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jaiel · 1 day ago

Text

AU based off this.

(Warning long)

Background info:

Danny and Billy met as heroes. Identity reveal and realizing they’re the same age (16) but have alter egos that are older. They eventually start dating.They get married in their adult forms for tax benefits and to keep them both from being homeless since Billy is bouncing from foster homes and Danny was on the run. Dan and Dani aren’t in the picture to make things easier on them for now.

They fight to handle their problems because Danny comes from a species where fighting is how you say hello and Billy is a magical greek champion and patron of magic. So their language of choice when words aren’t working is fighting. They both have healing factors and hormonal teenage boys so it’s not issues. Until the league takes notice.

Imagine Danny and Billy getting sat down for an intervention. The league is tired of them coming in injured. They think Danny is abusing Billy. They also don’t know about Danny’s real age. They think he’s an immortal posing as a teenage because of his appearances in history. Meanwhile Danny was just time traveling. He also still has unresolved trauma from a lot of things.

Billy snd Danny float in, in their respective hero identities to the whole league staring at them in the meeting room. Before they could fully process it snd turn on their heels and dip. Superman suddenly locked them into the meeting room and blocked the door. Danny and Billy look at each other.

“I think we’re in trouble..” Marvel stage whispers.

“Nooooooo I think they just wanna play Mario kart.” Danny sassily whispers back.

Marvel sighs figuring Danny was annoyed he made them use the tubes instead of flying up to the watch tower. In his defense, Batman had said it was important and he didn’t want Danny getting distracted by space and making them late AGAIN. He was taken out of his thoughts by Dinah and Diana walking towards them and gesturing to seats in the in front of the other leaguers.

“Phantom, Captain Marvel. We would appreciate if you sit and hear us out.” Diana said firmly. Giving little room for wiggle room.

“I told you we should’ve went to the moon first.” Danny grumbled already moving to the seats to sit and marvel followed suit.

“Good. We gathered you today because we are concerned about you two. We as a team….as a family have noticed some concerning behaviors over the past few months. We would like to share them with you. After we share we will allow you to respond. We are here to help.” Dinah said in her typical calm voice that she used for therapy.

In the corner of his eyes he could see Danny cross his arms and float ever so slightly above the chair. His deathly slow heart rate picking up ever so slightly.

“I’ve noticed since you’ve been married. Both of you have came to meetings and incidents already injured. Just last week Phantom had various bruising on his neck, a black eye and a broken leg when he came in to finish his reports. However there had been no incidents of crime on that day or reports.” Batman remarked squinting his eyes at Shazam.

“Marvel, you yourself have come in with broken ribs and other bones on multiple occasions. Even needing to sit out of missions a few times in the last couple of months.” Wonder Woman added shifting her gaze from Marvel to Danny. Oh so that’s what this is about. It should be an easy fix. Hopefully he could keep Danny calm enough for it to happen. He began to reach for the others hand when-

Screeching of a chair scrapping against the floor made everyone’s head turnt to Green Lantern.

“Ight since everyone’s to scared to say it. We know you’ve been beating on Marvel, PHANTOM! We know about your brawls at point Nemo and you both do a horrible job hiding your injuries. It’s outrageous that you claim to be a hero but beat on YOUR OWN HUSBAND!” Green lantern yelled accusingly floating into the air. There was a mixture of agreements and muttering. Some of the senior league members glaring daggers at GL. Clearly this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Isn’t Marvel a little too young for you anyways?” The Flash muttered.

Before Marvel could say anything. There was an ice spike shot directly where the Flash had been sitting. Upon impact the spike had covered the chair. The Flash himself having dodged and stood staring at them offendedly. The air around them dropped until everyone’s breath began to show like vapor. He looked at Danny whose hands were shaking as ice formed around his chair.

“Phantom, my spookie, spook it’s okay. They’re just concerned. They don’t know.” Marvel said grabbing onto one of Danny’s hands snd wincing at how cold it was. He refused to let go until Danny met his eyes.

His head had been down as he hadn’t been making eye contact since the conversation started. Marvel should’ve known something was up when there wasn’t any banter or sass coming from him. Danny’s glowing green eyes had a white reflective slit in the middle. Like the reflective eyes of a cat and his face seemed to shift or glitch ever so slightly.

“I can’t do this again.” He whispered. Small tears could be seen. Evaporating off his pale skin. “I’m not a monster.”

“I know. You’re not a monster.” He said cupping Danny’s face in his hands.

Smiling as Danny leaned into his touch. A good sign that he wouldn’t try to impale anyone else. He could hear speaking in the background but he tried to ignore it and focus on Danny.

“Now if you could stop giving us all the cold shoulder I would appreciate it.”

His attempted at a joke worked when he got a small snort out of Danny. His eyes dimming slightly as the ice began to vaporize into the air.

“I know it’s a big step but I would appreciate if you follow my lead. I’ll do your chores for the next 3 months.” He prompted looking Danny in the eyes. Danny looked back at him searching his face. He knew that Danny had found what he was looking for when the other frowned deeply.

“The rest of the year.” Danny said with a straight face that left absolutely no room for arguments. Marvel signed.

“Fine.”

“Swear it!” Danny demanded as his voice reverberated as if multiple people were talking. He hated when he did that.

“Fine! I swear on the river Styx that I will do your chores for the rest of the year.” Marvel proclaimed loudly. He could hear Wonder Woman gasp at the mention of the river. He took Danny’s waiting hand as green fire enveloped them as they shook.

He then turned to the alarmed members of the league. Some shocked, some in battle stances, some in confusion but all staring at Phantom and Marvel.

Danny watched as Marvel said the magic words. “Shazam” and transformed back into Billy with the strike of mysterious lightning. Wearing his classic red hoodie, jeans and sneakers. He snickered silently kneeling they were wearing the same thing since Danny had just taken Billy’s clothes. Billy cleared his throat.

“Some of you know. Others don’t. I’m Billy Batson. I am Captain Mavrel. It seems we have a few misunderstandings we need to clear up.” He said trying to stand up straighter like when he’s trying to sound more mature.

“You have the floor Billy.” Batman states. Raising a hand to stop all sounds of objections and shock from other members.

“Thank you. I’ll state the facts clearly. Me and a Phantom are in a healthy relationship. Phantom is an appropriate age to be dating me. We appreciate your concern but your this intervention is unwarranted. I won’t speak for Danny but I take offense at you accusing him of mistreating me and accusations against his character.” He said becoming very sharp towards then end.

Where he glared at Green Lantern and The Flash. His fist clenched but he took a breath and calmed himself. He then turned to Phantom. Danny could see that it was his time to be included. Billy’s blue eyes were soft but the unspoken question of ‘do you trust me?’ Was all but spoken. Danny sighed and mustered his courage as he let the white rings envelop him and he got up to stand next to Billy. Quickly taking his hand.

“Would you like to introduce yourself? I can do it for you.” Billy turned his head to whisper in his ear. Danny shook his head and instead clenched Billy’s hand a little harder.

“My name is Daniel Fenton. Call me Danny but you know me as Phantom. I’m 16 snd a half ghost of the Infinite Realms.” Danny said as he let himself look over the shocked faces of the League.

“You expect us to believe you’re telling the truth? We have seen evidence of you throughout history.” Aquaman countered. “Some of us even have ran into you in our youth.”

“Aquaman I don’t sense any lies come from either of them. This meeting also wasn’t supposed to be accusatory.” Martian Manhunter spoke up. “We gathered to check on the well fare of both of our members.”

“Manhunter is right. We shouldn’t be throwing accusations. The league is founded on mutual trust and understanding.” Superman stood in.

Wonder Woman stood from where she had been sitting and walked towards the two boys. Billy moved forward to put space between her and Danny. She stopped in front of them and took the lasso off her hip. She held it out.

“Would you consent to the lasso of Truth? Simply to ease the minds of some of our more stubborn members.” She said mainly looking at Danny.

In a relationship, even a fake one, there will always be fights. Billy and Danny know this from experience. But they are only teenagers and sometimes can’t have calm conversations, although they try. Then they get the idea to fight in Point Nemo, where they can’t hurt anyone. After all, the fights take place in the forms of Captain Marvel and Phantom. Their fights are of very different nature. Who will take out the trash? Let’s fly to Point Nemo. Who will get Dan out of Gotham again? Point Nemo. Is someone offended? They will sort everything out in Point Nemo!

Aquaman senses that sometimes the ocean is not calm and the sea creatures are worried and scared. And when he arrives at the scene of the disturbance, he sees Marvel and Phantom fighting, figuring out who will wash the dishes today. Arthur does not know the reason and thinks that there is a fight between them, a pretty brutal fight, with blood, screams and all that. Let's just say he did not like it. And he told the rest of the League about it.

The League already doesn't like Phantom, and this is a great opportunity to throw even more stones at him.

#billy batson #dcu #dc captain marvel #captain marvel #shazam #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc x dp

939 notes · View notes

hivemuthur · 14 hours ago

Note

Hii! Thank you for replying. I've read five things and loved it so much I wanted to send another ask, and somehow managed to forget to send it, but never mind here it is now.

I was thinking a viktor×reader who were eachother's first everything (early academy days?) but than the reader had to move away for schooling/work, whatever, but now they're back (sometime after the beginning of hextech) and have to work with jayce and viktor. How would that dynamic look like? They didn't breakup over an argument or because they fell out of love but because that's the way life took them. I'm imagining them knowing eachother so well inside and out to the point people just assume they're dating. (Reader making viktors coffee even better than he can himself, viktor making something to fix a problem reader has but never had a solution for, anything really). And I don't know, maybe, possibly, somehow the tension gets to be too much for both of them and they're both more skilled now and whatnot... (I could live without that part tho, is you feel like it doesn't fit)

Sorry if the ask is too complicated, I've just been thinking about it for so long.

I know it's gonna be a while before you can write it but I can't wait to read all of the other requests in the meantime.❤️

~🍒

Dear sweet 🍒 Janna, hello again! Here's your fic!

Same As It Ever Was

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! a bit of everything - fluff, angst (light), smut

word count: 5,6K

author’s note: this is very freeform, an experiment, kinda? A story told in vignettes, little scenes between Viktor and Reader since the moment she came back to the Academy interwoven with their past, sex included. For this to work, I've written current events in Present Tense and the flashbacks in Past Tense.

artist on X (obsessed at this point)

—

You brace yourself with a deep breath—just as you did all those years ago. With lungs full of air, you cross the threshold, and memories come crashing back. Heimerdinger’s lectures, suspicious cafeteria food, noise complaints from your neighbours when Jayce laughed too loud in your dorm. Your dorm itself—its lumpy bed, not enough cabinet space for your books, scattered notes, and long night study sessions with Viktor.

As promised, he and Jayce are there, waiting to pick you up in the entrance hall. Jayce is as giddy as ever—stretching, chattering, busying himself with the announcement board, occasionally pointing at something to get Viktor’s attention. He looks almost the same.

Viktor, on the other hand—nearly still. He leans on a… crutch? It’s a crutch now, huh. You wince at not knowing sooner. An extra brace on his leg as well. His form is more hunched than you remember. He nods at Jayce’s remarks absently, craning his head toward the door, and his face—oh. It lights up when he sees you, just as it used to. Your heart travels all the way up to your throat.

You have to force yourself not to skip. Jayce reaches you first, nearly crashing into you with his embrace. He’s stronger than before, his shoulders broader. Either he’s gotten taller, or Viktor looks shorter. He pats your back and chuckles a mumbled hi—but your eyes are already on Viktor.

He opens his arms in an inviting gesture, and you slide right in. He still fits. He still smells the same, though there’s a lingering trace of oil on his collar. His hair is longer, and his clothes hang looser on his frame, but he feels the same. His neck is just as pretty, his hands just as strong. They go where they used to—one to your back, the other cradling the nape of your neck. You take one last inhale before he pulls back, a familiar spark playing in his eyes as he says, "Welcome back."

***

You stared at the schedule board, squinting as you tried to make sense of the messy list. You muttered under your breath, crossing out dates in frustration when the door behind you creaked open.

A voice spoke from behind, calm and precise. “Do you need assistance?”

You turned to see him—tall, neat, with a cane at his side. Pretty hair falling boyishly over his forehead, eyes the colour of liquid gold, two freckles decorating his upper lip and a spot under his eye. His voice was thickly accented, and you suddenly felt dumber than ever.

“What gave me away?” you huffed, managing a smile. “Groaning or furious scribbling?”

“Eh, a little bit of both,” he said, leaning in slightly to point at a part of the board. “Let me help?”

You handed him your notebook, and he made quick work of explaining the confusing schedule. “Looks like we’ll be seeing each other,” he hummed, studying your timetable.

Thank the gods, you thought. Feigning surprise instead of relief, you raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He nodded, the faintest smile pulling at his lips. “I’m looking forward to having class with you. I’m Viktor.”

In response, you muttered your name in one breath.

Without another word, he pressed the notebook into your hand, making sure your hands brushed, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, momentarily dumbfounded.

***

You follow Jayce and Viktor through the lab, eyes wide as they show you around. The space is far more impressive than you remember—equipment gleams, wires stretch across the ceiling like intricate veins, and the hum of machinery fills the air. Jayce is practically bouncing with excitement, narrating every little detail with an energy that nearly has you dizzy, while Viktor stays quieter, his gaze focused, occasionally glancing at you as though checking for your reactions.

You’re still trying to wrap your mind around everything when the tour finally ends, and Viktor turns to you with a small smile. “Is there anything you need?” he asks, his voice as smooth and calm as ever.

You consider it for a moment, then sigh dramatically. “I would kill for a coffee.”

Jayce snorts a laugh, “Things don’t really change, do they? Do you want to make it yourself as usual?”

“Of course, as you mentioned—things don’t change, which means I still don’t trust any of you with your coffee-making skills, Jayce,” you reply with a smirk, stepping past him toward the kitchenette area. Viktor watches you closely, but you don’t pay him any mind as you start pulling out the necessary ingredients. “Do you want one?” you throw over your shoulder. And Viktor nods with a smile.

You fall into an easy rhythm, just like old times. Your hands work quickly, grinding the beans, adjusting the water temperature, adding the perfect amount of milk—exactly how you know he likes it. It’s almost like your body remembers, and you can’t help but feel a strange sort of nostalgia as the familiar process comes naturally.

The sound of Viktor clearing his throat breaks your focus, and when you turn, he’s standing a little closer than you expected. His eyes are fixed on the coffee mug in your hands, and the way he’s staring at it almost makes you laugh.

You hand him the cup with a raised brow. “Did I get it right?”

He takes a slow sip, his expression unreadable at first. Then, after a long pause, he sets the cup down carefully on the counter, still looking at you, and says quietly, “Perfect.”

The fact that you remember how to make it, that you remember him—how he likes it, what he’s used to—has him speechless. You watch him for a moment, unsure of what he’s thinking, and the quiet fills the space between you both.

“Just like before,” he says, as though to himself, and you can't help but smile.

***

“Okay, coffee or death,” you whined, pressing your forehead to the desk with exaggerated dramatics. It had been your fourth hour of studying, and the letters on the page began to blur.

“I guess it’s coffee then,” Viktor stretched his legs in the chair before scrambling up to the kettle. “I have no idea how I would explain a corpse in my room.”

“I do not care what motivates your actions, I’m just in dire need of something keeping me alive, or I will fail this class,” you mumbled, still buried in the notes resting under your face. A cup set firmly by your left cheek made your eyebrow quirk, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ah, sweet salvation,” you hummed, grabbing it and taking a sip. And then—

“Viktor. What is this?”

Viktor’s voice was light as he shrugged. “It’s a coffee strong enough to keep you awake until morning.”

You winced, shaking your head slightly. “It’s so strong, it could actually solve the dead body problem you’ve mentioned before.”

He chuckled at that, his gaze still on you. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”

You huffed in frustration. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

Viktor only grinned, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself out of your chair and crossing the room to the counter. “Alright, move aside.” You grabbed the ingredients with a practiced hand, preparing a new brew. “This is coffee, not the motor fluid you made.”

Viktor leaned back in his chair, watching you as you worked. “That’s very thoughtful. I suppose you can always become a barista if you fail the class.”

You turned, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Just wait, Viktor. You’ll see. If I fail, I’ll open my own shop. I’ll call it ‘Professor Coffee’—I’ll make sure the brew is strong enough to wake the dead.”

Viktor’s laugh was soft but genuine. “It seems you’ve got it all figured out.”

***

You reach out, barely muttering, “Could you pass me…” before the tool is already in your hand. You glance at Viktor, who hasn’t even looked up from his work.

“How did you know?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing in surprise.

He taps his temple, a small smile playing beneath his goggles. “I have a good memory.”

***

You frowned at your workbench, trying to put a name to the tool you needed, but your mind blanked.

“Can you pass me the…” you began, unsure, your voice trailing off. You made a small gesture with your hand, hoping Viktor would somehow understand what you meant. Without hesitation, he handed you a wrench.

“No, not this,” you said, waving it off. “The other one?” You gestured again.

Viktor stared at you, brows furrowed, before passing you a screwdriver.

“Not that one either!” you huffed, frustration creeping in—not with him, but because your mind had suddenly decided to fail.

The ritual continued, with Viktor visibly amused as your hand hovered over the various tools he’d passed you. Wrenches, pliers, a hammer, and a couple of screwdrivers littered the workbench. You glanced down at your notes, trying to remember.

Viktor hummed, looking from your desk to your notes. His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a knowing smile. “Ah. This one?”

Before you could respond, he was standing behind you, lowering the tool into your hand. His arms brushed the sides of your face, and you felt the press of his stomach against your back. For a moment, you froze, breath catching in your throat.

“A calliper,” you whispered.

“Well done, lásko,” Viktor muttered into your ear.

***

The clock announces an hour way past when you’ve expected to be home already. “Should we call it a night?” you ask Viktor, who sits opposite you, a soft smile curling on his lips.

“Some things have changed, then,” he says, tapping his crutch lightly against the floor. “You used to work until figurative death back in the day.”

“Well, I guess I’m getting older,” you reply with a grin, your tone light but laced with a touch of weariness. “What about you? Any big changes?”

He knocks on his brace playfully, lifting the crutch with a small gesture. “Besides the visible?” He chuckles softly. “Not much. Still working to the death.”

Your smile falters for a second, your gaze softening as you roll closer to him on your chair. You rest your hands gently on his knees, studying his face for any signs of deeper discomfort.

“Are you well, though?” you ask, your voice quiet, careful.

Viktor looks at your hands for a moment, then props the crutch on the desk beside him. He squeezes your palms, his grip firm but tender.

“I am now,” he replies, his voice low, almost like a confession. “Haven’t been for a while, but now I’m well. As well as I can be.” He pauses for a beat, then adds with a small smile, “And now that you’re back, I’m even better.”

You brush your fingers gently through his hair, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence, the intimacy of the gesture. Viktor hums softly, his eyes fluttering closed in response. So familiar, you think, a wave of nostalgia washing over you.

You swallow before speaking again, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’ve missed you.”

Viktor’s eyes remain closed, his expression softening, and when he speaks, his voice heavier now when he sighs. “I know.” He pauses, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ve missed you too.”

***

You and Viktor lay in bed together, tangled in the warmth of each other’s embrace. His arm was draped around you, and the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek was a steady comfort. The room was quiet, unbearably so, when you nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. His scent—rich, familiar, like the warmth of him—filled your senses, and you clutched him tighter, as though trying to memorize the feeling of him.

"I'm going to miss you so much," you whispered, your voice muffled against his skin, your breath shaky with the weight of the thought.

Viktor hummed softly in response, his fingers tracing small circles on your back. "I know. I will miss you terribly too." His words were gentle, but there was a deep sadness in his voice that you could feel even without looking at him.

He nudged your face with his nose, his palm warm as it cupped your cheek. His touch felt like a promise, though you weren't sure what to expect. "If it's meant to be, we will meet again," he said, his voice low, the words wrapped in the quiet certainty.

A pang in your chest tugged at you, and without thinking, you leaned up, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft, but your heart ached with the knowledge that this might be the last time you felt him close. It tasted with bitter acceptance, as you poured every bit of feeling you had into it, hoping it would somehow last, somehow hold you both together despite the distance that would come.

When you pulled away, your heart felt heavy, like it was breaking in your chest.

***

You both sit on the couch in your apartment, papers and notes scattered around you, a quiet hum of frustration bounces between you. Viktor’s hair is dishevelled, falling into his eyes, and his shirt has found its way half-out of his pants, a few buttons undone. He stares at the pages in front of him, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and determination. You glance over at him, hoping for a breakthrough.

“Any ideas?” you ask, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

Viktor groans and rubs his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “You know what… I think I’m getting old too,” he mutters, dropping his hand to your lap. “Can we get back to it when I’ve had at least two hours of sleep?”

He looks at you, his hand settling on your knee absentmindedly, his fingers warm through the fabric of your clothes. You stare at his hand for a moment, before looking up at him. He seems so tired, but also so… beautiful. His rumpled clothes and tousled hair remind you of the boy you loved.

“Sure,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You look at him, really look at him. He’s always been handsome, but tonight you can finally see how much time has passed. The wrinkles carving his face deeper, jaw stronger, singular grey strands shining through the chestnut hair. Eyes the same. He doesn’t look like a boy anymore.

Wordlessly, you move closer to him and his gaze doesn’t falter. You cup his cheeks and brush your thumb over his lip. And then, your mouth comes close to his, into a soft brush, trembling and tentative. And Viktor responds with a hand sliding up your thigh and a tilt of his head. He cranes his neck and closes the little distance left between you with a sigh of relief.

His free hand slides up to your neck, pulling you in as his mouth parts and tongue joins to wrestle with yours. He gasps when you bite his lower lip and hums, as his palm slides behind to cup your ass. Fully in his grasp, he press yourself more onto him, fingers tangling into his hair, coaxing small sounds out of his throat. It’s wet and slow and when you peek through your eyelashes his brows are scrunched and a blush blooms down his neck to his chest.

He doesn’t kiss like a boy anymore, you think to yourself. It comes unbidden and warms your insides up.

The taste of him lingers on your lips as you pull away just a fraction, your breaths mingling. You barely have a moment to think before Viktor kisses you back, deeply, hoarse inhale taken straight from your lungs leaves you dizzy.

***

Viktor had walked you back to your dorm after a late-night study session at the library. His pace was slow, almost reluctant, as if he was trying to figure out what to say before you parted ways. You were too tired to wait for him to find the words, your mind still foggy from hours of studying.

“I guess this is goodn—” you started, but before you could finish the word, his lips were on yours. The kiss came out of nowhere, abrupt and clumsy, pressing you back into the door behind you. For a moment, you froze, your tired mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

Then, the realization sank in, and the sound that left your lips transformed from startled surprise to a soft moan. You responded without thinking, hands sliding up Viktor's sides, feeling the warmth of his body as you kissed him back.

He dropped his cane, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His touch was urgent, hands cradling your back and drawing you in as you ran your fingers through his hair. Feeling your response, he grew bolder, shut his eyes and concentrated on drawing deep breaths through his nose to not have to part from you.

Hands everywhere, as if he couldn’t decide what to do. You nearly laughed when she squeezed your butt quickly, only to go back to your waist, slide into your ribs and then to the small of your back. So feverish.

When the oxygen run out, he broke the kiss but still kept you close. “I wanted to do this for the longest time,” he chuckled into your mouth.

***

He gives himself a good-willed push off the couch’s armrest but ends up trapping your hip beneath his. His face scrunches in worry when you hiss, but the sound quickly transforms into a laugh. When your stomach shakes beneath him, Viktor feels a strange swelling in his chest. This is so familiar.

He looks at you longingly, sliding his fingers into your hair. Your laughter dies into a moan when his groin presses between your legs. His tongue grows more eager now, as if he remembers just how much he used to want you. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips, and you respond by fisting his shirt, nearly tearing it. You try to say you’ve missed him too—fuck, how much you’ve missed him every day—but you can’t, because your mouth is full.

You brace yourself on your elbows, meeting him halfway. You’re not sure you can bear to part long enough for him to take your clothes off, so instead, you take his hands and press them to your ass. He accepts, of course, kneading your flesh in rhythm with his breath.

When you finally straddle him, your fingers move to undo the rest of his shirt. That’s when he stills. His palms come up to wrap around yours, and a quiet plea escapes him. “Wait,” he says weakly, his cock already hard—you’re sure this costs him a lot.

“Whatever for?” you ask, nosing at his face before pressing kisses to his cheeks, his closed eyelids. You untangle your fingers from his and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I should show you something first,” he murmurs, and begins to undo his shirt. You lean back to give him space to sit up, but your hips never leave his, and your eyes never look away from his face. You give him the room he needs, and feel unbearably not close enough.

***

You fought with the doorknob to your bedroom for a hot minute. Viktor, being very distracting, had completely derailed your brain from this simple dexterity task with continuous neck-licking and ear-kissing. He kept smirking against your skin, all cocky and pleased with himself, ever since the moment you’d asked, “Do you want to come in?”

You stumbled into the room together, and his fingers immediately shot to your vest. You hadn’t even blinked properly before it was undone, his hands cupping your breasts through your shirt, his cane hooked over his forearm.

Laughing and snorting at his clumsiness, you’d steadied him by the waist and let him walk you backward toward the bed.

Your hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, but they were small and stubborn, and you were too impatient. With a frustrated huff, you abandoned the effort and slid your hands over his shoulders instead. “Arms up,” you ordered, and Viktor chuckled as he complied.

He lifted his arms obediently, but as you dragged his shirt over his head, it caught for a moment, tangling around his face. He let out a muffled laugh, flailing slightly as you tugged it free, and the moment he was loose, he lost his balance. He tumbled backward onto the bed with an oof, propping himself up on his elbows as he grinned up at you.

You stepped between his legs, watching as his expression softened, turning almost reverent. His hands found your waist, fingers brushing deliberately over the fabric of your skirt before he slid it down, letting it pool at your feet. His lips followed the motion, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach before he rested his chin there, gazing up at you.

He cradled your hips, thumbs stroking lazily over your skin. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful.

You nodded, eager, and leaned down to kiss him, pouring every answer he could ever need into the press of your lips.

***

“There is both more and less to me than there used to be,” Viktor says, rubbing slow, thoughtful circles up and down your thighs. His expression is pensive, and an apology lingers somewhere in his voice. You hate that he feels the need to apologise in the first place.

Your touch slides across his chest, down—down the leather ridges of a brace you’ve never seen before. It screams Jayce Talis with every bolt, every stitch, and your heart aches at the thought that you weren’t here when this was happening.

Your eyes dart between his chest and his lips before you finally nestle deeper against his pelvis, wrap your arms back around his neck, and crush your mouth to his in a kiss that weeps remorse. “You beautiful, beautiful man,” you whisper, pressing your face into his. “How are you so brave?”

You cup his cheeks, and he only smiles, covering your palm with his.

“I’m not brave. I just… survived,” Viktor says with a small shrug. Then, after a pause: “Would you like to help me take them off?”

You nod, eager, and lean down to kiss him, pouring all the fragmented pieces of yes into the press of your lips.

***

Viktor rolled with you across the sheets, his hands skimmed up your sides, warm and eager, fingers pressing into your skin like he was trying to memorise the feel of you. Your mouths met again, lips parting, tongues teasing—lazy and deep, now that you had each other finally.

He pulled you closer, your thighs bracketing his hips, and when you reached down, fingers curling into the waistband of his trousers, he let out a shaky breath. You grinned against his mouth, tugging them lower inch by inch, letting your nails drag over his skin just to hear the quiet little sounds he made in response. Finally, with one last playful yank, you pulled them off entirely, giggling when they got caught at his ankles for a moment before slipping free.

And then you saw it—his brace.

Viktor stiffened immediately. His hands twitched at his sides, and he turned his head slightly, as if he wanted to look anywhere but at you. "It’s nothing," he muttered, voice quieter than before. "You don’t have to—"

You reached out, your palm settling gently on his leg. "Viktor," you said softly, your touch firm but tender. His gaze flicked back to yours, guarded, unsure. "You are so beautiful."

He gasped, a sound so quiet you might not have caught it if you weren’t so close. His lips parted slightly, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

You didn’t give him time to argue. Instead, you leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his thigh, just above the brace. He shivered beneath you. Carefully, you undid the clasps, your fingers working with quiet reverence, peeling away the brace as if unveiling something sacred.

It left behind faint indentations in his skin—lines and ridges pressed deep from the whole day of wear. You kissed each one, your lips trailing over the marks with the same care you’d give any other part of him. Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers threading into the sheets, gripping tight.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, barely above a whisper, he breathed, "You undo me."

***

You set the last metal part of Viktor aside, and now, finally—after years of longing—you see him. His legs are parted, eternal bruises marking his thigh and knee, the toes of one foot cramped closer together than the other. His ribs bear pearly little scars where the chest brace has caught against his skin.

His cock rests idly in the crease of his thigh, beautiful as ever—pink at the tip, his navel scattered with curly hair that meets in a neat line just below his belly button. His hips are sharp angles, his belly rising and falling with each breath. You take in this adult man’s body and compare it to the boy you fell in love with. And you are sure now—there is only more to him than there used to be.

You step between his legs, and his arms reach out, fingers tracing a scar on your lower abdomen. He hums, “This is new.”

“You should see the other guy,” you murmur playfully. “A machine malfunctioned at the lab. One of the energy conductors went unstable, and before I could shut it down, a piece of metal sliced me open.” You pause, watching his face tense. “I got lucky.”

Viktor brushes his thumb over the scar tissue before lowering his lips, pressing a kiss to it—slow, reverent. “My brave girl,” he mutters against your skin. Your head lulls back on your shoulders, fingers threading into his hair and you let out a sigh.

You shudder when he presses a delicate touch between your legs. His hand, more calloused than you remember, gathers the curve of your inner thigh—but oh, his fingers still feel the same. The same timid swipe across your core, the same quiet hum of approval at the wetness you've gathered for him. Then, his free arm comes to wrap around your hips, pulling you closer as he presses his ear to your belly and slides two fingers inside you.

More skill, you notice. A pang of jealousy coils in your chest—ugly, unnecessary—but you don’t let him see. He kisses your stomach, and his eyelashes tickle your skin as he moves his hand up and down and his fingers hit the spot that has you moaning out his name. “As tight as I remember,” he hums, and it lances through you how infinitely hotter he has become.

You tug at his hair to make him look at you. Two gold gems drill right through you when you say, “Viktor.” A sigh, then, “I think I really need to fuck you now.”

He smiles sweetly and kisses your stomach again. “Then it seems we are on the same page.”

***

After a lot of fumbling, adjusting, and whispered curses, you finally found what worked. Viktor propped his knee up with a pillow, his other leg hooked under yours, grounding you together. His weight pressed you into the mattress—not crushing, just enough to make you feel him everywhere, warm and steady.

He rolled his hips into you, slow and measured, his arm caging you in as he kissed you through it. The heat of his breath spilled over your mouth, his lips parting just enough to let out the quietest of moans. And even in the haze of pleasure, you could see it—the determination tightening his brow, the concentrated press of his mouth against yours. He was on a mission, and that mission was you.

One arm wound snugly around your neck, cradling you into him, while his other hand worked between your legs, fingers slick and diligent. He timed each stroke with the snap of his hips, coaxing you closer, closer—

“Oh—Viktor—”

The sound of your voice shattered something in him. His rhythm stuttered, his forehead dropped to yours, but his fingers didn’t stop, circling, pressing, working you toward your peak. You dug your nails into his back, rocking up to meet him, and then—

It rushed over you like a cresting wave. Your thighs tensed around his waist, your breath caught, and the pleasure crested so high it stole all thought. He moaned softly, watching, feeling every pulse of your release around him.

His movements became less controlled, needier, a touch more frantic. He groaned against your shoulder, muttered something in a language you barely caught, and then followed you over the edge. His body trembled against yours, hips stuttering, breath shaky as he spilled into you, his lips still parted against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds in the room were your slowing breaths, the faint creak of the mattress, and the heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then, Viktor finally lifted his head, flushed, sweat-dampened curls clinging to his forehead. He swallowed hard, his expression abashed but glowing with something warm and dazed.

“I hope that at this point, it is merely a formality,” he said, still breathless. “But… may I be so bold as to call you my girlfriend from now on?”

***

Your hips slot back together as if no time has passed. He fills you the same way, stretches you perfectly, and the expression he makes as he sinks in—God, it’s the same. Crushingly fucking gorgeous. Relief and bliss war on his face, his lips parting around a shaky groan as his hands seize your ass, pulling you down fully with a sharp slap of skin against skin.

He nuzzles into your neck, breath heavy and warm, licks up the column of your throat before sinking his teeth into your tendon. You gasp, moan, and pull at his hair, and the low, satisfied hum he gives in response shoots straight through you. His grip on your hips tightens, thumbs pressing into your skin as he guides you into motion, dragging you up before urging you back down. A faint roll of his own hips meets yours with every descent, his restraint slipping as the pleasure builds.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice—he’s changed. There’s more confidence in the way he moves, the way he takes from you, the way he talks to you. His voice is deeper, richer, words curling into your skin like smoke.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dark and approving. He drags a hand up your spine, settles it at your nape, tilting your head so you do look—so you watch the way he devours you with his eyes. “You take me so well, lásko.”

Heat spreads down to your toes. You try to bite back a whimper, but he sees it, hears it, and smirks. Smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Oh, he’s so much bolder now. And you’re falling apart because of it.

It starts with the way he tilts his hips just right, the way his grip on you tightens like he knows exactly where you need him. His free hand glides down your spine, tracing sweat-slick skin before slipping between your bodies. Two fingers find your clit, and your breath stutters. He circles once, twice—slow and deliberate—before pressing down, firm and unrelenting.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, voice like silk, like sin. He rewards you with a deep thrust, dragging a broken moan from your throat. “Let me feel you.”

You do—oh, God, you do. Pleasure overtakes you, crashing through your body in waves, pulling you under. Your thighs shake around him, your hands fly to his shoulders, nails sinking into muscle as you arch and shudder and keen his name. He groans, eyes dark and reverent as he watches you unravel in his lap.

Yet still, there are things that haven’t changed. The way his breath hitches when you clench around him. The way his moans turn desperate when you lean forward and suck at his throat. The way he starts to chase the pleasure once he gets close, gripping you tighter, rutting up into you with a fervour that makes your head spin.

And the way he comes—the same shudder, the same deep, gasping moan, the same way his arms crush you against his chest as if he could pull you inside him. His release spills deep, his body trembling beneath yours, and you realise it then, as you always have.

He is grateful for this. For you.

Your noses brush as he catches his breath, and his hands smooth over your back, grounding himself in the feel of you.

“Still with me?” you murmur, running your fingers through his damp curls.

Viktor exhales a breathless laugh, lids heavy, lips parted in something like awe. He nods, shifting just enough to press a lingering kiss to your collarbone. “Always.”

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #requests

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hahnslove · 1 day ago

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LUSTFUL LESSONS [+18] ⋆˚࿔

CONTAINS : agatha!professor, femreader!agathaharkness, age gap, wlw smut

You are Agatha’s student, and she asks you to come see her in her office because of some concerns…

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───

You’re sitting in class, surrounded by your fellow classmates, on just another normal day of listening to Professor Harkness’s lecture. She is utterly mesmerizing, and you can’t help but be drawn to her; sometimes, it even seems like she’s equally captivated by you, as if there’s a mutual attraction between the two of you. But that’s obviously ridiculous; you are her student, after all.

Professor Harkness clears her throat. “Miss y/ln, are you still with us?” Your soul has left your body. “Yes. Sorry professor.” You sink into your seat out of embarrassment. The rest of the class painfully drags on. Finally, you’re packing your things as the rest of the students file out of the room. “Y/n, will you please see me in my office after your last class today?” You are taken aback ever so slightly. “Yes, of course, professor. Is everything alright?” you respond. “Everything is fine, dear; there are just a few things I would like to go over with you.” The sound of her using that nickname almost brings you to your knees. “Okay then. I’ll see you later.” With that, you practically bolt out of the room. You are slightly terrified at what she could possibly want to talk to you about. Alone. In her office.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───

Now that your last class has finished, it’s time to visit Professor Harkness. As you walk to her office, you wonder how you’ll manage to keep your composure, especially since she’s wearing an incredibly sexy pantsuit. Whoa. You snap out of your thoughts. You can’t think of her in that way; she’s your professor, and it’s inappropriate. But, it sure is fun to imagine.

You finally reach her office door, and after taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you hesitate for just a moment before knocking. You hear shuffling behind the door after you knock. “Come in,” Professor Harkness says. “Please have a seat.” You take in the space, looking around. “It’s very cozy here; I like it,” you say softly. “Thank you,” she smiles, “I like it too.” She says warmly. “Well, you are probably wondering why I asked you to come see me.” You stay still. “I’ve noticed how distracted you have been in class, and I wanted to make sure you are doing okay.” You definitely weren’t expecting that. “Oh, I mean, I’ve been doing fine,” you respond. “Are you sure, dear? It sometimes seems as if you are in a trance in class.” She leans forward in her chair, her eyes intently fixed on yours. “I-I mean, maybe I have been a little distracted recently.” You say quietly, avoiding eye contact. “Is there any reason for that, Miss y/n?” She observes. “It’s probably just stress or something.” You brush it off. “I think I can help with that.” Professor Harkness gets up from her chair and is now directly behind the seat you are in. “Is this okay?” She puts her hands on both of your shoulders. You nearly gasp at the contact. “Yes, Professor.” You respond. “Alright, love, just close your eyes and relax. I got you.” You exhale and close your eyes. Professor Harkness gets to work and starts massaging your shoulders.

Soon after she begins the massage, you let out a small moan, and then gasp slightly, your eyes widening in embarrassment as you realize what you’ve just inadvertently done in front of your Professor. “I am so, so sorry, Professor,” you stammer, feeling utterly humiliated and embarrassed by your mistake. She turns your chair around, her hands still on your shoulders. “No,” she says sharply. “I liked it,” she then says. You are frozen in place. “And I think I want to hear it again.” You are completely at a loss for words; your mouth opens but no words come out. She then takes a step back. “Oh my God. I am so sorry y/n. That was completely unprofessional of me. I shouldn’t have said that.” That’s when you finally realize that your connection wasn’t just in your head; she felt it too. You stand up and reach for her hand. “You want to know the real reason why I’m always distracted in your class?” you say in a soft playful tone. Her gaze pierces through your soul. “It’s you,” you state. She pulls you in a little bit closer; you can feel her breath on your face. “I get so lost in my thoughts because of you.” You say “Daydreaming…fantasizing.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. You start to lean in and suddenly Professor Harkness pulls back. “Wha-.” You begin to say. “I need to hear you say it.” She interrupts. You already know what she means. You take a deep breath. “I want you, Professor Harkness.”

With those words, your professor pulls you in, and your lips crash together in a heated, passionate kiss. You have fantasized about this for such a long time that you can’t believe it’s actually happening right now. You deepen the kiss, prompting a soft groan from your professor, who wraps her arms tightly around your waist and, in one swift, fluid motion, clears her desk by sweeping all the paper off, then gently sets you down, her eyes locked intensely on yours. Whoa, that was undoubtedly the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. You pull her back into a kiss with equal passion and intensity, and then you start to tug on her blazer; she quickly catches on and slips it off. After she gets her blazer off, she gives you a kiss on the lips and makes her way down to your neck. She sucks just the right spot on your neck, which makes you gasp. You tug on her hair while she starts to unbutton your sweater, the fabric slowly parting to reveal your bra underneath. Your professor’s pupils are blown wide, filled with want and lust. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long,” she says. You simply let out a moan in response, without saying anything else. She attempts to undo your bra clasp, but you quickly intervene and stop her.“Not until this is off,” you say breathlessly, gesturing to her blouse. “I think we can make that happen.” You stop her as she goes to pull on the hem of her blouse. “No. Let me,” you say. Your hands slide up from her hips and lift it over; your hands graze over her smooth skin. You roughly grab her breasts over the remaining fabric. “Fuck, y/n.” She moans. She slides her hands up your back, undoes the clasp on your bra, and throws it onto the floor, which sends a shiver down your spine.

You are still sitting on the desk in Professor Harkness’ arms, and then you push her into the chair and straddle her. She hikes up your skirt, which makes you gasp. You pull her back into a passionate kiss while she rips your tights. “God, I need you so badly,” you practically whine. You press into her even more, and your professor stifles a moan. She slowly moves her hand down your body until she reaches the spot where you need her most. “Christ,” she breathes out. “I haven’t even properly touched you yet, and you’re already soaked.” She chuckles. You can’t even respond because she finally pulls your underwear to the side; she starts by sliding a digit through your folds. You’re certain that your arousal is already dripping down her hand, and you’ve never been more turned on in your life. “You’re so hot, hon,” she says in a raspy tone; you moan in response as she finally enters you, her fingers curling and hitting the spot that drives you wild. She gently rubs your clit with her thumb. As you ride her fingers, you’re practically screaming with pleasure, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. “Fuck, I’m going to come,” you breathe out. “Come for me, y/n,” she says against your ear. Your stomach cramps as your orgasm washes over you; your screams are muffled by her mouth on yours, leaving you in a state of euphoria. As you come down from the high, you’re still slightly rocking in her lap. Your professor pulls away from you, brings her hand to her mouth, and savors your taste, letting out a pleasurable moan. “You taste so good, darling,” she hums. You capture her lips in another kiss.

After roughly kissing each other for about a minute, you begin to shuffle out of her lap. Your professor whines in disapproval. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m just returning the favor,” you grin as you sink to your knees and pull down the zipper on her pants. “You are so sexy, Professor Harkness,” you say, looking up at her. “You can just call me Agatha.” Oh, this is going to be fun.

#agatha harkness #agatha x y/n #agatha x reader #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness fic #kathryn hahn #agatha x you #agatha harkness smut #professor x student #agatha all along fanfic #agatha smut

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clockwayswrites · 2 days ago

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Annalise&Tim, Magenta, Solstice, wood fire @roanawayspoons

Annalise is an OC from my fic City Pigeons Bleed Green who showed up briefly. This is an AU where she came to Bruce right away and lived. Uh, sorry that Tim is only dubiously present... but this got in my head.

“Hello, Bruce,” Annalise called from the sitting room that she favored. It was a slightly smaller one than the family room that the would gather in, but she always said that she liked how cozy and warm it was. The Manor, as old as it was, did tend to have a chill to it that would linger in the colder months.

Bruce generally dealt with the permanent cold by wearing warm, turtleneck sweaters and Dick simply never seemed to get cold. Helena liked to steal Bruce’s sweaters, for all that they came pooled around her feet. Annalise, though, seemed to struggle with getting warm with her poor circulation. (Bruce also harbored a fear that the complications around Helena’s birth had caused permanent harm to Annalise, such as the constant fatigue that she seemed to suffer.)

The warm, golden light of the fire spilled out of the half open door to the room and it felt like coming home to step into it. He leaned against the door frame with a smile “Hello, Lise.”

“Alright day at work?” she asked as she stuck her needle in the cross-stitch that she she had been working on.

There was a fifty-fifty chance that it contained a cuss that would make Alfred tsk at her.

“Mm, holiday bonuses went out today, so everyone was in a good mood.”

“Oh, I imagine,” she said with a smile.

The kid—more a pile of blankets and flash of black hair than anything else—who was asleep against her leg shifted. She carded her delicately painted nails through their hair.

“Is one of our sick?”

Annalise hummed in confirmation. “Poor thing was chilled to the bone.”

“That—”

“B! You’re home!” Dick called.

Bruce barely had time to swing around and catch him as he flung himself over the edge of the stare rail and at Bruce’s chest. At sixteen Dick was big enough to make Bruce have to brace himself to catch him. One of these days, Bruce knew he was going to get hurt doing this (but that would hardly stop him, not when his oldest still wanted hugs).

“Hey chum,” Bruce said as he swung Dick around and into the room and set him down. Not Dick who was sick then, which would save the manor a lot of whining. “How was your last day of school?”

“Super boring. We didn’t even do anything! I don’t know why we had to go!” Dick said in a rush.

“He also got, and ate, several candy canes,” Annalise added with a little smile.

“Also that,” Dick agreed.

Bruce tried not to laugh. “Well then it wasn’t all bad, was it. Did you save one for your sister?”

“I did, but she got even more than me! Not that she ate all of them, she’s saving them,” Dick said, like it was the most ridiculous thing that he had ever heard.

“Well, if she’s not feeling we—”

“Daddy!”

Bruce swung just in time to catch his daughter, who of course had also taken to flinging herself at him ever since Dick had started training her in gymnastics this year. The catch was a little fumbled as Bruce spun back to the room and whoever it was that was sleeping on the couch.

“Who—”

“Timothy Drake from next door,” his wife explained softly and with a little smile on her face that Bruce knew spelled trouble for him. Her fingers were still carding through the child’s hair. “Did you know that he’s all alone over in that monstrosity of a house? Poor baby walked over here, in the cold, completely drenched because a pipe had burst in the kitchen. It burst because the heat had gone out and his parents wouldn’t answer his calls about needing their approval for a new furnace. In December. He wanted to know if we had a wrench so that he could shut the water main off.”

Purposefully, Bruce relaxed his hold on Helena so that he didn’t squeeze her too hard at hearing all that. “I see.”

“Yes,” Annalise said. “So I brought him inside, made sure he got warm, and then we had some tea and cookies. I don’t intend to send him back to that house.”

“Of course not, it’s freezing.”

“Ever.”

“…I’ll call our lawyers up then.”

#dc fanfic #ficlet really #good dad bruce #prompalomp

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moonsgemini · 2 days ago

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cherry wine pt. 3 - firefighter!rafe

* ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ ⋅

summary: After a couple weeks you & Rafe finally get to see each other again. He invites you over & makes you dinner & you know the perfect way to thank him. Of course it only ignites the mutual obsession.

warning: firefighter!rafe x teacher!reader, fem reader, fluff, two people obsessed with each other, oral (m. rec), dirty talk, rafe being sexy

an: hi! sorry this took so long & it’s on the shorter side. I promise the next part will come much sooner. Ugh I feel like this isn’t my best work. Also this can kinda be read as a stand alone.

masterlist ★ part one - part two

* ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ ⋅

It had been a couple weeks since your first date with Rafe and since then you’d seen each other a couple times sporadically. It was only ever for a few minutes though. He’d be just getting off a sixteen hour shift and meeting you for ice cream or you’d stop by the station and drop off baked goods. His busy schedule and yours didn’t allow for much free time.

Occasionally he’d leave treats at your front door before he went off to work. A hot coffee and a muffin or a scone to help you get through the day. Sometimes even a small bouquet of flowers and a cute note, that particularly made your heart flutter.

The two of you texted practically all day, sometimes he’d call you on his way home if it wasn’t too late and you weren’t lesson planning or grading. It was nice to not feel so obligated to see someone you were dating every day.

At least you think you guys are dating. Actually you don’t know what the two of you are doing. You wouldn’t consider one date to be dating. But every thing since then has felt so much like dating.

He wasn’t shy about letting you know how much he liked you in turn neither were you. He was the first guy to not make you feel embarrassed about your over flowing feelings.

When he let you know that he had a few days off coming up you made sure to get as much work done before then. Yeah you did like the idea of still having your space but you couldn’t deny that you missed him. Plus trying to catch up on lesson plans, grading, and parent conferences all week had run you ragged. You could use some alone time with a hot firefighter.

The thought of seeing him again made those butterflies flutter. It may be possible that you actually had missed him a lot. Not only had you missed his smile, jokes, and his attentiveness but you also missed his mouth and his hands. The smell of his cologne made you want to lick him.

What he had done to you the last time you’d seen each other replayed in your head whenever you had a spare moment. You hadn’t felt so wanted in so long that having him just wanting to taste you and being satisfied with that made you all the more desperate for him. He was truly the first real man you’d been with and you can’t even imagine what he’d be like during sex.

Rafe invited you over to his place so he could make you dinner. From what you had told him he could tell you had a long busy week. He made sure to promise you there’d be cherry wine of course.

It was a Friday and he had the day off so he had spent the day cleaning his condo and getting everything for dinner ready. He even bought some of your favorite snacks you had mentioned in conversation in case you wanted some while watching a movie later.

A part of him hoped you’d want to sleep over, it’d be nice to not sleep alone for once. He decided on cooking steak since that’s what he knew best. He was just a man after all.

He was a bit nervous. Which was a new feeling for Rafe. He didn’t typically miss people and usually that was because he didn’t stick around long enough to know anyone like that. It was a defense mechanism but there was something about you that made him want more. It wasn’t just how good you tasted and looked but it was how easy it felt to talk to you. Rafe thought you were funny, smart, and he liked how you played along with his teasing.

After school was over and you touched up your makeup in your classroom. You even changed into a tank top that was a bit revealing and your favorite pants that made your ass look fantastic. You didn’t want to waste anymore time away from him so as soon as you finished you headed out to his place.

That feeling of missing him so much should scare you but you liked it. You liked missing Rafe and you liked that you knew he missed you. With him everything felt real and you didn’t question your feelings or if you were being too eager.

You had to send the principal a fruit basket or something for continuing to insist the firefighter come every year. A few days ago you found out they almost didn’t do it this year but it all worked out. You can’t imagine not meeting Rafe now that you know him.

He didn’t live too far from the school so the drive was relatively short. You had texted him when you left school and since then he had been waiting outside for your arrival. When he saw your car pull up he walked down his driveway to meet you.

Being the gentleman that he is he opened your door for you, that smirk never falling from his lips. You loved him in date attire and his work uniform but him dressed like this. In a sweatshirt and grey sweatpants was making you swoon. He looked so domesticated you would get on your knees for him right here in the driveway.

“Hi,” You said bashfully as you stepped out. Every time you saw him it felt like the first time. Still occasionally turning into a pile of bashful mush around him.

“Hi,” He shut your door and placed a hand on the small of your back leading you up the driveway.

“Been waiting for me?” You teased.

He nodded, “Of course. Been thinking about you all day.” The heat creeped up your neck at his earnestness.

“You’re not shy about what you want huh?” You teased.

He shook his head with a smirk, “Then how would I always get what I want?”

You scoffed as he opened the door letting you in first, “I don’t know if cocky is a good look on you Cameron.”

He laughed, “Not cocky just confident,” he shut the door and gently put his hand on your stomach pushing you back against the door, “And I always get what I want.” Rafe leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your mouth.

It was like finally breathing fresh air when your lips met for the first time in a while. You would make out with him all night right there if you could, but he pulled away with a grin.

After gathering yourself you laughed and gently shoved him, “You’re dangerous.”

His condo was nice. It was clean and had as much decor as a man in his 20s with a demanding job can have. There were a couple frames pictures on a shelf. They looked to be his sisters he had mentioned a few times. At least you didn’t have to worry about him secretly having a family.

In the living room he had set up blankets on the couch and candles on his coffee table. It was cute how he wanted to set the romantic mood. To top it off he had Netflix open ready to have a movie played.

You sat on one of the stools on the breakfast bar as you watched him cook. He wanted to wait till you were here so the food was hot. It smelled delicious. If he could cook good food you were never letting him get away. He was almost too good to be true.

The way his back muscles flexed under his white tee shirt had your mouth watering. You wanted to bite him. The two of you made casual conversation about your week. It was weird how his ability to multitask made you more attracted to him.

“You wanna pick a movie while I plate?” He asked turning to you with a smirk.

You agreed and walked over to the living room. As you scrolled Rafe got the wine glasses and opened a bottle. He walked over to you with two plates and glasses.

“Wow, thank you chef,” You teased helping him with the plates.

“Don’t say that too much now you’ll turn me on,” He laughed but was being completely serious.

“Maybe I will then,” You smirked.

A bottle and a half of wine later the two of you were settled on the couch not particularly paying attention to the movie playing. It was a romcom you had suggested and obviously Rafe wasn’t going to say no. The pair of you couldn’t keep your mouths shut talking about anything and everything.

It felt so natural laying with you and talking. Everything from the outside world disappeared and Rafe could just focus on you and making you laugh. A sound he had grown to admire. The sound warmed his chest and made him want to pinch your cheeks. It was scary how fast he had become obsessed with you.

He hoped the feeling was mutual but by your body language he’s sure it is. Seeing Rafe relaxed in his own space was doing something to you. The alcohol in your blood stream not helping either. It didn’t help that he also couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Not even inna sexual way but it was still lighting you on fire.

His warm heavy hand had been resting on your thigh and he’d squeeze it occasionally. If he saw your hair move in front of your face he’d be quick to tuck it behind your ear. He even fed you some of your steak and used his thumb to wipe the corner of your mouth. Then he had the audacity put his thumb in his mouth to taste what was on your mouth and hum. You’re convinced he was put on this earth to torture you.

It finally became too much when he grabbed one of your legs and draped if over his. His hand began to trace circle on your inner thigh. Moving higher up every few minutes.

You set your empty glass on the table and turned fully towards Rafe. Both of your legs across his lap now. He didn’t notice your change in demeanor as he looked forward and went on about this show he saw with the main guy in it.

“Then he like asks her-“

“Rafe?” You interrupted.

He turned to you with a small grin, “Hm?”

“Thanks for dinner and everything,” You spoke softly.

His lips lifted in a crooked boyish smile, “Of course sweetheart.”

You reached out and rested a hand on his chest, “I think I need to thank you properly.”

Rafe could hear the innuendo in your statement and he was loving where this was going. He maneuvered you as a surprised sound left you when he placed you on his lap to straddle him. His hands now resting on your hips and yours on his shoulders.

“How would you do that hm?”

You shrugged feigning contemplation, “A kiss maybe.”

He raised a brow, “Oh yeah?”

You nodded and leaned forward closing the gap between you. Rafe pulled you closer so your chests were pressed together. He groaned as his body lit up feeling your weight on him. Your hands moved up his chest to grip the strands of hair at the back of his head.

Rafe’s hands gripped anywhere he could reach. The way he manhandled you had your underwear getting damp. He pulled away but only to press open mouthed kisses on your neck. He moved one of his hands into your hair and gently tugged at it to expose more skin. He could just eat you up.

The small whines and soft sighs you were letting out made his dick swell. He mumbled something about how good you taste before his lips slotted with yours again.

After a couple minutes of kissing and you may have started grinding against his bulge. As if you could stay still while feeling just how much he wanted you, but you had something else in mind for tonight. Especially since he’s already been so giving to you, so gently pushed his chest as you pulled away.

“Hm? What’s wrong?” He asked hazily. Rafe was drunk on you.

You giggled and shook your head, “Nothin I just think there’s something else I could be doing with my mouth.”

His eyes widened a bit surprised but it was quickly replaced by excitement. Now usually Rafe is a giver and he doesn’t mind not receiving. Like the last time you were together he got off just on making you cum, but he wasn’t going to stop you if you wanted to suck him off.

“Yeah? Feel free to show me,” He rubbed his hands up and down her sides.

“oh I will,” You smiled softly before leaning in and placing a kiss on his jaw. Moving down to his neck as your hands ducked under his shirt to feel the hard muscles of his abdomen.

Soon you were kneeling on the floor and your hands were fumbling a but as you tugged at his sweatpants. He helped you pull them off and he sprung free from the confines.

You’re not particularly fond of the way dick’s look but Rafe’s was one you could appreciate. No other guy had one this pretty, was it weird to think it’s pretty? you thought as you leaned forward. Never breaking eye contact with him as you gave his head a tentative lick.

That alone had him throwing his head back with a groan. Your mouth wrapped around his head. Rafe was going to explode with how warm and wet your mouth was you gently sucked on him.

Inch by inch you took him in deeper. Your head bobbing up and down at a slow pace to start. Once Rafe felt himself hit the back of your throat his hips stuttered. He was doing everything in his power not to thrust into your mouth.

“Fuck baby you look so good like this,” He groaned as he looked down. You looked like an angel with his cock in your mouth and doe eyes looking up at him. Your hand holding what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. Drool was starting to fall from your mouth. He felt your throat constrict around him as you sped up your pace.

“So pretty with my cock in your mouth,” He continued praising you once he saw how his words made you rub your thighs together. You hoped he hadn’t noticed that but he did.

You hummed softly around him. The vibrations adding to his pleasure. Rafe wrapped one hand around your hair to create a makeshift pony tail as your motions became sloppier.

“Getting me so close,” He sighed, “Feels like heaven in your mouth.”

One of your hands reach between him to fondle his balls. This is what got him closer to the edge.

“Dirty girl eh?” He gripped your hair a little tighter, “You’re so hot I could cum just by looking at your face.”

He felt you gag around him and that is what tipped him over, “Fuck I’m gonna cum baby.” He thrusted his hips upwards fucking your mouth. Not too hard obviously but it was enough to finally push him over the edge.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” He chanted and groaned as you took him as deep as possible as the his cum shot down your throat.

You pulled off of him with a pop and wipes your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt hot as you thought about what just happened. Rafe had his head thrown back with his eyes closed as he still worked on catching his breath.

“Was that okay?” You asked a bit shyly. Rafe let out a choked laugh

“Fucking better than okay,” He laughed as he peered down at you. You laughed softly and he leaned down to pull you back on to his lap. With you on top of him he maneuvered his sweatpants back on.

Rafe pulled you in and kissed you. His tongue invading your mouth. You’re thinking he surely must taste himself but not care. That thought left you even more damp. Your thighs clenching around his hips.

You pulled away and leaned your forhead against his as you softly spoke, “Rafe I really like you.”

He stroked your cheek with his thumb as he held your face, “I really like you too.” You let out a breathy laugh feeling like a giddy school girl.

He pulled away to look at you properly, “Want to stay the night? We don’t have to do anything else.”

You nodded before he could even finish, “I’d love to stay.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron smut

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stradakiev · 2 days ago

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Ok I’ll talk about it

I love this idea and agree with it soooooooo much and it’s my favorite Martha take ever

From Martha’s first story Smith and Jones she is figuring things out as if the doctor would without first seeing the doctor do it. She talks about how the windows aren’t exactly air tight and that there must be something keeping the air in. She figures out the genetic transfer, gets the Jadoon to catch the plasmavore, and brings the doctor back so he can fix the scanner. If you want to dig deeper with this episode the doctor is not introduced as his character he is John smith and Martha is studying to be a doctor. Foreshadowing she will play his role at the end of the season.

We don’t see much of this in the second episode because it her out of here element for real this time and she’s taking it in but still a very active character in the story.

Gridlock we get to see Martha separated from the doctor and kidnapped onto the highway. Martha is the one descending to the lower lanes and learning the stories of the sounds at the bottoms and putting the pieces together. It’s her quick thinking to turn the engines off to save them until the city was open by the doctor and they could drive up.

Daleks take manhattan and evolution of the daleks is when we see Martha start to boss the doctor around. Unlike other companions we’ve seem Martha spends a lot of her initial time traveling with the doctor actually away from him. When the doctor wants to just go off and see why the daleks changed their minds she asks if he’s just going to leave Hooverville to die. She is the one thinking of how to keep people alive like a doctor like the doctor. I like to think that the doctor hiding from the daleks behind Martha is symbolic of the doctor hiding from his grief and in many ways responsibilities and becoming more reckless while Martha holds things together.

The Lazarus experiment- the only part of this episode I want to focus on is the ending. The doctor suggests “one more trip” and she tells him she’s not going to keep doing it like that and that it’s either a full time passenger or good bye and the doctor agrees to it. Her being the one to have the power to chose to travel with him and be a full time companion makes her fulfill the role of the doctor as she decides who will be traveling in the tardis and he agrees like a companion typically does to an invitation.

42 her and the doctor are again apart for most of the episode and once the doctor has saved Martha he is possessed for the rest of the time while Martha cools his temperature and ejects the fuel from the sun saving both the day and the doctors life. So again companion doctor reversal once the doctor has saved her from imminent death.

Human nature and the family of blood- do I need to go into it? The doctor literally turns into a human and leaves everything up to Martha so she is the doctor for the episode and is the only one using the tardis (we’ve never seen her touch the console this much).

Blink- my man isn’t processing his grief with rose and now is separated from his ship. I can only imagine how much he was struggling. Martha was keeping them afloat with her job in the shop.

Utopia and the sound of drums!!! You can see Martha this whole episode just process more and more how poorly she’s been treated by the doctor by the way he interacts with jack and the stories of rose. She moves the story around narratively with the watch which. From here to where he family is kidnapped in the next episode (and we get the iconic scene of her yelling at the doctor) she is transforming herself through her actions until when she finally uses the vortex manipulator (the first type of time travel she has used by herself) she becomes the doctor.

Last of the time lords Martha is fully acting in the doctor role walking the whole worlds by herself without a weapon spreading a message of home. Her message is the doctor but in that moment she is the doctor. She embodies everything he is while he is removed from having control in the story.

I think the sound of drums/last of the time lords is Martha’s version of dark water/death in heaven. Martha is a lot more emotionally healthy than Clara and also has a live she has dreams for on earth so she chooses to leave. Martha has to cope with the consequences of becoming the doctor so she becomes a unit soldier I think to cope with how she has changed fundamentally but it also nicely brings those two lives together for our successful Queen. Whereas Clara becomes the doctor and no longer has anything or any dreams connecting her to earth to she toxically spirals out until she dies and then becomes not human so we love our toxic queen too

So basically I like to call season 3 the season the doctor was numbing his grief with reckless decisions, straight up not existing, and he’s classic running from it with adventures bc they have a savior complex. He got away with falling apart this much for a whole season bc Martha is a queen and held shit together.

Clara becomes the Doctor but can we talk about how Martha is also the Doctor. Besides being an actual doctor, she also becomes a soldier and tries to justify it to herself. She went through hell and saved the earth and bore that weight alone, and was never thanked for it. In the Doctors Daughter she is forced to watch as her Hath "companion" sacrifices themself for her and dies horribly, and she has to leave them behind. Is this thing on

#Martha jones deserves your respect #Clara became the doctor because she wanted to #Martha becomes the doctor because the doctor is being an absent father #if you think about it the master made Martha into the doctor and Missy made Clara into the doctors #doctor who #martha jones #clara oswald #freema agyeman #10th doctor #12th doctor #I love narrative parallels

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fushiguruuzzzz · 2 days ago

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wc 885. grief. death.

grieving you was the most difficult thing tetsuro kuroo had ever done.

there were days where he found himself turning to his left when he thought of something funny, only to be met with aching silence and the whisper of a presence that is no longer to be. as he walked in the streets, his fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, but his conscious stopped the muscle memory from acting on itself under the recognition that your presence was nowhere to be seen. the warmth radiated from your being no longer enveloped him, no longer smothered him in the affection that came with basking in the light that was you. there was a dooming emptiness that followed him everywhere, nothingness that never had the capacity to speak up yet still embedding itself into his heart and expanding within until it was a hollow shell of something that once beat for you.

his skin shed the familiarity of your touch, the way soft hands had once cradled his face and smoothed over the ridges etched into him by years of being strong. he no longer felt strong. the composure had been torn from him the moment your eyes fell shut for good, as if you had desperately grasped to him yet only brought with you his ability to remain who he had thought he was to the other realm. the dips of your palms, those that had felt personally carved to slot against his bone structure, were a mess of lines and plush flesh that seeped so deep into his skin he could no longer recount it off the top of his head.

he remembered you. he promised himself he could do that, and he was always confident in his ability to memorize things. after all, you had been his most cherished subject. but there were days where it simply was not enough; the unfulfilled love he no longer had a place to deposit consuming him from the inside out. and although the steady rhythm of your heart was engraved into the song of his soul, it no longer beat, and that was agonizing. what had once been a melody of bliss and youth had turned to the blues, a soft tune telling the story of tears shed over a life meant to live, but left abandoned.

kuroo was always the shoulder to lean on, the rock in the midst of raging tides. but now he found himself collapsed on the floor of a bedroom you had shared long ago, chest constricting with a phantom pain and breaths rapid as if the oxygen was not enough to keep him going. his shoulders shook as the sobs racked through him, each one crawling up his throat more painful than the last. what was he supposed to do when his rock was the one that had been ripped out from under him — was the reason his soul had been corrupt at all? for once, he felt lost. the memory of your voice had begun to fade no matter how many times he replayed old videos, and he could no longer find it in himself to imagine you guiding him through it. every word twisted with the shudder of death, and each time he pictured your face there was a swirling darkness in the horizon that reached out to you and snatched you away all over again. a blade of grief had been punctured into the tender bits of his soul — or was it just that he could not bring himself to deny the very thing that had once held you, too? the cool metal had once relished in the sweet embrace of your warm blood and, no matter how far into the afterlife his dreams brought him, that was closer to you than he had ever been.

every bit of his being ached, bones worn and chipped. he still wore his signature grin every day — maybe to put up a front and maybe because he knew the way it brought your mood up seeing him happy — but he was growing increasingly exhausted with pretending his future had not shattered and cut his hands as he sought out the shards. that grin was pulled into a straight line now, lips parting with a cry far too often. no matter how hard he bit down on his cheek, they just could not stop. he felt empty and sorrowful, a cocktail of dizzying negativity, as though his soul was so distraught without you he did not even know how to grieve. this was not the way he wanted to figure out soulmates were real. if he was so intertwined with you, why was it that he was left here, wrapped up in someone that ceased to exist?

why was it that he was here and you no longer had the privilege? what made him worthy of life more than you were, and yet doomed to eternal suffering? why was he the one left tracing your face in tear stained polaroids as if somehow, memorizing you a little further could bring you back to you?

seeking did not always lead to gentle findings. no matter how much tetsuro sought out the euphoria of having you breathing, he would only ever be met with dusty recounting of the millisecond it stopped.

🏷️.- @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @fiannee @bubybubsters @lizbix @mayyhaps @adoresia @gumims @cinnamxnangel @sickpatientt @aldebrana @cancelledkat @wizzzierr @jadeyaps

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balrogballs · 2 days ago

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it just hit me how, in a way, elrond sailing west isn't just letting go of arwen and aragorn, it's letting go of elros in a way. as long as he's watched over his brother's family, it's probably been like a part of him was still there. looking for little quirks and resemblances that aren't there except maybe. just maybe. and now he won't even have that, and on top of that he sails not knowing if he's lost all his children, or if the twins will come eventually.

i want to sue elrond over his existence constantly making me sad.

Screaming crying throwing up! Every time I think about that little freak sailing I want to bite people because he would have gone back so empty handed that he wouldn’t have been able to see what a wonderful world it was that he helped build! Imagine seeing the race of men as slowly diminishing copies of the brother he lost, only to come face to face with the knowledge that he would never, ever get to see Eldarion! The result of all those centuries of yearning and shaping the world! Of being shaped and battered by it!

I literally have rotated myself over a campfire like a leg of lamb thinking about this, to the point I had to pacify myself by writing a fic (last year, I deleted it pretty swiftly) where Maglor and Elrond start doing bird conservation for this one bird Elros, a former Bird Guy, used to be obsessed with so I could manhandle the whole shebang into a happy ending using bird eggs…

"Why?" he had asked Elros, on the final day, amidst the final embrace. "Why would you choose to leave?"

"Because of someday," Elros had said a little tiredly, exhausted by the task of attempting to make all of these immortal creatures understand the eternality of transcendence. "Because of how wonderful it is, to pass things on. To teach. To be part of a creation, a cycle. Someday, someday when all of this is over. Something will last, and perhaps, perhaps what is left behind will be enough to make a world.”

Elrond dipped his hand in the little river and then covered it in grain, watched a tall, brave and eternally curious crane nudge closer and closer to him until it began pecking the grains off his hand. The sun rose as more birds edged cautiously toward the two, turning the valley and everything in it a brilliant red-gold: Elros's very favourite colour.

After all, each act of conservation was — at a fundamental level — an explanation of why someone else should care about something precious to you. It was a picture of what was lost already, of what might be lost, what was worth saving and what that meant. Should mean, would mean, even after the thing itself is gone forever. Whether it was the Westernmost Crane, golden-billed and bright-eyed with a burgeoning newfound faith in Arda. Or Elros Tar-Minyatur, who had always been determined to make as much of a glory out of this marred world as ever he could.

#ask balls #lord of the rings #elrond peredhel #elros tar minyatur

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twoplayergaymers · 2 days ago

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Promise- I. Midoriya

Izuku’s got your heart, but he’s still too afraid to give you his.

Notes- quirkless au, late teens/early twenties, mentions of of sex, mentions of drinking, angst, hurt no comfort

In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have met Izuku Midoriya at all.

That’s what you tell yourself, wrapped in the soft covers on your bed for the umpteenth night, crying your eyes out

You wish you never met him.

You wish he never looked at you the way he did, like you were something rare, something special. You wish he never kissed you like a promise he never intended to keep. You wish he never held you on those sleepless nights, whispering secrets he swore he never told anyone else.

You wish you never went to that stupid fucking party.

Almost a year ago now, your coworker, Ochako had invited you to a housewarming party for the new apartment she’d gotten with her girlfriend. A casual night, board games, chatter, charcuterie, and the most beautiful pair of green eyes you’d ever seen.

You felt captivated by him, he was beautiful, and so respectful in a way that had you swooning.

You wish you were casual about it. You should have looked away. You should have smiled politely and kept your distance. You should have let him come to you.

But you didn’t. You went to him. That was your first mistake.

You introduced yourself, and he said your name like he was tasting it, like he wanted to remember the way it felt on his tongue. And you let yourself believe—for just a moment—that maybe this was something more than just a fleeting connection at a friend’s party.

Izuku was magnetic, but not in the way you were used to. He wasn’t the loudest person in the room, didn’t demand attention with arrogance or charm. No, he drew you in with his quiet intensity, the way he listened like your words meant something, like you meant something.

And God, you fell so fast.

He asked for your number st the end of the night. You’d giggled about it with Toga and Ochako for hours after the party ended, replaying the moment over and over in your head. The way he had smiled—shy but certain—the way his fingers brushed against yours when he took your phone.

Maybe he’d text you. Maybe he wouldn’t.

But God, you really, really hoped that he would.

He texted you the next afternoon.

Hey, I had a great time talking to you last night. Hope you got home safe—though I wouldn’t mind an excuse to see you again soon.

It wasn’t too much, not overly confident or pushy. But it was enough to make your stomach flip, enough to have you rereading it a few times before finally typing out a response.

From there, it was easy. Conversations that stretched late into the night, playful teasing that made your cheeks warm, moments where he’d say something just suggestive enough to make your heart race—only to follow it up with something sweet that left you wondering if you were imagining it.

Texting turned into lunch, lunch turned into dinner, dinner turned into something more.

Late-night drives, parked somewhere far from the noise of the city, R&B humming through the speakers as you lay side by side beneath the stars.

You remember it vividly—wrapped in blankets, the cool night air nipping at your skin, but the warmth between you keeping the chill at bay. Lingering glances, soft touches, murmured compliments that made your breath hitch. The way his fingers traced idle patterns on your wrist, like he was memorizing the feel of you.

And then—the brush of his lips against yours.

It had been slow, tentative, like he was giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t. Of course, you didn’t. And when he finally kissed you—fully, deeply—it felt like the beginning of something.

You told him things you’d never told anyone else. You trusted him.

God, you loved him.

And you knew—you just knew—that he loved you, too. He had to… right?

So you told yourself to be patient.

Because he had told you things too. About his childhood, about nights spent listening to his mother’s quiet sniffles when she thought he was asleep. About how much she had sacrificed, how hard she had worked. He spoke of her with nothing but admiration, and it made you beam, knowing how deeply he loved her.

But you also knew what he didn’t say outright.

He had never seen love done right. Not between parents. Not between partners.

You couldn’t blame him for that.

Maybe he was scared.

Maybe if you waited long enough, if you were soft enough, patient enough—he would see what was right in front of him.

Maybe he would finally choose you.

He never made you question if he wanted you—not at first. He was attentive, thoughtful in a way that made your chest ache. He remembered things you mentioned in passing, sent you pictures of things that reminded him of you. When you were together, he looked at you like you were important.

And maybe that’s why you ignored the signs.

The way he deflected whenever your friends teased about you being his girlfriend. The way he never posted you, never introduced you as anything more than a friend.

The way he kissed you like you were his, but never actually said you were.

And now, almost a year later, you were still just something to him. Never nothing, but never quite enough.

You should have walked away months ago.

But you didn’t. And that was your second mistake.

Still, you let it slide. Again and again.

Because when it was just the two of you, it was easy to believe.Easy to believe that the way he looked at you meant something.

Easy to believe that the soft way he said your name, the way his fingers lingered on your skin, the way he pulled you close when he thought no one was looking—meant something.

The thousands of pictures of you on his phone. The little heart next to your contact. The way he touched you—gentle, reverent—like you were something precious. The way he whispered in your ear, soft and low, moaning your name like a prayer, pressing kisses to your skin between murmured praises. It had to mean something.

Didn’t it?

And then one night, it all came crashing down. A party, a few drinks, a conversation you weren’t supposed to overhear.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he had laughed, voice light, casual, unbothered. “We’re just… y’know. It’s nothing serious.”

Nothing.

You had stood frozen in place, stomach twisting, head spinning. And that was the moment you finally understood.

He was never scared.. even if he was

He just never planned on choosing you.

All those nights, all those moments—had they only meant something to you?

You wanted to storm out, to scream, to demand an answer. Instead, you turned on your heel and slipped away before anyone could see the way your hands trembled.

You ignored his texts that night. Ignored the calls. Ignored the way your heart clenched every time his name lit up your phone.

But the worst part? You knew it wouldn’t last.

Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much you wanted to walk away—

You weren’t ready to let him go.

You kept telling yourself you would stop responding, that you wouldn’t let him back in. You deleted his texts, turned off your notifications, even scrolled past his name when it popped up. But every time, your finger hovered, your heart betraying you, like it always did.

And when you finally caved—when you answered his call a few days later, voice shaky, but determined to be calm—he acted like nothing had happened.

“Hey, you okay? I’ve been thinking about you. Sorry if I was distant the other night. Just been dealing with some stuff, you know?”

Dealing with some stuff?

You wanted to scream. You wanted to ask him how he could say that, how he could act like he hadn’t shattered something inside you with that one offhand comment. But you didn’t.

Instead, you let out a long, shaky breath and said, “Yeah, I’m fine.” And he believed you, of course he did.

You hated yourself for it, but you let him believe it.

Because when he looked at you with those wide, earnest eyes, when he pulled you close like you were everything he needed in that moment, it was impossible to remember why you should walk away.

You were so tired of trying to be strong.

It wasn’t fair. You had given him everything. Your trust, your heart, your time—and all he’d given you in return were moments of fleeting affection. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop loving him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And maybe that was your biggest mistake of all.

A few more weeks passed, and you fell back into the same rhythm, the same cycle. You’d push away, only to let him pull you back in with a soft text or an unexpected visit. Each time, the same promises without words—those lingering glances, those half-smiles, those gentle touches that said you matter to me but never I want you.

It was always on his terms, always when it suited him. He’d reach out when he was bored, when he was lonely, when he needed someone to listen, someone to be there without asking questions. But when it was time to take things further, when it was time for him to actually decide, he pulled away.

It was late one evening when it hit you the hardest. You were sitting on the couch in his apartment, both of you talking about nothing in particular—just the usual casual chatter you’d gotten used to. Then, out of nowhere, he paused, his fingers grazing the back of your hand. “You know,” he said, a soft chuckle escaping him, “I really don’t know what I’d do without you around. You’re like… my safe place.”

His words should have made you feel warm, should have been the affirmation you’d been desperately searching for. But instead, it felt like a dagger to your chest.

A safe place.

Your heart sank. You wanted to ask him why—why you couldn’t be more than just that, why he didn’t want you the way you wanted him. But you didn’t. You never did.

Instead, you swallowed your pain, gave him a tight smile, and muttered, “Yeah, me too.”

That night, you left his place earlier than usual, the familiar weight of disappointment pressing against your chest. You wanted to tell yourself that you were strong enough to let him go, that you deserved more, but each time you thought about it, you felt the pull of him—his warmth, his laugh, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

But the truth was undeniable: He wasn’t ready for what you wanted. And you weren’t going to keep sacrificing yourself for a version of him that didn’t exist.

So you stayed away. You tried to.

falling back into the rhythm was easier than you’d care to admit, the way he whispered your name, the way his touch still felt like home despite everything. You kept convincing yourself that this time would be different—that he would change, that he would see you, really see you, the way you’d always wanted him to.

But the cracks were still there, even if you ignored them.

The empty promises were still there, buried underneath the soft kisses and late-night conversations. He would kiss you with the same urgency, whispering things in your ear that made your heart race, but when it came time for something more—something real, something lasting—he pulled away. You could feel it in the way he hesitated, the way he’d get distant when things felt too serious.

It wasn’t fair. You knew it. You were supposed to be stronger than this. But each time he came around, you let him back in.

You were lying in his bed, tangled in sheets, and even the quiet stillness between you felt heavy—like it was all just too much to ignore anymore. His fingers traced patterns on your skin, but his touch felt distant, almost absent. You could feel it, like a cold draft in the air, the way something unspoken was hanging between you two.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, though you could hear the edge of uncertainty in his voice. He was waiting for you to tell him everything was fine. You knew he was.

“No,” you said quietly. “I’m not okay.” “I think we should stop this. You keep doing this, Izuku. You keep pulling me in and then pushing me away, and I’m done pretending like it’s okay.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you weren’t done. You weren’t going to let him hide behind his words this time.

“11 months. 11 months of this… this back-and-forth, this whatever we’re doing,” you continued, your voice growing stronger, fueled by the hurt and the anger you had buried for so long. “You tell me you want me, you kiss me like I’m the only one, you act like I’m the most important thing in the world—and then you disappear. You tell people it’s not serious, like I don’t matter. Like I’m just temporary.”

His mouth opened and closes then he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he repeated, as though trying to convince both of you.

“11 months, Izuku,” you spat, voice trembling with both anger and hurt. “11 months of back-and-forth, of you acting like you wanted me. I trusted you. I gave you everything, and you’ve just kept me at arm’s length like I’m some kind of… option. Like I’m just here when it’s convenient for you.”

Izuku’s face fell, guilt flickering in his eyes, but you were too far gone now. Too far from the illusion of him ever being the person you needed him to be.

“Y/n I swear I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice tight with emotion, reaching out to you. His hand hovered near your arm, but you pulled away. “You have to know that. I care about you so much. I really do.”

“You care? You never gave me anything more than sweet words and empty promises. You kissed me like you loved me, like you needed me, but then when it came time for something real, you’d pull away. Every time.”

He grabbed your wrist, his grip soft but firm, desperate. “Please, don’t do this. I don’t want to lose you. I just… I don’t know how to be the person you need me to be. I don’t—”

“What the hell does that even mean? You don’t know how? I’ve been here, trying to be patient, trying to show you that I care. I’ve been fighting for us and for something real, while you’ve been pretending you don’t want it.” Your voice cracked, but you held back the tears. “I gave you everything, and you couldn’t even give me one thing in return.”

He flinched at your words, but you didn’t stop. The dam had broken, and you had no intention of holding back anymore.

Tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, refusing to break down in front of him. “I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, voice raw. “I can’t keep being your safety net, the person you turn to when you feel like it. I deserve more than this. I deserve someone who doesn’t just talk about wanting me, but shows me.”

“Maybe I’ve been stupid. Maybe I’ve been trying to make something out of nothing because I thought you might change. But I’m done. I’m done letting you play with my feelings.”

You stood up, grabbing your clothes, your hands shaking as you tried to keep it together. “I’m done with this. I’m done with you.”

Izuku sat up, clearly struggling to find the words to fix it, but you couldn’t stay. Not anymore. You gave him one last look, shaking your head. “Goodbye, Izuku.”

And this time, you walked out, not looking back.

You wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

A/n- I just wanted to write for Izuku differently.. I like to think that boy knows nothing about love and its foolish tendencies! he does not have positive examples of romantic love! No I’m not projecting a personal experience! Shut up!

Tags— @poemeater @beebunsx @beabamboo @superlegend216 @mimzyu

#shut up haley!#this isn’t based of experience or anything #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #izuku midoriya #mha x reader #mha izuku #bnha izuku #izuku x reader #izuku midoria x reader #izuku midoryia x you #mha deku #deku #deku x reader #deku x you

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bunni-v1 · 4 hours ago

Note

I can TOTALLY Smilk and TR taking oral

Like imagine:

Truthless Recluse between your legs, eating you out/sucking you off. He's going slow and steady, savoring the flavors of your juices/precum. . . Till all of a sudden, Shadow Milk comes out of nowhere and pushes TR like "Out of the way! It's my turn!~" then proceeds to eat you out/suck you off like his life depends on it, his tongue mercilessly lapping at your folds/taking his whole cock in your mouth

. . .

Now which sounds better?

For the sake of my sanity reader has a pussy (sorry guys it’s my default).

MDNI

Anywayyyyy, the two of them have VERY different styles of pussy eating, and they bicker about who you like better all the time. It’s hard to chose though, they both excel at what they’re good at, and they both cater to different needs.

Starting with TR, he’s definitely more the type to take it slow. It’s not as though he has any reason to go slow, he doesn’t really care to draw it out, that’s just how he is. Part of it carrie’s over from before he became TR, Pure Vanilla was always the kind to be sweet about things.

Truth is, Truthless Recluse goes slow because he’s greedy. He wants to take and take and take from you for as long as he can. He’ll press warm kisses to the inside of your thighs, dragging them across your dough, because forbid he have to remove his mouth from you. He’ll take his time with one, breathing over your pussy for a moment before doing the same to the next.

His eyes are shut tight the whole time, uncharacteristic for him, but once he gets to the main course they lock onto you. He almost always starts by licking a long wet strip up you. Starting from your dripping hole all the way up to your needy clit. He shudders at the taste, feeling as if he’s in heaven, you are divine on his tongue. Once he starts, he can’t stop himself from taking more.

Another slow lick right up to your clit, then he takes the bud in his mouth and sucks. He sucks and rolls his tongue over the sensitive little nub, relishing in the way you cry out his name. He’ll let you do what you like, squirm and pull at his hair, it doesn’t matter. He’s steadfast in his pleasure, enjoying the taste of you, drunk on it. His dull eyes with peer up at you with unrestrained possessiveness, drinking you in like you were the last thing he’d ever get to see.

It’s very different from Shadow Milk, who is fast and eager. He does not like to waste time with silly little games, biting you once or twice before diving in for the meal. His tongue being forked allows him to do things most cookies can’t, which aides in making his fast pace feel so much better.

Unlike TR with his slow licks and consistent speed, Shadow Milk is like a mixed bag of everything. His long tongue curls deep inside, able to reach your g-spot with little to no effort. It curls around your clit, stroking it until your eyes are crossed. He can take it nice and slow, but equally he can go hard and fast.

He usually is a mix of both, starting fast and rough, leaving you gasping for air then slowing down suddenly to make you beg for more. The whiplash is part of the experience, it’s what makes everything feel so good. Oh, and unlike TR, he uses his teeth a lot. It’s rare he leaves any marks on your pussy, but he leaves light little impressions. It’s enough to make you jump and squirm.

He likes control, and he’ll fight you for it. If you wiggle too much he holds you still, because he can’t make you feel good if you’re running away. He overstimulates you to high hell, making you cum again and again over and over until you can’t think of anything but him. It’s so different from TR, and back to back sessions make your head loopy.

The both of them together is quite the experience. It’s typical that Truthless Recluse is the one eating you out, Shadow Milk not wanting to relinquish that control over the two of you. So you’ll be settled between Shadow Milks legs, back to his chest, while his hands keep your legs open for TR.

TR keeps his usual pace, slow and steady while Shadow Milk plays with other parts of you. He’ll cup your chest as TR hums against your hole, the vibrations making you lightheaded and weak against Smilk. He guides TR verbally through the process, telling him what to do and how you like it. TR doesn’t really listen much, but you seem to enjoy it so Smilk doesn’t reprimand him too much.

He can only take so much of it before he gets bored, though. TR is too sweet and slow on you, the show gets lame fast. So, he grabs TR by the hair and pushes him against you, forcing him to go the pace he wants him to. The rough treatment making the cookie moan against you, causing you to squirm uselessly between them. Smilk makes it worse by swirling little circles into your clit, heightening the pleasure tenfold.

He’ll coo at you so sweetly, praising you and TR for taking it so well. But again, there’s only so much of it he can take until he gets bored. When that happens, he’ll tug TR away so he can take the reins of your pleasure. It’s up to TR on whether he stays or not, but he usually does.

He’ll take Smilks spot behind you and watch the way the other cookie works his mouth over you. He’s not vocal, but you can feel the way he watches your reactions, and you can certainly feel the way he enjoys them too.

If you pick a favorite, they’ll both pout about it — though TR is more a dejected sigh than a pout. They both compete quietly to see who can pleasure you better, and it goes on right under your nose. The way they look at each other while they pleasure you is the dead giveaway, like wild beasts challenging each other for their mate, they glare over your stomach as if to beg the other to try better.

Now, when it comes to you giving them head, that’s a different story. But they use that as the ultimate show of who suits you better :)

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izvmimi · 2 days ago

Text

cw: not exactly phone sex. that's it.

Once it’s a few minutes past 3am, and the two of you are beginning to succumb to the natural calming lull of a midnight phone conversation that must soon reach its end, you can hear your own voice start to slur as you begin to pronounce the words Shin dreads the most.

“Hey…”

You can’t see him, but you can imagine him perking up to the sound of your voice, conjuring it somewhere deep in your mind’s eye. There’s something primitive about this, you think for a moment, not being able to see each other whether in person or even through a phone screen in this year 2025. Your eyes squint involuntarily in the dim light, and rather than on a face through which you can read expressions of agreement or distaste or affection, you fixate instead on the bare ceiling above you that you can barely make out in the darkness. Somewhere you figure Shin is doing the same, or perhaps he is laying on his side, or maybe even on his belly, his phone perched on the headboard of his bed as he stares at it or rested into the space between his cheek and his chin.

Then your mind starts to wander - you wonder if he wears pajamas to bed, or if he’s bold enough to sleep start naked (a thought that causes your face to warm), or somewhere in between like you, clad in a baggy t-shirt but with nothing but a pair of old panties below.

Not the very least sexy, you think, as your legs press together, rubbing across each other for warmth.

Where are his hands? Tucked under a pillow or perhaps idling in the crotch of his pants? Left hand idling, right hand wrapped tightly around the shaft of his-

“Mm?”

Shin’s voice centers your wandering thoughts, and you remember quickly that you were supposed to say good night.

“I think I’m gonna turn in for the night, okay?” you start. Something lingers on the last word. Hesitancy. You don’t want to hang up.

You can hear the sigh through Shin’s nostrils on the other end of the receiver.

“Am I that boring?” he asks.

You chuckle to yourself despite your heavy eyelids.

“No... but we have been on the phone for nearly 3 hours,” you remind him, despite the fact that you’re grinning ear to ear. You can’t help it sometimes, smiling as you whisper sweet nothings to each other until your cheeks hurt.

You haven’t felt like this since you were a teen, perhaps not truly ever your entire life.

He replies with a satisfied hum. “And yet, I still think I have more things to say to you.”

You turn to your side, your knees folding close to your chest as you pull your blanket closer to bunch securely around your neck.

“Like what?”

Breathy and light your voice goes, and his voice lowers commensurately, both in tone and innocence. “Spend a night with me and you’ll find out.”

You pause, and he pauses too, then breaks the silence with a careful laugh.

“Too much?” he teases. Your heartbeat picks up slightly despite your fatigue. He’s dropped the flirtatious act again, and is back to his regular self, the him you’re more comfortable with.

“Not enough, actually.”

He laughs again through the phone, heartier than before.

“I’d call your bluff but I can’t read your mind through the phone.”

The image you conjured of him naked flashes back in your mind, then flashes right back out for a moment. A close one.

“Trust me, it’s a good thing.”

The image is back again, vivid and far more detailed, lewd even - Shin’s breaths are ragged, and heavy, fist closed tightly against the base of his cock, and he’s squirming, face flushed and sheets drenched, sticky sweat matting blonde locks to his forehead. His eyes are closed, he’s moaning your name, the taut muscles of his torso flex and stretch as he moans your name-

“___?”

You gasp again.

“Are you falling asleep?” he asks, gently. You have to remind yourself that he can’t hear you through the frequency, or can he? Paranoia threatens to make you start sweating too.

“I have to go.”

Another short pause, but he doesn’t whine anymore.

“Okay.” You can feel his warm smile through the phone, and your heart skips a beat. The image lingers in your mind’s eye; pre leaks through a dusky tip, and you wonder what your mouth would feel around it.

He has to be putting images in your head. Reverse telepathy.

“Good night.”

He lets you hang up first and you realize the late night phone calls are good, great even, but if the heat between your thighs is any indication, you might just need to graduate to the real thing.

#shin x reader #shin asakura x reader #******#cw phone sex #daydreams: sakadays #sakamoto days x reader #mimi's notes

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mia-can-yap-too · 2 days ago

Text

No.1 Fan

Who?:- Megumi Fushiguro x Fem! Author! Reader

Warnings:- fluff, no curse!au, brief mentions of Yuji and Nobara, move aside Gege I made Satosugo canon.

♫:- poster boy — Lyn Lapid

Megumi Fushiguro was a lot of things. Son, brother, friend, acquaintance, student. All these are no surprise, after all, everyone has these traits. But what one would not expect him to be, was a fan.

Megumi was fifteen when he first heard of you. Back then, newspaper articles were filled with your face, your name, you. A literary prodigy. A girl who, at the ripe age of fifteen, won three awards for her debut book. Every which way he turned, there was always mention of you. Tired of all what he deemed was 'meaningless glazing', he bit the bullet and read your book.

He was entranced, hanging onto every word. Simultaneously wanting to find out the outcome and dreading for it to end. He developed emotional connections with your characters, sympathized with their circumstances and teared up from their losses. He had never felt like this before.

When he ultimately finished the book, he was left staring into the void. The epilogue was left to fate, no definite promises. He wanted to know more. He wanted more of your writing. He wanted to feel the way he did once more, even though no other book he read after provoked the same feelings, the same anticipation, sympathy and sorrow again. He wanted more.

And so Megumi started waiting hopefully for the release of your next book. And the next one. And the one after that as well. Oh, and the rest too. He would be the first to get a hold of the latest book. Bought all the limited editions. Signed up to all your websites. Read any and every article which had even the tiniest mention of you. Defended your name on the Internet when anyone dared to insult you. Megumi became your biggest fan.

So, imagine the excitement he felt when he found out you were coming to Tokyo to promote your latest book, were going to do a book signing event at his local bookstore. He immediately started planning his outfit, which books he would bring to be signed (he ended up bringing up all of them), which time he would arrive in order to be one of the first people you would meet (he did not end up being one of the first).

And so, now Megumi waits in the never-ending line at your signing. You were right there. The same girl he admired so much. The author of the books he devoted so much time and money to. And you were so kind and polite too. Smiling at every single person, making small talk before adding a perfect autograph with a personalized message on the index page.

A cough from behind him pushes him out of his thoughts. "Hey dude, get moving already," says an annoyed voice. He didn't even realize that it was his turn already. You send a polite smile his way, waiting for him to come up to you. Megumi's face flushes in embarrassment. Unconsciously, he fixes up his hair and clothes before walking towards you.

"Hello! How are you?" You say, your voice so sweet, he could listen to it all day.

"Uh, hi. I'm well," he should probably ask you too. "....and you?"

"I'm doing great, thank you for asking! What's your name?"

"Megumi. Fushiguro. Yes, Megumi Fushiguro. And you?" He realizes his mistake too late.

His eyes widen in panic but you brush it off with a laugh. "I'm Y/n L/n, not sure if you've heard it before," you joke.

"Sorry...I uh didn't mean to. Of course, I know who you are, I came to your event after all." Great, now he's rambling. You probably think he's the most awkward guy you've ever met.

"It's okay, don't worry about it. So what book have you brought for me to sign today?"

He pulls out all of them, even the limited editions. This may be the only time he ever sees you, no way was he gonna miss the opportunity.

Your eyes widen slightly. "A-All of them? Oh wow, you must really like my books. Is that the limited edition of 'The Last Dragon'? I saw so many people say it was almost impossible to get!"

"Uh...yes?" His face is faintly flushed from your praise.

Your smile brightens. You begin signing the books, "well, Megumi, thank you for supporting me so much! I'm very grateful! I really hope we meet again sometime soon!"

Huh? What do you mean by that? Don't you live in USA?

You return the books, and your hands brush with his. You send one last bright smile his way, one that makes his heart stutter. How had he never realized how beautiful you were before?

"Goodbye, Megumi Fushiguro!"

"Goodbye, Y/n L/n," he says so quietly that you almost didn't catch it.

He find his personalized note in the limited edition of 'The Last Dragon'. He dreams of it when he sleeps.

'Your passion and enthusiasm reminds me of why I write. Thank endlessly for your support. My world wouldn't be the same without readers like you, Megumi.

~ Y/n ;D'

He hands the customer their iced americano. Phew, rush hour has just ended. It was quite a busy day this morning, but now his shift should go as usual, nice and quiet. It is these times when he writes his essays and completes his assignments, the environment of the cafe fueling his productivity.

He is wiping the counters when the bell chimes. He turns around, ready to great the customer with his usual monotone greeting, though he stops in his tracks when he sees you at the door. To be honest, he hadn't stopped thinking about you since the signing event. So much that his friends, Yuji and Nobara, started teasing him for having a crush.

And there you are, in all your glory, looking around the cafe, headphones around your neck and tote bag on your shoulder. Your eyes do a double take when they find his.

"Hey! I know you!"

"You....do?" He had expected you to forget all about him.

"Yeah, your'e Megumi Fushiguro, right? I hope I'm right, else this is really really embarrassing."

He rubs at his nape as he looks away, eye contact being almost too much for him.

"Yes, that's me."

You walk up to the counter with a skip in your step. "I hope you still remember me," you tease.

"I... do remember. What would you like to order?" For some unknown reason, he really wants to know how you enjoy your coffee. Latte, espresso, americano, or plain black? Or would you just get tea instead? Would you like a pastry with it, or would you get a sandwich instead? What does it matter to him anyways?

Your eyes skim the menu, blissfully unaware of his myriad of thoughts. It doesn't take long for your e/c eyes to find his. "I'll get a mocha frappé, please. Oh, and a chocolate croissant with that too."

It takes him a moment to ask. "To go?"

"No, I'll be staying, it seems like a nice place, calm and quiet," you remark.

He nods. Should he say something back? If so, what? Or should he just keep quiet? You decide for him, sitting at a table nearest to the counter. You take out a laptop, one decorated with multiple stickers. It pulls a ghost of a smile on Megumi's lips. It seemed a lot like you to do that.

He prepares your order, keeping one eye on you as you type away on your laptop. Are you writing your next book? If so, would he be able to get a peak when he delivers your order? Or are you just answering emails? He still needs to do his assignments, would he even be able to concentrate with you here?

You smile at him when he sets your frappé and croissant on your table. Why is it so hot in here? Should he tell his boss to get the air conditioner fixed?

He doesn't have the courage to smile back, not that that would be his usual reaction to something like this. He returns to counter and pulls out his own laptop. He would look like a creep, standing there, staring at you, doing nothing. So this was the best possible option, even if his mind kept drifting to the absolute wonder six feet away from him.

Two hours, three to-go customers and a few assignments later, you stretch your arms in your chair. Of course, he notices, even though he keeps his eyes locked on his screen.

You tilt your head at him. "I assume you're doing your assignments?"

Your unexpected question gives him an excuse to look at you. "Huh? Yeah."

You smile. "What major are you?"

"Creative Writing," he replies.

"Need any help? I'm good at brainstorming, you know?"

"You want to help? Don't you have your own work to do?"

"It's gotten a bit boring, right now. Anyways, anything for my biggest fan," you say with a sly smirk on your lips. He hopes you don't realize how much you fluster him.

You take his silence as a yes. Hopping over to the counter, you gesture for him to turn the laptop towards you. You read the prompt and hold your chin as you think.

When you finally do get an idea, you share it with Megumi, conversing with him the best possible ways to go about it, sharing various tips and tricks. And Megumi swears he has never felt happier.

This becomes a regular occurrence between you and Megumi. You place the same order everyday (he prepares it before you come), write a couple of words for your next book, and then proceed to help Megumi (who has started to sit next to you instead of leaning on the counter all the time).

He learns that you moved to Japan, permanently. You also tell him the idea for your next book. It makes him feel special, knowing he is your only fan who knows such confidential information. Months pass with the same routine, your bond strengthening everyday. He sees you as a friend now, too. He doesn't learn you considered him one from the start.

A phone call disrupts the calm between you two, one winter day. The heater works overtime to keep you both warm, though he wouldn't mind lending you his jacket, if you asked so.

He picks up the phone call. "Hello?"

"Heya, Megumi! How's my favorite child doing?" asks an obnoxiously loud voice. It wouldn't be Gojo if he didn't.

"What is it, Gojo?"

A dramatic gasp is heard. "How mean, I don't remember raising you like this. Must've been Suguru."

"Get to the point."

"Okay, okay, chill. Me and Suguru want you to come spend Christmas dinner with us! It has been quite lonely since Tsumiki moved to Australia. You'll come, right? You wouldn't want to make your dads sad, right?"

Megumi rubs his forehead. "Fine, I'll come."

"Oh and you'll bring a girl too, right? Or guy, you know we don't judge."

"Uh..."

"If not, there's always the neighbor's girl, I've seen her eyeing you. Suguru wants to set you two up!"

"No!" You turn to look at him with concern. He lowers his voice, "No, I have someone..."

Gojo's surprise can be felt through the phone. "Really?! OH MY GOD, my boy's finally grown up! Can you tell I'm tearing up right now? Well, I can't wait to meet the lucky person! Make sure to bring them over! I have to go now, adult responsibilities and all. See you on Christmas!"

Megumi groans as the call ends. What has he gotten himself into? How will he find someone now?

"You good, Megumi?" You ask, worry etched on your face.

"Yes, it's just... I have a problem."

You are too kind. You rush to help. "What is it? Is there anyway I can help?"

"I have to go to a Christmas dinner with my family, but I lied about having someone to bring," he answers. What did he even expect you to do? Turn back time?

"I could go with you."

Okay, he did not think of that. "What? Are you sure?"

"I mean, yeah. I don't have any plans on Christmas, anyways. Besides, it'll be just like in the books!"

"My guardians, they might be a bit much..."

"Don't worry," you say confidently, "I'll wow them with my undeniable charisma!"

A small smile appears on his face, one almost unnoticeable if you hadn't learn't the meaning behind every small twitch of his face. He doesn't need to know that, though.

And so, the two great minds formulate a plan that even the best strategists would be jealous of.

You stand next to Megumi, infront of his front door, holding hands. This was all planned out perfectly. You even got to go to his dorm a couple weeks ago, where he gave you powerpoint presentations on both of his dads, even a little on his sister as well ("Why are your dads kindaaa..." "Please, don't.") . You had taken notes. The two men didn't know what was waiting for them.

A man with long black hair tied into a bun opens the door. You know this man as Geto. He lets you both in.

His purple eyes land on your intertwined hands. A soft smile graces his lips. "So Satoru really was telling the truth then."

The mentioned man springs out of seemingly nowhere and engulfs Megumi in a hug. "Megumi, my boy!"

Gojo's eyes drift over to you, his own eyes widening a bit. "You must be Megumi's special person."

You nod, as a blush creeps up your face. "Nice to meet you both, I'm Y/n."

Gojo opens his mouth to perhaps bombard you with questions, but is stopped by Geto. "At least let them eat first."

Gojo stares at you suspiciously as you smile politely at him. Megumi and Geto sit anxiously next to their respective partners. Blue eyes narrow at you.

"His favorite color?"

"Black," you respond calmly.

"Blood type?"

"B."

"How does he like his chicken?"

You take a strategic bite of your food, this buys you more time to answer.

"Breast meat in chicken Nanban and thigh meat in Oyakodon."

Gojo gasps dramatically. Megumi says he does that a lot.

"So you really are his girlfriend!"

You polite smile does not falter. But both your hearts beat faster at the thought. "I would hope so."

Megumi finally intercepts. "No more questions, Gojo. This isn't an interrogation."

Geto finally gets a chance to speak up. "So how did you two meet up?", he asks, ignoring Megumi's glare.

You smile fondly at the memory, but that is not the story you both decided to go with. "I frequent the cafe he works at. One thing led to another and well," you shrug humorously.

Gojo opens his big mouth again. "I'm so happy Megumi finally found someone! He has always been so aloof and stoic, I can't believe he finally found someone he actually likes! You know, as a kid, he used to wet his bed every night," he smiled fondly, wiping a fake tear.

Megumi glares at him. "I did not."

"You so did. I have pictures, I'll show her some later!"

"I will hit you."

The rest of the dinner goes by smoothly. Gojo and Geto give personal recounts of how they met, and then show you pictures of Megumi and his sister as children. Megumi can't stop his heart from racing. You fit in perfectly. Wouldn't it be wonderful if this was real? If you were actually his?

It just so happens that a snowstorm blocks you all in. Going back home wouldn't be possible in this weather, and so you both must stay the night. Geto slyly suggests that you both share Megumi's room, as Tsumiki wouldn't like giving her room up to stranger while she was gone.

This is why you and Megumi both stand in front of his bed, one that would not fit two 20 year olds if they wanted some distance. Sleeping on the floor is not an option, for it is too cold. You both are readers and are quite familiar with the one bed trope, which explains the furious blushes on your faces.

You turn to him, wearing his clothes that he lent as pajamas. "So..."

He looks back at you. "Yeah..."

"Well..."

"Mhm..."

"Okay..."

"I'm sorry, Y/n. I shouldn't have put you in such a situation."

"It's uh...cool."

"Should we..."

"Sure..."

Awkwardly, you both climb into his bed, lying on your sides facing each other. It makes you smile. "Hi."

He gives back a small smile. "Hello."

"You come here often?", you joke.

This emits a small chuckle from him. But it doesn't take long for guilt to flood his eyes. "Truly, though, I'm sorry for dragging you into this--"

"I came of my own free will, remember."

"--you must be quite uncomfortable--"

"Nah, you're actually really warm, might just snuggle up."

"--I...don't know what to say when you say stuff like that?"

"Oh really?", you raise a brow, "Like what? That I wanna cuddle you? Let a girl dream, Fushiguro."

"Like stuff you don't mean."

"I do mean it, though. I think you're very nice, and kind, and cool, and handsome, and pretty at the same time. I like how passionate you can be, even though you may not express your feelings much. It doesn't matter to me if you don't talk much, because I'll talk enough for the both of us. I like you, Megumi Fushiguro. Do you like me?"

"I...," Megumi's eyes are wide, his heart beating too fast to be normal. "I do, of course. Thank you..."

"For what?", you smile.

He doesn't answer. He only stares at you in awe. This wasn't just the person whom he had admired for years. This was the girl who sat next to him everyday, who helped him with his assignments, even though he never told you he didn't need it, the girl who learned every detail about him in order to convince his family that they're dating. This was the girl he loved.

His eyes drift to your lips. "Can I...?"

With your nod, he leans down to your face, his hands cupping your cheeks. His breath hits your lips, eyes fluttering shut. And when he kisses you, you both swear it is the happiest you have been.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk megumi #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro fluff #jjk #mia wrote this

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 1 day ago

Text

who will i say goodnight to when you're gone?

pairing: javi x reader

cws/tags: angst, smut, fwbs, p in v, oral

summary: you are javi are just coworkers who sleep together, nothing more

a/n: title is from cornflower blue by flower face

wc: 3.6k

thank you to @almostempty for beta reading!

It’s easier this way.

That’s what you tell yourself.

Your job is your life, whether or not you want it to be, and it would be unfair to subject a partner to that. It’s not just long hours at the office, it’s the constant threat of death, worse, the way it percolates your mind even when you’re sleeping —something you struggle to do these days.

At face value, it might seem like you should date a coworker, someone who gets you, who already stands beside you every day. But who would be there to comfort you when panic comes over you in the middle of the night? Putting two agents in the same room just makes you both a more convenient target. Imagine, they could kill two lovebirds with only one raid.

Some might say you’re like rabbits in the bedroom, but you’re not enjoying the spring weather, sitting in a bed of flowers. Rain is beating down on the windows, adding to the summer humidity, and you only end up on Javier’s uncomfortable mattress about half the time.

Sometimes, it’s the living room couch after a glass of whiskey or three. Other times, you choose convenience and share the cramped shower, maybe on the sink afterwards if there aren’t any clean towels and you have to air dry. Sometimes, when Javier throws the condom in the trash, he sees the cotton balls covered with hydrogen peroxide and blood.

He says more when he’s inside you than he does when he patches you up. You patch him up too, and you can tell he tries not to wince every time even though your hands are gentle. He will clean the wounds you received from others, only to bruise you. Usually, it’s on your hips or your thighs, anywhere below the neckline.

It’s the kindest thing he can do for you.

He doesn’t make you beg because he knows you would. He doesn’t beg because he knows he doesn’t have to. You knock on his door and he knows what you want.

You did this sort of thing often. Sex, they call it. Friends with benefits, casually hooking up after a bad day at work or a drunken night out, better yet, a drunk night in — no need to pretend this is about having fun. This is stress relief. It’s less sustainable than the habit you’ve picked up of a shared cigarette afterwards, but it’s better for your lungs.

It started like a glass of wine after work. If one could be a sommelier of sex, it’d be Javi. A taste, another taste, another, and you learned quickly how every drink goes down smoother than the last. Until it doesn’t.

It was hot and heavy in the beginning. Javier loved when you wore pencil skirts and heels, he loved to shove your skirt up, rip your pantyhose, pull your panties to the side while you’re up against the kitchen counter. He’d run two fingers over your slit before pushing them both inside, making his fingertips slick when he rubbed your clit and taunted you for your wetness.

“Were you like this all day at work? Or did it just take a kiss to make you this wet?”

“All day,” you’d admit shamelessly. “I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who wanted this.”

“You’re right about that. I had to take an extra smoke break outside after you bent over in that slutty little skirt.”

“Did you do anything about it?”

“What do you think?” He’d press his hips up against your ass, still clothed but you could feel how hard he was.

“I think you should do something about it now.”

It was vulgar, it was gossip, it was a tidbit to dish out when you got tipsy with your girlfriends. You’d tell them all about how he fucked like no man ever had before and they’d beg for his number, but you’d never reveal his identity. He was more of a myth than a man.

Office romances are sexy, particularly the fictional ones, and in the books you browse to humor yourself on the occasion that you have some downtime, the characters always seem to get caught or fall in love or both, often both. These are horror stories wrapped up as fantasies. Getting caught fucking in the file room is bad, everyone knows that, but falling in love is certainly worse.

You only fucked in the office once, and fucked is a bit of an exaggeration as it was only a blowjob, preceded by a wager-less bet.

“What’s this?” Murphy asked, plucking the book from your purse.

Before you could snatch it from him, he read the title aloud, “Loving Is A Full-Time Job.”

“It’s nothing. It’s just a stupid book a friend recommended to me.”

He turned it over, skimmed through the reviews on the back. “Warning: there’s a lot of inside-her trading in this one.”

You were halfway between disgust and amusement, though you should’ve been thoroughly embarrassed. Regardless, you let him know, “I’m on page 104 and there hasn’t been anything inside her thus far.”

Of course, you’d only fed his appetite, and he flipped to the page you’re on.

“Read it out loud,” Javi chimed in. “You’ve piqued my interest.”

So, he did. He read out the scene of the financial advisor getting sucked off by his colleague while he’s taking a phone call.

“Totally unrealistic,” Murphy remarked. “No way they wouldn’t have gotten caught.”

“Nah,” Javi said. “You just don’t have a good poker face. I guarantee you I could pull it off.”

“Maybe you can invite one of those ‘CIs’ to the office and try it out,” you said, patronizingly to hide the arousal you felt at the idea.

You assumed the discussion had ended when Murphy left the room and returned the book to you.

“Is someone a bit jealous?” Javi taunted.

“No, I am not jealous of your whores.”

“You sure? You really looked like you were enjoying that book earlier. Were you thinking about performing a scene with your sexy coworker?”

“I think you’re projecting, Javier.”

You could see the mischief in his eyes, daring you to do something.

“We would one hundred percent get caught even if we tried.”

“No. I’m great under pressure. I can keep a straight face. Swear.”

You glanced towards the door and saw no one in the hallway. “Are you serious right now?” you asked.

He said nothing, just pulled out his chair, letting you climb under his desk. You grimaced at him, but you’d made your choice already.

“You owe me,” you said before unbuckling his belt.

“You want me to do the same for you? Because you know I will.”

“No, I don’t want to risk getting in trouble twice, thank you very much.”

“I figured. You can’t seem to keep quiet whenever I—” he cut himself off with a groan when you took him as far as you could without gagging.

“What were you saying?” you asked, pulling back with a string of spit still connecting your lips to his tip.

He made the mistake of looking down to see your pretty face when your lips found their way to his cock again. He bit his fist to hold back the groan you could hear in your own head, pulling it from a memory, which only served to make you want him more.

As much as you would’ve loved to see Javi break, you knew you shouldn’t try. Murphy’s the only one who re-entered the room — and seemed relatively unbothered by your absence — still, you didn’t need him to see this.

Only Javi gets to see you like this.

It was glorious to see him come like this — for you — despite his victory. It was miserable to sit on the tiled floor for over an hour, particularly when you were so close to the man you wanted more than anything else.

In the parking lot, you learned he wanted you even more than you wanted him, and sprawled out on his couch, he proved it to you.

“Just made me want you more,” he murmured. “Seeing you like that.”

“You wanna see me like that again?”

“No, I need to make you feel good.”

With that, he yanked your pants down along with your panties. While one hand stroked your g-spot, the other was clamped over your mouth because his tongue does dangerous things, and you couldn’t get another noise complaint.

It was routine like any other, the typical progression you learn as ‘bases’ in adolescence. Unlike baseball, it did not last nine innings. He took you over the edge quickly, not sparing any time. When you opened your eyes, he was already ripping the foil packet with his teeth.

You passed a cigarette back and forth in silence until your feet hit the floor and you gave him the classic, “see you at work.”

After a typically stressful day, you knock on his door and are greeted by only his voice, not his face. You have a key to his apartment. He doesn’t need to let you in, you can do that yourself, but it still strikes you as rude. Are you really a guest in his home anymore?

You made yourself look sort of presentable, a bit more fuckable, in the traditional sense. Before walking down the steps to his apartment, you changed your dress into one that’s easier to pull up or down, prepared to let him take you however he wanted.

But, when you open the door, there’s a cigarette in his left hand and a glass of whiskey in his right. There is nothing left of him to hold you.

He’s shirtless, his pants are on, but they’re unzipped. Your skin is a bit dewy because it’s hot outside, but his sweat is unmistakable. You’re looking at him and he’s looking at you, but he notices you noticing first. Though, what is there to notice about you?

Your mouth opens before the words come out.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, pivoting on your heels.

“Why?” he asks.

What angers you most is that he’s asking for an explanation when he already knows the answer.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be here right now.”

“There’s no one else here.”

“I didn’t think you’d invite me in if there was.”

He nods, so you nod back. This time you’re looking into each other’s eyes, and seeing each other, deeper than before, but something is still missing, something that you do not find until much later in whatever' ‘relationship’ you have with him.

“Goodnight, Peña,” you say as you leave, really intent on it this time.

But if you didn’t want him to know, you wouldn’t have given him the hint. You call him ‘Javi’, maybe ‘Javier’, but you don’t call him by his last name, not even in the office.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” he calls after you. “You’re pissed at me?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re not happy.”

“Are you really going to make me say it? You know exactly why I’m leaving.”

“I thought we knew how to talk to each other. I don’t hold shit back from you.”

You scoff, turn your head to the door like it’ll open and the wind will carry you away.

“You just slept with someone else,” you say, gesturing to his body, only looking him in the eyes because that’s the one place that seems untouched.

“And? I didn’t know there was an exclusivity clause in this deal.” Deal, he calls it with a finger pointed between the two of you, almost accusatory now.

“There isn’t. I don’t care if you sleep with other women.” Except you do. “I’d just rather you shower in between.”

“I can go shower if you care that much.”

“I don’t care if you shower or not.”

“You just said that you did.”

“I said that I’m not having sex with you because—”

“Because you’re mad at me — unjustifiably, by the way.”

“I’m not mad at you. I’m just a human-fucking-being.” You should leave, but you don’t. “What if you came over and I had obviously just had sex with some other man? Wouldn’t you leave?”

“No. I wouldn’t give a fuck because I know I’d fuck you better.”

You’re seething, one fist strangling the strap of your purse and the other balled into a fist. You think about hitting him, but you wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t. He’s right, he hasn’t technically done anything wrong.

“Fine.” You stomp towards him and he stubs out his cigarette, like he’s making space in his hands for you.

You stand in front of him, look down, and say only one word: “shower”. You point towards his bathroom, and he goes along with it. He rarely submits to you. It’s not really his thing, he’d say. But, he returns with a towel around his waist and his skin dewy with something new. Plus, a condom between two fingers and a face that pisses you off even further. Cocky, per usual.

You can see the smart remark before it comes out of his mouth, and you shush him. “You don’t speak, you don’t touch me, you do exactly as I say, or I’ll leave. Got it?”

“I thought you wanted to show me how you could fuck me better.”

“I never said that. Those were your words. This is for me. Not for you.”

“Have at it,” he says, dropping the towel before falling back onto the sofa.

You could taunt him for being hard but this isn’t about him. Not at all. This is about finding some way to hurt him the way he’s hurt you — really, if you plan to even the score, you’ll have to make him do it all himself.

But when you walked in, he was satisfied, worn out, in an unusually peaceful state. Now, he’s won again. He gets to have you, to know that you still want him even when he wants other women.

You suck on his collarbone, the nape of his neck, up to the point just below the neckline of the shirt he’ll wear to work tomorrow. If you were braver, you’d mark him up higher. But he’s not yours, no one else can know about this. Except for that woman. Whoever she may be. If she comes around in the next few days, she’ll see the bruise, she’ll know.

His moans are shameless. You suppose, no matter how hard you try, you can’t make him feel the same insecurity. But he leans his head back, exposing more skin, almost daring you to do it. He doesn’t know that you prepared yourself a bit for this, but you shove two fingers in his mouth and drag them over your slit so you can act like you’re not already as wet as you are.

You sink down effortlessly, take him all inside you, set your own pace. You only touch him to dig your nails in, to bite him, to put your hands around his neck just to see if he’d let you choke him. But you don’t dare squeeze.

There were two possible outcomes in your mind: one, you would make sure you came first, and immediately retreat from him, leave without a word, or, two, you could make him come first and keep going until the point of complete overstimulation, you could make him beg and cry. But, his stamina is too good, and you end up at a standstill, you’re both holding back, waiting for the other to break. Your breath is heavy and ragged but you bite back every moan until one slips and it’s his fucking name, a sob. He lifts his head, which had lolled back long ago, says to you softly, like he’s not breaking the rules if he’s quiet, “let me help you.”

Javier Peña always gets to be the hero.

It’s so goddamn genuine. It’s your own battle you’re fighting against no one, but he tells you that you’ve won. That it’s fine to give in, that you’ve done well at whatever it was you wanted to do.

You just nod — it’s your turn to stay silent because, as you both know, every word you say can and will be held against you.

He flips you over so gently, gracefully, has you crying through languid thrusts.

“Just let go.”

“No, you first.”

“I will, baby, I will.”

Baby, baby, baby. He doesn’t call you that because he’s not allowed to — that is one of the few rules. It’s not the word itself, but the way he says it. It’s not ‘my love’ or ‘my wife’, but you can hear devotion creep into his tone and it’s dangerous. It feels like he’s reserved the word for you, like it belongs to you just as much as your own name does.

“Mm-mm. You first.”

“Baby, I need to see you come first. I need to feel it. Please.”

Please. That’s it. Politeness — you wouldn’t have thought Javier had it in him. When you come, you know you’ve won.

You cling to him for dear life as you cry out his name, and he insists, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

When you put your clothes back on, you notice he looks more worn out than he did when you arrived and that’s good enough for you.

“Are we good now?” he asks.

“Yes. See you at work,” you say.

Which is how it always ends.

You file it under ‘things we’re not going to talk about’ — it’s a simultaneous, mutual action, but you don’t say a word to each other about it because we’re not going to talk about it.

What happens in the bedroom — proverbially — stays in the bedroom because it would be too complicated otherwise.

Until the night he shows up at your doorstep, looking more disheveled than ever. The word ‘please’ only gets halfway out of his mouth before yours shuts him up.

You want to take care of him tonight. You drop to your knees, silently offering. But, he pulls you up to your feet.

“You don’t want me to—”

“I want to kiss you.”

It’s not that you never kiss. You just don’t kiss like that, like wanting, like longing — still needy, but with an adoration you cannot face.

Maybe Javier kisses because it’s the one form of intimacy that doesn’t force you to look the other person in the eye. Eyes are the window to the soul, they say. Javi’s eyes contain a softness that you cannot find outside of warm summer nights that exist so far in space and time that you can barely reach the memories. He holds hope in his entire body — hope isn’t usually a pretty little thing that Emily Dickinson said it was — it’s hardened and stubborn, it is the fucking metal bars that keep him here in Colombia despite it all. But, there is something kinder hidden, a flicker, something you haven’t seen in the mirror since you were a child. It’s something more than hope.

Taking care of Javier is letting him give himself to you, listening to every noise you make and repeating whatever he did to hear it the first time so he could hear it again. It’s making you come twice, the road to each orgasm drawn out, leaving tears in your eyes when it finally hits you. It’s pretending not to hear him say your name after a muffled whimper when he finally lets himself come.

He undresses before getting into your bed because he doesn’t want to carry whatever sweat, blood, and guilt that stained his clothes.

Rarely would you see him like this, so vulnerable — only when you were atop him, and though you’d always see a second sense of release whenever you ended up in that position, he would insist it isn’t his favorite.

Javier’s favorite position is the one you spend most of the night in — missionary, the type of sex you’re supposed to have on your wedding night when you lose your virginity to your soulmate, the love of your life, and maybe Javi sees it that way.

It’s not like that, it can’t be. You’re coworkers, you’re sleepy and he’s exhausted. He needs you to help him sleep. And this time it has nothing to do with an orgasm. When he decides he should stand up, he lingers by the bed.

You’re both too scared to be the one to ask, so no one asks, instead, you tell him: “stay”.

It’s quiet, like maybe you can get him to believe no one ever said it. But not weary, you’re strong even in your weakness. At your most vulnerable, you are commanding.

So, he does. He resigns himself to the fact that he is powerless in the face of such sincerity. He needs to sleep, so he does — entangled with you, naked still.

In the morning, you want to say, “Let me go make some coffee” or “Get back in bed” or “I love you”, but none of those words have the chance to leave your mouth before Javi reaches the door.

“See you Monday,” he says.

You see him before that, though, in a dream, then a nightmare, then a memory, and a glimpse of him getting into his car and driving away.

And, as promised, you see him on Monday. His fingertips that ran along your skin fumble over the keys on his typewriter, he holds the phone between his head and his shoulder — where you should’ve left a mark, his lips that kissed you only days ago wrap around the last cigarette in the pack. There is nothing left for him in his desk drawer. He stubs it out in the ashtray next to him. If Javier knows one thing it is how to light a flame and turn it to dust before your eyes.

#javier peña x reader #javier pena fic #javier pena smut #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier peña smut #javier pena fanfiction

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