#had to get this one out of my system before i exploded

[zhonglicious]

now. dont get me wrong. hanma is a freak and loves it when his partner takes the lead, bossing him around. someone who knows exactly what they want, how they want it, and isnt afraid to use him to get it

but god, nothing gets him harder than a shy little thing that can barely even look him in the eye. hands over their face, occasionally peeking out at him then getting too flustered to look again. he absolutely loves watching them turn into a mess, knowing that he did that. sweet, shy little thing, tears welling at the corners of their eyes, so, so close, but too embarrassed to ask for more.

[iceunhie]

— KISSES OR KISSES? : honkai star rail

premise. testing out your new lipstick is no fun (normally), so what better way to make use of it by kissing your lover senseless? not to mention, leaving a little something behind.... (aka, lipstick kisses with them.)

ft. blade, dan heng, boothill, dr. ratio, aventurine !

warnings: feminine reader! reader is ultimately genderless but you may interpret this as fem!reader if you want, reader wears lipstick. nicknames hehe, boothill is his own warning, mid writing tbh, unedited

a/n. the lipstick trend does not escape me at all 😞😞 but this consumed me so now i write about it ijbol

MAIN MASTERLIST || PART 2 (sunday, jing yuan, gallagher, sampo, gepard.)

“what are you doing?”

BLADE ceases all functions. like, immediately.

you'd think he'd even stopped breathing once he'd felt the soft sensation of your lips on his, and the pretty sight of the normally aloof stellaron hunter covered in multiple lipstick kisses all over his face to his neck nearly makes the rest of his other comrades keel over from laughter. his silence is indicative of his rather unusual state of shock, the only indication a menacing furrow of his brows (to an outsider, they'd think he's plotting a murder spree, but you know him too well for that) that twitch and simultaneously react the more you kiss him everywhere on the face.

silverwolf will then relay to you that blade walked around for nearly 5 system hours covered in your... marks of ownership, kafka helpfully supplies, and was only made aware when firefly accidentally bumped into him, face exploding in red when she saw the audacious sight of blade covered in your lipstick. “er, blade.... your face is...”

—

blade has never known mortification quite like today, but the intense feeling of something akin to shame is vivid as he stares at himself in the mirror, glaring.

his face is a mess, to put it simply. trailing a hand on the red stains your lips left on to him leaves him with a smudged countenance, furthering the utter chaos that is his kiss-ridden face.

“...ridiculous girl.” avoiding the uncharacteristic way his fingertips feel hot, blade reckons this is probably why firefly stopped dead in her tracks and gaped, stared, and flustered.

clever as you were, and with your equal penchant for mischief, blade, the ever unsuspecting lover he is (he doesn't normally allow anyone to touch him, but you're not just anyone) had easily become the target of your new tricks.

“pfft, nice get-up, old man. got yourself a good day?”

....so that's what silverwolf meant.

DANHENG immediately scolds you, but not in the serious way he normally does whenever stelle wants to eat an origami bird or dives into trashcans or when march accidentally destroys one of the archive books, but in a way that only dan heng ever shows you. he's red, painfully red, and is struggling to face you because he knows that the smug grin you're holding has to do with the sight he'd glimpsed himself to be in moments prior.

unfortunately for him, for all his ways of trying fervently to remove the lipstick stains plastered all over his face, it only took march one look and a melodramatic gasp before the entire express knew, the conductor included.

—

“dan heng and [name], sitting on a tree-”

“k-i-s-s-i-n-g~”

my friends are all senile, dan heng thinks, rolling his eyes while avoiding himeko's friendly (read: eerie) smile. and he's already given up on trying to meet welt's eyes. (read: concerned but not surprised)

the reason? the rouge tinted matte lipstick generously spread all over dan heng's face, slightly smudged and spanning from his cheeks to his lips, nearing his neck.

he'd never tell, but a part of him—one that was reptilian in nature, a primal need of possessiveness—adored the show of affection you showered upon him. it was only right—he was yours, and you were his.

welt is sheepish, coughing lightly that all five heads of the express members turn to him (pom-pom included) “dan heng, is that your tail wagging?”

“....”

“....”

“....”

(a resounding click! can be heard afrerwards. oh, dan heng is so going to steal march's camera.)

the loud whir of BOOTHILL’s cooling system can't even keep up with how fast he's overheating, because one thing led to another and one look you gave made him weak in the knees and now his body is covered in your kisses, scarlet against the metal gray of his limbs. he no longer has a heart, but the rapid feeling of heat emitted by his body speaks more about his current mental state in more ways than one—he can't even form words because his brain chip is practically glitching itself up into overdrive, because your lips were so warm, soft and gentle and—

“...oothill? boothill? your circuits are—”

a startling sound that sounds just like a mini explosion reverberates somewhere in the tangle of wires near boothill's power source.

oh dear.

( p.s: no warp trotters were harmed, rest assured )

“[name]...” AVENTURINE’s voice falters when you press a soft kiss near his forehead, your lover closing his eyes as he lets out a soft sigh of joy — a bit like a peacock preening... but in any case! he certainly sees no argument being swayed by you, his dignity in shambles, yes, but when you were showering him with affection like this (which, in all honesty, aventurine did not think he deserved) leaves in in a flushed and tattered mess of a man, whose strings are wholly puppeteered by you and you alone.

you are everything; and aventurine certainly can't get enough. (he doubts if enough will even be enough someday) he's the lover who'd proudly want to flaunt such salacious marks everywhere, though his craftily built reputation as a stoneheart—blood sweat and commodity code and all—leaves him to hide your marks on him, as much as he'd like them to stay. (you are a weakness that aventurine keeps like an oath, and an existence that he'd do anything to keep.)

that doesn't, however, stop him from getting you to leave a kiss near his collar, discreet enough to signal his status as irrevocably, undeniably yours.

DR. VERITAS RATIO is actually the most calm and most normal (read: boring) of all the men above when barraged by your kiss attack. letting out a tsk that's more chiding and speeachless than actually annoyed, he casually pulls you away from his face, nevermind his rapidly heating cheeks, which is only made more humorous given his lipstick stained face.

“stop that. you're making too much of a mess of me, fool.” <- is visibly leaning to your face to allow said actions. you're not fooling anyone here, doctor. smh.

however, he does get pretty flustered when a certain blond gambler notes the new addition of a ‘tattoo’ right near his lower lip. “wow, doctor. seems you woke up on the good side of the bed today.”

he spends a whole day scolding you hoarse afterwards, whatever that may entail ;).

(as a way of petty revenge, he will make sure to kiss you senseless right after, until he's sure his own lips are swollen and covered in the warm red of your chosen shade.)

a/n: blog is running on queue as of today, so this post will probably come wayyy overdue lol but hope u enjoy nonetheless!

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[ssahotchnerr]

Hotch request ♡ for pre-relationship Hotch and Reader where he takes care of them on a case where they don’t feel well (maybe giving them his jacket when they have to investigate somewhere chilly at night, or keeping an eye on them!!) I thought this would be a cute one !!

if you only knew

cw; fem bau!reader, mutual pining, no established relationship, touch starved aaron, sick descriptions, fluff <3

After being out with the flu last week, color was just beginning to return to your face. Liveliness was present, contrasting the dull pale Aaron had witnessed when you attempted to come into the office. One look at you, and he sent you straight home.

You were on the upswing, otherwise he wouldn't have let you travel. Your fever had gone, you were on antibiotics, you promised you felt better - pinky-promised even.

But now he was beginning to think he should've momentarily grounded you back at Quantico, aiding Garcia rather than being in the field with the rest of team.

The further you ventured, the further the temperature plummeted. Surely it wasn't good for your vulnerable immune system, especially since your symptoms had yet to fully disappear, and why had he insisted you come? Prentiss could've accompanied him to the crime scene. Or JJ, Reid - anyone else.

He knew the answer already though; after not seeing you for nearly a week, he was guiltily needing to make up for lost time.

Aaron did, however, have a set of tissues waiting in his pocket, which - judging by the increasing rate of sniffles exiting you - would come in handy soon. He had to subtly conceal retrieving the items (he packed cough drops also) as the two of you left the precinct, knowing the cheeky grin or words Dave would offer him if caught.

"How are you doing?"

You considered saying you were fine, but lying was pointless - he’d see right through it before the words even left your mouth. And you couldn't lie to him.

It was nice, having someone know you so well.

Your voice was hoarse, barely more than a rasp. "Honestly, not great. My head is so congested it feels as if it's going to explode."

He grimaced in compassion, meeting your eyes with sympathy - which deepened at the sight of your red nose. Induced by the cold or your cold, he wasn't sure, "I'm sorry."

"I can't tell if I'm shivering because of post sick chills," you admitted, and right on cue, a quick shudder overtook your body. "Or I'm just freezing."

"You could head back to the car. Warm up a bit."

As tempting as the suggestion was, you gave him a look. Wittiness danced in your eyes and it eased his tense shoulders; if you felt that bad, you wouldn't have bothered with such a display. "And leave you here alone?"

Aaron chuckled gently, "I can manage."

"I know you can." You responded simply but picked up your pace to lead the way, as if to prove to him you were more than capable. Unbeknownst to him, you were making up for lost time too.

Spending solo time with Aaron, or cooped up in a stuffy police department? The choice was obvious.

"Wait-" you paused, and he took a few strides to catch up. "Take my jacket then, at least."

"Hotch-" You began to protest, but Aaron shrugged his puffer off his shoulders anyway, ignoring your concerns of him now being susceptible to the frigid air, and how you'd hate to be the reason he'd succumb to hypothermia.

He couldn't care less, as long as you were warm. He persuaded your arms through the sleeves and pulled the zipper up, fastening it snugly at your chin to preserve warmth.

"This shouldn't take long," Aaron promised, a brisk burst of wind hitting the two of you. It caused a strand of your hair to fall in front of your face, and he immediately had the urge to tuck it back behind your ear. Get a grip, Hotchner.

He withheld his temptation for a moment, but then came to the conclusion - fuck it. While brushing it out of the way, his finger touched your skin. Briefly, but your cheek wasn't flushed, confirming your fever had definitely gone. But then again, the weather could've been contributing. "We'll take a look around, make sure CSI is taking adequate photos, and head out."

Your response was delayed, partially convinced you hallucinated his actions as your heart fluttered in your chest. Maybe your fever was returning. "Okay."

"Once we get back to the hotel, make some tea for your throat." How did he know your throat killed? Was it that obvious? "Take a hot shower, bask in the steam. And most importantly, get some sleep."

"Is that an order?" You countered, a weak smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"If that's what it takes, yes." He answered playfully, but the expression on his face indicated he was serious. Lips pressed into a soft line, eyes steady and clear with quiet determination.

Aaron was walking alongside you now, the back of his hand brushing against yours. While you weren't touching - only a few centimeters separated the two of you - it was electrifying.

Right before you reached the victim, a sudden sneezing fit seized you, and without thinking, his hand settled at the small of your back in support. It comfortably stayed put until you finished.

You peered up at him as your hand hid your snotty nose, eyes watery and quite pitiful. It broke his heart in the sweetest yet saddest way.

"Do you have tissues?"

"Check your pocket."

[mncxbe]

✧˚ ༘ Falling asleep next to him ft. Tsukishima Kei

⇢fluff, alcohol consumption (reader is tipsy), written this with post-timeskip Tsukki in mind, your honor they're idiots in love, they want each other bad. anyway, self indulgent short drabble

Tsukishima thinks his heart is going to explode from how close you are to him. The room is silent and you're haf-asleep in his bed, wearing his t-shirt, smelling of his shower products and he almost doesn't mind the sweet, lingering trace of alcohol on your breath.

When you invited him and Yamaguchi to a party that night to celebrate the end of exam season he initially wanted to refuse, but the thought of you going only with his friend, getting hit on by random guys at the club didn't sit right with him. So he tagged along and watched you dance and chat up whoever was willing to spare you the time of day. To say he was irritated would be an understatement but Tsukishima knew better than to comment on your behavior; he knew how easily you sulked and pouted until you got your way. And you always ended up getting your way with him– he liked you that much, though he never found the words to tell you. He had to basically drag you home that night, helping you take off your makeup while you sat on the edge of the bathtub, complaining about your headache. It was Yamaguchi's idea to let you stay the night at their flat considering the state you were in. Tsukishima wanted to point out that you weren't in fact that drunk, just tipsy, but he held his tongue. He couldn't waste an opportunity to keep you by his side just for a little longer. So after you showered and joined him in bed, he was finally faced with the reality of it all.

You're here, pressed up against him, your nose nudging against his jaw as you shift around, trying to find a more comfortable position. He feels warm, too warm, his palms sweaty as he adjusts, rolling on his side to give you more space. His hand comes up to your waist to prevent you from completely rolling over him and the little breathy hum you let out at the touch is a low blow. Tsukishima has always been analytical, trying to make sense of the world through logic and his sharp mind almost never failed him. But what can he do when his brain is basically mush, heart thumping so fast he's afraid you'll hear it if you lay your head on his chest? He tells himself to go to sleep, just close his eyes, take a deep breath and calm down but he can't— not when you're so close and fit so well against him.

And then you speak, a breathy, barely audible whisper of his name and his resolve crumbles. "Yea?" he says back, pressing his forehead against yours, thumb rubbing circles on your hip.

"d'you have some water? My throat feels dry."

He nods as you cough, slipping out of bed and heading to the kitchen to bring you a glass of water. By the time he returns you're already propped on your arm and he can see you blinking slowly in the soft moonlight.

"Here you go. Drink up." he mumbles, fingers brushing against yours when you take the glass and bring it to your lips, emptying it in a few greedy gulps. "Jesus... slow down, it's all yours." You give him a glare and set the glass down as he joins you under the blanket again.

"I was thirsty ok? Plus my head hurts so bad. Can't you give me some paracetamol?"

"Not when you've still got alcohol in your system, dummy. I'll give you one in the morning." he huffs, slipping his hands into your hair to massage your scalp before you get to complain more.

Kei's thumbs rub against your temples, soothing the dull ache and you finally relax, your protests melting on your tongue as you close your eyes again. "There, better?" he whispers and you nod, cuddling up against his chest. "Yea, thanks Tsukki. You're a saviour."

"A saviour, really?" he teases and you chuckle.

"You know what I mean."

And Tsukishima knows– at least he hopes he does. Hopes that behind that little sleepy smile and content expression of yours lays a feeling akin to his. But he pushes down those thoughts, leaving them for tomorrow because he's finally starting to fall asleep and as his breath settles and his eyes flutter shut, Tsukishima promises himself that one day he'll get you to sleep by his side every night.

[littleapplle]

let's make this bed get squeaky!

after an unexpected wanderer attack, you show rafayel how fun it is to be a girl. - 2.9k w. - not proofread.

cw.: fem!rafayel, very implied fem!reader (srry!!) feminization (if you squint), raf isn't a woman but does get turned into one temporarily, porn with a bit of plot, nipple play, worshipping (if you squint), face sitting, so cunnilingus, 69, scissoring? humping... something in between idk... kinda subby raf too... self indulgence. alot of that. i'm the pervert here.

note: this was vv inspired by this art by @.beechu-beechu !! one of my fav artists here on tumblr and twt, pls check their work out!! <3 as soon as i saw fem!raf my brain MELTED. also this was a bit rushed, sorryyy !!><

“Love, you don’t have to freak out! The Hunter Association will find a way to revert it in no time. Relax!” — To be honest, you were too calm about it.

“Relax!? How am i supposed to- Oh, my bodyguard failed to save me from this catastrophe and now i have to pay the price with my beautiful body!” Rafayel cries in response, his voice far too dramatic and feminine.

And what has really happened? Well, a few hours ago. you and your boyfriend went out for an outdoor date in the middle of a small forest in Linkon City so Rafayel could, maybe, find inspiration for his next work.

It just so happened that the area you both decided to visit was a dead zone, your hunter watch was malfunctioning and did not warn you the area had wanderers nearby. Luckily, you were still in your hunter uniform and armed so it should be no biggie. The wanderer, a small creature you’ve never seen in any of your missions, had its back covered in pinkish spores that once Rafayel shouted out for you, exploded on his face, making him cough for air.

Wanderer defeated and your lover safe, you’re left with an… unique form of Rafayel.

“...Rafayel?” You call out for him cautiously, worried for his safety while waving your way through a cloud of pink dust.

To a few choked coughs, your ears perk. You’re alone with Rafayel but it’s not his voice you hear. Or so you thought.

The mist slowly dissipates in the air, and you’re finally able to see more than just the shape of his body choking for air dramatically. With narrowed eyes and a hand covering your mouth and nose – still concerned the mysterious dust is toxic – you call out his name once more before a gasp escapes your throat.

“Rafayel…? Wha- what is wrong with you?!” Comes out a little too harsh but your shock is genuine. Was this caused by the wanderer? Offended, he is quick to frown and bite back. “Wow cutie, i get seriously attacked and the first thing you ask me is that? What a great bodyguard i have! How can i file a complaint?” 

“That’s not what i meant!-” You stutter, “Uhm…” struggling with your words and confusion bubbling in your system, you move your hands to your boobs, trying to move his gaze down to his chest. Oh. Oh. His blouse did feel a bit tighter after all.

“What the fuck?!” 

Yeah… you’re sure that he spooked every single animal in the little forest with his scream.

Back to the present, you find yourself back in Rafayel’s home, trying to convince your boyfriend that being transformed into a woman by a wanderer isn’t the end of the world and that yes, it is temporary. 

“Raf, you’re gonna be fine. I heard Tara say something about a new type of wanderer lurking around earlier this week. We’re gonna find a way to turn you back, m’kay? You assure with more confidence now that your confusion over the situation has dissipated completely.

To your words he — she — does not answer, too busy sulking while staring at his new face in the pocket mirror you carry in your bag. 

“Besides… you’re quite the pretty girl, raf.” The sweet giggle that escapes your lips makes him frown.

 “Can you quit bullying me? Those cheap journalists are never going to shut up if they see me like this!” Rafayel cries. “I wanted to have a nice day out with you. ow… can’t have a single normal day in this city.”

That makes your ears perk and your body scoots closer to his form on the couch. You rest your head on his shoulder after kissing his puffy cheek. “Aww! ‘S no biggie, baby. We can still have fun indoors. I’ll just have to show you how fun it is to be a girl.”

You spend the day doing things you’d already do with him while enjoying quality time together but with some additional goodies. His purple hair is so long now and even softer! You take your time brushing it, massaging your nails on the scalp before trying multiple hairstyles.

Pigtails, buns, fishtail braids, boxer braids, ponytails… oh, you’ve tried every. single. one. Which he can’t really complain about! Who doesn’t love having their hair played with?

Rafayel is already used to the next activity, so he doesn’t even bat an eye when you ask him where he placed the nail polishes you bought a few months ago. 

“Pick a color baby!” You chirp, holding the tiny bottles in your hands. 

He does just that. Picking a lilac shade and offering his cold hands to you, Rafayel scoots closer to you on the couch. “You’re enjoying this too much.” He points out.

For a moment, you don’t answer, busy with the tiny brush between your fingers and trying not to smudge the milky paint in his short nails. “Hmmm maybe i am.” You giggle, “Can you blame me though?” 

It’s his turn to not answer, he thinks he’d sound too petty if he did. Rafayel loves the pampering, and even though he’d rather drown in the deepest and darkest waters of his long forgotten home than to admit this right now, he’s obsessed with you showering him in affection. Nothing is new, you’re sweet as ever and like a sea sponge, he absorbs all he can happily. 

Rafayel isn’t an insecure man, especially with his body. He knows he was sculpted by the seas with care and passion, born with the body of a god, something worthy of unending worship. So you eyeing him up and down was never a problem, but now? Oh, he feels small, he wants to dig up a hole on the hot sand and stay there for eternity, accompanied by the sand crabs.

Shame is a feeling he’s no longer used to and hates the taste of, he notes.

Noticing his silence, you put the brush down to look at him. 

“You okay, raf?” Genuine, innocent concern. 

“It hurts.” Puffing his cheeks, he frowns and closes his eyes.

“What hurts? Are your wrists sore agai-” — “No! Not that.” Rafayel whines, peeking at you through his long(er) lashes.

“Well, i’m not in the mood to play guess with you, fishie.” Arching a brow at his dramatic discomfort, you chuckle as he whines once more, “Heavens- they’re sore!”

And you have to bite your lip to not burst into laughter. Having the pleasure of seeing Rafayel, usually confident and sharp with his words, blushing like a literal girl was truly a sight you’d never thought you had to see.

“Your boobs?-” — “Don’t say it like that!” You swear that the big and tall windows of his home could’ve shattered in an instant with his horrified scream. 

“Awww, babyyy! Don’t be shy! We’ve all been through that, ‘s just part of girlhood!” You poke his cheek, aiming to tease him just a little more. Leaning in closer, you sit on his plump thighs.

Oh and he looks so done. 

“Stop acting like i’m a woman!-” He basically cries out in embarrassment.

“Oh but you are!” Interrupting him, you continue, “And as your girlfriend, and girl best friend, i’ll help you with your girl problems, raffy-”

“I’ll spit bubbles on you!” Rafayel interrupts back and you finally break down laughing on his lap.

Rafayel swears to himself that he wants to bite your head off so you stop teasing him, he hates how he can feel the tip of his pale ears get warmer each second and something inside him growing hotter. He’d bury your face on hot sand right now and yet he doesn’t move you from his lap.

As your laughter settles and you breathe in to calm down, you place a kiss on his burning cheek. A silent apology. “Seriously though, you’ve turned out to be quite… busty!” You giggle but continue before he can throw a fit again, “Can i massage you baby? Would you let me do that f’you, raf?” Whispering against his cheek, you nuzzle the bridge of your nose on his skin.

He just nods, still frowning in shame and with eyes closed shut. 

Your fingers trace his collarbones in sickly light touches, hands snaking down to the foreign feeling on his chest. 

He shivers and twitches under you once your hands cup his tits through his white blouse, the absence of a bra making your touch feel a little too intimate for his already overwhelmed brain. Your fingers feel him in circular motions, gently applying pressure to where his nipples take place.

Rafayel squirms, throwing his head back and trying to hide his face in his long, purple hair. “You’re so responsive, baby.” You coo, purposefully brushing your thumbs on his nipples, which ignites a yelp from his tight throat. 

The sensitive pebbles grow hard not so long later, making themselves visible under his light shirt. He curses you in his mind, the innocent and sweet way you talk to him could get him going anytime. Rafayel bites his glossy lip hard. 

Fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, you give him your sweetest smile. “Your body hasn’t changed at all baby. You still melt down when you have your chest played with.” You lean in, closing the space between you two and press a kiss on his trembling lips. “The only difference here is that you’re the prettiest,” kiss, “most whiny,” another kiss, “and cutest girl i’ve ever laid my eyes on.” and a last peck to seal your words like a spell.

Your lips leave his but the phantom sensation of your mouth against his stays. Your lips find home on his jawline, placing featherlight kisses on the milky white skin. 

“Can i take this off, raf? I might need a more serious inspection if you’re sore like that, hm?” Pinched by your fingers, the first button of his blouse comes undone, exposing more of his cleavage. “Y-yes.” Is all Rafayel answers, not much more than a shy whisper.

And that is the only sign you need to keep going. Your hands work gently but still eager to finish the job and reveal what’s under the expensive fabric. He helps you with the sleeves, accepting his fate and that even if he tried to shy away and hide, you wouldn’t let him. And how could you? Not now. Not when his perfect, spotless skin is exposed to the cool air of the living room, the sea breeze guided inside by the open windows making his nipples react at the temperature and stand tall.

Your lips, never far from his neck, kiss down his collarbones and the fat of his tits. His reactions are exactly what you’d expect, low whines and nonstop squirming under your touch. With open mouthed kisses to his areola, a cute light brown you note, you’re quick to give his nipple a playful lick, igniting a squeak from him. 

“D-don’t- do that-!” Rafaye’sl protests are ignored by your ears, while your lips suck on the sensitive pebble, your fingers pinch the other one, rolling it gently yet teasingly between your thumb and index finger.

Pop! – Is the sound your mouth makes as you let go. “Fuck..”, you eye him with hunger, and even though his eyes are squeezed shut, he seems to notice by your silence. “Stop staring. You’re ridiculous.” Of course he has to try and bite back.

“Am i now?” You kiss the corner of his lips, interrupting any petty answer he was about to give you. “Shit- need you to sit on my face. Can you do that f’me, baby? Please?” 

Rafayel feels like a virgin again, the foreign, weird and achy feeling between his legs makes his brain foggy. He wants to say no and shy away, spit a thousand bubbles at your face as he promised but he just can’t.

Which doesn’t mean he won’t freak out anyway. 

“N-no! That isn’t even your thing- i’m like, twice your size-” Before he can continue his protests, you’re already lying on your back on the big couch of his living room. “Please? Jus’ wanna let my girlfriend know how good it feels, mhm?” It is your turn to whine, beg.

He stares at you in horror but the pathetic look you give him wins. He kicks his pants and boxers off but his judgemental stare doesn’t falter. You can’t help but moan at the sight of his new, bare body. 

Rafayel was surely the prettiest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on and now, prettiest woman too. He sits on your lap, facing you, testing the waters, hoping it’d be enough to quiet you down. “Closer, ‘fayel.” You urge.

This time he finally gives in with no complaints, shifting on your lap and closer to your shoulders. There, he turns on his back, hovering on top of your face before you grab his plush hips and push him down impatiently.

“A-ah!- don’t just do that-” He mewls.

You taste Rafayel before you can’t even see how wet he is. Spreading his ass with both hands, you pepper his cunt with eager kisses. He trembles at the new feeling, squirming and accidentally grinding against your lips, only igniting more whines to leave his pretty lips.

Your head spins at his sounds, brain mushy with how submissive you could get him to behave, at how fucking hot he sounds and how good he tastes. 

Finally diving in, your lips suck on his folds gently while your hands, once on his ass, help his hips move against you for more constant stimulation. 

“Fu-uck!- Dun stop. Please.” Rafayel squeals before a tiny lightbulb lightens up on his head.

Rafayel leans down, trembling on top of you as he pulls down your shorts just enough so he can have access to your panties. He doesn’t take it off, doesn’t have the patience to, only pulls them to the side and greets your awaiting pussy with a kiss. 

In this whole mess, you didn’t even realize how your arousal started to build up during this whole time. Too busy with Rafayel, looking at Rafayel, teasing Rafayel. You’re sure that he — she — is the siren that will drag you to the bottom of the sea with pretty mewls and then consume you. 

As he should, you think. You’d die happily.

To the kitten licks on your clit, you shiver, parting your legs open to help him. “Getting- mgh- bold now, baby? Thought you’d let me do all the work.” Muffled by the weight on top of you, you tease anyway.

You don’t give him much space to speak, wrapping your lips around his clit and sucking at  a steady pace. You’re not able to see his reaction but his mouth lets go of your cunt, his lashes tremble and close shut in pleasure. “Gonna cum, rafe? Oh- mgh- y’er such a sweet girl, raf.” You praise sweetly. 

Rafayel really tries to keep up with you but with his mushy brain, his head only rests against your thigh while he moans lowly. His clit throbs on your tongue thanks to your gentle words, you laugh mockingly under him. “Fuck- dun’ like when i call you pretty girl  but your body tells me otherwise, love. You don’t get much from lying here, raf.”

Shut up. Is what he really wants to tell you, maybe flick your forehead and say all the petty things he can think of. His thighs shake violently and with another loud and melodic cry, Rafayel cums. 

You keep going for a little longer, kissing his folds and clit and sweet affection before a strangled whine makes you pull away. 

He helps himself out of your face, sitting on the couch with his head resting on a blue pillow with the face of someone who just came back from pound town. Rafayel doesn’t bat an eye when you manhandle him closer to your body.

His lips find yours in an instant, kissing you with need, like he just came out of the ocean for the first time and his lungs aren’t used to the summer breeze on the beach. He sucks on your tongue, swiping his own on your under lip in a sloppy kiss.

You two fight for space on the couch, now feeling a bit cramped. Rafayel’s legs tangle on yours messily and he finds himself on your lap once again, grinding and humping against you like this is exactly where he was meant to be. Smiling on his mouth, you can’t help but tease him. 

“Insatiable much? Pretty girl can’t take her hands off me hm?” You chuckle but are quickly interrupted, moaning loudly when his clit accidentally bumps on yours, which Rafayel takes advantage of.

And you let him, your only guidance being the phantom touch of your hands on his waist. “You can’t really ever keep your mouth shut, can you?” He sighs, “Not near you, ever.” 

You’re quick to cum too, with hitched breath and hips buckling under his in search of more stimulation, any moans are silenced by his lips insistently glued to yours.

Noticing your body melting on the couch cushions, Rafayel lets himself relax on top of you, too. With a last kiss to your neck, he buries his face on your shoulder blade.

“I’ll file a report about what happened later, m’kay? Dun stress.” — “Hmmm.” Is all he’s able to answer while your free hand massages his scalp, slowly drifting him off to sleep.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ reblogs are very much appreciated. thank you for reading! (*´▽`*)

[shanklin]

It’s Stan’s 2nd time in prison and he is bored.

The food is edible, his cellmates are quiet and polite and even the guards treat him with the bare minimum of respect.

Needless to say, Stan hates it. 

Boredom means Stan has time to think about what could’ve been if he had been smarter, better and more like Ford.

If Stan had just known how to fix Ford’s project, maybe he’d still be someone worth keeping around.

With nothing better to do, Stan one day decides to visit the prison library and finds a few boxes full of engineering textbooks abandoned in a corner.

What if Stan could’ve fixed Ford’s project. Could it even have been possible?

Stan swallows hard and picks up the first book.

Meanwhile on the other side of the continent.

“Oh no no no.”

“What is it Fiddleford?”

“I donated the wrong books! All my notes and corrections were in there…”

Stan snorts as he keeps on reading. This McGucket fellow was hilarious.

The book by itself would’ve never kept Stan’s attention, but the notes, snarky remarks, blueprints for villainous contraptions and death rays? Now that’s the stuff!

Over the next months Stan devours one book after the other and when he finally gets released he’s allowed to take the boxes with him as a thank you for fixing and improving the prison’s new experimental computer system.

***

A couple of years later Fiddleford opens the door to a little robot stomping around on the front porch. Mechanical legs on a toaster body with googly eyes that Fiddleford suspects can see more meets the eye.

He kneels down to inspect the cute little fellow when it suddenly notices him, vibrates and starts to talk.

“THANK. YOU. FOR. THE. BOOKS. NERD.”

Fiddleford has no time to figure out what that means before a book shoots out from the slot and hits him right in the head.

“HA. HA. HA.”

The little bot laughs and explodes into fireworks.

Fiddleford watches the show in amazement and inspects his present.

Beginners Guide to Mechanical Engineering

But not any guide. His guide. The one he carried with him throughout college and kept improving upon whenever he could. 

Only now there are more notes added. Corrections to his corrections, complaints about his design choices and disagreements with his theories.

Oh, it’s on!

***

It takes a few days to find the person behind the little prank, an anonymous entrepreneur who is said to be self taught and on the verge of reinventing the world of computers and robotics as they know it. 

Things that people have also been saying about Fiddleford himself.

Fiddleford laughs in delight. He always liked a friendly competition!

So he sends his new rival a little killer robot of his own as a greeting.

***

If Stanford had known what asking his old college buddy to help him out with the portal would entail he would’ve thought twice about inviting him.

It’s not like he isn’t happy for Fiddleford. He clearly found a like minded individual with the same passion for destruction as himself but would it kill them to keep it quiet for once? Stanford is doing important work here!

[Besides if Stanford wanted to he could totally build robots as well. Better ones even. Fiddleford shouldn’t spend so much of his free time fighting with his rival when his best friend was right here!]

Stanford sighs as yet another explosion causes the ground to shake and feels something push against his leg. 

It’s a little possum-like robot bringing him a bottle of water courtesy of Fiddleford’s rival.

Apparently this mystery person felt bad about destroying Stanford’s house one time too many and gifted him this little helper as an apology.

Try as he might, Stanford is unable to hate the thing and lets it climb onto his lap.

“At least you want to keep me company, hm?”

He strokes the fake fur carefully and the robot rumbles in contentment. It feels nostalgic and he knows Stanley would’ve loved it.

Maybe Ford should call him.

[bodybaggage]

The Dan-Tastic Disaster

When the JL is stuck on babysitting duty until Danny shows up

———

It started like any other Justice League meeting, with Batman brooding in the corner, Superman standing confidently at the head of the table, and Wonder Woman calmly preparing for the mission briefing. What none of them expected was to be dealing with a de-aged, ghostly child with the potential to end worlds.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Superman asked, glancing down at the toddler perched on the conference table, currently gnawing on a metal batarang like it was a teething ring.

"Safe?" Batman muttered, rubbing his temples. "No. Manageable? Hopefully."

Dan Phantom—or what was left of him in his current toddler form—looked innocent enough at first glance. Bright green eyes, tiny fists gripping onto Batman’s cape like a security blanket, a cute little tuft of white hair curling above his head. But the Justice League had been briefed on his true nature. He was Danny Phantom’s evil future self, de-aged through some cosmic mishap. And now, thanks to fate or terrible luck, they were babysitting.

"Up! Up!" Dan suddenly demanded, lifting his tiny hands towards Superman.

Superman, always the gentle giant, smiled softly. “Okay, little guy. Let’s—OW!”

The moment Superman picked him up, Dan burst into green flames, scorching Superman's red cape and singeing his hair. The Kryptonian tried to gently pat out the fire, but Dan just giggled mischievously and floated upwards, still burning, as Superman’s cape disintegrated into ashes.

“I’ll just… get another cape,” Superman mumbled, resigned.

Wonder Woman knelt down, observing the floating toddler with the curiosity of someone about to embark on an epic quest. “He reminds me of the young warriors of Themyscira,” she said, a glimmer of fondness in her eyes. “Strong, brave, and full of fire.” Literally.

She offered him a soft smile. “Little one, let me tell you a tale from my youth, of the Amazons and their triumph over the beasts of the land.”

Dan floated down toward her, his eyes glowing with interest for all of three seconds before he grabbed her lasso and swung from it like a child on a tire swing. "Wheeeeee!"

Wonder Woman blinked. “He is… very enthusiastic.”

Meanwhile, Batman was in the corner, already furiously texting Danny Phantom on his encrypted Bat-phone. URGENT: Toddler version of evil future self setting things on fire. Please advise.

Danny’s response pinged back almost immediately: Good luck! Don’t let him touch anything sharp or made of explosives. Be there soon-ish.

Batman scowled at the "soon-ish." The last thing they needed was “soon-ish.” They needed now.

"Uh, Bruce," Superman said, nervously eyeing Dan, who had now decided that the perfect place to hide was inside a control panel. "He’s touching the lasers."

Batman swiveled around just in time to see the Watchtower's interior light up in bright neon green flashes. Every screen blinked with static, and the alarm system activated. Dan was just... pressing buttons. Randomly. While humming a tune and still floating lazily around, now wearing Wonder Woman’s tiara on his head.

"Dan," Batman said in the tone reserved for criminals, children, and now, apparently, demonic ghost toddlers. "Get out of there."

Dan paused, looking Batman straight in the eye, and gave the kind of evil grin only a future supervillain could pull off. He slammed his tiny fist into the panel, causing every door in the Watchtower to open and close in a chaotic frenzy. Somewhere, the coffee machine exploded.

“Great Hera,” Wonder Woman murmured, eyeing the scene with wide-eyed awe. “He is... relentless.”

“He’s a menace,” Batman grumbled, already trying to recalibrate the systems on his wrist computer.

Superman, ever the optimist, decided to take a different approach. "Dan, how about we go play somewhere that isn’t full of very important and dangerous equipment?"

Dan looked at Superman for a long moment, then reached out and ignited Superman’s other cape. Superman sighed. “I don’t know why I thought that would work.”

Before Batman could further escalate into his “silent looming” tactic (which, thus far, had only led to Dan giggling and calling him “funny bat man”), Danny Phantom finally phased through the wall. He was panting, his hair tousled, clearly in a hurry.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Danny said, hands up. “I had to deal with this whole thing with the Ghost Zone and—oh, wow. He’s already set things on fire? That was fast.”

Batman gave him a look. The kind that promised revenge if Danny didn’t take care of this immediately.

“Oh yeah, he’s... a handful,” Danny said, scooping up the toddler, who immediately stopped causing chaos and instead tugged at Danny��s hoodie. “I told Clockwork it was a bad idea to leave him with you guys, but you know how he is.”

Batman raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me Clockwork is responsible for this?”

“Yeah,” Danny replied, casually flipping Dan upside down, which somehow made the toddler laugh instead of scream. “Said it would ‘build character’ or something. No idea what that means.”

Wonder Woman glanced between the now-quiet Dan and the previously-chaotic Watchtower, eyebrow raised. “And what, exactly, are we meant to learn from this?”

Danny shrugged, adjusting Dan like a backpack. “Patience? Endurance? Definitely not fire safety, though.”

Superman, cape now a pile of ash on the floor, simply chuckled. “Well, it was... eventful.”

“I’m just glad the Watchtower is still standing,” Batman muttered, already mentally drafting the report about the damage.

Danny grinned, patting Batman on the back. “You did great! You didn’t even let him explode anything. That’s a win in my book.”

As Danny started phasing through the walls with a happy toddler on his back, Wonder Woman watched them go, a soft smile on her face. “He truly has a way with him, doesn’t he?”

Superman nodded, glancing down at the remains of his cape. “Yeah. But next time, he’s babysitting.”

Batman, deadpan as ever, just sighed. "There won't be a next time."

[moonlightcycle571]

Lmao I just had a fantastic vision.

The JL fighting a multiversal threat, and the for keeps disappearing into different universes/worlds. While everyone is coming up with ways to travel to apprehend the foe, Captain Marvel has an idea.

Batman: so far, our current multiversal technology is subpar and unable to go at the rate the villain is going.

Flash: while I can travel through universes, it’s going to take a while to l’acte which one they’re on, and even then, they can leave before I even do anything.

Superman: we need a reliable tracker and transport system. Both being crucial elements we don’t have

Captain Marvel: I have an idea.

Cue to the JL all on a random sidewalk, with the clear instructions to ‘wait until they arrive’ and to ‘not move or interfere in any way shape of form’.

Random Truck: *appears out of nowhere, hitting a random pigeon*

JL: huh

Marvel: well that’s going to be an interesting story. Anyways, there you are! Guys, meet Truck-kun!

JL: excuse me???

Truck-kun:

Marvel: Their a bit shy ☺️

JL: …

Truck-kun: *blushes*

JL: how is that even possible??!??!?

They proceed to go in and go through some weird interdimensional car chase, passing by random worlds, spawning through random streets (for some reason, most of them are in Japan), and more importantly, hitting A LOT of people. Old, young, middle aged, animals, even a vending machine at some point. It’s just a slaughter.

The JL is horrified, and Cap is just sitting in his seat, all chill.

Green Lantern: DID WE JUST HIT SOMEONE

Marvel: yup

Superman: AND YOURE DOING NOTHING TO STOP IT

Marvel: nope

Batman: Captain that kills people

Marvel: it’s not killing, more like transporting them into a different universe that is more suited for them. Had we not hit them, they would have died either ways within the hour. Now they get a second chance of life.

JL: *existential crisis*

Even after the villain is apprehended, they found out they only managed to get this far is because they had a magic car*

Hawkwoman: *stares at the car* how does one come across thee vehicles

Marvel: well I met Truck-kun cause he’s besties with my magic Train. Train-chan told me that Truck-kuns little brother Car-kun got abducted, which is why Truck-kun was so willing to help.

JL:…

Flash: I’m going to go lie down.

Batman: *mentally adding magic vehicle community to his conspiracy board*

Bonus:

Green Arrow: *retelling what happened* -and then some random Truck pulls up

Conner Hawke: lmao you met Truck-kun

Green Arrow:

Conner:

Black Canary: … how do you know that name?

Conner: w h a t

Bonus 2:

Naturally Conner tells Damian, who tells Jon, who tells Kon, who tells the Titans and basically the whole thing spreads.

Red Robin: YOU MET TRUCK KUN! THE GREAT ONE HIMSELF

Spoiler: THE ALL MIGHTY WHEELS OF STEEL

Cyborg: WHY WASNT I INVITED! CAP YOU LBOW HOW MUCH I LIKE MY ISEKAI

Blue Beetle: JUST CAUSE YOU GASLIGHT DOES NOT MEAN YOURE A GIRL BOSS

Superboy: SHARING IS CARING

Arsenal, lying on the road: TAKE ME

Bonus 3:

Static Shock: next you’ll be telling us you know Archie’s magic bus

Marvel: well I’m not sure I know who this ‘Archie’ is, but Train-chan does have a cousin called Bus-san.

Titans: *explode*

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

alright. i’ve had a few people ask for more brat tamer Quinn. but to fully understand brat tamer quinn. we need to go into some basics of the dom/sub relationship he’s apart of right? we need to talk about what makes him tick and what makes him explode.

cw: dom/sub relationship, rules, mentions of punishment, pretty tame tbh, just back story

Every day Quinn is a soft dom right? We all agree on this. He's a lover, he’s not really a fighter. Especially when it comes to you. but he has real thin patience when it comes to you, cause he knows you know how to act. He absolutely knows. You’ve always been so good for him, even before you two fully established the dominant and submissive part of your relationship.

I’ve talked pretty briefly about daddy quinn/casual dominance and how it’s started, but let’s talk about that more real quick.

That first sleepover with him, he noticed your phone going off way more than he was used to. Alarms, not texts or calls or social media notifications. Alarms.

“Why do you have so many alarms, honey?”

“Oh! Just helps me remember things, I'm bad at that. Wouldn’t really eat if I didn’t have a reminder. I just get busy and forget, so 100 alarms a day to keep me in line” with a little laugh and that’s when his lightbulb moment clicks.

He always was under the impression you were so independent and he might settle for only really being dominant in his bedroom with you but that? Now, he could work with that.

So that night he got on your phone and made note of all the times and the labels. Woke up super early, made breakfast for you and after? He reminded you to take your medicine. Filled up your water bottle and gave you a bag of snacks before he took you to work. Texts you throughout the day, “time for a snack baby.” “Go refill your bottle.” “Do you wanna go out or cook tonight?” “Put your pj’s in the bathroom for you, won’t be home when you get to mine so let yourself in and get all cozy. Don’t forget to refill the water bottle after your shower baby.”

You then slowly remove all those alarms, cause he’s your alarm.

It’s a slow build, he doesn’t wanna scare you with it. Cause yes he wants you to need him for everything, he wants to have control over you but at the end of every day you call the shots. If you don’t like something? He’s not doing it again. Your comfort and wellbeing is most important to Quinn. So once he’s home, and his pretty baby is comfortable in her pj’s and in his bed - he's going to bring up a system.

“Why don’t we make a checklist? Something you fill out everyday. I can make it on my notes app or in the reminders and add you to it. That way I can make sure it's done and you are well taken care of, especially if I'm not home.”

And he notices the way your eyes get glassed over, the way your eyes show no thoughts. You just nod, “uh huh” and now he's typing out your daily to do’s with little notes. He adds himself because “it's always helpful when you're not doing it alone.”

Quinn + Bunny’s Daily List:

• Brush teeth - AM

• Morning meds

• Skin care - don't forget sunscreen!

• Drink 2 bottles of water, and one glass before your coffee.

• Eat breakfast (even just a protein bar)

• Lunch too

• Shower after work, get out of those uncomfy clothes

• Make dinner/eat dinner

• Evening meds

• Brush teeth - pm

• Skincare - moisturizer too

Set’s up a reward list too, nothing too crazy. Just small stuff, you pick dinner, a new stuffed animal, a new book. Just small things Quinn knows brings you joy.

Once you're in a steady routine with him, that's when he starts to introduce you into his stern tone.His rules. His punishments.

Quinn + Bunny’s Rules:

1. Always share if you're having a bad day, can't help if I don't know.

2. 3 meals a day.

3. Your body is a temple, treat it as such. Aka listen to your body.

4. Don’t talk back, everything I do is for good. - Everything I do is for good, your best interest is always at the forefront of my mind.

5. Never go to bed without an ‘I love you’.

Quinn’s rules are straight forward, they're never too controlling or too much. He wants your say and your opinion. Your voice matters. Asking why or for more clarification is not talking back, to him it shows that you need more, that you need guidance. He never wants you to go in blind.

Now I firmly believe he hates punishments. He hates making you cry, hates telling you “where'd my good girl go?” cause he watches your eyes get sad and he never wants to be the reason you're sad. But he knows, sometimes to get his point across he needs to be stern with you.

It’s never really a conversation either, it's not a “we should try this.” it's a “we fell into this” and now it's just; you guys. It's what works for you both.

[cherrylibby]

Chasing the Storms

The Oklahoma sky was bruised with the colors of an oncoming storm—deep violets and angry grays swirling above the horizon. Tyler barely noticed. His heart was pounding harder than it had on any chase as he stood on your front porch, waiting for you to slam the door in his face.

But you didn’t.

You stood there, eyes burning with something between fury and heartbreak, your arms crossed like a shield against him. The years hadn’t dulled your fire—if anything, they’d made it sharper. And damn, if that didn’t hurt just as much as it made him miss you.

"You got some nerve showing up here, Tyler," you said, voice tight.

He nodded once. "Yeah. I do."

A bitter smirk pulled at your lips, but there was no humor in it. "What do you want?"

Tyler exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking. "I need your help. There’s a storm system coming, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. We’ve got a solid team, the tech, but…" He hesitated. "No one tracks storms like you."

You scoffed, stepping back like he’d just insulted you. "Unbelievable. You disappear for years—no calls, no letters, not a damn word—and now you show up at my door because you need something? Do you even hear yourself?"

He flinched. He deserved that.

"It’s not just about the storm," he tried, but you weren’t having it.

"Oh, really? Then what is it about, Tyler?" Your voice cracked on his name, and that nearly broke him. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you only come back when it’s convenient for you."

His jaw tightened. "You told me you were done."

"You left!"

"You made me leave!" The words exploded out of him, sharp and desperate, cutting through the space between you. "You quit chasing, you shut down, and you looked at me like I was the worst thing that ever happened to you. I didn’t know how to fix that!"

You shook your head, eyes glistening, but you refused to let a tear fall. "You didn’t even try," you whispered.

Silence.

The wind picked up around you, rustling the old wind chimes hanging from the porch. The storm was rolling in fast now, but the one brewing between you and Tyler was worse.

"You think it was easy for me to walk away?" he asked, voice lower now, strained. "You think I wanted to leave you?" He took a step closer, and to his relief, you didn’t move away. "Every damn day, I thought about coming back. About calling you. But what was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, sorry for nearly getting you killed—wanna chase another storm?’" He let out a rough laugh, shaking his head. "I left because I thought you’d be better off without me."

You swallowed hard, arms tightening around yourself like you were holding yourself together. "That wasn’t your choice to make."

Tyler ran a hand over his face. "I know." He let out a breath, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. "I know."

A long pause.

Then, softer—more vulnerable than he’d ever sounded—he said, "I never stopped loving you."

Your breath caught.

For a second, you looked away, blinking fast, but then you lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with that same defiance he’d always loved about you. "Then why did you leave me to love you alone?"

That shattered him.

His hand came up, hesitating just for a second before he cupped your cheek. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into his touch, just the slightest bit, and that was all he needed.

Before you could say another word, he kissed you.

It wasn’t careful, wasn’t hesitant. It was desperate and raw, full of everything left unsaid over the years. His other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him, and when your fingers tangled in his hair, he groaned into the kiss.

You tasted like the past and everything he’d ever wanted in the future.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, foreheads resting together, he whispered, "Come with me."

You exhaled shakily. "Tyler—"

"Not just for the storms. For us." His grip on you tightened like he was terrified of letting go again. "I screwed up. I should’ve stayed. Should’ve fought harder. But I’m here now, and if you tell me to leave, I’ll go. But I swear to God, I don’t want to run anymore. I just want you."

You stared at him, torn between every scar he’d left on your heart and the undeniable truth that you still loved him.

Outside, thunder rumbled, shaking the sky.

You sighed. Then, finally, finally, you muttered, "Damn it, Tyler."

He grinned. "I’ll take that as a yes."

You rolled your eyes, but when you pulled him down for another kiss, he knew he was finally home.

[nicohii]

(No because I have an Actor!Caleb brainrot and I need to get this out of my system; reader is not MC)

tags: Actor! Caleb x Non-MC Writer! Reader, angst, friends to lovers??? might write a second part idk

Writer! Reader and Actor! Caleb growing up together--but only one yearns, and it's not him. He compliments you on your writing, they win awards, they have been a cult favorite in the indie fandom and coming of age genre. He sees a pattern, there is pain, there is longing, there is love buried there deeply, yet he never seems to realize how it's all an ode to your admiration of him.

There are times when you do want to tell him how much he means more than what he thinks he means to you. And it's not helping that there are knowing looks shared by family members when you visit each other's houses.

He's one of the top leading men now. Projects here and there, promotes luxurious brands he had problems pronouncing when he was child. He has a colorful love life too, one that is often followed by flashing lights and intriguing issues.

It all comes to head when he falls out with this particular leading woman. He calls you, sometime around 1:30 am, in the darkness of his apartment. You arrive around 30 minutes later, he's just a block away so, sue you. He reeks of alcohol when he opens the door, not his best moment. But he can always count on you not to judge.

"You know what she told me? " There's a slur in his words as you try so safely guide him to his bed.

"She asked me when did I become someone she doesn't know? Really? Me? I'm not the one who got caught having feelings with my new co-star you know? 'S too ridiculous. "

"Yeah well, tell me how'd you two met again? " You ask in a sarcastic tone, a teasing grin on your lips as you try to put a cold towel on his forehead. He scoffs and laughs, eyes closed.

It's pathetic really, knowing him we'll enough to know where exactly you stand in his life, and still hold on to the undying feeling in your heart. A backburner in the purest form, when looked up in the dictionary, was probably your picture.

"Can you hold me, please?" He whispers, before slowly looking at you with those eyes you grew up with, those eyes you spent your entire lifetime with.

You feel his breath relax as he falls asleep to the rhythm of your chest. You hope he doesn't hear it breaking. You hold him tight, one last time, as you look at the sun rising. The blue hues look lovely, and for a moment you pretend that there wasn't hurt, maybe in another timeline, you both would have this with a different context. You bury your nose in his hair.

You both wake up later in the day. There is a bashful look in him; you don't know what hurts more, waking up alone in his bed or the way he can't seem to look at you in the eyes. You call him out on it and he tries to deny it at first, but you don't know what and when it exploded- he becomes defensive; you become more irritated.

"That's pathetic, man. You call me when you need someone to cry on, 'oh she broke up with me, hold me, I need a friend, and pretend it didn't happen' " You tell him, you might've tried to imitate his voice in a mocking manner just to add that extra impact.

He looks at you as if you just asked him for a duel and he draws his own gun.

"Yeah, well , how is that any different when you call me when you hit a writer's block? 'I just don't know how to perfectly write love, Caleb. I feel like I don't do it any justice, it's so unnatural... ' . Well guess what? You know the real problem? It's because you don't know anything about it! You've only been with yourself waiting for who knows who! What do you know about love anyway?! "

There was a moment of satisfaction when he finishes and there's no retort to be heard. Only a moment, because you stare at him blankly. There's a thin layer of water in your eyes that seems to stare at his would before they silently fall from your cheek. If this was acting, you could've given him a run for his money.

Your shoulders slump as you close your eyes, swallowing thickly before wiping your cheeks with the back of your hands, sniffling as you wipe them against your pajamas. You wet your lips before nodding to yourself. Closure, you think.

"You're right, Caleb."

You brave to look at him. There is a concerned expression in his face that confuses you. You look at him in his entirety, you mull over the things you had tried to do to reach him. You wonder what did it meant to him? Wondered what it meant to you, and what it would mean from now on.

---

There is silence when you leave. But your words replay in his head long after you left.

"You're right, Caleb. What do I know about love? "

[d-z20]

I'd Hit That (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: Being a professional wrestler means you're used to putting on an act, playing a part, and following a script. Surely, surely the tension you feel with Agatha is purely because you're rivals, right? Right??

-OR-

Staying at the same hotel after the fight can mean only one thing: it's time for a booty calllllll (but it's soft and sweet and stuff)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, switch Agatha, switch Reader, 'making love' sort of smut, very quick rivals to lovers if you squint, scissoring/tribbing, aftercare (from fight and sex), non accurate wrestling events

Words: 3.4k

A/N: Bruh the extent of my knowledge of wrestling before writing this fic was limited to the film 'Fighting with my family' and seeing people horny post about Rhea Ripley putting her opponents in a mating press 😅😂 Requested fic this request takes me back to one of the first I did :')

AO3 | Masterlist

The roar of the crowd was deafening, an electric pulse surging through the packed arena. The promo package had played moments ago, a dramatic montage of the months-long rivalry between you and Agatha—steel chair attacks, stolen victories, scathing words exchanged under the harsh glare of the cameras. Every segment, every promo, every carefully orchestrated brawl had led to this.

You stood in the ring, microphone in hand, pacing like a predator. The championship belt—your championship belt—rested snugly over your shoulder.

“Agatha Harkness,” you called out, your voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “You’ve spent months running your mouth, jumping me from behind, stacking the deck in your favour. But tonight? No more games. No more sneak attacks. Just you and me. And I promise you, when that bell rings, you’ll learn exactly why I’m the one holding this title.”

The crowd erupted, a symphony of cheers and jeers blending into a chaotic soundscape. Then, the familiar beat of Agatha’s entrance music thundered through the speakers, and the energy in the arena shifted.

She sauntered onto the stage, wrapped in a deep purple robe lined with silver, her signature smirk fixed firmly in place. She exuded confidence, but you knew her well enough to spot the flicker of something darker beneath it—excitement, hunger, the same fire that burnt in your own veins.

“Sweetheart,” she purred as she climbed into the ring, stepping dangerously close, “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself. You may be carrying that belt now, but don’t get too attached. By the end of tonight, you’ll be looking up at the lights while the ref raises my hand.”

You scoffed, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. The fans screamed for a fight, for blood, for one last war before this feud reached its inevitable conclusion.

You wouldn’t let them down.

—

The moment the bell rang, Agatha struck first, catching you with a sharp elbow to the jaw. The impact rattled your skull, but you barely had time to register it before she followed up with a ruthless Irish whip, sending you crashing against the turnbuckle. The crowd gasped as she wasted no time, sprinting forward and driving her knee into your ribs with brutal precision.

Every strike and every manoeuvre was planned, but the force behind them was all too real. The pain was real. The sweat trickling down your spine, the adrenaline flooding your system—it was all real.

She hauled you up for a suplex, but you twisted mid-air, countering into a neckbreaker that sent her sprawling. The arena exploded with cheers as you pushed yourself to your feet, chest heaving.

“You’re slowing down mama,” you taunted, wiping the sweat from your brow.

Agatha smirked even as she winced, rolling her shoulders. “Keep talking, champ. Let’s see how cocky you are when I put you through that table.”

And she damn near did.

Minutes later, she lifted you onto her shoulders, positioning you dangerously close to the announcers table. The commentators shouted in alarm as she launched you forward, the wood splintering on impact as your body crashed through it.

White-hot pain exploded across your back, your breath leaving in a ragged gasp. Through blurry vision, you heard the count starting.

One…

Two…

Three…

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself onto your elbows. Your muscles screamed in protest, but you refused to stay down.

Four…

Five…

You dragged yourself toward the apron, using every ounce of strength left in your battered body.

Six…

Seven…

By eight, you were on your feet. By nine, you had slid under the ropes.

Agatha’s expression flickered with something dangerously close to admiration. You locked eyes across the ring. Both of you were battered, breathing hard, sweat slicking your bodies under the arena lights. The crowd was on their feet, screaming for the climax. Agatha grinned devilishly, wiping blood from her lip.

“Still standing?” she taunted.

You rolled your shoulders, feeling the bruises settle in. “You’re gonna wish I wasn’t.”

She stomped toward you, but this time, you were ready. You ducked her clothesline, spinning on your heel and catching her flush on the jaw with a devastating superkick. She crumpled, her head snapping back against the mat.

This was it. The moment the script demanded.

You climbed the ropes, every muscle burning, and launched yourself into the air. Your finisher connected squarely with her chest, driving the breath from her lungs.

The referee dropped to the mat.

One!

Two!

Three!

The bell rang, and the arena exploded.

You barely had the strength to lift your arms in victory, but the sight of Agatha sprawled beneath you, sent a different kind of thrill down your spine. She laid there, chest rising and falling rapidly. For a moment, just a moment, you thought she might actually be mad. But then—she laughed. A deep, breathless chuckle that sent a thrill down your spine.

“Damn,” she muttered, rolling onto her side, looking at you with something unreadable in her dark eyes. “Guess I’ll have to hit harder next time.”

—

The energy backstage was calmer, but the electricity of the match still crackled in the air. You sat on the bench in the locker room, a towel draped over your shoulders, the sting of sweat and lingering adrenaline keeping you wired. Your championship belt rested beside you, proof of your victory, but your body ached with the price you’d paid for it.

The door creaked open.

Agatha stepped inside, still in her ring gear, damp strands of hair curling against her flushed skin. Bruises had already begun to bloom along her ribs, dark and angry, a testament to every hit you’d landed. But she carried them with the same confidence she always did, like they were just another part of the game.

She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over you in that slow, unreadable way of hers.

“Made me work for that one,” she finally said, voice even but laced with something heavier.

You smirked, tilting your head. “Would’ve been too easy otherwise.”

She huffed a laugh, pushing off the door and striding toward you. “You’re lucky I like a challenge,” she grumbled, reaching out and grabbing the edge of your towel. She didn’t pull it away, just toyed with the fabric between her fingers, staring at the ground, like she was debating something.

Your body stayed still, but your pulse betrayed you, hammering beneath your skin.

Her gaze flicked up, sharp and knowing. “The fans are losing their minds right now,” she mused, voice lower now. “They think we despise each other.”

You exhaled through your nose, smirking despite yourself. “Let them think what they want.”

For a second, neither of you moved. Just heavy breaths, aching muscles, and something simmering beneath the surface—something neither of you ever acknowledged for long.

Her grip on the towel tightened for just a second. Then she let go.

She took a step back, that smirk curling at the edges of her lips. “Get some rest, champ. Wouldn’t want you falling apart before our rematch.”

You watched as she turned, as she left without another word.

You should’ve let her go. Should’ve focused on your title, on the next fight.

But instead, an hour later, you found yourself standing outside her hotel room.

The hallway was quiet this late at night, save for the distant hum of vending machines and the muffled voices of a television from a nearby room. You knocked once.

You didn’t have to wait long.

Agatha opened the door, already changed into something looser, her damp hair pushed back from her face. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“Figured I’d find you nursing your pride with a drink, not answering your door,” you teased, arching a brow.

Agatha leaned against the doorframe, eyes dark and knowing. “Why would I need to nurse my pride when you’re here, proving I still have something you want?”

The air between you was thick. The kind of thick that came after months of fights, of near misses, of every time you almost let yourself give in but didn’t.

But there were no cameras here. No crowds. No script.

She didn’t invite you in. She didn’t have to.

She just stepped back, leaving the door open.

And you followed.

—

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you both inside the quiet dimness of the hotel room. The air-conditioning hummed softly, a sharp contrast to the raw heat still lingering between you from the match—and everything else unspoken.

Agatha moved first, stepping past you toward the mini-fridge. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was thick, charged. She pulled out a reusable ice pack, pressing it against her ribs with a small wince before tossing another onto the bed near you.

“You’re worse off than me,” she murmured, nodding toward the deepening bruise along your shoulder.

You scoffed. “You didn’t seem to feel that way when you were throwing me into barricades.”

Agatha smirked at that, but it was softer now—more knowing. She walked toward you, her fingers grazing the hem of your shirt. Not in invitation, not yet. Just testing.

You didn’t move, didn’t stop her when she carefully pushed the fabric upward. The motion was slow, almost methodical, revealing fresh bruises—some from the match, some from all the ones before.

She made a small sound in the back of her throat. Not quite regret, not quite apology. Just an acknowledgment.

Her fingers were warm, careful, as she traced the bruised skin along your ribs before pressing the ice pack against it. A sharp inhale left your lips. She didn’t tease you for it, just held it there, watching you.

“Sit,” she said, voice quieter now.

You obeyed, perching on the edge of the bed as she grabbed the small first-aid kit from her bag. She knelt in front of you, flipping the lid open with practiced ease.

Your fingers twitched when she uncapped a tube of ointment. You should’ve done something—said something—to break the moment, but the way she looked at you, focused and unwavering, well, it kept you still.

“This might sting,” she muttered, smoothing a layer of the cool gel over a scrape near your collarbone.

You didn’t flinch. Just exhaled slowly as her touch lingered, fingertips brushing against your skin longer than necessary.

Your eyes met hers, and for a moment, the tension that had been simmering for months threatened to snap.

But instead of acting on it, you reached for the ice pack still clutched in her other hand.

“Your turn.”

She arched a brow, like she was going to argue, but she didn’t. Just sighed and sat back as you took her wrist, gently guiding her onto the bed beside you.

You peeled back her shirt, moving slower than necessary, your fingers skimming over the bruises that lined her ribs.

The ice pack met her skin, and she hissed, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. Your hand stayed steady, applying just enough pressure, your palm resting lightly against her side.

Neither of you dared to speak, afraid of breaking the moment.

Your fingers lingered against Agatha’s ribs, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your touch, the slight hitch in her breath as the ice pack warmed between you. The air between you was charged, and before you could stop yourself, you dipped your head and pressed a featherlight kiss to her bare shoulder.

It was soft. Fleeting almost.

But the way she inhaled sharply, the way her muscles tensed beneath your lips, made your stomach twist with something molten and dangerous.

You lifted your gaze, heart pounding, to find her already watching you.

Something unreadable flickered in her eyes. Not surprise—she’d felt this tension between you just as much as you had. No, this was something else. A quiet challenge. A question.

And then, as if pulled by gravity itself, your lips found hers.

The first kiss was slow—uncertain in a way that sent heat curling low in your stomach. Her lips were warm, softer than you expected, moving against yours with a hesitant deliberation, like neither of you were ready to cross this line but neither of you could stop.

Your hands found her waist, fingertips pressing into bare skin, feeling the taut muscle beneath. She sighed into your mouth, tilting her head, deepening it just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Then it shifted.

Hesitation gave way to hunger, slow to something deeper, something desperate. Agatha’s hands tangled in your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp as she pulled you closer, as if the distance between you was unbearable.

Your breath stuttered as she pushed forward, guiding you onto your back against the mattress, her weight settling over yours in a way that made heat pool between your thighs.

You didn’t just let her take control. You met her movement for movement, rolling so you hovered over her instead, lips ghosting along her jaw, her throat. She arched into you, fingers gripping your hips, urging you closer, and the friction sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body.

You barely registered how your clothes disappeared or how you kept switching positions—only the feeling of her hands dragging fabric from your skin, the way your own fingers traced the newly exposed planes of her body, memorising every dip and curve.

She was breathtaking.

The air between you crackled with something electric as you moved together, lips seeking, hands exploring. Every touch was slow but deliberate, teasing but firm, each sensation unravelling the other piece by piece.

Agatha’s lips left yours, trailing a path of heat down your throat, each kiss softer, slower, as if savouring the way your breath hitched under her touch. Her mouth lingered at the base of your neck, a flicker of teeth sending a shiver down your spine before she continued lower.

She traced the curve of your collarbone, then lower still, her tongue flicking out just enough to tease. Her breath was warm against your skin, the contrast of her lips and the cool air leaving goosebumps in her wake.

When she reached just below your navel, she paused.

Your breath caught as she glanced up through dark lashes, her expression unreadable but undeniably smug, as if she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

Before you could say anything, before you could even think, Agatha shifted, her body aligning with yours in a way that sent anticipation buzzing through your veins.

One of her legs slid over yours, while the other slipped beneath, her hand gripping your thigh and pulling it over her hip. The shift brought you flush together, her clit pressing into yours, her warmth, her weight, surrounding you completely.

Then she moved.

The first slow roll of her hips sent a shockwave through you, the friction delicious and unbearable all at once. A gasp left your lips at the sensation, sharp and involuntary, swallowed by Agatha’s low moan.

She did it again.

A deliberate, languid grind that had your fingers curling into her back, nails digging in as heat coiled low in your stomach.

Agatha’s movements grew more desperate, each grind of her hips sending sparks of heat pulsing through you. The rhythm was intoxicating—a perfect push and pull that had your breath catching with every press of her body against yours.

The friction was exquisite, every brush of her soaked pussy against yours sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. Your nails pressed into her back, searching for an anchor as the slick warmth of your mixed arousal between you made every movement impossibly pleasurable.

A breathy moan spilled from your lips as she rolled her hips just right, the pressure hitting where you needed it most. Agatha’s own gasp followed, her grip on your thigh tightening as her rhythm stuttered for a fraction of a second before she found it again, more determined now.

“Fuck you feel so good,” she groaned, voice rough with pleasure. “So warm—so perfect against me.”

You couldn’t answer—at least not with words. So instead, you tilted your hips up to meet her, pushing harder into the delicious friction between you. The reaction was instant—a sharp inhale from Agatha, a shudder that ran down her spine and into you.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, pleasure mounting with every slick roll of her hips against yours. It was maddening—teetering on the edge, neither of you willing to slow down, to let the other escape this unrelenting rhythm.

Agatha was unravelling just as much as you were. Her breaths turned ragged, her movements becoming more desperate, less controlled. She buried her face in the crook of your neck, her lips parting against your skin as a soft, broken moan escaped her.

The sound of it—the way she lost herself for just a moment—sent you spiralling.

Heat exploded through you, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your back arching as your body tightened around the feeling of your orgasm, chasing every last pulse of it. Your moan mixed with hers, tangled in the air between you, and Agatha wasn’t far behind—her rhythm stuttering, her breath shattering into something desperate as she ground into you one last time, biting harshly at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, before giving in completely.

The aftershocks left you both trembling, locked in each other’s arms, breathless and undone. Neither of you dared to speak again, but this time it was because a whole other reason, because this time you didn’t need to; not when every shiver, every lingering touch, said everything.

—

When the adrenaline had finally ebbed, leaving behind only exhaustion and the dull throb of bruises settling into your skin, the dim glow of the hotel room cast soft shadows over Agatha’s body as she stretched out beside you, her breathing still uneven, a quiet hiss slipping past her lips when she shifted the wrong way.

You smirked, propping yourself up on an elbow. “Still hurts, huh?”

Agatha huffed a laugh, rolling onto her side to face you. “Oh, don’t act like you’re any better, champ.” Her fingers ghosted over the mottled bruise forming along your ribs, her touch featherlight but knowing. “I’ll give you credit, though. You really made me work to cause each of these.”

You leaned into her touch, sighing as the tension in your muscles began to settle. “Oh please, it’s not like you could actually beat me anyway

Her smirk deepened. “Is that what you think?”

Before you could answer, she moved—quick as ever—rolling on top of you in one smooth motion. The sudden shift knocked the breath from your lungs, and before you could react, her hands found your wrists, pinning them against the mattress. The familiar press of her body against yours sent a thrill down your spine, though it was tempered by the playful glint in her eyes.

"One...” she purred, lips brushing your ear, her breath warm against your skin.

You arched a brow, amusement flickering beneath your exhaustion. “Really?”

“Two…” Her voice was silk, dripping with satisfaction as she pressed you further into the bed, her grip firm but teasing.

You weren’t about to let her finish, you shifted your weight, using the last of your strength to twist your bodies. In a blink, she was beneath you, wrists trapped against the sheets, your knees bracketing her hips. Her breath hitched, a flash of surprise flickering across her face before it melted into something reminiscent of pleasure.

“Not this time, sweetheart.” You grinned, leaning in until your noses almost brushed.

Agatha let out a breathy chuckle, her eyes half-lidded as she relaxed beneath you. “Damn. Can’t even let me have this one, can you?”

You smirked, leaning down just enough that your noses brushed. “What kind of champion would I be if I did?”

Her breath hitched again, and then she closed the distance, her lips pressing softly against yours. 

The fight, the aches, the exhaustion—it all melted away for a moment, leaving only the warmth of her mouth against yours, the slow, deliberate way she kissed you.

You let yourself sink into her, into the quiet intimacy, knowing that whatever came next would always bring you right back to this.

-----

'author doesn't know fuck about wrestling' probably should probably be a warning for this 😭 I'm so sorry for any inaccuracies they are all entirely my fault :P

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taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6stolenangel9 @jujuu23 @juls-stark

[dyli-dadi3]

Be My Valentine

When a drop-dead gorgeous girl keeps on coming to your drive-through, it's pretty damn hard not to ask her out. Well, not if you're Leon.

Just a cute lil blurb of Leon awkwardly asking you to be his Valentine. Tags: Fluff, Leon being a cutie. No seriously, he makes me wanna explode.

When Leon handed you your order that one fateful morning, he nearly dropped it. God, you were so pretty it hurt to look at you.

The sun was just rising, casting a warm glow on your skin. Your smile was so bright that he swore you flashed him in the eyes. Or maybe that was the glare from your car as you drove away.

Either way, your face plagued his thoughts. He felt like a fool. He couldn't even remember what lame phrase he uttered as you thanked him. The memory was blurry, and he was honestly thankful for it. He's sure that any chance was lost after you heard him babble like a kid. If you weren't turned off by the fact that he worked at McDonalds.

God, he really had no chance, huh?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The second time you showed up, he was just as surprised. But this time, he ensured he properly handed you your food and wished you a good day. Your smile was rushed, but you thanked him anyway as you sped off.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Every day for the next week you showed up. It quickly became the highlight of his day. Every morning you would order a breakfast combo, and he would be warmed to the core with your kind words and bright smile. He'd make it his mission to be in the drive-through whenever you were supposed to be. It got so bad that his coworkers would always tease him.

"H-Have a nice day, ba-baby!" One of them whispered with a laugh when you drove off.

"Oh, shut it!" Leon's ears began to turn red as he rushed to grab a cup and fill it with Sprite.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He flopped onto his bed, damp hair wetting his pillow as he sighed. He thought about you, as normal for him. But today was different.

It was a week until Valentine's Day, and he couldn't stop thinking of you. He wouldn't kid himself, picking up girls was never his strong suit. Yeah, he somehow finds himself dating 10's, but that doesn't mean he means to! It just... kinda happens.

But he feels so strongly about you. With every little bit of information he gets out of you, he gets more and more invested. Of course, it isn't groundbreaking lore, but it's you and he can't help but find it interesting. He wants to know more.

He spends his nights thinking about what you love and hate, fantasizing about having a real conversation with you and learning everything you're willing to give him. It's maddening.

The thought of being too late, of you finding someone else before him is impossible, so he decides that that won't happen. Not while he's still alive and kicking.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next day comes and he's shaking like a leaf, face pale and so sickly that his manager almost sent him straight home. He pleaded, assuring her that he was fine (bless her heart, she's the only manager that doesn't make him want to rip his hair out).

He waits anxiously in the first window, waiting to see your car drive into the drive-through.

7:30...

7:31...

7:31 and thirty seconds...Oh!

He was gonna throw up, he was sure of it. If he somehow didn't, he was positive that his stupid mouth would slur his words into alphabet soup. God, if he had to repeat himself?!?! That's usually what the person in the car does. God, would you think he's incompetent? You order the same dang thing every day,

In the two seconds that his mind took to tear itself apart, you pulled up to the intercom and rolled down the window.

"Good mo-morning, will you be using the mobile app today?" Fuck.

"No, can I just have my usual order, Leon?" You giggled, the sound making his knees weak despite the shitty intercom system.

Of course you'd laugh at him, you never use the app.

He never got why you didn't. I mean, you're coming here every day, it would save you money. But you would always smile and shake your head whenever he brought it up so he just stopped. He never got why you used cash, either, but he didn't want to start bothering you, so he spent his limited time with you talking about more interesting things.

"Of course, pull up to the first window." He said with furrowed brows. He didn't bother telling you the price, it was still the same as it had always been. But this time, he had something extra to give you.

Soon enough, you were pulling up with your money in your hand. He took the cash and took a deep breath as he did the transaction.

"He's your receipt, " he said, handing you the printed slip of thermal paper. Before you could leave, he turned to you, his face bright red and his hands shaking like he was tweaking, and handed you a box of sweets. "Y-You forgot your change."

Your eyes widened as you took the candy, face flushing as you saw the sticky note taped to the front.

Will you be my Valentine? XXX-XXX-XXXX

Your eyes darted to his, face plastered with that bright smile he adored so much as you nodded.

"I would love to, Le-"

HONK!

[torueater]

self care w/ satoru⭑.ᐟ

⋆ ꩜ ⋆ pairing: gojo satoru x reader

wc: 6700+ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ content: nsfw, fem!reader, sexual themes, EATER GOJOOOOO, cunnilingus, dirty talk, praise, unprotected sex, p in v intercourse, cum eating, multiple orgasms, manhandling, overstim mention, established relationship, mutual pleasure

a/n: title is kinda vague on purpose.

reblogs/comments vv appreciated if you enjoyed! ᓚᘏᗢ

It’s almost a given that you’re there for Satoru the moment he steps through the door, commonplace at this point. Not getting assigned to the notoriously tricky Grade 1 curse had been a small mercy from the higher ups (thank heavens), left in your lonesome to train till your boyfriend got back.

He’s still all wound up when he gets home, shoulders drooping, groaning into your neck as soon as he’s in your hold. “The worsttt. All these curses stink, literally and figuratively.” Satoru noses at the warm spot at the side of your neck where your scent is most potent, thick arms banding around your waist to keep you to his chest, sinking into the feeling of a too familiar you. God, he fucking hates missions halfway across the country. He’d bent space and time just to get back at an appropriate hour so you two could fall asleep together tonight. “One of ‘em exploded all over me. Huge boom. Guts everywhere”

“Satoru! Fucking gross.” You should’ve known better than letting him get you tangled up in his hugs the moment he’d gotten in. He for sure wouldn’t release you and you liked seeing him too much after his long day--enjoying how his tension would melt away like it hadn’t been there in the first place--to pull back. You’d already gone and showered, hair tied back in silk to go to bed as soon as he’d gotten in and had gotten clean too, but here he is upending all your plans. Now you smell like roach curse guts and sweat probably. Maybe not with his infinity, but it’s the principle or whatever. “Mm, oops.” He hums into your skin, utterly unrepentant. “Guess what we both need now, pretty baby?” The words are almost sing-songy in nature, head pulling out your neck to fix you with a look.  You fix him with a blank one in return, “No idea, Satoru. Really.” You roll your eyes, practically cradling the taller man as he rattles of details about the fight in your ear as you reset the alarm of you guy’s penthouse security system. He murmurs something near unintelligible into your neck before peeking at you, feeling his gaze even through the strip of black over his eyes. “I have an idea.”

You raise a brow, already skeptical. “Do I wanna hear it?”

“Yeah, probably. It involves a lot of touching me so I’m sure you’d love to hear it.” He sways you in hold, sort of waddle walking to two of you closer to the plush couch to drop himself down on it, you ending up half splayed on his chest. “Self-care night with all your fancy stuff.” You blink. “You want a self-care night?” You’d usually have to convince him – though said convincing didn’t usually go past asking once and him saying yes immediately. Still, he usually doesn’t offer himself up as your patient.

“Mhm. You always look all glowy and soft, and pretty when you do it. I wanna be all soft and glowy. Think my skin could use it after the day I’ve had.” You bite back a growing grin, humming lowly, “Okay, and what do you want to do? A face mask, ‘toru?”

His hum is low as if he’s thinking on it, chin grazing near the very top of your head in light sweeps. “Yes. That and the sugar stuff you use on your legs. Maybe one of your hair masks.” You nod, already going through the things you’d need to set aside for this impromptu-at-home spa date, feeling a little giddy. “Alllright, pretty boy. We need to get up then before you fall asleep here. C’mon.”

                                                       ⊹.✮₊⋆                                                          

It’s not long before you’re lugging his heavy, slim frame off to the bath with you, ordering him out the dirty clothes to toss it into the washer for the first cycle off maybe 2 or so until you deemed it clean.  Your night wear comes off right after, and you make him wash off first, off course – no way in hell you’d get in a bath with him to soak in likely nonexistent roach curse balls and guts residue. Just nasty.

A quick pass under the spray rids him any possible stench, leaving nothing but damp, flushed skin in its wake.  The warmth of the large tub is a welcome change but you barely have the extra salts and scents in for him before he’s pulling you into the water with a plunk! and a short splash from where your body had displaced it, water sloshing over the edges as you land unceremoniously in his lap. “Baby...” You grumble your disapproval at the mess but his hum the absolute opposite, grin on his soft lips not any better, “No getting handsy, Mr. We’ll do that skincare you like only if you’re good.”

His eyes flutter with the gentle pressure of your fingertips scrubbing shampoo into his scalp, hum low in approval. “Mm, you’re using your stuff so I smell like you. So territorial.” He makes sure you’re perched in his lap comfortably all the while, letting you work your magic, pampering the sorcerer. “Yeah, sure. I’m like a dog here and you’re a fire hydrant, ‘toru.”

He snickers, squeezing at your waist under the water before settling them in place again, letting you work. “Does that mean you’ll finally pee on-“ “I’ll glue your lips together, don’t even finish that sentence.”

‎‎‎                                                       ⊹.✮₊⋆                                                          

It’s nice – being in the bath with him a welcome intimacy. You love when he lets you take care of him rather than insisting on pampering you instead. He’s all pliant under you and gently rubbing at the flesh of your hips, body slack with his trust. He’s always up and doing something, always moving – it’s nice to get him to relax, to be taken care of.

You two are in there for far longer than necessary - hair washed and conditioned, skin exfoliated with your vanilla scrub and the matching wash so he’d smell like you do as requested. You wrap him in one of the softest robes you two own when you’re all done, leading him back into the room with you where he’s flopping down onto the bed almost instantly.

“Fighting that curse was such a pain. Kept duplicating.” He practically melts into you again, face in your neck, a little too whiny for a fully grown man. You don’t think you can ever complain though. “Then they tried to call me in for a meeting. A meeting baby. Just so ungrateful.” “I know. So ungrateful. My poor baby.” You coo, massaging at his temples, lifting off him to trail to the other side of the room.

“Where’re you going?” He drawls, clearly a little tired right now from how he’s not up and following you. “I need to pluck your eyebrows first. I’m gonna get the tweezers and the other stuff” You dip to give him a kiss to sate him for the literal 3 minutes you’d be gone. He makes a quiet sound against your mouth, like he’s considering pulling you back down, but lets you go. “I’m so gonna hate this.”

When you’re back, likely less than your 3 estimated minutes, he’s sprawled on the sheets, legs hanging off one side, arms folded behind his head -- snowy lashes flutter against his cheeks with languid blinks up at you. “Comfy?” You huff in your amusement, climbing up into bed and settling near his head, fingers carding through soft milky strands. “Head on my lap. C’mon.”

He obeys without any further prompting, scootching closer to rest his head on the softness of your thighs, your own legs tucked up under your frame. He’s practically deadweight in your lap, heavy limbs and slow sighs as you comb through his hair again to get it out the way, tugging his blindfold upward to keep the strands in place. “Can’t we just skip the tweezing?” he groans, words muffled slight with his cheek pressed into your thigh, “This is like a medieval torture method. Don’t we have razors on hand?”

“Maybe, but plucking looks better. And besides, it’s not that bad, you’re so dramatic.” Your hand smooths over his forehead, leaning past him to grab at a toner pad, swiping it over his brows. “Stay still or I’ll accidentally pluck the wrong ones. Then you’ll have patchy eyebrows.”

“Ow—What the hell?” Satoru hisses at the first pinch, exhaling a slow, suffering sigh like you’re inflicting a great pain on him. “This is torture. I thought you loved me?” You snort, amused, brushing the spoolie through the hairs even as he’s whining, “I do love you. You’re being so dramatic. It’s like a tiny pinch at best.” Yeah, no – it’s not like that at all and he has no idea how you do this all the time like it’s nothing. You roll your eyes at his dramatics but dip to kiss his forehead in apology anyway. “I’ll be gentle, look,” you extend one of your arms so he can see, plucking a hair out just to show him, barely flinching, “Not that bad.” How he’s able to deal with fighting all powerful curses day in day out but tweezers are what undoes him is beyond you. Though, they usually don’t get hits in, so you’re not sure if you can compare the two… “Aren’t you the strongest, ‘toru? You can take it.”

It's funny how he's mostly quiet after that, almost as if to prove that he’s the strongest on all fronts. Save for the occasional wince of course, fingers flexing at the dip of your waist whenever you get to a particularly stubborn hair. “I know, baby. You’re doing well though, I’m almost done with the first brow.”

It’s only when you get to the second one that he’s sighing, dramatic in fashion as per his personality twisting his face away so it’s pressed up against your belly. You halt momentarily, waiting. “I’m in dire need of alternative pain management. I’m g’nna pass out.” 

And you’re quick to help of course, lips parting to offer something, maybe your hand to hold since it’s what he usually likes -- but he beats you to it, angled higher to nuzzle closer to your chest. He noses lazily at your towel covered chest, kissing you lightly over the fabric. “You’re not serious.” “I’m very serious. This is a great distraction from pain.” You don’t see what about your breasts are a great distraction from the pain of his brows being plucked, but you don’t see the issue with letting him indulge. “Will you stay put if I let you?”

He hums, fingers already fiddling with the tuck of the towel, tugging it out of place so your towel falls away. You sigh in mock exasperation at his shameless ogling, pulling away just to grab a pillow, placing it on your lap so he can prop his head up higher. “Absolute angel. Lifesaver. My darling princess baby.” He’s latching his mouth on you right after his praises, lips warm as they close around the peak. He sighs through his nose, body growing more slack against you like this is exactly what he needed.

You huff, flicking his forehead lightly, “You’re so ridiculous.” His body shifts with what you assume is a shrug, tongue flicking against the stiffness of your nipple, lashes fluttering against your skin. He’s at least angled in a way that you can get to the 2nd brow, so you don’t really have to do much but pull the skin taut and pluck. “Stop moving, Satoru.”

He doesn’t even flinch much when you pluck the next hair, too preoccupied with the slow, lazy pull of his mouth. His exhales are soft and warm against your cooled skin, air silent save for the hum of the aircon, angled into him to tug at a stubborn hair. “This one might hurt a bit. Don’t bite me.” Satoru nods slowly in answer, thumbs drawing soothing patterns on your waist just above where the towel had settled when it fell. The next tug gets you the slightest wince, tongue curling around the bud, flattening against it in retaliation. “That one was a little thick. Sorry, baby.”

“Mmm’kay,” The words are a muffle around your tit, and he pulls off long enough just to look up at you – rosy lips slick, a faint strand left between his mouth and the mound sheen with saliva. His blink is sleepy, an almost dopey grin spreading on his lips, hand waving away your apology, “Totally fine. Best—” His lips connect with you again, with a wet, unhurried suck before releasing with a faint pop again, “—pain management ever. Really.”

His head shifts away from where you’re working your magic, face buried in your chest, kissing lightly along the soft underside of your left breast, then the right. “You smell so nice. Like syrup and candy..”

“Always comparing me to candy.” Your smile down at him is all lovesick, gaze carrying the same vibe. “’Cause you smell like candy. Taste a lot like it too.” In more places that one. His lips latch to the underside of your breast, suctioning with the gentlest pressure to mark the skin. Your soft sigh has his body stirring the slightest bit, pulling back after a moment to admire his handiwork with a grin.

“Let me finish up. No funny business.” You barely restrain a shiver, hand sliding up the side of his face again, thumb pulling at his skin. You manage to pluck a few more hairs without any complaint from him, Satoru seemingly more than content kissing away at your flesh, licking at it with lazy, indulgent drags. The warmth of his palm leaves your waist to move further under the towel, large hand splayed on your hip, dragging idle strokes over the bone. “Your brows usually aren’t crazy looking so..” You use the spoolie again just to be sure, humming, “I think we’re done, babe.”

His answering groan has you more than amused, the attitude a bit of a switch from his complaints earlier. “Does that mean my alternative pain management method is over? Oh no.” He lets out a dramatic cry like he’s been told the worst news in the world, nosing at the space between your breast like he set on settling there forever. “I didn’t even say that, you big baby.” Your hand smooths through his damp strands again, fingers idly scratching at his scalp before sliding lower to cup his chin so he’s looking at you. “Do you want me to give you the facial now?”

A nod is his answer, head tilting just enough to brush his mouth over your sternum before he’s kissing the side of your left breast. His fingers flex against where they’re now pressed on your hips, touch absentminded as he hums. “So, I was thinking about something.”

You pretend to shiver,  “Oh, that can’t be good.”

“You’re so mean to me.” He lets out a long-suffering sigh into your skin, chin propped between your breasts, looking up at you. “Skincare is very important, right? You say that all the time.”

“I do..” Your eyes narrow in suspicion, trying to piece this together as he goes on.

“Satoru, I need to get up to get the masks.” You try to shift away, stopped fairly quickly by his arm around your naked waist, shaking his head. “Nope, we have all our supplies right here. Organic, fresh from the source.” Your brow cocks, unsure if he’s being overly vague or if you’re just a little slow to catch on. “Facial, organic. Come on, pretty – giving you a couple seconds to catch my drift.”

The bulb in your mind finally lights, mouth forming a small o, core warming just a little at his suggestion. “Have you always been this perverted?”

Satoru’s gasp is low, as if offended, pouting, “What about caring for one’s skin is perverted? I personally think we all should take great care of ourselves, and skin is the very first step.”

You kiss your teeth in playful chastisement but you’re already exhaling, already aware of your answer. “What a poetic way to ask me to sit on your face. Really clever.”

He tsks, lifting a hand to wiggle his index near your face. “I would never be that crass.” Your unimpressed expression at his blatant lie says enough, and he clears his throat, kissing your sternum once more.

“Is that a yes to you sitting on my face, then?”

“No.”

                                                       ⊹.✮₊⋆                                                          

“Like I tell you every single time, you won’t suffocate me. And if you do then hooray! Now sit.” You weren’t quite convinced – it's not that you’d ever heard any instances of people dying from being smothered while giving head but it’s never too late to become the first.

You hesitate, shifting on your knees. “I really don’t see the issue with you just lifting your head-“ His groan cuts your words short, head flopping back onto the pillows, glancing up at you between the softness of your thighs. “Oh my god. Do you hate me?” He complains, nudging his nose right against where you need him. He tries again, hoping that this one will be convincing enough, “Baby, come on. I’ll be fine. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

Satoru clicks his tongue when you hesitate, dragging his hands up your thighs, kneading slow, lazy circles to soothe you. “You’re supposed to sit on my face, not hover. If I wanted you to hover I would’ve told you that, right?” He waits for your nod, patting your behind lightly in silent praise when you do. “Exactly, pretty girl. Here’s what, if I need to breathe, I’ll tap right here,” He presses into a spot on your inner thigh, leaning up to give it a light nip, “and you can ease up." He knows he won’t make use of that spot, like, at all. But it helps to say it to ease your worries!

Which it does. His words are awfully effective, your guard and discretion lowering till you’re just sighing and lowering the tiniest bit, getting closer to his mouth by the second.

And he thinks it’s heaven. The scent of you catches in his nose, too heady. Sweet vanilla of your scrubs and soaps, the warmth of your core – he’s sure his mouth is watering. “Thought I’d die. My skin is so dry, I’m so parched,” His complaints are all exaggerated, mouthing at the sides of your thighs, biting at the petal-soft skin. You scoff, hand moving down to fix the band in his hair, “You talk an awful lot.”

Satoru doesn’t exactly disagree, shrugging. He’s currently very preoccupied with eyeing your cunt, though, so you don’t get much of a verbal response.

He kisses everywhere but where you’re molten for him, so wound up by the time that he gets close that the lightest nudge of his pointed nose has you twitching, glancing anywhere but down at him between your thighs, drenched pussy hovering right over his face. The twinge of embarrassment is always hard to fight off when he’s quite literally staring at your most intimate spot but you can’t exactly close your legs when he’s settled between them. Your slight shift does you absolutely no favors because he seems to move right with you, nose nudging your messy clit again, sound catching in your throat. “You think you're so funny.” You can practically feel him smile against your thigh, one hand shifting to cup the rounded swell of one ass cheek, tilting you forward minutely. You wouldn’t call it impatience, but you are feeling a little wound up and the teasing doesn’t help. Before you can lower your hips on your own, he’s finally taking initiative, your waist held in a strong grip to pull you down to sit directly over his awaiting mouth. You fight a shiver at the first teasing swipe of his tongue through your dampened folds, drag slow and reverent like he’s trying to get your taste spread on the entirety of his tongue.

You swallow harshly, thighs a soft pressure against the side of his head as your fingers pinch the pillow right beneath him, clit pulsing on his tongue. That seems to catch his attention, shifting to drag the wet heat of his tongue over your clit in slow circles before he’s pulling away and pressing a fat kiss to it. “Just as pretty as you are..” He kisses and mouths at the mess he made, moving his attention lower and lower, hand on your ass pushing you forward so he can get closer to your slit to give a kiss over the spot too.

He keeps his lips there, inhale deep to pull your scent into his lungs before he’s prodding at your entrance with the blunt tip of his tongue. Satoru lets out a groan beneath you, the noise vibrating against your connected skin before his only free hand shifts to your hip to tug you lower than you already are to his mouth. Isshoogood.” The words are a short murmur that you don’t pick up well, mouth already back on you to taste you again before pulling back.

His kitten licking and teasing falls back for long enough to warrant you almost begging, but he’s quick to return to you with something far better, tongue parting your opening – twisting its way into your drenched hole and drawing out your first proper noisy call of his name.

Your hands leave the pillow in favor of his ivory strands, biting down hard into your lip as he groans into you, suckles wet and lewd in the air, gathering as much as your slick as he can on his taste buds. Any of that initial anxiety had properly washed away with the skilled movement of his tongue, the hands on you gently grinding you into the fucking of his tongue, nose continuing to bump into your clit just right.

It’s great for you but it feels like pure heaven for Satoru. His personal paradise. Crushed under your weight, mouth buried between your thighs – he’s exactly where he needs to be.  

“O-Oh fuck. Satoru.” Your hips seem to rock on their own, expression pinched as he tongues sloppily at your hole, moaning when he feels you clench around it. Saliva slicks between and around your folds, mixing with the wetness he coaxes out of you, dripping down the slope of his chin and pooling in the dip of his throat. He’s never been one for doing stuff halfway, eating you out isn’t an exception. What was a proper facial without a little mess?

“Mm, I know,” he groans, voice rough and muffled against your core, already drunk on the taste of you. His tongue dips inside again, lapping up everything you give him, jaw working slow and steady as he eats you out. It’s more that than you actually riding his face like he wants so he pats your hip to spur some more motion from you, glad when you get the memo and begin grinding down on his tongue. The wet appendage pushes deeper into your cunt, nose bumping just under your hood when you rock forward, pleasure hot and low in your belly. The angle sends a sharp jolt of pleasure through you, a long moan tumbling from your lips. He grins against your pussy, pleased. “Oh f-fuck, just like that.” You suppose the excuse of wanting a natural facial hadn’t been a complete lie, his face is messy enough with your essence to consider it just that.

You’re not sure if it’s because he’d been gone on his mission for a little longer than usual this time but he’s near ravenous as he feasts on you, barely giving you a break since he’d put his tongue on you. He fucks into you with deep strokes, pulling back just enough to spit a fat glob onto your cunt before he’s licking it right back up.

Your eyes roll, hips trying to rock harder to push him deeper and to get his nose to keep bumping where you need him. You felt far too dizzy, legs shaking around his head as you get noisier. Each firm lick inside your cunt has you getting higher, lower abdomen beginning to feel pressurized, far too hot for how cold you have the aircon running. “Oh. Oh fuck—Pleaseplease-“ You’re not sure what you’re begging for, he seems to know better than you do.

His tongue wrenches out of you, adams apple bobbing with a harsh swallow from him. “Fuck.” Satoru leaves just a couple seconds for him to breathe before he’s nosing at your clit again. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy. I love it.” The warm puffs of his breath have you whimpering alone, his teeth grazing the puffy bundle of nerves with the lightest pressure but your hips buck anyway. Not too far though, his hands are tight on your hips again to set you where he needs you, lips poised right under your clit before he latches on and sucks. Hard. Your tears are sudden, springing in your eyes, hot down your cheeks, heel of your palm pressing into his forehead, next one in his hair still – not sure if you want him off you or if you want more from him. Juices smear on his flushed skin, glistening under blue light as he just doesn’t let up. Not for a second. “Ooh, shit.” Satou’s just as much of a mess as you are. Hair mussed, flushed down to his chest and panting, blown out pupils. His hand slips between your thighs, pulling off your clit, finger taking its spot almost immediately “You’re so pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, god.” He lubes you up with his spit again, slick and cool right on your nub, smearing it across the flesh before he’s pushing your wetness back inside you. He chokes on his breath at how slippery you are there before he replaces it with his tongue again. “Best pussy in the world. All—mm—mine-” His hands are everywhere, grabbing at your thighs, your ass, fingers pushing apart your soft folds to keep you spread on his tongue. You feel feverish in your pleasure, sucking in greedy breaths, rocking losing rhythm but gaining pace because fuck, you just needed to cum for him.

“S’fucking messy.” His groans tell you that’s he’s as into this as you are, and the thought alone send a harsh curl, unable to catch your breath in the wake of an incoming orgasm. Your brain feels like goo, your limbs feel useless. Satoru’s fingers dig into the meat of your ass to grind you, to let you use him.

It’s right there, it’s a hot, tight pressure ready to burst outward like a supernova. But it’s not how you want it, you know it can get much better than it already is. “’Toru..” You whine, and he’s already moving you like he’d read your mind, like he needs the same thing. Hands on your waist, shifting you off his face and down his body. You don’t even process how fast you’d gotten moved – his hands are almost frantic on your frame, up off your waist, squeezing your tits.

“Fuck,” He chokes out, sucking at his bottom lip soaked with the taste of you, barely able to hold off, “I know, pretty. I know. Let me just—” His voice is hoarse, still breathless from doing nothing but feasting on you for the past couple minutes. His hands are all shaky, fumbling, undoing the tie of the robe with your help to free his cock. The length of him springs up hard and heavy, leaking, rosy head so flushed with colour that it looks painful. “Need you so bad.” You’re quick to hover over him, hand braced to his chest and the other moving to grip him to run the blunt tip through your sappy folds to lubricate him. Not that he really needs it. “T-Toru..’Toru, please.”

He doesn’t need further prompting, hands finding your ass again to lower you on him, heat surrounding the entirety of his dick almost instantly with how wet you are.  You’re both shaking, you’re not sure you even have the strength to bounce on his lap but you do, just once – just your hips lifting and falling just once-

Satoru’s jaw slackens, grabbing at your hips as the tight, wet clutch of your cunt undoes him. Jaw slackened, whimper noisy as he cums. “Fucking—Oh my god.” It’s a proper orgasm too. Abs tensing, fingers digging into your ass as milky ropes fill you pulse after pulse. And maybe it’s the whimper, the look on his face when he creampies you. Maybe the heat of the room. Maybe the fact that you were close already – but a full body tremor moves through you, cumming just as hard as he had. The arch of your spine almost looks painful, thighs clamping together, biting your lip to keep from crying as the waves just pummel you. “Haah- Mm, oh my god.”

You’re both breathing heavily, bowed into his chest and looking down at him, shaky fingers spreading and closing on his skin as though you’re checking if he’s real. “Baby.” He whines like you moving the smallest bit pains him, like it pulls him deeper inside. “..Doesn’t count. It doesn’t-“

“What?” You don’t understand his murmurs, don’t get what he’s on about till he’s holding you to his chest a flipping you two, pulling out your heat with a wet slosh – still hard all for you. Your stomach tightens at the sight of him, still hard and glistening with the mess of his previous release and the slick from just being in you. His cum leaves you in a slow pool past your folds, a mess around the pair, trailing down the inner curve of your ass.

“I said it…that one doesn’t count, baby. Definitely not.” He grits the words out, hand wrapped ‘round himself to stroke lightly, squeezing near the tip to hold himself off.

It’s like your sensitivity is nonexistent, like you hadn’t just orgasmed, because you’re already throbbing again, eager to be filled. “You just came though, how’re you even…you’re hard again.” Sure, his refractory period was great, but this? You don’t know what to make of this at all. “I know. I know – I wasn’t ready. You just fucking sat, all pretty and wet-“ Satoru groans, notching himself near your cunt again, smacking the upper side of your clit with light pressure. He drags his tip through the mess there, pressing it back inside with the lightest pressure, cock head catching on your entrance. “Came in two fucking seconds, we need a redo.”

Your pussy molds around him just as easily this time when he begins pushing in, legs bringing him in, feet locking on his lower back. The trimmed white hairs at his base graze your too sensitive clit with his shallow thrusts, hips lifting minutely in your chase for more of him.

“You feel so good,” you moan, nails digging into his shoulders again as you pulled him down to kiss at the corner of his mouth. White brows are scrunched in his focus, hips tilting back just enough so only his swollen cockhead is inside you, quickly sheathing himself inside your warm, plush cunt with a smooth roll, every nerve in your cunt lighting up for him. “Can’t..can’t even fucking focus,” He whimpers again, hand cupping your nape to keep you looking at him, sure that in itself was making holding off even harder. “You’re so pretty. Gonna die. I’m gonna fucking die.” He drags out the last word, hands lifting your hips to angle you to the way a pillow under your hips would, dick pressing in and out repeatedly, hitting the spots that you need him in. You feel giddy, you feel hot all over.

His dramatics get an airy laugh from you, which quickly trails off into a moan with a direct drive into your walls again. The soft spot in you gives way to the weight of his cock pressing into it, breathing picking up, only producing more slick for him to slide in easier. “You’re not gonna die.” You lift off the bed just enough to get to him, arm banding around his neck, kissing his swollen lips just to shut him up. “You’re fineee.” He’s just as noisy in your mouth, pulling off to mouth at the sides of your mouth, down your jaw, nosing at your cheek almost reverently.

“God—fuck. I love you.” Satoru chokes on his words, hands shaking where they’re gripping your thighs. “You’re so wet, feels so good.” He pulls out just enough to make you ache again before he’s pushing back in with a fluid thrust, pelvis flush with yours. “So tight-“ His breath catches as you tighten around him, shaky fingers flexing on your hips. “No, don’t do that, baby. Be nice.”

You’re more than amused at his antics, how wound up he is though you’re really not any better. The mess between you is sticky and obscene, each paced thrust pushing more of the mixed release out of you. The milky sheen spreads with his continuing thrusts, slicking down his length, turning more frothy around his base the more he moves. Gojo hisses, gaze fixed between you two momentarily, glancing away as if looking elsewhere would make the pressure building at the base of his cock dissipate (it doesn't).

He still thinks he’s going to die despite your reassurance. The fit is too snug even with how wet you are, his balls feel like they’re tight enough to explode and he just needs to cum again. His next maneuver is quick – hands on your hips no longer keeping you lifted, grabbing a pillow to shove it under there instead. His cock nudges deeper and he groans like he’s about to lose his mind. Your arms fall away from his neck to lie back, weight pressing into you as he braces on his forearms, caging you in on either side.

He's much closer at this angle, near enough for you to kiss his nose, close enough for him to breathe you in. You lean up to kiss him again, press of your lips all sweet against his. He can’t help but look at you, doesn’t care that it’ll make him cum faster. “Pretty baby.” He murmurs, forehead dropping to yours, thrusts slowing momentarily. The slow, deep drags set you alight, toes curling, hips bucking. His breath carries a breathy tone, adams apple bobbing in a harsh swallow, nose bumping against the side of his. One hand finds its way between you two, thumb pressing into your clit, circles slow to not overwhelm you too quickly.

And he’s out again, just to slam back in. Your head falls back with a sharp cry, folds clinging to him every time he leaves, stretched around his base every time he bottoms out again. And its continuous, you don’t think you’re doing much past moaning and whining under him, hips rolling and bucking to fuck him back because no way you’d just let him do all the work. “Gonna fucking cumm-“

"I know. I know.” His thrusts turn sharper, needier, a little desperate. " C’mon, baby, give me another. Cum for me.” Gojo snaps into you like he’s lost his mind, mess between you only growing worse – slick and his cum smeared on his cock and spreading with every pounding thrust, balls connecting with your ass in harsh smacks.

He’s noisy, face presses up against your throat, completely pussy drunk out his mind. “Fuck—oh fuck, you look so good.” His lips ghost over your pulse, tongue dragging on skin, teeth sinking in. “Gonna keep you – gotta fucking marry you.” “Huh?” His mouth is everywhere it can reach, kissing you all over your cheeks, across your jaw, hips beginning to drive into you faster. The frame of the large bed shifts on its legs, lewd slap of skin filling the room. He’s barely pulling out before he drives back in to the hilt at this point, damp curls at his base rubbing right against your clit. “Soo serious. I’m g’nna…god. Best thing to ever happen to me. I swear to god.” The answering throb around him drags another helpless sound from him, hips starting to batter into you faster – watching the threads of slick between your cunt and his cock, watching you shiver under him. “Fuck, I’d put a ring on you tomorrow.” He gets out between his moans. Gosh, the things he says when he gets inside you.

Your whole body jerks when his cock throbs inside, voice cracking in another moan against your skin. That itself if proof enough that he’s ready to come undone, hips throwing into yours wildly, spot being hit head on without any mercy. The air around you two is blistering, moans and your coupling loud, bed creaking. The coil inside you gives way with an angled press to your g-spot again, jaw slackening, spots dancing in your vision. A long moan leaves you with the rush of cum as you gush around him that feels like it’d push him right out. But he’s fucking you through it, he’s rubbing your clit in firmer circles to draw it out as you pulse and flutter around his dick, his own orgasm a needy heat at the base of his cock and settled in his cum heavy balls.

You whimper and whine pathetically every time he bottoms out, fighting past the building overstim to buck your hips up into his in quick movements, damp spot under your frames only spreading. He knows he isn’t set to last much longer after you’d came on him like that, and his point is only proven when his hips stutter, too overwhelmed by your heat, by the orgasm that had been right there since he’d started back up.

And then he’s sinking in to the hilt again, shoving your pliant body into the mattress as his orgasm rips through him.

The groan he lets out is downright filthy, a choked, trembling moan as he buries himself inside you to the hilt, cock twitching, cum mixing in with the remnants of his first load to fill you up again. “Oh fuck- Oh fuckkk, Toru!” Your hands grab at him again as hot waves rush through you, making your legs shake as he fucks his release deeper, hips jerking uncontrollably with every last drop. His forearms tremble as he finally stops cumming, the pair of you panting harshly against each other’s mouths, hips rolling weakly to keep his cum seated deep. “…Jeez.” Satoru lowers onto your chest, weight pressed there only for a moment before he’s rolling the two of you so you’re on his instead, easing his cock out of you slowly. You wince, already feeling yourself gap open from the loss of him and the telling feeling of his cum beginning to slide out of you in a slow stream.

“You’re changing the sheets.” You groan, burying your face in his neck, soothed by light strokes of his hand over your sweat dampened back.

“Mhm, anything you want.” Satoru hums, grinning to himself as he loops his arms around you, face pressed up into your hair, “Need to redo the skincare too. I think we sweat it out.”

Oh, most definitely.

You groan at even the thought of moving, playing with his hair absently, too exhausted to even lift your head right now. “All of this because you wanted a natural facial.” Though it’s kind of on you too since you’d happily let him feast on you then well, this. “We should go clean up.” You’re both covered in a sheen layer of sweat and cum, mostly the former – clearly in dire need of a good wash once again. Neither of you make any effort to move, though. He’s all warm and you feel sluggish, bodies rapidly cooled by air from the vents as you just lie there ‘til you’re feeling all sticky. “Okay, upsie daisy., pretty girl.” You’re not surprised to see that he still has energy, hoisting you up with him, cradled against his chest like his bride. “I’ll do all the work this time.”

[heliosunny]

I read the yandere! Streamer jing yuan and saw there's a yandere! Streamer Sunday.. was wondering if you would do a yandere! Streamer Aventurine, too please?

Yandere!Streamer Aventurine x Reader

Aventurine was obsessed. Not just with the game, Eclipsed Fates: Arcane Romance, but specifically with you.

And as a high-profile streamer, he made no secret of it.

"Alright, chat, you already know the drill." His voice oozed confidence as he lounged in his high-end gaming chair, adjusting his headset. "Tonight, we're doing another playthrough of Y/N’s route. Yeah, yeah, I know I’ve already maxed out their affection a dozen times, but let me have this. They’re the only one worthy of my time, after all."

The chat exploded.

"Bro is down BAD." "Another [Y/N] simp stream, let's gooo." "At this point, just marry your screen."

He smirked, barely glancing at the comments. His fingers danced across the keyboard as he navigated the dialogue choices, always picking the options that would make you smile—or, at the very least, smirk approvingly.

"This is it, chat. My favorite part. The moment Y/N finally acknowledges that they’re mine."

And then—

A flicker of the screen.

Aventurine barely had time to react before his entire setup exploded in a burst of light.

When he opened his eyes, sitting across from him, staring in confusion, was—

You.

Aventurine was used to getting what he wanted.

So when he found himself inside the game world, in a lavish office lined with scrolls and golden embellishments, draped in the elegant robes of a high-ranking noble… well.

This was even better.

"Marquis Aventurine, are you feeling unwell?"

He let out a breathless chuckle, rolling his gloved fingers against the polished surface of his desk. "Marquis, huh?" His gaze flicked over the surroundings, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. "So that's the role I've been given."

He tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "And what is our relationship, exactly?"

Your eyes narrowed. "You don’t remember?"

You exhaled, rubbing your temple, frustration bleeding into your otherwise composed features. "You oversee imperial intelligence. I report directly to you."

"I see. And tell me— Do you admire me?"

Your brows knit together. "Respect and admiration are not the same thing, my lord."

So even here, even when he outranked you, you still had that pride.

"You really haven’t changed at all." he murmured, mostly to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing." His grin was dazzling. "Let’s get along from now on, shall we?"

Aventurine was a fast learner.

It was a necessity in his line of work—reading opponents, analyzing patterns, knowing exactly what buttons to push to get what he wanted.

But today?

Today was an absolute disaster.

His first mistake? Assuming he could navigate the world like a normal person.

After your meeting in his grand office, he had confidently strolled out, intending to get a feel for the empire. He had expected the typical game mechanics—click on NPCs, gather intel, maybe a quest or two.

Instead, the entire day glitched past him in a blur.

One second, he was observing the bustling courtyards, taking in the regal architecture—

The next?

It was nighttime.

Aventurine stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the dark sky, his breath catching slightly. What? He swore he had only blinked. The sun had been right there.

The palace halls, once lively with officials and servants, were now eerily quiet. And worse—

He was no longer in the palace.

The dim glow of lanterns flickered around him, the scent of expensive liquor and the soft shuffle of cards filling the air. He was inside a hidden gambling den, tucked away in what was likely the empire’s underground elite circles.

What the hell?

There was no logical transition. No sense of time passing. It was as if the game had just… skipped ahead.

Was this a bug? A glitch in the system?

"Well… this is interesting."

Still, if the game had dropped him here, there had to be a reason.

He adjusted the elegant cuffs of his robe, taking in the lavish surroundings. Wealthy nobles and shadowy figures whispered behind ivory masks, placing bets in hushed tones. Gambling, huh?

If he wanted to understand his new identity, he needed information.

Aventurine stepped into a quieter corner and whispered:

"System, show character profile."

[Character Profile: Aventurine] Title: Imperial Spymaster | Noble of High Status Skills: Espionage | Strategy | Deception | High-Stakes Gambling (???) Reputation: Unpredictable | Charismatic | ??? Relationships: — [Y/N]: Imperial Strategist (Loyalty: 70, Favorability: ???) — Emperor: Trusted (Barely) — Nobles: Feared & Respected — Underground Circles: VIP Access

Aventurine’s gaze sharpened.

The gambling skill. The VIP access. The way he had been teleported here. Was this something his character did every night? Some hidden mechanic the players never had access to?

And—wait.

[Y/N]: Loyalty 70, Favorability: ???

"Question marks?" Aventurine narrowed his eyes. Favorability should have been a number. It was a trackable stat in the game. But here? It was unreadable.

If the system wouldn’t give him a number, he’d just have to measure it himself.

The system was glitchy. The world wasn’t following normal rules. And his role was clearly more complex than he had anticipated.

But none of that mattered.

Because at the end of the day, this was still his game.

Aventurine had seen countless playthroughs of your character’s story. The brilliant strategist. The one who climbed to power with nothing but sheer intelligence and determination. The one who stood among nobles despite coming from a civilian background.

It was one of the things that fascinated him about you.

So when he saw you surrounded by sneering nobles in the palace courtyard, your jaw set with defiance despite their mocking words—

Oh, he did not like that.

"You really think you belong here?" A young nobleman scoffed, flicking his fan open with a dramatic flair. "You may be the empire’s strategist, but that doesn’t change what you are."

"Indeed. No amount of clever words can change your birthright, can it?"

Their words were sharp, but you stood your ground. You always did.

"If birth determined one’s worth, then surely you wouldn’t need to insult me to feel superior."

"You should watch that tongue of yours, commoner. It would be unfortunate if someone decided they didn’t like your presence in the court."

Before they could take another step—

A hand landed on the noble’s shoulder.

"Oh? That’s quite the statement. I’d love to hear what gives you the right to decide who belongs here."

"M-Marquis—"

"That’s Lord Aventurine to you," he corrected, "And, as far as I recall, our dear strategist holds one of the highest positions in the empire. Are you suggesting the emperor himself made a mistake in appointing them?"

The nobles exchanged uneasy glances.

Aventurine chuckled, finally releasing his grip. "Ah, but perhaps I misheard. Surely, you wouldn’t be so foolish as to question imperial authority, hmm?"

"O-Of course not, my lord."

"Good. Then I suggest you walk away. Before I decide to start questioning your worth."

They scrambled to leave, their arrogance crumbling in an instant.

Aventurine turned to you, amusement dancing in his gaze.

"That was unnecessary."

He tilted his head. "Was it? I rather enjoyed it."

"I didn’t need your help."

"I know. But it was fun, wasn’t it? Watching them squirm?"

"You enjoy playing with people, don’t you?"

"Only when they’re unworthy."

----

Aventurine was used to being adored.

His viewers, his chat, the characters in the game—he had always known how to manipulate favorability. Charm was second nature to him.

So when he checked his system later that night and saw—

[Favorability Update: -5]

—he nearly dropped his glass of wine.

"Minus?"

Aventurine scoffed, setting the glass down with a sharp clink against the desk. His eyes narrowed at the glowing screen, as if sheer force of will could make the number go back up.

"This is ridiculous. I defended them. Put those arrogant nobles in their place. That should’ve gained me points, not lost them."

What went wrong?

Aventurine sighed, leaning back in his chair. It was late. The oil lamp flickered beside him, casting warm shadows against the towering bookshelves of his study. He had been trying to piece together the logic of this world, but his thoughts kept circling back to you.

What do I need to do to make you mine?

The exhaustion of the day crept up on him, and before he realized it—his eyes shut.

You weren’t expecting him to be asleep.

When you stepped into his study, documents in hand, you had fully anticipated the usual: a smug remark, a lazy smirk, some infuriatingly smooth comment meant to test your patience.

Instead, you found him slumped over his desk, deep in sleep.

For a moment, you hesitated.

This was Marquis Aventurine. The man with the sharpest tongue in the court. The one who was unpredictable, charming, and entirely too pleased with himself.

But right now, the soft glow of the oil lamp made his features appear less sharp, more peaceful. His hand was still lightly curled around a quill, as if he had dozed off mid-thought.

It would be very easy to just leave him like this.

And yet— Before you could talk yourself out of it, you moved closer, carefully draping a thick blanket over his shoulders.

He barely stirred, only shifting slightly at the warmth.

---

Aventurine woke up feeling… different.

His brows furrowed slightly as he blinked away sleep. His study was still dimly lit, the documents still scattered on his desk. But something was different.

A blanket. Draped over him.

"So that’s how it is?"

With a lazy flick of his wrist, he called the system.

[Favorability Update: ???]

His smirk faltered.

Still unreadable.

"Am I… actually losing control?"

----

Aventurine had always been confident in his skills, after a few nights in the hidden gambling den, he realized something astonishing.

His luck was beyond anything human.

He didn’t just win. He always won.

Cards, dice, roulette—every game played into his hands like fate itself bent to his will. Even in situations where probability should have turned against him, he somehow walked away with everything.

Was this part of his character’s hidden abilities? A built-in advantage coded into the game? Or was it simply him—a streamer from another world—breaking the system?

Either way, he wasn’t about to waste it.

He started frequenting the den, not just for the thrill, but for information.

He had learned that in this world, gambling wasn’t just about money. It was power, influence, and secrets—things that he could use to his advantage.

Suddenly, you showed up.

Aventurine had been enjoying a quiet evening, leisurely flipping a gold coin between his fingers when he spotted you entering the den.

Well, well.

And here I thought they hated places like this.

His curiosity piqued, he smoothly stood and followed behind.

You seemed tense, scanning the tables until your eyes landed on a young man seated among a pile of scattered bets.

"Xevian." you said firmly.

The man—Xevian—stiffened before forcing a laugh. "Ah, Y/N! Didn’t expect to see you here."

Aventurine leaned against a nearby pillar, arms crossed, watching the exchange unfold.

"I need to talk to you," you continued. "Your father—he’s worried sick. You need to stop this before it’s too late."

At the mention of his father, Xevian’s face twisted. "No. You don’t understand. I just need one more round. Just one more win, and I can—"

"You said that last time," you interrupted, "How much have you lost, Xevian? How much more before you realize this isn’t the answer?"

Aventurine smirked, already seeing where this was going.

"You wouldn’t get it! You didn’t grow up in my position!"

Finally, you exhaled, your shoulders dropping slightly. "I just… I don’t want to see you ruin yourself."

For a moment, it seemed like Xevian might listen. That maybe, just maybe, your words had reached him.

The dealer called out the next round, and Xevian turned away, throwing himself back into the game without hesitation.

You stared at him, something dimming in your expression.

Then, without another word, you walked away.

Aventurine pushed off the pillar, smoothly falling into step beside you as you left the den.

"That was quite the show," he mused, "Didn’t expect you to be the type to chase after reckless gamblers."

"He’s not just any gambler. His father—Sir Edric—saved my life once. I owe him."

Aventurine hummed. "And yet, your dear Xevian doesn’t seem very… receptive."

Your expression darkened slightly, but you said nothing.

He grinned. "So, what’s your next move?"

"There isn’t one," you muttered. "I can’t force him to listen."

Aventurine stopped walking. "Then let me handle it."

"You?"

"Oh, come now. Surely you’ve noticed by now—I never lose."

"And you think gambling will fix this?"

"Not just gambling," he corrected. "Winning. If I take away everything he has, force him to face the reality of his losses, maybe he’ll start listening to you."

"I don’t trust gamblers"

Aventurine chuckled. "Good. I’d be disappointed if you did." Then, his voice softened, "But this time, Y/N… just this once, trust me."

You stared at him, conflict warring in your gaze.

"Fine. Just this once."

----

Aventurine had always known that the most effective lessons were the ones people felt in their bones.

Xevian wouldn’t listen to words. He needed to experience ruin.

So, Aventurine set the stage.

Getting Xevian to play was easy. All it took was a few well-placed words, the right amount of condescension, and a slight push to his pride.

“You’re good? Prove it.”

The young noble fell for it instantly.

They played a high-stakes game of chance, and as expected—Aventurine didn’t lose a single round.

It didn’t take long before Xevian had wagered everything—his money, his heirloom ring, and even the deed to his estate.

Then came the final blow.

"Ah, how unfortunate." Aventurine leaned back with a smirk, examining the losing dice roll like it was the most natural outcome in the world. "Looks like you’re completely bankrupt."

Xevian paled. "No… I-I just need another chance—"

"No second chances," Aventurine interrupted smoothly, gesturing to the guards standing nearby. "Take him."

The moment Xevian opened his mouth to protest, a cloth was shoved over his eyes. Blindfolded, restrained, and utterly powerless, he was dragged away as the murmurs of the crowd filled his ears.

He was about to learn.

Xevian woke up in chains. Around him, he heard voices—slaves whispering about their fate. About being sold to a distant land where no one would ever find them.

The guards, the merchants, the fake "buyers"—all actors, expertly placed to terrify Xevian into believing he had truly lost everything.

For a week, he was forced to work relentlessly—hauling crates, enduring harsh orders, sleeping on the cold ground with nothing but scraps of food.

Every attempt to bargain or beg was ignored.

Every night, he was left to wonder if this was truly the end of his privileged life.

And just when his hope was completely shattered—

The illusion ended.

The chains were removed.

And Xevian was told—

"Go home."

Xevian returned as a different man.

The arrogance in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a haunted, broken look. He avoided gambling dens, refused to touch dice, and listened to his father for once in his life.

At first, you thought he had simply learned his lesson after losing everything.

It wasn’t just regret. It was fear. And when you pressed him for answers, he refused to speak.

There was only one person who could be responsible for this.

You found Aventurine exactly where you expected—lounging in his study, idly flipping a gold coin between his fingers.

"Ah, Y/N," he drawled, lazily resting his chin on his hand. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"What did you do to Xevian?"

"Why, whatever do you mean? I simply helped a lost soul find enlightenment."

"That’s not an answer."

He tapped the coin against the desk. "Xevian has changed for the better, hasn’t he? Shouldn’t you be thanking me?"

"He looks traumatized."

"Lesson learned, then."

"...You planned this from the start, didn’t you?"

"Of course, I told you, didn’t I? I never lose."

Aventurine expected a reward.

A smile. A small thank-you. Maybe even a slight increase in favorability.

[-10 Favorability]

The invisible notification might as well have been a knife to the chest.

Wait. What did I do wrong?

Why—

Why were you looking at him like that?

Why did you turn away without a word and leave him standing there?

You threw yourself into work, hoping to drown out your thoughts about Aventurine. But just as you were finishing up your tasks, a messenger arrived.

"Sir Edric wishes to see you."

You sighed. You already knew what this was about.

At his estate, Edric greeted you with a warm smile, placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

"You did well," he said. "Xevian has finally come to his senses. I don’t know what you said to him, but I cannot thank you enough."

This wasn’t your doing.

It was Aventurine’s.

Still, you didn’t argue.

"You’ve done so much for my family" he said. "And you know, you’re at the right age to start thinking about your own future."

"…What do you mean by that?"

The older man chuckled. "I’ve arranged a meeting for you. He’s a fine man from a good family—"

Your mind went blank for a second.

"I appreciate your concern," you said carefully. "But I don’t—"

"It’s just a meeting," Edric interrupted kindly. "No pressure. Just think about it, alright?"

-----

Dressed appropriately but keeping your expectations low, you made your way toward the arranged meeting place.

Aventurine, who had been brooding about his plummeting favorability, had just stepped out into the city when he spotted you from afar.

His irritation vanished instantly.

His keen gaze followed your every step.

Then, as if fate were mocking him, a group of overly enthusiastic noble ladies flocked around him.

"Aventurine, darling! You must see these silks—"

"Marquis Aventurine, try this perfume—"

"Oh! You must buy something for your sweetheart, yes?"

His eye twitched.

Not now.

Trying not to physically push them aside, he plastered on his usual charming smile while mentally tracking your direction.

Where are they headed?

Then, you walked into a fancy restaurant.

Aventurine's expression darkened slightly.

…Wait. That’s a place for…

No.

No, no, no.

That wasn’t—

That couldn’t be—

And just like that, Aventurine abandoned the noble ladies, his mind racing with a single, burning question:

Who the hell are they meeting?

Aventurine had always been a man who calculated risks before making his move.

But right now?

He was making a very impulsive decision.

Standing at the entrance of the fancy restaurant, he scanned the room—and the moment he spotted you, smiling and laughing with another man, something in his chest twisted.

That should be him.

He didn’t even think.

The next thing he knew, a waiter was knocked out cold in the back room, hidden behind stacked crates. Aventurine smoothly adjusted the stolen uniform, fixing the cuffs, then grabbed a tray and walked back out as if nothing happened.

Now, he was close enough to hear your conversation.

And he hated every second of it.

what was his name? Who cared?—said something charming.

Aventurine kept his expression neutral, even as he seethed internally.

If there was one thing Aventurine excelled at, it was rigging the game.

A slip of a harmless yet effective powder into the man’s drink as he turned to call the waiter.

He watched as your date took a few sips, continued the conversation for a few minutes… then suddenly stood up abruptly, his face paling.

"Pardon me, I— I need to step out for a moment" he said hurriedly.

He barely made it to the restroom.

Aventurine smirked.

Perfect. Now, it was his turn.

You blinked in surprise when Aventurine suddenly slid into the seat across from you.

"What are you doing here?"

"What a coincidence, isn’t it? I happened to be in the area."

"In a waiter’s uniform?"

"Exploring new experiences, of course. One must always broaden their horizons."

"You know," he murmured, "you have something here."

Before you could react, his fingers brushed against the corner of your lips, swiping away a bit of cream from your dessert.

Your heart skipped a beat.

He examined the cream on his fingertip, then—without breaking eye contact—he licked it off.

"A shame," he mused, as if nothing had happened. "Would’ve been a waste to let it go uneaten."

You quickly cleared your throat, looking away. "That was unnecessary."

-----

You were going about your day as usual, completely unaware of the chaos happening just a few streets away.

While you were organizing documents, checking over supplies, or perhaps handling some errands—

Aventurine was handling something else entirely.

A shadow slithered across the rooftops.

They were careful, precise, a professional through and through.

Too bad they didn’t account for Aventurine’s presence.

Bang.

A bullet tore through their leg, sending them crashing down onto the cobblestone streets below.

Aventurine sighed, casually stepping onto the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the writhing figure.

"Sloppy" he mused, twirling his gun before tucking it away. "Who sent you?"

The assassin gritted their teeth, refusing to speak.

"That’s fine. I don’t actually care."

Then, with zero hesitation, he kicked them off the ledge—right into the waiting arms of the city guards he had bribed earlier.

"Take this one to jail," he instructed, dusting off his gloves. "Tell them I’ll send more soon."

By morning, another poor soul found themselves bound and gagged, being dragged into a dark prison cell.

The guards stationed there were already used to this.

"Another one?" One of them raised a brow as Aventurine strolled in, utterly unbothered, while the latest fool thrashed helplessly on the ground.

"You should really tighten security" Aventurine sighed dramatically. "I mean, how do these idiots keep sneaking in? It’s getting embarrassing."

The guard merely shook his head. "We’ll handle it."

Late afternoon.

While you were focused on work, Aventurine was beating the living daylights out of yet another group of thugs.

"Try harder" he mocked as he sidestepped an incoming dagger, grabbing the attacker’s wrist and twisting it until they screamed.

"Pathetic" Aventurine muttered, adjusting his sleeves. "You came all this way, and this is the best you can do?"

One of the injured men shakily pulled out a contract from his pocket, barely able to breathe.

Aventurine plucked it from his trembling fingers, skimming over the details.

"P-Please, I was just following orders—!"

"Tell your employers," he murmured, "that if they try this again…"

"I’ll start playing dirty."

The thug nodded frantically, his body shaking.

By the third day, He finished handling any threats that dare to approach you.

Aventurine dusted off his hands, satisfied.

Finally, peace and quiet.

Now, he could turn his attention back to you.

Aventurine was getting used to this world.

But this?

This was a whole new level of unexpected.

One moment, he was lounging in his study, pouring himself a glass of wine, flipping through reports on the people who had dared to go after you—

And the next—

He was somewhere else entirely.

The scent of warm bath oils lingered in the air.

Your room.

Aventurine blinked.

Then his eyes slowly trailed up— To you.

Standing at the doorway.

Fresh out of the bath.

Ah.…This was bad.

Your eyes widened in shock, "Aventurine." Your tone was deadly. "What. The. Hell. Are you doing in my room?"

Aventurine was a man of quick thinking.

He had seconds—no, milliseconds—to turn this situation in his favor.

So he did what he did best.

"Ah," he exhaled, "So this is what your private quarters look like. How cozy."

You grabbed the nearest object—a comb—and threw it at his head.

He caught it effortlessly, twirling it between his fingers before setting it down on your vanity with an amused chuckle.

"Relax," he said, tilting his head. "If I knew I’d be magically teleported here, I would’ve at least brought a gift."

You weren’t buying it.

"You’re trespassing," you hissed. "Explain. Now."

Aventurine sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "As much as I’d love to say I came here to steal a glance of you fresh out of the bath, I’m afraid the truth is far less scandalous."

"The glitch happened again," he said, "One second, I was in my study. The next, I was here."

You crossed your arms, still furious—but slightly less about to murder him.

Seeing the shift, Aventurine took a calculated risk.

He stepped closer.

You stiffened as he reached out—gently brushing a damp strand of hair from your face.

"If anything," he murmured, "you should be flattered."

Your eyes snapped up to his in disbelief.

"Flattered?"

"Think about it," he said, "Out of all the places in this world, the glitch sent me straight to you."

His fingers lingered for half a second longer before he finally pulled away.

"A sign, don’t you think?"

Your glare was unwavering.

"What glitch?" you demanded.

Aventurine opened his mouth to respond—

And then, before your very eyes, he vanished.

"Aventurine?"

The air where he once stood was empty.

Nothing.

Not even a trace.

The void swallowed him whole.

He barely had time to process what happened before a bright, mechanical ding echoed through the empty space.

A translucent screen popped up in front of him.

⚠ WARNING! ⚠

If Max Favorability is not reached in 3 days, the character "Aventurine" will be TERMINATED.

"Oh, come on."

If the system was going to pull this on him, then he needed to check his current favorability status.

With a flick of his wrist, another screen appeared.

[Character: Aventurine - Favorability Status]

Current Points: 55/100 Penalty Applied: -5 (Previous Incident) Recent Increase: +10 (??? Event in Room)

Aventurine whistled.

"Not bad" he mused, ignoring the penalty from earlier.

Still—55 wasn’t enough.

Not when his life was literally on the line.

He had three days to make you fall for him completely.

"Guess I’ll have to speed things up."

Day 1 - When the glitch spat him back into the world, he landed right in front of you again.

Instead of shock, your expression was pure suspicion.

"Alright," you crossed your arms. "Explain. Now."

Aventurine put on his most charming smile.

"It’s a bit complicated," he sighed, "but long story short? I need you to like me."

"Like you?"

"In the romantic sense" he clarified.

"Absolutely not."

"That’s fair! But hear me out—"

"You’ve already given me 55 favorability points without even trying," he pointed out. "Imagine how much more you’d give if I actually put in the effort."

With that, Operation: Win You Over began.

Step 1: Become the Perfect Gentleman

Aventurine pulled every trick in the book.

Carrying your things without being asked. "Wouldn’t want you to strain yourself, now would we?"

Guiding you by the waist through crowds. "Tsk, these people have no manners."

Holding out his hand. "Shall we?"

Flashing that charming, lazy smile every time you rolled your eyes.

You tried to ignore him.

You failed.

Your favorability rose by +5 that afternoon.

Step 2: Small but Thoughtful Gestures

A warm drink waiting for you on your desk. "Oh? You like it? What a coincidence—I guessed your favorite."

Fixing your cloak before you stepped outside. "Here—let me do it."

Sending a servant to make sure you ate. "Can’t have you collapsing on me, now can we?"

Your favorability ticked up another +5.

65/100. Not bad for Day 1.

Day 2 - Aventurine knew something very important about you.

You didn’t like being looked down on.

You hated being treated as lesser because of your civilian background.

So when he overheard some noble mocking you behind your back

Step 3: The Dramatic Rescue

"It’s funny, really. No matter how hard they try, people like them will never be one of us—"

"Is that so?"

"S-Sir Aventurine! I didn’t see you—"

"Clearly. And here I thought nobility required better manners."

"I wonder," he mused, "what would happen if I were to mention this little conversation to someone important?"

"Ah—w-we were just joking—"

"Oh, were you? Then laugh."

"Go on," Aventurine said, eyes gleaming. "If it’s so funny, why aren’t you laughing?"

The noble fled.

When you later heard what happened—

You were annoyed.

You didn’t need him to defend you.

But still…

Your favorability rose by +10.

75/100.

Day 3 - Aventurine had one day left. He needed something big.

Step 4: The Perfect Night

As the sun set, you received an invitation.

“Meet me at the garden. – Aventurine”

"What is he up to now?"

Still, curiosity won.

When you arrived—

The entire garden was transformed.

Hundreds of candles lined the pathways.

Soft, golden lights twinkled like stars above the fountain.

A table was set with fine silverware, exquisite dishes, and two glasses of wine.

Aventurine stood in the center—smirking, dressed in all black, looking effortlessly charming as always.

"Finally," he said, "I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come."

"What… is all this?"

Aventurine stepped closer, reaching for your hand.

"This," he murmured, "is my way of proving something."

"And what exactly are you proving?"

"That I can give you the world," he whispered. "All you have to do… is accept me."

+25

MAX FAVORABILITY REACHED

Just as your lips parted—

A pulse of glitching energy rippled through the garden, twisting the scenery like a shattered illusion.

Your vision blurred.

The soft candlelight, the warmth of Aventurine’s touch—everything shattered into fragments.

When the world stabilized, Aventurine found himself somewhere new.

A golden, endless space stretched before him. Floating panels flickered around him, displaying data, numbers, and system logs.

In front of him, a holographic screen appeared.

[Congratulations, Player Aventurine!]

As a reward, you may select ONE of the following options:

Complete Memory Reset – Your existence will be erased from Y/N’s mind. Start fresh.

Full Control – Modify Y/N’s personality, ensuring absolute devotion.

Selective Memory Erasure – Remove specific memories related to system mechanics.

Enhanced Influence – All interactions with Y/N will result in higher emotional impact.

He wanted you to love him naturally—to fall again and again, without ever knowing how much he had already twisted the game.

So, he tapped his selection.

(Y/N) will lose all memories related to system mechanics, favorability, and glitches.

A new message popped up.

Additional Effect: Your final interaction before memory reset will remain in their subconscious, leaving a lingering emotional attachment.

Perfect.

A soft breeze rustled through the garden. The scent of fresh roses filled the air.

You were still standing in front of Aventurine—but something felt… off.

Your head throbbed. A strange fog clouded your mind, like you had just forgotten something important.

"Well?" he prompted, "You never answered me."

You blinked again. "What?"

He chuckled, shaking his head.

"I proposed to you," he reminded. "And you still haven’t given me an answer."

Wait—he did?

Why couldn’t you remember?

You stared at him, feeling strangely flustered.

Aventurine only watched you with amused fascination.

You weren’t rejecting him immediately.

That meant his plan was already working.

To you, Aventurine was simply your persistent suitor—

One who had just proposed.

And now that he had reset the game, he was going to have so much fun toying with you.

After all—

He had all the time in the world.

[killergee]

Part 3! Sorry for the late update, but here's the last part, my friends. I had no idea what to do, so I fell into a good old trope. Slight nsfw, but it’s mainly just Hoshina and his dirty mind, hehe. Oh, and some kissing.

Summary: Angry, frustrated, jealous, and trapped in an elevator. Who will crack first?

P1 P2 P3

Tagslist: @surprisemodafakas @yrxhyes @voidsatoru @vash-yuu @er0ssu @rosesandquartzz

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Hoshina knew he was the only one at fault for testing his own patience, but God was he so sure he was going to explode if things continued like this.

He wanted you to be the one to take the final step and cross the distance. He wanted to see you want him like you said you did so many months ago. To see that passion for him once again.

That didn’t mean he waited around for you to confess, though. No, he didn’t hold back when it came to you.

If anything, he became greedy when it came to you.

Hoshina didn't know how he survived before, now knowing what your touch felt like. It felt like fire on his skin. One that left a burning desire that he only knew to quell by grasping at you for more. Yet, even then, it wasn't enough. You always left him wanting more. You left him clinging to what was left of his sensibilities to not take you there and then. Hoshina thinks he must be a masochist because of how he kept pushing for more, knowing you'll reject him or that he'll have to stop himself before he goes too far and ruins everything.

Yet, when you did accept his affections, the feeling was unparalleled. When you did reciprocate, it made him feel butterflies in his stomach. It made him feel a different type of warmth, a different sense of fulfillment. One that told him it was worth it to keep trying.

So, he gave in to his desires again and again and again. As long as he doesn't straight-up confess, he still has a shot at making you take action. Right?

Hoshina groans as he finishes another one of his reports. Mina has been working him to the bone lately. Taking him out of sessions to work on mission plans, interrupting him mid lunch to accompany her to meetings, even going as far as interrupting his midnight training sessions with you to ask for his opinion on the production of a new weapon. Hoshina swears he’s barely seen you for the last two weeks because of this. To say he was a bit annoyed would be an understatement. Especially since because of his busy nature, Mina delegated his tasks to you to handle. Tasks that included working with his unit.

Now, this normally wouldn’t be a problem if Kafka hadn’t taken such a liking to you. Hoshina should’ve known Kafka would like you after he overheard your conversation with him the first time. While trapped in his office, it takes all his efforts to not jump out the window and tell Kafka to take a step back from you. He didn’t know if it was the exhaustion, stress, or withdrawal from your presence, but he felt absurdly angry at seeing you being so friendly with Kafka. Hell, even seeing you laughing with his unit left a bitter taste in his mouth.

While you and his unit seemed to be getting closer, you and Hoshina haven’t made any progress at all since that night. Hoshina felt frustrated on so many different levels and mixed with the pressure to not disappoint his superior, Hoshina was so wired he could barely sit still. He nearly snapped his pen in half just thinking about it.

He either needed to train or fuck this out of his system.

He couldn’t concentrate on anything. The words on the paper in front of him were starting to blur, and he was seconds away from writing “because this is stupid” as his rationale for rejecting proposals.

Looking up at the clock and seeing the hand tick closer to 2am, he groans into his hands and decides that the responsible choice would be to go to sleep and pray that tomorrow never came.

Putting on his jacket, he barely gives his desk a second glance as he leaves to lock the office door. Once in the elevator, he pushes the button to the fourth floor and immediately slumps against the railing on the wall of the elevator. With his hundredth sigh of the day, he tries to think on the brighter side. Since no one would be up at this god forsaken hour, he didn’t need to wait for the elevator to open on every floor.

When the elevator stops, Hoshina rolls his eyes at his luck. Looking up at the ceiling and exhaling, he doesn’t bother to acknowledge the person entering the elevator.

It wasn’t until he heard the familiar click of your tongue does he snap his head down to see you standing beside him.

There you were.

Standing with your arms crossed and staring at the doors of the elevator as if they’ve wronged you. The object of his affections and his frustrations. The person he was craving most at the moment.

Seeing you in the flesh again, skin pink probably from showering, shirt unbuttoned a little too low combined with the scent of your faded shampoo wafting through the elevator…

Fuck it, the training room will have to do, Hoshina decides, quickly leaning forward to press the button to the second floor. He can feel the weird look you’re giving him, but he decides for both of your sakes he’s going to keep looking at the doors. God, he couldn’t believe your presence alone was doing it for him. He needed out now.

But, unfortunately for him, the world continued to ignore his wishes. With a slight tremble, the elevator slows in its tracks until it abruptly stops. Not being able to believe his luck, it wasn’t until the lights began to dim that he lets out a curse.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he hears you say as you immediately dig into your pocket to get your phone. Pressing the help button on the elevator, he waits for you to finish your call with security. With the way you were scowling, he knew the news couldn’t be good. With it also being so late, he doubts anyone would come rescue you guys any time soon.

“Yea sure, we can have super suits and high-tech weapons, but god forbid we have a working elevator” you mumble sarcastically after hanging up the phone. Barely looking at him, you announce, “they said they’ll have it fixed within an hour.”

“That’s fucking great,” Hoshina groans, massaging his temples with one hand as he curses whatever god fucking with him right now. Finally turning to look at you, he notices how far you were from him. You were practically squishing yourself into the corner of the elevator to distance yourself. With the night taking away his patience, he comments without any restraint. "Now what’s got ya so pissed off?”

You turn to glare at him. “Excuse me?”

“I said what’s got ya so mad ya can’t even stand to be in the same space as me,” Hoshina scoffs, adding fuel to the flames. “Scared I got cooties? A little too late for that, I’m sure.”

“You’re unbelievable.” You hiss, anger rolling off you. The piercing glare you sent his way satisfied him in a twisted way he couldn’t understand. He’ll blame the adrenaline and the frustration.

“What are you even doing here so late? Ah, sneaking out from the Captain’s room, I’m sure." You spit venomously, mocking his phrasing. "Wasn’t satisfied enough, so you’re coming to me?”

“Now what the hell are ya going on about?”

Your eyes narrow a fraction more. “Oh sorry, Vice-Captain. Did I hit a nerve? Sad that the Captain didn’t like you enough to let you stay the night?”

“You’re being ridiculous, you’re lucky no one else is here to hear you say that. If ya weren’t you, I’d have you punished for talking about Min- Captain Ashiro like that.” Shit, he was losing his grip.

You let out a hollow chuckle devoid of any humour. “No, no, you don’t need to correct yourself like that in front of me, Vice-Captain. I won’t tell anyone,” you say, drawing out the syllables of his title.

“Don’t call me that, y/n,” he growls. “Nothing is going on betwe-”

“You think I’m fucking stupid? Everything you’ve done to me. The late night training sessions, 'working' together on reports, having lunch together, everything that we’ve done together you’re now off doing it with her.” You continue, your voice getting more heated with every word. “Her interrupting us again and again, you think I can’t take a fucking hint? I know my place now, so you don’t need to worry about anything.”  

“Y/n, it’s nothing like that. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t b-”

His explanation falls on deaf ears as you continue your angry rant. “You know what? Kafka was right.”

Heart stopping, the flash of heat Hoshina felt throughout his body broke the dam holding the last bits of his sanity. “What’s Kafka got to do with anything?”

“Kafka noticed how you two were always together for the last couple of weeks. I told him it was nothing, but I guess I owe him an apology. I’d hate to see the look on his face when I tell him.”

“Ya seriously trusting Kafka over me?”

“I mean, why not? He’s trustworthy, he’s kind, he’s reliable-”

Hoshina lets out a hostile scoff, “Oh, and I’m not?”

“He’s never touched me and then gone off and-”

“He’s never what?” Hoshina pushes off the wall, making his way into your corner. “He better not touch you the way I do. And even if he did," his eyes gleam in a dangerous manner, "he'll never be able to make you feel the way I make you feel.”

Hoshina's tone is strong and sure. “Stop talking about that damn brat and listen. Nothing is going on between me and the Captain. I do not like her like that and I can promise you I never will.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes you hesitate. But you need his words. You need solid proof that he feels the same need for you that you do for him—so you push on anyway. “How can I be sure? How can I trust you?”

Not one to backdown, you meet him in the middle before he could completely corner you. With your finger to his chest, Hoshina takes a step back. His attempt to put space between you doesn't deter you as you push forward. In fact, it emboldens you to press on until his back hits the wall and your as nose to nose as you possibly can with your height difference.

Hoshina couldn’t think straight. The only thing he hears from you is jealousy, and it's going straight down to his dick. The feel of your body on his, the heat of the argument, the intensity of your glare, he was about to snap. "Please don't do that," Hoshina hisses.

“Where’s all the heat from before? Answer my question."

"Y/n." 

The sternness of his voice makes you falter. 

His hands raise slightly in a sign of surrender. "Don't touch me if you're not willing to take responsibility for your actions." He says in a teasing voice, but even you could hear the strain in them. 

“What are you talking about.”

“If ya touch me now, I can’t promise ya that I’ll be a gentleman about it.” As if warning you about what's to come, Hoshina brings his hands down onto your hips, pulling you close until your hips press against his. His actions evoke a different kind of heat than your argument.

“How could I ever want anyone else when you’re the only one who’s always on my mind. You think everything I’ve done to ya up to this point was casual? That I was only teasing ya for fun?”

“Ya want proof? Fine.” He brings your hand to rest over his chest, his heart beating wildly at your touch. To lay it all down on the table, to bare his soul to you, he'll do it all if it means even the slightest chance you'll accept him.

"Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me to move away, to not touch you, to not love you, and I will never bother you again." He grits through his teeth. "God, tell me now so I can stop myself before it's too late." Maybe it already was, but he won't tell you that. 

At your silence, his heart plummets. Hoshina lets go of your hand. “Sorry-”

"Kiss me, asshole." 

"I- what?"

"Fine, I'll do it myself." You grab the back of his head and pull him towards you, lips crashing into his in a passionate fury.

After a beat, Hoshina hungrily returns your passion. His hands back onto your body with a fervor. The kiss was heated. It tasted like frustration, anger, jealousy and want. It was exhilarating and intoxicating and Hoshina didn’t want it to end.

Breaking the kiss for air, the intensity of your gaze sends a delightful shiver up his spine. "You drive me insane, you know that? Getting off on teasing me and then trynna back away when you finally got the chance to do something, to do anything. Do I need to spell it out for you? I want you. I want you all for myself." you say, grabbing a handful of his hair with a strength that was bordering the line between painful and amazing. 

"Take responsibility? Talk about your fucking self. You've ruined me for anyone else. Do something about it."

“Yes ma’am.” Without hesitation, Hoshina dives back in for a kiss, and all that could be felt was lips on lips and the sting of teeth.

Hands grasping at every inch of your skin, he turns you and pushes you against the wall of the elevator. Lips moving from yours to your neck, his hand hungrily tugs at the top of your shirt. Unable to control his strength, the button pops, but your gasp is replaced by a moan as he bites into the expanse of your neck.

Motivated by the sounds you make, Hoshina snakes his arm behind your back—pressing your body against his in an almost suffocating manner. Blinded by his eagerness, he didn’t notice the lights turning back on and the elevator running again. It's not until the doors ding open, and you push him away does he finally come back to his senses.

Moving away from him, you use your hand to clasp at the top of your shirt—trying to replicate the security of the button he ripped off. You have half the mind to yell at him, but the smugness in his smile makes you bite the inside of your cheek. Satisfaction reeked from his body, and his cat-like eyes raking over yours made your knees weak.

The next time the doors open, he takes your hand in his and leads you out. "This isn't my floor," you say face flushed as you knew where he was heading.

"Yep, it's mine," he replies with uncontainable excitement.

He turns his head to glance back at you. “If I knew all it took for ya to confess was to trap ya in an elevator with me, I would’ve done this much sooner.” Hoshina says with a cheeky grin, hand gripping yours in a way that said you weren’t leaving him any time soon.

You roll your eyes, but you continue to follow him anyways. A small smile tugs at your lips.

“You’re unbelievable.”