#it's just mentioned in passing but yeah JUST TO BE SAFE

[simplygojo]

Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Four

author's note ⸺ Hello all reading this!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!! This series has gotten so much support I am so excited to take you all on this journey that is this fic. I have lovveeedddddd reading all the comments and hearing your thoughts, SO PLS KEEP IT COMING ILYSM <3 pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ platonic-bestie!gojo, corporate-worker!reader, slight tension, studying mentioned, modern au, the good-ole-days, reader uses female pronouns, 2.9k, this is an 18+ series - mdni

divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

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"Hey," he said, his voice a touch smoother than usual, though it still held that casual tone that was oh so familiar. 

For a moment, all you could do was stare. 

The on-edge atmosphere of the station pressed in around you—hushed conversations, hurried footsteps, the distant rumble of another approaching train underneath you—but none of it reached you fully. 

Your mind felt like it was catching up, trying to bridge the space between expectation and reality, between picturing him at the bar and seeing him here instead.

He was waiting. Not impatiently, not expectantly, just... there.

His hand dropped back to his side, fingers grazing the seam of his pants. 

The ghost of a smirk played at the corner of his mouth as he tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

“Hey,” you breathed out at last, sounding a little more unsteady than you had expected.

Geto’s warm smile deepened at your response—like he could hear everything unsaid in that single word.

You swallowed, willing yourself to move. 

The space between you closed with slow, measured steps, work computer bag still slung over your shoulder, the city air clinging cool against your skin as it blew in through the glass doors. 

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was quieter than you intended. The question felt unnecessary somehow, obvious even, but it still tumbled out.

Geto huffed a slight chuckle, glancing down briefly before looking back at you.

“Well, I know the streets in this city aren’t always safe, so I figured I’d meet you here and walk with you.” His tone was light, teasing, but there was something underneath it. Something careful. Considered.

You exhaled, a short, breathy laugh leaving your lips. “I mean, yeah…but Geto, you really didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

The words hung in the space between you, simple and easy, yet carrying something heavier beneath them.

A beat passed, and then another.

You should have said something—something lighthearted, maybe a quick retort about him being overprotective, about how you weren’t exactly helpless. 

But the words didn’t come like they usually did.

Why weren’t you responding?

You weren’t sure, to be honest.

Maybe it was the way he was looking at you, the familiar weight of his gaze steady and unhurried, waiting for you to catch up to the moment so patiently. 

Maybe it was the way his presence here, unexpected yet not unwanted, unsettled something in your chest—just enough to make you pause, just enough to make you notice.

Or maybe it was nothing at all. Just a lapse. Just you being slow at the end of a workday—A small, silent moment stretched far too long by your drained brain. 

Geto didn’t rush to fill the silence. He never did. 

He was comfortable in it.

Instead, he tipped his head slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, like he was waiting for you to steady yourself.

And then he saved you from your spiralling thoughts with a breathy laugh so small you almost missed it—

“Come on,” he said, turning just enough to gesture toward the exit. “Let’s get out of here.”

You nodded, shifting the strap of your laptop bag on your shoulder before following him through the glass doors ahead. 

The faint hum of the subway station faded behind you as you left the subway station, the air changing as you stepped onto the street—cooler, fresher, tinged with the familiar scent of city pavement and distant car exhaust. 

As the two of you stepped into the night, the tension that had been coiling in your chest all week began to slip away—slowly, steadily—unwinding in the quiet comfort of his presence, in the easy way he moved beside you, like nothing in the world needed rushing.

The movement of the city folded around you both as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

The weeknight life carried on as if nothing had shifted—as if you hadn’t just spent an extra few seconds too long staring at him, as if you hadn’t just caught yourself hesitating for reasons you didn’t entirely understand.

But Geto didn’t call any attention to it. He was kind like that.

He simply fell into step beside you, adjusting his pace to match yours without even thinking about it.

“How was work?” He asked, voice low but unhurried.

You sighed, rolling one shoulder as if that might shake the weight of the day off. 

“The usual. Meetings that could’ve been emails, and emails that could’ve been nothing at all.”

He huffed a small laugh, his hands slipping easily into the pockets of his baggy dress pants. “Sounds about right.”

You both kept walking, and somewhere between the exchange of words, your attention began catching on details that had nothing to do with the conversation.

The way Geto positioned himself slightly ahead, his body angled just enough that he was closest to the road. 

The way his shoulder barely brushed yours when the crowd thickened, how he shifted so easily, subtly, making sure there was just enough space for you to walk and not get pushed by others.

Had he always done that? 

Probably. 

But maybe you’d never noticed it quite like this.

“You know,” he mused, his calm voice cutting through your thoughts, “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you—not that I really had the chance—but how’d you even end up in your job?”

You blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I get how Gojo ended up where he is—they probably gave him the job just to get him to shut up and leave,” Geto said dryly, “but you? I don’t remember you ever talking about wanting the corporate life back in university.”

You let out a breath of laughter. “That’s because I had no idea what I was doing after graduation. I kind of just… fell into it.”

He hummed in understanding, and as you spoke, your eyes drifted over him again.

His hair was longer than the last time you’d seen him. 

You hadn’t noticed it at first, not really, but seeing it tied back in that loose half-bun, with stray strands slipping free to frame his face—it was different. 

Still him, still familiar, but different, softer somehow.

“Do you like it?” He asked, pulling you back to the conversation.

You hesitated, tilting your head slightly before clicking back into reality and responding. 

“Not really. I mean, it’s not what I pictured, but I don’t hate it. I just… don’t think too hard about whether I love it, either.”

Geto glanced at you then, something knowing in his expression. “That’s an interesting way of saying ‘I don’t know.’”

You scoffed, laughing a bit as you looked over at him. “You always do that!”

“Do what?” He looked at you, brows drawing together just slightly, the barest hint of confusion crossing his face.

“Summarize everything I say in, like, three words when I take five sentences to say it.”

He smirked, but didn’t deny it.

Another few steps, another moment of quiet stretching between you. 

It wasn’t awkward—it never was with him—but something about the silence tonight felt fuller than usual, charged with something unspoken.

You glanced up at him again, watching the way the low glow of passing streetlights softened his profile. 

His expression was as still as always, but his eyes hadn’t lost their softness—Neither had his voice.

And for some reason, your brain felt like that was something worth noticing, too.

You walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the rhythm of your steps becoming almost synchronized with the hum of the city. 

Geto’s presence next to you was like a quiet anchor, grounding the entire evening.

As you reached the bar, its neon sign glowing faintly in the distance, Geto took the lead, stepping ahead of you without hesitation. 

He reached for the door first, a smooth movement, his hand easily grasping the handle. 

But instead of just opening it, he held the door back, the solid wood creaking slightly as he pulled it toward him. 

He stood a little taller for the gesture, holding the door open with an effortless grace, the kind of politeness that felt both instinctive and genuine.

You glanced up at him as you passed, giving him a polite smile, his stature making the action look all the more effortless. 

The way he did everything—slightly above and beyond—seemed almost natural for him.

You stepped inside, the warmth of the bar enveloping you, replacing the cool air of the street. 

Geto stepped in behind you, the door falling gently shut with a soft click, and he gave a quick glance around, before his gaze landed on you, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The space was dimly lit, the kind of ambient lighting that pulled shadows in all the right places, giving everything a sense of intimate mystery. 

The atmosphere was alive but muted, like the soft pulse of a secret kept between strangers who’d all found refuge here.

The walls were a dark, moody shade of navy blue, interrupted only by sleek, matte black frames holding abstract art pieces—art that made you pause to interpret it, even if you weren’t quite sure how. The floor beneath your feet was smooth, polished concrete, worn in spots from years of footsteps, giving the place a lived-in yet carefully curated feel. 

Above, industrial light fixtures hung low, casting pools of soft light, the shadows playing across the faces of patrons hunched over their drinks, their conversations murmured low.

A blend of smooth jazz with a touch of modern beats floated in the background, just enough to set the tone without intruding. 

The whole place felt alive, but in a way that encouraged quiet conversation, the kind of vibe that made everything feel a little more personal, a little more connected.

The actual bar itself was an island in the middle of the room, a massive slab of dark wood worn smooth from years of use, lined with high stools that had low backs. 

Behind it, bottles glimmered like treasures in the dim light, arranged with a precision that made you think the bartender must be a perfectionist. 

“Not bad, huh?” He murmured, watching your reaction with that subtle attentiveness he always carried.

You nodded, already feeling at ease in the space. “Definitely has a vibe.”

He chuckled softly, then stepped just ahead of you, leading the way to a small, tucked-away booth near the back. 

The plush, velvet-covered seats wrapped around a low table, inviting and private without trying too hard. 

As he slid into his side, the soft flicker of candlelight danced across his face, highlighting the quiet ease in his expression—the kind of unhurried patience that made it feel like the night had nowhere else to be but here, with you.

You followed, settling into the opposite side of the booth. 

The seat gave a little beneath you, plush and warm, and for a moment, you just sat there—feeling the quiet hum of the bar seep into your bones, the flicker of the candle between you catching the amber in your water glass that was already set on the table.

“You look great, by the way.”

Your hand paused mid-reach.

His voice came just as you were reaching for the water, quiet but certain—like he wasn’t just saying it to be polite, but because he meant it. 

Like it was simply a fact, not a compliment.

You looked up at him, your fingers still grazing the glass, and caught the way his eyes were already on you—god he was always watching…his gaze was warm, steady, with just a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he’d noticed your pause and was already filing it away for later teasing.

The candlelight didn’t help—or maybe it helped too much. You weren’t sure.

You blinked once—twice—then dropped your gaze with a half-laugh, half-exhale, as the warmth started to crawl up your neck.

“Thanks,” you murmured, trying not to sound as breathless as you felt. “You look even bette—uh—I mean you look good too.” The words tumbled out in a blur, and you immediately winced, mentally tripping over the way your mouth had gotten ahead of your brain.

His smile tugged a little deeper, but he didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. Just looked at you for a moment, like he was letting the words settle before quietly accepting them.

“Even better? Well… I’m not sure about that, but thank you,” he said, simply.

And just like that, the air shifted again—barely—but enough that you felt it, in the quiet space between his voice and the candlelight flickering between you.

Then, mercifully, the waiter appeared—tall, relaxed, with sleeves rolled to the elbows and a familiarity in his walk that said he belonged here.

“Hey,” Geto said, smiling easily. “Didn’t know you were working tonight.”

“Every Thursday,” the guy replied smoothly, pulling a little notepad from his apron but not bothering to look at it. “What can I get you guys?”

Geto glanced at you, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “You still like espresso martinis?”

Your face lit up before you could help it—like a reflex, like he’d just pulled a small memory from the back of your mind and handed it to you wrapped in velvet.

You hadn’t seen him in at least a year—and yet he’d remembered what you liked, knew you well enough to know you’d still like it, and added just enough of a twist to make it feel personal.

It was almost unfair.

“Oh my god, yes,” you said, a little too enthusiastically, then laughed. “It’s been forever.”

Geto grinned, then turned back to the waiter with a decisive nod. “Two espresso martinis.”

Then, after a beat, he added, “Hers shaken with Baileys.”

The waiter gave a short, amused laugh, scribbled it down, and disappeared as smoothly as he’d arrived.

You raised an eyebrow at Geto. “Since when do you know my espresso martini order better than I do?”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, the candlelight catching in his eyes like slow-burning embers. 

“Since second year. That one time at that business formal when Gojo bailed halfway through to go see that one girl, and we stayed behind.”

You blinked, the memory flashing into place like a forgotten film reel clicking on in the back of your mind.

“Right,” you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips. “I forgot about that.”

“I didn’t,” he said, simply.

And something about the way he said it made you forget—again—how to breathe quite normally. 

For a brief moment, it felt like the whole bar—the city, even—had narrowed down to just the two of you, sitting across from each other, with nothing loud or flashy to distract you from how easy it felt. How surprising it was. And how much more of the night is left….

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[wendichester]

Could you maybe write an older!sister reader please ?

⋆.˚ not on my watch,

summary. your boys are always looking for trouble and you always come to the rescue.

pairing. sam + dean winchester x older sis!reader genre. fluffy angst

wordcount. 675

notes / warnings. mentions of blood, typical older sister overprotective behavior, taking care of those two idiots.

You don’t knock. You don’t wait. You storm into the motel room with blood on your jeans and hell in your eyes.

Dean’s on the bed, holding a dish towel to a gash in his side, and Sam’s trying to get the first aid kit open with trembling hands. They both freeze when they see you.

“You didn’t answer your damn phones.”

Dean winces. “Battery died.”

“Mine too,” Sam mumbles.

You slam the door behind you. “I thought you were dead.”

Dean grins — the cocky, busted-up kind that means “please don’t yell at me while I’m actively bleeding out.”

“We’ve been worse,” he says, voice tight.

You ignore him.

You cross the room in two strides, shoving Sam out of the way so you can kneel in front of Dean. You grab the bloody towel without asking.

He hisses. “Ow—ow, shit.”

“Good.”

“You gonna kiss it better too, or just beat me senseless?”

“Depends if you shut up.”

He does shut up.

You work in silence for a beat. Wipe the blood. Clean the gash. It’s not deep, but it’s angry. Red and raw and exactly the kind of thing Dean likes to walk off like it won’t get infected if someone doesn’t step in and care.

“I told you not to take that job without me.”

Dean shrugs. “It was routine. Salt and burn.”

“Then why did I get a call from Bobby saying a banshee tore through town like a goddamn blender?”

Dean tries to look guilty. Fails. “...The bones were buried under an old bar. Complicated.”

You exhale through your nose. Hands shaking slightly now. You press the gauze in too hard and he winces again, but doesn’t complain.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you whisper.

He doesn’t respond. Sam, still standing awkwardly nearby, clears his throat.

“I told him we should wait.”

“Thanks, Sammy.” You glance up at him. His cheek’s bruised. His lip’s split. “You okay?”

He nods. “I’m fine.”

“You’re limping.”

“I’m fine.”

You press a hand to his arm, then return to Dean.

“God, you’re idiots.”

Dean chuckles. “That’s the family motto.”

You tape the gauze in place and finally sit back on your heels. Stare at them both. Filthy. Bruised. Alive.

Barely.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

Dean sighs. “We’ve been hunting since—”

“I know how long we’ve been hunting.” Your voice wavers. “But I was supposed to keep you safe. And every time I get a call like that, I think—this is it. This is when I lose one of you.”

Sam’s already crying. Quiet, like he always does. He sniffles, brushing a hand under his nose.

Dean swallows hard, eyes glassy.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You’re my boys. I don’t care how grown you are. You’re still mine. And if I have to chain you to the Impala just to keep you from getting yourselves killed, I will.”

Dean smirks, voice hoarse. “Kinky.”

You smack his shoulder — gently. He flinches anyway.

You sigh, standing.

“Okay,” you say. “Shirts off.”

Sam blinks. “What?”

“You’re both cut up. I’m cleaning it.”

“I can do mine,” he mutters.

You raise a brow.

He groans and starts peeling off his flannel.

Dean lays back with a grunt. You pull up a chair and get to work on them both. Stitch here. Bandage there. You work like you always have — careful but fast, like you were born to mend boys built for war.

They stay quiet.

Until Dean says, “Y’know, we never really said it.”

You pause. “Said what?”

“That we wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Sam looks over at him, then nods. “We wouldn’t.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up and let me save your dumb lives again.”

But your throat’s tight. Your hands tremble just a little more.

And when they’re finally patched and passed out on opposite beds, snoring like lumberjacks, you sit between them and watch. Just to make sure they’re still breathing.

Just to be sure they made it back.

Just to remind yourself: they’re still yours.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Policy & Procedure | Part 8 | Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Reader | 3.6k words

You and Bucky finally talk back at his apartment. Without work and the public watching, you can finally be yourselves again. But what will that look like now the truth is out?

Warnings: 18+ language, mentions of HYDRA and the Winter Solider, adult content, p in v, dirty talk, mentions of bratting, dirty talk, oral (f recieving). S is for Sir.

A/N: This is the last chapter and I'm so excited to share it with you! Thank you so much for reading, whether it was from the start, part way through or you're just here for the smut! If you enjoyed this series please reblog to share with your friends :)

Masterlist | Policy & Procedure Masterlist | <-Part 7 | Bucky Barnes

The ride back to Bucky's apartment was filled with fraught silence. The driver tried desperately to make conversation before turning the radio up and tuning in to the coverage of what was apparently several attacks on several political offices.

Bucky paid in cash as he always did and you rolled your eyes, stepping out close behind him, his shadow. And he loved it, had missed the smell of your perfume when you tugged on his jacket sleeve.

"Mr Barnes —"

"Let's not talk here," Bucky could feel how tight his smile was, the edge in his voice.

You were finally here, finally coming to his home where he'd spent hours preparing for you — only to come back and shove the flowers into the trash compactor. He'd downed the bottle of wine he picked out sat in the bath while the water went cold and then he'd shoved the dressing gown to the back of his closet and decided he'd done as much crying as he felt became a man of his age.

Now you were here, his apartment was a mess, he had no food in and he was pretty sure he hadn't even put his clothes in the hamper from yesterday. He felt like a boy again and despite the decades of time that had passed since he'd last seen his mother, he could hear her scolding him for his slovenliness. Hear his father's raised voice —his stomach turned.

None of this was right anymore, not his life, not this day, not the awkwardness he felt with you when he'd been so happy before.

He was right, his apartment was as he left it. Dirty dishes by the sink and his coffee table covered in books, candy wrappers and cups.

"Come in, I guess, can I get you a drink?" He offered, getting a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, at least that was full, maybe Anna had sent someone round.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you're drinking." You sat awkwardly at the breakfast bar, watching him, and a prickle on unease ran up his spine.

He still wasn't sure who you really were. Sam had told him you were security, but did he even know your real name?

Bucky placed the glass in front of you and opted to stand on the other side of the counter, he rolled his shirt sleeves up and undid his tie, watching your eyes tracking his movements as he went. That was real, he knew it, he didn't imagine the way your throat moved when you swallowed, or flick of your eyes to his forearms.

"Okay, you wanted to tell me your side of things so. You said back there —"

He was still replaying what you'd said, that you cared about, had been frightened for him.

"You have to know, I wasn't sent to —"

"Sleep with me?" Bucky took a swig of water to try and calm himself down, "sure, you said."

"I was tasked with making sure you're safe. You get lots of letters, nice letters, from kids and enhanced people and that's lovely. But you get a lot of hate mail too, it just doesn't reach your desk and Sam— he was worried."

"Do you even really know Sam?" This had stung Bucky as much as anything else, that Sam would lie so much something had to be true and he really hoped Sam had been telling the truth about your bravery during Project Insight.

"Yeah, I do.I've worked with him, as Captain America, I've done private security, undercover ops, freelance stuff…that was true. He trusts me, that's why he trusted me with his best friend." You looked at him pointedly, making sure to keep eye contact.

You hadn't looked away from him the entire time, you weren't shaking or nervous, you were telling the truth — or you were an insanely good liar because Bucky could hear your heart beating when you got excited, and right now, it was a steady thump.

Bucky wasn't so sure he was still best friends with Sam, he had a lot of apologising to do for the way he'd spoken to him.

"You worked for SHIELD?" He used his glass to wave at your faded Kevlar vest.

"Yeah, I did." He could see in your eyes, you knew what was coming next.

"Were you there?— Don't pretend you don't know what I mean, were you there?"

"Yes." You said it proudly, chin up, and he he was reminded of why he was so drawn to you. Your persistence, your pride in your role, your willingness to take responsibility. "I was there."

"And did you follow your orders then?"

"I followed the right orders,"

Bucky's heart sank momentarily

"— I listened to Agent Hill. I did my job, not as directed by SHIELD officials, but by the principals it was founded on. I protected the people. I protected Sam and Captain Rogers, Agent Hill and Agent Romanoff. I shot one of my colleagues, point blank, to protect them." You did look down then. "I was mostly a desk agent before then, it changed my life and I'm still not sure if I'm glad of that or not. But it did. I have to live with it, what I did, killing him. I had to make it mean something, so I found Sam after and I've been freelancing for him every since. Is that what you wanted to hear?" You looked like you were fighting back tears.

Bucky ducked his head, ashamed. Of course you did. Sam was a man of principal too, he wouldn't have been friends with you if you'd have run away or listened to the HYDRA agents. But it also wasn't everything he wanted to know…

"And did you see me?" Bucky let the question hang, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

"I saw you, yes. I saw you as him, the Winter Soldier and I saw you drag Captain Rogers from the river. I saw you walk away a different man. And it's that man I promised Sam I'd protect."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, "I don't need protecting, sweetheart."

"Seems to me like you do, if you keep forgetting you're a congressman and not a superhero. You were going to go back into the building today, if I hadn't called that cab."

"That's true." Bucky downed his water, he'd have walked back in without a second thought, he was still a little troubled by how easy it had been for you to lead him away.

"It's what makes me care about you, Mr Barnes, more than the job required."

It was your turn to look awkward now, playing with the condensation on your glass of water, the ice clinking when you moved it between your palms.

"You don't have to pretend I meant anything more to you to make me feel better, I just wanted to know the truth."

He was lying and he knew it, but he hoped you didn't.

"Hmm —" your gaze slowly moved over the counter, tracing up his arms until it felt like you were trying to see his secrets, eyes keen and trained on his own. "It meant a lot more to me than that, and I think it meant more to you. You know — I really never meant to hurt you, Mr Barnes, I got carried away. Sam was right to remove me from the position, I would've got us both in trouble or, worse, killed."

Suddenly there were tears spilling over your cheeks.

Bucky had never been good with crying, it was in many ways his biggest weakness. He wasn't an idiot, he'd spent years comforting his sister, Steve, the Howlies. But crying just seemed to make him panic.

"Oh - oh no —" he rounded the counter and wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head against his chest, one hand rubbing circles on the small of your back, the other stroking over the back of your head. "I hurt myself, I was stupid and reckless, inappropriate and unprofessional. Regardless of who you are, I should never have —"

You looked up, your arms circling his waist and pulling him closer, "I'm glad you did, I wanted to, I still —" you ducked your head, wiping your finger over the smear of mascara on his white shirt. "That'll stain."

"I don't care, what were you going to say?" He cupped your cheek in his vibranium palm, thumb nudging your tears away.

"I hated not seeing you every day, I hate being apart from you, I know that sounds pathetic, we only had a few weeks together but I —"

Bucky bent down and pressed his lips to yours, salty from your tears. He licked away the sadness, holding you steady against his body. You hesitated for a moment and he kicked himself, ready to let you go, back away and call you a cab, then you sighed into his mouth and kissed him back.

Everything felt right again, the way you allowed him to take some of your weight, leaning back into his palm, your lips parting for his own, hands clutching at his shirt and in his hair.

It felt the same. But it was still different, now that the truth was out.

"You're in your head," you whispered, tucking his hair behind his ear and searching his gaze.

"It's hard not to be," Bucky bent forward, resting his forehead against yours, "you taste the same —but—"

"But —"

"At the hotel, you — the things you said and did, what was real?"

You pulled back further, "are you asking me if I wanted to have sex with you? Of course I did, none of that was — no one asked me to do that." A little crease appeared between your eyes and Bucky fought the urge to kiss it away.

"Come on now, you know what I mean. I may be an old man but I understand playing these games, the bratting, calling me sir — I —fuck — I spanked you, sweetheart. What of that was you maintaining this illusion of the sweet little secretary, and what was real?" He could feel his ears going pink at the memory, your gasps, your begging voice asking for him.

"Would you think less of me as an agent if I wanted you to spank me, if I enjoyed playing the little brat for you?"

Bucky paused, "no, of course not, it was so sexy and I was thrilled you wanted to share that with me, sweetheart, I would've been happy no matter what you wanted to do."

"You still call me sweetheart," you tugged on his tie and he allowed himself to be brought closer to your lips.

"You're still sweet to me, regardless of what you tell me next. Unless you don't like it?"

"I like it." Your voice was breathy, dreamy and far away. "And you're still Mr Barnes —"

"That's my name, sweetheart."

"Hmm…." you lifted your chin, your lips against his, "you could still be sir to me, if you want to be."

"Oh I want to be—"

And then he was kissing you again because he couldn't help it, he had to kiss you. And you were pulling at his hair, tugging him down and arching up into him.Bucky slid his hands down your back and scooped you up into his arms marching away from the kitchen towards his bedroom. He didn't care that his sheets were messy anymore, if he got his way he'd have to change them all anyway when he was done with you.

"You like it when I take control, hmm?" He asked gruffly, nipping at your ear. The sharp sensation had you arching in his arms, trying to press yourself against him, get some friction, but it was too hard.

"I trust you, sir, but I also like that frown you get when you want to be mad at me," you kissed his cheeks and then between his eyes where Bucky knew he had a permanent wrinkle forming. "It's so sexy, I just can't help myself." You bit your lip, smiling cheekily.

He debated between dropping you to the sheets to enjoy your shocked expression or lowering you gently, but instead decided to sit himself, keeping you in his lap. Above him your face was all smiles, your eyes lit up with excitement and your mouth parted slightly. Your tongue darted out to lick nervously at your lip.

Bucky cupped your cheeks, allowing you to settle in his lap, arms looped around his neck and your fingers playing with his hair.

"I haven't been able to get you off my mind, sweetheart, couldn't stand being without you."

You both paused, bodies still, drinking in the moment.

"Then don't be, let me stay with you." You kissed him softly, coaxing him back out of the nervous shell he'd found himself in. "Let me be with you."

You pressed your hips forwards to rock against the outline of his cock and smiled when he gasped.

"You're torturing me," he groaned, dropping his head to your collarbone and pressing kisses through your shirt. His fingers made light work of the buttons, pushing the heavy kevlar vest off first and then the softer cotton.

Shyly you brought your hands up to fiddle with your bra, plain cotton to match the shirt, "didn't expect to be doing this today, had a whole lingerie set picked out for after your speech and —"

Bucky took your hands and placed them in your lap before quickly releasing the clasp of your bra and sliding the straps down your arms slowly, "you look gorgeous," he praised, ducking forward to lap at a pert nipple.

"So you don't want to see the blue lace I chose?"

"Oh I definitely want to see the lace, but right now, I just want to see you, sweetheart."

With that he lifted up, easily turning you both so you were sprawled on the bed beneath him.

"I think I promised that I'd kiss every inch of you," he lifted an eyebrow, ghosting his lips down over your collarbone and the swell of your breast. You lifted up into him but all he gave you was a flick of his tongue on your sensitive nipple.

"Tease," you groaned, tugging on his hair.

"Brat," he countered, sliding lower, kissing down to your belly button. "These have to go," Bucky began unbuttoning your office slacks, "god please say you're wearing neat little cotton panties to match that bra."

"Mr Barnes!" You covered your face with your hands and pushed at him with your foot, "you said you liked it."

Bucky caught your foot and kissed your ankle before placing it over his shoulder, "I do, I mean it — wait." His fingers slid over your ankle holster, "do you still have weapons on you?" He could feel himself getting harder, his underwear pressed uncomfortably against the wet head of his cock.

"A few, wanna find them?" You slid your foot from his shoulder down to his chest.

"Fuck, yes." And then he pounced, all pretence of romance and delicacy out of the window along with your trousers, ripped down the seam to allow him better access.

You were wearing neat cotton panties, as predicted, but Bucky didn't think he'd seen anything sexier than your concealed ankle holster, or the knife hidden on your thigh.

Bucky trailed his fingers over your thigh and then followed with his tongue, pressing down under the strap. You writhed against the sheets, "please." You whined and Bucky throbbed — that tone, the pout, your eyes. He was worried things would be different, that he would notice the previous lies in the new truths. But this was you just as you'd been at the hotel. Just as you'd been kissing him in his office.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you can have anythin' you want when you beg so pretty." He slurred, lust drunk, love drunk and preparing to bury himself between your thighs.

Your panties were gone in a second, torn and thrown over his shoulder into the darkness of his room. Instantly forgotten when his tongue touched your clit, swirling and then pressing in a steady rhythm.

"Shit," you grabbed at his hair, mussing it between your fingers and tugging, the pain was a delicious flash down his spine urging him on.

"That's it sweetheart, take what you want," he speared his tongue between your folds, lapping at you, squeezing your thighs and encouraging you to wrap them around his shoulders.

You obliged and with a final tug you went taut beneath him, thighs locking around his head.

"Good girl, give it to me, c'mon," Bucky mumbled against you, pressing you apart with his thumbs and catching your arousal on his tongue.

You panted above him, one arm covering your eyes, the other hand still tangled in his hair as he crawled back up your body, kissing you as he went. He was painfully aware that he was still clothed and though the image of you, naked, aroused, post orgasm, beneath him while he was still in his suit was incredibly sexy. He needed to feel you.

Before he could move though your hands were on him, tugging at his buttons and pawing at his trouser zip, pressing the heel of your hand against the firm length of him.

"Please, Mr Barnes," your eyes were wide, that doe eyed expression back, "fuck me."

"Fuckin' hell," it was like his entire body was hard, his whole being. He shoved his trousers and underwear to the floor, his shirt open and half off his shoulders, undershirt rucked up when he pushed you back down, looping your leg over his hip. "You're irresistible, do y'know that?"

You smiled, slowly, and tugged him down so you could whisper in his ear, "takes one to know one —sir." Your hands were all over him, sliding up his back, teasing down his chest. He was surrounded.

Your kisses were as needy as he felt, fervent, teeth clashing as you attempted to get closer, your hands clasping at each other, Bucky didn't bother to line himself up, he didn't need to. As you writhed and arched into each other his cock caught against your soaking folds, he knew when he was against your clit by the high whine that resonated from you.

"Puh-puh-puh-" your begged, rolling against him until finally he was buried inside you, blissful heat and the tight wet feeling of you thrumming around him overtook you both.

"You feel so fuckin' good, could stay here forever," Bucky kissed your temple, giving you time to adjust, for that glassy look to fade enough to know you're ready.

"God yes," you breathed and Bucky drew back, watching your mouth open in time with his thrusts, almost shocked at the sensation and the little punched out 'uh-uh-uh' noises you made. "Wanna stay, missed you so much - yes -uh - just there - yes!"

Bucky dropped to his elbows, caging you against the bed, narrowing his vision until all he could see was your face, feel the puff of your breath on his cheek and smell your perfume.

It was everything, this is what he wanted, what he'd missed, the hollow part of him that was never satisfied before. He'd known it as soon as you'd walked in his office door and he'd been completely helpless to let go of you. You were meant to be here, with him, around him — you were everything.

"Fuck —" he was close, he could feel it building and he wasn't sure if — "sweetheart, I'm so close, god I —" he pulled back, meaning to finish in his hand, on your belly or legs if you'd let him but..

"Don't you dare," you locked your ankles behind him, "I wanna come with you - I'm so so close — oh god oh god — "

He could feel you fluttering around him and, helpless to stop himself, he came hard, flush against your writhing hips he kept himself buried as he twitched, spent, inside of you. He was so happy, so tired, he let his forehead drop to your shoulder where he placed a single kiss.

"I mean it, I don't want to be without you anymore," he whispered, afraid to look at you.

"I don't want to be without you either." You closed your eyes and he allowed himself to just indulge in the feeling of your warm soft body wrapped around his own.

"I'm glad you're here, sweetheart. Do you need anything? I could order take out, run you a bath?" Bucky offered, lifting himself onto his elbow to better view you.

"I don't need anything…although…"

"Yeah," Bucky felt dreamy and far away, he caught your eye and you were smiling again, that low indulgent smile.

"I can't really keep calling you Mr Barnes, can I?" You smirked.

"I guess not," Bucky let out a chuckle, "you can call me Bucky, that's what all my friends call me."

Your smile deepened and Bucky blushed, of course you knew that, he'd forgotten his own notoriety for a moment.

"Bucky." You whispered, stroking a hand over his cheek, scuffing your thumb over his stubble. "Bucky," you sighed his name again, curling into him, tipping him over onto the bed and moulding your body with his. "I like it, I think we need to try it out properly though."

"Yeah?" Bucky said, half listening while he let his hands wander over your back. "How would we try it out."

"Hmm…" You pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips, rubbing yourself against his half-hard cock. "How about — please fuck me, Bucky?" You did your best pout, eyelashes fluttering and breasts pushed forwards.

Bucky opened his eyes to find you giggling as well.

"Yep, that'll do nicely." He agreed, before rolling you over again with a laugh of his own.

[sillylilsquid]

marked by you

pairing - thanos x reader summary - you never expected one night out with friends to shatter you. but after the fear, and bruises you can't scrub away, the only place that feels safe is in thanos' arms. he's not gentle, not always kind...but he's yours. and he makes it his mission to erase every mark but his own. warnings - au!thanos, no squid game, mention of SA, thanos being an ass but trying his best, sexual content. minors dni, 18+ only 4.5k words

Karaoke night should’ve been harmless.

It was just a night out with you friends. Loud music, neon lights, mismatched tambourine rhythms, drinks in different sized glasses, and off-pitch screaming to old pop songs. The kind of night meant to make you forget how exhausting life can be. You hadn’t even wanted to drink at first–but one shot turned into two, and then someone passed you a cocktail that was more vodka than juice.

You remember laughing a lot. Dancing in that small, cramped room. The guys your friend invited being louder than everyone else. You remember one of them offering to walk you home and when you told him you lived kind of far, he said, “you can just crash at mine. No funny business.”

But everything after that gets blurry.

You remember being tired. You remember lying down. You remember trying to say no.

And then…nothing. Until you woke up.

Your clothes askew. The sharp sting of shame sitting heavy in your throat. His bedroom smelled like cheap cologne and stale liquor. Your phone was dead. The taste in your mouth sour. And the bruises blooming like fingerprints around your neck and down your chest make you want to crawl out of your skin.

You snuck out before he woke up.

Back at your apartment, you plug your phone in with trembling hands. It lights up immediately.

23 missed calls. 15 messages.

yo you ghosting me now?

answer your phone

you with someone else?

the fuck’s going on, baby?

at least have the decency to tell me if you are

The lump in your throat nearly chokes you. You throw the phone face down on the couch and stumble into the shower. The water is too hot, scalding your skin, but you stand under it anyway. Scrubbing at your arms, your thighs, your neck. Reddening your skin until your reflection blurs in the fogged-up glass.

You don’t cry until after. When you see your reflection staring back at you in the mirror.

You text Thanos when you get out. Say you’re home. Say you’re sorry.

His reply is short.

nam gyu’s party tonight. 9pm. don’t bail

You stare at the screen for a long moment before replying. i’ll go.

And then you’re standing in front of your closet, yanking out an oversized hoodie and jeans. Something that covers everything. Something safe. You don’t want to go. But you don't want him to think anything’s wrong either. 

The party is already buzzing by the time you get there. Music thumping. Smoke curling through the air. People pressed shoulder to shoulder in Nam Gyu’s massive apartment.

Thanos is already inside when you arrive. He’s leaning against a wall, all black on black, eyes sweeping the room until they land on you. His expression doesn’t change, but he pushes off the wall and meets you halfway.

“You look like you’re going to a funeral,” he says, flat, eyes skating over your hoodie.

“I’m cold,” you mumble.

He doesn’t press. Just jerks his chin toward the bar. “Drink?”

You shake your head. “Not tonight.”

You try to keep it together. Really, you do. But the music feels too loud, the bodies too close. You keep flinching when someone walks behind you. You’re hyper aware of your sleeves and your collar. Of how his eyes linger on you when he thinks you’re not looking.

You force a smile. Laugh at someone’s joke. Try to act normal.

Thanos watches all of it.

After a while, he leans in. “You okay?”

You nod too fast. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just tired.”

He doesn’t believe you. You know that. But he lets it go.

Until you tug on his sleeve and whisper, “Can we go?”

Thanos groaned the second you ask to leave. Runs a hand down his face, annoyed, already halfway through his drink. “Seriously? We just got here.”

“I know,” you murmur. “I just…I don’t feel good.”

He watches you for a long beat. Jaw tight, eyes unreadable. You can tell he’s trying to figure out if it’s bullshit. But then his shoulders drop, and he sighs, pushing away from the wall.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Let’s go.”

The car is quiet. Too quiet. He’s got one hand gripping the wheel drumming on the center console. You sit rigid beside him, hoodie pulled tight around your frame, your fingers wound in the sleeves.

He starts the engine. Puts it in reverse. Then he pauses, shifting the car back into park.

Thanos’ gaze shifts. Slowly. Like he’s noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

You feel it when his eyes land on the bruise just peeking from the edge of your hoodie–the top of a mark near your collarbone you couldn’t quite cover.

“What the fuck is that?”

You don’t have time to react before his hand is on you–firm, not gentle–and he yanks the collar of your hoodie down.

Hard.

The fabric pulls and your body tenses, the panic instant.

His face goes still when he sees them. The scattered hickies painted across your chest. Some deep. All unmistakable.

“What. The fuck.” His voice is low. Dangerous. “You’re joking, right?”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

He jerks back like you burned him. “You said you were at karaoke. With friends. You didn’t answer your phone all night. Now I know why.”

“No,” you say quickly, “it’s not what you think–”

“Oh, really?” He laughs–bitter and disbelieving. “Because it looks like some asshole had his fucking mouth all over you.”

“I didn’t do anything!” you snap, voice cracking.

“You expect me to believe that?” he growls. “What, you just tripped and fell into his goddamn bed?”

Your cheeks burn. Your stomach churns. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

“Then explain those bruises,” he barks, gesturing to your chest. “Explain why you’re acting like a ghost, why you couldn’t even look at me all night.”

“I can’t,” you bite out.

“That’s not good enough.”

The air is thick with it now–his anger, your fear, everything unspoken crowding the space between you. You turn toward the door, fumbling for the handle. 

His voice stops you cold.

“If you get out of this car…” he says, voice tight, jaw clenched. “I’m not chasing you after this time.”

Your hand freezes. Gripping the handle.

You don’t look at him. Can’t. You just breathe, shallow and quick, heart in your throat.

Then you open the door and step out.

And true to his word, he doesn’t follow.

He doesn’t move.

Not when you slam the door shut. Not when your footsteps fade into the night. Not even when the silence in the car gets so loud it feels like it’s crawling under his skin.

Thanos sits there, seething. Jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, knuckles white around the steering wheel. But the anger is hollow now.

What the fuck just happened?

He leans back in the seat, drags a hand down his face.

He didn’t mean to yell. Not like that. But those fucking marks–

Thanos' mind replays it like a loop. The way you flinched when he grabbed your collar. The way your voice cracked when you insisted you didn’t cheat. The way your fingers trembled around the door handle like you were deciding if it was safer outside than in the car with him.

And worst of all–the way you left without looking back.

His gut twists.

Thanos stays parked there for a long time. Long enough for the streetlights to hum like static. Long enough for the guilt to start gnawing through the heat of his temper.

He thinks about the messages he sent you last night. The ones you never answered. The unread texts. The missed calls.

His throat tightens.

Eventually, he throws the car in drive and pulls away from the curb. The empty seat beside him feels colder now.

You walk home in silence, hoodie still clutched tight around your frame. Your head throbs. Your chest aches. You shower again–twice–scrubbing until your skin feels raw. You still can’t get warm.

It’s nearly 2 a.m. when your phone buzzes.

1:53 a.m.

are you home?

1:55 a.m.

i shouldn’t have yelled at you

i just…fuck. please answer me

2:01 a.m.

i’m coming over

You stare at the screen, fingers hovering but you don’t reply.

You barely have time to register what that means before you hear it.

The soft metallic click of your front door unlocking. You sit up, heart hammering.

Thanos steps into the apartment like a shadow–big, broad, still wearing the same jacket he had on at the party. His hair’s a little messy, jaw tight, but his eyes…They’re soft. Wild. Scared in a way you’ve never seen.

“I used the spare,” he mutters. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

You don’t say anything. Just watch him as he closes the door behind him, standing in your entryway like he’s not sure if he should come closer.

He looks around, as if checking if someone else is there. His voice is rough when he finally asks, “are you okay?”

You sit curled on the edge of the couch, arms wrapped around your knees, hoodie sleeves pulled down over your fingers. Your hair’s still damp from the shower, sticking to the back of your neck. You look up at him slowly, heart thudding.

Thanos stands there, staring at you for a long second. Then–

“Give me your phone.”

His voice is low. Controlled. But there’s an edge underneath it–one that could slice clean through you if he let it.

Your stomach drops. “What?”

Thanos takes a slow step forward, hand outstretched. “Your phone,” he says again, firmer. “Let me see it.”

You hesitate for a second, confused. Then you grab it from the coffee table, silently unlocking it before placing it in his open palm.

He takes it without a word. And for the next minute, all you hear is the soft sound of his thumb scrolling across your screen. His jaw tightens with every flick–his eyes scanning your messages, your calls, your apps.

Silence stretches.

When he finally speaks, his voice is different–deeper, quieter. “There’s nothing here.”

“No shit,” you whisper, staring down at your knees.

He exhales through his nose, tosses your phone onto the couch beside you. “So who the fuck was it?”

Your head snaps up. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

“You are covered in hickies,” he growls, taking a step closer. “You didn’t come home. You didn’t answer your phone. And now you’re acting like I’m the one losing my mind?”

“I didn’t cheat.”

“Then tell me what happened,” he snaps. “Because I’m trying, okay? I’m fucking trying not to lose it right now–”

He cuts himself off, fingers raking through his hair. “You left with that guy last night, didn’t you? The one on your friend’s story. I texted you so many times and you just–disappeared.”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice.

“I thought maybe you got hurt. Or maybe…” he trails off, swallowing. “I didn’t want to think this. But then I saw those marks, and you just looked at me like I was some kind of asshole for asking.”

“I wasn’t looking at you like that–”

“I need you to tell me the truth,” he says, and this time, it’s almost a plea. “Please. Just say it. I’m going fucking insane here.”

You stare at Thanos, throat tight, fingerings gripping the edge of the cushion beneath you.

You don’t say anything.

You just sit there–frozen on the couch with your knees drawn up, eyes locked on him like he’s made of smoke and might vanish if you blink too hard.

But he’s not disappearing.

He’s getting louder.

Thanos scoffs, pacing in front of you now, hand dragging through his hair in agitation. “You know what? Fuck this. I come here at three in the goddamn morning because I’m worried, and you just sit there like a fucking ghost. Do you want me to think the worst? Because right now, I am.”

You flinch.

Still, you don’t speak.

He stops in front of you again. Voice sharper now. “You think I can’t see it? You’re not even looking at me–”

“I didn’t want to go with him,” you whisper.

His rant screeches to a halt.

Silence.

Thanos blinks, stunned. “What?” 

“I didn’t…” you swallow, voice paper thin. “I didn’t want to go with him.”

The words hang there. They feel heavier than the walls, heavier than the hours you’ve carried them. You can feel them sitting in the center of the room now–ugly and raw, taking up all the air between you.

He stares at you.

And then his expression starts to change like he’s seeing something different now–like he’s finally noticing the stiffness in your body, the way your hands are trembling in your sleeves.

His voice drops to a rasp. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

You don’t answer. Can’t answer.

“Take off the hoodie.”

You look at him–wide-eyed.

Thanos steps closer, gaze dark and deadly serious now. “Take it off,” he says again, quieter. “Show me what he did to you.”

You hesitate–everything in you screaming not to, not to relive it, not to look at it. But your hands move anyway. Slow. Mechanical. Like you’re watching yourself from somewhere far away.

You pull the hoodie up and over your head. It drops beside you.

And you can feel the change in the room instantly.

Thanos doesn’t say anything.

His eyes roam across your skin–your collarbone, your chest, your arms. The marks are all over you. Some purple and yellow as they begin to fade. Some darker and angry red. Finger-shaped bruises around your waist. Dark spots trailing down your ribs like they were put there on purpose.

He clenches his jaw so hard you swear you hear it crack.

And he just stares–like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Like every second he looks is another second closer to losing control.

The silence doesn’t last.

Thanos rips a hand through his hair, turns away like he can’t stand to look at you–or maybe because he’s afraid of what he’ll do if he keeps looking.

And then it hits. The explosion.

“Fuck!”

He slams his fist into the wall. The sound ricochets through the apartment, making you jump.

“You let me think you cheated,” he growls, turning on you. “You let me sit there, drowning in it–thinking you chose someone else.”

“I didn’t–” you start, but he cuts you off.

“You didn’t tell me.” His voice cracks. “You let me think it was just some fucking hookup! You hid it from me!”

You flinch, guilt tightening your throat. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t–” He stops short, chest heaving, face twisted in something between grief and rage. “Don’t fucking apologize to me.”

You don’t know what else to say. It spills out anyway, desperate and cracked. “I’m sorry you’re upset. I didn’t know what to do–I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want to ruin–”

“He ruined you.” His voice drops into something dangerous.

Your lips press together, eyes stinging. You look down at your lap, ashamed, raw. “Yeah…”

“No.” 

The word slices the air. You look up.

And the look in his eyes?

It’s lethal.

Thanos storms toward you, crouches in front of the couch like he wants to shake you, like he doesn’t know whether to scream or gather you in his arms and never let you leave again.

“No one ruins you.” His voice is low now. Deadly calm. “No one ruins you.”

Your mouth parts. His gaze is burning into you, all fury and heartbreak and something else–something that coils down your spine and makes you ache in a different way.

His hand comes up, gentle, grazing your jaw where there aren’t bruises.

“No one ruins you,” he says again, softer this time. Then, voice rough as gravel: “Except for me.”

The breath leaves your lungs.

Your hands tremble where they rest on your lap. You don’t even realize you’re crying until he brushes a tear away with his thumb.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. “You think I can’t handle the dark parts of you? You think I can’t hold them?”

You blink at him.

“You’re mine.” His thumb presses under your chin, tilting your face up. “And I don’t care how broken you think you are. You’re still mine.”

You don’t remember when you crawled into his lap.

Maybe it was after the third apology. Maybe it was when your voice broke on the words I didn’t know how to tell you.

But the moment Thanos sat back on the couch, jaw clenched and hands twitching with rage, you slipped between his knees, reached for him like it was the only thing you knew how to do–and then collapsed into him.

And he let you.

He let you cry into his chest, his hoodie soft and smelling like him. He let your hands curl into the fabric, bunching it in your fists like you’d fall apart without the weight of him grounding you. He held you–arms steel around your body, his voice low and steady in your ear.

“I’ve got you.”

“You’re okay now.”

“He’s not coming near you again.”

You lost track of time like that. All you knew was the rhythm of his heart against your cheek and the way his fingers traced your spine like a silent promise: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

The next day, you hardly left his side.

Everywhere he went, you were right there. Quiet. Watchful. Clingy in a way that surprised even you.

When he went to the kitchen–you followed.

When he sat on the floor to fix something–you dropped next to him, thigh pressed to his.

When he got up to take a call–you held onto the hem of his shirt, like maybe he’d vanish if you didn’t.

He didn’t say anything about it. Not once.

Just slipped his hand into yours, or touched the back of your neck in passing, or glanced at you like he could feel the pull too.

That night, curled up on his couch with a movie playing low in the background, you shifted in his lap. You were wearing one of his hoodies again–something oversized and soft and safe smelling. His hand rested on your thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles.

And you said it.

“I want you to mark me.”

Thanos paused.

You looked up at him, voice steadier this time. “I want you to make me forget his marks. I want to remember yours instead.”

He stares at you for a moment. Long enough that your heart fluttered in your chest like a warning bell. You almost backtracked–almost took it back.

But then he shook his head slowly. “Baby girl…”

Your throat tightened.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he said gently. “Not when you’re still hurting.”

You looked down. “But I trust you.”

“I know,” he murmured. “And that’s exactly why I’m not gonna touch you like that. Not tonight. Not when part of you still feels like you’re trying to erase something.”

You swallowed hard. It wasn’t rejection–it didn’t feel like rejection. It felt like him protecting you from yourself. And still…there was that ache. That need to feel something else–anything else.

“Can I at least sleep with you tonight?” you whispered.

His arms tightened around you. “You don’t even have to ask.”

A few weeks later–Club Pentagon

Thanos has barely taken his eyes off you all night.

It’s been weeks since that night you first clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you from sinking. Weeks of slow, tender moments. Of healing. Of his hands on your back, your waist, your thighs–but never lower. Never past what you were ready for.

You wanted to be ready.

You wanted him to take you apart with those same hands that held you so gently.

But he waited.

Patient. Protective. Frustratingly in control.

And now? With the thump of the bass vibrating under your feet, and your dress riding just a little higher with every sway of your hips–you could feel the tension radiating off him from across the room.

Thanos was leaning against the wall near the bar, drink untouched in his hand, watching you like he wanted to devour you right there on the dance floor.

You smiled.

And then your heart stopped.

He was here.

The guy from that night. Laughing with a group of people, beer in hand, like he hadn’t done anything wrong. Like your skin hadn’t been covered in his bruises. Like he didn’t destroy a piece of you.

You froze mid step. Your drink sloshed a little.

The music faded into white noise.

Thanos noticed.

He was next to you in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t answer. Your eyes were locked. Adn Thanos followed your gaze. His whole body went rigid.

His hand shot out to rest on your lower back, possessive and grounding. “Stay here,” he growled.

“No–wait,” you whispered, catching his wrist. “Don’t.”

He was already moving toward the guy.

“Thanos.”

You chased after him, grabbing at his arm, trying to pull him back. You caught up just as he squared up in front of the asshole.

“Got something to say to me?” Thanos asked, voice full of hate.

The guy blinked. “Do I…know you?”

“Yeah,” Thanos snapped. “You hurt my girl.”

Confusion flickered, then something uglier. A smirk. “Your girl?”

Thanos shoved him–just hard enough to knock his drink out of his hand. “Say it again. I fucking dare you.”

You squeezed between them, heart pounding, hands pressed to Thanos’ chest. “Please, not here.”

His chest was heaving. Jaw clenched. But when he looked down at you–he saw it. That fear. That ache.

And he backed down. 

For you.

Thanos grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd. Past the pulsing lights, down a hallway near the bathrooms.

He slammed the door behind you both, locking it.

You barely had time to speak before his mouth crashed into yours.

Finally.

The kiss was brutal. Heated. Weeks of restraint bursting all at once. His hands tangled in your hair, yours fisting his shirt.

“You should’ve let me kill him,” he breathed against your lips.

“I didn’t want to ruin tonight,” you whispered.

His hands were on your thighs now, lifting you onto the bathroom counter. “You didn’t. But I’m gonna fucking ruin you now, baby. Got it?”

You nodded, breathless. “Please.”

Thanos groaned low in his throat.

Your fingers undid his belt, your mouth at his neck, tasting the salt of his skin. He cupped your cheek, gaze searching yours one last time.

And then you were on your knees.

He hissed your name when your mouth wrapped around him, one hand on the back of your head, the other gripping the counter behind him. Every groan, every curse, was laced with need. And affection. And possessiveness.

“You look so pretty like this,” he panted. “Fuck baby girl…that mouth.”

It was messy. Desperate. Cathartic.

When he came, it was with a low growl and a string of praise tangled in your hair–so good, fuck, that’s it, baby girl.

He pulled you into his arms after, still half dressed, kissing your forehead.

“You’re mine,” Thanos said again. Quieter this time.

You nodded against his chest. “Yours.” 

The apartment door barely shuts before Thanos has you pressed to it, mouth crashing into yours like a storm finally given permission to destroy. His hands are everywhere–palming your hips, gripping your thighs, sliding beneath the hoodie he’d let you borrow in the car.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he growls against your lips. “Like you want me to fucking devour you.”

You whisper back, breathless and already aching, “What if I do?”

That’s all it takes.

Thanos spins you, walking you backward down the hallway with that dark, hungry look in his eyes, like he can’t decide whether to kiss you or throw you down. When your back hits the bedroom door, he opens it and pushes you through, lips never leaving yours.

“Take it off,” he commands, voice low and feral, tugging at the hem of your hoodie.

You obey, pulling it over your head, bare underneath. His eyes darken at the sight of you–his girl, trembling with need, still flushed from what just happened in that club bathroom.

He steps closer, sliding his hand up your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast. “You’re mine,” he says, not a question. A statement. A promise. A warning.

You nod, breath catching in your throat. “Yours.”

He kisses you again–rougher this time, bruising. Teeth and tongue. He backs you toward the bed and you fall back with a gasp, watching him pull off his shirt, then climb over you like he’s starving.

His mouth is on your neck, trailing down to the places that man marked you weeks ago. Thanos bites. Sucks. Lingers. 

“I’m gonna cover every fucking inch of you,” he growls. “So you never forget who this body belongs to.”

Thanos works you open slow–but not gently. Fingers curling inside you, lips never leaving your skin. When he finally pushes into you, you moan like it’s the only sound your body remembers how to make.

“Fuck,” he hisses thorugh clenched teeth. “So tight. So fucking wet for me.”

Every thrust is a promise. Every kiss, a vow. He takes you hard–rough enough that the headboard bangs the wall, fast enough that your back arches off the bed, fingers clutching the sheets.

But he doesn’t let go. Not for a second. His mouth is on yours, his hand gripping yours, like he’s anchoring you to the moment, like he needs you to feel it.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” he growls against your neck. “So no one ever thinks about touching you again.”

You gasp his name, over and over again, until your moans break into whimpers, until you fall apart beneath him–shaking, wrecked, owned.

And only then does he let go, with a guttural groan, spilling into you with a shudder and a low curse, his mouth still pressed to your skin.

It’s quiet afterward. Heavy breathing, tangled limbs. You’re still clinging to him when he shifts up and kisses your shoulder, gently this time. Like the storm has passed.

“You okay?” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face.

You nod, eyes glassy. “Yeah. Are you?”

Thanos helps you sit up, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then disappears into the bathroom. When he returns, he’s holding a warm washcloth, carefully wiping the sweat and makeup from your skin like you’re something fragile.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, thumb brushing against your cheek. “Even like this. Especially like this.”

You smile, soft and sleepy, and he pulls one of his shirts over your head. It falls to your thighs, smelling like him. Familiar. Safe.

Thanos helps you into bed and slides in beside you, strong arms wrapping around your waist as you press your cheek to his chest.

Neither of you speak for a while.

Until he kisses your hair and whispers, “Next time you see him–I want you to look him in the eye. And know that you’re mine.”

You close your eyes, fingers curling into his side. “I already do.”

[cbeargyu]

rockstar!beomgyu?…

( maybe make him toxic aswell….)😝😝

REVENGE

summary: you never meant to kiss beomgyu. and you definitely never meant to let it happen again. but when the boy you love breaks your heart and your oldest friend looks at you like he’s been waiting his whole life to ruin you… revenge suddenly feels a lot like salvation.

pairing: rockstar!beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: smut, angst, toxic relationship, cheating, friends to lovers.

warnings: infidelity, rough sex, possessiveness, dirty talk, emotional manipulation, light choking, toxic dynamics, mention of heartbreak and crying, jealousy, one (1) very unhinged rockstar, degradation + praise kink, creampie, bruising, guilt turned into arousal, emotionally destructive behavior.

wc: 4,9k

notes: omg anons have such spicy ideas 🔥 i loved it, i just wanna confess that a certain part of this fic is based on real events 💔 yes, i was someone’s rebound… bye 💀😭

you’re moaning into his neck, breath hot and sticky as your body rocks against beomgyu’s, the faint scent of beer mixing with the sweat clinging to your skin. the air in his apartment is thick—too warm, too heavy with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. his fingers dig into your hips like he’s trying to make you stay. like he’s scared you’ll disappear once it’s over.

you can’t even remember how many times you’ve said this would be the last.

“fuck, y/n,” he groans against your ear, voice rough with need, “you feel so fucking good…”

your eyes flutter shut, and for a second you let yourself drown in the feeling—his body pressed to yours, the heat, the pleasure—but then your mind betrays you, dragging you back.

you are riding him like he’s the only thing that ever made you feel alive. drunk on beer and heartbreak and the taste of revenge.

how did it come to this?

it’s blurry now, but you remember high school. back when beomgyu was just a boy with a cheap guitar and fire in his veins. he was wild even then—raw talent, untamed charm, a little too reckless for his own good. he’d get into fights with other bands after shows, bloodied lip and bruised knuckles like some badge of honor, and you… you’d always be there. cleaning him up, scolding him gently, eyes full of worry he didn’t deserve.

you weren’t like the others. you were soft where he was sharp, warm where he was cold. he’d watch you in the crowd like you were the only thing that mattered. he told you once that loving you felt inevitable, like breathing.

but you got scared.

when he confessed, heart in his throat and all, you told him you wanted to stay friends. you were terrified of what loving him could do to you. to both of you. and he just nodded, forced a smile, said “yeah, friends is good.” because even then, he’d rather have a piece of you than none at all.

time passed. you became an interior designer. he became a fucking rockstar. headlines, award shows, rumors, tattoos. but you stayed in touch—occasional texts, quick calls when your schedules allowed it. you never drifted completely.

and then came donghyun.

you met him in college, started dating two years ago. he was kind, at first. safe. steady. you let yourself believe in that fairytale. until the distance crept in. until his kisses felt more like habit than desire. you kept asking yourself, did i do something wrong? did he stop loving me?

the night it broke, he told you the truth.

"when we started dating... i wasn’t sure it was what i wanted. i told you i was over her, but... i wasn’t. i thought i could be, but—i’m sorry, y/n.”

the words split you open.

you cried so much that night, you couldn’t even see the screen when you typed beomgyu’s name.

“are you busy?” “no. where are you?” “can you come over?” “already on my way.”

twenty minutes later, he was at your door.

hair longer now, messy and beautiful, piercings glinting in the hallway light. he was breathing hard like he ran up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. in his hand: a plastic bag with cheap beer.

you couldn’t stop crying. he dropped the beers on the kitchen counter and pulled you into his arms without a word. just held you while you shook in his chest.

“he said he wasn’t even sure,” you whispered later, curled up on the couch. “he said he was still thinking about her. all that time... i was just a fucking rebound.”

his jaw clenched, eyes darkening. “that bastard never deserved you.”

“i feel so stupid, gyu.”

“don’t,” he said, voice low and serious. “don’t you ever say that. you loved him. you gave everything. that’s not stupid. that’s beautiful.”

“why wasn’t i enough?”

he looked at you for a long time, like he was deciding something.

“y/n,” he said softly, leaning in. “that wasn’t your fault. he’s the one who didn’t know what he had. you... fuck, you’ve always been more than enough.”

the kiss happened slowly.

his hand on your cheek. your breath hitching. his lips brushing yours like a question—like a warning. and then, you kissed him back.

soft. desperate. too long coming.

when you pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. “you need to make him regret it,” he whispered, thumb stroking your skin. “you need to make him feel what it’s like to lose you. you need to feel good again. you deserve that.”

he didn’t ask for anything else that night. didn’t push.

but that was the start of the end.

after that night, you distanced yourself.

you didn’t mean to cut him off completely—hell, you couldn’t. it was beomgyu. but something about that kiss left a shadow in your chest. it was supposed to be just a moment. just comfort. just a stolen breath between sobs. nothing more.

you still texted, still called now and then. his name stayed pinned in your inbox. but you avoided seeing him in person like your life depended on it. like you knew that if you saw his eyes again, if he looked at you the way he did that night, you wouldn’t be able to lie to yourself anymore.

and besides… guilt was eating you alive.

because no matter how “harmless” the kiss was, you were still with donghyun.

donghyun, who promised he loved you. donghyun, who swore you were his future.

donghyun… who you later found texting his ex behind your back. joking with his friends about how maybe he should “catch up with her” again. laughing at the idea of her "missing his mouth." and not in a wholesome way.

when you saw the messages, your chest cracked all over again.

it didn’t matter that you had kissed someone else first. you still felt like your soul was being peeled apart, like you were always the one bleeding more. and maybe you deserved it. maybe not. but either way, you couldn’t breathe when you read those words.

still, you stayed.

and then came his concert.

beomgyu’s new album dropped like thunder—critics raving, fans losing their minds, his name everywhere. and somehow, despite everything, he’d put you on the guest list for the showcase. vip pass. no questions asked.

you told yourself you wouldn’t go.

but you went.

the venue was packed. lights flashing. fans screaming. and when he stepped onto that stage, guitar slung low on his hips, hair damp and wild, voice sliding over the mic like honey and gravel—your throat went dry.

he looked like sin. pure, unfiltered, heartbreak and lust wrapped in leather and ink.

you swallowed hard, trying to force your thoughts back into a box they didn’t want to stay in. because there he was—beomgyu, singing like the world owed him something, like the stage was the only place he could be real.

and god, you hated how much you still felt him.

after the show, the backstage buzzed with people. artists, stylists, industry big shots, security guards keeping the crowd out. your small flower crown sat awkwardly among the giant bouquets and expensive gifts.

when he saw it, he smiled.

“you actually came,” he said, walking toward you. “i didn’t think you would. thought you were still avoiding me.”

you hesitated. “i wasn’t avoiding you.”

he raised an eyebrow. “really?”

your mouth opened, then closed. then opened again.

“…okay. maybe i was.”

he nodded slowly, gaze sharp but unreadable. “why?”

you bit your lip. eyes drifting to the floor. “after that night… i got scared. i’ve never done anything like that before. never kissed someone else while i was still in a relationship. it felt—”

“like revenge?” he said, smirking a little. “because that’s all it was. he hurt you. so you hurt him back.”

you didn’t respond.

because that wasn’t who you were.

or… maybe it was. just for that moment.

you pressed your lips together, looking anywhere but his face.

he stepped closer, voice softer. “how’s that relationship going, anyway?”

you hesitated again. you wanted to lie. to say everything was fine. to keep pretending.

but you didn’t.

you told him what you found. the texts. the jokes. the way it broke you.

he didn’t hold back. “wow,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair. “i used to at least respect the guy because you picked him. but now? nah. he’s a fucking piece of shit.”

you flinched, but didn’t disagree.

“so why the hell are you still with him?”

“because i love him,” you said quickly. too quickly. too defensively. “i… i love him, gyu. i can’t just let go—”

his face twisted. “he’s making you feel like crap, and you’re still here defending him. what the fuck is wrong with you?”

your brows drew together. “don’t talk to me like that.”

“then stop talking like you're proud of being treated like garbage,” he snapped. “you sound like you’re begging to stay hurt.”

his fingers closed around your wrist—not enough to hurt, but tight enough to ground you. to make your chest seize.

“stop it,” he said through gritted teeth. “i don’t want to hear any more of this shit.”

you blinked, stunned. your mouth fell open, but no words came out.

“if he makes you feel like this,” he said, voice low and furious, “then break the fuck up with him.”

you stared at him, lips parted. heart hammering.

you wanted to scream that he didn’t understand. that it wasn’t so simple. that love was messy, complicated, that you had history—

but then he said it.

“remember that kiss?” his voice dropped, rough like gravel. “how did it feel? did you hate it?”

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. your face burned. because the truth sat heavy on your tongue.

you didn’t hate it. you hadn’t hated a second of it.

and that scared the hell out of you.

because beomgyu was too much. too intense. too real. and worse—deep down, a part of you still regretted turning him down all those years ago. even now.

but you had a boyfriend.

you weren’t supposed to want another man.

even if that man made your heart ache in ways your boyfriend never could.

beomgyu stepped in closer, his presence swallowing the space between you both until your back met the cold wall. the sharp click of your heels echoed faintly on the floor, and for a split second, his eyes flicked downward, lips twitching.

“you look so fuckin’ good in those,” he muttered, almost to himself, his gaze dragging up the length of your body. the slit in your dress revealed just enough of your leg to make his jaw tense, and the swell of your chest, pressed tight in that low neckline, had his breath stuttering for a moment.

then, slowly, his hand reached up—warm, calloused fingertips trailing up the curve of your neck until they cradled your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheek. your breath hitched the second his body pressed into yours, his heat, his scent, everything suffocating.

“you have no fuckin’ idea how many times i’ve thought about you,” he growled, voice low, raspy, like he was barely holding himself back. “since that night… fuck, y/n.”

his nose skimmed along your neck, lips ghosting just beneath your ear, and then—he inhaled.

deep.

like he needed your scent just to breathe, like your skin was the only thing that could keep him alive.

you shivered.

his breath was hot against your throat, and your skin prickled, hypersensitive, the space between your thighs suddenly aching with heat.

“and you?” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. “have you thought about me?”

you didn’t think. couldn’t.

“yes…” it fell from your lips like a confession. like a sin.

and that was all it took.

his mouth crashed into yours, all fire and fury and desperation. it was nothing like the soft kiss you’d shared before—this was punishment, this was craving, this was everything he’d been dying to take from you. his lips moved against yours with raw hunger, tongue parting your lips, tasting you like he was claiming you.

your hands pushed up against his chest, not to resist—but to feel. and god, he felt good. solid, toned, his body firm under your fingertips. you slid your palms over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of him, the tension in his muscles.

his hands gripped your waist tight, sliding up your back, then down again, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.

he broke the kiss just barely, your foreheads resting together, panting.

“don’t feel guilty,” he said, voice dark, ragged. “he fucked up first. you deserve this. you deserve to feel good, baby.”

your chest rose and fell rapidly, torn between reason and heat, but his mouth was already back on yours—his lips moving, tongue claiming, body pressing harder against yours. you gasped when his knee pushed between your legs, spreading you gently, firmly. his hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it, dragging it up to his hip so your leg wrapped around him.

his mouth moved to your neck, kissing, biting, licking over the spot just below your jaw. “let me give you what he couldn’t. let me make you forget that piece of shit.”

you whimpered. “beomgyu—”

“don’t think,” he murmured against your skin, “just feel.”

he bent slightly, gripping under your thighs, and in one swift motion, lifted you. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, the hem of your dress riding up, leaving little to the imagination. he carried you effortlessly to the nearby vanity table, pushing aside cosmetics and water bottles with a sweep of his arm before setting you down on the surface, stepping between your legs.

his fingers found the edge of your dress and slowly pushed it up your thighs, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “look at you,” he whispered, hungry. “god, you’re so fucking beautiful. you don’t even know.”

your head tilted back slightly as his fingers slid under the thin lace of your panties, stroking softly between your folds. you were already wet—aching—and he groaned when he felt it.

“fuck, baby,” he hissed. “he never deserved this.”

your hips jerked forward into his hand, needing more, and he didn’t hesitate. two fingers slid inside you, curling just right, thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit. your moan escaped before you could stop it, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

“that’s it,” he muttered against your collarbone. “let me hear you. let me ruin you.”

your head fell back as he pumped his fingers in and out, his mouth trailing hot kisses over your chest, down the valley of your breasts, tongue dipping just beneath your neckline.

“you want me to stop?” he asked suddenly, voice low, teasing.

“no,” you breathed, desperate. “don’t stop. please—”

he grinned, feral. “then say it.”

“what..?” you gasped.

“say you want your revenge.”

you blinked, body trembling under his touch, your climax building fast in your core.

“say it, baby,” he coaxed, fingers thrusting harder. “say you wanna make him pay.”

your mouth fell open, eyes fluttering shut. “i… i want it. i want my revenge—”

“fuck yes you do,” he growled, crashing his mouth against yours again as your orgasm tore through you, sharp and hot and overwhelming. your body shook under him, thighs clenching around his waist as he swallowed every sound, every moan, every broken little whimper.

when you finally stilled, breathless and dazed, he pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing your lips.

“we’re just getting started,” he said, voice wicked. “and i’m gonna make sure you never forget what it feels like to be worshipped.”

you barely had time to catch your breath before beomgyu was tugging your panties down your thighs, slow but deliberate, eyes never leaving yours. they dropped to the floor in a silent surrender, and he pocketed them with a smirk like they were a fucking trophy.

“i’m not gonna fuck you here,” he murmured, breath hot against your lips, “not like this. you deserve better than a quick fuck on a vanity. not when i’ve waited this long.”

before you could answer, he scooped you up again like it was nothing, his arms strong under your thighs as he carried you out of the dressing room, ignoring the voices and laughter muffled behind the door.

“w-where are we going?” you asked, barely able to think straight.

“my place,” he said simply. “somewhere i can hear you scream without interruptions.”

you whimpered, burying your face in his neck, and god, he smelled so good—sweat, leather, cologne and stage adrenaline. he smelled like temptation and danger and everything you knew you shouldn’t want… but did.

the ride in the black suv was silent, electric. your dress was bunched up around your hips, your bare pussy pressed against the rough fabric of his jeans as you sat on his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around you. he kissed your neck lazily, like he had all the time in the world, but his cock was rock hard beneath you. he didn’t even try to hide it.

once at his apartment, he kicked the door shut with his boot, not bothering with lights. the glow of the city poured in through the massive windows, casting shadows across the sleek, dark interior. guitars lined the wall. platinum records caught the dim light. this was his kingdom—and tonight, you were the only thing he wanted in it.

he dropped you on the bed, eyes heavy, lips parted.

“take it off,” he said, voice husky, pointing at your dress.

your fingers trembled as you reached for the zipper, but he stepped forward and caught your wrists.

“no,” he whispered, “let me.”

slowly, reverently, he pulled the dress down your body, baring inch after inch of your skin, his lips brushing each new piece of flesh like a prayer. your tits spilled out of your bra, tight and full, and he groaned under his breath like he was in pain.

“fuck, y/n…” his hands cupped them gently, thumbs rubbing over your nipples until they peaked. “you’re a fucking dream.”

he kissed down your stomach, his rings cold on your thighs as he spread them apart, taking his time to appreciate the view.

“this pussy,” he muttered, running a finger along your slit, “doesn’t deserve to be wasted on a piece of shit who doesn’t know how to treat you.”

you moaned softly, but he didn’t give you time to reply—he leaned in, mouth hot and wet against your core, tongue sliding between your folds like he’d been starving for it. he licked you slow, deep, sucking gently on your clit, fingers spreading you open.

your hands tangled in his hair, tugging, hips grinding up against his mouth.

“beomgyu—fuck—” you gasped.

he hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt through you, and your thighs clamped around his head, body trembling. he didn’t stop—he kept going until you were falling apart again, crying out his name, legs shaking uncontrollably.

when he finally pulled away, his lips were glistening, his eyes dark, his jaw set with hunger.

“on your knees,” he commanded, voice rough. “now.”

you obeyed before you even thought about it, dropping to the floor and looking up at him with flushed cheeks, your mascara smudged and lips swollen from kisses.

he unbuckled his belt slowly, eyes locked on yours, pulling his cock free. it was thick, veiny, and already leaking. you swallowed hard, instinctively.

he chuckled darkly. “open your mouth, pretty girl.”

you wrapped your lips around the tip, letting your tongue swirl over the head, tasting him. he hissed, one hand gripping your hair tight as he fed more of his length into your mouth.

“that’s it,” he growled, fucking your mouth slowly, “just like that. fuck, your mouth feels so good—better than i imagined.”

you gagged slightly as he hit the back of your throat, but he didn’t stop, hips rocking steadily, praising you in broken moans.

“gonna fuck you now,” he said, pulling out with a wet pop and dragging you back to your feet. “gonna make you forget every time he made you feel like you weren’t enough.”

he turned you around and bent you over the bed, your chest pressing into the sheets, ass up for him.

he rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, teasing your entrance, and then—he pushed in.

deep.

you both gasped.

“so fucking tight,” he groaned, leaning over your back, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up your spine to your throat. “like you were made for me.”

his phone buzzed on the nightstand. he didn’t even look at it—just reached out lazily, tapped the screen and muttered, “i’ll be late. got something to handle.”

you heard him on the line with his manager, voice casual but firm. “start without me. i’ll join after... yeah, don’t wait.”

he hung up and tossed the phone aside, then grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back just enough so your cheek pressed against the mattress.

his pace started slow, dragging out each thrust, making you feel every inch of him. but it didn’t take long for him to snap his hips harder, faster, your body jolting with each stroke.

“does he fuck you like this?” he snarled in your ear, “does he make you scream?”

you shook your head, eyes rolling back. “n-no—only you—”

“that’s right,” he growled. “only me.”

his hand tightened around your throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath catch.

“this is your revenge, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “so take it.”

his thrusts turned brutal—sharp, punishing, hitting the deepest part of you over and over. your cries filled the room, ragged and desperate, echoing off the walls with no mercy. his grip on your waist tightened like he wanted to mold your body into the shape of his cock, to ruin you for anyone else. to make sure you'd never forget.

“you feel this?” he grunted against your neck, breath hot and heavy. “no one else is gonna fuck you like this. no one else is gonna own you like i do.”

your fingers clutched the sheets, knuckles white, tears stinging the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity. it was too much—his pace, his size, the weight of his body against yours, the filthy things he whispered in your ear.

“i bet you’re still gonna go crawling back to him,” he spat, jealousy burning under every word. “still gonna lie next to that asshole like you’re his.”

you whimpered, shaking your head weakly, but he didn’t buy it.

“nah,” he growled, pulling out suddenly and flipping you over, grabbing your legs and shoving them open. “look at me.”

you blinked up at him, dazed and fucked-out, mascara running down your cheeks.

“you better break up with him,” he snarled, voice low and dangerous, “or i swear to god, y/n, i’ll fuck you in front of him. i’ll bend you over his couch and make you scream my name while he watches.”

your mouth fell open in shock, chest heaving.

“and i won’t stop,” he added, rubbing the tip of his cock against your swollen entrance, “until he knows he lost. until he knows this pussy—” he thrust into you hard, making you sob out loud, “—was never really his.”

“beomgyu—” you moaned, overwhelmed, body burning from the inside out.

“you think he deserves you?” his hands pinned your wrists above your head, cock slamming into you mercilessly. “he made you cry, he lied to you, he fucking humiliated you—and you still love him? you’re fucking pathetic.”

you cried out, the words cutting deeper than his thrusts, but somehow… it made you wetter.

“you wanna be ruined?” he hissed. “you want someone to actually break you? then let me do it right. let me be the one to destroy you, y/n.”

his mouth found your breast, biting down hard on the curve, then licking over it with his tongue. one of his hands slid down between your bodies, fingers circling your clit.

“i’m gonna make you cum again,” he said darkly. “and when you do, i want you to say it. say who you belong to.”

you tried to resist, tried to hold it in, but your body betrayed you. the coil snapped, the orgasm ripped through you like a wave crashing too hard, too fast, and you screamed—legs shaking, eyes rolling back, tears spilling.

“say it,” he barked, still fucking into you through your climax. “say my fucking name.”

“b-beomgyu—!” you sobbed.

he groaned like he was finally satisfied, pulling you close and burying his face in your neck as he came inside you, cock twitching, filling you up with thick heat.

you lay there under him, destroyed—physically spent, emotionally wrecked, your thoughts tangled in guilt and pleasure and fear.

he didn’t move for a moment. just breathed. heavy. hot. his fingers brushing your jaw as if you were fragile now that he had broken you.

“you’re not going back to him,” he whispered.

not a question.

a fucking order.

you lay beneath him, breathing uneven, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the room. your thighs still trembled from the intensity, from the way he’d made you cum like he hated you and worshipped you at the same time. beomgyu hadn’t said a word in the past minute—his face buried against your neck, body still pressed to yours, cock softening inside you.

for a second, just a second, you wished he’d hold you.

but then his voice broke the silence.

“you’re still thinking about him,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. the accusation hung in the air like smoke. “even after everything i just gave you.”

your heart dropped.

your lips parted, but nothing came out. you didn’t know how to explain it—the ache in your chest that refused to go away. the confusion. the guilt. the goddamn love you still felt for someone who didn’t deserve it.

“gyu…” you whispered.

he pulled back, face twisted into something you couldn’t name. anger? heartbreak? pride?

“don’t,” he cut you off. “don’t make excuses.”

your eyes welled up. “i don’t know what to do.”

“yes, you do,” he said bitterly. “you just don’t want to admit it.”

you turned your face away, ashamed. “i’m scared…”

he leaned down, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, your temple. “i know,” he breathed. “but if you go back to him… if you choose him over me again… i swear, y/n, i won’t be there the next time he breaks you.”

you looked up at him, tears streaming silently, and in his eyes—you saw it.

not just lust.

not just revenge.

something raw. something real. something that had been growing since you were kids and that neither of you dared name.

“why are you doing this to me?” you whispered, voice cracking.

he exhaled shakily, jaw clenched. “because you’re mine. and i’m fucking done pretending i can watch you belong to someone else.”

your heart clenched so painfully it felt like it might stop. you could say no. you could walk out, gather what little pride you had left, go home and cry again.

but you didn’t move.

you reached for him.

he didn’t need another invitation.

his lips found yours again, slower this time, deeper—like he needed to pour every unsaid feeling into your mouth. his hands cradled your face as he kissed you like it might be the last time. but it wouldn’t be. you both knew that now.

he slid between your thighs again, cock hardening quickly against your entrance, and this time, when he entered you, it wasn’t fast or rough—it was claiming.

your nails scratched down his back, your legs wrapped around him, and all that tension, all that heartbreak, turned into moans and gasps and breathless whimpers.

you knew this wouldn’t end well.

you knew you were falling, spiraling.

but if this was the fall—

you wanted to crash with him.

you lay there tangled in beomgyu’s arms, skin sticky with sweat and sin, lips swollen from too many kisses, body marked with the kind of bruises that didn’t hurt—but reminded you exactly who had been there. your breath was still shaky, but your mind had never been clearer. there was no room for regret now.

the guilt that once sat heavy on your chest had melted into something hotter, darker—an intoxicating thrill that buzzed beneath your skin like a drug.

vengeance.

it tasted like his lips, like his cum dripping down your thigh, like your name moaned against your ear by the man you were never supposed to touch. and as you traced lazy circles on beomgyu’s bare chest, your eyes fluttering shut, all you could think about was how sweet it would be to see the look on donghyun’s face when he finds out what you’ve done.

because maybe revenge wasn’t just a dish best served cold— maybe it was better hot, breathless, and soaked in sweat.

and god, you couldn’t wait for seconds.

[holyblonded]

I know that azulita has her random facts that she throws like it’s normal BUT what about chickie? She was foster child I’m sure she has some of her own where people are like „girl WHAT!?”

— chickie has a way of saying things so casually no one realizes the emotional whiplash until ten seconds later

— they’ll be sitting around after training, just eating some food or scrolling tiktok, and she’s like “oh yeah, one time my foster brother tried to sell my school shoes for vape money. had to run cross country in my socks.”

— everyone pauses.

— alessia slowly puts her toast down.

— lotte is like, “chickie… what???”

— during a game of “never have I ever,” someone goes, “never have I ever been in a car chase.”

— everyone laughs, until she doesn’t.

— steph just blinks and goes, “no. no no no.”

— chickie, all wide-eyed and innocent, “i mean, i wasn’t driving.”

— steph’s trying to tell a dramatic story about her old neighbor and chickie, not even trying to one-up her, just goes, “yeah one of my foster moms faked her own death for the insurance payout and we all had to hide in a cabin for a week.”

— the room goes silent

— caitlin looks at her like she’s seen a ghost.

— sam texts kristie: we need to talk about getting chickadee more therapy time

— once, when someone says they hate hospital food, chickie shrugs and goes, “some of it’s alright. st. vincent’s had decent pudding.”

— someone jokes, “oh were you volunteering there?”

— “nah i lived there for a month after one of my placements went really bad. social worker thought it was safer.”

— vic is about to cry

— kristie nearly drops her phone when chickie mentions how one foster home locked the fridge after 5 p.m. and she used to sneak packets of sugar to snack on before bed.

— “you ate what???”

— chickie, just sipping juice, “it was that or cotton balls. i picked sugar. i’m not weird.”

— but the thing is, chickie never says these stories to get pity. she just… doesn’t realize they’re not normal

— they come out mid-conversation, like passing thoughts and each time they hit someone like a brick wall. but it also reminds the team just how much she’s been through

— one night, after she talks about switching five schools in one year like it’s no big deal, leah pulls her aside and hugs her tight

— “you’re safe now, you know that right?”

— chickie shrugs. “yeah. i know. just… still feels weird sometimes.”

— “you’re our weird. that’s what matters.”

— and chickie smiles. really smiles and that’s enough for now.

[pamshindouu]

Another piece from last year, I drew this one for the 7th anniversary of Appmon's final episode (and also the show's 8th anniversary just one day after). No Digimon anime has ever made me cry as much as Appmon did, and I say this as someone who cries very easily lol. Haru and Yuujin mean a lot to me and I wanted to convey that in some way, I had a very specific image in mind while working on this and was a little sad I couldn't get it to look exactly the way i wanted, but I think it's still nice enough :')

[maskedbyghost]

arranged marriage with simon. yes i am talking about this again.

simon doesn’t talk much about the marriage at first, but his actions say it all. he insists on carrying your bags, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, and making sure you eat enough during missions. you don't ask him why, but it's clear he's claiming the role of protector, even if this was supposed to be temporary.

he won’t admit it, but simon begins to get used to the little domestic routines. you cooking dinner, him taking care of repairs around the house. it feels too natural, and although he never says anything, he’s already mentally putting the two of you into that “forever” category.

the first time you mention needing space or wanting to stay in a separate room, simon just gives you a look. "what do you mean, separate? we’re married." he’s not joking either. to him, this isn’t a temporary arrangement anymore. if you try to argue, he’ll just pull you close and mutter in your ear, "ring’s on your finger. means you’re mine." and that’s the end of the conversation.

he starts doing small things for you that a husband would—restocking your favorite snacks, making sure your gun is cleaned before missions, and slipping extra blankets on your side of the bed when it’s cold.

after some time, he’s not shy about touching you anymore—brushing a hand against your arm, holding you a little too close when you’re out in public. the more time passes, the more his touches become possessive, like he’s reminding you who you belong to now.

simon is up early, always. you’ll wake up to the smell of coffee, and he’ll have a cup ready for you without asking. if you take your time getting out of bed, he’ll mutter, "c’mon, mrs. riley. don’t make me drag you out." but there’s always a smile on his face.

when you share a bed, simon always pulls you into him at night. no matter how much space you take up at first, by morning, you’re wrapped up in his arms. if you stir in your sleep or seem restless, he’ll murmur, "got you, lovie," without fully waking up, his grip tightening as if to remind you he’s there, keeping you safe.

simon doesn’t open up easily, but after a particularly intense moment, he’ll lean in close, his forehead resting against yours, and he’ll whisper, "don’t care if it was for a mission or not. you’re the only one for me now." it’s not a grand declaration, but the sincerity in his voice makes your heart race.

simon will leave subtle marks of possession on you—his dog tags hanging around your neck, his scent clinging to your clothes, and his bite marks on your skin after an especially heated night. "need everyone to know who you belong to," he’ll growl against your skin, his lips trailing kisses down your neck.

he also has an odd obsession with your wedding ring. he’ll turn it on your finger, kissing it softly whenever you’re close. if you ever take it off for some reason, his brow furrows, and he’ll slip it back on. "keep it on, yeah?" his voice is low, almost pleading. "means something to me."

after a particularly dangerous mission where you were almost hurt, simon corners you in the hallway, eyes filled with emotion. "you’re not leaving me," he growls, pinning you against the wall. "ever. understand?" it’s a statement, a vow, and in that moment, you know you’re his forever, and he’s yours.

when you’re lying in bed together, his arms wrapped around you, simon will sometimes whisper, "mine," into your hair. it’s soft, almost inaudible, but you feel it in your bones. he needs the reminder just as much as you do—that you’re his, and he’s never letting you go.

[madamechrissy]

Do I wanna know?

Pairings: Yandere Gojo x Fem reader

Summary: Satoru Gojo knows as soon as he sees you, he'll do anything to have you, but first? He needs you to need him. Ignoring his friendly offer to let you stay with him to save up for a better place, you soon find yourself kicked out by your landlord, and moving in with Satoru. Every thing seems like it's bringing you to need Satoru more and more... yet he doesn't make a move on you, and soon you start putting things together... is Satoru a stalker?? 9k word count

CW - There are SO MANY lol here we go- gaslighting, manipulation, possessive behavior, stalking, Satoru is so Yandere, teasing and tension, explicit sex, rough sex, face smacking, choking, breed kink, videoing without consent, oral sex (both receiving) trying to baby trap mentions of cum, dirty talk (he calls you a slut a lott lol) and misogyny. SATORU BEING PSYCHO but sexy. It's toxic- Based on this drabble

Comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoy this one! Thank you for 4k followers omg!!!

You’re not sure how you came to be so close to Satoru Gojo so quickly.

It was as if everywhere you were, he popped up in some way, at first you all met at your work, you were a bartender for a pretty elite club, and Satoru came in along with a few of his CEO friends for drinks once. He had tipped you insanely well, this gorgeous man with shocking white hair, and the most intense blue eyes you’ve seen, you couldn’t even describe the color they were.

Satoru Gojo was rich, handsome, friendly, funny, you couldn’t understand why he even asked for your number. You’re a beautiful girl, but he seemed like the kind of man that had women come to him, but not just that, he’s humble and sweet. He messaged you that night even, hoping you got home safe after your shift, and then asking if you’d like to hang out.

When you pictured hanging out, you honestly pictured maybe a date, or something intimate, but it was just coffee the first time, and he asked real questions about you. The next time you all went to a concert he had tickets for, and you had invited him into your apartment when he’d dropped you off, offering a drink to him.

That’s when Satoru saw your shitty little apartment.

He scoffed, walking around while you went to grab two beers, earning a view of your ass that had him shifting himself in his pants, but he was so upset then, he knew where you lived from the outside, he’d watched you plenty, but this? It’s a teeny one bedroom nothing, surely he could treat you much better than that, you deserved a penthouse, his penthouse.

He’d been watching you since that night weeks ago, he could not get his eyes off you, you took his breath away when his eyes had shifted up your body in that slutty bartending outfit. God he can’t wait until you’re not allowed to wear that anywhere, until you’re all his, and oh he knows you want him, he sees the desire in your dilated eyes, how your lips part when you look at him.

But not just yet.

Satoru can’t just fuck you, no you need to be his and you need to stay his, never, ever leaving him, and to do that he needs you begging for him. He needs there to be no other ideas in that pretty head of yours, so he decides to be your ‘friend’. Even when you step a little closer, lowering your lashes, eyes drinking him in when you take a sip from your bottle.

Beer? You should have top shelf champagne.

Satoru can do that for you.

“Thank you so much for tonight, Satoru.” You say softly, a hand trailing up his chest then, he tilts his head, blue eyes assessing you hungrily.

“Why live here?”

You blink now. “Well, it’s cheap and safe?”

“Don’t you make good money?”

“Um… yeah but I have student loans out the ass for my failed creative writing degree.” You roll your eyes and sigh, earning his chuckle.

“Failed? Didn’t pass?”

“No, I did but it’s useless I guess now. I should’ve gone into medical and been a little smarter, but I didn’t listen.”

“Is it your passion?” You nod then, with a little smile.

Satoru can make it happen, surely.

“You could always stay with me.” You cough then, you all barely know each other. “I have a huge place, I wouldn’t mind.”

“I could never impose like that. Don’t feel so sorry, Satoru, I swear I’m good here.” You lean in now, Satoru leans down, big hand caressing your face, tilting your chin up, his look so intense you can’t breathe. Breaths come in quick pants as your gaze hits his plush, glossy lips, imagining them everywhere.

“It’s an open offer, if anything happens. I’ll be…” He smirks a bit, leaning even closer, so close you taste the sweetness of his cool breath. “All gentlemanly and everything.”

“Would you be?” He chuckles now, lips just an inch from yours, your chest is rising and falling, heart thudding at just what his touch does. “What if I don’t want you to be one right now?”

“What’re you asking, sweets?”

“I…” The phone rings now, you clear your throat, realizing you were about to beg this almost stranger to fuck you.

What’s wrong with you!?

“I am sorry, let me see who it is.” Satoru smiles good naturedly, but you don’t see the glare from behind you, as he scowls at the phone, seeing another man’s name. You text him that you’re busy quickly, earning a little relief for him.

“Boyfriend?” You whirl around now, eyes narrowing a bit.

“No, um… ex boyfriend. We were together for years though, even in college, so we keep in touch sometimes.”

Satoru’s jaw sets, and something… changes then, confusing you a bit, as he sets his drink down. “Who broke up with who?”

“Um, he did.” Your cheeks heat up now under his scrutiny. “I’m sure you don’t wanna talk about my ex though.”

Oh, he does.

He wants your attention all on him, and not a bit of that should be for your ex, who didn’t even want you!? How could anyone not want you? Your gorgeous face that fucks his dreams up, your perfect body like you’re built just for him, how sweet you are, and those damn eyes of yours. He can’t wait to see them fucked out, to see you drooling.

Can’t wait to make sure you never text this man again.

“Is something wrong?” You ask now, he smirks, brightening his face so you don’t figure out all his thoughts.

“Nah, sweets, just curious who’d break up with you.” His casual words hit hard, as he brushes your hair back now, leaning in again and you think maybe he’ll kiss you finally, but he just stares at you, holding your face with strong hands.

So strong he could really crush you if he wants, you feel so small in his presence, so overwhelming. Then he brushes his lips up and against your cheek, your eyes flutter shut, your body throbbing with need, but he pulls away after the little kiss on your face, those blue eyes glittering now, he grins all bright and beautiful, casually putting his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I’m off now, enjoy your night, huh?” You blink a bit at that, wondering then, is something not to his liking about you? You’re studying yourself in the mirror after he left, picking yourself apart.

Your makeup is perfect still, your outfit is sexy, you look really good, and you’d damn near been begging for him silently. Maybe he wasn’t interested? Then why did he look at you like that? You sigh now, washing your face and getting down to just your bra and panties, picking back up the phone and finally writing your ex back, then seeing a text from Satoru.

Satoru: Had fun, sweets. Good night.

You: I had fun too… you didn’t have to leave so early.

Satoru smirks, still in his car, watching your silhouette from behind your curtains, gently walking back and forth, he glares when he realizes you are likely naked or damn close to it. He is going to have to teach you some lessons, it seems, because you are already trying to show the world what’s his.

Or will be.

Satoru: It was getting late, did you want me to stay?

You: Maybe I did. Thank you for tonight though.

Satoru: No problem, love.

Love… that does something to you, Satoru does something to you, when your head hits the bed and you’re staring up at the ceiling. Your ex texts you again, but this time you ignore it, thoughts whirling, you still feel the touch to your cheek, having fucked you up more than even being intimate with someone.

Satoru Gojo, who was he really?

*****

“Hey, hey… what’s wrong?” Satoru knows what’s wrong, he is all sweet hugs and rubbing your back though when you are at his place the next week, sobbing against his chest.

“I’m so sorry… I… My landlord just kicked me out!? And I did nothing wrong, she said she’s renting it for triple to someone? I was past my lease, but shit.” Satoru smiles, but you don’t see it, buried against his strong chest as he strokes your hair softly, pleased that you came to him.

You’re such a good girl.

“Oh, sweetheart, it's okay. Shh.” He’s consoling you so sweetly, you pull back, seeing his concerned gaze as you blink away tears, swiping at your cheeks.

“I can’t afford three times the rent? Satoru I… I make decent enough money, if I could just pay you for a room until I find somewhere? I-”

“Nonsense.” He cuts you off, and your stomach flutters when he’s brushing a hand across your back, palm pressing into the fabric of your dress, like it’s burning you with a touch. “You stay here for free, save up money, yeah?”

“I can’t do that, I have to pay you something. It’s already a huge imposition-”

“Have you seen this place? It’s not shit to have you here, won’t cost me anything anyway.” You have seen it, his insane penthouse with a view that’s fucking ridiculous. It’s spotless, only the finest everything all over, you know Satoru’s very wealthy as a CEO but he screams old money too.

“I would feel terrible. Could I cook, pick up?”

“I have cleaners. Cooking though… yeah, you good at it?”

You smile tremulously, wiping your eyes again. “I’m so good! I also could give the best neck massages after work?”

“Now that sounds perfect. It’s a deal then, stay as long as you need, but cook yummy things. As for a massage, we’ll see if you’re good as you say.”

“Swear, they’re magic! Oh goodness, I have to get to my shift soon, ugh… is there a way you could help me get my things? I’ll just leave the furniture, it’s old, I can buy new shit.”

“Absolutely.”

You hug him tightly, kissing his cheek then, he tenses at it, at the brush of your lips, at the curves of your body against him. Fuck he can’t wait to make you his.

“Satoru Gojo, you're amazing.” He chuckles then.

“I know.”

*****

Living with Satoru Gojo, who walks around shirtless is… difficult. Your tummy clenches, mouth gulping the first time you see him, his chiseled perfect body, all dewy after a shower. Towel slung across his neck, sauntering over to you with that smirk of his, so casual as you’re in the kitchen chopping up veggies, he brushes his fingertips across your back, driving you insane.

Shivers slink down your spine when he leans over you, breath against your neck, you damn near arch back into him as he murmurs in your ear. “Looks yummy.”

Fuck.

You take a shaky breath, hands trembling as you then nick yourself with the knife, you wince then. “Ow, shit!”

“Lemme see.” He takes your hand gently, peering at the drop of crimson that pushes out in droplets then, the way he takes your hand even is too much.

Weeks of living together, walking around in arguably almost nothing in front of him, and he hasn’t hit on you, despite his eyes devouring you, like they’re touching you. No he’d smile and lazily trail his gaze, maybe brush against you in the kitchen, give you a hug after work, you’d rub his neck just so and he’d grip your wrists, smiling up at you, to the point you’re losing control.

All you can think of is him.

Satoru loves it that way, too, he loves hearing you murmur his name in your sleep, he’s got cameras all over, especially in your room, and he can even hear you on them. Your little whines of pleasure, he’d see how your hands would move under your blankets, as you stayed as quiet as can be, but he heard your whimpers, your sweet little moans.

He strokes his cock every night watching you, listening, waiting.

He needs you to really need him.

“Just a little nick, I’m fine.” You assure him, then your mouth drops as he takes your finger, sucking it into his mouth.

He’s sucking on your damn finger, hot wet mouth and the lewd images destroying the fragile hold you have on your sanity, snowy lashes lowered as he presses his tongue up on your fingertip, putting pressure. You stand there quiet, but then there’s a little sound that escapes your throat, a little whine, and when he pulls back he smiles knowingly.

He licks his lips, a drop of blood on them, tilting his head as he releases your finger now. “Better?”

“Um… y-yes. Thank you, Satoru.” You manage to speak somehow, your voice hoarse, you clear your throat then. “Clumsy.”

“Mind somewhere?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Another week goes by, Satoru watches you every chance he gets, when he’s at work he watches you on his phone, he’s got a tracker in yours, for your safety you know, when something concerns him. Your daily trips were work, maybe the store, and a couple times a week the gym. But you’re somewhere he’s never seen you at, and it concerns him then.

Where are you?

He zooms in on the location.

Someone’s house?

Satoru’s jaw tightens then, and when you’re home that night, you notice he’s not friendly, or sweet, or talkative. He barely responds as you try to engage with him, and when you go to rub his neck, he stops your hands with an icy glare. “What’s… did I upset you?”

“How could you upset me?” He stands up, looming so tall, you shrink back just a bit, the backs of your legs hitting the fancy grey couch, until you’re sitting in it, and Satoru’s arms are on either side of you. “How could you, sweets, hmm?”

“I… I don’t know? Um…” Your mouth goes dry when he gets on his knees, spreading your thighs, your breaths coming quicker, pussy throbbing around nothing, thinking of him, feeling his long slender fingers on your skin. “Satoru?”

“You’re a perfect girl, aren’t you? A good girl?” Your hips shift, his eyes dart down, smiling as he peeks under your skirt now, a wet spot forming on your panties, he can’t wait to finally taste you, when you’re good of course.

“Good girl? I… don’t know.” Your hands are at your side, his face is right against yours again, your thighs on either side of his body, pressing into him.

“What’d you get up to today?” He asks, all casual like he doesn’t know, as he assesses your body for marks, bites, hickeys. Your body belongs to him, even if you don’t know it just yet. He finds none, making him just a little less furious, but now he feels the plush of your thighs in his grip, picturing shoving them against your chest.

You’d look so sexy in a mating press, wouldn’t you?

“I um… went to grab dinner, then I gave some shit to my ex that I had left from the apartment.” Satoru exhales in relief.

“Oh yeah? I could’ve helped you, love.”

“No, it’s awkward. I was holding onto it, I decided to just let it go, he didn’t choose me, you know?”

“Who wouldn’t choose you?” You lean forward, his eyes dart to your breasts, as a strap slips over your shoulder.

“Satoru, you're too good to me, and why? How have I come to deserve you in my life?” He exhales, adjusting the strap with two fingers, brushing your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps, he watches your nipples perk up under your tank top, furious that anyone has ever seen them.

“Is that all? You gave him his shit?” He tries to hide his anger, his jealousy.

“That’s all.” You answer, and he stands again, leaving you wanting and empty when he’s not touching you.

“Should have asked me to help. I’m calling it a night, yeah?” You manage a little nod, he tilts your chin up as he stands over you, your body reacting so violently you’re shaking damn near, unable to stop the reaction. He smiles knowingly, leaving you then, and you glare at his strong, perfect back as he walks off, giving you a little look before going to his room.

Satoru knew you saw him somehow? You can swear it. Are you freaking out for no reason? Surely he didn’t care what you did, he maybe just wanted to make sure you were okay, maybe he could sense you were stressed somehow?

Then why is there this gnawing feeling?

*****

The next day you’re trying to get to work, and your car won’t turn over. You curse it out, it’s old sure but it’s strong and has a good engine. Satoru had already offered to give you one of his cars, saying you could pay him back later, as if you could ever afford a Mercedes Benz. You’d turned him down of course, and now he’s standing in his insanely huge parking garage, right out the side of your window.

You open the door, sighing as you get out of the car. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it, ugh!”

“It’s an ancient relic?”

“Hey!” You playfully shove him, laughing then. “It is, I guess. But I don’t know why it won’t start?”

“I’ll have my mechanic check it, he’ll love this archeology.”

“Satoru!” You’re laughing so hard then, god he always makes you laugh, you wish he’d make you moan but you throw those thoughts far back.

“I’m kidding, sweets, kinda.” He narrows those blue eyes, his jaw tensing just a bit then as he assesses your car.

Couldn’t be because he took out your catalytic converter.

“Hmm, maybe a dead battery or alternator went out?” Satoru looks at you amusedly, you’re cute, knowing something about cars. But he needs you to stop worrying about things like that.

“For now, I’ll take you to work, yeah?” You exhale, nodding then.

“Thank you so much, Satoru, you’re so sweet to me.” You say later, as he drops you off at work, top down, grinning with those Gucci shades hiding those baby blues, some of the girls from the bar are out front, they start giggling when they see the two of you.

“He’s so hot!?” One of your friends loudly whispers.

“Shh, I know!” Gojo hears you though, grinning as he swipes a hand through his snowy locks.

“Hello, ladies.” He says, getting out then to come open your door, earning the swoons of everyone. You smile gratefully at him.

“Thank you, Gojo.”

“No worries, tell me when to pick you up, mmkay?” You nod then, he gives you a little kiss on the head, and your friends make no secret of how fine they think he is.

“Is he your man?” Your other friend asks, you shake your head then, while Satoru gets back in the car. “Bitch, why?”

“Is he single?” Your other friend asks.

Something makes you sick then, thinking of seeing Satoru with other women, and surely it would happen soon, yeah? He’s gorgeous and can get who he wants, and he hasn’t yet shown he wants you. You peek back at him as he is starting back up his car, looking at your friend again.

“He’s single.” Satoru wants to laugh at you. He’s not single, you’re his already,  you just haven’t gotten where he needs you.

“Why not date him?”

“He’s not interested. Drop it.” You hiss, waving at Satoru, he tilts his glasses down then, the unreal eyes behind the snowy lashes drinking you in.

“Have a good day, sweets.” He leaves a bunch of giggling, whispering friends and heat on your cheeks when he drives off, grin glinting in the setting sun, because now he knows just where you are.

*****

After two more weeks of living with Satoru, you’re at about a month with him, and despite the endless little brushes against your skin, the little touches while you cook, the hugs and pecks on your cheeks, he never makes a move. You moan just a little louder at night thinking of him, wondering then when you’d see him in the morning why he looked so tired.

You’re wondering about lots of things.

“Satoru, do you date?” You ask one day, and he looks at you lazily, trailing up and down your body the way he does, the way that makes you ache with longing.

“Do I date? I haven’t in a while, why?”

“You’re so… you?” He snorts then.

“What’s that mean?”

“Like, gorgeous? Smart and sweet? Rich? How do you not date?”

“When I get with someone it’ll be permanent, there won’t be any dating or fucking around, so I guess I’m kind of picky about it. Why? Would it make you jealous if I brought a girl over?”

Yes, yes it would.

“Oh, no, I’m cool with whatever. It’s your place, I just live here.” Satoru leans you against the counter then, barring you with strong arms, his thigh brushing between yours, he feels it then, the heat that builds as you shift your hips just a bit, eyes darting up to his.

“Wouldn’t mind if I fucked someone right here? Ya sure?”

“It’s your place.” You manage weakly again, watching thin nostrils flare, his pupils blown out as you shift again, and he feels your hot pussy against his thigh, your hands slipping up his shirt slowly. “You like to fuck, Satoru?”

He blinks now, shifting his thigh, tilting his head as he studies you. “You’re asking if I like to fuck?” You nod, just barely, and one of his hands slips down your side, his cock throbbing under his jeans, thinking about devouring your pussy right on the kitchen counter. He already has tasted you off those panties he stole, he imagines it’s even sweeter from the source. “Do you?”

Your cheeks flush, eyes lowering nervously, Satoru tilts your chin up, making you look right at him. “I didn’t like it much, no, but… I like to…”

“Play with your pussy?” You bite your lower lip, rolling your hips once more, waiting for him to break, but he acts casual as he’s ruining what’s left of your addled mind. “You brought it up, don’t be shy.”

“Yes, I like to. Do you… play with…”

“Slutty questions.” He smirks now, backing up, you look in horror as you realize you’ve left a damn wet spot on his thigh, but he brushes it with his thumb leisurely, lapping it off his tongue, leaving you with your mouth open. “Mmm. Have a good night, pretty.”

You’re shaking when you get to your room, literally dying over him, knowing he’s in the next room but won’t come near you is torture, but for him it’s fun. He’s watching you pace around your room avidly, damn near chuckling when you strip off your clothes so quickly, flopping on the bed and covering your face with your hands, pressing your knees together.

He’ll make you feel better soon, don’t worry.

But then, you pick up your phone, earning his glare that of course you can’t see, he picks up his other phone now, the one that shows him every message and call you make. Some guy has been trying to ask you out for a couple weeks, but you’d ignored him, like a good girl. Now, however… you’re texting him back!?

That just won’t do.

He’s so absorbed in staring at your messages, as you smile just a bit, wondering if there was a way to get under Gojo’s cool exterior.

Maybe a date with someone?

******

You’re dressed in some slinky outfit, it hugs your body just right, hitting about mid thigh, a black lacy little number. You step out of your room, his mouth drops open when he sees you, too much of your smooth skin revealed, your breasts on display for everyone who would see, you smile up at him all pretty and do a little spin as he grips his hands into fists.

He wants to rip that dress the fuck off you, bury his cock inside your pretty little cunt and fuck you hard, fuck you so hard you sob those eyelashes off, so hard your perfect hair is a tangled goddamn mess. Teach you that you’re his and only his, that you belong to him, have you cum so hard you can’t form anymore thoughts of ever leaving in your pretty head.

He can’t even speak when you nervously ask, “How do I look?”

How do you look? You look like you need your ass beat, your clit overstimulated to the point you beg him to stop, look like you need to get that pretty neck choked out by his big hands. And that little smile on your face, like you know just what you’re doing to him? Satoru’s teeth click together, jaw tensing now while he sits there on the desk chair looking at you.

“You look gorgeous. But then you always do.” You blush at that, lashes lowering at the praise. “But why so dressed up? Going out with… friends?”

You know he knows.

You hear it in his voice, in how tense it gets. You smile then, shaking your head, lacing your fingers together in front of you as you feel those blue eyes touching your skin. “No, I’m going on a date.”

Satoru’s little facade breaks for just a moment, he can’t keep it up just now, and it’s like you know, you’re being this little brat and not his sweet little thing right now. He can’t wait to fuck the attitude out of you, as hard as it’s making him. “Oh? A date, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s been a while you know.” You step up to him just a bit, smiling so pretty, devious little brat. “A while.”

“A while.” He repeats, voice hoarse, before realizing you’re trying to play him, aren’t you? “Since?”

“Since anything. This guy seems super nice, maybe he’ll… think I’m hot, you know? Be attracted too? We’ll see.”

“Who wouldn’t want you? That’s stupid.” He huffs.

“Oh, is it? Well I’m not everyone’s type, you know?” You blink those damn lashes at him, he raises a brow. “So we’ll see. But don’t wait up for me, hmm?”

“Don’t you need a ride?” He asks, as you head towards the door, grabbing your little purse now.

“Oh no, he’s going to come get me, don’t worry.” Satoru’s hand stops yours on the knob, hard body pressed against your back, your breath catches, quickening now, watching the veins raise on his hand, as it covers yours completely. “Something wrong, Satoru?”

“Just wanna make sure you’re safe, you should let me take you.”

“Don’t even impose yourself, I’ll be fine.” You turn and look up at him, his plush lips just a breath from yours. “Everything okay?”

“Of course it is, you can text me if you need me to get you though, okay?” You exhale now, slightly dejected.

You want him to say he doesn’t want you to go, fuck you want him to grab you and keep you here, he makes you feel so fucking toxic, the insane thoughts making your mind whirl, your tummy coil with desire. One of his hands grips your hip, and you feel his length against your back, your eyes shut as you grip the door knob so hard it hurts.

“I asked you something, sweets.” His grip tightens, you open your eyes again, looking up at him.

“Of course, Satoru.”

“Have fun then.” He is back to being a bright, happy Gojo, blue eyes glittering, letting you go when you ache for him to drag you against him. “Be safe, yeah? Creeps everywhere, stalkers even.”

He’s following you in his car as soon as you take off in this asshole’s car, he tracks your location and finds you’re at some restaurant, he sees you then, up front at a table shivering a bit in your slutty dress. Part of him thinks, that’s just what you get, but another part thinks, fuck this dude for not giving you his jacket, Satoru sizes him up with a flick of his eyes, fists clenching the steering wheel.

You keep peering at your phone, you don’t look like you’re really having fun, what are you playing at? Are you trying to make him insane, trying to make him more jealous than he already was? He was jealous anyone even fucking saw you altogether, he thinks how good it would be to breed you constantly, to keep you knocked up with his babies, stay at home for only his eyes to see.

The thoughts drive him insane, as does seeing this dude’s hand on your bare thigh now, thighs for him to touch, he is so furious he almost blows his cover, taking several breaths as he prepares to rip this dude’s hands off. How dare anyone touch you!? And then he gets it, your text.

Satoru, I’m so sorry, but are you busy?

Satoru exhales in relief, leaning his head back on the driver’s seat, brushing his hand across his face.

Having fun on your date?

Satoru is being petty but he can’t help it, he sees your cute little glare as you poke on your phone, and his hand slips higher up your leg.

Not really. I’ll be fine though, sorry.

Satoru panics now.

What’s wrong?

He watches as you type.

I feel really uncomfortable, could you please come get me? I’m so sorry to put you out like this…

Satoru comes right out of the car, walking across the street now, and your eyes widen in shock, lips parting as he saunters up, grinning and holding out a hand. “Hey pretty, wanna get out of here?”

“Excuse me!?” The man sputters, but you giggle, Satoru wonders if you’re the crazy one here, him or you?

“I’d love to.” You put your little hand in his, following him to his car then, when Satoru slides in however he cups your face, grip tight on you, his eyes glaring and fucking furious. “How’d you get here in ten seconds? Instant transmission like Goku?”

“You’re such a brat.” He mutters, glaring now as you grin, one hand in your hair, pulling, making you cry out, a sound that makes Satoru’s cock leak precum, just from the sound of you. “You did this it piss me off, hmm?”

“Why would you be mad, Toru?” You put a hand on his thigh now, leaning forward, showing more and more of your breasts. “You don’t even want me like that, haven’t you made it clear?”

He starts laughing now, he’s feral, manic in his insane laugh, pulling your hair even harder. “I don’t huh? Then tell me what the fuck this is?”

Satoru takes your hand putting it over his clothed cock now, you whimper feeling him for the first time, hard for you, his breaths coming faster and faster as you go to stroke him, earning his own throaty moan. “Are you jealous?”

“No, because he’s not shit, and you’re mine anyway.”

“How am I yours!? Don’t even kiss me. Don’t even-”

Satoru yanks you to him, slamming his lips on yours then, devouring your mouth, tongue swiping in every inch of it, swirling as he loses his fragile sense of control. You taste so good, you feel so good, he’s wanted you for so long, he’s brutal with his lips, with his teeth, with how he grips your chin so fucking tight. You’re falling apart for him, then, when he yanks back.

His breath is hot on your lips, his hand slipping between your thighs then, you can’t stop the cry that escapes your lips, when he finds you over your panties, soaking wet for him. “This for me, or for him?”

“Stupid- ah!” Satoru pulls your hair so hard tears prick your eyes, stroking you over your sticky panties.

“Watch that mouth, and that attitude before I fuck it out of you.” His whisper and his touch makes you drip down his fingers, you’re arching your hips as he touches you, pressing on your clothed clit now. “So you get this wet for me?”

“You get that hard from me?” You counter, he laughs again, shaking his head at your audacity, slipping his finger under your panties now, finding your bare cunt.

“Stupid fucking soaked, huh? From a kiss?”

“Just touch me, please…” You’re begging him now, leaning closer, lips pressing against his, drinking his moans when he shoves two fingers in your eager hole, stretching you and making you gasp. “Satoru…”

“Do you deserve to cum, after acting this way?” He demands, curling his fingers up in your slick walls, pressing that spot that has your eyes rolling back, entire body reacting to him, dripping down his sleeves, his watch you’re so wet. “Answer me.”

The first slap on your cheek shocks you with the sting that throbs, you glare at him, slapping him back on his pretty face, earning him gripping your wrist brutal as his fingers fuck into you. The car is heating up right in the middle of the damn street, you hear your pussy squishing, hear your cries and gasps.

“Asked you a question, sweets. Seeing your ex, going on a date, showing off this body to everyone? Ya think you’re a good girl?” You shake your head then, and he groans, kissing you messy, tongues drooling saliva, thumb finding your clit now, and you’re close, so close, clinging to him.

“N-no but… please…” He laughs as he pushes you to the edge, sucking you off his fingers then, groaning, cheeks hollowing.

“Fuck you taste even better than your panties.”

“My what!?”

“C’mere, ya wanna be a good girl for me?” You blink rapidly, nodding then, and he revs up the car, pulling out, you are jostled as he begins to drive like a maniac, you’re grasping him, half thrown on his lap.

“Where are we going?”

“Home. You’re gonna make it up to me, being so slutty, huh?”

“Slutty?”

“Slutty mouth.” Satoru unzips his pants then, and you gulp when you see him for the first time, thick and long, veiny cock so pretty, the tip pink, drooling drops of precum already. You stare at it, he feels it as he drives, peeking at you now, grabbing the back of your hair again. “Put it to use, and I’ll let you cum.”

“Fuck…” You have never done something like this, but you find yourself bent over him then, taking your tongue and lapping at the precum on his tip, while he drives with one hand, his other, entangling against the nape of your neck.

“Gonna be my perfect little slut, no one else's, huh?” You nod eagerly, you’re stupid, this man literally stalked you on your date, he’s acting possessive and psychotic, but your pussy is clenching around nothing. “Say it.”

“Your perfect little slut.” You whisper, he moans then, husky and guttural as you suck him in your mouth now, hot and wet, swirling your tongue around the ridge of his tip, earning his hips bucking, cock twitching.

“That’s it, I knew you could behave. There you go, good girl.” You’re trembling, sucking him deep in your throat, over and over as your cunt is drooling, dripping down the panties that are becoming soppy wet and pathetic like you. “Feel that slutty mouth, never gonna suck anyone again, are you baby?”

“Mmm…” You’re moaning eagerly, sucking his cock as deep as you can, he’s shoving your head fully down to where you’re slobbering all over him, tears pricking your eyes, you’re shaking while he uses your throat, your mouth, as your taste his salty precum, shoving it in your throat deeper and deeper.

“F-fuck… you’re finally being good, huh? Bet you wanna cum, bet your pussy is soaked, yeah?”

He knows you can’t answer, he’s loving the choked out sounds you’re making as you suck him down more and more, until he finally pulls up to his house, he pulls you off him, cock glittering with your saliva. He moans, kissing you again, teeth sinking into your lip, tasting himself off your tongue, you’re whining, trembling, he chuckles just a bit then.

“Look at you, sucked it that good? Should I fucking be mad?” He demands then, you gasp at his touch on your pussy again.

“It’s been a long time for me, okay?” You whisper, he exhales now.

“No one will touch you again when I’m done, yeah? No one.” You nod weakly, Satoru smiles now. “Good, you’re so good f’me.”

Satoru’s got you in his penthouse so quickly you’re disoriented, and as soon as the door is closed behind you, he grabs you, slams you against the wall, and kisses you again, hard and desperate. His hands slips down to your ass, squeezing it roughly in his big palms, long fingers pressing in as he takes over everything, making you moan into his mouth.

You can feel his cock pressing against your tummy now, thick and insistent, on your tummy, half put up, his pants unzipped, and you can’t help but arch into him, rubbing against him, tip toeing to get close. He’s so rough with you, so demanding, and it’s making you wetter, making your body respond in ways it never has before, it’s insane what he’s doing to you.

He shoves a hand back up your dress, twisting your panties to the side again, rubbing in teasing circles, as tears fall out of your eyes, looking at them and moaning. “You’re crying?”

You manage a sniffle, fuck you looks so perfect like this, in tears for him, it only makes Satoru’s cock spurt more precum, so hard it hurts, he can’t wait to bury it so deep in you, he’s picturing it as he slides his fingers into your soaked cunt. You moan loudly, you’re tiny hands clinging to him, leg around his hip, letting his fingers fuck you deeper.

“Hear it? You’re so loud, so messy, huh?” He’s whispering, all you can do is nod, pupils so blown out your eyes are dark. “Look at you, fucked out from my fingers? That won’t do, baby.”

You barely register his fingers sliding out of your pussy again, you whine at the emptiness, but then he’s on his knees, shoving your dress up over your hips, yanking your panties off you. He’s throwing one of your legs over his shoulders, bright blue eyes staring up under his snowy lashes, you’re clinging to his hair, chest rising and falling as he places a kiss on your pussy.

“You were so good, I’ll treat you so good, hmm? Make you feel s’good?” You just nod, earning a smack on your pussy, making you gasp. “What do we say, little slut?”

“Please.” Satoru Gojo then his face buried between your legs, his tongue sliding along your slit, tasting your arousal that starts pouring down his mouth. You gasp as he nibbles on your clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending bolts of pleasure through your body.

He’s eating you out like he’s starved, slutty moans from both of your throats, your head slamming against the wall. His stupidly long  tongue is moving in circles around your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you, and you can’t believe how good it feels. You’ve never been with a man who’s so hungry for you, who devours you like this, his fingers making your squelching wetness even louder.

Your hands entangle in those silky white locks as he fingers and licks like he’s always known how to, but it comes so natural, flicking his tongue against your little twitchy clit over and over. Your cunt is so wet his fingers slip, before shoving back in, pressing your spongy spot inside your little hole, all while you’re a pathetic mess, sniffling and hiccuping.

He can’t wait to make you stupid for him, beyond this, beyond anything, can’t wait to own you, possess you in every fucking way. As he sucks your tiny clit in his hungry mouth, he moans against it, looking up and watching you shatter for him. You’re so close to cumming, you can feel it building.

“Gonna cum, please, please-” You whine out, gasping, thighs shaking as you’re too weak to stand, but then he stops, leaving you gasping for breath, your body on the edge, pulsating all over through every vein..

“Beg for it.” He orders, sadistic smirk on a face half soaked with you, as he licks his lower lip, glossy.

“Please, Satoru, please make me cum.” You whisper, your voice shaking, and he groans, shocking you when he yanks you down, you slam onto the ground wincing and gasping as you hit the floor, and he starts palming at your dress, until he’s ripped it completely off you. “Satoru!? What!?”

Your dress is in pieces now, much to his pleasure, all you have now is what’s left of it under you, and you’re naked aside from heels and a bra. “You’ll never wear that fucking dress again, got me? Showing off what’s mine when I wasn’t even with you? Do you hear me?”

You nod then, you should be terrified, but fuck you want him too much, as he shoves your thighs up high, then dives back in, his tongue swirling around your clit, his teeth grazing it again as he bites it. You scream out at the pain, he shoves those fingers back in, three this time.

“Too much, too much!” You’re sobbing out, and he laughs now.

“No baby, your slutty pussy can take it, huh? Lemme hear you scream my name.” He shoves his fingers in so deep and his tongue is drinking you as your orgasm hits you, your body convulsing against his mouth, your juices flowing onto his face, everywhere.

You can hear him, lapping you up, drinking every bit, all while the best orgasm of your existence makes you blind, you’re floating, the only thing that tethers you is when he looks down at you, fingers still buried. He slams his lips back on yours, you taste your pussy on his lips, whimpering and clinging to him desperately, bare as he’s fully dressed.

“You’re made for me, only me to taste, just me.” You just nod, and he chuckles, shaking his head. “Can’t talk baby?”

“You, jus’ you… Toru…” He’s picked you up to stand, before he’s pulling you up against him, holding your naked frame against him, carrying you to your bed now, lips not coming up for air until he’s tossed you on your bed.

“Bra off, now.” He orders, you do as he says, tossing it and then peeking at the camera you know is there, smiling before you look back at him. He’s glaring, unbuttoning his dress shirt now. “Looking at something?”

“Oh, nothing. Do you record? Will you stroke yourself to this later?” He slips off his shirt, leaving you speechless until he’s laying on top of you again, eyeing your perfect tits and little smile.

“You knew?” You tilt your head now, leaning up on your elbows, a hand stroking his cheek.

“Did you like how I played with my pussy in front of it? How I moaned your name?” Satoru’s ended now, scowling at you.

“You liked it, being watched? By me?” You nod again, swallowing as he slides off his pants, yanking off your heels, kissing along the tops of your feet before lapping at your ankles. “You did it knowing?”

“You wouldn’t come to me.”

Satoru’s eyes are on you, you’re his entire world now, his obsession, his fixation. He’s going to claim you, fuck you until you forget every other man who ever existed. He’s going to ruin you, and you’re going to love it, he can already tell when his cock is hot and heavy against your inner thigh, when your hips are rolling up, and you’re dripping down the bed.

“You get off on it, me being fucking obsessed, huh?” You nod weakly, and Satoru has your thighs spread and pressed up, his tip drooling precum against your aching hole. “Then let me be clear, you'll never see or date anyone again, got it?”

Satoru grins sadistically as you weakly nod, whispering a-  “Yes, Satoru.” He moans then, filling your tight hole in one stroke of his huge cock, stuffing you so full you scream out, pussy gripping him like a vise, drooling down his veiny cock to his balls, pooling under you both as his own eyes roll back.

“Feel her, made f’me, just me? Mine, mine, mine.” He’s whispering it like some insane mantra as he begins to move, fucking into your soppy cunt over and over, you’re pulsing and fluttering around him as he pounds your cunt, nasty words spilling from his pouty lips. “My little slut, hmm? Mine.”

“Ngh…” Is all you manage, when he slams your cervix with his drooly tip, leaning up to grip the headboard and pressing a thigh higher, railing your cunt so much it hurts, but you’re dying, drool pooling out of the side of your lips, eyes fluttering, trying to stay open.

“That’s it, oh look at you, fucked stupid already? I’m just starting with you, baby, gonna fuck your pretty mind up till it’s all me.” He leans down, rolling his hips and grinning with his eyes lit up, so dark they look black for just a moment. “That’s it, cum all over my cock, can’t help yourself huh?”

You do then, you’re cumming all over him, muscles contracting around his cock so hard she tries to push him out with the force, so much wetness dripping it’s streaming across his cock, earning his breathy moan. He’s fucking you through your orgasm, your thighs shaking, you are stupid, you can’t form one thought in your pathetic brain as your orgasm waves over your body.

“Aw, fucked dumb? Poor stupid baby. I’ll keep fucking all those thoughts out of your head, hmm? Till it’s just me.”

“Satoru… jus’ you… s’good I…” You can’t talk anymore, not when his cock’s strokes are hitting just right, not when his tip drags against your gspot before bruising your cervix. You’re clinging to him, nails pressing into his strong back, as pulls back, watching your tummy bulge.

“Fucking up your guts, fucking up your brain. S’all me, huh?” You can’t answer, you’re too fucked out, but his slap brings you too, he smacks both cheeks, gripping your thighs brutal, leaving bruises. “Focus, baby, focus.”

“S’all you…” You answer, you’re so obedient, you’re so good for him.

“You’re such a good girl, perfect pussy, perfect body. Perfect face. Haunting my every fucking thought, torturing me.” He shoves your thighs high, pressing them against your breasts, folding you in half and bottoming out, you scream at it, hands gripping the sheets beneath you as you’re stretched and filled so much. “You’re so good you deserve all my cum, all these babies in you.”

You can’t register concern, he’s pounding you while gripping your face so tightly, you feel so tiny as he works his long, muscular body, as he breaks your body and mind with his cock, slamming harder and harder. You hear the sounds of it, the smack smack smack of his skin, as his balls slap your asshole, covered in slick from your cunt that’s drooling down his length.

“That’s it, milk my cock, so fuckin good, you want it, me to fill you, make you drip me for days.” You just weakly cry out, sniffling, tears pouring down your cheeks. “So beautiful like this, crying f’me? Oh baby, you’re perfect like this.”

Satoru loves your tears, your trembling lips, as you grip him so good, he feels it, you’re going to cum again, eager pussy sucking him in loudly, as he fucks you so hard the headboard slams the wall, you’re barely hanging on, sobbing and mumbling. You’re so fucked out it’s cute, opening and closing your mouth, unable to speak.

“It’s all me in there, yeah? Gonna be all me, gonna fill you so good, baby just wait, f-fuck!” Satoru slows then, pumping your cunt full, hot gooey cum sticking to your walls and making you cum right with him as he fucks it further, deeper.

“Satoru!” You’re mumbling his name, gasping for breath as he fills you, all of you, so hot and deep, until he finally lowers your legs, laughing softly.

“Oh I’m gonna have so much fun with you, you’re never leaving me, are you? Aw, can’t talk baby?”

He’s got you flipped on your trembling knees next, burying his face in your pussy, cleaning all his cum out and groaning. “Too much, too much!”

“Taste us together, fuck. Made for me, just me.” He’s on top of you next, prone over you, fucking out his first load and prepping you for another, all while he’s choking your neck squeezing so hard you almost faint. He’s whispering in your ear, breath tickling, hands over your sensitive skin. “Love it, hands around this neck, beg me to cum in you, fill you.”

“P-please… please fill me- ah!” You’re fading as he chokes you harder, spitting and drooling in your mouth, cock wrecking you as he fills you again, his sweat dripping from his skin as he works you. He groans then, hand pressing on your tummy.

“So full of me, but you need more, need no question in your pretty head who you belong to.”

After another load you’re weak, and he’s still going. When you finally wake in the morning, after several loads pumped in your pussy, you’re a mess, wobbling weakly as you step out of your room, thinking of facing him. Would things be different now, was it all passion, in the moment? Was it just sex? Was it more…

You smell something sweet then, inhaling as you slip on one of his dress shirts, you’d gone from fucking in your room to the bathroom, all the way to his room. At some point he had you bent over the couch, at another he had you pressed against the shower wall. It’s like little fragments, your pussy is aching, your experience has never prepared you for his size or stamina.

But you feel deliciously fucked out.

You catch his eye then, he looks at you, exhaling at how beautiful you are, your eyes are a little puffy from crying, you have bruises and marks littering your neck, you’re wearing his expensive dress shirt and nothing else. He feels himself hard just looking at you like this, remembering all the cum he’d pumped you full, wondering if it was still dripping out?

“Good morning, sweets. Get some shut eye?” He teases, winking at you as he flips his spatula, finishing the stack of pancakes he’s made.

“You cook, Satoru?” You ask, throat hoarse from your moans, from slobbering all over his cock and having him choke you. You clear it nervously, earning his smirk.

“Cute.” He murmurs, pulling out a chair for you. “Of course I cook, I just enjoy you cooking for me, so sexy watching you, barefoot in the kitchen you know.” 

“That sounds so…”

“Sit down, you need that energy baby. Last night I know I took it easy…’

“What!?” You blink then, sitting as he plates your breakfast, wincing at how sore your entire body is.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, look at my girl.” The words ruin you, when he leans down, cupping your face and his thumb brushes along your jaw. “Covered in bruises.”

“I am?” You look down and see your thighs, your chest, in hickeys and bruises, red and purple all over. “Oh…”

“Don’t worry you’re not going anywhere today anyway. You should take a break from work, you know.” He chuckles and kisses you. “Fuck I’ve waited so long for you, for you to be mine.”

You are kissed by him then, you eagerly meet his lips, before he pulls back, taking a breath. You frown when you see your phone is over by his coffee. “Is that my phone?”

“Oh, mmhmm. Needed to block any guys, you know, also that period tracker said you’re ovulating today.” You blink again as you sip the orange juice he gives you, nearly choking on it, his blue eyes have gotten even brighter, his grin huge as he watches your expressions.

“Satoru…”

“I threw out your birth control, cancelled your prescription.”

“Satoru!”

“What baby?” He sits you up on the table, between your thighs, your body violently reacts when he grabs you under your chin, his other hand slipping down your breasts. “I know, I should have breakfast first, is that what you want?”

“I… you…”

“Gonna look so fucking sexy full of me.” He lifts your thighs, sliding up the shirt you wear as he sits right on the seat, sliding it up to get a full view of your abused, puffy cunt. “Oooh, fucked her up. Do you hurt, baby?”

“Y-yes… I- ah!” Satoru’s lapped at your pussy now, from your hole to your clit, chuckling as he pulled the lips apart. “T-Toru…”

“Look at her, she’s ready for more, she’s so greedy.” He’s buried his face against you again, and you’re cumming so quickly, he laughs at it. “So easy, too. Ah we’re gonna fill her up more, don’t worry, gotta knock you the fuck up.”

You’re going to protest then, this is insane, he’s crazy, but when you’re getting bent over the kitchen table and fucked again, you soon forget your protests, as Satoru grips your tits and pinches your sensitive nipples, pounding your hole, all you can do is cry out and arch your back. Satoru smiles against your neck as you fall apart, as he pictures breeding you.

He’s got you right where he wants.

And you both know you’re never leaving.

Ahahah this was INSANE, none of this is cool unless it's Gojo, stay safe out here lol. Hope you all enjoyed! (yes all my stories are Arctic Monkeys or Chase Atlantic lyrics loll)

Taglist: @silvarys @strychnynegirl @indiewritesxoxo @alygator77 @moonlitwitchdaisy @cuntphoric @aldebrana @levislug @haruhatake @ninikrumbs @xixflower @star2112 @nanasukii28 @sukuxna0 @naammiii @uhnosav @victoria1676 @thequeenofcurses @targaryenluvs @jinjen @yesdere @shokosmokes @aishi-toru  @labelt-san @chiyokoemilia @makingtimemine @seeing-stars-alt @bunheadusa @alt--er--love @1satoruu @thikcems @plimplimmeiododoi @watermelonslut

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired

(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)

HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333

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Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.

“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“

“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.

“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”

Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?

“Therapy sessions?”

You just- ignore him.

“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“

Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.

He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“

You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.

“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.

Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.

“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-

You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.

“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”

You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.

“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.

“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.

Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.

“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.

You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.

“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”

“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.

You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“

“You.”

You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-

You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.

“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”

And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.

“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.

“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.

“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.

“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”

Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.

It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-

“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”

Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.

Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.

Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.

It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.

Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.

“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.

“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”

Youryouryouryouryour-

Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.

“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”

It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.

“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?

You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.

“Sure. Whatever.”

And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.

You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.

“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.

Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.

“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?

There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.

You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”

Oh.

Oh.

You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.

Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.

It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –

A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.

He never knew he needed this so much.

“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.

Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.  

“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“

Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-

Why?

Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?

There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?

“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-

Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?

“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.

“Spencer.”

The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.

He loves it.

“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.

Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.

You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.

He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-

“You like me?”

You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.

“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.

“You- You want me?”

Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.

…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?

“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”

Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-

“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.

He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?

“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-

“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”

Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.

“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.

Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.

Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-

It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.

A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.

“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.

“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”

And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)

You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.

You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-

It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.

“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.

He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”

ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”

“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”

And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.

“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.

Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”

At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.

You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”

And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.

“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“

“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-

Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-

“Baby, please.”

Spencer sobs.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.

“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.

Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.

“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”

Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?

“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”

He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.

He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.

Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.

“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.

He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”

You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-

And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-

He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-

“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.

You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.

He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.

You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –

“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“

You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”

Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”

He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.

“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.

“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”

You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”

“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.

“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.

Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-

“Please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“More?”

“More what?”

Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.

“More touch?”

Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.

You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”

He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.

“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.

“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-

“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-

“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”

You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”

The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-

It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.

You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.

The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.

Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.

But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.

Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.

“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.

“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.

You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.

You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.

You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.

You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.

When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.

“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.

“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.

You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”

That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.

“Words, angel.”

“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”

You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”

He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.

There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.

You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.

Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.

When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”

“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.

It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.

Probably the first reason.

He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.

Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-

“Take it off?”

You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”

Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.

Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.

Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.

He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-

“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.

You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.

Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.

“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”

Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.

Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.

Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.

Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.

Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-

fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-

You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-

“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”

It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-

He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.

“Yes, I want. Please.”

You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”

Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.

“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.

“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).

There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”

Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”

You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"

Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-

“Yes. That.”

“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.

“Rossi? Rossi?”

“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”

Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.

He adores you with every fibre of his being.

“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”

And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”

You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.

Ah well. It was still worth it.

“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.

But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.

“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.

“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.

“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”

Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-

He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.

With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.

He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-

“You ready, baby?”

He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“

“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.

It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.

You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”

He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.

“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.

“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.

You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.

That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.

“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”

He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-

“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”

The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.

“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”

Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-

You give a particularly hard thrust and-

Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.

He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.

“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.

“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-

“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.

You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”

“Killing me with sex?”

“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”

He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.

“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”

Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.

“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”

He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.

Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-

“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”

He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-

“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.

“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”

Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”

You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”

Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?

“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.

You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”

“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.

There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.

--

Bonus

“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”

Spencer chokes on his coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”

Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.

“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”

Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a

i hope these work lmao, also let me know if you wanna be on my eternal tag list for any future Spencer fic ;)

[lilianne-tarot]

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⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE I

Cards Pulled: king of swords, knight of cups reversed, king of pentacles, the sun, the tower, 2 of swords

This spread is literally chef’s kiss, like, it starts cute, dips into delulu, explodes your world, then somehow ends up in wholesome husband material land?? I’m SCREAMING. Okay.

Right off the bat, you’re gonna think this person is cold. PERIOD. I’m sorry, but King of Swords as the first card, this ain’t some gushy softie sliding into your DMs with heart emojis and “wyd baby.” Nah, theyre giving emotionally disciplined, calculating, and “I only let three people see the real me and you’re not on the list… yet. YET” they might come across lowkey intimidating at first, like, the kind of person who’s quiet in group settings but throws out that one sarcastic comment that’s so sharp it makes everyone laugh and feel personally attacked. 😭💀

BUT TRUST ME, they’re watching you. Like… a hawk. They’re the type who is taking mental notes on your coffee order, your laugh patterns, the way you furrow your brows when you’re deep in thought, stuff even you don’t know you do. But honesty love….. they’re into you from day one, but they plays it off like he’s unbothered. Classic King of Swords move. Strategic af. Theyre lowkey fighting himself. Like, internally they got this soft, romantic, borderline poetic thing brewing, he fantasizes about running into you by “accident,” planning the most aesthetic dates, imagining you in his hoodie😭but he’s actively repressing it. Because vulnerability? He’d rather eat glass, thanks. He doesn’t want to be obvious. He’s convinced if he lets on how deep he’s feeling this, he’ll lose the upper hand or get hurt. So what does he do instead? Weird passive-aggressive things. Acts uninterested one minute, then gives you eyes across the room like he’s trying to telepathically undress your soul the next. Sir. Pick a lane. He doesn’t chase, he builds. He slowly starts showing up for you in the most tangible, grounded ways. Need help with something? He’s already on it. Mentioned your favorite snack in passing? It just “randomly” appears next time. The way this man provides?? You’ll be SHOOK. He’s not flashy about it either. He’s like, “I got you” and means it. That’s when you start going: “Wait… are they… serious?” Because once this person is IN, he is IN. Like, no games, no pullbacks. Suddenly it’s "have you eaten?" and "text me when you get home" and "do you want me to fix that thing?." Husband mode activated. 

BUT THEN. Omg. THE TOWER. 😭 Baby this is where it goes OFF. Something will shift drastically. And honestly, You might be the one who triggers it, ofc we are talking about you here so. Like maybe you call him out for his hot-and-cold vibe, or you walk away ‘cause you’re done playing Guess Who: Feelings Edition™. Whatever it is, it SHATTERS his cool-boy facade. The Tower is giving “omg I fumbled” realness. He suddenly realizes how much he could lose and spirals. Might even go quiet for a second, lick his wounds, have a whole emotional breakdown. But then… boom. THE SUN. This is where the magic happens. The pursuit becomes warm, honest, and loud. He stops hiding. He owns it. Like, “Yeah, I like you. Actually, I love you. Actually, I wanna grow old with you and argue about what brand of detergent we’re using.” You’ll feel seen, adored, and finally safe in this connection. It’s that post-breakdown glow-up. He starts expressing himself clearly, no longer scared to let you in.

But now. Girl. YOU are gonna be the one hesitating now 😭. That Tower moment hits you, too. You start overthinking: “Can I trust this sudden 180? Was he always this into me and just hiding it? Do I want someone who couldn’t be vulnerable from the start?” Like, your brain starts weighing everythings. And that’s valid! It’s hard to unsee someone’s walls once you’ve bumped into them. So how do you perceive him throughout this journey? At first, cold and confusing af. Then… weirdly magnetic. Then dependable and lowkey daddy-coded. Then chaotic and heartbreak-y. Then sunshine and deeply, deeply sincere. You’ll feel like you’re watching him peel back layer after layer, and each one gets softer, realer, and more him.

His hints would be subtle but intentional. He remembers small things. He lingers a bit longer in conversations than necessary. He suddenly shows interest in the things you love, even if they weren’t his vibe before. He gives you those “you’re the only person in this room I care about” eyes. He’ll NEVER say it first… until he breaks. And when he does? You’re done. Stick a fork in you. Soul snatched. Game over.

I am seeing like he might dream about you before things really pop off. He might tell you later like ,“I had this weird dream we were married lol” and laugh it off, but internall,y he’s BLUSHINGGG because the dream felt real. Also… idk why I’m seeing like… rain or some stormy weather being important??? Maybe the Tower moment literally happens during a stormy day and you both cry under the rain like a movie scene? (i mean…..idc… if i am getting me personal main character moment. It’s all part of the process, i guess💁🏻‍♀️).

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⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE II

Cards Pulled: the tower, king of wands, 5 of pentacles, queen of cups, 8 of pentacles, 10 of pentacles

PILE 2, Okay but… why does this feel like a well written kdrama with 16 episodes??? I mean i could literally make a movie out of this pile 😭 my reaction to the cards were literally: oh, OH, ahh—, TF, Oh. My. GOD.😭 

The drama. The rawness. The "I didn’t see this coming, but now I literally can’t look away" energy is off the charts. And I’m already obsessed. So let’s talk about how this chaotic yet painfully magnetic future spouse of yours is about to come stomping into your world like they own the place, with all their trauma and broken broken parts and this weirdly hot charisma that shouldn’t be attractive but is. And somehow?? You fall for it. But like… respectfully 😭.

this person doesn’t approach you like your average person in love would do. No flowers and shy glances. Nope. It’s giving, "I just burnt my life down and now I’m rebuilding from scratch and oh look, you’re here too," vibes. Like you know when someone walks into a room and they don’t say much but their energy is SCREAMING "I’ve been through the trauma you couldn't even imagine"? That’s them. Tower card energy straight up. Something’s just collapsed in their life—could be a major breakup, a career flop, family drama, or literally an existential crisis. Honestly? Feels like all three, let’s not lie 💀. But instead of moping around, this person grabs that chaos and turns it into… ambition. Swagger. Power. This is someone who knows how to lead. They pursue you like they’re chasing their next purpose. With intention. With clarity. And this lowkey intimidating confidence that says “I know what I want, and it’s you.” But let’s not pretend it’s smooth sailing here. Bc 5 of Pentacles? Babe. This person has been abandoned, emotionally iced out, or felt major rejection in the past. Like it’s giving "I’ve loved and I’ve lost and now I trust NO ONE but my dog”. And because of that, Their way of pursuing you is… messy. Not in a manipulative way, but in that "I’m trying to be a lover while still patching up my own wounds" type of mess. So expect mixed signals. Hot and cold. Deep talks followed by withdrawal. And you’re gonna be like, “Sir?? Do you like me or do you need therapy??” honestly: it’s both 😭.

Queen of Cups as the next card is where things get interesting. You. Literally you. You're intuitive AF, emotionally intelligent, and probably catch onto their emotional damage in the first week and are like “Yup. You’re hurt. But I see the softie under all that wreckage.” And here's where it gets wild: they know you see it. That’s what makes them pursue harder. You’re the first person who doesn’t just want them for their outer confidence and King of Wands hotness, you want to know their soul. Their weird inner child. Their guilt. Their hidden sadness. And that?? That shakes them. In a good way. You start noticing little things. Like how they’ll work on themselves just to be better for you. They start showing up. Maybe it’s slow, but you’ll see them trying, healing their abandonment issues, learning to communicate, showing effort in tangible ways. Like planning little dates, asking how your day was (and ACTUALLY listening….woah rare, ngl), sharing parts of their past without you asking. They might even pick up new skills or hobbies because you like them. A little "if she likes books, I read books now" moment?? 😭😭 Despite how mature and scarred and big-boss they may appear, at their core, they’re a newbie when it comes to actual healthy love. Like yeah, they’ve loved before. But not YOU kind of love. Not “you see me even when I’m not performing” kind of love. And that humbles the hell out of them. They're awkward about it. Like, "I wanna give you the world but I also don’t know how to wrap a gift box correctly." 😭 It’s so endearing, you can’t help but melt. They pursue you like someone relearning love from scratch—and you become their soft place to land. They’ll stumble. They’ll overthink. But babe, they’ll try. And that’s what makes them fall harder. Because this ain’t about seduction. It’s about growth. They're not gonna outright confess their feels in the beginning. It’s gonna be hidden in acts of service. Like fixing your broken lamp. Or sending you a meme with a weird caption like, "reminds me of u" Or casually saying “I don’t talk to many people like I do with you,” and then acting like it wasn’t a full-on emotional proposal. Their love language is subtle till it’s not, okay?? But your intuitive self picks up on every damn sign, and you’ll know before they even open their mouth. That’s the connection here, psychic soulmate level. You’ll feel their love way before it’s said.

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⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE III

Cards Pulled: king of wands, 3 of cups, knight of swords reversed, the devil, 8 of cups, the star

OKAY, PILE 3 is here and… GIRL this pile has such strong, “Dark romance” vibes and also that “enemies to lovers but we’re obsessed with each other” trope energy like NO OTHER 😮‍💨🔥. Your future spouse? It’s that person who shows up outta nowhere and instantly throws your life into disarray because the connection is too much, too fast, too real. They pursue you like they’ve waited lifetimes to find you and now that you’re finally here, they’re not gonna risk losing you—even if it means accidentally traumatizing you with their intensity first 😭.

So let’s start with the vibe of this person, okay? Immediately I’m seeing someone who is dominant AF in presence, the type of person where the second they walk into a room, your attention shifts without your permission. But they’re not all flash and no depth, this person has that charismatic, “traumatized but make it aesthetic” confidence LOL. Think: the guy who’s lowkey too cool for everyone but gets soft for you 🫠. But it’s not just charm. It's calculated. They choose to pursue you. Like, they spotted you from across the damn soul contract timeline and were like, “Yep. That one. Mine.” LMAO.

Here’s where it gets juicy though, this person doesn’t make their pursuit clean or safe. We’ve got the Knight of Swords reversed mixed with The Devil and 3 of Cups… BABY. I’m not gonna lie, their approach is gonna have you shook. This isn't some slow-burn "lemme get to know you" type of chase. Nah, it’s giving intoxicated obsession. Like they’re coming at you way too fast, might say things they haven’t thought through (hello chaotic confessions??), maybe even making moves when you’re like “Wait… tf is happening?!” . And I SWEAR this person gives off the vibe of someone who might try to "just be friends" first… but they absolutely fail at it. Like... you’re not slick, sir. The way they look at you? Not very "friendly." More like "I wanna pin you to the wall in a meaningful way." 😭 it’s like you look into their eyes once aand you are going inot their crib TONIGHT. 

BUT. Their pursuit of you isn’t just lusty and impulsive, it’s coming from a place of deep yearning and soul ache. You’re literally the star they’ve been trying to find after walking away from a bunch of superficial crap. I’m getting that they’ve already been through a lot emotionally, they’ve had to let go of people, addictions (literal or emotional), maybe even success that wasn’t fulfilling. So while their approach is messy and extra (like “sir pls chill”), it’s coming from a place of craving real healing, real light, REAL connection. And guess what? That’s what you are to them. Their fkn North Star. And trust me, they don't even realize it at first, like they’re thinking they’re chasing a thrill, but gets, spiritual awakening outta nowhere. Bestie… you’re gonna think they’re too much. 😂 Straight up. You’ll be like “This person is hot, sure……but wtf is this energy??” It’ll feel like you’re constantly trying to decide between “should I kiss them or block them?” Energy chaotic AF. You’ll clock them trying to play it cool, but their eyes? Screaming "I'm feral for you." It’s also possible they’ll show up when you’re trying to move on from someone/something else, and you’ll be hesitant because you’re finally healing, vibing, living in peace, and here comes this walking temptation in human form, knocking on your aura like “hey 😏.” i mean really this emoji is the perfect example of how i am imagining this person.  There’s definitely a karmic undertone here, like you two have danced this dance before in past lives but it was let uncompleted. So now, they're NOT playing around. And the way The Star closes the reading? OOF. After all the chaos, the push/pull, the temptation, and messy little love games… they want peace with you. You are the peace. The wish. The endgame. But it’s not gonna come pretty.

Okay so their hints are not actually hints. They’ll accidentally drop the biggest signs , forgetting they’re supposed to pretend. They’ll joke about being obsessed with you? Deadass. They’ll mention you in every convo “by accident.” They might post quotes on their stories or make weird comments like “If I ever fall in love, it’ll be someone like you” 🙄, SIR. STOP. WE SEE YOU.  The 3 of Cups energy is also giving “I’ll use mutual friends to get close to you,” like casually showing up at a party where you just happen to be?? Please.And listen, not everything will be smooth sailing. That Devil energy is LOUD. There will be moments where you’ll wonder if you’re drawn to them because it’s fated… or because it’s toxic. But that’s part of the growth arc. They’re not here to ruin your life, they’re here to crack your heart open with messy hands. And once they realize that they can’t control you? That’s when the real magic starts. That’s when they fall so damn hard, they start building a whole new version of themselves just to be worthy of your light.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog—it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[kingkaisen]

“You Want to Adopt Me?”

♡ — SUMMARY: You & GOJO decide to adopt Yuji & Megumi.

♡ — A/N: This is a continuation of my dad!gojo au, but reading the other parts isn’t necessary.

♡ — WC: 2k

Four hours had passed since the glorious moment in which Yuji discovered that his beloved teacher had a wife and daughter.

And, after having dinner with all of you that evening, he never wanted to leave.

Walking home that night — all alone, with no family around who would care whether or not he was safe — was one of the most difficult things he had to do. It made curse fighting seem like child’s play.

It was so utterly painful; he fought to hold back a tear as he walked down the sidewalk, staring at his shoes, which he could only see thanks to the dim streetlights.

Truth be told, he hated himself for getting so emotional over this.

Most, if not all of his friends were just as lonely as he was. Most of them didn’t sit at a dinner table and gobble down a nice warm meal with a loving family.

Most of them didn’t have a mother to hug them, or a father to cheer them up. And, if their parents were still around, they were probably distant and unloving.

Even so, it didn’t change the fact that having a family was, perhaps, the one thing Yuji truly wanted.

He just wanted to be loved.

The ache in his heart was so incredibly strong. The pain shot throughout his chest, through his veins, and down to his fingertips.

“Why am I so emotional? I can’t cry over this,” Yuji thought. “This isn’t something worth crying over.”

An unwavering lump in his throat formed from his attempts at holding back a cry.

That was when his footsteps came to a halt.

What was the point in rushing back to his lonely, isolating room at the school?

No one was waiting for him. He could go anywhere he wanted, and no one would truly miss him.

People would look for him, but mainly because of their obligation as sorcerers to track down Sukuna’s vessel. Nothing more.

Some people would actually prefer it if Yuji did disappear. And a few people were honest enough to tell him that to his face.

As he stood there, in the dark, alone on the sidewalk on such a cold night, he couldn’t help but wonder if his friends would secretly be happy if he did somehow vanish into thin air.

Maybe loneliness was destined for him. Maybe everyone would feel safer if he didn’t return to the school. Maybe-

“Hey, Yuji!”

Gojo’s voice startled the young boy, who instantly turned around to see his teacher approaching him, his hands in his pockets. “You didn’t make it too far — good.”

“Is everything okay?” Yuji asked.

Gojo could hear the sadness in his voice, but he decided not to comment on it. After all, he knew exactly why his student was upset. He didn��t have to be a genius to figure it out.

“Yeah, listen,” Gojo paused, “it’s pretty cold and dark out here. Why don’t you come back to my house and stay the night? We can both head back to the school in the morning.”

For a moment, Yuji felt a spark of happiness, but that spark quickly fizzled out.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Yuji frowned. “I’m a vessel. I’m dangerous. Having me sleep in the same house as your wife and kid would be-”

“Would be fine,” Gojo interrupted. “Nothing bad is going to happen, Yuji. Me and Y/N both know that you’re a vessel, and we want you to come anyway.”

Yuji didn’t respond. Nor did he move an inch. Gojo spoke once again.

“She wants to make you pancakes in the morning,” he said in a tempting tone. “Homemade too. The kind that has the crispy edges, but are very soft and fluffy at the same time? We have syrup and butter — orange juice as well. Or do you prefer apple juice? We have both, either way. Not to mention, the bed in our guest bedroom is bigger and way more comfortable than the one at the school-“

“Okay!” Yuji suddenly smiled happily, and it was a real, genuine grin.

He quickly rushed past Gojo, making his way back to your warm, cozy home eagerly.

—

Seven months later, Yuji visited your home as often as he could. Sometimes, Megumi would tag along with him, as the dark-haired boy secretly craved a connection with a loving family too, even if he’d never admit it.

On this particular day, Megumi was lying on the couch, covered in blankets as he watched a movie about two princesses going on some sort of adventure.

Megumi was injured during his last mission, and thanks to the chilly weather, he was also catching a bit of a cold as well. You insisted upon taking care of him, but your daughter insisted that making him watch Barbie movies all afternoon would make him feel better.

As the two of them watched the movie together, you were in the kitchen, standing over your wooden cutting board as you chopped up carrots, onions, and celery.

Yuji hovered over the sink, washing the dishes.

“I want you to have some soup as well, Yuji. You could catch a cold any day now.”

“Yes ma’am,” Yuji said, scrubbing a plate as he smiled softly. “I really appreciate it.”

Suddenly, the front door opened, and Gojo walked in, shouting casually, “I’m home, everyone!”

Quick, soft footsteps could be heard pattering against the floor as your daughter ran up to Gojo, holding her arms out.

“Daddy! You’re home!” She giggled as he lifted her.

“I’ve missed my little muffin so much,” tickling her, he said, “did you have a good day? I think my little girl has grown a couple of inches since I last saw her this morning! Did she grow? Hm?”

The sound of your daughter’s laughter made Gojo smile brightly.

As he held her, he walked into the living room and ruffled Megumi’s hair.

“Cut it out,” the teenager frowned.

“Good to see you too,” Gojo paused, pressing the back of his hand against Megumi’s forehead. “You’ve cooled down a little since this morning, that’s good. I’ll give you some more medicine later on, okay?”

“Okay,” Megumi mumbled.

Gojo slowly put his daughter down. “I’m gonna go say hi to Mom, okay? Keep an eye on Megumi for me.”

“Okay!” Your daughter happily replied. “I can keep an eye on Meg-mi!”

When Gojo made his way into the kitchen, ruffling Yuji’s hair as the boy walked passed him on his way to join Megumi and your daughter in the living room, you instantly stopped chopping your vegetables.

You wrapped your arms around your husband’s neck.

“Hi baby,” he greeted, kissing your lips softly. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” with a smile, you looked into his eyes. “Did you have a good day? Kill any curses?”

“I had a great day. Didn’t kill any curses, though. I was just stuck in a bunch of meetings with the higher-ups,” Gojo said softly, his face only inches from yours, his hands on your hips. “What’s on your mind? You have that look in your eyes.”

“Well,” you paused. “I know they’re teenagers, and they’re very strong and independent, but . . . I can’t help but feel protective over those boys. I love them both like they’re my own. Last week, Yuji accidentally called me mom. He was just so excited when he saw the new clothes I got him for winter, and it slipped out. And it just made me think that, well . . . Maybe he should be able to call me mom. Both he and Megumi. I wanna adopt them.”

Gojo was silent for a moment, which made you frown a bit in worry. Suddenly, he kissed your pouty lips. It was a soft, passionate kiss — one that told you just how much he loved you.

“I think that’s a great idea,” he mumbled against your lips once he pulled away.

“I just think that those boys deserve a place to call home, and that school certainly isn’t it, especially when the people who run it don’t care about their lives at all. It’s just horrible.” Your frown deepened. “And we have more than enough room here, too. We can keep them safe and happy.”

“Let’s go tell them.”

—

Yuji, Megumi, and your daughter were all sitting in the living room, enjoying each other’s company.

The sight of it only confirmed that you and Gojo were making the right decision.

“Hey, we need to talk to you three,” Gojo said.

Megumi grabbed the remote, switching off the television as he struggled to sit upright.

“What’s going on?” Yuji asked, sitting on the floor as your daughter sat down beside him.

“Well, we noticed that you and Megumi have been spending a lot of time here recently.”

Gojo’s words sent an all too familiar heartache through Yuji’s chest. He frowned sadly.

“They’re about to tell me to go away,” Yuji thought. “I knew this wouldn’t last.”

“Me and Gojo decided that it would be best for-”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I get it. I can leave.” Yuji suddenly cut you off, trying his best to hide his pain behind a smile. Slowly, he started to get up, and your daughter grabbed ahold of his pants leg, looking up at him sadly. “I’m sorry if I was a bother. Thanks for everything.”

“Woah, Yuji, where are you going?” You called out, watching the teenager head for the front door.

“Yuji, stop,” Gojo stood up from his seat.

Yuji, who was almost out of the living room, instantly stopped walking. But he didn’t turn back around.

Quiet sniffles could be heard. No matter how hard he fought, or how much he had been through, he wasn’t strong enough to hold back his tears.

The pain of feeling unwanted was simply too great.

He tried to wipe his tears away quickly and silence his little sobs, as he didn’t want to make you and Gojo feel guilty for not wanting a dangerous vessel like him around.

Slowly, Gojo approached his crying student. “Yuji, you have it all wrong. We don’t want you to go anywhere.”

Yuji didn’t respond.

Gojo placed a comforting hand on the crying boy’s head.

“Me and Y/N are going to adopt you,” Gojo smiled. “Looks like you’re my son now.”

“We wanna adopt you too, Megumi,” you said, smiling at the stunned teenager. “We want you to be our son too.”

“I don’t get it — why?” Megumi asked rather sadly. The pain of being unwanted.

“Because we love and care about both of you, so why not?” You said.

“You guys . . . You want to adopt me?” Yuji turned around, his wide, glassy eyes shiny with utter shock. “This isn’t some sort of prank, is it?”

“Of course not,” Gojo grinned at Yuji, before turning his attention towards his daughter, who was starting to tear up when she saw that Yuji was about to leave. “You’re going to have two new brothers, muffin!”

Your daughter smiled brightly, standing up and she ran over to the couch, throwing her arms across Megumi to hug him. Then, she ran up to Yuji with open arms, and he bent down and hugged his future little sister.

“This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Yuji said, flickering his eyes between you and Gojo. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I promise that I’ll be the greatest son ever!”

Megumi, who stared at his lap as he tried to process everything, suddenly spoke up.

“Thank you for everything,” he mumbled. “I really . . . Thank you.”

“Let’s have a group hug!” Yuji happily suggested.

“Great idea,” Gojo added on just as excitedly. “Everyone pile on top of Megumi since he can’t come to us.”

“Wait, wait, wait-“

Megumi’s new family instantly rushed over to the couch, hugging him and giving him more love than he could handle.

Truthfully, he had no idea how to begin processing this level of happiness, but he looked forward to learning what joy was like.

When Yuji cried this time, he didn’t bother stopping the tears. The warm and silly embrace was healing his soul in ways he didn’t know were possible.

His dream had come true — everything he ever wanted.

Yuji sighed in contentment as the hugging continued, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“Finally,” he said with relief.

He finally had a family.

Next part.

[yzzart]

WHEN I WAS LED TO YOU... ── KENJI SATO

── summary: Kenji could get used to his routine, but, only with you by his side.

── word count: 982!

── warnings: F!reader, nothing intense, mention of Emi and Mina, Kenji being a little needy.

“Come on…” — A voice, entering the melody with softness and familiarity, passed through the player’s ears. — “…i know you’re awake.” — The statement was accompanied by a laugh.

Kenji could easily — in fact, completely — conclude that that voice belonged to an angel; even though he doesn't admit to being so religious, openly. — By having his eyes closed, in satisfied tiredness and drowsiness, he was more likely to believe in his conclusion.

Even in unpleasant, unstable situations and, insanely, worries about his life — like worrying about his stats in games, trying not to destroy the city while fighting some monster, and teaching Emi something practical and not blunt — and not wanting to hear or see nothing in front of him, Kenji had his refuge; a place to feel safe and at peace, at home.

“Ken…” — You voice pleaded, with more sweetness and, trying, to mix a little seriousness. In addition to moving between the thin, silky sheets of your body, wanting to get even closer to the boy.

In fact, he could melt into the bed, right there, just to hear your voice crying out to him like that.

Releasing a brief sigh, and pulling a breathing line, inhaling your scent, which was stuck to the pillow, Kenji tried to communicate with a mumble; which even he himself had no chance of understanding. — Perhaps, his consciousness still remained trapped in his sleep.

Because you found his action funny, your laugh, a little more hoarse, enveloped Ken's ears again; automatically forming a placid smile on his lips. — Moving his head, the young boy, with his eyes sensitive to the light, comes across your image resting on the pillow and covered, just enough, with the white sheet.

Sato was mentally grateful for the privilege of waking up every day with this vision.

"Good morning, my love." — You said, without holding back your wide smile; something that captivated and welcomed Ken's chest. — Your orbs moved, without haste or greed, across the boy's face, memorizing, for countless times, every little dot that existed in the region.

"Morning..." — He replied, followed by a yawn and another grumble; a sudden and unexpected movement was caused in the bed, obviously, it was the player's body snuggling against your. — Like he wants to fit in with you. — "What time is it please…?"

“Hm…” — Your eyes crossed the clock next to the bed. — “Soon, it will be 9:30.” — With his head buried in your neck, Sato let out a whimper, causing a tickle.

“It’s not possible…” — He complained, almost whimpering; as a sign of caress, your hand entered your lover's soft black hair, causing affection and tenderness.

The oldest settled down, and, briefly, relieving a growl, memorizing a purr; feeling on your skin, a satisfied smile adored by the attention. — A true paradise for young Sato and he had no problem admitting it.

“I think someone forgot about the interview they promised for today, right?” — He definitely forgets; by the way his head moved from where it was, and how wide his eyes were, Ken had nowhere to run. — “Yeah, you forgot.” — You raised one of your eyebrows.

“Wasn’t it due tomorrow?” — He questioned, still not believing and with some messy black locks standing out on her forehead. — “I’m sure i had it scheduled for tomorrow.” — He rushed into words. — “Actually, i’m not so sure.”

End of the season, therefore, decisive games for the team and more efforts towards a high level of dedication; it also meant several interviews and moments of questioning about the games, his teammates and his personal life. — Sato understood that it was important, of course, it was part of being a baseball star, however, when trying to balance his life as an Ultraman, a player and, recently, the father of a giant baby lizard, it wasn't such a simple thing.

He wasn't alone, not to mention Mina, and, thankfully, he had you by his side. — Trying, as much as possible, and persisting in helping him; even when, thinking about your care and certain risks, he warned you that he didn't need it. — Evidently, the guidelines were not followed, for a pleasant reason. — And now, seeing you taking care of Emi, as if she were your child, lit up Sato's eyes.

“It really is today, Ken.” — You confirmed it and, unsurprisingly, another wave of mumbles and incomprehensible words and rolled eyes. — “At least, it will be the last one before they enter the rest period.” — Your hand moved along Sato's long, strong, bare arm, reinforcing his attention.

“At least there is a bright side.” — He murmured, shaking his head, prolonging his thoughts, at the same time, reusing the contact of your hand against his skin. — “I need to take a break.” — He said, turning towards you. — “Urgently.” — Like a somewhat defenseless creature, he returned to his comfort, now, with his head under your chin.

"I know, honey." — Your fingers stroked Kenji's hair, for the second time, while his arms wrapped around your waist, squeezing you, with the need to keep you close to him. — “And you will soon.” — Subtly, and delicately, your voice soothed him. — “Don’t worry about Emi, i’ll take care of her for today.” — Kenji thanked, once again and mentally. — “And maybe we’ll make a list of what we can do during these days off and she’ll go along with us.”

Your boyfriend's familiar, radiant laugh spread throughout the room, resounding in your chest. — For a short time, Kenji had understood his relationship with Emi and achieved a paternal image; visibly, it wasn't just him. — The small, and immense, baby witnessed you as a second mother.

“Yes, yes, of course.” — He pulled away, coming face to face with you, looking into your eyes, in pure ecstasy and passion. — “You’re the best, dear.” — Bringing his lips to your forehead, Kenji gave you a long, careful kiss.

[beloveds-embrace]

AND ALSO POLY!141

joking around and calling them your brothers and they go deathly silent because what do you mean tou don’t see them romantically? doesn’t matter if they’re already involved with each other they want you to be just as involved too.

also this is toxic but threatening your various dates, stalking them and taking them out (not in the romantic way) so they have an excuse to hold you close. you get comforted, and they get to embrace your warmth #win-win

Friendzoned? Nah, it’s bro-zoned now 😭

The one good thing about grueling and long missions- were the post-missions.

Without fail, each time, you’d be invited to their house where Price would grill up something delicious and juicy on the barbecue, and everyone would be able to unwind. You enjoyed that time, spending it and relaxing with them.

The dynamic you all shared was easy, comfortable, and fun- at least for you.

You rolled your eyes and tossed a fry at Johnny, who caught it in his mouth with a proud grin and wagged his eyebrows, daring you to try again. “You’re like an annoying big brother, you know that?” you huffed at last, a matching grin on your face.

Johnny froze mid-chew, but you didn’t notice, too busy thinking. “Actually… all of you are like annoying big brothers, now that I think about it.”

You chuckles at your own thought, grabbing another fry from your plate and popping it into your mouth without once realizing the shift in the atmosphere. You didn’t catch the way Soap’s grin had vanished completely or how Price’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. Gaz’s usual easy smile was gone, replaced with a cold, unreadable expression, and Ghost… well, Ghost’s dark stare had become a touch more menacing.

The silence hung heavy, but you were blissfully unaware, waving your hand dismissively when no one responded. Your focus was on your phone, scrolling through your social medias. “What? You all went quiet on me.”

Soap cleared his throat, but it came out strained, his voice low. “Brother, huh?”

You hummed absently. “Yeah, you know- family. You guys are my family. Like brothers, watching each other’s backs and all that.”

Price exhaled slowly, sitting back in his chair and running a hand over his beard. “Family.” He repeated, almost under his breath, his voice calm but tight.

Gaz tapped his fingers against the table once, then twice, before stopping abruptly. “Is that all we are to you?” he asked casually enough, though his tone carried an edge you didn’t catch.

“Of course,” you replied with a shrug, not bothering to look up from your food and phone. “I mean, it’d be weird to think of you any other way. You’re my team, my brothers-in-arms.”

You missed the way Ghost’s hands curled into fists on the table, his knuckles white, or the way Soap’s jaw clenched, demeanor replaced with something far darker. Price exchanged a look with Gaz, silent communication passing between them while you obliviously chewed on your steak, still oblivious to the storm brewing around you.

If you’d glanced up, even for a second, you might’ve noticed the way their gazes lingered on you- too intense, too sharp. But you didn’t. And they weren’t about to correct you.

Not yet, anyways.

The first time it happened, you didn’t connect the dots.

Your date, some charming guy you met at a café off base, canceled on you last minute, claiming he “didn’t feel safe” after someone left a threatening note on his car windshield. You shrugged it off as a weird coincidence- maybe it was the universe looking out for you, even. You didn’t want to be dragged into whatever that guy was stuck in.

The second time, a woman from the gym you’d been chatting with stopped replying to your texts entirely after she mentioned being followed home one night. You’d honestly tried to call and check on her, but she just… blocked you. Weird.

By the third time, when a guy you’d met on a dating app ghosted you entirely after his apartment was mysteriously broken into, you started to suspect something was up.

You mentioned it offhandedly to the team one evening, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what’s going on, but every time I try to date someone, something weird happens. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to find someone!”

Soap hummed, a little too casually, but you simply discarded that thought. “Maybe the universe knows what’s best for you, bonnie.”

Gaz leaned back in his chair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Or maybe these people weren’t good enough for you anyway.”

“You’ve got us to look after you. Don’t need anyone else mucking things up.” Even Price added in his own two cents, making you pause.

You laughed, thinking they were joking, but Ghost’s silence was unsettling- actually, none of them were laughing. He just stared at you, his eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist. But that was normal for your L.T… even if it’s been quite a long while since he’s made you feel like that.

The fourth time, it wasn’t just a weird incident. It was a full-on assault.

You were on another date- though even you had to admit this one was just… not going well. He was too dismissive, too loud, and the first thing he’d said before you even sat down was that you’d split the bill, and then he made a comment about you eating too much.

You’d sent a simple text to the team groupchat, telling them you really weren’t enjoying this one, and they’d left you on read. Bastards.

But then you date had been walking you to your car when someone stepped out of the shadows- a big, familiar hulking figure in a balaclava. Your date didn’t even have time to react before they were on the ground, unconscious.

“Come on,” Simon said, gently but firmly clasping his hand around yours. You were too shocked to even say anything- what the fuck? “Let’s get you home.”

You didn’t argue. Your heart was pounding too hard, and Simon took advantage of that to guide you to his car.

“Simon-“

“No.”

And thus the silence continued.

When you got back to their house, the others were waiting for you. Price immediately pulled you into a hug before you could demand answers, his hands firm but gentle on your lower back. “You’re safe now.” He murmured, as if soothing an angry kitten lashing out at him from fear. Despite your confusion and the flurry of emotions swirling in your chest, the tension in your body began to melt anyways, always so trusting of your Captain.

Gaz’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a steaming cup of tea immediately once Price let go of you. His smile was kind, but his eyes seemed… off. Too sharp. “Drink this, yeah? It’ll help.” He said, his fingers lingering a second too long before retreating.

Before you could question the strange atmosphere, Soap tugged you down to sit beside him on the couch. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as though you were on the verge of breaking. “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, tone light yet firm. “We’ve got you.”

Simon remained silent, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. His presence loomed heavy in the room, his gaze never straying from you. It wasn’t comforting exactly- more like being caught in the sights of a predator lying in wait. Is this what the enemy soldiers thought and felt? You pitied them- but more than that you pitied yourself.

Your hands tightened around the warm mug, your confusion bubbling up like a shaken-up fizzy drink. “Okay, what the hell is going on?” You glanced between them, searching for answers. “Simon knocked out my date! What if he presses charges? And what’s with all this- this hovering?”

“Hovering?” Soap echoed, his arm tightening ever so slightly. “We’re making sure you’re alright, bonnie. That’s all. You said your date wasn’t good, no?”

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke calmly, like he was explaining something obvious to a stubborn recruit. “That man wasn’t worth your time. None of your dates have been. They can’t protect you- not the way we can.”

“What are you even talking about?” you demanded, finally pulling away from Soap’s hold. Yet the feeling of being a bleeding sheep surrounded by wolves didn’t abate. “You’ve been acting so weird lately- ever since I mentioned dating. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just spit it out!��

Gaz sighed, his tone carrying a note of exasperation as he leaned against the couch. “We’re trying to keep you safe, love. Every time you step out with someone, you’re putting yourself at risk. You don’t know these people like we do.”

Your stomach churned. “What do you mean-?”

Gaz chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, and you did not laugh. “Do you think we’d let you go out with someone without knowing everything about them first? Their names, their jobs, their pasts…” His voice dropped, a edge bleeding into his words. “How to get rid of them.”

Your blood ran cold, and you stared between them. They were dead serious, you realized. “That’s… You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

No one answered.

Simon pushed off the wall, his massive frame closing the distance between you in just a few steps. He crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. You were essentially boxed in from all sides. “We’re not joking. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got us.”

“…This isn’t normal.” You whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to process what you were hearing. “This- I don’t-“

“It is normal,” Price’s voice was steady and calm, eyes dark. “For us. For the people who care about you most.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the implications of their words sank in. They weren’t just being overprotective or overbearing. They were sabotaging your dates, controlling who could get close to you, and now- God, had they hurt people? How many had they hurt? All those people- you-

Your hands trembled, though you braved on even if bravery was the last thing you felt. “You can’t just decide this for me. I’m not some possession you can keep to yourselves.”

“We’re not keeping you from anything you need,” Gaz spoke so softly, you could trick yourself into believing he was saying you could leave and this was all just a mean prank. “We’re protecting you from what you don’t.”

“You should be thanking us,” Proce sighed, pulling out a cigar to smoke. Yet his eyes did not leave you even once, not even for a single second. “We’re the reason you’ve been safe so far.”

Simon’s gloved hands rested on your knees, pinning you down to the couch. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. “Always.”

You wanted to argue, to push them away, but the realization- the full weight of what they had done hit you like a freight train. You stood abruptly, pushing past Simon and cutting through the tense silence in the room. Their eyes followed your every move, like predators watching prey.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you stammered, stepping back toward the door. “This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. You can’t just- control my life like this!”

“Sit down, love.” Price said, his voice calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

“No, no,” you shot back, shaking your head as you took another step toward the door. “I’m leaving. I need some space. This- this is insane.”

Gaz rose from his chair, moving to block your path to the exit. His expression was so deceptively soft, but his stance was firm, unyielding. “You’re not thinking clearly, love.” He said, low. “Just sit down. We’ll talk it through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, your voice rising with panic. “You’ve been stalking me- sabotaging my life! That’s not protection. That’s obsession!”

Soap stood then, and his expression made you flinch. He stepped closer, effectively boxing you in again as he joined Gaz. “We’re not letting you walk out that door.” He said simply, but his words were anything but.

You turned toward the only other way out, but Simon was already there, his massive frame looming in the doorway to the hall. He didn’t say a word, just stared, his presence alone enough to make your stomach twist.

Your breathing quickened as you turned back to Price, the only one still seated, though his gaze was sharp and calculating. “You can’t keep me here, Price,” you said, your voice trembling but still clinging to the traces of defiance. “You don’t have the right-“

“We do have the right,” Price interrupted, standing slowly. The sheer authority- the sheer finality in his voice made your knees weak. “Because we’re the only ones who care about you the way we do. The only ones who’ll keep you safe. Your team, remember, darling?”

“This isn’t safety,” you hissed, backing toward the wall. “This is prison.”

Price mouthed the word, then huffed a humorless laugh. “We’re not locking you up. But we will stop you from running into danger. Even if you don’t understand it now, you’ll thank us later.”

“You can’t just-“

“Enough,” Simon cut in, sharp and blunt, his voice cutting through your protests like a knife. “You’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

Your back hit the wall, your escape routes blocked on all sides. Your chest heaved as you looked at each of them, searching for even a sliver of remorse. But all you saw was determination, faces set in stone…

Much like your fate.

[ferrarifudds]

I Love You So. ✷ Paige Bueckers

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Cheerleader!Gf!reader

Summary: Loving her in secret was starting to hurt, but for Paige, loving you out loud meant saying what she’s never said before.

Word Count: 2.4k

Disclaimer/s: SOME angst, fluff, whole shabang or wtv

Vera’s Voice! THEYRE NATIONAL CHAMPIONNNSSSSS PAIGE MYBSHAYLAAAA 😭😭😭 they deserved that so bad , such a beautiful way to go out. so here , i bestow upon you, a paige imagine Heh… hope u enjoy smirk :3

The hotel room was quiet.

The kind of silence that feels thick, suffocating, like it might collapse on you any second. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your cheer hoodie still on, knees tucked to your chest, staring out the window at the lights of the city below. The glow of the streetlamps flickered like a heartbeat, but it did little to soften the ache in your chest.

You’d been quiet all night. Too quiet. Since the interview.

Since she said it.

“It’s just me and only doing me.”

The words echoed in your mind, repeating like a broken record. Paige’s voice, cool and casual, her eyes bright as ever in front of the camera. The reporter’s question, thrown at her so carelessly, had slipped out without hesitation.

And then it was out there, plastered everywhere.

You understood. You really did.

You’d always known Paige wasn’t publicly out, and you’d never pushed her to make any declarations. You loved her in the quiet moments, the ones where it was just the two of you, when no one was watching, when everything felt safe.

But hearing those words from her, on national TV, made you feel like you didn’t exist. Like you weren’t worth mentioning.

The hurt had settled in quietly, like a stone in your stomach. And it had grown heavier with every passing minute.

Paige had been in and out of the room, checking on her teammates, getting ready for tomorrow, but you could feel the shift.

She could feel it, too. And still, neither of you spoke.

She finally walked over, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. She hadn’t even bothered to change out of her practice clothes yet, her UConn hoodie and gym shorts still on.

“Hey,” She said softly, her voice holding an edge of concern. “You okay?”

You turned to face her slowly, managing a small smile. “Yeah.”

But she knew you weren’t.

“Come on,” She said, taking a few steps toward you. “What’s going on?”

You shook your head, biting back the frustration that had been building all day. You had tried to push it down, tried to let it slide, but now it was spilling out.

“I saw the interview,” You said, voice quieter than you expected.

Her face dropped instantly.

The slight panic that had been simmering in her eyes from the moment she walked in now took hold.

“Oh,” She said, running a hand through her damp hair. “I figured you’d see it eventually.”

“I wouldn’t care if you said ‘no comment,’ or, skipped the question Paige,” You spoke softly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I don’t care if you don’t want to go public. I get that. But when you said—” You stopped yourself, exhaling sharply.

She didn’t move.

“But when you said that line—‘just doing me’—” You blinked hard. “That really hurt.”

“I didn’t mean for it to,” She said quickly, “It just came out. It was fast, and I panicked.”

You nodded, but a sigh still left your lips. “You could’ve said literally anything else. You could’ve said, ‘Just focused on the season.’ Something neutral. But you made it sound like you’re completely alone.”

She came to sit on the edge of the other bed, hands clasped together. “I didn’t mean to erase you.”

“But you kind of did.”

The pause that followed was longer than either of you liked.

“I know you‘ve preferred to keep it private,” You started gently. “I’ve respected that. I never wanted to force you into anything different. But Paige… we’ve been together for almost a year.”

“I know.”

“Then why does it still feel like I’m something you’re ashamed of?”

She flinched like the words physically hit her. “I’m not ashamed!” She almost too quickly in defense, nearly offended you’d say something like that, but her face softened.

“And It’s really not a you thing,” She said, voice low. “It’s a me thing.”

You waited.

Paige stared down at her hands for a long time, her knuckles white where she gripped them. Then, quietly:

“If I ever say it.. if I say something like, ‘I’m dating someone,’ or ‘Yes, I’m gay’—Then it… it becomes so real. Like, actually real.”

She paused.

“Not just hints. Not just little rainbow emojis or TikTok reposts. It becomes… something permanent. Something everyone gets to pick apart. And I’ve never said those words out loud. Not once.”

Your heart clenched. You knew that. Deep down, you’d always known it. But hearing it from her mouth—so soft, so small—it made your throat tighten.

“I’m scared,” She whispered. “Of how it changes everything. Of what people will think. What my family will say. I’m not ready to be… that version of myself. Not yet.”

You nodded slowly. “And I’m not trying to take that from you. I’m not. I just… I didn’t think it would hurt this bad.”

“I didn’t think it would either.” She replied.

The silence came back, thicker now.

“I’m not asking you to come out tomorrow,” You added, after a moment. “Or even next week. I just wanted you to see how it’s been aching. Because I’m not some phase you can hide behind closed doors… I’m here—I’m yours. And it’s hard to keep being okay with pretending I’m not.”

Paige swallowed hard. Her eyes were glassy. “I get that. I do. But can you just… let me figure it out in my own time?”

You nodded, but your voice was barely a breath. “Yeah.”

She looked at you then, like she wanted to reach out. Wanted to hold you.

Say something. Fix it.

But she didn’t move. And You didn’t either.

The weight between you had now grown roots.

Paige looked toward the clock, blinking slowly. “We should probably try to get some sleep.”

“Yeah.”

You both got under separate covers. The distance between the two of you had never felt so wide.

She laid there quietly, still, but her breathing told you she was awake.

You were too.

And for a long moment, the two of you just stayed like that.

Silent. Staring at ceilings. Thinking too loudly.

Paige turned once. Then again. You heard her shift, then go still.

There was always a kiss. A soft one before bed.

But tonight, she didn’t ask. And you didn’t offer.

The next morning, your alarm rang too early.

Too sharp, too abrupt.

You didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want to face the weight of what had happened the night before. But when you did, the first thing you noticed was the empty side of the bed.

Paige wasn’t there.

It wasn’t unusual—she was always up before you, preparing herself for a usual game day routine. But this morning, there was a coolness in the air. A hollow quietness.

You laid there for a moment, staring at the space next to you, the sheets cold from her absence. There was no soft rustling of her moving around, no whispered words, no little gesture of affection to start the day.

It felt wrong.

You grabbed your phone, checking the time.

Messages from your cheer squad had already come in, pumping up the team for the day, but your mind was elsewhere. You couldn’t stop thinking about the argument last night. How she’d shut down, how the words had slipped through your lips and the silence had stretched between you both.

It wasn’t just that she hadn’t kissed you good morning—it was the distance. The feeling that something had changed.

Something wasn’t right.

You eventually got ready, throwing on a hoodie over some gym clothes and made your way out, already mentally preparing for the day.

The game. The team. You knew what was expected of you. But the weight of Paige’s absence felt heavier than any game pressure.

By the time you arrived at the arena, the air was thick with energy. The crowd’s anticipation hummed around you, the buzz of excitement surrounding the championship game.

But none of it seemed to sink in.

You barely registered the music, the cheers, the chants. All you could focus on was the court, your eyes searching for the one person who meant everything to you.

Paige was already in her zone, stretching, her focus trained on the game ahead. She was the star of the show, her movements graceful and powerful as she warmed up.

But it was like a wall had been built between the two of you—one that neither of you had fully addressed. She didn’t glance your way. She didn’t offer her usual smile. She didn’t even acknowledge you as you stood along the sidelines, your cheer squad prepping for the game.

You could feel the coldness, the invisible divide, but you didn’t want to confront it yet. You didn’t want to make things worse. So you stayed quiet, trying to push the emotions down, trying to ignore the ache in your chest that kept growing with every second.

The first half was a blur.

UConn was doing well—but, Paige seemed to not be in the right head space.. and it hurt. She was barely executing every move with precision.

And every pass, every shot she made, felt like it was happening in a different world, one where you weren’t standing just a few feet away, trying to hide the hurt in your chest.

You cheered for the team, of course. It was your job, and of course, you were proud. You had to be. But every time you tried to catch Paige’s eye, she was too focused on the game, her eyes not straying from the court for even a moment.

You didn’t expect her to look at you during the game, not really, but you had hoped—maybe today—it would be different. You had hoped that she would feel the weight of the silence between you, that she’d want to reach out, to bridge the gap.

But there was nothing.

The second half carried the same tension. UConn was pulling ahead, and the game was nearing its climax. Paige was doing better.. she was everywhere—on the court, in the thick of it, her movements precise and deadly.

Every move felt like it had been choreographed for her. She was unstoppable, and UConn was on the brink of victory.

But all you could do was watch from the sidelines, feeling more like a spectator than part of the team. You saw Paige driving to the basket, her eyes locked on the hoop, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she glanced up—right at you.

Still, even with the final buzzer approaching, you couldn’t shake the feeling of distance. It wasn’t about the game. UConn was winning, yes, but it was the fact that you and Paige had been so far apart.

You had both been carrying this weight, and it felt heavier than anything else.

But finally, the buzzer rang.

UConn had won. She was a national champion.

The entire arena erupted into chaos—cheers, confetti falling like rain, the energy thick in the air. You stood frozen, caught in a whirlwind of sound and motion, but all you could hear was the thudding of your own heart.

Paige, surrounded by her teammates, was smiling that brilliant, radiant smile, the one that lit up the entire room. She was pulling in every bit of the spotlight, surrounded by reporters and cameras.

You stood on the sidelines with your team, watching her, but something felt wrong.

You were so proud of her—so proud of UConn. But it was like she wasn’t even aware of you there. The space between you felt wider than it ever had, even in the intensity of the game.

For a moment, you thought she might not come to you at all—like the moment, the victory, had completely consumed her.

And you really couldn’t blame her.

You tried not to think about it, to swallow down the hurt, but it was hard. Watching Paige smile for the cameras, a version of her that wasn’t yours, hurt more than you expected.

And then, just as you were starting to lose hope, you locked eyes with her.

And she was coming towards you.

She walked through the crowd, determination in her every step. The cameras flashed, and reporters tried to capture the image of the champion, but Paige didn’t even glance at them.

She only had eyes for you.

She didn’t stop until she was right in front of you. Without warning, she scooped you up into her arms, spinning you around with a wide grin on her face.

“What are you doing?” You managed to ask, laughing a little in surprise, still not sure what was happening.

But before you could say anything more, she cut you off with a kiss.

Her lips were on yours, urgent and fierce. No preamble. No hesitation. Just pure emotion, pure relief that this moment had finally come—finally, she was here with you, in front of everyone, not hiding, not running away.

You kissed her back, your hands gripping her arms as if you never wanted to let go. And when she pulled away, you were both breathing heavily, the world around you buzzing, but all you could feel was her.

She smiled, her eyes softening. “I needed that,” She said quietly.

You let out a shaky breath, your voice almost a whisper. “I needed it too.”

And then, without warning, Paige lifted you, this time pulling you into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around you as she held you close and spun around.

The noise around you faded. There was just you and her. It didn’t matter who was watching. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

This was your moment.

“You’ve got me, always,” Paige murmured, holding you so tightly, as if she never wanted to let you go.

And in that moment, with the weight of the world still on her shoulders and the trophy waiting, you knew that you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

With her.

Forever.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ and pls Lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list

tags! @halfwayhearted @pedriache @wdcbox @janaelalfysblunt

[heavenbarnes]

have to write this because @evisnotok had some crazy good points in the notes | p1 p2 p3

the 141 know they can rely on your older bf!simon to come through with a fully stocked camera roll. whether they’re killing time in a safe house, back on base, or crowded around a sticky table at a pub.

their eyes are all on one thing.

that’d be you.

with your blessing, of course. simon had told you about johnny accidentally stumbling across his (not very well guarded) collection of intimate photos and he hadn’t missed the way your eyes had shifted and your thighs had tensed.

it’d been a change of minuscule proportions but simon had been watching you with well trained eyes- waiting for any telltale signs.

when he mentioned the way johnny had to adjust the front of his trousers, he could practically hear your mouth water.

when he took it so far as to tell you what johnny had said? you’d spent the rest of the evening humping simon’s leg like a bitch in heat as he laid out all the filthy things sergeant mactavish wanted to do to you.

so when the rest of the 141 caught on, found out about this little arrangement between simon and johnny- they wanted in. they’d seen the pretty little thing that simon kept at home and they wanted to see just how pretty you could get.

it started with the phone being passed around the group (simon had to overcome a few things before he’d let you get passed around the group) and it escalated into a group chat that was full to the fucking brim of your best moments.

videos of you crying simon’s name as you stuff yourself with your fingers.

photos of you with your back arched and your feet kicking.

videos of you being absolutely wrecked by simon the night he gets back from deployment.

photos of you with cum painting your cheeks and a big smile on your face.

they’re almost always for simon’s enjoyment but that last one- that was something different. unfamiliar sense of altruism filling his chest when he had you on your knees.

you’d been sucking his cock for the best part of an hour now, no complaints to be had. simon had put a pillow under your knees and his steady stream of praises had you keening into the hand that stroked your cheek.

“doin’ such a good job for me, sweet’art”

as you felt his balls tense up in your hand, where you’d been stroking them with your palm- you gave him one last long lick before you started tugging him off.

sitting back on your haunches, you stuck your tongue out in waiting when the hand that was around the back of your neck started to grip harder.

“gonna’ cum all over that pretty fuckin’ face”

you twisted your wrist, hand coming up over the leaky head of his cock before sliding it back down. spit flicked around as his foreskin moved beneath your grip, simon’s voice became gruntier than usual.

“you fuckin’ like that, huh? like it when i paint you like i fuckin’ own you?”

like? as if he didn’t already.

simon always got mouthy when he was nearing that peak and the minute the dams broke and he was shooting hot ropes of cum across your eagerly waiting face, his words were trailing off into broken moans.

you kept stroking him until his fingers had to pry you off him, hips beginning to jolt with sensitivity. but you didn’t move, sat still on your knees so simon could get a good look at you.

eyes following his movements, he reached across to pick up his cellphone before you heard the shutter sound a couple times (his phone is never silent, unless he’s on duty- at home it’s the loudest thing you’ve ever heard).

still holding his phone steady, simon reaches his thumb out to drag through some of his cum, before he presses it to your tongue and snaps another picture.

as he drags it away, he lifts his phone for a higher angle before you see his lip quirk up in amusement.

“that’s it, smile for the lads yeah?”

and the group chat never goes without, now whenever they see “ghost sent an attachment” their cocks chub up in almost pavlovian response.

the photos are filthy but their messages are filthier, the way they speak about you is enough to have your cheeks burning and your ears ringing.

“steamin’ jesus L.T you’re one lucky fucker”

“look at the state a’that, so fuckin’ pretty”

“so fuckin’ good at taking loads- got y’one well trained”

filthy enough to turn you inside out- your stomach fucking flipping with every word simon read to you.

one hand holding his phone, the other between your thighs, three thick fingers stuffed inside you. each new message he read, he’d flex his fingers against the spongy little spot that had your eyes rolling.

“can feel you squeezing my fuckin’ fingers, y’like the way they talk about you?”

your hands wrapped around his wrist, fingernails digging into the ink of his tattoos as he spurred you to the edge. leaning back against his chest, his phone was hovering right before your face and you could see those three little dots jumping as johnny typed a new message.

“almost there L.T can y’spare one more?”

you didn’t mean to moan out loud but the image of johnny stroking himself to you was nearly too much. head tipped back onto simon’s shoulder as your hips bucked into his hand, you felt his chuckle rumble against your spine.

long arm reaching up and the unmistakable sound of the shutter ringing around the room, you heard him type a quick reply before you opened your eyes.

debauched, the photo looked fucking debauched. spread out for him with your legs over his thick thighs and your hand practically forcing his fingers deeper into you.

you felt simon shift as he pressed a kiss to your heated cheek, thick cock pressing into the small of your back. he hummed as he slowly started to grind into you.

he knew it was all for show, that you just had this filthy little voyeuristic part of you that needed to be satiated by the praise of these men. he knew that at the end of it all-

“you’re all mine, aren’t ya?”

he just had to be sure, he was only man after all.

not a thought behind your eyes or a doubt in your mind, you nodded furiously as you melted further into his touch.

“only yours, si”