#at least with how rock is being used here

[lauufeydottir]

Half-Doomed // Semi-Sweet

Ripped from your timeline and forced to fight for the state of the multiverse, the war ends and you're all that remains of the Thunderbolts of Earth-1303. Forced to settle on Earth-616, you fill the empty spot on the New Avengers and are surprised to find that this John Walker is nothing like the one you knew before.

[Reader is a mutant with enhanced physiology and an uncanny ability to never miss a target, similar to Bullseye, dubbed Killshot. Former resident of Earth-1303, current resident of Earth-616.]

john walker x fem!reader

words: 7.4k

cw: swearing, technically major character death, canon typical violence, descriptions or blood/injury, smut, oral sex (f!receiving), brief cowgirl, john's praise kink, confessions, the idiots are in love, no y/n but reader is referred to as Killshot (18+ MDNI)

a/n: i really love this concept and i will probably use it or something similar again! a few half-baked predictions for the mcu by pulling from 2015 secret wars. 1303 is meant to be the x-men universe that will be in doomsday, but since it doesn't have a designation yet i just made one up.

disloyal order of water buffaloes - fall out boy

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Never in a million years had you expected to be launched into a multiversal war and forced to fight the phantom faces of allies you’d lost long ago.

Hell, you don't even know how long it's been. Time could work differently in this world, and from what you’ve seen, most things do. The fight for your world started out as a righteous cause, spearheaded by Charles Xavier and his X-Men, and quickly devolved into nothing but a misguided war spearheaded by Victor Von Doom’s agenda. In your word— designated Earth-1303 by Hank McCoy— there were no more Avengers, no Fantastic Four. You had the the X-Men, fractured from loss and the bigotry against mutants, and your Thunderbolts, who were dysfunctional on a good day.

But the rival universe— Earth-616— had resources that far outmatched your world, all with the mind of Reed Richards to back it up.

You never really stood a chance. It was never clear who went first, what exactly happened to each member of your team. The not knowing was worse, the feeling that you somehow failed them all by not being there. By surviving instead of them. None of you were people designed to fight aliens, androids, or wizards— least of all you. And when the battle shifted from fighting each other to joining forces against Doom and his magic, the inhabitants of Earth-616 needed all the help they could get. Surviving felt like a punishment, until 616 offered you something you’d believed to be lost— a place.

The first time you’d come across any of The Thunderbolts of 616— here, they were controversially known as The New Avengers— it felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. One minute, you were taking down Doombots with expert precision, the next, an explosion rocked the ground and trapped you under the falling rubble of Castle Doom. Before you could even start to pull yourself out of it, the main slab pinning you down was thrown aside, and suddenly the ghost of John Walker was holding out a hand for you. Grabbing onto him was instinctual, taking his arm and pulling yourself up, just to then launch yourself into his arms. It was horribly out of character for the both of you, but given that you believed him to be dead, it felt fitting. In your relief— because if Walker was alive, then maybe Yelena was too. Maybe even Ava, or Bucky, or Alexei— you didn't think anything of the way he tensed under your touch.

You didn't think of anything else until he gently pushed you back by the shoulders and unclipped his helmet.

You saw it the moment he revealed his face. The angle of his nose too straight, his hair too shaggy, the unfamiliar beard lining his jaw. The mournful way he looked at you, like he’d already put the pieces together. It wasn’t the man you knew.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I—” you stammered out, taking a few shaky steps backward, needing to put space between you and him. By then, you’d already seen your fair share of variants, but you hadn’t yet come across anyone important to you. Almost tripping over the rubble in your haste, this Walker reached back out for you, clipping his shield onto his back as he steadied you with a hand on your shoulder.

“Killshot, right? I recognize you,” he said slowly, like he wasn't entirely sure that he actually did. He dropped his hand, and you felt the crushing loss all over again.

“You know me?”

“I knew a ‘you’. Indirectly, anyway.”

Your eyes went wide again at his words. Indirectly? Knew?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Then, another commotion started up a few meters away— more fucking Doombots. Walker turned to face it with no hesitation, pulling the shield off his back. The steel caught your eye then, the scuffs and scratches immortalized in the grooves. All in a slightly different pattern to the one you were familiar with, missing the jagged lines that you’d carved into your Walker’s shield during training after training. 

“It means it’s a story for after we finish this,” he shouts back at you, securing his helmet back in place. “You with me, or what?”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

On Earth-616, it was you who died at the hands of John Walker in the top-secret O.X.E vault that Valentina Allegra de Fontaine lured the would-be New Avengers to. His assignment was simple— track down the operative known as Killshot, see what she planned to steal, and then eliminate her and secure the lot. It was an echo of just about every mission Valentina had ever given him before, and he never expected this one to be different.

“So, uh, that agent I shot back there, was she— you knew her?” Walker had asked Ava sheepishly as Yelena was still trying to make sense of their exact location.

“She was a dirty secret of S.H.I.E.L.D, same as me,” she shrugged, accepting his offer of cactus fruit. “Had a tough life. She killed a lot of people, and then she got killed. Just like us someday."

John never dwelled on your death. He didn’t know you. You were a complete stranger. Only ever a mission, a means to an end. Shortly after the events of The Void, the thought crossed his mind that maybe if he’d waited a few more moments, you would have ended up a part of this rag-tag team. It wasn’t mourning, just a what-if in the back of his head. What terrified him was the fact it could have just as easily been him, or any of the other Thunderbolts that he’d come to see as family, as strange as it seemed. If Valentina had assigned him someone else, if his bullet hit a different target, nothing would be the same as it is now.

That was, until the Incursion came, and they all had to take up arms in a multiversal war to save everyone and everything he’d ever known. Despite the parallel universes, magic-wielding dictators, and several unfortunate run-ins with the Time Variance Authority, the strangest thing to happen was him pulling you, of all the possible variants,from the rubble on Battleworld. It was an odd twist of fate that a variant of you, among many others, had been left behind with no universe to return to.

So once the multiverse was saved and the dust settled, Bucky and Yelena agreed it was only fair they offer you a spot on the team, considering that, on a technicality, you were already a part of it.

“Killshot, huh? Well, we could use someone who can actually hit what they’re aiming for,” Bucky had said.

Yelena was the one to finally explain what happened to their you in this world— not that she ever really got to be theirs— delicately, with the entire team present and John fiddling his thumbs in the back. Somehow, he’d been half expecting you’d hear the truth and suddenly snap and seek vengeance. But instead, much to everyone’s surprise, you’d burst into laughter.

“She couldn't hold her own,” you told them with a shrug. “I should be grateful. It left a place for me now.”

So now, you live in the shadow of a you who never saw the light of day, never got a chance to be the hero. Sometimes, staying in this Watchtower feels wrong. If you look hard enough, there’s always something that’s just off enough to make your hair stand on end and your stomach churn. Your new teammates are somehow exactly the same and completely different. At first, looking at any of them for too long used to fill you with a distressing sense of deja vu. Your Yelena had dimples. Your Bucky’s vibranium arm was lined with silver instead of gold. Your Sentry was not Robert Reynolds— he never survived the O.X.E human trials according to the files from the vault. Your Ava had brown eyes. Your Alexei had less grey at his temples. You had no Antonia— she was the collateral damage in your universe.

And Walker. The John from your universe was someone who, in the end, did the real work to be worthy of the mantle he’d obsessed over. You two butted heads, but outside of that, he never really paid you much mind, despite your genuine efforts to keep his attention. Too busy trying to make up for lost time, tucking all his flaws back away in the government issued box and donning rose-tinted glasses. Always looking straight through you for just a glimpse of that past he never got over.

But the Walker from this universe stares at you like he’s looking at a ghost.

This John is a far cry from the one you’d known. He puts everything he has into what’s in front of him, instead of chasing a long-past legacy he never truly wanted anyway. And somehow, it didn't take long for that path to include you. The you and him that are here and now get along effortlessly, much to everyone’s surprise. Neither of you are the most welcoming of types, and yet there’s something unspoken that you found in him that day when he pulled you out. Initially, you’re worried you’re only chasing a facsimile of the man you could never have, that you don't actually favor him as much as you do the memory of the one you lost. But realization comes that this John is everything you’d always pretended the other was. And that feels scarier than any mad titan or conqueror you’ve faced in the last decade.

He’s strangely attentive. You aren't used to someone with his face and his voice offering to patch you up on the quinjet, asking your opinion on what to watch on movie nights, cooking your favorite meal for dinner. It almost felt fake, in comparison. Always checking on you after missions, sometimes, without saying a word. Just hovering in the doorway of the common room like he’s trying to make sure you’re still there. Knocking on your door to ask if you want any coffee— just because he happens to be on his way there.

But even stranger than that, he agrees with you.

John, in any universe you’ve come to realize, has an inferiority complex that runs for just as many miles as he can. It’s understandable, after the way his life has played out, but it makes him incapable of being wrong. During mission briefings, or even just casual discussions with the team, he’s always the first to disagree. He needs to counter, has to come up with something not just better, but the best.

Except, when it comes to your input, he’s suddenly silent. And you doubt it’s because of any of your stellar ideas. You two are consistently paired up for missions, because Bucky swears he’s never been able to work with anyone as seamlessly as he can with you. And you can’t say you mind. This world is still recovering from multiversal horrors, the work is never ending, but trusting John is effortless. He always has you running point, a show of trust in his own way, stationed at your back like an extension of your body.

If you thought you felt something for John then, nothing can compare to the torch you carry for John now.

And as the months pass and the two of you grow closer, you find it easier and easier to let go of the ghost of someone who never really even liked you anyway.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

It’s been two weeks of back-to-back-to-back jobs. So intensive and high priority that the team has been paired off and split up across the world, and you and John haven’t even been back to The Watchtower since you shipped off initially. Just half-stocked safe houses miles from civilization. Hydra cells that popped back up after the Incursion. Reports of Stark tech from the other side of the multiverse falling into the wrong hands. A minor witch that Doctor Strange had reached out personally to ask for help with. And a plethora of Loki variants who did not have any intention whatsoever to save the day.

And now, the two of you are in the home stretch of the takedown of yet another Hydra bunker start-up. Taking turns sleeping on grimy floors and dust-logged beds of old Avenger’s safe houses hasn’t kept you in very good spirits, and you can tell from the rigid line of his shoulders that John is wound just as tight. Normally, before a fight, that unexplained gleam he gets in his eyes when he looks at you fades away. Replaced by the steadfast confidence that he, for some reason, has in you.

But this time, there’s no switch. Every time you catch his eye in the chaos he’s looking at you like he’s making sure you’re still standing. Every gunshot that goes off has his head snapping in your direction, that coil of violence inside him winding tighter and tighter with each body that drops to the ground.

For you, it’s not a difficult fight, especially after what you’ve already suffered through this week. Your mutation isn’t special, but it does give you speed, stamina, and strength on par with super soldier physiology— and perfect aim, every single time. The only downside is you’ve always been far too impatient to learn how to shoot anything more complicated than a pistol, so you’re the douche always bringing a plethora of knives to the gun fight. But it’s always worked out for you in the past, and it seems to be working just fine now as you seamlessly flit through Hydra soldiers, blades flying through the air with the utmost precision.

But staying humble has never been your strong suit. Once you get into the groove of dropping bodies, you have a bad habit of getting sloppy when it comes to watching your own back. It’s subconscious, you swear, but you’re always focusing your attention on the biggest threats to John instead. And it’s only gotten worse the better he watches yours in return.

Between your combined lack of rest, his tension, and your ego, something has to give.

And that something just happens to be John’s shoulder— so sudden you thought he was still on the other side of the room— as he jumps in front of you just in time for a bullet to pierce right through his suit. There’s no time for his shield to stop it, the bullet finding a new home in his bicep. But besides a choked grunt of pain, he’s still on his feet.

But the fight is still in full swing, and while your gut is screaming at you to run to him, your head tells you to stay put, and your heart pushes you to channel that protective rage into the knife you launch in the direction of the shooter. It nicks his carotid artery just enough to leave him bleeding out nice and slow on the filthy floor.

You paste yourself to John’s side after that, hyper vigilant to the point you’re metaphorically trigger-happy. Your knives are flying, a non-stop cycle of hitting your targets, kicking and punching your way through to retrieve your blades, just to turn and start it all over the second anyone gets even remotely close to him. Every time you even consider slowing down, you get a glimpse of the blood seeping into the fabric of his suit and the fury comes back tenfold.

The last man standing isn’t a very clever one, because he looks to the both of you from across the room, then to the mangled bodies of his fallen comrades, and makes a break for you anyway. Your knife and John’s bullet strike his chest at the same time, and he crumples to the ground with the rest of them. You move on from him just as quickly as you had with the rest— if you weren't so tired, and had more time, you would have given them far worse than they got. But John is the only priority running through your mind, and you quickly sheath the weapons you have left and turn to him. He doesn't seem to expect it, especially not when your hand wraps firmly around his bicep, tugging yourself closer to get a better look at the gunshot wound.

“Hey— ow. That’s not helping, you know,” he complains, trying to pull his arm back, but your strength is evenly matched and he doesn’t get very far. You ignore him, not saying a word, calculating eyes trained on the damage, from the singed fibers of his suit caught in the gaping hole that’s now carved into his body, to the bullet still lodged inside. With your other hand you feel for anything on his back, turning him at your whims to see if any fragments split and went through-and-through. His back is clear, thankfully, meaning extracting the bullet is within your skillset, and the two of you don't have to book it back to The Watchtower to get him a real doctor.

“Closest safehouse. Now,” you murmur, prodding at the angry edges of puckered skin, rolling your eyes when he flinches. “I need to get this out before you start to heal around it.”

“I’m fine—”

“I don’t care.” It’s a firm dismissal, but with an undercurrent of something softer. It's not that you don't care for his opinion, but you're not going to entertain the way his first instinct is to push down his own needs. And he damn well knows it too, because he quickly shuts up, reaching up with his uninjured arm to take off his helmet. He looks over at you in resignation, but you've known some version of him long enough to see the pain behind his mask. He frowns, then nods once, then twice like he’s trying to convince himself too, and then slips his gun into the holster.

“Five miles west. It’s all abandoned farmland— so we can drive, but we'll have no cover from above, so we have to move quickly.”

You finally release his arm with a gentle pat. “Great. And don't even try it, I’m driving.”

The trip out of the Hydra base and to the safe house is quick, effortless, and incredibly tense. You can’t recall a time when you and John have been this silent in each other’s presence, the only noise the roar of the old truck you hot-wired to make it here and his occasional stifled grunts of pain. Conversation between the two of you normally comes easy— or at least he finds it easy to ramble to you, and you find it easy to listen. But he doesn't try, and neither do you. Not a word is exchanged until you're finally barricaded in the dilapidated farmhouse, and you've got him on the floor propped up against the bathtub with first aid supplies scattered across the tile. The drywall here has certainly seen better days, but at least it’s been well-stocked by Valentina’s people.

John turns red when you gesture for him to take off the top of his suit. He looks so much smaller without the Kevlar and steel holding him up, awkwardly trying to fit his long limbs into the cramped space while leaving room for you to work. You, on the other hand, are still in your tactical suit, kneeling at his side while your mind runs a million miles an hour. You aren't accustomed to being protected. You’re a tank— deadly, efficient, and relentless. Your strength rivals that of a super soldier and your skill has never failed you before. It’s sufficed to say that you do most of the protecting, here and back in your original universe, taking most of the hits because you can give it right back ten times worse. So, John taking a bullet for you makes sirens go off in your head that you don’t know what to make of. It’s not a mortal wound by any means, and the serum he took helps him heal at an enhanced pace. But at the end of the day, he’s still capable of dying, even if he doesn't act like it.

The path the bullet took isn't a simple through-and-through, instead looking like it traveled upward before being stopped by his clavicle— which, according to John, is completely unharmed. Super soldiers and their damn super bones. The bathroom is small, outdated, and there’s only one bulb in the fixture above the mirror. At the very least, it has hot water. It’s not an ideal amount of space for this, but you’re not the ideal doctor either. You’ll suffer fifteen minutes of awkward proximity if it means patching him up to the best of your ability.

But less than a minute later and it's clear that you underestimated just how close you’d be getting.

Between the odd angle and the shitty lighting, you find yourself barely an inch away, leaning in quite a bit to make sure you're still giving him enough space. After the second time you break your examination to lean back to straighten your achy back for just a moment, John decides to take matters into his own hands.

“Look, just—” he stutters, nodding at the clearly uncomfortable way you're poised. Instead of elaborating further, he holds you by the waist with his free arm, using that super strength of his to haul you up. He slips his leg closest to you between yours, leaving you basically straddling his thigh. The hand on your hip stays in place, urging you to rest your weight on him. “There. Don’t need you breaking your back just to patch me up.”

You're not sure what’s left you more speechless— the feeling of his hands through your suit or the fact you're becoming increasingly familiar with the musculature of his thigh. “Better. Thanks,” you mumble. And it is, in fact, better. You don't have to lean across him uncomfortably, and you have a clearer view of the wound this way. The only problem left is hoping he can't hear the way your heart is suddenly racing. In an effort to bring it back down, you take a deep breath— in, hold, out, hold, repeat— and redirect your focus back onto the task at hand.

The silence settles once more, and you’re so caught up in controlling your own reactions, you barely register his. John’s fingers dig into your side before the tweezers are even close, bracing for the sting. There's still a light flush across his chest as he watches you work, and you have to stifle a shudder every time his breath ghosts across your temple. You've rarely been this close to him— either iteration— and certainly never this intimate. It makes your mind wander into dangerous territory, and for a half-moment, you indulge it.

How his hands would feel without your suit in the way. Other ways you could make him blush. The warmth of his breath on the back of your neck instead—

You’re close to cracking, and the quiet is the perfect environment to enable your overactive imagination. It’s obvious John has been biting his tongue to give you space. So, in order to quell your indecent thoughts, you voice the question that has been grating on you since the fight.

“What the hell were you thinking, Walker?” It’s a murmured query, your voice low as you concentrate on removing the bullet in his shoulder.

“I made a tactical decision,” he grunts as you stick sterile tweezers further into his flesh, irritating capillaries already cauterized by the heat from the gunpowder.

“Tactical decision? Are you delusional?” There’s a tiny clink as metal hits metal when your tweezers finally find the bullet. As carefully as you can, you start to extract it, mindful of his pain.

“See? Looks like I’ll live after all,” he grimaces as he watches you work, holding out his hand, urging you to drop the crumpled bullet into it as soon as it’s out. You oblige, not without attitude, swapping out the tweezers for a scalpel.

“Not if I kill you instead.” You gesture threateningly with the tiny blade. Glancing back up to him, you note the obvious bags under his eyes. His skin is just a shade paler than his normal sun-kissed glow, betraying his nonchalance. You set out on debriding the wound. “Why?”

“Look, I don’t know what you want me to say—” he shrugs with one shoulder, gesturing like he's the innocent one here. Your eyes flick down to the crushed bullet he’s rolling around in his palm.

“I want you to tell me why you jumped in front of the gun,” you demand. Fractured memories flash in your mind— the Incursion, the death, destruction, the loss. You hadn’t felt the same fear you did then until he pushed you out of the way. “You didn’t even raise your damn shield, Jo— Walker.”

“I don’t know!” He gestures frustratedly with his hand before letting it fall back to his lap. He avoids looking directly at you, laser-focused on the bullet. “The shield would have— it could have bounced wrong. I— just drop it, okay?”

You’ve never seen this version of him this agitated. Not even when Bucky tells him off for disobeying orders, not when Ava and Yelena gang up on him, and certainly never at you. He’s come to take everything thrown at him in stride, only subtle indications of his annoyance simmering under the surface. You know well what it’s like to make John Walker mad, and now you’ve succeeded in this universe the same as your own.

“Fine.” It’s your turn to pout, dropping the scalpel into the bowl of tools you’ll need to sanitize later. 

“What are you doing?”

“Dropping it.”

You feel his eyes on you for a few more beats, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop while you rummage around for the sterilizer and gauze. But there’s no lie, no trick, just your presence, firm and unyielding. You can’t say you understand, but that won’t change that the two of you are here now. As requested, you don’t bring it up again. Instead, you quietly stew while you wash out his wound and pack it with gauze, finishing it off with a bandage on top.

“Shower. And then you’re getting the bed, and that’s final.” You pat his shoulder gently as a finishing touch, and then quickly pull yourself from the close proximity to him. It’s not until you’re standing at the sink washing up that you realize how jittery the close contact with him made you, and you aren’t sure anymore if it’s just from the concentration.

John grumbles something about you being bossy, but rises from the floor to do exactly as you told him.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Two hours later, the sun long since set, and the both of you are finally clean, fed, and patched up. It’s been quiet between you, but not nearly as tense as it was on the way here, this time fueled by utter exhaustion.

You’re just pulling some blankets from the linen closet when John appears in the doorway of the bedroom, dressed down in a spare pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that looks a size too small. Maybe you should have coordinated— the one you’re wearing is at least two too big. He still looks tired, but it’s softened into something less defeated looking. Leaning against the doorframe with his uninjured arm, he watches you sort through the linen to find the least musty option.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” he finally says. “It’s a king. There’s room, you know.”

“It’s fine— “

“No, it’s not. You’re just as tired, and I’m pretty sure these floors are dry rotted. Plus, there’s no heating system— just, c'mon. We can share.”

You stare at him blankly for a few moments, rolling the proposition around in your head. Then, suddenly you're agreeing far too easily.

“Alright. I wasn't really looking forward to the floor anyway.” What you don't point out is the opportunity to keep a closer eye on him, just in case there ends up being any complications with his injury, or something that you missed, or—

It’s not lost on John either. “Wow, okay. I thought that would be harder,” he comments, trying to keep the delight off his face. “Well, I know I’m beat, so…” He stretches both arms over his head, notably gentler with his left as he yawns, and it's almost instinctual the way your gaze darts down to where his borrowed shirt rides up, revealing a toned stomach and blonde happy trail, as if you didn't just see him shirtless forty minutes ago. Somehow, the glimpse seems far more scandalous, especially now that it's sinking in that you're about to be sharing a bed with him. It’s not something you can honestly say you’ve never considered, but you never truly believed it might happen. And now you have to figure out how to not make it weird when you're already trying to compartmentalize him taking a bullet for you and the complicated feelings that he’s brought up.

You nod once, then again as you brush past him into the bedroom, immediately making it weird.

The two of you settle in, the old mattress not nearly as uncomfortable as you'd assumed it would be. You stay as close to the edge as you can without being too obvious, lying on your back and pulling the blankets up to your chin. It’s a relief when John slips under the blankets on the other side and does almost the exact same. The old farmhouse has a slight draft, and thankfully it’s early summer or else you’d be freezing. It’s dark except for the moonlight, opting to leave all the lights off so as to not attract attention, and quiet besides your steady breaths and the crickets chirping outside the window.

Minutes pass, you're not exactly sure how many, as you finally relax enough to entertain the idea of actually sleeping. More than an arm’s length away from you, John’s breathing is deep and even, and you don't look over, but you assume he’s long asleep until his voice breaks through the quiet.

“I panicked,” John confesses suddenly, like he needs to force the words out or else they’ll never come.

And you aren't quite sure what he’s even talking about. “Panicked?”

“During the mission. When I saw the soldier aiming for you. I panicked.” John rolls onto his side to face you then, the mattress bowing under his super-soldier weight. “I was moving before I could really even stop myself.”

You stay on your back watching the ceiling as his words sink in. “Why? You think I can’t handle it?”

“No! That’s not— I just feel responsible, protective,” he admits through gritted teeth.

“Responsible?” you scoff, finally turning towards him. You can just barely make him out in the darkness, the window behind him backlighting his silhouette. But his expression isn't the haughty one he’d normally wear while knocking someone down a peg— it's genuine, almost sheepish. It makes you drop your defensiveness. “You don’t have to feel responsible and I don't need you to protect me, you know.”

“I had to do something! I already got you killed once; can you blame me?” His voice is still low, but with enough urgency to get his point across.

And suddenly, you realize exactly what this is all about.

You take a deep breath in and out, scooting just a fraction closer to him. “You never did anything to me. You don’t have to make up for something that happened to someone else.”

“I shot you, point blank. And then looted your body and left you to burn with the rest of Valentina’s trash,” he argues against himself.

“It wasn’t me, Walker. You didn’t know her.”

“But I still see it, that I’m capable of—“ He huffs, sitting up and shaking his head. “But now I do know you. And I can't forget the look on your face as I put a bullet between your— her— eyes! I always wondered, what if I hadn’t been so hotheaded in that vault, if I had just believed Yelena? And then the multiverse answered my question. I don’t want to fuck it up a second time. You lost your Thunderbolts, the team that you knew and loved. I just want you to feel like you can have the same thing here, with us. In your world, I was important— “

“So, this is about your ego, too?”

“—I was important to you!” He doesn’t yell, but his volume increases just enough to get his point across. “The way you looked at me on Battleworld, before you realized I wasn’t him. Like I was your hero.”

For a moment, you have no response. You can only sit up, watching him with wide eyes as you try to decipher exactly what he means. And you aren't sure you can stand it if you’re wrong.

“He never actually paid me much mind, you know,” you start delicately, insistent on not conflating the two versions of him who, at the end of the day, you've come to realize couldn't be more different. “He was a part of the team, of course, but always working towards the unattainable. In the end, he got his family back, the title, the adoration— it felt like we weren't good enough for him.”

“Well, your Walker—”

“—He was never mine,” you interrupt with such vitriol that the implication is clear as day, and once you realize what you've said, you shrink back, avoiding his gaze.

“Then he was a moron.” He scoots closer to you, reaching out for your hand as he closes the distance. His gaze is so softer now, no longer trying to argue against himself. And you let him, staying where you are as he entwines his fingers with yours. You feel light as air and sick to your stomach all at once, and for the second time today, you can’t predict his next move.

“And you're not?” you attempt to tease, but it falls flat as he keeps leaning in towards you. Your head tilts back the closer he gets, eyes locked on his, lips parted.

“I guess that’s for you to decide.”

And you do.

At first, John is much more tentative than you’d thought he’d be. For all his peacocking and intensity, you didn't expect him to melt the moment your lips touch his. Maybe this is as unexpected for him as it is for you. Your hands bunch into the sides of his shirt and you pull yourself into him, as close as possible. As soon as you take the initiative to tease your tongue across his bottom lip, it’s like he finally wakes up. He makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a gasp, dropping your hand in favor of tangling his fingers into your hair. John moves his lips against yours with a fervor, parting to let you slip inside and taste him. All your frustration and anxieties from the mission fade away at once, and you ground yourself in the moment with him here and now. You push him back until you can straddle him, only breaking the kiss to position yourself over his lap. A tremor runs through him as you settle your weight over him, and he’s already half-hard.

You don't know who starts the pile of forgotten clothes on the floor next to the bed, only that it feels like relief when you press your bare chest against his. Mouth still attached to yours like it's the last thing he’ll ever taste, John cups your breasts, calloused fingers grazing over your peaked nipples. You groan softly, hips grinding down against his, your clit catching on his cock in just the right way. You’re both still clothed from the waist down, but between your thighs he feels huge— it seems he does have a good reason for all that overconfidence.

Reluctantly, and with a few pecks for good measure, John finally pulls away, and the two of you finally take a moment to look each other in the eye. His pupils are blown, flushed pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, lips reddened from your nips and bites. He’s startlingly handsome, especially underneath you like this, but as you go to finally say something, he beats you to it.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he pants, still managing to sound borderline reverent while he’s trying to catch his breath. Hands splayed out over your thighs, he guides you into a rhythm as he grinds up into you, his lips trailing down your collarbone, moving lower and lower until you feel his teeth grazing your nipple. He takes turns laving his tongue over each one, eyes shut in pleasure as he moans softly against your skin. “Let me eat you out? Please?”

The way he begs might just be the hottest thing you've ever heard in your life.

You don't know if your own words will work right now with the way he’s watching you, so you nod your head eagerly. Propping your hand on his chest, you slip off your panties and go to move off of him. Instead, his grip shifts to circle your thighs and he pushes you up as he slides himself down. And then, you’re suffocating John Walker with your thighs. Your hands fly to his hair, and the grateful look he’s giving you from between your legs could be enough to send you over the edge all on its own.

Where he started off shy against your mouth, against your cunt that’s overwhelming every last one of his senses, he’s unabashed. He pulls you against his mouth like he wants to be crushed underneath you, his tongue wasting no time circling your clit. You’re practically dripping down his throat, tugging at golden strands for some sort of leverage while he pleasures you with an intensity you’ve never experienced. You wouldn’t have thought him to be so exceptional at this, as you’re being driven closer and closer to the edge. Wanton sounds fall from your mouth with no restraint, cooing your praises for him each time you catch your breath.

“John— so good, that’s it,” you cry as he wraps his lips around your clit. He’s devouring you and it only intensifies every time you manage to form words. The vibrations from his own muffled moans only add to the sensation, and you can’t help but rock your hips.

You gasp when you suddenly feel fingers running through your folds, collecting your slick mixed with his spit and spreading it all around, his tongue still lapping at you. He’s entirely pussy drunk; the sight of his brow furrowed in concentration from between your thighs almost enough to push you completely over the edge.

But it’s his fingers that really do you in, sliding two wet digits into your tight cunt. You cry out, in a way that you’d be embarrassed over if it didn’t feel so good. Nails digging into his scalp, you’re overwhelmed by the feel of his tongue, the pace of his fingers, the scratch of his beard over the tender skin of your inner thighs.

But it’s what he says, only pulling his mouth away for a split second, that has you immediately seeing stars and drenching his beard.

“That’s it, love, come for me.”

His warm words hold just a hint of that hidden Georgia drawl, and then he’s mouthing you through your orgasm. His lips and fingers don’t stop until you’re no longer capable of chasing them, borderline overstimulated, and even then he's reluctant to give this up. You inch down his body as you catch your breath, finally fully resting over the cut of his hip bones.

John sits up to chase you. He’s still in his boxers, the fabric brushing over your still-sensitive cunt as he attaches his lips back to yours. The warmth of his mouth mixed with the taste of you. It’s a dizzying sensation.

“Wow,” you sigh, forehead resting against his.

“Careful, or you’re gonna give me an ego,” he quips. When you open your eyes, he’s staring up at you with such adoration that it knocks the wind out of you.

“You already have an ego.”

You kiss him again, and again, pulling back every so often to get another look at him, to see if that glint ever fades. It doesn’t.

“It’s probably your fault.” He presses a kiss to your neck, pushing your hair back. “I wanna see you this time,” he groans. Your hips are rocking over his again, giving him just enough relief, but its not enough. It’ll never be enough. You pause, rising just enough to slide his boxers down and toss them somewhere behind you.

“Fuck, look at you.” Your eyes trace the lines of his body, openly ogling him. The lean muscle, the faint freckles on his collarbone, the marks you left on his neck. His cock stands proud and leaking between you, and you spit on it, letting it drip down slow. Head falling back against the dated headboard, he moans your name.

“—love, please. Ride me,” John begs, pulling you closer by your hips. Using that endearment again. It’s not one you would have expected him to use, but now that you’ve heard it, you aren’t sure you could live without it. You wrap a hand around his length, using your saliva to lube him up, dragging a thumb over his tip, adding his precum to the mix.

“You keep calling me that.”

He watches you, his eyes dark and unfocused. His grip on your hips grows tighter, threatening to bruise. To leave signs of himself on you. Proof that he was here. That he’s the one who’s making you gasp and moan— that he’s the only one who can.

“Calling you what?” he asks, feigning ignorance. His hips jerk up into your touch.

“You know what,” you reply, moving your hand slowly up and down his length. Your voice is low and breathless. “That’s the second time.” You lean down to nip at his earlobe. “Love.”

 “It’s just a word,” he growls, a hint of a lie in his tone, “Just a harmless, little word.” He likes the way it sounds on your tongue. Like it’s just for him, not any other version. Your tongue flicking over his ear. God, he nearly moans.

You bite under his ear, teeth rough against his skin. “No, it’s not just a word,” you whisper. Your fist is still working him, slow and teasing. “It’s more. Isn’t it?”

“Don’t.” John says it like it’s urgent. Like if you don’t comply, you’ll both have some sort of problem on your hands. “Don’t ask me that.”

You lift your head to look at him for a moment, like you’re trying to see into him, trying to see something. He looks scared. Fragile. You can feel his pulse pounding against your lips. Like there’s something he’s afraid to let out. “I won’t then,” you assure. “We can take this slow.” His eyes flutter, and he leans into your touch, expression needy.

“…Slow is good,” he manages, his voice rough. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. You angle his cock towards your heat, grinding your cunt over him. But neither of you have enough self-restraint to actually keep things slow, and as you sink down onto him, you almost forget to breathe. It’s almost too much. The way he looks, the way he sounds, the way he feels. Your heart feels like it’s about to jump out of your chest. You lean in, pressing your forehead to his, adjusting to the feeling of him inside of you. Your fingers trace the lines of his face—- his cheeks, his jawline, the faint scar lining his chin. All of his rough edges and concealed softness, they all make sense to you. They fit you. They make you feel like home.

Like this is exactly where you’ve belonged all this time.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

So happy you’re back and that you’re okay! Here are some yummy thoughts since you talked about collaring Stan before.

Stan pretends at first the whole collar thing is for you more than him. But then you get him a GOOD collar and it breaks his brain. Soft red leather and golden letters spelling out ‘STANLEY’. Not just Stan. Stanley. And you’re so gentle putting it on him too slipping two fingers between it and his skin to make sure he’ll be safe. No one ever looks out for Stanley. He’s so big and strong he’s the protector. He loves being the protector. But the gentleness? The care? It makes him want to hump your leg.

The first full session he has it on he’s just in your lap getting his hair played with. He doesn’t have to do anything to please you. You’re whispering compliments to him and he’s so relaxed and yet so hard.

He doesn’t joke about being your dog anymore. At least not the way he used to. And he doesn’t when you break out the collar. Just looks at you with pleading puppy eyes as he groans. Stanley doesn’t really say please. But he makes that sad whining sound so well.

-fanfichubcircuit

YESSSSSS. this is so good, so so delicious and true to him im kicking my legs in the air like a little freak. it hits every single one of my brainrot pressure points. as some people already know, i am so obsessed with mullet Stan. like that man is literally my boyfriend. that’s not up for debate

the part about it saying STANLEY and not just Stan! no because THAT right there?? that’s exactly it. been headcanoning that he’s the type who gets soft whenever someone says “Stanley” instead of “Stan” and im ready to defend this idea with my whole soul

also part of you slipping your fingers under the collar to check it’s not too tight PLEASE. yes i love that all you have to do is pet his hair and whisper nice things and he’s literally rock hard from the affection. oh and if you pull him close with the leash to kiss him, just imagine how he melts. big hands grabbing your waist, poor thing, he forgot he wasn’t allowed to touch but can’t help it. smth about it is so intimate to him, you want him close, you care for him, wow. it’s so loving it makes him stupid.

+ imagine he hands you the leash. ”if u wanna, i dunno, i was just thinkin’— never mind, forget it” and you take it and he beams. he gets to be yours again

and YES. humping your leg. humping it like he’s rutting in heat, hands on your thighs. little grunts like “fuck, im sorry, m’sorry, just— can’t help it, sweetheart” while you stroke his hair and call him your good dog or “good boy, Stanley” oh, he wants to finish like that. so desperate, completely overtaken by the need to rut and grind but also just get relief. soft, breathy grunts in your ear & nose pressed to your neck, whining when he gets close trying to stop himself from sobbing out your name too loud.

i love it soo much !! pleaseeee keep writing filth about mullet Stan im damn starving !! <3

[bah-inthemines]

Hi! Can I request an ore vein with all crystals sisasystem of DSMP Tubbo, Ranboo, and Technoblade?

—🌌💥

* TIER 5 / ORE VEIN TIER SUBSYSTEM + ALL ADDONS * - SOURCE ; DSMP * - - SPECIFIC REQUESTS ; N/A

* - - - MOD NOTES ; We def tried our best with this!!! Uh, we weren't sure if you also wanted mod specific ( radqueer ) crystals too, but let us know if you did want those nd we can make another post with just those included!!

* - - - ADMIN NOTES ; Mod Lapis Lazuli (Submod Mars) here. This sisasystem was so large that I had to separate each headmate into different posts. You can find Ranboo here and Technoblade here.

* - NAMES ; Tubbo, Toby, Tobias, Giles, Aegis, Capra, Bee, Samuel / Sammy / Sam, Bug * - SPECIES ; Goat Hybrid / Satyr * - AGE ; 17, occasionally drops down to around 14-15, very rarely regresses to 8-10. *- PRONOUNS ; He/Him, They/Them, It/Its, Nuke/Nukes, Bee/Bees, Hoof/Hooves/Hoofself, Bleat/Bleats, Fawn/Fawns, Buzz/Buzzes/Buzzelf, Sting/Stings/Stungself, Stick/Sticks, Box/Boxes/Boxedself, Leaf/Leaves/Leafself, Clove/Clovers/Cloverself, Pog/Pogs, Trink/Trinkets/Trinketself, Tink/Tinkers/Tinkerself, Plain/Plains, Gar/Dens/Gardenself, Sun/Suns, Snow/Snows, Snow/Chester/Snowchesterself, Dirt/Dirts, Rock/Rocks, Riv/Rivers/Riverself, Bloom/Blooms * - TITLES ; The Bee Boy, [PRN] who's happily married, [PRN] of Snowchester, Nuclear * - GENDER ; Transmascneu, Goatgender, Nukething, Caprinaefluid, Goatbitch, Bastazeal, Cloventar * - ORIENTATION ; Achillean, Queerplatonic, Arospec, Acoromantic * - SOURCE ; cTubbo, Dream SMP * - ICON(S) ; [all creds]

* - ROLES ; ADHD Holder, Special Interest Knowledge Holder, Advocate, Anchor, Dyslexia Symptom Holder, Exotrauma Therapist, Frostling * - SIGNOFFS ; ☢️🐝 * - HEX CODE ; #586d3d

* - PERSONALITY TRAITS ; Adventurous, Ambitious, Analytical, Attentive, Bold, Confident, Innovative, Hardworking, Loyal, Perservering, Resilient, Sensible, Steadfast, Tactful, Talented, Visionary, Witty, Snarky * - PERSONALITY DESC ; Bee is very, very stubborn. When there's something he wants to do, it's likely that pog will get to do it. It's also very considerate of others. * - LIKES ; Large tasks being broken up into smaller / more manageable tasks, Bees, Accessibility, Boundaries, Goats, Tinkering * - DISLIKES ; Large tasks / mass amounts of information all at once, Alcohol, Politics / Politcal Figures * - MBTI ; IXTP ( Introverted, Balaced Sensing / Intuition, Thinking, Perceiving ) * - ENNEAGRAM 8w7 * - PHOBIAS ; Aphenphosmphobia ( Intimacy ), Phonophobia ( Sudden Loud Sounds, for Tobias it's specifically fireworks ), Teleophobia ( Definite / Set in stone Plans ), Dipsophobia ( Drinking Alcohol ), Katagelophobia ( Ridicule ), Kakorrhaphiophobia ( Failure ) * - HOBBIES ; Tinkering, Inventing, taking things apart to see how they work, watching youtube, cooking, playing minecraft * - FRONT TRIGGERS ; Bees, Nuclear Discussion, Winter, Exotrauma from other headmates in front, Nature, Goats, Tinkering, having to fix something, Mechanics * - TYPING STYLE ; Talks very casually, usually all lowercase, is much more prone to making spelling mistakes than other alters, replaces O with ☢ * - TRIVIA - Will always have at least one bee with them in minecraft, no matter what.

* - AESTHETICS ; Adventure Pulp, Cryptidcore, Chaotic Academia, Campcore, Fairy Grunge, Goblincore, Green Academia, Midwest Gothic, Zombie Apocalypse * - FASHION STYLE ;

* - ACCESSORIES ;

* - BIRTHDAY ; June 14th * - KINTYPES ; Beekin, Nuclear Conceptkin, Compasskin, Maned Wolf Kin, Poisonkin, Sal Fisher ( Sally Face ) Fictionkin, Goatkin, Cactuskin, Winterkin, Snowy Biome Placekin, Snowchester Hearthome, Amber Gemkin * - MEMORIES ; ㅤㅤㅤ* Was married to Ranboo, but hadn't had an official wedding yet. ㅤㅤㅤ* They both looked after Michael in the mansion together, treating him like their own son. ㅤㅤㅤ* He doesn't remember a lot of the more angsty memories from the DSMP, especially not during Pogtopia or the Schlatt Administration. He vaguely remembers how he feels during those arcs, but doesn't quite remember exact events. ㅤㅤㅤ* ^ He's also like this with L'manburg, but it's mostly more positive connections. ㅤㅤㅤ* Bee has a few memories and negative connections with Ghostboo, and definitely has memories of being widowed. Rock specifically remembers visiting Ranboo's gravestone to give them flowers, and falling asleep on it that night. ㅤㅤㅤ* Not exact memories, but bee remembers basically everything that @/spoopdeedoop ( on tumblr ) draws, and honestly considers their art to be a secondary source. * - SOURCE RELATIONS ; ㅤㅤㅤ* Rocks still fairly connected to the fandom / fanon side of the DSMP but is more distanced from the actual content itself; a lot has to do with how many problematic streamers there are involved in it. ㅤㅤㅤ* Most connected to Ranboo, Tommy, Michael, and Quackity.

* - MOODBOARD ;

* - USERBOX ;

* - PLAYLIST ; * TUBBO_ . . . BAH PACK PLAYLIST * - HEADSPACE ROOM ;

[whosherefor-thechaos]

saw a german translation of the lyrics to everybody by the backstreet boys that translated "Rock your body" as "Schaukeln Sie Ihren Körper" which is technically correct but also so wrong that it's just left me fucking crying laughing for the last few minutes

[icewindandboringhorror]

sometimes looking at like Self Help Strategies lists for the symptoms I'm having is always just like:

thing that I already do

thing I have tried 10 times

thing I already do

thing that I don't have the money to do

thing I already do

thing I've been doing since I was 10yrs old to no avail

thing that is impossible given my situation

thing that doesn't apply to me

thing that I already do

thing I have already tried

hrmm, oh wait, maybe finally- OH, yeah.. okay. thing that I already do but it was just phrased slightly differently

thing I have already done

[cartoonghosts]

Google what does an autistic shutdown look like.......

[thegirlwholied]

oh so Andor's explanation for why Cassian said "this is a first for me" when locked up by Saw Gerrera in Rogue One is... "absolute verbal irony because he spends a significant amount of time repeatedly locked up, including by should-be allies", huh

[bredforloyalty]

well not every shift is good it took me a while but i have taken notice of this

[obligatory-name-change]

thinking about a house. the house is sentient but not in a way i would typically recognize. it would view me as both a part of itself (similar to how an animal is a part of its ecosystem) and also something inherently lesser (like how an owner views its pet). i can't communicate with it in any meaningful way. i can't even tell when it's paying attention to me if it doesn't try to draw my attention. it can manipulate whatever is inside of itself except me, which would give me a sort of edge if it ever viewed me as a threat, but since it doesn't it sees it in more of a "awww look at your little claws" way.

[tvrningout-a]

[icewindandboringhorror]

reminders of the passage of time moodeboard

[ryker-writes]

Well, here we are! After my head cannons about giving them a rock, and it might be some way to propose to fae, I’m here to deliver!

Request rules and Masterlists

Accidentally proposing by giving him a rock (Malleus)

Being friends with fae is confusing sometimes. Of course, they’re great! But their culture is new to you, and you’re trying to learn. Of course there’s bound to be misunderstandings and mistakes every so often! It’s part of the learning process.

Well, this is probably the biggest misunderstanding that could’ve possibly happened.

You’d simply wanted to give Malleus a gift to help express how much you care about him. So when you found this nice smooth black rock with specks of gray and green, you thought it was perfect for him. Who doesn’t love rocks anyway? From what you’ve learned about fae, they’re very in tune and connected to nature. So surely Malleus would appreciate the rock!

So when you see him next, you told him had a gift for him. But when you held the rock out to him, he was…stunned to say the least. The ever so calm Malleus Draconia had wide eyes when he saw it, and he’d gone completely stiff and silent. In hindsight, that definitely should’ve told you something was wrong. But at the time, you naively thought he was just stunned you gave him a gift. You were well aware he hasn’t gotten to experience friendships like the average person first most of his life. So it made sense why he’d be surprised when you gave him a gift. He’s not used to receiving gifts.

“Child of man…do you truly mean this?”

You’d smiled at him, and nodded, “Of course. I wanted to give you something to show I care and how much I appreciate you. This rock reminded me of you with the spots of green on the black.”

Just like that, the biggest smile grew on his face. One of his hands moved and gently held onto the bottom of your own hand that held out the rock, and the other carefully picked it up. He held the stone close to his chest, and looked down at you with such softness.

“Words cannot properly express how grateful I am to receive such a gift from you. I am delighted to accept this treasure. Rest assured, I will keep it safe and make the proper preparations for everything.”

It was hard to question what he meant when he said he’d make preparations when he looked so happy and held onto the rock like it’s sacred. He probably meant that he’d set something up to protect the rock, like a place for it to sit on display or something. Yeah, that seems like something he’d do.

You thought it was odd when Sebek was at the door to Ramshackle the next morning. He seemed rather upset, and he woke Grim up with his shouting, but he insisted that it was his duty to stick around. In your freshly woken up state, you didn’t quite process everything he’d said. Something about the audacity of humans, how Malleus is so humble and kind, and that regardless he would fulfill his duty to Malleus at all costs. But all that was pretty normal talk for Sebek.

It was a lot easier to let Sebek just escort you to your first class than to try and argue about being able to get there on your own. It was a lot quieter after he left to go to his own classes. Grim actually fell asleep during class, claiming that he woke up too early from Sebek’s yelling.

Around lunch time, Lilia had stopped by your table (Scaring Ace in the process). He’d greeted you with a big smile, and arms outstretched.

“Congratulations! Young people sure do move fast. But I’m glad to see Malleus so happy. He told us all about it when he came back to Diasomnia yesterday. It seems Briar Valley’s future is looking rather interesting, and more accepting of humans.”

Okay, now you were very confused, and so was everyone else. Unfortunately, when Ace asked what was going on, Lilia just laughed.

“Ah, it is hard to keep up with younger folks sometimes. Anyway, I will be off. Much to do, things to help arrange.”

He disappeared before anyone could get another word in.

It’s safe to say you were now thoroughly confused. All you did was give Malleus a rock, and now you have Sebek acting like he had to escort you places, and Lilia congratulating you? Was the rock some magical item? It wouldn’t be the first time you accidentally came across something magical. Maybe it was Malleus just being protective? He did have a habit of going over the top a bit to protect those he cares about.

Either way, the only way to know what was really going on would be to ask Malleus himself. So after classes were over, you and Grim made your way over to Diasomnia to find Malleus.

You’d never seen Diasomnia so…scattered. Several students were moving around quickly, some even avoiding eye contact or going still as you walked past them. And sitting in the lounge was the dragon prince himself, Malleus, with a big smile on his face as he spoke with Lilia.

As soon as Malleus saw you approaching, his smile grew again, and he looked at you with such joy and affection.

“Ah, Child of man, how lovely it is for you to visit. Everything is going smoothly.”

You blinked up at him in confusion, “What’s going smoothly?”

At that, he seemed surprised for a moment before answering, “The preparations for our marriage of course.”

…

What.

Grim practically squeaked beside you at the revelation and began shouting, “Marriage?! Who said you could marry my hench-human? You didn’t even ask for permission to propose to my minion!”

Malleus laughed softly, “There was no need for me to seek your approval. Child of man proposed to me themself. It was quite the honor.”

The small direbeast looked quickly between you and Malleus in shock, and slight offense that you didn’t tell him. Malleus wasn’t a mage he wanted to provoke, but you were his hench-human! How could you propose to him without even consulting or telling him first?!

In the pause, Malleus continued, “I have taken great lengths to ensure the precious stone is safe. It is a symbol of our engagement, and will be a fine piece at our ceremony. Grandmother has already received word, and will be welcoming you to Briar Valley by my side.”

Oh great seven. The Queen of Briar Valley knows you somehow proposed to the Prince by giving him…a rock?? This must be some part of fae culture you’d yet to learn about. Courtship wasn’t exactly a priority when learning about their culture, so you hadn’t gotten there yet.

Snapping out of your shocked daze, you had to ask, “We’re…engaged??”

Malleus nodded, “Of course. Was that not the purpose of your gift of stone?”

Part of you wanted to clarify that proposing was very much not the intention, but he looked so happy and Lilia was giving you a look beside him. Malleus even told his grandma, made Sebek escort you this morning, and now all of Diasomnia is treating you like some sort of royalty. He was so excited about it. How could you tell him that you weren’t proposing when he was so excited? That might break his heart.

Unsure of what to say, you stayed silent for a moment. Lilia, ever the protector of Malleus’ feelings, laughed lightly, “Ah young love. Proposing and yet being so flustered about it. It’s relieving to see the future rulers of Briar Valley being oh so in love. Humans and fae coming together after so long.”

Malleus smiled again, and stepped by your side, “I am honored to be your chosen partner. Now, we must set up a time for you to meet Grandmother before the wedding.”

Oh yeah, you’re done for.

[webism]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎HOT ROD !

After getting hooked on your taste, pornstar!satoru invites you and your pornstar boyfriend to shoot a threesome in the countryside.

pornstar!suguru x pornstar!satoru x fem!reader | part one, two

cw; ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she/her pronouns used for reader, unprotected sex, creampies, oral (m and f receiving), anal (m receiving), mmf threesome, voyeurism.

The sun has barely risen, the typical tangelo orange of a morning sky is yet to develop—instead, you watch a dull pink canvas the sky, turned more of a rose colour through the car's windshield. Suguru Geto, your lover and costar alike, keeps his hand on your thigh as he drives. Occasionally, he'll tap his fingers against your exposed flesh along to the beat of the old niche rock song blaring through the radio. You have the volume up too high—which isn't good for your ears, but is great for the soul—and the windows rolled all the way down. The wind is in your hair, which aids the setting heat of Summer in Japan. It's quite pleasant out here. You're filming at a location you can only reach through an open road that goes right past some very scenic hills, and you're having a lovely time just enjoying your lover's company. Nothing but the two of you. 

That being said—something sits at the forefront of Suguru's mind. You can tell his thoughts are preoccupied, having been with him so long gets you a sweet look into that pretty mind of his. So, when the strings of an electric guitar die out, you turn the radio down and shift in your seat to face him better. 

“Cold feet?” You ask. 

His hair is up and out of his face, save for a stand that falls over his eyes, though it’s pushed back by the wind regardless. He glances at you, smiles, and looks away.

“I don’t get cold feet," he says flatly, looking at you for half a second before his focus returns to the road. “I'm just interested to see if he'll fuck as good with me there, of if the poor guy will get performance anxiety."

Ah, jealousy it is. The flat kind, because your sweet-boned lover never gets openly jealous. You have to settle for half-bitten quips. You smile, "he didn't seem like the type to get performance anxiety."

Suguru hums in a noncommittal way, his lips pulling inwards. He squeezes the fat of your thigh and taps a finger against your skin.  Your skin heats under his touch, it always does. You might earn your living through the most sensual of touches, but none of them quite set you alight like Sugurus does.

Well, except for Satoru. You try to avoid closing your eyes, in fear of being met with the memory of his cock sinking into you rather than the darkness of your closed eyelids. You feel half-guilty, despite Suguru's obvious itch to see you laid out for Satoru Gojo of all people. You know him, you wouldn't be driving forty minutes through the countryside if Suguru wasn't at least a little bit obsessed with the fantasy.

Satoru Gojo, a known name in the porn industry, got to fuck you stupid only a week ago. He had asked you out for drinks after, and though you rejected him verbally, you’re starting to fear that your mind didn’t reject him in the same regard. You had come home that night to your sweet Suguru, and told him all about being hit on by your co-star, to which he laughed.

And oh the irony, that your Suguru was balls-deep inside of you that night when the two of you got an email from Satoru’s agent– an offer, an expensive one. One shoot, a week from then, a threesome between his new favourite love birds and, of course, him.

Suguru remembers Satoru like he was the season prior, like the winter that bled into you, the spring. They did a few films together, Satoru got a little too stuck in Sugurus mind and then, once their contracts were up, they never spoke again. 

The rising sun makes him squint against the road— he almost misses the turn off to the countryside estate you had been told to meet at. The place is nice, big, and you’re starting to wonder just how widely distributed this porno will be if the producer is shelling out so much money just for an estate to rent out for half a day. 

“With how much they’re paying us, I half expected the budget for location to allow for a crack den at most,” Suguru snorts as he pulls in through the large paved driveway. 

“No kidding,” you hum. With this paycheck, you’d just be greedy looking for work in the next few months. 

Suguru parks and undoes his seatbelt with a sideways glance in your direction. “We’re a bit early,” he notes. “But it never hurts to get a feel for the place, talk to our co-star for a minute or two.”

You smile. “Mhm, talk.”

“Ready to get fucked for cash?” Suguru snorts, and opens his door to get out of the car. You follow suit, rolling your eyes at his crude words when your feet hit the ground and you’re closing your door behind you. 

You walk around the car to meet your boyfriend, and he greets you with a pinch to your ass and a kiss to your temple. You’d recognise something poetic in the contrast of his actions if your mind wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of performing for him in only a few moments. 

Despite both being pornstars, you rarely take scenes together. Threesomes aren’t a frequent venture— this is something relatively untapped for the both of you. And though you’re sure it would never jeopardise your relationship at all, you can’t help but entertain the worries that creep in. Will Suguru really not mind sharing? 

You aren’t sure what’s worse— the thought of him getting overly jealous of Satoru and cutting the scene short, or the thought of Suguru not minding in the slightest as you get fucked stupid by another man. A little possession never goes unappreciated on your end. 

“Hey,” Suguru’s silken voice brings you back to the now. “You okay? We can turn around and speed off into the sunrise if you want to leave.”

You grin. “I’m good. Excited, even.”

Your boyfriend nods and leads the way to the estate's front door. It’s closed, which is a little odd considering the production crew will be coming in and out with equipment and the such. You furrow your eyebrows and realise your car is the only one here—maybe you’re earlier than you realised. 

“You checked the shoot time, right?” you ask. 

“Yes, love,” Suguru makes it to the front door and tries the handle only to find it locked. “Fuck, maybe I should have triple checked.”

He presses a thick finger to the doorbell button and glances to you as the sound of an overly upbeat chime echoes through the estate. Maybe it’s the wrong place, too lavish to be true. Maybe it’s the wrong date, even. Maybe—

The door swings open, and standing to greet you with a knowing grin is Satoru Gojo. 

His eyes meet yours first, and then drop to take in the rest of you. Something soft flashes over his face. Lust, perhaps, or appreciation, maybe both.  His arms cross over his chest, leaning his body weight on the doorframe as he flits his gaze to your boyfriend, and his eyes return.

“Long time no see, lovebirds. Just on time," he chirps, stepping aside to let you in. "Excuse the mess, I just moved in."

It takes a moment for your brain to register his words, and Suguru is right behind you in thought. "This is your place?" he asks, appraising the foyer as he walks in. 

“Mhm,” Gojo replies, and though you expect his lilt to be more cocky, he speaks smooth like silk. “The city is too… busy for me. Plus.. saves a dollar on renting out a house to film in, right?”

You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips: from the looks of his home you doubt he’d blink an eye at paying rent for a night of filming. Still, you don’t know if he’s just trying to show off, or if he really wants his home to play backdrop for the shoot. But whatever the case, he definitely thinks it’s clever on his behalf to lead the both of you here. It worked, you give it to him, but damn.

You look around, taking in everything that catches your eye – the sleek furnishings, a wide kitchen to the left, and an elegant living room straight ahead. All of it feels clean and welcoming. You wonder, idly, what it's like for Gojo to live in a space like this all alone – if he is alone, that is. The question remains unanswered as Gojo leads the two of you down the hall until you reach another door and slip inside.

The bedroom you end up in is stunning; a double bed dominates the centre of the room with fluffy duvets thrown haphazardly over top, whilst the walls are painted a warm, calming shade of grey. The carpet is plush and dark brown in colour, the curtains hanging at either side of the grand windows allow for plenty of natural light to flood the room. There's a tripod set up with a very expensive looking camera pointed directly at the bed: Satoru points to it and grins at you and Suguru, "our camera crew."

You furrow your eyebrows, but Suguru speaks up before you can. "It's just us?" 

Satoru nods, crossing his corded arms and he flits his gaze between the two of you. "Yes. I did specify it was a private shoot, lovebirds."

Your boyfriend settles in closer beside you than before, you can feel the heat from his body as he crosses his own arms, a mirror of the white haired man in front of you. "I figured it was a private production shoot," he speaks cautiously. "The email I got was from an agent, not you directly."

Satoru looks unperturbed. "'Course," he says languidly. "She handles all my correspondence."

Gojo turns to the dresser and, from the top drawer, pulls out two white envelopes. Your eyes linger a little too long on his slender fingers as he hands them over to you, one each. As you peek into the envelope handed to you, you find an obscene amount of cash neatly sat inside. 

"As agreed, plus... a little extra for the commute," Gojo shrugs. "You can take it and go, if this isn't what you want. If it is, well..." He gestures to the bed. "I'm kinda dying here."

You glance down at his insinuation and find that he's beyond hard. His pants are tight and tented, making his arousal painfully evident. You have to force your gaze elsewhere – to Suguru, who is staring almost shamelessly at Gojo, his brows creased in the middle as he thinks.

The silence is deafening, you can feel the tension rising between the three of you, vibrating off the surface of your skin and permeating the air itself. Suguru seems to have made his mind up, because he turns to you with an awfully familiar look on his face: desire.

"Thoughts, darling?" he asks, and your stomach flips. 

There's no point in pretending that there aren't things wrong with how your mind still reels after Satoru's touch. This entire thing has been confusing and disorientating; you're confused about everything – your feelings, your career, your sexual desires – and now, in your current situation, you’re downright torn. And yet, despite that, despite all the questions swirling around in your mind, as soon as your eyes land on Satoru's again – you know you'd die without another taste of his pink glossed lips. That feeling, the desire, the forethought of how he'd pant and whine after you've fucked him senseless – you'll do anything to achieve it. 

This doesn’t feel like work anymore, not with the way these two men are looking at you. The camera isn’t even rolling yet, and yet you find yourself ready to fuck them both to the brink of oblivion.

So, without so much as a second of hesitation you pull away from your train of thought and turn to press your lips to Suguru's in a searing kiss. The action, so swift, causes Gojo's breath to hitch in his throat at the sight. Suguru kisses you back, of course, the hand that isn't holding his envelope quickly makes its way to your waistline and pulls you flush against him, leaving nothing but your clothes between the both of you. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck as Gojo watches the two of you intently, gaze burning into the meeting of your lips. You can feel him watching you, his spectatorship dizzying, and you bite Suguru's bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the moan bubbling up your throat.

“Jeez, didn’t know this was a cuckolding shoot,” Satoru sounds whiney, threadbare with lust. “Though I wouldn’t mind that… another time maybe.”

You place a hand on the planes of Suguru’s chest as you disconnect your lips and turn your head to the white-haired pervert with heart-shaped pupils. Your grin is sweet, sultry - "another time, huh?"

You pull apart from Suguru and move past Gojo, making a point not to glance in his direction, until you're crawling onto the bed and turning to rest with your elbows propping you up. Both Suguru and Satoru standing, your observers - admirers, is a sight for sore eyes. The camera sits between them, propped up and set on you. In spite of it, you feel oddly at home. The same sweet excitement builds within you that you normally feel when it’s just you and Suguru at home. You didn't know the air could weigh so intimately in front of a camera.

It takes a moment of staring at you, jaw slack, for Satoru to finally spring into thought. He steps towards the camera, makes sure everything is looking good, and then clears his throat as he presses record. He almost looks nervous, and if he weren't so cocky in his usual demeanour you'd think he's getting cold feet. But you remember the way his eyes glossed when he pushed into you, how that confidence of his melted into carnal need in just one thrust. You know what you do to him, and god does it seem amplified tenfold with Suguru here.

And your black-haired lover must know it too, because the second Satoru makes a move to speak, Suguru cuts him off with a step towards him and a burning kiss pressed to his lips. Satoru's sound of alarm at Suguru's lips on his is almost enough to send you dizzy, but the true aphrodisiac is the sight of your lover taking charge with him; lips locked onto one another, the lewd noises they make as Suguru cups Satoru's face with one hand and scratches into the back of his hair with the other. Satoru's moans become louder and more desperate, as Suguru's tongue explores the recesses of his mouth, sucking hungrily upon the flesh of his lower lip. When the two break apart they're both breathing heavily, panting as they catch their breath. An undoubted look of longing is etched into every last one of their handsome features.

You feel your stomach roil with anticipation as you watch them, realising the camera is only pointed at you, capturing your wanton expression. But then, it snaps, and suddenly your lovers are pulling apart to instead lay their gaze on you, resting back on Satoru's wildly comfortable bed sheets with a lust-driven smile pulling at your lips.

“You’re a fucking lucky man, Suguru,” Satoru coos, blue eyes raking over you in appreciation. You’re hardly undressed, and yet you feel naked under his gaze. “Don’t know how you can do porn when you’ve got such a pretty thing waiting for you at home. It’d ruin my performance.”

“I know,” Suguru says plainly, truly. "You've never been good at multitasking, have you Satoru?"

"Harsh words," Satoru pouts, giving his best imitation of an overly dramatic frown. "I can multitask just fine, do you need me to prove it?"

Without a word further, he plucks the camera from its tripod and points it at Suguru. "For example," he sing-songs, "I can fuck and film at the same time."

“Can’t do it dressed,” you point out, to which both men turn to find you already stripping yourself of your clothes. Satoru turns the camera onto you, finding it a sin to not capture you revealing yourself with such delicate fingers. You look into the lens, eyes sultry as you’re known for doing, and wonder just how many people are going to slip their hands under their waistbands at the sight of you. 

Once you’ve laid yourself bare, your naked skin feels static with the tension in the air, you reach your hands out and make grabby-hands at Satoru. “Pass the camera,” you hum. “It’s your turn.”

A glance between themselves, and then Satoru is leaning over the bed to slot the camera in your hands. It’s heavier than you’d thought it would be, but feels nice and cooling against your otherwise sweaty palm. Satoru’s fingers brush over yours as he hands it over, something electric stills the room for a moment, and then he pulls away with a cough.

He hadn’t realised that Suguru had fallen into place behind him, because when he steps backwards and his back hits your boyfriend's chest, Satoru gasps. You capture the pink blush that speckles at his cheeks, and the beautiful way in which Sugurus hands snake around his body to caress down his chest.

Suguru has always been gifted in the way of sparking intimacy. It’s why the porn he shoots is usually so artistic, he’s sensual. And Satoru, not for the first time, is falling victim to his seductive ways. The gentle traces of his fingers down Satoru’s chest is testament enough to just how narcotic Suguru’s touch is. When he reaches the hem of his shirt and starts lifting upwards, unwrapping his next meal, Satoru can’t help but lift his arms and help move the process along — he’s feeling beyond restless. 

Now exposed, Satoru’s chest and torso are now at the mercy of Suguru’s searing touch. Each trail of his fingers down the white-haired man’s chest, each tweak over his surprisingly sensitive nipples, each rough kiss against the column of his neck, they all elicit the most pornographic moans from Satoru Gojo’s throat. You study them both through the camera’s screen, and watch as Suguru presses his lips against Satoru’s ear.

He speaks in hushed tones, enough so that you know the camera isn’t going to pick up on his words. You can hear them though, only just, they're low and sensual and entirely full of sin. "You're lucky I'm letting you fuck my girlfriend for a second time," he purrs. "You know, she hasn’t stopped thinking about your last shoot. We watched it together the other night, I matched your rhythm, let her pretend it was you. She’s obsessed."

You're almost embarrassed by the confession, a burn sheens your skin, but the way Satoru's eyes darken impossibly further calms you. Suguru grins, catching your gaze from over Satoru's shoulder, and presses a kiss to his earlobe. "It brought me back, too," he says. "To when I got you to myself. You remember our films, hm? You're just like she is." 

Satoru nods, the tips of his ears turning redder. His breathing is shallow, ragged, needy; and in a split second he's turning around and returning his lips to Suguru's. Desperate hands lift at your boyfriend's own shirt, exposing his tattoo-laden skin underneath. His jeans soon follow, and then so do Satoru's pants.

For a moment it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Satoru's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Satoru takes Suguru's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Suguru's throat.

And when they part, it's obvious just how much heavier the air has gotten. Suguru turns your white-haired tryst and pushes him towards where you sit on the bed. "Move your ass before I fuck that too," he deadpans.

Satoru doesn't blush like you expected he would. Instead, he grins. "That would be a big change from last time, don't you think?" he sing-songs, eyebrows raised as he steps further towards the bed. "Or maybe you don't remember crying from how well I stretched you out, I sure do, all pretty and—"

This time Suguru does flush crimson, and you laugh out loud at this revelation. "I didn't know you bottomed for him," you shake the camera a little with your laughter, capturing the way Suguru glares at Satoru from beneath long eyelashes, "that's something I've got to see."

"Hah," Suguru climbs onto the bed and snatches the camera from you, settling on his knees as he points it down at your form. There, his fingers graze lightly against your bare skin, making you arch your back in anticipation. "Tough luck, pretty."

His black boxers are beyond tented, and he slips them off easily enough, allowing his cock to spring free, perfectly poised and ready for your hand. The sound of Suguru's moan as your fingers wrap around his length is paired with the shuffle of Satoru climbing onto the bed too. He hovers above you for a moment, watching you stroke Suguru through the camera, before taking it from him with a grin. 

Satoru returns the camera to its stand and checks its positioning before climbing back onto the bed and settling himself just behind you. You turn to smile at him, and then gasp as his hands tentatively find your shoulders. He peers over you, to the sight of Suguru’s drooling cock in your hand, and presses a kiss to the skin just under your ear.

“You know I’m fucking obsessed with you, right?” He purrs, glancing down to your boyfriend's cock before pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you. I dreamt of breaking you and your boyfriend up until I found out it was Sugu, here. Wanted you all to myself, pretty thing, but I think I’m happy enough to share now, because god do I want to see your lips wrapped around his cock.”

“Mm,” you hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you’re making demands?”

Satoru smiles, his lips glossy and so perfect you could cry. “I want to taste him on you.”

His words light a fire in your core that licks through your body, ravenous. You can't help but oblige at his words, returning your gaze to sweet Suguru before dipping your head down and pressing a chaste kiss to the weeping tip of his cock. Suguru and Satoru both inhale sharply when you do so. You wet your lips with your tongue and then meet his cock again, drawing lazy circles across his tip before closing your lips slowly, reverently around the shaft of Suguru's cock.

Satoru's hand pushes down a little on your shoulder, and you're forced forward onto your lover's length. Your moan betrays you and sends narcotic vibrations down his shaft, making Suguru grunt and buck his hips forward a little. Satoru, who remains behind you, gently takes hold of your hips and manoeuvres you into more of a doggy-style position — your fingers splayed over Suguru's thighs to try and find purchase as Satoru leans over you. 

Gojo's chest presses against your back, skin-to-skin intimacy broken by the feverish kisses he presses to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, your spine, His kisses become hotter, wetter, open-mouthed as he moves down to your waist, large hands playing with the flesh of your ass as he kisses a path down. You moan and shift against his grip, moving your hips in an effort to push yourself back against his boxer-clad erection, but Satoru only snaps you forward, and you choke a little as you're forced to take Suguru's cock even deeper down your throat.

"Fuck," Suguru hisses, pretty purple eyes meeting yours as you look up. Drool glosses his length, slick and hot and heavy against your tongue when he finally gives you a moment to breathe. 

Your mouth immediately goes back to work again once your breathing steadies, hollowing out your cheeks and dragging him down, deeper, faster, more desperately. The receipt of pleasure etched into Suguru's tight-wound face is enough to spur on your own needs, but you nearly choke when Satoru Gojo bites into the fat of your ass. Your body arches up and you squirm and whine, but Satoru is relentless, licking over the indentations left behind as Suguru snaps his hips into your open mouth over and over again.

You barely have room to move before Satoru is pushing your knees apart with a strong hand, the heel of his palm firm against your ass as he spreads you open. He takes a moment, heavy breaths fan against your exposed slick, and you’re suddenly all too aware of yourself. You’d protest, tell him not to stare if your mouth wasn’t full with your heavy-lidded lover's cock. You don’t even know why you’re embarrassed — you’re a pornstar, your job is to lie subject to the most intimate of ogling.

Your thoughts melt into the bedsheets, however, when Satoru groans and connects his lips to your pussy. Stupid off the taste of you alone, he whines against your slick heat, enamoured. His tongue flicks over you, circling your clit repeatedly and making your insides burn. You moan, and it comes out muffled and breathless around Suguru's dick.

"You taste so fucking good," Satoru speaks against your cunt. One hand slips between your legs, running two fingers through your folds in collection of your arousal, whilst his other hand tugs down at his own boxers, pulling his cock free and growling against your pussy as he starts to stroke at himself. "Fuuuuuckkk..." He pushes two fingers into you, easy with just how wet you are, and curls them in tandem with each pump of his cock.

Each thrust of his fingers pushes you just that little bit further onto Suguru's length. And you're thanking god that he's there, because without his muscled thighs to hold onto, you fear you’d be fucked too dizzy to keep yourself upright. You figure you must look a mess now, hair mussed and eyes bleary and drool rolling down your chin and all over Suguru's pulsing cock. 

You feel pathetic with how quickly your orgasm crests. Satoru must feel it too, how you clench around your fingers, the subtle tremor in your thighs, because his tongue only speeds up in its assault.  He's still stroking himself, keeping you open and willing as he sucks your clit harshly. Once you're right at the brink, teetering off the edge of ecstasy, Suguru pulls out of your mouth and leans down to crash his lips against yours. 

"Come," he orders into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. "Come for us, darling, come on now."

You're overwhelmed by Suguru's rakish lips over yours, and Satoru's relentless tongue over your sex. Before you can even try to present yourself for the cameras, you're cumming, hard. You writhe against Suguru, and your nails scrape across his thighs until you can hardly draw breath. The world slows down around you, leaving nothing but pleasure to consume.

"Holy shit," Satoru’s breath comes out in a hitched sort of laughter as he pulls back, not bothering to wipe away the sheen of your lust that coats his mouth and chin. “My head’s spinning, I think I’m in heaven. Do I still have a pulse?”

He makes a show of checking his pulse, despite the way you roll your eyes. You’re still coming down from your climax as Suguru peppers feather-light kisses over your face. Satoru, feeling more hungry than doting, brings his two fingers to his own mouth, licking them clean. Suguru catches sight of the action and gently pulls back from you, something knowing in his eyes.

You assume he’s going to redirect your head back to his cock, let you finish your job, but instead he tuts and nods his head to your shared tryst, who is still diligently working at tasting you some more on his fingers. 

“Think someone’s a little pussydrunk,” Suguru grins, and you do too at the sight of Satoru Gojo so blatantly desperate for more. Your eyes drift down to his cock, long and hard and weeping with precum. 

Though, you don’t want to neglect Suguru, so you turn back to him — “you didn’t finish,” you make a move to reach for his cock, still rock hard and achy-looking, but your lover shakes his head gently. 

“Got other plans,” he nods subtly to Gojo. “How about we show our stalker here just how much better the real thing is?”

You grin, catching onto his drift, and watch over your shoulder as Satoru rolls his pretty blue eyes. “You know, I’ve had the real thing, from both of you.”

“You haven’t had both of us,” Suguru shrugs. “And I know you’ve fucked your fist to the thought of it. Don’t lie, or you won’t enjoy this as much as you could.”

Satoru’s loaded remark gets stuck in his throat as Suguru pulls away from you entirely, though not without a gentle kiss to your forehead first. He stands by the bed, rolls his shoulders and nods to Satoru — “go on,” he gestures to you, still on your hands and knees. “Taste me on her lips.”

Satoru would probably blush if he weren’t so dedicated to the promise of a taste, because he’s got a hand under your stomach and is flipping you onto your back with ease in only half a second. You sigh at the reprieve of the strain on your hands and knees, and revel in how soft Satoru’s mattress is, when he’s collapsing on top of you with a strangled growl and his lips are meeting yours.

It’s a strange thing, to taste both Satoru, yourself, and Suguru at the same time. You taste Satoru in the way he kisses, hungry and listless, with knocking teeth and exploratory tongues. You taste Suguru in the remnants of his cock in your mouth, the precum that has coated your tongue, mixed with your saliva that now mixes with Gojo’s. And you taste yourself glossed on Satoru’s lips; your climax, the buildup of pleasure he had gifted you with both his mouth and fingers. 

A strange mix, maybe, but a perfect one nonetheless. You have to close your eyes to stop yourself from growing too dizzy, and also partly to stop yourself from worrying too hard — how were you meant to enjoy anything to its full potential now that you know how this tastes?

Satoru’s cock presses against the inside of your thigh; you can feel the gentle thrum of its pulse — a testament to his aching need. His arms box you in on either side, settled comfortably between your still-shaky legs. When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips to his, and his eyes are darker than you remember. 

“I need to be inside of you, need. You’re fuckin’... god I can’t think.”

As if by instinct, your legs part further, allowing him the access he so craves. It’s a fluid movement, the way he moves one hand down to direct his cock to your slick folds. He rubs himself against you, his tip kissing your clit teasingly. You suck in a shaky breath between parted lips, and when he doesn’t hurry up despite his desperation, you feel like you could cry.

Though, before a complaint can leave your lips, you're watching as Suguru joins you two on the bed, kneeling behind Satoru and running his long fingers gently down the white-haired man's bare back. Satoru's head falls forward at the touch, and as your boyfriends hand runs lower and lower on his back, you realise exactly where this is going. 

"You're gonna fuck her good," Suguru purrs, graceful in his touch. "Because I'm going to help you -- that okay?" He reaches back up, brushing his knuckles from between his shoulder blades, down the curve of his spine until he reaches his tailbone. 

Satoru's eyes are locked on yours as he answers your lover. "Yes," his exhale is beyond needy. "Please, god. Yes."

And from there, things move with practised ease. It feels normal to submit yourself, your body, to Satoru. As Suguru takes hold of either side of his waist and guides him into you, the stretch is searing. You remember just how hard it was to adjust to his size the first time, having to try and keep your face melted neutral for the cameras. You don't feel that same pressure now, despite Satoru still filming, and your nose scrunches up at the feeling of Satoru inside of you.

"You're..." you try, words stuck in your throat as Suguru pushes Satoru's hips into yours a little more. "Please."

Satoru takes control of the pace, his breath hot and heavy on your cheek, his body moving in sync. You moan as he starts thrusting slowly in and out, stretching every muscle in your body as you get used to the feeling. With every thrust, you feel him getting harder and deeper within you, and his mouth dips down to trail along the sensitive skin on your neck.

It's a narcotic, the way he fills you. He's longer than Suguru, though not quite as thick, but he reaches depths that aren't typical for you. As he sheathes himself deeper and deeper inside of you, with the help of Suguru's hands on his waist, You slowly become spineless; relaxing into the pleasure of his sweet push and pull.

Sweat beads at your skin as Satoru quickens the pace, pulling out and plunging back in again with unbridled whimpers as Suguru works on taking his fill. Your boyfriend, domineering though still gentle, starts working your tryst open with one of his fingers.

"Ah- fuck," Satoru's words are heady with need, the initial discomfort of Suguru's fingers pushing into his ass are quickly forgotten, replaced with a deep yearning for more sensation. It sends his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out inside of you at such depths you can't help but cry out. It's a symphony of wetness and gasps of air, each syllable punctuated by Satoru's frantic movements. Your body grows tighter and tighter around Satoru with every pass as he gets worked open so beautifully by Suguru.

Your mind is clouded by everything Satoru has done to you and by the sheer force of him filling you with his cock and all that comes with it. You're completely and utterly lost in the moment, consumed by Satoru, who is consumed by Suguru, who is consumed in the pleasure of serving you both in turn. 

"More," Satoru is barely able to get the word out as he slams deeper and deeper inside of you. "Fuck, more."

And Suguru isn't one to deny a pretty thing like Satoru such pleasures; he's pulling his fingers out of him in seconds and replacing them with the head of his cock at his ass. Suguru is gentle, but unrelenting as he thrusts himself into Satoru in one fluid motion. The pressure is enough to prick tears at Satoru's pretty blue eyes, which you reach up and wipe away from underneath him. 

A moment is shared, a chance for Satoru to breathe the best he can, before he's testing the waters and pushing back a little, onto Suguru's cock, before thrusting his hips forward, into you. 

This is ecstasy incarnate. The two men seem to merge together, their bodies melting as they meet. Suguru fucks you through Satoru, each thrust into him is a thrust into you, into the both of you. It almost hurts, you'd wager, the way your whole body throbs in synchronization with theirs, the way Satoru moans as Suguru drives you both to insanity. It's a weird way to connect with your lover, but one that works nonetheless, the both of you seem to share an awful yearning for the man sandwiched between you, fucked mindless. 

And then he's driving your entire being towards the edge, and you feel the orgasm coming on, the rush of blood to your head, your muscles tightening around Satoru. It's a strange feeling of being connected to something bigger than yourself, a system working in tandem with each other to chase climax, but it's a feeling you're quickly growing addicted to. It's warm, it's comforting, and most importantly, it's yours. This man right here, his body pressed tight between yours and Sugurus, is yours. Even if only for the early morning.

"Gonna cum," you whine, lips ghosting against Satoru's. He nods, eyes locked onto yours. 

"M—fuck—me too, baby. God, you have to let me come inside of you, doll, can't deny me, please. You—"

"You better," Suguru cuts in, his voice biting from behind Satoru. He thrusts sharply into Satoru, sending him keening forward into you, pressing right into your sensitive g-spot as Suguru hits his prostate in a mirrored pleasure. "Wanna watch you claim her," he bears down, "gonna fill you up, you fill her — watch her face, Satoru. Watch what you do to her."

You gasp as Satoru's fingers dip down to rub frantic circles over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm with each knock of his hips into your, of Suguru's into his. the room is filled with a chorus of moans and whines and desperate pleas for more and more and more. You know you'll never recover from this level of arousal if you don't come soon, but before you can find purchase in your body and begin your descent into bliss, Suguru is first to come undone.

His hips snap forward into Satoru, head craning into his neck, biting down on the muscle of his shoulders for some sort of physical gag — ever the one to stifle those beautiful noises of his. And the feeling of being filled in such ravaging volumes must be enough to send Satoru over the edge, too, because he's knitting his eyebrows together and cumming ropes into you in only moments.

"Fuck," he whines, once again tears prick at his eyes, overwhelmed by the duality of his pleasure, of you and Suguru, so close to you but also never close enough. He wants to be one with you, a complete unit, bound by sex and soul and the sweet sounds of the most powerful orgasm he's ever had in his life. 

You come in tandem with him, it's completely blinding. Your legs fall apart as you cry out, nails scraping across Satoru's bicep as the world melts away and the sensations start swirling about in your mind's eye and the last thing you register is Satoru collapsing forward, breathing raggedly into your ear. 

You catch the salty flavour of him as you suck in a lungful of air and smile in response, fucked stupid and blissful and never ready to give this feeling up. Never ready to give anyone else this feeling- god, you already despise whoever gets to taste Satoru Gojo next. 

Suguru has to pull out of Satoru slowly, and you wipe at his face with the pad of your thumb when it scrunches up in protest of the loss of Suguru’s stretch. Before he can truly call the scene over, though, Satoru leans down and presses the most gentle of kisses to your lips. A myriad of ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’s spill from his tongue as he does so, each word cut by a kiss to the expanse of your face.

And when he pulls out of you a sickening gush of his cum follows. It spills from your aching pussy and onto the bed sheets beneath you, though Satoru doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He swipes his finger through the mess he’s made of your sex, smiling when you hiss at just how sensitive you are, and brings his cum-coated finger back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. 

Your stomach flips at the sight. Great, he’s gone and fucked you lovestruck.

“Satoru,” a clean voice cuts in. Your head constricts in your fucked out daze when you turn to see Suguru standing by the tripod, his eyebrows raised and pretty purple eyes beyond amused. “It’s not even fucking recording.”

Instead of being confused, Satoru looks sheepish. He flops down onto the bed next to you, eyes glossy and cheeks blushed pink. “I…. can explain? I think I’d rather die than share the two of you with the world. But I’d really die if I didn’t get my hands on you both.”

You meet your boyfriend's gaze. Something passes between you, something knowing. In a weird, probably unhealthy way, you both feel the exact same. This was never a scene for the cameras, anyway— not when such strong… feelings are involved.

“I’m not proposing marriage here,” Satoru huffs when he catches onto your shared gaze. “I just, you enjoyed it, right?”

You giggle from beside him, your sweat-soaked skin cool against the air. Suguru chimes in with his laughter, melodic and beautiful. He folds his arms and watches the two of you laid across the bed. 

“Let’s get you both cleaned up, then,” Suguru hums. “I’m not fucking either of you again until we’ve shared a shower.

TAGLIST: @sugurubabe @fullbelieverheart @starrysho @meowforluv @ch3rryistheg @miizuzu @okayiamkassandra @inconcise @sexcults @hotgirlgoob @mistalli @ourfinalisation @graceloveslanadelrey @blessed-princesa @plinkuro @pe4rl-diver @sugojosgf @beachaddict48 @chimmysoftpaws @blendingcaramal @dongh9e @caramelised-onions @kyluskaye @sammywo @4evrglow @hiraethwa @stinkinstuffie @tomiokasecretlover @ser0t0nln @yuzu-ku @lagataprrr @dear-fifi @hel-lhound @kensqueent @sserafin @dabisdolly @zoroisminty @angelkazusstuff @reinam00n @kaeyakaikai @bunny416 @littletittygothgirl @glitterbitch1 @saccharine-nectarine

cont in comments !

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 | Jackson!Joel x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec 

summary | Joel's got a superpower. Alternatively, Joel swears he can smell when you're ovulating.

author's note | @gracieheartspedro said something about joel being able to smell when you're ovulating as a joke but i am a very serious person. so serious....i swear lmao

content warning | 18+ MDNI, BREEDING KINK!!!, joel can definitely smell it on you, talks of pregnancy/future together, established relationship, established free-use, possessive!joel, he's creepin' into peepaw status (he's 58 but no defined age for reader so let your imagination run wild), mentions of joel possibly being sterile, unprotected piv, creampies for obvious reasons

word count — 2.5k

Joel could smell it on you.

At least, he liked to make you think he could.

He can, though. He swears.

He’s tapping his bare foot against the hardwood floor as he rocked gently in his recliner, glasses perched on his nose as he flipped through the Space for Dummies book Ellie had gifted him for his birthday a few months ago.

It was dark aside from the table lamp beside him, the glowing, soft orange hue wrapped around him, illuminating the side of his face as he angled the book to catch the light, unaware of your presence until your fingers were plucking the book out of his hand.

Joel offers a small noise of acknowledgement as he looks up in your general direction, welcoming the spread of your legs with his warm, open palm as you rest yourself in his lap.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” you tell him gently, voice thick with sleep.

It was the middle of the night and not entirely out of character to find him up and busying himself with anything to keep his mind off of the fact that he couldn’t sleep, for some reason or another.

“M’right here,” he responds with a tender touch, his hand curling against the side of your neck as his thumb runs along the line of your jaw, a smile growing as you push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose where they had slipped down, “you up tryin’ to drag me back into bed?”

You laugh softly but decidedly shake your head, curling the fabric of his cotton shirt around your finger until it wrinkles, aware of his wandering hand as it glides up your thigh and under the waistband of your underwear hidden beneath the oversized sleep shirt you had worn to bed that night.

“Didn’t come down here for nothin’,” Joel teases, “whaddya need, baby?”

You two had established your dynamic months ago—you had worn Joel down quite a bit since his initial arrival, turning a hardened man into a softer, kinder version of himself. You often wondered how similar this version of him was to himself before the outbreak, wondering how long it had been since he’d felt safe enough to let his guard down.

It was simple, really.

As long as the house was empty—no Ellie and her friends, you were both fair game to take advantage of, no preamble, no questions.

Luckily, Ellie had slipped out earlier that night. The kid liked to think she was good at sneaking out, always slipping back in before breakfast—Joel and you were both aware, but you didn’t bother to make a deal out of it.

Joel wasn’t her father, as much as he tried to protect her.

You were only a friend, more than just a stranger, but you were in no position to make points or discipline a teenager who was already set in her ways.

Still, Joel often thought about the possibilities of family.

It took him a year before he opened up about Sarah, despite the scattering of pictures throughout his home, another failure in his life that he tried to avoid at all costs.

You couldn’t always tell if he meant it, but there were moments where it was all he seemed to think about, driven by a mix of desperation and lust, it was blinding.

And, he was doing it now.

Joel buries his nose into your chest, snuggling into the space as he sniffs and drags his face up and into your neck, your hand pressing against him as you giggle softly, feeling the tickle of his facial hair against your skin.

“You smell different,” He notes, his voice low, lips parted and pressed against your skin but only barely, pressing a featherlight kiss against your neck.

“Here we go,” you reply fondly, slowly adjusting yourself over his lap more firmly, centered against his slowly hardened cock, watching the fabric tent under your touch as you untie the knot at his waist, “you got some kinda superpower I don’t know about?”

“Nah,” he sighs, his lips curling into a smirk, “I just know my woman,”

Your eyebrow raises in amusement as your mouth forms into a quiet “Oh.”

“Why you came down here, ain’t it?” Joel assumes, “You achin’ baby?”

Bingo.

You nod meekly, sighing in relief as his hands curl against your hips, guiding you slowly over the bulge in his pants, enjoying the show as your eyes flutter shut and your hands grip tight against his forearms, feeling the distinct ridge of veins under your fingertips.

“Greedy as hell,” Joel comments with an air of amusement.

The roughness in his voice sends a pulse of pleasure to your core, awakening that distinct primal need inside of you.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Joel reprimands, somewhere through the distraction of his guided movements, your shirt has been removed and tossed to the floor, his lips pressing at the center of your chest and right between your breasts, “can we?”

There was never a distinction of yes or no, because Joel knew what your boundaries were.

If he had sought you in the night, buried himself inside of you to satiate his own urges, you wouldn’t complain—that was how this worked and why you worked so well.

“I ain’t lyin’,” Joel admits, looking up at you from where his mouth was centered at your chest.

“About what?” you ask curiously, brain feeling hazy and unfocused.

“You get a little sweeter,” Joel explains, pulling away to drag his finger along your sternum, “right here.”

You roll your eyes dismissively, threading your fingers through his hair to push him back against the recliner as you roll your hips in time with his own movements, moaning softly.

“And you know how much I love sweets,” he breathes, turning his head to drag his tongue along the underside of your breast before he’s moving his hands up to squeeze them.

It doesn’t take long before his hand drifts, slipping under the fabric of your underwear to circle your already swollen clit, throbbing with need.

Joel examines you carefully, listening to your breath hitch as he follows a steady rhythm until your hips begin to naturally rocking against his movement—he’s got this all down to a science, knowing exactly when to speed up and pump the breaks and you’re quickly tripping over the precipice of a much-needed orgasm, though he knows it wouldn’t satisfy you.

“I need you,” you beg with a pant, head feeling light as you come down.

“Come here then,” Joel commands softly, his tone clear as he pulls you closer, pressing his hardening length against you more prominently, a breathless gasp escapes your lips, “feel that?”

You nod again, tiredly.

“I need you too,” Joel admits, “all day—all the time…”

You both switch into auto-pilot, rising only long enough to drag your underwear down your legs while Joel shoves his sweats down far enough that his cock springs free, leaking pre-cum into the hem of his shirt as you situate yourself back over his lap.

“Just can’t get enough of ya,” he tells you, voice thick with desire as he dragged the head of his cock through your folds before guiding you down onto him, inch by tantalizing inch.

Your breath hitches, a gasp escaping your lips when he fills you completely.

You always expected the sensation to wane, but the stretch of him surprised you every time.

“Goddamn, I’m lucky,” he gumbles, throwing his head back as you slowly begin to roll your hips, his eyes dark and half-lifted with lust as he watches your face contorted in pleasure, “all mine,”

The sound of his voice—so deeply possessive—makes your heart race.

You can’t help but rock against him harder, relishing in the friction as your hands settle against the sides of his neck, breathing into his open mouth. It’s intoxicating to feel him throbbing inside you, cunt squeezing him like a vice when he grazes that sweet, too sensitive spot inside of you.

“You—you’ve been thinkin’ about it?” you ask curiously, moaning softly as your eyebrows thread together, face scrunched up as Joel reels you in closer, arm winding around your back, pressing your bare chest against him, the reclining chair rocking with your slow, but forceful rhythm. 

“About?” Joel hums, noticing the you should know look in your eye, mouth curling into a subtle smirk as one of your hands slip underneath his shirt and claw at his stomach, forcing a low groan to slip from his throat.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks with a fond, sated smile, “Raisin’ a baby with me?”

You nod silently, distinctly aware of his roaming hands and the one that squeezes at your ass, his mouth gravitating towards your tits again, this time swirling his tongue around your hardened nipple before he takes it into his mouth, thinking about how heavy they would feel in his mouth if this time were to take, if he could actually get you pregnant—he was even sure anymore.

Fifty-eight and likely shooting blanks, the chance seemed slim.

It was just another thing he couldn’t give you.

But, you had faith.

No, not in a higher power or some god.

But, him. Joel.

“God, you make me crazy,” he breathes, the warmth of his breath washing over your skin as you ride him harder, feeling him push into you deeper. 

Claiming you.

The chair creaked under the weight of your fervent need, the sound only adding to the symphony of gasps and moans slipping from your mouth as your hands press into his chest and his hands, again, find their way to your hips, keeping you rooted in place as he fucks himself into you, eager to fill your cunt.

“Wouldn’t that be a sight?” Joel begins with a broken grunt, “You’d be prancin’ ‘round this place provin’ to everybody that you’re mine—”

“And—fuck—you’d love it,” you challenge him, “you can’t even stand when guys breathe in my direct—direction, Joel,”

Joel smirks at your calculation, knowing you were correct, “Gotta let ‘em know,”

“Uh huh,” you reply breathily as the sweat on your skin collects under both the heat of the dying fire beside you and the percolating heat of your bodies as Joel leans forward and licks a line up the center of your chest to your throat before biting at your jaw to make you squeal.

He always seemed to have a second wind; a calm before the storm.

It works, his teeth nipping at your skin—incredibly thankful that the adjoining couch was only a short distance and you can both scramble towards it in a hurry, watching as Joel pulls his shirt over his head in one swift and fluid movement, carefully removing his glasses with a gentleness that contracts his heaving chest, placing them on the table before he’s kicking his pants off the rest of the way and shifting between your legs.

There’s adoration that floods your features, giggling softly as his hands twist around your thighs to pull you to him before his hands wrap around his slick-covered shaft and he’s pushing inside of you for the second time that night.

“Can’t keep lookin’ at me like that,” Joel warns through a soft cough as he settles on his knees, moving his hips at a slow pace as you tilt your head, squeezing one of the hands that rest on your thigh, “we’re gonna have a problem,”

“I think we established I am the problem,” you challenge him.

“You really want a future with me?” Joel asks candidly despite the lust so evident in his eyes, his face, the way his tongue swipes against his bottom lips as you moan softly and your grip shifts to his wrist, anchoring him to you, “Because that’s what I’m seein’ with the way you’re lookin’ at me right now,”

“Wow, all that from one look?” you tease, earning a quick snap of his hips for your obvious amusement, “Fuck—oh, I mean…ye—yeah, I do,”

You’ve had this talk countless times, wondering if Joel would ever truly believe it.

That you wanted him. Only him.

Always him.

“Yeah?” he goads, leaning forward to curl his hand around the edge of the cushion near your head as the other digs into the back of the couch, immediately fixing the angle to something much more intense, his hips working faster to drive you over the edge.

“Yeah,” you answer softly, reaching up to drag your hand against his cheek, his gaze drifting toward your joined bodies, your cunt being greedy in the way it takes him in.

 "Look at that…” Joel says in a husky, low tone that makes you shiver, “look at how your body wants this—knows exactly what it needs from me,"

You could barely speak, feeling yourself drift, offering a barely audible mumble in response.

 "I know, baby. I know,” It was like a comfort, his voice always putting you at ease, “Feels right, huh?"

“Don’t,” you gasp as Joel suddenly becomes more frantic with his pace, eyes stuck on your open mouth and arched back, “don’t—don’t stop,”

“I gotcha,” he promised, “Got you wrapped around me like this—squeezin’ me—pullin’ me in. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

“I want it,” you promise with the same intensity, “want all of this, with you.

"You’re gonna get it, baby.” Joel groans, sounding wrecked, “Gonna take every drop I give you ‘cause you’re greedy like that, ain’tcha?”

You nod instantly, two—three—four sharp thrusts before his hands are curling around your hips and holding you to him, no space between your bodies, “M’gonna stuff you so full you won’t even have to worry,”

Joel meets your gaze with fierce intensity, his dark eyes reflecting a blend of hunger and a possessiveness that bleeds true as he comes deep inside of you, feeling his cock pulse as he spills a load he had been holding back for a few days, hoping it would make a difference.

In an instant he slumps back, but not before dragging you toward him, resting against the arm of the couch as you settle into his lap again, his cock softening inside of you but neither of you threatening to move.

“Joel?” you whisper softly, legs still trembling from the intensity of your climax, your fingers tracing lazy patterns down his chest, his hand rubbing gently along the length of your spine.

“Yeah, baby?” He hums, tilting his head to look at you.

“I could go again,” you admit, earning a deep chuckle that shakes his chest and you.

“Never enough, is it?” Joel asks, leaning your head back to look at him before he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, and then another, and another.

“Gotta make sure it takes,” you shrug, “breed me up, baby.”

Joel groans affectionately and throws his head back, suddenly attacked by your own share of kisses as you climb his chest to reach his face.

“God, you’re killin’ me,” he chuckles.

You raise your eyebrows in question before he cracks a playful smack to your ass.

“Go on,” he encourages, “I’ll be up in a few, breed you all damn night if I gotta,”

Until you were satisfied, at least.

Truthfully, Joel just couldn’t get enough of you either.

Too damn sweet.

[rafesangelita]

♡ “jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock!” — in which you ride rafe speechless for being on the naughty list..

warnings: roleplay, dirty talk, established relationship, teasing, brief thigh riding, heavy petting, tit fucking, grinding, orgasm denial, rafe cries, slight degradation, unprotected sex, restraints (reader has rafe’s hands tied with a ribbon), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia, slapping, scratching, hair pulling

a/n: lol i feel like i should’ve done kinkmas..

“fuck, fuck, fuck..” rafe was cursing under his breath, your soaked cunt gliding over his cock while it sat on his tummy, your clit dragging up and down the underside of his length. “please, i need to be inside you, baby.” his voice came out weak, like it was taking everything in him not to blow his load right then and there. “naughty boys don’t get what they want.” you moaned, your hips stuttering as you merely used rafe to get yourself off. rafe’s head thudded against the headboard, his jaw slack as he reveled in the feeling of you grinding on him.

“please, i’ll be good, i promise!” he gasped when you raked your nails down his chest. “yeah? you said that last year..” your laugh was nothing short of degrading, your boyfriend feeling utterly helpless as his hands were bound above his head. when the band in your stomach suddenly snapped, you were quick to move off of rafe’s cock and onto his thigh where you started dragging your hips instead. this way, he couldn’t feel the way you desperately clenched around nothing. “ohh, fuck! you’re cumming?” you ignored him, your legs trembling as your orgasm had you whimpering to yourself.

rafe squirmed, his cock aching with need as you rode out your high against his stiff muscles. “this is the only thing you’re good for, you know that?” you looked up at him, his eyes glazed over as his cheeks flushed with color. “yes, i know. i’m only here to make you feel good..” his abs constricted as he watched you get up on shaky legs, anticipation settling in his belly as you put your hair up in a ponytail. “poor rafe, your cock looks like it’s just begging for attention.” you cooed, seating yourself between his thighs.

leaning down, rafe shuddered when you took him in your hand. “i shouldn’t let you be inside me at all.. but if you’re good for me i might just let you.” sitting him between your tits, you looked up at him as you stroked him, your tongue lapping at his tip every time he emerged from the valley of your breasts. “holy fuckkk,” he hissed, “oh, it feels so good.” you taunted his whines, your tits glistening with his slick. “i’m not gonna— shit, i’m not gonna last.” he shook his head, eyebrows knitting together as his face morphed into one of full blown pleasure.

upon hearing this, you sped up your pace until he was crying out, almost completely falling off the edge before you stopped all movements, heavy tears running down his cheeks as this was the third orgasm you denied him tonight. seeing him cry out of frustration turned you on beyond belief, each tear a testament to how bad you had him wrapped around your pretty little finger. swinging a leg over his hips, you straddled him once again before pulling a handful of his hair. “look down, handsome, i want you to watch the way you fill me up..”

rafe’s hair was still threaded between your fingers when you sunk down unto him, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as your heat wrapped around him. letting go of his hair, rafe hissed when you softly ran your hands down his torso, your nails digging into his skin while you sat still on top of his lap. “please do something..” it was torture being inside of you without being able to fuck you senseless. so bad, he wanted to at least have his hands on your hips, the globes of your ass looking so enticing.

“are you going to be good?” rafe nodded frantically, his chest rising and falling as he desperately muttered a ‘yes, i’ll be so good for you!’ you don’t know what possessed you to do it, but without a second thought, you slapped rafe across the cheek, the action stunning him for a moment before a hint of a smile played on his lips. the fucker liked it? oh, he was in for it now. leaning forward, rafe attempted to get one of your tits in his mouth before you smacked him away, sinking down on him once again. he shivered, gazing up at you as you started rocking on top of him.

the globes of your ass smacked his thighs, his eyes watching you mesmerized. you felt too good whenever you rode him like this, your clit hitting his pubic bone everytime you slammed back down. you were so wet, the sound reverberating in the empty space of your shared bedroom. “wanna touch you..” he groaned when you started bouncing on him faster, the familiar tension starting to coil in his abdomen. “aww, well that’s just too bad.” you leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips. “m’gonna cum, baby, please i need it!” he all but whined, eyes screwing shut as you threw him over the edge of pure euphoria.

he came harder than he ever had in his life, the force of his climax hitting him like a truck. rafe was writhing beneath you, pathetic noises leaving his lips as he painted your insides white. “o-oh my fucking— nghhh, god!” he was in full on hysterics, tears falling down the corners of his eyes as you didn’t make any attempt to slow your movements. “baby— slow down, please, please, please..” he hissed, overstimulation kicking in. you smiled at him briefly, feeling your second orgasm of the night lick your tummy as it was just in arm’s reach.

eyebrows knitting together in pure unadulterated bliss, you cried out, leaning down and pressing kisses to rafe’s chest as you came, your velvety walls sucking him in as you clenched around the welcomed intrusion that was his cock. how rafe hadn’t ascended into the after life yet? he didn’t know. surely he was in heaven already, his vision fuzzy as he blinked, dazed and extremely fucked-out. rafe helplessly kissed the crown of your head, your attention flittering up to his restrained hands. once you weren’t trembling in the aftershocks of your orgasm, you reached up, untying the knot that rafe’s wrists were currently binded in.

his arms were like jelly when they fell, a sigh of relief escaping his lips as you gently ran your fingers through his hair. “if that’s the ‘punishment’ for being naughty, i think i might just act up all year—” you laid down next to him, allowing him to pull you close before you interrupted him. “don’t even think about it.”

[strawberry-bubblef]

✦ “It’s Just Another Day… Right?”

Synopsis: In an established relationship, your partner stumble across a surprising truth: their beloved never celebrated their birthday. No cakes. No parties. No gifts. It was always just “another day.” But not this year,not when they're here to make it special. Even if it takes a bit of coaxing, teasing, or gentle love, they’ll make sure this birthday is one to remember.

Characters: Vil Schoenheit, Leona Kingscholar,Idia Shroud, Riddle Rosehearts,Lilia Vanrouge,Silver

I meant to post this on my birthday (28/06), but between being busy and forgetting a few times, it slipped my mind,so here it is, one day late🥳

Vil Schoenheit

“It’s Not Just Another Day”

Birthdays never meant much to you. They came and went like passing clouds, barely different from any other day. Maybe once, a long time ago, you wished they were special. But time has a way of teaching people not to expect things. Eventually, you stopped looking forward to anything at all.

So you treated today just like any other. Casual, quiet. No mention of anything. You were sitting with Vil in the courtyard, sunlight soft against your skin, flipping through a book while he carefully applied lip balm, prepping for his afternoon shoot.

That’s when the words slipped out of you.

“Oh. Right. Today’s my birthday.”

It was like tossing a rock into still water. The silence that followed was heavier than it should’ve been.

Vil froze. He slowly turned to look at you.

“…Pardon?”

You blinked, looking up. “I said it’s my birthday. Today.”

Vil’s expression didn’t shift immediately. But you saw it. The slight narrowing of his eyes. The tension in his jaw. He was processing not the fact that it was your birthday, but how you’d said it. Offhand. Emotionless. Like it meant nothing.

He closed his lip balm with a click. “And you weren’t going to say anything?”

You gave a light shrug, trying to play it off. “There’s nothing to say. I don’t really do birthdays. Haven’t since I was a kid.”

Vil was quiet for a moment longer.

Then: “I see.”

You expected him to press, but he didn’t. Instead, he let the subject drop for now. But the way he gently reached for your hand and squeezed it once told you everything: he wasn’t letting this go.

Later that evening, after your classes, he found you again.

There was no elaborate setup. Just Vil, dressed more casually and something unreadable in his expression.

“Come with me,” he said.

You hesitated. “What for?”

“Something overdue.”

He brought you to a quiet lounge in Pomefiore, one the others rarely used. On a small table was a plate of your favorite dessert and a teapot already steeping something floral and warm. Two glasses. One candle.

“I didn’t have time for anything extravagant,” he said softly, “but I couldn’t let the day end without at least this.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he stopped you.

“No. You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t matter. Not with me. I don’t know who made you believe your birthday wasn’t worth celebrating, but they were wrong.”

You stared at the table, emotions welling up in your chest unexpectedly. “I just… I got used to pretending it was nothing. It hurt less.”

Vil moved closer, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Then let’s start rewriting that story. I can’t fix what came before, but I can promise you this,so long as you’re mine, you’ll never spend another birthday forgotten.”

Leona Kingscholar

“You Could’ve Said Something, Herbivore”

The sun was high over the Savannaclaw dorm, the heat dry and still. Most of the students had retreated indoors, but you were lying in the shade of a tree near the training yard, flipping through a book and sipping water like it was just another afternoon.

Leona was stretched out beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, his breathing steady. He looked half-asleep,until he lazily cracked one eye open.

“You’re quiet today,” he muttered. “More than usual.”

You hummed, flipping a page. “Just thinking.”

A long silence passed. You weren’t expecting to say anything else, but the thought slipped out of you anyway. A whisper, almost offhand.

“…Today’s my birthday.”

Leona blinked.

He sat up,actually sat up, which was enough of a red flag that you glanced at him. “Come again?”

You shrugged. “It’s my birthday. I don’t really celebrate, so... I didn’t say anything.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, golden gaze sharp. “You’re tellin’ me you’ve been walking around all day, actin’ like it’s just another day, and didn’t think to mention you were born today?”

“I’m not big on birthdays,” you replied, waving it off. “It’s just another day. I got used to that.”

Leona stared at you for a beat longer before flopping back down onto the grass. He muttered something under his breath,something that sounded suspiciously like a curse and threw his arm over his face again.

You thought he might let it go.a

You expected him to leave it at that. To mutter something sarcastic and change the subject. But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed beside you the rest of the afternoon, unusually still, only talking now and then. You’d almost forgotten about your birthday again,until later that night, when you returned to Ramshackle.

Your room light was on.

Inside, waiting on your desk, was a single neatly wrapped item: a small, golden box tied with green twine. A little note sat on top in Leona’s handwriting.

> “Didn’t have time to get something flashy.

But it’s better than nothing.Don’t act like it’s no big deal.

You’re not just anyone.

—L.”

You opened it slowly, heart thudding in your chest. Inside was a sand-polished pendant carved with your birthstone in the center, shaped like a rising sun.

You hadn’t realized how quiet the world had felt until now. How much you’d learned to mute your own importance. You stared at the note, fingers trembling.

There was a knock at the door.

“…You get it?” came Leona’s voice, soft and gruff from behind the wood.

You opened the door slowly, eyes still wide. “Leona, you didn’t have to—”

He looked at you. “Yeah. I did.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Just a rush of heat behind your eyes.

Leona sighed and tugged you into his arms like it was nothing. “Next year,” he muttered into your hair, “you’re getting cake. And don’t try that ‘it’s just another day’ crap. You matter to me. So your birthday does too.”

You stayed quiet, tucked against his chest, letting that truth settle into your bones.

For the first time, it didn’t feel like just another day.

Idia Shroud

“You Can’t Drop a Bomb Like That in Casual Conversation”

You hadn’t meant to bring it up. It just kind of… slipped out.

You were both sitting in his room, as usual,just the two of you, some game playing in the background, the only light coming from his computer monitors and the glowing strands of neon-blue hair that curled softly down his shoulders.

It had been a quiet day. Peaceful, even. You’d finished your classes early and spent most of the afternoon in Ignihyde, lounging with Idia while he half-rambled about patch notes and coding and you occasionally added commentary.

He was mid-sentence,something about how a dev nerfed his favorite spell for the third time, when you yawned and muttered offhandedly, “Huh. Weird that it’s already evening. Today passed fast. Guess birthdays are just like that.”

There was a pause.

Then a slow, robotic blink from the blue-haired shut-in sitting next to you.

“…Did you just say birthday?” he asked.

You glanced at him. “Yeah. Mine. It’s today.”

You said it like you were telling him it was cloudy outside.

Idia stared.

A long, horrible silence filled the room, like your words had just sent an error message to his brain.

“YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT LIKE IT’S NOTHING—”

You flinched as he launched into a flurry of typing. Windows opened and closed faster than your eyes could follow. You could see a gift website, a recipe page, and a link to a video titled “How to Celebrate a Birthday IRL (When You’re Socially Inept)”.

You blinked. “Idia—”

“You didn’t tell me it was today?! That’s, like—” He waved his arms. “Flag on the play! You need to give a guy a minimum 48-hour warning window for this kind of emotionally significant information!”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you replied, chuckling nervously.

“Not a big—” He stopped himself with a groan and dropped his forehead to his desk with a dramatic thud. “You can’t just stealth-drop your birthday on me like that. I’m not built for this kind of pressure.”

“…It’s really not a big deal,” you repeated. “I’ve never really celebrated it, so I’m kind of used to treating it like a normal day. Honestly, I forget it sometimes too.”

Idia turned to look at you, eyes wide behind the glare of his screen. His usual anxiety was still there, but it was muffled now by something quieter,sadness, maybe. Concern.

“You’ve never celebrated it?” he asked, quieter.

You shook your head. “I just… never did. And after a while, I figured it didn’t matter. It’s just another date.”

“That’s…” He trailed off, then frowned. “No. That’s super tragic anime protagonist behavior.”

You laughed a little at that. “Well. You are dating me.”

He didn’t laugh. Not really. His eyes softened, though. The glow of his hair dimmed a little, like the light was leaning toward you.

“…You matter, you know,” he murmured. “Your birthday matters. I-I mean, it’s the day you showed up in the world, and that’s, like… a big deal to me. If I’d known sooner, I would’ve—” He made a vague gesture toward the half-decorated cake recipe on screen. “Well. I would’ve panicked sooner.”

You nudged him gently. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“But I want to,” he said, surprisingly firm. “Just… gimme one hour. I’ll put something together. Just… sit here and look cute or whatever.”

You raised a brow. “Are you going to glitch if I try to help?”

“Absolutely.”

You chuckled again, and this time, he cracked a small smile in return,soft, shy, real.

By the end of the hour, he had thrown together a scuffed but sincere digital birthday party in one of his favorite games, complete with your favorite virtual snacks, background music, and an awkward in-game hug.

It was glitchy, silly, chaotic.

And it was perfect.

You didn’t need anything more than that.

Especially not from him.

Riddle Rosehearts

“You Should Have Told Me”

Riddle never misses a rule. But the most important one? He learns it from you.

Riddle had asked you to meet him in the rose garden during your free period, like he often did when he wanted a little quiet time away from the rest of Heartslabyul. The two of you would sit beneath the trimmed arches of rosebushes, reading together or just letting the wind pass gently between your shoulders.

He’d brought tea this time. Your favorite kind, with delicate biscuits shaped like hearts.

You held one in your hand, staring at it like it was a rare artifact.

“You’re in a thoughtful mood today.” Riddle said, pouring himself a second cup. “Did something happen?”

You blinked, then shrugged. “No, not really. It’s just… my birthday.”

Riddle’s hand froze.

The spoon in his saucer gave a sharp clink as it settled.

“…Your birthday?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He looked at you with a frown,soft, confused but unmistakably troubled. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

You set the biscuit down. “I never really celebrate it. I got used to it not being a big deal.”

“That’s not—” He paused, lips pressing into a tight line as he clearly tried to regulate his tone. “That’s not right.”

You gave him a smile, small and unbothered. “It’s okay, Riddle. I’m not sad about it. It’s just a normal day.”

“But it’s not,” he insisted, setting his teacup down more harshly than he meant to. “It’s the day you were born. The world has you in it because of this day. How could that possibly be ‘normal’?”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and you blinked, startled.

“…Riddle?”

He looked away for a moment, visibly composing himself. “I know what it’s like to have parts of your life controlled. To have things feel routine, even when they should be special. But this your birthday,it’s not something that should go unacknowledged.”

“I’m not upset about it,” you said gently. “I just never had a reason to think it was important.”

“You do now,” he said, eyes flicking back to yours. “You have me now.”

He stood up abruptly, brushing imaginary dust from his uniform. “We’re going back to Heartslabyul.”

“Wait—”

“You didn’t tell me, so I didn’t have time to plan,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, “but I refuse to let this pass like it means nothing.”

You laughed under your breath. “It really doesn’t have to be a big thing.”

“It will be,” he said, and for once, it wasn’t a rulebook talking. It was his heart.

Riddle didn’t throw a party. Not a loud one, at least. What he did was decorate the common room with floating red-and-white roses, bake you a fresh strawberry tart himself, and gather a few close friends (with Grim loudly demanding a second slice).

When you walked in, he held your hand a little tighter than usual and whispered:

“Next year, tell me ahead of time.”

You smiled.

“Only if you promise to overreact like this again.”

He gave you that half-exasperated look you loved so much… but didn’t let go of your hand.

Lilia Vanrouge !

"You deserve to be celebrated"

The sun had barely risen over Diasomnia when you padded into the common room with half-tied laces and a yawn halfway through your sentence.

Lilia, already bright-eyed and drinking what he claimed was a “bitter blend from the Dragon Isles,” waved at you from the couch with a mischievous smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Mhm… Morning.” You slumped beside him, curling up in the folds of your hoodie.

“Did you dream of me?” he teased, tapping your nose.

“Not this time.” You smirked. “Dreamt I overslept and missed potionology again.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s not prophetic,” he chuckled, setting down his mug. “Any reason you’re dragging your feet more than usual this morning?”

You hummed, shrugging. “No big deal. Just my birthday.”

Lilia blinked once.

Then again.

“…Your what?”

“My birthday. You know, the thing people make cake for and all that.” You waved it off like it was nothing. “Never really celebrated it. Got used to it not mattering.”

For a long moment, Lilia just stared at you. And then, slowly, his smile faded into something quieter. Something solemn.

“You never celebrated it?” he asked, voice softer than usual.

You rubbed your neck, trying to play it casual. “It’s not a sad thing. Some people just don’t do birthdays. I guess I’m one of them.”

Lilia turned toward you, one knee pulled up to face you fully. “My dear,” he murmured, “you do realize what a birthday is, don’t you?”

You quirked an eyebrow.

“It’s not just cake and singing off-key. It’s a reminder—no, a celebration—that the world was graced with you. That no matter what happened before, something beautiful entered the timeline the day you were born.”

You laughed, a little awkward. “You’re being poetic again.”

“I always get poetic when I’m upset.” He reached out to cradle your cheek with one gloved hand. “You deserve to be celebrated. Not just today, but especially today.”

“I don’t need anything,” you whispered. “I’m okay. I’m happy with you.”

“That may be so,” he said, brushing a thumb across your cheekbone, “but allow an old man his selfish wish. Let me dote on you.”

Before you could argue, Lilia had already sent a flurry of bat-shaped messages out across the dorm. You heard Sebek yelling somewhere in the distance. Silver blinked awake, confused. Malleus… well, you were sure he would find out soon.

But Lilia didn’t let you move.

He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close as the morning sun slowly painted the sky beyond the window.

“You may not think your birthday matters,” he said into your hair, “but I’ve lived long enough to know the value of a single person. And you, little spark, are priceless.”

You closed your eyes.

And for the first time, maybe… it did feel special.

Silver

"Today is the day where our fate was linked."

Silver was already awake when you returned from your early morning walk. You hadn’t expected to find him on the bench in the Diasomnia courtyard, but there he was,eyes closed, hands folded on his lap, the first gold of the rising sun catching the edge of his silver hair.

He looked so peaceful you almost turned around to leave.

But he stirred before you could. “You’re back.”

You smiled softly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep much last night.” He tilted his head, gaze fixed on you now. “I had a dream… It was about you.”

Your breath caught a little at the quiet sincerity of it. “Was it good?”

He nodded. “You were laughing.”

“…That’s rare.”

He didn’t press. He never did. Silver had always understood that silence was just as telling as words.

The two of you sat together in comfortable quiet for a while. The only sounds were birds chirping and the gentle rustle of wind through the trees.

Eventually, you pulled out your phone, scrolling casually. “Huh,” you mumbled without thinking. “Guess it’s my birthday today.”

Silver blinked. “What?”

You didn’t even glance up. “Yeah. Just realized. Forgot for a sec.”

There was a long pause.

“…You forgot your own birthday?”

“It's not really a big deal,” you shrugged. “I’ve never celebrated it, so I just got used to treating it like any other day.”

When you finally looked up, Silver was watching you with an unreadable expression,softbbut intense in that quiet way he had. Not angry. Not sad. But as if your words had touched something very deep inside him.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” he asked gently. “Celebrating, I mean.”

You hesitated. “No. I just… I guess I never thought it mattered. I didn’t grow up with anyone who really made a big thing out of it. So I didn’t either.”

Silver looked down at his hands for a moment, then back at you.

“I don’t think I could ever forget your birthday,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Even if the rest of the world did.”

You blinked. “Silver…”

“It’s not about cake or gifts. It’s about knowing that this world was once without you… and now it isn’t. It’s the day you came into it. The day your path started. The day… my future was shaped, even if we didn’t know it yet.”

Your heart clenched, a little too full.

“I don’t need fanfare,” he continued. “But I do need you to know that you matter. Even if I have to remind you quietly, every year, in every way I can.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away.

“…You wanna sit with me longer?” you asked after a moment, voice a little thick.

Silver nodded immediately. “Of course.”

So you did. Side by side, under the sky that had seen so many of his dreams and your forgetfulness.

And maybe, just maybe, this time, your birthday didn’t feel so ordinary after all.

English is not my first language !