#my girl did not hesitate to lean in and be like

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Better Than Me

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: M (Mature)

Fandom: UConn's Women's basketball

Warnings: Heavy angst, toxic dynamics, cheating, sneaky link behavior, explicit language, jealousy

Summary: nobody's better than paige in more ways than one

I knew I was playing with fire.

Being with Paige was a bad idea.

Being with Paige while I had a girlfriend? A worse idea.

And yet, here I was—pressed against the cold backseat of her car, her hands gripping my thighs like she owned me, her lips tracing slow, taunting kisses up my neck.

“Tell me again why you still with her,” Paige murmured, voice low, teasing.

I sighed, tilting my head back against the seat. “Paige—”

“Nah,” she cut me off, leaning back just enough to look me in the eyes, her thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “For real. What she do for you that I don’t?”

I knew this game. Paige loved pushing me, loved reminding me that no one could touch me the way she could. That no one got me like she did.

“She treats me good,” I muttered, but even I didn’t sound convinced.

Paige scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah? Then why you in my car right now, letting me touch you like this?”

I had no answer. And Paige knew it.

A slow smirk stretched across her lips. “She ain’t better than me.”

I exhaled sharply, gripping her hoodie as she leaned in again, her breath warm against my lips. “You think you got me like that?”

She grinned, her hand slipping under the hem of my hoodie. “I know I do.”

Paige had been my problem for a while now.

It started as something reckless—stolen moments, secret glances, late-night texts that turned into even later nights in her bed. It was supposed to be nothing.

But Paige Bueckers didn’t do ‘nothing.’

She wanted everything. She wanted me.

And she hated the fact that I was still with someone else.

It got worse when she saw us together.

I was at a party with my girl, keeping things lowkey, trying not to give Paige too much attention. But it was impossible to ignore the way she was watching me from across the room, dark-tinted windows of her expression giving nothing away—but I knew her too well.

She was pissed.

And Paige pissed off was Paige dangerous.

I felt her before I saw her. A warm presence at my back, breath ghosting over my shoulder as she leaned in, voice just loud enough for me to hear over the music.

“Tell her you gotta take a call.”

I stiffened. “Paige—”

Her fingers brushed over the small of my back, featherlight, enough to make me shiver. “C’mon, baby. Five minutes. I won’t even touch you.”

Liar.

And I was a liar too—for following her out onto the balcony, for letting her back me against the railing, for letting her pull my hoodie strings like she was reeling me in.

“She’s looking for me” I whispered, trying to ignore the way my body reacted to her closeness.

Paige tilted her head. “Then why you still out here with me?”

I closed my eyes, exhaling through my nose. “You don’t fight fair.”

She smirked. “Never said I did.”

The thing about Paige was—she didn’t lose.

Not on the court, not in life, and definitely not when it came to me.

She made sure of that a few nights later, when she showed up outside my dorm after a game, still in her UConn hoodie, a cocky glint in her eyes.

“You break up with her yet?”

I sighed, arms crossed. “Paige—”

She tsked, shaking her head. “I’m done sharing.”

“Paige, it’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is,” she cut me off, stepping closer. “You either with me, or you not.”

I swallowed hard.

Because we both knew the answer.

Paige smirked, tilting my chin up with her fingers. “So what’s it gon’ be, ma?”

My heart pounded.

And for the first time in a long time, I made the right choice.

A week later, I was sitting courtside at UConn’s game, wearing Paige’s hoodie.

And when she walked off the court, sweaty, smug, victorious—she didn’t even hesitate before pulling me into her arms and kissing me like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.

Because she had won.

Like she always did.

[flwrstqr]

日语 ⟣ I'LL LIKE YOU . . SECOND GUESSING YOUR FRIENDSHIP ─────𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗈, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾.

𝓲. when you're more than friends with enhypen

❪ 日语 ❫ : enhypen & fem!rea 1OOO ❜ skinship, petnames kissing ⎯ fluff head canons one shot ˊᯅˋ & click / archive

다니 : this photoshoot of ki & won will always be engraved in my brain ㅠㅠ .. specifically used that won pic for someone .. cough cough (my favie won girl)

LEE HEESEUNG

heeseung tastes like mint gum and something sweet you can’t quite place, maybe the remnants of the iced americano he always drinks. his lips move like he’s savoring this—like he’s scared you’ll pull away. but you don’t. you never do. your hands tangle in his hoodie strands, pulling him closer as his fingers ghost over your waist, hesitant but wanting. "this is a bad idea," you mumble against heeseung’s lips, but you don’t pull away. his hands are already at your waist, like he needs this as much as you do. "then why aren’t you stopping?" he breathes, and you don’t have an answer, not when his lips ghost over yours again. but you never talk about it, never question what it means, and when heeseung kisses you again, you let him, because it’s easier that way.

PARK JAY

"jay," you sigh, staring at the dress in your hands—soft, delicate, way too expensive. "you have to stop doing this." but jay just grins, leaning back against the couch, arms crossed like he's waiting for you to give in. "why would i? you look pretty in them." friends don’t buy you designer dresses just to see you smile, don’t brush your hair back and say, “this one’s my favorite,” when you step out of the fitting room. but jay does. and when you finally, finally give in—twirling just a little for him, watching the way his eyes light up—you pretend not to notice the way he looks at you, like he’s waiting for something more.

SIM JAKE

"you comfy, pretty girl?" jake's voice is soft, lazy, like he has nowhere else to be but here, sprawled out next to you. his arm is draped over your waist, fingers tracing idle shapes against your hip, and you don't know why the way he says it makes your stomach flip. he always calls you that—pretty girl, baby, angel—but something about the way he says it now, making it feel different. making it feel real. "yeah," you say. his lips curl into a smirk, like he knows something you don’t. "good," he hums, tugging you closer, his breath warm against your skin. but you don’t let yourself overthink it. instead, you just let yourself melt into him, into the way he holds you like you belong to him.

PARK SUNGHOON

"didn’t know you liked hanging around idiots," sunghoon mutters, arms crossed as he leans against your doorframe, watching the guy you were with earlier walk away. his jaw is tight, his eyes sharp, and you don’t miss the way he kept cutting the poor guy off mid-sentence, dismissing him like he was nothing. "he’s not an idiot," you say, but sunghoon just scoffs, pushing past you into your room like he owns the place. "sure," he deadpans, flopping onto your bed, arms behind his head like he’s totally unbothered. except, he is. you saw the way he glared, the way his fingers twitched when the guy got a little too close. you crawl in next to him, and immediately, his arm hooks around your waist. "he's so annoying, i think you should ditch him," sunghoon mumbles.

KIM SUNOO

"you’re not even listening," you pout, nudging sunoo’s arm, but he just laughs, soft and sweet, shaking his head. "i am," he says, but his eyes tell a different story. he’s watching you like you’re the only thing that matters, like every word out of your mouth is something he wants to memorize. the fond smile on his lips only grows as you ramble on, completely unaware of the way he looks at you. "then what did i just say?" you challenge, crossing your arms. he hums, like he’s thinking, but really, he’s just admiring you. "something about… your coworker being annoying," he guesses, grinning when you roll your eyes. "lucky guess," you mumble. sunoo just hums, resting his chin on his hand. "whatever, pretty girl," he murmurs.

YANG JUNGWON

jungwon always lets you steal his hoodies, even when he grumbles about it, even when he pretends to snatch it back just to hear you whine. you wonder if friends do that, if friends pull you into their side when you’re cold and give you their hoodie. “you think too much in that brain of yours,” jungwon murmurs, flicking your forehead before tugging the hoodie’s hood over your head. his fingers linger at your chin, like they belong there. you roll your eyes, but you don’t pull away. “i was just thinking about how you suck at being just a friend,” you tease, and he laughs, shaking his head. “yeah?” he hums, tilting his head, eyes locked on yours. “then stop thinking.” and when he pulls you in closer, you really, really do.

NISHIMURA RIKI

riki flicks your forehead, grinning when you scowl. “you’re so slow, hurry up,” he teases, pulling you closer by the sleeve of your hoodie. your phone buzzes, and you glance down, catching the matching phone cases between your hands. “stop looking at me like that,” riki groans, shoving his own phone in his pocket, but you catch a glimpse of his wallpaper—your face, mid-laugh, the same one you have of him. “weirdo,” you mutter, flipping your hand to show the silver ring on your finger, identical to his. “says the one who wanted matching rings.” riki snorts, tugging at your pinky. “you agreed.” you roll your eyes, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. it’s never been talked about—why he does these things, why you let him—but when he looks at you like that, like you’re his favorite thing in the world, you think maybe you don’t need to.

[lanf1an]

DREAMS lando norris pt.6 When your childhood bestfriend Flo had convinced you to get the fashion design job at her brother's company Quadrant, it finally paid off when Louis Vuitton was announced as the new sponsor for F1.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 wordcount: 1249

You don’t know if it was the fact that you already knew Lando as a kid, or if you were just outright stupid, because it hadn’t really crossed your mind that an F1 racer fucking his stylist, fit the picture perfectly. You didn’t feel like that. He didn’t make you feel like that. Or you were just ignoring it. You had seen photos with other girls sometimes. You didn’t think much of it. But when it started to be the same blonde girl quite often, you actively ignored it. 

The tabloid headline came out that morning—Lando pictured walking with the same girl you’d already seen him with a few times in random social media sightings. It wasn’t a big deal before. You knew what this was, what it wasn’t. But the way the headline framed it—Lando Norris and mystery blonde spotted again—F1’s most eligible bachelor off the market?—you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

You shouldn’t care. You don’t care. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. But still, you find yourself pulling away, responding to his texts slower, keeping things short. Lando’s behavior, however, hadn’t changed one bit. He was still texting you daily. You hadn’t seen him in two weeks after he was in London. You didn’t have work at the previous race weekend. But there was an event tonight, which you were dreading now. Luckily you didn’t have a private fitting.

When you arrived at the event, you spotted Lando almost immediately. He was in the center of it all, drink in hand, laughing at something someone said. 

And somehow, as if he could feel you watching, he turned.

His gaze found yours through the crowd, and there it was again—that shift, the unspoken thing that neither of you had addressed. He didn’t look away.

Instead, he smirked.

You tried not to let it affect you. Tried not to let the fact that he abandoned his conversation and started making his way toward you send a thrill through your stomach.

“You look nice,” he said, voice low as he leaned in, just close enough for you to hear over the music, pulling you in a tight hug.

You rolled your eyes, but your pulse betrayed you, skipping slightly. “I styled myself.”

He grinned. “That explains why I like it.”

It was stupid, the way he made you feel—like this was something more than what it was.

Like you weren’t just orbiting each other for the fun of it.

‘’Missed you’’ he added.

But before you could say anything, someone else pulled him back into conversation, and you let yourself disappear into the party again.

Only, it was impossible to ignore him. Every time you glanced his way, he was already looking. Every time he passed by, his hand would brush against your lower back, the touch fleeting but deliberate. Every interaction was like a thread pulling tighter, winding something between you.

But then you saw her.

Blonde, leggy, the kind of girl who fit into his world seamlessly. She leaned in close, laughing at something he said, her fingers grazing his arm.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That this was the dynamic you had set. But that didn’t mean you had to stay and watch it.

So, you left.

You weren’t dramatic about it. Just slipped out, phone buzzing in your hand a few minutes later.

Lando: Where’d you go? Lando: Come with me. Lando: Or I’ll find you myself.

You hesitated before replying.

You: Already back at my hotel.

You weren’t sure what you expected, but ten minutes later, there was a knock at your door.

And when you opened it, he was standing there, looking like he had run his hands through his hair a few too many times, like he had left the party the second you did.

“You left,” he said.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Observant.”

His lips quirked, but there was something in his eyes—something not entirely playful. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure how to.

And maybe he didn’t need you to, because a second later, he was stepping closer, slipping inside, closing the door behind him.

Another beat of silence. Then—

“You’re acting weird.”

That makes you pause. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he counters, voice light but probing. “You’ve been weird all day. Actually… since yesterday. Barely texting. One-word answers. What’s up?”

“Nothing.” You finally turn to face him, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed. “I’m just tired.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, like he doesn’t believe that for a second. “Tired of me?”

“No, Lando. Tired. You know, that thing that happens when you don’t get enough sleep?”

He smirks. “Could’ve just said you missed me.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god.”

“See, normally, you’d have a better comeback than that,” he muses, tilting his head. “But you’re just shutting me down. Which means…” He trails off, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “Did I do something?”

You look away. “No.”

“Did Max or Keegan say something dumb?”

“No.”

He squints. “Did you see something?”

Your stomach clenches.

Lando notices. His smirk returns, slower this time, like he’s figuring out a puzzle in real-time.

“Don’t tell me…” He starts, stepping toward you. “You’re jealous?”

You scoff immediately. “I’m not—”

“Hah,” he lets out a laugh, standing right in front of you now. “Oh my god, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You so are.” His grin widens, like this is the most amusing thing that’s ever happened to him. “Didn’t think you were the jealous type.”

‘’I’m not’’

‘’You’re the one who said this was casual’’ he continued, your eyes widened. 

‘’Flo told me’’ he grinned. ‘’Which, by the way—ouch."

You huffed, trying to sidestep him, but he’s faster—grabbing your waist and pulling you toward the couch. You stumble slightly, and before you can protest, he’s already guiding you backward until the back of your knees hit the cushion.

“Lando—”

He doesn’t let you finish. He nudges you down onto your back, climbing over you in one smooth motion. He catches both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head against the couch. His other hand settles on your waist, fingers pressing lightly against your skin.

“Say it,” he teases, mouth hovering just above yours. “Say you’re jealous.”

You glare up at him. “I’m not.”

He grins. “Liar.”

Then he dips his head, trailing slow, deliberate kisses down your neck, to your collarbone.

You shift beneath him, but he tightens his grip, keeping you in place. “Relax,” he murmurs, lips brushing against the sensitive skin just above your chest. “No need to be jealous, you know.”

“I’m not,” you insist, voice thinner now.

He chuckles against your skin. “Right.”

His mouth moves lower, pressing soft, lingering kisses down your chest, across your stomach, stopping just at the waistband of your pants. He looks up at you then, eyes dark with amusement—and something else.

“You’re the best fucking stylist, you know that?” he murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. “Take such good care of me.”

You swallow hard. “Lando—”

“Hm?”

He kisses just above your belly button, watching your reaction carefully. “Just want to take care of you too,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches. Whatever you were mad about, whatever had been making you pull away—it all feels irrelevant now.

And when he smirks, feeling the tension melt from your body, he knows he’s won.

tl: @freyathehuntress @linnygirl09 @sarx164 @joannaln4 @widow-cevans @444-leqz @laneyspaulding19 @mayax2o07@n3versatisfied @anayaverse @tvdtw4ever

[awhhayden]

Hiiii !!! I want to read something like this. We are innocently cute and Anakin is all protective of his princess adores us 🩷.

It may be like we fell down and we are looking for him to comfort us but he is training with Obi Wan , we find him in the training room he sees us with the torn dress from the blow we took to our knee.

He immediately runs to us hugging us tightly and being the sweet man he is.

[ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ Hii, tysm for the ask! I hope you like it! ]

you had been careless. Anakin had always told you not the climb the shelves in the library. You just couldn’t help yourself, the book was just out of reach.

Now you sat on the floor in the library clutching your thigh, your white nightgown torn and disheveled, with stain of crimson.

you internally cursed yourself, you winced as you grabbed the table to stand, still clutching your leg. You stumbled out into the hallway. “Ani?” you softly called into the darkness. It was late, he’d still be training with Obiwan.

The ship was quiet. Mostly everyone had retreated to their own quarters for the night. You were supposed to be in bed yourself, but insomnia and the urge to indulge in a new book got the better of you. You shook your head, you should have requested a droid for help, an officer, anyone really. But you had always been stubborn.

you quietly dragged yourself through the halls towards the training wing. As you drew closer a feeling of anxiety dawned on you, “was Anakin going to be upset with me?” you thought to yourself.

you finally made it to near the door when you looked down and gasped, you had left a tiny trail of dots of blood, you looked down the hall as far as you could see and it was there, trailing you. Now you really started to panic.

You leaned against the wall and slowly sat down clutching your leg, heart racing. Just then the door to the training wing swung open and a laughing Anakin and Obiwan stepped out.

you gasped and Anakin’s head turned at the sound. His eyes widened at the sight of you, Teary eyed and clutching your leg, all it took was the crimson covering your hands and dress for him to be kneeling by your side within a second. “Darling what happened?!” he asked his brows furrowing. “I..I fell in the library” you wearily admitted, “Were you climbing the shelves again?” he asked tone hinted in something you couldn’t put your finger on.

You nodded, he sighed softly and scooped you up in his arms. Obiwan cleared his throat, “I’ll send a driod to clean this up” He said hesitating slightly, Anakin nodded as Obiwan walked away.

Anakin began walking towards your shared quarters. “Are you mad Ani?” you whispered softly. He looked down at you arching a brow “Mad? Princess I’m not mad, I’m just worried” he said shaking his head. He walked through the doors and gently sat you down on the counter. He kneeled down and began cleaning your cut and bandaging you up. “I’m sorry Ani” you whispered regretfully.

he looked up at you and stood up cupping your face, “you don’t need to be sorry darling, but you could have broken a bone or seriously hurt yourself, Promise me you won’t do that again? you have to be serious this time” he gently joked stroking your hair. You smiled slightly and nodded, he leaned in and kissed your lips softly. As he pulled away he laughed and ruffled your hair, “My clumsy girl” you giggled as he picked you up and spun you around.

The next day, after lunch Anakin told you he had a surprise for you. You arched a brow as he led you through the halls and you were suddenly standing outside the library. “Okay close your eyes” Anakin ordered, You did so and he held your hand leading you blindly into the library. “Okay…open!” you opened your eyes and gasped. There at the first row of towering shelves was a beautiful golden ladder with engraved roses. “I had a rolling ladder installed so you can always reach your books, safely” he teased. “Anakin it’s beautiful…Thank you” you reached out for his hand. “Your always welcome princess” he whispered before putting his soft lips on yours.

TAGLIST : @anakinstwinklebunny @divineani @malinadbbdh @haydensheartt @fredswrite | ask to be added ! <3

[juliet-017]

"Pretty Girl" - L. B.

Lorenzo Berkshire x fem!reader

Minors dni!

Warnings: Choking/breathplay, dubcon, slight edging?, nipple play (like one line), unprotected p n v, fingering, infront of a mirror, first smut so hopefully this hits, lmk if I missed anything

Synopsis: When all of Hogwarts gets together for a end of term celebration it can get loud, chaotic even, causing y/n (no use of y/n besides this) to step out and take a breather. Little did she know she was in for a night she wouldn't be fore getting anytime soon.

a/n: uhm this is my first smut ever.. also ignore the cheesy title im so bad at making titles

Word count: ~1.5k

The room of requirement was filled with smoke and heat, members of every house having got together to celebrate the end of the term, a rare occurrence of differences being set aside. It felt easier to take it in from the sidelines, not used to throwing yourself into large groups and making a scene. You nursed a drink while your friends gathered around you.

Astoria and Daphne having been eyeing different boys from the start, holding slightly arguments, left you to converse with Pansy as you shifted your weight some. “Stop being a spoilsport and come dance,” She practically shouted in your ear for the tenth time in under an hour.

You shook your head, downing the cup quickly. “ ‘m not drunk enough to embarrass myself infront of the whole school.” You reply, not even having enough time to slip away to get a new drink before Pansy has you by the wrist, forcing you out towards the large crowd and closer to the center of it.

And as if fate allowed it, the alcohol hit at the perfect time, feeling yourself let loose slightly, moving to the music at a slow and sensual pace.

“See it's not all bad, is it?” Pansy teased, more so looking around the crowd as if trying to spot someone more than enjoying the moment.

You tried to make any glances less obvious, still aware of your surroundings and glances but a little more carefree than your typical rigid demeanor.

“Finally, there you are!” Pansy shouted exasperated, throwing her arms over Draco's shoulders and snogging him without a second thought.

You halted, giving a flushed wave to the other boys - Theodore and Mattheo - having only had brief conversations with them before, but knowing enough that there's normally a few more in their possy.

“I'm just going to get another drink.” You excuse yourself, using the distraction to hopefully get some air.

All of the common room parties you've gone to have been nowhere near as busy as this, so you thankfully slip out into the corridor to catch your breath and relax.

“And what's a pretty girl like you doing out here all alone?” A voice hums, causing you to quickly jolt your gaze towards it, finding Lorenzo Berkshire right next to you.

“Shit- sorry, I didn't see you.” You reply quickly, your reaction time slowed and wobbly as you take a step back to make some space, shrinking yourself down slightly as well.

“No need for apologies,” He purrs, eyes travel you. “Needed some air?” He questions next, cocking a brow.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. It's just a lot in there.” You stammer, giggling the nerves off as you take to messing with your hair. “I wasn't sure if I'd go back in or-”

“If you need to freshen up I can get you into the prefects lavatory. I know the password.” He cuts you off, raising a brow.

You hesitate before conceding, it might do you some good to have some privacy. And maybe Pansy will give you a pat on the back for already going this far.

The walk is silent, awkward. you can feel Lorenzo’s hand on the small of your back as if to help you keep your balance.

“Why weren't you with your friends?” You ask eventually, looking up at him.

He always seems a bit thinner than the others, Theodore, Blaise, and Mattheo having him beat, meanwhile, Draco held a more lean build.

“I was on my way in, I just needed an extra minute.” He shrugs. “Why weren't you with yours?” He asks back, causing you to curse yourself.

“I was. I just.. snum away.” You argue, crossing your arms in defiance.

Eventually you both make it to the bathroom, you take the opportunity to relieve yourself, unsure of why Lorenzo deemed it necessary to enter the large bathroom with you but you brush it off.

It's easy till you're examining your self shamelessly in the mirror, trying to pick apart what you could do for a quick fix or what you'll just has to hope goes unnoticed.

What you didn't pick up on way Lorenzo approaching, that is until you feel his chest bump against your back, iliicting a gasp from you. “What are you even looking at?” He grumbles, staring into the mirror himself with a squint.

“Myself? What else would I be looking at.” You reply, shrugging at the obvious, trying to ignore the proximity.

“I dunno,” He shrugs, subtly caging you in, a mischievous grin forming on his face. “you just look a bit lost in thought, that's all.”

You shrug, mind lost in a drunken gaze as you look in the mirror for a moment longer. With a huff you make a move to turn around to head back to the party, finally realizing how trapped you are, feeling his length brush up against your ass.

Clearing your throat, you come back to your senses slightly. “W-we should get back to the party, our friends are probably looking for us.” You slur out.

Enzo hums, running a hand through your hair and ignoring your statement, one arm snaking around your waist while the other hand makes its way to your throat, squeezing slightly. “They won't miss us for a few more minutes.” He murmurs, burying his nose in your hair. “Smells delicious,”

A small whine escapes you, observing the scene in the mirror, feeling him grind against you.

“Always so quiet, off by yourself.. driving me crazy.” He mutters, the hand previously on your waist pushing your dress up before resting atop your panties, his thumb pressing down on your clit. “Every single party I see you at you're all dressed up,”

A soft moan escapes you, already trying to move your hips for more pleasure while your eyes get lost in the mirror, feeling your panties be pushed to the side as his fingers run through your slick. “Already so wet,” He purrs, leaving open mouth kisses on the side of your neck. “Are you okay with this?” He breaths the question into your ear, prompting a nod from you.

Teasing your entrance he slips a finger in, continuing with the smooth movements before noticing where your gaze is set. “Watching yourself are you? Filthy girl.” He taunts, clicking his tongue and adding a second finger, drawling out another sound of pleasure from your lips.

“Where else am I supposed to look?” You ask between moans, sarcastic.

“Excuses, excuses,” He chastises, making circles on on your clit as he squeezes your throat slightly.

You begin to feel heat growing in your stomach, writhing some in an attempt to fix it, screwing your eyes shut slightly. The tightening grip of your neck causes you to open them, trying to catch Lorenzo’s eye, he lets go slightly.

When you feel yourself getting close, he pulls his fingers out, prompting you to buck your hips back to chase the lost pleasure. “Please,”

“Patience, pretty girl.” He hums, squeezing your neck again, tighter this time. You listen to him undoing his buckle and pants with one hand, hearing his pants and boxers fall to his ankles.

Taking his length in one hand, Lorenzo pumps his already hard self, running himself between your folds before slowly pushing himself into you. He was much bigger than you expected.

A loud moan escapes you, strangled by the tight grip on your throat. Easing into you he groans, bottoming out. “So fuckin’ tight, so perfect.”

You feel him starting to move his hips, slowly thrusting, his free hand moving up to free one of your tits, palming it. He pinches one of your nipples, a whine slipping past your lips.

Your lips and fingers feel fuzzy from the lack of oxygen, reveling in the feeling of it while being fucked, eyes rolling back.

He lightens his grip slightly, allowing you just enough air to rid yourself of any lightheadedness, feeling your orgasm reapproaching as you clench around him. His hand that was formally fondling your tits moves back down to your clit, making figure eights on it.

“ ‘m so close.” You whine, hands tightly grappling the sink, watching yourself in the mirror with teary eyes from the pleasure. Your mascara messed up as your moans grow louder and more needy, fueled by Lorenzo’s own groans in your ear.

You start to meet his thrusts with your own, gaining more pleasure as your face screws up in ecstasy. You practically scream once you finish, going slack in Lorenzo's hold. He keeps thrusting, chasing his own pleasure, the overstimulation causing you to squirm.

After a few more thrusts he pulls out, covering your back in white, slumping against you.

“You did amazing princess,” He praises, kissing your jaw, both your breaths evening out. “now let's get you cleaned up, yeah?”

[greengoblinswifey]

I want to cockwarm Shawn Michaels in his office and deepthroat him

a/n— oh baby, me too, but while people are in the room🥳

Shawn's lips pressed against yours, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world but he didn’t. In just a few minutes, he’d be having a meeting. You moaned into the kiss, your hands wrapping around his neck as your tongue massaged his.

“Mm—isn’t your meeting soon?” you asked, between kisses.

“Don’t worry about that sweetheart, just sit on my dick and look pretty,” his gruff voice retorted.

Your eyes widened. He quickly unbuckled his belt, easing his hard cock from his boxers making your breath hitch. His hands skimmed down your back, settling at your hips before lifting you with ease, guiding you onto him.

“You comfortable, sweetheart?” he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with amusement.

You barely had time to respond before there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Shawn called, completely unfazed, while you tensed on his cock. He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily around your waist as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

A few NXT talents stepped in, greeting Shawn with respect, eyes flickering curiously to you. You kept your expression composed, but underneath the table, your fingers dug into his arm as you shifted slightly, the hardness of him impossible to ignore. You could feel every inch, every vein, you felt so full and it took everything out of you not to jump off him.

Shawn, the professional he was, didn’t falter. His free hand casually rubbed slow, absentminded circles against your clothed clit, an infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he continued speaking.

“You okay, sweetie?” he whispered under his breath, low enough that only you could hear.

You swallowed hard, keeping your voice steady. “Mhm. J-just fine.”

He chuckled softly, the sound almost smug. “Good girl. Sit tight on that dick, won’t be long.”

And so, you did—trying your best to keep still, even as he made it impossible.

Shawn sat back in his chair, his grip firm on your waist as the meeting carried on like all was well. But beneath the table, where no one else could see, his hips bucked up, thrusting harshly into your pussy. The movement sent a jolt through you, your fingers tightening on his arm as you forced yourself to stay composed.

“You’re shaking, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low. “Be a good girl and be still. Wouldn’t want everyone to know how much of a slut you are, would we?”

Heat crawled up your spine, your breath catching as his hand smoothed over your hip, grounding and tormenting you at the same time. You bit your lip, forcing down the whimper threatening to escape, eyes fixed on the conversation in front of you while your body betrayed you completely.

Minutes stretched on like hours, each slight movement of his hips sending another wave of frustration and pleasure through you. You knew he was enjoying this—knew it from the way his fingers flexed against your waist, from the low chuckle he let slip when you squirmed a little too much.

Finally, Shawn clapped his hands together, signaling the end of the meeting. The NXT talent murmured their thanks, filing out one by one until the door clicked shut behind them.

As soon as you were alone, Shawn turned you in his lap, his hands framing your face as he pulled you into a teasing kiss.

“See how easy that was?” he murmured against your lips.

You exhaled shakily, narrowing your eyes at him. “Easy for you.”

His grin widened, fingers brushing along your jaw as he leaned in again. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m not done with you yet.”

He put you on your knees with ease and leaned back in his chair, his fingers tilting your chin up as he looked down at you with a smirk. His thumb traced along your jaw before he tapped it lightly.

“Open up, sweetheart,” he murmured, his cock hard, covered in your juices and right at your mouth.

You obeyed without hesitation, taking him into your throat as his eyes darkened. His fingers ran through your braids as he murmured quiet praises.

“That’s my good girl,” he hummed. “Suck that cock.”

The knock at the door made you freeze, your breath catching as you instinctively moved to rise, but Shawn’s grip tightened just slightly. His voice remained calm, steady, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“I didn’t tell you to get up,” he muttered. “Keep sucking.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could take his cock out of your mouth and protest, he called out, “Come in.”

The door swung open, and you pushed yourself to take him deeper, every nerve in your body buzzing. The person greeted Shawn, then hesitated.

“Where’s Y/N? Thought she was here.”

Shawn didn’t even flinch. “Oh, she left a little while ago.”

A pause. “Huh. Didn’t see her leave.”

Shawn merely shrugged, smoothly steering the conversation elsewhere as he spoke like nothing was unusual. But you could feel the tension in his cock, the way it twitched, the way his fingers flexed slightly, as if testing his own restraint. You stayed quiet, bobbing your head slowly as you listened to the conversation above you, knowing exactly what you were getting away with.

After what felt like an eternity, the door finally shut again, signaling that you were alone. Shawn let out a slow breath, his head tilting down to meet your gaze.

“That,” he murmured, “was perfect. You were perfect.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the praise. It willed you on and you took him even deeper, the sound of gagging filling the room. You worked him over as he moaned, lips then your tongue trailing along his shaft and your hands massaging his balls.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart. You want my cum so bad, don’t you?” he groaned.

You hummed around him, deep throating his cock with your watery gaze locked on his.

“Swallow my cum then. Swallow every drop, baby.”

With a deep, ragged moan that went straight to your pussy, Shawn’s warm cum shot down your throat. You guided him through his orgasm, sucking as you swallowed every drop. You didn’t stop until you felt him soften in your mouth, then you took him out with a pop, a trail of spit connecting you to him.

He leaned down slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips and tasting the remnants of his cum. His smirk was evident even as he whispered against your mouth—

“Such a good girl for me.”

[waitsobs]

THE LONG GAME ⋆˚࿔ chapter forty-four

When popular actress y/n l/n's private account gets exposed, it is revealed that she has a crush on one of the girls from the girl group katseye. y//n tries to de-escalate the situation, but makes it worse, and loses her chance with the girl. The only way she think of winning the girl over is by playing the long game. 

NOT IN A FRIEND WAY

Y/n laid in her bed, bored, watching old SpongeBob episodes. She couldn't believe that someone had hit her car, which gave her a broken leg. Maybe the universe was telling her to stop trying with Megan.

Suddenly, a knock echoed through the house, followed by the soft murmur of voices. A few moments later, the door clicked shut, and silence followed

Then, another knock at her door.

She figured it was one of her friends checking in on her. “Come in,” y/n called, her voice betraying a hint of curiosity as she pushed herself up in bed.

The door creaked open, and in walked Megan, her bright ginger hair falling around her face, her footsteps hesitant. She shut the door behind her.

“Megan? What are you doing here?” y/n asked, raising an eyebrow, though a small flutter of excitement danced in her chest at the sight of the girl.

Megan glanced down, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her shirt. “Lara told me what happened,” she murmured.

“Oh, of course she did.” She glanced away, her gaze sliding to the window, trying to push back the flood of emotions. “It’s no big deal, honestly. I’m okay… aside from the broken leg and the bruises.”

She dared a glance back at Megan, only to find her staring directly at her with an intensity that made her stomach tighten. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words, but it was clear Megan had come to talk.

“You can sit down if you want,” y/n said, gesturing toward the spot beside her.

Megan nodded, stepping forward cautiously. She sat next to y/n, her body slightly turned.

“I heard… I heard you were on your way to my house when it happened,” Megan began, her voice quiet but insistent. “Lara didn’t tell me why. I would’ve texted you, but, well, you blocked me everywhere.” She shot y/n a pointed look. “Did I do something wrong? Is it because of you and Minji? Are you two... dating now?”

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Minji, but she shook her head. She felt Megan’s hand twitch on the bed beside her, and without thinking, she reached for it, placing her palm gently over Megan’s, fingers brushing lightly across hers. The contact was electric, sending warmth through her body.

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong,” y/n said, her voice lower now. “It’s just... complicated.”

y/n took a steadying breath before continuing. “The day Minji kissed me I didn’t kiss back because I had realized something. And then, everything exploded on Twitter...”

Megan’s brows furrowed in confusion. “But why’d you block me?”

y/n sighed. She felt the weight of her manager’s decisions pressing on her. “It wasn’t my choice. My manager told me to block you, said you were bad press. I didn’t care about that, but... he made me do it. I didn’t want to block you. I just... didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

Megan’s expression softened. “Oh. I thought I did something wrong again.”

“No. It was my bitch ass manager,” y/n chuckled, and Megan’s lips quirked into a small smile, causing y/n’s heart to flip. The tension in the room finally started to ease.

Megan’s gaze lingered on y/n, searching her eyes. “You said you realized something. What did you realize?”

y/n’s breath hitched. Her fingers trembled as she gently lifted her hand from Megan’s and placed it on her cheek. Megan’s skin was warm under her hand, and y/n couldn’t help but let her thumb caress Megan’s soft skin. She looked at her, deeply, with so much more than words could say. 

She leaned in slowly, feeling the pull between them, and Megan followed suit. The kiss came as a soft collision of lips, hesitant at first, then deeper, more desperate. It was like all the unspoken emotions between them—months of silence, misunderstandings, and heartache—melted away in that one moment. Their lips moved together, neither of them wanting it to end.

When they finally pulled away, their breaths heavy and mingling, y/n rested her forehead against Megan’s. She closed her eyes, feeling her heart race wildly in her chest. “The day Minji kissed me, I realized I couldn’t ignore my feelings for you anymore. That’s why I was on my way to your house that night. I was going to tell you, but, well... we all know how that turned out.” She smiled softly, the confession lingering in the air.

“Megan...” y/n whispered, the weight of the moment finally hitting her. 

“Mhm?” She hummed, her voice soft.

“I like you,” y/n breathed, unable to keep it inside any longer. “Not in a ‘friend’ way.

Megan’s face lit up, her smile stretching wide. “Well, I sure hope so because we did just kiss.”

y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes, but her smile was just as big giving her a gentle punch on the shoulder.

Megan’s smile softened, and she cupped y/n’s cheek, her thumb brushing across her skin. “I like you too.” 

y/n’s heart soared. It felt like she could do a thousand backflips and still never get the rush she was feeling now. “What if I said I loved you?” she whispered.

Megan’s eyes widened, and she grinned like she’d just won a million dollars. “Well... i would say I love you too, but do I get another kiss if I do?”

y/n rolled her eyes playfully, but her lips were already curving into a smile. She leaned in once more, pressing her lips to Megan’s in another kiss until they finally pulled away

“I love you too, y/n,” Megan said, her voice light but sincere. She kissed y/n quickly on the lips before pulling back. “When you get that cast off, let me take you on a proper date.”

y/n beamed. “Sounds like a plan,” she said, excitement bubbling in her chest.

Just then, Megan’s phone buzzed, and she groaned,glancing at the screen. “I have to go,” she sighed. “I forgot me and the girls have to do something today.”

y/n nodded understandingly. “It’s okay, I get it.”

Megan smiled, standing up. But before she left, she turned back to y/n, her eyes soft and full of affection. She crossed the room quickly, kissing y/n one more time.

“I love you, bye,” Megan whispered as she pulled away.

“I love you too,” y/n whispered back, her heart still racing. She pressed her hand to Megan’s cheek, giving her one last kiss before she left.

As the door closed behind Megan, y/n let out a quiet cheer.

masterlist ⭑.ᐟ next

taglist: @saysirhc @urmom2314 @artrizzler19 @yeetaberry127 @yjiminswallet @meiphobic @meizinisnumberone @meganskiendielsbtc @soobnotfound @linnnsworld @1luvkarina @raviolisupremacy @peranoo @vrtualstar @ssamlovr @gtfoiydlyj @firstclassjaylee @kristalag @xochitlisbest  @yazzyminny @esccecvp @snoopyiz @vivilvr @fearnotfearmore @apersonwhowrites @blushmimi @cassiespoiler @wtfisthisnoclueman @7purinzer @sunshinez4  @caratinluv | taglist opened

[brookediamonds]

hi I was wondering if you could make an axel fan fic where the reader and axel has a secret relationship, she is the one wearing those Vr goggles and when she sees miguel becomes axel she starts acting like a high school girl thank you so much. :)

you are more than just a dream | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: You and Axel have recently began seeing each other in secret, with all the drama that's happened with your group of friends, you two decide to keep things under wraps. That is until you find yourself in a situation that outs your relationship.

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: None, flufff

not my gif

You and Tory walked into the back of Miyagi-Do already dressed in your white gi's for today's afternoon practice.

"Oh no," you exhale seeing the boys with a computer and a desktop set up by the sparring deck.

"What are these dummies doing now," Tory chuckles seeing her boyfriend wearing a pair of large goggles that looked like sunglasses along with other equipment on his body.

Sam stood along with Hawk and Demetri behind the computer watching the screen as Robby and Miguel fought on the deck.

"What are you guys doing?" You ask setting your gym bag down on the grass. When Robby lands a point on Miguel, they step back from each other.

"Come see for yourself," Robby says with a slight smirk, sliding the goggles up to rest on his forehead.

You make your way up the steps, letting the blonde boy dress you in the weird gadgets.

"They're virtual reality goggles," Demetri explains as Robby strapped you in around your legs and hands. "We're able to upload each other's fighting moves and routines allowing you to fight anyone we program in here."

Robby slips the goggles over your eyes, everything still where it's supposed to be with Miguel standing in front of you.

"Miguel is wearing the headphones that tell him what moves to throw out so he can mimic your ideal opponent."

Small green lettering was typed up on the sides, 'bbrROS' credited on the right side of what you were seeing.

"It's just Miguel—" you begin to say but suddenly your heart stopped at the sight in front of you.

Axel stood across from you, his usual serious expression softened by the amused tilt of his lips as he waved at you. Your boyfriend, your secret boyfriend, stood across from you in his white gi.

"Uh, Y/n… you okay?" You could hear Miguel’s voice, distant outside of the simulation.

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks as your mind scrambled.

"Yeah! Totally fine!" You blurted out, shaking the tension out of your body before forcing yourself into a fighting stance. "Let's go."

"Alright," Axel smirks holding his hands up ready for you to strike first.

You tried not feel ridiculous as you and Axel began to circle each other, knowing the boys were watching along with your other two friends.

You're normally quick and calculated, but in this moment? Miguel disguised as your current lover was throwing you for a loop.

"Why do you keep smiling?" Sam asked in real life, her voice pulling you back for a second. "You never smile when we fight."

Oh god, stay cool, Y/n.

"It's just, um, really realistic, very impressive," you laugh nervously, trying to cover being flustered.

You take a step, almost hesitating before throwing a strike, but in the VR, Axel dodged smoothly, his smirk growing.

Your stomach flipped. They know. They totally know.

“What’s wrong?” Miguel’s voice asked, but all she could see was Axel’s teasing expression.

This is so unfair.

You sucked in a breath and went for a kick which VR Axel (Miguel) caught it effortlessly. "You sure you’re focused?"

Hawk narrowed his eyes at the stutter stepping girl. "Why are you standing so close?"

You barely registered that in the VR, Axel had stepped forward, looking down at you with that infuriatingly soft gaze he always gave when no one else was watching.

Miguel crossed his arms. “Dude, you’re totally blushing.”

Robby leaned in. “And mumbling.”

Tory gasped. “Did you just giggle?”

As the team drilled you with questions, Axel made his way into the backyard of the dojo seeing you dressed in a technical get up, sparring around with Miguel.

"What's that?" Axel comes up to Hawk and Demetri seeing his face on the laptop. "Is that...me?"

Demetri nodded, his eyes still glued to the screen. "Yup. We programmed Miguel to look like whoever we want. And right now she see's you!"

Axel’s brows furrowed as he leaned in, watching your flustered movements. He’d seen you fight countless times, but never like this; hesitant, distracted, downright nervous.

His gaze flickered to the screen, where a near-perfect digital version of himself smirked at you. The way you kept staring, shifting on your feet, biting your lip. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

"She looks like she’s in a daze," Sam giggles watching your distracted state. "I think Y/n might have a crush on our boy here."

"You think so?" Axel asks suppressing a shit eating grin.

"Oh you know something," Tory raises an eyebrow. He shrugs, dropping his backpack before walking over to the deck.

He gestures quietly to Miguel for the headset, switching before Y/n can notice.

While Miguel and Axel switched places, you were still desperately trying to shake off the distraction. Going for another kick, VR Axel blocked it smoothly.

Then, without warning, he stepped closer. Your breath caught in your throat, his face lingering close to yours.

"Miguel, move—"

"Having fun, sweetheart?" Axel's voice rang through your ear.

You froze.

That was Axel’s voice.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. He switched with Miguel. That meant—Oh god.

He was actually standing in front of you now. Inside the simulation, Axel took another slow step forward.

You instinctively took a step back, but your virtual surroundings remained the same, his intense gaze locking onto you like he had all the time in the world.

"Wh-when did you—?" you stammered.

"About thirty seconds ago," Axel mused, raising a brow. You so desperately want to reach out for his touch, but then remember the amount of eyes around you.

Your boyfriend begins to reach out for you, when you take another step back from him with a frown.

"What about?..." You vaguely gesture to your teammates afraid they might catch on to what you've been hiding.

"They already know," Axel murmurs closing the distance between you again.

"Oh," you swallowed, your heart still pounding in your chest. "I just didn't want things to change."

"They won't," your boyfriend reassures you, his hand reaching for yours, softly intertwining your fingers causing your friends to perk up. "In fact, all of them are smiling."

Axel uses his pointer finger to slowly tilt your head back, his face only centimeters away from yours.

"You don't have to hide anymore," he whispered before capturing yours lips with his, right there, in the middle of the simulation.

Your entire body jolted as warmth flooded through you. Your hands flew up to his chest on instinct, eyes fluttering shut.

An eruption of collective gasps filled the air, causing you to pull back from Axel, a blushing mess. He gently lifts the goggles off your eyes, your gaze finally meeting his.

"Now it all makes sense," Miguel says nudging Robby's side.

"You two, are too cute!" Sam grins staring up at you both with giddiness while Tory smirked knowingly, arms crossed over her chest.

"Oh my god, this is why you were acting so weird?" Hawk cackled. "Dude, you were blushing so hard, I thought you were about to pass out."

You smiled softly, wrapping an arm around Axel's waist.

Demetri shook his head in amusement. "Honestly, the signs were all there. The longing stares, the weird tension, this—" he gestured between you and Axel. "We should’ve figured it out sooner."

"How long have you two been together?" Robby asks as you and Axel made your way down the deck.

"Maybe two months," you shrug fully removing the headset as Axel moved around you to help strip you out of the gear.

"Two months?!" Miguel repeated, eyes wide. "And none of us noticed?"

Axel smirked, unstrapping the last of the gear with ease. "Guess we're just that good."

"Or we're just that oblivious," Demetri muttered.

Tory nudged Sam with a knowing look. "I knew it. I knew something was up."

Sam grinned. "I thought she was getting suspiciously soft on him."

"I was not!" You respond with a frown crossing your arms over your chest.

"Right, you blushing and giggling up there was you not being soft," Hawk teases you.

Axel wraps his long arms around your shoulders from behind you, tugging you into his chest as you grumbled under your breath.

"Whatever, don't listen to them," Robby waves his hand to dismiss Hawk. "Congrats, guys."

"Seriously, we're happy for you two," Miguel wishes.

You let out a deep breath, your boyfriend pressing a firm kiss to the top of your head.

"See, everything's fine," Axel reassures you as your friends move on and start strapping up Tory with the simulation. You lean back in his hold, your hands coming to grab at his forearms.

"At least now we can kiss whenever we like," you smile. Axel's chest hits your back as he lets out a laugh.

"Absolutely," he agrees.

[svnluns]

she never stay ; b.eilish ✧₊⁺

I was, once again, at this club that my best friend Scarlett would take me to. She always wanted to go for drinks during the weekend.

The parties that she attended were always really loud, filled with many drunk people.

She grabbed my hand and leaned me toward the dance floor so we could have some fun.

After what felt like an eternity of pretending that I liked what was happening, I turned toward her, telling her that I was going to grab a drink.

A part of this lie was true, but it was also because I noticed this girl sitting alone. My eyes had been on her since the beginning.

She was standing across the room, her body leaning against the bar, dressed in an oversized T-shirt and matching pants, with some sunglasses on her head. She was definitely not a party girl. She was sipping on what looked like a cocktail, her fingers tapping against the glass in rhythm with the music. She looked bored, like she had no clue what she was doing here.

I tried to avoid eye contact with her as I made my way toward the bartender.

I was really excited to drink since it was the only thing that would help me survive this party.

As I was scrolling on my phone, the bartender handed me my drink, and I saw a shadow appearing next to me. My breath hitched when I turned my head to meet her beautiful blue eyes. She looked even prettier up close.

“I noticed you staring at me,” she whispered in my ear, taking a seat next to me.

“So did you. Do you really think I didn’t catch you stealing glances at me?” I replied with a playful smirk.

A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she turned her head toward me. “Okay, I have to confess… maybe.”

Without giving me time to respond, she added, “So, are you here alone or with someone else?” She seemed really interested in my answer.

“Uh, I’m with a friend of mine,” I replied, taking a sip of my drink.

“Boringgggg. It would be more fun if you were alone,” she said, rolling her eyes and smiling to herself.

“What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely curious about what she meant.

“Hm, nothing,” was all she said before taking my drink from my hand, placing it on the table, and grabbing my other hand to lead me through the crowd.

“Let’s dance,” she added, looking at me to make sure I wasn’t leaving her—but how could I when her grip on my hand was so tight?

The music pounded around us. Her hands found my waist, pulling me closer, our bodies moving in sync. Every touch made my skin shiver. I could smell her perfume, feel her breath on my neck.

I needed her.

But she seemed a bit like a player.

Her nails dug slightly into my hips, like she possessed me.

The room became blurry as she leaned in, taking me out of my trance, her lips inches from mine.

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

I turned my gaze toward her, thinking about what I could say to Scarlett, but I was sure she would understand.

I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

She smirked, leading the way toward the exit. No words were needed—we both knew exactly what was about to happen.

We ended up in the parking lot, in front of a black Porsche Taycan. She pulled out the keys from her pocket and opened the door for me, letting me take a seat in the passenger seat.

She made her way to the driver’s seat and started the engine, heading toward her place.

After a 30-minute drive, we finally arrived. She opened the door for me, taking my hand in hers as we walked to the entrance. That’s when I realized we were at a hotel. She led me up the stairs, and I followed her until we reached the second floor—room 120.

The second the door closed behind us, she threw her keys on the floor and was back on me. Her fingers gripped at my clothes like she couldn’t get enough.

Her hands dug under my shirt, pulling it off as her nails left marks on my breasts. Her lips traced their way to my neck as she pushed me toward the bed, making me land on it urgently.

She got on top of me, lifting my dress slightly so she could see my black panties that had been peeking out.

My lips kissed her neck urgently as she started grinding against my thighs. Her hands now grabbed my breasts as I whimpered into her mouth, begging for a kiss.

My fingers found their way to her chest, grabbing one of her breasts, causing her to moan over and over.

She pulled my panties to the side, sliding her fingers deep inside me.

“You look so beautiful,” Billie whispered, kissing my neck one more time, making me even wetter than I already was.

I couldn’t stop moaning, throwing my head back and digging my nails into her.

I finally let go, tears streaming down my face as I lay breathless on the bed.

She took care of me, cleaning both of us up before sliding into bed and falling asleep.

When I woke up, the room was still dark. I checked my phone—it read 7 AM.

I reached out instinctively, expecting to feel the warmth of her body beside me.

But surprisingly, the sheets were cold.

My stomach twisted as I realized something was wrong.

I sat up, scanning the room for any sign of her, but the only thing left of her was the faint scent of her perfume on the pillow beside me.

She was gone.

No note. No whispered goodbye. No lingering kiss.

Just gone.

I pulled the sheets around myself, resting my hand on the pillow, staring at the ceiling, waiting for a proper time to leave.

Without leaving someone behind this time.

[causeimhappinesss]

Rome's Devotion (part 8)

Warnings: Emperors Geta & Caracalla are warnings themselves, (slight?) blasphemy, slight non-con/dub-con, misogyny (Ancient Rome, so…)

Pairing: Geta x Christian!reader x Caracalla

Words: 6,3k

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language (I’m french), so you can correct me if you spot some mistakes :)

Masterlist

-

A week later

The senator’s villa has been a sanctuary, a gilded cage where the bars were soft silks and fine foods, where the only danger lay in the knowledge that it could not last. For the past week, I have lived as I once dreamed noblewomen did. My mornings have been slow, filled with the scent of fresh bread and honeyed fruit, my afternoons spent reclining on cushions, admiring the glint of gold bracelets on my wrists, gifted by the Emperors themselves with new clothes. The stola I’m wearing is a pure, immaculate white, far too pristine for a girl like me. The fabric is so fine and light that it seems to glide over my skin like a second layer. It follows my movements with a grace I never thought I could possess. At the shoulders, golden brooches hold the fabric in place, intricately carved with a craftsmanship that betrays their worth. A purple silk belt cinches my waist, a detail that unsettles me more than I care to admit. This color is reserved for the powerful, for those who rule. I am nothing like a noble Roman woman, and yet, here I am, dressed like one. Over my shoulders, a palla of lightweight wool cascades in an elegant drape, deep midnight blue, with golden threads woven into patterns so delicate they seem to dance in the light. I brush my fingers over the fabric. It’s soft. Far too luxurious. Nothing like the coarse garments I was used to wearing. Then, at my feet, finely crafted leather sandals, adorned with tiny gemstones. I have never owned shoes so precious. I almost fear ruining their beauty by walking. And then, there are the jewels; a rigid gold bracelet encircling my wrist, a delicate torque resting against my skin.

During this week, away from the twins, I have laughed without glancing over my shoulder, dined without fear of unseen eyes watching my every bite. No whispers. No threats. No emperors. But all illusions must break. The arrival of the Praetorian guards comes as no surprise, yet my body reacts as though it has been struck. A sharp, unspoken dread coils in my stomach, twisting tighter with every step I take toward the waiting carriage. The two men stand rigid, their crimson cloaks heavy over their broad shoulders, hands resting lightly on the hilts of their gladii. They do not speak. They do not need to. Their presence alone is enough. Claudia stands beside me, her hand brushing against mine.

“It will be fine…” she whispers with a soft smile.

I wish I could believe her. Unfortunately, I know the Emperors, they way they behaved. Silently, I follow them, my rare belongings carried by their strong arms, while two others stand behind me, just in case… In case I would be tempted to flee. Outside, I say goodbye to Senator Aurelius and get inside à lavish carriage, meant for nobility, with its wood polished to a fine sheen. The moment the doors close, sealing us inside, I realize how tight my chest feels. I grip the folds of my dress, nails digging into the soft fabric. Claudia watches me carefully, as if weighing her words. Soon, the wheels creak against the stone roads, the steady clatter of hooves echoing in the enclosed space. After a long silence, my friend and servant – God knows how strange it sounds to me – exhales and leans forward.

“I heard something yesterday.”

I lift my gaze and frown, not sure about what to expect.

“What?”

She glances toward the small opening in the carriage wall, as if ensuring the guards outside cannot hear us.

“It’s about your adoption.” She mutters.

My stomach clenches, since I was expecting something related to those doomed Emperors. It was obvious.

“What about it? What do you know?”

She hesitates, her fingers curling into the folds of her own dress and she clears her throat.

“The Emperors made a deal with Senator Aurelius.”

A sick feeling washes over me as I press my hand to my stomach, before I take a breath.

“A deal? I guessed that, but they refused to tell me the ins and outs of their agreement.”

“In exchange for adopting you, Senator Aurelius was given privileges. Lower taxes. More land beyond the city walls. Greater wealth.”

I blink, the words sinking into me like stones thrown into deep water. The surface stills, but beneath, everything stirs. Everything seams logical. It’s beneficial to him as long as he leaves. When Death will grab him, the Emperors will inherit all his belongings, his wealth, his lands, which means more control to defy the Senate.

“And when he dies?” I asked, for confirmations.

When Claudia looks away, that is all the answer I need. I let out a breath, staring at the rich red fabric lining the walls of the carriage. This had never been about family, about offering me a place in noble society. This had always been a transaction. Aurelius benefits while he lives, and when he dies, everything reverts to them. The perfect arrangement. A temporary prize for the senator, an investment for the emperors. My hands tremble in my lap and Claudia watches me.

“Are you alright?”

I laugh softly, but there is no humor in it.

“You tell me that I was bought and sold like a fine horse, and you ask if I’m alright?”

She flinches.

“I thought you should know.”

I close my eyes for a moment. Of course, I should know. In pinch the bridge of my nose and then slide my hand on my forehead, since I can’t pull my hair, styles in a bun, almost everything hidden under my white veil.

“You’re right… Forgive me, Claudia. Everything is just strange, stressful, and I know they are trying to win my affection.”

“You’re fin, you will be fine…” she whispers as she takes my hand to stroke it.

“Not really. There's nothing nicer than a man who tries to sleep with a woman who resists him. They won’t give up.” I sigh, in a tired tone.

The carriage continues its slow, relentless journey toward Palatine Hill. My sanctuary slips further away with every passing moment. Not long after, the Imperial Palace looms before me, its marble walls shining under the midday sun. The week away has done nothing to soften its imposing presence. If anything, it feels even more suffocating now that I know what freedom tastes like. Once the carriage door is open, a Pretorian guard helps me to get out of it. Claudia stands beside me, her hands clasped tightly together. She looks calm, but I know better. Her grip on her own fingers is white-knuckled. A palace official steps forward, his expression neutral.

“The Emperor Geta is expecting you.” His gaze shifts to Claudia.

“You, girl, are to report to the Imperial Quarter to learn the new rules for such quarters.”

Claudia barely hesitates before dipping her head. She turns to me, her lips parting slightly, as if she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she squeezes my arm in a brief, warm, reassuring manner, before she follows the official into the depths of the palace. I watch her go, an uneasy weight settling in my chest. The moment does not last. Two Praetorian guards step forward, motioning for me to follow. Quickly, we roam through the palace, to the throne room, just as I remember it: vast, grand, meant to intimidate. Thick columns rise toward the high ceiling, where intricate frescoes tell stories of conquest and divinity. The scent of burning incense lingers in the air.

Little girls dressed in flowing white tunics move gracefully before me, their small hands scattering flower petals across the marble floor. The gesture feels more like a ceremony than a mere welcome, and my unease sharpens. Geta sits on his throne, the seat beside him vacant. His posture is relaxed, one arm resting on the gilded armrest, the other draped over his knee. He watches me approach, his lips curving into a smile. As I near, he rises. His steps are slow, deliberate, while his predatory gaze never leaves mine. He takes my hand in his and lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. The gesture is courtly, practiced, yet his grip lingers a moment too long. I can’t help but arch an eyebrow.

“I don’t understand this welcome, my Emperor.”

His smile widens.

“You are no longer a servant. You are a guest of the Imperial Palace, one of its few permanent residents. A position of great importance.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I offer a carefully measured nod.

“How generous.”

If he should ask my head for such an answer, he chuckles.

“Come.”

With a tilt of his head, he gestures for me to follow. The Praetorian guards remain at a respectful distance as he leads me through the palace. The path he takes is unfamiliar, deeper into corridors I never had access to before. I glance around, noting the lavish tapestries, the polished bronze oil lamps lining the walls.

“If I may ask, where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He replies with a secretive smile.

“Life has never been kind when it comes to surprises.”

He glances at me with his deep brown eyes, amused by my answer. Obviously, his life has almost been always pleasant, far from the regular burdens citizen have to go through everyday.

“You have nothing to fear.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”

His laughter is soft. “You wound me.”

I slightly lick my lips, cross my arms and blinks. Suddenly, my mind goes to Caracalla, the strange Emperor, cruel but so delicate at the same time.

“Where is your brother?”

Something flickers across his face, satisfaction, perhaps?

“Ill.”

The answer is simple, but the weight of it settles uneasily in my chest. I should not care. I should not even ask. And yet, before I can stop myself, I do.

“Is it serious, Augustus?”

Geta halts mid-step. When he turns to face me, his smile has shifted into something more knowing.

“Are you worried, Y/N?”

I scoff, lifting my chin and take a deep breath.

“Hardly.”

“You hesitated.”

“I was merely being polite…”

The Emperor chuckles, his laughter soft, teasing. His ring-adorned fingers, worth more than a dozen slaves, caress his perfectly shaven chin.

“Ah, so you do have room in your heart for your Emperors. You care.”

This time, I roll my eyes, before I try to stay as polite as I can. Thankfully, he’s not looking at me.

“I just don’t want him to die before I get the chance to beat him too with a shrub branch.”

Geta bursts out laughing, the sound bouncing off the marble walls, showing his perfect white teeth. I’m sure this man takes care of himself perfectly: shaving everyday, never forgetting to brush his teeth, applying creams and lotions to keep that beautiful skin. In his mind, he was probably blessed with Venus.

“I’ll be sure to tell him that. It might just be the motivation he needs to recover.”

“You do that…” I say dryly.

My answer is enough for him to smirk.

“Perhaps I should fake an illness as well. Would you ask about me too?”

I tilt my head, pretending to consider it.

“Hmm. No, I’d simply assume you were playing dead to avoid responsibility.”

His laughter comes louder this time, rich and warm.

“Clever and ruthless. I must say, you suit the palace already. But be careful, that lack of respect won’t be tolerated all the time.”

I shake my head, exasperated.

“Where are we going, Emperor Geta?”

His eyes gleam with mischief.

“If I told you, that would ruin the surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

“And yet,” he says, stepping closer, “I have a feeling you’re going to like this one.”

I narrow my eyes. “If it involves a pit of wild animals, I’m pushing you in first.”

He grins, completely unbothered.

“Noted. Now, let’s continue before my dear brother rises from his sickbed and steals your attention again.”

I let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Yes, because I’m simply yearning for his company.”

“You see?” Geta smirks, leading me forward. “You do like us.”

By the gods, just keep walking!

His laughter follows me, light and unbothered, as we disappear deeper into the palace. I glance sideways at Geta as we walk.

“Anyway, what’s wrong with him?”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t answer right away. For a moment, I wonder if he’ll brush off the question, but then he sighs.

“A strange disease of the mind. One only the gods understand.”

“That’s vague.”

He chuckles and licks his lips, before sliding a hand on my lower back, a gesture made for a wife or a concubine… I shiver, bite my lips and act like if I’m not feeling his touch. His warm touch. So warm…

“If you’ve ever tried to understand my brother, you’d know vague is as close to the truth as anyone will get.”

I shake my head.

“I always heard it was a disease that spread from his crotch to his brain.”

Geta stops walking. For a second, I think I’ve offended him, but then his shoulders shake with laughter. His eyes gleam as he turns to me.

“That rumor…” he says, voice full of amusement, “was my doing.”

I blink, shocked by the revelation, since it sounds so mean and probably revengeful. Everyone knows they love each other enough to rule together. However, there’s often tensions and competition between them.  

“You…?”

He nods, smug.

“Started it a few years ago, after an argument. I never expected it to last this long, but here we are.”

I stare at him, caught between disbelief and admiration.

“You slandered your own brother.”

“Oh, come now. He deserved it.” Geta’s smirk deepens. “Besides, it’s not entirely false. He does have a way of thinking with the wrong head.”

Jesus Christ, he’s talking about the head of his manhood…

If I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I recall the warmth, softness and wetness of her brother's length in my hand, I try to keep my expression neutral. It was so disgusting, and yet…

No, no, no! I've got to stop here!

Instead of thinking about that, I snort.

“And the actual reason? For his brain health? If there even is one.”

His amusement fades slightly, though the humor never fully leaves his eyes.

“His healers and caretakers say it’s tied to his birth. Something about the way he entered the world, how he was carried in the womb. I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe the gods played dice with his mind before he ever took his first breath.”

I study him, searching for any sign of mockery, but he looks almost thoughtful.

“You believe that?”

“I believe there’s no sense in him, some days.” Geta’s mouth quirks at the corner. “And when there’s no sense, it’s easier to blame the gods.”

I let out a low hum.

“Convenient.”

“Isn’t it?” He grins, then gestures ahead. “Now, enough about my poor afflicted brother. We’ve arrived.”

I follow his gaze and see an ornately carved doorway ahead. Whatever is waiting for me behind it, I have a feeling Geta enjoys knowing I don’t expect it. The heavy doors swing open with a low groan, and the guards step aside to let us pass. Beyond them lies a room unlike anything I have ever seen. My breath catches. The walls soar high above, adorned with frescoes so vivid that they seem to move under the flickering torchlight. Scenes of gods and mortals entwined in divine struggles stretch across the ceiling, their faces immortalized in rich pigment, each brushstroke capturing moments of triumph and despair.

Statues line the vast room, their marble forms frozen in time. Some bear the proud expressions of conquerors, others the serene poise of philosophers. A few are so lifelike that, for an instant, I almost expect them to blink, to exhale, to step down from their pedestals and join us. Beyond them, golden urns and jeweled ornaments glisten, treasures gathered from the farthest reaches of the empire.

I can’t stop myself from staring. The sheer weight of History presses down on me, a thousand stories woven into the fabric of this place. The room smells of aged parchment, warm beeswax, and faint traces of incense.

“Do you approve?”

Why would he ask such a question? It’s not like if I could say “no” if I wanted to. He’s the emperor. Never contradict him. Especially when it comes to his riches, his wealth or politics and wars. Geta’s voice pulls me back. He stands a few steps ahead, arms folded, watching me with that same amused smirk he so often wears. I hesitate, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of my wonder.

“It’s… impressive.”

“Only impressive?” He cocks his head. “Not magnificent?”

I refuse to answer, refusing to indulge him. I know how he thrives on admiration.

He chuckles, unbothered by my silence, and gestures toward a section of the gallery.

“This is usually reserved for those who can truly appreciate it. I thought you should see it.”

His words send a flicker of unease through me.

“Why such an honor?”

Instead of answering, he steps toward a raised pedestal where an ancient scroll rests beneath a sheet of glass. His fingers hover just above the case, reverent, as if the mere presence of such a relic demands a kind of silent worship. Then, without warning, he speaks:

“At regina gravi iamdudum saucia cura

vulnus alit venis et caeco carpitur igni.

multa viri virtus animo multusque recursat

gentis honos; haerent infixi pectore vultus

verbaque, nec placidam membris dat cura quietem.”

(But the queen, long since smitten with a grievous love-pang, feeds the wound with her lifeblood, and is wasted with fire unseen. Oft to her mind rushes back the hero’s valour, oft his glorious stock; his looks and words cling fast to her bosom, and longing withholds calm rest from her limbs.)

The words echo softly in the chamber, filling the empty spaces between us. His voice is steady, smooth, each syllable shaped with precision. The beautiful words roll off his tongue as if he was born speaking it, as if it belongs to him. I know these verses. It takes me only a moment to place them… Virgil. The Aeneid. I remember my father saying a few things to me, words he memorized, from the rare books he bought and sold to the richest families of the Empire.

I glance at him, surprised.

“You know poetry.”

A slow smile spreads across his lips.

“Do I seem incapable of it? I was educated with the finest teachers of the whole Empire, little lamb.”

I cross my arms.

“I thought your interests were more… material.”

He chuckles, turning back to the scroll.

“I love many things. Poetry among them. I appreciate arts, they are an interesting way to deliver messages, when a speech is not enough.”

His fingers skim the glass, tracing invisible patterns over the delicate parchment beneath.

“Do you know why I chose this passage?”

I hesitate, the words replaying in my mind. Dido, the queen of Carthage, tormented by love, consumed by longing and despair. A wound festering in her veins, a fire eating away at her, leaving no peace, no rest. I arch a brow.

“Because you enjoy the suffering of women?”

He laughs, a deep, genuine sound.

“A fair guess, but no.” His gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, the amusement in his eyes dims. “Because fire consumes, but it also forges.”

A chill runs down my spine. Not from fear, but from something else, something deeper, something I don’t want to name. Quickly, I look away, my gaze drifting back to the statues, the frescoes, the relics of centuries past. He’s making an effort. And I don’t know what to do with that. I force a smirk, tilting my head.

“If you’re trying to impress me, I’ll admit it’s unexpected.”

Geta’s grin returns, sharp and satisfied.

“Unexpected? Good. I like to keep you guessing.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice.

“And tell me, did it work?”

I lift my chin.

“You’ll have to try harder than that, Emperor. I am no concubine or whore.”

His laughter follows me as I turn away, but I catch the glint in his eyes, like a man who has found a game he very much enjoys playing. However, I follow him, as we walk through the gallery, our steps echoing in the vast chamber. Geta moves with an ease that only a man born to rule can possess, but his shoulders are a fraction tenser now, as if weighed down by thoughts he rarely speaks aloud.

“Do you know what it takes to raise an emperor?” He asks so suddenly, his voice is measured, almost idle, but I catch the sharp edge beneath. I blink, not sure why this subject, this conversation. “It isn't all poetry and marble halls.”

I glance at him.

“Of course, Augustus.”

His free fingers brush absently over the gilded rim of a bronze shield displayed against the wall, the other still on my lower back. The polished metal reflects his face, distorted by the curve.

“My father believed in strength above all else. Strength of body, strength of will. He thought softness had no place in an emperor's heart.”

I stay quiet, waiting.

Geta exhales, eyes fixed on the relics before him as if looking into the past.

“He made sure we understood that. We were boys, but that didn’t matter. We had to endure.”

A muscle in his jaw tenses, then releases. His hand drops from the shield.

“You ask anyone in Rome what it means to be emperor, and they’ll tell you about power, about armies and riches. They don’t know what it costs.”

I study his profile, the sharp lines of his face cast in shifting light.

“Did Caracalla endure the same?��

A shadow of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, humorless.

“Obviously.” He tilts his head slightly. “But my brother was… different. Not as strong. Not as tall. And his mind…” He trails off, choosing his next words carefully. “Let’s say it has always been more fragile than mine.”

He shifts, looking at me fully now, too close to me, his chest brushing mine.

“So I took most half of the hits meant for him. Whenever I could.”

The words settle between us, quiet and heavy. I don’t answer immediately, only watching him as something unfamiliar coils in my chest. I never thought he could be protective of his older twin, loving him this much. For a second, I assumed he was lying; the gleam in his eyes shared another story. He was sincere.

“That’s admirable… To take the blows out of love. To protect him when no one else would.”

He lets out a small breath, something almost like a laugh, but it lacks real amusement. "

“You say it as if you wouldn’t have done the same.”

I hesitate, lowering my eyes to the ground.

“You would.” he says before I can argue. “You have that in you.”

“It was my brother, not me. He was the braver one.” I murmur, my throat suddenly too tight.

Geta studies me for a long moment, I feel his burning gaze on me, until I look at him again. Never in the eyes. Then, slowly, he leans in, just enough that his voice is lower, quieter.

“You see yourself as a quiet mountain. Steady. Enduring.” His gaze drifts over my face. “Personally, I see something else.”

His lips barely curve, but his voice is sure.

“Yes, I see a mountain on the verge of breaking open. A woman who doesn’t yet know that the fire inside her is already stirring, already waiting to pour forth.”

A strange heat licks at my skin, though the torches burn no brighter than before. I lift my chin, refusing to be drawn in so easily.

“And what if you’re wrong?”

His eyes glint with something unreadable.

“I never am.”

What confidence!

“I wanted to show this beautiful place. You’re allowed to come her whenever you want.”

As I nod, we leave the beautiful room. The corridor stretches ahead, silent except for the faint echo of our footsteps. His pace is unhurried, but there’s a quiet authority in the way he moves, the weight of his position resting easily on his shoulders. When we reach my new rooms, in the imperial quarters, he stops and turns slightly, his gaze settling on me with an unreadable expression.

“I have some business to attend to.” he says. His voice is smooth, practiced, as though he’s said these words a thousand times before. “But we’ll meet again later.”

I nod, my fingers brushing against the carved wooden door frame.

“Of course, my Emperor.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close. For the briefest moment, he seems as if he might say something else. Instead, he gives a small nod. That’s when I sense another presence. A shift in the air. A weight in the silence. I glance toward the far end of the hallway just as another figure emerges from the shadows. Caracalla.

He strides toward me with none of Geta’s controlled grace, his movements raw, uncalculated. He wears no sign of his imperial station, no paint on his face, no elaborate toga or layers of silk with gold, the same material as his jewels. Just a simple garment, unadorned, practical. The image is almost jarring. For the first time, I see him as a man, rather than the ruler whose name is spoken in fear and reverence. His cloudy gaze flicks between me and Geta.

“You should have told me she was back.”

His voice is rougher than his brother’s, edged with something I can’t quite place. Geta pauses, his tone edged with something close to impatience.

“I did. You weren’t well.”

Caracalla’s brow creases. He hesitates, then exhales, pressing two fingers to his temple.

“Right. Yes.”

I seize the moment before the tension can thicken.

“Augustus…” I say, my voice steady.

His blue eyes lock onto mine, searching, though for what, I can’t say. A heartbeat of silence stretches between us. Then Geta takes his leave, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, I am alone with Caracalla.

“You look better than what I thought.” I offer, testing the waters.

His lips twitch in something that isn’t quite amusement.

“Do I?”

“You’re standing, at least.”

A breath of laughter escapes him, barely there, but real.

“I suppose that’s an improvement.” Then, after a pause, he adds: “My head still aches.”

I reach for my door, the brass handle cool beneath my fingers.

“Then I hope you will find relief soon.”

But before I can step inside, he moves. A swift, fluid motion, no hesitation, no warning. He crosses the threshold behind me, shutting the heavy door with a quiet finality. The space seems smaller now, the walls pressing in. I turn to face him, keeping my expression impassive despite the way my pulse stirs.

“You didn’t have to follow me in…”

Don’t irritate him, don’t get him mad, stay quiet! I lecture myself.

His shoulders lift in a slight shrug, the gesture almost lazy.

“You didn’t stop me.”

I fold my arms, tilting my head.

“Perhaps I was too polite.”

His smirk deepens, but there’s something less playful in his eyes. He rubs his temple absently, as if trying to banish whatever lingers there.

“Did you see healers, Majesty?”

“They gave me a drink for it.” he mutters.

I study him, noting the faint tension in his jaw, the way exhaustion clings to the edges of his features.

“Something to dull the pain?”

His mouth twists, humorless.

“Something to keep me docile, more likely.”

A strange feeling tugs at me then. This is Caracalla, the emperor, the feared, the loathed, the unpredictable. And yet, at this moment, he looks anything but invincible. The man standing before me is not the cruel tyrant whispered about in hushed voices. He is tired. Frustrated. Human. And despite myself, I don’t step away. Caracalla watches me with something unreadable in his gaze, his fingers still pressing at his temple. He looks paler than usual, the furrow in his brow deeper. His head must be pounding.

“My mother taught me a way to ease headaches.” I offer, my voice softer than I expect. “If you want, I can show you.”

His expression doesn’t change immediately. He studies me, suspicious as ever, as if I might use this moment of vulnerability to do something unexpected. I hold his gaze, waiting.

“You?” His tone is edged with doubt.

“Yes. It works, but you don’t have to try after all.”

He exhales, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally gives a single nod.

“Fine.”

I don’t wait for him to change his mind. Turning toward the small wooden chest that holds my few belongings brought here when I was with Geta, I search for what I need, not even taking the time to admire the beautiful room I will leave in. The cold marble floor sends a shiver through me with each step, contrasting with the softness of the embroidered rugs scattered across the room. The walls are adorned with intricate frescoes, which depicts mythological scenes bathed in golden light. Massive silk curtains filter the daylight that comes from the open balcony, casting dancing shadows over the bed’s draperies. Everything here exudes opulence and delicacy.

My fingers brush against the polished wood, smooth ivory: combs, a hairbrush, and a cloth. I push past them, searching for the small jar of oil tucked at the bottom. The scent escapes the moment I unseal it, lavender, myrrh, a touch of bitter citrus. It carries the memories of home, of my mother’s voice whispering remedies over my forehead, of warm hands easing away pain. I turn back to him. He has not moved, but his gaze has lowered, fixed on my hands as if trying to decipher what comes next, while I walk to the bed. The bed itself is immense, larger than anything I have ever slept on, even in the house of Senator Aurelius. Draped in fine linen and embroidered covers, it looks so plush that I hesitate to sit on it, afraid of ruining its perfection. When I gaze on the side, a vanity made of precious wood stands near the window, topped with a mirror made of polished silver, where my blurry reflection seems almost unreal. Carefully, I press my behinds on the mattress, feeling how perfect it will be for my back, my body.

“Please, sit with me.” I say, settling on the edge of the bed. The young Emperor hesitates, then follows. When he’s close to me, I pour drops of oils on my finger and warms between them, before reaching for him. He doesn’t flinch when my hands press against his forehead, though his muscles are tight beneath my touch. Slowly, I draw small, firm circles, spreading the oil across his temples, feeling the ridges of tension beneath his skin. His breath is shallow at first, measured. I glide my fingers along his brow, smoothing the deep crease between his eyes, down to his temples, then to the base of his skull. He exhales, a quiet sound, barely there, but I hear it.

“Lie down, my Emperor.”

He does, shifting until his head rests near my lap. He could have kept some distance. Instead, he slides lower, letting his head settle against my thighs.

My breath stills. The heat of his body seeps through the fabric of my stola. His weight is solid, heavy, pressing against me in a way that feels… wrong. Improper. If I should push him away, I don’t find the strength to. So, I let my hands return to their task, kneading gently at his scalp, rubbing slow patterns against his temples, his forehead, the base of his skull. His hair is thick beneath my fingers, curling in unruly waves and reveal its dark roots, free from procedure to lighten them. The scent of the oil clings to him now, mingling with something else, something unmistakably him: warm skin, faint traces of perfume.

Slowly, his breath deepens and the rigid set of his shoulders softens.

I reach for a comb, running it through his curls with careful strokes. He remains still, allowing it, his body sinking further into the bed, into me.

“My mother used to tell me stories when I was little…” I whisper, more to myself than to him, just like my mother used to do, in order to soothe me. “She said they made the body forget its aches.”

A long silence. Then…

“What kind of stories?” His voice is quieter now, stripped of its usual sharpness.

I pause, fingers still tangled in his hair.

“Ones about the gods, about nymphs and heroes. There was one she told often… About a nymph who loved the wind and the nature.”

I begin, my voice low, barely above a whisper. My fingers move as I speak, twisting small sections of his hair, braiding, unbraiding, tracing idle patterns along his scalp. The story flows from my lips as my hands move through his curls, grounding him, grounding myself. His breathing slows. His lips part slightly.

The flickering candlelight casts shadows over his face, softening the hard edges, revealing something almost delicate beneath the usual cruelty. His lashes are thick against his cheekbones, his lips full, his features perfectly Roman and yet touched by something more. A trace of oriental blood lingers in the set of his jaw, in the darkness of his natural hair, in the faint golden undertone of his skin.

Like this, he looks almost innocent.

A cruel illusion.

I swallow, fingers tightening briefly in his hair before loosening again.

I should hate him.

I should never find beauty in him.

Yet as my hands move gently, as my voice weaves the tale my mother once told me, I feel something unfamiliar curling in my chest. Something dangerous. Something I refuse to name.

Caracalla’s breath slows, his body slackening against me. His head is still heavy on my lap, his face no longer tense with pain. His lashes rest against his skin, dark crescents softened by the dim light of the oil lamps. His breathing evens out, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For a moment, I think he has surrendered to sleep. Then, his fingers move. A slow, deliberate stroke over my thigh. The touch is light, but not accidental. A quiet test.

I press my hand over his, gently pushing it away.

“Don’t enjoy it to the point you want to take advantage of this…” I murmur, my voice calm, though my pulse betrays me.

His lips twitch into a wry smile. His eyelids lift just enough to reveal blue eyes, watching me with that strange, knowing glint.

“Too late,” he says, voice still thick from drowsiness.

The words send a flicker of heat through my chest, but I say nothing. I don’t need to. He shifts, lifting his head from my lap, then pushing himself up on one elbow. The weight of his gaze is heavy, searching. I remain still, my hands resting against the fabric of my tunic, my fingers curling slightly into the cloth. His knuckles brush my cheek, a barely-there touch. A shiver races down my spine before I can stop it.

His fingers move, cupping my jaw, his palm rough and warm against my skin. The scent of oil lingers on him.

Then his lips press against mine.

A slow, measured kiss.

Not what I expected. Not from him.

I don’t pull away.

His lips are warm, his breath steady. For a heartbeat, I let myself answer, let myself press into him, my own mouth parting just slightly. The moment stretches, intimate in a way that unsettles me more than if he had simply taken what he wanted.

Suddenly, something shifts.

His grip tightens. The kiss deepens, his body pressing closer, the heat of him bleeding into me. His fingers tangle in my hair, his breath grows heavier, as the need sharpens the edges of his touch. A sound escapes me, a soft, reluctant moan, before I press my hand against his chest and turn my face away.

���Enough…” I whisper. My heart pounds against my ribs.

For once, he listens.

He breathes out, something unreadable flashing across his features. Without a word, he lets go and leans back. His arms slide around my waist, pulling me against him as he lies down. His body remains close, his warmth pressing through the fabric of my tunic, but he makes no further move.

The chamber is silent. Only the faint crackle of the oil lamp remains, the distant echoes of voices and footsteps from the corridor beyond. He turns his head, his gaze finding mine in the dim light.

“Tell me your real name… Again…” His voice is quieter now, the sharpness gone.

I hesitate. The air between us is thick, charged with something I don’t want to name.

Still, I whisper it.

He repeats it slowly, the syllables unfamiliar on his tongue, reshaped by his accent. He pronounces it again, softer this time, more carefully.

A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips before I can stop it.

His mouth twitches, mirroring mine. A shadow of something close to tenderness flickers in his expression. But it vanishes too quickly for me to grasp.

-

Caracalla experienced ASMR, like scalp check videos, way before it became a thing! haha

I've already started the next part and all I can say is that you're going to love it! At least, I hope you do! 🤭​

Don't forget to comment and tell me what you think. ❤️​

By the way, I've also started writing something with Fred Hechinger, but it's going to be very long and probably cut in two parts. Of course, my priority is Rome's Devotion, but that new fanfic will be coming soon!

-

My AO3: BetrayedWriter

My Instagram: carolinemertz_

-

⚔️ Taglist: @duckyhowls @babey-fruit-bat, @punk-in-docs, @t6gse370, @angelcloudxxsblog, @miragens-para-uma-vitoria, @himikoquack, @chloe-skywalker, @bocreep, @littlemissholy, @yeoldebytche

Ask to be added in the list! :)

[ragnarockz]

Can you write something on subby agatha

Can I?! 😁😁

(hehehehe 👠👠👠)

Agnes and Vidal threw the front door open, clambering inside. The two of them were definitely tipsy off of their beer and wine; a little full from the food they ate and the dessert they had on their date. They managed to close the door behind them, taking a breath in the hallway. They were mumbling and giggling like little girls, everything funny, everything was silly to them. Agnes kicked her boots off quickly; a pro at getting them off in record time. Vidal tried to bend over to take her heels off to follow Agnes' lead when she was quickly interrupted.

The house went quiet as Agnes bent down onto her knees, hands landing to rest on Vidal's heels. She could feel the burning in her stomach, not from her beers or the food but, that deep burning pit of being undoubtedly turned on. Vidal sensed it too as she remained quiet, the alcohol fog quickly clearing as she soaked in the sight below her. She straightened up a bit, ran her right hand through her hair and cleared her throat.

"I think you should show me just how much you love my heels, Daddy..."

The house creaked; nothing stirring. Agnes swallowed, her hands gently shaking as she ran them up to the back of Vidal's accentuated calves. She heard Vidal exhale softly, leaning back now against the wall. Agnes' hand went back down to the floor, palms flat as she lowered herself down even further.

Her tongue was pressed flat against Vidal's shoe, licking in one long stroke up to her ankle. Vidal cursed under her breath, trying to keep her legs straight. She cleared her throat again,

"I didn't tell you to stop. Keep going. Lick them from toe to heel until I tell you not to."

Agnes nodded her head in silence, her ponytail gently brushing against Vidal's foot. Vidal could feel the tickling sensation on her ankle, the top of her foot. She looked down, watching Agnes' tongue lick up the patent leather and then move back down. She was moaning as she did it, eyes closed and relishing in being told what to do.

It was done without hesitation, without a warning. Vidal reached down, bent herself forward to grab hold of Agnes' ponytail. She heard Agnes whimper; her face now having to turn up to look at the agent. Vidal smiled, the wine from earlier making her feel bolder, mightier. She smiled down at Agnes, her grip getting tighter.

"You're gonna do what I say, no excuses..."

She pulled Agnes up from her knees, standing back up. Hair still in Vidal's grasp, she was slightly hunched, being pulled around like she was on a leash. Vidal held tight as she slipped off her heels; her height evening out now with Agnes'. The detective's eyebrows shot up in a silent question and Vidal could only smile wider,

"Put them on, Baby..."

"Vidal-"

The agent tugged on Agnes' hair before letting it go, almost throwing Agnes off kilter.

"What did I say? No excuses."

So Agnes stood there in the hallway, eyefucking her partner as she slipped on Vidal's heels. She tried her best to steady herself, stand confident. When the fuck was the last time she had worn heels? It didn't feel too uncomfortable or unnatural; only because Vidal was making a game out of it. Sexualizing it. She was promising something that Agnes didn't have to feel shame in. Humiliation? Maybe, but that would seep into sex and not guilt.

It was Vidal's turn to sink to her knees, hands traveling down Agnes' thighs against her pants. She stopped when she got down on all fours, just like Agnes had done moments ago. She glanced back up at Agnes and locked eyes with her. Agnes' face, she could tell even in the darkened hallway, was bright red. She loved when the detective allowed her to push her in such a way, make her unable to say no. She loved showing her that she was still just as much her even with lacey underwear on, high heels.

She copied her own instructions, licking the same shoe from toe to heel. Agnes' hands shot down; rubbing at herself through her pants. Her mind felt like it was doing somersaults. Here she was in 'nicer' cargo pants, a 'nicer' plaid shirt but still obviously more masculine than Vidal. She felt good, felt like herself. And Vidal had dominated her way into getting her to slip her black fuck-me pumps on. Agnes' moan ricocheted off of the walls, causing Vidal to smile as her tongue made another lap on her shoe. She pulled away, looking up at Agnes who slowly looked down at her.

"No excuses...those stay on tonight, just for me...ok, Baby?"

And Agnes nodded her head; mind filling with obscene amounts of pleasure as the thought of Vidal fucking her in heels turned inside of her. So help her god, she would hike up those fucking stairs in them if she had to just so Vidal could do exactly what she said she would do to her.

[mirisss]

To Show Up, Is To Care

BND Woonhak x female! reader 

Wordcount ≈ 2.2k

Warnings: A little angsty but mostly fluff, 

Summary: Woonhak meets a girl named (Y/n), he falls in love instantly with her, but despite his best efforts, she won’t give him a chance, that is until he finds out why she won’t give him a chance. Woonhak gives it one final try to show her that he is serious.

Third Person POV

The scent of freshly ground coffee filled the small café, blending with the hum of conversation and the occasional clatter of dishes. It was late June, the kind of warm, lazy summer that made the world feel just a little bit softer.

(Y/n) preferred her job here. It was predictable, routine, and didn’t require much emotional investment. Customers came and went, she brewed their drinks, took their orders, and wiped down tables. That was it.

But then there was him.

“Good morning, partner!”

She looked up from the espresso machine to find Woonhak grinning at her, apron tied loosely around his waist, hair slightly tousled from the summer breeze. He always came in like this—bright, energetic, a little chaotic. A stark contrast to her own quiet presence.

“I made you something,” he announced, sliding a cup toward her.

She eyed it suspiciously. “I didn’t ask for anything.”

“Yeah, but I’m trying to impress you.”

(Y/n) let out a slow sigh. “You could impress me by actually starting your shift on time.”

Woonhak laughed, unfazed. “You’re cute when you’re annoyed.”

She turned away, pretending to focus on the machine, but her cheeks felt warm.

He had only started working at the café a month ago, but he had already made himself impossible to ignore.

~~~

Over the next few weeks, Woonhak settled into a habit of bothering her.

It started with small things—bringing her coffee she didn’t ask for, sneaking extra whipped cream onto her drinks, playfully bumping into her while they worked.

Then, it escalated.

“(Y/n),” he said one afternoon, leaning dramatically against the counter. “Hypothetically speaking, if I were to ask you out, how fast would you say no?”

She didn’t even look up from restocking the syrup bottles. “Instantly.”

Woonhak clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “Ow.”

“Good,” she said, closing the cabinet door.

“Come on,” he whined. “One date. Just one.”

She turned to face him, arms crossed. “Why are you so persistent?”

“Because I like you,” he said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And that was the problem.

Because she liked him too.

But liking someone meant expecting something from them. And she had learned, long ago, that expectations led to disappointment.

So she shut him down.

Every time, without fail.

But he never stopped trying.

~~~

One evening, the café was nearly empty, the sun dipping low on the horizon, casting long golden streaks through the windows.

(Y/n) was wiping down the espresso machine when Woonhak plopped onto a stool across from her.

“You’re quieter than usual,” he observed.

She glanced at him but didn’t respond.

He propped his chin on his hand. “You know, if you ever wanna talk about something, I’m a really good listener.”

(Y/n) hesitated.

There was something about the way he said it—soft, unassuming like he wasn’t expecting anything in return.

She didn’t know why she spoke, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

“When I was a kid,” she started, voice almost too quiet, “my parents used to throw these big birthday parties for me.”

Woonhak perked up. “Yeah?”

She gave him a hollow smile. “They’d invite my entire class. Dozens of kids. They all said they’d come.”

A pause.

“They never did.”

The smile dropped from Woonhak’s face.

She looked down, fiddling with a sugar packet. “I spent every single birthday sitting by the front door, waiting. Until my mom would come and say, ‘Maybe next year.’” She let out a bitter laugh. “But next year never came.”

Woonhak’s hands curled into fists.

She didn’t notice.

“My parents stopped trying after I turned ten,” she continued, voice steady but distant. “I stopped trying too. I don’t invite people anywhere. I don’t celebrate anything. Because people never show up for me. My parents didn’t even come to my graduation,”

A silence stretched between them.

Then—

“I would’ve shown up.”

Her eyes snapped to him.

He was looking at her with something she didn’t recognize—something warm, something certain.

“I would’ve come,” he said again, softer this time.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

But old habits die hard.

She turned away. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

But Woonhak had already decided—it mattered to him.

~~~

A few days later, Woonhak was on a mission.

Her birthday was coming up, and she didn’t even mention it. If anything, she was avoiding the topic.

So he did what he had to do—he planned something himself.

He roped in their co-workers. He called the few friends she did have. He even got his own friends—Jaehyun, Sungho, Riwoo, Taesan, and Leehan—to help.

“She’s gonna be so mad at you,” Riwoo warned as they hung up decorations in Woonhak’s tiny apartment.

“Yeah, but she’ll get over it,” Woonhak grinned.

And then, when everything was in place, he made the call.

“(Y/n), I need help. It’s urgent.”

“…What? Where are you?”

“My place. Just hurry.”

Minutes later, she arrived, confused and breathless.

She pushed open the door—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

The room erupted.

Balloons, streamers, a cake—people smiling, laughing, calling her name.

She froze in the doorway.

Her heart stopped.

She felt like a child again.

But this time, she wasn’t alone.

Tears welled in her eyes as she turned to Woonhak, standing in the center of it all.

“I told you,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ll always show up for you. Always. No matter what it is—a date, a celebration, a dentist appointment, or just showing up at home.”

A breath.

“So… will you give me a chance?”

(Y/n) didn’t think.

She ran into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder, clutching him like he might disappear.

Through quiet sobs, she whispered, “Yes, I’ll give you a chance.”

And for the first time in years, she believed someone when they said they’d stay.

Because Woonhak was different.

And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t alone anymore.

For a moment, everything was still.

(Y/n) was in Woonhak’s arms, her tears soaking into his shirt, her heart pounding louder than the cheers that had erupted around them. She couldn’t believe this was real.

Then—

“WOOOHOOO! FINALLY!”

A chorus of claps and whistles filled the tiny apartment as Woonhak’s friends lost their minds.

“OUR BOY DID IT!” Jaehyun cheered, fist-pumping the air.

“Took him long enough,” Taesan laughed, clapping Woonhak on the back.

“Now this is a reason to celebrate,” Leehan grinned.

(Y/n) pulled away slightly, blinking through her tears as she looked around the room.

They were all smiling at her.

She swallowed hard. She wasn’t used to this. People showing up. People celebrating her.

Woonhak’s hands rested gently on her shoulders. “You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded, though she wasn’t sure how to process everything.

The past few minutes felt surreal—like a dream she hadn’t let herself have.

She never expected Woonhak to keep trying after she rejected him so many times. She thought he would give up, that eventually, he’d decide she wasn’t worth the effort.

But he didn’t.

He was still here.

And so was everyone else.

She wiped at her eyes and let out a breathy laugh. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

“I told you,” Woonhak grinned, tilting his head. “I always show up.”

Her chest ached—not in the painful way she was used to, but in a way that felt new, like something broken inside her was finally starting to heal.

Jaehyun clapped his hands together. “Alright, enough of the emotional stuff! Let’s PARTY!”

The room exploded into life.

The music was turned up, the lights were dimmed just enough to make everything feel warmer, and (Y/n) found herself actually enjoying a birthday for the first time in years.

Woonhak’s friends were all insanely fun.

Riwoo had somehow convinced half the people in the room to play a chaotic game of charades, where Sungho kept acting out the most ridiculous scenarios that had everyone crying with laughter.

Taesan and Leehan had taken over the tiny kitchen, somehow turning it into a makeshift drink station.

(Y/n) wasn’t used to this.

The warmth. The noise. The joy.

She had spent so many birthdays alone, she had convinced herself that she didn’t need them. That birthdays didn’t matter.

But sitting on Woonhak’s couch, a slice of cake in her hands, surrounded by people who had chosen to be here for her—she realized just how much she had missed this.

Woonhak plopped down beside her, stealing a bite of her cake without warning.

“Hey!” she protested, swatting at him.

“What? You weren’t eating it fast enough,” he teased, licking frosting off his lip.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t bother arguing.

They sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, watching his friends attempt a ridiculous dance-off in the middle of the living room.

Then Woonhak turned to her. “Are you happy?”

(Y/n) looked at him. Really looked at him.

She had spent years convincing herself that people didn’t care. That no one would ever stay.

But Woonhak had stayed.

And as she sat there, surrounded by laughter, warmth, and the boy who refused to give up on her—she realized something.

She was happy.

For the first time in a long, long time.

She smiled softly. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Woonhak beamed, nudging her shoulder. “Good. Because I plan on celebrating your birthday every year from now on.”

(Y/n) let out a small laugh. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Nah,” he shrugged, grinning. “Not when it’s for you.”

And for once, she let herself believe it.

Because this time, someone had finally shown up.

And maybe, just maybe—he always would.

~~~

Two days after the party, (Y/n) stood in front of her mirror, smoothing out the fabric of her dress for the tenth time.

She wasn’t nervous.

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

But as she checked her phone for what had to be the millionth time, she realized how tightly she was gripping it.

WOONHAK 🐰💛:

On my way! (7:45 PM)

Leaving now! (7:46 PM)

Actually already left—just in case traffic is weird. (7:47 PM)

Okay, I’m five minutes away. (7:50 PM)

Wait, now I’m four minutes away. (7:51 PM)

Three minutes! (7:52 PM)

I’m outside!! (7:53 PM)

She let out a small, amused sigh.

Of course he showed up early.

When she stepped outside, he was already waiting, leaning against the railing of her apartment steps, hands in his pockets, bouncing slightly on his feet.

The second he saw her, his face lit up.

“Wow,” he said, eyes wide. “You look… perfect.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but her cheeks felt warm. “You’re saying that because you like me.”

“Nope,” he grinned. “I’m saying that because it’s true.”

She shook her head but smiled as he held out his hand.

And just like that, they went on their first date—a late-night walk by the river, ice cream in hand, and endless conversations that neither of them wanted to end.

And just like that, Woonhak continued proving to her—day after day—that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It became their thing.

Woonhak always showed up early.

For dates, for movie nights, for grocery trips—everything.

When they had plans, he would text her 100 times beforehand, just to remind her that he was on his way.

It was silly. It was so Woonhak.

And it made her heart ache in the best way possible.

Because she had spent years convincing herself that people didn’t care. That no one would ever show up for her.

But Woonhak did.

Every single time.

And she loved him for it.

~~~

A year later, (Y/n) still couldn’t believe how full their tiny apartment was.

Friends filled every corner, laughter and warmth spread through the room, and decorations hung from the walls.

Woonhak had done it again—another birthday, another celebration, another reminder that she wasn’t alone.

As the night wound down and their friends slowly trickled out, (Y/n) stood by the door, watching them leave with a soft smile.

She turned to find Woonhak standing in the kitchen, stacking empty plates, humming to himself.

Without thinking, she walked over, giving him a back hug. They stayed there for a minute before Woonhak turned around to face his girlfriend. 

He turned, eyes flickering with curiosity. “What’s up?”

(Y/n) didn’t answer.

Instead, she leaned in, kissing him softly.

Woonhak froze for half a second before melting into it, his hands instinctively resting on her waist.

When she pulled away, he blinked at her, dazed.

She smiled, heart full.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Thank you for always being there for me.”

Woonhak’s lips curled into a grin—the kind that made her stomach flutter, the kind that felt like home.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, pulling her into his arms.

And for the first time in her life, (Y/n) knew—

She would never have to doubt that again.

Because Woonhak would always show up.

And that was all she ever needed.

[anthorius]

Where do we go from here? Chapter 2

Sevikaxfem!reader

Summary: You reminisce about how your mother did everything she could to try and make sure you had the best chance of hopefully leaving Zaun some day. Leading you to now where you finish up your shift topside before heading back down to the undercity to try and find out more about the new councilor. Running into some familiar and unfamiliar faces.

A/N: I wanted to get this posted on Valentines day but we're just gonna have to settle for the day after. I hope those who celebrated had a much better day than I did lol.

Anyway, I rewatched S2 with a literal notepad trying to jot down anything cannon that seemed important. Like I COMPLETELY forgot Jinx burned down the last drop before going to kermit. And really I know this fic doesn’t need this much work, but I’m an insane person. Idk if I mentioned but OC / Reader is from Zaun, I personally cant FATHOM the idea of Sevika after 41 years on this planet hooking up with her oppressor lmao ONE slip up even ONE smart ass comment that reinforces our class divide in a fight (cough Caitlyn cough) and I’d personally bounce so I can’t imagine her sticking with a Piltie lmao. Like I love Mel to bits, she’s hot as fuck, face card unmatched, but some of yall act like she wasn’t looking at Victor all of S1 like she was ready to call him a slur lmao. But I get Melvika I really do, put some of the baddest bitches together, I’m not mad in theory but in execution??? Small side eye lol (Also I'm fully on board with the idea Lest is trans like her VA and Ran in NB.)

You can still remember that day so clearly. The brisk early morning breeze and the slight chill it caused. The air up there was so… different than what you’d grown so accustomed to in Zaun. Wind collects on your small face, blowing back two little braids tied off with bows. The cobbled terrain slowly smoothing out into easily walkable pathways, buildings not too far ahead. You recall the warmth of your mothers hand surrounding your own. How on occasion she’d stumble a bit and lean on you, and like a good daughter you’d brace your small body to help her find her footing. The buildings were a lot closer now, and once you both hit the main road she stopped to slowly kneel and look you in the eyes.

Patting down your school uniform, she tries to make sure you look as tidy as possible, straightens your socks and double knots your small shoes.

“Okay honey, do you remember what I told you?”

you nod 

“Do you remember the landmarks I told you to look for?”

you nod

“And you have the paper with everything on it incase you get lost?”

You turn and reach into a zipped pocket on your small satchel, pulling out your emergency notes before looking back at her. 

“Good.” She returns the paper to its safe spot in your bag.

You remember just how confusingly sad she looked, the slight increase in the tightness of her grip on your small shoulders. 

“Oh my big girl” she moves to hold both your hands in hers. “You’re going to have a great first day okay?” Your only reply being a small squeeze of her hands. 

“You’ve got to get ready to go Ivy.”

…

“C- can you walk with me a little more?” The hesitation clear on her face, she fights it but you can see the tears starting to form. She looks away to view the city before you both, early morning sun just barely creeping in before looking at you in the small Piltover school uniform. She can’t help feel a sense of pride on how good the uniform looked. The stains, popped seams, and broken zipper no longer an existing factor of this second hand uniform she’d manage to get her hands on. Perfectly steamed and pressed, no one would ever be able to tell it wasn’t new. 

Her eye’s drift to her own worn in clothes, colors dingy, and very much so unbelonging up here. 

“I- I cant honey… Mommy’s sorry.” 

“I’ll be waiting right here though, in this same spot once you get out, okay?” The disappointment in your large brown eyes was something she could hardly bare. She tries to think of something better to say, anything to make this better, but before she can the sound of a door from one of the homes near by shuts.

And there stood another child, right around your age in a similar uniform. 

…

“Come on.” She slowly brings herself to stand, trying to gently approach the child.

“Excuse me! Little one!” 

The Vastayan child turns to face you both and greets you with a polite, “Yes ma’am?”

“I couldn’t help but notice you and my daughter have on the same school uniform, and today is her first day, she’s quite nervous.” You look up shyly at the child, quickly meeting eyes before looking back at the ground.

“I can’t walk with her all the way to the school, would it be alright if my daughter walked with you?”

The child looks between you both. 

“Sure! I can walk with her!” They exclaim before holding out a small hand and you can’t help but look back at your mother.

“Go on love” 

With a brave step you take the child’s hand. ��What’s your name?” they ask with optimistic eyes, giving your hand an affirming squeeze. 

You glimpse back at your mother before turning to the child, “My name is Nimah.” 

You look back your mom who is smiling wide and nodding her head in approval. 

… “Whats your’s?”

“I’m Lestair!” And the child starts walking with you in tow, excitedly chattering at you. Both you and your mothers nerves ease a bit. Turning around you give a small wave to your mom, which she returns.

And as soon as you two round the first corner she finally sheds the tears she’s been fighting back. Gods she hoped this would work, she needed this to work. 

“She’ll be okay. Come on now, gather yourself” spoken with a deep inhale and wipe of her face.

She turns behind her, seeing the bricked path leading back to Zaun, she looks back to your direction at the beautiful gleaming city. And on hesitant legs she begins the walk back. 

In the lower region of Piltover sits the Atherium Library, a beacon of ancient tomes and archives. The vast domed ceiling, crafted from stained glass allows light to cast in  hues across the marble floors. Positioned under the grand library clock is a large orrery turning slowly in silent precision. Looking up you recognize its 12 minutes past your shift, you needed to leave. Now. 

Trying your best to rush and grab your things without looking too frantic you make your way outside of the Library doors. The blinding sun hindering your vision for just a brief moment before a sharp whistle pulled your focus. Shielding your eyes you look for the source until you spot tall white ears under a veranda. 

“Lest!” you quickly trot over to your friend. “Hey! I don't have much time to chat, the first council meeting should be letting out soon and I want to try and catch the new-”

Interrupting she hands you todays paper documenting the introductory council meeting, listing the names and districts of the new board members, all of which happened… yesterday.

“-councilor. “

“Sorry dear, looks like you got your dates mixed up.”

Letting out an exhale of disappointment your shoulders drop as you toss the paper on the table she was leaning on. “…Gods above.”

“I really wanted to see who Zauns new councilor was” you mention while taking the seat in front of her.

“Thats what happens when you’re constantly wringing yourself thin, you lose track of the days.”

“I know, I do really it’s just- this is without a doubt the best job I’ve ever had. And I like covering shifts! Your people pay such good money for surprisingly little labor.”

“Yes, yes so you’ve said my little archivist” she mutters while taking a sip from the drink she’d previously ordered.

“What has it been. Two months? And they still haven't found out about...  Nimah?”

You quickly silence her with a sharp “tsst! I love you dearly, stop talking.”

“There’s no one near this side of the corridor, we’re fine. I suppose I’m just… shocked is all. Through you I've been able to see just how... gullible my people can be.”

You shift forward, resting your elbows on the table, “Such blind trust is given to any official enough looking document. But what brings you to the tail end of Piltover?”

“What I can’t come check on an old friend?”

A beat passes as you hold each other’s stare, then, almost simultaneously, you both snicker. “What do you want from me now?”

“Such insulting assumptions, I have something for you this time” she says while placing a box on the table, “mother was asking of you again.” 

“Aw, your mother still thinks of me? She’s always been so kind.”

“Of course she does, you’re the only person she knows from Zaun, she worries for you. And she’s been shopping a lot more since retiring. Say’s she sees things in second hand shoppes you might like.”

You filter through the box of nearly new clothes. You couldn’t help but lament on just how wasteful topsiders could be. 

“She’s the one thats insistent I continue to keep in touch with you anyway” she says snidely. 

“Oh no, I’m so sorry you’re being forced against your will to still talk to me” you say sharing a brief pause before the two of you break out into a quiet laugher. 

“So what will you do now, there’s only her first name in the paper not a face.”

“And that was information I already had, I’m going to have to ask around, see if I can find out where she frequents.”

“I’m surprised you don’t already know her.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at her comment.

“Not everyone in Zaun knows each other Lest. Plus I do know she ran with Chem Barrons and I try to avoid them and their lackeys as much as possible.”

“I see.” She murmurs while looking back at the list of new councilors. 

…

“Might I ask a question?” 

“I don’t see why not” you muster while following her gaze to the same spot in the paper.

“I’ve just recently noticed, why don’t people from Zaun have last names?”

“Most of the populous are orphans friend, family names don’t always make it down if there’s no one to remember or document it.”

“I see, interesting.” 

You raise a brow out her.

“Well”, she says standing from her chair “my good deed for the day has been completed.”

“I’m so honored to have been the recipient of such selflessness,” you both laugh as you join her in standing from the table.

“Thank you again for these, I need to get back to the Promenade and change before heading back down.”

“Naturally, you can’t really afford to stick out.” 

Grabbing your things you make your way to leave, “I’ll see you around okay?”

“Hey” she reaches out, holding your hand in an affirming and loving grip. 

“Stay safe.” 

and you return the gesture with a small squeeze.

“You too.”

And with that you part ways with your childhood friend. Swinging through a public stall in the Promenade to change back into your regular unprofessional non piltie clothes before making the trek back. 

Once home you clear a space on your couch from the small stack books and place the box of clothes down before moving over to your desk to write out a proposal for the new councilor. In it you offer your assistance, as someones who’s managed to sneak their way up into Piltover a good portion of their life. You can get her information from archives if she needs, point her in the right direction for any questions she has about topsides political affairs. While finishing up the letter you hear a thunderous crash coming from outside your window. And since chaos often breeds information, you head out and make your way outside towards the source of the commotion.

“Huh… when did this place go up?” you whisper to yourself as the men working tear down the charred walls of what was The Last Drop. You’re then informed by one of the men that apparently Jinx tried to burn the place down before that big fight. “Thankfully someone caught it in time before it had a chance to spread” he says.  

“Oh wow” you mutter, taking in just how badly the building looked.

“Wow’s right girl” another man, this one older walks up next to you.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Why not, gotta keep moving though so come along.” You follow the man into a more structurally sound part of the exposed building.

“What do you think of the whole, Zaun getting a council seat thing.” 

“Honest? Never thought I’d live to see the day. I’m not one to feel hopeful anymore at my age but I can’t help but feel a little… somethin’ at the idea. 

“You all talkin’ bout the new Councilor?!” shouts a younger man, carrying a wheelbarrow of burn debris making his was over to you. 

“Thieram! Come over boy” the older man waves him over.

Out of breath the younger man manages to get out, “I was so shocked to hear they actually made us a seat, almost didn’t believe it. And weirdly enough I’m honestly  grateful to hear it was Sevika who got offered the chair.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah, used to see her all the time when she was working upstairs with Silco. As scary as she is if anyone understands all the shit that’s been going on in Zaun its her.”

“I’ll have to take your word. I’ve never met her” you begin to follow Thieram to an area where they were ridding waste and charred debris.

“Count yourself lucky, the womans a force. If you saw her back when she had that insane arm you’d shit a brick. Storming into topside next to her with that thing was insane.”

That got your genuine attention, “You fought in that?!”

“Heh, yeah quite of bit of the old staff joined in. I’m grateful to have been one of the ones who made it back,” the man nervously rubs the back of his neck.

“Wow… thats- ”

“Wait you said her arm? What’s up with her arm?”

He looks at you after unloading the wheelbarrow, “The one she had during the fight was made by Jinx, definitely a design only she would come up with.” 

“The one before that wasn’t half bad either.” the older man piped in as he walked past you both..

“Oh yeah the one that took shimmer? Donnovan outdid himself on that one.”

“Donnovan?” you look between the two confused.

“Yeah older dude, his weapons shop is a bit deeper in the lanes past the roundabout.”

“Huh… well thanks for the insight.” 

“Yeah no problem.” 

And with that new info you head over to your next lead till you hear…

“Wait!” Thieram now running to your side.

“So… you just interested in learning more about the fight that went down?”

“… Certain aspects of it, yes” you give him a questioning look. 

“Well I mean, since I was there I can always give you a rundown sometime if you wanted to know more?” he begins to nervously rub at the back of his neck again. Letting out a small chuckle you politely decline his proposal, “I think I’m good, thanks” while continuing to walk away.

“Well if you ever change your mind just let me know!”

Turning on your heels you give him a parting wave with a roll of your eyes before looking for Donnovans. 

You’d never really been on the weapons district side of the lanes. Pulling your hood up you tried to stay inconspicuous as you looked for the shop. Passing through the deeper recesses, you hear deals being struck in hushed voices. The large crowd moving with purpose, you try to keep up til you finally see the round about Thieram mentioned. Stepping out of the way of traffic you scan the nearby buildings.

“Hey Don hold the door!”

Your eyes searched for the voice to find it belonged to a younger man holding a large crate walking into a small building that has definitely seen better days. The door being held open by a smaller, much older man. This had to be the place, trenching through the crowd once again you make your way into the building which alerts a little bell.

“We’ll be with you in a sec!” a voice shouted from the basement workshop down the hall of the building. 

“I’m in no rush!” you retort back.

Looking around at the array of tools was almost overwhelming. Your mother tried her hardest to keep you out of this side of the lanes when she was alive, but as you got older you could recall a few memories of sneaking around here with friends once playing topsider no longer became an option. School was expensive, money runs out, people die, and you had to find your own way after a while. Interrupted by your thoughts the older man clears his throat and walks up to his counter.

“Whatdya looking for miss?” 

“I was curious, do you limb prosthetics?”

“Only on occasion, and when the money is right. Why do you ask? He looks you up and down, “you look like you got all your limbs.”

“Asking for a friend, someone recommended you. Could I see what work you’ve done?”

He turns to a filing cabinet and flips through some manilla folders until he finds the ones he’s looking for. Splaying its contents on the table were the blueprints for a bladed hand replacement, weaponized leg prosthetic, and then you saw it, a bronze left arm with junctures that looked like they held viles. He notices your fixation on that one, “Oh that was one of my best.” 

“I’m sure you know already but this bad boy used to belong to the new council chair of Zaun” he gloats puffing out his chest. 

“No… really???” it almost left your mouth sarcastically but you reeled it in just enough to sound slightly exaggerated.

“Oh yes! See here” he pulls out more blueprints and early sketches from his time mocking up the piece. And in the midst of him excitedly talking about something he was obviously very proud of you found a way to ease in some questions. Specifically if he thought someone who owned a weapon like that was fit to be councilor. 

“Ha! thats a loaded question.” the young man interjected, carrying a small machine up from the basement.

“Yeah she’d been using that thing nearly all of Silco’s reign over Zaun. Can’t say I was too happy with what it was used for but, when money like that comes in it’s hard to turn down just cause of some morals.” He proceeded to put the device on the counter before getting started on his tinkering.

“I’m not surprised to hear you feel that way son, you were just a child when Silco took over the lanes. I didn’t know her too well before his takeover but we were familiar” he mentions as he grabs the two other unrelated blueprints to store away.

“I do recall seeing how she tried to clean up house after his death but too much time has passed, I can’t say I know what kind of person she is now.”

"K- KRRNNCH!" the jarring sound of broken and twisted metal comes from the device the apprentice was working on. 

“I hardly touched it! I swear Don I was doing like you told me!” he sputtered out quickly trying to explain himself to his boss.

“Come on, let’s get the hood off and see what you broke” Donnovan and the young man head down to the basement area while you stayed to look at the blueprints, “We’ll be right back.”

“No problem” you waved them off.

Looking through the documents you notice there are a lot of duplicates, to which you quickly fold up and pocket away. They had plenty, you’re sure they wont notice a few missing. You quickly gather up whats left and start to clean up the stack when he comes back. Handing him the papers you thank him for his help and let him know you’ll keep him in mind for your friends new piece before walking out the door. 

Playing detective was starting to wear you out, especially since you decided to do all of this right after work. Accepting what you’d gotten for now your stomach lead you back to a pub not too far from your home. Once inside you placed a togo order and grabbed a drink while you waited. This place was way more packed than what you were used to for some reason. Looking through the crowd of loud patrons one in particular caught your eye. 

Making your way over to the pool tables you see the familiar face lining up their shot, and right after taking it you butt in with a loud, “Double hit.”

“Like hell it was-” they shouted, annoyed and turning to see the source of the false call only for them to break out into a grin once they notices it’s just you.

“Oh shit whats up Ivy” Ran goes to pull you in for a quick side hug. “Since when do you hang out over here.” 

“I feel like I should be asking you that considering I actually live on this side of the lanes.”

“True, they’re still working on rebuilding The Last Drop so we had to find somewhere to go” they shrug off, before going to line up their next shot. 

“That makes sense,” you notice the woman at the bartop is waving you over to grab your order. Making your way, you snag your dinner and head back over to Ran. 

“Hey can I ask you something.”

“Shoot,” they go to lean on their pool cue.

“You used to run with jobs with Sevika right?”

An abrupt hand gets placed over your mouth before they turn in their cue and drag you outside the bar.

“Hey maybe don’t ask that kind of stuff in a big crowd like that. But yeah I used to some time back. Why are you asking anyway? Most make the effort to avoid her.”

Rans eyes then narrow in on you as they get closer. “Are you in trouble or something? What did you do?”

Extending your arm you push on their chest to get some space back. “No jeeze, and I haven’t done anything… I’m just asking.”

The glare of disbelief Ran gave you made itself clear, but they continued on anyway. “Since word got around that she accepted the Councilor position it’s been real hard to get a hold of her these last few days. Either they got her up there doing who knows what or she’s trying to lay low for a bit. They’re probably driving her insane already. 

You continue to listen intently, watching them fidget around with their metal hand while talking.

“Most of Zaun seems pretty hopeful about her being on the Council tho. But it might just be the shock that they finally acknowledged us. No one’s bold enough to say shit to her right now though with all the change happening.”

“Huh… I see.”

“So?” 

“So what?”

“What’s got you so curious shorty?” they ask giving your shoulder a playful shove. 

“I have something to offer her. It’s important.”

Rans face falls into a more serious stare. 

“Ive-”

“Don’t ‘Ive’ me Ran, we aren’t kids anymore, I’m fully capable of managing on my own.”

“Ha! Sure, maybe against your average thug but her?? Really??”

The baffled expression on your face gets a small chuckle out of them. “It’s not like I’m not challenging her to a fight! I just!-

You then realize you were shouting.

I just need to give her a letter, you relay in a lower volume while pulling the envelope out of your bag.

Cocking their eyebrow at you Ran gets back into your space, “You want me to get it to her?”

Immediately you recoil your hand holding the letter back, “Fuck no! you’re gonna open it or lose it or something!”

Ran steps in once more causing you to move back and make contact with the brick wall behind you. Their metal hand now by your head propping them up as they lean in to talk to you.

“Oh come on Ivy, don’t do me like that” the shit eating grin creeping on their face.

Unconvinced you hold their glare, only for Ran to concede with a roll of their eyes.

“Look you have my word I won’t open it. AND I’m more likely to see her around than you.”

The skepticism must’ve been clear on your face because they continue, “Come on, what other options you got? Keep running through Zaun asking suspicious questions?”

You hate to admit it but they were right, now it was your turn to yield.

“Ran I mean it, un opened. None of that heating up adhesive and resealing it shit.”

“Fine.” They say snatching the letter out of your hands, “So what do I get in return for such a kind favor?”

“Gods above,” you roll your eyes, “What do you want?”

“You know what,” the say tapping the edge of the letter on your forehead, “when I’m ready to cash in my favor I’ll come for you.”

Stepping forward you go to push past them, “Gee thanks Ran.”

“Anytime Ive!” the shout, seeing you off with a wink while you wave them off to head back home.

Finally back home and done with the day you sit at the small dining table to eat before going through the clothes Lest’s mother got you. Looking them over you notice some small stains, a popped seam here and there but aside from that perfectly fine clothes, “so wasteful” you mutter. Choosing one of the outfits for work tomorrow you grab your mending kit to sew up the small patch, and hit the cuffs with a quick iron to take some of the wrinkles out. Sealing the outfit in a laundromat bag you hang it from one of the pipes that cuts through your apartment into the next, and finally after such a grueling day you go climb into bed trying to get some rest before work tomorrow.

[skoulsons]

The way Shin whispered “more witches” to Baylan just proves to me they shit talk about them in private

[tonycries]

THIS P*SSY DEPRESSED!

Synopsis. Don’t worry, he knows exactly the solution when you’re upset - fúck it out of you, of course!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, creampíes, FÉRAL GOJO, cheering you up, oraI (fem receiving), breéding, MAJOR overstím, PRAISE, THEY’RE SO DOWN BAD, lowkey sweet, slight exhíbitionism (Toji’s), mean Geto, síxty-nine, chokíng, making Choso cry mhm, spítting, pússy-slappíng, cúmplay, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. You’re loved n’ I hope y’all have a good leak day <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Noise complaint(s)

Any time Toji decided to visit you in your cute lil’ apartment, so did a few complaints from your neighbors. 

It wasn’t because of his intimidating presence, or those deadly glares of his - targeted at everyone but you, or even because of the way his large frame unapologetically blocked every doorway in your building.

No, they were noise complaints. 

“So that’s what’s got my girl so mm- upset?” Toji has the audacity to chuckle - chuckle - so raggedly at that syrupy pout of yours he’s kissing away. “Usually you and this sweet pussy-” He cups a palm at your glistening cunt, smearing your sweet, sweet juices in a glossy sheen down his wrist. “-are so happy to see me, n’ now you want to keep her quiet? All because some blue-balled loser just moved in next door and got jealous overhearing your pretty moans?”

At your nervous nod, he clicks his tongue gruffly, “Makin’ you all upset like this, tch-” Leaning down to whisper, until his sharp canines graze dangerously against your earlobe, “He’s about to find out that he hasn’t heard even half of it.”

“But Toji!” you’re squealing, fingers scrambling to clamp your already-deliriously sagging mouth shut. “I told you- we have to mmpf- be quiet. He seemed so grumpy, and-”

You’re being cut off with Toji nudging the divot of his fat head against your g-spot, until all those complaints are lodged in your quivering chest by a moan. Teasing, “Talking ‘bout another man when m’trynna make you feel better, doll? Bold today, aren’t ya?”

“N-no I was jus-” Barely-audible babbles drag out of you at the heavenly stretch of your pussy lips. Toji’s muscled chest heaves up and down at the way your pussy lips addictively swallow up his leaky cock, slobbering down, down, down his length till it glistened in the dim lighting. Your legs kicking up in the air when he insistently feeds your cunt inch by greedy inch. 

Again. And again and again and so needy. Depraved. 

But it still wasn’t enough for him.

“Aww, come on, woman.” He’s rolling his eyes, that tiny scar curling up in a devilish grin when he pries away the hand on your mouth. “Why’re you lyin’ to yourself like this? I know you wanna heh- scream my name as much as this cute cunt of yours is right now. Do it.”

As if to confirm his point, Toji’s pushing apart your puffy folds to let your gaping pussy squelch! even louder at each of his bullying thrusts. Tight ring of muscle taking each and every smack of his sharp hip bones so well, the riotous creaking of your bed following shortly, headboard just slamming into your poor wall despite being bolted onto it.

It was already so loud. 

“I don’t hngh-” you let out a feverish gasp when each roll of his hypnotic cadence gets too much. “I don’t wanna give off a b-bad impression…I just want the neighbors to like me.”

Heart clenching in his chest at how cute you are, how sorry your voice sounds, he finds his irritation flaring once again at whoever this bastard was that had you doubting yourself this way.

“Doll– they’d be fuckin’ stupid not to. And I’d beat their asses, too.” Two soft pads of his fingers come to smush your cheeks together, forcing you to stare up into his darkened emerald eyes. “But my poor baby’s still ngh- upset, no?” When you’re hesitant with your answer, they slide down to your neck - just barely putting a bit of leering pressure, “Answer me while m’still being nice, doll.”

It’s all you can do to choke out a shrill, “Yes.” He can feel your walls clenching around every ridge and prominent vein down his shaft so tight with every sultry, mewled-out word. “H-he was really sweet! But it made me- a bit- jus’ a bit.”

“See?” And Toji sounds so smug, predatory tone bleeding into the way his harsh rams pick up to an obscene speed. A thumb of his dips down to swivel over your neglected clit, wrenching out those candied moans he loves so much. “Nothin’ wrong with makin’ my girl feel better after a shitty experience. N’ if anyone has anything to s-say, they can come complain to hngh- me.”

“B-but-”

“Ah ah-” Toji kisses sloppily at your lips trying to press together and quieten, sucking on your lower lip. “What did I say just now? Loud, pretty girl.” 

And it’s like a dam breaks open right then and there, you’re arching your body off the bed like such a slut to press your bare tits against Toji’s pecs. Sensitive. Faster. “Toji- oh fuck, m’so-”

“Heh, louder. I don’t hear you losing your beautiful voice yet.”

Keening, “M’so close. Fuck- g-gonna cum all over your cock.”

He’s cupping his ear so mockingly, hips still stuttering and thrusting forwards without a moments’ faltering. “Still can’t hear you, m-ah not gonna let you cum if you’re not loud enough, y’know.”

You were sure your sinful noises were traveling through the heavy, plastered wall now. Picking up in pitch and speed with every double-attack on your sweet spots everywhere. Spearing the lewd curve of his dick into you, he’s fucking you into the mattress so mean - meaner that usual. Rugged muscles of his toned waist flexing when he jostles and thrusts unforgivingly. Your voice is hoarse at this point, “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck Toji m’cumming. I’m-”

Every other loud moan is drowned out by the ringing in your ears, Toji’s own soft rasps filtering through the white-hot pleasure running down your spine. 

He’s fucking you through wave after wave of high, gifting your bruised g-spot with a thorough, sly pistons of his still-swollen cock. Something that didn’t bode well for you, you already knew. 

“Tha’s it. Yeahh, that’s it-” A hand cups the back of your head gently, even though his slamming staccato was anything but. “Loud. Jus’ like that- shit, gonna make him jealous. Have him regret makin’ my girl upset, fuck-” An irritated banging sounds from the other side of the wall right above your headboard - your neighbor. “Fuck, just watch I’ll give him a real show.” Still throwing jagged hips your way, ram after ram. “What’s the fucker’s name again?”

“He- he said his name was Shiu.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Sweet, sweet treat

“I can fix it.” your husband eyed that droopy bowl of frosting and back to your candied, icing-glossed pout. He can’t help but plant a sweet, sweltering kiss on them, just groaning out, “We can do it together.” Barely managing to break away and breathe out, “S’gonna- turn out- perfect, my love.”

Which is how you find yourself splayed out so shamefully on the cool granite countertops of your kitchen, your soft cotton dress only pulled lazily to the side. Nanami’s knees seated firmly on the hardwood floors, face tucked in between the heavenly sweet folds of your already soaked cunt. 

“Oh- oh fuck, Ken–” he makes you let out a honeyed drawl with every drag of his hot tongue up and down your soppingly wet slit. “Y-you’re gonna get the- ngh- counter dirty!”

So what? He thinks, and it only takes a flicker of surprise in your half-lidded eyes for him to realize he accidentally said that out loud. Not used to those uncharacteristically brash sentences, but Nanami was so drunk off your addictive juices right now. 

Tipping his head back, back, back to let them make their slow, sultry journey down his throat. He’s slurring out proudly, “I’ll clean the mess after I cheer up my upset lil’ wife, okay?”

With this, he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Adding to the glistening gloss that traveled down your folds - and Nanami couldn’t help himself but kiss at the mess he’s made. Over and over and-

“F-fuuuck, jus’ like that-” You’re keening when he’s alternating between hollowing his cheeks out with methodical, never-ending sucks on your sensitive clit and just peeking inside your needy hole with his tongue. “You’re too good with your hngh! -tongue, Ken–”

It’s impossible to run away - and he knew that, too. Every little inch you backed on the counter had him just dragging you back twice as much. Hot tongue clashing and angry to part your swollen pussy lips. 

You can only thread your fingers through his neat blond hair even tighter when he surges back forward. Pussydrunk. Groaning at the lewd smack of his tongue dipping in and out of your puffy folds, Thumb circling around your throbbing clit, “And you’re too sweet, darling. Even sweeter than-” He pools your slick on two thick fingers of his, coating a glossy sheen of obscenity all the way from his rounded tips to the gold wedding ring glinting in the dim light. Before popping them in his mouth to take such long, cleansing drags without even a shred of abashed hesitation, “-that icing of yours.”

“I know–” you’re babbling in disappointment, the full force of your failed attempts at baking something special earlier this evening hitting you once again at full force. “Ugh, what a waste. I can’t even-”

A syrupy beat passes. One. Two. 

And at that very moment, you’re feeling the maddening stretching of your gummy walls being forced to their very limits. Whirling your dazed gaze down to spot that Nanami was now standing, belt unbuckled, tugged down just enough that you were reeling from the pressure of his fat head just barely kissing past your fluttering hole. 

“That’s my wife you’re talkin’ about.” he growls, low and satiny. Hands steadying on the two sides of your trembling thighs, his grunts catch in his throat when he thoroughly sinks his swollen length in. Never-ending, dizzying. A quick frosting-coated glide of Nanami’s fingers on your lips, and he’s pressing another lingering kiss on your slack mouth. Tasting you and the sweet icing and you, “And I don’t let anyone talk about her that way, my love.”

Now, usually, Nanami was a man of patience - liking to prepare and play around with your pretty pussy as if you were his favorite toy. Molding your plush walls like clay to take his massive cock.

But now, oh now Nanami Kento was anything but patient. Shit, he didn’t even know if your snug walls could take him right now. 

Hands curling up into painful fists far away from the curve of your hips, as if he was trying to stop himself from just grabbing your quivering body and just slamming himself inside you until he reached your lungs, your heart, that stupid brain of yours that loved to overthink.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ say anything bad about my wife. You’re perfect.” he breathes, greedy hazel eyes looking like they could devour you whole. “The frosting is perfect, the anniversary cake is perfect, your smile, your mind, you-” You’re being attacked by a flurry of kisses being gifted on every inch of your face that could be reached, “You you you- I love you.”

If you were in the right state of mind, you’d have responded back in a heartbeat. But right now, he’s not waiting a split-second longer before bullying the rest of his swollen, filthy cock in. Solid inches being shoved inside to force your walls to accommodate, stretching out so maddeningly across every divot and upwards curve down his shaft.

In and out in and out in and-

Your nails tear across his favorite blue button-up, down his muscled shoulders, down to that speckled yellow tie you’d gotten him a few years ago. 

“You’re so- hngh-” you squeal, tugging Nanami closer by his tie. Making him bully past your narrow opening even deeper, slick walls squeezing so tight at how his weepy red tip presses right on top of your g-spot. 

He chuckles, it’s so endearing how you’re already too cockdrunk to speak. One engulfing hand on your shoulder is all it takes for you to be sprawled back on the cool counter. Nanami’s pummeling cock bullying so deep inside your hot core it’s the only thing you can think about - nothing but him. 

“How about, after-” Another dredge of sweet sweet frosting is dabbed along your lips, your heated skin. All for Nanami to lick sultrily, “-we’ll make the cake together, hm?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Just use me, baby.”

Those shallow, sultry words are falling from Choso’s rosy lips before he even realizes it - ringing like sheer melodies over the heady smacking of skin-on-skin where he’s bullying his fat cock into you. 

After a few seconds of his sloppy, stuttering rams sending the gooey puddle of cum and slick spreading further and further on the sticky, silken sheets below you - the words finally register. 

“Use you, baby?” you purr, batting your lashes in a way that has him gulping. Feeling his aching shaft twitch against your gummy walls, swollen balls squeezing so so angrily with how much seed he’d been gushing out tonight. “You want me to use you?”

Each thrust of his is lingering, rolling forwards to push you further and further up that pooling mess. He can’t think, he can’t even breathe. And it takes everything in Choso to groan out, “Yes yes- fuck, please.” You’re feeling him place a trail of wet kisses up to the nape of your neck, big tears clinging to his dark lashes, “If my- hngh- if my girl is upset, I want her to use me. Ruin me till she forgets all about it.”

It only takes a split-second for you to immediately flip around your positions, pinning a whiny, pliant Choso so harshly down onto the plush mattress. 

“Hngh- oh, baby—” He bounces slightly at the sheer force. Dewy eyes rolling to the back of his head at the slobbering sheen of cum dripping down his long, long length. Bucking up his quivering hips till you’re speared all the way down on his cock, clit hitting the tufts of black at his thick hilt. “Fuuuck—.” He’s groaning raggedly, like a mantra, two big arms tugging your body stuck to his sculpted front. Nodding half-lucidly, “Yeah- yeah just like that. Whatever you want with me.”

Your pace was unforgiving - barely even giving him a moment to spew out those pussydrunk promises before rocking your hips up and down up and-

“Use you, huh?” you echo back his own words, the sheer need dripping in them having Choso bow his body upwards to pummel into you in a matching feverish pace. You’re humming, thinking back to those stupid pick-up lines the creepy new manager at work had snided just today. It was harmless, but oh how Choso would kill him if he knew. “Well then, don’t mind if I do.”

With a pained keen, he’s surging upwards onto his elbows, craning his head to mesh your honeyed lips with his. “Mmm- mpfh yeah, exactly like this.” Mixing out such throaty groans with your gasps, so desperate to please you with the way he plants two feet on the bed, thrusting up hazily to find your sweet spots, “S’this any better? How do you- ngh how do you feel, baby?”

You’re letting out a drunken giggle with how he’s the one asking - when really it should be you. Because your sweet boyfriend looked so ruined, eyes wrecked with tears. Milky skin a canvas for possessive red marks from your nails. Kiss-bitten lips spit-glossed and permanently parted in ecstasy, only slacking further every time your snug channel dragged down him. 

“Much better, forgot about m’day already.” you’re hissing into his open mouth. “So fuckin’ gorgeous n’ mine, that bastard doesn’t know what the fuck he’s ah- talking about.”

Choso had no idea what you were talking about - though, he thinks his mind is too much of a hot, gooey mess to understand right now. Still so needy to please. Only being able to babble out a stupid, “Yours- fuck m’yours.”

And despite being the one setting the tempo, you can only let out such whiny groans at the sheer stretch Choso’s swollen cock is causing you. By the way he’s molding your gummy walls to each and every throbbing vein decorating down him.

“Sh-shit m’so close, baby.” he whines, a fresh wave of tears streaming down with each overstimulating smack! of his tight, overworked balls against the curve of your ass. Lazily, like he’s moving through molasses, Choso’s drawing messy patterns on your pulsing clit - not even circles, brain too fried to. “M’so close fuck- I need you to- I need-”

“Shhh shhh.” you coo, running a hand through his dark strands, damp with sweat. “Cum f’me, Cho~”

“Hngh!” He can’t stop his hips from bucking up ferally, crying out, “But- I can’t. Wan’ you to feel better. Need you to cum f’me. Use me-”

“Cho.”

“Please-”

“Choso.” you warn, narrowing your eyes, deciding to tease him a little with shallow, repetitive grinds of your hips up and down. Toes curling at the friction of his creamy seed sloshing around inside. “Cum.”

“Hngh- but-” he’s thrashing upwards, so addicted to the rough collision of your sensitive spots against his fat head. Pulling out such fucked-out moans from you already, “But m’spposed to be making you feel happy-”

Your fingers deftly find themselves on Choso’s temping throat, right above his racing pulse. You tighten your nails just enough to leave five matching crescents to match the rest of his marked-up body.

“Cho–” you puff in a sultry groan against his ear. “All I want is for you to fill me up right now.”

And then he’s spilling into you in thick, hot dredge after dredge of his potent seed - before you’ve even finished your sentence. It overfills your pre-painted cunt, that obscene white slopping out of your slit and onto where your hips rocked against your boyfriend’s even harder. A creamy white ring forming mouthwateringly. Relentlessly. 

“See?” Choso couldn’t - vision blurry, ears stuffed with cotton. “I don’t care what any sleazy manager has to say, you’re perfect for me.” A gentle kiss is placed on his pouty, worried lips and shit you still didn’t show any signs of slowing down, overstimulating him to tears. You trace his furious marks, “N’ pick me up from work tomorrow in your skimpiest muscle tee~”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Overtime?

A lewd smack! is all that’s ringing in your ears right now, so loud over the distant hum of the photocopier. Accompanied shortly by Geto’s sing-song rasp of, “Heh, missin’ our reservation for this- Are you the one havin’ a bad day or am I?”

Before you can answer, you’re being gifted with another mean kiss of your boyfriend’s palm against your bulging pussy. Smack! Lingering on the nudge of where he could feel your sloppy hole mending around his girthy shaft, before dancing upwards to grip your hair in a sultry hold. 

Pulling your entire weight up, up, up like he didn’t care about the way he was treating you like some ragdoll right now. Up to drag his lips towards your ear, “Doesn’t matter, because m’still fuckin’ you just the same.”

“S-Sugu–” your breaths crack with need when he’s pushing in a harsh thrust to slam back into the very bottom of your poor pussy. Eyes darting to the tiny window of your office photocopy room, “Sugu, we’re going to get caught.”

“And yet, she’s still hah- sucking me up as sluttily as ever.” he grins, tilting his head back to get those long, inky strands out of his face. He chuckles at the obscene sight of your cunt stretched to her limits, struggling, and drooling a sweet, sweet gloss down his length. “What’s with the ngh- attitude now? You said you wanted to feel better about working overtime so here we are.”

You bite down on your lower lip to hold back your moans when his fat tip draws a solid, straight line across your bruised cervix. Slamming forwards to have you scrambling forwards into some more important paperwork you really should be looking over right now. 

“I did but-”

“Problem solved then.” Geto lets out a low whistle, sounding so utterly smug when he pulls your hips deeper into his. “Now let me make this shitty workload hah- so much better for you, gorgeous.”

Honestly, when you told your dear boyfriend that you’d have to cancel tonight’s date because of a sudden deadline for tomorrow, you felt guilty. Working after everyone else had left, spewing out upset little apologies until he told you he’d come over to the office to “help you take your mind off of things.”

You just didn’t expect it’d end up like this. 

Smack!

Geto scoffs, “Aww documents have you zoning out on me again, pretty girl? Take a break, didn’t I tell ya you don’t have to worry about work and all those stupid things when you’re with me?”

Your knees weaken involuntarily when his gruff question is followed by such an unapologetic crash into your ravaged g-spot. Thankfully being held up by one of Geto’s strong arms to fuck yourself back all the way from his red, weepy tip to that see-through ring dredged up on his thick base. Somehow, you’re managing to gasp out, “N-no, I was just…”

“N-n-no, you were just zoning out, that’s what.” he’s mocking your answer in an overly-dramatic higher pitch, adding a few extra moans you were spilling with every harsh slam after slam of his hips. “What did I tell you now, relax. Let me fuck this shitty overtime and that shitty boss outta ya cute lil’ head, gorgeous. You and her-” His red-rimmed eyes, drunk on the feeling of your slicked walls enveloping him, lock on the sight of his curved dick disappearing so easily in and out of you. “-don’t have to worry about a thing right now.”

It was that same little promise - the one he’d whispered over and over into your sagging open mouth when he’d first ambushed you in the photocopy room. Bending you over the nearest flat surface before ramming into you all those thick, greedy inches of his long-needy cock.

And here he still was. 

Splatters of your syrupy slick coats his toned pelvis with every jagged thrust, fucking you so deep - so disrespectfully - into the office desk. Your feet don’t even touch the ground now, mind spinning and syrupy. Geto’s bending his own to angle up exactly to hit the bullseye of your sweet spots. All those familiarly mapped-out areas to drive anything and everything out of your mind but him and the temptation for more more more-

Click!

Both of you are raising your heads in sync at the distinct clamor of an opening door somewhere in the office - shit, was someone doing patrols at this time?

Your jaw drops open in shock - and the feeling of your boyfriend sliding two slender fingers to your pulsing clit. Drawing rough, skimming circles on the bundle of nerves. He has you jolting and arching your back right into him, his arms - exactly where he loved to have you. 

“Now we’re-” your words come in strangled little stutters, mindlessly bouncing your ass back onto his cock. Feeling the sinful tremors run down your spine with each slam, “-we’re really gonna get hah- caught. And I’m not even halfway through my project yet.”

And Geto - that smug bastard - sounds amused. He thinks he’ll have a ah- talk with your boss later about piling on workloads later. But for now, he sounds so fucking content when he’s musing, “Better cum fast before they give you more than overtime, pretty girl.” Before planting a deceivingly chaste peck on your lips, “Though, I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to havin’ a cute lil’ housewife to spoil all day either.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - QUIET TIME!

“Oh, Kuna–”

“Now that’s music to my ears.” Sukuna smirks darkly, lips searing in a trail right down your arched spine. Two inhumanly large hands massage down your back, pulling you against his sculpted front. “So much better to hear you say m’name than complain about some fuckin’ eugh-” His tone trembles in distaste, “-office drama.”

Scoffing, “No need to be so mean, Kuna. You really should’ve heard what Mrs. Smith down at-”

That little tangent earns you a sharp smack! to the fat of your bare ass, cupping the little tremors with a chuckle. He hums with a mocking lilt in his baritone voice, “You’re testing my patience~” Sukuna goes back to kneading at the stressed knots in your body. “Shut up and let me massage you, woman.”

And oh you should’ve learned your lesson - should’ve taken this rare, sweet little moment you’d gotten from your rough boyfriend. Should’ve done anything other than huff out, “Ugh, if only you’d heard what she said, ruined my whole-”

“Lift your hips.”

Your eyes widen at the sudden interruption, “Wh-what?”

“Lift your hips goddammit.”

It’s all you can do to mindlessly head his gruffed out words, legs stuttering and shaky when you get up on all fours. A gasp rips from your throat when Sukuna shuffles into the gap between your pliant body and the silken bedsheets. Not stopping until his hot breath was puffing against your sopping slit, your eyes mere inches away from his massive erection. Throbbing thickly and outlined with precum through his boxers. 

Your mouth waters, “K-Kuna what-”

“So it really takes this to get me back on your mind, huh, brat?” he’s cutting you off with another branding smack on your ass - this time, the very rounded tips of his thick fingers just grazing against your dripping folds. “Couldn’t stop talkin’ about some fuckin’ Mrs. Smith even when I’m right here.”

“Are you jealous?” you muse, brows turning upwards in confusion. “Because I can assure you-”

Before you can run your mouth again, Sukuna’s cutting you off with one hand reaching down to wrap around your throat. The other pulls your shaky hips down to sit on his face. 

“How’s this for jealous?” He grunts, an obscene slurping noise pouring into your hazy bedroom, eyes rolling to the back of his head at this messy kiss with your needy cunt. “Gonna make you forget about those shitty people. Just focus on me.”

You’re managing to wrangle your greedy gaze over your shoulder to spy his lewdly wet smirk, glistening down with a glossed cover of your slick. They’re so pretty, so kiss-bruised in your favorite shade of pink when they wrap around your throbbing cunt to give a harsh suck. “What? Got a problem, woman?”

You wine softly in protest, your lower lip jutting out in a pout that makes his clothed cock just coat down his fat tip with syrupy precum. Opening your mouth to retort and-

In all of two seconds, Sukuna’s hand snug around your throat drops down to tug on his boxers. Tall, angry erection hitting your parted lips with a soft thwack! It doesn’t stay there for long - no, because you feel that familiar pressure back on your throat again, and his achy cock being bullied down, down, down your throat. 

“Actually, don’t answer that.” he’s letting out a strained groan, sanity dancing away with every clench of your tight throat around his glistening shaft. Holding you still with the hand on your throat, Sukuna’s powerful thigh muscles strain when he’s fucking up into your heavenly mouth slow, sultry. Spitting to coat him in all your sweet saliva, “Consider this quiet time, just shut up and take my cock.”

Your eyes are watering, Sukuna’s girth rubbing against every part of your plushy mouth. Swirling a pool of salty precum on your tongue. You can’t do anything but keen brokenly around that warm weight when long, thick fingers are spreading your puffy folds to wrangle his long tongue in deeper. Textures of his tastebuds grazing over and over against your spongy entrance - your clit. 

“Hngh- mmpf-” you’re jutting your hips traitorously. Dragging your slobbering pussy up and down his thorough lips, giving longing, drunken licks up from your weepy base to your hot clit. “Kuna-”

He breaks away with a sinful smack! Your sensitive bud being tugged along with snapping strings of delicate precum and slick.

“Mhm, that’s what I like-” he’s slurring out words mixing together with need. Free hand coming down to toy your clit between two rolling fingers. And you could tell how much he liked this, fat shaft twitching animalistically inside your mouth. Nudging his leaking head at the back of your throat, it’s only with how long you’ve been with Sukuna that you manage not to gag. “-to have you shut up on my cock this way. That pretty mouth is better used for something other than rememberin’ some shitty people when you’re with me. They can fuck right off with the disrespect towards my woman.”

It’s all you can do to keep your jaw slacking further and further with every dragged-out smack of Sukuna’s heavy balls against your face. His hips using you like some glorified cocksleeve, ruthless in his pace. Molding your mouth to the shape of him while he does the very same with yours.

“F-fuuuck-” you manage to gasp out through the drooling edges of your lips. “It feels so- ngh–” Moans getting lost when Sukuna flicks your throbbing clit slowly, nudging with the very tip of his dark fingernails. “You’re being so-”

“So loud.” he finishes your own sentence for you. Grinning a grin that sends shivers up your spine, right to where he was stuffing your mouth shut with all long inches of his cock. Murmuring dangerously around your sloppy hole, “Interrupt quiet time again and you don’t get to cum, brat.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Unmistakably depraved.

“Fuuuuck, sweetheart.” Gojo’s whispering, over and over. As if he can’t - won’t - manage to articulate anything else right now. The honeyed words wrenching out of him with each sticky crash of his shaft down your sloppy slit in this firm mating press. “Do you know how hngh- long I’ve missed this sweet cunt?”

You don’t have to answer, and the echoing smack! of his too-sensitive balls against the curve of your ass is enough of one for him. Making his eyes gleam with such a feral glint, traveling straight to where he was pressing in bullying little grinds past your clamping walls. 

It’s been so long - too long - about a whole week since your pussy-whipped boyfriend was able to have his fill of you.

A soft pad of his thumb rolls in a  languid circle over your needy clit. Sending white-hot shockwaves that have you jolting the balls of your feet to greedily swallow up even more throbbing inches of him. 

“Fuck, forgot how tight you s-squeeze me when I do that.” Gojo eyes dance to the back of his head with every bottom-out hit against your clingy mess of a cunt. Crashing so messily onto every velvety inch of your cunt. It only takes a few drags of your slobbering walls down his length for your dear boyfriend to run his mouth, “Forgot allll about this because of some- hngh- some mournng for a fucking fictional character-”

“My favorite character, Toru!” you exclaim, through furrowed brows. Both of you are shocked at the fact that you’re still managing to speak in coherent sentences - just means he hasn’t fucked you good enough yet, he muses with his syrupy, pussydrunk mind. “He was my- my favorite and he died and-”

You’re immediately being shut up by two sweet lips planting on your own, immediately moving to suck on your tongue so filthily. “Well, I’m your favorite boyfriend-” Your only, but semantics. Gojo whines - whines, “Shouldn’t I- hngh- be more important?”

As if to help you make your decision, he’s burrowing his cock in such needy thrusts. And Gojo can’t help but crane his neck to bite down on your frantically racing pulse, feeling himself salivate with how well you’re milking each and every single vexing ram of his hips. Just spearing the hotly saturated tip into your spongy g-spots, so fucking big that every stroke feels like a brush against your throat, an indent into the plush walls of your pussy, wrapping and molded around his girth. 

Another bite to your neck at your silence - sharp canines just shy of drawing blood. And you swear Gojo’s eyes spark with an unnatural lightning blue when he devours you with a greedy stare, “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“You a-are.” Is all you can gasp out, but that’s not enough for the great Gojo Satoru. You’re instantly earning a rosy pout and a loaded smack! right on the bullseye of your glistening clit, faintly you think you hear the crackle of jujutsu. Thighs burning at the sheer stretch of being folded down, down, down until your knees knocked against your tits. “You’re more- hah! Fuck fuck fuck don’t– you’re more important!”

This seems to soothe your jealous boyfriend a bit, but it still doesn’t stop him from placing such brutal thrusts on your poor, ravaged pussy. Bruising. Sloppy. 

You’re whining so brokenly, “Fuck, right there- feels too good- hngh!”

“Mhm, exactly what I thought.” Another explosive slap to your sensitive nub, humming with power, and Gojo throws his head back at how much it makes you gush so wetly around his thick hilt. “Now, was that- ngh- was that so hard?” Spitting out little profanities into your lips, as if the man he was jealous over wasn’t a few pixels, “The f-fucker- Had to wait a whole week before I got to comfort my sad girl? I’d kill him myself.”

You can’t even formulate a response to that - not even if you wanted to. Because with increasingly sloppy drags of his cock against your walls, Gojo only grows more and more heated. 

“Fuck- makin’ my girl so upset. Gonna fuck all thoughts outta him for ya.” Babbling out little curses a mile a minute, swift pace bruising your spring cervix, your g-spot. A thin trickle of drool trails messily in-between your clashing kisses, only growing every time he’s ramming into your gripping cunt. “Gonna make you cum- make you mine.” Difficult, even with how you were clinging onto his every rough, angled thrust, and you don’t think Gojo even realizes the possessive little spanks he’s repeatedly leaving on your puffy clit. “Won’t you cum like a good girl f’me, sweetheart?”

He’s moaning at the sloppy way you listen to his ragged plea, letting out such pretty moans into the heady air when you fall back into your high. Toes curling, jolts of needy pleasure running down your spine, such a mess. 

It makes Gojo falter in his tempo, it makes the sharp bones on his toned hips slam into you even harder, stuttering and rutting forwards like some animal in heat that can’t bear to do anything but be buried well inside you. It makes him cum. 

“Oh- fuck, Toru s’in so deep.” You mewl, too cockdrunk to say anything else. To feel anything but the slow, sultry filling of your quivering cunt. Rope after rope of his hot cum painting the mess of your branded walls inside, and each time he’s fucking his cum even deeper you feel a lewd whimper of his name leave you. Vision tinging with need, with the feeling of being so overfilled you could barely breathe. “Oh- oh my god I feel it coming-”

Your words hitch in your throat when Gojo - cock still angry and twitching with faint wisps of trickling cum - plugs a slender finger into your bulging cunt. Stopping the overflow, the grins, “Hope you’re on the pill, my girl, because we’re not done until you forget.”

A/N. Ouu y’all should’ve seen the way I was CACKLING writing Toji’s ending.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[mommynott]

Thin Ice

Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Your friends drag you to a hockey game, but halfway through you lock eyes with Theo. You can’t help but feel a strong pull toward him. Deciding to shoot your shot with the player.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, Chars 18+, Hockey AU, flirting, tons of tension, explicit language, hockey!theo, dom!theo

A/N: Starting this series for my babe @amiableness I hope you enjoy it because this is just the start! Also BIG shoutout to my girl @westcanaan82 for the hockey!theo render. Definitely go Check out her page because she makes me DROOOOL

The arena was packed, and the noise was overwhelming as you sat in your seat, begrudgingly dragged there by your friends. You were scrolling through your phone, totally uninterested in the game unfolding before you.

But then… it seemed out of nowhere. A tall and muscular figure on the ice caught your attention. Fuck he’s hot. It was player number 13, Theo, whose piercing eyes were fixed on you through his helmet.

You felt a smirk growing on your lips before he nodded his head up at you and skated along the ice. Shuffling a puck with his hockey stick with ease. The game going on. Fuck maybe this game isn’t too boring. You held your phone in your hand but your gaze settled on him on the ice. Suddenly gaining an interest in this sport.

After he shot a puck into the goal he pumped his fist in the air but you swore he looked over at you. Throwing you a flirty wink. And trust me, he fucking did. At this point, Theodore was trying to show off for you. Hoping he would get your attention. Craving your attention.

The game ended, and his team had won the match. But after all the eyefucking you two did you wanted to stay back in hopes to see that same player. “I’ll catch up with you guys later!” Your friends gave you a knowing look while they walked out. You slowly moved around the now quiet arena.

A few minutes later, you started to feel defeated, thinking he must’ve left but that’s when you heard a low and deep Italian accent. “I noticed you in the crowd…Seemed to be pretty glued to that phone of yours.”

Bright cherry red painted across your cheeks as you turned around. Quickly tucking your phone away in your purse, you gave the hockey player a small sheepish smile. “Uh…Yeah, sorry…It’s just not really my thing I guess.”

But when your gaze settled upon the player, he wasn’t in the same gear from on the ice. Oh no. he was now in a tight under-armor top, showing off his muscular and toned torso along with a pair of black sweatpants. Freshly out of the shower, his brown locks clung to his forehead. The smell of his body wash was rich and intoxicating as it wafted all around you. Fuck me.

“Not your thing, huh? What is your thing then?”

Theo asked, his taunting tone hinting with flirtatiousness. Feeling the way your heart skipped from his words. His deep voice. Fucking hell. You hesitated for a moment, your fingers anxiously playing with the rings you wore. “I don’t know…Reading…Movies.”

Replying to the Italian, he ran a hand through his wavy hair, slicking it back and giving you a charming smile. “A reader. Interesting….” Theodore said in the same teasing tone before sticking out his hand and you matched him, giving your own and shaking it. The second your hands met, a spark pulsated through your body.

“Nott. Theodore Nott. But you can call me Theo, Cara.”

The charming accent rolled off his tongue smoothly as you both exchanged names. You crossed your arms over your chest, shifting your weight to one leg. Bringing your confidence out. Something you always had. “Anyways…What’s interesting about me reading?” You asked, giving him a bratty little grin.

Theo cocked an eyebrow, scoffing under his breath as he took a step before you. Eyeing you up and down fully. “Ah, I’m not sure. Just interesting…What do you like to read?” He questioned as he casually leaned closer toward you.

You tried to focus but his voice, his words were so smooth it sent little shivers down your spine. "Umm… mostly romance— Stuff like that." You mentally chastised yourself for sounding so fucking cliche. He seemed very interested in you…Maybe even so much so that you could get some hockey player action.

Theo gave you a lazy smile and your heart fluttered, feeling the tension building between you both. "Romance, huh? That’s fitting." You raised an eyebrow, confused. What the fuck was he on about? “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, leaning even closer towards you. “You look like the romantic type….Soft…sweet— Y’know?.” Your cheeks burned again. Was he flirting with you? This couldn’t possibly be real. This was something out of the novels you’d read.

“Oh— Thanks I guess?” A sea of giggles freed from your lush lips. The same ones Theo’s eyes were burning into now. He stalked toward you as you walked back until you were pinned against the white brick wall of the ice rink.

He carefully took a strand of your hair, wrapping it around his pointer finger while his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “Can I get the pretty girl's number, hm?” He asked, remaining not only charming but… cocky. Drawing you to him even more.

It seemed that your confidence exuded his own to creep out. But fuck did you like it. A confident man like this? Damn. “Huh…I’m not sure. Can you?” Teasing him right back you subtly bit your lower lip to fight back the giggles that wanted to escape from within.

“Fuckin’ tease. Isn’t that right?”

Theodore now pinned both of his hands above your head, practically towering over your tiny frame. “Perhaps just a little bit…” Breathing out your words, your gaze danced along with his ocean eyes. Feeling your heart thump hard against your chest.

“I like a tease…A challenge…” His tone now held something of mischief, giving him a different vibe. And fuck, your whole body was fucking feeling it. “Yeah?” You asked, bringing out more of your sultry tone, keeping your lips slightly parted as you glanced down to his own.

That was it. Theo was going to come in hot. Make his move. Smash his lips to yours. But just as he was millimeters away from ravishing you a loud shout was heard. “—Nott! Back in the locker room!” His fucking coach. What a cock block. Theo rolled his eyes and cursed in Italian under his breath.

“We aren’t finished here…” He replied to you lowly, throwing up his pointer finger to his coach. He reached into his pocket. Pulling out a pen and taking your arm. Feeling the tickle of his scribbling, He wrote something on it as you sat there dumbfounded.

Once he was done, you scanned over your forearm. In sloppy handwriting was written his number followed by “Text me, Tesoro ;)” giggling at his little winky face as you nodded your head.

With that, he walked off with his coach to the locker room. That night you got home thinking of everything and anything that could have happened if his damn trainer didn’t interrupt you two. That’s when you decided to send him a flirty yet risky text…

Ahhhh the start of hockey!theo 🏒🥅⛸️

Really hope y’all enjoyed im too excited to continue on with this au! ATP I have so many and STILL have some In the back of my mind help lol

As always asks and requests are open my sweet peas 💋

Divider pinned in my masterlist🌙