#i just. the babies are back together and i know yes that

[dollwrites]

ᴅᴏᴏʀ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ ┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° ʀᴀғᴀʏᴇʟ

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｔｙｐｅ ┊ goonette isekai! ( 7k follower event )

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ ┊ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, pwp, creampie, cum play, titty sucking, all characters featured are aged 18+

ｉｍｐｏｒｔａｎｔ ┊ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

Rafayel is a creampie addict.

whether it’s because he loves the way you look with his cum leaking out of your freshly fucked hole or because it’s his way of claiming your body, marking you as his mate, you didn’t know for sure. the only thing you could be certain of is, whenever he started to twitch and throb inside of you; whenever his balls drew up tight, and his ragged panting melted into a needy chanting of your name on a mindless loop, that he was going to cum inside you.

“Raf, ffffuck!” you crooned, breathless and undulating on the mattress beneath him. your back arched up from the surface to push your chest flush to his face, your right hand buried in his mauve tendrils so deep that you could feel the beads of sweat as they drench his scalp, and the heat of his fever transferring deep into your palm. you were gripping those sticky locks, holding on to them for some semblance of control as he rutted into you with wild abandon, his head dipped low to suck on your swell, whilst his hand fondled with other, his thumb mimicking the way his tongue flicked at your pebbled nipple, swiping over the taut flesh and nudging the little bud from every angle.

it was this lavishing of affection, paired with the rapid-fire, shallow pumping into your core, that had your eyes crossing with unadulterated pleasure, and your body trembling as you drifted closer and closer to a release. “I’m getting close, baby…” you half-plea, rocking your hips up to meet him in a sloppy, slick joining. if Rafayel was anything, he was a skilled lover. he knew that you didn’t need to be stuffed full on every occasion, and so he experimented with how many inches to fuck into you each time you laid together. tonight, though his thrusts were quick and greedy, he was only giving you half of his length at a time, letting the swollen, leaking tip of his cock head bully the spongy cluster of nerves that made up your g-spot until you were shaking and sputtering, instead of fucking you deep and steady.

“Yeah?” he asked upon prying his mouth away with a wet pop. his voice husky and low, and saliva glistening against the pink lower tier of his kiss-swollen couplet. his own complexion, though typically porcelain, had taken on a dusky, rosé glow, especially against the apples of his cheeks, the tips of his ears, and the expanse of his chiseled chest. his mouth, though still parted and panting out puffs of hot breath against your hardened nipple, curved into a strained smile as his eyes searched your countenance, equally lovedrunk. “Wanna cum with me, pretty girl?” he asked, his eyes darkened as he buries his face between the valley of your tits, breathing in the scent of the sweat oozing from your pores. his eyelids fluttered as he drank it in, like a man intoxicated, and you felt the warm, bumpy surface of his tongue flat against your flesh to lap at that essence. “Oh, fuck, tell me,” he murmured, muffled, as the lower quarter of his face disappears into your cleavage, but his eyes gaze up at you, the purple hues within them dim and stormy. “Tell me that you want me to make you finish while I cum in your warm, little pussy.”

you nod, eagerly, your voice breaking out of desperation as you tug on his hair, unsure of whether to pull him up to kiss his lips or smother him between your tits. “Y—yes, Rafayel! Please, make me cum with you!”

you’d hardly gotten the beg out before Rafayel was responding. sitting back on his haunches, he allowed almost every inch to slip from your clutching heat— until only his the bulbous head remained notched just beyond the threshold. you mewled at the lack of fullness in your depths, but your disappointment was soon replaced with pleasure. Rafayel allowed his hands, soft yet strong, to slip under your hips and drag your body close, until your bottom rested on the slope of his legs, keeping your lower half elevated on his lap. “C’mere, baby…” he breathed out, one hand splaying out against your lower belly, fingers stroking beneath your navel, allowing his thumb the reach he needed to paw at your clit in tight, concise circles. your own hands, that had initially reached out for him when he shifted positions, now fell back against the pillow your head rested on, fisting handfuls of it, unneeded, while Rafayel tended to your body. you moaned his name, your head tilting up so you were staring at the ceiling, brows furrowed, focusing wholly on his perfect ministrations.

“You look so cute like this,” Rafayel murmured, more to himself than to you, his free hand gripping the girth of his cock tight. he was still slick with your juices, and he used that to his advantage, pumping the exposed inches instead of plunging into you, to the rhythm same rhythm he assaulted your clit. the treatment elicits of moan from his parted lips, that bubbles up from deep within his throat. “— squirming and needy, chasing your high for me. Come on, pretty girl, cum on my cock for me.”

a few more encouraging words and Rafayel’s thumb running laps over your button is all that you need before you catch that orgasm you were so desperately chasing. you hear his voice, as soon as he saw you were about to be engulfed, whisper harshly, “Look at me,” and you were barely able to obey, your eyes flitting to his face just in time to glaze over. you maintained the unfocused eye contact, stars forming in your peripherals, and Rafayel doesn’t let up, coaxing you with furious strumming on your swollen clit to ride out the orgasm he’s giving you. “That feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked, knowing damn well the only response you could give him was a strangled yip and a half nod, his breathless smile widening, “Yeah? I know, baby, I know. I feel it, too. I’m cumming,” he growled, pumping himself erratically a few more times before he spilled himself inside you. warmth seeps in, spreads through your shallow core, and dribbles out in thick, streamers when Rafayel pulls his sated, softening cock from you. your cunt clenches, one last stitch effort to keep him anchored inside you, which ultimately pushes another rope of his creamy release out of your freshly-fucked body.

Rafayel sat back on his haunches for several moments, panting, with his twitching cock now draped, flaccid, over his sweat-sheened thigh, as he gazed down at his handiwork— his hands finding your trembling shape. he felt along the flare of your hips, up over your waist, his thumbs gently massaging the flesh there as he eased you out of your aftershocks with gentle fondling. “Come back to me, pretty girl, you’re so cute when you’re cumdrunk.” he murmured, drawing shapes over your heated flesh as he coaxed you back from the brink. his palms pressed against your sides, before careening downward, over your lower belly. “I left this pretty pussy all messy again, didn’t I?” he teased, applying enough pressure on your lower belly to force more of his cum to spill out of you and on to the sheets. you whimper at the sensation, your toes curled, and you nod. Rafayel only chuckles, angling his hand so his pointer and middle finger, slender and deft in their movements, can spread open your puffy netherlips. his breath, which had mostly recovered, left him in a soft, awed gasp as he admired the way his cum painted your folds, leaving them sticky and claimed. his cock twitches on his thigh. though hypersensitive, it jumped, as if waking up to the sight.

Rafayel sighs, rolling his eyes, acting as though the mere re-hardening of his cock was burdensome. “Can’t ever just go one time, can we?” he asked, sarcastically, quirking a brow as he stares up at you.

“You make it sound like it’s my fault,” you counter breathlessly, your hands finally unlatching from the pillow. your muscles are sore, but you run your fingers along the shape of his shoulders as he positions himself to take you again.

“Of course it’s your fault. You look too fuckable when you’ve got my cum oozing out of you.” Rafayel rasps, guiding his now-ready cock back into your sloppy hole. it slips inside easily, his cum frothing around it as he almost instantly falls back into his previous pace, bracing you in place when his hands grip the roundest part of your hips. “Fuck, yes…” he stutters a bit, pushing his cock deep enough to hilt it once, before dragging it out slow. you cry out; the nerves in your sex already heightened, so this new round of fucking feels almost statically-charged. his eyes list downwards, taking in the way his previous release cocktailed with your arousal coats his cock in rings as he pulls out, marking the depth of his thrust. “And besides, you take me in even better the second time.” he purrs with a contented sigh.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Run Baby, Run.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!

authors note - seeing harry run a marathon just made him ten times hotter for some reason. 😫

word count - 1.4k

in which, harry is running the 2025 tokyo marathon, and who better to cheer him on than his fiance and little boy.

The air is crisp, the kind that clings to your skin but isn’t unpleasant. The streets of Tokyo hum with anticipation, the crowd thick with strangers who have all gathered for the same reason.

The hum of the crowd rises and falls around you, a mix of excited chatter and the occasional announcement over the loudspeakers.

Your fingers tighten around the handle of the stroller, your two-year-old nestled inside, bundled in a soft jacket despite the mild weather. His tiny legs kick idly, hands clutching a half-eaten rice cracker as his big eyes dart around and then back to the iPad hooked onto the front of the bar securing him in place, before his eyes then shift back to the sea of runners.

He doesn’t fully understand what’s happening,

Only that daddy’s going to be running a very, very long race.

You crouch beside the stroller, adjusting the blanket draped loosely over your son’s lap. He shifts in his seat, kicking his little legs, the hand that’s not holding the cracker is clutching his favorite stuffed bunny, its fur worn from love.

His dark curls peek out from under his hood, and he looks at you with wide, eager eyes.

The race started around an hour ago, and your stood at the halfway mark, and your son had been okay so far, (supplying him with snacks was the way to go).

The halfway mark was where you told Harry you’d be, and then towards the finish line.

“Bluey go zoo,” he announces, eyes locking on the iPad (something had to keep him entertained) nodding firmly, as if this is the most important thing in the world.

You smile, pressing your lips together to keep from laughing. “Oh yeah?”

“Yuh,” he says, chewing his snack between words.

“Bluey see big ‘affe. Giraffe eat leafs.” His little fingers pinch at the air, mimicking the long neck stretching up. “And lion go—RAAHH!”

He throws his arms up dramatically, startling a woman standing nearby, who chuckles as she steps aside.

You grin, reaching to brush a few crumbs from his jacket.

“You’ve been watching that episode a lot, haven’t you?” you murmur, tucking the blanket around him a little tighter.

“Uh-huh,” he says through a mouthful, then pauses, his face screwing up in thought. “I wan’ see ‘affe too.”

“We’ll see if we can find one later, buddy,” you say softly, but your voice trails off as something shifts in the atmosphere around you.

The twenty minutes that follow stretch and fold in on themselves, time both fleeting and endless. Your son chatters on, switching topics with the rapid, boundless energy of a toddler—Bluey, then trucks, then something about a bird he saw earlier that morning. His little hands gesture wildly as he speaks, his face lighting up with each new thought.

You nod along, your attention split between him and the shifting sea of runners passing by. Every so often, a wave of cheers erupts from the crowd as clusters of athletes surge forward, their rhythmic footfalls pounding against the pavement. You scan their faces, searching, waiting.

And then, finally, you see him.

A familiar figure weaves through the pack, his stride steady but powerful. Sunglasses shield his eyes, but you don’t need to see them to know the determination etched into his features. A white bandana is tied securely around his head, keeping his curls from falling into his face.

Even from a distance, you recognize the way his arms move, the slight furrow in his brow as he focuses on his breathing.

Your heart tightens, pride swelling in your chest.

Without thinking, you unbuckle your son from the stroller, lifting him onto your hip so he can see. He clings to you, his little hands pressing against your shoulder as his wide eyes scan the crowd of runners.

And then—he spots him.

“Daddy!” he yells, his voice bright and excited, cutting through the noise.

A few heads turn, but it doesn’t matter, because Harry hears him.

His head snaps to the side, his pace faltering just slightly before he spots you both at the barrier. His lips part, his breath catching, and for a moment, he just stares—his expression shifting from surprise to something softer, something deeper.

You smile, calling his name, your free hand lifting to wave.

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He veers toward you, breaking from his rhythm as he jogs over, his hands pressing against the barrier to steady himself. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, but it’s not just the run that has him breathless.

It’s you.

It’s your son.

It’s the sight of the two of you standing there, waiting for him.

Cheering you on.

“Hi, my loves,” he manages, voice thick with emotion, sweat glistening along his temples. His eyes flicker between you and the small boy in your arms, whose hands are now reaching out eagerly. “Oh, buddy, look at you.”

“Daddy runnin’!” your son exclaims, bouncing slightly against your hip. “Go fast, Daddy!”

Harry lets out a breathless laugh, his dimples appearing even as his bottom lip quivers just slightly. He reaches forward, brushing his fingertips over your son’s curls before cupping the back of his head, pressing a quick kiss there. “M’trying, bub. Doin’ my best.”

You stretch your hand out, fingers brushing his damp forearm.

“You’re doing amazing,” you tell him softly, and the way his shoulders drop just slightly lets you know he needed to hear it.

His gaze locks onto yours, something unspoken passing between you. He swallows hard. “Love you.”

You squeeze his arm. “Love you more.”

A voice over the loudspeaker reminds the runners to keep moving, and Harry exhales, nodding. He straightens up, rolling his shoulders back.

“Alright,” he says, mostly to himself, steeling his focus. “I’ll see you at the finish line, yeah?”

Your son wiggles excitedly in your arms. “Win, Daddy!”

Harry grins, shaking his head fondly. “I’ll try, little man.” He presses one last lingering glance at you before he steps back, blending once again into the sea of runners.

You press another kiss to his lips and murmur. “—run baby, run!”

You watch him go, your heart swelling with a mix of pride, love, and anticipation. And as your son settles back against you, resting his head on your shoulder, you whisper, more to yourself than to him—

“He’s got this.”

🏃🏃🏃🏃

He shifts restlessly in your arms, rubbing at his tired eyes with balled-up fists but refusing to settle.

“Wan’ Daddy,” he mumbles, his head heavy against your shoulder.

“I know, baby,” you murmur, swaying gently as you maneuver through the crowd. “He’s almost here. Just a little longer.”

You glance at the tracking app on your phone, your heartbeat kicking up as the little dot moves closer and closer to your location.

Two minutes.

Your breath catches as you press up against the barrier, shifting your son slightly so he can see the runners approaching in the distance. The energy is electric here—cheers erupting as each runner crosses the finish line, the collective exhilaration tangible in the air. But your world narrows to a single focus.

And then, through the blur of movement, you see him.

Harry’s strides are strong, his form steady despite the miles he’s endured. His bandana is damp with sweat, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head now, revealing the exhaustion in his eyes—but when he spots you, when he sees the small, sleepy figure in your arms, something shifts. His expression softens, his pace quickens.

You don’t even have time to react before he veers off course, heading straight for you.

“Here, give ‘im to me,” he breathes out, his voice raspy from exertion as he reaches for your son.

You hesitate. “Harry, you’re exhausted—”

“Please,” he says, and that’s all it takes.

Carefully, you pass your son into his waiting arms. As soon as Harry holds him, the little boy sighs, nestling instinctively against his chest, his tiny fingers curling into the damp fabric of Harry’s shirt.

“Daddy,” he mumbles sleepily.

Harry exhales shakily, pressing a kiss to the top of his curls. “Hey, bub. You waited for me, huh?”

You swipe at the tear pricking your eye, your heart clenching at the sight of them.

Harry turns back toward the finish line, adjusting his grip on the small, drowsy weight in his arms. He grins, breathless but determined. “Alright, let’s do this together, yeah?”

And then, with your son tucked safely against him, he runs the last few steps.

The crowd erupts as they cross the finish line, the cameras flashing, the cheers deafening—but all Harry cares about is the little boy in his arms and the person waiting for him just beyond the barrier.

And as he finally stops, as he leans forward to press his forehead against yours, his voice is thick with emotion when he whispers,

“We did it.”

[enhani-ki]

pacify her - reader x ni-ki

warnings: smut, nsfw, cursing, kinda sadistic (?), etc.

you were sitting on the floor, hunched over your notebook as you tried to solve the last few problems of your homework. ni-ki sat beside you, watching with mild interest then tried to help you.

but that interest quickly faded when he realized he can't do it, "just use the calculator," he suggested, resting his chin on his knees.

"i don't need help."

"i want to understand how to solve this."

he scoffed, tilting his head at you in disbelief.

ni-ki sighed, getting really bored out of his mind. he doesn't understand why people make things so hard for themselves.

if there's already an easy way out, why not just take it?

you stayed focused until, finally, you set your pencil down with a satisfied sigh.

"you finished it?" ni-ki blinked surprised.

you turned to him with the brightest smile, giggling as you threw your arms around his neck. "yes, i told you i can do it!"

he smiled, letting you cling to him more, then pushed some loose strands of hair away from your face before leaning in to kiss you.

"are you really that smart?" he murmured against your lips.

you shook your head no, acting all modest and humble, but he wasn't buying it.

"okay, if you're that smart…” he leaned back slightly to watch your expression fully. "can you tell me what are you going to do after i die?"

your proud smile faded immediately. you shoved him away, moving to sit on the couch, and crossing your arms in irritation.

he followed you, leaning back over the cushions beside you. "come on," he said, "how long do you think it'll last before you move on?" he started kissing your arm, like what he always do when he wants to soften you up.

your brows knitted together. "ni-ki, that's not funny."

"i'm not trying to be funny." he laughed, tilting his head. "i'm just really curious."

you didn't answer, you just moved uncomfortably but that only encouraged him.

"i mean, you wouldn't stay single forever, right?" he said it so casually as if he was just talking about the weather. "you'd cry for a bit, sure, but then what?"

"oh i'm not even sure if you'll cry."

your stomach twisted.

"maybe you'd find someone new in, what, a year? six months? shit..." he looked up at you, "would it be sooner?"

you pressed your lips together, "can you not?" you said as you pulled your arm away, trying to put some space between him and you.

and you could move further, ni-ki grabbed your wrist and wrapped his around your waist, locking you in place.

"y/n..." he called out in your ear. "you're not answering me."

"because it's stupid!"

"it's not," he insisted, resting his chin on your shoulder. "i just wanna know, baby... would you miss me?"

you inhaled shakily. "of course i would..."

"would you cry?"

you swallowed hard, not answering.

his fingers traced your arm slowly, "you're already getting worked up, huh?"

your throat tightened.

"you're about to cry," he whispered, watching your expression closely.

your nose started to turn red and your lips quivered before curling downward into a sad pout.

ni-ki let out a soft chuckle, really in awe. "i'm not even dead, and you're already crying?"

a choked sob left your throat as you shove his chest, but your boyfriend didn't budge. he just watched you, amused, his eyes fixed on your tear-streaked face.

so you turned your face away, he started showering kisses to your head.

"you're so pretty when you're upset."

his lips trailed down your jaw, his hands were slipping under your skirt.

"ni-ki." you tried to warn, but he was already tilting your head back, capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

and despite how annoyed and sad you were, you still folded.

ni-ki lifted your skirt slightly, his fingers trailed over the soft fabric of your panties before slowly sliding them down your legs. he left the skirt on, he thinks it looks sexy how it framed you perfectly.

he then pushed your legs up, keeping them pressed together instead of spreading them apart like he knew the restriction will make everything more intense and tighter.

he dragged his tongue slowly over your folds along with obscene slurping sounds while you twitch underneath him. ni-ki took his time, savoring every desperate little noises that escaped your lips.

you grabbed his hand from your waist, and guided it up to your breasts, he catches on instantly, squeezing rough and hard, the pressure making you whimper. it hurts but it somehow eased some of the frustration from the torturous pace he's keeping between your thighs.

"ni-ki, please… please, more-" your voice trembled, your fingers tangling in his hair as you urged him to do more.

but he only hummed against your pussy, ignoring your pleas as he licked slowly and teasingly, again.

your patience snapped. you reached down to try and touch yourself, very desperate for the relief he's withholding, but ni-ki swats your hand away, "uh-uh," he disapproved, "just wait."

his grip on your thighs tightened as he presses a soft smooches to your pussy.

the frustration overwhelmed you. "just fucking stop this!" your patience snapped again for the second time, you tried to break free from his grip, your whole body writhing beneath him.

then his mouth closed around you, sucking hard on the sensitive bud making you gasp and bite down on your lip in shock.

the pleasure threatened to fall apart in your lower abdomen, only for him to suddenly pull away again, leaving you stranded on the edge.

tears pricked your eyes, spilling over your cheeks, you hide your face in your hands.

you can't even get mad, it just hurts.

ni-ki lay down beside you and gently removed your hands off your face.

your lashes were clumping together, your lips were slightly trembling, cheeks warm and flushed, the tip of your nose was already red from crying.

breathtaking.

he leaned in, pressing kisses all over your face.

you tried to turn away but he catches your lower lip between his teeth, tugging gently while his hands move to unzip his pants.

his lips parted as he inserted his dick in your aching hole, slowly sinking into you, and stretching you open. his hand held the back of your head while the other held your leg in the air.

ni-ki's moaned right in front of your face then to your ear, and it turned you on even more.

he kept on giving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, now your whole face is wet because of him.

he caressed your cheek before tilting your chin up, his thumb pressed your lower lip until you open it for him. he didn't waste no time and slipped his tongue inside, deepening the kiss, just swallowing every sounds you make.

oh, fuck.

and even lying on your sides, he can stroke inside relentlessly. easily sliding in and out of you so fast, so deep you're going dumber and dumber.

ni-ki smirked as he watched you go crazy and completely wrecked from the pleasure he's giving you.

your walls fluttered around him, it's tightening, throbbing, but not consistently. it's like you're teasing him too, keeping him on the edge, and making him crave more.

he chuckled breathlessly, "you're so petty." then he started pounding even faster as he neared his climax.

"i'm close, where do i shoot this, baby? huh?"

"i want it all inside of me."

ni-ki groaned after hearing what you wanted, he pressed his forehead against yours as he lets himself go, spilling his cum deep inside your core.

some of it dripped down as he pulled out, so he used his fingers to push it all back inside of you.

he's not gonna let any of it go to waste.

"stop, making me, cry!" you said, sniffling before pinching his arm.

ni-ki flinched and smirked, "babe..." he said, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips before pressing a quick kiss. "you cry because you love me. it's natural."

then he held your panties "don't put these back on today," he said, before slipping them into his pocket.

"no, that's-"

"let's just see how it'll drip out of you every time you move."

ni-ki kissed you again, swallowing the little hiccuped sob that escapes your lips. then, as if he hasn't already ruined you enough, he whispers against your mouth...

"didn't i tell you that look so pretty when you cry?"

a/n: she got pacified with a big D (requested) jacquees - you

マスターリストm.list

taglist 𖤘: @dolliewon @ziiao

[sarahsangelicdoll]

hi! can you write like rafe and reader are best friends but they fuck whenever they need to get off like they’re not together but they like each other and they know they like each other and they don’t get with anyone else or anything but anyways back to what i was saying, whenever they fuck reader is always to scared to do it without protection but just needs him and so they go at it blah blah and then he’s about to pull out but reader tells him to cum inside?

i really hope this makes sense😭💜

༊·˚ Breeding kink + fwb!Rafe… yes pleasee

cw: 18+!, mdni, breeding, unprotected p n v

a/n: another req that’s been sitting in my inbox.. i might elaborate more on it but i just really wanted to get this out for you bby 💞 so rushed lol. not proud of this at all. one req left in my drafts !!

“Fuck sweetheart… feel so good.” Rafe groaned into your ear. One hand lazily holding your throat while the other had a bruising grip on your hip. “Gonna cum in you if you keep squeezing me like that..”

You don’t know what got into you, but the thought had your thighs clenching shut around his waist. Nails scraping down his back even harder. Rafe however, was oblivious. He of course thought of it before, but the thought was too good to ever be possible, right? So he simply assumed you were about to cum.

“Yeah? gonna cum for me baby?” He asks through his own laboured breathing, leaning up to bring his hand down and rub at your clit. The sounds spilling from your lips were heavenly and had Rafe nearing even closer to his own orgasm.

“Fuck.. gonna cum..” He pants, about to pull out to paint your stomach with his cum, but found himself unable as your legs tightened around his hips.

“Cum inside, please?” You pout, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. How could he possibly refuse that? He knew he should’ve double checked with you, but he’s been wanting this for so long.

His thrusts quickly started again after a momentary pause, a low moan escaping his lips. “Shit… you have any idea what you do to me?” He chuckled before the both of you let out broken moans, cumming at the same time.

Your pussy tightened around his cock as you felt his cum paint your walls, the unusual sensation making your stomach flutter with butterflies as the two of you basked in your orgasm after glows.

After you both caught your breath Rafe leaned up and your legs fell from his hips, his cock slowly exiting your warm cunt.

Rafe could feel his cock hardening again as he grabbed your calf and held it up, smirking as he watched his cum pool out from your cunt. “Shit.. Should do that again baby..”

⟡ ݁₊ . written by sarahsangelicdoll, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

rafe taglist: @rafestoothbrush

[munsonsmixtapes]

Be a Good Girl For Me

dom!eddie x fem!reader

Eddie finally finds out exactly what you like in the bedroom

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) use of handcuffs, degradation kink, use of the word “slut”

The bed dips as Eddie sits on the other side of the bed. He knows exactly what you want but needs to hear the words come from your mouth and won’t give in until you ask. That’s how it always works.

He moves to lay beside you, pulling you closer to him as his hand begins to massage your stomach, pressing his lip to your forehead as he yaps away, something he always does anyway, but especially when he wants to give you something to focus on instead of your discomfort.

You snuggle even further into his side as his hand dips into the waistband of your pants. You want him to go lower, for his fingers to be inside you but you can’t get yourself to ask for that. Even though you’ve been together for a while, you still get nervous asking for what you want.

You whine when he pulls his hand away and he just chuckles, flipping you over so that you’re on your stomach. His lips find yours in a heated kiss as both his hands dip into your panties this time, getting dangerously close to your cunt before he pulls them back out only for you to whine again.

He sees that you’re going to do it yourself, but he can’t have that, so he’s grabbing the handcuffs he bought you from the drawer in your nightstand then pins your hands to the headboard before handcuffing them to the bottom rail so you’ll stay there.

“Uh uh uh,” he shakes his head. “Only I get to touch you. Understand?” He asks and you nod. He doesn’t get like this with you often, but you love seeing this side of him, when he’s more controlling and dominant.

“Yes,” you respond and he’s surprised when he sees your pupils getting larger. Eddie never thought his innocent girl would be into something like this.

“Use your words,” he commands as gets on top of you again, kissing you once more, his hands resting on your waist, waiting for the go ahead.

“Please,” you beg and now he’s torturing you, grinding against you to get you to finally ask.

“Please what?” He loves taking control, especially when you’re desperate and seeing you like this, so eager for him, it’s enough to almost make him come in his pants.

“Please fuck me,” you whine and those seem to be the magic words because your sweatpants and panties are off in an instant with Eddie spreading your legs wide to see what he’s working with. You’re wet beyond belief and he can’t help but smile to himself, knowing that he did that.

“Eddie, please.”

“If you insist, sweetheart,” he replies as he grabs hold of your waist and pounding into you inch by inch until he’s deep inside, making you moan loudly which is always music to his ears. “Such a needy little thing tonight, aren’t you? Was this morning not enough?”

“I-I just like the way you feel. The way you’re rough with me.”

“Oh that? Sweetheart, that was nothing. I’ll show you what rough really is if you want me to.”

“God, please. Whatever you want, I’m yours.”

“Always know how to please me, don’t you baby? Now just sit back and enjoy the ride. And remember, if I do something you don’t like, you have to tell me. You trust me right? That I wouldn’t purposefully hurt you?”

“I trust you,” you nod and close your eyes tight in preparation.”

He’s pounding into you now harder than he ever has before, his entire cock inside, not just the little bit he’s been giving to you since you’ve been sleeping together. He’s huge and it hurts but it just feels so good. He’s not being gentle like you’re going to break anymore and you suddenly feel so alive.

The bed is shaking underneath you because of how hard he’s fucking you, the handcuffs clanking against the railing of the headboard. You watch Eddie watch you, his eyes almost black because of how large his pupils are. His fingers make crescent shapes into your hips because of how hard he’s digging his nails into you. You don’t even care. In fact, you love it, hoping it leaves a mark, a physical reminder of tonight.

“That’s it. Just like that. Look at you, so willing to submit. I bet you’d do anything I asked, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything,” you repeat with emphasis so he knows that you mean it. He’s smiling now, still pounding into you as he leans down to kiss you briefly before pulling away so you can let out a moan.

“Hm,” he hums. “I’ll keep that in mind.” You’re already fucked out but he wants to see how long you can last, just how many orgasms he can get out of you.

He keeps going, eating up every delicious moan that falls from your lips, encouraging you every step of the way with his filthy words. He’s watching you come undone, acting more like yourself and he’s wondering if getting kinky was all you needed to be more comfortable, if he had been too gentle with you.

“Look at you, taking it like the little slut you are.” Your eyes widen at his words but that’s only because he’s never called you that. But you like it, love it even. Love being degraded in the way, and hearing it come from Eddie’s mouth is making you even more horny, more needy for him than ever before.

You buck your hips against his again and again and he helps you keep up with him, pulling your hips toward and away from him to really show you how he wants you to do it.

“Yeah? You like being called a slut?” He emphasizes the word and you hum in response, as if he called you something sweet, not a word that’s very common for having negative connotations. Tonight really is showing Eddie different sides of you.

“Yes,” you nod. “Say it again.”

He grabs you by the face with one of his hands and squeezes your cheeks as he leans down towards your face.

“Slut,” he spits, his lips ghosting yours and you close your eyes for a kiss only for him to lean back, picking up his pace once again.

And as you’re reaching your orgasm, he’s sure that he’s right. You’re screaming his name and he’s smiling so wide, smug, proud of himself for finally figuring out what you like. So he keeps going again and again until you’ve orgasm one more time, only stopping because you’re slurring your words.

“Did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers as he removes the handcuffs from your wrists, peppering them with kisses as he lies down on top of you, wanting to stay inside just a little longer like he always does.

“Maybe next time I can handcuff you?” You slur and he chuckles.

“Sure, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Whatever you want.”

[bambi-lamb]

over the phone

Summary: Ever since Wanda left for a routine work trip, things have felt off—even compared to previous trips. Things come to a head one day and you can't help but ring her up. Just to talk... well, at first anyway.

Tags: wanda maximoff x f!reader, 18+, smut, edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, phone sex, dacryphilia, mommy kink, nipple play (is that a tag idk), implied sadomasochism (just a lil bit), remote vibrator, fingering

WC: 3,165

A/N: i know the tags are a little crazier than usual... and the length is double what i normally have. i don't know what happened— hopefully someone is into this though

"Detka? Are you there?"

The phone speaker crackles in the following silence, breaking you out of your stupor.

"Sorry, Wanda. I'm here."

She hums softly on the other side of the line, sounding amused.

"So, why did you call me, sweetheart?"

The honey-sweet words trickle into your ears and you sigh, leaning back against the headboard and fidgeting restlessly with the edge of the duvet.

"Just missed you. Wanted to hear your voice," you respond quietly, hoping that the phone catches it.

Evidently, you're not entirely successful.

"Hmm? Say that again, baby?"

You slump down against the pillow, sliding underneath the covers and turning to the side. The phone finds its way between your hands, still on speaker, and you cradle it closer to your face, staring unblinking at the caller ID screen as you repeat yourself.

Wanda chuckles softly, and the phone slides out of your loose grasp. You melt into the mattress before reaching out to readjust the phone until it's in place again.

"I missed you too, detka. What have you been up to today?"

You hum softly, squeezing a second pillow between your arms as you think over your response.

"Not much. I went out and bought groceries. Nothing special. Everything feels so stale without you here," you lament.

A soft huff of breath crackles through the speakers.

"I'll be back soon, detka. I'm only here for one more day, I promise."

You sigh and turn onto your back again, hugging the pillow tighter.

"I just miss you so much."

"I know, sweetheart, I know."

The soft warmth spreading in your chest is all-too-eager to branch as far as it can go, and a low ache settles at the bottom of your stomach. Wanda's voice has always been a weak spot for you, and even through crackling phone speakers that hasn't changed.

"Miss you in all the ways," you murmur, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of your need.

Wanda coos softly, but doesn't say anything further. As her raspy voice echoes through the speaker, tears spring to your eyes. It hurts to miss someone this much. You've never had much issue with Wanda leaving before. It's not like you don't understand that she's busy.

But for some reason, this time has felt different from all the others. Your everyday life feels emptier, hollow, surreal. Without Wanda to anchor you down, you feel like you're a phantom, coasting on muscle memory to get through the day until you can get in bed and dream of green eyes.

"Wish you could just come home already," you whine, trying to tamp down your rising emotions.

"Detka," Wanda murmurs. "It's okay. I'm here. Stay with me, okay? Mommy's here."

You battle with your conflicting desires, desperation and desire coursing through your veins in equal measure. You flip back onto your side again, clutching the phone like a lifeline, thumbs pressed into the screen as if that will somehow bring you closer to Wanda.

"Mommy," you whisper back, taking solace in the title as your breathing evens out again.

"Yes, sweetheart. I'm here," Wanda reassures.

Lust roars to life suddenly and you squeeze your thighs together, mind blank as Wanda's soft voice washes over you.

"Mommy," you whisper again, heavier this time, weighted down by desire.

"My baby," she murmurs in response, low and firm.

"Need you. Please." You've been reduced to short phrases already, finally letting your mind take a backseat and just letting yourself feel.

"What do you need from mommy, detka?"

"Want mommy, please. Want to hear— want…" you can't find the right words, overwhelmed by just how much you need Wanda in this moment. You just need her, need to anchor yourself.

Luckily, Wanda understands what you're asking for all too well.

"You want mommy to tell you what to do? Is that it, detka?"

You nod limply, before realizing Wanda can't see you.

"Mhmm," you hum into the screen instead, fingers still digging into the phone case as you pull it even closer.

"How badly do you need it, sweetheart?"

Wanda's voice is teasing, and you can hear shuffling on the other side of the line then the click of a door locking.

"Need you so bad, please mommy." The words tumble out in a rushed mess, but at this point you can hardly bear to think of this phone call ending in anything other than an orgasm.

Wanda chuckles again.

"You're so lovely for me, detka. So needy. So sweet. You know what mommy would do to you if she could be there with you?"

You shiver, pillow long-forgotten as you clutch the phone between your fingers.

"I would take it so slow, sweetheart. Draw it out a little bit, just tug down the top of your shirt and play with your pretty little nipples until you're squirming and crying."

Wanda sounds delighted; you can hear the smile in her voice as she describes how she would touch you.

"Just softly at first, only the best for my baby. I'd use my mouth and tongue, and then when you're squirming for more, mommy would use her fingers to pinch and squeeze and roll. The way you like it, baby," she hums, and you shiver again.

"Can you do that for mommy, sweetheart? Can you pinch your pretty nipples for her?"

You whine high in your throat, listening to the way Wanda laughs softly through the phone.

"Mommy," you whimper, tugging your tank top down and setting down the phone next to your head. You know exactly what Wanda means, and you pinch and squeeze, rolling your own nipples roughly between the pads of your fingers, the way you know Wanda always does, the way you like it.

"Oh god, mommy—" the moan gets caught in the back of your throat, coming out choked as bolts of white-hot electricity course up your spine.

"You're doing so good for me, detka," she coos, and you sob desperately, already overwhelmed.

"Just keep it up for me, sweetheart. I want to hear you cry."

You acquiesce obediently, squeezing your nipples until they're swelling, reddened by the abuse, until you can feel tears welling up and spilling over. Wanda keeps whispering soft encouragements through the speaker even as you pant and moan, broken only by soft sobbing and crying.

It never surprised you, but you're sure anyone else in the neighborhood who knows Wanda would be startled to discover her sadistic streak. She's always liked seeing you cry, and it only helps that you like it when she makes you hurt—when she tears you apart and builds you back up again.

"Mommy," you whimper again, a broken noise that makes Wanda moan softly on the other end of the line.

"Oh, detka, you sound so pretty," she coos, enjoyment sparkling in her voice.

"Please," you beg, shivering and shaking with every new jolt of sensation.

"Mmh, good girl," she murmurs. "You can stop now, just for a little bit."

You moan with relief as you're finally given permission to pull your hands away from your chest.

"And then mommy would touch you lower, wouldn't she? You know how mommy likes you, baby. Legs tucked up against your chest so you're nice and open for mommy. Go ahead, sweetheart, why don't you start now, hm?"

You pant softly as your pull your own legs up and apart, kicking off the duvet and whimpering when cold air meets your sticky cunt.

"Mommy would start slow, just keep you spread open with her fingers, and just watch. Wait until you're squirming and wiggling before she touches you. Just keep yourself open, baby, you can listen to how mommy wants to touch you first. No touching yet."

You hum and abide by her rules, reaching down only to spread yourself even further apart, shivering as you imagine Wanda's lazer-sharp gaze on your spread cunt.

"And then mommy would touch you so softly, just gently rub with her fingers where you're nice and open for mommy. Never inside, just right outside, where your pretty cunt opens up for mommy."

You shiver as you imagine the sensation, all-too-familiar with how it feels.

"Do you think you could ever come like that, baby? With mommy's mouth on your nipples and her fingers rubbing your cunt just like that?"

Wanda moans softly at her own words, and you whimper loudly into the speaker. It sounds torturous and delicious all in the same.

"Hmm, maybe once mommy gets home," she murmurs. "How's my detka feeling now, hm? Are you being a good girl? You're not touching yourself, are you?"

Her words are edged with danger.

"No, mommy. I'm being good. Not touching myself. Keeping myself spread open with my fingers, just like mommy would," you profess earnestly.

Wanda hums thoughtfully.

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you baby?"

"Promise I'm being honest, mommy."

Wanda coos softly, reassured.

"Good girl, detka."

You moan softly in the back of your throat. Without realizing it, you've started rocking your hips against the empty air, searching for more stimulation.

"Now where were we? Ah, right, mommy would rub your pretty cunt until you're crying again, and then keep rubbing. Just until she's satisfied. You'd have to be a good girl and beg for more. Beg for mommy's fingers."

"Please," you moan. "Please, mommy, please." Mindless even though you haven't even begun to touch yourself.

"You can touch yourself now, baby," she coos gently. "Just like mommy said, okay? Don't go inside just yet. Just outside. Nice and soft."

You agree quietly, letting go of where you're stretching yourself open to reach down further. You take your index and middle fingers and begin to rub in careful circles, moaning at the touch.

You've heard about this before, know just how many nerve endings exist in just this region, and it feels like you're on fire. Desperation seizes you. You want more. You want so badly to feel full, to come already, but Wanda hasn't given you permission to do anything beyond this, and you're nothing if not a good girl for her.

"Good girl," Wanda hums, and then continues to describe more, dropping her voice torturously low as she paints new visuals through the speaker.

"And then mommy would press inside, so so slow, bit by bit until you're all filled up. But as soon as mommy's inside, she'd pull right back out, all the way. Rub your pretty little clit with those same fingers until you're crying again, so close, and then stop. Once you're calmed down, mommy would do it again, and again, and again. Over and over."

"Mommy," you sob desperately. "Mommy, please."

Wanda hums softly, but doesn't acknowledge your pleas.

"You don't have to do it so many times tonight, baby. Just a couple. Just so mommy can hear you cry again. And then mommy wants you to go get your vibrator. Mommy will make you come like that, okay?"

You shiver and gasp as you continue to work yourself up.

"Yes, mommy. Please, mommy."

Wanda seems to be feeling merciful tonight, because she doesn't wait very long.

"You can go in now, detka. Just like mommy said, okay? Nice and slow."

You nod eagerly, forgetting Wanda can't see you, and begin to nudge your fingers inside, torturously slow, exactly the way Wanda has so many dozens of times in the past.

The stretch burns, just a little bit, even with how slick you are, and you moan into the speaker. It takes nearly a full minute just to seat your fingers in completely, and you sigh as you clench down, finally feeling full.

"Pull out, baby," Wanda orders firmly.

You whine, crying out in disappointment, but you don't disobey.

"Mommy," you beg, even as you pull back out completely, leaving your cunt empty and needy again.

"No, baby. Not yet. Be good for mommy. Now you have to rub your pretty little clit. Soft. Gentle. Mommy wants you to edge yourself three times, okay? She can count for you, baby." Wanda's breathing sounds labored on the other side of the line, and you briefly have time to think about whether or not she's touching herself, too.

Then your fingers are on your clit and your thoughts wash away again.

You rub just as she instructed. Slowly, gently, cautiously. Just enough to slowly build you up to an orgasm. Never enough to tip you over. Desire throbs low and slow in your stomach, but Wanda's low voice keeps your orgasm at bay. Slower. Lighter. Hold it.

Soon enough, her voice is all you can think about. It replaces the voice in your own head, guiding every movement of every part of your body. No coming. Never coming. Just rubbing, slowly.

When you whimper a little too loud into the speaker, Wanda makes you stop. Pulling your hand away feels like hell, but you do it anyway. When your breathing settles to an acceptable degree—Wanda makes you hold the phone up to your mouth until you stop panting—she has you start again.

Slow and steady. Stretching yourself open with two fingers until you're spreading around your knuckles, and then out and away. And then once again, rubbing your clit until you can feel just how empty you are, clenching down around nothing. The tears well up this time, and Wanda coos softly when you hiccup soft sobs into the phone.

She still makes you stop.

"That's two, detka. Just one more. One more. You can do it, can't you?"

You nod limply, fingers seated deep inside your cunt. It feels glorious, to be full just for this one moment, walls fluttering around something until Wanda orders you to pull them back out, and then you're hollow again, incomplete.

This time, she has you rub even longer, twice as long as you had to before. She makes you pause whenever your breathing speeds to much, or you moan too loud. She tells you to keep your fingers on your clit no matter what, even if you're paused, just to feel the way it throbs underneath your fingertips.

When it does, she asks you to count each pulse out loud, to tell her exactly how much you need her, how much you need more.

"Okay, baby, you can stop now," she orders, after making you count for the fifth time.

"Get your vibrator, sweetheart. Press it in as far as it will go, okay?"

You reach over to the bedside table, fumbling with the drawer until you find the small vibe, sucking on the tip for only a moment before you're eagerly cramming it into your cunt. It feels heavenly, to finally have something inside again, and you moan softly.

"Good girl," Wanda coos from the phone, and you feel the way the vibrator comes to life.

It's slow, probably at the lowest setting, but you're still grateful for the way the vibrations pulse outward, rippling through your nerves deliciously.

"Oh, sweetheart," Wanda murmurs. "You've been so good for mommy today. So sweet. So obedient. Do you want to come?"

You whine eagerly, half-sentences forming in your throat.

"Please, mommy, please. Want. Wanna come. Please."

Wanda chuckles softly, and the vibrator jacks up to the highest setting. You sob gratefully into the phone, your entire body shivering as pleasure finally floods into you.

"Whenever you want, detka," she hums.

The orgasm is aggressive, fast, overpowering. It crashes through your entire body, your toes curling and back arching as all the tension you've built up for the past hour is finally released.

But even after you've come down, panting loudly into the speaker, Wanda doesn't stop the vibrator. She lets it run, still thrumming harshly deep inside of you, until you're tipped over into a second orgasm. The second orgasm is just a tinge of painful, but that ache quickly bleeds into euphoria again.

When she still doesn't stop, you begin to beg, pleading incoherently with Wanda to turn down the vibrator, to stop completely.

Wanda gives no indication at all that she's heard you.

The third orgasm is an all-consuming heatwave, burning through every raw nerve ending as your entire body is left twitching in the aftermath. The fourth and fifth completely remove all sense of coherency and reality from you. Even still, the vibrator keeps buzzing away, tucked deep in your cunt. Wanda murmurs the whole way through, reassurances sweet in her mouth.

She still doesn't stop, though, even when you've lost your voice from how much you've moaned and cried through each orgasm.

You don't even know how many times you actually come. At least 7 times, you think. When she finally turns the vibrator off, you're a complete mess, drenched in sweat and tears, your thighs coated in sticky arousal and come.

"You're okay, detka," she murmurs through the phone.

"You've been so lovely for me. Can you do just one more, baby? Just one more? Mommy wants to hear another one, pretty please?"

You whimper hoarsely, already overstimulated beyond belief, but it doesn't even matter, because the vibrator is buzzing to life yet again.

"Just one more, sweetheart. You can do it. Mommy knows you can. You're so good for me."

You manage to choke out a moan as pleasure builds in your gut yet again, aching and burning. It hurts, but it also feels euphoric.

"Be a darling and rub your clit for mommy, okay? Nice and hard, baby."

You cry out when you do, fingers pressed into your clit as you nudge along another orgasm. It's all too much, but Wanda only turns the vibrator higher. All of a sudden, the orgasm crashes through you, and you shudder one last time, squeezing down on the pulsing vibrator inside you.

You cry out unintelligibly, and Wanda turns the vibrator down, letting you ride out your final orgasm before shutting it off.

"Such a good girl for me, detka," she coos softly. "You're so lovely for me, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you."

You hum into the phone, listening to the way it crackles with sound. You have half a mind to pull the vibrator back out and you leave it on the nightstand, but your uncooperative legs won't let you stand, let alone walk to the bathroom to clean up.

"It's okay, baby. You can go to sleep now. Mommy will be back in no time, okay?"

"Love you, Wanda," you murmur, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion.

As you drift off, vision swimming and blurring, you hear Wanda's honeyed voice come through the speakers again.

"Love you too, detka."

Slipping away into dreamland, you're met with the same dream as you have been for days now. When you're met with green eyes and red hair this time, you no longer feel so hollow—instead, warmth floods through you. The world around the two of you takes shape, changes colors, blissful and bright.

Wanda's eyes sparkle as she laughs at you, tugging you along to nowhere in particular, and you find yourself smiling—genuine and full.

[vampirq]

ok sub!abby but her hands are tied behind her back and reader is absolutely teasing the fuck outta her and shes getting so desperate but the reader is just so so mean

a lottt teasing . stubborn abby . bondage (a) . oral (a) . fingering (a) . sub ! abby . dom ! reader . abby’s veryyy embarrassed . praise . word count: a thousand

“patience, baby, almosttttt, done.” you step back to take a look at your work, and it’s jaw dropping. abby was completely tied up. her lower legs were taut against her thigh while her wrists were strung together above her head. you give everything one last pull to confirm it’s secure, resulting in a complaint from abby. 

“this is so embarrassing. you’re not gonna ‘tame’ me or some shit.” she huffs, suddenly finding the paint on the wall very interesting. 

“i’d watch your words if i were you, abigail.” your voice drops, still keeping a seductive lit. your thumb traces light circles around the globes of her ass, trailing up to her slit. you take her chin in hand and make her eyes meet yours, “y’know, since you’re tied up and all.” 

her face heats up, your erotic words casting an effect on her. she attempts to brush it off with a stuttered “whatever,” but you notice how she clenched around nothing, more of her arousal leaking onto the sheets. you smirk at it, realizing her whole ‘tough’ persona is really just an act, and you know she’ll be pleading for you within minutes.

that’s exactly what happened. 

you start by pressing soft kisses along her inner thigh, watching how she reacts to it. her breathing picks up pace and her eyelids flutter, it’s close but not quite. you go further up, right where her upper-inner thigh meets her core. your kisses are more hungry now, feverish almost. small nips and sucks meet the skin, leaving purple marks as a reminder. 

now, she reacts how you want her to. hips slightly jerking up, small gasps filling the air. you can tell this is where she’s the most sensitive. you put more effort in, turning the nips into bites and the sucks into long licks. “shit, you, you’re really committed to this, huh?” she breathes, a whiny undertone breaking through. 

you hum in response, the vibration shooting straight to her cunt. if you focus hard enough, you could feel the thump of her heartbeat next to your face. your head lifts to mark the other side, but firstly, you lightly graze your tongue over her clit. it takes everything in you to not dive in right then and there, but you had to hold back, you were teaching her a lesson after all.

the feeling makes abby whimper, a small short one before she catches herself. she thought you were gonna brag about it, make her feel dumb for it, but you didn’t. instead, you just respond with, “oh, i know, baby.” dragging out the last bit of the word before leaving more marks on her. 

she starts to break, more whines and whimpers escape her lips as you tarnish the sensitive skin. she knew you would give it to her if you asked, but it wouldn’t be in the way she wanted. “fuck, can you, uh, use your mouth?” her words come out muffled and soft, embarrassment clouding her mind. 

“i am using my mouth, sweetheart.” 

“no, i want it in a .. in a different place.” 

“where do you want it?” you question, lifting your head up to look at her. you notice that her lips are slightly parted, a dazed expression plastered on her face. 

she doesn’t answer, looking towards the wall with closed eyes. you wanted her to say where, but you knew she wouldn’t, she’s abby anderson, stubborn and cold. you give her some help, moving over towards her cunt, your lips ghosting over it. “you want it here?” 

her eyes fall back on you and her mouth goes dry, wrecking her mind to speak because she knew if she didn’t, you wouldn’t give her what she needed. “yes, yes right there.” 

“beg.” 

“what? no, no i don’t beg.” 

“abigail.” 

her name rolls off your tongue so effortlessly, like it was meant for you to say. it makes her breath hitch and her heart rate pick up. she searches your eyes for any trace of mercy but there isn’t any, giving her no choice but to follow through. “i need your mouth right there .. please.”

she could do better, and you knew that, but you got what you wanted. besides, you’ll get more out of her later. 

your tongue presses against her clit, keeping still to see her reaction. her head falls back against the pillow and you could see her chest rise and fall with each breath. you continue, starting off with small kitten licks and swirling around the glistening nub. you bob your head up and down to exaggerate and let her know who’s making her feel like this.

“oh my— fucking, you feel so good.” abby moans, finally giving in and letting all of her noises out. her hips grind into your face, nearly using you just to get off. “need, need more.”

your bring two fingers and scissor them into her, replacing them with your mouth. if there was a time to get her to break, now would be as good as any. 

“tell me how good i’m making you feel, c’mon baby.” your lips graze her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. 

“feels really good, i love your fingers.” her words are jumbled and stuttered, her mind clearly going way faster than her mouth.

“yeah? say you’re gonna be a good girl for me.” her walls clench down around your fingers at that, another moan coming from her. “wanna hear it, baby. tired of your fuckin’ attitude.” 

using the bit of strength she has, she shakes her head no. “that’s humiliating, baby, i, i can’t do that.” 

you pull your fingers out til it’s just the tips inside of her, then plunge them back in, curling them just right to hit that spot inside of her. a guttural moan leaves her lips, tears threatening to spill out. 

“i’m so close, please keep going, please. need you so bad,” abby pants, looking at you with her round blue doe eyes and her pink pouty lips. her legs started to shake in their hold, but thankfully, they’re unable to close due to the restraints. 

“say it, abby. say you’re my good girl.” your fingers speed up, keeping eye contact while you pound in her at a steady pace. her walls were sucking you in completely, you couldn’t pull out if you wanted to. 

she can’t think, not when her entire head is being captivated by you. your words pulling her in, your fingers bringing her closer to release, it’s all so intoxicating. “oh fuck, i’m yours, i’m your good girl, baby— shit,” her voice becoming raw as her orgasm washed over her. it was unlike anything you seen before. a stream of juices squirting out onto the bed, tears gliding down her face, and the uncontrollable shake of her legs. 

your fingers come to a stop, pulling out of her with a loud squelch. “that was so hot, oh my god.”

realization of what just happened clouds her mind followed by embarrassment. you kiss at her flushed face, whispering praises and reminding her that it’s normal.  

“can you do that again for me, pretty girl?” 

[highway-143]

baby take my hand - nishimura riki

genre: smut, fluff

pairing: nishimura riki x fem reader

warnings: loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, pain, etc.

summary: your relationship with riki has always been amazing, but youre finally ready to take it to the next level.

song: connected (bang chan) - stray kids

(proofread)

"riki stop!" you giggle as your boyfriend tickles your stomach. a movie played loudly in the background, drowning out both of your laughter. your arms and legs flailed around riki as he continued to tackle you into the couch, his hands running around your abdomen

"i cant!" his bright smile shows itself in the dim light of his living room, making your heart flutter. "youre just too adorable!" he chuckles and finally takes his fingers off of you. you admittedly miss his touch, but thankfully he lies next to you, pulling you in his arms to close the gap between his chest and your back.

"you smell good," he says, his lips against your neck muffling his voice. "i could smell you forever"

you blush and lace your fingers through his, your intertwined hands pressed against your stomach, holding your bodies close together

riki loved being close to you. cuddling, holding hands, and soft kisses were frequent when the two of you spent time together. you were practically inseperable at this point.

you loved riki so much, it felt like a physical pain in your chest to be away from him for too long. he was the most precious piece of your heart now. nothing in the world could change that

so now you began to think. about sex. a lot.

you havent had that... discussion... with him yet, its always been a little too embarrassing and nerve wracking to bring up.

but you couldnt deny the steady feeling of emptiness between your legs, especially at times when he held you this close. you were getting more and more ready to jump that next hurdle, with his hand holding yours along the way.

"ki?" you ask, rubbing circles over his knuckles with your thumbs

"hmm?" he hums against your neck

"can we talk?"

"whats up babe?" he sits up and pulls you so you are facing eachother, cross legged and still on the couch.

you squint your eyes and clench your fists, very nervous. "i want to have sex with you."

he stares at you in shock. his eyebrows furrow adorably, and his lips slowly form a smirk.

"you want to.... let me finally fuck you? for real?"

"yes i-"

before you can finish he pounces on you, pinning you under him. "ive been waiting for you, babe" he whispers sultrily in your ear. " you dont know how long ive wanted this"

your face flushes under his intense gaze. "if id known i would have said so sooner, im so-"

"ah! dont be sorry. not even for a second. i want you to be ready when you are ready, not when you want to appease me because my dick is hard."

if its even possible, your face reddens further. he lets out a sexy laugh at your embarrassment. "what, do you think thats weird?"

"no, its just different... i dont know what to do or how to do it well, and im nervous, ki"

"dont be nervous, babe. you know its both of our first times. you dont need to be embarrassed with me. especially not with me"

"thanks, baby"

you wring your hands and look around the room. nothing seems right. its too bright, too cramped, too quiet, even with the movie in the background. the silence between you and riki is deafening.

"so did you just say that in general or do you want to do it now?" he teases, a wide grin forming on his insanely kissable lips.

you slap his arm. "yeah i mean now, i just dont really know what to do." you cast your gaze downward, looking at the hem of your shorts that was being rumpled in your fingers.

"then lets find out together." riki grabs your hands in his and pulls you off the couch, guiding you down the hallway of his small apartment.

when you reach his room, he puts you on the bed, shutting the door and turning off the lights. the faint glow of dusk seeps through his windows and spills into the bedroom, lighting the room in a romantic haze that has your senses on high alert. every slight motion has you on edge, anticipation rising as riki steps closer and closer to you.

"what do you want to do?" he asks, eyes softly gazing into yours, looking for any response

"i... god this is so embarrassing!" you bury your face in your hands, and riki chuckles in amusement.

"babe, look at me. please." he pulls your hands down by your wrists, bringing your gaze to him. "this isnt about being perfect. or looking perfect. its going to be sloppy, its going to be hard. but i know that we can both take it, and that we will love each other no matter what. right?"

you nod your head slowly, tears threatening to fall onto your cheeks.

"words, please" riki begs from his kneeling position below you

"right"

he smiles "okay. so where do you want to start?"

"i... i guess we should maybe take off our clothes?"

"probably a good idea"

you both start removing your clothing. your hands tremble under your fingers as you pull your shirt over your head.

and although you cant see it, riki's are too. he nervously pulls his pants down, hands shaking like he had roo much coffee.

you and riki take eachother in. your whole body heats up as his gaze trails over your bare skin. it felt so irregular. nobody has ever viewed your body this way. you stare at riki's gorgeous abs, slowly making your way to his cock.

it was half hard, not fully aroused, yet still bigger than what you thought it would be. you worry how youre supposed to fit him in you. but damn, it was just to beautiful. the tip was a pinkish color, and you could just make out a vein traveling down his shaft, dissapearing into his pelvis.

"holy shit, youre beautiful." riki says, jaw dropped as he rakes his eyes over your insecurities. you dont mind your body, but hell, you couldnt ignore the curve of your stomach, or thickness of your thighs. you use your hands to cover your stomach, but riki mives them away.

"dont you dare try and cover yourself. you are absolutely gorgeous. do you hear me?" his voice is practically a growl as he tuggs your wrists

"oky, ki." you say, smiling up at him.

he takes your lips in a soft kiss, pulling your face to his by cupping his hands on your cheeks.

"i love you so much" you say, pulling back to look at him

"i love you more" he whispers into the darkness. "what do you want next?"

"no, its your turn to choose what we do," you try to be teasing, but only feel nervousness

"well lets get on the bed. go put your head on the pillows." he points to the empty bed behind you.

when you are settled, riki climbs over you and places soft kisses on your face, caressing your hot skin with his lips as his sturdy arms hold himself up above you. you let him kiss his way down to your neck, slowly sucking on the skin near your collarbone as you wrapped your arms around his back.

he pulls away and kneels at your waist, looking at you for any sign of regret.

"are you ready?" he searches your eyes for uncertainty, but you nod in approval

"words"

"yes," you breathe

he pulls himself in between your legs and spreads them wide, getting a perfectly unobscured view of your glistening pussy

"already wet for me babe?" his eyes dialate from pure enjoyment. "and i havent even touched you yet"

"please," you scoff, "you know what youve done"

"mmm" he moans as he slowly aligns his tip with your entrance "are you ready?"

you gab his wrist and grip his hand tightly. "lets do it ki." you grit your teeth an he slowly pushes his tip onto your opening, only for it to slide up, refusing to enter.

you moan from the friction of his dick rubbing your cunt. he chuckles and pushes back do your entrance, even slower in entry this time.

but again, he slides right out.

every time he tries to breach your walls, they tighten and refuse to let him in. by the eleventh time, riki groans in pain. his cock now fully hard and throbbing in need, and his tip is coated in a smeared mixture of your combined pre-cum

you lay back, squeezing his hand as if its your life force as tears begin to fall down your cheeks. "i... i cant do it, ki" you sob. "its too big, i cant do it.... i cant do it..."

your tears paint trails on your face while riki squeezes your hand even harder. "you can, baby. i know you can. do you want me to try and stretch you out?"

you nod and choke back another sob, pulling yourself together.

this time, riki doesnt ask for words. he sees how distressed you are, and places a kiss on your hand, still held in his.

his free hand works its way between your thighs, finding your entrance. he smoothly slides one finger in, rubbing it along your gummy walls as he stretches your hole further. he slides a second finger in. then a third. and a fourth

your cunt burns from the pressure as his fingers glide inside you, not with the intent to pleasure, no. that was for his dick tonight.

riki removes his fingers, bringing them to his mouth as he moves his cock back to where he was before.

you stare at him, completely in shock, as he slurps your juices off of his own digits, a slutty smile curving the corners of his lips as he sucked on the sweet liquid

when he pulls his hand out of his mouth and back to its guiding position at his dick, you ready yourself, holding his hand tightly.

he spreads your legs as wide as they can go and finally shoves his tip into your pussy.

you gasp at the stretch. it was definetly more than his fingers, but fuck, it felt like heaven once the stinging subsided

riki moaned in joy as your core squeezed him nicely. "oh fuck, babe, thats fucking tight"

he slowly pushes deeper and deeper into you until he cant go any further. only 2/3 of his length fit inside of you, but it fit in you perfectly.

"baby, you are fucking wonderful. im so proud of you" he says, giving your hand a faint squeeze "do you want to see if we can fit the rest of me in?"

your eyes look wild at his words, darting from his face to what you can see of his abdomen.

"you... you meant thats not it?" you ask, ready to cry again. "i dont think i can"

"thats okay baby, youre doing wonderful" riki takes your other hand and squeezes both "this feels fucking perfect"

"im sorry, ki" you say, the tears that were being held back slowly falling down your cheeks now "im sorry i cant take all of you. i want to take all of you, i do, but its so much"

he looks down at you with soft eyes. "how about we try something else?"

you nod again, and riki slowly pulls out of you and picks you up. he flips over so you are straddling his waist, and he is where you were

"now try," he says, helping you position yourself on him.

you slide his dick into you, sinking down on it inch by inch until you finally have all of it inside.

you and riki grin in satisfaction as you settle down onto his pelvis, but that doesnt last long. he smoothly flips you back to where you were before, only now he is buried fully inside your aching core

"do you want me to move?" he asks, gripping your hand again

"fuck yes. please go"

riki starts pulling out, then thrusting back in. his motions start out lazy and slow, wanting you to feel pleasure instead of pain.

"faster, ki. i can take it"

he immediately quickens his pace, his hips slapping hard against your ass. his hand grips your thigh, leaving marks on the skin as he held you open

his other hand still held yours. you squeezed it as you felt his dick pounding deeper and deeper inside of you, making you see white

"shit, baby... im- im gonna cum" riki groans, his head hands limply off his shoulders, the tips of his hair slightly ticking your stomach

"then- ah- do it ki, cum in m- me"

your body shudders as you feel your orgasm building up, the band threatening to break while riki thrusted hastily into you

he holds your thigh tighter as orgasm takes over, thick jets of cum spilling into your cunt, filling up what little space you had left

your body snaps from the feeling of being so full, twitching and clenching with riki as you both rode the high, hand in hand.

riki slumps next to you, pulling his dick out. it left you with an emty feeling, but he pulled you closer to his chest to make up for it.

that didnt last long though. he immediately shot up and walked into the bathroom, only giving you a "stay there" to go on

he walked back out, his boxers back on, with a towel in his hand. he pressed the cool cloth to your forehead, slowly working it over your body until it cleaned everything, even the dripping mess between your legs

he tosses the fabric away and lays back down, pulling your back to his chest and wrapping his arms around you again. you take his hands, whispering into the darkness of his bedroom

"ill hold you forever" you say

"and i will hold you longer"

a.n.- dear god im crying. this was so sweet to write. riki is def the type of bf who isnt afraid to tease but fs knows what he needs to do to make you feel good. but now my heart is hurting bc man, i need this boy in my life like right now. okay time to put me back in my cage before i say smth more out of pocket

please reblog if you liked it, and comment with ideas bc i need more XD

[partiallysame]

This is probably an odd idea- but i wanna say what would be their reaction to Price lil wife wanting to have a unique pet (not bunny, hamster, dog, cat) something like a snake maybe? :3 (i love slippery tube dudes)

I might also add Simon's particular reaction considering his past when he was forced to kiss a snek (not cool, very scary for him) but ofc reader and maybe the others don't know that

No pressure ofc..! Love ur writing sm boo, literally everytime i open Tumblr and see ur new post im already kicking my feet happily before i even read it sksksk

at this point im telling my friends we are dating

2. Currently taking notes. Memorizing the snek anatomy. 

They all walk in together and there you are sitting so cute on the couch holding the sweet noodle angel baby as it slithers around your hands. Price is not surprised in the least. Like not at all this is just a Tuesday for you. Kyle? He’s gone. Aint no way he’s taking another step in that house while there is a demon there. What was that? The old man neighbor across the street needs help (no he doesn’t) Kyle simply has to go help the feeble old man bc he’s a nice neighborly gentleman definitely not bc he is shaking in his boots. Johnny? Gun out. Thinks the thing snuck in the house and is about to strangle you. He’s ready to protect the missus at all costs. (Might just lose his own life when Price see’s him pointing a fucking gun at you.) “I’ll protect ye bonnie” Johnny chill. Simon? He’s stuck in the doorway. Half of him wants to be across the street with Kyle but after seeing Johnny’s first instinct was to try to protect you, the other half of him wants to help keep you safe too. Never did it cross Simon or Johnny's mind that you willingly put yourself in this dangerous position. (snuggling on the couch with a snake). “Relax boys, he’s nice look” You lift the lil guy up in the air showing him off. Both Simon and Johnny relaxed as they looked at your big happy eyes staring at the creature you were holding. Johnny put his gun away and was immediately next to you asking to hold him. Simon took a few more steps into the room but was absolutely not going to hold the thing. “You wanna hold him Si?” “absolutely fucking not.” too harsh Simon try again “I mean no thank you.” The snake is back in its vivarium and Simon would go check it out but do not touch him while he’s there bc he def jumped out of his skin when you touched his shoulder while he was focused on the snake. Wait its been hours where’s kyle? Eating dinner outside bc he’s not coming back in with that thing in there.

[vacate-et-scire]

༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹Baby Whats My Name◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ

There are moments Jason never thought he’d get. The quiet ones, the soft ones. The ones that don’t come with gunpowder in the air or sirens wailing in the distance.

But right now, it’s just the two of you, tangled together on the couch, your head resting against his chest, his fingers idly tracing shapes against your back. The TV hums in the background, some late-night show neither of you are really watching, but neither of you bothers turning it off.

And then, out of nowhere, you say, “So… what do you think of the name ‘Samuel’?”

Jason blinks. His fingers still against your back. “For what?”

“For a kid.”

His whole body tenses for half a second before he forces himself to relax. Not because the thought of kids scares him (okay, maybe a little), but because he wasn’t expecting this conversation at 11:42 PM on a Tuesday.

You shift, propping your chin on his chest so you can look at him properly. “I mean, we’ve talked about having kids before. Might as well get a head start on names, right?”

Jason squints at you. “Are you—?”

“No, I’m not pregnant.” You roll your eyes, amused. “I’d tell you if I was.”

He exhales, a little more relieved than he wants to admit. Not because he doesn’t want kids. But because if that day ever comes, he wants to be prepared. He wants to be ready.

Still, he hums, considering. “Samuel’s not bad. Sam. Sammy.” He shrugs. “Yeah, I could get behind that.”

You smile, clearly pleased with yourself. “Okay, your turn.”

Jason exhales, tilting his head back against the couch. “What about… Elliot?”

You raise a brow. “Elliot Todd?”

He nods. “Sounds solid. Smart. Plus, if the kid hates it, they can go by Eli or Lio or something.”

You tilt your head, considering. “I like it.” Then, after a pause, you add, “I was expecting something way more dramatic from you, though.”

Jason smirks. “Like what?”

You wave a hand. “I don’t know. Something ridiculous. Like Maximus.”

Jason’s grin widens. “Now that would be a badass name.”

“Oh my god,” you groan. “Our child is not going to be named after a gladiator.”

Jason snickers. “Fine, fine. No Maximus.” Then, after a beat, he says, “...What about a girl’s name?”

You perk up. “Okay. What about ‘Ivy’?”

Jason hums. “Pretty. Simple. Also, I know a certain someone in Gotham who might be very smug if we pick that.”

You snort. “True. She would take credit for it.”

Jason taps his fingers against your back, thinking. “What about ‘Rosa’?”

You blink. “Like… rose?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “It’s got an old-school feel to it. Plus, ‘Rosa Todd’ sounds cool.”

You test it out under your breath. “Rosa Todd.” Then, you nod. “I actually really like that.”

Jason grins. “See? I do have taste.”

You roll your eyes but kiss his jaw in silent agreement.

Another moment of silence passes, warm and easy, before you nudge him again. “Okay. What if we just went full Gotham legacy and named our kid something over-the-top?”

Jason smirks. “Like?”

You grin mischievously. “Richard..?”

Jason groans so loudly you can’t help but laugh. “Absolutely the hell not, hat's a horrible idea” he says.

“Is it, though?”

“Yes,” Jason insists. “He would gloat for eternity.”

You shake your head, still laughing. “Alright, fine. No Richard.”

Jason sighs dramatically. “Thank god.”

The two of you settle back into a comfortable quiet, your fingers tracing idle circles against his chest, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. It’s a silly conversation, maybe even premature, but the fact that you’re having it at all—that Jason’s letting himself have it—means something.

Maybe it won’t be tomorrow, or next year, but one day, this won’t just be a conversation. It’ll be real.

And somehow, that thought doesn’t terrify him. Not like it used to.

He glances down at you, lips brushing against your forehead. “Y’know,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure it out. When the time comes.”

You smile against his skin. “Yeah. We will.”

And for now, that’s enough.

[queenariesofnarnia]

the future mrs. torres part 2 {j.t}

gif not mine!

wc: 987

part 1🩵

part 2 because @lovely-foxes-exe asked so kindly🩵 hope you feel better soon hun!!

🩵🩵🩵🩵

Sam did let you move in, he missed having you around. Best believe that you and Joaquin made it your mission to annoy Sam at every moment you could. You met his mom and abuela on facetime, a few days after he claimed you’re his future wife. They were the sweetest ladies ever, you even gave his mom your number so she can send you some baby pictures of him that you absolutely gushed over. You even sent her some of your own baby pictures. You may have ended up in Joaquin’s bed a couple of times and he ended up in yours too. You’ve been on quite a few dates. Especially since the initial interaction between the two of you there was an instant connection. You spent weeks getting to know each other, finding out what made each other laugh, what things you each couldn’t stand, and what made you the most emotional. The first date you went on was to the aquarium, it was definitely because you quoted the little mermaid the day you met. From that point on you always had the best dates whether they were at home or on a little adventure. 

By six months into dating you’ve already visited his mom and abuela, and they adored having you visit. His mom started calling you her daughter and his abuela insisted that it was okay for you to call her that as well. You started having weekly facetime calls with them and it was one of the highlights of your week. Sam and Bucky gave Joaquin a serious ‘fatherly’ talk about being with you, they were happy for the two of you but fiercely protected you. There were times you even joked with Sam to address you as Mrs. Torres just to see Joaquin’s reaction and he would have the goofiest smile on his face every time he heard you say it. When it was coming up on the two of you being together for a year Joaquin asked Sam for permission to marry you. Sam of course said yes, after giving him a hard time of course. 

Joaquin was nervous planning the anniversary date, so he called his mom to help him plan everything out. He showed her the ring that he picked for you, and she gushed over it. 

“She’s going to love it” his mom reassured him. “Where are you taking her?” she asked. 

“To a fondue restaurant, she is obsessed with cheese” he said with a smile. His mom was really excited for him. 

“Go get ready and send pictures! Love you mijo!”

“Love you too ma” he says before hanging up getting ready, he went for a black button up and black pants tucking the ring in his pocket.

 You were in your room preparing for the date option for a little black dress moment with some tights and heels like Fran Fine. You double check yourself in the mirror before making your way to the living room. Joaquin was standing there looking scrumptious waiting for you. 

“You look good pretty boy” you compliment wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands immediately went to your waist.

“You look beautiful pretty girl” he smiles kissing your forehead. Sam came bursting in like a mom on prom day.

“Let me get some pictures kids” he says pulling his phone out to take pictures “Smile pretty so I can send these to Isaiah and Buck” you both laughed at his antics as he took multiple pictures. 

“Be safe kids” he calls out the door after you two. You shook your head laughing, tossing your car keys to Joaquin. He unlocks the car opening the door for you before getting in himself. During the drive he held your hand gently stroking the back of it with his thumb. When he pulled up to the fondue restaurant you were extremely excited.

“Should’ve worn something stretchy instead” you joked, making him laugh heartily. You two were led to a private table where there was a bouquet of red roses waiting for you. Thanking him profusely you set them to your side reaching across the table to hold his hand.

“Pretty girls deserve pretty flowers” he says smiling at you. When the waiter came by the two of you ordered the type of cheese you wanted to try first. As the dinner went on through each course the ring was burning a whole in his pocket as you waited for dessert to come. When it was finally time for dessert that’s when he became extra antsy. He planned with the restaurant for this dessert. He gave one waitress his phone to record it for them. The waiter brought out a plate of chocolate covered strawberries placing it in front of you. You planned on taking a picture first before you read what the chocolate writing said 

‘Will you be the future Mrs. Torres?’ gasping you look up to Joaquin who got down on one knee while you read the plate, the ring box held the most stunning ring you’ve seen. 

“So future Mrs. Torres now?” he asked smiling. You nod enthusiastically.

“Yes” you said your voice cracking a bit. He slid the ring on your finger, kissing your hand. 

You stand up kissing him quickly being mindful that you’re in a restaurant still. The wait staff applauded you both. The waitress with the phone ended the recording handing it back to Joaquin, wishing you both congratulations. He kept his phone out to take more pictures of you to send to his mom and abuela. Making sure there was one of you holding up the bouquet and your hand (his new lock screen). 

“I’m so glad I said you were going to be my future wife when I met you” he says eating a chocolate covered strawberry. 

“I’m glad you did too” I smile at him fondly. “I can’t wait to be Mrs. Torres”

[nanamisgirly]

PLEASE, STAY

↪ ( ˶ a part of you wants to scream that yes, you did care. you still do. that you were just too afraid to stay. but you do none of that. instead, you do the only thing you're good at, you walk away. and he lets you. for mere seconds, he lets you leave— again. and then you hear him “don't you fucking do this again.” his voice isn't a plea, it's a command. for a moment, you think that he won't let you go. that maybe—just maybe—he'll grab your wrist, yank you back, force you to deal with this. but he doesn't. because he still wants you to choose him. and you never do.˵ )

pairing ᥫ᭡。richman!Gojo x bodyguard reader. they had a sort of situation ship before.

content ᥫ᭡。fem!reader, no curses au, they're both around 30, smut at the very end, very provocative gojo (?), mean reader ig, a lot of cursing, angst, oral sex, unprotected p in v sex, mention of blood, fights scenes, broken bones, pet name (mostly sweetheart and once baby), sexual tension, slow burn, explicit language, explicit content, power dynamics, military mention (mild ptsd), gun mentions

word count ᥫ᭡。13k

notes ᥫ᭡。this is for my 200 followers 🥹 thank you for all the reblogs they are very very much appreciated!! I didn't know where I was going with this fic lmao, I just hope that some of you will enjoy reading it! I'm always open to feed back :))) be mindful this is my first long (?) fic, I threw some stuff together and hoped for the best oops

you were assigned to gojo saturo. of all the men you could possibly protect, it had to be him— you're ex-friend with benefits. 

you sat across from him at a table that probably cost more than your entire apartement, fingers twitching under the weight of irritation. the upscale place was dimly lit, the kind meant for quiet luxury. 

“you both understood?” your superior asked, sharp gaze flickering between the two of you. Gojo grinned, the same playful smirk on his annoyingly handsome face. the past nine years had only done him favors, he'd grown taller— making him tall like a damn tower— his features sharper, his frame broader. 'maybe he'd been training' you thought. ‘or it’s just life sculpting him into something even more irritatingly perfect.'

you left him when things started to be serious. back then, Gojo had some difficulties to understand he was just a sex friend. but it didn't really matter, you had to leave for the military anyway.

for a long time, you didn't want to process feelings, attachments— that was just bullshit. and now, nine years later, somehow, you were right back where you started.

you retired from the military after sustaining severe injuries. but you still craved the thrill— fights, missions, the adrenaline rush. it kept you on track. like drugs, you were addicted. so you became a sort of bodyguard. over the years, you had protected royals, rich heirs, celebrities— anyone with a target on their back. it owned you the reputation as being the best in your field. you were ruthless, cold-blooded, killing without hesitation if needed. 

your face remained stoic, your gaze locked onto gojo as he held yours. “yeah, got it. babysit the rich brat until the gala's over.” you mocked, leaning back against the chair. 

satoru chuckled, he couldn't help but tease you “oh, come on now. you make it sound so boring” tilting his head like a cat toying with its prey. “i thought you'd be happy to spend some time with an old friend”

you scoffed. “friend is a strong word, Gojo” that response only fueled his mischief. “you're right” he crosses his arms as he continues “we were never just friends” insufferable brat. “i'm here to do my job. nothing more” you said without a hint of emotion in your tone, fixing him with a glare that should've shut him up.

it didn't.

his piercing blue eyes gleamed with amusement “of course, sweetie," he purred, resting his elbows on the table, leaning in “just admit you missed seeing my beautiful face.”

you exhaled sharply, already exhausted 'maybe a small knife pressed against his throat wouldn't hurt— just a little warning.'

“what i miss, is protecting some quiet person who knows their limits and let me do my damn job in peace. this, is what i truly miss”. Gojo hummed, shamelessly dragging his gaze over you “personally, i missed that sharp tongue of yours.”

“alright, enough,” your superior cut in, his tone serious— a clear warning that he had no patience for the ridiculous back-and-forth between you two. “stay close at all times. there are threats left and right against him leading up to the gala.” he turned his attention to gojo “you don't act up, and you listen to whatever she tells you.” the rich man was clearly enjoying himself “don't worry, i love when she bosses me around” he winked at you before standing up and leaving the restaurant. like this was all a game to him.

your superior exhaled heavily, already bracing for the headache to come. then, he dropped the next bomb. “you need to stay at his place.”

you try your best to keep a straight face. “what?” 

“gojo is already informed. you're moving in tonight.” and with that, he left the table, leaving you seething.

your fist met with the surface with a dull thud. “damn it,” you muttered, frustration curling hot in your chest.

this is going to be a long, long week.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

you rode to gojo's house, spending the time to talk yourself down. you had spent years perfecting your composure. you had survived war zones, assassinations, and high-profile threats. there was no reason for gojo fucking satoru to get under your skin.

and yet.

his house— no, his mansion— was perched high above the city, a fortress of sleek glass and security. the driveway alone was bigger than some of the safe houses you'd stayed in.

when you pulled up to his gates, the night was well-advanced, the cold biting at your cheeks as you lifted up your helmet. you met some guards at the entrance stating that gojo was expecting you. of course, he was.

the second you stepped through the doors, the place smelled ridiculously expensive. the living room was massive, with a sunken seating area surrounding a glass-enclosed firepit. there are floor-to-celling windows stretched across the space, offering a panoramic view of the glittering cityscape below. a massive, curved staircase led to the second floor, the railings lined with soft, glowing, light strips, guiding the way up.

the place screamed luxury— unapologetically extravagant, but with taste. just like satoru gojo.

you sighed, rolling the tension from your shoulders as you tugged off your gloves. the ride had been long. your muscles ached. your motorbike uniform clung to you, slightly damp with sweat. all you wanted was a shower and some sleep.

“you're so sexy in that uniform” his voice came from above. you looked up to find him leaning against the railing, messy white hair, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms, collarbone peeking through his loose neckline of his shirt.

and that goddamn smirk.

“gojo,” you warned, voice firm. he ignored it entirely, blue eyes twinkling as they dragged over you with zero shame. “seriously, bending you over in it wouldn't be so bad.” your fingers twitched. satoru in all his splendor. 

“wouldn't be so bad if i curb-stomped you into the floor.” you respond. gojo restrained a laugh, eyes sparking with mirth. he fucking loved this— pushing your limits. “actually, i wouldn't mind that either” you grit your teeth at the comment. “just show me where my fucking room is." 

when you reached him, he let out a dramatic sigh, “not even a little peck before sleep, sweetheart?” you blankly stared at him “alright, no need to look at me with so much love” he ironically says as he turned around, leading you to your room.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

4am. the digital clock glowed dimly as you pounded your fists against the heavy bag. you slept only two hours— which, honestly was decent considering you never slept well. the military had drilled into the art of light, vigilant rest, training you to snap into action as the slightest disturbance. and staying here, with gojo just down the hall, only worsened that already unstable peace.

“fuck it” your fist connected with the training bag, a loud thud echoing through the empty gym. you did a home tour by your own after gojo dropped you to your bedroom— and to your relief, you found a fully equipped training room. exactly what you needed to burn off frustration time to time.

sweats dripped down your temple, muscles burning from exertion as you moved with precision and force, the heavy bag jerking with each impact. your t-shirt had been abandoned long ago—tossed to the side as the heat from training built up—leaving you in nothing but sports bra and low-slung sweatpants. 

“gojo, are you going to stay there for long?” you snapped as he stayed put in the doorway, thinking you hadn't noticed him those past fifteen minutes, arms crossed like he had all the time in the world. he grinned, unbothered “was testing if you could notice a threat even while distracted” you snorted “well, now that you oh-so-sweetly reassured yourself, could you fuck off?” your fist slammed onto the bag harder, sending it swinging violently.

you felt gojo's eyes on you, it almost burnt holes on your skin. his eyes darted at the sweat slipping on your back. “damn," his voice was low “i think i prefer you like this— hot, sweaty, breathless.” he insisted on the last word. your eyes flicked to his figure as he took slow steps forward. “i think i like you gone.” he clicked his tongue, tilting his head as if you disappointed him “why always so hostile? i could be way more helpful than that punching ball.”

you were too fucking exhausted for this, your next punch sent the bag flying so violently it nearly knocked over the weight rack. you caught it with one of your wrapped hand, fingers tightening around the worn leather. you exhaled sharply, preparing yourself to face gojo and his bullshit. “i swear satoru—” you stepped closer to him, closing the space between you. only to realize how stupidly tall he was up close. you weren't small but standing like this— with a solid eight inches between you— made you feel very tiny next to him.

“satoru," he repeats “it's been a while since you've said my name. say it again” he leaned in, eyes lazily tracing your lips, the small hairs at the back of your neck sticking to your skin, your full breasts pressed tight against your sports bra. a strong desire lingering in his eyes as he imagined licking every drop of your sweat. he tested your patience “you know,” he murmured “i really love this view.” 

and that was it, you had enough. in no time you grabbed him, hooked your arm, and flipped his ass over your shoulder— slamming him onto the floor. before he could react, you were on him, your thighs straddling his hips, your hand wrapped around his throat. gojo eyes widened in shock— he did not expect that. but the surprise was soon enough replaced by a slow curl of his lips.

“fuck,” he chocked out “that was hot, sweetheart.” you tightened your grip around his neck “gojo, you're a fucking perv.” you felt something hard pressing between your legs. “i'm just a man." he lifted his hand, acting innocent "you kept bouncing around that bag, how could i not get some ideas?”

the worst part of all those stuff is that you were turned on by all his teasing. your panties dampened any time he made a comment over the little talk you both had in those past ten hours.

“gojo, you're a total pathetic man,” you mutter rolling your hips down harder, closing your thighs firmly around him just to hurt a little more. his pupils blown wide and his lips part sightly— that fucking bastard was loving it. “y-yeah, pathetic” he chokes out “i- i'm a- a very p-pathetic m-man." your panties were so damn soaked by now as his length presses sinfully against your core. you refuse to acknowledge the feelings, you don't need it, you don't need him, you don't need to go back to him.

you release his throat with a final squeeze, eyes heavy, dragging your fingers down his heavy chest— feeling the hard ridges of muscle tense under your touch, before you push yourself up and off him. you see his hips twitching up, as if he was chasing the missing heat of your pussy. gojo let out a broken— needy whimper, as you adjust your waistband and roll your shoulders back, trying to gather your thoughts. ignoring the aching pulse between your legs. 

your feet leading you to the door. you throw one last glance to gojo, you can see his erection straining against his pants from where you stand, aching to be taken care of— gojo's features twisting in desperation. “be ready at eight a.m. We've got recon to do.” and with that, you leave him there, fighting the urge to go back inside and kiss him senseless.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the ride to the venue is longer than necessary with gojo whom insisted on riding with you. you should have known better than accepting his demand. he can not keep his hand to himself.

at first, his hands rested innocently on your stomach, but as soon as you took off, he let them slide lower, palm resting on your inner thighs— fingers tracing circles way too close to your core. the vibrations of the bike only make it worse.

at the next red light, you snap your hand down, gripping his wrist. “keep your hands to yourself” you warn him “either way i'll have to cut them off” his chest rumbles with laughter against your back. “what if i don't want to?” you hear his teasing voice through the speaker of your helmet “you're never asking about what i want, sweetheart.” his hands squeezing you through your pants. “i think i'm gonna kick your ass off the bike. go to hell that damn mission” your jaw tightened, ‘why does he have to make everything so difficult’ 

the light turns green and you don't hesitate to accelerate like a damn crazy— earning some curses from gojo, his arms wrapping around you, his thighs locking firmly against yours. once he accommodate to the speed, he's laughing, slightly enjoying the way you speed down the street like you're trying to outrun the heat pooling between your legs.

you parked in front of the luxurious hotel, one of the most extravagant hotels in the city by the way. the gala will be held there, a beautiful place— a perfect representation of gojo's wealth and arrogance. “gorgeous place, huh?” he muses. “maybe we should get a room after the mission, to celebrate our teamwork.” you swing your leg off smoothly, ignoring him as you unbuckle your helmet.

when you step inside, multiple people are working on the preparations— setting up tables, adjusting lighting, and fussing over floral arrangements. you walk straight past them, heading toward the ballroom where the gala will take place. the room is massive— high ceilings with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, multiple balconies. it's beautiful, but a logistical nightmare for security. too many places to hide, too many potential vantage points for a sniper.

gojo lets out a low whistle, walking a step behind, hands in his pockets— acting like a damn tourist instead of a man with an actual bounty on his head. you walk past the ballroom, letting him doing whatever he is. you head toward the back corridors, checking the service entrances, mapping out the security offices. The staff is too busy setting up to pay you much attention— except for the occasional glance at gojo, probably wondering if he's some high-profile guest.

then something shifts. a group of security personnel moves in, just a little too fast. too coordinated. you recognize the stance immediately— trained, disciplined. not just the hotel staff. your instincts scream at you, your feet move before your mind fully catches up— you step toward gojo to warn him…and that's when you see it. a figure in the hallway, gun raised. aimed directly at gojo's head.

your body moves before your brain processes. you twist on your heel, muscles coiled, and throw your knife. it slices through the air, and the second it buries itself deep in the shooter's forearm, he lets out a sharp yell, his aim faltering. it's all you need. you charge.

your combat boots barely make a sound as you sprint toward the shooter. you're on him before he even recovers, grabbing his wrist and twisting it outward— hard. 

POP. he screams, his shoulder socket dislocating from the brutal angle, the gun slipping from his fingers. your knee flies up, slamming into his sternum. you feel his ribs shift under the impact, his breath leaving him in choked gasp before you shove him aside like trash.

“holy shit—” gojo starts, but you don't hear the rest as you see three more attackers already closing in. one of them lunges with a knife— fast, trained. but so are you. you shift sideways at the last second, grabbing his wrist mid-swipe. then in a brutal motion, you twist. his own blade sinks into his thigh. a strangled gurgle leaves his lips as he stumbles back, collapsing to his knees, clutching the handle buried in his leg.

suddenly you feel arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you from the floor. you snap your head back, cracking the nose of your opponment with the force of a fucking hammer. blood sprays onto your shoulder and the wall. your fast to slam your elbow into his throat, his air supply instantly cut off, his body jerking as he crumples to the floor.

the last guy is bigger, stronger— seems to be military trained from the way he moves. but that doesn't matter, you've had to deal with fiercer men before. when he's close enough, you drop low— leg swings out in a sweeping arc. CRACK.

his legs are ripped out from under him. he fall onto his back, gasping for air. you don't let him breathe, your fist driving down, once.

twice, three times.

the last punch bursts his lip open, blood dripping down his chin. your fingers wrap around his throat. you lean in close, sweat dripping down your temple, eyes heavy of the need to kill. “you fucked with the wrong person.” you hear a broken noise coming from his lung. you tighten your grip.

and then— clapping. 

you whip around, chest heaving. and there stands gojo, grinning like the devil himself “well, well, well.” he whistles, stepping over the bodies of the men you just demolished. “i gotta admit, that was fucking sexy” your brain is still catching up, heart pulsing with adrenaline “what the hell is wrong with you?” you snap. “we almost got fucking assassinated.”

his grin deepens. “sweetheart…” he crouches down, tilting his head. “that wasn't an assassination.”

you freeze. you hope it's not what you think it is.

he gestures lazily at the unconscious men. “that was a test.” he lifts his shoulders, unbothered. “wanted to be sur you still got it” he winks, amused.

your blood runs hot. “a test?” gojo shrugs, way too casual for someone who just watched you beat the absolute shit out of four men. his gaze drags over you— knuckles bloodied, chest rising and falling hard— and his smirk only widens.

you don't think much as you launch at him, fury taking over— fully prepared to knock that smug grin off his face for good. but this time, he's ready. he catches your wrist mid-swing. “no, no,” he purrs, his grip tightening just enough to make you aware of his strength. “play nice.” your free hand grabs the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer “fuck you and your stupid games," you spit "i can't wait for this week to end.” you see red. 

gojo's amused eyes faded into something darker. his eyes once playful, turn sharp, dangerous. “and what?" his voice is low, cold— jaw clenched so tightly it might break. "leave like you did nine years ago?” his face inches closer, his warm breath hitting your skin. “leaving without a second look?” your stomach twists. he's standing too close— looking at you like he wants to rip you apart.

your chest rises and falls sharply. your body is still burning from the fight, but this— this is worse. you rip your wrist from his grasp, shoving him hard enough that he stumbles back a step. and he laughs. an empty laugh, far from his usual cocky, full-bodied laugh. “that's all you ever fucking do, huh?” his voice is sharp. “run.” you flinch, ever so sightly. but he sees it. and he seems satisfied ‘i finally got a reaction out of her.’ 

"i didn't have a choice". you force the words out, voice controlled. gojo's expression darkens. “bullshit, you always had a choice.” he steps forward, and this time, you don't move back. if he punched you, it will be well-deserved. you wouldn't dodge it. his fist on your face would hurt less than the words coming out of his mouth. 

“you just didn't choose me.” your heart stops, feeling something inside you cracks. but you don't want him to see it. so, as much as you hate what you're about to say, you steel yourself and let it out “what, you think i owed you something?” the words taste bitter, burning your tongue even as they leave your mouth.

gojo's lips parts, but nothing comes out at first. then quietly— too fucking quietly “no.” his voice is ragged, raw. “but i thought you cared.” you feel it like a punch to the gut. gojo never says things like this. he surely is all teasing remarks and well-placed avoidance but never is he a looking like you ruined him. like you destroyed a part no one could ever rebuild— except… you.

a part of you wants to scream that yes, you did care. you still do. that you were just too afraid to stay. but you do none of that. instead, you do the only thing you're good at, you walk away. and he lets you.

for mere seconds, he lets you leave— again. but then you hear him “don't you fucking do this again.” his voice isn't a plea, it's a command. for a moment, you think that he won't let you go. that maybe—just maybe—he'll grab your wrist, yank you back, force you to deal with this. but he doesn't.

because he still wants you to choose him. and you never do.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the ride back home is fine. if fine meant quiet, tense, and filled with too much unsaid shit hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. then yeah, it is fine.

gojo didn't pull his usual antics— no wandering hands, no teasing remarks. just silence. his hands stay firmly on his own thighs, gripping the edges of the seat. and somehow that irritates you even more. 

you can feel the weight of his gaze the entire ride back, burning into the back of your head like a brand. he doesn't speak, but his presence is suffocating.

by the time you pull up to his estate, he gets off the bike before you can even kill the engine. his movements are sharp, jaw clenched, shoulders tense. for a moment, he just stands there, staring at you, like he's debating something. you stare back, chest rising and falling with the remnants of adrenaline still buzzing through your veins.

but then, with a low scoff, he turns on his heels, and heads inside without a word. you don't follow. not immediately. taking a moment for yourself. trying to gather back your composure. 

you stay seated on your bike, hands tightening around the handlebars, knuckles white. heart pounding like a war drum against your ribs. the wind bites at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the cold settling in your chest.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the next day is spent preparing for the gala. you go over the blueprints of the venue again, double-checking entrance and exist, every potential blind spot. 

the chaos from yesterday has been cleaned up— not a single trace of the fight remains. the bloodied bodies have been taken care of, the shattered glass replaced with pristine tables, the blood smeared across the walls scrubbed away as if it never existed. as if it was nothing more than a fever dream.

you analyze the guest list, looking for possible threats. you argue with gojo about security placements, mostly because he doesn't take anything seriously. “take a look at this. tell me if you recognize anyone shady.” the tall man barely glances at the screen before muttering, “they're all shady.” you roll your eyes "that's not helpful." he shrugs, stepping toward the grand windows. “i don't really care.” that pisses you off. “gojo, could you at least pretend to care?” you put a hand on your hips, patience thinning. 

he exhales through his nose, barely sparing you glance over his shoulder. and then, with a calmness that cuts deeper than yelling ever could, he says, “you're the one who didn't care, remember?” and that shuts you up. 

he doesn't wait for your response, doesn't push, doesn't linger. just clasps his hands behind his back, taking a slow tour of the ballroom, his gaze dragging over the chandeliers, the polished floors, the extravagant decor— all while completely ignoring you.

the gala is tomorrow. 

and you don't know if you're ready.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

morning comes too soon. you barely slept, torn between the looming mission ahead and the cold, unbearable silence that had settled between you and gojo. since that night at the hotel, it had been nothing but tension— thick, suffocating, unspoken. a battlefield of sidelong glances, clipped conversations, and empty spaces where words should have been. especially your words. words of regrets.

and now, as you sit stiffly across from gojo on his sleek leather couch, arms crossed so tightly your nails bite into your skin, it's clear nothing has changed. he doesn't look at you. he hasn't since that night. since those words left his mouth, cutting deeper than any blade you took.

your superior clears his throat, dragging you back to the present. his voice clipped, all business. “you'll be attending as a couple.” the words slam into you like a wrecking ball.“you're kidding” you say flatly, glaring at your superior. “no,” he says simply. and you hear gojo letting out a laugh. the sound sends cold down your spine. 

“it's the best cover. gojo is a known public figure, and he's expected to bring someone. you, on the other hand, aren't on anyone's radar. it's the perfect excuse to keep you close and avoid suspicion.” you shake your head. “there has to be another way.” you bite the inside of your cheek, gripping your own arms as if that'll keep you from exploding. this is a fucking disaster. “there isn't.”

fucking hell.

how are you supposed to play lovers when everything between you is broken, shattered, and stitched back together with nothing but avoidance? you can feel gojo's eye on you, but you refuse to meet them. you already know what he's thinking. that you well-deserved that. that you were the one who ran away from him nine years ago, without any explanations.

your jaw locks as you finally risk a glance at him. he's watching you, studying you. blue glacial eyes pinning you in place. then slowly, he tilts his head. lips curling into a grin. “well,” his voice low, with something dark. “this should be fun.”

the moment your superior is done talking, you push yourself off the couch and stride toward your room, your pulse hammering too fast. it's too much.

the air is still charged, like static before a storm. even more now that you know you're going as a couple. behind you, gojo doesn't say a word. he doesn't try to stop you either. of course, he doesn't. 

you try to convince yourself it's easier this way. easier to act like none of it matters. like the past isn't clinging to both of you with bloodied, desperate hands.

the second the door clicks shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. the tension in your shoulders lingers, pressing your forehead against the door. 'focus' you tell yourself. tonight is business, the mission comes first. it's not about him— not about your feelings.

you step into the bathroom, turning the shower knob. water rushed out, steam filling the space almost instantly. hot, scalding— exactly what you need. you peel off your clothes, letting them drop carelessly to the floor before stepping inside.

the first touch of water burns, but you don't move away. instead, you welcome it. let it wash over you, over your skin, over the lingering heat still trapped in your body from the way gojo looked at you earlier. your hands slide over your arms, down your sides, over the curves of your body, the pressure firm as if you could scrub away the past— him. 

the water runs through your hair, down your back, down your thighs, and still, you can't shake the way your body remembers him. the way it still reacts to the mere idea of him. it pisses you off. your fingers tighten into fists before you force yourself to exhale, resting your forehead against the cool tile. you stay like this for a while. letting the water scald you, hoping it can burn out the thing still curling inside your chest, still whispering his name in the back of your mind. 

by the time you finally step out, steam curls around the mirror, the bathroom thick with heat. you wrap yourself in a towel, sighing as you push the door open. as you step closer to the bed, you notice a box on your bed. black, sleek, expensive. your breath catches for a second, it's not hard to guess who left it. you approach it slowly, a wary sort of anticipation buzzing under your skin. 

on the box, a note. a small, folded piece of paper with gojo's handwriting.

‘’ sweetheart,  i can't let you ruin my reputation with those cheap dresses you own. i have an image to maintain, after all. a rich man can't have people thinking he's poor. wear this. — satoru ‘’

your breath stutters for a second. sweetheart. something in your chest tightens, flutters, pounds. you crush it, fight it. with steady hands, you set the note aside and lift the lid of the box— and you freeze. 

the dress inside is breathtaking. it's a shade of blue so deep, so striking— the same as his eyes. you swallow, fingertips ghosting over the fabric. it's impossibly smooth, slipping through your fingers like liquid, designed to mold to every curve, to hug your body like a second skin. a dress that demands attention. you take it out of the box and immediately notice the back. or rather, the lack of one. the fabric dips dangerously low. with a sort of thin white belt that wraps behind your neck, fastening at the nape before cascading down in a delicate, tantalizing line. tracing your vertebral column. a seductive dress, yet functional enough to fight in case.

you return your attention to the box. your eyes widen as you see a pair of underwear. a soft filthy shade of blue, slightly lighter than the dress delicate and teasing. the panties are sheer in all the wrong places, practically see-through, the thin straps barely qualifying as fabric. offering little to the imagination. there's subtle glittering embellishments, catching the light just enough to draw eye. 

just enough to drive a man insane. your throat runs dry. that fucking bastard.

you dig further into the box, only to find jewelry. a necklace so fine it barely feels real, elegant enough to steal attention. earrings that shimmer subtly, matching perfectly with the delicate bracelet nestled beside them.

everything about this is so intimate. you hate that your heart still reacts, that your fingers tremble slightly as you lift the necklace, as you let the fabric of the dress slip between your fingers. every single piece was selected with intent. this isn't just a gift, it's a statement.

gojo satoru is back at it again. back to his games. back to this push and pull. he's testing your limits once again. you need to show him, you need to keep your bold cold. mission. mission then next… gojo.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

8:17 p.m. you see as you finish getting ready. adrenaline rushing through your veins. your hands move on mechanism, fastening the holster around your thigh before slipping the small firearm into place, the slit of your dress perfectly concealing it. since gojo is the host, there won't be any security checks for you at the entrance.

you allow yourself one final breath, steadying your pulse as your hand move to the door handle. tonight, your job is to protect him. nothing more.

you push the door open, and nothing could have prepared you for what is waiting for you. in front of you stand an anxious gojo, fixing his suit jacket, smoothing the fabric before his fingers nervously reach up to adjust his tie.

your breath hitches. the tie he's fumbling with is the exact same shade as your dress— his signature blue, the color of his eyes, the color that haunts your dream more often than you'd like to admit. his scent hits your nose, flooding your senses. something fresh, subtly spiced. it messes with your head, makes it hard to focus. his hair a little bit messy, like he's been running his hands through it while waiting for who knows how long.

and when his eyes find yours, everything in you freezes.

gojo stays still. his usual teasing remark falter, no lazy smirk, no arrogance. just… silence as his gaze consumes you. it's like the weight of the last few days of distance disappears, and all that remains is the way the dress clings to your body. 

“i-” he starts. “that's…you- i mean,” he shakes his head, trying to gather his thoughts. he takes a slow step forward, his hand reaching out. you don't hesitate, taking it in yours. his fingers are warm against yours, his grip tight, like he's afraid to let go. to let you go. 

he gently turns you, his eyes trailing over the open expanse of your back. he swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “what's happening, satoru?” you tease “you finally dare to look at me, after all the ignoring these pasts days?” you tilt your head back, lifting your chin to meet his eyes. even in your heels, you remain towered by him, his presence overwhelming. gojo's eyes betray something deep— pain, maybe regret. 

“sweetheart…” he murmurs, pulling you closer by the hand that holds yours. the sudden motion takes you by surprise, a gasp leaving your lips as your body crashes into his. “you have no idea what you do to me.” gojo growls softly. the heat of his body pressing against yours, makes you weak. you can't stop the way your breath hitches.

the word mission keeps echoing in your head. you shouldn't give in, not when he got so defensive, not when you still had walls built around you. “gojo,” you whispers as his eyes flickers to your lips. he leans in, his forehead touching yours, closing his eyes. “we need to figure it out.” he says simply. “give me a chance.” his hands grip your waist, molding your body to his. “tell me why you left, please.” his voice filled with a raw, aching honesty that make your heart drop.

your brain is racing at a thousand miles per hour, your pulse drumming in your ears. the connection between you two is palpable, undeniable. your hands go to the back of his head, tugging sightly his hair, making gojo groans. you breathe out his name, your lips just brushing against his “after the gala,” you murmur. “but let's go for now. we're running late.” you pull back but the heat remains. a pretty shade of pink creeps onto gojo's cheeks. the sight of it makes you smile. 

you both reach the bottom of the stairs, and before you can move toward the door, gojo's voice calls out, low and filled with something close to mischief. “wait.”

you stop in your tracks, turning to look at him, and that playful smirk makes its comeback. he lifts your hands, then loosens his grip just enough to intertwine his fingers with yours. his eyes fixed on your face, watching for your reaction. “it's better like this,” he says, his voice mix of teasing and seriousness. “if we're playing couple, let's do it right,” he adds. you shake your head in disbelief, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “satoru, let's go now." he opens the door, the cold night air hitting your skin “i love when you call me saturo, sweetheart.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the streets blur past, neon lights casting fleeting glows over his sharp features as he drives through the city. Gojo insisted on being the one to drive, choosing one of his luxurious car— not without making a comment on how it'd be nearly impossible to ride your bike in that dress but he'd gladly let you ride him in that dress. 

the ride is quiet. not the comfortable kind, but the charged, suffocating kind. you can feel his eyes flicking toward you between red lights.

the hotel appears, tall and grand, its golden lights illuminating the massive entrance. unlike when you came checking security, the driveway is packed with luxury cars, men in tailored suits, women in gowns worth small fortunes. there're even photographers lining the barricades, flashes firing like relentless lighting. 

despite your superior's briefing, you still feel nervous. of course you have attented events like this before to protect your clients, but never were you the center of attention.

suddenly, dodging bullets in a batteflied seems far less stressful than whatever the hell this masquerade is. at least, the car windows are tinted, giving you some more minutes.

gojo feels you tense up as he stops in front of the entrance. he turns to you, bringing a hand to cup your face, tilting your chin so you meet his gaze. “it's okay, sweetheart," his thumb traces soft, reassuring circles on your cheek. “i'm with you. focus on the job, okay?” then, with an easy smile, he steps out of the car.

the moment he does, you hear people calling his name, cameras clicking furiously. and gojo being gojo, steps out with that infuriating confidence, adjusting his cufflinks like he owns the damn place. pretty fucking bastard

gojo makes his way to your door before the valet even moves. he opens it himself, hand extended, waiting. and you can feel this is not only for the show. you let out a sharp exhales, taking his hand to get out of the car.

the moment your heels hit the ground, the flashes explode even brighter, voices pitching higher, demanding your attention. gojo's fingers intertwine with yours—firm, possessive—as he pulls you closer, leaning down just enough so only you can hear. “wanted to let you know,” his breath tickling your ear “knowing what's under this dress is no helpful to hide my boner in front of these photographers.” 

before you can react, he presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your temple. then with the smooth ease of a man who knows exactly what he's doing, he lifts your hand to his lips and plants the softest kiss against you knuckles. “also, don't forget to smile.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

inside, the gala is exactly what you expected— crystal chandeliers spilling molten gold over the sea of designer-clad elites, laughter too polished to be real, and conversations laced with unspoken agendas. the air is thick with expensive perfume and quit power plays.

gojo moves through it effortlessly, magnetic as ever. he plays the perfect host, flashing easy grins and exchanging pleasantries with people you couldn't care less about. you, on the other hand, remain sharp, scanning the room, keeping your senses on high alert.

or at least, you try.

it's hard to stay focused when you're super-aware of gojo's warmth. his palm resting low on your back, fingers tracing lazy, absentminded circles against your spine. his lips graze your temple as he leans in, voice low with some meaningless observation, but his breath is too warm, too deliberate. a shiver runs down your body.

the hours stretch on, an endless cycle of fake smiles and calculated small talk. the weight of the night starts pressing against your ribs, exhaustion creeping in. you need a moment.

“i'm getting us drinks,” you murmur, pulling away from gojo's touch, ignoring the way your body immediately protests the loss of warmth.

“how thoughtful of my wife” he teases, lips curling into something wicked. you almost fall to the floor, headfirst. 

wife. the word comes too easily from his mouth, like it belongs there. you catch yourself liking it.

shaking off the heat starting to take over you, you weave through the crowd, reaching the refreshments table. your mind still lingers on gojo, your thoughts are full of him. you're convince you need him. you don't want to run anymore.

a shadow of a smile tugs at your lips. 

when you turn back— two glasses of champagne in your hand— gojo is gone.

your pulse stumbles. your breath quickens, eyes scanning every corner, every exit. nothing. where the hell is he? 

you shove the glasses onto the nearest table, ignoring the startled look of a waiter. your training urges you to stay calm, but panic claws at your throat. gojo isn't just your responsibility. he's—

focus.

you spot one of the security personnel near the ballroom's entrance, a stocky man with an earpiece and a sharp gaze. you stride toward him, voice low but urgent. “did you see gojo leave?” the man frowns slightly “he stepped out a few minutes ago. took the private elevator up.”

your stomach knots. “who was with him?”

“not sure. a few men. well-dressed.” fury spikes through you. 'and that didn't alarm you?' you could beat his ass off if it wasn't for gojo right now. where did they find those incompetent men.

spinning on your heel, you move fast, heart hammering. the gala's noise fades behind you as you push through the discreet hallway leading to the private elevators. the display shows it stopped on the roof.

your pulse spikes. you slam the button. nothing. locked.

“fuck” you mutter under your breath. you don't have time to wait. without hesitation, you head for the stairwell, heels be damned. you rip the gun from its hidden strap at your thigh and climb two steps at a time. the adrenaline burns away any exhaustion, pushing faster.

by the time you reach the the top, your breath is ragged. hand tight on your gun, you push the rooftop door open just enough to see—

and your blood turns to ice.

gojo stands near the edge, bathed in city lights, his white hair a stark contrast against the night. the wind howls between the buildings, the breeze fluttering his tie— the same shade of his eyes, the same shade of your dress.

his usual carefree stance betraying nothing, hands in his pocket like he's discussing business over whiskey rather than staring down the barrels of guns. 

four men surround him. they're dressed too well to be common thugs, but you know better—real danger rarely looks the part. one of them, a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar curving at the corner of his mouth, has his gun aimed directly at gojo's chest.

your grip tightens around your own gun.

and then gojo speaks. “i suggest you let me go,” he drawls, voice laced with amusement. “or my wife's going to rip you apart.” he smirks “also, we arranged we talk after the gala, to make things clear, i don't think she'd be very happy that you keep me for the night.”

the men exchange glances, unimpressed. scar-lips steps forward, a cruel smirk twisting his scar. “you're worth a lot, Satoru Gojo.” a ransom situation.

gojo pinches the bridge of his nose like they're giving him a headache. “look,” he starts, tilting his head slightly. “i don't know who sent you, but this is embarrassing. four of you? to handle me? if i were you, i'd start running before she gets pissed.”

they barely have a second to process his words before you make your move. you can't risk any longer. and gojo is doing perfectly at distracting them.

one breath. one shot. 

you step out. aim. fire

the bullet buries itself into the shoulder of the man nearest gojo. he stumbles back with a pained grunt—

and gojo moves.

he moves faster then the wind whipping through the rooftop. in the time it takes for scar-lips to turn toward you, gojo there. a sickening crack echoes through the rooftop as gojo drives his elbow into the wide man's jaw with enough force to send him staggering. without pause, he pivots, driving a brutal kick into another's ribs. the crack is sickening.

you react instinctively, ducking behind an industrial vent as one of the men pulls a gun in your direction. another shot rings out— gojo's this time. he moves like liquid shadow, disarming one of the attackers with terrifying efficiency. the man barely has time to process that he's slammed into the ground.

scar-lips, despite his disoriented state, reaches for his gun again.

gojo doesn't let him. he's on him in a blink, gripping his wrist with an almost lazy ease before twisting it violently in the wrong direction. the man screams, his gun clattering to the floor. gojo doesn't let go. instead, he leans in, voice sickeningly sweet. “told you she'd be mad.”

you freeze. you've seen trained fighters. you are one. but this? this is something else. the speed, the precision, the sheer control— it's unsettling. suspicious. 

the last man standing tries to flee, you take aim and fire a warning shot near his feet. he freezes, hands trembling in surrender.

the rooftop falls into silence, only the labored groans of the fallen men breaking the stillness. the adrenaline still surges through your veins as you lower your gun, stepping closer to gojo, who brushes nonexistent dust off his sleeve like he didn't juts annihilate four men in less than two minutes.

“you good?” he asks, eyes flickering over you, concern hidden beneath his usual playful tone. “i should be asking you that.” 

“what? you think a couple of suits can take me down?” he winks, but there's something unreadable in his eyes. something he doesn't want you to see. you don't press. at least, not now.

instead, you step forward, pressing your heel into scar-lips' injured arm. he yelps “so, who sent you?” scar-lips stay still, unwilling to say anything.

the other men groan on the ground, the sting of their broken bones keeping them from trying anything stupid. gojo sighs as if he's bored. as if this whole thing is an inconvenience rather than a threat to his life. he reaches into his jacket, pulling out his phone. 

“you know,” he hums, tapping the screen with a lazy smirk “i could call someone. but they wouldn't be as nice as she is.” he gestures at you with a tilt of his head, his tone light, but his eyes? glacial.

scar-lips doesn't flinch. you press down harder on his arm. “fuck! alright, alright!” gojo grins like you just made his night. 

“contract” he grits out. “someone put a price on your head. it's big. too big to ignore.” gojo clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “that's vague. who?” scar-lips looks like he's debating wether answering is worth the consequences. “not local”

“international” you press. he nods, slowly. “someone wants you dead, gojo. badly. all we got was a time and place.” his gaze flicks up to you, sharp despite pain. "and instructions to take you too".

the air grows thick. “me?” the man on the floor exhales “whoever hired us knew you'd be with him. they want you alive.” something cold settles in your stomach. gojo, however, laughs. it's quiet, then louder, echoing against the rooftop.

scar-lips looks at him like he's lost his damn mind. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” gojo wipes at the corner of his eyes like he actually found that funny. “man, you guys must be new do you know how many times someone's tried to put me in a body bag?” he leans in closer, voice dripping lower. “and not one of them ever succeeded.” gojo nods toward you, lips quirking. “someone wants her alive? buddy, you should be more scared of that than anything else.” 

you glance down, they want you alive. that means whoever put out this hit isn't just after gojo— they're after something he has. the implications make your blood runs cold. but you don't have time to dwell on it.

one of the men on the ground— one you thought was barely conscious— lunges.

it happens fast. too fast.

a blade glints under the rooftop lights, aiming straight for gojo's ribs.

your gun fires before you think. the gunshot rings out, echoing accross the night.

the man crumples.

scra-lips yells, trying to scrambles back, but gojo's hand shoot out, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him up. “i'd be annoyed if this wasn't so damn prediactable.” his voice has lost its amusement. it's cold now. deadly. “you made a big mistake touching what's mine.” gojo's fingers tighten. for a second, you think he'll kill him.

but instead, gojo sighs—a sound full of tiredness— and his grip loosens. “i'd love to drag this out, but we have a gala to return to,” he says, and with that, he lets go. the man collapses to the ground, coughing violently.

gojo steps over him like he's nothing more than a discarded piece of trash. he reaches for your hand, gently pulling you away. “someone's coming to pick you up.” he adds, his tone far too casual for what just happened “be grateful. i called someone to take care of you, buddies. i only do that to my special guests.” 

he slams the rooftop door shut behind them with a sense of finality, cutting off the chaos that lingers in the air.

as you make your way down the stairs, you abruptly stop, questions swirling in your mind. “what's wrong?” gojo asks. you meet his gaze, searching his eyes, trying to figure out what he's hiding from you. he steps closer "you okay?” you should nod. should brush it off like you always do.

but you don't answer, and you feel the weight of silence settles between you. it's suffocating, you don't know how to break it. so you shake your head. you want to ask him why he hired you. why he needs you when he could've handled everything alone. you want to know if there's more to this—more to you—than just being his bodyguard. the questions burns at the back of your throat, but you swallow it down, afraid of what the answer might be.

gojo's hand pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, his touch gentle—like always when he touches you—making you gasp. his palm cups your cheeks. “hey.” his eyes are full of concern, worried. his tumb brushes over your cheek, a fleeting touch, as if he's trying to ground you. you're not sure if it's for your sake or his. 

“you're acting weird,” he murmurs, tilting his head. your throat tightens. “and you're acting like this is normal.” a short laugh escapes him, not a single hint of humor in it. his grip on your face loosens, but he doesn't pull away. “what do you want me to say?”

“i want you to tell me why,” the words come out quieter than you intended, but no less desperate. “why hire someone to protect you?” something flickers in his gaze, quick enough that you almost miss it. his fingers twitch against your skin. “you really think i need a bodyguard?” the way he says it sounds wrong—too light, too easy. 

“exactly. you don't." your voice is unwavering now, the certainty of it strengthening you. “not after i saw what you did tonight. the way you fought— it was effortless. you're better than any soldier i've ever seen.” you hesitate, the memory clicking into place. ”better than me.” and now that you think about it, you remember your punch he blocked that night, back at the gala preparations. the sheer force he used. you should have realized then.

gojo is quiet for a moment. then, finally, he sighs, letting his hand drop from your face. the loss of his warmth makes your chest ache. “i thought it'd be obvious by now,” he mutters, looking away.

it isn't. 

it's not obvious at all. and the fact that he won't just say it outright makes your frustration curl tight in your chest. 

you take a step back, shaking your head. “well, as you can see… it's not.” you cross your arms, the hurt leaking into your voice. gojo's head snaps back toward you, eyes narrowing. “you overthink too much.” you scoff, anger bubbling up despite your exhaustion. “then give me answers. if you did, i wouldn't have to.”

his jaw clenches, and for a second, you think he's going to throw out some flippant remark, something to brush this all under the rug like he always does. 

but then— 

he takes a step forward.

and another.

until there's barely any space left between you.

“maybe i don't want you to know,” he says, voice low, almost quiet to hear. the words send a sharp pang through you. he's never been this blunt before— not like this. “why?” you whisper, almost afraid to ask, but you need to go through this. together. “once you know, you won't look at me the same.”

your heart clenches at the quiet honesty in his voice.

“satoru," you murmur, refusing to back down, “you dressed me tonight. you brought me here as your date. you even called me your wife.” your voice shakes, but you keep going. “and i was scared to lose you tonight.” the words slip out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered, the weight of them hitting the space between you with unbearable force. 

gojo stills. his breath is uneven, and his eyes—those brilliant blue eyes—widen just slightly. you close your own, exhaling shakily before continuing.

“i ran once. nine years ago.” your voice is barely a whisper now. “i was young. i was afraid. and it was a mistake.” his entire body tenses. “Satoru,” you open your eyes, meeting his. “i want you. all of you. and surprisingly, i'm willing to stay. to stand next to you. to kill for you if that's what it takes to keep you safe.” you pause, your voice thick with emotion. “i'm not afraid of threats. i don't want to run anymore.”

gojo looks wrecked. completely and utterly undone.

you step closer, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid, unsteady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “nothing you could ever say will change the way i see you.” your voice is firm “nothing.”

he swallows hard, his hands twitching at his sides like he doesn't know whether to pull you in or push you away— to protect you from people that would want to hurt you, only to hurt him.

but then— he breaks. 

his arms wrap around you, crushing you to him, his grip almost desperate. his forehead drops to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. and for the first time, gojo satoru—the untouchable, unshakable man— trembles.

“making me go through all that," he says against your hair, "being irrefutable with me and letting me beat the hell out of four men—" his fingers gripping the fabric of your clothes like he's terrified you'll disappear. “it took you all that to finally tell me what's on your heart?”

you let out a watery laugh, wrapping your arms around him just as tightly “i'm sorry.” he lets out a shaky breath, his lips brushing your temple. “stay,” it's not a command, not a plea— just a confession. you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth, into the way he holds you like he's never wanted anything more. “i'm not going anywhere.”

and just like that, nothing else matters.

the gala, the stares, the whispers— none of it exists as you slip out through the back entrance, hands locked together, ignoring the world you're leaving behind.

gojo doesn't let go.

not even when he open the car door for you, not even when he slides into the driver's seat. his hand stays on your thigh, fingers warm and steady, tracing idle patterns against your skin. every red light is an excuse— an excuse to lift your hand to his lips, pressing slow, deliberate kisses on your knuckles, the pads of your fingers, the inside of you wrist.

you shiver, watching him through lidded eyes. “you're being soft.” gojo hums, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. “you love it, don't you?” and you don't deny it.

the drive is quiet, heavy with something unspoken. when he pulls up in front of his house, fingers still tracing slow, burning circles on you thigh, the weight of earlier comes crashing back. you shift in your seat, eyes flicking toward him. 

“what were you going to say earlier?” his hand pauses for just a second— just long enough for you to notice. then, instead of answering, he leans in, his breath hitting your jaw as his lips ghost over your skin. “you really want to talk about that right now?”

the air is charged, thick with frustration and need. his lips press against the corner of your mouth— featherlight, teasing, but you can feel the restraint in the way his fingers grip your thigh. you tilt your head, giving him more access as a sigh leave your lips. “i need to know.”

gojo groans, low and deep. his hands move— one sliding up higher up your thigh, the other tangling in your hair as he pulls you toward him, his lips finally crashing against yours.

the kiss is messy, heated, all tongue and teeth and pent-up frustration. you don't even remember shifting onto his lap, only that his hands are on your hips, gripping tight enough to leave marks. his breath is ragged when he pulls back, forehead pressed against yours. your lipstick stains his lips, smudged, messy, sinful.

“you really wanna do this now?” his voice is rough, uneven. his fingers slip beneath your dress, brushing against your bare skin. “because if i start talking now, i won't stop. and i'd rather have you like this, falling apart in my hands. or my tongue. begging for more.”

your pulse is wild, but you don't back down. “satoru.” you lift a hand, softly wiping the lipstick from his lips. “tell me.” his sigh is one of defeat, his head falling back on the headrest. “i didn't hire you to protect me.” his voice is quieter now, raw in a way you've never heard before. “i hired you because i wanted you close.”

your breath catches. gojo chuckles, but there's no humor in it. “you ran from me nine years ago,” he presses open-mouthed kisses along your neck— wet, lingering. “did you really think i was going to let you do it again?”

your eyes burn with emotions— ones you don't have time to process because gojo's lips trail lower, his tongue flicking out, teasing, tasting. "being an influential young man got me some enemies. I had to know how to fight like a soldier— if not better. as the years went by, I became even more influential. and with some quick calls, I was able to find you."

“i don't think i deserve you, gojo.” the words spill out, breathless. gojo clicks his tongue, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. his hands frame your face “sweetheart,” his voice barely above a whisper “let's go inside,” his teeth graze your skin “i'm going to show you just how much you deserve me.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

you barely step through the threshold before gojo's hands are on you again, pushing you against the wall. his kiss is devastating, all-consuming, a plea and a demand in one. his hands roam, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, like he's afraid you'll slip through his fingers again.

“you're killing me,” he groans, voice hoarse, “i need you. need to taste you.” your dress is barely hanging on, undone but still covering you like some cruel temptation, and that makes it worse for him. he doesn't pull it off— not yet. his fingers skim the fabric, then push it up, bunching around your waist. that's when he sees them.

your light blue panties— delicate, sheer, adorned with tiny pearls. the one he meticulously chose for you earlier. he fucking loses it at the sight.

“sweetheart.” his voice shatters, his breath stuttering as his thumb brushed the pearls, the fabric already damp. a pretty little thing wrapped up so nicely just for him. his hands shake when he presses his palm flat against your cunt, cupping you through the soaked fabric. “you're so wet. you wanted me this bad?”

you whimper, nodding, your knees already weak.

he drops to his knees so fast it's almost embarrassing. he doesn't even push your panties aside right away. instead, he leans in, kissing up your thighs— not just to tease, but to worship. his lips press against every scar, every mark, each one a silent promise. “my pretty strong girl,” he murmurs, his fingers squeezing your legs. “i will take care of them later.”

“satoru—”

his mouth finds the inside of your thigh first, biting down hard enough to make you whimper before soothing the mark with his tongue. then finally, finally, his mouth is on you. a hot, wet, messy kiss pressed right against your cunt, sucking you through the fabric of your panties. you gasp for air, your hands tightening on his white hair, earning a moan from him, an actual moan.

his tongue pressed flat against your cunt, teasing you through the pearls and lace. you gasp, body jolting, thighs trying to squeeze together, but he won't let you. his strong hands hold you open, force you to take it.

“f-fuck—" you breathe, fingers diving into his hair.

gojo grinds his face into your pussy like a possessed man. “god, you taste sweet even through this,” he slurs, drunk on it, his voice muffled. “missed having my mouth on you.”

his tongue dragged over the fabric, lapping, teasing, sucking, his fingers slipping underneath to pull them to the side. “Gojo—” your head slams back against the wall.

he didn't let you finish as he spreads your pussy open with his thumbs and buried his face between right into your core, eating you out like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else. like he needed to prove something.

it's sloppy, desperate, obscene.

he's licking into you with long, deep strokes, his nose bumping against your clit. his fingers dug into your ass, yanking you closer, forcing you to grind against his mouth, fucking his tongue with every rool of your hips.

“t-too much—” your body is trembling.

“been too long, huh? missed me eating your pretty little pussy?” sliding his tongue down to fuck into you, groaning when you clenched around him. you were so wet, so fucking wet, dripping down his chin as he worked you over, puling moans out of you that made his cock throb painfully against his zipper.

his arms wrap around your waist, locking you in place, forcing you to take everything he gives. his moans vibrate against your skin, needy, delirious, he's getting off on this as much as you are. “taste so fucking sweet,” his voice is muffled by your heat. “could stay down here forever.” he doesn't stop, doesn't let up— not even when your thighs squeeze around his head, when you're shaking so hard you can barely breathe.

your body locks up, pleasure tightening, so close it hurts. his fingers dig into your flesh, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking just right, and that's all it takes— you break apart with a cry, shuddering, coming all over his tongue.

gojo groans like he's tasting something forbidden, something addictive, lapping it all up, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

by the time he pulls away, his lips and chin are glistening, his pupils blown wide, his chest rising and falling like he just ran miles. your dress is still on, but your panties are pushed to the side, and gojo is a wrecked mess between your legs, staring at you like he's ready to die for you.

 “come here.” you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into a flithy desperate kiss. his hands scrambled to get his belt open, shaking so badly he barely undo it. “l-let me help,” you whisper, your hands brushing his as you pull his belt free, undoing his zipper. “i want to make it up to you” you look at him in the eyes “for running away.” your hands slide over his thighs, palming the thick outline of him through his pants. he's already rock-hard. gojo let out a pathetic whimper. “s-shit, you don't have to—”

the second you slide down his boxers, his cock slaps against his stomach, thick, flushed, dripping. “f-fuck—” he lets out when your hand wraps around him. he's so hard it must be painful, a bead of precum leaking from the flushed tip.

you dropped to your knees and looking up at him through your lashes “i need to, satoru” 

gojo chokes “fuck— yeah, please—” with nothing more you took him in your mouth. his hands immediately flying to your hair, not pulling, just holding, like he needs something to ground himself

his entire body jerked as your tongue drags up his length, flicking over the tip before you sink down, taking him deep. tongue pressing against the thick vein running along his dick. you hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head, your hand stroking the rest of him. it's slick and obscene, the sounds echoing in the hallway. your lips stretched around him.

“f-fuck— sweetheart,” gojo is a mess above you. a whimpering, panting mess. his thighs tensed, his whole body shudders. “fuck, f-fuck— too good, it's too fucking g-good—” he wants you to let you continue. he wants to watch you take him apart. 

but he wants to feel you. it's been nine long years for fuck sake. he just needs your pretty little cunt wrapping around his cock. “i-if you don't stop— shit— if you d-don't stop r-right n-now, i'm gonna—” he grabs your wrists, and you pulled off with a sinful pop, lips swollen, eyes gleaming.

“bed. now.” 

except… you don't make it to the bed…

you get as far as the couch before you're shoving him down, straddling his lap, gripping his shoulders. his cock is still out, flushed, leaking, twitching against his stomach. and your soaked panties are still on, pulled to the side, teasing him.

“reverse cowgirl.” you say, full of tease. his brain short-circuits. “w-what?” you don't answer. you just move, shift until your back is to him. you give him a full view on the open dress, the curves of your body, the barest glimpse of your soaked panties sill clinging to your folds.

“oh, fuck— ohhh fuck.” his head drops back against the couch. his hands finding your waist as you took his base and let your hips ever so slowly sink down.

you both are drowning. “t-toru— ahh, ‘s big—” your voice breaks. you forgot how fucking big he is. surely the biggest cock you’ve ever took. “th-that's okay, s-sweetheart,” gojo is hardly holding on, shaking beneath you. “you're d-doing good— fuck— your walls are sucking me i-in. i— fuckfuckfuck—”

inch by inch, you take him, stretching, gasping, feeling him pulse inside you.

sweat drips down your back. gojo leans in, licks it up. and then— 

he loses his patience. 

he grabs your hips, slams you down, and fuck, you both scream. his fingers are bruising, his breath wrecked against your spine, and you're already a trembling, cock-drunk mess in his lap. “t-toru— please—”

“shhh, sweetheart,” he pants, barely coherent. “let me make you mine again.” 

he drags you down onto him, thrusting up to meet you, filling you so deep you can feel him in your stomach. “ohhh— fuuuck, toru—” your hands scrambling for purchase against the couch as you rock back against him.

“that's right, sweetheart,” his forehead pressed against your bare spine. “take me— please, take all of me.” he pulls you back onto him harder, a desperate, needy little sound escaping his throat when he sees the way your pretty blue panties cling to you, your pussy stretched around the base of his cock, underwear soaked. “s-shit, your panties— fuck, that's so—” gojo can't even finish his sentence. his hands slip under your dress, his fingers finding your hard nipples and pinches them through your bra.

“satoru, i—” you sob, rolling your hips, grinding down. “that's it, ride me,” he begs, his hands palming your soft breasts. “you feel so fucking good, s-so tight—” you lift your hips just to slam back down, picking up a rhythm, and gojo loses his fucking mind. his moans spilling out in rapid desperate gasps. “fuck, baby—”

his length throbs inside you, his hips bucking up uncontrollably. he grabs at you, at your dress, your thighs, anywhere he can touch, his lips pressing frantic, open-mouthed kisses along your back. 

“d-don't stop— please— ohh f-fuck, please don't stop—” he sounds so ruined, so completely fucking gone.

somehow you grind down even harder, sending the poor guy's body jolting. he's straight-up choking, his moans turn high-pitched, pathetic, whimpering. “sweetheart, i-i can't— oh fuck, i'm gonna—” his voice breaks, shaking “i can't hold it— i can't, i can't—” 

you lean back against his chest, turning just enough to catch the sight of him— his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted, his entire body trembling beneath you. “t-toru,” you whimper, tightening around him. “cum for me.”

that's it. that's all it takes.

Gojo slams you down onto him one last time, a ragged, broken cry ripping from his throat. His cock pulses deep inside you, his grip on you almost bruising as he spills into you, moaning like he’s coming apart at the seams. his chest rising and falling erratically, his entire body completely ruined.

and even as the pleasure fades, he doesn't let go. “you're mine. not letting you go again.” he doesn't give you time to respond as he suddenly grabs your wrists, shoving you face-down into the couch. “but that doesn't mean i'm done with you.” his body is still trembling, his cock still throbbing inside you, slick with both of your release.

“one round isn't enough,” heavy voice in your ear. he rolls his hips once, slow and deep, dragging his dick through the mess he's made of you.

your whimper is swallowed by the cushions, fingers clawing at the fabric as he strats moving again. his pace is slow at first, torturous, letting you feel every thick inch stretching you open again. then he pulls out almost completely—just the tip remained inside— before slamming back in, so deep your vision blurs.

“mhhh— satoru!” the force of it knocks the breath out of you, makes you choke on your own moan. his hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your back, fisting your hair.

“look at you, sweetheart,” he pants, voice slurred, filthy. “so wet—so messy—fuck, listen to yourself.” and oh, you can hear it. the lewd, obscene squelching of your cunt sucking him back in with every thrust. it's dripping down your thighs, coating his cock, soaking the couch beneath you.

“s'dripping” he groans, pulling out just to watch the way your hole clenches, fluttering around nothing. your slick mixed with his cum spills out. glistening, pooling between your legs. “fucking— shit” he grits his teeth, fisting his cock, slapping it against your swollen cunt. “such a pretty mess."

“p-please,” you sob, wiggling your hips, trying to push back against him. you're so sensitive, already teetering on the edge again. “please what?” his grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back so his lips brush your ear. “use your words, sweetheart. beg for it.” your brain is mush, squirming beneath him, but you give him what he wants.

“please— please, t-toru fuck me— use me. w-want you s-so bad— need you so bad—” his breath shudders “you're so hot,”

and he slams back into you, deeper, harder, faster. you scream, your arms giving out as he fucks you into the cushions. his pace is wild, frantic, desperate— his cock found your g-spot. hitting it over and over again. until you're body is nothing but raw nerves and white-hot pleasure.

“y-you like this?” gojo struggles finding his breathe, sweat dripping down his temple. “like getting fucked stupid? like being ruined?” you can't even speak— just babbling his name.

“sweetheart, im not gonna last— fuck, i wanna feel you cum again, i need to feel it—” he moans, he swears your cunt was made perfectly for him and only him. one hand slipping between your legs, fingers rubbing at your clit in messy, quick circles.

“come on— cum on my cock, wanna feel your cum all over me,” your whole body seizes, pleasure ripping through you so hard you think you black out for a second. you scream his name, back arching, legs shaking, walls clenching tight around him he nearly collapses. “ohh— ohhh ‘s gooood— wrapping around my cock aghn,”

his hips snap forward, his voice breaking as he lets out white long hot creams. he cums so much, it leaks out around his dick— balls.

for a moment, the only sound in the room is your ragged breathing, the lewd, sticky wetness between your legs, the faint creak of the couch beneath you. gojo breaks it with a breathless, shaky laugh. “you're a fucking dream,” he mumbles, pressing lazy, wet kisses to your shoulder. his arms wrapped tight around your waist.

“satoru…” you whisper his name, running your fingers through his damp hair. he exhales and lifts you into his arms. he carries you like you're something sacred, irreplaceable. something he'll never allow to slip through his fingers again.

"bedroom," he murmurs against your temple. “i need to love you properly.” your breath catches, a lump forming in your throat. this is different. you wrap your arms around him as he carries you through the dimly lit house, his body still inside yours, still pulsing, still clinging to every last bit of warmth you give him.

tonight, he took you like he was desperate. like he had something to prove, like he needed to reclaim you after all these years apart. but now…

now he's looking at you like you hung the stars in his sky.

when he lays you down on his bed, it feels like the world stops. like you both exist in your own universe. gojo hovers over you, his hands tracing over every inch of you. he maps your body with his touch, memorizes you with his lips, presses soft, reverent kisses over your skin.

and he pauses when he reaches your scars. trembling hands ghost over them, his expression unreadable. his eyes, impossibly blue even in the dim light, flicker up to yours. his fingertips linger on your scars, tracing them so gently it make your breath hitch.

“nine years,” his lips press over each mark, worshipping. “nine agonizingly years without you.” your chest aches. you cup his face, wiping the single tear coming down his cheek with your thumb. gojo closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like he needs it to breathe. “you don't get it.” murmuring it more to himself than you.

he looks down at you like you're everything. like he doesn't believe you're real.

you don't get a chance to respond before he's kissing you—slow, deep. it's not just hunger, not just lust. it's grief, it's relief, it's the kind of love that breaks you open and remakes you all at once.

when he finally pushes into you, it's not desperate. it's deliberate— he's trying to mold himself to you, he wants to leave an imprint of himself inside you forever. “satoru—”

“i know, sweetheart,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, your neck, your collarbone. “let me love you.” 

you do. you let him take his time. let him move in deep, slow thrusts that leave you breathless. let him pull every last moan from your lips until your nails dig into his back. his name falls from your lips like a prayer, over and over again.

“feel that?” satoru takes your chin in his hand, making you look at him. “feel how deep i am? how i'm filling you up?” there's no rush, just the overwhelming feeling of being connected— having each other the way you were always meant to.

“toru, please,” you gasp into his mouth. “i've got you,” he mutters, nose brushing against yours. his fingers lace through yours, pinning your hands above your head, your legs wrapping around his waist, your body arching into him. 

“you're everything,” he whispers. “you always were.” your chest tightens, you feel yourself shatters as heat coils in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter.

you're so full of him, of love, of longing, of everything you've spent nine years trying to ignore.

“i love you,” and it sets something free inside you.

gojo chokes on his breath. his rhythm stutters. his fingers tighten around yours. his lips tremble against your skin. “say it again,” he begs.

“i love you, Satoru.” his hips snap into you harder, pace remaining slow as if he's trying to commit every part of you to memory. “say it again, sweetheart.”

“i love you—” his body tenses, his release crashing over him at the same time you hit yours. his lips find yours as you both shatter together.

when he collapses on top of you, he doesn't let go. doesn't even try. you're still tangled together, still connected when he speaks. “i was serious,” you hum, sleepy, completely boneless in his arms. “about what?” his fingers stroke over your hip. “about calling you my wife.” 

you tilt your head, searching his face. he's looking at you like you're his entire world. he's never been more sure of anything in his life. “i don't just want you here tonight,” he says softly, kissing the tip of your nose. “i want you here forever.”

tears sting your eyes, but you smile, brushing his hair out of his face. “then start calling me that now, satoru.” gojo grins— that beautiful, bright, devastating grin.

“come here, wife.”

( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

[the-winter-spider]

The Alchemy | Part Six

NFL! Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Toxic relationship, mentions of abuse.

A/N: More angsty snd big things happening soooooon 👀 not edited or proof read atm, im laazzyyyyyyy

Masterpost

-----

The envelope sat on the kitchen table, the thick stack of paperwork neatly placed beside John’s untouched cup of coffee. You hadn’t thought anything of it at first, just another bill, another document that John liked to handle. He always told you he was better with that kind of thing, that you had enough on your plate with work.

But when you picked it up, your name was there, your lease agreement except something was different.

Your breath caught in your throat as you read over the bolded lines. Primary Leaseholder: John Walker.

Your stomach twisted.

“John?” you called hesitantly, the paper trembling in your hands. “What is this?”

He looked up from his phone, brow raised. “What’s what?”

You turned the lease toward him, your finger pressing against the printed words. “This, it says you’re the main leaseholder. You weren’t even on the lease before, I didn’t authorize this.”

John sighed, setting his phone down with a slow, deliberate motion. “Baby, what are you talking about?”

“I didn’t sign anything,” you said, your voice shaky but firm. “I would never sign something like this without knowing.”

His eyes darkened just slightly, but his expression remained frustratingly calm. “Yes, you did,” he said smoothly. “See?”

He slid another sheet of paper toward you, his finger tapping at the bottom of the page. Your signature, your signature, was there, clear as day.

Except it wasn’t. It was your name and it was almost completely identical to your signature but you knew it wasn’t yours.

Your throat tightened. “John, I, I don’t remember signing this.”

His chuckle was soft, almost condescending. “Come on, sweetheart. You were probably just distracted. You sign stuff all the time, contracts, media forms, waivers. You probably just forgot.”

You shook your head, an uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. “No. I would’ve remembered this.”

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours as he squeezed your hand gently. “You did sign it. We talked about it, remember? We agreed it was better this way, less stress on you, more stability for us. I handle all this stuff anyway, don’t I?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Did we talk about this?

No. No, you knew you wouldn’t have agreed to this. You’d been careful about keeping the lease in your name, about having that bit of independence, one thing that was yours. This place was yours before John and you even got together. It was yours.

But John looked so sure. So patient, like he was explaining something obvious to you, something you should already understand.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. “I just… I don’t remember.”

He squeezed your hand tighter. “Because you didn’t think twice about it,” he said gently. “You trust me, don’t you?”

You swallowed hard. “I..of course I do.”

His lips curved into that easy, knowing smile. “Then trust me when I say this is for the best. I handle everything else, don’t I? Bills, travel, groceries… You don’t need to stress about this kind of thing.”

You nodded slowly, the edges of your doubt blurring under the weight of his reassurance. He was right, you were always busy, always juggling a million things at once. Maybe you had signed it without thinking. Maybe it had just slipped your mind.

Maybe you were just overreacting. He always said you were.

John lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingers. “I’ve got us, baby,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

But as he gathered the papers and tucked them away, your stomach twisted with something cold and heavy.

Something that told you, no matter how much he insisted, you should be worried.

---

The cab ride back to the hotel felt like an out-of-body experience. You sat stiffly in the backseat, your fingers twisting in your lap, your gaze locked onto the city lights blurring past the window. The driver made occasional small talk, asking if you’d had a good night, if the bar was fun, but you barely heard him. You gave quiet, noncommittal responses, nodding at the right moments, but the words barely registered.

Your mind was still back at the bar, still at him.

Still at the way John had tightened his grip on your wrist, squeezing just hard enough to make a silent point before smiling and joking like he hadn’t just bruised you in front of his teammates. Still at the way he’d forced that kiss on you, too rough, too possessive, just to prove something to Bucky.

Bucky.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, exhaling shakily.

God, Bucky had seen it, actually seen it, the way he was.

He’d seen the way you flinched, the way John’s hand lingered, the way you had let him do it, because what else could you do? John had made sure of that, that feeling of helplessness, of having nowhere else to go, nowhere else to be if you weren’t by his side.

If you left him…the thought alone made your stomach drop. Your dream job, your apartment. Your entire life all of it was tangled up in him. Because of course he’d added his name to the lease and of course he had pulled strings for this job, ensuring that if you ever even thought about leaving, he’d have the power to rip everything out from under you. Of course you were in a position you told yourself you’d never be in.

The cab slowed as the hotel came into view, and suddenly, the reality of the situation settled over you like a crushing weight, you were in fight or flight mode, just wanting to be in your hotel room and work on some stuff you still had to power through since Johns abruptly showed up.

Bucky was waiting, your stomach twisted sharply when you spotted him outside your hotel room door, leaning against the wall, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. He was still in his clothes from the bar, but his sleeves were pushed up now, tension running through his forearms. His gaze lifted the second you stepped into the hallway, something unreadable flashing across his face.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “What are you doing here?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight before meeting your eyes. “Can we talk?”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Because Bucky didn’t ask for things like this. Not usually, not when he had something to say. He just said it. But there was something careful about the way he was looking at you now, something hesitant, like he was giving you an out if you wanted to take it and maybe you should take it.

Because talking to Bucky meant admitting things, things you had spent years avoiding, years stuffing deep down where they couldn’t touch you. If you let Bucky back in, even just a little, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to stop.

You hesitated. “John’s gonna be back soon,” you murmured, barely recognizing your own voice.

Bucky nodded like he already knew, like he had already thought of everything before he even stepped foot in this hallway. “Sam’s still there,” he said quietly. “I told him to text me when he leaves.” His blue eyes held yours, unrelenting but careful. “Just give me a few minutes. Please.”

Your chest ached. You should have told him no. Should have told him that whatever needed to be said didn’t need to be said, not tonight. But when you opened your mouth, the words didn’t come. Instead, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can we do it in your room?”

Bucky’s brows pulled together for a second, but then he nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

The walk down the hall was agonizingly slow, even though it only took a minute. You kept your eyes forward, but your heart was hammering against your ribs, each step another reminder that you weren’t ready for whatever was about to happen.

Because Bucky had always been your weak spot. Bucky had seen you, truly seen you in a way no one else ever had.

And when you finally stopped in front of his door, when he turned to face you, jaw tight, eyes soft, like he was waiting you realized you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to keep hiding.

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Bucky stood near the window, hands braced on his hips, breathing hard like he was trying to keep himself from exploding. You stood on the other side of the room, your arms wrapped around yourself, staring at the floor, feeling like you were crumbling from the inside out.

Neither of you had said anything since he closed the door behind you. Neither of you knew how to start.

But Bucky had never been one for patience. “Why are you with him?” His voice was sharp, cutting straight through the thick air between you.

You flinched. “Bucky..”

“No,” he snapped, taking a step closer. “No bullshit, no deflecting, no ‘it’s complicated.’ Why are you with him?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?” He was almost pleading now, his voice raw, desperate. “You don’t love him. Not the way you should, I know you don’t and what he does, that’s not love.”

You exhaled shakily, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “I could lose this job, Bucky,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “If I lose this job, I don’t have the money, then I can't afford my apartment that might not even be mine anymore and I don’t even know if I got this job on my own, or if John actually made it happen for me. Sometimes he just says things, I don’t..” Your throat closed, the panic rising in your chest. “I don’t know what happens to me if I leave.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over. “You think I would let them take this job from you?” His voice was sharp, his blue eyes burning. “You think I’d just stand by and let that happen?”

“I don’t expect you to fix this for me, Bucky!” you shot back, your voice rising now. “I can’t explain it to you, I can’t make you understand!”

He took a step closer. “Then tell me this,” he said, his voice lower now, more controlled, but no less intense. “Does he hurt you?”

The question made your stomach drop. “He hasn’t hit me,” you said, too quickly, too defensively. “If that’s what you’re asking.” You forced a hollow laugh. “Not like my dad did to my mom.”

Bucky inhaled sharply, his jaw clenching. Then, his eyes flickered downward, toward your arm.

You followed his gaze, toward the faint outline of bruising near your wrist.

Bucky’s whole body went rigid. “What’s that then?”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. Quickly, you covered it with your other hand. “He just has a strong hold, that’s all.”

Bucky exhaled harshly, dragging a hand over his face like he was trying to physically push down the rage building inside him. “Why are you making excuses for this?” His voice was hoarse, disbelief and heartbreak tangled together. “You’re putting yourself through the same shit your mom went through, and you don’t have to.”

Your breath hitched. “It’s not the same.”

“The hell it’s not,” he snapped, stepping forward again. “The only difference is your dad had alcohol in his system. Somehow, that makes it worse, Y/N. John doesn’t even have that excuse.”

You shook your head, your whole body trembling. “You don’t get it, Bucky. I don’t have anyone.” Your voice cracked. “My dad’s dead. My mom’s dead. I have nothing. The only person I have is…”

“What about me?”

The words were nearly shouted, bursting out of him like he couldn’t hold them in anymore.

You froze.

Bucky’s chest was rising and falling quickly, his blue eyes blazing. “What about me?” he said again, quieter this time. “You have me.”

Your throat tightened. “Do I?”

His expression faltered, just slightly but you saw it.

“Because you made it pretty damn clear all those years ago that I didn’t have you!” you said, your voice shaking with the weight of everything. “You left me, Bucky. We were leaving my dad, we were leaving that life, this life and you left me too!”

Bucky was staring at you, his chest rising and falling heavily, his lips parted like he wanted to say something, needed to say something. But you had just ripped the air from his lungs, just shattered the ground beneath him, and for a long moment, all he could do was stand there, stunned.

You had never said it out loud before. Not like this, not with that much hurt behind it.

You left me too.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, like he was trying to physically stop himself from reaching for you. His entire body was taut, like a bowstring pulled too tight, ready to snap at any second.

“I never wanted to lose you,” Bucky said, his voice rough, raw. “You think I wanted that? I didn't mean for it to get these far, all these years without seeing you, without knowing you, you think I chose that?”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking your head as tears burned your eyes. “That’s exactly what you did, Bucky.”

“I was a kid,” he shot back. “A stupid, scared kid who didn’t know how to handle losing the only person who ever mattered to him.” His voice cracked, and your breath caught in your throat. “I fucked up, Y/N. I fucked up so bad.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you barely noticed. “Yeah,” you whispered. “You did.”

Bucky took a shaky breath, like he was trying to hold himself together, but the cracks were too deep now, too jagged. “I spent years trying to make up for it,” he admitted, his voice desperate. “That’s why I worked so fucking hard. That’s why I pushed myself until I couldn’t breathe, until I had nothing left because I wanted to be something, Y/N. I wanted to be worthy of you, to make up for just abandoning you.”

Your brows furrowed, your lips parting slightly. “Bucky…”

“I love you.”

The words came out in a rush, like he couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to. Your heart slammed against your ribs, and you just stared at him, unable to process what he had just said.

“I love you,” he said again, his voice breaking. “I’ve always loved you. From the moment we were kids, from the moment I realized that nobody, nobody made me feel the way you did.” His hands were shaking now, and his breathing was uneven, and God, God, he looked wrecked. “You were the only thing I ever wanted, and I let you slip through my fingers. I wasn’t fast enough, If I was faster I woulda caught up to you!”

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks now, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn't think.

Bucky took a step closer, his blue eyes searching yours frantically, like he was still trying to memorize every part of you, just in case this was the last time. “That’s why I went to New York,” he confessed. “I went because I thought you’d be there, that was your dream. I thought I’d find you and when I didn’t…” He exhaled shakily, raking a hand through his hair. “It was like you fell off the fucking face of the Earth. I had no way to reach you. I tried, I tried.”

Your lip trembled. “Bucky…”

“I took this contract because yeah, I love football, but you, you were always the goal.” His voice softened just slightly, but the weight of his words pressed down on you like an avalanche. “I thought maybe if I was here, if I was in a position where you could find me… maybe you would.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, the lump in your throat growing bigger.

Bucky let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “And then you sorta did, you showed up and I thought, this is it. This is my second chance.” His eyes burned into yours. “But you’re with him and he doesn't deserve you, he doesn’t love you the way I do, I love you, I love you.”

Before you could even think of what to say, Bucky’s phone rang. The sharp sound cut through the tension like a knife, making you jolt slightly. Bucky clenched his jaw and pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen.

Sam.

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t need to hear what he was going to say. You already knew.

Bucky exhaled sharply and answered. “Yeah?”

On the other end, Sam sighed. “He just left.”

Bucky closed his eyes briefly, his hand tightening around the phone. “Thanks.”

And then he hung up, when his gaze met yours again, you were already shaking your head.

“I can’t do this, Bucky.” Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I have to go.”

“No.” His voice was firm, almost desperate. He stepped forward, reaching for you, but hesitated at the last second, his hands hovering near your arms but never touching. “Don’t go back to him.”

You closed your eyes, willing yourself not to cry harder. “It’s not that easy, Bucky.”

“Yes, it is,” he pleaded. “I’m here. I’ll help you. You don’t have to love me back, I swear to God, you don’t. But you were my best friend, and you always will be. Please, Y/N.”

A sob built in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You reached up, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“I have to go,” you whispered.

Bucky shook his head, his expression shattered. “Don’t, please..”

But you were already moving toward the door, you didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

The second you made it to your room, you slammed the door behind you, bracing yourself against it as your breath came in ragged, uneven gasps. Your hands were shaking, your chest aching, and no matter how many times you wiped your face, the tears wouldn’t stop.

You slid down against the door, curling into yourself as you tried to breathe.

---

Your childhood bedroom was nearly empty, stripped of everything that had once made it yours. The posters had been peeled from the walls, the bookshelves bare, the bed nothing but a frame and a stripped mattress. The pictures of Bucky and you that were once littered across your wall, were gone. The last remnants of your life here had been packed into boxes, stacked neatly by the door, ready to be loaded into the car.

But you weren’t ready.

You stood at your window, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, your heart pounding with a desperate, pleading rhythm. He’s coming. He has to be coming.

“Sweetie, we need to go before your father gets home,” your mom called from the hallway, her voice low, urgent.

“One more minute,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her. “Please, just one more.”

You didn’t move. Your hands trembled as you gripped the window frame, your stomach twisting with hope and dread. Bucky wouldn’t just let you leave. He wouldn’t.

You had spent the entire week waiting for him to say something. You had walked past his locker slower than usual, lingered by his house on your way home, given him every possible opportunity. But he had been silent.

And now, time was up. This was it, and he wasn’t here to say goodbye.

Your mom appeared in the doorway, her eyes soft but filled with urgency. “Baby, we have to go.”

You turned to face her, your breath hitching. “He’s supposed to be here,” you whispered.

Her face fell. “Oh, sweetheart…”

Your chest constricted painfully, and your nails dug into your palms. “Just… one more minute.”

Your mom hesitated, looking toward the front door like she could feel the danger creeping closer. But then she sighed and gave you a small nod. “One more.”

You turned back to the window, the same window Bucky used to climb through when the world felt too heavy, the same one you’d sneak out of when adventure called in the middle of the night. Your gaze drifted to the street below, the one where you’d run barefoot together, where he spun you around under flickering streetlights like the whole world belonged to just the two of you.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, lodged so tightly in your throat it hurt to breathe. The same heart that had always, always belonged to him and now, it was the heart he was breaking.

Nothing.

No sign of him.

No sign of the boy who had promised to be your best friend forever.

Your mom touched your arm gently. “It’s time.”

Your vision blurred as you took a shaky breath. The finality of it all settled in like a weight on your chest.

Bucky wasn’t coming, he actually wasn't coming.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to move, your legs feeling like they belonged to someone else as you walked out of the room, out of the house, and into the car.

And as you drove away, you kept your eyes glued to the side mirror, hoping, praying, to see him come running after you. But he never did.

Bucky had been pacing his room for the past hour, his hands in his hair, his stomach in knots. Go to her. Just go to her.

But he couldn’t.

Every time he reached for his door, he hesitated. Every time he thought about what he would say, his throat closed up. I’m sorry. I was an idiot. I am an idiot, I was being selfish. He should've told you that a little distance for a year never hurt anyone, especially the two of you. He should've told you he would drive down, that he would call and video chat everyday. He should've told you he was happy that your Mom was finally leaving that drunken asshole, he should have told you he was glad you were finally going to be safe. He should've told you he was in love with you.

But what if you didn’t want to hear it? What if it was already too late? The thought paralyzed him, until it hit him.

What the fuck am I doing?

His heart slammed against his ribs as he bolted out of his room, nearly tripping over himself as he ran down the stairs and out the front door. The world around him blurred as he sprinted down the street, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Please still be there. Please, God, let her still be there.

But as he rounded the corner onto your street, his feet stopped.

The driveway was empty, the car was gone. He staggered forward, chest heaving, his breath catching in his throat.

“No, no, no”

His hands found the chain-link fence that bordered your yard, gripping it so tight his knuckles turned white. His eyes darted across the front porch, the darkened windows, the abandoned boxes left on the curb.

You were gone.

A sharp, broken sound tore from his throat as he slid down the fence, his legs giving out beneath him. His fingers curled into the dirt, his head dropping forward as a sob ripped through him.

---

The door slammed against the wall as John stumbled into the hotel room, the sharp scent of whiskey and unfamiliar perfume hitting you before his voice did.

“Baby,” he called, his tone thick with alcohol, slurring just enough to make your stomach churn. “You awake?”

You didn’t move, didn’t answer. Maybe if you stayed still long enough, he’d think you were asleep. Maybe he’d leave you alone for once.

But the floor creaked under his weight as he crossed the room, and then suddenly, he was kneeling at your side of the bed. His breath, warm and sour, fanned across your cheek as he whispered, “Honey, wake up.”

You forced yourself to stir, blinking slowly like you’d just come out of a deep sleep. Your body was stiff, tense, but you softened your expression as you turned to him.

John smiled, his eyes glassy, unfocused, but still locked onto you like you were his entire world and that scared you. His fingers slid through your hair, slow and tender, before trailing down to your cheek, you braced yourself but he cradled your face like you were something fragile. Like he hadn’t spent the night reminding you just how small you really were, it made you want to puke.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking. His forehead pressed against yours, and you could feel the way he was swaying slightly, his balance off. “I didn’t mean to act like that. I don’t know what came over me. I just… I get these strong feelings, you know? You just make me so…” He stopped, exhaling shakily.

You swallowed, nodding slightly, pretending you knew exactly what he meant. Of course it was your fault.

He kissed your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles like a man making a promise he had no intention of keeping. “I love you,” he whispered desperately, squeezing your fingers. “Please forgive me.”

You hesitated, only for a second. “…Okay,” you whispered, barely audible, but he latched onto it like it was a lifeline.

“Oh, thank God,” he breathed, his shoulders sagging in relief. He stumbled onto the bed beside you, kicking off his shoes clumsily before pulling the blankets over himself. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, deep and heavy in sleep.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, unmoving and then, when you were sure he was out, when you knew he wouldn’t hear you turned onto your side, curled in on yourself, and let the silent sobs take over.

---

The knock at the door was sharp, cutting through the quiet of Bucky’s hotel room. He hadn’t been able to sleep, his mind was too full, too loud but he hadn’t expected company either.

Dragging a tired hand down his face, he pushed himself off the bed and walked over, unlocking the door before pulling it open.

“Sam?” Bucky frowned. “It’s late, what are you doing here?”

Sam raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah, well, why are you answering?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, leaning against the doorframe. “I was hoping it would be Y/N.”

Sam gave him a knowing look before tilting his head toward the room. “Can I come in for a second?”

Bucky stepped aside, letting him in. Sam walked in slowly, glancing around before settling against the desk. He hesitated, his usual easygoing demeanor laced with something heavier.

“She’s in deep, Buck,” Sam said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “That relationship… it’s not healthy.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He knew that already had felt it, had seen it. Had heard the way John spoke to you, watched the way you tensed under his touch, the way your light dimmed every time he pulled you close.

“I’ve seen that before,” Sam continued, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “My sister’s best friend, she was in something like that. She always said it wasn’t that bad, that he didn’t hit her, that she could handle it.” He paused, his throat bobbing. “She didn’t make it out.”

Bucky winced. “I can’t let that happen to her,” Bucky said, his voice low, like the words were a confession.

Sam watched him carefully, waiting.

Bucky exhaled, his fingers flexing at his sides. “Her dad,” he started, then stopped. “When we were kids… he used to come home drunk, and things would break. I’d hear it from my house, yelling, glass shattering, her mom making excuses the next day.” He swallowed hard, the memories tightening around his throat. “She’d say she was clumsy. That she tripped because Y/N left things on the stairs. But she didn’t, she never did.”

Sam’s expression darkened.

Bucky shook his head. “Sometimes he’d lose it on her too,” he admitted. “She wouldn’t tell me, but I knew. I’d see the look in her eyes, hear it. He threw a god damn bottle at her head, she was 16” His hands curled into fists. “And I didn’t do enough to stop it.”

Sam stepped closer. “That’s not on you, Buck.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Isn’t it? I was supposed to protect her. Instead, I let her walk right into this.” His voice wavered, something breaking inside him. He looked up at Sam, his eyes shining with something raw. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her.”

Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. “She’s a smart girl, man. She knows this isn’t healthy. I saw the look on her face at the bar.” He exhaled heavily. “But you can’t force her to walk away. All you can do is be there for her. Make sure she knows she has someone to turn to when she’s ready.”

Bucky shook his head. “I can’t just stand by,” he said, his voice thick. “Not when the only girl I’ve ever loved is hurting.”

Sam stilled, his eyes narrowing slightly before he let out a soft chuckle. “I knew it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I knew it.”

Bucky smiled lightly, looking away.

Sam smirked. “Does she know?”

Bucky nodded, his jaw tightening. “I just told her, ike an hour ago.”

Sam’s expression softened. “Then you did what you could do,” he said simply. “Now, you just have to be there when she needs you.” He pushed off the desk, stretching. “Get some rest, man. Travel day tomorrow.”

Bucky didn’t answer, just exhaled sharply through his nose as Sam headed toward the door.

Before leaving, Sam glanced back. “Goodnight, Buck.”

Bucky’s shoulders sagged slightly as the door clicked shut. But sleep still wouldn’t come.

[rosenclaws]

kisses. on. the. tip. of. the. nose.

PLEASE 🥹🥹🥹

<3 - @lostinlovingrevery

yes yes YES. This is an Old Man Logan type idea fr hope u enjoy!! @lostinlovingrevery

"Will you stop being such a baby?" You huff as you grab Logans face in your hands, a frustrated look on your face.

"You're too cute when you're mad at me." Logan says with a smirk, making your face scrunch up even more.

"Flattery will get you nowhere." You let go of his face and reach for the the scissors.

Logan doesn't bother with upkeeping his appearance anymore. He's an old man with people to take care of and the last thing on his mind is shaving. So you've taken it upon yourself to do it for him.

"Don't know why you insist on this, am I not handsome enough for you?" He teases. You roll your eyes and tilt his head up so you can trim his beard.

"You're very handsome Logan, now shut up and let me do this." You gently brush his beard and trim the areas that have gotten too long until its all shaped and clean.

Logan lets himself relax under your gentle touch. He gives you shit and likes to tease but he's not used to having someone care for him in this way, it's nice. To have someone want to take their time to pamper him.

"Done yet?" He asks and you shake your head.

"Almost." You say as you tilt his head back even more.

With a shaving razor you put shaving cream along his neck and trim his neckline with perfect precision. Finally you take a towel and wipe away the extra shaving cream. Logan stretches his neck as he finally gets to sit up.

"Are your old bones aching?" You ask as you wrap your arms around his neck, hands coming to play with the back of his hair. Logan chuckles pulling you closer on his lap. "So much, Think I need a kiss as a pick me up." He says making you giggle.

Logan basks in the domesticity. Just getting to be together in a world where he thought he'd never get to be happy, to be at peace. You lean forward and kiss the tip of his nose.

"There, handsome as always." You whisper as you cup his face lovingly.

"All thanks to you sweetheart."

[sibsteria]

pls for the love of god write more spencer. ur writing is everything

The difference between love and pretending…

Spencer Agnew x fem!Reader

a/n ask and ye shall receive

Masterlist

Warnings/Content: This be a short one, little bit of angst, pining, kissing, cheating, alcohol

Summary: He dated your friend, granted she treated him like dirt and you, doesn’t that break some kind of girl code? But he stood there, oh so beautiful and you just…

New! Spencer Agnew Prompt Series!

Prompt: “I can’t stop thinking about the last time we kissed.” “You say you don’t love me but you kissed me back like you did.”

Flashback

The living room was heavy with the heartbreak of your best friend and colleague, for that matter. A stupid romcom blaring colour from the tv that he swore he didn’t like in the dim light room, wine drunk to high heaven, scattered takeaway containers around the table and a big big box of chocolate.

Having just broken up with your friend, catching her kissing one of her guy friends when she thought she was alone, you were here to help him feel better. You didn’t know if it was working, but you hope it was, you hated seeing him like this- not because you had a crush or anything. You set them up together so really it’s your own fault, your own fault that you had to watch the two people you love in this world kiss over and over, your own fault he sat here upset.

The tension grew awkward after he spoke, “I should have dated you instead.” He laughed, but in a sort of self deprecation way. And the alcohol that cling to your brain made the case even worse as you blurted out- “Maybe…” Your eyes met his, you know it was wrong- he was going through heartbreak and he had belonged to your friend not six hours ago and…

He leaned down, unsure of what he was actually doing right now, and sure enough your lips met. It turned sloppy and messy, your lipstick smearing over his face as you gripped each others clothing.

What were you doing?

You felt embarrassed at yourself, he was hurting and you just let him kiss you like that, how selfish can you be?

Soon after you had pulled away, you made an excuse and left, you can’t do this to him or to yourself. You didn’t want to stay and become a rebound girl for the man you were pretty sure you loved.

You didn’t talk about it after that night, the rooms went silent and stuffy when it was just the two of you, neither of you knowing what to say.

Both of you tried to build your friendship back up, eventually getting to a point where you could exchange niceties when working, but in the back of your head you were sort of regretting what happened.

Until….

“Can I talk to you for a second…alone?” You paused as you packed up to leave, it was getting late and you didn’t want to bother the clean up crew.

“Um, yeah, sure- is everything okay?” You ask, your eyes darted anywhere but his face.

“No.” He put it plain and simple, it had been at least four months since that night, was he still angry at you?

“Oh…” Was all you could say, waving goodbye to your desk buddies before it left just the two of you.

“I can’t stop thinking about the last time we kissed.” He huffed out, swiping some hair out of his eyes.

“Ah…what do you mean?” You knew this was coming eventually, it was stupid to think it wouldn’t.

“I can’t stop thinking about it, about you…” You blink at his words, about you?

“About me?” Your breathing became a little heavier as the office was silent and still.

“About how much I want to kiss you again…” You gasped quietly, was he on drugs?

“Spencer…”

“I get it, if you don’t feel the same way but…I kind of know you do…” He trails off, looking a little awkward.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” You panicked a little, how did he know about your feelings? Was this a trick? You betted on Ian spilling the beans, of course he did!

“I feel like I used you that night, the night we kissed because…I knew you had feelings for me and I just…wanted to feel like someone loved me.” He’s upset at his own words, at himself for taking advantage of you and your feelings for him. You had gotten it all wrong, he wasn’t angry at you. You stayed calm even thought you felt utterly embarrassed that he had known about your feelings for so long.

“I…thought I was using you…because of how I felt and I thought I was being selfish letting you kiss me when I knew you loved her.” Her being your friend, of course.

“Let me kiss you again…” He stepped towards you, a fire in his eyes.

“What? Why?” You don’t want your feelings played around like that.

“Because…I, I like you back.” He softens at you, “Since that night, since the kiss, it’s like you messed with me…and I can’t stop thinking about you.” This can’t be true, it was just convenience.

“Spencer, no, you don’t. It’s just-“

“Yes…I do, I know the difference between love and pretending.” He was a smart man, of course he knew, not that you fully believed it.

“Okay, well…” You couldn’t do this to your friend, could you? You had only just patched things up after being angry at her for so long for breaking his heart, how would it look now if you just swooped him up? “I can’t…because she-“

“Forget about her, I stopped thinking about her the moment our lips touched and it’s not like she doesn’t deserve this…you shouldn’t care about her feelings more than your own.” Why was he so right?

“How are you so sure I love you, still? I don’t.” You had it coming as soon as you said that, your voice wavering because of the dishonesty in it. You couldn’t do this to her-

He scoffed, putting his hands up and cupping your jaw before pulling you into the most phenomenal kiss of your life, it happened quickly and you followed suit- kissing him back with the same passion.

His hands tangled in your hair as you came up to steady yourself on his chest, it went on for a while before he pulled away- a sick grin on his features.

“You say you don’t love me but you kissed me back like you did.” His eyes are shining as you can’t find anything to deny.

“I…” You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat, you didn’t know what to say.

“One date? If we aren’t a match then that’s the end…but I don’t see that happening, I really, really want this to work with you. Don’t think about what she might think or say. We were friends for much longer and…you don’t need someone like her in your life” She did treat you terribly, you were always so kind to people and they took it for granted more often than not.

“You know, you are really stubborn.” You suppressed a smile, looking at him with a glint of joy in your eyes.

“Tomorrow? I’ll pick you up at 6? They do discounts on the bowling place down the street after 8, we could get some dinner…or something like that?” That sounded amazing, a chill first date.

“Perfect.” You bite your bottom lip, smiling.

“You won’t regret it.” He leans in to kiss your cheek.

What have you gotten yourself into?

[cherubcameron]

Igual Que Un Angel

Chapter Six

Synopsis: Sofia is pregnant, and the last thing she needs is for Rafe to find out. It’s her dirty secret, it’s not like he’s barging down her door to speak to her. He looks as if he’s done with her for good. Will outside forces, force Sofia to confront the situation at hand. Or will she be able to keep this secret up? Not like, her belly isn’t growing everyday or anything.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Two Weeks Later

“¿Entonces no salió bien?”(So it didn’t go well?) Lupita asks, Sofia puffed out a breath.

“No, fue terrible.” (No, it went terribly) Lupita tsks, Sofia sets her camera up on her pillow. She has a bowl of ice cream, she digs her spoon into it. Plopping some into her mouth. She meets her cousin eyes through the screen.

“Con tu mamá y tu papá? O con Rafe?” Lupita says, she begins to set her phone down too. It looks like to Sofia she’s doing her makeup.

“Los dos. ¿Estás maquillándote?” (The both of them. Are you doing your makeup?)

“Si, voy a salir.” (Yes, I’m going out.)

“Te ves linda.” Sofia smiles, admiring the way her cousin is applying her makeup. She has pink blush on her cheeks, her skin through the screen looks radiant.

“Gracias, prima.” Lupita scrunches up her face together as she smiles. Sofia letting out a little laugh. Eating more of her ice cream.

For a few minutes, silence overtakes them. But it isn’t awkward. Nor there is no need to break it. It’s a comfortable silence, she’d often had with her cousin.

“Tengo miedo, no conoces a Rafe, él puede enfadarse.” (Im scared, you don’t know Rafe. He can get angry.) Sofia finally says, her eyes going from her ice cream back to her cousin.

Lupita pursed her lips, she looked as if her mind was elsewhere. “He didn’t, hurt you right?” She asks hesitantly. Sofia quickly shakes her head.

“No, no, nothing like that.” Sofia pauses, “Well, not physically. It was some things he said. In the past. It’s a long story. Essentially he made it seem like we weren’t serious.” Sofia rubs her belly, noticing how slightly bigger her stomach has gotten since the last time she’d spoken to Lupe.

“Oh shit, so you broke up with him?” Lupita eyes are wide, Sofia regards her with a sheepish smile.

“He broke up with me.” Sofia says awkwardly, Lupita continues to do her brows, Sofia isn’t sure what she’s going to say. But she can gradually feel her cheeks grow warmer.

“I’m sorry Sofia.” Her cousin attentionis finally fully on her. “It can’t be easy, especially with the baby on the way.”

“That’s why I don’t know if I should tell him. What if it just makes him hate me even more?” Sofia scratches her head, her eyes staring at her cousins through the screen. Willing her to have a solution for her problem.

“You can’t exactly hide it forever. I know I’ve said that a thousand of times. But Sofia, you’re about to be four months pregnant. You need to make a decision quickly. And honestly Sof, you’re showing a lot more than you were.”

Sarah rubbed her belly, she was due very soon. Her body almost slumped onto the couch. Rafe stared at her, his nose crinkling.

“You look uncomfortable.”

“You would be too. If you had a baby in you who’s pressing onto your bladder.”

“Uh, right, that kind of reminds me.” Rafe gets up, leaving the room briefly. He re-enters with a pretty big box. Sarah raises an eyebrow in question and Rafe gives her a tight lip smile.

“It’s a pregnancy pillow.”

Sarah blinks in surprise, Rafe lays it down next to her. “Don’t—”

Sarah eyes begin to tear up, “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me.” Rafe rolls his eyes, Sarah wipes away at her eyes. “I mean it Rafe. Thank you, you didn’t have to give John B and I a place to stay. And you did.”

Rafe rubbed his brow, “Uh yeah, don’t mention it.” Sarah gets up slowly, her hand still on her round belly. She reaches out and pulls Rafe into a hug.

“Umph—” Rafe eyes widen, his hands spread out but not hugging her back yet. He stood there awkwardly, his body tensed. Until, he finally loosened up, hugging her back.

“Still not used to this, huh?” Sarah laughs, she pulls away. “You’re not always an asshole, ya know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He pats her gently on the back, shaking his head.

“Weird thing to ask but; John B has work until six. And I have no one to come with me to my ultrasound at four.”

“And you need someone to go with you?” He says, rubbing his eyebrow once more.

“I mean Wheezie hates waiting rooms. Plus we still have that whole custody battle with Rose.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll go. Just don’t expect me to enjoy myself. Okay.”

Sofia observed the fluorescent lights, tapping her leg as she waited her turn at the doctors.. Another one of the ultrasounds she had to do. She already had finished the check up, she’d arrived around 1, usually the doctor took long. So she’d been here for over an hour after the check up. She finally leveled her head back to the rest of the room. As a woman and a man, sat together, the man rubbing her belly as he smiled at her. They spoke amicably to themselves, almost in a world of their own. Sofia felt a pang in her chest, she looked away quickly. What she would give to not be so alone in this.

Her eyes move towards another couple, two women. One of them had their head on the others shoulder. One of them very pregnant.

“Sofia Jimenez!” One of the nurses, in pink scrubs calls out. She has a clipboard in her hands, a small gentle smile on her face. Sofia raises to her feet, heading towards the door the nurse was holding open with her leg.

“That’s me.” Sofia says softly, the nurse smiles at her, motioning for Sofia to follow her. Sofia does, they head down a wide hallway, filled with rooms. Some empty and still not in use. Others have the door shut closed. The nurse finally stops at a room at the end of the hall. Letting Sofia walk in first.

“The doctor will be right with you.”

Rafe held out his arm, helping Sarah out of his bmw. “You got it?”

“Yeah I got it.” Sarah says, holding his hand as she steps out of his car. She sighs, “Thanks.”

“No worries, come on. This starts at like… four, right?”

“Yeah, at four. But I like to get here early. They do check ups first and it can take hours before the actual doctor sees you.” Rafe helps Sarah as she walks alongside him. He nods as he listens, he looks out towards the clinic.

“You and John B have— everything you need right?” Rafe says it, almost hesitantly. He wasn’t the type to pry in Sarah’s life. Well, before it started involving him with the gold and the cross. Before that, he didn’t care much about involving himself.

“Yeah we’re good. I mean with the money we’ve have from the blue crown. And the fact that we have the Royal Merchant gold. We’re set, it’s just John B and I. I think we just realize we want a simple life.”

Rafe purses his lips, somehow, he’s surprised to realize that resonates with him more than he’d ever thought. All this chasing for gold, it was what his dad wanted. His whole life, he wanted to do what made him proud.

And now… he wasn’t sure if he wanted the same things his old man did.

Sofia sat on the examination bed, lying down slowly. The doctor Dr. Reynolds greets her warmly. Her heart quickens, today she finds out the gender of her baby. She’s not sure what to feel, it feels foreign. But nevertheless, she’s happy. Happy that she finally gets to see her little baby.

“Hey, it’s me. Your mom. I hope you’re doing okay in there. Please don’t give me a scare.” She says softly to her baby in her stomach. She rubs her belly gently.

Someone knocks on the door, Sofia attention is reverted away from her belly bump towards who’s at the door.

“Hi Sofia,” The doctor pauses to look at her clipboard, scanning the information on it, “Sofia Jimenez, right?”

“Yes, thats me.” Dr. Reynolds smiles warmly, shutting the door behind her.

“Good, good.” She heads over to the monitor. “Well, it’s good to see you. It looks like from your chart that you’re in good health. Which is amazing. We’re going to check the baby, hear their heartbeat. And finally, find out the gender of the baby.”

Sarah plops herself back down next to Rafe; as she comes back from the check up.

“I’m all healthy.”

“Really?” Rafe feigns shock, “Because the 17 bags of lays you make John B buy; says otherwise.” Sarah playfully slaps his arm. He lets out a chuckle.

Rafe scratches his head, looking around at the other patients in the waiting room. His eyes landing on a woman by herself. She looks anxious, constantly biting her lip. Her leg tapping rapidly against the linoleum floor. Rafe couldn’t help but feel bad for her. He couldn’t imagine going through something like this alone. How scary it must feel. He wonders where the father of the baby is. The girl looked so—

“Pass me my bag. I recently got into reading and—” Sarah pauses. “Nevermind, you wouldn’t care.”

Rafe passes Sarah her bag, “Come on, Sar. Just tell me.”

“Oh, uh I just bought myself a kindle. That’s all.” Sarah says, her cheeks red, her gaze averted from him. She began to fidget with her kindle, tapping against the screen.

“You don’t have to make it so—”

“Sarah Cameron!” Sarah turns in surprise but gets up nevertheless. Rafe helps her, getting up with her.

“You want me to come or—”

“Yeah, I don’t mind. You’ll get to see your nephew.” Rafe follows behind Sarah as the nurse leads her into the examination room. Their lead to the left wing of the office, his eyes move towards the right. His brows furrow but he continues walking. He continues to follow Sarah and the nurse, they speak amicably among themselves.

Rafe puffs out his lips, turning his head back. He has this gnawing feeling but he ignores it. He was never the kind of person to like being at the doctors. But..

“Right in here, the doctor will be with you shortly.”

The doctor places the cool gel onto Sofias stomach, she laughs at the way it feels on her belly. Even after a few of these sessions, she still can’t get over the cold feeling.

Dr. Reynolds smiles at her, moving the transducer across Sofias stomach. Then she heard it. Her babies heart beat. No matter how many times she’s heard it, it’s a sound that could never get old for her.

“Everything is looking good. No issues. We already checked the size of the baby. They seem pretty good from head to toe.” Dr.Reynolds smiles, continuing moving the transducer across Sofias belly. “The heart beat sounds normal. The level of amniotic fluid is normal as well. Not too much and not too little. Do you want to know the gender of the baby? Or would you rather wait until they’re born.”

Sofia nods, “I’ll like to know. Thank you.” Dr. Reynolds moves the transducer lower on her stomach. Pressing enough for the computer to pick up the baby.

“Hmm.” Dr. Reynolds looked deep in thought, Sofia couldn’t help but feel her heartbeat race. A part of her wanted to wait until she gave birth to know the gender of the baby. But the more anxious side of her; wanted to know immediately. She let out a deep breath, staring at the computer.

“So when the baby is a girl, we look for what we like to call the hamburger sign. The labia lips tend to look like a hamburger bun. For the boy, we would consider this to be the turtle sign. Since it peeks out. We also look for the sagittal sign. There’s a nub on the end of the spine. That’s also another way we can indicate if it’s a boy or if it’s a girl. We call it the caudal notch. When it’s a boy, it’s upwards. And when it’s a girl it’s downturned.” Sofia nods, taking all the information in.

“The hamburger sign is present here. And the caudal notch is downturned.”

Sofia can’t help the tears that prick her eyes. Her heart clenches, “It’s a baby girl?”

Dr. Reynolds regards Sofia with a warm smile. “Yes it’s a girl.”

Sarah smiles as Rafe sees his baby nephew in real time. His eyes are glassy. He can’t help but feel almost proud. No, he is proud. He never realized how big the baby was now. The doctor Dr.Thompson, moves the transducer with ease. Pressing down, as he does so.

“A very healthy baby boy. This is your second to last check up. How are you feeling, Ms. Cameron.”

Sarah turns her eyes towards Dr. Thompson, “I can’t wait to see him. I’ve been waiting so long now.”

Dr. Thompson nods, the baby’s heartbeat in the background.

“Very strong heart, by the way. Strongest I’ve heard.” Sarah turns to smile brightly at Rafe, he can’t help but return it. His eyes returning to the computer, his mind briefly wanders. He knows Sarah would be an amazing mother. Seen her caretaking ways—but he—he’s not sure if he’ll ever be a good father. Maybe it was too late. Maybe he was already too messed up.

“Everything seems to be good. I’ll be back with the paperwork so you can be discharged.”

Sofia signed the papers the nurse handed her, she clicked the pen closed. Handing it back, the nurse smiles. “I’ll see what appointments Dr. Reynolds has opened. Give me a second.” As the nurse clicks away at the computer, Sofias mind wanders. Her eyes scanning the room. Would it be so bad if Rafe knew he was going to be a father?

“Okay, I have Sunday in the afternoon. Around 3pm. Or Monday morning at 12. This is for next month. The beginning of November.” She looks up at Sofia expectantly.

“Uh, let me check.” Sofia takes out her phone, looking at her calendar. She knew she was going to go on maternity leave soon enough. She’d spoken to Phil, he’d cleared it for her. Sundays were usually the days she spend with her mom, sisters and grandma.

“Monday works.” Sofia smiles. The nurse smiles, putting that into the system. Then handing Sofia an appointment card.

“If you need anything, you find some kind of trouble. You can always come earlier than that. But for now, November 3rd is your day of appointment.”

“Thank you so much.” The nurse nods, smiling.

“Have a lovely day.”

“You too.” Sofia walks away, heading towards the elevator. Pressing the button.

Rafe helps Sarah up as they make their exit. They walk back down the wide hallway, Sarah’s hand over her belly.

“We’re naming the baby JJ.” She says it, softly. Rafe continues to walk alongside of her.

“I bet JJ would have really loved that.” Sarah looks at him, her eyes pricking with tears. Rafe and JJ had always hated each other. There was never a time Rafe would have thought, he wouldn’t have had animosity against him. But now, now that he’s gone. He can’t hate him anymore. He just understands.

“Thank you.” Sarah croaks. “I know—I know you hated him. But—you don’t know what that means to me. So thank you.” She grabs his hand, squeezing it. “And—thank you for trying. Trying to be better. I promise, Wheez and I can see a difference.”

The elevator chimes, Sofia steps in. Pressing the number 1 so she can head home. She looks down at her phone, she was so excited to take pictures later with the sonograms that the doctor had given her.

Sarah opens the door to the waiting room once more. The elevator doors closing shut as she steps out. She heads towards the nurse at the counter. “Booking your last appointment Ms. Cameron?” Rafe stands awkwardly to the side, his hands in his pockets.

“Yes, last one before I pop.” She lets out a chuckle as the nurse chuckles alongside her.

Sofia enters her car, she was still allowed to drive. She looks down once more at her belly.

“Hey baby girl. Mommy is so happy to know you’re a girl. No matter what though, boy or girl. I’ll still love you all the same.” She lets her car heat up a bit before peeling out of the parking lot.

The sliding doors of the doctors opens, Rafe and Sarah walk towards his car. He helps her back into the passenger seat.

“So, any more errands?” He asks, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. He realizes in the past, he would have been. If they lived in a world, where Ward Cameron was still alive. He wasn’t sure he would be doing this. Nor, he knows they’re would be a baby in Sarah’s stomach.

“No, we’re good. Unless you have any errands to run.”

“Nah.”

“Okay, let’s head home. I’m tired.” Sarah puts her seatbelt back on. Rafe heads towards the driver seat, plopping himself inside, putting his own seatbelt on.

“Home it is.”