#cat eye header

[chaoscouncilcreaturecorner]

Random Headers: #1 [564x136]

[All of these were found on pinterest under "Wallpaper" section. I don't know who the original creators were, but if someone does feel free to let us know and we will add them.]

[lalicasmbs]

🔥 & 💿

[intertexts]

goodmorning ^_^ I love your header image btw :3

yaayy hi gmgm!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :333

[suskindkore]

Acid 

credit: suskind

[risuola]

FEELIN' LUCKY || GETO SUGURU

Suguru has a reputation of a playboy — and rightfully so. He likes to change girls, bedding them as he pleases. He thinks he can have them all. He's a player, a red flag and you show him he's wrong. It's a story about a boy who has everything but craves to have you.

contains: frat boy!suguru x nerdy!reader, pining, maybe a little slowburn-ish, flirting, smut (unprotected sex, some body worship, mentions of hooking up, booty calls, sexting), wc. 9420 ⋯ reader discretion is advised

kinktober '24 masterlist || art in the header: @/chu-cho on tumblr

Suguru knows how to navigate around the campus. He’s tried all the shortcuts, been on all the parties, talked (and fought) with all the teachers. He’s known around — troublemaker, a frat boy, a heartbreaker. It’s no news to anyone that Suguru Geto is a red flag personified; a ladies’ man, playing with every beauty he deems worthy of attention. And he’s lucky too, girls tend to love him, all of them. After all, bad girls love bad boys and good girls, unfortunately, do too. He’s a flame that attracts all the moths, a sin that tempts and renders every heart helpless. He’s a siren song luring women towards their doom. The ultimate playboy, reveling in the attention he gets everywhere he shows up, soaking it up like a cat basking in the sun.

It’s unfair, he jokes sometimes, when he aims to add another notch to his bedpost. Unfair how easy it is for him to have what he wants, how all that meets his gaze is heart-eyes and flushed cheeks. But he likes it, he likes to take, he likes to be wanted and pick from the crowd. It boosts his ego. He is, after all, drop dead gorgeous. He is, truly, with his long, raven hair and purple glint to his eyes, all surrounded by an air of sexy danger coming from his piercings, his clothes and the way he acts.

“Who’s that?” He wonders, mind rushing through the extensive catalogue of female students he knows. “She’s new.” Clearly. He doesn’t know you yet.

You’re pretty, too pretty for him to let you go just like that. You came to the party at the frat house, but you don’t seem to fit right in. Maybe you’re a transfer student? Or a friend of someone? It doesn’t look like you’re someone’s girlfriend. A man that’s sane would not let you wander around such place alone. Not in that dress. You’re gorgeous, breathtaking. You make Suguru’s heart beat a little bit faster, his pulse quickening and he can hear it in his ears, a steady thump echoing over the sound of music. It’s excitement — something he has not felt in a long time.

His friends say something. He’s not listening, eyes laser focused on you and only you. You move with grace, your hips sway from side to side like a pendulum as you find your way through the crowded living room. Your cup is empty, it’s clear from the way you tap it with your fingernail every time someone tries to stop you — you’re pointing on it, gesturing your intentions as you try to speak over the loud music and blurring chatter. You seem polite too, the way you smile brightens the area. He likes how it reaches your eyes, how your nose scrunches a little and the skin near your temples crinkle. Everything about you is hypnotizing, you know what you’re doing. You have to know what you’re doing. You’re magnetic and he wouldn’t be able to resist even if he wanted to.

He doesn’t.

You push through the crowd and Suguru follows, a predator stalking its prey. You are, after all, like a sweet little rabbit tonight. His eyes never leave your back, watching the way your hair sways and bounces with each step you take, how the fabric of your dress hugs your delectable curves. You look soft, he’d love to touch you, to squeeze those plush thighs, to feel the pliable flesh of your rear, to have your chest squeezed against the hard planes of his muscular torso. He wonders how soft your skin is under the fabric, if it’s smooth and warm to touch. He wants to find out, to explore every inch of it until he maps out every mole, scar and birthmark. He licks his lips subconsciously, his tongue swiping over the piercing in his lower lip and he wonders if you’d like it — if the cold metal decorating his mouth would be something you’re into.

He catches you in the kitchen. You’re holding a can of strawberry flavored soda and looking around, and he knows what you’re searching for. “Hey there, beautiful,” he greets smoothly, flashing you a smile that’s known for making girls weak in the knees. “Allow me,” he reaches, taking the cold metal from your hands — his fingers brush against yours as your eyes met, the touch lingering a little longer than necessary but he’s content as he swiftly opens the can for you, earning himself a chuckle.

He’s already got you.

“Thank you,” you smile, taking the drink back and filling your cup with the pinkish liquid. It smells sweet, the delicate aroma of artificial fruit breaking through the typical mixture of sweat and alcohol that fills the room. It’s refreshing, the scent, the look of bubbles dancing at the edges of your cup. You take a sip, tasting the flavor on your tongue and he wants to try it too. From your lips, preferably. Those glistening, cherry-colored lips. Oh, you look delectable.

“I’m Suguru,” he grins again, his eyes scanning your breathtaking features and committing the picture to memory. “I don’t think we’ve met before.” He already envisions you below him.

“I doubt that too,” you nod and you know he’s attracted to you. It’s clear from the way he looks at you, eats you with his eyes only. Obvious from how his gaze lingers on your lips a little longer than he should but you allow him. You introduce himself too and he repeats, testing the name on his tongue.

“What brings a gorgeous woman like you to our little shindig?” He extends his hand out to shake yours, his thumb brushing over your delicate skin as his touch lingers.

“I got invited by one of my friends but I can’t seem to find her in this crowd. I’m sure she’s having fun somewhere though, it’s alright,” you explain, briefly looking over the students crowded in the main area of the house. Most of them are drunk already despite the quite early hour but you don’t mind it. A frat party is exactly what you expected it to be. “I wouldn’t honestly dare to call this a little shindig.”

Suguru chuckles lowly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Well, I suppose ‘little’ was an understatement,” he grins and sips on his own drink. “How do you like it so far? Do you enjoy the mingling masses and blasting music or maybe I could steal you away? My room is just upstairs.” His eyes flick down to your lips once more before meeting your gaze again, a hint of mischief dancing in their violet depths. One step closer and he’s invading your personal space just slightly. “Because I could show you a good time, if you’d like. Just the two of us, away from all that noise and chaos,” he finishes a little quieter, a little lower. His tone is meant to seduce, to tempt you and he knows it always works. In his mind, he’s already alone with you, he imagines tracing your curves as he trails kisses along your jawline. His touch feels electric against your skin and you have to give him that — he sure does know how to get the attention he wants.

“I appreciate the offer, but I came here for the noise and the chaos,” you reply, smiling as your hand finds his wrist in a gentle caress meant to put some distance between his fingertips and your skin. “It’s not every day I get to attend a party such as this one,” that said, you’re ready to retract when his free hand meets the curve of your hip. You hear a hum and he’s suddenly much closer, you feel his breath on your lips, a mixture of mint and something strongly alcoholic. A little sweet too. A coke, maybe. There’s warmth bouncing off of him, one that you feel tingling on your skin when he leans down to meet your height. The tip of his nose teases yours before it moves to the side, running over the lines of your cheekbone.

“Are you sure?” He asks, smirking as he waits for your resolve to crumble. Not a single girl before you had resisted his charms and you surely are not going to be the first. He enjoys the challenge you present. Most girls would have melted under his touch but you remain composed. He likes that. He likes a woman who knows what she wants. “We could make our own noise, create our own chaos.”

“I’m content with all that’s happening here,” you hum, slipping out of his embrace. “Thank you for the company, Suguru. It was nice to meet you,” and you’re gone.

He stands there, dumbfounded. He stands there, once more looking at your back and he cannot believe what happened. A bunny that slipped from the hands of a wolf, girl that rejected Suguru’s charms, A moth that said no to the flames of his lust. A challenge he’s not going to pass on.

He smirks.

Before, he just wanted to have you.

Now, he has to have you.

And he will do whatever it takes.

Over the next weeks, Suguru has not given up. He hasn’t been able to get you out of his head, his interest in you hasn’t diminished; if anything, it’s grown stronger with each passing day. He’s determined to unravel the enigma that is you, to uncover the secrets hidden behind your captivating eyes and sweet smile. There’s something about you that made him desperate. A mystery he cannot quite unravel, a puzzle he can’t solve. And he thinks of you. He finds himself lost in thoughts of you more often than he’d care to admit. He spots you around campus occasionally, always looking effortlessly stunning and each time, he feels that familiar pull, that undeniable attraction that draws him to you.

Maybe it’s him, who’s the moth.

He doesn’t like this. How you always brush his advances off, how sweetly you smile while doing so. Every time he wants to touch you, you slip right through his fingers. You have tainted him with longing he has never felt before, you ruined him. He doesn’t want other women anymore, the line of booty-calls and flings blocked and removed from his phone. The nights he spends thinking of you, fucking his fist and swearing to all gods above and below to change, asking for a chance to sink his teeth into you. Because he doesn’t want anyone else. And he doesn’t know what you have done to him.

“Fancy seeing you there,” he remarks, settling himself beside you on the bench outside the library. The afternoon is particularly sunny, warmth caressing your skin as you sit comfortably, engrossed in a book. “Mind if I join you?” He asks, but he doesn’t wait for the response, as he leans over to glance at the title of your read. “Ah, philosophy. A deep thinker, huh? I like that.”

“Do you?” You ask, nudging a bookmark between the pages. “You don’t strike me as a philosophical type. You seem to me more of a live-in-the-moment kinda guy.”

He chuckles. “You’d be surprised,” he replies, his tone light and teasing, “there’s more to me than just good looks and undeniable charm. Although, I won’t deny that those are pretty great assets,” he winks playfully. Suguru leans back on the bench, stretching his long legs out in front of him. The ripped, black denim exposes a bit of his thigh, the ink of his tattoos peeking through the dark threads, drawing your attention.

“Oh, the confidence. It’s much more valuable trait than the outside looks,” you hum, leaning against the backrest too.

Geto laughs, a rich, warm sound that carries easily in the quiet outdoor setting. Then, he turns to face you fully, his expression turning serious for a moment. “But you’re right, I’m not usually one for heavy books and deep discussions. I prefer to keep things light and fun.” It’s a confession, he admits to it with a hint of vulnerability that’s quickly pushed behind his typical grin. “Besides, a guy can learn a thing or two from a smart, beautiful woman like yourself.” He flirts, but there’s an underlying sincerity to his words. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Tell me, what’s so captivating about this particular tome? What insights does it hold to have captured your attention so thoroughly?”

“It’s a tale of a man discovering what really matters in modern life, a story of loss and reconciliation. The narrator, whose days are counted due to sudden diagnosis, meets the Devil who offers him an extra day of life in exchange of making one thing in the world disappear,” you explain briefly and he watches your fingers dancing over the front cover of the book, tracing the lines of the simple graphic of a cat. “There comes the question, how do you separate out what you can do without from what you hold dear? I think it’s something we don’t pay much attention to in our lives because we have everything within reach, but what if something just… disappeared? The narrator has to take responsibility for each one of his decisions. There’s no going back, there never will be, once a thing is gone, it’s gone.”

Suguru listens intently, his expression thoughtful as he absorbs your words. “That’s quite… It makes you think, doesn’t it?” He muses, nodding slowly. “It makes you wonder what you’d choose to erase if given a chance to live just a day longer.”

“The question of how to decide what’s okay to remove and what’s not is what makes me think the most,” you look up. The day is beautiful today, fluffy clouds travel sparsely over the azure blue sky, the sun warms your skin with its golden rays and the birds sing, hidden within the crowns of the nearby trees. You hear some chatter, somewhere from the distance where other students pass by, you hear the cars that honk impatiently as they stand in the traffic and you hear a dog barking. There’s a park not far away. “Some things that are insignificant to me might be the entire world to someone else.”

“So you think the burden of consequences might outweigh the price of life itself,” he notes, his eyes studying the lines of your profile. Your eyes, reflecting the blue of the sky, your cheeks flushed from the wind and sunrays. He thinks the color of your scarf makes your complexion looks brighter. “I don’t know if I would be capable of eradicating something from the world permanently. At first, I thought it might be easy, just get rid of something small and simple, but then it made me wonder if things I think are unimportant, truly are so.”

Truth is, Suguru doesn’t think he would dwell much about the topic if not you, but he wonders what if. What if he made a decision that would cause a war? Or someone else’s loss? What if a thing that he picks results in him not meeting you?

“That’s what philosophy does to you,” you chuckle, turning your gaze back to him, just to meet his eyes glued to yourself.

“But maybe that’s what makes life worth living,” he turns to you fully, his eyes wondering as he drops his usual playfulness and mischief. “It’s much easier to pretend we have control over our lives and the world around us rather than confront the harsh truth that we are all just tiny cogs in a vas, unpredictable machine. But maybe it’s the uncertainty, the constant surprises, the knowledge that anything can change in an instant what makes the journey worth the effort.”

“Maybe it is,” you nod, taking a moment to let his words sink in. “I wouldn’t expect you to engage in topics such as this. I apologize,” you offer a smile and he melts.

“You know, most people assume I’m just a pretty face. They don’t expect me to have substance beneath the surface,” he muses, his expression turning thoughtful before he lets out a breathy chuckle. “I guess I do give them the reasons to do so. But I really enjoy talking to you. It’s nice to have conversations that aren’t just surface-level flirting and innuendos. There’s just something about you...” He trails off, reaching out tentatively, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger against your skin for a moment before falling away. “I like how you challenge me, make me think deeper than I usually do. You are a puzzle I can’t wait to solve.” His gaze locks with yours, his expression open and vulnerable in a way you haven’t seen from him before. “Can I see you again? Like this, I mean. Just talking, getting to know each other better.”

The question hangs heavy in the air as you consider it. You will meet him again, one way or another, somewhere around the campus or at another frat party. You will see him again as he targets another girl, flirting his way into another pair of panties. And you exhale, your lips curving upwards slightly as you lean your head on your fist, elbow on your knee.

“Suguru,” you begin, his name slipping over your tongue with ease you enjoy. But you know better than this. You have seen it all too well how he treats women. “I enjoy conversing with you and if it’s just talk that you want from me, then I will find time to meet you again. But I need you to know that I will not allow myself to be another notch on your bedpost. It’s easy to get swayed by your charms, but I know your reputation and I know it for sure that if I had to give up one thing in the world, it would never be self-respect.”

And he knows for sure that if he had to give up romance for the rest of his life just to have you, he wouldn’t think twice about it.

“I don’t want to charm my way between your legs,” he swears, too quickly, too desperate to make himself believable and he groans, annoyed by his own self. He nervously runs his hand through his dark, raven hair. “Just, please, give me a chance. I won’t lie to your face and say that I’m suddenly ready to settle down or that I’m done sowing my wild oats entirely. I know what kind of reputation I have and I can’t deny that I’ve played the field more times than I can count. I’ve earned it fair and square,” he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. All of the lustful nights flashed before his eyes, the nameless girls, the empty promises and unanswered calls afterwards. All the nudes, all the sexts, all the quickies in the locker rooms and dingy bathrooms. Suguru would give them all away if only earned a chance to be with you. “I want to change. I already started to change. You don’t have to believe me right away, but you are different. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew there was something special about you. And I won’t lie that I’m not attracted to you physically. That would be impossible. But there’s more to it than that. Something worth pursuing beyond just a one-night stand.”

“And what change are you talking about?” You quiz. “Because as far as I am concerned, I’ve seen you flirting with some girls just yesterday.”

And he winces, unable to deny your accusation. “You’re right, I did flirt with them. It’s become a second nature to me, a habit I can’t seem to break easily.” He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair once more, frustrated. “But it didn’t go further than talk. I didn’t… I’ve stopped sleeping around. I blocked and removed all the girls’ numbers from my phone, deleted the pictures I had. Fuck, I even declined an invitation for a party with my pals, for the first time since high school. Look,” he leans in, his eyes locked with yours and his hand finds yours. You feel his thumb rubbing soft circles on your knuckles and you wonder if it’s to soothe you or himself. “Being with you, talking to you… it’s opened my eyes to what I have been missing out on. I’ve spent so long chasing meaningless encounters, never allowing myself to form real connections with anyone and now, I’ve tasted something more substantial and realized just how hollow my previous pursuits have been. I want to do better. For you, yes, but also for myself. I want to prove to you that I’m capable of more than just cheap thrills and empty promises.”

It’s true, everything he says. He is ready to drop the player mask, to shed his frat repute just to have a chance at something real, something that makes his heart flutter in his chest and his stomach bubble with butterflies. He is ready to say no to easy sex just to fight for your attention, your touch, your heart.

He is genuine, but you just hum, your expression unreadable as you weigh your next words. You like him desperate. You like how his violet eyes sparkle with puppy-like vulnerability rather than a flirty mischief. And he is beautiful, you cannot deny it — a man of impressive built, clad in ripped jeans and leather, heavy boots and a band tee. He looks like he bites, and you know he does. You take in the sight of his piercings, the large gauges, the snake bites in his lower lip, the piercing across the bridge of his nose, right between his captivating eyes and the one right above his left brow. You wonder what kissing him would feel like. Would the metal come in the way? Or maybe it would add to the experience?

“I’m not sure what to tell you,” you sigh. “I will give you a chance if you think you can change. But you’ll need to prove it. Think about it.”

And he did.

The lonely nights he spends at the frat house, laying in bed instead of partying with his friends, he wonders where the path of his change will lead him. What if it’s him, confronting the devil and having a chance to lose himself just to earn a day with you? He thinks he’d take it. He’s sure he would. He flips on the mattress, his eyes squinting as the lights from his phone blinded him with a new message. An unknown number. He opens it, it’s a picture, a bare body that he recognizes by the butterfly tattoo on the ribcage. A nude from one of his exes. She must have gotten a new number because he remembers vividly how he blocked her. Usually, he wouldn’t think twice about it, he’d reply with something cheeky, possibly send an explicit picture of himself, maybe set up a meeting or invite her over. His fingers typed the message before his brain managed to intervene and once he hit ‘send’, he cursed out loud.

“Fuck, you idiot!”

A pillow flew across the room as he stared at the ceiling. Would it hurt to go once more with no strings attached? It’s been some time since he’s gotten laid and the vision of tension coming off of him was a temptation beyond measure. But what about you? What about a change he had promised?

Is the change even for him?

Suguru stares at his phone screen, the message he sent glowing mockingly back at him, a shameful reminder of his weak self-restraint. The girl already replied, they always reply so fast, and he doesn’t know what to do. He knows he fucked up, he knows he shouldn’t have responded. He shouldn’t have even entertained the idea of hooking up with his ex, or any other girl. It goes against everything he told you, everything he promised.

With a heavy sigh, he tosses his phone aside, despite the notifications flooding his inbox. More pictures, the location, the time — an annoying ding makes his blood boil and he groans, burying his face in his hands. He feels conflicted, torn between his desire for physical release and growing feelings for you. He wants to be better, to be the man you deserve, to be the man that deserves you. He wants to prove to you that he’s serious about changing, but old habits die hard. The temptation is still there, lurking in the shadows of his mind, waiting for a split second of vulnerability.

He tosses and turns in bed. His thoughts race with the pictures of you, his mind replaying every conversation, every shared laugh and stolen touch. He remembers the way your eyes sparkled when you discussed philosophy, the passion in your voice as you told him about the importance of self-respect. He realizes that those moments were more fulfilling than any other fleeting pleasure he’s experienced before.

But he gets up anyway, he pulls up his dark-washed jeans and a hoodie, socks and boots and he’s ready to go. With a jacket grabbed in the hallway and a phone in his hand, he leaves the house. The crisp air of near winter hits him the moment he steps outside, cooling the blood in his veins and clearing his thoughts.

12 unread messages.

He groans again, this time into the nightly silence as he strides through the pavement, legs leading him in the direction of his doom. Suguru slips the earphones in, plays on the music but the melody and lyrics are helpless against the chaos in his mind.

It’s pointless, to resist his own body. He knows it’s pointless, he knows he has control over his legs and deep down he knows he would reject the booty call if he truly wanted. You deserve a better man anyway, not a player that fucks around like it’s a sport. You deserve someone who would worship the ground you walk on, a man of culture and manners with whom you’d engage in long, deep conversations late in the evenings, not a man-boy who cannot control his own dick. But fuck, does he wants you.

He wants you so bad, he wants to be all those things for you. He wants those discussions about philosophy and life, he wants to kiss your knuckles and be the knight in the shining armor, carrying you in his arms and shielding you from the world and assholes such as himself.

He lights up the cigarette, taking a deep breath in and looking up. The night is pretty. Calm. He wonders if you are already sleeping. Or maybe it’s one of those nights that you pull in order to study and secure your grades. The semester just began but he learned it already that you care about your future more than he does about his own. You’re a little nerdy. He thinks it’s cute. He can imagine himself wrapping a blanket around your shoulders when it’s late and carrying you to bed when you’re falling asleep on top of the books and notes. You would fit perfectly in his arms.

“You fucking moron,” he slanders himself quietly, already seeing the motel in front of him. He shouldn’t be there but he moves forward anyway. He knows his ex is already waiting for him, he can tell by the lights in the room they always used to book for the casual encounters. He stops before he enters, giving the smoke few more moments to burn. He can feel it in his lungs, somehow calming as he checks his phone, scrolling through the notifications.

One of the messages is from you.

It’s innocent in the sea of suggestive texts. There’s an apology for the late hour and a book title that you promised to send him a day before. The one you’ve been reading for the last few days and the one that made him rethink his entire life’s choices. There’s not much substance in the message, but it shakes him awake.

The turn he takes is aggressive, it’s resolute. Heavy boots thudding against the concrete panels as he walks away from the motel. ‘Sorry, not coming.’ He sends the message and blocks the number, feeling lighter the second he removes the nude picture and the unwanted contact.

It takes just an hour before he knocks at your door, the dormitory silent in the nightly time so he keeps himself quiet. You open after a long moment, dressed in a make-shift pajama. He likes the way your hair is messy from the pillows, how you smell like vanilla and flowers and coffee. You look so pretty like this, so undone, so unexpecting yet not entirely disappointed to see him. You seem… content?

“Suguru?” His name comes from your mouth and you usher him inside, afraid of someone seeing him. Once the doors shut behind him, your eyes search him for answers.

“Brought you some food, I thought you might need it,” he grinned, showing off the box of pizza and a bottle of soda. “I figured you’re studying tonight and might need some fuel.”

“So thoughtful,” you tease, but the smile that shapes your mouth reaches your eyes, so he knows it’s genuine. He follows you to your bedroom and he’s not surprised seeing the notes all over your bed and scattered on the floor. The papers full of sparsely highlighted knowledge that you want to transfer into your brain take most of the space before you gather them onto a neat pile. He sits right there, on the newly uncovered spot on your mattress. It feels intimate, to be in your room, to rest on your bed, to see you in your pajama. He wonders if you know what the sight of your thighs does to him, the plush, tender flesh begging to be touched, kissed and kneaded. Suguru thinks your skin would look beautiful with bitemarks all over.

“So, pizza,” he clears his throat after letting his eyes linger for way too long on your bare legs. “I took pepperoni, I hope you like it.”

“It’s perfect,” you smile and separate the barely cut pieces for easier access. “I appreciate the thought, really. But there was no need for you to leave the house just to do this.”

“For you, I would do it at every hour,” he says and then sighs deeply. “But truth is, I didn’t plan this.” Suguru feels like he’s inside the confessional. It’s a foreign tension, completely different from the one he felt just hour before. The knot in his stomach has nothing to do with lust and desire and all to do with stress and regret. “I’ve received a booty-call from my ex. That’s why I left the house,” he spats it out quickly, thinking it’ll hurt less if he does it in rush. “I didn’t go there though. I told her I’m not coming, blocked the number and came here instead.”

You stay neutral, chewing on the pizza as your tired eyes size him up. “Old habits die hard, huh?” You mock, slightly amused by his tormented expression. His eyebrow creases before he lets himself drop back onto the mattress, a soft grunt escaping his mouth as he covers his face with his hands.

“I meant it. I want to change and I’m working on it.” He says, his voice quiet and devoid of his usual cheekiness. “I fucked up when I entertained the idea of hooking up with a random person tonight but cut me some slack, I didn’t do it.”

 “Good boy,” you mock-praise and he groans again, but then his entire body tenses when you lay next to him. He feels your breath against his cheek, the tip of your nose prodding the flesh. He doesn’t move, too afraid to ruin the moment. “Do you regret it? Not going, I mean. Be honest, don’t say what I want to hear.”

“I don’t,” he replies, his tone resolute. “I don’t regret not meeting my ex and not having sex tonight. I was pent up — fuck me, I still am, and when I replied to her text, I didn’t think much about anything except for my dick. But I don’t regret not going because I didn’t want to go. And I’m grateful that you texted me because you reminded me what really is important. Right now, it’s you.”

It makes you smile. He’s torn inside of his mind but you take it as a win anyway. Before, Suguru wouldn’t second-guess pulling his pants down and now you made him think. Now, you made him reconsider; wonder who he is without the façade of the charismatic ladies’ man. He will have to learn to navigate social situations without relying solely on his charm and wit to get what he wants. But he can do this. For you.

Before he speaks again, you’re asleep already. Sideways on the bed, most likely uncomfortable but right next to him and he doesn’t dare to move a muscle in his body. You’re sleeping, your face just an inch from his own. The soft fragrance of your skin fills in his nostrils and not even the smell of pizza nearby can disturb it. There’s a hair somewhere around his face, he doesn’t know if it’s yours or his own, but it tickles his cheek every time you exhale. It’s fine.

An hour passes and he finally gathers the courage to shift, as carefully as he can, he turns to his side, to face you. You’re a vision he takes in with his eyes wide open, committing the picture of your peaceful expression to memory. He likes everything about you, every hair of your eyebrows, every freckle and beauty mark. He likes the way you look so unbothered, so comfortable next to him. He wants to touch you. Oh, how much he craves to caress your cheek, to thread his fingers through your hair. His heart thumps in his chest, reaching speeds matching those of sprinters. The feeling is foreign. Is this…? It cannot be. Suguru Geto is not about… that. His entire life he believed he’s meant to have fun, no strings attached, no responsibilities. What did you do to him?

You move and he stops breathing. It’s an instinct, he thinks, that you shift closer to him, but he tells himself you want that. And you fit so well against his chest, your head below his chin, your hand around his middle. The room spins and he wraps you in the embrace of his arms.

He feels your heartbeat, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing and suddenly, he calms down. It sinks into his mind that it’s where he wants to be. All the years of empty flings, the mediocre orgasms, the shameless pursuits could never compare to the feeling of you in his arms. That’s what he has been missing on. And he will do everything to be the man deserving of you.

Time passes, and Suguru slowly falls into the rhythm of his newfound resolve. It’s easy to decline hookup invitations when he can spend time with you, but maybe he did feel a little too confident when he decided to attend the big, annual party at the frat house. It’s Halloween, after all, how could he not go there when everyone will come? Quickly he falls into familiar routine of charms and alcohol, nursing a beer from a red plastic cup and chatting playfully with attractive attendees. His friends push him towards temptation, inviting more and more girls to the crowd and Suguru feels drawn to the lively atmosphere, the flirtatious banter comes as easy as breathing.

That is, before a pretty sophomore dressed in a devil costume takes a seat next to him — a seat he has kept for you, because you promised you’ll come, despite the need to study. It’s fine if the girl sits there for a moment or two, he thinks, as he engages in a conversation. He knows, it’s as obvious as day, that the second-year beauty is interested in getting into his pants — her hand on his thigh, the fluttering eyelashes and pouty lips say everything about her intentions. As the night progresses, he finds himself more and more… uncomfortable. Surprisingly.

And so, he feels relieved when he sees you in the crowd, late but looking absolutely adorable in your sweet bunny costume. It’s simple yet makes his pants grow tighter as he takes in the way the plain black dress hugs your curves. The fluffy tail bounces with each step you take through the filled living area and the long, pink-lined ears swing just slightly along with your hair whenever you move your head around, looking for something — for him and his heart skips a beat. In that moment, everything fades away — the raucous laughter, the pulsing music, even the sophomore girl next to him.

Excusing himself from company, he forces a smile as he brushes the invasive hand off his thigh and gets up from the sofa, making his way over to you. “Hey there, cutie,” he greets, pulling you into a hug and you melt into his chest in an instant. “Glad you could make it.” He breathes in your scent, letting it calm his nerves but it does little to calm other things down. Fuck, you look perfect.

“How could I miss my favorite frat boy sporting a vampire costume?” You quiz, backing up a little to take in his attire. He’s wearing all black, a dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, pants that make his legs look even longer than they are. His eyes are smudged with little bit of black eyeliner but it works for him, he looks sexy. “Aren’t you a pretty one. I might consider letting you bite me,” you tease, and he knows you’re joking but it doesn’t stop the blood in his body to travel downwards.

“Careful what you wish for, bunny,” he muses, “I might just take you up on that offer and sink my teeth into that delectable neck of yours.” His fingers intertwine with yours as he lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before he leads your arm up onto his shoulder. “God, I missed you,” he murmurs as he lowers his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

He feels you chuckle, your nails scratching at his scalp as you thread your fingers through his dark locks. Once more you proved him that the change is worth it, because it’s you who’s on the line. “Dance with me?” He asks and you move with him towards the makeshift dancefloor.

Suguru pulls you closer as you enter the rhythm of the music, one hand resting on the small of your back while the other twirls you around gracefully. You’re giggling, amused by the undivided attention he pays you — he’s sweet when he has his eyes on the target, when he has to work for something. He dips you dramatically and your hand tighten on his shoulder, but it’s secure, the way he holds you as if he wished to protect you from all the bad in the world. His eyes lock with yours as he pulls you back up, flush against him. The heat radiating off both your bodies mingles together, creating an intoxicating aura that threatens to consume you whole.

You don’t really listen to what’s playing, a melody mellows in the background as his hands trace patterns along your sides and hips, follow the line of your spine, sometimes teasing the fluffy ball that is your tail. His touch ignites sparks wherever he grazes, leaving trails of fire in its wake. He’s hungry, for you, and you are too. It’s hard to deny it any longer and you think that maybe, just maybe he is ready to commit to something more than just a fleeting romance. It’s been months since he began pursuing you and his attention has been focused solely on you, despite the obstacles and temptations of his life. A reward wouldn’t hurt now, would it?

“I need a drink,” you tell him and he’s quick to react, taking your hand and leading the way towards the kitchen. He knows what you like, snatching a can of strawberry soda from the counter. When you nod in approval, he opens it, too hasty, too eager, that he doesn’t realize the way it bubbles over, spilling over the aluminum container and his fingers. Before he can react, your lips are already on his skin, licking away the sticky trail of pinkish liquid.

Suguru freezes as he feels your tongue glide across his skin, tasting the sweetness of the spilled soda. A shiver runs down his spine at the sensation, his breath hitching in his throat. Desire darkens his eyes, pupils dilate as he watches, transfixed, how you lick the sugary mess from his fingers. The sensation sends jolts of electricity coursing through his veins, pooling in the pit of his stomach. He breathes out your name, but you’re quick to shut him up.

You pull him down, your hand in his hair as you press your lips to his own. He tastes the strawberry sweetness of the soda on your tongue as it dances with his own, the flavor mixing deliciously with the taste of you. The dripping can is soon forgotten on the fake-marble countertop as he scoops you closer, arms wrapping around your waist securely. He can feel the heat of your body through the thin fabric of your costume, the softness of your curves molding perfectly against the hardness of his muscles. He’s eager, he moans lightly into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips. You feel the cold metal rubbing against your face, it’s interesting, it’s addicting. You like it.

“Always wanted to try that,” he pants out when for a moment you pull back. He chases your mouth, hungry for more, desperate.

“The soda?” You ask, pressing soft pecks to his pout.

“You.” He lounges forward once again, unsatiated and you don’t stop him. You don’t hear music anymore, all that’s rumbling in your ear is the sound of your heartbeat. You feel the heat in your veins, the flooding of ecstasy filling your cells one by one. There’s no space left between you, but you take a step forward anyway. You feel his hips rolling, a desperate cry for any sort of friction and when you slip your hand down, palming his groin through his pants, he groans into your mouth as his hips buck involuntarily into your touch. “Please,” he begs, eyes locking with yours as he leans his forehead against your own. He can feel himself throbbing beneath the confines of his pants, straining desperately for more of your attention. “You want me too, please tell me you do. I can’t… It hurts, I crave you so much, it hurts.”

“Let’s get out of here,” you murmur. “Your room is upstairs, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he breathes out. “But I won’t take you there. You deserve better than this place and my filthy bed. Let me take you to my apartment.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer and you follow him anyway, your hand incased in his large one, sticky from the spilled soda but none of you seem to care as you saunter through the dancing crowd of young people. Just to get outside.

The walk is a blur, you don’t remember much of it and so does Suguru. The night air is crisp, sending chills down your spine and the boy teases you about it, promising all the warmth he can produce in just few moments. You laugh with him, unbothered by the cool wind that tousles your hair. “It’s just around the corner,” he promises and you hum, matching his pace as he leads you through the neon-lit streets of Tokyo. The world blur into nothing, all you see is the man that holds your hand, the blue-ish hint to his hair whenever the lights fall on it just right, the sticky heat of his palm. You can still smell the faint strawberry aroma; you can definitely feel it on your tongue even though you didn’t manage to truly take a sip of it.

And you laugh again when he fumbles with the keys to his apartment. “Nervous?” You tease him playfully. “You have no idea,” he replies, smiling sheepishly and the entry finally swings open. He ushers you inside, kicking the door shut behind him and flicking the lights on.

Suguru wastes no time, pulling you flush against him once more as he presses you against the nearest wall, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. His hands roam your body greedily, mapping out every dip and curve, learning the shape of you and you do the same. He shrugs the jacket off and you’re quick to explore the broad lines of his shoulders, the hard muscles of his chest and stomach. You feel him everywhere, the hungry touch devouring every inch of your form. He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down the column of your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin and you whimper breathily — the sound undeniably similar to his own name.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, guiding him lower as he reaches your chest. His kisses grow more wet and delicate as he meets the soft mounds of your breasts, tightly confined by the neckline of your dress. He breaths in your scent, an intoxicating mixture of sweet and floral. It makes his head spin, it’s addicting. He wants more.

It’s easy to slip the dress off of you — first the straps and then the garment goes down, inch by inch revealing the smooth expanse of your skin to his starved gaze. He drinks in the sight of you, his eyes roaming hungrily over the newly exposed flesh and in that moment he swears he has never seen a more beautiful woman in his entire life. His fingers skim along the edges of your bra, tracing the lace delicately before he leans in again, kissing your lips with softness that speaks more than any words could. He wants you, but he wants to worship you. He doesn’t want to make it all about lust and desire, he wants to make it about you and him. About whatever is this feeling that bubbles between you.

And so, he moves down slowly, lips mapping out the curve of your collarbone and down the path to your sternum. His hands follow your curves with gentleness he doesn’t recognize in himself. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his hot breath meeting the skin of your stomach, “just breathtaking,” he lowers himself to his knees — something he has never done in his entire life, used to have women at his feet.

“Suguru,” you breathe out but he doesn’t listen. Not when the skin of your thighs feels so soft against his cheeks, not when it tastes so delicious as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses along the plush flesh. Your fingernails find a way into his hair and he dives between your legs, encouraging one of them to hook over his shoulder. He savors the scent of you, his nose rubbing against the fabric of your underwear, prodding at the little wet patch. He licks it, his tongue flattening over the cotton, catching a hint of your taste — and that’s enough to make him go crazy for you.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet,” he breathes out, every exhale that meets the wetness of your panties sends jolts of electricity up your spine and back down to your core. He presses his lips to where he thinks your clit is, you feel him sucking gently and it’s enough friction to feel yourself pulsating. You moan quietly, the sound escaping your parted lips easily as your hold on his hair tightens. There’s no denying that you want him just as much as he wants you. He’s desperate but so are you.

Your knee buckle as he continues the torture and he coos sweetly. “Let’s take you to bed, you sweet thing,” his tone is sugary, a melody dripping with honey as he smiles at you in a way that makes you blush. There’s adoration written all over his face, his cheeks are flushed, lips red and glistening. You want to follow him when he stands up, but he swoops you off your feet, carrying you bridal style towards the bedroom. It makes you giggle.

“Practicing already?” You muse and he just smiles.

“Perhaps.”

Your back meets the cold bedspread as he lays you down delicately. No time is wasted before he’s right above you, right on you — you feel the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. No complains about it. He feels good, his hips rolling in a way that has his bulging erection grind along your panties. You hate the fabrics between you two, you hate how they make you feel less of him.

So you move your hands, slide them between your bodies, fumble with the buttons of his shirt. “Impatient much?” He teases, but helps you, pulling the shirt over his head, saving you trouble of the bottom fasteners. His lips find yours in a kiss that burns and you whimper into it, feeling the warmth spreading all over your body.

You reach down. Button, zipper. Your hands tremble as you push the fabric off his hips and he kicks it down. He helps himself with a hand and soon, his pants are on the ground, along with his socks and your bra, that you impatiently toss away. Suguru’s heart rumbles against his ribcage as he takes in the sight of your bare chest. It’s perfect, you are perfect and he cannot believe the luck he has — after years of chasing simple pleasures and meaningless peaks, he had finally found someone he wants to call his.

He feels your heart underneath his cheek as he leans down, inhaling the scent of your skin — his nose trails patterns over the soft flesh before he presses his lips to it, kissing his way towards one of your nipples. It pebbles beneath his touch, hardening as he latches onto it, sucking and teasing it with teeth, twirling his tongue all around. He matches his ministrations with his fingers, not letting the twin feel left out. Your taste is of pure heaven and the sounds that leave your mouth are ones of an angel.

There’s a patch of wet on his boxers, right where the throbbing head of his cock strains against the fabric — the precum oozing out as he grinds his hips against yours. It makes him insane how you reply with the roll of your own, to match his moves, to cause more of that delicious friction that sends both of you into a spiral of desire.

Unable to wait any longer, you hook your fingers at the waistband of his underwear, tugging it down and Suguru replies with the same — pulling the soaked cotton off of you. He wants to taste you, and he will, but not now. He reaches down, guiding the tip of his cock between the folds of your pussy, the head sliding with ease as your slick mixes with the pearly beads of semen. He loves the way your thighs tremble every time he glides over your sensitive clit, how your breath hitches and eyes close.

“Ready?” The question falls and you nod fervently, your hands finding his shoulders for balance. “Use your words, beautiful.”

“I’m ready,” you assure and then, your back arches off the mattress. He slides in inch by inch, stretching you, filling you so completely, making you go blind for a moment. The pain burns just faintly, losing its flames to the flooding of endorphins and pleasure. He goes in to the hilt, his body shuddering as he drops his head to the crook of your neck.

The feeling overwhelms him. The way your pussy grips him, like a vice that almost pulls him in more and more. It’s delightful. Ecstatic. It’s something he’s never experienced before. Is that what love feels like? He moves, slowly backing his hips until there’s nothing but a tip nestled inside you before he pushes forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs and his own too.

You paw at his arms, his back and chest. You want him closer, you want to feel all of him. Stars are clouding your vision, the world ceases to exist and there’s nothing else in it but you and the man on top of you. He feels so good, like he’s meant to be right there with you and Suguru feels the same. Like he found home, like he belongs there, in the warmth of your embrace, in the tightness of your walls. He loves the way you cling to him, the way your nails dig into his skin and your heels dig into his ass, urging him to go harder, faster. He complies, his hips snapping against yours as the wet sounds of your bodies colliding echo through the room, alongside your moans and gasps.

He changes the angle, shifting his hips to hit that spot inside you that makes the stars glitter before your eyes. He knows he’s found it when your back arches off the bed, your nails scoring down his back and a scream tears from your throat. He loves the sound, he loves the sight. He loves how you come undone, how beautifully blissed out your expression is, how your eyes lock with his even though you see nothing but haze. He grins, a smile lost against your skin as he continues pounding into you relentlessly, chasing his own high. He can feel it already, it threatens to consume him. His balls draw up tight, his heart races in his chest.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his groans and whimpers against your tender flesh as his hand grips your hip tightly. You match him thrust for thrust, nails leaving angry red marks in their wake. You feel the pleasure building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you feel you might explode. Your walls start to flutter around him to the rhythm of your heartbeat and the desire coursing through your veins.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Suguru gasps, his voice strained with exertion. He knows you’re close, it drives him insane. “I’m gonna—” He cuts himself off with a guttural moan as his climax hits him like a freight train. He follows you into the pit of pure delight, headfirst, no thoughts. Just pure, overwhelming bliss.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, as his hips buck forward few more times, riding out your highs with stuttered thrusts. You both lay there, panting and sweating, basking in the afterglow of passion. His softening cock slips out of you, followed by a gush of combined fluids but none of you worries about the mess, too blissed out to care about a thing.

“Wow,” he breathes, nuzzling his face into your neck, finding your pulse with his lips. “That was incredible.”

You giggle softly, carding your fingers through his sweat-dampened locks. They feel like silk, soft and luxurious. “Mm, it certainly was.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he exhales, rolling off of you and pulling you into his arms. He presses a tender kiss to your temple, marveling at the intimacy of the moment. It feels new, like an uncharted territory that he wants to explore further. With you. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs, his voice barely above whisper and sincere. “I want to be better. To be worthy of you.”

You hum, lifting your head to look at him and all you see in his violet eyes is raw honesty and a depth of emotion that takes your breath away. “I believe you,” you tell him, leaning in to capture his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. There’s no more rush, no more lust — just pure, soft affection. “And I want to help you change. Together, yeah?”

Suguru smiles against our mouth, his heart swelling with love he never knew he was capable of.

Together.

[bamjio]

❛ 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘆 ❜— ✿ .. deadpool headcanonns!

BEING WADE WILSONS' ONE AND ONLY ❛ WIFE. ❜ !

⋆˚✿˖° — CLINGY! it's honestly feels suffocating. Does he know personal space? of course. does he oblige to that rule? he'd rather dig logans burial.

— it doesn't matter, wade believes that if you love someone you won't let them go, literally.

— you'd always wake up to him tightly hugging you down, his arms and legs hovering your figure. don't think of letting go, cause he'll just grip more.

— expect him to go over your workplace and hang out there till the end of your shift, he won't budge even if the manager threatened to call the cops.

— goodness, he's just so obsessed with your scent, skin, hair, face, lips, arms, ❛boobies❜, and everything. he'd rather cut his head off than avoid you for a solid 3 days.

⋆˚✿˖° — CHILDISH! is wade a grown man that kills people or a child that wants your attention 24/7? Well, he's a child that kills and wants your attention.

— him being your husband feels like your with a child that won't grow up, he loves making a huge mess, doing anything to impress you, even fighting Logan for fun to show off who's stronger.

— wherever you both go, he'd always wander off somewhere; bothering someone or touching things that aren't supposed to be touched. and you're always panicking looking for wade, usually takes a few hours until he magically finds you, or you find him.

— loves likes seeing you angry, he claims that it's ❛super hot❜ and ❛cute, looks like a cat❜, so he'd bother you every unexpected time, whenever you'd read a book he likes to steal it and read it out loud, whenever you're on the verge of slumber; he'd either yell or picture your sleepy state.

— you're like a mother always scolding wade, and thankfully he obeys you, like a guilty child. yet his manners still come back like his life, you will never get tired of him though, and he knows it.

⋆˚✿˖° — OVERPROTECTIVE! your friends call it lovesick, but him and his 'audience' call it protecting! yeah, maybe he did kill your co worker because he called you crybaby, but thats besides the point.

— special forces, mutant, anti-hero, killer; yadayada, he's everything not a simple man could protect, call him delusional but unexpected things happen, you could get assassinated while eating breakfast, or worse. It's not being too weird, it's being considerate.

— definitely forced Logan to look after you once, not that he minds; Logan admires you. and that turned out to you finding out and scolding wade, being a big baby he is— he definitely didn't talk to you.

— ❛whos that in my bosses office??❜ suprise! it's wade holding a gun to your superiors head while waving at you, well because your boss threatened to fire you.

— in realities and seriousness, he doesn't wanna loose you. loosing someone pains him so much, yet being annoying is the only way he can cope. he lost so much people and he can't afford to loose you too. and him being wanted and a so called 'villain' in every story, he knows one day theyll figure you out.

⋆˚✿˖° — LOYAL! before the day you guys talked, he vowed that if he finds himself attach to another woman romantically, he'd hang himself. he loves you and even if you didn't, no one could ever replace you.

— despite lotta girls getting attracted to him, his eyes will be locked at you. his ears and eyes will forever be yours to catch.

— won't hesitate to slam a girls face into a metal table if they'd ever flirt with you, even with him showing you off. What's only stopping him is you not wanting him to harm anyone, and he's definitely obedient when it comes to you.

— define bare minimum, cause he definitely isn't just the minimum. his profiles in every social contains either your face, or you and him. not only profile, also his header and posts, tagging you whenever he interacts with his 'fans' putting "with — y/n wilson" "my wife — y/n Wilson" "fbm —y/n wilson" and anything that contains you.

— would you really doubt your crazy husband and his whatever audience? Looks can deceive and he's the frame for it, honesty and loyalty is his integrity, he vowed to you and shown his loyalty, and he would never break it.

⋆˚✿˖° ❛iris — tggd❜ , ❛she will be loved — M5❜.

[ahqkas]

“HOLDING YOU, HOLDING ME — dick grayson.

PAIRING! dick grayson x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! he wasn’t just a man in a mask—he was nightwing, gotham’s acrobatic vigilante, a name whispered in both fear and admiration depending on who you asked. and now here he was, slumped on your couch, bleeding out like any ordinary man who’d bitten off more than he could chew

WORD COUNT! 4.7k

WARNINGS / TAGS! wounds and patching up, mention of blood, light cursing + lmk

NOTES! i’ll never let go of this scenario bc no matter how many times i read or write it i know i’ll eat it up ,, header below belongs to @/v6que

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE SOUND OF SHUFFLING OUTSIDE YOUR BEDROOM WINDOW PIERCED THROUGH THE FRAGILE BARRIER BETWEEN SLEEP AND WAKEFULNESS, pulling you abruptly from the fog of dreams. Your heart stuttered, then raced, its rhythm a drumbeat in your ears as your senses stirred to full alertness. The muffled sounds of Gotham’s unrest—honking car horns, distant sirens wailing through the streets, and the occasional shout ricocheting off brick walls—were nothing new. It was the soundtrack of the city, a reminder that safety here was a fleeting illusion. But this sound was different. It wasn’t part of the distant chaos. It was near. Uncomfortably near.

You lay motionless, cocooned in the warmth of your blankets, as a cold tendril of unease slithered down your spine. The shuffle came again, a strained, uneven drag that was too heavy, too deliberate to be dismissed as the wind or the misstep of a stray animal. The hairs on your arms stood on end, your body responding to a primal warning long before your mind could catch up. A knot of tension coiled in your stomach, tightening with each beat of silence that followed.

Your breath hitched as your ears strained, every creak of the old apartment building suddenly amplified. The sound of your neighbors moving around above you had ceased hours ago, and the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen now felt deafening in comparison. Even the street noise below seemed to recede, swallowed by the weight of whatever lurked just beyond the thin pane of glass separating your room from the outside world.

Another shuffle—closer now—was accompanied by the faint scrape of something against the windowsill. A metallic sound? Your mind raced through possibilities, each one darker than the last, as your muscles tensed involuntarily. Instinct told you to stay still, to let the darkness cloak you, but adrenaline screamed at you to move, to act, to do something. The only thing louder than the pounding of your heart was the oppressive silence that followed the noise, stretching thin like a thread about to snap.

Then, a low groan shattered the quiet like a rock through glass—rough, ragged, and undeniably human. Your breath hitched, a shaky inhale catching in your throat as the sound sent a white-hot jolt of adrenaline through your veins. This wasn’t the screech of metal caught in a storm or the hollow clatter of a stray cat tipping over trash cans in the alley below. No, this was something else—someone else. And they were hurt.

Before you could fully process it, the groan was followed by another noise: a faint, rhythmic creak, unmistakable in its familiarity. Metal shifting and bending under weight, groaning as it protested movement along the fire escape just outside your window. It was a sound you had heard a hundred times before, but never like this—never in the dead of night, never accompanied by the guttural rasp of pain. It dragged a sharp, cold edge of dread across your mind, slicing through the thin veneer of safety you’d wrapped yourself in.

You sat up slowly, the mattress beneath you groaning in protest despite your careful movements. The noise seemed deafening in the oppressive quiet, and you froze, lips pressed together as if even the sound of your breathing might give you away.

Your eyes darted toward the window, the one barrier between you and the unknown outside. The curtains hung limply, a thin barrier of fabric that diffused the faint glow of streetlights below but revealed nothing of the shapes or movements beyond. Your pulse thundered in your ears as your mind raced. Every instinct screamed at you to stay still, to melt into the shadows and feign ignorance, to bury yourself under the covers and hope the moment passed.

But there was something else—a treacherous, gnawing pull of curiosity that refused to let you stay frozen. It dragged at you, a siren call that tugged against the fear coiled in your gut. Against all logic, you leaned forward, heart pounding so hard it felt as though it might leap from your chest. The cool air of the room kissed your skin, each shallow breath catching against the weight of the silence as you crept closer, unable to ignore the magnetic pull of whatever—or whoever—waited on the other side of that fragile pane of glass.

You froze just steps away from the curtain, your hand outstretched but trembling in the stillness of the room. Your fingers hovered mere inches from the fabric, the rough texture brushing your skin as you hesitated. The air felt heavier here, charged with the kind of tension that made your chest tighten and your breathing shallow. Each breath you took was deliberate, measured, the faint rush of air between your lips almost too loud against the suffocating quiet. Every nerve in your body begged you to turn back, to crawl under the covers and pretend none of this was happening.

But then another sound broke the stillness—a groan, sharper this time, tinged with desperation. It wasn’t the deep, detached groan of exhaustion but something raw, visceral, and undeniably human. The sound struck you like a slap, your heart lurching painfully in your chest. Whoever was out there wasn’t loitering or trying to scare you. They were hurt. And badly.

The realization sent a shiver rippling through you, but it didn’t stop your fingers from clutching the edge of the curtain. Slowly, cautiously, you pulled it back just enough to peek outside. The cold air from the window seeped through the thin glass, and you instinctively leaned closer, the warmth of your breath fogging the pane as you strained to see into the darkness. For a moment, there was nothing—only shadows twisting in the faint orange glow of the streetlights below, the occasional shimmer of metal catching the dim light. The fire escape stretched out before you like a skeletal bridge to nowhere, its emptiness pressing against your mounting fear.

Then, your eyes adjusted, and the shadows shifted, revealing a figure slumped against the railing. Your stomach twisted painfully at the sight, the breath caught in your throat as you tried to process what you were seeing. A man—larger than you expected, broad-shouldered despite the way his frame sagged—leaned heavily on the railing, his head tipped forward as if even the act of holding it up was too much. His chest rose and fell in uneven, labored breaths, each one visible in the faint puff of condensation against the night air.

His clothes—or was it some kind of suit?—clung to him, dark and soaked in places you didn’t want to think about too closely. The material melted into the blackness of the night, making it hard to tell where he ended and the shadows began. But there was no mistaking the weight of his posture, the way his hands gripped the railing with what little strength he had left, or the crimson stain trailing down the side of his body, catching the faintest glimmer of light. The sight of it turned your unease into something deeper, something colder.

“Shit,” you muttered, the word slipping out before you could stop it, sharp and quiet in the tense air. Your pulse quickened, adrenaline washing over you like a crashing wave as the reality of the situation sank in. Whoever this man was, he needed help—and fast. The knot of fear in your chest twisted tighter, but it was overwhelmed by something more immediate: the urge to act. Your hands trembled as you reached for the window, the cool glass biting against your fingertips as you slid it open. The icy air hit you instantly, sharp and unforgiving, stealing the warmth from your skin and making you gasp.

You leaned out into the night, the cold biting your cheeks and tangling in your hair as you peered down at the figure slumped against the railing. “Hey,” you called, your voice low but urgent, carrying just enough to cut through the silence. Your breath puffed out in faint clouds as you spoke, dissipating into the darkness between you. “Are you okay?” The words felt hollow as they left your mouth, even as they pressed against the lump of anxiety in your throat. Of course, he wasn’t okay—one look at him made that painfully obvious.

For a long, agonizing moment, the only response was the faint whistle of wind cutting through the metal of the fire escape. He didn’t move, his frame slouched in a way that made your chest tighten, the weight of his injuries pulling him down like gravity itself was working against him. Just as panic began to creep in—had he passed out? Was he even breathing?—he shifted, the motion slow and labored, as though even the act of turning his head was a monumental effort.

The faint light from the street below caught on his face—or rather, what was covering it. A mask. Sleek and dark, it reflected just enough light to reveal the harsh contours of his features, obscuring everything but the intensity of his movements. His head lolled slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might collapse entirely, the strength draining out of him like water slipping through a sieve. But then, with an audible effort, he rasped out, “Not really.”

The sound of his voice hit you like a gut punch—low, rough, and laced with pain. Each word dragged out of him felt like a struggle, and the exhaustion clinging to his tone was impossible to ignore. It was the voice of someone on the edge, hanging by a thread. You swallowed hard, your breath catching as you watched him shift again, the barest movement of his hand gripping the railing as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

“Well, no kidding,” you muttered, more out of reflex than anything, the dry sarcasm slipping past your lips before you could stop it. But the sharp edge of your tone faltered as your gaze darted to his injuries. Blood—thick, dark, and all too real—streaked his side, dripping in sluggish rivulets down his torn clothes. You swallowed hard, fighting the rising wave of panic threatening to claw its way up your throat. “Can you… uh, climb inside?” your voice was softer now, but still tinged with urgency.

He hesitated, his shoulders stiffening, and for a fleeting moment, he looked more like a cornered animal than an injured man. His hand gripped the railing tighter, the tension in his posture radiating defensiveness even as he swayed slightly, his balance precarious. “I don’t want to—” he began, his words rasping out low and hesitant, as if he were weighing the consequences of accepting help against the risks of staying put.

“You’re bleeding on my fire escape,” you interrupted, crossing your arms to disguise the nervous tremor in your hands. “I’m not asking. Get in here before someone sees you.” You tried to keep your voice steady, firm, even as your heart hammered against your ribs. You weren’t sure where the sudden boldness had come from—maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation—but you refused to back down. If he didn’t move soon, you weren’t sure he’d be able to at all.

For a split second, you thought he might argue, but then his lips twitched ever so slightly, a faint ghost of a smirk flickering across his face. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the grim set of his jaw as he shifted, bracing himself. With a pained grunt, he pushed off the railing, his movements slow and deliberate, every step looking like it might be his last. His knees buckled slightly as he approached the window, and instinctively, you stepped closer, your arms uncrossing as you reached out without thinking.

“I’ve got it,” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. He was trying to sound strong, but the unsteadiness in his steps betrayed him. As he climbed through the window, the effort took its toll. He leaned heavily against the window frame, his large frame towering over yours even as his weight pressed into you for support. The sudden closeness made you freeze for a moment, the sheer size difference between you starkly apparent as his broad shoulders filled the small space of your window.

You adjusted quickly, hands instinctively reaching to steady him despite your earlier hesitation. One hand brushed against his arm, and you couldn’t help but notice how solid he felt beneath your touch, even through the bloodied material of his suit. He shifted his weight against you slightly, just enough to steady himself, and the subtle press of his shoulder against yours was enough to make you acutely aware of how much he was relying on you in that moment.

“Easy,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as he finally made it through the window and into your apartment. You stepped back to give him space, resisting the urge to grab his arm again as he straightened with a wince. His movements were slow and deliberate, every motion screaming of pain, but he managed to stay on his feet. For now.

“Couch,” the word tumbled out before you could think too hard about what came next. You gestured toward the battered, threadbare piece of furniture across the room, its cushions sagging from years of use. It wasn’t much, but it was better than your window frame—or worse, the fire escape he’d just been bleeding all over.

He gave a faint nod, the motion sluggish as he shuffled forward, his hand bracing against the wall for balance. Each step looked like a battle he was barely winning, and just as he reached the couch, his knees seemed to give out entirely. He dropped onto it with a heavy exhale, the springs creaking loudly in protest. His head tipped back against the cushion, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

For a moment, you stood frozen, your back still pressed against the window as your mind worked to catch up with what had just happened. The sharp contrast of his dark figure against the warm glow of your living room lights made the scene feel surreal, like something out of a movie. But the blood—thick and vividly red against the black fabric of his suit—was all too real.

And now, in the full light of the room, you could finally see him clearly. The sleek black material clinging to him wasn’t just any clothing—it was a suit, one that seemed designed to meld with the shadows. Faint blue lines traced down his sides in sharp, angular patterns, adding a faintly futuristic edge to his appearance. But it wasn’t the design that held your attention—it was the bird emblazoned across his chest, unmistakable in its shape even beneath the layers of grime and blood.

Nightwing.

The name hit you like a freight train, an unspoken expletive rushing to the tip of your tongue as you took another step forward. Nightwing is in my apartment. The realization made your knees feel unsteady, and you clutched the back of a nearby chair for balance. He wasn’t just a man in a mask—he was Nightwing, Gotham’s acrobatic vigilante, a name whispered in both fear and admiration depending on who you asked. And now here he was, slumped on your couch, bleeding out like any ordinary man who’d bitten off more than he could chew.

Your gaze dropped back to the gash across his chest, the jagged tear in his suit exposing the angry, raw wound beneath. Blood was soaking through the material, dark and relentless, and the sheer amount of it sent a chill racing down your spine. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe through the rising tide of panic. This was happening. This was real.

And if you didn’t act fast, he wasn’t going to make it.

“I’ll get some supplies,” you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the haze of disbelief. Each step felt heavy, your heart pounding like a drum in your ears as you yanked open the cabinet under the sink. The first aid kit sat buried behind a clutter of forgotten toiletries, its edges dusty and worn, but it would have to do. You grabbed it along with a few clean towels, their soft cotton contrasting starkly with the chaos unfolding in your living room.

When you returned, your stomach twisted at the sight of him. He’d slumped further into the couch, his broad shoulders sagging into the cushions as if gravity were trying to pull him under. His head tipped back against the worn upholstery, exposing the pale curve of his neck. The steady rise and fall of his chest—though strained—was the only reassurance he was still alive.

“Don’t pass out,” you said, dropping to your knees beside him and setting the first aid kit on the coffee table with a clatter. The firm edge to your voice was betrayed by the slight tremor in your hands as you unfurled one of the towels. Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you forced your tone to remain steady. You couldn’t let him see the full weight of your panic—not when he already looked like he was barely holding himself together.

At your words, he cracked one eye open, the faintest glimmer of amusement flickering in his gaze despite the shadows of pain etched across his face. “Not planning to,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, each word dragging out like it cost him more than he could afford. The faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth was enough to make you pause.

Who the hell manages to look smug while bleeding out on someone’s couch?

But the glimmer faded as quickly as it appeared, his body sagging further against the cushions. You pressed your lips together, swallowing the sarcastic retort building in your throat. There wasn’t time for quips or questions—only action. You unfolded a towel, your fingers brushing against the warm stickiness of his blood as you pressed it gently against the gash across his chest. The sharp hiss that escaped his lips was like a jolt of electricity, and you found yourself murmuring, “Sorry,” even as you kept the pressure firm. His skin was warm beneath the blood and fabric.

You worked quickly, your hands steady despite the rising tide of nerves gnawing at your insides. The fabric around the wound had been torn beyond recognition, and you didn’t waste a second as you cut through the ruined material with swift, practiced motions. Each snip of the scissors felt like a small victory, as though you could fix this, like the clean cut would somehow make everything better. You pressed a towel to his side, feeling the heat of his blood seep through the fabric, the warmth of it sending a chill up your spine. He winced at the pressure, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t pull away. His muscles, tense and coiled under your hands, were the only indication that this wasn’t just a minor scrape. His breath came out in shallow gasps, but he didn’t make a sound of protest.

“You’re awfully calm for someone who just broke into my apartment,” you said, your voice forced to sound lighter than it felt. The words were meant to cover the nerves crawling up your throat, to push away the uncertainty gnawing at you. Humor—it was the only defense you had left in this absurd situation.

He let out a soft laugh, though it sounded more like a wheeze. It was rough and ragged, like even that small act of amusement took everything he had left. “Didn’t break in. Fire escape’s fair game,” he managed to rasp out, his eyes fluttering closed again as though the effort of speaking had drained him further.

For a moment, you stopped, just long enough to take in his words. Fair game, huh? You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, despite the situation. So this is how he justifies sneaking into random apartments in the middle of the night.

“Right,” you muttered, your voice dry, trying to ignore the sick feeling twisting in your gut. You could feel the heat of his skin under your fingertips, the way his body trembled slightly despite his attempt to stay composed. You glanced at his face, the mask still in place, but now that you were up close, you could see the way his eyes flickered with exhaustion and pain. It was like something human was trying to push through all the bravado.

But you had to focus. The towel in your hand was already damp from his blood, and you pressed harder, trying to staunch the bleeding as much as possible. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured my night going,” you muttered, though your tone softened a bit as you reached for the first aid kit. Every instinct in your body told you to move fast, but there was something about him, even in this state, that kept you grounded.

Maybe because I’m not sure whether you’re about to pass out or punch me in the face, you thought, but didn’t say. Instead, you reached for the antiseptic, uncapping it with more precision than you felt, and prepared yourself for whatever came next.

His lips twitched again, a ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was enough to make you wonder if he was trying to find some amusement in the chaos that had spilled into your living room. It didn't make sense—how someone could be this battered, this close to breaking, and still manage to show any semblance of humor. But there it was, a quiet resilience you couldn't quite place.

He didn’t respond at first, just watching you work. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, still tracked every movement of your hands, each shift of your body as you carefully cleaned and bandaged the wound on his side. There was something almost unnerving about how still he was, like a predator waiting for the right moment to move, but in the context of the situation, it made him seem more human. Vulnerable.

“You do this often?” you asked, your voice lighter than you felt. It was a simple enough question, but it served to break the silence between you, the quiet hum of the apartment making the space feel far too small. You didn’t look up at him immediately, but you could feel the weight of his gaze still on your face, intense and steady.

“Hmm?” he responded, the sound rough in his throat, as though the effort to form words had started to exhaust him.

“Get beaten to hell and crash on random fire escapes?” you pressed, glancing up at him as you secured the bandage around his chest. You tried to mask the faint bitterness in your tone with humor, the question rolling off your tongue more to distract yourself than anything else. This whole situation felt like something out of a bad dream, and you needed to ground yourself. Even if it meant making jokes about the absurdity of it all.

He let out a breath, his lips pressing together for a moment as he thought, the flicker of amusement still lingering in his eyes. “Only when I’m not at home,” he said softly, his voice rough, barely a whisper, but the sarcasm was clear. The way he said it—like he'd done this enough times to know exactly how it would go—made something twist uncomfortably in your chest. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in this situation, and maybe it wouldn’t be the last.

You couldn’t help but huff out a soft laugh despite yourself, but it was more out of disbelief than humor. "That’s reassuring," you muttered, tightening the bandage with a firm pull. The night had turned stranger than you could’ve ever imagined, and all you could do was keep your hands steady as you finished the task, trying to ignore the fact that this was your reality now. For however long he was going to be here, this was your reality.

As you worked, you couldn’t help but wonder—what exactly had he been doing up there? Was it a routine mission gone wrong? Or was it something else, something far more dangerous than just a bad night on patrol?

But asking those questions, probing further, felt like it would unravel everything you were holding together. You were already way past the point of no return, anyway.

You leaned back on your heels, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as you wiped your hands on one of the towels, the fabric already stained with his blood. The light in your apartment, dim as it was, highlighted the mess of the night: the empty first aid kit, the scattered towels, the faint smell of antiseptic in the air. Everything felt heavier now—like the weight of what had happened wasn’t just about this bleeding stranger in front of you, but about you, too, suddenly pulled into something far more dangerous than you'd signed up for.

"You need stitches, but that’s the best I can do right now," you said, your voice softening as you turned back to him. "Try not to tear the bandages before you... I don’t know, get some actual medical attention?"

You were trying to stay light, trying to keep your tone steady, but the words felt hollow. He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pushed himself up with a grunt, the movement slow and stiff, his pain clear despite the faint determination in his eyes. He steadied himself against the arm of the couch, looking like he might collapse at any moment, but there was something else there too—something that made you stop, heart fluttering painfully in your chest.

He offered you a faint smile, the expression almost shy despite the rough edges of the night, his eyes meeting yours in that quiet, unexpected way that made the room feel too small.

"Thanks. Really," he said, his voice rasping, but genuine.

For a moment, all the noise of the world outside your apartment seemed to fall away. The sirens in the distance, the occasional sound of traffic, even the distant hum of the refrigerator—it all blurred into nothing as you just stood there, staring at him. His gaze was soft, more tender than you would’ve expected from someone who’d just crashed through your window with blood dripping from their body. It wasn’t that it was romantic, per se—at least, that wasn’t what you expected it to feel like. But there was something in the way he looked at you, something that made your heart skip a beat, something you couldn’t explain.

He didn’t move, didn’t look away, and for a long moment, neither did you. There was something raw in the quiet between you, as though both of you were momentarily suspended in this small, messy space. His smile was faint, but it was real—a fragile thing, born of pain and gratitude. You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were, how the distance between you had narrowed while you weren’t paying attention.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand moved, instinctively reaching out to touch his arm—just a gentle brush of your fingertips against his skin. You told yourself it was nothing, just checking if he was steady, but even as you pulled away, there was a spark. A quiet acknowledgment that this was different. The way his eyes followed the movement of your hand, the way he hesitated before his next breath, made the space between you feel charged, like something unspoken was hovering in the air.

"You're welcome," you whispered back, voice quieter than before, tinged with something you couldn’t quite define. There was a flicker of something in his gaze, an understanding, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter. It was just the two of you in that small, dimly lit room, suspended in time, with everything else forgotten.

And just like that, you both broke the moment—him leaning back into the couch with a soft grunt, and you turning your attention back to the bandages, your pulse still racing in your ears. But the quiet connection lingered, a soft hum under everything else.

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work , please consider reblogging and / or commenting . thank you if you do 🤍

[postracehair]

trust me

max verstappen x reader | 2.3k

after an incredible (and wet) weekend in brazil, you have a confession to make.

cw: a loving relationship! discussion of anxiety/fear/worrying about your race car driver bf, healthy communication, and softness galore.

a/n: being a wag must be so stressful. like, damn! also, rain races stress me out, personally. this fic is about that.

__

The triple header comes to an end in the best way possible.

Max Verstappen wins the São Paulo Grand Prix from a 17th-place start! It's the stuff of dreams. The fist around your heart unclenches just a little bit as you watch him smiling, roaring, hoisting his well-earned trophy aloft. It's your best day in a long time, watching your darling boyfriend like that, and you celebrate with everyone late into the night. The Championship battle looms in the background but tonight is about the hard work from the weekend. The stress, the frustration, the damn rain. All of it worth it for the pride you all feel right now.

But what comes after -- that, you can admit, you enjoy even more. Three weeks until Las Vegas and Max and the team have plenty of work to do before then, but for now? For now, it's this: rest.

Everyone gets to go home, finally. And for you, home is wherever Max is. You've spent the first few days of the break thus far at his place. On the floor with the cats, on the couch watching movies. In his bed, sleeping, sometimes, other times... not so much. Hours and hours just being together. You'll have plenty of time for this once the season ends but you can never get enough of him.

You're on the couch, sprawled across the length of it with a book in hand. It's a good one, so much so that you don't notice Max until he taps your ankle and you jump.

"Jesus," you gasp. His lips are pulled up at one corner in the precursor to a full grin, sweatpants slung low enough that you can see the branded band of his underwear between the drawstrings and the hem of his t-shirt. "Where did you come from?"

"Watching race replays," he says with a shrug. "Scooch." You tug your legs back and sit up a little, bookmarking your page as he rounds the couch and plops down where your feet were.

"Max," you whine. "I like to watch those, too. So you can do that thing where you narrate like, every second." You're teasing, but only a little. For all the jokes about "maxplaining," you really do love how he explains things. He tells you what he was thinking at every turn, what the trick is, how long it took him to get it right. He points out his mistakes and those of the other drivers. All of it thoroughly and with enthusiasm, answering your questions like you're the best student he's ever had.

"Yeah, well," he says, sinking into the couch, arm stretched across the cushions towards you. Your eyes rake over the line of his bicep as he talks. "You don't like rain races very much. Wasn't sure you'd want to see it again."

That gets your attention. "How did you know that?" You've never told him outright that they stress you out. It's really important to you that you keep your cool at the track, that you don't do anything to let on that he should worry about you.

But you should know better, it seems.

"I can tell," Max says, looking right at you. "I pay attention."

You hum, not sure what to say. "You've got me there," you confess. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," he tuts. "Why the apology? You can feel however you want to. This weekend was complicated."

He feels too far away. You set your book on the ground and shove your toes under this thigh. He keeps his eyes on your face but you fuss with the hem of your t-shirt rather than look back.

"They're exciting. Rain races, I mean." You sigh. "But I can't help but worry, Max. From the garage, it's so --"

You lose track of your words because Max grabs hold of your legs and tugs them over his thighs as he moves closer to you, almost crowding you against the arm of the couch. He reaches for your collarbone to pick some lint from your shirt, his other arm slung across your calves.

"Were you scared?" he asks. "This weekend, I mean."

Frankly, you avoid telling him things like this because you don't want to distract him. You don't want to detract from his performance in any way and maybe that's selfish, because you know he's very good at what he does and how you feel isn't going to derail his weekend. But you know he loves you, and you know how deeply he feels things. How much he wants to be a good partner, a good driver, a good man. And you try really hard to let him know that he is all of those things.

The reality of your position in his life is that there will always be people who heavily imply that your presence, your actions, your choices could be at fault. It's ludicrous -- Max has said so many times -- but it makes you hype-aware. You don't want to overstep. It's something you know you should articulate to him properly, but you know he'll be upset that you think you can be anything but a good part of his life. It's an endless cycle.

"Hey," he says, mistaking your silence for emotion. "Liefje, I'm fine." He reaches for you, cupping your cheek with a warm hand. You look up at him and find him frowning.

"I know," you say, leaning into his palm. "I know you are. I just -- I don't want it to sound like I'm a whining baby or something."

"Whining baby?" Max gently rubs the skin under your eye with his thumb. "Psh. We've got some of those on track. You couldn't come close to them if you tried."

That gets a laugh out of you and he cracks a smile at the small victory.

You sigh. "I was scared," you admit, voice soft. Max presses a little closer to you, his hand falling from your face to catch yours, fingers twining together.

"Are you always scared?" he asks. "You're more tense on rain weekends, I can tell that much. But you've never really talked about this. I guess I--" He frowns again. "I've never really asked you."

"That's okay," you say. "It's nothing, really."

Blue eyes bore into yours. "No, I want to know," he presses. "Please, tell me?"

You tip your head back a little, eyes on the ceiling. How to say it?

"I guess I'm always a little scared, yeah," you say. "I don't know how I wouldn't be."

He tugs on your hand so you'll look at him. "What is it, do you think?" The question comes out in his typical way. This must be how he is in driver briefings, you think fleetingly. Max is analytical, methodical, always looking for the root of the problem so he can understand it and adapt.

But how do you explain this?

"Well, it's a dangerous sport," you explain. "As you know. And I -- Max, I love you, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

The furrow of his brow lessens a bit and he presses a light kiss to the back of your hand. Your stomach flutters, even after all this time.

But Max has no time for your mooning, apparently. "Were you scared before we knew each other?" he asks.

You think about it. "It's different, I guess. I was worried, generally. For all of you. I'm still worried for all of you, but --"

His eyebrow quirks and he fails to hide a cheeky smile. "Me the most?"

You roll your eyes and squeeze his hand. "You the most. But don't tell Carlos that."

Max tuts. "So, now it's just worse? You feel it more?"

Nodding, you try to explain. "I don't even like watching on TV, now, because I'm so far away. I feel so helpless."

You can't make it to every race but you try your hardest, not only to support Max but for your own sanity. It's easier to calm yourself down when you're around other people who believe in him, when you have access to all the details and when he's only a few steps away when he's out of the car.

"I don't want you to be worried," he says, softly. "You don't let on that you are when we say goodbye before the race, aside from being a little tense."

One of your favorite pieces of race weekends -- those few moments when all of his attention is on you. He makes sure you have everything you need and leaves you with a kiss and a smile and a see you later. His confidence and his competence are like balms.

"When I'm looking at you, I'm not as stressed," you say, a bit shy. "You're very good at your job, you know. And your confidence is convincing."

"I know," he says, seriously. "That's why I know it'll be fine. Do you not know that?"

If he was less determined, you'd ask him to drop it, since you're starting to feel embarrassed. But you know he won't let it lie.

"I know it, too, Max." You reach for his face to push back some fringe from his forehead. "I'll always be worried about you, though. You get in the car and drive away and I just -- sit there. And wait for you to come back."

He frowns, deeper this time. You keep your hand on him, cupping his jaw and running your thumb along his stubble.

"And I love it. You know I was a fan before I met you and it's a dream to be there to watch you race. I love seeing you do crazy things like win from p17. It's so much fun."

He knows this about you. You've got a bit of a reputation for your facial expressions in the Red Bull garage, always the first on your feet when he overtakes, jumping up and down when he extends his lead. It's an infectious kind of joy and energy and you lean into it every time, even if your stomach is churning with anxiety.

Max is quiet for a few moments. He covers your hand with his and leans into it further.

"You trust me, right?"

"Of course," you say right away. "Always."

"I've never really thought about it," he says, slowly. "I mean, in the car. I don't worry about you because I'm not worried, so I just thought you knew not to be, too."

"I'll always worry, Max. Even though I trust you."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Your cheeks heat and you look away from him, pulling your hand free to cradle it in your lap.

"You've got a million other things to worry about besides me," you say. "I don't want to distract you."

Max says your name with a scoff, literally waving his hand as if swatting away your silly notions. "Distract me? Come on," he says. "I wouldn't be a three-time world champion if I could get so easily distracted." He leans into your space, nosing at your jaw. "Even if you are very distracting."

You allow the attention for a few moments before pushing him back with a laugh. His cheeks are flushed, hair a bit of a mess, like after he takes off his helmet. And, god, he looks relaxed. You're so proud of him you can hardly stand it. The season is almost over and you know he's got a lot of work ahead of him, and you've got a lot of worrying. But he's motivated, and you know he can win. You know he'll come back to you.

Max leans his head back on the couch and casts his gaze sideways at you, nose scrunched. "I can't fix this, can I? You're still going to worry."

He sounds so resigned, so disappointed in himself that you tug on his hand so he'll get closer. This time, you frame his face with your hands and kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. Both of you sigh into it, and you drag your mouth along his cheek until you reach his ear.

"I'm still going to worry," you whisper. "But I love you and I trust you. And I know it'll be okay."

Max sighs and presses his forehead to your shoulder, practically pulling you into his lap so he can wrap his arms around you.

"You better hope it doesn't rain for the rest of the season," he mumbles.

"That damn VSC," you groan, pulling back from him a bit. "I was going to tear my hair out!"

Max laughs. "It kept things interesting," he says lightly. "Rain isn't really a problem for me, schatje, you know this --"

"Because you're Dutch, I know, Max." You roll your eyes. "Even Fernando couldn't keep it together! I mean, the gasps from the garage when --"

The seriousness of your conversation fades as you trade tidbits about the race -- you've done this already, hashed it out in the hotel room and the flight home and in bed since Sunday. Max watches you talk, elbow braced on the couch and his head resting in his hand. His eyes sparkle and you know you're amusing him as he corrects you on the turn names and who went in the wall when. Max loves you: you've never doubted this. He loves you and he cares about how you feel and doesn't want you to be worried.

And while you will be, because you love him, you know that it'll be alright.

"Hey," Max says, interrupting your opinions about start procedures. "I love you, okay? Thank you for worrying about me."

"Graag gedaan," you say. Well, you try to say. Max laughs and corrects your pronunciation. You're welcome, he says, over and over, a kiss to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead each time. Ik houd van je. Your lips, your neck, your jaw.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

[yuujispinkhair]

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 04

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 5k Warnings: 18+, smut. This is a very smutty chapter. Lots of locker room sex with our favorite hockey player. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 10 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

You have no idea how you became such a hockey fan. You try to tell yourself that you are just here because ice hockey is a fascinating sport. And the Tigers are your college's pride, so attending the games and cheering for the team is almost obligatory.

And cheer you do. Maybe a little too enthusiastic, anytime Sukuna scores a goal, or when he slams an opponent brutally into the boards, or when he skates as fast as lightning over the rink with that mad grin on his face.

There's a little voice in your head that whispers to you that maybe you aren't so much a hockey girl but rather a Sukuna girl. But this is a thought you try to push into the furthest back of your mind.

And after all, in your defense, Sukuna is the star player of the Tigers, and the whole arena cheers for him!

After the game, Sukuna skates past you and lifts a hand in greeting, smirking at you through the plexiglass and yelling over the loud noises of the arena,

"Good job today, my lucky charm!"

And you laugh and smile broadly at Sukuna, yelling back at him that he played really well. He flashes you a smile, and his cat-like eyes trail slowly over you with a smug expression.

You give him a little wave when Yuuji and Todo skate up to him and take him in the middle to do another round across the rink for the cheering fans in the stands. And your treacherous eyes follow Sukuna the whole time he is on the ice until he finally skates over to the player's bench to collect his stuff.

That's when you remember that you still have Sukuna's hoodie. The hoodie which feels so soft and warm and, which, to your utter embarrassment, you didn't take off for several days. But it's time to return it, or things will look strange. So you washed it and brought it along to the game. Even though you have this irrational fear that Sukuna can somehow read your mind and will know exactly what you did with his hoodie. You don't ever want him to find out. Even though you would love to know if Sukuna finds the thought of you wearing his clothes just as exciting as you do.

You follow Nobara into the lobby but touch her forearm lightly to make her turn around and look at you. You hold up the hoodie, informing her,

"I have to give that back to Sukuna. Can we wait for the players to come out?"

Nobara gives you an amused look, far too knowing for your taste. She huffs and crosses her arms in front of her chest,

"I won't waste my precious time waiting for some hockey boys."

She says the words hockey boys as if it is an insult. You sigh and are about to complain when she grins at you and adds,

"I have to hurry up, so I can take a shower before Maki comes over. But you can stay here and wait for your loverboy to come out!"

"Sukuna isn't my loverboy!"

"We'll see about that. Anyways. Have fun! I have to go!"

She waves at you and leaves you standing there while your heart is beating too fast and your face feels too hot at the implication that Sukuna and you could be lovers.

You sigh, looking around the lobby, trying to decide the best place to wait for Sukuna. You settle on making a left turn to walk down the corridor that leads toward the locker rooms. At least you can be sure you won't miss Sukuna this way.

The door to the men's locker room comes into view, and you slow down.

Suddenly, unbidden images of a shirtless Sukuna flood your mind. Sukuna changing, Sukuna half-naked, all buff muscles and tattooed skin. Sukuna in the shower. You feel a bit dizzy all of a sudden, and you shake your head as if it can help you get rid of those images.

Maybe it was a stupid idea to come here. Your mind keeps betraying you those last few days. Dirty thoughts about Sukuna haunt you night and day. Why does he have to be so sexy?

You lean against the wall, clutching Sukuna's hoodie to your chest as you wait. The minutes tick by, and you feel your nervousness grow. You are almost ready to bolt when you hear loud voices coming from the direction of the locker room, but before you can do so, the door gets pushed open, and you decide it would look weird if you run now, so you force yourself to stay, trying to look nonchalant as you turn your head to check if Sukuna is among the guys coming out of the locker room.

You spot pink hair and your heart jumps to your throat, but you realize a second later that it's Yuuji. The guys walk past you, casting curious glances at you, and you nod at them in greeting, smiling sheepishly as you mumble, "Good game."

The others walk past you, but Yuuji stops in front of you with a big smile on his face, greeting you as if the two of you are old friends.

It's kind of strange to look at Yuuji, seeing all the things that look exactly like Sukuna, the same tall and muscular build, the matching pink hair dye, the same face shape, the same way of cocking their heads. And at the same time, the twins look so different.

Sure, the face tattoos contribute a lot to the difference in appearance. But it's not just that. Sukuna and Yuuji give off completely opposite vibes. Their whole facial expression is different. While Yuuji smiles a bright sunshine smile that lights up every room, Sukuna walks around with that smug smirk on his face, always making you feel as if he is mocking everyone around him and thinking they are annoying little insects and nothing more.

While Yuuj's eyes have an almost golden glow and seem warm like honey, Sukuna's are that rich, deep maroon that seems so mysterious and almost devilish sometimes. His eyes always seem to be narrowed as if he is watching you closely, reading you like a book while he keeps his own soul carefully hidden, while Yuuji's eyes are big and open, and you feel like you can read every emotion he feels openly in his eyes.

Right now, those warm, brown eyes beam at you with a happy sparkle in them,

"You're waiting for my brother, right? You can go in! Sukuna is still in there."

Yuuji smiles his sunshine smile and jerks his head towards the door of the locker room. And you almost choke on your spit as you are quick to shake your head and splutter,

"Um... uh, thanks, but no. I will just wait here. I can't just go into the men's locker room."

Yuuji laughs, his eyes sparkling amusedly at you, and he shakes his head,

"No, it's okay! Trust me! Everyone else already left. It's only Sukuna in there. And he told me to send you to him."

What??

You stare at Yuuji with wide eyes.

"How did he know I would be here?"

Yuuji shrugs and scratches the back of his head a bit sheepishly,

"Kuna just knows things, I guess."

You blink at him but choose not to inquire any further. But your mind registers the nickname Yuuji uses for his brother. Kuna. It makes your stomach do a little flip for whatever reason.

You thank Yuuji and slowly make your way toward the locker room door, feeling as if you are in a daze.

You try to tell yourself you are only doing this because Yuuji is so nice, and you don't want to seem ungrateful, but deep down, you know that a part of you has longed to walk through that door ever since you came here. That part of you that keeps having dirty fantasies about Sukuna and is drooling over the thought of him coming out of the shower, wet and sexy and... You exhale sharply, forbidding yourself to think any further.

You stop in front of the door and cast one last glance over your shoulder at Yuuji, who nods encouragingly at you, and then you grab the door handle and push the heavy door open.

Steam greets you. Warm, humid air and a mix of sweat and various scented shower gels.

You gulp, feeling your heartbeat in your throat as the door closes behind you with a soft thud. You carefully take a few steps toward the lockers. The room looks pretty neat, probably because the team has already left. There is only one sports bag standing on the long bench, only one pair of grey sweatpants lying around, and a familiar pair of black and red Nikes waiting for their owner.

But there is no sight of him. Where is Sukuna? For a moment, you think you have fallen victim to some dumb prank, but then you hear it. The sound of running water.

Is he serious? He is still in the shower but tells me to come in here?

You feel so nervous all of a sudden, your head spinning with the thought of a very naked and very sexy Sukuna under the shower only a few meters away from you. It makes you turn on your heel, about to flee the locker room. But you get stopped by a familiar velvety voice that sounds far too smug,

"Already leaving, princess?"

You involuntarily jump, stopping in your tracks with your hand hovering just a few centimeters away from the door handle.

You gulp and slowly turn around again, pulse fluttering nervously as your gaze lands on Sukuna. He walks out of the locker room showers with only a white towel slung dangerously low around his narrow hips. His hair is still wet, looking dark pink instead of the usual light pink pastel tone. The wet strands hang into Sukuna's face, dripping water onto his broad, muscular chest, making small rivulets run down his firm pecs and abs.

He looks even better than in your fantasy. Tall and broad, with all those gorgeous muscles and sexy tattoos unashamedly on display. You can't stop yourself from letting your gaze follow some water droplets down his perfect body, over his buff pecs and taut abs and those two black lines that he has tatted onto his abdomen that disappear so tantalizingly in the low sitting towel, right next to his defined v-line.

You feel weak in the knees, your face burning, your heart hammering much too fast in your chest as you force yourself to tear your eyes away from Sukuna's naked chest and abs and instead lift your head to look into his amused maroon eyes.

"I... I have your hoodie."

You lift your hand that's holding the soft white sweater, and Sukuna's lips lift in that sexy smirk.

"Then why don't you bring it over to me?"

You don't even stop to think but automatically walk towards him as if he is pulling you toward him by some invisible string. As if you are caught in his web, but you don't even want to escape but want him to catch you and devour you.

You stop in front of him, your chest heaving heavily with your nervous breaths.

Sukuna is so tall, especially when you stand so close to him. You have to tilt your head back to look at his tattooed face, and it only adds to the excited tingle you feel buzzing in your veins. He is gorgeous. Tall and broad and sexy. And he knows it.

He smirks at you, a knowing glint in his beautiful maroon eyes as he takes the hoodie from you, his large, warm hand brushing over yours, cupping your hand a little too long.

And then he does something that makes you spin completely out of control.

He leans down to whisper in your ear, in that sexy bedroom voice,

"Good girl."

And his lips brush over your earlobe and then over your burning cheek. He is standing so close to you that you can feel his body heat emanating from him and smell his shower gel, sexy, fresh, and masculine.

When he pulls away, you are left staring at him with a dazed look and a wet patch in your panties.

Sukuna strolls casually over to his locker, slowly sitting down on the bench in front of it, and his maroon eyes never leave yours.

You feel trapped, unsure of what to do. You did what you came here for. You returned his hoodie. There is no reason for you to stay longer here in this locker room where you clearly shouldn't be, especially not when a fresh-out-of-the-shower hockey player is sitting here, about to get changed.

But there is another voice in your mind telling you that you are right where you should be. It's that voice that makes you take a tentative step toward Sukuna.

He is rubbing his hair with a second towel, ruffling the pink strands in the process, and you can't help but bite your lip at how attractive Sukuna looks. His thick tattooed biceps are flexed, his abs taut.

And then he spreads his thighs, making the towel split in the middle, revealing his muscular thighs, and you finally get a good look at the pair of tattooed bands high up on those gorgeous thighs, so sexy that it takes all in you, not to moan out loud. You want to curse yourself for the thoughts that run through your mind. The fantasy of being on your knees between those muscular thighs, licking and kissing those sexy tattoos, your mouth slowly trailing up higher.

You tear your gaze away, looking at Sukuna's face, not even trying to hide how affected you are by his half-naked body and the thick, steamy air in here that only adds to the atmosphere that's dripping with sexual tension.

Burning maroon eyes meet yours,

"Come here, princess."

Sukuna pats his thigh, leaving no doubt about what he means by "here."

You walk over to him without any hesitation this time, dropping your bag on the floor as you slip onto Sukuna's lap, straddling those muscular thighs as if this is the place you belong.

You are barely sitting on him when Sukuna's lips are already on yours, claiming them in a heated kiss that makes you gasp into his warm mouth. His large, strong hands are on your body, slipping around your waist and under your sweater, holding you, caressing your skin, and making your head spin. And Sukuna's tongue pushes hungrily into your mouth, flicking against your tongue in sexy caresses that make your pussy twitch.

Your hands tangle in his still-damp pink hair, tugging on it while you open your mouth eagerly and lick against Sukuna's skilled tongue, kissing him just as hungrily as he is kissing you, as if you want to devour each other.

Sukuna's large hands wander from your waist to your ass, kneading it firmly through your leggings, making you moan into the kiss and buck against him, gasping them you feel his hard cock press against you and hear his soft growl.

Your hands are wandering too, groping Sukuna's broad shoulders, caressing his buff pecs, digging your fingernails into his buff muscles, scratching them slightly, smiling when you hear Sukuna make a sexy little noise in the back of his throat, like a low purr.

You are grinding against each other desperatedlyy, your harsh breaths filling the locker room, making things even more humid and steamy. You don't even care that someone could walk in again. All you know right now are Sukuna's lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, and the feeling of his muscles under your fingers while his calloused hands are wandering over your body.

Sukuna is bold, letting one hand slip between your legs and rubbing you through your leggings and panties. You push eagerly against his hand, seeking more friction, not caring about how horny and needy you must seem, like a cat in heat.

Your panties and leggings are soaked through as Sukuna rubs his thumb over your clit, making you whine into his mouth. Maybe you should be embarrsed by how wet you are for him, but you don't care. Your hands are on his abs, exploring his body, feeling dizzy when you feel his firm muscles flex under your hands. You are hungry, hungry for more, hungry for him.

Your fingers wander lower, making Sukuna groan into your mouth when you trace the tattoos on his abs down to where they disappear in the towel. You open the towel impatiently pushing it to the side, exposing all of Sukuna's naked body to your greedy touch.

Your hips jerk when you feel the velvety heat of Sukuna's thick cockhead brush against your hand. It drives you crazy with the need to touch him.

Sukuna hums against your lips when your small hand wraps around his thick long cock and slowly strokes up and down his whole hard length. He feels so good in your hand, hot and velvety, rock-hard muscle and smooth skin. Your mind is hazy, driven by pure need and desire. Driven by one thought alone: You want him inside you.

Sukuna seems to have the same train of thought because he is tearing at your leggings, breaking your passionate kiss to trail his lips over your neck and practically growl,

"Get those damn trousers off."

You help him with them, hastily pushing them down, followed by your completely soaked panties, only slipping out of one leg in your haste to get that gorgeous cock inside you.

Sukuna pulls you back onto his lap, just as impatient as you, making you sit on him again, your thighs spread widely, your naked dripping pussy rubbing against his hot cock. Sukuna bucks his hips slowly, watching you with those sexy maroon eyes as he teases your swollen clit with his thick cockhead, making you shiver and mewl loudly as you dig your nails into his broad neck and look down to see the hot and nasty sight of Sukuna's mushroom head caressing your clit, coating himself in your juices.

"Do you want it like that, princess? Or do you want more?"

"More! Oh fuck, Sukuna, I want more, please!"

Sukuna lets out a sound that will be on your mind forever, a mix of a laugh and a moan, so sexy and low that it makes your pussy clench around nothing.

"Then come and get it."

He looks at you with a challenging, sexy glint in his eyes, licking his lips. His large hand is wrapped around his gorgeous thick cock, pumping it slowly, rubbing a few drops of pearly pre-cum out of the swollen dark pink tip before his hand comes to rest around the thick base of his cock, as if he is presenting himself to you unashamedly. Proudly.

And yes, he can be proud of that cock. He is so thick and long and fucking gorgeous with that fat mushroom head that has such a pretty dark pink color, just like Sukuna's hair right now when it is still wet from the shower.

And he is so hard. It makes you moan softly, seeing how bad Sukuna wants you. Just as hard for you as you are wet for him.

Sukuna's broad, muscular chest is heaving while some stray water droplets slowly run down his smooth, tattooed skin, and he smirks that sexy smirk at you while holding his cock for you, offering it to you.

You feel like you have a fever when you place your hands on Sukuna's broad shoulders and position yourself over his gorgeous thick cock, while you feel your wild heartbeat in your chest and in your pussy.

Sukuna's breath is heavy, too, ghosting over your neck as he guides his mushroom head to your dripping hole, rubbing slow, teasing circles around it that make you mewl desperately.

You push down onto Sukuna's fat swollen cockhead, your eyes closing as you feel it split you open, so thick and hot.

You gasp when you sink down on him, feeling the burn of the stretch. Even though you are so wet and ready for him, it is still a foreign feeling to take such a thick cock. Your pussy automatically clenches around him, making Sukuna curse under his breath.

His lips are on your neck again, kissing and licking hungrily, while his large hands wrap around your waist, and you sink down further on him. A loud breathless moan falls from your lips when you finally sit all the way down, the back of your thighs resting completely on Sukuna's thighs, your pussy stuffed to the brim with his whole fat length, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Sukuna's voice is low, dripping with sex,

"Fuck, yeah. Such a good girl, taking all of me. Come on, princess, fuck me. I played so well today. I deserve a little reward."

His words drive you crazy, making you moan and twitch, and you start moving on him, pushing yourself up and down on his thick cock, gasping at how full you feel.

Sukuna's calloused hands are on your ass again, kneading it and helping you ride him, lifting you up and down on his girthy length easily. His movements change the angle slightly, and you sob loudly when his mushroom head pushes against that sweet spot inside you that makes you tremble from how good it feels.

Sukuna laughs breathlessly against your neck,

"Aww, so cute. I found it, huh?"

Your hands tighten on his broad neck while you nod and whimper while desperately bouncing on Sukuna's cock, seeking more of that ecstatic feeling, not caring how needy you look.

But you aren't the only one who is getting lost in pleasure. Sukuna is groaning against your skin, too, sounding so sexy, making you ride him even harder. He bucks his hips fucking into you, making you giggle and whine at the delirious feeling of having Sukuna's dick inside you, hitting all the right spots.

You are both in a sex haze, your bodies moving greedily against each other while the obscene noises of uninhibited sex fill the locker room. Breathy moans and low growls, and the loud, wet slapping of skin against skin.

You are riding Sukuna wildly, all inhibitions gone, chasing your orgasm, sobbing because it feels so good. You know that it will happen, that Sukuna will make you cum with his cock alone. It's something no other guy ever managed before. But you can already feel your orgasm building inside you. You press your face against Sukuna's tattooed neck, leaving heated kisses on his sweaty skin. Your sobs turn into muffled squeals as you feel his fat mushroom head fuck you closer to ultimate bliss.

When it happens, you scream his name. Your pussy tightens around Sukuna, squeezing his cock, making you delirious with how taut your body gets, how your heart races, and your vision blackens. You shudder around Sukuna's thick cock, feeling tears run down your cheeks from how incredibly good it feels. You keep bouncing on him desperately, drawing the blissful feeling out, sobbing and crying as you ride out your whole orgasm on Sukuna's gorgeous cock.

"Fuck, princess!"

Sukuna's large hands tighten on your waist, and he pulls you up, lifting you off his cock as he hisses loudly, barely making it in time before he cums too.

He lets his head fall back, a low sexy groan falling from his lips as his eyes close and his broad body shudders, his buff muscles tensing up as he cums all over your belly and his abs, shooting his hot white cum all over both of you. You look at him with your mouth hanging open, moaning softly. Watching Sukuna cum is the hottest thing you have ever seen. He looks so beautiful, so sexy, with the way his eyes close and those sexy low groans fall from his parted lips.

You sit back on Sukuna's thighs, breathing heavily as you trail your gaze down to his lap, where Sukuna's tattooed hand is wrapped around his twitching cock, pumping it slowly, rubbing his whole orgasm out of his dick.

You can't stop yourself and reach out, joining him, wrapping your smaller hand around his hard length, too, so Sukuna and you stroke his cock together, milking his thick warm seed out of his twitching mushroom head. The locker room is filled with both of your breathy moans and your muttered, "Oh damn, this is so hot," when you feel Sukuna's warm cum run down your hand.

Sukuna laughs, a sexy low rumble, and you manage to tear your gaze away from his cock and his cum on your hand and look at his face instead. He is smiling lazily at you, maroon eyes almost black with how dilated his pupils are.

Sukuna grabs your hand and pulls it off his spent cock and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, grinning at you as he flicks his tongue over a small trickle of his cum.

Your head is spinning as you stare at him. He is so nasty, and it drives you crazy, makes you want to kiss him and fuck him until the sun rises!

But you are gradually coming down from your post-orgasmic bliss, becoming too aware of your current position, half naked on Sukuna's lap with your wet pussy drooling over his muscular thighs, the sticky feeling of his cum on your belly, where your sweater rode up while riding him. You feel too exposed suddenly and scramble hastily to get off Sukuna's lap, almost slipping down, but strong hands catch you.

Sukuna helps you climb off his lap, surprisingly gentle, steadying you with his large hands and only letting go when he sees you are able to stand on your trembling legs.

You feel your face burn again as you take the towel Sukuna hands you to wipe his cum off your belly before you pull your sweater down again. There's an awkward silence when you step into the left leg of your panties and leggings again and jump a bit to pull them up while Sukuna is behind you, rummaging around in his locker.

Luckily, he is already in his sweatpants and is shrugging into his t-shirt when you turn around. You almost can't look at him, feeling so embarrassed by what the two of you just did. That unrestrained, primal fucking right here in the middle of the locker room, where anyone could have walked in at any moment.

You wring your fingers nervously, slowly backing away towards the door. But Sukuna's low voice stops you,

"Don't forget your hoodie."

You frown at him in confusion,

"What? That is your hoodie. I gave it back to you..."

But Sukuna just smirks that infuriatingly attractive smirk and cocks his head, maroon eyes sparkling with mischief,

"I never said I wanted it back, did I? Keep it. I have enough other team hoodies. And I like the way it looks on you."

"Oh... okay... thanks."

You barely have time to bring up your hands to catch the soft white hoodie that Sukuna is throwing in your direction as he laughs softly. He joins you a moment later, having finished getting dressed and slinging his sports bag over his broad shoulder.

You feel flustered just from looking at him right now. But contrary to you, Sukuna is all unbothered and confident, completely unashamed about how you fucked each other's brains out just a few minutes ago.

He holds the door open for you with a wide grin on his handsome face, all gentlemanly, letting you walk through the door before he falls in step beside you, so tall and big next to you that it makes your pulse flutter, especially now that you know how he looks naked and how he feels under your touch, how he feels inside you.

You barely resist the urge to bury your burning face in your hands.

Sukuna pulls a battered pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket and casually lights a cigarette behind his large hand, taking a deep drag and sighing contentedly as he turns to you with a grin, blowing the smoke out in your direction.

"That was a nice victory fuck, princess. You are really a top-tier lucky charm."

And you still splutter and stumble over your words when Sukuna is already lightly jogging towards the street corner leading to his and Yuuji's apartment. The last thing you see of him is a wink and another sexy smirk.

You take forever to walk home, taking a detour through the park and around the baseball pitch because you need to calm down and clear your thoughts before you face your roommate.

Pictures of Sukuna's muscles and tattoos flash before your eyes, the sounds of his low groans, the feeling of his cock stretching you out. You gulp hard. You can still feel him. Hell, you will probably still feel the slight burn of his thick cock for the whole next day! It makes you press your legs together, which only makes your face heat up more when you feel the uncomfortable sensation of your soaked panties. You think you never were that wet for a guy before.

You groan in annoyance even as a giggle bubbles out of your mouth, and you shake your head in total disbelief at what you did today.

When you finally step into your apartment, you get greeted by a glaring Nobara with her hands on her hips.

"Where were you all this time?"

And you slip out of your shoes, grinning from ear to ear, barely able to keep yourself from laughing hysterically,

"In the men's locker room. With Sukuna."

You can't suppress your laughter anymore as you quickly run to the bathroom, locking yourself in there while Nobara screams outside the door,

"You were WHAT!!??"

GRRRRR I WANT HIM SO BAD 😵😵❤️❤️

I hope you enjoyed your little trip to the locker room ;) I was losing my mind the whole time while writing this!!

Thank you so much for all the lovely feedback on the story so far!! It means a lot to me that you like Hockey Player!Sukuna ❤️❤️

Reblogs and comments would be very sweet!

In Chapter 5, Sukuna and Reader decide to become fuckbuddies.

[aventurineswife]

https://youtube.com/shorts/r3a2nGCuD1I?si=eTF8BH9dYZ64Roji

I can't unsee them as black cats when they open their eyes in the darkkkk my pretty boiiisss

Could I request them during nap time (I'd love it if it were cuddly naps on a couchhh) and waking up for different reasons and they wake up after u leave (either for a snack, cold wind on balcony or just s/o don't leave but shuffle that they wake up and look up frm lap)

Just pure fluff~

-🦈

“Come back to me, love”

Tags: Dan Heng IL x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Pure Fluff, Romance, Vulnerability, Soft Moments, Comfort, Slow Burn, Gentle Intimacy.

A/N: Am I the only who feels uncomfortable if someone lays on my lap because I'm ticklish or sensitive? 💀 Also the fact that my :3 wife(anon) posted this before too 😭 lmaooo

(Header credits)

The room was bathed in soft, shadowy hues, the only light coming from the stars outside the windows. You sat quietly, the weight of Dan Heng resting against your lap, his long hair spilling over your legs like a cascade of silk. His horns gleamed faintly, their translucent green catching the starlight, while his peaceful breathing created a rhythm you could easily lose yourself in.

Dan Heng had been hesitant at first. He rarely allowed himself the luxury of vulnerability, but you’d coaxed him with your gentle insistence. Now, with his vivid eyes closed and his usually stoic features relaxed, he looked so at ease that you could barely contain the soft smile tugging at your lips.

Your fingers traced idle patterns along the bare skin of his shoulder, careful not to wake him, though his Vidyadhara resilience probably ensured he wouldn’t stir so easily. Yet you couldn’t deny the gentle thrill you felt at seeing him like this: completely at peace, unguarded in the dark cocoon of the cabin.

The stars beckoned, so you moved, ever so gently, shifting your position to stand and stretch. As you stepped toward the balcony, a cool breeze washed over you, carrying the scent of interstellar rain—a memory of a distant world the Express had recently passed.

Behind you, a faint rustle and the soft glow of emerald light stopped you in your tracks. Turning, you saw Dan Heng’s eyes open, the sharp, vibrant green of his gaze cutting through the shadows. They glowed faintly, the Vidyadhara essence within him as captivating as ever.

“Leaving already?” His voice was a low murmur, still heavy with sleep, yet laced with a warmth reserved only for you.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you replied softly, stepping back toward him. He shifted, sitting up slightly, his arms extending just enough to invite you back.

With a chuckle, you returned to the couch, his arms looping around your waist as he rested his head against your shoulder this time. His eyes still glowed faintly, catching the dim starlight, before he closed them again.

“Stay,” he murmured. “The stars can wait.”

And so you did, holding him close, his warmth grounding you in the vastness of the cosmos.

The faint glow of neon signs filtered through the blinds, casting streaks of cyan and magenta across the sleek, modern apartment. Aventurine was sprawled on the velvet couch, his head resting on your lap, his hair tousled from sleep. His lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, while his eyes—now dimmed in rest—remained hidden under closed lids.

The room was unusually quiet, the usual hum of city life muted by Aventurine’s insistence on soundproof walls. He valued his moments of reprieve, though he’d never admit it outright. Still, you knew better. He needed these moments, especially when the weight of his past and the constant gambling of his present pressed too heavily on his soul.

You brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead, marveling at how peaceful he looked like this. His usual sharp grin was absent, replaced by an expression so soft that it felt like witnessing a secret no one else was allowed to know.

The quiet creak of the balcony door called to you, the promise of a cool breeze tempting after hours of stillness. Carefully, you slid out from under him, propping a pillow where your lap had been before stepping toward the open air.

The city stretched out below, its lights like a sea of stars, and the wind carried the faint smell of rain. You leaned against the railing, savoring the moment, until a soft rustle from behind caught your attention.

Turning, you saw Aventurine stirring, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim room. His gaze found you instantly, his sharp features softening with a lazy smile.

“Running off without me?” His voice was warm, teasing, but tinged with that familiar vulnerability he only ever showed you.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you replied, moving back to him. He stretched, one hand reaching out to pull you close.

“Next time, don’t. It’s lonely without you.”

With a chuckle, you settled back onto the couch, his head finding its way back to your lap as he sighed contentedly. His glowing eyes dimmed once more, their light fading as sleep reclaimed him. You stayed there, your fingers tracing circles on his face, the neon lights outside painting your quiet world in shades of warmth and peace.

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Prinzessin

My masterlist

You lay back on the deck, closing your eyes as the warm sunlight bathed your skin. The gentle rocking of the boat coupled with the sound of the waves was incredibly soothing, and you felt a sense of tranquility wash over you. You took a deep breath, inhaling the salty air and feeling the tension in your body gradually dissolve. Despite the initial annoyance of waking up before Toto, you found a strange sense of peace in being alone with your thoughts, the vast expanse of the ocean acting as a natural salve for your irritation. As you continued to recline on the deck, basking in the sun, you couldn't help but marvel at the stunning beauty of your surroundings. The clear blue sky was dotted with wispy clouds, and the ocean gleamed like a sparkling gem in the sunlight. The boat rocked ever so gently, creating a gentle lulling motion that was both calming and invigorating.

The last few days spent with Toto were nothing less than perfection. When he first brought up the idea of taking you away to celebrate your recent graduate school graduation, you were completely taken back. Toto’s lifestyle and the way he chose to spoil you was something you were still acclimating to. A romantic dinner and a movie? Sure - but to be whisked away on a yacht to the middle of nowhere was something else completely. However, you couldn’t deny that it was nice to finally have some alone time together.

Between the stress of the last few weeks of classes and the Mercedes’ team finally winning two races out of the three during the triple-header, the two of you had barely been able to see each other. After some convincing, you finally agreed to a getaway with Toto for the weekend and you didn’t regret it for a second. Wining and dining you, he had spent the last few days making sure you felt like a princess. Watching the sunset together, eating 5 star meals, taking a swim in the ocean - everything felt like it was straight out of a dream. That’s not including the white hot, passionate sex that filled every other moment of your trip. Toto knew how you treat you but he knew how to treat your body even better.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approaching made your eyes flutter open, and you turned your head to see Toto's tall figure making his way towards you. You couldn’t help but giggle at his scrunched up face and wild bed head but as your eyes trailed down his torso you took your bottom lip between your teeth. He wore a turquoise pair of swim trunks and a white button up shirt that was open in the front, exposing his chiseled torso to you.

Toto's face broke into a small smile as he spotted you lying on the deck, a relaxed expression on your features. He made his way over, settling down next to you.

"You're up early," he commented, his voice laced with a hint of surprise. "Normally, I'm the morning person in the relationship." Toto’s voice was low, gravely, and made you clench your thighs together.

“You looked peaceful. I didn’t wanna bother you.” You sat up completely, pushing your sunglasses up to sit on top of your head.

You gave him a playful smirk, still feeling a bit cheeky from your previous annoyance. "Well, even early birds need their beauty sleep, Toto," you retorted, stretching lazily like a cat in the sun.

Toto chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. "True," he agreed, his eyes studying you for a moment. "Although, I have to admit, I was enjoying having the bed to myself for once."

You let out a small laugh, amused by his comment. "Oh, don't pretend you don't enjoy my nocturnal disturbances," you teased, giving him a nudge with your shoulder.

Toto feigned a look of mock offense. “Disturbances, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling your relentless bed stealing habits now?”

You let out a mock sniff of disdain. "You're just jealous that my sleeping habits are way more efficient. While you're stuck in one position, I'm maximizing the available bed space," you teased, enjoying the banter.

Toto shook his head in amusement. "Maximizing bed space, huh? More like making it impossible for anyone to get a decent night's sleep."

“You didn’t complain much last night when I kept you up for some rather adult activities” you smirked and said. 

Toto's cheeks flushed slightly at your comment, the memory of the previous night's activities clearly not far from his mind. He cleared his throat, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, I suppose there are some benefits to your... 'bed-stealing habits,'" he conceded, his tone slightly gravelly. 

As Toto looked over to you, the sun glinted off your neck at just the right time, exposing to him that you were wearing the diamond necklace he had gotten you. A devilish grin spread across his face as he squatted down next to you and cupped your neck in his large hand, thumb tracing over the chain of the necklace.

“Here I thought you didn’t like this necklace.” Toto stated, eyes watching as his thumb moved back and forth over the crease of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine that made him grin even more.

“I never said I didn’t like it.” Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper. The smell of his cologne clogging up your senses, making it feel as though your head was in a cloud. “Jus’ said it was too much.”

Toto's smile grew wider as he continued to toy with the necklace around your neck, noticing the effect it was having on you. He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your skin.

"Ah, so you do like it, hmmm?" he teased, enjoying how his touch was making you shiver. "You're just too stubborn to admit it, Prinzessin."

You let out a breathless laugh, trying to maintain your composure despite the warmth of his touch and the intoxicating scent of his cologne. "Maybe I just don't want to stroke your ego even more," you countered, giving him a mock glare.

“You can always stroke something else of mine.” He said while looking directly into your eyes, those hazel brown eyes slowly lured you into the wood or somewhere so magically. The way Toto looked at you had always made your heart skip a beat. You didn’t know it was possible for someone to have so much love and adoration in their eyes when they looked at someone. Toto always told you that you were his greatest gift in life and he made it his mission to ensure you felt that way. Although the attention, the love, the gifts, proved to be too much at times, there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do to get that look from him for the rest of your life.

“And you’re wearing my favorite…” A single finger ran down the strap of your swimsuit top, the coldness of the finger was a stark contrast from how warm your body felt from the sun.

“Not like I had a choice. You ripped the other one yesterday.” You teased.

Toto grinned at the memory of yesterday’s escapade. The man was lucky he was rich because he had a bad habit of ripping your clothes when they didn’t come off quickly enough for his liking.

“I’ll buy you another one.” Toto quipped.

Before you had a chance to respond, he pressed his lips to yours. Almost immediately, his tongue pressed against your lips, begging for access. You could taste mint toothpaste as he swirled his tongue around yours. You sighed into the kiss, feeling your joints buckle as they typically did whenever Toto kissed you. Every kiss you shared was filled with intensity, passion, desire, and made you feel as though you were floating on air. Instead of relying on your arms to keep you upright, you wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your hands in his messy hair. Toto grinned, going down on one knee to make sure neither of you toppled to the ground. You felt your bottom lip become trapped between his teeth as he pulled away lightly, letting it go at the end.

“I want you to lay back. Can you do that for me, Liebe?” Toto cooed.

This time it was your turn to bite your bottom lip as you nodded, obediently laying back against the deck while you kept your eyes locked to his. As soon as you settled into position, Toto’s body was over yours and you couldn’t help but run your hands along his torso.

“I love seeing you underneath me.” Toto whispered, peppering kisses along your jaw line and tracing them down the column of your throat.

As Toto's lips continue their journey down your throat, sending shivers down your spine, you can't help but arch your back in anticipation. His hands are exploring your body, making your heart race with every touch. His fingers deftly unbutton your shorts, slipping inside to caress the warm skin beneath. He kisses a trail down your sternum, his hot breath making you gasp. Reaching the waistband, he pulls your shorts and panties down in one swift motion, revealing your glistening folds.

With a low growl of desire, Toto buries his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your swollen clit. He devours you with a hunger that borders on feral, his fingers spreading your lips wide to grant himself deeper access.

Your back bows off the deck as his tongue plunges into your aching heat, lapping at your walls with a skill that drives you wild. He sucks your clit between his lips, rolling the sensitive bud with his tongue while his fingers curl inside you, stroking that sweet spot that makes your vision blur. With a delicate flick of his tongue, Toto teases your entrance, encouraging you to arch your hips and beg for more. He plunges deep into your wetness with a gusto that has you gripping the edge of the deck

His lips form a tight seal around your throbbing clit as he suckles greedily, his tongue darting and swirling to drive you to the brink. You're a whimpering, mewling mess beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you try to pull him closer.

Toto's tongue is relentless, stroking and circling your sensitive nub with an expertise that borders on cruel. You're a quivering, sobbing mess, your thighs clenching around his head as he feasts on your arousal.

A sigh left your lips once more as you threaded your fingers back into his chestnut hair. It felt as though every hair on your body stood up straight as Toto flickering his eyes up to meet yours, Toto leaned forward and slow up the pace. Your head fell back with a whine as your hips involuntarily jutted toward his mouth.

"Please, Toto, more.." you gasp, your hips bucking against his mouth as he ramp up the intensity. His purring vibrates against your clit, it served you so well right now.

“Oh god.” You groaned, arching your back and pushing your cunt further into his face.

Toto's tongue flickers over your clit, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. Your toes are curling and your legs start to shake uncontrollably as he pushes you over the edge. He pulled back slightly and gathered your folds between his fingers and squeezed them together.

“Such a pretty pussy, Prinzessin. Love seeing the way it’s dripping for me.”

Immediately he was diving back in, letting go of your folds to hold your legs back in place. The obscene slurping noises coming from between your legs had you moaning in pleasure. The feeling of his tongue prodding at your entrance made your hands fly to his hair and your legs lock over his back.

“Go on, Liebe. Use me. Fuck yourself on my tongue.” Toto mumbled, sticking his tongue out and allowing you to rock your core over it.

“Shit, shit, shit. Oh fuck, Toto, I’m-I’m gonna cum.” You squealed, increasing the speed at which you ground yourself against him.

Just like that, you felt the white hot pleasure of your orgasm rip through you, legs shaking slightly as you clenched your thighs around his head. Instead of pulling away, Toto doubled down and dug his fingers into your hips as he pushed his face further into your core. He lapped up your orgasm like he was put on this earth to do so.

The sensitivity from your last orgasm made you jerk away from him, but Toto had no intentions of letting you go.

“Come on, Schatzi. Give me one more, I know you got one more for me.”

Toto pulled back and quickly replaced his tongue with his middle and ring finger, curling them upwards as he thrusted them. At the same time he snaked his hand over the front of your swimsuit top and yanked your breasts free, making sure to pinch and tug on your nipples as he continued his rough pace.

There was no holding back the scream that erupted from your chest as you came for the second time. The orgasm that ripped through you was one that was so intense you could swear your eyes rolled all the way back into your head. Toto placed light kisses over your mound as you came down from your high.

“Good job, Schatzi. You did so good for me.”

Your eyes fluttered open slowly as Toto crawled back over you, grinning at your fucked out state. His nose traced the curve of your jaw as he waited for you to come back to. Licking your lips you pushed on his chest, signaling for him to let you up. As he sat up you followed him, only to push him down to the floor. Toto grinned at you proudly.

“Schatzi you know you don’t have to—“ Toto’s sentence was cut short with a low groan as you ran your hand over the length of him through his shorts.

Quickly ridding him of his swim trunks you took the length of him into your hand and pumped up and down a few times. You’d become wholly familiar with his anatomy in the time you’d been dating, but each time you saw his cock always felt like the first. Toto groaned, lips slightly parted as he looked down at you. Maintaining that eye contact, you leaned in and swirled your tongue around the head.

“Fffuck.” Toto breathed, gathering your hair at the top of your head so he wouldn’t miss a single view of you wrapped around his cock.

Moving down toward the bottom, you licked a stripe up the underside of his cock before taking as much of him in your mouth as you were able. Toto grunted loudly, doing his best to keep his hips from bucking up into your mouth.

“Jesus Christ. You feel so good, Liebe.” Toto praised.

You looked up at him from under your lashes as you continued to suck his cock. The blissed out look on his face made your core throb. There was something about the way you made him feel so good that you absolutely adored. You took your time, taking as much of him as you could as slowly as you could. Other men you were with liked their head messy and fast, but Toto always commented on how much he loved the way you took your time with him.

Pulling away, you continued to stroke him with your hand as you moved down to take his balls into your mouth and suck on them gently. As you began to do so, you felt his cock jump in your hand and a grin spread across your face.

“Fuck, Liebe, stop, stop.” Toto grabbed you and pulled you up.

Crashing his lips to yours, the kiss was needy and messy. Toto held your face tightly in his hands as you scrambled onto his lap. You pushed the shirt off his shoulders and Toto shrugged it off, pulling away to look at you.

“God, you’re gonna be the death of me one day, Schatzi. You make me feel so fuckin’ good.”

Positioning yourself over him, you sank down slowly on to his cock. The stretch was something you still hadn’t gotten used to, but god did it feel incredible. Each and every time you wondered how it was possible to feel so full. Toto grabbed your face and pulled you into another kiss as you allowed yourself to get used to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled away from the kiss.

“Please move, Toto.” You panted.

Toto’s hands found their way to your hips as he slowly started to help you move back and forth. A long groan came from you as you leaned your head back. Toto took the opportunity to nibble gently on your pulse point. The rock of your hips back and forth had his pelvis hitting your clit each time, causing a surge of pleasure to shoot through your body.

“More, I need more.” You moaned out.

Toto wrapped his arm around your waist as he flipped you onto your back. The moment your back hit the floor, his pace increased tremendously. The lewd sound of slapping skin filled the area and you were grateful you were out in the middle of nowhere.

“You were fuckin’ made for me weren’t you, Schatzi? Goddamnit, you fit me like a fucking glove.” Toto growled, pushing your leg back even further so he could drill into you at a different angle.

You wrapped your hands around his forearm as he held on to your hip. The drag of his cock against your velvety walls had your eyes rolling into the back of your head once more. The hand that rested on your hip moved to rest on your lower abdomen right above your pelvis as he continued to piston in and out of you.

The movement only made the pressure in your abdomen increase tenfold and you could feel yourself starting to clench around him involuntarily.

“P-please, I-“

“You need to cum, hmm? My pretty girl gonna cum?”

“Please!” You yelled out as he snapped his hips particularly rough into you.

Toto placed both hands on your hips as he lifted you slightly off the ground, pounding into you with all he had. As he did so you reached your hand down your front and rubbed your clit in fast circles.

“Oh fuck, yeah. Rub your clit Liebe. Cmon, cum for me.”

After a few more snaps of his hips you felt yourself tensing up, toes curling as your third orgasm washed over you. This time your legs were shaking visibly and you groaned loudly.

“So fuckin pretty when you cum, Schatzi. Fuck.”

It was obvious that Toto was close. You could feel him twitch inside of you as well as the way his hips were beginning to falter.

“Want you to cum in me, Liebe. Wanna feel you cum in me.” You whimpered up at him.

“Fucking Christ!” Toto fell forward, hands on either side of you as he shoved his hips forward, painting your walls with his spend.

Toto remained leaning over you, pressing his forehead to yours as you moaned in tandem. Breathing in each other’s breath, you reached up and cupped his cheek. Toto wrapped his fingers around your wrist and turned his head to press a kiss to your palm, biting down on the flesh of your hand slightly. You giggled, watching him grin at your noise.

Toto pulled away from you, using the towel you had been sunbathing with to help clean you up. Toto laid down against the deck and you curled up against him, pressing a kiss to his chest as you tangled your leg with his. He stroked your hair with his hand as he pressed a kiss to your crown.

“Yeah,” he started, twirling your hair around his finger, “I’d say you deserve the moon.”

You laughed, hitting his chest for his dumb joke. Toto chuckled, taking your hand in his and lifting it up to his lips for a kiss.

“I love you, Schatzi. And I’m so proud of you.”

You could feel your heart swell at his words. Whenever you were with Toto, all you felt was love.

“I love you too, Toto. Thank you, for everything.”

The two of you remained tangled in one another while you regained your strength. The boat was quiet, the soft crashing of the waves once again soothing your senses as you let your eyes closed.

“So…” Toto’s voice brings you back to reality, “how about a round two?”

[porcelian]

FURRY NEW BEGINNINGS

PAIRING : jason todd ✗ gn!reader.

SYNOPSIS : In which the cat distribution system catches up to you and Jason.

WARNINGS : no serious warnings, just alot of fluff and a short lived (or not) rivalry between the cat and jaybeans.

WORD COUNT : 1k.

NOTES : switching up the theme a bit, can't always find those pretty headers. wE NEED A NAME FOR THE CAT!!!

navigation ; masterlist.

The first time he saw the cat, Jason was returning home from patrol. The rain was pouring down in streets, and he hurried through the storm, eager to get back to you as quickly as possible. The weather made everything difficult—the buildings blurred together, neon signs became unreadable, and the sounds of the city were muffled through his helmet.

But despite the downpour, he didn't miss the small spot of light orange in the corner of his eye. It stood out against the dark, murky colors of the alley it was huddled in. Nestled in a small, soggy cardboard box between two trash bags, something shifted.

What's that?

Jason knew he needed to get home. He was freezing and bone-tired, but his curiosity got the better of him.

What's the worst that could happen?

Turns out, the worst that could happen is making a new, vicious enemy out of a stray cat.

Jason landed swiftly in the dark alley, the shadows swallowing up what little light there was. He approached the cardboard box cautiously and gently lifted the lid, unsure of what he might find inside.

The first thing that caught his attention was a pair of greenish-brown eyes staring back at him, followed by the sight of ginger-striped fur. The creature let out a small, plaintive mewl.

Oh, it’s a cat.

In the box sat a big, angry orange tabby. A very angry orange tabby, actually. The cat gave him a fixed, piercing stare, its fur and tail puffing up as it let out a throaty, warning meow.

Jason instinctively raised his hands, palms open, to show he meant no harm, but it was too late—the cat swiped at him with a paw, claws fully extended!

"Alright, I got the hint! No need for violence, little guy. Well—not so little. I mean, just look at you." Jason chuckled softly, trying to diffuse the tension.

The cat's ears swiveled backward and flattened against its head, its body puffing up even more as it attempted to make itself look bigger, more intimidating.

"Okay, okay. I’ll leave you to... whatever you’re doing."

*****

The second time he saw the cat was when he was with you, just returning from a grocery run.

"Who even says that to a worker? It's not like they set the prices," you huffed, recounting an incident at the 7/11 you both had just visited. An old lady had been loudly complaining about the cost of a few products, taking it out on the poor cashier behind the counter.

"I know, baby, but you put her in her place." Jason wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. "So, don't worry about it anymore."

"You're right, it's just—" Jason’s ear tuned out your next words as a familiar spot of light orange caught his eye. A pair of greenish-brown eyes glared at him menacingly.

No way... it can't be the same cat...

"Honey? Jay? What's wrong?" you asked, turning to him, trying to catch his attention.

"Huh? Oh, yeah? Sorry," Jason replied, snapping back to reality with a smile. "Something just caught my eye." But when he turned to look again, the cat was already gone.

Annoying little bastard...

"What did?" you inquired, glancing around to spot whatever had distracted him.

"An orange tabby cat that I’ve apparently started a rivalry with." Jason deadpanned.

"You started a what with a what..?" you stammered, clearly confused by his response. But Jason just grabbed your hand and quickly led you away.

*****

The third time he saw the cat was in his apartment. In his goddamn home.

Jason dropped the bag of snacks he’d just bought from the corner shop out of sheer shock. How did the cat find him? Had it followed him? Was this how it spotted him last time near the grocery store? What was this cat’s plan?

Just then, you rounded the corner, emerging from the kitchen with a small bowl of wet cat food in your hands.

Your face lit up when you saw him. "Welcome back!"

"Hi, baby. Who’s this?" Jason pointed to the cat, now holding its tail high with a slight curl at the top. The cat purred softly as it rubbed its head against Jason’s boot.

"Awh! Look, he likes you!" You beamed, your face lighting up with a smile. "Is this the tabby you were talking about? I can’t imagine him being evil at all, isn’t that right?" You squealed with delight, setting the bowl down near the cat.

The cat slowly blinked at you before cautiously approaching the bowl and taking a tentative bite of the food.

Jason tried to ask how the cat got in, where you found it, and why you let it in, but you shushed him.

"Did you just shush me?" he muttered in disbelief, half-laughing.

"I think it’s fate!" you exclaimed. "You found him, he found you, and now he’s here! He belongs with us. Please, Jay, can we keep him?"

Now that was something he never thought he’d hear. Usually, it was Damian asking Bruce to keep some random animal he’d found—not as a pet, of course. Oh no, not at all.

Jason stared at the tabby for a few moments, then at you, with your big smile and pleading eyes staring back at him.

Crap, this is hard. No wonder Bruce never says no to whatever Damian drags into the house. Jason still remembers the cow...

"...Fine."

"Yay!" You celebrated with a little hop.

"How did it even find us?" Jason eyed the cat suspiciously.

"I’m not sure. But you’ve got to get used to him. I think he likes you!" you said as the cat wobbled back over and rubbed its head against Jason’s boot again. "See? Isn’t he adorable?"

Jason sighed softly, then gave you both a small, reluctant smile. "Yeah, he’s a little bit cute, I guess."

"Oh, I almost forgot! We need to name him."

Jason grumbled under his breath. This was going to be a long week—but maybe, just maybe, it might be a tad bit happier than the previous ones.

© PORCELIAN﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Snowball Fight Taken Too Far » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Week of December 8th-14th

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky accidentally takes a snowball fight a too far.

Warnings: none except Fluff

Prompt: Playing in the snow from @buck-star’s Fluffy Winter Event

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

Divider made by me

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

“The snow looks so beautiful.” You say, admiring the way the snow looks covering everything in the park.

“Not as beautiful as you.” Bucky says.

You couldn’t help but giggle at your boyfriend’s cheesiness.

You and Bucky were walking hand in hand in the park. You grinned to yourself when you got an idea. Bucky looked down at you at the same time the grin appeared on your face. He knows that grin all too well. It’s the grin you have on your face when you’re about to do something mischievous.

“Doll…” He warns.

“I’m not doing anything, Bucky.” You giggled.

You let go of Bucky’s hand and bent down to pick up some snow, packing it into a ball. Bucky watched your every move.

“You better not.” He warns again.

You continued to grin and threw the snowball at him, hitting his shoulder. Bucky chuckles lowly.

“You just started a war, doll face.” Bucky says.

“Bring it on, Sergeant.” You grinned.

Bucky picked up some snow and threw it at you. You managed to dodge it.

“You should know I have cat like reflexes!” You say.

You squeaked when he threw another snowball at you, hitting your arm.

“What were you saying about cat like reflexes, doll?” Bucky chuckles.

You playfully narrowed your eyes at the ex assassin. You picked up snow and threw it at him. Bucky shielded himself with his vibranium arm.

“That’s not fair!” You stomped your foot like a child. “You can’t use your vibranium arm as a shield! That’s cheating!” You whined.

Bucky chuckles at your whiny words. Both of you picked up snow at the same time. This time, Bucky threw the snowball with his vibranium hand. The snowball hit you in the face, making you yelp and drop your snowball. You covered your face with your hands. Bucky’s heart dropped and his eyes widened when he realized what he just did.

“I am so sorry, babydoll!” Bucky quickly apologizes. “I didn’t mean to throw it that hard.” He says.

“It’s ok, Bucky.” You say, your voice muffled by your hands.

Bucky gently pulled your hands away from your face. Your face was red from the impact of the snowball.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes again.

“It’s ok.” You said, your teeth chattering slightly. “Can we go home please?” You asked softly.

Bucky nodded and wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him as you two walked home. He felt bad for how hard he threw the snowball at you. He didn’t mean to throw it that hard. He just wanted to have fun with you.

When you two got home, you two changed into dry and comfortable clothes. You sat down on the couch and flipped through the channels on the TV for a Christmas movie to watch. Bucky joined you a couple minutes later and sat down next to you.

“Are you mad at me?” Bucky asks.

“Why would I be mad at you, baby?” You asked.

“I threw a snowball at your face.” He says with guilt in his voice.

“It was an accident, Bucky.” You say.

“But I hurt you.” He says, feeling disappointed in himself.

You put the remote on the coffee table and maneuvered yourself so you were facing him.

“Baby boy, listen to me.” You began, holding his hands. “It was an accident. I know you didn’t mean to.” You almost whispered. “I also I know you didn’t mean to throw it that hard.” You say.

Bucky looked down at your hands and rubbed his thumbs against the backs of them.

“You always know the right things to say, doll.” Bucky smiles.

“That’s why you love me.” You smiled back.

Bucky leans in and kissed you softly and sweetly.

“I love you, babydoll.” Bucky murmurs softly.

“I love you too, baby.” You murmured. “How about you make us hot chocolate and I’ll find us a Christmas movie to watch.” You suggested softly.

“That sounds amazing to me, doll.” He smiles, kissing you once more before making you two hot chocolate.

-Bucky’s Doll

[astarioffsimpmain]

Unsolicited Affections (Part 1)

[Screenshots and Tav, Ban, by the lovely @brabblesblog]

Halsin x Plus Size F!Reader

Warnings: Body insecurity; internalized fatphobia; otherwise, floof (for now)

Synopsis: Your growing feelings for Halsin can no longer be ignored. Even so, that doesn't mean you don't try for your poor heart's sake. However, Halsin keeps bringing you closer, and you aren't sure how much longer you can take it without confessing... even though confessing is your worst fear.

Author's Note: Thank you so much to @brabblesblog for taking these screenshots and allowing me to use Ban in the header! For all readers, there will be a Part 2 to this fic and it will be the smut you all requested from the poll I took! This became a super duper indulgent fic for me, as I struggle with all of the insecurities the reader struggles with here. But I hope this little 2 part creation can act as a balm for anyone who has ever struggled with their bodily image, or wondered if they'd ever be seen as beautiful. This one's for you; for us. <3

Part 2 Here

The battle had been bloody. Grime and viscera was spread across each body, hair color lost in deep dyes of red in the wake of the victory. You and your companions trudged back to camp in silence; exhausted. You had failed to obtain what the battle had been fought for in the first place, and you were certain that your mood was soured for the rest of the evening. Upon reentering your campground, Gale was the first to greet you all, thankful to see that everyone was alive, albeit roughed up; obvious disappointment creased his features for a moment when you told him the news that you had failed to obtain the magical object you had set out for, but he hid it behind an understanding smile and ushered you to sit by the fire as he finished dinner. 

You had reasoned that if the Netherese Orb in Gale's chest required the consumption of magic to remain stable, that the more powerful the object, the longer it would sate him. So you had taken a group and set out for the most powerful magical object in your direct vicinity - the Circlet of Blasting. You had recognized it the day previous on the head of a Drow with several of its companions near the Myconid colony in the Underdark. Once you found them again, you approached to inquire whether you could cough up enough gold to take it off their hands, but when they turned and pierced you with vicious red eyes that gleamed back at your group with a reflectiveness like a cat's, you knew gold would not satisfy them. And as they drew their daggers, you were proven correct, and the battle had begun.

You slumped over on the log next to the fire, too exhausted to properly stow your weight, as you removed your armor piece by piece. The second person to approach you carried a warm bowl of stew and placed it gently into your palms. The hands were tender and gentle, and much too large to belong to anyone but your favorite Archdruid. You raised your weary head to meet his beautiful bright green eyes, creased with worry, but soft with care as he lowered himself to the ground beside your legs, his muscular arm grazing the now-bare skin of your thigh as he adjusted. A flutter ran through your stomach at the contact, but you clamped down on it before you could get carried away. You knew his kindness was platonic. It had to be. Halsin was simply…kind. 

The tell-tale signs of complicated and painful feelings had risen within your chest since rescuing Halsin from the goblins, and although you had tried to deny them, recently it had proven impossible. But while you finally admitted to yourself that you had fallen for his disarming smile, the scratch of his well-worn fingertips against your softer skin, and how passionately he cared about every living creature in nature, you refused to admit it to anyone else. You would be sparing yourself that embarrassment this time around. Your chest ached, remembering the many times you'd fallen for someone and approached them with this truth, only to be turned away over and over again. Inwardly, you snarled, blaming the extra plush your body carried for your lack of luck in love. Whether the objects of your affection had been kind, polite, or downright rude, there was always a moment in which their eyes would quickly rake your body up and down before delivering their blow. Perhaps they didn't even recognize that they did it, but you saw. You always saw. 

So, while you knew Halsin would never be unkind to you, you had been trying to make peace with the very probable fact that he would only ever see you as a friend - never quite attractive enough to be anything more. It was something you were used to, but it never seemed to dull the throbbing pain in your heart whenever you thought on it too long. There was a part of you, somewhere deep, that knew you were not at fault; that knew you were not to blame; that perhaps if they had deigned to look beyond the surface for even a moment, that they would have seen how genuine your heart was, and how they never would have had to go without affection, love, or loyalty should they have chosen you. You weren't without this enlightenment, but the constant dissatisfaction of, or concern for, the body you carried from those around you - from well-meaning friends to pushy strangers - weighed heavy on your tired mind. 

This moment around the fire was no exception, your burning desire to curl around Halsin's broad shoulders like a cat and purr was strong, but overshadowed by the fear of rejection. You had him near, but pulling him too close was to risk sending him far away, and you weren't sure you'd be able to stand it were that to occur. An icy shudder ran through you at the mere thought of Halsin retracting his warmth from your side. "- giving you a chill?" His dulcet voice pulled you back to reality like a line reeling you in, but you caught only his last few words. 

"What?" You said, blinking as his image in your eyes grew sharper again. "Apologies, my mind was far away." 

"No worries." He chuckled. "I merely asked if the night air was giving you a chill. You were shaking, my heart." 

My heart. 

You melted a little. The nickname was fairly new. The first time he had called you that had been two mornings prior, after a late start and a quick bath in the bioluminescent pools near your campsite in the Underdark. You had come trudging back to camp in clothes that were quickly dampening due to being pressed against your still wet skin, wringing your hair out ferociously as you tried to hurry to catch up with everyone else's progress. You had just started to wrench your boots up over your clinging pants when Halsin had approached you, laying a warm hand against your wet-stained shirt. You had startled, your head snapping up to his in a surprised daze. 

"Slow down." He had said, running a soothing hand down your bent spine and back up, sending full bodied shocks through you like tidal waves. "You needn't worry, my heart. We will wait for you." 

As the memory warmed your cheeks, you cleared your throat and averted your eyes, praying he couldn't see the thoughts lingering just inside the colors of your irises. "No, I'm alright. Just- just a bit weak from not eating all day. Thank you, for bringing me this." You finally acknowledged the bowl in your hands and raised it a little. 

"Of course. Please, eat. I hear from the others that you had a rough skirmish. I implore you to let me check you over once you've finished your stew." 

Ignoring the way your heart jumped dangerously near to your throat, you nodded silently, opting instead to pick up the wooden spoon in the bowl and begin to eat. It was one of Halsin's spoons; one he whittled. It was smooth and beautiful and easy to hold. Almost all of the cutlery in camp had been fashioned by Halsin, and several of the stools you kept as well. It was his hobby and his form of relief, to create things with his hands. Subconsciously, you glanced down to where the hands in question rested on his knees; large and rough, his hands had seen it all and done it all through his 300 plus years of life, and you couldn't help but quietly admire how much they had learned and lost in the process. And after all of that, he chose to create beauty with those hands that knew so much. It made your heart clench with a new wave of affection. You swallowed hard, as if the feelings would force their way back down in the same way as the contents of your bowl. 

Again, you were drawn back from your reverie by the Druid's movements, one of his hands moving from his lap to yours. His palm came down to rest flat on your thigh, only a thin layer of fabric left to separate the blazing heat from your skin. You barely suppressed a gasp of surprise at the sudden contact, feeling much more intimate than it probably was, and locked eyes with Halsin, whose brow was worried into wrinkles. "You seem more distant than usual, are you sure you're alright?" He said, his thumb taking a slow drag across your leg, sending your poor heart racing in your chest. 

"Yes," you managed to respond, rather breathlessly. "I- I'm alright." Even you weren't convinced by your attempt at deflection, and Halsin's frown only deepened. 

"When you've finished your stew, come find me by my tent. I will have some healing herbs waiting for you." He said sternly and you nodded silently. His eyes softened at your wide-eyed expression and he reached up to gingerly tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "Promise me you will come." He murmured quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, and your heart stuttered wildly in your chest. 

"I promise." You replied, and a soft smile graced his lips. He nodded in return and stood up, brushing himself off before walking back towards his tent. 

"Gods," you muttered under your breath, pressing your palm to your chest in an effort to keep your pounding heart inside. 

"You've been given the perfect opportunity, darling." A voice chimed lyrically behind you, and you turned your head to find Astarion eyeing you appreciatively. "Don't waste it." He grinned widely, putting his fangs on display as he did so. 

"Shut up, Astarion." You mumbled, your face heating as you pressed your hands over your eyes. You only hoped you wouldn't make a fool of yourself. 

fin

[robin-evry]

Dr. Ratio! Yuu is going to be NRC's students' worst nightmare, that's for sure.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐃𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎!𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 🦉📜

Member of the Intelligentsia Guild. Eccentric temperament, sharp-tongued but with an elegant demeanor. The face under the strange plaster head sculpture is apparently unexpectedly handsome.

( artist of the header : pogogu )

( credit for the dividers : @cafekitsune )

Ew, is there first reaction towards the school and why are all the students wearing such ridiculous outfits It's a school not an accult, and is this Weezer saying about being great magician all they see is nothing but a cat indulging themselves about being great but they themselves see no greatness Infront of them just an overconfident little cat.

NRC number one student, the subjects are so easy for them to the point they have already suppressed most of their seniors, demand Crowley to allow them to become an official lecturer in NRC as well allowed to host after school lectures in their dorm room for students.

Become the scariest figure in all of NRC as well an unofficial new headmaster in NRC , no student is brave enough to up against them not even the teachers ( Crowley is sobbing ), Dr ratio!Yuu is strict and will not allow any slip up. They are the reason why the school held such a dignified reputation.

Even when students complain to Crowley he's not brave enough to go against because he doesn't want to suffer another lecture of his imperfect ways of teaching, he's ego has already been shattered by them, he doesn't need to be more broken

The ramshackle will be a place of where dr ratio!Yuu live as well a place where students have to go for their after school lectures or second school, the dorm has become larger as well possessing some Greek architecture around it in the front of the dorm or the official of the dorm is an owl similar to Dr ratio owl in his arms. The first floor has become a larger lecture to fit in students where there's a large stage in the middle where dr ratio!yuu stands and teaches, and if anyone is caught sleeping they will have a chalk hit them in the head to wake them up or will be hit by a book in the head. No slacking off on their watch.

The second floor is their living quarters. Dr ratio!yuu room is strictly forbidden to enter, their room is full of multiple sculptures of themselves as well a luxurious bathroom with multiple rubber ducks and bath tub in the middle where dr ratio!yuu meditate

During the Octavinelle arc, the first years didn't make a contract with Azul, why would they when they have Dr ration there teaching them. They even managed to make it in the top 50 in the board, all thanks to Dr ratio!yuu teachings.

Wears a head plaster to cover their face so people cannot get distracted by how handsome and beautiful they are, rarely take it off and if they do not wear it many students that have seen their face are unable to take their eyes off them, they are also described to be more goodlooking than vil or anyone in twst.

Has helped twst on new technological advancement in the century and gained large popularity, as well as a fanclub. Many students and others outside the school admired them and had a crush on them.

During one time when a group of savanaclaw students tried to show their dominance, one of them was thrown right across the room to the point it caused the others to back away and admit defeat, as I said no one is brave enough to go against them.

Another situation with the dorm leader riddles saying that their way is a disrespect to the queen of hearts, and Dr ratio!yuu point out their flaws of the queen of hearts and riddles ways.

Dr ratio!yuu : you said that the queen of hearts, was a ruler that upholds rules, but all I see is a tyrant who punishes the common folk for matters that are so small.

Riddle : HOW DARE YOU-

Dr ratio!yuu : and by far I'm seeing the exact same thing about you and the ruler, a child that holds the title of monarch but not the grace or qualities of a monarch. Tell me, are you even worthy of carrying the title of dorm leader similar to the queen of hearts worthy of calling themselves a ruler.

Riddle : i-

Dr ratio : I have met by far many people in my lines of work and by far they have more worth of being called a monarch than you....

Dr ratio!Yuu walk away leaving a stunt riddle behind.

By far that day riddle have an emotional scar, the words that the doctor has said to them have left a mark towards him. Riddle's mother soon learns about this situation and asks for Dr ratio!yuu explosion and even Crowley was afraid to face them, and when riddle mother confronts them, she also suffers from their harsh words of criticism and flaws, soon she even backs away from them.

Dr ratio may seem heartless but they do care about people, they want people to grow and unleash their full potential that's the reason why they are so strict with people.

During their first meeting with Jamil and kalim, during kalim being busy with something. Dr ratio!yuu ask why is kalim the dorm leader they said that Jamil is more worthy of being called dorm leader. This comment stunt Jamil. They said that Jamil is by far less careless and more appropriate to be a dorm leader.

Has respect for vil, Dr ratio!yuu respect vil for carrying him in high standards seeing them similar, together won't settle for less, vil pursuit of furthering peoples Beauty while Dr ratio!yuu is on a pursuit of furthering peoples intelligence and have high expectations for others and will always push others to their limit to reach potential. Saying that by far vil is already worthy of calling himself the most beautiful person as well a person worthy of a dorm leader.

I also like to imagine Dr ratio!yuu is what epel dream physic would be, being able to take down multiple students with ease as well smart and sharp. Epel wanted to ask them to train him but he's also scared to ask them but after enough courage he did ask them and they agreed, every know and then epel will be tutored by them in physical and academic requirements, vil approved and epel grades and physics have enhanced greatly.

Dr ratio!Yuu is an unstoppable force, they always tell the truth even tho it hurts people because if the people are unable to face the truth and how are they gonna grow.

By far after their appearance the standards of grades have risen 100%, there are no students that are being held back as well the standard of high grades started to rise thanks to Dr ratio!yuu after school lectures, and the staff personally thank them for giving students to have a back bone, they are by far a better headmaster than Crowley.

[risuola]

HANDCUFFS AND ALIBIS || GOJO SATORU

It's rare that you make mistakes. You know which houses to target and which ones to avoid but this time, you failed to read a note properly — that led you to a man that you, as a robber, would rather avoid. It's a story about a dance between crime and law.

contains: policeman!satoru x burglar!reader, crimes (burglary, corruption, slight blackmailing, thief, gun usage), smut (strangers, unprotected sex, oral very briefly licked), usage of pet names (kitten, good girl), wc. 5000 ⋯ reader discretion is advised

kinktober '24 masterlist || art in the header: @/lxzemathena on X

Seventy-seven.

“Fuckin’ lucky sevens,” you grumble, breathing quickly as you look down at the ever-present city of Tokyo. The flickering neons and long stripes of light glitter against the dark streets and buildings, matching the starry skies above. There’s so much life below you — the cars rushing through nighttime traffic, people scurrying over the jaded pavements. You can smell the mellow scent of the street foods and when you close your eyes, you can almost see the older ladies calling invitingly to try whatever delicacies they are offering. The view is gorgeous, you have to tell, but it’s also incredibly high and scratching you in all the wrong places. But you move through the roof, the skyscraper below your feet seems to vibrate slightly with each step you take. “You better be damn lucky.”

Once more, you glance at the piece of paper you kept in your pocket — a handwritten note from your associate, the address along with the numbers of the apartment, your tonight’s target. It’s supposed to be empty and full of goods you can steal. It does seem a little strange that your middle-aged middle-class businessman lives at the very top of the building, in a zone that you are certain is reserved for vips, but there’s no time to question it. Maybe the not-overly-successful CEO is in fact more successful than you’re giving him credit for. Or maybe it’s the lucky sevens.

Moving with feline fluidity, you’re swift about the break-in. The window is open, invitingly so, and you slip off the edge, swallowing the swearwords that bubble at the top of your throat — right above your racing heart. You move like water, like a drop of liquid sliding through the surfaces until you reach your destination. Two more steps and one little jump and you’re in. Breathless for just a moment, you listen to the silence making sure that you’re alone, as you are supposed to be. The businessman that’s unluckily occupying the lucky sevens should not be home for three more hours at least so you’re fairly confident that you can wrap it up in that time and maybe even grab some chicken nuggets on your way home. That being said, it’s better to be safe than sorry so you listen, you focus on the darkness as the soft thud of your landing echo in your ears along with the furious beating of your heart. You hear nothing.

But nothing hears you. The thud of your feet meeting the wooden planks lining his floors makes his lips turn upwards. Oh, Satoru has seen you way before you even thought about placing your little foot on his windowsill. It wasn’t hard, or rather, he’s very perceptive. Maybe it’s because of the experience he’s gathered in life or maybe just his own eyes are predisposed to catch little details that otherwise would have slipped away.

Once you’re inside his apartment, ruthlessly shifting the balance of his sanctuary, he allows you a moment to look around. He lets you wander and pick on his things just to look at you, to take you in. You’re clueless, it’s sweet. Gojo doesn’t rush it, the night is still young. He lets you find out yourself, he lets you experience the dread when you’re ready. He would hate to spoil the surprise.

There’s much less valuables than you anticipated and it makes you wonder why would your associate even recommend this house to you? But it does look good. With cat-like quiet, you move around the living area, taking in the sight of the opulent surroundings. Even in darkness you can make up that the furniture is high-end, crafted from real wood and glass. Looks like ebony, dark and rich, but you’re not sure. There is a feeling of luxury, a scent of it coming off the leather couch and armchairs, artistically mingling with the hint of perfume that marks the place with male presence. A nice perfume, with hints of vanilla and tobacco. Maybe you’ll snatch the bottle once you make it to the bathroom. Just for yourself.

You find some money in one of the pockets of the jeans discarded messily over the backrest of the sofa. The belt doesn’t seem expensive so you leave it before moving towards the bedroom. That’s where the main event is and as you go through the drawers, you grab a watch, already eyeing the laptop resting on the nightstand. Quickly, you move the socks around and then your hand finds something hard.

Oh, it is surprising to pull out a god damn handgun.

“I see you’ve found it,” a voice pulls at the strings of your attention and your eyes snap to the side. The light flicking to life blinds you for a split second before you see the man leaning against the doorframe. He’s tall, white hair and eyes that seem to be blue. How could you not hear him earlier? You must have been too busy rummaging through his belongings, too confident that there’s no one home that you lowered your guard. Rookie mistake. “Now be a good girl and put it down.”

You’re not a good girl and you raise it up, pointing the barrel at his direction — it’s an instinct, you wouldn’t shoot him, probably. You’re a robber, not a killer. He chuckles, as if he knows it as well as you do, or more.

“You’re not—”

“Oh, I certainly am not,” he cuts you in, his face morphing into a smile that you could only describe as wicked. He’s amused, you can tell, exhilarated even. He wants and will toy with you if you allow him and you’ve already decided that you won’t. “I wanted to let you know earlier but you were too sweet to interrupt. A little kitten digging through my underwear, searching for treasures that are nowhere to be found. It’s disappointing, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” you snap, feeling the annoyance boiling inside your chest. Maybe you will shoot him.

“Now, now… don’t hiss at me,” he shakes his head, his white hair bouncing with every move of his neck. “I must admit, the wash of dread on your face was a sight I would hate to miss and you surely delivered. Now give me the gun–“

“I will shoot you,” you threat, taking a step back once he takes one forward. “Stay where you are.”

“Oh, kitten, do you think I keep a loaded gun right next to my boxers? That seems like a bad luck,” he laughs, his broad shoulders moving up and down as he shrugs nonchalantly. “See it for yourself. There’s a button on the side, can you feel it?” He’s instructing you and despite yourself, your eyes lower from him and onto the weapon in your hands. “Right there, good girl. That’s a magazine release button. Press it and the magazine will slide down from the gun’s grip.”

You truly don’t know why you follow the instruction. Maybe it’s because you have no real idea how to use a weapon or maybe it’s because his voice is so beautifully honeyed as he praises you. Maybe it’s because of how distracting he is, standing right there in nothing but a pale blue t-shirt and a pair of black boxers. And he is excited, in more ways than you’d expect.

You put some pressure on the button and just as he said, the magazine pops from the bottom of the handle. You pinch the protruding baseplate with your fingers and pull it out in a steady motion but you have not even a second to examine it when the man closes the distance between you two. His long legs covering the missing meters effortlessly and his body moving as if it was something he does on a daily basis. He grabs the barrel, aiming it up and grips your wrist, wrenching the gun out of your grasp. Throwing the weapon away, he twists your arm behind your back, slamming you onto the nearest wall. Your chest meets the cold paint and you whimper in surprise and discomfort.

“Got you,” he murmurs, his breath teasing your earlobe and you feel his strong, big body pressing against yours, much smaller one. The hard plates of his musculature crowd you in the forced embrace, his heat a harsh contrast against the cool wall. “Such a naughty little kitten, aren’t you unlucky to break into a cop’s house?”

A cop. It makes a lot of sense.

“Seems like the sevens on your door have nothing to do with luck,” you sneer, struggling in his grasp, shifting and pulling your body inch by inch towards the freedom. And he lets you, he lets you have hope as he keeps the control over every squeeze of your muscles.

“Sad to disappoint,” he hums, teeth grabbing the delicate flesh of your earlobe teasingly before his cheek presses against your temple. There’s something threateningly intimate about the way he keeps you close, his breath so delicate while his grip holds you harshly. “It truly would be a waste to put you in jail, don’t you think?” You can’t see him, but you can hear that damn smirk. “You wouldn’t like it. Pretty girls like you were not made for the bars and enclosure.”

“Oh yeah? And you’re so sure of yourself that you will catch me?” You ask, despite all and he’s laughing again. His free hand slides around your waist, splaying possessively across your stomach as he pulls you harder against him. You feel his crotch pressing against your butt, the bulge hard and prominent against the plush of your rear and the leggings you have on do little to mellow it down.

“Let’s be real now, will ya?” He muses, slowly enveloping you more and more within his arms. You feel them snaking around you, smothering, suffocating. “I could think of far better uses for such a delectable little kitten. Perhaps we could come to a more… mutually beneficial arrangement. What do you say?”

And you laugh at the realization. “Not very lawful of you now, is it?”

“Not very lawful of you to break into my house too but here we are,” he nips at your ear, sharp teeth grazing the sensitive skin and sending shivers down your spine. You feel his lips moving lower, following the side of your neck, marking the juncture of it with little wet kisses. “Damn, you smell so good,” he purrs, nuzzling his nose into your skin and inhaling deeply.

And he smells good too. Once so close, the lingering scent of his perfume fills in your nostrils much more. It’s musky, a hint of wood and a spice lingering below the sweetness of vanilla. There’s something impossible to guess too — something that seems to be just him.

“What’s stopping me from screaming?” You challenge, fighting yourself to not purr at his touches. “I’m sure your neighbors would love to hear about their friendly neighborhood cop assaulting a helpless woman.”

“Go ahead,” he chuckles. “Go ahead and scream, kitten. No one will hear you. Besides,” he lowers his tone, mouth hovering right next to your ear. “I don’t think you really want to be rescued, do you?” You don’t. “I bet you’re wet already.”

It’s you who laughs this time. What a sassy bastard. It doesn’t take you long to catch him off guard, twisting out of his grasp and elbowing him straight in the ribs. You’re not gonna go down without a fight, though… you wouldn’t mind getting a taste of that man, sinking your teeth into his muscled flesh, leaving a mark on him.

He groans and you push him back, making him stumble just a bit and it’s enough for you to flee through the doors, right towards the exit but he’s right behind you before you touch the locks. “Good luck with that, sweetie,” he mocks and you hear the metal clinking behind your back. You turn, expecting to see the keys dangling off his finger but instead, there are handcuffs there. “I wouldn’t want to cuff your pretty little and oh so fragile wrists, but you might not leave me with a choice.” He’s toying with you yet again and yet again, you scoff.

He’s annoying. Everything about him — the tone of his voice, so smooth and buttery; the sly smirk on his stupidly handsome face, those eyes that now you see are in the shade of the sky in the middle of summer, or the ocean, twinkling below the sun; the way his hair sticks out and falls down here and there in an artistic kind of mess. And his body, oh, how infuriatingly sexy he is. It makes you want to both choke him and choke on him and sooner or later you might act on either one of those urges.

Satoru knows you want him just as he wants you. It’s easy to tell in the way you look him up and down; he can almost feel your eyes exploring his frame, studying the lines and edges of his physique. It tickles his ego, feeding into his grin and he knows he needs to have you by the end of the night — and after that, the world can turn upside down. You’re too good to let go, too beautiful to let you slip between his fingers. The way your lashes flutter when you blink and how your brows furrow each time you try to act bothered by his words makes the fire burn hot and bright in his lower belly. The things he would do to you—

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” you warn, eyes fixed on him as you take a step towards him. “It’s a fire you’re toying with and you know what fire does? It burns.”

“Dangerous games are the most fun,” he grins, fingers finding the edge of your jaw as soon as you’re close enough. His touch trails along the line, hand splaying a little wider once he slips below your chin and you feel it wrap around your throat. He squeezes just enough to let you know it’s him who’s in charge. You allow him to think that it’s him.

You’re exhaling a little weaker, inhaling greedier as he holds you in his hands. You do nothing to stop him, you play into his game, dance to his melody just as he dances to yours. Your eyes meet and he’s smiling, stepping closer, you feel his heat going right through the thin layers of clothing between you. “So what will it be?” He’s purring, voice low as he leans down, running his nose down the bridge of yours.

Tilting your head, you grab his mouth, your teeth grazing over his lower lip as you nip and kiss him. He tastes like mint, you want more of him. Your hands find his hair, tugging on it, gripping it as you pull him closer. He pushes you back, your butt meets the edge of the dresser and soon you’re sitting on it. His growing bulge presses right into your core, grinding against the thin fabric of your leggings and you can’t help but whimper into his mouth.

His hands are all over you and yours are all over him, tugging and pulling the fabrics away, shedding the threads and baring his skin to your hungry paws. He’s a stature, light skin stretched over the wall of muscle that you’re all too eager to explore. He’s gorgeous, you let your lips lower, tracing down his jaw and neck, towards his shoulder. Little nips and sucks made him chuckle — purr — as he wastes no time removing your clothes.

“Aren’t you fucking gorgeous?” He breaths out, taking a step back and admiring you with an unabashed grin. “And dripping already.”

“And who says it?” You tease him back, hopping off the dresser. Your bare body is a sight, the curves and edges of you he wishes to engrave into his mind forever. You can tell he’s hungry — for you — and it stirs a thing in you, you want to devour him. You skip the distance, your hand gripping him through the boxers, palming the thick, throbbing erection and your thumb finds the tip, rubbing circles over the wet, sticky patch on his underwear. “I’m not the only one dripping, am I?”

“Certainly not.” He grins, large hands kneading the supple flesh of your bottom.

“Let’s get the guns out,” you muse, pushing him back, step after step until his knees met the edge of the bed.

“This gun is loaded, little kitten. Can you handle it?” He’s nonchalant as he falls back, bouncing off the mattress with a low chuckle. You let him smirk, pulling the black fabric off his legs and it makes you salivate — he’s thick, throbbing with need. Pearly white globs of precum glisten at the pink tip, stretch between it and his skin each time the hefty shaft meets the bottom of his stomach, too heavy to stand properly on its own.

“I can handle a corrupted cop,” you mock, crawling on top of him, running your flattened tongue up his length and swirling it around the tip.

And he’s laughing, taunting, “oh, says the little thief,” sneering. But his breath hitches, his eyes glued to the way your mouth stretch around his tip. It feels warm, wet, like silk and honey. You have no intent of rushing, you want to tease him, to make it painfully slow, to make him beg. “Be a good girl.”

“Am I not?” You stop, grinning wickedly and he groans, twitching right against your cheek.

He won’t beg.

You can’t have another lick before he’s right on top of you. Your chest vibrates when you laugh at his desperate movements, a mocking reminder of your victory but he ignores it. Set on the target, Satoru moves your thighs apart, groaning “shut up,” before he rubs the tip of his cock against your clit.

The contact is electric, sending tendrils of pleasure through your entire body. His movements are deliberate, it’s intense, it makes your thighs tremble on the sides of his hips. You look at him and his eyes are set on the spot you’re connected — the way his precum coats your throbbing bud, how it mixes with the thick, sticky fluids that slick your pussy, how your body twitches from pleasurable little shots of ecstasy.

You won’t beg either.

But he’s never been patient, he wants to be inside you. He needs to feel you around him, to be squeezed by you, to be buried to the hilt and lost completely, utterly in you. So he moves, his tip sliding down your slit, prodding your entrance as if giving you a ghost of a chance to run away, before he’s deep in you. One thrust is all it takes; he groans and you moan. Your back arches off the mattress, hands find their way onto his shoulders, scratching and squeezing, pushing and pulling.

The air hot from each breath, thick with tension and heavy with anticipation. He fills you completely, your walls stretching to accommodate his girth and a gasp escapes your lips. You feel all of him, it’s too much and not nearly enough. It overwhelms you, consumes you; the sensation, a mixture of pain and pleasure, sending shivers down your spine and makes everything blurry. His pace is relentless, punishing almost, each thrust harder than the last. His hips snap against yours with desperation and desire. It’s lustful, it’s raw.

Your bodies move together in a primal dance, the room echoing the symphony of raw, unfiltered passion — a cacophony of heavy breaths, soft moans, the wet smack of skin on skin and the rhythmic creaking of the bed beneath you. You grip his shoulders, run your fingernails across his pale skin, mark him with pleasure that fills every cell of your being. It burns you from the inside out, it turns your mind into a flurry of no thoughts. Your walls clench around him — it’s a silent plea for more, for harder, for faster.

His hand finds its way into your hair, gripping it tightly, tilting your head back as he pounds into you. He can feel the pressure building, a fire igniting within his core and he wants more. His teeth graze the exposed column of your neck, like a predator, he runs his nose along your silky skin inhaling your scent, memorizing it. He nips and kisses the delicate juncture, leaving wet marks and wet trails.

Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his firm ass, urging him onward, urging him closer. Satoru listens, his pace quickens as each powerful thrust drives deeper into your overly sensitive body, stoking the fire between you both. You feel the tension building, a delicious pressure coiling in your lower belly, threatening to unravel at any point and you don’t hold it. He grips your hip, bruising your flesh with his fingers as he holds you in place. You scratch his back and he’s leaving marks, you bite his shoulder and he sucks your skin. You lose your mind and he loses it too.

In this moment, there is no corrupt cop and a petty thief – you are just two souls entwined in the throes of ecstasy, drowning within the sea of pure, deafening bliss. The world outside ceases to exist, walls of reality blurring as you surrender to the overwhelming sparks coursing through your veins — an eager, desperate chase of euphoria. With each thrust, he claims you, branding your very essence with his presence and yet, in the surrender, there is a sense of empowerment. You hold the key to his undoing, just as he holds yours.

Your heart is pounding in sync with the unforgiving rhythm of Satoru’s hips against yours. You see the strain on his face, the muscles in his neck standing out as he’s fighting to maintain control, to prolong this exquisite torture, but he can’t. Sweat beads on his brow, trickling down his temple and mirroring the sheen that glistens upon your own skin. The salty tang of perspiration blends with the heady aroma of arousal, creating an intoxicating perfume that fills the room. Soon, his restraint snaps, he’s growling lowly as he drives into you with frenzy — new ferocity of his movements sends you careening over the edge. You cry out, arching yourself as the waves of crashing pleasure wash over you. It’s a freight car that hits you, sending you spiraling into the abyss, it’s a tsunami that sweeps you off your feet and into oblivion.

“Look at me,” he commands, stilling himself inside you — despite himself, despite the overwhelming need and the surges of electricity that seem to be the only thing to keep him alive right now. “I want to see you when you come undone,” his voice is barely more than a raspy whisper and you look at him. Hazy eyes find his own, blurry lines of his face are all you’re able to make out in the dimly lit room but he’s there, you see him, you feel him.

He moves again, the crescendo builds as both of you dance at the edge of the release. Sweat slicks your skin, mingling as you press tightly against one another. It’s a torment, an expertly administered torture that targets your very soul and you love it, you grow addicted, you want more of it, more of him. And then, as if the universe itself cannot resist the pull of desire as powerful and heavy, the dam breaks. Your inner walls clamp down around him, orgasm ripping through you with power you have never experienced before — one that leaves you breathless, that makes you see nothing but stars in the dark blue eyes of the man above you. Release rips through you, it comes and drowns you as he angles his hips to hit that one sweet spot over and over, making you cry real tears and gasping for air. Soft moans and pleas escape your lips in a litany of need, a beg for mercy and for more at the same time. And he’s right after you; feeling your climax, he lets himself come undone too. He finds his release within the tight embrace of your body. Enveloped by the pulsating walls, milking him until he too succumbs into the overwhelming sensation, shuddering and following you headfirst and into the bliss. You can feel the muscles in his body tensing as he empties himself in you, fills you until you can’t take any more and spills, running down your velvety skin and onto the bedsheets below.

For a moment, time stands still. The two of you remain locked in an intimate embrace, hearts pounding in tandem as the echoes of your shared climax reverberate through the silence. Your breaths blend together and hearts mimic each other’s beating. As the aftershocks subside and the haze of passion begins to clear, you find yourself in a tangle of limbs, the evidence of what happened cooling on your skin. There’s a sweetness in the aftermath. A gentle vulnerability that neither of you are accustomed to showing but none of you fights against. It’s a moment of peace. Rare. Real.

Satoru rolls onto his back, taking you with him so that you’re draped across his chest. His heartbeat thrums steadily under your ear, a comforting rhythm that lulls you into a state of peaceful repose and for now, you choose to simply exist in this moment, allowing the events of the night to wash over you. The moonlight filters through the window, casting a silver glow over the scene. You feel his breathing evening out, his grip on you loosening bit by bit.

His sleeping form seems peaceful. He’s beautiful, truly and you almost feel bad before disentangling yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him. Silently, you retrieve the handcuffs from the pile of discarded clothes on the floor and dress yourself in what you came in. There is a brief flicker of remorse as you secure his wrist to the bedpost, but it’s quickly extinguished by the thrill of the impending escape. Of winning. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips — a strange mixture of gratitude and goodbye, a stolen intimacy that you couldn’t get enough that night and you know, deep inside, that you will miss the feeling of him.

It’s bittersweet.

His wallet, watch and badge lie on the bedside table, ripe and ready for the taking. With deft fingers, you lift them, ensuring to keep the silence, not to disturb the peacefulness of the room. You pick up the gun — the one he has ripped out of your hands before everything escalated — the weight of it is unfamiliar in your grasp and you hesitate. For a moment you consider leaving it behind, but your nature wins out and you tuck it into the waistband of your leggings.

Clad in the moonlight, you take one last look around the room, memorizing the details — the rumpled sheets, the faint smell of sex still hanging in the air, and the man who — for a fleeting moment — made you consider a different life.

But that life isn’t for you.

With a final glance at the sleeping cop, you slip out of the room, closing the door softly behind you before you’re on your way out. As the steps echo through the staircase leading you down the building, you can’t help but smile. You want to laugh, it’s impossible. You can’t shake the feeling of Satoru’s touch, the memory of his body intertwined with yours. He’s a dangerous distraction, one that could get you caught if you’re not careful enough.

Once you step outside, the cool night air greets you, a stark contrast to the warmth you’ve left behind. The streets of Tokyo are never quiet and quickly, you allow yourself to be swept by the chaos, by the neon lights, by the people chatting around the edges of the street food booths. And you run, forward, somewhere. You run and you laugh. It’s high, you’re lightheaded. New day will come by and you’ll never see him again.

It’s okay.

It was worth it.

The first rays of dawn seep into the room, casting a golden hue over the tousled bedsheets, warming up the bare skin. Satoru stirs, blinking sleep away from his eyes as consciousness returns. He stretches, expecting to feel the warmth of a body that had been nestled beside him only hours before, but instead, his hand meets the cold sheets and even colder metal. His eyes snap open and he turns his head to see his wrist bound to the wooden bedpost by a pair of his own handcuffs. The very same ones he had shown you at night, the ones he wanted to put on your forearms. He tugs at it, listening to the metallic clink that echoes in the otherwise silent room, as the events of the previous night come flooding back.

You’re gone, and Satoru laughs. A cursory search of the bedside table confirms his suspicion — you’ve taken the wallet, the watch and even his badge. A souvenir, he thinks. Alone in his bed, he relaxes. He lost. A little thief had bested him, the woman who had writhed beneath him, had turned the tables in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He lowered his guard, allowed himself to fall into slumber.

You’ve played his game and won.

You had enough curtesy to leave the key, knowing that once he’s awake again, you’ll be long gone. You left the key knowing, that he will not pursue you, that he will not call the authorities. Oh, you little minx. As Satoru uncuffs himself, he cannot stop chuckling. There’s so much lies he will need to tell to get out of losing his badge and the gun without admitting to what truly has happened.

But it’s okay.

You are worth it.