#Someone get that Kick Me sign off his back though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 4 months ago

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“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him.

��You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces.

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions.

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you? “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos.

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?”

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time.

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds.

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes.

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.”

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?”

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t.

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers.

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation.

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs.

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is.

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off.

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you.

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are.

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to.

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip.

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open.

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length.

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while.

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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deadsetobsessions · 8 months ago

Text

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt. 7

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

“I’m having a child.”

Danny stared at Batman.

“…Uh, congrats?”

Batman whips out a stack of paper and a pen. “It’s you. Sign here and initial the highlighted spots.”

Danny instinctively, from years of dealing with Vlad, whacked the stack right out of Batman’s hands and into the bay. He doesn’t even feel bad about littering this time because, “Begone, fruitloop!”

Wait, no, that’s not what he meant.

“I mean- I have parents!”

“Not for long.” Batman muttered and then did a double take. “You have parents? How?”

Danny gasped, placing a hand on his chest to clutch his metaphorical pearls. He ignored Batman’s mutters. Everyone knows the vigilante has an adoption problem. At least, everyone who lived in Gotham did, as everyone who didn’t was somehow convinced that he “worked alone” or some bullshit like that. “Are you naturally this insensitive or were you dropped on your head as a baby? Obviously I had to come from somewhere.”

“They’re still… alive?”

“And kicking,” Danny said, inching away from yet another rich weird guy trying to adopt him. “Mostly the kicking part, though.” He said, remembering the sparring sessions. His mom could kick his as six ways to Sunday with nothing but jiu-jitsu and still have time to work in the lab.

“I see.”

“I’m charging you extra for the emotional upheaval. I have trauma regarding rich people trying to adopt me.”

Batman sullenly handed over a thousand.

“Sweet. There’s a group of shades down here asking if you could find their murderer. Apparently the serial killer is still at large.” Danny pointed.

“Of course. Tell me everything.”

The adoption papers disappeared as Batman went into detective mode.

Danny shoved the cash into his glowing chest and breathed a sigh of relief. He needed to make rent this month so it was a windfall running into Batman.

——

“Hey, Tim?”

Tim woke up from his Power Nap. “Huh?”

“Phantom’s complaining that Batman kept trying to adopt him.”

Tim blinked. “Uh.. what does that have to do with me?”

Danny stared at him, a patiently amused smile on his face. “Just in case the rumor about the Wayne’s sugar-daddy-into the Bats was a thing. Other than that, we might have to confront Batman to get him off of Phantom’s back. ”

“You… want to confront Batman.”

“Hey, man, Phantom’s a friend and it’s ride or die.” Danny snickered. It was literally die, with his Phantom side of things. He held two fists up, and wound them, like Popeye right after eating spinach or something. “And if Batman bothers Phantom, we ride at dawn.”

“Batman doesn’t come out unless it’s dark, though? Or for the Justice League.” Tim grinned. He mentally classified Danny under his “to go to” list. That’s where Bart, Bernard, Cassie, Kon, and Garfield were. If he starts shit, he could count on them to have his back and cause even more shit. Danny, wanting to fistfight Bruce over the man making Phantom uncomfortable? He absolutely is making that list.

“Then we ride at, like, dusk. Or uh, like 10PM. I gotta get my beauty sleep.”

“You’ll definitely need it,” Tim inconspicuously texted the group chat, which quickly blew up.

“Shut up,” Danny playfully shoved Tim. “Wait, can Batman even legally adopt? Isn’t being a vigilante illegal? And how can he adopt someone dead?”

Tim dramatically flailed and splayed over Danny’s carpeted living room. “Dunno about his identity,” he lied to Danny, like a liar. “But Gotham has a bunch of laws for the undead/restored to life people so there’s probably enough gray space there.”

Danny spluttered. “You guys have undead friendly laws?”

“Yeah, geht do you think Grundy just chills out? Plus, we have like a minor resurrection event every few years. It usually doesn’t stick but sometimes it does. Bruce pushed for those laws when Jason came back to life, except he doesn’t actually want people to know he’s like, alive.”

“Jason died?” Danny blinked. Well, that would explain the vibes. “Huh. So what’s up with his rank vibes then?”

“Rank vibes?” Tim pressed record on his phone.

Danny nodded. “Yeah, you know how Phantom’s got like a really chill green vibe?” Inwardly, Danny snickered at his pun. Chill. Yeah, he meant that very literally. “Jason’s got kind of a rank green vibe. He’s kind of stinky? Definitely never introduce him to Phantom.” Danny’s senses got worse in his ghost form.

“Jason regularly showers, though?!”

“Not smell! Like, a spiritual smell?”

“You can smell souls?!” Tim sat up. “Bro, you’re a meta?!”

“Uh.” Danny hesitated. “Yeah. I can smell souls. It’s a thing. Everyone from my town can do it.”

“What?!” Tim paused. “Wait, can Phantom smell souls?”

“Yeah. We’re, uh, from the same town.”

“Danny, what the fuck?”

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, you’re the one with a soul-sick brother! Not to mention, you’re kinda stinky too!”

“Hey!”

“Soul-stinky nerd man!”

——

“I stink?!” Jason spluttered out, extremely offended.

“The Lazarus pits. He’s most likely smelling traces of Lazarus pit on you, you imbecile.”

“We need to speak to Phantom. This instant.”

“I dunno, B. Danny sounded like he was gonna break your face if you bothered Phantom anymore.” Dick snickered.

“Yeah,” Tim chimed in, from his seat in front of the Bat-computer. “He was pretty serious.”

“Are we just gonna glaze over the fact that they’re from the same town?!” Stephanie exclaimed, practicing her moves on a training dummy.

“How does that even work? What does that mean? I thought Phantom was an immortal?” Duke asked.

“We also can’t rule out time-travel.” Barbara slammed her baton into a training dummy, twisting her wheelchair in an agile maneuver that left the dummy on the floor.

“No bothering Phantom.” Cass proclaimed.

“That’s quite right. You all have a warm dinner sitting above your cave and should it remain uneaten, I assure you that sherbet Sunday and crêpe Tuesday shall be canceled.” Alfred stepped in. The Bats, threatened, scrambled to ditch their gear and go upstairs.

#Danny: not another adoption!#Vlad and Bruce trying to adopt Danny even though he’s got parents:🤝#batman #danny phantom #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #dc x dp #bamf danny phantom #dpxdc #dcxdp #dcxdp crossover #sea cryptic! danny au

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 1 year ago

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon making it clear that you are the only one he wants

“You alright, sweetheart?” Simon’s deep, gruff voice hit your ears, pulling your out of your thoughts.

You nodded without a sound, subtly trying to divert your gaze so that he wouldn’t look into your eyes and see all the emotion swimming inside, but at this point you really didn’t need to answer the question. The way you sit across from him with your brow furrowed into two steep peaks and your shoulders slumped forward and tight as you idly picked at the skin around your fingernails was enough of a sign. Even though you tried to dismiss him with a few muttered “I’m fine” and “It’s nothing” phrases, the man knew; whatever it was had been eating away at you for some time.

Turning his full attention to you he took your chin into his coarse grasp and tilted your head upward until your eyes met. “Then why can’t ya even look at me?” he posed his next question.

You let out a sigh, nowhere to run now as Simon wasn’t gonna let you back out. “It’s just…silly...”

An incident had been on your mind for a week now, something that should have been resolved already, but try as you might to let it go it just couldn’t be shaken. A new younger female recruit had got it into her head that she wanted a piece of the huge, mysterious Lieutenant and began to flaunt that young, supple body in his direction. Simon had not allowed it to continue for even a second after that initial encounter, making sure that you knew everything in detail, and immediately she was reprimanded and reassigned, but the damage had been done to your confidence.

Were you really right for him? Were you enough? You had never really thought of yourself as ugly, but when pitted up against some pretty thing that had the freshness of young beauty on her side, you weren’t so sure if you could really compare and that made your usual abundance of self-confidence drop to nearly zero.

Amber eyes gazed back at you as Simon waited patiently for your reply. Taking a deep, calming breath you continued. “I guess I just can’t help but wonder if you made the right choice,” you said.

“And what choice is that, hmm?” he pushed, letting you use your words even though he was sure where this was headed.

“Choosing me,” you said so softly it was barely above a whisper.

Just as he suspected, it was still bothering you and he kicked himself for not doing more before now to show you that there was no one on base or even in the whole fucking world that could compare to what he had with you. There was no one up until now that had ever kept him so tightly wound as you did that he constantly felt like he couldn't get you out of his head, that he never could get enough of you; it was a constant struggle just to keep sane so that he could do his job when he knew what would be waiting for him when he got home.

That’s why it took nothing for him to know exactly what it was that he needed to do now.

Without a word the grip on your chin was released as Simon stood to his feet. He reached down and took a hold of your hand, giving it a good, solid tug. “Come on,” he beckoned with a nod of his head to stand with him and through a bit of stubborn reluctance, you followed.

As soon as you were on your feet he pulled you into his hard, warm chest, leaning his head in close until you could feel his breath against your lips. “Of all the fuckin' mistakes I've made in my life, ya ain't one of 'em. I think someone needs a bit of extra attention, and I was a fuckin' fool waitin' till now to give it to her,” he murmured, his voice lowering into that register that always sent shivers down your spine. “Let me take care of ya, let me turn that brain of yours off for a bit and show ya how sure I am that I made the right choice.”

Before you could answer, his lips had already connected with your own to steal the words right out of your mouth. If there was one thing that experienced military man was superior at it was making you come apart at the seams like it was his fucking job. And boy did he take pride in his work.

But right here and now he would be even more meticulous in his affections as it was clear you needed to be reminded that you and only you were the best goddamn thing to grace his miserable existence. All of his undivided attention would be yours tonight and he would not stop until every single worry had left that pretty little head.

Promises were breathed into your mouth by him. "I'm not stoppin' until ya know just how fuckin' much I don't want anyone else besides ya."

In a flurry of lips and tangled limbs, you found your way over to the bed. Like a surgeon performing a delicate operation, he carefully removed each article of your clothing one by one, making sure that the exposed skin was immediately caressed and attended to before he moved on to the next. Every inch of skin on you would feel the passion in his embrace. By the time you hit the mattress’ surface, your body was already a tingling mess of nerve ends bursting to life in ways that made your mind numb.

The lights had been turned down low, their soft incandescent glow warm and inviting as the breathy sounds of unspoken desires from a man consumed filled the air. It was hard to think of anything as the thick tension permeated the space while you lay there naked sprawled out across the sheets with Simon at your side. Adoration was what he was after tonight, needing you to be left as nothing more than a puddle of pure bliss in the middle of his bed.

Toughened fingers traced all of those subtle imperfections lining your body with such tenderness as if each scar and blemish and indention were incredibly precious to him; his lips followed not far behind as he whispered praises into your skin. Those gentle words that were only for your ears alone as he couldn’t have people thinking he was going soft…even though he absolutely had been since the moment he got with you.

“How could ya ever think I would want anythin’ other than this, other than ya?" he breathed the question into the skin of your torso. “You're all I could ever want, all I fuckin’ think about; the best goddamn thing to ever happen to me. My pretty girl.”

His nose nuzzled against the crook of your neck and he caught that scent: the smell of your body’s natural musk that just one whiff of could make his head fuzzy and his body tingle in a way he could not describe. All those beautifully fragrant notes that combined together to create a profile that was distinct to you so that even if he couldn’t see you he knew you were near. Closing his eyes, he breathed you in deep.

“Christ, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he purred into the warm skin of your shoulder before he was on the move, lips caressing over the swell of your breasts with nipples already stiff. “I just can’t ever get enough of ya. How could ya ever fuckin' think I'd give up all this for some young tart who'd get sick 'a me sooner rather than later? Fuck, you’re all I want, all I'll eva fuckin' need.”

Down, down, down he continued over the length of your stomach towards your thighs. It was like performing a sacred act, him giving you the full breadth of his overwhelming desire as he made his way from your lips to your legs, getting everything in between. He shot a hungry glance back up at you as he reached those pillowy creations that he loved so much.

He sighed. "Every inch of ya is like a goddamn dream."

Extra time he spent on your thighs as he embraced those voluptuous curves over and over again with his mouth, kissing and sucking, running his nose along them until you were whining and writhing beneath him. Shit, he had not even touched anywhere near your throbbing clit yet and still you could not stop the way your heart pounded out of your chest or your short, sticcatoed breathing that filled the silence.

“Please,” the plea fell from your open mouth, but there was no need to beg. This was your night after all and he was not about to deny you of anything.

"Whatever my pretty girl wants she's gonna fuckin' get," he smiled. "Always."

Slowly Simon’s large hands spread you open just wide enough that he could lean his face into your mossy bank. More delicate kisses were dotted over your petals, his mouth embracing all around that tender slit before his tongue gently slipped inside the folds. All that doting on your body had done it’s job in stimulating so that he was met with a wetness on his tongue as he dived in.

Shit were you sweet, like eating a peach except this one would not run out before he had gotten his fill.

That masterful tongue drew short, concise circles around your clit, lips locking around the bud intermittently to suck, using the two techniques in tandem while his nails drug lightly over your thighs until your were bucking against his face. There was no rush in his movements; he was going to take his time in drawing out your pleasure.

You couldn’t make a sound, your mind consumed completely with every flick of his tongue, every press of it firmly against you, every pass of his hands over your thighs; overstimulated doesn’t even begin to describe it. Eyes closed, mouth wide open, desperate music being moaned into the room was all you could muster as he brought you closer and closer to the precipice of your pleasure.

Leisurely Simon lapped at your clit, no rush, no hurry, with measured strokes that eased you pleasantly into your orgasm instead of violently throwing you over. You came so effortlessly that you are able to ride out that wave of ecstasy for minutes as his pace stayed at that steady rhythm until there was no more left for you to give. Only then did he emerge like a man baptized anew.

By the time he finally thrust inside you, you were a glorious mess of sweat and mewls and cum. He took you right on your back, needing to see that look in your eyes that made him feel like he was your whole world. No muscle-straining positions will he put you in tonight as all he wants is to gaze down at the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Do ya think I have any doubts now?” he asked with a muted smile. "Think I could do this with just anyone?"

Your cheeks, already warm and pink, flushed bright crimson. “No,” you shook your head.

“That's a good girl,” he praised as he adjusted your legs to be comfortable around his thick torso. “Then let’s finish this off right, yeah? You and me, sweetheart.”

Slow, even thrusts he pounded into you, stretching you and filling you full even at this angle, as he met your lips again to nearly choke you on all his passion. You could taste yourself on his breath as he claimed you body and soul.

“Ya feel so fuckin’ good, just wanna stay buried in ya all the time,” he groaned between precise thrusts through your tight, moist core. Your body was paradise and he could not get enough. Pulling back he watched the connection of your bodies right at the point where he slipped inside of you. You were so full of him there was no distinction between where he ended and you began.

Simon was never a religious man, most of the time as far from it as humanly possible, but the closest he would ever come to faith was the moment he got his first feel of all that glory that first time you two went at it. It was then that your body became his church and from then on he was more than ready to give his life to worshiping at your alter with his fingers and tongue and cock; any and all instruments at his disposal to show you his unwavering devotion.

That man had been starved for far longer than he would like to admit, but the first time he buried himself in you that was all it took to fill him up. It was only you that he craved: your softness and warmth and light and no one else would ever do. As much as you were his, he was yours.

His hands ran up the sides of your torso, leaving burning trails that made you shiver as he palmed both of your breasts in each one of his hands to massage the flesh. “I want ya to come for me again,” he said, more need in his voice. “Can ya do that for me pretty girl?”

Rapidly you nodded your head up and down as you focused on what was coming.

“That’s it; wanna be sure my girl gets everything she needs to stay satisfied with me.”

There was a feeling of safety and security that you got when you were with him; no matter how rough or passionate the sex got, Simon was always right there with you in the moment so that you never felt that it was one sided. Right now that feeling spread through you along with the gathering warmth in your abdomen to help you get out of your head and let go. All those worries, all those fears, they left completely as he thrust inside you a few more times and you spilled over the edge once more.

He kissed you hard on the mouth, holding your raw lips together once more as he followed right after you. His shoulder shook as his released himself and fell into that high that he would never tire of- not when it was with you. As he let go of your lips, he smiled back down at you; that glow of ecstasy causing his heart to skip a beat.

“Ya see, there’s no one in this whole fuckin’ world I want more than ya, sweetheart,” he whispered into your temple before placed a quick kiss. “And I am always willin’ to show ya that you are the only girl for me.”

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lacydollette · 2 months ago

Text

BETWEEN THE LINES ⸻ dean winchester

warnings dean winchester x fem!reader, hunter!reader, enemies to friends-lovers, bickering, teasing, dean being a lil perv, comfort, fluff, dean being vulnerable, 2.3k words

summary you and Dean hated eachother, but what if a single night in a shared bed suddenly changes everything?

Dean’s Impala rolled to a stop, headlights cutting through the night as he pulled into the lot of a seriously sketchy-looking motel. You glanced at the flickering neon sign—“Motel Haven”—and sighed, trying not to roll your eyes too hard. Classic Dean move.

"Of all the motels, Dean," you muttered, climbing out of baby and slamming the door harder than you intended to.

He walked around the car, his face lighting up with that familiar smug grin. "You don't like my choice in accommodations, sweetheart?"

You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel. "You know I hate when you call me that."

"Yeah, I know," he replied with a grin that made you want to slap it right off his face.

You gritted your teeth, fighting the urge to say something that would start an argument you didn't have time for. If it weren’t for Bobby literally demanding you two to work together, you’d be counting down the days until you could go back to your solo hunts. But here you were, chasing down reports of a rogue werewolf pack in a small town, stuck working together despite the mutual dislike.

To you Dean Winchester was infuriating, arrogant, and absolutely full of himself. And the worst part? He was damn good at what he did, which only made you dislike him more.

You quickly followed him into the motel office, where the bored-looking clerk barely acknowledged your presence. Dean asked for a room, and after a moment, the clerk handed him a single key.

"Only one room left," the man nagged, sounding as though he couldn't care less. "Double bed."

Dean suppressed a groan and glanced over at you, looking like you might actually punch someone.

Just then your patience snapped. "You've got to be kidding me," you said, voice laced with disbelief. "There's nothing else?"

"Nope," the clerk replied, his monotone voice sending a wave of irritation through you. "Take it or leave it."

Dean shrugged, as if this wasn't the worst news you’d heard all day. He grabbed the key from the counter and turned to you with that insufferable smirk. "Looks like we're bunking together, sweetheart."

You grabbed your bag and stormed out. Just when you thought this job couldn’t get worse. The idea of sharing a room with Dean Winchester was already bad enough, but a bed? This was some kind of sick joke.

When you two walked into the room, it was worse than you’d expected. The double bed took up most of the space, leaving little room for anything else. You could feel Dean's eyes on you as you both realized the inevitable.

He was the first to break the silence. "Guess we'll be getting cozy tonight," he said, trying to hide his amusement.

You shot him a sneering glare. "You lay one finger on me, and I'll break it."

Dean just chuckled, tossing his bag onto the bed and kicking off his boots. "Relax, princess. I'll stay on my side."

You wanted to punch him. Instead, you grabbed your bag and headed for the bathroom. Once inside, you shut the door behind you, not realizing that it snapped back just a little, leaving it slightly ajar.

You needed to change into something comfortable and try to ignore the fact that you were about to spend the night in the same bed as the most irritating man you’d ever met.

Dean stretched on the mattress with his hands behind his head, and couldn't help but glance toward the door when he heard you moving around.

Through the slit in the door, he caught a glimpse of you slipping out of your tight jeans and into a pair of loose-fitting pajama pants. Your shirt came off next, replaced by a simple tank top that hugged you in ways that made his heart stop. Dean's eyes lingered longer than he intended, drawn to the way your body moved with unconscious grace.

You were still trying to push down the anxiety that was beginning to bubble up inside you. It was just one night. You could handle it. You could handle anything. But you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

That's when you noticed him. But it wasn't until you turned fully and caught his eye through the crack in the door that Dean realized he'd been staring. His heart skipped a beat as he quickly looked away. For a second, you froze, a mix of surprise and something you didn't want to name running through you. Then, annoyance took over.

"Really, Dean?" You said, voice cutting through the silence. You could see the way he flinched, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Didn't think you were that much of a pervert."

Dean's face turned red, and he stammered out some half-baked excuse. "I—uh, I wasn't—"

"Save it," you interrupted, stepping out of the bathroom with a satisfied grin. "You're not as sneaky as you think, Winchester."

He looked so flustered, so unlike his usual cocky self. Dean groaned, cursing himself for getting caught. He could feel his face burning with embarrassment, something that rarely happened to him, and the fact that you were obviously enjoying this only made it worse.

The great Dean Winchester, brought down by a little harmless teasing.

"Oh, this is rich," you continued, unable to resist twisting the knife just a little. "Dean Winchester, the big bad hunter, getting all flustered over a little peek. Who knew you could get so shy?"

Dean's jaw tightened, and you could tell he was struggling to regain his composure. "I wasn't flustered," he mumbled, his voice lacking its usual confidence. "Just surprised, that's all."

"Uh-huh," you replied, letting the moment stretch out just a little longer before finally dropping it. "Sure you were."

You climbed into bed beside him, still grinning, and Dean felt the mattress dip under your weight. The closeness was suddenly overwhelming. It wasn't that he hadn't noticed you before—he had.

You were tough, smart, and definitely attractive. But you were also infuriating, always pushing his buttons, always getting under his skin. So the fact that he was attracted to you only made things more complicated.

Finally getting into bed, you stretched out as much as possible to keep your distance, but it didn’t help. The bed was just too small, and you could feel him lying next to you, close enough that it was hard to ignore his presence.

The room fell into silence, which only made the whole situation feel stranger. Trying to ignore him wasn’t working, and after a few long minutes, you couldn’t hold in the thoughts that had been building up in your head.

"Why do we do this?" You asked, your voice softer than he'd ever heard it.

Dean turned his head to look at you, his expression unreadable. "Do what?"

"This," you said, waving a hand around vaguely. "This life. Hunting. It's dangerous, it's lonely...it's hell, half the time. Why do we keep doing it?"

You haven’t meant to ask him that, hadn't even meant to bring it up, but now that the words were out, you couldn't take them back. And somehow, you found yourself genuinely wanting to know his answer.

Dean didn't answer right away. You could see the gears turning in his mind. It was a question he'd asked himself more times than he could count, but hearing it from you somehow made it feel heavier, like the answer actually mattered.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more thoughtful than you’d ever heard it. "Because it's all we know. Because we're good at it. And because if we don't, who will?"

You nodded, considering his words. "Yeah, I guess that's part of it. But sometimes I wonder...what if there's more to life than this? What if we're missing out on something better?"

He turned to face you, his eyes surprisingly gentle. "You think about getting out?"

"Sometimes. But it's not like I have anywhere else to go. This life...it's all I've got."

Dean sighed, and you could tell that he understood exactly what you meant. He definitely knew that feeling all too well. This life had taken over both of you in ways that were hard to explain. And yet, here you were, still in it together.

"It's not all bad," Dean said after a moment, trying to lighten the mood. "I mean, you've got me for company, right?"

You rolled your eyes, yet not being able to hold back the small smile that tugged at your lips. "Lucky me."

Both of you fell silent again, but this time it felt different, less tense. Dean could feel the connection between you, something deeper than the constant teasing and bickering that usually defined your relationship. It was like you were finally seeing each other, really seeing each other, for the first time.

Dean hesitated before he shifted. You felt the mattress dip as he moved closer, your body stiffening, not sure what to expect, but then you felt his hand brush against yours under the covers. He expected you to pull away, but you didn't. Then, almost instinctively, you turned your hand over and laced your fingers through his.

The gesture was simple, but it felt like so much more.

"Y/n," he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Yeah?" You whispered back, heart pounding in your chest.

"I know we drive each other crazy," he began, his words slow and genuine. "But...you're a hell of a hunter. And you're tough. And smart. And...I respect the hell out of you, even if it doesn't always seem like it."

His words took you by surprise, and for a moment, you didn't know how to respond. But then you looked at him, really looked at him, you realized that he meant every word.

"I respect you too, Dean," you said quietly. "Even when you're being a cocky bitch sometimes."

He chuckled softly, and you could feel some of the tension in the room fade. "Fair enough."

Both of you stayed like that, hands entwined, a strange but comforting closeness settling between you. In that moment, something shifted. There was still the banter and the usual irritation, but now you saw something deeper—a real connection you hadn’t expected.

Eventually, you moved even closer, resting your head on his shoulder. Dean stiffened at first, but then he relaxed, letting himself enjoy the closeness. It wasn't often that he allowed anyone to see this side of him.

And for a moment it was strange how natural it felt to be this close to Dean, the man who had driven you insane since the day you two met. Yet, here you were, enjoying being close to each other.

Your mind drifted back to the hunts you had been on together, the near misses, the arguments, the unspoken tension that always seemed to hang between you. It was easier to keep your walls up, to push each other's buttons instead of admitting that maybe, just maybe, there was something more beneath the surface.

Dean was really letting himself fall into the comfort of your touch, then turned his head slightly to look down at you. "You know," he began, his voice quivering lightly, "you're not alone, y/n. I know it feels like that sometimes. But you've got people who care about you. Bobby, me... Even if we don't always show it."

The sudden sincerity in his words caught you off guard, and you felt a lump form in your throat. You weren’t used to this, to hearing someone say they cared about you. It wasn't something that you heard often. But here was Dean, saying the words you hadn’t realized you needed to hear.

"Thanks," you whispered, voice thick with emotion. "That means a lot."

Both of you lay in silence, the weight of the words hanging in the air between you. You felt a strange sense of peace settle over you, a feeling you hadn't experienced in a long time. It wasn't just the comfort of being close to someone physically; it was the comfort of knowing that you weren’t as alone as you sometimes felt.

I’m always down for some soft dean !!

feedback and requests are greatly welcomed !!

-> dean winchester masterlist!

tags 🏷️ @gibson-g1rl @beausling @alluvthegurlz @angelicjackles @lailawinchesterr @nuemanfilms @nxptvn @hischrrypie @sammyluvr

#writers on tumblr #spnfandom #supernatural #oneshot #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #enemies to lovers #dean winchester one shot

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novemberheart · 2 months ago

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{overview} You make a wrong turn once or twice

{warnings} fem reader, chapter story, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, some emotional angst

Chapter 35 <- Chapter 36 -> Chapter 37

It was strange how something so small could be so violating.

The tracker had been removed in under ten minutes- it had taken longer for the anesthetics to kick in. Now here you were in a hospital observation room with the little wire in your hands.

Dr. Harrelson wanted to keep you for a few more hours to make sure your symptoms evened out and to make sure you didn't have a reaction to the anesthetics.

The sun was up now. You could see it expanding over the ceiling. There was a knock besides your curtain.

“How are you doing, pup?” Dr. Harrelson questioned. The back of his hand rested against your forehead, a small quirk in his lips at your perfect temperature.

“I feel a lot better physically,” you half chuckled. Your eyes darted down to the small wire that was being twirled between your fingers. “Is there any way we can trace it back to someone?” you asked.

“I don't see why not,” he shrugged. “All your alphas have to do is”-

“No alphas,” you interjected. “I've given them enough trouble in my time with them. This is something I need to figure out on my own,” you emphasized.

You've had more than enough time to think. This tracker had been injected into you years ago. It had nothing to do with your pack now. Why should they be involved in it? Or forced to fix the situation? Looking back now it was a blessing you were alone when this happened.

You couldn't cause any more problems.

Just because you were marked doesn't mean you couldn't be thrown to the curb. It was clear they had no qualms about being apart from you. Maybe it was easier for them. They didn't have to worry about you. They didn't have to change their schedule to accommodate you. It could just be the four of them.

Like the good ol’ days.

“Pup?” Dr. Harrelson pressed. You opened your eyes.

“Where do I go to get this looked at?” You asked. He sighed, scratching at his narrow jaw.

“You can send it to a lab,” he said finally. “There’s one on base. You'll need an alpha to sign off on it though,” he explained.

“Any alpha, or just my alpha?”

“Any,” he sighed once more.

“Dr. Harrelson,” you spoke. His honey eyes softened. “Thank you for helping me. I would also like for you to be my primary doctor. If that's alright with you?” you added. His face softened even more.

“Would be my honor. You’ll have to convince your alphas of that though,” he smiled.

“Anais I need a favor,” you murmured hesitantly.

“What happened? You don't sound too good,” she spoke from the other line. You could imagine the crinkle by her eyes as she spoke.

“I was sick and had to go to the doctors. I'm fine now but I found something. I was hoping you and Briggs could help me,” you explained.

“Why didn't you call me earlier?!? Where are you? We’ll be right there,” she growled from the other end.

“Still at the doctors at the entrance of the omega ward. Thank you, Anais,” you breathed.

The pair were there shortly after she hung up. You didn't see Anais’ alpha a lot- he was a busy man. He had a duffle flung over his shoulder and you already knew Anais had planned to stay the night with you. As soon as she got close you wrapped your arms around her, breathing in her honey scent. The two of you walked side by side, Briggs standing opposingly behind you.

“So they pulled this out of your leg?” Briggs started, holding the small wire between his fingertips. You nodded, a pang shooting through your legs at the thought.

“How come it didn't dissolve?” Anais spoke. You honestly hadn't thought to ask that.

“Defected or something,” you guessed.

“You or the wire?” she questioned, making you giggle.

“Probably both,” you sighed.

“You have any idea who could've placed it?” Briggs hummed, his elbows resting on his knees.

“It would've been around the time if first went into omega holding houses or a little before,” you explained.

“I’m sure you would've felt it being injected. What about when you first arrived at the omega holding house? Don’t they do physicals?” Briggs asked.

“They do. But I kept my pants on the whole time. They just do routine stuff like blood pressure, heart rate, check your eyes and ears,” you explained.

“You said a little before,” Anais began. “Could it be someone from your family? Maybe your grandparents? They were the ones that worried about you,” Anais suggested.

You didn't know what to think. It felt more likely that it was someone from one of your omega holding houses. But why would they want to track you? You never stayed at one long enough to get attached to someone.

“Maybe it's just for scientific reasons?” you spoke. Both their eyebrows quirked. “Like how scientists track sea turtles and things like that. Maybe they track a lot of omegas just to see where we end up or how long it takes before we get scooped up by a pack,” you continued.

“Not a shabby idea,” Briggs hummed. “You satisfied with that though?”

“No,” you replied. “That’s why I need you. I want to send it to the lab on base so they can track who it's from. I just need an alpha to sign off on it,” you explained slowly. Briggs held up a hand to stop you.

“This is something your alphas should do for you”-

“I can't go to them with this!” you sputtered. “You two know that I've been a bit of a troublemaker already. The last thing I need is more problems- especially after being marked. They’d give me the boot,” you admitted.

“I’m going to tell you this as not only an alpha but a friend, that's insulting,” Briggs snapped. Your eyes widened, and you could see Anais shiver from next to you. “Nothing is worse to an alpha than their omega not trusting them to take care of them. Not only that, but your betas would throw a fucking fit too,”

“I understand that Briggs, but you don't know the whole situation”-

“Neither do you,” Briggs interrupted. “You seem to forget that your pack are the top dogs around this place. I don't need them comin’ after me,” he breathed.

“They wouldn't do that! Besides, how would they even know?”

“Nothing happens without the 141 knowin’ about it. Wouldn't be surprised if they already knew about your leg,” Briggs spoke. Your heart dropped into your stomach.

That couldn't be true.

They couldn't know everything.

“Alright,” you agreed. “I shouldn't have expected you to do that. I'm sorry. Both of you,” you whispered, shuffling a bit closer to Anais. The energy in the air had made her uncomfortable. Briggs reached out a hand holding the back of her head and pressing a gentle kiss against her forehead to soothe her.

“Why can't you do it?” Anais pressed, looking up at Briggs. His blonde brows furrowed.

“If they found out. They would separate the two of you,” Briggs added. You didn't quite appreciate the way he spoke about your pack. Sure, they could be a bit extreme in some cases, but they were fair.

“They wouldn’t do that,” you assured.

“Say it’s mine!” Anais yelled suddenly. “The wire,” she clarified.

“I don't know about that”-

“You would do that Anais?” you asked.

“Of course,” she chuckled. “You would do that for me too! Remember that one time I knocked over a display case and you said it was you because you knew you wouldn't get in trouble because of who your pack is,” she giggled, causing a smile to grace your face. Both of you turned to Briggs.

“I guess that could work,” he sighed defeatedly.

You couldn't take it anymore.

In four days it would be a month since you’ve heard from your pack. It wasn't right. It wasn't natural.

The bonds you had worked so hard to build were already fraying.

The flat was no longer theirs. All scent of them had been erased from the surface.

You couldn't believe that they had no time to call you.

They had done it before.

What made this time so different?

You were marked.

They already had you where they wanted you. The courting phase was over. They had gotten what they wanted. An obedient omega waiting for them at home. They didn't need to impress you. They didn't need to win you over.

The bonds you had worked so hard to build were already fraying.

A few days ago, in a moment of weakness, you called Laswell.

A few more rings and it’ll go to voicemail.

“What’s wrong, honey?” The sound of her voice made you sob. Well, sob harder than you already had been.

“When are they coming home?” you gasped out, your hand gripping the neck of your shirt. You could get her growl on the other end. Not against you, but for you.

“I’m not sure, honey. They miss you,” she pressed out, her own eyes watering at the pure anguish in your voice.

“That’s not enough,” you sobbed. “Can I hear one of them? Please?” you begged.

“I can't,” she whispered. “They are fine though, sweetheart. They’re doing everything they can to get back home to you. It’s just- It’s never-ending,” was all she could say.

“That’s not enough,” you gasped out, your phone dropping to the floor.

It was exhausting. Constantly teetering between heartbreak and anger.

What If you left?

How long would it take before anyone noticed?

Anais would know immediately. But who would she tell? Would there be anything anyone could do? What was stopping you from walking off of base right now?

The chip behind your ear might make it a bit challenging.

Your chip.

You hadn't thought about that before. Were they checking it? Could they see that you went to the medical center?

If they had enough time to check the app, they had enough time to call you.

Bastards.

What if they did know that you went to the medical center in the middle of the night? No one bothered to check up on you.

Bastards.

You pulled yourself off the floor trudging into your room. You threw on a sweater, a pair of jeans, and your lace-up shoes. You made your hair semi-presentable.

Could you really do this?

Leave the safety of your flat and head out into the world.

You should at least put on some scent blockers.

Your hand gripped the cold metal of the door handle. You had everything you needed. Vernie cuddled up in the backpack on your back. Your phone, keys and a bit of cash and a card your pack had left you with.

All you had to do was open the door.

And move your feet.

Which proved to be harder than opening the door.

All you had to do was get onto the elevator.

That part was easy.

All you had to do was leave the building.

That part was hard.

All you had to do was make your way to the entrance of base.

That part was long.

All you had to do was decide if you wanted to go left, right or straight.

You could always turn back around.

No.

To the right was where the city was. It had the bakery. The store. The aquarium. To the left was the beach.

You didn't know what was straight ahead.

Why not find out?

You stayed a little past the treeline, so nobody could see you from the road. You only had to walk around an hour before you were in a completely different area. It was nice. Suburban. It made you feel safe. Vernie padded alongside you, her leash in her mouth.

“How about a little break?” you questioned, looking down at the pup. She paid you no mind too absorbed in the leaves beneath her paws. You stopped at a gas station, quickly putting Vernie back into the backpack. You grabbed some water and a large fountain soda. The two of you sat on the curb, taking in the world around you. While it wasn't entirely glamorous, it was free- and it was yours.

The leaves had nearly finished turning. Just another thing your pack was missing. In the distance you could see some dark clouds rolling in. Maybe you should turn back? You have proven your point.

To turn back now felt like giving up. Giving up on what you weren't quite sure. Yet, the feeling was enough to move you to stand. Just as you were about to continue Vernie turned, beginning to pull you back the way you came.

“Vernie,” you sighed, gently pulling the pup along. She was as stubborn as you, tugging back on the leash. You looked back up at the sky again. “Maybe you're right,” you grumbled, heading back the way you came.

You were halfway there when the rain started to come down. It started off as a drizzle, you picking up the pace to compensate. That didn't matter much.

You were thoroughly soaked. Your sweater the perfect material to soak up any moisture in the air. You were more concerned about Vernie though. She seemed fine. You had flipped the backpack to your front, holding her against you for warmth. The trees provided some protection, but the wind was strong.

“I’m sorry Vern,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss against her head. You had started to shiver now, the temperature dropping as the clouds blocked the sun. You shouldn't have left. You especially shouldn't have wandered out without a raincoat. “Sorry, Vern,” you apologized again. You just had twenty more minutes till you were home. You didn't want to walk through base like this.

You suppose you deserved it.

Tires screeching to a halt caught your attention. You shrunk back, trying your best to conceal yourself against the treeline. You peaked around as the door of the car slammed shut, a very pissed alpha and beta heading your way.

Hi friends! 👋 See you in three days for chapter 36🫣Hope you are liking section 2 so far!

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fictionalmenxyn · 3 months ago

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🝊𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐫🝊

Pairing: cop!rafe x reader

Warnings: language and suggestive

🝊🝊🝊

You were on your way home, yes, you may have been going a few numbers over the limit. It was a 55 and you were going 60, not too bad. But you saw the famous red and blue lights flash along with the ‘woop woop’ of the sirens.

You mentally smacked yourself, also rolling your eyes at the slight fact the cop was being over dramatic. You indicated and pulled over.

You roll down your window, reaching over into the glove box grabbing your license and registration. You put them in your lap as you waited for the officer to walk over.

You see the figure, through the side mirror walking over. You double check over the things in your lap. The officer spoke “hey sweetheart”

You head whipped to the side to look out the window. Seeing Rafe “Rafe?! The fuck are you doing pulling me over??” He grinned. His thumbs tucked into his tactical vest “someone was goin’ over the limit, baby.” You roll your eyes “you do the exact same and you’re a cop” he chuckled “I know, I just saw your plate and wanted to see you, while I’m on shift.” You nodded “touché… so officer? Any big things happen today??”

He leans down so he can talk to you better “hmm not much, few speeding, one dui… you know, the usual…” you nod. “And do officers take a kiss as an apology for going over five above the limit?” He smirked “hmm for now, yeah, officer Cameron would take that as a temporary apology…” you rolled your eyes. You lean out of the window and give him a peck. “Not good enough, sweet girl.” “What?!” “You heard…” “babe…” Rafe grinned “not babe, its officer, right now”

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. “Alright, officer…” you give him and another kiss. This time a proper and longer one. He pulled away “thank you” he stood straight again. He glanced to the road then to you. His thumbs still tucked into the armpit of the tactical vest. “You’re lucky you’re cute, I’m lettin’ ya off this time, no ticket for you pretty girl…” you look up at him. “Bullshit, you just don’t wanna do the paperwork.” You grin as he chuckles and shake his head “I like your logic, babe…” you smile “thank you…”

“That doesn’t mean you’re getting away with it when I get home…” “gonna need to teach you a lesson on how you shouldn’t sass the officer…I saw the eye rolls, can’t hide it from me, sweetheart” you blush slightly. “You can’t hide that blushin’ either…”

A voice over the radio speaks, Rafe looks back to you. Quickly leaning down and pressing two quick kisses to your soft lips. “Gotta go, see you later, I love you” you smiled “I love you too, go get those bad guys.” You smirk as he playfully rolled his eyes.

As he walks away, he calls out “don’t forget I’m not done with you, baby!” You chuckle as you start your car up again.

You watch as he drives off, sirens and lights beaming. He speeds off, going to god knows what incident. You smile, you loved seeing him all geared up and in uniform. It did things to you, especially when he wore it while getting you ready for some fun. Or when he lets you wear his training clothes. Like his ‘OBX PD’ training tee. Or the sweatpants, he liked you lost in the shorts though.

You couldn’t wait for him to get home to you. If it wasn’t illegal to actually speed. You’d do it more just for him to pull you over. The half-assed stern look he’d give you for going over just a little bit. Or when the one time you did a quick break at an empty junction. You only did a quick stop at the ‘stop’ sign because no one was there. So you didn’t think you needed to stop and wait a few seconds. He taught you a good lesson on that one…

You were already in bed, wearing only his PD tee when he got home. Dropping his bags to the floor and taking off his heavy tactical vest. Kicking his boots off as he crawled into bed and on top of you.

He kissed you like he hasn’t seen you in weeks. Your tongues clashing. He moves down your jaw and marks up your neck. Then he moves up your neck and to your ear. He whispers “I still haven’t taught you a lesson about speeding have I?” You gasp as his knee goes between your legs. He smirked “words” “no, officer…” he smirked “you look so good in my tee baby..” he smashes his lips against yours.

And the night was only just beginning…

🝊🝊🝊

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augustinewrites · 1 year ago

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once shoko opens her door, you offer her a half-hearted smile and hold up your bottle of wine. if there’s one person you can count on to help drink your feelings away, it’s—

“i actually can’t tonight,” she sighs. “i have an exam tomorrow and i already had a few drinks so…”

“wait, shoko—” you catch the edge of the door, sighing as you admit, “i think satoru is cheating on me.”

she pauses for a second, as if checking to see if you’re serious.

then, “you open that up. i’ll get the glasses.”

“thanks,” you grin, following her inside.

“do you need anything else?” she calls from the kitchen. “a hug? baseball bat? an alibi?”

“no need for glasses, and we don’t need the other stuff…yet,” you grimace, twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a swig, kicking the door shut behind you. “and i don’t know for sure that he’s cheating, but he’s just been so weird lately.”

“weird how?” your friend asks, pushing aside the textbooks she has open on the couch cushions before gesturing for the bottle. “it’s gojo, you’ve gotta be more specific.”

you hand her the tequila, shaking your head. “it was small things at first. showing up late for dates or just cancelling them. not telling me where he’s been all day. then last night i saw this text on his phone…”

shoko’s brows raise. “you were looking at his messages?”

“no!” you exclaim. then, when your best friend sends you a look, “okay, i didn’t mean to! he left his phone on the nightstand while he was in the shower and i looked at it when it buzzed with a text from someone named megumi.”

“oh,” shoko realizes, eyes widening. “that’s a girl’s name.”

you both sit in silence for a moment, passing the bottle back and forth. your phone buzzes a few times in your pocket - undoubtedly satoru asking why you’ve been avoiding him all day - but you ignore it.

“let’s confront him,” shoko proposes once you’re halfway through the bottle. “find out once and for all.”

“okay!” by now, you’re buzzed enough to think this is a brilliant idea, standing on unsteady legs as shoko calls for a cab.

_____

“hey,” your boyfriend smiles weakly once he opens the door. “wait, what’s shoko doing—”

“where is she?” she asks, pushing past the both of you to walk into his apartment. she begins flipping up couch cushions and checking behind curtains.

“what’s going on?” satoru asks, letting you push him inside. he looks down at you, concern clouding his expression. “what’s she talking about?”

you’re not sure if it’s liquid courage or frustration that causes you to blurt, “are you cheating on me?”

“what? of course not—”

“then who’s megumi?”

“he is toji’s six year son!”

your eyes widen. shoko freezes, halfway through opening a cabinet.

toji…had a son? “so he’s a— a—”

“he’s a zen’in,” your boyfriend confirms. it’s as if all the air leaves your lungs when he says that, catching in your throat. “his mom passed, and after toji…i couldn’t just leave him alone. apparently toji made some deal to sell the kid to the zen’in clan, and i didn’t want…so i filed for guardianship.”

“guardianship,” you echo. “you’re planning to raise the kid on your own?

“his sister too.”

“i’m gonna go get a cab home. let you two talk,” shoko laughs nervously, speeding out the door.

satoru walks over to the couch once she’s gone, sitting the edge and hiding his face in his hands. “i’d get it, you know.”

“get what?” you ask, sitting next to him.

“you didn’t sign up for this,” he sighs. “taking in two kids— it’s a lot. but i couldn’t do nothing. he’s going to need someone to help him. teach him. care about him. so he doesn’t end up like…”

he doesn’t finish his sentence. you don’t make him. even after a few years, the heartache of losing your friend causes a dull ache in your chest.

though…he’s right that you didn’t sign up for any of this. kids were the furthest thing from your mind at this stage of your life, not to mention this stage of your relationship.

but if satoru, who is barely an adult himself, can find it in his heart to do what you know in your mind is the right thing…

“then i guess it’ll make the next few years of our lives pretty exciting,” you sigh, resting your head on his shoulder.

“our lives?” he repeats, sounding shocked. “you’re…staying?”

you draw back to meet his pensive gaze, though it melts away when you offer him a small smile. you see him in this moment.

so you cup his face in your hands, thumb softly stroking his cheek. “you didn’t think i would want to stay?”

“i hoped,” he murmurs, lips brushing against the inside of your wrist. “but i didn’t know for sure.”

“well, i’m not going anywhere,” you assure him, kissing the tip of his nose. “even if you’re a monumental pain in my ass.”

#i started this in dec 2021 omg #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #keeping up with the fushigojos

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nyctoaerah · 4 months ago

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⋆♱⋆THINKING ABOUT...

Warnings: Yandere behaviors, gore, delusional!sanemi, nemi is utterly smitten, explicit smut, oral (m + f receiving), death, MDNI.

Pairings: Yandere!Reversed Isekai’d! Sanemi x F!reader

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 got reversed isekai’d on your world due to a blood demon art of a random demon, and he ended up being on a mental asylum because they thought that he was crazy, ‘cause he’s babblin’ about demons and shit, while the other reason that he was on the mental asylum was because he was constantly harassing random people, demanding that they tell him where he was and why the fuck the streets and buildings looks different, not knowing that he’s not in his real world where demons actually existed.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 eventually found himself strapped into a straightjacket in a room because he was just too much of a wild card — violent and strong enough that the capture team couldn’t actually lay a finger on him. They had to resort to using a tranquilizer, and let me tell you, it was like trying to hit a bullseye on a moving target—his dodging skills and reflexes were nothing short of insane.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 shot you a death glare the moment he laid eyes on you, as if he was ready to unleash a tirade demanding his freedom and insisting that he wasn’t insane — if only that pesky gag hadn’t been in the way. They had to inject him full of sedative drugs just to get the gag off without him screaming at you like a banshee. But once the meds kicked in, he suddenly seemed to appreciate your finer features and actually thought you were cute—though to be fair, that could just be the drugs talking.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 was just staring at you, as if Cupid himself had taken a wrong turn and accidentally shot him right in the heart. The instant they yanked that gag off him, his mouth hung open like a goldfish, and his eyes were stretched wide. Because what the fuck, why the hell are you so gorgeous? Now he randomly and suddenly felt the urge to be shy, because what the fuck was he thinking on wanting to scream at such a pretty girl?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 was blushing like a ripe tomato the whole time he was talking to you, your voice was like a sultry serenade that could charm a grumpy cat and had a calming effect on his frenzied mind, and the way you carried yourself with the grace of a swan? Yeah, good luck getting that guy to focus on anything other than the fact that he’s already head over heels even though he just met you

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 gets addicted by your presence, you were just so sweet and kind to him, unlike the other staff who would look at him in disgust and think of him as someone insane. He loves the way that you actually talk to him like he was an actual human being, and not some brute animal.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 blushes whenever you would bring him food — the food in the asylum was too bland after all, though, he never really tasted these foods back then, he still ate them, and he trusted you enough to know that you won’t poison him.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 loves the fact that you have to hand-feed him, because he’s wearing the straightjacket, and as much as it annoys him, it has its own perks! You were his caretaker and his psychologist, so you would have to do stuff for him, like brush his hair, and feed him.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 is absolutely very delusional. After all, why would you take care of him and look at him that way when you don’t like him? Surely you’re just giving him signs that you like him back, right, right, right?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 tried his best to not hug you the moment he was freed from his straightjacket because you deemed him to be not that violent anymore — though, he was a bit disappointed because he has to do things by himself now.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 would often ask you questions about yourself, and take note of them — he would watch you yap and he would memorize every words that you said — that’s just how much of a simp he is.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 is a curious little creature, examining every single item you owned as if he were an art critic at a museum. Your phone and laptop, your earbuds — he treated them like rare archaeological finds, and the moment that you snapped a picture of the two of you, his instincts kicked in — He smashed your phone in the ground, because In his mind, it was a moment of sheer panic because apparently, you both had been duplicated and he was now facing his doppelgänger — and he thought that it was a blood demon art too.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 was sulking the moment that you started scolding him for what he did, but he just can’t help it, sanemi was worried that it might be a blood demon art!! He wants to keep his pretty lil psychologist safe after all. He tried to make it up to you by being a good lil patient, and somehow, someway, he ended up managing to get into your pants — tellin’ you that he could just make it up to you by pleasing you.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 found himself on his knees and in between your legs, hands grasping your hips, while his tongue laps at your dripping cunt, his skilled tongue circling your clit while his long fingers sink deep inside you. He hits all your sweet spots—you're certain he's some kind of cunt whisperer.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 loves the feeling of your praises as your soft lips wrap around his cock. The way that you look up at him throughогut, those desperate, adoring eyes, sending shivers down his spine and making his breath catch in his throat. He loves the way that your warm, wet mouth slides up and down his length — the sensation is so damnnnn good, he could almost cum just from that alone, not to mention, he has a real bad praise kink, want him to cum fast? Just give him some praises and tell him that he’s a good boy.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 thought that you two had something special, because of the usual ‘hooking up’ thingy, and he actually started to like bein’ in the asylum, so he started to assume that you two might be together, after all, why are you fucking him when you’re not even together? Surely you two must be together after all that session, right?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 started to get violent thoughts whenever he would see you talking to other people. Why the fuck are you talking to them? Aren’t you supposed to be talking to him only? Your focus must be on him at all time, you’re his psychologist and not theirs after all.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 founds himself increasingly anxious the moment that you stopped going to the asylum to do your daily meetings. Where the fuck did you go? Did you ditched him? And left him?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 broke out of the asylum and ended up killing a lot of people with his bare hands, demanding that they tell you where you are.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐎 ended up massacring the whole asylum, the guards? Yeah, he easily managed to overpower them, he is the wind hashira after all. He ended up knowing where you live when he was threatening a nurse before killing her off, because why did the nurse knew where you live? Surely, she must’ve been inlove with you, right? Yeah, he is totally delusional for his own good.

You sat in the dim light of the kitchen, your chair creaking softly beneath you as you leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, eyes fixated on the scattered notes that sprawled across the surface like fallen leaves after a storm. Each piece of paper held fragments of thoughts, scribbled words that felt like puzzle pieces yet to fit together.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Sanemi was telling the truth—or at least his version of it. His words had a narrative so intricate, so unsettlingly detailed, that doubt began to gnaw at the edges of your sanity. The way he spoke about demons, with intense fervor and a wild look in his eyes, left you questioning stuff.

You sighed heavily, your fingers threading through your hair, tugging gently as if trying to pull the chaotic thoughts from your mind. How could someone be so unwaveringly serious about something as fantastical as demons? The notion seemed ludicrous, yet the fire in his glare spoke volumes about his conviction

Just as you were lost in the morass of thoughts, the tranquility of the moment shattered like glass. A loud crash reverberated through the air, a violent jolt that made your heart race and your breath hitch in your throat.

“Not now, please, not now.. damn it...” you murmured under your breath, a chill creeping up your spine as instinct took over.

Was it a thief?

Was someone trying to invade your house? Anxiety tightened its grip around your chest, making it hard to think. Your brows knitted together in a tight frown, and without a second thought, you rose from your seat, ready to call the police.

But as you took a step toward the hallway, the kitchen door burst open with an ear-shattering crash, splintering the wood like it was nothing more than a brittle cookie.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you stared at the figure lurching into view, amplifying the dread spiraling through your chest. Your heart thumped in your ears, each beat resounding like a warning drum as a chill swept through you, coiling cold fingers around your spine.

“Are you trying to fucking abandon me?” The voice was low, gravelly, sounding like it had scraped against something sharp. Sanemi stepped into the light, his fierce glare locking in your figure, and your eyes widened at the sight of him. He was a mess, blood splattered across his face, glistening under the dim glow of the flickering lanterns.

“Wh-what the—” Your words stumbled out, a jumbled array of shock and confusion that barely formed a coherent thought. Fear settled like a stone in the pit of your stomach, the memories flooding back — taunts and warnings from those who spoke of Sanemi, of how he’d beaten people up and how insane he truly was. You swallowed hard, battling the urge to recoil.

What the fuck was he doing here

no, no how the hell did he even managed to find out where you live?

How the hell did he escaped?

“Sanemi— what the hell—” Panic twisted your tongue, and you could barely manage to piece together a sentence. His presence enveloped you, a storm threatening to sweep you away. You felt the pulse of fear course through your veins, leaving you tongue-tied

“What did you think you were doing, huh?” he demanded, stepping closer, the intensity of his gaze sharpening into something almost accusatory. “Leaving me behind like that? You really think you could just walk away? It doesn’t work that way.”

“You promised me that you’ll stay until you managed to prove that i’m not schizophrenic.” He continued,

“Doc, i think i’m really schizophrenic, you still have to prove that i’m not.”

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.♡

©𝐍𝐲𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐡 || 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 || 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐏𝐀𝐃

𝐀/𝐍: chat, watch me make this bullshit a whole ass book on Wattpad after i finish on doing limerence. ugh i’m so feral for soft!nemiii, he’s just so fucking hot aghhh, i should be focusing on my books n not be makin smuts for nemi💀💀💀

#⌞𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 夜𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐡 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬📝 ⌝#sanemi x reader #sanemi shinaguzawa #kny sanemi #yandere sanemi #sanemi smut #yandere sanemi x reader #sanemi headcanons #kny smut #kny x reader #yandere kny #kny x reader smut #demon slayer #demon slayer smut #demon slayer sanemi #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #sanemi shinazugawa x you

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themultifanshipper · 3 months ago

Note

hi babes

can i request some angsty/fluffy fic with oscar and pregnant reader, where she's feeling a little down and overwhelmed with how changed is her body (like with her size or stretch marks, idk) and oscar recomforts her, saying that she's beautiful and she's doing so well..

thankyou, i love your works sm<33

Warnings: light angst, Oscar being a lil clumsy but sweet, fluff that quickly goes into smutty territory :3 (no actual smut scene though)

Also quick psa, it's very common to get depression during and after pregnancy. It's a very real disease that millions of women battle with. If you feel like you have symptoms of any description, don't keep them to yourself, talk to someone you trust about it and seek help, stay safe out there my dudes <3

This weekend had been rough for you.

Apart from all the obvious pregnancy symptoms like morning sickness, which had been really kicking your ass for the past few weeks, it was the other things that were starting to get you down.

Your body had changed, and it felt alien to you. Like it wasn't even your own anymore.

You'd spent hours staring at the stretch marks that covered your stomach, wondering if they would ever fade.

The weight you'd put on made your thighs look massive, and you could already see the signs of your breasts almost doubling in size.

You felt huge, to put it simply.

And your self confidence was in the gutter.

You'd been ignoring Oscar's worried calls and messages while he was away at the Grand Prix, choosing to turn your phone off altogether and wallow in self deprecation.

Oscar was supposed to be getting a jet back on monday night, but he was so worried about you he bought a last minute flight right after the race, to get home to you as fast as he could.

He opened the door to your shared apartment, keys jingling as his hand trembled in his hold.

“Sweetheart?” He called out, once he was finally inside.

There was no answer.

He noticed a faint light coming from the corridor, and he followed it only to realise you had left a lamp on in the bedroom and fallen asleep with the latest book you were reading still in your hand.

He melted at the sight, putting the book on the nightstand (after putting a bookmark in it, he's not a savage) and turned the lamp off before stripping and getting into bed with you, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead.

He wrapped his arms around you and held you like that, his breathing synchronised with yours until he fell asleep, exhausted from his long day of racing and travelling.

What he didn't know, was that you had been pretending to sleep. You weren't ready to talk to him about what was troubling you because you knew it was stupid and he probably wouldn't take you seriously…

The next morning Oscar woke with a start. The other side of the bed was empty which was odd, you never usually woke up this early and you always cuddled up to him in the morning, putting your perpetually cold feet against his skin to warm them up.

He listened for any activity in the apartment, the coffee machine, the tv… but not a single noise could be heard.

He slid out of bed and went looking for you.

It didn't take long to find you, curled up on the sofa, blanketless and shivering in your sleep.

Oscar whined quietly to himself, what on earth was up with you?

He put a gentle hand on your shoulder and rocked you awake.

“Baby it's 5 in the morning what are you doing on the couch? Come back to bed with me”

You just curled up tighter and hid your face from him. “No it's okay Osc I'm fine here”

He put an arm around you, trying to get you to sit up.

“You're obviously not babe, you're shaking with the cold, let's go cuddle up in bed under the-”

“Oscar I said I'm fine just leave me here!” You protested, wriggling out of his grasp.

“Don't be ridiculous you're freezing out here come on”

“Fuck off! I said I'm fine!” you snapped, and Oscar would have believed you if it weren’t for the way you're voice cracked and a tear rolled down your cheek.

He was so shocked at your outburst he froze, not quite knowing what to say as he noticed how pale you looked and how red rimmed your eyes were.

“Baby…” he put a comforting hand on your hip but you flinched away “Babe what-”

“It's nothing” you said, slightly softer, wiping your tears with the obviously already very damp sleeves of your pyjamas. “It's just the morning sickness and stuff has been really bad and I didn't want to wake you”

Oscar was entirely unconvinced but he didn't push.

“Alright, come to bed with me then, we need to get you warmed up”

You nodded, indeed feeling very cold at the moment and you let him steer you back to your bedroom.

Once you were back in bed with him, he snuggled up behind you and pulled you across the distance you had tried to put between the two of you.

“I love you” he whispered, his fingers tracing patterns over your skin.

You didn't reply, and your body was so tense it was a miracle you hadn't pulled a muscle.

After a few seconds a quiet sob wracked your frame and Oscar tightened his hold on you.

“Baby please, tell me what's wrong.” Oscar pleaded.

You sniffled and tried to get your breathing straightened out before answering.

“I just… I don't like how my body’s just- what if it doesn't- I don't want-” your breaths were coming in short as you started getting choked up again.

“Baby slow down. Deep breaths now”

You took a deep breath in.

“I’m scared”

Oscar blinked at the back of your head.

“Of what?”

You sighed.

“That my body is ruined, and that it will never be how it was before… and that you won't like it anymore”

Now that you were saying it out loud, it sounded stupid even to you, but the fear and insecurity was clawing at your insides harder than ever.

“Baby your body is changing for the better, trust me. You're making a baby inside you, that's bound to make some changes. But I love you even more because of them. I love that inside your belly there's a little human that is the result of how much I fucking love you. And I'm going to be with you every step of the way.”

You heaved in a breath “I just- I didn't know it would be this hard…”

He kissed your cheek and stroked your belly under the blanket. “I’m so sorry if I've done anything to make you think I wouldn't love your body no matter what. Your body isn't ruined, baby. You have no idea how much it drives me insane to think of you waddling around our apartment, belly full with my kid”

You turned around to face him with fresh tears in your eyes.

“I want you.” He smiled softly “I want you so fucking much you have no idea.” He kissed your forehead sweetly before pulling you into his arms, adding “I’ll always want you baby, nothing will ever change that”.

You breathed in his comforting scent as you melted into his arms.

“And if you don't believe me…”

He pressed closer to you and you felt him, half hard against your hip.

“… let me prove it to you”

One of his hands trailed down to where your ass filled out your shorts a bit more than it used to.

“This body…”

He kissed your neck, then lowered himself down to your where your nipples were visible through the material of your thin sleep shirt.

“... is a masterpiece…”

He kissed lower and lower until he got to the waistband of your shorts

“ and it's all. Fucking. Mine.”

He growled as he dipped his hand under the material and felt the wetness already gathering.

“Jesus fuck” he groaned “you're so perfect, so good for me”

You raised your hips so he could slide them off you and spread your legs, licking his lips at the sight of you in front of him, full hips and thick thighs on display for him.

Not to mention your growing belly peeking out from under your shirt.

His eyes went from brown to black at an alarming pace as he slowly lowered himself and looked up at you with a devilish smirk.

“You ready?” he purred, voice deepened by arousal.

You were on the verge of crying again, feeling so overwhelmed by the attention Oscar was giving you, but you swallowed the feeling down in favour of sliding a hand through his hair.

You tightened your grip, pulling at the roots slightly and he shivered, his eyes closing in pleasure. He let out the tiniest whimper when you did it again.

When his eyes met yours again after a few moments of him composing himself, you smiled down at him.

“Get to work”

#my thots #oscar thots #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smut #f1 #formula 1 #ask #request

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obsessedwrhys · 6 months ago

Note

I was wondering if I could request a Leo or/and Donnie x reader. (I don’t know if you do multiple- if you don’t- super sorry! Just do whichever one you feel in the mood to do) where if someone runs a finger through their hair or scratches for scalp they just melt? Like full on limp- very easy to make reader stop overworking themselves, cuddle with them, just get them to sleep, ya know! Hope that makes sense lol!

DISASTER TWINS X TOUCHSTARVED!READER

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ fluff, no angst, reader is gn!! (I didn't know what to name this headcanon 🤷🏻‍♀️)

LEO

You just know being with this man means being constantly showered with affection.

That's why you two are easily the perfect pair.

Everytime you find yourself stressed from your work, he could feel his senses kicking in from a mile away. Before you know it, he's already by your side to provide emotional support.

"Alright alright!! Time to take a break!! Chop chop!!" He'd shoo you out of the chair and drag you to his bed.

He knows how hard your work is, at least he does from the things April has told him. That's why he goes over the top when helping you unwind.

Back massages, feet rubs, and your favourite, head massages. Dude would definitely purchase body oil for you. The way he so delicately runs his hands through your hair while also making sure he applies just enough force for it to be soothing. You couldn't help but hum happily.

Those noises being signs that he's doing things just right!!

Apart from that, if you were to finish your work, he would definitely reward you by buying all your favourite snacks while also cuddling together to watch a show you've been meaning to start.

But if you're too tired. He'd just play your comfort songs as you guys just cuddle to sleep.

He has a ton of playlists that contains your favourite songs.

You could ask him about that one song you don't remember the name to and he'll instantly know which one you were talking about.

He likes to brag about having such a hard working partner to his brothers.

Like pleaseeee you wish you could get lucky like me 🤭

Of course he's not fine with you overworking yourself. That's a huge no no for him.

If you were to object his idea of taking a break, this man will straight up kneel down and rest his head on your lap like a dog desperate for your attention. He wouldn't stop sighing or making sad noises until you've given in.

He knows you like physical touch so if you ever liked, he wouldn't mind keeping you company as you worked, which most of the time resulted in him falling asleep on the table.

He just wants to be apart of it okay!!! You like to tell him he's doing a good job even though he doesn't do much but play with the pencil by trying to balance it on his nose.

100% cutie patootie

DONNIE

Now this man don't play around.

If you tell him you need to get the work done on time then this man will help you make sure it's done on time.

He's extremely helpful, he watches as you work but he won't intervene unless you request for his assistance. That's because he wants you to grow and solve things by yourself.

However if he were to see you start to burn out from frustration, he'd suggest you guys to take a break which he likes to call "Coffee break"

Do not ever say no to coffee break because this man will talk you to tears by justifying about a topic you strongly disagree on.

He'd brew you both a cup of coffee, but if you happen not to be into caffeine then tea will do.

Since he's aware of how you seem to shut off your mind from physical touch, he would cuddle with you as he just scratches your scalp. The way your eyes flutter close makes him smile to himself.

As someone who also struggles with burn outs, he would hate for the same to happen to you. Yeah sure he doesn't take care of himself that well but that doesn't mean he'll let that happen to you!!!

If you are ever too exhausted, he'd offer to wash your hair for you. You know like those things they have at the saloon where you lay down and put your hair in the open sink thingy (im lazy to find the name)? Yeah he'd definitely make one in his lab just for your personal use.

He would 1000% watch tutorials online to give you that sensational experience.

Everytime you guys cuddle to sleep, you would still be a little awake to feel his hands tracing the features on your face. This habit of his pretty much became a routine that you have a harder time of sleeping if he isn't caressing your face.

He likes to reward you with kisses on the forehead everytime you get your work done. But that's not all, he'd always invent something new just for you. He may or may not have caught a sneak peek of your wishlist, and since some of the things you've wished for can be easily made by him. Why not save that money and let him do his magic?

He surprises you each time with the gifts and you are grateful every time.

Cuddles during movie night is a must!! I don’t know why but I just have a feeling this man probably has like a small cinema hidden in his lab.

You guys would always watch any TV series together, like one will not continue on to the next episode without the other there to watch it with them.

His cuddles are the best when you guys are watching romance movies. Especially during a romantic scene. His body would scoot closer to yours without him even realising. His arms around your body tightening slightly as he nuzzles his face a bit onto your skin.

100% supportive bf

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too-much-tma-stuff · 8 months ago

Text

Caring enough to Kill (part 2)

Part two to this. Jason confronts Bruce and when it doesn't go the way he wants it to Danny is there to pick up the pieces.

tw: Mentions of sex, descriptions of violence, abusive relationships

----

Jason stumbled back into his safehouse, clutching his bleeding throat where Bruce had cut him. He could feel the tears trapped behind the stupid Domino mask and he ripped it off, sobbing as he collapsed to the floor. He had finally done it, he had confronted Bruce, told him it was Joker or Him and Bruce had, Bruce had attacked him! 'Because he took me from you'. So pathetic, Jason had practically begged, and Bruce had nearly slit his throat. So pathetic! to have believed he still even had a father!

He could swear the tears that fell to the floor had a subtle green glow as he wept, he felt helpless, worthless, purposeless! He could feel the Pits churning inside him, burning in his veins with grief and rage that might turn him into a monster for good. He would let it, maybe escaping all this human misery would mean he didn't care so much about someone caring enough to avenge him. Maybe he would finally just be able to kill Joker himself.

A floorboard creaked and he looked up sharply. Danny, sliding through the window after him. He gave Jason a look of sympathy and concern as he approached slowly, his back hunched and his knees bent, making himself as small as he could as he kept closer.

"One of your people saw you running and called me. Jason, what happened?" Danny asked softly, reaching out to touch Jason's face.

Jason couldn't stand, couldn't stand the care, couldn't stand a gentle touch that wasn't from his father. He grabbed Danny's wrist and twisted it, startling a scream out of Danny who so rarely cried out in pain. He shouldn't have, he didn't want to, but he was not in his right mind when he threw Danny to the floor. Danny who did not fight as Jason lashed out at him Again, channeling too much rage and misery into the person who probably deserved it least, but who always let him.

He was barely aware of what he was doing as he hit and kicked, though he knew that for once Danny was actually shielding his head, curled up on the floor. The rage broke suddenly, and all that was left was the sadness and the growing dizziness and nausea of blood loss. He backed away from Danny where he was curled on the floor and slumped into an armchair.

After a drawn out moment of stillness Danny uncurled from where he was laying on the floor, he spat out a tooth and some blood as he pushed himself up to his hands and knees. Jason noticed that he had a black eye that wasn't healing as quickly as usual, had Jason broken something? Still when Danny looked up at him it was with concern not fear.

This time when he approached it was fully on his hands and knees, creeping over to Jason again, who this time stayed still and let him, Danny knelt between Jason's legs and cupped his jaw, Jason tilted his head back and to the side, bearing his neck to Danny so he could get a good look at the injury.

Danny grimaced sympathetically and kissed the corner of Jason's mouth before flitting away to the bathroom, he came back moments later with the well stocked first aid kit and knelt by Jason again. Jason stayed still, allowing Danny to gently clean the wound, stitching it up, besides the small place where it had ruptured his windpipe so the fluids would have somewhere to go besides down Jason's throat. By the time he finished and had bandaged the wound the black eye had healed as well and besides the blood on Danny's face there was no sign of what Jason had done.

There was no sign of it in Danny's behaviour either, as he curled up on Jason's lap, leaning against his chest and wrapping his arms loosely around his shoulders. There was no fear in Danny's posture, no anger. How could he love so unconditionally? Especially someone like Jason, who so clearly didn't deserve it. They stayed there until Jason fell asleep, exhaustion winning out over everything else.

Jason woke up in bed, and confused, how had Danny gotten him here without waking him?! He must have been more tired then he realized. Danny was there too, on his side next to Jason with an arm around his waist. As soon as he felt Jason stir he sat up and reached over to the bedside table where there was a bottle of water, unopened, which he offered to Jason.

He took it and drank deeply, finishing about half before he offered it back to Danny who took a few gulps as well before putting it down and laying back down with his head propped on Jason's shoulder. "I've never seen you that angry," He murmured against Jason's skin who winced, remembering just what he'd done yesterday. Danny had showered, and cleaned Jason up as best he could so there weren't really any signs of it but still...

"I'm sorry," He murmured and felt Danny shake his head.

"It's okay. I'm not upset, just worried. What happened Jason?" He asked softly.

Jason felt tears burning the back of his eyes again and he huffed, biting his lip for a moment, but Danny deserved to know. "It was my father again. I finally asked him outright why he hadn't avenged me, I basically begged him to, even let Me kill him and witness it. And you know what he did? He slit my throat to stop me, he chose the Joker over me." Jason gave a bitter little laugh, and was genuinely startled by the snarl Danny let out, he'd never heard him make a noise like that, but it continued, a deep, inhuman growl that didn't pause even when Danny spoke, creating a dark undercurrent to his voice.

"Who is your father," He asked, and Jason felt a chill run down his spine.

"Batman, but don't confront him Danny. I don't really have a father anymore. He can't change, I'd rather focus on the things I can change."

"Like the Joker's status as living?" Danny said dryly, but the growling did ease off.

Jason winced and sighed before he looked to the side. "As much as I know the world would be better off without him, something is holding me back from doing it. I do a lot of avenging people, killing rapists and traffickers and shit. Is it so bad to want to Be avenged for once?"

"No, it's not," Danny said softly. "Does it have to be Batman, or would someone else who loves you doing it be enough?" 'Would I be enough' goes unsaid.

"Yes, that would be enough."

----------

Jason's throat healed, months passed and Danny didn't mention the conversation they'd had about the Joker. Jason threw himself into work, gaining control of more of the drug trade to make sure his rules were followed. He set up safe injection sites and rehabs. He killed corrupt police, politicians, traffickers and anyone who harmed children, cleaning out his turf in the most permanent way he could, making it safe for the kids, the working girls, and everyone else who called it home without being a Complete piece of shit.

Danny kept him from completely losing himself, dragging him away from work for date nights, meals and to get some sleep. Occasionally Jason got angry, occasionally he lashed out, but Danny never held onto those times. Danny didn't only pull him away from work though, since they'd gotten together he started participating even more in Jason's work. He was no longer just a 'goon'.

He designed himself a costume, with a pattern different shades of brown and red, a muzzle covering the lower half of his face and a colour. The first time Jason had seen Danny in the tight leather... let's just say Danny hadn't kept it on for very long, Jason Really liked the collar. Danny called himself Hyena, like it was a joke Jason didn't fully understand. He was Jason's second in command and he gave orders when Red Hood wasn't around since he knew what Red Hood would want. It was almost like being able to be two places at once and Jason was incredibly grateful to Danny for it.

The Joker still being out there was the only thing that kept nagging at Jason, and as they got closer and closer to the anniversary of his death the worse it got. He thought he might have been imagining it but he though Danny was pulling away a bit too. He was busy more often then usual and distant in a way that made Jason worry he was keeping secrets, though he had no idea WHAT they might be since his life genuinely did seem to revolve around Red Hood and his mission.

When the day of his death came Danny was nowhere to be seen and Jason shut himself up on his office to focus on work, reading reports and writing responses. Doing whatever he could to try not to think about what had happened this day five years ago, and how Joker was either not thinking about it at all, or celebrating.

He had explicitly said for no one but Fox to disturb him today so when there was a pounding at a door he was ready to Fucking Kill someone! Danny never knocked like that, usually he just let himself in, so he knew that wasn't Danny. He got up from his desk so abruptly he knocked his chair over and stomped over to yank the door open.

"Please don't shoot! Hyena is in trouble!" The goon at the door, Marcus he though, cowered. Marcus got along with Danny, they might even friends, he would know.

"What happened?" Jason snarled through the voice modulator on his helmet, but he wasn't about to bite Marcus' head off anymore.

"He left your turf in costume this morning, I tried to tell him not to but he didn't listen to me! We've got reports he's on his way back but the Bats are on his tail! You have a tracker on him don't you?! He's gonna need help!" Marcus said in a panic and Jason grabbed his coat and his phone.

"Ya I do I'm not going to let them touch him," Jason snarled checking his guns before he practically bolted out of the building wondering what the Hell Danny had gotten himself into.

He grabbed his grapple and headed to meet Hyena as quickly as he could. He knew Danny was fast but Bruce and the Replacement would catch him eventually if none of the others were already on their way to intercept.

He heard Hyena before he saw them, the high cackling of the manic laughter Danny tended to lean into when he was in his Hyena persona, then Jason saw him, he planted his feet on a rooftop just inside crime ally and drew his guns. He saw the moment Danny spotted him and slightly adjusted his flight so he landed on the same roof as Jason, rolling to absorb his momentum and skidded to a stop half hiding behind Jason as he grinned at the Bats who had also come to a stop on the roof across from them with the muzzles of Jason's guns trained on them.

"Sorry about this, I knew what I was doing but I don't know the placement of the cameras all over Gotham, I didn't know they saw me," Danny said, resting his hands on Jason's shoulders.

"What did you do Hyena?" Jason asked without looking away from Batman and Robin.

Danny cackled again, the Hyena laugh that made him shiver just a little. He ducked out from behind Jason and got halfway between the two groups in the stand off. He pulled the bag Jason hadn't noticed off his shoulder and reached inside. Jason could tell Danny was smiling at him from behind the muzzle as he grabbed something and pulled out... The joker's head, Jason's breathing caught in his throat.

"Happy death day baby," Danny said fondly, his voice loud enough that Batman and Robin would be able to hear as well. "Someone cares about you enough to avenge you."

It was brutal, and final, it was a decoration of love as surely as anything else and so much better then a dozen roses. Jason thought he would be horrified, fixated on the head, but the Joker was just a lump of flesh now, a horrified expression fixated on his face as if he hadn't actually expected anyone to kill him. Nothing to be scared of anymore.

"Holy shit," Jason laughed and turned to Danny, scooping him up making Danny yelp in surprise and drop the bag, the Jokers head rolling away as Jason twirled a laughing Danny. "I love you so much Cub! This is the best gift anyone's ever gotten me!" He cheered and Danny blushed all the way to his slightly pointed ears, clearly pleased.

It was the first time Jason had said he loved him and Danny felt like he had won the lottery! He couldn't control his purring as Jason put him back down, he snuggled into Jason's side as he aimed his gun and put a bullet in Joker's decapitated head just for the catharsis of it.

"Jaylad," Bruce's voice was soft and betrayed. As if he had any fucking right!

Reminded of his presence Jason's gaze snapped back to Bruce, as did his guns, pointed at Batman and Robin again. "If you're planning to arrest Hyena for this I will not hesitate to shoot. If you take one step inside My territory," Jason snarled at them. "You can take the head if you want, I don't need to keep a lump of rotting flesh, I just needed to know Someone gave a shit." He stepped forward and kicked the head like a football, sending it hurtling at Batman with pretty damn good aim as Danny cackled behind him, high and loud.

Batman caught it, more on instinct then anything, but it was evidence, it was a body, he would take it, and the corpse from wherever Danny had left it. "Now if you'll excuse us, I think we have a celebration to plan!" Jason said before he shot at them, he wasn't aiming to kill, just to make them leave and it worked. They dashed off and Jason turned back towards Danny.

"I love you too," Danny said, soft and warm, pressing himself against Jason's chest. "Now take me home and Fuck me~"

Jason laughed and scooped Danny up into his arms, letting him wrap his arms back around Jason and cling as he set a quick pace towards their nearest safe house.

Part 2.5

Part 3

Masterpost

#dc x dp #danny phantom #dead on main #jason todd #red hood #batman #the joker #descriptions of violence #Hood and Hyena about to be Joker x Harley 2.0 #murder is a love language now #Danny is self destructive #Jason has anger issues #match made in hell #but hey at least they're happy #unhealthy relationships #me being problematic on main #But at least I'm having fun?#Hyena!danny

693 notes · View notes

jasmines-library · 11 months ago

Note

Hi. Um... i have been craving angst

👀 and my angsty mind has been making up... scenarios, but like would love them typed out so i can read 💀 i live your work, p.s. <3

anyways, would like to ask for something along these lines:

reader is a batsibling

is kidnapped

fam cant find her for a few days and is panicked

they find her somewhere, blindfolded and tied up, on the ground and caked in blood

they get her some med stuff and whatever

and they're like how did this happen so they somehow get cctv or duke uses his powers or something and finds out that they've been beaten for info

and they get like really angry and all that jazz

:D rest up to you!

would be great if you did it 🥺

but i understand if it's too much

love youuuu 💖/platonic ehe

okay, i will excuse myself from your asks now. byeee

Loaded Silence

hello hello! Thanks for requesting. This was super angsty, but as you put I crave it too... ❤️

Warnings: Kidnapping, Torture (not very graphic), fear, medical scenes.

Word Count: 1.5k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

It had happened unexpectedly. You were there one second and gone the next. In a blink of an eye. Nothing more nothing less. That was all it took for you to slip away. Damian could have sworn he was only gone for a minute. To stretch his legs and grab something to eat. But that was all it took for them to sneak in. Quiet as a mouse they crept in, splitting through the open window at the back of the room. Leaving it open had been a careless mistake, but who was to think that you would have been taken in the safety of your own home?

They grabbed you roughly from behind. A set of rough hands pinning you to the sofa, clamped tightly over your mouth as another worked to tie a heavy bandage around your eyes. You had squirmed feebly trying to gain some leverage. Your training desperately tried to kick in but at that moment, you were not a vigilante. You were Y/N Wayne: A citizen, child to the wealthiest man in Gotham and utterly fucked.

You had no choice after that than to allow them to drag you downtown, you had kicked and cried blindly, desperate for one of your brothers to chase after you. But whoever was gripping you tight enough to bruise was clearly experienced and you knew that they stood no chance so unexpectedly.

When they tossed you down on the ground, you thought it would offer some relief. The room was dank, dusty and smelt of water rot and mould. This was the part where they would send a ransom note to Bruce and he and your brothers would come charging in sooner or later. But you had never been more wrong.

“We know who you are, Wayne.” A voice spoke. Feminine but not soft spoken. Threatening. “Or would you prefer Raven?”

Your stomach dropped as bile burned the back of your throat. You knew you could fight now, but you were defenceless weaponless with your hands and feet bound together.

“The fuck do you want?” You spat, though the effect of the venom in your words was lost for you looked so helpless.

“Bold of you to speak to me that way, given your predicament.” The woman chuckled, prodding you with her foot. “You’re here as a sort of…payment.” She mused. “I suppose you could call it that.”

“What?”

“My husband.” She started, moving away from you. You could hear her pacing around the room but you could only conjure up images in your mind. “Leader of the greatest crime suricate in Gotham. And now, he’s dead. Rotting in some coffin in the ground, thanks to your father.”

She moved closer again. Her heels clattered against the floor.

“He took away the only thing that ever mattered to me!” She gripped your wrist, lifting you up off the floor and leaning into your face. “So now, I’m going to take away one of his toys until someone tells me how to get him out! His precious little girl. Oh how I can’t wait to see the look on all of their faces when they see you. That is of course…after we have a little fun.”

There was still no sign of you. And it felt as if they had searched every inch of the city. The high and the low but still nothing. No one had slept much in the three days you had been missing. Their nights were either spent searching for you on patrol or laying awake staring blankly at the ceiling as their minds conjured up the worst. None of them said it outloud but the possibility that you were dead loomed over them. But no one ever said anything. They just continued to search in silence. It seemed like Babs and Tim hadn’t torn their eyes away from the screens since Damian came barging into the room three days ago, doubled over and panting as he revealed the news. The only time they ever moved was to head to the bathroom or to make another mug of lukewarm coffee.

The rest of the family were out on patrol. That was what they were calling it anyway. Really they were looking for you. And still there had been no sign until Dick stumbled upon a window. It was low down to his feet covered by concrete as though the building had just sunk into the concrete. And when he tried to peer inside, it seemed to be covered by something on the inside.

It could have been nothing.

But Dick was desperate.

He called over the other vigilantes with a signal on his com. They all came tricking over towards him silently through the city. Some bubbling with hope and anticipation, but all dreading the worst.

Moving around the back of the house, Dick pushed open the door.

You had never been more scared in your entire life. Everything ached, burned or stung. From what you could feel there didn’t seem to be a single inch of your skin that wasn’t covered in blood. It clung sticky to your skin, cracking every time you managed to bring yourself to shift against the floor.

She had continued her onslaught for hours, trying to force answers that she knew you would never be able to give her from your chapped lips. She would leave every once in a while, returning silently to catch you off guard with another round of pain. You couldn’t see her: the blindfold still remained firmly around your eyes, so you had to anticipate when she would return as you cowered against the back wall in a pool of your own blood. You were unsure how long it had been since she tossed you into the room. Without the relief of sunlight, your woozy mind had lost track of time.

And then a pair of hands gripped your shoulders. And you screamed, trying to recoil away from them. You didn’t make it far. Your body was too weak.

“No! No please! No more!” You begged, tears dribbling down your cheeks to mingle among the dirt and blood. “I already told you I-I don’t know anything! Please!”

“Woah, woah.” It was Dick’s voice that broke through to you, though they had all called out to you. It was him who had reached out to you in the first place, hesitant that the smallest touch would break you. As soon as they were met with resistance they knew you were here. And they fought as fast as they could to get to you. Praying that they wouldn’t find you as you had. Sprawled out across the floor in a pool of your own blood as you struggled to breathe. “It’s us.”

“We’re here, Kid.” Jason leaned forwards to remove the blindfold from your eyes as Dick tried to support you in his arms. You squiremed weakly, still untrusting. But the minute the blindfold was off and you had finished adjusting to the onslaught of light. You broke.

You collapsed into Dicks arms, sobbing and shaking. He cupped the back of your head with his hands and held you, giving Jason and Duke a nervous glance. Your blood had already begun to stain the front of his suit as you whimpered in his arms, clinging to him tightly.

When he tried to shift you, you let out a sob and clung to him tighter. He wasn’t sure if it was because he had hurt you or because you were scared he was going to leave you. Probably both.

“Y/N?” Jason whispered, moving to crouch by your side. “ We’re here now. We’re going to get you home okay? Can you tell us what happened?”

You shook your head and buried your face into Dicks chest trying to block out the pain.

Eyes turned to Duke who watched you with sad eyes. They observed as he surveyed the room, taking in the horrors that the light revealed. And he couldn’t help the gasp that slipped out of his lips.

He paled at what he saw. Winced at the way your face contorted with pain as the woman towered over you, tossing you about the room like a ragdoll and slashing you with various tools as she screamed at you. He saw how she would catch you off guard by sneaking up on you in the dark as some cruel game to satisfy her sick amusement. He felt sick.

In the time it took for him to see the echo of your agonies, Dick had managed to coax enough for him to stand so they could bring you out of the room and get you urgently to medical attention.

The two looked at him expectantly. And once he had managed to stutter out what he had seen, Jason was tensely clenching his jaw and fists.

Someone was going to bleed tonight. He was going to make sure of that.

Taglist:

@aestheticdaisies

@hell-o-kittys

@xxrougefangxx

@mamapucket

@hearts4robs

@harleycao

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gretavanlace · 8 months ago

Text

Feels Like Gold

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, language, dirty talk, breeding kink, Jake drives a car (the most dangerous situation of all), extremely mild degradation, etc

Okay, in honor of our collective jakedown, I rooted around in my unreleased work and then did a little revamping. This one is for you, @piratejakesgf thank you for your request ❤️ *loosely edited, fair warning

And kisses to @jake-kiszkas-smirk and her brilliant mind for titling this when I was at a loss 💋 xoxo

“Fuck, these are so uncomfortable!” you hiss with exasperation, tugging at the itchy nylon hell encasing your legs.

“Told you not to wear them.” Jake reminds you, flipping on his turn signal before switching lanes, though the freeway is dark and nearly deserted.

“You know how my family is.” you remind him right back, annoyed with his flippant attitude. “If I’d shown up to that wedding in a dress with bare legs I’d have been labeled the whore of the family tree. My branch weighed down with bad choices; exposed skin and a degenerate rockstar on my arm.”

“I mean, to their credit, I actually am a degenerate so they’re just calling ‘em like they see ‘em.” His eyes are locked on the road, but a tiny smirk tells you he’s pleased with his cleverness. “Plus, your aunt tried to fuck me, so you aren’t the only whore in the family.”

An abrupt laugh trills out of you. “Right. Which aunt?”

“Does it matter?” he shrugs. “She told me she slept with Joe Perry and it left her with a taste for guitarists…I told her Perry could suck my dick because I could stomp his riffs any day, but that only turned her on even more.”

“And then what happened?” you giggle, falling into his little pretend world.

“Well,” he sighs wearily, “Promise you won’t be angry with me?”

You’re solemn and stoic, as if this is very serious business, “Scouts honor.”

“Then, I excused myself and wound up fucking your uncle in the bathroom, instead.” he squints at an upcoming exit sign to be sure you’re headed in the right direction, and then settles back into a more relaxed state, wrist guiding the steering wheel casually.

“Was he any good?” you ask, mock sincerity laced through your tone.

“I’ve had better.” He shrugs.

“You’re so stupid.” you shake your head with a doting roll of your eyes, and reach under your dress to roll the torturous hose down and off.

He watches out of the corner of his eye, stealing glances as safely as he can while driving.

“Jesus, they were thigh highs all this time?” he sounds a little like he’s considering jerking the car over onto the shoulder of the highway to drag you into the backseat.

“All this time.” the garment in question lands in his lap.

“Lemme see.” he orders quietly before you have a chance to remove the second.

Up the hem of your dress travels until he can get a good look at the black lace resting at the top of your thigh. “Fuck, pretty girl.”

“You like that?” you tease in a silken voice.

He nods, tightening his grip on the wheel.

You push a little further with, “Are you hard?”

“I’m gonna kick you out of this car and make you walk home.” he lies, reaching out to snap the elastic lace against your skin. “Take this one off, too…it’s doing unspeakable things to me. Especially since you’re only wearing the one. You look sloppy - like I just rocked your shit in the back of a tour bus.”

“Jacob Thomas..” you gasp lightly, as though scandalized “Someone seems a little worked up.”

“I might be, if only I didn’t have such a firm grasp on the power of will, my darling.”

He’s being untruthful, but he does it so elegantly - in that soft, slightly British lilt of his, you decide to grant him a very gracious pass and drop the second into his lap.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Kiszka.” You wiggle your polished toes, enjoying the freedom. “My baby cousin, the one you let dance on your feet? She asked me if you were a pirate.”

This tugs an honest laugh out of his chest…a gorgeous sound that colors your cheeks pink. “You told her yes, I expect?”

You hum in confirmation, “I did. And I told her that you have a special sword with strings on it and it makes beautiful, dark music that people come from far away lands to hear. Just like the sirens in Peter Pan.”

His face visibly softens in the flickers of light shed by the street lamps whipping by. “You always did know how to paint a lovely picture, pretty girl.”

The low purr of the engine lulls your head against the window, but just as your eyes begin to grow heavy, he pulls you back to him with a quiet, “Hey,”

Turning your head against the seat, you study his profile, charting the map of your favorite face, “Yeah?”

”Whose baby was that you were holding? The tiny, tiny one,”

It seems such an odd thing for him to ponder, and you have to mentally sift through the reception a bit, you held a great many babies tonight…it seemed like every cousin and second cousin in attendance was weighed down by a diaper bag stuffed full of diapers and pacifiers.

”The one with the little headband bow-thingy.” He clarifies. “She was so small.”

“My cousin’s. He and his wife’s third in almost as many years. She’s only like a month old and smelled like heaven.” You draw in a breath and wish her silken tufts of hair were still pressed to your cheek, “Why?”

”I don’t know,” you know him well enough to know that’s a damn lie. “I just- I don’t know…do you ever think about it?”

Caught off guard, you opt for a little joke, “Does Jakey have baby fever?”

He smiles, and there is a touch of shyness that lives there, “Shut up. Do you think about it?”

“Do I think about having babies? Well, I-“

He interrupts quickly to set you straight, “Do you think about having babies with me?”

Oh.

Where is he heading with this? Will a bit of honesty scare him? Will it scare you?

Deciding to take the plunge, this is simply a conversation after all, and a subject that he broached to boot, you choose truth. “Yes, I’ve thought about babies with you. Although that whole twin thing is fucking terrifying.”

Again, you joke. Again, he doesn’t take the bait. “Identical twins aren’t hereditary. We’re just an accidental fuck up. When you think about it, what do you think?”

”A lot of things.”

Smoothly, he guides the car onto the off-ramp that leads to home. “Very informative, darling. A veritable treasure trove of information.”

He hasn’t tipped his hand and you aren’t about to let him off so easily. “”Do you think about it?”

”Honestly, not before. I mean, I think about how you’ll look in your wedding dress and if you’ll wear your hair swept up the way I like, and I suppose that’s sort of the same thing. Or headed in the same direction, anyway. But watching you hold that baby tonight…”

Your chest suddenly feels a little tight. You’re touched by his admission.

And how endearing that he wonders how you’ll wear your hair. You reach out and stroke the back of your hand along the cut of his jaw, “When the day comes, I’ll wear it up for you.”

Later, he’s draped across the bed watching you glide about the room in your bra and panties. Earrings unfastened and placed gently on your jewelry tray, necklace hung carefully, hair let loose and shaken out at long last.

Hands folded behind his head, he speaks up, breaking the spell you have unknowingly cast over him, “You said ‘a lot of things’. Elaborate.”

You turn, eyes drifting over the king lounging about upon the bed you share, in nothing but the dress pants he hasn’t yet bothered to shed. “What?”

He cocks his chin, summoning your attention further ”Babies. You said you think about a lot of things.”

He looks so fucking sinfully delicious…a sickeningly sweet cake sent from the bewitching trenches of hell to rot your teeth. “The normal things. Baby things.”

The heavy wooden frame creeks quietly as he pulls himself into a sitting position to study your expression, “Liar.”

”Oh, I’m sorry,” you dance around the accusation, “I just happen to be looking at a disgustingly attractive little shit waiting for me to climb into bed beside him. Forgive me for looking flustered.”

”Don’t be coy, darling,” he tsks, clicking his tongue against his perfect teeth. “I can see it written all over your pretty face. You’ve got a secret.”

He’s moving towards the edge of the bed now, drawing you in closer with his devilish stare. “Tell me.”

”I don’t have a secret.” Whose voice is that? Surely it’s much too quiet and meek to be your own.

”Tell the truth.” He hums, a knowing twinkle flashing in his gaze. “What do you think about?”

Your eyes refuse to meet his own as your stomach knots, warm and vibrating. “I guess…sometimes I - sometimes I think about the trying part of it all.”

He’s watching you closely, you can feel it like warm fingers dancing across your blushing skin. “So you think about fucking?”

He almost sounds disappointed. He had expected more judging by your hesitancy to share.

”Well,” your fingers are plucking at the comforter now, rooting out a loose thread to spin around your finger, “Yes, but it’s kind of more than that. I think about you… inside me.”

At last, you peek up at him. He looks curious, as if he can’t quite figure you out. “Why are you being such a little mouse about this?” His palms are cupping your face now, calluses soothing you like a song. “I’m inside you all the time, and I think about it all the time, too.”

Shaking your head gently, you find your footing…at least a smidge, “Not like that. I think about you inside me. The way you would have to be if we were trying.”

Your birth control rendered condoms unnecessary ages ago, yet he has always pulled out - ever cautious and responsible. Confusion is still painted across his features…until it isn’t.

“Oh,” a lascivious grin appears and you long to curl your tongue over his lips, “you fucking filthy little thing.”

In a blink, you’re dragged onto the bed and into his arms, tossed down with your back against the sheets. his body heated and flush against yours.

Mouth suckling and nipping at your throat, he rasps into your skin, “Is that what does it for you? Pretty girl wants my cum?”

Your body’s reaction is visceral, primal, and almost embarrassing. You’re arching away from the mattress, desperate to be even closer than you already are.

“Answer me.” He huffs, sinking a bite into your jaw.

”Yes…” your hands are in his hair, thighs around his waist, “I want it.”

”Say it.” He’s rocking against you now, hard and straining against your panties. “Say what it is that you want. What you think about.”

”I think about you fucking me,” once again, whose shaking voice is that? “I think about the way you sound when you finish, and the way your cock throbs and twitches in your hand, and how it might feel inside me.”

”Keep going.” He orders, soft and wavering in your ear.

”I think about how warm your cum would feel inside of me, and maybe I wouldn’t be able to keep it all in. Maybe it might tickle a little when it leaked out.”

”Fuck, baby…” his hands are everywhere, yanking your breasts from the cups of your bra, winding your panties down your thighs, fingers sinking into your soaking, clenching cunt with a groan that sounds pained.

He seeks out your favorite spot and tucks up into it, wrenching a wanton moan from your lungs “You want me to fill this little pussy up? Keep you dripping wet with me all day long? Fuck baby after baby into you?”

”Jake…” you’re clawing at his bare shoulders, fucking yourself hopelessly against his hand. “More.”

He slips a third finger inside you, “Is that why you get a little whiny when I pull out? My girl wants me to do it inside?”

”More,” you urge through gritted teeth, eyes locked in on his face and the lust so evident in the set of his features.

”You want four?”

”Please, Jake…” tears are threatening at your lash line, “more, more, more,”

“You’re having some trouble listening tonight, aren’t you?” he sounds diabolical, and turned on beyond belief. “I asked you a question.”

His thighs prise your legs open wider as he squeezes his pinky into your warmth to join the rest of his drenched fingers, “Do you want my cum inside you? You want me to give it to you? Keep it all safe and warm for me?”

With a mournful wail you’re reduced to a million little pieces beneath him. Rocking frantically into his touch…the heel of his hand grinding quick circles into your clit as his fingers fuck you through it. He’s covered in you, it rolls down his wrist and beads against his stomach like early morning dew, anointing him as you thrash and writhe like a beautiful, fluttering leaf in an autumn wind.

When the hazy fog clears, allowing your sight, it’s his face - stunning and beaming - you find, “Hey, pretty girl.”

Now that you’re coming down, your diffidence returns and you close your eyes in a pathetic attempt to hide.

He’s having none of it, “No, no, darling…you stay with me. Right here, baby. You look so pretty with my cock inside you, imagine how fucking beautiful you’re gonna be when I fuck you full.”

“Please, jake…” it’s pathetic really, and maybe you should care about that, but you don’t. “I need it, I need it so bad.”

“Yeah?” The gravel in his tone makes you shiver with frantic desire. “Pretty girl just wants to bounce on my cock all day? Just using me to get what she wants?”

Rather than answer, you elect to begin wrangling the button on his pants.

“Someone’s eager.” He teases softly, lifting up on one elbow, easing your struggle. “You want it that bad? Are you gonna let me cum wherever I want? Gonna let me put a baby inside you?”

“Fucking do it!” Frustrated and sparking with electric desperation, you give up and tug on his waistband feverishly until he takes over, popping the button with ease and kicking them off.

His cock is fisted in his hand now, with your eyes fiercely focused on it. Hard and beautiful and yours. “You want that inside you?” He whispers, watching you stare. “You want me to fuck you? You want me to fucking breed that pretty pussy? Make you a mama?”

You should be ashamed of yourself, you well and truly should be…but fuck if you don’t want more, “Keep talking while you fuck me,” you breathe, somewhere between imploring and begging, “Dirtier, come on…”

His cock slips inside. Just the cashmere tip teasing at you, “Dirtier?” He nudges in a little deeper, just enough to make you whine, “well what should I say, pretty girl? Should I tell you that you’re my beautiful little cum slut and if I’d known it sooner I’d have been stuffing you full all this time?” Deeper still he glides, “Or that I want to cum inside you and then fall asleep with my fingers buried in your cunt to keep it where it belongs?” He’s fucking you harder, faster…the pillowy head of his cock kissing your cervix in a divine dance between pleasure and pain. “Or should I tell you about how I think about licking it up? Kissing you with my cum on my tongue because I know you’d suck it off like the greedy little baby you are.”

“I-“ a pitiful whimper escapes you, but his fingers are suddenly grasping your chin, grounding you enough to collect your scattered thoughts. “I’m gonna cum, tell me where you’re going to cum. Tell me where you’re going to put it. Please, I want it,”

Hips rolling into a succulent grind against your swollen clit now, he begins “I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve got every last drop, pretty girl. It’s all yours, are you gonna take it for me like a good girl? Are you going to be a good little mama and take it all?”

His name is all you can manage as you shatter. It’s primeval and animalistic, sounds that would make you want to crumple in on yourself if anyone heard them besides your Jacob.

“You’re so fucking tight and wet..” his perfect cock is pounding you through it as he inches closer and closer, “are you ready for me to make a mess of this little beauty right here? Hmm? Ready for me to fuck this cunt all full and dirty? You want it?”

“Jake…” you trail off, eyes fighting to stay open and locked in on his face while you shake against him, twisting and clenching around his perfect cock, “you’re so fucking hard.”

He nods furiously, burying his face in the crook of your neck to lick your pounding pulse “That’s all you, baby. You make me that hard.”

Your hips begin rocking up to meet him even faster, hungry to please. “Good girl, you keep fucking that cock. Are you gonna take what you want? Gonna make me cum? Gonna help me fill this pretty little cunt?”

In response, your nails dig into his skin, raking your mark, claiming him. You’re almost there again, though you can’t imagine how. “I’m so fucking close,” you’re sighing and shaking the words into the room, offering confession.

“Again?” He’s mocking you so sweetly, teasing dirty words into your ear like lullabies, “Already? Is my pretty girl gonna cum on this cock? Squeeze and suck the cum right out of me to steal it away? You want it that badly?”

You let go, with a trembling breath of his name, and feel his body tense against the feverish grip of your orgasm.

”That’s it, baby,” his words are but a sigh skittering across your cheek, “That’s it. Feels so good. Feels like gold. My pretty, pretty girl…”

He fucks you faster even as you melt into a puddle within his arms. “Gonna cum for you,” he promises, “I’m gonna cum so hard for you. Who’s going to take it? Who’s gonna take every fucking drop?”

”I am,” have you even made a sound? You can’t be sure, you’re so lost.

”Yes, you are…” his forehead, slick with exertion and need, nods against your own. “You’re going to take it just like you take this cock. My good fucking girl…pretty pink baby doll just begging for me to wreck her.”

Without warning, he collapses into your arms, moaning and crying out, shuddering as he releases inside you. Warm and perfect, everything you’ve ever imagined and so much more.

His fingers sink into your muscles, clutching and pulling you closer still, “Baby…” he sounds raspy and pained, “Baby, baby, baby, fuck..fuck…”

And when at last, he calms, it is with his cheek pressed to your chest, clocking the wild metronome that is your heart with your hands sweeping through his hair.

Soon, you’ll both crawl out of bed, maybe into the shower…perhaps into the warmth of a bath, but for now it is simply you, and Jake, and this tranquil bliss.

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lalunanymph · 1 year ago

Text

𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 — g. satoru

one drunken night changes everything between you and satoru

cw. alcohol, virginity loss, reverse corruption, switch!gojo, modern au, unprotected sex, gojo is inexperienced, mild slut shaming but satoru gets his payback, gojo does not believe in toxic masculinity amen

Getting Gojo drunk is never a good idea.

You, for one, as his friend should know.

Satoru’s ruddy cheeks, boisterous laughter and slurring words gave away his intoxication, and Geto was about to call a taxi for him when he stopped the outside party with a reveal no one had anticipated.

“Why’re you ruining my fun—hic—Suguru… I wanted to lose my virginity t'night.”

Record screech. Ieiri glanced up from the cig she was smoking, and the whites of your wide eyes reflected the neon club sign.

“Satoru,” Geto gasped, his phone left open on the Uber screen, mouth agape. “What did you say?”

In answer to this sudden truth bomb, the white-haired man shrugged, kicking his feet up a curb and leaning back against the cool marble. The bench he was sprawled on was way too small to accommodate his 6’3 frame, and his legs, each about almost a mile long, were perched on either side of the seat.

“I said what I said. Why—find it hard to believe, Sugu?”

He looked good for someone already in an alarming state of intoxication, and you didn’t miss how Ieiri smirked at your flushing cheeks. Shooting her a glare, you quickly glanced at Suguru, relieved to find him still processing what Satoru said.

“I thought… What about that girl back in third year?”

Satoru waved off his question with a prissy flap of his hand. “Eh, that was old news. We never did anything vile.”

“Imagine that,” Shoko snickered, stubbing out her cigarette with the tip of her boot. “The great Gojo Satoru—bitchless.”

Geto couldn’t help the guffaw that burst from his chest, and you had to turn your face to the side to hide the hysterical giggles waiting to destroy your pouting friend’s ego.

“Ieiri,” you chastised her, struggling to hold back your laughter, though with your lips twitching, it wasn’t hard to deduce that you were trying not to lose it. “Don’t make fun of him like that. Satoru’s just a late bloomer.”

“Yeah!” Gojo chimed in, shooting you a lopsided grin. “It’s not my fault girls only want me for my money.”

You winced and Suguru rolled his eyes.

“If I recall, some of them did find you attractive, but you have ridiculous standards, Satoru.”

The white-haired fiend turned to you with a cheeky grin. “I do. That’s why Y/N-chan should take a leaf out of my book.”

“Oi—!”

“The car is on the way,” Suguru chimed in, hastily coming in between you and Satoru to interrupt before things got out of hand.

Your indignation was amusing to Gojo who chuckled heartily. “Ah, come on, Y/N. You’ve made some ridiculous choices in the past, but we still love you. I’m only just teasing.”

Before you could open your mouth to speak, the Uber pulled up, and with it, Satoru’s escape. “Oops. I gotta go, guys—”

“I’ll follow you.” Your sudden offer for help rubbed Gojo the wrong way, and he made a face, ego bruised with your assumption that he was too drunk to get himself safely back.

“I can go home without your help. I’m fin—” He stood up… and almost fell onto his face.

Geto was quick to catch him, and your yell of surprise induced Ieiri to lurch forward with her own arms outstretched in case both of you lost your grip on the taller man.

It took three people to bundle Satoru in the backseat, and you shook off Geto’s worrying chimes when he asked if you needed his help.

“He’ll sober up before we reach the penthouse. Don’t worry.”

You slammed the car door closed on Geto and Shoko, both of them standing with shifting eyes and uncertainty in their hesitant gaits.

“Could you please put the AC higher?”

The cab driver nodded, and you sat Gojo closer to the middle, where he was getting a nice faceful of cold air.

Thankfully, he didn’t grumble much on the way home, but the white-haired menace did threaten, once or twice, to puke in the car. The driver couldn’t have driven fast enough, and he even refused Gojo’s 5-star rating, a sign of his mild annoyance.

Next, you had to haul a 6’3 baby into the elevator of his own penthouse. Satoru wasn’t an easy drunk—he whined, pouted and moaned about the lights being too bright or the room spinning or his feet aching. Honestly, you were glad to get him through the front door without anyone committing homicide.

He was sobering up on the couch when you approached him with some hot tea, his misery drawn out and getting on your nerves when he nodded pitifully, taking the piping mug from you.

Gojo’s penthouse suite was as much his as your home. Every weekend, you and Shoko would haunt either Satoru or Suguru’s homes, and you knew where every mug belonged and how he liked his plates to be arranged.

Sitting down next to him, it was almost peaceful and quiet. Satoru had a certain assurance about him which put anyone at ease, and you were not exempted.

You liked his strong and reliable presence. Sure, he was an overgrown toddler in a young man’s body, but when push came to shove, Gojo would always show up for the people he loves.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

You blinked, turning to find a pair of sincere azure eyes boring into yours.

“What?”

“About your mistakes. I know it was a dark time for you after your breakup with Sukuna. I didn’t mean to come off as ignorant and cruel.”

Your lips twitched at the sound of your ex-boyfriend’s name. “It’s fine. You’re a pretty shitty person when you’re drunk anyway.”

Gojo scoffed and set his mug down on the expensive marble coffee table.

“Excuse me? I’m trying to be nice here.”

“Hmm.” You tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Did you mean what you said—that you’re actually a virgin?”

Curiosity got the best of you, and it didn’t help that three of Gojo’s buttons were loosened, exposing a pale strip of his neck to your wandering eyes.

“Yeah.” He said it with such nonchalance and straightforwardness, you thought he was pulling your leg again.

“Please,” you forced a scoff, trying hard to ignore your heartbeat in between your legs. “Like anyone would believe that.”

“I’m serious,” he cried out, and to prove how genuine he was, Gojo siddled closer to you. “Cross my heart and I swear on my grandma’s dead body. I’ve never touched a girl before.”

Well, Satoru did love his grandmother. You pouted, and before you could stop yourself, your primal, tipsy thoughts spilled out without any hesitation.

“I could show you.”

The silence after your question felt like an empty stretch of Tundra sea.

Your stomach turned and you slapped a hand to your mouth.

“Shit, Satoru, I’m sor—”

“I think I would like that.”

Gojo’s eyes were fixated on you in the half-light. The air suddenly became too thick, and you couldn’t breathe without inhaling the minty freshness of his breath. He was sitting too close to you. It was all too much, like a timebomb was about to go off at any moment.

Before you could change your mind and leave him alone to his raging thoughts, Gojo caught you by the waist, tugging you onto his lap.

Am I dreaming?

You had envisioned kissing Gojo Satoru many, many times, but the reality was far sweeter.

His lips were plush and soft, tasting of the liquor he drank earlier and something impossibly sweet.

“A-are you wearing lip balm?” your stuttered question made him pause. He laughed, a full bodied chuckle that shook his great shoulders.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” You mumbled, and in the closing darkness, your lips brushed on his with no caution. Satoru removed the space between you and him, closing on your mouth with another searing kiss that left you lightheaded and shaking.

The world went flat for a split second, and you opened your eyes to find him hovering over you.

He picked your hand from your side, and pushed it towards the juncture of your thighs, where your core ached pathetically for him.

“Show me,” his husky murmur sent a dark thrill straight to your clenching belly. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

Gojo’s touch on your wrist was light, reminding you he was here and ready. Waiting for you to make the first move.

“Huh?” your confusion was palpable, like the sheen of sweat beading on your brow. “H-hey—aren’t you supposed to be the virgin here?”

His smile was part sardonic, part angelic. “Sweetheart, that’s why I’m asking you to show me. I promise I’ll impress you if you do.”

You flashed him a look of annoyance, but ultimately, you lost to his charms. Satoru always had a way to soften you up and make you susceptible to his every whim. Licking your lips, you slowly pushed the hem of your skirt to the side, exposing the lacy black thong you wore for tonight.

Those ocean deep blue eyes were enraptured on your two fingers pushing aside your thong, and swiping them through your glossy seam.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, getting comfortable and resting his head on the plush sofa cushion to watch you touch yourself. “Keep going. Don’t stop until I tell you, too.”

You were going to murder him for speaking to you like this—as if you were an errant pet waiting on his reprimand.

“Satoru—”

“Oh, hush,” he whispered with a pale, long finger pressed to your lips. “I’m enjoying the show. Stop ruining my first time, Y/N.”

Your chagrined glare was replaced by a look of hesitation when Satoru used his large palm to cup your left breast.

“I’ll just pull and twist it?” he asked, referring to your nipple hardening under his touch.

“Y-yeah,” you swallowed hard. “Give it a little tug and roll it around your fingers.”

For the first time since you met him, Satoru actually listened to you. He obediently twisted your turgid bud through the slinky fabric of your party top, watching intently as your body reacted under his touch.

Since he was being good, you decided to treat him.

Angling your hips closer to him, you rubbed shaky circles onto your clit in tandem with his slow tugs and pinches to your sensitive nipple. Gojo moved onto the other neglected one, repeating his motions until your hips were twitching from every deliberate roll.

“You’re really sensitive, huh?”

His whisper ignited the fire in your loins, and not even your touches could put it out.

“Satoru, I think you can undress me.”

Your command was met with barely any resistance when he nodded, pushing the straps of your top down to expose your naked breasts to his wandering eyes.

“Fuck.”

His reflexive groan caught you off guard. It had been awhile since any man was enthralled by the sight of your bare body.

Most of those assholes couldn’t wait to jump to the main event without prepping you first. Their selfish insistence made you weary of who you let into your bed.

But, Satoru was the exception.

His gentleness when he cupped your breasts, and the reverence you felt on your skin when he peppered kisses on your collarbone and shoulders was a far cry from those bums who only wanted to get their dicks wet.

A part of you was duly impressed by Satoru’s consideration—you never expected someone like Gojo to have it in him.

Proving he worth once more, he planted open-mouth kisses down your neck, right to the swell of your heaving breasts.

The sensation of his warm mouth wrapping around your nipples caused shivers to run down right into your very core. Satoru was worshipping the soft skin of your cleavage and sensitive buds like they were an altar he had to cleanse with every broad stroke of his tongue.

Your mind spun in dizzying circles, the ones you drew on your clit growing more erratic by the second.

“Fuck,” you spat out, and couldn’t stop your hand from shooting out to sink in his soft, silvery white hair. “Satoru—”

“Stop.”

His silky command pierced through the thick fog of your mind, catching you off guard.

“Huh?” He wrenched your hand away from the apex of your thighs, much to your chagrin. “What the fuck—”

His cheeky grin dominated your blurry vision, and you swore smoke was pouring out of your ears.

“I was about to cum, asshole!”

“I know,” he sang. “But, you can’t cum just yet! You have to do it around my cock.”

You swore, if you weren’t so turned on, you might’ve murdered Gojo. As it was, the idea of feeling him stretch your pussy out was far too enticing, and you were forced to swallow down your pride to admit your needs.

“Are you gonna do it?” you hissed, feeling your cheeks heating up. “Or, are you going to make me wait?”

This time, Gojo did not tease you. Judging from the bulge in the front of his jeans, his patience was wearing thin, too.

Satoru tugged his cashmere crew neck off, and his Corduroy pants went next. If you weren’t so intoxicated with lust, you would’ve snickered at his outfit choice.

However, there were no thoughts in your head beyond the anticipation of feeling Satoru’s cock slowly easing into you. The vivid yearning was driving you quietly insane, and your hips bucked upwards with such visceral desperation when he got in between your thighs that you were sure he was going to make fun of your neediness.

He didn’t.

Satoru’s glassy eyes and his parted mouth filled you with the understanding of his own inner turmoil—the shakiness of his exhale and his next question revealing his hesitation.

“W-what do I do now?”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“How do I fuck you right?”

For all his bravado and pomp, Satoru was a nervous wreck on top. Your eyes softened, and you urged him up, turning the tides on him and settling him onto his back.

Those wide, baby blue eyes never peeled off your figure, drinking in the sight of you removing your top and skirt completely with unabashed yearning. His cheeks were turning the prettiest shade of pink, the heat from them emanating down his pale chest like a slowly creeping infection he couldn’t exactly hide.

Satoru swallowed hard again when you were left in nothing but your lacy thong. Moonlight speckled over the enticing curves of your bare body. He memorised every dip in the terrain of your silhouette until he was positive he could trace it onto a blank piece of paper based on memory alone.

Your palms were folded onto his chest, using him as leverage when you slowly rolled your thong off your shapely thighs.

He was glued onto the sight of your honeyed folds, trying hard not to drool when a little bit of your juices dribbled onto his thigh.

The wide sofa was enough to accommodate both your bodies, and you held onto the velvet arm with one hand, the other reaching to circle his stiff cock. Gojo groaned, lustfully and without shame when you started to stroke him.

Sure, he had used his own hand and sometimes a sock to get himself off, but nothing could compare to the sensation of a pretty thing who knew what she was doing.

You glanced at him through half-mast eyes, the sinful sight sending a bolt of lightning right down his spine. Satoru’s tongue tied of its own accord when you let go of his length, though what you did next made every thought he had fly out the window of his whited out mind.

He watched, hungry and blown away, when you sank your hips down on his length, taking him with a small gasp and your head thrown back.

You felt the burn in your thighs when you set a pace that had the huge couch rocking. Satoru clasped his hands onto your hips, an involuntary low moan leaving his swollen, peachy lips. You were a vision above him—hair falling in your face, and lower lip caught between your teeth. There was a look in your eyes that he was starting to know all too well, like you wanted to devour him piece by piece till only a shred of his sanity remained.

The sight of him bucking his hips to rut up into you was burned into your retinas.

Satoru was a heavenly visual below you. His white hair was in a disarray, those beautiful blue eyes drowsy with lust. His mouth was parted in an ‘O’, the apples of his cheeks dusted with pink.

“‘Toru,” you whispered. “C-can feel you so deep.”

Those salacious words and your sweet nickname broke something in Gojo.

One second you were sensually undulating your hips above him, and the next, you were on your hands and knees, stretched to your full capacity around his throbbing cock.

“So beautiful.”

Before he could give you a moment to steel yourself, Satoru had set a brutal pace that had you biting down on a cushion to muffle your scream.

Holy shit. He’s good.

Your slurry mind could barely keep up with this new development. The lanky, annoying man you had called your friend for years was fucking up into you like he was about to break you back.

The fact that your breathing was growing heavier and you could barely see through your blurry vision kept you locked in a cycle of perpetual surprise and intense pleasure. Satoru was rocking your entire world like he was meant to ruin it, and you were the helpless victim to his infuriating expertise.

Everything Satoru did, he did to excel. And fucking you was no exception.

He swivelled his hips, smacked your ass, and bent over to leave wet open mouthed kisses on your shoulders and the back of your neck. He tugged and twisted your nipples, played with your clit till you choked back on a scream. Satoru did it over and over again until you couldn’t hold back the ball of tension from exploding.

It rained over you with the effects of a full disaster, shattering your entire world when you finally came for Gojo Satoru.

His palm was firmly slapped onto your mouth to quieten your sniffles and whines. Gojo let you pulse around his cock pathetically, before his grating chuckle bulldozed past your foggy mind.

“That’s one. I haven’t come yet.”

He flipped you onto your back, perching one thigh on the back of the sofa so he could lean forward and have full access to your flushed pussy.

Satoru then spent a full fifteen minutes eating you out; sucking on your clit, fucking your quivering hole with his tongue, and running the flat of that infuriating pink muscle back and forth from back to hole until your toes curled in his periphery.

“Ngh—ah! ‘Toru!”

Clutching his hair in your death grip, Satoru gave you full permission to ride his face with the patience of a saint.

But, even saints were humans and they could be tainted with darker, baser thoughts.

Satoru would never call himself a good man, not when he had you bent against the sofa arm as he languidly fucked you. You hated to admit how much he knew your body—better than you gave him credit for—when he played with your clit again, determined to bring you to your third ruin.

Your hips were beginning to stutter, and your sweet pussy was clenching down on him like a loving embrace. Satoru buried his face into your hair, expelling a guttural groan.

“Fuck, angel. So good. So good, sweetheart.”

The endearment in his voice and those terms poised you right at the edge, and you were so close to throwing yourself over with barely a beat of hesitation.

“Say it,” Gojo grunted, voice thick and deep with arousal. “Tell the world who’s fucking you so good.”

If someone had told you a year ago that you would be creaming around Gojo’s cock for the third time in a night, you would’ve told them to shove it and to stop feeding your delusions.

But, this was happening—Gojo was really using you like a fleshlight he was fond of. When he leaned forward to press a kiss to your cheek, you couldn’t help the gritted sniffle that slipped past your clenched teeth.

“You,” your broken admission put a smile of satisfaction on his face.

The inexperienced has now become the master.

“Yeah? Doesn’t sound convincing, sweetheart.”

His lips on the shell of your ear and puffs of hot breath hitting that sensitive strip of skin was enough to make you clench down on him.

“Satoru…”

“Yeah, that’s my name, baby. Now, shout it for everyone to hear.”

“Satoru,” you were sobbing now, full bodied shakes which echoed the pleasure tearing your world apart. “Satoru!”

“Louder, baby.”

Stars exploded behind your scrunched lids when he gripped your throat, using it to pull you back towards his chest, cock digging deeper into your soft insides to expose your secrets for the world to see.

“Satoru! Oh, god—Satoru! Satoru! Sa—”

You choked off when the world suddenly went white.

As if a bomb had detonated, your insides shook, the world going still for a single second. Lights, sounds, smell and touch were suspended in motion, like you were looking at a scene from outside your body.

Then, the movie resumed, fast forwarding and slamming into you with the force of a singular, staggering punch.

Everything was too bright, too loud, and your heartbeat was erratically going off in your chest, the blood singing in your ears.

Satoru caught you as you slumped into his arms, and he used what little remained of his self-control to fuck up into you, hard enough for his balls to tighten and his own inner world to shatter into fragments.

His teeth sank into your shoulder, the bite of pain enough to draw out your bittersweet climax.

“Satoru!”

The tension was too much, and it hurt to even cum. Your core was cramping up, and your pussy was throbbing like it was about to fall off.

But, you didn’t care. All you wanted was Satoru and his entirety.

You would always allow him to destroy your world without a second thought; knowing he was going to stay behind to fix the pieces.

Gojo did not disappoint you when he held you close to his chest, the last spurt of warmth dripping onto your bare thighs.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

You both sank into the plush surface, stained with sweat, cum and disbelief.

Neither of you could break the silence, and you were reluctant to be the first. If you did, there was no telling if Satoru would up and leave.

Eventually, he made the first move.

Gojo nuzzled your hair, exhaling what sounded like a gust of relief.

“Well, that sure exceeded my expectations.”

The angst of what you both had done aside, Satoru and you were still good friends and you couldn’t throw a friendship away because he had rocked your entire world.

In fact, you wondered if he would be interested in taking it up a notch.

You weren’t above admitting that Satoru was the best fuck of your life and a part of you would do anything to make sure he would be your last.

“Satoru—”

“We’ll talk about everything tomorrow,” he promised, pressing a reassuring kiss to your jaw. “You’ve drained my balls and emotions for one night, baby. Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

You nodded, believing him without a shade of doubt.

Satoru would give it his word of honour like how did when he said he would impress you.

Closing your eyes, you drifted off to sleep, but not before you felt the ghost of his laugh stir the loose strands of hair around your neck.

"Not bad, Gojo," he muttered under his breath, quietly commending himself with a self-assured grin, seemingly unaware that you could hear him. "Not bad at all."

a/n: he's so stinky i would ride him till he passes out just to get him to shut up.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x you #gojou satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk smut #🦢 writes

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