#he seems like the kind of man I would feel safe in a relationship with

[writetheidea]

Too Much to Be Enough

Hello, I had another idea for a fan fiction. In this one, I tried writing with an unnamed character after someone reached out to me suggesting that I shouldn't tag "x reader" even if the character had a short name. They were not this polite in their wording. Kindly let me know if you find this more enjoyable and if you have any advice or feedback.

Pairing:  Franco Colapinto x female character

Plot: everyone thinks she's too much—too loud, too affectionate, too overwhelming—but as long as Franco loves her, she feels enough. When a painful betrayal forces her to question everything, she’s left wondering if even his love can truly be unconditional.

Tag: hurt/no comfort, angst.

Word count: 2077

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

Franco Colapinto had become a rising star in Formula 1—his unexpected debut mid-season with Williams brought attention, intrigue, and the buzz of fans enamored by his unfiltered charm and skill on the track. To the world, he was a formidable talent, sharp in his focus and strategic in his every move. But to her, Franco was simply her Franco—the person she adored with every fiber of her being, the man who lit up her world with his easy laugh and grounded presence. She never tried to share him with the world; her joy was simply in being there. To Franco, she was a grounding force. To her, he was the brightest point of her life.

Their relationship had always been natural, filled with the kind of closeness that felt both unbreakable and safe. She loved to be near him, to catch the quiet smiles he reserved just for her or hold him close, her arms around him like a shield. She had a way of finding him when he was deep in conversation, slipping her arms around him or perching on the arm of a chair, just listening, watching him with eyes that spoke of adoration. She adored him openly and shamelessly, kissing his cheeks, bringing him little snacks between meetings, and laughing at his every story as if it was the first time she'd heard it. It was how she showed love—boldly, sincerely.

In public, her spirited affection sometimes drew raised brows. She was quick to laugh, unrestrained in her warmth, the kind of person who got excited over the little things. When she spoke, her voice had a way of filling the air, especially when she became passionate, her laughter rich and booming. Franco’s teammates would sometimes tease her for it, not unkindly, but she felt Franco’s protective arm settle around her back, his voice lowering to gently bring her back to the moment, a silent reminder that she was safe, that she didn’t need to hold back. She never felt like too much with him; she felt like enough.

When Franco got his F1 call-up, the world saw his potential, his brilliance. He went from a promising driver to a star almost overnight, and with that came the scrutiny, the endless, dissecting gaze of the world. There were new pressures, new challenges—he was praised and criticized in equal measure, and with him, she found herself swept up too. Fans adored him—his directness, his humor, his daring spirit. He was the next big thing, and with that title came every word spoken about him, every inch of him magnified. And suddenly, they wanted to know her, too. Who was Franco Colapinto’s girlfriend?

But their adoration of Franco didn’t extend to her.

She’d never been the kind of girl who worried about attention, but the way the public spoke about her… it was like a slow, smothering weight pressing down on her heart. They saw only a girl who seemed too clingy, too loud, and too unfitting of someone they had put on a pedestal. Her open affection was criticized as immature, her laughter labeled as attention-seeking. They dissected her every move and labeled her a distraction, tearing into her with the kind of brutality she’d never experienced. It felt like strangers were peeling her apart piece by piece, tearing away the person Franco had always loved.

She tried to ignore it at first, comforting herself with the knowledge that Franco didn’t seem to mind, that he even loved her as she was. Franco was all that mattered; his opinion was the one she trusted. He was the only reason she could keep her head up, brushing off the hate as long as she knew she had his love. And when Franco looked at her, his smile never wavered. She held onto that—the belief that he loved her as she was, even when the world made her question it.

But then came Brazil. She’d been watching from the paddock, her heart leaping every time he turned a corner, nerves twisting as he went head-to-head with some of the most seasoned drivers in the world. And then, the crash. It was terrifying, watching him collide and skid, helpless from a distance as her heart stopped, praying he was okay. Her relief was overwhelming when he emerged unharmed, but Franco’s face had been pale, his expression distant as he made his way off the track. She could see the weight of the moment pulling him under, the strain and pressure breaking through his usually calm demeanor. She wanted to reach for him, to pull him close, tell him she was there for him, that she would carry the weight if she could.

But he’d pulled away from her, muttering that he needed a minute to gather himself. Respecting his space, she’d wandered to the restroom, splashing water on her face, telling herself he’d come around, that he just needed time. She returned to his room, pausing outside, not wanting to intrude if he still needed space. And that’s when she heard it.

“…but don’t you think she’s a bit much?” The voice was that of his engineer, a man she’d thought liked her, someone she’d shared a few laughs with before. “She’s always there. Always talking, always needing to be… close. Must be a lot to deal with when you’re under this kind of pressure.”

She waited, her breath frozen, trusting that Franco’s response would ease her worry, that he’d brush it off as nonsense, defend her like he always had.

But his voice—the voice she trusted, the voice that had always assured her she was enough—spoke words she could barely stand to hear. Franco responded quieter than she’d ever heard it. “Yeah… I mean, sometimes. It’s a lot, too much, you know?”

She could hardly breathe, the words sinking in slowly, one by one, like sharp blades against her skin. He thought she was too much. A lot. The one person she thought she could be her fullest self with, the person who had always made her feel safe to love so openly, to be unapologetically herself—he was overwhelmed by her too. She was his burden, the weight that followed him. Tears began to blur her vision, but she stayed frozen, rooted in place as she listened to them continue, laughing and talking about her as though she were some trivial inconvenience, as though her love was suffocating him.

She backed away from the door, her heart breaking with every step. The tears came fast and hot, her whole body trembling with the force of them as she stumbled back into the restroom. Locking herself inside, she slid down against the wall, burying her face in her hands, feeling her heart shatter into a million pieces. She had fought so hard to believe in her own worth, to convince herself that she was lovable and that her affection wasn’t too much for him to bear. But he agreed. He agreed with them, with the strangers who hated her, who thought she was too loud, too affectionate, too clingy.

She had tried so hard to believe that Franco saw her the way she saw him—as irreplaceable, as the very air he breathed. But hearing his quiet agreement, the confirmation that the one person she thought she could trust didn’t love her as she was… it left her feeling hollow, like a fragile shell of herself.

---

When Franco found her, he looked at her with that familiar softness, his arms coming around her as he held her close. She clung to him, not because it made her feel better but because she didn’t know how else to act, didn’t know how to pretend it was all okay. He asked her why she was crying, and she forced herself to smile through the tears, saying it was because of his crash, that she’d been worried. He looked at her with relief, gently pulling her closer, and she let him, even though his touch felt like fire against her skin, burning with the memory of his words. For the first time in their relationship, being near him didn’t feel safe.

In the days that followed, she withdrew into herself, letting Franco slip away piece by piece. She stifled her laughter, kept her voice low, spoke only when necessary. She still brought him snacks, still sat beside him as he debriefed with his team, but now she was a shadow, a shell of the girl she once was. She didn’t touch him as freely, didn’t drape herself over his shoulders or pepper his face with kisses. She gave him what the world wanted, the perfect, silent partner, standing just behind him, looking at him only when he looked away.

Fans noticed the change, taking to social media to praise her for finally learning her place. They called her refined, mature, supportive. They praised her “new maturity,” applauded her for “knowing her place.” They liked her better this way, in the background, quiet, subdued. For the first time, she fit the image of the F1 girlfriend they wanted her to be. She was a supporting character, there for Franco when he needed her but silent, never in the spotlight, never drawing attention.

But Franco hated it. He missed her laugh, the way her hands would find his at every turn, the way she’d rest her head on his shoulder while he spoke. He missed the way she’d light up a room with her excitement, her laughter like music that chased away the shadows of his stress. He tried everything to bring her back, brushing his fingers along her cheek, whispering little jokes, pulling her close. But she stayed quiet, her smile polite but hollow, her laughter a pale echo of what it used to be.

She wasn’t his girl anymore. She was someone else, a stranger wearing her face.

---

One night, after a particularly grueling day, Franco found her alone in their hotel room. She was sitting by the window, staring into the dark night, her reflection in the glass a ghost of the girl he had fallen in love with. He crossed the room, kneeling beside her, his hand finding hers.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice breaking with the weight of his worry. “Tell me what’s wrong. Where did you go?”

She looked at him, her eyes full of a pain he couldn’t understand, couldn’t reach. “I’m here, Franco,” she whispered, her voice soft and fragile.

“No, you’re not,” he said, his voice thick. “You’re… you’re gone. The girl I love is gone.”

Her lips trembled, and she pulled her hand from his, wrapping her arms around herself as though trying to hold herself together. She was quiet for a long time before she spoke, her words barely audible. “I heard you… that day in Brazil. I heard you tell your engineer that I was too much. That I was a lot.”

Franco’s heart dropped, a cold shock of realization rushing through him. He remembered the conversation, the way he’d laughed along, never thinking his words would reach her. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I never meant it like that.”

“But you said it,” she replied, her voice breaking. “You agreed with them. You agreed with everyone. You were the only person who made me feel like I wasn’t too much, like I was enough. But if even you… if you think I’m too much…”

Her voice trailed off, her shoulders shaking as she hugged herself tighter. Franco reached for her, his heart shattering as he saw the pain he’d caused, the light he’d extinguished. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I love everything about you. You’re not too much. I need you, all of you.”

He reached for her, but she drew back, her body a closed door, her eyes filled with a sadness that cut deeper than anything. “I love you with everything I have,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I would have given anything to be enough for you.”

He could feel his own tears burning, the agony of realizing that his careless words had stripped away the light from the woman he adored. “You are enough,” he said desperately, his voice thick. “You’re everything to me. I love you just as you are.”

But she only shook her head, her hand lifting to his cheek, her fingers brushing his skin one last time. “I don’t believe that anymore.”

[purple-plum-petals]

Can I pretty please get some headcanons of mr chopped with a s/o that loves to grab him sudenly just to give him kisses?

 ⊱ Smothering Him in Kisses ⊰ || Mr. Chopped Headcanons

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮ Character(s): Mr. Chopped (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Nothing! Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, Pre-Established Romantic Relationship Word Count: ~420 words Request: “Can I pretty please get some headcanons of mr chopped with a s/o that loves to grab him sudenly just to give him kisses?” Author’s Note: Yes, you may!! Thank you for sending in such an adorable request – Mr. Chopped is just too cute. I wish we had more moments with him in-game. 😭 This one is a little on the shorter side since only one character was requested, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless! 

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡ ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

🗣️: Honestly, his reaction depends on his mood or when you decide to randomly smother him in kisses. If he was sleeping and you suddenly grabbed him to place kisses across his cheeks, he might get a bit pouty and scold you for scaring him out of a dead sleep. Don’t you know that’s rude?? However, if he’s fully conscious, he’ll take your kisses with either a bright smile or quietly sulk while he allows you to shower him in affection. He has mixed feelings about being manhandled unless he explicitly asks you to carry or hold him, so just ask for his consent before you decide to smother him in your love (you should ask for consent no matter what, folks)! 

🗣️: He does love your kisses, though… He enjoys the feeling of your hands gently cradling his face, your thumbs brushing over the apples of his cheeks while your lips leave feather-light touches across his flesh. He knows he’s safe there with you, and that you’ll protect him from anything that wants to bring him harm. Honestly, he’s never slept better than when he’s with you, resting on your chest or lap or stomach, nuzzling into your body for more warmth and comfort. 

🗣️: Mr. Chopped seems like the kind of person who would adore butterfly kisses. He finds the action endearing and will laugh softly when your lashes lightly brush against his skin. Another type of kiss besides your traditional cheek and/or lip kiss is nose kisses. His nose will scrunch up as you rub the tips together, and he finds it to be the most wonderful feeling in the world – that fluttering sensation he gets despite having no heart or stomach. My man just eats up any attention or affection that you’re willing to give (as long as you don’t catch him off-guard – he hates surprises). 

🗣️: If you wear lipgloss or colored lipstick, Mr. Chopped gets really embarrassed since the marks of your lips are pretty much stuck on his face until either you or Mr. Silvair wipe them off of him (which neither of you will do unless he starts whining about it – you both find his reaction to be entertaining and/or cute). He prefers it when you wear lipstick more than lipgloss, though, since the gloss can be pretty sticky and somewhat uncomfortable on his skin. Mr. Chopped notices that, whenever he does have the mark of your lips on his face, he doesn’t get kidnapped nearly as frequently as he used to… did you know about this, or do you just do it to make him blush? 

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Girl, it's not just an emotional rollercoaster it's a full on emotional CARNIVAL 🤣

I love this observation. That's exactly what I felt inherently when I was writing that line. It felt more powerful to me than "I told you so" or the like. It has the feeling of that, but with more of an edge, even though you know he cares about her.

The line is devastating. It ''bites." It's more than just telling someone that they messed up, it's also kinda catty lol.

LMAO I remember someone saw the preview of Part 2 and commented, "the quiet, but devastating anger he'd be reckoned with if he said that to me." And I was like, YEP, that's exactly it. Mans playing with his life. 😅😅😅

He really bet it all. And I'm in love with the person who said "the quiet, but devastating anger he'd be reckoned with if he said that to me." 😂

That's precisely how I intended it! Now looking back, I feel like I should have had her leave him by himself in his room to sleep in another room. But at the time I was writing, I was thinking that for her in particular, despite this being the biggest fight they've had so far in their relationship, he's still the one that makes her feel safe after a bad hunt. 💙

I think it would have been a bigger gut punch to Dean if she didn't stay in the room with him, but I still think that the her turning her back on him and not letting him touch her kinda hit the nail on the head pretty well too.

Aww thank you! 😭😭 Weirdly enough, that was one of my favorite parts to write? Maybe I just like the heartfelt hurt/comfort breaking into fluff moments. The "better off alone" thing I thought was implied throughout the later seasons of the show after Dean lets go of Lisa and Ben, so I wanted to explore that deeper here, even though it hurt my heart to write it. 💙

It's not weird, I think that it's really fitting! And I also really like writing the heartfelt hurt/comfort breaking into fluff too lol. But you're absolutely right, Dean really does adopt that mentality after Lisa and Ben and it is really heartbreaking to see him like that.

Everyone's crying!! 😭 YES ABSOLUTELY SHE DOES -- and she's a verified crier. I see a lot of fics where the reader is tough as nails, "doesn't cry very often," but I wanted to create a reader character who is a badass, but still has a soft heart. (Latinas also can be very emotional, but not to say we're adhering to stereotypes around here LOL. 🤣🤣)

As much as I do love the readers who are "tough as nails" and "doesn't cry very often" I love the readers who are strong but are allowed to break. It makes them seem more real. Because as much as I believe that there are people who are completely just insane badasses, they've gotta have some kind of emotion or compassion or else they don't seem human. Also "Latinas also can be very emotional, but not to say we're adhering to stereotypes around here LOL" I'm DEAD 😂

Sorry for jerking the angsty chain again there! 🤣 Poor guy, he went through an ordeal just as much as she did.

Please never apologize for the angst. I LOVE IT! And I really did also love how emotional this fic made me. It was wonderful lol.

Fun fact on her confession! When she says I love you twice, she's actually saying it in two different ways:

I love you, you’d said. I love you ("te amo," you're my love) and I love you ("te quiero," you're my family), more than you can believe and understand.

GIRL WHAT?! OH MY WORD THAT IS JUST SO MUCH BETTER! Thank you for explaining that to me!

Thank you SO very much!! Honestly you don't know how happy it makes me that you're enjoying this series so far -- and spoiling me with such lovely and thoughtful feedback. 🥰💕💕

No, THANK YOU for writing this wonderful fic/series! 😊

Devour Me - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader 

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for. (18+)

AN: Here's Part 2! **Read Devour Me: Part 1

Song Inspo: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique. But really it’s “Ven Devórame Otra Ves” by Lalo Rodriguez. (You’ll see why.) 🤭

Word Count: 5,400

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Blood, character death and violence, smutty smut, angst, Dominican slang, and tons of sexy fluff.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 2: "Telenovela Style"

Your resulting scream of agony is as unforgiving as the ground when your knees buckle, hitting the hard cement.

Andy grips you with the strength of a monster. 

Then he holds you down as he drinks your blood. 

No matter how you struggle and whimper, you can’t push him off, and you’re getting weaker by the second.

Until Andy is ripped away from your neck, and is taken care of the way all vampires must be. He doesn’t even feel the blade coming. 

When you’re able to look up, Dean stands above you with thinly veiled fury. He doesn’t have time to consider what he’s just done. 

He bends to gather you up into his arms, all the while trying to stamp down the panic clenching his heart. He calls your name, but you can only make weak sounds as your bleary eyes meet his. 

“Dean,” you manage. The ragged wound in your neck is bleeding profusely down your chest and shoulder, seeping into your shirt. He takes your hand and clamps it hard against your neck, even though it makes you whimper.

“Gotta stop the bleeding,” he says, apologetic but firm. “Keep pressing.”

In your stupor of pain, you don’t realize that your screech woke the entire nest. Dean has to lock up his worry; he looks up and finds his brother and Cas already fighting a hoard of angry vampires. 

Dean carries you over to them and lays you down against the wall with the other humans. He keeps a protective line in front of you, but he decapitates a vampire before she can sink her fangs into Sam next.

The two of them work together, and with Castiel’s smiting power behind them, the angel and the two men are able to clear the rest of the nest. 

By the end, only you and two of the women being held captive are still alive. The third girl’s heart just finally gave out. Sam takes the survivors to the nearest hospital. 

Meanwhile, Castiel approaches where you sit up against the inside of the barn, barely awake, while Dean kneels with you, holding you to his chest. He meet’s Cas’s blue-eyed request with a nod. So Cas stretches out a hand and touches two fingers to your forehead. 

You’re healed in an instant. Dean marvels, like he always does when Cas displays his power. Dean is able to breathe a little easier, the vice grip on his heart easing as he touches your neck.

The tan skin is once again smooth, if still stained with blood. You blink back into wakeful consciousness. 

He shifts so he can see your face. “You okay?” 

You meet his eyes but can only nod. His jaw is still tight and tense, and you can’t blame him. 

You know you’ve messed up. Big time. You nearly got everyone killed, including yourself…and now, you have to tell a mother that her son is dead. 

Dean helps you up, holding you by your arms and waist until you’re steady on your feet. You have a hard time meeting his eyes, but when open your mouth to apologize, he beats you to it. 

“I hope you’ve learned your damn lesson,” he says. 

Your gaze snaps up to his. “Excuse me?”

Dean’s hands go to his hips as his brows raise at you. 

“Next time, when I tell you to hang back, I mean that shit. Hang the hell back,” he all but growls. 

You tilt your head at him as your irritation begins to spark. Meanwhile, Castiel is the one who backs up as he glances between you and Dean uncertainly.

“I made a mistake, but that doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do,” you shoot back. “I was a hunter long before I met you.” 

“Yeah, well, color me surprised that you’ve made it this long,” he snaps. 

Your temper flares hotter. “You know, you’re not so goddamn perfect either.” 

“Never said I was,” Dean says. “But when my gut tells me something ain’t right, I need you to fucking listen. Otherwise, we get a day like today.”

His words are edged with grit by the end of his little rant, and you don’t appreciate it. Your lips purse in anger.

“I don’t care what that legendary gut tells you,” you sass back. “I’m not a little girl, and you’re not my damn father!”

Dean raises incredulous brows at the way you’re shouting at him. He crosses his arms. 

“What’s this, some kind of Latina temper?” he asks snidely. 

You truly become incensed at that. 

“Oh, you want to take it there?” you ask, as your eyes narrow. “Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Dean won’t admit it, but in that moment, he’s a bit intimidated by the quiet threat in your voice. Still, his fuse is lit, and he’s way beyond curbing his internal filter.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does this telenovela-style tongue lashing come with subtitles?” he snarks. 

You let out an incredulous breath. Your eyes begin to sting.

“You’re such an asshole!” you shout back. There, understand that?

You turn away from him before your frustrated tears can fall, but you stop short once you notice Castiel dragging out the bodies of the dead…including Andy. Your throat constricts, and you begin to stalk out of the barn. 

Dean calls your name in frustration. 

“What?” you hiss. 

The only thing that makes him hesitate is seeing the state of you when you turn back around. His anger crumbles, and maybe something in him breaks when he sees your tears. They’ve welled up in your eyes, and a few of them carve a path down your cheeks. 

You’re still covered in your own blood, and he hates it. He hates it more than anything. 

Later, you see the state of yourself when Sam returns with the Impala. In the reflection on the backseat window, you see the blood dried down your neck, staining nearly half of your shirt.

You see the black rings of your mascara and eyeliner around your eyes. You look a mess, and you try to wipe underneath your eyes. It’s a fruitless effort.

After you all finish burning the bodies, Dean starts the long drive home. You insist on stopping to tell Rachel Campbell about her son, but Sam says he already took care of it when he drove into town. 

You frown, but you no longer have the energy to be angry. You further withdraw into yourself, and your lower lip trembles as you look out the window. Through the rearview mirror, Dean sees more tears slipping down your face.

What Sam told him (but he won’t tell you), is what one of the survivors said. One of the mated pairs had taken Andy…to “adopt” a son of their own. 

That night is quiet and tense in Dean’s room. You have to wash your hair all over again, and scrub the blood and grime from your body until only your skin remains. But you don’t have the energy to do more than braid your wet hair afterwards and pull on your lucky Journey shirt, which is still full of holes. 

Dean knows that it’s bad when you need the “dreamcatcher,” as he’s called it in his head. You’ve never had a nightmare while wearing that shirt, or so you claimed a while back. 

You wear it over some long pajama pants instead of your usual shorts, or better yet, nothing at all. But he can see what kind of mood you’re in. Things are unsettled as you both get ready for bed in silence. 

He notes the way you turn to face the other side in bed, maybe to avoid him. Though if you really wanted to do that, you could’ve gone to your old room.

So in more ways than one, Dean takes some solace in the fact that you’re still next to him. And he decides to give you some time and space. 

He goes to bed and tries in vain to sleep.

In the morning, Dean’s woken by the familiar smell of coffee…and the less familiar sound of loud salsa music. 

What the fuck?

After he brushes his teeth, he puts on his robe and slippers and heads down to the kitchen, where he finds you in a seemingly better mood. You’re mopping the floor, of all things. You’re out of your pajamas, instead wearing a loose shirt that falls off your shoulder and some spandex shorts. 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo,” you sing softly along with the music as you dance from the kitchen to the living room. Your phone is connected to a Bluetooth speaker on the coffee table. 

Dean starts to smile, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway to watch you.

At an instrumental break with a run of conga drums and trumpets, you pause in your mopping to do a little twirl as you dance, with a soulful roll of hips and a flair of salsa steps. It makes Dean’s smile kick up into a smirk.

He walks in on purposefully light feet until he’s sidled up behind you in the living room.

“Nice moves, Shakira,” he quips. 

It startles a shriek of surprise out of you as you whirl around. Dean’s smile hikes up into a grin, but it soon fades when he remembers the way your scream rang through his ears last night. The way his heart dropped into his stomach, and his head swiveled at the sound. And he saw you go down hard. 

Then the rest of it tumbles through his mind—what he had to do afterwards in order to save you. How he’d did it without really thinking, his panic and determination blocking out almost everything else when he’d grabbed the kid. The monster, he forcibly reminds himself. 

“You trying to give me a heart attack?” you ask with a hand on your heart. 

Dean forces himself to smile a little. “Sorry. But might I remind you, not everyone here’s an early bird.”

You give him a wry look.

“You’re the only one around here who sleeps past 10 a.m. Cas dipped out a while ago, and Sam’s on a run.” 

But you graciously grab your phone to lower the music to a more bearable level. Dean doesn’t yet know this about you, but this—listening to music, dancing, cleaning—it’s all your way of coping…and releasing as much of your pain, terror, and regret from yesterday as possible. 

You then look up at him more guarded. The two of you exchanged a lot of unsavory words last night. In fact, it may just be the worst fight you two have ever had in almost three years of knowing one another.  

Dean senses the shift in you, and his amusement fades. He just can't let things stay like this. He won't.

He hazards drawing closer and touching your arm.

“Look…I’m sorry for snapping at you yesterday. I know I was being a dick,” he says. “You’ve just gotta understand something.”

You wait for him to continue with furrowed brows, sensing that whatever he’s about to say is hard for him. 

“There’s a reason I don’t do this. The uh, relationship thing,” Dean continues, clearing his throat. His thumb swipes along your arm. “It’s not just this job. It’s my fucked up life. I tried to warn you before—” 

“Dean,” you say with a sigh, but he raises his hand. 

“Please, just…let me say it,” he says. “You know the spiel. But things can change on a dime. Even on a damn milk run, like a dusty nest of vamps.”

You know that. You know you could’ve died yesterday, and he doesn’t need to remind you of that fact. Before you can start to get petulant again though, Dean continues. His jaw is working, like this next part is more difficult for him to admit.

“Trust me when I say, us being together is dangerous, for both of us,” he says. “For a while I, uh…I started to think Sam and I were better off alone.”

That casts you into dismay. Because you know Dean isn’t lying. He’s really contemplated spending the rest of his life devoid of love, so he won’t have to lose it. 

Dangerous, for both of us.

You realize then what Dean’s really saying. He’s afraid…afraid to lose you. You see it in his furrowed brows, the downturn of his lips, and whatever pain he’s trying to hide in the depths of his eyes. 

And just like that, the water works start. You can’t quite keep your tears at bay as you hold onto his shirt. He lets out a resigned sigh as he holds you by your arms. 

“You don’t have to cry for that,” he says, a bit teasing. 

“Have you met me?” you sniff. But you manage to look up at him with your glassy eyes. “I’m sorry too. God, I’m so sorry, Dean.” 

Your fist clenches in his shirt when you remember Andy, latched onto your neck, and how Dean had to save you. You know he’s remembering it too when his brows furrow, and his gaze falls away. You reach a hand for his cheek.

“I know I fucked up,” you admit. “I was working with my heart, not my head. I just…”

You wanted so badly to help that kid and his mother. You also know that Dean understands; you see it in his eyes. He holds your hand to his cheek and brushes his thumb across the back of your hand.

“I know,” he says. “I really am sorry, baby.” 

The problem is, you didn’t just see your own mother in Rachel. She hadn’t been much older than you. And when you imagine a life beyond hunting, more than anything (no matter how much you shove down the idea), you really do want a family of your own someday. 

It’s just…days like yesterday remind you why that could be a very bad idea. 

More of your tears bubble over, and you head willingly into Dean’s arms. “Me too…”

He holds you tighter than ever. His hands rub down your back, tangle in your hair, and he drops his lips onto your hair. You sniffle, wiping your face dry in his shirt. And for a while, the two of you have peace in the relative quiet. 

Music still plays from the speaker though. And when another salsa song starts to play on your playlist, you start swaying. A smile works its way onto Dean’s face. 

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” he teases.

You smile into his chest. “We should go dancing sometime.”

Dean just laughs. “Oooh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” you reply, batting your lashes up at him. You slip a hand on his shoulder and into one of his hands. He’s forced to hold you as if the two of you were about to start Fred Astair-ing across the living room. 

“Have you ever danced before?” you ask. “Like real dancing.” 

“Not salsa, I’ll tell you that,” he quips. 

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you,” you reply with a coquettish smile. “It’s just a few simple moves.”

Dean gives you a wan look. “You made it look anything but simple.”

You blush at that, but you meet him with a pout of disappointment. You don’t let up, even when Dean frowns. He huffs at you in resistance.

“No,” he insists. You just brush a gentle thumb along his neck, biting your lip in askance.  

But the longer he stares at your beautiful, hopeful eyes, the more cracks form in his resolve. 

Eventually, Dean breaks with a sigh, and a shake of his head. 

“You’re too much, you know that?” he mutters.

It’s then that you know you’ve won.

So with a happy squeal of excitement, you clap your hands and move to stand next to him so you can show him the basic steps of salsa dancing. 

You make him take off his robe and slippers, leaving in his shirt and plaid pajama pants. Then you instruct him for a few minutes, correcting his footing and getting him to move on a beat. You’re pleasantly surprised that he has some rhythm.  

Dean sighs once again. How the hell did we get here? Heat crawls up the back of his neck as embarrassment starts to set in. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he grumbles.

“You’re doing good,” you encourage, with a growing smile. “Now come on, feel the beat in threes. One, two, three. One, two, three…”

Once he sort of has the basic steps and turns down, you move to stand in front of him. There you show him how to hold you, how he’ll move forward, and you’ll move back. It takes a little while, but you slowly move through the combinations, then do a little twirl underneath his hand. 

When he pulls you back in without faltering, you give him a beaming smile. “Very good!”

A subtle grin raises his lips at your enthusiasm. He also feels his face heating up at the praise.

But you pause when a certain song filters through the speakers. It’s an old one (and it never fails to make you blush), but you love it.  

“Ooh, yes,” you exclaim with delight, and you turn up the volume.

“What’s this one?” Dean asks.

“Ven Devórame Otra Ves,” you inform him. Not that he knows what that means. You sing along a bit with the first couple of verses while you encourage Dean to lead you in the dance. 

This song is just slow enough for him to attempt it, and the funny thing is, he doesn’t feel all that uncomfortable with the steps now. He’s starting to get a feel for how to move, both with his feet, and with his hands as he guides you by your waist, holding your hand close to his chest. Still, Dean’s also curious about the lyrics you’re singing. 

“What does it mean?” he asks.

You huff in amusement. “You sure you want to know?”

Dean raises a brow. “Well, now I gotta know.” 

You giggle at that, though you correct his steps when he leads with the wrong foot. 

“Okay. It’s about a guy who’s pretty much a player,” you say with a smirk. “His bed has been a revolving door of hot ass, but he keeps thinking about this one woman who used to have him turned inside out…”

Dean’s lips curve at the familiar image you’re conjuring. He manages to turn you under his hand, then pull you back to him in one smooth motion. He looks down at you with a deeper gleam in his eyes. You bite your lip, soothing your hand from his shoulder and down his arm.

As the song’s verses come, you translate for him. And for Dean, your voice in itself is a spell.

“Even in my dreams, he says, I thought I had you devouring me. And I dampened my white sheets remembering you,” you begin. Your words are smooth like black velvet. “In my bed, no one is like you, who draws my body on every corner, without a piece of skin left over.”

Dean is getting hot under the collar as you push away, dragging your fingertips along his back as you turn around him. When you come back into his line of vision, his attention is attracted to the sway of your hips, clad just in those little spandex shorts. He has to clear his throat a bit. 

You eventually return to him with a warm hand against his chest. 

“Ven, devórame otra ves. It means, come devour me again,” you continue, looking up at him from under your lashes, “Come punish me more with your desire. Because I kept my love for you…because my mouth has the taste of your body.” 

You smile at the laser focus of his green-eyed gaze. “Come devour me again.”

You push off with another little spin. When you reach for his hand, Dean yanks you back into him, eliciting a gasp. The move disorients you for a moment, but you giggle and hold onto his arms. Your hands glide up to rest on his shoulders. 

He’s holding you flush against him, and as you shift a thigh between his legs, you unintentionally graze against his hardening length. You look up at him with a smirk.

“You’re a little…stiff,” you say, both flirtatious and teasing. “Let’s loosen you up.”

You shake his shoulders out and try to get him to relax. Dean raises a wry brow, because you know damn well whose fault it is that his body is coiled tight. But you place his hands on your hips as you move back into the dance. 

“Feel what I’m doing there?” you ask. He looks down on you with growing heat.

“If I could do that, we wouldn’t be together,” he rumbles. 

You try to stifle a laugh as he pulls you in close again, just swaying for a bit. Soon enough, you grin knowingly when his hands start to slide lower on your ass. His head bows to yours, ready to meet you with a kiss. 

You stop him with your finger on his lips.

“Question: do you consider yourself more of a tits or ass man?” you ask him. You’re half teasing, but still curious. Dean snorts at the question. 

“More of a connoisseur,” he replies, smirking. 

“Ah.” You nod sagely, and you point between him and yourself. “So this is like a ‘sample the menu’ situation.”

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Sweetheart, you’re a goddamn buffet.”

You splutter laughing…and that’s when he finally pounces. He claims your lips with greedy passion. His hand winds into your hair, gripping tight and ruining what’s left of your loose ponytail. The strands coil around his hand in messy curls while he also gets a healthy grip of your ass through your thin shorts. 

You smile into his lips, even as you acquiesce to him guiding your head to the side, so he can slip his tongue against yours. You grip his arms more for stability while he manhandles you, kneading soft flesh and making pleasant tingles run up your spine. 

After a little while, his mouth burns a hot path away from yours. He noses down your neck, skimming his lips across your skin. It sets your nerve endings on fire and gets you breathing more shallowly in his ear. You cling to the back of his shirt, holding him close. 

Often he’s one to leave love bites of varying degrees, wherever he sees fit. But for a moment he stops at the crook of your neck, just pressing a lingering kiss.

He lets out a deep breath, and you realize he’s probably thinking about where you were bitten. The wound is gone, but it doesn’t change what’s imprinted in both of your minds.  

A softer smile grows on your face. You trail your fingers up into his hair, massaging the back of his neck. 

“I’m okay,” you remind him. Dean hums deep in agreement. You know, however, that he’s still thinking far too much.

So you slide your hands down, slow between the dips and planes of muscle in his back, and rest at his hips. Your thumbs delve under the hem of his shirt and tease the skin there. 

And you start slow, pressing wet, nipping kisses of your own to his neck while you inch his shirt up. You feel his smile on your neck. His grip on your hip flares to life. Still, he lets you tug his shirt up and over his head. Your loose shirt comes next, revealing the same black satin and lace bra you wore the first time he ever got you topless in his arms. 

A fan favorite. Dean grins. He reaches around to go for the clasp, but your firm push on his chest takes him by surprise.

He falls back onto the couch with a grunt, looking up at you then with raised brows. You’ve got a mischievous little smirk on your face that heats his blood and makes his cock twitch.

You take out the rest of your falling ponytail, shaking your hair out wild. Then you let your hands drift down your neck, over your clothed breasts, and finally to your little shorts.

Dean rubs his palms down his thighs and watches. A smirk forms across his lips as you slide the fabric down the curve of your hips. It leaves you in a red thong, familiar to him by the little tear it has on the front. (Again, his fault.)

You climb aboard his strong thighs to straddle his lap, using his shoulders as leverage as you sink down. You make sure to rub yourself teasingly against his clothed erection. He groans in appreciation. His hands fly to your soft, thick thighs and squeeze. 

“Aw, I like this,” Dean says, half on another moan as you grind down a bit harder on him. 

“Yeah?” you tease. You take his face in your hands and capture his lips with your own. Your tongue invades his mouth, and he welcomes you with a deep hum. It’s slow and hot at first, but Dean feels the loss of you when you break from his lips.

Instead, you treat him with the same trail of kisses he gave you, along the curve of his jaw and down his neck. But you don’t stop there.

Your hands move over his chest with purpose, tweaking over each hard nipple while your mouth burns a wet line down and down his sternum. Dean groans at your ministrations, but lets you leave his lap to slide down to the ground, between his thighs. 

“What’re you up to, baby?” he asks, despite having a very good idea of it. He catches the playful, yet determined gleam in your eye. 

You pause, briefly leaning back up to give him a heated kiss. You part from him with a grin. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” you ask. “I’m gonna devour you.”

Dean stares hard at you as goosebumps break out across his forearms. 

Oh, fuck yeah. 

A giggle bubbles in your throat at the expression on his face. But you continue, taking his pants down his legs first, before his boxer briefs. 

Dean’s body tenses in anticipation. You’ve gone down on him before, but somehow it’s different this time. He feels like every single one of his nerve endings stands at attention along with his dick. And you’re taking your sweet time working him up. 

Even when his cock is finally free, you sooth your hands down his legs first, maybe teasing him a bit as you drag your nails down his inner thighs. Dean makes a strained sound, though he tries to hide it by clearing his throat.

Your gaze flicks up to his with a little smile. He’s holding the back of the couch; his fingers are digging into the old cushion in effort to keep still for you. But his eyes stare into yours like a man starving. You know what you’re in for after you have your way with him, but for now, he’s quite literally under your control. 

So you take him in your hands first. Dean groans as you tease him with light touches, soft movements, your thumb slowly circling over the sensitive, weeping head of his cock. It's torturous enough to make him drop his head back against the couch, closing his eyes tight.

And suddenly, he blinks them open again.

“Shit,” he utters, when you finally take him into your mouth. Your tongue is soft and wet, your lips move over him steadily, and your hands caress whatever your mouth can’t take, even teasing his balls. 

You work him over relentlessly, until he can’t help but spill everything he has to give into your waiting mouth. When you suck off and swallow whatever remains, Dean’s heart stutters like syncopated conga drums. 

He shudders and struggles for breath afterwards, watching your every movement—from wiping your mouth to shooting him that satisfied little smirk. 

You press one last kiss to the inside of his thigh before you raise from where you’ve been kneeling on the hard ground. 

Dean manages to lean forward and helps you up by your elbows. But then he pulls you back into his lap and kisses you deeply. He doesn’t let up until you’re panting with him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he manages to say. His voice is deep and laced with grit. 

He’s still panting heavily. You giggle and press your warming face into his neck. 

“What, now you’re shy?” he remarks. And he has to laugh. “Come back here.”

He brings your face back to him with a hand on your cheek. For a second, he just looks at you. His thumb strokes across your full, thoroughly kissed bottom lip.  

“Say it,” you encourage softly. “Whatever you’re thinking. Right now.”

A smile tugs at his lips. He can’t help but oblige you. 

“You’re too damn much,” he says again, both gruff and fond. Despite how you drive him up the fucking wall sometimes, he doesn't think it'll ever be enough for him, what he has with you.

Because this is something he'd almost given up on. Didn't think he'd get to have it. And it almost scares him, how much he wants you. How much he...

“I love you,” he says. His thumb traces along the familiar curve of your cheek.

It hasn’t been all that long, but he knows. You weaseled your way in without even trying. The least he can do for you is be honest.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, holding his hand in place. You tilt your head at him.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask. 

Dean hesitates, but he nods. “Yeah.”

A smile grows across your face. “Eh, I’m still on the fence.”

At his flat look, you laugh and lean in for a kiss. He allows it, a little petulantly. But you make up for it with sweet affection. Your gentle hands stroke down the column of his neck, down his chest. You then lean back so he can see your face.

“Yo te amo,” you whisper. “Te amo y te quiero, más que tú puedes creer y entender.”

Dean smiles. He doesn’t understand all of it, but he gets the important bits. He hears it in the tone of your voice. He sees it in your eyes. They shine with emotion, but mainly with love. 

Dean kisses your hand. He lets go, just so he can slip his hands around you to finally unhook your bra. He tosses it across the room without bothering to see where it lands.

You do though, and you meet him with a slightly narrowed gaze. 

“Are you making a mess of my clean bunker?” you tease. 

His lips curve as he kisses you again, while his hands each get a generous handful of your breasts. 

“Ah, hello, ladies." He grins. "Miss me?”

You can’t help but laugh. He’s such a dork sometimes.

But you hum when his thumbs brush over hardened nipples, then drag deliberate circles over them, and pinch just hard enough to make you whimper in pleasure. The sensation zips through you, enhancing the flood between your legs. 

“I fucking love that sound,” Dean mutters, and licks a hot path in the valley between your breasts. His lips move against your dewy skin when he says, “Do that for me again.”

When he takes a nipple in his mouth and nips a bit hard, you have to oblige him. Your voice rising high is music to his ears.  

So he goes for your panties next. You help him get them off and return to his lap. With a breathy moan, you revel at the feeling of his fingers probing into your wet heat.  

However, you and Dean have been too engrossed in one another to notice the door of the bunker unlocking, and heavy steps down the spiral staircase. 

It’s Sam who’s back from his run. Unfortunately, he soon has to shield his eyes upon reaching the living room. 

“Damn it, Dean!”

You yelp in surprise, but Dean laughs and holds you close to shield you from view. As a bonus, it presses your breasts against his chest. 

“All right, Sammy. Go to your room,” he chides playfully (but he means it). “The adults are havin’ a moment.”

Sam scoffs. “You’re having a moment on the goddamn couch!”

“Sorry,” you say, though it’s muffled in Dean’s neck. Your face is red hot with embarrassment. 

Sam rolls his eyes heavenward and tries not to see anything else on his way to his room. 

But Dean’s chuckle reverberates through your chest as his hand goes to your cheek. He encourages you to pull back, so he can see your face again. 

When he does, he smirks at the scarlet blush dusting your cheeks and neck. You bite your lower lip, but despite your embarrassment, you’re happy.

Your own words replay in your mind when you lean in for another kiss.

I love you, you’d said. I love you and I love you, more than you can believe and understand. 

AN: Yay! I hope you enjoyed Part 2 of the “Midnight Espresso”-verse! I loved writing this one so much. I know we're just doing fanfic here, but I genuinely put my heart and soul into this one. ❤️

Also, here are a couple of Spanish translations:

(Note: other Spanish-speaking countries may interpret certain words differently.)

[During their fight]: 

“Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Translation:

“You’re shameless. Keep messing with me, damn it. Then you’re going to see who I am (<- This is Dominican slang. It essentially means fuck around and find out what I'm made of.).”

[Song lyrics: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique]: 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo.”

Translation:

“I don’t know tomorrow. I don’t know tomorrow. If we’ll be together, if the world will end.”

Keep Reading:

Next in this series is "Chico Malo" ("Bad Boy"):

Summary: You catch Dean red-handed—with one of his favorite episodes of Casa Erotica.

▶️ Next Story: Bad Boy (Chico Malo)

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[actuallybridgetjones]

so long (worst!wolverine x reader)

warnings: +18 minors do not interact, smut, fluff, female!reader, worst!wolverine, change of events, after d&w.

a/n: hi! since d&w got on disney+ i just had to rewatch it and had this idea. please note that this is my first fic ever and that english isn’t my first language. also, i can’t write wade accurately so here is my messy attempt. sorry in advance for any mistake (or if this seems to messy) and feedback is much appreciated. love, carol ♡

you and logan had a life together, both teacher at charle's institute. your relationship with him blossomed through late sleepless nights in the kitchen, when you listened to the older man, appreciating the little he shared with you everyday.

it was evident that you two grew close as each day passed. after lingering touches and stares, stollen kisses in empty classrooms, you eventually got together and boy, were you happy.

you had it all, you knew each other like the palm of your hand. you were logan's harbor and he was your safe haven. you saw how he would get when the nightmares were too much, feeling the urge to drink his worries away. you saw his flaws and his sins and still you stood by.

that's what made logan wonder at first. it made him wonder how a girl sweet and kind like you wasn't terrified by the thought of him. he would often even wonder what kind of good thing he did to have you only listening to him in the first place.

so, when that tragic night came, logan got reminded of how he didn't deserve any good, how everything of his always had a way to be taken, ruined. he was coming home from the bar, a solo mission went wrong, he decided to stop to drink it away before collapsing in your arms. he knew you would be home, you were always home.

until you weren't.

he got to the mansion to find it filled with dead bodies, jean, scott, storm, hank... everyone, it was a blood bath. logan's first thought was you. running into your shared bedroom, he searched, spent days looking through the damn corpses but there were no traces of you, nothing for him to mourn over.

logan turned to alcohol and self hatred, his healing abilities now appearing as a curse, as if nothing was hard enough to numb him from the pain of it all.

the day wade (or whatever was his name) came in saying that he would take him out of there, logan didn’t even flinch. if he didn’t have you, there was nothing holding him back to his timeline.

here he was now, storming in to help deadpool, the guy who gave him a second chance, stoping cassandra with the time reaper. his mind was filled with memory of the journey he had gone through, but not only.

through his head flew images of you. your smile, your eyes, your small almost unnoticeable freckles, the way your nose scrunched when you laughed and the way your cheeks always seemed to turn a warm pink shade around him. images of you underneath and on top of him, holding him or sleeping tightly in his embrace. memories of slow mornings tangled on each other and late nights spent panting.

after all was safe and sound, after wade’s world was no longer endangered, logan gave himself a second chance too. he let himself be friends with wade, agreeing to live with him until he figured something out. he always did.

wade, cheery as ever, took logan to his building, wanting him to meet blind al, the so infamous roommate. after climbing up the stairs logan feels a perfume he hadn’t felt in years. he turned to see you shuffling through your keys, trying to enter the apartment. you didn’t even have to turn his way.

it was you.

logan stood frozen, trying to figure out if this was another one of life’s tricks to him.

“peanunt, that’s y/n, she’s a sweet girl, but you’re literally drooling you nasty dog” wade says, and that’s when you turn to the two men, hearing your name coming from the mouth of your chatty neighbor.

the sight in front of you made your heart stop. was it your logan? could it be? or was it just another nightmare about the love of your life, just for you to wake to an empty cold bed?

your brows furrow as you look at him. he was older, thinner even despite his still very defined muscles. you were sure this was your logan from the way he looked at you, his hazel eyes seeming worn over but with the same love inside of them.

“lo-logan?”

“y/n?”

your breath hitched on your throat as tears fall down your face. you run to logan, wrapping your arms tightly around him. if this was a dream, you wanted to hug him for one last time, to atleast try to feel his embrace, his touch.

logan hugged you back, bringing your smaller body to his chest as he crouched to whisper, crying too. “is this really you? y/n, oh god”

you pull your head back to look into his eyes, meeting his hazel orbs.

it was your logan.

“i-i can’t believe…” your voice comes out shaky, small even as you look at the man. dirty, rugged and with stains of blood everywhere, but he was your man.

“oh darling… god darling girl” his voice is small too, contrasting with his own appearance. you wrap your arms securely around his neck once again, crying in pure bliss as his large arms came to wrap around your waist.

“i missed you so much” you say between sobs against his neck. “how-how did you get here?” he asks, finally finding all of his worries dissipating in your embrace.

“on the night of the attack… a portal opened and I came here, I had no idea how to go back, how to go back to you lo-” you say almost out of breath, feeling his hand now softly combing through your hair.

logan pulls back to look at you in the eyes, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek as he whispered “beautiful” and brings his lips to yours.

there’s no point in denying the hurry of the kiss, the desperation and the longing cursing through your veins. of course there’s always someone to wreck the party.

“peanut? honey? am i missing something or are we starting to make out with greasy strangers in the hallways now?” deadpool’s voice interrupts.

logan grunts and turns back to him, giving him a glare. “she was, is, the one i told you about” the wolverine says surprinsingly soft.

you smile and add shyly “he’s the one i told you about”, logan looks at you tenderly, a reminder of the love still in him. the love that he had burried deep down after that night.

“honey? you had no will to tell me that THE MAN YOU WERE FUCKING NASTY BACK IN YOUR TIMELINE WAS THE WOLVERINE?” wade adds excitedly.

you and logan both roll your eyes, you blush and turn to your neighbor. “i don’t know if he was going up to meet blind al, but i’m going to keep him for the night”

“don’t make too much noise”

before you pull your long lost lover inside with you into your apartment he turns back. “hey, wade… thank you”.

after that he was on you, door closed as he pinned you against it, arms wrapping around you, your own traveling down the hoodie he was wearing. your lips meet in a searing kiss, his tongue not taking much time in entering your mouth, joining your own in a slow and long known dance.

this was home.

“my bedroom his down the hall” you say between kisses and logan pulls you to wrap your legs around his torso, bringing you to your own bedroom. once you’re there he lays you against the bed gently, taking off his hoodie and moving to remove the tank top you were wearing, nothing underneath.

“what a fucking sight” he whispers, the rough tone contrasting with the love his gaze held, his eyes turning a deep shade of forest greeen now. reaching down, he kisses your neck, bitting and nibbling on the tender skin under his mouth.

"i- i need you logan" you say gravely, voice filled with need and passion. you remove your jeans and panties, laying bare under him now. "what a sight, princess" he hums against your hear, letting out a soft groan as he feels your desperate hands fumbling with his pants.

not longer after that, logan was moving inside you, his movements desperate as your manicured nails dig into the flesh of his back. his hands travel sloppily down your body, massaging the soft skin.

"i love you logan, i love you" you manage to say between moans, head thrown back in pleasure as you feel your high approaching. his hips grew more erratic, your words making his need grow "you'll be the death of me darlin' " he says between pants.

you feel the familiar stretch of his large cock on you, the familiar pleasure his calloused hands bring you. but you also see the depth of his eyes. the love and longing they carry. he shifts, now kneeling as his hands grasp at your hips, tight enough to bruise.

from the new angle it all feels too much and you can't even begin to process it until it's happening. "oh logan..." you almost scream in pure bliss, your whole body convulsing as your eyes roll to the back of your head, your juices spilling all over him.

the sight is too much for logan as he cums inside of you, the feel of his warm seed filling you up, making you squirm. he collapses on top of you, his hands anchoring his body as he looks you in the eye, still inside of you. "i love you so much princess"

you can only smile, new tears threatening to roll down your cheeks as you looked at the man that was, is, everything to you. in that moment you know it'll be alright, and he knows, feels it too.

as long as you've got each other, it'll be alright.

[eldritchstranger]

(X-men '97 spoilers)

I have no idea why I suddenly became so enamored with Gambit, like seriously it came out of nowhere, sometime after my second rewatch of dpxw but before seeing him anywhere else

But today I was watching X-men '97 for the first time and I realized that Remy physically could not touch Rogue, couldn't hold her, couldn’t kiss her, couldn’t feel her skin in any way without gloves or clothes in between them, but he still loved her and wanted her. and if he hadn't died, he would have continued to choose her. "Some things be deeper than skin"

Something in me knew. Somewhere deep in my soul, before I even realized, my asexual ass was like that one. We like that one.

[biblicalhorror]

Aroace Riz real but also Fabian is SO clearly in love with him and Riz has no idea

[zhongrin]

festered wounds

— when you’ve never been the first choice your whole life, it’s hard to accept the possibility that you could be loved.

© zhongrin | 2023  ✼  no repost・translations・plagiarism of any kind・ai data mining. rebloggers get a free cup of tea ♡

✼ characters ┈ zhongli, al haitham, wriothesley

✼ tags ┈ gn!reader, this is more of a vent drabble, hurt with comfort, reader with massive insecurity issues, implied past trauma, slight blood & gore in the portrayal of ‘hurt’

✼ a/n ┈ this…. got really personal, haha. i wrote this in a bad headspace, so apologies if it got depressing or if it’s of a low quality. i didn't want to have this in my drafts and i certainly don't want to bring it to 2024 so i'm just posting this now.

ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ)  ✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ)

“i’m sorry.”

zhongli’s heart dropped at the words escaping your lips. this was certainly the most unexpected response you could give to his confession, seeing the promising recent developments in your relationship — and so celestia forgive him, he had to pause to gather his thoughts. this made you fidget even more under his gaze, and so you succumbed to your frazzled nerves to continue in a more panicked voice.

“i’m sorry, mr. zhongli, i know you’re not the type to resort to deceit or find joy in toying with people’s feelings, but i’m just— i can’t—” you trailed off, feeling your chest tighten in pain.

“please, hold your tongue for a moment,” the refined man held out one of his hand to settle onto your shoulder comfortingly. his expression was a mixture of worry and confusion, eyebrows furrowing in a sign of distress. “are you saying that you… do not believe my words? you think i have malicious intentions?”

“….. i’m sorry, i’m just not used to- i’ve never-” you stumbled over your words and squeezed your eyes shut, “i’m sorry….”

zhongli watched you for a moment, observing the smallest ticks and the story behind your body language. you looked so vulnerable, like a scared animal instinctively cowering at some invisible threat. you looked as if someone had stripped away a bandage that had been haphazardly wrapped around a wound left unattended for so long, it had festered into an abomination, eating away at you slowly, even now.

belatedly, he realized that ‘someone’ was himself.

zhongli inhaled deeply, his palm leaving your shoulder. this time, he took his hands to tenderly grab your fingers, lifting them up to silently plead for your attention. your eyes were troubled and full of storms, the rain and lighting reflecting on your expression as a solemn flutter of your eyelashes and sorrowful downturn of your lips. the slight tremble of your body reflected the silent call for help from a blemished heart that never had the courage to forget.

“my dearest. i see the pain you have gone through. i have yet to know the tales that had marred your heart, but i want you to know that i am willing to be the pair of ears you tell your grievances to, and you can be rest assured that they will be safe with me. i know my words will not be enough to convince you otherwise at this moment… however, you must forgive my impatience, for it stems out of genuine love. i simply must humbly ask once again—”

“— please, give me a chance to heal you.”

“a-are you sure you want me?”

out of the 18 different responses he anticipated, al haitham did not expect this. however, his surprise merely manifested in the rising of both of his eyebrows and the subtle shift on his legs.

“unlike the consensus the public seemed to have one-sidedly agreed on, i am not foolish enough in the matter of romance as to confess to someone i do not hold deep affection and great care for,” he said in the same tone as the moment he asked if you would consider taking your relationship into the ‘officially dating’ phase, “is it not obvious? kaveh claimed i was ‘laying it on thick’ and cyno had noted of how i treat you better than how i treat the dendro archon.”

“oh….”

“….”

“….”

you thought you had gotten used to al haitham’s stare with how much you both had been hanging out, but right now you couldn’t seem to lift your head. the scholar crossed his arms, waiting patiently for your response. you were both gratuitous and dreading his resilience.

“i-i still think you could do better, though. i mean, look at you! you’re so fit, so wouldn’t you feel better if your partner is more of the sporty type? and you’re the top graduate of the haravatat darshan, so you would pair better with someone smarter…. a-and someone like me will just drag you down; aesthetically speaking, i… uh, leave much to be desired while you’re… you know…”

you spoke of such illogical assumptions and erroneous advices that he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. you spoke of belittling yourself as if you were used to riding on the rails of insurmountably low dip of the self-esteem cliff for years. you spoke of these things as if you were repeating words someone told you at least once in your life.

and it angered him.

but he wasn’t angry at you. he was angry for you.

funny how empathy wasn’t his strong suit, and yet he jumped on the bandwagon as easily as an otter taking off into the waters the moment it came to you and your emotions.

“i care not for such shallow qualifications when it comes to seeking a partner. your presence triggers the relevant hormones that make me feel relaxed and comfortable, and my mind spontaneously seek for your attention. it’s only logical that i seek for an arrangement that would ensure these pleasant things to happen and develop further.”

“you’re the best choice for a partner, simply because i wish to spend the rest of my life with you; and i think that's enough.”

“i don’t think i’m a good choice for you…”

wriothesley looked as if you had pinpointed his weak point in a boxing match and delivered a straight jab right onto it. his lips slacked open and his body froze as he tried to process your words, the meaning behind it, the—

he inhaled deeply and punched his own fist into his palm, stretching his jaw with a growl before a darker tone took over his voice.

“alright, who’s been talking shit? let me at them. it won’t be manslaughter if they don’t die, right?”

he watched as your nervously fiddling fingers stopped twisting around each other, your eyes widened in shock and alarm at his words. briefly, he praised himself inwardly for being able to switch your mood at the snap of his fingers. now if only he could do that, but instead of surprise-and-horror, it could turn into surprise-and-joy instead…

“what?! wait- no! no one said that, i ju—”

“then is your own head telling you that?”

“it’s—” you gulped, gaze slowly breaking away.

he sensed a secret kept safe under the heaviest chains and locks. pain that had nearly torn up that warm heart of yours, shoved into the furthest part of you in a desperate attempt to save yourself; to silence the damned screams and the river of curses that would have made you self-destruct. he saw the remains of the thousands of needles that had embedded itself deep inside your worn heart a long time ago, and yet still it beat and struggled to not bleed out and drown you in its venomous blood.

he saw a heart as scarred as his skin, and he understood.

“..… alright, sweetheart, listen up, and listen close.”

the man’s hands suddenly cradled your cheeks, his icy blue eyes penetrating your clouded gaze. his whole demeanor had shifted into gentle and loving, as if he was holding his entire world in the palms of his hands. he resisted the urge to kiss you when you couldn’t help but lean onto his touch, instinctively seeking comfort.

he would do you better. he would give you the kind of love you’ve yet to experience. there were so much he wanted to say, but he chose to speak of the reassurance he thought you needed most at this moment.

“i say you’re the perfect choice for me. let me prove it to you.”

✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ) ┈ @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sunnshineflxwer | @yuutasbabe | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @marina-and-the-memes | @mixed-kester | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @sassy-cat-in-town | @syrenkitsune | @smokipoki | @cakeboxie | @crystalflygeo | @ciexuvia | @illaasya | @celestewritestoomuch | @pams-comfortzone | @spidermanluvr444 | @ourstrawberryclouds | @ryuryuryuyurboat

[thesummerpetrichor]

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓫𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂

Father in law!Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: Your soon to be husband leaves you at the alter, but you should have guessed since the practice seemed to run in the family. It’s hard to be upset however, when his father comes to repent for not only his own but his son’s wrong doings. Aka fiancé’s dad Javi fucking you in your wedding dress after his son ditches you at the altar.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. Minimal editing, unspecified but thicc and legal age gap, infidelity, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, insane dirty talk, toxic father son relationship, reader is delulu, praise kink, petnames, sex in front of a mirror, veil pulling??, a few spanks, creampie, Javi fucks you into the mattress, unprotected P in V [don’t do it!!]. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶.

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: Literally just porn without plot, lotsa fucking, I want father in law Javi. Minimally edited lmao I just banged this out Can’t wait for you to read it!! Hope you enjoy, nasties! Mwah!

Masterlist

You rich and I'm wishin', um

You could be my mister, yum

Delicious to the maximum

Chew you up like bubble gum

You love me, he wants me

I think I want you too

Best day of your life- yeah, what a fucking joke. But what were you expecting? Ditching people at the altar seemed to run in the family. Okay, maybe that was a bit of a harsh assessment of the Peñas, especially Peña senior, who, despite all you had heard of him from your ex fiance, had always shown you kindness. 

The thing is, it becomes really fucking hard to be charitable to a family when their son humiliates you infront of the entirety of Texas. Leaves you high and dry on the steps of the biggest church in town in your great grandmother’s silk dress. It becomes even harder when you learn his mother had been in on it all along, sparing you not even a little apology, or a comforting embrace after her son's little getaway plan had been revealed. 

Instead of extending you a supporting hand, she ran away to make sure her baby boy was okay, and that this entire ordeal hadn’t taken a toll on his emotional and psychological well being. 

How thoughtful. 

Of course, you were the pathetic one– unable to look anyone in the eye, sobbing on your fathers shoulder till you couldn’t breathe any longer. So distraught and unwell even getting out of your wedding attire seemed impossible. It only made you feel even more pathetic. At some point you ended up curling up in your hotel bed, still in the “happiest day of your life” outfit, and pleading for some time alone from your friends and family to wallow in your own suffering. 

You would eat your feelings in the from of the apology chocolates the hotel had complimented for you, but you couldn’t manage to even do that without feeling like a total fucking looser. 

After all that had transpired, and after years of hearing nothing but sour things about your soon to be father in law, safe to say you were surprised to see him at your hotel room door at midnight as the ambassador the family seemingly sent to smooth things over. 

For it being only your second time meeting the man, this was far from the most opportune scenario. In fact, him showing up all sorrowful and apologetic for his shitty excuse of a son, in his navy blue suit and loose tie, made your already pathetic day all the more difficult to get through. 

Your whole relationship you had blamed every fault of your boyfriend on his absent, detached father. You’d heard plenty about the lack of childhood visits, quality time, and playing soccer that had plagued your partner’s life, and had found it quite easy and comforting to pile on every relationship problem you ever came across as the consequence of Javier Peña’s lack of responsibility and good parenting. 

What you didn’t expect, was to find that Javi Peña was a whole lot more normal and level headed than you anticipated. He was just a guy trying to make a good living and provide for his family. Sure, he was a little bit reserved, but he was only ever warm and sweet and even quite chatty with you. To be frank, you should have seen your boyfriend’s shitty behavior as a consequence of his insufferable mother from a mile away. God knew you weren’t expecting Peña Sr. to be the better of your two soon to be in laws. 

That being said, you would have never expected to be on your hands and knees, on what was supposed to be your marital bed, being pounded from behind by your ex soon to be father in-law. 

Because that's where you are now, eyes rolling to the back of your head thanks to the most intense pleasure you've ever felt. The drag of Javis cock against your walls has been building a steady heat in your belly, the stretch of him so perfect and delicious it has you pushing your hips back to meet his every thrust. 

Any other day a man like him wouldn’t have needed much to woo you– with his cut jaw, handsome features and those chocolate brown eyes you wished his son had inherited. Safe to say on a day like this one it took even less, just a few rubs on your back, a hand smoothing over your head and trailing down your waist, a few “pretty girls” and “poor things” and some fucking sympathy from someone from your boyfriends sorry family. 

Fucking pathetic. 

But Javier knows his son is pathetic, knows he is a good for nothing moron who doesn't even know what he was losing out on when he walked out on you.

“He’s a fuckin fool- look at this tight little pussy, squeezin’ me so fuckin good. Bet he didn’t fuck ya like this, huh baby? Didn’t make ya cum over and over, make ya scream… stupid fuckin boy..” Javier’s grip on your hips tightens on hearing your moan, and he curses under his breath when your pussy flutters around his cock. 

Your legs are threatening to give out under you, your knees tender from how long you've been leaning on them. Javier’s hand moves to grip the fabric of your veil, using it to pull your head back and make you face the mirror that's been teasing you all evening. “Look- Look at ya- fuckin cryin’ on my cock. ‘S the only reason ya’ shoulda’ be cryin’ in this pretty dress..” With drooping eyes you're faced with your own reflection– stains from your mascara running down your face now less thanks to the sorry of the afternoon and more thanks to the way Javi’s cock has been nudging your sweetspot. 

You watch your tits spill out of your beautiful silk dress, the fabric now disheveled and a far cry from the sophisticated, simplistic garment it once was. You can barely recognise it, but then again you can barely recognise your own reflection. “Look at that pretty little body- fuckin made for me.” 

“Yours-” you cut yourself off with a gasp, Javi’s hands squeeze your hips and your cheeks set ablaze at the way he looks at you when you catch it in the mirror. The whole sight is so debauched and depraved– you on your hands and knees for a man who could easily be mistaken for your father. But somehow it's even dirtier- the possibility of your ex finding out sends you into overdrive. 

The silk of your dress brushes against your hot skin, flipped lewdly up to reveal your bare ass, bunched at the waist, the straps drooping and threatening to fall. Javi pulls the zip down even further, watching as it hangs off your body, draped like fabric from a 15th century painting. 

Javi’s voice calls your attention back to the present moment, lewd words showing you he doesn't hold back the way his son does. “Gonna fill this tight little cunt up..” The stretch is so delicious between your legs, you feel the steady throb continue to tighten the coil inside you and you can’t help but moan. “Yeah, you want that? Want daddy to put a baby in you?” the thought makes you shiver, that name makes you shiver, has your cunt clenching around his cock. What an image- you, belly round with your father in laws child, well, your ex father in law. Unlike his son you were sure he would be the perfect husband, would bend you over ever surface in your picket fence house and fuck you just like he’s doing now. 

Deep, and hard and fast, just like you need it. Just like you've always needed it.. 

“Please daddy, want your babies, wanna be yours…” Your voice is so broken and wrecked you're afraid he can’t understand what you're even saying. To be honest you can’t be bothered much, it feels so good, his thick, hard cock feels so good pounding between your thighs there's little else you can keep your mind on. 

“Yeah? you like that sweetheart? we can play house..” you nod your head and his hand tightens its grip around your veil, exaggerating your movements, bending you to his will. “Wanna play house with daddy? can be my pretty little wife” you fist the sheets, pushing back against him with his every thrust. You do want that, you’ve always wanted that. And what better person to do it with. Sure, his wife always complained about how he was never around, but that's looking a lot more like a her problem– especially with the way Javi’s tip continues to kiss your sweet spot. 

“Yes daddy, please..”  

Javier lets go of your veil, and pushes his palm between your shoulder blades, forcing you down into the mattress till your cheek is pressed against the warm, fluffy duvet. One hand keeps you there, the other lands a quick spank to your ass and kneads at the flesh with a newfound desperation. “Won't be able to even say his goddamn name after I'm done with ya. Stupid boy doesnt know how to treat a pretty thing like you– so sweet, so gorgeous, so fucking smart. Too fucking good for him.” 

With your lips parted and breathing heavy you drool onto the covers, letting Javi pound you into the mattress and overshadow every other thought that dared cross your head earlier in the day. If his plan is to make you forget about anything that isn't him, it sure is working. You don't think you’d even want to sound out his incompetent son’s name after he’s done with you. 

As if he can read your mind his voice calls from behind you. “Want ya to be drippin with me.” the wet schick of his cock fucking into your tight, wet, hole reminds you of just how needy you are for him, and the prospect of having him dripping out of you– down your thighs, between your legs, leaving you all messy for him to come back and do it all over again, drives you absolutely insane. 

“He’s fuckin useless, just like his ma. But look at you, so fucking tight ‘round me, making all those pretty sounds, she fuckin’ wishes she was you.” His words have your cunt squeezing around his cock, and a lewd, pornographic moan slipping past your lips. “My girl’s gonna be the perfect lil’ mamma, aren’t ya, so fuckin’ pretty.” You would certainly like that- in fact you’re almost surprised with how appealing it sounds to you. 

“Gonna be perfect for you daddy, only for you.” your dress rides up even further, the front slipping further down. 

“Thats my fucking girl.” That growl of his sends shivers down your spine– possessive, and confident and dripping like honey from his lips. It was almost like it could send you over the edge by itself. The lewd creaking of the bedframe fills the room, the sound of skin on skin driving you wild. The way he handles you– firm and deft but gentle and passionate, it's nothing like his son. 

He’s nothing like his son. 

“Yeah, bet it feels good don’t it, bein’ fucked by a real man? Feel daddy so deep in ya? Nothin ever been that deep before, huh..” You shake your head ‘no’ and he coos at how pathetic you must sound, barely able to make a coherent sound, forget string together a whole sentence. 

“Make me go fuckin’ crazy, babygirl.” 

What he says is fucking filthy, there’s no denying, no justifying it. It makes you squirm, makes you even wetter, makes you want him even more. 

“Think you wanna go back to him? With daddy’s cum drippin between those pretty thighs, show him how a real man treats his girl?” 

“Gonna make ya beg him to stay, gonna talk some sense into him, just so daddy can have ya all to himself, ain't that right? You gonna sneak into daddy’s room in the middle of the night? All wet an’ achy? Beggin’ daddy to fuck ya how ya need?” 

“Wanna run away with me baby, live in a perfect little house, let daddy give ya his babies, fuck ya full’ve my cum every single night?” 

His hands roam your body, smoothing over your hips, reaching forward to squeeze at your breasts, pinching and kneading the flesh. He bends down to trail light kisses along your spine and the feeling is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Your head twists side to side against the sheets as you squirm, each sensation like it's heightened to the maximum, the heaviness and the throb between your thighs at an all time high. 

You know you're close, you can’t hold it off much longer. Your cunt squeezes and your toes curl. You also know Javi won't last, you can feel him pulse against your swollen walls, can feel the way he desperately thrusts into you, pushes you further down against the mattress, grips your skin with that renewed fervor, with the desperation of doing anything to hold on to the incredible sensation. 

“Come for me, babygirl, come for daddy, show daddy how much ya needed this, show daddy how bad ya need his cock.” 

Your legs part even further under you, if that's even physically possible, your entire upper body being smashed into the mattress. You call out Javi’s name, followed by a string of desperate, strained, whiny daddy daddy daddy’s. 

With a strangled moan that's partially muffled by the covers you come undone, your head spins and your heart pounds in your chest, you feel yourself gush and clamp down around his cock. You feel Javi’s hips stutter behind you and his cock throb against your wet walls. The feeling only prologues and intensifies your orgasm, your body going slack and eyes rolling back into your head. 

“Please daddy, need your cum, please, give it to me..” 

Javi’s groans catch your attention as you come down from your high, still reeling from the aftershocks when you feel his cock twitch inside you and paint your walls with his hot spend. Your words are strained and slurred, but they clearly get the job done. You shiver and press your ass back against him to meet his stuttery, sloppy thrusts, and bite your lip when you feel him tighten his grip on your hip, feel him land a final spank to your ass for good measure as he slows down. 

You keep your ass in the air, face still pressed against the mattress as Javi pulls out. You hear him mutter a few strained curses under his breath as he does, and catch him looking between your legs to see his spend obscenely leak out of your used hole. He reaches his fingers to rub against your messy folds and you whine, feel him gather up your juices and push them back inside your cunt in a way that has you almost cumming right there again. 

Your dress is still pooled at your waist and he unzips it entirely, sneaking his hands under your thighs and flipping you over and yanking you towards him. 

“You really want daddy’s babies?” Your head falls back against the bed when you feel his hand cup your cunt, rub your messy, swollen folds with the calloused tips of his fingers. You barely manage to nod. 

“Then I ain’t done with ya yet pretty girl.” You tilt your chin to catch his gaze, now in nothing but your stupid little wedding veil. You’re not sure about the best day of your life, but this sure as hell contends for one of the best nights. 

You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

I'm neon phosphorescent

Open like a Christmas present, oh

You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

If you're seeking heaven

Then you wanna come and get it alright

Be my daddy tonight

What's up what's up

What's up what's up

Be my daddy be my daddy

Be my daddy be my, be my daddy tonight

AHHHHH feel like I’m going to hell for this one. Thanks so much for reading!! Please please please let me know what you think. I’d love to know your thoughts!!! Thank you to everyone who engages with my work, you keep me writing!! 💗🐝

[sadesluvr]

By Your Side

Sometimes you don't realise how much Bruce needs you.

A/N: Title based off the song by Sade! The Sade/Nirvana song choice is just to show your different personalities...We love needy, loverboy Bruce :3 Minors/Ageless blogs DNI!

Word count: 2.6K

“Master Bruce is in his usual spot, I’m sure you’re aware.” 

“I know... Thank you, Alfred. Take care of him for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

“I’ve been doing this for years. You go and have fun...And might I say you look stunning as ever, Miss.” 

You flashed Alfred another smile, kissing his cheek before you left in search of your boyfriend – Bruce Wayne, and The Batman himself. From the moment you’d began dating, Alfred had been nothing but kind to you, to the point that you saw him as a father in-law rather than your boyfriend's butler. Granted, it was easy for him to trust you; you’d been in all the same circles as the Wayne’s growing up and had even gone to school with the boy himself, hence a mutual understanding of what each other needed. 

Bruce wasn’t that much of a public figure; you kept your relationship hidden (as much as possible). Wayne Enterprises sometimes needed good PR; you were more than happy to step in. Yes, there was a business side, but there was also a lot of love, and it was perhaps that innate trust and understanding that propelled the man to reveal his identity to you. You hadn’t run, screamed, questioned or cried: merely accepted and moved on. 

Tonight was one of those nights; a charity gala was to be held, and somebody needed to make a public appearance.  

You’d been into the Batcave many times. It wasn’t your favourite place in the building; it was a little cold and lacked the classic feel of the Gothic architecture in the main tower, but you found yourself strangely comfortable in it. Probably because it was Bruce’s space, and you felt like you knew him on a deeper level. 

Goosebumps peppered your skin as you entered the floor, heels making a distinct clicking sound as you walked in, stopping halfway. As always, the man was glued to his screen, and you thought it best not to disturb him. No matter how nice you looked. 

“I’m heading out. The chauffeur’s going to be here in twenty.” 

Bruce pursed his lips, slowly withdrawing his gaze from the screen to glance up at you, his brows furrowing slightly as he gave you a once over. Even with the hair in his face, you could tell that there was a flurry of emotions within his wet blue eyes; disappointment, annoyance...intrigue.  

“...Tonight? Why?” he said, his voice soft and shaky. 

“Because I have to,” you sighed, a small smile on your face as you shifted your weight. Bruce was far from being a child, but sometimes he walked the line between being an eight-year-old, and an angsty teenager, something that you were more than understanding about given his life circumstances. “It’s for charity. I’m also going on your behalf.” 

He seemed uncomfortable at this; blinking as he diverted his gaze back to his screen, eyes roaming the pixelated words and images absentmindedly before turning back to you, jaw tight and ticking. 

“It’s not safe.” 

“Alfred took care of all the transport,” you said matter-of-factly. “There’ll be lots of people there. I couldn’t get kidnapped if I tried.” 

Bruce didn’t laugh. You should’ve anticipated that. 

Sighing, there was a distant smile on your face as you got closer, placing your hand on his own and giving it a small squeeze. His hands were a little cold and slightly calloused, and you tenderly rubbed his knuckles with your thumb, careful not to agitate him with your rings.  

“Would you feel better if you drove me?”  

“I know what you’re doing,” he said, his voice stern, but his. “Not tonight. If people know you’re with me it only makes you more of a target.” 

Removing your hands from his own, you took a deep breath and sighed, swiping your tongue over your bottom lip in frustration. God knew you loved Bruce, but God also knew he was stubborn; way too stubborn for his own good. The rational side of you knew that it was because of his trauma, but in the moment you didn’t feel like coddling him. 

Great, now you’d ruined your makeup.  

You were going to fix it, and then you were going to the gala.  

“That’s too bad, Bruce.”  Was all you said before you disappeared, spinning on your heels as you strutted out of the room without as much as giving him a second glance.

You could feel his impenetrable gaze on your back as you did, either cursing you out in his mind, fantasising about you, or somewhere in between. The lighting of the Batcave was perhaps a little too dim to see the entirety of your dress anyway. 

Strolling into the bathroom, you switched on the light before taking a glimpse at yourself in the mirror. There were hints of condensation along the mirror and bath tiles from the shower you'd taken earlier, the faint smell of your oils and body lotions sticking to the fibres of the hand towel.  

You picked up a cloth and hastily wiped at the glass, just enough so that you could see your face and the outline of your body. Gently, you ran your fingers over your hips and waist, trying desperately to smooth out the material before you rummaged in your makeup bag, pulling out the liner and running it over your lips. The precision in which you performed the ritual told you that you were perhaps more interested in the aesthetics of it all, rather than the actual charity itself.  

It was a transaction really – and in truth you had the same mindset as all the other rich Gothamites. You may have been dating the heir to the Wayne throne, but were an ambassador first, and that meant appearances had to be made. It kept the business happy, and Bruce too, leaving him free to do his vigilante shit as much as he pleased. 

Once you were happy with how you looked, you gave yourself a once over, contemplating whether you should go for another spritz of perfume, only to be interrupted by Bruce himself. He’d poked his head inside the doorway, watching your motions from behind.  

Catching his eye in the mirror, you relaxed your shoulders and spun to lean against the edge of the sink. He took that as a sign to come in, closing the door behind him with two fingers as he did, glassy eyes roaming your body before focusing on your face. The muggy air of the bathroom seemed to catch up with him instantly; his black strands frizzy and unbridled, some clinging to his forehead in the process.  

To an outsider, one would’ve never been able to tell that this was a happy, healthy couple – friends from the same tax bracket – let alone Bruce Wayne, one of the richest men in the city. He was wearing one of his muted t-shirts with sweatpants to match, and looked a little spent, stubble around his chin and bags under his eyes; whilst you were dressed as if you were ready to walk a fashion show in Milan. 

But you were fine with it. In fact, you rather liked it. 

“Are you here to apologise?” you said matter-of-factly, smirking as you folded your arms over your chest. 

“That’s a nice dress,” Bruce said, ignoring your statement. “Where’d you get it?” 

“I bought it. It was on auction.” 

“Why didn’t you let me pay for it?” 

“Because if I told you what it was for, I wouldn’t be wearing it now.” 

Bruce hummed, nodding his head as he diverted his gaze before looking back at you. He took a step, outstretching his hand to run his fingers along the fabric, tracing the shape of your body as he did. The act, though small, sent a chill down your spine, as if you were being touched by him for the first time.

He always seemed to have a way with his actions; they were gentle and somewhat apprehensive, but they always had intent. Your eyes fluttered shut as he buried his face in your neck, his hairs tickling your bare skin as he eventually pulled you into a hug. Momentarily, you remained still, listening as his breaths steadied before you touched him back, wrapping your hands around his waist. 

There was a soft whistle that came from his nose as he embraced the scent of your perfume, and soon his pout became an imperceptible smile – to you, at least, who was faced away from the mirror. You always managed to bring him a sense of comfort; a grounding reality to the mania of his double life. 

His grip on the small of your back tightened as he spoke into your ear, voice somewhat muffled. 

“I need you...” he crooned. “Stay.” 

“Bruce...” you sighed. “The driver --” 

“Forget about him,” Bruce insisted, maintaining his grip on you as he angled his head to look at you. His pink lips were wet and parted, and his eyes were wide. “Stay with me. Please.” 

Perhaps it was the lighting, but he seemed less grumpy and instead soft, almost like a boy who didn’t want to be left on his first day of school. Sighing, you scanned his features as you cupped his cheek in your hand, feeling the eagerness to step out in front of the cameras and into a grand hall filled with socialites indescribably slip away.

Admittedly, even though you spent a lot of time in the tower, you’d hardly seen Bruce over the past few weeks – whilst you worked tirelessly through the day with PR reps and funders, he did the same at night; in his own way, of course.  

You were used to it, and it was a relatively peaceful routine, but sometimes you wondered if tonight was your chance to switch roles; for you to be the woman in black, and for him to ponder about what was happening outside. 

You didn’t want to hurt him. That was never the intention. 

Rubbing your thumb over his skin, you pursed your lips before pulling him into a gentle kiss, with the man holding your waist in place with his hands, legs and pelvis trapping you between the sink and his body.

Despite your mini dispute, you were immediately in sync, lips intertwined as they danced against each other whilst Bruce’s hands made their way up to the zipper behind you. Skilfully, he tugged at the material, watching as the fabric slowly split apart, undressing you until you were left in your underwear; chest practically bare other than some pasties glued to your nipples. 

You cast your gaze to the floor as the dress pooled around your ankles, unable to have a chance at mourning the night you were supposed to have as Bruce cupped your chin between his index finger and thumb, angling your head to look at him. 

“Beautiful.”  

He said simply, his blue eyes scanning your features before he began to kiss you again, his lips making their way down your neck and along your collarbone. You laced your fingers in his dark strands, biting your lip as you felt his erection against your bare thigh before tugging at his shirt. He twitched, his resistance coming from the scars that adorned his back; some from your own doing, but most from his nights of vigilante work.  

“It’s ok, Bruce,” you said sweetly, squirming against the ceramic. “I want to see you too.” 

He cast his gaze to the floor before softly exhaling, peeling off his shirt and discarding it on the floor next to your dress.

Running your fingertips up his spine, you let out a soft moan as he cupped your breasts, his hands uncontrolled as he felt his way along your body, eventually sliding down to your folds and slipping a finger in. He prodded and poked, gently pulling you apart as you coated his fingers with your juices, his lips still on your skin as he began to jerk against you, grinding his erection on your lower torso. 

Instinctively, you snaked your hand inside of his sweatpants, giving his clothed cock a few languid strokes before pulling them down by the waistband. Groping at your ass, Bruce lifted you off the sink and onto the adjoining counter, hastily aligning himself with your entrance.  

“Bruce...I’m sorry. Forgive me?” you whispered, shutting your eyes as his wet tip prodded at your entrance. It was a rather misplaced, emotional message for such a sexually charged moment, but you found it necessary. Here; with his face in your hands and your bodies just about to become one, there wasn’t a better moment. Coherent words seemed to evade the both of you, but the message was clear – you were by each other's side, always. He knew you were one of the few people who got him, understood him; really, and you knew that deep down, he was just scared. 

You were willing to work through that. 

It was bliss when he entered you. He’d gone in raw, cock stretching you so perfectly and making you feel whole. He let out a heavy sigh as he savoured the feeling before beginning to roll his hips, murmuring into your neck as he held onto your legs, making sure they stayed apart.  

Jostling about, your calves struck the cabinets below ever so slightly as he found a comfortable pace. His breath was hot against your own clammy skin, and he smelt faintly of leather and sweat…which only turned you on more. 

Bruce groaned your name, his breaths laboured and ragged as he motioned his hips in and out of you, pelvis colliding with your thighs and producing an obscene slapping sound. He gripped onto your waist, angling your hips so that he could take more of you, desperate to consume you in any way he could. He didn’t want to let go – he couldn’t – your love was just too strong, too womanly to lose hold of. 

To some it made him weak, but he felt it gave him balance. 

“God…” you whispered, clasping his face in your hands, forcing him to watch you come undone. “Don’t stop…” Bruce’s eyes were half lidded, occasionally flickering down to the small gap that joined the two of you, hypnotised by the way you covered his pink cock in a shiny sheen, with the sex organ virtually disappearing in you. 

He nodded, lips wet and parted as you pushed hair from his face, allowing for you to take in his features at his most vulnerable. Even though the room had become steamy, and the lights were slightly obscured, Bruce was as handsome as ever. His usually clenched jaw hung free, and the dark circles around his eyes didn’t look so depressing. 

There was just something about intimacy that changed the way you see people. 

“B-Bruce…” you crooned, locking your legs around him as you noticed his thrusts becoming sloppier. “Cum inside me…Please.” 

He wasn’t going to say no to you, nor was he planning to pull out anyway, especially not tonight. He called your name once more before he began to pant, blue eyes locking with your own as he came inside of you, ropes of his seed filling your pussy to the brim. He was pent up, so desperate that you wondered if his protectiveness earlier on in the night had just been because he was horny. 

“I love you…” he whispered, twitching as he came down from his high. “You know that?” 

“I do.” You nodded sincerely, words evading you as your chests fell against the others’, still entangled in each-others arms as your eyelids fluttered shut, momentarily focusing on the others’ breaths and gentle caresses on bare skin. 

You didn’t care about the dress, or the gala, or the fact that you were going to have to run out for Plan B in the morning – simply the fact that it had been the first time he’d directly said ‘I love you’. 

Bruce knew he meant it with all his heart.

[timkontheunsure]

"and if he's only here as a prisoner, what kind of monster does that make me?"

Ok think I've finally worked out what was bugging me with them miscommunicating when Blitz yells.

"Would he want me if he were free?" Stolas' starting premise is if Blitz wasn't ok with the deal, and didn't like him; then he's a monster and an abuser.

If it's was only sex to Blitz, then he's just like Stella.

It's why he gives up, saying he has his answer; when Blitz assumes the crystal must be a prop for more of their deal.

"tethered to someone in such an unfair way". Ok this bit had my mind immediately go to the divorce.

The marriage was arranged by someone must more powerful than Stolas, to someone he'd never choose for himself. An "entire life's been written in stone" in fact; he thinks he's done the same thing to the man he loves.

While it is perfectly reasonable for Blitz to get angry, feeling blindsided and dismissed; asking for a "fucking minute", the next bit reads very differently to both of them.

"You spring this feeling bullshit on me. Are you fucking kidding! *Kicks open the door* Can I get a Fucking minute to think after everything you put me through! You pompous rich Asshole! *Stolas' flinches the same way he does when Stella screams at him.*

"Treat me like one of your little butler imps. You can't just Dismiss me like that. I mean you royal Fucks think you can think you can do this every single time. Like you can just play with our feelings, because we're smaller and not as important. Well I'm Not letting you bitch. *Flinches again* Let's Go!".

Blitz is telling Stolas that he doesn't want to be sent away, and that he wants think about it. His abandonment issues are fully kicked in.

He's trying to force Stolas into a fight, to get him to engage with him. Likely a repeated pattern from his last serious relationship with Voroskia.

Trying to pick a fight, to get to make up sex, to get them back to 'normal'. Because that's how he's been dealing with their "complicated" for a while now. If it's about sex he knows how to deal with what they have.

(Blitz is word perfect on the fight with Verosika after all; so they probably got back together a few times after stealing from her).

Blitz immediately goes to "I can do better", and try give it back; when he thinks Stolas doesn't want to see him anymore.

"you royal Fucks think you can think you can do this every single time."

But that's not what Stolas is hearing right now. Stolas hears is 'your all the same. All royal are as bad as eachother'.

It's very close to Striker explaining how the world works during his torture.

And now he thinks that the only man he's ever loved hates him because what he is.

That's what he meant by "think so of low of me".

And he's not exactly wrong. Fizz even calls Blitz on hating that Stolas is a prince.

And Blitz does say "They're all the fuckin' same". (Blitz isn't wrong for calling out Stolas on how he treats his staff either)...

Then there's the bit that seems fairly contentious. Stolas portaling Blitz out.

Stolas is a domestic abuse survivor, only a couple of weeks out of the hospital, because his wife tried to murder him. He's going freak out at loud voices, angry swearing, and doors being kicked in.

He going assume that this is Blitz getting a few kicks in on the way out; not him genuinely trying to talk through their problems just because of the format.

They are both stumbling over eachothers trauma landmines here.

Neither is wrong.

Not Stolas for walking away, or making the shouty person leave.

Not Blitz for getting scared, upset and feeling abandoned. Thinking Stolas isn't giving him a chance to think it through.

Blitz is going to get that time he wants to think it over. It's not an all or none thing.

He now has his business safe and secured in his own hands, and knows that Stolas likes him too. Those are biggys.

It's entirely up to Blitz what he wants to do now.

[snookienthusi4st]

I LOVE UR HCS PLSL MAKE MORE 🗣🙏🙏

i gotchu! lmk if you want the same or different characters bc i was thinking abt doing sm for light

l lawliet x fem! reader hcs

warnings: smut, overstimulation, food play, kind of angsty if you squint, au where he doesn’t die

nsfw under the cut

• yk unlike the other characters i feel like there’s a lot of ways you two could’ve met

• you could’ve been at wammy’s, light’s school, an assistant, etc etc but for plot’s sake, you guys met during the kira case with you as a task force member

• you’re smart but you can tell when an idea needs to be altered, he silently takes notice of that and pays more attention to you

• sometimes you’d catch him just staring at you, but he’s an odd character to begin with so you just brush it off

• when you two miraculously get a second in private, he ends up being the one to ask you out

• not immediately tho, like you have to know the man for at least a year or two before he even considers it

• like it’s dead silent in the room after matsuda and the others head home and he just starts talking and it catches you off guard

“y/n?”

“hm?”

“there’s something i want to discuss with you.”

“what’s that?”

• you’re patient with him, since the man has no idea how to vocalize his thoughts in situations like these

“i think i’m developing feelings for you.”

“oh, me too.”

• the exchange is straightforward and to the point, and he appreciates that you feel the same

• you two agree to keep things private

• less because you guys don’t want people finding out and more for safety concerns

• sometimes it bums you out a bit because you wish the two of you could go out on dates like normal couples do

• but then you get back home and find a bouquet and your fav sweet on the counter and you realize you wouldn’t have it any other way :3

• you’re friends with watari too, and he comes in and checks on you two smtimes when you’re in his office

• he’s a workaholic, but he’s exceptionally good at making time for you as well, considering how smart he is

• sometimes you pick him up a sweet from the store and get to headquarters like an hour early so you have a chance to see him alone before the day starts

• parallel play is a big factor in your relationship, like he’s working while you’re doing something in the same room w some small talk here and there

• and if you ask him to, he’ll always take a quick break and give you some attention

• last thing he’d wanna do as a partner is make you feel neglected, right? he’s so sweet i love him

• kisses are fleeting, kinda like near, but less uncommon

• whenever you two are alone, he’ll always kiss you at least once, whether it’s your hand or your face

• the most emotion you’ll ever see out of him is when you kiss him or hug him

• it’s subtle but his eyes soften a bit, kinda like when misa kissed him in that one episode

• he waits for what feels like forever, but eventually he does tell you his real name

• he just wanted to be sure he really is as in love with you as he feels like he is, since he’s never really been one to put his heart over his head

• would probably still be after the case is over, just to be safe

• sex

• funny enough, i feel like you’d be his first time, which makes him love you even more

• he doesn’t seem like the type to seek that stuff out

• yk until you guys start dating and it kinda hits him that he could literally just ask to have sex with you

• which is what he always does, we love a consensual king

• has a low libido, but one of his favorite things to do if you have a higher libido is overstimulating you

• like he’s fingering you and curling them into that exact same spot, drawing out orgasm after orgasm from your aching body

“i’ve got you, just give me one more..”

• as for oral, he’s 50/50 when it comes to giving or receiving

• well maybe 51/49, he rlly likes eating you out

• will have your legs shaking afterwards every single time guaranteed

• apparently it’s canon he can tie a knot into a cherry stem w his tongue so best believe he WILL get you where you need to be

• he’s really gentle with you, even when he’s overstimulating you, his movements are always soft even when they speed up over time to get you closer

• he rlly is the sweetest, sex with him will make you feel so loved and appreciated, which is exactly what he wants to get across :3

• his words are gentle too, everything he says in that charming fucking voice is just so ughh

“shh, just breathe..”

“that’s my girl, just hold it a little longer. you can do that for me, can’t you?”

• would be into food play on a rare occasion

• definitely a whimperer when you give him head, i don’t make the rules

• overall he’s incredibly careful and shows you just how much he cares about you

• i feel like he’s into reading!

• like you’re asleep with your head on his shoulder, and he has one arm around you and the other’s holding a book and skimming through the pages until he’s ready to sleep too

• plays with your hair

• no matter what length or texture it is, whenever you guys are alone, he’ll js have a hand running through it

• you play with his too, and it’s rlly soft considering how little effort he puts in to actually take care of it

• would be into bands like the cranberries and the sundays

• idk it’s js the style of their music that makes me think of him

• before the case was over, sometimes you’d have nights where you couldn’t sleep from how worried you were

• worried that something would slip up and that kira would get to him, that anytime you’d see him would be the last

• but on nights like those, he was always incredibly reassuring, touched that you even care about him that much

“what are you doing up so late?”

“..i couldn’t sleep, can i stay with you?”

“you don’t have to ask, come here.”

• and he sits you on his lap and plays with your hair, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he works until you fall asleep in his arms

• you’re such a new feeling to him, he’s never wanted to put anything over work before, much less something as unreliable as a person

• but you’ve earned his trust and his love, and he’s never gonna let you forget <3

[ghosts-bandwagon]

omg, imagine how the 141+ könig would react if reader fell asleep on them? not in a relationship i mean, maybe they are just sitting on the couch in the common room and reader is tired and falls asleep on one of them?

This is precious and also a mood lmao

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

Doesn’t move a single. fucking. inch.

The man goes rigid in his attempt not to wake you, he knows how hard you work so it’s no wonder you’re nodding off in the common area, so to him, there’s nothing wrong with getting some rest

So he’s sitting there with his arms crossed over his chest, legs spread (as usual), and he’s fighting the urge to rest his head on yours, not his fault you seemed so comfortable

He’s glaring at every poor bastard and dares them to even try and make a comment

Needless to say, your sleep is undisturbed

Eventually you wake up and start apologizing profusely

“Don’t worry about it, sergeant. Just get to bed yeah?”

As you walked away, he rolled his shoulders and rubbed his neck

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

He’s got his arms on the back of the sofa and behind your head and he starts to feel a weight against his chest

Then he looks down and sees you nestled up against him, your head on his chest and he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making noise

You. are. precious.

100% takes a selfie with you (and Gaz in the background throwing a peace sign)

After the initial thrill settles down, his arm that was draped along the back of the sofa has now come to rest against your own

You’re so warm and the weight of you on his chest is so grounding and soothing, the steady rise and fall of your chest, it’s all so relaxing

Soon enough, he’s nodding off too and he winds up with his head almost draped over the back of the sofa, snores coming out of his mouth

(Gaz definitely filmed it)

Eventually his snoring wakes you up and you can’t help the embarrassment at falling asleep against your teammate like that, still you felt bed that you essentially trapped him there so you gently shook him awake

He massaged the back of his neck with a groan and a wince, your hands replaced his as you gently ushered him upright,

“Come on, Soap, I owe you.”

John Price:

He’s low key melting as soon as he feels your head on his shoulder, he takes a quick glance at you and chuckles

He lets you have a few minutes, knowing full well how tired you are, before he gently jostles his shoulder to softly rouse you before you dozed off deeper,

“Think it’s time to hit the sack, don’t you?” His voice is low as he leans in close,

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be. Get some rest, see you in the morning.”

He’s kind of touched and honored that you feel safe enough to fall asleep against him like that, honestly, he would’ve let you sleep there as long as you wanted

But he knows the comfort of one’s own bed is second to none, and he’d hate for you to wake up with a kink in your neck

And maybe his bones were getting a little stiff and uncomfortable from having to stay still for so long

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

He’s smiling softly to himself and resting his head on yours

He does that thing where you shift in your seat a bit to get comfortable and he shuffles a little lower so he can rest his head against yours

And he falls asleep too!

And honestly it’s the best sleep either of you has ever had because no one has been successful in waking you up, short of shouting or dumping water on you

You wind up waking up first and it’s already morning, you stretch and gently shake him awake,

“Gaz, we slept through the night.”

“Fuck.” He groaned, you laughed quietly and took his arm to stand him up,

“I think we’ve got just enough time to sleep a little longer.”

“What’s the point? We’re already awake.” He reasoned with a yawn and a stretch, “Come on, I’ll make coffee and then we can hit the showers yeah?”

König:

Doesn’t move a single muscle. Like Ghost, he gets quite stiff at first as soon as he feels your head against his arm (even sitting you down you barely reach his shoulder)

So he shuffles a little in his seat until your head is at a more comfortable angle and is resting against his shoulder

But now this means that his spine is curving in uncomfortable shapes, and a good portion of his butt isn’t even on the couch anymore

He wouldn’t dare wake you but holy shit his back hurts

So he slowly and carefully maneuvers you into his arms so now he’s sitting normally and he’s got you on his lap with your head tucked against his chest

He’s got his arms around you to support you and then he realizes that it’s not that much more comfortable

Eventually he gives up and winds up carrying you to your room

You wake up the next morning with a cup of coffee on your nightstand and a sticky note with your name on it (and a little heart)

[e-m-ma-lmfao]

Much Too Kind

pairing : astarion x (fem) reader

summary : astarion has found a soft spot for a girl who is much too kind for her own good, too trusting, in such a gruesome world.

warnings : astarion bites.

a/n : i haven't played baldurs gate (so i apologize for my lack of knowledge) but astarion is consuming my brain.

“Do you honestly feel safe sleeping with him sitting this close by?”

“He’s done nothing but help us this whole time, why would I not?”

“Because he’s a vampire?” Shadowhearts face is blank, speaking as though her words shouldn’t need to be spoken, an obvious thought. She stares into you, awaiting a proper answerings, and she almost scoffs when she doesn’t get what she wants. In return you roll your eyes, continue to ready yourself to sleep. 

When you feel that you're ready to go to bed, Shadowhearts voice is unheard. She is already situated inside of her bedroll, which she had set up farther away from the fire than you liked, in a way of protecting herself from a seemingly harmless Astarion. In all fairness, you have probably been too trusting in the man. But how could you not?

He had been such a tease since the moment you met him. Because he seemed to annoy you, he never left your side. But you quickly grew fond of the pale man, and it was suddenly you who couldn’t leave his side. Astarion had no problem with this, and a weird fondness began brewing in his chest whenever he was around you. He had a burdening soft spot for you unlike anyone else. He couldn’t even bring himself to feed around you in case he scared you off, feeling an unprecedented amount of fear of losing you. The relationship you shared was teetering on a very thin line of romance and teasing gone too far. 

The two of you were an unlikely pair. Astarion was manipulative, and you knew that from watching him work, but he never used it on you (as far as you knew). He viewed you as too sweet for your own good, taking it upon himself to keep you from danger. In all honesty, you probably didn’t need him for that. Sure he helped when you were obviously being lied to and couldn’t tell but you could hold your own in battle just fine. From your point of view he was nothing but trustworthy and helpful. Shadowheart, your ever protective friend, had a hard time seeing the same thing. 

But when you made a fuss about having to sleep in your armour, unlike Shadowheart who had no problem with the matter, he had offered up a spare shirt. You weren’t sure where it had been beforehand but it was comfy, with undone strings hanging from the neckline, and it was large enough to go down to your mid thigh which was perfect. And his scent covering it was an added bonus. You had never thought much about it, but you never wore your heavy pants to sleep, being too hot inside your stuffy bed roll. 

You were usually asleep before everyone else, and the first to wake in the morning, so this never proved to be a problem. And, if you had to think about it, you were usually in a tent by yourself. But with only Shadowheart and Astarion around you didn’t see a problem. 

But when you crawled into your bedroll, at a middle distance between Astarion propped up against a log by the fire and Shadowheart sleeping farther from him, you began to see the problem. Shadowhearts words from before were dug into your brain, what if Astarion was dangerous and he did end up hurting you in your sleep just like she had said. You had never felt any fear towards the man, but her words had planted an unfamiliar distrust in your head.

You were dangerously aware of every noise around you. Unable to sleep, because of your focus on everything around you. The soft snores from Shadowhearts bedroll, and the quiet hum from a bored  Astarion playing with the fire. As long as he was by the fire, seated much too close for comfort now, you thought you’d be able to hear him coming. You think everything is fine, but being so edge you catch the smallest sounds, and you shoot up at the sound of a twig snapping. 

“My, my. Such a light sleeper my dear.” You turn towards Astarion, breath heavy, and a guilty feeling festering in your lower stomach. He’s almost exactly where he was when you first laid down. There’s a smug grin written on his face and you’re not sure why, though you don’t have the energy to question it. With sleepy eyes, you look around once more searching for anything out of the ordinary in the darkness, but you turn back to Astarion in the end. 

“I can’t sleep.” He throws another piece of wood on the fire, the light dancing across his face in pretty patterns from the dispersed light, his white shirt untied just enough to see his collarbones and the beginning of his chest. The sight alone has thrown the tenseness away from your body, and your muscles soften up, posture loosening. 

“And is there any reason in particular?” You meet his eyes again, a flurry of heat covers your cheeks, the look in his eyes telling you that you had been caught ogling him. “You seem so on edge, darling.”

He’s seated, practically the same height as you while he lays against the log, but it feels like he’s staring down at you. His fangs show as he parts his lips in a small, condescending grin. 

“I’m just not used to sleeping out in the woods s’all.” He nods, he doesn’t believe you, and you can understand why because you’ve only been camping in the wild for weeks by now. 

“Are you sure that's all? Cause I believe I heard that vile woman over there talking about a ‘bigger threat’ than whatever’s out there.” He gestures to Shadowheart and the dark, full woods around you. 

You shake your head, pout on your face, nervous that he would think differently of you if he knew what was actually going through your head. He was perceptive enough and, unbeknownst to you, you were an easy read. Of course he had heard the two of you talking, and he knew that you had not spoken ill of him, but it was so fun to tease you. And he knew you had grown nervous in his presence. 

“You’re not worried because of me are you?” Your eyes widen and you shake your head once more. There was  concern written all over his features, the crinkle in between his brows and his parted lips. To anyone else his concern would look fake, you were certain it was real. And to him, it was somewhere in between. He did feel something for you that put him in an unfortunate position, but the idea that you were scared of him sent misery through his bones.

“No of course not!” The comfy bedroll you had been laying in, shimmies down your legs as your torso tightens up again and your posture becomes much too straight for your liking. 

A soft sigh leaves his mouth, “Would you come sit over by me? You feel so far away.” His lips curve at the corners when you seem to think for a moment, but ultimately stand up. You bunch your bedroll up in your arms, not wanting to sit on the rocks. And when your eyes meet his again, he's already eyeing up your legs, you feel suddenly much too exposed. The night air nips at your skin and you hurry over to the spot beside him, throwing the bed roll on the ground and sitting on top of it. 

“Didn’t need to bring that over, silly girl. There’s a perfectly fine seat right here.” His eyes look down to his lap then back up to you, your face flush again. 

“I’m okay here,” You regret looking at him when you see his eyes plead with you, “..For now.” 

He really was cunning. You figured he was scheming. But he truly had no intention of misleading you, just wanted you close. He couldn’t help that he found it so cute how nice you were. Too nice in his opinion. Dangerous world out there, he was just trying to teach you who you could and couldn’t trust. Maybe you would get into more trouble, if you always trusted men like him.  

But no danger if you never have to think about other men. 

“Do you believe the things she says?” His eyes stared into the fire, but you couldn’t take your eyes away from him, that guilty feeling was growing in your stomach. “I know you must not trust me, at least not fully.”

You stay silent, you’re almost scared to talk, in fear you offend him anymore then you already have. You pull your knees up to your chest, arms wrapping around your legs, guilt eating away at your insides. 

He looks at you now, with his eyes he traces your legs where your shirt no longer hangs enough to cover you, up to your face that wears a pout and tired eyes. “Do I scare you?” 

“No!” You sit up onto your knees, facing him fully. “No! I’m sorry Astarion, if i made you feel that way..”

He almost feels bad for a moment. You were too sweet, and while yes he had been worried for a moment, he was only teasing. 

In your moment of weakness, and putting yourself in an easy position, he grabs you to pull you onto his lap. Where he has wanted you all along. Both thighs on either side of his seated form, face much closer to his own than you ever planned on being. His shirt, adorning your body, hangs down your thighs and rustles against his legs. 

“Could you..promise?” His voice is so smooth, and his eyes look so alluring in this position, his hands planted on your hips. Your breath is caught in your throat when he asks, you aren't so sure that your answer before is entirely truthful now. He has too much control of this situation, and it is making you nervous, more nervous then before if that was even possible. 

“I..I promise. Of course, I promise!” You're in such a compromising position and you wish you had slept with pants on. It’s much too cold out on your bare skin, but being on Astarions lap is making your body much too hot.

“Very good.” His head moves closer to you, pulling your body into his and sending shivers down your spine. 

“Astarion!” Your hands find his shoulders, trying to put distance between you but his hold is strong. He has got you where he wants you and there is no way he will be letting you go. His face buries itself in your neck, breath tickling your skin and his nose leaving soft touches against you. 

“You smell..delicious.” His voice was sultry, and so suggestive. You knew what he wanted, had been waiting for the moment he would say something. He was a hungry man with an uncomfortable amount of power over you. And your neck was looking awfully inviting. You hated that he had you feeling so many things, for a man who was so obviously trying to take advantage of you. 

He may have thought you were naive but you were smart enough to know what this vampire wants from you. Even though you were debating allowing it just so he would be happy and full, it tugged at your mind that he might just be using you for this purpose.

Shadowheart may have been right about him being a threat while you slept, but right now he was just as threatening. Would it hurt when he sunk his teeth into your skin?

As if he suddenly became more conscious in his actions, he pulled away, breath heavy against you. “I’m sorry, you are just such an appetising little thing.” He places a soft kiss to your cheek, your silence beginning to fill him with the same guilt you were feeling. He wasn’t sure why. This is what he wanted, sure he had grown fond of you but this is what he needed from the beginning. But it didn’t feel right anymore, not with the way you were so pliable in his hands, allowing him to tease you just so you wouldn’t offend him. 

“Are you hungry?” Your voice, surprising him, sends his eyes straight to yours. You couldn’t possibly be considering what he thought you were. 

“Yes darling, but don’t you worry your pretty head about it.” He lets out a heavy sigh, planting more kisses on your cheek down to your jaw. His attempt to distract you almost works but you gently move your face away, pulling your hair away from your neck. 

“Could I help?” You looked at him with a warmth in your eyes, one he hadn’t seen from anyone but you for years. Your devotion to him pulled at his heart, you were so willing to help him without even knowing if it would hurt or not. 

“You would do that..for me?” His hand finds your cheek, voice sending gentle vibrations through you. You can only nod, scared that if you speak it’ll be nothing above a whisper. 

He takes your hair from your hand, holding it out of his way. A gentle kiss to your cheek. Another on your jaw. And he moves them all the way down to your neck where he intends to bite. 

‘Astarion?” 

“Yes, my dear?” He pulls away, and you can tell it pains him to by the look of disappointment on his face, lips too pouty for how tough he always tries to act.

“Is it going to hurt?”  His eyes are so soft when he looks at you, even though he wants nothing more than to sink his fangs into your flesh. 

“I’ll try to make it painless, but you can hold my hand, yeah?” You nod and intertwine your fingers with his, scared but determined to make him happy. 

He returns to his place in your neck, places a soft kiss before he sinks his teeth into you. Immediately, your fingers squeeze his own and he sends a squeeze back so you know he’s there. He almost feels bad, whimpers falling from your lips, but you taste so delectable that he can’t bring himself to. 

Astarion continues to drink, and you allow it. You only make an effort to stop him when you become dizzy, and your head becomes too heavy for you to hold on your own. Your grip on his hand loosens, and you use his other one to tap at his arm. It seems to snap him out of his trance cause he pulls away, licking his lips. 

“You taste as good as I had hoped you would.” A drowsy smile crashes against your face and your chest swells with pride, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. The energy is gone from your body. You know he wouldn’t have killed you, but any longer and you wouldn’t be in any condition to fight the next day. You didn’t know if you would be as is. 

Astarion seems to notice, and he moves you to sit inside your bed roll. Your hand still holds his, and you lay on your side to face him. 

“Such a sweet thing,” he rubs your hair flat with his free hand, admiring your sleepy features in the fire light, “Sleep my dear. I’ll keep you safe.”

[mononijikayu]

house of cards — gojo satoru.

“Satoru–kun.” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it sent a shiver down his spine. Out of all your clients, he was your favorite. And he was the only one you ever slept with. He makes sure that it always stays that way. If anyone deserves your warmth, it is him. Only him.

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence

WARNING/S: afab! reader, not safe for work (nsfw), r-18 content, romance, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, loneliness, profanity, posessiveness, jealousy, intimacy, emotional dependency, getting together, smut, consensual sex, P to V sex, cowgirl sex, explicit depiction of sexual acts, depiction of loneliness, depiction of complex relationships, depiction of minor threat to harm, hostess escort! reader, sorcerer! gojo satoru;

WORD COUNT: 3.8k words.

NOTE: i like to think a lot about how gege said that gojo is the type of person that longs to be cared for. and i like to think that in some way, he would long for someone to take care of him one way or another. because he's suffered through taking care of everyone. so, i wanted to see him be loved by someone in a different way. anyway, i hope you enjoy it!!! ill be in exam hall today but i wanted to spoil you all. this is my little thanks to your love. ill be turning 24 tomorrow and i see no better way to celebrate than to write. i love you <3

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IT WAS JUST ANOTHER DAY. But you know it wasn’t. It never was when he was around. The neon lights of the infamous hostess bar in Shibuya painted the world in sultry shades of crimson and violet, casting long shadows against the sleek lines of Gojo Satoru’s figure as he made his way through the narrow streets.

His heart, always so guarded, felt heavy tonight. He had grown weary of the mask he wore for the world. His hands, capable of so much power, ached for a different kind of connection.

The door to the private room had creaked open, the familiar scent of your perfume wafting into the air. A mixture of jasmine and something darker, something forbidden. It was intoxicating.

He stepped inside, and the dim, intimate glow of the room wrapped around him like a lover's embrace. He adored it, this scent. He pays extra to know that he was the only one who gets this scent from you.

You in all your finery and beauty sat by the window, your silhouette framed by the soft light, and for a moment, he allowed himself to believe that this space—this sliver of time—was real.

Here, in this place, the all-seeing eyes of the world could not reach him. Infinity could not save him from his own loneliness. But staring at you, taking in the warmth of you; maybe you could save him from himself over and over.

“Satoru–kun.” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it sent a shiver down his spine.

Out of all your clients, he was your favorite.

And he was the only one you ever slept with.

He makes sure that it always stays that way.

If anyone deserves your warmth, it is him.

Only him.

You knew nothing about the Jujutsu world—the curses, the battles, the hidden truths that existed just beyond the reach of ordinary people. You had no idea who Gojo Satoru really was, what kind of power flowed through his veins, or the weight of the responsibilities he carried. He would rather that you don’t. 

In your world, he was simply a man who showed up, time and again, in the quiet hours of the night, with that same tired smile and those eyes that never seemed to lose their sparkle, even when they were clouded with something you couldn’t quite name. He was just a lonely man who longed to exist with another.

And yet… you were the only person who seemed to understand him.

You were the only one to truly care for him, since Geto Suguru left.

He doesn’t feel so alone when he’s with you.

It was strange, almost unspoken, the way you always knew what he needed before he said anything at all. The way you noticed the small things—a tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders slumped just slightly when he thought no one was looking. 

You didn’t know why he came to you. You didn’t know why he bothered coming here, when you were sure he could find some warmth in someone else’s arms. You didn’t know what kind of darkness haunted him when he closed his eyes, but you could feel it. The loneliness, the exhaustion, the invisible burden he never spoke of.

You didn’t pry. You knew that much in the business that you don’t meddle in their personal life too much. You can only have so much of the person. You barely know them. It was impolite. So, you never asked questions. Maybe that’s why he kept coming back—because with you, he didn’t have to explain anything. He didn’t have to exhaust himself with the abundance of existing the way he already does. 

He leaned against the wall now, watching you as you moved about the room, your presence calming, your movements graceful and sure. It was the same place he had come to so many nights before, but somehow, it always felt new when you were there. It wasn’t just the setting that put him at ease; it was you. The way you made him feel seen, even though you had no idea who he really was.

He watched in silence as you poured him a drink, your eyes meeting him as you handed him the glass. There was something in your gaze—something quiet, but knowing. You didn’t need to understand the battles he fought or the enemies he faced. You saw beyond all of that, to the man who stood before you, vulnerable and tired.

He didn’t respond right away, the sound of your voice lingering in the air, wrapping around him like a delicate thread pulling him closer. There was a fragility to the way you said his name, as if you understood the weight he carried but never spoke of it. That was why he kept coming back to you—here, he didn’t have to be the strongest. He could just be a man, longing for warmth.

“Satoru–kun.” you repeated, softer this time, your gaze locking with him as he stood still, his frame towering but his expression vulnerable. The mask he wore every day fell away in your presence, and for once, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Without a word, he crossed the room, his long fingers tracing the edge of the table beside you before they found their way to your skin. There was a hesitance in his touch tonight, as if he feared what might happen if he let himself feel too much. He always made it seem so casual, so effortless, but you knew better. You could feel the tension in him, the unspoken need.

Your hand moved to meet his, your fingers intertwining with his larger ones, a silent invitation. He knelt before you, his breath warm against your skin as his hands trailed up your arms, his touch feather-light yet electric. Every movement was deliberate, each one a question, asking for something he couldn’t quite put into words.

“I told you to call me Satoru. No honorifics, no nothing. Just Satoru.”

“I didn’t want to be impolite.”

He pursed his lips into a flat line. But his gaze was soft. Only for you. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care about being polite. I care…I care more for you.”

"Satoru." you said softly, that same voice you always used when you sensed something deeper in him. "You don’t have to say anything. I know."

Gojo Satoru exhaled, long and slow, his fingers wrapping around the glass but not drinking. Just holding onto it, as if grounding himself in the moment. “You always know, don’t you?” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “It’s easy with you.”

Your lips curved into a small smile as you came closer, standing in front of him. "You act like it’s hard to read you, but… it’s not. Not for me."

He chuckled, though there was no real humor in it. “Most people think I’m an enigma. Some puzzle to be solved.”

“I don’t need to solve you.” you said, stepping closer, your hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of white hair from his forehead. “You’re not a puzzle, Satoru. You’re just… you.”

That simple statement hit him harder than he wanted to admit. You always say it. And yet, it makes him feel warm inside. He always feels validated by the thought of your tender words. It was easy to exist within those words. He was just him. He was just a man to you. Satoru. No expectations, no pressure, just an acknowledgment of who he was, stripped of the titles, the power, the world that constantly demanded more of him.

His calloused hand found yours, pulling it gently to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “You have no idea what you mean to me.” he whispered, his voice raw, as if the words had been waiting to spill out for far too long. “You always brighten my days.”

Your thumb grazed over his knuckles, and you could feel the tension in his body, the weight he carried that no one else seemed to notice. You didn’t know what haunted him, but you understood his silence. His need for peace, for escape. For someone who saw him without the world’s filter.

“You don’t have to tell me, Satoru.” you whispered, your doe eyes meeting his, full of quiet understanding. He was sure his heart skips a beat at the purr the way you say his name. “I don’t need to know everything to care about you.”

For a moment, his guard slipped entirely. His eyes softened, and there, in the flickering light of the room, Gojo Satoru—the strongest, the untouchable sorcerer, he let himself be vulnerable. He wasn’t looking for answers, for explanations, or validation. He was looking for you. For the connection you offered so freely, without conditions, without needing to know who he truly was.

And in that moment, in your arms, he realized it didn’t matter if you knew nothing about the Jujutsu world. You understood him in ways that no one else ever could.

And for him, that was everything.

"I thought I was fine on my own, hm?" he murmured, his voice low, almost broken. "But it gets lonely, even for someone like me."

You didn’t answer right away, instead, you leaned forward, your lips grazing the shell of his ear as you whispered, "You don’t always have to be alone."

That was all it took. He exhaled deeply, a breath he seemed to have been holding for a lifetime, and in that moment, he let himself give in to the need he had buried so deep.

His lips found yours, the kiss soft at first, testing, as if he wasn’t sure he deserved this kind of solace. But then, as you kissed him back, his hesitation melted away, replaced by something deeper, something more primal.

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you into him as if he was afraid you might slip away. The kiss deepened, his lips exploring yours with a desperation he couldn’t hide anymore. His need for control faded, replaced by a hunger that had nothing to do with power or strength, but everything to do with feeling. Feeling you.

As the world outside blurred into nothingness, all that existed was the heat between you, the quiet gasps and the way his body pressed against yours, searching, seeking. For once, Satoru Gojo Satoru wasn’t the strongest sorcerer, or the untouchable figure everyone believed him to be. He was just a man, lost in the arms of the one person who made him feel something more than the weight of the world.

And in that moment, in your arms, he finally found the solace he had been searching for. What he always yearns for. 

Your private room was bathed in shadows, the faint glow of the city lights seeping through the curtains, casting a dim hue over the space as your bodies moved in unison.

Gojo Satoru, the man known for his boundless strength, was now tangled in your sheets, his breath hitching with each rise and fall of your hips. His pale skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, his silver hair falling messily over his cerulean eyes, which were half-lidded with pleasure.

You sat on his lap tenderly. You could feel your thighs trembling as you sank down onto him, his cock filling you over and over again with each slow, deliberate movement. He always felt good, he always felt warm and fulfilling. Kind and tender. He was everything beyond the world. He was the world to you.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, fingers digging into your skin as he groaned, the sound of his voice vibrating through your core. He was writhing beneath you, his usual composed demeanor completely shattered as he surrendered to the sensations you were giving him.

A soft smirk tugged at your lips as you barely rocked your hips, just enough to keep him on edge but nowhere near the pace he craved. Satoru was a masochist in that way, you like to think. He adored this state, being beneath you. He adores it, giving someone the wheel to drive.

You could feel him trembling under your touch, his muscles tensing as he resisted the urge to buck his hips into you, to take control. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He wanted you to ruin him, to comfort him, to take over him. To take care of him. That's what he had been so blunt about when you first met.

And yet, Gojo Satoru liked power. You could feel it the moment he walked in your life. He had always thrived on dominance, on control, on being the one who dictated the pace. In the world outside these walls, he was untouchable, indomitable. But here, in your arms, in your bed, he was something else entirely. He was human, like everybody else. Vulnerable, yearning. He was your human here. And he wanted that for all of time.

“You’re so… fucking perfect, aren’t you?” he groaned, his voice strained, as if he was holding onto his last threads of restraint. His eyes flickered up to yours, wide with desperation, his pupils blown with lust. “Please……make me cum. Dry me up. Please. Please….”

You leaned forward, your hands resting on his chest as you rolled your hips slowly, watching him unravel beneath you. His breath came out in sharp gasps, his body trembling with need as his fingers slid up your sides, desperate for more, desperate for you. He needed to be cared for, to be spoiled. He had always sought control, always demanded it, but here, with you, he gave it all away.

"Is this what you want?" you whispered, your voice soft and teasing as you ground down on him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through both of you. "For me to take care of you?"

He groaned, his hands sliding to your waist, but you swatted them away, holding them above his head. His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of excitement flashing through them as he let out a low, guttural moan.

“Yes, yes…..” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "I want you to baby but fuck, oh—please, just keep going, roughen me up. Oh, oh!"

You smiled, knowing that you had him completely. His body was yours to command, and he wanted it that way. For all the power he held in the world outside, here, he craved something different. He wanted to be the one at your mercy, to be loved, cherished, used.

"You're so good for me, Satoru. Always have been, hm?" you murmured, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck, feeling the shudder that coursed through him as you continued to ride him slowly, deliberately. His breath hitched, his body trembling under your touch, teetering on the brink of release.

“Let go, Satoru.” you whispered, a smirk tugging at your lips as you felt the tension coiling inside him. “Let me spoil you.”

His hands gripped the sheets tighter, muscles taut as he strained to hold back, but your soothing words and the slow rhythm were unraveling him completely. He was always so beautiful to you. Yesrs had passed and he was still the most beautiful creation of life itself. And yet, to you — he was most beautiful like this. Being a mess, being loved by you and only you.

"I've got you. Come." you breathed against his skin, your voice dripping with reassurance as you began to move faster, giving him exactly what he had been silently begging for.

He let out a deep, guttural groan as his body arched beneath you, completely undone by the intensity of the pleasure you were giving him, lost in the sensation of you taking control, of being utterly yours.

Just as you thought you had him completely under your control, Satoru’s hands suddenly shifted, gripping your hips tightly, stopping your movements with a firm, unyielding grip. His eyes, darkened with a possessive edge, locked with yours, a smirk curling on his lips as he effortlessly flipped you onto your back.

“You think you’re the only one who can take care of me?” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. He leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear as his fingers trailed down your body, his touch setting every nerve alight. “Let me show you what it really means to take care of you too, baby."

Before you could respond to his words, he was inside you again, thrusting deep, stealing your breath with every stroke. You gasped in surprise and pleasure as you feel the weight of his body crushing you. The intensity, the way he completely dominated the moment, left you reeling, unable to do anything but cling to him.

“You should quit this stupid job. I don't care if you only talk to everyone. I don't care if I'm the only one you sleep with, baby.” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear as his hips moved with relentless precision. “'ant you to be my wife. Only mine, won’t you? For forever! Give me a shot, baby….I know…. I know you keep saying no. But I…I get jealous, you know?”

His pace quickened, each thrust more possessive, more consuming than the last. He always says this to you. Ten years and he hasn't stopped. But somehow, there was that intensity each and everytime. Each and every animalistic encounter shattered you, ruined you—for everyone else. You belonged to him. Only him.

His bright cerulean eyes never left yours, as if to drive home every word he spoke, as if he wanted to imprint himself onto you. You tried to hold on to him, but it did not help as the power of his thrusts shook you over and over in a pandemonium of pleasure.

"I can’t help it. I want to because that's how I keep you but I....." he admitted, his voice dripping with that familiar cocky confidence, yet laced with something more primal. "I think about those pathetic men, those stupid clients of yours. The way they all look at you. Oh, it drived me crazy! I hate it. I wish I could—"

His words cut off with a groan, and his hand slid up your throat, holding you in place as he stared down at you with raw intensity. "I wish I could kill them. I wish I could get rid of them. I wish they would just disappear. I wish I could kill every man in the world to just keep you for myself. You and me in our cage like this."

A shiver ran through you, both from his words and the feeling of him inside you, completely overwhelming you in every sense. He meant every single bit of what he said. And this time, you feel like he will actually go through with it. You feel like he will actually lock you away with him. To soothe his misery, to love you, to curse you—to be with him. Only him.

You knew he did. And that has made you more and more excited. You knew you shouldn't. You knew you don't think you should wrap your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his torso, to pull him closer. But you do it anyway. You love this man, you didn't want to admit it. You didn't want to admit it. But you were in the high of pleasure and sometimes, there is honesty in the way you kerp him closer as the pleasure bleeds you through. And that made sure you couldn’t think straight.

His lips brutishly crashed down onto yours in a bruising kiss, desperate and hungry. And you return it back just as hungry, just as animalistic, just as brutishly. When he parts from you, a string of your pleasure lips leaves both your lips as he drives deeper inside. You groan, feeling his head rest on your sides. He leans on your cheek, the sweat of two birds in this cage blending into one.

“You belong to me, baby.” he whispered fiercely between kisses. “Only me. Let me take care of you, forever. Quit everything else. I’ll spoil you every day. I’ll love you so much, you won’t need anything else.”

His grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to remind you that this was your favorite, Gojo Satoru —your frequent customer, your incessant lover, and sometimes, your ruthless hunter. And he was searing it all in your memory. Every thrust, every word, felt like a vow, a promise that you were his, completely and utterly, just as he was yours.

"Say it, hm?" he breathed against your lips, slowing just enough to make you crave more. "Say you’ll be mine, baby. You know you want to. Say it, oh–say it. Only mine."

Your breath hitched as he hovered above you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. Satoru’s hand on your throat was a reminder of just how easily he could dominate, how much he craved control over you, especially now.

“I’m already yours, Satoru.” you whispered, your voice shaky but firm. But it wasn’t enough for him—not tonight. “Only yours…years ago. Y'know that! I....h—only yours.”

He smirked, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Not like this. Not just tonight.” he murmured, his fingers tightening ever so slightly as he continued to move inside you, deliberate and slow, driving you wild with each agonizingly deep thrust.

“I want you to quit, okay? For good. No more work, no more clients. No more others. Just me.” His other hand slid down your body, tracing patterns that made your pulse race. “I want you to be mine. Only mine. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else near you.”

The possessiveness in his voice made your heart race, a mixture of arousal and something else—something darker. You could feel the desperation in him, the way his jealousy simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

He couldn’t help it, and you knew it. From all these years you had known Gojo Satoru, the one thing you gathered from his stories, from how he bought all of your time when he was here — is that he wasn’t used to sharing, and when it came to you, there was no middle ground. Nothing will stop him.

“Please…....” you started, but your words were cut off as his lips crashed down onto yours again, silencing any protest. His kiss was bruising, demanding, and when he pulled back, his expression was fierce.

“Say it, hm?” he demanded, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine. His hips picked up speed again, his thrusts hard and purposeful. “Say you’ll quit. Say you’ll be mine, that you’ll be my pretty little wife. I need to hear it.”

You bit your lip, your mind reeling from the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you, your body practically melting beneath him. His hand slid down from your throat to your waist, gripping you tightly as he drove into you harder, relentless in his pursuit of your submission.

“I hate it.” he groaned, his words laced with frustration and desire. “I hate everyone else. I hate them. I need them gone. I need them to leave you alone. I need you. Just you.”

“Satoru, oh….” you gasped, your fingers digging into his arms as you tried to hold on, tried to ground yourself in the storm of his possessiveness. He was everywhere. His touch, his breath, the weight of his body pinning you down���it was all too much, and yet not enough. You needed more, craved it, and he knew it.

“You want to belong to me. You promised. ” he whispered harshly, his pace quickening as he drove you closer to the edge. “So, uh, just come with me. Let me take care of everything. Let those old geezers cry about tradition. I don't care about their tears. I want you. You won’t need anything else but me.”

The sheer force of his words, the conviction in his voice, pushed you closer and closer to the depths of this house of cards. In his arms. No matter how it falls. You surrendered to fate. To him. You always have. And again, you will. It wasn’t just about possession—it was about his need to keep you safe, to protect you from the world, even from his own jealousy. And you wanted him to continue. Because you loved him. More than you could even understand. You were trapped in that the moment his eyes burned yours.

“I’ll spoil you every day, little wife. My baby.” he promised between ragged breaths, his pace relentless now, his grip tightening around you as his body trembled with the strain of holding back. “Just say it. Say you’re mine, forever.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you felt yourself teetering on the brink, his words and his touch driving you to the edge of pleasure and submission. You met his gaze, your voice shaky but resolute as you whispered the words he needed to hear.

“I’m yours, Satoru. Only yours. Forever.”

At that moment, the tension in him broke. His hands gripped your hips possessively as he took you completely, a deep, guttural groan escaping his throat as he claimed you fully. The intensity of it all—his desire, his need, his jealousy consumed you both, and you felt yourself unravel beneath him.

He held you tightly as you both came undone together, his forehead resting against yours as his breathing slowed, the aftermath of the storm leaving you both trembling and sated.

“Mine. You.” he whispered softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before. His voice was quieter now, filled with something softer, more vulnerable. “You’re mine. And I’ll take care of you. Always.”

You could feel the truth in his words, the promise behind them, and as you lay there in his arms, you realized just how deep his love ran—possessive, yes, but also protective, unwavering in its devotion.

And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew he meant every word. You both don’t have to be alone in this world. Even if you both are locked up alone in this cage only for two. Even in a house of cards. As long if its you. If you're together. That's enough for Satoru. And it's enough for you.

"I love you." Gojo Satoru whipers to you.

You do not say it back to him.

But he knew, the pull of your arms on his chest was more than enough.

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 17 - Drunk Sex]

Pairing: Good Boy!Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: new relationship!AU, Idol!Yoongi

Kinks: sex in his studio, romantic vanilla sex, consensual drunk sex, some dirty talk, lots of giggles and kisses, a quick breast worship cause it’s Yoongi, safe vaginal penetrative sex, vaginal fingering, dry humping, thigh riding, use of a vibrator, talks about male masturbation, he talks about using her moans in songs, Amazon position, they’re just drunk and horny and in love <3, he is The Man, like i need him so bad emotionally

Wordcount: 5.9k

a/n: if you voice me a wish of vanilla studio sex with some spice sprinkled on top, i take out my pen and deliver because i’m in a fact a whore for studio sex <3 fuckk i need to eat this Yoongi with a spoon no joke 🖤 i also miss him a lot :(

He makes you laugh. He is funny, you really think that he is. His laugh is also addictive. Deep, unless you match his humour just right and it turns into a squeak. You love laughing with him. You have been doing so for quite some hours today, sharing food and beer in his studio. You can feel the effects of the alcohol by now. It’s warm and fuzzy and dulls your boundaries a little. You don’t feel the need to force your senses to stay sharp. Not in his presence. He is safe and kind and sweet. Home, that’s what he has become. 

And right now, he is also incredibly cute in your eyes. He is wearing a yellow sweater and brown pants and he clearly did his hair. It’s because he knew that you would be coming over for dinner. He smells like masculine cologne and he wears rings on his fingers. He put effort into himself because you deserve nothing less. He is very attractive and beyond tempting, but most of all, he is cute. 

You stop laughing, completely engrossed in his face and how it moves when he smiles. 

Yoongi notices your change of attitude instantly, fumbling with his earlobe.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes suddenly struggling to upkeep contact.

“It’s just that”, you scoot closer, brushing the back of your hand down his cheek.

Yoongi’s breath hitches, his heart speeds up in his chest. 

“Your cheeks become red when you’re drunk. It’s such a pretty shade.” 

“Uhm”, Yoongi looks to the side. He stumbles for words and ends up laughing breathily instead. He clears his throat, scooting to the edge of the sofa to reach for his glass of beer. 

You smile, resting back against the sofa with your head on the edge of the backrest and your eyes glued to him. You giggle.

He glances at you and looks away, taking a big sip of beer. When you don’t stop looking at him, he finally speaks up.

“Don’t look at me for so long. I don’t know how to handle it”, he is pouting and using a cute voice for it.

“I can’t help it. I think that you’re so cute.”

He flusters, rubbing the side of his neck. 

“Okay”, he mumbles, eating a piece of fried chicken to distract himself from his nerves. The chicken is cold by now and he isn’t really hungry so it seems to never end in his mouth. He gulps it down when he suddenly feels your hands on his arms, feeling him up, touching him. Your kiss is placed on the round part of his shoulder. 

“Your shyness is very attractive. It makes me wanna ravish you.”

“___, oh my god”, he gasps, meeting your eyes because your statement shocked him. 

You simply flutter your lashes and smile playfully.

“Why are you saying this?” 

“Why not? It’s the truth.” 

“Yeah well, even if…oh my god.”

You laugh, closing the distance by putting your legs over his lap sideways and hugging his chest. 

You kiss his cheek, “I can’t get enough of you, Min Yoongi.” 

“You’re drunk.”

“Mhm, as are you.” 

He clears his throat awkwardly, rubbing his own ear again. You decide to match him by nibbling on his other ear. 

“Woah”, he gets out, tilting his head back as a surprise shiver shakes his body. He moves away instantly, widened eyes meeting yours. 

“Did you like that?” you ask him, playing with his earlobe. It feels so soft and squishy between your fingers.

“___, I don’t know what you’re trying to do but we have to stop.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t wanna take advantage of you. You drank and your boundaries are down and I…I’m not that kind of man. I like you, a lot, and I care about you. I mean, not that I would take advantage of you if I didn’t feel for you like this, but I just. I guess, I just, what I wanna say is that I’m not one of those guys that get excited when a woman is visibly drunk.” 

“I know. I never thought that you were. You’re kind, sweet, respectful and a total gentleman. I trust you, Min Yoongi. I feel safe with you.”

“Please just call me Yoongi.”

“Well, I trust you Yoongi. And I like you a lot too.”

"You do?” 

You change the way you sit so you can talk. You and he haven’t seen each other for long. This is all new and exciting. You had your first kiss already, your first cuddle and shared some intimate moments with each other. But all of this is still new. The big L word hasn’t fallen yet although both of you burn to say it. You also haven’t really gone official to the people who matter. Your friends and family and Yoongi’s in return. You don’t want to give other people a chance to ruin this. Your last relationships have been a while for either of you and you both agree that the last one didn’t feel like this. It didn’t feel so electric and right and almost cosmical. As if some higher power brought you and him together. When you are together, nothing really matters and everything seems so much brighter. Yoongi only has a good morning when he can wish you a nice day at work and in return gets to read your funny morning texts. You swear you start to taste his kisses with every sip of coffee because so often he tastes like coffee when he kisses you. Sometimes Yoongi stops and stares when something reminds him of you and he always has to take a picture and send it to you. Sometimes you stumble upon a stray cat and see Yoongi in it and you always have to send him a picture as well. You and he became parts of each other’s days and build little houses in each other’s hearts. And it feels good and right to both of you.

“Of course I like you”, you say, taking his hand to kiss his knuckles, “I think you’re the most exciting yet mundane thing that has ever happened to me.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. 

“I’m serious. You make my heart race and at the same time, you calm me down like no one else has ever done.” 

“That’s…” He lowers his head. “Actually such a sweet thing to say. Thank you.”

You flip his hand and push his sweater sleeve up to reveal his wrist. The scent of his cologne lingers on it. You inhale deeply and kiss his wrist. 

Yoongi gasps, heart almost jumping out of his throat.

“I mean it. You’re like my everything currently. You’re every single thought taking up my mind”, you say and guide your kisses further up his arm. The skin of his inner arm is so soft and smells like him. Kissing it makes you droopy. 

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, but his head is turning. His breath speeds up, his skin tingles. He is really sensitive on his inner arm and your kisses feel electric on his skin.

You manage to kiss him as far as his elbow and then the jumper punches up too much to go up any further. You nuzzle your nose into the slope of his elbow, sucking on his skin gently. 

Yoongi sighs. 

The sound makes you lift your head. You pull his sweater down mindlessly, holding the hem of his sleeve as your eyes race between his’. 

His pupils are slightly widened, his cheeks are even more flushed. He is gazing, looking utterly bewitched and droopy.

“I feel the same”, his voice doesn’t want to go above a breathy whisper. With a warm timbre such as his’, it is very attractive. “It’s all new to me. These feelings. I’ve never felt like this before. You are in my mind all day and night and it’s so good. I can’t get enough of it and of you.” 

“You can’t?” 

His eyes flit to your lips. He shakes his head, mouthing an honest “I can’t.”

You close the distance. His lids lower, his nose brushes yours. 

“Are you really sure?” he whispers.

“I’m really sure. Are you sure too? I’m not that type of woman either who gets off on taking advantage of a drunk guy. If I came across as such, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

“You didn’t. I know that you’re safe. I feel, uhm, I guess I feel safe in wanting to be myself with you when it comes to, you know, sex.” 

You snicker, rubbing your nose against his’ in a sign of affection. He closes his eyes, enjoying it with a sweet sigh.

“You’re so cute. You always get shy the moment we talk about sex. You rap about making people cum with your tongue, but you’re different behind closed doors.”

“It’s ‘cause I like you, I get nervous.”

“Why? It’s just me.”

“Exactly. I don’t wanna disappoint.”

“You’re not. Sometimes when I’m trying to sleep, I keep thinking about what we did and I get excited about the next time.”

He sighs your name softly, eyes gazing at your lips so longingly the distance even hurts you unbearably. You heal yourselves by breaking the distance and kissing his lips.

Yoongi moans your name, cupping your cheeks and kissing you back eagerly. Your initial plan was to break it after a short second to build tension, but you can’t bring yourself to do so now that it is actually happening. You love kissing him. You could do it all day. 

There was a day where you almost did. He came over after work and then spent the night. You and he weren’t ready for sex back then, but you both felt comfortable in making out. You barely left the bed the next morning, spending hours kissing each other. It was so amazing.

He has the perfect lips for it as well. Soft and always moisturized. The shapes of them are beautiful. They fit his face as if they were made just for him, they are pouty and delicate and yet plump as well. When he applies lip balm, his lower lip always moves with the balm before it bounces back into place. When he talks, he tends to pout with his upper lip. When he sleeps, he keeps them slightly parted and when he smiles, they curl back to make space for his teeth and gums. You could fill books with poems about them. Never in your life have you been more smitten with a pair of lips than his’. 

To kiss them and have them kiss you back, is true heaven. Tonight it is tainted by the encouraging power of alcohol. It isn’t long until Yoongi darts his tongue out to trace your lips. You instantly part them, meeting his tongue with your own. 

He gasps, breaking the kiss surprisingly. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes. You?”

“Yes, I am. I fucking am”, he breathes, pulling you back into the kiss.

You moan softly, pushing him back onto the leather couch. Yoongi falls with a purr, feeling electric tingles in his crotch when you claim the space between his legs and scratch your nails over his scalp softly. Yoongi nudges your leg with his own just obviously enough that you break the kiss.

“Too much?” 

“No, just…I’m here if you need something too”, he whispers, gazing up at you devotedly.

“You say such sexy stuff, damn”, you get out and kiss him. You take up his offer, changing positions so you could grind on his thigh. You make sure to keep one knee against his own crotch, hoping that he likes it. 

He does. He likes it. All of it. He likes your weight on him and how warm you feel between your legs. He likes how your knee grinds against his crotch because it feels fucking electric to him. He likes kissing you, holding you and touching you and being touched in return. Oh, he really likes you.

Yoongi purrs, running his big hands up and down your back. He lingers on the parts which are softest, kneading and squeezing them as if he wanted to memorise how it feels to hold you. It makes you burn up like crazy. It also makes you breathless, forcing you to break the kiss you don’t want to break. Yoongi chases you with parted lips and a sigh of your name. 

“Sorry, air, hah”, you breathe, giggling shyly.

Yoongi chuckles, lips curling into a lopsided smile, “yeah ”, he lulls, voice rumbling in his chest.

You snicker and bury your nose in his cheek, “I’m dizzy. Closing my eyes really made it obvious that I’m drunk.” 

“Same. Did you change your mind?”

“No. You?”

“No.” 

“Mhm”, you hum and feel the consuming need to kiss his neck. The scent of his cologne drives you crazy, you need to eat it off of him until your tongue knows how he tastes. 

Yoongi gasps, tensing up for a second before an aggressive shudder turns his entire body limp. He moans throatily, rolling his head to the side. 

You claim the newfound space instantly, kissing his skin as much as you lick it. The alcohol lowers your shame and makes you bold. You kissed his neck before, but not like this. You are sloppy and messy. Yoongi swears he might pass out from light headedness. It feels unbelievable, turning him on like nothing else. 

The only way he can handle it is by grabbing your buttocks and giving them a squeeze. You whimper softly, lips stuttering on his neck and hips trying to chase his touch. Yoongi slides his hand between your legs to test the waters.

“Yoongi”, you sigh, making him shiver with a moan against his ear and your tongue tracing the shape of it. Your hips grind down on his hand, giving him all the knowledge he needed. He moves on his own, rubbing your sweet warmth over the fabric of your pants.

You shudder, fingers twisting his hair gently. It doesn’t hurt, it simply makes his scalp tingle like crazy. The quiet moans you let out, he answers in a throaty purr. The giggle you produce in reaction to it, he answers with a chuckle. 

You lift your head, meeting his droopy eyes just as droopily. His hair is messy at the top because you played with it. His neck is glistening where you licked and kissed it. Your heart flutters, your stomach does too. You make a sound and grab his hair to tilt his head back and therefore reveal his throat to you. He allows you, purring deeply when you swirl your tongue up his sensitive throat. His voice tickles so nicely that you have to do it again and again and again and again until it naturally evolves into you kissing your way to the side of his neck along his jawline. Yoongi rolls his head to the side gladly, lungs working overtime to breathe and head turning incurably. The shivers reach their peak when you take his earlobe between your teeth to tug on it softly. Yoongi writhes under you, arching his back to bear what you make him feel. You never had him arch his back before so this is ruining you. You lift your lips, having to look at his face. It is flushed beyond repair, contrasting deliciously against his love marked neck.

“Did that feel good to you?” you ask him, breathing heavily as you wait for his answer. His hand doesn’t move right now, resting on your pussy. It feels so warm.

“Everything does”, he breathes out. 

“You arched your back.” 

Shyness washes over his features, he looks to the side. You make him look at you with two fingers under his chin. His lips part in awe, his eyes cloud over in devotion. 

“I want to go further. Do you want it too?” you ask him.

“I do.” 

You sit up and hook your finger under your shirt. Yoongi sits up as well, doing the same with his jumper. You throw your pieces of clothing to the floor at the same time, looking at each other. 

“Weren’t you hot?” you snicker, tugging on the fabric of the white t-shirt he wore under the jumper.

“I actually wasn’t. I was cozy”, he throws back sassily because he knows that you share his sense of humour and see it as him being playful.

You snicker, scrunching your nose. 

Yoongi smiles at you and hooks his fingers in his shirt to take it off as well. When he reappears again, he is greeted with your naked breasts and your eyes looking at him expectantly. 

“Wow okay”, he lets out, staring in awe. He stays completely still, making you laugh.

“Did you turn into a statue?” 

“Huh? I uh, no”, he shakes off his paralysation. “Sorry, you’re just so beautiful. I can’t believe that you’re real.” 

“You’re beautiful too. Can I?” 

“Yes. Can I?” 

“Yes please”, you allow him, placing your hands on his chest to feel him up. 

Yoongi purrs deeply, wrapping his arms around you to pull you close. Sadly your hands have to slip to his shoulders for now, but you don’t mind because he makes you fucking arch your back and roll your head back with the way he worships your chest. His left hand is between your shoulder blades, while his right hand is between your legs, rubbing your warmth. The fabric is soaked by now. It turns him on so much. He moans and purrs, kissing and licking your breasts as if they were everything he needed to survive. Yoongi kissed your chest before, but not like this. Not with so much tongue and so sloppily. The alcohol makes him brave and bold, resulting in you almost wanting to cry from how good it feels. 

“You’re so beautiful”, he sighs, giving your nipples a break when they are swollen and sensitive. He marks your collarbones with his love instead, tastes your shoulders and repays the favour to your neck.

You collapse into him, knocking his nose into your neck and a laugh out of him. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, hugging you when you hug him first. 

“I don’t know. Just haven’t felt so good with anyone before.” 

His heart speeds up. 

“I feel the same.”

“You do?” 

“Yeah”, he says and giggles cutely.  

It breaks you instantly and you match his drunk giggles. You and he hug and giggle, riding on the drunken waves of dizzy heads and giddy hearts.

He mewls and lifts his head by nuzzling into you first. It’s like a cat that asks for affection. 

“I’ll sound like a jerk, but can we go further?” 

“You don’t sound like a jerk when I want the same.”

“Really?” 

You nod your head. He lets out a breathy laugh, eyes widening in emotion. You smile and cradle his cheeks, pulling him into a giddy kiss. Just one more before you and he get naked. He accepts it happily, sighing and purring as his lips dance with yours. Like always when you break the kiss, he chases you. He is lovely like this. 

“It’s torture when you break the kiss”, he chuckles. 

“I know”, you snicker, “it’s for a greater good.” 

“Mhm fuck, I hope.”

You climb off his lap, almost face planting the floor if he didn’t hold your hips instantly.

“Are you okay?” 

You laugh, nodding your head. 

“Just dizzy as fuck.” 

“Sit down please, I don’t want you to fall.”

“I’m okay. Look”, you get on one foot to take off your pants. You lose balance and end up jumping around the small space between the couch and the coffee table as you try to take off your pants. 

Yoongi stumbles to his feet, calling your name and drunkenly wrapping his arms around you from behind. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, please”, he pleads, kissing your shoulder and neck. 

“I’m alright”, you sigh, taking off your pants with his support while your body feels electric. Yoongi has stronger arms than one might think at first. To have them around you as he drunkenly ravishes your neck is making you dizzy. 

“You can let go of me now, I’m naked.” 

“Can I feel?”

You gulp, nodding your head. Yoongi was never that bold before. You might ascend to a higher plain if he keeps being like this. 

Yoongi dances the flat of his palm down the middle of your torso. He stops. He takes your earlobe between his teeth. He tugs and moves his hand quickly, connecting it with your dripping heat. 

“Ah!” you moan loudly, arching your back. You throw your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle yourself.

“It’s okay. My studio is soundproof. No one can hear us”, he whispers, voice tickling your ear as his long fingers part your folds in a slow and sensual massage. 

You drop your hand, using it to grab the back of his neck instead. He melts closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He plays with your dripping entrance, increasing the speed of your pulse.

“And you don’t have to hold back for my sake. Just let it all out, please”, he says, making you moan by burying two fingers in your aching walls. He presses the heel of his palm to your clit, applying warm pressure as he curls his fingers inside you. They are so long that he easily reaches your best spots.

“A-ah, ahm, ah…”

“Don’t hold back, please. You sound so sweet”, he purrs, curling his fingers just right. You are throbbing around him, feeling so warm and soft. He goes crazy at the sensations, aching to replace his fingers with his cock.

You mewl softly, hips trembling on his hand and fingers leaving red marks on his neck. Yoongi fingered you before and quite frankly, you still haven’t properly recovered from that first time. His hands are too sexy. Masculine, strong, big and veiny. Yet at the same time, they are so tender and careful and touch you with such gentleness. They are also very flexible and have way too much stamina to offer. Quite frankly, your legs never shook as hard as they did when he first fingered you.

“Ah, wow, oh wow, ah…”

“I love your sounds”, he drags his words, which is way too sexy, “makes me wanna record them and put them in a song.” 

“Wait this is”, you croak, knees buckling.

“Too far?” He pulls out. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s just a lot to handle on my drunk legs. You’re so sexy right now.” 

He chuckles. You snicker, turning in his arms. You put your hands on his chest. He touches your lower back, gazing into your eyes. There is a constant warm throbbing between your legs. And an ache only he could fill.

“You never talked like this before.”

“Blame the alcohol.”

You and he share drunk giggles and soft touches. 

“Can I undress you?” 

“Yes please.” 

You snicker, making him snicker too. You and he sway drunkenly as you begin fumbling with his pants, not once breaking eye contact. You are trapped in a dance between little distance and more distance between your lips, but never take the last step to kiss. It’s addicting to share space and air and moans but to never give in to temptation. 

Soon his pants are open and you push them down over his round butt. He steps out of them, almost face planting the floor if you weren’t holding his arms so tightly.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?”

“It is. Fuck, I’m so drunk”, he laughs and hugs your waist, swaying with you to the melody of your beating hearts.

“Me too”, you chuckle, playing with his hair. 

He smiles, kisses your forehead before he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. You sigh, eyes closing from the loving affection. 

“You’re really sure about this?” he asks.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything. You?”

“I’m so sure. Just don’t expect a genius performance in my state. I think my hips are gonna have a mind of their own and forget how thrusting works in the middle of it.”

You snicker, letting him taste your next words by brushing your lips against his’.

“Then let me do the moving.” 

“Are you serious?” he almost whimpers the words, knees buckling. 

“Mhm very.”

Yoongi moans your name, trying to kiss you at the same time. You snicker, twisting his hair, lips parted and eyes half lidded. This is keeping you alive like nothing else. 

“Is that okay for me to do?” 

“More than okay.” 

“Then sit down”, you say and push at his chest gently. 

Yoongi falls clumsily, grunting in surprise. His eyes are comically big. 

“Oh! Sorry, are you okay?” You gasp. “I didn’t mean to push you that hard. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just got weak in the knees”, he assures you and laughs with you. 

“God, you’re so cute.” You climb his lap, playing with his hair and stubbing his face with your nose.

“You know that I need to get a condom first?” he smiles as he talks. 

“Then get it.” 

“I can’t do that when you’re on top of me.”

“Right”, you say and giggle, “shit, you’re right.”

You climb off his lap again, gazing at him as he waddles to his desk. He is still wearing his briefs. His butt looks so good in them. He bends down to open the second drawer of his desk. He grabs more than a condom.

“What else did you get?” 

He turns, showing off the black vibrator and lube proudly.

“Why do you have a vibrator in your studio?” you gasp.

“For when I get needy.”

“You use this stuff on yourself!?” 

“Yes? Why not?” he asks, cocking his brow up in question.

“It’s just really hot. Damn. So you’re telling me that you jerked off here before?” 

“Way too many times”, he confesses and chuckles.

“Hot. Wow hot. Damn.” 

He grins shyly.

“Do you want me to use it on you?” you ask him.

“If you want to, but it’s for you. If you need a little more to get there. Don’t worry, I sterilize my toys after each use.” 

“You’re so hot, holy fuck.” 

Yoongi steps out of his briefs and opens the condom, rolling it on his cock. You gulp, salivating like crazy. You never wanted him more than you do right now. 

“You’re so hot, oh my god. What the hell”, you murmur under your breath, making him chuckle. Your constant praise makes him confident so he gives his cock a few jerks just for show, purring deeply.

“Yoongi, oh my god, you’re so hot.”

“You’re hot too. Like a lot.”

“Oh my god, I wanna fuck you.”

He sits down and holds his cock straight for you. 

“Please? Do?” he begs with cute puppy eyes. 

“Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“Can I do something new with you?” 

“I didn’t clean out my butt if you’re suggesting that.” 

“What? Hot, but not what I”, you snicker and close the distance, “we have to talk about butt stuff another time, I might bust if we do that now.”

He laughs, eyes filled with fondness.

“Okay. What are you thinking then?” he asks.

“I’ll just show you, okay?” 

“Yes, okay.” 

You push him down onto the cushions and take his legs to bend them and push them apart.

Yoongi laughs in disbelief, head going dizzy. He looks at you in a mixture of shock, amusement and arousal.

“Too far?”

“No, it’s so sexy.” 

“It is. I’ll take you like this. Just like this”, you say and change position so you can take in his cock. You sink him into you carefully, watching his face change into an expression of surprised bliss.

“Mhhhhm”, he lets out in a purr, eyes going hazy.

You move your hips, grinding and rolling them into him with his cock deep inside you. It is as if you were fucking missionary. Except that he is deep inside you and there is nothing penetrating him. 

Yoongi doesn’t see a difference, having to gasp for fucking air and dimple his own legs as he holds himself open.

“Like this. What do you think of it?” 

He nods his head vigorously, letting out a high-pitched whimper. He never did this before so it is making you dizzy. You chase the warmth between your legs, staring at his flushed face obsessively.

“Yes? You like it?” 

“So much. Ah!” he drops his head to the side, rolling his eyes back and grabbing your waist. “so much….”

You drop to your elbows, kissing his neck needily. Your hips are sloppy in how they fuck, filling each of you with electric pleasure.

“This is insane, what the fuck”, Yoongi gets out, following it up with a moan and a scrunch of his handsome face.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, fuck yes. Ah ___ don’t stop, please”, he begs, arching his back.

“Yoongi, oh god”, you keen, clenching around him in excitement. You could get used to making him arch his back. He is so sexy when he does.

Yoongi breathes out and mewls at the same time, resulting in the sweetest sounds of pleasure you have ever heard. You get off on it so good, wanting for him to make another sound. You bury his cock in you as deep as the position allows it, writing your names with your hips. Just as you had hoped, Yoongi makes the sweetest sound, squeezing your waist. 

You moan his name, falling into pleasure with him afterwards. You move needily and definitely motivated by alcohol. It is a messy fuck, passionate and confident and so incredibly good.

Yoongi is glad that he is drunk, otherwise he wouldn’t last long. Alcohol makes his cock work just a little slower than if he was sober. At first he thought it would be a problem, but he sees now that it is a blessing. You feel so good - too good - and he wants it to last longer.

“It feels good, please fuck me, please don’t stop”, he begs you, arching his back and curling his toes when your walls throb around him. 

“Oh god, you’re so hot”, you mewl, fulfilling his wish with such vigour the cushions of his sofa squeak and croak. Truly, they have never witnessed such a sloppy, good fuck and the best part is that this is only the beginning.

But enough about the sweet future which awaits unknowing you. In the present, you and he have started to share heat and shaky breaths, bodies hot from the long, passionate fuck you have been doing by now. Your thighs ache, begging for a break. Your pussy is so wet that it started to drip down his shaft and plumb balls. It feels so good, constantly keeping you on edge and yet you can’t seem to fall over it. It’s driving you insane by now. 

“Fuck”, you are both laughing and moaning your words, tickling his ear with them, “I’m really fucking drunk, it’s hard to get there.”

“Same, ah, but it feels….so good”, he agrees, head dizzy to the point he has to grab the edge of the sofa for support. You have him on cloud nine, high, feeling out of this world.

“It does, you do. Just need more.”

Yoongi flails with his hand on the cushion, trying to find the vibrator. You hand it to him, just as you help him push the button to turn it on. The rest he can do by himself. He guides it between your bodies, connecting it with your lower stomach first. 

“Lower, baby, that’s my stomach”, you giggle, claiming his lips in a passionate kiss.

“Sorry”, Yoongi purrs, obeying your orders with such precision you growl and feed him your tongue. 

He welcomes it gladly, drooling all over your lips which in this moment is so goddamn sexy and endearing to you. To think you ruin him to the point of sloppy kisses being his norm. You are going to be so fucking obsessed with this man, showing him your growing fondness with deep rolls of your hips. 

He can feel the vibrations too, grabbing your upper back as his cock finally begins to work again. This is going to break him and he fears he might pass out from it. He digs his heels into the cushion, meeting your movements needily and without a plan. The only thing his body runs on is how he feels beneath you and the warmth of your tight walls around his cock. 

Your body trembles, unoccupied hand burying itself deep in his luscious locks. The kiss breaks but you stay close, panting and moaning into each other’s mouths. 

“This is getting me there”, you whimper. 

“Me too”, he croaks. 

“Yoongi, I…I love you”, you confess, finally falling over the sweet edge. It feels so good, so intense and soul-consuming that you find yourself sobbing and shaking. 

Yoongi breaks the second you dropped the big L word, deep voice coming out as little gasps of your name and fingers grasping you for dear life. He didn’t even think that he could orgasm that intensely, but your emotional confession makes it possible. He feels on cloud nine, curling his toes and arching his back.

You collapse on him after your high, dropping the vibrator on the floor accidentally.

“What was that?” he mumbles into your shoulder, cock still throbbing inside you and ears ringing.

“Toy”, you lull, walls pulsating in the afterglow.

“Ah.”

He wraps his arms around you, wiggling his hips a little to ensure his cock would slip out of you. He doesn’t want to risk it softening and the condom slipping off. Cuddling like this, you recover, sharing silence and warmth. You are both so drunk, heads turning even as you lie down. It is almost as if being so connected and sharing such a passionate moment made it worse. You don’t mind it however, you have each other’s presence and that feels very safe to have.

“So this just happened”, Yoongi breaks the silence.

“I know”, you say and break into giddy snickers instantly. Yoongi joins you without hesitation, sharing in the warm fuzzy happiness you and he get to experience together.

“I can’t believe I did that. We did that.”

“It was so hot.”

“It was.”

He hums, rubbing his hands up and down your back. You settle into him with a content sigh, playing with his messy hair.

“The studio is really soundproof, right?”

“It is. Trust me I was louder on my own. Nobody heard me.”

“You are so hot, it’s insane.”

He chuckles lazily, craning his neck to kiss whatever part of your head he reaches first. You purr happily, chasing his kiss by tilting your head closer to him. Another kiss is placed to your heated face, you retort it as best as possible.

“Soo, uhm”, he begins, eyes sparkly and droopy, “you dropped the L word.”

“Oh god, too soon? I’m sorry, please can we just forget-“

“Hush, don’t worry. I’m glad you did. I love you too, just didn’t wanna say it first and scare you away.”

You lift your head. Yoongi meets your eyes.

“You feel the same?”

“I do. I have done so for a while”, he says, smiling softly and reaching up to brush the back of his hand down your face.

“Wow Yoongi, I’m so happy”, you confess, claiming his lips in a giggly kiss.

And of course, because Yoongi is drunk and happy and giddy, he giggles with you. What you and he are having might still be new, but it is right and it is good and it will last. You are both so sure of it.

[mxstellatayte]

Thoughts on if the drivers would use toys ( and what kind) on themselves and their partners?

ok i could only come up with a mtl for this one so here we goooooooo!

nsfw under the cut <3 minors please do not interact!

🧡lando norris

oh my god this man is SUCH A WHOREEE. he's actually the first person to bring it up in your relationship, and he doesn't so much bring it up as it brings itself up. the two of you and some other drivers and their partners are out after monaco, and something seems off about him, but you don't realize exactly what it is until you're grinding your ass on him on the dance floor and he is very, very hard. when you ask what's going on, he can barely say it without moaning because every move of your hips against his, making his own move in turn, nudges the plug he'd put in before leaving just barely against his prostate. safe to say that later that night, lando was a whining mess, gripping the sheets and head thrown back while you fold him in half with the strap he'd bought a few weeks prior in hopes of this exact situation happening buried in his ass. (got a little carried away there OOPSIES)

🩶george russell

george is actually a bit of a wild card on this list. his preference for toys leans a bit more towards the pain and restraint side of them, but he doesn't mind the occasional plug or vibrator. his own kinks make their appearance when you run up to him after a good race, kiss him, and press your hands to his chest so he can set his hands on your hips the way he likes to. what you aren't expecting, though, is for the outside of your left hand to brush something hard and plastic and for george to *whimper* into the kiss. that slut had worn nipple clamps during the race. his personal favorite combination of toys is having his hands cuffed to the headboard, completely unable to fight you off as you have your merry way with him. (as long as he gets a pat on the head and a shoulder rub with his favorite body lotion and cuddles afterwards ofc <3)

🧡oscar piastri

oscar is the flip of a coin. he's more than happy to quickly tie your wrists together with his tie if you're being a brat at an event or take his time lacing together a beautiful, intricate shibari harness to keep you in place while he uses your mouth to get himself off. when he takes the time for shibari, he'll take a lot of photos of you, maybe even a few videos to use later when he's halfway across the globe. as for toys on himself, he mainly only goes for a simple fleshlight (or lando). surprisingly, one thing he enjoys is laying back blindfolded and letting you have your way with him, as long as you aren't too mean.

🩶lewis hamilton

lewis has a very "if you're down, i'm down" attitude about most things when it comes to sex. as long as the two of you are comfortable and enjoying it, he's game on for a lot of stuff! his hard nos when it comes to toys on himself and his partner are anything that could potentially put one of you in danger or anything even vaguely involving animals. the first time you two really start exploring the world of sex toys of all sorts, he's constantly checking in with you, making sure you're feeling good, and if you tap out at any point, the aftercare is amazing bc he feels bad </3

🩵logan sargeant

oh this man LOVES fucking and getting fucked, and if there's toys involved, he's even happier. i can imagine him sending you a new toy when a big event happens that he can't be there for, and, to make up for it, he buys it for you so that you can fuck over the phone that night. he absolutely loves watching you fuck yourself with anything- your fingers, a toy, even using him to get yourself off is hot as hell to him. i also can't get the thought of him tied up in shibari with a ball gag in his mouth as you tease the fuck out of him, fucking his ass with a dildo that might be bordering on too big and jerking him off slowly at the same time (bonus points if it's in front of a mirror so he can see what a mess of himself he's making 🫣)

💙daniel ricciardo

the first time you bring up the idea of toys with danny, youre both high on the beach outside cancun over winter break, talking about all the random things two high adults talk about, and the topic of him eating you out feels. you passingly mention how much you love it when he moans while he's attached to your clit, and the idea of getting you a vibrator sparks in his mind. when you're in bed that night, the high long gone, he asks you just that, and you're so close to sleep that, when you wake up the next morning, you aren't sure if you remember what happened properly the previous night. you did, in fact, remember correctly, and when you get back to australia, there's a package laying on your bed. "happy late christmas baby xx -danny" inside is a baby pink suction vibrator that you cum with three times, saving a voice memo and texting it to him after you're done catching your breath.

💛charles leclerc

this goes without saying, but charles is more than happy to spend hours between your legs if he could. he's such a pleasure dom that sometimes you have to pull him away from your clit by his hair, and fuck if that sight alone doesn't prep you for another hour of his tongue ravishing you, you don't know what will. his cheeks, lips, chin, even the tip of his nose are shiny with a mix of your cum and his saliva, his pupils are wide and his mouth hangs open, breath heavy and fanning against you so perfectly. when you being up the idea of using toys, he's over the moon. when he finds out the toys you had in mind are ones you can wear to ferrari events under your dress, the remote hiding perfectly in the pocket of his pants? shit, he's on neptune.

🩵alex albon

what is it with the williams drivers being sub leaning? alex is similar to lewis in having the "if you're down, i'm down" attitude, and he's just as focused on his partner's pleasure as he is his own. he's the first to bring it up in the relationship, asking (very very shyly) if you'd maybe possibly under no pressure whatsoever be willing to try pegging him, and when his eyes light up when you agree, you have a feeling toys are going to start being a semi-regular addition to your sex life. on the occasion that neither of you have any (or you simply don't have the time or effort), alex is more than willing to have you ride him or fuck you himself, because i do think that, if teased enough, alex will top purely out of spite.

💙yuki tsunkda

yuki's idea of toys is much more unconventional. it could be your pillow when the two of you are fucking over the phone, the armrest of the couch in his driver's room, or your favorite dildo or vibrator. he's honestly kinda cool with most stuff, as long as it makes you feel good and is safe. as for himself, his favorite is a cock ring around him while you ride him, so that way you're both getting the best of it while he can still hold on to your tits :D he also tied your wrists together one time with a ribbon from the gift he got you for your two year anniversary and he still keeps the ribbon in his nightstand to remind him of you on nights when he's especially lonely.

❤️max verstappen

really, really prefers to fuck you himself in whatever way he can. whether he's fucking you into the mattress with his dick or sending you to heaven with his tongue and fingers or making you ride his thigh because you were being a little brat, he just loves the feeling of your skin on his. if you're being especially bratty, though, he will not hesitate to make you fuck yourself but of course you won't get to cum... why would he let you do that when you've been a brat? no, it's nearing overstimulation and tears running down your face begging for him to let you cum from the toy before he even considers giving you the release of fucking you himself.

🩷pierre gasly

pierre is a fluffy little fluff boy. just. the actual sweetest in bed. he prefers to be able to feel you himself rather than adding a toy to the mix, but if you're just really, really turned on while you're not around and feel like messing with him you'll send him a video of you fucking yourself with your favorite toy and it gets him so riled up he has to stop whatever he's doing and run to the motorhome so he can deal with his boner lol

💛carlos sainz

carlos is a very hands-on guy. he doesn't really go for dedicated toys per se, leaning more towards shoving your panties in your mouth or tying your wrists together with his tie. sometimes he doesn't even need that, though- sometimes his hand is more than enough to cover your mouth or hold your wrists together if there's no other option.

🤍nico hülkenberg

like carlos, he's very hands-on with you. the only real "toys" he uses with you are blindfolds and ribbons to hold your wrists in place. one time, he tried handcuffing you to the bed but seeing the marks on your wrists scared him so he threw them away after that :((

drivers i think just wouldn't be into toys very much, if at all:

valtteri bottas, fernando alonso, zhou guanyu

intentionally excluded: checo, lance, kmag, ocon