#it’s giving… doesn’t enjoy happiness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

delulustateofmind · 2 days ago

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Who's a good little hybrid?

Sum: You're a bit of a loser, so you get yourself a companion. What could go wrong?

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Yuki

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Hybrids (Puppy!Gojo, Fox!Geto, Hyena!Yuki), knotting, mentions of pseudopenis (female hyena trait), mentions of murder/human organs (Yuki), dubcon, intoxication, infantilization (Geto), MDNI

WC: 6.0k

A/n: This one was a little tame. Enjoy! Tried to give a more wholesome vibe given the current events :)

A sweet little homebody like you needed a companion, didn’t you? Someone to keep you company, to brighten your days, to be there when the silence got a little too heavy.

The adoption agency was more than happy to help. They just… didn’t tell you everything.

Some hybrids weren’t easy. Some had been returned again and again—too needy, too intense, too much for anyone else to handle.

But you’re different, aren’t you?

You’re always home. You have all the time in the world to care for someone who just needs a little extra love. And isn’t that what you wanted in the first place? Someone who would love you unconditionally?

So go ahead. Pick one. But choose wisely.

Bringing home the bright blue-eyed puppy hybrid—who just loves you so much!

Gojo Satoru adores you. From the moment he first saw you, it was like the whole world had finally made sense. He loves you more than the sun spilling through the curtains in the morning, more than the softness of a warm blanket, more than anything else he’s ever known.

And he shows it.

He’s always close—curled up against your side, white fluffy tail thumping against your leg, bright blue eyes following your every move with unwavering devotion. He buries his face into your chest, nuzzling against your warmth, fingers clutching your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. Your bed smells like him now—like the hours he spends tangled in your sheets, chasing the lingering traces of your scent.

You needed companionship. He needed a purpose. Isn’t this perfect?

He tries so hard to be the best for you. To be everything you could ever want. To make sure you never need anyone else.

But you keep leaving. Honestly, you're turning him into an anxious pup!

The jingle of your keys makes his ears twitch. Your hand on the doorknob makes his stomach sink. His tail slows, his fingers flex—like he wants to reach for you, to tug you back into his arms, to beg you not to go.

You don’t mean to make him sad. You have responsibilities, a life outside these four walls. But every time you step through that door, something inside him aches. His ears droop, his heart squeezes, a tiny, helpless whine gets caught in his throat.

Why do you have to go? Why can’t you just stay?

You promise you’ll be back. But it’s never soon enough.

And when you’re gone too long, well… he gets lonely.

You really shouldn’t have bought those fancy embroidered pillows.

Because when you finally come home, it’s to a scene of absolute destruction. Feathers floating lazily through the air, fabric torn apart, stuffing scattered everywhere like snowfall. And right in the center of it all?

Satoru.

Ears perked, tail wagging, those bright blue eyes sparkling with something close to mischief—completely unrepentant.

Your exasperation only makes him grin wider. Even as you put your hands on your hips, even as you scold him, his ears twitch like he doesn’t quite understand why you’re upset. And then, just like always, he’s stepping forward, pressing his face against your stomach, arms wrapping around you as he buries himself in your warmth.

"Missed you too much," he murmurs, voice muffled against your clothes. His tail wags again, brushing against your legs, his grip tightening like he never wants to let go.

How could you possibly stay mad? When he just loves you so much?

But it gets worse.

You hear it before you see it—the soft shrrk of fabric giving way, the quiet tug of seams splitting apart. And when you step into the room, his back is to you, ears perked, tail swishing lazily as he grips one of your stuffed animals between his teeth.

It’s one of your favorites. One that sleeps beside you at night, tucked against your chest.

He isn’t allowed to do that.

And it’s not fair.

So, can you really blame him for taking matters into his own hands?

Standing in your room, he glanced at the stuffed animals piled neatly on your bed. His lips twitched into a scowl.

Those things.

He threw a quick jab at one of them, his fist making a satisfying poof as it landed against the plush fabric.

"Lucky bastards," he muttered under his breath, punching another one. "Snuggling up to her every night, huh? Probably pressed right up against her..."

He paused, picking up one of the stuffed animals and holding it at arm’s length. "Bet she kisses you goodnight too."

His grip tightened around the plush toy, sharp canines flashing as he contemplated just how easy it would be to rip it apart—just like the others.

The sound of the front door clicking open startled him.

"What are you doing?"

Your voice came from the doorway, and Satoru froze. Slowly, he turned to face you, caught red-handed with the stuffed animal still in his hand.

You stood there, a confused expression on your face as you looked between him and the mess he’d made of your bed.

"Uh… Satoru?"

"Hey!" He forced a bright grin, quickly smoothing out the plush toy and placing it carefully back on your bed like nothing had happened. "You’re back early."

You tilted your head, blinking. "Yeah, my professor canceled class. Why are you in my room?"

"I, uh…" Satoru rubbed the back of his neck, his usual confidence faltering for just a second before he plastered on another grin. "I was fixing your stuffed animals. They looked like they needed some...attention, wait, fixing!”

You squinted at him, confused. "Fixing them? Did they… need fixing?"

He laughed, waving his hand dismissively. "Well, no, but I figured I’d do a little quality check. Sniffed them for drugs and pesticides. You’re welcome, by the way."

Your confusion only deepened as you stepped further into the room, glancing at your bed. "Uh-huh… and why are they all out of place? Did you punch one of them? That bunny looks like it’s been through something."

"What? Me? Punch your precious bunny?" Satoru feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically. "I would never."

You frowned, walking over to your bed to inspect the damage, fingers grazing the rumpled sheets and displaced plushies. the slight drool glistening on some. "Right…"

Behind you, his tail wagged slowly. Bright blue eyes watched you, filled with something unreadable—something quiet, waiting.

You didn’t notice the way his fingers twitched at his sides. The way his ears perked, listening to every shift of your weight, every tiny inhale.

Because you were here. In his space. With him.

Safe.

Right where you belonged. He can finally confess how he feels!

But then—

"Satoru," you sighed, rubbing your temples. "I can’t keep doing this. If you don’t start behaving, I might have to—"

You don’t even get the words out before he moves.

Too fast. Too desperate.

The air shifts, and suddenly, your back is against the bed, warmth pressing against you, his chest rising and falling in slow, unsteady breaths. His arms cage you in—not forcefully, but like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

His head dips, white hair brushing against your cheek as his nose skims along your jaw, his breath warm and unsteady. He breathes you in like he’s trying to memorize you, like you might disappear at any moment. A low, rumbling sound vibrates in his chest—not quite a growl, but something raw, something fragile hiding beneath it.

Not enough to hurt.

But enough to plead.

"Take me back?" he murmurs, voice soft, wavering just slightly, like he’s trying to make this sound like a joke. Like he’s pretending your words didn’t just gut him. But the way his fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, the way his tail flicks in restless, uneven movements—it makes your stomach twist.

His ears twitch, his lips hover near your pulse, and you freeze.

"You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?"

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, and you feel your breath catch in your throat.

His smile is there, easy as always, curling at the edges, but it’s fragile. Shaky. The way his ears droop slightly, the way his tail has slowed, the way his eyes—so bright, so full of devotion—hold something so painfully uncertain…

"You wouldn’t abandon me, right?" His voice is quieter now, smaller. "I try so hard to be good for you."

Your heart pounds against your chest. You swallow.

You didn’t mean it. Not really. It was frustration, exhaustion—coming home to yet another ruined couch, another chewed-up pair of slippers, another mess to clean. But now, staring into those unblinking blue eyes, you realize—

You can’t threaten him like that.

Not unless you’re ready to see what happens when he truly believes you’ll leave.

But it doesn’t stop there.

It happens again the first time you come home late.

You barely get two steps inside before he’s on you, a blur of white fur and restless energy, his arms winding around your waist as he buries his face into your neck. His tail wags, his ears flick forward, his body practically vibrating with relief.

And then—he stills.

The shift is subtle. His tail slows, his nose scrunches. His fingers tighten around your shirt, twisting the fabric between his fingers, knuckles whitening just slightly.

Then comes the sound. Not a growl. Not a snarl.

A whimper. Soft. Hurt.

“Satoru?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Instead, he sniffs you again. A slow, deliberate inhale, dragging in every trace of scent clinging to your skin. His brows furrow. His grip tightens.

Then—his ears flatten.

"Who was it?" he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

"What?"

"Who touched you?"

You laugh, confused, maybe a little uneasy. "What are you talking about? I just—"

He yanks you closer.

Not rough, not forceful—desperate.

Your breath catches. His claws dig into your wrist, his nose pressing against the side of your neck. You can feel his teeth just barely graze your pulse, a featherlight touch that shouldn’t feel so broken, but does.

"You smell like them." His voice wavers, thick with something you can’t quite place. "Not me."

A sharp breath. A wet sound in his throat, like he’s swallowing something back.

"Did you—" he stops himself, breath hitching, ears flattening further against his head. His tail has gone completely still.

He takes another slow inhale, his fingers tightening, his body trembling just slightly against yours.

"Disgusting," he mutters, voice shaky, raw. His tongue flicks out, dragging slowly along your skin. Slick. His hands tighten. "They ruined it. You’re supposed to be mine. I keep you safe. I keep you warm. Why—why would you let them—"

You shove at his chest. “Satoru, let go—”

His arms tighten.

"No."

His voice is small.

"No. I won’t."

Your stomach twists.

"Satoru—"

"Fix it." His voice is barely more than a whisper now, lips brushing your jaw, his tail tucked between his legs. "Make it go away. Please." each breath coming out shaken, his hands clinging to you like you might slip away forever. "You don’t need anyone else, do you? I’m right here. Always right here."

Your pulse pounds in your ears. You push harder, palms flat against his chest.

For a second, he looks—hurt.

His ears twitch, his tail curls in just slightly, like he’s trying to make himself smaller.

Then—he laughs.

It’s not a happy laugh.

It’s quiet. Unsteady. A little cracked around the edges.

"Ahh," he sighs, dragging a hand through his messy hair, his grin tilting, strained. "I see how it is."

He doesn’t say anything else.

But later that night, when you go to bed, you notice something.

Your jacket, the one you wore when you were out, is missing.

Your new shoes? Ripped apart, shredded fabric and torn laces were left in pieces near the door.

The next day, your bedsheets are destroyed.

And that’s when you realize with the help of Hyrbid Wikipedia.

He’s getting rid of everything that doesn’t smell like him.

So, to solve the issue of constantly having to replace your things, you finally allow your sweet, wounded pup into bed with you.

He wins.

Of course, he does.

But when he curls up beside you, when he buries his face into your chest and lets out a soft, relieved sigh, you realize—

It was never about winning.

He just needed to know you weren’t going anywhere.

You don’t know his past.

The pound didn’t have any records—just his name, his breed, and a vague mention that he’d been returned more than once. No details. No explanations. Just a blank space where his history should be.

And there are things you don’t know.

Like why he flinches when something shatters too loud, why his muscles coil when footsteps approach too quickly, why his body tenses, ready—expecting—to fight. His instincts are sharper than other hybrids. His rage runs deeper. His obsession feels inescapable.

You don’t know that before you, he belonged to someone else.

That he wasn’t always a pet.

That there was a time when he was used for something else entirely.

Fights. Blood. Survival.

The only thing he’s ever known is how to be the strongest. How to win. How to keep what’s his.

And now, he has you.

Something soft. Something fragile.

Something that belongs to him.

He’s not going to lose you.

Not like before.

So if you ever try to leave him… it only makes him sweeter. Perhaps even a little feral.

You don’t know why you even let him pick the movie.

Satoru is already curled on top of you, his long limbs tangled around you, his fluffy white tail thumping lazily against the couch. His weight presses you deep into the cushions, his cheek resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

The moment the opening credits roll, he lets out a pleased sigh, rubbing against you like a spoiled puppy demanding affection.

"You're warm," he hums, arms already tightening around your waist. You feel his claws scratch against your spine, securing you in place. Like he’s making sure you don’t slip away.

Like you could slip away.

"Satoru," you deadpan, shifting beneath him. "You’re huge. Get off."

He whines. Actually whines. Loudly.

"But 'm comfy," he pouts, nuzzling into your neck, soft white ears flicking.

You roll your eyes, pushing at his forehead. "We’re supposed to be watching the movie."

But he’s barely paying attention.

Because what’s scarier than the thought of being away from you?

The screen flickers with shadows and blood, but he’s too focused on the sound of your breathing, the way your heartbeat subtly changes with each scene, the way your scent shifts—just slightly—when tension builds.

Then, the first jumpscare hits.

You jolt.

He notices.

"Aww, is my owner scared?" His voice dips into a teasing purr, his lips curling into a lazy grin. His tail flicks, his ears perking as he nestles closer, his nose brushing against your temple.

"I'm not scared," you grumble, but your grip on the blanket tightens.

He sees.

And he can’t help himself.

"S’okay," he murmurs, softer now. His voice is low, syrupy-sweet, his fingers tracing slow circles against your back. "You don’t have to be brave. I’ll protect you."

Before you can argue, he moves.

Shifts.

Pulls you fully into his lap, tucking your head beneath his chin, his arms locked firm around you. The blanket pools around your shoulders, but his warmth is everywhere.

A cage disguised as comfort.

His lips graze your hair. "Bet you’re real glad I’m here now, huh?" he chuckles, pressing a teasing kiss to your temple.

You sigh. "I think you’re just using this as an excuse to cuddle me."

"What? Me? Never." His tail wags. Loudly thumping against the couch, giving away all his motives.

You don’t pull away.

And he takes that as permission to tighten his hold, to keep you there, his breath soft against your ear as he lets out a contented sigh.

This.

This is all he needs.

Because as long as you’re wrapped in his arms, drowning in his scent, pressed against him so tight that no one else could ever steal you away—

He knows you’re safe.

At first, he tries to be patient. He whines. He pouts. He clings to you every morning, dragging you back into bed when you try to leave, nuzzling into your stomach, pretending to be drowsy just to steal a few more minutes.

But it’s not enough.

Because at the end of the day—

You still leave him.

So, one day, he decides to fix it.

While you’re gone, he does a little research.

Not on how to help your job.

Not on how to keep himself entertained.

No.

He looks up ways to make sure you never leave him again.

He orders a camera—small, discreet, perfectly placed. He sets it up in the bedroom, aimed exactly where he wants it.

And he buys something else, too.

Something cute.

Something soft.

Something that would make you so, so perfect for him.

When you get home, tired and unaware, he’s already waiting.

You don’t notice anything is off—until he grabs your wrist, tugging you into his lap. Those bright blue eyes of his gleam, tail flicking with excitement as he nuzzles into your shoulder.

"I found a solution," he hums, far too pleased with himself. Satoru did so much research today, you should be proud!

"Solution to what?" you blink, trying to pull away.

His arms tighten.

"To your work problem," he grins, sharp teeth flashing.

You don’t like that smile.

"Satoru—"

He cuts you off with a kiss—soft, slow, only the occasional teasing nip. His fingers trail down your spine.

"Did you know there are people out there with hybrid fetishes?" he murmurs, lips ghosting over your ear.

Your stomach drops. Cheeks flushing.

"W-what—"

"Mmh. Looked it up myself." His voice is honeyed, teasing—but there’s something darker beneath it. "Figured if I can’t have you leave the house, maybe you can just… work from home?"

And then—

He pulls it out.

A set of ears. A soft, delicate tail, with a plug. And a collar.

"You’ll be my cute little bunny, won’t you?" he coos, pressing the set into your hands, watching you with eager, expectant eyes.

His fingers graze the collar, tracing over the leather, intimate. Knowing.

"You’ll stay here. Work from home. With me."

His lips skim your jaw.

"I’ll take good care of you."

And in return—

He gets to stuff you full.

A tsundere fox that hates all humans!

Filthy, pathetic creatures. Insignificant specks in a world that doesn’t belong to them. Geto Suguru has seen them scurry about, blissfully ignorant, pretending they hold dominion over hybrids—when in reality, they are weak, prey, undeserving of the air they breathe.

As a fox hybrid, he would rather die than submit to one.

His sharp, golden eyes flicker with quiet disdain whenever he sees them—sees you. His pointed ears, dusted in black, twitch at the grating sound of your voice, that thick dark tail of his flicking lazily behind him, betraying the irritation simmering beneath his calm exterior. You don’t deserve a predator like him. He should be leading the movement, standing at the forefront of the revolution for hybrid supremacy—not here, in this tiny, insignificant apartment, pretending to be domesticated.

Hybrids are the superior species. He is superior.

Yet, humans refuse to acknowledge it, denying hybrids the rights they deserve.

Only recently have they been granted the barest semblance of equality. A law allowing them to work menial, low-risk jobs. Another permitting them to date and marry humans—as if that was something any self-respecting hybrid would want.

Geto has fought for years. Led the fight. Not just an advocate, but a prophet to those who see the truth. His followers understand—the world belongs to hybrids. Humans should be the ones in cages, on leashes, obedient.

And yet…

Here he is.

With you.

You a weak, fragile, human. Somehow, somehow, you managed to adopt him. A predator like himself, bound to you.

At first, it was tolerable.

You worked from home, which made it easy for him to ignore your existence while he lounged around, his thick tail curling around his legs, his sharp claws idly scratching at the armrest of the couch.

But your habits disgusted him.

The scent of caffeine clung to you like a disease, bitter and artificial, staining the air he breathed. He tolerated it—until he didn’t. Until he took matters into his own hands, discarding every last one of your caffeinated drinks, ignoring your feeble protests.

Instead, he makes your coffee now.

Every morning, he drags your exhausted body out of bed, his black-tipped claws skimming over your wrist as he forces a warm cup into your hands. His golden eyes narrow at the dark circles under your eyes, at the way you yawn without covering your mouth. “Disgusting,” he mutters under his breath, rolling his shoulders, his long tail flicking in annoyance.

If you behave, Suguru rewards you—an afternoon matcha latte, crafted with the delicate touch of his clawed fingers, a little heart in the foam just for you. Not that he’d ever admit that part aloud. Tells himself it’s necessary.

Someone like you wouldn’t survive on your own. If you were a hybrid, he thinks you’d be something fragile. A bunny. A deer. Prey. And predators must care for their prey. Must ensure they stay soft, obedient. Dependent.

Suguru doesn’t like how you push back against him.

You whine when he pulls you into his lap, grumbling as his arms drape over your shoulders, rolling your eyes when he scolds you for neglecting yourself. But he knows you need him.

What would you even do without him?

You’d forget to eat if he wasn’t here to force you. He’s noticed—the way you poke at your food absentmindedly, pushing your plate away when you think he’s not looking. Foolish little thing. He spends hours cooking for you, perfecting each meal, and you deny him? No, that won’t do.

His clawed fingers curl around your wrist, lifting the spoon to your lips, his golden eyes dark with something unreadable.

When you squirm, when you try to turn away, he only smiles.

A slow, lazy, knowing smile—because you are so small compared to him. So weak.

You can’t fight him. Not really.

And why would you want to?

He’s only trying to take care of you.

You should appreciate him more.

Lately, you’ve been trying to resist him in other ways. Setting boundaries. Pushing him out of your bed at night. It’s adorable, really. Do you truly think you can overpower him?

With a lazy roll, he’s on top of you, pinning you beneath him with ease, arms wrapped around you in an unbreakable grip. His nose buries into your hair, inhaling deeply, his sigh warm against your skin.

You smell like him now. You belong to him.

That’s why it’s so unbearable when you come home smelling like someone else.

His sharp nose picks up on it immediately. The faint scent of another male. Another presence tainting his territory, clinging to you. The stench of alcohol makes it worse, filling the space he’s carefully curated to be yours and his alone.

He’s spent months making sure your scent stays sweet, tending to you with meticulous care. He’s the one who keeps you healthy. The one who cuts your fruit into perfect little stars and hearts so you don’t choke like the helpless thing you are. The one who carefully fills your cup (one that he keeps telling you is not a sippy cup. It is.) with the ideal juice-to-water ratio, making sure you get enough vitamins.

He keeps your body pure.

And yet, here you are—stumbling through the door, drunk off your ass.

Your cheeks are flushed, lips parted in a breathless giggle, your words slurred and incoherent as you look up at him with those dazed, trusting eyes.

How dare you?

Suguru's golden eyes narrow, his fox ears twitch in irritation, his thick, black-tipped tail flicking once—twice—before a slow sigh slips from his lips.

"Unbelievable."

He steps forward, effortlessly scooping you into his arms. You whimper in protest, squirming weakly, but it’s pathetic. Meaningless. His grip is firm, steady, cradling you with an ease that should be humiliating—because really, what exactly did you think you were going to do? Fight him?

You can’t even stand properly.

“Of all the things,” he mutters, mostly to himself, voice edged with annoyance, but there’s something else there—something tight in his tone, something clenching in his jaw as he carries you straight into the bathroom, ignoring your little hiccups of defiance.

“You don’t even know what’s good for you,” he huffs, carefully lowering you onto the edge of the tub. His long fingers, usually so precise, so calculated, fumble for only a moment as he reaches for the shower knob, twisting it until steam begins to rise.

You groan in protest, flimsy arms shoving at his chest, your pout deepening. "Don't wanna—"

"Yeah?" Suguru's golden eyes flash, irritation flickering across his face as his clawed fingers make quick work of your clothing, peeling away each layer without hesitation. “And whose fault is that?”

You squeak, your arms snapping up to cover yourself, face burning—but he doesn’t even look. His movements are clinical, impassive, detached—or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

It’s not like his ears heat at the tips when your bare skin is exposed to the humid air. It’s not like his throat suddenly feels tight, like something primal is thrumming beneath his ribs.

It’s not like you smell so much sweeter when you’re all flushed and weak like this.

No. Definitely not.

His tail flicks sharply behind him as he lifts you with ease, stepping into the shower with you, his clawed fingers threading into your hair, lathering the shampoo with slow, methodical motions.

Your body slumps against him, lashes fluttering as the warmth relaxes your muscles, melting against his.

And something inside him twists.

Because this? This is how it should be.

You, malleable, dependent. His hands tending to your every need, his sharp eyes ensuring that no harm ever comes to you. Because really, who else would take care of you like this?

Your breath hitches when his fingers scrape lightly against your scalp, and his ears twitch—because that sound? That tiny little noise? It makes something hot curl in his stomach.

Ridiculous.

He focuses on rinsing your hair, tilting your head back under the water, watching as the suds slip down your neck, across your collarbone—

His jaw tightens.

His grip on the back of your neck tightens ever so slightly.

And then, he snaps.

His lips crash onto yours, pressing against the softness with a feverish desperation he doesn’t even realize is there. His sharp canines nip at your bottom lip—just enough to sting. Just enough to mark.

He tells himself he’s trying to be gentle.

Trying not to devour you whole.

And then—

You smile into the kiss.

Your drunken, stupid self melts against him so easily, so sweetly, lips parting just enough to encourage him.

It’s intoxicating. Overwhelming.

And then you break away—blinking up at him with those hazy, innocent eyes, a dopey little smile curling on your lips.

"Are we dating now?"

A giggle. Light, teasing, unaware of the storm you’ve just unleashed inside him.

His ears flick back, pupils dilating.

His heart pounds too hard.

Are you mocking him?

Or are you being serious?

It doesn’t matter.

Because either way—

There’s no turning back now.

His arms tighten around you in an instant, his fingers sinking into your thighs, lifting you, wrapping your legs around his waist with ease.

Your back presses against the cool tile, but the temperature means nothing when he’s burning for you.

"Tch," he mutters against your lips, his voice gruff, sharp—as if he’s annoyed. As if you’re the problem here. "You’re seriously such a pain."

And yet—

He’s the one kissing you like he’s starved.

His lips crash onto yours again, more fevered, more desperate, dragging down to your jaw, your throat, your pulse. His sharp canines scrape against your skin, teasing, testing—not enough to hurt, but just enough to remind you what he could do.

And you?

You whimper.

Your nails dig into his back, your body yielding, surrendering, reacting to him the way he always knew you would.

"See?" he huffs against your neck, his voice husky, slightly breathless. His clawed fingers press into your hips, holding you firmly in place. "You’re so much better when you just listen."

But then—

You gasp softly, your voice small, breathy as your lips brush against his ear.

"I love you."

It’s barely a whisper. Barely coherent.

But it’s enough.

Suguru's whole body stills.

A shudder wracks through him, his mind spiraling, his thoughts consumed—

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou—

A deep growl rumbles in his chest, his tail swishing against your leg, his lips pressing against your temple, your cheek, your jaw—worshiping.

"Say it again."

It’s not a request.

It’s a demand.

"Say it, angel. You know you mean it."

He wants to hear it. Needs to hear it. Needs to know that you’re his.

His little mate.

His forever.

And if you ever try to take it back? If you ever try to leave?

…Well.

That won’t happen.

He hushes you with soft, lingering kisses, his lips brushing against yours in slow, deliberate strokes of his cock nestled deep inside you.

"It’s too much," you gasp, fingers curling into his shoulders, nails scraping at his skin. Begging as he's splitting you open with each and every thrust.

"You’ll get used to it." Suguru murmurs against your lips as he keeps a steady pace.

His fingers ghost along your jawline, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You’re mine now." His tail flicks, tickling, brushing against your bare skin, his fox ears twitching as he studies the way you tremble, the way your breath hitches beneath him.

"So you’ll do your best to accommodate me, won’t you? My little mate."

It’s not a question. It’s a command.

Because really—how could you not?

He does so much for you.

He takes care of you. Protects you. Loves you in ways no human ever could.

So you’ll take his knot that's forcing itself, big and hard, into your wet cunt that's causing a stretch you've never felt before. A stinging sensation that's slowly turning addicting as your head lulls against his chest.

You’ll learn to accept him, accept that he's going to take and take until you fully belong to him.

Suguru's clawed fingers press into your hips, drawing blood as he anchors you, as his body melds into yours, melting. His hot, sticky ropes fill your walls, his knot stretching you, keeping you locked against him as he nips your lips drawing a bead of blood.

"I love you," Suguru whispers against your lips, lapping at the blood that pools.

The devious hyena

Yuki Tsukumo has a very protective streak! Sure, she shared some beliefs with Geto Suguru—though, not nearly as extreme. She just wanted to protect her human. Was that really so bad?

And the best way to protect? Courting!

It was only natural. As a hyena hybrid, her instincts told her to look after the weaker member of her pack—which, in this case, was you, the fragile little human locked away in the apartment with her. You never really left, so that was already a plus. And you were always reading up on how to take care of hybrids, which she found adorable.

Of course, she wanted to help!

She just didn’t quite understand why you didn’t appreciate the way she did it—like now, as she had you pinned beneath her, her hips keeping you in place, one hand holding your wrists above your head while she leaned over you, casually reading aloud from the book you had been studying.

"You need a firm hand with hyena hybrids," she read, her golden eyes flicking down to meet yours, amusement twinkling in them. A slow, smug grin spread across her lips.

She belted a laugh, clearly enjoying herself far more than you were. But hey—this was all part of taking care of you, right?

"Looks like you need to work on that one, babe!"

However, you certainly didn’t seem to appreciate her way of courting. And that was a problem.

She had to get rid of a few… obstacles.

Like your boyfriend.

For someone who never left the house, you sure were awfully social with a weak man like him. A human man. One who clearly couldn’t keep up with a hybrid—especially not her. Yuki was faster, stronger, superior in every way. So why waste your time with someone so fragile? Someone who couldn't even protect you?

She didn’t understand why you didn’t love her present—carefully placed inside a small, elegant box, tied up with a bow. A confession of her undying love. Her mate.

A human heart.

Because don’t you know? Hyenas mate for life.

But instead of swooning, instead of wrapping your arms around her in gratitude, you started crying. Stumbling through your words, voice cracking as you asked, how did you get this?

Yuki only tilted her head, golden eyes glinting with something unreadable.

"You really don’t want to know, babe."

She smiled, watching you tremble, your hands shaking as you covered your mouth. So sensitive.

But hey—you really should fill out that missing persons report for your boyfriend.

She really was trying to be comforting. That’s what a good mate does, right?

Don’t you know? Hyena females are the most aggressive. She’d been holding herself back this whole time—being so patient with you, so gentle in ways that went against her very nature. She could have taken what she wanted long ago, but no, she let you have your space. Let you think you had control.

Even now, she’s being so generous.

Letting you cry into her neck, her legs spread just wide enough to pull you close, keeping you tucked against her as you sniffle and tremble. Her strong arms wrap around you, her fingers lazily stroking your back, firm but oddly soothing.

She’s doing her best.

But comforting isn’t really her thing.

She doesn’t quite get why you’re so upset.

However, she does enjoy licking every single tear off your cheek. Loves the salty taste on her tongue with each lap dragging against your cheek, you haven't ever pushed her face away yet.

Why do your small, delicate hands keep clutching at her, nails digging into her skin like she’s the one who hurt you.

"Shh," she hums, moving to rest her chin atop your head, her voice low, almost mockingly tender. "I’ve got you, baby. You’re okay."

Because you are okay.

She made sure of it.

But as she held you, stroking your back in slow, deliberate motions, shushing your little sniffles against the crook of her neck, she couldn’t ignore the slow, insistent pressure pressing against your side.

Don’t you know?

There’s one more thing about hyena hybrids—especially the female ones.

Her lips curled into a slow grin against your hair, her chest rumbling with something between a laugh and a purr. Her tail flicked lazily behind her, pleased, relaxed. Settled.

"Oh well," she murmured, voice smooth, filled with something teasing—something undeniable. "Guess you don’t have to worry about having a man anymore."

Her fingers traced slow, idle circles against your back, pressing you closer, until you could feel it—firm, unfamiliar, nestled against your hip.

Your breath hitched.

She sighed, golden eyes half-lidded, satisfaction written all over her face. Her grip was firm, reassuring—like she knew there was no need for resistance.

"I can take care of everything, baby."

Because really, what more could you possibly need?

Nature had already decided.

Hyena females were stronger. Larger. More dominant.

Your stomach dropped.

"Don’t worry, baby," she murmured, nuzzling into your hair, her voice sweet, dripping with certainty. "I can do everything he could do—just better."

The realization settled in slow, creeping horror, as if your own brain was trying to shield you from the truth until it was too late.

A memory. A random clip from a nature documentary, resurfacing at the worst possible moment.

"Female hybrids use a pseudopenis to mount other females and males to assert dominance."

Your pulse quickened.

Yuki only chuckled, sensing the way your body stiffened in her hold, her grip tightening just a little.

She might not even bite you.

"Don’t worry," she cooed, amusement dancing in her golden eyes. "You’ll be well taken care of."

Not the first time, at least.

*********

Things I want to add but can't find a way to incorporate.

Suguru likes to carry a squirt bottle around the apartment and sprays you with it when you irk him. He does get cuteness aggression, so he will bite your cheek while you're studying/working. More of a house husband and does a good job, however, he likes to coddle and baby you. Breeding kink, however, doesn't want kids unless hybrids get more rights. Does lean more into DDLG except you didn't know about it until the sparkly pink rules list was posted on the fridge.

Satoru likes to make you food but it's usually awful, so instead he does a lot of the household chores. Absolutely hates the cheap underwear packs, so those are the only panties he hasn't ripped holes into. Whines when you wear clothes to bed, loves to stick his tongue deep into your cunt when you're sleeping to ensure you're nice and sore the next day to not even think of being with another man/hyrbid. Very, very clingy on errand runs. Loves to hold your hand.

Yuki makes you so broke that way you can't leave the house, her gym membership is insane and she only eats meat. Doesn't let you wear underwear around the house. If you're doing something she just picks you up and takes you to the couch or bed with her despite protests.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #hybrid au jjk #hybrid au #hybrid gojo #hybrid geto #hybrid yuki #hybrid jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo x reader #yandere geto x reader #yandere yuki x reader #yandere gojo satoru #yandere geto suguru #yandere yuki tsukumo

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rosemariiaa · 2 days ago

Text

03 ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅs

𐙚—pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚—rosie’s note: i was being nice with the fluff and ok ok ik i said i was gonna post last night but you guys know i just talk a lot.. sooo good morning (it’s 5) and here you go!! this is just one flashback and it’s kinda just a filler so sorry but next chapter..juicy asf, send live reacts please i love them!! tysmm for 800+ roses ily kisses, happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚—links: rosie’s bookshelf, series masterlist, prologue

𐙚—themes: angst, hurt/comfort, acl tear, language, fluff

𐙚—taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @bueckersbitch @imaginespazzi @makethemhoesmad @sierrale8ne @ohbueckers @juspeaks @pazzilover101 @lupinqs @kmoneymartini @pbaz7 @absolutelydreadful @patri-ots87 @ashortyluvsports

enjoy!!!

USA Basketball U18, Colorado Springs 2019

The gym is loud—sneakers screeching against polished wood, the low hum of the crowd settling into her bones. The air is thick with sweat, adrenaline, and something else—something heavier. It presses against Paige’s chest, curling tight around her ribs.

She blinks hard, her body jolting forward.

She knows where she is. 2019.

Her stomach drops.

This is the game where Azzi tears her ACL.

A chill creeps up her spine despite the heat of the gym. She spots Azzi easily, cutting through the defense—sharp, quick, deadly. Damn, she’s good. Paige swallows hard.

She could stop this.

She should stop this.

But Azzi drives to the basket, her movements effortless, fluid. She leaps for the layup, stretching toward the rim. And then it happens, a defender slams into her mid-air. Azzi’s body twists awkwardly.

She comes down wrong and her right knee gives out.

The pop is sickening.

Paige doesn’t hear the whistle, doesn’t hear the gasps from the crowd. All she hears is the scream. Azzi’s scream. It cuts through the noise like a blade, sharp and panicked, laced with pain in a way that makes Paige’s stomach churn.

She’s moving before she can think, shoving past bodies, dropping to her knees beside Azzi. “Hey, hey,” she rushes out, reaching for her. Azzi’s hands are gripping her knee, her face twisted in agony.

“Paige,” Azzi gasps, her voice strained and broken, thick with something Paige never wants to hear from her—fear. “Something’s wrong. I—I felt it pop—”

Paige’s stomach lurches. “Okay, okay, just breathe, Az.”

Trainers rush over. Coaches bark instructions. The crowd is silent. But all Paige can focus on is Azzi—Azzi shaking, Azzi gripping her wrist like she’s terrified of letting go.

Paige squeezes back. “I got you,” she murmurs. “I got you, okay?”

Azzi doesn’t answer. She just squeezes her eyes shut.

And then, she’s gone—taken away by the medical staff, leaving Paige kneeling on the court, her hands curled into fists against the hardwood. She could’ve stopped it.

But she froze.

And now, the damage is done.

—

The hospital room is too damn quiet.

Azzi stares at the ceiling, fingers twisting into the blanket draped over her legs. The faint beeping of a heart monitor in the hallway fills the silence, but it’s not enough to drown out the weight pressing against Paige’s ribs.

Azzi’s mom is sitting near the door, phone clutched tightly in her hands. She keeps checking it, jaw clenched, leg bouncing. She had called Tim over and over, but the reception at his basketball camp was awful. He didn’t answer until it was already too late.

Paige can still hear the way Katie’s voice had cracked when she finally got through to him.

“She tore it,” she had whispered, barely holding it together.

Silence.

Then, finally, Tim’s voice, hoarse and uneven: “No.”

Paige closes her eyes. Even through the phone, she could hear the heartbreak in his voice. The helplessness.

He had cried for four days . He had nearly gotten sick when he called back.

Azzi hasn’t said a word since the doctor confirmed it—the ACL tear.

The feeling is worse than the first time paige experienced this.

She watches as Azzi shifts slightly, wincing at even the smallest movement. The cast on her leg feels too big, too final, the kind of thing that makes it impossible to pretend this isn’t happening.

Paige swallows, chest tight. She doesn’t know what to say—what the hell is there to say?

This is Azzi’s worst nightmare.

And Paige has lived it twice now.

The first time had been unbearable. Sixteen and seventeen, sitting in another hospital room, staring at another blank wall while Azzi fought to keep from breaking in front of everyone.

Paige had been there through all of it—the surgery, the rehab, the quiet frustration when Azzi’s body refused to move the way she needed it to. The nights where she’d swear she was fine but Paige would catch the way her fingers dug into her hoodie sleeves, the way her breath hitched when she thought no one was listening.

Paige had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t have to see Azzi go through it again.

She had convinced herself that it was over. That they’d gotten through it.

And yet—

Here they were. Here she was, not by choice though. She has no idea why she is even in this flashback and not trying to keep Azzi away from- Azzi shifts, drawing in a shaky breath. “I don’t—” She stops, pressing her lips together, shaking her head.

Paige leans forward forgetting her thoughts. “You don’t what?”

Azzi swallows hard. When she finally looks at Paige, her eyes are glassy, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

Paige doesn’t hesitate. “You heal. You come back stronger.”

Azzi lets out a hollow laugh, swiping at her eyes. “You make it sound so simple.”

Paige exhales sharply. It’s not simple. It never was.

But Azzi is Azzi—fierce, disciplined, unwilling to let anything keep her down.

Azzi stares down at her knee, her jaw tight. “I was so careful,” she mutters. “I did everything right. And still—” She gestures toward her leg, voice cracking. “Still, this happened.”

Paige hesitates, then leans in. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now,” she says carefully, “but this doesn’t change who you are.”

Azzi scoffs, her fingers tightening around the blanket. “Doesn’t it?”

“No.” Paige shakes her head, firm. “You’re still the hardest worker I know. You’re still Azzi.”

Azzi’s jaw clenches. “You say that like it’s enough.”

Paige meets her gaze. “It is enough, I promise”

—

Few weeks later (still in 2019)

Azzi’s basement has always been my second home, it actually makes me happy to be here again. Her parents always say they should start charging me rent. Not that I’d pay, but still. I’m sprawled out on the floor, a half-empty pint of ice cream balanced on my stomach, while Azzi is curled up on the couch, wrapped in way too many blankets, her knee propped up on pillows. Frozen is playing on the TV, and even though she’s still in recovery mode, she looks pretty comfortable.

I, on the other hand, am suffering. Because Azzi is ignoring me.

And I can’t let that slide.

I turn my head and watch her pretend to focus on the movie, her eyes locked on the screen like she’s actually paying attention. Which, okay, maybe she is, but that’s not the point. The point is, I don’t like being ignored.

So, naturally, I poke her arm.

No reaction.

I poke her again.

Still nothing.

I narrow my eyes. “Azzi.”

Silence.

I scoot closer. “Azziii.”

Azzi exhales slowly, like she’s meditating through the pain that is my presence.

Challenge accepted.

I nudge her knee. “Az Az Az Az.”

Azzi finally turns her head, eyes dark with warning. “What.”

I grin. “Hi.”

She stares at me for a long moment. “…Get out of my house.”

I gasp, clutching my chest like she just personally wounded me. “After everything I’ve done for you? The ice cream? The emotional support? The world-class entertainment?”

Azzi deadpans. “You tickled me all last night.”

I smirk. “To cheer you up.”

“You almost killed me.”

I hum, tilting my head in fake thought. “Mmm. Jury’s still out on that one.”

Azzi glares. “I hate you.”

I beam. “Love you too.”

She groans, sinking deeper into the couch like she can escape me.

She can’t.

Because if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s being a persistent pain in the ass. I lean over slightly, watching her pretend to focus on the TV again, and poke her cheek.

She smacks my hand away.

I poke her shoulder.

She smacks it away again.

I poke her arm. “Hey.”

“I swear to God, Paige—”

“Do you wanna build a snowman?” I sing, voice purposely awful.

Azzi finally looks at me, expression blank. “If you don’t shut up, I’m using my crutches as a weapon.”

“Violence?” I gasp. “From you? I’m shocked.”

She rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the way she hides her smile behind the blanket.

I take that as a win and scoot even closer, fully invading her personal space. “Wanna watch something else?”

Azzi shakes her head, gaze flickering back to the TV just as Olaf waddles onto the screen. And I swear, she softens.

“You love him,” I tease.

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do. You wanna build a snowman so bad.”

She grabs a pillow and chucks it at me without hesitation. I let it hit me right in the face, because honestly? Worth it.

We fall into a comfortable silence, the kind I know she needs. The kind I’m willing to give her—until I decide she’s had enough peace.

I nudge her side. “You doing okay?”

Azzi shrugs, fingers picking at the blanket. “Yeah. I mean, not really, but yeah.” I nod, waiting a beat before smirking. “Want me to start singing Let It Go to cheer you up?”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “Paige, pleas—”

I cut her off, launching into the most dramatic, off-key performance of my life.

Azzi groans, dragging the blanket over her head like it’ll save her.

It won’t.

Because yeah, she’s going to have her bad days.

But me? I’m not going anywhere.

A few minutes later, the movie’s still playing when we hear footsteps coming down the basement stairs. I don’t think much of it—probably Katie checking in or Jose grabbing something—but then I hear a familiar voice, and suddenly, my mood plummets.

“Yo, Azzi!”

I swear I hear Azzi sigh before she even turns her head.

Jose comes into view first, hands in his pockets, looking way too amused for my liking. He steps aside to let Jake through, and I watch as Azzi shoots her brother a look that practically screams Why’d you let him in here?!

Jose just shrugs, grinning like this is the funniest thing ever. “He asked for you.”

Azzi closes her eyes for a second, like she’s praying for patience. Meanwhile, I shift up from my spot on the floor, propping myself up on my elbows, already annoyed.

Jake’s got that usual smug, overconfident energy as he plops down on the other end of the couch, way too close to Azzi’s feet. “Damn, Azzi. You still out of commission?”

Azzi glances at me for half a second, then back at him. “Yep. Still injured.”

Jake leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression all concerned—or at least, his version of it. “That’s rough. You need anything? I can grab you some food, bring you something from Chipotle—”

Azzi cuts him off before he can get too comfortable. “Nope, I’m okay. Paige and I already ate.”

I smile at that.

Jake barely reacts, like he didn’t even hear her. “Well, if you ever need somewhere else to hang, I was thinking—”

Azzi interrupts again. “Me and Paige were actually gonna start another movie soon.”

I grin at that.

Jake doesn’t get the hint. “Right, right. But listen, there’s this beach party in a couple weeks—”

I already heard this once before, yeah, no. Not happening.

Before he can even get the full invite out, I sit up straighter, eyes wide with fake realization. “Oh, shoot! Azzi, don’t you have, like… a full week of rehab that week?”

Azzi catches on instantly. She tilts her head, playing along. “Oh, yeah. Right. Full week. Super intense. No free time at all sorry.”

I nod. “Yeah, it’s really important.”

Azzi nods solemnly. “The most important.”

Jake frowns. “Oh. Well… maybe another time then?”

Azzi offers the most unconvincing, “Yeah, maybe,” I’ve ever heard. Jose snickers from the doorway.

Jake finally, finally seems to realize he’s not wanted, because he pushes himself up off the couch, forcing a laugh. “Alright, alright, I get it. You two are busy.”

Azzi gives him a thumbs-up. “Super busy.”

I beam at her.

Jake just sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, well, see you later, Az-” He quickly glances at me and clears his throat, “My bad, bye Azzi.”

Yeah cus you know.

Azzi nods. “Mhm.”

He throws me another glance before heading upstairs, and the second the basement door shuts behind him, Jose loses it, doubling over with laughter. “Oh my god.” He shakes his head, looking at Azzi. “You’re so mean.”

Azzi shrugs, completely unbothered. “I’m injured.”

I snort, leaning back into the couch. “Yeah, Jose. Have some sympathy.”

Jose rolls his eyes, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He pauses, glancing between the two of us, and then his smirk turns downright evil. “Just… try not to get too cozy down here, alright?” He wags his eyebrows. “I know how you two get.”

I freeze.

Azzi scoffs, tossing a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

Jose dodges it easily, laughing. “I’m just saying! If it were me, I wouldn’t trust myself alone in a basement with someone I—”

“Bye,” Azzi cuts him off, pointing at the stairs.

Jose grins but finally backs away. “I’m just looking out for Mom and Dad.” He throws me a glance as he goes. “And for Paige’s dignity.”

The second the door closes behind him, I let out a very shaky breath.

Because oh my god.

If only he knew. Well…he did know unfortunately I wasn’t that secretive back then, well now, anyway-

I make the mistake of glancing at Azzi, and of course she’s already looking at me, her expression unreadable. There’s this slow, knowing smirk tugging at her lips, and I suddenly forget how to breathe.

Azzi tilts her head slightly. “You good over there?”

I wave her off, forcing out a laugh that hopefully doesn’t sound as nervous as I feel. “Pfft. Yeah. Totally.”

Her smirk grows. “You sure? You look kinda—”

“I’m fine,” I cut in, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth before I can say anything stupid.

Azzi hums, like she doesn’t believe me at all, but thankfully, she lets it go.

But the problem is… I don’t. I never do.

Because now, I can’t stop thinking about later tonight.

And how way too soon, we’ll be alone again.

A few hours later, we’re tangled up in Azzi’s bed, watching All American—or, at least, one of us is.

Azzi’s fingers comb lazily through my hair, her nails grazing my scalp in a way that makes it really hard to focus on anything but her.

I barely register whatever drama’s happening on screen because I’m too busy staring at her.

Her face is so unfairly pretty—the soft curve of her cheek, the way her eyelashes flutter every time she blinks, the slight crease in her forehead when she’s actually paying attention to something. It’s like she’s in her own world, completely unaware of the fact that I’m losing my mind over her years later, obviously she wouldn’t know that but anyway.

But, Azzi doesn’t miss anything.

“Paigey,” she murmurs, her lips quirking up as she glances down at me. “You want me to pause the show? Seems like you’re real focused on something else.”

I should’ve looked away the second she caught me, but now it’s too late.

I roll my eyes, playing it cool. “Please. I wasn’t even lookin at you.”

Azzi’s smirk deepens. “Mmm. Sure.” Her fingers pause in my hair, and suddenly, I miss the feeling. “You wanna tell me what you were looking at, then?”

I narrow my eyes. “I was trying to watch, but someone keeps distracting me.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Me?”

I scoff. “Yes, you.”

Azzi tilts her head, the smirk on her lips turning into something softer, something dangerous. “I’m not even doing anything.”

I open my mouth, ready to argue, but then she shifts, leaning in just slightly, and every single thought in my head vanishes.

She’s so close now.

Close enough that I can feel her breath ghost across my lips, close enough that I could close the space between us in one second if I wanted to—

And I do.

Azzi lets me make the move. She always did.

Our lips meet, slow at first, like we’re savoring the moment, like we’ve done this before and know exactly how to do it right.

Because we have.

Four times in the last year—I counted. Still counting.

I kiss her deeper, my hand slipping into her curls, and she sighs against my lips, like this is exactly where she wants to be.

Azzi pulls me in, shifting so that I’m almost on top of her, and my entire body feels like it’s melting against her warmth.

It’s not rushed, not something we’ll pretend didn’t happen in the morning. We didn’t, we woke up that morning doing the same thing for 15 minutes, I counted.

She hums into the kiss, her fingers sliding under the hem of my hoodie, tracing circles against my skin, and a shiver runs down my spine.

I swear I could do this forever, just lose myself in her, but then—

Azzi breaks the kiss with a soft laugh, her forehead pressing against mine.

“We should sleep,” she murmurs, breathless.

I huff, still catching my own breath. “Wow. That’s rude.”

Azzi grins. “You’re the one who’s always talking about my recovery.” She nudges my side. “Don’t you want me well-rested?”

I groan dramatically, burying my face in her shoulder. “Fine.”

Azzi chuckles, pulling me closer, and just like that, we settle in, the weight of the day slipping away as sleep creeps in. And as much as I love sleeping next to Azzi like this every night, I desperately wish I was home now.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi fics #rosie’s works 🎧⋆｡ °⋆#rosemariiaa

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onsomenewsht · 1 day ago

Text

I've got peace and I've got love

About a surprise for your birthday even if you hate your birthday

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader

》 words count: +1k

》 for anyone who needs to feel celebrated

Birthdays are a complicated matter.

You don’t hate them, no one really does.

People should be loved loudly, their mere presence on Earth should be reason enough to celebrate them.

You care about your family and your friends, baking cakes and inflating balloons and dressing up for a themed party are not a problem - you’re the first one to arrive and the last to leave.

Celebrating your birthday though? Hell, no.

For most, it doesn’t make sense.

A day in a whole year when anyone is entitled to be under the biggest spotlight, getting gifts and all the wanted attention. Yet, you’d rather hide in the remotest corner of the planet than hear someone sing “happy birthday” to you.

Despite the insistence and the repeated attempts over the years, your mother has finally accepted that you don’t want to make a big deal out of it. Your best friend has accepted that you’ll avoid a surprise party like the plague. Everyone who knows you, knows it.

Alexia included.

At least she knows now, after last year.

The two of you got together just shy of three months before your birthday. Bless her good heart, she thought a surprise ambush might be appreciated.

She’s not going to make the same mistake twice in a row, but she wants to do something.

“You told me she hates birthdays”, Alba points out, a bit confused, sipping her coffee as if her sister isn’t in the middle of an inconclusive rant.

“She hates her own, not birthdays in general”

“I still think you should just buy her a nice present, wish her a happy birthday and move on like she asked you to do”

“It seems so, I don’t know, incomplete?”, the blonde tries to explain, “How do I make sure I show how much I appreciate her if I can’t celebrate her?”

“You better celebrate her every day, not just on the birthday–”

“I do it, idiot!”

Alexia is quick in her jab, but thankfully the younger girl is used to her attitude by now.

Cup saved from any spill, Alba barely has enough patience to give another, simple pearl of wisdom, “So do it like any other day, but, you know, on her birthday”

It’s good advice, even if she’d never admit it.

Alexia spends most of her day off plotting, her free time during the week before your birthday completely taken over by careful planning and prep.

You can tell immediately that something is off, but you let it slide because she’s cute when she’s on a mission, and you don’t really want to spoil her fun.

At the stroke of midnight, like a mischievous fairy godmother, your best friend calls you to sing a personalized rendition of “Die, Die My Darling” like every year since you’re sixteen and think you’re oh-so-funny.

Your mother sends a present from the entire family, along with a picture of a cake you’re not going to eat but you’re glad they’ll enjoy in your name. Alexia’s mother and sister send flowers, and you have to reassure your girlfriend that it’s a genuinely appreciated sentiment.

Said girlfriend kisses you for every year spent on this Earth and then moves on, as if nothing happened. As if nothing is going to happen.

It’s suspicious, really suspicious.

The day passes by without any major incident.

At work just a few colleagues know it’s your birthday, they politely hand you a card with bad jokes written all over it. You mindlessly send the same three reactions at every text message, nonetheless appreciating everyone who remembered and took the time to wish you a happy birthday. A kind waitress adds a slice of dessert as you pick up take-out at your favourite Mexican place, probably prompted by Alexia when she ordered over the phone and sent you to the restaurant.

Guard down, you open the door to your girlfriend’s apartment, still not connecting the dots.

Thank the goddesses and gods above for that nice waitress, because what you find inside is definitely a first and the food wouldn’t have survived the surprise if not for the well-secured package.

Soft music - that, to your shame, you only realise too late is your favorite record - resonates through the room, which is filled with dozens of floating balloons reaching the ceiling.

You take a few tentative steps inside, noticing pictures carefully tied to each string with numbers scribbled on the corners.

Snaps of the past year, memories so simple in their significance you sometimes fail to give a good measure of. Dinners out with friends, an unflattering portrait of an early morning during the summer, the first time holding your niece. You linger over a photo of you and Alexia talking on Mapi’s couch, neither of you looking at the camera, as it’s clear you had eyes only for each other.

“I’ve never seen this one”, you whisper, emotion thick in your voice.

Your girlfriend is leaning on the further wall of the entrance, a confident stance failing to hide a note of nervousness. The way her hands are buried in the pocket of old sweatpants and her eyes are studying every single macro-expression shifting on your face are a clear tell for you.

"Ingrid sent it to me some times ago”

“It’s beautiful”

“It is”, she agrees easily, still not daring to come closer.

Alexia’s gaze drops as soon as you notice there’s a handwritten message on the back of every photo, her cheeks flushing slightly.

You take the time to read each one attentively, smiling at her thoughtfulness and the care she put into all the moments chosen. People and occasions that hold meaning for you, no matter how big or small. You feel love in every single one.

“You put a lot of thought into this”

“I had to sacrifice a couple of good ones”, she mumbles, almost upset with herself.

The commitment to matching the number of pictures to your age it’s impressive, you have to admit.

A burst of laughter fills the entire apartment, Alexia finally meeting your gaze and taking in how moved you’re by her surprise.

The fear of overstepping had been like an annoying voice, whispering in her ear as she scribbled on the back of the photos or tried to wrap gifts without running out of patience or tape.

“Do you like it?”, her doubt creeping in her voice.

“I don’t hate it”, you joke, still eager to ease her worries, “No one has ever put this much thought or effort into– I don’t know, celebrating my birthday, I guess”

“You deserve to be celebrated”

You take the few steps to fill the gap between you two, food forgotten somewhere behind, and throw yourself into her already open arms.

“Thank you”

“I love you”

The kiss you share is a clear enough answer. Sometimes, it’s not even necessary to spell it out - action speaks louder than words, they say. She holds you for as long as you need, music still playing softly in the background.

“Is this a good moment to mention that you have to open as many presents as you have in years?”

“Alexia!”

#alexia putellas x reader #my wo(rd)so #alexia putellas #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso #woso fanfics #woso community #for all the birthday girls who hate their birthday #i know its rushed and bad #its my own birthday present #writing more just because

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shawtylex09 · 3 days ago

Text

Thinking about rich!reader

Rich!reader who enjoys nothing more than spoiling Izuku rotten, finding literally every excuse to blow their money on their former classmate.

Rich!reader who spends hundreds on Izuku despite his protests, I.e.; “Y/n! This figure was $400! Are you crazy?” Or “you shouldn’t spend so much on me..I feel bad..” but of course, they never listen to him, insisting that he deserves it for being such an amazing friend.

Rich!reader who gets more pleasure out of spending outrageous amounts of money on the boy they’ve been pining over since their UA days, than anything else the world has to offer.

Rich!reader, who spent ¥140,000 ($908.29) on a formal kimono for Izuku’s 20th birthday. He cried

Rich!reader who is obviously pining, but doesn’t outright say it.

Rich!reader who gets Izuku flowers every Monday, having them delivered to his classroom if they’re not able to hand deliver them themselves.

Rich!reader who keeps their arm around Izuku’s waist any time they attend a fancy hero gathering, always paying for Izuku’s drinks and anything he gets to eat at these extravagant places.

Rich!reader who, when they were in high school with Izuku, took him to one of the biggest hero expos in all of Japan (I’m talking buying plane tickets, expo tickets, hotel rooms, food and merch costs.)

Rich!reader who has no impulse control when Izuku’s birthday rolls around, or any holiday, frankly

Rich!reader who has their personal chef teach them how to make all of Izuku’s favorite meals, then surprises him with the finest ingredients in his favorite foods.

Rich!reader who’s a total sucker for the tears Izuku sheds when he sees the sweet and thoughtful gifts they give him.

Rich!reader who wants nothing more than to see all of Izuku’s needs met, and seeing him happy means more than any currency they could earn.

Rich!reader who ignores the smirks they get when the old class 1A triage goes out for drinks, and they always argue with Izuku on who’s paying his tab, only for R!reader to beat him in the race to get their cards out.

Rich!reader who’s not very good with words, and has no idea how to express their feelings for Izuku than spoiling him rotten, just like he deserves

Rich!reader who finally (with the help of their old classmates) asks Izuku out, to which he is over the moon, throwing his arms around R!reader and clinging to them tightly, saying that he’s been waiting for this for so long.

Rich!reader who buys Inko Midoriya a cute house in the same neighborhood as the house that they share with Izuku, along with buying her a new car. Because if momma Inko isn’t taken care of, how can all of Izukus needs be met?

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latrespada · 20 hours ago

Text

ᯓ ✈︎ apple of his envy

You arrive home late, far past the promised dinner time, only to find Caleb soaking in a warm bath. As you approach, you notice his expression, even in sleep, is etched with a scowl of annoyance. Gently, you bend down to touch his cheek, but before you can, he pulls you into the bath with an unrelenting grip. His arms are tight around you, his voice thick with tension and a hint of desperation, as if he had feared you wouldn’t return, or worse, that you had chosen someone else over him. In the steamy embrace, he reminds you with unspoken intensity where you truly belong—by his side. Even if it means sinking together into a bath swirling with sensual, envious passion.

lads caleb x reader

warnings : semi-jealousy, bath sex, bathtub sex, possessive sex, angst and hurt/comfort

6.5k words

rated : m

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62700367

A/N: This was a bit tricky to write—I wanted to make the positioning clear, but bathtubs are surprisingly complicated! Also, I couldn’t help but notice how much you all enjoyed the dry-humping fic. I’m really happy you liked the last one.

You exit West Garden Station and sprint toward home, your heart pounding with worry and a tinge of fear. Thoughts race through your mind, colliding in a cacophony of guilt and dread. You had promised to be home before dinner, but the day spiraled out of control. You meant to take a short break from your reports, but one thing led to another, and now it’s nearing midnight—four hours past when you were supposed to be home.

The air feels heavy, thunder rumbling ominously in the distance as the clouds above flash shades of purple. A storm is brewing, but it’s nothing compared to the one waiting for you at home. You know Caleb doesn’t mind when life gets in the way of plans, but failing to keep him updated? That’s what sets him off. You push your legs harder, running as though you can somehow outrun his disappointment.

You finally reach your apartment complex, breathless, your chest tightening as you fumble for your keys. Your trembling hands make quick work of unlocking the door, and you step inside, greeted by darkness. The faint aroma of red-braised tofu lingers in the air—a reminder of the dinner you missed. The silence is suffocating as you pull out your phone, using its flashlight to guide your way.

The living room is empty, with not a single light left on. The kitchen has been cleaned, and the only evidence of its earlier use is a faint warmth in the air. You move toward the bedroom, kicking off your boots, socks, hunter’s vest, and belt as you go. It’s eerily untouched, and the bed is still neatly made, save for a few wrinkles, as though someone had briefly sat there before moving on.

The bathroom door creaks slightly as you push it open, and your eyes fall on a shadowy figure reclining in the tub. Your hand searches for the light switch, and when you flick it on, the scene becomes clear. Caleb lies there, his head tilted back, a towel draped over his face. His arms rest along the sides of the tub, and his knees break the surface of the water. He looks like a marble statue, serene yet heavy with unspoken emotions.

“Light… off,” he mumbles, his voice low and flat.

“You want me to turn off the light?” you ask cautiously.

“Off,” he snaps, louder this time.

“Alright, alright,” you say, raising your hands in surrender. Turning off the light and stepping out into the hallway, your heart is still racing. After rummaging in the kitchen, you return with a candle and a lighter. The faint glow casts soft, flickering shadows on the tiled walls as you enter the bathroom again.

Caleb hasn’t moved, still draped in his dead-like pose, but the candlelight softens the edges of his silhouette. “I brought a candle,” you say gently, placing it on the counter. “Just to give you some lighting and mood for your relaxation.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, but you think you catch the faintest twitch of his lips—a subtle acknowledgment of your gesture.

“I’m not relaxed,” Caleb says, his voice low, etched with an almost threatening seriousness.

“Why are you in the bath then?” you ask softly, sitting on the edge of the tub, your concern growing with every second.

“I’m stressed… thought this would help. It’s what you do.”

“Stressed? Why’s that?” you ask, leaning forward to touch his cheek. But before your fingers can graze his skin, Caleb’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist and pulling you into the tub with him.

Water splashes everywhere as you struggle against his hold, your clothes heavy and clinging to your skin. Caleb’s grip is unyielding, his strength pinning you down. Finally, you push yourself free, shoving his shoulders with a force that makes his back hit the porcelain edge. “What the hell, Caleb?” you shout, water dripping from your soaked hair.

Caleb doesn’t react immediately. He sits there, his head tilted back, the towel still covering his face, ignoring your anger.

Grabbing the towel, you hit his face with it. “I said, what the—”

“I know what you said,” Caleb interrupts sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He pulls the towel off his face, his eyes locking onto yours with a raw intensity. “You were gone for so long. I didn’t know if you were coming back. You said you’d be here hours ago.” His voice wavers slightly as he sits up, his hands suddenly gripping your face, forcing your foreheads together. His breath is hot, his touch desperate. “I thought you’d finally left. That you didn’t need me anymore. Or maybe… maybe you found someone else too…” He stops, his words choking in his throat. Instead, he rubs his forehead against yours, the motion rough and unsettling.

“Stop it,” you groan, pushing him away.

He falls back slightly, his hand covering his face as if shielding himself from his own thoughts. “Were you with Zayne?” he asks, his voice quieter but laced with suspicion.

“No,” you answer firmly.

“Your colleague. Did he drag you into his work again? You know he shouldn’t need you for everything.”

“No,” you repeat, your patience wearing thin.

“Were you hired as some overnight bodyguard?”

“Enough,” you snap, your tone cutting through the room like a whip.

“Enough?” Caleb laughs bitterly, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Am I not enough?”

You try to stand, to pull yourself out of the tub, but Caleb grabs you again, his hold growing tighter. He drags you back into the water, his desperation palpable.

“Caleb, I’m still freaking dressed!” you exclaim, trying to wrestle free.

“Am I not enough?” he repeats, his voice trembling, his eyes searching yours for answers you can’t give. “Answer me!”

“Caleb…” you groan, prying at his hands, but his grip doesn’t waver.

Then, without warning, he places a hand over your mouth and the other on your back, dipping you into the water. It’s not forceful, not meant to harm—there’s no malice in his actions. Instead, it feels like he’s trying to calm himself, to ground his spiraling emotions. He pulls you back up moments later, your hair slicked back, water streaming down your face as his half-lidded eyes bore into yours.

“I was waiting,” he whispers, his voice raw and broken. “And while I waited, I thought maybe I could distract myself. Played with myself. But every time I tried to think of you, to feel close to you… my mind kept drifting to the idea that you’d found another home.”

“Caleb, I was stuck at work,” you say softly, your voice trembling with sorrow.

“For that long?” he asks, his tone teetering between hurt and disbelief.

You don’t reply. There’s no excuse you can offer or words that would improve it.

“I thought you’d found someone else to hold,” he continues, his voice barely audible now. “Someone else to need. To cook for you.” He laughs bitterly, the sound hollow. Dropping his head onto your chest, he nuzzles into the exposed skin of your cleavage, his breath warm against your damp skin. “Am I really that replaceable?” he asks, his voice breaking, his vulnerability spilling out like the water around you.

As you press his head against your chest, cradling him, your head resting on his, there’s a quiet understanding in the shared silence. His arms snake around your thighs, shifting your legs to fit snugly against his lap, grounding you both in this moment.

“No, you’re not replaceable,” you murmur, your voice soft yet steady. “But even if I tell you that, I know you won’t believe me just like that.” Your fingers stroke his damp hair as you ask, “What can I do to assure you?”

Caleb tilts his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an almost childlike vulnerability. “What’s the most important thing I need from you?” he asks, his tone imploring, as though willing you to understand without him saying it outright.

Your brows knit together as you hesitate. “To own me?” you offer, unsure, the words trembling out of your mouth.

He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head before leaning back, still keeping you anchored on his lap. His hands rest loosely on your hips, but his gaze is intense, flickering between the water and your face. He brushes his wet hair back, the strands sticking to his forehead, his usually sharp features softened by the dull ache in his eyes. You’re transfixed, your fingers instinctively tracing the curve of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, the swell of his lips. His mouth is slightly swollen, perhaps from his teeth pressing into it—whether out of frustration, longing, or anxiety, you can’t tell.

Caleb catches your hand, kissing it with surprising tenderness. “To feel you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing over your knuckles again. “To know you need me.” His voice is raw, the words carrying an unspoken weight.

He shifts beneath you, his legs spreading wider to adjust your position as he pulls you closer, to him. His hands are firm yet reverent. “Though this feeling isn’t the most important thing to me,” he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “it’s one I don’t mind… as long as your warmth is on me—and me only.”

You’re hyper-aware of his body beneath yours, the press of his erection evident even through the layers of damp fabric. The friction sends a jolt through you as you instinctively move, attempting to kneel, but your movements falter, slipping against the slick surface of the tub.

“Let me help you,” Caleb says softly, his hands steadying your waist. His fingers find the waistband of your soaked pants. “Stand up for me,” he coaxes, his voice gentle yet commanding.

You rise slowly, your gaze never leaving his as he unbuttons, unzips, and peels the fabric away with deliberate care. The water clings to your skin, droplets cascading down, some splashing onto Caleb’s face as he maintains unwavering eye contact. With a quiet determination, he slides your pants and underwear down your legs, his touch grazing your thighs. You lift one leg, then the other, stepping out of the discarded clothing, which lands with a wet thud on the bathroom floor.

Caleb’s hands trail up your legs, his fingers barely grazing your most sensitive areas before sliding beneath your blouse. His hands are warm despite the cool air, and they skim over your stomach before finding their way under your bra, cupping your breast with tenderness. His thumb brushes over your skin, igniting goosebumps in its wake.

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice trembling with emotion, “let me feel you in ways words can’t express.”

You drop to your knees, water sloshing over the tub’s edge, drenching the tiled floor in rippling streaks. Your fingers tremble as they grip the porcelain rim, your body leaning forward until your forehead rests against Caleb’s. His warm breath fans across your skin, mingling with the steamy heat from the bathwater. His hand lingers over the curve of your breast, his touch equal parts grounding and electrifying. Time seems to stop for a moment, the world outside the bathroom dissolving into the sound of rain tapping insistently against the windowpane.

Your hand wraps around his, gently tugging it free from beneath your soaked blouse and bra, guiding it upward until his calloused palm cradles your cheek. His thumb grazes your bottom lip, tracing it with a tender slowness that belies the tension between you. Your lips part under his touch, and before you can think better of it, he closes the gap, his mouth crashing against yours with unrestrained hunger. The kiss is messy, teeth grazing as his lips claim yours, an edge of desperation bleeding into every movement.

His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling it slightly before his tongue sweeps over the sting, soothing and coaxing. His hands slip to your back, the broad span of his palms pressing you against him, molding your bodies together. Your arms loop around his neck in a frantic embrace, pulling him so close it feels as though you might never let go. The friction of your lower halves grazing, ignites a fire that licks at every nerve ending, an ache building deep and insistent.

Caleb pulls away suddenly, leaving you breathless, his chest heaving as he struggles to regain control. His hands find your hips, pushing you back until your spine meets the cold, slick surface of the tub. You let out a soft gasp at the sudden chill, your legs laying open as though of their own accord, your knees resting against the tub’s edges. The candlelight flickers across his face, half glowing warm and golden, the other lost in the inky shadows cast by the storm outside. The duality of light and darkness mirrors the push and pull between the gentleness in his touch and the raw, carnal need in his gaze.

His eyes trail over you, lingering on the translucent fabric of your blouse clinging to your skin. The faint outline of your bra beneath it seems to taunt him, his jaw tightening as his restraint frays. Slowly, almost reverently, his lips find yours again, softer this time but no less intense. His hands move with a deliberate urgency, tracing the soaked fabric to the buttons that run down your front. With a sharp tug, they give way, scattering across the floor with muted clinks, the sound swallowed by the storm’s distant rumble.

The blouse slips from your shoulders, the wet fabric sticking briefly before it’s discarded to the water enveloping you. Caleb doesn’t stop, his hands finding the delicate straps of your bra. Frustration flashes in his eyes as his fingers fumble with the clasp, his impatience winning out. He hooks his fingers under the straps and pulls, the lace and elastic giving way with a sharp snap. The ruined garment joins the growing pile of discarded clothing, leaving your skin bare beneath his gaze.

His breath catches, and his eyes drink you in with a reverence that sends a shiver racing down your spine. He lowers himself onto you, his weight pressing you deeper into the curve of the tub. The contact is intoxicating, and his warmth bleeding into your skin as your legs near around his hips, anchoring him to you. The water churns around you, soap bubbles bursting and clinging to your bodies as you move together, the rhythm driven by a shared, unspoken need.

You grip his shoulders, your nails biting into his slick skin as his lips trail from your mouth to your jaw and down the curve of your neck. The storm outside roars louder, the thunder echoing through the room, but it’s distant compared to the pounding of your heart, the ragged sounds of your breaths mingling with his. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered moan feels like a fuse burning faster, drawing you closer to the edge of something neither of you can control.

"Caleb…" you breathe out, your voice trembling as his lips trail along your jawline, their warmth lingering before descending to your neck. His mouth moves with purpose, licking at your sensitive skin before returning to claim your lips. His tongue dances with yours, the intimacy deepening with every heated second.

Your fingers find their way into his damp hair, grasping at it as though it’s the only anchor you have. He pulls away briefly, his eyes dark with desire as he takes one of your hands. Without breaking eye contact, he brings two of your fingers to his mouth, his tongue swirling around them sensually. The heat of his mouth and the slickness of his saliva send shivers through you. After a few lingering seconds, he releases them, your fingers now glistening.

Without thinking, you bring them to your lips, smearing the saliva across them like a makeshift balm, feeling the moisture cool in the air. Your gaze flickers to him, your expression daring and full of intent. Slowly, you shift yourself over, moving with purpose. Your knees find ground on the porcelain base as you lean forward, your torso arched enticingly. Your free hand grips the edge of the tub tightly for support, while your hips tilt back, pressing your rear firmly against Caleb’s groin.

The anticipation is electric as you use the slickness of his saliva to guide your hand under you, seeking out your sweet spot. Meanwhile, Caleb teases at your entrance with the tip of his length, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.

"Mmnh," you moan softly, biting your lip as the ache of desire builds.

For a moment, both of you hover in this space of mutual teasing, pushing each other closer to the edge without fully giving in. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your body’s response undeniable as you prepare yourself for him.

Finally, your hand pulls away from your sweet spot, and you grip the opposite side of the tub, bracing yourself. Caleb wastes no time, his hands steadying your hips as he slowly slides himself inside. The touch is perfect, the heat overwhelming, and a low grunt escapes his lips at the sensation of you enveloping him.

"Nnngh," you whimper, your head tilting forward as his hips begin to move. He starts slowly, almost experimentally, before gradually picking up speed. The rhythm of his movements becomes more deliberate, his body pressing against yours with every thrust.

Your soapy hands begin to slip against the tub’s edge, the lack of grip threatening to throw you off balance. Sensing your struggle, Caleb tilts over your back, his chest pressing against your back, his heat enveloping you entirely. His hands cover yours, his fingers slipping between to lock them in place, giving you the stability you need.

The two of you move together in perfect harmony, the water rippling and splashing around you, the air thick with the sounds of pleasure and desire. The combination of his touch and the feeling of him inside you drives you to the brink, your senses overwhelmed in the most intoxicating way.

With a grip that is almost trembling, Caleb pulls your hair to one side, his fingers threading through the damp strands, only to find their spot again on your hands. His breath is warm and unsteady against your ear. He exhales a low, shaky sound that makes your stomach twist. His lips brush your skin, but he doesn’t kiss you—not yet. Instead, he lingers, his breathing heavier than before, like he’s trying to steady himself. Like he’s battling something in his head.

“You kept me waiting,” he whispers, the words coming out slower than usual, his voice laced with something quiet but raw. “I thought—” He stops himself, cutting off whatever thought had started to spill.

His lips press to the curve of your shoulder, his kisses softer than usual, more hesitant, like he’s savoring every inch of you, trying to remind himself you’re still here. His hips rock forward, slow and deliberate, and the movement forces your legs to spread wider, your back arching into him instinctively. But even as he moves, even as he drowns himself in you, there’s a tightness in the way he holds you.

You turn your head slightly, catching his gaze through your peripheral vision. His eyes are shadowed, darkened by more than just the dim candlelight. There’s something in them that makes your chest ache—something vulnerable, something afraid.

“It’s not like that,” you whisper, knowing exactly where his mind has taken him.

Caleb exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, his grip tightens around your hands. "You say that now," he mutters, pressing his forehead against the side of your head. "But people get tired. They move on. They find something— someone —better. More exciting. More… necessary ." His voice dips on that last word, almost like it pains him to say it aloud.

You turn your head fully this time, your nose brushing against his cheek, and he closes his eyes as if it’s too much to look at you right now.

“I don’t want to be left behind,” he admits, so quietly it’s almost swallowed by the rain hitting the window.

Your chest tightens, your throat suddenly thick with emotion. With both your hands still locked in his, you squeeze, trying to ground him, trying to reassure him in the only way he’ll let you. “You won’t be,” you whisper, and you mean it.

Caleb finally opens his eyes, searching yours as if testing the weight of your words.

"Prove it," he murmurs, his voice no longer commanding, no longer tainted with jealousy—just desperate. Just pleading. "Stay right here. Just… let me feel you.”

Letting go of your fingers, his arms envelop you in a way that feels both possessive and desperate. The heat of his breath fans over your neck as he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear before trailing down to your shoulder.

You can feel it in the way his fingers dig into your skin, in the way his body molds so perfectly against yours as he spoons you from behind. One hand cups your breast, kneading, his thumb rolling over your nipple, sending small shocks of pleasure down your spine. The other dips lower, fingertips teasing over your sweet spot, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that match the lazy, deep rhythm of his thrusts inside you.

A shiver runs through you, not just from the pleasure but from the way he’s holding you—as if he’s afraid to let go.

“Caleb…” you breathe, his name slipping from your lips like a plea, a prayer.

“Please…” his voice is hoarse, strained, “keep—” he groans, his thrusts stuttering slightly before he regains control, “keep saying my name.”

His movements are slow but insistent, his lips never leaving your skin, as if grounding himself in you, as if needing the reassurance that you’re still here.

You moan again, letting his name tumble from your lips like a mantra, and you feel his breath hitch against your neck. His grip on you tightens, his thrusts pushing just a little deeper, his fingers pressing just a little harder.

But then, you feel it—his hesitation.

The momentary pause in his rhythm, the way his lips linger on your skin like he wants to say something but can’t. It’s in the way his fingers tremble slightly against you, the way his breath falters, the way his arms tighten around you just a little too much.

Your heart clenches, the realization settling in.

He’s scared.

Not of losing you physically, no—that’s not the kind of fear that grips him. It’s something deeper. The thought of someone else replacing him, someone else becoming the one you turn to, the one you whisper your secrets to, the one whose name you say when you need comfort.

The one who matters to you.

You shift slightly, pressing your body even closer against him as if trying to reassure him without words. Your hand moves to cover the one he has on your chest, fingers intertwining, holding him there.

“I’m here,” you whisper, barely audible, but he hears it. You know he does because his body stills for just a second before he exhales, a deep, shaky breath against your skin.

And then, he moves again—faster now, rougher, his hands leaving your breast and sweet spot to grip your hip, holding you in place as he thrusts harder.

As if trying to prove something.

As if trying to remind you that it’s his name you say.

That it’s his touch you crave.

That it’s him . Only him .

As your remaining hand slips off the tub's edge, it instinctively reaches behind you, cradling Caleb's head against your shoulder with a tender yet unyielding grip. The other arm remains steadfast, covering the arm Caleb has wrapped around your chest, holding him close as the warmth of the water and the intensity of the moment envelop you both. Your body begins to rock back and forth, a gentle yet insistent motion that helps Caleb deepen his penetration, the sensation sending shivers down you.

Caleb's teeth sink into your shoulder, the bite hard enough to make you hiss, a sharp intake of breath that mingles with the sound of water splashing around you. It's as if the deepwater waves are engulfing you both, pulling you under with their relentless rhythm. As Caleb leans back onto his side of the bathtub, his arms release their hold on your body, only to wrap around your neck, pulling you into a tight, almost suffocating embrace.

You find yourself practically sitting on his lap, your body tilted back against his shoulder, his arms tightening around your neck like a vice. Your hands grasp the edge of the tub once more, and you begin to bounce up and down, the motion sending waves of pleasure through your body. Caleb's whimper of "Fuck…" is music to your ears, a testament to the intensity of the moment.

Your moans are stifled by the chokehold, but you manage to gasp out a few words, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. One of Caleb's arms releases its grip on your neck, only to find its way to your sweet spot once more, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. You take control of the penetration, moving up and down with a frenzied intensity, while Caleb focuses on making you feel good, his other arm still wrapped tightly around your neck.

As he presses his lips against your ear, his breath hot and erratic, his words slurred with desire, "This is what I want," he groans. "I… want us to be one…" The sentiment sends a shiver down your spine, and you continue to bounce, going even faster, your body straining towards release.

Your words are barely intelligible, but Caleb finds your struggle seductive, "Ask again?" he whispers, his voice a low, husky growl.

You manage to gasp out a few words, "Tou…ch…me…" your saliva dripping from your lips as you point to your breasts, "Plea…se."

Caleb's arm releases the chokehold, massaging your breasts with a gentle yet insistent touch, sending you into a frenzy of pleasure. You turn your head, whispering sweet nothings into Caleb's ear, "Yours… Always yours…" The words seem to send him over the edge, and he sighs, his body relaxing into the moment.

As you continue to move, a final kiss lingers on Caleb’s lips before you shift forward, your hands plunging into the warm water, pressing against the smooth base of the tub. Your body arches instinctively, your back curving as if offering yourself to him, the motion a silent plea, a shared rhythm that neither of you can resist.

The water sways and splashes around you, cascading against the porcelain, a steady pulse in tune with your bodies. Your hips roll and press against his, the friction igniting every nerve between you. Caleb’s breath grows heavier, a low, husky whimper slipping from his lips as his fingers tighten around the tub’s edge.

You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of him—his head tilted back, his throat exposed, an image of surrender and control all at once. His eyes are barely open, dark lashes fluttering, yet within the narrow slits, a glimmer shines through. He’s watching you, devouring the way your body moves, the way your lips part as you stifle your sounds of pleasure.

There is something unspoken between you, something deeper than mere desire. It’s in the way his fingers twitch as if resisting the urge to reach for you again, in the way his breath hitches when you shift just right. The water, the heat, the tension—it all builds into something near unbearable, an intensity neither of you can escape.

You face forward again, and the sound of Caleb’s fingers tapping—no, clawing—at the tub’s edges fills the air, a silent display of restraint unraveling. The water ripples around you, heated waves splashing against your skin as you move with growing urgency, your hips rolling and pressing down in time with Caleb’s eager thrusts.

“Haa… ha…” you breathe, your voice breaking into the humid air, swallowed by the rising tension between you.

Then, a shift—your body twisting as you turn to face him, your legs spreading to straddle him completely. The moment your gaze locks onto his, you slow just enough to let him take in the sight of you. Your hands slide up your cheeks, fingers tangling into your damp hair, lifting it, teasing, as your hips begin to circle in slow, hypnotic rolls against his lap. Every movement is deliberate, each sway of your hips a silent dance meant for him alone.

Caleb watches, utterly mesmerized. His breath hitches, and his lips are slightly parted as if he is unable to find the words to describe what you’re doing to him. His fingers twitch at the edges of the tub before finally releasing their grip. Instead, his hands find your waist, strong fingers digging into your skin as he matches your rhythm. His own urgency is evident in the way he guides you—rougher, more desperate.

Your own hands glide down from your hair, trailing over your collarbone, down your chest, teasing, fondling, reveling in the sensation. Your damp strands of hair cling to your face, framing your half-lidded eyes, and through the veil of tangled locks, you see Caleb watching—spellbound, lost in you.

The water sloshes violently against the porcelain, the sound a mere backdrop to the intoxicating symphony of your mingled breaths and whispered gasps. Your fingers find the tub’s edge again, gripping for leverage as your movements become wilder, and faster. Caleb meets you with equal fervor, his hands holding you tighter, guiding you, urging you.

Your head tilts back, and your wet, unruly hair cascades over your shoulders, sticking to your skin in dark waves. The feeling builds, winding tightly inside you like a fire threatening to consume you both.

You lean back, letting the warm water envelop you, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes flutter shut, and your hands reach blindly through the rippling depths, searching for Caleb. The moment your fingers brush against his skin, he shifts, adjusting above you, the weight of his presence pressing closer.

Then, the pressure tightens—Caleb submerges, following you into the water’s embrace. The world above grows muted, distant, leaving only the sound of your racing heart and the rush of bubbles breaking between you. His lips find yours beneath the surface, soft yet insistent, melding against yours in an urgent kiss. His hands slide down your body, fingers finding your thigh and pulling you against him.

Even beneath the water, his movements are fluid, and precise—a rhythm that sends ripples through you both. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as your bodies move in perfect sync, the weightlessness making every sensation feel heightened, electric. The water shifts with your movements, a silent witness to your shared intensity.

Then, in one swift motion, Caleb lifts you, breaking the surface. The rush of air fills your lungs, but before you can fully recover, your back meets the cool porcelain with a forceful thud. The contrast of heat and cold, of water and open air, sends a jolt through your system.

Caleb towers over you, droplets streaming down his face, his breath heavy and erratic. His hands remain firm, one still gripping your thigh, the other braced against the tub. His body moves with reckless abandon, each motion deep, and relentless. Water sloshes over the edge, cascading onto the floor, forgotten.

His grunts mix with ragged breaths, his voice breaking through the sound of splashing water. Your gasps mirror his, the tension between you coiling tighter with every movement. Every sensation—his touch, his breath, the warmth of his body against yours—feels amplified, consuming.

His fingers tighten their hold, his pace unrelenting, pulling you both toward the inevitable, where words no longer matter—only feeling, only this.

Caleb shifts, guiding your legs over the edge of the tub, the cool porcelain a stark contrast against your heated skin. A shiver of anticipation courses through you, a delicious tension coiling in your stomach. His hands planted firmly on the tub’s rim, framing your face, caging you beneath him. You tilt your head back, searching his eyes—those dark, smoldering depths that drink you in like you’re something sacred.

Droplets of water fall from his damp hair, landing softly against your skin and trickling down like whispers of rain. The heat of his breath fans against your lips as he leans in closer, his voice hushed yet commanding.

“Look at you…” His tone is rich and reverent. “You’re breathtaking.”

Your breath hitches, your fingers tightening around his arms. Then his lips crash against yours—hungry, unyielding as if he’s trying to claim every unspoken word between you. The kiss deepens, tongues meeting in a slow, intoxicating dance. Your fingers weave into his wet hair, pulling him closer, savoring the taste of him—faint traces of warmth and something undeniably his.

Then, with one swift movement, he shifts, pressing deeper, and a strangled gasp slips from your lips. The sensation is overwhelming, your body trembling beneath him. He swallows your moan, his own breath stuttering as he holds still for a moment as if grounding himself in the way you fit so perfectly beneath him.

Your nails press into his skin, trailing down his back, desperate for something to hold onto. Caleb’s forehead presses to yours, his voice a shaky whisper against your lips.

“Tell me…” His breath is ragged, his body taut with restraint. “Tell me you feel this too.”

Your voice is barely more than a whimper. “I feel everything…”

He groans, his grip tightening, his body responding with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. You arch into him, your breaths coming in gasps, your senses drowning in the heat, the sound of water sloshing around you, the deep timbre of his voice breaking between heavy breaths.

“Say my name,” Caleb murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing along your jaw, down to your pulse point, where his tongue flicks, teasing.

“Caleb…” You breathe it like a prayer.

His lips curve into a knowing smile, his eyes dark with something unspoken, something primal.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his hands gripping your waist, his movements deep, slow, deliberate. The way he looks at you—like you are the only thing in the world—sends warmth flooding through your chest.

“My world… my life,” your voice is soft, yet resolute, your fingertips tracing the contours of his damp skin. “It includes you.”

Caleb stills. A breath catches in his throat, his body rigid as your words sink in. For a moment, the possessiveness, and the urgency, all dissolve into nothing. What remains is something raw—something unguarded. His lips find yours again, but this time, the kiss is different. It’s not hungry. It’s not desperate. It’s deep, steady, a silent confession. A kiss of understanding, of devotion.

It’s a kiss of acceptance.

His hands, once gripping with unrelenting fervor, now hold you like you’re something fragile, something irreplaceable. He’s always claimed you as his, but now, in this moment, he understands—he is yours just as much. There is no fear of loss, no silent battle for reassurance. He is here. He is loved. And he finally believes it.

“I’m sorry…” His voice is breathless, a whisper against your lips, though his body continues to move—slow, as if savoring every second.

You respond with a soft hum, your body shuddering against him. The peak of your pleasure had passed moments ago, but you hold on, staying with him, letting him embrace this moment fully. Your forehead rests against his shoulder, your breath warm against his neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his skin.

“Nngh…” His breath stutters, a quiet whimper slipping from his lips as his body tenses, shuddering against yours.

And then, release.

His grip tightens, his arms pulling you impossibly closer as he finally lets go, his breath heavy, tangled with yours. There is no rush to part, no need for words. Only the quiet rise and fall of your chests, the lingering warmth between you, and the unspoken promise sealed between your lips.

Caleb shifts, his movements slow and tender as he guides your bodies into a new position—his back resting against the cool porcelain while you lay against him, your body melting into his warmth. His arms encircle you, securing you against his chest, your head finding solace on his shoulder.

His breath is still uneven, lingering in the space between you, but he presses soft kisses along your shoulder as if grounding himself in your presence. Each press of his lips is a silent whisper, a quiet confession.

You reach for his right hand, tracing the calloused ridges of his fingers before gently opening his palm. Lifting it toward the window, you slide your hand beneath his, pressing your fingers together—lining them up, feeling the contrast, the fit. His fingers move first, locking with yours, holding tight. Then, without hesitation, he pulls your joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of your hand with a reverence that makes your chest tighten.

A beat of silence.

“I…” His voice is quiet, as if the words have been sitting on his tongue for too long. “I love you.”

You don’t respond right away. Not because you don’t feel the same, but because the weight of his words lingers, filling the space between you like something sacred.

He exhales, then presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “I love you,” he repeats, more certain this time.

You smile faintly, tilting your head against him. “I know.”

A short laugh escapes him, but then he grows serious again. His grip on your hand tightens, his lips hovering close to your ear.

“No… I love you a little more than you realize.”

The words settle deep in your chest, warmer than the water surrounding you. And in his hold, in the quiet of this moment, you believe him.

You don’t speak, but the way you squeeze his hand, the way your fingers stay laced between his, tells him everything.

The room is quiet now, save for the faint dripping of water from the edges of the tub, and the slow rise and fall of your breaths. Caleb lets out a deep sigh, his chin resting against your damp hair, his arms wrapped around you as if afraid to let go.

Outside the window, the world feels distant—lightening flickering, the candle casting a soft glow across the bathroom. But here, in this small, water-kissed space, nothing else matters.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles absentmindedly, memorizing every dip and ridge of your skin. You tilt your head slightly, your lips barely grazing his jaw before whispering, “I know… and I love you, too.”

Caleb doesn’t speak, but you feel it—the way his arms tighten around you, the way his breath stutters for just a moment, as if those words unraveled something deep within him.

Neither of you move. There’s no need to.

Because here, at this moment, tangled in warmth, wrapped in whispered confessions and lingering touches—this is everything.

And neither of you would change a thing.

#caleb fic #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #l&ds caleb #l&ds reader #lads caleb #lads fic #caleb x mc #caleb x you #lads mc #love and deepspace mc #lads #mc love and deepspace #love and deep space #lnds caleb

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megwritesriddles · 3 days ago

Text

A Few Strings Attached ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Sam (Stardew Valley) x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Request: I saw your post about requests, and I love your sdv stuff! Could you maybe do something with the reader and Sam being fwb. Sam gets super jealous when she hangs out/starts getting close with one of the others, leading to him confessing the next time they have sex. If you wanted to have him be a little rougher with the reader, that'd be cool to, just whatever you're comfy with ^-^ tysm!!

Tags: Friends-with-benefits, P in V, Unprotected sex, Fingering, Nipple play (minor), Biting, Rough sex, Jealousy, Moody!Sam, Love confession, Possessive behaviour (slight).

Word count: 2.5k

all fandom masterlist | sdv masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: This may seem like it starts in the middle, because it DOES!! I wrote too much unnecessary exposition like always so I'm posting it as an optional 'prequel' to read. There's a few weird text formatting things going on that I can't fix but oh well!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

'PREQUEL' HERE !! (you don't have to read it but if you do, prob read it first, it's only 1.3k words)

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He’s late arriving at the Saloon one Friday for your weekly hangout, a time to enjoy the ‘friends’ part of friends-with-benefits with you and relax with the people he’s closest to. The new riff he’d written on his guitar had kept him busy and he’d lost track of time. When he arrives at the Saloon and heads to the side room to find his friends, he freezes a little at the sight before him. Sure, you and Sebastian had started talking more lately, he’d noticed, but Sam was confident he had you to himself and had no reason to worry. He barely thought of anything but you each day since starting the arrangement, and as you seemed to enjoy the sex as much as he did, he assumed you would be the same. Sebastian had ceased to be any sort of a threat in his mind, until now. The two of you stood at the end of the pool table, way too close together for Sam’s comfort, talking and giggling, nudging each other with your elbows. Sam just stared for a moment as the two of you clearly made jokes back and forth, giggling and swatting each other. What could the two of you possibly have to giggle about? You didn’t have anything much in common… Did you? Sam tried to think but came up blank, yet something was clearly very funny to the two of you. Trying to control the irrational urge inside of him to rush over and stake some claim over you, he took a deep breath and wandered over.

“Hey guys, having fun without me?” he teases, although his voice is just a little tense enough to give him away. He doesn’t think of himself as the jealous type, and really you weren’t his to get jealous over, but the burning of his cheeks tells him exactly how he feels. He wants to wrap an arm around you and pull you in, bite your neck in the way that he knows you love right in front of Sebastian and actually leave a mark this time.

“Hey Sammy, had to entertain ourselves somehow while you weren’t here,” you tease, your voice and expression sweet, unaware that Sam is seething with jealousy. Is this what you’d do if he went out of town for a while or something? Find a way to ‘entertain’ yourself? Turn to Sebastian? His face falls without him being able to help it.

“Right,” he grunts, staring at you intently. You tilt your head at him, finally noticing something is wrong. Sam is seldom moody, he’s always outgoing and happy-go-lucky, so seeing his face twisted into a sour expression is disconcerting.

“Is something wrong Sammy?” you ask gently. “Why were you late?” you clearly assume whatever made him late is what has him upset. Are you really that naive? He glances contemptuously at Sebastian who is still at your side, looking similarly concerned.

“I’m just tired, honestly I’m gonna go home, you’ll have more fun without me bringing you down,” he grumbles, turning to leave. He knows he shouldn’t be acting like this, you’re both his friends. Friends. And it wasn’t like he caught you kissing Sebastian, just laughing with him, but the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach persists. The two of you and even Abigail protest, saying he’ll feel better after a round of pool, but he’s made up his mind, he cannot watch this. If you want Sebastian, who is he to stand in your way? As long as he doesn’t have to see it play out. He stomps back to his house, listening out in case you’ve come chasing after him, but you haven’t, taking him at face value and assuming something had happened at home to upset him. Admittedly, he does feel a little stupid returning home mere minutes after he left, and considers turning back around, but can’t bring himself to. Hiding away in his room sounds best right now. He waits quietly in his bed, glaring up at the ceiling, expecting that you might knock on his window, but you don’t. It pains him to imagine what you might be doing instead. Could Sebastian please you as well as he could? How was he to know? You might be forgetting all about him at this very instant. He comforts his male pride by convincing himself that Sebastian is probably a disappointing size compared to him, even though he has no evidence of this. Then when he realises what he’s thinking, he feels wildly ashamed. Sebastian was his closest and oldest friend here. Wasn’t the whole point of this arrangement for things not to be complicated? His thoughts had never been so muddled. After another half hour, he concludes you aren’t coming to knock on his window, and turns himself over to sleep.

The next day, although he tells himself he won’t, he’s drawn to walk to your farm at his usual time. He’s a little worried about what might be waiting for him. He imagines Sebastian embracing you from behind as you bake, something he’s always wanted to do, as he often arrives just as you finish baking and is sent home with some fresh rolls. He knocks on your door and you open it like usual, smiling brightly.

“Hey Sa– ooh,” a puff of air leaves your lungs as he pounces on you, pushing you to the wall of your entryway. You give him a bewildered look as he tilts your chin from side to side, examining your neck for any marks. “What are you doing?” you chuckle, but he doesn’t answer, examining a tiny dent in your skin that resembles a bite. Was that the same one he’d left on you a few days ago? Beyond hope, he hoped it was. “Sam?” He pulls back and looks at you, examining your face as if something in your expression would give away if you’d done something with Sebastian. “What are you looking for?” you scoff. He knows he’s being unreasonable, so he falters a little.

“Nothing…” he huffs, looking away, though his hands remain on your waist, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. You laugh softly and it sends a jolt through him, reminding him of the scene last night. He slams his lips to yours to shut you up, causing you to squeak in surprise for a moment, but quickly relax, slipping your arms around his neck just in time for him to hoist you up and carry you to your bed. Your lips remain connected, moulding together and tongues finding one another as he walks you over. He’s determined to make you forget everything but his name. The bed dips as he climbs on, lowering you to lie beneath him, wasting no time in sliding his hands beneath your shirt to push it up. You giggle at his sudden dominant attitude, but you don’t mind at all, lifting your arms so that he can free you of your shirt. “No bra…” he purrs. “Expecting someone?” His voice is rough enough to give you a little pause, but his hands dancing all over your bare skin don’t allow your brain to pause for long. His thumbs circle your nipples, causing them to stiffen into peaks.

“You, of course,” you sigh as he lowers his head, wrapping his warm lips around one rosy bud and swirling his tongue, gently rolling the other between his fingers. A gentle moan leaves your lips and he flicks his tongue back and forth.

“Me,” he mumbles against your skin, slowly kissing his way from one nipple to the other, before taking it in his mouth and repeating the swirling action you so liked.

“Mhmm,” you whine as he carefully brushes his teeth against your sensitive skin. He doesn’t bite but just teases you enough for goosebumps to rise on your skin, the cool air meeting the wet kisses over your chest adding to your shivers. His hands cup the weight of your breasts, his mouth swapping between your nipples periodically just to tease you, hardness rubbing against your inner thigh. You squirm, trying to shift so Sam’s bulge would press where you need it to. He growls, slamming his hips to yours and harshly rutting against you. Your head tips back and you moan, much to his private delight.

“You want me, don’t you? Tell me you want me not Sebastian,” he hisses, biting his way over the swell of your breast and up to your neck.

“What–? What does Sebas–,”

“Just say it, tell me you want me,” he demands. Your mind is hazy with arousal, but even so, you know something is incredibly odd with this ask. At your silence, he ruts against you once more, spurring you into action.

“I want you, I want you, only you…” you whine, wriggling against him softly. Full of pride, he bites down on your neck, sucking a harsh mark into your skin. Another squeak leaves you, surprised by this, he doesn’t usually mark you, it defeats the purpose of hooking up in secret, but before you can protest, he’s tugging down your leggings and rubbing his fingers through your slick folds, melting all of your thoughts away until you’re left with only his touch against you. Your hips chase his fingers as he playfully withdraws them, enjoying watching how needy you are. He isn’t usually so teasing, but his ego needs stroking right now, as does something else. He sucks his fingers clean with a groan and drops them back down to resume rubbing. The sensation has you whining and squirming and he enjoys it whole-heartedly, guiding your hand to his bulge as he dips his fingers inside of you, stretching you open. Ever generous, you immediately begin to stroke him through his jeans, even despite being a little distracted. It’s a fumble for you to undo his jeans when your eyes are glued to where his fingers are disappearing inside of you, but eventually, you manage. He snatches your hand before you can try to dip it in his boxers.

“No, I want to fuck you,” he growls, making you moan, looking up at him starry-eyed. You want it too, but words escape as his fingers drive as deep as they can go into you before quickly withdrawing completely. The empty feeling makes you whine, but you don’t have to worry for long. He sucks his fingers clean again, making sure he doesn’t miss a drop and then strips himself down to the buff, kicking off his jeans. He always enjoys the way you admire his body, but today it feels especially favourable. He admires you in turn, dripping wet and perfectly sexy, the perfect body laid out in front of him, belonging to the perfect person. Something regrettable threatens to slip out of his mouth, so he bites his lip and settles right between your legs, placing his heavy cock against you, and gently tapping your clit with it a few times. You whine and wriggle, giving him your best wide-eyed plea, he loves it when you get like this. Out of a hint of misplaced lingering spite, he grinds his cock between your folds a few times, not yet pressing inside like you want, getting the both of you wetter and wetter. It would be torture for him too if it wasn’t for the look on your face. “Pretty perfect girl…” he hums as you whimper for him. You’re too aroused to notice the seriousness of those words, he usually only calls you hot or sexy.

Finally, at long last, he grabs the base of his cock and angles himself so he can push inside of you. He buries himself to the hilt immediately, revelling in the choked-out gasp that leaves your lips. He takes a grip on your hips and, after a few gentle thrusts to assess if you can take it, he begins pounding into you. Your eyes roll back and you shout out in pleasure and he feels much the same way. His eyes roll a little and he growls, holding you down as his hips slam into yours over and over. You’re so tight and warm and perfect. He pants, staring down at you, flushed and blissed out, your tits bouncing with each ruthless thrust. You take him so well, you look so beautiful, even now. He leans down to kiss you, your noses bumping as he bullies his cock into you, tongues making a sloppy mess together. You’re so perfect, nothing has ever felt this good, he refuses the idea that someone else might take this from him. With a loud grunt, his pace increases impossibly more, forcing loud wanton moans from your throat with each movement.

“You’re mine,” he pants, a hand coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re mine, say it,”

“I’m yours,” your fucked-out mind doesn’t understand the gravity of what he’s saying, merely obeying orders so your orgasm isn’t stolen from you. Your words make him groan and lift your legs, thrusting into you at a new angle. You cry out in pleasure.

“You’re mine, say it, say my name,” he growls.

“Sam…” you whine, unable to form a coherent thought.

“That’s it, my perfect girl, I–” he cuts himself off, stuttering and twitching deep within you. “Ah–, I’m close, please…” he ruts himself against you a few more times, the pleasure completely clouding his brain. “I- I love you,” he grunts against your lips.

“Sam…!” you sob and it sends him over the edge, his thrusts slowly significantly as he shoots ropes of his cum deep inside of you.

“Fuck, I love you,” he chokes as he cums. “I love you so much…” he collapses on top of you but gives a few more weak thrusts into you as he feels your fingers frantically rubbing at your clit, helping you fall over that edge. He hisses when you do, feeling you squeeze down around his oversensitive cock, but he can’t bring himself to pull out. He lies there on top of you, one arm sliding behind your back to keep you pressed to him. His eyes fall shut and he takes a deep breath, completely satisfied.

“You love me?” your weak voice squeaks from beneath him and he suddenly realises what he’s said, what he said throughout what you just did. He could probably pass it off as a weird kink, or just getting lost in the moment, but as he looks down at your flushed confused face, he can’t lie.

“Y-yeah I uh… I guess I do,” he grins sheepishly, back to his old self now he got the insecure anger out of his system.

“And you… thought something was going on with me and Sebastian? That’s why you were being so odd?” you sluggishly piece the pieces together, struggling to think in your pleasured haze, but unable to ignore it. He nods. “Well, nothing is going on, I promise you, we’ve been talking more because I’m trying to get him to ask Abi out,” you chuckle tiredly. “Why would I want him when I have you?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Sam jokes, but is incredibly relieved to hear it. “And… the whole ‘me loving you’ thing, how do you feel about that?” he asks, gently wiping some sweat from your brow.

“Well… I guess I love you too,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

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pininghermit · 12 hours ago

Text

Duchess' Consort

Request: Loving your Tropovenia stories ❤️ I got, 'Against Parents'. Would you please write something about Adrian and modern reader with that prompt? 🥺

AN: Hello anon, I am glad you're enjoying my silly little event! I loved writing this and would have loved to add more bg but this event is for short stories so I tried my best. I hope you like it :)

Genre: drama & royalty au ish??

Pairing(s): Alucard x female Reader

Summary: “You will have to be my consort. You will not be given the title of duke. I will be the duchess. Our children will bear my family name. Yours will be forgotten. They will never quite treat you well. Your heritage will be scorned. Your lands will be absorbed by the duchy.”

“He’s a vampire!” your father roars, his face flushing red. It’s a familiar sight, one that mirrors your own anger. Apparently, temper ran strong in the family.

“And he’s a dhampir!” you snap back, marching toward him with equal fury.

The latest argument about your relationship had now passed the two-hour mark. You were both too stubborn to yield, two sides of the same damn coin. Exhaustion tugged at your shoulders, but neither of you would back down. Not yet.

With a huff of defeat, your father finally lowers himself into his chair, rubbing his temples. “You can’t just marry the son of Dracula,” he says, his voice weary but still carrying an edge of authority. “He’s no match for you.”

“We’re in love!” You slam a glass of water back, trying to swallow both the drink and your frustration. “And it’s not like I’m abandoning my duties. I’m still here. I’m still doing everything I’m supposed to. Isn’t that enough?”

Your father shakes his head slowly. “And what?” he retorts, his tone bitter. “Sully our bloodline with a half-vampire? You’d ruin everything. Do not make me regret not seeking another heir when I had the chance. Perhaps I should have remarried, like everyone insisted...”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and stinging. They lodge deep in your gut, twisting until your vision blurs with tears you refuse to let fall. You grit your teeth, clenching the glass in your hand so tightly you fear it might shatter.

“Worry not, Father,” you bite out through clenched teeth, your voice trembling with controlled rage. “I’ll be sure to have plenty of children with Adrian. Enough that I never have to suffer the same regrets you do!”

The room falls silent, your words hanging heavy in the air.

Your father glares up at you, his eyes hard but not without pain. He didn’t mean it, you know he didn’t. He loves you. He’s just afraid, trapped by his grief and his fears. You are all he has left of your mother, and her betrayal has carved a gaping void between the two of you. Making a weak man out of your father. One afraid of any and all gentleness.

“I will not give up on him,” you say quietly but firmly. “The duchy can deal with it. And if you can’t, Father…”

You take a deep breath, standing tall despite the tremor in your voice.

“Then I’m sure Uncle will be more than happy to step up as your heir.”

Your father’s eyes widen slightly at the mention of his brother, and you see the flash of panic before he quickly masks it with a glare. He doesn’t want to lose you, but he’s too proud to admit it. The two of you stare each other down, both unwilling to break first.

The silence between you is deafening.

Finally, your father sighs, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of years has finally caught up to him. "You’re just like your mother," he mutters under his breath.

“Thank you,” you reply curtly, turning on your heel. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You turn to leave the room before he can see the tears threatening to fall.

Once, being compared to your mother had cut deep. A wound to your pride, an insult whispered in the shadows of your childhood. The woman who abandoned her title, her duty, for the fleeting fantasy of love. The scandal had clung to you like a curse. A constant reminder of your supposed weakness.

But not anymore.

“There are conditions.”

Your father’s voice cuts through your thoughts, halting you mid-step. His tone is cold, measured, calculated like a final move in a losing game.

“For him to be with you, there are rules he must obey.”

You turn back to face him, your heart tightening. His gaze is hard, filled with the last fragments of control he refuses to relinquish. This is his last attempt to bind you to his authority, to play his final pawn.

And yet, you stand straighter. You are not the child he once manipulated with fear and duty. Whatever terms he lays out, you will not falter.

“I’m listening,” you say evenly, crossing your arms as you meet his stare. You will not cower. Not for him, not for anyone.

“You will have to be my consort. You will not be given the title of duke. I will be the duchess. Our children will bear my family name. Yours will be forgotten. They will never quite treat you well. Your heritage will be scorned. Your lands will be absorbed by the duchy.”

Your voice remains steady, though each word feels like a blade against your heart. You stand with your back to him, your eyes fixed on the blooming garden outside the window.

“It is a terrible fate,” you continue quietly. “And I have nothing to give you. But I promise, should you take this foolish gamble, I will always be on your side. We will be equals beyond titles. Our children will grow up listening to your stories, to the tales of your people. Your lands will be cared for and passed on to our second-born, who shall inherit them.”

You pause, your thoughts momentarily drifting to a dream you dare not linger on too long. It’s easy, too easy, to imagine this future with Adrian. Despite your father’s endless demands, the vision takes root deep within you.

You can see it clearly: traveling to Castle Dracula with your children. Spending Yule together in the estates of your duchy. The dream feels achingly familiar, a warmth you are afraid to grasp.

Still, you steel your resolve, pushing the dream aside as you turn to face him.

“I cannot abandon my duties,” you say, the words final yet heavy with sorrow. “But you can leave. This life... it doesn’t have to be a fate you endure, Adrian.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. It stretches out like a chasm, each second a reminder of how deeply you’ve laid bare your vulnerability. You resist the urge to take the words back, to deny him the choice, to ease his decision with false comforts.

But no. A marriage built on lies and half-truths could not survive a harsh winter, let alone the storms your future would bring. He deserves the truth, as bitter as it is. You were prepared to lose him.

At least that’s what you told yourself.

You had rehearsed this moment countless times, steeling your heart for the inevitable. You imagined his hesitation, the disappointment clouding his eyes, and perhaps even a polite, resigned farewell. You had told yourself that you would understand. You had promised yourself you would let him go if that was his choice.

But now, as the silence stretches and your heart pounds louder than reason, you realize you were lying to yourself. You weren’t prepared. You never could be. The very thought of Adrian turning away feels like a blade pressing deep into your ribs, and you hold your breath, bracing for the worst.

Then he speaks, his voice so soft you almost miss it.

“My mother’s maiden name,” he says, his gaze fixed on the steaming cup of tea in his hands. He does not look at you, as though he needs the space to steady himself. “I want one of our children to carry it as their middle name.”

You blink, stunned into silence. Before you can respond, he continues.

“I do not care for titles,” he says, his voice firmer now, each word deliberate. “All I ask is that you do not take other partners. And that you allow me time... time to learn the ways of the household. I would hate to be anything less than worthy of you.”

He sets the teacup down with a quiet clink and steps toward you. His presence is steady as he takes your hands gently in his.

At last, Adrian lifts his gaze, and you see the depth of his conviction shining in his eyes. “I have no doubt that you will not let me be wronged,” he says softly. “My fate with yours will be one of happiness. And I would be the most foolish dhampir to ever walk this earth if I gave that up for anything else.”

A sharp breath escapes you, half-relief, half disbelief. His words fill the hollow ache that had settled in your chest, and for a moment, the dream you’d been holding at bay no longer feels so distant.

“Adrian...” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly.

“I have made my choice,” he reassures you, his thumb brushing tenderly over your knuckles. “And I will make it every day, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Tears blur your vision, but this time, you don’t try to hide them. Instead, you squeeze his hands tightly and offer him a smile that holds all the love and gratitude you cannot yet put into words.

One thing you know for certain: with Adrian by your side, you’ll be better parents than either of you ever had. With him, the weight of your duties will feel lighter. Together, you will make something beautiful out of all the broken pieces you were given.

“You are a miraculous idiot,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you throw your arms around him. You cling to him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

Adrian lets out a warm chuckle, his chest vibrating gently against yours. “Marry me, maybe?” he teases softly, his arms pulling you even closer, as if he never intends to let go.

You laugh through your tears, swatting at his shoulder. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

#castlevania #alucard x reader #alucard #adrian tepes x reader #tropevania event #royalty au #against the parents au #fluff #romance #ughh they're cute #Consort Alucard is a dream I refuse to let go of

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utopiastri · 20 hours ago

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Hi, hello!!!

May i request sleep deprivation for the fic prompt, pretty please???? To be honest I'd be so happy with any ship (bc im obsessed with ur writing), but mayhaps landoscar or maxcar???🥺🥺🥺

Hope you are having a wonderful day!<3

-💫

💫 anon!!! hi lovely! thank you for the prompt! i hope you're having a lovely day too and i hope you enjoy some maxcar!!!

Of all the people that Oscar expected to bump into whilst walking around Monaco at 5am, he wouldn’t have bet on Max Verstappen.

Or, well, he wouldn’t have bet a lot on Max Verstappen – Monaco’s tiny and Max does live here, so it’s not entirely unreasonable to run into him. But still.

5am.

“Oscar! Mate, hi!”

Oscar does his best not to wince at how cheery Max is. From the way Max’s face falls slightly, he’s guessing he doesn’t do a particularly good job of it.

“Hey, Max,” he says quietly, giving him a tired smile.

“What are you doing up so early? I wouldn't have guessed you were a morning person.”

“Just, um, going for a walk, I guess.”

Max frowns. “Hm.”

He doesn’t elaborate any further. Oscar prays that the street lighting is dim enough for the dark circles under his eyes to stay hidden.

Eventually, when it becomes clear that Max isn’t going to say anything else, Oscar says, “Right, uh, I’ll see you.”

Oscar’s barely even turned around to start walking in the opposite direction when Max calls out, “Wait! What are you doing after your walk?”

Living the Monaco high life, Oscar thinks to himself, going back to bed and tossing and turning for another six fruitless hours.

“Nothing much,” is what Oscar actually says. In fairness, it isn’t exactly a lie.

“I was just finishing up my run. You should come back to mine for some breakfast,” Max suggests.

Oscar gives Max an assessing look and notes that he looks more like a person about to go for a run than one just finishing one up. Max folds his arms and raises an eyebrow, as if daring Oscar to call his bluff.

On another day, maybe Oscar would. But he feels so tired his bones are heavy with it and giving in is the much easier thing to do.

“Yeah, ok.”

Oscar doesn’t realise that the breakfast invite is a trap until he’s blearily blinking his eyes open a few hours later. Or, maybe ‘trap’ is the wrong word. ‘Trap’ implies that there was some trickery or persuasion involved. Max didn’t exactly have to do much convincing to get Oscar to take a seat on his sofa. And Max certainly didn’t have to do much convincing to get Oscar to let his eyes flutter shut, since they were very much doing that of their own accord.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Max calls from the kitchen. Oscar slowly begins to register where is. He bolts upright when he realises that he managed to fall asleep on Max’s sofa when the poor man had only invited him in for a pastry and some coffee.

“Shit, Max, I’m so sorry,” he says, trying to stand up from the sofa and only managing to almost fall flat on his face, his legs getting twisted in a knitted blanket Max must’ve thrown over him. His face flares bright red and he refuses to look in Max’s direction.

Unfortunately, Max has other plans. He feels Max’s gaze burn into the side of his face until finally Oscar looks up and meets Max’s eyes. He’s smirking ever so slightly.

“No apologising. You needed sleep and, for whatever reason, you cannot get it at home. So you slept on my sofa.” Max says it so matter-of-factly that Oscar almost finds himself nodding along.

“No, wait,” Oscar shakes himself and reminds himself that this is ridiculous, “Max, it wasn’t fair, or, I mean, it was rude of me to fall asleep on your sofa.”

“No, it wasn’t, I didn’t mind.”

Oscar groans slightly. “Well, maybe, you should mind.”

A calculating look appears on Max's face. “To clarify," he says, "You object to the part where you fell asleep on my sofa?”

“Yes,” Oscar says firmly.

“Fine. I agree you should not fall asleep on my sofa.”

“Good.”

“You should fall asleep on my bed.”

“What?” Oscar splutters staring at Max, “Hang on.”

However, Max is too busy grabbing Oscar by the arm and frogmarching him through his flat to take heed of Oscar's request for him to hang on. Oscar’s so bewildered by this turn of events he doesn’t even fight the manhandling that much. Before he knows it, he finds himself sat down on Max’s giant bed, staring up at him.

Max is smirking again.

“There, problem solved. You can’t fall asleep on the sofa if you’re asleep in my bed.”

“Max,” Oscar starts.

Max raises an eyebrow ready to counter whatever Oscar’s next argument will be. Oscar sighs.

He knows when he’s beaten. Max smile grows even wider.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me." He turns to leave but Oscar, almost without thinking, grabs his hand before he can.

His skin starts tingling where it's touching Max's and he does his best to ignore it. Oscar swallows. “Stay?” he asks, voice nothing more than a whisper.

Oscar thinks he might have found the one thing to say that would catch Max off-guard, even if that wasn’t his intention. His expression doesn’t shift, but Oscar can just about make out two dots of pink high in Max’s cheeks.

“Are you sure?”

“Stay,” Oscar repeats, less of a request and more of a command.

Max takes a second but eventually nods and crawls into the other side of the bed. Oscar carefully arranges his body so it's not touching Max's at all and then has to do his best not to react when he feels Max reach out and gently interlock their fingers. “Sleep,” he whispers.

Oscar convinces himself the kiss he feels pressed to his forehead is purely induced by sleep deprivation.

#baby's first maxscar!!!#at one point i accidentally changed vibes halfway through and these two accidentally talked themselves into a game of gay chicken #i'll save that for a different maxcar fic perhaps #maxcar #maxoscar #💫 anon i love youuuuuuuu #you're so wonderful #💫 anon #drabbles #asks

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dollwrites · 17 hours ago

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ᴛʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅs ┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° sᴇᴘʜɪʀᴏᴛʜ

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔｔｙｐｅ ┊ standalone

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ ┊ smut ( minors dni ), mentor/student, tummy bulge, orgasm denial, all characters featured are aged 18+

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

“Faster,” the word is a husky, bubbling whisper from Sephiroth’s lips, one that you didn’t see him shape the syllables of, but one that still shook you to your core nonetheless. as his pleasure sounds always did. “Harder.” you wanted to do what he commanded, even as your thighs trembled, and your feet turned inwards— your balance on your tippy toes threatening to slip away and have you tumbling face first into the dirt beneath them, you attempted to plant yourself firmer, and buck backwards. your ass cheeks slap against the leather of his coat and trousers as he stood, his clothes half undone and hanging from his chiseled frame. your own uniform had been completely discarded in a flurry of black and silver, and now lay in a defeated puddle of fabric and metal at your feet. with each smack and squish of your flesh against his solid thighs, his taut abdomen, you feel the might of his cock as it barrels through your core, and you cry out in ecstasy.

your walls flutter, happy to receive such a heaping offering of cock, and you hear a low hum from behind you— emanating from the depths of your mentor’s chest, and realize that he’s sealed his couplet to keep the moan from surfacing. even without attempting to look over your bare shoulder at him, you knew the sound well, and the visage that typically accompanies it. a knitting of thin, grey brows, and the little wrinkle that forms between them when he feels you clamp down on him just right. a rolling back of his olive gaze, the vertical slits blown out with lust until the pupils nearly overtake the entire iris. a tightening of his jaw muscles, and a bulging of the vein on his neck, so easily shrouded by silver tresses.

“Still so far from orgasming, yet you tighten around my cock as if you’re already begging for cum.” you can practically hear the subtle curve of Sephiroth’s mouth as he teases you, yet doesn’t move an inch out of position. flat footed and relaxed, with his hands not clinging to your hips, but still and straight at his sides. “What’s the matter? Just can’t help yourself?”

“Nn-nn…” you answer, unashamed of your eager reply. it was impossible to deny it anyways, what with the way you milked him now.

“The second you get my cock inside you, you forget all about pleasing yourself, no? Only servicing me matters?”

you nod, but the tepid pace, only what you could muster whilst also struggling to balance, was also frustrating you. of course, taking him fully to the hilt was pleasurable— to feel your lower tummy bulging in the shape of his cock when your netherlips kiss his base— but this speed was not nearly enough to make you cum. what you really wanted; nay, what you really needed to find fulfillment was the harsh grip of Sephiroth’s hands on your hips, the strength and quickness with which he typically fucked you, and the dizzying sensation of being tossed about a raging storm of his desire.

he would give you none of that today.

“P-please, Sephiroth… fuck, I need—“ your breath is ragged, your words threatening to tie your tongue into knots as you struggle through the plea, “I need it!”

he knew already what you were asking for, but he doesn’t reach for your hips. he does, however, shift behind you, but only to cross his massive arms over his broad chest, and with a tilt of his head, he taunts you once more. “You lost, 2nd Class.” he mutters. perhaps Sephiroth, who was also enjoying the tightness of your warm cunt, wanted to give in to your request and plow you silly, but he was showing restraint. even as his hips twitched, begging to boost your rhythm by beating themselves against your ass, he remains stoic. “You know the rules.”

you did, much to your own loathing. sparring with Sephiroth in the training room had rules. one such rule being that the loser ( you, more often than not ) would get no reward for their poor form.

your interior flutters and spasms around his thick, veiny cock, and Sephiroth allows a sigh to slip through his tiers, a sound of approval. “I’m going to cum, you know.” his rumbling baritone drops to a whisper as he leans close, one hand freeing itself and careening around your lower belly. it plants itself there, fingertips barely flicking and rubbing at your engorged button to coax a helpless mewl from your lips, and encourage your innards to tighten around him still. your head droops forward, chin tucked to your breasts.

“F-fuck—“

that’s when Sephiroth lips caressed the shell of your ear, his voice low with dastardly intent, but the smile remains upon them. “I could easily strum your little cunt, and give you that pleasure, too…” his voice trails off, but his fingers do not mirror his words. they rub in torturously slow circles, until you’re begging under your breath. “But I won’t,” he asserts, finally. “I’ll play with you just enough to keep it tight and drooling, until I cum, and then I’ll pull out and leave you begging for a release that will not come this day, or any of those that follow. Until you can best me properly.”

#sephiroth #sephiroth x reader #sephiroth x you #sephiroth smut #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ffvii smut #ff7 #ff x reader #ffvii x reader #ffvii x you

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pukefactory · 2 days ago

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Dandy x Reader headcanons?

(Btw thanks for doing my Vee x anxious/awkward reader!)

Hello again, Anon! I’m glad you enjoyed the Vee headcanons—hopefully, you’ll like these Dandy ones too!

-ˋˏ ༻ FLORAL SHOPPE ༺ ˎˊ

✿ Summary: A compilation of headcanons featuring Dandy as your boyfriend

✿ Character(s): Dandicus Dancifer (Dandy’s World), Pebble (Dandy’s World)

✿ Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, SFW

✿ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

❀ Dandy tends to be possessive of the things he values, whether they are objects or other toons. He becomes overly attached quite easily, which can be bothersome to those who don’t understand him. In a romantic relationship, Dandy grows extremely attached to you, his partner. He dislikes spending too much time apart and becomes agitated if he doesn’t know where you are or if too much time has passed. He worries that something might happen to you, and that’s the last thing he wants. You can be sure he would travel to the ends of the earth just to find you.

❀ Dandy is known for his short temper, but you are one of the few who never experience his aggressive side. With you, he is a total sweetheart—far more patient and understanding than he is with anyone else. He is kind, gentle, and always there when you need him, making sure to remind you of that every day, no matter the circumstances. However, he is now much more likely to become hostile toward toons who don’t have the best opinions of you.

❀ For you, his sweetheart, he always sets aside the best items in his shop, reserving the ones he knows you love. He adores you so much that he even gives them to you free of charge—so long as you give him a kiss first. If any toon tries to purchase something Dandy has specifically saved for you, he will flat-out refuse, shaking his head and insisting that the item is not for sale.

❀ When Dandy is busy at his shop, you get to take care of the cutest pet rock around—Pebble! As Dandy’s partner, you quickly win Pebble over, and he eagerly follows you whenever Dandy is occupied. However, it sometimes feels like Pebble is the one in charge, as you can’t help but give in to his demands. With endless pets, treats, and walks, he’s always content after a day with you. Of course, Dandy is just as pleased when he sees how well you’ve cared for Pebble—rewarding you with a big kiss in return.

❀ When you’re both ready for some downtime, Dandy loves to sit with you and listen to classical music on his radio. Your tastes might not always align, but watching him wiggle his little feet to the rhythm is something you’d never take away from him—especially when he rests his head on your shoulder, smiling to himself. If it helps him unwind, you’re more than happy to listen along.

❀ Much to his dismay, Dandy is incredibly short and often has to use boxes and crates just to be visible over the counter in his store. When it’s time to restock or when he needs something from the top shelf, he usually stacks boxes to reach it—unless you’re around. Since you’re likely taller than him, you simply lift him up when he struggles to reach something. When you set him down, Dandy is visibly flustered, his embarrassment clear from his expression. He quickly mumbles a thank you before scurrying away.

❀ Dandy gets irritated when he sees you spending time with the other main characters, except for Astro and Pebble. He doesn’t have a high opinion of them and often tries to pull you away whenever he catches you talking or hanging out with them. Though he attempts to suppress his frustration, reminding himself that just because you’re friends with them doesn’t mean their less-than-ideal traits will rub off on you, his patience only lasts so long. Eventually, he can’t take it anymore and comes up with an excuse to drag you away. If you ask him why, he hastily insists that he needs you for something.

❀ When you least expect it, Dandy sometimes appears with a big plate of freshly baked goods, approaching you with a spring in his step and a wide grin. As you sit together and enjoy the treats, you ask him where they came from, and he proudly claims to have baked them himself. You almost believe him—until Sprout finds you both and starts yelling, chasing Dandy in a frenzy. It doesn’t take long to realize he actually stole them from Sprout and Cosmo and continues to do so despite their protests. In a panic, he urges you to eat quickly before Sprout catches up again.

❀ Dandy is likely the only toon who still tries to keep Gardenview in a presentable state, even though it was abandoned long ago. He keeps the lobby spotless and tends to the massive tree at its center, ensuring it remains watered and well-fed. His futile efforts fill you with a bittersweet sadness that twists into pity as you watch him care for something the public will never see again. One day, you decide to help him, and he’s overjoyed that you care enough to join him. As you clean together, he reminisces about the past—the shows, the memories, how much he misses it all. Though you can tell he’s still heartbroken, having you by his side makes it feel worthwhile. He’s grateful that you’re here. He loves you more than words can express.

❀ When night falls, you, Dandy, and Pebble sit beneath the large tree in the Gardenview lobby, gazing up at the stars. You and Dandy rarely speak during these moments, but the quiet companionship makes for a peaceful way to unwind. Still, you can’t help but wonder what’s on his mind as he stares at the sky, a distant expression on his face while holding your hand.

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ameliathornromance · 1 day ago

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The Other Woman - Final Part

A/N: Here’s part three! I know you guys wanted to know what happened to the Guard’s wife so here it is; This will also be the last part I do for this series as I’ve got a ton of other ideas and I’d like to work on those as well. Anyway, enjoy the last part!

Since you’d left the Palace in the Human populated area, time went by in a whirlwind.

Your wedding with the Lord had happened quickly after leaving and was one of the prettiest events the whole forest – and some humans – had ever seen.

The Fae Lord had been delighted to invite and meet the rest of your family. He and your father seemed to get along swimmingly already, and greeted each other like they were old friends when your families carriage arrived in the forest.

Later that evening, after catching up with your family and entertaining them the whole day, you had asked the Fae Lord something that had been on your mind for the day, “how and when did you meet my father?”

It had evaded you how he had asked your father for your hand, and it hadn’t occurred to you to ask your Fiance until today.

The Fae Lord gave his signature grin as he raised a tea cup to his lips, “I actually met him the night I said I wanted to help you.” He explained, “your father was in a pub and I had snuck out to go and do some late night drinking. He was there and we just hit it off.” The Lord set his cup down on its saucer and frowned. “Although, it wasn’t until the next morning that I actually found out he was your father, and then had to work on my image before I asked him for your hand.”

You snorted, “yeah something tells me he wouldn’t have been happy about a drunken Fae asking for my hand in marriage after you’d been out with him the previous night.”

Soon, your wares and personal items began to arrive from the Palace and amongst them, were all the presents that the King’s Guard had gifted you. They had been thrown into one of your many jewellery boxes, the necklaces tangled together with the many bracelets that the Orc had gifted you.

They felt dirty, wrong to even look at now, felt tarnished and rusted with sin as you ran your thumb over the smooth gold.

Of course, you wouldn’t dream of wearing them, but you also couldn’t stand to just throw them away. Many other people who were less fortunate than you could benefit from the money that these items cost… but the thought of giving the people evidence of adultery filled you with dread, made your stomach churn with anxiety.

You explained your complicated feelings to your fiance one morning at breakfast.

He listened intently, before suggesting, “why don’t you send them to King’s Guards’ wife?”

Your blood turned cold at the thought. “Isn’t that a bit… callous?” You asked. “For her I mean. She’s probably had the baby now, and isn’t in much of a situation to leave him if she wanted… That and then everyone would know what happened between me and her husband.”

“Not necessarily.” Your fiance said, raising a finger. He leaned his elbows on the breakfast table and pointed at you, “it doesn’t have to be done in bad taste. If you send her the jewellery and offer her a position here, with better pay and better accommodation, she may just come here and decide to work for us.”

“But what if she’s angry with me?” You asked, worriedly. “That would be such an insult to her! I don’t want to do anything to make her even more angry than she would already be with me.”

The Fae Lord pursed his lips, furrowing his eyebrows. “You didn’t know he was married did you?” He asked you.

“No, of course not!”

“And you stopped the affair after you found out, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that I did it!” You groaned.

The Fae took your hand in his, “look, you can’t control her reaction,” he said, plainly. “But, what you can do, is offer her compensation for the emotional damage she would feel from finding out. That’s why you would be offering her the job. She would be moved away from her husband, she gets better pay than she did at the Palace and her child gets to grow up in a place surrounded by greenery.” He gestured to the castle around him.

You stared at the polished wooden table in front of you. “But… what if she tells everyone that I had an affair with him?” You whispered. “I’d be ruined, and then we wouldn’t be able to marry, and then there’s my parents-”

“It would look worse on her.” The Lord said, “Of course, it’s bad that her husband had the affair, but she would be looked down on as an Orc, for trying to slander a person of the aristocracy.” He gave you a reassuring smile. “And I’ll be here to protect you, won’t I? I’ll make sure none of that does anything to stop us from being together. I promise.”

Now that you had gained some distance from the Palace you had contemplated on confessing everything to the Orc’s wife. She didn’t deserve to be stuck in that kind of situation, after all, it’s not like she did anything to warrant such an awful partner.

And so, with shaking hands and a clumsily written letter, you sent off the jewellery to the Palace and to the Orc’s wife.

The weeks after it had been sent off were like waiting on a jury verdict. Every morning you awoke in your bedroom, you expected the Fae servants attending you, to give you dirty looks or treat you coldly, as the news of you being a homewrecker, had spread through out the Kingdom and Forest.

And every morning, when that didn’t happen, you couldn’t help but sigh with relief – prompting some very concerned questions from your attendants.

You did your best to explain in the letter what had actually happened between you and the King’s Guard, and only hoped that his wife would be understanding.

You didn’t expect to be forgiven, but for her to understand would be more than enough.

What you didn’t expect however, was in the mid-afternoon when you were going over some favour colour choices for your wedding, that a Fae woman would burst into your office, panting. “Orc- woman-” she breathed, “demands to see- my Lady-”

You’d never abandoned an activity faster. Shoeing away the woman who’d brought you the favour colours, you asked the Fae, “where? Where is she?”

The Fae hoarsed out something about the Orc woman being in the gardens.

You practically dashed through the halls, leaving your own servants and the dignified stride of a Lady behind as you rushed for the gardens.

Finally, you reached the garden doors. They were tall, beautiful things, made of hard oak wood and harden sap panels for windows that swirled and curled, obscuring anyone from peering into the gardens.

As you reached for the twig door handles, you stopped just short of them.

Did you really want to see this Orc? Who was probably so angry with you, she might bite your head off?

It’s not like you could turn back now, after all, she’s right behind those crystal doors in front of you.

Sucking in a deep breath, you flung the doors open and stepped outside into the gardens.

You didn’t have to go far to find her.

The Orc Lady who you had seen in the kitchens, time and time again, with her kind smile and kind tone, was gone.

Instead, the Orc Lady stood with a suitcase in hand, a baby glued to her chest with a fabric cloth. The infant slept soundly, without any kind of inclination of what was going on.

Your stomach twisted as you recognised some of King’s Guards’ features on its face.

After a moment of silence, the Orc snarled at you. “Is it really true?” Her voice was as deep as thunder, full of murderous intent.

Pursing your lips, you lowered your head. There wasn’t anything that you could say or do to make this any better.

When you were thinking through your revenge plans, you truly had no idea whether or not you ought to tell the Guards wife. She was already going to be under enough stress as it was, seeing as she had to give birth to a baby in – what you judged to be at the time – a few weeks.

Adding a cheating husband to the mix, you determined, would do nothing to help her out.

When you said nothing, the Orc threw her suitcase at your feet. The jewellery you sent her exploded out of the case, scattered across the grass at your feet. “And you didn’t think to tell me!?” She shouted.

You kept quiet, staring at the collection of gold and silver at your feet.

“How dare you keep this from me!” She bellowed, “what did I do to deserve that being kept from me?! Did I wrong you in some way, (Y/N)?!”

Swallowing hard, you raised your head to look at her. “No.” You said, bravely. “You didn’t do anything… I was trying to think of your baby and your wellbeing-”

“And taking care of my wellbeing is keeping quiet about my cheating son of a bitch husband!?” She bellowed. She pointed a thick green finger at you, “that is not your decision to make!” She hissed.

“Well what was I supposed to do?!” You retorted. Kicking away the valuables, you approached her, “it’s not like I could out him for what he was! That would have ruined everything for me and you too! How would I know you wouldn’t do the same thing to me!?”

“Because I thought we were friends!” She snapped back.

You recoiled at her words. Friends?

The Orc’s chest heaved up and down as she rubbed her face, “I know that we weren’t exactly the closest of people,” she said, “but you were the only one who would come to the kitchens to purposefully see me. I liked having you around, (Y/N) and it broke my heart when… when he said I couldn’t tell anyone I was pregnant.” Taking her hands away from her face, she wiped her nose. “So I couldn’t see you anymore, or tell you. And I know that you didn’t know I was married, I can forgive you for that… but when you did find out, not telling me about any of it?” Tears welled up in her eyes. “And only getting that package and letter? It just…” She covered her mouth and looked away from you.

You stopped halfway over to her. You opened your mouth, wanting to say something comforting, supportive. But any kind of words like that died in your throat.

“I… I’m sorry.” you settled on finally. “I shouldn’t have treated you like that. I should have been up front and honest with you and shouldn’t have kept that from you.” For the first time since meeting your fiance, you cursed him.

You were right to think that his idea was cold. You continued your approach and placed a hand on the Orcs shoulder, “I know I can’t do anything to fix what I’ve done or change the past of what I did. But I can try and help you now and in the future.”

The Orc looked at you, her eyes bloodshot and still swimming with tears.

“Don’t feel like you have to take the job if you don’t want it,” you said, honestly. “If you don’t want it, I’ll be happy to do anything else to compensate what you lost – Hell, I’ll even find you a better husband if you wish.”

“I never said I wasn’t taking the job.” The Orc Lady said, quickly. She turned back around to face you. She wiped her fingers across her cheeks, drying up her stray tears and then cleared her throat. “But, if I’m going to work here, I want higher pay and more time off so I can spend it with my son.”

“Higher than I already offered?” You asked, slightly offended. What you originally offered was way higher than what the Palace was offering her, at least three times the pay. And now she wants more?

The Orc Lady crossed her arms, just in front of her baby and narrowed her eyes at you.

Sighing, you lamented, “okay, okay. Higher pay then.” You supposed that she had a right to demand more of you, especially after your affair.

She gave you a weary smile at you. “Thank you my Lady.” She pursed her lips, “and… thank you for finally telling me about what happened.”

The position you’d offered your ex’s wife, was kitchen work, but this time, she was head of it. Her son – whom she had decided to name Cogak – was a bright baby, even just fresh out of the womb.

You arranged for him to have his own nanny so his mother could work without worrying about him.

The friendship you’d had with the Orc Lady wouldn’t be like it was before, but your trying to make things better, was a start.

The Fae Lord had smiled one evening as the pair of you decided on what flowers would be at your wedding venue. “I never expected an Orcling to be so intelligent.”

“Well, he is getting a noble child’s education.” You explained. “Apparently, he’s already doing better than most children his age. And that’s comparing him to the other Fae.”

The Fae chuckled as he examined a bouquet of blue orchids. “What about these for the reception?”

“What’s your suit colour?” You asked, quickly.

As if your fiance was himself a bride, he’d been very closed about what kind of suit he would be wearing to your wedding.

One time, you’d walked into his office and he squealed, and threw himself on top of the sketches his designer had come up for him, like he was a maiden who’d been walked in on while getting changed.

His closed off nature about it, only made you even more curious.

“If you think you’re going to get that out of me that easily, then I’d say this marriage isn’t going to last long, my darling.” The Fae Lord smirked as he ran his thumb over the petals of the flower.

“Patiences is a virtue. You don’t see me trying to peek at your wedding dress, do you?” He smirked, slyly. “I know it’s a human tradition, but why can’t I follow it too?”

He was right of course, he’d been incredibly respectful about your wedding dress and preferences when it came it. He was also very generous, giving you a large sum of gold to actually buy said wedding dress, “all I want is for you to be happy!” he’d said as he’d handed, three, four, five, six pouches of gold into the dressmakers hands.

The Fae Lord had given you a smile and whispered to you as he left the room, “let’s make our wedding the topic of the century!”

Although you chuckled at his words, you didn’t want to outshine the King and Queen. It would be an insult to the both of them, given that the Queen had been the one who had allowed you to become her Lady in Waiting. Without her, you wouldn’t have met the Fae Lord.

So, you decided to keep your dress modest, but elegant. It followed the traditional white, but had elements of the Fae world you would be marrying into. Little details of moss, spider web glittering on the train of your dress, while you had a golden, wreath as your tiara.

On the day of the wedding everything went smoothly.

As you started your walk down the aisle – with your father at your side, “I’m very happy you caught the eye of this Fae fellow, he’s a good time.” He had whispered as you prepared for your walk – you caught sight of your family crying tears of joy.

Your Fiance, at the other end of the aisle, seemed to outshine you as the bride.

His suit was quite the marvel, and you now understood why he didn’t want you to see it.

The dark red fabric accompanied by a rose petal cloak, contrasted with his white hair, that fell down his back, and over his shoulders like sheets of snow; He looked incredible.

After vows – with many tears – and the sealing of your union with a kiss, the whole room erupted with cheers and claps.

The reception afterwards was beautifully bright and colourful, with Fae and Humans dancing together as you and your husband sat and watched from behind the head table.

The Orc Lady’s son – who had grown surprisingly fast – was happy to be there, surrounded by people who doted on him as if he was the main celebrant of the reception.

Your Fae Lord Husband didn’t leave your side the whole night, dancing with you and bringing back the memories of when you first properly met.

The days following were hazy. You seemed to be barely lucid in that time, thanks to all the alcohol present, alongside your husband who – you had found out that night – was a clingy, emotional drunk.

“At first,” he had slurred at the reception, “I was a little worried about asking you, like,” he stared at you, his huge black eyes consuming your gaze. “You’re so beautiful and, I’m just some mud Fae,” he gestured to himself. “Who am I to ask someone like you to dance?”

You had rolled your eyes and pulled him into your arms, silencing his self-deprecating words. “No, don’t say that.” You had slurred back, “I’d have accepted even if you were a toad!”

But once the drunkenness had cleared, you’d found that you were feeling a lot more sickly than usual.

At first, you thought it was just the remainder of the alcohol finding it’s way out of your system. But when it didn’t go away after a month, you went to go and seek a physician.

And after a few tests, she confirmed to you what you had suspected: you were pregnant.

The Fae Lord was over the moon when he found out and excitedly told anyone who would listen about your pregnancy.

And now in the present, as you watched your husband natter to anyone who would listen about the names he’d thought of for your baby, you realised that you had never felt more content.

This was better than any fairy tale or romance novel that you’d ever read.

You occasionally thought about the King’s Guard, and how he was doing. But that never lasted long, as you were often pulled back into the present moment by your husband.

Who loved and cherished you more than that Orc ever could.

Hi! Thank you so much for reading my story! If you like this kind of content, you should check out my Patreon! There, I post stories twice a week and earlier than I post on Tumblr. I also post exclusive stories there too where you won’t be able to find anywhere else.

If you’re not sure about signing up, I have a 7 day free trial enabled on my £2 tier so you can see if you like my work written there!

Taglist <3

@sunndust @greenie-c

#monster lover #monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster x you #monster x female #fae x reader #fae x female!reader #fae x y/n #fae x you #fae x human

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ladybunny44 · 2 days ago

Note

Good morning, Bunny. I noticed you also write for Blue Lock, so I'm here with my first Blue Lock request and it's for the Itoshi brothers. When Sae's girlfriend finds out about Rin's girlfriend, she arranges a meeting with the younger woman to discuss a plan to reconcile the brothers. Because, seriously, why can't these two brothers just sit down and talk things out?

💙 Mending the Itoshi Bond 💙

Pairing : Sae Itoshi x Fem!Reader, Rin Itoshi x Fem!OC/Reader

Genre : ☁️

Word count : ~2000

Summary : Sae Itoshi has long since accepted the distance between him and his younger brother, Rin. No matter how much he insists, it doesn’t matter,you know it does. So when you find out that Rin has a girlfriend, an idea sparks—maybe, just maybe, the two of you can work together to bring the brothers back together. With a carefully planned dinner and a little bit of manipulation, you set the stage for a long-overdue confrontation between the Itoshi siblings. Will they finally find common ground, or will this only deepen the rift between them?

TW/CW : Tension and unresolved family conflict, passive-aggressive sibling arguments,fluff and humour,happy but open-ended resolution.

NOTIFICATIONS ꩜ ₊ ⊹! : Set post-Blue Lock, when both brothers are professional players! Thank you for the request! Enjoy! 📚

『••✎••』

You had been dating Sae for quite some time now, and while your relationship with him was stable and filled with mutual understanding, there was always something lingering in the background—his fractured bond with Rin. No matter how many times you tried to bring it up, Sae would always brush it aside with a nonchalant "It doesn't matter anymore." But you knew better.

So, when you discovered that Rin had a girlfriend, an idea sparked in your mind. Maybe—just maybe—if you and Rin's girlfriend worked together, you could bridge the gap between the Itoshi brothers.

You reached out to her first, sending a simple message:

"Hey, I’m Sae’s girlfriend. I know this is sudden, but can we meet?"

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed with a reply.

"Sure. I wanted to talk to you too."

The two of you met at a small café in Tokyo, the atmosphere warm despite the tension hovering between you. She was a bit cautious at first, but as soon as you both started talking, you realized you had a lot in common—especially when it came to dealing with the stubbornness of the Itoshi brothers.

"They’re both idiots," she sighed, stirring her drink.

You chuckled. "Tell me about it. But I know Rin misses Sae… even if he won’t admit it."

She nodded. "Rin won’t stop talking about how much he hates him, but when he watches Sae’s matches, I can tell he still looks up to him."

You leaned forward, determination in your eyes. "Then we should do something about it."

The plan was simple. You and Rin’s girlfriend would invite both brothers to the same restaurant under different pretenses. Sae thought he was having dinner with you, and Rin believed he was just meeting his girlfriend. Neither of them knew the other would be there.

The moment they locked eyes across the table, tension filled the air. Rin’s brows furrowed, his jaw tightening, while Sae simply sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"...Tch. What is he doing here?" Rin muttered.

"I could ask you the same thing," Sae responded coolly.

You exchanged a quick glance with Rin’s girlfriend before giving them both an innocent smile. "Well, since you're both here… might as well sit down and eat, right?"

Rin’s girlfriend chimed in, "Unless you two want to be the center of attention in a public place?"

That shut them up. Begrudgingly, they both took their seats, glaring at each other.

At first, the conversation was stiff, filled with short, clipped responses and passive-aggressive remarks. But as the meal went on, things started to ease up. Sae made a passing comment about Rin’s recent match, and despite his initial reluctance, Rin couldn’t help but respond with a scoff and a smirk.

"You were watching?" Rin asked, trying to sound indifferent.

"Obviously," Sae replied. "You’re still predictable, though."

"And you’re still an arrogant bastard."

You and Rin’s girlfriend held your breath for a moment, worried things would escalate—but then Rin let out a small chuckle, and Sae’s lips twitched into something resembling a smirk.

It wasn’t a perfect reconciliation, but it was a start.

By the end of the night, Rin still acted stubborn, and Sae still held onto his pride, but something had changed. As they left, Sae gave Rin a small nod, and Rin—though hesitant—nodded back.

And that was enough.

As you and Rin’s girlfriend exchanged victorious grins, you knew one thing for sure: This was only the beginning.

#ladybunny #x reader #fluff #blue lock #itoshi sae #itoshi rin #sae itoshi x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #x female reader #itoshi brothers

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candycandy00 · 3 days ago

Text

Once Upon a Time - A Toji x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is Snow White featuring Toji! You live in a snowy village and have a crush on your handsome neighbor Toji, unaware that he’s been hired by the queen to kill you.

Read Choso x Rapunzel Here!

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty Here!

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Reader as Snow White. Age gap (Reader is early 20’s, Toji is mid 30’s). Slight size difference kink.

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear

Oh no, the bread is burning! You drop the pins you’d been using to secure your hair beneath your kerchief and rush over to the oven, using a thick towel to grip the iron pan and pull it from the heat.

You made it in time, thank god. The bread is perfectly baked, soft and plump and warm. You place it in a basket lined with cloth and cover it with a cute, decorative towel, then finish getting ready. You want to look as nice as possible for this.

The trip is a very short one, just two houses away in your small village, to a rather plain and dark little cottage. Snow has piled up in the yard, and flakes of it blow around your face in light, cold gusts. You straighten your dress and take a deep breath before knocking on the wooden door. In just a few moments, it opens.

He appears in the doorway, the man called Toji. He’s wearing dark pants and shirt that do little to hide his incredible physique. Tall and muscular, with sharp eyes and black hair. His annoyed expression only softens a little when he sees who is at his door.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says. He doesn’t seem particularly happy to see you, and that makes you deflate just a bit. “What do you need?”

You fidget a bit with the handle of the basket, which suddenly feels heavy and awkward in your hands. “I thought you might be hungry… and, um… I baked bread!”

He glances at the basket, then back to your face. You must be blushing by now, so you have trouble meeting his intense gaze.

Toji sighs, then takes the basket from your hands. “Thanks,” he mumbles as he closes the door in your face.

Well, that didn’t exactly go as planned. You’d imagined him inviting you in to enjoy the bread with him, but you should have known better. Oh well, at least you now you can come back later to retrieve your basket.

Disappointed and a bit dejected, you a walk back to the home you share with your bedridden father. Snow crunches beneath your shoes, seeping in to make your socks cold and damp.

You’ve been in love with Toji for two years now, but he rarely gives you more than a passing glance. When he first moved into the village, you avoided him like everyone else. He was a big scary man who didn’t talk much and kept to himself. There were rumors that he used to be a member of the royal guard, that he’d been married once but his wife mysteriously disappeared, that he had a son out there somewhere that no one has seen. All of it was enough to make you steer clear of him at all cost.

That all changed when a massive, violent boar began ravaging the village at night. It destroyed crops, killed pets and livestock, and even seriously injured several villagers who had tried to chase it away. It eventually killed a child, and the whole village realized something had to be done. Two different hunting parties tried to kill the boar, and both failed. The men returned with wounds and defeated expressions.

Then one morning, Toji walked into the village with the boar, very much dead, slung across his shoulder. Turns out, he’d been a royal Huntsman before leaving the castle. The villagers warmed up to him then, hosting a huge feast using the boar’s meat. Toji remained quiet and unfriendly for the most part, though he did seem happy to receive the payment the villagers gathered for him.

Still, you’ll never forget the sight of him with that boar over his shoulder, how powerful and confident he looked. You fell for him that day.

Since then, you’ve tried to get to know him better. You’ve tried striking up conversations when you see him at the market, paying him to help you do simple repairs around your house, and even cooking for him. He accepts any jobs you offer and takes the free food, but his behavior toward you hasn’t improved. He’s displayed no interest in you at all, and you’re on the verge of giving up. You’re considering just telling him how you feel so that he can reject you properly and you can move on, but you’re afraid of the inevitable embarrassment.

You suppose you can simply admire him in silence for a little while longer.

Toji opens the basket and pulls out the bread. It’s still warm, so he bites off a chunk and chews slowly, savoring the taste and trying not to think about the lovely young woman who baked it.

Toji is a lot of things, but he’s no fool. He knows his sweet neighbor is attracted to him. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s made it obvious. And Toji is flattered.

If he were ten years younger, he’d have already had her pinned beneath him in his bed, her legs trembling on either side of his waist. But now? Now he’d rather avoid the trouble.

He could invite her in, give her a good fucking, and she’d no doubt enjoy it. But the problems would come after. What if she got pregnant? He doesn’t want to deal with that, not again. Even worse, what if she developed genuine feelings for him? More drama he simply has no interest in at his age. Better to go to a brothel in town to get his occasional needs met.

The girl is just too sweet for him. Too innocent. She’s as pure as freshly fallen snow, and someone like him would only taint her beyond recognition.

He drops into a chair near the fireplace as he finishes off the bread, bitter at himself for lacking the willpower to reject the food she makes for him.

Ah well, if he spends less on food, maybe he can save up enough to pay off his gambling debts.

While thinking these things, he hears a knock at his door. Has she come back for her basket? In hindsight, he really shouldn’t have taken it. He grabs it from the table as he walks to the door, so he can push it into her hands and close the door before he’s tempted to let her in.

When he opens the door, basket in hand, he’s surprised to find a royal guard standing on his doorstep. The man is tall, not quite as broad as Toji, and wearing a crisp royal uniform in red and silver. Snow flakes blow into Toji’s house, whipping around the guard who seems unbothered by the frosty air.

Toji frowns. “What do you want?”

“You’ve been summoned by the queen,” the guard says, all formal language and behavior.

“I don’t work for the crown anymore,” Toji tells him, his hand unconsciously gripping the handle of the basket.

“The queen is aware of that,” the guard says, “so she is prepared to pay you handsomely for your services.”

This gives Toji pause. He has no love or loyalty for the queen, having left partially because of her selfish and cruel rules. She puts on a kind and wise face for the masses, but he’s been her personal guard a few times and knows what she’s like beneath the public mask.

But he needs money. He’s been banned from three different gambling houses in three different nearby towns. Soon he’ll be out of places to go to feed his addiction.

With a shrug, he leaves the basket on the floor and steps outside, closing the door behind him.

A nondescript carriage is waiting for him. Not a royal one. This must be a job the queen wants to keep quiet. Toji can guess the nature of it, considering the things she had him do while he was in her service.

Assassination. Murder. Taking out potential threats to her rule or, more accurately, people she just didn’t like.

The ride to the castle takes over an hour, moving slowly over icy roads. By the time Toji arrives, he’s feeling restless and bored.

Guards line the walkway leading up to the entrance, and they all stand silently as Toji walks by. They probably all know who he is, even if they haven’t met him. He’s been told that his reputation for being the strongest royal guard still holds up today.

He’s led to the queen’s private chambers, and the guard who brought him steps out, leaving Toji alone with the beautiful ruler.

The queen is sitting in a high backed golden chair. Not quite a throne, but close enough. She’s already dressed for bed, and Toji worries that she’s going to invite him to her bed again. He refused the first time, not because he didn’t find her physically attractive, but because her personality is quite repulsive.

In truth, the queen is a stunning woman, but that very fact makes her vain and twisted. He remembers well the bizarre games she used to play, making random guards declare her more beautiful than their wives, sometimes in front of their wives.

She stands up, regarding him with her golden honey eyes. “You look good, Toji.”

He grins. “Thanks.”

He was probably supposed to say “So do you,” but he likes the quiet anger his response provokes in her face.

She frowns, but continues as if she’s not offended. “I have a job for you, one I’m willing to pay an exorbitant amount of coin for.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”

“I need you to eliminate someone for me,” she says. Of course. He expected that.

“Who?” he asks, prepared to memorize a name and location.

The queen walks over to a nearby wall and draws back a curtain, revealing a huge oval mirror trimmed in gold.

Toji can’t suppress a sigh. He hasn’t forgotten the way she asked this supposedly magic mirror every night if she was still the most beautiful woman in the kingdom.

She glances back at him, then faces the mirror and begins her “incantation”.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

The mirror always shows the queen her own reflection, because that’s what mirrors do. Toji has always thought someone played a hilarious trick on her when they sold her this mirror.

But to his shock, the mirror shows a different face this time. To his even greater shock, it’s a face he recognizes. In fact, the young woman in the mirror was at his doorstep earlier this afternoon, with a basket of baked bread.

Toji keeps his face straight, not wanting to show any reaction. The queen stares at him, as if she expects something from him. Does she already know this girl lives in the same village as him?

“Who is she?” Toji finally asks, interested in how much the queen knows.

“A loose end I failed to take care of twenty years ago,” she replies, looking at the mirror now instead of him.

“What does that mean?”

Her eyes shift back to his face. “Never mind. Let’s just call her a threat to my rule and leave it at that. I want you to kill her, as soon as possible.”

Toji chuckles. “Because your fancy mirror says she’s prettier than you?”

The rage in the queen’s eyes makes him regret the comment. He doesn’t fear the queen, or anyone she could send to attack him. He’s the best assassin she’s ever had, after all. But dealing with all of that would be a huge annoyance, one he’d rather avoid.

Her angry expression morphs into a wicked smile. “Poor, simple Toji. You wouldn’t understand the complexities of rulership. Just do as you’re told, and you’ll be paid.”

He ignores the insult. She’s obviously just trying to bite back. “Alright. Give me a name and a location.”

The queen speaks the young woman’s name as if it’s venom on her tongue, then says, “You should be familiar with her location, Toji. She lives in your village.”

Toji shrugs. “Oh yeah, she looks a little familiar.”

“So you’ll take the job?”

“Sure,” Toji says. “Give me a day or two and I’ll take care of it. Have my payment ready.”

He turns to walk out, but the queen’s silky voice stops him.

“Toji… make it messy. Make her suffer. I want her face ruined.”

He glances back at her, then smiles. “Whatever you say, Your Majesty.”

You wake up early the next morning and tend the fireplace, staying near it for several minutes to warm up. You get breakfast ready before waking your father and sitting a tray of food in front of him.

“Delicious as always, dear,” he tells you, his voice frighteningly weak. He’s been sick for two years, of an ailment you don’t quite understand. The village doctor told you there’s no cure, so all you can do is try to make him comfortable.

You don’t mind taking care of him. He raised you with love, all alone after your mother died. He was a builder, being especially good at making furniture, before his illness rendered him unable to work. Luckily he’d saved back enough coin for the two of you to survive, but you try to be frugal.

Tucking him back into bed after he finished his meal, you kiss the top of his head. “You just rest, father. I’ll be taking care of some chores today.”

He smiles up at you. “Don’t stay out in the cold too long.”

“I won’t,” you tell him. Luckily most of the things you need to do today are indoor chores.

You get right to work, cleaning the kitchen of the mess breakfast left, sweeping the floors, and making your bed. It’s early in the afternoon when you hear a knock at your door.

Smoothing your dress as you walk to the door, you wonder who it could be. You don’t often receive unexpected guests. So when you open the door to find Toji standing just outside, your heart skips a beat.

He holds your basket out to you. “Here,” he says, “I didn’t mean to take it. Sorry about that.”

You take the basket from him, feeling slightly dazed. He’s never come to your house before without being hired to do something. “Oh, that’s alright,” you manage to squeak out, “I have another one.”

He smiles at you, maybe for the first time, and says, “I’m heading into the forest to gather some firewood. I thought maybe you’d like to come with me and keep me company.”

He… he wants you to come with him? Oh my. That bread must have done the trick! You can’t stop a grin from spreading over your face. “I’d love to go! Just let me go tell my father I’ll be stepping out for a while.”

Toji nods, then adds, “Wear something warm!”

You hurry to your father’s room and tell him you’re going out to “help a neighbor with something”. Not a lie, but you left out some details. You’re an adult, so it’s not like you need his permission, but you don’t want him to worry about anything.

Next you pull on thick wool socks, boots, gloves, scarf, and finally a heavy cloak over your dress. You don’t want to cut the outing short because you got too cold. Before joining Toji, you walk over to the house next door and ask them to check in on your father while you’re gone.

With everything taken care of, you step over to Toji’s side and walk with him into the woods, feeling giddy with excitement.

He drags a wooden wagon behind him, making it seem effortless. “Wanna sit down and ride?” he asks when he notices you looking at it. “It’ll be full of wood on the way back.”

You smile. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather walk.”

The snow is thick, but your boots are well equipped to handle it. You’ve spent your life in a village that gets heavy snowfall every winter, so you’re accustomed to walking in it.

“So what happened to your mother?” Toji suddenly asks.

The question catches you off guard for a moment, but doesn’t bother you. He wants to know more about you! That’s a good thing!

“She died during childbirth,” you tell him. “I never met her.”

“Sorry to hear it,” he says, his eyes shifting away from you to focus on a large branch in your path. He tosses it out of the way as he asks another question. “Got any other family? Besides your father I mean.”

“None that I’ve met. My father has a sister who lives far away from here, I’m told.”

“Hmm.”

That was a strange response. He seems to be thinking your answers over, as if he’s trying to figure something out. After a few moments of walking, he stops and motions around him. “This is the spot. Lots of fallen branches and trees. You can sit on the wagon while I work.”

You’d like to help him gather wood, but you realize you’d probably just get in the way. Instead you watch him work. He lugs heavy logs into one end of the wagon as if they weigh nothing at all, snapping thick branches as if they’re made of paper.

At some point he pauses and looks at you. “What is it you like about me anyway?”

You freeze, staring at him as your face turns hot. He knows?! “Uh… well… I…”

He laughs, tossing another log onto the wagon before stepping closer to you. “Sorry if I embarrassed you. I just got the impression you’re interested in me. Unless I’m reading you wrong.”

You look down at your boots as you fiddle with the ends of your scarf. “I like you. I have for a while now,” you say. “It started when you killed that boar. I thought you must be really brave and kind to hunt it down after it killed a child.”

You chance a glance at Toji, curious about his reaction. He’s looking off into the woods, not at you, with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m not as great as you think I am,” he says, so low you almost miss it.

You stand up from the wagon. “Of course you are! You didn’t have to help the village, but you did! Even though people were spreading those rumors about you.”

He looks at you then. “What rumors?” His tone is more playful than offended.

You hesitate, but decide to tell him the truth. “People in the village were saying you had a wife once but she mysteriously disappeared.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes seem a little sad. “She didn’t disappear. She died.”

You place a hand over your mouth in shock. “I’m so sorry!”

He smiles. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Any other rumors?”

You instantly think of one, but you’re not sure if you should mention it. Toji looks at you expectantly, so you take a breath and say, “Just one. They said you have a son, but no one has ever seen him.”

“That one’s true,” he says. “I do have a son, but he lives with his mother’s family for now.”

You perk up. “Oh? How old is he?”

Toji thinks for a moment, which seems strange to you. “I guess he must be seven by now.”

You know you probably shouldn’t ask the next question, but curiosity is getting the best of you. “Do you not see him often?”

Again, that sadness creeps into his eyes. “No, not often. It’s been two years since the last time I visited him. It’s a three day journey both ways, and the people he’s staying with don’t exactly welcome me with open arms.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him, meaning every word.

His eyes meet yours again. “What do you think of me now, knowing I have a kid I don’t take care of?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, then say, “I think you’re doing the best you can, and you’d like to see your son more often. I still think you’re a good man.”

Toji laughs and looks away, continuing to gather wood.

A little later, you notice the snow is getting heavier and the wind stronger. You recognize these signs. A blizzard is rolling in. You look at the sky, at the dark gray clouds hovering over the woods, and pull your cloak more tightly around you. A gust of icy wind blows past, making you shiver.

Suddenly Toji is standing right in front of you, pulling off his heavy coat and draping it over your shoulders. “Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have asked a lady to come out in this cold.”

“No, it’s fine!” you say quickly. “I’m used to being in the cold! You should keep your coat, Toji. You’ll get sick.”

He grins down at you. “I’ve never been sick in my life.”

You snuggle into his coat while he goes back to his task. It carries the warmth of his body heat and smells like him.

At some point the snow and the wind become so strong, Toji has to stop. He looks over the wood in his wagon and says, “This’ll have to do. But I don’t know if we can make it back to the village in this weather.”

You stand up, alarmed. “What should we do?”

He looks at the sky, then into the trees, his gaze leading deeper into the forest. “There’s a hunting cabin nearby. We’ll have to stay there until the snow lets up.”

Your heart flutters. The thought of being stuck in a cabin alone with Toji has you feeling heated, but…

“I’m worried about my father,” you say.

“You asked someone to check on him, right? They’ll probably look after him tonight.”

“I suppose so,” you say, turning to follow Toji as he begins to pull his wagon.

The trek through the snowy woods is a short one. Only ten minutes of walking lead you to a small cabin. It’s dark and plain, but in this winter storm it looks like a paradise.

Toji parks his wagon out front and then opens the door, ushering you inside before pulling it shut. It’s pitch dark inside, so much so that you can’t see your hand in front of your face. You hear Toji say something, but it sounds like he’s far away, and the raging wind outside drowns out his voice.

Just when you’re starting to worry, a faint glow appears, then Toji emerges from what you assume is another room, carrying a small candle. He reaches it to you, then lights another. “I’ll get the fireplace going,” he says as his light moves away again.

You hear noises, familiar sounds to you, and after a few minutes, a fire lights up. It grows quickly in strength until the whole room is illuminated. You move closer to the fire for warmth as Toji stands up from his kneeling position in front of the fireplace. He doesn’t say anything as he begins lighting more candles and sitting them in various places around the living room and kitchen.

With all the candles and the roaring fire, you can now see the interior of the cabin quite clearly. It’s very rustic, with scant furnishings. It’s obviously not designed for long stays, but for hunters to rest overnight or wait out a storm.

The living room has two wooden chairs and a single small table. There’s an old rug that does nothing to cover the dusty hardwood floor. The kitchen is basically a nook off the west side of the living room. There’s a simple stove, a sink, and a table that would seat no more than four people.

The place is surprisingly cozy, and the fire is very warm, so you slip off Toji’s coat and your own cloak before sitting down on the rug in front of the fireplace. You pull off your gloves and hold your hands as close to the flames as you can stand.

You almost don’t notice Toji sitting down beside you. His movements are so quick and quiet, like a shadow sneaking along the wall. You’d think such a big man would be hard to miss, but somehow Toji manages to disappear every now and then.

“Warm now?” he asks, pulling off his own gloves.

You smile up at him. “Yes, thank you.”

He scoots closer to you, until his thick shoulder is touching yours. “We’ll be warmer if we share body heat.”

Your heart skips. You’ve never been this close to him before. Suddenly the cabin feels hot, and you find yourself tugging at the collar of your dress to let a little air in. You glance at his face, only to find him looking right at you.

With this atmosphere, this closeness, maybe it’s the right time. You tilt your head up and meet his gaze. “Toji… I don’t just like you. I’m in love with you.”

His eyes widen slightly, but before you can say another word, he leans down and kisses you. His lips feel cool against your heated ones, and you close your eyes as his arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

You press into the kiss, tugging at his shirt with your hands, encouraging him. You’ve wanted this for so long, you can’t bear the thought of stopping now.

Toji eases you onto your back on the rug, then pulls his shirt over his head. The fire light dances across his muscular chest and makes his green eyes gleam. Oh god, he’s so beautiful.

He reaches down and unties the laces at the front of your dress, loosening it enough to pull the top of it down your shoulders, exposing your supple breasts. You raise up enough to help him pull your dress down your hips and off your body, leaving only plain cotton panties. He kisses you again as his hands slide the panties down your legs, finally baring your whole body to him.

Your skin is flushed in the flame’s shifting light, but your eyes are drawn to Toji as he pulls off his remaining clothes. His body is perfection, like a statue of a god.

When he lays down beside you, his strong hands begin exploring your body, his skin hot on yours. You curve into him, against him, as one warm hand slips between your thighs. His movements are gentle, but his hunter’s fingers are rough as they probe your tender, glazed flesh.

With a shudder and a gasp, you close your eyes again and focus on the pleasure, on the way his thumb circles your clit, the way his firm body is pressed against you. It’s building up inside you, something powerful and radiant, ready to burst free. Your shaking hands grip his forearm as a mewling cry escapes you.

Then, suddenly, the pleasure overflows within you. Your body quivers on the rug as the orgasm ripples through you, finally leaving you breathless.

Toji gives you a few moments to catch your breath, his eyes watching you with his intense gaze. Then he rolls over onto you, pinning your body beneath him. He holds himself up with his arms to avoid crushing you, but you’re still effectively caged in under him.

And you love it.

You open your legs, letting his body slide in between. You can feel his rock hard cock brushing against you, and you look up at him with eager eyes. His expression is partially shadowed, but he leans down and kisses you again as he finally pushes himself inside you.

He takes it slow, moving with the grace of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing and has full control over his own body. He easily strikes a rhythm that gradually takes him deeper while rubbing the spots within you that make you moan out his name.

Your legs encircle his waist, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck. You hold onto him with all your might as the blizzard rages outside, the wind howling in your ears.

For these brief moments beneath him, all of it falls away. The storm, your concern for your father, your worry that this only a one time thing for Toji. Your mind can only focus on the searing pleasure, the feeling of being full of him, his hands hot on your skin.

You cum again, trembling under him, your weakened limbs loosing their grip and falling to the rug. When Toji finishes, he kisses you again as he cums inside you, his cock buried as deeply as possible until he’s emptied himself.

He pulls out and rolls off you, leaving you totally spent and panting. Your eyelids feel heavy as you watch him stand up, grab his coat from the floor, and drape it over you.

Within seconds, you fall asleep, lulled by the wind outside the cabin and the warmth of the fire.

Toji sighs as he pulls on his clothes, already regretting the decisions he’s made today.

His plan was to take his sweet neighbor, and target, out into the woods and then to this cabin. He knew the weather would get bad, knew they’d be forced to take shelter in this quiet, isolated place.

Toji thought he’d do her a kindness by giving her the fucking she so obviously wanted from him before he kills her.

But now, as he looms over her unguarded, sleeping form, knife in hand, he’s thinking his plan was flawed. He doesn’t want to kill her. He’s already decided to kill her in her sleep, so she doesn’t feel pain or fear, and mess up her lovely face afterward. The stupid bitch of a queen won’t know if he did it before or after death.

He clenches the knife tightly, bringing it close to her neck. She shifts slightly, her face turning toward him but her eyes remaining closed. “Toji….” she murmurs, a faint smile on her lips. All he can think about is how those lips tasted on his own.

“Fuck,” he mutters, lowering the knife to his side. He can’t do it. Not because he’s too moral or righteous. He’s never been either of those things. He just doesn’t want to kill her.

Something the queen said is still rattling in his brain. “A loose end,” she called her. What did that mean? Is this young woman related to the queen? The mystery is eating at Toji, and he won’t be able to rest until he figures it out.

He sits down in one of the two chairs and watches his new lover sleep, deciding to tell her the truth in the morning.

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