#gears turning turning turning in my mind about this

[nomoredying]

HII!! can you pretty please write a sevika x reader where the reader is the same age as Vi and she likes sevika but sevika tries to ignore reader because of their huge age gap. Then there comes a day where sevika finally comes to her senses and liked the reader back. YOU CAN DECIDE IF IT'LL BE SMUT OR FLUFF HIIHIHIHIHI. Love your works btw 💞

handle with care

alt! mechanic!sevika x apprentice!reader

tags: age gap (26/41), workshop setting, teasing, dirty talk, rough sex, reader absolutely wins a/n: please enjoy it! english is not my first language — please feel free to correct me, thank you

the air in the workshop always smells like burnt copper.

not the sharp bite of a real fire, but something quieter. like heat that’s been humming for hours. it clings to your skin. seeps into your clothes. everything here has that smell — the benches, the tools, even your own notebook that you keep folded in the back pocket of your overalls.

you don’t mind it. actually, you kind of love it.

there’s something comforting about the rhythm of the place. the metal-on-metal clinks, the low drone of the generator, and her voice. ow, practical, a little rough. it carries better than it should.

sevika.

she’s always busy with something. welding, lifting, fixing. which makes sense, since this is her workplace. today, she’s crouched near the back wall, one knee bent, her forearm braced on a crate as she adjusts the tension in a belt-driven pulley. her sleeves are rolled up, gloves off, and there’s a smudge of grease across the scar on her left arm.

you glance, then look away. not fast enough. heat prickles at your neck.

stop being weird.

you return to your corner, tightening the screws on a gear assembly you’re trying to reattach to some kind of old-school courier drone. she’d given it to you this morning with a quiet, “think you can figure it out?” 

you’d nodded like your brain hadn’t turned to fog. what you meant was, “yes, absolutely, i’d fix the entire world if you asked me to.”

you’ve been in love with her since the third week she hired you. maybe earlier. back when you showed up late on day two because your alarm didn’t go off, and she just looked at you once and said, “don’t make it a habit.”

three months later, you’re still here. still keeping your hands busy, still keeping your mouth shut, mostly. you don’t talk much unless she asks. but you watch her.

not in a creepy way. just… observant.

she’s got a way of moving that’s all intent. like everything she does matters. she respects the work. you can see that.

sometimes, she hums under her breath. low and soft. some old tune you don’t recognize. you let the sound settle in your chest.

the screw slips from your fingers.

you curse under your breath, pick it back up, and try again. it’s not that the piece is difficult. t’s just fiddly, worn down, old. you’ll probably need to weld part of the casing back in place too, but you’re avoiding that step because welding with the possibility of sevika watching always makes you feel like you’ve forgotten how arms work.

you sit cross-legged on the floor, elbow braced against your knee, muttering measurements to yourself while your brain drifts. 

random stuff.

like how long it would take to boil one of those super-thick tubes of solder. or if maybe you should start bringing your lunch instead of skipping it. or if the two screws you accidentally dropped into the vent last week have formed a secret tiny society.

you blink. realize you’ve been staring at the same bolt for — what, two minutes?

“you deaf?”

you jolt slightly, look up. sevika’s standing a few feet away, one eyebrow raised, a wrench in her hand.

you blink again.

“what?”

she snorts. “figured you were building a shrine to that bolt with how long you were staring at it.”

you make a face. “maybe i was. it’s the only thing around here that doesn’t insult me daily,” and that’s true. sevika can be very mean.

“hm.” she glances down at the tool in her hand. “wanna make it two?”

you sigh dramatically and push yourself up from the floor, joining her near the back bench, where she’s taken apart half of some kind of old plating unit. it looks like one of those things that keeps cooling systems from shorting out.

but bulkier.

“need a second pair of hands,” sevika mutters, nudging it with her boot. “this bastard keeps tilting.”

you kneel opposite her and brace it with both hands, trying not to pay attention to how close your knees are to hers.

she crouches down again. starts working the tool through the stuck joint, frowning at it like it personally betrayed her. you glance up.

just for a second.

her eyebrows are furrowed. she bites the inside of her cheek when she’s thinking, and there’s a tiny crease next to her mouth. you smile before you can stop yourself.

“what,” not a question.

your head jerks down.

“nothing.”

“you’re smiling like a creep.”

“i am not.”

“you are.”

you busy yourself with the bolts, “maybe i was jus.. appreciating the bond we share as coworkers.” those bolts are fascinating.

“you keep saying shit like that, and i’m gonna revoke your lunch break.”

“you already do.”

“…fair.”

the door swings open with a soft creak. a familiar voice pipes in before you look.

“hello-o-o?” 

you peek over your shoulder. powder. her hair’s tied up in a messy half-bun, and she’s got some new device strapped to her arm that looks half like a watch, half like a very bad idea. ekko trails behind her, holding something that sparks every few seconds.

“what,” sevika says flatly. at this point you think that word and a raise of an eyebrow is her signature thing.

“hi to you too,” powder grins, “ekko needs you to look at his thing. he won’t shut up about it.”

“it’s a resonance stabilizer,” ekko says, stepping forward.

“it’s annoying,” sevika replies, standing up and dusting off her hands.

you step aside while she leans in to glance at the sparking object. powder comes to your side, eyes flicking between you and sevika.

“you comin’ to the drop?” she asks.

“tonight?”

“yeah, nowish. claggor’s got new music. milo swears he can beat everyone at darts. again,” you smile. “come on,” powder nudges you, when she sees you’re not rushing into saying yes, “you’ve been here all day. let your brain breathe.”

and i would be here all night too, you think, but say, “sure.” instead.

powder smirks. turns toward sevika, who’s squinting at ekko’s mess of wires.

“we’re stealing your girl, sevika!”

sevika exhales. hard.

“take her,” she mutters, not looking up. “bring her back with both hands intact.”

powder salutes dramatically. you catch sevika’s eye for a second — she gives you a look. you can’t read it, but it sticks to your ribs.

“go,” she says, jerking her chin toward the door.

your smile widens. “yes, boss.”

you leave with powder and ekko. the air outside is cooler, a breeze brushing over your cheeks.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

the last drop is louder than usual tonight.

claggor’s made some half-decent playlist that thumps through the walls, and powder’s perched on the edge of the booth, legs swinging as she shoves another handful of pretzels into her mouth. ekko’s mid-story — something about a failed grappling hook test that ended in a pile of garbage and mild public embarrassment.

you’re listening. mostly. you like this place. it feels safe.

“i bet i’m better at dartboard than you, too,”  mylo tries goading you. you stand up after necessity of rolling your eyes.

“why are you suddenly obsessed with darts? i don’t get it.”

you’re halfway through when it happens.

“not again!” someone shouts across the room, followed by the thunk-thunk-thunk of cards hitting a wooden table.

you glance over. and yeah. there she is.

sevika.

she’s got her sleeves rolled up again, sitting at a round table with vander and three other older guys you’ve seen around. she leans back in her chair, eyes sharp, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth as she drags a small pile of chips toward herself.

she’s winning. of course.

you don’t even realize you’re smiling until powder nudges your arm.

“she get tired of breathing in solder fumes or what?” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows. “miss ‘i hate fun’ just had to show up and own the old men, huh? and you’re looking!” 

you scoff, looking away. “i’m not looking.”

“you literally are.”

you throw a pretzel at her. those kids! you’re only seven years older than her, but not that it matters.

a long, long time with mylo passes when you catch sevika again. not at the table now. she’s standing by the counter, talking low to ran as they slide her a glass. 

you don’t think. just move, “yeah, mylo, this is some bullshit..”

you slide onto the stool next to her. she doesn’t look. just sips whatever’s in the glass. probably whiskey. maybe battery acid.

“you stalking me now?” she mutters without turning.

you lean your chin into your hand, all wide eyes and syrupy grin. “i was here before you.”

finally, she looks at you. sideways. unimpressed.

“don’t you have people your own age to bother?”

you mock-gasp. “wow. ageism in public? cancelable behavior, boss.”

“you’re not working,” she says, eyebrow twitching. “i don’t have to be nice.”

“you’re never nice,” you hum. “and you came over to my bar,” you hope no one will let vander and silco hear your drunk nonsense.

“your bar?” sevika raised an eyebrow, mocking.

“i’ve decided it is. i’m claiming territory. you can have the bench vise and the oil stains.”

she huffs. not quite a laugh. you catch the way her eyes flick over you — quick, assessing. the edge of your collar, your lips, your tilted head.

so you tilt it a little more.

lower your voice. “something on your mind, sevika?”

her jaw ticks. she shifts, leaning away, hand back on her drink.

“you should go back to your little friends,” she mutters.

you blink. smile slow. salute with two fingers. “ma’am.”

then hop off the stool, turning and sauntering away without looking back.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

you wake up with something aching in you.

it’s not something bad — not hungover, not anxiety, not hunger, not even the weird heartburn from powder’s mystery nachos last night. it’s something else. something loud. like your heart’s tired of waiting for your brain to catch up.

you stare at the ceiling for a full minute. blink once. twice.

then: “i’m gonna tell her.”

you say it out loud. it sounds ridiculous. you roll out of bed anyway.

the toothbrush nearly slips out of your mouth.

“nothing to lose,” you tell your reflection. “she’s a grown-ass woman, she can handle it.”

your reflection looks skeptical.

you rinse. towel off your face. mutter, “this is fine. this is normal. people confess things all the time.”

you arrive at the workshop early. early. you. sevika’s not even here yet, which should calm your nerves but somehow just makes it worse.

you pace. you fiddle with tools. you check the clock.

where is she? why am i sweating? why is my heart in my ears? why do my lungs feel like soup?

you stand in front of the workbench. stare at it like it holds the answers. then slowly — slowly — start testing lines. lines!

“sevika, i really admire you.” no. sounds like you’re applying for a scholarship.

“listen, so, you’re hot, and i think about your hands probably too much?” now that’s creepy.

“i like you. like, like-like.” what are you, eleven?

you try again. and again. pacing back and forth, flapping your hands like a deranged bird.

“okay. okay. sevika. i think i have feelings for you. and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but i just wanted to—”

“do you do this every morning or is this a special kind of breakdown?”

you freeze. your soul leaves your body, as you turn slowly to see sevika standing in the doorway. arms crossed. amused as hell.

you open your mouth. nothing comes out. just air. 

she raises an eyebrow, “well? don’t stop now. you were on a roll.” 

your jaw flaps. “how long have you been standing there?”

“long enough to hear ‘like-like.’” she winces theatrically. “might press charges.”

you groan. press your palms to your face. “janna, save me.”

“what are you, twelve?”

you peek between your fingers. “twenty-six.”

she rolls her eyes and brushes past you, heading for the back bench. “not helping your case.”

you stand there. hands limp. brain still rebooting. then — quietly — you follow.

she’s already halfway through sorting a bin of damaged gears when she speaks again. tone even, not cruel. just honest.

“nothing’s gonna happen,” she says. “not like that. i’m your boss and i’m too old for you.”

you nod slowly and scold yourself for not preparing counter arguments for those we can’t be togethertales, old as time. next time.

“seriously?” you ask, unimpressed. but sevika just ignores you. 

a few minutes pass. then you clear your throat. you can’t give up just yet! you just can’t.

“so what, you don’t like me? at all?” you press again, quieter. “not even a little?”

she exhales. steady, “that’s not the point.”

you feel heat rise in your cheeks, “so… you’re saying you do like me.”

“i’m saying you should shut up before i throw you out.”

you open your mouth to say something else — then see the look on her face. okay, she might actually throw you out. or throw her hands.

either way, you don’t want to test it so you shut up and work.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

you do not back off. quite the opposite. it starts the next morning.

you don’t apologize. don’t mention it. you just show up with a cup of her favorite coffee — which you only know because you’ve watched her order it ten times. you drop it on the bench in front of her without a word, then go back to your own work.

she stares at it for a second. then at you.

then picks it up and drinks it.

you consider that a win.

you’re crouched under one of the lift platforms, tightening a bolt while sevika rewires the control box above. you can’t see her — just hear the occasional grunt, the click of metal, the way she breathes when she’s focused. steady. deliberate.

“hey,” you call up, “if i get electrocuted, will you miss me?”

“only during tax season.”

you even develop a game.

it’s called ‘see how long it takes to make sevika roll her eyes.’ your current record is twelve seconds.

“do you think it’s the smell of grease that makes me love you, or is it your sparkling personality?”

“if you say one more word, i’m stapling your mouth shut.”

“kinky.”

the wrench she throws narrowly misses your foot.

worth it.

sevika tries only ignoring and shutting you up from now on, but sometimes she just can’t help herself.

you’re bent over the bench, wrist twisted awkwardly as you solder two wires into place. your tongue’s poking out in concentration. she walks by behind you and mutters:

“try using your actual brain instead of pretending you’re cute.”

you grin. “you think i’m pretending?”

“hell, you’re exhausting.”

you hum, “but charming.”

one day you walk in late. flustered, hair a mess, sweat down your back because you ran the whole way.

she looks up when you arrive. says nothing.

“good morning to you too,” you huff, dropping your bag. “missed me?”

“only the peace and quiet.”

“you love the sound of my voice.”

“i like the sound it makes when you leave.”

sometimes, when she’s too quiet, you up the ante.

“you ever kiss someone in a workshop?” you ask one afternoon, like it’s a casual thing. like you’re not trembling under your smirk.

sevika snorts. doesn’t look away from the pipe she’s welding.

“you ever get fired in a workshop?”

you lean closer. “would you kiss me before or after firing me?”

this time, she looks up. slow. warning.

you lift your hands in surrender. “just gathering data.”

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

the door creaks when you push it open.

you don’t expect her to be there. you’re mostly sure she won’t be. it’s her and your day off, it’s late, the whole street is half-asleep under the soft purple of early night. the sky’s hazy, clouds hanging over zaun.

you just forgot your jacket. that’s it. you left it here earlier, when you stopped by to grab that old gear schematic. figured you’d slip in, slip out.

but then you smell smoke. it’s become such a familiar scent, almost like home.

there she is.

sevika.

sitting at the main bench, bathed in the golden spill of a low lamp. wearing a simple fitted t-shirt, muscles coiled lazy along her forearms. she’s holding some kind of broken hinge. house hardware, it looks like.

a cigar sits between her lips, glowing soft at the tip, curling smoke around her jaw like a crown made of fire.

you stop and for a second your brain blanks entirely.

her eyes lift. meet yours. flat. unimpressed. “what the hell are you doing here.”

your voice trips, catches itself, then smooths.

“forgot my jacket,” you say, shrugging with a little smile. you nod toward the hook behind the door. “not stalking you, promise.”

“shame,” she mutters. “would’ve been more interesting.”

you grab the jacket and walk over. your hair’s still a little curled from earlier, makeup half-worn off, skirt swishing around your knees as you move. you didn’t dress up for this, obviously. but still.

she notices.

you perch one hand on the edge of the bench. tilt your head. “what’re you fixing?”

she grunts. “drawer rail snapped. piece of shit.”

“thrilling.”

a puff of smoke escapes her nose. “where were you going, all dressed like that?”

you smile. bite your lip, just barely, “what’s it to you?”

her brow lifts. you see the second she realizes she asked. like the words came out before she gave them permission.

you lean in, teasing, grin spreading across your face. “you jealous?”

she exhales sharp. rolls her eyes. “of what? whoever’s dumb enough to take you out?”

“ouch.”

you’re grinning wider now. the smoke swirls between you, heavy and sweet and your gaze drops to the cigar between her lips. your thoughts get much, much louder. stupider.

don’t do it don’t do it don’t—

you do. you reach forward. pluck the cigar right out of her mouth. she blinks. is she stunned?

you bring it to your lips, inhale. just a little, because it tastes awful. too strong. you cough once.

“how do you smoke this shit?” you rasp.

her arm moves before she thinks. she reaches to take it back. but your hand moves too, with your body, and instead of returning the cigar, you lean in.

press your mouth to hers.

just a breath. just a second. your lips are soft, the kiss barely-there. just enough for her to feel the shape of it. and then you pull back. slowly.

your face is glowing. oh, you’re smug. thrilled. like you just won sevika in poker. she stares at you. for a whole minute.

you’re halfway into a cocky little comment when she finally mutters — half-growled, low and breathy:

“you little shit.”

and then she kisses you.

hard. one hand curled into the back of your jacket, pulling you closer, pressing your mouth to hers like she’s claiming her territory. her lips taste like smoke and heat and steel. so much better than you imagined. you melt instantly.

your brain short-circuits. you’re so damn proud of yourself.

sevika moves like the leash finally snapped.  her mouth covers yours again, rougher this time, teeth grazing just slightly as she presses in harder. you’re breathless. she huffs a laugh against your mouth like you’re exactly the kind of trouble she should’ve seen coming. and you are.

you pull at the collar of her shirt, fingers shaking as you touch the fabric, the heat beneath it. her hands already sprayed wide at your waist, pulling you closer.

her voice is gravel when she finally pulls back, barely a whisper against your lips.

“you’re out of your damn mind.”

your fingers rise to her jaw, brushing the rough line of her scar. when she licks into you, slow and deliberate, you whimper. pathetic, but can you really blame yourself?

you’re straddling her lap before you even realize it, thighs bracketing hers, skirt riding up in the back. her hands are big, scarred, and when they grab your hips, you feel it. 

your body folds into hers like it was built for this exact purpose.

“this what you wanted?” she rasps, voice thick, low in your ear. “been teasing me for weeks — now you gonna cry when i give it to you?”

you grind down on her thigh, sharp and shameless, “you wish.”

your hands tug at her shirt, slipping beneath the hem to touch bare skin. her stomach flexes under your fingers.

you moan into her mouth when she grabs your ass with both hands and rocks you against her thigh.

“fuck,” she mutters, “you’re so warm—”

“then do something about it.”

you need her to do something. 

your back hits the workbench and her body follows. she crowds you there, one hand braced beside your head, the other palming your thigh.

you tug her closer. feel her thigh press between yours again, higher this time. your hips jolt. your head tips back. “please,” you gasp, fingers fisting in her shirt, “sevika—”

she cuts you off with her mouth.

there’s no space left between you anymore, none, and maybe that should feel suffocating, but it doesn’t. it feels like finally.

her hand’s under your skirt now, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. your skin burns everywhere she touches, and when her thumb grazes the edge of your underwear — lazy, suggestive — you’re glad you’re not standing because you’re so weak in knees.

“fuck,” you breathe, head tipping back against the bench, eyes fluttering.

“that all it takes?” she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your throat. “a few touches and you’re falling apart?”

“you have no idea what you do to me.”

she chuckles low in her throat. it’s warm against your neck, “sure i do.”

her teeth graze the shell of your ear. your whole body jolts. 

her mouth finds yours again. not teasing anymore, not at all. she kisses you like your taste is the only thing she’s thought about for days. you know her taste is. 

you gasp into her mouth as her hand slides higher, slips beneath the edge of your underwear — and god. her fingers are fast, practiced, sure, and when they slide between your folds, she groans.

“wet already?” her voice drops into something filthy, almost reverent. “fuck, you really wanted this bad, didn’t you?” 

you nod. bite your lip. her fingers slide through the slick once. twice. slow and deliberate. you arch into her hand, clutching her shoulders.

“don’t tease,” you whisper. “please, sevika, just—”

you don’t even finish. she slips one thick finger in. then two.

your hands claw at her biceps, anchoring yourself while her fingers fucks you deep, steady, perfect. her palm presses hard against your clit every time she moves. it’s brutal. addicting.

“shit. look at you. taking it so good.” she growls into your neck. 

you moan something half-formed and needy — a thank you, maybe, or a plea — you’re not even sure. everything is blurring. your vision goes hazy around the edges, your legs shake, your body’s curling in on itself as she keeps moving, keeps pushing you right to the edge—

“you gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you gasp, voice breaking. “yes, sevika, fuck, just don’t stop.”

she couldn’t even if she wanted to.

she watches your mouth fall open, your hands grip the bench behind you, your whole body come undone around her fingers, and when you cry out her name, she almost fucking loses it completely.

you’re still catching your breath, still trying to remember how knees work, when she pulls her fingers from you slow, so slow, and sucks them clean right in front of you.

your mouth falls open. no sound comes out. just want.

she leans close, lips brushing your cheek. “turn around.”

you blink. “what?”

“i said: turn. around.” her voice is low. a growl, really.

you swallow. obey.

your palms hit the workbench. it’s cold under your hands, solid. there’s grease stains near the edges and scattered screws and metal shavings but you don’t care.

you feel her hand slide up your back. then down again. slow. deliberate.

“look at you,” she mutters, voice dragging hot across your spine. “fucking dripping. just from my fingers.”

your breath hitches. your thighs clench.

“and now you’re bent over my goddamn workbench like you’re begging for it.”

“maybe i am,” you manage to breathe, lifting your hips just enough.

her hand comes down hard on your ass.

you yelp. she hums.

“brat,” she says, like a warning. “you’re a fucking brat.”

you hear her opening a drawer or something. you’re just about to turn your head when you feel cold tip, slick with the lube just at your behind. your breath catches. was this in the workshop all this time? waiting for its time?

“been thinking about this for weeks,” she mutters, voice dark with hunger. “the way you walk around like, playing games. the way you run your mouth, like you don’t know i could shut it with my fingers, or my cock—”

you moan, wanton. she chuckles behind you.

“yeah. that’s what i thought.”

you feel her press up against you. your whole body sings for it.

“beg for it,” she says, low in your ear.

you don’t hesitate. “sevika, please. i need it so bad. right here. right now.” 

sevika wanted to tease you a little more, but when she actually heard you asking for it, plans changed. she’s inside you now. 

a high gasp escapes your parted lips and your hands scramble for the edge of the bench, trying to anchor yourself as she fills you up in one smooth, punishing thrust.

“there,” she snarls, grabbing your hips. “that shut you up, huh?”

you can’t speak.

“fuck,” she hisses, fucking into you harder. “you’re so fucking tight. clenching like you’re trying to keep me in.”

you are.

every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs. the bench groans under the rhythm. her hands are bruising on your hips.

“you gonna come for me again, like this?” she asks, breath heavy against your neck. “bent over where we work? like a desperate little slut?”

“yes,” you sob. “yes, yes, sevika— please—”

her hand snakes around you, pressing hard to your clit. her mouth is bites your shoulder. her hips slam into yours, over and over and over. 

and when you finally snap, it’s with moan that echoes through the whole damn shop. you fall forward, barely holding yourself up.

sevika rides it out, groaning, thrusting once, twice, before she slams in and stills, burying it deep as she spills with a low, muttered curse right into your skin.

the silence after is heavy. warm. her breath fans over your back. your thighs ache. your legs are jello.

you feel her press a kiss to your shoulder.

“now that’s a way to spend your day off.”

taglist: @riotstemple29 @1i1z @ggutpunch

[powderpinkprincess]

Safe Haven - ten [Carlos Sainz & daughter!OC]

Carlos Sainz never expected to become a single dad, but when three-year-old Isa is suddenly left in his care, he’s forced to face the truth about what she’s been through… And what kind of father he’s willing to become. A story about family, healing, and learning to parent in the fast lane. find the list of chapters here & send me a sign if you want to be added to the taglist:)

The ride home was quiet. Isa dozed in her car seat, thumb in her mouth, her Bunny lying on her chest. Carlos drove with one hand, the other resting on the gear shift like his grip could somehow steady his spinning thoughts.

Her stomach hurt because her heart was screaming. Because her world had been ripped in two and rearranged almost overnight. And because somewhere inside, she was still waiting for her mother to come back.

Carlos blinked hard, forcing his eyes back to the road.

He’d already known this wouldn’t be easy. But now, it was sinking in with brutal, unrelenting clarity. Isa wasn’t just adjusting to a new home. She was grieving a loss her three-year-old mind couldn’t even understand. And Carlos, a rookie father, an unplanned parent, a weekend visitor turned into full-time caretaker, was the one holding all the shattered pieces.

That night, she started sobbing again during bath time. Carlos knelt by the tub, shampoo still on his hands, and Isa suddenly burst into tears. Full, shaking sobs.

 “I want Mommy.”

Carlos’s heart cracked in half once again. He reached for the towel, pulled her out of the water, and held her to his chest. She was shivering.

 “I know,” he whispered, rocking gently. “I know, mi amor.”

He couldn’t promise she’d come back. He couldn’t say when, or if, Vivian would ever reach out to her again. So, he didn’t say anything at all. Just held her.

He was exhausted. Terrified. Drowning in guilt.

He was trying so hard to be enough for her. He read her bedtime stories, played with her, took her to the park, cuddled her, and watched cartoons with her. He held her through every meltdown. He had given up sleep, space, and silence. Given up trying to make sense of any of it.

And still, she cried for Vivian.

He didn’t blame her. How could he? Vivian was her mother. The only consistent figure Isa had known, no matter how flawed or damaging that consistency had been lately. But it still cut deep, because for real, Carlos was trying so, so hard. And every time Isa whispered "I want her" through tears, it twisted something sharp in him.

And he felt horrible for letting it get to him. Of course, he was her father, but he hadn’t been there like this before. And now he was all she had. And whatever came next, it was he who had to carry it with her. Even if she never understood why.

Even if he didn’t, either.

---

Carlos was sitting on the couch, chewing on his thumbnail as he stared at the blank page on his laptop. He somehow had to do the unexpected and let his team know that things had changed. Of course, they knew he had a daughter. It wasn’t something he could or wanted to hide from them. He was planning to write an email, but the words didn’t come. Maybe because he didn’t even have a clean plan yet. Should he hire a babysitter? Should he ask his parents to follow him to races and look after Isa?

She was sitting on the rug at his feet now, quietly focusing on stacking one coloured block on top of another, like the whole world had narrowed to that small, wobbly tower in front of her.

After a while, she stopped. She stood up, shifting her weight from one little leg to another, her eyes uncertain as she looked at him. He caught her gaze immediately and reached out his hands.

 “Qué pasa?” he asked, trying to encourage her to speak.

 “My tummy hurts again,” she mumbled.

Carlos set his laptop aside immediately. He rose to kneel in front of her and placed a warm hand on her belly. She curled into his touch like an instinct.

 “Do you remember what the doctor said yesterday?” he asked. She shook her head silently, so he continued. “Sometimes when we feel very big feelings, our tummy feels it too. Like the sadness wants to hide there. Or the worry. Or that we are missing someone.”

Isa didn’t answer, just nodded a little, lips pushed out in a soft pout.

 “But,” Carlos continued, brushing her hair from her forehead, “there is something special we can do. Did I tell you about the magic medicine?”

Her eyes lifted toward him, curious.

He scooped her up and walked to reach into the kitchen drawer. He kept some random things there for when he was working out at home, like electrolyte powder or protein bars. He pulled out a small box of glucose tablets. He had never given it to her before.

 “This magic medicine is for special girls with very brave hearts,” he said as he popped the lid open. “It doesn’t fix everything, but it helps your tummy feel a little less heavy.”

She stared at the tablet he took out, then at him.

 “And it works the best with a big cuddle,” Carlos added as he closed the drawer.

He carried Isa back to the couch and settled her in his lap, so she was lying against his chest the way she liked. He handed her the tablet, and she popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her close. They sat like that for a while, her head resting on his chest, the silence only broken by the soft sound of her chewing.

After a few minutes, she looked up. “It’s better now.”

Carlos kissed the top of her head. “Told you. Magic.”

---

In the afternoon, Carlos stared at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen again. He had typed and deleted the first sentence at least seven times.

Dear Frédéric, I wanted to update you on something important... — No, too vague.

Due to recent custody changes, my daughter Isabel is now living with me full-time... — Too clinical.

I’m still fully committed to the team, but my home situation has shifted... — God, no. It all sounded like an apology. Like a warning. Like a reason for them to cut him loose.

He rubbed his temples and exhaled, feeling the weight of every sleepless night pressing behind his eyes. What the hell was he supposed to say? That he was still fast? Still fit? Still able to give them everything on track? That despite spending the night holding a three-year-old who woke up crying, he could still function like a machine?

Beside him at the table, Isa kicked her feet under the chair, focused on her colouring book. Her tongue poked out between her lips as she scribbled with total concentration.

She held up a crayon, suddenly interrupting the silence. “This one’s my favourite,” she announced. “Yellow.”

Carlos looked at her and couldn’t help but smile. She was so sure. So simple. Like yellow being her favourite was the most important news of the day.

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Good choice,” he said softly.

Then he turned back to the email. His fingers hovered over the keys again, heart racing. He still didn’t know what the right words were.

chapter eleven

🧁: @guacala @dreaming-starlet @freyathehuntress @smithieandy @maggiedog98 @ndiff @anunstablefangirl @sabrinaselina55 @becasworldsstuff @kenkozkmg

[ashlovesfood]

bruce received your message about the weather, chuckling to himself as he found himself agreeing.

'yea its pretty hot outside, remember to stay hydrated and cool off. don't over exert yourself baby." bruce was debating if he should pick you up from your job and go home together, but you told him you were already driving back to the manor. well, guess he didn't need to be here anymore.

he closed his office door and headed to the elevator, clicking the star button for the parking area. the lift glided down within seconds, dropping him off on his desired floor. his derby shoes quietly thunked against the pavement, the silent noise of gotham around him muting his thoughts. but it was reallly hot.

he heard the beep of his lamborghini, head dipping below the top as his large frame sat in the seat. he closed the door and turned the engine on, a loud revving sound awakening the whole garage. he shifted the gear into reverse and drove out of the building.

the thoughts were running constantly like one big team, his mind going from work business to you. bruce just couldn't wait to see you, all excited for him when he came back from work. you'd always smile and walk up to him, giving him a warm hug as he would snuggle his face into the crook of your neck.

the large iron gates opened for his car, letting him circle into the driveway. the rev of the lamborghini vibrated through the space, the garage closing abruptly. he opened the door and climbed out, shutting it behind himself.

bruce expected to find you in the living room or maybe near him when he came home, but no.. you were no where to be found. "baby?" his briefcase was placed down onto the table as he hung his coat, walking into the main corridor.

the bedroom door to your shared room was slightly ajar, his feet stepping on fabric. he looked down and found your top, looking up to see a trail of clothes abandoned all over the room. huh. he looked at the bathroom door and saw the light seep through the crack, his feet carrying him towards the room. he gently opened the door and peeked in.

"bunny?.." your head turned quickly, pink flushing your face out. you were raising your hips up and felt the cool air brush against your ass, making you giggle to yourself. "h-hi, bruce.."

he unbuttoned his dress shirt, letting the fabric fall down onto the floor. god, his body was sculpted after a greek god, you got lucky with him. bruce was half hard from seeing your ass in the air, falling in love at the way the foam encircled your hips. "so cheeky, doll. raising your ass up in the air and not thinking i'd come home, huh?"

bruce unzipped his pants, his boxers tenting around his groin. you just felt your pussy throb. he stripped his pants, left in briefs as he stared down at you. "oh my..-" you were blushing hard, the heat creeping up your skin and down to your neck. he always knew what made you, hot.

you sat up in the tub, feeling the water splash over the floor as he sat in the water. the foamy bubbles washed away from you and bruce filling the tub, his diamond hard cock rubbing against your back. his fingers brushed a strand of hair near your ear, his breath hot against the shell of your ear.

"be a good girl and let me take care of you.." you sat back against his front, legs opened for him.

bruce slid his fingers down between your thighs, two fingers rubbing your small bud. you felt a shiver run down your spine, back slightly arching. he used his free hand to grope your breast, delicately kneading the flesh as his thumb circled your areola. you were drooling from the stimulation, whining from his hands. "brucey.. be more! gentle..!" a finger slid inside your tight core.

fate seemed to be against you when bruce chuckled, going harder than before. his teasing touches turned into full blown sensations, his hands working their way on your body. your nipple was hard, the cold chill of the air and his hands clashing together. "angel, stop squirming."

you were gripping the edge of the tub, knuckles turning white as he continued to finger fuck you. bruce's fingers were much larger than yours, and he could always, always, reach the spot that satisfied your desire. bruce looked down at your face, eyes following onto your lips. the sight of you trying to hold in your sounds was turning him on so bad.

"let out your moans, love. i want to hear how good you'll scream from my hands." bruce bit the tip of your ear, his length rubbing against your back. you could feel how hard it was, trying to pleasure him by scooting onto his front. "ngh! please! let me come i'll be your good girl baby please-!"

your orgasm fried every nerve inside your brain, your eyes rolling back to the deepest part of your brain as you drooled all over yourself. bruce firmly grabbed your chin and forced you to look up, planting a firm kiss on the lips.

"im not done with you yet."

·˚ ༘₊· ꒰➳ before!

A/N - pretend i wrote alot (⊙_◎)

© ashwashy do not feed into AI, plagarize, or post as own.

[billsbabydoll]

𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞 𝘢𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘵 h-n | 𝗧𝗼𝗺 𝗞𝗮𝘂𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘇 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿.

You know I couldn’t forget about my Tom girls, so enjoy this part two of the NSFW alphabet. Let me know if you all want another part, and who should I do next?

Authors note! I listened to pony boy by Sophie on loop while I worked on this lol.

H=Hour (what time do they prefer to have sex?)

He does not care. It could be 7 am, 12 midnight, 2 in the afternoon, he’ll gladly fuck you at any time of the day. But usually he enjoys having sex, at night right before you fall asleep. He likes the darkness, the moon glistening from the window, and being able to only hear your moans.

I=Intimacy (how are they during the moment, from a romantic standpoint?)

I think this fully depends on his mood throughout the day. Mostly He’d for sure be more romantic; he’d kiss you on all your favorite places, tell you how beautiful you are to him, cater towards your pleasure. If you two just got out of a fight and decided to have makeup sex, he’d be so rough (of course with consent) , He’d be more passionate, wrap his arms around your neck, bite your lips, all to relief his anger and frustration.

J=Jack off (masturbation)

Is this even a question? He does it more than he’ll ever admit. He’s definitely the type to take printed photos of you and go to town in private…As a joke for his birthday one year you did a special photoshoot, and even gave him a photo album of all the pictures. He laughed it off and blushed once he saw them, never admitting that now he uses them every time he needs a quick fix. Some have even been ruined due to some unknown reasons, It’s a secret he’ll forever keep to the grave.

K=Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Without a doubt, he has a dominance and breeding kink. It’s not just necessarily the controlling factor he likes, he just lovesss how willingly and obedient you can get. Especially when you get needy for him, he likes seeing how much your willing to beg, cry, and whine for him. Ever since you two started dating, he was 50/50 on having kids. To his surprise that 50/50 turned into 100, he never knew that the thought of having kids with you wouldn’t be too bad, the idea of you might have a baby one day because of him, made him only want to cum inside you more.

L=Location (favorite places to have sex)

Although Tom does enjoy having sex in the comfort of his own home, me and you BOTH know he is a sucker for quickies, especially in public. That man is so freaked out it’s insane, that the more public the better. One night after dinner, while walking to the parking garage, he LITERALLY pulled you behind a set of stairs, where people were passing by -the next morning you were slapped on the cover of a gossip blog-

M=Motivation (what turns them on, gets their gears going?)

Skirts, fishnets, tights, low cut shirts, bra straps, tank-tops, easy access clothes. It’s something you learned very quickly about Tom, he said it without ever verbally saying anything. He knows what he likes, and when you specifically wear all of those things, just for him. He won’t hesitate to rip all of them off your body.

N=No (something they wouldn’t do, turns offs)

One thing he would make sure NOT to do is take advantage of you. He’s very strict about it, whenever you’re drunk, high, not in the right state of mind, he would never cross that boundary. Even if you say that you want to have sex, he doesn’t want to do anything that you’ll regret once you’re sober. He’s even had to yell at you once before, he went on for atleast 10 minutes yelling on about how much he loves you and that he knows your not thinking straight. His biggest turn offs definitely have to be bad hygiene and someone who tries to hard. He’ll never tell someone they stink he’ll just laugh at how unaware they are, he purposely makes sneaky comments to their face too. Tom despises fake people, so of course being in the industry he’s learned to read people very easily. Though he’s never had that problem with you.

[davrinsleftpectoral]

Thursday bangers 7-10

Rules: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays). 

Thanks @woundedsoul12 for making this fun prompt game and @brennacedria for hosting this week! Thanks for the tags @chaosherald @aetherflowers and sending out no pressure tags to @serensama @seaglassmelody @notyourmamasdeerbat @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @jukkaricity @himluv @jenn2d2 @mythals-whore @biowaredisasterbisexual @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @himluv @pixiedurango

Baby, you're all that I want | When you're lyin' here in my arms | I'm findin' it hard to believe | We're in heaven. - Heaven, Bryan Adams

It’s… kind of fluff? 1.8k of Turvi under the cut. 

==

The first rays of light were hitting the little tent. Turvi usually was the first up. He liked to get up and start the fire and get water heating before she woke up. But they were sharing one bedroll and sleeping bag because it had been colder the previous night. She’d laughed but given in, letting Turvi sleep wrapped around her. He was always colder than she was.

He laid still, breathing her in and holding her close, grateful that all the craziness with Solas and the gods had given him this; given him her. What could he possibly want more than being here with her? She started stirring, not quite ready to open her eyes.

“Ugh. You’re already awake, aren’t you?” She mumbled, burying her face deeper into him.

He chuckled, running his hand up and down her arm. “You know me, too much energy to stay in bed for long.” He leaned over to kiss the top of her head. 

“Then get out of here and let me sleep for 10 more minutes,” she said, trying to push him out of the bedroll. 

The sun hadn’t climbed high enough to get the chill out of the air, and he immediately regretted leaving the warmth of the tent. He briefly wondered how mad she’d be if he went back inside and found more interesting ways to warm up and wake her up. But then they’d be late getting back on the road, and they had hoped to reach the outskirts of Redcliffe by midday. Reluctantly he pulled on his boots and got to work on the fire. 

==

They shared a simple breakfast of cheese and bread with hot tea before they packed up their camp. Turvi had wanted to make coffee, but strangely, there hadn’t been any in their packs. He’d only found several varieties of tea. They must have run out. Odd that she didn’t make him get more at the last town they’d come through. 

Once all the gear was loaded onto the horse, she climbed up first, and then turned and looked at him expectantly. “What are you waiting for? Get up here so we can go.”.

“I just haven’t ridden a horse before,” he said, suddenly nervous. 

“What are you talking about? Did you somehow get gingerwort truffle tea, instead of the Fereldan black? We have been riding this horse for a good week now,” she said, confused. 

He shook his head, as if that would clear the fog in his head. “Right, sorry. I just can’t get used to riding a horse. At least I get to hug you the whole way,” he grinned up at her. This was also the only time she was up higher than him. 

“Oh get up here, you boob. Ma is waiting for us!”

==

As the sun climbed higher, the warmth helped to dispell Turvi’s brain fog. And the closer they got to Harding’s childhood home, the more excited he got. 

“Can I call your Ma ‘Ma’? She won’t mind, right? I haven’t had someone to call Ma in a long time. Think she’ll let me cook dinner one night? Something Rivaini maybe. Is your Ma a hugger? If she’s as cute and little as you, I won’t be able to resist.” 

Harding gently elbowed him in the stomach. “Stop it, you aren’t allowed to be embarrassing. And you’re spiraling. She will love you as much as I do, relax.”

“I’m not worried. Just happy to finally meet the second most important person in your life,” he joked. 

“She’s about to be the only person in my life if you don’t relax a little,” she said, trying to sound threatening, but she couldn’t totally hide the smile in her voice. “I might accidentallymake the horse speed up and if you fall off, I might not notice until I’m pretty far away…”

Turvi leaned closer, squeezing her tight and resting his chin on the top of her head. “You might have more personal space that way, but you’d miss me.”

“Yeah you’re right. I need someone to reach the things in the high cabinets.”

“And no one else massages your sore leg like me,” he said, kneading her right thigh. 

Harding squealed and jumped. Twisting to swat at his hand she yelped, “Stop that! It tickles! You really will make this horse throw both of us. And my leg is perfectly fine. Why would I need you to massage just the one?”

Turvi didn’t have an answer for her. Why would he feel the need to massage her leg? 

Harding twisted in the saddle to look at him. She put a hand on his forehead, furrowing her brow. “Is the sun getting to you? Do you need more water?” Instead of waiting for an answer, she handed him a canteen. He took it wordlessly, drinking to try to ease both of their minds. 

“It’s not the sun,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what it is. My head feels a little muddy. But I slept fine, didn’t hit my head. I feel like myself but… off.”

“You didn’t eat those little pink berries we passed a while ago, did you? I told you not to eat them, they’ll make you hallucinate.”

“No Lace. I didn’t eat any berries. Maybe it’s too much excitement. I’ll probably feel better once we get to your house,” he said, not sounding very convincing. Harding glanced over her shoulder again but Turvi didn’t miss how she spurred the horse on to trot faster.

==

They came around a bend in the lane, and a little cottage came into view. Harding perked up, practically bouncing in the saddle. 

“Harding! This house is as cute as you are!” Turvi exclaimed. He gasped, “Am I going to have to duck to walk around inside?”

She fondly rolled her eyes at him, even though he couldn’t see it. “You aren’t that tall, Rook,” she laughed. 

When they got to the house they tied the horse to a post out front for the time being. Harding didn’t bother knocking, just flung the door open, yelling for her Ma.

Her Ma was in the kitchen, wearing an apron and kneading dough. Harding didn’t wait for her Ma to stop and clean her hands, instead flinging herself directly into her mother’s arms. Her Ma immediately started crying and hugging her daughter. Turvi gave them a minute before he joined in, wrapping his arms around them both. 

“Hi, I’m Turvi,” he said, smiling at the pair of dwarves in his arms.

“Oh,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You must be the pirate boyfriend,” she said with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“Ma! That’s not what I said!”

Turvi laughed, feeling his nervous tension ebbing away. Whatever brain fog he’d been fighting all morning seemed distant. Here in this small cottage with his love and her mother in his arms, felt right. He picked up Harding and her Ma and gave them a spin, Harding squealing and Ma laughing. 

“Put us down before you make me and Ma sick!” Harding demanded.

Still laughing, Turvi set them down, careful to be sure they were both steady on their feet before he let go. “You know me, Harding. I’m trouble,” he grinned. He shook his head. Harding didn’t call him that, someone else did. But who? 

==

Ma made them enough dinner to feed a small army, but it was the best food he’d had in a long time. He didn’t miss constantly fighting to save the world, but he did miss Lucanis’ cooking. 

After dinner, Harding and her Ma were catching up, curled up in front of the fireplace. Turvi excused himself to take a walk outside. He needed to burn off some energy and move a little after so much rich food.

Harding came outside looking for him a few hours later. She found him lying in the grass behind the cottage, admiring the stars. 

“Hey,” she said. 

“Hey,” he replied, continuing to look at the sky. 

“Aren’t you cold out here? You hate being cold.”

“I was warm. I walked and did some stretches and push ups. But now that I’m sitting still, I’m a little chilly.” He turned to look at her and opened his arms. “Come warm me up?”

Harding smiled down at him and held up the blanket she’d brought with her. She joined him on the ground, tucking herself into his side. Turvi pulled the blanket over them and sighed in contentment. 

“The stars are amazing here. I can’t see nearly this many back home,” he said in a hushed voice. 

“Back home? In Rivain? I’m sure you can a lot of stars when you’re on the coast,” she said, turning to look at him quizzically. 

“No, back home in Dock Town. From the top of the apartment building I’m lucky to see any, since it’s cloudy so often.”

“Rook. What do you mean at home in Dock Town? We haven’t been there in months.”

It was his turn to give her the quizzical look. “Yes home. The apartment I bought for us, above the business space. Remember when  I surprised you with it? And how much you hated the color?” He continued. 

Harding furrowed her brow, real concern showing on her face. “Love, we don’t live in Dock Town. We’ve mostly been on the road for the past year. We even talked about having a little house out here, near Ma,” she reminded him, voice starting to waver. 

Turvi sat up and rubbed his temples. “No, Lace, that’s not right. Something isn’t right.”

She sat up and put her hand on his forehead again. “Are you sick? Maybe tomorrow we should see a healer. I’m worried about you.”

“I don’t feel sick,” he mumbled, feeling lost. 

“We’ll figure it out, okay? Together,” she promised. Harding put a hand on each side of his face and pulled him in for a kiss. Turvi leaned down, glad for the distraction. Only, why did he have to lean down so far? Wasn’t she normally the perfect height for him? No. No that was… someone else. Lace pulled back, feeling his hesitation and ending the kiss. 

“You know I love you, Lace. But I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. That this,” he said, gesturing between them, “is wrong. That maybe… you aren’t supposed to be here at all,” he finished in a soft voice. 

Tears filled Lace’s eyes and he felt like a monster. She sniffled once and took a deep breath. “I trust you, Turvi. Tomorrow we can go into Redcliffe and find a healer or mage, and see if they can help us,” she said resolutely. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, full of gratitude. He reached out and pulled her into a hug, and she buried her face in his chest. What was wrong with him? He was with his best friend that loved him. He had a family, a mother, again. He should be happy. He was happy. But the nagging feeling in his heart that he didn’t belong here continued to grow. 

==

To be continued!

I wonder if Zalan is feeling okay?

[cassidyamber]

looking at the imitation art and seeing how many versions of characters are depicted in each.

two versions of the same character: damon, eva, toshiko, ulysses, mark, diana, wolfgang, jett, cassidy

one named character, other faceless characters depicted: desmond, ingrid

one named character, other characters implied but not depicted: eloise (she looks like she's being chased by someone or something offscreen)

more than two versions of the same character: wenona, kai, grace, jean

alone(?): cara

[throughpatchesofviolet]

Every year, without fail, I want to think about holidays during the summer, and I want to think about summer during the holidays. Anyway, thinking about Halloween with Sherry, Heathcliff, and baby Radley ... and also with my friends' inserts and faves, because I cannot imagine a holiday gathering without them.

[kaoniitegladiator]

Perception: He is an ideal, he is his guiding light, he's someone he aspires to be. He wished he was forged in the same fires as him. He would have traded his previous life if only to have the chance to know Megatron years earlier.

He detests him. The hate he harbors for him could rival the brightest sun. He envies what he has, what he embodies, he wants all he has for his own. He doesn't believe Megatron deserves everything he's gained because he would never appreciate it the way Starscream would.

There was life before him, there is no life after him. Starscream is at his worst with him yet his loneliest without him. He's as patient as he is insufferable. He's as merciful as he is brutal.

Starscream never wants to understand him. He prefers the mystery of not knowing, and yet he craves to know him down to the finest detail; all his weaknesses, all that he holds proud.

HOW DOES YOUR MUSE PERCEIVE MY MUSE? || accepting

// My heart...... I love the duality the two of them have, how they're both the best and worst thing that happened to each other; how they can't stand each other but also can't stand to be away from each other. The obsession neither of them wants to admit they have.

[imminent-danger-came]

You know I think my lmk ships are: skeletalspider (SQ x LBD), ivorylotus (Ne Zha x Yellowtusk), shadowpeach (you already know), and the samadhi dumpster fire (dragonfruit)

[netscapenavigator-official]

Sometimes I have these vivid moments where my brain likes to come up with conspiracy theories that I can't disprove and are kinda reality rattling, but I just kinda gotta be like "meh," and move on.

The latest is what if religious people are right about life on Earth being a test for the afterlife... but what if the test isn't existence, but religion, itself.

As in, what if the "God" that created humanity specifically made religion on Earth as toxic and dehumanizing as they could possible think, and only those who can stare their maker in the face and say "I disagree with your rules" and not follow religion, are the ones who make it into the "good" afterlife. Like, what if our "God" specifically wanted to make themselves sound like an extremely evil, snobbish being, where the one and only rule in "religion" is to trust them blindly. That way, after death, they can filter humans between those who were strong-willed enough to maintain morality, even when told it's against their entire life's purpose; and those who blindly followed immorality because they were told it was what the creator wanted. In essence, religion is the pre-afterlife test that aims to sort humans into those who will show compassion, even if it damns them; and those who will internalize fear and become nothing but a yes-man to "God."

.

.

.

Anyway, enough of that. I'm making mozzarella sticks for lunch.

[termagax]

anyways. i feel like ive said this before but i think that wouldve been a bigger concern of his when he was younger and was trying to think abt how he was gonna like. live in the world. well and then the world exploded and he decided he could do whatever he wants forever and started larping as his fursona and i think hes chill about it now. like i think hes okay.

[thedragonagelesbian]

the raven circle IS a baldur's gate faction the info about making swords of ppl's souls is FROM minsc and boo's journal of villainy it would not be that hard to write an act 3 encounter.......................................

[tonycries]

Bad Boys Bring Roses - G.S.

Synopsis. You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

Pairing. Yakuza boss! Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, yakuza! au, fake marriage, annoyances to lovers, elders suck, mentioned k*lling (not reader or Satoru), Satoru is INSANE and SO down bad, one bed trope, praise, biting, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, flower language, kníves, bit dark, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.1k (whoopsies)

A/N. I just HAD to get this out of my mind like I wanna write an entire book series on this. Spent too long researching rose language as well so see if y’all catch that hehe.

You thought the wedding invitation was a joke when it had arrived - a delicate, lacey little card that you’ve probably read over a million times by now. It had been stuffed haphazardly into your mailbox, along with a ridiculously large bouquet of purple roses. Seemingly inconspicuous when you first tore into the thick envelope, wondering which one of your friends was getting married now. 

And it was - that is, until you saw your name at the very top - right where the blushing bride’s was supposed to be. 

We hereby formally invite you to the marriage of…

What? 

No return address. No date. No groom’s name either. Only yours, written in beautiful, golden writing - inviting you to your own wedding, exactly a week from now.

You remember perfectly the way you’d flipped it over and over in your hands, the gears turning in your head as you tried to crack down on the motive behind this invitation. A threat? A joke? Texting all of your friends about what a cute prank that was - only to get a shared confused reaction, and a few “April Fool’s has already passed, y’know.”

Hell, you’d even cornered the mailman, desperate to get to the bottom of this. But that wasn’t particularly helpful when he was only able to shake his head in protest, pale as a sheet, and trembling ever-so-slightly as he sped away from you. Weird. 

Without a clue as to who sent the letter, or even a follow-up in the days after, you stuffed the invitation somewhere deep in the back of your closet and handed the bouquet to your mother. Not bothering to tell your parents where it was from - because who’d worry over a stupid prank like this? It was probably one of the kids from down the street that’d gotten their grubby lil’ hands on a printer. 

You, however, had more important things to focus on - like trying to help your father revive his failing diner. It was a family business, a quaint, hearty little shop. One that was quickly, and dangerously, losing both customers and employees with the brand new fast food place that’d popped up right across the street. 

Which is why you found yourself here - working overtime on a Saturday night, looking over the empty chairs and stacks of boxes from behind the counter. Whatever, it was only a few weeks until relocation anyway.

You heave out a sigh, eyes flitting to the clock beside you - 11:21pm.

Nine minutes more, you drum your fingers in boredom, maybe you should just close up early. Because sure as hell no one else was-

“Oh? Still open?”

“Ah- Uh, yes, welcome!” Jolting out of your reverie, you stand up ramrod straight, taking in the customer standing at the door. He wasn’t one of the regulars - no, you think you’d remember if he was. Cloudy white hair, piercing blue eyes that twinkle from above his shades, even in the dim light of the diner. He was so very tall, taking up almost all of the doorframe, only getting more and more imposing as he walks up to you in quick, long strides. Magnetizing. 

And if you dared let your eyes wonder, you caught a few tattoos peeking out from his unfairly snug button-up, clashing with its flashy blue color. Dragons? Trees? Or were they flowers - roses?

“Roses.” the man in front of you answers your unspoken question, voice so very deep, and melodic - tinged with something playful in it that you wouldn’t have expected at first glance. At your raised brow he continues with a wink, “Could tell ya were checkin’ me out, sweetheart.”

“F-forgive my rudeness, sir.” you sputter, face burning. You look away from the way his muscled ripple as he crosses his arms, immediately turning to fumble with the menus, “Please take a seat and I’ll be there with you shortly.”

You’d expected him to take up a booth, or maybe head towards one of the good tables around the corner. What you did not expect was for him to plop down on the stool right in front of you, flashing you a playful grin before humming, “S’alright, m’just waitin’ for someone.”

Oh. Well, it made sense that someone like him would be taken. Swallowing, you hand over the menu, before giving him a close-lipped smile, “A lover?”

Resting his head on his palms, not bothering to even glance at the list of dishes before him. “My fiancée.”

“Congratulations, Mr…”

“Gojo Satoru.” he tilts his head, looking way too happy with himself. “Please, call me Satoru.” 

You nod softly, picking up your pen and notepad to get this conversation over with - and maybe to also avoid his heavy stare that made something hot and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. “Right, Mr-” at his disappointed whine, “Satoru. Congratulations, must be one heck of a thing to plan.”

“Oh I’m having fun with the wedding planning.” He waves off your words with a chuckle, missing - or pointedly ignoring - the way you were waiting for his order. “How’s it going for you?”

What?

You narrow your eyes at the way Satoru was batting those long lashes up at you, deceivingly innocent and waiting for your answer. “I’m sorry- Me? Did you mean with the diner relocation plans or-”

“No no no.” he laughs, loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say at someone interrupting you if you weren’t so mesmerized by that little dimple at the corner of his grin. One that moves as he plows on, “M’asking how wedding planning is going for you, wifey~”

There’s a beat of silence. One. Two. With you gaping at the pure audacity as Satoru quiets down to little titters, seemingly studying your reaction in amusement. Which slowly, but surely, drains from his face as you grit out a sharp, “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir. We’re very busy and don’t have time to entertain your pick-up lines.”

Those widened blue eyes sweep the painfully empty diner, letting out a low whisper. “I can see that.” you let out a strangled noise of embarrassment at that. “But you’re really gonna ask your husband to leave?”

Huffing in frustration, “I don’t have a husband.”

“...you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. And who the fuck are you to tell me I do?”

“What?!” Satoru jumps out of his seat in shock, fast enough that the stool clatters to the floor with a deafening clang! Hands slamming on the counter as he leans over it - so close that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face with each hurried, shrill word that tumbles out of his lips. “What do you mean you don’t have a- I’m gonna kill those fuckin’- After I bought Canva premium just to make that invitation? Did the flowers come at least?”

And while Satoru is panicking, words spilling out of his mouth a mile a minute - only one of those rings in your mind - invitation. 

“You.” you hiss, barely audible over meltdown in front of you. Pointing a finger accusingly, “You’re the one behind that prank with the dumbass roses.”

That seems to snap Satoru out of his dramatic monologue - and you’re glad it did. Because he looks up to meet your glare, “Hey! You didn’t like the roses?” 

And for the first time, you see Satoru more serious than he’d been ever since stepping into this diner. Eyes somewhere behind you, ablaze and almost…frightening. “Didn’t you ask him?” 

You whirl around to see your father, who’d apparently rushed downstairs at the commotion. Baseball bat to fight off the intruder hanging in midair as he stands frozen, taking in the scene before him - but more importantly, that man in front of him. “You.”

---

And, well, it’s not everyday that you’re having late night tea with your parents and one of your father’s…business associates. Even rarer when said business associate is…you gulp, praying to whoever’s above that this is all some sick dream you’ll wake up any second from. 

“So, let me get this straight…” you sigh, pinching your nose in frustration. It’s been an hour or two of trying to understand whatever this was. Giving a stern look at the two men squirming across from you in the booth. “My father was conned by one of your-” you gesture your head at Satoru, which only makes his smirk grow, “-men to take a loan from your um-”

“Family, yakuza. Anything goes.” he supplies helpfully.

You wave him off, trying as quickly as possible to brush off the ‘yakuza’ bit that makes your stomach lurch. “And now he owes you a favor of…what exactly?”

Satoru leans across the table, t-shirt opening tantalizingly. Voice dropping to an almost-pleading murmur, “Look, I just need you to pretend to be my doting, loving, charming, gorgeous-” backtracking at your withering glare, “...Anyway. I just need a fake wife for a few months, convince my family to get off my back about arranged marriage n’ carrying the Gojo legacy. Then bam! you stomp all over my heart, we divorce and I’m too heartbroken to ever get married again. Easy.” 

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You bet Satoru’s disappointed groan echoed across all 23 words of Tokyo, because it was definitely ringing in your ears amongst whirlwind thoughts of marriage? To a yakuza? Completely, and utterly ridiculous. And from his talks of “carrying the family name” it seemed like he was some sort of future head as well. Though, he definitely wasn’t acting like it right now. 

“Alright. Plan B, then.” 

Oh? You couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t that much of a manchild as sits up from where he’d been splayed all over the table in tragedy. Lacing his fingers together before turning to your father, continuing in a more diplomatic tone, “But I want the cash you took. In full. Now. Gonna hafta disguise my best friend as my wife, n’ dresses for a six foot man aren’t cheap.”

Your mother looked like she could faint right then and there. Choking out a noise of surprise, “B-but we’ve deposited it all for the relocation- Please, can’t we pay any other-”

At the firm shake of his head, you stammer, “Now? Aren’t you some yakuza nepo baby, can’t you just ask your parents for money?”

“No.” Satoru chuckles, in a tone which told you that he probably could but might just lose his head for it. Only further supported as he muses, “Not unless I want a finger cut off for dealin’ money on the side. Seriously, sweetheart, why did you think I sent you the invitation last week?”

“Take me instead.” you father cries, trying to negotiate above Satoru’s half-joking mutters of “Ugh, I’m not into ol’ men dumb enough to sign yakuza contracts.”

It was all too much. You couldn’t take out the relocation deposit - it was a new start, possibly the only thing to save your family. Nor do you have enough in savings to pay back the loan. And if Satoru’s warning was anything to listen to, then you knew that dealing with the yakuza could be dangerous. Why you? Why you? Why you? 

“Fine.”

The moment that word leaves your lips, it’s like the whole world freezes. Everyone in the room - including yourself - unsure of whether they heard you right. “I’ll do it.” you clarify, voice hesitant but firm. Eyeing the way Satoru’s eyes begin to sparkle, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Raising a finger to shush your father’s protests, “But for a month, until we leave this place. After that m’going with my family and you’re never to contact us ever again. Deal?”

And oh Satoru seemed over the moon, reaching out to grasp your hand in a handshake - so warm, and softer than you’d imagined. “Swear on m’life, wifey. You can kill me if not.”

He was so intimidating - and intimidatingly exhilarating.

Only an hour more of arguing and a quick phone call later, men - yakuza, you assume - were flooding your family’s little diner. All tattooed and burly, looking somewhat comical as they carried your few packed-up suitcases outside. Well, at least they stayed for a late dinner. 

And ended up being witnesses to a very rushed, very rushed signing of marriage agreements. Evidence to really show up your alleged marriage. It barely even lasted a few minutes before, well, that was that - you were married, to the son of a yakuza head. 

You say a quick goodbye to your teary parents, soothing them with promises of “I’ll be back before you know it. One month. That’s all.” 

“And don’t worry about a thing,” Satoru sing-songs, coming up behind you. “If there’s anyone she’s safe with, it’s me.”

“You better keep your mitts off of my baby.” your father warns, raising the baseball bat still clutched in his hand menacingly. 

“I won’t lay a hand on her, father-in-law. And anyone that even thinks about it…” he cackles, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll kill.”

Prancing off to hold the door of that shiny black Mercedes parked outside open for you. “Ladies first.”

With another quick hug to your parents, you hastily make your way inside. Feeling extremely out of place amongst the overly luxurious interior in your slightly-stained work uniform. God, the covers on these cushions themselves probably cost more than your house. 

“Like the car? I can buy you one. Or four, as a wedding gift.” Satoru grins. 

Oh, right. You weren’t in here alone - you were here with your new…husband. The word felt so strange to even wrap your head around, instead you turn to meet his easy smile. Clenching your jaw as you grit out, “So how do we act m-married?”

You swear he brightens up impossibly, scooting closer to you on the seat. Heart lurching as he raises his eyes to meet yours, dizzy with the heat of his proximity, he promptly pulls out his Notes app. 

“Well, you see. I forgot to send this with the invitation so you better memorize this before we get home.” flashing you a long, long list of likes and dislikes, “Here’s my favorite color and my favorite Digimon and-”

That car ride could not have been longer. Because in addition to arguing with Satoru about who the best Digimon was, you had to fill out your own version of his overly extensive list. “So we can be foolproof.” he’d whined. And you’d been so engrossed in the process that you barely noticed the looming estate out the window.

“We’re here, young master and madam Gojo.”

It took a second to register that the driver was talking to you as well as Satoru, immediately pushing your face against the window to take in the scenic site before you. Heavy wooden doors - probably taller than an average house - opening to reveal sprawling gardens. Koi ponds and rose bushes lining a pathway that led to a traditional Japanese house - all power and glory. You half wondered whether you were still in Tokyo. 

“Home sweet home.” Satoru grunts. “Such a beautiful hell, huh?”

Your home, for the next month. At least. 

And if you had any doubt that Satoru was in fact the future yakuza head, that all went out the window at the welcome you got. Men lining the wooden hallway, bowing at the waist while your all-new husband wraps a hand around your shoulders, pointing out the various rooms and ornaments as he led you in. 

“-and this is going to be our room.” he brings you in front of a large tatami room, one the size of your entire diner. 

“Ours.” you repeat. Walking unhurriedly to the king-sized bed in the middle - the only bed. Heart pounding as you take it all in. 

“Ours.” Satoru echoes, happily. And if he was any bit as affected as you are, then he doesn’t show it, instead pulling out a blue yukata from the closet, a golden Gojo emblem stamped on the back. Made with such a pretty, delicate fabric that it made you shiver to think how much it cost. “Now, I had these made jus’ for you last week. You can give me a lil’ fashion show tomorrow, so make sure you get some rest, wifey.”

It’s only when he says the word “rest” that you realize exactly how tired you are. Your long shift and the entirety of this having your eyes feeling heavier than usual. 

“Um…” you start, risking a glance at the bed. 

Satoru jolts, “Ah- don’t worry, sweetheart. You take the bed.” beginning to saunter outside to meet his team. “Got some work, so I’ll be sleeping in my office. Dream of me~”

And, really, you almost felt bad splaying yourself out on the crisp navy sheets. Sinking into the heady smell of fabric softener, and something so so Satoru. Addictive. Like an expensive cologne that made your head spin, one that wafted through your mind as you dreamt of summer weddings, and blue, blue skies.

“Ichiji.”

“Yes, young master.”

“See to it that the madam is safe. Anyone try anything funny and you bring them back alive. I wanna be the one to play with them, okay~?”

“Of course, young master.”

---

Admittedly, you probably have the best sleep of your life at the Gojo estate- or, it would’ve been if your husband didn’t burst in every morning at 7am. Handing you a ridiculously big bouquet of white roses, straight from the garden, before dragging you outside. 

Milling about the estate, Satoru was never too far behind, chattering away. Letting you hold onto his strong arm crossing the bridges, occasionally having you show up to yakuza meetings as his plus one. Relishing in the rumors spreading all through the yakuza syndicates in Tokyo. Gojo Satoru, and the commoner wife he’d do anything for.

Weirdly enough, some strange little part of you thinks he puts in a lot more work than necessary for some pretend relationship…

“I think that stupid plan is really working, y’know.” you muse to him after a few days of this. Dipping your fingers into one of your favorite koi ponds with a nod at the figures watching you from a distance - Gojo clan elders, you assume. “Those old coots hate being within a five mile radius of me.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, “That so? S’probably the method acting then, huh? Taking good care of me, wifey?” he wiggles his eyebrows, nudging you from where he was holding an umbrella beside you. 

Furrowing your brows mockingly, “S’funny for you to say, they don’t even look at me. But they follow me around everywhere.”

“Do they annoy you, must I do my duty as a husband and gouge their eyes out?”

He…didn’t sound like he was joking. 

Rolling your eyes, you pointedly ignoring the way your heart lurches at the word “husband.” Still so jumpy at the idea. “Speaking of, your parents give up the marriage proposals, yet?”

At this, Satoru clenches his jaw. “Still nagging, but they’re finally considering you as my actual bride rather than some hijink.” he spits out, seemingly recalling whatever conversation they’d had before. “And they want to have some family ‘dinner’, but it’s going to be awful and you don’t-”

“Let’s go.” you interrupt, nodding determinedly. “The realer this marriage seems, the faster we can divorce, no?”

He blinks at you slowly, “That’s…true. For the divorce, then?”

“For the divorce.”

And, well, that was settled - you were to meet your new in-laws. The ever-elusive heads of the Gojo clan. Also one of the most powerful yakuza in all of Japan, but, semantics really.

You spend the evening cooped up with Satoru in the library, poring over the bloody history of the yakuza - with the Gojo’s heading them all. The only time he actually leaves your side is a few hours before the dinner. 

“For you.” he’d murmured, lips ghosting your ear, slipping something cold onto your finger. You look down to see one of the most beautiful rings you’ve ever seen - gold, with delicate blue and white diamonds encrusting it, cut in the shape of roses. “Can’t be married without a wedding ring, huh? Think of it as a good luck charm for tonight.”

And with that he’s swept away in a flurry of bodyguards and ruffled men, and you’re left standing there all alone. Cheeks burning, wondering how the hell he knew your perfect fit. 

You worry longer about the dinner than you spend actually preparing for it. Though, that’s probably because of the group of stylists that come into your room to help you dress. Wordlessly fussing around you despite your weak attempts at conversation, eyes averted. Almost like they were…scared of you. 

But there wasn’t much time to think of that - not when you’re being marched off in the direction of what you remember Satoru had called the family dining room. “More like a fuckin’ meeting room for those hardasses.” he’d snarked.

The moment you step in, all eyes turn to you - the only ones you recognize being Satoru’s, who immediately stands with a smile. “Ah, wifey! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” pulling you into a tight hug. His voice drops into a low, raspy murmur in your ear, “Ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in my colors, y’know.”

Traitorously, jolts of electricity run down your spine. Especially at how fucking gorgeous he looked in traditional wear. Whispering back, “Playing up the doting husband bit, huh?”

“Only for you.”

Pulling away, you drink in his dangerously handsome state. Hair so effortlessly styled, tattoos winking at you from just above his yukata - blue, to match yours. So pretty.

Stammering out, “Corny.”

“Only for-”

“Now that the girl is finally here, may we begin with dinner?” A stained voice sounds from behind Satoru, old and tinged with a tone that years of customer service told you did not bode well. Craning your head, you look over his broad shoulders, meeting the eyes of several disapproving elders. 

Shit. Some of the most dangerous people in this country right now. 

Gathered here - for you. 

Automatically, you knew which ones were his parents - painfully upright, and hauntingly beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Sat right at the head of the long table. With a jolt, you realize that you two are seated right opposite them. 

“So.” his mother starts, as you take your seat with a bow. Satoru doesn’t waste any time on niceties, plopping down right next to you, scooting closer than necessary. “Congratulations on the…wedding, my son.”

My son. You ignore the way both parents pointedly avoided looking at you. Your husband, however, does not. “What~ Not gonna wish my dear wife as well?”

It’s a silent staredown - one that has the entire room on edge. You don’t realize that you’re clenching your fists in tension until Satoru untangles them, slipping his larger hands into yours. Gaze still alarmingly intense and locked on the other side of the table.

He wins.

“Congratulations. Let us begin now.” 

You breathe out a sigh of relief, the tension only slightly broken as butlers stream into the room, carrying decadent trays of food. Well, at least the food might make up for how appalling this dinner is going to be.

It’s only 15 minutes in that you realize how very, horribly wrong you are - because the elders of the Gojo estate really don’t hold back, do they? Thank God you memorized every part of that stupid likes and dislikes list.

Besides picking apart every aspect of your relationship that they could manage to squeeze out of you between the appetizer and the main course, the main scrutiny tonight seems to be you. But in that icy, subtle way that has Satoru’s jaw clenching tighter each second. 

Lips curling, Gojo senior eyes you over his wine glass. “So, dear,” voice dripping with underlying venom despite the pet name. “Is it true our Satoru missed an esteemed marriage meeting with the Zenin group to ambush you at some rundown old diner?”

You fight to keep the smile plastered onto your face, painful and cracking under the pressure. A hand squeezing under the table to stop Satoru from opening his mouth to retort, you answer instead, “Well, ambushed wouldn’t be the word. You could say we fell in love over the counter - at my family’s diner.”

“A waitress, she said?”

“Now we know why it was this rushed. Probably pregnant.”

“The scandal. How far the Gojo name has fallen.”

The few stifled gasps from the other end of the table are so dramatic that you could almost laugh. But you don’t. Breath hitching as Mrs. Gojo chuckles, “Marrying the daughter of a lowly diner owner? How... quaint.”

“Mother, be quiet or-”

“What?” she throws her hands in exasperation. “Can’t I say anything around here. Honestly, Satoru, I’m just trying to make conversation with your new wife.”

Before either you or Satoru can react, his father speaks up, apparently not done with the interrogation. “You understand that we’re just worried, right, dear? Especially with marrying into prestigious families, of course.” The emphasis on “prestigious” is not lost on you.” And it drives you insane. 

Steeling yourself, you train your eyes on the untouched food below you. “I understand.”

Plowing on as if trying to infuriate you, “And you understand that this position is dangerous? You’ll be targeted.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Don’t be swept up in our Satoru’s charm and wealth, dear, my son just wants a way out of duty.” tone dripping with disdain, Satoru’s grip becoming tighter and tighter on yours. “The Gojo syndicate owns half of this city, we could bulldoze over that little diner of yours with only one phone call”

“My wife and I are leav-”

“I said I fuckin’ understand.” Your words hang in the air like a foul stench, and you raise your head to glare. If looks could kill, all the elders in this room would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on their graves already. “Neither me, nor my husband would ever let that happen because he knows a thing or two about respect, unlike you.” Lacing your fingers tighter with Satoru’s. “So shove your mighty family up your wrinkly asses. I don’t give a flying shit.” 

Eyes wide, jaws dropped, the old couple opposite you finally seems stunned into silence. And if it was any other situation you could’ve almost laughed at how similar they looked to Satoru when he found out you thought his proposal was a prank.

His father adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps that is so.”

Ah, if only the rest of the table would be quietened just as easily. 

“Not only is she a slut she’s a-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not even sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. Because in a split-second, the knife that was at your side is suddenly embedded, deep into the wooden table - barely even an inch away from the elder that had spoken up. 

“You’re lucky I’m matching with my wife n’ didn’t want to dirty this new yukata.” a voice sounds from your side. Melodic and so so eerie that you don’t realize for a second that it’s Satoru - your Satoru. 

He loops an arm under your legs as he stands up. Easily maneuvering you into a princess carry, forcing you to cling onto his robes for dear life as your feet dangle from the floor. You look up - maybe to snap at Satoru to put you down - only for the words to die in your throat at how absolutely fucking feral your husband looked. Eyes wide, aura menacing. A grin gracing his features, not the familiar one which had your heart racing, no - something so dangerous and cold. 

“Now,” he hums. Turning his back to the room, gaze still locked with the shocked heads inside, “My lovely wife and I will be retiring. Won’t you all say goodnight to your future madam?”

You don’t know what shocks you more - the way everyone in that room mumbles out a disdainful little “Goodnight, ma’am.”, or the way Satoru cackles as he carries you to your shared bedroom. Laying you gently on the mattress with a quiet, “Be right back, sweetheart.”

What the fuck happened?

He could’ve killed that man. And looked like he wanted to. 

Your brain yells at you - run away run away run away- But you weren’t…scared? In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been less fearful in your entire life. Especially not when Satoru stumbles back into the room, clearly rushing. Something warm spreading in your chest at the trays of food in his hands.

“Dinner’s better without a bunch of fossils on my kill list.” he grins. Settling right next to you on the bed, setting out the dinner he’d brought for you. And, well, you didn’t doubt that they really were on his kill list. 

“Hey, wifey.” Satoru speaks up after a few moments of silence, satisfied with the food laid in front of you. “M’sorry for putting you through that. No more family dinners from now.”

You inch closer to lay your head on his sculpted shoulder, a hand bringing up the food to his pretty lips. He smelled so good, faintly like pine, and clouds. It made you so dizzy. “Eat, Satoru.”

That’s all which is said, because maybe that’s all that was needed. And for a second there, you almost forget that this is all pretend.

---

“Hey, uh- mister. You alright?” you call out, voice barely audible over the rain. 

The sullen figure didn’t react at first, soaked through and eyes trained on the ground. Unmoving, even when you hesitantly drew closer, umbrella quivering in your hands. 

You should turn around - walk away like everyone else on the sidewalk was doing. But no, something about the way he sat alone, stoic to the storm around him made you inch closer. “Here.” you hold out your umbrella. “S’our diner’s, but you look like you could use this more than I do.”

He jolts, as if hearing you for the first time. A flash of blue, so quick you almost think you miss it. Still not raising his head fully, the man’s snowy hair tousles as he jerkily closes around the handle. Pretty. And so so sad.

“It’ll be alright.” you nod. 

And with that, you turn, running back in the rain to the haven of the diner, where your father was waiting impatiently - he’d just bought the boxes to start packing up for relocation. Fingers still burning ever-so-slightly where his hand had brushed against yours. How strange, you wondered his name.

---

Satoru stayed true to his word over the weeks that followed. His parents seemed well and fully intent on avoiding you. And, well, other than a few disdainful remarks, the elders mostly scurried away in fear at your very sight. 

The only thing that made your skin prickle was that the housekeepers had a penchant for peeping in on the two of you. Increasingly following you - they always did, but now…honestly, it was a bit disconcerting. 

But other than that, it was almost…peaceful. You wake up every morning to a large bouquet of burgundy roses at your bedside table - and a husband. Because Satoru had taken to sleeping on the little couch at the corner of your room every night - saying something about not wanting to rouse suspicion because if he actually had a wife he’d be “taking her to bed every night”. Somehow, you didn’t doubt it. 

“Funny how it’s getting close to a month of being married, but you haven’t even kissed me yet.” you deadpan. Looking down at where he was resting his head in your lap, sprawled across the soft grass in the garden.

Something else also happened - something different.

Because Satoru was a bit touchier, a bit closer. Like right now, preening into your fingers carding through his soft hair. “Oh~? Why, wanna take me to bed, wifey?”

“You wish.”

“Maybe I do.”

Your hands still, pulse racing as your eyes bore into Satoru’s, trying to figure out what sort of bad joke this was. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning down closer - too closer. Close enough that you could count every shade of blue in his hungry gaze. But by the grace of whoever was above-

“Young master, please excuse the intrusion but you have-”

Sitting up abruptly, addressing the newcomer in a stone-cold tone. “How many fuckin’ times have I not told you to never bother me when I’m with my wife?”

The servant bows apologetically, sputtering out apologies as you move to get up. Flashing a smirk at Satoru’s dramatic pout, “I have to catch up on some reading anyway. See ya, Satoru.” 

“Noo~ my sweetheart don’t leave me~” 

You stifle a laugh at his little tantrum, so different from when he was serious. He was so….dizzying. “You’ll be okay, Satoru.” Glancing up nervously to meet the servant’s intense stare, studying the scene before him, how different his master was. “I’ll be at the library now.”

And Satoru notices - of course, he does. He sees that tiny flash of concern in your eyes. One that you might not have noticed yourself. He lowers his voice as you walk away, so you don’t hear him speaking behind you. Words dripping with a similar venom he always heard from his parents, “Now, tell me who you’re spying for. Names, first and last.” 

Satoru doesn’t join you in the library that day, the first time in weeks. And you find yourself missing him more than you should. It’s dark out by the time you’re raising your head from the books, joints aching from poring over them for hours. The house seems a lot quieter. Somewhat bigger. 

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong. 

Scratching the back of your head, you wander through the wooden hallways to your bedroom - wondering what was amiss. Your feet take you there as if on autopilot, thankful for Satoru’s meticulous tours. 

“Hey,” you smile softly at a servant making your bed, “Where are-”

Your question dies in your throat at the way she yelps at your words, hurrying down the corridor with a jerky bow. Weird. Leaving you all alone, and confused, muttering to yourself, it’s only then that you notice the flash of red by your bedside table. 

Not a bouquet. Only a single, red rose - a note tied around the stem, something you’d never gotten before. 

“The marriage proposals have been revoked, your contract is fulfilled, my ex-wife.”

Oh, reading that hurt more than it should’ve. You should be happy at being free, a few days earlier than expected at that - but it was over - just like that. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave him.You didn’t want to leave him.

 Were you going insane?

Clutching the flower like a lifeline, heaving out a sigh, “Maybe Satoru knows…”

“Thinking of me?”

Startled, you whirl behind to face your husband. In the dim-lighting, making out the stoney expression on his face, eyes wide and a little duller than they had been earlier today. 

“Satoru?”

His eyes light up at the mere sound of your voice - then you’re engulfed in him. Wrapping you in his arms, bowing his body into yours, so tight that it almost hurts. But you let him, fisting the fresh yukata in your hands - and that’s when you realize, he’s changed his robes since this morning. “Are you okay?” you whisper into his shoulder. Drinking in the smell of his cologne, and something faintly metallic. 

Every cell in your body is screaming at you to take the opportunity - to run away from this yakuza and his slaughter and whatever this was. But how could you? Staying rooted to the spot, not even a speck of fear.

Satoru heaves out a heavy breath, tickling the hairs at your nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Those nosy elders won’t be bothering you anymore, sweetheart. You’re free to go.”

A shudder runs down your spine at his words, and you didn’t want to think too hard about what they meant. Instead, you guide him to your bed - and, surprisingly, he allows you to. Letting the two of you sink into the plush mattress. With Satoru still in your arms. He repeats, “You’re free to go.”

Run away. Run away. Run away-

There it was again - that strained little manta. You stare right into his eyes, voice thick at the sinking feeling in your stomach. “My 30 days aren’t over yet.” 

“Leave. Please.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, like your hands drawing patterns down his back had broken some dam. “M’not a good man.” 

You press your lips to his forehead, searing and a desperate attempt to soothe the man. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I’m yakuza, sweetheart. Doomed to follow my parents here.” he mutters, strained and voice more unsure than you’ve ever heard. And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into your skin, “I hate it here, and you should, too. All these fuckin-”

“So go with me instead.”

“What if-”

“Toru.‘ you cut off his words, slurring and spilling out of his mouth. Gently, you pry him away from his little haven, reeling back to take a good look at the face he’s been hiding for so long. Hair mussed, curtaining his whirling eyes - all disheveled and vulnerable where he was once so suave. 

Your eyes bore into his, unwavering. “It’ll be alright, Toru.”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. Only when his lips meet yours, soft, and so so sweet, do you realize that this is everything you ever want right now - possibly these past few weeks. “Y’can kill me if you don’ want his.” he mutters into your open mouth.  

It’s so desperate - a messy clash of teeth and saliva, Satoru was drinking you in like you were the last drop of water on Earth. He tasted so sweet, like candy almost, and the gentle caress of a lover. You were addicted like you could do this forever and ever and-

And then he’s pulling away. A disappointed little whine leaves you involuntarily as he parts, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the space between you two. Satoru’s mouth drops into a soft oh! at the noise, surging forward minutely like he was about to kiss you senseless again. Only to halt with a pained grunt, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. 

“M’sorry.” Claiming your lips once again, like a man possessed. Drinking in your breathless gasps. Like he never wanted to let go. “F-fuck, sweetheart. Y’don’t know how crazy you drive me.” he pants.

“Why did you pick me?” you blurt out, a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind every time Satoru slipped his hand in yours, introducing you as his loving wife. “Was it just the debt?”

He’s kissing your pulse now, canines hovering over the erratic little cadence. Breathing you in like you were intoxicating. “No.” he’s licking a long, languid stripe up your neck. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of skin he could reach. 

“Then why?” your words come out in almost an embarrassing plea. But by the way his breath hitches, you know that Satoru loves it. 

“Because.” he breathes, “You treated me like a human.”

He’s capturing your lips with his again, nipping at your bottom lips. You squeal as he pulls, suddenly wanting him to tease you like this everywhere. To have him absolutely ruin you like you know he could - treat you like the wife he claimed you were. 

But Satoru wasn’t done yet - far from it. He chuckles, kissing down your neck, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Remember that night? You probably don’t, was rainin’ so hard I thought I’d drown out there.” Worshiping the valley between your breasts as he hastily unbuckles your bra. “That night was when the marriage proposals had come in. They said I’d either carry the legacy or be forced to leave the family. Kicked out of my own home.” 

And you’re reeling from both his words and the way Satoru was rocking his hips into yours now, something hot, and so achingly hard pressing in the damp area between your legs. “Thought I was gonna take ‘em all out that night.”

“Take them all out?” your breath hitches.

“Every. Single. One.” Fingers dancing across the hem of your panties. “Wouldn’t have felt bad about it either.” 

Satoru’s licking down your navel now, humming in confirmation into your skin. “But then…” he groans, taking in the first fucking sinful sight of your drenched panties. So flimsy and already dripping for him - and after just a few kisses, really? You were heaven on Earth. “But then along came you. So pretty and all worried f’me. The daughter of that diner owner I’d loaned money too.”

You watch, heart racing as Satoru swallows in awe. Darkened gaze locked on the way your slick beads out of your pussy, bare thighs trying to close - give yourself some semblance of dignity. But no- how could you? When Satoru’s holding them apart.

“And then I knew…” he’s sliding his index underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertip before popping it into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the taste, and you’ve never seen him look so blissful. “I just had to have you.”

Rip! 

The cold air brushes against you before you even know it - only when you feel Satoru’s hot breath against your dripping cunt does it hit - this bastard just ripped your panties off. And he was dangling it like a badge of honor, breathing in your juices so animalistically. 

Your lips wobble as he just admires your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. “Hah- please.”

“Please what?” he grins, and you can feel him licking little circles around your inner thigh. So close. “The wife of a yakuza boss has gotta know how to use her words.”

“You’re awful.”

“And yet you married me.”

With such a cute lil’ whine that makes Satoru’s cock twitch so painfully, you buck your hips closer to his hot mouth. “Wan’ your mouth on me, to eat me out. Please, Toru.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, “There’s my girl.”

You gasp when he surges forward, burying his pretty face nose-deep in your pussy. Holding your breath as he lazily licks up your folds - long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub. 

Drunk off your pussy with the way he’s so messy - seemingly unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor, ravaged clit to dipping into your sloppy hole. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You haven’t been touched this good in ages, and Satoru was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

“Shhh, don’t worry, wifey.” words muffled into your cunt, “Your husband’s gonna take care of you.” He’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.

“Real good care of you.” Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. Messy enough that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Roaming for that one spot he knows will have you moaning deliciously. Pressing down, hard.  “Found it. Gonna have you screamin’ my name til’ the entire estate hears.”

You tug on his hair, urging Satoru’s mouth towards your cunt - partially because you wanted him there, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now. 

And shit how could he ever say no to his pretty wife?

Satoru is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his pretty pink lips around it. Pumping his fingers in and out, hitting that little spot each and every time. Looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over and-

“Sh-shit. Toru-”

“Mmm, yes- fuck, love it when you call me that.” he groans. And oh he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you - eyes half-lidded, such a pretty blush disting his cheeks - and making out with your pussy just as much. Tilting his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Feels good? Ya like when m’ruining your pretty pussy?”

“Yes!” you squirm. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. “Wanted it s’bad.” 

He’s becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. But it wasn’t enough - it never was and fuck Satoru wanted more more more-

“Move your hips, yeah- jus’ like that.” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Letting you pull and angle him just as you please. 

“Gonna be the best fuckin’ husband you’ll ever have. N’ anyone that says otherwise, m’gonna fuckin’ kill.” The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Make you cum harder than y’ever have. C’mon, say yes.”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and bullying his tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal. “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes-”

“Beg for it, beg for your husband.”

“Wanna cum- Ah! Please, wanna cum, Toru.”

One hand so messy toying with your dripping entrance - not having the patience or the sanity to even draw circles anymore. Just quick, hurried patterns to get you off. The other digging into your hips, so hard you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. Making you drag your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. Using him. 

“Hngh- Toru! Ah- fuck fuck Toru Toru T-”  You’re shaking - crying out as you cum. A guttural, strangled moan of your husband’s name. So violent, and hard that you don’t even realize at first. Just that you’re rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears.

And he doesn’t stop - not even once. If you were in any better state of mind you’d wonder whether it hurt - whether his fingers were cramping up, and his tongue was tired. If they were, he didn’t show, only letting you chase your high as roughly as you want. 

Greedily lapping up all your juices. Even when you’re blinking your vision back, chest heaving as you try to regain our breath. “S-Satoru.” you mewl, stars behind your eyes with each flick of his tongue. 

“Jus’ a bit more. Wanna taste all of you.”

You weren’t going to make it out alive.

Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation as Satoru finally rises from what you almost worried would be his favorite seat. “All done. Now, keep that pretty lil’ cunt on display f’me, my girl.”

And your cunt is clenching in- fear? Anticipation? As your husband finally unties his yukata, letting it slide off those milky, toned shoulders. And shit he was such a fucking masterpiece. The dim-lighting bouncing off every curve and dip of those carved abs. Delicate swirls of his tattoo inching from his collarbone, down, down, down, hugging Satoru in a way that made you so half-lucidly jealous. All the way till the last inky thorn meets the neat tufts of white hair peeking up from the hem of his underwear. 

“Touch me.” he groans into your ear. The words barely leave those pretty lips before your hands are everywhere. Dancing down his tattoo, groping at this pecs - too much to worship, not enough time. 

“Toru…” you trail off, hand reaching out to brush his waistband. Tugging just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, fat tip weeping down his length, already so soaked in precum. He was so intimidatingly long - longer than anyone else you’d had before. Thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself. 

And he sees right through you.

“Now now, none of that.” he tuts, pushing your bare thighs as far apart as they’d go. He spreads your cunt so shamefully with his thumb. Spitting once, twice. Some of it splatter against your thigh as Satoru mixes his saliva with your slick. “Don’t worry, wifey, m’gonna make it feel good for ya.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he drags his fat head down your folds. Wetting himself, all the preparation he was going to give you because fuck Satoru needed to be inside your pretty lil’ pussy right now. 

Then you feel like you’re being split apart - as if Satoru’s cock was pushing all the way to your lungs as he presses through the first ring of muscle.

“Ah! Ngh- Toru, s’too big!” you yelp, eyes locked on the way your lips were stretched so lewdly around his tip. Clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in, inch by fucking inch. No mercy. Absolutely none at all. 

And while he sounded like he was on cloud nine, you were having your head spin, torn between wanting to run away from his massive cock and just push yourself down for more more more. His lips claim yours - absolutely animalistic because God he needed to shut up your pretty whines or else Satoru was going to cum right here right now.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breath. Ngh- You can take it.” Satoru pants into your mouth, fucking into you in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to fit inside your snug cunt. Sounding like he was losing his sanity each time your heavenly walls milked him. “So fuckin’ tight. Jus’ relax f’me. Oh yeah, jus’ like that. You can take it you can-”

You gasp for air when he finally bottoms out inside you, tears streaming down your face and clawing at his back. 

Satoru only coos, letting you mark him up all you want. Pace increasing relentlessly, “Aww, my good lil’ wife. Taking me so well, huh?” Starting to rock his hips just a bit faster into yours, “Always knew y’would.” 

“Can y’feel me, right-.” Balls smacking against your ass, his finger tracing an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “-here?” Thumb stroking where he could feel himself bulging inside you, pressing down. Hard. 

You almost sob at the pressure, jolting - you should’ve expected that the yakuza boss would fuck so mean.

And shit you can just do nothing but take it, hips jerking wildly as Satoru pounds into you with reckless abandon. Clutching at his shoulders, the sheets, his hair - just anything. 

“C’mon~ Don’t run away from me,” he grunts, strained like he’s struggling to maintain restraint. Lacing his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper onto his cock. “Jus’ fuckin’ got you, so don’t you dare run away.”

You can only nod. Eyes glazed, cockdrunk and letting him thrust so sloppily. “Won’t run away Toru…” you babble, “Wan’ you to make me yours.”

“Mine? Gonna be all mine?”

“All yours, Toru.”

And maybe you were an idiot, maybe you were a mastermind - because with a choked out little moan of what sounded like your name, Satoru’s pulling you both to sit up. The gravity makes you bury his cock deeper and faster into your tight pussy.

With the new angle, your husband’s hitting all the right spots easily, almost as if he knew your body better than you did. Veins rubbing so deliciously against your walls, shifting around your hips to fuck up into that poor, abused spot. 

“Ya like this, huh?” he groans, fingers now toying with your ravaged clit. Rolling it around harshly between two fingers. “Always knew this cute pussy could take me s’well. Just didn’t know it would feel this fucking heavenly.”

Faster, sloppier. Bouncing you on his rock-hard cock  like he was claiming you from the inside. So, so desperate and debauched.

And exactly where you wanted to be. 

You leave delicate pink bites down this pale neck, alongside those roses - marking him in your own way as you edge closer and closer. It was too much. Everything was too much. 

“Toru-” you sob. And he already knew what that meant. With how your voice breaks so adorably and the way you’re clenching around him hard enough that it’s almost difficult to ruin that cute pussy. 

“Close?” 

“Mhm…”

“Well then.” thrusts getting sloppy, with no reason or rhythm now. Grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Cum f’me like a good lil’ wife, then.”

And that makes you throw your head back in ecstasy - it makes you cum. Thighs quivering, jolts of electricity running down all the way from your overstimulated cunt to your hazy mind. It has you chanting Satoru’s name like a lifeline while his teeth dig into your flesh. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood.

Letting out low, muffled moans into your neck while he cums as well. Hot ropes of seed filling up your poor, bloated pussy, painting your walls such a sinful white. Cumming and cumming so hard you wondered whether you’d make it out alive.

And because of the obscene position, you could feel the way it dribbled down your legs. Thick globs landing in a pool on the overpriced sheets below, smearing so lewdly between you two. Hips still fucking up into you - not even thinking about it as he pushes his seed deeper and deeper. 

You managed to raise your eyes, still dazed to meet his - exhausted, and dark with lust and something else that you really weren’t in the right mind to decipher right now. 

And then Satoru’s lips find yours again, biting and tugging lazily. Tasting so unfairly of candy and sweet, sweet trouble. Body melting into you like all the worries have been lifted from his shoulders. He’s looping his arms tighter around your waist, crushing you into an almost-painful hug against him. 

Something soft. Something new. Something that makes a little part of your heart twinge to break the kiss and pull away mere millimeters. “We better not divorce after this.”

“Of course not.” He chuckles into your lips, resting his forehead against yours like he was trying to map the constellations in your eyes. “I haven’t even given you my wedding gift yet.”

Smirking, you lock your legs tighter around Satoru’s toned waist as he lets the two of you fall back into the mattress. Sinking into it - and each other - with both exhaustion and something of a quiet, unspoken little fondness. Batting your lashes up at him, “Mhm, I remember someone talking about giving me four mercedes as a wedding gift and I’m leaving if not.”

“Well then, better get to it. Four for my in-laws to get on their good side, too,” he nuzzles the bite mark on your neck. “Because I plan to stay like this for a long, long time.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[lowrisemiller]

ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ-ꜱᴛᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ

bucky barnes x fem! shield agent!reader

first time writing for bucky <333

safe house, during a storm. after a long mission, you’re stuck sharing a room with bucky. you’ve always assumed he keeps his distance because of his past. but when the storm knocks out the power and you curl up on the couch, cold and shivering, he finally opens up — and his hands, calloused and careful, don’t stop at comfort.

masterlist | 3k words | soft!dom Bucky, praise kink, reader receives oral (f), unprotected PIV(she on da pill), morning sex, deep emotional intimacy, touch starvation themes,, reader is referred to as “sweetheart” and “baby”, slow and loving sex, post-orgasm cuddling, mentions of past loneliness, body worship, Bucky is obsessed and down bad, vulnerable!Bucky, safehouse setting, canon-typical trauma referenced, no use of y/n

The rain hasn’t let up in hours.

It batters against the tin roof like it’s trying to get in — thunder rumbling over the hills like a warning. You’re curled on the couch in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a worn S.H.I.E.L.D. hoodie, one knee pulled tight to your chest, a book in your lap you’ve read the same page of five times. The fire’s dwindled to glowing coals.

And Bucky’s sitting across the room like a statue.

He hasn’t said much since you both got in hours ago —wet, bruised, exhausted from the mission. Just stripped off his tac gear and sat down on the edge of the bed, mechanical hand flexing like it couldn’t settle. He’s been like that ever since you joined his team —polite, helpful, quietly protective. But always… distant.

Like if he got too close, he’d ruin something.

Another crash of thunder shakes the cabin. You flinch without meaning to, hand clutching the blanket tighter.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Come here,” he says, voice low but solid.

You blink up at him.

“What?”

“You’re cold,” he murmurs. “Don’t argue, I can tell. C’mere.”

You hesitate. He looks so serious, dark hair still damp from the rain, black T-shirt hugging the hard lines of his chest. His expression is guarded, but his eyes are warm — warmer than you’ve ever seen them.

You cross the room slowly. He shifts, leaning back against the headboard, lifting the blanket beside him in invitation. Something tight coils in your chest. You’ve slept in the same room before — hotel rooms, bunkers, quinjet corners — but never like this.

You sit beside him. He wraps the blanket around your shoulders, pulls you in.

And suddenly you’re tucked under Bucky Barnes’ arm, your head resting against the soft fabric of his shirt, the sound of his steady breathing in your ear.

Your body relaxes before your mind can catch up. He’s warm. Unbelievably warm. And strong. You feel it in every inch of him —the way his arm curls protectively around your back, the subtle press of muscle as you lean into him.

“You okay?” he asks after a while.

You nod, barely. “Yeah. Just… long week.”

His chuckle is barely audible. “Understatement of the century.”

For a moment, it’s just the storm and the soft rhythm of your breathing. Then he speaks again — so quietly it barely registers.

“I hate seeing you scared.”

You look up. His jaw is tight, his gaze focused on the firelight.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he says gently. “It’s okay.”

You swallow. There’s something aching in his tone —something raw.

“You don’t talk this much,” you say softly.

“I know.” He turns his head, meets your eyes. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think it.”

Your breath catches. His eyes are ocean-deep, stormy like the night outside, but warm — so warm.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks.

You nod.

“I think about touching you all the time.”

Your heart stops.

He keeps going, voice steady but trembling at the edges.

“Not just sex. Not even that, really. I think about… brushing your hair out of your face. Holding your hand. Pulling you onto my lap just because I can. I think about waking up next to you.”

He swallows hard.

“But I don’t. Because I don’t want to scare you. And because I don’t know if you’d want that. Want me.”

The rain seems to hush for a moment, like the world is listening.

You reach up slowly, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. His eyes flutter closed like he’s afraid to believe it’s real.

“I’ve been waiting for you to touch me,” you whisper. “I thought you wouldn’t want to.”

His eyes snap open —like you just lit a fuse.

“Don’t move,” he says hoarsely.

You stay still.

His hand —warm, broad, careful —comes up to cup your face. His thumb brushes your cheek, then your lip. His other hand, the metal one, rests on your thigh with featherlight pressure, like he’s scared you’ll flinch.

You don’t.

You lean in.

And he kisses you.

It’s gentle at first —lips soft and reverent against yours, like he’s still scared he’ll wake up. But then you press closer, fingers tangling in his shirt, and he deepens it —groaning into your mouth, tongue brushing yours, hunger bleeding into every movement.

You shift into his lap, straddling him instinctively, and Bucky grabs your hips like he’s grounding himself —like if he lets go, he’ll wake up alone again.

His pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from kissing, and the look he gives you is hungry —like you’re the first warm thing he’s touched in years.

“You’re driving me insane,” he growls. “You know that, right?”

You rock against him gently, and his jaw goes tight.

“You can touch me,” you whisper, hands in his hair. “Anywhere. However you want.”

He huffs a breath like he’s trying to keep from losing it.

“Fuck, sweetheart…”

His metal hand grips your thigh, spreading you wider over him. His other hand slides under your hoodie and up your back, warm and solid, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it aside.

When he sees you —bare, flushed, breathing hard —he curses under his breath and cups your chest with both hands, thumbs dragging over your nipples until they stiffen. You gasp, grinding against the hard line of him beneath his sweatpants.

“Lay back for me,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

You do —breathless, already aching —lying back on the bed as he kneels between your legs.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your flannel pants.

“Every inch of you.”

He drags them down, slow and deliberate, along with your panties —eyes never leaving yours as he exposes you. When you’re naked and spread out under him, he runs his hands up your thighs, parting them wider with firm, reverent pressure.

Then his mouth is on you again.

Warm, slow, worshipful.

He kisses your inner thigh, then the crease of your hip, teasing you until you’re trembling, trying to press yourself against his mouth. But he pins your hips with his metal arm and groans, low and broken, like the taste of you has him spiraling.

He laps at you slowly, teasing your clit with the flat of his tongue before sucking softly. You moan—high and sharp —and tangle your fingers in his hair. His tongue circles, flicks, licks deeper until you’re whimpering, thighs trembling.

“You’re so wet for me,” he breathes, voice muffled against your cunt. “So perfect, so good…”

You try to respond, but your hips buck when he slips one thick finger inside you, curling it just right.

“Oh—fuck, Bucky—”

“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “Let me hear you.”

He adds a second finger, fucking you slowly with a perfect rhythm as he sucks your clit again. The pressure builds like a wave — deep and hot and inevitable.

“I—I’m gonna—”

“Do it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

You fall apart on his mouth, writhing, gasping, your hands pulling hard at his hair. He doesn’t stop — licking you through it, holding you firm until your body finally slumps back against the mattress.

He looks up at you, lips slick, eyes glazed with want.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You reach for him, dazed. “Need you inside me.”

That’s all it takes.

He strips fast — sweatpants gone, briefs gone — and your eyes go wide at the size of him, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip.

“Condom,” he mutters, reaching for his bag—

“No,” you whisper. “I’m on the pill. I want to feel you.”

His eyes darken. “You sure?”

You nod, pulling him in. “Please.”

He lines himself up, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds, and groans like he’s barely holding it together.

Then he pushes in —slow, stretching you inch by inch, until he bottoms out and you’re both gasping.

“Jesus Christ,” he pants. “You’re so tight. So fuckin’ perfect.”

He stills, letting you adjust, kissing your shoulder, your cheek, your jaw. “You okay, baby?”

You nod. “Move.”

And when he does —slow and deep at first, then faster, rougher —it’s like the world narrows to just the two of you. His hands grip your hips, his mouth never leaves your skin, and every thrust drives you higher.

He murmurs praise like a prayer—

“So good for me.”

“You feel like heaven.”

“I could stay inside you forever.”

When he feels you tighten around him again, he fucks you through your second orgasm — hard and deep — before groaning into your neck and coming inside you with a shudder that rocks his whole body.

He doesn’t pull out. Not yet.

Just stays there, buried deep, breathing against your collarbone.

“I’ve never—” he murmurs. “Never had this. Not like this.”

You stroke his back, warm and damp with sweat.

“You have it now.”

He kisses you then —soft and slow, like a promise.

And this time, it’s not about hunger.

It’s about home.

The fire’s burned down to embers.

Outside, the rain has stopped. All that’s left is the gentle patter of water dripping from the eaves and the faint glow of early morning light peeking through the curtains.

You’re warm —so warm —tucked beneath the threadbare sheets, wrapped in Bucky’s arms.

His body is solid heat against your back, chest rising and falling steady with sleep. One hand is splayed across your belly, the other curled under your neck, holding you close like he still doesn’t quite believe you’re real.

You shift slightly, and his breath catches. The hand on your stomach tightens, thumb brushing your skin like a reflex.

“Did I wake you?” you whisper, voice soft.

“Mmm,” he hums sleepily, lips brushing your shoulder. “Been awake. Just didn’t wanna move. S’too good.”

You smile, turning in his arms to face him. He’s a mess of tousled hair and morning stubble, blue eyes heavy-lidded and soft.

“Hi,” you murmur.

“Hi.” He leans in, noses at your cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

“You never have to ask.”

The kiss is slow —tender and lazy, mouths fitting together like they’ve always known how. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye, and you melt into him like you’ve been waiting all your life to be held like this.

When you shift again, your bare thighs brush his —and you feel it.

He’s hard. Already. Pressed warm and thick against your stomach.

You pull back to look at him.

His cheeks are pink. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t be sorry.” You reach down, wrap your hand gently around him. His hips twitch.

“I want you again,” you whisper. “Just like this.”

He swallows hard, eyes locked on yours. “You sure?”

You nod. “Slow n soft.”

His jaw clenches, just a little. Then he exhales and kisses you again —sweeter this time, deeper, like a slow ache.

Like gratitude.

The sheets fall away as he shifts over you, pushing your legs apart with his hips. He slides his metal hand beneath your thigh, lifting it gently as he rolls his body over yours.

He’s big —broad and warm and so careful —and you feel yourself open for him all over again.

“I didn’t hurt you last night, did I?” he murmurs, brushing your hair back.

“No,” you whisper. “You made me feel so good and safe.”

He groans softly, like that this alone is enough to undo him. Then he reaches between you, guides himself to your entrance, and sinks in slow.

The stretch makes you sigh —familiar now, but no less intense. He presses deeper until your bodies are flush, his cock buried inside you, and stays there for a moment, unmoving.

His forehead rests against yours.

“I could stay like this forever,” he breathes. “You feel so good. So warm. So perfect.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist.

“Then stay.”

He moves slowly, rolling his hips in deep, rhythmic strokes —not chasing release, just feeling you. Making love like he has nowhere else to be, like your body is the only place he’s ever felt peace.

The way he looks at you —like you hung the stars —has your whole chest aching.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “Can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

You kiss his cheek, his jaw, his shoulder. “Touch me more.”

And he does. Big hands exploring your body all over again —your waist, your breasts, your thighs. He never stops moving inside you, never pulls all the way out. Every thrust is slow and deep and intimate, like he wants to leave a piece of himself inside you.

When you start to tremble beneath him, he cups your face with both hands.

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

You come with a soft cry, clinging to him as your body shudders. He follows moments later, gasping your name, cock pulsing inside you as he buries himself one last time and spills deep.

You stay tangled together afterward — skin flushed, breath slowing, heartbeats syncing.

“I think I’m addicted to you,” he murmurs against your neck.

“Good thing we’re stuck here another day.”

He chuckles, pulling you tight against him. “Don’t tempt me.”

But his voice is soft. Sweet. Like he wants to be tempted. Like he already is.

divider by @cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra

[hoshigray]

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬, 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 | toji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Your ex-husband bringing the kids over for trick-or-treating is one thing; him wanting to spend the night at your place is another. But it's just for the night. There's no way one night can rekindle some old feelings...right?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: ex-husband! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - the reader is around their mid-30s - Tsumiki (age 11) and Megumi (age 9) - mutual pining - kissing/makeout sessions - unprotected sex - Daddy kink - breast sucking + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - spooning + mating press - cervix fucking - breeding kink - praise - clitoral play (pressing and grinding) - pet names (baby, good girl, mama, princess, sweetie, sweet thing) - you and Toji have been divorced for five years - cameos: Gojo, Utahime and Mei Mei - mention of drool/spit and tears - humor bc I'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.6k (....dawg.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: happy Halloween, everyone!! so, randomly missed writing ex-husband! toji bc it's lowkey my favorite, soooo yeah, this is what we're doing to celebrate the end of the month! anywho, happy October, beautiful ppl, and tysm for reading my works!! Alsooo, ty for 2.8k!!!

“Trick-or-treat!!”

“Gasp—Oh my goodness!” 

“We came to celebrate Halloween! Also, Megumi forgot his toothbrush here again.”

Opening your door to children at the sunset of Halloween day isn’t out of the ordinary or anything special. However, it’s always a pleasant surprise when it’s two kids you hold dear to your heart. You greet them with a hug, two siblings you know too well to say you’re acquainted with. If anything, you’re practically family. 

The raven-haired brother, referred to as Megumi, speaks up. “It’s not my fault! Dad was rushing me last time.”

“Because you had to bring your stuffed animals last time, holding us back for your baseball practice.” Tsumiki, the older sister, snapped back. The two argue amongst themselves in front of you as you try to mediate. It’s no avail until another voice comes to the fray.

“All right, chill out, you two.” The voice belonged to the person approaching the porch stairs, your eyesight capturing the familiar figure walking up with two duffle bags. The one standing tall before you was the father of the children, Toji Fushiguro. Who’s also known as your one and only former husband. “Get inside and finish y’r homework, or else we’re goin’ back home.” 

The siblings stop bickering and head inside, taking off their shoes at the foyer and walking upstairs. Now that they’re gone, you turn to the man with the jet-black hair, his viridian orbs focused on you. The weather was chilly, so the man wore his usual dark denim jacket over his plain black sweatshirt, matching his jeans. “You look good, big guy. What’s in the bags?”

He greets you with a curled lip, and the scar on the side of his lip lifts. “Picked them up from their after-school sports, so it’s their sports gear and costumes for tonight. Mind helpin’ me here?” 

“Hmmm,” you merge your facial expressions to that of faux pondering, turning your back to Toji. “Nah, can’t. Got dinner to finish making.”

“Hmph, should’ve known.” He makes his way through between you and the front door. “Wouldn’t wanna break your pretty nails carrying heavy shit, huh, princess?” 

You glare at him using the nickname, hating his patronizing gaze. “From what I remembered, you would never let me carry the heavy stuff because you thought I was too fragile and easy to break. So how about that, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor?”

“Really? I don’t remember sayin’ all that before. You must’ve put me in a spell.” 

“Probably, I’ve been told I’m quite cute~.”

“Mmm, nah, more like an old hag of a witch.” Toji barks a laugh at your offended reaction, and he immediately ducks and heads for the stairs when you throw a sandal at him.

“At the very least, say I’m a cute witch, fucker.” You say the final word under your breath, grabbing the sandal you threw and heading back to the kitchen.

To say you and Toji were acquainted with one another would be the biggest understatement of the century. The two of you met a decade ago, fell madly in love, and married within a year of the relationship. When you tied the knot, Tsumiki had to have been two years old, and Megumi just turned one year old. You two had been together for four years after that, and you could confidently say those were one of [if not THE] best years of your life. You often second-guessed yourself being in a relationship with someone who had children, fearing that they wouldn’t like you or ignore you.

However, those worries were blown right away as the days went by. Every time you spent time with the children brought you three closer than ever; it was to the point that they saw you as their mother. How sweet! And there’s no denying that Toji loved you. The man would break someone’s nose for you  — yes, it happened before, and it wasn’t pretty — for you were his sweet little thing that kept him going.  

Well, if it was so great, why the divorce? Let’s just say you weren’t Toji’s first love. That title would have to be awarded to the Megumi’s mother. Even in her unfortunate passing, you can tell that Toji loved that woman like no other. It didn’t make you jealous or anything, seeing the man you love still mourn for a dead woman. Hell, you’d probably do the same if you were him. But, you can’t lie; it felt like you were cast over a “shadow” when it came to her influence. It was damn near suffocating to bear, especially in those four years of marriage. So, for your sake and his aching heart, you pulled him aside and suggested a divorce. And Toji didn’t fight you on the proposition, signing the papers and setting you free from the thick air.

Although things ended between you two, that didn’t mean things stopped being what they were. If anything, it was as if nothing happened at all. Even if you still don’t live under the same roof, you still make time to hang with the Fushiguros, whether invited to some occasion or exchange phone calls or texts to check up on them. Even now, five years after your separation, it warms your heart knowing that you get to interact with the people you care about. 

There are moments you find yourself missing living under the same roof with all three of them and living alone can be pretty lonely. But all in all, as long as they’re comfortable and trust you enough to be around, there’s no need to change things up again. Like right now — the four of you sit at the dinner table eating before the kids go off trick-or-treating.

“Are you going to trick-or-treat with us, Y/n?” The brown-haired child sitting next to you asks while finishing up her dinner. 

“Sorry, not this time, gotta be at a Zoom meeting for my job in a few minutes. But I do have someone else to take my place. Gojo will be here at around—Why are you two making that face?” You stop mid-sentence to notice Megumi and Toji at the other side of the table, displaying disgusted facial expressions at the mention of the white-haired other’s name.

“Why him?” They said in unison.

“Why not??” You question their irritation.

“He’s so annoying…” Again, in unison. Proof enough that they’re father and son.

You sigh as you get up to take your plate to the sink. “Oh, come on, you two, it’s not like he’ll be with you guys the entire night. He has a party at a friend’s he’s going to later.” 

“Isn’t he too old to trick-or-treat?” Tsumiki questions, noting that Gojo is way past his undergraduate years. 

“He is, but whatever gets that prick any free sweets,” Toji answers his daughter before getting up to put his dish in the sink. 

You exit the kitchen, head into the living room, and sit on the couch. The laptop you had placed there was ready to open and unlock, and you clicked on applications and windows to look through before your meeting started in the next three to two minutes. He should be here about—

DING-DONG!!

Now.

Right on cue, you motion for Toji to grab the front door, and he follows your command. “Kids, Gojo’s here!” You shout out to the two kids who still sit at the table. “When you’re done eating, you can go upstairs and put your costumes on. But whoever finishes last has to do the dishes.” You can hear commotion from the table as the brunette rushes to put her dish in the sink and dash for the stairs. Megumi groans to himself; you giggle when you hear him mutter an “Aww man…”

You pull out your headphones to connect to your laptop, put them in their respective ears, and prepare yourself for the meeting. Ignoring the faint passive-aggressive tones of your ex-husband when greeting Gojo at the door…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Your eyes flutter open, noticing the lighting change around the living room. The orange sunlight no longer decorated the space, substituted with the gradual darkness that overtakes you. The only source of light you can figure out is the flashing from the television screen.

Aside from the TV, there are no other signs of life. There aren’t any signs of Tsumiki or Megumi around playing or causing a raucous. It could only mean the two are still trick-or-treating with Gojo. 

One blink, two blinks. I must’ve fallen asleep after the meeting… You hum while sinking to the couch, burying your face into the pillow. 

But…since when did your pillow act like it was breathing with a heartbeat? And…I smelt that cologne before…How?

“Ya awake now?”

You raise your head, realizing you are not lying on your couch. Technically, you were; however, you were lying on something else on the furniture with you – more like someone. 

It’s then you realize that you were lying on Toji during your entire slumber, him leaning on the end of the couch, one leg spread to make room for you to sleep on him while you sit on the other. And you can guess that you had your head on his chest, snuggling up to his warm figure. He looks at you with his green eyes now darkened by the room, yet you can see their glow from the television light. And that small smile he gives you, the scar on the right side of his lip lifted upward. The familiar butterflies in your stomach flutter like before. Like old times sake…That must be embarrassing, huh?

You frantically try to get off of him, “Sorry about that, I thought—“

“No, no,” Toji places a stern hand on your back, keeping you from moving further. “You were comfortable.” 

You stare at him for a few seconds until your face contours to a look, and a smile starts to creep up while you situate yourself back to your original position, pressing your face back on his chest to listen to the beats of his heart again. “I recall having this couch all to myself not too long ago, so where’d you come from?”

“Well, I wanted to watch some sports highlights, but I figured you’d kick my ass if I pulled you off and had you sleep on the floor instead.” With the click of your tongue, he chortles. You bet your ass I would. “So, I decided to have ya sleep on me while I watch TV.”

“What’s wrong with the other side of the couch? It’s quite vacant and enough for a big guy like you.” 

“True,” his hand rubs circles on your back, an old habit he did when he used to have you like this. “But then I’d be lonely.” 

You titter. “That’s big for someone who said he thrives on being alone.”

“I thrive being alone when I’m working.” You’re glad he can’t see your eyes roll; he’d probably grab you by the cheeks like a child. “Besides, why would I wanna be alone when I have you for myself.”

And there it is, your cheeks begin to warm up. Or was it because you’re so close to him that his heat is transferring to you? That’s probably it, yeah. Let’s change the subject…”How long was I out for? I remember the kids left around 7:30-ish.”

“Mmm, it’s going to eleven right now.”

Three and a half hours? Damn. “It’s past their bedtime.”

Toji scoffs. The abrupt motion of his chest rising is satisfying in a way that makes you even more comfortable. “You still think they’re gonna sleep with all that sweet shit they got?” He snickers some more as you shake your head.

“They know better. When you guys get home, be sure to put their candy bags on the top shelf of the closet for the morning.” 

“Still traumatized from that one time?” 

“Uhhh, yes??” The memory flashes to you for a quick moment, but the dread from before still haunts you. Megumi was six years old and Tsumiki seven, returning home from trick-or-treating and immediately tasting their labor from that night. However, what you didn’t expect was for them both to eat almost half their bags. Let’s just say, thanks to their sugar rushes, they didn’t drop dead until the hour hand touched two of the morning. “Unless it’s the weekend, never again.”

The way the older man chuckles is so therapeutic — it nearly makes you want to fall asleep again. “You weren’t the one chasin' Megumi all over the place tryin' to get him to sleep. Little squirt gets his speed from me.”

“Awww, poor you~” You can sense the glare as you respond in a condescending, sing-song tune. “You and him are always butting heads. Like father, like son.”

“Tch, hate that sayin’ so fuckin’ much.”

“Why? ‘Because it’s true?”

“Shut up.” The hand he used to rest his head comes down to pinch your nose. You wriggle out of his hold with giggles, but he happily keeps you grounded to him with his stronghold and a leg wrapped around to prevent yours from moving. “He only listens to you. Such a sweet lil’ baby to you, huh? Puttin’ my own son against me.”

More giggles prompt out of tiny guilt, and you bring up a hand to rub on his chest. “He’s such a bright boy now. Growing up so big and fast.”

“Miki, too. That girl is way too smart fr' me to catch up. And she’s becoming so kind and strong, crazy to think she made me play teacups when she could barely go down the stairs by herself.” Toji hums, the vibrations felt on the pads of your fingers. “Think she gets that from you.” 

You shook your head. “They’re your babies. They do amazing things because they have a big guy like you to catch them if they ever fall.”

“Hmm, fair…But let’s not pretend I’m the best dad in the world. Fuck, never in my life did I think I’d be a dad, especially with two kids. I didn’t know shit back then — still! I still don’t know shit.” You don’t say anything, just listening to him voice his thoughts to you. Because he knows you’d listen – you always do. “If you weren’t there for them, I don’t think they’d be shining like this. Y’re definitely the thing that brought us up together. They look up to you so much. Ya did so well with them.”

Nodding aimlessly, his black sweatshirt grazing on your cheek. “Thank you. Same to you. Didn’t do so bad yourself, big guy.”

“Mmm.”

Nothing is said between you two after that. The only thing that makes noise is the voices coming from the television. The volume lowered, an initiative you could guess from Toji wanting you to get some rest. The silence was too awkward that it might torture some, but it was fine where it was. There was no need to change it, especially when you were comfortable in each other’s embrace.

That is, until Toji asks, “Do you miss it?” The rubs on your back go slower, his fingertips drawing a ticklish sensation.

“Of course I do. All the time.” You answer honestly, turning your head to rest your chin on him. Your eyes glimpse directly at his, giving him a tiny grin. “Why ask? I know the kids miss me being around; what about you? Miss me nagging and putting you to work all the time?”

He sneers at your comment. “Every day.”

It was such a simple answer, yet it had the power to wipe that smirk right off your face. Your eyes locked in his sight, and your heart tuning to an irregular rhythm. Oh, come on, Y/n, get a grip! “Ahem—Toji, I hope you know that I never stopped missing everything we had — I never will. Those years that we shared were probably the best I’ve had. We had happy moments, others sad, of course. But, God, do I miss it all. I miss it so much. I miss having you guys here. Miki and Gumi and—“

“Me?” Good Lord, if this man doesn’t stop looking at you with those goddamn eyes of his, such captivating orbs that say more than he lets on. Your breath hitches, and so does the hand on your back. “Hmm? Ya miss me, baby?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why’d you have to call me that? And it gets worse when he places his free hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin while the forefinger teases the lobe and tragus of your ear. Goddammnit…

“...Yes,” your voice was down a whisper, which could easily be mistaken with the television. But you know Toji heard you, loud and clear. “Especially you, Toji.” You said it. The words that he wanted to hear from you. They felt so forbidden to say, yet it was the truth. You avert your gaze away from him. But you knew that wouldn’t work, not right now. Toji taps your cheek with his thumb, and your eyes sheepishly return to his.

He doesn’t say anything, and that makes your heart beat at an unbearable rate. It’s all you can hear when you stare into his deep emerald eyes, the sound of it ringing your eardrums as if you could puke. Your throat running dry, so you gulp to ease the uncomfortable bob. If something could just happen to end this anxious torture, that would be great. 

And then your prayers get answered: something does happen. Toji slowly brings his face closer to yours — your body goes rigid, and you instantly face away before the inevitable happens. No, I didn’t mean that!

“Aht aht, don’t do that, baby.” His hand slithers from your cheek to your chin, forcing you to face straight at him. “Lemme see you.”

“Toji, wait,” your voice travels out in a shaky breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this. We can’t cross this line anymore.”

He listens to your pleas, but his body does otherwise. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead while the hand on your back snakes downward. “Why not?” His gruff voice dialed down to a whisper.

“Because—Mmmm…” Toji interrupts you by licking the helix of your ear. Oh, you slick bastard. “We’re supposed to be done…” 

“That’s not stoppin’ me from takin’ care of my sweet thing.” Jesus Christ, you almost melted from the way he whispered that to your ear. He’s pulling out all the same old tricks, and it gets more hellish by the second as you try not to give in. “So, y're gonna let me take care of you like I always do, right, mama?”

Both his hands now rest on your ass, groping it while your hips sway as if they have a mind of their own. The leg between yours comes up slightly, making you ride on it. The heat on your cheeks has already blossomed to your ears, making it hard to think straight. Gripping his sweatshirt, your hips ride his thigh to ease the throbbing sensation that grows with every motion. Good God, you shouldn’t be doing this. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. However, it’s been so long that you felt wanted like this — wanted by him. It’s all the same – his voice, his hands, his words, his body, and the names he calls – yet here you are turning into putty. 

“Haaahh, Mmmfff…Toji, please,” Toji withdraws his face from your shoulder, leaving him to examine your expression. You must look so dumb right now, with your hooded eyes and shivering lips. But, at this point, do you even care? “Please…Treat me right.”

One moment, you see his gaze narrow with a devious glint. Next, you’re taken aback when Toji slams his lips on yours, kissing and sucking your bottom lip until you give him access. With a moan, you open your mouth for him and sink deeper into the kiss. Your hands come around his neck, keeping him focused on you and you alone. Not that he would have it any other way.

His strong hands continue to knead your asscheeks while you hump and grind on his thigh. Nibbling on your lip, you whimper helplessly for him. It strokes his ego, knowing he’s making you like this, the fucking bastard. He takes in your tiny cries happily, shoving his tongue to play with yours. You give in to him, almost losing your balance riding his thigh, yet Toji’s lips never leave yours.

You break the kiss to get an imperative breath, panting loudly and sweetly for him as Toji kisses and licks your ear. The sounds make your lower region twitch. “Hnnmm, fuck…That’s my girl. So fuckin’ good fr’ me always, Y/n…” You can feel him slide a hand up to the hem of your leggings, forcing it inside for his thick fingers to brush up on the bare flesh of your butt. You gasp sharply. Him squeezing your butt has you biting down on his sweatshirt. “—Hahhh, Oh God, Toji,” With every squeeze, he inches closer to your panty-covered chasm, where you know he’d find a damp spot. Please touch me. Please, please, plea—

CLACK-CLINK!!

The two of you are frozen stiff when you hear the sound of the door opening and closing, the foyer lights turned on. “Alright~, we got you guys home. See ya later!” That was Gojo’s voice, indicating everyone was finally back from trick-or-treating. This means that Tsumiki and Megumi are about to see you on top of their father, his hand in your leggings and smacking lips with yours. Your eyes shoot wide with horror — immediately remove yourself from Toji and stand up from the couch to pull your bottoms up. You barely had the chance to peek at Toji because the kids already run to the living room to find you two.

“Y/n, Y/n, look!” The brunette was the first to greet you with her adorable pink Barbie cowgirl costume. She and her brother, dressed as Sasuke Uchiha, cheerfully showcased their pillowcases full of candy. “Look at all this candy we got!”

“Wooow, you guys really went on a haul,” you can only hope they can’t see you sweating bullets through your fake reaction. “Wh–Where’s Gojo?” 

“He dropped us off here a few seconds ago and left for the party,” The raven-haired boy answered while scanning his pillowcase.

You only nod along until you frantically wipe your mouth, realizing the tiny trail of spit from the corner of your mouth. “Umm—Ahem, well then, I’m glad you two got all that candy. Now, let’s hurry up and get you guys home so you can get ready for school tomorrow!” 

But the children didn’t move an inch. Actually, they looked like they were going to tell you something. You lift a brow. Oh no, they’re going to look at each other. They looked at each other and then glanced back at you. Oh, God, no. “Uhhh, Y/n, we were thinking.” Big sister Tsumiki is always the one who asks the following question. “Can we stay over?”

You inhale a massive breath, yet you do your best not to exhale a heavy sigh. “Kids, you promised to keep the overnight stays to three at max per month. This will be the fifth!” 

“Yeah, but it’s dark out. Plus, it’s way past our bedtime.” The younger chimes in with a tiny pout. “We’ll be asleep by the time Dad gets us home.”

And here comes Tsumiki with the tag-team response to add on. “And that means he’ll have to make continuous trips back and forth from the car. Picking me and Megumi up, getting our bookbags, the bags full of candy, the whole thing! We already packed up our PJs just in case.” 

You stood there staring at the two in astonishment. There’s no way they thoroughly planned this out. There’s just no way… And to make it worse, they were making valid arguments. You open your mouth to say something, but the two give the best puppy eyes they can. The wave of guilt hits like a train, internally cringing. You turn to Toji, who still sits on the couch, and the motherfucker only gives you a shrug. Wow, what a helpful father he is.

You groan into your hands, shaking your head while looking at the kids who wait for your verdict. “…Alright, you can stay as long as you PROMISE to put those candy bags in my bedroom closet. Deal?” The happy smiles and aggressive head shakes should answer your question. “Good, now go ahead and take your showers before you head for bed.” They rushed to the stairs by the time you finished that sentence, so enthusiastic about staying the night at your house, and you can’t help but smile hearing their footsteps run up the stairs. 

With that being said, you turn to the older man again. Your brows are trenched down, but your smile is still present. “So, you legit just sat there and let those two tag-team me like that? In my own house?”

Another shrug with a dumb smirk on his handsome face. “Told you: too smart fr’ me to catch up.” You shake your head before exiting to get the kids and guest rooms ready, leaving him with the television. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The midnight hour has finally danced its way into the darkness of the night. Halloween is finally over, and the month of October is no more. The pitter-patter sound of the rain cleanses the neighborhood of its merits and festivities that partook hours ago, ready for a new phase of the year to take over.

After having the guest room ready with sheets and sleepwear for Toji and kissing the kids goodnight, you rinse your stress off with a nice shower and put on your pajamas to get ready for bed. After you turn the lights off, you drape the comforter over your figure as your body sinks with the cozy sheets and pillowcase. Your eyes close while focusing on the curtains of your window, the only light piercing inside being the lampposts by the street. 

…Well, at least that’s what’s supposed to happen. But that’s not the case because you’re not the only one lying comfortably on your mattress. Instead, Toji is here with you, in your room, on your bed, his chest to your back, and his hand roaming inside your oversized shirt. Your lips are now connected with his, sharing your erotic moans with his enticing groans, and you get a little louder as his fingers cup and play with your breast.

“Mmphh…Ahhhh, I thought I told you you’re sleeping in the guest room—Nmmff!” He tweezes your nipple with his forefinger and thumb roughly.  

“And I thought you’d be smart enough to know that wasn’t gonna happen.” Toji kisses the crook of your neck, drawing near your ear for him to whisper. “Besides, look at you. Still sleepin’ with no underwear on?”

“Hmph, only when I have a man around the house.” That answer got you another rough tweak on your nip and a purposeful gnaw to your ear. You knew he’d react like that, never liking the mention of another man leaving your mouth – especially during an intimate time like this.

“That so? What man you know that can handle all this?” Toji then moves from his side to be between your legs, pulling up your shirt to fully expose your chest. And your breathe hitches while his free hand travels down your abdomen to your bottoms.

“Ahhhh, no one. Just you...” You look at him with half-lidded eyes, taking in his reaction to what you said. The salacious grin on his face becoming broader should entail that he greatly loved that retort.

He brings his face to your other unattended nipple, “Good answer, princess.” The nub of your breast enters his mouth, and the wet warmth of his tongue greets it with lapped motions and grazes from his teeth. Despite that, it doesn’t distract you from the fact your bottoms are pulled down with ease and are thrown to the bedroom floor, leaving your cunt out for him, your erotic fluids seeping and glistening from the outside lights. 

Toji plays with your folds until he can stuff his pointer finger into your chasm, the insertion resulting in your body’s jolt. It’s been a long while since you had his thick digit inside you, playing and scraping the inner walls to evoke whimpers. God, it felt so good, this satisfying feeling returning to awaken your body to his touch. He interacts with your body as if he’s the only person who knows how to get you going – and it’s the truth. No one can put you in a blissful haze quicker than this man. And you’d prefer to keep it that way. 

The addition of his middle finger into your leaky entrance startles you, the thick digit making its way in with such vigor that he uses both fingers to scrape the velvety texture of your walls. Your eyes are now screwed shut at the growing commotion between your thighs, and the heat within your body flourishing all around gets to your head. “—Khmm, Oh fuuck, Toji. Please, don’t stop.” 

With a soft ‘pop’ noise from his lips, Toji replies to your demands. “I’m sorry, what’s my name again?” You giggle with trenched brows. Of course, how could I forget?

“Nmmph, D-Daddy, pleaseee, I’m so clo—Ahhhann!!” He puts his thumb to your clit, grinding down on it unexpectedly. “I wanna cum, pleaseee…”

“Hmmm, good girl,” he teased, laying down kisses, nibbling on the skin of your stomach and inner thighs until he arrives at your leaking slit. Your body jerks up from the bed when you feel the cold, wet muscle slowly lick on your clitoris before ravaging your folds. The sounds of his mouth on your cunt are so lewd to the ear, slurping noises from his lips with the lapping motions of his tongue claiming your come are too much for you. And when he uses his hand to swipe and pinch your clit? Oh, it’s a wrap. Your release comes out without control, biting down on your bottom lip to make sure your cries don’t leave this space for the kids to hear. Their room is on the other side down the hall; tonight isn’t the night for too many risks.

When your trembling body calms down and subsides, Toji withdraws his face from between your thighs. Your essence paints his mouth, and he wipes his chin clean while licking the remnants that coat his scarred lips. “Hmph, missed tastin’ you like that.” You open your eyes when your high finally evades you, watching your ex-husband pull down his sweats. His erection springs out and hits his stomach, your mind going rampant with thoughts as you ogle at his freed limb. Shit, it’s been so long. Will that shit even fit me again?

“Don’t think it’ll fit, baby?” Damn him, he loves teasing you. Toji then discards his black wife-beater, at long last revealing his well-built, brawny physique that has you drooling for him. He uses his hands to maneuver your legs—your knees pushed to your chest as your legs propped up on his shoulders. A position you’re all too familiar with. Your eyes don’t leave Toji’s cock as he aligns his cock to your slick-coated folds. “Take some breaths fr’ me, sweetie. Can’t take care of you when you’re all tense.”

You take up on his advice and begin taking deep breaths, reminding yourself to maintain the steady pattern as he pushes the tip of his dick between the lips of your cunt. Every inhale is where he nudges into the hole of your inner cavern, and every exhale gives you time to breathe out the pain that comes in for a split second. This carries on until the cockhead wedges itself perfectly into your vagina, along with the inches of his girth that stretches until the base kisses your lips, the tip of him kissing your cervix. Tears swell up in your eyes, taking more deep breaths to prepare yourself for what’s about to come. 

“Oooh fuuuck…Heh, yeah, that’s my baby right there. Fittin’ so perfect fr’ me, mama…” He puts his weight on you, keeping your figure unmoving under his bow. 

“Nmmmf, Daddyyy,” you’re forced to take in all of him, and drool trails down your lips with no hope of taking care of it. “…I’m so full, you’re too much…”

“I know, sweetie, I know.” He wipes your spit after kissing your forehead. How gentle compared to what you’re about to go through. “Gonna move now.” His thrusts start slow for the two of you to adjust to each other; the feeling of his length’s veins coming in and out of your chasm is so euphoric, and the kisses to your cervix want your body to writhe and squirm. But you’re bent into this position for a reason: forced to submit to him no matter what. So you do just that.

Yet your horny haze gets more potent once he picks up the pace, rutting into you with increased speed. Your slit, still sensitive from earlier, gets overstimulated with the constant grazes on your gummy walls and jabs to your tender cervix. It takes everything in your power not to come so early.

“—Hahhhh, Nmmph. Oh, shit, shit, shit…” Toji groans above you, the thrusts of his pelvis increase to an irregular rhythm, grinding deep into your cunt to the point of uncontrollable babbles escaping your lips. His bullying on your insides results in you gripping his length hard, causing the older man to hiss and moan at your contractions. “—Ohhhfuuuckk!! Jesus Christ, baby. Y’re gonna make me go crazy.” 

As if that wasn’t already happening now that he pistons his cock into your wetness, your brain turning into mush from the onslaught of ruts to your puffy wet chasm. Tears stream down your face, and more drool follows down with more precise hits to your delicate canal. The pounding in your head makes it hard to think of anything else, the squelching noises and paps of Toji’s balls hitting your cunt making it worse. 

“D-Daddyyy, I’m—Ohoooo!! Oh, Jesus, ohhhshit!” You can’t formulate a proper sentence, too engulfed with the electrifying sensations coursing through your body. 

“Damn, you feel too fucking good—Hnngh!!” Toji places his forehead on yours, resting his entire weight on you while his hips have a mind of their own. “‘Bout to make me knock you up…”

Oh, good Lord. The mere thought of having a child is the last thing that should be on your mind. But in a time like this, who in their right mind would be thinking straight? “Nnnfff! Oh God, pleaseee, fill me up, Daddyy!” Green eyes narrow with trenched brows. “—Pleasepleasepleaseee!! I want you to fill me up so bad, I want it, I want—Hyaaaaa!!” 

How can he deny your desperate, teary pleas when you’re urging him on like this? “Heh, you’re so fuckin’ sexy, mama.” Toji captures your lips with his, your mewls taken by him as you sink further into your pleasurable thrill.

Sporadic thrusts of his pelvis produce more raunchy noises in the joining of your sexes, his heavy balls smacking on your cunt as he drives the base of his cock straight into you. Your slit is now a puffy mess, come and slick form a soapy mess that Toji now harbors a milky ring around his girth. A few rushed, sloppy thrusts heighten your high once more, and then Toji presses his pelvis down to the hilt on one final, harsh thrust, unloading his seed into your aching folds. And your climax follows in a few seconds, the walls of your cunt fluttering on his pulsating dick as your essence soaks him. Your muffled shrieks are received by him, quivering under him until the aftershocks wash through your body. 

Once you two breathe at a steady tempo and the nerves of your sweaty bodies fall still, the kiss is broken with heavy pants and a string of spit that links you two together. Toji buries his face between your neck and shoulder, licking and kissing your skin as you’re allowed time to experience your clarity.

“Hmmm…You know I’m not done yet, princess.” Toji mumbles to your ear before stationing your legs off his shoulders for them to rest.

“Yeah, I know, big guy.” You tease him with a breathless laugh, kissing him on the temple. “Always wanting more…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…So, you’re telling me you had your ex-husband spend the night? Not just the kids?”

“Yup, that’s what happened.” 

This morning was different from your usual routine – well, you can’t say it’s different if you have done it before, huh? After five years of divorce, you thought you’d be so used to waking up and getting ready for work without worrying about others. However, this morning proves otherwise.

It felt natural walking into the kids’ room and lightly shaking them awake, telling them to get ready while you whip up something quick for them to eat as Toji showers (using your bathroom, by the way). Watching the kids run down the stairs and eat breakfast puts a smile on your face, reminiscing about the good old days when they were younger and teenier. It sometimes feels surreal doing the same thing for them now that they’re getting older and taller. But seeing them bicker and interact with each other in your presence never fails to warm your heart.

When Toji’s finished freshening up and loading his kids’ stuff in his truck, it’s time to bid them farewell for their departure for school. You give them final touch-ups on their hair and outfits, reminding them to be safe and not get into trouble (especially Megumi, now that the boy’s been getting into fights). And before they rush to the car, you hug them and give each a kiss on the cheek. Here is where the warm feeling inside your heart begins to deteriorate, not wanting to let them go. Yet, for their sake – and education – you release them and hope for the best.

The last to leave was Toji, who came from the kitchen to the front door with a paper plate wrapped in foil in one hand. His name is written boldly by a black Sharpie. “This fr' me?” 

“No, it’s for Shiu Kong, for dealing with you all the time.” You stick your tongue out at Toji as he glares at you, not even moving out of the way while he exits through the door. “You better eat that when you get to work, you have a terrible habit of skipping lunch.” 

“Whatever ya say, mom.” He pesters you with the title, knowing you’re technically not a mother anymore. Yet it only makes you smile knowing he notices your maternal side. 

“Don’t forget to text me when Tsumiki’s soccer game is next week.” You watch him go down the porch stairs. 

“Will do.”He whistles. 

“And Toji?”

The man stops walking to turn to you, his forest green eyes fixed on you so quickly that you almost forget what you want to say. Or what you wanted to do. You place your fingers on your lips and blow a kiss with an outward gesture. It was an old habit you did whenever he left, something you can’t seem to get out of practice with. It’s embroidered in your mind at this point. 

And when he catches the kiss with his free hand and places it on his chest, it makes your heart skip a beat. Toji grins, “I’ll be damned if that was fr' Shiu, too.”

You snicker with a shaken head. “Drive safe, Toji.” Closing the front door, you stand there for a while. Your smile doesn’t falter; it gets bigger as you replay the moment instead. Thinking about him, hearing him, seeing him, it all drives you crazy. And that’s a good thing…right?

“I don’t know, sounds like you still kinda care about the guy.” 

“Of course I do,” So here you are, sitting in your living room enjoying the rays of the sunset decorating the space, in a video call with your best friends, Utahime and Mei Mei. You reply to the former’s comment. “Just because I don’t have the ring on my finger doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care about him. I mean, he’s the father of two lovely children.”

“Shoot, you’re better than me, then.” The dark-haired woman admits. “But you’re kinda proving my point, Y/n. Even when you don’t have the ring on, you two act like the same old couple, and it’s definitely not just for the kids’ sake. Let’s be real here.” 

You try to interject, but the pale-blue-haired other, Mei Mei, intervenes, “I agree. It’s one thing if you let the children stay over, but he also wanted to spend the night. Sure, he could’ve been tired from driving all day and such. However, if you’re still seeing a man for the last five years – while legally unbound – and he says he wants to spend the night under your roof, which is rare, that should ring some bells at least.”

“I know, it did…” you nod along with what your friend is saying, throwing your head back with a heavy sigh. “But it’s not like he’s never spent the night here before, nor is he banished from stepping inside.” 

“Oh? Then why is this time different from the others?”

Utahime jumps in after Mei Mei’s chirp. “Yeah, you’re telling us about all these nostalgic lovey-dovey feelings as if you’re falling in love with him all over again. What, did you two have sex or something?” 

An open mouth, yet no words come out, leaving you in a predicament. You could’ve just lied or swerved the subject to something else. But you didn’t. And the two women on the screen lift their brows with hooded eyes, a look meaning a thousand words. You couldn’t even explain yourself either because a sudden knock on your door captured the attention of all three of you. 

You stand up and walk towards the door, your friends still on call on the phone at hand. Opening the door, you’re almost stunned to see in front of you. Tsumiki and Megumi with nervous smiles, and their father at the car collecting the same duffles bags from last night. You’re kidding.

“Hey, kids.” The two of them gulped from not calling them by their names. You bring up the phone to face the screen to them. “Say hello to Auntie Mei Mei and Utahime.” The women on the line smile and wave at the children, who sheepishly wave back.

“Hi, aunties.” Megumi greets them, and then his eyes drift back to you. “So, Y/n—“

“What did you forget this time?” Straight to the point, no room for excuses.

“It was Miki this time! She forgot her soccer cleats.” The older sibling gawks at her younger brother for calling her out.

“Tsumiki, I know you have cleats at home.”

“I do, but these are special! You bought them for my birthday, and I’ve been wearing them to every game ever since! So, I was scared when I couldn’t find them at home.” The brunette was quick to defend her stand. “Also, Dad doesn’t feel like driving up here and then back. So…can we…”

You close your eyes and bring the phone to your face to shield your vexation. Twice in a row, the sixth time this month. You can hear the giggles of your friends from the other side of the phone, adding more fuel to the fire. You don’t look up until you hear heavy footsteps on the porch, seeing Toji holding both duffle bags with a hand and shoulder. He stares at you as you stare at him, a silent conversation on how to handle this situation. And when he shrugs with lifted brows, you realize it’s no use and release the long-awaited sigh.

“….If I see one more thing being left behind here, you guys can’t come back till December, understand?” It wasn’t anything serious, but enough for the kids to know you weren’t joking. They nod their heads in unison while you roll your eyes. “Okay, get in here.” They rushed inside with gleeful laughs, the shuffling of their backpacks following along with them. Your eyes then drift to Toji as he walks up to you. “Did you forget something here, too?”

“Yeah,” you lift a brow when he drops Megumi’s bag to the floor. Before you can register his hand on your chin, you squeak when he brings his lips to yours. It lasted for seconds, but the kiss was sweet and tender, sucking on your lip before letting go with a playful bite. “Meant to give you that when you woke up. Thanks fr' the food, mama.” 

Toji picks the bag up and walks inside your home to put the bags in the rooms, leaving you standing on the porch with an astounded expression. You couldn’t appropriately calibrate your thoughts until you heard faint laughs from the phone. Then, you realize your best friends witnessed the entire scene that transpired. 

Utahime, with the slyest leer, was the first to say something. “Oh yeah, he laid that pipe on you good, without a doubt.”

“Mhmm,” Mei Mei agrees with a chuckle. “And I'm guessing he’s gonna do it again tonight. Isn’t that right, Y/n?”

You end the video call with a heated face. “Sh-Shut your damn mouths!!” Again, you groan into your hands before returning inside. Thank God I still have those birth control pills...

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by rororogi mogera + dividers by the amazing @/cafekitsune!!

[mistbehavior]

‧₊˚ ₊  𐙚 𝒮ummary: They grew up hearing “don’t touch that,” “you’re not ready,” “that’s dangerous”—but when it comes to his grandchild, Bruce is simply incapable of saying no.

𝒩otes: i was been with this in my mind for months 😭 i’m not used to writing in english but i tried!! also, i didn’t specify which one of them were the father.

While Bruce was strict with his kids, he turns a complete blind eye when it comes to his grandkids. And he doesn’t even try—or want—to hide it.

I mean, he’s already retired from his vigilante career, his kids are living their own lives, and he’s loaded. What’s wrong with just relaxing and enjoying his free time with his very first grandbaby?

Assuming all the kids are now adults, but still visit the manor constantly, they’ve had to come to terms with the fact that under that roof, it’s the tiny human that rules. Not that they don’t love the little ball of energy too, but it does sting a bit to watch Bruce let them do whatever they want—things they never had permission to do back then.

Like that time Damian needed to do some upgrades and maintenance on the Batmobile—except oops, it wasn’t in the Batcave. In broad daylight. The reason? Bruce couldn’t say no to his grandkid asking for a ride. He had so many cars but the little menace had to ask for the Batmobile.

Or the time Bruce was so focused on tracking Tim’s patrol over comms that he didn’t notice the kid abandon their coloring pages and start painting everything they could find—gear, weapons, uniforms. Jason was outraged when he saw Bruce calmly cleaning up the mess while the tiny culprit sat in the chair eating snacks.

Don’t get him wrong—he wasn’t about to tell Bruce to scold the kid, no matter how much chaos they caused.

But seriously? When he did that as a kid, he got grounded for a whole month and had to clean everything up by himself.

Dick remembered the day Alfred told Bruce that one day, he’d soften up—even more than he already had. But honestly, he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. He wished he’d taken a photo of Bruce’s face when they heard a noise in the hallway followed by a little grunt from the grandkid.

Bruce ran like he’d just witnessed a major accident—it was just a scraped knee, but Bruce, the same man who had seen every member of that family bleed, nearly cried with them.

“When I fell, you told me to get up,” Dick said, Jason and Tim silently nodding in agreement.

“You were a vigilante,” Bruce defended, while applying a themed band-aid on the minor injury. He ignored Grayson mumbling something like “vigilante or not, I was a child,” and got up to make hot chocolate.

There was also that one time when Tim had to drop several important tasks from his day just to cover a Wayne Enterprises meeting Bruce bailed on—because he got an urgent phone call.

His grandkid wanted to show him a drawing of Batman.

It wasn’t even a good drawing—one of the few things Tim and Damian could agree on. It had three eyes and six fingers.

But Bruce hung it up in his office.

Above Tim’s Princeton diploma.