#It’s been hours since the announcement and I still don’t even know how to feel.

[maddymoreau]

My F/O’s source never finishing its main storyline was not on my 2024 bingo card . . .

[goldfades]

LATE-NIGHT CALLS ─── JOE BURROW

request: "I feel like Joe would always insist on calling you after every game even the late ones. Even if it’s just a sleepy, half-coherent conversation he refuses to go to bed without hearing your voice"

Joe's post-game ritual has always been the same: shake hands, hit the showers, face the press, and head home. But since the two of you started dating, he added a new step—one he never skips. No matter the hour, no matter how late the game runs or how exhausted he is from the rush of adrenaline and the strain of the field, he calls. Even if it’s the kind of late that makes your voice thick with sleep and your words slur together, he’ll still dial your number, waiting for the soft click of your sleepy “Hello?” on the other end.

You used to worry about his exhaustion, insisting he could wait until morning, but Joe’s stubbornness won out. It’s his way of winding down, he says, the easiest way to let the adrenaline taper off—to hear you, half-awake and warm under your blankets, murmuring about your day or teasing him for that one pass he wishes he’d thrown differently.

Tonight, the call comes later than usual, your phone buzzing on the nightstand as you squint at the clock—well past midnight. You know the routine by now, though. His name glows on the screen, and you don’t hesitate to answer, even if you’re barely awake yourself. Because somehow, even in those moments of barely-there conversation, there’s something grounding, something steady in the sound of his voice—low and sleepy and comfortable.

The phone buzzes again, and you let out a small sigh, rolling over in the sheets that are tangled around your legs. It’s late—way too late for anyone but him. You fumble for the phone, knocking your book off the nightstand in the process, and finally manage to answer on the last ring.

“Hey,” you say, voice thick with sleep, barely more than a mumble. Your eyes are still closed, and you can almost hear the smile in his voice before he even speaks.

“Hey,” he says, sounding tired but happy. There’s a warmth in his voice that makes you want to sink deeper into the blankets, your body relaxing even as you struggle to stay awake. You hear a faint rustling on his end of the line, the sound of him settling into whatever hotel bed or quiet corner he’s managed to find for this call.

“How’d it go?” you ask, even though you watched the whole game with half your attention, laptop open on your lap as you listened to the announcers shout his name. You already know he won. You can tell just by the way he’s breathing—steady and content, like the weight of the world isn’t pressing on his shoulders anymore.

“We got the win,” he says, and you can practically picture the satisfied grin tugging at his lips. “Defense pulled through. Felt good. Tired, though.” There’s a pause, just long enough for you to hear the creak of the bed as he stretches out, and you imagine him there, hair still damp from the shower, pillow propped against the headboard, eyes half-lidded and heavy.

“You sound tired,” you say, letting your own eyes drift shut again, his voice washing over you like a lullaby. He always sounds different after a game—softer, looser, the careful edges he keeps in place during the day falling away in the quiet of the night.

“Yeah,” he admits, a low chuckle humming in his throat. “Long night. But I’m good. Needed to call you first.” He says it like a fact, like calling you is as essential as breathing, and it makes something warm settle in your chest, even as you struggle to fight off sleep.

You know what he looks like right now—can see him so clearly it’s almost like you’re there. His face is flushed from the game, the last traces of exertion still lingering in his expression, and he’s got that soft, worn-out smile you only see when he’s alone with you. He’s probably half-reclined on some too-firm hotel bed, still wearing sweats and the hoodie he threw on over his jersey. You can picture the way his hand would brush over his face, rubbing at tired eyes, his fingers trailing down to the scruff along his jaw. He’s handsome in a way that doesn’t need effort, like he forgets sometimes that anyone’s looking.

“What’d you eat?” you ask, knowing he probably hasn’t had a proper meal yet. There’s a muffled sound, and you can almost see him shrug.

“Grabbed a sandwich at the stadium,” he says. “You know, the usual. But I’m not really hungry.” His voice is softer now, like he’s already sinking into the comfort of the call, the post-game rush fading away. There’s a beat of silence where neither of you say anything, just the quiet hum of the line connecting you, stretching across the miles.

His breathing evens out, and you know he’s lying back now, probably letting his eyes drift shut the way you are, letting the night pull him under. This is the quietest part of the day, the only time where everything seems to slow down, where it’s just you and him, your voices mingling in the spaces between words.

“Did you see the game?” he asks suddenly, and there’s a hint of teasing there, like he already knows the answer. He’s always known when you’re watching—can sense it in some unspoken way, even when you’re not at the stadium, cheering him on in person. You hum, the sound halfway between agreement and a sleepy sigh.

“Of course I did,” you say. “Saw that touchdown, too. You looked good out there.”

He chuckles, the sound low and deep, a bit self-conscious but pleased. “You think so?” he asks, his tone playful but with that slight, genuine curiosity you’ve come to love—like he still isn’t sure how you see him, even after all this time.

“Always,” you reply, and it’s true. Even when he’s a mess, jersey streaked with mud, hair wild from the helmet, he’s yours. There’s something honest about him on the field, something raw that you can’t help but admire. He doesn’t play with swagger—he plays with determination, with a kind of quiet, relentless grit that makes your chest tighten with pride.

“Wish you were here,” he murmurs, and there’s a softness to the words, a longing that cuts through the distance between you. You can hear the weight of it, the way he doesn’t mean for it to sound so heavy, but it does anyway.

“Me too,” you admit, turning onto your side, pressing the phone closer to your ear. You know he’s in some hotel room halfway across the country, the curtains drawn against the city lights, the room probably too cold for comfort.

And you’re here, in your own bed, miles apart but tethered by this line, by his voice, by the quiet spaces between breaths that are filled with the things neither of you say out loud.

It’s moments like this that make the distance feel bearable, moments where the miles don’t matter because it’s just you and him, lingering in the quiet of the night, holding on to the sound of each other’s voice like a promise.

“Get some sleep, Joey,” you say softly, knowing he won’t listen, that he’ll keep talking until he’s sure you’re drifting off, that he won’t hang up until he’s heard you yawn, heard the way your voice gets softer and softer until you can’t keep your eyes open any longer.

“Not yet,” he says, voice a bit firmer now, a smile tugging at the edges. “Just a few more minutes.”

You don’t argue, just let him fill the silence with the sound of his breath, the occasional murmur about a play or a moment you’d already forgotten, listening to the way his voice dips and slows, lulling you back to the edge of sleep. It’s the sound of home, you think, this quiet, late-night ritual that belongs only to the two of you—a secret shared in the dark, a comfort that’s become as essential as the game itself.

He keeps talking, his voice a low, steady hum, and you let yourself drift, knowing he’ll be there, knowing he won’t let you go until you’ve slipped back into the warmth of your dreams, his voice still echoing in the back of your mind long after you’ve hung up.

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[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 31. gangbangs

summary: a very self-indulgent chapter/pseudo-oneshot. **naoya’s ex-wife becomes toji’s girl. everybody wants a taste, and why not have the younger cousin watch the show?** alternatively, a gangbang with tattooed dilfs and dilf-adjacents.

chapter tags/warnings: five-some, gangbang, sex on tape, gun play (becoming a gun slut), cum play, breeding, creampies, exhibitionism, edging, degradation, praising, mentions of violence (murder, knives, guns), multiple orgasms.

word count: 5.5k

notes: happy kinktober and thank you for waiting! this started off as a concept (in my mind for a year-plus) and evolved into…a monster. too many men, too many hands, too many cocks. got lost in the sauce. despite being a smut chapter in a long fic, this update is borderline porn-without-plot. likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

“I love getting gangbanged."

Naoya woke up in a dark room and to a throbbing headache.

Where…?

He looked around the unfamiliar surroundings slowly, blinking past his grogginess to register what almost looked like a crime movie’s interrogation room and groaning when the wrong angle to his head caused a sharp pain in his shoulder.

All around was an ominous and gloomy shade of gray—the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and heck even the door. How long had he been out for? Without windows, he could not take a wild guess at the time. Not to mention that the room also had no lighting, no pictures, and no décor.

Only him and this...random dinky chair he found himself tied up to.

Wait.

Tied up to?

Right. From what Naoya could last recall, he had been stopped by two men who took him out with a single strike.

In a vain attempt to set himself free, Naoya tugged at his limbs which were fastened behind him with sturdy cords. He twisted and turned, then twisted harder and turned even harder, until an unexpected voice startled him.

“You’re awake.”

Naoya went still.

Having zero visual stimuli sharpened Naoya’s other senses a little. He could feel the labored huffs in his breathing, hear the heavy footsteps that began in the chamber, and even taste the smoke that lingered in the hazy air.

Leering towards the door, Naoya quickly recognized his captors as they approached.

"Don’t give us that foul look, sleepyhead," the taller one whom he remembered as Eso announced as he slowly stopped in front of the scowling blonde. He had on him a wide and nefarious grin. "You had passed out for the last few hours. During that time, you could've been beaten. Or better yet, dead." He glanced up. "Right, Kechizu?"

His accomplice, who stopped on the opposite side, replied with a firm nod. From seemingly nowhere, he had pulled out a pocket knife and grazed the icy blade against Naoya's neck. "Ya feel that? I've been wanting to slit your throat, but I haven't. Lucky, lucky duck. Not everyone is this fortunate. All because our big bro Choso is being super nice to you."

Aware that a wrong move would cost him a jugular vein, Naoya listened intently. Since he worked with the other sex therapists before, he indeed recalled how his former colleague led a tightly-knit assassin ring, in which the members deemed each other 'brothers.'

Kechizu prodded Naoya again with his blade. "Big bro's the only reason you're still alive. Although, I don't know why you'd want to still be breathing now that the whole world knows you've been bumping uglies with your older cousin's ex-wife."

Eso hummed in agreement. "Well, at least for now," he began and he gestured around in vague motions, “you're already in paradise!” Then, he paused. “Well, correction. Here is where we send people to paradise. Or, more likely, hell.”

Noticing how Naoya uncharacteristically froze, the two snickered. In fact, they likely would've continued snickering if not for a shrill tone that pierced the air. The laughter stopped.

Eso's charcoal eyes flicked downwards.

"Left pocket, Kechizu."

The other man obeyed, lowering his knife (and thus giving Naoya an actual chance to breathe) before grabbing the phone from Naoya's blazer. A notification lit up the screen—a message, from you.

“She sent a video.”

Eso and Kechizu intentionally held the screen away, and their face quickly lit up with a sinister smile when they previewed the file. “Oh, yeah. Let's watch.”

“Come join us, sweetheart.”

You thought you were discreet.

Lingering at the doorway, you had been peering into the Zenin Corporation’s CEO Suite like a lost duck. This past afternoon, news about the leadership changes within Japan’s largest conglomerate had spread like wildfire across business and politics networks across the globe, announcing that Naoya Zenin had been forced to resign with Toji Fushiguro reclaiming his position as head of the company.

For the latter, you had questions—many questions. However, an inundated Toji was difficult to approach as he spent his entire afternoon in the office with his also-reinstated directors Sukuna, Geto, and Choso. From your observations, the men had been milling around the table, speaking to each other in hushed but decisive voices in conversations that must remind them of their days managing the Zenin Corporation before Naoya’s takeover.

They all appeared ridiculously handsome with their expensive custom-tailored suits that emphasized their muscular physiques and complemented their towering heights. Surrounded by legal documents and business reports, they carried themselves differently, too. More mature, organized, and serious, especially after hectic meetings with the Chairman Naobito Zenin, your COO father, and internal and external stakeholders had left etches on their calculating faces.

Now, however, Toji Fushiguro had caught sight of your quivering form at the entrance, and soon enough, all eyes turned to you. When you didn’t respond to his first invitation, the executive approached you in confident strides.

“Why do you look so shy?”

At the unanticipated attention, you averted your gaze onto the floor and tried to slink away into the hall slowly. “You all seemed occupied, and I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You're not interrupting anything," he clarified. "We have some time now.”

He tugged your wrist softly, which was all that you needed to follow him like a fawn into the room and crumble onto his lap once he sat down. Despite his dress pants, the warmth from his thighs heated your skin, and Toji nuzzled his face into your neck. His gravelly huffs sounded like all the other times you had heard him rasp, moments followed by endless endearment.

"About Naoya," the older man brought up from seemingly nowhere. You tensed at the name while Toji's cordial lips assuaged you. "Choso’s brothers are making sure he’s not going to do anything funny. We can't have him around as we are transitioning the company. As for you...knowing my cousin, he's going to keep claiming you as his property unless you get through his dense head," and his viridescent pupils flicked upward, "and the only way to do that is to show him.”

Although you didn’t know exactly what he meant, Toji hoisted you in one fluid motion onto his desk and sprawled you across the surface. He pushed your thighs apart, prompting sharp breaths that echoed in the room as onlookers raked their eyes down your figure. Some (namely, Sukuna and Geto) peered down shamelessly, while others (just Choso, really) tried to come off as cool and observed quietly. Nonetheless, the message in their perverted gazes was clear: what they wouldn't give to kiss you, bite you, and mark you right then and there.

Just as you shrank a little from the overwhelming attention, Toji reached for your phone and pressed the device firmly into your palm.

“Let’s send him a message.” Toji’s eyes locked onto yours, unflinching and sharp.

You blinked, raising an incredulous brow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Leaning forward, Toji offered a clear view of the ink scrolling down his neck, his exhales warm against the beading cold sweat on your forehead. “Open up the camera. Let's send Naoya Zenin a surprise.” He gently pinched you. "Like I said, that idiot wouldn't understand shit unless you slam the idea into his dumb skull.”

You hesitated, glancing down at the phone in your hand.

“A photo won't be enough, by the way. We need a video. He won't get the fucking idea unless he sees and hears the proof.” When you complied, Toji turned to the colleague closest to him. "Wanna do the honors, Suguru?"

The said man came forward eagerly, the obsidian in his eyes sparkling. "'No' is never my answer to you, sir." Given your compromising position, he had the easy option to tear your lacy panties and stuff himself into your core except he wanted to take his time.

"I heard a lot about you." His compliments were all purrs that sent hot shivers shooting through your veins. "Mind if I take a go at you, too?"

After being passed between his three other colleagues, you must admit that you had at least thought about what sex with Geto was like, too. "Please."

At the permission, the man smiled and bunched your underwear to one side. The cold air hitting your drenched cunt made you shiver, but the collective groan in the room rumbled even louder, a reminder of the many men around you. Men who were being patient for you. Men who could not stop thinking about you. Men who, because of your ex-husband, had been holding grudges against you.

Geto pulled down his boxers just until the waistband fitted snugly under his balls. His cock stood proud with precum dribbling down his length as he positioned himself in the comfy spot between your thighs. He pressed against the table until his knuckles turned white, aligning himself with your entrance.

Without extra stimulation, your saturated folds welcomed him easily and you gasped loudly at the intrusion.

"Shit, you’re soaking," Geto sighed softly as you clenched around him, swarming his veins with gratification. He tipped his head forward, his loose strands framing his face. “Tell me to stop if you’re uncomfortable, okay?” He was so sweet, so kind. You nodded and hazily recognized that this was what making love was supposed to feel like: tender, gentle, and loving. This was Suguru Geto's charm.

Before you could say more, an opportunistic Sukuna took his place above you. He moved quickly, undoing his belt and tugging hastily at his trousers, humming loudly with relief when he pulled his pants down and his massive cock sprang free. Despite being jostled by another man, you swabbed at the bubbling precum before pushing your thumb into your mouth, relishing his clean and salty tinge on your tongue.

Amused, Sukuna chuckled darkly. "What a fucking tease," he crowed, then patting your cheek. "C'mon. Open up, baby. Let me get to the back of your throat."

With little resistance, he popped your jaw open and sank his massive girth into your mouth. Gradually, you bobbed your head back and forth, letting your tongue lick every millimeter to him. He, likewise, pushed his hips forward, bringing your nose flushed against his well-trimmed patch of pink hair. He plucked the recording phone from your hands, and you sensed him tapping on the screen to focus on the erotic display where your bodies connected, your sinful lips accepting his fat cock with ease.

"You are such a good girl." Sukuna Ryomen confirmed, his movements mind-numbing as though he wanted to breed your esophagus. He wrapped a hand around your windpipe, constricting your airflow and causing you to gag. "Brat looks like a goddamn goddess sucking dick. Isn't that right, Choso?"

No response.

Curious, your pupils rolled to the side.

The assassin's the man you feared the most.

He was quiet, always guarded, his mysterious eyes pulling you in like two black holes. You could never know what he’s thinking about, although you lucidly remember his crooked obsession with 'disciplining' you.

"Hey, honey.” Geto's deft fingers suddenly gripped your chin, forcing your gaze to return to him. “Pay attention to us, m'kay?"

You hummed in response, Sukuna’s dick still bulging visibly in your throat.

"I don’t want you to lose focus," an overly aroused Suguru went on to explain. He breathed heavily. Shaking. Or maybe that was you? He clutched your love handles harshly before he pulled out and stepped to the side, making you stroke himself with your delicate hands instead. Briefly, you assumed that Geto preferred handjobs and wanted to ejaculate onto your breasts, only to get your answer when your puffy clit came into contact with the sharp coolness from…metal?

"Choso," Toji's harsh voice warned.

Brought back to your senses, you looked down to see Choso using the fluids to lubricate...his gun. You recognized the weapon, the same one you had seen in his car. The same one he would use to kill. All air in your lungs left swiftly. What the actual fuck. Sheer mortification was the only reason you didn't have the guts to do anything (because, if Choso became irritated enough, he could pull the trigger and then you would have no guts at all), and your silence only gave him a reason to continue defiling you into his personal gun slut.

He stared at his boss with an unperturbed frown. "You know I like her too much to hurt her."

A squeal tumbled past your lips when the pistol's freezing barrel pressed past your tight hole. Although you partially expected Toji to warn the weapon-wielding man again, Toji instead leaned forward in his chair, jaw resting on his fist. He could seem more concerned, but the mirthful glimmer in his emerald eyes said otherwise.

Meanwhile, Choso's piercing gaze alone made you sweaty, your forehead turned glossy with a sheen. He lazily massaged your inner walls, your warm arousal coating his cool metal before leaking onto the table, the only struggle now was how your body involuntarily twitched. To your fascination (and horror), pleasure began to build with each too-hard pass of his barrel. There were just too many sensations going on. Messy mouth deepthroating one cock, slicked hands stroking another, and sloppy cunt taking in a gun. You did your best to give everybody equal attention because you were a desperate crowd-pleaser, not wanting anyone to feel left out.

With your back arched from the table, you became increasingly frantic, demonstrating through feverish movements that all you were was their obedient little bitch. All these hands on your body, skin on your skin. You felt them all, the senses exhilarating and fascinating.

Toji sternly interrupted from seemingly nowhere. “I can tell from your movements that you want to cum, don’t you?” Maybe, but you were too overwhelmed to focus solely on your pleasure. Nothing that your therapists couldn't help with. Leaning over, Toji snaked an arm around your body to press tight circles at your engorged clit. "Be selfish for a little bit," he coaxed. "Cum for us."

His permission sent you immediately vaulting over the edge, your whole body spasming as an orgasm tore through you. Your lips parted, but you didn't scream. Your eyes shut slowly and rolled to the back of your head as every millimeter in your fragile body unraveled completely—fluttering, cramping, and shuddering.

Your ears became blessed with chorused laughter and praise.

Choso inspected your copious juices that suddenly coated his gun, a translucent thread trailing from the barrel to your now-exposed cunt. Reaching over, Sukuna wrapped his hand around Choso's forearm. He leaned into the pistol and parted his lips, swirling his tongue slowly around the barrel. His maroon eyes were half-lidded, giving him an almost lazy yet focused look as he dragged his tongue along the metal, lapping up your precious essences—the syrups rich and just a bit tangy. Drooling and sucking like a little kid with a lollipop, Sukuna didn't care that his spit trailed from the metal down to the other man's wrist and flipped the camera to selfie mode to capture the action.

Towards the end, his tongue swiped over his lips, leaving a luster from your elixir that coated his mouth. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

After another generous lick, he swished the concoction in his mouth before pinching your chin, and your mouth propped open. Pleased, he hummed when you stuck your tongue out, showcasing just how naughty you were. He drooled the spittle into your mouth, the saline taste blossoming on your taste buds, a thread of spit connecting your chin and his.

"Sharing," Sukuna chuckled darkly into your phone's microphone, "is absolutely fucking caring."

Nearby, Suguru groaned. He hurriedly clambered to the comfy space between your plush thighs, shoving a grumbling Choso aside. "I'm so fucking close."

He buried his dick into your tunnel, the veins on his cock pulsating. Call him selfish or masochistic, but as much as he wanted to reach his high, Geto denied his orgasm to stay longer inside and prevented himself from fucking bursting.

“Don't hold back, Suguru,” you urged.

Geto furrowed his brows, sweat gathering on his forehead as he tried his best to hold out. He admitted earnestly, "I don't want to give you up, baby.”

“I want you to cum,” you said, all whiny with puppy eyes. Free hand slithering down, you cupped his aching balls and gently squeezed his heavy testes. "Besides,” you glanced over at the camera, “show Naoya how you can breed me…daddy."

Sugaru’s eyes widened at the unexpected nickname that he loved so much. That’s it. He’s done for. His handsome features crumpled from an over-the-top pleasure as he gave his snapping hips one final push and pumped you full, coating your cervix white with his thick essence as he rested his head against your forehed, panting into your ear and moaning into your skin.

Pressing one last kiss on your cheekbone, he pulled himself out of your hot cunt, allowing others to have their way with you.

Sukuna got behind you eagerly. He repositioned your shaking body, his calloused hands tossing you over and leaving you panting on your hands and knees. His harsh squeeze at your sides made you squeal just as he pulled your legs apart for easier access, exposing your cute hole.

"Shit, she's making a mess, dripping onto the desk." The same desk that belonged to Naoya merely several hours ago. Adjusting your phone camera, Sukuna thumbed through your folds like they were pages in a book, scoffing at the viscous dallops that slid out. The tattoos on his wrists gleamed pitch black under the glossy mixed juices.

"Suguru's cock did you well, but this pretty lady isn't finished yet, eh? She can take more. I know she can." His hands weaved into your hair and tugged harshly. "Tell us, missy. You can handle more, correct?"

The threat in his menacing tone only suggested there was one answer. You whimpered pathetically, "Yes."

With a crooked smile, Sukuna pressed his muscular form against your back. That man was starving. After all, he had been waiting to have your pussy properly wrapped around his painful erection when he could've greedily taken you for himself first.

"Stop moving so I can angle myself correctly," Sukuna reprimanded when you wobbled on all fours.

Hardly any time was given to let you register the warning before the man plunged into your sensitive socket. He ignored your desperate wail, amazed at how he plugged you all the way. His pace started off sensual and languid. Each snug press against your battered cervix at first made you squeak, but you became too far caught up in the moment that the discomfort disappeared as promptly as the sensation came.

"Mhm," Sukuna hummed, a squelch ringing through the room each time he would bottom out. He didn't need to say anything for him to feel how wet you were, fluids trickling out from your puffy hole and creating what looked like the Nile River running down your thighs.

"Holy fuck," Choso swore to the side, his emotions a rare display.

Blissful waves rushed to your head, one after another. Arousal flooded into your tummy, your cunt twitching uncontrollably as a second climax started to sneak up on you.

Sukuna groaned—or at least attempted to groan—through the exertion of his forceful movements. How he had missed playing with you. A few trickles of sweat on his forehead glided over the ink on his forehead before dripping onto your back. He pumped himself faster, his balls smacking against your clit harder—savoring how you squirmed underneath his direct influence.

He could not resist peering down at the sacred space where your bodies connected and ensured that the camera, too, had an unobscured view. The problem was he had become so agonizingly turned on that his hold on your phone began shaking. He rasped, back straightening. “Goddamn, your cunny does me good.”

Not long after, he reached his release snarling and grunting like a dog as white ropes shot from his cock and into your uterus, with him nearly dropping your device onto your ass from his sheer ecstasy.

"No!" you protested loudly when Sukuna pulled out abruptly, hissing as your empty hole clenched around nothing. "I..." You balled your fists, thumping the desk in frustration. "I was so fucking close."

"Don't worry." The strawberry-haired man tenderly brushed away the tears by your jaw. Like he hoped to comfort you somehow. "Nothing Choso can't help with. He'll take great care of you." He looked over at the said colleague. “Isn’t that right?”

Gulping, you followed his gaze to the other man who had stopped behind you.

"You look nervous," Choso commented matter-of-factly. "Why?"

As if he didn’t already know the answer. You rolled your eyes and snorted like a true brat, indeed. "None of your business."

Besides, you had enough encounters with Choso Kamo, each incident more indecent than the last. This time, he naturally noticed your eyes drift to the gun tucked into his back pocket, the saps from earlier creating an ample moist patch on his pants.

“So, tell me, bimbo," Choso spoke again. He didn't care to announce himself as he unbuckled and pressed in, stretching you with his thickness, aided by your copious reserve containing both arousal and cum, hitting that sweet spot that he had no problem finding over and over. "Did you think I had been done with you already?"

Holding in whimpers from his repeated thrusts, you let out a soft groan.

"I can't hear you."

"Yes."

“But, do you want me?”

Silence.

“I am not going to repeat my—”

"I want you s’ badly..."

A demon must have possessed you. There was no other way to explain yourself. But those remarks were all Choso needed before he began to move impossibly fast within you. He didn’t care that he pounded into you like a beast, creating a commotion that perhaps the floor below could hear your wetness reverberate around the room.

"This is for being a fucking tease." Choso raised his hand high and then delivered an unforgiving blow against your ass. Unprepared, you yelped from the sheer force, which had been enough to leave a handprint on your unblemished cheeks.

"I didn't—!" Your attempt to defend proved futile as Choso spanked you again with little regard for your feelings.

"This is for giving me an attitude," he continued, gruff. And again. "For forgetting how to behave, shit." And again, and again, and again. For this, for that, his listed grievances going on and on and on, his punishments making you cry and squirm and wail.

Choso knew he was selfish. If his boss Toji wasn't involved, he would want nothing more than to keep you forever, making you his little gun slut and teaching you to cum all over him. He couldn’t help it. As if the roles were reversed. Like he was the inexperienced one, unaware of his partner's feelings and only caring for his pleasure. He remained relentless as he continued his abuse, the tendons along his hands and arms flexing with his efforts, like the crazed killer he was being out for blood.

The distressed expression written all over your face only made him want to go harder. He loved making it hurt, his sadistic personality entirely to blame. With every pump, his testes smacked onto your clit repeatedly, feeling him sink deeper and deeper inside.

“F-Fuck—S’ too much, Choso!” A sob wracked your trembling figure amidst his assault. In distress, you tugged at his wrists to get him to ease up on you. That didn't matter. He was too strong, especially when compared to you.

"I thought you wanted to cum."

"I do!" But you didn't think you would be able to cum like this. "This...This is too painful!"

As if he cared.

"Oh, please," Choso scoffed, even rolling his inky eyes in dismissal. "This isn't painful. You're just being dramatic. If you think this is painful...how do you think I felt, hm? Watching Geto and Sukuna take turns defiling you. Hearing you blubber their names without shame. Did you think that I—with my cock stiff in my pants—that I didn't feel pain? Listen to yourself. God, turns out you're just another selfish slut."

Scorching tears streamed down your face, and you searched around desperately.

"No one here's going to save you," Choso announced, reading right through you. He pressed his face against your earlobe, a hot puff of air fanning out across your delicate skin. "Because it's too obvious. You fucking like this, pup."

Did you?

Even if that wasn't the case, you guess you did now, the unwavering conviction in Choso's tone spurring a change of heart. It’s sick, you realized, he’s manipulating me.

Yet, sure enough, you soon started to feel lighter, giddier. Your pupils dilated from stimulation and your muscles tingled with excitement. Choso felt so good. You felt so good, and the coil from deep within your cervix compressed tighter and tighter as a pressure built from within.

"I'm close...again." This time, it's a little embarrassing to admit, especially when you were complaining like a puppy just minutes ago.

"What did I tell you, pet," Choso growled, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards in a rare grin. He made you feel glorious. Consequently, you writhed underneath his body, fully submissive under his control. You wanted nothing more than to be a pliant baby girl for him, let him use you in any way he wants. "Cum and squeeze my cock."

“Make me.”

“Oh?”

One final blow to your ass was what hurled your body over the edge.

“I—” you choked on your spit. "I'm coming!"

You shrieked the moment you felt your body disintegrate, your shoulder blades caving in as sweat fell like raindrops from your skin. Elbows giving up, your head hit the table, leaving your temples pulsing with dizziness, bliss, and pain; your eyes staring at the wood finishing; your chest rising up and down, exasperated from the intensity of your release.

And oh, your pussy squeezed Choso good. Before he could hold himself back, Choso dug his nails into your ass. "Fuck, you are incredible," was the last thing he muttered before he came as well in one long grunt, splattering your womb with his creamy semen. He made you tremble when he pulled out, releasing the mess inside and leaving you feeling oddly empty and cold. Glob after glob of cum oozed out, semen from multiple perpetrators painting over your labia, which made the surrounding men grin at the sight, knowing that you held all their seed inside.

Nothing except their breeding hole, that was what you had become. There was something they adored about labeling you as their personal whore.

Not long afterward, a warm hand took yours into his own. Toji caressed the skin of your palm before pulling you right onto his lap again. In the end, he was whom you belonged to. If anybody wanted to do anything to you, they had to talk to him first.

Toji helped you straddle him, tucking one leg onto his either side, except you were so fucked out that you didn’t know who you were or where you were from.

"C'mon, honey. Don't lose yourself just yet," he murmured gently, brushing a few free strands from your forehead. Otherwise, you would've gone limp and lost all senses completely.

Toji had been waiting for you. He considered this a sign of his maturity, allowing the younger and more impatient men to make a mess with you first. Now, though, was his turn, fair and square.

His exposed length pressed up against his abdomen with fantastic girth and length such that—despite your current state—your pupils went heart-eyed and your mouth drooled from sight alone. He loved when you made that expression, one he had seen countless times in his dreams; a guilty pleasure in reality. He chortled at your sharp gasps, finding you adorable even after being stuffed by several men.

However, just when you didn't think you could handle more, his red-flushed head brushed over your clit and jolted your veins with the familiar wave of arousal. You shifted, the sticky mess between your legs uncomfortable. In a brief moment of lucidity, you had an epiphany. With one hand resting on Toji's shoulder, you reached down with the other to spread your folds, biting your lip as you clamped down on your sensitive walls hard.

Sure enough, a generous amount of cum trickled out of your used cunt, oozing onto Toji’s cockhead and sliding down gradually to his balls.

"Holy shit."

Eyes grew wide with surprise, jaws dropped in reaction to your nasty actions. Since when did you learn to become so dirty? Flushed cheeks betrayed their interest as they continued their lustful staring. Generous was what you were, letting them ogle like schoolchildren for a few moments longer before you scooped up the slick and began to suck on your fingers. Softly, you hummed at the succulent flavors concocted by you, Suguru, Sukuna, and Choso combined.

"Next up is you."

“So fuckin’ filthy," Toji praised with utter adoration.

As you continued, you made sure not to break eye contact as you subtly rutted your sopping cunt against his tip. You coyly batted your long lashes in his direction, making sure he could feel the liquids running down his cock and the throbbing pussy that awaited him.

You smiled. "All yours, Dr. Fushiguro."

He suddenly grew smitten at how polite you could be, and using his hands as a guide, he helped you sink into him slowly. “Goddamn.” The sound that emerged from him was wholly obscene, a carnal desperation only matched by your movements, your thighs constricting his hips and your eyes rolling backward. How cozy, you discovered yourself to be, snug at his hilt. Toji had filled you all the way but a few centimeters of his cock remain, his tip already kissing against your spent uterus.

Something about knowing that his little cousin would watch this made Toji want to do everything to push deeper into you. He started by rocking your waist against a rhythm, and a near-pornographic mewl escaped your lips when his shaft ran over an especially sensitive spot, the ridges rubbing against your cavern and sending pleasure through your every limb. He hummed at the way you squealed and loved how expressive you were with your body and feelings.

His tongue laved across your shoulder before stopping over your collarbone. "You'll still go back to Naoya after this?"

"Absolutely not," you mumbled with sincerity. "I would hate myself if I did."

“Excellent,” he slurred, his spit drooling down your back from where his mouth had latched onto your neck. “That’s…exactly what I wanted to hear, baby.”

Baby. Your eyes squeezed shut, responding with a whine. Although the overstimulation was originally uncomfortable, you began to feel satisfaction cut through the soreness once again as your body prepared for one more climax. You rocked your hips in need, like an animal in heat, a sight that would certainly drive your ex-husband crazy. “F-Feels,” you paused to pant, “Feels good.”

“Fuck.” Toji gritted out, breaking through his cacophony of crude moaning and effectively searing your skin. He continued steering your body in the rhythm he learned you liked, his nails nearly piercing your skin despite their bluntness. He cupped your jaw harshly. “What are you to us, sweetheart?”

“Oh.” You laughed a little, clearly delirious, and then replied. “'M your cumdump.”

“Say that again.”

“I—”

“Louder.” The emeralds in his heavy-lidded eyes skated briefly to the phone. “I want everyone to hear.”

So, you mustered all your energy to give your final answer—and the correct answer. "I am your cum dumpster!"

Toji started saying something, chuckling maybe, but his words weren’t clear even as he tossed his head back. His breathing was deep, wet, and sexy, and he was no doubt blistering hot in his business blazer, his slicked-back hair soaked with sweat and hanging limply in front of his flushed face. His expression, on the other hand, was what got you the most; his eyes drawn shut, his brows slightly pinched, his mouth just barely parted.

He panted, raising his head to lock lips with yours, moaning into your mouth lewdly before pulling back, and admiring your fucked out expression, face heated and sweating.

“Shit, you’re too good to me,” was the last thing Toji sighed before he added to your womb with his hot cum, his grip on your body tightening as his balls twitched and lodged his precious seed into the sacred cavern. Pussy clamping down, you milked him, not willing to let a single drop go to waste, gasping when the explosive warmth made you shatter with him, leaving you hiccuping and spasming until you were just jolting and crying out from the stretched muscles in your body.

Overheated, you slumped forward. Sweat rolled uncomfortably down your back, spit smeared across your neck and shoulders and chin.

But you looked up and giggled at your latest discovery.

“I love getting gangbanged."

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: I spent way more time preparing this chapter than I expected, writing, rewriting, and editing. Adding, shortening, then adding again. (At some point, this was nearly 7K words.) This is far from perfect, but I must relinquish myself. Thank you again for reading!

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[cutielando]

v.s. angel | l.n.

synopsis: in which Lando is there to support you for your first Victoria's Secret runway show

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

To say that you were nervous was the understatement of the year.

The ride towards the venue seemed like it was taking forever, the buildings breezing past you at a rapid pace.

Lando was sat beside you in the limo, analyzing you from head to toe.

He knew how much this night meant to you, how hard you had been working ever since he met you to be able to finally walk the runway as an Angel. And now finally, all that hard work was being paid off.

His eyes gravitated towards your bouncing knee and your fidgety fingers, his heart clenching.

“Hey” he said, his hand coming to rest on your knee, which momentarily made you stop your movements.

You turned your head to look at him and let out a big sigh, relaxing a little into the backseat at the feeling of his touch.

“Hey” you replied, smiling slightly.

You weren’t used to being in this position. Being the nervous one, being the one in the center of attention. It was usually the other way around whenever you would join Lando at events. But now that it was your turn to shine, you were close to freaking out on him.

“You don’t have to be nervous. You’re gonna kill it out there” he said, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on your knee and lower thigh.

You sighed again, your eyes boring into Lando’s.

“What if I mess it up? I know I’ve been saying I’m ready to do this, but what if I’m really not? My career could be over in a heartbeat if even the slightest thing goes wrong” you explained, staring into Lando’s eyes.

They always brought you comfort, no matter the situation that you would find yourself in. Just one look into Lando’s eyes and the whole world around you would calm down and all of your problems suddenly seemed a lot smaller than you had made them out to be.

That’s just the effect that your boyfriend has on you.

“That’s a lot of “ifs” for one sentence, don’t you think?” he asked, his voice teasing you a little bit. “Baby, you know as well as I do how hard you’ve been working to finally make it here. These people chose you for a reason, out of so many other models they chose you. They saw something special in you, don’t put yourself down now. You’re going to step on that runway and knock everyone on their asses” he said, his face as serious as you’d ever seen it.

He was right, at the end of the day. But he knew it was the nerves talking, so he had no problems in making sure that you knew just how special you were.

“Thank you. I love you so fucking much” you tearfully said, leaning in and pressing your lips against his, hard, in a passionate kiss.

Lando reciprocated it, sneaking one of his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him, his other hand still resting on your thigh.

“I love you more. Show them what you’re made of. I’ll be proud of you no matter what”

You smiled, for the first time that night, and nodded frantically.

You were gonna rock the shit out of that show.

♡♡♡♡♡

Safe to say that your brave facade had only lasted an hour, right up until the moment you were supposed to step on the runway.

You were back to freaking the fuck out, your palms were sweating, your legs were shaking, your heart was threatening to beat out of your chest, and Lando was nowhere to be seen.

He had left you in the changing room before he made his way into the audience, which right now seemed like the worst idea he had ever had to you.

“Y/N, get ready. You’re up in 2 minutes” the stage managed announced, making your breathing even more ragged than it already way.

You slowly made your way to the entrance of the runway, careful not to slip and fall on your wobbly legs. You sneakily got a look of the audience and the other models. the amount of people adding to your already growing stress.

But you couldn’t even focus on them anymore. Your eyes were frantically searching for his, the only thing that you could find solace in at that moment.

You were slowly starting to give up hope of seeing him from that angle before you got on stage, but then your eyes landed straight on him.

He was already looking at you, his eyes worried but excited at the same time. He subtly gave you a thumbs up and mouthed “You’ve got this, I love you” before giving you one of his signature smiles.

You smiled, blew him a kiss and stepped back, closing your eyes as you gathered your thoughts.

You had been waiting for this moment ever since you were a little girl, you had worked your ass off for this opportunity, and you were about to show everyone exactly what you were made of.

Letting out a big breath, you shrugged off the thin robe you had tied around your waist, walked up the steps to the runway and stepped into the spotlight, a bright smile gracing your face as you confidently made your way down the runway.

The audience was in awe as they followed you with their eyes, but the only eyes that you cared about were Lando's.

He was clapping the loudest out of anyone, beyond proud of you and what this meant for your career.

"Go baby!" you heard him yell, and it took everything in you not to stop and blow him a kiss or just jump off from the stage straight into his arms.

Instead, you smiled even wider, stopping at the end of the runway to pose with your wings before turning around and walking back, catching Lando's eye for a second and winking at him.

The audience was clapping the loudest they had all night as you slowly retreated off the stage, almost doubling over your feet as you were finally out of the spotlight and into the safe comfort of the dressing room.

"Are you okay?" another Angel asked you, one of the girls you had got to know pretty well over the last few weeks.

"I can't believe I just did that" you said, both of you silent for a moment before you burst into laughter, clutching your bare stomach.

"You were great out there, especially considering the support system you had" she teased before pointing behind you.

You chuckled and turned around, seeing Lando making his way into the dressing room and towards the two of you.

No words were needed as you completely melted into his arms, the familiar warmth of his hold enveloping you like a safety blanket. His arms had slowly become your favorite place to be, the place where nothing and nobody could get to you, where you could let yourself feel and where you could be safe from everything out there.

"You were incredible out there. I couldn't take my eyes off of you" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he held you close to his body.

You chuckled, squeezing him a little tighter.

"Thank you for being here for me. I can't even explain how much having you here meant to me" you said, your eyes welling up with tears as you buried your face into his chest, hiding away from the world to a place where it was just the two of you.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world, I'm so proud of you" he whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

The love that you felt in those moments was overwhelming, but at the same time was everything you could ever wish for.

"I love you so much" you pulled away just enough so you could see his face, your gaze instantly falling to his lips.

"I love you too" he said before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours.

The whole world seemed to fade away, the runway and show long forgotten and pushed at the back of your mind.

You had everything that mattered right there with you.

Your love and biggest support.

Your Lando.

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[flowerywoso]

the babysitter || irene paredes x reader

Summary: You've had a thing for Irene ever since you started babysitting for her. When she comes home after a night out with the team, you realize that your feelings might not be as one-sided as you thought they were. Pairing: Irene Paredes x Reader Words: 3,992 Warnings: 🔞, smut with plot Notes: I haven't written anything in quite awhile (I honestly wasn't planning on writing ever again but here we are), so this might be a little rough! Please don't hesitate to let me know (politely, please!) if you notice any horrible grammatical errors or notes to myself that I somehow forgot to take out. Do not post my works on Ao3. And I am horrible at titles.

You peek your head into the room once more, carefully easing the door open and, just as quickly, shut, once you determine that the toddler is definitely still asleep. It’s a habit you adopted after your friends began to have their own children, and one you’ve maintained for the kids you babysit. Tiptoeing back down the hallway, making sure to keep your footfalls as quiet as you can, you plop back down on the sofa, settling into the corner and taking a sip of your sparkling water, grabbing your novel and flipping it back open as you wait for the boy’s mother to return home.

It’s not that much later, only long enough for you to finish a single chapter of your book, before you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, announcing Irene’s return from the Barcelona squad’s night out. You don’t get up from the couch, merely setting your novel aside and uncrossing your legs, letting one dangle off the cushions.

She enters the room quietly, the low heels she’d left the apartment in abandoned on the mat by the front door so they don’t click on the wood floors, and when you look up you can see the flush on her face. You're not sure if it's the result of the chilly evening air or of her night out, but either way it's enough to make you swallow around a lump in your throat. The top and pants she'd left the house in are just as enticing now as they were several hours ago, and you wonder as she walks further into the apartment how you manage to stay sane around her.

“Hola,” she says quietly, setting her purse down in the center of the coffee table and taking a seat beside you on the sofa, sighing in relief as she relaxes into the cushions after a long night out. Your heart, as it so often does in the presence of the older woman, skips a beat as she comes nearer to you.

“How was everything?”

“All good,” you reply, beginning to recount your evening with Mateo. As always, the toddler had been easy, listening to you as well as one could expect a two-year-old to, and had fallen asleep on the sofa halfway through an episode of Bluey, only stirring briefly when you carried him to bed.

“He ate most of his dinner,” you relay with a smile, shaking your head at the memory of how the toddler had wrinkled his nose at the "yucky green" you'd provided for him, far more enthusiastic about the special treat that was the chicken nuggets unearthed from the freezer. “We had a bit of a struggle with the veggies, but other than that he was a perfect angel, like always.”

Your words bring a smile to the older woman’s face, and you can’t help but stop in your tracks for a moment, transfixed by the way her lips perk upwards, faint lines around her eyes becoming visible. You’ve seen her take an extra minute in the bathroom more than once after you arrive in the evenings, trying to conceal the bags beneath her eyes or the smile lines beginning to form at the corners, but you think that each and every part of her face is a work of art. 

You had no idea, when you first started babysitting for her, just how quickly your feelings for the older woman would grow. In the stolen moments at the beginning and end of the nights, before one of you walks out the door, you've learned more and more about Irene Paredes the person, not just the footballer, and something about her kept drawing you further and further in. You couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but you knew that you wanted her.

“Did you have a good night?”

Irene shrugs, shaking her head with a fond smile as she tells you about the Barcelona squad’s night out. She had mostly stayed on the sidelines alongside the other older players, keeping an eye on the girls closer to your own age as they enjoyed themselves, but Pina and Cata had managed to coax her and Alexia into having a drink and dance before she had excused herself.

The thought of Irene on the dance floor makes your heart pound, imagination beginning to run wild.

You’ve never been to Manuela’s, but from the way you’ve heard Irene describe it, there's absolutely no shortage of beautiful women. You know from the bits of information she’s given you that the Barcelona girls normally stick with one another, even while they’re out, but you’ve never been able to help yourself from wondering if any of the beautiful girls who frequent the club have tempted her enough that she’s taken one of them to her bed.

It's that thought, the unpleasant idea of her tangled between the sheets with a nameless, faceless girl from the club that makes your chest hurt. Before you fully notice what you're doing, you open your mouth and begin to speak, some jumbled mixture of thoughts spilling from between your traitorous lips.

"I mean if... If you ever wanted to stay out later... If someone..."

You trail off, clamping your lips shut as you realize just how inappropriate what you're implying is. You cringe, cursing yourself as you watch for her reaction, wait for her to get up off the couch and hand you your bags, let you know that now might be a good time for you to go home.

But she doesn't. Instead, all the older woman does is fix you with a questioning gaze, seemingly losing herself in thought for a moment.

She’s seated closer to you than she normally would be, than she ever has been before, and for a moment you wonder if she can hear your heart as it pounds in your chest, speeding up as she enters your space. You aren’t sure if it’s your imagination, the way her eyes seem to have fixed on you, tracing the details of your flushing face, eyes following your bottom lip as you nervously run your teeth over it.

“No,” she says at last. “None of the girls there have ever been who I wanted.”

Something about the word there catches your attention as it leaves her mouth, and you're certain that you must be losing your mind. Because there's no way, no way in the world that she wants you the way you want her.

The older woman reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you’re fairly certain that you’ve stopped breathing. Her hand pauses by your left cheek, which you're absolutely certain is flushing redder than the cap on her cherry flavored chapstick.

And suddenly, before you can even fully process the fact that her soft but strong hands are cupping your scarlet cheeks, the older woman is leaning forward and pressing her lips to yours.

You must have imagined this moment a thousand times, but never in your wildest dreams had you imagined it would actually come true. The older woman’s mouth is soft but insistent against your own, exploring your lips with hers, and every coherent thought you’ve ever had is a distant memory as you move with her, kissing her back.

Kissing Irene is even better than you imagined it would be - and you could fill a planner with the amount of times you’ve imagined this exact scenario. Her mouth is gentle, but there’s an edge to her kiss that contains a promise, the knowledge that she’s capable of being anything but.

When your lips finally part, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, you let out a little gasp, pupils blown wide as Irene stares into your eyes, both of you trying to process what has just happened. Even though she’s the one who kissed you first, Irene seems just as shocked as you are. But, behind her wide eyes is the same feeling you know she can easily spot in your own.

Desire.

“I… Fuck.”

You’re the one who leans forward this time, lips pressing against the older woman’s, the faint flavor of alcohol on her lips mixed with a hint of cherry from the chapstick you’ve seen her spread across her mouth more than once. The taste of her lips is intoxicating, and you can feel it going straight between your legs.

This kiss is deeper than the first, your arms wrapping around her strong shoulders to pull her closer, wanting to feel her body against your own. You part momentarily, gasping for air and only managing a brief breath before she’s kissing you again, every movement raising the stakes. You whine as her lips meet yours once more, hands coming to rest on your hips, pulling you closer. The older woman uses her own lips to pry yours open, her claiming tongue slipping into your mouth and beginning to explore further.

You let her take control of the kiss without protest, the arousal between your thighs intensifying exponentially with every second her body spends this close to your own. 

“Fuck,” she gasps, breaking away from your lips only long enough to grunt in your ear. “Fuck, I want you so badly.”

All you can do is nod, shaking your head up and down in agreement, because you don’t think you’ve ever wanted another person this badly in your entire life. 

“Irene,” you whine, pressing impossibly closer to her. “Please.” 

“Can I touch you?”

You’re nodding again before the question has even fully left her lips, and the older woman’s pupils go dark with how eager she is for you. She kisses you again, her football player’s strength showing as she pushes you backward onto the sofa, hands working their way up under your shirt. She doesn’t bother with the clasp of your bra, instead slipping her hands beneath the fabric to cup your breasts. Separating her lips from yours with a low groan, Irene immediately begins tracing a path over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a further wave of shivers up and down your spine. You moan quietly, remembering that you two aren’t alone in the apartment, but tilt your head anyway, granting her better access to your throat.

Advantage is rapidly taken, the Barcelona player letting a hint of teeth scrape across the delicate flesh of your throat as she rolls one of your nipples between her fingers, moaning quietly at the way you arch, pressing your chest further into her touch. 

Your nipples aren’t normally this sensitive, but something about the way Irene rolls and tugs at them makes the two buds feel as if they’re direct links to your most sensitive spot. Her touch is magical, and all you want is more.

As if the older woman can read your mind, the hand not busy exploring your chest slides further down, slipping under your black leggings and making you gasp, bringing a hand up to muffle your own sounds as long fingers begin to rub at your pussy over your panties. 

There’s far too much fabric between the two of you, and every thread feels like a cage. You need it off, need the last bits of separation between your heat and her touch gone, now. 

“Off,” Irene commands and, needing the barrier gone just as badly as you do, she doesn’t wait for you to obey before she’s hooking her own fingers in the waistband of your leggings, yanking them down over your legs. Your panties are removed in the same motion, both pieces of fabric coming to rest at your ankles. You try to kick them fully off, but only manage to completely free one leg before the older woman is pushing her way between your thighs, eagerly beginning to explore your bare pussy.

Her experience is clear from the first touch of her slender fingers against your naked heat, and you can’t help but press closer, spreading your legs further to give her better access. The older woman draws in a sharp breath as she circles your clit gently with one finger, exploring, watching for your reactions, the others gathering the rapidly accumulating wetness at your entrance. Irene's touch is electric, and the older woman finds herself becoming rapidly obsessed with the way your clit seems to plead for her touch.

With two of her fingers, Irene traces the outline of your pussy, hyper aware of just how wet you are, how your hole is begging silently for her fingers inside as she continues to rub your clit.

You let your eyes fall shut, eagerly anticipating just how good it will feel when the fingers you can sense lingering just shy of your entrance finally slide home, burying themselves inside your welcoming cunt. You’re practically pulsing with it, with how badly you need her inside, need to know just how she’ll fill you, what previously unknown spots inside the tips of her long fingers will be able to brush.

“Where do you want my fingers, bebita?” 

You whine, shifting your hips in an attempt to get even closer to her, to get her to slide her fingers into your throbbing heat. The digits, wet from your own slick, only withdraw further away from your needy hole, and you nearly sob with how badly you need the older woman, need her touch. 

Obvious as it may be, this nonverbal expression of how desperate you are for her to take you isn’t enough to satisfy the older woman, and she rubs your inner thigh soothingly. 

“Use your words, baby,” she coaxes. “Tell me where you need my fingers.”

The idea of using your words seems borderline impossible at the moment, your brain simply too overwhelmed with the reality of just how close her fingers are to slipping inside, but you can tell that you won’t get what you need until you do.

“My pussy,” you manage to whine, trying to stay as quiet as possible while pulsing with the need for her. “Please, Irene, I need your fingers in my cunt.”

Your words, base and simple as they are, are enough to get you what you need, and when Irene finally slides her fingers home, you can’t conceal the moan that tears its way free from your throat. You’re wet enough that the stretch of going from zero to two fingers inside your cunt brings nothing but pleasure, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from moaning aloud when you feel the ridges of her fingers settle against your walls, the older woman pausing for a moment to let you adjust to the feeling of her digits inside.

Irene has to swallow a wrecked noise of her own as she finally slides her fingers inside your soaking pussy, the sensation of your silky walls against her skin sending her brain into overdrive. The sound of your voice, desperation tinging your whispers as you plead for her to move, to fuck you, is absolute music to her ears, and she doesn’t hesitate to comply with the enticing request. 

Her pace is slow at first as she starts to move, the older woman eagerly exploring every curve and contour of your cunt, leaking around her fingers. It’s so warm and inviting, and the older woman has no idea how she’s lasted this long without knowing what feel like inside.

Once she’s sure you’ve fully adjusted to the stretch of her digits inside of you, Irene speeds up her thrusts, curling her fingers in search of the most sensitive spots hidden inside your pretty cunt. 

It’s clear when she finds what she’s looking for, because your cunt clenches down around her fingers and you squeeze your pretty eyes shut as pleasure rocks your body. 

“Oh,” she says, voice a whisper that tickles your ear and makes you shudder happily. “Is that where you need me?”

You nod desperately, the entirety of your reality reduced to the sensation of her fingers against the sensitive tissue inside you, stroking it insistently as her thumb comes to brush against your swollen clit. As she fucks you with her fingers, the older woman tests out different motions on your bud with her thumb, searching for the pattern and pace to take what’s left of your breath away. 

You can’t help but let out a cry as she presses a little harder, circling your needy clit at just the right angle. Irene quickly presses her lips to yours again, reminding you that you’re not alone in the apartment.

“Shh,” the older woman says, swallowing your noises with her own tongue, collecting each one. “You’ve still gotta be quiet for me, bebita.”

You nod in understanding, kissing her back desperately, bringing a hand up to tangle in her hair. You can be quiet, no matter how good it feels, you can be quiet, just so long as she doesn’t stop what she’s doing between your legs. Irene chuckles against your lips, redoubling her efforts between your legs. Her talented fingers thrust in and out of your pussy, each time hitting the spot that makes you see stars.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispers, lips right beside your ear. “That’s it, take it for me. Take it, just like that.”

You toss your head back, more than willing to comply. Every cell of your body feels like it’s on fire, and you want nothing more than for the burning to consume you completely. 

Your orgasm arrives without warning, Irene’s thumb on your swollen clit combined with her talented fingers inside your cunt sending you crashing over the edge with a fury you haven’t felt in a long time. You have to bite down on your lip to keep in your sounds as your it overwhelms you, nails digging into Irene’s bare shoulders. You can feel the older woman’s smile as she kisses your neck, fingers still moving gently inside you, working you through your climax, helping you ride it for as long as you can.

You shudder, aftershocks still shaking your body as you begin to come down from your peak. She slides her fingers out and you bite down on your kiss-swollen lip to keep yourself from whining at the loss. It takes another minute before you're able to gather yourself, fully opening your eyes and taking in the sight of the gorgeous older woman above you.

Irene presses another kiss to your lips, this one gentle, and you can feel the smile on her face as you give a final shudder, sitting up and leaning into her.

"How was that, bebita?"

"Fucking perfect," you reply, unable to conceal a grin of your own as you note how flushed her face still is. Knowing that touching you has her seemingly almost as worked up as you are sends a thrill through your body and you reach for the button of her jeans, aiming to return the favor, only for the same pair of hands that had just brought you to such an incredible orgasm to push yours down, Irene’s lips brushing against your forehead.

“Don’t you worry about me, baby,” she says, and you feel your heart sink with sudden disappointment.

“Are you sure?”

Irene wraps an arm around you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, clearly oblivious to the way your shoulders sink. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I promise. Don’t worry about me.”

You blush, wanting to protest that getting to touch her would be just about the furthest thing away from a worry- dream or fantasy come to life would be a more accurate description- but a sudden wave of shyness overcomes you, the whiplash of going from the high of your orgasm to the valley of being denied an opportunity to make Irene feel as good as she’s just made you feel making your throat close up.

“O-Oh,” you say quietly. “Okay. I just…”

You trail off, not sure what to say to that. It feels like, without meaning to or realizing what she’s done, the Barcelona defender has just tossed a bucket of ice water over you.

“I… I guess I should head home then,” you say quietly, trying not to let her hear the hurt in your voice, reaching down and pulling your leggings back up over your calves and thighs until they rest around your middle. Your panties aren’t quite soaked, for the pure fact that they had been around your ankles soon after her lips first met yours, but they’re still wet enough that putting them back on isn’t exactly comfortable. 

And more than that, you don’t want to leave. Your body is still purring with the aftermath of your orgasm, the last thing you want to do right now is leave her apartment and walk the few blocks home to your own. The route between your apartment and Irene’s is one you know well, lit with plenty of streetlamps and well-frequented on a Saturday night, so any anxiety you might feel can be connected purely to leaving her after what’s just happened, without being certain where you stand. 

Irene opens her mouth and you pause with your hand on the knob, waiting, hoping that she’ll say something, offer her bed to share for the night. 

“Let me know when you get home safe,” she says quietly, and you can’t help the way your chest clenches with a strange sort of pain. You hadn’t really expected her to offer for you to stay, not with the amount of eyes that could be watching someone like her at any given moment, but you still can’t help but wish she had.

You nod in response to her question, clutching your bag close to your side as you shut the door behind yourself, beginning the short walk home.

...

“Fuck.”

The second the door shuts behind you, the defender wishes she could throw it open again and call you back in.

She had wanted to, especially after watching you come apart under her touch, seeing how pretty you looked as your orgasm overwhelmed you. The words had been on the tip of her tongue, but you had beaten her to it, reaching for the door handle and exiling yourself before she could even offer, and she hadn’t offered any protests. 

Peeking in the door, ensuring that Mateo is still safe and sound in his bed, the Barcelona player tiptoes quietly down the hall, two doors down, and pushes her own door open and shut behind her.

As she pulls off her top, letting it fall to the floor, quickly followed by her pants and bra, Irene curses herself, pulling back the covers and slipping into the too-big bed on her own. It feels cold compared to the contrast of your warm body against her own, and her chest pangs with the regret of not asking you to stay the night. 

Back in your own apartment, you slide beneath your own covers, mind racing at a million miles an hour.

No matter how your chest might ache at the fact that you’re here, alone in your own bed, the memory of the older woman’s lips on yours, of her talented fingers bringing you to orgasm right there on the sofa, of muffling your moans in her shoulder, still sends a familiar jolt of electricity between your thighs. With a soft whine, you reach for your the bedside drawer where you keep your vibrator, turning it up before pressing it against your still-swollen clit.

Blocks away, Irene is doing the same, quietly gasping out a much-needed orgasm with your name on her lips, the memory of your mouth on hers and your silken flesh beneath her fingertips sending her over the edge.

As the older woman drifts off into an uneasy slumber, the space beside her conspicuously empty, she knows that, now she's had you once, she won't ever be able to get enough.

[wonuuism]

puppy love - 심재윤

in which jake makes the most if his (expensive) visit to the vet.

tags: fluff, vet!reader, layla’s not overweight irl but for the sake of the plot let’s say she’s been eating a little too well;;

author’s note: idk i wrote this in like an hour bc of a sudden burst of motivation. no proofreading bc it’s 3am LOL. first fic woo!! enjoy!!!

—

jake’s worried. panicking, even.

layla’s laying down next to him in the back of the taxi, her eyes shifting around nervously. jake’s leg is bouncing up and down as anxiety courses through his veins. layla had slipped and fallen down the stairs while he was home and her sharp whining whenever she walked afterwards made him uneasy. so, he was quick to call up the nearest vet clinic and book the soonest appointment for a consultation.

he’s really, really worried though. layla’s never had any bad scares like this one, so he’s not sure what to expect. what if it’s worse than he thinks? what if they tell him layla’s broken a bone? what if layla has to go through surgery? oh god - jake thinks he might throw up.

he’s interrupted from his thoughts as the taxi driver stops the car and announces they’ve arrived. thanking the driver, jake exits the car and gulps nervously as he surveys the exterior of the clinic. it feels ominous.

a bell rings as he pushes open the door, and the girl at the front desk looks up from the computer screen. “welcome in! how may i help you?”

“uh… i have an appointment at 11:30. for layla.” jake responds.

“awesome, i see you in our calendar. please hold tight while i let the vet know you’re here.” she smiles kindly, but it does little to ease jake’s nerves. still, he manages a tight-lipped smile and curt nod in response.

—

jake watches as someone emerge from the back, looking at a clipboard in their hands. “layla?”

he stands up right away, prompting layla who had been laying by his feet to do the same. “yes, that’s us.”

you look up at the source of the voice and send him a pleasant smile. walking towards him, you reach out your hand and he shakes it, but not before quickly swiping his palm on his jeans. “nice to meet you. i’m dr. l/n, and i’ll be taking a look at layla today. how about we head inside so i can take a better look at her?”

jake nods earnestly and gently tugs on layla’s leash to have her follow him into the consultation room in the back. once inside, you ask if he could kindly place layla on the table - a request he readily complies to. you’re impressed at how little he struggled given the fact that layla is a fairly big dog. clearly, he was strong. and maybe kind of cute, too.

“so,” you begin, “what seems to be the issue?”

“she had a bit of a bad fall and she’s been limping and whining a lot since then… i’m worried she might’ve broken a bone or something like that?” jake explains as he runs his hand comfortingly through layla’s fur.

you nod as he speaks, reaching over to assess any damage. after checking her heartbeat with your stethoscope, you flex her hips, gently press on her legs, and check on her paws.

as you do so, layla’s continuously making noises of discontent. initially, you had believed that her right front leg was causing her discomfort since she’d barked sharply when you touched it. however, she’d done the same thing for every other limb you’d touched as well. smiling, you turn your attention to her owner.

“i don’t see anything wrong with layla. her legs are fine, i’d say the shock of the fall is probably what made her respond like that. us people tend to coddle our pets a lot when they get injured, and dogs especially like that attention so they exaggerate it to make it seem worse than it is.”

jake is dumbfounded. “so you’re saying layla was just being dramatic?”

you smile apologetically. “yes… i know it’s not the news you were expecting, but that’s a good thing! means she’s not injured.”

you’re right, jake supposes. but that means i brought her all the way here because she’s a drama queen?!

you note the way jake sighs heavily, and it makes you want to try and console him by making his trip to the clinic seem somewhat worthwhile with basic medical advice.

“however, i would recommend putting her on a bit of a diet. she seems to be just a little bit over the ideal weight, and that can cause unnecessary strain on her joints.” you explain and jake nods, hanging on to every word coming out of your mouth. “after all, we want layla to live a long and healthy life, don’t we?” you coo, reaching out to ruffle her neck.

jake smiles. cute.

wait, what?

he takes this chance to finally look at you. he’d been too occupied previously with worry that he hadn’t been able to actually register what you looked like. now, he can see that you are, in fact, cute. you look around his age, and he’s impressed that you’re a vet this young. you suit the scrubs, but he wonders what you’d wear outside of work.

you pull away from layla and jake snaps back to reality. he’s glad layla’s okay. still, he sternly faces her and points his index finger toward her snout. “alright missy, you’re going on a diet starting today. consider it punishment for scaring me like that.”

chuckling, you turn to face him and he mirrors your action. there’s not much left to say, so he thanks you quickly and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. you stay since you have to log layla’s information in your computer. as you’re wrapping up, you add one more thing in layla’s “additional information” section.

additional information: super cute, looks exactly like owner

—

jake silently mourns on his way back home. again, he’s glad layla’s okay. he really is. but he had to pay an extraordinarily large amount of money just to be told that she’s fine. and a little fat.

he glares at layla, who looks back at him with sparkling eyes. his heart melts at the sight, and he sighs as he pets her. jake thinks of you and the fondness in your eyes as you petted the same fur moments prior. maybe something good did come out of his visit to the vet.

suddenly, he gets an idea. he paid a lot of money for this consultation, so he could be a little greedy. as a client, he could ask for your number, right? after all, what if something truly serious happened next time? he’d rather skip the formality of booking an appointment through the website and speak directly with you instead.

so, he pulls up the clinic’s information and calls the number on their website. a girl — likely the same one who welcomed him in — answers and asks what she could do for him.

“hey, i was just at the clinic for an appointment with my dog layla. i hope this doesn’t sound weird, but do you think it would be possible to get the number of the vet who saw layla today? just in case anything happens to layla again. you know?”

jake physically cringes as he speaks. way to not sound weird.

“uhm… one moment please.” the girl responds. jake hears whispering on the other side of the call.

what he didn’t know was that you were right next to the girl on call, sorting through some paperwork before you saw your next patient.

“doctor! layla’s owner is calling and asking if he can get your number..?” your secretary whispers.

you whip your head towards her, not believing what you heard. layla’s owner? the cute, fluffy hair guy?

she looks as giddy as you feel, giggling as she raises her eyebrows suggestively. laughing at her, you give her a thumbs up and she’s quick to bring the phone to her ear again.

“hello? yes, the doctor said there’s no problem. do you have something to write with? okay. her number is…”

you smile to yourself as she recites your personal number. a bell rings throughout the clinic, notifying you of your next patient’s arrival. you greet them and lead them to your consultation room and as you close the door your phone buzzes.

unknown number: hi, this is jake. layla’s dad. thanks again for the help today. if you don’t mind, i’d like to take you out sometime?

you bite your lip to suppress your grin. quickly, you reply.

you: i’d love that. date and time?

[wonijinjin]

in sickness and in health

author’s note: please take care of yourselves everyone! being sick is not fun. dedicating this to my dear @babyleostuff <3

synopsis: when you get food poisoning cheol is ready to sacrifice his night to take care of you.

word count: 1.0k | genre: fluff, comfort | pairing: cheol x gn! reader | warnings: mentions of throwing up, being sick, fever, exhaustion, bad mental health

it was around 12am when you realised something was wrong; you never really got sick, but you could feel it coming before it even happened; head pounding and shivers crawling up and down your spine, making you anxious. after a bit of panicking about why you felt this bad you calmed yourself down and went back to scrolling through social media on your phone, scared of waking and troubling the man next to you. seungcheol was already asleep by that time, being extremely tired from working since 3am, having been to several music show recordings and dance practices. you found him so peaceful as he slept and you were so glad to see him rest after many days of hard work. however as the minutes went by while looking at your phone you could sense an increasing nauseating feeling in your stomach, not being able to focus on the blogpost you were reading anymore, being too occupied with trying to make it stop and squirming under the blankets of your cozy king sized bed to make it more bearable. as if on cue to the peak of your struggles cheol stirred in his sleep next to your helpessly thrashing form, turning to you, his sleepy frame trying to process the cause of your distress. “what’s wrong, my love?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “don’t worry, nothing. go back to sleep.” you tried to sound as convincing as you could. he didn’t buy it. “love, i know something is up. tell me, please?” he begged, more alert when he saw how your protests were interrupted by a weak sob. “i think i am gonna throw up cheol.” you mumbled with a terrified look on your face, trying to stay perfectly still so your upset stomach could get some relief. seungcheol first thought that you were trying to pull a prank on him since you never got sick, but when he looked at your features closer he realised how pale you looked, and how sweat was glistening on your skin. “you sure? like right now?” he sat up in no time as the question left his mouth, ready to take you to the bathroom to let out whatever was making you feel so miserable. you didn’t have time to answer him whatsoever as you bolted towards the mentioned room, getting to the toilet just in time for the agonising pain and suffering of the next few hours to begin. in your hurry you had a hopeless attempt to lock the door in order to shut cheol out; you hated if he saw you in any other state than your most perfect one, if he saw your imperfections, how you felt unwell sometimes or how you struggled with life from time to time. he always scolded you for thinking this way, but you couldn’t stop it; you wanted to be his strong partner, someone who he could rely on whenever he needed to. “i am coming in.” you heard him say and suddenly you felt a warm hand on your back and another one taking your hair out of your sweaty face, snapping you out of your feverish daze. “i am here, you are okay, love. breathe for me please. that’s it, good. let it all out. don’t worry i am here.” you could hear cheol’s voice through your eardums, blood pumping in your veins with much more speed than ever. seungcheol held you close to him as you spat in the bowl one last time, making sure you were really done before placing you on his lap, your knees no longer hitting the cold tiles of the bathroom, only feeling his warmth surrounding you. “my poor baby.” his voice was low and hurt while he kissed your forehead, frowning upon sensing how your skin burned under his touch. “you are burning up. you definitely have a fever my dear.“ he announced, but you could barely register his voice and words; you were utterly drained, barely able to keep your head up straight.

cheol of course took note of this, gently guiding you to lean into him even more while he got comfortable on the floor, cradling you into his chest. “i know you don’t feel good my love. do you know how did this happen?” he wondered with concern laced in his words. you slightly shifted in his arms, looking up at him. “i think i might have food poisoning, cheol.” he cooed at you, kissing the top of your head, rocking you from side to side as you whimpered in pain. “it’s okay love. it will be over soon i promise.” he chanted softly in an attempt to calm you down as exhaustion took over you, the high temperature making you shake with chills no matter how close seungcheol kept your body to his. “love, you with me?” he questioned after a few minutes of silence, but didn’t get a reply; you fell asleep fast, totally knocked out from the sudden wave of late night sickness. he was relieved to see that your immune system was trying to get that much needed sleep to heal, although he was concerned about the effects of not taking medication before your slumber; he didn’t have the heart to wake you so he let you rest anyways.

he never stopped holding you through the night, not even when he moved you to the bedroom and got a cold towel to put on your head, moving a trash can beside your bed just in case, or when he stayed up all night to watch over your distressed form, wishing that you would get better by the morning, kissing your cheek from time to time to let you know that he was there, that he was gonna take care of you no matter what.

[elllisaaa]

how seventeen would confess to you - hhu vers.

-> pairing : svt hhu × gn!reader

-> words count : 2.9k words

-> genre : svt members crushing on you, fluff

-> warnings : while make you giggle and kick your feet

-> sorry if I made any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !

-> masterlist | svt masterlist

hhu vers. | vu vers. | pu vers.

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL - INTIMATE

cuddles, cuddles, cuddles !

once he tackled you on the couch or bed and you’re in his arms, you’re not getting up for at least an hour. 

watching long shows together, and you’re forbidden from watching even one episode without him, or he’ll get so pouty. 

big golden retriever energy, he’s always so smiley around you.

but also big on protecting you.

he’s the type to say “dress how you want, i can fight”, and he will definitely fight if needed.

always has an arm around you, making you feel safe in every situation

since both of you are friends since as far as you can remember, he’s like another member of your family.

i can literally picture your aunts asking you when you’re gonna marry him at every gathering lmao

with all of that, the line between friendly and romantic feelings is blurred, but cheol wished he had the courage to fully cross it. 

however, everyone and their mothers knew about his big crush on you, and about yours on him. 

his confession would be so domestic crying because i’m lonely. 

It wasn’t uncommon for you to cross paths with Seungcheol late at night. Just like you, he often got thirsty and you always ended up staying in the kitchen until the early hours of morning, and being sleepy at the family gathering. And this time was not different. Well, it was, in fact, a bit different. You had been aboard for the past year and only got back to Korea a few weeks before, so both of you hadn’t really seen each other and you had a lot to catch up on about your lives. 

“- And after that, this bitch didn’t even dare to look me in the eyes for the rest of the year ! Can you believe this ?

- I don’t like to judge people I don’t know, but she’s indeed a bitch.”

Both of you bursted out in laughter, and your heart felt warmer again. It was as if you were finally complete again. Being away from Seungcheol when he had been by your side for the majority of your life was the most difficult thing you ever had to do, and feeling him slip through your fingers as he started to respond less was horrible. He apologized so many times about how busy he was, and you knew it was not his fault, but still, you just wanted to be back home, back in his arms. 

“- Yeah, she definitely is.”

You landed your head on his shoulder with a smile, and Seungcheol feared that you would hear how fast his heart was beating. He was happy for you when you announced to him that you had the opportunity to go aboard for your studies, and he was immensely proud of you. But at the same time, all he wanted to do was convince you to not go and keep you forever with him. But he was only your best friend, and he couldn’t ask you to give up on your dreams for him. But he wished he could be your boyfriend instead. 

“- I have something to confess…”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him as you waited for his next words. Seungcheol eyes’ dived into yours, and he just knew. He knew that this was the right time, that the particular atmosphere surrounding the two of you would certainly never arise again. He had to do it now.

“- The day you left, I came to say goodbye at the airport, remember ?”

You nobbed. How could you not ? He had engulfed you in a big hug  that made you want to stay, and left you with teary eyes as you got on your flight.

“- I never told you what I did after. I drove off to the park we always played at when we were kids, and I cried on the swings for maybe two hours because all I could think about was that you were not with me. And it felt so wrong.”

Your right hand found purchase on his cheek, forcing him to look down at you as he consciously avoided your eyes since he started to tell you his little story. But your soft smile was the only reassurance he needed.

“- It felt wrong being away from you too. I missed you so much Cheol…

- Me too…”

And just like that, you both leaned in at the same time, your lips meeting in between and suddenly, everything felt right again, as if it was where you were supposed to be - in each other arms. 

“next time i’m squeezing myself in your luggage, i don’t want to spend another night without you in my arms.”

JEON WONWOO - SIMPLE

i don’t know how to explain it, but I’m sure you’ll get it when I say that this man is the definition of soft. 

he’s so cozy, every one of his hugs feels like a warm cocoon (that’s why you always find an excuse to get a hug).

very good at giving advice, and a good listener, he’s always there when you need a shoulder to cry on. 

you were friends with the other members at first, but slowly, you started to grow closer when he discovered how sweet and lovely you were. 

the more he talked with you, the more he found himself hooked.

literally has heart eyes for you (everyone and their mothers know about his crush on you) and would drop everything if you need him.

of course, he’ll be more than happy if you agreed to play video games with him, it doesn’t matter if you’re good at it or not 

it’s even better if you never played, he’ll have an excuse to make you sit on his lap while he teaches you how to use the controller. 

but in the end, he’s a simple guy, and he doesn’t see the point of hiding his crush for too long, but he also wants his confession to be meaningful. 

The boys had organized a big party for your birthday this year, and surprisingly, they succeeded at keeping it a secret until tonight. And the past months spent trying to perfect every little detail was worth it when they saw the big smile on your face and your teary eyes when you recognized your friends and family as you walked through the room. 

And even if Wonwoo couldn’t be more happy than seeing you wander around, laughing and smiling non-stop, he felt a weight on his heart. He wanted to steal you away from all these people, have you all for himself and finally tell you how he felt about you, finally tell you how glad he was to have you in his life. But he couldn’t, and he would never do that. He was just waiting patiently for your eyes to meet in the crowd, and for you to smile brightly at him. Every time you did that, his heart beat faster. 

“- Finally ! I’m so happy that everyone came, but I’m exhausted !

- I can imagine, you’ve been running around the whole night.”

You sighed dramatically as you seated yourself on the couch next to Wonwoo, resting your head on his shoulder. Like a habit, he put his arms around you, bringing you closer to him, just because you were so comfortable around each other that everyone else thought you were already dating. 

“- It’s the best surprise of my life. You guys are my favorites. Thank you for doing this for me.

- You deserved it, that and all the presents we prepared for you.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him with a sparkle of curiosity in your eyes. 

“- And what’s yours Wonwoo ?”

He had planned to do it later, when everyone would have left, when he’ll have a moment alone with you. But if this wasn’t a sign that he had to do it now, he didn’t know what it was.

“- It’s not something material. It’s more… Spiritual I’ll say.

- It’s intriguing, tell me what it is.

- My heart. I’m offering you my heart, because you already have it, you did for a long time now, and I wanted to let you know, just in case you were feeling the same about me.”

Wonwoo knew how emotional you could get, but he didn’t expect you to cry from his confession. Still, he wiped your tears away, waiting for you to calm down with a soft smile on his face.

“- I feel the same, I’ve been feeling the same for so long. You have my heart too.”

“I’ll take care of it, I promise. I’ll always protect you.”

KIM MINGYU - JOYFUL

100% golden retriever energy

you would often tease him along with the members (because we all know that seventeen ultimate goal is to make fun of mingyu)

partner privilege : would not get as pouty as with his members, all it takes is a smile from you and you’re forgiven.

however, when you tease him about how being so muscular but so afraid of everything is a shame, he’ll be like a child throwing a tantrum. 

pouting until you compliment him (and cannot stop blushing once you do, he’s so cute someone help me).

tries to impress you all the time by flexing his muscles, showing how strong he is. 

he’s so obvious please, this boy cannot hide his love for you.

follows you everywhere like a lost puppy, just in case you need him (he’s adorable).

he feels so comfortable around you because beyond all the teasing, you’re very understanding and kind. 

you’re always here to remind him how amazing he is every time he doubts himself. 

and because he feels so comfortable around you, his confession would slip like it was the most natural thing ever. 

Mingyu always had a tendency to show off his skills whenever you were in the same room as him. Yes, he felt an incredible ego boost when you complimented him about his muscles, but what he took real pride in was how much he was able to make you laugh. He always feared that his jokes were lame, or just not your type of humor, but every time he cracked one, you bursted into giggles. And by the way you were beaming, there was no way that you were faking it. 

And he always managed to make you laugh in all types of situations, chuckling and resisting the urge of kicking his feet like a teenager everytime you hitted his shoulder playfully as you tried to contain your own giggles. Mingyu was addicted to the way your eyes were glowing with joy everytime you just smiled. However, he discovered that the easiest way to get you to laugh was to tell you all the stupid things his members did. Like now, as you were crying from how funny you found the story of Seungkwan volley ball. 

“- He really only discovered it when he saw that video ?

- Yeah, really ! You should’ve seen the betrayal in his eyes, it was priceless !”

And you were laughing again, your head thrown back, tears almost spilling out of your eyes. But Mingyu wasn’t laughing anymore, too lost in his contemplation, because you were literally a work of art to him. Every single detail about you was perfect, the more he discovered, the more he wanted to be yours.

“- Your smile is so beautiful, gosh… I love you so much…”

The melody of your giggles died as soon as you registered the meaning of his words. Silence enveloped the both of you as you stared at him as if you were trying to enter his mind and find all the answers to your questions. And Mingyu was forcing himself to keep his mouth shut, and not embarrass himself further, already cursing himself in his head for being so careless.

“- Wha- What did you say ?”

Mingyu was too focused on his overthinking to notice the little grin spreading on your lips. Of course, you already knew that he had a crush on you. Of course, you had a crush on him too because who doesn’t ? And of course, it was very cute to watch him stumble over his words with red cheeks. 

“- I-I said that you have a beautiful smile…

- And after that ?

- Don’t want to tell you.”

You giggled as you leaned in to peck his warm cheeks, restraining yourself from going in for his pouty lips too.

“- Well, just know that I love you so much too Gyu.”

“see, you heard it perfectly ! but i’ll tell you a hundred times if you want me to.”

CHWE HANSOL - BRIGHT

he’s so random, like one minute he could joke along with you and the other he’s asking you the most existential question possible, fully serious about it. 

like we say vernon is just vernoning in the most vernon way possible. 

he's very chill about pretty much everything so it's really soothing to be around him.

he's your go-to person when you want to isolate yourself from the rest of the world because you could spend evenings just watching tv and not saying a word to each other

there's also times where both of you end up talking about your lives until the early hours of the morning. 

your relationship feels like it's all natural, there has never been an awkward state, only comfort. 

it's like hansol had known you for years because he felt so at ease every time you were with him. 

you made him feel like he was special and normal at the same time, and even if he doesn't show it often, he really appreciates it. 

you two liked to stay inside so it was rare for you to go out somewhere, but it was always unexpected and when it happened. 

hansol knew that you liked to be surprised, and often showed up on his days off to take you somewhere without telling you.

that's why you weren't shocked when he picked you up at 5 in the morning, on a random Sunday. 

“- Can I at least choose the music ?

- Go on.”

Hansol handed you his phone which was connected to the speakers of his car, letting you put on whatever song you wanted. He owed you this with how early he forced you to get out of bed on one of your days off. But he really wanted to take you to this spot he loved. He played it off as one of his random wishes, but he planned this in his mind for a long time, not all the details, but he knew he wanted to bring you there to tell you how he felt. 

He watched with a small smile on his lips as you opened the window, one of your favorite songs playing as you let the wind hit your face and make your hair fly all over your face. Hansol quickly focused on the road again, seeing that he was near your destination, he asked you to close your eyes.

“- Are we there ?

- Almost.”

The rest of the way was quiet, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you. When you finally felt that Hansol had stopped the car, you heard him go out of the driver seat to get to your side and help you get out too, ordering you to keep your eyes closed. He pushed you to take some steps forward before he finally authorized you to see what was in front of you.

“- You took me to the ocean ?”

You didn’t even turn around to look at him, too entranced by the sight in front of you. And all Hansol could do was smile when he saw how parkly your eyes were. 

“- I guess that I wanted you to see the sunset.”

You were rather speechless as Hansol got a blanket out of his car, leading you to the beach for you two to watch the sunrise on the horizon. He contemplated you as you ran around, touching the water to see if it was cold or not before finally sitting down beside him, your head finding his place on his shoulder, and his arms around yours.

“- Thank you for bringing me there… It’s beautiful…

- I wanted to make it special.”

Before you could even ask him what he was talking about, Hansol leaned in, his eyes fixed on your lips, and yours on his. Basking in the warm light of the sunset, he kissed you for the first time but certainly not the last, a smile spreading on his face as he rested his forehead against yours. 

“i think i could get used to this.”

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my works.

svt taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@lil-kpopstan @hann1bee @iraisswiftie

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 18] Preparing for Vacation

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

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You’re packing Ren’s bag, a bit in disbelief that you’re going on vacation with your ex-boyfriend. You feel nervous about it, wondering how it’ll play out since your relationship with Satoru isn’t the best– Maybe you shouldn’t really worry about it, he’s doing it all for his son. Perhaps he’ll pay you no mind. Hopefully he won’t pay you no mind.

He has a vacation home in the perfect tropical place, which you aren’t surprised about. You’ve heard of all the houses that the family has around the world, and you forgot about half of them. It was rare staying at a hotel when you traveled with Satoru.

“I’ll come pick you up tomorrow morning. At around five.” Satoru enters Ren’s room to help you pack. Ren is too focused on his cars to pay attention to Satoru, and Satoru eventually got bored of just being another track for his son’s toy cars. You hum in response before you go to a cabinet to pack pajamas for Ren. “Is your suitcase ready?”

“It’s almost ready.” You lie because it’s far from ready. You’ve been simply too busy and tired to come around to it. You’re still working as Satoru’s assistant since for some reason, you suddenly don’t have the heart to quit. Of course, since the truth came out, Satoru has lightened your workload. He doesn’t care if he has to do it all himself, he wants you to come home early to spend time with Ren. You almost hate yourself for not telling him the moment you saw him again… Almost. 

“I can finish Ren’s suitcase while you finish packing for yourself.” Satoru says, and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Would that be a smart idea? Satoru is Ren’s father… But he doesn’t know everything that Ren needs for a vacation. Worst comes to worst, Satoru can buy what Ren is missing since he can certainly afford it.

“Fine.” You end up agreeing, neatly folding the pajamas you hold and putting them in the suitcase. You leave it to Satoru to pack everything else up. 

You get to your room and check what you need to pack up, which is almost everything necessary. You hear your name being called, which causes you to come to a stop, “Mommy!”

“Ren!” You yell back, and you turn around to find your son at your door. He walks over to your bed and lays down, grabbing one of your fluffy blankets and throwing it over himself.

“I’m bored.” He announces. Ren can entertain himself playing with anything for hours, but the moment you’re doing something important, he’s the most bored kid in the world. It doesn’t help that you haven’t been allowing him to watch TV since he’s been misbehaving lately, which means he’s more bored than usual.

“Your dad has gotten you so many toys. Go play with them.” You tell him, but that’s not the answer Ren wants to hear. Ren wants to hear you say that he can watch TV, but you’re not saying it which makes him pout.

“Want to watch TV.” He responds which makes you sigh. It’s easier to let Satoru handle it, since he’s been telling you that he has no idea how to properly parent. The only way for him to learn is to practice.

“Satoru! Come here! Ren has a question!” You yell, and Satoru is in your room within seconds. Maybe he should’ve stood in the doorway, but since it’s his son that has a question, he doesn’t really think twice before entering your bedroom.

“What is it, honey?” Satoru looks at his son, patiently waiting for Ren to ask.

“Can I watch TV?” Ren asks, and Satoru is about to nod, but he has to look at you first.

“Since when do you ask that question? I thought your mom–” Satoru begins but you cut him off to explain why Ren is asking the question. The correct answer is no, but you know that’s how you think. Satoru is also Ren’s parent and deserves to have some authority over how Ren is raised and punished.

“Ren has been misbehaving lately. He’s been writing on walls even though he’s been scolded for it many times, and he’s been throwing tantrums to get what he wants.” You explain, and Satoru doesn’t immediately see a problem with it. Why? Because he was raised in a house where the rules were that he did whatever he wanted. No one really dared to deny him anything but he can’t do that with Ren. 

“You’ve been misbehaving lately, Ren. Your mother gave you an appropriate punishment, and I’m not going to ignore it.” Satoru responds, and Ren crosses his arms as he gets up from your bed and walks back to his own bedroom. Satoru awkwardly stares before following behind, because Satoru still has to finish packing. 

When Satoru walks into the room, he finds Ren sniffling in his pillow, and he swears his heart cracks at the scene. He shouldn’t walk over to Ren to comfort him… He’s surely doing it because he’s not getting his way. But he’s not strong enough to ignore his baby boy, not yet at least.

Satoru sits down on the edge of the bed, his hand running up and down his son’s back to soothe him. Satoru sighs before asking his son, “What’s wrong, Ren? You know that your actions can have consequences… And while I love you a lot, I can’t just let you do whatever you want to do.”

“Mommy doesn’t love me.” Ren claims, and Satoru is shocked to hear Ren say that. He had no idea how dramatic kids were. But maybe Satoru shouldn’t judge since he would’ve reacted the same way– Thing is, Satoru isn’t sure if his mother does love him. 

“Your mommy does love you, that’s why you’re grounded. If she didn’t love you, she would just allow you to do all you wanted.” Satoru hopes he’s saying the right words to comfort his son. He isn’t the best at comforting people though, so he’s not sure if that’s going to work. Ren sits up from his bed, crossing his arms.

“It’s not because of that.” Ren will shift the attention. It’s mainly because you’re not allowing him to do whatever he wants. But of course he does feel a bit neglected lately because for the past year you’ve been so busy.

“Then why is it, buddy? So I can talk to your mommy about it.” Satoru says, and Ren debates if he wants to speak about it. Should he voice his thoughts? Is that smart?

“Mommy is never home, and when she is, she’s too tired to do anything.” Ren shares, making Satoru purse his lips together. He knows it’s not something that you can control, but maybe that’ll change in the near future. 

“She’s never home because she’s making sure that you have everything you need and could possibly want. It’s not because she doesn’t love you, it’s because she loves you so much.” Satoru defends you. It’s obviously something that’s difficult for Ren to understand, after all, he’s only four (though he keeps reminding everyone that his fifth birthday is coming up). “Don’t ever say that your mommy doesn’t love you, Ren. She would do just about anything for you.”

“Okay…” Ren answers, hesitantly nodding in agreement.

“Now go give your mommy a big hug, okay? And an apology too. She just wants the best for you.” Satoru tells his son, and Ren gets up from the bed, walking out and running to your room.

It’s fair to say that you’re shocked when you see Ren running your way with his arms wide open. You crouch down to receive his hug. Ren kisses your cheek before he mutters out an apology, “I’m sorry, mommy.”

“Have you learned your lesson, Ren?” You ask and he hums in response, which makes you continue, “What is the lesson?”

“Um…” He begins, unsure as to what the lesson is. You try not to laugh.

“I have rules for a reason, Ren. When I tell you something, it’s for your own good.” You tell him, and he nods. “Now what’s the lesson?”

“To listen to you and follow the rules.” Ren responds, and you smile at him before kissing his cheek.

“Promise you won’t ever misbehave like that again.” You put out your pinky, and he intertwines his own with yours. Ren takes pinky promises very seriously, so you doubt he’ll break it. “Alright, you can watch thirty minutes of TV, but you’re still punished tomorrow and the day after that.”

“Okay. Thank you, mommy.” Ren says before running out of your room, and you stand up. You catch a glimpse of Satoru near the doorway and you signal him to come inside. When Satoru is inside, you smile at him.

“Thank you.” You tell him, going back to packing up your suitcase. Satoru decides that he’s going to try and help you when he doesn’t know what you need.

“It’s my job. We can’t have a disrespectful and entitled child.” Satoru replies, and you’re about to make a joke about it, but you bite your tongue knowing that it isn’t wise. You end up patting his back. 

You don’t really pay attention to Satoru, not until your peripheral vision catches his sudden change in color. His face is burning red when he opens a drawer that he isn’t supposed to open.

“Oh that’s– Not mine.” You’re completely embarrassed. You shouldn’t be, it’s just Satoru. You have a literal child together, and that didn’t magically happen. But your relationship with him has clearly changed. “The toys are… My friend’s.”

“Yeah… They’re your friend’s.” Satoru ends up chuckling, closing the top drawer. “You don’t have to lie to me. I know better than anyone that you have certain needs.”

“Satoru, shut up. You’re making it worse.” Your face is hot. “Matter of fact, go watch TV with Ren.”

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t try to help you!” Satoru walks out of the room, and you lay down on your bed, grabbing your pillow and screaming into it.

It’s hard for you to wake up the next morning, but luckily your child doesn’t have an issue waking up. He knows that you’re going on a trip with his father, and he’s beyond excited. He’s finally getting on a plane though, and not just any plane but a private one (although he doesn’t know that detail). It’s nice to have someone that’s so energetic when all you want to do is sleep.

Satoru waits in his car for the two of you, sending the chauffeur up to help with your luggage. Throughout the whole car ride, Ren enthusiastically talks, knowing that he’ll be going to the beach soon. It’s a fifty minute drive to the airport, and he nearly drives you insane, but you have to remind yourself that he’s simply excited. 

“I call dibs for Ren as my seat buddy.” Satoru says when the chauffeur opens the door for him. Satoru gets Ren out of his booster seat, and practically runs to the entrance of the plane. You slowly follow behind them. You can’t really complain about Satoru stealing Ren for the plane ride because while you love your son, this morning he’s too energetic for you to handle.

You take a seat far away from them, deciding that you’ll take a nap during the plane ride. You barely slept last night so you certainly need the energy for when you land. But Ren doesn’t see that logic, he just wants his mother close to him, so when you take a seat far away from the pair, Ren leaves his seat and goes to you. He grabs your hand and tries to pull you up, “There’s a better seat.”

You almost groan before standing up, but you follow him. You take a seat across from the pair, putting in headphones. Before you can put on some music, Satoru says, “Do you really want to try to fall asleep now? Before takeoff?”

“Fine, I’ll stay awake for now.” You answer. You begin to listen to Ren talk, simply staring at him as your eyes grow heavy. You’re not sure how much time passes but Satoru certainly does, a frown overtaking his face.

“Why is it taking so fucking long?” Satoru asks, and you glare at him for his language. He realizes and quickly says, “Sorry, Ren.”

Satoru stands up with the intent of asking a staff member but just as he begins to walk, he realizes the reason why it’s taking so long. He crosses his arms, a sigh escaping his lips. “What do you need, Sayo?”

“Just wanted to accompany my dear husband on his business trip. I need a vacation too, you know?” Sayo responds, already fully in vacation mode. She pokes her head to the side, since Satoru blocks her view. She calls out your name and waves at you, and panic begins to settle in your body. She moves Satoru to the side to take a seat next to you, and that’s when she sees Ren.

“Satoru!” Sayo looks at her husband, although she raises her voice but not of anger… But of excitement? “You didn’t tell me you were bringing your son along!”

[wosoragebaiter69]

forgotten about you

barça femeni x teen!reader

request: here

A/N: i just know alexia turned off the tv during the game 😭

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

You wake up, today is what could be described as a neutral day but it’s still your birthday nonetheless. You didn’t want to leave your bed, but you had to. Your family never really celebrated your birthday, only really caring about your brother and his dreams.

Even if it wasn’t the best day for you, a small part of your mind hoped that someone would wish you a happy birthday, at least Alexia anyways. It’s not like you told them though, the Barça instagram page would probably announce it.

You go through your regular movements of the day, traffic is light and you make it just in time.

Walking through, the admin wishes you a happy birthday, you smile lightly saying thanks and continuing to walk into the change room. However when you’re there it’s the same as any old day, it breaks your heart a little but you wouldn’t tell anyone that.

You’re quieter than usual walking to your cubby, it isn’t much of a change considering you’ve been one of the quieter ones since you joined barca, preferring to only be loud late at night when blasting music in your car.

It’s when even Alexia comes in and doesn’t say Happy Birthday that you feel even more hurt than before, out of everyone who would know, you’d just hoped she would. It’s not her fault though, you didn’t tell anyone. Why would she?

Training seems to be a blur, you miss the looks your older teammates give you at certain points. You’ve essentially become someone with no emotions which has somehow made you have a great session. Which in all honesty did not mend your shattering heart, no matter the praises the coaches had given you.

You make an effort to miss everyone after training and head straight home, you didn’t shower and just got up and left ignoring your confused teammates. No matter how much of an introvert you were, you’d always make time to say goodbye. It was a sign to everyone else that something had happened.

You make way to your car and drive off straight away, inevitably you end up sobbing halfway through. Unable to keep your emotions inside.

- - - - -

In the locker room, when you were gone there was silence. A pondering in the air of sorts. Mapi breaks it.

“Is she ok? She’s usually quiet but this… she’d at least say something.” Her statement lingers in the air, no one knowing what to say.

“Oh shit.” The unmistakable voice of Lucy Bronze cuts through the tension.

“Qué?” Many voices say at once. Lucy turns her phone around and shows the birthday announcement from the Barcelona Instagram page.

“How did we not know? Why didn’t she say anything?” Alexia sounds heartbroken, she cares for you deeply and to miss something so important is heartbreaking.

“I’m not sure.” Ingrid’s voice cracks and it looks like she’s about to cry.

Alexia is quick to regain her composure.

“Ok, we messed up. But, we can make this right. In the time I go to her house, talk and get her to come out, you all should do something. Plan a party and we’ll be there in like 1-2 hours. Got it?” The girls nod, seemingly ready to organise something not too big but enough to make up for what they didn’t know.

“Ingrid do you want to come with me?” The captain asks the Norwegian who nods, saying farewell to her girlfriend and teammates. You were very close with her, she took you under her wing a lot and you looked up to her.

- - - - -

You’re crying on your couch when there’s a knock on the door, thinking it’s preachers you ignore it, hoping they’ll leave. Only, the noise gets louder so you wipe your tears and trudge slowly toward the door.

Upon opening, Alexia and Ingrid immediately wrap you in a bone-crushing hug.

“What’s this for?” You say, you thought they’d forgotten about you.

“Don’t act like you don’t know, we’re sorry we didn’t know it was your birthday. We’ll make it up to you.” At Alexia’s words you start crying again.

“No Ale, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have expected anything. I didn’t tell you guys.” You say, feeling slightly bad.

“Elskling, no matter what we should’ve known, were your teammates and we didn’t even do any digging to find it. We made no effort before when we should have. Don’t ever feel like you should dismiss it. It obviously means something.” At her rant, you seem to understand her words as they compute in your mind.

“We did bring you something though nena. One from me and one from Mapi and Ingrid. Then we are going for a drive, ok?” You nod gratefully and get ready for what the two are giving you.

“Here you go.” Ingrid is first, she gives you two small boxes. You open the first one and it’s the Miss Dior perfume you’ve wanted for ages but haven’t ended up getting because you were too busy.

“I- thanks Ingrid.” You beam, she smiles softly back and points to the other one, you open it up carefully revealing a Dior charms bracelet. Your mouth opens wide.

“This is… thank you so much!” You place it down wrapping Ingrid in a hug.

“I’m glad you like it, I heard you said Dior was your favourite designer so I just figured.” It seems your broken heart from before was sealing up because she remembered something you’d told her weeks ago.

Alexia watches the interaction, smiling and happy to see you happy. Not the shell of a person you were at training because they forgot.

Luckily for her and Ingrid, there was a mall on the way to your house with many shops which would definitely satisfy what they needed to get you.

After speaking to Ingrid, you turn to Alexia who is also grinning and hands you a box.

“Aquí.”

You unwrap it, it’s quite big and heavy. When seeing the contents your eyes widen.

“Is this…” She nods her head, smirking. It’s a PS5, Alexia had been pretty strict on no video game consoles considering she wanted you to have a healthy sleep schedule.

“I didn’t think you’d ever allow it- Thank you Ale.” You bring her into a hug before unwrapping it fully and staring at the three things you had received in awe.

“Come on, get dressed we have places to be.” Alexia pulls you from your staring, you get dressed pretty quickly and you’re out of the house in 15 minutes.

- - - - -

You arrived at Patri’s house a little later and walked inside. The rest of the team were there, balloons everywhere and most importantly a cake with 19 on it being brought over by Frido.

Everyone’s singing and your face heats up at all the attention, feeling warm because of the love you’re receiving at the current moment.

When the singing dies down the Swede whispers to you softly.

“Make a good wish kid, it’ll be great.” You nod blowing out the candles and get given a knife to cut down the middle. It’s a pretty plain cake, but if you’re going to be honest you always loved when cakes weren’t so detailed.

The rest of the evening went by in bliss, people apologising and overall having a great time. Yes, they might’ve forgotten. But, they knew their mistake and made this the best birthday you’d ever had.

—————————————————————————

Finally wrote this.. I took too long to write it i’m sorry anon

can you tell what designer i like? (miss dior smells so good i feel rich when wearing it)

anyways i literally need to stop eating original kebab, like it’s so good and taking too much of my money PLEASE

[nolovelingers]

TELL ME YOU DONT FEEL IT ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ wes hicks !!

⋆ ★ wes has had a crush on you since what feels like the beginning of time and he’s finally determined on getting you to tell him whether the feelings are reciprocated or not. — short blurb !!

cw ᝰ.ᐟ sfw ,, talk of weed ,, readers high ,, fluff

dancing under the florescent night sky of the moon, a deep blue tarp with an array of stars scattered in groups like white paint on a canvas as laughter beamed from the depth of your body resided you and wes hicks.

a bittersweet feeling harmonized along with the two of you as you swayed to your own rhythm, not a single worry or doubt making itself present in your mind as you gave your thoughts away to the buzzing sensation vibrating all through you.

the 5’8 male had not been there initially to witness the intaking of a blunt rotation you shared between few friends, but he was quick to head over the second you asked.

there was worry that struck through his body at first as he picked up your call after only two rings, a small panic at seeing your name on his phone at such late hours of the night and it wasn’t until he heard you speak the protectiveness that ran through his veins settled only after a short explanation.

you had asked him to come and walk you back home, worried to do so alone and not in the sober mindset.

he rushed over as soon as he could, leading up to the present moment as you laughed away the cruelty of the world, stumbling just slightly as you skipped and danced without song.

“spin me!” you requested, and the hicks boy felt blood rush up to his face at the sudden odd request, your fingers reaching for his in a cupping motion.

complying with an awkward smile he lifted his arm, twirling you around and watching the way your clothes blew along with the direction of the wind, outlining the figure of your body that was just beautiful in his eyes. “how much did you have?” he mindlessly questioned, laughter threatening to poor from between his bubblegum pink tinted lips as he watched you with an intent gaze. his attention was solely on you and he was met with a shrug of your shoulders.

“why, did you wanna hit?” you didn’t even have to ask before you felt the pending answer, flipping your body around and walking backwards as you continued holding onto his slim fingers with your own.

“uhh, no, i don’t smoke.” he glanced at your hand that was still wrapped around his with a lingering look in his eyes that you were fast to mistake for him being uncomfortable, letting go of his hand and not noticing the slightly disappointed emotion rupturing over his features as he nervously looked at the pavement below the two of you.

you smiled, his response turning out exactly as you expected while continuing to walk the wrong way forward. wes eyes you carefully, prepared to shoot his arms out and catch you at the chance you fell. “i know. you’re a little mamas boy. it’s cute though, i really admire that.” there was nothing but genuineness in your voice as you spoke and the bleach-haired boy felt the need to turn his head away in a daze of embarrassment, the feeling of a rosy tint creeping over his fair skin.

there’s silence for a moment and he clears his throat, sticking his hands in the pockets of his grey-washed jeans and opting to try and switch the topic away from him. “how you feeling?” softly and with genuine concern in his ocean-blue eyes he met your vision with his, a light-hearted smile twitching the corners of just one side of his mouth up slightly.

“amazing,” you’re quick to answer him, finally flipping your body the right way round. “i feel like im one with the environment!” you giggle, so much intense passion evident in your voice while you announced your mindset to the boy; who’s blonde hair was breezing into patches with the wind, his dark brown roots becoming even more apparent.

wes watches you with a certain intensity of emotion in his eyes. like a mother watching her kid say their first words, or a doctor witnessing their patient start to walk again after being paralyzed for years.

he grins, keeping his head turned as he breaks his gaze away from you. you’re able to see the point of his canines clearly as he stays faced away, and suddenly you’re switching roles, finding yourself unable to look away from him.

you had never really seen him in this light before. not literally, the dark nightfall dimming his face; making his skin look smoother than it ever has, his jaw seemed to pop more, or maybe he was just clenching it, the yellow hue of lamplights coming and going as you walk down the concrete along with him and back to the neighborhood you both have been living in since you could open your eyes.

you had seen wes almost every day of your life. walking to school together, all the days you hung out, sharing classes and even carpooling with each others parent every once in a while.

but you had never really seen him like this. clearly.

and through the dim lighting, through the shadows of the night and the dark pallet of colors swarming the two of you you swore that you had really seen him. and there wasn’t a word to describe the feeling either. it was just like something was turning in your head, gears clicking after so many years.

he was enticing.

enticing you, and drawing you in without meaning.

he notices the quiet that fell between the two of you, and finally meets eye contact with you again. as soon as he does, he notices you had already been staring and an enormous blush immediately takes over him as he tries to figure out how long you had been watching him.

he brings his eyes back down, watching the floor and you notice as he carefully steps over every crack littered on the gray surface. finally you reach the street of your neighborhood, not too far from your friends house, and the boy instinctively grabs onto the cloth of your shirt as you cross the road to get to the right street.

you smile to yourself as you walk side to side next to him and he doesn’t once let go, watching both sides of the road for cars like one could come whipping through and cutting the corner any second to turn the both of you into road kill.

when you reach the next set of sidewalk, now down the path to your house, and he still hasn’t let go, you decide to direct the conversation. “are you gonna tell your mom why you had to come get me?”

he goes quiet for moment, turning to you with his brows furrowed like you had just asked him a really obvious question. “of course not.” a sound that sounds like a mix of a scoff and a giggle leaves his mouth. “even if i did it’s not like she’d arrest you.”

you roll your eyes, bumping your shoulder into him as you walk in sync together. “she’s the sheriff.” you slightly lean into him as you walk and he lets out a little sigh.

“yeah but.. it’s you.”

“what do you mean ‘it’s me’?”

clearly he wasn’t expecting you to want clarification on what he meant, his silence answers that for you. he looks at you, the crickets of the night being the only thing audible. “just.. you’re like my best friend. she wouldn’t arrest you over something like weed. to be honest, I think she smoked a few times when she was a teenager too.”

you hum, the drowsiness stage beginning to set in as you lean more into him, staggering just slightly. wes notices your irregular steps and drapes an arm around your shoulder, leaning you into him as an attempt to balance you.

you smile into his sleeve and don’t even notice the way he’s puffed his cheeks out or stopped breathing completely as he held you closer to him.

finally, you reach your house, the familiar structure waiting in front of you; dark and quiet.

“you’ll make it in okay?” he removes his arm, guiding you lightly in front of him so he can meet your eyes and you have to fight back rolling them at such a silly question but end up smiling at his worry over nothing.

“i don’t know, 15 more feet and im not sure ill have mine anymore.” you smirk at him and he rolls his eyes at you, a look of fondness adoring his features.“ughhh, i guess i should go. call it a night. thank you wes, seriously.” you smile at him, messing with his hair a little. he opens his mouth and then closes it again, like he’s debating saying something more; so you stay a moment longer.

he doesn’t say anything, and after debating with yourself internally for about 5 seconds you lean [down/up] and press a kiss to his cheek; which feels hot under your lips.

you could literally hear his breathing pick up, and when you finally break away from his skin he’s not looking anywhere near you but has rather zoned off somewhere behind you.

“goodnight wes.” you offer him a embarrassed smile before turning away, walking back to your door.

you make it a whopping 4 steps away before he’s calling out after you.

“stop.” there’s actual irritation in his voice, which isn’t normal, and you turn back to face him. he’s standing in the exact same spot with the same dazed look on his face only now he looks a little angry and confused as his forehead is creased and brows are pushed together while looking at you. “what is this? what are you doing?”

you’re confused, clasping your hands together to help gather warmth as a cold breeze runs through the air. “what do you mean?”

wes shakes his head, looking away and then back at you several times and it’s obvious he’s fighting with himself internally. “you know what i mean. this. us. what are you doing? why?”

you don’t look away from him once, confidently staying in your place as you cross your arms; embarrassed to address the situation but not nearly as much as he was. “can you clarify?” it’s kind of obvious what he’s talking about, but there’s some idiotic part of you in your mind forcing you to act stupid which only drove wes more mad.

he opens his lips and an estranged laugh leaves, like someone having a nervous breakdown and randomly starts giggling. it’s an agitated laugh.

“please, whatever you’re doing, stop. stop acting like you don’t know what i mean. you know what you’re doing, and- and what you just did. you must know what kind of effect you have over me or something because at this point it’s getting frustrating when you do these things but can’t even address it. it is like, physically hurting my heart at this point because all i can do when i try to sleep is stare at the ceiling and think about you and what you do to me and whether or not you know what you’re doing or if it’s unintentional and it’s driving me nuts. tell me you don’t feel it. tell me you don’t feel this!” despite how frantic his words come out, and how panicked and vulnerable he looks, he speaks clearly and strings the right words together to express himself. that’s always been a great trait about him. wes was great with his words and knows exactly how to describe how he’s feeling. he just struggled on having the courage to get them out.

you almost don’t know what to say, but there’s no time to find your words before he’s speaking again.

“and don’t give me any more bullshit about how you don’t know exactly what im taking about or how im not being ‘clear enough’ for you. i mean, seriously, i shouldn’t have to spell it out for you at this point because all of our friends know that i like you and even your family, which i tried so hard especially to hide it from, figured it out so fast. it’s not rocket science. besides my mom and tara you are the only girl i consider myself close with and there’s no way it’s not obvious to you when you ask me about the girl i like because it is definitely not tara, and it is definitely not my mom. i like them but not in the way i like you, not in the way you won’t leave my mind so much so it’s frustrating. i can hardly focus in class because I can’t stop thinking about us or if there even is an us or what could happen or if you feel the same way and it’s unfair because there has to be some part of you internally that knows I like you when you kiss my cheek or text me every morning and night or run your fingers through my hair when we hang out and I hate it so much because I can’t read you the same way you can read me and I can’t tell if you’re doing these things just to mess with me or because you might actually feel the same way.”

wes, now out of breath, let’s out quiet gasps and inhales of air after he finishes speaking. he stammers in place for a second, trying to catch his footing as he looks around the environment and at anywhere but you. trying to avoid your eyes. your face. it was all on the line now and he was terrified of what you might say.

“you.. like me?” you repeat to yourself, keeping your eyes trained on his face. this finally gets the hicks boys eyes to land back on you with a frustrated sigh; like you just asked the dumbest thing in the world.

“are you really gonna ask me that after I just finished my dramatic epilogue?”

a smile takes over your face from the way he says this, his breathing still uneven. so many thoughts churn through your head as you try to process what this all means. what this all could mean for you and the future of your friendship with wes.

“you’re right, sorry.” you awkwardly smile, taking one step closer to him as you begin to try to gather your mind and express what you were thinking.

“you’re not worried about this changing us? our friendship? what if we breakup?” all reasonable questions to ask, they come flying out of your mouth one by one and wes feels his heartbeat quicken in hope as he realizes you haven’t yet rejected him.

“youch, thinking about breaking up already?” the blonde feins hurt and places a hand loosely over his heart which earns an eye roll from you before he shakes his head. “do you even know how much I like you? I mean, clearly not. the last thing I would ever want is for us to breakup. if that happened, that’s on you. and our friendship? what do you mean? did you just friendzone me? (y/n).” wes lets out one last final sigh before grabbing for one of your hands with both of his, locking eyes with you nervously.

“please, i just need to know how you feel. if you don’t feel the same way, it’s fi-“

the feeling of his lips on yours is as soft as you could have ever imagined. they were plump and tasted of strawberry chapstick. a far too prolonged kiss was shared, and you cupped one side of his face with your hand while bringing the other behind his neck.

wes felt his knees buckle underneath him, feeling like he was in a dream. he had dreamed of this moment for so long and was now having a hard time believing it was real. the kiss almost felt too perfect.

after a few delayed seconds he gently placed both hands on your waist, holding you down in place as he moves his lips against yours as if to stop you from ever leaving.

you pull away, face burning a bright red and heart pounding an unnatural rate before you finally open your mouth to speak.

“i feel it.”

` ੈ˚ ★ a / n : i deadass started ts 7 months ago but it’s been rotting in my drafts since school started back and nasa wanted to recruit me as a potential subject in their spacial exposure severer super undercover mission

started 08.06.23.

finished 03.29.24.

( scream masterlist )

©️ nolovelingers 2024

[novaursa]

A Lion's Leap (under the dragon's eye)

- Summary: The king announces the betrothal of his youngest daughter, you, to Tyland Lannister. But even the Lannister Lord is taken off guard, as there has been some miscommunication regarding the proposal.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: namesake

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Tyland Lannister paced back and forth in his chamber, wringing his hands and mentally preparing himself for what felt like the most dangerous conversation of his life. Not even the thought of facing down his brother Jason after their last argument felt as terrifying as what he was about to do: approach Rhaenyra Targaryen for advice. On how to woo her sister, no less.

The marriage was only a week away, and despite his best efforts to appear composed, Tyland was at a loss. You were kind, gentle, and far less fiery than your older sister, but in truth, he barely knew how to connect with you. He had decided to give you a small trinket, a gift to show his affections and intentions, but what sort of thing would you appreciate? Something personal, meaningful—but what? After hours of agonizing, he had concluded that only one person could help him, even if she would rather throw him into the Dragonpit than give him advice.

And that person was Rhaenyra.

Summoning every ounce of Lannister courage (and pride), Tyland found himself standing outside her chambers. He adjusted his tunic for the tenth time, tried not to wipe the sweat from his brow, and knocked, his knuckles sounding louder than intended. The door opened slowly, revealing the princess herself. Rhaenyra looked up at him, her expression immediately turning guarded, and Tyland could feel the temperature drop several degrees.

"Lord Tyland," she said, her tone cool, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Tyland swallowed, feeling as though he had just entered a dragon’s lair. Which, metaphorically speaking, was exactly what this felt like. "Princess Rhaenyra," he began, attempting a polite smile that probably looked more like a grimace, "I was hoping I could... seek your counsel on a matter of importance." He hesitated. "Regarding your sister."

Her brow lifted, and she crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Regarding Y/N?" she repeated slowly, clearly intrigued but not yet lowering her guard. "This should be interesting."

Tyland took a deep breath. "With the wedding approaching, I... I wish to make her feel more comfortable in our union. I intend to give her a small token of my affection, something meaningful, but I... confess, I do not know what she might appreciate most." He shifted awkwardly, waiting for the inevitable snide remark, but to his surprise, Rhaenyra simply studied him.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Tyland could practically hear the wheels turning in her head, as if she were deciding whether or not to indulge him in this request. Finally, she sighed and gestured for him to come inside.

"Very well," she said, her voice carrying that authoritative tone she so often used. "But let me make one thing clear, Lord Tyland." She glanced over her shoulder as he followed her into the room. "I still don’t particularly like the idea of my sister marrying a Lannister. Any Lannister." The way she said it made his name sound like a bad taste in her mouth. "But..." She paused, turning to face him again. "Since this is happening, I suppose it would be in Y/N’s best interest for you to at least try."

Tyland gave a nervous nod, feeling the weight of her words. "That’s all I wish to do, Princess."

Rhaenyra studied him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to detect any insincerity. After what felt like an eternity, she finally relented, though her voice remained cautious. "Y/N doesn’t care much for jewelry or gold," she said slowly, watching his reaction. "So if you’re thinking of presenting her with a necklace or some grand ring, you may as well throw it into the sea."

Tyland blinked. "No jewelry?" That had been his entire plan—some beautiful Lannister heirloom or a finely crafted trinket, something shiny and expensive. He immediately started panicking inside. What else was there? "Then... what would she appreciate?"

Rhaenyra exhaled, clearly not thrilled to be aiding him in this venture. "Y/N prefers simpler things," she continued, her tone begrudging, as if she couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. "She’s thoughtful. She likes things that have meaning."

Tyland leaned forward slightly, his desperation growing. "Such as?"

Rhaenyra pursed her lips, as if holding back something. She glanced toward the window, clearly weighing her options before speaking. Then, in a voice so low that Tyland almost didn’t catch it, she muttered, "Honeycakes."

Tyland blinked. "I’m sorry, what?"

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicked back to him, and she scowled. "Honeycakes," she repeated, clearly annoyed that she had to say it again. "She has a soft spot for them. There’s a particular kind made with cinnamon and a bit of lemon zest. She’s liked them since we were children."

Tyland stood there, staring at her in disbelief. Honeycakes? He’d been expecting some grand revelation—perhaps a cherished family heirloom or a rare flower from the gardens of King’s Landing. But no. Honeycakes. Cinnamon and lemon zest, to be precise.

Rhaenyra caught the look on his face and smirked, though there was a hint of reluctant amusement in her eyes. "What? Surprised she isn’t pining for a crown of gold?" she asked with a tilt of her head. "My sister’s tastes are simpler than you Lannisters might expect."

Tyland felt a strange mixture of relief and bemusement. "Honeycakes..." he repeated, half to himself.

Rhaenyra sighed, clearly done with the conversation. "If you want to win her favor, find those cakes. But don’t make a spectacle of it." She fixed him with a look that told him exactly what she thought of grand, Lannister gestures. "Y/N values thoughtfulness, not showmanship. Keep that in mind, Lord Tyland."

He nodded earnestly. "Of course, Princess. I... I truly appreciate your help." He bowed, though he couldn’t quite shake the strange image of presenting his bride-to-be with a basket of honeycakes before their wedding day.

Rhaenyra didn’t bother to hide her smirk as he turned to leave. "Good luck, Lord Tyland. You’ll need it."

Tyland Lannister felt as though he was walking into battle. Not with a sword, mind you—he’d gladly take a sword over the delicate parcel he was carrying in his hands. The package was small, neatly wrapped, and smelled faintly of honey and cinnamon. He could only hope Rhaenyra’s advice was sound, though he still had lingering doubts that honeycakes were the key to winning over a Targaryen princess.

He had spent the entire morning overseeing the creation of these cakes, much to the confusion of the castle’s cooks. Tyland had never concerned himself with culinary matters before, but today, he hovered over the bakers like a general over his troops. The result? A batch of perfectly golden cakes, warm with the flavors of cinnamon, honey, and a hint of lemon zest. Now, with the prize in hand, Tyland approached the gardens where he knew you often spent time with your ladies-in-waiting.

As he entered the gardens, he spotted you sitting under a tree, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves around you. You were surrounded by a few ladies, all of whom were laughing softly at something one of them had said. The moment felt peaceful, idyllic—until Tyland realized he was about to intrude on it, honeycakes in hand. Here we go, he thought, straightening his shoulders and adopting what he hoped was a casual, confident stride. In reality, he probably looked like a man trying to act casual while delivering baked goods to royalty, which is to say, he looked incredibly awkward.

You noticed him approaching and smiled, though there was a hint of surprise in your expression. “Lord Tyland,” you greeted softly, causing your ladies to quiet and glance between the two of you with interest. “What brings you to the gardens today?”

Tyland cleared his throat, suddenly very aware of how out of place he felt among the roses and lilacs. “Princess,” he began, holding out the small package as if offering a peace treaty. “I... thought you might appreciate these.” He paused, then added awkwardly, “A gift.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity piqued. “A gift?” you repeated, your eyes drifting to the bundle. “What is it?”

“Uh... honeycakes,” Tyland said, his voice cracking just slightly on the word. He felt like a fool standing there, a grown man delivering pastries like some kind of bumbling suitor, but it was too late to back out now. “With cinnamon and lemon zest. I, uh... I heard they’re a favorite of yours.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and for a brief moment, Tyland worried he had completely misunderstood Rhaenyra’s advice. But then, to his relief, your face broke into a delighted smile, and you reached out to take the bundle from him. “Honeycakes?” you said, your voice filled with genuine happiness. “Oh, I haven’t had these in so long!”

Tyland blinked, startled by how quickly your expression had brightened. You unwrapped the parcel with eager hands, revealing the still-warm cakes inside. Without hesitation, you picked one up and took a bite, your eyes closing briefly as you savored the taste.

“They’re perfect!” you said, beaming at him. “Thank you, Lord Tyland.”

Tyland felt a wave of relief wash over him, though he was still a bit taken aback by how easy it had been. You seemed so happy, genuinely pleased by something as simple as honeycakes. For the first time since this entire betrothal had been announced, Tyland felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be such a disaster after all.

The ladies-in-waiting exchanged glances, clearly entertained by the scene, but Tyland barely noticed. He was too focused on the way you smiled as you continued to eat the cake, your delight evident in every bite. He had never seen you so at ease before, and the sight made something warm stir in his chest.

Still, the moment wasn’t without its awkwardness. Tyland stood there, unsure of what to do now that you had accepted the gift. Should he sit? Leave? Compliment the flowers? He cleared his throat, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I, uh... I’m glad you like them,” he said, feeling rather out of his element. “I thought... it might be something meaningful.”

You looked up at him, your expression softening. “It is,” you said, your voice gentle. “It’s thoughtful. Thank you, Lord Tyland.”

He nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure what to say next. You continued to eat the cake with such genuine enjoyment that it almost made the awkwardness worth it. Almost.

After what felt like an eternity of standing there, Tyland finally found the courage to sit on the nearby bench, careful not to intrude too much on your space. The silence that followed wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, but it was... well, a bit awkward. You looked at him with a kind smile, clearly sensing his discomfort but not pushing him to speak.

“I... wasn’t sure what you liked,” Tyland admitted after a moment, his voice a little quieter now. “But I wanted to try. To show you that... I’m trying.”

You regarded him thoughtfully, finishing the last bite of your honeycake. “I can see that,” you said, your tone warm. “And I appreciate it, truly. It means a lot.”

Tyland felt a strange sense of accomplishment—something he hadn’t expected when he first started this endeavor. For the first time, he felt like he had made a connection, however small, with you. There was still an awkward distance between the two of you, but it wasn’t as insurmountable as it had felt before.

As the two of you sat there, surrounded by the soft sounds of the garden and the distant chatter of the ladies, Tyland couldn’t help but feel a bit more hopeful. This marriage, which had once seemed like an impossible task, might turn out to be something different. Something better.

Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be such a terrible mistake after all.

The great hall was alive with the sounds of celebration—music, laughter, the clinking of goblets—and Tyland Lannister found himself in the very center of it all, though it felt like a whirlwind he was somehow caught in. He glanced to his right, where you sat next to him, radiant in your wedding finery, your presence as serene and composed as ever. At least one of us looks like they belong here, Tyland thought with a nervous sip from his goblet.

King Viserys, sitting at the head of the table, looked positively jubilant, his rosy cheeks practically glowing from the wine and the joy of the occasion. Every now and then, he would raise his cup to no one in particular, chuckling at something that seemed to amuse only him. Tyland suspected it was the fact that everything had gone smoothly, despite the strange, tangled mess of the betrothal in the first place.

Rhaenyra, seated a little further down the table, was sending Tyland sharp looks. But, to his relief, they weren’t the I’m going to feed you to a dragon kind of looks she usually reserved for him. No, these were more the I’m watching you kind, which, while still intimidating, felt significantly less lethal. Perhaps her sister’s obvious happiness had softened her a little—though Tyland wasn’t foolish enough to think she would ever fully approve of a Lannister as a brother-in-law.

Daemon, however, was another matter entirely. Leaning lazily in his chair with that unmistakable smirk plastered across his face, he hadn’t said much during the feast, but his eyes had been on Tyland more than once. And every time their gazes met, Daemon’s smirk seemed to widen, as if he knew a secret that Tyland didn’t. It was, frankly, unsettling.

Tyland shifted slightly in his seat, trying to ignore Daemon’s gaze, when the first of the lords began to approach the newlyweds.

Lyonel Strong, ever the statesman, stepped forward, his smile warm and genuine. “Lord Tyland, Lady Y/N,” he said, bowing slightly. “Congratulations on your union. May it bring great strength to both your houses.”

“Thank you, Lord Lyonel,” Tyland managed to say with a polite nod, grateful for the safe, neutral tone of the congratulations. Lyonel Strong wasn’t one for scheming or underhanded dealings—just the sort of man Tyland preferred in moments like this.

But Lyonel wasn’t the only one approaching. The next figure who came into view made Tyland’s stomach flip just a little: Otto Hightower, Hand of the King and, perhaps more importantly, the very man responsible for mixing up the marriage proposals in the first place.

“Lord Tyland,” Otto said, his voice smooth as silk, his smile conspiratorial as he leaned in just a touch too close. “Congratulations on this most fortuitous match. It seems my... suggestion has borne fruit, wouldn't you say?”

Tyland stiffened slightly, managing a tight smile. “Indeed, Lord Otto. Your... foresight was certainly... unexpected.”

Otto chuckled, a sound that made Tyland want to check his coin purse, just in case. “Ah, unexpected, yes, but beneficial, wouldn’t you agree?” He straightened up, giving a small nod in your direction. “The realm is stronger for it, and I daresay House Lannister has found itself in a most advantageous position.”

Tyland could feel the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air. Advantageous position. Yes, Otto expected gratitude. And not just the kind exchanged over pleasantries at a feast.

“As we move forward,” Otto continued, his voice lowering slightly, “I trust you’ll remember those who’ve helped place you where you are, Lord Tyland.”

Tyland’s smile faltered slightly as he nodded, already feeling the strings that Otto was undoubtedly weaving around him. “Of course, Lord Otto,” he replied, his voice carefully measured. “Your assistance has not gone unnoticed.”

“Good,” Otto said, his smile never faltering, though it held the slightest edge of expectation. “Very good.”

And just like that, Otto moved on, leaving Tyland to reflect on the many ways that conversation could come back to haunt him in the future. But before he could dwell too long on it, another voice interrupted his thoughts, and this one he knew all too well.

“Well, well, well, look at you!” Jason Lannister strode forward, his usual swagger on full display, followed by several other members of their family, who were all beaming as if this were a victory for House Lannister rather than a wedding. Jason’s grin was wide, bordering on smug, and Tyland braced himself for the inevitable teasing. “You’ve managed it, little brother! A princess! You’ve done the family proud.”

Tyland fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Jason,” he greeted, trying to keep his tone civil. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

Jason clapped a hand on his shoulder, far too pleased with himself. “Oh, don’t be modest! A Targaryen bride! I didn’t think you had it in you, truly.”

From the corner of his eye, Tyland saw you hide a smile behind your goblet, clearly amused by the exchange, and something about that small gesture made him feel just a bit lighter. At least someone found Jason’s antics amusing.

“And what a bride you’ve got,” Jason continued, his grin never faltering. “Lady Y/N, you’re far too good for my brother, but I suppose he’s luckier than he deserves.”

You blushed slightly, though you managed to smile at Jason. “Thank you, Lord Jason,” you said politely, clearly trying not to laugh at his exaggerated praise.

Tyland groaned inwardly, already anticipating the endless teasing that would follow in the weeks to come. But despite Jason’s smugness, there was a genuine warmth to his congratulations. Tyland couldn’t help but feel that, in his own ridiculous way, Jason was proud of him.

The rest of the Lannisters offered their congratulations, each one with varying degrees of sincerity, but Tyland couldn’t help but feel more hopeful as the night wore on. There was something comforting about being surrounded by his family, as chaotic as they were, and sharing this moment with you by his side.

As the music swelled and the feast continued, Tyland glanced over at you once more. You were laughing softly at something one of your ladies had said, your face lit up by the glow of the nearby candles. For the first time, he realized just how lucky he truly was. What had started as a mix-up, a political maneuver he had been dragged into, was starting to feel like something much more.

Maybe, just maybe, this marriage would be more than a strategic alliance. Maybe it would turn into something he hadn’t dared hope for—something real.

As the feast began to wind down, Tyland Lannister found himself seated with a goblet of wine in hand, but not really tasting it. His mind was spinning, already working out how he might navigate the dreaded bedding ceremony. Maybe he could politely refuse—after all, he was a Lannister, and surely that carried some weight. Or perhaps he could find a way to subtly remove himself from the hall before anyone had the chance to call for the old, humiliating tradition. Yes, he could—

But before Tyland could formulate an escape plan, he noticed Daemon rise from his seat, a mischievous glint in his eyes. A sense of impending doom washed over Tyland, and he immediately stiffened. Nothing good ever followed that look in Daemon’s eyes.

Daemon raised his goblet, drawing the attention of the entire hall. “My lords, my ladies,” he called out, his voice carrying effortlessly over the murmurs of the crowd. “Now, as is tradition, we celebrate the union of my dear niece and her new husband.” His grin widened, and Tyland’s heart sank. Here it comes, he thought, mentally preparing for the worst.

“But,” Daemon continued, his voice dripping with mock solemnity, “we are a house of dragons, not sheep. So, I say we leave behind the old customs of the bedding ceremony, and instead…” He paused, clearly relishing the moment as all eyes turned to him. “Instead, it’s time for the bride to saddle her husband upon the back of her dragon.”

Tyland’s goblet slipped from his hand, clattering onto the table. He was too stunned to speak, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Saddle? Her husband? On a dragon? His mind struggled to process the words, but Daemon’s smirk left no doubt—this was very much real.

Around the hall, murmurs of confusion and amusement rippled through the guests. Tyland’s gaze shot to you, but before he could say anything, his worst fear was confirmed when King Viserys—his father-in-law—joined in, clapping his hands together and laughing heartily.

“Now, that is a fine tradition!” Viserys exclaimed, clearly pleased. “No need for the old ways, not with dragons in the family!” He looked positively delighted with the idea. “I agree with my brother. Let my daughter’s husband show his bravery by riding Silverwing!”

Tyland felt the blood drain from his face. He had never felt further from his Lannister pride than in that moment. This had to be some cruel jest, a nightmare, perhaps. But no, it was all too real. He glanced at Daemon again, who was leaning casually on the table, watching Tyland’s horror unfold with gleeful satisfaction.

Across from him, Rhaenyra looked positively delighted, her lips curling into a smirk as she exchanged a glance with you. Tyland had no doubt she was enjoying this far too much. Her amusement was only compounded by Daemon’s outlandish proposal, which had, of course, been accepted by none other than the king himself.

Tyland’s mind raced. Saddle her husband? On a dragon? He wasn’t sure whether to faint or flee. He wasn’t even sure which option was worse—public humiliation in a bedding ceremony or being strapped to the back of Silverwing like a sack of potatoes.

You, seated beside him, must have sensed his panic, for you reached out and gently touched his arm. “Tyland,” you said softly, your voice calm despite the absurdity unfolding around you. “It’s all in good fun. No one expects you to actually ride Silverwing.”

“Don’t they?” Tyland croaked, his voice barely a whisper. His eyes darted to Daemon again, whose smirk seemed to widen with every passing second.

You gave him a reassuring smile, though your own amusement was evident. “Daemon enjoys making people uncomfortable, but he doesn’t expect you to ride a dragon. It’s just a joke.”

Tyland blinked, trying to absorb your words, but it was hard to find comfort when Daemon’s eyes were still fixed on him like a cat playing with a particularly entertaining mouse.

“I assure you,” you continued, “Silverwing isn’t saddling anyone tonight.”

Tyland exhaled in relief, though his heart was still racing. “I hope you’re right,” he muttered, glancing warily at the dragonlords at the head table. “Because I’m not exactly fond of being... airborne.”

At that, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “I’ll make sure no one forces you into the air,” you promised, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

But before Tyland could fully process your reassurance, Daemon raised his goblet again. “Well, Lord Tyland,” he said, grinning from ear to ear, “are you ready to embrace your Targaryen heritage and take to the skies?”

Tyland swallowed hard, feeling the eyes of the entire hall on him. He opened his mouth, searching for a polite way to decline without looking like a coward, when Viserys, still chuckling, waved a hand.

“Leave the man be, Daemon!” the king said, clearly enjoying himself. “Let him have his peace. There’ll be plenty of time for dragonriding later.”

The hall erupted into laughter, and Tyland felt his face flush with both relief and embarrassment. He shot a grateful glance at Viserys, who seemed more than satisfied with how the evening had turned out.

Daemon, still smirking, raised his goblet in Tyland’s direction. “Another time, then, Lord Tyland. But remember, it’s only a matter of time before you’re one of us.”

Tyland forced a smile, nodding stiffly. “Of course,” he managed, though he hoped that time was very, very far away.

As the laughter died down and the feast continued, you leaned in slightly, your voice low enough for only him to hear. “You handled that well,” you said with a teasing smile.

Tyland shook his head, still feeling a little shaken by the ordeal. “I’m not sure well is the word I’d use,” he muttered, though your soft laughter brought a smile to his face despite himself.

He took another deep breath, relaxing a little as the mood in the hall returned to its earlier festive atmosphere. It hadn’t been the disaster he feared—though it had been close. And perhaps, as he glanced at you beside him, smiling and clearly amused by the absurdity of it all, this union wasn’t going to be as terrifying as he had once thought.

As long as Daemon didn’t try to strap him to a dragon again.

[majinbangus]

What happens when soap's on again and off again gf finds out he got someone else pregnant? And do you think she would try to keep him from his children and reader?

Also I hope Soap tells his mom and she chews him out for not being better to reader 😭 (I also want Soap's mom know already that she's going to be a grandma to twins and just kept it from Johnny for reader's health too.)

i struggled with this one, but it turned out hopeful in the end i hope its good

"What're you doing here?"

You don't know what hurts more: the way he said that as if he doesn't want you there (which he probably doesn't; you don't want to be there, either, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any less), or the apprehensive look he doesn't bother masking. He's never really been one to hide his emotions, but would it have killed him to pretend to be on amicable terms with you for at least a couple of hours? Dumbass.

"I'm doing great, MacTavish, thanks for asking." You go for an overly friendly inflection, but anyone listening in would be able to hear the biting undertone in your sarcasm. "How have you been? Wonderful, you say? That's absolutely grand. Glad to hear it. Truly, thank you for taking the time to welcome me into your home."

You attempt a smile, but from the way Soap's expression pinches at it, it more than likely comes off as a poorly veiled scowl. You can't bring yourself to care. You're more focused on keeping yourself from breaking down, rubbing your hand almost obsessively over your belly, trying to calm yourself with the soothing motion. Soap looks down at it, face flashing with something. You're tempted to call it regret. Whether that's for knocking you up or for hurting you just now or something else entirely, you have no clue. He clenches his fists.

"... Does my family know that you're... that I'm..?"

That's what he's concerned about? Fucking prick. You're half-tempted to announce it to his whole family now. You didn't even want to be at his family gathering in the first place, but Mrs. MacTavish insisted, and you adore his mother (so much so that you’re afraid of her, too). It's been months since you last saw all the MacTavishes in person (for obvious reasons), and you know if you refused another invitation, the woman, though getting up there in age, would've dragged you to the party herself.

You rub your belly a tad faster, and his eyes dart down to the anxious movement again. "No, MacTavish, your family does not know you got me pregnant, so you can stop worrying. I... wasn't planning on telling them. Not now, at least. Or ever. I don’t know. I’m still thinking about stuff."

Perhaps it's the right call, perhaps not (it most likely isn’t), but the tension that visibly leaks out of his body offends you. 

"That's... probably for the best,” He exhales slowly.

“For you or for me?” You snark and he at least has the decency to wince.

“Hen… Princess–”

“Don’t call me that.” You curl your lips at him, teeth bared. A bitter kind of hurt grinds within your chest. He only called you that once before. For one night. It meant nothing to him, but everything to you. “Don’t pretend to care; you never called back to talk like we agreed. You’re such a prick, MacTavish.” 

“You never reached out, either,” He shoots back with a defensive frown that doesn’t feel justified. “And I have a reason for not calling back earlier…”

“Was that reason your girlfriend?”

His silence is telling.

You scoff with a derisive laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Hey, it’s not like that,” He tries to protest, but you remain staunch in your acrimony. 

“Sure, it’s not.” You roll your eyes. “If it isn’t anything else, then what is it?”

“We,” Soap hesitates, breaking eye contact to focus on where your hand is on your stomach. He swallows, rephrasing himself. “After our phone call, I brought up what happened between us… Tried to explain what happened… Communicate with her since that was always a problem we had.”

“And?” You prompt after he falls silent for a few seconds, though you think you can predict where this story is going.

“She didn’t take it well.” He continues, “We’ve been fighting about it. Trying to come to a compromise, but she’d rather I cut contact with you.”

“You… don’t want that?” You smother any bit of hope you feel. You have to.

He doesn’t answer the question verbally, merely shaking his head. It doesn’t feel like a good enough response, but you can’t push him on it because then he’s talking again. “We’re not wanting the same things. Every conversation about it–” about you “–turns into an argument, and we’ve decided to…”

“Go on a break?” You fill in, but he shakes his head again, avoiding your gaze.

“I think it’s permanent this time.”

Oh. That’s… skeptical. After years of watching them go back and forth, it’s hard to believe the permanence of their breakup. You wouldn’t be surprised if that changed as soon as next week, or even tomorrow. But maybe it’s true this time. Maybe they won’t reconcile. If that’s the case, you are glad he’ll be out of such an exhausting relationship, but you won’t let yourself believe he’ll develop feelings for you. 

“I’m sorry,” You offer instead and Soap chuckles humorlessly.

“Do you mean that?”

“I don’t, but I know she was important to you.” Probably still is, but you won’t dwell on that. “I’m still upset with you, though.”

He chuckles again, a little more genuinely this time. It’s almost enough to make you smile. Almost. “Aye, I know. I deserve it.”

“You do.” And maybe a slap. A cathartic slap. Perhaps not for him, but it might do you good. “And you’re still a prick, but now that you’re not… occupied… Can we figure everything out?”

It’s small, but you can’t help that spark of hope that blooms in your chest at the soft smile he gives you.

“I’d like nothing more, Princess.”

(His mother heard the whole thing. She’ll discuss it later with the both of you. But for now, she’ll stay out of it and let you two work it out before getting involved. She just hopes her idiot son doesn’t mess things up with you. 

She much rather prefers you over his ex, after all.)

[raysrays]

Crimson Guardian Part2 NSFW

Please check out Part One

Kyojuro Rengoku x Wife! Reader

18+ MDNI!🚫

CW: NSFW Content, minor angst, controlling/manipulating behavior, fluff-ish.

Y/N POV

Scenario: Once you agree to Kyojuro's request, you gather with Kagaya and the other Hashira to share your decision to retire early. But as you spend time with Kyojuro, you start noticing some changes in his behavior. You can't help but wonder, did you make a big mistake? He's your husband, after all. Surely, he wouldn't try to control or manipulate you. Maybe he's just worried about your safety and wants the best for you, right?

- Two Endings

A month had passed since I laid down my sword for the last time. I've spent my time at the Rengoku Estate as I had anticipated, assisting Senjuro with chores and cooking, while striving to earn Shinjuro's favor.

However, it all felt sluggish my days stretched out, feeling so unproductive.

Kyojuro was called on a mission far away, and he's been gone for almost two weeks now. I find myself overcome with loneliness, feeling hollow inside.

When I wasn't busy helping Senjuro, I often took walks and started getting into reading, though lately, I've found myself drawn to books on swordsmanship and battle techniques. It might seem pointless now, but it's all I have to occupy my mind.

Many times, I caught myself pacing around the estate, practicing fighting stances or swinging an imaginary sword, earning some strange looks from anyone nearby.

But I couldn't bring myself to share any of this with Kyojuro. I wanted him to believe I had moved on from being a demon slayer. Instead, I painted a picture of focusing on myself and preparing for the prospect of starting a family.

I've been writing to him almost every day since he left, keeping him updated on what's been happening back home and just checking in on him.

He says his mission has been successful so far, and he should be home very soon, which is good news. It's difficult to fully embrace retirement when the person you did it for isn't even here to enjoy it with you.

.

.

Today has been particularly slow. All I've done is help water the plants outside and dive deeper into my books. Shinjuro has been in his room, drinking, while Senjuro has been practicing his writing inside. And here I am, sitting under this same tree, reading the same book on breathing techniques for the past three hours...

However, my entire mood shifted the moment I heard the cawing of a crow announcing Kyojuro's return from his mission. He was finally home.

I could feel the excitement as I watched him walk through the gates of the estate, his big, bright eyes and fiery hair a welcome sight.

It didn't take long for him to spot me, as he quickly ran up and grabbed me, spinning me around in his arms.

"I've missed you so much, my little flame!" His booming voice was a comforting sound to hear in this moment.

I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck as he held me.

"I missed you so much, Kyo." It didn't take long for that hollow feeling I had earlier to finally disappear.

After he finally put me down, he pulled away to get a better look at me, scanning me up and down with his usual happy smile.

"You look so beautiful, my dear. Retirement seems to be treating you well already!"

"Oh, do you really think so?"

"Of course, sunflower. It's good to finally see you dressed casually and enjoying yourself at home. One of the main reasons my mission was such a success was because I wasn't worried about you. I knew you would be here waiting for me when I returned. I knew you would be safe."

I almost felt guilty. Since he left, I've been so bored out of my mind, stuck here at the estate, but if it’s really helping by keeping his mind at ease while he’s away I guess I don’t mind.

"How are you doing, my love? I know writing in letters can only reveal so much. Are you really okay?"

His voice softened, and his smile grew gentler. My heart raced at the sound. No matter how much time passed, I was still as in love and attracted to Kyojuro as I was the first time we met.

"Yes, I'm doing great. Senjuro and I have been quite productive lately. We even discussed setting up a small vegetable garden in the yard to reduce our trips to the village market." I forced a happy smile onto my face.

"That's wonderful news! I'm so happy you're finally making this old place your own." He then pulled me into another hug, burying me in his chest.

I couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth—that I was bored and missed the core and all my comrades and friends. They had all become so busy with work that I went from seeing them every day to never at all, so quickly.

As I relaxed into his embrace, I felt his body tense slightly. He pulled away from me slowly, his expression puzzled.

"Sunflower... what is it you're reading?"

I glanced behind me to see my book still lying on the ground, its cover exposed. It was just a book, surely not that significant.

"Oh, that's just an old breathing technique book I found in the study room. I thought it looked the most interesting out of the available options."

He looked at me for a moment, then took my hands in his, holding them tightly.

"My love, if you had told me you wanted to read, I would have gladly bought you as many books as you wanted. You don't need to waste your time sitting and reading about attacks and breathing techniques anymore." His voice was filled with concern.

Little did he know, I chose this book specifically to occupy my mind. If I couldn't fight anymore, the least I could do was read about it.

"That's sweet of you, Kyo, but honestly, I don't mind."

His smile returned somewhat, and he moved his hands to hold my shoulders, gently leading me back to the main part of the estate.

"Let's get you inside, my love. I'll tell you all about my mission!"

I allowed him to guide me back, passing Senjuro on the way.

"Go ahead, little flame. I need to have a word with Senjuro."

I observe as he starts walking toward his younger brother; they engage in conversation, and I begin to make my way indoors.

Despite my initial intention to leave, a strange hesitation washes over me. I linger by the doorframe, eavesdropping on their discussion.

Senjuro's voice reaches me first. "Welcome home, brother. How was your mission?"

"It went smoothly. I'm relieved to be back," he responds, pausing briefly.

"Senjuro, how's Y/N? Have you noticed anything unusual about her lately?" My ears perk up at the mention of my name.

"Y/N? She seems fine, I suppose. She's been quite helpful with chores around here," Senjuro replies.

"I see. Have you noticed her reading more?" he probes further.

"I think so. Though I'm not sure what she's been reading," Senjuro admits.

"I see. Please, keep an eye on her for me, Senjuro. I'm concerned," Kyojuro says, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Concerned about her reading?" Senjuro's confusion is evident.

"No, just in general."

With that, I turned away from the door, deciding it was best to stop listening in.

Why would Kyojuro worry about me? I'm safe at home, just like he wanted. Wasn't that the whole point of being here? To ease his mind?

I can feel a mix of frustration brewing inside me, and I'm not sure if it's aimed at Kyojuro or myself. I've always prided myself on my swordsmanship, setting high goals and pushing myself hard to protect others and find purpose.

But now, I can't even enjoy reading a book about what I love without making my husband worry.

I step into the kitchen, ready to get a head start on preparing dinner. Gathering the cooking utensils and spices, I realize all that's left is to chop some of the vegetables.

As I rinse them off, I notice we're short on a few key ingredients.

My garden plans with Senjuro would have been perfect right now. Looks like I'll have to make another trip to the market.

Letting out a small sigh, I tidy up and head towards the door to slip on my shoes. Honestly, I could use some fresh air. I feel guilty leaving knowing Kyojuro just got here, but I think he’d much rather dinner be super good than complain about me stepping out.

I had a stranger Lingering feeling. There's something about his smile that feels off, like there's a hidden pressure behind it. Why?

As I'm slipping on my shoes, I sense someone standing over me.

"Where are you off to, sunflower?" Kyojuro inquires.

"Just getting a head start on dinner and realized we're missing a few things. I was about to run to the market," I reply.

"Hurry back to me, my love. You know I don't like it when you're away." His warm smile could melt anyone's heart.

He plants a kiss on my cheek before heading back into the other room.

As much as I adore him and miss him, I need just a moment alone to think right now.

As I make my way to the village, I pick up some vegetables, meat, and a few other things we need for the estate. On my way back, I spot Tengen and his wives. They seem to notice me too, especially Makio, who starts waving enthusiastically in my direction.

I walk over to them, feeling happy to finally see some familiar faces. It feels like it's been ages since we last caught up.

“Y/N, it's good to see you," Tengen greets warmly.

“How have you been? We haven’t seen you in forever!” Makio cries out excitedly.

"I've been well, how are all of you?"

"We've been doing just great," he responds.

"How's, uh, retirement?" Hina asks with a half smile.

"Oh, retirement has been... great," I reply, attempting to sound convincing, though I'm not entirely sure I believe it myself.

Tengen lets out a sarcastic laugh. "Sorry, but it's just so hard to believe. You had one of the flashiest breathing styles and trained almost every day, only to retire before becoming a Hashira. I just always thought you were too stubborn to quit so early.”

Hina shoots him a quick glare.

But it's all true; Tengen and his wives have been around since before the beginning of my and Kyojuro’s relationship, training with us, going on missions, and even just hanging out together casually.

They exchange silent glances for a moment and I notice Tengen’s expression change into a more serious one.

"Y/N, Kyojuro is one of my closest friends, and it's really not my place, but... do you think maybe you decided all that just a tad too quickly?" Tengen sounds more sincere this time.

"I mean, you were on your way to becoming a Hashira yourself," Suma adds.

Taking a deep breath, I realize they're right, but I already knew that. I wasn’t the one they should be lecturing in this scenario. I never wanted to retire; I just wanted to make Kyojuro happy.

"I promise. This is a decision I've made. I want to settle down and start a family with Kyo. I wouldn’t want to risk going out on a mission and dying before having that opportunity," I assert.

Though they still seem unconvinced, Tengen puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

“Kyojuro's a lucky man to have someone who cares about him so much. However, I think you should stay in tune with your training for now.”

“You are still so young, Y/N! It’s always possible that once you have children, you could potentially want to come out of retirement. Maybe be a trainer for young slayers!” Makio adds with a hopeful tone.

Suddenly, my spirits lift. They were right. Just because I retire now doesn’t mean I can’t come out of retirement in a few years. As long as I keep training at home, I should be fine!

“I suppose you are all right. I will definitely keep training. I’m sure Kyo will think that’s a great idea.”

“That’s the spirit. I’m glad we got to run into you,” Tengen says with his usual smile.

“I’m glad I got to see all of you. I promise I’ll try to make an effort to come around more.”

“That sounds perfect,” Hina exclaimed.

After we exchange our goodbyes, I watch them walk off together, smiling and talking.

A wave of realization and relief washes over me. Maybe retirement didn’t have to be as bad as I was making it out to be.

.

.

Upon finally arriving back at the estate, I walked up to the entrance with a smile on my face.

I recalled there was a book in the study that taught some solo hand-to-hand combat techniques, perfect for practicing alone. I made a mental note to pick it up once I returned and start reading it after dinner.

As I entered, Senjuro greeted me with a warm smile.

“Welcome back, Y/N. I’ll finish up dinner since you went out of your way to get everything,” he offered kindly.

“Oh, you don’t have to do all that. I don’t mind,” I replied.

“I insist. You haven’t seen my brother for a while now, and I think he could use your company,” he chuckled nervously.

I hesitated for a second.

“Okay, only if you're sure,” I said, handing over the basket of food and supplies I had bought from the market.

He headed off to the kitchen, leaving me in the entryway, so I decided to make my way to our bedroom, shared by Kyojuro and me.

As I entered, I noticed he had changed out of his uniform into his more casual attire.

He looked at me with a kind smile on his face.

“I see you made it back safely,” he said, walking over to me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

He buried his face into the side of my neck, kissing it softly.

I felt myself shiver at his touch. He seemed so gentle and loving right now. I had truly missed him so much these past few weeks.

I gently ran my fingers through his fiery hair as I spoke, "I ran into Tengen and his wives at the market."

He pulled away slightly to look at me, his arms still wrapped around my waist.

"Really? Were they happy to see you?" he asked with a big smile.

"Yes, they were. We hadn't realized it had been so long since we all saw each other."

Kyojuro appeared to be deep in thought. "I suppose you're right. It has been a while since all of us got together. I should arrange for us to have dinner sometime!" he exclaimed happily.

I couldn't help but smile. "Yes, I think that would be lovely."

"What else did you all talk about? You were gone for quite some time," he inquired.

I debated telling him about their suggestion that I should consider keeping up with training and possibly coming out of retirement, but ultimately decided against it.

"Tengen was just telling me about a mission he had gone on recently. Nothing too crazy," I replied.

Kyojuro seemed satisfied with this answer. Why would I lie? I've never had any reason to lie to him before.

"That's great, sunflower. I'm happy you finally got to see some company. You seem so happy!" he remarked, his affection evident in his tone.

We lingered in each other's embrace for a few more moments until Senjuro's voice rang out, announcing that dinner was ready.

Hand in hand, we made our way to the table. Upon arrival, we found Senjuro had already set the table and prepared everything. Surprisingly, Shinjuro was already seated, wearing his usual drunken scowl, but he remained mostly silent.

As we ate, Kyojuro attempted to share details about his recent mission with his father, but received only silence and grunts in response. Despite years of trying, it seemed Kyojuro still sought his father's approval.

It felt kind of pointless to expect anything from Shinjuro. Even though I ended up spending more time with him than with Kyojuro lately, I just kept my distance. Honestly, I think he might even appreciate it.

After a few minutes of listening to Kyojuro, Shinjuro got up and was the first to leave the table, retreating to his room.

Though Kyojuro seemed disappointed, he maintained his neutral smile as he also began to wrap up his meal.

Once we had all finished eating, I stood up to collect the dishes for washing and putting away. However, Senjuro insisted on taking care of everything himself.

Feeling a bit defeated, I abandoned the task and decided to head to the study to grab that training book.

However, upon arrival, I was met with an unsettling sight. All the books were gone, every shelf completely empty...

As I made my way back to my room, confusion swirled within me like never before.

Upon entering, I found Kyojuro already preparing for sleep. His eyes brightened at the sight of me, and he gestured for me to join him under the covers of the futon.

Crawling in beside him, he enveloped me in his arms, pulling me close. With my head against his chest, I felt a sense of comfort wash over me.

"Kyojuro," I speak up.

"What is it, little flame?" He asks planting a kiss on the top of my head.

"What happened to all the books in the study?"

I sense a slight tension in his body at the question.

"I'm not sure, my love. Perhaps father had them moved. I'll make sure to get you some new books soon," he reassures me.

I stay silent, convinced by his explanation. What other reason could there be? Surely, Kyojuro doesn't attach much importance to old books collecting dust for years.

As I lay nestled in Kyo's arms, I feel the weight of exhaustion settling in. His breathing slows, It won't be long before sleep overtakes us both.

.

.

A week had passed, and the books still hadn't reappeared. I'd given up on getting a response out of Shinjuro. And it seemed that Senjuro wasn't even aware of their disappearance, which was even stranger.

So here I was again, under the same tree, rereading the same book for the third time.

Despite this, it was a beautiful day. The sky was bright and the air was refreshing. It would have been a shame not to enjoy it.

With Kyojuro gone early this morning for a hashira meeting, it's just me now, left to ponder my thoughts. I can't help but recall what Tengen and his wives said about keeping up with training.

Honestly, with my doting husband always around, their advice slipped my mind. But now, with some time to myself, I figure it's a good opportunity to get some practice in.

I don't have the exact combat training books I'd like, but I'll make do with what I remember from my days in the core.

Grabbing a wooden sword that Kyojuro and Senjuro sometimes use.

My target? A nearby tree. I start off slow, practicing basic strikes and focusing on my footwork. It's a few hours of intense concentration, but it feels amazing. I didn't realize how much I missed this, the feeling of swinging a sword, the rush of adrenaline with each move. It's like finding a piece of myself I forgot was missing.

My excitement fades as I notice a looming shadow, revealing Kyojuro standing there. Still in his uniform, he must have just returned from the meeting. His expression is stern, arms crossed in clear disapproval.

"What are you doing, Y/N?" His voice is cold, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I was just... training a bit," I reply nervously.

"Training? Training for what?" He begins to approach me, his demeanor serious.

For some reason, I instinctively start to back up as he approaches me. Before I know it, my back is against the tree I was just practicing on.

He closes the distance between us, his face inches from mine. This side of Kyojuro is unfamiliar to me; he appears downright angry.

"Why are you doing this, sunflower? You're inactive in the core, retired. There's absolutely no reason for you to pick up a sword and train again," his voice is harsh.

"I just thought that maybe if I stayed in shape and continued training a bit, perhaps in the future I could come out of retirement. Maybe even help train new slayers coming out of final selection," I suggest.

- Ending One (Positive fluff)

He gazes at me, his expression filled with confusion. “Sunflower, why would you want that? I thought the whole point of you wanting to retire was to be at home with me, to start a family together.”

Taking a deep breath, I realize I need to be honest and ip front with him now. Kyojuro is my husband, and if he truly loves me, he'll understand.

Slowly, I reach out and take his hand, bringing it up to rest against my chest.

“Kyojuro, I love you more than anything, and I want to start a family and be with you more than anything. But I also have to pursue the things that make me happy. Fighting alongside you and our friends has always been one of those things,” I explain, hoping he'll see my perspective.

His eyes soften, and I can tell he feels guilty for not considering my happiness more deeply.

"I'm still scared, Y/N. I'm scared of losing the love of my life, my wife. If you continue being a demon slayer, there will be times when I won't be able to protect you. Times when you'll be in situations where you'll have to fight to the death to defend yourself," he admits, his voice filled with worry.

He's right. There will be moments when I'll have to risk my life for the sake of others. But that's exactly why I signed up for this. That's what I want to do, with him by my side.

Gently, I lift his hand to my lips and place a kiss on his knuckles, mirroring the affection he always shows me.

"I'll fight until my last breath for a life without demons, so that hopefully someday us and our children can live the life we deserve," I declare softly.

He removes his hand from mine placing is on my cheek. His gaze loving and caring now.

“You never cease to set my heart ablaze little flame. You always make me remember that powerful spirit I fell in love with. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for being so selfish.”

It makes me feel better that he also acknowledges how he’s been acting lately. It makes me feel more validated that I wasn’t completely going crazy. And still I forgive him.

I know Kyojuro’s heart, I know how pure and kind it is, and I know he would never do anything to harm me or keep me alway from something I’m so passionate about.

He pulls me into his embrace wrapping his arms protectively around me.

“I want you to be happy my love, it was wrong of me to try and control someone as amazing as you. I will do everything I can to support and protect you. Wether it’s here at home, or out on the battle field.”

His words melt my heart.

He removes his hand from mine, placing it gently on my cheek. His gaze softens, filled with love and care.

"You never fail to ignite my heart, little flame. You always remind me of the powerful spirit I fell in love with. I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for being so selfish," he confesses.

His acknowledgment of his recent behavior brings me some comfort. It validates my feelings and assures me that I'm not imagining things. And yet, I find it in my heart to forgive him.

I know Kyojuro's heart, its purity and kindness. I trust that he would never intentionally harm me or stand in the way of my passions.

Pulling me into his embrace, he wraps his arms protectively around me.

"I want nothing more than your happiness, my love. It was wrong of me to try to control someone as incredible as you. I'll do everything in my power to support and protect you, whether it's here at home or out on the battlefield," he promises.

This was the man I fell in love with, the man I vowed to spend my dying days with. I’m certain that I made the right decision.

.

.

.

- Ending Two (Angsty Smut)

He shakes his head. "No. No way. If you're going to stay retired, then you need to stay retired. That was the deal. I won't risk losing you. You're far too precious to me." His tone is softer now, but still firm.

"But why can't I just practice for a bit?"

"Because this isn't what you want. You don't actually want this. It's not your passion. This is only because of your past life." He's more serious than ever.

"What's so wrong with me wanting to stay sharp?"

"You're supposed to be focusing on your future and your new life with me! And you can't do that if you keep holding onto your past. It's not a part of who you are anymore."

His words strike me. Was it so bad that I wanted to practice and maybe eventually come back?

"This is the last thing we're going to discuss. As a Hashira, I have the authority to confiscate your weapon, so hand it over. From this point forward, I will not tolerate you engaging in anything remotely related to demon slaying."

I reluctantly hand over my wooden sword. My heart drops, and tears begin to well up in my eyes.

"Y/N. I'm sorry, my love, but this is for the best. It's only because I love you." His voice softens, his expression more forgiving.

I'm filled with anger. Why is he acting like this? Why doesn't he want to fight alongside me anymore? Balancing our relationship and our profession is tough, but plenty of people make it work.

Why does he seem to think it's impossible for me to fight? I am strong. I've always been strong.

His thumb brushes away a tear from my eye as I lift my head to look at him.

This time, his expression changes.

He leans in close to my ear and whispers, "If you won't listen to me, I'll just have to give you a reason to stay off your feet."

A shiver runs down my spine as his lips meet mine, his hands holding my hips firmly in place.

Before I know it, he's lifting me over his shoulder and carrying me back into the estate.

“Kyo, put me down! Let's just talk!” I protest, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

He takes me to our bedroom and pins me down on the futon.

“There’s nothing more to say, sunflower. If I can't keep you from fighting anymore, maybe having a child will,” he says, his voice tinged with desire.

I open my mouth to speak, but his lips on mine cut me off. His tongue pushes its way inside, making its way around my mouth.

I try to pull away, but his hands hold my head in place, and the taste of his mouth is overwhelming.

When he finally pulls away, I'm breathless.

He leans in, kissing and biting at my neck. His hands move down my body, grabbing and squeezing my breasts and my waist.

I let out a small whimper as he sucks and bites at my skin.

Suddenly, I feel his fingers brush against my entrance through my clothes.

He pulls away to look at me. "Already so wet for me, and we've barely done anything. Were you doing all of this to make me angry on purpose?”

My face burns with embarrassment, but I can't help but crave his touch.

He grabs my hands and pins them above my head, staring into my eyes with a mischievous smile.

"You want this, don't you, sunflower?" He asks as his free hand caresses my face.

I nod desperately, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Then beg for it," he commands, his loving voice contested his actions.

"Please, Kyo, please I need it. I need you."

He releases his grip on my wrists and moves to undo his pants.

"There’s my little flame."

He lines himself up with my entrance, slowly pushing himself inside.

I try not to tense, feeling my walls stretch to accommodate him.

He lets out a low groan, his warm breath tickling my ear.

He waits for a moment before beginning to thrust into me, each movement deeper than the last.

I gasp and moan beneath him, gripping his shoulders.

He lets out a groan as he bottoms out.

"Mine," he whispers before placing a kiss on my forehead.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He begins to move again, thrusting harder and faster. I'm filled with so much pleasure that I'm seeing stars.

I can feel myself getting closer to the edge, but just before I can finish, he stops.

"Kyo, please, I need it." I whine.

"Not yet, my love.” he replies, his voice heavy with lust.

He pulls out of me, leaving me feeling empty and unsatisfied.

He flips me over and pushes my head into the pillow, my ass now in the air.

"Don't worry, little flame, I'm not finished with you just yet."

He enters me again, gripping my hips tightly as he pounds into me from behind.

"I can't wait to have you pregnant. You're going to look so beautiful."

He reaches a hand around to rub my clit, bringing me even closer to my peak.

I try to hold back my moans and he touches me. His words only make me feel hotter.

I can feel myself getting closer once again, and he seems to notice as well.

"Do you want to finish, my love?"

"Yes, yes please," I beg.

He increases the speed of his thrusts, hitting all the right spots inside of me.

I can feel myself approaching the edge again, and he continues to push me towards it.

"I'm going to fill you up, my love. Make you mine.”

His thrusts grow more erratic as he reaches his peak, releasing deep inside of me.

I collapse onto the futon , completely exhausted.

Kyojuro rolls off me and lays beside me, pulling me into his chest. I cuddled into him.

"We're going to be so happy, Y/N. Just you, me, and our child. Everything is going to be perfect," he reassures me, running his fingers through my hair.

I'm too tired to respond, so I just listen to the sound of his heartbeat and his breathing.

"I love you, sunflower. No matter what, you're mine.”

Sorry this one took me so long to get out, I hope you all enjoyed it! I’d love to hear your feedback!

[hazbinshusk]

husk x reader. written for @rileyglas. alastor has always enjoyed finding new ways to torture his favorite little bartender, and when he notices husk's eyes lingering just a little too long on you, he finds a new method of torment. husk can only take so much before he reaches a breaking point, so when you arrive at his door later that night, what else is he to do than claim what's his? 1.7k

featuring: jealous husk, possessive sex, and my first attempt at writing alastor.

(reader is afab and husk uses phrases like 'good girl'. Alastor calls you a 'lady').

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Bambi ass motherfucking bastard.

Husk can’t help but glower as he watches that infuriating, nauseating grin spread wider on the Radio Demon’s face as he listens to you laugh from across the room. Alastor had summoned you away from the bar, from Husk, twenty minutes ago and the cat has been glaring daggers ever since. Even the ever-persistent Angel has given up on trying to wrest a conversation from the bartender, simply rolling his eyes as he picks up his drink and meandering off to find someone else to talk to.

Your back is to the bar and yet you swear you can feel the prickling on the back of your neck that means you’re being watched. When you dare a glance behind you, Alastor notices immediately, and gallantly sweeps an arm towards the bar.

“Why, how rude of me, my dear!” he announces, touching a hand to the small of your back as he guides you back over towards Husk. “Here I am taking immense pleasure out of your company and I’ve gone and neglected your needs.”

You’re a little surprised by the way he urges you back towards the bar but you go along with it obediently, taking a seat on the stool at the far end. Your eyebrow arches at the way Husk avoids your eye, his lips turned down in an even deeper scowl that you’re used to seeing. You turn your head to give Alastor a slightly uncertain smile. “It’s fine, I don’t need—”

“Nonsense!” Alastor waves you off, turning his attention to the bartender. You notice his smile widen incrementally as he meets Husk’s eye. “Husker, my good man, I’m sure you can fix the lady a drink, can’t you?”

Husk nods tightly, and Alastor continues talking as he turns to fulfil the request.

“You are a darling little thing,” he tells you, and you flinch slightly as he reaches up to touch his fingers to your chin. He tilts his head back and to the side at a bone-breaking angle to meet the cat’s eye. “Wouldn’t you agree, Husker?”

Husk sets a glass down in front of you a little too hard, the glass meeting the wood with a thud. He picks up the bottle he’d just poured from, taking a long, heavy slug from it. He meets your eye for a moment, studying your face before shrugging. And even though you know he doesn’t mean it, you still feel it sting. “Sure. Whatever you say, boss.”

Alastor chuckles, the sound distorting slightly. “My, my, we are testy today.” He turns his attention back to you, leaning his face down towards yours. “You’ll have to ignore my poor pet, my dear. I’m afraid his customer service leaves something to be desired.”

You clear your throat uncertainly, picking up your drink. You take a sip, letting the liquor warm your throat. You speak quietly. “Thank you, Husk.”

He meets your eye again, lips tightening into a thin line. “‘s fine.”

“Ah, maybe you’re just the thing to help teach him manners, after all!” Alastor says with amusement, and with a glance towards Husk, reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His smile widens even further as you hear a growl rumble quietly through Husk. “You are one of many talents. I can’t wait to see just how many you can share with me.”

*             *             *

Husk is still stewing hours later in his room, feathers fluffed out in agitation as he paces across the carpet. He starts at the sudden, soft knock on the door, his ears flicking towards the sound. His eyes widen, annoyance leaching from his features when he hears, “Husk?”

He strides across the room, and even though he recognizes your voice – part of him swears he already could anywhere – he’s still somehow surprised to see you at his door.

“Hey,” you say with a small, awkward smile, your hands clasped together in front of you. “Are you… are you okay?”

“’m fine,” he says cagily, and you notice him glance down the hall behind you.

“Husk.”

He shakes his head, avoiding your eye. You see his claws flex by his sides. “What’re you doin’ here, doll?”

You feel that same tiny thrill you felt whenever he let the pet name slip in private, and you swallowed. “I wanted to… you seemed upset. At the bar.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a sigh. His tone turns bitter, his tail whipping back and forth behind him. “You should be… ain’t you supposed to be sittin’ through one of Al’s broadcasts right now?”

The radio demon had invited you up to his tower for the evening, but you hadn’t realized Husk had heard that. You nod slowly. “And you’re… mad about that?”

“…No.”

You roll your eyes, tossing up a hand in exasperation. “Damn it, Husk, just tell me what’s—”

Your request dies on your lips as he reaches out and grabs your waist, tugging you into his room and kissing you, hard. You freeze for a moment in shock, feel his claws flex against your ribs, feel his teeth graze your lip. Then you’re kissing him back, and Husk groans into it, bringing you tighter against him.

The door is kicked closed and you’re forced back against it, your breath leaving you in a huff as your back meets the wood. Husk’s kiss is rough and deliriously needy, his body flush against yours. You find yourself twining your fingers in his fur, carding it through the soft fluff of his chest and up to his shoulders. He growls against your lips as your fingers find his cheeks, his wings curving around to cage you in against the door, trapped by his body against yours.

You hear a whimper and realize it’s yours when Husk presses his thigh up between your legs, his claws digging so tightly into your hips that you’re sure you feel them break the skin. When he finally allows you to breathe again, he moves his mouth to your neck, the rough edge of his tongue sending a shiver into the small of your back.

“Husk…?” you whisper in a shuddering breath. Still, he can hear the question in your voice and he speaks against your throat, voice hot and rough and so addictive already.

“Don’t like him talking to you,” he admits, teeth scraping against your collarbone. He lathes his tongue over the same spot and your eyes roll back. “Don’t like the way he fucking looks at you.”

“Who? Alas—” Husk growls, low and aggressive in the back of his throat, and you suddenly decide it’s better not to mention the other demon’s name. Still, the sound doesn’t repel you, instead you feel the fire blooming in your belly flare, and you swallow. You feel the need to reassure him somehow, and you bring his mouth back up to yours. You push the suspenders down his shoulders before fumbling with the fastenings of his pants, and Husk moans into your mouth as you slip your hand into them to palm his growing erection. He presses his forehead against yours for a moment before kissing you again. You let out a squeak of surprise as Husk bands his arms around your thighs and lifts you as though you weigh nothing at all.

He almost chuckles at the sound and you wrap your legs around his hips, whispering fuck as he presses his cock up against you. With your skirt now bunched up over your hips there’s almost nothing between his cock and your warmth, your wetness, and Husk curses.

“Not his,” he mutters into the kiss, so low you almost don’t recognize it as words. He slides his cock up against your cunt, and even through your underwear it makes you moan. Husk echoes the sentiment, dropping his head against your shoulder. He rubs his forehead against your collarbone, the side of your throat, and your jaw, his paws clutching at your thighs. He sounds needy, almost desperate. “Tell me…”

“Husk…”

“Tell me.” he entreats again, his lips brushing against the hollow of your throat. You can feel his fur tickle against the swell of your breasts. you reach between you, fingers brushing against the firm line of his cock before pushing your underwear aside. Husk whimpers at the first slide of his cock against your bare cunt. “Please…”

“I’m not his,” you assure him breathlessly, and the next words slip out without thinking when you feel the head of him pressing just inside of you. “I’m yours.”

Husk thrust himself into you and you both moan aloud, your head falling back against the door. Husk’s mouth finds your throat, and you shudder as you feel a rumbling purr roll through him.

“Say it again,” he orders brokenly. His cock is stretching you, the small barbs along its length making you cling to his shoulders, his back. He exhales heavily, unevenly as your fingers graze the spot where his wings meet his back. “Please, baby, say it again.”

“Yours.” Husk’s lifting you and pulling you down with each thrust, your thighs meeting his hips with a brutal, agonizingly delicious force, the feathers of his tail tickling against your calf. “Fucking yours, Husk.”

“Christ,” he laps at the curve of your breasts, presses kisses far too sweet for the way he fucks you to your sternum. Husk’s eyes are blown wide whenever they meet yours, his purr echoing in your ears. “Fucking Christ, yes… yes, you’re mine baby… fucking mine…”

“God… fuck, I’m gonna…”

“Feel so fucking good, kitten,” he tells you and you let out an almost pained moan, as he touched claws to your clit. You buck up against his touch, eyes squeezing closed as the movement sends him deeper inside you. His tail is wrapped around your calf so tight it’s almost painful, but you can’t think of anything other than how good it feels to have him inside you, filling you, marking you with his teeth and his claws and his tongue. “So fucking good for me… tell him who you belong to an’ you can cum, baby… be a good girl and tell this whole fucking hotel you’re mine…”

“Fuck, Husk!”

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt#148 Part 3

It had been a few weeks since Danny got back to Amity park and he was still a little nervous to text Damian.

He could tell Damian was getting a little nervous and impatient with how slow he was taking to respond.

That and every time he felt like he had a moment, something like another ghost attack would happen. That and the GIW announced their campaign to enact something they called the Anti Ecto acts, effectively making his existence illegal. 

“Get back here ghost scum!” His mom shouted at him. Danny dodged an ectoblast as he flew away. His parents had been very persistent about catching him lately. If he was being honest it worried him a little.

Danny landed in his empty living room and changed back. Before he could do anything, the door to the lab bursts open and Danny’s dad is standing there with an ectogun pointed at Danny. 

“I knew those security cameras would come in handy” he boasted as he turned the dial up on the gun, “I hope those acts get passed, ghost scum!!”

Danny, fearing for his life, fled the house changing back into Phantom. He headed to where he knew was a small abandoned house with an emergency bag but before he could make it he felt a sharp pain in his side. 

His Dad was known to be a poor shot but not his Mom, and as he looked back at her piercing eyes he knew exactly what shot at him. “Get back here Imposter!” She shouted after him.

Danny turned invisible and made his way unseen. 

He got to the  abandoned house shortly after and found the emergency bag. He shakily wrapped his side with a bandage and used his ectoplasm to reform his suit. He took a few calming breaths before he stood up and put the backpack on his back. 

 He wasn’t sure how but he was going to find his soulmate and tell him everything. He hated how his parents reacted and he didn’t think he could handle if the same thing happened but he needed to know. 

He spent the next few hours flying and before he knew it he was in Gotham. 

Landing on a roof Danny took a few moments to catch his breath. He put pressure on his side and laid his head back on the side of the stairwell leading down. 

He changed back into his human form and unfortunately that meant he needed to re-bandage the wound in his side. 

Once that was done he packaged everything back up in his bag and brought out his phone. 

He could tell Damian was getting worried about him, the shock and betrayal Danny was feeling was something he couldn’t really control or hide.

He sighed and let his head thump against the wall behind him.

He should probably just call Damian but how exactly he’d explain about everything that just happened… but that would mean telling him the other things too and he just didn’t know if he had the courage for that just yet. He took another deep breath and then opened his eyes to see the smog covered skies. That was one bad thing about Gotham, no stars. 

He then took another deep breath and stood up and walked near the edge of the roof and looked down. 

He was way up probably 7-8 or so stories high. The cars down below go about their daily lives giving no mind to the kid on the roof way up high. 

He watched for a few minutes mulling things over. Then he heard a soft thump behind him. He turned around and found Nightwing had landed on the roof. 

“It’s dangerous up here, would you mind stepping away from the ledge?” He said but there was an edge to his voice like he was genuinely scared Danny might do something. He guessed the vigilante’s in this city really cared about its citizens. 

“Don’t worry I wasn’t going to jump or anything, just trying to clear my head…” Danny tried making his tone as even as possible. The wound in his side throbbed painfully and made it a little hard for him to concentrate. Whatever Mom hit him with did more than just singe his side. 

Unfortunately Nightwing seemed to have noticed Danny was in pain, “Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

The word hospital rang out in his head for a moment before he realized that wasn’t exactly an option, “Yeah, no… I’ll be fine, I just got to figure out exactly what I need to text my soulmate… I’ve been procrastinating because he seems like an amazing person and I kind of hate to admit I’m kind of a failure that ran from home.” Danny forgot who he was talking to for a moment as he rambled. It felt nice to finally let some of what’s been bothering him out. He took a calming breath before continuing, “I can’t risk them calling my parents.” 

“Alright well, unfortunately you're not in Gotham just yet, we’re in Bludhaven. Can you tell me what their name is?”

Great so Danny can’t even fly to the right city. He took another calming breath, “Damian Wayne.”

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