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lovecoatedwords · 3 days ago

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”Promised vows”

part two

featuring: poly marauders x reader (arranged marriage au) angsty but also fluff (later on)

a/n: hello lovely! I am so sorry for the wait, I had some imp exams so I couldn’t quite get the time to write but here it is! I wrote this in parts so it might feel a tad bit different but I am really happy with how this turned out.

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The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the tall windows,. You moved quietly, your steps very light on the floor, fearing being too loud would make you unwelcome.

The kitchen smelled like tea and toast and a life that didn’t include you.

James was already at the table, back straight, sleeves rolled up. There was something harsh about the way he read the morning papers—his eyes scanning the pages like they’d personally offended him. Across from him sat Remus, who seemed to be, half-asleep, whilst stirring his tea without drinking it. His book was open in front of him, unread.

Neither looked up when you entered.

No “Good morning.” No “Did you sleep well?” Not even your name.

There was a plate on the table. Toast. Eggs. Nothing fancy. Just… there. Waiting, ceremonious but no warmth or meaning behind.

You pulled out the chair slowly, wincing at the scrape of it. It being the loudest thing in the room. Still, they didn’t flinch. Just… kept on with their morning activities, on which you seemed to be unwelcome

You sat down. You tried to eat.

Your hands trembled a little. You blamed the cold.

Sirius wasn’t there.

You almost asked where he’d gone. Almost. But stopped yourself. It didn’t matter.

Maybe he’d left before you woke up. Maybe he’d gone to work. Maybe he’d left because being around you was too much. You seemed to think he was a bit more pettier than the others

You looked up at them, the men you were now married to. And it hurt.

Not because they were cruel. They weren’t.

They were just… Beautiful. Untouchable. Distant.

James’s jaw clenched as he flipped a page. Remus, stayed quiet but looked weary and tired, his hands trembling just a little when he reached for his tea.

You stared at them for too long.

And neither looked back.

They didn’t even notice.

You wondered what they saw when they looked at you—if they ever did. A burden? A duty? A girl too young, too soft, too in the way?

You swallowed hard around the lump in your throat and forced down a bite of toast.

It tasted like nothing.

Remus finally said something, voice low. “Sirius had to meet someone in the city. He’ll be back tonight.”

You nodded. You didn’t ask who. You didn’t ask if it had anything to do with you. You didn’t ask if they even cared that you were sitting here, trying not to cry into your breakfast.

The hours after breakfast stretch on like a second silence layered over the first. TheNo one speaks to you. No one checks on you. The men have disappeared into whatever quiet parts of the estate they belong to—and you to your room

By mid-afternoon, the ache in your stomach is sharp enough to be distracting. It isn’t hunger, not really. It’s the gnawing discomfort of not knowing where you are allowed to exist. Not knowing if you are even allowed to ask.

You wander into the kitchen slowly, cautiously, like a child entering a room not meant for them. The air smells faintly of cinnamon and old wood. Everything is spotless, in order. Lived in, but not by you. You pause near the counter, unsure what to do. The idea of opening the cupboards feels wrong. You don’t know if you are meant to cook your own meals or wait for someone to notice you. No one has said. No one has said anything.

You reach out to open a drawer, maybe find a plate—maybe just something to prove you can do something for yourself—but before your fingers can close around the handle, James’s voice cuts through the stillness.

“You’re hungry.”

He doesn’t look up from where he stands by the far counter. His tone is flat, disinterested, as if your hunger is just another point to account for. Nothing more.

You blink, startled. “I—yes.”

He reaches into the bowl beside him and picks up a pale red apple. Walks over to the drawer you haven’t opened, pulls it open with practiced ease, and retrieves a small paring knife. No words. No warmth. He places both in front of you—apple, then knife—then steps back, as if the exchange has ended.

You hesitate. The knife looks too sharp. Or maybe it’s just your hands that feel too clumsy, too unsure. You pick it up anyway, trying to steady yourself, willing the trembling in your fingers to stop. It’s just an apple. Just a knife.

You press the blade to the fruit, trying to slice it the way you remember your mother doing. Your hand slips. The knife catches the edge of your palm, a clean, sudden sting. Blood wells up instantly, bright against your skin. You gasp and drop the knife. It clatters to the floor.

James turns toward you fully then, eyes catching the red spreading across your hand. “For fuck’s sake,” he snaps, voice sharp with something between disbelief and frustration. “You can’t even cut a piece of fruit properly?”

You flinch. The words hit harder than they should have, not because of what he said, but how he said it. Like it is proof of something he’s already decided about you. Useless. Helpless. A burden.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, not looking at him. The apology slips out too easily. Too naturally.

James stares at you for a moment longer, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling in silent aggravation. Then he crosses the space between you quickly and grabs a kitchen towel. He takes your hand—too roughly at first, then adjusts his grip, as if catching himself—and presses the cloth against the cut.

You don’t move. Don’t breathe. Just stand there and let him wrap the cloth around your hand, your eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder. His hands are warm. Steady. You hate that your chest aches from the contact.

“You’ll bruise if you grip the blade like that,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

“I know,” you whisper.

James says nothing. Just ties the towel a little tighter, then steps back like the wound is fixed, like the moment is over. But your heart is still stinging, your eyes hot with tears you refuse to shed in front of him.

“I’ll… clean it up,” you say, voice trembling.

“Don’t bother,” James replies, already turning away. “It’s just a mess.”

He doesn’t say if he means the fruit. Or the blood. Or you.

You stand there long after he leaves, the apple untouched, the knife still on the floor. The towel around your hand is damp with blood. The cut has stopped bleeding hours ago. The towel is still wrapped tight around your hand, too tight now, the fabric stiff with dried blood. It throbs, but you don’t care. Not about the cut. Not about the ache.

Eventually, you end up in the library. The one room that doesn’t feel cold. You sit on the floor near one of the tall windows, back against the wall, knees pulled to your chest. The bandaged hand tucked against your side.

You haven’t meant to cry. The first tear slips out quietly. Then another. Until it turns into silent shaking, your breath catching in your throat. You press your uninjured hand to your mouth to muffle the sound.

That is where James finds you. He has something in his hand—a roll of proper gauze, antiseptic, tape. He stops in the doorway when he sees you. You don’t see him at first, but the sudden shift in the air makes you glance up, your eyes red, face blotched with the kind of crying that doesn’t ask for comfort.

James stares at you for a long moment. Not moving. Not speaking. Just watching.

Your voice cracks. “I’m fine.”

It is a lie and you both know it.

James steps in anyway, crossing the room in a few long strides. He kneels in front of you—not graceful, just efficient—and holds out his hand, palm up. “Let me see,” he says, quieter this time. “The bandage.”

You don’t move at first. Then, slowly, you uncurl your hand from where you’ve been hiding it, letting him take it. He unwraps the towel with a sharpness that doesn’t match the gentleness in his touch. The cut is red and angry now, a line of dried blood across your palm. He doesn’t say anything, but you see his jaw tighten when he sees how the fabric has rubbed raw against your skin.

“You should’ve changed it earlier,” he mutters, almost scolding.

“I didn’t know if I was allowed,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

That makes him pause. His hands freeze over the roll of gauze. His eyes lift to yours. “Allowed?”

You look down. “You didn’t… say anything. I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

There is something in his face that flickers—just for a second. Regret, maybe. Or guilt. But it is gone too fast to name.

He goes back to wrapping your hand, more careful this time. Slower. Like he doesn’t want to hurt you again. But the silence between you grows thick. And when you sniffle, trying to hide the last of your tears, he lets out a breath.

“You shouldn’t think this too much ,” he says, voice low, gruff.

You blink at him, startled. His eyes don’t meet yours. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

The honesty of it stings more than the words. But there is no cruelty in his tone—just exhaustion. Like your tears cracked something in him that he didn’t have the tools to fix.

You want to apologize. But you don’t. Instead, you say, “I didn’t think you’d come.”

He finishes tying the bandage and finally looks at you. “I almost didn’t.” Then, softer—barely audible: “But you shouldn’t have had to ask.”

And just like that, he stands up, collects the leftover supplies, and leaves the room.

You stay in the library, where at least the shadows are honest. You don’t cry again. You just stare out the tall window, watching the gray sky press down on the trees.

It is nearly evening when you hear the front door open. Voices follow—deep, warm, familiar. Laughter. Your heart stills. Footsteps echo down the hall, boots against stone. You recognize them immediately. Sirius. Then James’s voice, relaxed in a way it hasn’t been all day. And Remus’s low hum of amusement. The air shifts as they enter the main room across the hall. For once, the house doesn’t feel empty. Just full of something you aren’t part of.

You don’t move. But you listen. The sound of Sirius’s voice is louder now, full of warmth. “Missed you two,” he says, with a grin you can hear in the words. There is a soft, familiar sound. The wet press of a kiss. Then another. Your chest tightens. You don’t need to see it. You can feel it—but you don’t get any of it,

Another voice—Remus, laughing under his breath. “You’re late.” And Sirius’s answer, low and teasing: “You love me late.” Another kiss. Louder. Careless. Warm. You haven’t even realized you are standing until your shoulder brushes the edge of the doorway.

Sirius sees you first. He is still smiling when he looks over. Still flushed with wind and happiness, his hair messy from the cold outside. He looks like everything the house has been missing. Until he sees you. The smile falters—just barely. But you see it. The drop in warmth. The pause. His eyes flick to the bandage on your hand. A beat passes. He doesn’t say anything. No “What happened?” No “Are you okay?” No “I’m sorry.” Just a glance. Just a hesitation. Then he looks back to James, his hand still resting on Remus’s waist. And you are nothing again. Not a wife. Not a part of them. Just something in the background that doesn’t fit the picture.

You turn before anyone can speak. You don’t hear Sirius call after you. Because he doesn’t. You don’t run. That would’ve made it dramatic. Instead, you wallk with your bandaged hand tucked against your chest like something shameful. Like something broken. You don’t know where you are going. Just that you can’t stay there. Can’t stand the sight of warmth that doesn’t reach you. Kisses exchanged like stuff you’ll never be trusted with. Laughter you can’t translate.

Eventually, you end up in a room you haven’t been in before. The door is cracked, so you let yourself slip inside, small and quiet. It is a guest room. Bare. Undisturbed. The kind of room no one lives in. You like it for that. There is a chair by the window, worn at the edges. You sit in it, legs pulled to your chest, forehead resting against the cold glass. The garden outside is gray with frost. Empty trees. Wilted hedges. It matches how you feel—half-alive, barely holding on, trying to find beauty in being left behind.

You don’t cry. Not this time. You just sit there, still and small, trying to pretend you don’t feel like an intruder in your own life. You hear the door open behind you nearly an hour later. Light steps. Remus. He doesn’t speak. Not right away. Just stands in the doorway like he isn’t sure if he should come in. Like he isn’t sure if you want to be found.

“You always sit like that when you’re trying not to feel something.”

Your eyes flick toward him, tired. “You don’t know how I sit.”

He gives a soft, almost-sad smile. “I notice more than you think.”

You don’t reply. He crosses the room, slow and deliberate, and sits on the edge of the bed—not too close. Just… there. Near enough to reach you if you ask. Far enough not to assume you would.

“I saw Sirius,” he says gently. “Saw you leave.”

You nod once, gaze still on the frozen garden. “He looked so happy.”

Remus doesn’t answer that. Because you both know it is true.

“He kissed you,” you add after a moment, the words tasting like ash.

“He always does when he comes home.”

Your lips curve—not quite a smile. “I wouldn’t know.”

Silence settles again, heavy and understanding.

“You’re not angry,” he says finally.

You shake your head. “I’m not allowed to be, am I?”

That stops him. His hands fold in his lap. His voice is softer now, more cautious. “You think we don’t see you.”

You don’t answer. Remus looks at you—really looks. “You think we’re built for three. But not four.”

Your breath catches. He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “We didn’t expect this. Any of it. We didn’t know how to fit someone else into something we thought was finished.”

You turn to him, eyes wide, voice cracked. “Then why marry me?”

He doesn’t flinch.

“Because you were worth saving,” he says simply. “Even if we didn’t know how to love you yet.”

Yet. That word sits in the air between you, fragile and terrifying. Your voice trembles. “You’re all so close. You know how to hold each other. You speak in glances. I don’t even know where I’m supposed to stand.”

Remus’s brow furrows, the pain in your words hitting somewhere deep in him. “Then we’ll learn,” he says, barely a whisper. “Where to make space. Give us time?”

You look down at your hand, freshly bandaged, still stinging. Remus reaches forward, slowly, and brushes his fingers over yours.

“I’m sorry James snapped at you,” he says gently. “He doesn’t mean to hurt. He just… forgets that silence is its own kind of cruelty.”

Your throat tightens. You don’t pull away. Remus doesn’t leave you that night. He doesn’t say anything grand or dramatic. He just stays in that bare guest room with you, sitting beside the window until your body slumps forward and sleep takes you under, bone-tired and emotionally wrung dry.

When you wake the next morning, your hand still hurts—but there is fresh gauze on it. And a cup of tea, still warm, resting on the nightstand. He hasn’t stayed in the bed. But he’s brought you quiet.

Days pass. Nothing shifts with James or Sirius. James still greets you with nods, never warmth. Speaks to you only when necessary, his words clipped, efficient. Always polite. Never soft. Sirius… Sirius is worse. He laughs with Remus and James. Slung arms around their shoulders, kissed their temples when he came in from long nights away. His smile returned the moment you left the room.

But Remus—he notices. He starts small. On the fourth morning, you find a second mug waiting beside his in the kitchen, steam curling from it like a quiet offering. He doesn’t say it is for you. He doesn’t have to. You understand and just nod appreciatively

On the seventh night, when Sirius and James have gone to bed without a word, you find Remus still in the library, half-asleep in an armchair, a blanket folded on the cushion beside him. No question. Just room.

By the end of the second week, he is waiting for you to sit at the breakfast table before starting his meal. He doesn’t announce it. He just makes space. And that is the first time in this house you don’t feel like furniture.

One afternoon, you find yourself in the garden. The cold has softened a little, enough for bare fingers. You kneel by the dead lavender, running your unbandaged hand along the brittle stems, half-remembering the way your mother used to braid them into ribbon when the summers were long.

You hear footsteps crunch behind you and don’t look up. You already know who it is. Remus crouches beside you, not touching,

“You used to like flowers,” he says, more observation than question.

You nod, fingers brushing one of the shriveled stalks. “My mother did. I think I liked them because she made them feel important.”

Remus is quiet for a moment. “Do you want to plant something new?”

You blink. “I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to decide now.”

You turn to him, finally meeting his gaze. There is no pity in his eyes. No sadness. Just presence.

“Do you always make room for people like this?” you ask softly.

He gives a small, tired smile. “Only the ones no one else knows what to do with.”

That makes you laugh, a small sound, startled out of your chest. It is the first time it doesn’t feel wrong to laugh here.

That night, you sit at the dinner table while James and Sirius discuss a meeting you haven’t been told about. James barely glances at you. Sirius doesn’t look at you at all. But when Remus passes you the bread, he does it without looking away from you. Not rushed. Not embarrassed. Just sure. a small smile showing peace and somewhat warmth.

Like maybe you aren’t an afterthough. Like maybe you could belong.

You casually strolled through the house after dinner, You hadn’t meant to walk past their study. Hadn’t meant to stop, either. But you did. The door wasn’t closed all the way. A sliver of light spilled out, golden across the stone floor. Voices followed. James’s laugh—low and rare, but unmistakable. Sirius’s louder, brash and bright, the kind of sound that used to fill entire rooms in the stories your father once told. And Remus’s, softer, trailing in after the other two like a breeze behind a storm. They were talking about something stupid. Some joke from years ago. Some memory you weren’t a part of. Their voices tangled like a language you didn’t speak. It was warm in there. Safe. Theirs. You stood outside the door and listened for exactly six seconds. That was all you let yourself have. You didn’t wait for silence. Didn’t risk being seen. Just turned, quietly, and walked away.

Remus noticed when you weren’t at the table the next night night. He noticed the untouched tea in the kitchen. The room that should’ve held you left gently cracked, but empty. He found you in the old sitting room on the first floor. The one no one really used. You were curled on the far end of the couch, arms wrapped around your knees, a blanket clutched too tightly in your fingers like it could hold you together. You didn’t look up when he entered. Maybe you didn’t hear him. He said nothing. Just walked over to the old bookshelf, browsed for a moment, then pulled down a worn hardcover, its spine cracked from years of quiet hands. He didn’t ask if he could sit. Just settled into the chair across from you. Let the silence breathe. Then opened the book. His voice broke the stillness gently, like someone stepping into a room they didn’t want to disturb. “‘It was the best of times but it was the worst of times…’” He didn’t rush. Didn’t look at you while he read. Just let the words fill the space between you.

You blinked slowly, watching the firelight dance along the edges of his face. The way his voice dipped and rose, not for drama, but for rhythm. Steady. Soft. Safe. After a while, you shifted. Loosened your grip on the blanket. Let your knees fall to the side. And you listened. Not because you liked the story. But because someone had chosen to share it with you. And that was enough.

You’d stopped pretending to follow the plot five pages ago. Your head rested lightly against the back of the couch, lashes growing heavier by the minute. Every few seconds your eyes fluttered shut, just for a moment. Remus didn’t seem to mind. He kept reading, voice soft, unrushed. The cadence steady, anchoring. Maybe he knew you were drifting. Maybe that’s why he kept going. Your body eased. And for the first time since the ceremony, you began to fall asleep without fear.

Then the door opened. Not loudly. No slam. Just the subtle sound of hinges and presence. Remus’s voice faltered, caught mid-sentence. He looked up. You didn’t. But you felt it. The air changed.

Sirius stood in the doorway, shadow outlined in firelight. He didn’t look at you. Not once. His eyes were only for Remus. There was no anger in his face. No jealousy. Just something tight behind the eyes, like he’d swallowed something bitter and was still deciding whether to spit it out. Remus didn’t move at first. But Sirius tilted his head—barely a motion, nothing more than a flick. Come. A silent command. Not cruel. Not kind. Just final. Remus hesitated. Then he closed the book. You felt it—your body twitched faintly at the sound. Your hand shifted beneath the blanket, just barely reaching toward where the warmth had been. He stood, slow, reluctant. You didn’t open your eyes. Maybe you were asleep. Maybe you were pretending. It didn’t matter.

Because Sirius still didn’t look at you. Didn’t say a word. Just turned, and left the door open behind them as he led Remus away. Like it was warning you: Don’t get comfortable.

A/n: hehe i think i did a good job at giving comfort in this part but then giving it An angsty end 😈 also if this seems a bit off track it’s because i wrote it with too many breaks in between :/ (exams )

Tags:

@hellothere7 @0yo @doyouseethewords @yvessentials @daydreamandforget @zellington @kinghalchalamet @literishdegree99 @helloxgoodbi @eli0eli0eli0 @dearsarahriley @maraudersgirlie @screamingsilence3 @arielthee-potterhead @spencers1nonlygf @magicwithaknife @notmonstersapocalipse @amo-a-los-postres

if you wanna be tagged, send in an ask or comment! If you have ideas for next or any feedback, my inbox is open :)

Btw: this is an ongoing request game I have going on rn! Feel free to check it out.

#remus lupin x reader #james x sirius #marauder #james potter x you #poly marauders x you #remus lupin #poly marauders x reader #james potter x y/n #sirius x reader #james x reader #poly marauders x y/n #poly marauders #poly marauders x reader angst #Angst #poly marauders x reader arranged marriage #arranged marriage au #promised vows

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ashthesalamipiece · 3 days ago

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hey ash can i please request soemthing? a katsuki bakugo x female reader they are married and reader is like extremely weak? like physically and she got pregnant-a high risk one the type where the doctor would say to consider a abortion? something like that? you dont have to do this Just a request from a fellow follower love your works they are chaotic and love them :)

Hii mll♡

Of you can request anything I appreciate ittt♡

I hope this is up to your expectations♡

---

"Stronger Than You Know"

Bakugo had never imagined himself the marrying type—at least not back when he was the hotheaded teen with a short fuse and a tunnel vision for victory. But somehow, you had wormed your way into his life with gentle hands and soft words, the exact opposite of everything he used to think he needed.

He used to think strength was everything.

But then he married you.

You weren’t strong like him. Not in the way that counted for most people. Your body was fragile, your energy limited, and your constitution was nothing short of worrying. Some days, he’d carry you from the bed to the couch because your muscles trembled too much. He always did it without complaint, though he grumbled under his breath just to keep up appearances. You’d laugh and call him a softie, and he’d call you a brat.

But he never once resented it. Not once.

Because you were the only one who could make him feel calm. Needed. Loved.

So when you told him you were pregnant, his reaction was… complicated.

He stared at you for a full minute before the words even processed. You were sitting on the couch in one of his old shirts, fingers wringing the hem, face pale and eyes a little wet. You’d looked scared—not of him, but for yourself. For the tiny, forming life inside of you.

And he felt like the ground tilted beneath him.

You were already so delicate. The idea of you carrying a child—his child—through nine months of hellish strain made his stomach twist in fear.

Of course, the hospital visit only made things worse.

“The pregnancy is high-risk,” the doctor said, voice carefully neutral. “Your body might not handle it. If complications arise, it could be fatal… for both of you.”

You’d gripped Bakugo’s hand then. He could still feel how cold your fingers were. The doctor kept talking, listing options, risks, and the word he hated more than anything in that moment: abortion.

Bakugo didn't speak. He didn’t trust himself to.

The moment you two left the office, you waited until you were in the safety of his car to finally whisper, “Katsuki… what should we do?”

He didn’t answer right away. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

“Do you… want to keep it?” he finally asked, voice low.

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I want to try. Even if I’m scared.”

He looked at you for a long time. Your face was full of fear and hope, all tangled together. You weren’t strong—at least not in the way people measured it. But he had never seen someone braver.

“You’re not doing this alone,” he said, turning fully to face you. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together. I’ll be there for every damn second.”

You gave him a watery smile, and he kissed you before you could say anything else.

---

The following months were hard.

You were in and out of the hospital more times than either of you could count. Bakugo adjusted his patrol schedule, sometimes canceling it altogether just to sit beside you during check-ups. The staff got used to seeing the pro hero sitting with you, his scarred hands cradling yours, whispering quiet reassurances that didn’t match his usual brash image.

There were nights he’d sit beside your bed, wide awake while you slept restlessly. He’d talk to your belly when you were too tired to stay conscious, his voice low and steady.

“Your mom’s the toughest damn person I know, you hear me?” he’d mutter, fingers gently tracing circles on your skin. “She’s stronger than any hero out there.”

Sometimes the fear crept in.

Like when you collapsed while walking across the kitchen.

Or when the doctors said your blood pressure was too high again.

Or when they prepared an emergency bag “just in case.”

But you always pulled through. Even when your body screamed and the world felt like it was stacked against you, you kept going.

Because you had a reason now. A heartbeat you heard on fuzzy monitors. A future wrapped in warmth and baby clothes folded neatly in drawers. And Katsuki’s hand, always there. Always strong. Always steady.

---

The birth wasn’t easy. It was a blur of beeping machines, sterile white lights, and a level of panic Katsuki never wanted to experience again.

They rushed you in after you started bleeding—too much, too fast.

He wasn’t allowed in the OR.

He punched a wall.

Paced like a caged animal.

Nearly lost it when a nurse asked him to “stay calm.”

But then—

A baby’s cry.

And the nurse came out.

“A girl,” she said. “She’s healthy. And your wife… she made it. She’s going to be okay.”

Bakugo didn’t remember sitting down, but he did.

Didn’t remember the tears, but they came.

When they let him in, you were pale, exhausted, barely awake—but smiling. And in your arms was the tiniest, angriest baby he had ever seen.

“She’s got your scowl,” you whispered hoarsely.

He looked down at the two of you—his whole world in one hospital bed—and something in him broke open.

He kissed your forehead.

“You scared the shit out of me, idiot.”

You laughed weakly. “Worth it?”

He looked at the baby again, who had just punched the air in protest.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, it was.”

#my hero academia #reader #mha x reader #bhna #funny #bakugo #bakugou katsuki #fluff #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader

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echo-exco · 2 days ago

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GRAAAAAH⁉️ HELP‼️ You wrote such a masterpiece, I'm already so HYPED for the next chapter ONG.

With the batfamily's personal agenda and inability to reach out, their past forever haunting them.

I imagine that the realization that their present, where they actively ( idk if intentionally ) ignore the reader, now "past", will haunt them forever.

Especially Bruce's reaction, his internal struggle with the fact that if he was just a little bit warmer, the chaos caused by the future villain who used to be under his roof, could've been prevented.

Question tho, how would they all eventually turn yandere? They seem to have all never interacted before, so I can't see them suddenly feeling the need to be there for the reader. Either it would be self-righteous beliefs or they'd just think she overreacted. ( bring in the angst LMAO )

— "BEEDALEAF." 🥬

Aww! Thank you so much! I’m really glad that what I wrote was good for you, the readers 😌 I also hope to bring the next chapter soon!

The batfam has their own problems and responsibilities to deal with. Even healer!reader is aware of that, which is why she tries to avoid bothering them with her needs, whether emotional, intellectual, educational, social, or even sometimes financial.

Healer!reader has always been able to take care of herself, with or without a family. What truly affects her is the fact that she can’t use her powers while in Gotham, out of fear that someone from the batfam might find out.

Now, no one in the batfam ever intended to ignore healer!reader on purpose. Some of them might even think they never ignored her. It’s just that everyone assumed she probably had something else to do—or they simply forgot about the requests and questions she had made.

Because, for better or worse, the batfam sees healer!reader as too… ordinary for the family.

Since no one knows (yet 😼) that healer!reader has extraordinary healing abilities, they genuinely believe she’s just the most normal and average daughter of Bruce Wayne.

As for Bruce, he’s definitely going to regret everything. Healer!reader’s future doesn’t look very warm or pleasant for anyone involved.

If only she had had a father, someone to remember, someone she could trust and feel safe with… would that have changed anything? Would she have stayed?

Does Bruce even know his own daughter?

I can’t say healer!reader will be a villain in the future, but she definitely won’t be a hero either. Just think of her as, quite literally, a “human machine made to save thousands of lives.” Of course, depending on your point of view, you could see healer!reader as either a villain or a hero…

As for how they’ll all eventually become yanderes… Well, I like to think the yandere instincts were already there, buried deep inside. They just needed a (massive) little push to finally activate.

Like I said before, they all believed healer!reader was just a very “normal” child for the family. No one ever bothered to look past that.

That’s partially why they kept their distance from her… as if they genuinely thought she’d be better off not getting involved in family matters. Because, to them, healer!reader is someone who hasn’t seen the worst of the world yet, someone who hasn’t been through anything truly traumatic.

They think she’s better off where she is. They believe that way she’ll be safe from everything bad.

And to be fair, healer!reader herself wouldn’t have let anyone dig too deep into who she really is.

She doesn’t want the batfam to know her. She just wants to leave Gotham and go back to the medical field with Masashi. Healer!reader wants to use her powers. Being in the mansion makes her feel restrained and useless. She doesn’t like being there.

She can endure the neglect— it’s something she’s always survived through. What she can’t handle is the thought of not knowing when she’ll be able to use her powers again.

So you can imagine what’ll happen in the future when the Batfam finally learns about healer!reader’s powers. That revelation is going to hit them hard—with guilt, with regret.

I can absolutely picture them noticing healer!reader’s disappearance and brushing it off as a typical tantrum from a child (even if they don’t understand why she’d act that way). But as time goes on and she gives no sign of life… well… that’s when the first alarms start to go off.

And of course, we still have to see Duke and how his presence will affect healer!reader.

Sorry if the response was a bit long. I just hope it cleared up all your doubts.

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judesmoonbeauty · 2 days ago

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SurpriseBag 2025: Dress Up With the Cunning Mobster Doll Story- Jude Jazza's Story

Fan translation only. Accuracy not 100%. Please expect grammatical errors. Creative liberties are taken. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere. Thank you for your support! ☾.

Jude turned into stuffed doll.

This pleased me IMMENSELY because—

(This is my chance to get revenge...!)

While being bullied and teased, I received his love differently from others, but I’ve always wanted to get back at him somehow.

Jude: Gotta real sinister look on yer face, whadda ya up to?

Kate: Heeheehee……I just think you look adorable, Jude.

Jude: What’s with the shady laugh?

Kate: Don’t criticize the way people laugh.

His expression couldn’t change, but when I picked Jude up, I knew he was looking at me suspiciously.

Kate: Jude. When I was a kid, I loved tying ribbons to my stuffed toys.

He was lowered onto the edge of the desk, looked up at me and made a low voice.

Jude: Oy, wait.

I took a small box from the shelf and opened it.

The box contained colorful ribbons. I picked up a few and showed them to him with a bright smile.

Kate: Which do you like?

He made hoarse noise as he stood up and tried to step back.

Jude:…..Dont’cha dare.

But he stopped when he realized the position he was in.

I smiled even more when I saw Jude standing on the edge of the desk, where he would fall if he took just one step.

Kate: Maybe this deep purple ribbon? Ah, this one is nice too!

Jude: Yer the worst.

Kate: It's nothing compared to what you usually do to me.

Jude: Hmph, yer the one who enjoys bein’ bullied.

Kate: Well, let’s table that for now…..

Jude: Let’s not.

I clear my throat and pick up the deep purple ribbon.

Kate: It’s not a big deal, it’s just a little ribbon.

Jude: Ya can’t be serious— Oy!

Catching Jude as he tries to escape, I place the ribbon around the back of his head, bring up both ends at the top of his head and tie them off—

(Oh, soooo cute…!)

The Jude doll is now complete with a ribbon tied on him.

Jude: ……This's the worst.

He looked so cute just sitting there while looking the other way, that I had to use both hands to cover my grinning.

Jude: Satisfied now? Lemme down.

Kate: Oh, I want to tie this frilly ribbon around your neck too.

The moment I picked up the pretty, white frilly ribbon, Jude stood up and lost his balance.

Kate: Be careful!

I quickly picked him up so he wouldn’t get hurt, but he was flailing around in my lap.

Jude: Are ya kiddin’ me, why do I gotta wear some frilly arse ribbons?

Kate: Please don’t move so much, it’s dangerous.

Jude resisted with all his might, refusing to wear the frilly ribbon, so I held him down.

That’s when—

Kate: Waah!

Suddenly, smoke billows in front of me and my lap becomes heavy.

After blinking several times, my vision finally cleared and I met Jude's eyes.

Jude: Huh…..?

Kate: Y-you changed back already?

Jude open and closed his hand several times to confirm that he really changed back, and the sighed haggardly.

Jude: ‘Twas down right awful….Don’t ever wanna go through that again.

Jude: The hell’s with turnin’ into a stuffed toy. Betcha that quack doc mixed dodgy stuff into our food again.

Jude: Thanks to that, I went through a right mess. Should go ‘n give him a good kick fer it.

Jude got up from straddling my lap, and started grumbling about Roger again—

Kate: Ppfff-

Jude: Hm?

I couldn't help but laugh because on Jude’s head….

Kate: Jude, you're wearing a cute ribbon.……

The purple ribbon he was wearing as a stuffed toy was still tied on top of his head.

The long ribbon fits perfectly now that he’s back to its normal size, with a beautiful bow sitting on top his head.

Jude: …….

I clutch my stomach, unable to handle this unusual sight of Jude.

Without altering his expression, he untied the ribbon—

Jude: Princess, hold up yer hands.

Kate: ? Sure.

I did as I was told and stuck them out, and in a flash my hands were bound tightly together with the ribbon.

Kate: Ah.

Jude: Real good job ya did earlier.

Kate: Well, uhhh~…..

He looked down at me with a crooked smile, and when I averted my gaze, he instantly carried me away….

Kate: WOAH!!

Jude: I’ll turn ya into a dress-up doll too, but…..

I was surprised when he threw me on the bed, and he immediately hovered over me—

Jude: ‘Fore that, we gotta strip off all yer clothes, yeah?

It didn't end with just taking off my clothes, I was tormented more severely than usual.

And I decided that if he ever turned into a stuffed doll again, I would definitely dress him up in frilly clothes.

[Story Set Master List]

T/L note: I know, I could’ve used the word “plushie”, but that didn’t exist in their time period, so I didn’t. And I'm sorry for the bows, but I couldn't resist putting them on him either when they were missing from his sprite.

Tag List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @yuoi-the-magnificent @husbandosandladders @nawlink @justgiulia @vickietickie @greedyqueensfavourite @sharigax @belphiesleftpinkytoe @reimy1164 @barellorkilaam @cosmowgyral @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul @goustmilk @kraiyne @midnightsrunaway

If you're +18 YO and wish to be added to my tag list, please feel free to comment below or DM me.

#ikevil translations #cybird translations #ikevil jude #jude jazza #jude jazza translations #ikevil #ikemen villains #ikemen villains translations #Dividers: @.natimiles

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reccyls · 23 hours ago

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Victor's Main Route: Mad Love Epilogue

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist

NSFW warning (not super explicit but still)

Liam: Oh right, we were talking yesterday and we were wondering. Victor, what do you like about Kate?

One morning, I was sitting in the dining hall having breakfast with some other members of Crown, when I suddenly choked on my tea and began coughing my lungs out. Liam exchanged a look with Ellis, who was sitting next to him, and the two of them turned to face Victor and I. Victor patted my back softly as he explained.

Victor: I like that she’s so adorable. Victor: She’s earnest and diligent. But also has a surprisingly stubborn side and sometimes she doesn’t know when to give up.

Kate: …Is that supposed to be a good thing?

Victor: Of course it is! And I love how you laugh, and the way your eyes light up when you see something sweet. Victor: Oh, and I love when you get angry at me for wasting my money when I buy things for you, but you can’t hide how happy you are when I give you a present, too!

(I want the floor to swallow me whole.)

Victor: But my favorite thing about you is how you turned something that I had given up on, into something I couldn’t.

Ellis: What does that mean?

Ellis tilted his head, puzzled. Victor stopped patting my back and smiled.

Victor: If you’re asking which of us fell in love first, it’s me. Victor: Kate stumbled into this unknowingly.

He secretly winked at me.

Victor: Just like falling into pitch black darkness.

-----

Kate: You’re cheating.

While helping Victor out in his office like usual, I thought back to the events of this morning.

Victor: What are you talking about?

Victor, who had been struggling with some papers, looked up. The sunlight shone on his flowing black hair and his lips, drawing attention to the little mole on his lower lip. Looking into his jewel-like eyes framed by his long eyelashes, and his elegant, handsome features, my heart pounded as I fell in love all over again.

Kate: When we were having breakfast just now. Kate: You were listing out all the things you liked about me without batting an eye. Kate: I thought I was going to die of embarrassment. Kate: That’s cheating.

His eyes widened and he tilted his head.

Victor: Oh? Is it?

Kate: Yes, it is! Because I’m–

Victor: Hm?

Kate: …I’m the only one whose heart is racing.

We had fallen in love, chosen to tie our lives together, and reached our happily ever after. And from now on, my days would be filled with Victor, doing everything he could to make my heart race.

(I love you more and more with every day that passes. It might actually drive me crazy.)

Maybe the destruction Victor talked about would be how my heart would literally explode because I loved him so much. I was so in love with him that that didn’t sound unreasonable.

(But I wasn’t enchanted by his curse.)

Victor’s ability caused people to become obsessed with him. That had ruined the lives of so many people.

(But right now, he’s ruining my life in a completely different way…)

Not because he was cursed, not because he was queen, not because his powers had ensnared me. I was just so in love with Victor, as a person and as himself, that my heart couldn’t handle it. My life was tormented by the problem of being too happy. With a teasing smirk, Victor set down his pen. I thought he was going to make fun of me, but I didn’t expect what he did next.

Victor: Now we’re even.

Kate: Huh?

He had the widest smile on his face as he stood up and walked over to me.

Victor: I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you ever since the day we first met.

Kate: Ah!

He put his hand under my arms and lifted me up, sitting down on the chair I had occupied.

Victor: The next time we met, I was enchanted by how much you had grown.

He sat me back down on his lap and wrapped his arms around me.

Victor: After that, I continued to watch over you from afar. I was relieved that you were able to continue living well, but… Victor: …Every time I saw you, my heart would race so quickly I thought it would burst.

He planted a soft kiss on my cheek.

Victor: And ever since you joined Crown, I’ve been locked in a war with myself to stop my heart from falling to pieces out of pure joy.

His thumb traced my lips.

Victor: Haven’t you realized?

My heart skipped a beat as he turned the full force of his gorgeous smile towards me. I shook my head slightly.

Kate: You always look so calm. I didn’t know.

Victor: It’s a man’s nature to want to look cool in front of the woman of his dreams.

(I didn’t know Victor thought that.)

His words added another dimension to the interactions we’d had.

Kate: …But it’s still not fair I never get to see you look embarrassed!

Victor just laughed when I continued to protest, still seated on his lap.

Victor: Well then, why don’t you try telling me what you like about me?

I nodded easily, but then paused. I had already told him what I loved about him before we had officially become lovers.

(I want everything I tell you to be new.)

As I thought silently for some time, Victor looked surprised, then confused.

Victor: …There isn’t anything?

Kate: No, that’s not it! It’s the opposite, there’s just so many things I don’t know where to start…

He sounded so sad that I immediately had to deny it, and began blurting out whatever came to mind.

Kate: I love the warmth in your eyes when you look at me. The way your hands wrap around mine when you escort me. Kate: I love when you deliberately act spoiled sometimes, and how even though you’re determined, you always wait for me to give you my answer.

(And…)

I continued to count the reasons I loved him on my fingers.

Kate: I love the serious face you wear while working, and the cheerful one you show to the rest of Crown. Kate: And–

I suddenly realized that Victor was staring intently at me. His eyes were filled with a flickering heat. I slid my hand from his shoulder, letting it rest above his heart over his clothes. His heart was beating faster than usual. Seeing hints of his muscular body revealed by his collar, memories of last night drifted to my mind as I opened my mouth to continue.

Kate: I love how your body is so firm, how it’s big enough to cover me…

He took my hand, holding my wrist and guiding it down his body.

Victor: …Everything below this is for your eyes only.

He guided my hand across the muscles of his abdomen, only stopping once my hand reached his belt.

Kate: !

After how we had spent last night together, this action was enough to cause his heat to swell, pressing against his pants.

Victor: My heart and body all belong to you.

His whisper in my ear caused my lower stomach to flutter. With a seductive smile, he tried to pull my hand lower, I instinctively tried to draw back. Seeing how red my face was, Victor’s smile turned just a little bit wicked.

Victor: We’ve made love so many times last night, and you’re reacting like we’ve never been together even once. Victor: Don’t you think you should be used to it already?

His voice deepened, only adding to the seductive air around him. I couldn’t handle it anymore, and looked away.

Kate: I won’t ever get used to it…

He laughed lightly in response to my mumble.

Victor: I also think that your bare skin looks more and more beautiful every time I see it. I suppose we’re the same, in that regard.

Kate: What?

I reflexively looked back towards him, only to find his face mere inches from mine.

Victor: Perhaps a few more times, and we’ll both get used to it. Shall we give it a try?

Kate: Whoa!

He easily slipped one arm under my knees and lifted me as he stood, before walking over to his bookshelf. With a quick flip of a lever, his room appeared, and he set me down on his bed and pushed me into the sheets.

Kate: Nn.

Victor leaned over me and captured my lips in a heated kiss.

Kate: But work–

I threw out the first objection my flustered mind could think of, but there was no stopping Victor now. He flashed me a provocative grin.

Victor: –isn’t urgent. Victor: Right now, you are my priority.

Kate: -ah!

He devoured my lips once more, filling the room with the sound of kissing and heavy gasps. His warmth melded with mine, intensifying into an inferno. Through half-lidded eyes, I saw how his hair spilled out around us like a curtain. Thoroughly reminded of last night, my body began to thrum with anticipation. Suddenly he drew back, leaving me lightheaded as I stared at him.

Victor: Your eyes say it all. Greedy little things.

His hand cupped my cheek, but I managed to pout.

Kate: …It’s your fault. Kate: So you better do something about it.

I wrapped my arms around his neck.

Victor: Only if you also do something about putting me into this state. Victor: You’re the only one who can drive me wild like this, and sate my desires.

My blouse slipped off my shoulders, revealing my bare chest. I caught the way he gasped and the flush to his cheeks as he stared, and my heart began to pound.

(I heard a story somewhere, once.)

The number of times your heart would beat was decided from the day you were born. The faster your heart beats, the less you have left, and the closer you are to death.

(But I don’t think there’s anything that would make me happier.)

The more we loved each other, the more of our lives it would consume, until we fell hand-in-hand into oblivion. This love was our destruction, that would lead us to death.

#ikemen villains #my translation #victor (ikevil)

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simplybishova · 2 days ago

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breaking little hearts like the one in me - chapter 9

“I’ve found no records of anyone with that name in our old logs,” Lerato says over the phone, the sun just starting to rise as Yelena sits at the foot of the bed in the guestroom, staring out the window at the vast nothingness that stretches as far as she can see.

Clint and his family really do have their own little world out here.

Yelena can understand why Natasha spent so much time here - for the quiet if nothing else. “It did not trigger anything with me either, but the methods are very familiar.”

“Too familiar.” Lerato finishes the thought for her and Yelena sighs and looks to the bathroom door. It’s closed now, but she knows Kate is awake and that they’re about to have some very difficult conversations - they need to figure out a new plan. They can't just keep her trapped in that bathroom. “What is this mission you’re on? You sound tired.”

All Yelena can do is laugh. “That is an understatement, but I am fine it’s just…more personal than most.”

Lerato hums but doesn't press, a reprieve that Yelena is grateful for after spending the last day with the Bartons, who love to share their feelings.

“So you’re going to make me tell Fanny you won’t be home any time soon?”

Yelena’s heart aches at the thought of her pup. She can only imagine the fun he’d have here, with all this space - he and Lucky both.

Soon, she thinks. She’d love to see them together. They’d get along well, she just knows it. For now though, there’s too much uncertainty. “Yes, please tell her I’m sorry and give her a lot of kisses and treats for me.”

“Жалкий, you spoil that dog.”

“Yes, and now you spoil her in my absence.” She says it more as a demand than anything else, because someone has to make sure Fanny is happy.

Lerato heaves out a long, tired sigh, but it is the only confirmation Yelena needs that Fanny is being well cared for. “Fine, but don’t be too long - I’m not sure how much longer I can handle these 5AM walks you’ve trained her for.”

“Да, I will, if you find anything else out about this Asiya person let me know. It might be an alias.”

“I’ll dig around, put Antonia on it - she’s been spending too much time studying gardening tips online. A mission would be good for her.”

They say their goodbyes and Yelena exhales as another gust of wind blows the snow outside into a cyclone. It’s a stormy day, which is fitting in a sort of ironic way that Yelena would love in most circumstances.

Not today however. No, today, the irony and the cold weather can go to hell.

CONT ON AO3

#bishova #bishova fanfiction #kate bishop #yelena belova #okay okay let's all hop on the comfort train together!!#(also thank you so much for the love and support #truly <3)

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ilostthewar · 19 hours ago

Text

More Omega!Soap and Omega!Reader thoughts.

So, everyone knows about heats. I think the pre-heat is just as entertaining. Your body is about to go through this hormone driven, intense metabolic change for multiple days. So clearly, the body has to prepare to ensure it’s not gonna keel over. Soap and Reader have vastly different needs during their pre-heats, and it drives everyone crazy. Especially when your heats start to align.

I imagine Johnny is needier than usual. He wants to be around his mates, wants them in his nest, wants to steal the clothes off their back, wants to spend his time with them. He’s also constantly hungry. He’s a big guy, and he needs the energy. He’s constantly moving, wants to wrestle and play fight. Needs an excuse to be moving. The others can handle this fairly well. You can throw Johnny on a fighting mat and then feed him anything as long as it’s protein heavy, and he’s perfectly content. He’s verbal and often simply goes after what he wants.

Reader’s pre-heat needs are a little more subtle. Lots of rest and naps. Has specific preferences about what they will and won’t eat. Needs more space from the pack and any interaction needs to be on their terms. And your nesting behaviors look different. Less collecting and more organizing. Ensuring everything is where it needs to be. And you make your displeasure known, snipping and baring teeth if the others push too hard. It takes the pack a lot longer to adjust to this Omega’s needs, after having Johnny as their only responsibility.

John can be a bit heavy-handed at first. His brain keeps telling him to keep his omega comfy, so it feels like he’s hovering. But he prides himself on how well he keeps his pack, and he wants to take care of you just as well. And Gaz is similar where he’s trying to figure out what you need, but it leads to him overthinking. Johnny has a habit of bulldozing them, so there isn’t as much guessing involved. Hilariously, Ghost is probably the best at handling you. He’a simply accepted that if you need something, you’ll come around, and he understands needing boundaries on touch. So if you only came over for a brief hug or only want to sit beside him for a few minutes, that’s more than fine with him. He’s not one for midday naps, but he does like that when you want to take one you’ll curl up near him.

The biggest problem is truly between Reader and Johnny. Their opposing wants create a funny situation where Johnny is fucking annoying and Reader is doing their best to kill him. Nests are off limits but everything else is fair game. Soap’s favorite are surprise attacks where he’ll lay his full weight in them or haul Reader off their feet and refuse to let go. It’s a lot of goading on Johnny’s part and hissing and cursing from Reader. Soap likes being an asshole about it sometimes, likes it even more when he gets to pin Reader down.

Gaz is the most frequent one to break up these little fights. Ghost tends to watch and simply finds it amusing, might drag Johnny off if he notices him getting too excited. John has a habit of reteaching Johnny how to be nice to his fellow omegas.

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ailawritesfics · 21 hours ago

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✎ cw: 18+(minors dni), oral (m receiving), exhibitionism (in a meeting), cum eating, dabi is a little mean & rough

✎ I haven't written in months so im trying to get back into writing again. Not proofread

What started as a joke between you and Dabi at 4 in the morning turned into a challenge of who can rile up the other more until it became a practical execution rather than back and forth play fighting.

The meeting is underway when he had ushered you beneath the table, uncaring of the curious eyes watching and internally criticizing whatever ploy you two had cooked up today. Dabi merely offers them a silent response, a smirk here and a flipped middle finger there, much to Shigaraki's vexation. No one bothers to even try to stop either of you by this point anyway.

He spares you a glance, slouching on the chair with his hands resting on his thigh and the other on the back of your head, lightly scratching your scalp. With hooded eyes he watches you fiddle with his belt, tugging off the buckle and unzipping his pants quite eagerly.

"We received intel from one of our men in..."

The voices of the other men in the room fade in the background, rendered static noise in comparison to the loud shuffling of his clothes being tugged and moved aside by manicured nails.

And finally, Dabi exhales as you tug down his boxers enough to free his cock from its confines. It nearly slapped your cheek had you not moved back in time.

The hand in your hair tightens, wordlessly tugging you closer to where he needs you and mouthing for you to hurry up. A soft giggle bubbles in your chest, teasing as you bat your lashes at him and he swears if you weren't in a meeting room right now, he would've had his way with you already. So he plays nice for now.

"We're not short on manpower. What we need is..."

You wrap your fingers around his cock, slowly stroking him while maintaining eye contact. Cerulean eyes meet yours in a silent challenge, a battle of wits and wagers, where pushing each other to their limits warrants the winner a satisfying reward. And Dabi would be damned if he lets you win this little bet.

You lick a path on the underside of his cock, swirling your tongue on the mushroom tip. You're rewarded with a muffled groan when you finally wrap your lips around him, taking him in inch by inch and working to slacken your jaw.

Dabi leans his head back, your warm mouth feeling too good to resist. A murmured fuck and a quick tug on your hair, he shoves you down against his pelvis, the tip of his cock meeting the back of your throat and making you gag.

Tears form in the corner of your eyes the longer Dabi holds you there, one hand supporting the back of your head and the other on your neck. He looks down at you and sucks in a breath at the sight.

You look so fucking hot like this.

Choking while being forced to deep throat his dick.

You tap on his thigh twice and he lets up, allowing you to pull away. A cough strains your throat, leaving it feeling sore and aching. The death glare you send his way doesn't even deter the man, in fact it only makes his cock twitch in his hold. The bastard enjoyed it, of course he did.

He grabs your face, fingers digging into your cheeks as he pulls you back in.

His voice is low, a hushed whisper amongst the arguing voices of the other men in the room. "You talked big game back there and you couldn't even handle that? I'm disappointed, doll."

Again, your glare does nothing, only succeeding on making him act more smug. He presses hard on your cheeks, making you wince, something he enjoys a little too much, evident in the way his smirk turns into a grin.

A thumb forces its way through your lips, pressing flat against your tongue. It's salty and tastes like ash. For a moment, you think he might grant you some mercy. But Dabi had never really been kind. Using this hold on you, he tugs your jaw open and before you can react, he replaces his thumb with his cock but this time he doesn't just shove it in. He lets it rest on your tongue, waiting to see what you'll do.

At least his gracious enough to grant you some control.

Starting with a slow pace, you bob your head up and down, hallowing your cheeks as you take in more of him with each trip down. You've given him head before but it never really feels like it gets easier after each time. It's a struggle to make him fit, a struggle you refuse to show him lest you want him to become even more smug and cocky.

A large hand trails up the nape of your neck, sliding into your hair, tugging lightly as he guides your movement.

He throws his head back against the head rest, the tips of his ears flushing bright red and fighting the urge to moan and groan at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth doing wonders on him. He couldn't care less of the obvious stares, much too focused on chasing the pleasure. He'll get scolded by Shigaraki later but fuck it, this is worth it.

You quicken your pace, swallowing around the tip, trying your best to deep throat him.

Dabi bucks his hips upward to meet your movements with what little freedom the chair allows him. He relishes the sound of you choking on his cock, sweat dripping down his temples as he chases his high.

Suddenly, he shoves your head down against him again, nose burying in his happy trail. Spurts of thick, hot cum slide down your throat and fills your mouth with the sheer amount he spills.

He breathes heavily, tugging you off him but covering your mouth with one hand before you can spit any of his precious cum.

"Swallow it." He commands in a hushed voice.

#bnha imagines #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha imagines #dabi smut #dabi x reader #dabi imagine #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #dabi imagines #touya x reader #touya todoroki smut #todoroki smut #dabi todoroki #cw suggestive #cw oral sex #cw exhibitionism

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numberonetacostan · 1 day ago

Note

I know your trophy knowledge might not be too sharp but I do wonder if you have any specific thoughts or even headcanons about him ! ❤️

Hi Mirelly!!^^ Welcome back, and thank you for sending in your request!! :] Of course I can cook you up some headcanons for your guy! I like to think I have at least an okay grasp on all of the main ii cast members' characters [Contestants + Mephone4 + Assistants + Cobs] :) I may not know the common headcanons for them, though, so please forgive me if any of these end up being basic!

Ask and you shall receive, Trophy headcanons!

FINALLY I'VE HAD HIS ONE FOR AGES AND NEVER HAD A TIME TO SHARE IT. Are you familiar with the movie Ratatouille? How the little rat fellow sits on the man's head and pilots him around? I like to think that Blueberry does the exact same thing with Trophy. He cozies himself up in Trophy's head (where we have been told during some stream, I don't recall which nor who said it unfortunately, that he fits perfectly inside), and grabs on to his handles, and steers Trophy towards wherever he wants to go. It's not quite as graceful as in the movie, since Trophy is not a willing participant in this, but I'd imagine it being quite difficult for him to get anything out of his head, much less an object who very much does not want to leave.

Hmm, fuck it, Trophy is one of those people who adds a ton of dryer sheets to his laundry. A ton. I'd say a scent like sandalwood specifically, something generally seen as more masculine. So, since his clothing all smells strongly of sandalwood, so does he, all the time. So much so that it can trigger Tissues' allergies, on worse days. This may even start because in the beginning he, like a proper jock with not quite enough self awareness (he would be 0 months old so cant expect much), uses exorbitant amounts of axe body spray, and smells awful all the time. If you'd like, Paper telling him his body spray is a bit too strong could be what starts his shift to many many dryer sheets and 0 body spray. Others have told him before, he just didn't care coming from them.

Let's all hope that Trophy never ever sees nor even hears about the popularity poll that decided on the iii returning cast members, because he would be pissed. Only 250 votes? He got less votes than Box? Less votes than two objects who had intentionally quit the game? He would both complain about the votes being rigged and brag about being above anyone he beat, while internally feeling quite bad about it.

I think Trophy would watch anime. Particularly sports anime, and not because he's a trophy and is athletic, but because that's where his idols are. His influences. He wants to be cool and sporty and masculine, and you can find guys like that in pretty much every sports anime. That's why he pulls things like saying 'pUH' at Knife, he's learned from dubbed anime. This may or may not have been an important factor in the start of his homoerotic tendencies as well, since as far as I know sports animes also have a lot of that.

I'm sure it's a relatively common headcanon for his favourite flavour to be banana, but I would like to raise the idea of him fucking so hard with banana bread. He's a little loaf eating freak /ref. If anyone bakes banana bread it's gone within a half hour. He does not ask to have any or to eat it he just unhinges his jaw and swallows it whole. His favourite food. He'd probably end up learning to bake it on his own (likely in secret) so he can be a little loaf eating freak more frequently, since others would stop making it once they resign themselves to never getting to taste it.

#inanimate insanity #loomy's answers #trophy ii #ii trophy #blueberry ii #ii blueberry #paper ii #ii paper #knife ii #ii knife #goldpaper

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 2 days ago

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We love Johnny in this house (and Haechan too).

Just wondering, what would it be after the Janeshit ep? Do you think that Sweets gonna be a little bit awkward for a while? Because if I were Sweets, I might not even talk to them, at least before I feel better HSHSHS 😭 Need to know how Sweets handle the outcome that ep

Alright so I didn't intend on the Jane ep being more than one part so I'll just provide some additional details here!

So, the way the Jane ep fall in the timeline is shortly after Sweets and Jae get back together. Jaehyun is trying to be more open and mindful of his actions and feelings, but sometimes he slips up!

Since Sweets was (objectively) the one who was hurt more, obviously she's more hurt so for a while she's going to be apprehensive and more on the shy side

In my head, Sweets doesn't really hold it against Jaehyun or any of the guys. I think that the snarky, snide, passive aggressive comments are something that happen mostly between girls (you don't have to agree, but it's subjective) so Sweets doesn't expect them to fully understand.

Would it have been nice to have them all step in the first time around? Yeah, duh, but I think a lot of shock was going around the room at the aggression coming from Jane.

Jaehyun is definitely more loving and affectionate to Sweets after everything goes down. He want to make Sweets feel loved and express how sorry he is because he does feel really bad. He kind of beats himself up for letting Jane affect you as much as it did, especially because you're both in a still somewhat fragile place.

Sweets tries to be a bit more standoffish after it all but Jaehyun is too stubborn with his affection that he easily knocks those walls down.

AND! Jaehyun does get a full lesson on the hidden snark to keep an ear out for and definitely promises to be her knight in shining armor should anything like this arise again!

TLDR: Sweets tries to be standoffish but Jaehyun is too damn cute and stubborn while showering her with his love that it really doesn't remain an issue. Jaehyun learns the ins and outs of passive aggression as a lesson

#fratboy!jaehyun #frat!jaehyun #sweets and jae lore!

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wetbatinthenight · 3 days ago

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What if one of Reader's classmates go to their house to ask if they can hang out, maybe someone that has stronger feelings for reader.

How would the parents deal with that? Because dad wouldn't be happy, but I also know he presents in a very specific way to outsiders 👀

-🐦‍⬛

love this! I’m going to apply this with a character concept I have already written! after the first work, you approach the lunch table of your peers (people you already interact with through extracurriculars) and decide you want deeper and more social interactions.

you are too shy to approach brand new people you never interacted with before. check out my student council president work if you haven’t! I have plan to expand more side characters in the story!

if he showed up to your house to hang out, it would probably be for a productive reason or a lie he is telling himself. it might be for an upcoming dance plan or maybe because it is important to create a rapport with his fellow peers and cabinet members. we work as a team better when connection are made after all.

if it is spontaneous, which I can see him doing, he already has planned out what he has said and acted on that whim. he either does it on a whim and feels justified, or has carefully planned it out. either way he has daydreamed about what your interactions will look like, he is prepared and purposeful on what he will say.

when your dad opens the door, he is less than happy. the sight of someone close to your age angers him, because he immediately knows the likely hood of it having to do something involving you. he plasters a smile on his face, that seems authentic. he charms people but also carries himself a certain way. he seems like a leader, he almost seems powerful. he seems important.

student council president can give any excuse or reason he chooses, it isn’t happening any time soon. your dad will decline no matter what it is. he explain politely and firmly that you will not be leaving the house today and you are not available. thanks for coming bye:)

the interaction is short and your father keeps his words short and simple. he lets the student council president speak, secretly studying him with his almost sort of intense gaze.

I do think the fact that he has probably seen the person at events he takes you too (and stays for a good chunk of time sometimes) and recognizes him makes it a little less bad. it doesn’t set his paranoia off as much, but not in any meaningful way.

once he closes the door, he feels his anger flare internally, fists clenching. he did not like that. cue research into who that is and a more calculated effort to keep you home and in his grasp.

student council president stands at the door and gets into his car promptly. he can see a bit through your dad’s facade mostly because he has one too. student council president is personal, he doesn’t realize he has one. dad is more aware of what he is doing by a significant amount. he notices how swift your dad handled it all. he feels a bit intrigued by your family dynamic now, on top of his general need to get to know you. he almost respects it from the snippet he has seen. but if he were to know the whole truth, he wouldn’t like it at all. dad wants to infantilize you. student council president wants you to be his perfect equal. that can’t happen if your father gets what he wants.

thanks for the ask 🐦‍⬛ anon!

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ryuyejiho · 2 days ago

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"Drinks and Desires" Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre: Smut Warnings: 18+, Smut, Fingering, Sex Summary: A bartender and regular customer, Jungkook, share a playful flirtation that turns into an intense, passionate night, changing their relationship forever. Word Count: ~2.7k

Working at the bar on night shifts was not one of the best. But it always became survivable thanks to that one regular customer.

He came here almost every day. He would have either one drink or countless drinks getting drunk. He would always sit at the bar and watch me work. At first I found it annoying and uncomfortable, but since the first time he spoke we liked each other, and every time I'm glad when I see him at the doorstep.

We may not have been best friends, we knew each other as much as a late-night conversation and never saw each other outside the bar, but I could safely say we were drawn to each other by something. We got along well, and even though we didn't know anything about each other, we always had a multitude of topics to talk about.

I knew Jungkook was a singer but I had never heard his songs or heard him sing. I wasn't from around here and my life only revolved around work and studying at a Korean university.

I was just wiping the glasses dry when a man walked in. He had a huge black jacket, a black hat and a black mask over his face. I immediately knew who it was, it was his standard look. He walked up to the bar, sat down on a stool at the bar across from me and pulled off the mask which he put in his jacket pocket before unzipping it. He looked at me and smiled such a forced smile and when I burst into laughter he laughed lightly himself. I handed him the drink he always drank and leaned on the countertop behind me watching him drink it in one gulp.

"What's so late today?" I asked, taking the glass from him.

"I had to stay longer at training today. And I had singing lessons. But I came to see you," he smiled stupidly.

"Do you want something else?"

"Make me something good. Something I haven't drunk yet" he leaned forward and made such puppy eyes. I shook my head with amusement and reached for new glass.

"Give a review if it's good," I said, hoping he'd like it. Sometimes I caught myself making myself weak for him. That I do everything he wants and do everything to make him happy.

"I think it's a little too sweet for me," he stated, holding his glass up and eyeing the pink color of the drink.

"Why?" I asked slightly disappointed.

"Because it's nothing compared to how sweet you look today," I took a moment to digest what he said. I rolled my eyes and turned my back to him at which I heard him laugh out loud.

For the next hour he threw around such texts and had a great laugh about it. I was fed up with him, at the same time I looked at my watch with pain and how time was passing quickly. Jungkook sat quietly for a while until I handed him the same drink again.

"You're good at this.... But you know what would make it even better?" he asked raising his eyebrows .

"What?"

"If you served me you on the side" I took a deep breath to cool down at which he laughed. I looked at him, leaned forward against the bar and replied in a quieter tone.

"Careful, that might be a little too much for you," at my words, he parried a gentle laugh with a smirk.

"You'd be surprised at what I can handle" he put the glass to his lips and drank the rest of the drink to the end in one gulp. Saying nothing, I walked away from the bar and went to the last three guests to inform them of the closing.

While they were gathering to leave I started wiping down the tables and setting up the chairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jungkook take one of the bottles of wisky by himself and pour himself a glass. I was lucky that there were no cameras around. Then he suddenly appeared next to me looking at what I was doing.

"I'm not sure if you're cleaning .... or teasing me," I looked at him surprised and laughed.

"Wouldn't you like to find out?" I replied jokingly to which he leaned against the table and sighed.

"Trust me, I really would," I shook my head and walked away.

I went to the door to close it and then headed to the storage room to grab a mop to clean the floor. I started from the bar and moved closer towards him. All this time he stood in the same position and watched me without saying a word.

"You're doing a good job with that mop."

"Thanks?"

"It's not the only thing I'd like to see you handle.... properly," he said in a flirty tone, coming up to me. Half the night I heard such texts from him, but I began to notice that they had ceased to be one hundred percent just jokes.

"Do you want to stay and help me?" I asked to which he immediately shook his head in denial.

"Tell me to go," I looked at him surprised.

"Why would I?"

"Because if I stay any longer, I'm not helping you clean. I'm helping you make a mess" I lowered my hands in helplessness and walked back to the bar to put everything in its place and clean up there. After that I would be free and could go home.

But before I could get behind the bar the boy grabbed my hand and leaned me against the counter. He stood facing me, a little too close, and rested his hands on either side behind my back. He lowered his face so that it was at my height.

"Last chance. Say it now... or don't say it at all," he said quietly, in such a sexy tone, alternately looking into my eyes and peering at my lips. Now for him to go was the last thing I wanted. Thinking nothing of it, I joined our lips in a kiss, and before I realized what I had done, Jungkook reciprocated it without hesitation.

In a split second, everything became several times more passionate, appealing. His hands wandered over my bare skin under the shirt I was wearing, our tongues fought a battle for dominance over each other. But as I mentioned earlier, I was very weak to him. Even, apparently, in this regard.

In one nimble movement, he lifted me up and planted me on the counter next to some empty bottles that had fallen over creating a loud clang. He stood between my thighs and pulled me closer so that our bodies pressed against each other.

"I warned you," he said between kisses.

"And did I say anything to make you go," I replied sarcastically, breathing deeply. He smiled cocky and started kissing me again. After a moment, he straightened up slightly pulling away from me, looking straight into my eyes, as if he wanted to say something, but held back. Instead, he moved his fingers down my thigh to my knee and sighed with a slight smile.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been thinking about this?" I tilted my head, feigning innocence at his words.

He clamped his fingers quite firmly on my thigh, close to my intimacy, and there was a spark in his eyes. He moved his hand down and up again, on the inside of my thigh, without taking his eyes off me. I felt my breathing quicken and my body tighten under his touch. His lips returned to mine, more greedily, more confidently this time.

He didn't kiss like someone who asks permission - just like someone who finally got what he wanted.

I felt his fingers weave into my hair pulling on it to make my head tilt back, and he began to move his lips along my neck. The warm breath on my skin made me shiver and the tip of his tongue left a wet, steamy trail.

I slid my hands under his T-shirt, mussing his belly with my fingers as I felt his hard muscles tighten under my touch. His hips moved closer until there was nothing left between us. He sucked, nibbling at the skin on my neck until a quiet moan escaped my lips, barely audible, but he reacted immediately - he raised his head and looked at me as if that very sound was all he wanted to hear.

His breathing was hot and uneven, and his eyes were dark with desire.

With one hand he embraced me tighter, and with the other he slid down to my neck, kissing me deeply - no longer sensually, but desperately. At that moment we stopped caring about anything. We moaned into each other's mouths, my hands roaming all over his torso.

He unbuttoned my shirt but halfway through he aggressively ripped the buttons which fell to the floor, then, almost immediately, his lips moved to my breasts. I pulled my shirt off completely and weaved my fingers in his thick hair, tilting my head back and sighing in pleasure.

At one point he straightened up and his fingers tightened on my waist. Harder. More securely.

And then, kissing me again briefly and greedily, in one motion he slid me off the counter and pressed my front against the cool surface of the bar. His lips were on my neck and his hands on my hips, which he lifted slightly and pressed me even closer to him. I felt his body pushing against mine, felt his bulge on my buttock.

He moved his fingers upward along my waist until his full hands caught my breasts. I entwined my fingers around his wrists tilting my head back and resting it on his collarbone. Jungkook let out a satisfied purr and moved one hand to my neck tightening his fingers on it. With the other he moved down to my pussy pressing his hand against it.

"The way you let yourself be led makes me unable to stop wanting you," he whispered in a low tone of voice and bit the lobe of my ear. I smiled cocky, as if showing how much I liked it.

"Shameless submissive" after those words he pushed me onto the bar to lean over, put his hands on my hips and pressed his hips against my buttocks. I moved my ass from side to side at which he quietly moaned and slapped my buttock with his full palm.

At one point he grabbed the hem of my skirt and in one motion pulled it upward so that it was now rolled down over my waist. He moved my panties to the side and without hesitation, without warning, slipped a finger inside me. Not for long because he immediately pulled it out, but the movement made me shiver. I involuntarily let out a loud moan, bending my head down.

Jungkook grabbed me by the hair and pulled hard, so that I was now holding my head high. Then, again without any warning, he slipped two fingers into me this time and began to move them at once, quickly and sharply. The whole room was filled with my desperate moans and the sounds of my already quite wet pussy.

Suddenly he stopped any actions, let go of my hair and pulled his fingers out of me. For a moment there was silence, only my loud breathing could be heard, and after a moment the sound of rustling clothes falling to the floor. Before I could turn my head, Jungkook moved closer to me so that I could gently feel his bare skin rubbing against mine.

He stroked my buttocks for a while, taking turns giving them fairly firm spanks, until after a long while he moved closer and placed several kisses on my back. Then I felt his hand on the center of my buttocks and slipping between his penis. At the thought, I took a deep breath.

He moved back and forth rubbing against me, breathing deeply. I reached back with my hand wanting to touch him but he pushed it away. Instead, he moved away for a moment and then I felt his tip at my entrance. I closed my eyes and let out a long, loud moan as he entered me with his entire length, slowly as if he wanted to feel every millimeter. When he entered fully he remained like that for a while without doing anything. We both breathed faster and faster, and I could feel my heart pounding hard.

I wanted more, I couldn't wait for him to start doing more so I started to move my ass myself but he put his torso on top of mine, pressing me against the tabletop and restraining my movements.

"Slowly... I want you to feel how much I want you," he said and put his hand on my neck, pressing his hips against mine even more.

"Do it, I can't wait, please..." I said in the most desperate voice in my entire life. At my words, he laughed softly and moved his hips away coming out of me halfway. Then he slid back into me, slapping hard so that the edge of the bar poked my ribs.

After a short while he did the same, doing it continuously. Faster and faster, once harder and once lighter. We both moaned like desperados, we were so good with each other that I didn't want it to ever end.

"You will be for me," 'Only mine,' 'You are so obedient,' 'You will do what I let you do,' 'You will not leave me until I let you,' he repeated all the time between moans, curses and kisses.

I could only afford to moan and scream. I wanted to tell him how well he was fucking me, I wanted to scream his name but I couldn't even do that. Tears were dripping down my cheeks, my legs were like cotton wool.

Then, he came out of me, turned my front around, and kissed me. He kissed hard, passionately, all the time he was the one in control. He lifted me up to which I wrapped my legs around him, walked a few steps and sat down on the nearest sofa. I could have started jumping on him but no. He held me firmly slightly raised and, leaning against the backrest, began to enter me hard and fast. I caught his shoulders and leaned back resting my forehead against his shoulder.

"I beg you, don't stop," I said and he pressed his lips to my cheek.

"Please..." I said again, this time in an almost crying voice.

"It's almost there, baby.... let me give it to you," he replied and put his arms around me tightly.

He sped up even more, his movements became chaotic. He hid his face in my hair, in the hollow of my neck. A few moments later we came together, simultaneously.

We sat like this for several minutes, trying to normalize our hearts. With one hand, he lifted my head for me to look at him after which he kissed me. But this time gently, still passionately but gently.

"Remember when I said you should serve me you on the side? Gotta say, tasted even better than I expected" I looked at him amused and punched him in the arm at which he laughed himself.

"Well, I did warn you it might be too much to handle" I shrugged my shoulders confidently.

"You didn't even do anything like that this time" he laughed.

"Then maybe next time"

#kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #smut kpop #jungkook #jungkook smut #smut bts #bts smut #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts #jk #jeon jungkook

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writerofautumnnights · 17 hours ago

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𝑮𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑪𝑳𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑹 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — 𝐉𝐎𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐌

previous chapter

✧༚ ˎˊ ˗ pairing: jobe bellingham x fem!oc

✧༚ ˎˊ ˗ sumary: Jobe and Sarah finally give in to the attraction that consumes them. Amidst intense touches and unspoken promises, the chemistry between them reaches its peak, but the impending farewell leaves a taste of uncertainty.

✧༚ ˎˊ ˗ warnings: NSFW, a hint of anguish and a little dominance if you close one eye.

count: 10.9k sorry!

# tags: @lonely-world3 @barcagirly @formulafortyfour @kennaskorner @anifffff @jessnotwiththemess @irishmanwhore @oceanfanatic06 @haartemis @eriks-girl @peyiswriting @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @sucredreamer @virgilsgurl @everlyjay @kj77 @muglermami @sailurmewn @goldenngt @cranberryjulce @darkskinchristiandiorpostergirl @amirawrah if you want it removed, let me know!

keara’s imessage: myyyyy jobe girls 🗣️ forgive me for the delay, I warned you that I didn't like what I wrote before, but I crossed the line on this one. Thanks for all the love and if you want to be tagged, just let me know. enjoy the chapter 💕

masterlist

Sarah had never planned to fall in love during her exchange program. She had always been picky and cautious when it came to relationships. She had no interest in "raising boys," especially getting involved with someone who might be younger.

But Jobe... he was nothing like the people she had met before. The dilemma of being in your twenties is that you could – potentially – get involved with someone younger or someone older. There's always this inner conflict about what you actually want in a relationship – whether you want to deal with someone still figuring out how to handle life or someone who's already focused on financial success, because after thirty, building stability becomes a priority.

For the Brazilian, these questions had started to surface more and more each day. She was determined to stick to her original goals, trying to fully focus on her studies, but somehow she found herself more and more drawn to someone who was constantly stealing her attention. Sometimes she would catch herself just staring at him, thinking, "How did this even happen?"One look into his eyes and Sarah was completely lost. It was hard not to fall into temptation, hard not to crave being closer every day. She hoped she wasn’t rushing things, but there was something she simply couldn’t put into words. She had never met anyone like him before.

The distance between them was challenging, but somehow, they were making it work. Their daily video calls had quickly become Sarah’s favorite part of the day.

Their communication was getting better and better. Sarah’s English classes were paying off, even with all those impossible phrasal verbs he loved to use. And she had taught him a few words in Portuguese too. It was adorable how he tried to say "saudade" – equally cute and hilarious. Jobe loved saying "meu bem" and "linda demais" whenever he thought she wasn't paying attention.

And it had only been two weeks since that first call that brought them back into each other's lives.

Some people around Sarah had already noticed how distracted and unavailable she seemed; her free time was now filled with calls that somehow made the distance feel shorter. They hadn’t met again in person yet, but it didn’t matter. Some of her friends had even spotted the Sunderland shirt she got after the match and asked questions, but Sarah kept it low-key, just like they had agreed. Some things were meant to stay just between the two of them – even though she was dying to share everything with the world. To her, he was simply Jobe. But to the world, he was still Jobe Bellingham.

Sarah remembered when she used to say she didn’t want to fall in love, didn’t trust anyone anymore, didn’t want to care too much ever again. But Jobe had changed all of that. And day by day, she was letting herself fall even harder.

The Uber weaved through the streets of Manchester while Sarah nervously tapped her fingers against her bag. The improvised lie from the night before weighed heavily on her conscience. She had sent Jobe a message saying that an unexpected issue with her course was preventing her from going to the match. She could still picture his reply — short, polite, but carrying a hint of disappointment he had tried to hide.

Her surprise had almost been ruined when she arrived at the hotel where she would be staying and ran into a few members of Sunderland’s staff at the reception. For a few seconds, her heart skipped a beat as she quickly scanned the lobby for any sign of Jobe. But it was just some staff members. She had been so close — Jobe and the other players had walked through the lobby just minutes later, coming back from their training session at the stadium.

Luckily, Sarah was already on her way to her room.

Her own foolishness had almost ruined the moment she had carefully planned for so long. If she had just asked Jobe where they would be staying, there wouldn’t have been any close calls. But she learned her lesson.

The stadium was already visible in the distance when she picked up her phone and dialed his number. It had to be a quick call. Sarah took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. Three rings, and he answered.

"Hey!" she said, smiling the moment she heard his breathing on the other end. "I just wanted... to wish you good luck..."

She could feel the surprise in his voice, that slight pause of someone who hadn’t expected the call. Jobe said something about getting ready to step onto the pitch, but she caught the lighter tone, as if her call had softened the disappointment he had tried to hide about her supposed absence.

"Are you getting another call?" she asked when she heard another ringtone in the background.

"Yeah, it’s Jude. I need to answer."

"Go ahead. I'll be cheering for you from here. Don’t forget my goal!" she teased.

The driver announced their arrival at the stadium. Sarah zipped her jacket up to her neck, feeling the fabric of the new, autographed Sunderland jersey she wore underneath—a gift Jobe had sent her the previous week. Across her back, his name and number were printed, making her heart race in ways she still couldn't quite explain.

With hesitant steps, she made her way toward the VIP entrance, where players' families gathered. Everything still felt overwhelming; Sarah had been nervous ever since she picked up the ticket earlier that morning—managing to do so discreetly, without Jobe finding out.

The security guard checked her name on the list and gestured for her to move down the hallway. Suddenly, the full weight of her impulsive decision hit her: she was about to watch a match in the section usually reserved for the players' families.

An attendant guided her toward her seat, and Sarah found herself impressed by it all. For a second division team, today's stadium was seriously impressive.

When she entered the reserved box, Sarah froze. The first pair of eyes she met belonged to a middle-aged man whose features were unmistakably familiar—the same eyebrows, the same posture. Mark Bellingham studied her for a few seconds before a spark of recognition lit up his face.

"You must be Sarah," he said, approaching with a warm smile that didn’t quite match the stern image she had built in her mind based on the few photos she had seen. "Jobe’s going to be... well, ‘surprised’ doesn’t even begin to cover it."

"I-I... yes, I am... It's such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bellingham," she stammered, suddenly feeling like all the English words she had learned had fled from her mind. "Sorry for not... telling you I was coming."

"Mark, please," he corrected kindly. "Come on, let me introduce you to everyone."

Everyone?

A man sitting with his leg stretched out over one of the seats turned when he heard the conversation. Sarah recognized him immediately from magazines and match broadcasts: Bellingham. Jude Bellingham, Jobe’s older brother, Real Madrid star — currently sidelined with an injury — was right there in front of her. Beside him, an elegant woman with piercing eyes observed Sarah with an expression she couldn't quite read.

"So you're the famous Sarah," Jude said with a wide grin, reaching out his hand. "Finally meeting the person who has my brother checking his phone every five minutes."

Sarah felt embarrassment flood every part of her body as she accepted his handshake. "Nice to meet you... sorry for showing up... without warning," she managed, her voice barely steady.

"Don’t apologize," Jude laughed. "He’s going to love the surprise."

When Sarah turned to greet Denise, the boys’ mother, a wave of nerves hit her. The woman’s gaze was intense, assessing, and for a moment Sarah was certain she had made a terrible mistake by coming unannounced.

"Sarah," Denise said simply, extending her hand with graceful poise. "Jobe mentioned you wouldn’t be coming."

"It was... uh... a last-minute change of plans," Sarah explained, struggling to find the right words in English. "I hope I'm not... intruding. It was supposed to be... a surprise."

Something in Denise’s expression softened, almost imperceptibly. "Anyone who makes my son smile the way you do is more than welcome."

The tension in Sarah’s shoulders eased just a little. Jude pulled out an empty chair beside him and patted the seat.

"Come, sit here. I want to hear all about how you manage to put up with my brother."

The comment earned a nervous laugh from Sarah, and Jude seemed to pick up on her discomfort. With an easy charm, he began sharing embarrassing childhood stories about him and Jobe, speaking slowly and clearly so she could follow, occasionally repeating himself when he noticed her confusion.

The teams entered the pitch for the warm-up, and Sarah’s heart leapt when she spotted Jobe among the players. He looked focused, completely unaware of the surprise waiting for him in the family box.

"He hasn’t looked this way yet," Mark commented, as if reading her thoughts. "He’s always been like that. When he's on the pitch, the whole world disappears."

***

The stadium buzzed with the energy of 20,000 people gathered for the decisive match. Jobe adjusted his number 7 shirt and took a deep breath, feeling adrenaline rush through his veins, just like it always did before a big game. But today, there was something different. A restlessness he couldn't quite name.

His gaze swept across the crowd until it landed on a specific spot — the VIP box where players' families usually sat. His parents were there, Mark and Denise, chatting with Jude. And next to them... She.

Sarah wasn’t supposed to be there. She hadn’t mentioned anything about coming. But there she was, with her unmistakable golden curls and a smile that seemed to light up the whole stadium. Sarah laughed at something Mark said, and for a brief moment, she opened her jacket, revealing the team shirt underneath — the very same one Jobe had autographed and sent to Manchester just a few days ago. The one she had told him she kept tucked away every night like a special gift. The thought made something flip inside his stomach.

When Sarah noticed Jobe staring, she gave him a discreet wave, her smile growing wider. He felt warmth spread through his chest. Quickly, he tore his gaze away, forcing his focus back onto the field. He couldn’t get distracted. Not today. Not by her.

"Focus, Jobe," he muttered under his breath, adjusting his shorts.

Chris approached, giving his shoulder a firm pat. "Would you look at that — the Brazilian actually showed up."

Jobe tried to keep his face neutral, but the weight on his shoulders grew heavier. "Didn’t think she would."

"And I couldn’t take one more minute of you moping around after almost scaring her off with all that commitment-phobia of yours," Chris laughed. "Good thing Eliezer and I knocked some sense into you. Must be the first girl who’s ever made you this nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Jobe replied automatically, though he knew it was a lie.

"Sure," Chris said, shaking his head, amused. "One day, someone was bound to break through all those walls, mate. Just didn’t expect it to be an older woman with that look — like she knows exactly what she wants."

Before Jobe could respond, the whistle blew, calling the teams onto the field. He took a deep breath, pushing all thoughts of Sarah to a far corner of his mind. It was game time. His territory — the place where he knew exactly who he was and what he had to do.

The match kicked off at a fierce pace, just as expected. Jobe threw himself into the game with the iron discipline that defined him on the pitch. For forty straight minutes, he maintained laser-sharp focus, organizing plays in midfield, contributing both in defense and attack. The scoreboard remained 0–0, a reflection of the tension and balance between the two teams.

It was during a stoppage — an opponent down, receiving treatment — that his focus betrayed him. Almost instinctively, his eyes searched for Sarah in the VIP box. She was standing, chatting with his mother, Denise. Something about the sight — Sarah talking to his family like she already belonged — made his heart race.

What were they talking about? Was Sarah nervous? He could hear her Brazilian accent in his mind, the slight stumble over words when she got anxious. Was his mother being kind to her?

"Earth to Jobe!" The coach’s voice snapped him back to reality. "I’ve been talking to you for a minute now! What’s going on? I’ve never seen you this distracted."

"Sorry, coach. It won’t happen again."

The coach studied him for a moment before continuing with the tactical instructions. Jobe nodded mechanically, his eyes trained on the coach’s face, but his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

When the game resumed, Jobe forced himself to focus solely on the ball and the movements of the opponents. It worked, for a while. Until, fifteen minutes into the second half, a perfect opportunity arose. He stole the ball in midfield, dribbled past two defenders, and seeing open space ahead, advanced decisively towards the goal. At the edge of the box, with surgical precision, he shot towards the lower right corner, leaving the goalkeeper with no chance.

The stadium erupted in celebration as Jobe ran, arms wide open, toward the sidelines. Amid the euphoria, his teammates jumped on him, celebrating the goal. When he finally managed to break free from the group hug, Jobe did something he had never done before — he turned towards the VIP box and pointed directly at Sarah.

It was an impulsive gesture, completely out of character for his usually reserved nature, but at that moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. From a distance, he saw Sarah’s face light up in a radiant smile as she covered her face shyly. Beside her, Jude elbowed their father, pointing and apparently making some comment that made Mark laugh and shake his head.

"Wow, the ice man finally melted!" Eliezer joked, passing by as they headed back to their positions. "Never thought I'd see the day Jobe 'I-don’t-get-attached' Bellingham would dedicate a goal to someone."

Chris joined in the teasing: "The Brazilian must have magic powers! We need to thank her later."

Jobe just smiled, for the first time not caring about the teasing from his friends. The feeling of having scored a goal and openly dedicating it to Sarah was strangely freeing.

The rest of the game was a showcase of his talent on the field. As if freed from a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying, Jobe played with a fluidity and creativity that drew applause from the crowd. In the thirty-eighth minute of the second half, he assisted the second goal, sealing the 2–0 victory.

When the final whistle blew, Jobe felt a mix of euphoria from the win and anxiety about what was to come. He knew that, unlike other times, he couldn't simply avoid Sarah. Not after that public gesture. Not after seeing her talking with his parents.

In the locker room, he tried to focus on the team’s celebrations and the quick interviews with journalists. But his mind kept returning to the image of Sarah in the VIP box, wearing his autographed jersey, flashing that smile that seemed made just for him.

"Go on, man," said Eliezer, giving him a friendly push as they finally left the locker room. "Your Brazilian is waiting. And from what Chris told me, your parents are practically ready to adopt her."

"What?" Jobe frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Let’s just say that while you were busy here, your brother was introducing her to everyone as your girlfriend," Chris explained with a mischievous smile. "Apparently, your dad’s already in love with her accent."

Jobe felt a wave of panic. Introducing Sarah as his girlfriend? They hadn’t even kissed yet! What was Jude thinking?

"Relax," Eliezer said, patting his shoulder when he noticed Jobe’s expression. "From what I heard, people just insisted on meeting her after seeing you dedicate the goal."

"What the hell?" Jobe couldn’t hide his confusion.

"So, Mrs. Bellingham got curious to meet the woman who finally conquered her son’s shielded heart," Chris added, amusement all over his face.

"We’re not… it’s not like…" Jobe began, then stopped, not knowing how to define what he and Sarah were to each other.

"Just go," Chris said again, more softly this time. "We all saw the way you look at her. And how she looks at you. Stop fighting it."

With those words echoing in his mind, Jobe walked toward the area where he knew his family — and Sarah — were waiting. With each step, he felt his heart beat harder. It was ridiculous, he thought. He was a professional athlete who regularly performed in front of thousands of people, but the thought of seeing one woman had him panicking.

But it wasn’t just any woman. It was Sarah.

With her golden curls, her musical accent when she spoke English, the way she tilted her head when listening to him with full attention, as if every word he said mattered. Sarah, who somehow managed to see through the walls he had spent years building around himself.

When he finally spotted them in the VIP lounge, Jobe paused for a moment to watch them. His father had his arm draped over Jude’s shoulders, while his mother chatted animatedly with Sarah, who gestured as she spoke, her curls bouncing with the movement. Even from a distance, Jobe could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she tried a little harder to pronounce the words correctly — all signs that she was nervous but determined to make a good impression.

The thought that she was trying so hard for him made something tighten in his chest.

"There’s the star of the game!" his father exclaimed as he saw him approaching.

Everyone turned. Sarah’s smile, when her eyes met his, was a mixture of relief and happiness that made Jobe momentarily forget all his reservations. He greeted his father first, then his brother and mother, exchanging a few words with each of them.

And then, finally, his eyes found Sarah’s again. Jobe couldn’t quite tell what she was feeling, but Sarah focused on her own breathing as she felt her legs tremble slightly as he came closer.

"You came," he said simply, his voice low enough that only she could hear it.

"Surprise," Sarah replied, feeling her English falter once again.

"It really is a surprise. I thought you wouldn’t come!"

"I lied, forgive me," Sarah laughed, biting her lip with a smile.

"Why are you hiding the jersey?" he asked, noticing her zipped-up jacket.

Sarah squinted, making Jobe smile openly, his dimple showing. The gesture made her smile slowly, and feeling all of his family's eyes on her, Sarah opened her jacket, revealing the Sunderland jersey.

Jobe’s eyes immediately darted to a special spot. The dedication: With love, to England’s sunshine. JB 7

The smile that spread across Jobe’s face was unlike any she had ever seen before. There was pride, surprise, and something deeper she couldn’t name.

"It looks better on you than on me," he commented, running his fingers lightly over the fabric, a gesture that sent shivers down Sarah’s spine.

Jobe then turned his attention back to his family.

"Son, what an incredible game! And that moment! I never thought I’d see you do something like that."

"Yeah, little bro, you really surprised us today," Jude added with a mischievous grin. "I barely recognized my usually reserved brother making public declarations."

"It wasn’t a declaration," Jobe protested, flashing a nervous smile, as if trying to hide his embarrassment.

"It was beautiful," Sarah’s soft voice interrupted, her Brazilian accent more pronounced due to her nerves. "No one... has ever done something like that for me before."

Their eyes locked, and for a moment it felt like they were alone in the crowded lobby. Jobe could see every nuance of emotion on her face — the nervousness about being around his family, the insecurity about her English, the genuine happiness at seeing him, the anticipation of what would come next.

"Sarah was just telling us how you gave her that jersey at the first game she attended," his mother commented, bringing Jobe back to reality. "I thought it was such a sweet gesture."

"And she didn’t mention that she sleeps with the jersey every night?" Jude teased, earning a deadly glare from Sarah, whose hands grew sweaty at the revelation.

"I don’t... it’s not exac–" she began to protest, stumbling over her words.

"It’s okay," Jobe interrupted gently, stepping closer to her. "Jude’s just trying to embarrass you. It’s what he does best."

His brother feigned outrage, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. "I'm just helping you two move past this weird dance you’ve been doing for a while now."

"Son, we invited Sarah to have dinner with us tonight," his father interjected, saving them from more teasing. "Do you mind? We thought it would be nice to get to know her better."

The question caught Jobe off guard. A family dinner? With Sarah? It was a big step, especially considering they hadn’t even defined what they were to each other yet. But when he looked at her and saw the mix of hope and apprehension in her eyes, he realized the idea didn’t scare him as much as it should.

"Of course," he answered, surprising himself with how natural it sounded. "If Sarah’s comfortable with it."

"I’d love to," she replied, a shy smile playing on her lips.

"Great," his mother beamed. "We’re heading to the restaurant at your hotel. We already arranged for you to skip the team dinner, so we’ll go with Jude. You can go with Sarah and meet us there?"

Jobe nodded, recognizing his mother’s transparent maneuver to give them a moment alone. "We’ll see you there, then."

As his parents and Jude walked away, promising to meet them at the hotel, Jobe finally found himself alone with Sarah. The silence between them was charged with anticipation.

"You played so well," she finally said, her voice soft. "That goal was amazing."

"Thank you for coming, meu bem," he replied, taking a step closer to her. "I wasn’t sure you’d be here."

Sarah couldn’t hide her smile at hearing Jobe use the Portuguese nickname she had taught him with such delight.

"I just bet it would be cool," she explained. "I thought you’d like to see me cheering for you." She hesitated, biting her lower lip. "I’m sorry about your parents... I didn’t plan on meeting them like this, it all happened so fast and..."

"It’s okay," Jobe interrupted her softly. "They seem to like you."

"Your mom is very kind," Sarah smiled, relaxing a little. "But I’m nervous about my English with them... sometimes I can’t find the right words and..."

Seeing her anxiety build, Jobe did something he had been wanting to do since he first saw her in the box. He closed the final distance between them and pulled her into a hug. He felt her body stiffen in surprise for a second before she relaxed against him, her arms wrapping around his waist.

Leaning down slightly, Jobe buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing her in deeply. Her scent — a mix of some floral perfume and something uniquely Sarah — wrapped around him like a warm blanket on a cold day. It was comforting and thrilling at the same time. "Your English is perfect," he murmured against her skin, feeling her shiver slightly. "And my parents already adore you. Just like..." he stopped, the words catching in his throat. He wasn’t ready to say it out loud yet.

Sarah pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, their faces inches apart. "Just like...?" she encouraged, a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

Jobe swallowed hard, feeling another barrier inside him crumble. "Just like I'm starting to adore you," he finished, his voice low, almost a whisper.

The smile that lit up her face was like a sunrise — gradual, warm, and utterly breathtaking. A different Sarah appeared before him, lighter and unburdened.

"It took you a while to admit that, English boy," she teased, her hand reaching up to gently touch his face, making his heart skip a beat.

"I'm afraid," he admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "Of how you make me feel. Of how you seem to see through all my defenses."

Sarah nodded, understanding. "I know. And I'm not in a hurry." Her fingers traced the line of his jaw.

He smiled, a genuine smile that he rarely showed anyone. "This shirt really looks much better on you," Jobe commented, unable to take his eyes off Sarah. "Way too beautiful!"

"You need to stop making me blush, British boy. You know I can still return it... if you want," Sarah replied, playfully.

"Don't take it off again," Jobe said, surprising himself. "It really suits you."

Sarah took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "You know, Jobe, for someone so skilled on the field, you're terribly hesitant off of it."

The comment caught him by surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you look at me like I'm both something you desperately want and something that terrifies you. Beyond what we feel." She tilted her head, studying him. "Am I wrong?"

Her honesty left him momentarily speechless. It was exactly how he felt, but he never expected her to notice it so clearly.

"I..." he started, but stopped, unsure of how to continue.

Sarah smiled, understanding. "It's okay. You don't have to explain. I just want you to know that I'm really not in a rush." She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers again. "And I'm not as scary as I seem."

Her touch was warm, real, anchored in the present moment. Jobe felt another barrier tremble, like an old wall finally giving way to time.

"Shall we go? My parents are going to start imagining things if we take too long."

"Oh, sure. Do you have some locker room fetish you need to fulfill?" Sarah asked, playfully, but just looking at Jobe and analyzing his expression had both of them laughing. "Joooooobe."

"What? I can dream," he shrugged, unable to hide the mischievous smile on his lips.

"Come on, for God's sake," she agreed, laughing, but keeping her hand intertwined with his. "And after dinner... maybe we can talk more about that idea of pointing at me on the field."

Jobe felt the embarrassment take over him again, but he didn't let go of her hand as they walked toward the parking lot. There were still many barriers to break, many fears to face. But for the first time in a long time, the idea of letting his guard down didn’t seem so scary.

Not when it was Sarah waiting on the other side.

***

The night had been unforgettable. Sunderland's game ended in victory, with a spectacular goal that sent the fans into a frenzy. Dinner with Jobe’s family, which had initially made Sarah extremely nervous, turned out to be an enjoyable experience, though still challenging. Jobe, on the other hand, felt like the happiest person in the world seeing Sarah interact with his family, even though she tried to mask her anxiety. Her presence in such a personal and important setting for him meant more than anyone could imagine.

When dinner ended and everyone started saying their goodbyes, Sarah took a deep breath, gathering the courage to make the invitation she had been rehearsing in her mind since the middle of the meal.

"Do you need to go back to the hotel now?" Sarah asked quietly, as Jobe finished hugging his older brother. Her English still had a strong accent, but the months of daily phone conversations had significantly improved her vocabulary.

Jobe turned to her with a smile that lit up his face. "Actually, yeah. Why?"

Sarah averted her gaze for a moment, nervously biting her lip. "I was thinking maybe... you could keep me company for a while. It's still early."

"I'd love to," Jobe replied, without hesitating for even a second. "Which hotel are you at?"

"The same as yours."

The smile that appeared on Jobe's face at that information was enough to freeze time; Sarah didn't know it yet, but she was very close to breaking down Jobe's walls.

They said their goodbyes to his family, with Denise, Jobe’s mother, hugging Sarah a little tighter than necessary and whispering something in her ear that made Sarah smile shyly. Mark, his father, gave Sarah a friendly pat on the shoulder and a meaningful look at his son.

When they were finally alone, they walked side by side toward the elevators. In the lit hallway, Sarah slowed her pace and turned to face him.

"It’s strange... finally being here... with you," Sarah commented, breaking the silence. "After so many video calls, it almost feels surreal... to just reach out and..." She hesitated, but her fingers brushed the air between them, stopping just inches from his.

Jobe stopped walking, his gaze meeting hers. Here, without the safety of the digital distance, every gesture carried a different weight. The realization that they were only a few steps away from her room, with their rooms separated by only a few meters of hallway, hung between them like an unspoken question.

When they reached Sarah’s room door, the reality of the situation hit them. They were just one step away from being completely alone for the first time, without the hum of the hotel in the background, without anyone around, without the mediation of phone screens, without the option to end the call when the silence became uncomfortable.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Jobe couldn't resist. He stepped up behind Sarah and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the curve of her neck. She felt a shiver run down her spine as he took a deep breath.

"Your scent is amazing," he murmured against her skin, slowly moving to breathe in the scent of her hair. "How do you always smell so good?"

Sarah couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh. "It's just regular shampoo. Nothing special."

"I completely disagree," he replied, still not letting go of her, as if he feared she might vanish if he did. "I think I’m going to stay like this forever."

Sarah felt her heart race at the proximity. Every cell in her body was acutely aware of his presence behind her, the warmth radiating from him, the rhythm of his breath against her hair. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to enjoy that feeling she had imagined so many times during their late-night conversations.

"Are you okay?" Jobe asked, pulling away slightly so she could turn and face him.

"Yeah," she replied, turning in his arms. "It's just... really strange, finally being like this. Without a screen between us."

Jobe smiled, and Sarah realized that his smile was even more beautiful in person than on the video calls. His eyes sparkled in a way no camera could capture.

"You were so nervous at dinner," he commented, gently guiding her to sit on his lap as he adjusted himself on the edge of the bed. "I thought you were going to pass out when my mom asked about your age."

Sarah covered her face with her hands, mortified. "Was it that obvious? I tried to hide it!"

"It was adorable," he assured her, sitting beside her. "At first, I thought it was my dad who was making you nervous."

"Well, I thought it was your dad... that made me nervous, until I met your mom," Sarah confessed, lowering her hands to look at him. "She has that look that... seems to see everything I’m thinking."

Jobe laughed. "And she loved you. Everyone did, actually. My brother has already sent me three messages asking when they'll meet you again."

Sarah felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Really? I was so worried about making... a good impression."

"You could have shown up wearing a dinosaur costume, and they would have still loved you," he joked, gently running his fingers along her arm. "It’s impossible not to like you."

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, they stayed like that, absorbing the closeness, immersed in the reality of finally being together, breathing the same air, sharing the same space.

"Hey," Jobe suddenly said, breaking the moment. "Are you still thinking about that theory I sent you last week? About the government using electromagnetic waves to control people’s sleep patterns?"

"Jooobe, seriously?" Sarah laughed, pushing him onto the bed, unable to believe how he had completely broken the potential mood. She laughed, shaking her head. "Of course. We spent three hours... searching for articles... in the middle of the night. How could I forget?"

"It was fascinating! You can't deny it," he insisted, propping himself up on his elbows, his eyes sparkling in that way she recognized whenever he found something to share with her.

And damn. He looked hot.

"Fascinating, yes, but completely crazy," she replied, trying to find the right words in English. The language barrier was still a challenge, especially when trying to express more complex ideas or subtle nuances. "How did you say it? That they use... what’s the word... frequencies? To make people wake up in the middle of the night?"

"Exactly!" Jobe got excited, leaning forward. "And you have to admit, it makes sense. Why else would so many people have insomnia at the same time?"

"Hmm, I don’t know," Sarah pretended to think. "Maybe because they spend the whole night talking to someone in another city?"

Jobe feigned indignation. "Are you blaming me for your insomnia, Miss Sarah?"

"Maybe," she replied with a teasing smile. "Or maybe it’s the government’s waves."

They laughed together, and the familiarity of that absurd conversation brought comfort. It was like they were back to their late-night phone calls, but infinitely better because now they could see every little detail of each other's expressions, without delay, without blurry pixels.

"Do you want to watch something?" Jobe asked, pointing to the TV in the room.

Sarah nodded. "Sure. You can choose while... I take a quick shower? I’m feeling a little... sticky after all the excitement of the day."

"Perfect," he replied, grabbing the remote as Sarah picked out some clothes from her suitcase.

When Sarah came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, wearing cotton shorts and a loose t-shirt, she found Jobe leaning against the headboard of the bed, with a mischievous smile on his face.

"What’s wrong?" she asked, drying some parts of her hair with the towel.

"I'm finally going to make you watch Star Wars," he announced triumphantly, pointing at the screen where the famous logo and yellow letters were ready to start.

Sarah groaned dramatically. "I knew you were going to take this opportunity!"

"You said you’ve never watched it. It’s practically a crime!"

"Okay, okay," she conceded, moving closer to the bed. "But I can’t promise I’ll stay awake till the end."

Jobe patted the space beside him. "Come on, lie down here. I’ll let you meet the best pillow."

Sarah furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

He tapped his chest, and she laughed. The sound filled the room, making Jobe laugh and beckon her with his finger – Sarah’s heart felt like it missed a beat, but she slowly approached.

He opened his arms, inviting her. "Like this, curled up. It’s the best way to watch Star Wars for the first time."

With her heart racing, Sarah settled beside him, letting him pull her into his chest. The sensation of his body against hers felt both strange and perfectly natural.

The movie began, but after a few minutes, Sarah furrowed her brow. "Jobe, it’s too fast."

"Oh, sorry!" he quickly grabbed the remote and navigated through the menu options. "I’ll put the subtitles in Portuguese."

When the subtitles appeared, Sarah settled more comfortably against him, trying to focus on the movie and not the feeling of his arm around her shoulders, or the warmth radiating from his body, or the steady, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear.

As the movie went on, Sarah allowed herself to relax more and more in Jobe’s arms. The physical closeness, after so many months of emotional and virtual proximity, was both comforting and electrifying. Every small movement, every shift in position sent waves of acute awareness through her body.

At some point, Jobe began absent-mindedly playing with a strand of her hair, wrapping it around his finger. The soft, repetitive touch made Sarah close her eyes briefly, absorbing the sensation.

"Are you paying attention?" he whispered against the top of her head.

"Kind of," Sarah confessed. "It’s hard to concentrate."

"On the movie or something else?" His voice had a playful tone but also carried a hint of tension, as if he was testing the limits of what he could say.

Sarah shifted to look at him, their faces dangerously close. "On everything," she replied honestly. "On you being here with me, after so long imagining what it would be like."

Jobe’s eyes darkened, and he lowered his gaze to her lips. Sarah felt the air between them grow thick, charged with possibilities and repressed desire. They were so close that she could feel his breath on her face, each exhale sending shivers down her spine.

Jobe subtly leaned in, closing the distance between them, his lips almost touching hers now. Sarah could swear she could taste him even before the contact.

At the last second, she turned her face, and his lips brushed lightly against her cheek. Sarah closed her eyes, her heart hammering against her ribs, her breath coming in small, trembling gasps.

Jobe felt a pang of uncertainty when Sarah turned away from the kiss, but the brief contact with the soft skin of her cheek was enough to send an electric shock through his body. He pulled back slightly, giving her space, but still keeping her in his arms.

‘Maybe she’s not ready,’ he thought, trying to calm his racing heart. ‘Or maybe I misread everything.’

But there was no denying the tension between them, the electricity that seemed to crackle in the air every time they touched. The long hours of deep conversations, of shared vulnerability through screens, had created an intimacy that now manifested physically, as if their bodies were magnets with opposite polarities, constantly pulled toward each other.

Sarah, for her part, felt her chest rise and fall quickly, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions overwhelming her. She wanted the kiss – God, how she wanted it – but fear paralyzed her at the last moment. Not fear of Jobe, but fear of what would come after, the intensity of what she felt for him, the implications of letting herself go completely for something that had started in such an unlikely way.

'What if I ruin everything?' she thought, as she pretended to focus on the movie. 'What if, after everything, it’s not like we imagined?'

But the feeling of his arms around her, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the scent of his cologne mixed with something that was essentially Jobe – all these things seemed to pull her toward him, as if the gravity between them had increased exponentially.

On the screen, a space battle was unfolding, but neither of them was really watching. They were hyperconsciously aware of each other, of every little movement, every breath, every heartbeat.

"Sorry," Jobe murmured after several minutes of tense silence. "I shouldn’t have..."

"No," Sarah interrupted, turning to face him again. "Don’t apologize. It’s not that."

Their gazes met, and Sarah saw in those eyes all the vulnerability and desire that she herself felt. A heavy silence fell between them, loaded with unspoken words and unfulfilled wishes.

"What is it, then?" he asked, his voice little more than a rough whisper.

Sarah tried to find the words in English, but gave up. Some things were hard to express even in her native language. Instead, she slowly brought her hand to his face, her fingers softly tracing the line of his jaw. The touch was light as a feather, but filled with intention.

Jobe remained completely still, as if any movement could break the spell of the moment. His eyes never left hers, searching, questioning, waiting.

Sarah felt her whole body hum with anticipation as she leaned toward him again. This time, there was no hesitation in her movements. She closed her eyes and, finally, pressed her lips against his.

The first contact was gentle, almost reverent. A simple brushing of lips that lasted only a second, but felt like it contained entire universes. When she pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, she saw a whirlwind of emotions reflected there – surprise, joy, desire, relief.

Jobe let out a low sound, almost a contained moan, before sliding his hand to the back of her neck and pulling her back into another kiss. This one, unlike the first, had nothing of hesitation or gentleness. It was years of repressed desire, months of anticipation, weeks of anxiety – all culminating in this moment, this contact.

His lips moved against hers with controlled urgency, as if trying to hold back, but failing. Sarah felt her body respond, instinctively leaning closer to him, her fingers now tangling in the short hair on his head.

The kiss deepened naturally, their tongues meeting for the first time, exploring, tasting, discovering. Sarah couldn’t help but let out a sigh of pleasure when she felt his tongue slide against hers, sending waves of heat through her body. It was as if every nerve ending had awakened simultaneously.

Jobe’s hands, which had until then remained in safe places – one on her neck, the other on her waist – began to explore timidly. He slid his fingers under the hem of her t-shirt, touching the warm skin of her back, and Sarah arched involuntarily at the contact.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured against her lips, between kisses. "So, so beautiful."

Sarah felt a wave of confidence wash over her with his words. She shifted, adjusting her position to sit on his lap, one leg on either side of his hips. Jobe inhaled sharply at the new proximity, his hands instinctively finding her thighs, squeezing gently.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his breath quickening, his lips swollen from the kisses.

"More than okay," she replied, looking at him as if she were the most precious thing he had ever seen. "This is... perfect."

They kissed again, more deeply this time, their hands exploring with more boldness. Sarah felt his hands slide down her thighs, slowly rising, stopping respectfully at the hem of her shorts, as if asking for permission.

In response, she broke the kiss just long enough to pull her own t-shirt over her head, revealing herself to him. Jobe froze for a moment, his eyes scanning every exposed inch, with an expression of pure fascination, particularly on her breasts.

"Are you real?" he whispered, almost to himself, before bringing his hands to her bare waist, his thumbs tracing soft circles on her sensitive skin, gradually moving up toward her breasts.

Sarah smiled, feeling powerful with the effect she clearly had on him. “Very real,” she replied, helping him remove his shirt as well.

The skin-to-skin contact as she leaned in to kiss him again drew moans from both of them. It was an indescribable sensation, finally feeling the warmth of his body directly against hers, with no barriers. His hands explored her back, down to the curve of her waist, up again to finally touch her breasts.

“Perfect,” he murmured, as his thumb slid over her nipple, making her arch her back in response. “Made for me.”

He met her gaze, and Sarah felt herself melt at the intensity she found there. There was something deeply intimate about the way he never took his eyes off hers as his hands explored her body, as if he wanted to memorize every reaction, every sigh he provoked in her.

The remaining clothes were removed one by one, with pauses for kisses and caresses on each new piece of skin revealed. When her hand found the obvious bulge in his pants, Jobe let out a guttural moan, low and restrained, that made her whole body tingle with desire.

When they were finally completely naked, Jobe carefully reversed their positions, laying Sarah on the pillows and hovering over her for a moment, just looking at her with reverence. He stood over her in the missionary position, allowing their gazes to remain connected.

“I've dreamt about it,” he confessed, his voice husky with desire. “So many nights... you have no idea.” Sarah reached out to touch his face. “Me too,” she replied, feeling the heat rise through her body with the intensity of the moment. “Shit. Every day.”

He lowered his head to kiss her again, more gently this time, while his hands explored her body adoringly. Every touch seemed calculated to discover what made her sigh, what made her arch her back, what made her moan his name.

“May I?” he asked in a whisper, sliding his hand between her legs, his eyes never leaving hers.

Sarah nodded, unable to form coherent words as he began to touch her intimately, slowly discovering how to pleasure her. He carefully watched every expression on her face, adjusting his movements according to her responses.

“You're so beautiful like this,” he murmured, watching her squirm under his touch. “I want to see you fall apart for me, I want to hear my name on your lips.”

She couldn't resist for long under his dedication. When the pleasure hit her, Sarah dug her nails into his back, leaving marks that he would carry with pride for days to come. His name escaped her lips like a repeated prayer.

Jobe smiled, pleased with himself, before moving down, tracing a path of kisses down her body. “I want to taste you,” he said, looking down at her from between his legs. “May I?”

Before she could answer fully, he was already tasting her, his tongue exploring every inch with dedication and reverence. Sarah buried her fingers in his hair, arching up against his mouth, unable to contain the sounds of pleasure escaping her lips. Jobe seemed lost in her, as if he could spend hours there, completely devoted to pleasuring her.

When he finally pulled out, Sarah's body was already trembling with anticipation. He reached for the protection on his pants, quickly preparing himself before turning back to her, positioning himself between her legs.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his tone gentle despite the obvious need in his gaze.

“I am,” Sarah nodded, pulling him down for a deep kiss.

Their gazes met as he slowly joined her, moving with extreme caution at first, on the lookout for any sign of discomfort. “Tell me if I need to slow down,” he whispered against her lips.

But Sarah only wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, an action that drew a deep moan from Jobe's throat. He set a deliberately slow pace at first, savoring every sensation, every movement, every moan that escaped her lips.

“You're so perfect,” he whispered in her ear, between restrained moans. “So perfect for me... as if you were made for me...”

The intimacy of the moment went far beyond the physical. It was the culmination of months of emotional connection, of vulnerability shared through cell phone screens, now finally realized in the meeting of their bodies. Their eye contact remained almost uninterrupted, intensifying every sensation, every emotion.

“You're doing so well for me,” he murmured, words of praise that made her body respond in ways she had never experienced before. “My sweet girl... so perfect...”

As the need grew, the pace gradually increased. Her hands gripped his back, her nails leaving soft marks on his skin, while he alternated between burying his face in her neck and looking directly into her eyes, all the while murmuring words of adoration.

“Please tell me this is good for you,” he begged, his voice almost pleading. “Tell me I'm making you feel good...”

“It's amazing,” she managed to reply between moans. “You're amazing, Jobe... don't stop...”

Those words seemed to ignite something inside him. His movements became more intense, more determined, but without losing that connection, that undivided attention to her pleasure. His hands explored every inch of her body they could reach, as if trying to memorize every curve, every texture.

When he felt she was close to the edge again, he slid a hand between their bodies, touching her in a way that intensified her pleasure. “I want you to get there again,” he whispered. “I want to feel you come apart around me... give it for me, baby.”

The climax hit them almost simultaneously - her first, with a muffled cry against his shoulder, and then him, with a guttural moan and her name repeated like a sacred mantra. Jobe stayed connected to her for long moments afterwards, their bodies still trembling with the waves of pleasure, their jagged breaths mingling in the small space between their faces.

When they finally separated, Jobe didn't pull away completely. He lay down next to her and immediately pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her back. “Wasn't I too... intense?”

Sarah smiled against his chest, feeling completely satiated and protected. “It was perfect,” she murmured, still trying to normalize her breathing. “Better than I could have imagined.”

He kissed the top of her head, his fingers now sliding down her body, touching every little mark, every freckle, every little scar with reverence. “You were amazing to me,” he whispered. “So incredible... my sweet girl...”

They stayed like that for a few minutes, just absorbing each other's presence, until Jobe gently pulled away. “I'll get you a towel,” he said, kissing her softly before getting up.

When he returned from the bathroom, he cleaned her up with care and affection before returning to the bed and pulling her back into his arms. Sarah nestled against him, fitting perfectly into his embrace.

“I think we missed an important part of the movie,” he joked, indicating with his head the television where the Star Wars credits were silently rolling.

Sarah laughed, tracing lazy circles on his chest with her fingertips. “We can watch it again tomorrow.”

Jobe's smile faltered slightly. “Tomorrow... I have to go back to Sunderland tomorrow,” he reminded, a tone of sadness evident in his voice. “And you to Manchester.”

Sarah felt a tightness in her chest as she remembered this fact. After so much closeness, after finally overcoming that barrier, the idea of separating seemed almost painful.

"What time do you need to leave?" she asked, her voice small.

"We're leaving in the afternoon," he replied, pulling her closer as if trying to merge their bodies. "I should head back to my room before the night check. Actually... I should already be there now."

Sarah lifted her face to look at him. "Are you going to get in trouble?"

He smiled, gently touching her face. "It would be worth any trouble," he answered sincerely, then sighed. "But probably not. I'll say I was with my family."

She nodded, leaning back against him again. "I don't want you to go," she confessed softly.

"I don't want to go either," he admitted, intertwining his fingers with hers. "I spent so much time imagining what it would be like to be with you like this... and now it feels impossible to pull away."

"Then stay!"

***

As the rising sun began to cast its first rays through the gap in the curtain, Jobe slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the tangle of golden curls spread across the pillow next to him. Sarah was fast asleep, breathing softly, her face serene, and her lips slightly parted.

Jobe allowed himself to watch her for a moment. Her curls glistened in the touch of the morning light, creating the impression of a solar halo around her face. ‘She really does look like the sun,’ he thought, recalling the countless times he'd mentally compared her hair to golden rays.

He stretched his arm to grab his phone and noticed there were already several messages. Three were from Jude.

[07:15] Jude: Still alive, or did she kill you from exhaustion?

[07:45] Jude: You need to get back to your room before anyone notices you didn’t sleep there, remember? Your coach is going to kill you.

[08:10] Jude: Jobe, answer me. I just want to know if I need to come up with an excuse if I run into your coach downstairs.

Jobe smiled, typical of his older brother – always worried, always looking out for him, even when he pretended to just be being practical. He quickly typed:

[08:35] Jobe: I’m alive. More alive than ever, actually. I’ll make it in time, don’t worry.

[08:35] Jude: So, she’s really special then. Never seen you lose track of time because of someone.

[08:36] Jobe: She’s... different. I��ll tell you later.

Jobe set the phone aside and turned his attention back to Sarah. His fingers gently traced the contour of her shoulder, feeling the soft skin. He had never been someone for deep connections or opening up easily. But with Sarah, from the very first moment, something had been different. Like there was an invisible thread pulling him toward her, something he couldn’t – and didn’t want to – resist.

Sarah shifted under his touch, her eyes slowly opening, adjusting to the light. When she recognized him, a sleepy smile appeared on her lips.

"Good morning," she murmured, her voice hoarse from sleep.

"Good morning, sunshine," Jobe replied, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

Sarah stretched like a lazy cat, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Were you watching me sleep?" she asked, with a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

"Guilty," he admitted. "Your curls look like gold when the light hits them. Like sunrays."

Jobe knew how to make Sarah blush, and she hid her face against his chest. He noticed how different she was in the morning — softer, more vulnerable, almost shy. A completely opposite version of the confident woman from the night before. That duality fascinated him.

"What time do you need to leave?" Sarah asked, her voice muffled against his skin.

The question brought a weight to the atmosphere. Jobe felt her body tense slightly, as if she were bracing herself for the goodbye, for the inevitable moment when their bubble would burst.

"We still have a few hours," he replied, running his fingers through her curls. "I ordered breakfast in the room. I don't want to leave here yet."

Sarah lifted her gaze to him, her eyes revealing a mix of relief and uncertainty. Jobe could see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. Was she wondering if she was just another one for him? If what they shared meant something more than just the night before?

"What is it?" he asked softly, touching her chin.

Sarah bit her lower lip, hesitant. "Nothing, just..." she began, but stopped.

"Tell me," Jobe gently insisted. "What's going through that head?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "It's just that... this was really intense for me. And I don't know what it means for you. If it was just... you know, a one-night thing."

There was a fragility in her voice that made Jobe’s heart tighten. He had never been good with words, always preferring actions. But in that moment, he knew he needed to find the right words.

"Sarah," he said, holding her face in his hands. "I'm not good at this. I'm not good at opening up or getting to know new people. But from the moment I saw you, I knew it would be different with you. This isn’t just a one-night thing for me."

Her eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and hope. "Really?”

In response, Jobe pulled her closer, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss. He felt her body melt against his, the vulnerability of the morning giving way to something hotter, more intense.

Her hands began to explore his body, and he felt desire growing again, as if all the hours spent the night before hadn’t satisfied anything, only increased the hunger they felt for each other.

"I want you," he whispered against her lips. "Again. Now."

Sarah responded with a soft moan, her legs wrapping around his waist as Jobe pulled her up onto him. The sunlight now bathed the entire room, illuminating their intertwined bodies.

There was something different about this moment — an urgency mixed with tenderness, as if every touch was both a goodbye and a promise. Sarah arched against him, her golden curls falling like a curtain around their faces, creating a world just for them.

Jobe gently turned her, placing her beneath him, his eyes never leaving hers. There was a raw intensity in his gaze as he moved, each motion deliberate, each response from her body engraving itself into his memory.

"Jobe," she gasped, her nails leaving light marks on his back.

He savored her name on her lips, the way it sounded like a prayer, a confession. He had never felt anything so right, so complete. When pleasure enveloped them, it wasn’t just physical, but something that seemed to overflow, filling every empty space Jobe never knew existed inside him.

Then, as they caught their breath, intertwined under the disheveled sheets, Jobe traced invisible patterns on her skin. "I want to show you something," he said, suddenly.

Sarah watched him with curiosity as he stood up and went to the bathroom. She heard the sound of running water, and soon Jobe reappeared, extending his hand to her.

"Shower?" he invited with a smile.

Sarah took his hand, letting him guide her to the bathroom where the steam was already beginning to fill the room. Jobe noticed how she seemed small next to him, her delicacy contrasting with his athletic frame.

Without warning, he lifted her in his arms, provoking a small gasp of surprise followed by her laughter.

"What are you doing?" Sarah asked, her arms automatically wrapping around his neck.

"I’ve been dying to do this with you," he replied, carrying her into the shower.

The hot water fell over them, and Sarah closed her eyes, savoring the sensation. Jobe watched, fascinated, as her golden curls darkened with the water, sticking to the skin of her shoulders and back.

He grabbed the soap and began to glide it over her shoulders, turning the shower into a ritual of care and intimacy. Sarah sighed under his touch, her eyes opening to meet his.

"I never imagined you’d be like this," she confessed.

"Like what?"

"So... present. So attentive." Her hands slid up his wet chest. "Football players are usually known for being... distant, only concerned with themselves."

Jobe felt a tightening in his chest. Was she comparing him to others? Had she been just one among many for him in the past?

"I'm not like the others," was all he could say, his voice lower than he'd intended.

Sarah seemed to notice the change in his mood and moved closer, the water running between their bodies. "I know," she whispered. "That's why... that's why I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"That it will end the moment you walk out that door. That it will just be a beautiful, fleeting memory."

The vulnerability in her voice hit Jobe hard. He had never cared before about what was left behind. But now, the thought of Sarah thinking she was just another one made his stomach churn.

"Look at me," he asked, gently lifting her chin. "I live in Sunderland, and you live in Manchester. It's not the end of the world. It’s just a few hours away, not another planet."

A small smile appeared on her lips. "Are you suggesting that...?"

A knock on the door interrupted the moment. Breakfast had arrived.

They dried off and dressed quickly, Jobe wrapping Sarah in one of the hotel’s fluffy robes, which seemed to swallow her whole. The sight of her like that, with wet hair and a makeup-free face, swimming in her oversized robe, made something inside him melt.

"You look adorable," he said, kissing the tip of her nose as he opened the door for room service.

They had breakfast in bed, feeding each other pieces of fruit and stealing kisses between sips of coffee. The atmosphere was lazy and intimate, as if they were isolated from the rest of the world.

It was the shrill ring of Jobe’s phone that finally broke the bubble. Chris’s name flashed on the screen.

"I have to take this," he said, throwing an apologetic look at Sarah before answering the call. "Hey, Chris."

"Where the hell are you, man? The bus leaves in an hour, and the coach is already asking about you. He said you were in the room talking to your family, but he doesn’t seem convinced."

Jobe felt the weight of reality return. "I’m coming down. I’ll be there in ten minutes."

"You better be," Chris replied. "She must really be special if you're risking the coach’s wrath like this."

Jobe looked at Sarah, who was silently watching the conversation, a piece of toast forgotten in her hand. "She is," he simply replied before hanging up.

The silence that followed seemed loaded with all the unspoken words between them. Jobe stood up and started gathering his scattered belongings.

"I have to go," he said the obvious, hating the finality in his voice.

Sarah nodded, putting the plate aside and hugging her knees to her chest. "I know."

Jobe stopped what he was doing and sat beside her on the bed. "Hey," he softly called. "This isn’t goodbye." Sarah tried to smile, but didn’t reach her eyes. "People always say that."

"I’m not 'people,'" Jobe retorted, holding her face in his hands. "Look, I don’t know exactly what’s happening between us, but I know I don’t want it to end here. It’s not just distance that will keep me away from you."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, Sarah couldn’t hide her disbelief. "Do you really want..."

"I want much more than that," he admitted, surprised by his own honesty. "I want to know you. For real. All the details, all the stories. I want to know what makes you laugh and what keeps you awake at night."

A genuine smile finally lit up Sarah’s face. "I want that too."

Jobe finished getting dressed, aware of her gaze following every move he made. When he was ready, he sat next to her again, taking her hands in his.

"I need to go now," he said. "But before..."

He pulled out his phone and opened the camera. "I haven’t forgotten the picture," he joked, trying to ease the tension in the moment.

Sarah laughed and took a few portraits. During one of their long calls, he had promised he would keep a picture of Sarah to remind her how much better she would look after meeting him. A boost of confidence, but not a lie.

When he handed the phone back, Jobe immediately went to check the photos. Smiling, in a different way. But he didn’t see when Sarah took the opportunity to capture the exact moment.

"Two can play this game," she said, a smile on her lips.

"Now you have mine too," Jobe couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

Sarah had an interesting effect on him.

She nodded, biting her lower lip to hold back the emotion. Jobe leaned in and kissed her, a slow and deep kiss that carried all the feelings he still didn’t know how to express in words. He savored the taste of her, memorizing the sensation, the aroma, the texture of her soft lips against his.

When he pulled away, he saw her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Are you going to run away from me, Sarah Lima?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

She shook her head. "No. And you?"

Jobe smiled, a genuine smile that lit up his eyes. "You’re going to need a lot more than living in another city to get rid of me."

With one last kiss, he stood up and grabbed his hoodie. At the door, he turned to look at her one last time, wrapped in the oversized robe, her golden curls beginning to dry in rebellious spirals, her eyes fixed on him.

"See you soon," he promised. It wasn’t goodbye. It was just the beginning.

As he descended in the elevator, Jobe sent a message to Jude:

[09:47] Jobe: I think I just met someone who could change everything.

[09:48] Jude: Finally, my little brother is growing up. I can’t wait to hear this story.

Jobe smiled at his phone, slipping it into his pocket. For the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to the future and the possibilities it brought. Sarah wasn’t just another one. She was the beginning of something new, something he was willing to explore, no matter the distance between them.

dividers by @cafekitsune

pictures from pinterest and ig

If you want to join the tag, let me know. Until next time 💋

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superfluouskeys · 7 months ago

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what do we think ladies should i try to shuffle my way to the farmers market in the morning for a large bag of kettle corn

#for ref it's normally about a 15-20 min walk #i think it might be a little too much to handle but...........#counterpoint: i really want kettle corn LOL #ig i could get an uber but that seems kind of silly for one thing dsfkjnsdjkf #personal

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flickeringquip · 3 months ago

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Convince the Fighter abstinence is bad for his health. There may be consequences(?) <<

Part 2 of this post, feat. @thedolmainblog's Blythe

(smut continues below the cut + link for the full nsfw aster pic)

(full & uncropped picture here)

(1) Arrive at Blythe's flat.

It's only when the engine cuts out from beneath you that you realize you're shaking, clinging to Blythe as tightly as you can. It would be easy to assume it was from some manner of fright or nerves from the reckless ride—

But it was certainly not fear that had your face burning beneath your helmet, caught somewhere between dazed by the experience and mortified at the very real worry you'd left a stain on the leather seat of Blythe's bike.

Blythe who disentangles himself from you with little difficulty despite your death grip, dismounting in a smooth, practised motion before turning sharply back in your direction. A few seconds later finds you free of your helmet — and realizing all at once that he hadn't worn one.

"You shouldn't ride one of these things without a h—" The concerned admonishment slips free of you before you even really think about it, but your scolding is interrupted when the Fighter hoists you onto his shoulder like a particularly prized sack of potatoes, your voice pitching high as you cling to the back of his shirt, "—elMET!"

(1) And once again you're along for the ride as Blythe makes for his apartment with the same single-minded focus as before.

You expect this ride to be much shorter than the last, and it is, but you can't help but be a little confused when you aren't set down as Blythe steps into his apartment like you'd been expecting.

It's a confusion that only grows when you remain slung over his shoulder as he locks his door. As he crosses the length of his apartment. As he steps into what you assume to be his bedroom.

He only lets you down when it's to drop you the short distance to his bed, leaving you to blink up at him as he whips his shirt off and tosses it somewhere out of your line of sight.

(1) Get a little distracted ogling Blythe's chest and biceps.

Look.

The man is shredded.

You may be a little restrained compared to some other residents of this hell hole, but you do have eyes. Eyes that are all too happy dip as Blythe shoves his trousers down his hips, and you aren't sure if he had simply skipped on boxers or if they went down with the pants, but it's a question that'll have to wait, because—

(1) Turns out Blythe was very proportional.

In the span of time it takes for you to force yourself to stop gawking at him, Blythe closes the distance between the two of you once more, stripping you from the top down with the same ruthless efficiency he'd rid himself of his own clothes. The last to go are your own pant and panties, tugged off in one go that leaves you splayed on your back on his bed, more exposed in front of someone than you've been in a long time.

"It's-" Your tongue sticks to a suddenly dry mouth as you push yourself into a seated position just in time for the Fighter to lift one knee to the bed — your voice pulls his attention up from your body so fast it almost startles you, the intensity in his gaze more than enough to have you squirming a little beneath his attention, "It's been a bit for me, that is, since the last time I, y'know— I mean, not as long as it's been for you of course—"

After transitioning to working for Landry full time, you had seen no need to continue doing sex work on the side; working for the Criminal had proven more than profitable enough, and you didn't even have to see Bailey's stupid face anymore thanks to automatic deposits. And without that pressure to constantly have to make more money, you simply had found your interest in sex greatly reduced.

You weren't unhinged about it like someone — and besides, you weren't part demon, so it's not like being abstinent would've even hurt you the same way — but it wasn't uncommon for you to go months and months between your little dalliances. You'd never experienced sexual attraction quite like most of your peers, and you found that now that it wasn't a transaction, you generally needed to get to know the person before you'd even really think about sex.

(1) Which was really all to say: you weren't fitting him anywhere without some prep first.

The moment you opened your mouth to offer to handle it yourself (look, you'd never really gotten the hang of the whole 'rely on others' thing), a yelp stole free of you instead. Why?

It probably had something to do with how Blythe grabs your thighs and yanks you towards the end of the bed, looking for the world like he'd heard the words you'd been about to say and found them truly, deeply insulting.

And then his gaze dips between down to your legs as he hoists each of your thighs over one of his shoulders, you, well—

(1) You're not sure what's going to kill you faster: the sudden shocks of intense arousal or the overwhelming embarrassment.

And you just wanted it on the record that you're hardly some blushing virgin, and while you have far more experience giving oral than receiving it, you had been eaten out before. It was just. . . a long time ago. By a client you really hadn't liked much.

And yeah, fine, you are blushing, but it's because this is Blythe, who you'd formed something resembling a friendship just by proxy of co-existing in the same spaces long enough for you to get a little attached — even if you hadn't really thought he felt the same. It had never bothered you, if the people you cared about reciprocated the feeling; you'd managed to shake the guilt over the years, but the caretaking habits had held fast. And it had been nice, knowing someone else who had clear, simple loyalties — him to Aiden, you to Landry. You didn't have to really worry about navigating weird backstabbing bullshit, and if down the line your respective employers' relationship turned sour, well. . .

. . .There wouldn't have been hard feelings, at least.

(But wow, that's an anxiety that's gonna haunt you later, isn't it?)

Which was ALL to say, you think you have a pretty solid grasp on what's about to happen as Blythe yanks you a bit closer, close enough that the feel of his breath has your thighs jolting a little overtop his shoulders.

(1) It only takes one lap of his tongue for those confident expectations of yours to Go Out. The Fucking. Window.

Because you were so wrong, holy shit, you were so wrong it's not even funny, you hadn't even come close up realizing what you were in for—

But how could you have possibly known he'd be this good? That it would only take a couple minutes for you to be squirming something fierce in his hold, mewling as his tongue laves through slick, sensitive folds to flick against your clit. That it would take barely a few minutes more to find yourself cumming embarrassingly fast, hips jerking fruitlessly in his hold as he keeps your climax going for as long as physically possible, pausing only when you slump in his hold, breathing hard.

". . .Why on earth are you so good at that?" The words spill out of you as soon as you have enough air for them, an arm tossed up and over your eyes because you aren't sure you could survive whatever sight he must make between your legs right now, "You've been abstinent for like— Ack!"

The startled squeak that leaves you is far from dignified, but that's a hard thing to maintain when Blythe slides your thighs off his shoulders — only to push them up towards your chest instead, making use of your flexibility to all but remove your ability to squirm and wiggle as he holds you in that position with just his hands.

. . . It's both a little insulting and incredibly enticing how little effort it takes him to keep you pinned down like this.

(1) That's the last coherent thought you have for awhile, because—

Blythe isn't satisfied with only making you cum on his tongue once. The man eats you out like a man posssessed, and each new noise he pulls from you only seemed to encourage him. And when he closes his lips around your clit with a moan that you feel all the way to your core and you're all but thrown into your next orgasm, he works you through it and keeps going until the next one, until your thighs are trembling in his grasp and you keen loudly enough for the sound to echo throughout his room. It's only then that he at last pulls away, and even the groan that escapes him is enough to have you whimpering from sensitivity.

Your legs feel like jello when he finally releases them, pleasure long having robbed your limbs of any semblance of strength. For all that you haven't really done anything, you feel like you've run a marathon, flushed and panting. Blythe's palms are rough against your skin as he smoothes his hands down the backs of your still faintly-trembling thighs, a soothing gesture—

And one that is very at odds with the salacious way he licks his lips and the ravenous glint in his eyes.

(1) Which is obviously a great time for you to realize that you had yet to even really touch him, let alone help him release all that pent up stress form his abstinence.

"Do you want—" A true seductress you are, truly a vixen to be feared, your words winded and blurted as your hand meets his thigh and sweeps upwards, "I could suck you off—?"

Your fingers don't quite get to brush against him before you find your hand caught in his grasp, a full-body shudder rolling down your spine when Blythe growls and guides both of your hands above your head, pressing both wrists hard into his sheets with one hand in clear command — stay — before letting go.

You- you stay.

"Next time," His voice is even rougher than usual, guttural in a way that would've made your thighs clench, had he not already reduced them to jello — he splays a hand over your belly that feels hot enough to brand, something in you coiling hot and tight beneath your skin, "Only place 'm gonna cum tonight is inside you."

(1) This man was going to fucking kill you.

A fact you become more and more sure of when Blythe hits you with that fucking bombshell and does not immediately fuck you into next week, because first he has to loosen you up a little first.

Any attempts on your end to convince him you probably don't need any more prep are utterly ignored as he works one, and then two fingers inside of you — and, to his credit and despite your assurances, even with you all but dripping off his wrist thanks to his earlier affections, there's just enough of a stretch to it to make you shift in discomfort.

And for all that you might have expected him to call you on being wrong about how ready you might have been, Blythe seems to instead throw all of that energy into actually accomplishing that goal. There's a level of meticulous care to the careful way he works you open that you wouldn't have thought possible for someone in his state, and it does things to you, things that have you clenching around his fingers with a shivery little moan.

(1) The sound seems to chip away at the remnants of restraint you're not even sure how he's been hanging onto.

Blythe fingers you through two more orgasms — once with his thumb pressing sinful circles around your swollen clit and another by fucking his fingers and curling them into a spot that makes your legs shake with every stroke — before you start to crack.

Like you'd been the one who'd had a decade-long stint of abstinence.

"—Please," There's just enough desperation in your voice to bring Blythe to a pause as he teased a third finger against your entrance, one trembling leg hooked over his forearm to keep you spread wide for his touch, "I'm ready, I-I promise I am, please Blythe, I want- I need you to—"

Blythe seems to freeze above you, but you keep pushing, because you're not sure how much more of this you'll possibly be able to survive but you know you have to at least accomplish the singular thing you'd set out to when you'd kissed him.

(1) "I need you to fuck me, Blythe, please—!"

Even if you hadn't already been spread too thin to have room for embarrassment, you simply wouldn't have had time to even feel things like that with how fast Blythe sets upon you. The words have barely slipped past your lips when you find them claimed, the kiss as ravenous as the man himself as he hitches your thighs up around his hips, the heavy weight of his cock a brand against your dripping sex that has you both moaning in tandem.

Blythe doesn't leave you in suspense, driven by a lust you barely imagine as he lines himself up and pushes forward with a groan so deep in his chest you can feel it through him and it's—

It's a lot.

Your arms twine tight around his neck as your legs squeeze tight against his hips, needing something to ground you against the almost dizzying sense of fullness as Blythe sinks deeper inside of you inch by agonizing, amazing inch. You realize at once why he thought to prep you to three fingers, but it is not pain that has your nails scrabbling against his back as you cling tighter to him.

It's the way every inch he sinks deeper has you pulsing around his cock; the way his weight above you presses you down into his sheets like he never wants to part from you; the way his lips suck bruising marks into your pulse; the way he sounds, the shuddering gasps and broken groans breathed right into your ear—

(1) And above it all it's the words spilling from him like the sweat across your brows, rough and breathless and adoring.

"Fuck, you feel—"

"You're so—"

"Perfect, fuck, Aster, you're perfect—"

And it's his fault, it really is, it's his fault because you're already so sensitive, so hyper-aware of his everything, and what right did he have to say your name like that? To talk to you like that? Of course you find yourself pushed to the very edge just as you feel him press flush against the back of your thighs, and realizing you'd taken every last inch of him does things to the both of you.

"Blythe—" Your voice quivers alongside the rest of you, his name nearly a keen as tension winds tighter in your middle, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to hold yourself together just a little bit longer—

(1) Only for them to fly open with a yelp at a stinging smack to your hip.

"Eyes on me," Blythe chooses then to begin to pull back, establishing a rhythm that's slow but deep as you shiver and squeeze around his cock, his words half-groan, half-command, "Want to watch you— cum."

His hips snap forward with a force that steals the breath from your lungs, feeling what scant control you'd mustered beginning to slip as you turn your burning cheek to the side despite his demand—

Only for the sound to taper off into a whimper when strong fingers catch you just under your jaw and turn you back to face him with a strength that brooks no room for argument and the barest little squeeze that sets your already racing heart beating even faster.

Your lashes flutter unsteadily, vision blurring as you desperately try to hold your pleasure at bay when every slam of Blythe's hips threatens to send you careening over the edge.

"Aster," One of his hands slips down from your hip, and your whole body jolts beneath with a stuttering cry as his thumb presses into your clit with tight, devastating little circles, "Cum for me."

(1) And damn him, you do.

A pleasure crashes through you that blinds you to all else; light splintering through a prism as waves of heat burn through your veins. Some distant part of you is sure you're going to be mortified by the noises you're making right now, sure to wake his neighbors, but you cannot stop them anymore that you could the climax currently shattering you to pieces.

And throughout it all, Blythe's rhythm only grows more desperate, the sordid sound nearly as loud as you as he fucks you deeper into his bed — and beneath it all, you can hear his voice, a strained mantra of curses as his fingers squeeze and shake around your hips.

(1) And all at once, even beneath the all-consuming tide of your climax, you're filled with a fierce, singular desire: make Blythe cum — isn't that why you'd come?

(a few times, at this point.)

"Blythe, p-please—" It's all you can do to mewl the words, your voice raw from all your cries and still shuddering through your own release; it takes everything you have to focus up on him with blurry eyes, to keep them on him like he'd wanted because you want to be good for him, "You p-promised— wanna feel you cum i-inside, please—!"

"Fuck—" He tenses above you, every muscle taut as his his hips slam into once, twice more—

Before a scalding heat bursts inside of you as Blythe makes a noise so relieved he sounds almost pained by it, fucking you through his orgasm while the feel of him has you whimpering a new, aftershocks of your own pleasure skittering up your spine.

(1) You all but melt into his sheets, feeling well-fucked and accomplished.

Blythe's lips meet yours in a kiss sweet enough to make your chest warm, hands rubbing up and down your sides as he breathes praise against your lips; how well you'd taken him, how perfect you feel, how perfect you are for him — and you ride an altogether different kind of high, a euphoria that has you shuddering as you coast along cloud-nine.

Before you can sink too deeply into the afterglow, all soft-limbed and sleepy-eyed even as the slow drag of Blythe's cock from inside of you, the spill of his cum making your face flush anew—

(1) You're startled back into full-alert as Blythe rises to his knees and rolls you onto your belly, pulling your hips back towards himself and pushing back inside of you with a groan.

"Blythe?" You shake and squeak below him, twisting to look over your shoulder in time to watch and feel him tug your hips higher, trembling thighs unable to support your own weight but so easily supported by his strength, "D-didn't you just—"

He does not start slow this time, setting a rough pace that quickly finds you keening into his pillows; you're just so sensitive now, pleasure bringing tears to your eyes as you squirm, only to yelp when Blythe answers your wiggling with a spank that makes you squeeze around him for reasons you aren't going to think about.

And then you hear a word you've heard once before tonight already, a pattern he's spent all night establishing as his fingers slip over your hip to find your clit, still flushed and swollen from his loving abuse—

"Again, love."

(1) And for the first time this evening you begin to realize the predicament you'd gotten yourself into. Good luck!

#I DIDNT EXPECT THIS TO BE SO GODDAMN LONG #this might the filthiest thing ive ever publicly posted but i am POWERING THRU THE EMBARRASSMENT #because Blythe Deserves It!!!#the world conspired to stop me by starting my period and rendering me bedbound for like 2 hrs immediately after work cuz #anemias a bitch all the time but gives me wicked headaches that make me hella light sensitive until i take some iron #but tylenol + iron + coffee FINALLY got me able to look at a screen again #and my determination to get blythe laid and aster absolutely wrecked handled the rest #this was very fun!!#i think im gonna do more of these aster pov 2nd person things #for when i wanna be creative but drawing is a little too much Brain #aster the gutsy #blythe the scrapper #aster the agent #blythe the fighter #degrees of lewdity #dol fanfic #flicker writes

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