#he is much wiser than I was at that age | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gutsby · 4 months ago

Text

Make It Stick

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.

Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk

Word count: 4.7k

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2

He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.

Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:

‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’

Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.

But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:

“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”

And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.

Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.

If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.

But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.

With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.

Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.

No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.

Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.

Where the FUCK was his cum?

In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.

He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.

“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”

But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.

You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.

“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.

Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I said.”

How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.

“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.

But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.

Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.

He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.

He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:

“Jo-el—”

“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.

“Push?”

“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”

You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.

Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.

And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.

At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.

You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.

He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.

You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.

Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.

“Joel, what’s—”

“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”

Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.

“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”

Well, fuck.

Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.

“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.

An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.

“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”

You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.

“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.

You’re old.

Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.

“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”

You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?

For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.

Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.

“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”

What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.

He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.

“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”

You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.

Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.

Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—

“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.

“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.

Joel carried on without a hitch.

“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”

You nodded along, not hearing a word.

“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”

Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.

“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”

That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:

“My own age?”

Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.

You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.

“What?”

Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.

“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”

Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’

And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.

This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.

“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.

No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.

Smiling a little, too.

“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.

“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”

Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.

“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”

You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.

“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”

“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”

Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.

“Baby…”

To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.

Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.

You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.

It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.

Feels nice.

Tastes alright, too.

You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.

“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”

Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.

And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.

“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.

Joel cursed under his breath.

“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”

“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”

As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again

“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”

In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.

He communicated as much by moving to pull out.

You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.

“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”

Of course, it had been Joel.

Always, always him—the only one, in fact.

Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:

‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’

He couldn’t.

Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.

But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.

“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.

“I do.”

In fact, he loved it.

“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?

Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.

Idiocy.

“Just once?” Joel croaked.

Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.

“Just one?” you murmured back.

He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.

“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.

“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.

Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.

“One?” Joel panted. Confused.

He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.

“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.

Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.

“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”

The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.

In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”

Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.

“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”

Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.

To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.

“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”

Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:

“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.

The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.

Something to stick.

“Please say it, baby.”

Someone to call yours.

“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.

A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.

“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”

As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”

“Ri— right there. Right there.”

Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.

It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.

Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it

“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”

He kissed the tip of yours.

“Hope they get this.”

He kissed either one of your cheeks.

“These too.”

You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.

The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.

Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.

There it is.

#IN CONCLUSION……….WE MAKIN BABIES #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic

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tonycries · 9 months ago

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Welcome To The Itadori's! - C.K.

Synopsis. Three times Choso really, really wanted to hold you without his family barging in, and the one time he actually does.

Pairing. Best friend! Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, childhood best friends to lovers, slowburn, cameos from the Itadori’s (Yuji, Jin, grandpa, SUKUNA), smút only when they’re adults, first times, oral (female receiving), cúnnilingus, marking, rough, Choso’s a bit mean in bed, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.0k

A/N. The unc-kuna brainrot got me here, Yuji’s family tree is HILARIOUS.

“You’ve never what?”

“I mean, yeah? So what if I’ve never…uh-” eyes darting to the erotic scene on-screen. “M’surely not missing out on that much.”

Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. Whatever the answer was, Choso could only pray that no one walked into your apartment right now.

---

Choso swears his family is well and fully intent on ruining every waking moment with you.

He’s convinced even, at this point. Because in the 13 long years of being inseparable from you - ever since you were both whiney, snot-faced brats - Choso’s racked up more interruptions than he’s seen on those k-dramas that his grandfather swears he doesn’t watch.

It was like some cosmic joke, really. All he wanted was a moment with just the two of you…and maybe a second or two to confess his undying love. But that didn’t seem too realistic when the Itadori’s were a bit of a packaged deal, unfortunately.

Alas, Choso’s resigned himself to accept the fact that maybe - just maybe - this was the universe’s way of telling him that his pretty best friend was indeed too good for him. Something he’s suspected ever since the both of you were eight.

The realization had hit him like a semi-truck back then - five of them, in fact. And a whole zoo of animals afterward.

Of course, it’s not like that was any secret. He always thought you were perfect from the second you’d moved in - that new family next door he’d been eagerly waiting ages to arrive. And Choso, being the dutiful oldest son, was the one to deliver welcome cookies to your doorstep. Stumbling, and carefully trying to reach for the doorbell without dropping any.

“Um, welcome to-”

“Your hair’s funny.”

Now, Choso’s never greeted neighbors before, but it surely wasn’t supposed to go like this. Why was he being insulted by some little girl - you were missing a few teeth, and his had just grown back in so obviously he was much older and wiser. All unapologetic smiles and twinkling eyes as you blink up curiously at his space buns. Pretty, even when you were tearing his heart out because hey, he thought this hairstyle was cool, okay?

Which is what had him huffing and puffing back home, running straight into the arms of his dad while he tried not to cry. That is, until you came knocking at his door with your parents. Very much bawling and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug with wet mumbles of “M’sorry, meant your hair’s very cool. Wanna match-”

And, if his cheeks burned just a bit, well, Choso blamed the tears.

After a disaster like that, of course you’d grow to be best friends within the day.

But what that didn’t explain was when - after hours of bickering over whether to play tag or house - you were all tuckered out and sat beside him in a corner of his room, too exhausted to talk his ear off. Head lolling once. Twice. Falling softly onto his shoulder.

Oh.

Now, Choso might just be having the first epiphany of his entire, grueling eight years in this world - that you were very, very pretty fast asleep with your head on his shoulder.

Why? Why were you here barging into his life and turning it upside down? Calling him your “new best friend” and dragging him along wherever you went. It made his poor head absolutely spin, not daring to move a muscle so that you didn’t wake up and see this tiny predicament.

He didn’t know why. But what he did know was that he found himself subconsciously reaching for your hand, a strange little part of himself wanting to see how much smaller they were than his. They looked so soft and warm and-

“I WANNA PLAY T- Oh.”

Oh indeed. He hastily lurches away from you like it burned, hands raised like he was caught red-handed. Feeling slightly sorry when he sees you blinking away the sleep to take in your surroundings, eyes bouncing off of a very excited Yuji and resting on the clock.

“Oh no. Mommy’s gonna be mad.” you gasp, hastily getting up. And he feels a weird pang as you quickly dust down your dress, running out the door with a laughed out, “Bye, Yuji! See ya later, Cho~!”

“Bye, crybaby.”

And then it’s quiet. Only Choso still staring after you, and Yuji staring at his older brother, somewhat awestruck and wondering only one thing-

“Big bro, why are you so red?”

Choso doesn’t think he’s gotten a moment alone with you since that first initial meeting.

Fourteen was definitely the worst, in his opinion.

“Hey, Cho, y’know the girl sitting next to me in math said she had her first kiss today.”

“Oh.” It’s all Choso can manage to get out, paying more attention than he should to the gravel beneath him as he tries not to trip over air beside you. Hot under his uniform collar at the sudden shift in conversation from the usual after-school banter.

Looping your arm with his, you heave out a playful sigh, “I wonder what that feels like. Have you ever thought about it?”

No, but Choso has never thought that he’d be here - face burning at your body pressed up against his. Just knowing that his ancestors above are laughing at what a loser he is, barely able to stammer out an answer to your question.

Okay, maybe he was being dramatic. Because it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about kissing before - it’s just that whenever it popped into his mind, you were usually accompanying him. Along with those strange thoughts of whether your lips are as soft as they looked? Or would your heartbeat be as fast as-

“Man, are you even listening?”

Shit.

Your hand waving in front of Choso’s face brings him back to reality. Blinking hastily, he tries to gather his thoughts, mumbling out a quick, “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just lost in thought.” averting his gaze as he feels the heat rise to his cheeks at your intense gaze.

Your smile only widens, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you nudge his side. “Thinking so hard about kissing, huh? Cho, you lecher!”

“Am not.”

“Am to.”

“Am not.”

“Am to.”

“Who were you imagining it with, huh? Gonna give ‘em a big smooch tomorrow?”

God, you were going to be the death of him. “N-no! I haven’t even- shut up, crybaby, it’s not like-” he sputters out useless protests over your laughter - his favorite song, even when you were teasing the hell out of him. But ah how you relish in his embarrassment, tittering out little giggles all the way until you’re steering him onto your lane.

Choso, on the other hand, keeps wishing the ground would swallow him up more and more with each step towards his porch. He’d have broken into a sprint right then if he hadn’t known you and the way you’d race him there instead.

“Alright.” you declare once you’re stood at his front door, jolting Choso out of his reverie. And he’s barely opening his mouth to register your words before you plowing on confidently. “We’ll just have to practice our first kisses with each other.”

Perfect. Great. Wonderful.

The final nail on his coffin. You might as well have planted a bombshell right in the middle of his already-chaotic world with the way he was reeling in- shock? Fear? Anticipation?

“Practice.” Choso whispers, more to himself than you. Yet you nod anyway, eyes locked with his like you were studying his reaction. “For…practice.”

Doubt starts to creep into your pretty features, “Well, we don’t have to if you do-”

“No no no no, I want- ahem.” he cringes at the pathetic desperation in his voice. Desperately trying to scramble back some semblance of sanity as he clears his throat, “I want to. Just-” Choso urgently looks around for- ah, there it is.

Dragging over the brick from the side of his porch because goddammit he might be 14 but he sure hadn’t hit that growth spurt yet. “Practice, right?”

You nod with a fiery determination that, later on, would make Choso chuckle with fondness. Muttering out a firm, “Practice.” Letting the boy in front of you nervously leans closer, breath fanning your face. And shit if you were nervous then you didn’t show it, but Choso felt like he was about to spontaneously combust.

Brows furrowing in concentration, eyes only squinting ever-so-slightly as he takes peaks at how pretty you looked. Close enough that he could count every lash as your pretty eyes closed shut, lips glistening with that strawberry chapstick you loved, puckering adorably. Only inching closer and-

Click!

“You two are so cute! But um- dear, how do you mute this thing?”

You spring apart so fast that Choso wouldn’t be surprised if you’d teleported. He doesn’t even know what’s happening before, from the safety of about three meters away from him, you’re muttering out an embarrassed little, “Hi there, Mr. Itadori. The gardenia are coming along nicely.”

His dad smiles like he hadn’t just starred in what was likely Choso’s villain origin story. Waving happily, “Aww, thank you, sweetheart. Now, why don’t you two go back to doing your lil’ thing and I can ah- practice my photography.”

“Dad, I’m running away.”

That practice kiss never happens. And, well, if there was a proudly framed photo down the hallway of the two of you - with Choso absolutely bright red and standing comically on a brick to meet your height, faces nervously scrunching towards each other - well, neither of you ever mention it. Jin Itadori does, though - every time you come over, in fact.

It’s only when you’re both eighteen, when Choso’s a lot deeper in his feelings - and only slightly less embarrassed about it - that he thinks that maybe not all family interruptions were that bad.

Graduation was…something. Not exactly something that he’s sure if he’ll ever want to relive with the sheer amount of awkward photos and tears that his dad lets out. God if he has to shuffle into another-

“You alright, Cho?”

Ah.

Traitorously, a smile makes its way onto his face, peering down at your beaming face. Both of you having made it way past the awkward early teens. Well, at least you certainly have - Choso still feels like the same awkward little boy with an even more awkward crush. “Hm? Yeah, m’great.”

“Are ya sure? Because you look like you’re about to have an aneurysm any second now.” you raise a brow teasingly. Ah, how gorgeous you were - even when you’re picking him apart.

“Yeah. Great. Only had this smile plastered on for the last five hours.”

“Aww, but you look so pretty smiling.” you shrug, with the audacity of someone that didn’t just have Choso’s knees dangerously weak. “Anyway- A bunch of us are gonna try to convince ol’ Yaga to let us take photos with his shades, you wanna come?”

“You think m’pretty?” he muses, embarrassingly late.

“Cho.”

“Yaga. Shades. Got it.” Choso mock salutes, drinking in the little laugh it startles out of you, eyes sparkling with mischief and looking right into his soul. Beautiful. You were always beautiful.

And Choso can’t just stand around and do nothing about it.

“Crybaby, look, I-” Fists clenching, he takes a steadying breath. The heat only rising to his cheeks at your awaiting gaze, “I…”

“HEY, GRANDPA HELPED STEAL YAGA’S SHADES LET’S TAKE A PIC-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP ITADORI. YOU’RE RUINING A MOMENT, LET THEM HAVE THEIR MOMENT.”

“I don’t know either of you two.”

It would be a miracle for a moment not to be ruined with two overly-energetic first-years (and a very reluctant Fushiguro) pushing their way into your little bubble. Choso bites back a groan as you’re immediately swarmed by a bickering Kugisaki and Yuji, one apologizing for “ruining your k-drama moment” and the other trying to get you to put on some sunglasses. Well, at least he could empathize with the black-haired boy, who gave him an apologetic nod.

He’s only halfway through waving off the interruption before a voice speaks up from his side. “Why didn’t you say it?”

Whirling around, Choso comes face-to-face with the disappointed look on his grandfather’s face. Already having some idea of what you mean, “Wha-”

“I may be old but m’not deaf, yet, boy. Why didn’t ya tell her?” he sighs, tilting his head to where you were wearing those shades and taking ridiculous pictures with two animated first-years.

“I don’t know what you-”

“M’not blind, either. Quite frankly I’m insulted.”

And, well, if there’s anyone that he can’t hide from - it would be his grandfather. So he heaves out a defeated sigh, touselling his hair while muttering out a pathetic little, “M’not- Ugh, she’s too fuckin’ perfect and I…I chickened out.”

Choso doesn’t know what he expected in response but it definitely wasn’t for his grandfather to laugh. Full, and raspy - loud enough that even you stop to stare. “Thought so, idiot boy.” he chuckles, drawing indignant protests. “Did she tell you?”

Raising a brow, “What?”

“Did she tell you that you weren’t good ‘nough for her?”

“No, but-” Whatever protest on the tip of Choso’s tongue is cut off by a rough hand smacking his back in what he thinks is reassurance, but felt more like a punishment for being such a pussy around you all these years.

“Then go. Ya might just be surprised. After all, you’re my grandson, and all the ladies at bingo love me.”

Shaking with both adrenaline and the effort to keep that image out of his mind, he makes his way towards you. Purposeful. Pointedly ignoring the matching smirks flashed his way.

“You really think they’ll finally get together today?” Fushiguro deadpans from where he’d snuck up beside the old man, in an attempt to escape the public nuisances he calls ‘friends’.

Choso’s grandfather hums thoughtfully, watching the scene play out before him - Choso flushed such a delicate shade of pink as you playfully put Yaga’s sunglasses on him. Settling on a gruff, “I’ll give it a few months more. He’s my grandson, after all.”

“That’s generous. I’d give it a couple years more.”

“Wanna bet, brat?”

“...”

Safe to say, his second button ended up safely in your hands that day. But Fushiguro would be the one to really win the bet.

Because it was only 2 years, 4 months and 3 weeks after this little incident that Choso finally had you exactly where he wanted - with no interruptions. All for him.

Freshly twenty one, splayed out on your apartment bedroom and having a conversation that he never in a million years would’ve even dared to imagine he’d have - with you of all people. All because of that stupid R-rated film you’d put on for movie night.

“You’ve never what?” you gape, turning down the volume to those painfully fake moans coming from the tv.

Oh, how gorgeous you looked - all shocked and batting your lashes up at him in surprise. Choso almost swoons inwardly (and outwardly) before he realizes that shit you were probably waiting for an answer.

“I mean, yeah?” he sputters out, cheeks heating up as you lean in closer to hear him. Close. “So what if I’ve never…uh-” eyes darting to the erotic scene on-screen. “M’surely not missing out on that much.”

Goddammit, some strange, carnal part of himself twinges dangerously at the little smirk that curls your lips. One that he quickly - and embarrassingly - realizes has the blood rushing straight to his cock. Humming a low, “Maybe. Maybe not.” The mattress dips slightly as you shift closer, lips ghosting his ear. “Want me to help you find out?”

Which is, well, how Choso found himself shoved against the armrest. Blanket thrown on the floor now, swollen cock leaking furiously through his pants as your pretty lil’ cunt hovers above his mouth. So wet that if he stuck his tongue out he could have you dripping all onto him.

“Y-you sure about this, sweetheart?” he hisses despite his hands looping around your thighs, bringing you closer to him.

You raise a brow, “Are you sure, Cho?”

He should say no. He should laugh this all off as a bad joke. He shouldn’t ruin this friendship - but oh how badly he wants just a taste of your dripping pussy - see if she’s as sweet as the rest of you is. So, throwing caution to the wind, Choso nods slowly. “Yes. Want it s’bad.”

Grinning wickedly, you whisper, “Thought so.” And then he’s pulling you onto his mouth, hot and urgent.

“Oh fuck-” he groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the first taste of your sweet sweet juices. “Shit shit shit.” So sloppily licking up your swollen folds - barely moving with any method or patience, just that he’s drunk on your pussy and wants more more more-

“Hngh- f-fuck. You sure this is your hah- first time, Cho?” you gasp breathlessly. And oh your best friend was so fucking beautiful. Dark hair untied and tousled, eyes half-hooded, your slick already smearing across the bottom half of his face and trickling down his jaw because shit he was so messy. So addicted to that desperate expression on your face that he just can’t help but tease you a little bit.

“Mhm?” he smirks, tongue swirling around your pulsing clit. Purposefully missing right where you wanted him the most because shit he loved those cute lil’ whines spilling out of you.

You let out a huff, hips trying pathetically to inch him closer - but Choso wasn’t budging. Holding you so firmly by the hips that you’re sure he leaves bruises, licking all over your cunt except for your clit. “Cho.” you warn. Brows furrowing in frustration at the way he bats his long lashes up at you so deceivingly innocently, “What?”

“You know…”

“I don’t.” he titters teasingly into your pussy.

“Choso.”

Now, Choso’s known and seen everything there is to do with you - but never like this. Spread open shamefully and pouting so adorably on top of him, so needy for him. It made his head spin to think of just how much the dynamics had shifted.

Shit, he really should’ve watched that godforsaken movie with you sooner. “Tell me what you want, crybaby.”

And oh how his cock twitches at the way you manage to get out an embarrassed little, “Wan’ you to ngh- tonguefuck me properly. Wanna cum on your pretty face, Cho.”

And that’s all that’s said before he’s surging forward, glossy lips wrapping around your pulsing clit to suck harshly. Rolling his soft tongue over and over-

“Wanted this for so long.” Choso mutters, muffled as he buries himself deeper into your pretty pussy. The vibrations sending white-hot pleasure running down your spine. “You have absolutely no idea, pretty.”

And you barely even have the time to register his little confession before Choso’s moving down to bully his tongue past your folds. Nose pressing against your throbbing clit as he dips into your sloppy hole.

“Oh shit. Jus’ like that.” For a beginner, your best friend really knew what he was doing. Eating you out like his favorite meal, tongue squeezing into your snug pussy to thrust in and out, swipe against your walls, stretching you out right to his will. Over and over-

“Use me.”

Your eyes snap down to meet the pure adoration in his eyes as he makes out filthily with your cunt. Choking out a little, “What?”

“Use me.”

There it was again - that strained little mantra. And as if to prove his point, Choso reaches out to deftly place your hands on his head, bucking into you touch.

And, well, how could you say no to that?

Because before you know it, you’re bunching Choso’s soft strands in your fists. Angling him just right to ride his pretty face. “C’mon, Cho. Ngh- H-harder, jus’ a bit- Oh!” he just devours the way your mouth drops into an adorable little oh! as his tongue curls deftly against that one spot. Again and again. Letting himself be so used, dragging your dripping cunt harder on his mouth.

And he likes it. Hell, he loves it even - because you’re so sweet n’ pretty on his mouth. Better than everything he’s ever been dreaming of for the past few years. And always in his dreams, you’d be clenching so deliciously around his tongue when you were close - just like right now.

So he speeds up his movements, breathing you in maddeningly. A hand snaking down from it’s favorite place on your hips to draw quick, frenzied little circles on your poor, ravaged clit. Jaw almost aching with how filthily he was dripping in and out of your entrance - be he did give a shit. Only wanting to have you breathless and creaming all over his face.

You jerk violently on top of him, “Hah! S’too much, Cho. M’so close- gonna cum- gonna-”

And then you’re cumming. Fast, and hard.

Plushy walls clamping down on Choso’s tongue, hips stuttering on his face as he laps up all your juices, an arm around your waist helping you ride his face through your high.

“S’sweet. Could get used to that.” he slurs into your cunt. Tipping his head back as far as it’d go to let the last of your juices slide down his throat. “Better than I imagined.”

The words ring in your ears as you blink back your vision. Deliriously whirling down to look down at Choso - still beneath you and looking more smug and content than you’d ever seen him. “Imagination? S’that why you’re so good.”

“No.”

You’re being flipped before you know it. Manhandled so easily by your best friend as he lays you on your back, sinking into the cushion while he looms above you. “S’jus’ that…” grunting as he flings his shirt off, “Been dreaming of your pretty cunt on m’tongue for years.”

Okay, now his confession hits - more than it did when he was tonguefucking you into insanity, anyway.

“Years, huh?” you breathe out, eyes roaming all over his sculpted torso. Taking in every dip and curve of Choso’s toned abs - all the way from his broad shoulders to the rock-hard cock straining against his pants. As if in a trance, your hand reaches out to cup his leaking erection, “S’that all you’ve been dreaming of?”

“You little minx.” he lets out a low hiss.

Before you can even react, Choso’s fumbling with that belt - cursing because shit, he’d have worn sweatpants instead if he knew they’d end up on your floor.

And you’re not any better, fingers popping open his buttons and tugging impatiently and oh- You always thought that your best friend would have a big dick - but this? He was so intimidatingly long - and thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself. Fat tip flushed such a pretty shade of pink to match his cheeks, leaking down down down, all the way to his heavy balls.

You’re only jolted out of your little reverie by Choso spitting a steady stream of spit onto your quivering cunt, spreading it lazily across your pussy with his thumb. A ringed fist pumping his cock slowly, as he drags his tip across your folds, pooling your sweet juices. Muttering out a raspy, “I’ll be gentle.”

“You better not be, now jus’ fuck me-”

Well, you didn’t have to ask Choso twice. Because you’ve barely gotten the words out before he’s bullying massive cock into your tight cunt. Pressing in inch by fucking inch as you gasp and buck underneath him.

“Shhh, s’okay, crybaby. This is what you wanted, right?” he mumbles, with all the audacity of someone that wasn’t fucking into you in rapid, mindless little jabs to fit inside your snug lil’ pussy. Struggling to hold back at this point. “Wanted to be split apart on m’cock?”

You were so full of him. Even more so when he throws your legs over his shoulders, bending all the way down and folding you in half so easily beneath him.

He drinks in the barely-lucid squeal that leaves your swollen lips. Kissing your forehead gently, whispering against the skin, “Because I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”

And then it was like something snapped - maybe his sanity, maybe the restraint that Choso’s been holding back for too long. Because immediately he’s plunging his throbbing cock into you - all the way till his balls, all angry and squeezing so painfully, smacks against your ass.

“Wanted this.” he rasps into your open mouth. His hips were out of control now, thrusting you in shallow, desperate rams. Pounding into you like a man possessed, and running his mouth just as much. He laces his fingers on top of your head, pushing you down even deeper into his relentless cock - as if the bastard wasn’t fucking you dumb already. “Fuckin’ needed this needed this. Shit- so bad.”

“Ch-Choso- fuck hah-” you plead as his mouth clashes with yours. All sloppy with teeth and spit and his profanities - and it felt so damn good.

“Yeah? Who’s fucking you silly, now?” he’s going harder now, tip hitting your poor cervix over and over. And you’d be sobbing at the burn and the stretch but all you can think of is shit this is Choso - the kid you used to play hide and seek with. And now he seems fully intent on breaking you. “Say m’name.”

A rough thumb starts toying with your clit, in time with the cute lil’ whines of his name that escape your mouth like a prayer. “Shit. Y’look so pretty like this.” he babbles. “Gonna cry, pretty girl?” smirking down at the way you were too cockdrunk to even snap back, only looking up at him with delirious, teary eyes. “Be a crybaby for my cock?”

You’re tugging on his hair, thighs shaky and bucking upwards. “Cho-”

“Mhm?”

“W-wanna cum. Need you to fill m’up till I can’t take it anymore.”

Oh if Choso was any lesser man he’d have cum right then and there. Instead settling for a guttural groan, drunk off the way you were milking his cock so hard as if to prove your point. It almost made him want to stay like this forever. But no - not right now.

“Oh yeah?” Hips becoming sloppy now, “Need it? Shit- m’so close.” Each word slurred, punctuated by a harsh thrust, strokes long and frenzied. Using your heavenly pussy like his personal fucktoy. So hard that he’s sure you’d have embarrassing matching bruises tomorrow - his balls on your ass, your nails raking down his shoulders.

“Me too- fuck fuck fuck-” you mewl into his neck, as Choso buried his face into yours.

“Cum f’me, my girl.”

My girl.

And then you are - and he is. And you don’t know who cums first, just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes and Choso’s teeth digging into your neck as he thrusts once. Twice. Before cumming and cumming so hard he might as well have seen the pearly gates of heaven. And you were an angel.

Thick, hot ropes of cum that paint your walls white, so much that it gushes out of your poor overfilled pussy. Dripping down your legs and pooling into a sinful, creamy ring at his base.

“Mm- shit. Choso.” you moan, barely audible over the lewd squelches from below.

“M’here, my girl.” he grits out, voice shot. And it seems that that was his new favorite nickname, because Choso keeps murmuring it over and over as he keeps fucking his seed into you. Not even thinking about it at this point - just mindless, shallow grinds of his hips.

In the haze of your orgasm, you think you hear his quiet voice, strained with exhaustion and something that you weren’t in the right state of mind to decipher right now.

“Shhh, m’here. “Can’t believe I waited so fuckin’ long.” Whispering against your lips, “Love this. Love this pretty cunt.” Kissing softly, “Love the way y’take me. Fuckin’ made f’me.” And maybe even a soft little, “Love you.”

And maybe - just maybe, you whisper the same into his. Kissing him softly, exactly the way you’d wanted to all these years.

Neither of you speak after that. Not when Choso’s hips stall, body sticky and collapsing onto yours. Nor do you speak when he pulls away with a playful nip to your lower lip - a promise. Searching through your clothes for a washcloth he can wipe yourselves clean with.

It’s only when he settles back under the covers beside you, looking at you with such dark, hazy eyes - whirling with too many emotions to name - that the silence is broken.

“Crybaby.”

“Cho.”

“Corny.”

“You started it.”

Chuckling, Choso pulls your body close to his. Not even a hair’s breadth between you two because shit now that he’s got you, he doesn’t think he ever wants to let you go.

“Y’know…” he starts, “I think we should- I mean- if you want…” nervous now more than he was even after all that just transpired. Cheeks flaring as he meets your amused gaze, just daring him to go on - because you saw through him. You always did. “I lov-”

“Am I late for the mov- WHAT THE FUCK I ALWAYS KNEW BRATS WEREN’T JUST FRIENDS-”

---

Itadori Family Groupchat + Two More

Dad: Hey, all. I can’t seem to get a hold of Choso to confirm tomorrow’s dinner plans. Can anyone else let me know if he’s ok? XX

-Jin.

Yuji <3: He’s probs at rhat “best friend movie night” still

Dad: Hello, Yuji. What is a “probs”? XX

-Jin.

Kugisaki: He’s suspiciously quiet, though… Y’all think that “best friend movie night” is codeword for something else?

Yuji <3: Better not be cuz Sukuna stole my sparw key sayin something ab crashing it idk

Kugisaki: *spare

And you just LET him?

Yuji <3: HE THREATENED TO BURN MY MEGAN THEE STALLION POSTER

…

AND DID IT ANYWAY

Kugisaki: L

Fushiguro: L

Gramps: L

Sukuna (do not answer): DID Y’ALL KNOW THOSE TWO WERE FUCKIN????

*Fushiguro has left the chat*

Dad: :0

-Jin.

A/N. Spiritually, this is a crackfic idk.

#choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #choso #tonywrites #choso kamo

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 months ago

Text

Prima Nocta

Marcus Acacius x Virgin!F!Reader oneshot

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Tomorrow, you will marry your husband-to-be. But tonight - it belongs to his father.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: DUB CON only due to nature of prima nocta, both parties enthusiastically consent, twist on prima nocta, unspecified age gap, loss of virginity, dirty talk, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, dry humping, unprotected sex, unrealistic descriptions of first sexual experience, all manners of historical inaccuracies and linguistic anachronisms sorry not sorry, ignores the events of the movie so you can consider this an AU, Marcus is widowed and has a son, shall we call this bfd: Ancient Rome version lmao

Notes: I'm a bit rusty for sure, but I had the absolute best time writing this oneshot. It's a departure from my usual themes to say the least, but once this idea took hold of me it never let go. I know prima nocta is meant to be invoked on the wedding night, but I like the idea of it being the night before so I made it so 🤷🏻‍♀️ Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics as always.

He thought he had gotten away with it. Having lived more than fifty winters in the capital and outlasting eight emperors, he regrets to confess that he is still none the wiser.

It would have been such a clever manoeuvre. Palming off a generous but very much unwanted gift from the emperors, and marrying off his son in one fell swoop.

He should have been suspicious of their swift assent to his proposal. In his eagerness to bow out of their audience, it had been convenient to dismiss the flash of malice in their eyes.

And in the snake pits of Roman court, no misstep goes unexploited.

He is not proud that he is caught off guard by the emperor’s closest advisor who intercepts his walk home from the armoury, even less so of his ineloquent response to the missive handed to him.

‘What is this?’

‘Urgent word from the emperors, sir.’

Cold sweat prickles the back of his neck as he stares unseeingly at what is scrawled on the parchment.

‘I cannot,’ he blurts out, indignance rising fast and hot in his chest. ‘I will not.’

‘You think it wise to twice refuse the emperors’ generosity, general?’

General. To him, the culmination of a lifetime of service and sacrifice. To them, an instrument of bloodshed in war, a plaything in peacetime.

Desperate, he tries a different tact. ‘The right of the first night belongs to the emperors. I dare not commit sacrilege.’

‘It is not sacrilege if it is freely bequeathed upon you, general.’

There is no mistaking the warning lilt in the last word, and he has no answer.

‘The hour grows late. You had better not keep the bride waiting,’ says the advisor with an air of finality before retreating into the shadows.

Marcus shudders at the cold that settles into the empty space, fingers stained with ink from the now crumpled dispatch.

He remembers nothing of the remainder of his short journey to his quarters. As the front door swings open, he realises there is something in the night air that is out of place.

Sea salt.

You are here.

Would you be demure? Frightened? You are of royal lineage, a lady of the small but proud coastal kingdom strong-armed by Rome into an unequal treaty for its profitable trading posts, in return for the mercy of not being razed to its fertile grounds.

And now, you are lowered to marry a general’s son.

Worse, lowered to have your virginity taken by his father.

Candlelight spills from the crack underneath the door to his bedchamber. Marcus takes a deep breath, and pushes it open.

You hear him. The swish of fabric, the slide of leather soles on marble.

The general is here.

Your hand in marriage is part of the terms of the treaty, and the missive that sent for you announced your match as the widowed hero general. You had him cast on the wretched journey from your home as one of the domineering, brutish soldiers now garrisoned at your family’s kingdom - only to be told on your arrival that you will be marrying his son instead.

Relief at the news that your future husband would not be decades older than you is instantly snatched away by furtive whispers of prima nocta.

Your future father-in-law will take you first.

The humiliation is bitter on your tongue. You are Rome’s to marry off, hers to give to whomever she pleases -

But she won’t break you.

The door creaks. You stand tall and hold your ground.

He sweeps into the room with an air of well-worn authority, the cloak on his back dark as the shadows that nip at his heels.

The candles flicker when he sheds the heavy robes with a smooth sweep of his arm.

You stare, in a manner that would have had your lady-in-waiting tutting. But you are alone, very much so, with this man not ten paces from you.

General Marcus Acacius.

He is older, certainly old enough to have a son your age. But you had not imagined him so - strong, for the lack of a more imaginative word. His shoulders are broad under his wine red tunic, and you can see the muscles in his arms flex as he clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides. From where you stand, you can hardly see any silver in his dark curls.

Marcus unflinchingly assesses you right back.

No, you are decidedly not demure. Or frightened. Far from it.

You are defiant, even as you observe him with evident curiosity. Your head held high, a telltale sign of your noble breeding, mouth set in a stern line while your eyes burn bright with a proud fire.

Judging the silence has gone on long enough, he breaks it with a formal, ‘My lady.’

‘General,’ you answer steadily.

The door slams shut belatedly behind him, and you flinch - the first glimpse of weakness you concede.

Marcus breathes in, delivering his next sentence with as much composure as he can muster. ‘I expect you have been informed of the - formalities that we are to perform tonight.’

You grind your teeth so hard you are astonished that your jaw doesn’t crack.

Your virtue is just a formality.

Refusing to dignify his question with an answer, you nod once.

He watches you wordlessly, and you meet his gaze. You thought you would find something else there, not the regret that you see.

Turning away from you, he reaches for the amphora on the table.

‘Wine?’

‘Yes, please.’

The wine is drunk in silence and moderation. Him at his desk, you perched on the end of the bed.

As you sip, pacing yourself, you observe the general discreetly from across the small distance between you.

To say that you are disconcerted by his behaviour would be an understatement.

You assumed that he asked for this - for the perverse pursuit of deflowering his son’s bride-to-be while eschewing the unwanted responsibility of a wife.

Yet, watching him stare pensively into his goblet, lips pursed in a pout that is almost sullen, you are not so certain anymore.

When you bring your drink to your mouth to find it empty, you clear your throat. ‘I have to wake up early tomorrow morning - for the wedding.’

The general starts before collecting himself, drawing himself up to his full height as he sets down his cup with a heavy clunk. ‘Understandably, my lady.’

Then he moves, charting a course across the room, licking his thumb and index finger to douse the candles dotted around the space.

The thought comes to you unbidden - he has thick fingers. And big hands.

Your cheeks tingle with heat.

Soon the chamber is cloaked in darkness, save for the candles next to the bed, the warm light pooling in the most inviting manner on the soft surface despite your trepidation. You long to rest your aching feet.

He comes to a standstill on the other side of the bed, as if waiting for you to take the lead. You cannot decide whether you are thankful for him not imposing on you, or frustrated at him for not taking the lead in what is very much unfamiliar territory.

In the end, the desire to get off your feet wins out, and you gesture at the bed. ‘Shall we…?’

‘Certainly.’ He bends down, you assume to take off his sandals. You do the same, toeing off the soft leather slides the maids had you change into when they dressed you.

Once barefoot, you climb in with as much grace as you can summon, acutely aware that you have an audience. Your knees sink into the mattress, and you’re relieved that it is stuffed with feathers, luxuriously giving under your weight. Shifting primly, you find your back against the headboard, cushioned by equally soft pillows.

The general follows suit, the frame creaking as he eases onto the suddenly too small bed, strong shoulders brushing yours as he settles next to you.

You stare hard at the back of your hands, the only way to stop your gaze from wandering to the span of his fingers splayed wide on sturdy thighs, or lower to the bony ridge of his knees - gods, you must be unwell, since when have you been drawn to knees?

You are still questioning the state of your sanity when the general, who has been nothing but unperturbed and composed since he stepped into the room, stumbles over his words in a manner that is neither, as if he had held the question behind his teeth for too long.

‘Are you - are you absolutely certain - in no doubt - that you are… untouched?’

His question stings like salt in a festering wound. Indignant doesn’t even begin to describe the retort you spit at him. ‘Yes, I am. Are you?’

Peering at you sideways, his eyes widen at your outburst, and fear briefly flits across your heart that you have overstepped.

But then, he surprises you with a smile. ‘You bite, don’t you?’

You let your shoulders sag, too far gone to hold onto your facade.

‘It’s been a long day, sir,’ you admit. ‘To be frank, I just want to get this over with and forget it ever happened.’

He pauses at your confession, as if weighing his options. Then he shifts, and says, ‘The reason I ask if you were untouched is because, if you were not - we could have just pretended we did this.’

You frown. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I did not invoke prima nocta, it was imposed upon me. The emperors are displeased that I turned down the betrothal, this is their way of punishing me for my ungratefulness.’

Oh.

As much as you didn’t want this either, your pride suffers to hear him describe it as a punishment.

‘I know…’ you stumble, halting to steel yourself. ‘I know I am nothing like the women here in Rome. I spend too much time in the sun, and my hands are rough from working with horses -’

‘Why do you say that?’ he interrupts you.

You look away. ‘That is why you do not wish to marry me, is it not? And why you do not want this - why you do not want me.’

The general sits up, palms on the mattress to support his weight, the lines on his forehead deepening with a frown. ‘No, that is not the reason. You are young, you deserve a husband who can build a life with you in the years to come. Not a washed-up widower.’

The bitterness in his voice turns your head.

‘You’re not washed up, from what I hear.’ Somehow, you find the courage to add boldly, ‘Or from what I see.’

Letting your eyes trail unabashedly over his broad frame, a thrill chases through your blood when you notice his Adam’s apple bob with a tight swallow. He’s so close that you know you’re not imagining the heat seeping into your bones.

Silence stretches between you, charged with a consciousness that creeps in and spreads. Two souls from different worlds and stations put in a situation in which neither of you had a hand. This may not be how you imagined giving away your virtue - far from it - yet your stomach twists in anticipation.

You glance upwards, only to find him already watching you.

Something has shifted when you so bravely reached out and tipped the balance with your words. He can tell that you are not one for flippant flattery, and it takes him a moment to collect himself, harder said than done with the blood roaring in his ears.

When he speaks, it comes out in a much lower register than he intends, so much so it sounds like a secret.

‘You say you just want to get this over with. But I can - I can make it good for you. It doesn’t have to be something you want to forget.’

Your eyes widen and your lips part, and heat blooms almost uncomfortably in his chest. ‘You would do that for me?’

‘I will serve you in whatever way you ask of me tonight, my lady.’

Never have mere words, albeit delivered in such a delicious baritone, moved you so. You came in expecting to have your virtue stripped from you, the same way Rome callously stole you away. Where you thought humiliation and dishonour awaited, this man is offering deliverance and devotion - if only for one night.

Your throat tight with emotion, you nod in lieu of a spoken answer.

Marcus is deliberately slow in his movements, wanting you to feel safe in his presence. ‘How much do you know? So I know what I need to teach you.’

Despite yourself, shyness rears its head and you mumble, ‘I’ve - I’ve heard stories. I know what… happens… between a man and a woman in the bed chamber.’

He nods reassuringly, making you feel less of a fool for the juvenile answer you gave. ‘And has anyone touched you before?’

There’s no mistaking the lurch in your stomach as your heart hammers violently. ‘No. No one. Never.’

The protector in him stirs, summoned to duty, warring with the desire that seethes under his skin like the unholy flames of Vesuvius. He fears it is a quickly losing battle.

Reading the desire in your endearingly open face, Marcus reaches over you to settle one hand on your hip as he leans close, his breath warm on your cheek.

‘Have you ever kissed a man?’ he rasps.

You shake your head, eyes fixated on his mouth, framed by a tidy moustache. He is so close that you can see his beard is flecked with silver.

You swear the general is leaning into you, and every inch of you is on tenterhooks, enraptured by his proximity -

‘You should save it for your husband.’

You barely forestall the whine of protest that teeters on the tip of your tongue, pinching your lips together, but his lopsided smile tells you that he knows.

‘I can kiss you elsewhere though.’

‘Oh,’ you inhale shakily when he dips to mouth at the side of your neck, landing on your pulse point in a suckle. Your whole body arches off the bed, hands gripping the sheets, head spinning at all the sensations that are new to you - the burn of his stubble, the cool trail his lips leave behind -

Then the palm on your hip pulls you into him, sprawling you against the wide cage of his body, your breasts pressed against his broad chest. The dress they put you in is thin, and the fabric rubs against your pebbling nipples as his kisses travel daringly low.

‘Am I going too fast?’ he pauses, voice strained.

Breathlessly, you shake your head.

‘If you want me to stop, or wait, you say the word. Understood?’

‘Yes, general.’

Two words he hears daily from his men, and yet from your lips, they unleash a dangerously feral side of him.

More. Is the only coherent thought that remains.

Impatient hands reposition you so that you are astride him, and he groans when you slot flush in his lap. He watches your eyes widen at what you feel between your legs. Your dress rides up, and his blood rushes south at the bare expanse of your inner thighs on his skin.

‘I want to see you,’ he speaks plainly, palms squeezing the dip of your waist. ‘May I undress you? Please?’

All decorum flees you, and you might have chanted yes, yes, yes to his question.

Dropping your chin, you watch his thick fingers nimbly undo the knot holding the front of your dress together. The silk capitulates like water, tumbling down in delicate drapes around your waist, baring you to his heated gaze.

‘You are beautiful,’ he declares with a solemnity that steals your breath.

And it is easy to believe him, the way his dazed eyes trail over your breasts, before his hands follow. Calloused palms, which you are sure have held many a sword in triumph, now cup your tender flesh in reverence.

Your head lolls to the side as he teases you, but when he rolls his hips upwards, your eyes snap to the pained expression on his face. You’ve heard ladies in court whispering over wine about length and girth, but nothing could prepare you for the thrill of feeling a man’s undeniable desire for you.

Instinct guides you, moving your hips so that you are grinding against his length, seeking relief from what is building deep within you.

‘Do what feels good,’ the general murmurs encouragingly, palms on the small of your back to let you take control.

And just like that, you are thrown back to one summer’s day in your youth. You were bathing in a rock pool, under the spray of a waterfall in perfect solitude when you accidentally slipped forwards on the smooth stone surface. The unexpected sensation between your legs ripped through you like lightning on a clear day. And you chased that feeling, hips undulating until you shuddered and cried out. Knees trembling in the aftermath, you never dared to seek it out again, but neither did you forget.

And now, years later, you finally know what had transpired. Pleasure. And this time, under the general’s hooded gaze, you pursue it with single-minded determination.

Marcus wishes you knew how beautiful you are in this very moment. Breasts swaying in tandem while you rock back and forth on his clothed length, eyes glazed, every whimper from your swollen lips making him throb harder for you.

‘Good girl,’ he rasps, throat tight. ‘Take your pleasure. Take what you need.’

And when he sucks your nipple into his mouth, you wail, tipping forward at an angle that unexpectedly takes you apart.

The waves that wash over you are more intense than you remember, and you are sure that has to do with the man holding your hips to his as you buck, and the warm swirl of his tongue against your breasts, sucking and nipping as you come down from your high.

‘That was not your first time,’ he states as a matter of fact when the white noise in your ears finally fades.

‘It happened once, a long time ago, and I didn’t understand then -’

‘And now you do.’

‘Yes, general.’

This time, he lets loose a moan at your words. ‘I can feel your wetness through your dress.’

Confused, you look down, and your cheeks burn when you spot the dark patch on the delicate fabric. ‘Oh, I -’

‘It’s natural,’ he assures you. ‘The wetness makes it easier for -’

It dawns on you when you feel his hardness twitch under you. Oh.

‘It - you feel -’ you stutter, struggling to comprehend how the girth of what you are sitting on could possibly fit inside you.

Taking your hand, Marcus presses a chaste kiss to your palm, eyes warm and open.

‘We will take it slow. I will use my fingers first, to prepare you for me,’ he explains patiently. ‘I promised I would make it good for you, did I not?’

‘You did.’

And you have complete faith in him.

Your knees knock into each other hopelessly when he slides you off his lap, and he has to bodily prop you up against the pillows. Sinking into the soft feathers, you watch him kneel between your parted legs, and you feel so safe even as he towers over you.

‘May I disrobe you?’

You bite your bottom lip, and nod.

Except it’s not a disrobing, it’s nothing near as civil as that. The general rips the rest of your dress clean down the middle, rendering you completely bare beneath him.

Marcus knows should be ashamed of his brash behaviour. But how could he when you react so viscerally, jaw slack as your chest heaves in unmitigated desire?

His gaze shamelessly trail over every curve and dimple, from the breasts he has tasted to where your knees are demurely closed, and knowing that he is the first - the only - to have laid eyes on you makes him impossibly hard.

It matters not that you are not his to keep. This will always be his.

‘You are exquisite,’ he professes, voice tight.

You duck your head, more shy of his compliments than being nude before him. ‘You don’t have to.’

Sliding a finger under your chin and tilting your head until you meet his gaze, he assures you, ‘I mean every word.’

Then he moves down the bed until he can rest his weight on his elbows, and you startle when rough palms glide over the outside of your thighs, stopping at your knees.

He pauses to give you time. ‘Are you certain you wish to continue?’

Your answer is a confident yes.

Then, as if opening the shell of Venus, he delicately pries your knees apart, and his breath hitches as you are revealed to him.

He is aware that he’s staring like an imbecile, words failing him. As the silence stretches on, you become self-conscious.

‘General,’ you demur, moving to cover yourself.

Shaking his head, he finally says, ‘Forgive me, but you are perfect.’

Then he looks up at you with such intensity that has you struggling to catch your breath, and without breaking eye contact, he bows his head -

And closes his lips over you there.

You are wholly unprepared - no one has ever gossiped about this in court. Your hips buck violently off the bed, but Marcus holds you down with reassuring hands, suckling on the pearl between your thighs with gentle laps of his tongue.

‘Oh, oh, oh,’ you stuttter, torn between watching the man wreak the most devastating pleasure on you and averting your gaze.

You’ve only ever known worship to be pious, and yet, this most vulgar adulation is the closest you’ve been to the gods.

His beautiful curls brush the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, catching the candle light as he moves, and the crook of his nose - so proud even with the scar on its bridge - draws patterns on your skin as he stakes his claim where no one has ever touched you.

You quickly realise that what you felt just now in the general’s lap was insignificant and thin in comparison. This pleasure is all-consuming, something divine that has you weak and trembling all over. All you hear are slick, wet sounds of tongues and lips, and your own whimpers between garbled groans.

Marcus feasts on you, unapologetically. Flattening his tongue, he tastes you in broad sweeps, moaning into your sweet cunt as you writhe above him, your needy mewls driving him to the edge of madness. You taste like fig - the earthiness of the purple peel, ripe sweetness of the pink flesh.

Then your hands wind into his hair, pulling him closer, ankles hooking over his shoulders. He groans harder, the sound rattling in his ribs as you soak his beard. Surrendering any last vestiges of shyness, you rock against his tongue, nails scratching his scalp as you whine louder into the night air.

Moans that will echo long after you’re gone.

The thought alone hardens his resolve to mark you unequivocally. You’re close, your pliant body quivering and breaths coming in shallow gasps now. He peers up at you, but your eyes are sealed shut and upturned at the gods, your breasts heaving.

Gently, he eases one finger inside you, and he grunts at how easily he slides in. You barely react, and so he pushes back in with two, coaxing a cry from you. Your cunt clenches as he gently thrusts his digits in and out, stretching your tight walls.

‘Oh gods. Oh gods,’ you pant violently.

You’re close, so close. He wants to warn you of what is to come, but it feels like sacrilege to tarnish the moment with words. When he feels you begin to quiver, he laves at your clit harder, burying his fingers inside you to the knuckle, until he feels you crest and break.

‘Gods, oh gods - Marcus!’

The cry of his name catches him off guard. He nearly loses control right there and then, as you ride out your high on his fingers, but by some miracle he holds out through gritted teeth. He devotes his attention to kissing his way up your body, from the slick inside of your thighs, to the side of your hip, making you jump when he sucks on your sensitive breasts.

You stare at his mouth with wild, dark eyes, and him at yours, but he vowed to leave your first kiss to your husband. Girding his self-restraint, he asks, ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes, Marcus.’

His cock twitches at the sound of his name on your lips. He wants to hear you say it in all manners of ways - whisper it, gasp it, scream it. And by the cheekiness in your smile, it’s clear that you know what he’s thinking.

Your eyes drop to where his hardness is pressed against you. ‘Will you teach me how to please you, general?’

He swallows a groan, the animal in him rattling the bars of its cage. He replies diplomatically, ‘I will teach you how to teach your husband.’

In one smooth tug, he shucks off his tunic, then his loincloth, and he tries not to be self-conscious under your watchful gaze. Pulling you against him, skin on naked skin, he smears kisses along the side of your neck, smiling at your answering shudder. In return, you run your lips and scrape your teeth over his collarbone.

Taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm, he slides it all the way down his chest and wraps your fingers firmly around his throbbing cock, his pained moan in your ear.

Eyes wide, you marvel at the size of him in your grip. ‘You are so big.’

Marcus curses through clenched teeth. ‘You are an insolent girl.’

With a wicked glint in your eyes, you correct yourself, ‘You are so big, general.’

If he wasn’t so aroused, he would have chuckled at your cheek. Instead, he growls, ‘Such insubordination.’

Tilting your head to one side, you grin. ‘And how would you discipline me, sir?’

He lets the silence linger for a beat, allowing anticipation to build as one big hand splays over your ass, hot lips brushing the shell of your ear. ‘I would deny you my cock, my lady. Let your sweet cunt weep for me, empty, not knowing how good it would feel to have me deep inside you.’

You are unsure if you are more shocked at the explicitness of his words, or at the gush of wetness that has you pressing your thighs together. If you had to wager a guess, he is just as affected as you by the way his length pulses in your grasp.

Marcus smiles as he takes in the way your body reacts to him. ‘But how can I deny such a lovely, desperate creature such as yourself?’

A sob escapes you. ‘Please, Marcus - I’m yours to take.’

With that, all self-restraint abandons him, and his lips crash into yours. At the back of his mind, he knows you deserve a better first kiss, something gentle and sweet. But to your credit, you seem to take it in stride, winding your arms around his neck with a deep groan as he deepens the kiss. Opening up your mouth, he sweeps his tongue against yours, making sure you taste yourself and the pleasure that he had wrung from you.

When he reluctantly pulls back for air, you hum, ‘I thought you said I should save that for my husband.’

He all but snarls, ‘Damn your husband.’

The possessiveness in his tone sends you reeling, and his resolve wears even thinner when your cunt brushes against him, so wet and soft, begging for him.

‘I cannot wait any longer,’ he declares.

You bite your lip beseechingly. ‘Please, Marcus, I cannot either.’

He braces himself above you on strong arms, until all you can see is him, backlit by the soft candlelight. Beholding his beauty - the wisps of gray at his temples, the scar lining his cheekbone - your breath catches at the tenderness in his eyes as he stares down at you.

Holding the base of his cock, Marcus notches himself at the entrance of your cunt, trembling as he holds himself back.

‘I will go slow,’ he assures you. ‘If it hurts, you tell me to stop. Understood?’

Your mouth dry, you can only nod.

Holding your gaze, Marcus rolls his hips ever so slowly, jaw slack when he breaches you, inch by tortuous inch.

He is barely inside you and you already feel so unfathomably full.

‘Marcus,’ you gasp when it gets impossibly tight, nails digging into his broad shoulders.

He stops, and whispers encouragingly, ‘You are doing so well for me, taking me so beautifully. Just breathe.’

In between his patient, languid kisses, you unfurl, and Marcus gently pulls back, before pushing into you, deeper this time.

When you cry out, he shushes you, brushing the wet corners of your eyes with his lips. ‘Does it hurt?’

You shake your head. ‘No, it’s just - so much.’

‘I know, I can feel how tight you are gripping me,’ he mumbles into your neck, throbbing inside you while he holds himself still as you adjust. ‘Brave, sweet girl.’

When you find your voice again, you give him cheek. ‘I am a woman now, general.’

He smiles at you - a warm curl that crinkles the corners of his eyes endearingly - and claims your lips again. Feeling the tension seep out of your body, he thrusts shallowly so you can learn the movement of his hips. When he hits a spot that makes your jaw drop and your hips buck, he pulls all the way back, and drives himself to the hilt in one smooth motion.

And with that, you become a part of his soul, and his yours. His chest swells with the fiercest possessiveness and the greatest honour all at once, despite knowing that the circumstances that brought you together will inevitably tear you asunder at the break of dawn.

‘Marcus!’ you choke on a sob, throwing your head back, your walls clutching his cock in a merciless grip.

‘There she is,’ he grunts, mouth scraping the shell of your ear. ‘Say my name like that.’

And you do, over and over again, as he fucks into you. His pants land harshly in the crook of your neck with every thrust, hands greedily squeezing all the skin he can find - the curve of your ass, the dimple in your waist, your thigh to hitch it over his hip.

Looking down at you, eyes drunk and unfocused as you stare back at him, each squeeze of your wet cunt around him, every breath from your lips feels sacred.

He is seized by a sudden need to know. ‘How does it feel?’

Your eyes soften, and he shudders when you cup the side of his face to bring his nose to yours. ‘Divine.’

Marcus loses himself in you, in the wet squelch of your cunt around his length, the way your tightness takes every thrust. Words of praise that he doesn’t even hear tumble from his lips and onto every inch of skin he can reach as you cling to him, scraping your nails down his back and digging into the meat of his ass.

Pitching forward to press a hard kiss to you, he says, ‘I want you to fall apart for me again.’

‘Please, Marcus, please.’

Pushing himself up to his knees, still buried deep inside you, he spreads your thighs obscenely wide over his hips, and he moans at the sight of your cunt so full of him. With hooded eyes, he sucks on two of his thick fingers and brings them between your legs, carefully drawing circles on your clit, knowing that you are already sensitive from cumming twice for him before.

Your face twists in agony as he builds you towards another climax, patiently weaving the web of pleasure that wounds you tighter and tighter until your spine feels like it will snap in two. ‘Marcus, oh - don’t stop, don’t stop, oh gods -’

He bares his teeth as he feels you start to clench around him. ‘That’s it, that’s it. Cum on my cock, let me feel you, give it to me.’

Your peak crashes into you relentlessly, and as you are swept away, you can only wail and thrash, while Marcus curses and stutters unintelligibly above you as he spins out of control.

He had every intention to pull out, but it is as if some higher power is determined to foil his plans. With a guttural roar, his hips snap flush against yours, big palms grasp you so hard by the waist that you squeal, and he spills into you in hot gushes, once - twice - and again until he is spent.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He doesn’t know if he said that aloud or if it was a trick of the mind. All he knows is that he eventually collapses bonelessly onto you, skin fused together with sweat and cum as your breaths become one in the crisp night air.

It is him who breaks the stillness, his old bones creaking when he stirs to relieve an ache in his back. His softened cock slides out of you, prompting you to whine in protest. He grunts when he looks down to see his cum dribble out of your cunt, leaving a pearly trail on the inside of your thighs.

When he meets your eyes, there is no awkwardness in the silence. ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to spill my seed inside you. That was reckless.’

Your heart skips a beat at his admission, and you can’t hide the pride in your voice. ‘Do I make you reckless, general?’

He tries and fails to be stern in his answer, the tenderness with which he brushes his nose on your cheek giving him away. ‘I know better than to encourage your insolence with an answer.’

You are far from discouraged though, quite the opposite. Knowing you have this man - who commands armies of thousands - at your mercy is a siren’s call.

Peering at him from under your eyelashes, you curl one leg around his waist. ‘Do you want to be reckless again?’

He huffs, but a smile breaks through. ‘Have you ever been told that you are a cocktease?’

You hum teasingly. ‘I have never heard that word before, but I like it.’

‘You do?’ he breathes against your lips. ‘You like being my cocktease?’

‘Yours, general.’

Marcus is astounded when he feels himself harden again, and he moans as you press open-mouthed kisses down his neck. ‘What spell have you cast on this old man, my little cocktease?’

You grin, letting him ease you onto your back so he can settle between your thighs again. ‘The kind that lasts until dawn.’

Eventually, morning must break, sure as the moon turns and the sun rises. In the golden rays of day, you will wed his son in ironic, virginal white, showered in rose petals. He will look on from the side in his finest ceremonial robes of red, as you walk away from him and into your new life as someone else’s wife.

But in the velvety folds of this night and many more to come, safely ensconced in the deepest corners of his memories, in lands far away, in war and in peace, there he keeps you - where you are not.

More notes: Thank you for reading! As usual, comments/reblogs/asks would be very much appreciated 🥰 I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I loved writing it!

#prima nocta #marcus acacius fanfiction #gladiator ii fanfiction #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x fem!reader #marcus acacius oneshot #marcus acacius smut #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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dark-fics-4-you · 2 months ago

Text

Angel

dark!stepbro!Rafe Cameron x f!Reader

Warnings: noncon (rape), somno, incest (step siblings), loss of virginity, unprotected sex, unwanted creampie, drugs, drinking, possessive behavior, controlling behavior, mentions of previous male masturbation

A/N: in my mind, Rafe is like 2-3 years older than Reader (everyone is 18+ and college aged)

Rafe’s knuckles were turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. The speedometer was flirting with triple digits but his eyes still flicked back and forth between you and the road.

He should have known better, he did know better, and still he let you walk out of the house wearing that sad excuse of an angel “costume.” In reality it was just tiny white ruffle shorts paired with a white corset along with angel wings and a halo top headband.

Any other night if you had tried to walk out the door in lingerie in front of your step brother, he would have told you to change, but because it was halloween, and seeing you dressed up like that made him so hard he couldn’t think straight, of course he had said ‘yes’ knowing he’d be walking into the party with the hottest girl on the island on his arm.

What he hadn’t anticipated however, was the number of guys (especially his friends) who had the balls to flirt with his little step sister right in front of him.

Even Topper and Kelce had been eyeing you differently and it pissed Rafe off to no end.

You followed him to the kitchen where he grabbed drinks for both of you and he tried to ignore the eyes that were raking up and down your exposed body.

“Are any of your friends here yet?” He asked as he passed your drink to you.

“I don’t think so,” you answered, fishing your phone out of your purse to check your texts.

He hadn’t planned on letting you out of his sight, much less 5 feet from his side, but when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder, he spun around to see a blond girl in a Tinkerbell costume.

“Are you one of Topper’s friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Hi, I’m Tiffany,” she flashed a smile as she drank him in with her eyes.

“Rafe.” He responded dryly, taking a swig from his solo cup.

“What’s your costume supposed to be?” Her voice annoyed Rafe and he looked down at his blue jumpsuit for a second to remind himself before answering.

“Cornelius Snow, I think? Um, from the Hunger Games? I don’t know, it was Y/N’s idea.” He mumbled, looking past the girl to check on you, but when he realized you were no longer standing beside him, or even in the same room, he quickly brushed past her without a word.

Luckily you didn’t travel too far, but Rafe’s relief upon finding you was short lived.

Two kook guys were standing next to you, practically eating you with their eyes, and sweet, oblivious you were none the wiser.

“I love your costume,” one said.

“You look fantastic tonight.”

“Aw thanks!” You beamed.

“Looks like your cup is getting empty, you want me to grab you a refill?”

“If you don’t mind-” you had begun handing your solo cup to the guy but you stopped yourself when Rafe appeared to your right, snatching the cup out of your hand and wrapping his arm around your waist possessively.

“It’s okay, I can take care of her,” he snapped at the two guys, shooting a deadly glare at them as he led you away.

“Rafe, what was that about?” You complained, completely confused by his behavior.

“Are you stupid or something, Y/N? Because I just watched you try to hand your drink over to two complete strangers at a fucking frat party.”

“They were just being nice-”

“They could have been trying to drug you for all you know,” Rafe chided you sternly and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was talking to you like you were a little kid. “Rose put me in charge of taking care of you tonight, and you’re not exactly making it easy on me by disappearing without a word and accepting drinks from frat brothers.”

The two of you arrived at the kitchen and you silently handed your cup to him to refill your drink.

“Just… be careful, Y/N/N, okay?” You had turned away from him and he couldn’t help but eye the way your corset showed off your perfect tits, and he dryly swallowed, hoping that his hard on wasn’t too obvious.

You turned to look at him, sighing like you were annoyed, but you nodded your head as you grabbed the drink from him, “I know, Rafey, I know.”

“Where are your friends at?”

“They should be here by now, but I haven’t seen them just yet.” You looked around the room you were in, still not finding them. “I need to pee, where’s the bathroom?”

He took your drink, pointing towards the hallway where the restrooms were.

“Come right back here, okay?”

“Mm ‘kay,” you responded, heading to the bathroom.

Rafe didn’t want to be so worried about you, he didn’t want to be so over-protective, but he couldn’t help how possessive he felt over you, and the thought of any other man talking to you, much less touching you, was enough to have Rafe itching to grab a gun.

He hadn’t realized how long it had been until he checked the time and realized you had been gone for almost 10 minutes, which seemed unusual.

Rafe went to the bathroom, knocking on the door only to find that it was empty.

He cursed under his breath, angry that you had snuck away from him again, and he closed the door behind him as he anxiously pulled out his small bag of coke, using his key to bring a bump to his nostril.

Shit like this was the reason he did coke so much.

Rafe left, slamming the door before turning to look throughout the large house party.

You weren’t in the first crowded room that he checked, or the second, or the third; and by the time Rafe finally found you with Topper, watching him set up a line for you before handing you a rolled up dollar bill he was seeing red.

He watched as you leaned over the table and sniffed the white powder into your nose, his knuckles curling into fists when Topper draped one arm over your shoulders.

When you looked up and locked eyes with him, your face dropped in an instant.

“What the fuck are you doing, Y/N?”

“Rafe-” Topper jumped in his seat, removing his arm as his face turning red when he realized how pissed off Rafe really was.

“Shut the fuck up, Top.” He snapped, never taking his burning gaze off of you. “What the fuck are you doing, Y/N?”

“I- Top was just showing me how to…”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, you’re done. Party’s over.” Your step brother stalked closer, wrapping his hand around your arm and harshly yanking you up off the couch.

“Rafe, you can’t be serious, you do it all the time!” You protested, trying to pull against his tight grip as he forced you through the house and toward the front door.

“I said, no. We’re going home. Now.” His voice was practically shaking with rage at this point, the effects of the bump he took in the bathroom settling in.

“You’re being so unfair! My friends aren’t even here yet!” Your voice slurred and Rafe realized how drunk you were.

“Did you have another drink?”

“Topper made me one,” you answered, and now Rafe really wanted to kill him.

What the fuck was he thinking getting his little sister drunk and giving you coke? Apparently Sarah wasn’t enough for him, he wanted another Cameron sister as well.

He could have Sarah for all Rafe cared, but you were his.

“Are you even sober enough to drive?”

“Yes,” he snipped, pulling open the passenger door of his truck and roughly pushing you in before loudly slamming it shut.

The drive back to your house was filled with a tense silence, and you were too drunk to realize just how fast Rafe was driving.

Rafe just stewed in his anger and frustration, equally pissed off at you and all of the jackasses who had been hitting on you.

Especially fucking Topper.

He should have known better.

Rafe pulled into the driveway, mentally preparing himself for the explanation he was going to have to give Rose if she was still awake, but when he glanced over at your seat, you were fast asleep. He sighed, partly in relief that he wouldn’t have to explain himself, but also frustrated that he couldn’t chew you out more.

He got out of the truck, coming around to your side to scoop you into his arms and carry you inside. Rafe cradled you in his arms, careful not to wake you as he brought you up the stairs and to your room, closing the door before softly laying you onto your bed.

Rafe leaned over, his fingers found the straps of your shoes, undoing them before pulling your heels off your feet and laying them onto the floor, where he took off his own boots as well.

When he turned his attention back to you, you looked so peaceful and beautiful it made his cock throb and Rafe suppressed a groan as he brushed a stray hair out of your eyes.

His gaze landed on your soft lips, and before he could stop himself, before he even knew what he was doing, really, Rafe leaned down, pressing his lips to yours for the very first time.

Rafe’s hand came to your face, softly stroking your cheek as his lips moved against yours. You tasted like alcoholic punch and cherry lip gloss, and Rafe could feel his hard on straining against the material of his jumpsuit.

He pulled away, head spinning as he mindlessly unzipped the top of his jumpsuit, pushing the fabric off his shoulders before reaching for the zipper on his pants.

All he could think about were all of the frat guys at the party eyeing you like you were a piece of meat they couldn’t wait to sink their teeth into. Like you were some prize to be won.

At the same time, the thought of someone else being your first ignited a blind rage inside of Rafe, one that festered in his brain and mutated into an ugly, twisted desire.

He wasn’t going to let his sweet angel of a step sister get taken advantage of or corrupted by any of the awful guys on the island, kooks or pogues.

If anyone was going to be your first, it was going to be him.

Rafe looked down, surprised when he realized he had been leaning over your sleeping form, pumping his hard cock with his hand.

He stopped himself for a moment, afraid that you might wake up, but you barely stirred, too deep in sleep to register your older step brother leering over you.

The blond took a shaky breath as he reached out towards your hips, his fingers brushing along the soft material of your shorts before finding the waistband and slowly pulling them down your legs.

“Fuck,” he softly groaned as he took in your matching white, lacy panties beneath.

Admittedly, Rafe was no stranger to going through your underwear drawer and stealing a pair of your underwear to jack off into as he fantasized about hate fucking you every time you did something to piss him off.

These were unfamiliar to him. You must have bought them just for halloween, he thought, a new wave of possessive jealousy coursing through him.

Were you seriously thinking about fucking someone tonight? Maybe your friends were never even coming to the party, and it was all a ploy for you to slip away from Rafe and hook up with some asshole.

Rafe’s large hands came to your hips, grabbing your panties and yanking them down your legs. His heart was beating so loudly in his chest he was afraid you might hear it, but he couldn’t stop himself.

He had to know how good you felt, he had to make sure he was your first.

He guided himself to your core, cursing under his breath as he rubbed the tip of his cock along your messy slit. You already felt so wet, he barely had to touch you, and he wondered if there was some part of you that subconsciously knew what was going on, that wanted this to happen.

His hands found the back of your thighs, spreading your legs further apart so he could get closer to you.

When he rubbed his cock against your clit, you squirmed a bit and a soft hum that sounded suspiciously like a moan fell past your lips.

He felt his cock twitch, aching to fill you up, and Rafe finally lined himself up with your slick lips before planting his arms beside your waist and pushing his leaking tip inside of you.

You felt so warm and tight, and the feel of your silky walls squeezing around the head of his cock was better than anything he could have possibly imagined. He slowly began moving, not going any deeper, but just creating a friction that made his jaw clench as he held back groans.

“Shit, Y/N,” he whispered, leaning over to press his feverish lips to yours again, the feeling of your cunt pulling him in making him feel dizzy.

He hadn’t intended to go any further, that’s what he told himself. He thought if he just got a taste, he could be satisfied and he could wait until later to have all of you.

But when his eyes flicked down to where your bodies connected, he was surprised to find half of his length disappearing into you.

You whimpered in your sleep as your walls pulsed around him, distracting him from his moral quandaries. Rafe reached a hand to your chest, cupping one of your tits over your corset as his pace slowly increased.

“God you’re fucking perfect,” Rafe murmured, his lips finding yours again. All the while, he pushed himself deeper and deeper inside you until his tip kissed your cervix.

Far too gone to turn back now, and spurred on by your soft whimpers and gasps, Rafe’s hips were snapping against yours faster now, channeling his frustrations into punishing you for the way you acted tonight.

You wanted to lose your virginity so badly? Fine, Rafe thought, he would take it from you to insure he would be your first and only.

He knew it was wrong, god, it was sick how deeply he needed to ruin you for daring to disobey him. Rafe was well aware that he crossing every boundary in the world, that you would hate that he had robbed you of this experience if you ever found out; but maybe that’s why he was so painfully hard as he rutted into you over and over.

And imagining sitting across from you at the dinner table, knowing that his sweet, innocent sister would have no idea that her older step brother was her first was almost enough to make him cum.

But the thing that really sent him over the edge, what had him spilling himself deep inside you and filling your walls with his hot, sticky cum, was your soft, angelic voice moaning his name in your sleep.

#dark!rafe cameron #stepbro!rafe cameron #rafe cameron somno #stepbro!rafe cameron x reader #stepbro!rafe #dark!rafe cameron x reader #dark!stepbro!rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron noncon #dark rafe cameron #dark!stepbro!rafe #angel

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dreamsteddie · 2 months ago

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I love pre Season 3 Steddie AUs so much because there are so many opportunities for Eddie to be so incredibly jealous of his boyfriend's new best friend, Robin Buckley.

Eddie got so used to Steve spending basically every moment of free time he has with Eddie in some capacity, even if it's just them shooting the shit in the back of Eddies van getting high after a long day and he's come to covet his Steve Time like a precious treasure.

And then all of a sudden Steve has a friend his age??? A friend who doesn't have an 8PM curfew???? What the fuck??????

But Eddie doesn't want to be a toxic, controlling boyfriend who doesn't let his partner have a social life! He really doesn't! And he gets that Steve and Robin went through something together that they won't, can't, share with him and they need each other. But he got so used to having all of Steve's time that whenever he has to spend a Saturday night alone because Robin and Steve are having Boy Time watching a soccer game and talking about their crushes, instead of hitting up his own friends or working on a campaign or whatever he just pines and sighs by the window lamenting about whether or not his beloved will return from the war. Wayne hates it.

When Steve and Eddie see each other the next day having spent literally less than 24 hours apart, Eddie latches on like a limpet and demands to be consoled with a thousand kisses and a grilled cheese sandwich.

Eventually, once Steve and Robin are a little more settled after the events of Starcourt, the three of them start spending more time together as a trio which at least allows Eddie to hold his boyfriend during movie night. Eddie reluctantly admits that Robin is actually really cool and they become fast friends right up until Eddie realized Robin is stealing his boyfriend ON PURPOSE.

It's not all the time but what Eddie has come to learn about Robin Buckley is that she is a menace. She'll real you in with her sweet freckles and charming ramblings but she's always looking for a way to fuck with Eddie, especially if he's wronged her first. Eddie returns a tape without rewinding it? Steve won't be at band practice tomorrow, actually, because Robin needs someone to help with her art project due on Monday. Eddie got Cheeto dust on Robin's favorite sweater? Suddenly Robin and Steve have plans to get drunk and plan a way for Robin to ask Vickie out for Valentine's Day. No boyfriends allowed. Eddie stole Robin's favorite Steve Sweater before she could get to it on movie night? Steve rainchecks Eddie for their bi-weekly Let's Get High date because Robin is conveniently sick. Must be because she didn't have a jacket on movie night.

Once Eddie catches on it becomes a fierce game competition between the both of them. Steve acts like he's none the wiser, but he's secretly lapping up all the attention he's getting.

#platonic stobin #steddie #stranger things #fanfiction #dreamer speaks #the three musketeers #Inspired by some posts that I saw #about Eddie competing with Nancy for Steve's hand #in a comical nature #but i though #make it platonic stobin v romantic steddie #Eddie and Robin need to fight actually #for their enrichment #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley

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hearts4hughes · 2 months ago

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oh, professor - professor!rafe x student!fem!reader

WARNINGS: smut ; mdni ; p in v ; oral (f receiving) ; degradation ; unprotected sex ; age gap (reader is 22 & rafe is 29)

A/N: i started this writing for someone else, but changed it because it gave off so much rafe energy. all im needing rn is to get attention from professor!rafe

you sit in the dimly lit library. your leg bouncing up and down under the wooden table. it was late— too late for a tutoring lesson, especially one with your professor.

rafe, your professor, sat across from you. his presence was both distracting and irritating. you hate the way his eyes pierce through you, reading every thought you tried to conceal. he is only seven years older, but he wore his authority with a confidence that made your blood boil.

“if you actually paid attention, you would understand the material, y/n.” rafe says, his voice teasing and raspy. you shoot him a glare, your arms crossed over your body.

“i am paying attention,” you retort with a tight lipped smile. the lie leaked from the sides of your lips. how could you focus when every fiber of your being is aware of him?

he leans closer, his scent intoxicating as it fills your nostrils. your heart races in your chest. “then prove it.” he challenges, leaning back with a smirk.

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. your mind is blank. rafe grins with pride, his cheekbones highlighted by the lightning in the room.

“it’s hard to think when you’re putting me on the spot.” you roll your eyes.

he stifles out a laugh in response.

at the start of your sophomore year at the university of north carolina, you were assigned to professor rafe cameron’s class. he was new to the college, and his arrival spread like a wildfire. he was tall with piercing blue eyes and a muscular body that was evident even under his formal clothes.

from the moment he walked into the classroom, he wore a confident strut in his steps. the girls practically swooned at him. as the semester went on, the outfits the students wore got smaller— each girl trying to catch his attention. however, he kept it professional, not looking lower than he needed to.

it all made you scoff. professors were supposed to be older and wiser than their students. but he was only twenty-nine! how could you truly respect him when he was barely older than you?

you couldn’t, and it didn’t go unnoticed. rafe had noticed you ever since you stumbled into class. his eyes followed you day after day, week after week, but you never shared that interest. you didn’t attempt to flirt with him or invite him to a party, you were totally indifferent. it enticed him.

however, ignoring your professor wasn’t the smartest idea. as a former straight a student, you were failing one class only— his. even though it was unusual for a professor to directly tutor a student, rafe offered to, leaving you no choice if you wanted to keep up your grades.

the tension between you and rafe was palpable. every week the fog surrounding the two became thicker.

“you’re not concentrating.” rafe spoke, breaking the silence. his voice was softer now, almost gentle.

“i’m trying.” your words were dismissive.

he sighs, closing his notebook. “maybe we should take a break.”

you nod in response.

as he stretched his arms above his head, his shirt pulled taut against his abdomen, revealing the outline of his abs. you looked away quickly, a red flush rising to your cheeks.

“why do you do that?”

“do what?” you ask, feigning innocence.

“act like you hate me,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “i know you don’t.”

you scoff. “why should it matter if i like you or not? you're my professor, not my roommate.”

“it begins to matter when your grades plummet.” he says plainly, tilting his head to the side with a smug expression.

you clench your fists by your side. frustration coursed through your veins like a wildfire. “you think you’re so smart, don’t you? you’re only a few years older than me!”

he chuckles, the sound so entrancing it made you gulp. “i’m smart enough to know that you’re scared to admit that you like me. that maybe, just maybe, you find this as intoxicating as i do.”

your heart pounded in your chest. “this is ridiculous.” you mutter under your breath. “i don’t need this, i’ll figure this class out myself.”

his smirk only grew deeper as you rushed out of the door. as the north carolina air hit your skin, it was hard to ignore the pulsating between your legs. looking back towards the library, you scoffed.

the next morning you find yourself back in rafe’s lecture hall. the room is filled with the scent of coffee and the rustle of college students.

you take your usual spot in the middle of the class. as you unpack your books and laptop, a figure sits besides you. you glance at the boy as he smiles, mirroring your action of setting up his academic station.

“hey,” he greeted. “you always sit in these seats, don’t you?” he smirks. “i’m gavin by the way.” you can’t help but blush as he holds out his hand.

you shake his hand, “hi, i’m y/n.” you reply, your hand still lingering in his. “and what can i say, i like routine.” he chuckles at your cheeky comment.

he’s cute with a dirty blonde mop of curls on his head. his eyes brown eyes are doe and kind. his jaw is sharp and his dimples pop when he smiles. he’s the all american perfect boy. the rest of the lecture is harder to focus on as he sits besides you. every so often, he steals glances at you and whispers jokes into your ear.

rafe notices the second the male student sits besides you. he notices how the boy’s gaze lingers on you and your cleavage, and how he’s so desperate for an ounce of attention from you. it makes his body tense and his lungs tight. it’s unbelievably hard to stay on track during the lesson which causes him to end the class fifteen minutes early.

“we’ll pick this up next class. see you all next week.” he clasps his hands together, signaling the end of period.

you stand up, slinging your bag over your shoulder as gavin follows you like a loyal puppy. within steps of the exit, your professor calls out to you.

“y/n, can you stay after class, please?” rafe calls out towards you. his body was stiff and jaw tense. the usual glimmer in his eyes was replaced with a greenish tinge.

girls besides you sneered as you nodded your head, waiting until the rest of the students filtered out before you walked towards him.

“yes, professor?” you said, your voice bitingly sharp.

“we didn’t get to finish our conversation from last night.” he tisked, his eyes raking up and down your body. “you left so abruptly.”

“well, we were done tutoring, so i had no other reason to stay.” the words are sharp off your tongue, only encouraging him more.

he stared deeply into your eyes. his eyes held an ocean filled with lust and secrets. it was as if there was a siren in the waters, singing and drawing you in.

you broke eye contact, allowing your gaze to fall onto the ground. he chuckled as if he had won a bet. your cheeks blushed something fierce.

“make a new friend today?” he asks as he moved his body around his desk. he was now standing directly in front of you, leaning on his desk. his dress shirt pulled against his body, emphasizing his impressively muscular arms.

he is a work of art.

you turn your head, “i’m not sure what you mean.” your voice was shaky and you weren’t sure if it was because of the tension in the atmosphere or the tension between your legs.

“really?” he challenges. “i could have sworn you were talking to that boy during my lecture.”

“it was just a conversation, rafe.” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual. however, your heart rate increased under the confines of your clothing.

he took a step closer, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. “oh, i’m rafe now? what happened to professor? and it seemed like more than a conversation.” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “i don’t like seeing you flirt with other students.”

you swallow harshly. “yeah? and why’s that?” your words were an attempt to maintain steady, but you knew who was controlling the conversation.

his lips curved into a smirk, his eyes darkening with desire. “you don’t have to pretend with me, y/n.” his voice was soft. he reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “i know you want this just as badly as i do.”

the fire burning in your core intensified.

“we can’t do this.” your mind was telling you no, but your heart was screaming yes. “y-you’re my professor, and i’m a student.”

“i know.” his voice was sultry. chills traveled along your skin as his finger traced your arm. “i’m no good for you, but doesn’t that make this all so much better?” he leans in, whispering into your ear.

his lips dropped from your earlobe onto the skin of your neck. he sucks along the sensitive skin, biting ever so gently.

“rafe,” you breathe out. he hums in response, his arms wrapping around your body as he pulled you close. “kiss me.”

without any hesitation, his lips landed on yours. his lips were soft, yet demanding, moving against yours in a fiery rhythm. your hands instinctively found their way to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. his hands roamed your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between. the bulge beneath his dress pants began to grow.

you could feel the heat radiating from him, mixing with your own. the kiss depend, his tongue teasing your mouth. a moan escaped you, echoing around the empty classroom. he flipped you around, lifting you up, and sitting you on his desk. your legs separated as he stood in between them.

breaking the kiss, he gazed into your eyes, his lips still a shadow on yours. “do you know how long i’ve wanted to do that?” he whispered, his voice dripping with pure desire.

you were breathless in a haze of pleasure and desire. “what else have you wanted to do?” you look at him through your lashes. your doe, sweet eyes flicking a switch inside of him as he growls in response.

his hands traveled to the hem of your shirt before swiftly ripping it off. you sat clad in a black, lace bra, leaving little to the imagination.

“you’re ethereal.” his words painted a pink flush on your cheeks.

one hand reaches behind your back, unclasping your bra and revealing your perky tits. you gasp as his mouth attaches onto one of your nipples, sucking voraciously.

your legs wrap around his waist as you melt into his touch. every rational thought fled your mind, replaced by a primal need to feel pleasure; to feel him.

“rafe,” your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling every time his tongue swirls around your sensitive nipple. he responded with a moan, dropping to his knees in front of you.

you took in the sight as he unclasped your jeans. his hair was a tousled mess, his lips swollen, face flushed, and eyes hungry with desire.

he pulled the material down your legs, discarding it elsewhere in the room. your matching lace panties made his mouth hang agape.

he looked up at you, “are you sure about this?” you nod, your body squirming in need of touch. he tisked with a grin, “i need words, sweetheart.”

“yes.” the words couldn’t have left your lips faster.

the second he heard your consent, he dropped his head down to your lower body. he began at the edge of your thighs, licking a trail up to your inner thighs. his hands moved with purpose, swirling circles around your legs, but never in the one spot you desperately wanted.

he took his time, savoring each moment as he licked, kissed, and sucked the skin along your thighs and waist.

you wiggled as you grew impatient. he chuckled, taking a hint and suddenly pressing his tongue flat against the thin material of your black panties. your head fell back in pleasure.

he made quick work of pulling your panties to the side and licking a long stripe up your folds. your fingers find their way to his hair, where you tug and pull. that only encourages him more as he begins to lap up your core like a man starved. his nose pushes against your clit as his tongue penetrates deep inside you.

the sight of his handsome face buried between your legs made you whimper, clenching around nothing but his muscle. your juices covered the lower half of his face as he continued to please you.

“taste so much better than i imagined.” he coos, shifting his focus from your hole to your bundle of nerves. you whimpered when his tongue circled around the little nub. he smirked against you.

“i’m gonna-” you interrupted yourself with a gasp as his ring and middle finger entered you. you stretched around his digits, leaving your mouth agape. he pulls away from your legs to look at you as he curls his fingers just the right way.

it wasn’t long before he began pumping his fingers in and out of you at a merciless pace. you felt the knot in your stomach tightening as he continued his assault on your pussy.

and just as you were about to come undone on his fingers, he pulled them out. your eyes shot open and you opened your mouth to argue, but his lips crashed against yours in a hungry battle between tongues. he pulled away with a tisk.

“think i was just going to reward you for being a brat?” he shook his head. “after you flirted with that ass in front of everyone? gotta teach you a lesson, honey.” he undid his buckle and dress pants before allowing them to drop to the ground.

your eyes widened as he freed his thick length from the confines of his boxers. his tip was painfully throbbing, in need of release. he ran his finger over his tip, collecting precum and spreading it across his cock. he hisses at the feeling, only causing the ache between your legs to intensify.

he scoffs as you spread your legs wider for him. “such a needy little slut, huh? need your professors dick that bad? so pathetic.” his words send a shock straight to your core, making your legs twitch. he smirks as he steps between your legs. he grabs himself and teases your entrance. when his tip knocks at your clit that’s when you turn into a cock drunk mess.

“please, rafe. i need you so bad that it hurts.” his smirk widens as you beg. while keeping eye contact, he bottoms out completely in you. you want to scream at the pleasure, but all that falls from your mouth are whiney, pathetic whimpers.

he doesn’t give you time to adjust before thrusting ruthlessly into your sopping cunt. his thick length stretches you out deliciously. his hand drops to your clit, rubbing in circular motions to ease the pain into pleasure.

his hand claps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head feel hazy. he continuously pounds into you. his tip kisses your cervix causing you to yell out in pure ecstasy. he smirks as he looks down at your stomach. with each thrust his cock bulges against your skin.

“rafe, it’s too much.” you breathe out, squirming around. his hand tightens around your throat and his other clings to your hips, holding you down as he fucks you.

“you can fucking take it.” he spat, his lips connecting with yours. it’s a clash between teeth and tongues as the knot in your stomach intensifies.

he leans back in his heels, hitting a new angle. his dick hits your g-spot continuously, bringing you to your climax. you cream around his length and it spills onto the floor below you as he doesn’t slow up on his thrusts.

you lay limp, clinging to his biceps as he spills inside of you. you’re thankful that you’re on the pill because nothing ever beat the feeling of his sperm painting your walls. breathlessly, he slows down his strokes. he pulls out, kneeling down and watching your mixed juices spill out of your worn-out core. using his fingers, he pushes his release back into you, marking you as his.

“i think you just earned some extra credit.”

#hearts4hughes #nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #obx season 4 #obx #outer banks

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heartfullofleeches · 2 months ago

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[18+ suggestive, cum in food]

I miss the pizza boy Brie arc-

Virgin Lust Demon Darling who due to their lack of proper "nutrients" their kind requires is alot sluggish and tired than most. Sticking to a human diet, they decide to order pizza whenever their energy is too low for them to cook. The place they normally order from shut down soon after it became their favorite spot, but this new place they've picked up is in on a whole nother level.

Any other greasy, cheap pizza wipes them out for the remainder of the night, but not only is this pizza less oily- it gives them the strength they've been lacking over the years they're unable to obtain from regular foods.

It's bizarre- Like someone jammed several syringes of adrenaline directly into their heart. The experience is elevated by that kind delivery boy who insists on jotting down every detail of Darling's enjoyment towards their meal the next time he returns. He's a little awkward, but he seems sweet. Customer service like that is rare in their part of town.

Darling can't recall a time when they've been so awake and aware of the world around them. It's almost a shame that combined with their inexperience, they're still none the wiser to that strange, yet addictive taste coating the top of their pizza.

"This stuff's amazing! I haven't had this much energy in ages! I jogged a whole mile the other day, my place has never been this spotless either.... If it's not too much to ask - do you think you could tell me what ingredients your kitchen uses?"

"S-same old ingredients any pizza joint uses- Cheese, tomato sauce, and tons of love."

#Brie my oc #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere blurb #male yandere #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere oc #male yandere x reader #yandere smut #suggestive #demon reader

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ew-selfish-art · 1 year ago

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Dpxdc AU: consultant groups can be used to outsource problems for companies so why not monarchies?

Danny is listening to the various eyeballs and ghosts chatter on about all the issues that he now has to oversee and advise and make so many freaking decisions on. It’s annoying that it all has to come down to his call because he was a dumb 14 year old who didn’t want his town to permanently live in the ghost zone.

Now 17, King of the Infinite, and a bit wiser to the world, Danny is doing his best to balance his teenage ambitions to not give a shit and his protective obsession to very much give a shit.

Sams parents are making her learn the family business and Tucker is trying to make this internship he’s got with a fancy tech company out of New Jersey into a career without college… so while they’re commiserating with Danny the idea comes up.

Earth has a shit ton of heroes. Like, ever since the Justice League *poofed* the GIW out of existence with the Meta human acts- more and more caped crusaders seemed to be coming out of the wood work. More villains too but still, more people who seemed wise to their abilities and morals. Danny has literally never taken an ethics class.

But rn, Eye-mothy and Eye-Bert are arguing over how Danny as King Phantom is supposed to tackle the problem of some fucking pool acting as a weird trade route with a cult and… ugh it’s just so boring but like also such a fucking problem. But… maybe it can be someone else’s issue.

Opening a portal, Danny escapes into space and gets to work finding the base of operations- Tucker had told him there was a new satellite after all and there’s no way it wasn’t connected to the hero orgs- and boom he flies into the Watchtower.

“Hey- are any of you guys willing to consult on some weird pools of ectoplasm in Pakistan? Green and glowing little lakes of bullshit and magic?” Danny asks into the meeting room of the JL regardless of their startled and alarmed exclamations.

“… I could consult on that.” A voice comes from the corner, and Danny recognizes him as one of the bat people. Or bird? The guy is in a lot of red and clearly wasn’t supposed to be in this meeting based on the way he’s propped in the corner. The room erupts in protest but Danny barely hears them through his excitement and focus on the dude.

“Great! I’ll have him back before the end of the day! Lets go Bird boy!” And with that, Danny grabbed the Bird, chucked them both through a portal back into his thrown room and begins to explain the way these eyeballs are totally trying to trap him into doing more work than he needs to do.

“What do I call you by the way? I’m Danny but you’ll probably hear them call me King Phantom.”

“I go by Red Robin, and honestly, I’ve been trying to get this shit taken care of for years.”

From there Tim becomes a regular consultant for King Phantom- the Bat Family is losing their minds with him constantly going to the land of the dead but also Constantine said not to piss off the king at all costs.

Danny is just thrilled that this dude has a shit ton of insight as well as business sense- like he could legit run the monarchy way better than him despite the fact that they’re the same age.

They end up working together for years, and even when there’s not an active issue at hand, Danny will meet up with the bird just to talk.

Sam and Tucker think they’re hilarious each time they ask if Danny’s proposed yet.

Tim has already planned their wedding but all of that information is in a folder more secured than the nuclear codes- Danny needs to ask him on a date first.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #Tim drake #dead tired #dc crossover #dp crossover #ehehehehe #also him just grabbing any random hero to help on any issue their power set might help to advise #danny outsourcing his issues is my favorite headcanon #boy wants to be helpful but also like is begging to just have one lazy Sunday #Tim drake is like ‘why would I not help run a monarchy in my spare time from running a Fortune 500 company and being a vigilante?’#tim drake is a menace #he’s what the eyeballs have nightmares about and they didn’t even think they could have nightmares

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bunny-jpeg · 1 month ago

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smoked out

fernando alonso & lance stroll

tags: smut/pwp, weed smoking/recreational drug use, threesome, age gap (25/26/43), montreal, cowgirl position, oral sex (fernando receiving), poor lance

a/n: this one goes out to the seven strollonso fans, i hope this is something! this has also made me really want to pick up a joint... also please remember to consume recreational drugs carefully! do not take something if you don't want to and make sure if you do you're with people you trust and will take care of you!! - this includes alcohol!

montreal, qc - january

the two of them knew it was wrong. any moment of any day there could be a drug test at their door. but it was the off-season, just after new years and you were more than happy to pick up a little big of grass for your boyfriend and his teammate.

except many thought that lance was your boyfriend and not the older and (no-so) wiser fernando. you were seated in front of the couch in front of the coffee table while you worked your magic under the careful gaze of your older lover.

"does this look good?" you looked over to fernando on the couch. he looked at the joint then at you. he rubbed the back of your head and you smiled up at him, "c'mon, speak to me, honey or else you're not getting any."

fernando replied, "oh, so you're going to give it all to lance?" he looked over at the other man on the loveseat, he had a beer in his hand and had been nursing it most of the evening. fernando turned back to you and leaned forward to be closer in your space. he kissed the top of your head and chuckled, "i think he'd die after one hit."

lance perked up and said, "i've smoked weed before!" his brown eyes wide at the accusation that he was new to this. it made you and fernando laugh. he felt his cheeks grow a little pink, "i mean... ya know, i have had it... once." that was a lie, it was a total lie. it was a party in high school and he pretended to smoke.

you snickered and looked up at fernando, "oh, we're gonna have so much fun with him tonight." and reached up to your lover with your free hand and gave him a pat on his cheek. you and fernando were seasoned, at the very least, fernando was a little more seasoned than you.

he told you all matters of stories from his early days in formula one. he chuckled once, "you think i had that facial hair while i was totally sober." and you on the other hand, were not an angel, despite fernando's nickname towards you. you went to cegep and then university. plus with the stuff now more legal than air, it wasn't hard to get your hands on it.

you eyed the joint before you got up and onto the couch. the rolling tray left behind on the table. you tucked yourself into fernando's shoulder and looked at him.

lance leaned forward in the loveseat and took a sip of his beer as he watched you light up. in the warm lighting of your apartment (where smoking was allowed) the canadian driver watched you take the first drag of the joint. you giggled a little as you exhaled the smoke into your lover's face. lance swallowed and admired you two.

you looked over to the other man while you handed fernando the joint and beckoned the other driver to come over, "oh my god, we're not gonna bite." and lance had never moved so quickly to his feet.

you were sandwiched between them as fernando had a smoke as casual as drinking win. he looked away from the two of you to exhale, he was polite. he took another drag before he handed it to lance.

lance took it nervously and you were much closer in his space. your arm draped around his shoulders as you giggled. you asked if he needed help and he nodded in response. your breasts pressed up against him as you coached him through a proper inhale.

"and don't hold it in your lungs, it doesn't make you anymore high. if anything it could burn them and cause more problems." then you made a pleased noise when he exhaled and coughed loudly.

lance wheezed and hit his chest as he coughed through the exhale. but you were right there, hand on his back. and then when he looked at you with glassy eyes, you only smiled and kissed him. fernando alonso's (problematically) younger girlfriend was kissing him. when lance opened his eyes to see fernando's response, the older man simply took the joint from him and laughed.

the other driver said, "be careful there, lancito. she can get a little handsy when she smokes." then took another drag, smirking around it.

you were still kissing lance once more. your hand slid up his dark t-shirt and you giggled against the kiss. soon you felt the weight of your lover up against your behind, with your front against his teammate. pressed between both men as you felt their erections up against you. the three of you kissed, smoked and felt up one another. with fernando even landing a long earned kiss on his teammates mouth.

you pulled away from a kiss with fernando and leaned back against lance. your throat felt dry and your head was full of marijuana high. but you didn't care, you loved the feeling of being between the two men. you chuckled as you asked, "i don't wanna mess up my couch. why don't we take this to bed?"

lance never thought he'd ever see you naked, not when you were stumbling over yourself as you dragged them both into the bedroom. your king sized bed (purchased by fernando) sat proudly up against the wall and before he could bat his eyes, you were struggling to get out of the slightly baggy aston martin shirt that you had been wearing. the visual of seeing you smoking a joint while wearing the teams t-shirt scratched an itch in lance's brain that he didn't think was there. didn't help that you were barely wearing anything underneath it. yoga shorts that basically showed your ass when you bent over.

before lance could go to the belt of his jeans, he looked at his teammate and fernando wasn't even looking at him. too engrossed in your state of undress. he caught lance looking at him and said, "you can sit and watch, or you can join. teammates share." then winked at the other man.

lance was often curious about the behind the scenes of formula one in earlier decades, but something in his head suggested that it was a lot of this. and by the sight of you, now fully undressed, he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity.

fernando palmed himself through his jeans for a moment as he watched lance get undressed. it was a cute sight, to see his little girlfriend and his teammate on the bed together. seemed like you didn't need the help of a little herb to get this comfortable. he directed his attention to lance and said, "say something nice about her, she might get the wrong idea."

you looked at lance and pushed some of your hair out of your hair. you smiled at him, the kind of smile that drew the other driver in. you felt the uptick in your heart when lance replied.

"i sometimes wonder how could an angel like her, end up with you, nando." he chuckled then worked the belt of his jeans. he was painfully hard. it wasn't just primal stimulation or the drugs. you were fucking hot. he looked at you further and added, "i'm sorry, man, but... she's quite the looker." then looked at his teammate, "do you have blackmail or something?"

fernando replied while you giggled, "keep talking like that and i'll send you home." his tone was tense in a way that excited you and lance. the two men stripped down and fernando was on the bed.

lance moved without thinking, following with whatever you and fernando wanted. the spanish driver was propped up against the headboard with lance on his back, his mouth close to his cock. and you swung one leg over lance's waist with both hands on his toned stomach.

you gave a knowing look to fernando before you giggled. and your lover winked at you before your expression turned tense for a moment as you sank down on lance's cock. it soon turned to an expression of bliss as you started to move your hips against the aston martin driver.

"you want to be good like her, right? then suck me off, lance." fernando cooed and it made excitement bubble up in the canadian driver. fernando shuddered when lance kissed his cock before he started to suck him off like he had done it (or rather dreamed it) a million times.

lance groaned with his teammate's cock in his mouth as you rode him. there was enough room on the bed for the three of you to fuck to your heart's content. his dark eyes closed as he enjoyed the feeling of giving and receiving pleasure. he had never done something exactly like this, but he was egged on by the noises you and fernando were making.

he liked this a lot.

you giggled before you rubbed your dry eyes, the high in your body was heightened by the feeling of pleasure in your blood, "he looks cute when he's giving head." you ranked your fingers down his chest as you worked his length.

the entire room felt the pleasure between the three of you, the bed rocked a little bit from the movements as you moved with a certain pace. mostly you set it with your movements which lance followed with sucking fernando's cock.

you trailed your nails down the canadian's chest and giggled as you looked to your lover, "quite the ride."

"quite the sucker too." fernando laughed. the three of you incredibly high from an evening of smoking. you knew your apartment would smell like weed for a little while longer. but none of your cared, you'll air it out eventually. it wouldn't be any worse than the smell of sex in your shared bedroom with fernando.

you leaned in to kiss fernando and placed a hand on his collarbone, "fuck, honey." it was quite a feeling kissing the man you loved while you also rode his teammate like a stallion. lance's cock felt good, rubbed up against all the right areas. you knew the pleasure would be tenfold thanks to the weed, but this was unexpected. you held onto fernando's chin while you placed a hand on lance's chest. you moaned into your lover's mouth while you fucked the other man perfectly.

lance continued to suck fernando's cock, which made the older man moan into your kiss as well, he panted heavily when you pulled away and took you by the hips to fuck lance faster. the bed really rocked with the three of you as pleasure coursed through your systems.

your head felt full of cotton in the best way possible. fluffy filling tainted with a sexual euphoria that made your skull throb. you loved this. you whined against fernando, "fuck. we should've done this ages ago."

"good things come to those who wait." your lover replied as he choked lance a little bit on his cock which only made his cock cock twitch inside of you, "i have a feeling he has done this before with other lovers."

you looked over and patted his flustered face, "wouldn't be surprised. too cute not to pass up." you giggled as you really worked yourself on his cock. you could feel the blooming pleasure and the heat in your blood. you couldn't help but giggle from the feeling of it, the high graced your brain with heightened feelings that only made you giggle as you rode him.

the two men were loving it as well. the three of you moved perfectly. in a way perfect for one another. you were perfect for fernando as his partner and fernando was good for lance as a teammate. and you and lance simply got along perfectly, often leaving fernando's unable to think of much else besides the two of you.

lance worked his mouth on fernando's cock and you worked lance's cock. you tongue grazed along lance's neck and he felt a shudder of want through him. he held onto you a little tighter and met your thrusts, he bounced you on his cock with a heated fever.

this little game wasn't going to last forever. you could feel the tension in your thighs from your movements. it was hard to ride for what felt like so long. but you were determined as you laid a single hickey on lance's chest, which almost made him finish right there and then.

fernando knew what you could be like in the bedroom. a little toublemaker. after all, he taught you all of his tricks. you could easily ruin any man. lance should be lucky that he was brought into the fold. fernando wouldn't let anyone touch what was his. he did have to admire that you looked pretty riding lance.

"fuck, lance. fernando." you groaned as you continued to ride them. your thighs ached in the best was possible and you felt a splash of euphoria over you. it wasn't much longer before lance came as you kissed his neck.

he kept his mouth on fernando's cock and continued to suck him off while he finished inside of you with a heavy groan. you came soon after, pleasure hit and you happily rode through your climax before fernando finished down lance's throat while he kissed you deeply. all three of you were spent. lance even coughed from the salty taste in his mouth.

"holy shit." you exhaled while fernando patted your cheek and kissed lance. you were soon laid in between them. your cheek pressed against fernando's shoulder with lance's arm around your bare middle. lance giggled a little and you giggled in return. you looked over to the canadian driver and asked, "what are you laughing at?"

"nothing. never though i'd give head to my driving idol."

fernando rubbed your cheek and replied to lance, "keep it up and it won't be the last time." his high was starting to fade, but you and lance were still quite high. he kissed you both on the head before he said, "let me get you two some water." but before he could slip out of bed, two pairs of hands pulled him back in.

he looked at you and lance, you both were grinning like fools. before he could say anything you tapped his lips and said, "oh you thought we were done here, nando? nu-uh." and the older driver realized that he was going to get the best head of his life. <3

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librababe99 · 5 months ago

Text

Older, Wiser, Yours

❥・CW: Female Reader, Old Man! Logan, Age Gap (early twenties), MDNI 18+, sexual themes. ❥・Word Count: 1695

Summary: Despite being on the run for the last few weeks you find solace in Logan's arms and a small moment blossoms into something so much more...

A/N: The Old man! Logan fics have had a grip on me these past few days...so I figured i'd throw my own little story into the mix🤭Comments and feedback are appreciated!

(Masterlist)

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The dim glow of the neon lights outside your motel window bathed the room in a soft, purple hue, flickering intermittently as the sign buzzed faintly. It was late—far too late for you to be awake—but sleep was elusive these days.

You sighed, pulling the threadbare blanket tighter around your shoulders, your thoughts swirling in a relentless tide. The day's events had been exhausting, yet your mind wouldn't quiet, haunted by memories that refused to stay buried.

The door creaked open, and you turned to see Logan stepping inside, his broad frame filling the doorway. He was older than you—much older—and it showed in the lines etched into his rugged face, the streaks of silver in his dark hair, and the heaviness in his eyes.

"You're still up," he grumbled, his voice rough as gravel. He kicked the door shut behind him and shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair.

You nodded, offering a small, tired smile. "Couldn't sleep."

Logan's gaze softened as he walked over, his heavy boots making the worn floorboards creak under his weight. He sat down beside you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The two of you had been on the run for weeks now, moving from one dingy motel to another, always one step ahead of the people who wanted you both dead.

You had always admired him, long before you knew him. He was a legend, a man who had seen and survived more than most could even fathom. But now that you were with him, side by side in the constant fight for survival, that admiration had evolved into something deeper—something you hadn’t expected.

Logan was older, yes, but that didn’t matter to you. You were drawn to him, to his strength and his quiet, unspoken care. You could see through the tough exterior, the gruffness he wore like armor, and recognized the scars that weren’t just on his skin.

"What's on your mind, kid?" Logan asked, his voice softer now, though it still held that gruff edge. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with surprising tenderness.

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. "Just... everything. It feels like it's all catching up with me."

Logan's hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. He understood—he always did.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable yet charged with an unspoken tension. The past few weeks had brought you closer, the two of you relying on each other in ways you hadn't expected. But there was something more between you, something simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to break free.

Logan’s hand slid down to your neck, his calloused fingers tracing the line of your jaw. Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm against your skin, the scent of cigar smoke and whiskey lingering faintly.

"You know," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "you don't have to carry all this alone."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. The way he was looking at you—like you were something precious, something worth protecting—made your heart ache.

"I know," you whispered back, your voice trembling with the vulnerability you were feeling. "But it's hard to let go."

Logan’s hand slid down your neck to your shoulder, pulling you closer until you were pressed against him. His other arm wrapped around your waist, holding you securely. The warmth of his body seeped into you, and for the first time in what felt like ages, you felt safe.

"You don't have to be strong all the time," Logan said, his lips brushing against your forehead. "It's okay to let someone else take care of you."

Your eyes stung with unshed tears, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. You hadn't realized how much you needed to hear that—how much you needed to feel cared for, protected.

Before you could think, before you could second-guess yourself, you tilted your head up and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft, tentative at first, as if you were both testing the waters. But when Logan's hand tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer, the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more consuming.

It was like a dam breaking, all the pent-up emotions, the fear, the longing, flooding out in that single moment. Logan kissed you like he was starving for it, like he needed you just as much as you needed him.

You melted into him, your hands fisting in his shirt as you pulled him closer, desperate to feel more of him, to drown out everything else. His hands roamed your back, tracing the curve of your spine, and you shivered at the sensation, heat pooling low in your belly.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for breath, Logan rested his forehead against yours again. His breath was ragged, his eyes dark with an intensity that sent a thrill through you.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough and low, filled with a gentleness that made your heart swell.

You nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face. "I've never been more sure of anything."

Logan let out a breath, something between a sigh and a low, primal growl, before capturing your lips with his once more. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, as if he was savoring every moment, every sensation. His lips moved against yours with an intoxicating mixture of tenderness and raw hunger, his stubble grazing your skin as his hands began to roam your body with a possessive, almost reverent touch.

His fingers were everywhere, tracing the curves and contours of your form with a deliberate slowness that made your breath hitch and your skin tingle. He moved with a sense of purpose, as if he was learning every inch of you, committing the feel of your body to memory. The heat between you intensified, all the worries within you became irrelevant, obliterated by the fire that burned in his touch, by the way he worshiped your body with an unspoken promise of what was to come.

Logan’s hands slid under your shirt, his rough palms skimming over your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine. When his fingers found the clasp of your bra, he hesitated for just a moment, as if giving you one last chance to stop. But when you leaned into him, your body arching in invitation, his restraint snapped. The fabric was cast aside, and his hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples with a touch that was both gentle and commanding.

His lips left yours to follow the path of his hands, trailing kisses down your neck and across your collarbone, until his mouth closed over one of your breasts, sucking and teasing with a skill that made you gasp. The sound you made was enough to spur him on, his free hand sliding down your body to the waistband of your pants, fingers dipping to find the heat that built within your core.

The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, of the soft moans that escaped your lips as Logan explored you with a sensuality that made your toes curl. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, who knew exactly how to touch you to make you unravel beneath him.

When he finally pulled back, his chest heaving as he caught his breath, Logan cupped your face in his large hands, his thumb tenderly caressing your cheek. The way he looked at you—like you were something precious, something worth protecting—made your heart stutter. His gaze was filled with a depth of emotion that took your breath away, a combination of desire, affection, and something else that you couldn't quite name but felt deep in your bones.

"You're something else, kid," he murmured, his voice rough but softened by the unmistakable affection in his tone. His thumb traced your swollen lower lip, as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you, his eyes dark with the unspoken promise of what was still to come.

A smile tugged at your lips as you leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand seep into your skin. "So are you," you whispered, your voice laced with all the unspoken feelings that had been building between you.

Logan’s gaze held yours for a moment longer before he gently guided you back onto the bed, his arm wrapping securely around your waist as he pulled you close. The heat of his body enveloped you, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear grounding you in the moment. You rested your head on his chest, letting the soothing rise and fall of his breathing lull you into a rare sense of peace.

But even as you lay there, content in the warmth of his embrace, you could feel the tension simmering just beneath the surface, the unfulfilled desire that lingered in the air between you. It was a promise, a quiet understanding that this was only the beginning, that there was so much more to explore between you.

"Get some rest," Logan whispered, his voice a low rumble as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. "I'll be here when you wake up."

And for the first time in a long time, you felt safe enough to believe him, safe enough to let the world and all its worries fade away.

With Logan beside you, his strong arms holding you close, the weight of the world didn’t seem so heavy anymore. Instead, there was only the quiet comfort of his presence, the promise of protection and care that you had found in his embrace. And as your eyes drifted shut, the heat of his body pressed against yours, you knew that whatever came next, you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

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Taglist: @nonamevenus

#logan howlett #hugh jackman #james logan howlett x reader #old man! Logan #xmen fandom #xmen fanfiction #logan x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #female reader #wolverine smut #old man logan #logan howlett x reader

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sencrose · 17 days ago

Text

— ENCORE!

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

tags: exhibitionism, established relationship, toys (vibrator), idol AU (reader's an idol), praise, multiple orgasms, overstim, dacryphilia, clothed/floor sex, pet names (angel/sweetheart/princess), satoru being a wee bit possessive/mean, reader’s kinda tsun

wc: 4.6k

summary: your boyfriend wants you to put on a special show for the night, and your audience is none the wiser.

a/n: happy holidays! let's completely ignore canon together <3 i'll be free from idol AU bs one day. today is not that day. i got a tag on my blog for any idol!reader stuff involving gojo at #iettoru! if it piques your interest! special thanks to @angelbunsx and @surpassing-morning for looking over this for me <3 dividers by @/adornedwithlight

❥ ao3 link here

This was a horrible idea. Well, it still is a horrible idea, but you went along with it anyway. At the end of the day, you only really have yourself to blame, even though you would really like to split it with your boyfriend.

It took a bit of convincing, maybe a bit of guilt tripping, but it doesn’t change the fact that there’s a vibrator stuffed inside you as you walk onto the stage. Everything feels more intense than usual– the brightness of the stage lights, the stuffiness of the venue, the cheers of the crowd.

You inhale deeply but the words that follow come out shaky, “T-thanks for coming, everyone!” It catches you off guard, but not enough to stop talking. Your group members, however, give you a worried glance. You can’t afford to make them worry about you, not when there’s nothing worth worrying about other than your boyfriend’s perverted fantasies. So you continue, yelling into the mic as a way to hide your unsteady breathing, “We have a great show planned for tonight, so we hope you enjoy it!”

The crowd cheers, as per usual. Though this time it rumbles through you, intensifying the already overwhelming vibrations stirring you up. You don’t have much time to think about it. The start of the backing track catches you off guard, as you rush to catch up with your members’ formation. Everything feels hot, and you’re not sure what it is, the embarrassment of a rare mistake, or the vibrations rushing through your body with each step.

And though you’re struggling to keep up with the routines you’ve practiced dozens of times over, Satoru doesn’t seem to be phased. He’s business as usual, a sun bright smile plastered on his face as he yells and waves his penlight in the air. He might even be cheering louder than usual, the bastard.

Every move feels risky, like taking a block from an unsteady tower of jenga. The world’s worst game of flipping the coin. Either the vibrator will adjust inside you, press against somewhere that might make you moan, or maybe it’ll move around enough and slip out. Thinking about the latter is too much for you, so you surrender yourself to moving a bit less than usual. Focus on shining that dazzling smile to the crowd and hope they won’t see how it falters with every shift of your body.

And thankfully, it works for the first performance. You’ve never been so grateful to hear the crowd whoop and holler. Even more so that you’re not introducing the next song.

But that moment of relief is cut short. The vibrations pattern changes to something more intense, staccato pulses that make you wince with each throb. It catches you off guard, a soft moan escaping your lips before you try to cover it up with a cough, though you’re not sure it’s that convincing.

“You doing okay over there?” Your member’s voice barely registers in your ears as you rush to put on a fake smile.

“S-Sorry, I’m doing okay! Just recovering from a cold,” you reply with a shaky chuckle. Everyone seems to be content with your answer, though Satoru seems exceptionally proud of himself. It takes every bit of self control to keep your breathing steady, as your members banter amongst themselves before introducing the next song. Their speech feels like it’s going on for ages until they finally get themselves in position.

Thankfully, you’re not caught off guard this time, though the choreo’s a lot more complicated for this song. You don’t have the safety of being hidden in the back, being front and center for a good chunk of the performance. Though the audience cheers, you can see some concerned faces interspersed between the sea of penlights, some murmurs and whispers beyond what you can hear. It’s not hard to imagine what the conversation would consist of.

Even on a good day this routine would leave you breathless, but it’s on a whole other level now. It’s hard to keep your muscles clenched, terrified of having the toy slip out of you from your frenzied movements. And seriously, who thought adding this many jumps was a good idea?

But with each hit of a drum, you jump anyways, though a little less enthused than your members. Then, as if it’s a punishment for not giving enough effort, the speed of the vibrator increases. Your eyes dart to find Satoru in the audience, but he’s cheering innocently as usual, though one of his hands is dug deep in his pocket.

You’re going to kill him later.

With each move, it’s getting harder to ignore the tension building in your core. But you just have to get through this song and another before the buppan period. It’s only another ten minutes max, you can keep it together till then, you think.

Satoru plays more with the settings and you can feel him pushing the buttons for each one, carefully watching your reaction to see which is the most effective. Unfortunately for you, it’s written clearly on your face when your smile breaks and your eyes squeeze shut for a brief moment, just enough for Satoru to hone in on it.

You’ve vastly overestimated your ability to stay calm and collected. The buzzing inside you is erratic now, each pulse getting you closer to the edge. But the song is so close to being over, maybe if you just move a little less, catch a small break where you can focus on standing still, you can make it through. Though, it’s hard to concentrate when you can feel a pool forming in your underwear, the wet cotton sticking to your skin wherever you go.

It’s as if you can feel yourself developing a fever in real-time, heat boiling beneath the surface of your skin as you struggle to keep up with your members. It doesn’t help that Satoru keeps changing the vibrations to a pattern that doesn’t match the rhythm of the music, yet another added distraction. It demands your attention as if it’s a living, breathing being, gnaws and claws at your core until you finally give it what it wants.

The vibrator wins over your self-determination.

You at least have the self control to fake a cough over it, but not before your knees give out on you, trembling as you try to hold yourself back up. With every pulse, ecstasy courses through your body, small choked moans escaping your lips.

Your group members, sweet as they are, immediately come to your side to help you up, and you’re rushing back to coughing to hide the truth.

“H-Hey, you really don’t have to push yourself, you know,” she whispers to ensure the audience doesn’t hear.

You do your best to swat her away without actually hitting her, afraid she’ll be able to feel the toy vibrating through your skin and discover your dirty little secret.

“N-No, I’m fine, I can do one last song,” you get out, enunciating each syllable carefully to not spur any suspicion.

“You sure?”

“Y-Yeah, it’s just one more,” you assure her.

“Okay…” Hesitantly, she lets you recollect yourself, watching over you until you stand, give her a smile and a thumbs up.

“Sorry about that everyone, I’m okay! But this will be our last song of the night,” you announce into the mic, swiping the dust off your skirt.

You get a bit of your spirit back now that you got that out of your system. That doesn’t make the vibrations any less incessant.

Unbeknownst to the audience, it’s not a performance anymore–it’s a competition. To show Satoru you can hold it out till the end.

And with the start of the instrumental, you’re off to the races.

A thread of melodic synths weaves its way through the room, and the crowd fires off their usual chants during the introduction. It’s a nice distraction to hold you over until it’s your turn in the center. When it’s your time, you beam and sing sweetly into the mic, like it’s just your average performance. Satoru doesn’t let you go that easily, adjusting the attack pattern to diminish and swell in a way that catches you off guard.

And though it’s hard, it’s not the worst of the night. You hiccup on a note for a split second, but it seems to go unnoticed by the audience, considering how hard they’re waving their penlights. That’s one third of the song out of the way.

Even when you’re out of the spotlight, Satoru doesn’t take his eyes off you, nor does he take his fingers off the remote. Every move is an opportunity to see you break, even if it’s just a little. He does his best to find a rhythm, one that pulses with the beat of the music, and you feel it reverberating through you with each step. It’s not quite enough to make you break, but it’s enough that you’re hyper aware of it.

A frenzied mix of bass and synths meld together for the bridge, and the crowd takes it as their cue to do the appropriate chants, their yells rattling your chest almost as intensely as the vibrator. It’s bad timing to feel the heat in your core swell as you take your spot center stage for your solo with the instrumental toned down. The crowd quiets down too, a rush of soft claps pattering like butterflies filling the room. On a regular night, this display would be cute, heartwarming even. But now it only serves as a reminder that all eyes are on you, and only you.

Don’t mess up.

So you take a deep breath, gripping onto the mic like a vice. All of your focus is on the lyrics, singing them as softly and sweetly as you can. Even though the night was off to a rough start, you think you’ve redeemed yourself with this, hitting every note just right, even with the vibrator doing its best to pull your attention back to it. Back to Satoru.

You can take it easy now. It’s almost over. Just repeat the dance you've already done twice over from the other choruses.

And for once, it’s just as simple as that. The vibrating is incessant, but you’ve gotten used to it at this point, even with the occasional change in pattern. Your chest rises and falls harder than usual as you hold your finishing pose, your skin covered in beads of sweat you aren’t accustomed to.

Despite everything Satoru attempted to throw at you, you made it, and that’s all that matters. The performance is over.

For now. —

The buppan period is worse than you thought it was going to be. To your surprise, Satoru didn’t do his usual frenzied ticket buying spree and now you’re left to face the masses he usually doesn’t let you see. You don’t recognize the fan in front of you, can’t even determine if he’s a first time fan or if you’ve met him so long ago the passage of time has done your memory in.

“H-Hi, thanks for coming!” you exclaim, taking his ticket and placing it on the table.

“Thanks for the performance! I really hope you’ll feel better soon,” he remarks. The way he scratches his neck tips you off that he’s nervous.

“Aw thank you! I’m already feeling better for the most part, I’m just coughing a little here and there,” you do your best to assure him, lying through your teeth.

“Despite it all, you still did great today,” he says, whispering towards the end of his sentence.

“Thanks,” you smile, and you don’t want to admit it but you are a bit touched by his words. Quickly, you shake the thought away. Maybe you understand why Satoru monopolizes your time now. “So, did you have a pose in mind?”

“Yeah, just a hand heart, if that’s okay,” he offers, a bit hesitant, shakily playing with his hands to show you the gesture he’s thinking of.

“Sounds good!” You give him a thumbs up before leaning in a bit closer to him, just enough that your fingertips are touching. Look into the camera with your usual smile, and count down from three.

As soon as the flash of the camera dissipates, you’re hit with a rush of pulses to your core. It’s almost enough to make you keel over, a sliver of a groan escaping you as you bend over to grab your stomach.

“A-Are you okay?” he asks, his hands hovering over you wanting to help, but unsure if he should touch.

You don’t think you deserve his kindness.

“Y-Yeah, sorry, just,” you sigh, barely able to keep it together. Each pulse takes the wind out of you, gets you closer on that precipice you don’t want to experience here, not this close to a stranger, much less a fan. So, you wave the white flag for now, gritting your teeth to get the words out between deep breaths, “I think I gotta go. I’ll be back in a bit.”

–

Your absence doesn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. If anything, this is probably what he had in mind, push you to your limits until you just can’t take it anymore. By the time you barely have a moment to collect yourself, he’s already found you on the floor of the green room. It’s pathetic, letting him see you like this–breathless, panting, and desperate for relief.

The way he hovers over you paints him in a surreal, hazy light, as if he’s an angel coming down to save you from your strife, when he’s really the demon who put you in this scenario to begin with.

“My angel loves the attention, doesn’t she?” he asks, sickly sweet.

“Fuck off, Satoru,” you bite back, but you don’t stop him when he bends down to shuts you up with a kiss. It’s impossible to keep your voice back when he splits your legs apart with his knee, pressing up against your soaked panties while the vibrator continues to hum inside you. It’s more overwhelming than you thought, finally getting what you want and letting yourself melt into his touch. Satoru doesn’t let you savor it for too long, pulling away with a shit-eating grin.

“Feisty. Did I make you wait too long?” he sneers, pressing his forehead against yours.

You don’t give him a response, too embarrassed at the mess he’s made of you, at the way your wet underwear clings to your sticky folds.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you all the attention you need,” he coos, sliding his hand up your thigh to pull down your shorts and underwear.

Satoru takes his sweet time because he always enjoys seeing how restless you get over him. The way you look up at him, the hint of tears forming on your waterline while pawing at him as you silently beg for him to take care of you. He could never get sick of it. So, he gently massages your inner thigh, fingers creeping up closer to your pussy until you’re nearly crying, pleading for him to do something.

“P-Please, take it out ‘Toru,” you whine, sniffling a bit because you’re so close to being overstimulated.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispers soft and low, “since you asked so nicely…” he trails off, lithe fingers pressing into your soaked cunt, but not before he has some more fun with you. Satoru takes his sweet time, letting out a little “oops” to pretend the toy is slipping from his grasp, only for his fingers to go deeper than the vibrator.

The moment you part your lips to ask him to stop is the moment he finally shows mercy and slowly pulls out the vibrator. The sudden loss of sensation is a contradiction, both welcome and not. It’s strange to have nothing inside you, it almost makes you wish something else was in there to take its place.

One thing that catches you both off guard is just how wet it is, nearly dripping with your arousal.

“Wonder if any fans noticed you’re practically leaking,” he says before licking a long stripe off the vibrator, “not that it matters, you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

“It’s just sweat,” you retort, looking off to the side because you can’t stand to inflate his ego when he gets like this.

“Sure it is. Were you thinking of me up there?” he asks, following your gaze.

“Maybe,” you mumble.

“Huh? What was that?” he perks up, bringing a hand to his ear for dramatic effect.

“Toru, just put it inside already,” you huff with a soft pout.

“Wooooow,” he comments, drawing out the vowel for dramatic effect, “needy today aren’t we?”

“It’s your fault anyways,” you say, an attempt to throw the blame back at him. Still, you wrap your fingers in his shirt before pulling his body closer.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take the blame as always. For what it’s worth, you’re just as bad as me,” he comments. His fingers slide against your slick folds and you bite your lip to hold your voice back.

Satoru savors every moment he has with you, drinking in the sight of your cunt practically dripping arousal onto the floor. The more he stares, the more your face burns. No matter how many times you’ve done this, you can’t get over how attentive he is.

He sinks in a single finger, and it’s already enough to have you groaning at the sensation, to have your hips bucking into him.

“What kinda idol runs off to the green room in the middle of an event to get fucked?” Satoru teases, his finger pressing into you harder.

“Y-You’re being mean, ‘Toru,” you whine.

“You like when I’m mean,” he quips back before pressing in another finger with little resistance.

Satoru does what he always does–starts slowly, listens carefully to the way your breath hitches as he curls his fingers to find that special spot. When he gets there it’s hard not to relinquish control, as you lean back and let him take care of you. As much as he loves to listen to your moans, he likes swallowing them up too, feverishly kissing you without letting a single one slip from your lips. Satoru only pulls away from a moment to tease you.

“C’mon angel, you gotta let me know if it feels good,” he coos before picking up the pace. It’s too much, embarrassing to hear the wet squelches leaving your pussy the more he fingers you.

Every part of you runs hot as the tension that’s been simmering in your core builds to a roaring boil. Desperation overrides any rational thought as you find a rhythm and ride his fingers, nearly drooling as you feel your muscles tensing up. You’re so close, and he knows it too, because Satoru’s kisses always get messier when you get close to cumming.

“T-Toru, please,” you whine between moans, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for.

“I know, I know,” he coos before giving you a soft peck on the cheek, “let it all out for me, sweetheart.”

It’s as if he knows your body better than you as the tension in your core finally snaps as you cum on his fingers. Satoru being the fiend he is, continues fucking you through it, pushing his fingers in harder when you inevitably clench around him.

“Too much, too much, ‘Toru,” you cry, attempting to grab his wrist but he simply pushes himself deeper into your cunt.

“One more? I know my princess wants another,” he teases before kissing you to cut off of any chance of a response. It’s not like you would be able to give him an answer anyways, not when his fingers play with you so easily, his lips greedily stealing every one of your breaths and moans for himself.

One thing about Satoru is that he likes to overindulge. Likes when you’re extra loud and needy for him, seeing the pleasure written plainly on your face when he fucks you, whether that’s with his fingers, his tongue, his dick, or anything else he can get his hands on. But that makes him insatiable in some aspects, when he makes you cum on his fingers multiple times before he’ll even entertain the prospect of fucking you properly.

Can you really blame him? He just wants to feel all your love for him dripping down his cock. Maybe even make you cry a little because you just look too cute when you do, and even cuter when you sniffle as he wipes your tears and kisses them. It sets off something in him.

But it’s also hard to keep up with him. When you grip onto his hand and try to pull his fingers out because it’s too much, he simply wraps his arm around your waist and keeps you from escaping. Satoru’s determination is a wild animal that can’t be tamed, especially when it comes to you.

It always pays off for him, but that means it pays off for you as well. Though, you’re in tears when he rips another orgasm out of you, your moans too deafening to quell with a kiss. Your legs involuntarily squeeze close as Satoru gets you near the edge of ache and overstimulation, but he uses his other hand to split them open, watching closely how your pussy convulses and flutters around his fingers as you come undone. Only when you finally come down from your high does he slow down, examining just how much you soaked his hand.

“You didn’t have to go so hard, Satoru,” you scoff when he finally gives you a break.

“Just gotta make sure you’re all prepped for me,” he mewls, pulling out his fingers from your messy cunt. They glisten under the fluorescent lighting, before Satoru shamelessly sucks on them before releasing it with a pop.

“Don’t have to go all above and beyond on me,” you mumble, a bit embarrassed at his shamelessness even though it’s just the two of you in the room.

“But my angel only deserves the best,” he says, voice low and sultry. Hastily, he’s stumbling over himself to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants before palming himself over the fabric. That doesn’t last long before he finally frees his cock, already hard and raring to go.

Satoru pulls up your skirt to your waist before slotting himself between your legs. Even still, he teases you, tapping his cockhead on your slick folds and letting out a whistle when a thread of your arousal sticks to him before thinning out and breaking.

“T-Toru, please,” your voice breaks with each tap of his cock against your cunt, the desire to be filled up driving you to the edge of tears.

“Please what?”

“Put it inside already,” you beg with a pout.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he coos before pressing the tip of his cock against your hole, and both of you moan when he bottoms out quicker than usual, thanks to all his hard work. Satoru holds your head in his hands as he pumps into you with a steady rhythm, each stroke punctuated with a hard snap of his hips.

“Fuck, you really are made just for me, aren’t you?” he pants breathily, before planting a wet kiss on your neck.

You can’t bring yourself to answer, not that he really needs one. With his mouth elsewhere, your lips are free to spill all the moans it wants, and they’re abundant. It’s music to Satoru’s ears, as he hums in delight while biting down on your shoulder.

“Can’t be so loud angel, the others’ll hear you,” he teases, as if that isn’t his dream come true. His lips press into yours, and you don’t hesitate to give him the opening he wants. Satoru kisses you sloppily, spit and drool mixing with yours before spilling from the sides of your mouth.

“Is that what you want? Want your fans to know what a pervert you are?”

“No, no, no,” you protest, shaking your head with a tinge of guilt in your chest. You can only imagine the shock your fans and members would have if they ever knew about this happening just a handful of meters away. But that concern disappears as fast as it came when Satoru turns on the vibrator again and plants it against your clit. Your body writhes from the simulation suddenly being introduced again, but Satoru is unrelenting, keeping it right against the sensitive bundle of nerves no matter how much you move.

“It’s okay, I’ll keep your secret,” he says softly, almost gentle, contrary to the position he currently has you in.

Satoru adjusts and presses your legs as far back as he can before he starts building a merciless pace. The weight of his body against yours is suffocating, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he hits your deepest parts from this angle.

“Fuck, you’re getting close, aren’t you? Can tell from the way you’re squeezing me,” he groans, his voice getting breathier with each word, “you wanna cum, sweetheart?”

“P-Please make me cum, ‘Toru,” you pant out.

Satoru answers by frantically thrusting his hips into you, hitting your deepest points at a pace that’s dizzying. Words are the last thing on your mind, too fucked out and crying from how good it feels. You don’t even protest when Satoru bites down on your neck, even harder than before. All you give him is a drawn out whine as he sucks on the skin and with how intense he’s being, it’s definitely going to leave a mark.

It doesn’t matter. All you can focus on is tightening your muscles, preparing yourself for your fourth climax of the night. Satoru is merciless, thrusting into you like an animal functioning on a base desire to breed. The sound of skin-to-skin slapping fills the room, nearly muffling your own babbled cries as you get close. The tension in your core builds and builds until it snaps and crashes into you like a tidal wave, deep and full-bodied.

Your nails dig into his chest when he continues to fuck you through it like he always does, thighs trembling as your walls convulse and flutter around his cock. Satoru curses under his breath as his pace slackens, your orgasm being a precursor to his own. Despite him making a mess of you, he’s just the same as you when he’s cumming, maybe even worse–desperately humping into you and repeatedly whispering “I love you” and moaning until his hips finally give out.

Satoru digs himself deeper into you as he cums, making sure you can feel all of his love for you in the hot ropes of white that paint your insides. After he’s emptied all that he can inside of you, he finally dismounts and gives your body the chance to recover.

You barely take a moment to recollect yourself, still panting and sweating from the intense orgasm when Satoru uncharacteristically rushes to get his clothes back on.

“What are you doing?” you ask, still out of breath.

“Going back out. I still have these to redeem,” he says matter-of-factly. Satoru rummages through his pockets before brandishing a handful of cheki tickets, all with your likeness smothered on them. Before you can even offer up a response, he gives you a peck on the cheek. “You’re not going to keep me waiting, are you?”

#the day i’m free is the day i go through every idol doujin trope so. shrugs #sen writes #sen fics #s.jjk #idoltalk #iettoru!#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #jjk smut #torutaiga

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mosovi-vian · 2 years ago

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And I will stay alive for my future self, so they can one day learn to be kind to who I was as a child. And I will teach them to honor who we used to be, so they can remember the comfort of what once was our untempered flesh and gentle soul. Me and myself are each a fresh wound and a rough scab, bearing respectively the gift of green faith and honed will.

This has been in my draft for a while because I was determined to post this only after I knew what I should write underneath it. I’ve read a lot on the concept of healing the wounded inner child since even before my c-ptsd diagnosis. However, I’ve sought as much comfort in my little self as they had in me. Looking back, I was an impressively emotionally-intuitive kid. I remember well how I used to think, the things I would write to my future self; they were wiser and gentler than I could ever hope to be as an adult. Needless to say, the little poem above is inspired by the aforementioned experience. Sure, big me is armed with a more developed pre-frontal cortex and access to invaluable resources (coping mechanisms, therapy, on and offline communities) , but I struggle to rediscover/reinvent my identity. Little me was the biggest vestige of my lost personhood. So yeah, this might be just a huge self-indulgent projection with my favorite character, but thinking that post-S3 Hunter would also be in my shoes is not completely baseless. 16yrs old Hunter is the fresh wound (a lot of things happened before his teen years, but I’m going to interpret the events of Hollow Mind - which happened when Hunter was 16 - as the ultimate boiling point in his trauma timeline, hence the ‘fresh wound') and 20yrs old Hunter is the rough scab. Each version of Hunter could be dealing with a different set of trauma-induced symptoms. I think his loyalty to Belos kept him going as a child. Being doubtless was important to Hunter back then; it held his sense of self together. And maybe when he survived and was rewarded the time and space to grow into his own person and live for himself, there was this lasting emptiness. I feel this sort of emptiness even today. My only reference of what ‘wholeness’ felt like was when I was obedient to my family. I equated self-abandonment as the righteous norm. The symptoms I deal with today are definitely different from when I was Hunter’s age pre-time-skip. Now that Hunter is in a safe space and an adult post-time skip, he might also need to seek that strength from his younger self. Reminding himself of how far he’s come and the parts of him that he'd like to keep from his past. The parts that he knows in his bones are purely his - not instilled by Belos, not inherited from Caleb.

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grimmsbride · 1 month ago

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KINGDOM HEARTS [ daisuke / reader ]

sneaking contraband on the tulpar was totally worth it, especially when you got to share it with the person you’ve been pining for.

tags / pre-crash | reader & daisuke are the same age & she is also swansea’s intern (original i know). | not connected to the past daisuke fics | heavy mentions of weed but more specifically weed pens. i know it’s not accurate to the timeline nor the job, but if you’re looking for complete accuracy in a smutfic i don’t know what to tell you | weed sex | sloppy oral sex | fingering | daisuke is heavily ooc. this is done purposely given he’s literally smoking. if that’s an issue i’m sorry | soft-dom daisuke | hes very mouthy & kind of desperate | mutual pining | coworkers to more?.. | unrealistic descriptions of weed & sex | etc

notes / given it was mentioned daisuke liked to party back home (and also drink) i thought him smoking was right up his alley. also i feel like with weed or alcohol he definitely isn’t as insecure? idk how to word it but yeah that was my thought process. as always please excuse any typos & grammar mistakes

You never thought you would be ontop of a freighter, dedicating time to listening to some old man drone about machinery whilst in the middle of space. But alas, here you were; inside a ship known as the Tulpar, under the watchful gaze of Pony Express. You should be thankful, not everyone has the same opportunities as you. Back home, you could name quite a few people that would kill for your position.

You couldn’t resist your reluctance, though. Leaving everything behind for several months was more stressful than people believed. A constant routine, consistently having to be proper given this wasn’t home— it was work. Not having your usual comforts of tv, the outside, hell even your vibrator.

At least you remembered the most important thing of all— your weed pen.

It wasn’t a hard task, as you were given the most natural hiding place above the waist; and you were able to sneak extra cartridges between your clothes. A full-proof plan, really. The only issue was finding places to smoke it.

You couldn’t always hole up in your room, duties called after all. So usually you took a few hits in the bathroom, using the excuse of steam to mask the smoke. Or other times you would take a quick hit when the living room was free; the blown up screen a perfect trance for your little high.

No one seemed the wiser, not even your fellow intern; Daisuke, someone you’ve grown to enjoy being around. Despite being the same age you simply weren’t so sure he would be into that type of thing. He looked far too.. innocent. Surely an annoying term to use for a grown man, but still— what else could you say?

Like any other day it was packed with chores, tasks stacking on-top of each other with no end in sight. You tried to be as friendly as possible, but with your secret craving and exhaustion playing at the back of your mind you were sure you came off a little snappy at times.

You would apologize later, possibly blaming it on the stuffy feeling of the ship or worse — your period.

Either way, much to your pleasure, the day had ended; leaving you in the comfort of your bedroom. Sitting on-top of the plush sheets you leaned over to sift through your nightstand, fingers soon coming into contact with a slender, metallic piece. You rose, bringing your pen with you and looking at the contraption with such love.

Your last piece of sanity. As dramatic as it seemed.

Routinely you brought the mouthpiece to your lips, forming around it and taking a slow hit whilst your thumb pressed against the button. Pulling it away, you allowed the smoke to sit— eyes closing to really take it in.

So focused on your relaxation you hadn’t even realized footsteps were approaching your bedroom until it was too late.

“Hey [Name] you wanna play this board game? Anya do—“ The door was opening before you could even respond, causing panic to rush towards your chest. In the midst you began to cough, throat straining as ugly wails escaped; struggling to catch your breath.

Through a blurry gaze, your eyes landed on the culprit of your chaos; spotting Daisuke glancing at you oddly for a moment.

“Are you uh… Do I smell weed?”

“No!”

You managed to let out, followed by wet gasps. Very, very convincing. Your attention turned to the water bottle on-top of your nightstand, snatching it quickly and taking a swig. The cool liquid soothed your throat just a bit, allowing you to relax from the attack.

Slowly you calmed down, taking a deep breath and releasing; all under the gaze of Daisuke, who sported a small grin.

“I know what weed smells like [Name]. And how weed coughs sound.”

You slowly set your water bottle back down, eyes taking the other in with a harsh squint. For a moment the two of you stared at each other silently before you sucked your teeth, letting out a whisper-yell of close the door!

Daisuke was quick to listen, shutting the door closed and crossing your bedroom in record time. He found a spot on the edge of your bed, watching in awe as you pulled a thin device from underneath your sheets. He giggled gently, as if already riding the cloud; leaning his head onto his shoulder.

“How did you even sneak that in?”

“I have my ways Daisuke.” You winked, attention turning to your beloved weed pen. It was a simple white color with a pink rim around the actual button. Small but deadly, given the amount that was inside the device. Plus it didn’t help you had switched cartridges recently.

Your focus then turned to the man, “Wanna hit?”

Daisuke’s eyebrows rose, a nervous laugh escaping him before nodding.

“Hell yeah.”

He leaned over, grasping the pen from your fingers delicately and glancing at it. The intern spun it between his fingers for a moment, gaze turning back to you the moment you spoke;

“You know how to take it, right? Don’t waste my weed.”

“Watch..,” Daisuke brought the piece up to his mouth, lips wrapping around it gently as his thumb pressed against the circular button. With ease he was breathing it in, pulling the pen back— holding the smoke for a moment, before releasing it.

“..— See? I know what I’m doing.”

He certainly does.. You thought to yourself, suddenly growing a bit hot. You sat up, legs crossing as you reached for your pen.

“I’m impressed, didn’t take you for a smoker.”

Daisuke shrugged, a lazy smile on his face as he laid across your bed. His elbow dug into the plush mattress, a soft cheek resting to his palm.

“I only did it recreationally, at parties and stuff.”

You hummed in response, slightly entertained by the reveal of such information. Daisuke had subtly mentioned before his activities but you didn’t always believe him. He just didn’t seem like the type. More like a little fawn desperate to gain the approval of his superior, not some party animal. But, looks were deceiving after all.

Especially when said fawn was hitting your pen way better than you did.

You pressed your lips to the pen, tapping it there for a moment before a question crept from your throat;

“You know any tricks?”

Daisuke pursed his lips a bit, slowly shaking his head. You were quick to smile, bringing your finger up.

“I know this one, watch.”

With that you were taking a hit, bringing the pen down to your lap. Daisuke focused on you, watching intently as you.. mouthed? He hadn’t a clue what you were attempting to do, nor was he sure you did either— given you suddenly pushed the smoke from your mouth, quick coughs escaping you.

The man was quick to laugh, grinning ear to ear as a flush of red spread across tanned skin. You struggled for breath, little tears threatening to spill as you held your finger back up.

“I got it, I got it!”

You were desperate to show off, even if it risked getting far too high. You lifted the pen back up, taking another strong hit before dropping it back to your lap. You started off strong, breathing the smoke in— struggling not to giggle when you heard Daisuke small sounds of encouragement.

Yet as strong as you started you failed all the same, doubling over to cough into your blankets; cheeks hot the moment you noticed Daisuke practically falling off your bed with laughter.

“How were you worried about me wasting it?”

“Shut up!” You huffed, though snorting. You could nearly curse yourself for not sharing your little secret sooner. As much as smoking was a delight, it was even better doing it with someone else. Especially someone as fun as Daisuke.

You slowly rose from your position, taking deep breaths to relax as you glanced at the man who was currently doing the same.

“Okay, so.. I don’t know a trick.”

Daisuke gave a really? expression, quickly raising his hands when you tossed a pillow in his direction. Pulling the plush item down to his lap with a playful huff, the man watched as you lifted the pen again.

“But.. I do know this one thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

You gave a playful smile, “Shotgunning. You know, passing smoke back and forth.”

His shoulders seemed to straighten, sitting up tall and laying his hands onto the pillow in his lap. An unreadable expression crossed his features, hands crossing to allow his fingers to glide across his silver rings.

“I know what that is.”

Your eyebrow rose, though silently taking in the information. Whether a buzz of jealousy or excitement trickled down your spine, you will never known; as it was quickly washed away with warmth. One such sensation that collected at the pit of your stomach the moment Daisuke reached over for the pen.

“It’ll be better if I do it first.”

The man softly explained, to your puzzled expression. You slowly nodded in turn, watching as he brought the pen to his mouth. A single moment passed before he even took a hit, maybe allowing you time to back out. But you didn’t, watching intently as the man sucked in the smoke— eyes flicking to you with slightly puffed cheeks.

That was your cue. You shuffled from your spot at the head of your bed, coming close enough that your knees were practically touching. You pressed down on the bed to steady yourself, lips parting carefully. Daisuke drew closer, just a breaths away, yet lips not touching. His eyes glanced from your own to your lips, a soft grumble of disapproval rolling at the back of his throat.

Before you could think you felt his fingers tracing your chin, a thumb pressing against the space.

“Like this..” He said rather tight lipped, widening your mouth carefully. Once satisfied Daisuke blew the smoke from his mouth to your own, watching as the white cloud rolled in flowing tendrils, filling your senses the moment it made contact.

You sucked it in, shivering at the sensation and rather heated exchange. You’ve always imagined shotgunning to be rather.. intimate. You were sharing smoke with someone, after all. But, intimate just didn’t seem like a fitting word. At all. This was something beyond it, completely.

As the moment the smoke was touching your tongue, it was as if you could spot Daisuke’s thoughts sprawled across his forehead. Never mind the way those pretty, almond— slowly reddening eyes took you in far too intently.

You backed away a little, releasing a heavy breath straight from your chest. You glanced down before allowing your gaze to land upon the other intern, spotting his eyes already fixated upon you.

“You wanna go again?”

You tried not to nod so excitedly, but with the smoke clouding your focus and the absolute want running through your body— you were sure you looked like an idiotic bobble head. Daisuke either was too high to notice or decided against it anyway, as he was passing your pen back in record time, sitting up and watching.

You took the pen, mirroring his previous movements. Allowing the pen to fall in your lap after, you leaned a bit closer— just as Daisuke did the same. Only this time it was far too close. Your lips briefly touched, only for a moment almost unrecognizable. Yet, you both knew the other felt it.

You decided to ignore it. It meant nothing, right? Simply an accident bound to happen.

You parted your lips, a soft sound escaping as you blew the smoke into his mouth, watching Daisuke consume it eagerly. Sucking up each puffy white cloud under your watchful gaze, he allowed it to dance upon his tongue for a moment before blowing it right back into your mouth.

Just as he closed the distance between the two of you.

You groaned softly, eyes pinched closed as the high of the weed and his lips ran through your entire body. You felt it all the way from your head, to your toes; nerves on fire, as if ready to burst. You were quick to grab him, needing an anchor as the bold kiss quickly muddled your brain. Your fingers curled into his half-dyed hair, twirling soft tresses between the digits and tugging.

Daisuke whimpered right into your mouth, a sound that caused your legs to squeeze and eyebrows to furrow. You felt him moving for a moment before his hands were tracing your body; one finding your waist while the other gently grasped the back of your neck. There, with a tiny push, the man deepened the kiss— tugging you even closer by the waist.

Your arms stretched out, linking around his neck and meeting his eagerness wholeheartedly. You were pleasantly surprised by the sudden 180 of his personality. You especially didn’t take such a clueless, seemingly naive man to be such a good kisser.

But here you were, under his mercy— barely able to keep up with the sloppy lip locking. And with each squeeze of your waist, your mind was spiraling further and further. Again, you could only curse yourself for withholding the weed for this long.

“Wa..wanna touch you..” The words were pushed against your lips so messily you nearly hadn’t heard. Except, they fell from Daisuke’s mouth again; only this time not as muffled given he was pulling away from your lips. His forehead pressed against your own, alternating squeezes on your neck and waist, heavy breaths causing his chest to rise and fall.

“You wanna touch me?”

“So..so bad. I have for a while.” The words came out in drawl as if he was drunk rather than high, red eyes lifting from your lap to your own. “Please, let me?”

He was so desperate, Daisuke’s usual personality peeking through his high facade. The only thing missing was his hands clasped together and whimpers. It was a sight you enjoyed, devouring it greedily with your eyes.

Instead of speaking you slammed your lips back to his own, hands reaching to find his wrists. Once doing so you made his hands drag from your shoulders, down your tummy, hips, and thighs— back and forth, back and forth.. teasing him. It seemed to work as the kiss got even more desperate, his fingers twitching under your hold.

And the moment you released his wrists, Daisuke was all over you— only this time he had full control. The man made quick work of fitting his fingers underneath the shirt you wore, warm digits spanning across your soft stomach. They then rose, flinching the moment they came into contact with your naked breasts— yet eagerly grasping them; cold silver rings digging into your hot flesh.

You sighed into his mouth, grasping his arms and slowly lowering yourself onto your back, pulling him on-top of you. Little sparks of pleasure danced down your spine as he squeezed your breasts, pushing up your shirt to reveal your chest to the muddy air.

The two of you parted, a sticky string connecting your bottom lips together— which broke the moment his head lowered, lips finding a breast. A sloppy kiss was stamped right against your nipple, the swollen bud soon being enveloped by his warm mouth. You stifled a sweet moan, hands finding its place back in his hair, tugging as his tongue swept and circled your areola.

You felt spit trickle at the corner of his mouth from all the attention, sucks only becoming more ferocious as time passed. Caught up in the pleasure you hadn’t realized a hand was descending down your body, not until two fingers were tugging your pants enough that his hand fit through.

Daisuke’s fingers spread across your clothed cunt, finding the edge of your panties and tugging it to the side. There, he was free to spread you, revealing your sopping bud to his finger. He dragged his digit up and down for a moment before running little circles onto your clit.

“Dai..daisuke..—“ You whined softly, nails dragging against his scalp as your thighs twitched. “T—take my pants off, please!”

The man smiled right against your chest, though obliged and with your help, pushed your pants and underwear off your body and down to the bottom of the bed. Now free your legs were spreading easily, hissing as his thumb dragged across your clit whilst another digit circled your wet hole.

Daisuke lifted from your chest, watching with reddened eyes as his finger sunk in all the way to the knuckle. Your walls were warm, enveloping and sucking him in greedily. With each breath you were squeezing, making it just a bit hard for him to move. But, Daisuke didn’t plan to give up now, seeing as — with some effort — he was curling the finger, eyes flicking to your face the moment the prettiest moan fell from your lips.

“That felt good..?” The words fell out as a question more to himself rather than you and instead of waiting, the man repeated his action; only this time a little more confident. And once he received the reaction he was looking for — another breathy moan — Daisuke was more than happy to continue.

Your gasps quickly mixed in with the sounds of your wetness, spongy sounds that echoed with each push of his finger. Curling and fingering, you groaned the moment another digit crept, scissoring inside you. Your thighs were closing at this point, getting overwhelmed with pleasure. You’ve touched yourself while high and as fun as it was, this experience was completely different.

You were sensitive, every sensation on hundred with no chance of coming down. Daisuke’s only been playing with you for a moment and already you felt that familiar band deep in your stomach.

In the midst of your pleasure you hadn’t even realized your thighs were nearly shut until Daisuke quickly slid his free hand to your thigh, pushing and spreading you open.

“I wanna see.”

He said far too calmly, eyes flicking from your face and back to your pretty cunt. Daisuke couldn’t helped but be entranced, watching his fingers disappear and reappear, coated in your arousal. The man swore under his breath, nails dragging against your thigh. He wondered if.. you would let him get a taste? The thought alone nearly made him come in his pants, eating you out just seemed like the second best thing to sharing that weed with you.

Without thinking Daisuke’s face was lowering to your cunt, mouth parted as bated breath fanned against your slick slit. With no warning his tongue was stretching, licking at your bud— quickly glancing at your face for a reaction. He was pleased to see your glossy red eyes and swollen lips open as a pretty gasp escaped your throat. Your fingers tugged at his hair so desperately, back arching as the man’s tongue swiped against you once again— only dragging the thick muscle, allowing you to feel its entire length.

“Please, please..!” You hadn’t a clue why you were pleading, but it seemed Daisuke did— given he repeated that action once more, circling the tip of his tongue along your clit. Little tears threatened to spill from your eyes, hips lifting and grinding into his face; which only resulted in an encouraging squeeze on your thigh.

Moments of this intense pleasure passed before you were practically sitting up, struggling to stifle the harsh moan that escaped you. With a squeeze around his fingers you were coming undone, coating his face with your mess. Daisuke was far too happy to lap you up, cleaning you throughly and refusing to waste a single drop.

Eventually you had to push at his forehead to get him away, groaning as the sensitivity playing at your aching cunt. Reluctantly the man pulled away, pulling his fingers from within you and rubbing his hand across your thigh— soothing you.

“Hopefully you didn’t wake the others.” Daisuke hummed with a small grin, chuckling at the frown you sent his way. He moved to hover above you, leaning onto his forearm and planting a wet kiss to your lips. You mewled from your own taste; hands trailing to tickle the back of his neck.

“We should have done this a long time ago..”

You murmured softly, hearing his own grumble of approval. The kiss continued until you pulled away, hands trekking down to cover his cheeks.

“Daisuke.. as much as I want to continue.. I’m really, really hungry.”

Taking your words in for a moment, the man couldn’t help but release a short laugh, patting the side of your thigh as he sat up from his hovering.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

With that promise, Daisuke was adjusting his clothes before waltzing towards your bedroom door, opening and exiting — probably off to snatch something from the Tulpar’s kitchen.

You certainly hopped no one was awake to notice his red eyes and extremely wet face.

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songsofadelaide · 7 months ago

Text

Radiant Point

cw/tw: Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro x Platoon Leader (f) reader, childhood friends to [one-sided sworn rivalry] to lovers, no use of yn and instead follows my usual naming convention (I use Otome as a placeholder for yn since it means maiden, which pretty much means yn too), time skips, Kendo and Fencing references, arranged marriages and family traditions and breaking said family traditions - requited unrequited love. ✦ based on my other Soshiro piece, Raging Tempest wc: 8.2k

"It was said that the gods tie a crimson string around the pinky fingers of those predestined to be together."

You recall the quiet night when your mother first said those words to you, as though reading you a fairy tale of old. Years ago, you were but a child who believed in such things. And perhaps your mother would weep at how realistic you've grown, rather than remaining a dreamy-eyed girl with her head in the clouds.

As a daughter of the esteemed Koganei Family, whose extensive roots ran deep back into the Muromachi Era, you were expected to uphold your clan's sterling heritage and reputation by marrying a man of equally exceptional status. There was but one family that your clan had close ties to, for your ancestors fought for the same masters of old, defeated the same ancient monstrosities, and won the same battles of the past alongside each other— brothers in arms, as they were in the past, and even until now…

That is how you came to be the bride of the eldest son of the Hoshina Family.

Soshiro knows that. He knows that you were the bride-to-be of the esteemed first son of their house. He knows that fact well enough as though it was etched in the back of his hand, and yet…

"You have changed me already. I am a fireball That is hurtling towards the sky to where you are You can choose not to look up but I am a giant orange ball That is throwing sparks upon your face Oh look at them shake Upon you like a great planet that has been murdered by change— —And when you come upon me I won't look back at you You will feel a hand upon your heart while I place your voice back Into the heart from where it came from And I will not cry also Although you will expect me to I was wiser too than you had expected For I knew all along you were mine." — Poem To An Unnameable Man, Dorothea Lasky

"It was said that the gods tie a crimson string around the pinky fingers of those predestined to be together."

That is how you came to be the bride of the eldest son of the Hoshina Family.

Your families said it was an auspicious union— and a rare one, too, for, despite your clan's aged and storied history with this fellow clan of swordsmen, the possibilities of marriages between the two were always slim at best. There would always be extraordinary rivalries born out of their sons' mutual respect, but seldom would there be any engagements between them and their daughters.

There was a time you believed in the red string of fate— and how it made sense to you that you would marry one of the Hoshina sons… But only because you've been told that all your life. And maybe you would have fallen in love with the son that was ordained to be your husband in the future had he acknowledged you, or made himself known to you.

Tough luck getting that to happen. Soichiro didn't even acknowledge his own younger brother.

You first met Soichiro when you were children at the Hoshina Estate, his back facing you, not a care in the world whether or not you were able to follow his steps. His haori and hakama were mottled with dirt, evidence of his long hours of sword training. The older boy's dismissal of your presence made you question how exactly your match became an auspicious one, given his… carelessness. To think that your mother and the rest of your house's ladies spent all morning dressing you up, only to be ignored by your betrothed the moment you arrived.

You couldn't fault him for his reaction. Soichiro was a boy, after all, and heir to his esteemed house in the future. He had much to prove if he were to stand at the helm of everything, while you…

What exactly did you have to do? Just sit pretty? Or perhaps squeeze out an equally exceptional heir? That won't happen until later in your life and your marriage. Then again, will that marriage ever come to pass if he doesn't even pay any attention to you?

Were you not… pretty enough for him? Now that you thought about it, his silver hair was, in fact, much prettier than yours, but your annoyance at the situation made you want to pull his braid to maybe knock some sense into him…? You were deep in thought when you realised you lost sight of him as he vanished into one of their family's houses.

From across the estate, you could hear the sound of wooden swords clashing, a testament to this family's continued commitment to the way of the swordsman. It made you wonder if your family was in the wrong for wrapping you up like a present for a boy who held no passion for fanciful romances… Or if he was ever told about your arrival— who you were and what your presence meant for him.

You were told that the sons of the Hoshina Family were considerate and good-natured, but the way your betrothed refused to greet you or even meet your eyes earlier said otherwise. And to think that you were so nervous about this visit… The loneliness was stifling. The excitement that coursed through you this morning when your mother dressed you in your new kimono had finally died down. You didn't want to cry, but the tears welled in the corners of your eyes, hot and blurring your vision.

If this kind of life awaited me, then I don't want it.

You hurriedly wiped away your tears when you heard footsteps approaching you, though it was too late, for a boy your age caught your hand before you could even run off.

"You must be the girl my brother's going to marry in the future."

Brother?

So this was the second son of the Hoshina Family.

"If you aren't doing anything, why don'tcha swing a sword at me instead?"

???

Soshiro had the same dirt of the land speckled all over his training clothes. In his hands were two shinai, the other stretched out to you.

"I don't really know how to—"

"What?! I was told the Koganei were great swordsmen! Ah, but then again, you're a girl, so I guess ya don't count."

His evident surprise made your brows furrow in frustration. What did he mean by that?

"On second thought, give me that. I'll take a swing at you. How hard could it be?"

Swinging a sword at a more experienced person was indeed hard. Coupled with his speed and footwork, albeit a little slap-dashed, your opponent wasn't someone you could land a hit on as easily as you expected.

"Fix yer stance if you're gonna swing!"

You lost track of how many times you've swung the bamboo sword at him, nary a care at how your pretty hair accessories and kimono nearly came undone at your sharp and sudden movements. All that mattered to you was landing a hit at your opponent, the dirt of the land that reached your face not at all bothering you.

"Yaaah! Ack!"

Your lunge was cut short when the master of the house wedged himself between you and his younger son. You unceremoniously bounced off the older man's legs, falling to the ground with a dull thud in complete and total surprise. Yet all you could think of was retrieving your shinai and rising to your feet.

"Your father is here to take you home, ojou-san," the older man stated as he helped you to your feet, his other hand reaching out to gently pry away the sword in your smaller hand. It was only when you saw your father's silhouette approach from behind that your exhilaration turned into indignation.

"Otou-san, you—!" You exclaimed, charging at your father with the same sword in hand. "You need to teach me swordsmanship! I can't believe you didn't teach me in the first place…! I must study it now!"

Your fathers exchanged confused glances before yours decided to speak up. "Otome, you—"

Only for him to be cut off by your voice slicing through the silence of the training ground.

"Until then, you need to keep getting better, too, Soshiro-kun!" You declared to your opponent, who had a knowing smile on his face. "I will catch up to you!"

When you returned to the Hoshina Estate months later, you were no longer decked out in a beautiful silk kimono, but rather in training garb similar to what the two brothers wore. Emblazoned on the back of your haori was your family's mon, and strapped to your side was a weathered shinai you've obviously swung around a hundred times since your last visit there.

"Soshiro-kun, I've been practising! My father taught me Shomen-Uchi, too! I can take you on now!"

As he thought, the look of delight on your face suited you better than tears. Soshiro watched in awe as you were able to hold your own against Soichiro, only for his older brother to topple you over with his sheer strength and advantage in skill.

"You're leavin' yourself wide open in other areas, but other than that, your stance is perfect."

The older son finally acknowledged you, but you had no need of it anymore since it was the company of the younger son you looked forward to even more whenever you visited their home.

For Soshiro, the sound of your voice calling his name and all of his attention so you could spar was like melodious music to him. It was the two of you who grew closer, and the two of you were often on the receiving end of Soichiro's disparaging remarks whenever you both lost to him while sparring.

"When Otome-chan marries your older brother, she will become your sister-in-law," his father once told him ahead of your next visit to their estate. "You focus on training on your own. Soichiro will train with her this time around."

Soshiro knows that. He knows that you were the bride-to-be of the esteemed first son of their house. He knows that fact well enough as though it was etched in the back of his hand, and yet…

There was an image in the back of Soshiro's mind that he couldn't forget, no matter how much he tried. A girl in a gold-coloured kimono sewn with the finest thread, a floral kanzashi in her hair as she tried to fight tears in one of the corners of his family's estate. Moments later, she was swinging a shinai at him, her eyes kindled with a fiery passion and a smile on her face as she tried to catch up to him.

Something changed when you went your separate ways to different high schools. When you were both sixteen, you decided to abandon the ways of Kendo for another form of swordcraft— Fencing. It was such a sharp turn that surprised even your family, but they could hardly stop your meteoric rise to prominence in the sport.

Something else always came to mind whenever Soshiro thought about you. He remembered your prostrated figure before his father in their family home, your forehead reaching the tatami as you uttered, "I thank you and your family for your kindness to me, and I apologise, oji-san, but I don't want to marry Soichiro-san."

When you met again not long after that incident, you laughed as you told him how you got a really bad walloping from your father. You shocked him with the bruises on your torso, all from the blunt end of your father's favourite bokken, but he was more pleased to see your spirit remained unbroken as you wheezed in breathless merriment, telling him, "you should see my father".

With your engagement to Soichiro unceremoniously broken off and the Hoshina Family accepting your dismissal of their eldest son, your family held very little resistance to whatever it is you wanted to do with your life now. They permitted you to go to France when you said you wanted to perfect your fencing form because there was no other way you could disobey them more. Your family told you that, "brilliant women rarely made good wives, but good wives can learn to become brilliant women", or something along those lines, and it seems as though they've given up on finding marriage matches for you.

Soshiro was unable to accompany you to the airport ahead of your trip to France. You didn't mind, though you were a little upset. Neutralization College wasn't something you could leave whenever you wanted if you were truly serious about entering the Defense Force. He was still the first one you messaged when you touched down in France, counting the time difference in your head as you opened WhatsApp on your mobile phone.

[ YN: 🗼-> Eiffel Tower ]

[ H. Soshiro-さん: 😂😂😂 Glad you made it there in one piece! ]

"To Hoshina Soshiro-隊員,

How are you? Paris is unsurprisingly beige. I miss Tokyo every once in a while, but not having to hear my father's nitpicking is more pleasant than I thought.

I know we can always just message each other on WhatsApp, but letters are pretty ingenious again this time around.

As I thought, there are many skilled sabreuses here in Paris. The club that I joined is called ASA Maisons-Alfort Escrime, somewhere along the south of the city. This town is famous for its veterinary school. Should I ever want a career change, I think I'll know what to do next! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Congratulations on passing the Defense Force Selection Exam! I know for a fact that you are going to do an excellent job just like your father and your brother. From what I've been hearing from my father, though, it seems the force is slowly moving away from the primary use of swords and blades. Still, I hope you aren't discouraged. You've always wanted to be an officer, so I'm proud of you for reaching the first of your many more goals!

I hope you're always taking care of yourself, too."

…

"The wine here is good, too, but you know I'd rather be drinking beer back at home with you. If anything, I like the wine because it reminds me so much of your eyes. And perhaps how I wish I could swim in them and maybe read your thoughts while I'm at it."

…

"I miss you, Soshiro."

Soshiro sometimes thinks it may be his fault that you changed. But then again, you were already a brilliant girl in your own right, and perhaps too smart for your own good. Men of old clans always wanted docile, unassuming women for themselves so their decisions would never be questioned, but you were neither, thus never fitting into your society's mould of how women should be. He wasn't aware of his older brother's preferences, but it was safe to say that he was consistent in never really caring that much about you.

"Dear Koganei Otome-選手,

I hope you're well! Just as you have no lack of fine opponents in France, there's no lack of Kaiju attacks here at home. There's never a dull moment here in Japan as long as we're always at the centre of monster sightings.

Remember when I last told you that swordsmanship is slowly losing its foothold in the Defense Force? Something amazing just happened. The Captain of the Third Division asked me to join her force. She did so herself! It feels almost unreal how the whole thing happened, but here I am.

…I never got to write about how I almost died that time, too, because I know for sure that you'd get worried and start calling. I'm fine now, so don't you worry your pretty little head about me. ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ )

Are you taking care of yourself? I hope you're always eating well. And doing proper cooldown exercises after training. Whether it be Kendo or Fencing, taking care of yourself and your sword arm is paramount for us swordsmen.

Just the other day, I went out drinking with my men. The beer here at home is exceptional, as always, and it tastes even better as the cherry on top after a long day of exterminating Kaiju. I feel a little bad for you for only having wine to drink there. They say it's sweeter but stronger. Strange enough, it kind of reminds me of you, too."

…

"I miss you a lot."

At one point, your letters stopped arriving. Your Line and WhatsApp exchanges were less frequent, too. And though you did your best to stay on top of what's been going on with Soshiro, your growth in your sport was something you prioritised more than waiting for his sparse replies.

He had just been promoted to Vice Captain of the Third Division when he saw your name on the top of the list of Japanese athletes on the International Fencing Federation's website. His promotion meant he'd be much busier, but like you, he did his best to check up on what you've been up to, especially for the last few years.

There was no stopping your meteoric ascent to the ranks, and you stood onstage amongst the best swordsmen and swordswomen in the world. Though not in the way he expected, it was still an extraordinary achievement for him.

That's no surprise, he thought to himself, only for the rest to be drowned out by the pounding, resounding blare of the Third Division Base's alarm, which could only signify yet another Kaiju attack they had to get on top of.

As the Vice Captain of the prominent Third Division, Soshiro was tasked with overseeing the second part of the yearly Selection Exam. Each hopeful that passed and came in became their little fledgelings, some more promising than others.

This year was a little strange, though, since even the top brass were muttering something about an elite athlete taking the exams. Athletes usually scored high on the physical tests but tend to flip-flop on the aptitude tests, depending on what it was. It was only after receiving this year's list of candidates that the whispers finally made sense to him.

Mixed in between the fresh graduates and the more experienced examinees was your application form, bookmarked with a recommendation by the Japan Fencing Federation. And all the whispers were right about one thing, too— You would have to carve a space into this new era of the Defense Force, which has slowly stepped away from blade work as a primary form of combat.

Soshiro wasn't surprised. Even though he was at the receiving end of many discouraging comments due to his poor marksmanship, Captain Ashiro Mina herself saw his potential and value in his skill. He's heard it before, and the officers will not be kind to you just because you brought home some medals for the country. For everyone else, whatever skill with a sabre you have would prove useless, seeing the force's growing preference for automatic firearms.

As he expected, you scored well in your physical tests, but he was faintly holding his breath for the aptitude test, which involved Kaiju disposal this time around. As the hopefuls suited up into the provided combat suits, the systems and machines lit up in anticipation of a surge of power from each present.

UNLEASHED COMBAT POWER: 27%

Soshiro had the same knowing smile on his face as your preliminary combat power was announced out loud. Most examinees would reach a maximum of 5% to 15%, so for someone to score that high on their first try was worth noting.

You were slightly older than most of your fellow examinees, so you had no problem taking on a leadership role— you helped maintain an organised field, ensured everyone had the proper precautionary gear equipped, and coordinated with everyone willing to cooperate with you.

From where he stood inside the base's Operations Control Room, he tried his darndest to stifle his laughter whenever he heard a French swear word slip out from one of the examinees. And even until the end of the test, you took no credit for your class's effort. Some have taken a shine to you while others considered you a goody-two-shoes trying to worm her way into the Defense Force with clerical expertise.

It was no surprise that you even caught the eyes of the Third Division's existing Platoon Leaders. They took your athletic and leadership experience into account when they deliberated your application. Your marksmanship was mediocre at best, but it was nothing continuous training can't improve. The other thing they couldn't ignore was the fact that you received a commendation from the Captain of the Sixth Division.

A curious thing, if they were being honest. Division Captains rarely get involved in the exams and deliberations, so for someone like you to receive such a prestigious recommendation meant you were someone worth investing in.

Soshiro eyed the document from the Sixth Division before eventually tucking it away in the rest of his files. They didn't need that commendation to know that you were skilled, and you had all the time in the world to sharpen those even further.

[ H. Soshiro-副隊長: Your uniform looks good on you. ]

[ YN: Not even an hour in the job and you're already flirting with me, Vice Captain? 😂 ]

[ YN: Also, it's the other way around. I look in the uniform. Though I'm sure that's what you meant to say. ]

[ H. Soshiro-副隊長: What if I made you run laps after the ceremony? You wouldn't be laughing then, would you? ]

[ YN: I'm going to report you to the Captain. ]

[ H. Soshiro-副隊長: And you think she'd take a rookie's word over her own Vice Captain's? 😂 ]

[ H. Soshiro-副隊長: You're lucky you're so, so pretty today. I'll go easy on you. For now, my li'l fledgeling. 😂 ]

In every mission, you endeavoured to accomplish every task as swiftly and efficiently as possible— without breaking ranks, of course. Your tenacity was rewarded in the form of a promotion to Platoon Leader, an unexpected but welcomed opportunity. Soshiro seemed to agree with the Captain that other officers could stand to learn a thing or two from you.

They say a radiant point is the track of light in the sky from which meteors appear to come from.

Your leadership has been compared to that. Many say your commands are always easy to follow, and your team members are easily filled with the same courage whenever you take to the field yourself.

It didn't take long for your history with the Vice Captain to come to light, too, all because you slipped up and drunkenly called him by his name during a night of drinking with your squad. Soshiro was the one who explained everything to your teams while you were fast asleep with your head on the table. It happened again when you thought it was just the two of you in the training hall. By the third time, he had you run laps as a consequence of your carelessness.

"Y'know your carelessness is gonna get ya in deeper trouble if this keeps happening in the long run," he told you as he watched you finish your 23rd lap around the training grounds. "Seven more. I know 30's such a measly number fer a seasoned athlete like you, but I suppose I'm being a little lenient since you are my dear childhood friend."

"Childhood friend my a—" You scoffed as you ran past him. You heard him chuckle to himself, followed by a thinly veiled threat.

"Do you want another 30, then? Looks like ya still have a lotta fight in you."

You picked up the pace even faster, his silly laughter rang in your ears as you shouted back your breathy reply. "N-No, sir! I'll…! Be more mindful of… myself! Vice Captain!"

XX August XXXX

"To Hoshina Soshiro-隊員,

I wonder how different things would have been if you were the one betrothed to me instead. Or would you have acted like your brother back then, too?

Clubs are on recess this time of the year. I don't feel too comfortable having this too much time on my hands and not being able to fence. Good thing my lodging has this wide backyard I can

Just the other day, I received a package from my family. It was just some snacks, but imagine my surprise when I saw my father's bokken in the box, too. I wonder how that got through French Immigration.

A wooden sword is so different from a sabre, but holding it made me feel… I dunno, kinda like I'm home or something. Do you remember when you first handed me your sword when we were children? That's when I realised what was missing from my life.

The Koganei are no longer like the Kaiju exterminators of old. I think it has to do with the lack of talented sons being born in our family. We've always had a lot of pride in our history as slayers alongside the Hoshina Family, but I think… I think that's all our family has now.

History.

When I asked him before, my father said he didn't bother teaching me swordsmanship because he feared I would get so many 'ideas' in my head. Like joining the Defense Force. He laments my disobedience, but there's nothing he can do that will make me return to my old ways.

I feel sorry for him that he doesn't have talented sons like you and your brother, just a stubborn daughter with a skill for a sport that's more like art than action. Would he have been happier if I stayed obedient? If I hadn't broken off my engagement to your brother?

My father would have been happy seeing me become Soichiro's wife, but not me. Though I would have agreed to marry into your family if it were you. I like you so much, after all.

I want to say thank you for handing me your sword back then. For introducing me to the sword. And if you'll let me say this, too— for giving me purpose."

…

"I like you a lot, Soshiro."

…

"Some idiot here thought I was single. I mean I AM, but that doesn't mean I want to be all chummy with guys here!"

…

"If you ever ask for my hand in marriage, I'm going to depart from this earth and ascend to the heavens out of sheer happiness—"

XX XX XXXX

"To Hoshina Soshiro-副隊長,

I'm going home in a few months. My father said that my grandfather is refusing treatment. He even said your family visited our estate to pay your respects to the old man. I love my gramps, but when I found out that he was the one who told my father not to teach me swordsmanship, the shine on him kinda dulled.

Izumo Tech sent me an email saying I would receive a 'hero's welcome' once I get back. I'll have to make a courtesy call to them, too. Not every athlete is blessed to have such a generous sponsor. (Not to mention that they've been closely watching my progress ever since they signed me on…)

I've been thinking of retiring from fencing. But I wouldn't know what to do with myself—

I'll see you soon."

— Present Time.

With your father summoning you back home to your family estate, you had no choice but to file for leave and miss this year's Selection Exam. It was a pity you couldn't watch the potential recruits take to the field, too, since Izumo Tech's heir was part of this year's crop.

When your grandfather's death anniversary memorial concluded, you retreated to your room. It was left untouched for the most part. When you arrived back home a few years ago, it was only to unload your excess belongings. The clan hardly had time to give you a proper welcome home since you had to secure the documents you needed for your Defense Force application.

In a pocket of your old carrying case for your sabre was a bundle of unsent letters addressed to Soshiro, along with a bunch of unused French stamps and a pack of envelopes. You haven't practised your sabre sword arm for quite some time now, so you thought of bringing it back to base with you. Kendo was one of the primary forms of training at the force, so you did a lot of digging back into your roots whenever there were training sessions.

The exams will have been done by the time you return to base, so you may as well sleep while you can.

"It was said that the gods tie a crimson string around the pinky fingers of those predestined to be together."

You never really paid much thought to your mother's story back then, but you could faintly recall the chilly evening breeze that blew through the shoji of your bedroom. Her yukata was the colour of ginkgo leaves, her embrace kind and warm.

"But what if you… don't like the person on the other end of the string, okaa-san?"

Hmm. What a profound question for someone so young. Did you really ask that yourself? Even so, your mother smiled at your query, brushing away the hair over your forehead with a cool hand before pressing a tender kiss on it.

"If that day ever comes, my little heart, I know for certain that there is one who will defy fate for you, but you will have to be courageous, too…"

There was no helping your curiosity when you caught wind that this year's recruits were an exceptional bunch— and that one happened to share a tremendously intimate history with the Captain. It was a sizzling hot press release you couldn't help but sink your teeth into when Tae started talking your ears off about it.

You tried not to make that much noise as you both made your way back to your personal quarters that evening, but your topic was far too interesting to just stop and drop— it was about your usually pensive Captain…

"Do you think the Captain will start softening up?" You couldn't help but muse out loud.

"Doubt it! This is Captain Ashiro we're talking about," your fellow Platoon Leader remarked. "Then again, she's still a woman..."

Pretty much, you thought to yourself. Woman or not, a person's relationships shape the way others view them. Officer Hibino's revelations about his shared childhood memories with Captain Ashiro painted her in a new light, unveiling her as a tender girl in her youth— more human than machine like everyone else thought her to be…

"I heard something interesting about you, too," Tae said, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "One of the rookies said they already knew you from before. When you were still a professional fencer."

There's only one, you sighed to yourself this time. "It must be Haruichi-kun. If you must know, Tae-chan, Izumo Tech sponsored my fencing journey, especially when I was just starting out."

"That's not all, too," she chuckled at your slight change of tone. "Last I heard, the kid might even have a crush on you."

"That is not true at all," you elbowed her and laughed at her statement. "That's probably the most absurd thing I've heard in my entire life. Haruichi-kun is—"

"Why do you think it's absurd? I think it's ridiculously truthful," came the voice of a man from behind you.

"Vice Captain! G-Good evening!" You squeaked and managed a salute as Soshiro made his approach. He didn't look like he was ready to retire for the night just yet but was just hanging around.

"Kafka's tales have made the rounds, huh?"

"It's hard not to get roped into the gossip when it's so interesting," Tae said with a grin. "And with a Captain like ours who's so well-loved and well-respected, it's pretty tempting to hear what kind of person she was when she was just a kid."

"Yeah, she really went for her goals and succeeded," you nodded in agreement. "She's awe-inspiring."

"We're all aware of how amazing our Captain is," Soshiro stated with the same recognisable cheer in his voice. "But what's that thing about you and one of the rookies again?"

"Y-You mean about me and Haruichi-kun, Vice Captain? I-I mean Officer Izumo—"

The redhead standing right next to you could only purse her lips to prevent herself from laughing out loud, because by the gods, only she and a handful of other superior officers were aware of their Vice Captain's long-time infatuation with you. Not that he's ever confirmed it, but you two were childhood friends, after all. And this was their Vice Captain getting all jealous and territorial with you.

"I'm just gonna go ahead and turn in for the night," Tae said as she nudged you before breaking out into a salute directed at Soshiro. "Good night, Vice Captain!"

"T-Tae-chan?!" You could only call out to your fellow Platoon Leader as she disappeared into the darkened hallway leading to your quarters. A little whimper of defeat left your lips as you turned back in the direction of your Vice Captain. "Vice Captain—"

"Are you two close?"

"Huh?"

"You and the rookie."

Close wasn't exactly the right word for you two. Haruichi was your main sponsor's son. You've met a lot of times before and have nothing but great respect for each other. A silly crush doesn't do him any justice. That rumour was made in poor taste and faith.

You shook your head at your superior. "We're familiar with each other, but not really as close as everyone thinks."

"Is that so?" Soshiro said, not at all sounding convinced. "If I ask him, will he say the same thing?"

"I suppose," you replied to him with another small sigh of resignation. "I'm sorry, Vice Captain. It's not a nice rumour if you ask me… I feel sorry for… the rookie for being embroiled in this mess."

"Don't apologise because of that," he said as he reached out for your hand. "If you're going to apologise, at least say sorry because I heard it and believed it."

You can confirm now that he wasn't there to reprimand you at all since his hold on you was both tender and solid. There was a storm in his wine-dark gaze— languid but brewing and the way he looked at you made you want to dive right into the depths of his eyes.

"If you want to apologise to me properly, let's do it somewhere more comfortable," he told you as you caught the twinkle of expectation in his eyes. You were likely playing into his hands now, so what else could you do but dance to his rhythm?

"Yes, of course. My personal quarters are nearby," you said, pointing in the direction of the dimly lit hallway that Tae disappeared into moments ago. "If… If it's all right with you…"

"Okay."

"You know, if my family ever finds out I've been alone with a man in my room, no one would ever want me anymore," you said to him in jest. He paused in his tracks the moment you opened your door for him, and you did not expect his reply to your silly joke.

"Whaddya mean? I want you. I've always wanted you. From the moment I saw ya crying in our family's garden, I—"

Oh, he's done it now. His words slipped out so easily because talking to you always felt so natural to him.

"V-Vice Captain?!"

"Yer calling me 'Vice Captain' now, of all times?!"

"I-I don't wanna run laps after hearing t-that! I-I'm just being careful!" You squeaked at him. It was only when you heard the shuffling of footsteps from next door that you managed to take him by the hand and hurriedly pull him into your room.

You didn't think you'd slip and fall on your back in the process. And since you held him by his hand, Soshiro toppled over you with his surprisingly heavy frame. He was quick to cup your head in his hand to brace your fall.

"H-Hey, are you okay?" Came his concerned query as he lifted himself off of you, but he was taken aback by the shine of tears in your eyes.

"Soshiro… Did you mean what you just told me?"

For a moment, you feel like you're back in France, sipping sweet wine on your bedroom windowsill, the colour reminding you so much of your first love's eyes.

The very same eyes staring right back at you at this very moment.

"I do. And if ya don't like it, then let me know. Let me know so I can take it back. And we can pretend this never happened—"

You tenderly coiled your arms around his neck, as though returning his half embrace. With your chest so closely pressed to his, you could hardly tell apart whose heart was beating so incredibly hard.

"Don't take it back," you murmured into the crook of his neck. "Not when I've waited this long to hear it."

And though you said you wanted to talk to him— to clear the air and rid yourself of this trepidation and hesitation that you felt— very few and far between words were exchanged that night.

You liked him too, after all. Now all those times you looked forward to seeing him and he was always just as excited… He's had eyes for you ever since.

You drank deep into his wine-coloured eyes while he helped himself to your warmth, the radiance that you were now in his arms as a single beam of sunlight he wanted to keep all to himself.

And keep you he did.

Soshiro couldn't help his curiosity when he saw the carrying case for your sabre in your quarters. He quietly walked over to it as he dressed himself, careful not to make any noise that may wake you from your deep, deep sleep.

It was no surprise to him that you always kept your weapons in immaculate condition, but what piqued his attention even more was the bundle of unsent letters addressed to him, all of which he stealthily pocketed in his uniform. Some of the envelopes addressed him as 'Officer' and not 'Vice Captain', which could only mean those go way, way back.

"Time for some morning readin', then."

When word got out that the female rookies caught Vice Captain Hoshina leaving your room early the following morning, you already expected to be summoned to the Captain's office that very day.

But instead of being vexed about the situation and her Vice Captain's unusually poor judgement, Mina had a rather amused expression on her otherwise normally calm face as she sat across from you two.

"What happened to not breaking rules, Hoshina?"

"Hey, it's not like I wanted to get caught!" Soshiro shot back at her, though there was very little he could do in the face of his Captain's evident thrill at his predicament.

"I can turn a blind eye to this, but the rumours are already out there," she continued. "I suppose I'll have to mete out some form of 'punishment' for you both. Just to make an example out of you."

"I-I'll accept whatever punishment you have in mind, C-Captain!" You exclaimed with a stiff and deep bow. You've never been reprimanded by the Captain ever since you first started out in the Third Division. For you to be sanctioned for the very first time... I've really done it this time!

"On second thought, I'll just have you two file this instead," Mina stated as she handed you a single sheet of paper with a header in bold letters that read Workplace Relationship Disclosure Form. "As a formality. It's also a written promise that you won't let your relationship get in the way of your jobs."

"That's it? Piece of cake!" Soshiro said with a smile as he read out the form. "We'll file it now and—"

"You'll file it at headquarters yourselves," she said with a small smile as she stood up from her desk. "Other than that, I hope you two managed to talk things out. You're dismissed."

"Headquarters?! Captain Ashiro! We'll do anything! Just don't make us go there! It's such a pain to get there!" He pleaded with the Captain this time. "We'll tell everyone if we have to! I mean that's not a bad idea, too, so they'll know that we're together! But we're just going to be normal about things, we swear!"

"Just how normal are you two going to be?" The Captain said with a small laugh, just like the one you heard from the rumours. "Just promise me you won't let this affect your work. I have great faith in you both, after all."

"Roger!" You exclaimed in unison, followed by your shared tender laughter.

"Good. Now do 30 laps each before training starts again this afternoon," Mina replied to your enthusiasm with another small smile. "I'm really not letting you guys off the hook that easily."

"Th-That's fine, Captain! We-We'll make a start now!" You stammered before she could change her mind about your choice of consequence, throwing her a salute before eventually jogging out of her office.

"Don't make her run your laps, Hoshina. She'll do it for you without you even asking."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Captain. As if I'd let her do all the heavy lifting herself," he replied with a salute and his usual cheer.

"What do you plan on doing about the rumours?"

"Let them talk. It's even better for us. At least they know now who she belongs to."

"It's so strange hearing something like that come from you," Mina said to him, the same hint of amusement in her voice before eventually asking him, "Is there… anything else you wish to discuss with me, Hoshina?"

"While we're here, Captain. I was wondering if you could hear my request for time off," Soshiro started. As he thought, his Captain was keenly perceptive. "There's someone I gotta talk to."

"It must be important, then, if you're requesting time off."

"Guess you could say that! I gotta make my intentions clear, after all."

You were summoned back home to your family estate on one of your days off. It was rare for your father to call on you given your busy schedule, but on the phone, it sounded like he had something important to discuss with you. When you arrived, your servants promptly brought you over to the estate garden, where your father stood smack in the middle. He wore his favourite hakama, your family mon embroidered on it with fine gold thread.

"Otou-san."

"Ah, there you are," he welcomed you with an uncharacteristic smile on his face. He looked a little tired, but also somewhat pleased. "Walk with me, daughter. I have something I wish to tell you."

He offered you his elbow as you walked over to him, and you took it, though you were evidently confused. "Soshiro-kun was here the other day."

"Really?" You asked, your confusion compounding even further. "What business did he have with you?"

Your pace was restful and leisurely, an afternoon breeze blowing overhead. You tried to match your father's steps, only realising now how short his strides were.

"You should have known from the start that the Hoshina Family only permitted your presence in their home out of pity. It was no surprise for us that their heir didn't think much of you. He must have known that the Koganei owe a great deal to the Hoshina and your grandfather was so hell-bent on having you marry into that family for reparations."

So that's what it was. "Huh. I suppose that makes sense…"

"Your marriage wasn't really for prestige. We've long lost that, after all… If anything, it would have secured you a home in the future. They would take care of you, at least…"

"Was it a large sum?"

"A debt that can only be paid by a life."

Someone from the Hoshina Family died for yours. How long ago it was, you will never know.

You couldn't help but think back to your childhood, that very day your family brought you to the Hoshina Estate, and how Soichiro looked over you as though you were an ostentatious doll on display. That was why your family tried so hard—

"The Hoshina… wanted us to excel at swordsmanship so there would be no more needless deaths like of past. But all I had was a daughter. They thought the marriage was a good idea at first, but then the brothers started fighting over you."

"That's new, otou-san. I know for a fact that Soichiro-san hates me and my guts."

Your father chuckled at your statement, even though he knew you were right. "He only hated the fact that he could not make a rival out of you. But his clever younger brother did."

His fingers were cold from the breeze, the hardened calluses across his palm tenderly squeezing your smaller hand in his.

"I know it was Soshiro-kun who gave you that very thing we deprived you of," he told you, holding your gaze for you to understand the gravity of this conversation. "Purpose."

Time was still for you all of a sudden, the weight of your father's tired eyes rested on you before he spoke once more. "He came to ask for your hand. In the future, he amended. He said the two of you are far too busy and far too valuable to the Defense Force to even consider marriage at present."

It was your mother who related the events of Soshiro's visit to your family estate the other day.

The blockhead second son of the Hoshina Family came to your home and prostrated himself before your father, his forehead reaching the tatami as he beseeched the patriarch with a crack in his voice that pulled at the older man's heart.

"I don't care about your family's debt to mine. I promise to be good to her, so please…"

"What's this I heard about the Sixth Division Captain reachin' out to ya the other day?"

You were conducting drills with your platoon when Soshiro arrived at the training ground. His arrival prompted your team members to pause their exercises to throw him a snappy salute that matched your own. "Vice Captain, sir!"

"We'll resume in five. Take a break, fellas," you gestured to your team, who could only watch with bated breath how your commanding officer pulled you aside.

"Now, of all times?" You asked him, a hint of annoyance in your voice. "You do know everyone's watching us… Vice Captain, sir."

"I was just… curious. Why's he callin' you now—"

"Captain Hoshina simply wished to… congratulate us on our…" You replied to him, though every word you said made you more embarrassed and self-conscious because your members were still in their respective positions, only pretending not to hear your conversation. "30 laps around the block! You all better pick up the pace when I catch up! Go! Go! Go!"

Your team was quick on their feet when you clapped and motioned for them to start running. The mischief makers smiled as they passed by you, shouting their congratulations on your engagement.

"Good grief…" You sighed in defeat. "I thought we were keeping things under the wraps."

"Hard to do that when everyone in the Third Division's so nosy," he chuckled. By the time all your members disappeared into a block, he gently took your hand in his and gave it a tender squeeze.

"You know, Vice Captain, your brother did say something interesting earlier. I thought I'd let you know about it," you started. "Soichiro-san said you always challenged him to improve yourself, but there was one time you actually scored a point over him. Because you two were fighting over something."

"Really, now? I wonder what it was…" He replied with a playfulness in his tone. "It probably didn't matter to him much since he was a genius and all."

"He said he only let you win because you'd never stop bugging him about it," you told him, followed by a small pfft when you saw his expression change. "But you're right. It didn't matter to him much, but he saw how much it meant to you…"

It was supposed to be a petty argument between brothers, but it meant so little to him now since you were the one who broke off your engagement with his older brother.

"There was a time when I thought I'd end up being Soichiro-san's wife because he was the one on the other end of the string… or so my family said," you stated with a scoff this time. "But if you must know, Soshiro, I considered myself yours the moment you asked me to swing a sword at you."

You squeezed his hand right back. "Thank you for defying fate for me. And for giving me the courage…"

Soshiro smiled at you— his same, knowing Cheshire Cat smile you've liked from the start. "Are ya kiddin' me? It was you who defied fate. Probably not for me, but good enough to think that it is. And our ancestors got what they wanted too, so there's that."

"Our ancestors didn't want a marriage," you retorted with a laugh. "They wanted a life for a life."

"They got that, too. Yours is mine and mine is yours. Y'know, I think that red string just got tangled in the midst of everything. You're meant to be part of my family one way or another."

You returned his warm smile as you raised his hand to your cheek. "This is the only way I'd have it. The only way I want."

✦ x x

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