#WILL THAT HAPPEN? HOW WILL IT HAPPEN?? I HAVE TO KNOW | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astonmartinii · 2 days ago

Text

mother duck | carlos sainz social media au

pairing: carlos sainz x fem presenter!reader

carlos kissed her goodbye before she went to the rookie round table, he didn’t realise she’d come back with five ducklings of her own

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and 1,439,045 others

tagged: kimiantonelli, isackhadjar, jackdoohan, olliebearman & gabrielbortoleto

f1: head over to our youtube channel now to get to know our crop of new drivers at the rookie round table!

view all comments

user1: i have been moved

user2: more of this type of content please

user3: i think they could’ve gotten at least a couple of hours of footage here those kids love to talk

yourusername: not what i’ve been used to but a blast nonetheless!

kimiantonelli: you will be coming to all of the races, right?

kimiantonelli: right? please!

yourusername: yes, i will be there kimi don’t worry

kimiantonelli: omg yay!

user4: oh no… they’re attached…

user5: someone call carlos sainz, is he aware he’s become a father of five overnight?

carlossainz55: excuse me?

gabrielbortoleto: hi!

carlossainz55: no no no i don’t do all of this grid kid nonsense

isackhadjar: please don’t say that i have abandonment issues :(

carlossainz55: what ???

user6: bro sat back and watched charles adopt all the kids last season but now it’s his turn

user7: ollie is meant to be charles’ grid kid…

charles_leclerc: A ROBBERY?

carlossainz55: you can keep him !!!

olliebearman: you don’t want me 😢

yourusername: carlos don’t be mean to them!

carlossainz55: what the fuck is going on right now ???

user8: carlos left his gf for one 20 minute interview and now has kids ?

user9: ugh i’ve missed this chaos

jackdoohan: can we do all media with you @yourusername ?

yourusername: i don’t think so :(

jackdoohan: so not fair :(((((

jackdoohan: if we don’t have media with you can we at least come to dinner?

kimiantonelli: i’m free for dinner!

gabrielbortoleto: me too

isackhadjar: me three

olliebearman: can we get italian?

carlossainz55: nuh uh it’s date night tonight

kimiantonelli: *our date night

carlossainz55: no?

yourusername: come on carlos…

carlossainz55: fine! but just this one time

user10: it’s going to be a long season for mr sainz i fear

yourusername

liked by kimiantonelli, jackdoohan and 381,945 others

tagged: carlossainz55

yourusername: australia that’s a wrap on qualifying - a few surprises at both ends of the grid!

view all comments

user11: i am an old man who usually hates the fluffy stuff off of track but kimi going in for a hug in the media pen was very cute

user12: i think people forget just how young he is so it’s good he feels he has other people to go to in the paddock!

user13: his poor media handler looked very confused

olliebearman: can we definitely get dinner now :( talking to you in the media pen was probably the only good thing from today

yourusername: of course ollie! i know it was a tough day but you’ll get in the swing of it with the car

carlossainz55: i thought we were going to be able to shake them for dinner :(

olliebearman: CARLOS I AM IN DISTRESS PLEASE PAY FOR MY PASTA

yourusername: he clearly needs comfort!

carlossainz55: he doesn’t need comfort he’s trying to extort us

olliebearman: so you don’t love me enough to let me extort you?

carlossainz55: no?

user14: these rookies are cracking me up

user15: please strap them down in front of a camera and let them yap

gabrielbortoleto: did you see my save?

yourusername: i did! very impressive gabi

gabrielbortoleto: did you @carlossainz55 ?

maxverstappen1: so i mean nothing to you now?

gabrielbortoleto: NO! i love you max - did you see my save?

maxverstappen1: it was very impressive bubbles

carlossainz55: definitely not a ‘b grade’ driver

gabrielbortoleto: OMGGGG THANK YOU

maxverstappen1: i give up?

yourusername: i don’t really know what’s happening right now - but just go with it max, he still loves you he spoke at LENGTH about you to me just this morning

user16: these kids be attaching to anyone who looks at them

user17: they’re just like me for real

isackhadjar: looking forward to debriefing over garlic bread :D

yourusername: you were amazing today isack!

isackhadjar: hehehehehehehehe

carlossainz55: at least this one isn’t shouting at me

jackdoohan: what about me?

carlossainz55: you know what, you’ve bothered me the least so you’re my favourite

kimiantonelli: NOT FAIR

olliebearman: but i cycle?

gabrielbortoleto: but you liked my save?

isackhadjar: all i want is some garlic bread :(

yourusername: carlos! you can’t say one of them is your favourite - that’s not how kids work

carlossainz55: i never asked for this !!!

carlossainz55

liked by isackhadjar, olliebearman and 609,285 others

tagged: yourusername

carlossainz55: back in italy for imola and on a date with my favourite girl

view all comments

user18: carlos went to italy extra early so they could have dinner without the rookies intruding lmao

user19: bro is being haunted by five kids

user20: he’s better than me because i would crumble immediately

yourusername: no one else i’d rather be with

carlossainz55: i’ve missed being with you (just you)

yourusername: we’ve had just enough alone time i think

landonorris: gross

carlossainz55: not you too

landonorris: if you think about it i was technically your first kid…

carlossainz55: ONE NIGHT WITHOUT THIS NONSENSE PLEASE

user21: i think carlos might be losing his mind

alexalbon: oh he definitely is if his loud ramblings i can hear through the driver room walls

yourusername: i think he’s just like that?

carlossainz55: huh?

yourusername: you asked me on a date because you were talking to yourself loudly before our interview about ‘how pretty my smile is’

carlossainz55: my thoughts are loud!

carlossainz55: but in that instance i’m very glad they were screaming in my head

yourusername: i’m very glad too <3

user22: omg that’s such a cute/concerning meet cute

user23: the most carlos sainz thing ever i fear

kimiantonelli: i see our invite got lost in the mail?

olliebearman: and in kimi’s home country… that’s just cruel

carlossainz55: i would like ONE romantic night with the love of my life ALONE

carlossainz55: CAN I PLEASE HAVE THAT? I DON’T THINK I’M ASKING THAT MUCH

isackhadjar: you didn’t need to be that mean about it :(

kimiantonelli: i’m sorry, i just wanted to show you the best places in imola …

olliebearman: does this mean you don’t want to go cycling on thursday anymore?

jackdoohan: can i still go for coffee with y/n?

gabrielbortoleto: we just wanted to see you guys :(

yourusername: no my babies :((( we love you and of course we want to see you! we just need to have some alone time every once in a while

carlossainz55: y/n please stop feeding into this

carlossainz55: STOP SHOWING ME THE PHOTOS THEY’RE SENDING YOU OF THEIR SAD FACES

carlossainz55: FINE! WE’LL ALL GO FOR BREAKFAST TOMORROW NOW LET ME ENJOY MY NIGHT WITH Y/N

gabrielbortoleto

liked by kimiantonelli, olliebearman and 451,058 others

tagged: yourusername & carlossainz55

gabrielbortoleto: that was a big one! i’m sorry to the team but i’m happy to say that i’ll be okay and will be back for the next race. thank you y/n and carlos for coming and keeping me company in the hospital!

view all comments

user24: okay i know we’ve all poked fun at the grid kid thing and how it’s so funny that carlos hates it but for real, i’m glad they were in the paddock and were able to be there for him

user25: that makes all the jokey stuff so much better honestly

yourusername: we’re so happy you’re all okay gabi!

gabrielbortoleto: thank you for coming! i know i’m a bit of a drama queen but my parents couldn’t come from brazil so thank you for not leaving me alone :)

gabrielbortoleto: can we have a ducky sleepover?

carlossainz55: a what?

gabrielbortoleto: y/n calls us her duckies! so a ducky sleepover would be all of us coming over (and getting ice cream)

yourusername: i think that’s an amazing idea

carlossainz55: okay, okay. but i am never calling you guys duckies.

yourusername: just you wait baby :)

user26: his radio just reminded me how young him and all the other rookies actually are

user27: i want to just wrap them all up in blankets and tell them it’s all going to be okay

user28: good thing they have y/n and carlos to do that

alexalbon: he won’t tell you this but he did run back to his drivers room to get gabi a jumper and a blanket, he’s a softy for them really

yourusername: that's my man 🥰

kimiantonelli: we’re the five duckies so please refrain from flipping into the barriers again please and thank you

yourusername: kimi?!

carlossainz55: that’s not how we word these things kimi

kimiantonelli: woah i’m trying to lighten the mood

olliebearman: everyone has been a real debby downer today - like three of us got points! (this is a joke, i am happy you’re okay gabi)

gabrielbortoleto: bring the mood back down, i’ve got some more things i want to get with my sympathy points

carlossainz55: gabi???

gabrielbortoleto: fernando taught me to take advantage of anything and everything

carlossainz55: that sounds about right…

user29: why is fernando still at the scene of the crime

kimiantonelli: he’s old! he won his last championship before i was born!

fernandoalo_oficial: @carlossainz55 control your kid

carlossainz55: excuse me? after what you’ve taught gabi?

fernandoalo_oficial: oh don’t act so innocent carlito - did isack or did isack not steal all of the goodies from the media pen because he MANIPULATED the comms girls

isackhadjar: i DID NO SUCH THING

isackhadjar: i am just a nice guy!

jackdoohan: he distracted them and i took them!

fernandoalo_oficial: scoundrels

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 561,093 others

tagged: olliebearman, kimiantonelli & yourusername

carlossainz55: as much as they’re annoying - i love our duckies and it’s going to take more than one DNF to turn me against them

view all comments

user30: oh wow he is a changed man

user31: i fear this is a real mark of maturity because believe me i’d be crashing the fuck out (pun intended)

user32: i mean now he’s seen it back he defo knows that it wasn’t really any one person’s fault

olliebearman: I’M SO SORRY CARLOS

olliebearman: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FORGIVE ME

kimiantonelli: what about me ????

olliebearman: you are NOT the priority here

kimiantonelli: we have a ship name ??? does that mean nothing?

olliebearman: not right now? not when our cycling sessions are on the line?

carlossainz55: are you guys finished arguing now?

olliebearman: can you forgive me now so we can get back to arguing

carlossainz55: i told you guys there’s no hard feelings, we all got squeezed in the rain - stop stressing

olliebearman: okay thanks

kimiantonelli: thx

kimiantonelli: anyway

kimiantonelli: HOW DARE YOU NOT WANT MY FORGIVENESS FIRST?

olliebearman: omg you’re so self-involved

jackdoohan: you gonna let him say that kimi?

kimiantonelli: ME? SELF-INVOLVED?

isackhadjar: ollie i can hear him bitching from here…

olliebearman: GASP!

gabrielbortoleto: kimi… clearly he doesn’t care about the sanctity of bearnelli

kimiantonelli: i can’t believe this 😖

yourusername: right okay let’s calm it down boys

carlossainz55: no this is quite entertaining let them keep going …

yourusername: so you are the bad influence

carlossainz55: if we have to keep them around i might as well enjoy it

yourusername: really?

carlossainz55: the longer they argue and instigate, the less they are bothering us and i can actually spend time with my girlfriend

user33: this whole comment section is just one big familial domestic

user34: they are everything to me

user35: carlos can never retire now i’m sorry those are the rules

yourusername

liked by sebastianvettel, pierregasly and 892,304 others

tagged: kimiantonelli, olliebearman, carlossainz55, isackhadjar, gabrielbortoleto & jackdoohan

yourusername: omg all five of our duckies scored points and carlos was on the pdoium this weekend at silverstone!!! what an anniversary weekend, and our duckies remembered!

view all comments

user36: THE DUCKIES

user37: i don’t care how dumb the nickname is i love it so much

user38: free yourself from thinking everything is cringe

jackdoohan: so since you’re from silverstone, can we claim this as a home race so we can all say got points at home

yourusername: i’ve seen shakier logic from oscar so i’ll say yes!

oscarpiastri: RUDE

kimiantonelli: he’s just bitter because no one cares about his lil grid kid stunt in monaco anymore now we have y/n and carlos

oscarpiastri: omg ??? leave me alone

olliebearman: come say that to our faces 😡

jackdoohan: he won’t we out number him

iscakhadjar: 💪

oscarpiastri: you people are all like rabid dogs

carlossainz55: watch what you say about the duckies

oscarpiastri: this is crazy, you were the one who was constantly complaining about them

carlossainz55: yes well now i like them! and i don’t appreciate your tone

oscarpiastri: why weren’t you this nice to me as a rookie?

carlossainz55: eh?

gabrielbortoleto: he just likes us better!

carlossainz55: he’s not wrong…

oscarpiastri: fine! charles is a better grid dad anyway

oscarpiastri: and while we’re at it i’m gonna claim max as well

charles_leclerc: yeah i never complained about oscar, i took him in immediately!

maxverstappen1: i don’t know how i got roped into this but yeah - we’re better!

user39: you know what? sure

user40: i stopped asking questions a long time ago

user41: they got them gifts for their anniversary? that’s too fucking cute i can’t

user42: duckies you are so iconic

carlossainz55: i guess the duckies are good for one thing - gifts

yourusername: it’s definitely a perk!

carlossainz55: but i’ll deal with all of their chaos if it means being with you

yourusername: awwwww i love you too

yourusername: so much we have five kids before being married…

carlossainz55: is this a hint?

yourusername: i don’t know you tell me?

kimiantonelli: PLEASE DON’T PROPOSAL WITHOUT US THERE

jackdoohan: that is a threat

olliebearman: bagsy being a bridesmaid

isackhadjar: i know someone who can get you the eiffel tower?

gabrielbortoleto: omg my first wedding party !!!

carlossainz55: let’s all slow down for a second - i will propose but you little devils will not be involved…

yourusername: but they’re so cute 😢

carlossainz55: maybe… but only because i love you

fin.

note: kinda on fire today? i will be crashing in like two hours so i had to be productive while i could be

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 social media au #f1 #carlos sainz instagram edit #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz social media au #kimi antonelli #gabriel bortoleto #jack doohan #ollie bearman #isack hadjar

1K notes · View notes

deathofacupid · 3 days ago

Text

ceo!sukuna x bubbly!barista!reader, i fear it's my new obsession. banner credits to @/uzmacchiato. both inspired by, and dedicated to @salsakiyoomi! hope you like it, pretty <33

ceo!sukuna, a man whose resting face could curdle milk, hates physical touch. like, he'd rather wrestle a rabid badger than endure a friendly pat on the back.

his employees? mere rodents scurrying around his corporate cheese grater, their sole purpose to make his existence slightly less agonizing.

of course, they mostly failed at that. they were less "competent assistants" and more "walking disasters with access to staplers." his day was basically a high-stakes game of "clean up the employee-induced apocalypse," and he was running out of patience, and more importantly, employees.

ex-employees, he'd mentally correct, adding them to his ever-growing blacklist. he'd personally ensure they'd be lucky to get a job at a clown college.

and yet, despite this raging misanthropy and deep-seated aversion to human contact, he ends up craving your arms. the irony was thicker than his expense reports.

"'kuna?" you ask, peering up from your couch fort. "how was your day?"

a grumble is his reply. you've deciphered his grumbles into a complex language, and this one translates to "hell on earth."

you open your arms, and he promptly transforms into a sentient, grumpy weighted blanket, flopping onto you with the grace of a falling grand piano.

you wheeze, but you're used to it. he’s basically a cat, except instead of knocking things off tables, he knocks the air out of your lungs.

"don't even get me started," he mutters, his voice muffled by your chest. he sounds like a toddler who just lost his favorite pacifier. "do you know how many people i had to terminate today?"

"fired, you mean? sukuna, you mean fired, right?" you’re picturing a corporate bloodbath, and it’s not a pretty image. he waves a dismissive hand, which, due to his position on top of you, almost knocks your phone out of your hand.

"yeah, yeah. whatever. they were basically performance art pieces of incompetence."

"okay, but, like, how many?"

"enough." he then changes the subject. "what about you, flower? how was the café?"

your mood instantly does a 180. "oh! it was great! nice and slow. but this one guy came in, all grumpy about his coffee. said he could make it better."

"he did?" sukuna raises an eyebrow, a feat considering he's basically face-planting into your chest. "what happened?"

"told him to go do it, then," you say, grinning. "and then kicked him out."

"that's my girl," he says, a rare flicker of approval in his eyes. "did you throw his coffee at him first?"

"i considered it, but i didn't want to waste good coffee."

he's impressed, that much he'll admit. he shifts, crushing you further. "sukuna!"

"i've been away from my girl all day," he grumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "let me have this."

for a man who supposedly treated physical contact like it was kryptonite, he sure seemed to enjoy clinging to you. maybe he just needed a you-shaped stress ball, you think. and maybe, just maybe, he was secretly a giant softie, hidden under layers of corporate armor and general grumpiness.

or maybe he just liked your couch. either way, you were trapped, and honestly, you weren't complaining. too much.

general taglist: @jeonwiixard. (i didn't forget this time 👩‍❤️‍👩)

#i know fam #its a wittle cheesy #BUT I NEED CHEESY #i need mind numbingly #tooth rottingly #ulcer inducing #fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen x y/n #ryomen x reader #ryomen x you #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna ryomen x reader

1K notes · View notes

reignpage · 1 day ago

Text

Pathetic piner!Gojo has loved you all his life. You’ve been best friends since you were in diapers and even though he didn’t know what love was at the ripe old age of two weeks, he knew, you were the one.

Pathetic piner!Gojo lucked out when you two had gotten drunk during some stupid college party and you kissed him. Sure, you thought he was someone else, but a kiss was a kiss, until it turned into more.

That ‘more’ was the best night of his life; he gotten to see sides of you he had only ever dreamed about, tasted inches of your skin he never thought he’d feel, and best of all?

He made you feel good.

Maybe not as good as you made him feel but every time after that, he had worked hard to bring you closer and closer until you could share that feeling that’s been brewing in his heart since.

Pathetic piner!Gojo wasn’t the biggest fan of the arrangement you two had began — he wanted more, craved more, but he didn’t dare push you. He’d lose his mind if that ever happened. So, instead, he told himself it was enough. He was your best friend, you trusted him with everything, you shared memories no one else could ever have, and you were in his bed practically every night. No one could replace him.

And. That. Was. Enough.

But…

You would do things that made him hopeful. When you brushed his hair back, adjusted his sunglasses, and called him ‘pretty.’ Things that threatened to pull his heart right out of his ribcage so he could give it to you. These were things that made him special. It must have been a sign of love, the kind that he feels, the obsessive, all-consuming, manic love.

Right?

Why is it then, that he’s watching a guy leave your apartment just as he’s carrying a bag full of takeout to surprise you with?

Pathetic piner!Gojo rushes to your room and bangs the door much louder than he’d like but he can’t seem to care about it. And when you open said door and come out, surprised and concerned, the words that leave his quivering lips are drowned out by the tears that are falling from his eyes.

Pathetic piner!Gojo asks, voice rough and distorted, “Did you sleep with him? Do you love him?”

Thoroughly confused, you can only reply with an ‘uh, no?’

His laugh isn’t one you recognise. It’s mean and scathing but not at you. No, never at you.

“Satoru, that was just a classmate dropping off some notes. What’s wrong?”

Pathetic piner!Gojo rambles on and it’s as if he can’t hear you. “So then why don’t you want to date me? Why don’t you love me the way I love you? Do you even have any idea how I feel? Baby, I feel like I’m dying. Like someone’s just torn a hole through my chest. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat or breathe or live! P-please…just give me a chance. I’ll be good.”

Pathetic piner!Gojo is baffled when you start laughing. His tears pause mid-way and he even feels the tips of his ears burning despite not knowing why exactly he should feel embarrassed.

“Toru! You actual idiot. I thought we’ve been dating all this time.”

Pathetic piner!Gojo says, “Oh.”

“Get in, loser. We’re gonna have to have a talk.”

And despite the stern tone of your voice, Pathetic piner!Gojo smiles and skips inside your apartment feeling mighty good about himself.

Until, of course, he realises he dropped the takeout.

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk fic #jjk satoru #jjk gojo #jjk drabble #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo fic #gojo angst #gojo fluff #gojo x you #gojo drabble

2K notes · View notes

kristina100000 · 1 day ago

Text

so much is happening fucking everywhere but what happened today in belgrade was insane. i just have no words. i keep getting goosebumps. god knows how many people were here, fuck me if there were not a good 500k - 1 mil, we sang the national anthem and i cried like a child after what feels like years. 15 minutes of silence for the people who tragically died in novi sad in november (pieces of shit, of course, used a sound grenade in the 11th minute to scare people away) and so on. this can never happen again. our government will burn along with everyone who still supports this regime. the entire balkan region will rise and live in unity. we must not hurt each other ever again

1K notes · View notes

baepsays · 2 days ago

Text

‧₊˚𓇢𓆸 I'D GIVE YOU EVERYTHING (I JUST WANT TO SEE YOU WIN)⸻ clan head Gojo

Chapter One: Lord Gojo

𓍯𓂃 pairing⋙ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader

𓍯𓂃 description⋙ navigating a married life is hard enough, it is harder when you know nothing about your husband other than his heroic scars and dizzying smile.

𓆰𓆪 cw in this chapter⋙ canon divergence, nsfw, MDNI, clan and jujutsu world politics, arranged marriage, husband Gojo, Gojo with scars, one sided conflict, one sided pining, suggestive stuff, they are both a little stupid about e/o, misogyny (not by Gojo), internalized misogyny on reader's part, insecurities, dysfunctional families, fem oriented reader, use of she/her pronouns, self deprecation on reader's behalf, angst, some fluff, condescending Gojo, they do stuff in bed idk how to explain, manhandling, love bites, hickeys and marks, teasing, so much teasing, very lowkey dirty talk, talk about virginity, mentions of breeding, there is reluctant consent, emotionally detached Gojo, Gojo is just a bit mean, sexual tension in the air or just need to runaway? reader in her early thirties, Gojo is in his mid thirties.

𓍯𓂃 a/n: hope you have fun reading <3 if you'd like to be added to the tag list, refer to the series masterlist<3

word count: 7.5k

The world of jujutsu was reformed drastically following the events of devastation that took place during the Shinjuku showdown. Many lives were lost, and many were left alive with the misfortune of living with the memories of the events. One such person happened to be the strongest himself, Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru basically came back from touching death himself.

The sheer surprise of his life being spared after all that he went through to have his students win a losing battle, and live a better life as a sorcerer—was enough to have rumors circulate that perhaps the now scarred up Gojo Satoru is just a shell of a man from who he used to be.

The intensity of his powers were apparently dulled, especially the six eyes. The great blessing and curse on Gojo Satoru’s name, his six eyes, were left intact, but rendered basically powerless.

But it did not matter how much Gojo Satoru has weakened, how the current state of him could not compare to who he was. Because this was a man who has escaped death time and time, any fear that may have been there in those glowing eyes, was gone to say the least.

If one does think of it, Gojo Satoru is just as much of a changed man as everyone thinks of him to be, the nights he used to sleeplessly spent were now spent with a better sleep schedule. False pretenses were dropped. He was older, wiser, a man who has been struck with grief all through his life, and was now living a more predictable life. Now he just spent his days looking after his estate, staff, and helping his students as much as he could as a more powerful figure, in terms of not only his physical but also political capabilities.

The gruesome news of what took place in the room of the higher ups before the Shinjuku showdown was the first of such help. Just whispers were heard about the state of the room, if he was ever bravely asked of what exactly happened that day, the eerie smile was enough, on top of his now mostly left uncovered eyes.

The need for silence was more needed than boasting what he had done, with no remorse, as he never felt any for the vile people present in that room that day. As the jujutsu world was more or less at peace, the clan politics was still present, silently fuming away from everyone’s eyes. And as the head of the Gojo clan, he had to step up to his role more proficiently.

And with the newfound responsibilities and increasing age, the pressure to find a wife was becoming more and more vital.

Hope was not something you relied on usually, or at all. As a person born with no actual cursed energy to wield them in a battlefield, other than being mildly able to see horrifying entities float around, it was hard.

It was hard as it is to be a non-sorcerer born into a family of jujutsu sorcerers, it was probably harder as an unmarried woman, now in her thirties, surrounded by people who deem women nothing more than a womb on a pair of legs.

It was no concern to them if the world was burning down or if you were dying, your apparent reproductive clock was better understood by them than you. At least as a child it was a hush hush, and tease of sorts when the topic of your future husband was brought up, which was more often than not. This went on until you graduated university like any other normal human being, as the world of jujutsu did not seem to work out.

You liked that life. The normal life that these people looked down upon, making normal friends, falling out with them over petty reasons than losing them to some blood hungry curse, going on trips them them, stressing about exams, pulling all nighters to submit a assignments, getting asked out on dates, growing plants, spending weekends by reading books and binge watching some show.

There was nothing significant in the lifestyle these people aspired for and maintained.

And you did not want to end up in an unfamiliar house having to start from scratch, how to mind yourself and navigate the unprovoked stares of disgust. Especially by a man who was supposed to love you for better and for worse, til death does you apart—if it were up to you, you would not like to bind yourself to this man, to begin with.

But then again, that was all wishful daydreaming. Especially when you are already sitting in a reserved private room at some fancy place, waiting to meet another prospective husband. At this point you have met at least over ten or hundred possible husbands, you have lost the count. To your parents and clan they were either too obnoxious, not as affluent as them, too egregious, not influential enough, or not as powerful as them. But this was no ordinary prospective meeting. After all this was the potential meeting that could tie your family to the Gojo clan.

He was everything they wanted to be, had all the qualities they were looking for in your future husband, and everything they despised. He was too egregious, too obnoxious, too condescending, righteous to a fault, and too giving. Yet, it did not waver their desire to have you tied down to this man. That was the effect of Gojo Satoru. It did not matter how much he had weakened in terms of physical strength compared to the new generation, it was how he boasted of that weakness and walked with his head higher than ever.

You did respect the man immensely. But you could not help but hold grudges against this man, whom you are yet to even meet. Grudges over how freely he lived. You have never in your life felt jealous of your peers’ powers, surely you have felt resentment. But that was over your own blood. But this man in particular you could not escape, probably even to the pits of hell he will follow you there to agonize your life.

The thought of possibly calling him your husband made your stomach fill with bile.

Your silent thoughts ran wild as you waited silently, sitting opposite an empty chair, surrounded by people chattering anxiously about the absent man in question. Your parents, a few important members of your clan, and a few members of the Gojo clan started to become more and more weary about the clan head’s arrival.

The clamour in the room stopped way before the doors to the room slid open. That was the sort of energy he exuded. Enigmatic and formidable.

The man who walked in, adorned in the most finely made white haori, complementing his hair, with a scarf around his neck. He looked almost the part of the groom, with half the outfit already hanging off his shoulders. But it was not the careful stitching of the jacket, or his sculpted body peeking through the compressed shirt beneath his jacket, or the piercing blue orbs set on you, that made you static in your seat—breathless even.

The three big scars that cut through his left cheek, under his right eye, and the one stretching from his chin down his jawline, accompanied by more scattered and faded out smaller scars, spread through every visible part of his body—that is what had your mind standing still in awe.

“Ah! Greetings Gojo-sama. Such an honor to be in your presence, finally.” Your father’s voice brought you out of the blue pupils assessing every single cell on your body. The realization that you had dared to hold gaze with Gojo Satoru of all people, that too on your first meeting, ran your throat dry. Quickly training your eyes on the table in front of you, as if it was the most interesting piece of furniture, you reached for the glass of water served to you. Hoping, praying, begging that you did not just offend him.

“Why? I made everyone wait too long.” The tone of his voice suggested anything but a polite question. Maybe steadiness and jest, but no place for ease.

“No! Of course not, in fact you are right on time!” One of the Gojo clan members quipped beside him. Looking ever so slightly from the edge of your eyelashes, you presumed this was the usual.

“Really? Then do you mind telling me if I'm actually on time or not? ” The question was directed to no one in the room but you.

“Gojo-sama, how can she-” Satoru cuts off your mother before she could finish the poor excuse she was about to make, “I was clearly not speaking to you, was I? Now, are you able to answer my simple question or simply too fascinated by the table?” A calculative smile stretched across his face.

“It is made out of cedar wood if you are wondering about that.”

The tone of his voice and that smile irritated something in you. All your life you have been a compliant decorative doll made out of unmoving porcelain, yet the sheer change in the inconspicuous inflection of this man’s words, pissed you off beyond everything.

“You are 24 minutes late.” The words came out unusually harsher than your usual voice. “Gojo-sama.”

The last bit of that respect came from the instant realization of what you did, followed by your mother’s eyes almost popping out of its sockets and your father’s disappointed sigh. They were as sure as you were, that this meeting is not going to work out in their favor. You were, on one hand ecstatic to have ensured that you were never going to be called this man’s wife, on the other hand the anticipation of what was to follow this meeting once you get home, made your stomach drop.

The members of either clan were already engaged in a dispute of words. “How dare a woman born with no cursed energy speak in such a tone with the head of the Gojo clan!” one of the members of his clan spoke with displeasure, slightly sitting up in his seat.

“Please excuse her insolence, she does not know any better. Apologize. Right this instance.” Your father urged you with his teeth pressed together.

You should’ve noticed the anger in his tone, but you were too busy observing the man sitting in front of you, from the curtains of your eyelashes as you held your head low. He sat with his grinning face held in his hand, the elbow of the said hand rested on the table, as he took a big sip of his tea. All the while boring his gaze in your, already itching with discomfort, skin.

The sound of the cup of tea pressed between his shining lips, being set down on the cedar table made everyone stop their sharp words thrown your way. It was definitely not the sound that the cup made, but rather whose cup it was, that made them halt their charges.

“I see. Then I must apologize to my wife to be, for making her wait that long for me.”

Weddings are difficult.

It takes a lot of preparation. Mentally and physically, it is extremely straining and of course the preparation, just organizing a lot of things all at once, drives one insane. The venue, the guests, the font for the wedding invitation, gifts for the guests, flowers, color of the silverware etc. meticulous things. And it takes a lot of people to have two people unite, in the name of the law and society, with God as the witness. But it is particularly harder to realize the significance of the act of being wed to a person, when you have no idea who that person is beyond the whispering gossips and scars of battle adorning his pretty face.

When you had no contribution to the choices made for the wedding preparation, or the person you are to be wed, it all feels less magical and more of a fever dream. The days before the wedding, you spent them holed up in your room, not really doing anything more than what you were required to do. So you solemnly spent those swift days contemplating things over and over again.

You thought you might not want to see your husband to be, before the wedding itself. But when the week before the wedding your father informed you that Gojo Satoru himself seeked out to have dinner at your house, you could not help but anticipate the sight of him. Wondering if he might show up in more casual clothing than his formal getups, wondering if the scar under his eye is still the same or did it somehow morph its shape, even if it has only been three weeks since you have seen him.

So you could not help but feel disappointment when he never showed up. All the food that was decorated on the dinner table was already cold, when an informant came to tell that, ‘Gojo-sama has sent the word that he cannot make it, and he is deeply apologetic to his fiance.’

Your shoulders sagged down as quickly as your father just asked everyone to start their meal. You did not understand the loss of appetite when everything before you was so delicious. It was all very confusing, maybe you just wanted to see him one last time before the wedding to reassure yourself. But then again, you cannot get rid of the doubt that did not stem from worry, but is fostered by fear.

“Are you ready?” your mother's voice made you look away from the reflection of yourself and instead your eyes focused on her. Because at least the harshness in her voice was more familiar than your own reflection.

“Time for you to enter. Everyone is waiting.”

The idea of being a married woman, to the strongest, at that—made the weight of the ceremonial kimono feel heavier than any piece of clothing you have ever dawned. The hood of the wataboshi partially covering your face felt like a shield, because while walking down the aisle it hid your eyes from peeking a glimpse of your groom. As much as it felt like you were dying, with the way your throat was constricting, making it harder for any air to pass—you could not help but take a peek at your groom, from below your hood, who was already standing there waiting for you.

His back was facing the shrine’s altar, and his eyes were trained on you. He looked like no other groom. Probably because no other groom has ever welcomed his bride with such a huge grin, while showing his back to the altar. It was Gojo Satoru after all. When has he done anything the usual way?

“Goodness, felt like you took forever sweetheart.”

His extended hand reached for yours, to pull you up to the podium, to have you stand beside him. The sight of his palms practically swallowing your entire hand, felt foreign. But the coldness emitting off his touch was worse. It was weird that he was touching you, but at the same time, it felt as if he was far away from your grasp. The distance and the coldness was far too sharp for you to keep holding his hand. And he probably understood that as well, as he loosened his grip to let you slip your hands out of his as soon as you could.

How the entire thing happened was beyond you. Your head was too occupied with how gorgeous he looked in his groom’s wear. Or maybe his blinding hair, or the scars scattered all over him, making him look more commanding than terrifying. It was all just very swift, if you had to describe it.

One moment you are contemplating whether you should make a run for it, not that it would help you. And then in another few seconds you two are already on your third cup of sake, completing the san-san-kudo ceremony, uniting yourself to him and joining your name to his.

“Still want to make a run for it sweets?”

You just looked at him, slightly horrified. “Anyone with two eyes can tell what you are thinking if they can catch a glimpse behind that hood, and I have six of them.” There was a tone of jest in his voice and the grin on his face.

“No. I, am just not feeling that well since this morning.”

“Then we must do something about that.” In one quick second, you were suspended in the air in his arms, your body was held close to his chest with the help of his arms.

The yelp that left your lips sounded louder than it should have, because that room full of relatives and influential people fell silent to the ordeal in front of them. But your astonishment was not due to the fact that your newly officialized husband has decided to embarrass you in a shrine where god witnessed your union—it was rather how contrary to the earlier, he felt warm.

“You feel warmer.” you could not help but let your thoughts slip out in a murmur. “Surprised?” you nod hesitantly realizing how that slipped out in a murmur.

“My infinity was up earlier, I noticed how you got startled. And how dare I make Lady Gojo flinch. ” There was a sense of tease in his tone, but also laced with pride and maybe some joy? He never fails to leave you perplexed. You had nothing to answer to that. Lady Gojo. That is who you were. The weight of your title made your head spin as Gojo walked you two out of the shrine, with you still in his arms.

The reception went as smoothly as it could have. Honestly coming to the reception was harder than the reception itself. Being in an enclosed space with Gojo was really more scary than marrying him in front of thousands of people. Now you just have to do exactly that for the rest of your life, or until your services are required.

He did not say or do anything much for the better part of the car ride to the location, other than handing you a water bottle and some packed riceballs, which were kept in the car before you two got there, with his instructions you presumed. You took it without any reluctance.

“Eat well. Who knows how much you might be able to eat there.” He was not wrong, you were expected to look and act as the perfect newly wed bride to the Gojo clan head, and that meant sitting there pretty and smiling at everyone. So you silently ate what you were given, unperceptive to those blue eyes staring at you with the intention of noting down every little detail about you, as a grin involuntarily stretched across his face, unbeknownst to either of you. Just Ichiji saw that in the rear view mirror and felt some relief for his employer.

With congratulations coming left and right, the title of Lady Gojo, being thrown at you at the end of every sentence, you could only think that your husband was right. Even the people of your previous clan were more respectful to you than they ever have been. As nice as they all have been, the pressure still hung suffocatingly high in the air. And you understood it had everything to do with the Gojo name being attached to you now. Or maybe it was Gojo Satoru himself, attached to you at every step, who made them hold their tongue. Your groom made it his mission to follow you around wherever you went, and loomed over every conversation you had with every familiar or unfamiliar individual.

“Will you let her breathe in peace?” “You really thought he was not going to be too much at his own wedding?” Two people chimed, with another man following them closely with solemn eyes.

“Sure, make my wife hate me . Some friends you guys are.” Never in your life you thought you would see Gojo Satoru pout. He was formidable, smug, maybe petty, and condescending, but the only thing you could think for a second was, cute.

Upon introduction you acquainted yourself with Geto Suguru, Irie Shoko, and Nanami Kento. Few of Gojo Satoru’s friends and comrades. They were probably the only people you had a sound and relaxed conversation with. Satoru seemed more at ease around them as well. They were in fact, the first bunch of people you felt were nice to you without any incentive hanging over them. The individual dynamic they have with your husband, and just all four of them together made you feel jealous of their bond. But again, that is something one only gains by growing up together or almost dying beside each other. And they have all of it.

The night ended soon after with everyone taking their leave, and the hall slowly becoming desolate. Satoru was ready to retire for the day as well. As he went to have the car fetched for you two to take your leave, your mother took advantage of that chance to catch you in the hallway, before you could leave after your goodbyes.

“You do know what you have to do tonight. Yes?”

The grip she had on your arm became increasingly tighter as each second passed without an affirmative answer from you. “Yes.”

“Do as you are instructed. And just let him take it.” Those were the last words you heard from your mother. Any sane person would gag at such interaction, but it was no more a surprise to you. Seeing your mother put on a faux smile as she entered the main hall, with one last glance at your way, ‘take it’ , that is all that you heard. You have been taught to just take it, all your life. If your male cousin likes your things, they can just take it. Your father is scolding you for speaking an octave too high, you just have to take that. You have to simply take all the snide comments and slimy suggestions, they are for your own good. When people made fun of your lack of powers, you were told to just take it as a lesser being. And now as you sit beside your newly wed husband, while being driven to his estate, you have to mentally prepare yourself to just let him take it.

After all that is all you were made for, that is all you are worth.

“Still not feeling well?”

The sudden question made you look at the source of the voice sitting beside you on the plush leather seats. “Yes?”

“Yes, you are not feeling well? Or yes, you were not listening to me?”

“Oh. I am sorry.” “Was that either of the options? Hmm?” The smile on his face was oddly comforting, and genuine. But that made it all more sickening.

“I did not hear you, I was just distracted.” “I guessed as much.” He did not say anything more, he looked away and went back to facing his side of the window, as did you. Or so you thought.

Satoru has been observing you since he came back from getting Ichiji to get the car up in front of the hotel, where the reception was held. He followed you closely from behind sensing the cloud of distress making its way back above your head. He somehow managed to get rid of them during the reception, and something or someone ruined all his hard work. And he did not appreciate that.

Right now he was trying to get a glimpse of your reflection on his side of the window. It was not slick. Nor was it very effective. Trying to find your eyes in the dark tinted glass was making him annoyed. He just wanted to hold your face in both his hands and stare down in your irises to draw out all the unspoken answers from the depths of your soul.

But that would effectively scare you off more than you already were.

So the next best thing was showing concern through more subtle actions. Like running out of the car just as it stopped on the stone driveway, in front of the huge doors of the main entrance. He made his way over to your side before you could even open your door. And in a blink of eye you were back in his arms. Now without the Haori, his skin was much warmer through the fabric of his Montsuki.

“Don't want you to tire yourself out more." He mumbled, way too close to your face than you would appreciate, his eyes were focused on the stairs leading into the entrance of your new house.

“Who am I if not your most obedient servant, Lady Gojo.”

Now it felt like he was trying his best to embarrass you. Was he trying to patronize you?

“You should not say something like that Gojo-sama, what if someone heard you?”

“If someone dared to eavesdrop on words meant for my wife, in the privacy of my arms— they know better than gambling with their lives.” The chuckle that left him was anything but humorous. The threat was very real behind those words, probably more present in his voice than his words.

The walk to the bedroom was long, it took many turns at long hallways to reach what seemed like the opposite end of the entryway. Where stood two sliding doors proud and all alone in that entire hallway. And every step he took to get closer to them felt like a sigh of breath leaving your throat to never return. And he probably felt that with the gripping dent of your nails in the back of neck, but he welcomed that. He felt nothing but contentment in you losing your composure in his arms. And he wished for nothing, but a lifetime of you letting yourself express your most hidden self in his arms, and have you leave your mark on him.

The bedroom was huge. And it was decorated with more than hundred candles, to perceptive eyes. All the expensive decoration, furniture, painting and scroll went invisible to your eyes—because there was only one thing in that room that caught your interest.

The bed. It stood on all its strong legs, near the huge windows overlooking the outside. It was surrounded by more candles, scented ones. And it smelled like the ocean and sweet tropical fruits. There were bouquets of roses and Lilies on each side of the bed, on the bedside tables. As Satoru placed you down on the fluffy and soft covers, the mattress almost engulfed you in itself. And it all became too real.

You might be Lady Gojo now. But the man hovering above you was Lord Gojo.

He can joke about being at your beck and call all he wants, but he was not the one married off to serve you. It was you who was instructed to just be a good wife and take it. You were here, on his bed, to serve him. To let him take you, take your virginity, and claim you as one of his many conquests. All you were good for, was to lie there and take his seed, to give him an heir and silently sit in a corner unless you are spoken to.

So why was he walking away from you?

“You are not- going to?” the hand you used to hold onto his wrist, to prevent him from walking away from you, was shaking.

“What do you mean?” The scrunch of his eyebrows made you think for a second he might be genuinely confused about what you might be referring to.

“You should know what I mean.” He truly is such a cruel man.

“If you don't speak to me clearly, I am afraid, I am too dumb to understand.” The smirk on his face said otherwise. “You are so mean.”

“How am i being mean to my own wife, if i don’t even understand what she is implying, hmm?”

“How will it be any more helpful if I say it out loud?” “I don’t know? You might have to find out for yourself.” He was annoying you now.

“I am trying to perform our duties and get over this, Gojo-sama.” Hopefully your stern voice camouflaged your nervousness and fear.

“Do you want to consummate our marriage that bad, Gojo-sama?”

The incredulous look on your face upon being addressed by the same title as him, by Gojo Satoru himself, was the last thing you expected out of this conversation.

“You- you, just- cannot address me like that!” “Why not? You are also a Gojo now. In fact, you are the lady of the clan now.” His argument was making more sound sense to you than your own head.

“I would have to argue your position is much more important than mine. From this day forward you are also Gojo-sama whether you like it or not. I hope you get used to it. And I don’t want to be called out by some title by my own wife.”

“You keep saying ‘my wife, my wife’, yet you are acting oblivious about our marital duties!” Suddenly the air was much heavier than how lightly it was circulating through the huge room. “You might get away with putting up a front, but my position in this marriage has been set in stone. So please spare me the questions and put an heir in me as soon as you can.”

You anticipated an array of reactions after such audacious proclamations. You guessed as much, the very second your tongue stopped speaking, the emotions on his face might be anything but that humorous and kind softness he has, oh so graciously, offered you up to this moment so far. And that made you look away from his face, which looked more halted than stoic, and in your experiences, surprises are almost always followed by anger or joy. And you were definitely not expecting him to clap his hand and offer you a big smile.

Your hand on his hand felt more foreign than before, so you pulled it off him. And it allowed him the satisfaction of at least not feeling your miserably shaking and soaking palm. And there it was, the anger.

Just as you let go of him, his own hand grabbed a mean grip on your wrist. It was confusing to understand what exactly happened in the moments after that. One second he is pulling you off the bed towards himself, next he is bending down to reach you half way across and pushing you on the bed with the weight of his body. You were essentially pinned onto your new marital bed. Both hands pinned on either side of your head, with a mean grip on your wrists by his huge calloused hands, and you were sure that you were done for.

“Since you have already cooked up these false ideas about what this relationship might look like, how about I show you a little glimpse into these imaginations?”

His face was probably close to yours by no more than half of one centimeter, you could feel his eyes searching for something in your own eyes, and you had no confidence to fake it. So you just shut your eyes real tight and waited for what was to come.

Satoru’s right hand glided itself from your wrist, to your forearm, under the sleeves of your kimono, until it reached up to your arms, where the bunched up clothing did not allow him any more access over your skin. The loud gulp you took, out of some sort of relief, was gone in a second.

Satoru was not a man to give up on the first hindrance, and people learn that usually the hard way. His eyes were more concerned with how your eyebrows were scrunched up, how tightly your eyes were closed and how your eyelashes were looking longer like that, or how you might end up making your lips bleed if you keep on biting down on them that hard. And how beautiful your neck looked, with the little knot in your throat going up and down with nervous gulps.

His right hand started working to get rid of the belts on your kimono, and his hand was slipping past every layer of clothing to reach your body. While his mouth made itself useful on your neck, peppering the most delicate kisses from the base of your neck, collar bones, along the column of your neck, up to your chin. And with several little scattered kisses on your jaw, Satoru’s eyes found your mouth open in a small gasp. Thankfully your lips did not bleed. But your eyes remained closed, too afraid to see what was going on, in the dim light of the candles illuminating the room in an orange hue, you were too scared.

You did not want to think about how his hand felt so cold and soothing on your burning skin or how his lips felt so warm and comforting. You did not want to see those blue eyes, or those scars spread all across his skin, particularly the one under his eye—it made you train your eyes back into those dilating pupils every time.

Satoru's hand was just below your breasts, it just stayed there. Sometimes moving an inch too close and then just going back to drawing circles around your torso, squeezing your waist at times—all while his teeth and lips worked all over your decolletage. Little bites and long intervals of his lips sucking marks around your neck, drew out hisses of pleasure out of you.

Who knew that being under your husband could make one feel this much pleasure?

His left hand never left its grip on your right hand. The platinum ring on his finger became warm over time, just like his cold hand, as it remained intertwined with your fingers. While his right hand found its way down your stomach, on the waistband of your panties. It was nothing impressive, not the sort of underwear one expects a newly wed bride to wear. It was a simple cotton panty, the bare minimum. Your family forgot that detail probably.

But Satoru absolutely did not mind. He liked the slightly loose elastic, it felt like any moment he could slip it off you, or slip his own hand inside. And it felt worn in, soft and malleable. He could tear it off you in a millisecond.

“Get it off already.”

“Ordering me around already, Gojo-sama? Hmm?” You were losing your patience. Who could’ve predicted that?

“Stop that.” “Stop what?” “You know what.”

“Again, Gojo-sama, if you do not tell me how will I know? Your poor, poor husband is not that sharp.” His patronizing voice vibrated in the crook of your neck.

“Stop. C-calling m. Me. Gojo-sama.”

“I don't know? Should I?

“Yes! You sound ridiculous!” Your eyes finally shit open and you rose up to now lean on your elbows, to get a better look at him. The unfastened kimono slipping off you and pooling under you in the process.

His eyes remained trained on you, hooded and shadowed by storms and turmoil in the blue sea, as he found refuge between your open legs. He was practically lying on your breast, with your bra on the verge of slipping off and giving him easy access to them, to mark them all over in pink and purple. Because clearly the plethora of lovebites on you, were not enough.

He did not say anything. Just the hand which was previously on your waistband, glided downward until it reached the back of your knees. His fingers worked with stealth while his eyes distracted you, like a predator. He grabbed onto your knee and pushed you back down on the bed, as both his hands found their place back on your wrists. While he cozied himself between your legs, and sat back on his knees.

He leaned in close enough to hover his own set of lips just above your own, just as they barely made contact—he moved his neck to glide those lips across your cheek, to your ear.

“I am glad we agree.”

“Then I can count on you, to not call me by that title again, right sweetheart?”

You did not have to see his eyes or his face to nod an instant yes.

“Use your words. Lady Gojo.” His voice came out harsher than ever.

“I won't call you that again.”

“Ah. What an obedient wife you are. Hmm? Your parents will be proud.”

With those last words dripping with nothing but sarcasm, he got off you. He silently fixed your kimono, tucked you in, and kissed your forehead with a whisper of goodnight. Right before he left you there to contemplate what just happened, and locked himself in the bathroom attached to your bedroom, for what felt like more than an hour. You did not really know if you were supposed to wait for him or not, what was he going to do when he came back?

All sorts of thoughts raced through your head, as you drifted into sweet slumber, on the most soft and comfortable bed you've ever come across in your life.

While Gojo Satoru hunched over the sink, looking like a freshly ripened tomato. He stared at himself into the mirror, with nothing but disbelief at his own audacity.

The morning came faster than it should have. It felt particularly premature to you when you spent the rest of your night, after the events that took place on your marital bed, by watching the ceiling above you with a blank stare. You did pass out for a brief while, but that was out of being overwhelmed to the point of losing consciousness. You were not sure if this was ok, to sleep in this huge room by yourself. But you could not, or maybe did not want to stop Satoru from storming out of the bathroom, and then speeding out of the room without sparing you a single glance. You wanted to enjoy one night peacefully in this bed, to compensate for many tumultuous ones to inevitably follow.

Even when getting off your bed to pace around the room, to maybe tire yourself out, sleep did not come. But if getting married was not tiresome enough to knock you out, then maybe walking around the room won’t do you any good as well. So you decided to take a walk in that huge garden sitting outside the floor to ceiling windows nearby your bed.

You did not make it much far into the huge garden. After the neatly arranged traditional garden, laid vast lands of grass and wild flowers, and bushes, and an arrangement of trees, including two cherry blossom trees sitting across each other, along the edge of a lake. It was lit with the reflection of the moonlight, falling on the surface of its water, scattering everywhere in a chaotic rhythm, because of the busy fishes moving around in it, probably enjoying the serene night. You would have liked to go take a seat near the lake, on one of those benches placed around it. But when you approached the nearest bench, under one of the cherry blossom trees, you found your husband already occupying it.

Maybe in another world, you went up to it and sat down beside him silently, maybe you spoke with him and tried to start a conversation. Maybe you two just sat together in silence, or maybe he saw you and walked away. But in this world, you could not even cross the five feet of distance that laid between you and that bench. Instead you walked back to your room, as silently as you could. You spent the rest of the night trying to get some sleep, as you laid on your side, and stared out of those huge windows by your bed, until the dark sky became blue.

Who knows what the outcome could have been if you walked up to that bench last night. Who knows what could have happened if only Satoru turned around and asked you to sit down instead of patiently waiting for you to come up to him. I mean, you should know better, five feet of distance is not that much for their presence to go unnoticed by him or his six eyes. Especially when it is you.

The morning itself was more uneventful, compared to last night. The shower was particularly soothing. ESpecially where he touched you last night. Maybe it has something to do with his powers you told yourself, but you knew better. Why it was burning everywhere he touched or why those marks of his teeth and lips stung so sweet—was not something you really wanted to think about, as it made you go weak in the knees.

It was all very uneventful, until you came out of the bathroom after your shower, to find Satoru sitting at the end of the bed. He was still in the black kimono from the wedding. He looked like he did not get any sleep either, or so it seemed, because this time around his eyes were covered with his blindfold. It was eerie, for most people to see Gojo Satoru without his black blindfold, but for you it was probably the other way around. It was weird to see him with it for once. And that person felt like an entirely different person, than the one you married yesterday.

“Goodmorning, Goj- Satoru-san.” His given name did not roll off your tongue the smoothest. But he appreciated that you listened to him.

“You can drop the honorifics as well.” There was an appreciative smile on his face as he spoke, but even with his blindfold on, you could tell that smile did not reach his face. “I do not know if I can.”

Satoru did not push you. One step at a time, right? Even if these steps did not come out of your own volition, but his petty threats, he still welcomed them with a humorous smile.

“I wanted to apologize about yesterday.” He did not suit humility, that is what you thought when a grin stretched along your face. Seeing him squirm and look so uncomfortable was new, even when his eyes were covered, you imagined them to look more sorry than body language. Satoru really was just not familiar with saying sorry, but he never backed away from apologizing when he needed to.

“I really crossed a line there, just to prove a point.” you did not say anything back but just stood in front of him with your freshly out of shower wet hair dripped droplets of water on the carpet. “I would understand if you do not want to forgive me, I would like to make it up to you however.” He was trying his best. His best to not stare at you blatantly in that silken baby blue robe clinging to your body, that he personally picked out for you. Or the peeking marks he left on you, that made him go dizzy. It was all him.

“It is alright.” you went to sit beside him, but instead of sitting just by him, you sat on one of the corners of the bed, keeping the distance between you two. “Really?”

“Yes. I do not think I would have minded if you went all the way. I do not really have any say in that.”

“What?” He genuinely looked confused for a few first seconds. Then something else creeped up on him, something close to pity or disgust.

“I was wedded off to you to serve you and your bloodline. It is my purpose.”

Satoru felt disgusted. By everyone and anyone who has ever made you think about yourself like this. But he was mostly disgusted by himself.

“I do not know how much more plainly I can put it, and it is not just some opinion of mine, it’s just the truth. But you are wrong to think that.” He got off the bed, to stand in front of you. At an arms length he looked further away than he actually was. His shoulders looked stiff and his jaw was tight. You have somehow managed to piss him off by saying things you were instructed to say all your life, to not piss off your husband.

“You are wrong.”

That was all he said before he stormed out of the room without a second glance. Exuding the sort of energy that said he might erupt like an angry volcano any minute.

SERIES MASTERLIST ‖ <<PREVIEW . NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

divider by @/omi-resources. header is from jjk manga, and watashitachi wa douka shiteiru adaptation

honestly i have been cooking this for almost a month and i am so indecisive about what i wanted to do with him i do not want to make an angsty story where the angst if because of Gojo being an ass, lol i think there are plenty of those, done far better than wtv i can do. so this guy is still very canon adjacent, emotionally unavailable in a way you know the people you think you have all figured but then suddenly you are like wtf??? i do not know anything about you. so lol i am using my own emotional constipation as heavy reference. he has many many layers, i want to explore his death in the shinjuku fight, his powers which i have left intact mostly but in a more weakened state than his students and what not. i want to explore his thoughts on that. reader's insecurities i wanted to make them as real as possible so if i make anyone sad, it was the goal, also i am sorry. it will get sadder just saying. even though i will make them have so many suffocating with tension scenes. it will be happy eventually!!! and i hope you gusy likeee itttt

tag list (1): @cheralith @slayzzz @madamechrissy @gojosperms @naomigojo @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @arcanarix @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @emyyy007 @ineedbetterhobbies0809 @littlemisswitch67 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @tabalugax @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @thetiredcollegestudent @tokyolhtl @emochosoluvr @moncher-ire @hyunjinspdf @younjunie @howmanytimesamigoingtotrythis @em0cleo @novaisbebita @hisarmsaremycocoon @wise-fangirl @sheep-infog @arrozyfrijoles23 @ppejmurde @miizuzu @ricecake-mochi @tushkiiiiiii @ovela @69-gojos-wife-69 @fariylixie0915 @lxxnour @mereniss @theorphicangel

912 notes · View notes

specialgradefckr · 2 days ago

Text

Satoru Gojo who thinks you're only with him for the money.

He's pretty insufferable, after all. And a shitty boyfriend to boot - always bailing on dates, showing up at weird times, telling you vague stories about his work that don't make sense.

Honestly he's surprised you've stuck around this long.

That you still read every message he spams you when he's bored and lonely fighting special grade curses.

(after all, he always has to go on those missions alone. there's no one who can go with him.)

You still text him back. Open the door to let him in. Smile when you see him, like it's the very first time and he can tell you're just so star-struck by his eyes as he tugs down his blindfold with a grin, "Do I look blind to you?" "Blindingly handsome!"

He'd laughed at that. You're shocked by his appearance, but you're earnest, and so obviously smitten, and he loves a woman with a little humor.

Satoru Gojo who didn't expect you to text him back after the first night, but you did.

cutie pie: omg, those look so good! what flavor? satoru: my favorite, the edamame and cream~ cutie pie: bring some for me next time you visit <3 i'll feed them to you ;)

On a lesser man, that might have sounded presumptuous. To Satoru, it's the perfect come-on. Casual, flirty, and easy to do - all the makings of a great hookup.

He hadn't expected to spend half the night on his knees like a dog, licking at your fingers. Watering over a thumb pressed down against his tongue while you drooled your mochi-sweet saliva straight into his open mouth.

Unexpected, but amazing! Satoru knew then that you were going to be a treat worth savoring.

It was just a shame that he could only enjoy you for one night.

Not even that much, really. He'd been called away in bed; one arm wrapped around your darling naked form, holding you pressed against him.

Left while you were asleep without a word. He'd texted you on the way, a blase little "sowwyyyyy smth came up! u were gr8 last night." and no real expectations of a return.

If you were (reasonably) upset with him, he'd block you - his one act of kindness to a woman he couldn't treat right.

Instead he gets "thanks! you weren't so bad yourself haha" and your enthusiasm is obviously a bit defused, but he can work with this.

He lays it out to you, next chance he gets. Tries to text you often enough to make sure you don't think he's ghosted you.

"I know this might sound like the kind of thing married men say," He says with a big, sardonic smile, "But I have a very demanding job. I don't have time for a relationship. And for personal reasons, I can't agree to be exclusive, either."

There's a look you give him that makes him wonder what exactly you think of his job. Satoru vaguely wonders if you think he's a sex worker.

He hopes you try to find him on porn websites later. Maybe he should film himself jerking off real quick sometime so you can watch it.

"That makes sense," Is what you say, instead of any of the ridiculous thinks he'd imagined.

You don't seem thrilled about it, but you don't look immeasurably disappointed, either. You're a smart girl. You'd probably already figured he couldn't commit.

"But!" He chirps, "I am very very interested in seeing you again. Multiple agains. And I'd like to come to an arrangement that makes that easier for you, since my schedule is so tight..."

For a moment, you stay quiet, and Satoru wonders if he should just offer you cash upfront. But you're receptive, and things go well.

Worryingly well, to be honest. What type of girl are you, exactly? Naughty thing. Get money from a lot of men, do you?

You laugh when he tries to bring it up in bed, "You're one to talk, Mr. can't-promise-exclusivity," you tease, running a hand through his hair while you smile at him.

He likes it when you do that. He likes a lot of things you do.

The real wonder is - although he is absolutely spectacular in bed of course - how much do you like it?

The whole relationship has to happen on his shitty, inconsistent schedule. He can't commit to a relationship or tell you about his job - you're better off that way. Even if you don't know.

Satoru Gojo who pretends to go on dates with other girls sometimes just so that no one watching him thinks he's serious about you. He can't have the Higher Ups thinking of you as a tool to use against him.

He can't even offer you exclusivity. Even if he wants to. Even if he struggles to get it up with those girls - his heart just isn't it in - when he's making sure everyone who's watching him knows you're just one of several people he's having sex with.

After all, the only thing that could be worse than people thinking you were the strongest sorcerer's weakness, was if they thought you might be pregnant with the strongest sorcerer's child.

But if he's fucking around, if he's the whore his so-called superiors make him out to be - then you're safe. Just another girl.

And god, does he take advantage of it.

Texting you late at night. Early in the morning. Times don't mean a lot to him these days.

The most sleep he ever gets is the rare night he spends with you, maybe once or twice a month, five hours in your arms before he pulls himself away and slinks out of bed while you're still asleep like a guilty dog.

He doesn't deserve your warmth or your bed. But he'll take it while you're offering. Eat it all up and beg shamelessly for seconds.

He makes up for it with money, or tries to. Leaves you treats and sweets and other gifts. Spam texts you and facetimes you constantly - when he can.

To be perfectly honest, he's kind of expecting to be dumped any day. He'll take whatever he can get.

If paying your rent or buying you a house makes you feel guilty enough to stay a few days longer with him, that's a good use of his money.

He arranges for you to receive an offer for a remote job, something flexible that will let you meet him whenever he comes calling.

His gifts get more lavish. He's always generous in bed, makes sure you have a good time.

He has a reputation to uphold, after all.

Sometimes he just stares at you when you're asleep. It feels like a waste to spend his precious few hours with you sleeping.

Look at you. All peaceful in his arms. Cuddling up to him.

He can admit, in the dead of night, with no witnesses but himself; the sight makes his heart tug.

If he could, he'd stay. Wake up next to you in the morning. Make breakfast, flirt, joke, maybe even take a little ~morning shower~ and have some fun in there.

It's so clear in his head. How you'd joke back. Smile and giggle and playfully bump against him. Give him a little kiss, a little hug before he leaves for work.

You would kiss his forehead when he got migraines. Hug him when he talks about his difficulties at work.

Your soft smile, your warm lips, your tight hug. It's all so vivid in his head. How you'd look in the morning light, staring at him while you think he's asleep.

Would you stare? What would show on your face, then?

He tries, very hard, not to imagine what your face must look like when you wake up alone every time you sleep with him.

What you think about when he's not there.

Do you wonder if he's with other women? Do you see his flirty texts - "sorry kitten daddy's gotta work late" "babygirl you're not my dad, he goes to bed at 9." - and wonder if he's said that to a hundred other girls?

Because he has. And that's what hurts, really. He could message a hundred girls and get a hundred vapid responses, all those notifications could build up in his phone and he wouldn't care.

But when it's you messaging him?

When you tell him about your day, or text him a picture, or pick up on the rare phone call he gets to make - Satoru's heart skips a beat.

What about you? He thinks about you checking your phone constantly to see anything from him, and it hurts.

You don't show any unhappiness about the arrangement. Every gift, every little arrangement or donation he makes, you accept it all with grace. Everything money can buy is yours, he makes that clear.

As long as you're with him, he'll spoil you rotten. And you were starstruck in the beginning, he could tell.

Expensive hotels, exclusive restaurants. First class flights everywhere, even a private jet if you want it. He brings you custom made jewelry worth more than people make in a year, pulls it out of his pocket and clasps it around your wrist like a passing trinket.

You get used to the constant spa days, the shopping trips. Ordering food for every meal. Living in a city center in a beautiful penthouse with brilliant fixtures. And you're happy like that. At least you look like you are.

But every time he sees you, you're with him. He can't tell if you miss him, if you're sad when he's not there.

He... he sort of doesn't want to know.

Satoru Gojo who loves you. And he hopes to god you don't love him back.

After all, if you did, then you'd want things from him he can't give. Shouldn't give.

But if all you love is his money? He's got tons of it. You can have as much as you want. He can make you happy. He can buy the love he can't afford to earn. He'll never run out of funds.

As long as it's only his money you love, he can have you forever.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #x reader #satoru gojo smut #ngl it's very light though

1K notes · View notes

pomegranatelifethis · 3 days ago

Text

Live in the moment

Batfamily x Youngest and Clumsiest Little Sister

"You were just walking… how did this even happen?"

Being the youngest member of Gotham’s greatest hero family was already a challenge, but being a complete disaster made things even harder. Yet, your brothers adored you—despite the fact that you constantly got yourself into trouble… or accidentally put yourself in danger.

---

1. Dick Grayson (Nightwing) - "My Reflexes Have Improved Thanks to You."

Dick spent years training to perfect his reflexes… but his real test was you.

Catching falling cups before they hit the ground? ✅

Grabbing you before you tumbled down the stairs? ✅

Stopping you from accidentally falling onto criminals? (Not so much…)

"You know what? One day, I'm going to tie a bunch of balloons to you. At least that way, you can’t fall."

But as much as you exasperated him, your energy reminded him of his younger self. And deep down, he had silently sworn to always protect you.

---

2. Jason Todd (Red Hood) - "Are You Getting Into Trouble on Purpose?"

Jason could handle Gotham’s deadliest criminals, but your clumsiness? That was a different kind of nightmare.

One time, you accidentally spilled coffee on a gang leader. You don’t remember what happened next because Jason whisked you out of there before things could go south.

"Look, kid, if you ever do something like that again… you will, won’t you? Ugh."

No matter how much he grumbled, he was always the first to come to your rescue.

---

3. Tim Drake (Red Robin) - "You Don’t Have to Try This Hard to Die in Gotham."

Tim analyzed your clumsiness and tried to come up with solutions. But no matter what he did, you still found ways to get into trouble.

A simple walk = Crashing into a streetlamp.

Drinking water = Somehow short-circuiting Gotham’s power grid. (They still don’t know how.)

"Alright, new plan: I’m making a drone that follows you 24/7. Just in case."

He tried to keep you safe, but in the end, he just accepted that you were a walking disaster.

---

4. Damian Wayne (Robin) - "How Are You Even Related to Us?"

Damian expected you to live up to the Wayne name. But your technique? A complete disaster.

One time, during training in the Batcave, you somehow managed to punch yourself in the face.

"Biologically, how is that even possible?!"

But if anyone outside the family tried to hurt you? They’d quickly learn that Damian’s sword was much faster than their escape.

"You might drive me insane, but no one else is allowed to hurt you."

---

5. Bruce Wayne (Batman) - "You Are Gotham’s Biggest Danger."

Bruce knew Gotham was dangerous… but keeping you safe was a whole different battle.

Whenever you tried to sneak out of the Batcave, he always caught you. And every time, he would take a deep breath before speaking.

"I’ve told you countless times. It’s dangerous out there."

"But I was just walking—"

"Yes. And last week, while 'just walking,' you nearly fell off a construction site!"

But no matter how many rules he put in place, his biggest fear was losing you. And in his own way, he always made sure you knew how much he cared.

---

Conclusion:

Being the clumsiest, most trouble-prone member of the Batfamily wasn’t easy… but no matter what, they all loved you. And every time you found yourself in danger, they were always there to save you.

693 notes · View notes

torubeth · 2 days ago

Text

he picks up his phone on the first ring, ‘yes sweetheart? did you already reach? where are you?’

‘i’m almost there ken but i think i’m gonna need a minute or two to recover’

concern flooded his mind ‘recover? what happened-‘

‘i just saw the most beautiful man ever!’ you squeal through the phone.

what.

‘he’s drop dead gorgeous ken! and he’s not even doing anything, he’s just standing there’ you sigh dramatically.

‘oh my god ken, his jaw is so chiseled i could grate cheese on it’ your squealing continues.

‘y/n what are you talking about?’

were you being serious right now? was his jaw not chiseled enough to grate cheese? was he not gorgeous?

why were you calling him, your dear boyfriend, to gush about some man guy?

‘and he’s in this light blue dress shirt which you already know is my personal weakness’

wait. oh.

just then, a small smile makes its way on to his face.

‘ken ken ken he just smiled! i think it might be my favourite smile ever! oh god, it’s so beautiful’ you’re swooning on the other side.

‘really? tell me more’ he’s full on grinning now.

‘i could go on and on but you know what? i think i’m gonna shoot my shot and ask him out. i’ll let you know how it goes later. bye, i love you’ you hang up and he has to stop himself from laughing.

he pockets his phone when sees you crossing the road to get to him.

you throw a small wave at him ‘hey, i was on my way to see my boyfriend but then i saw you and you’re just so beautifully sculpted and i decided that i’d rather spend my life with you instead. what do you say?’

‘i’ll have to ask my girlfriend about that’

‘of course a guy like you is off the market’ you feign defeat ‘but i bet i’m more prettier than her’

his eyes scan you from top to bottom ‘you’re ok i guess’

scoffing ‘gee ken thanks a lot. what’s the harm in playing along for a little bit?’ you pout, making him snicker.

you and your antics never fail to amuse him.

you feel his arms wrap around you then and pull you to his chest as you melt into him.

‘i’m not lying. my girl is the prettiest’ he says.

‘and i wasn’t either, you really do have a jaw for grating cheese’

(rblogs appreciated🤘🏼)

#saw a reddit post abt this and i went that’s so nanami #nanami fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x reader fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x reader #nanami kento

1K notes · View notes

kittysylus · 2 days ago

Text

⋆˚࿔ Lover boy 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

-the LaDS men as your high school boyfriends

୨ৎ── . Zayne

“You’re wrong.”

Zanye sighed, already rubbing his temples. “I’m not wrong.”

“Yes, you are,” you insisted, crossing your arms and staring up at him with that stubborn gleam in your eyes—the one that meant you were ready to argue about the dumbest thing just to get a rise out of him. “Pancakes and waffles are not the same thing.”

Zayne exhaled sharply. “I never said they were the same. I said they’re basically similar because they’re both made of batter.”

“Yeah, and that’s wrong. They have different textures, different purposes, different souls, Zayne.”

Zayne rolled his eyes. “Souls? Are you seriously telling me a pancake has a soul?”

“Yes! Pancakes are soft and fluffy, comforting. Waffles are crunchy, mischievous. Chaotic.”

Zayne stared at you. “Chaotic?”

“Absolutely,” you said, completely serious. “You never know how much syrup a waffle is gonna trap. One bite could be perfect. The next? Syrup explosion. You never have that problem with pancakes.”

Zayne opened his mouth, then closed it, exhaling again. “Love, it’s breakfast food.”

“It’s philosophy,” you shot back.

Zayne sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I literally don’t care.”

You smirked. “Because you know I’m right.”

Zayne groaned. “Oh my God—”

“You just hate that I’m always right—”

He kissed you.

Mid-sentence, mid-argument, Zayne just leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, successfully shutting you up.

For a moment, you forgot what you two were even talking about. His lips were warm, slow but firm, the kind of kiss that stole all your thoughts and left you completely dazed.

When he pulled away, he smirked. “There. Finally quiet.”

You blinked, processing what just happened. Then—

“…Okay, but that still doesn’t change the fact that you’re wrong—”

Zayne groaned loudly, dropping his head against your shoulder while you laughed at his suffering.

“Why am I even dating you?” he mumbled against your sweater.

You grinned, running your fingers through his hair. “Because I’m adorable and you love me.”

Zayne just sighed, knowing there was no winning against you.

And, honestly? He didn’t mind losing.

୨ৎ── . Xavier

You sat cross-legged on the library floor, flipping through your notes while absentmindedly reapplying your chapstick. You swiped the balm over your lips, pressing them together to make sure it spread evenly. The soft scent of strawberries filled the air, mixing with the faint smell of old books.

When you glanced up, you caught Xavier staring at you, his head propped up on one hand, his book long forgotten. His light eyes were locked onto your lips, and you could practically see the thoughts running through his head.

You smirked. “You want some?”

Xavier blinked, snapped out of his trance. “…Huh?”

“Chapstick.” You held up the small tube and wiggled it between your fingers. “You keep licking your lips like you want some.”

Xavier scoffed, straightening up. “I was not—”

Before he could finish, you leaned in, cupped his face, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Xavier froze. His brain? Completely short-circuited.

You pulled back with a smug smile, pleased with his dazed expression. “There. Now you have some.”

Xavier just blinked at you, lips slightly parted, as if trying to process what just happened.

You giggled and casually reapplied more chapstick, watching his face for a reaction. His eyes flickered from your lips to the lip balm and back to your lips again, like he was having an internal battle.

“…That’s cheating,” he finally muttered.

You grinned. “Oh? You wanted more?”

Xavier huffed, but his ears were red.

Feeling mischievous, you reached into your bag and pulled out a handful of different chapsticks. “Alright, since you’re so interested in my lip balm, let’s play a game.”

Xavier raised an eyebrow. “What kind of game?”

“Guess the flavor.” You held up a random tube. “I’ll put it on, you kiss me, and you try to guess what flavor it is.”

Xavier exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s just an excuse for you to kiss me.”

You feigned innocence. “What? Noooo. This is serious scientific research.”

Xavier rolled his eyes but leaned in, resting his chin on his hand. “Alright, hit me with your best shot.”

You quickly applied a new flavor and puckered your lips. “Okay, guess.”

Xavier leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a slow, deliberate kiss before pulling back just enough to murmur, “Mmm… vanilla?”

You gasped. “Ding ding ding! Correct!”

Xavier smirked. “Told you, I’m a pro.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s see how good you really are.”

The game continued, with you applying a new flavor each time and Xavier taking his time thoroughly testing each one. It was all fun and games until Xavier, now looking way too smug, whispered, “You’re just doing this so I keep kissing you, aren’t you?”

You, whose plan had completely backfired because now you were the one getting flustered, huffed and tossed a chapstick at him.

“Shut up and guess the next one.”

୨ৎ── . Caleb

You barely had time to react before it happened.

One second, you were walking down the school hallway, minding your own business. The next, you were tackled.

Well, not tackled exactly—but a solid weight suddenly latched onto you, nearly knocking you off balance. Arms wrapped around your waist from behind, and a familiar menace buried his face in your shoulder.

“Caleb!” you yelped, struggling slightly. “What the hell—get off!”

“No,” came his muffled reply.

You groaned, prying at his arms. “Why are you clinging to me like a damn koala?”

“Because I missed you,” he whined dramatically.

“…You saw me two hours ago.” you blinked.

“Two agonizingly long hours.”

You snorted, trying to push him off again, but Caleb only tightened his grip. A few passing students threw amused glances their way, but you had long since given up on trying to salvage your dignity around your boyfriend.

“You’re so needy today,” you muttered, exasperated.

“Wrong.” Caleb lifted his head slightly, smirking against your skin. “I’m always needy.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. “Alright, pretty boy, let me go. I have class.”

“No.”

“Caleb—”

“Give me a kiss first.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You literally ambushed me in the hallway, and you still want a kiss?”

“Uh-huh.” He gave you his best puppy-dog eyes. “C’mon, baby, please?”

You sighed dramatically before grabbing his face and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

The moment you pulled back, Caleb hummed, looking smug. “Another.”

“Oh my god.” You shoved him away. “Go bother someone else.”

“Impossible,” Caleb called after you as you walked off. “No one else is as cute as you.”

You didn’t turn around, but you definitely heard the girls nearby squeal at his words.

And judging by the stupidly proud grin you knew was on his face, that was exactly what he wanted.

୨ৎ── . Rafayel

You barely had time to grab breakfast that morning, let alone do your hair. So now, as you plopped down next to Rafayel in the schoolyard, you dumped all your hair essentials on his lap with zero warning.

Rafayel raised an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to be helping with this?"

"Obviously," you said, already gathering your hair into sections. "You have steady hands, you can at least hold a braid while I work on the rest."

Rafayel sighed but didn't argue. He held the braid you made as you worked on another, watching your nimble fingers move effortlessly. You were quick, practiced, and somehow managed to make it look effortless even without a mirror.

At some point, you passed him a brush. "Here. Try braiding this side."

Rafayel blinked. "Me?"

You smirked. "Scared?"

He scoffed, rolling up his sleeves. "Obviously not."

He was confident… until he actually started trying. Braiding was way harder than it looked. His fingers fumbled as he tried to copy your movements, but the strands kept slipping apart. You, watching out of the corner of her eye, started giggling.

"Stop laughing," Rafayel muttered, narrowing his eyes at his mess of a braid.

"I'm not laughing," you said, clearly laughing.

Rafayel gave up with a sigh. "Okay, fine. You're a hair-braiding genius. I'll stick to holding things."

You grinned in victory before reaching into your bag for a mirror. But instead of holding it yourself, you handed it to Rafayel. "Here. Be useful."

Rafayel rolled his eyes but held up the mirror as you added the final touches—clipping in colorful little pins and adjusting the braids into a cute, messy bun.

Then you looked at your reflection, tilting your head. "Not bad for a rushed job, right?"

Rafayel didn't answer.

Because he was gone. Utterly and completely gone.

You were adorable. No—beyond adorable. The little pops of color in your hair, the loose strands framing your face, the look of satisfaction in your eyes—he could die right now and be fine.

You finally glanced at him through the mirror. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Rafayel barely processed the question. "You're—” he stopped, exhaled, then said it with his whole chest—"the cutest thing in the entire world."

You blinked, then rolled your eyes with a laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

“No, I’m serious.” He put down the mirror and grabbed your face between his hands. “I think my heart just exploded.”

“Oh my god, stop.” You tried to pry his hands off, but he just squeezed your cheeks.

“I will never stop,” Rafayel declared. “Not when you look this cute.”

You groaned, smacking his arm. “Just say you want a kiss and go.”

Rafayel grinned. “I do want a kiss.”

You huffed, but the way your lips twitched upward gave you away. Finally, you leaned in and pressed a quick, warm kiss to his lips before pulling back with a smirk.

“There. Now shut up.”

Rafayel leaned in again, resting his forehead against hers. "Never.”

୨ৎ── . Sylus

Sylus had weaknesses.

Plenty, actually.

He liked to act all tough, like nothing fazed him, but when it came to you? That was a different story. You had too much power over him, and the worst part? You knew it and you used it against him.

Like right now.

You were sitting outside in the schoolyard with him, scrolling through your phone while absentmindedly playing with his fingers. Sylus was definitely not paying attention to his own phone—because how could he, when yous was right there, looking so effortlessly pretty under the afternoon sun?

Then, sighing dramatically, you tilted your head toward him.

“Lover boy,” you hummed, voice laced with teasing affection, “can you buy me a drink?”

Oh, hell.

Sylus was gone.

You could’ve just asked normally. You could’ve commanded him, like you usually did, and he still would’ve gotten up without question. But no—you had to weaponize those two words.

Lover boy.

His brain short-circuited.

He felt it the second his heart stumbled in his chest, the heat creeping up his neck. Sylus fought to keep his cool, but you knew. He could see it in your smug little smile, the way you squeezed his hand just slightly, testing his reaction.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he muttered.

You blinked, all innocent. “Doing what?”

Sylus squinted at you, leaning in closer. “You know what.”

You giggled, and damn it, you were just so cute, it hurt.

“So… does that mean you’ll get me a drink?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head.

Sylus groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “You could ask me to buy the entire vending machine, and I’d probably do it.”

“Good to know.” you grinned.

He sighed in defeat, standing up. “What do you want?”

“Surprise me, lover boy.”

Sylus literally stumbled at that, and you just cackled.

God help him. He was so pathetically in love.

999 notes · View notes

mageofmadness · 3 days ago

Text

CALEB + HOLE INSPECTION

(1.8k) ₊˚⊹ 𐙚🧸‧₊˚ nsfw [18+] includes: fem!reader, jealous!caleb, questionable morals, cheating (not on caleb it's just a shitty bf), hole inspections, virginity kink if you squint, dirty talk real filthy, side eyeing yandere caleb for the mention of broken fingers and kneecaps, fingering, pet names (I'll die by the hill of pips)

caleb who is selfish.

he wants you all to himself, and he doesn’t care what it takes or how bad of a person that makes him. he’ll do anything to have you. caleb will stoop to whatever depths, so when you start going on dates with this new guy, he wishes he was conflicted but he’s not.

he’s never tried to be a good guy, not when it comes to you. fair? sure, he thinks he’s quite fair. just? yeah, he has morals like anyone else, but when it comes to you? all bets are off and he will play dirty. there’s simply no other way to play when the stakes are this high and you.

caleb who has been climbing into bed with you almost every night for years.

surely that’s not meant to stop now, right? that just seems cruel and even more selfish than what he’s got going on because caleb can’t sleep if he’s not next to you, and you tell him the same thing, so why do you need to go on dates with this guy? what’s the point? you still kiss caleb goodnight, sometimes missing his cheek and sometimes it’s closer to the corner of his mouth. you still curl up with him on the couch and wear his sweaters around the house, something he watched carefully to see a change in, but things between you and him are the same, so surely you're not about to take all of that from him now? all because of some guy you met at work?

yet, said guy won’t leave, and caleb does not like it. he deals, he manages, but he does not like sharing because, once again, he is selfish.

caleb who meets the guy for the first time and instantly hates him. not even because he’s taking you out, it’s because he’s spineless. a boy that couldn’t even look him in the eyes to shake hands. a boy—plain and simple. caleb can’t help but feel bad for the guy, really, considering he’s taking you on a date, but you’ll come home to caleb at the end of the night and curl up with caleb in bed.

caleb is not above any of this because this guy is fleeting, he has to be. he doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know what you like or want or need. not the way caleb does.

caleb who is waiting up for you when you come home.

it’s been a few months of dates with this guy, but caleb still gets his corner of the mouth kiss every other night, and last night he fell asleep to the feeling of your soft thigh thrown over his middle, so it should be fine, right? instead you come home in tears, and his first instinct is to break the man’s hands. he needs to start with the fingers, then maybe his wrists.

“pips, what’s wrong?”

you’re adamant it’s nothing. that nothing happened and you’re overreacting and caleb thinks sure, you can overreact sometimes but everyone can and that’s what he’s here for: to understand and react accordingly as well. but he cannot do that, caleb cannot protect you, if you do not tell him what’s wrong. sitting in his lap on the couch, face buried in his neck, he can’t understand what you’re mumbling. it comes out like something is wrong with me, which surely cannot be the case. caleb must have heard wrong.

“something is wrong with you?” you nod. “nothing is wrong with you, sweetheart. why are you saying that?” caleb takes a deep breath. “you gotta tell me what’s happening or i can’t help.”

by the time caleb listens to the half-mumbled words you manage to get out around an errant sniffles, he’s already decided hands, wrist, and kneecaps will need to be broken to atone for this because that guy has some nerve insinuating there’s a single thing wrong with you. just because you didn’t want to kiss him? or, you tell caleb that you were fine kissing him, but when he tried to take things further, that’s when there were issues.

honestly, it takes everything in caleb not to scoff. the guy's more of a coward than he had initially gauged if he thought he a) deserved more than a kiss, first of all, and b) something is wrong with you because when he shoved his hand down your pants you weren't wet.

the guy doesn't exactly sound like a romeo.

“i don’t trust him,” caleb says plainly. “i never did. you deserve better, and i should have never let you walk out of that door.” you only sniffle and caleb tampers down his anger and tries again. “i’m so sorry, sweetheart. there’s nothing wrong with you, you know that?” nothing again, and caleb sighs. finally, “do you trust me?”

you nod, arms tightening around his neck.

“he touched you here?” caleb asks. his hand skates around your hip. you squirm in his lap but give him a small yes when his fingers dip between your thighs. “just touched or…”

nothing else, you’re adamant and caleb trusts you explicitly, but his blood is boiling hot and he just…he needs to be sure. caleb sits up, and you hmph, but he shushes you. he needs you to know there’s not a thing wrong with you, that this isn’t a you issue. he smooths his hand over the hem of your dress that rides up the back of your thighs when he moves, draping you over his lap this time, ass up.

“were you going to fuck him?” caleb gets a gut wrenching maybe in response as he marvels at the silky smooth expanse of the back of your legs. so, so pretty. “why?” he unfairly demands. “you liked him that much?”

you shake your head, breathing heavy against his thighs. “no, just wanted to know…what it felt like.”

“that’s what i’m here for, pips.” he says, waiting for you to stop him, but you don’t. you gasp as he rucks up your dress, letting it pool around your waist. he groans at the sight of bright red panties, the curve of your ass settled pretty over his lap about to be his undoing. “you know that right? tell me you know that.” he pleads. "can i touch you?"

"please."

caleb wastes no time. he thumbs at your hole, over the red lace that's wet under his touch. “you ever fuck yourself, sweetheart?”

you whine his name in embarrassment, but eventually nod. he groans, imagining you in bed or the shower with your fingers buried to the knuckle in your cunt. maybe while he's in the other room, or maybe in the shower right before you crawl into bed with him.

“good girl,” he mumbles and feels you relax more. “but what's all this about?” caleb pulls his thumb back, and pops it in his mouth. he groans. “thought he was adamant something was wrong and this pussy doesn’t get wet.” caleb tsks but sighs in relief when he realizes they guy really didn't get this far. “doesn’t seem a problem to me, so, then what is it? tell me the difference here, pips.”

he hears you stammer out "y–you, caleb," and feels satisfaction like a bat to the back of the head, making him dizzy. concussing him. caleb's fingers trace over edges of lace and soft skin. “so pretty, baby. will you sit still while i take a look?”

“why?”

“nothing is wrong, sweetheart. i just want to make sure he didn't hurt this pretty hole.”

he feels you shiver, and caleb can't help but grin.

that guy didn't stand a chance.

he slowly drags your underwear down, discarding them in his pocket for safe keeping. what greets him when he looks back is the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen, actually. it’s jaw-dropping, and wet. so clearly wet from the way it looks, sticky and peeking out between plush thighs over his lap.

“my heart, pips, i cant take it.” caleb says as he grips your hips, then your ass. watching your skin bloom pink as he spreads you open to see more. “hold still. i know you know that you can ask anything of me, so if this hole is needy, you come to me now, understood?”

"you need someone to take care of you, not someone that's going to shove his hands down your pants and expect anything, got it?"

he spreads your pussy open, watching as it twitches under his touch and when he presses a finger against your hole, it gives easily. "tight and greedy," he tsks.

caleb cannot help but tease. your pussy is perfect and untouched. he plays with it, watching you respond. watching as you jump when he pushes just the tip of two fingers in. pink and so sweet, caleb's mouth waters. "she's so pretty, sweetheart. i do think we're gonna have an issue though. i dunno if i can fit into a tiny hole like this." he hooks his finger and uses it to stretch you open and you moan his name. "don't get fussy. we'll figure it out, pips."

he watches as you whimper and moan, working yourself into a near fit over the prodding of his fingers. the way he spreads you open, leaning close and letting his breath ghost over your twitching hole. watching for your reactions and never giving you enough.

“doesn't even seem like i need to train this little hole to only get wet for me, hm? seems she’s already taken care of that herself."

"you're so soft, sweetheart.”

"can i make you come? looks like you need it." he kisses the back of your head, and then your shoulder. mumbling, "promise I'll take such good care of you. how could i not? i've got the sweetest thing in my lap right now, all wet and whining...mhm, you are whining, pips, but that's okay. just let me..."

after readjusting your hips, you easily take two of his fingers, all the way to the knuckle and instead of imginging you doing this to yourself, caleb watches as his own fingers disappear into your cunt. you're a needy thing, too, and he groans. imagining you struggling to take his cock but you would because you're, "so good, baby. so good for me, just like that. does that feel good?"

watching as your thighs fall further apart, as you start to cry for him. for more. for him to kiss you, and caleb does. of course he does. he pulls his fingers out, picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder as he heads for his bed.

"think i'm gonna fuck you, pips," caleb mumbles, bringing a hand down on your ass. you scold him, still limp-legged and breathing heavy. head heavy in the clouds. caleb grins and tosses you onto the bed. "you want that? then we'll have another look at that hole."

@ mageofmadness 2025. ִֶָ. 234.108.120 238.165.187

#my wrxting 💿 ོ⁩`.#love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #lads caleb #caleb x mc #lads x reader #love and deepspace #lads smut #caleb smut #lads #lads x mc

886 notes · View notes

murdrdocs · 2 days ago

Text

come into my bedroom

description. you and JOAQUÍN TORRES take a week long vacation to the beach together. just a week on the coast, spending time in each other's bubble, without falling for each other ... probably. visuals

includes. coworkers to friends to lovers, SMUT 18+ MDNI, reader has been kept as ambiguous as possible (hair type, skin color, body type, place of birth, etc), reader is able to tan, the location is ambiguous, slight spoilers for brave new world, takes place after bnw, protected p n v sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom! joaquín, reader is called "baby" a couple of times

wc. 12.3k+

a/n: title from champagne coast by blood orange. i tried to keep where they vacationed as ambiguous as possible, but it's definitely at least a little bit obvious. for my bsf who recently got back from miami. thanks to @luckypunklemonade for beta reading :D

You’re drunk.

No, you’re not drunk. You’re too drunk, inching towards shitfaced. You’re still here, at least here enough to walk beside Joaquín down the street towards your hotel, but you’re not really here. You know you’re not exactly walking in a straight line, and you know where you’re heading, but you don’t know how long you’ve been walking. You could’ve left the club five minutes or 50 minutes ago.

You weren’t going to get this drunk. Honest. You and Joaquín were just going to go out, have a few drinks, and go back to your separate rooms.

But the music was good, and the drinks were good, and the people were good, and suddenly you and Joaquín are drunk and navigating your way down the street. Well, he’s navigating your way. You’re just trying to keep up with his long strides.

He walks a little in front of you the entire time, slightly more rigid, and a little less drunk than you are. You’ll probably be at his level in another half hour, that is if you get something in your stomach by then. Every so often, he looks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there. You thought about hooking a hand around his elbow to keep him close, but the thought entered your mind and left before you could act on it.

There’s not much small talk happening, but you don’t mind it that way. You’re focused on making your feet pick up and land one (mostly) in front of the other. Actually, you’re focused on walking and finding an open food spot on the way.

One part is going fine, the walking part, but you’re still blearily searching for something to eat. You pass bars and closed businesses, restaurants that require reservations weeks in advance, one of them you think you and Joaquín actually have a table at later this week, but nothing quick and greasy. Which is exactly what you need before calling it a night.

Joaquín calls your name and you hum.

“You up for stopping in right here?” He points to the side and you look around his wide shoulders to find your saving grace. It’s like he read your mind, or maybe you’d been audible harping on about wanting something to eat the entire time. Right now, either seems plausible.

Either way, you nod and let Joaquín hold the door open for you.

You and Joaquín end up sitting across from each other at a tiny outdoor metal table. With the wind blowing against your skin as you’re sipping freezing cold water from a to-go cup, you finally realize how hot you’ve been this entire time. You lift your skirt up a bit to press your thigh against the cool metal and a sigh pushes out front your lips. Your eyes fall shut as you just sit in the moment.

“You still drunk?” Joaquín speaks from across the table.

You open your eyes and destroy your brief peace to glare at him as you wrap your lips around your straw. “What do you think?” you ask him only when the cool liquid has slid down your throat.

He laughs. “First night here and you’ve already gotten shitfaced.” He shakes his head as if he’s ashamed of you, but the playful glint in his eyes keeps you at ease.

“It’s your fault!” you accuse. “You’re the one who made friends with that couple. They kept buying us drinks.”

Joaquín throws his hands out to the side in a surrender. “I’m not going to say no to free drinks. Don’t blame me!”

He’s right. Even if he wasn’t, you aren’t in the arguing mood anymore. You would rather finish the greasy taco sitting limp in your hands. And you do.

You’re not being very attractive about it, though, you can tell from the way the juice slides down your fingers and around your mouth, but that’s not really the point to all of this.

Besides, you and Joaquín are just coworkers and friends. Just two coworkers/friends on vacation together. Sitting across from each other in front of a taco spot, fighting for sobriety as you occasionally lock eyes between large bites. There’s no reason for you to be attractively drunk eating when you’re only with your coworker/friend.

You finish the last bite, wipe around your mouth with a crumpled napkin and throw it onto your empty tray, looking up to find Joaquín already looking at you. He has this look on his face, nothing different from the one he usually wears—soft eyes and a softer smile—but it feels different this time. Maybe it’s the city lighting and your drunkenness that’s skewing the meaning. You’re going to blame both factors for the flutter in your heart, too.

Neither of you say anything for a moment and in that moment, a thought flashes across your mind. It’s quick and fleeting, but still strong enough to evoke a reaction. Just a thought of you leaning over this small table and pressing your lips to Joaquín’s. And the thought was truly fleeting, but you bring it back and sit in it to imagine how he would reciprocate with his hands on your lower back, big palms resting on the strip of skin between your top and skirt, and he would taste like lime and alcohol and when you pulled away he would have a look almost identical to this one on his face.

Joaquín’s eyebrows push together, skewing the soft look he wore before and knocking you out of your drunken trance.

“What’s that look?” he asks.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “What look?”

His gaze lingers for a moment, but then he licks his lips and cleans up his area. “You think you’re sober enough to walk back now?”

You scoff and attempt to make a point by quickly standing to your feet. When you wobble, it’s because your shoe didn’t land right on the concrete. Honest!

You have a crush on Joaquín.

You don’t know why you’re realizing it here and now—laying in a hotel bed on vacation first thing in the morning. You don’t even know how long this crush has been here, but you know for sure you have a crush on Joaquín Torres, your partner/coworker/friend.

You thought your little image from last night was fleeting, nothing but a drunken thought that you let yourself imagine for less than a minute, but it proved to be way more than that because when you got back to your room, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

As you took your makeup off, you thought about Joaquín waiting in your room for you to finish, snuggled under the blankets and scrolling through the channels on the TV until you came out of the bathroom in his shirt. As you climbed in the shower you imagined him standing at the sink brushing his teeth and humming that song he’s always singing but you never ask the name of. As you finally climbed into bed and clicked the lights off, you imagined fighting for covers with him and sleepily talking about your plans for the next day.

It was so domestic and loving and absolutely sickening and unexpected.

Well, maybe you should have expected it. At least a little.

Joaquín is kind of the perfect guy. Everyone in your life made sure you were aware of it. He was funny, attractive, hard working, and easy to get along with. Even his flaws—his incessant nature and occasional annoyance for one—was quickly reworked as lovable in your head.

You struggled with falling asleep for at least a half hour last night, and as soon as you knocked out, you were out. You might not have remembered your dreams but you knew deep in your mind and body that he was there.

Just as he is here now, standing in front of you early in the morning, wearing a bright smile and an athletic set.

“No,” you sternly shut him down before he can even say anything.

Joaquín’s jaw drops and he wears a mixture of shock and humor. “C’mon, you didn’t even let me say anything.”

“I know what you’re gonna say, Torres. I’m not going to some ‘sick workout class’ when we’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“Oh, so we’re on last name basis again?” He crosses his arms over his chests and widens his stance. “I thought we moved past that.”

“If you ask me to come with you then we’re back to last name basis, yeah.”

He pouts and it’s so stupidly cute that you want to slam the door in his face. “Don’t let the hangover speak for you. I know you secretly wanna come workout with me.”

You squint at him accusingly, leaning into the doorframe. “‘m not hungover.”

“Uh-huh. How’s the headache?” He’s obviously not buying your shit.

“I don’t have a headache.” Bullshit and you both know it.

“How’d you sleep?” He asks you instead, this time lacking any suspense. For a moment, he seems like he’s actually wondering how you slept.

“Like a baby.”

“Then that means you should be energized enough to go for a workout. It won’t be bad. It’s only an hour.”

You shake your head. “That’s an hour that I could be sleeping.”

“And basically waste the whole day away? That doesn’t sound like the partner I know and love.”

You don’t let your mind linger on that word, especially when you know he doesn’t mean it like that. But still, knowing that Joaquín has some sort of love for you makes your chest feel all airy and glittery.

“Yeah because that partner isn’t here right now. We’re on vacation.”

Joaquín doesn’t respond. Not verbally at least. Instead, he tilts his head and fully pouts, lips pushed out and eyes big. He’s not backing down and truthfully, it might be better for you just to say yes and halfass the entire session.

Finally, he reasons with you. “I’ll buy you a smoothie afterwards. Whatever overpriced shit you want. Fair?”

Fair enough.

Compared to what you’re used to, the workout is quick, but it’s certainly not painless. The instructor, some woman with much more energy than you’re willing to exert on vacation, seemed to find pleasure in kicking your asses. For a brief moment there when you were catching your breath and wiping your forehead on a towel, you wondered if she could be some big and bad super villain hiding in plain sight. That would explain the inhuman stamina, and the almost eerie cheery personality, but other than that your theory didn’t make much sense. And even if it did, you were on vacation. Now wasn’t the time to seek out trouble that wasn’t presenting itself.

The only thing that pushed you through the entire thing was looking over at Joaquín, one because of how attractive he looked with sweat glistening along his tanned skin, and two because you refused to let him show you up, even if the workout was his idea.

You will admit, though, that every time he lifted his shirt to wipe his forehead, your knees did feel just a little weaker and your last rep in a set was not nearly as strong as it could’ve been when you heard him grunting beside you.

You couldn’t understand it. You and Joaquín workout together all the time. You train together, sometimes with Isaiah and Sam, sometimes with friends of friends, sometimes with just each other. You’re used to seeing him sweat, you’re used to hearing his grunts and breaths, you’re used to all of it. But something about all of this happening now is making you lose your mind.

As soon as the class ended, relief entered your entire body.

The relief certainly didn’t last for long, though.

Since you did what Joaquín wanted to do that morning, he did what you wanted to do right after. Before you could even really think about it, you happily suggested sunbathing on the beach until you were too hot or hungry to continue, whichever came first.

It wasn’t until Joaquín slyly grinned and sang your name that you realized what you signed up for.

“You tryna see me shirtless?” he teased at the time. And you rolled your eyes and called him a freak and continued walking down the hall towards your rooms, but as soon as you were behind the closed door you were digging into your suitcase to find the cutest swimsuit you brought.

Not that you were trying to impress Joaquín or anything.

As soon as your bare toes are sinking into warm sand, you slowly feel yourself relax. Slowly.

Laying on your back in a swimsuit that was a nice mix between cute and attractive, your eyes closed, your ears full of a playlist you made just for this occasion, the sun radiating down on your skin. It’s easy to forget everything laying just like that. The breeze cools your skin as soon as you get too warm, the sun heats you back up as soon as you get too cold. Absolutely nothing to worry about except how long you’ve been laying on one side and when you should flip over.

Absolutely no stressors.

Until Joaquín speaks.

“Do me a favor and get my back?”

You peek an eye open and lift your sunglasses up to see Joaquín standing next to you, holding out a bottle of sunscreen.

You don’t mean to hesitate, but you still do. It takes a moment to process his question, and it takes another moment to find an answer, even though the clear one is yes. If he wasn’t standing there without a shirt, wearing forest green trunks that hung low on his hips, and his skin wasn’t glistening in the daylight, it wouldn’t have taken nearly half the time to help him out.

“What would you do without me?” You try not to let your voice falter while you watch him massage sunscreen onto his chest, but you’re sure the little dip at the end of your sentence was noticeable.

Joaquín just tilts his head and tosses the bottle into your lap.

It’s not awkward. At least you don’t think it’s awkward. You rub the sunscreen on Joaquín’s skin as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the sturdiness of his muscles beneath your hand. You know how fit he is, it’s impossible for you not to know since you’ve been working with him for a while now. But knowing and knowing are two different things.

Seeing is not the same as feeling.

Feeling his muscles as you work them beneath your fingers, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, grazing your hand lightly over the scars littering his skin, only lingering for a second on the life altering scar that trails down from the side of his neck to his shoulder. You try not to touch it too much. He hasn’t talked to you much about the accident, not since you visited the hospital with high quality food instead of flowers for him. Even then, he joked around it, even if you saw sorrow in his eyes like you’d never seen Joaquín wear before.

You rubbed the sunscreen down his back and finished above the waistband of his trunks. Not even a second later did he look over his shoulder and down at you through a squint. “Now let me do you,” he urged without leaving much room for argument.

Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t make room.

You shook your head. “‘m okay, I already got it.”

Joaquín turns around to face you completely. He laughs through a quick puff of air, his lips pulled up at the corners. “Barely. I saw you struggling over there. C’mon, let me top it off for you.”

His hands take the sunscreen bottle from you, but he doesn’t put any in his palm. Not yet. For now, he stares at you, eyebrows lifted, waiting for you to give him the final answer.

You turn around, moving whatever needs to be moved to give him basically full reign over your back.

The first touch makes you jump, even if you were expecting it. You hear him quietly apologize under his breath, and you quietly brush it off, but you aren’t sure if your response was heard or if it was carried off with the wind.

He continues in silence.

You’ve had Joaquín’s hands on you before. A hand clasped in yours to pull you up, a touch fixing your posture when he was showing you a new trick Isaiah taught him before, a finger jabbed into your side when he walked past you. But again, this is much different.

Having Joaquín’s bare hands on your bare back makes you tense up, and you hope he doesn’t notice it. He rubs with a lot more attention to detail than you did; he reaches beneath the straps of your top with curt permission, and even asks if he can get the backs of your arms too.

By the time he finishes, you’ve started to relax just a bit, to the point where the expected disappearance of his hand on your back feels unwanted. Joaquín’s hands are big and soothing, you could do with them on your skin for the rest of your life.

Of course, you don’t tell him that. Not just because it would be completely inappropriate, but because he would never let you live it down. He would go the lengths to change his phone contact to Joaquín “best hands there ever were” Torres.

Which is just a step below Joaquín “best co-worker there ever was” Torres.

Somehow, you manage to make it through the rest of the beach day without much trouble. You tan until you don’t think you could tan anymore. Joaquín lays next to you most of the time, besides when he began to feel fidgety and he ran to grab both of you drinks, and pre-cut fruit for you, as an excuse to stretch his legs. You used the few minutes of solitude to text your group chat about the agony you accidentally put yourself into. Agony that was only made worse by Joaquín coming back with two drinks in one hand, fruit still in its rind in the other, and his newly tanned skin glistening from sweat in the sunlight.

Shortly after, you had to leave and take a cold shower to get your head on straight.

You think you’re doing pretty good at ignoring your feelings. You know you have a crush on him, but acting on it would change nearly too much, and a lot in your lives—his especially—has already changed. It’s not a leap you think you’re ready to make yet, so you’ve been ignoring your feelings.

Over the course of the past couple of days, you and Joaquín have been spending your time doing every relaxing thing you could think of. Decompressing at that same club from the first night, but leaving as soon as the crowd proved to be very different from before—more rowdy for the hell of it and less generous in general. Eating at trendy, overrated lunch spots, or underrated hole-in-the-wall dinner spots. Spending a little too much money on new clothes but enabling each other anyway, because the shirt might look similar to another one that you already have but that shirt back home wasn’t that shirt there in your hands, so you needed it.

There were just two nights left and then you would have to pack all your stuff, somehow fit in more new clothes than you anticipated, and return to the real world. One that entailed mission debriefs and learning how to work new tech. The only thing you were looking forward to about the real world was Sam, since he happened to be a natural barrier between you and Joaquín. It’ll be hard to focus on how badly you wanted to be underneath the Falcon whenever Captain America was in the vicinity providing tasks that required your full attention.

But that is days away. For now, you’re going to try and enjoy the remainder of your all too quick vacation as much as possible. Even though you’re becoming more and more tense as you go on, a tension that your fingers beneath your panties hasn’t been able to fix yet.

You didn’t think your behavior was noticeable, but Joaquín notices more than you thought.

The two of you are walking side by side down the boardwalk. You’ve been fairly silent throughout, but not for any particular reason. Silence made sense to you, there wasn’t much to talk about right now.

Apparently, Joaquín felt different.

“What’s up with you?”

You furrow your eyebrows, quickly trying to figure out if you did something wrong between the walk from your hotel to the walk at the start of the boardwalk. Coming up short, you ask for clarification. “What do you mean?”

“I mean why’re you so tense? Isn’t this relaxing for you?”

Yeah, this is relaxing for you. Walking side by side, letting the beach breeze blow your dress in the wind. Showered, fed, at the end of your vacation, this moment you exist in is like heaven. It’s a little too much like heaven, a perfect plane where the guy you’ve been crushing on is wearing a button up with the first two buttons undone so you can see the fresh tan he has and the gold glint of the chain he wears instead of his dog tags.

It’s hard to relax when right beside you is someone you’ve wanted so badly, and he looks like everything you’ve ever wanted.

“I’m not tense,” you finally respond. Although it’s a lie.

“You so are,” Joaquín counters, “let me show you what you look like walking around here.” He takes a few quick strides ahead of you, and then pulls his shoulders up to his ears, straightens his spine, and walks with a little too much purpose. He looks odd and menacing. And definitely not like you.

You tell him as such.

He turns around to face you, grinning and walking backwards. “Okay I did take some creative liberties there, but you do look tense.” He turns back around and slows until he returns to a stride right beside you again. “What’s wrong? Do you wanna do something else?”

You shake your head. “No. This is fine. I like doing this.”

Joaquín takes a moment and you see him look down at you from the corner of your eye. “Then what’s up? Anything you wanna get off your chest?”

God, you should just tell him the truth. Well, not the full truth.

Joaquín is chill personified. If you told him that you’re wound up sexually, he would likely make a joke about it, then brush it off and avoid asking you about it again. Friend to friend, you could just let off some steam—verbally!, although the other option is much more preferable—and then hopefully feel better.

But just imagining yourself saying those words makes you tense even more and you have nothing to do but shake the thought out of your mind completely.

“No. ‘m okay. I was just … thinking. But not anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second and you don’t know if he believes your lie. But he moves past it. He points to an ice cream shop to your right, and you swerve for the window.

You and Joaquín end up sitting side by side on the beach, willingly letting sand press into your nice clothes but neither of you care much. You have a dinner reservation soon, and you’ve just been killing time—and also your appetite, but you and Joaquín both swore to eat dinner. Even if you’re devouring ice cream cones. Truthfully, this is a perfect way to end your night, sitting by your partner's side, letting the world exist around you both.

The breeze blows against your skin. You and Joaquín sit with your bare toes digging into the sand, shoes having been discarded to the side, your shoulders close enough to brush against the other if either of you move. You’re looking off at the ocean, watching people enjoy the evening air around you both as you sit in a moment of stillness. There’s paragliders, a few jet skis, some boats, and a large cruise ship sailing into the port.

Joaquín points off at the ship with the hand not holding his waffle cone.

“We should cruise for our next vacation.”

You turn to face him, tilting your head to the side. “Our next vacation?”

Joaquín nods. “Yeah. We should make this a regular thing. You know we work well together.”

That you do. You grin and knock your shoulder into his. “Let’s hope Sam doesn’t start feeling left out.”

Joaquín laughs with a quick exhale through his nose. “He’s definitely having the time of his life back home.”

You’re unable to stop yourself from grinning as you imagine it—Sam working back home, likely enjoying the rare lull in the terror that the three of you have been fighting and will continue fighting. “He’s probably blasting Marvin Gaye over the speakers in the office.”

This gets a real laugh from Joaquín, likely because he, too, can see it perfectly.

Your laughter dies down and for a few moments, you and Joaquín sit in comfortable silence.

Then, “You been having fun?”

You hum. “Yeah. It’s nice not having to deal with—” you gesture vaguely in the air and Joaquín nods beside you. “Especially after everything.” You don’t say it exactly, but you know Joaquín still understands you. He knows you’re talking about his accident.

You weren’t even the one in danger, having stayed grounded on the ship, but the horrors still settle deep in your heart some nights. Things are repaired, or currently being repaired in the case of D.C, but everything still feels so fragile to you sometimes.

Which is why you’re so glad to be here with him at your side, reminding you that he’s okay. Everything’s okay.

Joaquín takes a breath as if he’s about to speak. You turn to look at him. He’s staring off at the sunset, his face mostly stoic except for a slight twitch in his eyes, a flare of his nostrils, and his jaw clenching. “For a moment there when I was falling out of the sky, and when I could barely move my body on my own in the hospital I was worried that I wouldn’t get the chance to see places like this again. To … you know…” he hesitates and you’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have to keep going if he doesn’t want to. You and Joaquín have avoided talking about the day his heart stopped, and you don’t have to start now. But then he inhales through his teeth and continues. “To see home.”

Your breath hitches and your eyes sting. Without thinking too much about it, you scoot closer into Joaquín’s side, tilting your head and resting it on his shoulder. Immediately upon contact, Joaquín wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you fully into his side.

“I’m glad you’re here with me, Joaquín.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he says your name at the end, echoing you but somehow sounding more earnest. More meaningful.

He places a kiss on the top of your head and in that moment you decide you could stay here just like this for the rest of your life. It all settles in your body at one time, the realization that you want Joaquín, you’ve known that for a while, but you want more than his body.

You want Joaquín Torres in his entirety.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about?” he continues, “Is that why you’ve been tense? Because I promise I’m okay. It was scary for a bit but my heart’s fine and I feel fine physically—”

“No. It’s not that, Joaquín. I promise I was just a little tense but I’m good now, too.”

He nods once. “Okay.” He pulls his phone out and checks the time. He doesn’t say anything for a while as if he doesn’t want to disrupt the energy, but he speaks eventually. “If we wanna make our reservation we gotta leave now.”

He stands to his feet and puts a hand out for you to grab. You take a moment to look at the sun setting and to finish the rest of your ice cream in one bite, then you take another moment to look at him. With resolution, you place your hand in Joaquín’s and let him pull you to your feet.

Yeah, ignoring your feelings isn’t working anymore.

It’s not like you’re exactly able to ignore how bad you want Joaquín when you’re at dinner with him, sitting in such an intimate setting—sat at a small table tucked in the corner of the restaurant next to a window looking out on the street, his tan skin lit by candlelight and ambient low lighting around the both of you.

Having just come from the beach, the two of you are still wearing the same outfits (now without as many grains of sand as possible), meaning you have an even better view of Joaquín’s chest and the chain sitting right below his collarbones. He looks so nice and put together—his curls out more than you’ve ever seen them before, his face a little unshaven and adding an older look to him.

God, he’s so pretty, it’s impossible for you not to think so. Not when you’re faced with him like this.

Joaquín’s looking at the menu, acting like he didn’t look at it on his phone two hours ago. You’re holding the menu open, acting like you’re still deciding between two options, when really you’re just trying to decide if you should make a move or not.

When Joaquín looks up, you quickly look down, furrowing your eyebrows and pouting as you stare at words that aren’t processing.

Joaquín calls your name and you hum without lifting your eyes. When he doesn’t say anything immediately, you glance up. Not only is he already looking at you, but he’s looking at you with a certain look in his eyes. Infatuation, admiration, something else that you don’t wanna name, for it feels like too much of a jump.

“What?” you ask, a shy grin splitting your face open as your skin starts to warm.

Joaquín shrugs like he’s going to say the most casual thing ever. Instead, he tells you, “Nothing. I just wanted to tell you how pretty you look.”

Oh my godddd.

What are you supposed to say to that? Everything thus far on this vacation has been widely platonic, and anything crossing that barrier has been nothing but a hopeful figment of your imagination. But his words, paired with the way they were delivered, feels like a step towards a future you want to live in.

But maybe you’re overthinking it. Joaquín is honest and earnest when he wants to be and maybe now is one of those moments.

You wrap your hand around your glass of ice water and bring it to your lips, pausing just long enough to respond. “What is it? The tan?”

Joaquín nods but that look in his eyes is still there. Chocolate brown dances across your figure before settling back on your own eyes. “Yeah … among other things. The tan and the color of your dress,” a bright colored fabric that hung loosely over your body and dipped around your back, you chose it especially because you knew it would look good on your skin, “and just you.”

You gulp down water, trying to contain yourself.

“Thanks, Joaquín,” you finally respond, trying to remain as casual as possible. “You look good, too.”

Joaquín grins and you can see the man you’re used to coming back to himself. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and dusts off invisible particles. “I clean up well don’t I?”

You halfheartedly roll your eyes and return back to the menu. That interaction has already been catalogued for you to hyper analyze in the shower later.

You thought that interaction was mind boggling, but the one you find yourself in later is ten times worse.

You’ve both steadily worked through your plates, giggling and laughing about any and everything you could think of. The waiter mentioned the option of drinks at one point, and you looked to Joaquín for his reaction, wanting to see if that’s how the night was going to go. Not exactly as drunk as you were the first night, but at least a little buzz. When Joaquín politely shook his head, you did the same, and continued to sip your water instead.

You do, however, decide to split two desserts.

“Can I say something?” Joaquín speaks whenever he scrapes his fork across the decadent chocolate dessert sitting in the center of the table.

You hum, grabbing a forkful of the fresher, citrus dessert instead. “Depends. How stupid is it gonna be?”

“Um … let me say it and then we can decide.”

You sit back in your seat, thereby giving him the floor.

He takes his time chewing and swallowing before he goes to respond. “I’m shocked that we’ve been together every day and night of this trip.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What d’you mean?”

“Like we haven’t … been with other people.”

His words shock you. “Is that what you think of me, Joaquín?”

You don’t feel upset, or particularly offended. You’re just a little confused on why Joaquín has been thinking about your sex life while the two of you have been on vacation together. Sure, you’ve been thinking of the same thing, but his sex life hasn’t exactly crossed your mind. Besides whenever you pictured the two of your sex lives merging into one.

But now that he’s presented the idea, you, too, are shocked that things have been contained to just the two of you this entire week. It’s not that you expected Joaquín to sleep around, you actually didn’t know what to expect when it came to his dating life. You did know that Joaquín was attractive and people other than yourself thought so, and he obviously knew it as well, but it’s unexpected that you didn’t see him intentionally ogling at least one other person on your nights out.

You don’t know why he would think the same of you, though.

“No!” he’s quick to defend himself, “But I wouldn’t judge you if that’s how you wanted to spend your vacation. I mean I wouldn’t blame you.”

“You’re digging yourself further and further into a hole, Torres.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I can tell.”

A moment goes by and you sip your water. The air here feels open, but certainly not casual. You feel like you can tell the truth in this intimate atmosphere, and your words would hold intentional weight.

You take the jump. “I didn’t wanna be with anyone else. I liked being with you.”

Joaquín looks surprised. “Really? So you preferred beach trips and coffee shops and working out over a hot hookup?”

You shrug. “I haven’t been interested in hooking up with anyone else.”

His eyebrows lift in the center. “Anyone else?”

Fuck.

It seems you have joined Joaquín in that hole, but you don’t mind being here. It’s about time you did something, right? You don’t bother responding, at least not verbally. Instead, you just look at Joaquín over the rim of your glass, sincerely hoping that he’s starting to understand.

Before any more progress can be made the waiter comes back with the check and you’re already reaching into your bag for your wallet, verbally chastising Joaquín before he can even reach for the bill.

Quiet returns to you both during the walk back to your hotel. It feels natural this time, likely because you’re not speaking, but it isn’t silent. Cars against asphalt as they drive down the street beside you, music spilling out of establishments that line the way, the automated voice of the pedestrian crossing pole when Joaquín presses the button for the both of you. There’s not anything being said, but there doesn’t need to be; much is being communicated through the energy radiating off of your body.

Walking closer to each other than you had ever before, elbows grazing, a lightness to your bodies even if you both indulged a little too much over dinner. Everything just feels so right, even if there’s still an emptiness inside of you. Even if you leave this trip without getting laid, you’ll still feel fulfilled because you and your partner are closer than you’ve ever been before. Though, after existing in this bubble with only him, it’s going to be hard to return to your normal life and let other people in.

A car honks and skirts to a stop. Before you can even realize what just happened, Joaquín’s already throwing an arm over the front of your torso, his face turned to the car that almost (wrongfully) hit the two of you. He yells something at them and blindly grabs your hand, pulling you in front of him and pushing you to the sidewalk and out of the street.

He mutters something under his breath, but you don’t hear it. “You good?” he asks at full volume. He stands next to you but still holds onto your hand.

“Yeah. We’ve been through worse than almost getting floored by a Benz, right?”

He laughs and continues leading the way back to the hotel.

Your hand stays in his the entire time.

You and Joaquín make it all the way inside of the hotel with your hands still clasped together. They don’t part until an unattended child runs between your bodies, forcing you to separate.

You end up standing in front of the elevator with the up button pushed. It dings every few seconds, an indicator of its steady descent, but it makes a few stops along the way. While you wait, you lean your shoulder into the wall next to it, crossing your arms over your chest and your legs at the ankle as you look at Joaquín standing across from you.

He speaks first. “You wanna go out again tonight? End the week with a bang?”

You shake your head. Your eyes are big, your lips are pulled into a soft smile, your entire expression is soft. Fuck hiding it, you’re done pretending.

“Nah. I’d rather stay in tonight.”

Joaquín nods and tucks his hands in his front pockets. “Alright. Together or separate?”

“Together.”

His eyebrows lift as if he’s shocked, but there’s a little glint in his eyes. You think he’s starting to catch on.

“Okay,” he drags the last syllable out and shifts his stance. He clears his throat before he speaks again. “What d’you wanna do?”

The elevator door opens and you and Joaquín stand out of the way to let people come out. As soon as everyone has cleared out, the two of you enter the elevator alone and you push the button to shut the door before anyone else can come around the corner. With the doors closing you turn to face Joaquín to see him already looking at you.

You smile up at him and he smiles down at you.

You take a step closer to him and he takes a step closer to you.

You reach a hand out to his face, hesitating, and then he nods just before he reaches a hand out and places it on your waist.

And then finally, your lips press against his.

The first kiss is tentative. It’s testing. Your lips press together, you stay like that for a moment, and then you pull away. The two of you stare at each other, Joaquín’s expression as soft and docile as it always is. You think you’re mirroring him in this moment.

Then, without any words exchanged, you both move towards each other again. Your heads are tilted and without much trouble at all, your faces slot together nearly perfectly. This kiss is more exploratory. It’s open mouthed, teetering towards a messiness that you’re sure you’ll both fully succumb to by the end of the night. At least, you hope so.

You don’t have much time, you’ve realized that as soon as the elevator dings the first time to indicate its ascent, therefore you’re trying to get what you can while you can. You throw your arms over Joaquín’s shoulders and hook them around his neck, pulling him down towards you as you tilt yourself up into him. His body curves to engulf yours in his warmth, but he kisses you like he has all the time in the world.

He kisses you like he means it, like there’s more than one mutually shared goal at the end of this motivating him.

It’s hard not to give in to the slow and longing way Joaquín kisses you. You don’t even try resisting it at a certain point. Instead, you press your chest up into his and lean up on your toes to get more of him, yet not initiating a change in the pace at all. You like the slow way Joaquín’s lips move against yours. You feel much more this way.

Your fingers lay across the back of his neck and just as they start to inch up into the faded part of his haircut, the elevator dings and announces your floor.

You and Joaquín separate with clear hesitance in the movement. The two of you stare at each other, unmoving, just looking in each other’s eyes. His eyes look darker than you’ve ever seen them before. If you got closer, you think you would see his pupils blown out. From here, though, you see his desire in other ways—the flush on his cheeks, the prominence of his chest rising and falling, the hint of your lip products that have rubbed off on his lips.

The elevator door starts to shut and Joaquín is forced into making the first move. He slots his arm between the doors just before they close and he stays there when they open. He turns to look at you, tilts his head in a beckon, and holds his hand out for you to grab.

The walk to your rooms feels much longer than it usually does. You try to make it go as fast as possible, skittering ahead of Joaquín as fast as your impractical sandals would allow, but you’re trying not to look too eager all the while. Still, when you reach the number you’ve memorized for the week and turn around to look at him, he has a slight smile of amusement on his face.

You’re already searching into your bag for your key when you ask, “Yours or mine?”

Joaquín reaches around you for the handle to the door without speaking. You watch him press the key card to the sensor and push the door handle down just as you feel your fingers find the piece of plastic.

“We gave each other one of each when we checked in, remember? Just in case.” comes his unprompted explanation. And now that you’ve been reminded, you do remember. Your key to Joaquín’s room has been sitting on the dresser forgotten the entire week. You know he wouldn’t have done it, not without your explicit consent, but you wish Joaquín had used the key to his advantage once this week. You wish he would have acted on the tension between you both, the tension that you’re finally realizing has been reciprocated this entire time.

But now it’s happening. There’s no reason to complain when you’re getting what you wanted.

His hands are on your hips as he leads you into the room, your bag is thrown to the floor and your shoes are kicked off of your feet. Your body is turned at his will, your eyes meet his as he lazily grins down at you. His tongue flicks out over his lips in a quick and smooth movement, and at a much slower pace, you lean back in to press your lips back to his.

Joaquín’s hands automatically latch onto your lower back, one warm palm pressed into the thin fabric of your dress and the other settling right on your bare skin in the opening. Meanwhile, you start working on his shirt, popping button after button through the holes. You stop when you’re halfway down, not on your own accord.

You’re forced to stop when Joaquín slots his hands behind your thighs and he easily lifts you up. You squeal into the kiss on instinct.

There’s a moment where both of you are grinning against each other’s lips and it just feels so right. It feels incredibly natural to be doing this, to be smiling when you’re kissing Joaquín, even though nearly everything else about this situation isn’t natural for the two of you (your erect nipples rubbing against his chest, your panties stuck to your cunt, the very faint brush of his cock stiff in his pants that you get on the journey up).

“You’re just showing off,” you half-heartedly chide.

Joaquín shrugs and walks you back to the bed. “Maybe just a little.” He places you down, kneeling between your legs and finishing off the remaining buttons on his shirt. “You love it, though.”

You don’t admit it verbally, but the way you shamelessly ogle his chest when he pulls the shirt off says everything.

As soon as his shirt is gone, he places a hand on your ankle, slowly inching your dress up a few inches before he stops and looks at you. His expression is open, you can tell what he’s asking without words. But for good measure, he includes them.

“Can I keep going?”

You nod, eager and unashamed. “Yeah. Keep going.”

He starts to push the bright fabric further and further up your legs, speaking to you as he continues. “You gotta let me know if …” his words taper off when he sees the first hint of your panties, and you don’t know exactly what he’s seeing, but it makes him speechless for a moment and your ego inflates.

“I’ll let you know if …?” Cockiness is audible in your words but he doesn’t comment on it.

Joaquín blinks and comes back to himself. “If you wanna stop, or if you want something changed. We gotta communicate.”

“M’kay.”

And with that, Joaquín pushes the fabric completely over your hips and he’s met with your panties. They’re a bright color that compliments the color of your dress, and, consequently, your tanned skin. He swears under his breath and although you don’t hear him clearly at all, you’re pretty sure it wasn’t in English.

You sit up fully and slip your dress over your torso with Joaquín’s help. He lets the fabric drop to the floor without looking, his eyes are focused solely on your chest.

You’re laying back on your elbows, elevated just enough to look at him. You stare at his eyes, even if you aren’t making eye contact, while he leans up to hover over you. His head dips and he presses a single kiss in the center of your chest and repeats the action right over each side of your ribcage. The tip of his nose grazes your breast and instinctively you arch up towards him. When he pulls away just enough to look up at you, you see him smiling.

You could beg, but the night has only begun. You decide to save that for later. For now, you huff and stick your spine back to the mattress.

Joaquín places a hand around your side and dips his head back down, this time higher than before. When he latches his lips around your nipple, a little gasp breaks from between your lips. He lets his teeth scrape against the bud, alternating between giving you pressure and giving you wet heat from his tongue. By the time he switches to your other nipple, you’re already desperate for a true relief focused on your cunt. His lips travel upwards, brushing against your skin throughout the journey, until he’s pressing them into the side of your neck and under your jaw. You let him continue upwards, you let him kiss you a bit more, but you can only go so long without real, fruitful stimulation. And maybe another time after this (circumstances willing) you would love to prolong everything.

But right now you need to get fucked, whatever that could entail.

You buck your hips up and end up catching the bulge in Joaquín’s pants where his zipper lies. You think he’ll catch on that way, and maybe he does, but he just chooses to ignore it. Either way, you send him a hint and Joaquín doesn’t do anything about it. He continues kissing you, he tweaks your nipples and slots a knee between your legs, all of which you’re grateful for since it is a stepping stone in the right direction. But you need stimulation, you need to get off, and the slow crawl is slowly driving you crazy.

You pull away from Joaquín to call his name. He responds with a gruff yeah that immediately settles deep in your gut.

“I need more. Please.”

He grins right in your face. The expression almost looks wicked on him for the first time ever. He has the power here right now and he’s obviously letting it go to his head.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks while his hand slides down between your bodies until his thick fingers can slip between your clothed folds.

His question was rhetorical (and smug but that’s besides the point), yet you still find yourself going to respond. Your lips part, you can feel the corners turning down as you prepare to say something just as smug back to him, but then he presses down and quickly finds your clit after a moment of fumbling. As far as words go, you’re silent. Nothing but sounds slip from your mouth from that point onwards.

Joaquín toys with your clit. He starts with one finger, just the pad of what you think might be his middle finger, and when that has you forcing your hips up into his touch, he adds a second finger. With two fingers, he has more space to work with, resulting in larger circles right over the most sensitive part of you. He speeds up, too.

Your back arches and you dig your nails into the sheets. You know what you want to ask for, it's simple and you’d already said the word in this space, but it gets trapped in your throat this time. You’re close already. Yeah, you’d been getting yourself off throughout the week, but finally having Joaquín do it for you has made you so much more responsive.

You get the first syllable out, the ‘M’ vibrating in your throat before you open your mouth to round it out in an ‘O’.

Joaquín picks up where you left off.

“More?” he asks, eyebrows lifting as he holds your heavy gaze. Before you even respond with a nod, he’s already sitting back far enough to slip his hand in your panties and repeat his emotions.

The first real touch dizzies you for a moment. You pinch your eyes shut with the pure intention of orienting yourself, but then Joaquín chastises you in a soft, but firm voice.

“Look at me. I wanna see you.”

You do as told, of course.

He nods. “There we go.” His fingers get just a little faster, the circles tighter. You’re so wet that there isn’t any uncomfortable friction at all, his skin easily glides against yours.

“You close?” he asks after a moment. When you nod, he continues, “If I give you this one, you’ll be able to give me another, right? You can give me more?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” You’re breathless when you speak, and it certainly doesn’t help that it’s then when Joaquín decides to pull his fingers away completely, pull your panties to the side, and sink down completely until his face is level with your cunt.

Just the image below you is enough to twist that section deep into your stomach into a knot. He’s barely able to give you anything before your back is arching off of the bed and everything in you mounts to a peak.

When you come, it’s from the controlled and effective licks Joaquín delivers to your cunt. You don’t know when your hand moves on its own, but you feel silk-like strands between your fingers. It helps anchor you, gripping his hair helps keep you sane, especially when Joaquín keeps going.

He broadens his reach this time. His mouth opens wide enough to slide his tongue down from your entrance and back up towards your clit. And he doesn’t just lick this time, you hear the audible suck from him. He’s slurping that shit, and you can already feel the introduction of another orgasm.

If you were with anyone else, you’d be shocked at how soon another is on the precipice. But it’s Joaquín, and aside from the fact that you’ve wanted him for a while, you’re not exactly shocked that he knows what he’s doing.

He slowly sinks one finger into you, pumping the digit in and out of you with meticulous ease. It’s a stark contrast from the almost sloppy way he’s eating you out. But it works.

One finger is nice, it’s thicker than your own, rougher, too. You could get off just like that. And then, he adds a second.

“Fuck,” you swear without any conscious intention.

Joaquín comes up for air, releasing you with an audible smack. “Yeah?” he asks, the word coming from right in his throat.

You nod as you take in the way he looks—cheeks flushed, hair tousled and hanging over his forehead, pink lips shining, his eyes wide and nearly doe-like.

“Yeah,” you confirm. You see a look flash in Joaquín’s eyes then. It’s a look similar to the one he has whenever Sam affirms his work with a clap on the back—self-satisfied, delighted, proud. It occurs to you then that he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. He can read your body language, sure. It’s obvious from your cunt, along how good he’s making you feel, but you know verbal affirmation is different. It’s better, especially for Joaquín.

As he goes back in to finish you off, you speak to him.

“Just like that,” you tell him. Just this little bit encourages him, you can feel it in his movements. “Keep going. ‘M close, so close, Joaquín. Please, don’t stop. You’re so … you’re so—” Before you can even get it out, all noise dies completely from you. Your mouth uselessly hangs open, not even air comes out as your entire body stiffens. Nothing happens for a moment, Joaquín continues, you’re stuck, and then a nanosecond later everything knocks into you.

Sound emits from you, moans and groans and breaths. You’re digging into whatever you can find—the heel of your foot into Joaquín’s back, your hands in his hair, the rest of your body into the twisted sheets beneath you. You’re simultaneously trying to escape and trying to keep Joaquín from parting with you for even a moment. It’s hard to decide which you prefer, you don’t even think your mind has any say in the dilemma, your body is in control at this point.

Ultimately, your body decides to let go, releasing both of you at the same time. Still, Joaquín takes a moment to pull from you. He continues licking and sucking, but his fingers slowing down indicates his intent to free you. It comes after a few drawn out moments where you’re stuck twitching beneath him until finally, he pulls his fingers out of you and presses one final kiss right onto your clit.

His head lifts and the evidence is more obvious than you expected. It’s gathered all over his chin, stuck along the beginnings of facial hair that will likely be gone first thing Monday morning. It’s gathered on his lips and along his tongue when he uses the muscle to pull the remnants of your arousal into his mouth.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and only then does he realize how much of a mess you’ve made of him. He pulls his hand back, brown eyes big as he stares at the evidence.

“Shit,” he laughs.

All you can do is agree through labored breaths.

He tries to clean you off of his mouth, but not much is done. He leans in tentatively after that, as if you’re going to shy away from him. You don’t.

You kiss him back eagerly, although a bit lethargically. You’re trying to hide it from fear that Joaquín could think that you’re done. But your body needs a moment to recover from that.

When Joaquín pulls away from you with a small smile on his face, you know he’s onto you.

“You need a minute?” The way he says it isn’t much different from the way he asks you those same words when he’s kicking your ass in the gym.

And just like when you’re in the gym, you shamefully nod.

Joaquín chuckles and leans in to kiss your forehead. “That’s okay. You want anything? Water maybe?”

“Water sounds good.”

You watch him leave and then your eyes are focused solely on the ceiling. You can’t even let what’s happening sink in when you’re still a little spacey. But you can handle more. You want more from him.

Joaquín comes back with a glass of water. He stands next to the bed and passes the full glass to you. You don’t question the source, you just drink until there’s half left. You offer it to him and he gladly takes it from you.

“Are you … do you wanna stop?” He speaks when the glass has been emptied and placed on the nightstand. For the most part he looks like he would be unaffected by whatever answer you gave, but you think you can detect some premature dejection in his features. Quickly, he adds, “Because it’s fine if you do. I’m okay with that.” And he’s being honest. You don’t feel any pressure coming from Joaquín at all.

It’s what you truly mean and want when you immediately shake your head. “No. Let’s keep going.”

He nods once to himself. “Alright. Cool. Yeah.”

Excitement leaks from his pores but you don’t comment on it. You felt just as he did not long ago. You still feel like that, but you’re under a haze right now and that’s what your emotions are being led with.

Joaquín hooks his thumbs into his already-loosened jeans and goes to pull them down. First, though, he pats at his pockets. When he doesn’t feel what he’s looking for, he swears.

“One second.”

You watch his form retreat until the door of your room is pulled open. Not even a minute later he comes back in with a foil pocket brandished between his fingers, the same fingers that were in you not long ago.

“You came prepared?” The question comes out more judgemental than you meant it to.

Joaquín shrugs. “I keep an emergency bag full of … stuff. You know, in case of an emergency.”

“Freak.” You don’t mean it.

“You’re about to get fucked by a freak so, wouldn’t that make you a freak by association?” He seems to mean it.

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

He holds the packet between his teeth while he slides his jeans off of his legs, stepping out of them and leaving them at the foot of the bed. He comes back around to the side, pulling the packet out from his teeth and staring down at you. Like this he looks more imposing than he ever has before.

When he’s been out in the field, when he’s training, when he yelled at the car earlier tonight, he didn’t look as imposing as he does now—staring down at you over the bridge of his nose, hair tousled, cock tenting in his black briefs.

“That’s definitely how that works,” he claims as he leans down. He presses his hands into the bed beneath you to leverage himself as he kisses you, slow and passionate. You wonder if he’ll fuck you like that too.

You reach a hand up and pull the elastic away from his waist. When he doesn’t react, you tug the fabric down. You feel it get stuck around his cock just before you feel his cock spring free. It brushes against your wrist and you make a little noise into the kiss.

As soon as Joaquín’s briefs are laying at his feet he assumes his previous position, this time sitting right on his haunches. You avoid looking at his cock for a moment, but when you watch him tear the condom packet open, you get the first glimpse at him.

Even this part of him is attractive. He’s thick, that’s the first thing you notice. Thick and heavy, if the way he hangs to the side is any indicator. There’s a vein leading from his taut stomach down towards the dark and trimmed thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You hadn’t noticed the vein ever before, not when you had been too busy ogling the v-line chiseled into his torso instead.

Now that you’ve seen all of Joaquín, you can easily conclude that he’s perfect. Just as you have that thought, Joaquín takes an inhale as he prepares to speak.

“You’re so perfect,” he says.

The warmth instantly floods your body.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” you tell him.

He dips his head almost shyly and doesn’t say anything. Instead, Joaquín pulls the condom out of the packet.

“Wait. Lemme do it. Can I do it?”

He looks momentarily surprised at your request, but he passes you the condom and politely places his hands on top of his thighs.

It’s truly an excuse to feel him beneath your palm as you glide the latex barrier down his length. You revel in the warmth beneath your hand, because as soon as you’ve secured the barrier around the base of his shaft, Joaquín's leading you back without even having to touch you. He leans forward and in response, you lean all the way back until you’re nestled amongst the pillows at the head of the bed.

“Ready?”

You nod, letting your legs fall open for him.

One warm hand falls to the inside of your thigh while the other disappears between your legs to line up his dick. Then, slowly, Joaquín pushes forward. The stretch is instant, you can feel yourself opening up wider and wider to fully fit him in. If you weren’t as soaked and prepped as you were, you’re sure the burn would’ve been way worse.

For a few moments it’s like the length of him keeps going and going, but then you feel his thighs press up against the back of yours and there’s the faint feeling of his balls resting against your ass and you know he’s bottomed out. He looks at you, gauging your reaction, and your response comes in the form of linking a leg around his back.

Joaquín smiles through nothing but the twitch of the corner of his mouth upwards, and then he wastes no more time. He rests his weight on his hands at either side of your head, and pulls his hips back just to roll them forward and slide his cock back into you.

And for a bit, Joaquín does fuck you slow and passionate. He fucks you in full strokes, a nice tempo that doesn’t overwhelm you too quickly. There’s punctuation at the end of each thrust, followed by a nearly agonizing pull back out. Whether intentional or not, Joaquín’s introducing you to the feeling of his cock filling you up, just as he’s introducing the concept of another release to you.

But you’ve had your fill, it’s his turn now.

You press your hands into his shoulders. They glide back, one hand grazing over the raised skin of the scar that leads down his back, the other following a smooth path, but they meet in the same place—back around the front to where his chain hangs. You hook one finger into the gold link, the other going behind his head. You pull him closer until you can nudge your noses together.

His eyes flutter shut and his eyebrows pinch together in the center. You kiss him once and pull back to tell him, “You can use me, Joaquín. Take what you want.”

His eyes open to stare at you with confusion written on his face, bordering on hope, as if he already has an idea formed in his head of what he really wants to do to you.

You nod assuredly. “It’s what I want.” Just as you’re about to add a quiet plea to seal the deal, Joaquín adjusts his position and then he pulls nearly all the way out of you, only to forcefully drive back into you.

The switch is immediate. He still fucks you in complete motions, but they’re shorter, no longer the tip to the shaft each time. These are faster, much faster. It feels like he’s reaching up into your guts each time, just to pull back and do it again and again and again.

You’re forced to find purchase again, hands digging into whatever you can find. One hand attaches to his hair and the other holds onto his chain, your legs have linked around Joaquín’s hips, your head has craned backwards, leaving the area between the base of your neck and your chest open for Joaquín to rest his forehead on.

You can’t hear his sounds over yours, but you feel them—quick breaths let out onto the sweat coated area of your chest. You would try and silence yourself to better hear him, but you couldn’t even if you tried.

Luckily, though, Joaquín lifts his head and notches his nose against the side of your neck instead. He kisses you right beneath your earlobe, but when he can no longer complete that action, his jaw goes slack and every single noise he makes travels directly to your ear.

You swear and it comes out as a whimper, not even a second later Joaquín swears and it’s a deep groan all the way from the back of his throat. You call his name and he calls yours. He’s affecting you, and you’re affecting him, even just by laying back and urging him to get himself off by using your body.

“Are you close?” you eventually gather the strength, and will, to ask.

You feel Joaquín nod against your neck. “Yeah,” he confirms, “yeah, baby, ‘m almost there.”

Your reaction is instant. You groan, a sound that could be interpreted as frustration if you weren’t having your guts completely rearranged right now.

He chuckles deeply against your skin. “What? What’s up?”

“C…Call me that again.”

“What? ‘Baby’? You like when I call you baby?”

You hum affirmatively.

Joaquín lifts his head and slots one hand against your cheek. His pace slows as he stares at you. “You’re my baby? Hm? Are you?”

You nod, whining out an “uh-huh”.

“Yeah?” he grins as he says it, as if he’s shocked that you agreed. You don’t know if he’s serious, if he knows that his words are holding weight even if you’re a little dumb right now, but you do mean it.

He licks his lips and you see an idea coming to his head. “You gonna be good for me, too?” When you nod, he continues. “Be good for me, baby, and touch yourself, alright?”

He gives you the space needed and watches your hand slide down your stomach. When you use two fingers to tweak your already overstimulated clit, Joaquín nods.

“That’s right. Just like that.”

He resumes his original pace, this time with his eyes fully locked on your cunt. He pulls one of your legs up and throws it over his shoulder, leaning forward to get even deeper into you.

You’re close, you’re almost there, and the erratic way Joaquín practically jackhammers into you as he chases his own release is what pushes you over. You finish just after Joaquín buries himself into you and curls his body over yours. This orgasm truly feels like a release. Everything in you melts into the world around you, just as Joaquín’s body melts on top of yours.

He kisses the skin closest to him, first in small almost discrete pecks, and then they gradually get bigger and more audible until he’s clearly making them ridiculous on purpose.

His cock is still nestled in you and his head is still resting on your chest when he speaks. “You think you’ll be up for a shower?”

You hum, letting the question run through your head for a minute before responding. “In about ten minutes, yeah.”

“Take your time.”

In the meantime, Joaquín slowly slides out of you. The emptiness is immediate, but after all you’ve been through since getting back to your room, you don’t exactly hate it. Your eyes start to feel heavy but you let them close for a little while. You rely on your other senses throughout.

The feeling of Joaquín kissing over where you think your bikini tan lines are, the rim of the glass that he brings to your lips, the sound of his voice as he gently urges you to drink, the feeling of cool water sliding down your throat. He holds you steady as you drink with a hand behind your head. Your lips turn up tiredly, and you feel his thumb at the corner of your lip catching a stray drop of water. You don’t have to open your eyes to know he’s wearing that same soft look on his features.

You’re so pampered there that you don’t force yourself to get up until you hear the shower running.

Joaquín’s already there waiting for you at the door. He smiles when he sees you as if he’s shocked that you came, even though this is your room and your bathroom. Still, he reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you into the bathroom and in front of him. His hands push at your back, guiding you towards the shower. He pulls the door open for you and lets you step inside before he follows after you.

You reach for the towel and soap, but stop when he tuts behind you.

“I got it,” is all he says. So you let yourself completely relax with the feeling of Joaquín dragging the cloth up and down your limbs. He talks to you throughout, mostly asking you to lift an arm or turn around, sometimes bringing up small bits of conversation, every now and then singing bits of songs—some that you recognize, some that you don’t. There’s a familiarity now that you’ve gained since his hands had massaged sunscreen into your shoulders.

Eventually, though, he finishes with you, leaving you to lean against the wall and watch him shower.

“You know what I realized like a few minutes ago?” he says when he’s rinsing the soap off of his body.

“What?”

“Remember the couple from the club that first night? The one who kept buying us drinks?”

“Yeah, how could I forget?”

“Yeah well I’m pretty sure they thought we were like … swingers or some shit.”

You’re startled awake. “Huh? Why do you think that?”

“Oh I don’t think, I know. The guy gave me his number and everything. Plus you saw the way they were looking at us, and the woman kept cozying up to you.”

You frown. “I thought she was just drunk or friendly.”

“She definitely was drunk and friendly. And she also wanted you.”

You blink. “I thought she wanted you.”

Joaquín shrugs and rinses the last of the soap from his back before he shuts the water off. “She probably did. That’s sort of part of the whole swingers gig, isn’t it?”

You laugh through a quick exhale of air. “Come on, Joaquín, let’s go to bed.”

You step out of the shower and wrap a towel around your body. Joaquín follows after you.

“Oh, I get to sleep with you tonight?” He sounds giddy when he says it, as if he wasn’t just fucking you so good that your legs are still getting used to walking again. When you tell him that, you see the unintended compliment go straight to his head.

You end up getting exactly what you wanted. Joaquín leans into the bathroom counter with the towel hung low around his waist and his eyes watching you do your skincare routine. As soon as you’re finished, he’s trekking off to his room for a change of clothes and to do whatever he needs to do, and he comes back in nothing but boxers with a big shirt in his hand. He lays it on the counter for you casually, but you see the tips of his ears tinted just a tiny bit red when he retreats back to your room.

You come out in his shirt to see him lying on your side of the bed, the remote in his hand and pointed at the TV. As if the entire trip had been going like this the entire time, he instantly scoots over when you come to the side of the bed and lifts the sheets for you to climb under. You lay curled into his side, telling him to click a channel playing a movie that you know he likes.

The remote is placed on the nightstand, the lights are clicked off and you’re snuggled up next to Joaquín, wearing his shirt and talking about how the two of you are going to spend your last day of vacation.

Not everything goes how you thought it would, though. Joaquín ends up being pretty mindful with his blanket usage.

#joaquinsworld!#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres smut #icarus writes mcu

539 notes · View notes