#i almost forgot to sharpen these

[millenari]

Gayest man alive 6000 years running

[hes-a-tough-kid]

I’m lost…

[tender-rosiey]

Hii!! I would like to request a Sukuna x Reader, bcs I just love how you write him:))

The Reader gets jealous/upset because Sukuna gets Concubines, with a happy ending though please!

Hope you have a great day!!:))

to provoke — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: glad you like him! <3

you had always known that being with sukuna meant navigating through a maze of power plays and manipulation. his affection—if it could be called that—was far from simple.

but nothing had quite prepared you for this.

the concubines had arrived without warning, and with them, an unsettling shift in the atmosphere.

it wasn’t just their presence—it was the way they paraded through the palace, casting knowing glances in your direction, their soft laughter echoing behind closed doors.

at first, you’d ignored it, pretending their arrival hadn’t bothered you. after all, sukuna did what he wanted—always had. you were no stranger to his need to push limits, to test you.

but the whispers, the sly smiles, the way they flaunted themselves in his presence—it wore on you. each teasing glance felt like a needle, pricking at the thin veil of composure you were desperately trying to maintain.

one night, as you passed a group of them in the corridor, one of the concubines stepped forward, her lips curving into a smirk.

“he’s quite fond of us, you know,” she murmured, her tone almost sweet, but dripping with venom. “you must feel so… left out.”

her words struck you. it is one thing for sukuna to do something, but for them to think that they can even talk to you?

it seemed the bitch forgot who her queen is.

her impudence was the reason why her head was separated from her body and laid on the ground. you let out a breath, as the rest of the concubines fled the scene.

you wiped the blood of your face, eyes boring into the woman’s lifeless eyes. if sukuna wanted his concubines, fine. you wouldn’t fight for his attention. you wouldn’t play his games.

days passed. the concubines roamed the halls freely, their shrill laughter occasionally filtering through the walls as they entertained him. you found solace in avoiding them all—avoiding him

perhaps, you thought bitterly, if you stayed out of sight long enough, he'd forget you altogether. but sukuna, being who he was, had no intention of letting that happen.

“you’ve been quiet,” his voice cuts through the air one evening, startling you from your thoughts.

he stands in the doorway of your chambers, his presence filling the room with that suffocating air of dominance that never fails to make your skin prickle.

“I have nothing to say,” you reply, not bothering to look up from where you sit. your voice is even, but you know he can hear the tension lying just beneath the surface.

“oh?” he steps closer, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “and here I thought you might have something to say about the new additions to my palace.”

your hands tighten in your lap, but you force yourself to remain calm. “they’re none of my concern, husband.”

sukuna’s laugh is low, mocking. “really? you’re not even a little bit jealous?”

you clench your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. this is exactly what he wants—he brought them here to provoke you, to see how far he can push before you break.

but you won’t break. not this time.

“they’re beautiful, aren’t they?” sukuna continues, his voice a lazy drawl as he leans against the wall, watching you closely. “so eager to please. so quick to obey.”

your stomach twists, but you remain silent.

“and yet…” he trails off, his gaze sharpening. “you’ve been avoiding me, wife.”

“I’ve had no reason to be around,” you mutter, finally meeting his gaze, the weight of his scrutiny pressing down on you. you scowl. “and my pride will not allow me to be around a man who does not respect me.”

sukuna’s expression darkens, the amusement slipping slightly as he straightens. “is that what you think?”

you stare at him, defiant, but he only smirks again, his eyes glinting with something more dangerous now. without another word, he turns, motioning for you to follow.

confused, but unwilling to let him have the upper hand, you rise and trail after him, your steps hesitant. sukuna leads you through the palace, deeper into the dimly lit halls until you reach a secluded chamber.

he pushes the doors open with a casual flick of his wrist, revealing what lies inside.

you freeze, breath catching in your throat.

the concubines—every last one of them—lie lifeless on the floor, their bodies unnervingly still. blood pools beneath them, staining the once pristine floor. the air is thick with the scent of death.

sukuna steps inside, his voice disturbingly casual. “they served their purpose.”

you can’t speak. your mind reels, torn between shock and something else—something dark and twisted that tells you this is sukuna’s way of proving something to you. it’s not that you’re unused to carnage.

hell, you even killed one yourself.

but their bodies are so deformed beyond comprehension, they no longer look like humans.

“they were never meant to last,” he says, glancing at you with a bored expression, as if the carnage before him is nothing more than a trivial inconvenience. “did you really think they meant anything?”

the words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“you killed them?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

sukuna’s smirk widens, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “of course. they were disposable.”

a twisted part of you wants to feel relief—relief that they’re gone, that the torment is over. but another part of you feels sickened by the sight, by the casual cruelty of it all.

“you’re the only one deemed my queen,” sukuna says, stepping closer until he’s looming over you, his hand gripping your chin with just enough force to make you wince. “remember that.”

his words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and something else pooling in your stomach. sukuna is many things—cruel, violent, unyielding.

but in his own twisted way, this is his version of loyalty. his way of showing you that no matter how many games he plays, you’re the only one who truly matters.

you swallow hard, meeting his gaze. “and what if I leave?”

sukuna’s grin widens, his eyes narrowing with dark amusement. “you won’t.”

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[twi-liight]

Petty Jealousy ❣

Tav's companions cannot fathom them potentially having other friends. ❥ Astarion/reader, Astarion/Tav, but also Companions/reader. I'm a Tavrem supremacist. ❥ Contains my own personal headcanon for why the companions call them "Tav" instead of their first name, which is justification for me loopholing the eternal problem of xreader writers having to wince when they use "F/N" or "Y/N". ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav/reader!

“Look,” Astarion hisses, “look at that!” 

5 pairs of eyes land on the offender of the night (which, to their surprise, isn’t Astarion) who conversed pleasantly with the leader of their party. A half-elf with a sharp jaw, proud brow, and mirthful eyes looks extraordinarily ordinary compared to their merry band of freaks. 

“Who is that, again?” Shadowheart asks absently. “Tav suggested I rest for today instead of mapping out the Underdark with the party, and the next thing I know, they’ve brought back another little companion.” 

Astarion’s jaw twitches. He snaps out, “Companion or complication?”

Gale crosses his arms, shrugging, used to Astarion’s temper running hot then cold. “His name is Nilmorn - a luthier. Tav took an interest in his wares. He makes a living selling stringed instruments in the Underdark. Strange place to sell such things.” 

Ugh. Astarion sighs, shaking his head. Leave it to Gale to traipse over the obvious. A sharpened mind like his would surely know that this Nilmorn has no place here, if not to be a bloodbag for him to slurp on. Beyond that, what use does this pretty boy have? Nilmorn sells wares that are utterly useless to them. He’s quite boring and one-dimensional, too, a character that strays too much into the side of “moral good” for Astarion to tolerate. 

 “Yes, yes, Gale, but have you considered how strange it is that he has invited himself to our camp?” Astarion flares out his hand towards the wizard, as if handing him common sense on his palm. 

“I,” Gale begins, blinking his wet, beautiful brown eyes at Astarion, “invited myself to this journey, Astarion. I am quite hurt you forgot. I thought what we had was special!” 

“Yes, but you’re weird!” Astarion exclaims. “You’re a freak with a bomb in your body because of your situationship with Mystra! That,” Astarion points an accusatory finger in the direction of Nilmorn, in which 5 pairs of eyes look at him again, “is someone so unbelievably normal he doesn’t even have any, any…” He gestures, articulates with his hands to placate his words. 

“No dubious motives?” Shadowheart offers, a smirk coyly playing on her lips. 

“No complicated backstory?” Wyll pipes in. Astarion’s eyes flicker to him, and irritation seeps into his skin when he finds Wyll smiling wryly, as if the warlock is in on some joke he is not picking up on. “No, I don’t know, god that has let him down in some way, shape, or form?” 

“Certainly no skills for fighting.” Lae’zel, thank the gods for Lae’zel. Her smooth voice hides none of her displeasure, and those sharp, slitted eyes stare across the fire to dig daggers into Nilmorn’s back. “Useless. We have no need for string-ed instruments. Let Tav pick one, and send this half-elf on his way.” 

Yes. Yes. Astarion nods eagerly.

“Hmmm. I almost envy his mundaneity,” Karlach adds,  “but I mean, he’s not that bad, Astari. Man’s just trying to make the world a better place, one string at a time.” 

Astarion almost throws up. He looks to the other companions helplessly. “Darlings. Please tell me you are not going to let Karlach get away with saying something so putridly motivational.” 

Karlach tosses her head back and cackles, much to Astarion's chagrin.

“Something is obviously bothering you,” Shadowheart states bluntly. Her green eyes watch his expression carefully in the firelight; she finds something there, but does not say it outright. With an exhale through her nose, as if it is painful for her to attempt a conversation with him, Shadowheart decides to throw him a bone: “Are you jealous?” 

He does not catch the bone. The bone slams right into his head as he stares at Shadowheart, slack-jawed and scandalized. Him? Jealous? “You must be joking.”

“Aw,” Shadowheart croons, another one of her insufferable smirks toying on her lips, “you are.” 

If he had mindflayer powers beyond reading her reprehensible surface-level thoughts, he would make Shadowheart’s head explode. Or something. 

He must establish his dignity in the group once more. He cannot handle more of this, especially not with Wyll grinning so wide, not self-aware enough that if he did not have a sexy demon controlling his life because he didn’t read the terms of conditions of a motherfucking contract, Astarion would bully him more.

“That is not the point here. Look,” he says. “I am just saying that our Tav is desirable in every way. Physically, we can all agree that Tav is attractive. Yes?” 

Yes. They all nod their heads. 

“Tav is a little strange, but they are our leader, and they got us this far somehow. Who knew caring about other people could go a long way.” 

Yes. They all nod their heads, except Wyll and Karlach, who look amongst the group with sheer disappointment on their faces. “Gods,” Karlach groans into her hand, “we– we need to unpack that later, gang. That’s just really sad.” 

“Lastly, Tav is strong. Strong enough to split apart the mountains and the sky, I imagine.” Strong enough to bury Cazador into the ground, hopefully. “Strong enough to face a god unwaveringly. Strong enough to persevere. Strong enough to be kind, despite everything. Despite what they think, they are charismatic, and they are the entire package. The only person who does not know of their value is Tav themselves.” 

They watch Tav’s lips quirk into a smile as Nilmorn holds a lyre out for them upon his smooth hands. Smooth, no sign of scars, no sign of complications. Just so unbearably mundane. Unbearably good. Unbearably kind. 

Unbearably unaware of their true nature.

Nilmorn does not know why they nicknamed them Tav, despite their name being [F/N]. Their unstoppable quench to loot everything and anything set back their timeline by weeks, no doubt. Reaching into barrels, reaching into the pockets of bandits, reaching into damn silk cocoons, reaching into whatever their curious little hands can salvage. It annoyed Astarion at first, but then Tav would find all of these weapons and armors and foods and coins and books. Normalcies and luxuries that made camp life feel less of a drab and more exciting. 

The gleaming, golden dagger at his side? They found it. The boots, the armor, the enchanted rings and necklaces they either found, bartered, or killed for their companions. Thus - Tav, short for tavara, the word meaning wares and merchandise; a clever little nickname Gale came up for their leader who is too good for all of them combined. 

“Any other party could whisk them away, you know,” Astarion says. “Tav could find a party of good, decent people, unlike any of us, without the mess and complication and hurt we cause them, and leave. Remember, my dears. It is not us who is irreplaceable. It is Tav.” 

How long would Tav tolerate him? Not long, he thinks. Long enough until he has expended his use for them, surely, but not forever. That's why anyone who wants Tav beyond sex or strength is a threat. If he hadn’t seduced his way into their heart, he wouldn’t be here where he stands, with a group of people who make him feel a little less alone. 

No doubt he would be in a cage on the back of a covered wagon that belongs to that disgusting gyr, Gandrel, his chain to Cazador growing shorter and shorter.

Silence. Tense and still. They watch as Tav laughs lightly, eyes alighting with amusement as Nilmorn cracks another joke. 

"You should meet my other companions," they hear Nilmorn offer, "I just know they would love to have you."

Revelation slams into each and every one of them like a magic missile.

“He’s not that funny,” Shadowheart mutters. She bends down, hands gripping tightly around the handle of her mace. “I don’t know why they are laughing that hard.”

“He can try to leave with his head on his shoulders,” snarls Lae’zel, “just say the word, Astarion.” 

Excellent. 

“What-” Wyll turns to Gale and Karlach. “We should stop them, shouldn’t we? There are no implications of this man trying to steal Tav away, he's just being nice, you worthless cunts! This is not fair to him!” 

“We’re in the Underdark, aren’t we? Super deep. Doubt anyone who cares for him will come looking for him.” 

“Karlach!” 

“Astute observation! To make this all a little easier on us, I can most certainly put this man to sleep.” 

“Gale?!” 

“Go on, Lae’zel,” Astarion grins wickedly, “attack!”

“Oh, hells,” Wyll stumbles back, then turns quickly to the other direction towards Halsin. “Halsin! Halsin - they’re trying to murder someone again!” 

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

[pedroscowgirl]

In safe hands

Aaron hotchner x (fem)reader

(could be read as gn reader but aaron calls reader princess if you're fine with that)

Masterlist

warnings: fluff /slight angst but also a lil suggestive! so minors dni, mentiones of surgery, reader is high on anesthesia, secret relationship, lmk if i forgot something

Summary: After undergoing surgery, you wake up to find Hotch by your side—and under the influence of anesthesia, you accidentally let some unfiltered, unholy thoughts slip

wc: 1.7k it's a small one srry

A/n: i was actually planning on writing some crazy naughty stuff but i couldn't bring myself to ruin the sweet moment so. Edit: this was an ask from a friend :))

The world was a haze of muted colors and soft lights as your eyes fluttered open. Everything felt… heavy, yet oddly light at the same time. The last thing you remembered was the searing pain, the sound of shouts around you, and the warmth of Aaron’s hand gripping yours as you were rushed into surgery. Your head was spinning, and the sterile smell of the hospital filled your senses, reminding you that you were safe now. But that comforting thought wasn’t fully real until your eyes found him.

Aaron was there, sitting at the edge of your bed, his normally composed face lined with worry. His dark eyes softened the moment he saw you stir, as though some enormous weight had just lifted off his shoulders. His hand moved, almost instinctively, reaching out just enough to brush against your blanket-covered arm. You knew he was keeping it subtle, keeping his usual public reserve, even though you longed for his touch to be closer. You didn’t mind. Just knowing he was there was enough.

“Aaron…” you murmured, his name slipping out in a breathy whisper, almost a plea. A sleepy, lopsided smile tugged at your lips as you raised your hand weakly, the gesture an open invitation. And he understood instantly. He moved forward, his hand enveloping yours with a tenderness that, even in your groggy state, sent warmth spreading through you.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning close enough that his familiar scent, clean and comforting, washed over you. “Are you okay?” There was a hitch in his voice, and his gaze searched your face for any sign of lingering pain.

You felt a giggle bubble up, uncharacteristic but unstoppable under the heavy influence of the anesthesia. “Yes,” you said, your voice slurred but light with relief. “But gosh, I really am so horny for you right now.” The words tumbled out, raw and honest, before you even registered what you were saying. It was as if, in this dreamy, half-awake state, you couldn’t help but speak exactly what was on your mind.

And for a beat, the world felt perfect.

Then, as your senses sharpened, you became acutely aware of the quiet—unnaturally quiet. You blinked, focusing past Aaron, and that’s when you saw them. The entire BAU team stood around your bed, a collective look of utter shock written across their faces.

JJ’s mouth was slightly open, her eyes wide and sparkling with a mix of surprise and excitement. Beside her, Morgan was struggling—and failing—to hide a grin, while Garcia looked as though she’d just stumbled onto the juiciest secret of the decade. Reid was there, too, his head tilted in deep thought, clearly recalculating every recent interaction between you and Aaron. Emily was one of the first to piece things together, thanks to her observant nature and razor-sharp intuition, and her expression quickly shifted from mild surprise to amusement.

Embarrassment surged through you, but Aaron didn’t let go of your hand. His grip was steady, grounding, and as you looked up at him, his expression remained calm, even gently amused. You caught the faintest hint of a smile as he glanced down at you, his eyes crinkling at the edges in that rare, quiet way that he reserved just for you.

Morgan was the first to break the silence, clearing his throat and crossing his arms with a sly grin. “So… looks like there’s a little something we missed here?”

Your cheeks flushed, but Aaron gave your hand an encouraging squeeze, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your knuckles. He wasn’t going to leave you to face this alone. You took a deep breath, glancing at each member of your team, your family, before you spoke.

“Guess… the secret’s out,” you said, your voice still a bit wobbly from the anesthesia but carrying a hint of humor.

“Oh my God,” Garcia burst out, clapping her hands together with a gleeful little jump. “This is the best plot twist of all time! I knew something was going on! Didn’t I say something was going on?”

JJ let out a little laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “You two… Really?”

Aaron, ever composed, only smiled, his face calm as he finally addressed the team. “Yes,” he said simply, his deep voice carrying just a hint of pride. “We’ve… kept it quiet for a while.”

“Quiet?!” Garcia’s eyes were practically shining. “This is FBI-level stealth, boss man!”

Emily cleared her throat, causing everyone to pause and look her way. "Well, well, well," she said, her voice teasing but not unkind. "Hotch, I never would have pegged you for a rule-bender. But hey, I’m impressed.”

Reid, still analyzing the situation, gave a little nod, murmuring as he looked back and forth between you both, “I suppose that does explain the slight change in body language I’ve observed between you two over the last few months…”

Aaron raised an eyebrow, a subtle, almost playful challenge directed at Reid. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

Reid’s cheeks turned pink, and he adjusted his glasses. “Well, um… no,” he replied, with a sheepish little smile.

Morgan crossed his arms and chuckled, nudging JJ with his elbow. “Man, Hotch, I never thought I’d see the day! But you know what? I’m happy for you both. Really.” His grin was genuine, the teasing look in his eyes replaced by one of warmth and respect.

With the laughter and light-hearted jabs filling the room, the awkwardness melted away. The anesthesia-induced embarrassment faded, replaced by a sense of belonging, of trust. This team—your family—was nothing but supportive, and you felt a profound sense of relief and gratitude that they knew now.

Finally, you turned back to Aaron, who had never let go of your hand through it all. His gaze was soft, a glint of humor still in his eyes as he leaned down just slightly, murmuring so only you could hear, “Guess we’ll have to get used to a little less privacy.”

You smiled up at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I think I can live with that.”

“Alright,” he said, his voice as steady as ever, though a hint of relief softened his tone. “I think it’s time for everyone to let the patient get some rest.”

The team murmured their goodbyes, each leaving their own quirky remarks. JJ gave you a warm smile, mouthing “we’ll talk later,” while Garcia blew you a playful kiss, winking at you and Aaron as she left.

But Morgan lingered a little longer, crossing his arms and giving Aaron a mischievous grin. “Take it easy in here, Hotch,” he said with a laugh, then pointed a finger at him. “And behave, alright?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the anesthesia still making your giggles sound a bit loopy. Morgan winked at you before finally heading out, and with that, the room fell silent, leaving just you and Aaron.

The laughter faded, and the quiet settled around you both. Aaron still held your hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your palm. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, his gaze softened, his brow still creased with the worry he hadn’t quite shaken. He let out a long, shaky breath, his thumb pausing as he looked down at you.

“You scared me,” he admitted quietly, his voice a low murmur. “When I saw you go down…” His jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes for a moment, as if replaying that moment was too painful. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

Your heart twisted at the vulnerability in his voice. You’d never seen him like this—Hotch, the stoic, unshakeable leader, allowing himself to show this depth of emotion. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, your fingers weak but wanting to comfort him in any way you could.

“I’m right here, Aaron,” you said, your voice a little hoarse but filled with as much warmth as you could muster. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked back at you, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a small, relieved smile. Leaning down, he brushed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment as if grounding himself in the fact that you were safe and alive.

Then, unable to resist, he moved lower, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. It was tender, slow, filled with all the things he couldn’t say. When he finally pulled back, his hand still cradling yours, he looked at you with an expression so full of love and relief that it made your heart skip a beat.

You smiled up at him, feeling a little cheeky despite everything. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice soft but playful. “Now you need to fix it.”

Aaron’s brows rose slightly, and a hint of a smirk crossed his face as he realized exactly what you meant. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. “When you’re better, I’ll treat you like the best pillow princess that you are.”

A laugh bubbled up, and you reached up to lightly tap his arm, both touched and amused. “You’d better keep that promise, Hotchner.”

He chuckled, his own tension easing a little as he looked at you, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I don’t make promises lightly. You know that.”

And in that moment, as you lay there under his warm gaze, you felt the absolute certainty that you were cherished, protected, and loved in a way you never imagined.

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added): @looking1016 @pear-1206 @doe-eyed-diva @ssa-aaronhotchner @sweetpinkchampagne @totallyjovialblaze @pastelpinkflowerlife @donttrustlove @actualdeemon @jencole214 @fandomawesomeness @devilslittlehelper @mrs-ssa-hotch @gamingfeline @rousethemouse

[luvsupa]

“SUKUNA-SAMA..”

tags: heianera!sukuna, trueform!sukuna x fem!reader, kissing… lots of kissing, smut-ish (?),readers called little one, ermm lmk if I forgot sum

w.c: 800

a/n: reposting my fics on here from (@luvsupas) !!

part one here!

sukuna's voice continues to linger in your mind, his gaze making you feel as if he's watching your every move. what did he see in me? why was i spared?

the walk toward your new estate is a journey through confusion and fear. trailing behind uraume and the guards, you glance around the dimly lit corridor, trying to make contact with the other servants and concubines who are already giving you dirty looks and whispering.

when you finally arrive at your quarters, uraume unlocks the door and motions for you to enter. “uraume," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "why did sukuna spare my life?"

uraume's gaze sharpens, a flash of disappointment in their eyes. “you are to address him with the correct honorific." your heart sinks. how am i already managing to piss them off? "i assume sukuna-sama was intrigued." your mind races with questions, but before you can ask any, uraume and the guards depart, leaving you with no further explanation.

pacing back and forth alone in the dimly lit room, your mind is filled with millions of thoughts, but this time, it's about him.

finally, you've had enough of your mind racing, and you make your way toward the wooden door. carefully opening it, loud creaks echo through the hallway. peeking your head through, you see the corridor is empty, the only sound there is the crackling torches lining the hallway.

as you walk down the hallway, you feel his presence, his eyes boring into the back of your head, causing you to stop in your tracks. taking a deep breath, you prepare yourself to look into sukuna's eyes, but when you turn around, you see nothing but a dark corridor.

eventually, you come to see sukuna’s chamber doors, wide open, almost as if he’s baiting you to enter his domain. building up the courage, you step inside, your footsteps barely heard against the stone floor. familiar torches line the steps to his throne. this time, he’s sitting there—eyes closed? he sleeps here? i expected him to have a larger chamber. just as you think you might be safe to turn back and leave, his voice slices through the stillness,

“did you truly think i wouldn’t notice you, little one?"

your heart sinks, and you slowly turn around to see the king of curses' scarlet eyes gazing down upon you. "i didn’t come here to be unnoticed," you retort, mustering the courage to show him you do not fear him. “why did you spare me?"

sukuna looks at you with amusement. the audacity you have to talk back to him is thrilling. “come here," he purrs.

you obey, walking up the steps while maintaining eye contact, feeling the tension thicken. the air feels electric, charged with an unspoken challenge. suddenly, his two lower arms grab your waist and place you on his thick thighs, closing the distance between you. “you want to know why i spared you?" he hums, tilting his head to look at you more closely. you eagerly nod.

his lips curl into a smile at your eagerness, as his upper arm rises and brushes against your cheek in a gentle yet possessive manner. “your lack of caution fascinates me," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, "it awakens my curiosity."

his hand moves down, tracing the outline of your jaw, as his eyes follow his movement with a dark, hungry intensity. “you fear me," he continues, his fingers now at your throat, your breath hitching at the sensation. “and yet, there is something else, isn’t there? that draws you to me." his words send a rush of heat through you, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, your body betraying your mind. he chuckles softly, his lips dangerously close to yours.

in that moment, the tension between you snaps. his lips crash onto yours, claiming you with a fierce, demanding kiss. his lower hands snake around your waist, grinding up against you, making you moan loudly at the friction that ignites a new level of pleasure.

sukuna growls in response, continuously rutting against you, causing you to whimper from the intense feeling. his kiss becomes even more demanding, drawing another moan from your lips as you feel him harden underneath you. when he finally pulls away, you are left breathing heavily, his scarlet eyes blazing with a passion that makes your knees weak.

“remember this," he says huskily, "you belong to me, body and soul."

with that, he dismisses you, leaving you with your mind filled with thoughts of him. the taste of him lingers on your lips, a reminder of the power he holds over you. as you turn to leave, you can feel his gaze burning into your back, a silent promise that this is far from over.

[amandacanwrite]

The Bear and the Fox - A Halsin x Reader One Shot

Word Count || About 6,000 Words

Scenario || You are a druid adept that has been imprisoned by Kagha for trying to stop the Rite of Thorns in Halsin's absence. He returns to find you and is none to happy to see it, especially after all you have been through.

POV || 2nd Person, ungendered tav/reader.

CW || mentions of entrapment, trafficking, self-deprecation, trauma. (Please let me know if I forgot anything.)

A/n || I have been a little stressed out and have been using this as a distraction/escape. I would appreciate so much if you all let me know what you think! Requested by the lovely @drabblesandimagines, thank you for the idea and I hope you enjoy it!! Thank you for your patience in waiting for this one!

You’re almost certain Archdruid Halsin doesn’t know you exist, but it doesn’t stop you from being devastated when he doesn’t return to the Emerald Grove from his travels to the nearby goblin camp. Even if he doesn’t remember you, you certainly have never forgotten him. Nor have you been able to wrench your heart from the grip of the merciless pining that has plagued you ever since you woke up on a pile of soft hides on the floor of his vault beneath the temple.. 

The truth is, Archdruid Halsin had saved you. 

You’d been captured, at the time, by a troupe of traveling drow with the intention of taking you deep into the underdark to be used for whatever nefarious purposes they deigned. You were one of many captured, but the only druid in the lot. 

They’d entrapped you in a cage, preventing you from even taking your wildshape to flee. They’d gone between distressing you in both forms, though. They’d seemed to have a particular talent for making you miserable, and in time you’d lost a bit of your humanity to the shape of the russet and auburn fox you often favored. 

When he’d reached in to coax you out with a gentle hand, you pounced on the appendage–far too entrapped in the fear-addled mind of an animal that would sooner gnaw its own foot off than let a hunter find it caught in his leghold trap. 

But he hadn’t flinched; hadn’t even grimaced as you sank your sharpened teeth into the thick flesh of his muscled forearm and tore at it. He’d simply watched calmly as you got it out of your system. When you’d realized he was an unyielding mass of man, you’d backed into the farthest corner of your kennel and cowered. 

“Fear not, little one,” he’d cooed with that gentle, gravelly tone. “You are among friends now. I only wish to ensure you’re uninjured, and you can be on your way to find your mate or your burrow.”

You’d only blinked and he swapped his bleeding arm for his other one. You’d sniffed cautiously before dropping your head and your ears. He’d not needed any other sign, he’d known the way animals communicate; with gestures and body language rather than sounds.

He’d smoothed a hand over your ratty coat; it was the first kind touch you’d felt in months. You’d leaned yourself into it and he’d used the opportunity to scoop you up into his arms. 

Perhaps it was at that moment that you’d fallen for him. Because as soon as you’d registered the strong and tender support of his warm, cradling arms, you’d suddenly realized how exhausted you’d been. You lost hold on your wildshape and changed back to your humanoid form, unclothed and skinny. 

He’d started, adjusted his grip a little clumsily as you’d spilled out of the space he’d allotted in his arms for you; but he didn’t drop you.

“You surprised me, child,” he’d said as you’d started to drift into unconsciousness. “I’d certainly thought it was strange to go through such stringent measures for a single fox, but I see now why they’d made such efforts to keep you entrapped.”

He’d reached up to brush your tangled hair away from your face. “I can see you’re exhausted. Rest now; when you wake, you’ll be safe and warm with a meal and a warm bath awaiting you.”

He hadn’t lied, and the Emerald Grove had quickly become your home in the months and years that had passed since then. You’d seen Halsin around, of course. And he always seemed to have a smile to spare for you as you passed like swans floating in a pond. But you’d never quite been able to find a way to speak to him in private. 

Perhaps it was your fault, you think, as you find yourself in a new cage, heart broken and aching as it seems less and less likely that he will ever be coming back. 

You know Halsin to be strong. He’s a seven foot elf and built like the cave bear he so often likes to take the shape of. But there is only so much a single druid can do on his own, even one as competent as Halsin. 

It hurts to be facing the possibility of rotting in the cells below the grove–below the place that had so much begun to feel like home for you, finally. It hurts to realize you may die here having never told Halsin how you feel about him. 

But perhaps it’s better this way. Perhaps it is better to die having never faced the awkward acknowledgement of feeling that could never be returned. 

Halsin has always been effusive, warm, welcoming…brave. 

But there is a reason you chose the fox for your wildshape. 

You have always been furtive, timid, too reliant on a single person. It has always been your nature, but you can’t deny the fundamental absurdity of the fox falling for the bear. At best, you could only be an inconvenient pest to him. You’re sure of that much. 

Still…you miss the sun…you wish you could see it one more time. You’d always wanted to die bathed in the sunlight, not cold and damp in a stone chamber flooded with three inches of water. You curl into yourself, hugging your knees close, trying to remember the feeling of those warm arms around you as the Rite of Thorns continues somewhere above ground, heedless of your pleas for stalling, uncaring of the courage you’d had to summon to stand up to Kagha at all. 

Kagha had never cared much for you; found you weak and miserable. 

Pathetic. That was the word you’d heard bandied around when she didn’t know you were within earshot or when you were cozily cloaked by your shadows. 

“You should have just kept your mouth shut,” you tell yourself. 

But even you don’t really believe that. Not truly. You found kindred spirits in the Teiflings who had come to find refuge in the grove. You’d even played with the children in their little hiding spot beneath the old stone structures. 

When the goblins came screaming the name of the Absolute, when Halsin left to learn more about the parasites, you’d been shocked and frightened by the sudden turn of sentiments against them and gotten swept away in your own outrage over it. As far as you’d been concerned, everyone in the grove should have been well aware of what Halsin would have tolerated. They should have known that he’d want any living being to be safe and fed–especially the children. 

But it’d seemed that even the Emerald Grove druids were merely people; they were just as vulnerable to intimidation, coercion and power hunger as anyone else in Faerun. 

You shiver in the cold and the dank, wishing you could get some rest so that you could take your wildshape and find warmth in the silken texture of your auburn coat. 

You think of the nights curled up by the fire in Halsin’s secret cache while he allowed you a smaller space to acclimate to when you’d first arrive. You remember the feeling of large, gentle hands cradling your small, vulpine body in comfort as you slept. 

It’s at that moment that you hear the scuff of loud, fast foot fall on the decrepit stairs that lead down to this sodden prison. It’s followed by heavy, hurried sloshing before, as if out of thin air, Halsin stands before you. His hands are wrapped around the thick, stone bars of your enclosure so tightly that they are white at the knuckles. His broad chest rises and falls with exertion; or is that emotion? It is hard to know. 

He looks…utterly stricken. So much so that you wonder what happened to devastate him. Did he get back to The Grove to find all of the tieflings slaughtered? Did the tieflings rise up and destroy the grove before the Rite of Thorns could be finished? 

He opens his mouth and you expect terrible news–expect the worst. 

“A-are you alright?” is what he chokes out instead. 

You’re quiet for a moment; the question not making sense to you. Why in the world would he care if you were alright? You were…nobody. A druidic adept that found much more comfort tucked into a nest of blankets than anything else. You’d failed to stop the Rite. You’d failed at almost everything in your life so far. 

Has he…is it too dark down here? Does he think he’s talking to someone else? 

He grits his teeth and starts to wrestle with the door to your cell. 

Its mechanism is like the others in the temple; controlled by a stone tablet which should be placed in the proper slot and then activated with druidic magic. But he’s trying to use his own raw strength to open it. 

“Forgive me,” he grunts as the stone actually begins to give way, heeding his command. “I should have never left you here while The Grove was tangled in so much unrest. Had I thought the Kagha…had I known–”

“Archdruid,” you stammer. “You’re going to hurt yourself–”

“I care not,” he says, his tone taking on an almost ferocious quality that has you lifting your shoulders and shrinking into yourself. “It is you I am most concerned for. You had only just begun to smile and I– because of my negligence I find you entrapped all over again.”

Your mouth drops open as you realize that he actually came down here looking for you. Specifically to find you. To save you again. 

You are small; practically half the size of the archdruid. Yet, you suddenly recognize that he is trying to free you and you are just sitting there like some kind of dead fish. You stand to your feet and hurry over to the bars, grasping two of the other juts of stone and pulling it as he pushes. 

You’re not sure, but for a moment you think you see the barest ghost of a smile before his teeth clench again with effort. 

When the door is finally forced open a few inches, you release the stone. You roll your shoulders, shake out the tension in your hands. You will yourself to become smaller, to become lithe. You will your mouth to grow sharp, unforgiving teeth. You become vulpine. 

You slosh through the water on four padded feet and dash through the opening. 

For a moment, you almost flee up the stairs, ready to retreat to the fresh salty air outside. Ready to resign yourself to life as a fox. 

But Halsin drops to his knees and you look at him as he looks at you. 

He reaches a hand out to you, and you see the faint, silvery scars on his forearm from where you tore into him on the day you met. You sniff at him for a moment, then you shift back to your human form, carefully cradling his arm in your hands. 

“Did it get infected?” you ask. “After I gnawed at you?”

His brow is low and lips turn down at the corners. 

“No,” he says. 

“I don’t understand,” you say. “You shouldn’t have scarred…you should have been able to simply heal yourself.”

“I was able,” he says. “But I was unwilling. I…I didn’t want to forget.”

You look up at him. “Why?” you ask. 

There is the sound of chaos from up the stairs. You turn your head, letting your ears tune into the finer details of it as the quiet ambience of the water dripping and sloshing around you obscures it. As your focus narrows, you hear her. 

“She’s back,” Halsin sneers. “Kagha has finally returned.”

You look at him, your eyes wide as if you’re seeing him for the first time. The expression on his face is nothing short of raw, wild fury. He is the snarl of a wolf, he is the crackle of wildfire, he is the dark promise of death in a row of pointed teeth. 

He draws his arm back, stopping to take both of your small hands in his. His expression softens. “I will tell all,” he says. “But not before I punish the one who did this to you. Not before I see justice properly served for all of the disarray and cruelty enacted in my absence.”

You try to find a way to answer, but you can’t, settling instead for a dumbfounded nod. 

He stands and, once at his full height, shifts the position of his hand to cradle yours; offering you help, but also offering you the chance to help yourself. You grasp that hand and he tightens the muscles of his arms as you use his strength and stability to get yourself back up to your feet. 

“I am loathe to leave you down in this terrible place…but if you’re too frightened to face her…” he offers. 

“I’m not…” you say. “O-or at least I won’t be…not with you there.”

He graces you with the first real smile he’s given you since he suddenly appeared before you and you think you may no longer need the sun if he can continue looking at you just like that. 

“Come,” he says. “I want you to be part of this discussion.”

You follow Halsin, dwarfed in his shadow as you ascend the craggy steps, your soft leather shoes uncomfortably soggy and embarrassingly loud as you go. It feels almost surreal to be acknowledged by Halsin. Even more strange that he remembers you–that he seemed to have come to seek you out before anything else. 

There are more questions than answers immediately available, and you’re not sure you’ll have the nerve to ask those questions when all is said and done. 

When Halsin reaches the top of the stairs, he stops and looks back at you, giving you a calm smile as you quicken the pace of your last few steps to catch up with you. 

Now that you’re in better light, his brow faintly tenses and he reaches out for you. You go utterly still as he places two of his fingertips under the very tip of your chin, using the most minute bit of pressure to turn your face. 

“You’re hurt,” he says. “I didn’t see it in the darkness of the cells.”

You’d forgotten about the injury on your face–it’s not one you’d actually gotten to see before you were imprisoned, but you’d felt it throbbing for the entire day you were there. 

“It’s just a bruise,” you say. 

He removes his hand from beneath your chin and draws those same finger tips carefully over the curve of your brow. You wince slightly as he touches the most tender part and shakes his head. 

“There’s a split in your brow,” he says. “It will scar…”

You heave a little breathy chuckle. “Perhaps it will make me look more distinguished,” you say as you meet his hazel eyes. “You certainly wear them well.”

His heartbroken expression eases up and he shakes his head, hesitant amusement on his face. “If I wear them well, then you’ll be exquisite as ever with your own,” he says. “Still–that you were hurt because of my absence–”

“The fox was caught sticking it’s nose where it didn’t belong and was appropriately punished for it,” A familiar, haughty voice interrupts. “Don’t let the little bandit fill your head with untruths.”

Halsin takes your hand in his and pulls you slightly behind him as he also moves to block you from Kagha’s sight. It’s a protective measure, but he doesn’t force you to hide. Instead, it feels like he’s asserting his position as your protector–as the protector of any who are weaker than him–while allowing your agency to remain intact should you wish to take the lead.

“I don’t want to hear about your paranoia Kagha–I’ve heard enough of it to turn my stomach,” he says, that gravelly voice gaining an almost abrasive quality. “Tell me why I shouldn’t turn you out–or hand you over the shadow druids you’ve been cavorting with?” 

You watch as Kagha goes pale and your stomach churns with a dizzying mixture of nausea and fear. 

The shadow druids. The order of druidic magic that lay closest to the dark. The drow, the deep gnomes, Shar. Everything that represents the terror you’d once experienced crammed into a too-small cage. 

How could she? How could she want to work with them?! And then to have a nerve to call you a fox in the hen house. 

“I didn’t do anything,” you say, your voice quiet but steady. “I was only looking for a way to convince you that we needn’t go through with the ritee…”

“By snooping in places you DON'T belong,” Kagha says. 

“Perhaps it is you who does not belong here,” you snap. 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Halsin growls. “You do not deserve to remain here, yet it is Nature who will determine what becomes of you. One thing is certain: my teachings have clearly not made the difference here. You are to start anew—be made a novice once again.”

“You can’t do that—“ Kagha starts. 

“I am the First Druid in this Grove and I will do whatever I see fit to protect the people who call this place their home!” Halsin booms. “Kagha, you failed me. You failed everyone who relied on you!”

“That fox is an outsider. Ever since you pulled it in by its scruff it has done nothing but consume priceless resources and shrink into the corner like a frightened rodent. If you so crave balance—“

“Enough!” Halsin barks. “I will hear no more of this.”

“But—“ Kagha says. 

“I said enough. Get out of my sight before I lose hold of my humanity and tear you to shreds,” Halsin snarled. 

He says it loudly and deeply enough that it echoes in the stone chamber. Even you flinch a bit at the sudden fury coming off of him. You can almost smell it coming off of him–the adrenaline, the willingness to fight and gnash at Kagha. 

Kagha has the good sense to dip her head in deference. 

“Understood, First Druid Halsin,” she says. 

“Good,” he says, his voice a low rumble in his chest. “Now. Apologize.”

Her head snaps up again and her gaze slides over to you, sharp as an arrowhead. The silence between you carries the same anticipatory nausea of waiting for a cobra to strike. You can sense quite well that Kagha may be properly chastened for her actions in the grove, but her opinion of you seems to remain the same. 

Pathetic, you remember. That’s what you are to her. 

“It’s fine,” you say. “I’m just happy to be free again.”

“No,” he commands. “It is not fine. You did what was right and were punished for it. Kagha. Will. Apologize.”

Your heart stutters and pounds in your ears. You know Halsin means well. You know he is angry on your behalf, and that he wants to see you treated kindly, but you don’t like confrontation.You think that ferocity is meant to be directed to Kagha, but you’re not entirely sure. Flashes of terror and confusion climb out of the burial ground of your mind. Memories of a cramped cage, the smell of blood, the sound of pained mewling, angry shouting in a language you don’t understand and the pain of punishment when a command you didn’t understand was not followed.

You don’t want this display; you do not want to be the vehicle of this lesson. You don’t want to rock the boat unless the situation is absolutely dire; especially now that you’ve proven just how little efficacy you have when you insert yourself into the matters of people who do not like you or simply have more investment in their own interests than in the interests of the collective. It feels like a leg snare waiting to lock down on you and you’re not sure you can escape it this time.

The tension between Halsin and Kagha sings at a tenor that pierces your ears. Or is that your adrenaline? You’re not sure. Whatever it is, your muscles are sore and aching; wound tightly and ready to spring at the first sight of danger; the first sign of movement toward you.

Halsin spares a glance your way, perhaps sensing that growing tension. Your eyes dart up to his as your body starts to tremble, not with fear, but with the urge to act. You are a small, scrappy creature locked in a stand-off with a larger predator. 

His expression softens, looking almost apologetic. 

“Easy, little one,” he says as he reaches his hand out to touch you. 

Your mind is more feral than human by then. Just before he can actually touch you, you drop into a crouch and dart away from him, your heart hammering painfully against your sternum like an animal backed in a cage. You feel that wild urge to scratch, to gnaw, to snarl. 

His expression drops into one of worry, his guilt clear in his expression and in the way he bends at the knees, lowering himself and making himself small like one might when trying to calm an injured animal. 

“You are safe, dear one,” he says. “You are safe.”

You don’t believe him. It doesn’t feel safe here, not anymore. Perhaps never again. 

A sound comes from behind you and you lurch forward, losing your footing on your slick, damp boots, falling hard onto the palms of your hands before you get back up to your feet and fly through the old temple and scrambling out of the door. 

You simply run, your mind a blur of colors and raw, terrible fear. You can’t even register and savor the feeling of the sun on your skin or the sweet, salty breeze coming off of the lower cove. You run, and run, and run until familiar sights bleed into unfamiliar ones; until the wound up tension in your muscles gives way to trembling exhaustion. 

You don’t immediately recognize where you are, but you find a little alcove tucked into a glen of oak trees, their trunks fat with age and their canopies heavy with acorns and boughs full of leaves. 

The sun shines through the eaves, coloring the long grasses in deep emeralds and dappled yellow light. You sit against one of the trees, feeling the steady presence of Sylvanus as you gulp in desperate, exhausted breaths, your heart still hammering loudly in your ears. You rest your head back against the tree and close your eyes for just a moment. You breathe, and then you breathe again. Distance from the grove gives you a moment to realize just what being in that place was doing to you. 

The politics, the prejudice, the precarious balance between the available resources and the people who needed them most. You always do better on your own. There’s a reason the form of a fox comes to you most naturally; they aren’t pack animals. As it so happens, apparently, neither are you. 

So why had you stayed so long? 

The fear of being captured again, perhaps. 

Or maybe it was the Teiflings–you’d found a little group of friends among them; enjoyed sharing a drink with Dammon once in a while. 

But neither of those seem to ring true for you, in reality. 

No, what really seems to be the reason is the other part of foxes that makes the most sense to you. 

That they tend to find a mate, have a family, and remain with them for life. 

A reality you’d spent the last several years trying to avoid. Because there was only really one person keeping you at the grove. And that person was Halsin. 

He’s just…

He’s everything you wish you could be. 

He’s everything you wish you could have.

But you can’t. Because at the end of the day you’re just some animal, fleeing the first offer of help and biting down on the hand that feeds you. There’s regret in this moment. Regret that you will never get to inquire about the expressions on Halsin’s face; about the reasons he came to free you so quickly. 

But the regret gives way to exhaustion and as you soak in the speckled rays of sunlight, feeling truly warmed for the first time in days–perhaps even weeks–you drift into a dreamless sleep. 

It’s the quiet sound of metal against wood that wakes you. 

The manner in which you wake is not a lurch; not an abrupt burst of movement that feels like you’re gasping for air. It’s the slow, soft blinking of an afternoon nap becoming an evening laze. In breathe in through your nose, slow and deep, faintly aware of the feeling of soft fur against your bare feet. 

You feel swaddled by warmth. Wrapped in the familiar scents of clove, moss and tobacco. 

You finally open your eyes and find a fire crackling before you, hemmed in by stones half-darkened by clay, as if someone collected them recently to guard the oaks from the danger of an unkempt flame. 

You don’t put it together at first that you’ve been moved; specifically that you’ve been laid down within a comfortable bedroll. That the smell infused into the furs is comforting because of the man sitting not even a few feet away; the source of the sound of metal against wood. 

You crane your head up to find him. Halsin Silverbough quietly focused on a block of soft wood, whittling away at it. You just watch him for a few seconds, almost dazed that he’s here with you. 

“Is this a dream?” You ask. 

His knife slips a little clumsily, he hadn’t noticed you were awake. He drops his hands into his lap and turns his head to smile down at you. 

“Do I often visit you in your dreams, dear heart?” he asks. 

Hearing that gravelly timbre and that tender pet name sets your blood on fire. You feel a flush rising to your face and you can’t keep from bringing the covers up to hide the evidence. His eyes crinkle with mirth and he lets out a pleasant, easy laugh. The easiest you’ve heard him laugh in…well, ever. 

“Forgive me for laughing,” he says, setting his little project aside. “You gave me quite a scare when you ran off like that. But I suppose I can’t blame you for reacting that way…I know how hard it is for you when tension is high. Forgive me for being inconsiderate of those feelings by making you the instrument of Kagha’s repentance.”

You’re quiet for a long time, unsure what to say. You finally settle for, “How far did I run?”

His brows rise a bit and he heaves out a bit of a grumbling breath as he thinks about it. “Hard for me to ever tell how long a distance is, but we’re somewhere near the goblin camp at that old temple of Selune,” he says. “Lucky for us that I cleared it with a group of adventurers today. Otherwise, I fear I would have made things much worse for you by tackling you down before you could get too close to their camp.”

You bite the inside of your lip, trying not to imagine your body tangling with his. Your face is red enough. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you say, still beneath the covers. “I was so devastated when you didn’t come back from the goblin camp.”

“I’ve been worrying about you since I left,” he says. “I was…I wasn’t behaving calmly when I found you. I wasn’t acting in a way befitting a First Druid.”

“No one is above their own natural drives,” you say. “Anger is a natural reaction to disobedience.”

He looks at you, his brow creasing. “You think I was angry because Kagha disobeyed me?” he says. 

“It’s as good a reason as any,” you say. 

He inhales. Hesitates. Then inhales again before saying, “You asked me about the scars on my arm. Why I didn’t want to forget them.”

“Yes,” you say. “But then Kagha came back…”

“I know,” he says. “But I’d like to answer that question now. Now that I’m calm.”

There’s something in his gaze that feels heavy and significant. You slowly rise from your position tucked away in the bedroll, letting the furs fall away from you. You notice, now, that your damp boots have been placed on the other side of the fire to dry, along with your socks. A small act of care a lesser man may have never thought to do for you. 

You turn to face Halsin and he turns to face you. 

“When we found you…that day with the drow,” he says. “You…reminded me of something I went through as a young adept. A time in which I was kept as an unwilling guest in a drow lord’s estate. As time goes on, it’s easy to forget those things that have happened to me, or to minimize what I went through. 

“In truth, I admired you. I admired how you snarled and gnashed at my hand when you were barely the size of my forearm. I admired the way you reached out for care when I housed you while you got back on your feet…for a while I feared that you were never going to heal. But then I realized that you were strong in a different way…in a way that I was not.”

“I’m not strong,” you say, shaking your head. 

“You are,” he insists. “Strength is not only measured in brute force. It’s not measured in violence and demands and power. It’s in how you wake up every day, how you rise out of your bed and try to be better than the day before. What I experienced…I shoved it deep down inside of me until the pain was forgotten, but I watched you facing yours every day.”

You’re shocked to hear this, because in your recollection you struggled each day. In the beginning, you were frightened of everyone and everything, and the only thing that allowed you to function at all was the desire to be worth the effort Halsin made in saving you. 

“Then…then I learned of you trying to stop the Rite of Thorns, and of you winding up imprisoned again in the very place you should have been safest,” he says, his anger a quiet undercurrent as he remembers newly. “I was so terrified that you would fully retreat back inside yourself, but then you stood and put your small hands on the stone door, snarling at your entrapments just as you were that day I met you.”

You remember his smile, a brief flash when you came to help. 

“Am I still strong if I run away from the grove?” you ask. 

“You wish to leave?” he asks. 

“...I’ve realized, Halsin,” you say, your voice quivering. “I’m not well suited for the social hurdles involved with remaining with the druids…and that the only reason I’ve stayed is because…”

You swallow tightly, words lodging in your throat. Halsin is silent, ever patient as he waits for you to speak. 

“Halsin, I have loved you for some time now, I think,” you say. “I know that I am young and that I can’t hope to compete with your past lovers or even the braver druids back at the grove. I know that you hardly have the time for romance, and that even if you did, you likely wouldn’t spend that precious time with me–”

“Hah…you sound so certain,” he says, his voice quiet and contemplative. 

It’s your turn to be silent, now. You bring your gaze up to meet his again and he is smiling so gently at you. “The only reason,” he says finally, “the only reason that I have not invited you to my bed is that I didn’t want to cause you inadvertent harm by placing pressure on you that you wouldn’t have the resolve to deflect. I didn’t want to risk my position as the first druid making you feel as if you couldn’t say no to me.”

You blink, the world coming to a screeching halt around you. 

Halsin…wants you? You?

You shake your head, feeling your face begin to blaze like you’ve come down with a fever. 

“Well, I suppose it’s moot,” you say. “I can’t expect you to leave the Emerald Grove with me.”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “I’ve already left.”

“What?” you say. 

“Did you think I packed a bedroll and a pack just to come retrieve you?” he says through a chuckle before he heaves out a rough sigh. “No, truth be told, my heart, I have long become disillusioned with my place among the druids in the grove and with you and the ache of old pains, I can no longer say that my heart is fully in it. The adventurers who released me…they are making their way to the shadowlands and I hope that if I join them, I can undo an old failure from a century ago. Finally heal the ache instead of simply avoiding it. I’m hoping that I can be more like you.”

You feel breathless for a moment, even more so when his eyes lock on yours. 

“It will be frightening, my love,” he says. “The shadow curse makes the underdark look like a stroll after midnight. But if you still feel the way you’ve told me you do and if you can trust me to continue protecting you, I would have you in my tent with me greeting each day together.”

You don’t speak, not because you’re uncertain, but because you want to savor this moment. 

Halsin loves you.

The bear has fallen for the fox. 

And he wants you by his side. 

It is the purest bliss you have ever felt. You think you could die happily in the shadow cursed lands if it is a sacrifice you make for him. 

You will protect him. 

And he will protect you. 

“Dear heart,” Halsin says, his nerves coming through his voice. “You torture me by keeping me in suspense. Please know if you don’t wish for this you needn’t agree. I know what I ask of you is–”

“I’m going with you,” you say freeing him from the discomfort you’ve resided in for years. “Of course I’m going with you, Halsin.”

The smile he gives you is nothing short of miraculous. 

“Nature blesses me with you,” he says. “Now come here, I need to enjoy you before I take you to meet the others. I have waited so very long for the opportunity, and I have until nightfall to make good on it, if you will have me.”

The image of your body tangled with his appears in your mind’s eye again. You rise to your feet and stride over to him, slipping your fingers into his wild hair. He cups the back of your thigh with a large hand before coaxing you to sit on his lap. 

Where he kisses you for the very first time.

May the oak father bless you with countless others. 

Taglist|| @itty-bitty-dancer @thoughts-of-bear @tryingtowritestuff24 @drabblesandimagines @soupaisu @ladyoakenshield157 @ladytesla @incrediblethirst @baldurs-gate-simp @themidnighttiger @rayskittles33 @hippiewrites @whisperingwillowxox @ethereal-sk1es @cosywinterevenings @themartiansdaughter @brain-has-left @any59 @madwomansapologist @midnightmoonytales @unaliveoni @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @kellerybird @tiedyedghoulette @jenn-duncan @thelittledoe @esotericeribos @robingreysantos @erwinmybeloved @itdobe-foggy @witchywannabe3263 @kaimxri @cryingoverpixelsetc @theoriginalannoyingbird

[san8ny]

Intermission

Ellie Williams <3

Synopsis: Ellie and you haven’t spoken since highschool, you two never really that close. One day, the all-star hits you up upon getting kicked out. You down to help her steal from her own childhood home or nah?

w.c: 4.1k / warnings include: Ellie is a bit rude in the beginning, some Joel slander, she’s just hella uptight, mutual pining, kissing, she makes out with your hooha, but it’s hot. ;-;

“Am I even doing this right?” you mutter down at the pocket knife you had angled, poorly sharpening it’s blade with the edge of the worn-down whetstone you and Ellie happened to find upon arrival to Joel’s cabins.

She gives you, and both the board, a once-over before turning back to the picture frames lined up on the wall, “Sure.” Rolling your eyes, you throw the knife onto the counter, “You know, I didn’t know he had such a swanky place.”

“Yeah. Reeaal swanky.” She huffs, scrunching her brows in annoyance when the clatter of the knife you’d just thrown doesn’t quiet down immediately, “You find the checkbook yet?”

Ah, the checkbook. You almost forgot she recruited you out here to practically rob her adoptive dad blind.

I mean, fuck, had you had the luck of being in her place— living so lavishly, you’d let the bastard yell at you all he wanted.

Dragging your finger tips across the wooden counter, careful to not splinter them, you push yourself off where you were leaning, and walk towards the stairs, “Doesn’t it make sense for him to like, I don’t know, have it upstairs?”

Ellie runs a hand down her tired face, letting out a huge sigh before turning towards when you stand near the railing, your foot already placed on the first step. Why didn’t she think of that before? She gives you the green light, following behind as you ascend up the stairs. She finds her breath hitched and her eyes closing in further irritation when you suddenly stop, her face parallel with your lower back due to the step-to-height difference.

“Is that you?” You say, a smile stretching on your face as you point towards the meek framed photo that hung above the handrail, depicting a pre-teen Ellie in a science museum tee, Joel slightly crouched behind her with two thumbs up. You almost would have missed the small smile she has in the snapshot had you had nor squinted, “Didn’t know you had a dimple. Do still have it?” You ask, turning down towards where she stood.

“No. Now move.” She huffs, bumping your shoulder as she takes lead, climbing up the rest of the stairs. Rude. Nonetheless, you follow her as you enter into the main hallway. How the hell was a cabin this big? you’re only in it for, like, less than a season— Right? Not like you would know, the fanciest thing you’d ever seen was the time you went to Dina’s Bat Mizvah down at the community center and got to see a chocolate fountain, granted it was years ago, it’s the closest thing you’d ever experienced comparisable to ‘upper echelon.’

She seemingly notices your distant stare, harshly bringing her palms together in a large clap thus pulling you out of your thoughts. Clearly taken aback, you meet her blank gaze, “You take the attic, i’ll take the main bedroom”

“Where—

“Down the hall, to your left. You’ll see the ladder cord hanging.” She cuts you off, already walking away and into one of the many doors you could only assume led to Joel’s bedroom. Okay! This should be easy!

It was not easy.

On your hands and knees, you cough uncontrollably from the dust that blocks insulation. It errupted when you pulled the damn ceiling ladder cord down. All this money and they couldn’t fucking dust it once in a while? Wait, when was the last time this place was even entered? That was the question you asked as you slowly tip-toed up with wide eyes. immediate, you’re met with U-haul boxes, plastic dinosaur figurines and some comics.

In that moment, you smile a bit as you kneel on the floor, grabbing the Stegosaurus and T-rex as you gently knock them against eachother, playing with them.

Though you swear you were being satirical when you began toying with them, you couldn’t help thoughts drift to a younger Ellie playing with these like you were. She’d probably always call dibs on the Carnivore, giving the other person an eyeroll when they cry at how unfair she was being for never giving them a turn at being the razor-bearing predator. ‘Skill issue’ she’s also snicker when the kids run back to their parents.

When you finally put them down after some time, you walk over to one of the several moving boxes. Some tattered, some dirty and some even still closed up. It was wrong for you to have been snooping around her childhood home, sure, but she’s also stealing from her own said home— so you can’t be that bad. Reaching into the closest one near you, you pull out a small velvet belt. One that stroke resemblance to the ones you’d see in the cheesy karate-cop movies your dad had been a fan of. Another, and another and shortly, you have a large array of belts, with at the very bottom of the box containing a small plaque of achievements, ‘Ellie Williams’ printed in fine, gold lettering, ‘Graduate from the Jackson institute of Martial Arts.’

Of course, she was a prodigy at everything. What wasn’t Ellie good at? She’d been your highschool’s valedictorian a couple years back when you both were about to graduate, given the golden chance to speak at the commencing, well, was. That was before passing the chance onto the second runner without a second thought; she claimed she wasn’t the talking type and just casually went about her day, like it wasnt the opportunity most students would have killed for. Students like you, who spent all night and day to even make a dent in the social stratosphere that was highschool.

Given now you both were in your early 20’s, you still hold admiration for Ellie. Maybe that’s why when she randomly called you to hangout after years, you didn’t question it, or even second guess yourself.

How long Ellie had been standing there watching you coo over her baby pictures was something you, and both she couldn’t answer. Originally wanting to smack you on the head or scare you, she couldn’t help but lean against the attic wall, eyeing the way you carefully place her achievements down like they were the most important thing to you.

You’d always been like that since Ellie can recall meeting you. Always so nice, so sensible, always the first one in the room to make light out of nothing. You definitely would have been burnt on the cross or something for just how smiley you were if you were alive back in that day. Ellie found you interesting in ways she couldn’t configure why.

She and Joel had a falling out a couple of weeks ago. He cut her off of all financial support, insisting she get a job or a higher education like her peers were. A few profanities and insults were thrown around, leading eventually to her getting kicked out. Funny. Though she never cared about being embarrassed or the opinions of others, she did feel some sort of seeping humiliation. So, with the money she had, she booked a hotel and called you up. She chuckles when she remembers the first time she sent the address, your hesitancy to type back as you get the wrong, but expected idea,

‘ .’.im not fucking u lol’

‘wth no I got kicked out’

‘OHHH srry!!! D: ‘

The chuckle that hears behind startles, your grip seemingly loosening on the picture frame you had in-hand meeting the floor in cruel shatters. Quiet consumes you both with your hands shaking erratically, “O-oh my god? i’m so sorry, I don’t even know why I did that. fuckfuckfuck!! It was an accident. I can pay for that! Like, i’m so so sorry—l” you frantically plead with her, your eyes alternating from her and the bloody gla—bloody?

“You’re bleeding.” Ellie sighs, softly reaching forward to grab your wrist, pulling you around the mess you caused. You didn’t even realize you were until you felt the blood drip from your ankles down to your shins, staining your bleach-white socks in scarlet droplets.

“I messed up, Ellie, i’m really sorry.”

“Can you like, stop apologizing? It’s fine. Didn’t even know when that picture was taken anyways.”

Somehow, her words worsen your hysteric state, you sinking down back onto your knees as you sob. Oh god, she didn’t even know when that picture was taken meaning it’s that long ago. Ellie stares at you clearly with a panicked look, not really knowing how to comfort you— or anyone for that matter. Again, you were more of the sensible one between them, even if you two hadn’t exactly been all that close growing up in the same town, school and similarly interconnected friend groups. ‘What would you do?’ So, Ellie slightly crouches down, her squeaky sneakers noising as she awkwardly encircles her arms around you. Clearly taken aback by this gesture, you peer up from where your head was buried inbetween your knees and instead, at Ellie, who’s usual laid-back expression is replaced with furrowed brows, her eyes not meeting yours and some reddening on her cheeks. “Y-you’ve seen the picture frames around, man, I see myself all the time. It’s fine.”

You sniffle abit before giving her a coherent answer that isn’t just hiccups, “Im sorry.” She sighs before slightly reaching up to pat your head, “Please stop crying, I think i’m more off-put by your ugly cries than you breaking shit.” That tugs a laugh out of you, pushing Ellie away as she matches your grin. “I mean look, you ruined my tee.” She wasn’t lying, you look down to her white tee and it was absolutely soaked with shed tears belonging to you. You gently run your thumbs over her chest in a bad attempt to wipe your embarassingly smeared mascara off, but it only recieves a small whine from Ellie, who backs away immediately. You’re left confused when she gets up, clearing her voice. “We should continue searching.” With that, she leaves the attic, leaving you up there and with multiple. How could ones demeanor change that often? You almost noticed the sensitivity in her chest.

“Pfft, softie.” You mutter, a smile on your lips as you follow her down. Eventually, Ellie is the one to find the book, it’s placed inbetween some folded jeans. ‘Fuck yeah..’ She bites her chapped lip as she flips through it. Enough pages for her, and a good forged signature she’d mastered when he’d be too lazy to sign her field trip permission slips— guess something did pay off. You stand there with crossed arms, feeling a bit squeamish all of a sudden, like the thought had hit you finally, Ellie is moving away. She notices you when she lifts her gaze up, puzzled with your stance, “I told you it’s okay, the picture frame can be replaced.”

“I don’t want you to move away.”

“What.”

“I won’t repeat myself.” You shake your head defiantly, standing your ground when she towers over you, all these years and when you two have somewhat of a bond, she wants to move away? And maybe yeah, you had it coming, being easily-attached to somehow who’d you’d only started recently hanging out with. “What makes you think I care?” She mocks, looking at you like you’d grown an extra head, she’s almost astonished with your stupidity, why would she have dragged you all the way here to just, stay? Something with the way she says those words churns humility deep in your gut, who were you to even admit that to her? You flail around your arms passively as you back away, a croak in your throat, “Just something I said. You’re a cool person.”

“Right, well, I got the checkbook meaning we can get the hell out. Seeing this place almost makes me want to not drain Joel’s pockets.” She yawns, throwing you the book before retreating into one of the previous rooms, though before, she asks, “Say, where’d we put the keys?”

..

Who had the keys?

Comically enough, sirens began to faintly hear in the back, and your gaze locks onto Ellie’s, “Fuck— find the keys.” She says, running back into the room. How petty was her dad to call the police on them? Well, petty enough to have alarms laying around incase his thieving daughter comes around. You, instantly begin to eye around for them, palms growing clammy at the aspect of being arrested now comes into plan as the sirens grow closer. Finding them, you call out to Ellie who seemingly was already on her way once she heard the jingles of them, “Out the back. You’re gonna run, and not turn back, ‘alright?” She whispers, grabbing you and running towards the kitchen door once the front door is knocked.

Once it’s kicked in, Ellie manages to get out with a groan, definitely a bruiser, but nonetheless, they make it out of the area without getting caught. While she hasn’t broken a sweat yet, you were coughing up a storm like you were earlier, eyes tearing up as you let them out in fits. She gently rubs your back, looking around for where their parked car was, it was a good idea they’d parked so far away- granted it was flawed in multiple ways, it came out in their good favor. Once you’d caught your breath, Ellie hums, “You know where we parked?” You nod, looking around, “Yeah. near the marked tree, you smeared my lipstick over it..” She scrunches her nose to prevent a loud laugh from coming out, your sadness over lipstick being funny to her, “Right. That way.”

You both find the car and enter, ellie starting the car as she backs up and maneuvers around the various tall trees it was parked around before getting onto the main road. You don’t say anything for the majority of the one hour ride, those 60 minutes feeling like the longest ones to Ellie who’s gotten use to your talkitive habits. So when she asks you if you want aux, you shake your head— deflating her mood. She sighs, lighting up a cigarette at the light and rolling down the window. You just lean your head back and rest your eyes, emotions running through that you couldn’t even seem to process. Tiredness, embarrassment of her flat out saying she’d never stay for you, getting almost booked by the police, and just ones you didn’t want to acknowledge at all. You wanted to just, go to sleep.

Ellie, on the otherhand, feels nothing but anxiety gnawing at her. Why does she care so much whether you talk to her or not? She’s never even liked talking, and somehow, the thought of never speaking to you again after this makes her feel nauseous. Would you text her? Call her? Visit her if she left? Would you buy the nearest train ticket if she told you one day to come when she settles into her new place? Or would you just move on? Would you move onto some cooler girl in town to befriend? Some other girl you’d look up to, some other girl who would show you the hidden gems around town you’d been asking her to, Fuck— some other girl you’d give all your affection to. Ellie swerves the car, and had it not been your quick-wit to pull the steering back, she might have crashed the vehicle.

Pulling over, she places her head lightly on the leather wheel while you stare at her in bewilderment, “Are you crazy?! What was that?!” You say with a slight twitch in your eye at her loss of control.

“I don’t want to move away.”

“You literally have to, we’re on the side of the road and your emergency lights aren’t on so.”

“I’ll stay.”

“You can’t, that’s like, against the rules. I don’t know, my permit is expired.” First order of business, obtain a license.

“In Jackson. I’ll stay in Jackson.” She mumbles, lifting her head up to stare at you. This feels like a joke to you, like Ellie might just begin laughing at you when you show the tiniest bit of you of relief. So, you just match her stare, tiling your head. “Why?” Why? What do you mean why? Ellie wants to scream, why don’t you look happy? She’s staying for you.

“Just..wanted to.” She says after a beat or two, pulling the car back onto the road as she nears your house. Giving a curt nod, you look out the window, your knees feeling wobbly like a teenage girl all over again as you suppress asking questions to the clearly disoriented freckled girl. Once on arrival, Ellie expects you to leave and slam that door but instead, you sit there for a bit.

“My mom isn’t here.” You say, chewing your inner-cheek.

“You don’t have a spare key or ‘sum?”

“No no I do, it’s just— want to come in?” You ask her with big eyes, your hands folded on your lap like a child on their best behavior to get something.

“Did your mom bake that pie you got me last time?” She’s referring to the Cherry Pie your mom made last time you two hung out.

“Is the sky blue?” You say, with a smile, trying to lighten the mood that’ll need more than just that to recover.

“It’s grey but I see your point. I’ll go park, leave the front door open.” She smiles when you nod, skipping out of the car and into your home.

When she does so, and enters your door, she’s met with a warm wafting smell of baked goods. Ellie might gave been fairly thin, but she had a nose on her, leading her to the kitchen. You’ve changed out of your dirty clothes, she notices, you now wearing some small pajama shorts and a tanktop. You’re bent over the oven, grabbing the treats out of the pre-heated oven your mother had likely left them in to retain warmth.

“You’ve got to stop doing that.” You mutter, almost dropping the tray of food while Ellie smirks

“Can’t really promise accepting an apology if you dropped those.” She says, walking on over to where you stood by the kitchen island. Something in the way she says that so..flirtatiously, makes you look back at her twice. “Whatever. Do me a favor, take the plates out while I cut the pieces.” Ellie nods, walking over to the several arrays of cabinets. Though, upon doing so, she notices your refrigerator, decorated in colorful magnets, children’s literature and most of all, a picture of you, and an older woman. You were younger, hair a bit longer than you had it now, and a wide grin with your front tooth missing. You couldn’t of been older than 6, Ellie thinks. Smiley.

“This your mom?” she asks, running her fingerpads alongst the smooth film while you hum, nodding. “Yeah, it’s my mom” You say, handing her a slice of piece when she gives you the plate, “You look alike.” Ellie concludes when you two begin walking upstairs to your room.

It was certainly your room, is what the auburnette thinks as she sits on your bed. Messy bedsheets you never got to make, clothes scattered near your closet and other things you never got to clean up when she’d called you up this morning at such an ungodly time to divulge you in on her scheme,

though now, upon her decision to stay in the town, it seemed a bit for nothing. It’d be a funny story to tell with you. With you, she thinks, watching as you chew the treat and sit on the rugged floor as you flip through TV channels. Eventually settling on some show Ellie never knew was still even airing. She quietly sinks from the bed, onto the floor herself, sitting close to you as your gaze stays glued to the blaring screen, flashes of color reflecting onto your face as each scene passes. Ellie finds herseld staring at you, a person she once found so inconspicuous now becoming the very reasoning she stays in a town she hates so much. Whatever you had the girl under needed to be looked at.

“Do you like me?” Is what she wants to ask, but “Do you have a boyfriend?” is what she settles for.

You turn to her, meekly shaking your head. Since when was she sat so close to you?

Ellie nods, looking back at the show to get you to, before asking another question, “Girlfriend?” You shrug, “I mean, I use to talk to this one girl..”You mutter, before Ellie finds herself furthering it, “What happened?”

You sigh, before pointing a finger, “Don’t laugh.” you glare. Ellie smiles, nodding. “She told me she was straight after like 2 days AND THEN, i saw her kissing on Judy.” Ellie snorts, “No fucking way, Judy the librarian?” You nod, burying your face in a nearby throw pillow.

“I need a drink.” You mutter, getting up and leaving the room with Ellie in it. You return shortly after with a bottle of wine and some glasses. The girl groans as she stretches, “Now you’re talking. Pour me some.”

Eventually, the topic heads in the way of relationships once more, with you two telling each other of your awful sex lives in the majority straight town Jackson was as you sip.

As Ellie tells one, you find your eyes feeling heavy, alternating between her green eyes down to her pale pink lips. You nod, poorly attempting to give the illusion you were following along with whatever she was saying. Ellie, herself, wasn’t all that there but she was better. She’d stopped talking long ago and was just moving her lips with no dialogue coming out whatsoever, seeing if you’d ask why she halted her story. She licks her lips, leaning back as she places her glass down on the nightstand near her— jean-clad thighs spread tantalizingly as your gaze drops to them.

Her years of martial arts and track did her well, you admit, hoping it wasn’t obvious you were ogling the girl.

“Were you mad at me earlier?” you whisper, fidgeting with the loose seam of her jeans as you notice the difference in how she was acting at the cabin, and how she is now. Ellie hums, matching your small voice. “I was more so mad at myself.” She answers you, her hand finding where yours toys with a string, “Not at you.”

You nod, not really having anything to say.

“Can I kiss you?” you finally utter, liquid courage taking over as Ellie thumbs your soft hips from where you sit so closely. She gives you a soft ‘yeah’, pulling you onto her lap. You begin by littering feathery pecks along her jaw, her sensitivity earlier when you touched her chest beginning to make sense when goosebumps begin to arise along her pale skin, her nipples hardening as the hair on her neck stands before kissing her deeply.

You two kiss slowly for a while, finding some rhythm as it slowly turns into something else. You gently gasp when Ellie rocks your hips onto her thigh, making you detach from her mouth and straddle it the way she wants you to. The rough texture against her jeans on your soft shorts makes you huff a bit, face burning up as you grip her shoulders.

“You’re my sweet girl, you can do it.” She murmurs lowly, watching you grind all over her, your slick slowly starting to seep onto her denim pants— all like she wanted. You nod, frustrated to the brim of tears when you can’t seem to fuck yourself on her thigh well. Ellie pushes you down, caging your legs in between her hips as she tilts her head back down, "Seems like you're not the only sweet girl wanting my attention.." She smiles as you moan, the heel of her palm placed directly on your touch-starved mound, giving it just enough pressure and angling to make you whine out a small 'Ellie..'

She gives you finally what you want, sliding your shorts to the side and sighs when she sees just what a mess has been waiting for her.

No underwear?

You attempt to leverage yourself by sitting up on your elbows but Ellie pushes you down, hiking your hips up even more with a singular grasp of your shins as she kisses directly on your puffy pussy, your messy sap smearing all over her lips before giving you a grin,

Oh, you'd pay her what she was worth alright. Maybe returning Joel's checkbook can wait after this.

[All credits to the owner of the picture above!! i got it from popipa on pinterest]

[metranart]

“F-fu-fuck-" Dabi's trembling body got worse, thighs shaking while trying to keep the position, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, at being impaled so inhumanly, good and fast and… raw. “That’s it, birdie. T-Take it out on me." Hawks smirked, way too wickedly.

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Heavy! Dabi x Hawks, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader, sexual content

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 16)

-

Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut.

-

There was no pain with being stretched this way. Hawks was a different kind of lover; he wasn't abrasive and rough like Dabi when in control. The blonde didn’t like his partner-in-turn to feel anything but bliss during his time under him. 

Hawks fucking Dabi was just a distraction, his presence didn't fill your absence, he didn't do you justice. On previous occasions these encounters were more fulfilling, but now that he had his own mate, they had become irrelevant and merely carnal, just the action of putting it in, cumming and leaving.

"You are so tight, my sweet baby bird." 

Hawks mewled deliriously between the borrowed asscheeks, stepping away once he was able to press four fingers inside Dabi without problem. Keigo knelt behind him and prodded his tight asshole, letting the tip dip just a little, testing the waters. Dabi grunted against the sheets.

"Stop teasing, little shit." The firebender sounded strained, expectation eating him out.

The Hero's strong, large hands slid down his spine until they found themselves in the curvature of Dabi's strong shoulders, where he pulled him, arching his back up almost painfully while forcing his imposing cock inside him in a strong roll of his hips.

Dabi growled the first part of his name before it turned into a savage, wordless snarl. Already a mess of ragged breaths just by the mere act of being impaled so deep. 

"Fuck, birdie-I had forgot how freakin’ thick you are."

Keigo’s chuckle was a humorless sound. “If my babybird can take it, so can you, filthy criminal.”

Dabi bit his lip, he really loved when Hawks got like this. It was a power play, and it turned out, very refreshing to him to lose control from time to time. 

“If she feels this cramped, I'm not surprised she went with another guy—”

A sharp thrust of Keigo's powerful hips knocked the breath out of the villain. 

"Don't mention that piece of shit," Hawks warned, "fucking brat, Bakugo Katsuki-..." 

Dabi's interest skyrocket at the mention of the offender's name.

"Bakugo?... like the kid we kidnapped a year ago?" he wondered and another sharp thrust hit home making him clench his fist in the sheets. ".... Is the same brat, ain't he?"

The firebender scoffed, openly ignoring Hawks sharp warnings. "I remember he was candy for the eye-" Keigo pressed into Dabi, mercilessly hard, hips flush to his thighs in a thunderous smack of flesh, Dabi snickered breathlessly, yet continued his vicious ramblings.

"You don't stand a chance against that hunk, blondie." Dabi scoffed, "...That Bakugo Katsuki is fine as hell."

 The staples on Dabi's shoulders scrapping and digging into the skin of Hawks palms, the harder the Hero held him down. 

"I said shut the fuck up!" 

He felt his wings sharpen, angry. Dabi snickered unrepentant, sharp fingers sinking into his sensitive, scarred flesh as Keigo charged against his poor rear without an ounce of mercy.

“F-fu-fuck-" Dabi's trembling body got worse, thighs shaking while trying to keep the position, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, at being impaled so inhumanly, good and fast and… raw.

“That’s it, birdie. T-Take it out on me," Dabi panted out, something inflamed inside Keigo calmed down a little but hardly lasted when Dabi decided to taunt again, "...I bet that Ba-Bakugo boy is going to use your pretty m-mate just as well, or better, than you can."

“Don’t-” Keigo growled the warning. "She is MINE! Goddammit!"

The blonde grinded his hips viciously into the large villain, using all the power of his brain to imagine it was you he was riding, it was your warmth enveloping him and driving him feral, it was you, welcoming every thrust as if you lived for these scarce moments together.

The sullen grimace on his face softened when was able to finally hear the little gasps and pants that you made while tangled in him.

"-Yeah, that's it, my pretty girl." He mewled, all honey and soft edges, "You are taking me so well, so tight and wet for me." Keigo kept daydreaming, and Dabi glanced discreetly over his shoulder to find the birdman's eyes shut close, deep in his own fantasy. He was pha-the-tic. A pitiful sight. 

“Quit acting like the doting lover, pretty boy. We all know you ain’t." 

Dabi's toxicity only aimed, to see how enraged he could make the bird before he snapped, but to his surprise, he didn't allow him the pleasure.

Keigo pulled back, all the way to the tip and whimpered your name before snap back into a ravenous pace. Dabi was loving it- he LOVED every second of this delusional, lame, pretty boy's fantasy.

It made his mouth water just to imagine what it would be like to have you, Keigo’s mate, tussling in the sheets with them, both villain and Hero, filling you at the same time. They could make a lovely porn, some good quality material. They would get rich, making money on their backs.

Keigo slammed inward, knocking every borrowed breath from Dabi’s lungs, forcing the cremator to snarl like a wounded animal into the sheets, squealing in delight as Keigo's rough thrusts forced Dabi’s face to grind harder into the bouncing mattress. 

Hawks wordlessly change positions, letting himself drop to his side, Dabi never abandoning his strong arms as he lifted his thigh in the air to keep fucking his overused hole. 

"You take it so fucking good (Y/N)- look at you. Of course, my mate knows how to please her man.”

Dabi chuckled at Keigo's efforts to change realities; it was as hilarious as it was piteous. Slamming his stappled hand on the hero’s sweaty cheek in order to borrow some of his attention.

"C’mon, Keigo." Dabi snarled into his jaw. "Tell your old pal the truth." The cerulean eyed started, heated face and half-lidded eyes, his pounded asscheeks almost raw. "What do you plan to do… with your pretty mate once you have her in your clutches?” 

Keigo stopped bucking, out of the sudden, letting Dabi breath before restart to rock his hips, gentler this time, while deep in thought… wearing a slower, tamer, pace.

"W-What am I going to do with her?" Keigo repeated, a hint of realization in his voice, as if he was just realizing that he had no idea.

"Sure," Dabi stressed, amused. "You can't just use her like a fleshlight for the rest of your life in a perpetual rut cycle-"

"It would be the ideal, right?" He sounded hopeful.

Dabi barked a cynical laugh. "Only ideal for you, absolute pervert, an irredeemable scumbag—!"

“We’re gonna have so many babies.” Keigo's openly ignored him, voice adopting a breathy, deranged quality. "So many," he added darkly, like a promise he made to himself. 

"I'm gonna," thrust, "pump her," thrust, "full of my chicks." Double thrust. Dabi grunted satisfied with the rough treatment yet bored with his answer. 

"Really? you want to be a Daddy?" The cremator mocked, a bead of sweat rolling down his heated forehead. Your pregnancy test hidden at plain sight under some old magazines, forgotten there when Hawks arrived in a swirl of red feathers and thirsty lips. That stick of plastic will serve a purpose but later on, for now. It would only sullen the mood. "You? with the unresolved daddy issues? poor kids-"

"Look who's talking."

"I accept my shortcomings, blondie." The Todoroki admitted with some annoyance, "...I know I'd be a shitty father, that's why I never come inside, unlike you... selfish, pseudo-Hero."

This time it was Hawks' turn to laugh, "You don't come inside because you LOVE to see them dripping in your cum." The blonde’s hands tightened as he pistoned in and out of his old pal, wildly. "D-Don't play the righteous part with me, I know you far too well-"

"Likewise, asshole." Dabi's voice was a ragged mess, nevertheless, he insisted on keep talking. "You w-want to be gentle so bad-" Dabi grunted into Keigo’s jaw, "but we both know, you NEED it rough." He bit his lip to keep from moaning, "You NEED to tear your lovely mate's insides. Don’t you birdie?”

Keigo felt himself close. 

"Y-You need to shape that poor girl and carved her to your liking, not just her body, but her mind, and her unaltered, soul." 

“Pl-plea-please- ah- fuck!” Keigo came, loud and plenty, thick globs of pearly cum painting Touya's insides.

Of course, Dabi was the next to fall off the edge, shaking and spasming in waves of pleasure as his own cum splashed his abs, perfectly content with Keigo filling him to the brim-... the Hero had a breeding kink with which, without a doubt, you would have problems taming.

Poor girl, he ended up thinking to himself as he heard Keigo's exhausted panting right next his ear. The delusional Pro Hero, still rambling erratically, all kind of love promises and sweet things. Poor girl, he thought again with a light smirk on his lips. 

Maybe it was his mission in life to save you from this mass of hormones behind him, maybe it was your destiny to be Dabi’s and not Hawks'. Maybe, he should hasten his plans and kidnap you before this idiot-in-love, broke you for good.

-

The closer the festival got, more tired you felt. The month was already halfway over, and you had no idea what you were going to respond to Hawks.

“One month.” Hawks had said without room for discussion. “It's as long as I’ll be able to-….”

You remembered how you hated him for keeping important intel to himself, always playing the mysterious character.  

“One month is more than enough, baby bird, be thankful and let it be.” He had advised, all self-righteousness.  

You should have put on more resistance, but it was difficult when all you wanted was to get away from him. Your head throbbed, this ridiculous annoying pain, making it impossible for you to pay attention in class.

Your hand went up without thinking and the eyes of all your friends turned to you with concern when they heard you ask to go to Recovery girl’s office.

“Do you want someone to come with you, (Y/N)?” Professor Aizawa, always the overprotective guardian, asked you with all stoic gentleness. And out of the corner of your eye you saw how most of your classmates prepared to offer themselves.

You showed them your best smile, the prettiest you could muster to fool them.

"There's no need," you stood up with some trepidation, and Bakugo, Midoriya and Kirishima stood up too, preparing to break your fall, if it came to that. "It's just a headache that won't stop bothering me, I'm fine." You lied, turning to see your beloved friends, they were too good to you. "You guys can sit back down." You insisted but no one did until Professor Aizawa ordered it.

Foot-dragging, you left the classroom and headed to Recovery Girl's office.

"Agh!" You complained loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I hate this." You mutter under your breath, you really hated it, you hated the worried look your friends were wearing when they see you lately, you hated how vulnerable and tired you felt, you hated this throbbing headache that just refused to leave you. You just wanted to sleep, a full night of catatonic sleep, without dreams or nightmares... you just wanted to expel a certain winged blonde from your mind, you didn’t ask for more.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

No one answered at Recovery Girl's office, so you knocked again, just to get the same answer.

You sighed heavily. 

"Can anything go right lately." You spatted angrily, your foot kicking the door and to your surprise, it cracked open.

You were stunned. 

You had already been inside but always with Recovery Girl. You knew all the drawers by heart, you used to be an assistant to the Healing Heroine in your first year at UA. You knew where every medication was, and suddenly, a sinful idea plagued your, tired and desperate, brain.

A particular memory lit up your brain. 

"...Never give these pills to anyone, (Y/N)." You remembered Recovery Girl warning you, "they are too powerful, high-end restabilizes. We usually use them on All Might when we need him to relax and recover quickly, of course, all in a controlled environment..."

"Controlled environment?" You repeated, intrigued. "Why does it need to be controlled, Recovery girl?"

The old woman sat at her desk and began making some notes, "It needs to be a controlled environment because it leaves the user too mentally vulnerable, unable to defend themselves or remember what they did while under the influence of the drug-" the old woman explained, "...every patient deserves their dignity, and a nasty side effect of this pill is overwhelming sincerity." 

You cocked your head to the side, “I don’t see the problem.”

Recovery Girl snickered, "Of course you don't see it, you are young and innocent, no secret haunts your brain... Heroes deal with a lot and the worst is hidden in their subconscious... the effectiveness of this drug is insurmountable. Replenishes a weary body fast, it also allows for continuous sleep like a sleeping pill... the only bad thing is that in the brief moments of lucidity, the patient will be like an open book." Your teacher confessed. "Now imagine that amount of ‘sincerity’” she must mean secrets, “in the wrong hands." 

You finally understood, "that's why it should always be used in a controlled environment and with ethical and trustworthy medical professionals."

You felt anxious at what your mind asked of you. Take the pills and sleep! you wanted to sleep, SO BAD… so you weighed your options.

It's a powerful sleeping pill, you thought. I would just need to lock my door from the inside, just in case, actually, maybe not even that... my friends would never enter my room without permission, and in the morning, I would be as good as new... That promise moved you. Rested and healthy, I can think better about what to do, I would no longer be tired or in pain.

You clenched your fists to give yourself courage and with some hesitation, slipped inside the previously closed office, closing the door behind you, being very careful that no one saw you.

Once inside, you went to the cabinet where you knew the pills were, you stopped for a moment to think better, but the headache and your need to rest deeply, clouded your better judgment.

You stuffed the bottle of pills into the pocket of your skirt and replaced it with another bottle to avoid suspicion. Unless it was used, it would be more than enough, so it would not be noticed that the medicine was missing.

You quickly left the office and let your hand brush against the pill bottle to make sure it was still there. With a tinge of guilt, you headed back to class, feeling like a little thief.

'I'll just take a couple of pills until I feel better again, and I'll return the rest, it's a loan, not a theft.' You convinced yourself and quickened your pace to return.

No doubt you were still too naive, but what Young Hero wasn't... thought a certain winged Hero who had observed everything from his hiding place among the roofs closest to the school, pretending to be on patrol.

Thanks to his experience as a spy, he had the perfect tools to see from a far distance or listen to other people's conversations.

Still watching you return to the classroom; Hawks absentmindedly wrote down the name of the medicine you stole, on a piece of paper. He was intrigued by what was going through your mind, he could never confirm if you were pregnant.... would those pills hurt his nugget? Your child? Were you trying to get an abortion or... were you even pregnant?

Whatever it was, he couldn't take the risk. He had to know.

COMING SOON PART 17....

➡️ NSFW Artwork of this story

@wtvbabes @dreamlessnight @naomi1247e @alicecil87 @geniejunn @justanerd1 @bakugosgirl01 @toxicxmindsposts @kezybear

[corruptedcaps]

What a drag

Anna was worried about her best friend Chloe. It wasn’t just that Chloe had started smoking, though that was odd enough. It was how the cigarettes seemed to changed her.

Anna first noticed it during one of their usual hangouts at their local coffee shop. Chloe lit up a cigarette, her fingers effortlessly handling it like it was something she did every day. There was something in the way she exhaled the smoke, how her eyes seemed to glitter with a new, almost unsettling confidence. At first, Anna thought it was just in her head, but as the days passed, it became impossible to ignore.

Chloe was more vain now, always checking her reflection, fussing over her hair, her clothes. She wore makeup Anna had never seen her use before. Seductive red lipstick, winged eyeliner, bold choices that made her look stunning but unlike her. She had started dressing differently too. Wearing dresses that barely covered anything, plunging necklines that showed off an impressive rack that Anna had never noticed before.

The looks Anna could have seen past but her attitude was changing from the kind and sweet girl Anna knew into some sort of vapid and arrogant 'it' girl that was more unrecognizable by the day.

Anna had started to suspect that all the changes had something to do with the cigarettes when she noticed that no matter how many Chloe smoked, the box always seemed full. At first, Anna dismissed it as a trick of the light or her own imagination. But the more she watched, the more convinced she became that something unnatural was going on. So she put together a plan to get her Chloe back.

One afternoon, while they were sitting in the park, Chloe excused herself to use the restroom, leaving her purse behind. Anna’s heart pounded as she saw the cigarette box peeking out. This was her chance. Quickly, she rummaged through her own bag, pulling out a regular pack of cigarettes she had bought earlier, just in case. With trembling hands, she swapped them, slipping Chloe’s strange, never-ending box into her own pocket.

When Chloe returned, she didn’t notice a thing. She took out a cigarette from the new box and lit it, but Anna could tell immediately that something was different. Chloe seemed puzzled for a moment, almost repulsed by the cigarette she was smoking. Her confident demeanor wavering slightly as she took another drag.

"Em, is it ok if we call it a day? I'm not feeling to good at the moment." Chloe asked rather sheepishly.

"Oh yeah of course, just text me when you get back." Anna said hugging Chloe and feeling the familiar embrace back. That was when she knew she had done the right thing.

Anna walked home with a sense of relief, convinced that Chloe's strange transformation would soon reverse. She had done what she needed to do. As she stepped through the front door, she called out, "Hi, Mom!"

"Hi, honey," her mother, Debra, replied from the kitchen. But then her voice sharpened with concern, "What’s that in your pocket?"

Anna froze. In the rush of swapping the cigarette boxes, she had completely forgotten about the one she had slipped into her pocket. She had meant to toss it out on the way home but had totally forgot. Guilt prickled her skin as she pulled out the mysterious pack, holding it awkwardly in her hand.

"They're not mine I swear! They’re Chloe’s." Anna stammered, her voice faltering under her mother’s piercing gaze. But Debra wasn’t buying it.

"Anna, don’t lie to me. I didn’t raise you to be liar, or a smoker!" Her mother said, her tone both stern and disappointed. "You’re going to sit here and smoke every last one of those, then you’ll realize smoking isn’t so cool."

Anna’s heart dropped. She opened her mouth to protest, to explain everything, to say how the cigarettes were somehow magic but even as she thought it she knew how ridiculous it sounded. Plus once her mother set her mind to something, she wouldn't budge. Debra was already setting up an ashtray on the table, her expression unyielding.

Anna hesitantly took out a cigarette, her hands trembling. As she lit it and took a drag, she was surprised by the taste. It was sweet and smooth, not at all what she expected. She understood now why Chloe was so put off of the pack she had switched. The smoke felt oddly comforting as it filled Anna's lungs, leaving her feeling almost...good. Relaxed. She took another puff, sinking deeper into the sensation.

But as Anna exhaled, something odd began to happen. Unbeknownst to her or Debra, her fingernails started to lengthen, growing into a perfectly manicured set painted red. They gleamed with an unnatural sheen, elegant and sharp, as if they had always been that way. Anna, lost in the sweet smoke, didn’t even notice the transformation.

Anna finished the first cigarette, exhaling slowly as the sweet aftertaste lingered on her lips. "Can I go now?" She asked in a slightly bratty tone.

But Debra crossed her arms, her expression firm. "No. You’re going to smoke every cigarette in that box, just like I said."

Rolling her eyes, Anna took out another cigarette and lit it. As she brought it to her lips and took a deep drag, more changes began to take place. Her chest started to swell, gradually expanding beneath her shirt, still unnoticed by either her or Debra. The sensation was so gradual, so natural, that it didn’t register as anything unusual.

Meanwhile, as the nicotine worked its way through her system, Anna’s thoughts began to shift. She found herself caring less about her mother’s disapproval and more about how good she felt. A sense of superiority started to creep in, an arrogant voice in her mind whispering that she deserved to do whatever she wanted and fuck the consequences.

Her mother wasn’t the only growing irritation in her as she started to feel her eyes were blurring. Taking off her glasses she found to her wonder that her eyesight was sharper than it ever was.

Without waiting for her mother’s instruction, Anna reached for another cigarette and lit it with practiced ease. It was becoming second nature to her now, the act of smoking feeling as natural as breathing. She inhaled deeply, the sweet smoke filling her lungs with a comforting warmth.

As she exhaled, her thoughts of her mother darkened. "Who is she to tell me what to do?" Anna thought, the arrogance growing stronger within her. A wave of irritation washed over her as she glanced at Debra, her mind swirling with mean, dismissive thoughts. “She’s just a jealous old hag. She’ll never understand what it’s like to be this… perfect.”

As Anna continued to smoke, the changes in her body accelerated. Her hair began to grow longer and thicker until it cascaded down her back in luxurious waves. Her waist subtly tightened, drawing in to create a more pronounced hourglass figure. Meanwhile, her lips softened and plumped, taking on a fuller, more seductive shape that made her face look almost doll-like.

As Anna stubbed out her cigarette, she didn’t hesitate before pulling out yet another. She lit it with a smirk, her eyes gleaming with a newfound superiority as she looked at her mother. The changes within her had solidified, leaving little trace of the shy, nerdy girl she once was.

Debra, seeing her plan backfire, grew alarmed. “It’s okay, Anna. You can stop now.” She said, her voice tinged with fear and regret.

But Anna refused, a mocking smile playing on her now-plump lips. “Oh, no, Mommy, you were right. I do need to be punished.” She purred, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She took a long, deliberate drag. She curled her lips into an ‘o’ and puffed out a perfect circle. The ring rising about her head like a sinister halo.

As Anna inhaled deeply, the smoke seemed to take on a life of its own, swirling around her body before seeping into her clothes. The baggy t-shirt she wore began to tighten, the fabric transforming as if molded by the smoke itself. It shrank and shifted, morphing into a tight, revealing black bodycon dress that clung to her newly sculpted tits, accentuating every curve.

At the same time, her face began to change even more dramatically. Thick makeup appeared, as if applied by an invisible hand. Dark eyeshadow that made her eyes smolder, sharp eyeliner, and deep pink lipstick that highlighted her now-plump lips.

Anna looked over at the nearby mirror and for a moment panicked at what she saw. Staring back at her was a gorgeous brunette wrapped in the tightest outfit she had ever saw. This wasn’t the nerdy and weak girl she saw every morning, no this was a wicked bitch who commanded respect.

Her shocked expression soon turned into an evil grin as she took another drag of her cigarette. She had been right, it was the cigarettes after all. They had made her into everything she feared Chloe would become and she loved it. Chloe's transformation had been slow because she had been unknowingly pacing herself. Anna had been forced to corrupt herself she was glad she had.

As Anna grabbed another cigarette and put it between her perfect lips, Debra reached out and snatched the box of cigarettes from Anna’s hand. She had finally clocked the transformation in her daughter. “That’s enough.” She said, her voice trembling with both fear and desperation. But as she glanced inside the box, her heart skipped a beat, it was still full, as if none of the cigarettes had been smoked at all.

Anna watched her mother’s reaction with a cold, detached amusement. She sat with her legs crossed, taking another drag out of her cigarette. “Give them back.” She said, her voice dripping with a calm, almost lazy menace.

“No, Anna! We need to find someone who can help you. This isn’t right, none of this is right.” Debra insisted, clutching the box tightly.

Anna’s expression remained unchanged as she let out a soft sarcastic sigh. She took a long, deliberate drag from her cigarette, exhaling a thick plume of smoke directly into her mother’s face. The smoke curled around Debra, who gasped and coughed as it invaded her lungs, forcing its way into her system.

“I said, give those back, Debra.” Anna repeated, her tone icy and commanding. Her use of her mother’s first name was chilling.

Debra’s resistance crumbled under the weight of Anna’s words. Her hands, once so firm in their grip on the cigarette box, trembled as she slowly extended it back to Anna. She didn’t understand why, but she felt compelled, almost powerless to do anything else. With a shaky breath, she handed the box over, her heart heavy with dread as she realized how much control she had lost.

Anna took the box in her long nailed hand, taking out another cigarette and lighting it off of the still unfinished one in her hand. She looked at the new cigarette light up with a subtle flash of pink. Somehow she knew that this would cause whoever smoked it to become her slave.

“Here Debbie, take a nice long drag.” Anna said holding out the cigarette for her mother to take. Again Debra felt incapable of refusing. Anna smirked darkly to herself as her mother reluctantly begin to smoke. Casually flipping over the box of cigarettes in her hand, she read the warning she hadn't noticed before, 'Contains Bitchotine.'

[winxanity-ii]

TOUCH IT

ship: gojo x fem!empath!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (p in v, fingering); overstimulation word count: 7.0k (omg, i forgot to post this; it was originally supposed to be 2-parts but i just let it all stay together 🥹long fic again, i promise kast time jajaja... ) A/N: Hey guys, just wanted to let you know that i'm reposting this from my alt account, lulu-4-u in case you've seen this posted before...

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

The strongest sorcerer to ever live, in all the heavens and the earth, feared by cursed spirits alike, was… bored.

Lounging in his seat, Gojo Satoru let out a low hum, his head tipped back lazily as the council droned on and on about his newest mission.

The weight of the room was thick with tension, but none of it seemed to touch him. His fingers tapped a careless rhythm on the armrest, legs spread out in front of him, exuding a carelessness that bordered on irreverence.

"…growing threat…potentially catastrophic…dangerous sorcerer…" The words buzzed around his head like an annoying fly he had no intention of swatting away.

He exhaled through his nose, continuing his little hum as the head councilman's voice grew more insistent. The man's brows were knitted together, speaking with all the gravity that someone in his position ought to muster.

But it was all white noise to Satoru—at least, until—

"Gojo."

A beat.

"Gojo, this is serious. Pay attention..." The councilman's voice sliced through the monotony, sharp enough to make him lazily shift his head to the side.

Slowly, Satoru turned his head, letting his neck roll as he turned his attention to the source of the command. His eyes, usually hidden behind his shades, seemed to sharpen with the motion, focusing like a hawk about to strike.

Even through the dark lenses, the icy intensity of his gaze bore down on the man. His smile stayed in place—easy, almost playful—but his stare was dead.

Empty.

It was a predator's look, concealed beneath the mask of casual indifference.

A tremor rippled through the room. The councilmen around him shifted in their seats, unease crawling up their spines as they suddenly remembered exactly who they were addressing.

The strongest. The untouchable. The one who smiled but never truly revealed his hand.

"So..." Satoru's voice was deceptively light, a mocking tilt to his words as he spoke. "You want me to take out this 'big bad' or whatever, yeah? Because they're, like, super dangerous and might cause some, I dunno, world-ending chaos?" He let the sentence drag, his smile never faltering, but his eyes remained locked on the councilman like a wolf sizing up its prey. "That about sum it up?"

The councilman, clearly rattled, swallowed hard. His voice faltered as he stammered out a weak, "Y-yes, correct."

Satoru sighed, long and exaggerated, before standing up in one smooth motion. His towering frame unfolded effortlessly, drawing every eye in the room.

Stretching his arms above his head, he dragged a hand through his snowy hair, letting out a groan as though this entire affair was just a mild inconvenience to him. "Alright, alright," he drawled, adjusting his shades as he flashed them another easy grin. "Let's just get this over with."

You were carefully decorating the last of the cupcakes, smoothing the frosting into perfect swirls, when the familiar ding of the bakery bell rang through the back. "Just a minute!" you called out, wiping your hands on the apron tied snugly around your waist.

It was just you on the morning shift today—your coworker had called out last minute, promising to take your afternoon shift so you wouldn't have to pull a double.

Not something you were unfamiliar with, but still, it left you scrambling to deal with the shop alone.

Your fingers were still a little sticky with frosting, and you knew there were probably a few smudges on your face, but you couldn’t keep a customer waiting.

Quickly, you smoothed your apron down, pushing through the swinging door that led to the front of the shop.

As you stepped behind the counter, the first thing you noticed was a figure crouched down, examining the glass display case where rows of colorful cupcakes, cakes, and pastries were lined up neatly.

From your angle, you could only see their side profile—a tall, lean figure, slightly hunched as they squatted low, eyes fixed on the sugary treats.

You scurried behind the register, hastily plastering on your customer service smile. "Hi! How can I help you—?" Your sentence trailed off, the words drying up in your throat as the figure slowly rose to full height, straightening out.

Your hand froze mid-motion as you adjusted your glasses, your face warming with an instant, involuntary blush. Standing before you was quite possibly the most striking person you'd ever seen.

His hair was the first thing to catch your eye—white as freshly fallen snow, a stark contrast against the black suit that clung to his lithe, muscled frame. He wore it effortlessly: black business pants, a sleek turtleneck, and a long jacket draped over his shoulders in a way that screamed confidence.

But it was his eyes that left you breathless. The brightest, most piercing shade of blue you had ever seen, framed by delicate, pale lashes.

They gleamed behind a pair of circular glasses that sat low on the bridge of his nose, as if he’d forgotten they were even there. His head tilted slightly, curiously, like he was taking you in just as you were gawking at him.

There was something both playful and intimidating in the way he smiled—a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes but made your heart race all the same.

Your breath caught, and you fumbled with the edge of your apron, trying desperately to calm the heat that was crawling up your neck. You quickly shook yourself out of your stupor, blinking rapidly as if to reset your brain. "Y-yes! W-we have plenty to choose from," you stammered, forcing your voice to steady itself.

Your heart raced, the thumping in your chest almost deafening as your eyes darted anywhere but at him, unable to hold his gaze for too long without feeling your cheeks heat up all over again. "Is there... um, anything in particular you're looking for?"

The man didn’t respond right away, and you half wondered if he hadn’t noticed your nervousness—or maybe he was just too polite to say anything about it. But the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips said otherwise.

He knew.

Of course he knew.

He hummed thoughtfully, the sound deep and drawn out, leaning casually against the glass display case. His hand came up to prop his head up as he tilted it slightly, his lips forming a small pout. "Hmm... I'm not sure. I'm looking for something... sweet." His voice dipped on the last word as if he wasn't just talking about pastries.

Your breath hitched, and you could feel the flush of embarrassment crawl up your neck again. You scrambled to maintain your composure, glancing down at the cupcakes and cookies like they held the answers to his cryptic request.

From his Satoru's perspective, you barely reached his chest. He couldn't help but notice how tiny you looked in comparison, especially with your hair tied up into a neat, tight bun, a silk scarf wrapped around your head as if to keep stray strands in check.

You wore a baking apron that was thoroughly covered in flour, smudges of icing trailing from your hands to your face, and a couple of spots dabbed on your cheeks.

The glasses perched on your nose kept slipping down, and you pushed them up in a quick, nervous motion every time they fell.

Your wide, inquisitive eyes blinked up at him, and he noted the light freckles dusted across the bridge of your nose.

Cute.

Everything about you—from the shy glances to the nervous fidgeting—made him want to toy with you, just a little.

"Well, if you're looking for sweet, we have a variety of cupcakes that are really popular," you offered, your voice wavering slightly as you gestured towards the rows of neatly frosted confections. "Or, um, cookies... cakes..." Your words trailed off as his gaze lingered on you, and it felt as though the temperature in the room had gone up a few degrees.

He didn't seem particularly interested in the pastries, though. His eyes remained on you, as if you were far more interesting than anything in the display case.

"Hmm, that's tempting," he murmured, his smirk growing just a little wider. His eyes flickered to the cupcakes, but only for a brief moment before they returned to you. "But I think I'm in the mood for something... softer."

Your heart did a somersault at the way he emphasized the last word words, and you couldn't help but wonder just what exactly this man was getting at.

"O-oh, softer?" You fumbled, trying desperately to keep your brain from melting. You forced yourself to focus, tapping your fingers nervously against the counter. "W-we have some cream-filled pastries, if that's more to your taste?" you managed to choke out, trying to keep your voice steady.

Whatever it was, you weren't sure how much longer you could handle it without combusting on the spot.

"Maybe..." He dragged the word out, enjoying the way you squirmed under his attention. "But what would you recommend?" His voice dipped again, lower, almost teasing, like he wasn't just asking about pastries anymore.

"I-I'll just choose something!" you stammered, turning quickly before you could embarrass yourself further.

Your pulse raced as you headed to the back, reaching for the dessert you had made earlier—a strawberry cheesecake, heavily decorated and sweet.

It was indulgent, something you'd crafted for yourself during a quiet moment, filled with all the sugary indulgence you allowed yourself on rare occasions.

You pulled out a small slice, plating it carefully, your fingers trembling slightly as you arranged it perfectly.

When you returned to the counter, you placed a small sample in front of him, offering it with shaky hands. "Here, try this," you said, your voice softer than you’d intended.

He didn't need any further prompting. With a smooth, almost languid motion, he picked up the small fork you offered and took a bite.

You watched as the dessert disappeared into his mouth, his lips curling upward in a satisfied hum. The moment his eyes brightened, a wave of pride hit you. A low, pleased hum escaped him, and the sound sent a shiver down your spine.

He savored it, his gaze flickering back to you with delighted approval, as though the simple dessert had been crafted by the hands of gods.

"This is fantastic," he murmured, the praise making your chest tighten. "Where do you get this from? Who made it?"

You glanced away, feeling your face flush under his stare. "I, um... I made it."

"You did?"

With a small nod, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to focus on the task at hand. "Y-yes, I made it this morning."

His lips twitched into an amused grin, but this time, his eyes didn’t stay on your face. "Well, that explains why it's so perfect..." His gaze, deliberate and slow, trailed downwards, lingering for a long moment on your chest. It wasn't subtle—he wanted you to notice. You felt the heat creeping up your neck as his eyes lingered on your name tag.

"...____," he read aloud, his voice low and teasing, drawing out each letter. He let the name hang in the air for a moment, before lifting his gaze back to your flushed face.

The intensity of his gaze, combined with the deliberate way he said your name, sent a jolt of awareness through you. You tried to keep your composure, your hands trembled slightly as you packed up the rest of the cheesecake, placing the box on the counter.

"Here you are, Mr...." You trailed off, realizing you didn’t know his name. Your eyes flickered up to meet his again, a silent question hanging in the air.

He caught your hesitation, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Satoru," he said smoothly, the name rolling off his tongue like a secret only he was sharing with you.

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly as you cleared your throat. "R-right. Mr. Satoru." You glanced at the register, trying to refocus as you gave him the total softly.

He blinked in mild surprise, his smirk widening. "That's practically half off from the price on the card," he remarked, amusement evident in his voice.

You could feel your face grow impossibly warmer. "O-oh, um..." Your lips fell into a small pout as you avoided his gaze, your hand twitching up to adjust your glasses again in a nervous habit. "I-it's no big deal. I mean, I like to, uh, give stuff to new customers... in hopes that they return, yeah..."

Your voice trailed off, and you immediately wanted to kick yourself for the weak excuse. But it was too late now. You shrugged your shoulders, trying to act nonchalant, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

Satoru's chuckle made your heart skip a beat. Even his laughter sounded handsome, deep and melodic, sending your pulse racing. "Is that so?" he mused, his voice holding a playful edge. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cheesecake, and your breath caught in your throat.

"Well, I'll definitely be back... ____."

He winked, and you nearly melted on the spot as he turned toward the door. With a casual wave, he added, "See you soon, Sweets," leaving you standing there, flustered and wide-eyed, barely able to process what had just happened.

The bell above the door rang as he left, and only then did you release the breath you had been holding. You stood there, staring after him, your heart still pounding in your chest.

Sweets?

A few hours later, the warmth of the late afternoon sun filtered through the bakery’s front windows, casting long shadows across the floor as you wiped down the counters.

It had been a relatively quiet shift after he left, though your heart was still recovering from the encounter. As you finished up, the front door swung open with a familiar jingle, and you turned to see your coworker rushing in.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry I'm late!" The boy practically stumbled through the door, one hand frantically adjusting the tie of his high school uniform, the other pushing his hair back in a desperate attempt to look more presentable. "I got caught up in something!"

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his flustered state. Itadori Yuji, always full of energy and apologies, was like a golden retriever in human form—warm, friendly, and almost comically eager to please. His messy pink hair and wide, bright eyes gave him an air of youthful enthusiasm, and his genuine smile could light up a room.

"It's fine, Yuji," you said with a laugh, waving him off as you headed to the back to grab your things. "You're not that late."

He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he finally finished fixing his uniform. "Still, I hate being late. Promise it won't happen again, if it does, I owe you lunch!"

"Deal," you replied, opening your locker and pulling out your bag. As you walked back toward him, you noticed his name tag was crooked, dangling off one pin. With a quick flick of your hand, you reached out to fix it, adjusting it until it sat neatly on his chest.

"There," you said, looking up at him with a soft smile. "Much better." His warm grin mirrored your own as he stood there, slightly flustered but grateful. "Have a good shift, Yuji. Oh, and the manager should be stopping by later to check in on you."

"Thanks!" he said, already grabbing an apron and getting ready to dive into work. "I’ll handle it. You get out of here and enjoy your break!"

You gave him a small wave and turned to leave, but just as you reached the door, you heard him call out behind you. "Y/N!" Yuji's voice was filled with enthusiasm, and you turned to see him waving both hands energetically, grinning from ear to ear. "Goodbye! See you tomorrow!"

You waved back, shaking your head with a fond smile as you stepped outside, the cool afternoon air brushing against your skin.

You allowed yourself to get lost in the rhythm of your steps as you strolled home, your mind wandering as you took in the sights and sounds around you—the rustling of leaves, the distant hum of traffic, and the occasional chatter of people passing by.

It was a rare moment of peace after the hectic shift, a brief escape from the buzz of daily life.

As you rounded the corner, something unexpected caught your eye—a small form, huddled on the edge of the sidewalk.

Your pace slowed as you approached, your brow furrowing in concern.

It was a cat, lying awkwardly on its side, its fur matted and dirty. A quick glance told you it had been hit by something, maybe a car or someone careless.

Normally, you would have continued walking, not wanting to get too involved. But just beyond the cat, two tiny kittens sat mewling helplessly, their cries piercing the quiet air.

Your heart clenched at the sight.

With a soft sigh, you crouched down, inching closer to the injured cat. It hissed at you, its eyes wild with pain and fear, its body tense as it tried to protect its young. But you ignored the warning sounds, reaching out slowly, gently, until your fingers brushed under its chin.

"Hey, it’s okay," you whispered, your voice soft and soothing.

At your touch, the cat stiffened for a moment before going completely lax, its body relaxing against the ground. You stroked it tenderly, watching in quiet as the distended paw began to shift, the bones cracking softly back into place.

You could almost feel the snap of pain yourself, a sharp ache spreading through your own wrist as the cat's injury healed before your eyes.

After a few seconds, the paw was as good as new. The cat stood, shaking itself off, and without a second glance at you, it gathered its kittens and disappeared into the safety of the alleyway.

You remained crouched there for a moment, watching the small family as they vanished from sight, the ache in your wrist growing stronger.

Slowly, you straightened up, flexing your fingers as the pain began to dull. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but it didn't make it any easier to bear.

Feelings.

That's all you'd ever known. Whether you wanted to or not.

All your life, you'd felt things—things you shouldn't be able to feel.

Anger from your neighbors down the hall as they argued about their personal issues, envy from classmates who resented your successes, and worst of all, the fear radiating from your parents as they stood helpless, unable to comfort you through your relentless sobs.

You could feel their confusion, their frustration.

But at the end of it all, they couldn't fix something they couldn't see.

Over time, it grew—your ability to feel. At first, it was just emotions. You could sense a slight shift in someone’s mood, a flicker of sadness or anger, just an inkling of what they were going through. But soon, it became more than that.

You began to feel their thoughts, whispers that echoed faintly in your mind, giving you glimpses of what lay beneath their surface emotions.

And then... it escalated. Suddenly, you could feel everything.

Whatever someone was going through—physically or emotionally—washed over you like a wave. Their pain became your pain. Their joy became your joy. It all found its way to you.

No matter how far you distanced yourself, it clung to you like a shadow.

It was overwhelming, relentless, like you were drowning in the feelings of others with no way to claw your way to the surface.

As the years went by, your condition worsened. What started as a manageable, if confusing, ability turned into a burden too heavy to bear.

The world became unbearable. Every day was agony, the constant onslaught of emotions and sensations from those around you leaving you raw, exhausted, and desperate for relief.

The cacophony of the city—the anger, the fear, the pain—was like a living entity, clawing at your skin, leaving you shaking and fragile.

Your parents were at a loss. They didn't understand what was happening to you, couldn't see the invisible weight pressing down on your soul. They could only watch as you withdrew further, your silence growing more suffocating by the day.

When your father finally made a call to a buddy—a man who had a cousin that owned a small apartment complex on the edge of the city—it was an act of desperation.

They didn't know what else to do.

So, at fifteen, they sent you away. The cousin gave your parents a deal, allowing them to pay for three years of rent upfront for the ‘penthouse’—a small, one-bedroom apartment that was anything but luxurious.

It was decrepit, cheap, and hidden away in an area most people avoided. The walls were stained with years of neglect, the air thick with the smell of dust and mold.

But it was quiet. Isolated.

And for the first time, you were alone with your thoughts.

Alone with the pain.

But that wasn't the only thing you had to deal with. Upon leaving home, you unknowingly stepped into a new world—a world of curses and sorcerers.

It happened by accident, of course. During one of your bad days, when the weight of others' emotions became too much to bear, you found yourself overwhelmed, losing control, but this time was different.

This time, it happened in public.

You don't remember exactly how you ended up on that street, or why you couldn’t move your legs when you wanted to run. All you knew was that your chest was heaving, your heart pounding, and everything was too loud, too bright.

The emotions pouring out of you were anything but silent. They radiated outward like a tidal wave, flooding the space around you. People nearby started to feel it—your pain, your panic.

The air grew heavy with the thick, chaotic energy you couldn't control.

You didn't know it at the time, but there had been sorcerers nearby. They had been in the middle of an exorcism, dealing with a high-grade curse just down the block. But your outburst—your instability—had thrown everything into disarray.

By the time you calmed down, the sorcerers had won their battle, but the damage was done.

You were on their radar.

At first, the solitude was a relief. The absence of people meant an absence of feelings—no more sadness seeping through the walls, no more anger gracing your vision from out of nowhere, no more envy creeping in with every inhale of breath, rattling you to the bone. But as the years passed, the silence became suffocating in a different way.

You found yourself missing the world outside, the life you had once known slipping further and further away. And yet... somehow, you survived.

As the years passed, you learned to cope with your abilities. Instead of rejecting the constant barrage of feelings, you began to embrace them, to accept the pain and emotion as part of you.

It was hard, terrifying even, at first.

There were times when the spasms would hit, your body wracked with the pain of others, and you'd think you were slipping back into the endless agony of your youth. But you learned to shake it off, to focus, and slowly, everything would melt into the background.

Now, at twenty-three, you've managed to regain some semblance of normalcy. You work part-time at a small bakery just a block away from the apartment, a quiet job that doesn't demand too much interaction with people.

And as you've grown more confident in yourself, so too have your powers.

Now, not only can you feel and change others' emotions, but you've learned to take away their pain as well—absorbing it into yourself, inadvertently healing them.

You glanced down at your wrist, the ache in your wrist from earlier was a reminder of that, the subtle way your body absorbs and dissipates pain.

You didn't know when it started exactly, but the more you leaned into your ability, the more you realized how much power you had over others' emotions—and their suffering.

Arriving home, you expected to be a typical Friday night of you sitting comfortably on your worn-out couch, book in hand, ready to lose yourself in another evening of quiet solitude.

But the buzz of your phone said otherwise.

Your best friend, Sumi, didn't give you a second before launching into an excited explanation about some classmates going out to celebrate the end of exam season and begged you to join them. She pointed out how you never went out anymore, and that you'd been practically living as a hermit

You tried to resist, your first instinct to decline and stick to your quiet night in, but Sumi;s persistence wore you down. She had a way of making even the simplest invitation sound like a grand adventure, and after a bit of internal back-and-forth, you finally relented.

After ending the call, you stood up, looking around your small apartment. It had been a while since you'd gone out, and a part of you felt nervous, but another part—one you hadn't acknowledged in some time—was starting to feel a flicker of anticipation.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to step outside your comfort zone for once.

The music was loud, vibrating through the floor and up into your bones as you sat squeezed into a booth, surrounded by people on all sides.

You hadn't expected the party to be this big—Sumi had said it would be a small celebration, but it turned out to be anything but. The entire club was packed, and the crowd seemed to pulse with energy, the lights flashing erratically in rhythm with the heavy bass.

It was... overwhelming, to say the least, and you'd already considered slipping out the back more than once.

But every time you thought about leaving, someone—whether it was Sumi or one of her classmates—would pull you back into the booth, keeping you tethered to the chaos.

After a while, you accepted your fate, sighing softly as you forced yourself to take a sip of the drink in your hand. The alcohol was meant to distract you, to keep your mind from spiraling into overstimulation.

The lights, the smells, the music, the press of bodies around you—it was all too much. But if you focused on the cool burn of the drink sliding down your throat, maybe you could hold yourself together a little longer.

A few drinks later, your muscles loosened, and the tightness in your chest began to melt away. The alcohol took the edge off, softening the sharpness of your senses, and you finally started to feel relaxed.

When Sumi eagerly dragged you onto the dance floor, you didn't resist, allowing yourself to get swept up in the moment.

The music pounded through the air, and soon you were caught in the rhythm. You let yourself get lost in it, swaying with the crowd, Sumi's infectious energy keeping you in the moment.

"You're finally having fun, aren't you?" Sumi laughed, spinning around you, her blonde hair whipping in the flashing lights.

You smiled faintly, your body relaxing into the music. "Yeah, it's... not so bad."

But as the alcohol worked through your system, the familiar buzz started beneath your skin. The sensations around you grew sharper—eagerness, excitement, arousal.

You could feel it all.

As you danced, it became harder to focus, every emotion from the people packed around you began to seep into your mind, their energy flooding your senses.

It was too much, and yet you couldn't seem to pull yourself out of it.

You wanted to scream, to escape, but the crowd held you tight, the sensations enveloping you like a suffocating blanket.

The music blurred with the flashes of emotion that weren't your own. It was like you were taking in everyone's feelings, all at once. A wave of drunken joy hit you, followed by a sharp stab of lust from a couple nearby.

And then, you felt two hands grip your waist from behind, steady and firm, tethering you to the moment.

A more coherent version of yourself might have jumped away from the unknown touch, startled by the sudden intrusion. But instead, you found yourself leaning into it, falling backward into whoever dared wrap you in their embrace.

The sensation of strong arms circling your waist held you in place, and the firmness of the chest against your back was like a solid wall anchoring you amidst the chaos.

You blinked slowly, your mind swimming as you squinted your eyes open. The faint tickle of soft hair brushed against your neck, and you could tell the person behind you was tall—taller than you by far. They had to slouch and bend over slightly to reach your ear.

It was only when you caught a glimpse of white, snowy hair out of the corner of your eye that you froze. A familiar shiver ran down your spine, and the sharp sensation of lust and arousal hit you like a wave, pouring off the figure behind you in an overwhelming rush.

It was intoxicating, and for the first time tonight, you felt your own emotions cut through the fog of everyone else's. Your heart raced, and the heat rising in your cheeks wasn't from the alcohol anymore.

You didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. But any doubt you had vanished when a smooth voice purred into your ear, "Hello, Sweets~"

The words sent a shiver through you, and before you could fully process the situation, you were whisked off the dance floor. One second you were drowning in the crowd, and the next, you were being led—no, practically carried—through the bustling club.

Satoru, with an ease that belied the chaos around him, guided you up the steps to the VIP section, his hand never leaving your waist.

In what felt like no time at all, you were settled in a more secluded booth at the top balcony, away from prying eyes. The noise of the club felt distant here, muted by the heavy drapes surrounding the area.

Satoru moved with purpose, easily sliding into the booth beside you, his presence commanding and all-encompassing.

You glanced at him, your breath catching in your throat as his bright blue eyes locked onto yours. There was a teasing glint in them as he took in your flushed face, a smirk curling at his lips.

Without warning, he cupped your cheek, his large hand warm against your skin, and pinched your face lightly.

"You're a lightweight, huh?" he teased, his tone light but dripping with amusement.

You swatted his hand away with a roll of your eyes, trying to steady yourself. "'m not drunk. 'm tipsy," you muttered, trying to maintain some semblance of control, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

Satoru chuckled, leaning in closer. His arm draped casually over the back of the booth, but the movement subtly caged you in, his broad back shielding you from view. He didn't seem concerned with the world beyond your little corner, his attention entirely on you.

"Tipsy, huh?" he drawled, his voice lowering as he leaned even closer, his breath warm against your ear. "You're definitely something."

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as his finger gently lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You're a pretty girl, you know that?" His words were soft but carried a weight that made your heart race.

Your mouth went dry as his finger trailed along the edge of your chin before brushing the underside of your lip. The touch was light, teasing, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you. His eyes darkened slightly, the pupils dilating as his gaze lingered on your lips, a light flush dusting his own cheeks.

"I could get used to this," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as his thumb stroked your bottom lip. "The way you look at me... I wonder how much better it would feel to have you under me."

The suggestiveness of his words hit you like a punch, your entire body flushing with heat.

You could feel the intensity of his desire, the raw lust pouring off him in waves, and for once, you weren't overwhelmed by it. Instead, it mixed with your own growing attraction, the tension between you crackling like static in the air.

Your breath hitched, and though you were flustered, you couldn't deny the pull between you.

Every part of you screamed to push back, to regain control, but the way Satoru's fingers lingered on your skin, the way his eyes drank you in like you were the only person in the world, made it hard to focus on anything but him.

Your mouth moved before your brain could catch up. "I do too..." The words were barely a whisper, slipping out between the pounding of your heart and the electric charge that hummed between you.

That was all it took.

In an instant, Satoru closed the space between you, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that made your head spin. You could feel the desperation in the way he kissed you, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, exploring, tasting. He licked into you with fervor, groaning low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your chest.

It was as if he couldn't get enough, like he was drinking in every little sound you made, savoring it.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his hands were on you—gripping your waist, pulling you closer, and leaving no space between your bodies.

The plush cushions of the sofa gave way beneath you as you felt your back press into them, Satoru already pushing you down. His body hovered over yours, his weight pinning you in place as his hands roamed freely, one sliding up your side, fingers brushing your skin under your shirt.

Every touch sent sparks through your veins, and you couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped your lips when his palm finally slid under your skirt, pressing against the warmth of your skin.

His hand moved higher, fingers brushing over your upper thigh as his other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place beneath him. You squirmed under his touch, your body responding to every movement as if on instinct.

The sensation of his fingers ghosting over your skin was enough to drive you crazy, and you arched into his touch, your own hands finding purchase on his shoulders, gripping him tightly as if to anchor yourself to the moment.

Satoru groaned again, this time louder, the sound muffled by the kiss. His body pressed closer, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, the solid strength of his chest against yours.

It was dizzying—the way he seemed to consume you with every touch, every kiss, as if he was starved for you. His lips left yours for only a second, moving to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"Satoru..." you breathed, barely able to think as his lips found yours again. His hand gripped your thigh, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you deeper, more possessively, like he never wanted to let you go.

Before you could catch your breath, Satoru moved again, flipping you both upright with ease. He pulled you on top of his lap, his hands gripping your waist firmly as he settled you onto him.

You both sat there, panting from the intensity of the makeout session, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you stared down at him.

His eyes were dark, hooded with desire, the usual playfulness in his expression replaced by something more intense. His face was flushed, and a light sheen of sweat dotted his forehead. His hands, strong and confident, kneaded your exposed thighs, your skirt having ridden up from all the movement.

The warmth of his touch against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but feel your mind race as you took in his features—the sharpness of his jaw, the way his pale lashes framed those piercing blue eyes, his lips swollen from kissing.

Satoru licked his lips slowly, and you could feel the heat between you grow as he scooted you even closer on his lap. A shiver ran through you when you felt him hard beneath you, the sensation making your body tingle. He tilted his head to the side, a cocky smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched you.

"Hey, Sweets," he purred, his voice low and teasing. "Wanna feel how bad I wanna fuck you?"

If you weren't already lost in the feeling of him against you, you might've recoiled in embarrassment at his bluntness. But instead, your body reacted instinctively, pressing down onto him, sending a jolt of electricity through both of you.

The low groan that escaped his lips, paired with the small jump of his hips in response, had your heart racing even faster.

It was your turn to lick your lips, and you noticed the way Satoru's eyes snapped down to watch, darkening even further as his gaze locked onto your mouth.

You leaned in slightly, your lips hovering near his ear as you whispered, "Only if I get to make you beg for it first."

Satoru's breath hitched, and his eyes flickered with surprise and excitement at your boldness. His grip on your thighs tightened, and his cocky smirk grew wider, clearly pleased with your response. "Oh, Sweets," he murmured, his voice dripping with playful challenge. "I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun tonight."

Satoru wasted no time, his hand sliding between your thighs with practiced ease, his eyes focused solely on your face.

ou could only bite your lip in response as he easily slipped his fingers beneath your underwear, his breath growing heavier with each passing second.

"Shit… you're soaked," he breathed out, voice rough with desire.

You can feel your cheeks burning in embarrassment, heat flooding your body as his touch sent sparks through you. It was almost too easy for him to slip a single finger inside you, sinking in to the knuckle with no resistance.

His thumb began working in small, slow circles, rubbing against your clit, and your hips twitch involuntarily in response. The sensation is overwhelming, and you can feel your body reacting without thought.

Your hips moved on their own, instinctively jutting forward in small circles, matching the rhythm of his fingers as he skillfully worked you over.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he added another finger, pressing deeper, massaging your walls with a deliberate, teasing pressure.

A sharp, breathy squeak left you when he found your G-spot. "There she goes…" he murmurs with a low moan, his own hips twitching slightly beneath you, as if the sight of your reaction was enough to affect him too.

Before you know it, the tension inside you snapped. You gasp, feeling yourself reach the peak as your body shudders and tightens around his fingers, your mind reeling from the pleasure coursing through you.

While you were still clenching and twitching from your release, Satoru didn't hesitate. He pulled your underwear to the side and swiftly guided you down onto him, bullying his dick into your small hole.

A low hiss escaped his lips, followed by a growl as his entire body tensed beneath you, almost as if he was in pain.

It felt like all the air had been knocked out of you when he bottomed out in one stroke, your hips pressed flush against his. The fullness in your lower stomach was overwhelming, your thighs burning as they settled around his waist.

Your body reacted instinctively, twitching and clenching down as another orgasm washed over you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Satoru groaned, his voice thick and slurred as he lifted you up and down slowly, your whole clenching tight like a vice.

A low moan escaped his lips as he stared up with dazed and half-lidded eyes, as if he were completely drunk off the feel of you. His hands gripped your waist tightly, his head lolling back against the cushion.

You could only cling helplessly to his broad shoulders, your body trembling like a ragdoll as his hips picked up speed, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room with each deep thrust.

You were lost in the feel of him, lost in the way his lust matched yours, the heat between you nearly unbearable.

Satoru's hand found its way to your neck, fingers wrapping around it like a collar as he tilted your head back, exposing the curve of your throat.

You could feel his breath, hot and ragged, as his other hand trailed up slowly, his thumb brushing against your lips before slipping into your mouth.

A moan escaped you, muffled around his digit, your thighs twitching in response to the growing pressure building deep inside you.

Satoru's hips snapped up harder as if he could feel how close you were. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, and just as you felt yourself about to tip over, his voice broke through the haze, panting and breathless in your ear.

"Y'know…" he rasped, punctuating each word with a rough thrust, "…I was sent here… to kill you…" His grip tightened on your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he groaned into your ear. "But how… can I get… rid of something… this… perfect?"

His voice was filthy, dripping with lust, and his words came out between gasping breaths. "My perfect… little cock-sleeve…" He smirked against your neck, his voice growing lower and more ragged with each thrust. "… And I'm never letting you go."

You couldn't stop the shudder that ran through you as his words sank in. Just as you tipped over the edge into one last, mind-numbing release, you couldn’t help but wonder what your future held next.

A/N: not me screeching into my pillows while editing like i didnt write this 😭😭

[sashi-ya]

𝑲𝑨𝑰𝑱𝑼 𝑺𝑬𝑿 𝑺𝑷𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑺 𓇢𓆸 kaiju no 8 "sex pollen" hc ⟢ soshiro, kafka & reno

tw: mdni. sex pollen: "funghi type" kaiju reproductive spores and how they affect the guys. explicit scenes of sexual nature. based on a mini fic I wrote -never posted, will someday- of soshiro and reader being affected by such spores.

We often think of Kaiju as violent and dangerous creatures; some are big, other not so much, but all of them are -usually- taken as a threat for human kind. However, not every Kaiju known to mankind is exactly the type to be feared. Or maybe, actually, yes… “These are Fungi type” Okonogi says. “Ah- like the ones we killed back in Sagamihara, right?” Soshiro asks, absolutely unaware of the rare threat he was about to face. “Not really, fuku-taichou…” she murmurs, fixing her glasses, worried…

𝐒𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎

He wore a mask but forgot that, even if every Kaiju had been already subjugated, his suit was still covered in those sexual spores. The fact that he kills by slicing them in various pieces, made him specially full of them.

Soshiro doesn’t really need a sex pollen to fuck you hard, that’s why the effects were -at first- difficult for him to control. “I don’t feel well…” he whispered to himself, feeling his body covered in sweat and the image of your body taking over every corner of his imagination. He felt like his palms were itchy, needy to squeeze your breasts, your ass, your thighs.

His tongue felt the pain of his sharpened fangs; he had to bite it while he came back to the base. Metallic taste of a little drop of blood filled his mouth the moment he saw you standing there, waiting for him, worried.

“Come here, I’m desperate to fuck you… please” he begged, whispering on your ear with his hands around your waist. Soshiro gave 0 fucks about the rest, nobody cared anyway.

Couldn’t wait much longer; he pushed you into a bathroom stall. Sat on the toilet, snatched you from your waist, pulled down your pants and lifted up your leg. A bite on your inner thigh, leaving a mark that will take some time to heal. His tongue on your sex. Up and down, sucking, slurping, tasting… devouring. Even if he is an oral sex god, this time felt like he was even better. Soshiro forgot to breathe, and from time to time you urged him to stop to get some oxygen.

Enough with the oral, Soshiro needed release; he couldn’t even stand up, his dick was freed for you to bounce -moved by his strong arms- up and down. The slap and the juices that dampened his pants and belly, felt for him like a true blessing. Those Kaiju wanted us to reproduce as well…

𝐊𝐀𝐅𝐊𝐀

My man here knew about the spores, however he felt asleep right before reading that the effects included a desire to “reproduce”. Probably due to his Kaiju nature the effects kicked a little later than the rest; he was still sitting in complete peace -actually fantasizing with him being the one saving the day- as he looked through the van’s window.

Sitting by his side, you were sleeping the way back… however, your dreams were suddenly interrupted by someone pulling on your arm.

“Mmhwhat?”. “I need… I- help-“ Kafka murmured, desperate. It seems to you he was having a “Kaiju emergency” and nobody, still, could know he was one. Quickly you eased the sleep away and began assessing him in silence to know what was happening. Yet, you noticed nothing.

Kafka opened his turquoise eyes as big as plates; and instead of explaining he snatched your hand and took it to his crotch. It was hard, harder than ever before. It felt almost like a rock, like a pulsating, throbbing, pleading and suffering rock.

“The spores… I am dying… I’m scared of transforming” he cried, almost inaudibly.

If he is transforming, it’s over. He is dying? Then let’s save his life… you took your jacket off and threw it, in complete silence, over his crotch. It was a blessing that you two sat at the very back of the van. Everybody, tired -and probably some affected by the spores- were completely unaware of the rest. And that, also, become an advantage for your intrepid hand as it slid inside the pants of your kaiju hybrid “friend”.

You knew exactly how to help him, ups and downs, playful taps and circles with your palm on top of his gland. Oh, poor Kafka, he fought back the urge to turn into a Kaiju and eat you alive… And you thought staining his pants with pure sticky whiteness was enough? Wait until you get to the base…

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐎

The calmer of them all; mature, silent, hiding sweaty trembling hands. As one of the younger, he was able to conceal his growing appetite; at least until getting to the base. Reno became silent, trying to focus the mess on his head and the hardness inside his pants at bay. However, your beauty brought detrimental consequences to that state of pure meditation.

“Why are you running around in such revealing clothes?” he asked, looking and sounding almost mad. You stopped running; he didn’t seem to notice the towel hanging from your arm, but only the short shorts and gym bra you were wearing.

“I forgot my towel, I’m gonna shower” you explained, noticing the way he seemed to transform into something similar to a feral, hungry beast.

Reno pounced into you, pinning you against the wall of that empty hall that lead to a lively bathroom. “You were going to…” he whispered, with pale lips pressed against your neck. Reno inhaled your scent, he seemed to enjoy the perfume of your unwashed, sweaty skin. His fingers knew exactly where your core was, his teeth carved marks on your neck, his sex felt hard on your belly… that night, shower had to wait… because the more he sniffled on your flesh, the more he sucked in those kaiju spores.

[owlcomics101]

“Egg sitting.” Task force 141 x Penguin hybrid male!reader

warnings: Fluff, sfw (I am a minor), maybe some kissing?, cussing/swearing, Smoking (I do not condone)

Egg sitting. For penguins it’s the males that egg sit while the female goes away for a while to feed during the harsh winter and return back in the later Spring. This also goes for hybrids as well. You are an emperor penguin/human hybrid. You have the webbed feet, small nub tail and some fluff here and there. In the winter months your feathery fur thickens and you grow more patches for warmth but also for the sake of warming your egg. It was an off day and everyone was in the common room, you were standing up asleep, slightly hunched over with your egg resting snug on your feet. The team couldn’t help just stare at you dumb founded. It was quite the absurd sight to behold. The egg was already weird enough but the fact that you are literally sleeping standing up baffles them.

“Fucking hell….” Ghost murmurs watching you sleep.

“Howfur does he even kip lik' that?” Soap asks with a brow raised. He was sitting on the common room couch leaning against Ghost while Ghost sharpened his knives. Gaz sat in one of the chairs. He was trying to read his book but couldn’t help but glance at you. He was worried about you. Despite you sleeping all the time you still looked so tired with balancing everything. The missions, the egg, everyone else, and even your wellbeing.

“God he looks exhausted…” Gaz says with a sigh as he listens to your snores. Price takes a drag of his cigar and lowers his papers to look up at you before he frowns while letting out a puff of smoke. Price let out a sigh before getting up and walking over to you.

“You need a break soldier.” He mutters before looking over to Gaz.

“Help me get him to the couch.” Price orders as Gaz immediately gets up to help you. Ghost and Soap look at each other before getting off the couch. Soap looked down at your feet before searching through your fluffy legs to find the egg. He pulled the egg out and it was fucking huge. Soap only ever seen it resting on your feet and it looked so much smaller with all the fluff covering it.

“A'm feelin' ill that brassic wummin wha leid this….” Soap mutters before getting bonked on the head by Ghost

“Shut it.” Ghost says sternly. Ghost crossed his arms as he watched Price and Gaz carry you to the couch. A long relaxed sigh escaped you as you felt your self feeling the soft cushion of the couch.

“There, that should do it.” Price says before turning around wide eyed to the egg. Right…he almost forgot about it.

“So uh….what do we do with it?” Gaz looks down at the egg as he adjusts his cap.

Five minutes later you were still sleeping on the couch snoring loudly while the team tried to figure out what to do with the egg.

“Careful with it captain!” Soap says. As he watches Price wrap a blanket around the egg.

“Oi, calm down ya muppet! I know what I’m doing-I’ve seen y/n do this a thousand times.” Price grumbles as he wraps the egg snug in a small blanket before setting it on his feet and lighting himself a cigar.

“We’ll take shifts, Fifteen minutes each.” Price says before Ghost butts in.

“Fifteen bloody minutes!?” Ghost sets his knives aside as both Gaz and Soap snicker to themselves.

”Yes Fifteen focking minutes Ghost.” Price says with an eye roll. “If Y/N can do this 24 hours a day and even in god Damm missions. I think we can handle Fifteen minutes!”

“I’ve never seen a man waddle so fast on the field.” Gaz mumbles to himself before looking over his shoulder to see your sleeping figure.

The team each took shifts with baby sitting the egg, Soap was just getting off his turn as he hands Ghost the egg.

“God damm…how does he dae this a' day?” Soap says as he takes off his boots to look at his very irritated and sore feet.

“You should’ve seen Price’s feet, he stood with that egg for over thirty minutes.” Gaz snickers as he sits down in a chair and pulls out his book.

“Talk about determination…” Soap mutters as he sits down on the couch next to your sleeping figure. Reaching out to fix a strand of hair out of your face. Ghost looks down at the egg. It was his turn. He couldn’t help but grumble to himself. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as the egg rests on his feet.

You wake up ten minutes later to find your self on the couch. Wait-why are on the couch? Where is your egg? In a panic you sluggishly look around, you were still only half awake but you couldn’t bear the thought of your egg being missing.

“What-Where!?” You looked around still daze to find your egg wrapped in a blanket on someone’s feet. You let out a tired sigh of relief as you get up to take the egg back. You unwrapped the blanket from it and set it down on your feet again. Safe and sound. Your vision was still blurry and you couldn’t make out who was in front of you. It had to be your mate right? Who else would be touching your egg if not her?

“Thanks, love.” You mumble tiredly as you planted a kiss on the person’s forehead. You thought it was your mate but it was actually Ghost. You just kissed Ghost without realizing it. Soap and Gaz snicker before bursting out in laughter as you waddle away oblivious. Ghost was frozen in place completely flabbergasted and red in the face under his mask. Price couldn’t help but chuckle himself before letting out a puff of smoke from his cigar.

This happened quite a lot…mistaking your team members as your mate whenever you’re in a drowsy state. You couldn’t help it, you were lonely and touch starved for her. You feel like you’re seeing her everywhere but also nowhere at all. You were depressed. Gaz shared a bunk with you in the barracks. He was the bottom bunk and you were the top. He was in a deep sleep before being awaken to seeing you unconsciously trying to hold his hand. He goes wide eyed quickly stuffing your arm back into your bunk as you mutter random shit in your sleep. It always left Gaz completely flustered and he didn’t even realize it. Soap would spar with you in the training room, only to find you randomly collapse out of pure exhaustion. He helps carry you to bed to only listen to your crying in your sleep about your mate. It made Soap tense up every time in discomfort seeing you in discomfort. You’d also still randomly kiss Ghost on the forehead of his mask after missions if you were really exhausted. It made him freeze up every time because he isn’t sure how to react to such affection…even if he isn’t your actual mate. Price would see this all from afar. Seeing your exhausting as depressing state. Whenever you fell asleep or was too busy…he’d watch the egg for you. He wasn’t sure why, babysitting that egg was hell for his feet but seeing you smile knowing your egg was safe always made butterflies go off in his stomach.

You were just getting worst in your loneliness and depression. And to make things worst, you woke up one morning to your egg shattered into small pieces of eggshells.

to be continued?

(Gah this was so much fun! I’ve wanted to do this for quite awhile now! I honestly really wanna continue this but at the end of the day it is up to you guys. Can we get to a 100 notes?)

[kisskiss-slashslash]

Slashers when you give them a cheesy nickname

Jason Voorhees

He is busy maintaining his weapons when he feels you lean on him.

"What're you doing, Jasey-honey?"

Poor guy gets so startled that he accidentally cuts himself while sharpening his machete. You quickly slip around him to inspect the long cut on his thumb. Thankfully, the wound isn't deep. You quickly reach for the first aid kit you keep nearby and start to clean it out.

Jason watches you intently. You've been with him for years, he knows, deep down, how much you love each other. But at times, the scars left by years and years of rejection by everyone but his mother resurface and make every display of affection from you come as a surprise.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you", you mutter. "I've been calling you that in my head for a while, and now it just kinda slipped out."

He leans down until his forehead meets yours, with only the rough, cold material of his mask between you two. His eyes stare into yours, almost expecting mockery, but finding nothing but sincerity. He closes his eyes and lingers for a short moment, before he sits upright again.

Vincent Sinclair

The two of you started with the nicknames fairly quickly. When he emerges from his basement in the morning, looking for some coffee and breakfast, you turn to him, give him your brightest smile and say:"Coffee is ready, my love."

His eye brightens and he pulls you into his arms, slipping up his mask just far enough to pepper your neck and shoulder with gentle kisses. God how he loves hearing you call him that. If you're not careful with that kind of language, he'll end up having you for breakfast instead.

Someone clears their throat, making you jump apart. You completely forgot that Bo also happens to be in the room. He looks at the two of you over the rim of his mug, with an expression that tells you to get a damn room already.

Freddy Krueger

No.

Just no.

Freddy isn't the romantic type and can't stand it when you're trying to be all cutesy with him. That, of course, does not stop you. In fact, it only encourages you to find the most cringy, sickeningly sweet nicknames, just to tease him.

"My sweet nightmare-"

"No."

"My studmuff-"

"No."

"My crispy-"

"No."

He scowls at you while you collapse in a fit of laughter. You're lucky he loves you so much. Anyone else wouldn't have survived past the first nickname. But make no mistake; he will get back at you for teasing him like that.

Bubba Sawyer

Drayton told you to call Bubba up for dinner. So you just open the door to the lower level and call out:"Bubsy! Darling! It's dinnertime!"

A few feet behind you, you hear Drayton choke on his drink and Chop Top burst out laughing.

Bubba immediately rushes up the stairs, a lovestruck grin on his face. Once he reaches you at the top of the stairs, he gives you a tight bear-hug and a loving kiss. He *loves* cheesy nicknames, and you love how happy they make him.

"Not in front of your brothers, Bubs", you remind him with a chuckle and give him one last peck on the cheek before sitting down at the table together. Drayton isn't a big fan of your relationship in general but he accepts it as long as you keep the PDA to a minimum.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms doesn't mind cutesy nicknames overall… except for one. You learn that the hard way.

You're busy with chores, humming to yourself and looking up when he enters the room. You smile at him.

"Oh hey, Brahmsey."

His eyes widen and his entire body tenses up. Then he spins around and rushes out, and before you can follow him, you hear something being thrown against a wall. You are, of course, familiar with Brahms' outbursts. But you are kind of lost on what caused this one. Did you forget a rule?

You continue what you were doing until the ruckus from the other corner of the house stops. Only then do you put aside your work and go check on Brahms.

You find him in his hideout, feathers from ripped pillows and splinters of wood and porcelain shards still stuck on his clothes and in his hair.

"You will leave me", he says accusingly, before you even have a chance to ask what happened. "Greta called me Brahmsey, and she left me."

Oh.

"Brahms… darling." You sit with him and let him lean on you. "I will never, ever leave you. I promise."

[pedroscowgirl]

Under the spotlight

hugh jackman x fem!reader

this is the last part of the series from my masterlist "a younger revelation"

warnings: smut! minors dni! p in v (wrap it up) , age gap (reader is in her 20s and hugh is 55), established relationship, creampie, public teasing, reader has hair, lmk if i forgot something!

wc: 7.9k

a/n: hi everyone thank you for waiting such a long time for this but i had a massive writers block for this series but i hope yall like it! and i also wanna thank everyone for the support and love that yall have given to this series <3 also my cat was sitting on my hands so i couldn't post this earlier

It’s one of those perfect mornings where time seems to stretch, slowing down to match the easy rhythm of your breathing. The bedroom is bathed in soft light, the pale autumn sun filtering through the curtains, casting a gentle golden hue over the room. Everything feels serene. The world outside is still, quiet. It’s just you and Hugh, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of a lazy Sunday.

You’re lying on your side, your face nestled into the pillow as you feel Hugh’s warm body pressed up against yours, his arm loosely draped around your waist. His slow, steady breathing sends a comforting warmth along your back, the soft rise and fall of his chest against you a grounding reminder that this—right here, right now—is real. It’s always the little things that get to you, the way his hand absentmindedly traces small circles on your hip, or the way his hair is still slightly mussed from sleep.

His phone is in his hand, the occasional soft click of the screen illuminating in the dim room. You glance over at him, curious but too comfortable to move much, letting the sheets envelop you both in a cocoon of comfort.

“Checking your fan messages already?” you tease, your voice still a little husky from sleep.

He smiles without looking up, that lazy, playful grin of his that always makes your stomach flip. “Something like that,” he murmurs, his deep voice still carrying the warmth of sleep.

You can feel him scrolling, his thumb moving over the screen in that familiar swipe, probably going through memes or replying to texts. But then you notice the distinct sound of the camera clicking. Your senses sharpen slightly, but you remain still, watching him through heavy eyelids.

“Hugh,” you say, a warning laced in your tone, but you don’t move.

“Hmm?” He turns his head towards you, trying—and failing—to look innocent, though that mischievous glint in his eyes betrays him.

Before you can ask, he’s already snapped a photo, quick and subtle. You barely register the motion until it’s done, and he’s grinning like a cat that’s just caught a bird.

“Did you just take a picture?” you ask, amused but also intrigued.

“Maybe,” he replies, smirking.

You roll over slightly to face him, your eyebrow arched, though you’re far too comfortable to pretend to be mad. “What are you planning?”

Instead of answering directly, he turns the phone screen towards you. It’s a photo of the two of you, or rather, a hint of you. The image is almost artful in its subtlety. The sheets are tangled, the lighting soft and warm, but it only shows a small part of your arm resting on the bed and a faint glimpse of Hugh’s face in the far corner, just enough of his tousled hair and stubble to be unmistakable. The focus is deliberately vague, making it impossible to tell who is with him unless you already knew.

“Are you really going to post that?” you ask, half laughing, half groaning at how much chaos this one image will stir up.

His grin widens as his thumb hovers over the “Post” button on Instagram. “Why not? Just a little tease.”

“A little tease?” you repeat, incredulous. “You know exactly what you’re doing. People are going to lose their minds.”

“That’s part of the fun,” he says with a chuckle, that deep, playful sound you can feel reverberate through his chest.

You watch as he writes out the caption, short and vague: “Sunday mornings be like... 😌 #justchilling”

It’s perfect, deliberately vague and enough to send the internet into a frenzy. No name, no tags, just an intimate glimpse into his life, and the fans will eat it up. You can already imagine the whirlwind of theories and speculation that will follow, fans dissecting every pixel, trying to figure out who he’s with, if this means he’s seeing someone, or if it’s just a clever trick to keep them guessing.

“You’re evil,” you say with a laugh, watching as he hits ‘post.’

The phone buzzes almost instantly with notifications, the comments flooding in before either of you can even react.

“See?” he says, pulling you closer to him, his voice laced with amusement. “They love it.”

You lean over, resting your head against his shoulder, unable to hide your own smile. The comments are exactly what you’d expected. Fans are already speculating—some convinced it’s just a casual, fun post, others absolutely certain this is proof Hugh is off the market. A few are even analyzing the details of the photo, trying to match up the bedspread to any previous photos he might’ve posted.

“Is Hugh teasing us or is this legit?!”

“Who’s the mystery person? 😍”

“This better be a joke, because I’m not ready for Hugh to be taken.”

“Okay, but does anyone else think this means something more?”

“Look at them go,” Hugh says, scrolling through the comments with a grin, clearly enjoying every second of it.

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you snuggle back into him. “You really love to mess with people, don’t you?”

“Only a little,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His tone shifts slightly, more sincere now as he adds, “But it’s also nice having something just for us, you know? Something that only we understand.”

Your heart swells at that, knowing what he means. The photo is out there, shared with millions, but the truth behind it—this quiet, peaceful moment between the two of you—belongs solely to you. No matter how much they speculate, how many wild theories they come up with, only the two of you know what it’s really like, tangled up in each other’s warmth on a lazy Sunday morning.

Hugh chuckles again as another flood of notifications rolls in. “Should we tell them the truth?” he asks, though you know he’s not serious.

You shake your head, smiling against his chest. “Nah, let them wonder.”

And with that, you settle back into the sheets, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. The world may be buzzing with questions, but in here, in this moment, it’s just you and Hugh, perfectly content to keep your little secret just a while longer.

As you scroll through the flood of comments on Hugh’s Instagram post, a sense of pride swells in your chest. Each message filled with speculation, jealousy, and admiration only adds to the thrill. You’re the one lying beside him, tangled in his arms, enjoying these quiet mornings. You’re the one he reaches for when the world isn’t looking. It might be a little evil, but there’s a certain satisfaction in watching the world try to guess, knowing that it’s you who gets to be with him, hold him, laugh with him, and experience the parts of him no one else gets to see.

You toss your phone aside before you turn back to Hugh. He’s still lounging on his back, his arm propped behind his head, his phone forgotten beside him. He’s only wearing his underwear, the fabric resting low on his hips, and the sight makes your pulse quicken. His sculpted chest rises and falls with his slow breaths, and your gaze drifts over the contours of his muscles, the familiar curve of his collarbone, the light dusting of hair across his chest. It’s impossible to resist him, especially when he’s like this, completely relaxed, utterly unguarded, and all yours.

Without a word, you shift, straddling his waist, your thighs bracketing his hips as you settle yourself on top of him. Hugh raises an eyebrow, his expression teasing as his hands instinctively come to rest on your hips.

“Well, hi there,” he says, his voice deep and playful. “What are you up to?”

You just smile down at him, your fingers already tracing slow patterns across his chest. The feel of his skin, warm and smooth beneath your touch, sends a ripple of heat through your body. You let your hands roam, sliding over the hard planes of his pecs, down the ridges of his abs, before coming back up again. You’re deliberately slow, savoring the way his breath catches, how his muscles tense ever so slightly under your caress.

“Nothing,” you say, the innocence in your voice a stark contrast to the way your hands are moving over him. You lean down, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss, your fingers curling into his chest as his hands grip your waist a little tighter. His lips move against yours with an ease born from countless kisses, his stubble rough against your skin in a way that makes you want more, makes you crave the feeling of him against you.

Just as you pull back, your hips start to move, a subtle grind against him that makes a low groan escape his lips. The sound sends a shiver of pleasure through you, and you press down a little harder, feeling the way his body reacts to yours.

Hugh chuckles, though his voice is rougher now, laced with desire. “Hmm, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up your sides, holding you in place but not stopping your movements, “don’t forget, we have to go to that award show tonight.”

You roll your eyes, not breaking your rhythm. “Yes, tonight,” you echo, your voice soft but edged with playful defiance. You lean down, brushing your lips against his ear, letting your breath fan over his skin. “Or… are you planning on fucking me all day?” you whisper, the words a teasing challenge as your hips roll again, pressing against him just right.

A sharp breath escapes him at your words, and his grip on you tightens. His fingers dig into your hips, his body reacting to the way you’re moving against him, to the teasing promise in your voice. His eyes meet yours, dark and full of heat as he smirks.

“Maybe yes,” he answers, his voice low and husky, full of that teasing edge that always drives you wild.

His hands slide up your back, pulling you down to him as his lips find yours again. This time the kiss is deeper, more urgent. There’s nothing gentle about it now, nothing slow. His mouth moves against yours with a need that matches the way your body is pressing against his, the way your hips are grinding down on him, making both of you groan into each other’s mouths.

You can feel the tension building between you, the heat of his skin against yours, the way his body is responding to your every movement. The award show is hours away, and for now, the world outside doesn’t matter. Right now, it’s just you and Hugh, the only sound in the room the soft rustle of sheets and the quiet moans you’re both trying to keep from getting too loud.

You can’t help but grin against his lips, feeling the delicious pull of tension in the air, the way his hands are roaming your body with an increasing urgency. "Maybe we could skip the show," you murmur, your voice a little breathless as you pull back just enough to look into his eyes.

Hugh raises an eyebrow, his smile full of heat as his hands slide down your sides again, resting firmly on your hips. "Tempting," he admits, his voice rough and teasing, “but you’ll look so damn good tonight, I want everyone to see.”

His words send a thrill through you, the promise in them just as enticing as the feeling of him beneath you. But you can’t resist teasing him just a little more. “Well, if we’re going to make it,” you whisper, your lips brushing his ear again, “we better get started on something now, don’t you think?”

A low growl escapes him, his hands tightening on your waist as he rolls you over, pinning you beneath him with a playful grin that makes your heart race. "Oh, I think we’ve got time,” he says, his voice full of that confident, teasing charm that only he can pull off. “Plenty of time.”

Hugh’s grin is slow and wicked, a knowing glint in his eyes as he hovers over you, his hands planted on either side of your head, holding himself up effortlessly. His chest rises and falls in slow, measured breaths, but you can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his body is coiled with desire. His face is close to yours, and you can’t help but be mesmerized by the way his eyes roam over your features, taking in every detail like it’s the first time he’s seeing you like this.

“Plenty of time,” he repeats, his voice dropping even lower, a rough edge to it that makes heat pool in your stomach.

His lips brush against yours in a teasing ghost of a kiss, and you arch your back, instinctively pressing yourself closer to him. But he doesn’t kiss you right away; instead, his mouth hovers over yours, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath but not close enough to close the gap. It’s deliberate, and the way he holds back only makes you want him more.

“Hugh…” you breathe, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the hard muscles beneath your fingers as you try to pull him closer, but he doesn’t budge. His smile grows, enjoying the way you’re squirming beneath him.

“What’s the rush?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your jaw, his stubble grazing your skin in a way that sends little sparks of pleasure racing through you. He kisses down your neck slowly, his mouth soft and warm, the contrast between his rough jaw and tender lips driving you wild. His hands, large and warm, skim down the sides of your body, tracing the curve of your waist, before coming to rest on your hips, holding you in place as his mouth continues to trail lower.

You can barely form a response, too focused on the way his touch ignites every nerve in your body. You arch into him, wanting more, needing more, but he keeps that slow, deliberate pace, savoring every inch of you.

“Hugh…” you say again, this time more pleading, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently.

He chuckles softly against your skin, his voice deep and thick with amusement. “Patience, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath hot against the sensitive skin of your collarbone. “We’ve got all day.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and the low heat between your thighs intensifies, the idea of spending hours tangled up with him sending a flush of anticipation through your body. You tilt your head back, giving him more access, and he takes it, his mouth trailing along the curve of your neck, down to your chest.

He finally moves lower, his lips skimming over your breasts, just barely grazing the sensitive skin there before he shifts, pressing his body down against yours. You can feel the hard length of him through the thin fabric of his boxers, and the sensation makes your hips instinctively buck up against him, seeking friction.

Hugh groans, low and deep in his throat, his hands tightening on your hips as he rocks against you once, slow but firm, sending a bolt of pleasure straight through you.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your head tilting back as the heat between you builds.

You’re lost in the feel of him, the way he’s teasing you with slow, deliberate movements, making you want more, driving you closer to the edge with every roll of his hips. You press up against him again, your body moving in sync with his, seeking more, desperate for the friction that will send you both over the edge.

Hugh’s breathing is heavy now, and his restraint is starting to slip. You can see it in the way his muscles tense, the way his control wavers as he presses harder against you, his movements becoming less measured and more urgent. His lips find yours again, this time with no hesitation. He kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he grinds against you, making you both groan into each other’s mouths.

The heat between you is electric, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the quiet moans you can’t hold back, and the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you. Every touch, every kiss, feels like it’s setting your skin on fire, the intensity of the moment wrapping around you both, pulling you in deeper.

As your hips move together, the friction building with each roll of your bodies, you can feel the tightness coiling in your core, the pressure mounting as you both get closer. Hugh pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he fights to keep control.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and full of awe, like he still can’t believe he has you here, like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. His words make your heart flutter, and you reach up, cupping his face in your hands, pulling him down into another kiss.

“Hugh…” you murmur against his lips, your voice breathless and desperate, “I need you.”

He groans, the sound deep and full of desire, and in one swift motion, he flips you both again, pulling you back on top of him, his hands guiding your hips as you go down on him. The shift in position only amplifies the friction, and you both moan as you start to move against him, your bodies perfectly in sync.

You’re lost in the moment, the world outside forgotten as you focus solely on him—on the way he feels beneath you, the way his hands grip your waist, urging you on. The award show, the fans, the comments it all fades away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

Hugh’s hands slide up your thighs, gripping them firmly as he gazes up at you, his eyes dark with want. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need.

You lean down, capturing his lips in another searing kiss as you move your hips down harder against him, and you can feel the tight coil of pleasure in your core begin to unravel.

Hugh came first and you felt his thick hot cum inside you and finished soon after. You got off him and laid next to him panting. “Let’s get ready” Hugh said, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. “Damn already?” you asked and he laughed “next time you should go to the gym with me.” “no thanks, I’d rather work out like this” you replied and laid back down as Hugh got up to get ready.

As you slip into your stunning black gown, a mix of nerves and excitement stirs within you. The dress is a masterpiece: form-fitting with a low, open back that grazes the curve of your spine, the fabric smooth and sleek against your skin. Delicate gold accents line the edges of the dress, shimmering subtly as you move. The slit, daringly high, runs up the side of your thigh, revealing just enough skin to turn heads without being too provocative. It’s a statement dress, designed to be remembered.

As you stand in front of the mirror, the reality of the evening sinks in. Tonight, you’ll be walking beside Hugh, the world’s eyes watching every step you take, every gesture, every look exchanged between you two. And it isn’t just any event it’s the first time you’ll be seen in public as his girlfriend.

The age difference has always been something you and Hugh took in stride privately, but you know it will draw attention tonight. Thirty years younger than him, you can already picture the headlines, the gossip columns buzzing with whispers. You feel your heart rate quicken, the nerves tightening in your stomach as you imagine what people might say.

But then, you remember the way Hugh looks at you, like you’re the only person in the room, the only one who matters. That thought alone is enough to steady your breathing, even as you glance at the clock and realize it’s almost time to leave.

You decide, at the last minute, to skip wearing any underwear beneath the gown. It’s an impulsive decision, one spurred on by the teasing and intimacy you shared earlier. A secret only the two of you will know about as you face the cameras, the flashing lights, and the scrutiny. The thought of telling him right in the middle of the chaos makes your lips curl into a sly smile. You know how much it will drive him crazy, especially with so many eyes watching.

By the time you’re finished with your makeup and hair, sleek waves that cascade over your shoulders, highlighting the open back of your dress, you hear a knock at the door. Your heart skips a beat, and you feel that familiar thrill of anticipation.

Hugh stands at the doorway, looking effortlessly handsome in his tailored black tuxedo. The suit fits him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame, the crisp white shirt beneath highlighting the strong lines of his chest. His hair is slightly tousled, adding to his rugged charm, and the smoldering look in his eyes when he sees you makes your pulse race.

“Wow,” he murmurs, taking a step toward you, his gaze sweeping over you with obvious admiration. “You look… breathtaking.”

You blush, biting your lip as you take him in. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” you reply, your voice soft but playful.

Hugh steps closer, his hands gently resting on your waist as he pulls you into a slow kiss. His lips are warm, soft, lingering just long enough to make you wish you had more time before facing the world outside. But the car is waiting, and the event beckons.

As you break apart, he looks at you with a mix of pride and affection, sensing the nerves beneath your calm exterior. “You ready?” he asks, his tone gentle but encouraging.

You nod, though your heart pounds a little faster with each passing second. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The ride to the event is filled with quiet conversation and stolen glances, the two of you sitting close in the backseat of the car. Hugh’s hand rests on your thigh, a reassuring presence, his thumb tracing soft circles on your skin as you stare out the window, watching the city lights blur by.

As you get closer to the venue, you can already see the flash of cameras in the distance, hear the excited murmur of the crowd gathered around the red carpet. Your heart hammers in your chest, the enormity of the night fully hitting you as the car pulls up to the entrance.

This is it.

When the door opens, Hugh steps out first, offering you his hand as he helps you out of the car. The second your heels touch the pavement, the cameras go wild, the sound of flashing shutters and photographers shouting Hugh’s name filling the air. The energy is electric, overwhelming, and for a brief moment, the nerves spike.

Hugh’s arm slides around your waist, pulling you close as you walk toward the carpet together. His touch is grounding, and with him by your side, you feel a surge of confidence. But as you near the photographers, your heart races for an entirely different reason.

Now is the moment.

You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear above the chaos. “By the way, I’m not wearing any underwear.”

You feel Hugh tense, just slightly, his fingers tightening on your waist as your words register. His eyes widen for a split second, and he gives you a look, one filled with surprise, disbelief, and the unmistakable spark of desire. You can practically hear the breath he sucks in, though he’s quick to compose himself, his expression transforming into a smile for the cameras.

The photographers call out his name, but Hugh’s gaze is fixed on you, a smoldering heat in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. His smile, now, is different—darker, knowing.

“You’re going to drive me insane,” he murmurs under his breath, his voice low and rough, only for you to hear. The way he says it, though, makes your stomach flip with excitement.

You let out a soft laugh, your hand resting lightly on his chest as the two of you pause for photos. The cameras continue to flash, capturing every moment, the way his hand rests protectively on the small of your back, the way your bodies fit perfectly together. But only you can feel the tension building between you, the unspoken thrill of the secret you share.

“Now how am I supposed to focus tonight, knowing that?” Hugh whispers again, his lips barely moving as he smiles for the cameras. His voice is laced with frustration and amusement, but there’s no mistaking the heat behind his words.

You glance up at him, your own smile playful. “You’ll just have to manage,” you tease, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anticipation.

The rest of the red carpet feels like a whirlwind. Hugh keeps you close, his arm never leaving your waist, guiding you through the chaos of photographers, reporters, and flashing lights. You can feel the eyes of the world on you, people whispering, wondering, speculating about who you are, about the age difference, about how you landed the heart of one of Hollywood’s biggest stars. But all of that melts away, because in these moments, it’s just you and Hugh. The world may be watching, but your secret, the way his hand grips your waist just a little tighter whenever you move, keeps your focus on him.

As you pose together for one final round of photos before heading into the venue, you lean in once more, your voice soft but filled with mischief. “Just think of tonight’s after-party.”

Hugh’s eyes darken, a low chuckle escaping him. “You’re impossible,” he whispers, but there’s no denying the glint of excitement in his eyes.

“Let’s get through this first,” he adds, his voice filled with both a promise and the hint of a challenge, “and then we’ll see what happens.”

As you both step into the venue, the chaos of the red carpet slowly fades behind you. The sound of the cameras, the shouts from fans, and the flashing lights are replaced by the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses. The air inside the grand ballroom is cool, a stark contrast to the heat of the moment you just shared outside.

But even here, in the elegant, dimly lit atmosphere of the award show, you can feel the weight of the attention. People glance in your direction, some with curiosity, others with envy, and a few with knowing looks as they connect the dots. You keep your head high, leaning into Hugh's side as he guides you through the crowd with a quiet confidence, his hand still resting firmly on your waist.

The room is filled with some of Hollywood’s biggest names—actors, directors, producers, all dressed in their finest, mingling and laughing beneath the glittering chandeliers. The soft glow of the lights reflects off the gold accents of your dress, casting a warm shimmer over your skin. You’re hyperaware of everything—how closely Hugh’s body is pressed to yours, how his thumb occasionally rubs soothing circles on your lower back, as if reminding you that he’s right there, with you.

Despite the luxurious surroundings, your mind keeps drifting back to the moment on the red carpet—the way Hugh’s breath hitched when you told him your secret, the heat that flared between you in the middle of all that chaos. You feel a flush rise in your cheeks, your pulse quickening as you remember the dark look in his eyes, the promise that lingered in the air between you.

But now, the evening stretches before you, full of formalities, speeches, and socializing. Hugh stops to talk to a few colleagues, introducing you with pride in his voice, his arm never leaving you. You smile politely, exchanging pleasantries, though part of you is still buzzing from the thrill of what’s to come later.

At one point, as you make your way toward your table, Hugh leans in close, his lips brushing your ear in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate, “you’re making it very hard for me to focus on anything tonight.”

You bite your lip, your heart skipping a beat as you look up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Am I?” you reply innocently, though the teasing glint in your eyes betrays you.

Hugh chuckles softly, the sound deep and rich. “You know exactly what you’re doing.” His hand slides down your back, resting just above the curve of your hip, his touch firm and possessive. “But two can play at that game.”

Before you can respond, the lights dim, signaling that the show is about to begin. You’re led to your seats, a prime spot near the front, surrounded by other actors and filmmakers. The anticipation in the room builds as the host takes the stage, the crowd settling into their seats for the start of the ceremony.

You try to focus on the event, on the speeches and awards being presented, but every time Hugh’s fingers brush against your skin, your thoughts wander. The subtle, almost imperceptible way he keeps his hand on your thigh under the table, his thumb occasionally tracing light patterns, has your heart racing in ways that have nothing to do with the glamorous evening. You shift slightly in your seat, the smooth fabric of your dress sliding against your bare skin, a reminder of the secret only the two of you share.

Hugh’s attention is divided between the stage and you, and you can feel the tension building, the way his hand lingers just a moment too long, his grip tightening when he thinks no one is watching. He leans over every now and then, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers little comments about the show, but there’s always an underlying edge to his voice, a reminder that he’s still thinking about what you told him earlier.

As the ceremony continues, you feel your own excitement rising, fueled not just by the atmosphere but by the knowledge that, once the formalities are over, the two of you will be alone again. Every glance Hugh gives you, every soft touch, is a promise of what’s to come. And each time his eyes meet yours, you can see the fire smoldering there, barely contained.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the ceremony comes to a close. The applause rings out as the final award is presented, and the crowd begins to rise from their seats, conversations buzzing as people prepare to head to the after-parties or return home.

Hugh turns to you, his eyes dark with desire, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “How are you holding up?” he asks, his voice low and filled with meaning.

You meet his gaze, feeling the anticipation build between you. “Barely,” you whisper, your pulse quickening as you realize the moment you’ve been waiting for all night is finally here.

Hugh’s hand slides up your thigh, a slow, deliberate movement that has you sucking in a breath. His touch is warm, his fingers firm as they graze the sensitive skin just below the high slit of your dress. “Good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks. “Because I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

The weight of his words sends a shiver through you, your heart pounding in your chest as he pulls back slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. The room around you seems to blur, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as the two of you stand, moving toward the exit together.

The moment you’re alone in the car, away from the prying eyes of the cameras and the crowd, the atmosphere between you shifts. The tension that’s been simmering all night finally snaps, and Hugh wastes no time, pulling you into his arms with a hunger that takes your breath away. His lips crash against yours, hot and insistent, his hands roaming over your body in a way that makes your head spin.

You gasp against his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair as you return the kiss with equal fervor. The car ride is a blur of heated touches and stolen breaths, your bodies pressed together as if you can’t get close enough.

When the car finally pulls up to your hotel, Hugh doesn’t even wait for the driver to open the door before he’s leading you inside, his hand tight around yours as he pulls you through the lobby and up toward the elevator.

The second the elevator doors close behind you, Hugh’s hands are on you again, his lips trailing down your neck as his fingers trace the line of your dress, teasing the edge of the fabric. “You’re going to pay for that little stunt tonight,” he growls against your skin, his voice thick with desire.

You can only manage a breathless laugh as your body presses against his, your heart racing with anticipation for what’s to come. “I hope so.”

As the elevator doors open, you barely make it down the hall before Hugh has you pressed against the door of your suite.

The door clicks shut behind you, the sound barely registering over the rush of blood in your ears. Hugh’s hands are on you in an instant, his fingers gripping your waist as he spins you around and presses your back against the cool wall. The contrast between the cold surface and the heat radiating off his body sends a shiver down your spine, igniting every nerve ending.

His lips crash into yours, all urgency and hunger. The kiss is deeper this time, more intense, as if the restraint he’s shown throughout the night is finally breaking apart. You moan softly into his mouth, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his tuxedo. You tug impatiently at his jacket, and Hugh pulls back just long enough to shrug it off and toss it aside.

“I’ve been waiting all night to do this,” he growls, his voice low and rough, filled with a kind of need that makes your stomach tighten with anticipation. His hands move to your hips, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin where the slit of your dress reveals the curve of your thigh. His touch is teasing, deliberate, making you ache for more.

You bite your lip, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, your chest rising and falling rapidly as the tension between you simmers to a boiling point. “Then stop waiting,” you whisper, your voice breathless, a challenge laced in your words.

Hugh’s eyes darken with desire, and in one swift motion, his hands are on the zipper of your dress, pulling it down with a smooth, deliberate motion. The fabric slides down your body, pooling at your feet, leaving you standing there in nothing but your heels, completely bare beneath the gown.

He pauses for a moment, his gaze sweeping over you, taking in every inch of your exposed skin. The intensity of his stare sends a flush of heat through your body, and you can see the way his jaw clenches, how hard he’s trying to keep himself in check.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration and desire. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing lightly over your bare waist, trailing up toward your breast, his touch slow and reverent, as if he’s savoring every second.

The sensation of his hands on you, after hours of anticipation, is almost too much to bear. You arch into his touch, your skin tingling where his fingers graze, every nerve on fire. “Hugh…” you breathe out, your voice a soft plea.

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, and in that moment, any pretense of restraint vanishes. Hugh’s hands are suddenly everywhere, on your waist, sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you closer until your bodies are pressed tightly together. His mouth moves to your neck, lips tracing a hot, searing path along your throat as his hands continue to roam over your bare skin, igniting a trail of heat wherever he touches.

You gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tilt your head back, giving him more access. The feel of his lips, his hands, the sheer weight of his body against yours, is overwhelming in the best possible way. Every touch, every kiss, every breath makes your heart race faster, the heat between you building with every passing second.

Hugh’s mouth moves lower, his lips skimming over your collarbone before trailing down to your chest. His hands cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that makes you moan softly, your body arching into his touch. He groans against your skin, clearly as affected as you are, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he worships every inch of you.

But it isn’t enough, not for you, not after the teasing and the buildup. You need more.

Your hands move to the front of his pants, your fingers deftly unbuttoning them as you tug at the waistband. Hugh pulls back just enough to shrug out of his shirt, his muscles flexing as he does, and you can’t help but admire the sight of him, the sharp lines of his abs, the broad expanse of his chest, the way his body seems to glow under the soft lighting of the room.

But you don’t have time to dwell on the sight for long, because the second his pants are off, Hugh pulls you into his arms again, lifting you effortlessly as your legs wrap around his waist. The feel of his skin against yours, the warmth and strength of him surrounding you, sends a jolt of electricity through your body.

He carries you to the bed, laying you down with surprising gentleness despite the urgency burning between you. His body hovers over yours, his eyes locked on yours.

Hugh lowers himself onto you, his mouth claiming yours once again, and this time the kiss is slower, deeper, as if he’s savoring the feel of your lips against his. His hands roam over your body, caressing, exploring, while your own hands trail down his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingers.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in his body as he presses himself against you. Every movement, every touch is deliberate, driving you both closer to the edge with a slow, agonizing precision.

“Hugh, please,” you gasp, your body aching for more, the need building to an unbearable level.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he looks down at you. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his voice rough and filled with desire, his breath hot against your skin.

You meet his gaze, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. “I want you,again”

That’s all it takes. Hugh’s restraint snaps, and he captures your lips in a searing kiss as he finally gives you what you’ve been aching for all night.

Hugh’s fingers slide between your thighs with a deliberate, teasing slowness, the pads of his fingers brushing lightly over your already soaked core. The anticipation that had built up all night is now electric, and you arch into his touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he pushes one finger inside you, then another. He moves with expert precision, finding that sensitive spot deep inside you almost immediately, his fingers curling in a way that sends a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body.

“Oh, Hugh…” you moan, your hands gripping his shoulders as your body reacts to the overwhelming sensations. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, steady circles while his fingers work you deeper, hitting that perfect spot that has you seeing stars. Each thrust of his hand is deliberate, measured, but relentless, building your pleasure in layers, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re so wet for me,” Hugh growls, his voice low and rough with desire as he watches you fall apart beneath him. “I’ve been thinking about this all night… watching you in that dress, knowing no one else knew what I was going to do to you.”

His words make your pulse quicken, the heat between your thighs intensifying with every thrust of his fingers. You can’t speak, can’t form a coherent thought as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your belly. All you can do is cling to him, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts as your body races toward its peak.

Hugh’s fingers press deeper, and he hits that spot again, harder this time. The sensation is overwhelming, and your body reacts instinctively, arching into his touch as a rush of pleasure explodes through you. You cry out, your hips bucking against his hand as you come, the intensity of it stealing the breath from your lungs. Your entire body trembles, your muscles tightening around his fingers as he rides you through the wave, his eyes locked on yours, dark and intense.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do that since the award show,” Hugh groans, his voice thick with desire as he pulls his fingers from you, glistening with your release.

You’re still catching your breath, your body shaking from the aftermath of your orgasm, but his words send a new thrill through you. “Why didn’t you?” you ask, your voice breathless, teasing, as your hands slide down his chest, eager for more.

Hugh leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Next time, baby girl.”

“Promise?” you ask again, your voice barely a whisper, your eyes searching his, a playful challenge in your gaze.

His lips crash against yours in a deep, possessive kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a heat that reignites the fire between you. “Promise,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and heavy with the promise of what’s to come.

Before you can respond, Hugh shifts, positioning himself between your thighs, his cock pressing against your entrance. You’re still sensitive, your body still humming from your first orgasm, but the feel of him against you sends a fresh wave of arousal surging through your veins. He teases you for a moment, rubbing himself along your slick folds, making you squirm beneath him, desperate for more.

“Hugh… please…” you whimper, your voice a desperate plea as your hips rise to meet him, seeking the release you already crave again.

Hugh groans softly, the sound deep and guttural, as he finally thrusts into you with one smooth, powerful stroke. You gasp, your body arching into his as he fills you completely, stretching you in a way that feels both overwhelming and perfect. He pauses for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips as he lets you adjust to the feel of him inside you.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathes, his voice filled with raw, unfiltered desire. His hips pull back slowly, and then he thrusts into you again, harder this time, and you cry out, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Hugh sets a brutal pace, each thrust deep and forceful, driving into you with a precision that has you gasping for air. Your body responds instinctively, your hips rising to meet his with every powerful movement, your nails scraping down his back as you cling to him for dear life. The bed shakes beneath you with the force of his thrusts, and you find yourself gripping the headboard, steadying yourself so you don’t hit your head against the bedframe.

“Hugh… oh God…” you gasp, your voice ragged and breathless as he fucks you harder, his body pressing you deeper into the mattress with every thrust. The sounds of skin against skin, of your shared moans and gasps, fill the room, mingling with the raw heat of your bodies moving in perfect rhythm.

His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he pounds into you, his pace unrelenting, driving you closer and closer to the edge once again. The pressure builds inside you, faster and more intense this time, and you know you won’t last long. Every thrust pushes you higher, every movement driving you deeper into the overwhelming pleasure that threatens to consume you entirely.

Hugh’s head dips down, his mouth finding the soft spot on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he groans against you. “Come for me, baby,” he growls, his voice thick with lust as his hips slam into yours with unyielding force. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His words are all it takes to send you spiralling over the edge. Your body tenses, your muscles tightening around him as a powerful orgasm crashes over you, your vision blurring as you cry out his name. Your body trembles beneath him, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you cling to him, lost in the overwhelming pleasure that consumes you completely.

Hugh groans loudly, his hips stuttering as he follows you over the edge, his body shuddering as he comes deep inside you. The sensation of him filling you sends another shiver down your spine, your body still trembling from the intensity of your release. He collapses on top of you, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, his body warm and heavy against yours.

For a long moment, the two of you lay there, your bodies still entwined, your breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. The room is quiet now, save for the sound of your heartbeats, still racing from the intensity of it all.

Hugh rolls onto his back, pulling you into his arms, and you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as it slowly returns to normal. His fingers trail lightly up and down your arm, a soft, soothing touch that makes you feel safe, cherished.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice soft, filled with a mix of awe and affection.

You smile, your lips brushing lightly against his skin as you snuggle closer. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tease, your voice playful but warm.

Hugh chuckles softly, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek. “I’m serious,” he murmurs, his hand gently tilting your chin up so you can meet his gaze. “You’re everything.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart swell, and you can’t help but smile, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I could say the same about you.”

For the first time that night, the world feels perfectly still, as if nothing else exists outside this moment. It’s just you and Hugh, wrapped up in each other, the intensity of your connection stronger than ever. And as you lay there in his arms, you realize that no matter what happens outside this room, no matter what the world says, what the headlines write, you’ve found something real, something worth holding onto.

taglist (dm if u wanna be added): @ermlady @elloredef @haytchee @melaninjoys @megangovier @blue2jay @hearts4suri @narniabusinessbitch @jadenlyday25 @getmeoutofhell @rockytheluver @stark-ironman @shellbilee @kurcoswife @ru-kru @corvusmorte @devilslittlehelper @theoraekenslover

[luvsupas]

read part one here!

tags; heianera!sukuna, trueform!sukuna, sukuna x fem!reader, kissing… lots os kissing, smut-ish (?),readers called little one, ermm lmk if I forgot sum …

+ likes and reblogs are very appreciative!

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sukuna's voice continues to linger in your mind, his gaze making you feel as if he's watching your every move. what did he see in me? why was I spared?

the walk towards your new estate is a journey through confusion and fear. trailing behind uraume and the guards, you glance around the dimly lit corridor, trying to make contact with the other servants and concubines who are already giving you dirty looks and whispering.

when you finally arrive at your quarters, uraume unlocks the door and motions you to enter. “uraume," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "why did sukuna spare my life?"

uraume's gaze sharpens, a flash of disappointment in their eyes. “you are to address him with the correct honorific," your heart sinks. how am I already managing to piss them off! "I assume sukuna-sama was intrigued." your mind races with questions, but before you can ask any, uraume and the guards depart, leaving you with no further explanation.

pacing back and forth alone in the dimly lit room, your mind is filled with millions of thoughts, but this time, it's about him.

finally, you've had enough of your mind racing, and you make your way toward the wooden door. carefully opening it, loud creaks echo through the hallway. peeking your head through, you see the corridor is empty, the only sound there is the crackling torches lining the hallway.

as you walk down the hallway, you feel his presence, his eyes boring into the back of your head, causing you to stop in your tracks. taking a deep breath, you prepare yourself to look into sukuna's eyes, but when you turn around, you see nothing but a dark corridor.

eventually, you come to see sukuna’s chamber doors, wide open, almost as if he’s baiting you to enter his domain. building up the courage, you step inside, your footsteps barely heard against the stone floor. familiar torches line the steps to his throne. this time, he’s sitting there- eyes closed…? he sleeps here? I expected him to have a larger chamber. just as you think you might be safe to turn back and leave, his voice slices through the stillness,

“did you truly think I wouldn’t notice you, little one?"

your heart sinks, and you slowly turn around to see the king of curses' scarlet eyes gazing down upon you. "I didn’t come here to be unnoticed," you retort, mustering the courage to show him you do not fear him. “why did you spare me?"

sukuna looks at you with amusement. the audacity you have to talk back to him is thrilling. “come here," he purrs.

you obey, walking up the steps while maintaining eye contact, feeling the tension thicken. the air feels electric, charged with an unspoken challenge. suddenly, his two lower arms grab your waist and place you on his thick thighs, closing the distance between you. “you want to know why I spared you?" he hums, tilting his head to look at you more closely. you eagerly nod.

his lips curl into a smile at your eagerness, as his upper arm rises and brushes against your cheek in a gentle yet possessive manner. “your lack of caution fascinates me," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, "it awakens my curiosity."

his hand moves down, tracing the outline of your jaw, as his eyes follow his movement with a dark, hungry intensity. “you fear me," he continues, his fingers now at your throat, your breath hitching at the sensation. “and yet, there is something else, isn’t there? that draws you to me." his words send a rush of heat through you, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, your body betraying your mind. he chuckles softly, his lips dangerously close to yours.

in that moment, the tension between you snaps. his lips crash onto yours, claiming you with a fierce, demanding kiss. his lower hands snake around your waist, grinding up against you, making you moan loudly at the friction that ignites a new level of pleasure.

sukuna growls in response, continuously rutting against you, causing you to whimper by the intense feeling. his kiss becomes even more demanding, drawing another moan from your lips as you feel him harden underneath you. when he finally pulls away, you are left breathing heavily, his scarlet eyes blazing with a passion that makes your knees weak.

“remember this," he says huskily, "you belong to me, body and soul."

with that, he dismisses you, leaving you with your mind filled with thoughts of him. the taste of him lingers on your lips, a reminder of the power he holds over you. as you turn to leave, you can feel his gaze burning into your back, a silent promise that this is far from over.

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a/n: THNK U EVERYONE FOR THA SUPPORT 🫶🏽🫶🏽