#for good i’d want to take it and stick around just long enough to hear how much they’ll cry about it before i fuck off

[monogamia]

not me haunting your asks in every single blog you own 😈 sooo, do you write parents!au? bc I wanted to request some scenario abt how sylus, caleb and xavier would react to their kids telling u to shut up. I KNOW ITS WEIRD BUT ITS A OLD TREND I THINK?? anyway, love ya babe 💘💋💋

੭⠀ A little prank.

⋆⠀AUTHOR'S NOTES: I love parents!au so much 😭

⋆⠀FEATURING: Xavier, Sylus, Caleb.

⋆⠀WARNING: English is not my first language, so it may contain some mistakes.

Your son’s favorite pastime was annoying his father, and he was certainly better at it than anyone else. Not only that, but he also managed to convince you to help with yet another one of his… pranks.

The boy smiled when he saw his father heading to the kitchen and turned back to his video game. Not long after, you walked into the room with something in hand. “Sweetheart, could you take this—”

“Shut up, mom,” he tried to say in an irritated tone, but a smile was plastered across his face.

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀XAVIER

Not even five seconds had passed before your son was groaning in pain, Xavier’s slipper lying on the couch beside him after hitting the back of his head squarely. “Dad—”

Xavier raised the other slipper, pointing it at the boy. “Apologize. Now,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing. “Is that any way to talk to your mother?”

“But I was busy, and she—” Once again, the boy didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, the other slipper flying straight at him. Xavier crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on his son.

You widened your eyes and placed a hand on your husband’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Okay, okay, it was a… joke, just a prank.”

Xavier gave a faint smirk, glancing at you. “…Yeah, I knew that.” He pulled you into a hug, sticking his tongue out at your son. “You think I’d stop at that if I saw him disrespecting you like that?”

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀SYLUS

Sylus prided himself on being an exemplary father. He was patient, fun—or so he thought—and wealthy. I mean, surely his son was already having a better childhood than most people who came from the same place Sylus had, right?

And perhaps it was exactly that freedom and comfort in his presence that made the boy feel confident enough to make that kind of joke.

“I must’ve misheard. Definitely,” Sylus said loud enough for both of you to hear. You turned away so he wouldn’t see your expression, while your son simply grimaced.

“Dad, she could’ve just asked one of my uncles to go—or, I don’t know, gone herself!” the boy said, spinning the pieces of a pistol between his fingers.

Sylus’s steps were almost inaudible; it was as if he had teleported to his son’s side. He crossed his arms, an irritated expression on his face. His son had never seen that look before—at least, not directed at him.

“Don’t you dare talk to your mother like that under this roof,” he said. “I don’t care if she could’ve asked someone else—if she tells you to do something, you do it. She brought you into this world.”

The boy couldn’t hold back his laughter, bursting out in hysterics. Your husband opened his mouth to say something but stopped when he saw you laughing as well. He let out a sigh, rubbing his face. “You too now?”

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀CALEB

Honestly, your son was expecting Caleb to yell at him or chase after him, but it was even more terrifying to see him stay silent, slowly turning to face the boy.

He froze, setting the video game controller down on the coffee table. Caleb’s eyes stayed fixed on him, and his silence lingered just long enough to make the boy shift uncomfortably under the stare.

When Caleb finally spoke, his voice was strangely calm—and that wasn’t exactly a good thing. “You have five seconds to do as your mother said and come back here, and another five to apologize and explain yourself.”

You let out an awkward laugh before wrapping your arms around your husband. “It was just a joke, I swear.” Caleb glanced at you, slipping a hand under your shirt to give you a pinch. “Ouch! It was his idea!”

He rolled his eyes but let out a relieved laugh, despite his irritation with your newfound way of spending free time. “I should’ve known.”

[prettygirl-gabi]

No More Ghosts

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd x Reader

Warning: Smut….MDNI……

Fandom: Women’s College Basketball/ WNBA- Dallas Wings

Summary: A name slips; love fractures, then it heals

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @iwasbored-okay

It happened in a moment I couldn’t take back.

We’d been tangled up in each other, breathless and flushed, their hands everywhere, lips on my skin, bodies pressing into mine like they couldn’t get close enough.

Paige behind me, her strap deep inside, Azzi in front with her mouth trailing down my chest—until my head tipped back, and I moaned a name that shattered the world around us.

“Kie—oh, fuck—”

Everything stopped.

The air went cold. Paige froze mid-thrust. Azzi lifted her head, blinking like she’d been slapped.

Silence.

I stared at them, wide-eyed, heart plummeting.

“No,” I whispered, horror in every syllable. “No, that’s not— I didn’t mean—”

Paige stepped back. The strap slipped out of me. Azzi sat up, the warmth in her touch gone.

“You said her name,” Azzi said flatly.

“It just— It slipped,” I begged. “It was a mistake. I swear to God—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Paige muttered, grabbing her hoodie. “Just—don’t.”

They didn’t yell. They didn’t cry.

They just left me there. Naked. Cold. Alone.

For the next three days, they barely spoke to me.

I apologized every way I could think of—texting, calling, leaving little notes on their pillows, cooking their favorite meals.

I even sat on the couch in one of Paige’s hoodies, quiet and soft-eyed, hoping one of them would look at me long enough to see how sorry I was.

Nothing worked.

They weren’t cruel. Just… distant. Detached.

Paige sat across the room scrolling on her phone.

Azzi listened to music with her headphones in.

I’d walk into a space and feel it ice over, like I was the punchline to some awful joke they were trying not to hear.

I tried to be patient.

I understood why it hurt.

But by day four, something inside me cracked.

If they wanted to ignore me? Fine.

I can play that game too.

So I stopped trying.

Stopped saying good morning.

Stopped folding their laundry.

Stopped smiling when they walked into the room.

Stop letting them know when I was going out- which spoiler alert I would turn my location off and just hit the gym.

I gave them cold. And it wasn’t long before they hated it.

It hit Paige first.

She came into the kitchen while I was finishing my coffee, wearing just boxers and a cropped tee, messy-haired and pouty.

“Hey,” she said casually, leaning against the counter.

I didn’t look up. Just kept scrolling through my phone.

“…You ignoring me now?”

I sipped my drink. “Didn’t know we were talking again.”

Her jaw clenched.

Azzi found out next.

She walked in after her shower, towel around her neck, damp curls sticking to her collarbone.

“Want to watch a movie?” she asked.

I stood up without a word and walked right past her.

By that night, they were fuming.

I had walked into the room to go take a shower, when both Azzi and Paige walked in.

Paige entering the room first and speaking.

“You’ve made your point,” Paige snapped.

“Oh, now you care?” I said bitterly. “After four days of treating me like I don’t exist?”

Azzi crossed her arms. “You said your ex’s name while we were loving you. What did you expect?”

“I said I was sorry!” I shouted. “Over and over! You didn’t want to hear it!”

“We were hurt,” Paige muttered.

“And now you’re mad that I got tired of being punished for something I didn’t mean to say?”

I didn’t realize I was crying until Azzi stepped forward.

Her voice softened. “You hurt us.”

I blinked through the tears. “And now you’re hurting me.”

None of us spoke for a beat.

Then Paige stepped closer.

“You wanna know what I- we felt that night?” she asked, voice rough. “Like we weren’t enough. Like no matter how deep either of us were, how much we loved you, some ghost still had more of you than we did.”

My lip trembled.

Azzi cupped my cheek. “We were scared. That we don’t have all of you.”

My chest ached.

“You do,” I whispered. “You both do.”

Something shifted in the air.

Paige’s eyes darkened. “Prove it.”

I barely got the word “okay” out before Azzi shoved me back onto the bed and straddled my hips.

“You don’t get to say her name,” she said, kissing me hard. “Not tonight. Just ours.”

Paige pulled her hoodie over her head, muscles flexing under her sports bra. “We’re not holding back anymore.”

I gasped as Azzi’s hand slipped under my shirt, tweaking my nipple just as Paige dropped to her knees in front of me.

Her hands pushed my legs apart, her mouth kissing up the inside of my thigh.

“I missed this,” Paige murmured.

“Missed how sweet you sound when you’re begging.”

Azzi bit my neck lightly. “Let’s see how fast we can ruin her.”

They took me apart.

Azzi pinned my wrists above my head as Paige worked her strap in, slow and deep, my legs wrapped around her waist.

I moaned, eyes fluttering, body arching into every touch.

“Feels good?” Azzi whispered, trailing kisses down my jaw.

I nodded helplessly. “Y-Yes—God—yes—”

“You’re ours,” Paige growled, hips snapping. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I whimpered. “Only yours.”

Paige pulled out just long enough for Azzi to slide in behind her, her own strap already dripping with lube.

I barely had time to breathe before Azzi thrust into me, this time harder, deeper.

“Fuck—Azzi—”

“Shh,” she said, kissing me. “Take it. You can take both.”

Paige took my mouth, silencing my cries, while her fingers played with my clit in tight, delicious circles.

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

Just moaned and writhed and let them take what they needed.

At some point, they flipped me.

Azzi held my legs open while Paige slammed into me from behind, her strap hitting all the right spots.

Azzi leaned down, her own strap brushing against my lips.

“You want it?” she teased.

I whimpered.

She slid in, and I nearly choked, the sensation of both girls inside me overwhelming.

Paige’s grip tightened on my hips. “She’s drooling.”

Azzi moaned. “She’s so full.”

I gagged on Azzi’s strap as Paige reached around to rub my swollen, sensitive clit again.

“Come on, baby,” Paige whispered. “Let go. Come all over us.”

And I did—harder than I ever had.

We collapsed into a tangle of limbs, sweat, and shaky breaths.

Azzi pulled me into her chest, kissing my forehead.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Even when I’m mad. Even when I’m hurt. It never stopped.”

“I love you too,” I croaked.

Paige curled up behind me, her hand on my stomach, stroking softly.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again.

She kissed my shoulder. “We know. We’re sorry too.”

I turned my head, meeting both their eyes. “No more ghosts. No more doubts. You two are everything.”

They smiled, tired and soft.

Azzi whispered, “Forever?”

“Forever.”

And as I drifted off, cocooned between the two women I loved, I felt whole again.

Unbreakable. Ours.

The next morning, sunlight bled in through the blinds, soft and golden, warm across my bare shoulder.

I was the first to wake up, which rarely happened—Paige was usually up before the rest of us, sneaking into the kitchen for coffee and shooting half-asleep selfies to her private story.

But this morning, she was still curled around me, shirtless, warm, one arm tucked under my neck and the other flopped over my waist like I was her emotional support plushie.

Azzi was on the other side of me, hair sticking to her cheek, lips slightly parted in that precious way she only slept when she felt safe.

She had one leg draped over mine and her hand resting low on my stomach, fingers twitching every now and then.

They were wrapped around me like I was gravity. Like if they let go, the world might tilt sideways.

And God, I’d never felt so loved.

I shifted a little, just enough to adjust my neck, and Paige let out a small groan behind me.

“Don’t move,” she mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

“I was trying to stop my arm from falling off,” I whispered.

She nuzzled into my shoulder. “Let it fall. Don’t care. Wanna stay here.”

I smiled. “You’re clingy in the mornings.”

Azzi stretched behind me with a soft hum, then kissed my temple.

“You’re warm,” she murmured. “Like a little space heater.”

“Hot girls run hot,” I teased.

Azzi chuckled. “Clearly. You nearly set the sheets on fire last night.”

I groaned and hid my face in Paige’s chest. “Okay, too soon.”

Paige laughed sleepily and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re lucky we’re obsessed with you.”

I peeked up at her. “Still?”

She blinked down at me. “Always.”

Azzi gently turned my face to kiss my cheek, then whispered, “Even when we mess up. Even when you do. We figure it out.”

I melted between them like honey left in the sun.

We stayed in bed way too long—sheets tangled, limbs wrapped, kisses traded lazily between all three of us.

At one point, Paige got up to pee and came back with a tray of water bottles and fruit snacks.

“This is what champions eat,” she declared, tossing two bags of Scooby-Doo gummies on the bed.

Azzi sat up, rubbing her eyes. “You brought exactly two fruit snacks and didn’t think we’d fight over Scooby?”

“There’s like five packs in there—” Paige started.

Azzi immediately snagged the pack with the blue Scooby gummies and tossed it to me. “She gets the best one. She earned it.”

I beamed. “Finally, justice.”

Paige rolled her eyes and collapsed next to me again. “Y’all are lucky I’m obsessed.”

“You keep saying that,” I teased, “but I don’t see a ring.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Careful. Paige has a Pinterest board.”

“Lies,” Paige muttered, blushing.

“Really?” I grinned, climbing onto her lap. “Am I on it?”

“You might be the whole thing.”

My heart fluttered. “Then I guess I’m lucky too.”

Eventually, we got up—Azzi in one of my oversized shirts, Paige in boxers and mismatched socks, me in Paige’s old UConn hoodie and nothing else.

They kept brushing against me—Azzi with passing back hugs while I poured coffee, Paige tapping her fingers against my lower back when she reached past me for the peanut butter.

At one point, Paige caught me leaning against the counter, eyes still sleepy, and she pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“You look soft today,” she said.

“I feel soft,” I mumbled.

Azzi sat on the counter, sipping her oat milk latte. “That’s ‘cause you’re safe now.”

The words hit me deeper than I expected.

Because I was safe. With them.

And even after the hurt, the silence, the pain of saying the wrong name—they still chose me.

Still worshipped me.

Still loved me.

After breakfast, Paige pulled me onto the couch and laid with her head in my lap while Azzi curled up on the other side and threw a blanket over all of us.

We didn’t talk much. Just let the comfort settle.

I threaded my fingers through Paige’s hair while Azzi rubbed slow circles on my thigh.

At one point, Paige murmured, “I know it was an accident.”

I blinked down at her. “Huh?”

“That night. What you said. I know you didn’t mean to.”

Azzi nodded softly. “We were just scared.”

“I know,” I said, voice cracking. “And I hated that I made you feel like that.”

Paige reached up and pulled my hand down to kiss my knuckles.

“You didn’t lose us,” she whispered. “You never will.”

Azzi added, “Even when we sulk, we’re still yours.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You promise?”

“On everything,” Paige said.

“Always,” Azzi echoed.

We stayed there for hours—napping, talking, watching dumb videos on Azzi’s phone.

There was no more tension, no lingering anger.

Just the warmth of love that had bent but didn’t break.

They took turns kissing me until I couldn’t stop smiling.

“I don’t deserve you,” I whispered once, half-asleep.

“Yes, you do,” Paige said firmly, pulling the blanket higher. “You deserve everything.”

Azzi snuggled in closer. “And we’re gonna keep giving it.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[sweet-as-an-angel]

What about Graves with a breeding kink or if reader is pregnant? I know you don't rlly write for him a lot, but I love when you do.

Idk if you'll feel like answering this, but ily and ur fics regardless 🫶

Graves w/ a Breeding Kink

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Breeding Kink, Possessive Graves, Housewifery, Pet Names,Profanity,  Fem! Reader.

He lusts for the American dream; the very foundations upon which he continues his existence. To have – to create – a family. And he can think of nobody better to achieve that dream with than you.

He’s on top of you, arms either side of your head, gasping, panting, bent over you and exerting every inch of himself as if you were crafted of some divine substance with tools far beyond human comprehension.

He’s been at it for hours now. You see it in the way his hair sticks together, slicked with sweat as it drips down his face, hear it in the thick, wet sound of his cock slipping back into you with every thrust of his hips, feel it in the growing ache in your abdomen as he fills you again, letting out a strangled, short-breathed moan as your body squeezes around him. He doesn’t let up, though.

He pushes through, gripping you by your hips and pulling you closer onto him. You gasp, back arching as he hits a spot deeper within you. An area he’d been abusing all night, 

“B’such a good little mommy for me,” he whispers into your hair, just above your ear. He presses a lopsided kiss there, lip wet from the many times he’s drawn it into his mouth with his teeth.

“Y’want that, Sweetness?” he pants, looking into your eyes with his half-lidded pair. “Want me to–” – he grunts – “want me t’make you mine from the inside out?”

You can’t get the words out fast enough; garbled and twisted, they come out tangled and in knots, as if tripping over each other to reach a unified ‘yes’. With the little energy you have left, you nod with all the enthusiasm your half-gone mind can conjure. Graves smiles, giving a brief, airy laugh. “Knew I’d made the right choice pickin’ you. Knew you’d make a good housewife for me someday,”

You clench. Graves gasps. He brings warm lips to yours as if to press his love there, as if you are to now impart upon him that which he has longed for for years unnumbered; a family.

He angles deeper, presses his throbbing, pulsating instrument into the most inconspicuous part of you that has you arching your back and letting out an almost-scream. Your knees press into the sides of Graves’ waist, tightening around him just as your cunt did. He yells, uses every ounce of his strength to not collapse on top of you, the tip of his nose against yours. Something in him tightens, snaps, and he floods you for the umpteenth time, pressing himself deeper, making sure his seed takes.

Not that you can see for your eyes being screwed shut, but Graves gazes upon you as you bask in the afterglow of his labour, feeling a smile creeping up onto his cheeks as he takes in your every feature. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s seen them, in one form or another, he never stops being fascinated – enamoured – by them. By you.

When you come down, come to, you give Phillip a smile he knows all too well – one that preludes your telling him you’re ready for bed. He all but pounces on you as you turn onto your side, taking you by the wrists and pressing them into the pillow beneath you. A dark glimmer passes through his eye, and he gives you a hazy, slithering smirk, followed by his southern drawl.

“Oh no, Princess,” he says, taking your chin between his fingers.

“We’re not done ‘til I say we’re done.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Their little sunshine p.1

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Alex x reader x Lily, I have planned more parts for this story so I hope you enjoy it :)

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The first time Alex Albon met his new physio, he nearly did a double take.

The Williams garage wasn’t exactly the most colorful place—navy blues, whites, and the occasional streak of sponsor red dominated the scene. But she stood out like a soft splash of pink against it all. It wasn’t just her outfit, though her pastel compression top and perfectly coordinated sneakers were a stark contrast to the usual sports gear around. It was the way she carried herself—bubbly, warm, and utterly radiant.

"Alex!" she beamed, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as he approached. "I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you—well, not like that, obviously, but you know what I mean!"

Alex chuckled, a little taken aback by the sheer enthusiasm radiating from her. "I think so?"

She grinned, unfazed. "Don’t worry, you’ll love our sessions. I promise I’ll take the best care of you!"

He wasn’t sure what to expect, but as soon as they started, he realized she wasn’t just all sunshine and chatter—she was good. Her hands were gentle yet firm, her instructions clear but never harsh. And more than anything, there was something about her presence that made it easy to relax.

For the first time in a while, physio sessions didn’t feel like just another part of the job. They felt… comfortable.

It didn’t take long for Alex to start looking forward to their sessions. She had this way of making even the most mundane exercises fun—humming pop songs under her breath, sticking tiny smiley face stickers on his water bottle when she thought he wasn’t hydrating enough, or dramatically gasping when she found a particularly tight knot in his shoulders.

"You’re so tense, Alex!" she scolded one day, hands pressing firmly into his back. "It’s like you’re storing all the stress of the paddock in here."

"Maybe I am," he joked, eyes fluttering shut as her thumbs worked out a particularly stubborn knot. "You’re a miracle worker, though."

She preened at the compliment. "I am pretty great, huh?"

Even Carlos, ever the skeptic, eventually gave in.

"You’re actually magic," he muttered one day, rolling his shoulder after a session. "I don’t know what you did, but I feel like I just slept for a week."

She beamed. "Told you I’d take care of you!"

For Alex, though, it wasn’t just the skill—it was her. She was the kind of person who lit up every room she walked into, and as the season dragged on, with its relentless travel and stress, she became a safe space.

One particularly rough weekend, after a frustrating qualifying session, Alex found himself in the physio room earlier than usual. She glanced up from where she was organizing massage oils, instantly noticing the tension in his posture.

"Tough one?" she asked gently.

Alex exhaled. "Yeah."

She didn’t push him to talk about it, didn’t try to force positivity onto him. Instead, she simply patted the massage table. "C’mon, lie down. Let’s get some of that stress out of your system."

As her hands worked through the knots in his shoulders, he felt himself slowly relax.

"You know," she mused, voice light but comforting, "you’re allowed to have bad days, Alex."

He hummed, eyes closed. "I know."

"Good," she said simply. And somehow, it was exactly what he needed to hear.

It wasn’t until a few races into the season that Alex finally introduced her to Lily.

"You have to meet my girlfriend," he told her one afternoon, stretching out on the massage table as she worked on his legs. "I swear, you two would get along so well."

She blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Lily," he clarified, sitting up from the massage table. "You two would get along so well."

Her lips curled into a smile. "That’s a bold claim."

"I’m serious!" Alex insisted. "You’re both, like… nice. And you make people feel comfortable. And you have this whole cute aesthetic thing going on."

She giggled. "Are you calling me cute, Albon?"

He rolled his eyes. "Just meet her, okay?"

The opportunity came during the Monaco race weekend. After a long, exhausting day in the paddock, Alex invited her to dinner with him and Lily.

She arrived in a soft pink sundress, her hair tied up with a matching ribbon. And the moment she stepped into the restaurant, she was met with a bright, familiar grin.

"Oh my God, you’re adorable!"

The greeting came from none other than Lily. He, stood up from his seat to introduce you to each other but before he could even respond, you had already reached out to hug her.

"You’re so pretty!" you gushed.

"You’re so pretty!" she shot back, already feeling like they had known each other for years.

Alex, watching them with an amused smile, shook his head. "I knew this would happen."

It was instant. Over dinner, they fell into an easy rhythm—talking about everything from skincare to travel to their shared love for making fun of Alex.

"So, how’s he as a physio client?" Lily asked, smirking slightly.

"Oh, such a baby when it comes to deep tissue massages," she teased, making Alex groan.

Lily laughed. "That checks out."

By the end of the night, they had already exchanged numbers, planning a shopping trip for the next free weekend.

And just like that, she wasn’t just Alex’s physio anymore—she was part of their little circle.

A ray of sunshine that fit right in.

Part 2

[starsinthesky5]

hi archhhh 💘 i have a yail blurb ask for you (?)

what is it like when joe and singer!reader get to have an off day together? do they sleep in, have a morning routine? are they catching up on a favorite t.v. show or going for a peaceful drive? i’d love to hear anything and everything about them just being 🥹 existing as normal people outside of their exciting and hectic careers!

off-days || joe burrow x reader

description: ask sums it up! a blurb all about their off days and normal couple activities :)

a/n: sorry it took me so long to finish is chai <3 ilysm and ty for this ask! i was working on this here and there for like 2 weeks but here we gooo

also for clarification, the YAIL fics are in second person whereas the ask blurbs are in third person but, since i started writing YAIL in second person, these ask blurbs will jump around with the pronoun usage :) think of it as me describing you and joe, or if you want, her and joe. up to you <33

word count: 6.8k

series: you are in love

warnings: language, suggestive references (?)

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

off days are non-negotiable for them.  

with both of their careers being so demanding and intense, it’s easy to get caught up in the relentless grind. before they met, neither of them really knew how to slow down. relaxation and leisure were afterthoughts—things they’d get to someday, when the work was done.  

but the work was never done.  

their shared mindset had always been the same: if you want to be the best, you keep pushing—no matter what. winners don’t rest. (if they ever got matching tattoos, they’d definitely get that inked on their wrists).

and to some extent, that was true. but the reality was, pushing past their limits came at a cost. burnout. anxiety. stress. and in joe’s case—injuries. the relentless pursuit of greatness took its toll, and when all the blood, sweat, and tears didn’t pay off, it stung even worse. for him, it was the agony of losing—of seeing the bigger picture blur instead of sharpen. for her, it was the crushing weight of feeling unseen, of pouring her soul into her music only for it to feel like it wasn’t resonating the way she needed it to.  

and when those moments hit, when the sacrifices felt too great and the setbacks too heavy, the lack of rest caught up with them.  

they constantly talked about how tiring it all was, how much they loved what they did, but the work that went into it was so draining to the point where sometimes they questioned if it was all worth it. after that conversation, they had a realization that they needed to take a minute to breathe. they helped each other understand that none of it would be worth it if they weren’t mentally and physically at ease. that you can’t be the best version of yourself if you’re not feeling your best. 

so after this, they slowly learned to take the off days seriously—not as wasted time, but as necessary time.

time to recharge. time to just be.

and there were plenty of ways for them to do so…

baking & cooking

they love to bake together! she loves, and i mean loves to bake joe a pumpkin roulade with ginger buttercream. it’s one of her specialties as well. anyone lucky enough to get a taste of this dessert, made from her by scratch, would remember the taste for days to come. she’d bring this dessert to thanksgivings, friend gatherings, and even for the guys in the lockeroom. they would ask, and ask, and ask joe when the next time she’d bring some around was. that’s just how good it was. usually it was her victory monday treat for them, but she squeezed in some for birthdays and well…whenever her phone would start blowing up with messages from his friends.

fortunately for joe, he never had to wait for his favorite dessert. he got to have her…i mean it, the dessert, whenever he wanted ;) she loved to see that satisfied grin on his face after the first bite, the first taste of his childhood in dessert form. 

when they bake together, they stick to the classics and make cookies. simple enough for joey’s mind and delicious enough to satisfy their sweet cravings. they’d get all cozy in their most lazy-sunday clothes, standing at the counter together, teasing and laughing while they prepared a variety of cookies from oatmeal (her fav) to chai cookies (his fav). 

they’d steal bites of cookie dough when the other wasn’t looking, fingers sneaking into the mixing bowl, only to be caught red-handed and met with playful swats and breathless giggles. joe always pretended to be innocent, flashing that boyish grin of his, but she knew better—especially when he would wrap his arms around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder, murmuring, “just one more taste, baby,” before stealing another bite straight from her fingers.

it wasn’t just about the baking, though. it was the way he lingered beside her, hands brushing, bodies melding together effortlessly in their homey kitchen. it was the way he’d sneak a kiss when she was distracted measuring flour, or how he’d take over stirring the dough just so he could slide in closer, feeling the warmth of her body against his.

in moments like these, their stardom, their fame, their reputations, it would all melt away. here, in this kitchen, they were just an ordinary couple spending quality time together. just two hopelessly in love individuals being sweeter than the cookies they loaded inside the oven. 

when the cookies were finally out of the oven, they’d curl up on the couch, plates balanced on their laps, stealing bites and feeding each other between soft murmurs of “these are so good,” and “i think we outdid ourselves this time,”. and if joe happened to catch a crumb at the corner of her mouth? well, he’d take his time brushing it away—with his thumb, his lips, or a slow, lingering kiss, because he could never resist an excuse to taste her.

and it wasn’t always just cookies or pumpkin roulade. they’d bake, or attempt to bake anything their hearts desired. cakes, pies, muffins, danishes, tarts, you name it. just put them on the great british baking show already. although, i think joe would flip out if they hated on the way he would sometimes ignore how you would need to prep the dry and wet ingredients separately. to him, it didn’t matter because it was all getting mixed together anyway, why should he waste time making sure the flour and sugar mixture was “powdery enough”. 

as for cooking, they try to make a few new dishes each off-day together. usually a different cuisine too. last week was indian, and they made this delicious butter chicken with homemade garlic naan and tandoori chicken tikka kabobs. when joe sent a photo to his chef, he couldn’t believe that the same man who burnt french toast the first time he made it—had made this impressive meal without any professional help. but what Joe didn’t tell him, is that she led most of the cooking. she usually always did. he’s way too scared that he’ll mess the food up, burn the house down, or somehow give her food poisoning. which is why he lets his lovely girlfriend order him around, telling him what to marinate, what to chop, what to stir, what not to add. 

and you know what? he’s completely fine with that. he’ll follow her around like a lost puppy to the ends of the earth if he needed to. 

—

as they work on plating their scrumptious meal, joe nudged her playfully with his hip, nearly making her drop the serving spoon. “you’re getting cocky in the kitchen, burrow,” she teases, setting the dish down and turning to him with a smirk.

he grins, reaching for her waist to tug her in closer. “i think i deserve a little credit, don’t you? i only needed your help, like, ten times tonight,”.

“more like twenty,” she corrects, giggling when he dramatically clutches his chest like she just stabbed him.

“okay, rude,” he says, leaning in so their noses nearly brush. “you weren’t complaining when i was kneading that dough, though. seemed like you liked watching me work with my hands.”

cocky joe. classic. 

he wasn’t lying to be honest. no matter what he was doing with his hands—gripping a football, kneading dough, kneading her bare skin—she was transfixed by the dexterity and skills of arguably one of his best features. 

her breath hitches slightly, but she recovers from the reaction quickly, narrowing her eyes as she pushes him away with a laugh. “oh, shut up and sit down,”.

he smirks, letting her shove him back but not before he catches her wrist, his fingers curling around it just enough to make her breath hitch again. “make me,” he challenges, voice filled with dangerous intent. 

she rolls her eyes, gently yanking her hand away, but the heat lingering on her skin betrays her. “god, you’re so impossible, joe,”.  

“and yet, you love me sooo,” he quips, finally settling into the barstool, looking way too satisfied with himself.

she turns back to the counter, reaching for the rolling pin, but not before shooting him a playful glare. “debatable.”.

joe leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter, eyes locked on her with that same smug expression. “mm. you weren’t saying that last night when you were nibbling on my earlobe, begging me to let you…you know,”.

her hands freeze mid-motion, fingers tightening around the handle as heat rushes to her cheeks. she looks like a deer caught in headlights, and the way his lips twitch into a slow, knowing smirk only makes it worse. joe and his cheeky, unfiltered mouth—always throwing out shameless comments like they were casual conversation, leaving her flustered no matter how many times he did it.

she exhales sharply, composing herself as she shakes her head with a laugh. “i really should’ve put more salt in your cookies,”.

his grin widens, dimples deepening as he tilts his head. “you wouldn’t dare,”.

“oh, I would,” she counters, pointing the rolling pin at him in warning.

Joe leans in a little closer, voice dropping to a murmur. “but then I wouldn’t be as sweet when I kiss you later,”.

she gasps, whipping the rolling pin at him—not to hit, just to scare—but he laughs, dodging it easily, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“i swear to god, joe—,”.

“you love me,” he interrupts, still grinning like he’s won something.

and damn, she did. 

t.v.

when they’re not baking or cooking, you can almost always find them curled up on the couch, wrapped in blankets, watching the trashiest reality tv shows they can find. at first, joe showed resistance to the world of reality tv, claiming how this was the reason as to why the population of america was slowly becoming stupider and stupider. but then one night, she was watching her favorite guilty pleasure of all time while he was sitting at the dining table working on some film stuff, only half-listening as she gasped, shouted at the screen, and occasionally muttered insults under her breath. love island usa, season 6 was the reason for her outbursts, and as much as joe tried to ignore it, he found himself glancing up more and more often, trying to piece together what the hell was going on.

then came the moment that changed everything.

“are you kidding me?” she shrieked, nearly launching off the couch. “liv chose rob, and now leah’s single? she totally swooped in on her man like it’s been two seconds! what the actual fuck is happening and why is nobody doing anything!”.

joe blinked, his pen hovering over his notes. “wait…what?”.

“oh, now you care?” she shot back, spinning to face him with fire in her eyes. “no, no, no. go back to your very important football things, joe. i wouldn’t want to distract you with reality tv garbage,”.

he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before giving in. “okay, just explain it real quick. i wanna know why you’re mad,”.

and that was it. the beginning of the end.

because the second she started ranting—breaking down the drama, the betrayals, the absolute clownery of it all—joe was hooked. he acted like he was just listening to humor her, but by the next episode, he was sitting next to her. by the episode after that, he was throwing in his own commentary.

now? well, now he’s the one pausing the TV so he can go on a rant about how dumb these guys are. “babe, there is no way she actually likes him,” joe scoffs, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth as they watch the latest episode. “she’s playing the game,”.

she hums in agreement, snuggling closer into his side. “oh, for sure. you saw the way she was looking at miguel before she got picked in the recoupling. she’s gonna dump kendall the second they get out of there. i see right through you, nicole,”. 

joe shakes his head, eyes glued to the screen as one of the guys delivers another overly rehearsed speech. “man, how do people fall for this? it’s so obvious that they’re all just horny as fuck, are physically attracted to the person they think is the hottest, but ultimately stay with the ‘safe pick’ just in hopes that they’d make it to the end because america likes a power couple and not the couple who eye fuck each other all day,”.

she smirks, glancing up at him. “you say that but you’re the guy who’s been yelling at the tv for the past hour,”.

he glares at her playfully before stealing some of her popcorn. “whatever. i’m just matching your energy. this is still stupid as hell but i’m invested,”.

“mhm, sure,” she teases, nudging him. “you literally gasped when andrea walked in as the bombshell. you loveeeee the drama. invested? more like ass glued to couch every night for an hour and a half,”.

joe groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “it was shocking, don’t lie. she was all up on rob right infront of leah. like leah? c’mon babe. and he was enjoying every second of it. what a dick,”.

“exactly! and don’t even get me started on the casa amor mess that they started doing a few seasons ago. it’s about to be so fucking messy this time around,” she adds, eyes widening. “you know those boys are gonna be on damage control the second they walk back into the villa with there wannabe insta models hanging off their arms,”.

joe lets out a long sigh, shaking his head. “man, the producers are evil for the shit they spew on these kinds of shows. like this is probably so damaging for the contestants,”.

she giggles, reaching for the remote to start the next episode. “i know, but just admit…you love the drama,”.

joe leans back against the couch, wrapping an arm around her. “...fine. but if we’re watching this, you better not complain when i make you watch game of thrones later,”. 

when joe found out she had never seen game of thrones, he looked at her like she had personally offended him. it was so bad. he literally had to go get some fresh air on the patio after her confession. 

god, he’s such a drama queen. 

“you’re joking,” he said, blinking at her in disbelief like she had just confessed to a murder.

she shook her head, trying not to laugh at how dramatic he was being. “nope. never seen a single episode,”.

joe ran a hand through his hair, looking absolutely distraught. “baby, this is the best piece of visual media ever created. like, ever,”.

“that’s what you said about the dark knight,” she teased.

“okay, well, that’s also true,” he said, still reeling from the information. “but game of thrones is different. it’s a cultural phenomenon. i…i can’t believe you’ve never watched it,”.

so, naturally, he made her start from season one, episode one, and they spent the next few weeks binging the entire series. and, to joe’s absolute delight, she lowkey loved it. sure, she complained about the amount of war scenes, and she definitely wasn’t thrilled about how the last season turned out, “they did daenerys so dirty,” she huffed. 

but overall? 

she was obsessed. 

and she hated it.

of course, she got her revenge when she caught joe secretly enjoying gilmore girls with her. at first, he acted like he wasn’t paying attention. he’d sit on the couch, scrolling through his phone while she had it on in the background. but then, slowly, he started asking questions.

“so, who’s this jess guy? why does he look so smug?”.

“wait, why is everyone mad at rory? what did she do?”.

“oh, this dean dude suckkkkks. i mean, why the fuck is he getting mad at her for not being able to say ‘i love you’? she should break up with him. if she can’t say it that means she doesn’t feel it,”.

before she knew it, joe was fully invested in gilmore girls just as she was with game of thrones. he had opinions on all the characters and it was so freaking adorable because this was so not his domain. “emily gilmore is ruthless, but lowkey iconic,” he admitted once. and he definitely had a soft spot for luke. i mean, who doesn’t? “luke is so misunderstood. him and lorelei make perfect sense, i need them to get together like…now,” he’d ramble, and the sight of him so immersed in something she enjoyed made her heart skip a beat. 

aside from their individual guilty pleasures, they had plenty of shows they loved watching together—the office, spongebob (which joe swore was peak comedy), true crime documentaries, stranger things, and currently, the white lotus and suits.

oh, and don’t even get them started on their marvel movie marathons. those were mandatory. no excuses, if, ands, or buts. although, they were close to being on the chopping block because one time, he caught her looking at steve a little too…lovingly. 

“that’s america’s ass joe. don’t take this from me,” she waved off while turning her attention back to her first love while her true love looked at her like a neglected piece of candy at the bottom of the halloween candy bucket.

but ultimately, you’d find them both glued to the screen, no matter how many times they’d watched the same superhero movie over and over again or which secret childhood crush of hers was on the screen. their shared love for marvel was one of the first things they bonded on the second time they hung out—dinner in soho post july 4th celebration. 

the fact that she had this hidden nerd side to her was one of the most attractive things to him. she came off as so polished, rich but genuine, and diamond-like. but inside? a total nerd with a soft heart that geeked out over everything and anything imaginable. 

it was adorable. 

peaceful drives

some of their best off-day moments happened on those peaceful evening drives.

sometimes, there wasn’t a destination. just them, the hum of the engine, and the open road stretching ahead. she’d have her feet propped up on the dash, joe’s hand resting on her thigh as he absentmindedly traced circles on her skin. the windows were cracked just enough to let the breeze in, and the playlist they curated together—filled with everything from 90s r&b to soft love songs—played quietly in the background.

other nights, they had a mission. ice cream. there was this little spot, tucked away on the outskirts of town, that they swore had the best homemade flavors. she’d always get something fruity, while joe stuck with classic dairy free chocolate chip cookie dough. they’d sit in the car, parked under the glow of a streetlamp, sharing bites and laughing over whatever ridiculous thing came to their minds. 

but her favorite drives? the ones where joe took her to his quiet place. the lookout point. a secluded clearing, just outside the city, where the sky stretched wide and the stars shone brighter than anywhere else.

“i used to come here all the time when i needed to clear my head,” he admitted one night, leaning against the hood of the car with her tucked against his side.

she looked up at him, then at the endless sky above them, the stars mirroring the look in his eyes. “and now?”.

he glanced down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “now, i just bring you here when i want a perfect night,”.

because this wasn’t just any place to him anymore. it was their place. the spot where he first told her about his dreams, where he let her see the parts of him he kept hidden from the world. and most importantly, the place where he asked her to be his girlfriend. “i knew that night,” he murmured, tracing his fingers along her wrist. “knew that i wanted you to be mine. couldn’t imagine doing life with anyone else,”.

she smiled, tightening her hold around him. “good thing i said yes, huh?”.

he laughed softly, pressing his lips against her temple. “best decision you ever made, if i do say so myself,”.

they’d lay back against the grass, her head leaning against his side. both of them staring up at the stars, thinking about how they found each other in the midst of the chaos of the universe. like two stars in the extensive, endless galaxy, they had been pulled toward each other by some unseen force, their paths crossing at the perfect moment.

the stars above them seemed to shimmer a little brighter, as if reflecting the spark between them. the world had felt so large, so overwhelming at times, but here, in this quiet moment, everything made sense.

they were like constellations that had been drawn together by fate, their bond a connection written in the stars. in the grand scheme of everything, they were just two tiny dots in the cosmos, but together, they created something beautiful—something infinite, like the galaxy that stretched above them, full of mysteries and promises yet to unfold.

that place used to be his safe space, but now, his safe space had become her. the feeling he would get when he’d come back there, with her, made him realize he’d truly won at life, he was right where he needed to be.

everything he had ever wanted was right there beside him, under the stars.

weed (duh)— not in season though

sometimes, after a long week, they just needed something to take the edge off. nothing crazy—just a little something to help them unwind. joe, of course, looked ridiculously good while smoking, the way his fingers held the joint so effortlessly, the slow drag, the way his lips wrapped around it. she swore he did it on purpose, especially when he’d exhale, head tilted back, a lazy smirk playing on his lips when he caught her staring.

“you like watching me, don’t you?” he teased one night, passing it to her.

she rolled her eyes but took a second too long to respond, too distracted by how unfairly attractive he looked. “shut up,” she muttered, waving him off.

but she wasn’t really a smoker. never had been. which is why joe—because he was thoughtful like that—went out of his way to find the best fruity edibles money could buy. something just strong enough to relax her but not enough to make her feel like she was floating off the earth.

“try this one, baby,” he had said, holding up a little pink gummy. “it won’t hit you too hard, i promise,”.

and he was right. twenty minutes later, she was curled up on his lap, giggling at absolutely nothing while joe ran his fingers up and down her back, just watching her with that soft, adoring look. “i love you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. 

she snorted, her giggles bubbling up like a fountain. “you’re like…really good at making me feel like a queen,” she murmured, her words dragging out a little more than usual. her fingers traced random patterns on his chest, completely losing track of where she started and where she ended. 

joe, his head tilted back against the couch, let out a chuckle, his voice slow and thick with the high. “nah, baby, you make me feel like.. like a king,” he grinned lazily, reaching for another gummy, his hand moving in exaggerated slowness. “like...a king who has the most beautiful queen, ya know?”.

“oh my god," she giggled again, her eyes going wide. "did you just…did you just say you’re a king?" she leaned in, squinting at him like she was solving a mystery. “you’re, like, a royal or something?”.

joe just stared at her for a beat, lips twitching as if he was deep in thought. “yep. royal...that’s me,” he nodded seriously, his tone way too dramatic for the situation. “king joe. ruler of the couch, prince of snack foods, master of…this.” he gestured wildly around them, making everything sound so important.

she laughed so hard she almost fell off his lap, clutching onto him for support. “oh my god, we’re so high,” she gasped between giggles, “this is amazingg,”.

joe snickered, his hand lightly rubbing her back, his touch lazy but somehow still rhythmic. “i know, right? we’re, like...we’re so high, the stars probably think we’re floating with them,” he paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “are the stars high? do they even know how high they are? like, are they high?”.

“oh my god," she breathed, eyes wide, "i’m gonna have to go to space and ask them. they probably have, like, a whole planet of edibles.” she grinned, completely lost in the idea. “i bet they smoke meteors,”.

“meteors!” joe echoed, his voice a little too loud, his excitement making him sit up straighter. “that’s it! that’s what we need—meteor weed. it’s out of this world.” he paused, his hand on her cheek, his eyes soft and amused. “you’re so cute when you’re high, you know that? i wanna put you in my pocket and carry you around everywhere,”.

she sighed, practically melting into him. “shut up, i’m already in your lap,” she mumbled, but it was affectionate, a goofy smile spreading across her face. “you’re gonna have to get a bigger pocket to fit me, though,”.

“don’t worry,” joe smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to her lips, “i got the biggest pocket,”.

gardening

gardening became their thing—well, mostly hers, but joe was more than happy to help. he liked watching her work, liked how focused she got when she was tending to her plants, her hands in the dirt, her hair tied back, a little smudge of soil on her cheek that he never told her about because he thought it was cute.

his house, his backyard—it had never looked this full of life. all her doing. once upon a time, it was just a plain, well-kept lawn, but now? now there were raised beds overflowing with fresh herbs and vegetables, flower beds bursting with color, vines creeping up the frame she insisted they build together.

“it just needed some love, joe,” she had said, planting a kiss to his cheek before turning back to her garden, her little paradise.

and sure, he might not have been the most knowledgeable gardener, but he did have one favorite plant.

“ms. pepper pot,” he had proudly declared one afternoon, pointing to a thriving bell pepper plant. “because she gave us nine orange bell peppers, and, well—,”.

she nearly fell over laughing. “joe, you did not just name our plant ms. pepper pot,”.

“i absolutely did.” he crossed his arms, nodding in satisfaction. “she’s special. she deserves a name,”.

and just like that, ms. pepper pot became a staple in their little backyard garden, and joe—whether he’d admit it or not—got a little too invested in her progress. 

he even started taking photos of her. like i’m talking week by week progress to make sure there was nothing wrong with her growth because he was just so damn proud of those juicy peppers. he’d even be out there alone sometimes, admiring all the work they’d put into making this house feel like a home. 

joe also surprisingly found solace in being out there with the plants. something about being with nature, away from the screens and the chaos inside, was healing for him. like he could just exist out there with the shrubs and greenery. 

be one with the plants, as he liked to say.

sometimes, joe would even go as far as making her a custom bouquet with flowers from their garden. when he had the time, he looked up a beginners tutorial on how to arrange one, ordered all the necessary things to properly cut and trim the flowers, and got down to business. 

and to both of their surprise, joe was actually pretty good at it. 

it was those damn hands. 

their versions of nights in on off days

self-care nights were her specialty.

she took them seriously, too—candles lit, soothing music playing, and a whole lineup of skincare products ready to go. joe had been skeptical the first time, grumbling about how he didn’t need a face mask, but she knew how to wear him down.

“just trust me, babe,” she had said sweetly, already smoothing the cool mask over his skin before he could protest further.

now, it was routine. she’d get him all cute—plush headband to keep his hair out of his face, a fluffy robe that he pretended to hate but secretly loved, even a little eyebrow shaping because “joe, just let me clean them up a little, you’ll thank me later,”.

“this is embarrassing,” he muttered once, sitting there with a clay mask drying on his face.

“this is self-care,” she corrected, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “and you love it,”.

he just huffed—but he didn’t deny it.

he didn’t deny it because, deep down, he knew she was right. even if he acted like it was the most ridiculous thing ever, he secretly loved these nights—loved the way she took care of him, the way she made him feel pampered in a way he never expected. and the little things, like the plush headband and the robe, made him feel...comforted.

“yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, but his lips twitched into a small smile. “i don’t know how you talk me into this every time,”.

oh, please. he’d once again, follow her around like a lost puppy till the end of time if needed. he’s never saying no to her and that signature pouty face she’d sport around him. she doesn’t need to talk him into shit. 

“it’s a gift,” she teased, grinning as she applied a layer of lotion to his hands with the utmost precision. “you’re lucky. most guys don’t get this kind of treatment,”.

he raised an eyebrow. “you mean torture,” he quipped, but the softness in his voice gave him away. he was more than content, especially when she moved closer to adjust the robe around his shoulders, brushing her fingers along his arm like it was second nature.

“whatever you say, baby,” she smiled, smoothing his brow with a little more care. “we’re just getting started,”.

he sighed dramatically, his head falling back against the bed frame, clay mask cracking a little in the process. “at least this part’s not too bad,” he muttered, but his eyes were half-closed in relaxation. “it’s actually…kinda nice. i’ll admit it,”.

she smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. “see? i told you you’d love it,” she teased lightly, brushing some more lotion but over his neck now. “next time, no complaints. just let me do my thing,”.

“yeah, yeah,” he mumbled again, but there was a softness in his tone now, a warmth in the way he looked at her. “you’re lucky you make it so...worth it,”. she laughed, content in the quiet, in the way they fit together perfectly, even in moments like this. 

game nights were his specialty.

the moment they settled into their usual gaming spot, it was on. the couch, covered with snacks and blankets, became their battleground. joe was all in, the competitive fire in his eyes burning brighter with every game they played—whether it was mario kart, smash bros, or fifa. any game where he could wipe the floor with her? he was all about it.

“baby, do you ever let me win?” she groaned one night, tossing her controller aside dramatically after another crushing loss in smash bros.

joe leaned back on the couch, smirking with that way too confident look on his face. “Nope,” he said smugly, like he’d been born with a controller in his hand. “you’ve gotta earn it,”.

"wow," she huffed, folding her arms over her chest. “what happened to happy wife, happy life?”.

“we’re not married,” he reminded her, nudging her thigh with his foot, making her flinch. “but you know, close enough,”. she shot him a playful glare, eyes narrowed in mock offense. “small details. you treat me like wifey,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

his grin widened, and before she could react, he pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist, making her feel that familiar warmth of his embrace. “fine,” he said. “one free win next game just to make wifey feel better about her skills,”.

“oh, how generous,” she teased back, looping her arms around his neck, their faces just inches apart. “guess i’ll just have to practice more to beat you fair and square, huh?”.

his smirk deepened, a mischievous glint in his eye. “i’d like to see you try,” he said, his voice playful and a little taunting. he nudged the controller closer to her hands, his fingers brushing hers as he did. “but good luck with that, babe,”.

she laughed, the tension between them crackling with flirtation as she settled back in his lap, her gaze locked on the screen. “oh, it’s on now,” she said, the determination in her voice completely at odds with how comfortable she was nestled in his arms.

the game resumed, but their playful banter and his occasional teasing made every win and loss feel like it didn’t really matter. what mattered was that they were together—competitive, cute, and perfectly in sync in their little world.

morning routine tid bits

on their off-days, they take their time when they wake up. no alarms, set time to roll out of bed, or any early morning priorities to attend to. joe’s football body clock does cause his eye to flutter open around 6, but she quietly lulls him back to slumber if he tries to get up. also because she was not about to lose her human body pillow before 9 am. 

once they do wake up, they tend to cuddle in bed for at least 20-25 minutes. just time for lazy morning kisses, skin to skin time, giggling over the dreams they had during their sleep, the usual. 

they’d take turns freshening up in the bathroom, sometimes together when they felt extra clingy in the morning. joe was always the last one out, but it wasn’t because of his infamous superman curl—it was because of the skincare routine she had roped him into once they started dating.

at first, he’d grumbled, calling it “too much” and “a waste of time.” but she’d been so sweet about it, and over time, he couldn’t deny how good it made him feel. he’d become surprisingly dedicated, even if he still made fun of it in his own way.

“you know,” she’d tease from the bedroom, hearing the sounds of him in the bathroom, “you’re lucky you look cute with all that stuff on your face,”.

“i’m so happy you noticed, babe,” he’d call back sarcastically, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “this is my super secret routine for glowing skin. you should try it sometime,”.

“oh, i do try it,” she’d reply, laughing. “but your skin’s, like, way softer than mine now,”.

he’d roll his eyes in the mirror, even though she couldn’t see it, pretending to be annoyed but secretly pleased. “whatever, i’m just doing it for you. don’t get any ideas,”.

“too late,” she’d say, winking at herself in the full-body mirror diagonal from the bed.

when he finally emerged, his skin glowing, she’d grin at him. “well? am i seeing the benefits of this routine?”.

joe would lean against the doorframe, looking like he was pretending to be casual but secretly loving the attention. “yeah, yeah, you’re welcome,” he’d say, ruffling his hair. “i’m basically a skincare guru now,”.

“a very cute skincare guru,” she’d add, walking over and pressing a kiss to his cheek, her fingers lingering there just a moment longer than necessary. he’d smile, pretending to be indifferent but totally melting under her touch.

for breakfast, sometimes their chef was around, and sometimes he wasn’t. joe still stuck to his football diet on his off-days (unless it was off-season) so if his chef didn’t prepare something ahead of time, which abided to his nutrition and protein intake, then she would. or he would. or they both would. 

she lovvvveddd her toasted everything bagels with avocado & herb cream cheese, side of turkey bacon, and whatever smoothie joe had whipped up for her because he was an absolute pro at it. he made sure that she got her protein intake, either from the food or from the smoothie. her health was one of his biggest priorities and he’d do anything to make sure her mind and body were both right. 

his breakfasts were…quite large. i mean, he is a 6'4" football player after all. the spread would include eggs, turkey bacon, toast, sometimes pancakes if he was feeling extra hungry, and a massive bowl of fruit—he always made sure to add some green stuff in there, like spinach or avocado, because “gotta get my nutrients, babe,”.

she always found it adorable how seriously he took his food, especially in the mornings. he’d sit down at the table with that satisfied grin, eyeing his plate like it was a trophy he’d just earned.

“you know, most people don’t need this much food for breakfast,” she’d tease, leaning on the counter as she sipped her smoothie, watching him go to town on his third serving of scrambled eggs.

joe just grinned, wiping a bit of egg off his lip, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “it’s a necessity,” he’d say with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. “you’re lucky to be witnessing greatness at work.”

“greatness, huh?” she raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “looks more like gluttony to me,”.

he’d just laugh, shaking his head. “hey, you’re the one who bakes me cookies and pies. i’m just making sure i can fit in my uniform at practice and have enough weight on me to prevent damage,”.

she grinned, rolling her eyes. “yeah, well, maybe don’t eat like you’re training for a marathon. i still have to live with you,” she teased, pushing his plate toward him for the fifth time.

“hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” joe smirked, taking a bite of his avocado toast. “besides, i gotta keep my energy up to beat you in smash bros later,”.

“we’ll see about that,” she replied, already planning her revenge in their next game. but for now, she couldn’t help but smile at how he was so comfortable with himself—huge breakfast and all. it was just one of those little things that made him so him.

after breakfast and a little morning news recap—because they both hated being unaware of what was happening in the world around them—they’d head out for their morning walk around the neighborhood, sometimes even down by the river. 

joe would grab her hand as they walked, fingers intertwined with a natural ease, his long stride keeping them moving at a steady pace while she stayed close, content just to be in his presence. the mornings were still cool, the sun barely starting to break through the sky, and they’d chat about anything and everything—lighthearted conversations about what was on their minds, or sometimes just comfortable silence, the kind that made the world feel like it was just the two of them.

“you think the river’s any lower today?” she’d ask, peeking down at the flowing water as they passed the familiar path. the river had always been something she loved to check on during their walks, the way the water changed from day to day, shifting and moving with the weather.

joe would shrug, squeezing her hand gently. “probably,” he’d say, glancing over at her with that soft, lazy smile that always seemed to make her heart skip a beat. “we could walk down there and see, if you want,”.

sometimes they did, taking the small detour toward the water, the quiet rush of the river mixing with the sound of their footsteps on the gravel path. joe would slip an arm around her waist as they reached the bank, the soft breeze tousling his hair, and they’d stand there together for a moment, watching the water flow by.

“feels like we’ve been here a million times,” she’d comment, leaning into him, her head resting on his shoulder as they both watched the sunlight catch the river’s surface.

“yeah,” joe would agree, his voice a little quieter than usual, the calm of the morning settling over him. “and yet, it always feels like the first time. always feels new with you,”.

she’d smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “we’ve got our second spot,” she’d murmur, the words holding an unspoken promise of more mornings like this.

more quiet moments shared together.

[dadsbongos]

for honor. and duty.

3.2k words / warnings - forced breeding, injections, drugging, unhappy end, reader is written as a woman

summary - it's his job to carry on the bloodline, and its your job to love Satoru Gojo; thankless as both gigs are.

kinktober: day nine - breeding, aphrodisiac ~~~

Satoru was disinterested in fathering children. 

While he loved teaching, and teasing Megumi throughout the years was a joy, raising an entire person from scratch? An unnecessary addition to his plate he would rather be without. Besides, he was only scratching at his late 20s, why should he rush into having babies?

His feelings were not hidden, either. Everything about Satoru screamed childfree. Most respected the decision; for the Gojo clan to be written into history with Satoru as the cataclysmic final bang -- the sole pillar maintaining his clan’s status in the big three. It would be an honor and a pleasure, were he humble enough to silently accept both.

But Satoru loves whining.

“Too bad the Six Eyes and Limitless will be totally lost to time when I die…” he pouts every time he says it. Purely to gloat that not only does he have both, but he will be the last one in history, “If only someone could take them off my hands, huh?”

Maybe he should’ve just shut his mouth.

… 

“Why don’t you donate, then?” Shoko snarks one random Wednesday, finally fed up with Satoru’s haughty huffs this particular lunch break, “I’m sure your swimmers wouldn’t be unwelcome if they could make another special grade.”

“Gross, Sho,” you gag, then pointing at the man, “Don’t respond to that.”

Predictably, you’re ignored, “But who would be worthy, Shoko? Huh?” Satoru snickers when you gag even louder, “It’d have to be another sorcerer, you know? Can’t just put a super baby in any ole lady.”

“I’m sure you could find someone for a good price,” Shoko leans onto her palm, “Some high up clan girl. A Zen’in? It’d make her life better by getting out of that place, I bet.”

“Can we not talk about this while I’m eating, please?” you gesture to your lunch, though you hardly have the appetite for it now anyway. 

“You can say you’re jealous,” Satoru teases into your ear, laying his head on your shoulder. There’s no warmth of skin to feel, and if you closed your eyes the weight wouldn’t be reasonable for a human head either -- much lighter. Airier. As if he isn’t there at all.

“I’m not jealous of not being your incubator, Gojo.”

“Harsh!” he dramatically clutches over his heart, sucking in a breath like he’d been stabbed, “What happened to first name privileges?”

“Revoked,” you flick his head knowing it’ll never land. Knowing he’ll never feel you.

Shoko simpers, long nails tapping against the creaky break room table. When you shoot over a quizzical glance, those nails stretch over her lips; covering so you alone can make out what she mouths: ‘jealous’. 

You mimic the motion to mouth back: ‘fuck you’.

“Hey,” Satoru wraps both arms around you (no warmth, no weight), “Secrets among friends is asking for trouble.”

“Donating out soldier serum is asking for trouble,” Shoto snickers.

“You suggested it!” 

You roll your eyes at the pair, hoping this was the last you would hear of Satoru’s semen stumper, “Well, I’d love to stick around, but you two are disgusting.”

“Boo,” Shoko wads up the shrink of her microwave meal and tosses it at your head.

“Boo!” Satoru echoes the sentiments louder, fingers clinging to your uniform until his long arms can stretch no further.

“Yeah, whatever!” you holler back, “As if the higher ups will even let you just donate!”

Those traditional old heads will want a “proper” heir, and there is no way Satoru would get suckered into that.

It’s part of why loving him is so difficult.

Because loving Satoru means having to share him: always. He is overwhelmingly busy between his work as a sorcerer and his passion as a mentor. Your love for him will forever be yours to own, but Satoru himself could never be.

Perhaps that’s what Suguru realized when he tried years ago, when Satoru was always gone and the space between them only grew. Perhaps that’s why he decided to close Satoru out completely.

“You actually gonna donate sperm?” Shoko returns her tired gaze to her friend, quirking a brow when he laughs and shakes out his phone.

“Nah, the geezers just keep pestering me,” he mimics a flapping mouth with his hand, “Blah, blah spreading the genes- blah, blah good of the clan. As if they care about the good of the clan.”

“They might,” she snorts, clapping a hand over her mouth to hide a grin.

Both of them know full well otherwise.

“I’m just gonna tell them,” he re-pockets his phone, purposefully ignoring the buzzing call of Gakuganji, “Face to face this time, so they can’t ignore it.”

“Ooh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“What’re you gonna say, big man?”

Satoru smiles bright, all cocky and sure and cool, “‘There is no way that you bags of bones will ever convince me to have kids.’”

. . .

A cold, soaked cotton pad is swiped over the triangle of your inner elbow, disinfecting the area before introducing a syringe.

You once asked Satoru why he bothered remaining a sorcerer under Jujutsu Tech when he obviously hates the higher-ups. His response, of course, was lackluster and chock full of holes (“Nobody else can do what I do,” he rolls his hand laxly, “Also, it's the only thing that doesn’t make me so bored I contemplate blowing my brains out.”).

You remember rolling your eyes with a single word reply, deeply unimpressed with his typical lack of tact (“Inspiring.”). Similarly, you remember thinking that you wanted to stay by his side, despite his annoying insensitivity.

When you got the panicked call from Shoko, you considered it a test. The universe cruelly examining your dedication. Ever the fool, you sped for the address she spat over the phone to prove yourself.

Now, you can’t even have the shame of reconsideration.

The bedroom has a camera in the far right corner, on the wall opposite a large observation mirror. Men in white coats pace back and forth, scribbling notes and judging every exact twinge in Satoru’s muscles. Satoru is positioned on a king bed with white sheets, hands latched behind his back in solid shackles with a radiant lock.

“He’s not hurt, right?”

“No,” the lead man steadies a needle to the sterilized juncture, “We never want to hurt Gojo,” his eyes flick up to the pinch in your face as the needle punctures your skin, “Or you.”

“He looks miserable…”

Three doctors turn to you, glaring. The man administering a blue, gluey serum into your veins sighs loudly, “Yes, well… you will be, too…”

The doctor folding your discarded clothes on the left scoffs, shaking his head.

Sometimes you spend so much time with Satoru that you forget how mean men can be.

“It should begin taking effect in just minutes,” the man steps back, letting one of his many assistants undo your tethers, “Mostly an additive,” he clarifies, “You don’t really need it, your stamina doesn’t matter much to us here. You can head in for him now.”

Your stamina may not matter to them, but you’d personally like to be awake as long as possible for this.

“Did you tell him it was me?”

Your question is ignored. So you step through the men and creep into the other room. Casting a curious glance over your shoulder to confirm the study window only reflects yourself. And Satoru.

Satoru.

Satoru.

The name is saccharine sweet in your mind. His head twists in your direction, blindfold gone and eyes comically wide. His eyes are dimmer than usual, though that isn’t very surprising when you were explicitly told the drug dampened cursed energy.

Your eyes rake over his body -- red and writhing and naked. Satoru’s gaze falls from your face to your chest to between your thighs, eyes widening further. You know he’s had partners before (lots of them, in fact), so the shock is unwarranted. Unless, of course, it’s because it’s you and not the random woman from a high up clan he assumed it’d be.

A stern voice breaks out from the far right corner of the room.

“He is willing.”

You gnaw your bottom lip anxiously, squinting through harsh overhead lights to the two-way mirror over your shoulder. Then, your eyes return to Satoru, knelt on the mattress and bare -sans the stocks cuffed around his wrist.

“Satoru…?” your face boils, gut fairing no better. Veins direct gutters for the goopy blue in your system, and it's pumping fast.

He copies your quiet, uttering your name through the still observation room, “You?”

“Is it…” you crawl onto the bed, convinced that his skin on yours could cure the overwhelming swelter in the room, “Am I okay?”

He nods limply, hair falling into crystalline eyes, “It’s you.”

Bright fluorescents dim to a more bearable, faint glow. Swallowing the last of your reservations with the swell in your throat, you turn your back to Satoru -- both knees firm on the plush mattress. 

Though his chest beats in sporadic, panicked breaths, Satoru’s lean hips are still -- perfect for reaching between your thighs and grasping his stood cock. He clenches his angel eyes shut to your flesh, but the waves and dips of your cursed energy stubbornly persist in his vision. He sees the wavering as your lust grows, he knows his is the same. Worse, even. So swallowed up in his belly by enforced desire that a stable flow is impossible to maintain.

Satoru is easy in your grasp, slipping inside you with whimpered pleas and huffs. You curve him into you, backing onto Satoru until your soft flesh is flush with his. Heat tickles up your spine, chilling at your neck and causing a rabid shiver all down your shoulders. 

Leaning forward onto your elbows, you slip over Satoru’s cock -- sliding along him with manufactured fervor (if you focus hard enough, you can still feel the needle incision stretch in your arm). 

The stocks rattle as Satoru jerks forward with a thick groan, hips now eager to pap, pap pap! onto yours. Bonds creak, splinters wailing in protest of his strength as he claws out to reach you. Satoru throws his head back, every sensitive nerve set ablaze just by the warmth and squeeze of your cunt.

His shortburst thrusts don’t dig far enough even though you’re kissing hips every time -- he feels overstimulated and yet unfulfilled. He needs to have both hands bound on your hips -squeezing the flesh on your bones and flipping and bending and making you keen under his lithe fingers.

He cannot discern if the need is driven by drooly chemical injection or longstanding affection, and he isn’t bothering himself with the question now. 

“Wanna touch,” he mumbles pathetically, red in the face and sweat beading down his forehead, white bangs slick to the skin, “Need it…” he gasps as you arch, stretching one of your legs to curl around his thigh, “Need to touch!"

As if spontaneously occurring to the crew that Satoru is pleading with them, the leading man jingles over with his key. He looks at the sedation team for extra assurance before unlocking Satoru’s stocks. 

Once the bonds clatter to the floor, Satoru is raking his nails across your body -- thighs, stomach, back, anywhere he can reach he’s eagerly clawing. Pulling and pushing before he collapses over you, his chest scorching your back. He stretches his neck to press his cheek to yours, lips loose and babbling,

“So good, so good, love how you feel -- wanna fuck you,” his brain must be falling through his lips because he seems to forget he’s already fucking you, “Wanna fuck you, wanna fuck you, wanna fuck you,” he lays sloppy kisses over your shoulder, teething at the sensitive bone, “Gonna let me cum in you, pretty girl? Yeah? Gonna make me a daddy, yeah?”

Hanging one arm below, he swirls the soft pads of his fingers over your clit -- soaked with the syrup his cock fucks free. His large hand expands over the pouch of your tummy to snugly press his thumb into your doughy skin; thumping where he’s battering your insides.

“Feel me there, mama? S’wet ‘n’ desperate, you want me bad,” he giggles deliriously, humping at your sex in plasticine frenzy before twitching to completion.

Satoru thinks he could go all day.

Thick arms tied around your waist, keeping your chest bare to his with both knees crimped over Satoru’s shoulders. His overconfidence proves itself as he thrusts up into you, lips pressing wetly onto yours while drooling out affectionate slurs,

“Best girl, pretty and hot and so fuckin’ wet for me, aren’t you? You love me, sweet girl? I think you do- know you do.”

Satoru stills only when more cum is pumped into your womb, pitiful mewls bobbing the apple of his throat.

You’re nodding with a heavy crown, forehead thumping into his sweaty collarbones and biting cresents in his biceps with your nails, “Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh - love you, ‘Toru! Love you so much…!”

Nuzzling along your flaming cheek, Satoru wriggles you loose just to flip you around to kneel in the sheets.

“I’m tired,” he muses, fingers dancing in the baby hairs at the base of your neck, “How about you do something, princess?”

You groan and pout, but don’t disobey.

Your knees are tingling and arms shaking as you twist to nestle against Satoru. Stretching back, you splay your palms over his broad chest to balance over his standing cock; then reach between your spread legs to grasp his erection. Skin soft and warm in your palm, he whimpers at the contact and throws his head back into the plush white pillow. Snowy hair tousled against the case, hips twitching up in you.

His cock bumps against your clit in his desperation and the sensation makes you clamp your knees around his waist tighter. You’re all heavy breaths and whines by the time you finally sink base-down. His cock feels hot and thick inside you, you’re not sure if it's all the eyes or whatever they stuck in your arm or the fact you’re with Satoru but your entire body is simmering.

Satoru’s hands unwind from the sheets to cling around your hips, forcefully rocking you down on him: as if to grind both your bones into paste. Cool air catches in the back of his swollen throat, your cunt wet and swallowing him back in as he tries slipping out. He lifts his head -jaw limping open and drool pooling around his raw-bitten lips- just to watch as he lifts and drops you over his cock.

Clumsily, he jerks his knees up and feet flat on the bed as the lava scorching through his veins inspires him to fuck you faster. Sweat beading and swamping all along his hairline and joints, leaving his skin sticky and sucking against yours with every thrust. Satoru’s fingers squeeze harshly around the fat of your hips, marking the skin with plum stains in the shape of his hand. If a baby isn’t enough, then these bruises surely will be bountiful evidence of your tryst.

Suddenly, Satoru sits up fully, lips pressing into your shoulder before he stabs into bone and flesh with his teeth. His arms swiftly move to curl around your waist, flushing your back to his chest as he pumps into you. One of his hands finds your breast, squishing the swells by the handful, and the other hand swooping to toy with your clit. He works slow circles into quicker swishes, thrusts speeding as the heat climbs and climbs from where he’s inside you up to your necks. Suffocating. Enveloping. 

Ragged breaths pull with terrible effort from both you and Satoru. Wet slaps of skin and syrupy squelching echoing in the otherwise still room. Oddly, the sound is far from grotesque, instead spurring another sweetened gush around Satoru. The dirty, primal nature far overshadows the lurking men in white coats around the edges of the room.

You can almost pretend you’re wrapped around Satoru for real pleasure rather than duty.

Again, Satoru sloppily mouths at your skin, from the bend in your shoulder along your neck and unto the softness of your jaw. Arms clenching around your waist until you’re practically immobile in his embrace, bouncing along his cock only because he puppeteers you to do so. 

Satoru moans hotly against the slope of your neck, licking the sweat off your skin just because he can. You lean into the coolness of Satoru’s tongue as your gut swirls and tightens before you’re seizing in the man’s grasp. His gaping mouth is pressed against your collarbone, slobber inking across your tit and down your arm. He hugs you tighter and soaks in full the clench of your orgasm, continuing to lathe his fingers over your clit until you’re jerking and huffing in overstimulation.

You think you hear him muttering (you hope you hear him muttering), “Thank you, thank you, thank you...”

The unbearable heat is replaced by normal, merely uncomfortable heat. Satoru cuddles you against him still as he plugs you with his cum.

Soft murmurs float back into your ears, men stretching necks to gaze at the both of you and whisper amongst themselves. Satoru lazily drags the sheets high over your chest and settles back against the steely headboard. 

He yelps, back arching and eyes wide, sitting upright from the board.

“What…?” you groan, exhaustion overtaking you -- limbs numb and strewn out uselessly.

“It’s cold,” he grumbles into your ear, yawning and laying against the metal headboard again (this time prepared for the stinging temperature change), “Be nice to me.”

Weakly, you make a sound of protest from the back of your throat. Brain too fried to form words.

Satoru caresses his fingers gently over your stomach, gaze fluttering to the labcoats stiffly remaining in the room. They put much effort into avoiding his stare, heads kept low and ducking behind their collars. Rolling onto his side, Satoru keeps you caged in his arms while shielding you from the mens’ stares. 

He soothes his nails along the bulb of your cheek, six eyes searing through every layer of skin and muscle down to the beating of your heart. He knows, of course, that it beats for him.

Which makes him feel sick, beneath exasperated euphoria, because he knows why you’re here.

He knows the only way to give it back is with a baby neither of you really want.

[vivid-dreamscapes]

Tw; Sexual mentions, cursing, undressing in front of him Themes; Light angst, comfort, insecurity Summery; You feel insecure and anxious about boring your boyfriend, and he reassures you

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ After a tiring yet fun day at the vacation beach house your were staying at with the bakusquad, you had finished a nice, long shower with your boyfriend Katsuki Bakugou.

Bakugou was now sitting on his bed with a towel wrapped around his waist, leaning against the headboard as he looked over at you. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, also only clad in a towel as you looked for something on the ground. “You know where you even put your clothes?”

“In my bag, but I tripped over it and now they’re spewed about.” You said before smirking. “Aha! Found it!” You grabbed some clothes and made a few outfits on the bed. “Alright. Now you pick.”

Bakugou looked down at the different outfits you had laid out on the bed before looking back at you with a small smirk. “Oh I get to pick now? Why don’t I just leave you naked for the rest of the day? That sounds nice.” He said, a hint of suggestion in his tone, not so subtly covering up a more teasing hint.

“Katsuki!”

Bakugou chuckled at your protest—squeal of flusteredness? Or just an irritated squeal?—and rolled his eyes. He had obviously been messing with you, but he definitely would have preferred to leave you without any clothes.

He let out a small huff before finally looking over the clothing options again and taking a good look at them. “Tch, fine I pick. How about this one?” He said, pointing to the outfit on the far right.

“Alright bet.” You said, dropping the towel to get dressed in front of him shamelessly.

His eyes widened a bit, a small blush forming on his face as he looked at the now fully exposed version of you in front of him. “Damn, just gonna drop the towel like that, huh?” He said, his eyes unable to tear away from you.

“I’m not gonna move to a closet or some shit.” You said simply, getting dressed. You had a point. “I would only do that if I didn’t want you to see me naked. And you’ve already seen that so many times.”

Bakugou huffed a bit, he knew you had a point. But that didn’t mean it didn’t affect him each time he saw you drop your towel or be naked in front of him. “Well, yeah I know that, but couldn’t you at least give me a warning?” He said, watching as you began getting dressed in the outfit he picked out.

“Think of this as a way of entertaining you.” You said jokingly, sticking my tongue out at him before pausing. “…So you don’t get bored of me.” You mumbled to yourself quietly, pulling on the last bit of clothes.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow at you when you very obviously purposefully mumbled something quite enough so that he couldn’t hear fully what you said exactly. Yet he still heard it. Because of course he did. “Hah? What was that last thing you said?” He questioned, now looking at you in curiosity. He had heard it, but wanted to know if you’d tell him anyways.

“…if you ever get bored of me?”

His eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise when he heard what you repeat your previous statement, his expression shifting a hint of annoyance to a slight surprise. He had been hoping he’d hear you wrong, but that was proven to be wishful thinking. He knew for a fact that he would never get bored of you, how could he?

“Who said I’d ever get bored of you?” He said, trying to keep his tone from changing too much, and showing a hint of a slight annoyance.

“I dunno. You just might.”

Bakugou huffed at that answer, now rolling his eyes and giving you a small glare. “As if I could ever get bored of you.” He said bluntly, now giving you a firm look. Did you honestly think that he could just get bored of being with you? He was in love with you.

“People say that and still get bored.” You said with a shrug, sitting down in front of our room’s mirror.

You sighed and started going through your usual skincare routine after a shower—an extremely simple one, but still.

The blonde looked at you with a slightly bewildered and frustrated expression as you shrugged and sat down to start you usual skincare routine. He sighed and rolled his eyes before walking over to you.

“Tch, well I’m not like other people, am I?” He said, now standing behind you and looking down at you while you sat in front of the mirror.

“Well…” You looked down as you unscrewed the lid of your moisturizer cream. “…no.” You said after a moment, looking back up at him in the mirror. “But still. What if you get tired seeing the same face, and eating the same pussy/dick?”

Your boyfriend raised an eyebrow at that, an amused small smirk tugging at his lips as you met his gaze in the mirror. “I’ve had the same explosions for years, and you don’t seem to be getting tired of them.” He said, his voice a hint lower as he crouched down behind you, leaning closer against your back.

“Well…” You paused in thought before looking up at him, open moisturizer still in your hand. “Your quirk isn’t the same thing as my dick/pussy!” You said defensively as he almost snorted in amusement, taking the skincare product out of your hand gently.

Bakugou snickered softly against your ear at your defensive response, now grabbing the moisturizer from your hand gently and starting to rub a bit onto his fingers.

“Oh trust me, I know. Believe me.” He mumbled in a deep voice, his body now leaning against your back, his breath hot and warm against your ear and neck.

“Then why compare them…?”

You asked and he chuckled silently against your neck as he began to rub the moisturizer onto your skin, his calloused hands gentle and firm at the same time as they worked.

“Because they have something in common.” He mumbled, bringing his hands down a bit lower as he began to rub the moisturizer on your shoulders and collarbones, now planting a few kisses on the nape of your neck and your shoulders.

“Psh, like what?” You asked, squirming slightly with a smirk and an eye roll.

He was definitely enjoying the reaction as he continued to kiss along you skin, now working his way onto your collarbones as he answered your question.

“It’s simple. They’re both my favorite things.” He stated bluntly, his words spoken against your skin.

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

Hello everyone!! This is the first lesson of the long awaited unofficial season 4 of Obey me Nightbringer written by yours truly <3

I will post lessons every 10 days.

I hope you enjoy it (it came out a little long but I hope it's not a problem)

Please make sure this finds other obey me lovers and people who don't want the series to end.

You can find more of my work here: Masterlist

Unofficial season 4 Obm NB: here

@arie2faced wanted to be tagged so there you go!

Lesson 61: “Echoes of Change”

Preparations for the Grand Gala

The story begins with you and the brothers preparing for a grand event in the Devildom—the Infernal Gala, a highly anticipated celebration hosted by Diavolo to showcase unity and strength among the three realms. The brothers are busy with their individual tasks, and you help them throughout the day, making sure none of them are slacking off and checking the quality of their work.

Morning with Mammon

You find Mammon frantically trying to pick an outfit in his room, clothes scattered everywhere. He groans as he holds up a jacket, glaring at it like it personally offended him.

Mammon: “This stupid thing doesn’t fit right! What if I don’t look good enough? Diavolo’ll never let me hear the end of it!”

You: “You’re overthinking it, Mammon. You look great in anything.”

You pick up a sleek black jacket with gold trim from the pile and hold it up to him.

You: “Here, try this one. It suits you.”

Mammon grumbles but puts it on. When he turns to the mirror, his expression softens.

Mammon: “Huh. Guess it ain’t too bad… But y’know, it’s only ‘cause you picked it. You’ve got good taste.”

He pauses, scratching the back of his neck as he glances at you.

Mammon: “I dunno what I’d do without ya. Don’t tell the others, but… you’re my good luck charm, so stick close, alright?”

Afternoon with Leviathan

Levi is in his room, staring nervously at a stack of invitation cards. You peek in and see him pacing.

You: “Levi, what’s wrong?”

Leviathan: “It’s the Gala! There’s gonna be so many people there. What if I mess up? What if someone tries to talk to me and I freeze up?!”

You gently take his hands, grounding him.

You: “You’ll do great, Levi. And I’ll be there if you need me. We’re a team, remember?”

Levi calms down a little, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

Leviathan: “Y-Yeah, I guess you’re right. I mean, with you around, I don’t have to worry as much. You’re like my Player Two in this crazy multiplayer game called life.”

He hesitates, then smiles shyly.

Leviathan: “Thanks. I mean it. You’re, like… my favorite rare find.”

Library with Satan

Satan is in the library, scanning a shelf filled with ancient tomes. He looks up when you enter, a small smile playing on his lips.

Satan: “Perfect timing. I was looking for this.”

He hands you a book bound in emerald green, the title in golden script: "The Legends of the Infernal Gala."

Satan: “I thought you might like to know more about the Gala’s history. It’s fascinating, really—did you know it started as a peace treaty celebration?”

You sit together, flipping through the pages. At one point, your fingers brush, and Satan pauses.

Satan: “You always surprise me. You’re curious, thoughtful, and unafraid to stand by us—even when things get complicated.”

He leans closer, his voice softer.

Satan: “I hope you know how much that means to me."

Dressing Room with Asmodeus

Asmo is in his room, surrounded by a dizzying array of outfits. He twirls in front of the mirror, striking a pose.

Asmodeus: “Tell me, which one screams ‘absolutely irresistible’? This one, or…”

He switches to another outfit, beaming at you.

You: “They’re both amazing, Asmo. You always look stunning.”

Asmodeus: (grinning) “Oh, you always know just what to say. But you know what? I think I’ll wear something that complements you. After all, we’ll be the center of attention together.”

He steps closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Asmodeus: “You have this way of making me feel… special. Like I don’t need to try so hard, because I’m enough just as I am. Thank you for that."

Kitchen with Beelzebub

Beel is in the kitchen, preparing snacks for the event. You help him arrange platters of food, the smell of freshly baked bread filling the air.

Beelzebub: “Thanks for helping. I usually just eat everything, but it feels nice to make something for others.”

As you finish, Beel offers you a piece of chocolate from the tray, his expression soft.

Beelzebub: “You’re always looking out for us. It makes me want to do the same for you.”

He smiles, his usual straightforward honesty shining through.

Beelzebub: “You’re like family to me… but also more than that. I’m glad you’re here.”

Attic with Belphegor

Belphie is lying on a pile of blankets in the attic, staring at the ceiling. You join him, and he shifts to make room.

Belphegor: “The Gala’s gonna be exhausting. Too many people, too much noise. But at least you’ll be there.”

He closes his eyes, his voice soft.

Belphegor: “You’re the only one who makes all this bearable, you know. Stay with me a while. Just you and me, away from everything else.”

You rest beside him, and for a moment, the world feels quiet.

Study with Lucifer

Lucifer is in his study, reviewing event schedules and security measures. He looks up as you enter, his expression softening.

Lucifer: “Ah, I was just going over the final details. It’s a relief to see you—you have a calming effect, even on someone like me.”

You share a quiet moment, the crackling of the fireplace filling the silence. Lucifer pours you a glass of Demonus, his movements elegant.

Lucifer: “The Infernal Gala represents unity, strength, and peace. But for me… it’s also a reminder of how far we’ve come.”

He gazes at you, his eyes filled with warmth.

Lucifer: “You’ve been a part of that journey. More than you realize.”

The calm shatteres

The next morning, you are in the gardens of the House of Lamentation, enjoying a rare moment of peace. The sky is a deep, rich purple, with faint stars twinkling above. Beelzebub joins you, carrying a tray of snacks.

Beelzebub: “You’ve been quiet today. Something on your mind?”

You: (smiling softly) “Not really. Just thinking about how calm everything feels right now. It’s… nice.”

Beelzebub: (sitting beside you) “Yeah. Feels like it’s been a while since things were this peaceful. Lucifer hasn’t yelled at anyone today, and Mammon hasn’t set anything on fire… yet.”

You both share a laugh, but before the moment can last, a faint tremor shakes the ground. Beel jumps to his feet.

Beelzebub: “What was that?”

A ripple of energy passes through the garden, and several flowers wilt instantly. The air feels charged, heavy. You feel a faint pulse from your pact mark, though you don’t fully understand it yet.

You and Beel rush inside the House of Lamentation, where chaos has already begun. Furniture is floating, magical items are malfunctioning, and the brothers are in disarray.

Mammon: (running around) “Somebody fix this! My wallet turned into a bat and flew off! That’s my life savings in there!”

Leviathan: (clutching his D.D.D.) “Do you know how many hours of gameplay I just lost?! This is worse than the Great Reset of Akuzon Prime!”

Lucifer: (trying to remain composed) “Everyone, calm down. Panicking will accomplish nothing.”

Belphegor: (yawning) “Wake me when this is over. Or don’t. I’m fine either way.”

You notice your pact mark faintly glowing whenever the chaos intensifies. Asmodeus steps in, looking alarmed.

Asmodeus: “Is it just me, or does the energy in the house feel… weird? It’s like something’s out of sync.”

Before anyone can respond, the chandelier shatters with a loud crash. Lucifer’s patience snaps.

Lucifer: “Enough! Everyone, to the Demon Lord’s Castle—now. Diavolo needs to hear about this immediately.”

Emergency Meeting with Diavolo

The group arrives at the Demon Lord’s Castle. Diavolo greets you all with a worried expression, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a more serious air. Barbatos stands quietly by his side, his gaze sharp and observant.

Diavolo: “Ah, you’ve arrived. I trust you’ve noticed the disturbances, then?”

Lucifer: “Noticed is an understatement. The House of Lamentation is in complete disarray. What’s causing this?”

Diavolo’s expression tightens, and he motions for you all to take a seat.

Diavolo: “It’s more than just your house, Lucifer. The magical ley lines that run through the Devildom are experiencing unusual fluctuations. Spells are failing, spells are overloading… and the environment itself is becoming unstable.”

Diavolo remains silent for a short while before speaking again.

Diavolo: "Remember when a few months ago the Devildom moon begun moving closer to us? And how MC stopped it with the help of (name of the brother you chose in lesson 60)? I think it might be somehow related to all this.

Barbatos: (nodding gravely) “We’ve been monitoring the situation for the past few weeks, but the source remains elusive. The ley lines should remain stable, but we are seeing powerful surges in energy that we cannot explain.”

Simeon: (calmly interjecting) “It’s a troubling situation, indeed. I’ve been sensing something off as well, but I can’t make sense of it.”

Solomon: (looking up from his scrolls) “The balance between the realms is delicate. It’s entirely possible this disturbance has something to do with the convergence of magical energies—perhaps even beyond our realm’s control.”

Luke: (clutching his little angel staff nervously) “So... we’re all in danger?”

Mephistopheles: (snickering from the corner) “Well, that depends on what you call ‘danger.’ There’s always a way to spin these things to our favor, you know.”

Raphael: (stoically) “We need to investigate this matter thoroughly. If there’s a threat, we’ll need to handle it swiftly, for the sake of everyone’s safety.”

Thirteen: (suddenly appearing with a slight chuckle) “It’s always so serious when you guys talk like this. How about we enjoy the chaos a little bit?”

The group’s attention is drawn back to Diavolo, who remains focused despite the tension.

Diavolo: “We’ve heard your concerns. But I must ask, how does this all relate to the Infernal Gala? If these disturbances continue, it could be catastrophic.”

Lucifer: “The Gala is already under heavy scrutiny. If the realm’s stability is at risk, Diavolo, this could be a catastrophic blow to the reputation of the Devildom.”

Asmodeus: “Oh, I can’t imagine the disaster. The Gala’s atmosphere would be ruined if the magical energies continue to fluctuate like this. People will notice, and chaos would break out if they suspect anything is wrong.”

Beelzebub: (his voice low and serious) “If things continue like this, there’s a real danger of even the food and drinks being affected. Imagine the mess if everything starts malfunctioning at the event.”

Lucifer: “Exactly. And with all the high-profile guests we’re expecting… We must act swiftly.”

Diavolo stands up, his usual warmth replaced by a rare intensity.

Diavolo: “For now, I ask all of you to stay vigilant. If you notice anything unusual—anything at all—report it immediately. The Gala must go off without a hitch, for the sake of maintaining peace and stability. But we must also prepare for the possibility that something more sinister is at play.”

Barbatos: (calmly) “We will continue investigating, but please, if you feel anything strange—if there’s any oddity you experience—don’t hesitate to tell us. The more information we have, the better.”

Lucifer: (looking directly at you) “You, especially. I’m sure you’ve felt it, too. These disturbances seem… connected to you.”

The room falls silent again as all eyes shift toward you. You feel a weight settling on your shoulders, the pressure building.

Diavolo: (smiling reassuringly) “You’ve done well so far. But now, we must prepare for whatever comes next. The Gala is crucial, but our first priority must be understanding the root cause of these events. If there’s a connection between you and this instability… we’ll need to address it quickly.”

As you nod in response, a sense of foreboding fills the air. The once-bustling preparations for the Gala seem like a distant memory now, overshadowed by the uncertainty surrounding the disruptions.

A talk with Solomon

After the emergency meeting, you wander through the halls of the House of Lamentation, the weight of the situation pressing on you. The magical disturbances, the instability in the Devildom... you feel like you're on the edge of something bigger, but you can't quite grasp it.

A soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

Solomon: "You're still awake, huh? I figured you might be here."

You turn and see Solomon leaning against the doorframe, his usual playful expression replaced by one of concern. He steps into the hallway, his gaze never leaving you.

You: “I don’t understand any of this… It feels like everything’s connected, but I don’t know how or why.”

Solomon walks up to you, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He looks at you with a knowing look, as though he’s been waiting for this conversation.

Solomon: “I can see why you’re confused. The fluctuations... the disruptions in the ley lines, they’re not random. They’re a result of your presence here.”

You: (frowning) “My presence?”

Solomon: (nodding) “It’s complicated. There’s something about your connection to the brothers, your dual pacts, that’s causing the instability. It’s as if the power between you and them is... too much for the realms to handle.”

You feel a jolt of realization. The dual pacts. You hadn’t thought about the significance of them, but it makes sense now. Solomon's words seem to echo in your mind, each one a small revelation.

You: “So... you think the dual pacts are the reason this is happening?”

Solomon hesitates for a moment, then nods, his eyes serious.

Solomon: “I’m beginning to suspect that’s the case. The way your power interacts with theirs... it’s creating more energy than the ley lines can accommodate. It’s like a pressure building up, and when too much energy is focused in one place, the balance of the realms starts to break down.”

You swallow, trying to process it all. Your mind races through everything you’ve experienced—the strange pull of the pact mark, the disruptions, the growing tension. It all leads back to the pacts.

You: “But why now? Why is this only happening now?”

Solomon: (with a sigh) “It didn't start now. Actually it's been going on for a while now. Remember how the moon was getting progressively closer and closer a few months ago? I suspect that's also due to your magic. But for all I know the dual pacts were never meant to be this powerful. They’re an anomaly.”

You: “So, everything that’s happening... it’s my fault?”

Solomon: (softly) “Not your fault. But your presence, your bond with the brothers—it’s a key factor. I should’ve been more cautious. I knew the pacts were risky, but I didn’t expect something like this would happen.”

You feel your heart race as you try to understand the magnitude of what Solomon is telling you. The chaos, the disruptions... you feel like you’re at the center of it all, and it’s terrifying.

You: “How do we fix this?”

Solomon takes a step closer, his gaze softening. His hand gently rests on your shoulder, and you feel a comforting warmth from his touch.

Solomon: “We’ll figure it out. Together. The brothers... they’re linked to this too, and we’ll need their help. But we can’t do it alone. The dual pacts are too unpredictable.”

For a moment, you both stand in silence, the weight of his words settling in. The chaos, the stakes... it feels like everything is changing too fast. Yet, with Solomon’s presence, there’s a sense of calm. You find comfort in his understanding.

You: “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Solomon smiles, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that makes your heart flutter, though he doesn't say anything for a moment. He simply pulls you into a gentle embrace, holding you close, offering a silent promise.

Solomon: “You’ll never have to find out.”

You lean into his chest, the tension in your body slowly melting away. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, and for the briefest moment, the world outside feels a little more bearable.

Solomon: “We’ll fix this. We’ll make sure the Gala goes off without a hitch, and we’ll find the cause of all this. But until then... just know that I’m here.”

You look up at him, your voice quiet but firm.

You: “Thank you, Solomon. I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel like I’m... not alone in this anymore.”

Solomon’s smile deepens, and he leans in, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead.

Solomon: “You’re never alone, MC. Not with me by your side.”

The Pact’s Secret Emerges

Later that evening, while the brothers are asleep, you are drawn to the library by an inexplicable force. You find an old book glowing faintly on the shelf and open it. The pages are filled with ancient symbols you can’t understand. Suddenly, a familiar voice interrupts you.

Barbatos: (appearing silently behind you) “Curious, isn’t it? That book is one of the oldest records in the castle. It documents the nature of pacts and their potential… consequences.”

You jump in surprise, quickly closing the book.

You: “Barbatos! You scared me. I didn’t mean to—”

Barbatos: (smiling slightly) “You needn’t apologize. It’s no coincidence that you were drawn to this book.”

Barbatos steps closer, his gaze calm but piercing.

Barbatos: “Tell me, since your return from the past, have you noticed anything… unusual? A change in your magic, perhaps? Or a resonance with the brothers’ powers?”

You stiffen.

You: “What do you mean by ‘return from the past’? How do you know about that?”

Barbatos: (tilting his head slightly) “I am the steward of time. There are few events that escape my notice.”

Your eyes widen. You clutch the book tightly, unsure of how to respond.

You: “I… I haven’t told anyone except Solomon. How much do you know?”

Barbatos: “Enough to understand that your journey was no mere coincidence. It was necessary, though its ripple effects are only now beginning to manifest.”

You: “Ripple effects…? Are you saying all of this—the disturbances in the Devildom—are my fault?”

Barbatos: (softly) “Fault is a strong word. Responsibility, perhaps. But do not misunderstand—your presence here is essential. You hold the key to stabilizing the realm.”

Barbatos’ gaze sharpens as he steps closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper.

Barbatos: “However, I must warn you: secrets have a way of surfacing when the time is right. The truth will not remain hidden forever—not from the brothers, nor from yourself.”

He gestures toward the glowing book.

Barbatos: “Keep this between us for now. But be vigilant. The bonds you share with the brothers are deeper and more intricate than even you realize.”

After the encounter, Barbatos is in his room, standing over a magical map of the Devildom. Glowing lines represent the ley lines, which are flickering and unstable. He traces his fingers over the map, frowning as he notices a disturbing pattern.

Barbatos: (to himself) “The fluctuations are growing stronger, converging toward a single point. If this trajectory continues…”

He pauses, his expression darkening.

Barbatos: “…even the combined power of the brothers may not be enough to stop what’s coming.”

The map reveals the convergence point glowing ominously—a location deep within the Devildom that remains unidentified.

[steddieas-shegoes]

CONGRATS ON 3000!!! ❤️ That’s so exciting!

For the ask game, I’d love to see your take on the song Heaven, Iowa by Fall Out Boy! (I vibe with “Scar-crossed lovers forever” as a Steddie-coded lyric but honestly whatever comes to mind for you when you hear the song is great!)

Congrats again!! 💕🎉

Thank you! I got a few different steddie-coded lyrics from this song, but the one you provided is good for something short, so I’m sticking with that! ♥️

〰️➿〰️➿〰️➿〰️➿〰️

He wasn’t even supposed to be here. Wayne specifically asked him to stop coming to the Harrington parties, didn’t want him to risk being caught when they inevitably got shut down.

He knows he’d be in deep shit if a cop managed to catch him and see what he had in his lunchbox.

But one of his best customers insisted he stop by, promising he knew enough people would buy his entire inventory. He wouldn’t have to stay long.

���That’ll be $30 for the bag, or $10 if you just want a joint,” Eddie told one of the girls who always gave him dirty looks in the hall to cover up the hungry look she gave him at parties.

“What about the harder stuff?” She asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“Don’t have any on me,” he rolled his eyes. They should know by now he only handles those items when requested.

“Fine. Just a joint then.”

He exchanges his product for her money, another addition to his savings that seemed to constantly dwindle on useless. He never stopped trying though.

She was his last customer in the line that had built up in the kitchen, so he decided to make his way to the backyard to finish up. Not many people usually hung out there when it was this chilly outside, but he had to give it a shot.

The patio surrounding the pool was absent of people, but he decided to take that as a sign that he needed a minute alone.

He heard a sniffle and his head shot over to the table in the corner of the covered area.

“Harrington?”

What the hell was he even doing out here? Was he crying?

“I’ll be in in a minute.”

Jesus. He sounded like someone had tried to strangle him. Was he sick?

“Dude, you okay?” Eddie steps closer, hopes he doesn’t end up regretting choosing kindness. “It’s kinda cold out here.”

Steve was sitting in a chair, knees up to his chest, arms around his legs. His face was half-buried in his knees, but Eddie could still make out the shivering.

“Yeah. Just needed some air.”

“You shouldn’t stay out here long without a jacket, man.”

Steve didn’t respond.

Eddie was actually growing more concerned for him, like maybe he’d been drugged with something and couldn’t move.

“Hey, look at me,” Eddie snaps his fingers in Steve’s face, relaxing slightly when he glares up at him with surprisingly clear, but watery eyes. “You need a jacket.”

“I’m fine. Go back inside.”

“You won’t be if you sit out here much longer. You’ll freeze to death. And then I’ll have to live the rest of my life knowing I could have stopped it by making you go inside and I’ll die feeling guilty.”

Was it dramatic? Yes. Did it make Steve give the tiniest smile and lift his head to look at him completely? Also yes.

“It wouldn’t be your fault.”

There was a cut under Steve’s left eye, and as his eyes adjust to the light coming from the windows, he sees a purple bruise surrounding most of the left side of his face.

“What happened?”

“The crown was pretty heavy when it fell,” Steve laughs without humor.

Eddie feels his stomach sink further.

“Who did this?”

It’s not like Eddie could do much, but maybe he could at least make sure he didn’t sell to the guy.

“Doesn’t matter.” Steve placed his legs down, careful, like he was trying not to hurt himself more. “You got anything left?”

Eddie should say no. He should leave now, head to the comfort and warmth of the trailer, forget about this interaction entirely. Maybe give one awkward head nod to Steve at school on Monday as an acknowledgment he didn’t forget, but won’t say anything to anyone.

“Just the one joint. You want it?” Eddie set his lunchbox on the table across from Steve and sat down.

“How much?” Steve turned to face him, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

“Free for the host.”

That’s not something Eddie ever did, but if anyone needed it, it was Steve.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Well, I am. You got a lighter on you?”

Steve shook his head.

“Then I light it and get the first drag. Deal?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie is gonna regret this entire interaction, but of all his regrets, it’s probably pretty low on the list, so he pulls his lighter out and does exactly what he said he would.

Steve is watching him so intensely, it’s almost enough to make him blush. He won’t, he hopes, but it’s a hell of an effort.

“This why you’re sitting out here instead of enjoying your party?” Eddie asked as he hands over the joint.

“Part of it,” Steve takes a long drag. “Just tired of it.”

“Tired of what?”

“All of it.”

An alarm starts going off in Eddie’s head, a reminder that Steve may seem like he’s got the entire world, but those who hold the world tend to lose their grip.

“All of it meaning…”

“All of this. The parties, the people who only like me because I have money and throw parties, the popularity contest I didn’t even ask to participate in, the fucking concussions and nightmares. I’m just-“ Steve takes another drag. “I’m just tired. You should go back inside.”

Eddie watches him lean back in his chair, his shirt riding up and exposing just enough of his stomach to see a scar. The moonlight reflects off the lighter line of skin.

“Nah. Kinda like it out here. It’s quiet. Company ain’t bad either.”

Steve looks back at him with a frown. “Don’t have to pretend to like me, dude. Everyone else already does that enough.”

“Who said I like you? I’m tolerating you.” Eddie smirks, waits for Steve to recognize he’s joking. When Steve relaxes, he nods towards the scar on Steve’s stomach. “Appendix?”

“What?” Steve glances down. “Oh. Yeah. When I was 12.”

“I was 14 when I got mine out,” Eddie lifts his layers to show off his matching scar. “My Uncle Wayne thought I was dying. He didn’t even know what an appendix was, let alone that it can cause all this trouble.”

“Yeah. My parents weren’t home when mine ruptured so I had to call the neighbors.”

Eddie frowns down at the table. “They leave you alone a lot? Even then?”

“Yeah. Not a big deal. I made it through okay.”

Okay isn’t the word Eddie would describe, but Eddie didn’t wanna argue.

“You eat a ridiculous amount of ice cream after?” Eddie’s smile grew when Steve nodded. “I convinced Wayne it was the only thing I could eat for nearly a week after.”

Steve laughed, Eddie smiles.

“You got a nice laugh, Harrington.”

He watches as Steve gets red in the face, a beautiful blush covering his cheeks and spreading down his neck.

“Not sure the last time I really laughed,” Steve admitted.

“Shame.”

Eddie stood up, grabbed his lunchbox, and walked around to stand in front of Steve. Steve looked up at him with glassy eyes, the high already sinking in.

“Want me to clear everyone out?” Eddie shouldn’t offer that, or anything. But Steve looks so lost, so tired.

“Nah. It’s nice just not being alone, even if it’s people I don’t like.”

“That’s fucked, man.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve shrugged. “Thanks for the weed.”

“Anytime.”

Eddie doesn’t know what comes over him. Maybe it’s the one drag of the joint he’d taken, maybe it’s the cold air, or maybe it’s just that annoying crush he’s had on Steve Harrington for years.

He reaches out, cups Steve’s cheek in his hand, and holds him for just a moment.

Neither of them say anything when Steve leans into it.

They don’t say anything when Eddie pulls away with a sad smile.

They won’t talk about it again at school.

But when Steve saves Eddie from the Upside Down a full year later, when he’s sitting at his bedside cupping Eddie’s cheek in his hand, they both seem to remember at the same time.

“We’ve got two matching scars now, Harrington.”

“Don’t think the appendix has anything on demobat scars, Munson.”

“What happened to calling me honey? I liked that.”

“What happened to sweetheart?”

Eddie let out a small laugh. “You’re gonna be trouble, sweetheart.”

“But I’m gonna be your trouble, honey.”

[nathaslosthershit]

After All This Time

Summary:(Part 2 to The Truth Behind it All) After years of no contact, watching as his career continues to thrive, getting a message from Charles is the last thing she had expected, but she wasn’t the only one surprised after finally reconnecting. 

He had thought about this for a long time. The urge to reach out is one he had felt for years since they separated, but he could never push himself to do it. Then one day, five years later, he couldn’t take it anymore and sent her a message. Charles hadn’t thought he would be able to easily get into contact with her. Five years of silence on both sides didn’t give him much hope, so when she had answered his message hours after he sent it, he felt relieved.

---

From Charles Leclerc:

Hello. It has been a long time and I know this is sudden. I understand that it might not be okay for me to be doing this, and if it isn’t I understand if you do not answer but I still wanted to try. We left off on bad terms, our relationship had gone bad quicker than I think we had thought possible. I was hoping if we could meet up, for closure if anything else. I await your reply, but know that you do not need to give me one.

All the best, 

Charlie

Reply to Charles Leclerc:

Charles,

It is a surprise to hear from you, I won’t lie. But it isn’t an unwelcome one. I hope you are well! We did leave things badly and I would also like to get the chance to speak. Thank you for reaching out. I await your reply now.

---

After much back and forth, the two had decided when Charles traveled to her current country of residence for a race, they would meet. It took a few months, both waiting nervously for the day to arrive. When it did, they both met at a restaurant close to her place.

The first thing he noticed when he saw her was how much more beautiful she was. She still looked the same, maybe a little more wear and tear but she wore it with this air of maturity and wisdom she didn’t have last time he had seen her. She had grown a lot in the past five years and he could tell. It was nice to see.

He also looked the same but also different. She had noticed he too had this air of confidence that was less cocky and more founded on the fact that he had achieved so much, not just that he thought he could.

“You look… beautiful.” Charles said.

“You are very handsome yourself, although I think you have enough people telling you that regularly that it probably has lost all meaning.”

“Ha, It is nice to hear it from you though. How have you been? What are you doing now?”

“Still working in my same field. I got offered a better job here though, that's why I moved. I’d ask how racing is going but I already know the answer to that.”

“You watch my races?”

“I have never missed one. Even when we had just broken up. I am so proud, Charlie.”

“I thought you’d have stopped, especially with how cruel everyone was.”

“Nothing could ruin my love for it. Though we weren’t together, I still wanted to support you.”

This made Charles tear up. And watching him tear up made her do the same. They could feel all the love they once had for each other, but it was different this time.

“Are you seeing anyone? Have you settled? It must be hard to do that when you are on the road so much.” She asked.

“Ah no. I have tried but it is hard to get people to stick around through all of it. All the good and the bad.” This made her feel guilty. She had realized long after that she had put him in a hard position. He could have fought harder for them, but she could have too.

“I am sorry, Charles. You deserve someone stronger who can get through it. I wasn’t that person but I know they are out there.” “It is okay, I promise. We both weren’t ready for everything that came our way. It wasn’t fair to either of us but I should have tried to fight harder. I am sorry too.” They were silent as they held each other’s hands, until he asked, “What about you? Have you settled down?” She couldn’t miss the hopeful tone in his voice that just broke her heart.

“Yes actually. I met someone 5 months after we broke up. Married a year later. Had two kids after that. Twins.” It almost killed her to watch as his heart broke a second time hearing this. But even as hard as it was to tell him she moved on, she couldn’t stop how her eyes would light up talking about her family.

How could he be mad when she was so happy? 

“I am so happy to hear that.” He said. He was, deep down, even if it still hurt.

“My kids love watching your races. My husband says they are destined to go into motorsports, we are looking to put them into karting as soon as they are old enough. They love it.”

He laughed. The apple didn’t fall too far from the tree then. It made sense her kids would have inherited her love for the sport.

 “When they are older I would be happy to invite them onto the paddock. If you are comfortable, of course.”

“They would love that! Oh, Charles, thank you.” 

Conversation flowed easily after that. Two people, once so connected, catching up after all this time.

After a couple hours, she had a family to get back to, and he had a plane to catch later. He smiled the whole way home, it was a bittersweet moment. But once he got to his hotel, he let himself cry, mourn what could have been. What he didn’t know was that she was doing the same. She loved her husband with every fiber of her being. If she had the chance to do it over again she wouldn’t change a thing, too happy with her life now. But it still hurt to imagine a different version of their story, one where they stayed together. 

In another universe maybe.

Taglist: @mirrorball-6, @itsjustkhaos, @janeholt3, @loloekie, @babelllllllll, @ivegotparticulartaste

(Names crossed out couldn’t be tagged for whatever reason)

[mongoosingisme]

Title: Operation: Cranberry Sauce - Chapter 2

Series: Sticking the Landing (see fic Masterlist for previous parts)

Rating: Explicit (MDNI)

Relationship: Harvey/fem!Reader

Word Count: 4609

Summary: Harvey is not very good at taking care of himself when other people need him. You intend to help him with that.

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Read below

When you opened your eyes the clock said 2:47am.

This was confusing. You didn’t keep a clock in your room. 

But then you remembered. Where you were, why you were there. Aligned the pleasant ache between your legs with the memory of Harvey above you, the soft warmth of his bed with the way the two of you had fallen asleep around each other.

You were alone now.

You sat up at the realization. A band of light came in from under the door. You assumed this meant he was awake in the living room. That wasn’t the deal, you mused as you draped yourself in the first item of clothing you could find (Harvey’s t-shirt). He was supposed to be sleeping, and you were going to tell him so.

Harvey was indeed awake in the living room, reading on the couch, dressed in pajama pants, a well-worn sweatshirt, and glasses. He looked up as you opened the door. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, but why are you up?”

Harvey shrugged. The lamplight cast his face in highlights and shadows, softening his cheeks and mouth, making his eyes look darker. “Not always the best sleeper.” 

You didn’t know this. Kicked yourself for only learning it now. “Need me to tuck you back in?”

He sighed. “You’re sweet, but I’ll be up for a while. Why don’t you go back to bed? Don’t need both of us getting overtired.”

“Not a chance,” you said, settling down next to him on the couch. He smiled, put a bookmark in his book, raised his arm so you could snuggle up next to him.

“Want some quilt?” he asked, already pulling on the blanket hanging off the back of the couch.

You hummed in pleasure, the heat of his body and the softness of the blanket making you feel warm, sleepy, safe. You leaned against him, enjoying the rise and fall of his chest. The room was so quiet you could hear his watch ticking. His heart beat steadily in his chest, strong and regular enough to make you want to close your eyes, fall back asleep.

But that would leave him alone again, and you didn’t want that.

“I used to have trouble sleeping,” you said, if only to wake yourself back up a bit. “I’d wake up out of nowhere and it’d feel impossible to get back down. Moving out here helped a lot. Calms my brain down.”

“Mmmmm,” Harvey acknowledged. “I…” he paused, as though weighing if he should admit something. You pressed a kiss to his chest. Reached over and interlaced your fingers with his free hand. “I get nightmares. Makes it hard to go back to sleep.”

You made a sympathetic sound. “That’s no good.” Then you added with your best Fortune Teller voice: “tell me what you dreamed and I’ll tell you what it means.”

Harvey huffed. “No great mystery. Replays of my career lowlights, mostly,”

You made another sympathetic sound. It made sense, you supposed, that a few days of what counted as a medical catastrophe in Pelican Town would trigger some anxious thoughts. “Want to talk about it?”

He met your question with a silence long enough that you wanted to backtrack, to assure him that he didn’t need to talk about anything he didn’t want to, that you could just sit here and enjoy each other’s warmth and not worry about it, but then he was saying “compartmentalization isn’t my strength. It all sort of… blurs together. Up here.” He used your joined hands to tap his head.

“So what, dreaming of cranberry sauce?”

He grimaced. “No, thank Yoba. It was…” He sighed. “Well, it was you, in the hospital I used to work at. You weren’t… you weren’t doing well.”

Oh shit.

“Harvey,” you said, coming up on your knees so you could look him in the face. You felt like you should apologize, like you’d committed some sin by being far enough into his head to cause him pain. “What a crummy dream. I’m alright.”

“I know,” he said, but his mouth was thin, lacking the warmth of his usual smile.

“Do you? You know, you can give me a little check-up if you need to, make sure I’m all in one piece.” You wiggled onto his lap as you said it. 

Harvey settled his hands on your hips, but it was clear flirting wasn’t going to get his head out of his dream. “I can’t believe I’m turning down such a tempting offer, but I don’t think I could tonight.”

“It’s okay.” You leaned into his chest, a little frustrated by how comforted you felt by his warmth, the way he put his arms around you, how he buried his nose in your hair. “I promise I don’t have an ulcer or anything.”

Harvey hummed. “Those were never my specialty.”

“Oh?” It felt good to be talking, good to help him clear out whatever cobwebs were in his mind. “For some reason I thought you were a stomach doctor or something.”

Harvey chuckled. “Gastroenterology would have been more sensible, I think. I worked in the ICU. Trauma.”

You sat back. You didn’t know much about how hospitals worked, but those two words together seemed intense. “What, like people who got blown up or something?”

Harvey winced. “My patients needed a lot of care.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say. 

“They were in pain, most of the time. Recovery could be… complicated. Their lives were in your hands. You’d do the best you could, make the best decisions you knew to make, and you could still lose them. And if you made a mistake…”

He trailed off. You pressed your head back onto his chest. Listened to his heart, beating a little faster now. 

“It sounds like a nightmare,” you said.

“It was,” was his reply. 

He was quiet, then, hand stroking up and down your back. Again, you were annoyed at how comforting you found his presence, how inept you felt at doing the same for him.

“So what model plane are you working on right now?” you finally asked.

He laughed softly. You felt it rumble in his chest. “You don’t want to hear me talk about planes.”

You sat up, feigning indignance. “I’ll have you know I have a deep, abiding interest in all machines that fly.”

“Oh do you?” Harvey’s smile was beginning to look a little less thin. 

“Yes. I’m passionate about the little spinny things.” You rotated your finger rapidly. 

“Propellers?” Harvey suggested.

“Yes. And the flappy things.”

“Flaps?”

“I thought they were called wings.” Harvey’s smile broke into a grin, a laugh, and you’d never felt so accomplished. “You’d think you’d know what wings are called, what with the whole plane enthusiast thing you’ve got going.”

“Thank Yoba I have you here to teach me.” His eyes were sparkling in the lamplight now, looking at you with such affection you felt yourself starting to feel a little shy.

“So tell me, what are you working on?”

“If you must know,” he said, “I’m between projects. I finished the last one up a week ago, and I need to order some more.”

“Not so fast,” you said, holding up a finger so quickly it made him jump a bit. You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek in apology. “I picked one up for you as a Winter Star present. Though Yoba knows if it’s one you don’t already have - they all look the same to me.”

Now Harvey was looking a little shy. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“I know, which is why I did it.” You kissed him on the cheek again, lingering a little longer this time. “You can have it tomorrow. I’ll even take some time to show you what the wings are, but you have to get some sleep first.”

Harvey sighed, that affection back in his eyes. “I suppose that’s a reasonable condition.”

“Good. Now come on.” You got off his lap, guided him by the hand back to his bed, arranged him with his head on your chest. Despite his assertion that he’d have trouble falling back asleep, within minutes his breathing was slow and even.

You, however, were wide awake.

Your brain turned over the information he’d given you. Nightmares. Hospitals. Trauma ICU. Why did you think he was a gastroenterologist? Of course he would have worked in a more stressful field. The pieces started to fall into place as you thought it over. How quickly he’d react if anything went wrong, as though he were tuned to handling life or death situations. How capable he was when tending wounds. The confident authority he could slip into if he needed, though it never seemed to come without a cost.

You tried to imagine it, a younger Harvey making a decision about the future. He couldn’t fly, so what was next? Of course he’d feel pulled to a specialty where he was most needed. Of course he’d feel compelled to help those whose bodies were the most broken. Of course he’d get drawn into a place that fed off a willingness to give. He would have given, you knew. Given and given and given until there was nothing left, and then he’d still give more, grinding himself down until every second was agony. You wondered what the final straw could have been.

Wondered if you really wanted to know.

It made sense, too, the way he treated you. How eager he was to care for you, his attentiveness, yes, but also how he touched you. His focus on your gratification, the way he seemed to need it. So many of his interactions focused on illness, on fear, on pain. You wondered if there might be some release for him in controlling someone else’s pleasure.

It was a lot to think about. 

As the minutes went past your thoughts became less distinct, blurring gently into emotion. You cared for Harvey. Cared for him deeply. Wanted more of him, his voice and his smile, the way he moved, his smell. Wanted to wrap his mind up in a blanket, keep him safe and warm. Wanted all good things for him. Wanted to be the one who gave them to him.

There was a word for all that, you knew.

But you weren’t brave enough to think it yet.

Because the thing about you and falling was that you were absolutely awful at landing.

————————

You awoke a few hours later to weak morning sunlight and Harvey snoring gently against your chest. You extricated yourself as smoothly as you could and went about your business.

The business in question included making coffee and doing the dishes. You know, the responsible stuff. Responsibility was back on.

The floors were a little cold under your bare feet, your legs a little chilly sticking out from Harvey’s t-shirt, but it was alright. Coffee was easy to find (though cream was sadly absent), and soon the kitchen filled with the comforting aroma as you worked through the dishes.

“This is nice to wake up to.” Harvey was standing in the doorway, looking rumpled and sleepy. Hair mussed, sweatshirt soft (the letters “Z-Z-U” looked faded from many washings), eyes gentle without his glasses, smile warm and hazy. Compared to yesterday he looked a little better - less pale, less hunched, less exhausted. He still wasn’t quite back to his old self, though. Some thread of the last few days still ran through him, somewhere in the crease of his forehead, the set of his lips. 

“Nooooo,” you lamented as you saw him. “I was going to bring you coffee in bed! Get back in there!”

“Only if you come with me.” Did you think his eyes looked gentle? Clearly that was a bad read. His gaze was fond, yes, but the way his eyes traced over you as you stood there in his t-shirt was anything but soft.

“Well, I would, but you got all huffy when I tried to do the dishes last night, so here we are.” You flicked a little water at him for emphasis. “Now back to bed!”

“Bossy, bossy,” he murmured, moving towards you instead of the bedroom. Clearly he was bad with instructions. 

“It’s called responsibility, look it up.” You bit back your smile as he stood close behind you, hands gentle on your hips, lips on the top of your head.

“I’m going to have to retire this shirt,” he said, smoothing his thumbs back and forth over the fabric. “You wear it much better than I do.”

“Yes, and I’m going to keep wearing it until these dishes are done.” Harvey’s hands were traveling up, spanning your waist, pulling you back almost imperceptibly. You did your best to ignore the feeling starting to flutter between your legs. If the man wanted to feel you up before coffee that was his business, but you were going to get this one thing done before he pulled you into whatever he had planned.

“I’m flexible,” he whispered. His voice was still a little raspy with sleep. It sent a shiver down your spine. Those hands of his kept moving, up and forward, cupping your breasts through the shirt. Your nipples tightened at his touch, and you knew there was no hiding it from him. 

“Give me five minutes,” you said, a little miffed at the way your words trembled.

Harvey didn’t respond, just moved to the top of your thighs. His hands were warm in the cool room, flat and big and covering so much skin at once, fingers wide as he traveled the same path he did before, beneath the shirt this time. You were bare underneath, and you heard Harvey take in a breath as he realized it. 

“You’re very distracting.” You were absolutely breathless at this point. 

“Good,” he said, hands continuing to traverse upwards. His mouth had fallen to your neck, kissing you softly as his hands roamed.

“Fuck, Harvey,” you moaned as he cupped your breasts, gently rolled your nipples between his thumbs and the sides of his hands. “I’m all, like, pruny from the water.”

“That’s alright.” He nipped your earlobe at the same time he gave your breasts a particularly forceful squeeze. “You don’t need your hands for what I have in mind.”

Yoba

“You really can’t wait five minutes?” You were beginning to think you couldn’t wait five minutes.

“No, I can’t.” One hand travelled down, cupped around your core. “But don’t let me stop you.”

You let out a long, slightly whining breath as one of his talented fingers parted you, skimmed ever so gently along your folds. 

“It seems you really enjoy doing the dishes,” he remarked. You turned your head to give him an exasperated look, but that was playing right into his plans, it seemed. He ran his hand up from your breast through the collar of the shirt, bunching the fabric with his forearm, cool air hitting your stomach as he clasped around your neck, braced your jaw, kissed you long and deep. He bit your bottom lip gently before breaking away, making a pleased sound as you shuddered against him. “I need you to come for me, sweetheart. Is that something you can do?”

And there it was. He needed it. Was comforted by it the way you felt comforted wrapped up in his arms. Felt safe, somehow, in the certainty that he could elicit pleasure, that when you were near him you’d feel good, feel incredible, better than you ever had or ever would without him. That you’d put your body in his hands, trust him to take control, to make your world perfect for just a moment.

Well. If that’s what he needed, you’d just have to bear it with grace.

Isn’t that the responsible thing to do?

“I think I can,” you said. Harvey made an approving sound, rubbed his mouth against your neck, dropped the hand holding your chin to press against your stomach. You used the brief pause in his attentions to finish scrubbing a cutting board. “But really, isn’t that up to you? Think you can make me?”

Harvey laughed, lower and deeper than his usual chuckle. “That’s a dangerous question to ask.”

“What can I say?” You deposited the last bits of silverware in the drying rack, used the towel hanging over your shoulder to dry your hands, tried to will some steadiness into your voice. “I like to live on the wild side.”

“My little trouble maker,” he said, then his hands weren’t on you anymore, not really. They were on the towel, for some reason, the one between your hands. He was moving it, catching you up in it, not knotting but twisting, trapping your hands together, holding on tight with one fist while the other made its way back to your folds.

“Fuck,” you gasped, pulling at the fabric. Your excitement had rocketed up at the makeshift restraint, leaving you shaky, sensitive, eager and needy and completely focused on the finger pressing ever so lightly against your clit.

“I told you you wouldn’t need your hands.” Harvey’s quiet confidence wound you up further, made the first real stroke of his fingers feel like a spark, the touches that followed catching through your hips and your thighs. He wasn’t teasing this time, wasn’t going to make you ask or beg. He was chasing results, and had more than the skills needed to achieve them. He knew your body, had been observing it relentlessly throughout your interactions, knew exactly where to touch, how fast, how hard, what angle, what rhythm to have you spiraling upwards almost immediately. 

You cried out, body wanting to double over at the feel of his fingers, so clever and calibrated and beyond fucking perfect. He braced you with the arm holding the towel, keeping you still, keeping you exactly where he wanted you: shaking and keening, clenching around nothing as his fingers worked you up, up, up, up.

“You’re awfully keyed up, sweetheart.” His voice was so calm, so unaffected it made you want to scream. “Just be good and let it go, alright? Just let go for me.”

And fuck, that was exactly what you were doing, feeling everything in you let go, waves of pleasure taking its place, full and deep and shaking and stealing the breath from your lungs so you couldn’t scream, couldn’t moan, couldn’t even whimper. You made a silent, breathless cry as you crested, stayed at that peak for what felt like an eternity until finally releasing, crashing down, feeling limp and weighty as Harvey dropped the towel, wrapped his arm around your waist, held you up, held you to him.

“Well done,” he whispered in your ear. “That was perfect. You were so, so good. Let me see it again.”

“Wha-?” His fingers hadn’t stopped moving, hadn’t stopped their absolutely perfect rhythm against you. You braced your hands against the lip of the sink. Harvey’s arm had stayed latched around your waist, and it was a good thing too - all you wanted to do was let your knees give in, sink to the floor, but he wouldn’t let you. Instead, he kept you just as you were, curled over, gasping, crying out as his fingertips worked against your nub. 

His big t-shirt had slipped down off your shoulder and you could feel his lips running against your skin. His mustache was soft, his stubble rough, his breath warm between kisses. You gripped at the counter, hips starting to make tiny thrusts against his fingers, and Harvey made an approving noise.

“You’re being such a good little thing,” he whispered, lips leaving your shoulder to press against the shell of your ear. “You’re being so, so good for me. Keep going, darling. Keep going.”

As if there were any alternative. As if this ended any other way than you freezing and shuddering, knuckles white, throat constricting on a groan, climax coming on fast and sharp and all-consuming, Harvey pouring praise into your ear as you shook against him, fingers keeping that steady, steady rhythm, until your knees really were giving out this time, and you were pressing your rib cage against the sink for balance, gathering enough breath to gasp “Yoba, Harvey!”

“Are you alright?” Harvey’s body had followed yours, curling over with you, hips pressing against your rear, fingers unmoving against your core. He was hard, what must be achingly so. You could feel him pulse against you, feel yourself pulsing too, tensing and shivering against his motionless fingers, keyed up and wanting, still somehow unsated. 

“Yeah,” you gasped. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

Harvey was turning you, helping you brace your hips on the side of the sink. He held your face between his hands - gentle, shaking slightly, two fingers raised. You were reminded of how he looked at you yesterday in his office, in those split seconds you let him think you were ill. You regretted the joke now, as he searched your eyes. He didn’t need any more worries. 

Whatever he was looking for as he examined you, he found it. “Are you sore at all? From last night?”

You pressed your lips together, restraining the grin that wanted to spread across your face. He needed more. You needed more. “I’m doing alright. Why do you ask?”

“I… I was hoping…” He stammered for a moment (so funny, how his confidence would come and go, so endearing and so interesting), then he caught the teasing glint in your eye. He gave you a look equal parts admonishment and affection, pressed his lips softly to yours. So sweet, this man. So gentle, until you were opening your mouth, letting your tongue meet his, and he was groaning and catching you up beneath your thighs and settling you right back on the counter where you’d been the night before. 

From there it was simply a matter of fishing the packet of foil from his pajama pocket (so prepared, you could practically see the badge-covered vest he must have stored away somewhere), hitching down his pants (you reached for his his cock but he was grabbing your wrist, pressing a kiss to it as he rubbed up against you, tracing the tip of his length against your folds with such firm deliberation it left you gasping), rolling the condom down (you helped as best you could, his fingers tangling with yours as you reached his base, tensing and groaning as you gave him a squeeze), and gently, gently pushing inside of you.

He watched your face as he breached you, some quiet calculus going on behind his eyes. You wondered if he believed you when you said you weren’t sore, if he was looking for any sign of discomfort, unease. And yes, perhaps you were a little sore, but not enough to make his stretch inside of you anything but sweet. 

“I’m okay,” you whispered. “Promise.”

Harvey nodded, kissed your forehead, and moved into you the rest of the way. You shivered at the intrusion, clutched at his shirt, squeezed around him as he groaned, braced his hands on either side of you, shifted his hips in a slow, grinding circle. “So good,” he whispered. “So good, sweetheart. Can… do you think you can come again for me?”

Your response was to grab his hand, bring his fingers to your mouth, meet his eyes as you wet two of them with your tongue.

“Yoba,” he groaned, eyes squeezing shut, hips thrusting hard once, twice, and then his fingers were back on your clit.

It felt different this time, with his cock filling you, with your knees hitched up around his hips, with the way he was watching you. So intent, searching your face, trying to see something in it, looking, asking, begging, you realized with a gasp, begging for something that he didn’t know how to say. 

And maybe it was the position, exactly where you’d been the night before. Maybe it was the way he was curling around you, finger working, so attuned, so attentive, so focused on you and your needs. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at you last night, when he’d admitted the stories that played in his mind while you slept peacefully. Maybe you just fucking wanted to, okay? Just wanted to reach up and clasp him around the throat, thumb against his pulse, not choking but holding, just holding him steady as his eyes widened, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed, his body shuddered. 

“Are you going to make me come?” you asked.

Something in him seemed to break.

He was nodding, eyes closed, gasping, fingers working you faster now, harder, hips snapping quicker, making small noises now, sounds of agreement, sounds that yes said, he was going to do what you asked, yes, he was going to give you what you needed, yes, you were going to give him what he needed too, were giving it to him right now, in fact, in the way your body tensed around him, the way you moaned as your climax hit, the way your fingers tightened around his throat, just a little, just enough to hold him steady, draw him in, make it clear beyond any doubt that he wasn’t there alone.

“Fuck,” he was gasping, both hands on your hips now, pulling you forward to meet each of his thrusts. 

You hooked your free arm around his neck, pulled him down closer, down so his ear was next to your mouth, right where you could whisper into it, close enough for him to feel the puffs of air as you said “that’s it, you’re doing so good. You’re fucking me so good, Harvey, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He kept up the pace, the sound of his body hitting yours loud in the quiet room. You could feel the way he groaned through your hand on his neck, tiny vibrations that made you groan in return, press your mouth against his ear, close your eyes and hold him, hold him as his thrusts fell off rhythm, hold him as he flexed into you hard and deep, hold him as his body sagged in the wake of his release.

You stayed curled around each other for a moment. Harvey took deep, shuddering breaths, leaning his forehead against your shoulder as he softened inside of you. You kept your hand on his neck, looser, your arm around his shoulders as he relaxed.

“You okay?” you asked him.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I… I really am.”

And he truly seemed to be. His eyes were clearer than you’d seen them since before you’d left for the holiday. You rubbed your thumb over his pulse, pressed a kiss to his temple.

The last 18 hours had been a revelation.

And because you were being responsible, you were going to attend to what they revealed.

A man, more alone than you realized, who needed filling in a way you hadn’t accounted for.

A hand on a neck, and the way a pulse slowed to steady while fingers stayed on it.

A feeling, you had to think it now, had to name it, had to admit that it was love and you were in it deep, falling fast with no landing in sight.

You would attend to these things, you promised yourself as you ran your fingers through Harvey’s soft hair. Give them the thought, the attention, the persistence they deserved. 

And that, you decided, would be how you would finally, finally land the way you wanted to: firmly, with both feet, and with a modicum of grace.

Masterlist

[mingtinysworld]

Copycat

Pairing: Choi San x Jung Wooyoung

Genre: idol au, established relationship, smut

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: While San is on a live with fans, he comes across fanfiction and wants to share it with his ever the obedient boyfriend Wooyoung.

Warnings: MDNI mxm, anal, fingering, degradation, nipple play, handjob, lil bit of spanking, San dom (he tries)

A/n - when I heard that San came across fanfiction, I lost it. And then I had this brilliant idea😃 so yeah I hope you enjoy. It’s also my first time writing mxm and it’s HARD (hehe) but yeah please like, comment, and reblog! Love youuuu - J<3

It had been a while since San had gone live. Atinys had been begging for a San live forever. He’d been so busy with all his schedules, he didn’t have any time.

Finally, after a tiring performance, he decided he could go live. He settled in bed, all cozy with his dark blue silk pajamas. Already having taken off his makeup, he opts for the voice only option. He figures that’s good enough, and presses start.

“Hi everyone! Sorry that it’s voice only today, I just took my makeup off! But I’m super excited to spend time with you today. Ask any questions you’d like!”

The chat rolled by quickly as usual, most comments being confessions of love that flatter yet overwhelm him. He continues talking about his long day and responding to random comments here and there. One comment catches his eyes and he scrolls back to find it.

“‘How many times do I search up my name?’ Hmm that’s a good question. I’d say not too much, just once in a while. You know what, I should search up my name now, why not.”

They can hear San’s speedy typing, and wait with anticipation. San lets out a little ‘aha’ and starts listing off things relating to his name. “Alright let’s see. San mama, San bouncy, San crazy form, San fanfiction, San…wait what?” He takes a few seconds to read. “What does that mean?”

The chat goes ballistic. The comments go by at the speed of lightning, begging San to ignore it. San gets flustered at all the comments. “What do you mean don’t search it? Why not? Is it a bad thing?”

Curiosity gets the best of San and he types in “San fanfiction”. The chat is still screaming at him to stop. He clicks on the first link, directing him to a website. As he scrolls, a title catches his eye.

“Woosan fight club.”

That intrigues him, and he starts reading. The fans hear silence on his end, and continue freaking out. As San goes past the first paragraph, he can feel an erection forming and tries so hard to keep it together. Realizing he needs to get back to the live, he clears his throat, trying hard to sound normal.

“Ahhh so that’s what it is,” he says quietly. “You guys sure know how to have fun.” He forces out a chuckle. Desperately needing to leave, he sticks around for a bit more in order to not seem suspicious.

Finally after the most torturous ten minutes, he says goodnight to Atinys and ends the live. Letting out a groan of frustration, he palms himself through his pants, needing friction. As his hips raise to meet his hand, he realizes he needs more. He stands up from his bed abruptly, leaving the dorm. Not even bothering to throw on a shirt, he runs down the stairs in a rush.

Coming up to the door, he knocks urgently, disregarding the neighbors. The door opens and there stands a disheveled looking Wooyoung.

“S-san? What are you doing here?” He asks in a confused tone. He glances at the clock. “It’s 12:30.” San pushes past him into the living room. Looking around for traces of Hongjoong or Jongho, he turns back to Wooyoung.

“Where are the others?” He asks him. Wooyoung still looking confused answers. “They’re both asleep, but San I still don’t understand why-”

Wooyoung’s words are cut off as San smashes his lips against his, Wooyoung stumbling backwards. He lets out muffled gasps, while San sinks his teeth into his lower lip. In between loud smacks, Wooyoung manages to get out a few words.

“San what the hell are you doing?” Even through the confusion, he kisses San like his life depends on it. He only gets shushed in return, getting no answer, but that doesn’t matter too much when he’s being devoured by the love of his life. San starts to lead Wooyoung towards his room, not once letting go.

“I have something to show you,” San says breathlessly. He pulls out his phone from his pocket and scrolls through dozens of Ateez fan fiction.

“Choose from any of these and I will do whatever it says in it.” San can’t even contain his excitement.

Wooyoung starts protesting. “What in the…” he trails off as he sees the content. He swallows tightly and turns to look at San who is in the process of taking his pants off.

“Oh god, ok ok, I’ll choose this one.” He stops on a Woosan one, how ironic.

San lets out a wicked grin. “Alright baby, your wish is my command.” He pushes Wooyoung down once again, with more intensity. Trailing his mouth up his collarbones, leaving sloppy, wet kisses upon his exposed skin. As he nears his ear, he lets out a sensual whisper.

“One condition though. You read to me what’s happening and I’ll do it.”

Wooyoung tries not to show his eagerness but fails, letting out an excited giggle. It’s pretty much a dream come true for the pervert that he is.

San assists Wooyoung in taking off his pants, moving on to his shirt next. He hands him the phone with the filthy smut, clammy hands reaching out in a grabbing motion.

He gives San a cheeky grin while shuffling his hips closer to the edge of the bed. San groans at the feel of their skin on each other. “Ok baby, get to reading now.”

A throaty moan leaves Wooyoung‘s mouth as San grabs the base of his cock. His body convulses from the sudden attack, and he drops the phone onto his stomach. San continues sliding his hand up and down his shaft, stimulating Wooyoung in a way that has him thrashing around.

Pressing his thumb onto the slit, Wooyoung tenses and lets out a whine.

“What did I say about reading? Get to it.”

Wooyoung shivers at San’s commanding tone. He tries to get it together and firmly grasps the phone in his hands.

“San ran his hands all over Wooyoung’s torso, brushing past his sensitive nipples, sending a shiver through his lithe body.”

And San does just that. He splays out a hand on his chest, running his nails up and down. He pinches his nipple, having no mercy whatsoever. Pinching, twisting, pulling. He was simultaneously still pumping his leaking, desperate cock.

Wooyoung feels like he’s going insane, he needs a release. Yelping out slightly, he holds onto San’s hand.

“San, oh my god please I can’t-” San speeds up his actions, shoving two fingers into Wooyoung’s mouth to shut him up.

Wooyoung comes with a muffled moan, hips bucking up, searching for more friction and also stinging from overstimulation.

Even though San is feeling devilish, he still has enough mercy to let Wooyoung relax from his intense orgasm.

His chest is heaving up and down, eyes closed and hand gripping the sheets. After a few more deep breaths, Wooyoung comes to a realization that he only got one sentence out of the fanfiction. Fearfully, he peeks out at San, expecting an angry face ready to punish him. However, a soft smile graces his face.

“Baby, I know I wanted you to read the story, but I can’t handle your attention not being fully on me.”

Wooyoung lets out a breathy laugh at that. Oh San. He’s always trying to pretend that he’s so in charge, but he can’t help being needy and selfishly wanting attention.

He throws the phone away gladly, and pushes San down against him in a passionate kiss. Wooyoung attacks with his tongue, fighting for dominance. San is however having none of that.

He flips up Wooyoung onto his knees, and pushes his head into the pillow.

“Do not move,” San growls out.

Sliding off the bed, he reaches for the lube in their nightstand. Twisting it open, he lets a glob fall from onto Wooyoung’s awaiting hole. As the cold liquid drips down, he clenches around nothing. Smearing it around, he shoves in a finger with no warning.

Wooyoung lets out the most pathetic whine known to mankind, moving his hips side to side. San smacks his hand down onto his ass, leaving a faint red hand mark.

“Maybe if I fuck you open with my fingers you’ll learn how to shut up huh? What do you think?”

He adds a second finger, having no pity. To his delight, Wooyoung is too out of it to get out any words. All he can hear is muffled moans and sobs.

He decides he’s opened up enough and pulls his fingers out with a pop. Wooyoung’s greedy hole twitches, missing being full.

San pumps his own cock a few times, getting himself ready to fuck the life out of his boyfriend. He lines himself up and slowly pushes in. Of course he loves being mean, but he doesn’t want to genuinely hurt Wooyoung. As soon as Wooyoung is filled to the brim, San starts thrusting shallowly.

With each thrust, Wooyoung’s face gets squished into the pillow more and more. He lets out a scream.

“San!!”

“Oh now the dirty whore found his words. You’re enjoying this a bit too much aren’t you.”

He lets down a few more smacks, resulting in Wooyoung moaning loudly, almost howling.

San keeps pounding into Wooyoung, gripping his skin so tightly that it leaves crescent nail marks. He grits his teeth, putting everything he’s got into this. The sound of the headboard banging against the wall completely escapes him, not even caring about the neighbors at the moment. He’ll deal with it later.

“Fuck fuck fuck San.” Wooyoung just babbles absently, so fucked out he can’t think of anything else to say.

As San’s hips drill into Wooyoung harder, he nears his climax. Wanting to make Wooyoung come again, he reaches around him, gripping his leaking cock. Wooyoung cries out at the extra stimulation and his knees almost give out.

San thrusts for a few more seconds, and he comes with a loud groan, right into Wooyoung’s ass. As he pulls out, his cum drips out, leaving a trail of the dirty deed.

Wooyoung collapses onto the bed, without having San holding him up. He feels like he could just fall asleep he’s so tired. He feels San leave the bed and he lets out a low whine at his absence.

San comes back with a warm, wet towel. Gently cleaning up Wooyoung, he leaves soft, fluttery kisses along his back. Wooyoung lets out steady breaths, finally being able to relax from the torture (fun).

San climbs into bed with him, cuddling him close. Wooyoung reaches out a hand to caress San’s soft face.

“I love you so much San.” He whispers. San closes his eyes and gives him a peck on his hand.

“I love you even more baby.”

As they both settle down to sleep, he hears a vibration on the nightstand. He turns to grab his phone, and sees a message from Hongjoong.

“Why don’t you be a little louder you bastards. Fuck you, I want to sleep”

San stifles his laughter and turns back around with no guilt whatsoever.

[aetlasx]

prologue

pair: eddie munson x witch!reader

summary: Ah, memories. You journal your first day of high school, but things quickly take a turn just a few weeks later.

tw: menstruation, pad/tampons, bullying, name calling (pls lmk if there’s anything I missed)

a/n: just stick with me lol. he’ll be in the first part. Also, this is an AU!! For spooky season!! thank you so much for reading!!

*the chat font is the diary entry and it goes back to normal at the end*

August 22nd, 1983 It's been a few months since i've written in this thing. I thought it'd be a good time to start now since I finally made it to high school!

You know what that means? Four more years till I leave this shithole!! Better than five. June was actually waiting by the door when I got home, she really wanted to hear every detail of how it went. I told her about my classes, I have Jonathan in two and Nancy in several. I told her how the school and people were so different from anything I was used to. But, it doesn't take her long to find something wrong with the way I think. She started with her usual warnings and advice, all the things I need to avoid, all the mistakes I shouldn't make. I know she's just trying to protect me, but it feels like she can never have trust in her little sister.

On the other hand, at least Teddy asked if I had fun. He's always been the one who knows how to lighten the mood, especially knowing how his wife is. He asked about my teachers and any clubs that looked cool enough to join. He even asked about Jonathan and Nancy.

Jonathan was definitely not as excited as me. He's quite, but he's always been that way.I know that his mom was excited for his first day of high school, she even convinced him to bring his camera. Right now, I'm trying to convince him to join the newspaper but he just shrugs me off. And Nancy, well, although it's been one–girl is practically glow. Within just 8 hours of the school day, she was able to meet a boy. She kept gushing about him and is pretty excited for the rest of the school year here. I'm genuinely happy for her.

Before June could add her two cents, I interrupted her with how I stopped by Aunt Claudia's after school to see how Dustin's day went. He was already sprawled out on the couch, 'exhausted' from fighting with his new math teacher. It had been a bit since I had seen them, I slaved away my summer at my job so stopping by, I felt grateful that they weren't even mad. I'll have to start hanging out with him again.

Anyways, I’m determined to make the most of freshman year with my friends. I’m ready to prove that I’m more than just a product of this stupid town.

Wish me luck!!

September 16th, 1983

I think I lied. I don’t know where to start…but a four year wait is too long. I don’t know where it all went wrong but it started over the weekend.

Sometimes I’d like to think that if my mom was still around, this wouldn’t have happened. Hell, June is like my mom, why did it happen. I’m talking about mother nature’s gift. It seemed as though no on thought to inform me that a girls first period would be this chaotic.

Nance and I had a movie night planned. I hadn’t really talked to her much, only in class, because her new boy toy or whatever—Steve Harrington, was taking up most of her time. I thought this would be a good time to just catch up and gossip, I was wrong. That Friday was horrible. I ended up throwing up, getting the chills, my body ached to no end. But I was still determined to make movie night happen, especially since June and Teddy were gone for the weekend.

As I was dying on the couch, Nancy finally showed up. But to my disappointment, it was only to cancel. Her and Steve were going out on their first date. I don’t know if it was how hot I was feeling or my intestines twisting, but black spots started clouding my vision. I just remember her screaming for Steve and once I knew it, I woke up in the hospital.

What I’m about to write, I’ll say with confidentiality…probably because I’m the only one reading this. Whatever.

A period is probably normal for all females. What’s not normal is having to go to the hospital and having your best friend’s boyfriend make fun of you because the doctor called you a late bloomer. I mean, she apologized but, if I could’ve just died on that bed, I wouldn’t be here.

Even June lectured me when I interrupted her weekend getaway. The whole ride home she kept complaining and saying ‘how could I not know’ and ‘you just gave us another unnecessary bill’. Like, sorry my baby’s natural response has ruined something for you.

Fuck. That’s not even the worst part. When Monday came back around, everyone was looking at me when I walked in. I know how cliche it sounds after what had just happened but knowing how popular Harrington was and who his friends were, he had already told the whole school by now. During gym, Carol and a few other girls threw pads and tampons at me. I got called ‘Bloody Mary’ and ‘Leak Freak’ in the hallways, at lunch, and anytime anyone had the chance. I tried to stay strong, I even hoped Nancy would say something to me during class or at least when she saw me but she just looked at me with sympathetic eyes. It’s just hard to believe that a few weeks ago, everything was fine. We were making fun of our teacher, gossiping with Barb, and even went shopping but I guess things change. Now when I look at her I’m just consumed with rage.

Jonathan has been supportive, though. The evening I got out of the hospital, he had actually brought over some of my favorite snacks and listened to me cry all night. Even when the mocking was bad, he’s stuck by my side. He’s told some kids to fuck off, walks me to class, and I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong but knowing that I have to wake up and go through it again doesn’t really ease my pain.

I feel like my chances of making friends and actually joining some clubs are ruined. When I try talking to some new, they give me dirty looks. When I go to ask about different clubs, they turn me away. I’ve lost hope. Thought this was suppose to be a fresh start but I guess not.

And just to add more salt to the wound, I haven’t been able to sleep. Every time I close my eyes and drift to away, I’m met with such an unsettling environment. The atmosphere is thick, groggy, red. It’s coated in fog, but a man I’ve never seen before always walks through it. He says his name is Henry, he starts talking about my worries and pain. It’s always the same—he says he’s ‘there to help me’, he’s there to ‘take away the pain because he knows what it’s like’. I truly don’t know what has caused my subconscious to create things like this but I guess I’m just tired of feeling like shit.

I don’t even know why I bother keeping a journal around. Sometimes I feel like I won’t even be here in the future to reminisce on the shitty days like this. Why would I even? I guess it’s just easier to write these things down than having to say them out loud. I thought I’d be able to make my sister, aunt, cousin, and friends proud, but I’m starting to think I’m just not cut out for this.

Closing the diary, the blonde places it back in the shoebox you hid it in. Pushing it back under your bed, standing from the place he sat. A satisfied smirk on his face.

He’d been following your turmoil closely, knowing that this was just the turning point. Your struggles were feeding into his plans. This entry was straw that broke the camels back—your vulnerabilities, your fears, and your desperations. It was almost too easy.

“Your suffering is almost poetic,” Henry said to himself, walking out of your room, your house, determined to take action now. He planned to finally confront you, to force you to acknowledge the full extent of what your destiny could be with his help—with what he had to offer.

[m1kawrites]

2000+ 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌, 𝖫𝗎𝖼𝗂𝖿𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝖲𝖥𝖶 𝖺𝗅𝗉𝗁𝖺𝖻𝖾𝗍

2000+ word G/N reader :3 I haven't wrote in ages so sorry if it's not that good AGHH!!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

This man is a sadist both in and out of bed, but when it comes to aftercare? He’s an entirely different demon. Sex with you is his best stress reliever, a way to loosen up and relax after a long day of his brothers antics alongside the stress of paperwork. But no matter how rough or gentle he was, he’s always attentive afterwards watching you closely to make sure you're okay.

If you need a drink, he won’t hesitate to fetch one while you clean up. If you’re too exhausted, he’ll help, even running a warm bath if you're still sore afterward. if you're the type to drift off to sleep, he’s more than happy to wrap you in his arms, holding you close until you’re settled only then will he quietly return to any unfinished work. B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For his favourite body part of his own... I’d say his hands. He is the type to take great care of his hands using some hand care products Asmo gifted him to keep them soft and smooth. One of the main reasons he likes his hands is how nicely they look against your body, tracing over your skin as you shiver from his touch.

(A close second would be his hair. Okay hear me out but I can totally see this old man being ridiculously picky about it. If he's having a bad hair day well he'll be in a foul mood all day)

Now, when it comes to his favourite body part of yours, I’d say he would love your neck. The mere thought of marking up your neck just ever so faintly and seeing the marks slightly being visible out from your uniform drives him wild. Seeing the proof of his love on their skin fills him with pride. Oh and when he teases you? he would feel up your neck with his lips just to feel your little human pulse quicken beneath his lips? That’s just the cherry on top and his favourite thing to do! C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) I don’t see Lucifer being the type to play with or eat cum, it’s just not his thing. However, creampies? That’s a different story. The pride of seeing you completely fucked out, oozing his load? Yeah, he loves that.

That said, I do think he’d prefer using protection. Mostly for the convenience of an easier clean up and, if his partner is AFAB, to prevent any risk of pregnancy. So while he mostly sticks to condoms, he might occasionally indulge himself

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Before you and him got together, he has fantasized about you walking in on him at just the right moment of him pleasuring himself. The idea of being caught in the act and seeing your shocked or flustered reaction, was something that crossed his mind more than once.

Now, if you or worse, someone else accidentally walked in on him? That's something else.. He would hate that, His pride would be absolutely shattered. But if he wanted you to catch him? If he planned it, knowing exactly when you’d be doing your usual nightly check-ins? That’s a different story. Just the thought of you walking in, seeing him like that.. would you freeze up? Be shy and embarrassed? Would you get turned on? or... maybe just maybe you would join him? The anticipation alone was enough to drive him wild. E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Lucifer is definitely experienced, but not in the same way as Asmo. He’s not the type to sleep around with every demon or human he meets he has a reputation to uphold! His experience comes from an understanding of pleasure. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Reading your body language, watching every twitch of your expression as he thrusts into you~ he uses it all to push you right to the edge, only to pull back at the last moment hehe.. It’s almost infuriating how well he knows your body… maybe even better than you do yourself. F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

He’d love doggy. being able to grip your hips as he pounds into you, with the perfect view to spank you to his heart’s content as he watches your ass slowly turn red. Doggy makes it so he can easily grab your hair or press your head down into the pillow or desk, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

That said, he’d also enjoy any position that lets him see your face. watching every little expression you make as he drags you closer to the edge, taking in every reaction and lip quiver as he makes you feel way too good. G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Definitely serious but teasing.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) fully clean-shaved and very well-groomed if not fully shaved. He has nothing against body hair and wouldn’t mind if his partner kept things natural down there. However, for himself? He’d definitely prefer to be shaved just something about the clean, smooth feel that he enjoys. I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s a sadist who enjoys being rough in bed, degrading his little brat but there are still nights when he can be romantic where he is slow and passionate. On those nights, he’ll take his time, moving gently inside you as you’re both perfectly in sync, savouring the feeling of both of your bodies interlinked while He’ll whisper sweet, romantic words into your ears.

But if you decide to act up and be a little brat in bed during it? Well, he won’t tolerate that. He’ll make sure you know who’s in control.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t do it often, he’s simply too busy with work. But if he’s had a particularly stressful week, I can see him jerking off to release some tension, most likely in the shower early in the morning so he won’t have to worry about cleaning up.

As I mentioned in my "dirty secret" section, I feel like he’d enjoy the idea of you catching him or even giving you a little “punishment” under his desk. As he spills his load deep in your throat, making sure you’re completely under his control. K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He loves the Dom/Sub dynamic and of course, he’s always the Dom. You can try to make him the sub, but good luck with that he’ll quickly put you back in your pathetic place

Bondage is something he absolutely enjoys. The thought of you completely tied up, at his mercy, with red ropes wrapped tightly around your body, gets him going. The way you look, so helpless and pathetic, only adds to his excitement.

And he’s 100% the type to edge his lover. Watching you come undone, crying and begging for release, especially if you've been stubborn lately, is the perfect form of punishment. He’ll watch you slowly lose control, turning into nothing more than a babbling, desperate little slut. L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

His study is one of his favourites, the thought of you bent over his desk as he pounds into you, being able to spank your ass over the desk, or even you under his desk, choking on his cock? That’s perfect for him.

Another favourite of his is the bedroom, where he can just rut into your body in any position with ease M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

If he sees you acting up in public or around his brothers, he won’t give in easily. He knows exactly what you're doing, trying to rile him up and he won’t let it work. Instead, he’ll ignore you, letting you stew in your frustration of defeat. But once you finally give up, that’s when he’ll come to you.

I can also see you getting touchy with him as a sure fire way to rile him up. He’s a touch starved man, after all. The moment you start being forward, it's bound to make him excited.. he won’t be able to resist~

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

If something upsets you, he wouldn’t do it, he values your feelings and wouldn’t cross that line. I also see him as one who won't like pegging, I don’t think he’d be into it. His pride wouldn’t allow it, and even if he agreed to try, he wouldn’t find himself turned on by it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He definitely has a preference for receiving oral, but that doesn’t mean he dislikes giving it. He’d much rather see you looking up at him as you take him deep into your throat, warming up his cock in your throat while he work. He’ll tell you to be a patient little lamb, and wait for him to finish before you can get what you want. Once he’s done, he’ll guide your head up and down, watching with satisfaction as you choke on him, enjoying the tears in your eyes from the stretch of your jaw. P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It all depends on his mood. If he's had a stressful day and you’ve riled him up, he’ll be fast, hard, and rough, his pace matching his frustration. But if he’s in a good mood and a bit tired from work, he’ll slow things down. His movements will be sensual, as he whispers romantic words in your ear.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t mind quickies, but it’s not something he does often. He prefers taking his time with his partner, savouring every moment. After all, how can he turn you into a babbling overstimulated mess just from a quickie? Well he could easily do that if he wanted too but he much likes longer. For him, the thrill is in the control, and that requires more time.. more opportunity to tease and torment, to slowly push you to the edge before pulling back.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s willing to try certain things once, especially if you ask him nicely. He’s not the type to constantly seek out risks, but he won’t play it too safe either. If he's feeling bold, he might send you to R.A.D with a vibrator inside you, turning it on throughout the day just to watch you squirm while you try to stay quiet and composed.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Oh, he could go for multiple rounds, all night if he wanted to. Especially if you’ve riled him up or if he’s been stressed. But you’re human, after all, and the last thing he wants is to hurt you or push you past your limits. He knows exactly when to stop or when to take breaks for your sake. Especially after he’s thoroughly overstimulated you, making you cum more times than you can count. T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He owns toys, but not for himself as they're to be used on you. If you ever wanted to try one or had your eye on something new, he’d oblige without hesitation, making sure you get exactly what you want. After all, it’s going to be used on you~

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves to tease. He’d spend all night tormenting you, whispering about what a desperate little slut you are for riling him up just so he’ll fuck you. He’ll humiliate and degrade you, reminding you that all you had to do was ask if you wanted his cock that badly. But no, you had to be needy, had to push his limits so now? He’s going to make you regret it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not loud, but he’s not completely silent either, somewhere in between. You can definitely hear him, but if you moan too loud, you would just drown him out. He’s the type to let out deep grunts and soft gasps with his heavy breaths right against your ear, letting you feel what you’re doing to him.

Though, when he finally cums? You might catch a quiet, breathy moan slipping past his lips.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He enjoys your tears. not from genuine discomfort and fear of him, never that. But the ones that spill when he’s fucking you so good you can’t hold them back. The ones that come from sheer pleasure, from desperation, the pain from his whip, from the overwhelming need to cum. Yeah, those tears? He loves them. X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Lucifer’s got a big cock, though I feel like he might be lacking a bit in width, not that it’s anything to complain about since he still has a nice width just not as girthy as Beel’s. However his length more than makes up for it. 8 inches, His tip is a very light pink, and his cock has a slight curve up rather than to the side.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I’d say his drive is pretty high (have you seen him in the game? LOL). He can control it, sure, but when he goes too long without relief? He gets pent up and I mean pent up. So well.. the next time he has you beneath him, he’s taking it all out on you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He wouldn’t fall asleep until you do and he didn't have any work to do. He’d make sure you were okay, watching over you until you drifted off before slipping away to his study to finish up any lingering paperwork. Only once everything was in order would he finally allow himself to pull you back in his arms and fall asleep

A/N: I hope you enjoyed!! Haven't written in ages.. I feel rusty so I hope I can get back in my game. I'm planning on doing another one of these so which brother do you want to see next?

[thus-spoke-lo]

cw: yandere!gn!reader. use of restraints. obsessive/delusional behavior [reader]. implied extremely dubious consent. sexually suggestive. uses prompts from here. wc: 750 Yandere Minific Masterlist

“Don’t you think the seastone is a little unnecessary?” Sanji winds his body again, just as he has been for hours now, pulling against the slack you’ve left him—just enough to let him think he has a chance at freedom. But you’ve studied him, read all the newspapers, traveled to islands to hear first-hand accounts, and you know just what it will take to keep him right where you want him.

“It’s just a precaution, my love,” you coo, watching sweat bead on his forehead, his pretty blonde hair clinging to his skin. His skin is flushed, reddened from exertion, his chest heaving with panting breaths—just the way you picture it will be once he’s ravished you, devoured you, whispered your name against your skin as he fills you over and over again.

“My friends will come for me,” he says through gritted teeth as he bends and twists once more, balling his hands into fists. “My friends will come, and then you’ll regret this—I can assure of you that!”

“Careful now, mon cher—you don’t want to mess up your beautiful hands,” you chide, clucking your tongue as you stroke his skin and lean down to pry his fist open and press his slender fingers against your cheek. A shudder runs down your spine, electricity sparking in your nerves—he feels like heaven. You turn your face and kiss the palm of his hand, sticking out the tip of your tongue and running the pointed tip up along his middle finger. “I want to know how you’ll taste between my teeth, is that so wrong?”

“Maybe in another life, I’d fall in love with you, angel,” he scoffs, though you can detect a softness in his tone, a kindness towards his captor that, though probably undeserved, is deeply desired. “But it won’t happen like this.”

It’s cute how he resists, charming even. He doesn’t yet understand the kindness you’ve done for him, the way you’ve saved him from himself. All those women he’d been known to flirt with and fawn over, they could never love him the way you do, the way you will. They don’t appreciate him—not a one of them, and certainly not those beguiling harlots that he sails with. They don’t deserve the artistry of his cooking that you’ve heard so many stories about, they don’t deserve his kind heart and his giving nature, they don’t deserve him. But you—you deserve him, don’t you? You deserve a man who will throw himself at your feet and worship you, who will care for you and make sure you’re never hungry for food or love. And he’s right here in front of you, all yours for as long as you both shall live.

“Oh Sanji, you’re even more handsome than the way people describe you." He barely suppresses a grin as you lavish him with praise—it’s working just as intended, the Strawhats’ Love Cook will be wound around your finger in no time at all, dancing on the precipice of love, ready to fall for you with just the slightest push. "The pictures in the paper don’t do you an ounce of justice.”

You straddle his lap and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as you lightly grind against him. He lets out a soft, strangled noise that you can only assume was a groan that he tried (and failed) to suppress; he may be resistant, but if there’s one thing you know about Blackleg Sanji, it’s that he can’t resist a pretty face, even if it belongs to the one who captured him and bound him in chains.

“You think you can just”—Sanji turns his head away from you and clenches his eyes shut, as if not gazing upon you will stop how his body betrays him—“just say some nice things and press your body—your warm, soft body—against me and I’ll just forgive you for what you’ve done?”

“Sanji, Sanji, Sanji—you’ll fall in love with me in due time, just like the good boy I know you are.” You lean down and bury your face in his neck, shuddering at the spice of his cologne, the subtle musk of his sweat. You gently nip at his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, and sigh as you feel him beginning to stir beneath you as his hips lift to meet yours, almost of their own accord. “You just look so delicious…and I won't stop until I’ve eaten every bite.”

[tachiharastanacc]

Tachi fic time!

Michizou didn’t like talking to his parents on the best of days. And today was a far cry from a good day.

It was his own fault really. He’d gotten ahead of himself, so confident in his abilities that he’d gotten sloppy. Although, realistically, even if the plan had gone off perfectly, this still probably would’ve been the result.

Still, sitting in front of the family he hadn’t seen in months with a man he’d met only a day ago wasn’t ideal. Especially when that man was currently staring at his parents like they’d told him to kill someone.

And technically they had.

“…only to show up out of nowhere with an escort from the military police! Honestly, I can’t imagine where we went wrong! If your brother were here-“

“My brother is dead.”

“And it should’ve been you instead!”

“That’s enough.”

The man didn’t yell. He hadn’t yelled once since Michizou had met him. Even after Michizou had pointed a sword at him. The man’s own sword, to be specific.

His mother had the decently to look a bit embarrassed, though she made sure to level her son with a look reminding him whose fault it was that she was scolded.

“This is the second time you’ve made such a comment in the four minutes since I’ve been here. Surely you, a mother who has already lost a son to war would know the pain that comes with losing a child.”

“With all due respect, sir,” his father practically spat, “you know nothing of our family. Our lives. We’ve been grieving our son for a long time.”

“And forgetting about the son that still lives.”

His mother grabbed a napkin off the table.

Michizou couldn’t help but roll his eyes, knowing exactly where this was going. She kicked him under the table.

“You don’t understand how hard it’s been.”

She dabbed at her, very much still dry, eyes with the cloth napkin. “Every time I look at him, I see Shunzen’s face. Having him here, it’s just painful. And he’s so difficult! Always running off and getting into trouble! Dragging our family name through the mud! We’d all be better off without him!”

Michizou crossed his arms. He could see the man next to him tense up a bit at the statement.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do! I mean it with all of my heart!”

She turned to him.

“I wish you were dead.”

And there it was.

She could only bitch about him for so long before reminding him how little she wanted him.

The man in the uniform stood up, pulling out the sword from his belt and turning to the young teenager. He held the tip to his throat, emotionless.

“H-hey wait!”

“If I were to kill him right now, would your words still hold true I wonder?”

Neither of his parents flinched. In fact, they seemed completely neutral. Detached.

“I said I’d return the stuff! Y-you’re not actually gonna kill me, right?!”

None of the adults looked at him, busy with whatever pissing contest they were having with each other.

Maybe he could take this chance to escape? The man was strong, abnormally so, but he was distracted. And his weapon was really only metal. If Michizou could disarm him quick enough…

He sheathed the blade.

“…understood. We’re leaving.”

“Huh?”

The man fully turned to him. “We’re not wanted here. Therefore, there’s no point in us sticking around.”

He practically pulled the thirteen year-old out of his chair, dragging him to the door.

“Thank you for the tea.”

His voice remained even, his words polite, but there was a quiet rage in his eyes.

“Good riddance!”

Despite the years of hearing the same words over and over, it still stung just a bit. He’d come so close to being killed in front of them, and they couldn’t even pretend to care?!

The man stopped suddenly on the stoop.

“Tachihara.”

“Michizou.”

“Tachihara.”

Michizou glared at him. “That’s my brother’s last name.”

“It’s yours too.”

“It’s not. They don’t like me using it.”

The man spared a brief glance back at the door. “Do you really care what they like?”

Fair point.

“…fine. Tachihara.”

The man nodded. “I don’t like people like that.”

His grip tighter a bit, causing Tachihara to wince. Seriously, just who the hell was this man?!

With a muttered apology, he let go, patting the boy a bit too hard on the back instead.

“People like what?”

He’d never actually been arrested before. The police nearby knew him and usually let him off with a warning. He wasn’t a fan by any means, but he was at least a bit grateful, even if it meant stomaching the pitying looks when they learned he was caught stealing things like bread or bottles of water.

“People who sit and look down on others. They don’t know what it’s like, being on the frontlines, watching your men die, yet they claim to have it worse. Like the world revolves around them. That’s what they do. The ones on top.”

He began walking down the driveway. Confused, Tachihara followed him. He had a pretty strong feeling this was about more than just his parents.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m taking you to meet the others.”

As if that explained anything.

Still, the man was waiting now. Watching him with those intense eyes that bore into his parents just minutes before.

He took a few hesitant steps after him. He was expected to follow, right? Or was he getting ahead of himself?

“What others?”

The man smiled warmly, though the coldness in his eyes wasn’t entirely gone, along with a hint of something Tachihara couldn’t quite place.

“You have a strong ability. With my help, you could be incredibly powerful.”

“So…”

“I’m offering you a job.”

“…and if I refuse?”

“Well, I could always make good on my word and kill you for real.”

Tachihara stared at him, eyes wide. None of this made any sense. Really though, who was this guy?

The man’s gaze was cold as the steel Tachihara controlled. He took a few large strides over, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder.

After a moment of intense eye contact (and the youngest Tachihara almost forgetting to breathe), the man grinned once again and let out a loud laugh. His unpredictability was consistent, the boy would give him that.

“Relax. I’ll give you time to think about it on the way over.”

Thus, thirteen year-old Tachihara Michizou found himself in a car with the famed war hero Fukuchi Ouchi, driving outside the city limits.

For what it was worth, Fukuchi was kind- in a strict, try-hard step dad kind of way. Though, somewhere in the back of his mind…

He never actually said he wouldn’t kill me.

(@starlightshadowsworld bc I had abt an hour on the train earlier)