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moonlitwitchdaisy · 3 days ago

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i take you with your veil

₊⊹ summary: congratulations, mrs. nanami! wishing you a lifetime of happiness with the man you love. you might think your wedding is the most special moment of your life, but if there’s anything more special than that, it’s your wedding night. and if you’re imagining a night filled with candles, rose petals, and soft lovemaking, you’re in for a surprise. because your husband is going to bend you over, leaving only your veil on, and fuck you until you’re completely out of strength. once again, congratulations to both of you!

₊⊹ pairing: husband!nanami x wife!reader

₊⊹ warnings: +18 Minors Do Not Interact +18 husband nanami in his sexy tom ford tuxedo, gojo is the best wedding officiant, also he is very happy for nanami and reader but at the same time he feels like they've abandoned him :( slightly dom nanami, use of mature language and alcohol, temperature play, liquid play, rough sex, backshots, manhandling, overstimulation, teasing, spanking, clit rubbing, creampie, oral sex (fem receiving. also, it's not described in too much detail)

₊⊹ word count: 5.6k

₊⊹ a little note: i wrote this one-shot inspired by the imagine scenario i came up with. i might have changed a few parts (ex. in the imagine scenario, i mentioned a beach wedding, but here it’s not exactly on the beach—at least there’s a sea view!) :> there were some really unnecessary scenes originally, and i kind of exaggerated the whiskey part at the end, so i made quite a few adjustments. anyway i hope you like it please enjoy :)

Mallorca was really hot in July. And for you, who was about to start the wedding ceremony, it felt even hotter. It was impossible not to feel like your hands and feet were all over the place. Everything didn’t have to be perfect. You just wanted to declare yourselves husband and wife with the man you loved without any mishaps and end this tense moment. After that, whatever went wrong could go wrong.

Though it would be great if nothing went wrong.

You had never wanted a big wedding. Fortunately, the man who was about to become your husband in a few moments shared the same idea. A simple wedding with just 30 people among your close ones was more than enough for both of you. While choosing the location had been a bit challenging, the idea of holding it at Son Marroig, where you went on your first vacation with Nanami, seemed like a great idea. Of course, you wanted to get Kento’s opinion on it too—after all, this wasn’t just your wedding. When you told him your thoughts about the venue, he revealed that he had been thinking about Son Marroig from the start and even started explaining how he had already planned where the guests would sit during the ceremony. You had just listened to him without saying anything because it was impossible for him to come up with a bad idea. Deep down, even if you didn’t admit it, you knew his taste was much better than yours.

Kento Nanami was always a man with refined ideas. Details were incredibly important to him. And, in a few minutes, this man would officially be your husband.

Before walking toward the small white marble temple that overlooked the flawless view of the sea and mountains, you glanced at the ring on your left ring finger. The ring, with its massive oval diamond in the center surrounded by smaller diamonds, sparkled in the sunlight. You hadn’t understood why Nanami had chosen something so expensive. You would have married him with a paper ring. All you wanted was him and only him. That didn’t mean your jaw didn’t drop when he got down on one knee, opened the velvet box, and revealed the ring. You hadn’t even gotten over the shock when your closest friends had the same reaction as you after seeing it.

The heat was becoming more intense for you by the second.

Hearing the sweet sound of music, your gaze shifted to the path you hoped to walk without stumbling. As you took your first step in your small-heeled shoes, all thoughts of the heat and the possibility of tripping and rolling your way to Nanami vanished.

Although the idea of rolling your way to him was quite funny.

As you covered broad grin with the hand not holding the bouquet, trying not to let everyone think you’d lost your mind, you had already approached the temple. After managing to regain control of your laughter, you realized you still hadn’t made eye contact with the man who was about to become your husband in minutes. For some reason, you felt shy and couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, you focused on your family and friends, who were standing and clapping for you with bright smiles on their faces.

This was really happening.

Finally, when your eyes landed where they were supposed to, you looked at the man waiting for you under the temple. Standing there as if the Tom Ford tuxedo he wore had been made just for him, Nanami had his hands clasped in front of him. His hair was neatly slicked back, and a small flower from your bouquet was tucked into the pocket of his expensive tuxedo in a simple yet elegant manner. It was nearly impossible not to run and throw yourself into his arms.

You were marrying the most handsome man in the world, without a doubt.

The passionate look in his eyes, which no one else could see but you had noticed from the very first moment, once again made you glad you had chosen this wedding dress. The dress was simple. It hugged your figure perfectly, had an open back, a balconette neckline, and delicate floral lace on the thin straps that would never go out of style. The dress was mostly lace, and the veil, reaching down to your waist, matched the design of your dress beautifully.

The moment you saw this dress, you knew it was the one.

As you walked closer to Nanami, the gentle blush on your cheeks deepened. This was the first time he was seeing you in your wedding dress. You had never shown him your wedding dress, because of your friends' ridiculous insistence. Yet, deep down, you had secretly wished that after you were ready, he would walk into your room, see you in the dress, and make love right then and there.

You really shouldn’t have invited your friends.

When you reached the marble temple, Nanami stepped down the stairs and gently took your hand in his. He slowly brought it to his lips and placed a warm kiss on it, causing the crowd to cheer loudly.

Amid the noise, Nanami managed to say, “You’re beautiful.” After carefully helping you up the stairs, the two of you walked to where Gojo, who insisted on officiating the wedding the moment he heard about it, was standing. Once there, Nanami kissed your hand again, deeply and tenderly. Both of you wore smiles that reflected the sweet excitement growing within you.

In just a few minutes, you were going to be this man’s wife. From that moment on, you would officially be Mrs. Nanami.

Turning your gaze to Gojo as his voice interrupted the trance you were in while staring into each other’s eyes, you saw him grinning. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. Today, I have the honor of officiating the wedding of these two wonderful friends of mine. Honestly, who better to perform this role than someone as extraordinary and talented as me, right?” His words prompted soft chuckles from everyone, including you. “I truly never thought I’d live to see this day. Who would’ve guessed that this blonde man would falling madly in love and deciding to spend the rest of his life with just one woma—” Gojo’s words were cut off by a death glare from Nanami. Without missing a beat, he continued, “Alright, I’ll save this speech for the reception because I’m pretty sure the groom just wants to say ‘I do’ and kiss the bride already.”

This time, a faint blush crept onto Nanami’s cheeks. He looked so adorable that you wanted to kiss him right there and then. Because you knew Gojo was absolutely right.

“The couple has decided to skip the vow exchange and instead share a little speech about each other during the reception. So I won’t waste time making some poetic and enchanting speech about marriage. But if you ask for my opinion, marriage is honestly a ridiculous and terrifying concept.” Gojo’s exaggerated expression once again had everyone laughing.

Choosing Gojo as your officiant was definitely a mistake.

Gojo turned to Nanami. “Alright, groom and bride, before they murder me, let’s begin. You, Kento Nanami, the most serious man alive and, while not as handsome as me, still pretty good-looking, do you promise to stand by this beautiful woman through good times and bad, to love and protect her until death do you part?”

The man standing across from you looked at you with passionate eyes. It would have been hilarious if he said no out of the blue. Hilarious but terrifying. Looking into his honey-colored eyes, you heard his deep, beautiful voice respond, “Not even death can part us.”

There wasn’t a single trace of hesitation in his words. You had always known he would want you no matter what, but hearing him say it at your wedding made it all the more special.

Looking at him with tear-filled eyes, you were startled when Gojo interjected again. “So is that a yes or no?”

Gojo really was a jackass.

Nanami, now glaring at his friend for ruining the moment, gave a firm answer. “Yes, I do, Satoru.” His tone, laced with annoyance, prompted laughter and cheers from everyone.

“Alright, the groom may have said yes, but we still need to hear from the bride.” Gojo turned to you with a mischievous grin. “Even though you’ve bewitched one of my best friends and stolen him from me, do you promise to stand by this grumpy, workaholic, and, while not as handsome as me, still pretty handsome man, through good times and bad, to love and protect him until death do you part?”

Being without him was never an option.

Tuning out everyone and everything around you, you looked straight into his eyes and repeated his words, “Not even death can part us.” Sensing that Gojo was waiting for a more direct answer, you smiled at him and added, “Yes, I do.”

“Well, good luck with that, sweetheart, because this man is going to be a bit of a challenge.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh at that. Nanami had indeed been a difficult man at first. Expressing his feelings wasn’t something he was particularly bold about, but his every action showed you how much he loved you. It was never hard to realize you were made for each other.

He was your man.

“Well, buddy, you can now kiss your wife.” With Gojo’s blessing, Nanami’s hands immediately found your waist and pulled you close. Your free hand and the one holding the bouquet instantly found their way to his neck, and without waiting for him to make a move, you pressed your lips to his.

His large hands tightened around your waist as the kiss deepened. Your other hand cupped his face, and the both of you kissed with a fervor that seemed insatiable, as if one kiss would never be enough. The softness of his lips and the fresh minty taste on his breath made your whole body tingle.

“Alright, alright, save the rest for tonight,” Gojo interrupted, breaking the moment just as things were getting heated.

Nanami’s hands moved from your waist to cup your face. Both of you ignored everyone around you, looking only at each other.

“You’re officially a Nanami now,” he said in a low voice.

“Finally,” you replied just as softly, giving him a quick kiss.

Kento Nanami was now truly your husband.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

Everything going this smoothly was definitely wrong.

You couldn’t tell if it was because there were so few people or if you were just unbelievably lucky. Nothing had gone wrong. The food was delicious, people were genuinely happy.

But as for whether Gojo was happy, you weren’t entirely sure.

Even though he wasn’t drinking, he was going through emotional swings as if he were drunk. Despite sitting at the same table, he kept switching between hugging you and your husband, saying he loved you both, and then scolding you and bursting into tears.

Luckily, he was currently dancing with one of your close friends, seeming a bit more cheerful. One thing was for sure: he wasn’t going to be sleeping alone in his hotel room tonight.

“Have I told you how stunning you look, Mrs. Nanami?” your husband murmured into your ear as his hands rested on your hips, swaying with you on the dance floor to the slow song.

He had told you this a million times. The only thing he might have said more was how much he wanted to have you all to himself once you returned to the villa.

Had you ever seen him like this before? Not exactly. He always got excited about you, but tonight, the way he emphasized those private promises during dinner, unable to hold himself back, was something new.

“Do you really love my dress that much?” You brushed your fingers along the back of his neck, gently caressing him as you looked into his eyes.

“You look like a princess. I love the floral lace details, but the veil—” his fingers trailed up to your hair where your veil had been, now cascading down as your hair was free, “—was the most beautiful part of it all.”

“Really? You liked it more than the dress?” You tilted your head in surprise.

“I loved how it draped down to your waist. And… I’ve got a little plan for it,” he added, his fingers threading gently through your hair before resting back on your hips.

“Ken, did you hit your head or something? What could you possibly be planning with my veil?” You raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused.

Your husband let out a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. The plan involves you too.”

“Oh, thank you so much for inviting me to your special plan with my veil,” you shot back, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

“Jealous?” he teased, his smirk both infuriating and endearing.

“What do you think?”

He kissed your forehead again, his hand squeezing your waist as he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “All evening, I’ve been telling you you won’t be able to walk after tonight. Don’t forget that, my wife. Once we’re alone in that private villa of ours, I’m not letting you rest.” His lips brushed your cheek before he pulled back to meet your gaze. “And don’t forget to put the veil back on.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say because he’d summarized exactly what was going to happen tonight. The hunger in his eyes had been crystal clear all evening. You’d thought the night might end on a quieter note, but your veil-obsessed husband clearly had other ideas.

As you wondered how you were even going to put the veil back on, you found yourself wishing you could teleport to your private villa immediately, desperate to start the night you had ahead of you.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

As you got out of the car and walked toward the entrance of the villa, you called out to your husband trailing behind you. “I can’t believe it’s over. I wish we could do it all over again.”

Your husband let out an amused grunt at your reaction. “We can always have another wedding darling.”

“But I want it now. Maybe if we go back, we can keep fun again.”

Nanami’s long arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back suddenly. For a moment, you thought you might fall, but your husband held you securely. Turning fully toward him, you buried your face into his neck.

“If there’s anything better than the wedding itself, darling, it’s the wedding night,” Nanami whispered, his fingers running through your veil.

You might not have wanted the wedding to end, but the moment you’d been waiting for all day had finally arrived. You were desperate to feel your husband’s cock inside you.

Lifting your head from his neck, you smiled. “Then we’d better get inside right now.” Grabbing the keys from his hand, you darted toward the front door of the villa.

Leaving Nanami behind without a second glance, you unlocked the door and stepped inside, sighing contentedly. “I’m so happy we’re staying here. It might be a bit far from Son Marroig, but this is where we stayed during our first trip to Mallorca.” When you reached the couches in the spacious living room, you tossed the jacket your husband had given you to keep warm onto the couch and sat on the edge to take off your heels.

“Wearing short heels was the best decision ever. If they were any taller, who knows how—” You paused mid-sentence, realizing your husband wasn’t in the room. Glancing toward the door, you saw him standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you with a serious expression. It didn’t look like he had any intention of coming closer.

Getting up, you crossed the cold floor with your bare feet until you were in front of him. As you approached, his hands left his pockets, reaching up to loosen his black bow tie. The sight of him doing it in the most effortlessly sexy way possible made your breath hitch. His hair was still perfectly styled, while yours, pinned in a messy updo, was beginning to lose its waves.

At least your makeup was still intact. For now.

By the time you reached him, he had already undone the bow tie and started unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt. Without waiting another second, your hands found his neck as you crashed your lips against his. The hand holding his bow tie and his free hand went straight to your ass, squeezing it firmly

Finally feeling his tongue against yours, you moaned at the intoxicating, aromatic taste of cigars lingering in his mouth. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you deepened the kiss, biting his lips with raw need.

“You’ve put your veil back on,” he murmured, pulling his lips away for a brief moment.

“You said you needed it for something important,” you replied breathlessly, your tone tinged with anticipation.

His large hands traced over the delicate lace of your veil. “From the moment I saw you walking down that aisle, all I wanted was to send everyone home, pin you against the temple columns, and fuck you.”

A small whimper escaped your lips. Damn, your husband was too honest, and he was definitely too aroused.

“Good thing the guests didn’t hear that. We wouldn’t want to be selfish hosts.”

“I couldn’t care less.”

The aggression in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, filling you with even more anticipation. You had imagined this night to be romantic, but the way Nanami spoke made you think it would be anything but gentle.

“Ken, please…” you whispered between heated kisses.

“Go upstairs and wait for me in our room,” he said, his lips brushing against yours. “You know which one I mean, right? The one where I made you scream and come in every corner.”

Of course, you knew. While you’d had sex in almost every room of this villa during your first stay, the one with the large sliding doors and breathtaking view was his favorite.

“Yes…”

His hand found one of the buttons at the base of your dress, undoing it with ease. “Take everything off except the veil. I don’t want to see a single piece of clothing on you. Do you understand me, Mrs. Nanami? Only the veil stays.”

Your skin burned as if the heat of the day had returned. “Okay.”

Nanami placed a soft kiss on your shoulder. “Good girl. Make sure you’re completely naked by the time I come up.”

Nanami wasn’t in a playful mood tonight. You knew all too well how he punished you when you disobeyed him. And you didn’t need your ass reddened or sore to the point of being unable to sit properly tomorrow.

As soon as you entered the bedroom upstairs, your hands reached for the buttons on the back of your dress. Though you thought Nanami had only undone one earlier, it turned out he had unfastened all of them, making it easier for you. Slowly, you slid the straps off your shoulders, pulling the part of the dress hugging your hips downward until it pooled around your feet. Left only in your white lace panties, you remembered your husband’s command and slipped off the small, delicate piece as well.

You didn’t know when he’d come upstairs. Tossing yourself onto the soft, spacious bed, you felt the veil’s lace tickling your back. Your pussy throbbed, the ache radiating through your entire body. Pressing your thighs together to ease the tension, you tried to give yourself some relief, but it was nowhere near enough. His thick fingers and the skilled strokes of his tongue should’ve been there. And then, his thick—

The sound of footsteps nearing the room made you sit up. The dim light from outside spilled into the room, framing your husband’s broad silhouette as he entered. In his hand, he held a glass of whiskey. He hadn’t had a drop all night since he’d been driving, and you didn’t know how he’d resisted. Nanami loved whiskey.

He needed to satisfy his thirst.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, your naked body on full display, you watched him as he scanned you hungrily. Bringing the glass to his lips, you noticed his shirt sleeves were newly rolled up, revealing the veins running along his strong forearms. You’d give anything to run your tongue along them.

When he reached you, he looked down at you with sharp, hungry eyes and he spoke, his voice low and firm. “It’s a good thing you obeyed me, Mrs Nanami. Otherwise, I wouldn’t want to have to punish you tonight.” He caressed your cheek with the hand wearing his wedding ring. His touch was so soft that your eyes closed instinctively.

“I always obey you, Ken.”

“Do you now? I don’t think so. You can be such a brat sometimes.” His hand slid from your cheek to your lips, his thumb grazing your bottom lip before slowly slipping inside. As soon as his thick thumb was in your mouth, your tongue began swirling around it.

“When you act up, all I want to do is stuff that bratty mouth of yours so full that the next time you open it, you won’t even have the strength to speak. Fuck…” Nanami groaned, clearly enjoying the sight of you sucking his thumb. Your tongue played with it, your head moving as you took it deeper into your mouth, your lips wrapped tightly around it.

When he finally pulled his thumb out, your lips were wet and parted as you caught your breath. His hand moved quickly to your right breast, the thumb you had just been sucking circling your sensitive nipple. The sensation made you moan uncontrollably.

“Fuck…Ken…” You threw your head back as he teased your nipple with the wet digit.

“Lie on your back,” he commanded.

As your body met the sheets once more, you waited in anticipation, your excitement mounting as he climbed over you, still holding his glass. Leaning closer, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You know I haven’t been drinking tonight. So now, I’m going to savor this.” Pulling back slightly, he tilted the glass, pouring the whiskey slowly over your neck.

“KEN!” As the liquor spread across your skin, your back arched, but your husband’s lips pressing against your neck brought you back down.

His mouth worked on your neck with an intense hunger, lips sucking and tongue licking every drop of whiskey. The heat of his mouth against your skin left you trembling, each stroke of his tongue pulling more desperate sounds from your lips.

“Delicious,” he murmured, his lips leaving your neck only to follow a stray trail of whiskey downwards with his tongue.

“Oh God—please, don’t stop,” you whimpered, your legs shaking with need.

As your husband’s tongue slowly trailed from between your breasts down to your waist, he placed a kiss on your skin. You thought he’d pour more whiskey to lap up, but instead, he brought the glass to his lips, taking a sip. From it, he pulled out an ice cube, holding it between his fingers.

Oh, he was going to torture you.

As he traced the cold ice around your nipple, you bit down on your bottom lip, unable to hold back your reaction when the chill sent a shockwave through your body.

“Nghh—Ken, it’s so—so cold.”

“Hmmm, but you like it, don’t you? Hearing you moan like this makes me think you do.” Watching how the ice made your body writhe and delivered a strange, addictive pleasure drove you wild. Nanami’s fingers moved in slow, torturous circles. Occasionally, the ice grazed your nipples, drawing loud cries from you.

When he brought the ice to your other breast, his mouth closed over the nipple he had just teased with the ice. Your hands instinctively found his perfectly styled hair, tugging at it as your body arched beneath him.

Just as his lips had been firm on your neck, they were equally relentless as he sucked on your nipple. Sometimes he would tug and release it with his teeth, and other times his tongue would flick over its sensitive tip. As if the intense stimulation wasn’t enough, his fingers trailed the ice over your other breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake despite your inability to see it happening.

“Fuck, they’re so perfect. They’re so hard for me,” he groaned before letting your nipple go with an audible pop. “They love my mouth.”

The way he spoke to your breasts as though they were sentient was both ridiculous and unbelievably arousing.

“They do. They love you so much. Ughh… They crave all your attention, Ken,” you gasped.

He pressed his nose to your nipple, rubbing it lightly before giving it a final kiss. “And I love them so damn much,” he said, switching to the other nipple to repeat the same torturous treatment. Your husband gave the same dedicated attention to your other nipple, never tiring of the task. The contrast between your chilled skin from the ice and the heat of his mouth made you even wetter with every touch. You needed him to fill your aching pussy.

After pressing a final kiss to your sensitive nipple, Nanami pulled back and downed the last of the whiskey in his glass. Without hesitation, he hurled the empty glass across the room, the shattering sound barely registering before he flipped you onto your stomach. Your head was so fogged with pleasure that the sudden movement made your heart feel like it might leap out of your chest.

He slapped your ass and told you to bend over, and without wasting a single second, you obeyed.

“Your pussy is absolutely soaked, Mrs. Nanami. Fuck…” He groaned as two of his fingers trailed along your slick walls in your bent-over position, drawing a moan from you.

“Put them in…please,” you begged, desperate for him.

“My eager wife,” he said with a dark chuckle. “I’ll give you what you want, but your husband needs to be inside you now. Is that okay, darling? I need to feel your pussy.” His fingers kept teasing you, never giving you enough.

“Yes, Ken. However you want,” you replied breathlessly.

Though you couldn’t see it, Nanami smirked triumphantly. Leaning down, he placed a kiss on your ass before unzipping his pants and pulling down his boxers in record time. His cock, already leaking precum, throbbed painfully as he stroked it lightly.

One hand gripped your hips for support as he lined himself up with your entrance, his precum smearing against you.

“Ken, please, just put it in already,” you whined.

Your impatience earned you a sharp slap on your ass. “What did you just say?”

You buried your face into the sheets, the sting on your ass making you immediately regret your outburst. “Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said before thrusting into you in one swift motion.

Both of you gasped as his cock filled you completely. The position let you feel every inch of his thickness as he stretched you in ways that made you see stars.

You were both ready to explode.

Nanami started to move slowly, letting you adjust to his size. But even his measured pace couldn’t hide how massive he was. Each thrust and withdrawal reminded you just how deep he could reach.

“L-look at that. Taking my massive cock so perfectly. Fuck—it’s gripping me so tight, begging me to keep pumping into it nonstop.”

“I-It is, Ken. Please, give it what it wants,” you begged, voice trembling.

“Oh, I will. I’ll keep going until I fill this perfect pussy with my cum,” he growled, his other hand gripping your hip as he began to move faster.

With every thrust, your fingers gripped the sheets tighter. Your pussy clenched around him, and the strength in your legs was fading with each movement. He clearly didn’t have the patience to wait. It made sense why he wanted to be inside you so desperately before fingering or tasting you.

“Uh-huh—fuck, darling, just like that. Move your ass back against me,” your husband growled, his voice thick with lust as your hips rolled back to meet his thrusts.

“S-shit, Ken… you’re so big,” you moaned.

“I know,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips even harder. “And you take my big cock just the way I want you to—fuck, just like I want.”

Nanami’s pace quickened, his thick cock filling your silky walls with every deep stroke. You buried your face into the mattress, screaming as the intensity overwhelmed you.

The lace veil flowing down your back swayed wildly with each of his movements. Nanami had been obsessed with it all night, dying to grab it in his fist and pull you even closer until you lost your mind.

“You should see your veil, Mrs. Nanami. With every thrust, it’s whipping back and forth,” he said, sliding one hand to your veil and wrapping it firmly around his fist.

“Nanami, no, you’ll tear it!” you gasped, panic creeping into your voice. You didn’t want it ruined, and knowing how rough he was being right now, he could rip it apart with one swift move.

Your husband’s fist tightened angrily around your veil. With the hand gripping your hip, he pulled your head up from the sheets toward him. Even as his hand slid to your throat, the hold wasn’t overly firm.

“Did you just call me Nanami?” His voice was low and sharp.

You were so fucked.

“I-I don’t remember,” you stammered. Truly, you didn’t. All you could think about was saving your veil from destruction.

“Sounds like I need to remind you how to address me, darling.”

His hand released your throat, letting your head drop back to the mattress. The veil was still wound tightly in his other hand as he started pounding into you faster, the head of his cock hitting your deepest spots with devastating precision. It felt like the same speed he reached when you rode him, bouncing wildly on his lap. You couldn’t remember him ever fucking you this fast.

A sharp slap landed on your ass, making your legs tremble as you moaned loudly. You were definitely paying for calling him by his last name. Somehow, his hand strikes synced perfectly with his thrusts, each one brushing against your g-spot. The sensations built into a crescendo, leaving you breathless.

“My name isn’t Nanami. It’s never been Nanami to you,” he growled, his frustration palpable. “You call me Ken or nghhh—your husband. You can’t even say Kento, understand?” His grip on your veil tightened further.

“Y-yes, husband,” you whimpered, biting down on your lower lip.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his head thrown back as his hips snapped harder against you. His hand left your ass to find your clit, his fingers rubbing tight, deliberate circles that sent you hurtling closer to the edge.

“K-k-ken… ohhhh, my husband!” you cried out, your nails digging into the sheets as his fingers worked magic on your clit.

“That’s right. Don’t forget who you belong to, Mrs. Nanami. Don’t forget who you walked down that aisle to today.” Nanami started rubbing your clit faster, the trembling of your slick walls tightening even more around him signaling that you were about to come. He wasn’t far from his own release either.

“Come for me, baby. Fill my cock with all your juices. Don’t leave a single drop behind. F-fuck…” His hand loosened its grip on your veil, giving all his energy to his relentless thrusts as he pushed you over the edge.

“Ke-ken, I’m cumming. Ohhh—don’t stop, please don’t stop!” you screamed, your body trembling violently as your orgasm overtook you.

“Me too, baby, me too…” Nanami groaned, slamming into you a few more times before his fingers pinched your clit, sending you spiraling into another wave of pleasure as he spilled his hot cum deep inside you.

Sweat rolled down your spine as you gasped for air. Even after his movements stopped, soft moans spilled from your lips. Your wedding night hadn’t been the gentle, romantic affair you’d envisioned, filled with sweet kisses and whispered vows. Instead, it was raw, rough, and dangerously close to tearing your veil apart.

You just hoped it was still intact.

When Nanami finally pulled out, some of his thick cum leaked from his tip. Gently, he turned you onto your back, chuckling when he noticed that the messy bun you had styled on the way home had now gone far beyond messy.

“You’re an absolute mess,” he teased, his tone playful.

“Gee, I wonder why,” you shot back, still struggling to catch your breath.

“Guess I’ll have to mess you up even more, then,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. Before you could protest, he shifted between your legs, his fingers pushing the cum leaking from you back inside. The cool metal of his wedding band brushed against your walls, making you whimper. Nanami smirked at your reaction before lowering his head, his tongue tracing your folds as he began to build you up again.

You knew very well that this man wouldn’t stop until morning. He wouldn’t let you go until he was completely satisfied. How you were going to make it to your flight to Malaysia for your honeymoon tomorrow (or rather, later today) was a mystery to you. But knowing your punctual husband, he would somehow get you there on time.

This wasn’t what you needed to focus on right now, so you closed your eyes and let your hands tangle in your husband’s hair, allowing him to fulfill the promise he’d made to you.

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cheapshrimpysheep · 2 days ago

Text

Unlucky Overtime

SUMMARY: The Spelldrive game against Royal Sword Academy was very close. But it was in overtime that the teams broke the tie and Night Raven College... lost. They were very upset by this loss and need your comfort even if they deny it.

CHARACTERS: Spelldrive Club 🧹 (Leona Kingscholar; Ruggie Bucchi; Epel Felmier)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Comfort; Kiss

WORD COUNT: An average of 780 words per character.

COMMENTS: Following the same premise as what I wrote for Basketball Club and Track and Field Club of "What if they lost?"

When I started writing about comforting them when they lose, I ended up finding it more interesting and cute than celebrating when they win. I think it's in the bad times that feelings are most intimate and honest.

When I wrote Epel's part, I was upset about something IRL and it ended up helping me writing him. 😂

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy 😉

CONTEXT: If there are competitive players who love to win, they are the members of the NRC Spelldrive Club. Leona, Ruggie and Epel especially. They were playing with everything, especially because of the school they were playing against. The game against Royal Sword Academy was very close, as expected.

When the game ended they needed to break the tie and so the game went into overtime. But unfortunately, this did not give your school the victory.

Leona seemed upset about losing, as did the other players on his team. But even so, he was the calmest in comparison.

They congratulated the RSA students on their victory (or as close to it as possible, if we ignore the slight growls and murderous looks). They avoided unnecessary interactions until they could leave the field.

You know very well how Leona hates to lose, especially when he tries so hard. And so you knew you had to check on him and try to comfort him, even if he says he doesn't want you to.

You go to the locker rooms exit, but you don't see Leona coming out. Many of the players looked at you angrily when they passed by, but knowing how close you were to Leona, they didn't have the courage to even be rude to you directly.

When you see Ruggie, you ask him about Leona. He tells you that Leona left right after he came in, that he went in, grabbed his things and left. He didn't even change his clothes. This worries you and Ruggie.

“You should go check on him.” Ruggie tells you. “And even if he says he wants to be alone, don't listen, okay? He likes your company even if he doesn't like to admit it. I would also warn you not to pressure him, but you already know that.”

“And where do you think he went?” You ask.

“Where do you think he went? Come on, it's not like we don't know his favorite spots.”

You decided to try your luck at the Botanical Garden, and it looks like you were right, but you didn't realize it right away. You go to one of his favorite spots under a certain tree. You look around, but you don't see anyone, until you suddenly see a tail appearing hanging down beside you. You look up and see Leona lying on a thick branch above you.

“I don't need your comfort.” Leona says, without moving and without looking at you. “Go to your dorm. It's late.”

“You wanted me to see you.” You say. “Otherwise you wouldn't let your tail fall beside me.”

“Believe what you want, herbivore.”

His tail was still there by your side and you don't resist to touch it to mess with him. You reach your hand towards his tail, but at the last second it swings, lightly hits you in the face and returns to Leona's lap, away from you. He finally looks at you, but with an annoyed face and growls.

“I'm not in the mood to play. Go away before I bite you... Don't look at me like that.” He adjusts his head again and stops looking at you.

You sit down against the tree trunk. He growls again, but doesn't move. Just like with cats, you'll just stay there waiting for him to come to you. You use your phone or read a book while you wait.

A few minutes later it starts to get colder, you start to notice it and curl up a little. Suddenly something falls on top of your head, you uncover yourself and see that it is a long coat. Leona's captain's coat. You look up and see him in the same lazy position but without the coat and just with the black clothes and belts. You put it on and you start to warm up right away because it was still warm from him having been wearing it.

A few more minutes later and you are startled again by something that falls right in front of you. Or rather, that lands right in front of you.

“Don't you get tired?” Leona asks you, crouching down and looking you in the eyes. “Of being so stubborn?” He has that unbothered, but still slightly annoyed face.

You put down what you had in your hands and stretch your legs on the floor. He gives you a little throat growl. You smile, but he growls at you more, and suddenly he throws himself at you as if he's going to attack you. But he didn't. He stopped very close to your face.

“Yes. I'm angry that I lost.” He says in a low voice. “And that's why you shouldn't have come to me. I don't need pity or words of comfort.”

“Do you really think I pity you?” You ask. “I wasn't worried about you being angry. I was worried that you would fall back into that depressive state of feeling like life is unfair and it's not worth trying anymore.”

His green eyes remain fixed on yours and suddenly he kisses you eagerly. You already know him well enough to know what truly hides behind those roars and tough guy mask. His instinct was to reward you for it.

After he breaks the kiss he lays his head either on your chest or in your lap and hugs you. You are trapped now until he is willing to let you go.

Ruggie was so angry that Leona had to calm him down. All the NRC players congratulated the RSA players, but clearly only because it was what they had to do. The tension and animosity could be cut with a knife. After that, the NRC players go straight to the locker rooms. You feel like you should check on Ruggie.

You go to the exit of the locker rooms to wait for him. Some of the players who passed you on their way out gave you bad looks, but knowing how close you were to Ruggie, they did nothing more than just grumble into the air.

When Ruggie finally left he was still angry. When he saw you, his expression didn't change much other than being a little embarrassed.

“Hi, sorry, I don't have time.” He apologizes, clearly trying to avoid you, but smiling. “I want to put these clothes in the wash ASAP.” He walks around you and starts going away.

You follow him.

“I was thinking about trying those new donuts from Sam's shop with you.” You say.

You see his ears twitch with interest.

“Yeah... but you know, I'm not really hungry. And since they're new, those donuts are still expensive. I'm waiting for him to lower the price a little.”

“Don't worry, I already bought them for you.”

Ruggie stops! And looks at you in surprise.

“You did?! Why?”

“I wanted to give them to you after the game anyway. You know, for the good game.” You see him pouting. “I didn't buy them as a consolation gift. I did it before the game started. I was going to give them to you even if you had won.”

He seemed more satisfied with that explanation and you took out the box you had in your backpack.

“How come I don't smell it?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise, so I asked Sam if there was a way to hide the scent from you. He used a spell on the box.”

Ruggie asks you if he charged extra for the spell. You said he didn't. Before you open the box, Ruggie suggests that you go to a more chill place. After all, you were still near the locker rooms surrounded by players and spectators.

The Windmill is right behind the coliseum and not many people usually go there. In fact, there was no one else there. The two of you sat on the edge of the stream that surrounded the Windmill. The sound of running water could calm both of you.

You open the box, take out one of the donuts and hold it up to his mouth. He blushes a little, but accepts your offer and takes a bite. You loosen your grip and he takes the donut out of your hand with his mouth.

While he was eating he looked at the water and despite the calming sound his anger returned because of the thoughts that also returned to that game. You could hear him mumbling softly, and see his ears back and his teeth showing.

He finishes eating the donut and stands up abruptly, starting to release his frustration with swearing and cursing to the air, kicking the ground and even pulling up grass. You remain sitting on the floor eating your donut.

As soon as he finishes his emotional outburst, which he always did with his back to you, he finally turns around, dropping his arms and sighing. He kneels down next to you, looks at you with a pout, picks up the box of donuts and takes it from your lap. For a second you think he's going to steal all the donuts for himself, but he sets the box aside and lays his head in your lap as if he's laying it on the pillow after a tantrum. You even hear a dog-like whining. If you pet his head, you might see his tail wagging a little.

The two of you continued eating the donuts as you pet his head and ears to comfort him. When the donuts are gone and the box is empty, he gets up, sitting on the grass next to you. Ruggie looks at you, still a little sad, but calmer and with an affectionate sparkle in his eyes.

He doesn't say anything, he just throws himself into a kiss as a thank you.

EPEL WAS PISSED!!! Leona and Ruggie had to calm him down. Even RSA players were scared to see someone like Epel like that. Like other NRC players he avoided unnecessary interactions with players from the opposing and winning team.

As soon as they were able to retreat to the locker rooms Epel was one of the quickest to leave the field. You knew you should check on him.

You go to the exit of the locker rooms to wait for him. You see the other NRC players walk past you, angry about losing and when you finally see Epel coming out of the locker room, the expression on his face is the same if not worse than that of his other teammates, even the vein in his forehead was bulging.

But that changes completely the moment he sees you. His shoulders, and consequently his posture, relaxed and he smiled slightly at you, knowing he couldn't fool you with a big smile. He had a bandage on his nose because of the injury he suffered when he blocked a shot with his face during the game.

You walk over to him and carefully place your hands on his face, showing your concern for his injury. He blushes!

“D-Don't worry. I'm fine, I promise... Gah, wait! Vil’s gonna kill me when he sees me like this!” He suddenly worries.

You say that Vil doesn't need to see him so soon and suggest that the two of you go for a walk so he can clear his head a bit. He sighs and accepts your offer, you are usually right at these times.

“I really need to go for a walk. Or a run. Dagnabbit, I don't even know if walking around the entire campus is enough. If we could leave the camps whenever we wanted and I had a Blastcycle, or... OH! What if you come with me for a broom ride?”

“But you just finished a game of Spelldrive.” You say “Are you sure getting back on a broomstick will be good for you?”

“Don't worry, I can separate a game from a ride. Trust me, it will be good to feel the fresh wind on my face.” He gives you a reassuring smile.

He goes to get his broom and you climb on it behind him, holding on to his torso. The beginning of the ride is pleasant, but eventually he starts to speed up until he reaches a point where you squeeze him and ask him to slow down.

“AH! Sorry, sorry, sorry! My mind went back to that game and I got angry again. I must have started speeding up by accident because of that. Sorry... I think we should stop somewhere for a break.”

He lands on the roof of Ramshackle Dorm.

“Sorry again if I worried you.” He tells you after you both get off the broom. But the ride actually helped me a bit.” Suddenly he grimaces in pain and puts his fingers to the bandage on his nose, it seems his bad mood was returning.

You cup his face and kiss his nose lightly. He blushes a lot again and look away from you.

“I wanted you to see us win.” He admits. “I was so excited to know you were watching. I really wanted to make you proud.”

You tell him that you're proud of him, just as Ruggie and Leona probably are too. Who wouldn't be? He always works so hard to improve. And he's still just a freshman, there will be more opportunities to win, he's just starting out. And for a start, you're sure he played better than a lot of freshmen. You finish by saying that he should rest, especially with an injury like that, and you even offer to take care of it for him if he needs.

“Thank you so much, (Y/N).” He smiles sweetly at you. “I promise I'll give you a win next time.”

If you say that you would prefer him to be more careful, his smile and gaze will become even more affectionate.

“I'll try. Although... hum, nothing.”

You say that now you want to know and he blushes slightly.

“I... I was just thinking that... it must be nice to be taken care of by you. I wouldn't mind getting a shot in the face again for that. Ha ha ha.”

If you hug him, he will freeze for a second, but then he will hug you back and you will feel a loving squeeze, as he whispers a thank you. If you let him, he will kiss your cheek after the hug. And if you want, he will continue with another type of kiss.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst fluff #Twisted Wonderland Fluff #Leona Kingscholar #Leona Kingscholar x Reader #Ruggie Bucchi #Ruggie Bucchi x Reader #Epel Felmier #Epel Felmier x Reader

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sigilslvt · 1 day ago

Text

JEALOUSY • DRABBLE

☣︎ Summary: The men all have their reasons for getting jealous around you. But how exactly do they react when they feel the threat is much more real? SURELY, they’re rational, right?

Includes: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Choso, Sukuna, and Nanami

Tags: fem! reader, friends to lovers, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, teasing, bulging, pussy eating, choking, breeding, praise, overstim, possessiveness, threatened gun violence, toxic possessiveness, car sex, dry humping, rough sex, squirting, pining, premature ejaculation, love bombing, pregnancy, pregnancy sex, true form sukuna, slight angst

WC: 13.1k

A/N: I cackled writing Choso’s, my poor baby is too precious 😩💜

༒︎ Gojo Satoru ༒︎

You pull into the gas station because, once again, your car is on its last leg. Satoru’s been absolutely useless this entire car ride, lounging like some kind of overgrown housecat, sunglasses crooked on his nose, humming the most obnoxious song he can think of just to get under your skin. His long legs are kicked up on your dashboard like he’s king of the world.

“Finally, a pit stop,” he says, stretching dramatically. “I was starting to think you’d just run us out of gas for fun. You know, to create a bonding moment.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, putting the car in park. “Stay in the car. Not that I have to tell you that.”

He snickers, not even looking up from whatever weird little game he’s playing on his phone. “Sure thing, sugar. Let me know if you need me to heroically pump the gas for you. I’ll try not to make it look too easy.”

You ignore him because giving him attention only makes it worse. You grab your wallet and step out, the cold air biting at your face as you swipe your card and get ready to fill the tank as quickly as possible so you can return to the cocoon of warmth that is your car. You’re in your own little zone, minding your business, when a voice breaks through the quiet.

“Hey there! Need some help?”

You glance up, startled, and see a guy walking over. He’s got that effortless, small-town-boy charm, the kind of guy who probably calls everyone “ma’am” and knows how to fix a tractor. He’s smiling, too— a little too widely, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s taking the pump right out of your hands.

“Oh, I had it,” you say, trying to be polite, but this guy is already on a roll.

“Nah, no worries,” he says, grinning. “Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t have to pump their own gas. It’s just not right.”

You blink at him, caught somewhere between confusion and being impressed, because— wow. Is this really happening?

You glance back at your car, hoping Gojo hasn’t noticed, but as soon as your eyes land on his, you know you’re doomed. He’s sitting up now, sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, staring at you both like he’s just been served the juiciest gossip of the year. His grin is growing and you’re sure he’s ready to put on a show.

Before you can stop him, he throws open the car door and steps out like he’s been summoned to the stage. He stretches unnecessarily— arms up, head tilted back, like he’s on the cover of a sports magazine— and then saunters over, hands in his pockets, looking way too pleased with himself.

The gas station guy looks up, noticing Gojo for the first time. His smile falters just a little. “Oh, uh… hey. Didn’t realize you had someone with you.”

Satoru’s already grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Oh, don’t mind me,” he says, waving a hand. “I’m just her boyfriend. You know, the adoring, perfect, doting one who pumps her gas all the time.”

You groan. “Toru—”

“What? I’m just saying, it’s cute that you’re trying to help, bud,” he says, turning back to the guy with a grin so wide it’s almost terrifying. “But this is kind of my thing. I know she’s just the sweetest, but she’s taken.You get it, right? Yeah, you get it.”

The poor guy blinks, clearly unsure if Satoru’s joking or about to start something. “Uh, yeah, no problem,” he mutters, handing the pump back to you like it’s radioactive. “You two have a good day.”

“Oh, we will!” Gojo chirps, giving him a little salute. “And hey, nice try, man. Better luck next time.”

The guy doesn’t even look back. He practically sprints back to the safety of the gas station, and as soon as he’s gone, you turn to Toru, crossing your arms and pursing your lips in annoyance.

“What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” he asks, feigning innocence as he leans casually against the car. “I was just making sure no one stole my job. You know how much I love pumping your gas.”

You gape at him. “You’ve never pumped gas in your life!”

“Exactly,” he says smugly. “That’s what makes this moment so special. It’s a sacred duty.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “You’re so insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, draping an arm around your shoulders, “you love me. Isn’t that wild?”

“Whatever. I’m gonna get a snack. Want something?” you roll your eyes and start walking toward the station.

“I’ll come with, I’m craving something sweet.” he smirks with a look in his eyes that you can’t quite discern.

You raise a brow and walk with him, entering the gas station with the goal to grab a bag of chips and water, but the second you head for them, your hand is being trapped by Satoru’s and he’s tugging you toward the bathroom. You shoot him a look of confusion and annoyance, but he pays it no mind as he yanks you inside, closing the door behind you and pressing you against it.

“Toru, wha—”

“Told you I wanted something sweet, sugar. Bend over a little f’me.” he instructs, turning you so you’re facing the door. Your palms lay flat against it, trying to use it as leverage to turn yourself, but he presses your head to the door, too, his strong palm mushing your cheeks to it, sucking his teeth in disapproval.

“You’re insane, w-we’re in a gas station,” you try to reason with him, but his hand’s already shoved up your skirt and peeling down your panties. “Satoru, seriously…”

“Y’telling me to stop? She’s cryin’ f’me, though, I think she’ll be so sad if I don’t give her what she wants,” he purrs, getting to his knees and littering kisses on the fat of your ass. “C’mere, baby.”

You’re lost to him the moment he stuffs his face into your already dripping cunt, bucking yourself back against him and into the feel of his greedy tongue slipping between your folds and down, down, down to your clit. You can feel him smirking against you when he draws out a long shaky whine from your lips between your panting and while normally his cockiness would annoy you beyond belief, it instead turns you on more. And yet—

“Wh-hah— why couldn’t this wait until we got to the hotel?” you ask, nails scraping down the door when he plunges his tongue into your twitching hole.

He pulls away for a moment, spreading your ass to spit a glob of saliva between your folds and slurp it back up while sucking your clit. No answer. You huff and tremble, unsure of how long you’ll be able to keep yourself standing if he’s just gonna keep eating you like a man starved.

You try, you really do, to keep your voice down, but when his tongue hits that spot inside of your gummy walls, his hand between your thighs and thumb working on your clit, you can’t help but let your moans slip out. And oh, does that make him even more unrelenting. His thumb draws circles on your clit quicker and with more pressure, his tongue fucking into you as rough as can be.

Your eyelids flutter closed, breathing labored as you feel that sweet sweet build up that you love so much. He knows what comes next and while normally, he’d see you to the end, this time he stops, earning a frown from your pretty face.

“Wh-why’d y—” you start.

“Y’mine, say it.”

“What? Toru, what’s—”

“Say. It. Say y’mine… say y’love me and I’ll make you cum so good, sugar, I promise.” he all but whines.

You don’t know why it needs to be said or what’s going on with him, but you’ll be damned if you let your orgasm escape you. With every second that passes, it runs from you, so you give him what he needs. “I’m yours, baby. I love you.” you coo.

“Again.” he huffs against your cunt, making your knees weak. He’s so close. You’re so close.

“I love y— hah,” your breath escapes you when he delves his tongue back into your pulsing hole. “Fuuuuck… I love you, I love you, I l— fuck!” your cunt tries it’s best to grip his tongue, but he fucks it into you with more force as you cum on it, losing strength in your legs and slumping down while your brain goes dumb with pleasure.

He holds you up, tongue slipping out of you and back to your clit, his head shaking side to side while he licks at your clit, overstimulating you beyond belief. All you can do is cry out for mercy, palms battering at the bathroom door as you raise your white flag.

With that, he frees you from the sweet torture, massaging your thighs and resting back on his ankles. “I’m pumping your gas from now on.” he huffs.

Coming back to your senses, you realize why he pulled this stunt off. “Satoru. Were you… jealous!?” you chuckle in disbelief.

“I’ve got nothing to be jealous about, it seems. What with the ‘I love you, I love you, I—’” he mocks you while standing up and you smack his arm.

“Sh-shut up.” You huff, pouting as he puts your panties back in place, dolling you back up and kissing your shoulder.

“Nope. But you’re gonna wish you had when the poor guy out there’s blushing redder than red.” he teases. Your eyes widen and you cover your mouth with your hand when you realize he had to have heard everything.

“You’re insane.” your voice is muffled by your hand.

“Insane’s one word for it,” he smirks. “I like to say I’m just crazy for you.”

Not long later, you’re climbing back into the car. Satoru follows, flopping into the passenger seat with a contented sigh like he’s just won a marathon.

As you pull out of the station, he stretches again, kicking his feet up on the dash like he owns the place. “You know,” he says casually, “you should really thank me. That guy was totally about to ask for your number. I saved you from a very awkward situation.”

And you could quite literally kill him.

༒︎ Geto Suguru ༒︎

The room is buzzing with conversation, a polite undercurrent of tension that doesn’t escape you. Cult leaders and their followers mill about in finely tailored clothes, exchanging calculated smiles and empty pleasantries. You’re trying your best to look engaged, but your thoughts keep drifting to Suguru.

He stands a few feet away, surrounded by a small circle of curse users, his tall frame commanding attention with ease. His black robes flow elegantly around him, his long hair tied back neatly. The faint smirk on his face, the calm way he speaks— it all oozes confidence. Control. Every now and then, he glances in your direction, his sharp eyes softening for just a moment before flicking back to the conversation.

You’re nursing a drink near the refreshment table when someone sidles up beside you.

“Ah, I was hoping I’d get the chance to meet you,” a smooth voice says.

You turn to see a tall man in a perfectly tailored suit, his polished appearance almost too pristine. His expression is warm but calculated, and his sharp eyes are already fixed on you. Takeda. You recognize him instantly— leader of a large, influential cult. Non-sorcerer, but powerful in his own way.

“Good evening,” you reply, forcing a polite smile. They have their role to play, Geto tells you, so you make sure to keep appearances with non-sorcerers despite their usual poor attitude toward you.

He smiles wider. “Good evening, indeed. I couldn’t help but notice you standing here all by yourself. It seems almost criminal for someone as lovely as you to be left alone at an event like this.”

You feel your cheeks warm at the unexpected compliment, a small flush creeping up your neck. “I’m not alone. I’m here with my boyfriend,” you say, gesturing subtly in Suguru’s direction.

Takeda follows your gaze and chuckles softly. “Suguru Geto. Of course. I’ve heard much about him.” His attention snaps back to you, and his smile turns almost wolfish. “I must admit, though, I’m surprised. I didn’t think someone so… captivating would end up with a man who seems so creepy… Besides, I’m sure he’s always so busy. Too busy to truly appreciate a beauty like you.”

Your face heats further, and you stammer, “He’s not too busy. He’s just—”

Before you can finish, he takes your hand in his and presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles. It’s old-fashioned, deliberate, and enough to leave you momentarily stunned. Not in awe, but in pure shock. He’s bold, you’ll give him that.

Your breath catches, and you feel a wave of heat rush to your face. You try to pull your hand back, but his grip is firm— not unkind, but enough to make you falter. You can’t ruin appearances by hurting him, so you allow it, praying he’ll give up soon.

“A pleasure meeting you,” he murmurs, his lips still ghosting over your skin.

And then you feel it— the air shifting suddenly. A heavy, familiar presence fills the space around you, and Takeda finally releases your hand. You glance over your shoulder to see Suguru a few feet away, his dark eyes fixed on the two of you as he approaches.

“Takeda,” Suguru says smoothly, his tone light but carrying a weight that makes your stomach flip because you know better.

Takeda straightens and flashes a smile that’s far too confident. “Geto. What a pleasure to see you,” He gestures toward you. “I was just introducing myself to your lovely partner. She’s quite… enchanting.”

Suguru’s lips twitch, curving into a faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m aware.”

There’s a pause, the kind that feels too loud in the quiet. Suguru’s gaze flickers briefly to your hand before returning to Takeda.

“I see you’ve already made yourself comfortable,” he continues softly.

Takeda chuckles nervously, clearly unsure of how to respond. Geto’s not usually the type to be confrontational in public. It’s normally all smiles and politics for him, so this has Takeda stunned. “I meant no disrespect, of course.”

Suguru hums thoughtfully. “No disrespect… Of course not.” He tilts his head slightly, his smile sharpening. “But you’d do well to remember your place, Takeda. Admiration is one thing. Touching, however…” He trails off, his tone turning razor-sharp, dark eyes honing in on the poor man’s. “That’s dangerous, especially for someone like you.”

Takeda falters, his polished demeanor cracking for just a moment. “I— I’ll keep that in mind,” he mutters before excusing himself and retreating into the crowd.

As soon as he’s gone, Suguru turns to you, his sharp expression softening slightly. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just looking at you in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“You seemed… flustered,” he says finally, his voice quiet but probing.

Your cheeks burn, and you look away. “I wasn’t, he just caught me off guard,” you mumble.

Suguru steps closer, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Are you sure? Because from where I was standing…” He pauses, his voice dropping. “It looked like you didn’t mind it.”

“Suguru—”

“Did you like it?” he interrupts, his tone impossibly soft, almost vulnerable. “A weakling holding your hand, kissing it like that… Did you enjoy it?”

Your heart twists at the faint frown tugging at his lips, the rare glimpse of uncertainty in his usually composed expression. That’s when you recognize the look in his eye. It isn’t anger, it’s fear. Insecurity. Things you never expected to see from him.

“No,” you say quickly, reaching for him. “Of course not. I could never, baby.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze flickering over your face as if searching for any sign of dishonesty. Finally, he exhales softly and takes your hand in his, his thumb brushing over the spot where Takeda’s lips had been.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, his voice low but firm.

He leads you down a hallway, wanting to be away from the noise and chatter of the convention. When he pushes open the door to an empty room and pulls you inside, the silence feels almost deafening in comparison to everything on the outside.

Suguru closes the door and turns to face you, his dark eyes heavy with emotion. Without a word, he cups your face in his hands, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Say it,” he whispers, his voice raw.

“Say what?” you ask softly, your hands resting on his chest.

“That you’re mine,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against yours. “That you wouldn’t leave me for some monkey.”

Your heart aches at the quiet desperation in his tone. “I’m yours, of course I’m yours.” You whisper, your hands curling into his robes. “Always.”

The next thing you know, his lips are melting yours, soft at first, but quickly growing more insistent. When he pulls back, his breathing is uneven, and his eyes are darker than ever.

“Again,” he all but whines, his lips trailing down to your jaw. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Suguru,” you repeat, your voice racing as your heart squeezes. “Only yours.”

He exhales sharply, his hands sliding down to grip your waist. “Good,” he whispers, moreso to himself. “Good… because I need you.”

You nod, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kisses you again, this time with a desperation that feels like he’s trying to erase every trace of Takeda’s touch from your skin.

His nails dig into your sides, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, tasting all that you have— all that you are. He’s needy, moving to hoist you up and hook your legs around his waist.

Your dress rides up your thighs and he wastes no time gripping at the fat of them, subtly rolling his hips into you in a way that tells you he may just be doing it subconsciously. Gasps are shared between your lips as he kisses you a few more times before moving to swipe his tongue up your neck, stopping just under your jaw and sucking a big fat hickey into the crevice.

It feels so good that you almost don’t notice the way his hands are working their way down, down, down to your ass, pulling you into him with every roll of his hips. You feel how hard he is even through his robes, unable and unwilling to stop yourself from sliding the top of his gojogesa off his broad shoulders. You’re dipping your head down to pepper kisses all over his shoulder while he marks you up, your nails leaving marks of their own on his skin from how hard you’re gripping him.

You know what this is. Know what he needs. You’d be a fool to stop him from taking it. “Sugu… here.” You tell him, emphasizing your words by rolling your hips in tandem with his.

You swear you hear him growl as he tears his lips from your throat and grips your underwear on one side to tear them off, your eyes widening at the action. Suguru’s normally a calm, calculated man, even when he makes love to you, everything is suave and he’s always in control, but now? Now, he’s become someone entirely different. Someone needy. Someone eager to prove a point. To stake a claim.

“Here, angel.” Is all you hear before your mouth is stuffed with your own underwear and– when did he whip his dick out? You’ve got no idea, but it’s plugged into you before you can react, a long and grateful groan just spilling from Suguru’s lips like he’s finally laying in bed after a long day of hard labor. He’s home. Your head falls back against the door and he uses the opportunity to attack your neck again, littering the skin with kisses, licks, and the occasional bite.

He’s got no rhyme or rhythm in his thrusts, he simply ruts into you with a force that has the door shaking, the metal bar rattling and making your stomach lurch with fear at the fact that it could so easily be pushed for you two to end up on display for everyone. The fear falls away soon, however, replaced with nothing but pleasure when he’s targeting that wonderful gummy little bullseye that makes you go dumb on his cock.

Your eyes start searching for something in the back of your head, drool dribbling down the corners of your mouth and soaking your underwear as your shaky moans are muffled by the fabric. And you don’t know when it started, but your ears tune into Suguru whining the same thing repeatedly. “Mine, all mine, mine, mine, mine—” again and again and again with every punctuated thrust targeting your poor cervix.

Your nails rake down his back, hoping to find some sort of balance to compensate for the fact that your legs are beginning to ragdoll, no strength left in them as they flop by his sides with every thrust. Except, you don’t have to worry. No, his grip on you is bruising, he never wants to let you go.

And you wish you could see his face in this moment. See how he looks when he’s so adamant about proving it to himself that you’re his. Before you know it, you’re snaking a hand into his hair and tugging his head back, earning a needy little whine from his puffy lips before he’s looking at you. Oh, is he looking at you. Like you’re the world. Like you’re salvation. His brows are drawn tightly together, a pout on his lips that tells you he’d be nothing without you. God, you wanna kiss him. Wanna tell him a million times over that you’d never even think of another.

The look on your face tells him exactly what you want, you think, because in the next instant, he’s tearing the underwear from your mouth and crushing his lips into yours. His thrusts have rhythm now, his hips fucking into you with urgency. Every time his thick cock slips past your puffy folds, you’re inched closer, oh so closer to cumming and your stomach draws tight at the feeling. He’s chasing both of your orgasms, not once missing that spongey little spot that makes you see stars as he pounds you into the door, your voice sounding out to God knows how many people are in the hallway while you kiss him, your drool now slipping down his chin.

You hear him groan into the kiss as his hips start to falter– he’s close. And yet, while his rhythm is lost, his force is worse. Every thrust brings you closer and closer to the edge until you’re right there. “I love you,” he whines against your lips before breaking away and letting his head fall back. “I love you, I love you, I. Fucking. Love. You.” He punctuates the last repetition with a thrust for each word, cumming on the very last one along with you, who couldn’t help but cum at the words he’s never said before.

You two had been together for a year. A whole year and not once had Suguru ever uttered the words. You always knew he wasn’t an emotional man, so you never expected to hear the words. You felt it, though. His care for you. It was in his actions. How he never forgot an important date, how he would always bring home food or a treat or flowers for you, how he loathed being away from you for any given reason. And yet, the words still shock you.

He ruts into you a few more times before he stills, nothing to be heard except for your breaths shared between each other until his eyes go wide– perhaps in realization of what he’s just said, and he kisses you. Softer this time. More sure of himself. Like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders now that he’s confessed.

When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his hands tightening on your thighs. “Don’t let anyone else touch you like that again,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. Not angry, not upset, just… needy. “I don’t care who it is. I won’t stand for it. Even if you don’t love me like I love you, I just can’t bear to see that again.”

You smile and offer a tired chuckle, brushing his hair back from his face. “Y’know, for someone usually so calculated and knowing, you sure are stupid,” you shake your head softly. “I love you, too. More, actually.”

His lips press against your temple, and he exhales slowly, the tension in his body finally easing. “Not possible,” he murmurs again, his voice soft. You can hear his smile in it. “Nobody’s ever loved anyone like I love you.”

༒︎ Toji Fushiguro ༒︎

You aren’t sure if dragging Toji to your high school reunion is a brilliant idea or the worst decision you’ve made all year. On one hand, you know he can charm the socks off anyone when he wants to, all cocky smirks and lazy grins that send shivers down your spine. On the other hand, he doesn’t exactly thrive in situations that involve niceties and polite small talk—especially with people he doesn’t give a shit about. Still, you’ve convinced him, mostly because you want to show him off. He’s hot, and he’s yours. What’s the point if you can’t gloat a little?

Toji is surprisingly well-behaved for most of the evening. He nurses a glass of bourbon with his usual swagger, leaning against the bar and throwing you looks that tell you that he’ll be waiting for you to make this worth his while later. He even manages to avoid scaring off too many of your old classmates, though you catch the occasional side-eye when he’s not so subtle about telling them to fuck off. Everything’s going smoothly.

That is, of course, until he notices you talking to him.

You don’t mean to bump into your ex-boyfriend. Really, you don’t. But there he is, standing near the drink table with the same easy grin you remember from your teenage years. He calls your name, and before you can stop yourself, you’re smiling back and walking over. Toji’s gaze burns into your back the entire way.

“Wow, you look amazing,” your ex says, his tone warm but casual. It’s just an observation— a compliment between old friends, but you can just feel the way Toji’s teeth grind from across the room.

“Thanks. You’re not looking too bad yourself,” you reply, keeping your tone light. The conversation flows easily, filled with harmless reminiscing about old high school antics. Nothing romantic. Nothing serious. Just memories of embarrassing pranks, favorite teachers, and the god-awful cafeteria food.

But you know Toji. You don’t have to look to know he’s watching, his sharp green eyes narrowing every time your ex laughs or steps just a little too close. You can practically hear the internal dialogue: “Who the fuck does this guy think he is?”

Then your ex does it. The thing you know is going to push Toji over the edge.

He hugs you.

It’s quick and friendly, a casual embrace to say goodbye. But as soon as your ex’s arms wrap around you, you feel your body being eaten up by your boyfriend’s shadow. You pull back quickly, about to turn to Toji to defuse whatever storm is brewing, but it’s too late.

He moves quickly— silent and deadly. One second, he’s leaning against the bar. The next, he’s standing behind you, his presence towering and suffocating. His hand rests on the back of your neck, deceptively casual as he leans in close.

“I dunno why yer touchin’ her, pal,” Toji drawls, his voice low and dangerous, “but don’t let it happen again.”

Your ex blinks, clearly startled by the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I… sorry? I was just saying goodb—”

Toji’s hand moves and you worry he may actually hit the poor guy. “Oh, shit.”

“You gonna say goodbye, then get the fuck outta here,” Toji says, his grin sharp and feral as he subtly lifts his sweater just enough to reveal the gun tucked into his waistband. “Before I decide you don’t need yer legs.”

Your ex’s eyes go wide and he stumbles over himself to retreat, mumbling something about it being nice to see you before practically sprinting away. You don’t even have time to scold Toji before security is suddenly very interested in the two of you.

Five minutes later, you’ve been escorted out of the venue, Toji’s hand resting possessively on the small of your back. You wait until you’re alone in the parking lot to whirl on him.

“Seriously?” you hiss, smacking his arm. “You pulled a gun on him?!”

“Relax, doll,” Toji says, his grin infuriatingly smug. “I didn’t even take it out.”

You groan, stomping toward the car. You reach for the passenger door, but before you can open it, his arm shoots out, blocking your path.

“Nah,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Yer sittin’ in the back with me.”

“What, am I in trouble now? Gonna spank me?” you ask sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

Toji doesn’t answer. He just opens the back door and shoves you inside, sliding in next to you and shutting the door behind him. You cross your arms, giving him a pointed glare. It doesn’t take long before he’s sulking.

He leans back against the seat, legs spread wide, and huffs like an overgrown child. “Wasn’t jealous,” he mutters.

You snort. “Sure you weren’t.”

“Ain’t funny,” he grumbles, glaring at you.

You can’t resist pushing him just a little further. “If you’re not jealous, then you won’t mind if I go back inside to grab his number. Y’know, for old times’ sake.”

His head snaps toward you, his jaw tightening. In one quick motion, he turns, caging you against the seat with his arms. “The fuck you just say?”

“You heard me,” you say, smirking. “If you’re not jealous, it shouldn’t bother you.”

Toji’s eyes narrow, and the tension in the car shifts again, but this time it isn’t anger. It’s something else entirely. He leans in until his nose brushes yours, his voice dropping to a low growl.

“Ain’t about bein’ jealous,” he says, his breath warm against your lips. “Ain’t nobody else touchin’ my girl. Don’t care what reason they have.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as his lips ghost along your jawline. His touch is possessive, his grip firm enough to leave no room for argument. You can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine.

“Toji…” you start, but he cuts you off with a low chuckle.

“Nah, you’ve been mouthin’ off thinkin’ yer cute,” he says, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “Time to shut that pretty mouth o’ yours.”

He's enjoying himself, towering over you in the confined space of the car, the sunlight streaming in from the windows only highlighting the wolfish grin that spreads across his face.

“You’re so—”

"Hm?" He hums, his hand already snaking down your side, easily slipping under the hem of your dress as he plants a kiss onto the side of your neck. "Y' got somethin' t' say, doll?"

His fingers dance on your skin, inching closer and closer to the spot he knows will make you weak in the knees. He's toying with you, getting a kick out of your restraint as you try to formulate words again. But before you can finish even a syllable, he cuts you off.

"Save it, sweetheart. Was gonna be nice 'nd all when we got home t’night, but you had to go and run that pretty mouth with yer ex." He growls lowly in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “So while yer getting yer brains fucked stupid, I want you t’remember… this is on you.”

With a rough grasp, he flips you onto your stomach in the backseat, your dress riding up your ass as he yanks your panties down with a swift tug, the cool air hitting it and making your hole clench around nothing. His dick is hard and straining against his pants, pre seeping through to form a dark spot. The anticipation of what's to come has your breath hitching, heat pooling between your legs. He leans over you, the weight of his body pressing down onto yours.

He’s rutting against your ass, one hand sliding up to toy with one of your nipples while his other hand massages your hip. God, if you could see the needy little look on your face right now, then he’d finally get you to understand just why he’s so addicted to you. You’re just so gluttonous for him. Always wanting more, more, more. And of course, he’s always willing to give.

But right now isn’t the moment for giving. No, he needs to take. To take and take and take until there’s no more left of you to give to anyone but him. Always him. He backs away just enough for him to unzip his pants, his cock springing free. His hand finds it immediately, stroking himself in slow, teasing motions, hard length throbbing against your bare ass. There's a devilish grin on his face as he utters, "Gonna show ‘er how much she needs me."

Without waiting for a response, he aligns himself with your sobbing cunt, teasing your folds with his thick head just swiping back and forth and mixing his pre into your skick. He groans at the contact, his hand gripping your hip tighter. Suddenly, with a swift thrust, he plunges himself deep, his girth stretching you so mind numbingly good that you fear you may just pass out. The thing is, he’s barely in, but the sensation is already overwhelming, causing you to gasp and buck your hips.

He wishes you knew how fucking good you feel. Wishes you knew that whenever he fucks you, that tight ring of resistance tries so hard to push him out. That is, until he’s fucked his fat tip into you a few times, because then you’re practifally sucking him in. He knows the stretch is a lot. Knows you’re sore hours later without fail and yet, you still beg for more. Just like now.

Words are failing you, but your look is enough. You want more. Need more than just his tip. You wanna be broken in. And so he does. He feeds you inch after inch of him, sitting up and pausing at the halfway point to admire the way your cunt looks swallowing him so eagerly. He grasps at the globes of your ass, jiggling them and biting his lower lip at the God granted sight.

His free hand moves to the back of your head, fingers snaking into your hair before he grips tightly and brings your head up so he can press your face into the window. And just light that, he fucks the rest of himself into you roughly, grunting.

"Fuckin’— take it," he rasps out, taking a brief moment to adjust to the feeling of your tightness around him, unable to resist a little moan of his own. Then, he starts moving. Slow and punishing at first, then picking up speed with the same punishing force. Each thrust is precise and purposeful, perfectly hitting that spot inside you that makes you feel fuzzy. He's unabashedly vocal too, grunting and groaning with each delicious slide in and out of your wetness. "Fuck... y' take my cock so good..." he compliments, pushing your face harder into the back window.

Easing up on his grip on your waist, he rolls his hips, grinding against your ass before pulling out for just a moment to slap his tip against your folds, watching as your cunt twitches and then thrusting back in again. His actions are deliberate and controlled, meant to stir you up and drive you to your limit.

"Please baby, please, please, please..." you moan helplessly, your words swallowed up by the sounds of your bodies slapping together and his grunts of pleasure. But he merely chuckles darkly, gripping your hip and pressing your face against the window harder as if to anchor himself and punish you at the same time, his thrusts never faltering.

"Y' can gimme more than that," he teases, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans down, teeth nibbling at your exposed neck.

He slows almost to a stop, but the slight shallow thrusts still feel so overwhelmingly good you think you’re gonna go insane. “Y’really think she could live without me? Mmm mm, no, she needs me. I’m the only one who can stuff this greedy little pussy the way she needs to be stuffed. Isn’t that right, baby? Say it f’me.”

“F-fuck! Toki, gonna—” SMACK!

“Not talkin’ to you, princess. Talkin’ to her.” He delivers a pointed thrust into you to emphasize the fact that he’s genuinely talking to your cunt in his pussydrunk state.

Your sure he’s left a permanent handprint because of how hard he spanked your ass. The sting that lingers where his palm landed makes your cunt twitch and ache around him, which he considers to be answer enough. “S’what I fuckin’ thought. Atta fuckin’ girl, yes baby.” He groans, quickening the pace ever so slightly and beginning to pull you back into him to meet his thrusts.

“Talkin to an ex, y’must have wanted to get yerself fucked stupid, hm? Is that what you wanted? To be fucked like this?” He’s talking, but you can tell it isn’t for actual answers, no, it’s more to himself. He’s fucked out. So close to the edge.

The thrusting quickens, his hot breath fanning over your ear. "Cum f' me, doll," he commands, his voice dropping an octave, "show me how good I make y' feel. Only me. And then I’m gonna breed yer cute cunt so good." With that, he delivers a particularly hard thrust, aiming for that spot inside you that will unravel you completely.

That’s when you finally let loose, the coil inside your tummy snapping and letting you feel so much pleasure that you’re moving your ass back into him with a force that’s unmatched, just swallowing him deep into you over and over again. And that does it for him— his cum spurting inside you and filling you so good.

He kisses you so hungrily you feel you may just lose your breath entirely and pass out. His hands are holding you in place so you don’t fuck back onto him, because he knows if you did, he’d break you.

Toji leans back, smirking at the sight of you, his thumb brushing your swollen lips.

“You done throwing your little tantrum?” you tease, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

He glares at you, though there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re real fuckin’ funny, y’know that?”

“Oh, I know.” And deciding to drop the bombshell now, you lean back against the seat and say casually, “By the way, he’s married. To a man. They have two kids.”

Toji freezes, his expression shifting from smug to incredulous in seconds. He blinks like a cartoon character in shock, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“Yup,” you say, your grin widening. “Your big, scary display of dominance? Totally unnecessary.”

He huffs, running a hand through his hair. The look on his face is so priceless you wish you could brand it into your memory. “Tch. Coulda fuckin’ said somethin’ sooner.”

“And miss all the fun?” You laugh, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Before you can say anything else, he’s on you again, his hands roaming as he mutters, “Gonna make you pay for makin’ me start a scene.”

You laugh, the sound cutting off into a gasp as his hands find their mark. “I made you start a scene? Oh, this I gotta hear.” You say, your voice breathless but still teasing.

“Keep talkin’, doll,” he says, his grin turning wicked. “See where it gets ya.” And then his lips are finding yours again. Just like that, the argument is forgotten, lost in the haze of his possessive, consuming affection.

༒︎ Choso Kamo ༒︎

The mall is crowded, loud with the hum of chattering voices and echoing footsteps. It isn’t your favorite place to hang out, but your best friend had begged you to come along. Somehow, Choso ended up tagging along too, though you weren’t sure why. He wasn’t exactly the mall type, after all— too quiet, too detached from the bustling energy of human spaces like this.

You glance over your shoulder at him now, and there he is, just like you’d expect. He’s trailing a few steps behind, hands shoved into the sleeves of his robe, his dark eyes drifting lazily over the crowd. His usual stoic mask is firmly in place, making him seem untouchable to anyone passing by. But you know better than that. Beneath the unapproachable aura, Choso is awkward— painfully shy even. He’s still figuring out how to interact with humans, still trying to understand what it means to live in a world like this.

And for some reason, he’s decided you’re his safe space.

You smile to yourself, turning your attention back to the task at hand. Your friend had told you they’d meet you at the bookstore, but they’re running late, so you decide to wander into one of the nearby shops to kill time.

Choso doesn’t follow. You assume he’s probably going to find a dark corner to tuck himself into.

What you don’t realize is that he does follow. At a distance. He’s used to watching from the sidelines, content to let you move through your world without interference. He doesn’t mind, in fact, he learns from watching how you interact with people, animals, media, and the likes. He learns about the world, but more importantly, he learns about you.

His eyes are on you now, but just seconds later, they shift. There’s a new focus, a new target. Him.

The guy behind the counter at the little boutique you walked into. He’s tall, clean-cut, and obnoxiously friendly. At first, Choso thinks nothing of it. It’s not like he can stop every stranger from talking to you. But as the guy’s gestures become more animated, and his laughter gets a little too familiar, something shifts in Choso’s chest.

He wishes he could hear whatever it is he’s saying that has you so giddy. Wishes he could just— wait, what?

The guy leans forward across the counter, his hand brushing yours as he hands you something, maybe a receipt, maybe a bag, Choso doesn’t care. Because what he does next is what hammers the nail in the coffin. His hand moves to the top of your head and he ruffles your hair, making you laugh. It’s the casual intimacy of the gesture that makes his stomach churn. He knows he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. He knows. But he can’t help the way his jaw tightens, or the way his fingers curl into fists in his sleeves.

You’re still smiling at the guy. You’re laughing. And he hates it.

His mind spirals before he can stop it. The scene plays over and over in his head, each time twisting into something worse. What if you like this guy? What if you’re into someone who can flirt with ease, someone who doesn’t stumble over their words or overthink every little thing?

What if you don’t want him?

Choso feels a sharp pang in his chest, like something fragile has cracked. He’s been so careful, so guarded with his feelings. He thought he could keep them tucked away, safe from rejection, safe from ruining this. But now? Now he feels them slipping through the cracks, raw and unmanageable.

He looks away, leaning back against the wall outside the store. His heart’s racing, though he doesn’t know why. It’s not like he has any claim over you. You’re your own person, free to talk to whoever you want. He’s just… He’s just the weird half-curse with no idea what his place is in this world who follows you around and doesn’t know how to say what he feels. But what if he did say it?

The thought hits him like a lightning bolt, sudden and electrifying. He’s scared, sure— terrified, actually, but the idea of staying silent is worse. He doesn’t want to lose you to someone else, not without at least trying.

So he waits.

When you finally walk out of the shop, you’re holding a small bag, a content smile on your face. You spot him instantly, standing off to the side like he’s been there the whole time.

“Hey, sorry that took so long. They had some really cute stuff in there,” you say, holding up the bag as if to explain.

Choso doesn’t respond right away. His eyes flick to the shop behind you, then back to your face. He doesn’t ask about your purchases. Instead, he asks, “Who was that?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Who?”

“The guy you were talking to,” he says, his tone as flat as ever, but there’s something behind it—a tension you can’t quite place.

“Oh, him? That’s just my friend from school. He works here part-time,” you explain, shrugging. “I didn’t even know before now.”

Your words are casual, but they allow Choso a wave of relief. That relief is short-lived, however, replaced almost immediately by a surge of determination. This is his chance. His moment to say what he’s been holding back.

“Can I… talk to you for a second?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You tilt your head, curious but not concerned. “Of course. What’s up?”

He gestures for you to follow him, leading you away from the bigger crowd and toward a seating area deeper in the mall that’s less populated. Once you’re there, he turns to face you, his hands still buried in his sleeves.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He’s searching for the right words, but they don’t come. Instead, what comes out is raw and unfiltered.

“I thought you liked him,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blink, surprised. “What? No, Choso, I told you, he’s just a friend.”

He nods, but his gaze drops to the floor. “I know. It’s just… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” you ask gently.

He looks up at you then, his dark eyes searching yours. “This. Any of this. Being around people. Trying to figure out how I’m supposed to feel, how I’m supposed to act.”

You wait, sensing there’s more he wants to say.

“But with you… it’s different,” he continues, his voice steady despite the nerves etched into his expression. “I don’t feel lost when I’m with you. I feel… human.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t interrupt.

“And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you,” he says, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “I like you. I… I think I’ve liked you since the moment we met. I just didn’t know how to say it— didn’t know what it was. B-But I do, now.”

You stare at him, his confession hanging in the air between you. For a moment, he thinks he’s made a mistake. That he’s crossed a line he can’t uncross.

But then you smile.

Not just any smile— the kind of smile that makes him feel like the world isn’t so complicated after all.

It’s all you can do because his confession doesn’t catch you off guard, not really.

You’ve always known.

“Cho,” you say softly, stepping closer, “I know. I’ve known for a while.”

His eyes widen slightly, his lips parting in surprise. “You… knew?”

You nod, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah. You’re not exactly subtle, you know. But I didn’t say anything because I wanted to give you time. Time to figure out what you wanted, how you felt.”

He’s silent, staring at you like he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or mortified.

“For what it’s worth,” you continue, your voice warm, “I like you, too. Just as you are. You don’t have to change or be anyone else for me, Choso. I like you for you.”

Something in his expression shifts. It’s now a mix of disbelief and something deeper, something more raw. His gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment, and when he speaks, his voice is barely audible. “Can I… kiss you?”

The question catches you off guard, not because you don’t want him to, but because of the way he asks it, so tentative and earnest.

“Of course,” you say, your tone gentle but steady.

But he hesitates, his eyes darting to the small crowd around you. His voice drops lower, almost shy. “Not here. Can we… go somewhere else?”

You bite back a smile at how endearing he looks, his cheeks tinted pink as he avoids your gaze. “Come on,” you say, nodding toward a quieter hallway where the restrooms are tucked away.

He follows you like a shadow, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie as he keeps his head down. When you reach the single-occupancy restroom, you push the door open and step inside, holding it for him as he follows. The door clicks shut, and the noise of the mall fades into a distant hum.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the tension in the small space thick enough to cut with a knife. Choso shifts nervously, his hands twitching at his sides. “I… don’t know how start,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s okay,” you reply, your smile soft and steady. “Just follow my lead.”

You step closer, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. He freezes for a moment, his dark eyes wide and uncertain, but when you lean in, his lids flutter shut.

The kiss starts slow, tentative, his lips warm and soft against yours. But as you deepen it, something shifts. It’s like a switch flips inside him, and suddenly his hands are on your waist, gripping you like you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

He grows bolder with each passing second, his fingers wandering over your arms, your back, your hips, your ass. There’s a desperation in the way he touches you, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you all at once. Finally, he pulls you flush against him, his entire arms wrapped around you, one hand gripping your hip and the other on your shoulder.

You can’t help but chuckle against his lips, pulling back just enough to catch your breath. “Easy, Cho,” you murmur, your tone teasing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, his face flushed as he loosens his grip, but only slightly. “I just… I don’t know how to stop.”

Your smile softens, and you press a light kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay to feel nervous.”

You kiss him again, this time letting him lead you. As things heat up, he starts to get carried away again, his hands roaming with a mix of urgency and inexperience. His kisses grow hungrier, his breath ragged as he presses closer, his body practically trembling against yours.

Suddenly his whole body stiffens and a low, unsteady sound akin to a whine escapes him before he pulls back, his face burning with embarrassment. He avoids your gaze, his hands falling away as he stammers, “I— I’m sorry. I dunno what— I didn’t want to stop, I—”

You pull back further to see a dark patch beginning to form even on the purple cloth that rests in front of his robes, realizing what happened. Your perfect Choso just came in his pants from kissing you. You can’t stay silent much longer for fear of making him more embarrassed, so you hush him gently, cupping his face and tilting it so he has no choice but to meet your eyes. “Cho, it’s okay,” you say firmly, your voice steady and soothing. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. This is all new for you, and that’s perfectly fine.”

He swallows hard, his dark eyes searching yours for any hint of judgment or disappointment. When he finds none, his shoulders relax just a little.

“You mean that?” he asks softly.

You smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “Of course, I do. We’ll take things slow, okay? There’s no rush.”

He nods slowly, the tension in his posture easing as he lets out a shaky breath. After a moment, he looks at you again, his expression soft but serious. “Is this… what love is?” He closes his eyes, his lips curving into the faintest smile as he leans into your touch. And in that quiet, stolen moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in its place.

༒︎ Ryomen Sukuna ༒︎

The room is dimly lit, the sterile scent of disinfectant clinging to the air. You’re lying back on the exam table, your dress pulled up over your growing belly. The monitor hums softly as the sonographer, a man with overly polite eyes and a soothingly gentle touch, adjusts the machine. He explains the process as he goes, his voice calm and warm, clearly trying to put you at ease.

Today is your first 3D ultrasound where you’ll finally get a better view of the life growing inside you. It feels surreal. You’ve had to wait until you’re 32 weeks along to get the best view, so the wait has made you antsy. Will it look like Sukuna? You? Will it smile or suck its thumb? Surely it’s too early for that, right? All of these questions are running through your mind and making your body vibrate with both nervousness and anticipation. It actually does help that the sonographer noticed and is trying to soothe you.

You glance to the corner where Sukuna stands, his towering figure leaned protectively against the wall. His crimson eyes are locked on the sonographer, sharp and unyielding, like a predator stalking prey. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, claws tapping rhythmically on his forearm, a faint sound that portrays his growing irritation. The air feels heavy with tension; thick enough to cut with a knife. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t contribute to your current nervousness.

The sonographer prepares to squirt gel onto your belly, offering you a soft smile. “This might feel a little cold,” he says, his tone careful. “But it’ll help us get a clear image of the baby.”

You flinch slightly at the cold, and the response is immediate.

“Watch your hands.” Sukuna’s voice slices through the room, low and menacing.

The sonographer freezes, visibly startled. His gaze darts nervously to Sukuna. “I- I’m just preparing her to perform the scan, sir. There’s no need to worry.”

Sukuna scoffs, the sound dark and mocking. “Worry? I’m not worried, human. I’m warning you.” His crimson eyes narrow, radiating danger. “You’re touching my wife who’s carrying the heir to my throne. Be mindful.”

You press your palm to your forehead, exhaling sharply. “Ryo,” you say, your tone firm. “He’s doing his job. Stop scaring him.”

Sukuna’s eyes flick to you, softening slightly, but the fire in them doesn’t fully die. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The sonographer hesitates, visibly uneasy, before resuming his work. The wand glides gently over your belly, and the monitor flickers to life. He points out the baby’s heartbeat, their tiny limbs, and the way they seem to kick at nothing in particular. His voice is soothing as he explains, almost too soothing for Sukuna’s liking.

You can see that the baby has four limbs, thankfully, and it’s got a frown on it’s face, much like its father’s. Until you speak, that is. When you speak, you can see the soft smile that graces your sweet baby’s face, again much like its father’s. You feel tears prick at your eyes finally seeing your baby so clearly.

The sonographer glances at you again, his smile almost reverent. “You’re doing wonderfully. Your baby looks perfect— beautiful, actually.”

That does it.

“Beautiful, huh?” Sukuna mutters, his voice laced with venom. “Bet you say that to every woman you see. Must be part of your script. You’re just so reassuring. Well, my wife doesn’t need that. She has me. Do you think yourself better than I?”

“Ryomen.” Your voice sharpens, and you shoot him a glare that tells him you’re angry. “Enough.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his lips curling in mild defiance, but he backs off for now. The sonographer continues, though his hands move a little faster this time, clearly eager to finish. Sukuna’s eyes remain locked on him, every small movement scrutinized like a hawk circling its prey.

Finally, the scan concludes. The sonographer hands you a towel to clean off the gel, offering another polite smile. He opens his mouth to speak, but Sukuna doesn’t give him the chance.

“You’re done, right? Get out.”

The man’s eyes widen; he looks to you as if hoping for an intervention. You manage a tight smile. “Thank you for your help. Forgive my unpleasant husband,” you say pointedly, dismissing him with a polite nod.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone. Sukuna stands there, still bristling, his claws twitching at his sides.

You sigh, wiping the last of the gel from your belly. “You’re ridiculous, Kuna. He wasn’t touching me in any sort of suspicious way.”

“He shouldn’t have been touching you in the first place,” Sukuna snaps, taking a step closer.

“He’s a medical professional, Ryomen. It’s his job.”

“I don’t care,” he growls, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “He was too close; too soft. Like he thought he could make you feel safer than I do.”

You sit up, tugging your dress down over your belly. “No one is trying to take your place.”

He scoffs, pacing in front of you like a restless beast. “You’re mine. No one else gets to put their hands on you like that.”

You stand, squaring your shoulders as you step into his path. “Would you rather our child go unchecked and we miss something bad? You can’t scare every single person who helps me, Ryomen.”

His eyes narrow, the frustration in them simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re too soft,” he mutters. “Always making excuses for people who don’t deserve it.”

“Soft doesn’t mean weak,” you counter, standing firm. “And I don’t need you turning every little thing into a fight. Trust me, Ryomen. I’m not going anywhere. But… you’re wrong, you know. I do need comfort. You provide safety, yes, but never reassurance. Gentleness. Maybe just… passive acceptance. I’m carrying your child. Of course I’d like to be doted on and treated with care.”

Before he can get upset again, you add, “By you. Only you. So just— please stop it with the anger and hostility. I want my child to know their father is capable of love the way I know he is.”

The tension in his shoulders loosens slightly, though the possessiveness in his gaze remains. He steps closer, towering over you, his hand coming to rest on your belly. His touch is firm but deliberate, a reminder of who you belong to.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “You. The baby. You’re my dearest prizes. No one else gets to act like they know how to care for you better than I do. I study everything, every minute detail about you and what’s to expect with the child. I suppose I’ve been so wound up with preparing myself and protecting you that I’ve gotten more hostile than usual. I… can work on it.”

You place your hand over his, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“Get back on the exam bed.”

“What? Why? He’s finish—” he interrupts you by walking you backwards until your ass hits the edge, caging you in.

“Because I don’t think I’ve ever told you how beautiful you look carrying my heir and standing up to even me. And I’d like to show you just how much I love it.” He says, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your neck, just below your jawline. As expected, you tilt your head up for a kiss and he indulges you, kissing you so hungrily and lifting you onto the bed.

His hands wander all over your body, his touch carrying a gentleness you’re not used to. Goosebumps raise on the whole of your body in response and you’re leaning forward into the kiss, losing yourself in it. You don’t even realize he’s hiked your dress up and removed your panties until the cold hits your slick-sheened pussy.

“Ryō—”

“I know, brat, I know.” He says, a teasing lilt in his voice as he parts from your lips to kiss along your jaw. “Come to the edge f’me.”

You do exactly that as he undoes his robes to reveal his second set of arms… and his second mouth. God, you love how freaky this man is. His second set of arms grip the globes of your ass to hold you steady as he pulls you flush against his lower mouth, his fat tongue just smearing your cunt with your slick and his saliva.

You’ve never cared to admit that this mouth of his has always been your favorite. It’s so big that it offers more coverage, more pressure, and gets so much dee—

“Biiiiig stretch.” Sukuna warns you before he plunges his second tongue into your hole, lingering at that first ring of resistance to deliver a few shallow, but mind numbingly pleasurable thrusts before he pushes the rest of the way in; as much as he can, that is.

He uses the moment your pretty little mouth releases an ah! to kiss you again, his first set of hands slipping up your dress to find your tits. If there’s anything he’d put on top of the list of things he loves about your changing body, it’s this. How fucking thick your ass has become and undeniably huge your tits have grown. Just swelling and preparing to fill with milk to sustain his heir.

He pinches your sensitive nipples between his large fingers, making you moan into the kiss, relaxing your cunt around his tongue between you. Suddenly, you’re lifted just slightly above the table, his other hands beginning to fuck you on his tongue, his saliva and your slick just drip, drip, dripping onto the bed and floor beneath you.

“So greedy. Pussy’s always so fucking greedy…” he groans, resting his forehead against yours so you both can watch as your pussy bulges from swallowing his tongue so eagerly. It’s such a lewd sight, one you’ve undeniably grown addicted to in your time together.

Your moans mingle together and it’s then you realize that he’s now using just one of his hands to fuck you on his tongue. His other is wrapped around both of his cocks and pumping them together, ribbons of pre falling down his lengths and being smeared by his movements. You’re not even slightly ashamed of the way you salivate seeing him getting off while eating your pussy and watching himself do it. It’s so fucking filthy that you can’t help but—

“Gonna cum f’me, aren’t you? Mmmmmhm, can tell by how she’s flutterin’ around my tongue. My needy fucking wife.” He smirks, pulling you flush to him so that the widest part of his tongue rubs against your clit while he switches it up and fucks his tongue into you, faster this time.

“O-Ohmyfuckinggod!” The words come out strung together, the added attention on your clit making you see stars, your breath quickening, heart beginning to race. You lean back onto the bed using your hands to prop you up so you can get a better view.

“So nasty, beautiful.” A chuckle falls from his lips and you can’t even respond before his upper hands are just engulfing your tits and kneading, easing the pain of the swelling and pleasing you at the same time.

Then, something happens. Milk begins to drip from your right nipple and it has you both stopping in your tracks. You’d heard of the low possibility that milk can come before you give birth, but you never considered it’d happen to you. A blush of embarrassment creeps on your face and you’re about to apologize when you hear Sukuna groan, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his mouth immediately latches onto your tit and he just sucks.

“S-Sukuna, fuck!” You whine, his lower tongue beginning to work your quivering pussy again, bringing you right to the edge of pleasure.

He releases your tit with a pop! and nips it gently. “Mine. Mine, mine, all fuckin’ mine, such a good Queen providing for my heir early. Gonna be such a good momma.” He praises you before beginning to suck the lactating nipple again, making you come undone on his tongue, your gooey insides clenching around his tongue, trying to stop him with how tight you are, but he’s too strong, fucking his tongue into you through your orgasm to swallow up every last bit of cum you have to offer him.

It’s not until you’re whining and your legs are limp, weak pushes against his shoulders making him release your tit and slip his tongue from your slobbering hole. He runs the tip of his tongue against your oversensitive clit just a few times before you feel him kiss your puffy folds, making your body lurch.

You watch breathlessly as he tries to suck up the milk from your poor abused nipple again, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging his face up to yours. “Y’know, you’re mine too. Forever. Don’t you forget that.” You smirk.

Something flickers in his eyes— pride, possessiveness, and a touch of vulnerability he’d never admit to. “Damn right I’m yours,” he says, his lips curling into a smirk. “But don’t think that means I’m gonna get soft on people.”

You lean into his hand as he caresses your cheek, a small smile playing at your lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, leaning down until his face is inches from yours. His voice drops to a rumble. “Carrying my child. Still standing by me. So brave.”

“Someone has to keep you in check,” you tease, though your voice softens with affection.

He lets out a low chuckle, pressing a possessive kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, well, let’s see if you’re brave enough to take my cocks after cumming like such a good brat f’me.”

Your eyes widen, feeble hands trying to push him away by his chest, “Kuna! We have to leave, they’re probably traumatized!” You tell him in a hushed tone, suddenly all too aware that you’re in a doctor’s office for fuck’s sake.

“Yeah, well. They can afford the therapy.” He gives you a shit eating grin while thumbing open your cunt. “Open up real wide f’me, baby.”

And as you brace yourself, you remind yourself to make apology rounds to the staff whenever your husband is through with you.

༒︎ Nanami Kento ༒︎

Nanami Kento is tired. Not just the kind of tired you feel after a long day, though God knows his body aches from another grueling shift of paperwork and exorcisms. No, it’s deeper than that. A bone-deep fatigue that comes from too many hours spent away from the one person he’d rather be with. You.

He steps through the door, loosening his tie with one hand and holding his briefcase in the other. The house is warm and smells faintly like the lavender candle you always light in the evenings. It feels like home, but he quickly notices something’s off.

Your voice carries down the hall, light and warm, tinged with laughter. It’s a sound that usually has his shoulders relaxing, but tonight, there’s an edge of tension beneath it that prickles at him. He sets his things down quietly, toeing off his shoes, and listens.

“Yeah, it’s been kind of lonely lately,” you say, and he freezes in place, his hand hovering above the coat rack. “I mean, I get it. Nanamin works so hard and I love him for it, but… I don’t know. I just miss him. I feel like I barely see him anymore.”

His chest tightens. You’re talking about him. He takes a slow, measured breath and steps closer, rounding the corner silently.

“Thank you for keeping me sane, though. Honestly, if I didn’t have someone to talk to, I’d probably be climbing the walls by now.” There’s a soft laugh on the other end of the line. Gojo’s laugh. The realization is instant and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Gojo. Of course, it’s Gojo. His coworker, the occasional thorn in the side, the most insufferable man he knows. And apparently the one you’ve been leaning on while he’s been too busy drowning in work.

Kento feels his jaw tighten, his nails digging into the palm of his hand. He knows— logically, rationally— that there’s nothing going on between you and Gojo. You’d never betray him like that and Gojo, for all his teasing, would never cross that line. But the knot of jealousy twisting in his chest doesn’t care about logic.

You must have heard him shift uncomfortably because you glance over your shoulder, startled. Your expression softens when you see him and you give him a small, almost sheepish smile. “Hey, Kento just got home,” you say into the phone. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

Nanami doesn’t miss the way Gojo’s laugh sounds out one last time before you hang up. He doesn’t say anything as you set your phone on the counter, but his silence is heavy. You know him well enough to recognize it immediately.

“Ken,” you say softly, stepping toward him. “Long day?”

He hums in acknowledgment, his gaze steady on you. It’s not cold, but there’s something simmering behind it; something that makes you hesitate. “Gojo?” he asks finally, his voice calm but with an edge you can’t ignore.

You blink, caught off guard by his demeanor. “Yeah. He was just checking in. He knows I’ve been home alone a lot lately.”

“Does he?” His tone is even, but the sharpness is undeniable.

You frown, crossing your arms. “Nanami, it’s not like that. He’s a friend. Our friend. You know that.”

“I do.” And he does. He knows it’s innocent. But that doesn’t make it easier to hear you laughing and confiding in someone else while he’s been too busy to do the same.

“Ken.” Your voice softens and you reach for him, your hand brushing his arm. “Please don’t do this. Don’t beat yourself up or think anything crazy. I’m not mad at you for working so much. I know why you do it. I know it’s for us. But… it’s hard sometimes. That’s all I meant.”

“I hate that you feel like this,” he says quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “That you have to go to someone else when I should be here.”

You step closer, your hands sliding up to his shoulders. “You’re here now,” you murmur, trying to pull him out of his head. “That’s what matters. That you always come back to me as soon as you can.”

He looks at you, something dark and conflicted in his eyes. “Is it enough?” he asks, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Am I enough? Or would you rather have a husband who has more time for you?”

Your heart breaks at the vulnerability in his voice. “Kenny,” you say firmly, cupping his face in your hands. “I don’t want anyone else. I just want you. Always.”

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly and his hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s hungry. Desperate. As if he’s trying to make up for all the time he’s spent away from you in one moment.

You gasp against his mouth and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hands sliding down to the globes of your ass and gripping tightly. When he finally pulls back, his breathing is uneven, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll change for you,” he murmurs, his voice raw with emotion. “No more late nights. No more overtime. I’ll cut my hours. Whatever it takes to be here with you.”

“Ken, you don’t have to—”

“I do.” His hands slide under your shirt, his touch firm but gentle as he lifts it over your head and lets it fall to the floor. “I won’t let you feel like you’re second to anything. Ever again. You’re too precious to me. My world. My heart. My wife.”

His lips find your neck, trailing heated kisses down to your collarbone. He moves with a purpose, his hands exploring your skin as if to reacquaint himself with every inch of you. It’s more than physical— it’s a promise.

You tug at his tie, fumbling with the knot until he helps you pull it free and rips off his button-down. Then his hands are on you again, guiding you toward the bedroom.

“Lay back for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding but with an undercurrent of tenderness that makes your pulse race.

You obey, sinking onto the bed as he leans over you, his lips finding yours again. His touch is both reverent and possessive, his movements careful but insistent. Every kiss, every caress feels like an apology and a vow wrapped into one.

He wraps a hang around your throat, squeezing for one fleeting moment before trailing it down your chest, between your breasts, down your stomach, over your pubic bone, and finally under your nightgown to meet your slick riddled cunt.

“Shit,” he hisses, forehead resting against yours while he catches his breath, his fingers slipping back and forth between your folds, teasing at your clit in passes. “My love… I don’t want to waste any time, I just need t’feel you. Normally I’d ea—”

“I know, handsome, s’okay, I’m ready, I can take it.” You reassure him, knowing he was going to apologize for not properly warming you up.

You see, Nanami has always been one for foreplay. He could slurp up your saccharine slick for hours upon hours if you let him, but tonight? Tonight, he just wants to be one with you.

His hand finds one of yours and he intertwines your fingers, his other hand working to free his cock from the suffocating confines of his pants. When it springs free, it’s just throbbing an angry pink, beads of pre forming at the tip now that his dress pants aren't there to absorb them.

He aligns himself with your painfully empty hole, pushing past that first little ring of resistance with a long groan. The grip he has on your hand tightens, his knuckles turning white as he feeds you inch after mind numbing inch of his cock until his tip’s kissing your cervix. But you know his body well enough to know that isn’t it. And so you brace yourself for him to push in to the hilt, his mushroom tip ever so slightly bullying open your cervix as he does so, making you yelp out in both pleasure and pain.

His lips swallow your whines and whimpers, he’s determined to take everything you have to offer and give you more than what he has. The world, if you asked. His free hand finds purchase on your hip and he holds you steady as he starts to roll his hips into yours, passionately. Roughly. Like he’s trying to stuff you full of all of the love he has for you.

You moan out, reaching your own free hand up to cup his cheek, your legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his back, effectively telling him you need more. With every thrust after, you can’t help but gasp. You feel him in your lungs stealing every bit of breath you have, reddened leaking tip repeatedly hitting that bullseye that makes your mind go stupid.

“K-Ken, feels s’good! Hah!” You whine out, back arching up and pressing you flush to him. He moves his hand from your hip to wrap his arm around you, effectively holding your bottom half in the air to get deeper inside of you.

“Mine. My wife. My wife, my love, my beautiful, m-my heart.” He’s babbling, burying his head into your neck and pressing hot, wet, open mouthed kisses to it. You feel him slip his hand from yours and instead, he has the top of your head in the palm of his hand, using it to keep you still, but also to anchor himself so he doesn’t let you slip through his fingers.

“You’re going to be such a beautiful mom. Wh—hah, what kind of husband have I been by not trying to give you my babies? We can start now. After I cum riiiiight here.” He babbles, his other hand moving for only a second to press down where your stomach bulges with his thrusts.

And the look in his eyes tells you this is a promise, not just something he’s saying while fucking you. Just like the perfect little thing you are, you cum for him right then, dragging a long and frustrated groan from him.

“Pussy’s always so good for me. Milking me so good, my love…” he shudders as you cum on his throbbing length.

“Ken, f—fuh— fuck! Cum in me! Please, baby, cum in me!” You beg, making him chuckle.

“Oh? You think I’m done? No, I have to make up for lost time. Evert second I missed, I’ll make up for with an equal amount of time spent buried in this beautiful cunt of yours. Understood?”

And oh are you so incredibly fucked.

911 notes · View notes

luvergirl-866 · 2 days ago

Text

dreams, fairytales, fantasies

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 7.9k

c/w - language, drinking, fluff, and ofc smut (sub p, sub a, strap, eating, fingering…it’s a lot) (also heavy usage of pet names bc i am a sucker for them)

a/n - this is just a real depiction of what happens when lesbians go two weeks without sex 😔. no but fr, i hope yall enjoy!!! (feedback much appreciated, esp bc this is not edited) (also, im majorly crediting the smut queen @basketball-lesbians bc ease and stiff changed the way i write smut forever).

The much anticipated make-up sex doesn’t happen until a week later, which is about six days after they’ve actually made up—which they manage without the involvement of sex. And that’s a great thing for them, considering they have a history of resolving arguments via orgasm, but they also can’t give themselves the credit because the no-sex thing wasn’t really their decision. (If it had been up to them, Azzi would have jumped Paige’s bones that very night they made up).

That day, though, was spent talking, reliving their breakup and the horrible year afterward for the sole purpose of truly processing it. They had continued talking during that time, of course, claiming to be ‘best friends’, but they meticulously danced around the topic of their high school relationship and the fact they were both miserable once it ended, grieving it in their own ways. They talked for hours, and both of them quickly came to realize that there was so much they hadn’t told each other. Azzi was shocked to hear that Paige spent her entire freshman year moping around, never getting out and having fun like Azzi wanted her to do. (“Seriously? I thought you hoed around?” she said when Paige gave her this information. Paige shrugged and said, “I told you I did, so I didn’t seem lame. But yeah, no. I smoked a lot and looked at our pictures and that’s—well, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”)

Paige was just as shocked when Azzi told her she tried going on a date with someone else, just to get the breakup off her mind, and they kissed at the end of the night and she went inside and cried for a long time. (“I didn’t know you went out with anyone,” Paige said, not particularly jealous, just a little hurt because even though they were exes that year, they were still best friends, and they usually told each other everything. Azzi picked her thumbnail, eyebrows drawn at the memory. “It hurt too much. I didn’t even tell my mom.” That, if possible, made Paige feel even worse).

Anyway, by the time they talked everything through (with some crying involved, and maybe a little kissing, too), it was late at night and they were both emotionally exhausted from the day. They’d gotten ready to sleep and laid in Azzi’s bed and murmured about how much they’d missed each other for about two minutes before they promptly assed out.

And then it was the week, their time consumed with classes, homework, practice, and even grownup things like grocery shopping. They spent as much time together as they could, practically magnetized to each other, attached at that hip when they were in the same vicinity. But they were both swamped with homework and while they tried to do it together that Monday, they quickly realized that it was impossible to focus around each other. Or at least, Azzi did. (“C’mon, we’re doing okay,” Paige said, at approximately 1 A.M., when they had been at it for four hours and had gotten absolutely nothing done. “I wouldn’t say that, P,” Azzi mumbled, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pecking a sulking Paige on the lips. “No more school around each other, ‘kay?” She couldn’t help but be amused at Paige’s exaggerated pouting. “I think we’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, baby.”

That night, her phone had blown up with messages from Paige, most of them silly selfies of her pouting at the camera as she sat at her desk with schoolwork laid out in front of her. Even that was enough to distract Azzi from her work).

So, no, it’s not until Saturday—the night of their second-first date—that the make-up sex (that can’t really be considered make-up sex anymore) happens. But, as the saying goes, good things come to those who wait. And that must be true because that night turns out to be very good indeed.

It all starts before the two of them are even together, with Azzi picking her outfit for their date. She’s never been good with decisions, and this is a big one in her book. She needs to wear the perfect outfit—something sexy and cute and romantic and alluring all at once. An hour into choosing the outfit, Caroline is beginning to regret offering to help.

“Okay, you’re just overthinking it now,” she says, exasperated, watching as Azzi frowns at herself in the mirror.

“If I don’t overthink it I’ll end up looking ugly,” Azzi says, turning this way and that in the mirror, making sure the outfit looks good from every angle. But when she takes a step back, leans her head to the side just so, and turns to the left, the shirt suddenly makes her look atrocious. With a frustrated sigh, Azzi takes it off, tossing it onto the ground.

Caroline groans, flopping onto Azzi’s bed. “What was wrong with that one?”

“Everything,” Azzi replies, going back to her closet to try again. “Has my wardrobe always been this bad?” she mutters to herself.

“You look good in everything, Az,” Caroline says. “And your clothes are cute. Paige is going to love you in whatever you decide to wear.”

Which is true—Azzi could be wearing jorts and a flannel and Paige would still swear up and down she’s the prettiest girl in the world. But love and want are two different things. After two weeks of no sex Azzi needs to be wanted.

“You know what your problem is?” Caroline asks as Azzi rummages through her clothes.

“What?” Azzi asks, sort of desperately.

“Your bra,” Caroline says simply.

Azzi looks down at her bra, then turns to Caroline, a little confused. “It’s a cute bra, though?”

“Yeah, it’s cute,” Caroline concedes, leaning back on her hands and giving Azzi an up-and-down look. “But I thought you were trying to get laid tonight?”

Azzi nods, because duh she’s trying to get laid tonight. It’s all she’s been talking about all week.

Caroline wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Then, this isn’t really about your outfit. It’s about what’s underneath.”

As she stares at her genius best friend, Azzi nods slowly, starting to get it. “I need lingerie.”

“Yup.” Caroline smiles, satisfied. “As soon as you put some sexy panties on, I promise you, girl, you’re gonna feel better about yourself.”

Azzi is already reaching back into her closet, opening her special drawer and rifling through it. “Should I wear one she hasn’t seen before?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Caroline agrees, standing up and walking over to Azzi, peering over her shoulder at her array of underwear. “And don’t tell her you’re wearing it, either. It has to be a surprise.”

Azzi pulls a few sets out, but none of them particularly catch her eye, and it isn’t until they’ve been searching for a few minutes that Caroline reaches into the closet and grabs a still-sealed box, the logo of a designer lingerie brand on the lid. “What about this?” she asks.

It takes a moment for her to remember what the box contains. She’d bought it just a month ago, on a whim, and while it had cost her a fortune she also couldn’t not buy it. She’d, of course, had Paige in mind when she’d bought it, but they haven’t exactly had lingerie sex in awhile—with their busy schedules, they’ve only had time for spur-of-the-moment quickies and lazy mouths and fingers in the mornings before practice.

But this—this is going to be post-date, make-up sex. The absolute perfect occasion to wear insanely expensive lingerie catered specifically for Paige.

With an excited smile, Azzi (with the help of Caroline) gets all laced into the set. And once it’s on, it becomes surprisingly easy to choose the perfect outfit. Because Azzi knows, by the end of the night, Paige will forget all about what she’s wearing, the memory replaced by what she’s not.

———————————————

Paige, of course, tries to fuck her multiple times before they even get to the restaurant. It starts immediately, when she comes to pick her up and they share a chaste hug and kiss, and Azzi takes the flowers from her hands and turns to find a vase to put them in—Paige’s eyes trail down to her ass and stay there for longer than she’d like to admit. And then Azzi is carefully arranging the flowers, talking about how excited she is for their date, when Paige comes up behind her and holds her tight. It’s a gesture that Azzi thinks is innocent until Paige kisses her neck and murmurs, “You look good, Az. Makes me wanna make us late for our reservation.”

Azzi’s entire body heats at that, but she playfully shoves Paige away, not about to let their hormones get in the way of this date.

But then, it happens again, in the car on the way over. Paige’s hand rests on Azzi’s thigh while she drives, which isn’t unusual, and Azzi doesn’t question it—that is, until her fingers trace a slow but sure path between her legs. Azzi lets it go farther than she probably should, only pulling Paige’s hand away once she’s fully touching her clothed center. Laughing, Azzi returns Paige’s hand onto her side of the car. “Your thigh-touching privileges are revoked for that.”

Paige groans. “I didn’t even do nothing, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself, weirdo.”

And when they get to the restaurant, Paige opens her door for her, guides her in by the small of her back, pulls out her chair. It reminds Azzi of a more mature, experienced version of the Paige she dated in high school, and it reminds her exactly why their relationship was so perfect back then. It also reminds her of the aching need between her legs, the one that’s been there for two long weeks and that now practically burns in anticipation. But, she forces herself to ignore it, to just focus on the romance of it all. Paige decides to make that difficult by running a foot up and down her calf, and when she hisses at her to stop, Paige laughs and says, “You’re imagining things.”

It’s not five minutes later that Paige picks up her phone and begins typing. A flash of annoyance comes from the side of Azzi that thrives off attention, more particularly Paige’s attention, and that’s so used to constantly having it it’s a little off-putting when she doesn’t. But then, a moment later, her own phone buzzes, and Paige sets her’s down with a satisfied little smirk.

Azzi rolls her eyes. “You’re stupid.”

“Look at your phone.”

“That’s rude,” Azzi teases. “We’re on our first date.”

“We’ve been on a million dates before,” Paige says, which is technically true. “Look at it.”

Amidst the usual lighthearted, joking tone of Paige’s words, Azzi also catches a hint of something demanding, something that leaves no room for argument—at least, not without repercussion—and it makes it impossible to focus on the setting they’re in without also thinking of the events that will occur when they get home.

She picks up her phone, and there’s a text from one ‘P Boogs 💗’. When she opens it, she finds a stupid, horny text, nothing short of what she expected: can we go fuck in the bathroom or??

Rolling her eyes, and a little relieved that Paige didn’t actually write anything sexy (because if she had, Azzi’s not sure she would’ve been able to resist), she kicks her under the table and sets her phone down. “No, Paige. What’d I say about no more public restrooms?”

Reminiscent of a small child, Paige crosses her arms and slumps back in her seat. “I rebuke that.”

“You don’t know what that word means,” Azzi waves her off, before motioning to their plates. “Now eat before your food gets cold.”

Azzi has only two glasses of wine, so by the time they’re driving home she’s the perfect amount of tipsy. Wine also tends to make her horny, which doesn’t hurt the situation.

“You’re really okay?” Paige asks for what seems like the millionth time. “Because if you’re even, like, a little drunk, we don’t have to—“

“Paige,” Azzi says before she can finish that god-awful sentence. “I’m mostly sober. We’re all good.”

Paige glances over at her, and when she sees the firm look in her eyes she nods, relaxing into a sly smile. As she focuses back on the road, she says, “Good. Because I have an empty apartment tonight.”

The thought of it—the thought that Paige asked her roommates to clear out for the night, knowing what was to come—makes Azzi shift in her seat. The ache between her legs is crossing into painful territory at this point.

By the time they get inside Paige’s apartment, every instinct in Azzi’s body tells her to jump Paige’s bones as soon as the door is locked behind them. But Paige doesn’t really give her a chance—first kicking off her shoes and then immediately heading towards the kitchen. Azzi trails behind her as she opens the fridge.

“Hungry?” Azzi asks, a little confused considering they just had a fairly large meal at dinner. But Paige shakes her head, reaching into the side drawer of the fridge and pulling out a seltzer.

She waves it at Azzi with a smile, though it’s a little unusual—almost wavering? Not the familiar one Azzi’s used to. “Wanted a little drink.”

“Okay,” Azzi says slowly, leaning against the counter, watching as Paige cracks the can open. She shouldn’t be surprised—she herself is tipsy and it’s only fair that Paige would want to catch up after she had to drive. But Azzi has been a little blinded by the filthy thoughts that have been playing through her head all night, and was under the impression they’d fuck against the front door the minute they got home.

She’s already waited two weeks, she reminds herself. Paige only needs a drink or two—they don’t want to be drunk, not tonight—so what’s a couple more minutes?

“It’s kinda hot in here,” Paige says abruptly, and when Azzi looks at her, her cheeks flush. “Isn’t it?”

Azzi’s a little warm, but it’s mostly a mix of the alcohol and pure horniness, so she shakes her head. “Feels okay to me.”

“Oh,” Paige says, and then takes a long swig of her seltzer. She offers up that strange, wavering smile again.

Azzi studies her. This is her best friend, the girl she knows better than she knows herself. Paige is practically an extension of her at this point, it’s that easy for them to read each other. But right now, Paige is acting strange in a way Azzi can’t quite place. She’s been flirting like normal all night, but now that they’re alone she’s putting space between them. And that’s not to mention the blushing, the weird smiling, and the need for a drink.

As Paige takes an extra-long gulp of seltzer, it finally clicks where Azzi has seen this behavior from her: Back in high school, not long into their relationship, the first time they had sex.

She’s nervous.

But, no, that can’t be it, can it? They’ve slept together countless times in the four years since then. Paige knows Azzi’s body like the back of her hand. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Sure that she’s got it all wrong, Azzi crosses over to Paige, watching the way Paige’s gaze falters as she sidles up to her. “Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck, “you good?”

Paige blinks, then swallows thickly. “Me? Yeah, I’m all good.” She takes a sip from her drink. “Why you asking?”

Azzi hums, bringing a hand down to guide Paige’s free one to her waist—something she usually never has to do, as Paige tends to be pretty handsy. “You’re acting…weird, all of a sudden.”

Paige gives her a long, hard look, and Azzi thinks she’s about to deny it again but then Paige is sighing and setting her drink on the counter behind her, wrapping both arms around Azzi’s waist. “I guess I feel a little…nervous, for some reason?” she shakes her head, locks her hands behind Azzi’s back as if to steady them. “I’on know, bro. It’s stupid.”

Azzi shakes her head, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of Paige’s neck. “It’s not stupid.”

“Kinda is,” Paige says, chuckling at herself but it’s a shaky, breathy sound.

“Hey,” Azzi says gently, bringing a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair from Paige’s face, “if you’re not up to it, we don’t have to.” (Even though she spent the entire night suffering through a thong up her ass. The things we do for love.)

But Paige firmly shakes her head, gripping Azzi’s waist more tightly just to show how much she means it. “No, I don’t—you have no idea how much—“

“Yes, I do,” Azzi says incredulously. “I really fucking do.”

Paige’s breath hitches, and her gaze flicks down to Azzi’s lips. Azzi does the same, allured by the shiny gloss there, knowing it’s vanilla flavored from their previous chaste kisses tonight. She wants to taste more of it. Wonders if Paige’s lotion is vanilla, too.

“P,” she murmurs. Paige’s eyes don’t waver away when she hums, “Yeah?”

“Don’t be nervous,” she says quietly, bringing a hand down to cup her cheek, which gets Paige to look at her. “You know me,” she almost whispers.

Slowly, Paige nods, and when she leans down to connect their lips, Azzi nearly groans at the slight contact. It’s chaste to the point of innocent but it’s something, and they’re alone, and god does Paige look so good in this outfit. Paige readjusts, shifting so their legs are slotted together as she deepens the kiss just slightly, and Azzi reminisces on how she’s been waiting for this all night. Since that fateful night at Ted’s, really.

With Paige’s leg between her thighs, Azzi takes the opportunity to bare down, just slightly, only enough to increase the tension between her legs more than relieve it. But Paige groans into her mouth at the feeling and it lights her senses on fire.

They found a good dynamic years ago, and it’s one in which Paige often leads, allowing Azzi to follow without giving her the responsibility of being the first to move, to make decisions—something she’s always been more hesitant with. The past six months they’ve experimented some, stepping out of the comfort zone they had in high school and trying new things. But they still found that, for the most part, Paige prefers to lead, and Azzi prefers to be led—it just works.

But, even now, as Azzi dips her tongue into Paige’s mouth and brushes it against her’s, Paige still seems a little withheld. It’s obvious that she’s overthinking this, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why—this is big for them. They’ve talked about their feelings and gone on their first date and this feels a little like the last step in a routine that will throw them back into that all-consuming, intense relationship they had in high school. Which is exciting, and it feels natural, like it’s only the right thing to do—but it’s a little scary, too. And, knowing she’s being expected to lead, Paige is worried about getting it wrong. Messing up, somehow.

So when Azzi pushes against the fabric of Paige’s blazer, letting it slip off her shoulders, it’s not really a conscious thought that she’s taking over this time. It’s just—something she needs to do. And, if the absolute fire in her belly says anything, it’s something she wants to do, too.

Opening her mouth a little wider, Azzi sucks Paige’s tongue gently between her lips, drawing it out slightly, and when she pulls off it she opens her eyes to find Paige with her mouth wide open, tongue out, barely five minutes into kissing and already looking so desperate for her.

The sight makes Azzi groan a little, her eyes trailing from Paige’s lips, to the curve of her jaw, to her slender neck, and without thinking about it she slides her hands around Paige’s throat, squeezing experimentally. It elicits the right reaction, Paige’s eyes widening, hands sliding down to Azzi’s ass.

Pulling her close again, Azzi ducks down, moving a hand to the side to kiss sloppily at the skin revealed there. Paige sighs, always having liked being kissed on the neck, and Azzi mutters, “Marks?”

There’s a slight pause, Azzi’s lips hovering just shy of kissing the skin of Paige’s neck, and as soon as Paige hums out a noise of affirmation, she’s basically attacking her, tongue soothing over skin as she sucks hungrily. Her hips grind instinctively down on Paige’s knee as her hands slide lower, down her chest to squeeze her tits through her thin tank. Paige gasps, using her leverage on Azzi’s ass to pull her down harder on her leg. At this point, she’s sure she’s soaking through her fancy lingerie just listening to the little noises Paige is making, and suddenly, Azzi feels hungry. The kind of hungry that tends to be insatiable.

As soon as the thought comes to her, her hands fly to the button of Paige’s jeans, staring down to watch her hands work it open. Paige watches, too, then brings a hand up to Azzi’s cheek. Azzi halts her movements, looking up at her, searching her face for any sign to stop and finding a little hesitancy there. “Hey,” she says, “you good?”

Paige nods, then glances furtively down at Azzi’s hands. “I don’t think I’m ready for—your fingers.”

Soothing her hands across Paige’s hips, Azzi nods, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. “I know, baby,” she says—Paige has always needed a good amount of buildup before any actual intrusion. “Wasn’t gonna use my fingers.”

Paige blinks, thoughts obviously a little sluggish as it takes a moment for the words to register, but once she does, she nods eagerly. “Shit. Okay.”

With one last peck on the lips, Azzi’s fingers get back to work, and as she slides the jeans down her legs she goes down with them, dropping slowly to her knees. She helps Paige step out of the pants and then tosses them to the side, looping her arms around her thighs and urging her to widen her stance. She presses a few comforting kisses to Paige’s pelvic bone and across her hips, breathing in the familiar scent of her as her kisses stray lower. As she licks up the inside of a thigh, her eyes open, glancing at the girl’s boxers and the wet patch growing on them. Feeling quite proud of herself, she smirks, biting at her thigh and relishing in the way Paige hisses.

“Stop messin’ with me,” Paige breathes, bringing a hand to Azzi’s head and trying to move her closer to her cunt.

“Uh-uh,” Azzi says, using a hand of her own to move Paige’s firmly away. When she looks up at her, Paige looks wrecked, which does amazing things to Azzi’s ego considering she hasn’t even touched her yet. Loving the expression on Paige’s face—lips slightly parted, eyes fluttering, the picture of submission—she decides to try and coax more out of her. “No touching,” she adds, something Paige likes to do whenever she’s being particularly needy. When Paige starts to protest, she moves her hand to her clothed clit and rubs harshly, cutting her off. “You heard me, baby.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrow, either from pleasure or annoyance or, more likely, both. “Azzi, please—“

“Shh,” Azzi soothes, removing her thumb and licking a stripe up her boxers—the faintest taste of her already addictive. “Be patient.”

She expects more resistance—the few times they’ve switched roles like this, it takes at least an orgasm for Paige to take her commands. But today must be different—is different—and Paige dutifully shuts up, using her hands to brace herself against the counter as she tilts her head down to watch.

Pleased, Azzi removes her boxers, salivating at the pretty pink peeking out from between her legs, and it’s all she can do when she uses her thumbs to spread her open, groaning when she gets a good look at the familiar, dripping folds. “So pretty,” she can’t help but mumble, leaning forward to press a kiss against her, licking her lips to taste the arousal left there. Paige’s hips buck, and Azzi gives her a sharp slap to the thigh. Paige nearly whines, which is kinda new—they’ll have to experiment with it later. “What’d I say, hm?” she asks, unable to keep herself from pressing her tongue between her cunt lips and licking upward, eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head at the taste. “Be patient.”

“Fuck,” Paige gasps above her.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint in Azzi’s body to not just dive in and devour her like a woman starved. It’s been far too long since she went down on Paige, even before their two weeks of celibacy, and she wants nothing more than to push her tongue inside and draw out as much slick as she can. But she also knows all too well that Paige likes to be ate slow. So, slow it is, as she licks up around her folds, tongue dragging delicately over her clit.

Her eyes fall shut, focusing on how wet Paige is against her tongue, dipping just slightly into her hole where the taste is the strongest and reveling at how good it is.

When Paige makes a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat, Azzi looks up at her, watching her reaction as she gently sucks her clit into her mouth. Paige is leaning back against the counter, cunt pressed into Azzi’s face desperately, and it’s obvious she’s trying to keep still. But when Azzi’s tongue flicks against her clit as she sucks, Paige can’t help but gasp, hips bucking just slightly.

With painted nails, Azzi squeezes her thigh just enough to get her attention. When Paige looks down at her, she pulls off her clit with a wet noise and says, “Hold your shirt up, babe.”

It’s amazing how quickly Paige obeys, rucking her tank up to reveal her bare chest, nipples pink and hard. Azzi doesn’t even try to stop herself from reaching up to play with one of them as she dives back into her pussy.

Her clit is already puffy, sensitive to her every touch based off the way Paige moans when she flicks her tongue against it. She licks little shapes, taking note of which ones draw the most sound out of the older girl. It’s mostly for her own benefit when she traces the letters of her own name on her pussy, but Paige whines high-pitched and needy like she knows.

Azzi pulls away just enough to see that her clit is an angrier pink now, twitching almost imperceptibly, and she gives it a break, moving lower to suck around her hole, drinking the copious juices she’s teased out. When she presses her tongue inside, she finds much less resistance than last time, and her fingers itch to be inside her.

This time, when she pulls away, Paige whines again—the sound a mix of frustration and desperation—and Azzi soothes a hand up the inside of her thigh. Paige’s eyes are hooded now as they lock with Azzi’s, and Azzi smiles up at her. “Hey,” she mutters.

“Uh-huh,” Paige breathes, nearly panting at this point.

“Think you’re ready?” Azzi asks. Paige gives her a quizzical look and she holds up her right hand in explanation. “Wanna finger you.”

As if on their own accord, Paige’s hips jerk forward. When she says, “Yes,” it’s nothing more than a breathy little sigh, but it’s enough.

Nodding, her eyes go back to Paige’s cunt, gaze immediately going to her hole, clenching around nothing. She brings two fingers up and dips inside, then drags them through her pretty folds, making sure they’re plenty wet. And then, without another warning, she plunges into her pussy, moaning as she’s immediately swallowed by wet heat.

Paige’s reaction is visceral, hips pressing down to meet her halfway, hands falling to her head, previous no-touching rules forgotten. Azzi decides to let it go, though, as she watches Paige’s features contort beautifully, pleasure etched into every sound she makes.

Azzi pulls out, presses deeper. Does it again, and then stays inside long enough to push up against her walls.

It’s then that Paige starts talking.

“Oh, fuck, Azzi,” she breathes, still generally pretty quiet, something Azzi plans to have changed once she’s done with her. “You feel so—good, Az, fingers feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Azzi coos. She loves it when Paige gets to the babbling stage of fucking, and is quick to egg her on. “You like that, huh?”

“Mm-hmm, missed it—needed it—I don’t—“ she chokes on her sentence when Azzi plunges particularly deep. “Oh, baby, right there. So fucking good at that.”

“I know,” she murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Paige’s clit. “You missed me, right? Missed this?”

“Of course I—“ she gasps, arches forward, “did.”

Suddenly, Azzi speeds up, filthy squelching sounds filling the room as her fingers move relentlessly inside Paige, palm coming to meet her clit again and again. Paige mewls, shifting a little, and Azzi uses her free hand to hoist her leg over her shoulder, allowing for a better angle.

“Oh!” Paige cries out, hands gripping Azzi’s head for leverage. “Oh, oh fuck. Baby, baby—mm, so deep—Azzi, more.”

“More?” Azzi asks, pulling her eyes away from where she’s wrecking Paige’s cunt to double-check. Paige usually can’t take more than two.

“Uh-huh,” Paige nods fervently.

Azzi doesn’t slow down, concern about hurting the other girl cutting through her own haze of pleasure. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Paige says, exasperation filling her voice.

“I just don’t want to hurt y—“

“Azzi, if you don’t give me another finger right now I swear to God—“

That’s all it takes for Azzi to pause her movements, pulling out enough to add another finger, and finding it surprisingly easy when she slides back in again. It’s not long before she builds up to her earlier rhythm, Paige’s hips moving against her hand, and then wet sounds are filling the room again, slick trailing down Azzi’s wrist.

Somewhere between Paige’s high-pitched moans and desperate little whines, she calls Azzi’s name. Azzi presses a kiss to her belly and says, “Yeah?”

“Can you—?” there’s hesitance in her tone that gives Azzi pause, movements slowing once again to look up at her.

“What’s up?” she prompts, gently as possibly through the arousal scraping rough against her vocal chords.

“Just, come here,” Paige finally says, hands moving from Azzi’s head to her shoulders, urging her up.

Azzi softens, mind becoming a little less cloudy at the request. Carefully, she eases Paige’s leg off her shoulder, then works up to her feet, keeping her fingers firmly inside Paige all the while. As soon as she’s up, Paige’s arms go around her shoulders, pulling her in, and Azzi smiles softly at the absolutely fucked-out, but undeniably lovesick, look on the other girl’s face.

Pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek, she starts moving again, staying close so that Paige’s lips are right by her ear, hearing every sound she makes.

“I love you,” Paige mutters, forehead dropping onto Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi presses a smile into Paige’s hairline, the gesture so innocent compared to the hand between her legs. “Love you, too, P.”

At that, Paige chokes on a moan, only just managing a feeble, “I’m close.”

Azzi nods, doubling her efforts. “Take your time, baby.”

“Mm-hmm,” Paige hums, but then she’s reiterating, “oh, fuck, Azzi, I’m really fuckin’ close.”

To be honest, Azzi is, too. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s come untouched, deriving pleasure from the simple act of giving it to Paige. But she holds back, forces herself to focus on the girl in her arms, running her free hand up and down Paige’s waist. “Yeah? About to come?”

Paige grasps her tighter, too fucked out to respond, but her following whines are answer enough.

“Give it to me, P,” she urges, knowing words are always the last thing Paige needs to tip her over the edge. “Wanna feel you coming all over my fingers, okay? Need you to show me how good I make you feel.”

Paige nods, and Azzi coos a, “Good, girl,” into her ear, and that’s all it takes for Paige’s hips to stutter, abs tightening as she spasms around Azzi’s fingers, crying out her name like it’s the only word she remembers. And at this point, it might be.

It takes awhile for her to come down, letting Azzi continue to thrust slowly for another minute or so before finally pushing her away. “Too much,” she breathes.

“Okay, baby,” Azzi says, pulling out slowly, bringing her hand up to Paige’s lips once she’s done. Paige doesn’t hesitate to take them into her mouth and suck, and it’s as she runs her tongue between her fingers that Azzi is reminded of just how magical her mouth is. Trying to sound casual, Azzi takes her hand back and says, “Hey, you all done?”

Paige is panting, hands going down to hold Azzi by the waist, looking as if she can barely hold herself up—but still, she shakes her head. “Nah, I can go for more.”

“Good,” Azzi says, stepping out of Paige’s grasp with a sly smile. Paige opens her mouth to protest but then Azzi swiftly pulls her shirt over her head, revealing her lavender lacy bra which leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Whatever Paige was about to say dies in her throat. “I may have planned for this when I was getting ready.”

Her pants are still on—Paige hasn’t even had the pleasure of seeing the garter yet—but already her jaw is practically on the floor. “Oh, shit.”

“Uh-huh.” Reaching out, she takes Paige’s hand in her own, leading her down the familiar path to Paige’s room. “You can thank Caroline, by the way. Was her idea.”

“For real?” Paige asks as they enter the bedroom. She plops down on the edge of the bed, watching as Azzi locks the door behind them. Her eyes rake not-so-subtly over her frame as she watches her. “I’ll send her a card and flowers for this shit.”

Azzi laughs breathily, leaning against the doorframe.

Paige raises her eyebrows and then reaches behind her head, pulling her own shirt off and discarding it on the floor. “Aight, I think I can feel my legs again. Lay down, mama.” She smiles deviously. “I’m bouta get you right.”

—————————————

Paige has never been a good liar—which is clear, considering twenty minutes later she has her head between Azzi’s thighs, making her legs shake as she eats her relentlessly.

She’s already put on the strap, and this is her way of getting Azzi ready—alternating between eating her slow and then absolutely devouring her, pulling away every time she gets close to the edge, overstimulating her without even making her come.

“Paige, please,” she basically cries out for the nth time since they started. “I need you.”

Paige only smirks from between her legs, quite cocky considering she just got fucked into oblivion less than an hour ago. “What was it you said to me earlier? About being patient?”

Azzi rolls her eyes (though it may be more from the way Paige sucks on her folds than how annoying she is). “Mm—shut up, you liked it.”

Paige sure as hell isn’t about to admit that. Of course, though, she had enjoyed it, had reveled in the pleasure she took from giving up control, letting herself be told what to do. But now it’s Azzi’s turn, and she needs to regain control of the situation-hence, the edging. “Do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, muffled in Azzi’s pussy. “Or not?”

Azzi can’t say no to that, obviously, but still sounds a little ashamed when she lets out a meek little, “Yes.”

Paige quirks an eyebrow up at her. “Yeah? You done bossing me around?”

Azzi doesn’t respond to that, lips forming into a cute little pout that’s also reminiscent of the face she makes when she gets bratty. Chuckling, Paige shakes her head, pressing a lingering kiss to her clit. “I’on think so, baby. You had your fun.” Slowly, she crawls her way back up the bed, Azzi scooching up with her. “Now you’re gonna tell me watchu want. And you’re gonna be polite about it.”

The demanding tone in Paige’s voice is usually enough to set Azzi right, but she must’ve gotten too big a head after her little stunt earlier because now she doesn’t say anything, just looks at Paige a little defiantly.

Admittedly, she looks adorable, and Paige wants to kiss that look off her face. But she can’t let Azzi think that this is how it’s gonna be now. “Alright, pretty girl. If that’s how you’re gonna be, I’ma get right back down there and make you come on my tongue. You won’t get no strap tonight.”

At that threat (which is baseless, considering Paige is absolutely going to strap Azzi down one way or another tonight) Azzi’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Okay, okay, no, I’m sorry, I don’t—I need you inside, Paige. Please?”

Grinning, Paige leans down and kisses her forehead. “That’s what I thought.”

Taking the silicon in her hand, Paige balances on one elbow as she drags it slowly through Azzi’s folds, taking extra care to bump the head against her swollen clit. When Azzi gasps, her eyes flit to her face, checking that she’s okay. “You ready, baby girl?”

Azzi hesitates, looking down at the toy between them. “It’s bigger than the last one.”

It’s true—this is a new strap, one Azzi herself actually suggested, claiming she wanted to try something bigger. They still have their last one, just in case this doesn’t work out, and Paige is about to remind her of that when Azzi shakes her head to herself and says, “It’s okay, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Paige asks suspiciously. “Because if it’s too big…”

“Nope. I’m sure.”

“Babe, we don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna.”

Azzi’s eyes move down to follow the cock, watching as Paige moves it methodically through her soaking folds, and her eyes grow a little wider. “Yeah, okay, I’m definitely sure.”

Amused, Paige watches as the younger girl stares, incredibly hungrily, at the toy. “Okay, princess. You gotta tell me if it hurts, though, okay?”

“I will,” Azzi promises. With that, Paige guides the tip down to her entrance, pushing her hips forward and against the resistance she finds there, studying Azzi’s face carefully.

After a moment, the head slides in, and Azzi gasps, wincing a little. “You good?” Paige asks, taking her hand off the cock to stroke Azzi’s cheek.

“Good,” Azzi confirms, swallowing thickly as her eyes meet Paige’s. “Just—go slow.”

“‘Course,” Paige says, leaning forward to press their foreheads together as she pushes in further. “Sweet girl,” she murmurs, mostly to distract her, “y’look so pretty like this, mama.”

She’s about halfway in at this point and Azzi gasps again, breathing out a word that sounds enough like a stop for Paige to halt. “Too much?”

Azzi’s knees are bent, feet flat against the mattress as Paige lays between them, but now she readjusts, wrapping them around Paige’s back for better leverage. “Okay,” she says once she’s done, giving Paige a little nod. “I’m good, keep going.”

Not loving the bossy tone of her voice, Paige makes a face at her. “Manners, princess.”

Azzi frowns but still lets out a little, “Please,” anyway.

With that, Paige jerks her hips, burying the dildo inside to the hilt. Azzi cries out, surprised and left breathless from the sheer stretch of it. “Shit,” she breathes, “so much for going slow.”

“Mm,” Paige hums, ducking down to kiss into Azzi’s neck. “‘S what you get for being bratty.”

“Yeah, okay,” Azzi sighs—Paige can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or actually conceding—and her head falls to the side, allowing more access to her neck, which Paige already marked up earlier.

“I good to move?” Paige asks.

“I think so,” Azzi replies, breath still caught from the sudden fullness.

Paige rocks her hips back, eyes flitting from Azzi’s face to her pussy, unable to keep from watching as she slides back in, eyes widening as she watches her cunt swallow it whole, basically sucking her in.

When she does it again, a little more smoothly this time, Azzi fists the bedsheets so hard her knuckles turn white. “Mmph—so deep, P.”

“Yeah? Feel good?” she asks lowly, rutting her hips flush into her when Azzi nods, building a steady rhythm. Her eyes land on Azzi’s face, contorted with pleasure, then rove down over her body—her neck, her tits, her stomach—until she lands back on the strap. The sight has her leaning down on her elbows, heart racing as she breathes deep to steady herself.

Picking up the pace just a little, Paige lifts herself up, watching as Azzi’s eyebrows furrow, her fists tight in the sheets. The bed is starting to squeak now, which just turns her on even more if that’s possible, and she nuzzles her nose into the crook of Azzi’s neck, muttering, “Hold on to me, baby, it’s okay.”

Azzi’s arms come up to loop around her neck before she’s even done with the sentence, and Paige smirks, pressing a few kisses into her cheek. “How’s it feel, hm? How deep am I?”

“So fucking deep,” Azzi breathes, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise how close she sounds considering Paige has been working her towards the edge for awhile now.

Paige brings a hand down between their bodies, using it to rub a few tight circles against Azzi’s clit, stopping when she starts whining. And Azzi makes a sound of protest but it’s quickly cut off by a moan when Paige’s hand moves instead to press against her lower abdomen, pushing down hard enough to feel the strap moving inside her.

“Baby, baby, please,” Azzi slurs, crying out in time with Paige’s thrusts, “right there—keep doing that, fuck.”

Who would Paige be to tell her no? There’s that whiny edge to her tone, all desperate and needy, a telltale sign she’s getting close. Pressing down a little harder on her stomach, Paige speeds up significantly, angling her hips up in an attempt to hit that spot deep inside.

Based off the high-pitched moan Azzi let’s put, it works.

“Shit, look at that,” Paige says when she looks between them again. The strap is soaking now, and so are the bedsheets, a mix of Paige and Azzi’s arousal leaking down onto them. Angling her hand down, Paige uses her fingers to spread her lips open, groaning as she gets a better view of Azzi’s cunt swallowing the entire dick. “Taking it so good, mama. Fuck, that pussy crying for my dick, huh?”

“Paige, fuck, yes,” Azzi gasps, clawing almost desperately at Paige’s shoulders.

“Close?” Paige asks, trying to gauge where she’s at based off the way her legs are beginning to shake, noises becoming less breathy, more insistent.

Azzi nods, maybe all she can manage at this point, and Paige rocks forward deep, pleased with the way Azzi’s mouth falls open, tits bouncing with each thrust.

They’re silent for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the bedframe fighting for its life and Azzi’s pussy squelching around her cock filling the room. “Hear that?” she asks, using her fingers to rub harshly against her clit, only adding to the filthy sounds in the room. “Best pussy in the world, baby. And it’s mine, huh?”

Azzi only manages a pathetic “uh-huh”, and that’s just not good enough for Paige. “Nah, you gotta tell me, princess. Tell me whose pussy this is and I’ll let you come, okay?”

It takes Azzi a moment, probably trying to gather her scattered thoughts, before she whines out a needy little, “Yours, fuck, my pussy’s all fucking yours.”

Nodding, Paige presses a kiss to Azzi’s parted lips. “That’s right, mama. You wanna come?”

Tears are gathering at the corners of Azzi’s eyes when she nods, and it only spurs Paige on further. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Come all fuckin’ over my dick. Lemme feel it, baby.”

And that’s all Azzi needs, her back arching off the bed, moaning all high-pitched as she comes, pussy clenching around the dildo, nails scratching down Paige’s back, leaving her shuddering. She doesn’t stop, though, rolling her hips deep into Azzi’s through every tremor, only stilling when Azzi shakes her head, tapping against Paige’s hip.

She gives her a moment to catch her breath before saying, “Can I pull out?”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi sighs, throwing an arm across her face as Paige slowly eases out of her. She manages to get the strap off and tosses it onto the floor, a problem for future them to deal with, before laying next to Azzi, pulling her into her chest. She chuckles at Azzi’s blissed-out expression, and Azzi’s eyes open at the sound, peering at her a little sleepily.

“You laughing?” she asks, no real accusation in her tone.

“At you? Never,” Paige jokes. Azzi slaps her chest, collapsing back onto it, sighing as she wraps a leg around Paige’s waist. She’s not the touchiest person in general, and Paige finds it endearing how snuggly she gets after sex.

Her hands begin to run up and down Azzi’s bare back, and when she hears Azzi sigh, she’s quick to speak, trying to catch the younger girl before she inevitably falls asleep. “Hey,” she says, “you okay?”

“Mm,” Azzi hums.

“Was it good?” Paige asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“Very,” Azzi replies, cuddling closer into Paige’s neck. “Missed you.”

“Two weeks is too long,” Paige agrees. Azzi chuckles softly, and Paige angles her head to look at her, only to find that her eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted.

“Why are you tryna sleep,” Paige very nearly whines.

Azzi lifts her head lazily, resting her chin on Paige’s chest to raise an eyebrow at her. “Because you just fucked the shit outta me. I’m tired.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Paige sighs dreamily.

Rolling her eyes, Azzi lays her head back down, settling back into her. “Lemme sleep, okay? I need some energy for the morning sex tomorrow.”

“F’real?” Paige can’t keep the excitement out of her tone at this.

Azzi shrugs coyly, yawns. “If you’re good.”

Internally, Paige vows to be the absolute best. Even if it means no yapping.

Her silence only lasts a few moments but, surprisingly, it’s Azzi who speaks. “And, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d better ask me to be your girlfriend tomorrow.”

(Paige does, in fact, ask Azzi to be her girlfriend ‘again’, as she puts it. Azzi, of course, says yes.)

(Oh, also, Caroline does receive a thank you letter and a bouquet of flowers in the mail a few days later. Confused, she opens the letter, to find it reads, “Thx for helping azzi pick that fit for our date. you’re a g mama carol. p.s. the sex was ridiculously good.” Caroline sends a photo of it to Azzi, wondering why she needed to know about the sex. Azzi replies with a shrugging emoji and a, “She’s not lying though”.)

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #uconn wbb #wcbb #wbb #paige bueckers smut #azzi fudd smut #pazzi smut #lilah’s works #that’s so true pt 2

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bemusedlybespectacled · 2 days ago

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I don't think I've brought this up before but it's how I've felt pretty much the entire election season and especially now: this is not going to be like 2016.

trump in 2016 was the president despite clearly not wanting it, not being prepared for it, and having limited influence over his cabinet (who also were constantly quitting because either they hit their limit of bullshit or still had a sense of shame), and he still did, like, all of the shit he did.

trump in 2025 has an axe to grind, has eliminated anyone who might so much as politely disagree with him, and has (with the help of the Heritage Foundation) had four years to plan out how he's going to accomplish his goals as quickly and efficiently as possible. I'm trying to be optimistic given how the H1B visa thing has already been going but also we had the richest loser in the world throw a Nazi salute so it's kind of hard to be optimistic about anything.

#personal

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traveler-at-heart · 2 days ago

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Hot and Cold

Summary: Natasha's playing with fire when a new resident joins the Compound.

A/N: Queen of Angst @esposadejoyhuerta asked for the fluffiest, sweetest, tooth rotting story ever and I was happy to deliver, even after they changed their request to inclue jealousy BECAUSE no one can stop me. Love ya, baby!

Another day, another mission. Since last week’s mess, it seems like Fury’s been finding ways to torture the team.

Yes, at the end they were able to retrieve the drive with the data of over twenty enhanced individuals. But so did HYDRA. And now the Avengers are on a race against time to locate them before the Russians do.

Natasha walks to Fury’s office, not excited at the prospect of risking her life to recruit people who didn’t really want to be found.

“Yes?” she says as soon as Fury turns around. He hands over a very heavy binder. “Is this their criminal record?”

Great, a weirdo with a troubled past. Natasha might not make it out alive.

“No, that’s their academic stuff. She’s a scientist. Crazy smart” Fury explains. “Have you heard of Bio-Thermokinesis?”

“No, not really”

“The ability to manipulate the body temperature of oneself and/or others” he recites, having learned the concept just now.

“That doesn’t sound so bad” Natasha says, closing the folder. It’s certainly better than the last few people she had to chase down.

“Yeah, until she induces a heat stroke or hypothermia” Fury scoffs. “We’ve been failing at recruiting these people. It would be nice to have a win. Plus, she could work in the lab with Banner and Stark”

“I don’t think Nerd Club is worth one’s freedom” Natasha mutters, skimming through the file.

“Well, either way, this mission doesn’t requires strenght. It requires charm. You up for it or should I send Hill?”

As Natasha gets to the picture of the target, she looks up.

“I’ll handle it”

—

As usual, you’re carrying more than you can possibly handle. Books, your laptop, a sandwich from the cafeteria, and correspondence from the main office.

By the time you manage to open the door to your office, half of the things in your arms are dangerously close to scattering across the hardwood floor.

“Oh, shit” you mutter when your keys drop.

“Need a hand?” a voice says and you jump back, the rest of your stuff flying across the room.

“Uh… can I help you?” you say, because the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen is perched up on your desk, legs crossed and a playful smirk across her striking features.

“Are you Doctor Y/L/N?”

“Yes. How did you…? I’m pretty sure the door was locked”

Is she a thief? You have absolutely nothing of value, at least not for a conventional burglar. You run every possibility in your mind and then you land on your second least favorite one.

Natasha notices the room getting warmer, probably because of how flustered you got. The file seems accurate regarding your power.

“AC broke down?” she asks innocently, undoing the top button of her shirt.

“Uh… I… I’ll open the window” you say, pushing it and leaning against the window pain. You consider jumping down to escape, but it’s a considerable height. You take a breath, deciding to face the matter head on. “So, which agency sent you?”

“Ever heard of S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Yes, that was my first guess” you admit with a sad smile. “What can I do for you, Agent…?”

“Call me Natasha” she says, hopping off the desk. “I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news… and a generous offer”

“Mmm” you nod, fixing your glasses.

“A tactical team was sent to stop the purchase of confidential information for 30 enhanced individuals. We were able to obtain it… and so did HYDRA”

“Listen” you raise your hand, taking off your glasses and pinching the bridge of your nose. “I get it. HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. know about me. The thing is, my power isn’t something you can leverage in a fight. I doubt they’ll be very interested in me”

“I think you’re wrong. And it’s not just your ability. Your expertise in science and your genetic makeup can be used to experiment”

“So, is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to do with me?” you sigh, looking out the window. You’re enjoying the view, vaguely aware that life as you know it is over.

“We want to offer you shelter at the Avengers Compound. 24 hour security, top facilities and technology. You can continue your research” Natasha says, trying to make it sound like a great deal.

It brings her back to that time Fury told her it was either work for the US government or end up in the Raft.

Your offer is slightly better, but a golden prison is still a prison.

“Are there any questions I can answer before you make a decision?” she offers with a kinder tone.

“Yeah. Do I even have a choice?”

—

Academic life is all you’ve ever known. Grants were the perfect way to do your research without having to look for a benefactor and expose yourself. You could learn things about your DNA, your abilities, while doing other stuff without anyone noticing.

Now, you wake up and there’s nothing that drives you. You live with people who have exceptional skills, physical prowess, and military training. Their world is avenging, your world is scientific papers and books.

Sure, their lab is nice, but most of the times you end up leaving early, completely unmotivated and feeling empty.

Natasha watches from afar, and although this isn’t her doing, she feels responsible. She tries to include you in activities she understands, like training, but you’re very obviously not the athletic kind.

Banner is, as usual, isolating himself and Tony speaks nerd, but is barely around unless a mission requires his presence.

It isn’t until one day that Peter shows up to the Compound that Natasha gets an idea.

“Hi, Miss Romanoff. Is Mister Stark around?” he asks in that shy tone he always uses when he’s around Natasha.

“Nope, not to my knowledge. Do you need anything?”

“FRIDAY told me to meet him here. He must have forgotten. I guess I better get back to my Biochem project”

Wait a minute.

He’s a nerd.

“Stay” she says, looking him up and down. Peter reminds her of a puppy when he stops completely, as if he learned a new command. “Wait for Tony at the lab. I’ll try to find him”

“You’re sure? I’m not allowed inside by myself” he hesitates, following Natasha.

“Yeah, it’s fine” she types in the access code, and of course, there you are, spinning in your chair.

As soon as you hear the door opening, you stop your movements, almost falling off.

Natasha finds your blush adorable.

“Hey, Y/N. This is Peter. He’ll be around waiting for Tony”

“Oh, hey. Ok, I was just leaving. I’m kinda stuck either way”

“Ordinary Differential Equations?” Peter says as soon as he gets his eyes on your board.

“Yes. Very impressive” you nod. “This is focused on genetic network. I’m trying to determine inborn errors of metabolism”

“Oh, you know? There’s a brilliant Doctor who’s working on that, maybe her paper would be great for you. She’s Y/N Y/L/N”

“Yeah, that’s me” you say, tapping your chin and examining the board. “What is your ability? If you have any? Maybe I can use a different set of data”

“Yes! I would love to, what do you need from me?” Peter says, a little starstruck at finding out you’re one of the most prestigious researchers in the world.

“For now, a blood sample” you wink at him, adjusting your glasses.

Natasha sits in the back of the lab as you and Peter work together, and you explain every concept to him. This is the first time since you arrived that you don’t look so miserable.

The Russian takes it as a small win when you join her in the common area for dinner.

Since Peter found out about your abilities and your permanent stay at the Compound, you’ve been advising him on his project and college applications. Which is a really nice distraction, but it also makes you miss your own college days.

So, even if you’re in a better mood, it’s still hard to socialize with the team.

One day, you enter the lab to find Rogers, Wilson and Barnes looking at a screen, while Natasha types.

“Whoever encrypted this is slightly smarter than me. Only slightly”

They look away as you drag a chair to focus on your own stuff, a cup of coffee in your hand and a cookie in your mouth.

“Hi…” you wave at them, feeling intimidated as usual.

“Hey, weather girl” Sam winks at you.

Natasha rolls her eyes and elbows him.

“Ignore him, Y/N”

You can tell she’s getting frustrated, so you inch closer, looking at the code over her shoulder. Placing your hand on her elbow, you silently ask for permission to take over.

The redhead eyes you curiously, but stops typing and moves the keyboard your way. It takes you twenty seconds to hack into the files.

“How…?”

“I used to hack into databases to make sure my name wasn’t on any watchlist” you explain casually. Natasha laughs at that. “Anyway, there you go”

“Thanks, Y/N. You’re my hero” Natasha says, smiling up at you. Her tone makes you blush and you nod, going back to your desk.

“Nice work. We could use your help if you’re free some other time” Steve says as they leave the lab.

“Of course, Capitan”

—

An intruder changes your mind about training. The threat is handled swiftly and you don’t even have time to hide before F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms the suspect has been taken into custody

But you don’t even know how to begin to defend yourself, so you come back to Natasha, asking if her offer still stands.

Needless to say, the spy is more than happy to train you. Not just because it means you’re comfortable asking for things, but because Natasha can teach you something that will help you protect yourself.

You start with two sessions per week, which later turns to four, until you’re comfortable with training almost daily.

The rest of the team joins from time to time, giving you advice and helping you when Natasha’s away on missions.

After a few weeks, Natasha notices how your resistance is better and you’re building some muscle.

Only as a professional observation. It’s not like she finds you attractive, with that nerdy charm and toned arms.

One day, as you’re leaving the gym, she checks her bag, cursing when she notices she forgot a change of clothes.

“Wanna borrow one of my hoodies?” you offer, handing over your NYU sweatshirt.

“You sure?” Natasha hesitates.

“Yeah, I got tons of these. From all the places I’ve done work or research”

“I’ll give it back” she promises, taking it.

That turns out to be a lie.

A few days later, when you’re folding your laundry, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests that you join Tony and Banner in the lab. Leaving the basket in the living room, you think nothing of it, nor do you notice that a couple of your sweatshirts are gone.

It all comes to light a week later, when Natasha comes back from a grueling mission. The only thing that will make her feel better is staying in her room while wearing your UCLA hoodie.

She totally forgets about her attire when she answers the door.

“Huh, so that’s where it was” you tilt your head, smiling.

“I…”

“I’m watching a movie, care to join me? It’s one of your favorites”

“Ok” she nods, surprised that you’re not mad about the stolen sweatshirt.

Natasha enters your room, appreciating the combination of books, notes and the board with equations. After you apologize for the mess, you offer a place to sit in your bed.

“It looks good on you” you compliment the redhead. Natasha smiles, trying to be nonchalant about it.

“Thank you”

It becomes a habit, to steal your hoodies.

“Objectively speaking, you don’t actually need them as you can regulate your temperature” Natasha comments one day, digging through your closet. To her shock, she finds a sweatshirt with a sorority logo on it.

“Not mine. A girl I hooked up with in college” you explain.

Natasha rolls her eyes, throwing the garment as far away as possible while pulling a face. You laugh at her reaction.

“Don’t be jealous, Natty. You’re my favorite” you promise, unaware of the effect your words had on her.

“And yet you never let me wear the Harvard one”

“That was my first” you shrug your shoulders.

“First college or first hook up?” Natasha taunts and you laugh.

“A nerd never kisses and tell. Actually, a nerd rarely kisses anyone to being with” you try to joke, pulling out the Harvard sweatshirt from your closet to put it on.

Natasha eyes it, and you catch her intentions a little too late. She inches forward and you stretch your arm back, trying to place the hoodie out of reach.

“Nu-uh” you shake your head, laughing as she keeps trying to steal it. “Natasha, there are like ten other hoodies you could take!”

“I want this one!” she insists, jumping. Her body crashes against yours, and you both stumble, falling in your bed. Limbs are tangled and her laugh tickles your ear as she struggles to lift herself up. After a moment, Natasha smiles, looking at your lips. “Gotcha”

You don’t even know what to say, her intense stare making you feel warm -both literally and figuratively - and your heart beats faster when it seems like she’ll lean forward and kiss you.

“Agent Romanoff, there’s an urgent call for you” FRIDAY interrupts the moment.

Natasha sighs, standing up and looking at you.

“Catch you later?”

“Yeah” you nod, trying to hide your disappointment.

—

Natasha was gone for a week, and returned with a very bad injury. You heard the news as Steve and Tony were arguing in the kitchen, blaming each other as usual.

“Where…? Is she ok…?” you try to interrupt them, but they’re in the middle of a screaming match.

“Come with me” Maria says, taking you to a whole different wing of the Compound. Since you’ve never been on missions, you didn’t know about the Medbay.

Natasha’s lying in a hospital bed, asleep.

“She’s ok. A guy threw a knife at her, but it was only a superficial stab wound. Doctor said she’ll be discharged tomorrow” Maria eases your nerves.

Of course, for her it’s easy to say it’s no big deal. Agents are shot, blown up, killed in the field. A little scratch is nothing, especially for Natasha. But you take a deep breath, leaving the Medbay in a rush.

As you lock yourself in the Avenger’s Lab, you make F.R.I.D.A.Y. a simple request.

“Show me the mission’s footage”

—

Natasha’s had worst, truly. But still, her head is throbbing when she wakes up. The doctor discharges her with the instruction to rest for a week. No training either.

The Russian notices a bag with clothes on the chair next to her bed. She finds your Harvard sweatshirt, which puts a tiny smile on her face.

You are nowhere to be found in the Compound when she returns, so she goes to her room to take another nap, the painkillers making her sleepy.

By the time Natasha wakes up to get something to eat, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests her presence in the lab.

“What is it?” she says, surprised to find you working on a tablet. It looks like you haven’t slept in the last 24 hours, five or six cups of coffee around the various tables in the lab.

“I created a new technology for your suit” you jump right to it. “It has motion sensors that are triggered by incoming threats. That way, if someone tries to sneak up on you, you can either get an alert or program a defense mechanism that can be shot from any part of the suit”

Natasha takes the tablet, running the simulation. She’s impressed with the level of detail you’ve placed on this and on such short time. She’s about to thank you, but you’re already asleep in the couch of the lab, clearly exhausted from all the work you’ve done.

The sight of your sleeping form makes Natasha’s heart flutter.

—

Movie night is the one tradition you’ve always been on board with. Coincidentally, it’s Natasha’s least favorite. Depending on her mood, she’ll join everyone on the living room, or talk you into watching something else in your room or hers.

Tonight, she stops by once the movie has already started. As usual, you’re on the couch in the far back of the room, your glasses reflecting the screen as you eat some popcorn.

“Hey” Natasha leans over the back of the couch and whispers against your ear, making you jump. Your eyes follow her as she jumps over to plop down next to you.

“You’re not supposed to be doing that with a hole on your side, Natasha” you reprimand.

“It’s fine” she lies, grabbing some popcorn.

As the movie keeps going, the woman inches closer to you. At first you think she’s settling in her seat, but then her hand spreads on the back of the couch, dangerously close to your neck.

It’s fine. You can handle it.

Nope, you absolutely can’t. Not when you feel Natasha’s nimble fingers playing with the hairs on the back of your neck, her digits alternating between caressing the skin and scratching your scalp.

“You’re hot” she whispers at some point and you turn to look at her, dazed.

“Huh?”

“You feel hot” she clarifies a second later, her eyes looking at your lips. “Is everything ok? Those powers of yours are acting up”

“I’m fine” you nod, looking back at the screen. Aware that you are in fact increasing the temperature in the room, you take a breath and close your eyes, before anyone else notices.

You’re almost back to normal when Natasha stretches and lies across your lap, her left hand squeezing your thigh as the other one begins to trace patterns in your skin.

All while she's wearing your Harvard sweatshirt.

Your only thought is to take it off, along with the rest of her clothes and kiss every inch of her body.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., is the thermostat broken…?” Tony finally snaps, annoyed at the sudden changes in temperature. “Never mind”

Everyone follows his eyes as he looks to the back of the room, where Natasha is playing dumb while riling you up.

“Can you two find a room to turn into a sauna and spare the rest of us?” Tony says, which makes your eyes widen, and the room practically turns into a freezer. “Great, now we’re all turning into popsicles. Cap, you’re familiar with the feeling, right?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Tony” Natasha finally stands up, showing you some mercy. “Come on, detka”

“Uh, ok” you say, your voice barely a whisper as you allow the woman to drag you back to her room.

As soon as the door is shut, she pushes you against it.

“So, tell me” she says with a playful smile. “How hot do you think it will get here?”

You can only shake your head, speechless. Natasha smiles, kissing you softly. All thoughts leave your head, opening your mouth to give her access. You’ll do anything she asks, anything at all.

“I see” she smiles when the room gets hot. “Good thing we won’t have our clothes on”

It’s the best sex of your life.

So much so, the fire alarm goes off in the entire Compound.

“Fucking worth it” you sigh as you’re both naked in bed, the water from the sprinklers evaporating from all the heat in the room.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n

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