#like no one cares it’s not that deep lol

[mariasont]

That anon was living under a rock because your smut fics (all of your fics tbh!) I reread wayyy to many times, lol. But if you’re taking smut requests, I’d love to see more bimbo!reader and Hotch! I can’t get enough.

I’ll take anything!! But more specifically, their first time, all of that built up tension (that you write so perfectly!) finally breaks!

Anyways, I never send in requests but I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it, haha.

Third Date Rule - A.H

summary: the third date proves to be worth the wait when you and hotch experience your first time together. pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexy time, fingering, oral fem receiving, p in v, they did not in fact wrap it before tapping it and it's not really discussed so yeah idk about that one, aftercare wc: 7.7k

This was so overdue.

Technically, it's only been three dates. Technically.

But if you count all the years you'd known him, the months spent daydreaming about this moment, the weeks of waiting while he played the world's longest game of restraint, then really, you should have had him naked ages ago.

And if Aaron (which still feels like a thrill to say — Aaron — because you're dating now and you can freely call him that) wasn't so stubborn and noble and insufferably gentlemanly, you would have.

But tonight was finally the night. The third date. The sacred, hallowed, much-debated, universally accepted gateway to getting into the sheets. And yes, okay, maybe you barely survived the wait without jumping his bones, but that's hardly relevant now. The point is, you did it.

And now you're in his lap, his tie wound tight around your fingers, his tongue deep in your mouth, and gods, if this night didn't end with him inside you, you might actually die. 

Like, literally. Heart failure. Sudden death.

This was premeditated. At least, for you. You moisturized like your life depended on it, doused yourself in perfume that could be classified as a controlled substance, and selected a bra that made your tits look so insane, it might actually be illegal in some states.

And then you spent an embarrassing amount of time picking the perfect dress that says oh, I'm classy, but also please take me home and rip this off with your teeth.

You pull away, just enough to see him. To take in the slow bloom of pink trailing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the way his pupils are so wide they’ve all but erased the brown of his eyes. And his lips — swollen and red from kissing you — part like he was debating how bad it would be to drag you right back in. You wouldn’t mind.

“Aaron,” you sigh, fingers burying into his hair, marveling at how absurdly soft it is, how freely he lets you have this piece of him. “We should go to bed.”

For a second, he locks up. Not hesitation but calibration, a body processing desire so sharp it might break him. You feel it in the way his chest expands, in the quiet exhale through his nose.

"This wasn't my plan for the night," he murmurs, voice softer now, not strained, but steeped in something much gentler. Something careful. "I wasn't —," He shakes his head, like the whole concept doesn’t sit right in his mouth. "I don't want you to think this is just —,"

"Sex?"

You can see the way he wants to argue, like he wants to carve the word out of the air and replace it with something that means more.

"Yes."

You can’t stop the stupid, lovestruck smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it’s the wine from dinner finally working its magic. (It’s not.) Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, all serious and earnest, like you’re the only thing in existence, and if he blinks, you might vanish. (It definitely is.)

A laugh bubbles up, light and giddy, body not knowing what to do with all this adoration. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just to see if he’ll let you. (He does.)

“Are you serious? If you just wanted sex, you wouldn’t have spent actual years pretending my very dedicated, very expertly executed attempts to seduce you weren’t happening.”

His brow arches, but you see it for what it is — a stall. “Expertly, huh?”

"Remember that heatwave last summer? When I just had to eat a popsicle at my desk every afternoon?"

His eyes darken like the memory is playing in high definition behind his eyes.

"I remember."

"Do you?" Your fingers slip beneath his color. “Because —” You tilt your head. “I always seemed to finish them standing in front of your office —"

You don't even get to finish your sentence. 

One second, you’re speaking, the next, you’re airborne. Lifted clean off the couch, legs locking around his waist automatically, arms thrown around his shoulders like you planned this all along.

You didn’t, but you wish you had. 

Not that it matters, because he’s already moving, already walking straight to the bedroom.

You bury your smile against his jaw, letting your breath tickle against the shell of his ear as another giggle slips out. It couldn’t be helped.

"I really hope you know," you whisper, “that I am, like, stupidly excited for this. Like, counting down the days excited.”

Aaron sets you down on the mattress gently, but his body doesn’t follow right away, hovering over you.

"You're not making this easy for me."

You ignore him because you’re much more distracted by how insanely soft his sheets are. That was your first thought when your back hits the mattress, hair fanning across the pillows.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’ll catch the scent of your perfume tomorrow. If he’ll notice the ghost of you when he lays down alone.

Your second was that this is so not the time nor place to get emotional. 

But this is his space. His bed. His room.

It’s tidy, but somehow not sterile, everything having its place, but not afraid to be used. A book sits on the nightstand, a book mark sticking out mid-thought. A photo frame faces the bed, though from this angle you struggle to see what’s inside.

There’s his suit jacket from yesterday, draped over the back of a chair, a little rumpled. 

And maybe it's silly, but you feel weirdly honored to be here.

You should probably be processing this moment, what it means to be here, with him, like this. Instead, you take a second to admire the view.

The lamp softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost gentle — which is funny, considering how you hoped to be thoroughly destroyed by him.

Something expands inside you, stretching against the walls of your chest, something too big, something that terrifies you.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

“I can’t believe I’m about to sleep with my boss.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his exasperation, his forehead dropping into the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart—,”

"What?" You giggle, letting your fingers slide through his hair, letting your nails rake lightly over his scalp. "It's true."

His sigh is nothing short of pained, but then he kisses your cheek anyway, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You were starting to feel like each was a thinly veiled attempt to tame you.

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"Yes, Mr. Hotchner." 

Every self-satisfied thought evaporates the moment he kisses you – really kisses you.

It’s not just a meeting of lips but a focused intensity, tongue sweeping inside your mouth and suddenly nothing before this mattered, because clearly, clearly, every kiss you’ve ever had was just practice for this one. 

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, spine arching and he doesn’t stop you, just kisses you with a hunger that makes teasing obsolete, that makes breathing secondary to the way he’s taking from you, giving to you, all at once.

His lips wander, dragging across your jaw like he’s leaving invisible ink behind, pressing something permanent into your skin.

You hope you’ll wake up tomorrow and still feel him there.

Your hands move to the nape of his neck, drawn by craving, by the need circling inside you like a ribbon of fire.

It stretches outward, licking at your skin, threading through your veins. His hands hold you still, spanning over your rib. His breath fans over your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast it’s racing.

You should be gloating right now. This is, after all, exactly what you wanted, what you worked for. A biting remark sits on the top of your tongue, but then his mouth moves, and he finds it.

That wicked, traitorous little dip beneath your jaw that turns your entire brain into pink, glittering static. He pauses, listening, feeling, before sealing his mouth over it again, tongue dragging over the sensitive skin like he’s testing a theory that he already knows the answer to.

Your fingers clench in his hair, a startled sound choking in your throat before you can stop it. And then, the bastard laughs. Not sweet, not kind, but low and sharp and smug because he knows exactly what he’s done. 

You had the upper hand. Past tense.

"There it is," he murmurs, pressing another kiss there, his tongue flattening over it just to make you squirm. "You want to know how I figured this out?"

You hum, or try to. But it’s pathetic because you’re barely conscious, every cell fried to uselessness by his mouth.

He mimics you, just to be an ass about it, mocking the dazed little sound like he hasn’t just reduced you to it. "You always reached for it when I looked at you too long."

Your mouth opens. Closes.

"Or," he continues, "when I stood too close to you at the coffee machine. You'd fidget, tuck your hair behind your ear like you weren't thinking about it." His exhale burns against your pulse. "Cute."

You gasp, a little offended, mostly turned on. "Oh, wow. Profiling me? At work? That's, like, wildly unethical."

"Didn't need to," he murmurs. "You were practically begging me to figure you out."

His mouth is perfect in the way lightning is perfect – striking, searing, and completely out of your control. It’s perfect enough that you can pretend not to hear him.

He sucks, slow and hard enough to tear a sound from your lips before you even know it’s there, something that feels like vulnerability in its purest form. Something you would never willingly give him.

His laugh is quiet, wrecking, as he pulls back, lips slick with your skin. "That good?"

His mouth makes quick work, over your collarbone, down, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, down, branding every inch of skin he can reach. 

He stops at the neckline of your dress, and suddenly, you can't think about anything except how it's still on.

You want to strip it off, want to offer yourself up as a willing sacrifice, but you’re well aware that if you try, if you even reach, he’ll stop you. Or worse, he'll make you wait. He'll slow you down, draw it out just to watch you squirm because patience is his weapon of choice, because he lives for making you suffer.

His teeth graze the swell of your breast, just enough to sting, and whatever fragile grip you had on yourself disintegrates on impact. Your hands fumble blindly for his face, fingers shaking, needing to see his eyes.

"Please, Aaron.” It’s an exhale, a prayer. “Need you."

You see the ripple of tension along his throat. And for one tiny, blinding second you think this is when he finally snaps, abandons his tolerance and just takes you.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you like this," he rumbles. "I'm going to take my time."

You whine, frustration bleeding from your fingertips where they clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in like you can physically push him into moving faster.

He does not move faster. 

His hands slide up to the straps of your dress, as he drags it down with all the urgency of a leisurely Sunday stroll. 

Your mind is halfway through an exceptionally justified complaint about how slow he is moving when he folds the dress.

Folds it.

Sets it aside. Doesn't toss it.

And that may be the hottest thing he's ever done.

Because you know he knows. He’s always known. Known that your things aren’t just things — that your dresses, your heels, your overpriced lip glosses aren’t frivolous, aren’t some shallow indulgence, but tiny, curated pieces of you.

He has listened to you decide between two pairs of shoes that are, for all intent and purposes, identical. He knows jasmine is mysterious and vanilla is flirty, knows that you’ll debate your right to own the same three shades of pink. 

And instead of dismissing it, instead of rolling his eyes (though he does that too), he folds your dress. As if it matters.

You stare at him, somewhere between melting and spontaneous combustion, and he simply raises a brow. “Something wrong?”

"No." You shake your head for emphasis, voice a little too weak to get the point across. "Just thinking I might have to marry you."

His hands settle at your waist, fingers tracing over the pink lace like he’s trying to process it, like if he touches it enough times, it’ll confirm that this is actually happening and not some cruel illusion. His thumb brushes the scalloped edge, breathing shallow. You were pretty sure he’s currently having a full-scale existential meltdown over lingerie.

"Agreed," he murmurs, distracted, hooded eyes still glued to your chest. "I think the courthouse opens at eight."

Your giggle stutters, hiccups right out of you, because his hands are suddenly everywhere, roaming with no clear plan, just a man in crisis over how much of you he wants to touch first. His palms skate over your stomach, down your thighs, up over your breasts.

"So, this is all I had to do to convince you to do what I want?"

His mouth follows, retracting the path of his hands, rewriting, reworking, perfecting – because apparently, the first time wasn’t good enough, wasn’t thorough enough. 

"You think this is what did it for me?" His voice is hushed. "You could've walked into my office six months ago and told me to get on one knee.” A kiss, open-mouthed, starving, just below your navel. “I would've done it."

Six months ago. You don't know if you believed that.

Except now you're spiraling, backtracking, rewinding, piecing together little details like some lovesick conspiracy theorist with red string and a bulletin board. Every interaction, every loaded glance, every time he let you get away with high-level flirtation without so much as a blink. You thought you were testing him, but what if he was never fighting at all?

And before you can even recover from that, before you can file an official grievance about why no one told you sooner, his hands squeeze at your thighs, his mouth so close to exactly where you need him, and his voice —

"You're so beautiful."

His nose presses into the damp center of your panties, and your hands fly to his hair so fast it’s practically reflex, breath stalling in your chest like your body forgot how to function for a second. 

This is everything. What you've wanted, dreamed of, written in the margins of notebooks (hypothetically, of course).

It should be perfect, but suddenly, it isn't.

Uncertainty slips between the cracks, heat turning into something less solid. You don’t have time to find it, to name it, because he’s already there, already sensing it, already fixing it before you even know what’s wrong.

"Hey." His voice hooks into you, gently reeling you back from wherever your brain was about to go. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"No, I—," The words come out far too fast and desperate, and you can't decipher why it's so hard to say. "I do want to. Obviously." The nervous laugh that follows is definitely not your usual flirty confidence. "Have you met yourself? Because if you haven't, I would love to introduce you. Tall, devastatingly handsome — you'd love him."

His move curves, but his eyes stay patient and focused, giving you a second to breathe.

"It's just..." Another pause, another frustrated sigh. "I haven't been with anyone in a while."

"That's okay, we can take it slow." He moves so that he's hovering above you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his smile just amused enough to leave you flustered. "How long?"

"May."

"May?"

"Yeah, like, May. Three years ago."

Aaron just stares at you, processing. You can see the gears turning, the little mental loading wheel spinning, his expression caught between stunned and deeply interested.

His fingers creep up, sliding under your ribs, just close enough to the heavy swell of your tits to remind you exactly where you are. What he was doing to you before you so rudely derailed this into actual conversation.

"Really?"

You pinch his arm. "Hey! That is not an absurd amount of time."

"No. I know. I didn’t say that," he says quickly. "I'm just... surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips part and he immediately shakes his head, exhaling like he's physically trying to dispel what just ran through your mind, knowing exactly where your thoughts were.

"I just mean — I don't know how every man you meet doesn't immediately worship the ground you walk on."

"Oh, well, they do." You smile. "But I was only ever planning on letting one of them take me to bed."

You reach for his dress shirt buttons, tugging insistently, but your hands refuse to cooperate, not properly communicating with your brain.

It's his fault, you decide.

He looks too good, and it was extremely hard to focus on anything but that.

You have no idea how you survived dinner. Or the car ride home. Or even the eternity it took to get past the door, because that was definitely a struggle considering your mouth was all over his, tasting the whiskey he’d barely touched, before he could even get the key in the lock.

You spent all night picturing this, the way his hands would feel in you, the way his mouth would taste, the way his suit would look crumpled on the floor.

Which, in hindsight, probably meant you were a pretty terrible dinner guest. Nodding, smiling, pretending to listen, all while barely holding back the need to ride him in public.

Aaron laughs, clearly entertained by your struggle, and then, because he’s nothing if not arrogant, he starts undoing the buttons one-handed, to be a show-off.

It’s rude, really. Because now all you can do is watch, helpless as he peels himself open to reveal golden skin, dark hair dusting over firm pecs, trailing lower, disappearing beneath his belt. 

Your manicured fingers glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, pushing his shirt away like uncovering some lost Renaissance painting that scholars would kill to get their hands on — something that should be in a temperature-controlled glass case, not just here, sprawled above you like he belongs to you. Which, he does, because he’s just letting you do this, letting you look. And you look. He is art. No, better than art. Art is stationary, lifeless, some brushstroke interpretation of what beauty should be. But this, him, he is warmth and breath and muscle.

Museums wish they had something this valuable. They’d burn down in despair if they knew he existed just for you.

"May," he muses, letting the word roll off his tongue, turning it over in his mind. "That's an oddly specific answer."

You make a vague sound of agreement, mostly just to acknowledge that yes, technically, he did say words, but you’re too busy to actually care. Too busy with spreading your hands over the planes of his chest, with grabbing at his belt.

"You were hired in May three years ago."

Your hands freeze. 

"That's... um weird." A slow blink. "Weird that you know that. Weirder that you noticed."

You work his belt loose, tugging it free. It’s meant to be a distraction, a well-placed touch to shift his focus from his revelation.

But then your plan backfires spectacularly because he’s hard, thick, unreasonably big and suddenly your fingers feel useless.

Aaron makes a sound — half a hiss, half a laugh — and his hands snap to your wrist, catching you before you can explore further, like he knew you were going to do that. "It’s okay, honey."

"I—I don't—," You blink up at him, floundering, desperately trying to sound casual. "That's, uh, I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Aaron’s smirk deepens, his grip on you slackening just enough to trick you into thinking he’s going to be nice.

But then his other hand moves, slipping between your bodies, sliding beneath the heat trapped between your thighs, finding the neediest part of you, and pressing.

Your whole body jerks, a startled gasp catching in your throat as sensation flares — hot, sharp, mercilessly good.

His fingers start to move, rubbing tight circles against you. Your hands cling, one locked onto his bare shoulders, the other pressing against his dick, desperate to make him feel even a fraction of what he's doing to you.

It earns you a groan, low and gritty, hips twitching against your palm, his breath is hot against your lips, his mouth hovering just barely out of reach.

"I won't tease," he promises, but the way he bites at your bottom lip feels like a lie. His tongue is quick to follow, flicking over the welt he’s just left, soothing the burn before sealing it with a kiss, just this side of messy. “Three years… that’s a long time.” His lips skim yours again. “For both of us.”

A pleased sound bubbles up from your throat, slipping between his lips, that makes it obnoxiously clear just how much you love those words. That is a sentence you’d like embroidered on a pillow. Maybe cross-stitched into a nice, elegant frame for your future shared bedroom. 

"Oh," you sigh, a smile stretching against his lips. "I really, really, like knowing that. That's, like, incredible news."

Your brows scrunch, and you pull back just an inch. 

"Just to be clear, though, you do mean in a wow, you've ruined me for other women way, and not in a I've been to busy for a sex life way, right? Because those are two different things, and I need to know which one we're working with here—"

Aaron huffs a laugh and instead of answering with words, his hands slip into your panties, fingers finding your clit without prelude. Skin to skin now, no fabric, no flimsy barrier. Just touch.

His fingers dip lower, dragging through the slick, indecent in how easily he moves through the mess of you. He makes a noise — nearly a groan, mostly a hum of appreciation, of possession — before he spreads it, smearing your own arousal over your clit, rolling circles.

"Oh, wow, sweetheart."

Your thighs fall open like you have no say in it — because you don’t, because every instinct in you is reaching for him, needing it like a fix.

And maybe, maybe that should be embarrassing — the obvious, shameless way you seek him out — but it’s a gorgeous kind of humiliation, a flush that spreads lower.

"Well," you gasp, chest rising in stuttering little pants. "Y—you kept me waiting forever."

Aaron hushes you with a soft tsk, his fingers pressing, stroking, coaxing you into sweet, mindless submission. Every movement feels preordained, like he already knows your body, like he’s a man who’s spent years thinking about this.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothes, murmuring it against the fragile skin beneath your ear, punctuating it with a kiss. "But I think I'm making up for lost time pretty well."

"I guess," you manage. "Th—that's acceptable."

Aaron chuckles, the vibration traveling straight into your skin. His lips descend, an idolization thing, but it’s the kind of devotion that sets you on fire.

His hands spread over your thighs, parting them gently.

Your underwear drags down, slipping over your thighs, grazing the curve of your knees, and then off. And suddenly, there's nothing separating you from his eyes, from the way the air licks over you, cool against the sticky heat between your thighs.

His lips part like he wasn't expecting to fall apart so easily. Like he thought he'd have more time, more control. And the power in it, the sheer, intoxicating power of knowing he's just as affected as you are, that this is breaking him open, makes your skin fizz, burn, ache for him even more.

If someone had told you a year ago that Aaron Hotchner, mister all-business-all-the-time, would be between your legs, staring at you like he's never seen anything more perfect, you would have said something nonsensical. Something about fate. Or destiny.

And you would have been right. Because you always knew this was a definite.

"Oh, honey.... You're gorgeous," It's almost a whisper, like the words were dragged out of him against his will, stolen straight from his lungs the second his eyes landed on you. His gaze drinks you in, head tilting, lips parting, tongue skating over the swell of his bottom lip. “I knew you would be, but…”

A sharp, sizzling spark races up your spine, white-hot and unbearable, but when it should tip over into relief, it withers into frustration. The kind that makes your body revolt against the absence of touch. Your hips buck, thighs squeezing as if you can somehow force the friction you’re being deprived of.

"Give me a second, baby," he teases, caressing his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Just wanna look at you."

His mouth moves in decadent passes, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your inner thigh.

Another kiss. Then another. So close.

Then he detours. Veers off, pressing his lips into the dip of your hip instead, dragging his tongue along something that is not your clit.

"So perfect."

His fingers prod through your folds, parting you, fingertips wading through the slickness pooling at your entrance. The sound that spills from him is sinful.

All of your muscles coiling tight, every inch of you scorching with unmet need and just when you think you're going to have to beg him, just when the words start to form —

He gives in. 

His tongue is there first, dragging a flat, broad stripe through your center, licking over every hypersensitive inch of you before looking up at you through hooded eyes. You swear you nearly come from the sight alone.

"Knew you'd be sweet."

Aaron doesn't waste another second, burying himself in you, mouth moving like he's been ravenous for this. 

His grip is firm as he spreads you wider, keeping you at his mercy. His lips wrap around your clit for a split second before he moves again, tasing, licking, humming, lapping up everything you're giving him.

It's messy. Wet. Dripping. His mouth moves as he tries to wreck himself on you. Each second convincing you that he wouldn’t mind suffocating here if it meant another taste.

His nose nudges against you, the angle so cruelly perfect it sends another violent tremor through your body, legs jumping against his shoulders. Your fingers grasp blindly for purchase, gripping the sheets, tangling in his hair, at anything you can reach. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs into you, words muffled by your pussy. "Let me hear you."

"Oh — " The sound falls from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block out the overwhelming pleasure if you just try hard enough.  "Oh, that's — "

Your hips stutter, thighs tightening around his face.

Aaron chuckles darkly, and you feel it more than you hear it, the sound pulsing through your core.

You’re not sure you have a body anymore, not sure you exist outside of this moment. You’re just sensation, just trembling atoms held together only by his hands, his breath, his voice. There’s no past or future – just now, just him.

If this is what it means to transcend, to be unraveled and rewritten in the same breath, then let it consume you whole. You could die like this, and it would be the kindest death you could ever ask for.

A single finger ghosts over your entrance, teasing but never quite committing. He dips in, just the barest of intrusion, and you shudder, clenching around nothing because it’s gone just as fast. 

He waits, just long enough to hear the next breathy fussing before finally spearing back in. Your eyes flutter shut, breath breaking apart in little puffs.

The sounds coming from your cunt should embarrass you, sticky, so shockingly loud that if your brain was working, you’d be mortified. But it’s not working. Not even a little. 

His hand flattens over your stomach and suddenly the pressure doubles, triples.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, "feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, oh my gods, Aaron, I—"

Your normal senses have left the building. Packed its bags, hit the road, abandoned you to whatever dark magic this is. Because this —this isn’t how your body works. This isn’t how guys work. You don’t come from this. 

But here you are, hurtling toward it at full speed and all because he decided you would.

It’s happening too fast, the pressure stacking. Your thighs shake open, stomach clenching so hard it aches. Your mind is lagging behind, still reeling, still trying to rationalize but it doesn’t matter because your body has already made its choice, has already given in, has already decided this is happening, whether you’re ready for it or not.

"Aaron, I think—,"

Aaron just groans, finishing your sentence for you, lapping up your confession with his tongue,

"I know, baby." Hot air blows against your swollen clit. "Let me feel it."

It crashes over you, back bowing off the bed. Your body splinters apart, thighs trembling so hard you couldn’t stop them if you tried. The edges of your vision smear into nothing as the pleasure consumes everything in its path. 

His mouth stays on you, tongue and fingers pushing you through the aftershocks until you’re clawing at the sheets, until that pleasure tilts so far into oversensitivity that makes you unaware if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away.

Your limbs feel like liquid, consolidating into every inch of your body, melting into the mattress as Aaron moves to be face to face with you.

He's looking at you like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet, and maybe he is, because when his lips get close enough, you tug him the rest of the way down, crashing your mouth into his in a way that's all sloppy desperation.

You can taste yourself on him, can feel the way he groans into it when you sigh against his mouth, all soft and dreamy and drunk on gratification. 

When you pull back, your fingers card through his hair, fixing nothing but feeling everything.

"Oh my gosh," you gasp, dissolving into giggles, toes curling as you flop back against the pillows. "I knew you'd be good at that, obviously, but I wasn't expecting all that. Like wow, you should get a certificate of excellence or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh dramatically, "Or like, a trophy, a raise, a sash that says best head giver in gold letters—," You pause for a breath, sucking in air like you just realized how winded you are.

"— and I mean, I've never come like that before. So. You should probably put that on your résumé."

When Aaron presses against you, you feel every inch of him. Thick and unfortunately still restrained. His slacks are a cruel barrier, the rough drag of the fabric catching your clit in a way that rips a whimper straight from your throat.

His teeth scrape along your jaw, then he's mouthing at your neck, sucking, teasing, marking you.

"Firstly," he murmurs. "I hate the idea of anyone else touching you."

An involuntary shiver rolls through you.

"And secondly," he continues, "the fact that they didn't even know how."

Your hands are frantic as they fly to his waistband, fumbling a bit, the last hindrance between you offensive in its existence. 

"Well, yeah," you sigh, looking up at him through fluttering lashes, glossy lips parted just for him. "I mean, you're literally the only one who's ever known what to do with me. That has to mean something, right? Like, cosmic destiny or whatever."

Aaron shoves his pants and briefs off, barely sparing them a second thought, and then he's back, fitted between your thighs.

"You already know the answer to that." His lips brush your temple. "I'm the only one who knows how to handle you. And I plan on proving it."

"Yeah, okay," you say, squirming beneath him. "Not gonna argue when that sounds like the best idea ever."

You've seen a lot of versions of Aaron. You've seen work Aaron, serious and bossy, looking at crime scenes like he can hear the evidence whispering just to him. You've seen grumpy Aaron, glaring over his coffee when you talk too much at morning briefings (but you know he likes it, he just won't say). You've seen soft Aaron, the one who lets you steal his jacket even though you definitely don't need it.

But you've never seen this Aaron. This post-kissing-you Aaron. Lips slick, still damp with you, evidence of where he’s been, what he’s done.

His eyes flick to yours, and there’s no shame, no rush to wipe it away. If anything, he tilts his head, letting you see it from a better angle.

"You're so handsome, Aaron." Your voice trembles. You don't even know if you said it out loud or just thought it so hard he must have heard it anyway.

"And you,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb over your cheek, “are so damn sweet, honey."

You beam at that, overwhelmed, so unbelievably happy that your thoughts are practically spilling out faster than you can catch them.

"Okay so I just need to say — this is so exciting, like, you do realize I've had a crush on you for years, right? And now this is actually happening, and that's just — wow."

You suck in a sharp breath, nails dragging over the thick muscles of his arms, across his shoulders.

"I mean, it's us, Aaron. Can you believe that? Like, I feel like this has been building for so long and now I'm just — gods, you're so hot, this is actually distracting me. I can't even finish my own thought —,"

You laugh, because you already feel so full of him and he isn't even inside you yet.

"And I know you're being all careful and slow because you're sweet and romantic and, like, the most perfect man alive, but also —,"

You grind up, chasing friction, his cock sliding just right over your clit. Your breath stutters, hands fisting at the nape of his neck as you try to remember what you were saying.

" — I'm literally at your mercy right now, so you should probably take advantage of that before I —,"

"You talk so much, baby."

And then he shuts you up. Hard.

His mouth rams into yours, ingesting the comment, the breath, everything.

He doesn't rush. 

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance before he finally, slowly, pushes inside.

It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts against his, lips catching on his as a little sigh slips out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, helpless against the way he's opening you up. 

He stills, a sharp, fractured inhale slicing through the air, fingers digging into your hips — hard. He is struggling. You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, like his body is screaming at him to move.

"I-I'm good." Your laugh wobbles, catches at the edges, barely disguising how badly you want him to believe you. "You can keep going."

"You're tensing because it's been a while." You don't mean to, but your body reacts before your brain can tell it not to, stiffening. Stupid, stupid. His exhale is shaky, and his lips press against your cheek. "I know that. I expected that."

You swallow, but it doesn't help.

"I also know that you think if I notice, I'll stop." His forehead rests against yours. "But I need you to hear me, baby. I'm not stopping."

His lips graze yours.

"I'm going to work you through this. Just let me in, princess."

And the second you do, the second you finally give in —

He groans, pushing deeper, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt. 

"There we go," he breathes, wrecked with praise. His hand presses to your lower belly, feeling how deep he is, how well you take him. "That's my good girl."

Your head tilts back, lips parting, body doing the melty thing that feels really, really nice but also really, really dangerous because you swear you're seconds away from levitating straight out of your own skin.

"Okay, so I did think this would feel good —," Your fingers twitch against his chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-damp skin as another sharp moan tumbles free. "— but, um, wow, this is like — this is so —,"

Your words taper off, get lost somewhere between your psyche and your mouth, because oh. Oh, wow. He's so deep, so heavy inside you, pressing into places you didn't even know existed.

"Go on, baby," he murmurs, a smirk plastered across handsome features as he dips his head. "You were saying?"

"You know," you gasp, words all flimsy and loose, like they've been shaken up inside you, "I kinda always wondered how big you were —"

Your breath hooks halfway through, hiccups on a moan, brain scrambling to keep up with your mouth, your mouth scrambling to keep up with — him.

"Not that I, um — I stared at your pants or anything —" Another sharp inhale, another desperate moan, your walls fluctuating and squeezing around something too thick. "I mean, I try not to because I'm a professional —"

An involuntary clench makes him curse, makes his fingers dip into your hips, makes his head plunge forward hard against your shoulder.

"Honey, shit—,"

Your lashes flutter. "What?"

"Sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that while you ramble about my cock, I'm not going to last."

Your mouth clicks shut promptly.

"That's what I thought."

Hotch rocks his hips, just once, a sharp gasp fissuring from your lips like you weren't expecting it. 

"Jesus, sweetheart. You're trembling." He cups your cheek, his thumb skimming over your bottom lip, eyes dark and aflame. "Does it feel that good?"

You nod, and he hums, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in. 

His hand drags down your waist, spans over your belly, fingers pressing like he's charting the way he fits inside you.

"I used to tell myself I wouldn't do this," he admits. "That I wouldn't touch you. Wouldn't ruin you like this."

Your head lolls back, eyes fluttering, lips parted prettily, gasping as he rocks into you again, and again, and again. You shake your head, or at least, you think you do.

"You don't —" You try to shape words, but they liquefy on your tongue. "Don't ruin me, Aaron, you — oh, you make me —"

Hotch's throat bobs, his pupils blown.

"You make me so, so good, so soft, so perfect."

His hand cups your jaw. "You're already all of those things, sweetheart."

"Not before you," you sigh. "I've been waiting so long, Aaron, so, so long —"

"I know, baby," he groans. "I know."

His hand veers between your bodies, his fingers finding the swollen, neglected bundle of nerves.

“Aaron — oh, wait, wait, wait —,” Your hands shoot up to his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can, I mean, I can, but it’s just —,”

His cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“Too much?”

“Yes, no, kind of? I don’t know, I can’t—,” You choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head. “I can’t think.”

“Good.” His forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. “I don’t want you thinking. Just feel me, sweetheart. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

Your body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don’t even know if you’re moving or if he’s just pushing you through it. 

“I know, baby. But you can take it, can’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, body twitching. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, groaning as he grinds into you, stretching it. “One more, honey. You can give me one more.”

It hits you slowly, unwinding through your organs like smelted honey.

“Oh, oh —,” Your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can’t do anything but let it consume you.

“Christ,” he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

You barely register the way you’re gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

“That’s it, princess,” he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. “So, so good for me.”

His pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

“You’re so tight, honey,” he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

You’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

He groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

A shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

He doesn’t mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. You want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat. 

He murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

His lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

Your arms wind around his neck before he can get too far. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’m crushing you.”

“Don’t care,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse. “Feels nice.”

“You did so good.”

When he finally pulls out, you feel the loss and everything that comes with it, his release sticky and warm beneath your thighs. 

Aaron disappears into the bathroom, and you barely have time to miss him before he’s back with a warm cloth in hand.

You giggle, squirming before he even touches you, already restless, and the second he presses the cloth to your inner thighs, you jerk, laughing helplessly.

“Oh, wait —,”

Aaron sighs, one hand pressing against your hip to keep you still. “Sweetheart. You have to let me clean you up”

“But it tickles—,”

He smirks and continues his work. “How do you feel?”

“Like I saw god actually,” you ramble, kicking your feet against the sheets. “Or, like, like, if I had to describe it, I’d say I transcended reality for a little bit —,”

Aaron just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee as he finishes cleaning you up. Each swipe reminds you that your legs might not be on speaking terms with you tomorrow.

When he’s done his mouth finds yours again. It’s easy to kiss him. If it were physically possible to stay attached to him, twenty-four hours a day, you’d gladly test the theory.

“Worth the wait,” he breathes into your mouth.

“Well, yeah,” you murmur, smirking up at him. “I figured it would be for you.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, baby, you were good,” he mutters, kissing right over your stuttering pulse. “You were so good.” Another kiss. “So good I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Your heart hasn’t even slowed down, and you’re already thinking about the next time. Already plotting, already ready to drag him back down and see just how quickly that next time could turn into right now. But before you can so much as tug at him — Aaron is rolling out of bed, pulling on his pants, disappearing into the kitchen.

You mean to protest, to demand why he left you alone in a post-bliss haze, but then he’s back, pressing a glass of water into your hand, watching you drink it like it’s his personal responsibility.

Then comes food, something light and something he feeds you between kisses, between lazy murmurs about nothing. 

At some point, the blankets are back over you, his lips pressing against your forehead, his voice saying something about getting some sleep before you got any ideas, before pulling you against him.

You hum, content and drowsy, shifting a little, rolling over to get more comfortable —

And then your eyes land on that photo frame from earlier. You had a clear view of it now.

It was you.

It takes you a second to place it, but once you do, you almost laugh. You know this photo — because Garcia took it. She printed it out months ago, probably as some ridiculous gag, and stuck it to Aaron’s office wall with a bright sticky note that read your favorite obviously. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, called it workplace favoritism, but he’d never taken it down. 

And now, somehow, it’s framed. On his nightstand, like he’s been looking at you every night for —

You don’t finish the thought.

Instead, you just smile, huge and uncontrollable.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you don’t need him to.

Because you already know.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[theliliesofthevalleies]

The skeletons wordlessly point around the room as if the reasoning should be obvious. Obviously he had been put in the summoning circle.

Danny puts a hand over his mouth and closes his eyes in contemplation for a moment. He takes in a long deep breath and looks at the skeletons. “And.. no one thought to.. I don’t know.. alert me to the fact that there is a whole living person in the offerings room..?”

All the skeleton’s just shrug and go back to pampering the now stunned and speechless Robin who is staring up at Danny from where he’s seated on the floor. “You’re a lot younger than I thought you’d be. Honestly that’s a relief. I was worried I was being offered as a bride to the ghost king that was going to be like.. old and gross..”

“You were offered as what?! You’re fourteen?!” Danny stares at the teenager no older than himself and crouches down. “What do you mean as a bride for me? Why would they even assume I wanted a child bride…?”

Robin, now removing his mask because, fuck it why not if he’s stuck there might as well, shrugs as he looks back up at Danny now showing him that he is in fact Tim Drake. “Don’t know.. don’t really care. I would however like to get home. My.. adopted father and his other adopted adult child are probably looking for me and considering that the last time a Robin went missing he was murdered.. they are probably losing their minds..”

“Right right.. uh.. well.. I have to ask Clockwork about how to send you back.. because the Infinite Realms sort of identifies you as.. my property now.. and the fact that you are technically dead..” Danny looks like he’s ready to hurl from the thought but he straightens up.

Tim looks up at him with wide eyes and blinks a few times. “I’m dead..?” He pat his own chest and looked at himself all over.

“Only technically.. you were given as an offering.. the only way to send a living being to the Infinite Realms is to kill them.. or half kill them.” Danny thinks for a moment. “Honestly when we get you back. You may only have a half life.. you may be a Halfa now..” He shrugs and starts leaving the room. “Come on. I’m not going to force you to stay locked in here. Though.. m aybe put your mask back on. Some of the residents of the Infinite Realms still like to keep your identities a secret for themselves..”

Tim stands and places his mask back on his face trying ti ignore the reeling in his head from finding out he had apparently died. “So. You already knew who I was..?”

Danny with a dejected look and tears welling up in his eyes. “No.. I was one of the residents that enjoyed keeping your identity a secret. But it’s okay.. you just proved my theory so…”

Tim nods. “Right.. sorry about that..”

They make their way to Clockwork and find out it will take a while to send Tim back home. In the meantime Danny and Tim spend a lot of time together getting to know each other. Danny brings Tim a change of clothes when he comes back from school one day.

By the time they manage to navigate the stupid rules of the Infinite Realms two months later Tim is on the verge of his fifteenth birthday and has realized feelings are starting to bloom in his chest when he sees Danny. They agree to stay in contact and when Tim is dropped off on the day of his fifteenth birthday he leans over and kisses Danny’s cheek before running off to find Bruce and Dick who, as he predicted had in fact lost their minds.

It takes a lot of explaining to get them to calm down and understand that he A.) didn’t run away and get murdered. B.) didn’t die at all. Which Tim knows is a lie but he doesn’t want Bruce and Dick to freak out about him dying. And C.) is very much alive despite the blood loss of cult members trying to sacrifice him to what is essentially a god.

(Idk if op wanted this to turn into ship but I’ve been reading a lot of DannyxTim fics lately and that’s where my brain went. Lol.)

Bonus. When Jason comes back as Red Hood Tim can tell because Jason has a similar aura to Danny. Danny comes to visit and when he sees Jason he tells Tim that Jason has corrupted ectoplasm and he’s not sure how but his core is shattered. Danny and Tim set out to help Jason and they manage to clean his ectoplasm before Jason can bring his who reveal and revenge plan to fruition.

Once his ectoplasm is clean and Danny got his core into mostly one piece Jason all but loses interest in his big dramatic revenge plot so Tim brings him to the manor one day and Bruce freaks out.

Danny and Tim explain to Bruce what was up and that now that his ectoplasm is clean and his core is mostly whole now would be the best time to talk to Jason about all the things Jason is angry about.

(Side note I really like the idea that Danny helps Jason right after the first time he meets him and it freaks Jason out because, why the hell is the replacement and his boyfriend randomly finding him and why is the replacement’s boyfriend shoving his hands in his chest. It sort of freaks him out. But it helps the Pit rage so he honestly lets it happen.)

DPxDC Prompt #17

There is a room Danny's Keep he set up shortly after defeating Pariah Dark. It became necessary when the broader magical community realized Pariah had be defeated and therefore a new King took his throne. Danny found himself briefly bombarded with waves of attempted summonings.

Which, the summonings themselves, wouldn't have been so bad. Turns out people can't just drag the King of Ghosts to themselves on a whim. Danny has to actively accept a summoning to get pulled to it. And if he just decides "No," the pull and whispers go away. No problem there.

No, the problem is the offerings. And sacrifices. The things that people put in the circle as payment for even attempting to summon him. Like having to put a quarter in the payphone just to listen to it ring and ring and ring as the person on the other end of the call doesn't pick up. Since the summoning magic regarded these things as belonging to Danny even if he rejected the summons, they usually ended up just materializing in front of him if he didn't go to them.

Which, okay. It was funny that time he got to end a fight with Vlad very fast when a whole gold bar materialized and dropped on his head. And the food was nice sometimes when it was late and everywhere was closed and his parents had left samples in the fridge to contaminate everything into animation again. But the goat head dropping from the ceiling onto his desk during on of Lancer's English tests was not appreciated. Even if it did get the test rescheduled and the whole school shut down for a few days to investigate the "potentially satanic activity."

So, yeah, it was a bit of a problem. Fortunately, it was a problem with a relatively simple solution. Danny set up an inbox. With a bit of help from Tucker and Pandora, and a couple tips from Clockwork; all summoning offerings and sacrifices would now go straight to the dedicated room in the Keep.

And! As a special touch, the summoners would also get a chipper, automated voice saying, "The Ghost King you are trying to summon has more important things to do than answer you right now. Please leave a message in the circle with your name, date, location, contact information, and reason for summoning. The Ghost King will get back to you at his earliest convenience." Sam's stupid fancy girl gala voice had been perfect for that little message.

It was the perfect solution. Danny no longer had to deal with randomly materializing offerings putting his secret identity at risk. Pariah's skeletons, who had been antsy for something to do now that they were no longer bent under the thumb of a cruel tyrant, were instructed to take care of all the offerings; making sure everything was always cleaned up and put away. And all Danny had to do was stop by periodically to check in and "Officially respond" -ie, write a fuck off note- to the summoning messages (Clockwork's insistence).

A perfect solution. Up until Danny checked in one day to find the skellies pampering a whole ass boy. No. Not just any boy. Danny recognizes that costume.

"Why is Robin here?"

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're No Good

Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader

Summary - You have been promised to marry the psychotic, human hating leader of the Geto Clan, Suguru. Your heart sinks at the wedding when you realize you're likely to be ended once you've fulfilled your duty, giving him an heir. He detests you on sight, as do you, but something happens the first time you lay together, Suguru swears you're some witch, because he can't get enough of you. He becomes consumed with fucking you, with the excuse of 'having an heir' but you begin to wonder just where the lines are blurring. Would you survive this- and will Suguru survive being with you?

CW- Arranged marriage trope, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, psychotic Geto lol- lots of hate sex, Suguru calling you a stupid monkey, angsty, FULL of smut. Reader is a virgin bc she's sheltered due to been promised to him. Reader is FEISTY asf and mean right back. Explicit sex and Geto being whipped/insane/obsessed and psycho. This part- Heavy angst, hate sex, cum licking, oral (m and f recieiving) choking, smacking, say hi to Gojo, toxic relationship. WC this part- 6.5k

Will be six parts <3 Plz share/comment/ like if you enjoy!

<<<Part Two - Playlist - Masterlist - Part four (soon)

Part Three

“Fuck…” Suguru’s moaning as he’s filling you, and it’s just too much, too intimate, his silken long locks falling against your skin, his lips hovering over yours, one of your legs wrapped on his hip.

“Fuck you…” Is what you mutter back, as his cock fills you, hitting every damn spot all at once, you’re soaking him, hands gripping the blankets, trying to avoid that desire to grip him instead.

“You love it, don’t you?” You shake your head and he chuckles, slipping his hand down your tummy to toy with your clit, pressing it in circles, making you cum so damn easily. “No?”

“Who c-cares- mnh!” You’re screaming out as he overstimulates you, those lazy lidded violet eyes devouring your face, your nails grip his back on instinct, making him hiss in pleasure.

“Fuck.” He huffs again, as he feels your walls, so slick and tight, pulsating all around his veiny length. “Feel perfect-” He pauses himself, as you gasp, he’s burying his face in your neck again, fucking into you deeper and harder now, taking over all your senses while he hides his feelings.

That he’s obsessed with you should be obvious, it is obvious to fucking anyone besides you, clearly. You haven’t noticed the way he’s non stop in your presence, even as there’s a knocking on his door now, he scowls over at it, you release your nails and he glares at you.

“Put them back.” You scowl right back.

“You’re needed M-Master Geto- oh! Ah!” He’s slamming his cock deeper, using one arm to balance, as the other grabs you by your throat.

“Put them back, now. Are the sheets fucking you?”

“I like them better than y-you.”

“Annoying fucking brat…” He grumbles, shoving his cock so deep as the door knocks again. “What is it!?”

“Plans for Kiyoto, Lord Geto. We have been waiting for an hour.”

“I’m not done yet.” The wet sounds of his cock splitting you in half fill his chambers, as he chokes you harder, looking as you lose oxygen, big hand taking your pretty little neck more and more. “I’ll come later.”

“Kiyoto?” You murmur, and he squeezes harder, slamming his cock even deeper as the bed creaks with the force.

“You can still speak?” He raises an arrogant brow, you’re helpless as the fuzziness of him choking you makes you feel like you’re floating as he slams his cock so deep, tip pressing into your spongy cervix, you pulse all around him screaming silently in pleasure. “There, shut your stupid mouth.”

Suguru releases your throat, slamming his lips on yours, and you’re too weak to fight it, you let him kiss you, clinging to him desperately, and letting go for just one blissful moment. Where you inhale the scent of the sex filling the room, where you feel his taste buds on your tongue, and your tongue moves back, earning his soft little whimper that he hides.

You wish you could let go.

But how do you let go with a monster?

Suguru’s big hand comes to your thigh now, gripping it and shoving impossibly deeper as you whine out, your hips rolling for more. If there is ever a time the two of you aren’t declaring your hate or scowling, it’s when he’s fucking you into that bed, deeper and deeper, kissing you like he could love you. A mix of hatred, desire, and more and more feelings you both suffocate.

A month married to him, in his bed constantly, in whatever position he had you in, last night you’d been on top of him, as he’d laughed while you tried to ride him, but when you’d rolled your hips a certain way, you got that look. The look of whatever real Suguru Geto is inside of this shell, you got a glimpse of his tenderness when he came inside you.

Even now, it doesn’t feel all like hate, not when he slows, and he parts his lips, murmuring something that sounded like beautiful, but when you ever looked at him, asked him what he whispered, he’d shut down and flip you. He’d fuck you harder until you couldn’t remember whatever tender words may have spilled from lips that only produce hate.

You gasp now, looking up at him, when he entwines a hand in yours, it’s too much pressure in your tummy, it’s too intimate really, he shouldn’t fucking do this, and he knows it. “D-don’t…”

“Don’t hold your hand, but I can cum in you?” He whispers back, and you gulp now, nodding, while he shakes his head. “Rather me choke you again?”

“Yes.” He scoffs, slamming his lips back down again, rhythm slowing. “Stop kissing me, fuck…”

“No.” You turn your face and he exhales, biting your throat now, sinking fully in and throbbing inside you. “Fucking brat, I swear.”

“Shut up and finish- mnh!” Suguru leans up and shoves you in that mating press now, looking down at you as his hair falls loose and silky and long, brushing the backs of your thighs.

“Need my cum so bad, pathetic girl?”

“Monkey.” You finish, and he pauses, it’s been weeks since he’s said it during sex to you, shit a week since he said it at all. Any time someone else said it he’d end them, so people don’t talk that way anymore.

But the irony is it’s his creation, calling others that.

“You only shut up when I lick you, even dick apparently doesn’t work.” You flush at that, and he’s spitting down between your thighs now, obscene as he does it, running that rough thumb on your clit again as you scream out. “There we go, you can’t help yourself, feels too good.”

“Hate you. Hate you.” You’re whispering even as you shatter, milking his cock so that he cums right with you, groaning out loud, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Perfect little cunt, fuck…” He’s whispering, as he watches the creamy stripes already oozing from your little hole, moaning as he sees it, releasing your thighs. “You took so much, but you’re just pushing it all out.”

“There’s enough cum, you cum so much, ugh.” You grumble, voice breathy as he chuckles so cruelly, finally pulling out of you, dripping with your slick and his seed, sticky and glistening.

“Clean it up then.” He gets on his back now, yanking you until you’re on his face, you gasp then.

“Suguru…”

“Fuck…” He’s parting your drooling lips as you brace yourself on either side of him, feeling the tip of his tongue flick on your overstimulated clit. “Saying my name? Are you only sweet when I eat you out?”

“Shut it.” You lap at his sticky tip, he jerks in your hand, still mostly hard as he’s moaning against you, making you drip out more of his cum right on his lips, mixed with how slick you are.

“Pretty pussy so beat up.”

“Pretty, hmm?” You are met with him shoving up his cock deep, as you suck as much as you can of him, you’ve sucked him a few times now, times when you can’t help yourself.

You love to.

But you don’t want him having the satisfaction.

Though you’ve never done… this, sitting on his face while he laps you up, his huge hands on your hips, while his tongue scoops the cum pouring, only making you closer again. Your eyes roll back as you suck him deeper, losing yourself in the sensations again, it's hard to remember when his tongue devours you that he’s a mass murderer who ‘hates you’.

“Suguru…” You’re pulling back for a moment, pulling away as he flicks your clit again and again, hot breath right on your core, and he glares, yanking you back.

“Don’t run, now, let me get her ready for me again.” You just whine, pathetically, shaking your head.

“M’gonna cum-”

“Cum, then. Now.” You sure won’t be taking his orders, but he sucks your tiny clit in his mouth, shoving his cock up with a thrust of his hips, and you are cumming, just like he fucking said. Your thighs shake on either side of his pretty face, as he licks you clean, his own cock fully hard and ready again in your throat. “Finally being good?”

“Mmm, never…” He laughs at you, tapping your hips as you shakily get off him, just to yank you on top, sliding his length between your puffy lips. Your hands brace on his chest, your flushed face so gorgeous he can’t think for a moment. “Must we… so frequently? Shouldn’t I take a test?”

Suguru pauses then.

“And if you are, will you stop your duties as my wife?” He asks, while you grind on him, and you’re exhaling, trying to focus.

“What’s Kyoto?”

“Jesus… just fuck me, don’t talk.”

“That’s all we do!”

“That’s all I enjoy to do with you, it’s the only time you’re not a mean little bitch.” You glare now, leaning back and slapping his cheek, he slaps you right back, while he drags you on his cock, and you scream in pleasure, tits right in his face bouncing with the motion. “There you go, can’t help yourself.”

“Hate you… what the…” He slaps your tits now, as you whine out in pleasure, he leans up to suck one in his mouth, moaning, cheeks hollowed as he does. “Tell me nothing, hmm?”

“It’s an attack, okay? Will you focus on riding dick, your technique is pathetic.” You scowl again, rolling your hips just so and grinding with him bottomed out, smirking as you elicit a whimper.

“Whining like a little bitch, the almighty Lord Geto.”

“God I hate you.” He whispers, pulling you by your hair and kissing you again, so brutal and bruising while he shoves his cock up inside you, skin sweaty and slick from the two of you.

“Attack for what?” You whisper, close to cumming again.

“A thousand curses, will take out every non-sorcerer… f-fuck you feel so… mmm… and anyone who stops me.” You pause at that, unmoving, looking at him in horror now.

“What!?” You earn his scowl, he flips you on the other side of the bed, on top again, a hand on your mouth, as you yank at it.

“I’m killing everyone in that city that’s human. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe, you’re with me.” Your parents live in Kyoto, he doesn’t even let you argue, sinking deeper, shaking his head.

“My parents-”

“Your parents, my parents, baby they’re all gonna die soon.” You’re in horror and shock as the door knocks again, and Suguru rolls violet eyes. “I said I’m busy!”

“Satoru Gojo is here, Lord Geto. You may want to… see this.” Suguru freezes over you.

“You’re gonna kill our parents!? Everyone!? Really!”

“Have I ever made it a secret?” He scoffs, pulling out of you and making you flush in embarrassment as he looks at your body. “I said I’d make an exception, why is that not enough? What more must I constantly do?”

“I don’t know- not be a murderer psycho!?” He’s scowling again as he gets dressed, and you hastily follow.

“I’ll be out there in just a moment.” He says gruffly and you’re following him out, earning him constantly glaring back at you. “I’ll knock you out with a sleeping curse if you don’t stop.”

“Thought I was supposed to go everywhere with you, as your wife, hmm?” His jaw locks as you two step outside, the brightness blinding for just a moment, as several of Suguru’s cult members are ready to fight Gojo, who’s just smirking, turning his attention to the two of you then.

“You paid me a visit, figured I’d return the favor buddy.” Satoru says with a big grin, and Suguru smirks so damn evil, while Satoru eyes you behind the veil of white thin material, face softening a bit. “Who’s the pretty girl, and why is she near you?”

“My wife, okay?” Satoru pauses, while Suguru steps closer, crossing his arms under his wide robes. “What’s it to you?”

Satoru pulls up his white wrapped blindfold, one cerulean eye meeting yours, swirling storms that you could never forget, looking back at Suguru, glossy lips turning up in a smirk. Suguru scowls right at him, when Satoru puts his hands in the pockets of his dark blue pants, tilting his silvery locks as he steps just a bit closer, his shoes glinting under the light with each step.

“A non-curse user married to the infamous Suguru Geto.” Gojo whistles now, walking closer until he’s right in front of you.

“Arranged marriage.” Suguru says, making you tense, feeling sick to your stomach, sure you know it’s true, but…

Perhaps you thought you were a little more?

“Ah, need me to take her off your hands?” Satoru taunts, grinning as he puts his blindfold back on, and you watch Suguru stiffen, before he glares.

“The fuck you say?”

“You hate humans, I’ll take her with me. Sure she’d prefer that over certain death, hmm?”

“You won’t take her any fucking where.”

“Why, it’s forced, right?” Satoru’s lilting voice was laced with sarcasm, as he looks right through Suguru, the way you do, the way Shoko had so casually the day he last saw her, the way only people…

People he loved did.

Fuck he can’t, he doesn’t, but as Satoru brushes your hair back gently and you eye him curiously, he grips one of Satoru’s wrists tightly, and he can feel the goddamn gaze behind that blindfold. Knowing, still caring somehow, though Suguru doesn’t deserve his care, nor does he deserve you.

If he loved you enough, he’d let you run the fuck away with Satoru, perhaps he could keep you safe, from the monster Suguru had become.

But he can’t stand the thought of you gone.

“Is it because she’s pregnant?”

“What!?” Suguru demands, and he lifts his blindfold again, eyeing you with those powerful six eyes that everyone knows the Gojo heir has, as you touch your tummy, looking at Satoru in shock.

“It’s brand new, won’t even show up on a test, but you are.” Satoru’s voice is just a little soft, you could feel how he felt horrible for you, but also you could still feel the love he had for his former best friend.

“You can see?” You murmur softly, as Suguru’s lips are parted.

“I can see a lot. I see you care about her, hmm?”

“You need to leave, to prepare for when I come.”

“Suguru!” His name on your lips makes him pause, as you look at him with tears now. “You can’t do it.”

“Oh I can’t hmm?” Suguru’s struggling to remember his motives, all he can think of is that there’s a fucking baby in you already.

“You can’t do this, what life will this baby even have?”

“A better one, when the scum is off this earth.”

“Including her?” Satoru says now, and Suguru’s jaw locks, violet eyes narrowed with his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, the wind starts whipping around the three of you, as you feel Satoru’s immense energy. It’s far surpassing Suguru’s, intense to withhold as it surrounds him. “If you hate humans, you hate her.”

“That’s… she’s mine.”

“Your human?”

“She’s my…” He stands in front of you now, as Satoru grins, chuckling just a bit. “She’s my wife and has my heir, she won’t leave my fucking sight.”

Suguru never wants you to leave him, the thought makes his heart clench with fear, his very energy shifting, and Satoru picks up on it. “Oh so you’ll just kill her once she has your heir?”

“No I…”

“Why not, care about someone again?” Suguru bristles at that, at his friend seeing everything with one glance, Satoru has always been that way.

“So perceptive now, are you?”

Satoru’s jaw locks. “Now, yes, and you are blinded, can’t even see what’s here for you, can you?”

“Satoru fuckin leave, go prepare now because I sure the fuck am coming prepared to kill everyone in that city, including you.” Suguru stomps away, as Satoru sighs, stepping closer to you.

“Are you alright here?” He murmurs, you nod then, carefully. “I can get you out of here.”

“You what?” You blink just a bit, and Suguru is shouting your name, glaring at the two of you.

“You love him too, don’t you?” Satoru’s question makes you question yourself, your own heart, things you’re trying to shove back, to avoid. But it’s as if Satoru knows you better than yourself and almost like you can feel the love he himself has, the care radiating under his powerful energy.

“No! God no…” You falter, and Satoru exhales, brushing the backs of his fingers across your cheek, and you feel Suguru summon a curse right around you, making you gasp.

“Back the fuck off.” Suguru speaks through gritted teeth, Satoru just smirks, waving off Suguru’s curse like it’s nothing.

“You see them.”

“Yes, I can, some… family trait.” You murmur softly.

“Hmm, interesting. I can still take you away, just say the word.”

You hate Suguru.

Suguru is a psycho murderer.

Right?

“Or…”

“Or?” Suguru’s now got his people around him, his cult, his minions, making you sick as they gather, as if they’re putting a dent in Satoru Gojo.

“Or… you try to stop him.”

“Me!? He fucking hates me, he thinks-”

“Nah. He certainly doesn’t hate you, in fact… maybe only you can get through to him.” He rubs the back of his neck, as Suguru and his group start stepping forward. “I’ve tried, I’m… fucking tired.”

“If you don’t get through, how can I?” Your voice is hoarse, Satoru leans down a bit, voice dropping to a murmur.

“He feels something. Try to… just buy me some time could you?” You gulp now, as you touch your stomach again.

“I’ll try, Gojo.” He smiles at you then, the smile you remember has changed he's… sadder now.

“You have something on here…” He brushes long fingers against your neck, making you tremble a bit at the contact, then blush. You'd only been with Suguru and it wasn't either of your choices, so you wonder if it's just … someone else touching you? Or if it's his intense energy, but soon you notice a little piece of paper that he's placed there. “In case you need me.”

You nod, tucking it in your robes. “Thank you…”

“Good luck with… all of it.”  He disappears with one more sad look at Suguru, who's now scowling as he walks over to you. “Go to your room until I say you can leave.”

“What!?”

“Now you’ll be seen as a weakness.” He says, in disgust at the thought, looking at you furiously.

“Why, when you don’t care?” Your words make him furious, how can you not know what he feels?

“I do care, that’s the problem.”

“Oh, I’m a problem!?”

“Go. Now.” You shake your head at him, and he grabs you by your chin, squeezing it tightly. “Go to your room for the rest of the night, I will not repeat myself, or would you like your parents dead earlier?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You say through your sobs that are rising in your throat, and Suguru pauses, guilt flashing as he sees what he’s already done to you, and he hasn’t even started.

“Now.” You rush off as he stares, and the others gather, he aches to follow you when you slam that door, when he hears your cries, but he does nothing. “Someone lock her doors from the inside out.”

******

It’s been all night you’ve been stuck in this goddamn room, and of course you have no phone in here, Suguru lets you use a cell phone to speak to your parents but he never really lets you keep it in your room. Finally, it’s gotta be late, you’ve lost sense of time but the locked windows of your room show it’s dark out, the door opens with a resounding click.

You peer and see him then, furious at you as he stands there, and you step up to the doorway. “Locking me away like this is beauty and the beast, huh?”

“Might as well be, isn’t that what we are?” He raises a brow, and you gulp now, shaking your head.

“No, you’re beautiful. On the outside.” You watch Suguru pause now, face softening a bit. “If I’m pregnant, shouldn’t I be allowed to eat?”

“I didn’t say… you think…”

“You’ve locked me in here for hours.” Your tummy growls as if on cue, and Suguru feels like…

God worse than shit.

His best friend had just been there, and now the girl he’s fallen for is starving and apparently… pregnant. If Gojo is to be believed, there’s life inside of you already, and what sort of life would it be when you’re living in constant terror from him? But Suguru is too far down this path, as much as he will make an exception for you, he will not do that for anyone else.

His family and yours included, eventually.

“So you know, your parents are on vacation.” You exhale in relief, but then instantly feel guilty.

What about everyone else?

“Can I have a phone to talk to them, please?”

He shrugs then. “Sure, I’ll have one brought to you along with dinner.”

“So I have to stay here!?”

“Until you calm down.” He shuts the door again as you glare at it, and he’s resting his head on the other side, despising himself.

“Suguru, really!?”

It’s of no use. With dinner and a phone in a little bit, you devour it, realizing then that you are starving, you’d fucked the man all morning and are apparently… carrying his baby, and haven’t eaten anything. The door opens and Suguru stands there once again, crossing his arms and looking down at you.

“You can come to my chambers if you behave.” You’ll behave alright.

Knowing it to be your chance to attempt to get to him in any way, you agree. As you walk down the halls, seeing his daughters giggling as if everything’s fine, Suguru pats them on the head as he pauses, and when they leave, he looks at you. “So if they were human, what would you do?”

“I asked you to behave.”

“Did you think of Gojo and-”

“Forget who you belong to?” He says angrily, hands on your shoulders now, heat burning you through the silk of your robes.

“It’s just all arranged, yeah?” Your retort leaves him breathless, sputtering, as he catches you by your wrist.

“It was arranged, but let me explain-”

“Nothing you say makes any fucking sense!” You're yanking your arm, now he is dragging you to his room, you're stumbling helplessly, following his quick pace until he's slammed the door behind you.

“You are mine, all mine.” He whispers, huge hands on your face, as you bite a trembling lip.

“Suguru, you can’t do this. Please.”

“Stop telling me what I can or can’t do. Why, think I’m not powerful enough?” He slams a hand on one side of your head, making you tense.

“Is that all this is, who’s more powerful? Does this mean nothing?” You take that hand putting it on your stomach now, as he gulps audibly, his already tired eyes even more heavy.

“The heir.”

“The baby, say it.”

“Baby…” He murmurs, almost in wonder for a moment, before stepping back, as you feel your heart shattering. “You’ll stay here, you’ll be safe. I’ll have guards if they come to retaliate.”

“Oh, so it’s all fine then, you’re gonna what, kill other kids!? Pregnant women!? Does that make you feel good, Suguru, so fucking strong?” You shove at him now, and his dark brows lower, jaw clenched.

“You will be safe.”

“For how long, until your hatred overtakes you, and you remember what I am. Say it, huh?” He’s squeezing your wrists, shoving you off him, pinning them above your head as he leans down, the ticking of the clock on his wall matching the rhythm of your pounding heart.

Tick tick tick.

How long until your heart stops beating?

“You’re… more.” He wants to say it then, that he loves you, a human… that he’s never felt like this, even with the love of his friends.

Nothing like it.

You scoff right at him. “Tiny, pathetic, useless, but you’re different, okay? I know that you are.”

“I’m a human. Say it. Say monkey, isn’t that what I am?” He glares at you now, shaking his head, and you laugh then, a mean little laugh. “Can’t now, why?”

“You’re… I… just shut the fuck up.” He slams his lips down on your brutally, your arms are going numb until he releases them, his tongue diving inside your mouth, drinking every bit of you up as you whine softly. “I need you.”

You blink a bit, disoriented at his words, as he picks you up in his arms, and you cling to him, tears filling your eyes. “Why? I’m pregnant now, remember?”

“You think Gojo knows?”

“He knows a lot. He knows you.” Suguru glares now, your back against that wall, as his hands grip your ass, and you feel his hard body against you. “He loves you.”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” He’s kissing you again, as you exhale, trying to catch a breath, trying to control the storm inside of you. “No one should love me.” He murmurs against your neck, teeth sinking in, making you cling to him, nails scraping against the silk of his robes.

“Why n-not? You’re not t-too far-”

“Baby, I’m no good.” He whispers now, in your ear, and you know it’s true, you know that Suguru Geto is a fucking monster.

But you also know one thing too.

You’re in love with him.

In love with a monster who wants to end the world.

“Then why do you need me? Huh? Go get one of your girls, I’m pregnant already.” Suguru scowls as he leans back, and you bite back a moan as he moves against your hot, eager cunt.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?”

“Shut up.”

“No! We won’t.” You wriggle until you’re out of his hold, and heading for his door, he presses your front against it, hand on yours on that knob. “Let me go. You said once I got pregnant, you were done. Remember?”

Suguru said a lot, a lot of bullshit.

He called you disgusting, useless, trash, a monkey… but as you look at him the way you do, you’re breaking him, in between making his desire to take you grow by every fucking minute. He cups your face, brushing aside your tears, you always cried over him, didn’t you? He’s not worth them, he’s not worth any of you, yet he’s so obsessed and greedy he still takes.

“We don’t have to stop. We both enjoy this, don’t I make you feel good?” He’s slipping his fingers, moaning when he finds your soaked panties under your pretty yukata, and you clench your teeth, eyes rolling back. “We can give this a chance, having this baby.”

“A chance?” You whisper, in between hiccups of pleasure as he keeps teasing your clit over and over, and you find yourself arching against him.

“To be together. I know they’ll be special- like you.”

“I am a fucking human.”

“No.” He’s sinking two fingers in your slutty little hole, as those sticky walls grip his thick digits so good, as he loses himself in your scent, your feel, the sound of you, every fucking bit. “You’re special, you’re more, I know it.”

“Mnh… I hate you…” You cry out as he pumps more and more, thighs shaking while he works you so damn well.

“I know you hate me. You should… go ahead, cum f’me.”

“Call me it.”

“No.”

“Useless, pathetic- weak, worthless-”

“Beautiful.”

“No!” You’re fighting it, turning in his hold, as he sucks your juices off his fingers, getting on his knees for you, and you’re faltering again. “Don’t call me that.”

“You are beautiful. Do you not know?”

“Shut up. I hate you more for it.” Your tears stream further down your face, as he tries to grip you by the hips, to drag you closer to him. “You act as if you could ever love me.”

Suguru blinks then, pressing a kiss on your tummy for a moment, making you both pause. “We can have a perfect world.”

“It’s a massacre, it’s murder, it’s not perfect! Killing everyone that doesn’t meet your standards? Suguru please just stop. Stop it.”

He scowls now, standing tall, looming right over you, your breath catches in your throat in fear. “I will not stop my plans. Gojo got you this fucked up from one meeting? Maybe you did like him then.”

You scoff now. “Your audacity is batshit. How can you be jealous of your arranged wife who is a human, that you said you didn’t wanna touch!?”

“I… you know I didn’t…”

“I don’t know shit, Suguru Geto. Except Gojo loves you, and fuck, I see glimpses of how and why. I do.” You cup his face then, he jerks back for a moment, like your touch is fire, as you cup the other side of his face. “If you love Gojo, and if you care for me one little bit, you won’t.”

“You assume I love anyone.” His words, lies, tear you apart.

You blink more tears, as Suguru lies right to your face. “You care.”

“So what!? That’s why you’ll be safe.”

“And Gojo? And those damn kids from Jujutsu high, and the people of Kyoto, children, you’ll kill them?”

“Just go. You don’t want to now that you’re pregnant, right? Leave.”

“It’s not that, it’s that I want to know if anything good is fucking inside you, Suguru please just this one thing. Just don’t attack.”

His jaw sets as he pulls your hands off, and they fall to your sides, while he glares down at you. “I’ll give him another week to prepare, you can let him know since you’re suddenly his friend, hmm?”

“He loves you. Don’t you see it? Can’t you still be worthy of it? Of… my love?” You whisper, after he’s turned away, and Suguru laughs darkly.

“You could never love me.”

“How do you know- if you’d just try, Suguru!”

“I’ll give it a week. That’s the best you’re getting.”

“Is there any room for me or this baby in whatever heart you have left, with all that hatred inside you?” You whisper, he turns to open his mouth, but you storm out of his room, sobbing as you rush down the halls, leaving him alone, picturing his friend brushing your hair back.

Gojo would be better for you, wouldn’t he?

But Suguru doesn’t think he could ever let you go, even when he brings you to tears, even when he himself feels moisture that hasn’t been there in so long, memories and images of happiness filling him. Of you and a baby, maybe they look pretty like their mom, maybe they’re fiery like you, maybe they’re…

Human.

He sinks to the ground then, head falling against the door.

What if they’re human?

You’re collapsing on your bed, in tears, trying to pull yourself together, finally getting the number Satoru had conveniently hidden in your collar, pulling it out and dialing it, sniffling. “Hello?”

“I tried… I tried but…”

“Shh, hey, calm down.” Satoru sits up in his empty home, hearing your cries, some odd ache to comfort you filling him.

If anyone knows what it’s like to love Suguru Geto, despite all his flaws and his intentions, it’s Satoru Gojo. But also… you seemed so fragile, so small in a home that all hated you. And yet he saw it in your eyes, pretty eyes, full of fear but also feelings, and then he knew that you care for him, as much as Suguru cared for you, so very clear to Satoru.

“It’s okay… it’s not all on you.” Satoru says, his voice comforting your aching heart now.

“He said another week he would give you.” Satoru sighs then, nodding.

“A week is better, more time to prepare.”

“I tried, he doesn’t… he won’t…”

“I know. You love him.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Neither should I, but I remember my best friend, the only friend I had.” Your heart tears apart for the person Suguru used to be, and now for Satoru, who you barely know, but you feel it, the longing, the loneliness.

“I don’t know if he’s in there. I don’t know if I can face him if he does it.”

“You bought me time, sweetheart, thank you okay? You can only do so much right now.” He says softly, and you take a shaky breath.

“I see why you two were close, you’re kind of comforting.”

“Comforting hmm, I don’t think I was back then.” Satoru remembers being a little shithead, conceited, cocky. “I don’t think I was there when he needed me, when he needed someone. I can’t forgive myself for it.”

��You should.” You lay on your back now, staring up at the intricate patterns on the ceiling, as the warmth of the phone touches your cheek. “What are you gonna do, Gojo?”

“Try to save everyone, of course. Should be a piece of cake.” You snort then, as he laughs a bit, deterring the situation some. “I meant it, I can get you away, somewhere safe.”

“Why would you?”

“You didn’t choose this. You’re just… a girl. You know?”

“Pregnant, really?”

“Mmm, yeah I’m pretty sure. It’s a certain energy I can pick up on, like more than one in your body.”

“I should go, I’ll be fine, I don't think he’d hurt me… in any way other than… hurting others.” He hurts you in his own ways, sure, but Suguru doesn’t realize how much he’s hurting you, pushing you away. You shouldn’t care, you should have known he was this way, but something in you loves him, against it all.

Do you love the monster or the man still inside?

“All right, if you’re sure.” Satoru says softly, cutting your thoughts off as you blink a bit.

“Satoru, will you… kill him if you had to?” He hears the fear, the thoughts he has in his own mind clearly connecting with you, the last thing Satoru ever wanted to do was kill him.

“I’d try everything else first, but I have to defend the kids, and everyone else… if it comes to it, I… shit I don’t wanna think of it.” You hear his emotions, sighing as you come to understand his meaning.

“Is there any of him left?” You ask softly, Satoru takes off his blindfold, pouring himself a drink and leaning against the counter, pressing you against his ear.

“You want to know if the Suguru you met that day is in there?”

“What was he… like, even?”

Satoru laughs a bit, without humor. “He was a little shit.”

“Well, he’s still that.” You both laugh softly, shit it’s the first time you can recall laughing since you’ve been here almost.

“He was arrogant, but he was kind, he thought we should help the weak, I argued with him. He stopped me from… doing some rash things. We lost a few people, and he grew distant, I wish I noticed… or…”

“He wanted to protect the weak?”

“Yes.” You can’t fathom that it's the same man, sighing a bit now, shifting in the bed as sleep starts to tug at you somehow, though you’re scared to even close your eyes. 

“You really loved him.”

“I still do.” He clears his throat a bit now, Satoru’s never really shared how he felt until you, a stranger on a phone, married to his former friend, but for some reason he feels you understand more than anyone. Your voice alone, speaking the words, are something he didn’t know he craved.

“I will keep trying if I can, but I can’t face him right now.”

“Just get some rest, if you need me I’ll get you away. But I hope… I hope he’s still him, somewhere.”

“Me too. Good night, Satoru.”

“Good night.” You hang up, leaving his mind whirling, thinking of your pretty forlorn face, wishing he could save you, wishing he could save his damn best friend, and everyone else. “An extra week, huh…”

You curl up and pass out shortly after, in nightmare after nightmare, hating Suguru, loving Suguru, images of Satoru in there too, of them killing each other, hurting each other. Villages burning, a city in ruins, Suguru’s curses everywhere, so vivid and real you’re tossing and turning, unable to wake up, even as you scream out loud in your sleep.

Suguru is in your chambers then, watching what he’s done, sitting by your side as you toss and turn, gently touching your forehead, sweaty from your exertions. “Shh, Princess…”

Princess.

Why’d he say that?

Why couldn’t he call you it- monkey- anymore?

“Suguru don’t… I love you…” He pauses at your words, on your lips incoherent, tears glistening in the dark room. “Don’t… you’re hurting me… never loved me…”

“I do, fuck I do.” He leans down, holding you, he’s never spent the night with you, of course you wouldn’t allow it, but he’s never even held you.

What’s he done, but fuck you good and try to make you forget how horrible he truly is? As you calm now, blinking a bit, in and out of a daze. “Suguru?” You whisper, fear in your pretty eyes, mixed with more.

He caused this.

How could you even have a baby like this?

“Go to sleep, you were screaming so loud everyone is up.” He huffs, lying to you now, and you pull back.

“I’m fine. Just go, sorry I was having nightmares.” He pulls you back against him now, his strong chest, warmth you ache to sink against, all while you try to picture a world in which he wasn’t evil, wasn’t insane, wasn’t bloodthirsty. A world where he’s just a boy and you’re just a girl, cuddling in bed.

It’s a lovely dream, but you know it’s fake.

“Get to sleep.” His soft order is met with him pulling you even closer, covering you both with a blanket, and for one moment, you let yourself believe the lie, that Suguru could be himself again. That he’d give up this insanity for you.

A beautiful lie, really.

You nestle against him, wrapping an arm around his waist, burying your tired face against his neck, and Suguru feels himself breaking in two. Part of him wants to just… go back to how things were, to be good for you, but there’s still such hatred that’s eaten at him for years. Consuming him.

He knows hatred will win.

But as he holds the girl he loves, he hopes she’ll forgive him for what he's about to do.

More angst cominggg- this will be 6 parts loves <3

taglist #1 @ur-1fav-girl @gradmacoco @arabellasolstice @saitamaswifey @rjreins @uarmyhopeworldwide @makkiihehe @dabisdolly @angelzrulez21-blog @juicu @meme848 @arcanedx @satxoru @jeon-blue @longlivegojo @silvarys @enhasrii @inthedarkshadows000 @shokosmokes @schlokki @ashdiamashi @socutesotall @staarflowerr @you-need-namjesus @pkcoleight @tasteofapplecider @erenspersonalwh0re @makingtimemine @boobsbeesbongos @sjstg3 @msniks @hhhhhhhikariiiiiiii @l1v1ngzomb1e @lilbxtchsyndrome @voideddd @maddyhehehehhe @nanamiskentos @yenayaps @alygator77 @slamonwords @nonamevenus @sugurumylove @shibataimu @spicy-woodland-queen @nonamebbsblog @notyuralycat @beabamboo @satttanx

[luvvcho]

❅・WHISPER OF THE HEART

SYNOPSIS — The three times he tries to tell you, and the one time he actually does.

WC — (4k)

CONTENT: SFW, suggestiveness, angst , hurt/comfort, family issues/neglect, unrequited love (or so they think), alcohol/being drunk, self-worth issues/insecurity, mild jealousy, late-night drives & emotional talks, emotional repression, gojo deserves sleep but never gets it™, soft!gojo but he’s suffering in silence, gojo is really down bad.

a/n: highkey wrote this half asleep... but anyway i finished this faster than i thought! comment if you wanna be added to the taglist (just found out what this is lol) for this series :p m. list | < prev | next >

Somewhere near Tokyo, Japan 2009

Gojo lets the steering wheel glide through his fingers before tightening his grip on the expensive leather again. His palms are sweaty, his knuckles white, and the three hours of sleep he got the night before are finally catching up to him, creeping into the edges of his vision like static.

The plan for tonight had been simple: finish up paperwork at his father’s company, where he had been offered forced to start training straight out of high school. Then, he’d head home, maybe work out, maybe waste time bothering Suguru over the phone before eventually crashing. A mindless, predictable routine.

Instead, he finds himself almost an hour outside of Tokyo, in the middle of god knows where.

His foot eases off the gas slightly as he glances around, taking in the unfamiliar roads lined with trees and dim streetlights, their glow barely enough to cut through the darkness. The city was nowhere in sight. There were no high-rises, no neon billboards, no distant hum of traffic. Just the low rumble of his own engine and the occasional flicker of headlights from a passing car.

He exhales sharply, rubbing at his tired eyes with one hand while keeping the other steady on the wheel.

What the hell was he even doing out here?

The truth settles in his chest, heavy and uncomfortable. He didn’t want to drive this far. He didn’t want to end up here at all. But somehow, without thinking, he had ended up exactly where he always does when everything feels too much— wherever you are. Gojo got the call just as he was wrapping up work. You were drunk. Alone. Over an hour away from the city at some stupid college party in an abandoned warehouse.

He was exhausted. Three hours of sleep deep into a week where everything felt like too much. His head hurt from staring at contracts and numbers he didn’t care about, and honestly, the only thing getting him through the evening had been the promise of leftover Chinese food waiting for him in his fridge.

But when you called, he came. Right?

Even if his body screamed at him to go home. Even if he knew he shouldn’t always make it this easy for you. Even if the rational part of his brain told him that one day, this whole thing, his stupid highschool crush that never seemed to go away, was going to wreck him.

Still, he grabbed his keys, got in his car, and drove.

And now, almost an hour outside of Tokyo, in the middle of god-knows-where, he’s gripping the wheel with sweaty palms and trying not to let exhaustion drag him under.

He should be annoyed. Wants to be annoyed.

But all he can think about is you waiting, unsteady, needing him. And that, somehow, is enough to keep his foot pressed firm against the gas.

As he rounds the corner onto a dimly lit street, he hears it before he sees it. The deep bass of the music rattling the ground beneath his feet, the drunken laughter and shouts of students spilling out into the night.

His jaw tightens as he follows the noise, pulling up outside the warehouse. A mess of people lingers near the entrance, bodies swaying in a haze of alcohol and cigarette smoke. The place reeks of bad decisions and even worse company. And then he sees you.

You’re sitting on the curb, a little hunched over, your arms wrapped loosely around your knees. The party continues on behind you, people laughing, stumbling, yelling. But you’re separate from all of it.

For a second, relief washes over him. You’re safe. You’re not lost in that chaotic mess of bodies, not pressed against some guy who doesn’t know when to back off. You’re here. He exhales, tension leaving his shoulders. But then you look up.

Your tear-stained eyes meet his, mascara smudged at the corners, eyeliner streaking down your cheeks.

He steps out, shutting the door behind him, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he strolls over with a smirk. “Hey, gorgeous.”

You blink sluggishly at him before a slow, sleepy smile spreads across your lips. “Hi…” you mumble, then suddenly, as if remembering something, you groan and cover your face. “Don’t look at me. I’m not gorgeous right now.”

Gojo huffs out a laugh, crouching in front of you. “Bit late for that.”

You peek through your fingers, pout deepening. “Y’always see me like this.”

“Like what?” He tilts his head, playing dumb.

“Pathetic.”

Before he can respond, you push yourself to your feet. Not steadily, not gracefully, but you manage. Sort of? You take one step forward, then another, before your balance wavers.

Gojo moves to catch you, but you beat him to it, stumbling straight into him, arms wrapping lazily around his middle.

He stiffens for half a second.

Because shit.

Your dress clings to you, thin and weightless, like it was made to drive him insane. Not because he’s just noticing, but because he’s spent the last four years trying not to. But now, with you pressed up against him, with your warmth seeping through the fabric of his shirt, with the scent of whatever sweet perfume you’re wearing clouding his already exhausted brain.

God.

You sigh against his chest, voice muffled. “Can’t believe you actually came.”

Gojo blinks. Focuses. Ignores the way his hands instinctively settle at your waist. “Yeah, well,” he says, clearing his throat, “I am at your beck and call”

You lean back just enough to look up at him, blinking slowly like it takes effort.

“Alright, princess,” he says, “Think you can walk the rest of the way, or am I carrying you?”

You scoff, swaying slightly. “I can walk.”

“Right. Cuz that little show just now was real convincing.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then take one defiant step forward before immediately tripping over… nothing??

Gojo catches your wrist with ease, smirking.

And despite your protests, you let him guide you, his fingers firm and steady around yours. He opens the car door, steadying you as you lower yourself into the back seat. You move sluggishly, like even the smallest effort is too much, and he frowns as he reaches over to buckle you in. Your purse gets placed beside you before he shuts the door and circles around to his side, slipping into the driver’s seat with a sigh.

The engine hums to life, but for a second, he doesn’t move.

His gaze lingers on you through the rearview mirror. You’re curled up against the window, lashes heavy, lips slightly parted, your breath fogging up the glass. His fingers flex against the steering wheel, something unspoken settling in his chest before he shakes it off and shifts the car into reverse, backing away from the warehouse.

You’ve never been like this before.

Sure, he’s seen you tipsy; laughing a little louder, cheeks pink with warmth, words spilling out without a filter. But this? This is different. This is the first time you’ve ever let yourself fall this far.

The GPS screen glows softly as he punches in your address, the familiar route flashing across the screen. – ETA: 1:03

He exhales, rolling his shoulders as he glances at you again.

“Don’t throw up in my car, please.”

You hum in response, eyes barely cracking open. “M’not gonna,” you mumble, but your voice wobbles, breaking slightly at the end.

He sighs, shaking his head. “Just… if you do feel sick, tell me, alright?”

You mumble something incoherent, and he decides to take it as a yes.

The road stretches out ahead of him, empty and quiet. He tightens his grip on the wheel, keeping his eyes forward.

Because if he looks at you too long, if he lets himself really think about how easily you trust him, how you always call him when you need someone, he’s going to lose the battle he’s been fighting for years.

“So,” he says, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the car. “We gonna talk about why you’ve been crying?”

You shift against the seat, barely opening your eyes. “Can’t,” you mumble. “Too embarrassing.”

Gojo snorts. “C’mon. I’ve known you since we were fourteen. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you do worse.”

You hum, considering it, as the car smoothly merges onto the highway. The dim lights shrink behind you, fading into the distance, leaving only the soft glow of passing streetlights and the rhythmic sound of tires against pavement.

For a while, you don’t say anything, and Gojo doesn’t push. He just lets the silence stretch, waiting.

“Remember that guy I told you about?”

He gulps. “The one in your language seminar?”

“Yeah.” He already doesn’t like where this is going.

You continue, voice softer now, like saying it out loud makes it more real. “He was there tonight. He invited me, actually.”

Gojo’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel, knuckles paling.

“I thought maybe… I dunno.” Your voice is slightly more steady now. “I thought something was there between us.”

His jaw clenches. His grip on the wheel tightens. He doesn’t want to ask, but he does anyway. “And?”

Your breath hitches slightly, and when you speak again, your voice is quieter. “And I tried to kiss him.”

Gojo freezes, his gaze flickering back to you in the mirror.

His heart stalls for half a second before it kicks back in, pounding hard against his ribs. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry.

You keep going, oblivious to the way his grip on the steering wheel turns bone-white.

“But he pulled away,” you admit. “Said he doesn’t… doesn’t like kissing.” You scoff, shaking your head. “And I believed him. I told him it was fine, that we could still be friends.”

Gojo exhales slowly through his nose, forcing his expression to stay neutral. Fucking idiot, he thinks.

He should say something. He wants to say something. But you’re still talking.

“He said he’d be back. Told me to wait.” Your voice wavers, and he knows what’s coming before you even say it.

“He never came back,” you slur. “So I went looking for him.”

He doesn’t realize how hard he’s pressing the gas pedal until the speedometer ticks a little higher than it should. He forces himself to ease off, fingers aching from how tight he’s gripping the wheel.

“And?” he asks, voice low, strained.

You let out a small, bitter laugh. “Found him making out with some girl in the back.”

Silence.

Gojo breathes in slow, exhales through his nose. He should say something, anything. He should tell you that guy’s a fucking idiot, tell you that you deserve better, tell you that you should’ve never wasted your time on him.

Instead, what comes out is:

“What a dumbass.”

You hum in agreement, but it’s empty, hollow. “Guess I should’ve seen it coming.”

Gojo risks a glance in the rearview mirror. You’re staring out the window, fingers absently picking at the hem of your dress, your shoulders curled inward like you’re trying to disappear.

And fuck.

He hates this. Hates that he wasn’t there to stop it from happening, hates that he has to sit here and listen to you talk about someone else like this. Hates that you kissed him (or tried to). Hates that some guy got to have that moment, got to see the way you look just before a kiss, got to be the one you wanted tonight, even just for a second.

Most of all, he hates that you’re hurting, and he can’t do a damn thing about it.

His throat tightens, his chest burning, aching, twisting in ways he doesn’t know how to fix.

He should’ve been the one. “Toru.”

Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts, sharp but fragile, like you’re barely holding yourself together.

His heart lurches at the sound. Because it’s you, because it’s the nickname only you call him.

But then you sigh, pressing your forehead against the cold window. “You’re a guy, right?”

Gojo snorts, the tension in his chest easing just enough for him to fall back into his usual teasing. “Last I checked.”

“Then tell me.” Your voice is quieter now, almost hesitant. You shift slightly, facing him from the back seat, eyes hazy but still searching. “What’s wrong with me?”

“What?”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Why has no one ever liked me?”

His throat goes dry.

“Not once,” you continue. “No guys in high school ever asked me out. The ones I liked never liked me back. And now this?” You gesture vaguely, frustration laced in your voice. “I just don’t get it. What is it about me that’s so… unloveable?”

Gojo’s entire body locks up.

Because.. are you serious?

You, who he has spent the last four years trying not to love too much, not to touch too long, not to stare at like you hung the damn moon— you actually think that?

His fingers tighten so hard around the wheel he thinks he might snap it in half.

“What kind of dumbass logic is that?” he mutters.

You frown, shoulders curling inward. “It’s not dumbass logic, Satoru, it’s just—”

“No,” he cuts you off, voice sharper than he intended. His jaw clenches as he forces himself to take a breath. “You don’t get to say that.”

Your lips press together, confused, vulnerable in a way that makes his chest ache.

Gojo doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know how to tell you the truth without telling you. So he exhales, trying to steady himself, trying to be careful with the words he chooses next.

“You ever think,” he starts, voice quieter now, steadier, gentler, “that maybe it’s not you that’s the problem?”

You blink at him through the mirror. “Then what is it?”

Gojo grips the wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.

It’s not that no one likes you, he wants to say. You just keep liking the wrong guy.

But instead, he exhales, rolling his shoulders like he can shake the weight off. Keeps his gaze fixed on the road. Forces a smirk.

“I dunno,” he lies, voice light, easy. “Maybe guys are just fucking stupid.”

You huff out a small laugh, but it’s tired, empty. “Guess so.”

And Gojo doesn’t say anything else. Because if he does, if he so much as breathes the wrong way, he’s afraid the words he’s been swallowing for four years might just slip out.

“It’s just…” You hesitate, fingers curling in your lap. “No, never mind.”

Gojo sighs, glancing at you through the mirror. “Nope. Not letting you do that. Tell me.”

You exhale, rolling your head against the window, staring out at the passing lights. “You wouldn’t get it,” you mumble. “You’ve had a girlfriend before. Everyone I know has been in a relationship at least once.”

He flinches at the reminder. The girl he dated in senior year (if you could even call it that). A little over a month, barely anything. He never liked her much, never felt the way he should have. Maybe because no matter how hard he tried, she wasn’t you.

“I just don’t know why I can’t get anyone to like me,” you admit, voice quieter now, like you’re talking more to yourself than to him. “Like, what am I doing wrong?”

Gojo exhales, staring at the road ahead. And before he can stop himself, before he can think better of it—

“You know I love you, right?”

Silence. Then, a small, sleepy smile tugs at your lips.

“I love you too,” you murmur. “You’re my best friend.”

He forces himself to chuckle, to keep his voice light. “Your bestest friend.”

You hum in agreement, stretching slightly before slumping deeper into the seat. A second passes, then another, and when Gojo glances at the mirror again, your eyes are drooping, lashes fluttering against your cheeks.

He waits for you to say something else, but instead, you sigh, shifting until your head rests against the window.

“…What were we talking about again?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep.

“Nothing important,” Gojo lets out a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Go to sleep, princess, I’ll wake you up when we’re home.”

You hum once more, barely conscious now, and within seconds, your breathing evens out.

It’s a little past one when Gojo pulls up in front of your apartment building. The streets are quiet now, the world settled into a lull, save for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional flicker of a passing car.

He shifts the car into park and exhales, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. You’re curled up against the window, lips slightly parted, face relaxed in the soft glow of the streetlights. Peaceful. Innocent. Completely unaware of the way he’s been drowning in his own thoughts for the past hour.

Gojo drums his fingers against the steering wheel before turning in his seat, reaching back to nudge your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, voice softer than usual. “We’re here.” 

You stir slightly but don’t wake.

He tries again, fingers brushing against your cheek this time. “C’mon, I know you’re tired, but I’m not carrying you all the way upstairs.”

You groan, turning away from him, burrowing deeper into the seat.

He huffs, shaking his head with a smirk before unbuckling your seatbelt for you. “Alright, princess, up you go.”

Reluctantly, you blink your eyes open, slow and sluggish. “Wha’ time is it?” you mumble.

“Too late for you to still be passed out in my car,” he teases. “Let’s go.”

You manage to get out, swaying slightly the moment your feet hit the pavement. Without thinking, Gojo’s hand finds the small of your back, steadying you before you can tip over completely.

“Yeah, no,” he mutters, tightening his grip. “You’re gonna break something if I let you go up alone.”

You don’t argue, just let him guide you into the building, down the quiet hallway to your apartment. When you finally reach your door, you fumble for your keys, missing the lock twice before Gojo sighs and takes them from your hand, slotting the key in effortlessly.

You step inside, blinking sleepily, and Gojo lingers at the threshold.

“You got it from here?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

You pause, looking over your shoulder at him. “Wait for me?”

His brows lift slightly. “You sure you don’t just want to pass out in your dress?”

You glare at him, well, as much as you can in your drunken haze, before kicking off your shoes and stumbling toward your closet. “Give me five minutes,” you mumble, already pulling out a set of pajamas.

Gojo sighs but steps inside, leaning against the wall just outside your bedroom door as you disappear inside. He hears the soft rustling of fabric, the muffled sounds of you grumbling under your breath, the faint thud of something hitting the floor.

A few minutes later, you shuffle back out, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, eyes barely open.

He pushes off the wall, stepping toward you. “Alright, come on, let’s get you to bed.”

He leads you to the edge of your mattress. You sit down, and before you can do much else, he’s tugging the blankets over you, tucking you in with practiced ease.

Just as he turns to leave, your fingers weakly grab at his sleeve.

“Toru,” you mumble, voice barely above a whisper.

He stills, glancing down at you. “Yeah?”

You blink up at him, cheeks slightly flushed, though he can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or exhaustion. “Forgot to take my makeup off.”

Gojo exhales a small laugh, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”

He leaves for a moment, disappearing into your bathroom before returning with a makeup wipe. He kneels beside your bed, pulling you up slightly to sit, and tilts your chin with a gentle touch.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs.

You obey without question, too tired to protest. His fingers brush against your cheek as he wipes away the remnants of mascara and foundation, careful, steady. He’s never done this before, but somehow, he knows exactly how to be gentle with you.

He watches as the tension in your face fades, as your breathing evens out under his touch. He lingers, just for a second longer than necessary, before finally tossing the wipe aside.

“There,” he mutters. “All clean.”

Your eyes flutter open slightly, a lazy, sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Toru.”

He swallows, something warm and aching curling in his chest.

“…Yeah,” he says, voice quieter now. “Anytime.”

He stands to leave, but your fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Stay?” you ask softly. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

Gojo exhales, rubbing a tired hand over his face. For a second, he hesitates, then, he drops onto the floor beside your bed. “Yeah, okay,” he murmurs. “Go to sleep.”

And for the first time all night, you listen to him.

The next morning, you wake up to a dull, throbbing headache and the faint taste of regret lingering on your tongue. The room is dim, soft morning light barely filtering through the curtains, and for a moment, everything feels disoriented. Until you shift slightly and feel the warmth of a blanket tucked snugly around you.

Blinking against the ache behind your eyes, you turn your head and freeze.

Gojo is asleep on the floor, his long limbs sprawled out awkwardly, his head resting at the foot of your bed. His white hair is tousled, one arm draped lazily over his face, and his breathing is slow, even, completely at peace.

Your heart clenches, but before you can process why, a particularly sharp pang of pain shoots through your skull, and you let out a quiet groan.

At the sound, Gojo stirs, blinking blearily up at you before stretching with a lazy yawn. “Morning, sunshine,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “How’s the hangover?”

“Terrible,” you croak, burying your face into your pillow. “Why are you on the floor?”

Gojo pushes himself up with a groan, rolling his shoulders. “Because someone wouldn’t let me leave,” he teases, ruffling his hair. “Which, by the way, you owe me for. My back is killing me.”

You groan again, rolling onto your side to look at him properly. “Ugh. Please tell me I didn’t do anything too embarrassing last night.”

Gojo pauses for half a second.

He remembers it all. The way you clung to him outside the party, the way you called yourself unloveable, the way you looked up at him through tired, glossy eyes and told him you loved him— as a friend.

But you don’t remember.

And for the first time in his life, Gojo is glad you don’t.

“Nah,” he lies smoothly, standing up and stretching. “You were a total angel.”

You squint at him. “You’re lying.”

He grins. “Guess you’ll never know.”

You groan, flopping dramatically back onto your pillows. “You’re the worst.”

Gojo snorts. “And yet, I’m the one getting you water and headache meds.”

That catches your attention. You peek up at him, skeptical. “You’re actually taking care of me?”

He places a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “What, like I wouldn’t?”

You narrow your eyes. “I feel like this is a trap.”

He laughs, already making his way to the kitchen. “Shut up and let me be a good friend for once.”

A few minutes later, he returns with a glass of water and a couple of pills, setting them down on your nightstand. You mumble a half-hearted thanks before sitting up, wincing as you swallow them down.

Gojo watches, hands on his hips, then huffs dramatically. “Alright, move over.”

You blink at him. “Huh?”

He gestures toward the bed. “Move. I spent the night on the floor like a peasant. I’m reclaiming my dignity.”

You laugh, groggy but amused, before shuffling over to make space. “Fine, but if you kick me in your sleep, I’m shoving you off.”

Gojo flops onto the mattress beside you with a relieved sigh, settling into your pillows like he belongs there. “Please, I am an excellent bedmate.”

You roll your eyes but don’t protest when he drapes an arm over his face, already half-asleep again.

And as your headache fades and sleep starts to pull you under again, you don’t think too much about how comfortable this feels.

But Gojo does. And he wonders how much longer he can pretend this is enough.

pls do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own :) if you have any issues with what i wrote or noticed any mistakes, let me know privately. thank you for reading <3

[babsworlds]

COMPLETELY WASTED.

pairing. Dave Lizewski x bsf! fem! reader

synopsis. Dave gets very very drunk and say some things that really catch you off guard.

warnings. drunk Dave (like whoa), alcohol, mention of throwing up, pre relationship.

babs’ notes. this is similar to Midnight Confessions but this is standalone, i just had to write wasted Dave lol.

BRINGING DAVE TO THE PARTY WAS THE STUPIDEST IDEA EVER. You didn’t know what you were thinking when you told yourself it would be a great idea and so much fun. In hindsight, you realized that taking someone who never drank to a party with free-flowing alcohol was a recipe for disaster. You had envisioned a night of dancing, laughter, and good times, but it quickly became clear that the evening would take a very different turn.

Dave never drank; he just wasn’t used to that. And the fact that he didn’t know his limits made it even worse. When he agreed to have "just one drink," you had no idea that it would lead to several more. Before you knew it, he was well past his tolerance level, and the effects of the alcohol were evident. His usually composed and responsible demeanor had disappeared, replaced by a goofy, unsteady version of himself.

You stumbled through the house, trying to keep Dave at least a bit stable, as he was completely wasted. You had never seen him like that before—logically, because he was always the one who took care of you when you were drunk. But you found it funny anyway; seeing him like this was just something hilarious.

As you tried to support his weight, you couldn’t help but laugh at his unsteady steps and the slurred, playful comments he made. He was trying so hard to keep it together, but the alcohol had clearly gotten the best of him.

You sat him on the stairs, taking a moment to look at your drunk best friend. His head was leaning against the wall, his usually composed expression replaced with a goofy grin. You thought about what to do next and honestly, you had no idea.

Dave looked at you, grinning from ear to ear. “You are so done, mate,” you laughed at his expression. His eyes were half-closed, and his smile was lopsided, making him look even more comical.

He completely ignored how you practically laughed at him. “I need you,” he slurred, looking at you with his drunken blue eyes, but still, they were full of desire and longing. His normally clear and sharp gaze was clouded by the effects of the alcohol, but there was something earnest in his expression that tugged at your heartstrings.

It was as if, in his inebriated state, he was more honest and vulnerable than he had ever been before. The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, you wondered if there was more to his drunken confession than just the influence of the drinks he had consumed.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “To call your dad to get you? Definitely,” you finished his sentence, trying to play it off as if it didn’t mean anything. You hoped that injecting a bit of humor would diffuse the intensity of the moment, but deep down, you knew there was more to his statement than he was letting on.

“Oh no, please,” he panicked, a look of horror crossing his face. Of course, you wouldn’t do that to his dad, and he knew it deep down. Still, the idea of involving his father seemed to sober him up just a bit, and he looked at you with a pleading expression. “Don’t call him. I can handle it,” he insisted, his voice trembling slightly.

“So you better start sobering up, Lizewski,” you said with a smile, but your tone was firm. You knew that getting him home safely was your priority, and seeing him in this state was a reminder of just how vulnerable he could be. The balance between teasing and concern was a delicate one, and you wanted to ensure he knew you were there for him, no matter what.

Dave nodded, his expression a mix of regret and determination. He tried to sit up straighter, but his head lolled back against the wall. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, the words barely audible over the noise of the party. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“You’re not causing trouble,” you reassured him, gently patting his shoulder. “But we need to get you home. Can you walk, or do you need me to call a ride?” Your voice was soft yet firm.

Dave took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I think I can walk,” he said, though his wobbling stance suggested otherwise. He took a tentative step, his legs unsteady and his balance precarious.

You managed to get Dave out into the fresh air. Luckily, the party was just a few blocks from your house, so it wasn’t a long walk. Dave had obviously lied about being able to walk—he could hardly stand. He collapsed onto the grass, and you rolled your eyes in exasperation.

You knew you couldn’t do it yourself, so you decided to call Todd, who was also at the party, hoping he wasn’t in a similar state as Dave.

“Todd?” you said into the phone, trying to keep your voice steady. “Can you come out in front of the house and help me get Lizewski home?” you asked, glancing over at the wasted Dave lying on the ground.

“I’m coming,” Todd replied, his voice determined. He clearly didn’t know what was waiting for him.

You kept an eye on Dave, who was now mumbling incoherently to himself. His usually sharp and witty demeanor was nowhere to be found, replaced by the drunken ramblings of someone who had definitely had too much to drink.

A few moments later, Todd appeared, looking relatively sober and ready to help. “Oh man, he’s really out of it,” Todd remarked, taking in the sight of Dave sprawled on the grass.

“Yeah, he is,” you replied with a wry smile. “Let’s get him home before he decides to start singing or something.”

Todd chuckled and nodded, bending down to help you lift Dave to his feet. With a bit of effort and coordination, the two of you managed to steady him and start the slow journey back to your house. Dave leaned heavily on both of you, his steps unsteady but grateful for the support.

“I want to kiss both of you,” Dave slurred, looking at you, then dramatically tilting his head towards Todd.

You and Todd shared a look, and you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “Being drunk isn’t an excuse for acting gay, man,” Todd said, narrowing his eyes at Dave. Todd definitely wasn’t completely sober either.

Dave giggled, clearly amused by his own bold statement. “I mean it,” he insisted, though his words were heavily slurred. “You guys are the best.”

“You can start reciting love sonnets next,” you pointed out as you tried to steady Dave’s walk.

“Alright!” Dave exclaimed with a slurred laugh, his enthusiasm unrestrained by his inebriation. He was clearly up for the challenge, even if his words were stumbling over each other.

“Please no!” Todd yelled, his voice filled with mock horror. The idea of a drunken Dave reciting love sonnets was terrifying for your ears. Todd’s exaggerated reaction only added to the absurdity of the situation, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the playful exchange.

You finally saw your front door, your eyes flickering with hope. You gave Todd a nod. “Okay, Romeo, say goodbye to your Juliet,” you said, as Todd let go of him.

Dave wobbled a bit but managed to stay upright, giving Todd a lopsided grin. “Goodbye, Juliet,” he said dramatically, attempting a bow but nearly losing his balance. You and Todd both chuckled at his theatrics.

“Thanks for the help,” you said, looking at Todd as you held Dave by his waist, his arm around your neck. “Can you make it home?” you assured yourself as you asked Todd.

“Yep,” Todd said confidently, waving to you with a grin.

You opened the door to your house, relieved that nobody was home. If your parents saw Dave like this, they would probably forbid you from hanging out with him. The thought of explaining the situation to them was something you were glad to avoid.

You led Dave to your room, where he promptly collapsed onto your bed. You took off his shoes, shaking your head at the state he was in. “Sit,” you commanded, trying to maintain some semblance of order.

Dave sat up, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. You reached for the hem of his shirt, wanting to change it since it was smelly and stained with throw-up. “I love you, Y/n,” he confessed, his voice a mix of sincerity and intoxication.

“Shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes and trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. His confession made you feel something, but you pushed it aside for the moment. “Hands up,” you commanded again. Dave obediently raised his hands, allowing you to take off his shirt.

As you removed his shirt, you couldn’t help but glance at his bare chest, especially his abs. He had mentioned that he had been working out lately, but damn, seeing the results in person was quite the revelation. You felt a mixture of surprise and admiration, but you quickly refocused on the task at hand.

You grabbed a clean shirt you had once decided to keep and helped him put it on. “Much better,” you said, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy despite the fluttering emotions inside you.

“Now pants,” you said, you couldn’t believe you were really doing this. You forced him to open the button and zip of his jeans.

As you took hold of his pants, rolling them down to his ankles, Dave looked at you with a mischievous grin. “Y/n, you are an animal,” he teased, clearly enjoying the situation despite his intoxicated state.

“You wish,” you replied, rolling your eyes as you threw his sweatpants from your drawer at him. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on you, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at how the night had turned out. Dave struggled a bit to pull on the sweatpants, his coordination not quite up to par, but he eventually managed.

You gave him a blanket as he comforted himself in your bed, still leaving enough space for you to fit. “I love you, you are the best,” he mumbled, his eyes half-closed as he watched you changing. You didn’t really mind his gaze; in fact, it felt oddly reassuring to have him there, even in his drunken state.

“You better,” you said with a smile, the words laced with affection as you turned away to change into your own sleepwear. The room was quiet except for the soft rustling of the sheets and Dave’s gentle breathing. The events of the night played back in your mind, and despite the chaos, you felt a deep sense of contentment.

Once you were changed, you climbed into bed next to Dave, careful not to disturb him. He shifted slightly, making room for you and reaching out to pull you closer. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing brought you a sense of comfort.

As you lay there, the weight of the night’s events slowly lifted, replaced by the simple joy of being close to someone you cared about deeply. Dave’s earlier confession echoed in your mind, and while you had brushed it off at the time, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of emotion at his words.

The morning after was a bit hectic. Dave had the biggest and his first hangover ever. You gave him some meds as he sat at the kitchen island, his head in his hands, regretting everything as you made breakfast.

“What everything did I say?” he asked carefully, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and dread.

Your smile turned mischievous, but you didn’t look at him, keeping your attention on breakfast. “You sure you want to hear it?”

Dave groaned, even though he wanted to know, he was scared, fearing the worst. You turned around and handed him a plate of scrambled eggs.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, looking at him with a mix of amusement and concern. “You wanted to kiss Todd, almost threw up, and wanted to recite love sonnets,” you started, watching as Dave’s eyes widened in horror. “And you said multiple times that you love me and need me,” you added, your voice becoming quieter as you spoke.

Dave’s head shot up, and he yelled, “I did what?!” The loudness of his own voice seemed to make his headache even worse, and he winced in pain. “I said I love you?”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, you did. Several times, actually.” You watched as Dave’s expression shifted from shock to embarrassment.

“Oh my god,” Dave breathed out. “I’m never letting Todd mix drinks again,” he tried to make it Todd’s fault.

“You mixed them yourself,” you corrected him, shrugging. Dave’s face turned a shade redder as he remembered the events of the previous night. He looked like he wanted to disappear from the world after all the disaster he caused.

“Y/n?” He broke the silence, his voice tentative. You turned to him, giving him a nod to show you were listening. “And do you love me?” Your heart dropped, and for a moment, you thought he was still drunk. But as you looked into his eyes, you realized he was completely serious and sober. The vulnerability and sincerity in his gaze were unmistakable.

You took a deep breath, your mind racing with thoughts and emotions. This wasn’t how you had imagined having this conversation, but here it was, staring you right in the face.

"Yeah," you said, smiling softly. "I do." You had just admitted you had feelings for your best friend after denying it for years.

In the end, drunk Dave was actually pretty useful in uncovering long-buried feelings.

[zepskies]

Omg first of all, thanks so much for shouting out As Tradition Dictates, my lovely!! I have more Eomer coming in the near future. 😘

But first *rubs hands together* time to dig into this delectable love triangle...

Dear LORD you didn't have to do me like this from the onset with that opening scene of Butcher. 🥵

No man his age should look that good. 

Correct. 👆🏽 Why is it that rugged men in their 40s attract me more than men my own age. 🫠🫠

Your mind starts to slip into a fantasy of a shirtless Butcher riding horseback across a desolate plain, his dark hair long, and a sword strapped to his saddle commanding a group of riders behind him to his every whim. Before scooping you up onto his saddle to ride with him, his strong arm wrapped around your waist, and his face buried in the soft skin of your neck, his rough whisper in your ear a grating caress as he-

lmfao Eomer, is that you? ("romantasy" ftw! 😏❤️‍🔥)

The specifics weren’t important, let’s just say that there was a miscommunication and what the four of you thought was a supe who could turn into a single locust, was actually able to turn into a swarm of locust so thick you couldn’t see an inch in front of your face. 

lol this is one of my favorite aspects of reading/writing in The Boys fandom - everyone's creativity on creating our own fictional supes that cause mayhem for the boys. 😆😆 (Not "a reenactment of the eighth plague" 💀💀💀)

Outside the cabin there was a small patch of wildflowers that fluttered in the strong wind that blew from the East, an overgrown garden where tomato plants, potatoes, and herbs grew without care, and a small front yard that was more of a grassy clearing.

Can always trust you to give beautiful descriptions of flora and fauna. 🪴💚

Well… a lot inexperienced. You’d never been in a relationship before, never really done anything before because there wasn’t time when you were in school getting your degree, not to mention you had spent the last two years imagining yourself in a relationship with a man who didn’t know you existed.

Sigh. I can deeply relate to that first part, as you know lol.

Ben chuckles under his breath where he sits beside you in the other rocking chair, leaning back with one of his hands behind his head. His muscles tense in the black t-shirt as he adjusts his arm. 

Girl stop torturing me lmfao. (But actually don't stop though) "Big hands" indeed. 🥵

Ben saw straight through her though and I'm living for their dynamic! lol

“He could catch an earful of us tonight. I’d be happy to fuck you. It’d give me something to do.” Ben takes another hit of his joint, the smoke making you scrunch your nose in distaste, while he gives you an appreciative once over. “Fuck knows the only entertainment I’ve had for three fucking days is my hand and it would be good to have a nice tight-“

Oh how magnanimous of him. 🙄 Like yes, let's all jump (literally) on that opportunity to debase ourselves for his entertainment.

...But of course, there's also that whole ridiculously attractive factor that makes Ben difficult to resist, even though he's a complete asshole loll.

You’d tried the usual things… Leaving the room as soon as he walked in to avoid a conversation. Gone completely mute when he asked you a question. Pretended you didn’t see him whenever he walked into a room. Tried to bring him coffee, but then chickened out and drank his and yours and then immediately had to go to the bathroom to avoid shitting your pants while having heart palpitations.

OMFg. That last one is so real! 🤣🤣🤣 I feel for her for real. I wonder how Ben's actually going to help her self-confidence. 💗

“I don’t think you’re a monster Ben.” You sigh. “I just- I don’t have powers and you’re kinda strong and I-.” You take a deep breath to steady your voice. “I don’t think that you’d hurt me on purpose. But-” Ben’s hand comes out to touch your chin, tilting your gaze up to him and stopping the bicycle of babbling you were about to ride around the block. Your eyes widen slightly with the contact, you weren’t used to people touching you, certainly not like this. 

Awww this melted me so much! She's not in love with him yet, but I think he's gonna bring it out of her on accident with stuff like this loll. Also big surprise on how he said she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to do. 💚💚 I half-expected him to suggest exactly what she could do for him if she was so inclined. 😆

“Sweetheart, you’re about to find out just how smooth I am.”  What have I gotten myself into?

Oh my God, YESSS. She's in so deep already and I can only imagine where you'll take this next if you choose! I can say for sure that I'd love to see how this little scheme unfolds lol.

Promise Not To Fall In Love With Me

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader and a little bit of Billy Butcher x f!reader

Prompt: "I find him very attractive." /"I'm standing right here"/ "I know."

Requested by: @angrydragon90

Tropes: Fake Dating, Pining.

Summary:  When you first joined Butcher's team the last thing you expected was to develop a crush on him, but after two years of pining, you get a proposition from the last person you'd expect to care.

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just in case (I don't really think it is). Some cursing, Sexual innuendo, References to sex, Over glorification of a man's shirtless body (I'm not complaining) Reader is a little anxious/anxiety/socially awkward? Drug use/Drinking (Soldier Boy), Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (He's a warning, we all know it and somehow still love him for it).

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Prompt Celebration Masterlist

A/N: This is the third fic for my prompt celebration! This one was requested the incredible @angrydragon90 💗 Had to do something with a little bit of Valentine's Day spirit, but I'm going to be honest, this one turned into something that I didn't expect... let me know what y'all think. I also was thinking about @zepskies fic As Tradition Dictates for the more *ahem* gratuitous descriptions of Butcher 😉

Butcher’s muscles rippled over his bare chest and broad shoulders with every swing of the mighty axe down to the earth. Each strike of the axe against wood sent chips of bark flickering in the air around him like sparks. Sweat rolled down his sun kissed skin curving in the dips of his muscular torso, along the tensing muscles of his back, and through the dusting of hair on his torso, before disappearing into the waistband of the dark jeans hung low on his hips. 

Heat kisses your cheeks and darkens the skin the longer you watch him and you bite your lip hard to keep the appreciative sigh of the scene in front of you at bay. But it does little to stop your eyes which rove over the rugged man chopping wood. 

No man his age should look that good. 

Butcher props one of his feet up on the tree stump he’s been using as a table oblivious to your attention, shouldering the axe for a moment to glance at the stack of firewood he’d chopped, looking like a mighty warrior surveying his lands. 

Your mind starts to slip into a fantasy of a shirtless Butcher riding horseback across a desolate plain, his dark hair long, and a sword strapped to his saddle commanding a group of riders behind him to his every whim. Before scooping you up onto his saddle to ride with him, his strong arm wrapped around your waist, and his face buried in the soft skin of your neck, his rough whisper in your ear a grating caress as he-

You clear your throat, cheeks darkening crimson, and take in a shaky breath to dissipate the daydream that usually starred in several of your fantasies. The same ones that probably came from the romantasy book that you’d brought along on this trip and were too embarrassed to read when anyone else was awake.

He raises a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, shuffling it back through his hair that turns a chestnut brown in the light of the setting sun that flickered through the thick forest surrounding the small cabin you were all staying in.

Oh to be a drop of sweat.

You think mournfully, taking a long sip of your lemonade out of a brightly colored bendy straw, the same lemonade that you’d made in hopes of enticing Butcher over for a break.

It had worked, but only for twenty seconds.

Twenty glorious seconds that you got to bask in Butcher’s presence so close that you could smell the familiar cologne and the scent of sweat clinging to his skin while he drank the lemonade and you tried not to stare at his bare chest for too long. You hoped that Butcher thought the flush on your cheeks had everything to do with the heat and nothing to do with all the things you were imagining him doing to you. 

And then there had been an additional two seconds when Butcher smiled at you and said “Thanks poppet” in the swoon worthy accent of his that made your knees weak before he sauntered back over to the woodpile and you watched him go shamelessly. 

Hughie says something to Butcher you can’t hear, but it makes Butcher laugh. He throws his head back with a wide grin that makes you sigh to yourself again, hands tensing where they sit poised over the tangle of wires in your lap. 

You were supposed to be working on a new gadget to help grapple up buildings, one that you and Frenchie had designed together, but you were distracted by Butcher. 

You were always distracted by him. 

It had been three days since Butcher, Soldier Boy, Hughie, and you arrived at the cabin in the middle of nowhere after a mission went wrong. The specifics weren’t important, let’s just say that there was a miscommunication and what the four of you thought was a supe who could turn into a single locust, was actually able to turn into a swarm of locust so thick you couldn’t see an inch in front of your face. 

You had a sneaking suspicion that MM and Frenchie had something to do with the miscommunication, given how eager they had been to stay behind at headquarters and do paperwork, and the secretive smiles they had shared at the briefing before your team left.

But needless to say, none of you had been eager to live through a reenactment of the eighth plague and all decided to lay low to consider your options, while hoping the locust supe didn’t decimate all of the corn in the midwest.

You shudder remembering the crawl of the scratchy legs along your skin, the flapping of millions of wings like the beat of a drum, the crunch of locusts underfoot, and the low pitched hum of the swarm that vibrated so loud it made you feel your body shaking from the inside out. 

At this point I would have taken a swarm of guinea pigs.

The cabin wasn’t the worst place you’d stayed at in all the time you’d worked with Butcher. There was running water and several rooms inside including two bedrooms with lumpy pillows and mattresses with creaking springs, a living room with a sagging floral couch, and a threadbare kitchen with dusty cabinets and doors that fell off whenever someone tried to open one. 

Outside the cabin there was a small patch of wildflowers that fluttered in the strong wind that blew from the East, an overgrown garden where tomato plants, potatoes, and herbs grew without care, and a small front yard that was more of a grassy clearing. 

Sure the cabin had it’s quirks, but the real problem was that the four of you were trapped here in the middle of summer with a generator that only did so much for electricity, but had no air conditioning whatsoever, which meant it was cooler to sit outside on the porch than inside the sweltering cabin. 

Overall, it had been three days of nothing, but listening to Soldier Boy bitch about the lack of extracurricular activities, three days of nothing but hearing the soft chuckle under Hughie’s breath when he texted Annie, and three days of nothing but you lusting after a man who was twice your age chopping wood.

Why was he chopping wood when it was so hot and none of you needed it… You had no idea, but you figured that the universe was finally throwing you a bone because you got to watch him do it.

The porch was cooler than sitting inside. There were two creaky rocking chairs that faced the overgrown “front yard” that was more of a clearing and the breeze did weave under the overhang of the roof to wick the sweat that gathered at the back of your neck, but the problem was, it was impossible for you to feel anything but warm, especially with what was unfolding in front of you. 

The weather isn’t the only thing heating up.

You think to yourself watching Butcher lean down to pick up another piece of wood, admiring the way his worn dark jeans cup his muscular ass.

Fuck, I’m just as bad as Soldier Boy. 

The truth was, you’d been crushing on Butcher for the better part of two years since the moment the two of you met on your first day when you’d tripped and dropped the giant pile of blueprints you were carrying to your desk and he was the only one who stopped to help you pick them up. 

After Homelander had been stripped of his powers and exposed for the narcissistic psychotic freak he was, you’d started working at Supe Affairs, thinking that it was the perfect way for you to make a difference in a world reeling from the revelation. It had shaken quite a few people to know that the so-called heroes they looked up to were in fact just as crooked as a line drawn by an elephant on a tricycle. 

But you liked your job… sometimes. 

Sure, the pay sucked, the benefits were dismal and the hours were long, but you didn’t care about any of that. You felt like you were making a difference, using the engineering degree that your dad had insisted on for something other than trying to figure out how to build a bridge that withstood the force of a punch from someone as strong as Homelander. 

And you hadn’t meant to develop a crush on William Butcher of all people, you swore that each day to yourself, but it happened without warning. He was nice to you, he always had your back on missions, and sometimes when you were working on something after hours on a mission- like the gadget in your lap- Butcher would sit with you while everyone else slept, nursing a glass of whatever it was he had, and he always made you feel like a valued member of the team.

Yes, he might be a little rough around the edges, but you liked that about him, that he didn’t pull punches, rather he told it like it was. It was refreshing in the world you lived in when everyone else was so afraid of offending someone that they just kept their mouths shut. 

But the problem was that you were younger than him and a little inexperienced. 

Well… a lot inexperienced. You’d never been in a relationship before, never really done anything before because there wasn’t time when you were in school getting your degree, not to mention you had spent the last two years imagining yourself in a relationship with a man who didn’t know you existed.

That might be a little harsh, he knew you existed, obviously, but rather he didn’t see you as anything more than a teammate or at least like a little sister. The nicknames that he called you were all some form of “kiddo” or “poppet.” Nothing like the things you’d read about men calling the women they loved in books or heard in movies. 

The most experience you had in the realm of love and relationships was binge watching Sex and The City (you could quote it by heart), flipping through Cosmopolitan Magazine and other articles about love on the internet like they were opioids, and reading through romance novels reverently as if they held the secrets of the universe. 

Not to mention the draft of the romance novel on your computer… but you’d go to the grave before anyone ever saw that, and if they did see it you’d take them with you. 

Reading about relationships was easier than having one, at least that was what you told yourself to feel better. It also didn’t help that you’d seen two out of three sisters married with kids, with the third one getting married in a few weeks and you without even a shadow of a date for the wedding.

That meant you would be stuck at the awkward reject table again with your weird fourth cousin who always came on to you and tried to show you the rooster tattoo he had on his hip bone, your dad’s brother who cleaned his dentures in public after he ate and his wife who always asked you what you were “doing” with your life and curled her lip up in distaste no matter what you said, and the gaggle of their ungrateful children who were always sticky for some reason and chewed with their mouths open while spilling food all over the table like cavemen.

Sitting there with them made facing the locust supe more appealing.

But even with the pressure of trying to find someone, anyone to take, you couldn’t muster up the courage to tell Butcher how you felt about him. 

Butcher glances over as if he can sense you and you immediately drop your eyes to the bundle of gears and wires in your lap pretending to fiddle with something that doesn’t need to be fixed.

Yes, because that’s the way I’m going to win him over, by making absolutely no eye contact. Perfect, masterful. What can go wrong?

What the books, magazines, tv shows, and movies didn’t prepare you for was how to find the courage to talk to someone of the opposite sex without feeling like your tongue was going to drop out of your mouth or like you were going to throw up. 

You wait a few beats until you’re sure that he’s no longer looking at you before you raise your head to watch Butcher again. 

Ben chuckles under his breath where he sits beside you in the other rocking chair, leaning back with one of his hands behind his head. His muscles tense in the black t-shirt as he adjusts his arm. 

“What?” You ask him. 

He exhales a long and obnoxious cloud of foul smelling smoke from the joint he has in his hand. “I think you’re a hypocrite.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re out here eye-fucking that asshole and you yell at me for staring at you.” He chuckles with a wide smirk as he takes another hit from the blunt.

How can he smoke that? It’s like 100 degrees out here!

“I am not!” You reply as loudly as you dare, glancing over to Butcher to make sure that he didn’t hear Ben’s comment, anxiety prickling along the back of your neck, but he’s still talking to Hughie about something. “And you don’t just stare at me! You come up behind me like some gremlin out of hell, with your big hands and-”

“We both know how much you like the attention doll.”

“I do not!” Your cheeks flare bright red. 

The only downside to working on Butcher’s team was sitting directly next to you. When you found out that you’d be working with Soldier Boy, one of your dad’s favorite heroes, you were excited to meet him, and then you had and he turned into another giant disappointment. He was loud, brash, short-tempered, rude, and was always either ogling you, coming on to you, smoking something, or drinking. 

You supposed it could be worse. You didn’t hate him, and you got along with him, but he was always around. The plus side was that Ben was the one of the only people you didn’t have a hard time talking to.

Yes, he was attractive, but his particular lifestyle didn’t appeal to you and for that reason whatever nerves you had about talking to attractive men of the opposite sex evaporated when it came to Ben. 

It was unfortunate that such a skill was wasted on him of all people.

“I just-” You hesitate, eyes dropping back down to the grappling device in your lap, not sure why you’re about to admit this to Soldier Boy when you haven’t been able to admit it to anyone else. 

Probably because I’m sick of singing the line from Frozen “conceal don’t feel” over and over in my head.

“I find him extremely attractive.” You mumble on a shaky breath. 

“I’m sitting right here.” The frown in Ben’s voice is prominent, but it only makes you roll your eyes at him. 

“I know.” Your eyebrows furrow together. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Why are you looking at him when you could have my full attention.” He leans forward, dark hair falling forward into his eyes, mouth pulling up in a confident smirk. "I mean there's nothing else to fucking do, might as well do me."

Your cheeks flush with his words, but you tilt your head to the side to study him, eyes slipping over his rugged features. Tracing over the neatly trimmed beard on his cheeks, the brilliant green eyes that seemed to glow, the way his muscular body filled out his black t-shirt and blue jeans, the soft dusting of freckles that contrasted the hardness of the man he was flecked over his skin, and his full lips that are curved up in a sinful smirk that would make even the strongest woman crumble. 

But not you. Ben was… Ben. He was brash, obnoxious, handsy, impatient, and disrespectful. 

At least, that’s what you thought.

Sure you didn’t work with him often, but you believed you had a pretty good grasp on the kind of person he was. You did, right?

“You’re not my type Benny.” Your eyes flick back to the project in your lap, moving your fingers deftly through the wires of the internal mechanism.

Ben recoils at the use of his nickname, but he recovers with a low chuckle. “Don’t call me that and I’m everybody's type.”

“Not mine. I don’t like supes.”

You weren’t sure if that was 100% true. You liked Kimiko. What you meant to say was that you didn’t like supes like him. Supes that used his powers without care for the consequences, Supes like Homelander who didn’t give a shit who got hurt as long as the job was done. 

And you weren’t a supe, which meant that if you were with a supe there was always the possibility of you dying during sex or dying before you had sex in the first place. Your job also presented the possibility of you dying before you’d had sex, but you weren’t going to let that hold you back.

“But Butcher has-” Ben begins to say.

“Temporary powers. Not all the time.” You correct, unable to stop your eyes from drifting back over to where Butcher has begun to start swinging the axe again. “And look at him. Fuck, he’s over there like Paul Bunyan, rugged, chopping wood-” You sigh continuing to watch the man who probably has no idea you exist.

Ben rolls his eyes. “I could do that.”

You don’t pay Ben any attention, because Butcher is bending over again and you bite the inside of your cheek hard. 

Ben sits there for another few beats watching you watch Butcher. The wind chimes that hang above your heads jingle merrily as the breeze picks up once more bringing the smell of the wild flowers and wet earth from the forest surrounding the cabin. 

“You know I could help you.” Ben says slowly.

Your eyes flick back to Ben from Butcher in confusion. “Help me?”

What is he talking about? Does he think he can figure out how to fix the grapple gun? The other day he couldn’t figure out how to open the automatic trunk of a car and he just ripped the trunk door right off.

“Get him.” Ben nods his head in Butcher’s direction, but you’re still confused.

“How?”

And why? Why does Soldier Boy want to help me of all people?

“Well, I could help you make him jealous.” Ben leans towards you, his eyes sweeping once over you as he does, lingering too long on your chest and the edge of the jean shorts you were wearing.

“And how would you do that?”

“Well for starters you could come sit on my lap baby, see how you like it.” Ben winks. “Take me for a little ride.”

“Pass.” You roll your eyes. 

“Oh I see you want to have a more advanced lesson.” He smiles, scooting his chair towards yours, a dull scrape of wood on wood, so now his knee is touching yours. “He could catch an earful of us tonight. I’d be happy to fuck you. It’d give me something to do.” Ben takes another hit of his joint, the smoke making you scrunch your nose in distaste, while he gives you an appreciative once over. “Fuck knows the only entertainment I’ve had for three fucking days is my hand and it would be good to have a nice tight-“

“No thanks.” You interrupt, face flushing when you imagine what he was about to say.

Ben stiffens in surprise. “What?”

“I’m good.” You shrug. “I’m gonna get him the old fashioned way.”

The same old fashioned way that I’ve been using for the past two years and had absolutely no results.

“And what way is that? Pining after him and hoping that one day he’ll finally notice you?” Ben scoffs. “I can see how well that’s working for you doll-face. How long have you been working with him?”

“Two years-”

“Fuck, two years?” Ben sputters. “You should just tell him that you want him to fuck you.” 

“That won’t work.”

Ben’s face scrunches in confusion, the joint clasped in between his thumb and forefinger forgotten. “Why the hell not?”

“Because-” You glance down at your hands, thumb running along the jagged edge of the grappling hook slightly embarrassed. The last thing you wanted to tell Soldier Boy was that you were a virgin. The guy would mock you endlessly. “Because I’m younger than him and he’s-”

He’s experienced. 

“So? You think that he hasn’t thought about fucking you?” Ben takes a long sip from the whiskey sitting beside his chair. “He’d be lucky to have a little piece like you.”

You blink in surprise. It was the closest to a compliment that Ben had ever given you. He did tend to compliment your figure whenever you were around, but you usually ignored that because he did that to everyone. 

Truthfully, the thought of dating Ben didn’t appeal to you at all, but the thought of using him to make Butcher jealous was not a terrible one. And at this point, you didn’t have anything to lose. 

Well… except THAT, but you wanted it to be special, at least that’s what you’d always told yourself.

You sigh, a little frustrated, watching Butcher out of the corner of your eye swing the axe in a glorious arch to the earth. You weren’t sure how to get Butcher’s attention. You’d tried the usual things…

Leaving the room as soon as he walked in to avoid a conversation.

Gone completely mute when he asked you a question.

Pretended you didn’t see him whenever he walked into a room.

Tried to bring him coffee, but then chickened out and drank his and yours and then immediately had to go to the bathroom to avoid shitting your pants while having heart palpitations.

Basically the social anxiety was working wonders on the office romance you wanted so badly. 

“Ben?” You say tentatively, hands tightening on the contraption in your lap. At this rate you were never going to fix it and Butcher was going to have to figure out how to fly. 

“Yes, gorgeous?” Ben raises an eyebrow. The blunt is between his lips now and he’s looking at you curiously.

“If we did pretend to be…” You swallow nervously. 

“Fucking?” He leans forward eagerly, eyes twinkling with interest.

Well… I’ve never understood what it meant when someone wrote “his eyes darkened” until this very moment. 

“Dating” You correct holding up a finger.

Does his mind always go to the gutter?

You remember everything you think you know about Ben.

Yes. Yes it does.

Ben leans back with a frown. “I don’t date.”

“Well it wouldn’t be real! You’d just be helping me make him jealous and it would be nice to have a little practice maybe…”

“Practice?” He looks confused. It wasn’t the first time he had in this conversation or within the last five minutes, but like hell you were about to admit without at least one drink to Soldier Boy the extent of your dating life.

“Yeah. I’m not the best at talking to people or-”

“You’re talking just fine right now.”

“You’re different.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you annoy me and I don’t know you’re easier to talk to for some reason!” 

“Thanks.” Ben says dryly. 

By now all the anxious energy has begun to pop and crackle against your skin at the thought of what the two of you could be doing and at the thought of you two actually pulling this off and you having a shot with Butcher. Not just a shot in hell, a real shot.

“But if you’re serious about helping me get him-“ You continue.

“I was.”

It was odd that he was the one who had suggested this in the first place, and even weirder that he didn’t seem hesitant at all to be doing this. 

Maybe he thinks that we’re going to have sex. Your throat tightened at the thought, eyes widening, your nerve endings electrifying with anxiety. Oh holy fuck what if he thinks that if we do this he’ll get to do whatever he wants to me?

You clear your throat, heart beating just a little bit harder in your chest. The entire situation was making you regret the extra cup of coffee you had this morning. “What exactly would I have to do?” You don’t recognize your voice. It comes out a little more wobbly and just a little more tentative than it was. 

You didn’t know what Ben was expecting you to do and you didn’t want to say yes, only for him to force you into sleeping with him like he’d suggested earlier, the most you'd thought the two of you would do is just make out a little-

Oh holy fuck then we’d have to kiss and I don’t know if I’m a good kisser and he’s definitely kissed more than one person not to mention he’s-

The thought made you flush to the roots of your hair. 

Ben hesitates, eyeing you and you wonder if he can hear the deranged monologue inside your head or if he can hear just how hard your heart was beating. You hoped not. 

“You wouldn’t have to do anything, doll. I’m not going to force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” There’s something genuine in his eyes when he answers your question, something that you’d never noticed before. 

Your mouth drops open in surprise. 

It wasn’t that you believed that Ben was that kind of man, but rather that what he just said to you might have been the most caring thing that he’d ever uttered in front of you. He was the last person that you’d expect to care about someone being uncomfortable or care if someone else was okay with everything that was happening in the bedroom.

Maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do.

In all honesty you only knew the way Ben acted, you didn’t know anything about his life. The man kept his cards closer to his chest than a well-seasoned card player and his poker face, forget it. You couldn’t crack that combination even if you wanted to. 

Everything else you'd heard about him was through the grapevine of gossip at work. None of it was first hand.

Ben sighs and shakes his head at you as if he’s a little annoyed with himself for saying that out loud. “But I still think it would be easier if you just told him that you wanted him to fuck you. Would’ve worked on me.”

“I’m not good at that sort of thing.”

And it was true. You could take down a target, diffuse a bomb in less than ten seconds with a thin mint and a bobby pin, but saying something out loud like that to something else made you feel nauseous.

Ben hesitates again and in his hesitation the anxiety and embarrassment starts to come soaring back into your chest.

You were asking Soldier Boy, Soldier Boy, to pretend to date you so Billy Butcher would fall in love with you. 

Well kids, this must be what rock bottom feels like. I might as well just pray that the locusts come back to take me away. 

“Fine.” Ben states. 

“Really?” Your eyes widen.

He shrugs, but doesn’t answer.

“We’d have to have rules.” You blurt, and Ben makes a face.

“Rules? Never been too good with those, Sweetheart.”

“And I’d need you to promise that you wouldn’t-” 

You lose your train of thought in the wind chimes that rattle over your head and the sound of Butcher’s laugh.

“Wouldn’t?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Lose control.”

Honestly, sometimes you were a little afraid of Ben. You’d never say that out loud or admit it, but he was stronger than Homelander.

You knew Ben's reputation around the office- heard the hushed whispers of the women in the break room who said he was the best fuck of their lives, heard the horror stories of what he did to his old team, and had seen first hand what his temper was like. You also knew about his powers and worried that Ben might have a little bit of a control problem or at the very least anger management issues.

“I’m not going to fucking hurt you if that’s what you think.” Ben growls, his eyes narrowing at your insinuation. “I’m not some fucking monster, doll.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster Ben.” You sigh. “I just- I don’t have powers and you’re kinda strong and I-.” You take a deep breath to steady your voice. “I don’t think that you’d hurt me on purpose. But-”

Ben’s hand comes out to touch your chin, tilting your gaze up to him and stopping the bicycle of babbling you were about to ride around the block. Your eyes widen slightly with the contact, you weren’t used to people touching you, certainly not like this. 

Keep it together… 

“I wouldn’t hurt you by accident either.” Ben’s green eyes are focused on yours, and you can see just a sliver of emotion behind them that you can’t identify. “But if we’re going to do this you gotta promise me one thing.”

“What?” Your voice comes out like a squeak.

“You’ve got to promise not to fall in love with me.” He sends you a saucy wink that makes you want to punch the strongest man on earth, instead you settle for pushing him back from you.

But you’re not prepared for the wave of disappointment you feel when he lets go of your chin. 

“I’m not in any danger of that Benny. You’re not half as smooth as you think you are.” You start to lean back in your chair, but Ben reaches out to grab your wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle, the contact burning through your body, as he pulls you forward, so close you can smell his cologne. Somehow it's something that smells classic and modern at the same time, a hint of spice that tickles your nose and makes your throat tight. 

His voice lowers into a purr that vibrates through his chest, his next words expelled on a warm breath that weaves through the air between the two of you. 

“Sweetheart, you’re about to find out just how smooth I am.” 

What have I gotten myself into?

A/N: Again, not what I was expecting, but I really love this one y'all and I probably laughed way too hard at bits when I was writing it.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think! 😊 If you'd liked to be added to my taglist please let me know!

Taglist

@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @waynes-multiverse

@jollyhunter

[tetragonia]

A True Love's Kiss

Itadori Yuji x Megumi Fushiguro x Nobara Kugisaki x GN!Reader

summary: The first-years—meaning you, Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi—were in deep trouble because a mission had gone wrong. Gojo had told you to exorcise a Grade 2 curse just outside town, but it didn’t end well. The cursed spirit was exorcised, yes, but before it vanished, it left behind one last curse—a curse that could only be broken by a true love’s kiss. Now, the four of you were contemplating how to break it.

notes: uhhh this is just a silly idea lol. also you're welcome to check another silly fic of mine! here -> JJK fic @ AO3!! enjoy!

words: 2.3k

The mission was supposed to be simple. A grade 2 cursed spirit lurking in an abandoned park—nothing they couldn’t handle. They had faced far worse. So when Megumi, Nobara, Yuji, and you cornered the thing near the rusted remains of a jungle gym, they thought it was over.

Then it cursed them.

"What the hell did it just do?" Nobara asked, rubbing her temples. The spirit had let out this ghastly, wailing screech, and suddenly, an invisible force had passed through them like a gust of wind. The air shimmered, reality bending for just a moment—and then everything felt wrong.

Megumi was the first to feel it.

"Shit," he hissed, clutching his head. His body felt heavy, like he was being dragged down by unseen chains. His limbs were sluggish, his vision slightly blurred.

Yuji groaned, stretching his arms, "Ugh. Why do I feel like I just pulled an all-nighter and got hit by a truck?"

You blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the odd, sinking sensation, "I feel like I’m about to pass out."

"Great. We’re cursed," Nobara, ever the practical one, clicked her tongue. She sighed as she walked away, but she was yanked back. The veil wasn’t lifted yet, but she couldn’t step farther.

“What the hell?” Yuji frowned, as he tried to walk away. But he ended up just like Nobara, it was like there was a giant transparent wall surrounding them.

The spirit laughed, its grotesque mouth curling into a smirk as it started to fade away.

“People can come… but they may not go…” its voice was disgustingly teasing.

“Oh, come on!” you frowned, looking at the spirit’s half-transparent body.

“True love’s kiss… breaks the spell…” it rasped mockingly, before disappearing completely.

Silence.

Dead silence.

You all stood frozen, the cursed spirit’s words settling in like an earthquake cracking through their collective sanity.

Then—

"I’m sorry, WHAT?" Nobara shrieked.

"Did it just say—" Yuji coughed, couldn't believe what he heard.

"Nope. Nope. I refuse," Megumi immediately rejected whatever was about to be suggested.

"You can’t reject it, Megumi, we’re literally cursed!" Nobara snapped.

"True love’s kiss?" you repeated, staring up at the sky like you were having a crisis. "You mean like… fairy tales?"

Yuji, looking both horrified and oddly amused, hesitated, "So… one of us has to… kiss someone?"

Megumi closed his eyes, "I hate this."

"We all hate this!" Nobara shouted. "But if that thing wasn’t lying, then we’re stuck like this until someone kisses their so-called ‘true love’!"

You blinked. Then you squinted.

"Wait. How does it even know what ‘true love’ is?"

"That’s actually a good question," Yuji raised a finger.

"I don’t care! I feel like my soul is rotting inside my body, so someone better start smooching!" Nobara groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

Megumi, in full maximum suffering mode, looked like he was debating whether to just let the curse kill him.

"Absolutely not."

Yuji scratched the back of his head. "Okay, okay, let’s just—hypothetically speaking!—figure this out logically."

"There is no logical way to figure this out!" Megumi snapped.

"Sure there is!" Yuji insisted. "Like… okay, who here has a crush on someone?"

Silence.

Megumi’s eye twitched. Nobara crossed her arms, looking at the others expectantly. You just blinked at Yuji like he was insane. Yuji sighed.

"Okay, fine. Let’s just try kissing someone at random."

"Do you hear yourself?" Megumi asked, voice flat with horror.

You, ever the agent of chaos, suddenly smirked, "Alright, Fushiguro, pucker up."

Megumi stared at you like you had just committed a war crime.

Nobara cackled, grinning wickedly, "Ohhh, yeah, Fushiguro! If it works, then—"

"Over my dead body!" Megumi immediately shut it down.

Yuji, bless his soul, was actually considering it.

"I mean, (Y/N), have you guys ever—"

"Shut up, Itadori!" Megumi barked, palms slamming the table. You snorted.

"Wow, so aggressive. If you keep glaring at me like that, I might actually fall in love."

Megumi looked like he was about to throw himself into traffic.

"Okay!" Nobara interrupted, clapping her hands. "Let’s just get this over with! I’m not sitting here feeling like my soul is corroding. If none of us are romantically interested in each other, then we just gotta go for it."

You exhaled, "I hate that I agree.

Yuji nodded, reluctant but determined, "Alright. Let’s try."

They all looked at each other. Then they realized something.

"Wait," you said, squinting. "There are four of us. What if this curse is, like, super specific and only works for one pair?"

A pause. A horrible pause.

Then Nobara paled, "Oh my god. What if we have to do trial and error?"

Megumi made a sound that was either a groan or the death rattle of his last brain cell. Yuji exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples.

"Okay, okay, we just gotta get this over with. It’s not a big deal, right?"

"It is absolutely a big deal," Megumi’s jaw tightened.

You stretched your arms lazily, "We could just let the curse kill us. Sounds easier than dealing with this."

"Nope!" Nobara shot down that idea immediately, jabbing a finger at your chest. "No one is dying because you’re all too emotionally constipated to kiss someone!"

"Why are we even debating this? It’s simple. If true love’s kiss is the requirement, then it’s already impossible,” Megumi ran a hand down his face.

"Why?" Yuji frowned. Megumi gave him a look.

"Because that means someone here has to be in love with someone else here. And that’s—"

A terrible silence. You blinked, then smirked, "Fushiguro, do you have something to confess?"

Megumi's eye twitched violently, "I swear to—"

"Enough," Nobara clapped her hands. "We’re gonna be scientific about this."

Yuji raised a brow and tilted his head, he looked like a lost puppy, "Scientific?"

Nobara ignored him, rolling up her sleeves.

"We’re going to test every possible combination. First up—Yuji, (Y/N), kiss."

You and Yuji froze.

"Wait, wait, why are we first?!" Yuji panicked.

"Because you’re both dumbasses, and dumbasses should get it over with quickly!"

"That doesn’t even make sense!"

You, still smirking, shrugged, "Alright, alright, let’s get this over with, Itadori. Don’t fall in love with me."

"I—I—don’t phrase it like that!" Yuji made a horrible strangled noise. Nobara grabbed Yuji by the back of his jacket and practically shoved him forward.

"Just do it, I want to go home."

"I—I CAN’T JUST—(Y/N), HELP—" Yuji sputtered.

You, not one to back down from a challenge, grabbed Yuji’s face with both hands, "Shhh, just close your eyes, darling."

"WHAT THE HELL, (Y/N)—"

And then you pecked him right on the lips. The room held its breath. A beat passed.

Two.

Three.

Nothing happened.

Yuji slowly opened one eye, blushing like an idiot, "Did it work?"

"Nope," you popped your lips. "That was a waste."

Yuji, still dazed, touched his mouth, "Huh. That was my first kiss."

"This is the worst mission I’ve ever been on," Megumi groaned into his hands.

"Alright, next pair!"Nobara sighed.

"Oh, let’s do Fushiguro and Itadori next,” you perked up. Megumi snapped his head up.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT."

"I second that!" Yuji held up his hands.

"Cowards,” you shrugged.

Megumi glared daggers, "(Y/N), why are you enjoying this?"

"Because this is the dumbest thing we’ve ever had to do, and I live for chaos."

Yuji wiped his mouth, still recovering, "Can we at least try people who might actually work? Like, Fushiguro, you and Kugisaki—"

Nobara gagged, "I’d rather fight Sukuna one-on-one."

"What the hell?!" Megumi looked genuinely offended.

"Not my fault you have the romantic appeal of a cactus."

"Then you and (Y/N) can go next,” Megumi looked ready to commit murder.

You and Nobara made eye contact. You nodded, "Sure, why not?"

Nobara shrugged, "Whatever."

Yuji’s jaw dropped, "Wait, why are you two so chill about it?!"

Nobara rolled her eyes.

"Because we’re not insecure little boys, Itadori. Pucker up, (Y/N)."

"Try not to fall for me," you smirked. And just like that, you kissed Nobara, and she kissed you back.

A pause.

Nothing happened.

Nobara clicked her tongue.

"Lame."

"Wow, no true love between us? I’m heartbroken,” you sighed dramatically.

“Oh, come on. This is stupid,” Nobara huffed as she turned to Yuji. “Oi. Let’s get this over with.”

“Huh?” Yuji blinked.

“You. Me. Let’s kiss.”

“Ooooh,” you whistled at her firm and commanding voice. Megumi rolled his eyes.

“Can we just hurry up and break this already?”

“Uh, alright. But if this doesn’t work, you owe me ten onigiri,” Yuji, still processing, scratched the back of his head.

“You really think this is a fair bet?” Nobara narrowed her eyes.

“Hey, food is food!” Yuji just shrugged.

Nobara sighed sharply, grabbed his collar, and kissed him. A beat of silence. Everyone stared.

The curse did not break.

Yuji pulled back, smacking his lips together, “Huh.”

Nobara frowned, eyes darting around her own body like she expected something to change, “Seriously?”

You snorted, “Damn, Kugisaki. Guess you’re not Itadori’s true love.”

“Gross. That was a waste of time,” Nobara wiped her lips on her sleeve.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘gross’? I brushed my teeth today!” Yuji looked genuinely offended.

“Oh, congrats. You’re so hygienic.”

"More hygienic than you—”

Megumi groaned, “We don’t have time for this. Just go down the list already.”

“Man, you make it sound like we’re checking homework,” Yuji shuddered. "Alright, Fushiguro, pucker up."

Yuji cracked his knuckles, stepping forward. Megumi's entire soul left his body.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, we don’t have all day," Yuji pointed at himself. "I'm true. I got love. So let's do this, man."

Megumi took an instinctive step back, "I think I'd rather die."

"Wow. Wow. That is so messed up," Yuji gasped, looking genuinely offended.

"It's not that I—" Megumi massaged his temples. "I just—maybe I should kiss (Y/N) first.”

The moment he said it, he knew he had made a mistake. Yuji froze. Then, very slowly, his eye twitched.

"You wanna kiss (Y/N) first?" he repeated.

Megumi winced, "I just meant—"

"OH, I SEE HOW IT IS."

Yuji grabbed Megumi’s collar, yanking him forward, "So you'd rather have your first kiss with (Y/N) than me? Your best buddy?"

Megumi sputtered, "Why are you making this about you?!"

"BECAUSE I AM OFFENDED!" Yuji yelled, shaking him. "We've been through so much together! And you'd rather kiss (Y/N)?! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!"

"That’s not—" Megumi tried to pry Yuji’s hands off, but Yuji had freakish strength. "I just—logically—"

"LOGICALLY, YOU SHOULD JUST LET ME KISS YOU!"

"THAT'S NOT LOGIC, ITADORI, THAT'S JUST YOU WANTING TO KISS ME—"

"AND WHAT IF I DO?! WHAT THEN?!"

"WHAT IS HAPPENING?"

Meanwhile, you and Nobara were wheezing. Nobara had collapsed onto your shoulder, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

"Oh my god," Nobara gasped, gripping your sleeve. "This is the best thing that has ever happened to me."

You grinned at the view, eyes gleaming. "Do you think if I say ‘just kiss already,’ they’ll actually do it?"

"Try it."

"Hey, ItaFushi," you called, grinning. "Just kiss already."

"SHUT UP!"

"NOT HELPING!"

Megumi, still half-dangling from Yuji’s grip, groaned, "This is stupid. This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever been a part of."

"We both know that’s not true,” Yuji snorted.

"Fair," Megumi looked neutral for a second, but he continued fuming. “But can we wait for help?!”

He wasn’t the one to call for help, he was always the one helping. But this whole situation? Nope.

Yuji, deep in thought, snapped his fingers, "What if we call Gojo?"

Megumi turned to Yuji so fast his neck nearly snapped.

"WHAT?!"

"Oh my god, imagine if Gojo was Megumi’s true love!” you cackled.

Nobara wiped away a tear, "We’d never let him live it down."

Yuji, very serious, pulled out his phone, "Okay, I’m calling him."

Megumi grabbed Yuji’s wrist in a death grip.

"Itadori. I swear. If you call him, I will summon my shikigami and make them maul you."

Yuji gulped.

"Okay. Okay. No Gojo. Got it."

“No me?”

A voice chimed in as its owner walked innocently through the transparent wall. Gojo squatted down, grinning, "What the hell happened to you guys? Why does it took so long?"

Four pair of eyes widened, three from shocks and one from an instant death.

Megumi sighed as he just signed a contract to his own death, "Curse. Wouldn’t break. Stupid condition."

"Huh? What kind of curse?" Gojo raised a brow.

"True love’s kiss."

Gojo froze hearing Yuji’s answer. And then he grinned.

"Oh?" he said, far too delighted. "And? Did you figure it out?"

Nobara grumbled something obscene. You just snorted. Gojo chuckled hearing all the responses, "So that’s a no, huh?"

Then, without missing a beat, he reached out—and kissed Megumi’s forehead.

A soft glow flickered over Megumi’s body, and passed through Yuji, Nobara, you, and eventually the transparent wall surrounding them.

And just like that—the curse lifted.

Silence.

Utter, complete silence.

Yuji slowly lifted his head. Nobara looked up so fast her neck nearly snapped. You blinked blearily at the scene.

Megumi sat there, completely frozen.

Gojo, still grinning, gave him a light pat on the head, "See? Was that so hard?"

"Holy shit," you covered your mouth with your hand.

"It was Gojo-sensei?!" Yuji looked horrified. "All along?"

"YOU MEAN WE WENT THROUGH ALL THAT FOR NOTHING?!" Nobara screeched.

Megumi looked like he was experiencing all seven stages of grief at once while Gojo stood up casually, stretching.

"Man, this brings back memories! I used to do that to you all the time when you were little, Megumi."

Megumi finally snapped out of it, "DON’T SAY THAT."

You, grinning like an idiot, leaned on Megumi’s shoulder as you whispered to his ear, "Fushiguro… is Gojo your true love?"

Megumi shoved you off, "I WILL KILL ALL OF YOU."

"I hate everything,” Yuji just lay back down

Gojo, absolutely thriving, clapped his hands.

"Alright, now that that’s settled—who wants pancakes?"

Megumi wished the ground would swallow him whole.

[lostinlovingrevery]

how much of a lovesick gentleman do we think he really is when he’s found someone he sees himself with for a long period of time

(in my mind he’s like perfect but if we’re being fr because men are men unfortunately)

Oh I think he most def is going to be the most lovesick gentleman on earth. Hes not perfect. But we just love that about him don't we?

Lets see if I can really put my thoughts out about this! I wanna be realistic here, but I also really do think logan would be the biggest sweetheart

Logans rough around the edges

but that doesn't mean he can't love!

I mean if we want to look at his history, comic-wise, when hes in love hes devoted to them.

The one lady he married after WW2, he absolutely adored her and still loved her even decades and decades after her murder. (i seen comic pages where he had a shrine to her. older comics)

Obvs he did move on when he met Jean, of course that was more unrequited

and you got the occasional timelines with Storm! They're really cute

theres a page of her asking him if he would really tear the world apart for them to be together

take a wild guess on his answer

and then theres Kayla(gag) in origins! I mean, Logans a big sweetheart with her.

Anyhoo we aren't talking about logans other timeline lovers

I truly think logan is a lover boy

I think, depending on what his history looks like since hes' got a lot of different versions (i like to pick and chose when I write my fics lol)

he would probably be a little rough around the edges at first. not in a way where he's a dick to you. I think he would just be nervous

Hes been stuck in a cycle of violence for so long

im mixed between him being scared of stepping out of that cycle, out of fear of getting you hurt, but also him being so desperate to just love

like how he liked jean so much and so quickly in the trilogy movies.

god just talking about that makes me irritated

anyhoo

SO

I think

When Logans in love, he's still that sarcastic, anger-proned, alcoholic we all know and love. But I think he's the type to want to become better for you

he's not going to be fake but he's going to be softer around you. he wants to love you. make you happy. take care of you.

He's thinking about you all the time

so much so i think he'd get himself physically ill because he loves you so much. he just needs you :( <3

I think you'll be spared of his smart mouth (for the most part...). He won't cease it when talking to other people around you tho.

He's happier when youre around. holds his head a little taller

hes going to make perverted comments. hes going to look at your butt. hes going to squeeze your boobs. maybe even name them

hes a man in that sense

but i think hes old enough (lol) that he knows how to treat people.

people tend to act like logans super arrogant (hell i even think of him like that) but i actually think he's the most open to criticism and being wrong about things

i think he can be very wise

anyhoo, honestly I think once he gets over the complication of having feelings for you and the mortifying ordeal of being percievied, hes going to be the softest boy over you

sweet kisses just because

he'll bring you flowers, he'll write you love notes even, they may not be full of fancy love language, little things like hes misses you, loves you, in his own logan language

hes traditional in that sense. hes from the 1800s. he remembers the original ways to woo someone

I think acts of service is def one of his love languages.

get you groceries, fix the leaky pipes, fill your car up with gas, he doesn't think you should be lifting a finger

he'll tear the world apart for you

his feelings run far and deep- even if he makes it seem like that's not the case. its merely to protect himself

but believe me that barrier is gone when he finds you.

maybe it's me, im a sappy romantic (even tho i have no love life lol) but I think Logan would just adore you

hes the type to get on his knees and worship you straight UP

will defend you to the death. you could straight up being going insane and threatening to kill everyone and hes like "leave my girl alone :(" (X3 Logan im looking at you)

he'll keep pictures of you in his jacket and wallet

looks at you with those big puppy eyes UGH

BABY LOOK AT HIM

probably has told scott to shut the fuck up bc he teased him over how he turns into a lil puppy dog when you're in the room

hes going to be all about learning about you. your career/job, special interests, your quirks, your goddamn favorite soap

In the beginning, logan may try to be mr.cool guy but only bc he doesn't want to scare you off.

he likes the small touches between you both. brush of the hands, holding pinkies, playing footsie under the table

when you're alone though it is required that you are in his lap

an absolute rule

hes gonna get pissy over it

he will respect you in any way, with any boundaries I truly believe this honestly

i think if logans got a good feeling, ain't nothing going to bother him when it comes to you other than the fact that if you're not together he can't show his love for you

no relationship is perfect. You and Logan will argue, misunderstandings, such and such

but once again with logans age and experience, it makes him a very mature partner

he knows the little things aren't worth sweating, and hes smart to know when to really sit down and talk things over

i think different variant logans (which in some ways are just different stages of his life) would form different relationships based on their experience./lifestage but all of them are love boys once you get over the tough parts

just for example bc i love him, I think trilogy Logan would be so in love with you, but I think with not remembering his past at first, he may struggle to pursuing anything serious

its not that he doesn't want to, and hes not going out and flirting with other girls. its that maybe he thinks you deserve to have someone steady, someones who knows who he is, someone whos built a foundation for themselves

he prob thinks pretty low of himself. he gets cranky and sarcastic. he was cage fighting to get by. hes lonely. he probably sees you as someone amazing and hes...well, him.

but if you get over that hump, maybe when he gets his memories, or maybe you're just able to uplift him enough where he can see that you adore him for who he is, he'll be all over you'

I actually this would be fun to write about in deeper context so may make another post one day tweaking my thoughts on this but this is just what i'm thinking so far!!!

[callme-holly]

Can u write some hc’s for dally dating a Curtis!reader👀 also like how her brothers would think of the relationship 👅👅 BTW I LOVEEE UR ACC

𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

a/n: honestly thought i already had this posted but guess i was wrong LOL! thank you so much for the request <33

Dallas never really thought he’d fall for you; he knew that as a Curtis sibling, you were very much out of bounds. However, you were always there and he very quickly found himself drawn to you the most, and you seemed to just get him in a way that nobody else does.

He’s a lot softer with you than anyone else, but only in private. He knows that if he ever hurts you, your brothers would be on him like wild animals and he wouldn’t stand a chance against them. 

He’s incredibly protective over you, though it's not in a particularly controlling way. He knows you’ve been raised with your head screwed tight on your shoulders so you can handle yourself, but he still won't stand for anyone bugging you.

He won't ever admit to anyone how much he cares about you, but they can all see it in the little things he does. The way he lets you hold his hand without arguing, or stealing his cigarettes. The way he sometimes hums your favourite song…

He definitely smokes while playing with your hair. It’s incredibly comforting to him and one of the only things Darry will let him get away with under the roof.

He gets jealous very easily, especially if your attention is on someone else, but he won't say it outright. He’ll just linger near you until they get the message.

He’s never allowed in through the front door at night, so he comes through your window instead. Something about sneaking into your room makes him so incredibly smug and you can never really get rid of him.

How your brothers feel:

Darry is not a fan at all and nearly has a damn heart attack when youtell him. While Dally is a good friend of his, he’s convinced the kid is nothing but trouble and not someone you need to be associated with at all. However, after a while, he’ll see how much Dallas actually cares about you, and he’ll ease up a little. There will still be very strict boundaries in place, but he’s a little more approving of the two of you together. As long as you're happy, and the guy treats you right, Darry can learn to be okay with it.

Soda teases you constantly for it, but deep down he has his doubts about the relationship. He knows how Dally can be and his reputation with commitment, and he’s immediately worried for you. He tries to be friendly, but if he catches Dallas acting just a little too bold or reckless around you, he will call him out without any sort of hesitation. However, at the end of the day, as long as you’re happy, Soda’s happy. 

Ponyboy really know what to think; Dally is a close buddy, sure, but close enough to be dating his sister? He doesn’t really understand what you see in the guy, and will always say so when you’re hanging out. After a while, he’ll notice the way Dallas softens up around you, and he thinks it’s preactingeet. He’ll relax a little more to the idea; he still judges the relationship like hell, but he won't ever interfere. 

[da-g04t]

I actually love how almost every male female relationship in dmc is platonic. Dante and Lady’s relationship is built off of respect and it could’ve been a silly love interest sure but I think that the creator stating they’ve never done anything makes their relationship so much deeper. Dante doesn’t just like Lady he loves her, he respects her, understands her, and values her talent. I think it’s so beautiful that they have such a deep unspoken understanding, and love for one another that doesn’t manifest itself into romance like most games of this nature would.

Same goes for Dante and Trish. Dante obviously wouldn’t get with her because of her connection to Mundus and her resemblance to his mother. This makes sense, but also I like to think them not getting together is another display of a deeper form of love. Trish learns to respect Dante, and love him for his kindness towards her despite betraying him. He was the first person to ever show her kindness no matter what she did to him. I also like to think that Dante doesn’t just care for her because he sees his mom. It used to be like that fs but later on he started seeing her for the person she wanted to be, and he truly loves who that person is.

And we can’t forget Nico, and Nero!! My shaylas fr. Nero is such a good friend to Nico, and Nico is so good for Nero. They balance each other out so well as they both can relate to having a shit dad (like most characters in this game lmao), and can provide different coping strategies for one another. I think Nero being so family oriented is also really good for Nico as it gives them both a sense of home. Also they’re just so funny together lol.

All the main men in these games respect their female counterparts so much that it would be weird for them to get with each other. I really like it that way we don’t have enough straight platonic relationships where the two involved love each other so deeply without there being romantic tension.

[monstersinthecosmos]

kacy i need ur thoughts on marius and dom drop

Oh! My friend! I have several. 🤗

I have a lot to say and I’m not sure how to organize myself so be patient with me. But !

I think a lot about both the in-universe/non-diegetic kink in VC but also Marius’s own admittance that he lies to himself, and what that says about both his role as a dom and what it means, and his ego as a defense mechanism and what it means to his actual level of self-assuredness.

Like the short answer here is like: I LOVE thinking about a soggy Mawwius who feels really bad and goes back to his lair at sunrise feeling like a nervous wreck because there wasn’t enough time for aftercare LOL. I think it ties in really nicely to his hatred of anger/the humiliation around identifying with anger, and I wonder like in a moment of dom drop does it feel too much like he was being an aggressive brute, and does he lose sight of the fact that Amadeo (or whomstever) was into it?

Is he so ashamed of himself that he doesn’t even ALLOW himself aftercare? He takes the shame with him to be alone and punish himself, maybe! :D

WHAT A BARBARIAN!

And like I know I bring this up from time to time but the whole idea of non-diegetic kink/DOYLIST KINK IF YOU WILL, is that it’s kinky to the reader, on purpose, but not necessarily following “good” BDSM rules in the text, right? Like the whipping scenes in TVA are intended to be kink to the reader, but they’re not negotiated. So I wonder like, what does a dom role mean to him if he’s not slipping into it in a traditional/realistic way? If they exist in a world where negotiation isn’t warranted, how much aftercare do they need? And speaking to dom drop—there’s aftercare in both whipping scenes in TVA, but they’re focused on Armand, not Marius.

In some ways that feels appropriate, too, like, I don’t know man! What’s the etiquette when one of you is inhuman and there’s a 1500 year age gap? In real life we’d see BDSM as a consensual roleplay where the sub might want to check in, too, and is just as responsible, but in a situation like this, is it Armand’s job to take care of him after?

That’s the tricky thing about the non-diegetic setup that I’m getting at. As the reader, the EXTREME power imbalance is supposed to be tropey and entertaining and titillating, and it’s interesting trying to tease that out from like, how sincerely we take the actions on the page. (ie: the timeless discourse about whether or not the BDSM in TVA is abuse blah blah). So like, we can chose not to worry about it and write it off as Not That Deep, or we can say like, maybe it wasn’t Amadeo’s fucking job to care for the ancient creature that just beat the shit out of him lmao.

We have to ask, does proper etiquette exist/matter in this universe? (Either answer still works, it’s just like, what are we focusing on for this particular moment, like is it for meta or a fic or what, your mileage may vary). And like on that note, what was the BDSM etiquette in the 1490s, anyway? LOL Like does anyone give a fuck anyway? (This might be an ask for YOU, apoptoses!!!)

So it’s kind of interesting to think about this.

I mean!

Like, Marius can still have dom drop, whether or not Amadeo (or anyone else) cares to aftercare him. And that kinda feels appropriate with the no-rules non negotiated scenes in the first place. It’s appropriately messy if he’s torn up about it and then just goes back to his lair and stews and panics about it. Love that for him lol.

It also occurs to me like, if AMADEO also needs more aftercare, if Marius knows that but has to leave, I wonder how guilty that makes him feel. Like, I remember you and I talked about this LOL because I wrote this into Gallows Bird, that he woke up Riccardo to go sleep with Amadeo so he wouldn’t be alone, and you were gonna write some Riccardo/Amadeo about it!!! Like, how often did that happen?

We can say if there’s no negotiation and shit poor BDSM etiquette in universe, maybe he just left Amadeo to fend for himself at sunrise and that was that LOL and it layers into the extreme way it’s built for the sake of the story and exaggerated for the sake of the reader, but as always, I know that you and me both as fic writers like to think about this stuff on the ground floor because we try to envision more of a 360° view of what these scenes looked like from the inside and I simply have to ask all these questions to develop my understanding !!

And I have to ask how purposeful these scenes & roleplays are within the universe: is he slipping into the dom/disciplinarian role with intention? It asks that question like, what does this person need and how does the BDSM role help them? We can say that Amadeo is a brat, and that by necessity Marius must become a disciplinarian to take care of him. But is that something Marius would choose for himself? For Marius I can only imagine him thriving as a dom in the sense that it feels good to have control, but it’s an odd thing to need to express in the Venice era in particular where he is so very in control anyway. Is his paterfamilias/daddy kink already served just by their 24/7 dynamic and his control of the palazzo, and does he still need to top it off with impact play? There’s so many options here!

Option A is like, he’s basically service domming for Amadeo’s pleasure, and the dom drop is going to come from the idea that he’s so completely self-loathing as a monster!  People give Louis credit for being like the OG Self Loathing Vampire but Marius has him so so beat, imo. God he hates that shit. He has such bad vampire dysphoria constantly, he feels like a monster, he uses his powers sparingly to feel like a person, every time he grows a new strength he’s disgusted by it. He hates the idea of violence and anger!

Option B is that it’s therapeutic for him to exercise these powers with someone who appreciates them? Does it feel nice to indulge in his violent nature for a little while in a space where he knows he’s not hurting anybody for real? And like, for all the ways he has control in Venice – Amadeo will grow up and leave, the boys will leave, Vincenzo will die soon, he cannot keep them, he cannot join society in the way he wants. I think when you break it down, most trauma comes down to “a time I did not have control” and it’s natural for people to want to play with control to unwind, but for Marius in particular, his turning was SO traumatic and fucked up and I think really set the tone for his entire life. Not just being turned against his will but the way it was prolonged, that he did everything he could while he was alive to rebel against Roman society and maintain personal freedom, only to have that taken away for a YEAR! Being held captive is so fucking dehumanizing, and I wonder if he never really got over it.

Option C is that it just genuinely also gets him off and he’s playing with his food because taking little sips from Amadeo for years is giving him insane blue balls lmao

I also would be remiss not to mention my sincerely held belief that Marius is more of a sub on the inside, too, and so roleplaying as a dom or being so stressed that he needs to control SOMETHING is not natural for him. If he rose up to be a dom by necessity here—whether to meet Amadeo’s needs or because he’s become so violent and inhuman and needs to relieve stress—I can definitely see him having dom drop after and struggling to reconcile it when he’s lying awake in his sarcophagus panicking about it.

Everything in Venice is designed to be the exact opposite of his experience in Gaul. He spoils Amadeo with gifts, gives him a beautiful place to live, all the food he wants, wants him to have a worldly education, encourages him to go out and experience the city and meet people and have sex and take advantage of everything the modern world has to offer. And I think he likes that Amadeo sees him as a savior and not a captor. He even knows pretty quickly that he loves Amadeo too much to go through with turning him, anyway, and is willing to let him live.

So it’s interesting to me like, this is actually something I’ve tackled in Sheith fics LOL but like how to overcome trauma in a way that allows you to be violent for fun again, and how to find it cathartic and safe when your instinct is that it isn’t, or when the idea of it feels triggering. We don’t know about Marius having any other relationships like this before Venice, but he’s rejoining society for a while and finding a healthy outlet for his hunger, perhaps.

Especially off the heels of his thing for Bianca and Botticelli, and how he knew he’d kill them if he didn’t distract himself. The entire reason he HAS Amadeo at all is as a plaything and a distraction/rebound, so it’s interesting that controlled violence plays into what they do together, and how Marius loves him.

What’s interesting about it too is that like, again in the sense of it being the actual text—it seems like after both whipping scenes that they both have sort of emotional breakthroughs and can be more honest with each other. We know that Marius is a person who keeps his feelings inside until he explodes, and this is how that looks when he’s with Amadeo. He comes away from it with a sense of catharsis that he needed. No matter how they get here, it does seem like it’s something he needs.

But yeah anyway. This was all over the place LOL but those are some of the angles I consider when I think about this topic. I genuinely can’t imagine a version of Marius where he DOESN’T experience dom drop, honestly, it’s just that I think there’s a very different routes of how we get there. In the end, no matter how intentional the roleplays are, I think he’s going to go isolate himself after and go “what the fuck why did I do that oh my god” and the curse of their interspecies relationship is that he has to leave in the morning and they can’t cuddle their way through it until it feels better.

[irisintheafterglow]

HAND NINE - STRAIGHT FLUSH

summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas. in this hand, touya finally folds.

wc: 2.4k

cw/tags: royalty!au/regency!au, fem!reader (she/her used), fire, peril, weapons (dagger and a sword), enji gets his shit rocked, reader is highkey unhinged in this but we're just tryna get touya to come to his damn senses, league of villains being true homies

note: second to last chapter :') technically this could be considered the last chapter but i've still got a lil epilogue to publish that ties everything up in a nice lil bow <3 hope you like this, everything comes together in this one chapter and i didn't realize just how many strings i needed to tie up LOL

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated! | series masterlist

There’s an unfamiliar churning in Touya’s stomach at 7:56. It does nothing but grow as another minute ticks past and he catches the rich scarlet of Tomura’s cloak in the flurry of champagne fabrics. It disappears as soon as he notices it, but his composure slips long enough for his mother to notice his unease. 

“You haven’t asked me for my ring yet,” she comments and the muscle in Touya’s jaw tenses. “I can’t imagine you’ve had the availability to purchase one on your own, or have you?” He continues to stare straight ahead, forcing his eyes to stray and look for you among the glitter. “Touya.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Answer me.” 

“I have my own intentions this evening,” he states more coldly than he wished. She hums before bidding him a quiet goodbye and exiting the ballroom. 7:58. Touya releases a shaky exhale through his nose; she was the last of those he cared about to leave the event. Shouto, Natsuo, and Fuyumi were preoccupied trying to find a diamond-encrusted brooch in his bedroom that, in reality, was sinking to the bottom of the palace’s duck pond. The razor-sharp dagger shifts uncomfortably in the inner pocket of his coat, weighing on him nearly as much as the adrenaline coursing through his body. For better or worse, you were nowhere to be found as the minute hand ticks closer to standing upright. 

7:59. He prayed to something he didn’t believe in that you were far from here, hopefully gone for your own good. He wishes again that he was in another lifetime with you, one where he could love you as he pleased without the shackle of royalty hanging around his ankle.

8:00. His mechanism rigged into the ceiling flickers to life and the ballroom becomes an inferno. His hand was dealt, and he had no other option than to push the limits of what he had left.

Steeling his nerves and shrugging off his coat, his fingers run along the cold hilt of the dagger as he reattaches it to his belt. The heavy velvet falls to the floor with a thump lost in the noise of the ceiling igniting in cerulean flames, the atmosphere shifting from carefree socializing to nothing short of chaos. The heat becomes suffocating within seconds to all but two. One refuses the hurried attempts by his servants to remove him from the hellish scene, and the other stalks over to his father in an unbuttoned shirt that, for the first time, fully reveals the deep purple burn scars rippling over every muscle and nerve from the neck down. 

“Look familiar, father?” Touya snarls, his voice carrying easily over the sound of crackling and flames beginning to hop to golden curtains. Onlookers flee in horror as the crown prince darts forward with a shining object at the king, who barely jumps backward in time. A ceiling beam crashes behind Enji, blocking the last exit. “Doesn’t this scene remind you of anything?” 

“Stop this, Touya.” The king’s voice booms at a decibel that shakes the room and Touya merely smiles. They pace in front of each other, back and forth with no escape in sight. The two royals’ intentions were clear–if I go down, you’re coming with me.

“But I thought this was what you wanted from me, Your Majesty,” he replies with a cynical grin dripping with sarcasm. “All those classes, teachers, lessons, all so I would become your weapon and you could conquer the Isle of Might once and for all. Isn’t it a privilege to witness the true power of Flash Fire?” 

“I made Flash Fire to protect this kingdom,” Enji hisses, “But you could not control it. You were to be king without it.” 

“And therein lies the issue, father. I only wanted to be king because you told me to be. I only lit the fire that night when you said I’d never be worthy. When you started pushing mother to isolate Shouto and use him as your next tool of conquest.” Touya’s body acts on its own, flipping the dagger thoughtlessly in his hand. The blade glints and reflects the bright shades of blue slowly engulfing the entire room. At this rate, the whole palace could burn and Touya wouldn’t give a damn. The thing that ruined his life was in front of him, after all. “When you realized I would never be what you wanted, you thought sending me away would fix it. But it didn’t, and I returned wielding Flash Fire better than you ever could.” 

“You were never supposed to return at all.” Something that was long-guarded in Touya’s heart aches a barely perceptible amount, but it’s enough to make him lunge to kill.

“You made me this,” the prince spits as the king finally draws his sword, blocking the first attack coming within inches from his face with a sharp clang! “You should be proud. You should be overjoyed you finally raised an heir that could surpass you.” 

“Your spite does nothing but infect this kingdom,” Enji retorts. Blow after blow is exchanged, sparks shooting off blades and becoming one with the intensifying blue fire around them.

“Hypocrite! The people fear your cruelty, which is why so many were eager to aid me while I was in exile. When you’re dead, the kingdom will thank me!” 

“They will never view you as a true king, only as a monster. In their minds, you were meant to rule, not entertain the whims of some brainless lowlife you manipulated into courting–”

The instant his father mentions you, Touya snaps and swings wildly, slicing a clean cut on the side of his opponent’s bicep. It throws him off balance enough that he can kick out the king’s leg and force him onto one knee. A powerful punch to the king’s temple knocks him to the ground, unconscious. 

“You shouldn’t have mentioned her.” With his knuckles bruised and aching, the prince hesitates for barely a breath before the dagger comes down, aimed straight at the king’s heart.

At that moment, a shiver runs across the back of the prince’s neck and an eerie silence falls across one side of the room. Half and half, part of the ballroom remains covered in fire, while the other resembles a burnt forest covered in snow. The dagger hovers with the point barely breaking through the king’s clothing, the fight suddenly halted by the abrupt shift in atmosphere. Touya’s eyes narrowed at the half-extinguished side of the room; the only person who could know how to counteract Flash Fire was…

“Tomura?”

“No.” His heart drops like a rock into his stomach. You step out from behind a blackened pillar and carefully navigate around broken tables and shattered drink glasses. He feels like he’s watching his own body from outside. You couldn’t be here. You weren’t supposed to be here. “Drop the dagger, Touya.” His grip tightens on the hilt. “Please.”

“Get out,” he croaks. You take another step closer, calling his bluff.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Leave.”

“I’m staying,” you counter, your eyes darting between Touya and his father lying at his mercy. Another ceiling beam crashes to the floor and releases a plume of dark smoke. It wasn’t safe for you here. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“The flames, how did you…”

“I held a knife between Tomura’s shoulder blades until he agreed to deploy the countermeasures,” you answer and take another step forward. Only a few feet remained between you and Touya now and his body was split between you and his mission. “Drop the dagger and let’s go. I’d like to keep the number of times you almost killed me to two.” You’re trying to keep your voice light, but it’s impossible for him to miss the way your outstretched hand is trembling. 

“He told you about the market?”

“I made him tell me about the market,” you correct. “I should have recognized your friend in the tall hat when you took me to play cards that one night. An attempted assassination carried out by your friends under your orders, but apparently you caring if an arrow struck me wasn’t part of the equation. I’m sure you can tell me more once you come with me, so let's leave. ” 

“I can’t,” he mumbles while he regains control of his limbs. “I need to do this.” Before Touya can drive the dagger home, your arm shoots out to reach for the blade. Your bet pays off because rather than wrapping your fingers around the sharpened metal, Touya’s are firmly gripping your wrist and holding your hand above the weapon. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What does killing him accomplish?” You’re finally close enough to him that you can meet his intense stare, which burns just as hotly as the deteriorating side of the ballroom. “Why become what people think you are?”

“Because they’ll never know me as anything else,” he seethes. “And he doesn’t deserve to live.” He attempts to finish off Enji once again but you struggle in his hold at the same time, forcing his attention to prioritize your safety above all else. “Stop it,” he commands frustratedly through bared teeth. 

“No,” you fire back. 

“What do you want me to do? Let him live? After everything he’s put me through, you want me to spare his life?” Touya asks incredulously.

“His death is not worth the burden,” you argue and the prince shakes his head, failing to tune you out. “If you kill him, you become the monster he made you.”

“I am the only one to carry that weight.”

“Not if I am with you.” His breath hitches in his throat. Were you saying that you would…? “And I intend to be.” 

“Why?” This time when you have everything on the line, you refuse to fold. 

“Because I love you. And I know you love me too, or you would’ve let me grab this dagger with my bare hands to try to stop you.” Around you, the flames are forgotten as they continue to scorch everything they touch and the extinguished side of the room sits like a still life painting. You can count the different shades of blue in his eyes, searching you for any sign of hesitation that doesn’t exist. 

“You’d give up everything for me?”

“Nothing I’d be giving up was worth keeping,” you whisper. “If it was, I wouldn’t be behind that damn pillar.” He finally huffs a tired laugh, shaking his head at your reiteration of a promise you’d made several times before. “I love you. Let’s go, right now. We can finish the latter half of your plan without going through with the former.”

“What about him?” The toe of Touya’s boot nudges his father’s unconscious form. 

“I don’t believe he’s in any position to stop us.” His hand slowly slips into yours and laces your fingers together digit by digit, like he was waiting for you to announce your betrayal and deem the whole charade a joke. When your palm fits snugly in his, he finally starts to believe that, maybe, you weren’t going to break as easily as he previously thought. The tension in your shoulders eases when Touya cracks a smirk, decisively tossing the would-be murder weapon into the fire and dragging you out of the ballroom. 

Touya’s hand remains on you at all times, whether it be in your palm, on the small of your back, or holding your waist as you move through the shadows like it was second nature. With the money in hand and your luxurious garments discarded in favor of a traveling ensemble he had commissioned along with your dress, you escape through the back garden gate to where a carriage was waiting to take you to the kingdom’s port. Sitting on the carriage bench were two familiar poker opponents in a red cloak and a top hat, and the girl swinging the door open from the inside was suspiciously excited about her latest adventure. 

Tomura catches Touya’s eye as Himiko pulls you into the carriage.

“Told you she’d come,” his friend says with a self-righteous sneer. 

“The notes?”

“Left on each sibling’s pillow and on your mother’s dressing table. I do hope the future King Shouto implements better safety regulations; it was much too easy to sneak through the windows–”

“I’ve no need for the details of how you broke into the palace.”

“Of course not,” his friend sighs, readjusting the reins in his hands. “You’ve already got everything you need, Your Highness.” 

“I’m going to roast you alive if we arrive as anything other than safely,” Touya warns with his boot halfway in the carriage and his friend waves him off.

“Yes, yes. Please, sit back and relax. Once you’re crossing the seas to the Isle of Might and that gold is ripping the seams of my pockets, we can declare this whole debacle as put to bed.” At that, the prince ducks inside and the vehicle immediately bounces over a rock as it begins its journey toward the coast. With a cheeky wink, you ask Touya if Tomura was giving him trouble and he can only shrug before pulling your legs into his lap.

“I believe it’s his way of saying he’ll miss me when we’re gone.”

“Where will you go?” Himiko asks curiously.

“Anywhere we want,” he says as he slips his hand in yours once more. “The network I created in my exile is expansive, so wherever your heart wishes to, we will go.”

“What of your family? They were kind to me during our introductions,” you remember with a sad pit in your stomach. “Won’t they miss you?”

“They’ve grown accustomed to my coming and going. At least this way, they can put the rumors to rest that I am the most problematic of the royals.”

“By simply admitting the gossip is true,” you agree.

“Words can’t bother me if I’m not around to hear them,” he concludes contentedly. “Especially if we are too busy reading and playing cards in the libraries of the Isle of Might.”

“Tomura, Jin, and I will keep the peace in the kingdom while you’re away,” Himiko vows and Touya snorts. “What, you don’t trust us?”

“I trust the place will go to hell if you three are the ones running it in my stead,” he deadpans and his friend’s mouth drops in indignation.

“I think they’ll be just fine, as we will be,” you state with finality and he has no choice but to smile and relent. 

For the first time in a long while, he believes it too.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[sunshineangel0]

chapter one

pairing- Bang Chan x OC (Chi Nakamura) summary- Chi Nakamura, the owner of a cozy Seoul bakery, has a seemingly ordinary early morning encounter with a mysterious customer—one that lingers in her mind long after he’s gone. Little does she know, her small act of kindness has left an impression on none other than Bang Chan, leader of stray kids. genre- Slow burn, fluff, slice of life, a hint of romance (?) word count- 1.1.k warning- pure fluff, caffeine addiction (lol) a/n- This was just supposed to be a simple small idea with an oc I created in my head, but now I’m obsessed with their dynamic. Chi’s bright energy vs. Chan’s quiet exhaustion? Yes, please. Let me know what you think! 💕

The warm glow of early morning seeped through the tall windows of Mochi and Bean, casting golden streaks across the polished wooden floors. The air inside the small bakery was rich with the scent of vanilla, espresso, and fresh-baked pastries—a comforting aroma that wrapped around Chi Nakamura like a familiar embrace. She hummed softly along to the music playing through the speakers, a gentle K-R&B track that blended seamlessly with the quiet hum of dawn in downtown Seoul.

It was just past 5:15 AM. The streets outside were still sleepy, wrapped in the lingering hush of the night, where only the occasional early commuter or delivery truck broke the stillness. This was Chi’s favorite part of the day. The world felt softer, slower, like a deep breath before the city exhaled into the chaos of morning traffic. In these early hours, it was just her, her oven, and the quiet anticipation of a new beginning.

Behind the counter, she moved with precise, practiced ease, organizing the latest batch of butter croissants and matcha financiers onto their trays, each pastry arranged with delicate care. The polished glass display case gleamed under the soft café lighting, the golden layers of the croissants catching the light just so.

The bell above the door chimed, the sound crisp in the tranquil stillness. Chi glanced up, expecting to see one of her usual early birds—perhaps an office worker needing a caffeine fix or a delivery driver grabbing breakfast before the rush.

Instead, she was met with someone new.

A man stepped in, his presence quiet but deliberate. He wore a black hoodie pulled low over his forehead, gray sweatpants, and a mask covering the lower half of his face. He moved with the kind of energy that suggested he was used to going unnoticed—each step purposeful yet unassuming, blending into the background without effort.

Chi, ever the bright presence, propped her elbows onto the counter, resting her chin on her hands as she offered a natural, easy smile. She didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t matter.

"Good morning!" Her voice was warm, gently breaking the silence between them. "What can I get for you?"

The man hesitated for a second, as if her friendly greeting had caught him off guard. Slowly, he reached up, pulling his mask down just enough to reveal a glimpse of his lips and sharp jawline before tucking it under his chin. When he met her gaze, his deep brown eyes—slightly hooded with exhaustion—held an unreadable expression.

"Uh… just an Americano, please," he said, his voice a quiet rasp, the kind that came from too many late nights and not enough sleep.

Chi tilted her head slightly, observing him with a light curiosity. There was something about him that felt oddly familiar, but she didn’t press on it. Instead, she nodded, pushing off the counter with an easy grace.

"Coming right up! You want anything to eat? I just pulled out some fresh croissants—like, literally five minutes ago. Still warm," she offered, gesturing toward the display case where the golden, flaky pastries sat invitingly.

The man hesitated again, like he was about to refuse out of habit. But something in the way she looked at him—expectant but not pushy—made him pause.

"Yeah… sure. One croissant," he relented, voice softer this time.

Chi grinned, already turning toward the espresso machine, her movements fluid and practiced. "Great choice," she said as she punched in the order. The familiar hum of the machine filled the space, rich coffee dripping steadily into the cup. Meanwhile, she grabbed a pair of tongs, carefully placing a perfectly golden croissant into a small paper bag.

As she worked, she glanced over her shoulder, curiosity flickering in her gaze. "So," she started casually, "you’re out pretty early. Work?"

The man let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he tucked his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "Something like that."

Chi didn’t push for more. Instead, she simply nodded, setting the finished Americano on the counter alongside the bagged croissant. "Well, hope the coffee helps. It’s on the house since it’s your first time here."

The man raised a brow, clearly surprised. "You don’t have to do that."

"I know," she said with a small, knowing smile, "but I want to. I just opened like a week ago. I thought it would be nice offering a few things at first"

He exhaled through his nose—a quiet laugh, amused by her kindness. As he reached for the cup, his fingers brushed against hers—just for a fraction of a second, barely there.

Something flickered in his expression, like he was about to say something else, but instead, he just gave her a small nod.

"Thanks… Chi," he murmured, glancing at the name tag pinned to her apron before turning toward the door.

Chi blinked, slightly surprised that he’d noticed her name.

"See you around, uh…" she trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

He hesitated for a second before answering simply, "Chris."

And then, he was gone, slipping out into the early morning, leaving behind only the lingering warmth of his presence and the quiet weight of an interaction that felt like the start of something.

Chi exhaled, watching as the door swung shut behind him. Something about that guy was… interesting.

She just didn’t realize yet that Chris was Bang Chan—the leader of Stray Kids. And that was only the first of many mornings to come.

As the café settled back into its usual rhythm, Chi pulled out her phone, unlocking it with a quick tap. She hesitated for a moment before opening her messages and typing.

Chi: you ever just serve coffee to someone and feel like... that was kinda important???

A few seconds later, her best friend, Mina, responded.

Mina: girl it’s 5:30 in the morning what are you even talking about

Chi rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips. Before she could type back, Mina sent another text.

Mina: wait. was he hot.

Chi snorted, shaking her head.

Chi: idk??? maybe??? also kinda familiar but idk from where. anyway. just felt… different.

Mina sent back a string of eye emojis before typing.

Mina: oh you’re DEFINITELY seeing him again.

Meanwhile, across town, Bang Chan stepped into the JYP Entertainment building, the weight of exhaustion still lingering but… lighter, somehow.

Han looked up from where he was sprawled on the studio couch. "You look… unusually chipper for this time of day."

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, setting his coffee cup down beside the mixing console. "Do I?"

Han squinted. "Yeah. You actually look like you slept more than three hours."

Chan just smiled to himself, the faintest trace of warmth still lingering from the morning’s encounter.

"Maybe it’s just good coffee," he mused before slipping on his headphones, the soft hum of the bakery and Chi’s bright voice still echoing somewhere in the back of his mind.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general tags: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789

(if you want to be added to my taglist, please comment under the post.)

[mtcloudsworld]

Can I please request a Dick Grayson x black reader smut, we know that man is nasty and when he’s in love he’s down right filthy so he’ll be into spanking, hair pulling chocking, and he’s definitely eating pussy like his life depends on it. Do what you want just make him as nasty as ever 🤎🤎🤎

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 | +18, mdni, dick grayson x black!reader, black!fem, hair pulling, oral (v receiving), pet names: dollface, baby, darling, mama, love, friends to lovers trope, dirty talk, backshots, pound town, gushy gushy

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 | ANON, I'm not even gon' lie... I struggled with this one soooo bad 😭 I was over here tryna give you like a whole ass story and what now, but then my ass was way too stubborn, and way too horny to do all that soooo I just typed away at it as much as I could. Hopefully you like it. If not, sue my writer's block lol.

please comment, like and reblog!! Enjoy lovebugs!!! 🦠🩷

𝐀𝐇𝐇, 𝐘𝐄𝐒, we know Dick is a nasty man, he likes it sloppy, filthy to the point you're a quivering whimpering mess, right?

It was kinda hard...at first... to believe how nasty this man could be.

How could someone so energetic with such a cocky personality trapped in a god like body with that millionaire dollar smile make a girl cum in seconds?

Your relationship was mutual. You both had the same friends but never budged to hang out with each other.

It didn't mean he never had his eyes on you, though.

The way you walked, how you talked, dressed and styled yourself never failed to amaze him. Your hair was either in braids or in its natural habit-- curls. You always had your nails done and your scent was always a mixture between cookie dough, vanilla, and coco butter.

Your personality was cute and charming, oftentimes you were a bit shy and quiet, but once you got comfortable around somebody you were okay.

Usually, Dick hopped from girl to girl, could never stay committed at times and getting to know you genuinely as friend wasn't supposed to go any further than that...but it did.

You were constantly on his mind, effortlessly grabbing at his attention, you had a way of caring for people-- it was almost like a motherly instinct to nurture someone.

There were moments when you two were face to face, talking, having a normal conversation about something and you'd just...lightly brush a strand from his face or fix the collar of his shirt.

Oh, his tie is crooked? Let me fix that.

Got a crumb on his face? Let me wipe that off for you.

Eventually, coming over to each other's apartments turned into sleeping over, getting weirdly comfortable with cuddling, having deep, intimate conversations that most friends or associates wouldn't have with each other.

But that was the issue, you both were comfortable, and usually comfortability led to numerous things.

Things that became private and secluded from the rest, things that took time for him to accept and realize. Things that allowed you to invite him and read you like a book. He took time out of his own world to get to know you from the inside out. He took time to settle for the innocent things that were ultimately sweet to the point his teeth were rotting.

It took time to understand this wasn't a friendship, it was more than just a simple hug, a glance in those beautiful eyes, a brush of the hands, having mental check ins, texting and calling each other nonstop-- it was more than just platonic.

Because best believe when he's found himself stuck in a place where you're truly his only option, his only solitude, his only source of light and recharge-- he'll come running to you. He's done it plenty of times, more than you can count.

Even when he thought it was the stupidest idea to land on your balcony at the weakest time of his patrol, you took care of him without even knowing.

You took care of him like you would at campus, eating with friends, hanging out-- you were always in his corner. So when he reveals to you who he truly was, Nightwing, it felt like a tone of bricks slipped off his shoulders.

Your promise of keeping his identity a secret felt more sacred than anything.

He had gotten comfortable with just sneaking his way into your apartment, unless he didn't warn you ahead of time, everything was on lock down. Born and raised in Gotham taught you so many things and keeping your home secure at all times was one of them.

When he does come over after a nightly patrol, it's never a dull moment where your stitching him up, cleaning the blood from off his skin, icing his cheek with a bag of frozen fruit...there was never a dull moment when he's sitting there like a little kid observing you glancing over him and checking every aspect of him, making sure that he was okay and in piece...never a dull moment when he wants to lean in and kiss you...but something always got in the way.

Nonetheless, he makes it his goal to at least try,

On a Friday night, after patrol, he realized how far he was from home.

As much as he wanted to take a break from visiting you, tonight had him beat.

He wasn't feeling up to swinging from rooftop to rooftop when your apartment was literally right here.

Coming to your place unannounced was never his intention, nonetheless, you invited him in anyway. Cleaning up his wounds and washing the blood, dirt and grime from off his suit, he heads to the bathroom for a shower.

Once he was done, he stepped out in only a pair of sweats. His hair a mixture of dry and wet strands curling around his eyes and shoulders gave him that boyish charm that made most girls go feral. Along with the sight of his toned torso, bitable muscles and imprint of his bulge...yeah, you were in deep.

And trying to stay cool, calm and collected while standing beside you, in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his foot crossed over the other, arms crossed while eating a banana wasn't getting you nowhere.

You were finding it hard to make eye contact with him, too scared to stumble over your words when he gazed over you with those piercing sapphire eyes and beautiful smile. He was speaking to you so casually, but your thighs were practically clenching against one another.

Your body was hot, heart beating quicker than usual while your mind was going to places that it shouldn't. Yet here you were feeling some type of way, and when you were done with those damn dishes, you both settled on the couch. Putting on a horror movie to pass on the time.

Neither of you were really tired, it was only 1:30 on a Saturday morning, so settling with that seemed plausible.

15 minutes in man spreading with his eyes trained on the screen. He mindlessly accepted the comfort of your crossed legs over his lap. Leaning into his arm, with your own wrapped around the muscle you feel his warmth transfer through you as your body laxes, even with his knuckles brushing lightly against the side of your thigh, it felt nice...or when he massaged it, groping it softly and caressing at the flesh subconsciously...it felt nice, too nice.

Because at some point you told him to stop, and when he looked to you confusingly. Brows furrowed with a puzzled gaze, you bring it to his attention, embarrassingly, that it made you feel some things.

And it dawns on him, suddenly...

The smirk and mischievous glare in eyes make you feel shy, wanting nothing more than to curl in a ball.

It dawns on him that he has an effect on you.

Just like you had an effect on him with taking care of him, physical touch from him felt like heaven. The littlest things he does to you sends you on a whirlwind.

And he couldn't lie, it boosted his ego.

He would sit there contemplating his next actions for the next 5 minutes.

Eyes looking anywhere but the tv. There was this cute awkward silence between you. Clearly fidgety, unsure if y'all should or shouldn't...

Peeking over you, he murmurs, "do you want me to make it feel better?"

Staring ahead, your mind doesn't register his words until a second late.

The question no doubt taking you off guard, but you look at him shyly, shrugging your shoulders with uncertainty. "I-I think so?"

Trying to hide yourself from him, you wanted to express that it wasn't a big deal and that it'll go away on its own... but the way he was looking at you right now, with his hand still rested on your thigh...the temptation was real.

Dick chuckles at your cuteness, "No need to hesitate, doll face. If you're not up to it, I won't force you into anything." He says mindlessly brushing your curls behind your ear to get a good look of your face, brushing his thumb along your jawline. You gulp noticing the proximity of your faces, the scent of his body wash overwhelming you as you eye him adoringly. "I want to."

He cocks a brow at you, "you sure?" you realized his question was out of reassurance, wanting to make sure if this was something you wanted to do.

But you nodded, glancing between his eyes and those pretty plump lips of his.

"Yes, I'm sure."

It seemed impractical for him to think that way with you, but he did.

He thought about it nonstop.

To the point he was having to excuse himself to the bathroom, fisting himself at the thought of you. All because he had an innocent little cuddle session with you. He just couldn't bear the feeling of your ass brushing up against his dick, which was pathetic I know but true.

Or when he accidentally got a glimpse of your chocolate round tits, bouncing up and down as you squeezed and jumped yourself into those tight ass jeans you hadn't worn in a while because you gained a little bit weight around your ass and thighs.

He loved every second of it, though. He loved every chunky curve and perfect imperfect flaw that made you you. He thought about it every single day and night, out on patrol when he feels touch starved, or busy with other things that weren't you.

Dick has thought about consistanly.

He's thought about this exact moment for a while now.

He's got you in his grasp, trapped in your own room giving you exactly what you've been waiting for, and you realize between shared kisses and him glorifying your body that you love every second of it.

You love how messy he is, how he doesn't give a fuck if you're loud and everybody and they mama can hear you. He was making you feel good, making you feel like bouncing on his dick for hours.

Salvia drips from his mouth to your aching center. Watching how it rolls down the crevice of your lower lips past the entrance of your hole.

It coats every inch of you beautifully before proceeding to dip his fingers past your folds. Light wet sounds heard as he circles around to your clit, rubbing up and down tenderly.

"How's that feel, baby? Feels okay?"

"Y-yes, keep...going," You exhale shakily, nails curling into the sheets, balling them into your fists you feel his fingers slip in and out of your leaking hole.

His head rested at your thigh as he peppers kisses to your flesh, attentively watching your eyes flutter shut to the euphoric feeling building from within, your moans become softer and sultrier as your cunt welcomes him deeper.

Your skin felt so satisfying in his palms, almost like Play-Doh as he continued to grope parts of you. The way it was so smooth and yet so soft beneath his calloused hands, he never felt anything like it. Your scent was so intoxicating, he could almost taste it in his mouth. Actually... he wanted to savor it in his mouth, every inch, every lick, gathering a taste of you.

"Spread those legs for me, baby," he instructs lightly, lips adventuring south of your hips near your lower region. He gently moves your knees over his shoulders to hold you securely within his grasp.

Mouth leaving kisses to your clit, he lays his long pink tongue flat against your center. Licking long stripes up your clit deliberately slow, you gasp at the sudden action. "Oh, Dick~"

One taste after the other, he moans pulling you closer, "Fuck, I'm gonna ruin you."

His tongue flicks against your bud quickly. Concentrating on your raunchy moans and the way your body responds. His warm hands move upward around your parted thighs. Palms laid flat at the underside of them, he presses for your knees to touch your chest.

"Such a good girl." He plunges two fingers into your leaking hole, prepping you a little bit more before replacing his fingers with his mouth again.

The sensation of Dick's lips engulfing, sucking, licking and slurping against your sobbing wet pussy sends a heat wave through your body. The long-wet muscle glides over your hole teasingly a few times before shoving it inside.

Your whimper-moans fill his ears as he maneuvers in and out of you. Squirming beneath his hold. Not wanting to run away from him, he holds you down against the mattress, forcing you to take it like a good girl while arching your back off the mattress. "Aww, Dick right there~" with your head pressed to the pillow.

Completely immersed to the weird sensation of him tongue fucking you. Mentally, it felt too realistic, too natural for how far his tongue could reach. Undoubtedly grazing at the sides of your gummy walls, you were sure he could touch your g spot without even trying.

Nonetheless, it left you speechless, embarrassingly aroused and yet a stuttering mess that expressed something so indescribable.

With your hand pressed to the back of his head, you welcomed him deeper. His mouth working tirelessly eating you out like a full four course meal, you attempt to swivel your hips against his salivating mouth. "D-Dick..." The whimper of his name was high pitched, undoubtedly trying to warn him that something was brewing.

"Mmph," His mouth pulls away from your pussy with a smack. A heavy exhale hits at your exposed core as he continues with pumping you with his fingers. Voluntarily shaking and wiggling his fingers at your g-spot. Your movements halted, eyes clenching and jaw dropped to the action. "Mhmm, yeahhh. There you go, that's it, just let go for me baby, I got you." It sends continuous vibrations to your clit, your walls clenching and contracting around his finger, your throat emits a deep elongated moan, painting an ivory white all over his fingers.

Dick lets you ride out your high before he pulled out to examine your essence coating all over his fingers. You laid there, breathless and mind blown for a moment, resting your legs out onto the mattress lazily.

While you hear the humming of a pleasant man at the end of your bed, you were too busy collecting your thoughts of the events that just occurred.

Noticing you were completely silent he goes to land a kiss at your stomach.

"You okay, baby?"

You nod, "mhm." Before lifting yourself up slowly on your elbows.

When you get a better look at the image before you, you nearly snicker as Dick lick small spots of cum from off your inner thigh. Smiling from ear to ear, you ask with your head cocked to the side cutely, "Do I taste that good?" Looking at him with amusement, he traces kisses up your body. Grossing onto his hands and knees, you notice the rippling effect and swell of his muscles beneath the flesh of his arms and shoulders, veins bulging through, his huge frame looms over you causing your back to touch the mattress. when he comes face to face with you, your dainty hands come from up his biceps to wrap around his shoulders. Noses nudging against one another cutely, a playful smirk is decorated on his lips when he sees a little twinkle in your eye.

"Wanna find out?" His voice was deeper than before, raspy and sexily menacing to the point your aroused cunt began to clench around nothingness. Your lips ghosting over his, hooded eyes watched closely as you proceeded to finally engulf his, he immediately deepens the kiss no longer feeling the need to prolong it.

When he rests his body between your legs your startled by the heavy bulge of his dick rubbing along your clit. Moaning between kisses he takes this opportunity to slither his tongue past your mouth, brows connecting at the slow development of pleasure growing in your body. The combination of the slow yet firm stroke of his hips grinding against your pussy and his tongue adventuring in your mouth has your moans become breathy, soft and cute with a lilac touch that has him grunting in return. "Ooh, baby" your nails dig into the skin of his shoulder blades, your legs locking around his waist, his lips move down the side of your chin to leave bites at your neck. Sounds of your heavy exhales and whimpers growing needy has his dick twitching in his sweats.

"Wanna continue, love?" his hands clench to the sheets on either side of your head, keeping himself from crushing you completely, his hips rock against you.

"Yes...please." you exhaled shakily, bucking your hips to him.

It didn't take much longer for him to have you bent outta shape.

"Ooohhh Fuuuuck!"

In the perfect position, face down, ass up, your sweet raunchy melodic moans bounced off the four white walls as you clawed at the sheets. Body jerking, mouth gaped, and brows furrowed. Your back arched into his embrace as he pounds profoundly deep into your pretty little pussy.

"Mhmm, that's it, take that shit, mama-- fuck, you look so good like this."

Quick with precision, no breaks in between leaving marks on your bronze flesh. He leaves you breathless with your hand rested at his abdomen. He grabs at your wrist pinning it to your lower back to feel your long acrylics dig into his skin.

With sweat drenched strands sticking to his forehead, mouth gaped with heavy grunts, he observes the sight of your fat ass jiggling to the slamming of his hips.

Fucking you at an angle, your whimpers become suppressed by your swollen bitten lips. “Heh, you like this shit... don't you, baby? You like it rough? You like the way my dick feels baby, hm?" You were unable to speak, jaw dropped with hesitant moans slipping out and when he doesn't hear a response, when he doesn't hear you communicate with him, he dares to go slow. "Or should I go slow? Huh? Want me to fuck you slow and hard, dollface? Cause I can do that, I can give it to you just like this--" His thrusts still so harsh and rough against your clit, pegging his dick to grind deeper.

"O-Ooh fuck n-no, keep going! keep going! Don't. stop." You whined like baby hating the change of pace.

"Yeah?" he cocked a brow at you in amusement, smirking evilly.

"Mhmmm, please, Dickie, please go faster..." you beg

He grabs at your hips roughly once more, digging his fingers into your flesh, praising you. "Good fucking girl."

He was practically fucking you to pound town, fucking you till the bed was creaking, till your sounds were silence by the agonizing warmth of excitement circulating through your nervous system.

Your curls were shielding over your clenched eyes, head tilted back from his hand collecting a fist full of your hair, your lips gaped open in euphoric pleasure. You begin to wail as he pounds into you relentlessly.

He watches your pussy lips pucker around his length, squeezing him tightly and sucking him deeper and deeper till he reached your cervix. He was so deep you could practically feel him in your stomach. Driving and grinding his hips into you meanly, his hand was placed at the small of your back molding you into an arch.

And like a cat, slowly you follow through with his silent command, planting your chest onto the mattress, your arms outstretched from you, your head turns sideways observing how he fucks you in rhythmic motion, hands transitioning to coddle at your hips.

"Harder, baby, harder..." You nearly laugh at the sudden vibrations of your skin smacking repeatedly against one another, caught in a trance to the gushy squelching sounds of your sweet, sweet essences dripping from around your thighs. "Y-yeah, that's it, just like that-- mmphm...oh my God!" Your breath is caught at your throat, eyes beginning to water.

His hands grope at your ass cheeks, using the fatty flesh for leverage, turning his fingers white. Thumbs pulled your ass cheeks apart so he could catch a glimpse each time he thrusts into you with ease, the squelching gushy gushy of your arousal feels and sounds so sticky and wet to his ears, so sloppy that its dripping onto the sheets and soaking at the base of his abdomen.

"Shit, m'bout to cum..."

Between your parted legs you feel his hand move towards your center, gasping, "fuuuck!" You grind yourself against his fingers as they move around your folds, gaining your silk and ghost over your clit, slapping against it couple of times before giving it a sweet gentle rub in quick circular motions.

"Mmm'fuuuck yesss!"

You wail, body crumbling lower, feeling suddenly weak within his grasp.

He smirks victoriously when he feels you start to clench around his length, quivering like damn leaf. "Mhm, cum on this dick, mama." You release a deep guttural moan beneath him, when your body collapses to the bed sounds of your cum gushing from out of you is heard as he ruts inside of you, following in pursuit.

"Shit, gotdamn baby!"

He stood back with huff, watching as his tip leaked all over the crack of your ass. His cum seeping from out of your entrance down the side of your shaking thigh. Taking a hold of his dick, the swell of his mushroom tip smears your shared juices all along your center, between your folds, rubbing it up and down against your clit to hear you whimper from the sensitivity.

Stepping away, he kneels down to be leveled with your ass. Peppering kisses all along the red imprinted cheek, he nibbles at your thigh next.

He feels you move, your upper body turned sideways with your knee bent while the other stayed straight. Your hand reaches for the crown of his head as his face buries into the crevice of your cheeks. Inhaling the scent of your cum, it rubs up against his nose as he started to lick at you.

"Mmph, I can never get enough of you." He states pulling your ass cheeks apart some more, his tongue dragging up from your pussy to the space of your ass.

You squeal to the feeling of his long pink tongue slithering past your quivering hole. Dark lust filled eyes watching as your swollen lips parted, keeping eye contact with him as you press his head deeper, bucking your hips back.

You welcome him back into your heat, making out with your cunt, moaning at the taste of you lingering on his buds, his hands begin to smack at your ass a few times, groping at the flesh as he starts to slurp up his salvia, devouring you some more to feel it roll down the side of his mouth and smear against your inner thigh messily.

"Aww, shit!...you just can't get enough, huh?" You whimper laugh starting to ride his face as you feel him poke at your sweet spot, "fuck, you always find the right spot...Oh, m'cumming."

And what felt like the fifth time already, you cum, you cum all along his face feeling his head shake to finish you off completely.

Pulling away to see your pussy juices shine all along his mouth and chin, smeared at his cheeks. You watched as his smirk grew, his tongue slipping out to lick around his mouth seductively before going in for a kiss. His tongue shoved down your throat while your hand moves to stroke at his dick, thumb rubbing around his swollen tip.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 ©𝐦𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

... y'all what the fuck did I just create???

[all-pacas]

It's so funny how cameron almost has... reverse abandonment issues? She doesn't really have a thing for broken people, she just wants to care for lonely people: her husband, house, the cancer patient. She doesn't even appear to want to fix house, she just wants to be with him. This is funny because if anyone has abandonment issues in the show, it's chase. Yet he's the one person she doesn't see as lonely.

It's soooo funny to me. Chase is such a fuck up, but he really seems to have flown under her (and to an extent House's) radar completely. On the other hand, Chase's problems tend to manifest as extroversion and pretending not to care, so his abandonment issues aren't super obvious: he's stuck in a "don't reveal you care by acting like you care" loop instead of openly attaching himself to anyone and everyone. He keeps his problems pretty much to himself; Cameron pushes her problems so far from her they land square in the lap of other people.

It's honestly also an interesting part of his and Cameron's dynamic, because, for real: he's the one fixing her. Not literally, and not well, but that's the vibe, right? She's the one who needs comforting, who needs to be pushed. Take The Itch: he has a problem, he's upset. The onus is on her to fix it, but first of all Chase doesn't tell her for over a year he feels this way (and lowkey seems pretty sure she'll dump him if he mentions it, in a great manifestation of his issues). But when he does? He explains he gets it, he understands, he'll wait for her. She's scared, he's waiting. She keeps pushing herself out of her comfort zones for him, and Chase is mostly passive and supportive: the show makes it very clear that he's well aware of her issues and just… cheering her on to make baby steps, lol. He enables her to take the space she needs to work through things, gives her the support we usually see her give others. Not to the same extent (Cameron's fixing people complex is also very much a control thing; she wants to hand hold and white knight in a way the much more passive Chase does not at all), but it's… if Cameron and her damage and need to control and push away her own feelings are ultimately deeply House-like, then Chase is 100% Wilson, ignoring his own deep issues to focus on someone he loves. If she's House, he's Cameron, wanting to be with her and pushing for a relationship and love despite being pushed away.

It's not a perfect metaphor, but… it is fascinating that Cameron has such an obvious type, and ends up with someone who performs that role for her instead, completely despite herself.

[velvetvexations]

so, i was really deep into brony fandom in the 2010s (i called myself a pegasister, if that gives you context), and i can say that, like... there was definitely the obnoxious part of the fandom that was full of pieces of shit, same as any massive fandom like that, but for the most part, most of the "bronies are fucking awful" talk was just... homophobia and sex-negativity being bolstered by a media panic, genuinely

like, people looked at pretty average fandom porn and gore and reacted to it WAY worse than anyone did for any other popular fandom at the time, because it was being bolstered by a 1-2 combo-punch of "a group of horrible channer assholes being a part of the fandom" and "a media shitstorm channeling a TON of people into getting REALLY angry and shocked about BOYS liking a GIRLS cartoon" (that was the homophobia part, the media really liked to fearmonger about boys not being manly enough)

a lot of it was normies looking at mlp:fim fandom and getting totally shocked and pearl-clutching about things that... were popular and existed in EVERY OTHER FANDOM at that point, but normies weren't like, looking for edd ed n eddy fanfiction, so they acted like the brony fandom was this unique bastion of weirdoes being gross and cringe and making WEIRD fanart! but they only knew about brony culture because there was a media shitstorm running literal fucking NEWS BROADCASTS on it to begin with (literally, i watched some of them at the time, i was only like 14 but it really stuck in my mind how horrible the media were being especially in contrast to how normal my experience of the fandom was). and so like, i was over here like danny phantom fans are exactly the same! danny phantom fans are making weird porn too! why do you guys care about mlp fans but not dp ones, we're just as weird and autistic and cringe.

and like again yeah, there was a really obnoxious fandom contingent (which your friend was definitely a part of from what you described lol), but they were very much the same as, like, the worst parts of the homestuck fandom that were screaming BUCKETS at random people and harassing people at cons - they were real and loud and awful, but not the vast majority, and most of us were really annoyed by them but put up with them because you can't control who's in a fandom. i actually had a very similar experience with homestuck when i joined that fandom a couple years later.

anyway this got long, but i'll just close it out with: IME yeah a lot of former bronys are transfem now, but also a lot of former pegasisters are transmasc, and the numbers are pretty equal! this has less to do with mlp:fim specifically and, in my opinion, more to do with how overrepresented all trans people are in fandoms. before about 2018, fandom was a pretty autistic and trans hobby, generally speaking, and honestly MOST people i knew in EVERY fandom i was in from 2008-2015 turned out to be trans once we got older.

I always felt like bronies were a bigger phemonena than the average fandom, tbh.