just by what he saw, but by the power of it. The power of you. The way you couldn’t stop him, the way you didn’t want to.

“So slippery.” he observed in a whisper, voice husky, more to himself than to you.

His fingers found their way back, dragging your wetness lazily over the sensitive skin, spreading it like it belonged to him. His other hand came up, sliding under your chin, tilting your head back just enough so he could see the whites of your eyes — the vulnerability there, so bare, so raw. You felt it everywhere, like you were exposed down to your bones.

“I could break you.” he whispered, not cruelly, but with an intensity that made your heart stumble in your chest. His fingers pressed just a little harder, a reminder of how easy it would be. “And you’d let me. Wouldn’t you?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Your mind was a battlefield warring with the deep-seated fear clawing at one side and the strange, undeniable pull you felt toward him at the other. He was like a puzzle, jagged pieces that didn’t quite fit together but somehow made perfect sense when they did. You were drawn to him because of that — because you couldn’t figure him out, and it terrified you. Because he terrified you in ways that felt all too familiar.

And yet, all you could do was nod.

Your throat was too tight to speak. Words felt useless anyway.

“Good girl.” he muttered, pleased with the unspoken consent that hung heavy between you both.

His presence was becoming more pressing, not just physically but in every other way. His chest rose and fell in time with yours, like you were sharing the same breath, the same space, the same inevitable end.

His fingers traced the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate, savouring the control, the power, the fragile thread of you stretched tight beneath his hands.

And even though it scared you, part of you wanted him to keep going. To push until there was nothing left of the person you were before or the one you might have had the chance to become.

“Do you want me to stop?” His voice was softer now, a quiet challenge, but it wasn’t really a question. It was an invitation to back out — a door cracked open just enough for you to slip through if you wanted, though you both knew that wasn’t the choice you were going to make. You both knew you weren’t going anywhere.

It wasn’t about wanting.

It was about needing.

“No.” you breathed, the word barely there, but it was enough. It was everything.

In that moment, it was clear. You weren’t asking for mercy anymore.

You were asking for him to finish what he’d started.

His voice was thick with something dark, something satisfied, as he spread the wetness between his fingers, dragging it up and down, slow, deliberate. He wasn’t rushing. He wanted you to feel every second of it, to be painfully aware of the way he was learning your body, memorising it with his touch.

“You always get like this for me.” he murmured, watching the way you twitched beneath him. His fingers barely moved, just ghosting over where you needed him most, teasing, playing. His breath was warm against your skin, his mouth hovering near your ear. “It’s fucking perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”

His other hand pressed against your lower stomach, pinning you down, reminding you, time and time again, that you weren’t in control here. He was. You had given him that control, surrendered it the moment you let him touch you like this the first time. And he knew it. He could feel it in the way you trembled, in the way your breath hitched every time he shifted, in the way you clung to the sheets…drowning.

“You like this.” he mused, dragging his fingers up just enough to make your back arch before slipping them away again, leaving you wanting and waiting. He didn’t give in. He liked to take his time. He liked to see you suffer in the best way possible. “I can tell.”

You whimpered, and he chuckled.

“You can’t even speak now?” he teased, pressing his fingers against your clit hard enough to make you gasp. “What happened to all those clever words, babygirl? Hm?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He was unravelling you too fast, pulling you apart with nothing but his voice, his hands, his presence.

He smirked, slow and lazy, as if he had all the time in the world. And maybe he did. Maybe he wanted to keep you here, pinned beneath him, on the edge of something devastatingly sweet, forever.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep playing until you remember how to use that pretty mouth again.” His voice was thick, almost strained, laced with the pleasure of anticipation. “You ready for me, baby? You’ve got me so hard.”

And he made sure you felt it, not just in the low, wrecked rasp of his words but in the deliberate push of his hips against your thigh. Heavy, hot, undeniable. A silent demand.

Instinct took over before thought could. Your legs parted in a slow, dragging slide against the sheets, a sound almost as loud as your own breathing. The movement was automatic, a quiet surrender, your knees kept low to let him move between them without resistance. Like you were offering yourself up, like your body had always known how to yield to him.

He shifted, propped himself up just enough, and you felt the absence of his touch for only a second before you heard it — that sound. The slick, obscene slide of his fist moving over himself, coated in you, working himself with a slow, steady rhythm. The room was too dark to see much, but you could hear everything. The wet, deliberate strokes. The subtle catches in his breath. The low, guttural sounds he made just for himself, the ones he didn’t mean to let slip out.

It was intoxicating.

Your breath caught when you felt the blunt heat of him nudge against you, teasing at the place where you were already slick and swollen, already open for him. He let himself linger there for a moment, dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, smearing it across you in slow, teasing strokes, like he was savouring the feeling, like he was working himself up to the moment just as much as you were.

“You ready?”

You barely had time to nod.

“Biiiiig stretch…” he murmured, voice edged with something close to amusement, something dangerously close to reverence. Then, finally, he pushed in.

It was slow. Deep. He pressed forward, just enough for you to feel the intrusion before he stilled, basking in the tightness, the heat. Your body clenched around him instinctively, and he groaned, the sound reverberating through his chest as he sank fully inside you. He let out a low breath, shaky with restraint, and held himself there for a moment, letting you feel every inch, every pulse, every twitch.

“Fuck.” he breathed, voice unravelling, head dropping forward. His fingers gripped your hips, possessive, grounding himself in the reality of being inside you again. “So fucking tight. Taking me so good.”

His hands tightened, his breath hot against your skin, and you…you were lost now.

Completely.

You were lost in his shadow, swallowed whole by the weight of him, the presence that loomed over you, consumed you. There was no escaping this. No leaving here.

And then he started moving.

The stretch was already unbearable, but the drag of him, thick and deep, made your breath catch, made your body tense around him like it was trying to keep him there. But that only seemed to spur him on. The feeling of you — so tight, so warm — made it impossible for him not to want to shred you apart. He groaned as he pulled back just to slam back in, pushing past every inch of resistance until all you could do was take it.

He could hear you — your whimpers, your gasps, the broken sounds that slipped from your lips as you squirmed beneath him. Could feel your hands grabbing at him, nails pressing into his skin, unsure whether you were trying to push him away or pull him closer.

“Fuck, baby.” he rasped. “Look at you. Taking it so fucking well.”

He covered your body in praise, words slipping between ragged breaths, between deep, punishing thrusts. One hand wrapped around your throat, firm but not cruel, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes burned into you, dark and consuming, and you realised you weren’t looking at him. You were looking into him.

“See yourself the way I see you.” he whispered, leaning in so close his lips brushed yours, not kissing you, just breathing you in. “Look how fucking precious you are.”

And you had to look. Had to see what he saw. You weren’t sure what was written all over your face, but it was reflected right back in his. His love, his need, his ruin. And the way he was ruining you.

He went hard. Hard enough to blur everything except him. Hard enough to make your moans break into cries, to make your body twist beneath him, trying to run, trying to escape the intensity of it.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he taunted, voice still dripping with sweetness even as he pinned you back down, holding you there, forcing you to take every brutal thrust.

The noise filled the room — your cries, his grunts, the sound of skin against skin, yours on his and his on yours, wet and obscene. You could barely breathe, barely think. The pain blurred into pleasure, tangled so tightly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. And then — something gave in.

All the strength left your body. Your muscles stopped resisting. You stopped resisting. Your mind was still screaming at you to run, to fight, to do something —but your body? Your body wanted.

And he knew. And he felt it. He felt the way you went limp beneath him, the way you stopped fighting and just…let him have you. It only made him worse. His hard but slow, deep thrusts turned to harsh and uncontrollable. He didn’t hold back anymore. He took you like you were meant to be taken.

Your hands scrambled for purchase, found his shoulders, his back, and you held on. You dug your nails in, scratching, marking him up with crescent-shaped wounds. But he didn’t seem to mind. No — he loved it. His own marks were littered across your body, teeth sinking into your neck, your collarbone, sucking bruises onto your skin in one last attempt at trying to make you his.

“Mine.” he growled against your throat, punctuating the word with a sharp, deep thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. “Say it.”

His hand squeezed around your throat, just enough to make you dizzy, to make you choke out the only word that mattered.

“Yours.”

His pace didn’t falter, not even for a second. He kept driving into you, deep, relentless, his body pressing you further into the mattress with each thrust. You could feel everything — every inch of him, every twitch, every ounce of need he poured into you. And yet, when he spoke, his voice was strained, desperate for something more.

“Do you like it?” he asked, breath ragged, chest heaving.

He needed your words. Needed the reassurance that you were still here, that you were still his, still taking him the way he needed you to. But you couldn’t answer. Maybe it was the way he was splitting you apart, his cock hitting so deep it felt like he was breaking something inside of you, or the hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing hard to steal your breath, to keep you hovering on the edge of dizziness, pleasure, and something dangerously close to surrender. Or maybe…maybe it was just the sheer feeling of release.

“Talk to me.” he murmured, voice thick with hunger, desperate. His other hand found your jaw, thumb brushing over your parted lips, smearing saliva and sweat and possession across your skin. “Talk to me, baby. What do you say, huh?”

You tried. You really did. But all that came out was a broken, breathless whimper.

“Mhm…”

Not enough. Not nearly enough. His fingers tightened, his thrusts turning sharp, demanding.

“What do you say?” His voice was lower now, rougher. A command wrapped in a plea. “Say thank you, Daddy.”

Your vision blurred. The words barely formed in your head before they were slipping from your lips, raw, shaky, utterly wrecked.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Again.”

“Thank you.”

“Again.”

“Thank you.”

Your voices blended, tangled together in that breathless, desperate plea for release. The moment cracked open between you, raw and devastating, and there was no escaping it. Your body trembled beneath him, wracked with exhaustion, pleasure, pain — everything at once. He could see it, how overwhelmed you were, how far gone. Your pretty little face was flushed, streaked with tears, lips trembling, wet with your own drool and his. You were holding back another sob, your breath hitching with every rough thrust, every deep, unrelenting stroke that left you gasping for air.

And fuck — this view alone.

It made something dark coil in his chest, something possessive and cruel. It made him ache to ruin you even more. The way you looked, so helpless, so fucking innocent — it was like you were begging for it without even saying a word. Begging to be wrecked. To be used.

So he did just that.

He watched you, savouring every tiny shift in your expression, every little twitch of your brows, every sharp inhale, every desperate moan that spilled from your lips.

And then — before you could even feel it in your bones — he flipped you over.

It was dizzying. One second you were staring up at him, lost in his shadow, and the next, you were on your stomach, face pressed into the sheets, his weight pressing down on you. You barely had time to process it before he was pinning you down, before he was spreading your legs again, before he was back inside.

Deeper now. Worse.

A ragged gasp tore from your throat, muffled against the pillows. His hands gripped your wrists, pushing them above your head, locking you in place. His body covered yours completely, his heat sinking into your skin, his breath hot against your ear.

“You feel that?” His voice was rough, shaking the with restraint he didn’t really possess anymore. He thrust forward, slow, grinding himself deep, making sure you felt every inch. “So fucking tight like this, baby. Fuck- Made for me.”

You sobbed. A real, broken sob. But you didn’t tell him to stop.

“Fuck…” he groaned again, dropping his forehead against the back of your neck. “You love this, don’t you? Love being pinned down, love getting fucked deep like this. So deep…”

He didn’t wait for you to answer. He knew. He felt it in the way your body clenched around him, in the way you arched your back despite the weight of him pressing you down.

“Good girl.” he murmured, dragging his lips over your shoulder. “Let me fuck you up.”

And then he started to move…again.

But when he pressed in and then out of your willing hole, it was as if the world shifted, the space between you collapsing in an instant. His cock was too slick, too wet with the remnants of your body, and it slipped, sliding against you with brutal precision, a brutal force, a relentless pounding that left no room for hesitation. A breathless cry tore from your throat as the shock of it hit you. There was no warning, no preparation. Just force, just him, pressing, pushing, his wetness slick against your skin, forcing its way in.

The pain was sharp, searing, as he pressed against the tight muscle, relentless, until it gave. And then, slowly, so deeply, he sank himself into you.

A sharp gasp left your lips, a cry so raw it felt like it tore the air between you. The sudden burn of him pushing with no gentleness and just the harsh reality of his need…you weren’t ready for it, but his body didn’t care.

It was pain and pleasure, a twisted thing that mixed in the heat of the moment.

“Fuck…” His voice was strained, a whisper of satisfaction even as he buried himself deeper, as though he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t claim you enough.

Did he want this all along? Was this always his plan? Was he always going to take you like this? There was no time to wonder — no time to question the urgency that burned between you. But deep down, the thought lingered — he planned this.

He loved it, didn’t he?

The way your body tensed around him, the way you cried out, the way he held you down and made you take it. He wanted this. Wanted you.

He just loved the way your tight little hole gripped him, so tight, so willing despite the ache. How you gasped beneath him, how you arched into him, begging with your body for him to move, to fill you in the way only he could. It wasn’t enough for him to just be inside you — he wanted to see you fall apart.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart…I’m sorry…” His apology was soft, though his actions were anything but. He murmured it against your ear as he thrust again, harder this time, his rhythm pushing you further into the sheets, again and again. “I’m sorry…”

But God, it felt so good to him. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to.

The apology was just a lie. You both knew it. A soft, quiet whisper that barely had time to settle before he thrust into you again. Harder.

There was no stopping him. The rhythm had taken over, and with each push, he sank deeper, until the room was filled with nothing but the sound of skin, the wetness between you, and the desperate, breathless gasps that escaped from your throat.

“It was an accident…I didn’t mean…” His words faltered into a murmur as he tried to form the apology again, but it was swallowed by the tension in the air, by the way your body responded to him, to the rhythm of his thrusts. There was no room for words anymore — only the need. Only the heat.

God, you felt so good.

Every inch of you wrapped around him, tight and slick, a perfect fit. He could hardly hold on — could hardly keep it together.

You were so good at this. So good at taking him.

“Shh, baby…” he soothed needily. “Just take it, sweetie…I know it hurts, but you’re doing so good. So fucking good…so proud of you…”

Fuck, he thought. He was close. So close. His body shook with the effort to pull back, to hold off for just a moment longer. But he couldn’t. You were too perfect beneath him, too responsive. You made him lose control.

He fucked you harder, the sound of your sobs mixing with the harsh rhythm of his body against yours. He could barely hear your cries, too consumed with the way you clenched around him, the way your body shook with each thrust, each push that sent a wave of fire through him.

“Are you crying?” he groaned, a curse escaping his lips, unable to suppress the dark thrill in his voice as he felt you tighten around him. “Fuck…keep crying. Keep doing that…you’re gonna make me come…”

It felt like the world was on the edge, hanging between the pull of pleasure and the ache of pain, the blur of the two so thick.

Suddenly, your body arched beneath him, so sharply, so completely, that for a moment, it felt as though time itself had stopped. He swore he could feel it — the way your breath hitched, the way your body trembled, as though the world was closing in, and you were being consumed by the very force of him. And he swore he could see your eyes rolling back in your head even though your face was turned away from him, caught in the throes of something so pure, so intense. Your mouth hung open, desperate, gasping for air, as your hips started to shake uncontrollably against him. Every part of you was trembling, desperately seeking more, deeper, harder.

The way you moved drove him wild. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you fall apart. He could feel your chest heaving beneath him, and he could hear the shallow, ragged gasps that escaped you, as if you were fighting to take in more of him, trying to catch your breath but unable to. And your hands — God, your hands — clenched hard into tight, desperate fists, curling with so much force that your knuckles were white, struggling to hold on as your body wracked with pleasure, shaking from the inside out.

“Alexander-” you whimpered, breathless, your very soul spilling out with each sound that escaped your lips.

“That’s it…that’s it, baby.” he groaned. “Let it all out. Let it all go.”

His own breath came harder, quicker, as your body tightened, convulsing around him. It almost felt like the very force of your release would shatter the walls that separated you. He couldn’t stop himself now, not when you were this far gone, when you were his. His pulse pounded in his ears, the rhythmic thrusts matching the frantic beat of his heart.

“You’re my fucking girl.” he murmured. “All fucking mine.”

You cried out as you gushed over him, and he swore he could feel your soul leaving your body for just a moment. But even in that fragile state, you didn’t pull away. You welcomed it. You accepted it. And that was all he needed — your surrender, your absolute devotion in the midst of all that chaos.

“Let it all out…”

This was more than he could bear. He pumped harder, his rhythm deepening, feeling your wetness flood around him as you came undone, gasping for air, your body betraying you to the pleasure, to the connection, to every desperate, broken sound you made as your release washed over you.

He didn’t stop, even when your body shook from the aftershocks, even when your cries began to fade into soft moans. His pace only quickened, desperate to take in the way you had completely surrendered to him. And you did. You let him fill you completely.

“Alexander…” you whimpered again, your voice softer now, but it was enough for him. Enough for him to feel that overwhelming rush, that intoxicating power.

“Shh, baby.” he whispered, his voice almost too low, too hushed as he slowed his rhythm just for a moment, pulling you closer. “Just breathe. You’re doing so good…so good.”

He could feel you, deep inside and all around him, your warmth, your breath, your trembling hands beneath him. And even as you cried out, he held you, in a way that words could never fully capture. The world outside of you, of him, seemed to fade away.

It was just you, just him, and the devastating, beautiful rawness of this connection.

And then, with a deep groan, he couldn’t hold back anymore. He felt it — his release — a violent surge of pleasure that filled him so completely, so utterly, that he thought he might just drown in it for good. Everything went white-hot. All he could do was collapse against you, his breath harsh, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself.

You both lay there, tangled in each other, bodies entwined, as the room slowly returned to silence. The only sound left was the soft rhythm of your breathing and the lingering ache of something still hanging in the air.

He could hear your breathing slow, your body still, and he couldn’t help but lean into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. His voice was a low rasp, still drunk on the intensity of the moment.

“You’re everything to me…”

His hands, still shaking, slid across your skin, leaving trails of warmth in their wake as he lowered his lips to your neck again. Without another word, they trailed down the curve of your neck, over the slope of your shoulder, leaving open-mouthed kisses that were tender, but they burned, burned hotter than the bruises already forming beneath them, the bruised skin where his grip had held you too tightly, where his body had pressed you too hard, where he had left his mark, undeniable and deep.

Each kiss felt like a brand, searing into you, a silent claim etched in the soft spaces where no one else could see.

You gasped, still reeling, your body trembling beneath him, your eyes fluttering as you tried to focus. You had been taken to places you hadn’t expected, hadn’t known were possible, and now, all you could do was exist in the aftermath. The sound of his breathing, ragged and desperate, filled your ears as his lips moved lower, brushing the top of your spine before finally pulling away, his gaze wandering over you, over what he had left behind.

He wasn’t ready to let go — not fully. And when he did, he pulled back just enough to see — to witness what he’d done. There was something dark, something possessive in his gaze as his eyes travelled over the marks left behind, the raw evidence of his presence etched into your skin like a secret carved in flesh.

He paused for a moment, leaning back slightly to take you in and watched the way your body still quivered from the inside, the way you couldn’t quite control the tremors, the way your muscles twitched involuntarily in the wake of everything that had just happened.

His eyes flicked to the marks of your union.

There, in the dim light, he could see it all — how your body was filled with him, how his release had mixed with your own, the traces of him oozing out in streaks of white mingled with faint hints of red — proof of just how far he’d gone, how deeply he had carved himself into you. It was dripping out of you slowly, staining the sheets beneath.

The sight was almost too much…even for him.

His fingers moved without thought, sliding down your body, slowly, slowly reaching down as he dipped them between your legs, gathering remnants of that connection, scooping some of himself from you in the fragile boundary between tenderness and something darker.

With a deep breath, he pulled you. You were still shaking beneath him, but you didn’t resist. Then he turned you, gently but firmly, flipping you over, your body moving at his command, until you were face-up again. His eyes flicked back to your face. He could see the faint tremors in your eyes, the struggle to keep them open, glazed with exhaustion, but your body was so pliable, so willing to follow his lead, as though you had no choice but to obey his every movement, caught somewhere between pleasure and vulnerability.

His gaze held yours as he pressed his fingers to your lips, slick with the remnants of both of you.

His fingers, stained with the aftermath of you both, hovered at your lips for just a heartbeat before he pressed them past the soft curve, slipping into the warmth. Your breath caught, your eyelids fluttering closed for a moment as you took him in, but you didn’t hesitate — your mouth opened, parting instinctively to let him enter, tongue flicking out to meet his fingers with a softness that sent a shiver down his spine. Your lips closed around them and you started swirling lazily, tasting the remnants of him — of you — like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And when your eyes opened, struggling to stay that way, there was no fear there — only surrender. Willing, fragile surrender. A prayer whispered against the dark.

You hummed against his touch, tasting him on your tongue like it was a drug, something you craved. Something you needed. He couldn’t help but let out a low groan as he watched you, the way you sucked on his fingers so willingly, so eagerly. He watched, fascinated.

“Such a good girl.” he whispered, the words falling from his lips like a blessing, like an affirmation, trembling with the weight of his own disbelief at the depth of what he felt. His free hand traced the curve of your jaw, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, a fragile contrast to the bruises blooming beneath his touch. “I told you it was nothing to be afraid of, didn’t I? You’re finally all mine now. Mine…” he murmured, leaning down close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Only mine.”

Vows wrapping around your soul.

His forehead pressed against yours, breath mingling, hot and heavy in the space between. His words came softer now. “You’re finally mine…all mine. ”

You whimpered softly, your breath catching as his fingers remained in your mouth, the pressure building as you sucked on them with increasing desperation, the taste of him filling your senses. And all the while, his hand slid down to your body, feeling the tremors in your skin, the way you shuddered under his touch, as if you were still reeling from the storm he had unleashed within you.

He leaned down closer, his lips brushing against your ear once more. “You’re mine, you understand that, don’t you? Completely. No one else will ever have you like this.”

The tremors wouldn’t stop. They wouldn’t stop. They were there, deep in the marrow of your bones, the aftermath of something that left you hollow yet full all at once.

“You’re mine. No one else can have you. Not now. Not ever. You’re mine, body and soul.”

The words wrapped around you, sinking in deeper. You were tethered to him, bound by more than just the physical. It wasn’t just possession — it was something more, something raw and irrevocable and rotten that had taken root in both of you

His touch was rougher again, more desperate. He feared that the moment might slip away. His fingers pulled from your mouth slowly.

“I’m never letting you go. Got that? I’m never going to let anyone else touch you the way I do. Not again.”

And there it was — not just a claim, but a truth, undeniable, carved into the silence that followed, where possession felt like devotion, and surrender felt like belonging.

You knew, now, this time for sure, that there was no going back. You had crossed some invisible line. You were his, completely. You felt the weight of that truth settle deep inside you, sinking into your bones in ways you couldn’t possibly understand.

The room was suffocatingly quiet, the only sound the ragged pull of your breath mingling with his. It felt more and more like a tight thread about to snap. His hands, large and warm, wrapped around you, pulling you against him as if he could fold you into his skin, make you disappear inside the hollow space carved just for you.

When his fingers slid upward, circling the delicate column of your throat, it was with the precision of someone who knew exactly what they were doing — not hesitant, not questioning, no need for words. It was instinct, the way his palms fit there, like they had been carved by memory, like your neck was shaped for his touch. It felt like their rightful place, ever since…the incident. You didn’t need to ask for his touch, he gave it, and it was just…right. His thumbs traced the fragile pulse beneath your skin, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat — proof of life.

It was all there, under his touch.

That pulse beat, and beat, and beat against his fingertips, frantic and alive, each flutter a silent confession. He felt your life, fragile and wild beneath his hands, a secret only he could crush or cradle. His grip tightened slightly. The pressure was gentle at first, just enough to remind you that he was there — that he could take more if he wanted to. That he wanted to.

Piece by piece, with nothing more than his hands and his will.

“You feel that?” His voice was low, frayed around the edges. “How easy it is for me to hold you like this? For me to- to…to have all of you?”

The words tangled in your throat, trapped beneath the weight of his touch.

But your body answered for you.

That answer was written in every shallow breath you managed to take.

He leaned in closer. “You don’t have to ask for my touch. You never did. It’s always been yours.” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your temple, a breath, a shadow. “I already know.”

He was watching you closely, eyes dark and glassy, reflecting something sharp and raw. His gaze wasn’t just on you but inside you, peeling back layers you didn’t know existed. There was no place to hide. Not from him. Not from this.

There was something terrifying and beautiful in that truth.

He was enthralled by the view. He just couldn’t help but go over it in his head. Again and again and again…

This is where you belong, his grip seemed to say. Right here. Under me. Within reach.

His hands tightened.

I want to…

He choked you until you tried speaking. Until you tapped his arm, like you’d practiced, and then until you started flailing and punching when he wouldn’t let go. He wanted to keep squeezing, until you turned purple, until you did everything you could, still fighting him to get loose, against your own wishes, but on simple human instinct.

…I want her to feel weak. That I can do this to her. When she realises that, then I’ll let her breathe.

His forehead rested against yours. You could feel the tremble in his body, the restraint threading through his muscles, taut and coiled, a fragile leash barely holding him back. His touch softened then. His grip eased, fingers tracing the tender skin his hands had claimed moments before, almost apologetic, as if trying to soothe the very ache he’d created. But the ache wasn’t just physical — it was deeper, buried beneath layers of skin and bone, stitched into the fabric of who you were when you were with him, when you truly allowed yourself to feel it.

“I could take everything…” he whispered, as though the idea itself was sacred. “But I don’t need to. You’ve already given it to me.”

And you had.

Without words, without promises, you had offered him all of you — your fears, your darkness, your very breath — and he had taken it, cradled it in his hands every time like something precious and fragile, even when his grip was anything but gentle.

His hands fell away, leaving the ghost of his touch behind, a phantom feeling where his fingers had been. But even without them, you felt his claim, etched deeper than bruises, deeper than breath.

You didn’t just belong to him.

You wanted to.

The absence of his touch left you feeling hollow. The warmth that had wrapped around you, consumed you, was gone in an instant, and it felt unbearable. Like being abandoned in the cold after knowing only fire. You gasped for it, reaching blindly as though you could pull him back with sheer desperation alone…to fill the void.

“No…” The word left you as a whisper, fragile and breaking.

Alexander stilled, watching you like he’d been waiting for that very syllable. His dark eyes glowed with something unreadable, something deep and knowing. His head tilted slightly, a predatory curiosity flickering behind his eyes, humming with tension, with expectation. He wanted you to beg. He needed to hear it.

“What is it, sweetie?”

Your lips trembled. Your throat felt tight. But the words clawed their way out anyway. “N- no…why’d you stop? P-please…I need it. I need it so…so bad.”

The desperation in your voice seemed to ignite something in him. The corner of his mouth twitched, just barely, into the faintest shadow of a smile — not kind, not soft, but sharp like broken glass. He moved closer.

“Oh yeah?” His fingers brushed over your jaw, tracing the curve of it. His touch felt deceptively gentle. “And what exactly do you need, little love? You know I can’t give you exactly what you want unless you tell me. Use that pretty mouth of yours.” His eyes bore into you, dark and endless.

But words weren’t enough for this. Words couldn’t capture the way your body ached, the way your mind was unravelling without him. Instead, you just looked at him. Your eyes spoke the language you’d both learned in the spaces between speech — wide and pleading, lips parted, breath shallow. A silent, desperate surrender.

And he understood.

Of course he did.

Because you weren’t two separate people. You weren’t two people trying to find connection. You had been made for each other, pulled from the same darkness, shaped by the same hunger. He was made for this — for you. Just as you were made for him. You weren’t lovers in the ordinary sense, but rather reflections. Fragments of the same whole, scattered pieces finally pulled back together, slotting into place with every breath, every glance, every whispered plea. A single entity split apart, clawing its way back together.

You didn’t just complete each other.

You consumed each other.

“You figured it out before me, didn’t you?” His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip. “You knew…knew we were never meant to be apart. That there is no you and me. Just…us.”

His hand slid down to your throat.

That was where it belonged.

He wrapped his fingers around your neck, splaying over your pulse. The pressure was light at first, but it grew, steadily, until it was all you could feel. His grip tightened, not out of cruelty, but because he knew. Knew how much you needed to feel small beneath his hands, how much you craved the razor-thin edge where surrender met survival.

And he stared. Just stared at you.

The image of you like this — breathless, vulnerable, utterly his — burned itself into his mind. He memorised every detail. The way your chest rose and fell too fast, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your lips trembled.

I want to see her fight.

The thought was sudden, electric.

Not because he wanted you to escape…but he wanted you to try. To push against him, to resist, to claw for breath with some primal, human instinct — only to realise you couldn’t. That you were weak.

That he was the only thing keeping you here.

The idea curled in his chest, spreading like wildfire through his veins.

“I could keep going, you know.” His grip tightened, just a fraction. “Tighter. Until you really start to struggle…until you start clawing at me. Wouldn’t that be something?” he mused, watching the way your pupils blew wide, the way your hands twitched. “Watching you panic. Watching you really get it inside your tiny head that you’re weak. That I can do this to you. That no matter how much you fight, you can’t stop me.”

His grip tightened again.

Your breathing hitched.

“Or…” His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his breath warm, coaxing. “Maybe I just don’t stop. Maybe I let you struggle, let you break beneath me. Maybe I let you realise this is finally the end for you. Is that what you need?”

He felt your pulse spike.

A deep, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest.

“There’s nothing worthy of your troubles, little one.” he whispered. His grip grew firmer, pressing against the delicate structure of your throat, cutting off just enough air to make your head swim. “And the earth…it isn’t worth even a single sigh of yours, love.”

Your vision blurred around the edges. Your body twitched. The primal instinct to breathe kicked in, but you made no move to stop him.

“Pain and torment are our life.” he continued, his voice a low hum in your fading consciousness. “The world? Meaningless…it’s- it’s nothing. But you?” His thumb pressed against your pulse point, feeling the frantic drum of your heartbeat. He tilted his head, considering. Then…

“Everything.”

His fingers curled tighter.

The pressure increased.

Your body reacted automatically — fingers clawing weakly at his wrist, legs twitching, mind screaming for air. But beneath the panic, beneath the wild thrum of survival, there was a deeper truth: you didn’t want him to stop.

Because in this space, this darkness, you felt more alive than anywhere else.

Air became a distant thing, unreachable, and your hands grew weaker. But you held on. To anchor yourself in the feeling of him.

He groaned. “Oh, sweetheart. Look at you…” His free hand dragged down your body, over every other mark he had left behind. “You’re so pretty like this.”

Your vision was tunneling now, a slow descent into something dark. Your limbs felt heavy, your chest tight. Your body convulsed, trembling against his hold, not out of fear, but from the overwhelming flood of sensation, the blurred line between pain and pleasure…

…And you felt yourself slipping.

“Now…” he murmured, his face close enough that his breath was the only thing filling your starving lungs, “you just…”

Harder.

“…Calm down.”

And then…

Then he let go.

The rush of air into your limp lungs was violent. He watched as your whole body folded in on itself, choking on the sudden flood of oxygen that had nowhere to go anymore. But before you could collapse, he caught you. Strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest as your shaking limbs gave out.

He cradled you there, his fingers stroking the side of your face, tracing over your skin, memorising you all over again, for one last time.

“There you are.” he murmured, his voice softer now, lower. “It’s okay, little one. That’s it. Just…” His lips brushed against your temple, lingering. “...right where you belong.”

Because you did belong.

To him.

And he was never going to let you forget it.

“You’re alright…” His voice slipped into your ear like a soft caress, an unsettling warmth that contrasted with the ice building in your chest. His fingers wrapped around your face, gently yet firmly cradling your jaw. He tilted your head slightly, forcing your still eyes to meet his wild ones.

His thumbs brushed the traces of tears from your cheeks. The coolness of your skin, damp with the aftershocks of what had just passed, sent a shiver through his body.

So fragile…his tiny bird caught in the storm.

And yet, despite it all, he was still drawn to you. He leaned closer, his lips grazing the line of your jaw, a soft, almost tender kiss just beneath your ear. His mouth lingered there, warm and seeking, but it was a far cry from the way he had consumed you before.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

A quiet, twisted truth between the two of you that neither could ignore in the end. The words felt hollow, emptied of their traditional meaning. But to him, they were all he had left to offer, the only thing that could fill the cavernous void inside.

A sublime mockery, echoing in a space where love had been stripped down to its barest bones.

There was no softness in it, no light. Just a shadow wearing the shape of affection, dressed up in the language of tenderness while hiding the rot beneath.

Love.

A word people clung to, believing it could save them, define them. But for him, it was nothing more than a curse — a shackle disguised as a gift.

And yet, here he was, saying it anyway.

Why?

Because it sounded beautiful when spoken over the wreckage of something ruined.

The words were nothing but a mask, a charade, a necessary illusion. It wasn’t love in the way others might have understood it. It was far more consuming and suffocating. A sick attachment that he couldn’t let go of, even if he tried. And you, caught in the hurricane of his need, understood it now too.

So, at last, he held you.

He held you because that, too, was part of it — the contradiction. To give and take, to hurt and to heal. To make you need him and to break you until there was nothing left but utmost devotion.

His hands slid down your neck, your back, the tips of his fingers pressing into the soft flesh, feeling the way you tensed, the way your body still responded to him without question. He marvelled at it. The power he had over you.

He leaned in again, brushing his lips against your ear, his voice low and almost inaudible, but laden with intent. “You know, you were never meant to be apart from me.” he said, the words no longer dangerous in their beauty. “You belong to me. There is no escape. There never was.”

His breath quickened as he pulled you closer, his chest pressing against yours, his hands moving back to your face, forcing your eyes to meet his again.

“Do you understand? You were made for me. For this. For us.”

There was a fire behind his words, a desperate need that pushed past the facade of control he fought so hard to maintain.

“Tell me, love…” he murmured. “Tell me you understand. Tell me you understand…”

He held you tighter, his grip fierce now, even though you had nowhere left to go. His lips found the curve of your neck, kissing, biting, marking you with bruises that would remain…forever.

And as he did, his mind wandered again to that deep, unsettling thought. The one that hovered just beneath the surface, the one he couldn’t ignore.

I will always search for you. Even in the dark corners of my mind, in the dreams I can’t remember. I will look for you. Always.

Often, he’d seen them go down with irony etched into their faces — men and women alike, clutching their illusions all the way to the grave. In all he’d witnessed, all he’d dug from the dirt, all he’d buried beneath it, there was nothing sacred left. What was there in them to bury? Nothing but the weight they’d always carried like chains: pride, vanity, animality, fleeting pleasures — dross masquerading as meaning and what fell into oblivion, after having been long exposed to their contempt.

And when the earth swallowed them whole, it stripped everything away. Their names, their stories, their fragile, desperate clinging to things that never mattered.

But one thing always lingered.

A single mark. A stain that refused to fade. The monogram of their most intimate nature — not their faces and not their names, but something carved deeper. A work, a deed, a moment of truth that burned brighter than everything else, refusing to be buried. An exceptional inspiration.

For Alexander, this was that mark.

You were that mark.

The fragile last tremble of your breath, the bruises blooming like dark flowers beneath his fingertips, the echo of his name caught between your lips — all of it etched into the marrow of his being. A monument to something both sacred and profane.

And long after the warmth of your skin faded, long after the echoes of your voice dissolved into the silence, he would carry it with him.

Because there are things that cannot be buried.

Not with dirt.

Not with time.

Not even with death.

When the world grew quiet and sleep finally dragged him under, he would search for you there — in the spaces between dreams, in the shadows where memory and longing collided.

He will always search for you.

Even when there’s nothing left to find.

His lips found yours then, silencing any further thoughts, any further words. His kiss was hungry, desperate, consuming. He wasn’t sure if it was love or something else entirely. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you.

And you, forever bound to him, couldn’t turn away.

For you were…

Released.

a/n: The end…literally. I’m sorry if this was too much? I don’t really know how I feel about it either but it’s been in the works for a while, well, since the very beginning. Not that this was how I thought it would go but, you know, notes, and ideas, and stuff…it was mostly the smut scene that I had planned out. It’s inspired by many many things I don’t even remember anymore. Whenever I hear or see something I like I just write it down so yeah. Also whenever I explained the plot to someone they asked me if I was okay so I just wanna say that it’s not inspired by anything I’ve experienced but rather thoughts I have. And after this I am gonna stick to what I’ve said, so I’m not sure when I will post something else, but I wanted to see this one finished and it was on its way to being done anyway so…

#alex turner x reader #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x oc #alex turner smut #alex turner angst #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #you’re so dark #goblinontour

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fandomfablesunleashed · 2 days ago

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Learning to honor human tradition

Xiao x reader (reader is also an adepti)

Summary: Last year you mentioned that you wished to experience what humans called 'Valentine's Day' and Xiao made a silent promise: next year, he would find out what it meant to celebrate such a day. For you.

Words: 1.2k

Notes: For the Valentine’s Week event. I always imagined Xiao being with fellow adepti rather than a mortal (though there's nothing wrong with those stories, of course!). That way, they could spend a lot of time together without the whole issue of one growing older and ultimately dying, leaving Xiao to deal with another loss. I also think it would take him literal centuries to open up to the idea of letting someone so close and allowing himself to indulge.

English is not my first language

Masterlist

Xiao had always been a creature of habit, focused on his duties and detached from the fleeting desires of mortals. His existence was simple, revolving around protecting Liyue and keeping the peace. Yet, there were rare moments when he found himself curious about the strange customs of humans. One of those moments came a year ago when he spoke with you, another adeptus, who somehow managed to weave herself into his life throughout millennia.

“You’ve heard of Valentine's Day, right?” you had asked, a playful glint in your eyes.

Xiao tilted his head, puzzled by the term. You chuckled and explained that it was a day celebrated by humans to express affection and appreciation for loved ones, typically through gifts or gestures of kindness. There was a subtle joy in your words, a warmth that Xiao didn’t quite understand. It always baffled him, how deeply you immersed yourself in human life —how effortlessly you wove yourself into its fabric. Despite his reluctance, you continued to share what you’d learned about humans, hoping he might one day understand your fascination. What surprised him most, however, was how, over time, he found himself more intrigued than he cared to admit.

You sighed wistfully, and it brought his attention back to you.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to experience something like that—to have someone show they care in such a way.”

Xiao remained silent, unsure of how to respond. The concept was foreign to him, yet something about your tone—so full of quiet longing—tugged at him. And at that moment, without fully understanding why, he made a silent promise: next year, he would find out what it meant to celebrate such a day. For you.

The following year, Xiao found himself lost in thought during quiet moments, his mind at odds with itself. He had no idea what was involved in this “Valentine’s Day” or how to properly honor it. What if his efforts were misunderstood? What if he made a mistake? The uncertainty gnawed at him, but he had to try, even if he didn’t know where to begin. He couldn't simply ignore the task he had set for himself.

Unable to gather any concrete information from his own observations of humans, Xiao sought out the Traveler, who he had come to trust as a reliable source of knowledge.

“Traveler,” Xiao began, his usual stoic demeanor slipping slightly as he stood before them, “I need your help. There is… a human tradition. It is called Valentine’s Day, and I need to know how to properly honor it.” He paused, looking down at his feet.

The Traveler raised an eyebrow, sensing the rare vulnerability in his voice. A knowing smile tugged at the corners of their lips; they long sensed there was way more between the two adepti.

“You’re asking for advice on Valentine’s Day?” they chuckled. “Well, it’s mostly about showing someone you care. You could give a gift, write a note, or even just spend time with them. It doesn’t have to be anything extravagant—just something meaningful to them.”

Xiao’s brow furrowed, confused. “A gift? But what kind of gift would be appropriate?”

Before the Traveler could respond, a voice piped up from the side. “Ooooh! A gift! Paimon knows all about gifts!” Floating up beside the Traveler, Paimon grinned, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Xiao, you should definitely give her something! Maybe a nice flower, or something shiny! Humans love shiny things, right?”

The Traveler laughed at Paimon’s enthusiasm but nodded in agreement. “Personal gifts are usually the best. Think about what she likes. It could be something simple but meaningful. It’s not about the value of the gift; it’s about the thought behind it.”

Xiao’s expression remained serious. “Something personal… something she likes,” he muttered, repeating the words to himself. “But… how do I express my feelings? I… I am not accustomed to such things.”

Paimon floated closer, her face softening. “It’s okay, Xiao! Just tell her you appreciate her! Even if it’s simple, it’ll mean a lot!”

Xiao’s face flushed slightly at the thought of speaking his feelings aloud. His thoughts began to spiral. He had never been good at expressing emotions, especially not in such a direct way. But for you he would try.

On the day of Valentine’s Day, Xiao stood on the rooftop of Wangshu Inn. He had spent the whole morning handpicking the most vibrant blooms of your favorite flowers from the nearby fields. Yet, now, with the bouquet in hand, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was still too… simple. Flowers, he thought, didn’t convey the depth of his feelings. Could they?

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his heartbeat. Every moment seemed to stretch, and his nerves only grew as he heard footsteps approaching. When he saw you walking toward him, his resolve faltered completely. Your smile catching the sunlight as it danced across the sky. The sight made his heart stutter and his face burn brighter.

You noticed immediately. “Are you… blushing?” you asked with a soft laugh, raising an eyebrow.

“I—” Xiao stammered, caught off-guard, struggling to find his words. “I have… I have something for you.” His hand shook slightly as he awkwardly handed you the bouquet of flowers, his palms growing clammy with nerves. “This is… for you”

You took the flowers, carefully inspecting each delicate bloom. They were beautiful, vibrant, and perfectly chosen. Before you could voice your thoughts, Xiao continued.

“I also asked chef Yanxiao to prepare your favorite meal”

“Why?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“For that… human tradition. Valentine’s Day.”

Your eyes softened, a gentle smile spreading across your face as you held the flowers in your hands. “You did this for me?”

Xiao hesitated, and in a rare moment of vulnerability, he looked you in the eyes. His voice was quieter now. “I don’t… know how to express it properly,” he admitted. “But I appreciate you. Your presence is… important.”

Xiao shifted uncomfortably, his gaze falling to the ground, avoiding yours. “You said last year that you wished to experience that day. I do not understand why you would feel the need to, but… if that’s what you wanted, you should have it.” His words were measured but laced with a subtle unease, as if they didn’t quite fit. He looked away again, his eyes drifting to anything but you.

“The Traveler said it was… customary to give gifts and… express feelings.” His voice trailed off, barely a whisper.

Your heart swelled at his words, and you gently placed a hand on his shoulder, offering him the reassurance he so rarely sought. “Thank you. I think that means more to me than any gift.”

Xiao felt a rush of warmth flood his chest. His face remained flushed, but now it was with a peaceful sense of relief. Maybe this human tradition wasn’t so difficult or unnecessary after all.

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #xiao genshin impact #xiao genshin x reader #xiao x reader

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gu6chan · 4 months ago

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i fucking hate american """left-wingers""" man

#gu6chan's musings #im so pissed off one of those political ralliers? idk how you call them in english BUT ONE OF THOSE PPL CAME UP TO ME AND GOT SO PISSY WITH #ME LIKE 'You call yourself a leftist but you're not going to vote? you have a CHANCE to shape the FUTURE. use your VOICE'#'as the world's most passionate leftist; vote harris. there is no other option' do they HEAR themselves??? like hell yeah thats what REAL #leftism is all about; bud! you sure got this figured out. as vladimir lenin once said the key to workers liberation is simply voting blue 💙#literally piss OFFFFF maybe i'll give a shit about the election when your shitty fucking candidate actually proves theres a difference in #their policies like im not gonna be presented with 'would you rather have trump (orange) or trump (brown) (theyre not orange!!!)' and #then have you get all pissed off im not playing your stupid fucking game. like if you wanna larp about how 'yOuR vOiCe MaTtErS' maybe you #can show that it actually does by giving americans an actual fucking choice instead of watching your government pull shit out of their ass #for the last 4 years under the same 'it will be worse under the OTHER guy' pretext and then saying the same shit when their 'lesser evil'#from last time did everything they said their 'greater evil' would do and MORE. what was the phrase like fool me once #like oh my god you guys are so stupid i cannot begin to comprehend #but also america is just insane bc getting these people in germany was one thing??? you go out into the street; there's a rally; a little #booth etc. etc. and theyre PASSIONATE but remember the objective is to persuade and theyre still taking up a person's time????#in the US i was lowkey expecting an immature tantrum-throwing child ESPECIALLY from the harris side of things but what i was NOT expecting #was them to come up to me. on my computer. in a library. with my earbuds in. like normally this is reserved for protests if it is simple #persuasion you are doing you already are NOT getting off on the right foot my friend lmao #and just on the topic of the fucking audacity; the fact that AMERICANS they have the grounds to say with their full chest what DOES and #DOESN'T constitute 'actual' leftism is lol. lmao; even. like omg; im so sorry!! i didnt know marx would be happier if i participated in you #fake little game that never has and never will change anything. thanks for bringing that to my attention citizen of the most #Propaganised Imperialist Nation in the World!!! you sure have the grounds to talk to me about leftism and communism :)#in other news i've blocked so many political ads they're now speaking to me in hindi

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screampied · 9 months ago

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❝ HELL ON HEELS . . ! ❞

ᡴꪫ sum. it's your third day on the job as a flight attendant. you work around a lot of snobby rich elites, but a particular one catches your eye. a particular one who tips you $300 dollars in cash and wants way more than just your uninvited attention.

wc. 6.5k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy!gojo au, this is how gojo and reader meet, mile high club trope, flight attendant reader, age gap (early twenties/early thirties), semi public sēx, praise kink, degradation, dry humping, squırting, spanking, edging.

an. thank u to everyone who voted for this on the poll <3

➤ sd!gojo masterlist

the low-pitched whirring of the plane’s engine was quite loud. white noise could be heard through first class as you walked alongside the aisle. with a heavy sigh, you’d just wish the day would be over. the overall duration of the flight was about a good two hours, not too bad but you were already over it. dealing with haughty a-list celebrities or elites as a whole wasn’t for the weak. a majority of them were rude, snobby, and just stuck up individuals. except for one . .

as thick pieces of rubber stick against your heels and clank against the carbon fibre floor, you sashay through and from the rows before a cheeky voice calls over to you. “excuseee me, miss ‘ttendant,” and you crane your neck to where it was coming from. sat right by the window near the left— draped in nothing but a sable-black tuxedo with a pricey g-shock wrapping around his wrist, he simpers. “do you ahh, mind if you . . ?”

“huh,” you quirk your eyebrows into a brow before he nods his head up toward the cabin compartment above all of the seats. “oh,” you give him a soft smile. he takes a quick glance at your name tag that’s glued on the left side of your blazer. you lean over against him, reaching towards the latch to pull it down. the more you get close to him, the more you smell his cologne. it’s so strong, you were sure it was some kind of expensive designer brand. a small grunt leaves your lips as you stretch before just when you’re about to pry open the cabinet, the plane grumbles with a rude shake. a rude shake in which you fall—right onto the older man’s lap who’s got the smuggest grin.

“we’re experiencing a bit of turbulence up here, sincerest apologizes passengers..”

the pilot mutters through the intercom— it’s blaring through the speakers. he talks for about seven seconds, as well as reminding for everyone to have their seatbelts on at all times before he stops.

as if things couldn’t have been anymore embarrassing, your face lands right into his crotch. “oh my god—i’m so sorry sir,” you try to atone, sitting up and as you’re up so close to him, you take a moment to actually get a good glimpse at the man.

he was pretty, simply no denying it. you knew him from anywhere. gojo satoru, the gojo satoru. the snowy white hair was a dead giveaway.

he was more of a well known business man—a ceo of some hot shot company. he had his own clothing brand, does lots of men photoshoots, and even modeled a bit in his early twenties. although, the more you gawk at him, the more it seems like he barely even aged. gojo looks like he was still in his twenties, he had a bit of a stubble but was quite really well shaved. azul-blue eyes return the stare right back at you as you take in his prepossessing features for just a bit longer.

god, he was handsome.

gojo’s hair was neatly neat, a simple slick back of a sort with a few strands of white hair running down his face. he brings a wrist up to his face to rub his mouth before covertly humming. “. . oh, am i that good lookin’, princess?”

you gulp once he catches you staring, and then it hits you again,

you were still dumbly laid on his lap as he’s gazing into your eyes with the most complacent grin. “i-i’m sorry,” you mumble, cringing at your own stutter. thankfully, it was probably about four am, it was a private jet and only a few other passengers scattered around the sectioned row. sitting up, you rub your neck sheepishly before sighing. “i . . don’t usually fall on passengers during on my shifts.”

“heh well i’d hope not,” he teases. “oh, and don’t worry about getting my luggage by the way,” and his eyes trail you down before he glances at your name tag again. “hm, i think i’d like to request something else though,” and the more you stare into his pretty cerulean eyes, the more you get lost in them.

his eyes were equivalent to a maze, you’re always getting lost in his pretty irises—never finding your way out. “you’re probably all sore from walkin’ around in those heels, how ‘bout you take a little break?”

and he was right. the entire lower parts of your calves were a bit sore, so you do. you take a break . . although,

your 'break' mainly consists of you being hunched over, propped up in front of gojo’s seat with him eating you out from behind like a starved man. your bottom lip feels all numb and puffed from chewing on it for so long. your lips part into an exaggerated ‘o’ as your head’s repeatedly being pressed against the back of the airplane seat in front of you. the softly made material rubs against your face and you moan. some older woman was snoring in the front of it, headphones plugged in both sides of her ears.

thank god, you prayed whatever heavy metal track she was listening to would distract her slumber from hearing your loud, whiny moans.

alas again, by ‘break’, you didn’t expect this but you weren’t exactly complaining either. with gojo’s tongue rummaging against your clit, it had you gasping for desperate various breaths. “s-sirrrr,” you whimper, a lewd smile pursing against your lips. two broad hands of his had your jade-colored business skirt pulled up all the way to the very hem of your torso— just about reaching near your now wrinkled blazer. as you sling an arm over the seat in front of you, you whine once his nose prods against your soddened entrance. “ngh, ‘m gettin’ close again i think. f-fuck, right there.”

“please, call me satoru, baby,” he whispers against your pussy. you shudder from the coldness of his breath aerating against your bare skin—you whine once his palm swats by your right ass cheek, giving it a mean spank. “ooh,” he coos from the recoil of your rear. so pretty, it was quite funny how things even escalated so quickly.

right before he was buried into the depths of your plush thighs, you were just chatting with him. gojo had a charm to him. he was a lot different from the other stuck up elites you occasionally dealt with. he was quite easy to talk to. you make it a habit to talk to each passenger, despite how snobby they might come across anyway.

with him though, he was a pure smooth talker.

gojo showered you with a plethora of compliments. it came natural, it didn’t seem forced—he’d point out your pretty eye color, your hair, just anything. with your job, you were used to getting a few compliments here and there—but he’d go all out, all out in a way where it makes your heart flutter and fly. you’re rutting your ass against his face, loving the way his wet tongue curls into a few alphabetic letters. he’s just filthy. each breath that escapes from your lips as if it was being held captive felt like it was gonna be its last.

“so . . fuckin’ sweet,” he purrs, dragging a thumb down your slit for a moment. gojo takes a second to admire the way you easily soak in his digit, such a breathtaking sight inside. lewd, but breathtaking. “mhm, look at her givin’ me a little show. move your ass against my face a little more, sweetheart. yeah, fuck.”

your heart does jumping jacks at his dialogue. his voice was deep, rich—and seductive.

the silvery band of his watch continues to skim all across your skin as your hips judder. you shiver, feeling yourself about to reach your inevitable orgasmic peak before you moan out loud. you tried to suppress your noises, you did—but it was no use. you’re already biting at your hardened knuckles but oh, his tongue.

every few seconds, he’d break away to spit and slobber on your pussy. his nose consistently smears all against your folds, getting you ten times more wetter than you already were. he’s nasty, making sure you keep that arch for him. your skirt was pulled up and all wrinkled. the teeth-shattering stimulation makes you feel nerves surge all throughout your body like galvanic electricity.

“s- satoruuu.” you’d huff out in tiny pants, feeling your tummy cave in a few times. your sweet moan, its like a tune—a harmony, hell, it was melodic. he’d listen to you whine his name like that all day if he could. a gentle hand of his runs down your twitching leg, giving every part of your body from behind attention.

he was starting to get addicted, you were too sweet . . candied even, it was dangerous. he’s always had a bit of a sweet tooth anyways and perhaps you were his new favorite treat.

the raving pace of his tongue was simply relentless. you’re gripping onto the back of the seat for dear life, barely able to keep up with him.

ethereal ivory lashes of his open and close every millisecond that passes. it’s as if time was going slow for you— of course it was though, considering how you were thousands of feet in the air. you don’t know why, but the thought of someone just walking by and stumbling upon you all bent over for a passenger,

not just a passenger but the gojo satoru . .

you’d be lying a bit if you said it didn’t turn you on a bit. you knew it was against policy to screw on the job, in the air at that, but it was the middle of the night and partly everyone onboard was asleep anyway. having some affluent attractive guy right between your thighs, you were living the dream. you thought this only happened in the movies.

“aw, don’t give up on me just yet, pretty,” he soothes a tune against your cunt. after a while, gojo’s speedy flicking of his tongue transitioning to pure sucks. you’re shaking within the suction of his mouth. it’s almost too much to bare yet you didn’t want him to stop. he knows just the right tempo to make you roll your eyes back too. with prying hands, gojo’s spreading open your ass a bit more to lick a deeper area with his tongue. you zealously whine once he playfully uses a thumb to poke against your puckering hole. “mhm, yeah. thaaaat’s it, but don’t be so loud though, princess. i know we’re in the back row but still, heh.”

and with that— he gifts your ass another smack. he proudly relishes in your lewd, pornographic reactions. you’re an entire mess and he’s slurping your fervor shamelessly.

“s- satoruuuu, fuck f-fuck,” your breathing starts to significantly pick up. with your chest continuing to sink in and out, he briefly sneaks his dampened lips away from your entrance to bite near your thighs. the way you were shaking to him was just so cute. the white noise that continues to sing and reverb throughout the plane’s structure grew louder. or . . that was just the ringing through your ears—regardless, it was between that noise and the sounds of your own obscene pleasure that had a competition. a competition on who could be the most louder. your name-tag that’s still pressed against your blazer remains to rub off against the fabric of the seat in front of you.

your perked nipples snag in the process as you’re arching a bit more before a wail dies out your throat. “i- i’m gonna cu— oh!”

“another few hits of turbulence, folks. please stay in your seatbelts. time of arrival should be around six thirty am..”

you bring a hand over your mouth in a cute attempt to silence yourself as you’re meeting your high—listening to the pilot, you sob out a squeal from the inside of your palm. gojo’s slurping you up again with his tongue, your grinding against his face makes him chuckle. with his jaw tightening a bit, he doesn’t care—you were so sweet, he could eat you out all day. not to mention, he was quite thirsty. instead of having you retrieve one of his bags, he was gonna originally ask for a glass of water. but this quenched his thirst a lot better in his humblest opinion. his warm breath fans against your cunt all the while you feel his stubble tickle near the undersides of your thighs. “mmph.” you moan, peeking in front of you to still see the old lady knocked out cold. with the way you were rocking into the back of her seat— you were surprised she didn’t wake up. you were glad she didn’t though. otherwise, you’d embarrass yourself yet again.

with your orgasm still having its moment, you start to calm down a bit. he’s still slithering his tongue down your folds, savoring your taste as if it’s the last thing on the planet. his chin was coated with all of your slick, and he snickers before dragging a thumb to get another taste. “good girl. give it to me, ride my—ride my tongue, uh huhhh.”

a swarm of butterflies wanders around inside of your tummy from his words—his tone, it was so soft yet the dialogue that spoke out was just downright dirty. you pulse between your thighs and it only makes you crave him more.

as you’re still arched over in front of him, you take a few hard gulps to swallow as you’re finishing your perfect nirvana state. ecstasy, just ecstasy overtakes your entire body as he gives your pussy it’s final sucks and nibbles. once he finishes, he’s still sat in his chair. spinning you around, he gives you a warm smile.

“c’mere, sweetheart..”

out of breath and pants snatching out of your full lungs with ease—you move into him with your eyes half-lidded. “. . . atta girl, taste how sweet you are. gimme a kiss,” and you get on top of him. sliding off your heels, you get onto gojo’s lap. now straddling him, you lean into a steamy, hot kiss. two hefty built arms of his wrap around your waist, pulling you in close. once your lips meet, it’s just utterly sloppy.

throwing your arms around him and tugging on his tucked out collar, you deepen the kiss. he groans at your enthusiasm, allowing his hands to glide against every inch of your body. gojo’s fingertips dance against the pieces of clothing you wore, despite it being so few. your blazer was still on and yet couldn’t help but rock against his lap as your tongue parts inside of his mouth. gojo’s head leans back as you’re enjoying yourself. but all of a sudden, you moan once you feel it.

his boner, right in the middle part of his pants. gojo satoru was hard—hard for you.

he grunts lowly, a hand of his snaking up your leg as you taste the sweet remnants of your own flavor on his tongue. the closer you are to him, the closer you get a nice everlasting sniff of his cologne. so manly, it’s a rich scent that you could never get enough of. it was so strong—roaming through the air so much that it almost gave you a headache.

“fuck,” he sibilates. a single hissing word that comes from his mouth makes you throb oh so easily. you’re swaying your hips against him and his adam’s apple bobs back in rapture. every few seconds, he pulls away to leave a wet slope of kisses down your neck. a hand of yours tugs against his tie that was neatly worn on him. “damn girl you’re kinda kinky,” and he finally pulls away, teasingly biting on your bottom lip before finally departing. “i’m startin’ to like you.”

“more,” you murmur, leaning in to nip a wet kiss of your own near the crooked crevices of his mouth. naturally parted lips of his twitch, causing him to wryly smile back at you. “i need more, sir. we have a few more hours left. please.”

“baby, you can call me satoru. cut the formal shit yeah?” and his voice was a pitchy low, an almost rasp hidden underneath. a hand of his gently grabs your chin and you’re met with the most prettiest eyes. if it wasn’t his long lashes, it was his celestially blue eyes. so blue that it was as if you were star gazing at a summer sky. gojo satoru a pretty man, no doubt. he hums to himself in amusement at your cute doe-eyed expression, hungry for more. sitting on his boner was already torture enough, you just wanted him inside.

sure, you were technically working but you didn’t care about that. “satoruuuu,” he’s being playful, a thumb still pulling down your bottom lip. as you’re both maintaining such intimate eye contact, his voice softens once more. gojo’s hand slides its way between your thighs before he raises a brow in a taunting manner. “what do you want satoru to do to you? tell me, girl.”

“t- touch me.” you almost whine out, it yanks out from your throat so pathetically. the throbbing you were feeling behind your panties only turned into straight convulses.

playfully, he tilts his head with a smile. “yeah? touch ya where.”

“i gotta spell it out for you?” you pout, and he chuckles at your frustrated attitude. you start to jerk your hips against his lap and he holds your waist in place to bring those movements to a stop. “f-fuck, ‘s hard.”

stroking a thumb against your quivering lips, his minty breath hits against your nose—you smell it and it’s minty fresh. a scent of what seemed to be some kind of tangy beverage and a gum like substance. with a mocking tone, he presses a kiss against your nose before jibing. “i just wanna know where ‘m gonna put my hands on this pretty body. that’s all,” and his voice was so smooth, an almost purr. with a chortle, he moves a few strands of hair out of your view of sight before continuing his words. “now now, i’ll ask again, pretty. where do ya want me to touch you? let’s be descriptive this time.”

“between my t-thighs,” you confess, already soaked from him devouring your pussy just merely seconds ago. the shocking friction between both bodies had you feral, had you dizzy, had you stupid.

gojo gradually brings a hand down before you press a hand against his chest, pouting again. “actually, i want you to fuck me. please, satoru.”

“there we go, good girl. ‘n heh, aw i figured,” he cheeses, licking a single stripe up your neck. “mhm, you’ll have to ride me though. ‘s only so many positions you can do on a plane, heh.”

you barely let him finish your sentence before you start to unbuckle his pants. you’re so quick with it. gojo stares at the way you’re so desperate, taking it off the tiny hooks before yanking his belt all the way off. seconds later, you’re pulling down his pants toward his ankles. “ooh,” his eyes flicker towards your chest as you start to align yourself against his lap. you take a moment to stare at his now exposed cock and it was so pretty. lengthy if anything, a leaky mushroom like tip that was a bit reddened. he was so hard too, just gawking at his heavyset bulge that had you almost drooling. gojo leans back, rubbing against his thigh before flashing you a cheesy smile. “wellllll,” he sings. “don’t be shy girl. get on up here. ride all that stress away from work, pretty thing.”

he was so cocky, yet you were so needy.

as you’re still aligning him, your damp entrance rubs off against the head of his tip. it’s peeling open a bit, the skin that attaches to the frenulum was just so mesmerizing to look at. it’s got a pinkish color, almost red. shortly following, a mere tannish color flushes on his cock near the base down. you moan once he grabs ahold of his length, helping you adjust.

“easy . . easy baby, i gotcha,” he sighs, feeling your warmth slowly swallow him whole. those short seconds you spend taking in gojo’s dick feels like long, consecutive hours.

you’re dripping wet. as you straddle his lap, preparing to ride him, he slouches back in such a sexy way. manspread—gojo grunts out a single breath as his chest deflates. shifting his gaze towards your cunt, he spreads open your folds to get a better view. “ughhh, look at how she opens up for me. ‘s fuckin’ nasty,” he groans, staring dead at your cunt. you were indeed coating him with your slick from the base down. “give it to me, upside daisey, yeah.”

you’re taking his inches as the seconds go by before after a while—you plop down, feeling him bottom out already. gojo moans, gifting your ass with another spank. “f-fuck ‘toru,” you hiss, knowing that was a non-verbal sign for you to start up your hips. a cooling air that passes through the plane sets against your skin as you move. you whine, feeling his hands trickle alongside the secretive edges of your thighs. “touch me more, l- like that.”

“i don’t remember saying you could tell me what to do,” he meets your eyes as you start to thrust forward. he’s got the most impish grin stretching against his lips. gojo grips your chin for what was probably the nth time within this hour before he grins. “nuh uh, don’t look away. i wanna see those gorgeous eyes,” and he sneaks another wet kiss against your mouth. “ride it like you own it baby.”

you start off realllll slow,

sashaying your hips up and down against his lap in the most alluring way. all six eyes were on you and only you..

your arms still wrap around him and he’s keeping eye contact with you the entire time. with your blazer practically ruffled and wrinkled, you continue to move yourself against him. gojo’s cock stretches you out in such a way you didn’t even know was possible. your walls craved him, you craved him.

as he leans further back, a hand’s still glued to your ass before he smacks it . . again.

he pats it afterwards, watching a cute sour expression slowly marinate against your facial features.

gojo giggles at your cute noises, it doesn’t take long before you bury your face into the crook of his neck, gnawing your teeth against his collared shirt. “f-fuck, satoru,” you’d whine out, feeling his grip tighten against your ass. his cologne’s got your head spinning like a merri-go-round, giving you whiplash in all the right ways. “s-so big, stretchin’ me.”

“takin’ it so good, baby,” he licks against the lobe of your ear. his breath against your neck was warm—not so cold anymore. two rough hands grasp onto your active hips, encouraging you to go more forward, more faster. “good girl, mhm, fuck me like that. use those hips for me, yeahh.”

his dick curves through every part of your walls as if it’s exploring. you feel him reach deep within every part and it’s driving you toward the first street of crazy.

breathy pants skate out from your lips as you’re swinging yourself back and forth against him. “s-satoru,” you whimper, feeling his hands continue to feel against the bare bottom parts of your ass. you could feel the bands of rings he wore rub off against your skin also, so fridgly cold. “f-fuck, ‘s good. mhm, fuck.”

“you’re so pretty,” he groans, the brief sounds of skin slapping resounding through your ears. it’s loud, almost sonorous.

his hair was getting a bit ruffled and unkempt, adding to his suave, mature features.

as he looks off into the nearly empty dim lit aisle, a silhouette appears—someone’s coming. it’s a familiar sound of heels hitting against the floor and you were too occupied of being horny to turn your head. at first, you barely even notice as you’re still grinding against his lap. “oh shit,” gojo gasps, grabbing the sides of your hips, suddenly bringing you to a stop. with a sly smile, he hums against your ear. “baby, don’t freak but i think your co-worker’s coming.”

“w- what?” you murmur, and he makes you spin around, still having his heavy cock hidden into the swollen depths of your cunt. glancing up, it was one of your co-workers coming. in a weak attempt to fix your nearly messed up blazer that was about to pop, you lean against his chest. “who— where?”

as he’s pressed right up against you, you’re met with a playful deep voice against your ear. “relax. act like you’re totally not cockwarming me, obviously,” and he runs a few fingers down your uniform, feeling you shift your hips a bit at his touch. gojo tries to make it look like you were just sitting on his lap, moving a cover over you and him from the waist down. you feel so full, you were growing more and more needy, a pout comes onto your lips because you didn’t want to stop so abruptly. you just wanted to keep riding him, but of course—you were working. “play it cool, baby.”

“um, is everything okay?” one of your fellow co-worker flight attendants, serena murmurs.

with a furrowing brow, she takes in the sight in front of her. you, happily straddling a passenger's lap whilst you’re heaving as if you’d just finish a 5k race. “we’ve been some getting complaints about noises. also, you need to restock the snacks near back. we’re runnin’ low on peanuts.”

“y-yeah, ‘m fine,” you sheepishly nod, knowing how fishy this entire scene might have looked. gojo’s dick was just idly enshrouded into your cunt, just one move and you’d be fucked. technically, you already were fucked. he’s tracing a finger against your thighs before you exhale. “but uh— can’t you restock?”

“i would but that’s not my job,” she snaps with an eye roll. gojo chortles at your co-worker’s attitude, he presses a single kiss against your neck and you almost moan. her facial expressions twist in disgust before she backs away. “anyways, just go restock,” and as she twists her heels to walk away, she utters under her breath. “weirdos. i don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

gojo lets out a breathy laugh as you finally moan again—it’s taking everything out of you and you start up the jolting of your hips again. “f-fuck, ‘m close, ‘toru,” you whimper, the friction feeling like hot static dragging against your legs. “mhm, ‘s good.”

“you’re even more dirtier than i thought, princess,” he whispers, a hand playfully wrapping around your throat as you’re moving your hips back. “i bet your co-worker put two ‘n two together. you could have been a little more believable.”

you’re moaning, his touch sending you more deadly shivers before you feel a coil within you squeeze shut tight. the beat of your heat grows rapid and your pupils dilate from pure pleasurable lust. you’re getting close again, it’s coming so quick that you barely have any time to breathe.

his aromatic cologne nearly blinds your sinuses before you feel against his neck with your palm. “i . . i don’t care if she knows,” you mumble with a scowl, feeling his base continuously rub against your entrance. you’re coating him with nothing but a pretty viscous sheet of your slick. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum again.”

“yeah? what if i want you to wait?” he purrs, his sloping trail of kisses turning into sucks. you whine, leaning into his touch as he’s stuffing your insides full of thick cock. jello—your legs felt like jello, barely even able to move. the warmth against him had you hungry for more. it was addictive, you didn’t know what it was. you didn’t get like this for any other passenger, yet here you were. your mouth croons open, whining out a single harmony at his pace. he’s still making you grind back against him, the tempo having your head going for a spin every time. “what if i want you to be a good attendant ‘n wait just a bit longer f’me?”

“but—”

“nuh uh,” he snickers, bringing a smack to your ass. “wait for me, pretty. this pussy’s gonna make a mess when i want her to.”

and he creeps a hand down between your jittery legs, rubbing a few circles against your already sopping wet cunt. a gasp wretches from your throat as you’re laid back against his chest. the rugged fabric of his tuxedo top whisks against your skin and you’re babbling out sweet nothings.

“f-fuck, ‘m not gonna last,” you whine, feeling yourself throb at the way his thumb brushes against your throat. he’s feeling the vibrations of your gruttural moans and it’s so cute. by this point, you’d already forgotten you were thirty thousand feet in the air. thirty thousand feet in the air and you were getting your pussy destroyed by one of your passengers.

not just any passenger though,

gojo satoru.

he’s panting right with you as you’re just bouncing on his lap, two soft padded hands gripping against his thighs. as you bite your lip, your ass thrashes back gainst him and he hisses. “just like that, pretty girl. shiiiiit, ‘m gonna cum too.”

with his deep penetrative thrusts, it’s got you going ditzy. as he starts to spank against your puffy cunt, he nibbles against your collarbone. “you wanna cum with me, yeah? ‘s that why you keep dragging y’r nails into my leg?”

“s—sir,” you desperately spat, but he spanks your cunt again so you could switch your words around. “ngh, i mean satoru. wanna cum with you, pleaseplease. ‘s good, want it, finish in me.”

“my, well when ya ask like that,” he hums, and you feel the sharpness of his hips pivot. gojo groans, standing up before he lies you back against the now reclined seat. “lie back, baby. actually, changed my mind. i wanna push those pretty knees up to your chest.”

panting, you lie back against the now lounged seat. gojo flashes you that same sly grin before he lifts up your leg—bringing a sweet kiss toward your ankle. “you can lose your license over this, you know? dirty girl, lettin’ your pussy think for ya instead of that brain, huh?”

“don’t care,” you moan, watching him quickly align his cock against your slit. gojo grunts, feeling you easily swallow his tip up again. your cunt was clingy, he was very much addicted to your slippery sloppy core. with his pants halfway on and hanging down to his ankles, he starts up a rapid pace again. “uh, uh,” you whimper again and again, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist. you’re keeping him warm from the inside, raw moans pulling out of your esophagus like it was nothing. “right there, ‘m gonna cum, please. s-sir, fuck me.”

“satoru,” he corrects you, a hand gripping your chin. pretty blue eyes leer down at you and he’s so close to you. as he’s jackhammering his cock into your sobbing swollen walls—eyes of your own goggle into gojo’s as he’s fucking you silly. you probably look a mess from this view, the heel of your foot grazing down his strong back muscles. gojo hears the sloshing squelches your own pussy makes and you feel the sudden throb arise from his dick. he twitches inside you and it makes his head throw back. after he gains composure again, he exhales deeply, tapping a thumb against your sealed lips.“you don’t gotta be formal when ‘m inside, princess,” and he squeezes your lips together, licking near the bottom. “open.”

you’re whining, his tempo growing quicker and you’re so close. crimson-carmine lips of his twitch into a feral smile once he sees you being so easy to comply. with your lips parting open, you tilt your head back before he spits into your mouth.

“theeeere’s your tip,” he teases, pursing your lips together with two fingers as you swallow. your cunt still gripping against him as he then pulls you into a deep kiss. with your legs clutching around his waist. “uh, manners baby. where’s my thank you?”

“t- thank you, ‘toru.” you breathe, feeling your cunt throb even quicker.

“oh, you’re welcome,” he smiles and he can’t help but giving you another kiss on the mouth shortly afterwards. the lustful stare he’s giving you could almost be described as lecherous has you more sopping wet by the second. with your legs tightly and securely keeping him from breaking away, he groans. right into your mouth, his tongue collides against yours before he sucks on it. as he brings you into a loving kiss again, gojo’s girth has you feeling a sudden arch in your back arise the moment you sit up. you’re being fucking into the reclined seat, his weight almost crushing against but it feels so good. “mhmmm, ‘m gonna cum. gonna spill so much inside of you, pretty.”

“don’t waste any,” you whimper, wrapping your arms around him. you didn’t even care how unprofessional this was. in the back of your mind, you’re thinking to yourself— if someone walked in again, who cares? not you. “please.”

“well aren’t you a doll,” gojo murmurs in a cooing tone, shoving your knees all the way up near your chest. you’re preparing yourself as you’re about to reach your final pleasurable demise. it feels almost tickling, the fat tip of his cock repeatedly kisses against that same spot within you. you’re whines sound almost melodic, not even caring if your pilot a few seats back heard. “look at me.” he taps your bottom shaking lip, leaning in to plant another kiss on your lips. one turns into two, then three, then four . .

and then— his phone rings.

you’re still a moaning mess, feeling your legs just about give out as he’s pressing such amounts of weight on top of you. gojo’s hands fondle with your neglected breasts that laid underneath your blazer. he groans, reaching for his phone near the counter of the seat. with a grunt, he answers. “tch. satoru gojo.”

still snugly shoved deep inside, he’s multitasking. one hand holds onto the left side of your waist, another holding his phone up against his cheek. he’s drilling into you so mercilessly as if his occupation was a construction worker. you whine, the scratching itch never leaving you. once it comes, it comes. “suguru, ‘m kinda busy. can this wai— oh f…fuck.”

in an abrupt gasp, he ends up finishing first. it’s so much. thick gooey spurts pour into your cunt, filling up the insides of your goopy womb. gojo’s peering down at you and his lip quivers. he finished a bit early. too quick, his hand shakes as he holds up his phone before you squeeze your legs against his torso even tighter. for a moment, he almost whines himself. the strong gripping grip your pussy has against makes him swear underneath his breath.

“huh? yeah, ‘m good,” he sexily whews, slowing his rhythm down a bit.

a hand of his snaps, making you look down between your legs.

he gives you a teasing grin and you spread your folds open. it was so much, so much velvety ropes of hot cum that ooze in and out of your sloppy folds. you’ve never felt more warm from the inside. it was a feeling that had your mouth watering, salivating with your sweet, syrupy saliva. your legs were practically mush, and once you finish, you end up gushing all out at once. it takes you by surprise more than anything. the feeling comes like a crashing, unpredictable wave, a fading fade then departures from your body. minutes eventually pass and gojo’s still yapping away on the phone—yet after a while, he decides to wrap it up and groan. “yeah yeah okay, man. i gotta go now. unless you wanna listen to how i sound post-orgasm, heh.”

“what—?”

with a quick bleep, gojo hangs up. tossing his phone aside, he looks down at you—cutely sprawled out whilst chills run down your body. he can almost see you palpitating from said chills. leaning up close to you, still balls deep, he pants heavily. gojo pressed a kiss against your right temple before teasing. “heyyy, did you just squirt on me?” he asks, and he speaks in a sly soft tone.

you don’t reply and he gives you a priggish smile. “you didddd. so nasty, i should make ya lick it off me.”

you did end up squirting. it was so much. so so much.

you’re still having your legs wrap around his waist before you grab onto his wide, stiff shoulders. “s-satoru,” you moan into his neck, getting yet another balmy whiff of his manly musk. “f-fuuuck, more.”

right before he could reply though— the intercom of the plane comes on and it’s the pilot.

“ladies and gentleman, we’ve made it to our destination. local time and time of arrival is six thirty-three am. for your own safety and others around you, please remain seated and keep the aisles cleared until i announce we’re at the airport gates. thank you.”

“aw, boo,” gojo laments, slowly pulling out of your pussy. a pout unfurls against your glossed lips as you feel suddenly empty. no more thick inches inside. the only thing you felt were the leftover masses of his cum spewing out of you. the seats were a mess, he brings a hand down to strum a few fingers against your entrance and you whine. so soaked, he gifts you with a kiss on your forehead before exhaling. “well, think it’s ‘bout time we part ways, gorgeous.”

gojo helps put back on your skirt and panties and you‘re just laid back with a cute scowl as he assists you off your feet. “i . . can’t walk like this,” and he chuckles at how stiff you were— a few droplets of his cum race down your thighs and you almost moan again. you’re still sensitive, throbbing near every inch of your body before he stands up. he’s so lean and tall. as gojo towers over you, you glance up at him and you’re met with that annoying flirtatious smirk he gave you when his eyes first laid on you. “my panties are practically ripped.”

he turns around to grab his suitcases above him from the cabinet and sighs.

zipping up his exposed fly, gojo leans in to kiss your forehead. “ah, well i can always buy you some more,” and then he pauses. “actually,” he grabs his wallet and your eyes widen once he gives you three hundred dollar bills. “i can buy you more than just panties if ya want, sweet thing,” he slides the bills in between your bra before pressing a kiss against your neck. “you’ve been such a good girl,” and he then hands you his business card. it displays his name and a cheesy saying near the front, all his information in bold blue letters too. before walking away with your bawled up underwear, he leans up to your ear for a final time and whispers, “remember though, it’s satoru gojo, baby. ah, and these panties—i’ll be keeping these as a souvenir.”

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