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msbigredmachine · 2 days ago

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The Boy Next Door: Chapter Four

MASTERLIST ✨ harmshake's masterlist ✨ msbigredmachine's masterlist

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, language, angst, violence, smut

Poster made by me. Credit to the owners of the other pics and gifs.

The first thing Ivy felt as she stirred awake was a dull, satisfying ache between her thighs. Next was the naked, muscular body enveloping her from behind, full lips brushing her shoulder. Twisting her head, she found his handsome face peering down at her, his crinkled eyes soft and his voice softer against her skin.

"Morning, baby girl," Roman murmured, muscular arms tightening around her, “How ya feeling? You sleep good?”

Gingerly, she shifted around to face him, noting how he instinctively moved his body closer to hers, her loins clenching at the feel of his flaccid yet impressive length pressed against her stomach. “I did…after you let me,” she replied, relieved to find that the feeling in her legs had returned and her voice was still intact. “Don’t tell me you’ve been watching me sleep,” she giggled.

“I plead the fifth. You’re too beautiful not to watch, sweetheart,” he chuckled, sliding his hand down her bare back to grip her ass as his face nuzzled the crook of her neck. His touch sparked memories of their wild night; the havoc his hands and mouth and his stunning weapon of a dick wrecked on her body, his voice deep and rough and authoritative as it coaxed her through literal waves of unforgettable pleasure that had him changing his Egyptian cotton bedding afterwards:

“Your pussy feels so good wrapped around my dick…ffuuck, Ivy…”

“I love the way you moan for me, baby girl, you sound so fuckin’ sexy…”

“Haha, look at you shakin’ and leakin’, fucking up my sheets…It feels good when I'm deep like this, right, baby?”

“Relax your throat so you can take more of my dick…yeah, just like that, mmm…”

“C'mon sweetheart, let Daddy make you come on this dick one more time…”

Her eyes fluttered shut, a content sigh leaving her as Roman gently kissed her lips and rubbed his hand up and down her back. “I wanna make you breakfast…whenever we get up, of course,” he said, looking down tenderly at her features. She looked so gorgeous in his arms, her hair tousled from sex and sleep, her body soft and warm. She belonged right here with him and if he had his way, she’d never leave his bed.

As much as she longed to spend her day like this, one glance at the clock on the wall advised otherwise. "Sadly, I gotta go. Zaia and Duchess will be home soon.” Also, she would very much rather not have Gemini find her here and start another lecture like she was her damn mother.

“You can shower here to save time, get cleaned up…We did…a lot, last night,” Roman grinned, mischief dancing in his warm brown eyes.

Blushing, Ivy rubbed her nose on his chest, breathing in his scent, “We did, and my body is feeling all of it right now.”

His brows furrowed with concern. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Not at all. And either way, I wanted it.” Easing herself upright, she glanced around the room, getting a good look at her surroundings for the first time considering how…occupied they were all night. “My dress is laying somewhere and I know the zipper’s busted, no thanks to a certain someone.”

“My bad. I’ll buy you a new one. I got a spare dress shirt you can wear,” Roman offered, letting her wiggle out of his arms and the cocoon of his bed to head to his bathroom, his gaze fixated on her naked glory all the way.

His shower was spacious, the water was warm and his sandalwood body wash was gentle on her deep brown skin. Yet it still couldn’t compare to the heat that filled her body thinking about their antics last night. The line had finally been crossed. Weeks of sexual tension had given way to giving in to her sexy-as-fuck next door neighbor. Cliché in the best and worst way. The pragmatic side of her was keen to overanalyze her actions, to pass it off as scratching an itch and be done with it to be never revisited again. The other part of her, the grieving, lonely young woman, had never felt this good, never felt as wanted and desired as Roman made her feel, and she wanted more. Needed more. For her pleasure. For her wellbeing. She would deal with the emotions when she was ready to cross that bridge. If ever.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not pick up on Roman joining her in the shower until his arms circled her waist. His long hair tickled her skin as he suckled the base of her neck, his mouth widening over the sensitive spot he'd become acquainted with, big hands roaming her body with purpose. As he turned her around, her eyes naturally fell to the shaft dangling menacingly between his tree trunk-like thighs. Even semi-erect, he was intimidating as hell. But even more intimidating was the predatory look in his eyes as he invaded her space with his big strong body, the swish of his tongue making her pussy quiver as she was reminded of how he’d worked it on her and in her until she saw stars…

The memory made her knees weak, and they just about gave way entirely when he smashed his lips to hers. His chest mashed against her hardened nipples, his fingertips grazing one before curling around her throat, soft groans exhaled in unison as the now familiar heat sizzled between them. They delved into each other’s mouths, lapping and sucking sloppily, heads twisting from side to side as he kicked her feet wider apart and grinded his erection against her mound, sending a fresh flood of wetness that had nothing to do with the running water.

“I’m gonna be late,” Ivy breathed out, an absurd statement considering that her home was literally across the street. Roman thought so too, easily dismissing her half-hearted protest with a laugh as he lifted her up against the marble wall.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he groaned, silencing her with another heated kiss, keeping her trapped between the solid wall and his equally solid muscles. Her shaky moans were his oxygen as he grasped his dick and pushed it inside her, letting out one of his own as her slick heat welcomed him. He reveled in the stunned look on her face, her jaw dropping as her pussy stretched open for him, compelling him to drive into her with hard yet measured thrusts of his hips. His haughty smirk was wide as she shuddered from pleasure, her nails scraping his broad shoulders, her thighs tightening around his waist pulling him deeper into her.

“Ssshiiit, Roman…”

“That’s right, baby, call out my name while I pound this sweet pussy…”

His arm latched protectively around her waist as he walked her to his front door. As they approached the foyer, Ivy looked up at him, her heart thudding from his smoldering gaze that always seemed to reach the depths of her soul.

“Thank you for last night…for dinner, for the dick…It was amazing,” she whispered, pushing a stray lock of his hair back into his neat ponytail.

As her hand dropped to his chest, Roman realized he couldn't let her leave without one more kiss. Caressing her chin between his long fingers, he molded his lips to hers, savoring the taste of her, ensuring to slip her some tongue before pulling back.

“Baby, you don’t ever have to thank me. I got you. If you or Zaia need anything, let me know. If you need to talk…or fuck…” he added slyly, Ivy gasping into his chest as he squeezed her ass, “Or both…just ask. I don’t care what time it is. Call me and I’ll be there,” he promised.

One of the perks of mutual attraction was the insane chemistry between the two parties. Having lacked this for years had almost made Ivy forget how good it felt to want and be wanted. How it felt for just one look to make her heart pound and set her body on fire. For her senses to be awakened with one touch. The butterflies, the schoolgirl-like giddiness…Roman reignited all of that in her in just a matter of weeks.

Having her all to himself seemed to unleash something in him too. Unearthed a sexual spontaneity and adventure that Ivy hadn’t experienced since her college days. Nowhere was too risky and no position was off limits; Perched on the sink in the tiny restroom of a diner, her moans hushed and his thrusts deep. On a deck chair by his pool, her legs on his shoulders, leaving her a sopping, sobbing mess. On all fours in the backseat of his Range Rover in the hospital’s parking garage, the fear of getting caught evaporating with each luscious plunging stroke inside her. Her pussy was his for the taking. Sex with him was so intense and breathtaking that she couldn’t help but wonder where he’d been her whole life.

“So are y’all dating now?”

Startled, Ivy glanced up from her phone so fast, whiplash was in her near future. She cast a nervous glance around the spa's relaxation lounge. It was empty and quiet save for the serene background music and the soothing trickle of a water fountain nearby. But for all Ivy cared, Gemini had uttered the question with a megaphone. "Do you have to be so loud?" she yell-whispered, quickly putting her phone away.

Picking up her complimentary glass of champagne, Gemini shrugged nonchalantly. "What? I'm just asking a question. You’re going on dates. You’re fucking, and the dick is obviously top tier cuz look how big your smile is from just texting him. And the feeling’s mutual, cuz your pussy got that man paying for your hair, your nails and this spa session.”

“Oh my god,” Ivy groaned, the clay mask on her face preventing her from burying her head in her fluffy white bathrobe from sheer embarrassment.

Ignoring her reaction, Gemini leaned back in her lounge chair to observe her best friend. “Look, Ivy. I’m glad you’re getting your back broke the way you deserve, girl. I really am. But I still can’t help but think you’re moving really fast with Roman.”

On closer introspection, Ivy would agree. From the outside looking in, she was letting another man slot into the vacancy Angelo had opened up with his passing. But no one knew her life, especially not his mother Gloria, who still had nothing nice to say about her or Roman since confronting them at her son’s funeral. If only Ivy gave a shit. The woman turned a blind eye to everything her son put her through, thus, her opinions didn’t matter. No one was going to dictate how she grieved or moved on or how to raise her daughter and that was that.

And it wasn’t like she was moving on with Roman. She just felt so…connected to him. Long before they became two bereaved souls that lost their life partners in tragic circumstances. Plus, it wasn’t even all about the sex. He tapped into her desire for comfort and companionship that had eluded her since her relationship with Angelo collapsed. And unlike her ex, Roman appreciated her, and it was evident in the way he treated her. Making her laugh when she was having a tough day. Checking in on her regularly. Talking with her for hours and listening to her. She liked listening to him too; the stories he shared about growing up in Pensacola, Florida, the way his eyes lit up discussing his family with so much love and adoration. And then there were his other little thoughtful gestures; the care packages with soothing teas, bath salts, scented soaps and candles. The playlist of songs that “remind me of you” as he had named it on Spotify. Bouquets of flowers delivered to her workplace that had her fellow nurses ooh-ing and ahh-ing, not excluding her boss, Lilian.

“Whoever this man is, do not let him go,” the Head Nurse had advised as she admired the soft pink roses perched on Ivy's desk.

She didn’t plan to. Not when he was hitting every sweet spot she owned, literally and figuratively. Maybe Gemini was right. Maybe she was dickmatized. But she couldn’t really be blamed, could she? Roman was a smart, sexy man with a soft side and a protective nature that she found extremely appealing and was drawn to.

“You’ve zoned out on me again.” Gemini’s voice cut into her thoughts. “You are dickmatized, girl. The sex is that fire, huh?”

Yes! Ivy thought, a small smile on her face as she tried to articulate her feelings. “It’s not just that. He’s been…really good to me, Gem,” she confessed, sipping pensively on her mimosa. “I feel like grief has kinda brought us together in a good way. Like it was meant to happen like this. Yeah, he’s…passionate. And I know you’re worried about his temper. But he’s been so gentle with me. He’s attentive. Affectionate. He…cares. And it feels good. Really good,” she went on, her eyes fixed imploringly on her best friend as though trying to plead her case.

Gemini was silent as she took in Ivy’s assessment, the skepticism on her pretty features slowly melting into sympathy. “Well, in your defense, you do look…happy,” she admitted, “Happier than I’ve ever seen you with Angelo or anyone else. But I won’t stop begging you to keep your eyes open, babe. It won’t speak well of me as your friend if I don’t.” She was yet to find anything on Roman other than the fact that he had no social media presence of any kind. Odd as that was, it wasn’t a crime. Gemini truly wanted to believe she was overreacting about him, but her gut pushed her to keep looking just to make sure, for Ivy’s sake at least. And she would. Ivy didn’t need to know. If there was indeed nothing, she would let it go and forget all about it. “Angelo just passed. Your emotions are elevated. It’s okay to take things slow and not rebound so quick.”

Ivy pleaded the fifth on that. He was a welcome distraction from losing Angelo. A reprieve from her other reality of coming home and finding traces of her child’s father around the house. He never got round to taking all of his belongings with him when she kicked him out for good, which meant she was still kicking up the occasional item of his here and there that brought fresh waves of sadness each time.

But no one was taking his death harder than Zaia, who had essentially abandoned her bedroom for her mother’s. More heartbreakingly, she was crying in her sleep almost every night, calling out for her daddy. Ivy was worried and planned to book an appointment with her pediatrician, Dr. Zayn.

Again, Roman came to her rescue, arranging movie nights with her daughter, the two of them cuddling up on her couch and bonding over buttered popcorn and Disney’s iconic characters. As Halloween approached, Roman joined them in decorating not just her yard but his own as well, creating a festive atmosphere that brought joy to their little community. He even took them on an outing to Dave & Buster's, where his playful and attentive interaction with Zaia stood out. It was quite heartwarming how hands-on he was with her little girl; he would make a great father someday.

Ivy knew he was only trying to help; in no way did she expect him to replace Angelo because he never could. No one could. That was Zaia’s daddy, no matter what. And though Ivy acknowledged that she may like Roman a little more than the boundaries of mere physical attraction permitted, she knew better than to let those feelings cloud her judgment when it came to her baby. Angelo would always be a part of her life. She hadn't completely shoved him all the way to the back of her mind, but at least he no longer dominated her every thought. It was getting better, and better was better than worse.

An attendant entered the ladies’ space and set a tray of assorted fruits on their table. Gemini snatched up a strawberry and dropped it into her drink. "Anyway, you're gonna be at my party, right?" she asked, “What are you wearing?”

Gemini’s annual Halloween party was a highlight of the social calendar year, and it made Ivy cringe to know she’d forgotten about it. “Fuck. I’ve been so busy with work and everything else that I haven’t thought about it. I only got Zaia sorted out for her trick-or-treat party. I’ll find something for myself this week.”

“Good. Can’t wait to see what you do this year. Your Storm cosplay last year was fire.” A long, tense beat crawled by before Gemini cleared her throat, her next words tentative and begrudging. “You can bring Loverboy along, if you want,” she grumbled.

Smiling, Ivy raised her champagne flute to her lips. “I’m sure he’d like that. I want you to get along with him. No more tiptoeing around another man in my life.” Sitting upright, she moved in for the kill. “And what about the man in yours anyway, huh? Officer Hayes, hmm? If you don’t focus on that fine ass man and leave me alone…”

Eyes wide, Gemini avoided her friend's teasing gaze. “Ion know whatchu talkin’ about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Ivy smirked.

Nobody threw a party quite like Gemini Beaufort. Her Halloween bashes were the stuff of legend, with an over-the-top grandeur that seemed to escalate with each passing year. By the time October’s final night arrived, the anticipation was palpable. Securing an invitation to her party was almost as difficult as getting into an elite club. Hosted in the grand, sweeping mansion that had been in her family for decades, attending a Beaufort party was a badge of honor in this town, an unspoken acknowledgment that you were now part of Hartford’s elite.

Hand in hand, Roman and Ivy climbed the winding stone steps. The dark silhouette of the house framed the towering trees draped in cobwebs. Skeletons hung from the eaves, their bony hands outstretched in eerie welcome, while carved, glowing pumpkins lined the path like sentinels guarding the front door. Fog rolled across the ground, and a ghostly figure swayed in the breeze, making the mansion feel like something out of a haunted tale.

As they neared the entrance, Ivy noticed Roman fidgeting with his costume. He was dressed as Aquaman, the golden, two-piece spandex clinging to his chiseled body like a second skin, his trident gleaming in his hand. But despite the impressive Jason Momoa-esque look, Roman seemed uncomfortable, adjusting the tight fabric around his torso. “You good, babe?” she questioned.

“I don’t know, Ivy,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “This thing is skintight. I feel…exposed. Like it’s showing everything.”

His nerves were a sharp contrast from Ivy’s, looking effortlessly stunning in her Clovers cheerleader uniform from Bring It On, the iconic green, yellow and gold ensemble accentuating her curves. She smiled softly at him, her eyes warming. “Well, it’s showing all the right things,” she joked, biting her lip when he frowned. “Relax. You look great. Like you just stepped off a movie set,” she reassured him.

Roman exhaled sharply, his gaze shifting toward the house where the party raged on inside. “It ain’t the outfit,” he admitted. “It’s more of the people, I think. I’m not…great with crowds.”

Ivy’s smile grew, her heart softening at his vulnerability. She had seen this side of him before—strong but uncertain. Needing assurance. “Remember how you stood by me at Angelo’s funeral? You defended me in a room full of strangers,” she reminded him. “Well, I’m gonna do the same for you tonight.” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “You look sexy as hell, babe. You’ll be fine, because we’re in this together. And if all else fails, we’ll just drink the night away.”

At that, Roman’s posture relaxed, the tension eased. He smiled at her, his expression grateful. “You right. Thanks, baby.” He paused, the gratitude in his eyes shifting to something else as he looked her over. “You look beautiful, by the way. Really beautiful,” he drawled, licking his lips. “You sure we can’t go back home and have a party of our own?”

“Down, boy,” Ivy giggled, swatting his creeping hand away as she glanced toward the door. The brass knocker had been replaced with a creepy, oversized spider, its legs curled around the handle. With a deep breath, she stepped forward and grabbed it to knock.

The door swung open, the soft creak of the hinges drowned out by the thumping bass of music from inside. A wide smile lit up Gemini’s face as her eyes fell on Ivy, her jaw dropping as she took in her outfit.

“Ivy! Girl, you look incredible!” Gemini’s voice rang out with warmth, her own costume, a curvaceous Lola Bunny from Space Jam, hugging her voluptuous shape enticingly. The white crop top, matching shorts, and knee-high socks paired with her signature bunny ears made her look every bit like the cartoon character. “I’m so glad you made it!” She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Ivy in a tight hug, the scent of lavender and cinnamon swirling between them.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ivy grinned. “You woulda beat my ass anyway if I did.”

Gemini stepped back, eyes flicking over Ivy’s shoulder, her smile faltering at the towering figure behind her, his sharp features and easy smile that seemed just a little too practiced. He was dressed as Aquaman—predictable. Her eyes lowered to his hand on the small of Ivy’s back, possessiveness radiating from the man that the attorney was yet to warm up to. But she was quick to recover, plastering on a welcoming smile.

“Hi, Roman,” she said coolly, stepping aside to let them in.

“Hey, Gemini,” he replied smoothly, his voice cheery as he looked around. “Thanks for inviting me. You have a lovely home.”

“Thanks,” Gemini answered. “I’m glad you both could come. It’s gonna be a fun night.”

The entire space of the mansion’s grand foyer had been transformed, an intricate web of cobwebs draping the walls, bats dangling from the ceiling, and pumpkins carved with jagged smiles glowing from every corner. The scent of mulled cider and spiced pumpkin filled the air, the low hum of conversation and laughter drifting in from the next room. Before they parted ways, Gemini’s eyes met Ivy’s again with that disapproving look that Ivy was starting to tire of. In turn, her eyes narrowed, a subtle, silent warning. Roman, however, seemed oblivious to the tension, scanning the room with that same cautious gaze. Watching them slip further into the crowd, Gemini’s eyes lingered on the big man and suppressed a sigh, deciding to focus on the party. Tonight wasn’t about him. It was about having fun, celebrating with the people she cared about, and being a good host.

The vibrant energy soon took over, the lights, the laughter, and the familiar hum of a good time. Ivy showed Roman around, introducing him to other neighbors and a few other friends of hers, including local cops Officer Gable and Officer Hayes, the latter looking spectacular in his Killmonger armor. Dinner was a vibrant mix of the ordinary and the macabre. Alongside the classic chicken, beef, and vegetarian dishes, the buffet featured quirky options like graveyard chocolate pudding cups, bloody finger hot dogs and cheesy pizza skulls. The bar added a playful twist, serving drinks in boozy blood bags and Jell-O shot syringes, alongside cocktails inspired by iconic horror villains like Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers and Chucky.

At the table, conversation flowed freely, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Ivy sat sandwiched between Roman and Raquel, a paralegal at Gemini’s law firm. The hostess herself claimed the head seat, with Officer Hayes right next to her. Ivy noticed how Carmelo had stuck close to Gemini all evening. It wasn’t subtle, and Ivy was certain they were sleeping together. They were undeniably cute, even if Gemini would never admit it. Ivy smirked to herself, already planning how she’d tease her friend about it later.

She turned her attention to Roman, checking on him. He’d been quiet, not saying much, listening to other people’s chatter as he picked at his food. “How’s your food? Good?” she asked, eyeing up his half-eaten plate of shrimp fried rice and garlic butter salmon.

Roman nodded, leaning close to her, “It is. But I’d rather be eating something else cuz it looks so fucking good.”

Before she could ask him to clarify, he snuck his hand under the table to rest it on her leg, moving it along her inner thigh.

"Roman!" Ivy hissed, shocked at his boldness. Surely he wasn't going to try to do what she thought he wanted to do in the presence of all these people, dimmed lighting or not. Her eyes widened as Roman tugged her panties to the side, teasing her folds with his fingers, gathering the growing wetness.

At that exact moment, Raquel decided to steer the conversation to them, leaning forward on the dining table with a sly grin. “So, Nurse Jones, we see you’ve been scooped up by the handsome new neighbor over here,” she teased, her voice brimming with curiosity. “Tell us all about it. How did this beautiful union happen?”

Ivy opened her mouth to answer, but any attempt at forming a coherent thought was derailed by two thick, long fingers suddenly plunging into her, sending shockwaves all over her body. Grabbing his wrist under the table, she struggled to keep a straight face, a sharp contrast from Roman as he stepped in smoothly. “It’s pretty straightforward, really. I came over to hers, asked to borrow some sugar, and she gave me a cookie recipe along with it. The rest, as they say, is history,” he announced, his voice warm and effortlessly charming.

The table erupted into a mix of laughter and ‘aww’s. Ivy’s flushed features were for a far less innocent reason than his sweet comment as she shot Roman another warning look. He merely raised an eyebrow as if daring her to lose her composure, his signature smirk firmly in place as his fingers pumped inside her, making her squirm in her seat as she fought to suppress her moans.

A clueless Raquel nearly spilled her wine as she clutched her stomach. “A cookie recipe! Classic! That’s so cute,” she exclaimed.

Carmelo chimed in next, his tone gentle but curious. “And Zaia? Has she taken to you?” His eyes flicked to Ivy, aware that her little girl had been the center of her world since day one.

Roman’s countenance shifted then, the playful air giving way to something softer, more sincere. “Zaia is the sweetest little girl,” he said, his voice unwavering. “She’s so smart, and she has her mama’s kind heart. I’m blessed to get to know her. Ivy’s an amazing mother. It’s been a tough year for me, and I’m so glad I’ve met them, and all of you as well. I can tell that this town will be good for me.”

The warmth emanating from him seemed genuine, and even Carmelo appeared won over. There were murmurs of approval around the table, heads nodding in silent agreement.

But not everyone was convinced. Gemini sat quietly, her glass of wine untouched, her sharp eyes flickering between Roman and Ivy. Unlike the others, she wasn’t laughing or nodding. Her arms were crossed loosely over her chest, her face a careful mask that betrayed nothing except a slight tension in her jaw.

As Roman continued to field questions and charm the room, she remained silent. Her piercing eyes took in every word, every gesture, every touch. Something about him just did not sit right with her. His words felt just a little too smooth, too charming, his timing just a little too perfect.

The others were too busy to notice Gemini’s quiet skepticism, but Ivy could feel it, even if she wasn’t looking her way. She could only imagine her indignation if she knew that Roman was currently fingering her under the table. She forced a smile as Raquel launched into another question, fighting the urge to scream as her orgasm loomed. But right as she made it to the brink of euphoria, Roman stopped, pulling his fingers out of her.

“We’ll finish this later,” he growled, kissing her cheek and patting her thigh, refocusing on his food like nothing happened.

Infuriating.

Intoxicating.

After dinner, the guests gathered in the cozy, candlelit den. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows over the room. Lounging on plush armchairs and sprawling rugs, the drinks continued to flow and loosen people up more and more. Someone had started a risqué game of “Truth or Dare,” but Roman seemed uninterested in the group activity, his attention wholly fixed on Ivy.

Her seat was his lap, her laughter chiming through the room as someone recounted a particularly embarrassing dare. Roman’s arm remained draped possessively around her waist, his fingers idly tracing circles on her hip. His gaze, though lighthearted, was sharp and territorial, shooting silent warnings at anyone who dared look at Ivy for more than a fleeting moment. Most irritating of them all was Damian, a mutual friend of Gemini and Ivy’s whom Roman noticed had been eyeing her up all evening, seated next to them in a gaudy vampire rockstar getup as he made conversation with her. Then for some reason, he dared to address Roman himself, nodding in his direction. “Hey, great costume, man,” he complimented.

Plastering a plastic smile on his face, Roman leaned forwards, his tone deceptively casual as he responded loud enough for the entire room to hear, “Thanks man. Ya know, I almost didn’t bother with a costume this year. I considered dressing up as a homicidal maniac.” He paused, letting the room go still for a moment before adding with an airy laugh, “Ya know, cuz they look like anybody?”

The room’s energy froze for a beat, the humor landing awkwardly. A few people exchanged uneasy glances. Damian looked flabbergasted.

Roman clapped his hands together, his grin widening as if to erase the tension. “Come onnnn, relax, people! Lighten up! Anyway, I think I nailed the Aquaman look, right?”

Laughter rippled through the room, hesitant at first, but it grew louder when Roman flashed his megawatt smile and raised his drink. The moment passed, but Gemini wasn’t laughing. From her seat on Carmelo’s lap, she studied Roman with narrowed eyes, her suspicions too great to hold in any longer.

A little while later, as guests migrated to refill their glasses and raid the buffet table for more snacks, Gemini saw her chance. She waited until Roman wandered into the kitchen alone and followed him from a distance.

“Roman,” she said, her voice sharp and deliberate.

He turned, his smile immediate but calculated. “Gemini! What’s up? Great party-”

“What kinda creepy ass comment was that, huh? Homicidal maniac? Really? After everything that’s been going on in this town? Could you show your ass anymore out there?” she accused.

“I was just trying to be funny. Sure, it didn’t hit at first but I think I recovered. If my joke was perceived as offensive then I-”

“Cut the shit,” Gemini snapped, stepping closer. Her voice was low but firm, her eyes boring into his. “I’m a goddamn attorney, Roman. Your passive-aggressive bullshit don’t work on me. I see through it, and I see right through you. You’re not who you pretend you are. I can feel it. You’ve got Ivy and everybody else fooled, but I’m not buying it.”

Roman’s smile didn’t waver, but it shifted into something colder, crueler. He leaned casually against the counter, swirling the drink in his hand. “Ivy is a grown woman, Gem,” he said, his tone almost too calm. “A mother, with her own family. Something you don’t have, and with that attitude, you probably never will.”

Gemini’s composure faltered, just for a second, at the scathing jab. Roman caught the slip-up like a cat catching a canary, and his smile widened, his voice softening mockingly. “I’m sure Ivy can make her own decisions without her lawyer friend hovering around.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping. “I’ve tolerated your hostility long enough. But let me give you some friendly advice, sweetheart. You don’t wanna get on my bad side, ever. I promise you that.”

Before Gemini could retort, the sound of approaching footsteps made them both pause. Ivy appeared in the doorway, her brows furrowed in confusion as she took in the tense scene.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, her gaze darting between the two of them.

Gemini straightened, her tone as lighthearted as possible. “Just having a chat with your boyfriend.”

Roman immediately softened, his expression shifting into one of wounded innocence. “I think I’ve upset her somehow,” he said, his voice laced with regret. “I’m not sure what I did but whatever it is, I’m sorry, Gemini. That wasn’t my intention at all.”

Stunned by his complete 180, Gemini opened her mouth to respond, but Ivy got there first. “Gemini, can I talk to you for a second?” she spoke, more a demand than a request.

Roman stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll leave you two to it,” he said smoothly, pressing a light kiss to Ivy’s cheek before slipping away.

As soon as he was gone, Ivy turned on Gemini, her eyes blazing. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

“My problem?” Gemini shot back. “I’m trying to protect you, Ivy! I don’t trust him, and you shouldn’t either!”

Ivy’s shoulders sagged slightly, exhaustion and grief creeping into her demeanor. “I don’t need this from you right now, Gem. I’m barely holding it together after Angelo, and Roman…Roman’s been there for me in a way no one else has.”

“Exactly!” Gemini said, her tone urgent. “Don’t you think it’s a little too convenient? He shows up out of nowhere, swoops in while you’re at your most vulnerable, and suddenly he’s everywhere in your life? Doesn’t that raise any red flags for you?”

Ivy’s jaw tightened. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not Angelo. I’m not a case you need to solve, Gemini. I’m a grown ass woman and I can decide who I want in my life. Roman’s good to me and Zaia. That’s all that matters.”

Gemini stared at her, her frustration mounting. “You’re not seeing the whole picture, Ivy! Please, just—”

“Enough!” Ivy snapped, stamping her foot angrily. “You’re always looking for problems where there aren’t any! Roman’s done nothing but protect me and be there for me! Just cuz you don’t trust anyone doesn’t mean I'm the same!” She trailed off. Reeled her temper back in. Ignoring the hurt in her best friend's eyes, she addressed her with a clipped and cold tone. “I’m only gonna say this one time. Stop trying to interfere in my life. If you don’t, I might have to reevaluate our friendship.”

Gemini’s eyes widened. “And what does that mean?”

“Figure it out. You’re the one who knows everything,” Ivy bit back, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Over a nigga you just met?” Gemini shook her head in disbelief. “Wow, Ivy. Wow.”

Ivy stood her ground. “I said what I said. All I know is I can’t go on like this. This constant back and forth with you. I’ve made up my mind about Roman and clearly, so have you.” She shrugged. “The only difference is I don't care what you think anymore.”

Gemini swallowed the lump in her throat as Ivy turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the kitchen. She exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of the counter. Roman’s words kept echoing in her mind, chilling and deliberate.

You don’t wanna get on my bad side, ever.

Gemini wasn’t scared of his threats. But she was more certain than ever: Roman was hiding something. And she wasn’t going to stop until she found out what it was.

Ivy stormed out of the kitchen, her sneakers pounding against the hardwood floor. She pushed her emotions down, forcing herself to breathe evenly, to shake off the lingering sting of her gut-wrenching argument with Gemini. The music from the den grew louder as she approached, but it all felt like static compared to the turmoil in her chest.

Roman spotted her immediately. He was lounging against the wall near the fireplace, sipping from a glass of bourbon, his Aquaman costume catching the firelight. His sharp eyes tracked her as she neared him, his expression shifting into one of concern.

“Hey,” he said softly, setting his drink down. He reached for her hand, pulling her close. “You okay? What happened back there?”

Ivy avoided his questioning stare, her expression tight. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just…I want to leave.”

Roman frowned, tilting his head. “Leave? Why?”

“Because,” she said, her voice faltering, “I’m not in the mood anymore. Gemini…She thinks she knows everything! She’s just trying to protect me, but I can’t deal with it right now. I don’t want to ruin your night, Roman.”

“Ruin my night?” Roman chuckled, the sound low and warm. He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “Baby girl, don’t let her ruin your night. This is meant to be fun. You deserve a break…you’ve been through so much.”

“I know, but—”

“No buts,” he interrupted, firmly but kindly. “Stay. Forget about her. I’ll handle her if she steps out of line again, okay?”

Ivy hesitated, her eyes searching his face. Something about the way he looked at her—the unshakable confidence, the way he made her feel grounded—settled the tension in her chest. She nodded slowly. “Fine. Get me a drink. A strong one.”

Roman’s lips curled into a pleased smile. “Comin’ right up,” he said, kissing her softly before heading off to do as she asked.

Deeper into the night, the party reached a fever pitch. The music thumped louder, a sultry beat that made the air feel electric. Ivy, emboldened by her third cocktail, shepherded Roman to a corner, away from the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room. Backing up on him, her movements were fluid and teasing, her body swaying to the rhythm of Chris Brown and Davido’s “Sensational”. Her head tilted back, her laughter loud and uninhibited, her eyes locked seductively on Roman’s. He gripped her hips, pulling her flush against his crotch, biting his lip as she bent at the waist to grind on him, her ass gyrating obscenely against the thick bulge of his erection. A low groan slipped from her lips when he yanked her back upright, brushing her hair out of the way to nuzzle her neck, his mouth hot and greedy on her heated skin.

The other guests watched, some whispering to each other, some pretending not to notice. Ivy was putting on a show and she knew it. Her grief, her frustration, her lingering anger with Gemini—all of it melted away as she lost herself in the music and Roman’s presence. Turning around, she wound her arms around his neck and captured his mouth with hers, absorbing the alcohol lacing his tongue. His hands traveled underneath her little skirt, grabbing and squeezing her ass cheek in large handfuls, his body rocking with hers in time with the music.

Roman leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re full of surprises tonight, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone heavy with amusement—and something darker.

Eyeing him through her long lashes, her hand trailed down his chest, her touch deliberate as she stroked his visible hard-on through the stretched fabric of his costume, loving the feel of him throbbing in her hand.

“I need you. Need your dick inside me,” she whispered to him, lust simmering in her brown eyes.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Roman cupped the nape of her neck, his lips brushing her ear. “Where’s Gemini’s bedroom?”

Ivy froze for a half-second, caught off guard by his question. She pulled back slightly to look at him, a curious smirk tugging at her lips. “Why?”

His grin was devilish, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Where better to fuck you than right under her nose? Let her hear just how much you need me.”

Ivy’s heart raced, a mix of exhilaration and nervousness and alcohol twisting in her stomach. She glanced around the room, the other guests oblivious to their conversation, and then back at Roman. He was watching her expectedly, intently, his darkened eyes filled with a dangerous kind of charm.

“You nasty motherfucker,” she slurred, her full lips curved into a wicked, excited grin.

Roman leaned in, crushing his mouth to hers, his kiss laced with carnal, tantalizing promise. “Only for you, baby girl.”

Without further hesitation, she grabbed his hand and dragged him off the dance floor. As they disappeared from view, the music continued to pulse, the party continuing without them.

They stumbled up the staircase, Roman watching her ass sway from side to side as she moved. He made an impatient sound and swiftly scooped her into his arms, carrying her the rest of the way up. Giggling drunkenly, Ivy tucked her face in the thick column of his neck, licking that one protruding vein that made her crazy for him. “You smell so good, handsome,” she purred, latching her mouth to his throat with an almost vampiric hunger, her clit pulsing in anticipation for the naughtiness about to transpire.

“Which door?” asked Roman.

“Last one on the right,” she murmured, wiggling out of his grasp and mildly surprised to find the door open as she turned the knob and dragged him inside. Roman looked around with a raised eyebrow at the spacious master bedroom, sleek and organized and fitting for an uppity bitch like Gemini. His gaze cut back to the sexy little MILF before him, her dark eyes glazed and stormy, her ample chest heaving in shallow breaths. He eagerly closed the gap between them, his hands finding her hips and yanking her to his chest. Cupping his bearded face, Ivy pulled him in, her mouth meeting his with heated eagerness. Roman maneuvered them to the bed and shoved her onto it face-first, his eyes blazing as he ogled her exposed derrière.

“So fucking sexy. The things I wanna do to you in this little ass skirt,” he murmured, his hands all over her ass, smacking the plump cheeks. “Come here, baby, let Daddy give you what you need.”

In what felt like record time, she was on her hands and knees on Gemini’s king bed, her back arched, panties tugged to the side, deep, powerful backshots making her scream Roman’s name into the comforter lest all the guests downstairs would find out exactly they were up to in here.

“You feel that dick, baby girl? You like that?” asked Roman. His body weight damn near had her face disappearing into the bed. Flat on her chest, ass in the air, barely able to keep her eyes open as he dug her out from behind, forcing his dick deeper into her with tantalizing rolls and snaps of his hips.

“Shit…I feel it, oh fuck!” Ivy cried, wanton, breathy pants punched out of her by his dizzying length and girth tunneling in and out of her, nudging against her g-spot, right where she wanted it. Fuck, he was so deep!

He liked that she couldn’t seem to control her noises because she was taking him so fucking well, his pelvis smacking loudly and lewdly against her ass, a mesmerizing sight. He grabbed the soft flesh, using his strong grip to rock her back and forth on his dick, making her meet his deep thrusts. Her pussy was so wet that it lathered the entirety of his cock, dripping down her inner thighs and onto the sheets. “Mm-hmm, make a mess on my big dick, baby. Getting fucked on your bestie’s bed like a nasty slut…You love this shit, don’t you,” he taunted her, wrapping his fist around her pigtails and using them as a steer, controlling her.

“Yes, I love it…unnh, fuck my pussy, baby, don’t stop!” She was definitely under a liquor spell that had her talking and acting reckless tonight. This was one of the few reasons she didn’t drink much. No way in her sober mind would she have agreed to desecrate her best friend’s bedroom like this.

But right now she didn’t want to think about Gemini or anything else except the feel of this hot, big man and his even bigger dick all up in her like it was now.

Sitting up straighter, Roman pulled out and flipped her roughly onto her back. Climbing into the bed, he yanked her closer to him and hoisted her shaky legs up on his shoulders. Ivy tried not to scream at the maddening, deliberately slow wind of his hips as he forged his way back inside her.

"Awww, right there," she whimpered, head thrown back, her mouth falling open in ecstasy, "Oh my god, your dick feels so good..."

Roman grunted, weaving his hands inside her top to massage her breasts. “Been wantin’ to fuck you all damn night.” He groaned as her walls clung to his dick, squeezing every inch as he maintained his pace, keeping up his relentless strokes inside her pussy. So wet, so warm and tight, a wonderful sensation. “Shit, this pussy too good. You’ve put a spell on me, baby girl. I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, day and night.” He bent down to lash his tongue inside her mouth, his eyes filled with a fire that matched the burning in hers.

“You belong to me,” he growled in a dark and possessive whisper, his fingers shifting downward to play with her pussy. “You’re mine. Your pussy is mine. Forever. You understand me?”

“Yes, baby,” Ivy moaned back to him, delirious, her body on fire, the flames fueled by his other hand gripping her throat, applying a little pressure as the bed shook and rattled under the strain of their coupling. Above her, Roman’s eyebrows knitted, his hold on her tightening as for a brief moment, his vision blurred, distorted, and suddenly, it was Gemini lying beneath him instead, her eyes wide and bulging with sheer terror, the light in them slowly fading away as he choked the life out of her.

The image, so vivid and palpable, made him fuck Ivy harder. Squeeze her neck tighter.

She was a moaning, mewling, soaked mess underneath him, her essence smeared all over both their lower regions. Overwhelmed by the thrill, the pleasure, the power of his deadly thrusts absolutely ruining her sweet spot. This was exactly how he wanted her, powerless and compliant to his will, and there was nothing she could do about it, nor did she want to. She looked into his eyes, his gorgeous face twisted in an erotic mix of concentration and pleasure. Her nails dug into his broad back, keeping him close. Body to body, skin on skin. So good; he felt so good on her, in her, and she was on the verge of explosion.

“I’m gonna come,” she whined, her breaths joining his in bursting expulsions of air as he pounded her into Gemini’s mattress. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as she came apart, her body convulsing from the orgasm to end all orgasms, robbing her of all her senses. She was all nerves and sensation as Roman continued pumping into her at blistering speed, gasping and growling against her sweat-slick skin.

“Let me come in you,” he beseeched her with a sloppy, tongue-laden kiss, groaning at the feel of her rubbing the firm flesh of his backside, amplifying the already intense sensations coursing through his massive frame.

"Come in me, Roman. I want all your cum," she encouraged, her fingers tangling in his long locks to anchor him to her, inhaling his sweat-slick, sweet scent. A feeling like this could never be replicated—this animalistic passion, this wild and primal need for each other. Every touch, every stroke was magic, a fountain of bliss and ecstasy that Ivy was drunk off of and she would be for the foreseeable future.

A jumble of expletives along with Ivy’s name tumbled from Roman’s lips as he came hard, his hips jerking, releasing all he had inside her. He remained on top of her when his orgasm ebbed away, shifting so that her legs slid from his shoulders and settled around his waist. He kissed her softly and relished in her satisfied sighs and the sensual brushes of their lips together. Sitting back on his heels, he studied her with a wipe of his brow, biting his bottom lip cheekily before they both burst into soft laughter as the gravity of their misdeeds sank in.

“Let’s take this party home, beautiful,” he breathed, slapping her backside lightly before helping her out of the bed. “Best believe I ain’t done with your fine ass.”

Thank goodness that Zaia was having a sleepover. “Sounds good to me, babe,” Ivy concurred as they adjusted each other's clothes before sneaking out of the room, not bothering to straighten the rumpled sheets and pillows scattered on the bed.

Thanks for reading! Your replies and reblogs are so much appreciated! Also keep your Asks coming, we're loving all the theories!

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#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns au #roman reigns angst #the boy next door #tbnd #harmshake #roman reigns x black oc #otc

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moraxine · 1 day ago

Text

Fragments of Us [Ekko]

pairing: ekko x reader

words: 2k

summary: ekko wakes up in an alternate universe where you’re alive and everything feels right—but it’s not his world. torn between love and duty, he must leave to save his reality.

ARCANE SPOILERS!

“Powder. Ugh, she’s so annoying sometimes. I told her that the graffiti on Sevika’s stupid bar wasn’t even that good—like, come on, who even uses pink for a skull?—and she just flipped out ! Called me a ‘wannabe artist.’ Like, okay?”

Ekko’s chest burns as he violently jolts awake, aware , coughing as if he’s been drowning moments before. His head is pounding, all memories flooding his mind and spinning round and round. It takes a few moments for his vision to stabilise and start clearing up.

What the hell happened?

“Hey, are you okay?”

Hearing your voice, familiar yet a voice he never thought his ears would detect ever again, he freezes. His eyes snap open, adjusting to the dim glow of the neon streetlamp. After a while of simply blinking, right hand on his forehead, he dares to turn your way, only to face you in utter shock.

There you are, right beside him, nervously fiddling with a small gadget in your hand while waiting for his answer.

Ekko’s breath gets caught in his throat.

His gaze desperately darts around, taking in the distorted version of Zaun. The buildings look eerily familiar but cleaner, more polished. And then there is you —alive, bright-eyed, rambling as if nothing in the world could ever go wrong.

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

“You’re staring at me like I’ve got two heads or something. All good in there?” You ask, leaning closer as you gently tap his head.

No, no, no.

This must be some kind of twisted joke, a dream soon to turn into a nightmare, like the ones he experienced after your passing.

A strong wave of dizziness takes over and he loses balance. You’re not fast enough to catch him and he collapses on the floor, tears gleaming in his eyes.

“Shit, Ekko, I told you I’m fine walking home by myself! You need to focus on fixing that sleep schedule of yours. You work too much….”

You kneel down to check on him but as soon as you reach for his arm, he manages to pull himself up, wincing as his muscles protest. “I’m fine,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “Just… where am I?”

Your brow furrows. “Zaun, duh. Did you hit your head?”

Zaun. But not his Zaun. This is different. Cleaner. Sharper. Brighter. Wrong.

You wave a hand in front of his face when he’s up on his feet again, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Seriously, you’re acting super weird.”

He shakes his head, trying to gather himself. “I’m… just tired.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you say, leaning back on your heels. “Well, you can sleep at my place if you want. It’s a bit of a mess, but it’s better than the middle of the street.”

“Why…Why are you helping me?”

I didn’t protect you. I let you die-

You scoff, crossing your arms. “You have to be kidding me, really.”

He stares at you, his chest tightening. You are so casual, so warm, so alive. This isn’t his world—it is someone else’s. Someone’s whom was able to keep you safe and happy.

You wave a hand in front of his face. “Helloooo? You good, or do I need to drag you there myself?”

He blinks, shaking himself out of his trance. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Finally,” you say grabbing his arm. “You’re lucky I’m such a good friend, y’know.”

As you lead him down the street, continuing your pointless rambling about Powder and some argument over graffiti, Ekko follows silently, his mind racing. He doesn’t belong here, but for the first time in years, being near you feels like he is home.

ii.

Ekko is standing in the corner of your cluttered workshop, his fingers trembling slightly as he tightens the final screws on a device he barely understands anymore. Weeks have been spent scavenging parts, tearing apart old tech, and sketching blueprints on scraps of paper. The machine is almost ready—his way out of this world is almost ready.

You, of course, don’t know. In fact, you seem to know nothing about Ekko lately. Ever since that incident outside the bar, he’s been acting strange in a way you can’t pinpoint.

“Hey, genius,” you call from across the room, pulling him out of his thoughts. You’re perched on a high stool, playing with a broken clock. “You’ve been staring at that thing for hours. What is it, anyway?”

He stiffens at your question, keeping his face carefully neutral. “Just… something to help me get around. It’s nothing.”

You narrow your eyes, unconvinced. “Since when do you get all secretive about your projects? You used to brag about your tech every chance you got.”

“Since now,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze.

It’s been this way for quite some time now—Ekko growing quieter, more distant, all while you try to bridge the gap with your usual chatter. You’ve noticed the way he avoids your eyes, the way he flinches whenever you stand too close. It’s not like him.

And it hurts.

“You’re acting weird, Ekko,” you admit, setting the clock down and leaning back on your hands. “Like, even weirder than usual. Did I do something?”

“No,” he says quickly, but his voice sounds strained, and the single word only makes you more assured that there is indeed something going on.

“Then what?” you press, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. Is this about Powder? Because if so, she’s the one being difficult, not me.”

Ekko clenches his jaw, his hands tightening around the tool in his grip. He can’t tell you. You wouldn’t understand—not fully. How could he possibly explain that you’re not even supposed to be here? That this version of you isn’t his you? That in his world, you’re just a memory he carries like a scar?

“It’s nothing,” he says finally, his voice low. “Just… drop it, okay?”

You flinch at the coldness in his tone, but you force a laugh, trying to mask the sting. “Fine. Be mysterious, then. See if I care.”

Turning away, you pretend to focus on the clock again, but your heart isn’t in it. You want to push him, demand answers, but something in his expression stops you. There’s a pain in his eyes that you can’t quite place, and for the first time, you wonder if this is bigger than any conflict he might have had with people in the past.

Ekko exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging. He hates doing this—pushing you away. But if he lets you in, it’ll only make leaving harder.

Because he is leaving. As much as he wants to stay, to pretend this is his life, he knows it isn’t real. He doesn’t belong here. And the longer he stays, the harder it’ll be to say goodbye. Especially to you.

“Hey,” you say suddenly, breaking the silence. “For what it’s worth, you’re still my favorite nerd. Even if you’re being a jerk.”

He looks up at you, startled by the softness in your voice. For a moment, he wants to tell you everything—to explain why he can’t let himself get too close. To tell you he loves you. But that would be partially true as you’re not his. Instead, he just nods. “Thank you.”

You offer him a small yet warm smile and his resolve falters for a moment. But then his gaze falls on the machine again—his way out—and he reminds himself why he has to do this.

It’s almost done. Just a little longer.

iii.

Ekko stands in the middle of the workshop, his hand resting on the activation lever of the machine. The room hums faintly with power, the cobbled-together contraption sparking faintly as it waits for his final command. It’s ready. After days of work, this is it—it’s time to go back to the people who need him.

But his chest feels tight, and it’s not just from the lingering ache of exhaustion. It’s because of you.

The door creaks open, and his heart sinks. You’re standing there, your expression caught somewhere between confusion and anger. “What the hell is this?” you ask, stepping inside. “Ekko, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t look at you. He can’t. “It’s… nothing.”

“Nothing?” you snap, gesturing at the machine. “You’ve been shutting me out for God knows how long, and now I find you messing with… whatever this is you’ve made? Don’t lie to me, Ekko.”

He finally meets your eyes, and the raw emotion there almost makes him crumble. But he takes a deep breath and steadies himself. “I can’t explain it.”

You take a step closer, your frustration giving way to hurt. “Why? Why can’t you just tell me? I’m not mad—I just… I don’t understand why you’ve been acting like this.”

Ekko clenches his fists, his mind racing. He could tell you the truth—about the alternate universe, about the fact that you don’t even exist anymore in his world. But what good would it do?

“It’s better this way,” he replies quietly.

Your hands drop to your sides, and the look in your eyes nearly breaks him. “Better for who? For me? Or for you?”

“Y/n…” His voice cracks, but he quickly swallows it down. “I don’t belong here. I need to leave. That’s all I can say.”

You shake your head, your voice trembling. “You’re lying. You’ve been here all this fucking time, and now you’re just… leaving? Without a word?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do!” you shout, stepping closer until you’re right in front of him. “Whatever this is, whoever you think you are—you’re my… friend, Ekko. You don’t just get to disappear without telling me why.”

His hands tremble as he reaches up to touch your shoulder, his gaze locked on yours. “You are—” His voice breaks, and he has to force himself to keep going. “You’re amazing. You’re… everything good about this place. You’re the reason I’m still alive. But I can’t stay.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding. His words feel final, and the weight of them crushes you completely. You fail to understand. Nothing makes sense, absolutely nothing. “Why?” you whisper, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “Why can’t you stay? Is it something I did?”

“No!” he says, more forcefully than he means to. He takes your hands, holding them tightly. “It’s not you. It’s… me. It’s my world. I need to go back to where I came from.”

You can’t comprehend what he’s saying, but the desperation in his voice silences your questions. You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “Fine,” you say, even though it’s anything but fine. “If you have to go… go.”

His hands linger on yours for a moment longer before he lets go. “I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me,” he says softly. “But I can’t. Not here.”

Tears spill over as you watch him turn back to the machine. “Will I ever see you again?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

He hesitates, his hand hovering over the lever. “I don’t know.”

That’s all he can give you.

With one last look at you, his expression filled with regret and longing, he pulls the lever. The machine sparks to life, and the air around him ripples with energy. You take a step back, shielding your eyes as the light grows blinding.

When the light fades, he’s there, his tired body slumped down on the ground. You immediately run to his side, kneeling down and pulling him to your lap. The room falls silent, the only sound the faint hum of the now blown up machine. You gently caress his cheek, tears running down your hot cheeks.

After a while, he wakes up.

And it doesn’t take you very long to realise.

You glance at the remains one last time.

And you hope that wherever he is, he’s doing what he set out to do—saving his people, his world, even if it meant leaving this one behind.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane ekko #ekko x reader #ekko x you #ekko angst #ekko fanfiction #ekko x reader angst #ekko #ekko league of legends #ekko arcane #league of legends

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foodtruckery · 3 days ago

Note

I've been having crazy Stancest brain rot thinking about an AU where they don't have the portal incident and instead have crazy marathon hate sex instead (Inspired by some amazing art by @CoreArde on Twitter) and I thought it'd be fun to share that with you.

They start off arguing in the lab and then oops they're fucking on the lab floor, and they really should be thinking this through but nope now they're upstairs fucking on the kitchen table and okay maybe now they'll finally talk about it nah, they're fucking in Ford's bed now.

It starts off as rough hate sex getting out years of frustration, but by the time they make it to the kitchen its become insanely desperate and cloying because they missed each other, and their bodies fit so well together, and GOD how could they have not been doing this all time? They're going at it so long that they basically end up passed out in Ford's bed by the end, and Stan's not going to be sitting down for a while after this. He's probably just happy to be sleeping in a bed, but Ford is trying to figure out how he got so far from the initial plan.

Even better if the two of them have been harboring feelings for years and never acted on it, because they get the one-two punch of all the weight of their time apart and processing the fact that OH GOD I JUST FUCKED MY BROTHER (which of course they both wanted to do but still).

I have no idea what would happen after that, but both of them waking up sore, sweat soaked, sticky with cum (some still inside Stan because of course Ford didn't use a condom this wasn't supposed to happen) after having gone at each other like rabbits in heat despite never having expressed their attraction to each other before is a hilarious and hot idea to me. What do you think?

HI THERE ANON. i am so fucking sorry that i left you waiting for so long about this, but i need you to know it's because i was FUCKING OBSESSED with this. like just absolutely beside myself over it, and i refused to respond until i had a chance to sit down and respond PROPERLY.

cause uh YEAH FRIEND i know the exact fucking piece of art (explicit) you're talking about, because it's INCREDIBLE. and in case you didn't know, the artist is over here too and shares some fucking fantastic writing and headcanons also! (seriously, go check out @/cartoonsinthemorning if you haven't. and cart, i hope you don't mind that anon and i both kinda lost our minds about your art over here! i genuinely have no idea what tag etiquette is on this site and didn't wanna bombard you, but you did this. again.)

i'll be honest, anon, this kinda got away from me (fucking shocker) and i am too tired to do any legit editing of it right now, so please forgive any typos or weirdness! i'll try and clean it up before it eventually goes up on ao3. but thank you for such a LOVELY ask because this was so hot, and so inspiring, and i hope i did a little justice to your idea and cart's gorgeous art!

--- Ford isn't entirely sure how it had started. His memory, his perception of time, his ability to follow a linear order of events -- all if it is less than reliable at the moment, so he can't entirely blame himself for losing track of things here and there. But the jump between trying to wrestle his journal out of Stan's hands to trying to wrestle Stan out of his dingey jeans is a jarring transition to lose in the dull static that's been edging around his awareness for weeks now.

Not jarring enough to stop him, though.

He thinks, vaguely, while he's blindly tugging at Stan's denim, that there's a concerningly high likelihood that he's hallucinating. His head is swimming in so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't even feel the rough concrete of the lab floor under his knees -- maybe that isn't where he is? Maybe he'd nodded off without realizing. Maybe he's going to come to with another lapful of polaroids and a new humiliating tattoo.

Maybe, maybe, maybe -- he can reckon with a probability model later. For the first time in what feels like months, the stability of his perceived reality is not actually at the forefront of Ford's mind.

Pressing in on him harder than the doubt, harder than the disassociation from his physical body, and harder than the threat of the creature lingering in the depths of his subconscious is anger. It feels like a beacon in the muddled, fuzzy mess inside his head, something bright and real and his. It's searing through him, slicing away all the frayed edges of his paranoia and doubt like a hot blade through so much butter.

Ford clings to the sharp edges of that anger and feels more alert than he has in weeks.

He can't remember how their bickering had taken this particular turn, but if he's liable to lose his eyes and his life in the next few days, Ford will be fucking damned if he squanders the opportunity. He knows he's made a mess of things, that he's made the sorts of mistakes that can't and frankly shouldn't be forgiven.

But he also knows with blinding, white hot certainty that he's only here, now, because of Stan's mistakes.

Ford may not deserve absolution, but he does deserves this.

Laughter cuts through the lab, rough and mocking, and Ford's attention finally falls, properly, on Stan. He has a bruise blooming on his cheek and a snide smirk twisting his lips. He's also on his back, his jeans and a threadbare pair of boxers bunched in Ford's fists and pulled so low he can see the tight curls of his pubic hair and the root of his cock.

"What's wrong, Poindexter?" Stan asks, mocking, and it's only then that Ford realizes he's paused halfway through stripping his twin's lower half. The bite of the cold concrete under his knees still feels far away, but the rough material in his palms, and the heat of Stan's body so close to him are sharp, clear details. "No hands on experience with a dick that ain't your own? Afraid you might actually be bad at somethin' for once?"

Ford narrows his eyes, feeling the hot point of anger cutting through him, steadying him, and he jerks Stan's clothes hard enough that he gets the material past his knees in one tug. Stan laughs at him again, but it stutters into a little 'oof!' when Ford flips him onto his stomach.

He doesn't care that Stan's pants are still caught around his calves and his boots. He doesn't care that Stan hisses something that sounds like pain when he's yanked onto his knees and dragged backwards several inches across the concrete. He doesn't even care that, once upon a time, he'd dreamed of this, of crossing this line with the only person he'd ever really loved in any way that mattered, and it's nothing like the softer, sweeter picture he used to imagine.

Stan's hips are soft, and the skin gives easily under the iron grip Ford has on them, holding him in place as he grinds against his ass. Even through his slacks, the heat of Stan's body is intense, addictive, and he grinds forward again, harder, watching the friction rub a pink patch against his skin.

Stan, shameless and selfish as always, pushes eagerly back against him. Ford has barely done anything beyond rocking the outline of his cock against his hole, but he can hear Stan panting against the ground, can see his hands curling into fists. He remembers how many times Stan had called Carla McCorkle "easy" in high school and thinks, now, that the easy one had been his brother.

"You gonna keep humpin' me, or are you gonna fuck me?" Stan demands, rocking as firmly back as he can with the bruising grip Ford has on him.

"What makes you think you deserve that?" Ford bites out. It would serve Stan right, he thinks, if he got himself off exactly like this, no different than grinding against a particularly firm couch pillow. Just a conveniently warm object for Ford to release some tension with.

Stan looks back over his shoulder and flashes teeth at him. It isn't a smile. "Oh, I get it. Cold feet? Well, we can just chalk it up to one more thing ya promised and then backed out of as soon as you actually had to make a choice. Good to know some things never change, Stanford."

He's being goaded, and Ford knows that. But the anger boils in his chest, and he thinks, why should he care about what Stan does or doesn't deserve from him? This is about what Ford deserves.

And what Ford deserves is to have his dick so far up Stan's ass he'll be able to feel it in the back of his throat.

"Do you ever shut up?" he snaps while he releases one of Stan's hips to yank his slacks open. The bruise of his fingerprints already forming against Stan's skin thrills him, almost to distraction, if it weren't for Stan laughing again.

"'Course not," he says, shifting his center of balance to dig into the pocket of his dirty red coat. The little packet he tosses over his shoulder bounces off his own ass to land by Ford's knee, the word LUBE printed in large, bold letters across the front. He should be surprised to see it, and part of him is. The word "easy" comes to mind again.

Ford rips the packet open with his teeth.

"F-Fuck!" Stan curses, turning his forehead against the ground when Ford presses his slick cock into him a moment later without warning.

Ford grabs him roughly by the waist when he twitches forward and yanks Stan back until his ass hits the open fly of his slacks. He makes a choked sound at that and turns his face into the crook of his own arm when Ford pulls back and rocks hard back into him.

"What's wrong, Stanley?" he parrots. He pistons his hips at a punishing pace, watching his cock pumping in and out of the greedy, grasping ring of Stan's hole. "Nothing to say?"

Stan makes a noise that's too muffled by the sleeve of his coat to understand, so Ford reaches down to take a fistful of his stupid mullet instead. The hitching gasp that escapes his twin when his head is forcefully jerked up makes him groan. "What was that? Come on, Stanley, use your words."

"F-Fuck off," Stan says, his voice strained, almost whining.

"I see you haven't gotten anymore eloquent since you left," Ford scoffs around the breathlessness in his own voice, feeling the anger and pleasure coiling harder in his gut. "What was it you said? Good to know some things never change."

When he pulls Stan's hair again, just because he can, Stan moans. And when he shifts his hips, driving in just as hard at the new angle, Stan shouts. With his own knees bracketed on either side of his, Ford can feel the way his thighs tremble when he clenches around his cock, and he can feel the sweat beading up under his palm where he's digging darker bruises into Stan's side.

Ford feels like he's on the edge of delirium again, consumed by every sound Stan makes, every twitch of his hips, every ounce of his heat. He thinks, a bit wildly, that Stan may have been made for this, made to take his cock, for how well he does.

It isn't until Stan jerks under him, going hot and tight around his cock and making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, that Ford realizes he may have said part of that out loud. That Stan came over it.

He groans low in his throat and thrusts half a dozen more times into Stan's clenching hole before he comes as well.

It's quiet for a few minutes other than their ragged panting, but it's Stan who eventually reaches back and swats at Ford's hand until he lets go of his hair. He takes the hint and pulls out, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his come trickles down Stan's thighs. It strikes him suddenly that he wants to follow the wet trail back up with his tongue. It's enough to make his cock give a feeble, appreciative twitch.

He isn't sure if he's just terribly distracted or if he loses time again, because when Ford next lifts his head, Stan is on his feet, pants pulled up around his waist but still open, and he has his journal in hand. This might be more jarring than the last transition he'd lost.

"What are you doing?" he demands, shoving himself back onto his own feet. He doesn't bother to tuck his cock back in, and he spots the moment Stan's eyes flick down. It's brief, but he'd seen it.

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing? I'm taking your stupid diary and disappearing like you begged me to," Stan says. His voice is still a little raw, and Ford has a moment to realize how much he likes that, before the words catch up.

He scoffs. "Oh! So now you want to actually help?! Is it always this easy to fuck the sense into you?"

Stan's expression does a few things Ford doesn't understand before his brows ultimately slam down and he turns his back, storming towards the door with Ford's journal still in hand, and Ford himself hot on his heels. "You're fucking unbelievable, Stanford, you know that?!"

"Me?! You're the one who came all over my lab floor and then decided he was ready to be reasonable!"

Stan jams his thumb against the call button for the elevator several times in quick succession, despite the car already being on their floor and the gate sliding open. "Most people would just say thank you when someone agreed to help them out, but not you! What does Stanford Pines have to be grateful for? We're all just fucking lucky to get a task from ya, huh?"

Ford crowds into the elevator with him before Stan can try to pull the gate or call the doors shut behind him. He punches the button to take them up himself, before making a grab for the journal, snarling when Stan leans back and holds it up above his head.

"You're the one who threatened to destroy my work twenty minutes ago, Stanley! Why would I trust you with it now? Hell, I can't figure out why I trusted you enough to bring you here in the first place!"

"Oh really? You can't?" Stan sneers, leaning in close. And when Ford takes a step back, Stan follows, backing him into a corner of the car. "I don't think you fuckin' trusted me to do shit, Stanford. I think you were all outta options cause nobody else could stand to put up with you anymore."

Stan doesn't so much as hit a nerve as he takes a sledgehammer to it, and as soon as the elevator dings, Ford shoves him as hard as he can out into the study. Stan yelps when he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and it's only knocking into a cluttered desk that keeps him from falling on his ass.

Ford doesn't give him any time to right himself, storming in after him and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Stan flinches, like he'ex expecting a punch, but Ford yanks him in and crushes his mouth against his instead.

There's a dull thump that Ford only realizes was the journal being dropped when he feels both of Stan's hands on his shoulders. They curl briefly, grasping at him, and Ford feels his mouth starting to go soft and slack. But as soon as he presses in, runs his tongue along that loosening seam, he's suddenly being shoved backwards.

If he weren't so damn confused, Ford would probably appreciate the picture Stan makes, lips slick and pants open, leaning back against one of Ford's desks.

"What are you doing?!" Stan demands, like he's the one who doesn't know what day it is, and keeps losing track of events.

"I would think even you could figure that out after what happened downstairs, Stanley."

Stan flushes, visible even in the low light of the study, though Ford isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. The scowl on his face doesn't help clear things up, either, though the fact that he isn't actually looking at Ford is...telling.

"That ain't happening again," Stan states, and there isn't anything convincing about the way he says it at all. But when Ford steps forward, Stan sidesteps him and the desk. He makes a wrong turn in the dark, in a house he isn't familiar with, and flinches when Ford flips on the light in the kitchen he's walked into.

"I don't know how you expect to leave and hide my journal after leaving it in the study," he points out, frowning at the back of Stan's head.

He isn't surprised when Stan whirls on him. He is, however, stunned still when he realizes Stan's eyes are wet.

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?!" Stan shouts, his voice cracking over his name, and it makes something feel like it's cracking inside his chest.

Ford has to wet his lips when he finds them and his throat dry. "...I told you what I wanted," he says.

"Yeah, you did! And when I finally agreed to do it, you threw a fucking fit about it! And now you're pissy because I'm not?! What do you want?"

The anger sparks sharply inside him again, and Ford grasps at it like a lifeline, willing to bloody his hands for that bite of stability.

"You tried to burn it! My life's work! And you only decided you would help me after we--"

Stan cuts him off, looking towards the cabinets while he raises his voice and waves his hands. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about the fucking lighter, all right?!"

Ford frowns. He takes a step forward and, still without looking at him, Stan takes a step back. It's the elevator all over again, but this time Ford is pressing in, backing Stan into the cabinets. He grabs the counter on either side of his hips when he tries to side step him again.

"Stanley, look at me," he demands, frowning harder when Stan sets his jaw and stars determinedly at his shoulder. "Stanley--"

"What do you want, Ford? Just...just fucking tell me and I'll leave, all right?" Stan says, his voice tired and soft as he reaches up to rub a hand over his own face.

He wants a lot, honestly. And hasn't that always been the problem? He's always wanted -- to be normal, to be respected, to be the best, to be special.

To be wanted.

To be enough.

To fix things.

"You," he realizes, watching Stan jerk his head up. His lashes are still wet, and Ford can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing his palm to Stan's cheek, skimming his thumb gently under one of his eyes.

When he leans in to kiss him again, Stan makes a small, wounded little noise under his mouth, but he parts his lips for Ford's tongue this time. Stan's lips are chapped and he tastes vaguely of stale cigarettes, but Ford is still struck by how soft and sweet he is.

More than anything else that had happened that evening, this is the moment that Ford knows he should suspect most of all. The way Stan relaxes between him and the counter, the almost tentative way he lifts his tongue to meet his, the careful fingertips touching the edge of Ford's coat and brushing against his loose tie. It's tender in a way Ford didn't think either of them were capable of, and it should be setting off warning bells and red flags in every part of his mind.

It isn't.

Ford is more certain of the reality of this single moment, the gentle slip of Stan's lips against his own, than he's been of anything in a long time.

And then Stan sighs between them and murmurs, warm and hopeful, "Ford," against his lips, and he's done for.

It doesn't matter that they just fucked, that Ford's come is probably still drying between Stan's thighs -- he can't keep his hands off of him. Ford is suddenly frantic and desperate in a way that he hadn't been downstairs. He needs to relearn the new, wider shape of Stan's shoulders and pecs. He needs to feel out every new scar and take stock of all the old ones he remembers Stan collecting for him as kids. He needs to be surrounded by him again, soaking in the warmth of him.

Ford doesn't deserve absolution, but he thinks he may be able to find something close to it in the low, shaky way Stan moans his name.

And there's familiarity in the way Stan grabs at him in turn, tugging at his jacket and tie and surging into another, harder kiss. Ford thinks he may not be the only one looking for expiation.

Then Stan drops to his knees between him and the cabinet, and Ford stops thinking so much. His cock is still out, and Stan wastes no time in getting his fist around the shaft and his lips around the head. He suckles and swirls his tongue, and Ford shoves the beanie off of his head to get his hands in his hair.

"Stanley," he gasps, stroking his fingers along his scalp and fisting the strands between them.

Stan moans around him and shuffles closer, sliding the seal of his lips further down the length of Ford's cock. All he can do is groan and try to keep from rocking his hips as more of him is greeted by the warmth of his mouth and the wickedness of his tongue.

He keeps waiting for Stan to reach his limit, to back off and give himself room to breathe. He doesn't. He keeps leaning in, keeps taking him, and then Ford feels his cockhead slip into Stan's throat, sees his lashes are wet again, and he has to put one hand on the counter to keep himself steady. "Fuck, Stanley, you're so good at this."

Stan makes a horribly sweet sound around the girth of Ford's cock and reaches up to hold his hips as he swallows, and Ford is suddenly afraid he's going to embarass himself. His hips twitch despite his best efforts to keep them still, but Stan simply relaxes his jaw and his throat and tugs a little to encourage him to do it again. He does, of course, how could he not?

Despite the heat clawing its way through him and the pleasure mounting dangerously high, Ford almost feels outside of himself again. The picture Stan makes, with his eyes damp and heavy lidded, his lips wet and stretched around Ford's cock, his hair fisted in Ford's fingers and his own clinging to Ford's hips -- it's lewd, debauched, and so horribly sweet that it makes Ford's chest hurt.

Stan gasps raggedly when Ford pulls him off. "I was go-gonna...I mean you can--"

Ford kneels down to kiss him, tasting stale cigarettes and himself, cock throbbing over the rough state of Stan's voice. "Not done yet," he manages, before tugging Stan onto his feet.

They lose clothes and time on the journey upstairs, tripping over the steps and Ford's discarded pants, and stumbling into his wreck of a room. If Stan notices the state of things, he doesn't comment, mouth latched onto Ford's shoulder and hands all over his back and hips.

The back of Ford's legs hit the bed and he sits hard on the mattress. Stan doesn't hesitate to crawl up into his lap. He'd lost his boots in the kitchen and his jeans and boxers somewhere on the way to the stairs, giving him ample opportunity to rub his bare cock against Ford's.

Cursing, Ford rolls his hips and only belatedly remembers to reach up and tug the hideous red coat off of Stan's shoulders.

"Oh, fuck, hold on. I think I have another one," Stan says, panting softly as he digs into the pockets of his coat. Ford takes the opportunity to run his hands across Stan's thighs and ass, squeezing whatever skin he can until Stan makes a triumphant sound and pulls another little packet of lube free.

Only then does he let Ford toss his jacket aside and tug him further up the bed with him. He doesn't protest when Ford takes the packet from him, lowering his head to work open mouth kisses up Ford's throat instead, and he rolls his hips distractingly while Ford fights to get the damnable thing open. He ignores the snickering against his skin in the process.

It stops anyway, hitching into something warm and startled when Ford sinks two slick fingers into him.

"Oh, fuck," Stan breaths, reaching up to grab Ford by the shoulder, holding himself steady. "Y-You know you don't have to do that, right? Pretty loosened up already."

He is, to be fair. His hole is still soft and loose and fucked open. But Ford enjoys petting his fingers against the tender muscle and stroking them inside anyway. He likes watching Stan bite his lip and push himself back onto his hand. When he slides a third in after the first two, Stan's thighs tremble on either side of his own, and he makes a low, throaty sound.

When Ford curls his fingers just right, Stan yells and grips his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and it makes warm satisfaction curl in his middle. So he does it a few more times, alternating between spreading his fingers and rubbing the tips against Stan's prostate until he's squirming in his lap.

"I-I'm gonna come if you don't knock that sh-shit off," he gasps, slumping a bit when Ford chuckles and slides his fingers out.

"I think I'd like that," Ford says, squeezing his slick fingers against Stan's thigh.

He snorts and straightens back up, finding the discarded lube packet to squirt the remainder onto Ford's cock. "Yeah, I bet you fucking would," Stan agrees, but there's no malice in his voice, just warm amusement.

His fist is warm and wonderful when it curls around Ford's cock, spreading lube, and then Ford is being held steady, Stan adjusts himself on his scuffed knees, and there's nothing else to do but hold on as Stan lowers himself into his lap.

It feels as good as it had earlier to be inside of him, and Ford squeezes the thigh under his hand tightly, fighting against the need to buck his hips. Stan is panting softly, his head tilted back and a pretty, pink color is crawling up from under his t-shirt to flood his neck and face.

Ford groans and leans forward, finding a nipple through his thin shirt to get his teeth and tongue against.

"F-Ford!" Stan gasps, fumbling the hand not clawing at his shoulder up into his hair, and Ford sucks hard on the firm nub, rubbing spit-soaked cotton against it with his tongue until Stan rocks in his lap.

Fuck, he likes that, the way his name sounds in Stan's voice, especially warm and rough after fucking his throat earlier.

He squeezes Stan's thigh and his hip, giving him a little tug, and that's all the encouragement Stan needs before he's bouncing on his cock. Ford has that thought again -- that Stan was meant to be filled by him, that they're a perfectly matched set. But it isn't just feeling good and hot while Stan fucks himself in his lap. It's feeling like he's been missing something and he finally has it, like he's finally complete again.

He's missed this, Ford realizes.

Not the fucking his brother part. He'd fantasized about that for years but it still feels like a dream that it's happening, like something that's too good to be true.

But being able to put his arms around him? To be this close to him again?

Ford rocks his hips up, hard, and Stan says his name. He wraps his fingers around Stan's cock, and he gasps his name. He bites the same swollen, pink nipple through his shirt, and Stan shouts his name.

He snaps his hips up to meet him a few more times and rubs the sensitive glans under the head of Stan's cock, and then there are teeth digging into his other shoulder and his fist and stomach are being striped in Stan's come while he shudders and jerks overtop of him.

Stan goes easily when Ford rolls them over and pins one of his wrists to the bed. And despite the way he squirms and how his spent cock twitches and leaks, blatantly overstimulated, he hooks his ankles behind Ford's back and urges him on.

"C-C'mon, give it to me. Fuck, just like that, Sixer!"

The nickname hits him with all the subtlety of a truck and all the heat of a volcanic eruption.

He doesn't even remember coming so much as he remembers every synapses in his brain trying to fire at once. Coming back down to reality is a little clearer, with his head spinning and pulse racing as he flops onto his back, but it still takes several long minutes before he feels fully cognizant again.

Something makes the bed shift, and he looks over to see that Stan has rolled onto his stomach. Ford wonders if he looks half as fucked out as Stan does, with bruises blossoming across his body, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach, and come staining his ass and thighs. Ford realizes Stan still has his socks on, and he can't figure out why that makes something twinge, hot but exhausted and halfhearted, in his gut.

"Gonna...gonna get up in a minute," Stan says, his voice slurring and his eyes already closed. Ford watches him rub his cheek against one of Ford's pillows, and the soft sound of snoring follows soon after.

The reality of the situation starts to settle in shortly after that, and Ford stares wide eyed up at the ceiling as if he'll find some sort of answers there. Unsurprisingly, there are no secrets etched overhead for how to reckon with the fact that he had just fucked his brother, twice, while the fate of the world was still very much hanging in the balance between his fraying sanity and Bill's looming threat.

".....Fuck," Ford murmurs.

When the adrenaline finishes seeping out of his system, Ford expects to crash. The exhaustion certainly climbs back into his bones, but he's surprised to find himself still clear headed. Focused.

The sound of Stan sleeping soundly beside him is as soothing as it is mocking, but he doesn't want to separate himself from it even though he knows he needs to get up. There's soft, gray light starting to creep in through the windows, and distant birdsong calling for the start of the day. He needs to readjust, to come up with a new plan, find some way to explain to Stan what's going on so they can buy themselves a little more time.

Against all odds and his better judgment, there's a tiny, optimistic voice in the back of his head reminding him that there's strength in numbers. He isn't surprised that it sounds like Stan.

#¯\_ (ツ)_/¯#stancest #nsft #i have been DYING to write this for 2 weeks #and i just haven't had the time to actually sit with it #so i hope it balances out the wait anon!#foodtruck’s snack packs #pretend my ask tag is cute

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assortedvillainvault · 1 day ago

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hello fellow blitzwing self shipper, i love the way you write him and i am suffering from thoughts of HIM. If it's not too much trouble, could you do a scenario where Blitzwing meets an actual human witch who also has elemental powers and how does their eventual relationship develop? (reader is non-binary.)

Greetings brave comrade, and thank you kindly! We all suffer here, such is the way in the Blitzwing Simp Squad.

I’ve left this more of a cliffhanger on the start of the relationship because I couldn’t get this scene out of my head – this was a really fun one to do so ty for the ask!

Blitzwing x Witch!Reader

He blinked.

He blinked again, with a different face.

“Vhat the frag.”

His plating wasn’t even scratched, but there was no doubt – and yes he did reply his own memory like a broken record just to be sure – that you had just tried to set fire to his shins.

Frag this planet.

His optic twitches as Random hysterically chants ‘Same hat! Same Hat!’ from inside his helm, instead grinding his dentae and trying to stomp on the infuriating little squishy. Feeble jets of half frozen mushy ice splatter against his frame as you run away, clearly not well versed in your irritating fragging mimicry-

Is this a tech thing? A human thing? A freak run-in with the powers that be? Blitz has seen it all during the war but a tiny fleshling with his own powers was just a push too far.

He had to be torn apart and welded back together by a sadistic turncoat spider to get his outlier upgrades, you do NOT get to flaunt a barely passable mockery in his faces – now HOLD STILL-

Of course the Autobots pick you up before he can crush you. Of course you join the myriad weird aft costumed humans he can’t be bothered to pay attention to. Of course he thinks the pointy hat looks stupid. Random wants to pinch the top of it and twirl you like a spinny top.

Of course he finds you trying to sneak into the decepticon mines. Alone.

The two of you stare each-other down. Icy raises an eyeridge after 10 clicks of increasingly sweaty silence.

Eventually, predictably, you snap. “Take a picture 'Con- it’ll last longer.”

Blitzwing takes a moment to refrain from grinding you into paste. Instead, he tilts his head and smirks.

Your phone pings.

“You can’t be fucking serious-”

“Vhat? Like it’s hard?” he shrugs, taking a step forward and enjoying the way you fumble backwards, looking incredulously at the photo of you he sent over. “Do you not have cameras built into your optics?” he asks mockingly.

“Do you not have shit to do somewhere else?!”

He catches the way fire licks in one of your tiny hands. It already looks brighter and steadier than the last time he saw you. Frost glitters on the fingers holding the phone.

He grins and crouches as low as he can. “No.” he says sweetly. “Vant me to leave?”

Your eyes widen in alarm as you register just how much he still towers over you – all escape routes cut off, your phone signal suddenly dead. “Yeah, that’d be great.” you whisper hoarsely, feeling the flames you’ve managed to summon sputter.

His faces spin gleefully onto Random’s glowing, grinning features as both cannons swing down with a hiss of hydraulics and lock on your position.

“Aw, cute! Make me.”

#thalassa responds #tfa blitzwing #blitzwing x reader #transformers animated #maccadam #x reader #blitzwing my beloved #thank you so much for the ask!!#lowkey I think this is one of the best things I've written for Blitz #he's just so done and all 3 are going to play with their food for once

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ninjaaa-go · 1 year ago

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I was just thinking that, if we do actually get amnesiac Jay, him eventually getting his memories back could be really interesting. Because obviously you’ve got all the great memories with his family and the people he loves, but at the same time just— the horrors. The guy has so much trauma piled up from over the years and I feel like that would be A Lot to have dumped on you all at once.

#like I get Ninjago is still a kids show so they probably wouldn’t lean into that angle much #or realistically they probably wouldn’t even acknowledge it at all #but I still think it’s a really interesting concept #like yeah of course you want the memories of your loved ones and all the good times back #but those also come with just so many traumatic ones #and we’ve seen before that Jay… doesn’t exactly have the best mental fortitude #when situations get really bad he’s pretty much always the first one to crack #like in hunted and crystalized #idk I just think it would be a cool angle to explore #ninjago dragons rising #dragons rising #Ninjago #ninjago jay #jay walker #dragons rising spoilers #dr spoilers #dragons rising leaks

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moeblob · 8 months ago

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Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

#my characters #waiting on some info on the next commission so i indulged in ocs today bc i doubt i will have as much time for lil comics for a bit #deacon is so devoted hes like yeah i would kill for a deity that could easily kill anything himself but yknow teehee #and fulj just did you tell him you needed therapy also does he even know youd murder in his name #deacon caught red handed haha no of course i havent told him it should be obvious enough haha.... and its in his defense not his name :c #man really does have some issues but i love him so much and hes so devoted but like. unhealthily after a while #he does in fact need a chill pill and therapy but to be fair #ymber has needed therapy for centuries and yet he just bottles it all up and suffers so #its pretty unhealthy until they yell at each other one (1) time bc they are so insecure about things and get mad over very valid reasons #but then theyre like you know what that was necessary and i still want to stay by your side if you let me #and then fulj is like dude hey sorry you seem really happy did you fu- and ymber is like no please stop there we have not #fulj just squinting cause have not is very different than will not but whatever she doesnt wanna think about that with deacon involved ew #and eventually fulj is like hey ymber im sorry to say but i really do hate deacon and i dont even know why but he makes me uncomfortable #while deacon is just. in the room. hearing this and thinking how he knows she thinks hes weird but wow that wording hurts #and ymber doesnt wanna fill in memories better forgotten by fulj which she had forcefully removed #so he just says oh well his hair and clothing are black and you had someone in the past that you might see in him and its not a pleasant en #so you know maybe its that idk #and fulj is then WHATST i was rude to him for someone i cant even remember? lame im gonna try SO HARD to be nice to him now #and deacon just still sitting there with some food like this is v awkward and i wish i could not be here for it #and later he asks ymber about who he resembled and as ymber is descibing her it clicks in deacons head and he gets really sad #that he might somehow remind fulj of the woman she loved before she was punished for loving a mortal #and he feels kinda bad pestering her so much with his curiosities about deities and he kinda gets it #the fact hes close to ymber might remind her at the core that she was once that close with a mortal if not closer #anyway story time in the tags again #im so obsessed with these peeps and i have made them suffer so much but they do all end on a happy note #its still funny and nice to me that while fulj is creeped out by deacon and doesnt like talking to him #he still expresses the most emotions to her - he tries hard to remain serious around ymber and collected and obedient at all times #and when out and about with ymber he has to be intimidating and refuses smiling but fulj?? all sunshine and smiles and emotions easy to rea #and she is just that is so weird go away i hate you

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maskedbyghost · 20 days ago

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part 1 <- the one where simon lost his memories and thinks you're his wife.

simon’s memory starts to return in bits and pieces, little flashes that remind him of things he’s supposed to know—names, missions, places he’s been. and then, of course, he remembers you, remembers everything. but he doesn’t say a word, choosing to stay in this pretend world where you’re his “wife.” he wants to see if maybe, just maybe, you feel something for him, too.

he starts dropping hints, little comments that feel loaded, even if they’re wrapped up in that casual charm of his. “you know,” he murmurs one day, lacing his fingers with yours, “feels good having you around like this. can’t imagine it any other way.” his eyes linger, studying your reaction, waiting for some sign that this means something to you, too.

and maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he notices the way you blush, the way your smile falters for just a second before you look away, pretending not to be affected. he’s careful not to push too hard, but every touch, every affectionate “love” or “darlin’” feels like it holds a question.

the team starts noticing, too—price gives him a knowing look now and then, and johnny’s started making teasing comments, nudging you whenever simon’s not looking. it’s like everyone else knows this isn’t just an act anymore.

one evening, as you’re on a quiet walk outside, he turns to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “what would you say if i told you i remember everything?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

you freeze, processing his words, your heart pounding. “everything?”

he nods, looking a little nervous for the first time since this whole charade began. “i remembered a while ago,” he admits, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “but i didn’t say anything… i wanted to see if maybe you… wanted this, too.”

you stare at him, a mixture of shock and something that feels dangerously close to hope. “why didn’t you say something?”

he shrugs, looking down with a small, shy smile. “guess i wanted to keep this feeling going a little longer. being close to you, having a reason to call you mine, even if it was all pretend… i didn’t want to lose that.”

your heart aches at his words, the quiet vulnerability in them.

“you know,” you say softly, finally daring to reach out, resting a hand against his cheek, “it doesn’t have to be pretend.”

his eyes light up, his hand coming up to cover yours, holding it there as if grounding himself in this moment. “you mean that, love?”

“i do,” you whisper, smiling. “i think i have for a long time.”

and just like that, he closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that feels like it’s been waiting forever. when you finally pull back, he’s smiling, his forehead resting against yours.

“guess that makes this official, then,” he murmurs, his voice full of warmth.

“yeah,” you say, unable to stop smiling, “i think it does.”

-------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley

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freedomfireflies · 4 months ago

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You Again*

Summary: The one where Harry is your sister's ex-boyfriend and you finally get to see him again after 5 years.

Word Count: 11.4k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, age gap (6 years), sir kink, choking, use of a toy, exhibitionism if you squint!

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Your eyes widen as you look up toward the man making his way into the diner. You'd recognize him anywhere. The dark curly hair. The tattoos that bleed through the fabric of his light shirt. The rings on his fingers.

Just like that, years' worth of memories come flooding back to you all at once.

"Harry," you shriek, sliding off the stool before practically flinging yourself into his arms.

He smells exactly the same. Like teakwood and spearmint. A rather odd mix, yet subtle enough to remind you of home.

Of him.

His chest vibrates with a deep laugh as his arms wrap around your frame to keep you against him, prolonging the hug a minute or two longer than socially acceptable.

And when you finally lean back to see him, your cheeks begin to warm.

It's been...four years? Five? Since you last saw him? Just days before he and your sister broke up, effectively removing him from your life for good.

It had been a hard time. You wanted to be there for your sister. To comfort her through the grief of losing such a long and meaningful relationship.

But you wanted to be there for him, too. After all, he was one of your best friends, age difference or not. He had always been the comforting, influential figure in your life that you relied on. That you counted on to get through different hardships in your life.

He had picked you up after your first day at your new job. Had held you in his arms as you cried over your first break-up. He had even listened to you talk about the boy you had fallen in love with.

Losing him felt like losing a part of yourself.

And now, five years later...that part of you has come home.

"Hi, Dot," he beams, reaching out to take hold of your chin and squeeze. "Shit, look at you. When did this happen?"

His eyes rake over your figure and you feel your skin grown hot under his appreciative gaze. "Stop, it hasn't been that long."

"The last time I saw you, I was helping you move into your new apartment across town,” he recalls, arms crossing in thought. "And now...now what? You’re still at your job, I assume?"

"I am. I just got a promotion, actually. I’m an assistant editor now.”

His eyes seem to light up, that soft green sending chills up the back of your neck as you glance down at your feet. "Dot...that's amazing. I'm so proud of you."

You wave the compliment away. "Thanks."

"Really," he insists before following you back to the counter where you'd previously been sitting. "I know how badly you wanted to pursue a career in publishing, and this...this is really amazing. Do you like it?"

"I do," you tell him as you settle back onto your stool. "Yeah, it's really nice. The people are great, the work is fun. Plus, the promotion came with a raise."

"That's amazing," he sighs, head shaking like he can't believe it. "Really, that's so...I honestly can't believe it. I can't believe it’s been so long. You’re so…adult now.”

You snort to yourself as you twirl your straw around your milkshake. "Yeah, I know. Though I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not.”

"You should." He smiles, and it's big and beautiful. "You’ve always been grown up. Even before, you were mature for your age.”

“Well…yeah. I was twenty-three. That does make me an adult.”

“And now you’re twenty-eight.” He shakes his head again. “I can’t fucking believe it.”

You glance down at the rim of your glass. He’s right, it almost doesn’t seem possible. It feels like only last week that you were following him and your sister around town, begging to be included. Traipsing after them to bars, the mini golf course, and to any and all dates. Even though you knew your sister couldn’t stand it.

But Harry was nice and always inclusive. After all, he was your friend before he was your sister’s boyfriend. And he was determined to make sure that didn’t change, no matter how many times Atta rolled her eyes.

"I don't know how you put up with me," you finally admit. "God, I was so annoying. Atta used to get so mad at me for never leaving you alone."

He shrugs one shoulder up. "You weren't annoying to me. I liked it. I mean, I liked that you still felt so...safe? Around me? I guess?"

"Yeah, I did.” You smile. “Honestly, I think you were my best friend.”

He laughs as he looks back over. "I better have been.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Cause you were mine.”

"Good."

He smirks. "Remember how you used to fall asleep on my shoulder every time we watched a movie?”

"That's right," you groan, burying your face into the palm of your hand. "See? Annoying."

"Not annoying. Cute."

"It was not cute, it was annoying. And you know she hated it.”

“I don’t care. She fell asleep on my shoulder, too. It was nice.”

You snort. “It was weird, let’s face it. But I swear I've outgrown such habits."

He seems to hesitate for only a moment, eyes flicking between yours. "Too bad."

A beat.

You feel your stomach flip as you look away, breaking you both free of the tension. "So...what, um...what brings you to town? I was a little surprised to hear from you."

He takes the cup of coffee the waitress had poured him and slides it closer. "Oh, yeah, I'm...I'm here on business. And I remembered you lived here, so...I thought I’d reach out.”

"I see."

"Yeah.” He hesitates again. "And...I missed you."

You can’t fight the flutter in your chest. "I missed you, too, Har."

The conversation lulls as the busy diner continues to bustle around you. And despite how glad you are to see him, something feels...off. Different.

You aren't sure what. Can't quite put your finger on it. It almost feels like it used to, but something has changed. He looks like your Harry. He sounds like your Harry. He feels like your Harry. And yet, he feels like a stranger.

Maybe it's because it's been so long since you've seen him. Maybe it's because you aren't twenty-three anymore. Or maybe it’s because now he’s no longer Harry, your sister’s boyfriend.

Now he’s just…Harry. Your old friend.

When you notice the way he’s staring, your eyes narrow. “What?”

"Nothing." He shrugs again before chuckling under his breath. "No, nothing. Sorry, I just...I don't know. It's just...so strange to see you again. Like this."

"Like...this?"

"Yeah. Just us. Alone. No Atta.”

“Ah.” You swallow. “Right.”

“It’s not…weird, is it? I mean, it is weird but it’s not…uncomfortable, right?”

“No,” you rush to assure him. “No, I wanted to meet you. What happened with you two has nothing to do with me.”

He glances down at his lap. “Right.”

There’s an edge to the memory that wasn’t there before, yet despite your curiosity, you bite your tongue.

“What about you?” you say instead. “What have you been up to in the last five years?”

He smirks. “Oh, not much.”

“Uh-huh. You think I’ve grown up, you’re basically an old man now.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right. I’m only 34.”

“That’s still six years older than me, which makes you old.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m serious. You're not that idiot on a motorcycle anymore. Now you say things like, 'I'm in town on business,” and you wear expensive suits, and ridiculous watches."

He glances down at the aforementioned object on his wrist. "In my defense, this was a gift.”

“Sure.”

“It was,” he insists. His eyes flick over your face. “Look, I would have reached out sooner, but…after we broke up, I figured you wouldn’t want me to. I mean, you had just started your new job, and I knew it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to be a side, so…”

“There were no sides,” you argue softly. “You both just…grew apart. You wanted different things.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a sigh. “But I know it hurt her. It hurt me, too. And it was weird having to say goodbye to all of you. And leave all those memories behind. You were both such a huge part of my life."

"Yeah," you whisper. "You were a huge part of mine, too."

"Does Atta know you're meeting me?"

"No. Didn't really think it was any of her business. This is about us, not her."

His brow raises. "Would she be mad if she did?"

"I don't know,” you admit. “Probably not, but...would it really matter?"

"Of course it would. I'd never want to get in the way of your relationship."

"You aren't," you insist. "Look, she's dating somebody anyway. And I'm sure you are, too. You've both moved on. We're just...old friends catching up, and she'd have to understand that."

He seems to consider this before saying, "Yeah. I'm not, though."

"You're not...what?"

"Seeing anybody," he clarifies, tongue coming out to swipe across his bottom lip. "Haven't really dated anybody since she and I broke up."

"Oh, Harry," you murmur. "I'm...I'm sorry—"

"No. No, don't be," he insists. "It wasn't...I've just been busy. Working at the firm and renovating my house. I've gone on some dates but nothing serious. I just...haven't met the right person, I guess."

"The right person, huh?" you muse teasingly as you take a sip of your drink. "Okay, and what does Harry Styles' right person look like?"

He exhales an amused chuckle. "God, I don't know. I don't really think I'm that picky. Just...anybody I can get along with, I suppose."

"That's it? No, 'They need a fat ass and the ability to make me a sandwich?'"

He grins so big, the corners of his eyes crinkle. "For fuck's sake. No, nothing like that. Look, I don't know. Call me old fashioned, but...I think sometimes you meet somebody, and you can just...tell. You know? There's this energy, this shift. You look at them...and it all just makes sense.”

And as he looks you, waiting for you to consider this…the air shifts.

"Yeah," you agree quietly, allowing your attention to fall down his features and land on his lips. "Yeah, that's...you're right."

He seems to notice the way your focus has wandered because he quickly clears his throat and looks back down at his mug. "What, um...what about you? I'm assuming you're seeing somebody."

You look away as well, willing yourself to calm. "Oh? And why do you assume that?"

"Come on," he nearly snorts, eyebrow cocking. "Look at you. You're beautiful and you're smart and you have this effortless ability to make anyone around you feel good. Who wouldn't want to date you?"

"Well...pretty much every male in the city," you retort. "I don't know. I've tried dating but...there's always something missing. It never really feels quite right."

"Yeah. I know what you mean," he hums. "There's this...disconnect. Like you're forcing something that you know isn't right."

"Exactly! It's not that I don't want to find somebody, I just...haven't. It's not as easy as it is with you."

His head tilts. "With me?"

"Yeah, you know," you sigh, hands waving about the air as you try to explain your point. "I haven't seen you in five years but we still, just...picked right back up, you know? As if no time had passed. We're still just us. We can talk, and we can laugh, and we don't have to force anything."

He nods. "Right."

"I mean, honestly? Sometimes I think it would be easier to date somebody I already know. The problem is that all the guys I know are assholes. And too immature, I guess. They've got no sense of purpose, no drive. And it’s not like I need to be taken care of, but…it’d be nice to know they could. You know?”

"Yeah. You need someone with a good head on their shoulders."

"Exactly. I need someone who feels more like an equal than this thing I need to take care. I want to date a man, not a Tamagotchi."

He laughs again and the sound brings the butterflies back to your stomach. You feel proud to have amused him. And even more proud of the way he casually places a hand on your arm as he takes a deep breath.

When he lets go, you look down at the spot on your skin as if you can still see outline of his fingers.

"You'll find somebody," he tells you, and you do your best to ignore the sparks dancing up the back of your neck. "You will. And they'll be perfect for you. Old enough to know better and wise enough to do it right."

You place your palm over the spot he once touched, squeezing it gently. "Yeah. Hey, and you, too. Anybody would be lucky to have you."

His eyes linger on yours. "Yeah?"

You smile. "Yeah."

The next few minutes are devoted to sharing stories about your families. He asks how your parents are, you ask about his. He tells you about his job and you tell him about your roommate. You recall every detail of the past five years, and once you've finally caught up to today, he pays for your drinks, and offers to walk you home.

You make your way along the busy streets of the city as Harry tells you that he's thinking about getting a cat. You laugh and tell him that he'd make a wonderful cat dad, and he seems to flush.

You wonder why.

Fifteen minutes later, you're walking up the steps to your building, already apologizing for the messy state of your apartment before he's even stepped foot inside.

He snorts the implication away, assuring you that no matter what, it can't be worse than how Atta used to keep her place.

And the mention of your sister breeds an odd feeling in your chest. Unease, and this strange tinge of jealousy. Like you're almost peeved at him for bringing her up. For reminding you that he's seen the inside of her room before.

But you shake it away as you push the door open, refusing to linger on the thought.

"Well...this is it," you declare, stepping aside to let him enter. "Probably looks smaller than you remember, but…it does the trick.”

He takes a moment to glance over your knickknacks and decor before he grins. “I love it.”

"Really?"

"Yeah." He shoves his hands into his expensive coat pockets and nods. "Yeah, really. It feels...fitting."

"What do you mean?"

"I don’t know. It just feels like you.”

Your teeth gnaw on the inside of your cheek as you walk to the kitchen. "Well...thanks. I think."

You offer him a glass of water, to which he declines, before you join him back by the door. You're not sure that you’re quite ready to say goodbye, but you know he can't stay forever.

You wonder if you actually want him to.

You wonder if it would be so bad if you did.

"This was…really nice," he says as he takes a half-step through the doorframe. "Really, Dot. I'm proud of you. And everything you’ve done. And I'm really glad that I can still call you my friend after everything."

Your heart starts to pound a little harder inside your chest. "Yeah, me too. I really missed you, Har. I hope we can catch up again soon."

The side of his mouth curls up as his eyes soften. "I'd like that."

With that, he moves into the hall, and you close the door behind him.

The feeling that follows is...strange. Overwhelming. Like something is wrong. Like something has just been ripped away from you.

Like something is missing.

You feel on edge. Off-balance. Confused and unsure and you have no idea why. There’s a pain in your stomach that wasn’t there before and a hollowness in your heart that didn’t exist before you saw him.

Suddenly, there's a sharp knock on your door. "Dot?"

He's back.

Confused and slightly excited, you swing it back open to find him braced against your frame. He’s quiet as he studies you, brows woven together in what appears to be deep thought before he strides back inside your apartment and begins to pace your floor.

"Okay," he begins. Strained. "Okay, tell me...tell me this isn't just me. Tell me this isn't just in my head."

You shut the door. "What do you mean?”

He looks at you before frantically gesturing between your two bodies. "This. This thing we’ve been doing all afternoon. Tell me it's not just me. Tell me you feel it.”

And you're almost certain you know what he means, but the implication of it scares the shit out of you.

So, you simply tilt your head. "Har...feel what? I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Us.” He stares at you. “Us, there's something...there's something different here. Something that wasn't here before."

"Like...?"

"Like...like the way you look at me," he says, eyes on yours as you feel your heart begin to race. "You never used to look at me that way."

Your lashes flutter, and suddenly, you feel acutely aware of the way you've begun to gawk at him. Have you been looking at him differently?

"And the way you speak to me," he continues. "Talking about needing someone to take care of you. Someone older. Someone...more mature."

You swallow.

He takes a step closer. "And all day, you've just...you’ve found a way to brush your hand against mine. Or your arm. And you laugh at everything I say, even when it isn't funny. And I know you. I know this can't be what I think it is, but...you gotta tell me I'm not going crazy. You have to tell me it's not just...me."

And you realize now that you have an easy way out. You could brush off the accusation and tell him that it is just in his head. That he's your sister's ex-boyfriend, and he's your friend, and that you would never make a pass at him.

But then you say, "…what if it wasn't just you?"

He goes still, lips parting as he leans back. Almost as if struggling to understand what you've just said.

Truth be told, you're struggling to understand it yourself. You hadn't realized just how differently you'd been acting toward him. Or that you’d begun to wonder what would happen if he was your Harry instead of hers.

Because he’s not hers anymore. He’s just a man. A very attractive man. With a job, and a house, and enough emotional maturity not to make a fart joke every three minutes.

And it's not your fault that you're starting to see him in a different light. It's been years. Five whole years since you've spoken to him and you're both adults now. Completely different people, and would it really be the worst thing if you wondered what could have been?

"Dot…" he begins slowly, clearly wrestling with what he wants to say, "…you don't…I don't think you really know what you're doing."

You take a step as well, challenging him. "What am I doing?"

"You're...you're—" His fingers find the bridge of his nose as he squeezes. Hard. "Fuck, Dot. Don't…don't do this—"

"Do what? Flirt with you?"

His palms fly to his ears with a wince. "Stop. No, you didn't...you didn't say that. You're not flirting with me. You're not flirting with me—"

"What if I am?" you retort, following after him with a surge of confidence you didn’t realize you had. "Why would that be so wrong?"

"Because,” he scoffs, shooting a stern look your way. "You’re Atta’s little sister. And we’re friends. And you’re basically a child—"

"I'm not a child," you remind him. "I'm twenty-eight. I've been making capable decisions for quite some time now—"

"But not this," he hisses, the muscles in his neck straining. "Not…shit. You can't do this. You can't—”

"Why not? You said it yourself, there's something different here—"

"But not this—"

"Why not?"

"Because…you're you," he huffs. "You're...you're my best friend, and my ex’s little sister, and I’m…I’m just this big, bad man come to ruin you.”

And somehow, the idea goes straight to your cunt.

"You're not ruining me, Harry," you say, even though you wish he would. "We’re adults. Old friends catching up and realizing that maybe things can be different now."

He takes in a breath. "But they can't be. They can't be different—"

"Why—"

"Because it's not right—"

"What's not right? What?" you argue. "Is it just the age difference? Is it Atta? Is it that you aren't attracted to me, because I know you were flirting with me, too—"

His entire face twists into a grimace as he inhales sharply and presses his hands back over his ears. "God. Don't say that—"

"You were," you insist. "Like it or not, I'm not the little girl you used to know. All right, and there's...there's nothing wrong with us testing the waters—"

He steels himself, arms dropping back to his sides. "We can't."

"Why?" you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time. "Why can't we? Huh? We're not breaking any rules. We're not doing anything illegal. I don't see what's so wrong with just trying—"

"I'd ruin you," he says again, with so much conviction that it makes your stomach drop. "I would ruin any chance you had at a normal relationship—a normal life. All right, being with me...it would complicate everything. And I'd never do that to you—"

"I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm just asking you to try—"

"Try what?"

"Try seeing." You take another step, making sure you have his full attention. "Just…try seeing if what we think is here is actually here. If maybe we were meant to find each other again after all this time. If this is where it all finally makes sense."

He considers this for a moment. Considers you. And you aren't sure when you suddenly became so enamored by the thought of Harry, but you’re here now. And he’s here. And there’s a shift.

And it feels right.

Then, his head begins to shake. "No. No, I know better. I have to know better. I have to do better than this. I can't...God, I can't believe I'm even...no. No, you mean too much to me for me to ruin this."

You feel your chest deflate as your lips press into a thin line. And you stare at him. You stare and you see the indecision and anguish on his face. You see the way he wrestles with the idea you've given him. The way he wrestles with himself.

The way he wrestles with you.

You don't want to push him. Because you know this is something you can never take back. And maybe there's just too much adrenaline in your veins right now. Maybe you aren't thinking straight, and once he leaves and the moment passes, you’ll wonder what you were so worked up about anyway.

But right now, all you feel is disappointment.

"Fine," you whisper, and his eyes soften. "No, fine. You're right. You're right, this is...I never should have said anything. I was…confused. I was just happy to see you again and I thought it was something else, but…you're right. It's nothing. And I don't wanna be your mid-life crisis. I just want us to be friends again.”

Your tiny apartment falls silent as you both settle onto this conclusion. As you let your heartbreak dangle in the air.

Then, his fingers between to flex and his teeth begin to grit, and watch in real time as he starts to change his mind.

Then, he murmurs, “Oh, fuck it.”

Next thing you know, he's closing the gap between you, taking hold of your face and kissing you hard.

You don’t have time to process it. Don’t even care to process it. But you don’t care. Because everything makes sense now.

So, you feel him. Surrender to him. Indulge in the dominate pull of his hands on your jaw as he takes a taste of you on his tongue. As he presses his hips so hard into yours that you feel your knees go weak.

You make a noise in your throat as he goes deeper, and he growls. Like he's fighting himself. Fighting the urge to take as he begins roughly walking you back until you’re slammed against the wall.

He knows exactly what he's doing in a way that younger men never have. He makes you feel both taken care of and somehow, still completely helpless. You don't have to think about anything with him because he does everything.

He presses his strong, tall frame into yours until he practically disappears into you. His large hand grips onto the back of your neck as you whimper, taking control of the moment—of you—until the only thought left in your head is just more.

And you don't doubt that he'd give you more if you asked, but before you can, he pulls back, and puts the moment on pause.

You feel breathless. Dejected. Wilting in his hold as he meets your eye and looks for your reaction.

But he won’t find it. And you bite back a whine as you wait for him to come back.

He sweeps his thumbs along your cheek before sighing to himself. "Dot..."

You feel your stomach turn at the nickname. At the way it comes out raspy and desperate. "Don’t say it."

But he does, anyway. "We shouldn't do this."

"I know," you murmur, fingers disappearing into his hair while he seems to nestle into your touch. "I know, but I want to. I want to, Har. So…please don’t make me lose you again.”

Another beat passes before he groans and presses his forehead to yours. “God,” he nearly growls, and the sound makes your thighs squeeze together. “Dot—”

"I won't tell," you promise while his jaw clenches. "I won't, I swear. I'll be your secret."

Just like that, the hand he placed on your thigh tightens. Squeezing until you're squirming beneath him. He’s losing his conviction and you’re losing your patience.

"This is wrong," he mumbles. "S'wrong, Dot. I can't do this to you. Can't do this with you...I can't...I know better. I have to do better.”

You tug on his hair as you straighten up, whining beneath a strained breath. "I don’t want you to do better. I want you to do me.”

He exhales deeply with this, nose running down the side of your face as his lips travel to your neck. He seems to take refuge there, subtly pressing kisses to your throat as he thinks. "I want to," he tells you softly. "You have no idea how badly I want to. How badly I want to do everything for you. Show you how a real man fucks. Until you see stars.”

"Har," you just about gasp, anxious to have him do just that. "Please...please—"

"Fuck." His thigh slots between the both of yours and you writhe against him, searching for anything you might find. "Be so easy to take you. Be so easy to show you what you're missing. To wreck you until you’re begging for more—"

"So do it," you plead, pulling on him until his mouth meets yours. "Do it, Har. Please. Just once. Just once, and I promise I'll be so good. Be so good for you. Won't ever ask you again—"

His hold on you grows more determined before he's ripping you away from the wall and slinging you toward your bed a few feet away.

He’s on you in seconds, hovering about where you lie as you greedily grab for him. "Promise me," he hisses as his palm slips beneath your shirt, and a needy whimper bleeds from your throat. "Promise me that this is what you want."

"I promise," you repeat quickly, arching into his touch. "Promise—"

"Promise me...that you'll be good," he says next, fingers brushing over the material of your bra. "That you'll behave. That you'll do exactly what I tell you."

"Yes," you breathe, eyes falling shut.

"Fucking promise me..." he continues as he scratches down your chest, "...that you won't tell. That you'll be my dirty little secret. That you'll be mine. That you'll let me ruin you and that you'll fucking thank me for doing it—"

The last domino falls. Crashes to the ground as you tug him down to you so you can kiss him. So, you can prove your loyalty. Prove that this is everything you’ve ever wanted.

You feel him smile.

"You little fucking minx,” he purrs.

Your skin warms as Harry's stunned but unceasingly enthralled gaze lingers on the red lace of your underwear. However, his fingers move instead for your hips. His hauntingly empty touch ghosting across the fabric of your underwear as you anxiously await contact.

But he doesn't give it to you. Not quite, not yet. He just wants to look at you. Wants to drink you in. Allow himself the privilege of seeing what he never has before.

"Did you wear these just for me, little one?" he asks in a gravely drawl, eyes flicking up to yours from where he lays between your thighs.

You swallow as you look across your stomach at him. You're not sure why you picked out this particular set today. Perhaps it was a subconscious choice or perhaps destiny was simply on your side.

"Maybe," you murmur, nails curling into your palm as you work in shallow breaths. God, you need him to touch you. Need him to do something about the mess that's sitting two inches in front of his face.

The very same mess he's pretending he doesn't notice.

Your response encourages a smirk as he hums and glances back down at the little white bow placed delicately in the center. "S'cute, Dot," he says softly, pinching the ribbon between his thumb and forefinger. "Fucking precious, actually. Knowing you got yourself all dolled up. Just to see me."

He pulls his lip between his teeth and glances back over your face. He's amused by the weary and desperate expression you wear and you're two seconds away from groaning.

His touch moves down. Down, down, down until the pad of his finger brushes over your clit.

You tense before releasing a shaky exhale.

Satisfied with this reaction, he moves even lower. Until he finds that growing wet patch that's beginning to hurt.

"What's this?" he coos, looking down toward the darkened red fabric. "Oh, darling...s'this for me, too?"

You're not sure where your quippy attitude from before has gone because now you can do nothing but nod mutely as you shift beneath his hand.

"Yeah?" His eyebrow raises as he grins at you. "Is this what has you so anxious?"

You give him another nod.

He hums. "Think I need to see for myself, hm?" He smirks and pats his palms against your hips. "Take these off for me."

You quickly reach down to hook your fingers around the hem of your underwear and drag them down your thighs. Once they've been pulled from your body, you get ready to toss them onto the other side of the bed. But before they can be flicked from the tips of your fingers, Harry snatches them with his fist.

"Uh-uh," he tuts as he tucks them into his suit's breast pocket. "These are mine now."

You suck in a sharp, eager pant. "Har—"

"Shh." He settles back onto his stomach, hands curling around your thighs to guide them apart and allow him a better visual. "M'busy, little one."

But it’s nearly impossible to stay quiet as his warm breath fans across your pussy, making the mess that much more obvious to you both. In fact, you can practically see the glistening reflection in his eye as he studies your cunt in the most intimate of ways.

You're not sure what he wants. What he's doing or planning or thinking. And you don't know why, but the way he stares at you does more for the apprehensive coil in your gut than him actually touching you has.

Finally, he makes another satisfied noise deep within the back of his throat before he brings his fingers back to you.

Two are placed just above your clit before he teasingly drags them down. However, when your hips buck up, he merely shoves them back down with a tsk.

Once you’re still, he starts again. Easing himself through your folds as he spreads you with the utmost glee. Fascinated by the way your body feels, the way it reacts to him.

His tongue sits between his lips as he ventures down, and the moment he finds the pooling of arousal waiting for him...you see the muscles in his neck contract.

"Darling…" The nickname is whispered across your body as he scoots closer. "Bet this hurts, doesn't it?"

"Yes," you reply instantaneously, straining around the singular word as you resist the urge to whimper.

He circles the tip of his finger around your aching hole, almost as if to test you. "Oh, precious girl...how long, hm? How long have you been in so much pain?"

Truthfully, since you hugged him at the diner.

"All day," you say aloud, hands gripping onto the duvet beneath you. "All day, Har. Been thinking about you all day."

And that is the honest answer. You'd been anxiously awaiting your meeting from the moment you woke up.

But he smiles as if he knows better, despite the way he seems to bask in your response. "All day, hm? And what were you gonna do if I never came back? Were you just gonna sit here and rub your pretty thighs together?"

Your heart skips while your hands gather atop of your stomach.

His brow raises. "No? Well then how were you gonna take care of it, hm?"

For a moment, you think this is simply rhetorical, but the longer the silence stretches, the more obvious it becomes that he expects an answer.

You swallow the odd lump in your throat. "How do you think?"

"Uh-uh," he chastises again. "I wanna hear you say it. Want you to tell me exactly how you were gonna fix this little problem of yours had I not been here."

Your head flops back against the pillows as you glare at the ceiling. He's always been rather infuriating but now he's a menace.

"Dot..." He's warning you. Calling you back. Urging you not to be so bratty.

With a tentative sigh, you look back at him. "My...vibrator."

He perks up. "Yeah?"

You nod faintly.

"Tell me how," he instructs next, jutting his chin toward you. "Better yet...show me. Show me how you've been taking care of yourself all these years."

Feeling rather embarrassed under the spotlight of such an intimate request, you shyly look over toward your nightstand and outstretch a hand. After pulling the drawer open, you slip inside and find the purple wand that's just small enough to fit snugly inside your palm.

And Harry watches with a certain wonder in his eye as you bring the dainty toy closer. Yet, he says nothing while you slowly guide it toward your stomach and down to your thighs.

But he does, however, shift in order to make room, scooting back by a hair to allow you the space you need to place the head right above your aching clit.

For some reason, doing something so private in front of him feels...odd. Strange and almost unsettling. And perhaps that's just nerves, but you can't deny the heat that rushes to your face as he looks between you and the vibrator.

"S'this it, then?" he murmurs, a hint of teasing laced within the remark. "Don't even have to turn it on?"

Your thumb taps against the power button, a nervous tic, although you refrain from switching the toy on just yet. "No..."

His smirk is borderline haughty. "Then what do you do, little one? How do you use it?"

You say nothing. You hold his stare, and you hold a deep breath, and you hold the wand to your glistening cunt.

Then...you flip the switch.

The soft, dainty vibrations echo across the room, across your bodies, and across your clit as it's met with the instant stimulation of the pulsating wand.

You choke on a gasp as you return your eyes to the ceiling, allowing for the feeling to take control of each remaining sense.

And as you do, Harry's hands make themselves known to you as they begin to smooth up your legs, helping guide your thighs further apart once again.

There's an ever-so-slight stretch that follows as your muscles are pulled, and the distinctive burn makes your lashes flutter shut.

"There you go," he whispers. "So pretty, darling. God, could watch you do this all day."

Truthfully, you imagine you’re quite a sight. After all, you’ve watched yourself before. You know how it looks. Know exactly the kind of visual fantasy Harry is witness to right now.

So, you play it up, give him a show. After all...he's got a front row seat.

You rotate the head slowly, circling down and around your hole before retreating and dragging the object back up and through.

And you shiver every time it brushes against that particular sweet spot. Every time the pulses slow just to speed up once more. It's almost torturous the way your body is being bent to such salacious desires. And cruel the way you're forced to do this while he only watches.

A whimper slips free, and you arch off the bed, pressing the toy as tight against your body as you can stand.

You hear Harry chuckle.

"Easy," he warns before you feel his fingers curl around your wrist, encouraging your grip to relax. "Take it slow, Dot. Not in a hurry, are you?"

"No," you breathe, head shaking zealously. "No, m'just...feels good."

"Does it?" He almost sounds surprised. "Hm. Interesting. Seeing as you're doing it wrong."

Your head lifts.

He glances toward the vibrator. "May I?"

You nod.

Pleased, he slips the toy free from between your fingers and clears his throat. Focused eyes landing on your body as he readies the bullet.

Then...he begins.

It meets your clit—an innocent, familiar touch—before it's instantly being dragged down. He's slow with it. Giving you enough time to feel each particular flutter and twitch.

Your soft gasps and grateful sighs carry him further, until the tiny head of the toy is swimming through your arousal. You fall still, attention locked on the man by your knees.

But he’s still focused. Soft, green eyebrows weaving together as his pretty cherry lips stretch into a smile.

Something changes—everything changes—when he slips the head inside. Your entire body ripples from the vibrations as you stumble over his name and squirm across the mattress.

He only laughs before placing his arm overtop your stomach to keep you cemented to the bed. "None of that. Stay still for me."

"Har," you whisper, depleted of any strength. "Please..."

"What, little one? What do you want?"

"I need...please, I'm..."

"What? Does it feel good?"

"Yes. Yes...yes, feels so good. Please..."

"Please what? What do you want, sugar?"

More. Everything. Anything. "Fuck, I'm—don't stop. Please don't stop."

"Oh, darling," he breathes. "I'd never dream of it."

He takes the toy out and moves it back to your clit, circling gently a few times before pressing down hard.

And you almost miss the full feeling it provided as it was eased into you, but before you can dwell for too long...Harry's extending his fingers and slipping them into your cunt.

Not one, but two of those beautiful digits push past your walls and begin to stretch you, ripping a gasp from your throat at the simultaneous stimulation.

"Attagirl," he murmurs from below, and you can hear the smug undertone. "That's what you wanted, hm? Needed something to fill you."

Your chest heaves, the red lace of your bra lifting and falling as you roll your head back. "God, Har—"

"Tell me, darling," he continues, easing himself out just to push back in. "Were you gonna use your own fingers? If I wasn't here? Gonna ride your pretty little hand?"

You can't tell if he already knows the answer or if he just wants to picture your hand between your thighs.

Either way, you pant out, "Mhm."

"Yeah? How many, honey? How many were you gonna use?"

"...two."

He tsks, seemingly disappointed with this answer. "Just two? Hm. And would it have felt like this, darling? Would they be able to do it for you the way mine can?"

To accompany this ask, he curls upward, nearly yanking the pleasure out of you as you choke on a cry and writhe away from him.

"Fuck—" Your teeth tug on your bottom lip. "Shit, Har—"

"Is that a no, then?" He thrusts his fingers out and back in again. "Would you have gotten yourself this wet...with just your own hand?"

The sound of him slipping through your arousal meets your ear as you groan and look down.

"No?" He adds a third finger while making sure to keep the wand of the vibrator exactly where it needs to be. "What about when you thought of me? Would that have done it for you, sugar? Thinking of me while you soaked your sheets? While you dripped down your knuckles as you fucked yourself?"

You've never heard a man talk to you this way. You already knew his experience superseded that of any man you'd been with before but this. None of those other boys ever knew how. But Harry...God. He knows just what to say. Knows exactly what you need to hear, and it overwhelms you.

"Har...Har—"

"Need an answer," he reminds you, but when you refuse to offer him one, he takes himself away. His fingers, the toy, his body. Leaning away completely as your pussy goes completely quiet.

"Harry," you just about moan, pushing up onto your elbows to leverage the playing field. "You...I'm...I was just—"

"Disobeying," he answers for you. "That's what you were doing. And I don't think that's fair, do you?"

You frown. You know this tone he's taking with you. Authoritative and condescending. It makes you huff. "Fine. I'll try again."

"Good girl," he murmurs, nodding at you as if to encourage confidence.

"I...wait, what was the question again?"

He smiles at this, releasing an amused chuckle beneath his breath before crawling back to you. His hands find the mattress beside your hips and he settles between your parted thighs, lips dangerously closer now.

And you can smell him. Smell his cologne, and his aftershave, and his shampoo. Can feel the heat radiating off his body, even through the expensive suit. Can see how much he wants to take care of you—ruin you. As promised.

"Do you get yourself this wet...when I'm not around?" he repeats, and the tip of his nose brushes against yours.

Your breath hitches. "No."

The answer was always obvious, but you know he needed to hear you say it.

"Do you touch yourself...the way I touch you?"

"No."

"Can you make yourself come the way I can?"

"God, no—" you gasp before taking hold of his face and smashing his mouth against yours.

His lips are perfect and his kiss is perfect and the two of you are perfect together. A connection so seamless, so effortless...it's as if you were always meant to be.

A ridiculous notion, you think to yourself, but right now...it's quite nice.

He pulls himself back just enough to meet your eye and offer a devious grin. "Then let’s find out, hm?"

Rough fingertips travel up the length of your inner thigh, forming goosebumps in the wake. You shiver, ready to receive his touch once again before he dances right past your cunt, and up your hip.

He moves for the lace on your chest, tugging on the wire between your breasts with a disappointed tsk.

"I want this gone," he decides, plucking it from your skin. "Need to see all of you, Dot."

And before you can even reach back to undo the hook, he's looping an arm underneath your back, lifting you up, and flicking the clasp free.

Once done, he yanks the bra down your arms and body before flinging it somewhere behind him.

Your eyes shut as your naked chest is revealed to him, heart hammering against your ribcage.

But then, you feel those lips again. He wraps his mouth around your left nipple before you can even whisper his name, sucking on you as though he's determined to make you see stars.

Which you do the moment his teeth pull on the sensitive skin. And you can't help but mewl as his tongue flicks cruel and merciless patterns against before moving for your collarbone.

He groans as he goes, situating his knee between your legs and pressing it directly against your cunt. His other hand gropes at your right breast, kneading at the tender flesh until his mouth reaches your neck. He nips at a vein just below your jaw and you arch up into him, chest knocking into his.

He sucks sweet bruises into the curve of your throat before licking apologies over the newly ruined skin. It's slow and painful and beautifully good.

Everything about him is beautiful and good.

His entire body seems to cater to yours as he cages you to the mattress and easily pulls whimpers from your throat. As he touches you, and pleases you, and knows you in a way nobody else ever has.

You grind yourself against his leg before glancing down. And that’s when you notice the way your arousal has begun to soak through his nice pants. The way a dark little patch seeps into the fancy—and expensive—material. A sight both erotic and humiliating.

Your whimper forces his eyes to where yours reside, and he smirks when he sees your mess.

"What's the matter, little one?" he asks, taking his hand from your tit and using it to grab onto your jaw. "Are you embarrassed?"

You nod, despite his hold.

"Oh, my dirty little girl,” he hums. “I don't mind you soaking my trousers. But I'd rather you soak my cock."

You'd rather that, too, and you're more than grateful when he leans back to undo his belt. You don't know where this will lead you. If you’ll fuck him and then lose contact for another five years.

Or if you’ll fuck him and change everything.

But right now, you don't mind. You'll happily exist in this moment with him. In these bad decisions until you're coming so hard, you forget your own name.

He leans back to begin ridding himself of his clothes and you scramble upward to help him along. Your greedy hands grab at his jacket and his shirt, wrestling them down his arms and off his broad chest. Wanting to see him the way he can see you.

You nearly moan when his inked skin is revealed to you. You knew he'd gotten a few tattoos in college, and even some a bit after. But seeing them now, painted across such a tan, toned canvas makes your head spin.

"Easy," he laughs, reaching out to swipe his thumb beside your mouth to collect the pooling drool. "Save some for me, hm?"

But you can't. Instead, you take his finger between your lips and bury it beside your tongue.

Surprised, his lashes flutter. But once you realize he won’t be able to undo his pants without both hands, you regretfully pop his digit free. Allowing him to slip out of his briefs until his cock springs free.

He’s…perfect. Still. Somehow. Red and swollen and leaking just for you. And you clench from the mere thought of having something so beautiful inside you.

You crawl closer, eager for a taste, but Harry simply grabs hold of your chin.

"Yes, little one?" he murmurs, using his other hand to hold his cock. "Did you want something?"

You nod and lean forward another inch.

"All right," he concedes, pumping himself before subtly tugging you down. "Just a taste, honey. Since you've been so good."

He leads your mouth to him and without a moment's hesitation, you outstretch your tongue, and drag it along the underside.

You revel in the way you feel him twitch. In the way he exhales a deep breath through parted lips while moving his fingers to your hair, guiding you closer but not too close. Just enough to get him on your tastebuds.

You hum when you reach the tip, eager to indulge in the pre-cum already beading in pearly drops. And the vibrations from your eager appreciation make the muscles in his stomach quiver as he curses your name.

However, you barely get the chance to wrap your mouth around him before he's yanking on your hair, and straightening you back up.

"What did I say?" he hisses. "Don't be greedy, Dot."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, swallowing the bit of him still lingering in your mouth. "M'sorry, won't do it again."

"No, you won't. Or I'll go back on my promise."

"No," you whine, needy fingers wrapping around his wrist to keep him close. "No, won't do it again. I promise."

You know he’s amused with your desperation, and even though you're slipping fast, he can't help but be entertained. "We'll see, little one."

With a fervent motion of your head, you scramble back to the pillows to lay down, legs spreading as if to invite him in.

He smirks as he strokes his cock a time or two more while settling himself between your thighs. You imagine he could have you in a number of ways, a plethora of positions. But he chooses this. He chooses to see your face this first time. To see every ounce of pleasure etched within your features.

And truth be told, you don't mind. You could stare at him forever.

"Do you have any condoms?" he asks next, dipping down to press his lips to yours for only a second. "Or would you prefer to go without?"

You consider this. You're on birth control and you do have a bit of a creampie kink, so you shake your head.

"Without," you answer quickly before lifting an eyebrow. "Unless you'd like to?"

"No," he chuckles, placing a kiss to your nose this time. "Just wanted to make sure. Promised to take care of you, and that's what I plan to do."

Your heart flutters.

"Okay, gonna need you to be good, honey," he tells you now, large palm landing on your hip to steady you. "Gonna need you to take me and do as I say, all right? And I'll make it worth it."

"I will," you agree quickly, fingers traveling up the dips in his arms, ghosting over each muscle until you reach his shoulders. "Be so good, Har, promise."

"Uh-uh." His hand smacks against your inner thigh in warning before his thick eyebrow cocks up. "S'not my name, darling. Not right now."

Curious as to what he might mean, you study him for only a moment before you realize.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

Just like that, something in his demeanor switches.

Truth be told, the name doesn't do much for you. But you revel in the way he feeds off it. Find absolute euphoria in the way he lights up at your obedience until you want nothing more than to please him again. To call him anything he wants as long as he keeps looking at you like that.

"Good girl," he growls beneath a deep breath before he's bringing his cock closer.

He starts by dragging it along your clit, making you jolt and buck before his hand splays across your stomach to force you back down.

"No," he says simply, eyes fixated on the torture he's currently implementing.

He does it again, letting your swollen, puffy clit jump from the slight brush of his tip while he drags it through your arousal and shifts forward.

"Breathe," he orders next, stealing a quick glance at your puckered lips and wide eyes. “All right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He slides in slowly, pushing past your tight walls, coaxing the muscles to stretch to his size.

At first, it's nothing more than a soft, easy sensation. Relaxing, in a sense as it aids the ache and fills the void his fingers left behind.

Then...he goes deeper.

And this is what you'd been waiting for. The slight tension and subtle burn as your body is forced to accommodate him. You're thankful he goes slow. Not just because of the pain. But because you both want to watch.

You want to watch the way he pulls your body apart. Wanna watch him disappear into your tight hole that pulls him in. Wanna watch the way you flutter and clench and claim him the way he’s claiming you.

"Oh, that's my fucking girl," he groans to himself. "Fucking hell, Dot. Didn’t think you’d be so tight."

"Yeah, well…never had someone like you before," you tease, gauging your body's reaction by slowly rolling your hips up.

"Yeah?" His hand lands on your throat, smoothing up the sides of your neck until he can squeeze a gasp from your lips. “Never, huh?”

You shake your head and with one quick thrust, he bottoms out, forcing a strangled cry as you arch into him.

“Never had someone stretch this pretty pussy the way it deserves, yeah?” He tsks again. “What a fucking shame.”

He rears back, and the pain and the pleasure that follow him out make your chest cave in.

However, he’s quickly driving himself back in before you can complain, pushing past the fluttering muscles once more as you keen and rake your nails down the blanket.

"Harry," you breathe, his name like a lifeline as you drown in his sin.

But it earns you another firm smack to your outer thigh as he grunts his disapproval into your neck. "No," he warns before nipping just below your jaw. "You know better."

But really…you don’t. "Sir...please," you amend.

"Hm. S'a good girl," he praises. "Knew you'd behave for me, yeah? My perfect little toy—"

A rather debauched moan rips from between your gritted teeth as his hips ram into yours. You can feel him everywhere. In your stomach, in your head, in your heart. His legs against yours, his chest against yours, his entire body against yours until you're almost convinced he's gonna become one with your bloodstream.

Not that you'd mind.

His arm slips beneath you once more in order to lift you up and provide him with a new angle. Then, he thrusts himself into you again as your mouth hangs open in a silent gasp for air.

"There she is, that's what you needed. Yeah, little one?' He does it again, brushing against that one spot that makes your toes curl. "The other boys never did it, did they?"

You whine, knees bending besides his hips as you attempt to follow after him when he pulls back.

But he's quick to tut and knock you back down onto your ass. "No. You don't rush me, darling. We do this my way. On my time. If I wanna stay here and fuck you nice and slow, then you’ll behave, and you’ll fucking take me.”

You’d like to agree, but he’s thrusting himself back in before you can.

"You will thank me for taking my time," he continues in a coarse cadence that seems to reverberate from his chest. "You will thank me...for being so goddamn good to you. And you will thank me…for doing it right."

"Harry, please—" you just about wail, hands finding his arms as you grasp on for dear life.

But the fingers around your throat tighten until the edges of your vision begin to blur.

"There you fucking go again," he growls, stilling his rhythmic attacks as he meets your eye. He seems to enjoy watching your focus go fuzzy. "Starting to think you like to be punished, hm? And here I thought you had a praise kink."

You clutch onto his wrist, nails scratching along the veins in his arm as he pounds into you at a harder pace.

But you don't mind. You enjoy watching him give into the voices inside his head. Enjoy the way his chocolate brown curls sweep across his forehead, the way his eyebrows weave together and the muscles in his jaw constrict.

For a 34-year-old man, he seems to possess quite a bit of stamina. He'd mentioned earlier his enjoyment for running and exercising, detailing his rather excessive and diligent routine.

And you'd smirked because you'd assumed he was showing off or because he was trying to stay ahead of the inevitable "dad-bod" in his future.

But now you understand why he's really so meticulous. He's a long way from looking his age. Apart from some subtle, but soft crinkles near his eyes and a few gray hairs that peek through the auburn waves, he looks rather youthful.

And his body. You swallow another noise as you let your hungry gaze trail over every inch, every muscle, every quiver in his thighs as he braces himself above you.

Sir feels like a more appropriate title to you now. Because he is. He is your superior in this moment A man to be respected and revered. Someone who not only knows better,.but knows you. Knows your body and how to play it like an instrument.

There's something exciting about submitting to him. Something tantalizing about being at his mercy. Most of the other men you've been with have felt more like your equals than anything else. Which you haven't minded in the least bit.

But the way Harry has managed to fit you into the submissive, subservient role so quickly suggests that perhaps...this is where you were always meant to be.

Beneath him.

"Oh, honey," he coos, a mix of condescension and amusement. "Can feel you squeezin' me. Need it so bad, don't you? Need to come, hm?"

"Yes. Yes," you whisper, nuzzling your face into his neck, lips eagerly pressing into the salty skin at your disposal. "Please, Ha—Sir. Please let me come. Can't...can't hold it—"

"You will,” he says before he’s grabbing hold of your wrist and hosting it above your head. Burying into the pillow and preventing you from reaching for your clit. “Forget it, Princess. Told you to take me. So you will. Exactly how I tell you.”

"Sir—"

"I said no. I plan to keep you here for quite some time. Plan to feel you coming around my cock as many times as I see fit. And I expect you to behave for me the way you promised. Can you do that? Or do I need to stop?"

"No," you gasp, tears springing to your eyes at the very thought. "No, no, please—"

"Then what are you going to do?"

You swallow a moan and lift your chin proudly. "Take it."

A pleased smile crawls across his face as he hums and dips down to press his mouth to yours. "There she is," he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip. "My good girl. Try to remember that, yeah? Or I'll keep you here all day."

However, that’s something else you wouldn't exactly mind, and you shiver as he pushes your knee into your chest.

"Fucking hell, Dot," he mumbles, eyes falling back down to where you're coating his cock. "Oh, my perfect toy. Look at the way you treat me, honey. Treat me so well, fucking soaking me, aren't you—"

"Yes, Yes, please…"

"I know. I know, little one. Feels so good to be filled, yeah? To be fucked the right way—"

"God, yes. More...please—"

"More, huh? Need more? Need me to make it better? Need me to fucking take—"

Suddenly, your phone rings.

The soft, melodic chime cuts through Harry’s vulgar response, bringing the moment to a close as his thrusts falter and he glances over.

God, you hate that stupid, evil, sadistic machine. Right now, you wish you'd never bought it. You wish you could throw it again the wall until it shatters into a thousand fucking pieces so as long as he just keeps going.

Instead, he searches your nightstand for the small device before he's releasing your leg in order to reach for it.

"No, Har," you plead, attempting to grab onto his hand. "Just let it go to voicemail, it's fine—"

"But that wouldn't be very polite, now, would it?" he tuts, glancing over the screen. "And I think you need to take this, darling."

"Harry, please—"

"Shh," he says sharply. “You're gonna take this phone call and you're gonna use your word. And then, and you're gonna come for me."

His thumb hovers over the green button and he guides the phone to your ear.

"And you're not gonna make a fucking sound," he adds, dropping his voice to a threatening hiss before pressing the receiver to your ear. "Or I fucking stop. Do you understand?"

You do your best to nod, and he smiles before tapping the screen.

Through a slight quiver, you say, "Hello?"

"Hey! Long time no talk, babe. How are you?"

Your eyes just about pop out of your head.

Atta.

Her cheerful tone and eager greeting make the blood drain from your face as you look up at the man hovering above you.

"Speak," he mouths with a wicked grin while nodding his chin at you.

But you can't. You physically cannot get the words to come out of your mouth as Harry keeps the device glued to the side of your head.

"H...hi," you stammer, forcing a more confident cadence. "I'm...good. How...how are you?"

"Oh, I'm good. Good, yeah," your sister replies, and you hear a bit of shuffling. "Been working a lot. Got today off, which is nice. God, you'd never believe how much shit we have to go through since we changed our filing system—"

"Mhm," you reply right as Harry rams his hips into yours.

You gasp and quickly turn your head away from the phone in an attempt to keep the excitable noise from making it into the microphone.

However, he uses his other hand to grasp onto your jaw and force you back. "No," he whispers, shooting you a stern look of warning. "You know better."

"—which is wild because we've been using the same program since '08," Atta is saying, although you can hardly hear her over the imminent pleasure rushing through your veins. "But...whatever. Once we're done, it'll make things so much easier. Which will be nice. I can cut back on my hours—"

"Yeah, mhm," you repeat, and it's outrageously strained as Harry pulls himself out, leaving you depraved and so goddamn empty.

You have to fight the urge to cry out for him, glancing down at the string of arousal that follows his cock. And it's almost too much for you to handle as you greedily reach for him once more.

However, he bats your hands away and brings his free fingers from your chin to your clit, rubbing into the sensitive nerves until you arch up.

"—so, yeah. What about you?"

Your eyes squeeze shut as that tightly wound ball of pleasure in your stomach expands. "I'm...I...good. I'm...good. You know, not...not a lot going on. At the moment."

Harry smirks to himself before sinking all the way back in and thrusting up.

Your lip fights its way between your teeth and you writhe beneath his chest while praying for the strength to stay quiet.

"Well...I guess no news is good news, yeah?" she chuckles. "Oh, hey, speaking of which...I heard that Harry's in town."

That's not the only thing he's in.

"Oh?" you squeak, placing a palm on Harry's chest almost as if in retaliation. "He is?"

"Yeah. Saw it on Facebook," she answers, and you hear her move around. "Figured he might try to reach out. I know you guys are still on good terms, right?"

"Me and Harry?" you repeat pointedly, garnering a curious look from the aforementioned man. "Uh...we're...yeah. I guess. But we’re not…that close."

He grins.

"Well...I just thought I'd let you know in case he does," she says, and your lashes flutter shut as the guilt begins to find you.

"Would it be weird...if he did?" you ask before the patterns being traced against your clit make you whimper.

Terrified, you quickly cough in an attempt at burying the sound, but Atta doesn't seem to hear.

"I mean...maybe? I don't know. He and I are fine, I think. And I know you two were friends. I guess you could at least...check on him. Make sure he's doing okay."

"Yeah," you breathe, sneaking a glance up. "I'm...I'm sure he's doing just fine."

Harry smiles once more before moving his palm to your thigh and pressing it into the bed to spread you at a different angle.

"I hope," Atta sighs. "Anyway, I wanted to call and check in. Just to make sure everything is going okay for you—"

"Mhm, yeah. I'm...I'm glad you did," you blubber while attempting to send Harry a pointed look. You're close. So fucking close, and if he keeps going...

"Are you sure you're all right? You sound a bit flustered—"

"Yes. Yes, yes, I'm..." Your head shakes quickly, nails scratching down Harry's chest in warning. He needs to stop. He needs to stop or you won't make it. "I'm fine. I'm...a little under the weather, but I'm—"

Suddenly, he sheathes himself inside your cunt, face burying in your neck with a groan as your entire body shivers.

"Are you sure? You kind of sound like you're in pain—"

"Listen, Atta, I...I gotta go—" you gasp, so close to your orgasm that you can practically taste it. “I’m sorry—”

"Oh, yeah. Hey, text me, okay? Just let me know that you're all right—"

"Mhm, yeah, I will—fuck—"

It happens before you can stop it. Ripping through every muscle and fiber in your body as you rake your fingers down Harry's back and choke on a moan.

Thankfully for you, Harry has already ended the call and thrown the phone to the other side of the room so he can loop his arm beneath your hips and tug you up into his body.

"Go," he breathes. "Give it to me. Come on, little one. Just like that. Good fucking girl, just like that. Let me feel you—"

Your room fills with the sound of his name, dancing effortlessly between the whimpers that follow.

It feels like you've touched heaven. A sensation so overwhelming and euphoric that you don't even realize his hand has returned to your throat. Don't realize he's squeezing your neck in his tight fist as he comes, filling your cunt with everything he has to give you.

You don't even realize you can't breathe, but you love it. Love the way he presses his teeth into your shoulder and presses his body into your chest. Until you're trapped against the mattress while you live through the high.

Every joint in your body aches. Radiating pain and pleasure all at once as you hook your leg over his hip and snake your arms around his neck.

And you keep him inside of you for what feels like hours. Even after you've regained a bit of consciousness. And a bit of common sense.

Perhaps the moment he pulls out, you'll realize the mistake you've made. You’ll realize that this isn't a secret you can keep. Or a choice that you can ever choose again. And maybe he’ll realize it, too.

But until then…

You’re happy to have your Harry back.

~ Masterlist

Taglist: @littlenatilda @prettythingsworld @heartateasee @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @monicaalexandraaa

@cinnamonone @triski73 @lemoncrushh @vamprry @lady-lamb21

@lillefroe @kirstiea05 @ribbonknives @lunaharrygurl @harringtonhundreds

@swiftmendeshoran @sundresstyles @eldahae @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs

@hannahdressedasabanana @sykostyles @lukesaprince @daphnesutton @love-letters-to-uranus

@lovrave @nuggetdean @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @babegoals @lc-fics

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lowkeyremi · 10 months ago

Text

JJK MEN AS DADS

How they are with their kiddos/babies ! ft. gojo, geto, choso, toji, and nanami

content: no curse!au fluff, established relationship (marriage), children, families.

Gojo Satoru

"Look at my little boy, he looks just like me, what a heart stopper you'll be when you get older!" He praises his two year old, Kenji Gojo.

"'Toru stop trying to manifest our son into a hoe." Satoru turns to you with a loud gasp, eyes wide, and it causes your little boy to giggle.

"How could you say such words, in front of him? Don't listen to Mommy. Daddy was never a player. Never ever!" Kenji has no clue what's happening he just laughs at his father's dramatics.

"Oh brother, I hope he doesn't turn into a drama queen like you. And yes you were a player before I got with you. Remember when you kissed my friend then like ten minutes later tried to kiss me?" Satoru was a menace in college. Every time you bring up that specific college memory he always says-

"Ugh, blame Suguru! He was the one who made me take shots when I didn't like to drink." There it is. That was excuse for two-timing you and your best friend back then.

"Save it for someone who believes you. Kenji, don't be like Daddy when you grow up, okay?" Your husband knows you're joking but he can't help but whine and feel like you're being against him.

"Otay Mommy! Daddy is hoeeee. Hoe hoe hoe. Merry Christmas!" Your poor little boy thinks he's saying the noise Santa makes instead of a derogatory term and it's hilarious.

Of course you encourage him, "Daddy's a what?"

"Hoe!" Kenji screams out with a smile on his face. Satoru frowns loosing his playfulness.

"I-i guess my family just hates me... no one loves me." He sighs loudly to sell it to you guys but you don't buy it. He sits in the corner pretending to cry. "Boo hoo..." Kenji waddles his way over to his father patting his head.

"No cry Daddy, you not a hoe. You Daddy." Satoru fakes a loud gasp when he hears his son comfort him, thinking Satoru is actually crying.

"Really?!" He asks the little boy standing next to him.

"Yeah, Daddy is cool!!" Satoru chuckles, picks up is little boy and tosses him into the air. The small white haired child screams in delight as his father catches him, and you can't deny that all the trouble you and Satoru had in your relationship was worth seeing this.

Geto Suguru

"And then, the monster ate the twin girls who didn't go to sleep at their bed time-"

"Ooooookay. I think that's enough bed time stories from Papa." You say ushering your girls to bed, Hana looks scared out of her mind but Kana's eyes are sparkling with curiosity.

"Awww, Mommy, it was just getting good!" Kana whines, you know she wants to hear whatever else Suguru makes up on spot but he scared Hana who looks like she wants to cry.

"I know sweetie, but I don't think Hana really liked that story." The girls are six and full of energy at any given time.

"Come on baby, let me tell Kana the rest." Suguru matches his daughter's tone, knowing you'll give in.

"Alright, fine, but you need to apologize to Hana, look at her." Your husband looks at his younger twin daughter and he does feel kind of bad for scaring her like that. Suguru likes telling scary stories and myths to his girls just like his father had done to him. He always thought they were super cool.

"Oh, Hana, sweet girl. Papa's sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like that. How about I tell you and your sister a different story?" Hana looks a little doubtful as do you, but Suguru grants you a smile. He knows you trust him so you give him a stern look before kissing his forehead.

"Don't take too long, I need my cuddles." He smirks, kissing your hand, "Of course my dear."

The twins coo in unison at their parents romantic gestures, they think it's the coolest thing ever. "You girls have your stuffed animals?" He asks them and they nod together waiting for his story.

He tells the two about a princess who needed saving. Her long lost sister came to save her from a scary dragon and they lived happily together.

"That sounds like me and Hana!! I fought the scary dragon and Hana was the princess!!!" Kana says with excitement. Sometimes Suguru sees two little girls he used to foster in his own girls. He wonders how they're doing these days. They're probably grown up by now or at least in their late teens.

"I really wish Mommy had let me name you guys Nanako and Mimiko." He whispers with a soft smile. Kana looks at him in confusion rubbing her tired eyes, Hana's already asleep.

"Huh?" Kana asks.

"Nothing my dear, good night, little one." He tucks her into bed and gives her a tend kiss on the forehead.

"Night night, Papa." She says with a yawn and Suguru makes his way downstairs to join you.

Kamo Choso

Choso bites his lip looking down at his son, the boy looks a lot like you he thinks. Ryuji is his name, you let him name him. "I didn't mean to break it." He whines to his father. Choso has a soft spot for his boy. He reminds him a lot of his little brother Yuji.

"I know bud, but what will we tell Mom when she gets home?" Ryuji had accidentally broken your favorite ceramic mug. Choso was not sure what he signed up for when he got you pregnant but it sure wasn't this.

He and his son were always getting scolded by you. Every time Ryuji gets into some kind of trouble it also happens to be Choso's fault for not watching him closely as you always say. The truth is, Ryuji seems to get into trouble even with his father watching him closely.

"Um... we can tell her it was at the edge of the counter and i walked past it and it fell down. Then it will be her fault for leaving it by the edge." Choso smiles at his devious ten year old. He knows lying is bad but if you heard what really happened you'd scold both of them.

What actually happened as that Ryuji was playing in the kitchen, even though you've warned him against it many times and he knocked your mug down onto the ground.

"Good idea, kid. I don't want to hear Mom yelling again. I might get couch treatment again." Choso shivers at the idea of sleeping on the cramped couch rather than in his warm bed with you.

"You remind me a lot of your Uncle Yuji." Choso says ruffling his son's hair. "You and Mom keep saying that and I don't know if that's good or bad."

"It depends. Yuji can be both." Choso chuckles. His son gives him a crushing hug.

"I love you dad, you're doing great." And Choso didn't know how much he needed to hear those words but they were getting to him.

Fushiguro Toji

"Quit kicking your Ma, ya little brat." He threatens your swelling belly. He gives you a questioning look when you glare at him. Those emerald eyes challenge yours in a staring contest.

"What is with you and threatening our unborn children?" Your question is followed by a giggle.

"Gotta let the brats know who's in charge." He blows out a breath and puffs his chest, you find the whole ordeal ridiculous. The man is a girl dad for crying out loud. Even his oldest, your step-son thinks his father is a clown. And before Tsumiki died there were three daughters in his life.

He thinks your third one is bound to be a boy, but you're secretly hoping for a girl just to further sink Toji's idea of having a little boy to boss around. Megumi comes around maybe twice a month to see his little half-sisters, which means Toji is surrounded by girls all the time.

You like to joke around with him and say, "What do you know? Girls seem to follow you wherever you go." He always grumbles about it being stupid and unfair.

"As I was saying-"

"DAD!!!!! MY HAIR OH NOOOOOOO." Toji's up off the couch in seconds answering at his daughter's beck and call.

He walks into her room to see her braid was messed up. "What happened, Doll?" He asks her, undoing the braid so he can redo it.

"Yui undid my braid!! She took my hair tie and ran to her room!!!" She squeals, in horror at her little sister's thieving.

"Oh did she now? I'll go have a talk with her once I braid this back up." He's gentle with his tender-headed daughter. He quickly braids her hair back up, the pattern memorized. 100% self indulgent bc im tender headed.

"I have this green hair tie, is that okay, sweet girl?" She sighs quietly. "Where are the blue ones?" Toji clicks his tongue. "I can go get one real quick if you hold the end of this braid." He tells her and she's quick to do it. Her favorite color is blue after all.

She cheers when her father returns with a blue hair tie. He ties it up quickly, "Okay let me go talk to Yui." Nami nods brushing out her baby doll's hair.

Toji makes an appearance in front of his four year old's door, she's making her dolls scream at each other. "What was da reason?!!!!" She screams pretending to be one of the dolls, "I had a reason." She makes the other say.

Toji rolls his eyes, his daughter has been watching too much TV with you. "Excuse me miss Cardi B, why did you steal your sister's hair tie?" His hands are on his hips and his eyes are squinted to add to his authority.

"Whattttt, Dad, you know dat?" She asks as if her dad lives under a rock.

"Tch I'm not old, I know what memes are. Now answer the question." She rolls her eyes. You tell Toji she gets her attitude from him.

"If you haf to know I needed it, so I could give Sprinkles a ponytail." Sprinkles is the dog Toji said he was NOT going to get for his girls but caved in and got anyway.

"Ya coulda asked me or your Ma for one rather than stealing it right from your sister's hair." She shakes her head in disagreement. Toji wonders what's going on in her head right now.

"Dad you don't get it! It had to be that one!"

"Why that specific hair tie?" She goes silent turning away from her father and mumbling something Toji can barely hear.

"Speak up, princess." She scoffs and sighs and folds her arms. Wow the sass is unreal.

"Sprinkle thinks Nami is super cool so she wants what Nami has." Toji isn't stupid he knows his daughter is using the dog as a place holder for how she admires her older sister. Yui doesn't like to admit it though.

"Are you sure it's Sprinkle who thinks Nami is super cool?" He gives her the chance to be open with him and she sighs taking the bait.

"I guess. I think Nami is super cool." She murmurs and Toji smirks.

"It's alright to think your sis is cool, Dad didn't get to grow up with any cool siblings. Just annoying cousins."

"Mai and Maki are cooler than you, Dad, not annoying!" The man in question raises his brow his smirk never leaving, "Okay since I'm not cool. I guess I won't take you out for treats anymore when Ma says no."

Little Yui gasps, bursting upward like a rocket and running toward her dad. She hugs his leg, her little head looking up at him, "I was kidding Dad. You're super cool. Please don't stop taking me for treats!!"

Toji smiles, picks up his little girl and tickles her. She screams out for him to stop, "Huh? I can't hear what you're saying."

"Nami help!!!!"

In seconds Nami's attacking her father in a playful manner, "Let go of my sister!!"

"Okay then." Toji holds his daughter upside down by her feet, as she screams some more. "MA!!! HELPPP!!!!"

"Toji put her down." You say in a half-hearted manner.

"She is down. Upside down."

Nanami Kento

"See, you're getting the hang of it, Hiro." Kento softly encourages his son who's struggling with his math homework. You had tried to help him but he screamed that what you were saying didn't make sense. So of course you yelled back, letting your emotions get the better of you.

Kento had stepped in to keep you two from ripping each other's heads off. Plus all that screaming had woken up the baby. You could hear her crying.

That was about an hour ago. You quietly walked into the dining room with your seven month old baby girl cuddled up to your chest as you held her tight.

The sight of your husband helping your son warmed your heart, but you also felt guilt hot in your stomach for yelling at him, he's only twelve.

"Hey, Hiro. Can I talk to you, hon?" You ask softly. Both your son and Kento turn their heads upon hearing your voice. He nods at you and you inhale deeply, "I'm sorry for yelling at you, bud, I didn't mean it."

His eyes soften as do Kento's.

"I'm sorry too, Mom. I started it. You were just trying to help me." Kento's smile encourages you to walk closer to the table which you do.

"We should have had Dad come help in the first place, huh? I'm not good at explaining." Hiro shares a laugh with you, and Kento cups your cheek.

"Explanations might not be your strong suit but you're still a good mother, baby." Hiro gags at his father calling you "baby" he hate when you two get sappy.

You move your head a little so you can kiss his palm. As expected Hiro covers his eyes and making more throwing up noises.

"Oh hush, one day you'll find someone for you, and you'll be just like me and your mother." Kento says rolling his eyes and you giggle. Even though you guys have your differences you guys always forgive each other at the end of the day.

Your little girl coos quietly and Kento holds out his arms gesturing for his little girl.

"She's just had dinner, so she might fall asleep on you." Your warning doesn't bother him at all, if anything, you'll probably have more pictures to add to your baby gallery on your phone if she falls asleep in his arms.

She's already a dad's girl and she's only seven months old. You thought maybe Hiro would be a mama's boy but he's definitely his daddy's son.

You don't mind though, well, sometimes you're a little jealous that you have to share your man with your kids. Kento's a very lovable man though, so you can't blame them.

#jjk #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk as dads #jjk!dads #jujutsu kaisen as dads #dad!au #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader

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emmyrosee · 1 year ago

Text

I have an image of this man, leave me alone I sWEAR TO GOD-

——

Geto does this thing with his nose.

It’s something you noticed not too long ago, something he does when he’s lost in thought, deep in his memories and trying to sort out the pieces of puzzles in his head.

His nose, the perfect nose on that perfect face-

Scrunches up.

It wrinkles under the thoughts moving around his head, twitching side to side with with monotone “uhhhhh…” when you ask him spontaneous questions.

It writhes when he tries to choose his words carefully, usually when they’re ones of scolding, and it almost takes your focus from the topic at hand to how absolutely precious the sight is.

And yeah, it wrinkles under the force of laughter that he lets out, when he’s deep in joy and his smile is too big to contain, but that’s a corner of love that’s reserved for his hidden dimples. His crinkled little nose is far easier to activate.

Even right now, as you ask him what dinners he has planned the rest of the week, you’re barely able to keep track of anything he’s listing off because that pretty little nose scrunches between the days of the week.

“I guess I got the hamster wheel going?” You tease, chin resting dreamily on the palm of your hand. He cocks a brow, his lip twitching slightly in annoyance.

Along with his nose, of course.

“What did you call me?”

“I didn’t call you anything,” you snicker. “In your head. You’re deep in thought.”

“…. What?”

You roll your eyes, but the smile stays all the same, “nothing, babe. I just like your thinking face.”

“You should like all of my faces,” he says, wrinkling his nose as if wanting to say more, but fighting it back.

You smirk. Then, you lean up to gently grip his chin and kiss the tip of that wriggling nose.

“You’ve got no idea, Suguru.”

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bunnyhugs77 · 10 months ago

Text

High Demand

ꕤ- Pairing: Dealer! Jungkook x Reader

ꕤ- WC: 2.6k

ꕤ- A modern day Romeo and Juliet

Content: college student! reader, grumpy jk, brief texting! au, jk is lowkey whipped, drug use (marijuana), reader is his special customer, vaping, opposites attract, suggestive themes, minor jealousy, idiots in love (but they won't admit it), shot gunning, grinding, fwb?

Other Content: thigh riding, high sex, jk titty appreciation, unprotected sex (no.), hand job, soft dom kook, reader is a little needy, brief switch! koo, hickeys, pet names, spit, biting.

Shaking your head with a small giggle as you looked at your phone before tossing it aside. You're totally his favourite. You know he's stubborn and he would never admit it but deep down he loves delivering to you the most.

Looking around your sad and dimly lit dorm, all the lights were off and your roommate was gone for the weekend doing god knows what with her weird ass biology major boyfriend who would collect rabbit tails in jars for 'science'.

You were looking at one right now actually, it seems they left one behind, on the coffee table. It was just fermenting in... you actually weren't sure and didn't want to know.

Your eyes felt like they were on fire the longer you looked at the stupid philosophy paper you were writing. The bright light from your laptop was beginning to drill into your head. Your head lolled to the side glancing at the time on your phone.

It was almost 11:30, and time for a break. Abandoning the device on the couch for a quick wake-up shower; by the time you'd gotten changed and returned to the living room, you could expect Jungkook any minute now.

Except, this is Jungkook we're talking about. He's always late.

That's why when you heard the familiar rattling of the rusty fire escape you were startled. It was a little past midnight. Climbing through the window in nothing but your basketball shorts and a white tee.

Pleasantly surprised to see Jungkook scaling the platform with a bag of takeout pinned in between his teeth. The sight of you looking down at him from where he climbed made his eyebrows raise but of course he couldn't say anything.

Not until he was finally close enough for you to grab the bag from his mouth and he stands up. You climb back inside first with him following behind with a pained sigh. "I'm so sick of coming here. Got me climbing walls like its fucking subway surfers." He curses while you place the food down on the table.

Completely ignoring him, practically drooling as you slowly peeled open the bag. "And I thought you said you weren't gonna bring me anything." He snatches the bag.

"I didn't."

You let yourself fall onto the couch, arms crossed and unbelieving. "Oh yeah? So you just coincidentally craved Wendy's and decided to haul it up three flights up a ladder from your mouth when you could've just eaten it in the car?"

"Yeah exactly." He shrugs, obviously lying.

"Give me the bag, Jungkook."

"Fine. But I'm charging you extra for the delivery and the labour of bringing it up here." He hands it to you and you roll your eyes knowing it was nothing more than a bluff.

"It's not my fault you're out of shape," you mumble unwrapping the burger. "Oh yeah? Is this what out of shape looks like to you?" He says it almost offended but challenged.

Choking briefly on your food as he lifts up his shirt, revealing the defined abs that you have such lewd memories of. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You try climbing 3 flights up a ladder and tell me it's easy." You shrug,

"Not my fault you're banned from the campus." He drops himself down beside you, reaching for the bag of fries and taking some for himself. "But it is, if you hadn't called me to drop off a stash for Angelica's dorm party maybe I could still take the stairs."

You drop your half-eaten burger with apologetic eyes, "How was I supposed to know they were doing random security checks in the lobby? At least you didn't get arrested." You pout and he scoffs.

"Bare minimum." He says via grumpy mutter under his breath so you offered up the rest of your food to him as a peace offering. A little sad that he actually took it but you were getting full anyway.

As he finished up the rest of your food you couldn't stop yourself from asking, "So do you still do drops with Angelica?" He nods with his mouth full of the last bite, stuffing the wrappers back in the bag.

"How often does she call you?-- for deliveries I mean." He chuckles, licking his lips, "Jealous?" You take the trash off the coffee table and bring it to the kitchen to toss it in the garbage. "You're delusional."

"I can't help it if I'm in high demand." He manspreads, his arms stretched over the back of the couch. "Just shut up. Do you have my pen?" He reaches for the pocket inside his leather jacket, pulling out the slim box.

Already knowing that you were going to use it now, he began to unbox it while you collected the cash you needed. "40 right?" You say handing him the small spread of bills, "Yeah, but for you, I guess I could make it 30." He shrugs conceitedly.

"Because I'm your favourite." You say and he shakes his head, "No. Because I ate your food." Which he paid for but you didn't dare to say that out loud, you were getting cheap weed.

"So who's your favourite then Jungkook?" He hands you the pen, "Listen. I don't climb up the fire escape when I do deliveries for Angelica, I make her come to me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Trying to tug the pen out of his grasp but he holds it firm until you respond, "I guess I can work with that." He smiles softly, letting you take the first hit as his arm wraps around your shoulder.

The two of you passed the pen back and forth, with little giggles here and there and wide eyes on the episode of SpongeBob that was playing.

By now the dark living room is illuminated by nothing more than your roommate's lava lamp and a strip of purple LEDs' taped behind the TV. You could see the smoke as it floated past the few sources of light.

"Open." He directs, taking a particularly long hit, leaning into you and blowing the pungent smoke into your mouth, sucking it in from his lips.

The pen is now forgotten as it rolls between the cracks of the couch. Straddling Jungkook's muscular thigh as he flexed it every now and then, taking hits from his blueberry Ice vape and blowing it to the ceiling, giving you a prime view of his sharp jaw under the soft purple lighting.

The sight made you shake, gyrating your hips almost desperately as you chased the feeling of friction on his denim-clad thigh. "You like that? You feel good fucking yourself on my thigh?" The question was rhetorical, you were too dazed to answer him anyway.

Your heavy-lidded gaze slowly rolls up to his pretty face once you feel his hand move from your hips to gently wrap around your neck, not applying any pressure, just there to let you feel the weight of his hand. "Answer me," He says, and you fall forward "Yess, feels so good." You moan, and Jungkook has danced this dance with you enough to see you were close.

But of course, he couldn't let you cum so soon, not yet. His hands flew to your hips and pinned you down on his thigh, restricting your range of motion. "Please," You beg and he wishes he had a little more willpower but he couldn't say no to you, not when you looked so fucked out when he's barely touched you.

"Fuck. Take your shirt off." Leaning back and crossing your arms over the base of the shirt, you pried it off your body desperately. Leaving you in your black lacy bra and it pulled out a guttural groan from Jungkook's chest.

"You little whore." he grits through his clenched teeth, grip tightening on the arm of the couch nearly ripping the fabric.

This position was no longer giving him what he so desperately craved. Shrugging the jacket from off his shoulders and taking off the tank top underneath letting your eyes roam over his built upper body, oh how you wanted to just...

Without thinking your tongue striped up the expanse of his bulky pecs. This was new, but Jungkook was so high out of his mind anything and everything you did felt like he was on cloud 9.

Your mouth dropped down to wrap around his rosy nipples and you could've never anticipated the worked-up reaction you got from him. "Oh shit, shit shit." He gasps, hands gripping your waist tight enough that you're sure there will be bruises by the morning.

Letting your tongue lap around his nipples with pure hunger, an inexplicable flame burning in your core as you were finally the one who got to watch the other be reduced to a moaning mess.

His once soft moans turned a little breathy and high-pitched, His hips bucked causing you to jolt in his lap, he was getting close.

"Didn't think you'd like having your tits played with so much?" You tease him but he didn't find the humour in it. He holds you by the throat once more, this time applying a generous amount of pressure, pushing you off him.

Unbuckling his belt and you knew what that meant. He slides out of his pants, followed by the boxers that were the last barrier between your moistened lips and his throbbing cock. "Let's put that smart mouth of yours to good use, yeah?" He hums, watching as you sink to your knees, hand carefully wrapped around his base, starting with slow pumps.

"Spit on it." Doing as told, you let a wad of spit fall from your pretty, plush lips and coat the shaft of his dick, you worked your palm up his length. Already satisfied with the way his head was thrown back.

"Just like that," Reaching for the vape, he takes a few good hits, the head rush mixed with the pleasure had him seeing stars-- the object falling from his hands immediately the moment he felt the warm heat of your mouth wrap around his sensitive tip.

"Y/n-" He breathes out, almost scared, he was so close, too soon. He's never struggled to hold himself back this badly before. What were you doing to him?

The obscene sounds of you choking as you struggled to take all of him in your mouth, letting your nose touch the soft, trimmed hairs near his base. Focusing on breathing through your nose before you felt a heavy hand on the back of your head, pushing you lower.

You were quite literally slobbering on his dick, gagging with every buck of his hips. "That's it, princess. You're doing so well--Shit. Mouth feels like fucking heaven." His praise rushes to your core and has your left hand trailing down to rub yourself through your lace underwear.

The rough friction being more than enough to get you there, "I'm gonna cum, baby. Where-- Shit!-- Where do you want it?" He gasps, his hips snapping, pushing his length down your throat almost erratically. You don't answer, only hollowing your cheeks to take him deeper, making your desires clear.

Your own fingers quickening their pace, your own sounds travelling through his dick in vibrations and pushing him right over the edge with you, filling your mouth with his warm cum.

Swallowing as if it were second nature. "Stick out your tongue," He says softly. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to regain his composure from his overwhelming climax. Your tongue was out and cleared of any of his cum and it made him crazy.

He remembers the first time he'd brought an order to you over 6 months ago. He thought you were nothing more than a cute little philosophy major, never did he think he'd have you beneath him like he does right now.

Looking up at him, daring to give you an almost angelic gaze while the two of you ruined each other. Tainting each other with your own touches. "Kiss me?" You ask it so cutely, tempting him with the pout on your lips. You weren't being fair.

His body didn't give him a choice before his lips were on yours, his hips grinding into yours. The feeling of his solid dick rolling against your skin making the butterflies go ramped in your stomach.

The way you licked over his bottom lip with your own made Jungkook weak, stumbling on his elbows as he held himself up over you. Soft groans could be heard the deeper the kiss became.

Messy and intimate. Your hand crept up the back of his neck to tug at the dark locks of hair on his head. There was a loud pop and the two of you paused.

With Jungkook between your legs and with you under him, your heads turned slowly towards the coffee table where the jar was, dedicated to the fermenting rabbit tail. "What the fuck is that?" Jungkook slowly sits up, "My roommate's boyfriend's weird biology shit. I dunno, it freaks me out too." You sit up, now remembering what the two of you were in the middle of doing.

"That shit's not gonna blow up or anything right." You gently peck him on the lips but his brain seems preoccupied by the jar, "who knows," you say, kissing right under his ear and that seemed to get him to zone in on you.

Catching his bottom lip under his teeth as your kisses became more eager, suckling on a certain spot on his neck, his head falling back against his will. "Fuck, Y/n-- Don't you dare." You pull off his soft skin with a soft pop, admiring the burgundy bruise left behind.

"Oops." Your apology was ingenuine and bratty, and Jungkook hated brats.

Tearing you out of your final pieces of clothing before manhandling you into his lap. "Sit on it." He demands and you follow without question. Moaning out loud as his dick spread your lips apart like butter.

Sliding down with ease and a stretch of your velvety walls that were currently squeezing Jungkook for everything he's got and he's got nothing left, everything was yours.

"I-Shit! You feel so good, Kook!" He couldn't bother to correct you on the annoying nickname you were incessant on using. "Yeah? You like that- fuck, you feel so good." He curses, bucking his hips up into you as you raise your hips trying to match his thrusts.

He was fucking you so good, so ruthlessly, your head falls onto his shoulder and you needed more than just the couch to hold on to, your teeth sank into the muscular meat of his shoulder and his pace faltered.

"Shit shit shit! Do that again." He groans, picking up an inhumane pace that had you bouncing all over the place until he stilled you in his arms. His grunts and breathy moans came out right beside your ear only pushing you to your orgasm faster.

"J-jungkook-!" You pant, unable to speak, feeling like your insides are being rearranged, "Me too, baby. Cum with me." You finish first, and with a few more unsynchronized snaps of his hips, you were being filled to the brim with his cum.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of muffled music playing from your neighbour's next door and laboured breaths. Jungkook gently lays you down on the couch beside him, staring into your eyes.

This felt so intimate. You felt his gaze deeper than just behind your eyes, it was as if he was looking into your soul. His eyes were tinted red as he looked at you with an adoring gaze. "You're cute." He says it casually as though he hadn't just fucked you.

Your eyes roll before they close, feeling the sleepiness begin to kick in. "Bet you say that to all your customers." Mumbling the words into his chest while he began to grin a little.

"Nope. Only to my favourite." Your eyes shoot open.

"I knew it."

#jungkook #bts #jungkook fic recs #jungkook ff #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #bts one shot #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook

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with-my-calamitous-love · 4 months ago

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HE SAW FOREVER SO HE SMASHED IT UP

katsuki bakugou x reader

the times bakugou broke your heart

heavily inspired by mbobhft

1) the denial

“are we breaking up?”

“…yeah.”

“oh.”

his reasons made sense. he had a job, a goal, a burning drive to prove himself as the best. he was burnt out, his fingers worked to the bones. he couldn’t give you not just what you wanted, but what you needed. and that killed him more than it did you.

it made sense. the gears turned. the writing was on paper. like almost everything he did, it worked out. of course it worked out for katsuki bakugou- he’s the best.

it wasn’t all that set in stone for you, however.

he could have given you a million more reasons before the tears spilled. “i’m an asshole.” true. “i don’t treat you right.” fair. “you deserve so much fuckin’ better, [y/n.]” yeah, he was right.

but you always liked to challenge the acceptable.

at first, it didn’t hit you as hard as you thought it would. you walked through your room, too numb to pay mind to the tears that rolled down your cheeks, and silently packed up his sweaters into a box. the necklace he gave you, the ‘k’ pendant, came off your neck like a butterfly lands on a branch, knowing that its death is inevitable and doing nothing to stop it.

at night, you cried, and cried, and cried. you called him about 27 times. he never answered. he texted you to make sure you were okay, but your tear-blurred eyes kept you from seeing the keyboard clearly. you left him on seen and prayed that he was worried, prayed that his heart would explode at your lack of an answer, prayed to god that he would come over just to check on. suffice to say your prayers were left unanswered.

you thought he’d call. but he didn’t. but your soul remained devoted, eyes glued to your phone screen and hands shaking. he has to call. he has to tell you goodnight. he has to tell you that you’re an idiot. he has to tell you he loves you. he’s going too, idiot.

right?

2) the anger

if he wanted you dead, why didn’t he just say?

your heart burned for anger. for salvation. for revenge. you knew katsuki bakugou knew anger well, but he had no idea the way your soul flared like a whole new depth of hell.

you laid in bed, awake, eyes excruciatingly drive from crying your tear ducts may as well have been burnt off. memories of him haunted your brain while your fists tightened.

you regretted giving him your heart. your love. your late nights and early mornings. your fights, your passions, your 2ams and your smiles. you hated the way you let him draw the laughter out of you, how he showed parts of himself to you he had never shown anyone.

and those little things that made up your love, he was going to use on someone else. you knew it.

he was going to cook them his special fried rice his mom taught him how to do. he was going to teach them how to punch because he doesn’t want them to get hurt- something he did for you. he was going kiss them how he kissed you, love them in a way that should have only been you.

but he shouldn’t. in fact, he should look back at what you had, and regret every. single. thing. he did to let is end. he should regret everything he didn’t do to keep you. he should burn alive from guilt. scream. cry. fight for his life while his body is doused in gasoline. attempt miserably to tear the fire off his skin while it burned him to a crisp. he should die screaming.

he should deserved it, after all. because he heard your screams, and put his headphones on.

3) the bargaining

please. you wailed. who do i have to talk to? what do i have to do to get him back!?

you suddenly thought of so many scenarios in your head, scenarios fuelled by false hope. things you’d do to kiss him one last time, to hold him, to love him and be loved by him. you’d dry the ocean water. you’d turn stones into gold. you’d bring him to heaven and back. you’d get out of bed. you’d compromise more. you wouldn’t forget to kiss him. you’d love him. you’d love him so much harder. please.

suddenly everything seemed possible. if someone answered your calls, if someone made a deal with you, you’d offer up everything. you were sure you’d place everything on the line for him. you want it all back- his yelling, his snark, his nicknames, his attitude, his everything- no, your everything. you’d pluck out your own eyes for his red ones, or your heart for his heroic soul that loved you brighter than anyone else. being loved by katsuki bakugou was something you wouldn’t trade for anything- turns out you couldn’t trade it either.

4) the depression

everything smelled like him. your sheets blossomed into his sweet, burnt scent, the one that he’d leave behind whenever he slept over simply because he left you. all your jackets felt like his chiseled arms, wrapped around you as if you’d be gone in a moments notice. his voice was everywhere. the songs on the radio, the words you read on your phone, and the memories that played like your favourite movie soundtrack.

you wondered if he knew you couldn’t get out of bed. sometimes you imagined him calling your ass lazy, and then dragging you out of bed with a kiss to your forehead and a breakfast he cooked for you. maybe then you’d rip off the sheets and face the day. but right now, your bed was the only place you could mourn.

it was cruel, in a sense. letting you fall in love with him only to leave. letting you fall in love with his stupid smug smirk, his laugh, his teasing, his anger, his unreasonable handsomeness, his millions of pet peeves and trigger words, his clinginess, his distance, his days and nights, ups and downs, his hate and love all tied into one. he made you love him, knowing you would never get to love another katsuki bakugou.

5) the acceptance

acceptance was bakugou realizing how badly he fucked up.

part 2 soon!

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reidswhre · 3 months ago

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on your shoulder; spencer reid x fem!reader

sumamary: based on the episode of "the office" where pam falls asleep on jim's shoulder!

warnings: pure fluff!! early seasons spencer!

a/n: just a lil reminder that my request are open! you can go and send me some 🫶🏼 also english isn’t my first language, let me know any mistakes.

You loved Aaron Hotchner, no doubt he was an amazing boss, and you had no complaints about him. The problem started when he organized those... little meetings, which, well, could be kind of boring.

And honestly, you hadn’t been sleeping well these last few days either. There was a lot of paperwork left from the cases that had to be dealt with immediately, which didn’t really help your sleep schedule.

Right now, Hotch was giving a talk about... hmm, you weren’t sure. Maybe about victimology or something like that, but you were way too tired to pay attention.

“Hey, you okay?” A voice came from your left, it was Spencer sitting beside you.

“What? Yeah, yeah, of course,” you yawned. “I just haven’t slept well.”

“I figured. You should try to get some rest, not sleeping decreases your attention, concentration, and memory. Plus, it lowers your work performance. It can even cause anxiety or depression,” Reid explained.

Your eyes opened wide. “What?! Depression?! Spencer, no way. I’ve just stayed up late a few nights, I’m fine.” You chuckled and leaned back in your chair, almost looking like you were going to fall out of it.

“It’s okay,” he said, watching you.

He used to take his time watching you, not in a creepy way, at least he hoped not. It was more like you sparked his curiosity, he thought you were really pretty.

He saw you fighting to keep your eyes open, which you were definitely losing. Your eyes were closing, your lashes falling down, and your cheeks had a lovely blush to them that you probably added this morning. You looked beautiful.

Spencer felt your head drop onto his shoulder, and he immediately tensed up. The scent of your shampoo hit his nose, it smelled fresh and sweet, just like you.

He relaxed a little, letting you rest for the remaining part of Hotch’s magnificent meeting.

You opened your eyes after a while, feeling a bit lost. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.” You lifted your head when you realized it had been resting on Spencer.

“Don’t worry about it, it didn’t bother me.” He gave you a small smile, the kind where he kept his lips closed.

You looked around and realized no one else was in the room except for the two of you. “Where is everyone?” you asked Spencer, confused.

“They, uh... well, they left,” he said, looking away. “The meeting ended.”

You gasped in surprise. “What? How long ago?”

“Not long... maybe half an hour,” he said, finally looking at you.

“Half an hour?! Spencer, why didn’t you wake me up?” You could feel the embarrassment filling every inch of your body. You had been asleep on him for more than half an hour?!

“I... well, you—” He stumbled over his words. “You looked comfortable and... you needed the rest, I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me? I was bothering you! I’m so sorry, seriously.” You were too embarrassed to think straight.

“What? No, no, really, it wasn’t a bother at all, never would be.” He gave you a sincere look.

You smiled at this; he was always pretty sweet with you. “Thanks, really.”

He gave you a small smile in response.

“So...” You glanced around the empty room. “What did I miss?”

“You should’ve paid attention,” Spencer teased.

“Very funny, huh?” You rolled your eyes.

Spencer looked at you, and honestly, he loved the idea of having you this close all the time.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #request #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fluff #fluff #criminal minds x reader #mgg #mathew gray gubler #mathew gray gubler x reader

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gojonanami · 5 months ago

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❝ 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 (𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖!!) ❞

❝ PROF. GETO IS SO HOT AND NOW HE’S YOUR HUSBAND!! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (extra credit fic for prof geto series) (can be read as a standalone!!)

✧ summary: you visit your family at home, spending the night in your childhood room, and after teasing suguru all morning, your husband decides he can't wait a moment longer to have you.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut , fluff, but also angst depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader was a grad student (now a professor), but age is vague, childhood room sex, semi-exhibitionism, fingering (f! receiving) sex (p in v), creampie, discussion of having kids, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, fanart by @ / polariae

✧ w/c: 2,395

“So this is your childhood room?” Suguru enters your room, glancing around, lips curling at the plushes and posters lining your shelves and walls, a collection of memories of a you he didn’t know, but one that grew into the person that he loved. He could see the pieces of you scattered about the room — and his eyes found the bookshelf tucked into the corner of the room.

“Yeah we’ll be staying here during our visit,” you sigh, setting down your bag, before sitting on the edge of the bed, “they set up the air mattress for you but I think we can share my twin bed,”

He tilted his head, “I suppose if I don’t mind curling up or letting my feet dangle,” and you press yourself to his side.

“But it’s all worth it to have your wife by your side right?” His lips can’t help but curl widely at the title

“I feel I have to remind you that you have been my wife for two years now and you can’t keep using that card,” and yet his arms slip around your middle, “but I can’t complain when I have such a pretty wife,”

“Just pretty?” You’re climbing onto his lap, not missing the way his body tensed deliciously at your weight, a slight pout on your lips, “come on, Professor, you can do better than that,”

“You’re right,” his hand drag down your sides, squeezing at your hips, “beautiful,” he kisses the swell of your cheek, “ethereal,” his lips trail to the tip of your nose, “brilliant,” his lips chart a course down your jaw, “achingly desirable,” and you’re cupping his cheek.

“Sure you’re not describing yourself?” And he’s snorting, right as you press a kiss to his lips, and you realize it’s been far too long since you’ve kissed him last, almost two hours in fact from the time the two of you had sat down to dinner with your family — and that was an eternity you didn’t want to relive.

And neither did he from the way he kissed you again and again and again.

“I’d never describe anyone but my wife like that,” he murmurs, “and how can you compare me, a mere human, to a goddess?”

And your laugh is swallowed by his lips again, until he’s retreating his kisses down your jaw and neck, “and how do you plan to please your goddess?”

His teeth graze the soft skin of your neck, drawing a small gasp from your lips, his fingers slipping under the t-shirt you had stolen from him this morning to wear on the ride over, “Oh the way I always do,” a rumble rasp of a voice that makes heat spread from his touch, “by worshiping every inch of her, offering my praises on my knees, and giving myself to her at the altar,”

“We already had our business done at the altar,” and he laughs, shaking his head, fingers finding yours to lace with his.

“Every day I’ll marry you over and over, Princess, if that means you’ll be mine,”

“I think I was yours from the moment you told me I was late,”

“If that means I was the object of your hatred,” and you chuckle, your other hand finding purchase on his shoulder, as you lean closer to him, noses bumping.

“Well, some say hatred is a thin line to love,”

“Then ours might as well have been non-existent,” and his lips find yours again, eroding your quick reply with the warmth of his touch flooding your every sense. Hands slide down your sides, squeezing teasingly, as his lips curl as he muffle your delightful noises, “because I think I was in love with you from the moment I saw you too,” he parts your lips only to speak, and to see the ruins he had left your perfect lips in, puffy and bitten red.

“Even when I pestered you with questions about my papers,” he drags his thumb down your lips, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Especially then,” and it’s not a second before your lips find his again, sliding against his own, and he’s becoming unsatisfied with only your kisses, even he wants to have every inch of you — as he always does.

He’s pressing you against your creaky mattress, springs groaning under your combined weight, and nearly screaming as the two of you shifted into place, “Sugu, we can’t,” you murmur, “someone could hear us,”

And it was late at this point — a late dinner needed after they got in after 11:00 PM, and everyone had gone to bed, but still, the other rooms were only a door or two down. But still his lips are insistent, peppering kisses along your collarbone, as his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt.

“We can be quiet,” he murmurs, in your ear, “I’ll go slow, no one will hear,” and he didn’t hide his need well, not that he was trying to — he had desperate for you since you had stolen that shirt of his, so much so that the two of you nearly ended up leaving late, since he had pinned you to the entryway wall right beside the door. You had convinced him to wait, slipping from his grasp, despite your already crumbling defenses to the hot embrace of his need.

And you were far too gone by the dulcet words murmured in your ear, erasing all forms of logical thoughts from your brain, “fuck,” you murmur under your breath, “if we get caught—“

And his fingers are already slipping under your shirt, a gasp parting with lips as he finds bare skin underneath, warming you with his touch, as he rolls your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, “what will happen if we get caught? Will you punish me sweetheart?” His words are hot against your skin, lips grazing the shell of your ear, before pressing a sweet kiss against the soft spot behind it, “I’d like that, so would it be much of a punishment at all?” And he squeezes at your soft flesh before dragging his hand downwards to the button of your jeans.

“Sugu—“ you warn, and he’s undoing the button of your jeans deftly, tugging them down around your ankles, and it’s only a moment before his thumb teases you through your drenched fabric, “ngh, don’t tease me—“

“How can I not when it’s so easy to do, sweetheart?” And his other palm drags down your waist to the swell of your hip and tugs at the elastic of your lacy panties snapping it against your skin, another yelp escaping your lips, “you always make such pretty noises, wife,” and the term makes your cunt ache for him, and it doesn’t go unnoticed, lips pressed to your neck curling in a smirk, “like it when I call you my wife? Because you are. My perfect, pretty wife,”

And he presses closer to you, hips flush against your ass, as you feel his bulge rub against you through the fabric of his slacks, “I need more,” you whine, and his chuckle makes you shiver.

“So eager, as always,” his fingers drag your underwear down to join your pants, “even when I’m about to fuck you in your childhood bed,” he circles he sinks a finger into your needy cunt, swallowing it whole as he swallows the moan that leaves you with his lips, “can’t be too eager baby, I have to loosen you up first,”

He slowly finger fucks you, the wet squelch so loud in the quiet silence of your bedroom, you would beg him to stop if you didn’t want more — and from the way your juices dripped down his knuckles to his wrists, your cunt wanted more too.

“Such a good girl f’me,” he murmurs, “I think your parents really like me, the model son-in-law,” he adds another finger, but your walls only beg him to stay as he pumps them in and out, “but what would they think if they heard me fuck you open like this?”

And he only wishes he could see your face, he knows from the telltale flutter of your walls, you’re growing close to release, and he could see your lovely lips parted for him, eyes blown out in pleasure or squeezed shut, and your face the epitome of ecstasy — but the soft pants that left your lips were good enough.

“Sugu, I’m close—“ and you’re only whining louder when he pulls his fingers from you, your body arching into his, desparate for his touch, for friction, for anything — but he only licks his fingers clean with a pop, “fuck, please—“

You hear fabric rustle until you feel him tease your dripping entrance with the tip of his leaking cock, “Want it that bad, sweetheart? Need to cum?” And you know his lips are curled in that annoyingly smug smirk of his, “a little frustrated?”

And you know he was toying you, if only to repay you for this morning with this delicious torture — your husband was a brilliant man, but as cruel with his touch as he was with his red pen.

“Baby,” you cry, and he’s clicking his tongue, “please—“

“Don’t be so loud, someone could hear us, remember?” And your cunt is begging, warmth trying to welcome him even as he pulls his tip away, “would you like that? Can you be quiet for me?” And you’re nodding, a whimper leaving your throat, and finally he sinks into you, inch by inch as his fingers drag down your tongue, “good girl,”

“Sugu,” he filled you so well, stretching your cunt with his girth and sending delicious pleasure up your spine, pulsing inside as it dragged inside your sweet walls, “need more—“

And he begins to rock into you, bed squeaking traitorously as his hands drag down your front, as the slaps of your skin filled the silence of the room, and your eyes squeezed shut as if that would help you keep this dirty secret in the midst of the night.

“Wonder if you ever thought you’d fuck your husband on this bed one day,” he kisses your neck, drawing the back of your fingers against your cheek, as his dick missed placed he only wished he could reach with his tongue, wet warmth beckoning him deeper and deeper, “if we’d make a baby in the very bed you spent growing up into the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known,” and fuck, he wasn’t making it easier to stay quiet, loud whimpers and moans muffled against his fingers that your spit dripped down of.

And then you hear a door creak nearby, and he freezes, the moan of the floorboards as someone walked by making you tense, your pussy a vice grip around his cock, and he couldn’t resist fucking you. His hips piston against you harshly, and you nearly bite his fingers as a gasp works your way from your leaping chest.

“Careful, baby, someone might hear us, hear you whining and begging for me to fuck you harder, and how would that look? A wife so needy for her husband’s cock?” And he’s snapping his hips rougher making it nearly impossible for you to stay quiet as he no longer cares who hears — as long as he can make you both cum.

You’re pulling his fingers from your mouth, “s’close, Sugu, I can’t—“ and god, it’s nearly enough for him to cum then and there, but no, no, he has to make you cum first — need to feel your juices drench his cock before he cums inside.

He’s reaching down, right where his cock is thrusting inside to rub at your needy clit, “cum on my cock, sweetheart, need to feel your pretty pussy cum—“

And you do as he says with a cry of his name that he muffled with his lips, fucking you hard through your orgasm, the sounds white noise to you both now — the wet squelch of your cunt was too much, too good, and his balls tense, all too ready to cum.

You part from his lips only to whisper between gasps, “Cum inside, Suguru, fill me, please,” and your words send over the edge with you, notching his cock deep, as he finally comes undone, hot release painting your walls white, as he moans your name in your ear.

He’s fucking his cum deeper as his hips stutter against you, slowing, as he finally stills, the bed ceasing its groaning as both of your quiet pants fill the silence. Bodies sticky, he pulls out of you, groaning as he watches his cum spill from inside you, as he grabs a towel from his nearby suitcase to clean the both of you up.

He presses sweet kisses to your neck, “you okay baby?”

And he knows you’re pouting even before you start speaking, “If anything heard us, I’ll—“

He laughs, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “You’ll what? You love me too much to hurt me,”

“I do, but I can tease you myself, as you know, far better than you can,” you turn to face him, your lips ghosting over his jaw while your fingers drew circles on his chest, “student has far surpassed her teacher on that front,”

“On every front,” and you roll your eyes, “I mean it, Princess,”

“I know you do,” you murmur, “which is why I guess you’re so desperate to have a baby with me,” and he flushes, and not from exertion, gaze shying away, “but lucky for you, I am too,” and his eyes snap to yours.

“You—“

“We’ve discussed it before, Suguru,” your fingers trace his jaw, nuzzling his cheek, “we’re settled in our careers now, we bought our house. We’ve been married for two years now — do you want to?”

His eyes shine impossibly, even in the dim moonlight filtering in from the window, “there’s nothing I want more than to have kids with you, Princess, but are you sure? It’s a much bigger decision for you than for me, it’s your body,”

“But it’s our child,” you smile, “and I know you’ll be making it up to me for the rest of our lives,”

“Don’t know if I’ll be able to ever make it up to you for everything you do for me,” Suguru presses his forehead to yours, “but I’ll spend my whole life trying.”

✧ a/n: ahhh i've teased this fic for so long, it makes me so happy to write this!!! honestly i've had horrible writer's block and writing these two are always so easy and such a joy for me :). i hope you guys enjoy <3

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @difficultdomains, @diogodxlot, @that-goth-bisexual, @dazailover1900, @aliyalala @ashhlsstuff , @blue041803 , @mwtsxri i , @bblgumfairy , @sukunasleftkneecap , @xo-evangeline , @fiannee , @teatreeoilll , @chalametet , @ryukaver , @d1gitalbathh , @saga3ious , @seventhcinema , @satosugucide , @your-l0nely-star , @sokkasmoon , @deegausserr , @hyookka , @oggsyy , @littlebitb , @higuchislut , @ti-mame , @itoshisins , @cerene-dipity , @onionsoop , @sinlillith , @izzythenaive , @lalacute03 , @rxndou , @c-themoon , @xxrag-d0llxx , @hqtoge , @sugarxlumps , @hopeluna , @actualdeemon , @enchantedpendant , @serendididy , @soulstealercat , @neuviloved , @simply-a-s1mp , @satorusmochis , @lalacute03 , @sugurora

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