#now if youre gonna be like me and do that make sure to keep in mind a lot of recommended levels are bullshit so like

[makismei]

thinking about toji with a sensitive girl who runs away before she cums, saying it’s too much and she can’t take it! cw: hints of sadism & machoism, unintentional edging, squirting, he’s pretty sweet ^.^

“baby, c’mon, you’re making this harder for yourself.” he chides, dragging your twitchy hips back. your thighs stay shut and he sends you a pointed glare, “what’s this?”

“toji,” you sniffle, “s’ too much, i can’t do it.”

with your teary eyes and quivering legs, toji can’t help but be mean. you’re so cute. it might be the death of him.

“want to use your special little word?” he asks lowly, already knowing your answer.

you shrink in on yourself, “n-no…”

he hums, a sick grin tugging on his lips. “i’m gonna need something more convincing than that, baby.”

you pout. he’s teasing you. he likes to see you like this.

shyly, you open your thighs, revealing your soaked cunt to him. his eyes lock in on your needy hole, twitching and drooling all over the bedsheets. “please, toji, make me cum..”

“aw, how sweet. saying please too, how can i say no?” he mutters, thick hand caressing your thigh, trailing closer to where you need him.

“you’re not gonna run this time, right?” he pats your pussy, entertained by the way you tense and how you force your legs to stay open.

“m’ not!” he knows you’re lying. but it’s fine, he likes testing how far you can go.

he thumbs your clit, watching you intently. you’re staring down at his hand, anticipating his next move. slowly, he pushes two fingers inside, groaning to himself when you squeeze down on his digits, “what a slutty cunt,” he grouses, “see doll, she’s begging to cum, but you’re not letting her.”

toji prods around, still thumbing your clit and you think you’re going to cry.

“hold your legs back,” he doesn’t even bother looking at you, “your legs are trying to close on me.”

you know what’s gonna happen if you hold your legs back. but also, what happens if you don’t. you shake your head, defiant. “i don’t wanna…”

the man hums, amused. “you’re gonna be like that?” you nod, testing him.

“hmm, i think m’ done being nice to you.” your pupils morphing into hearts at his words, barely even realizing that he’s putting a hand on your thigh, pushing it down to make room for him. he locks your other leg underneath him.

his fingers know exactly where to poke, thumb still on your clit. he’s so precise, aiming for that one spot again and again.

naturally, because he’s already tried to make you cum a few times, it doesn’t take long for you to know you’re gonna cum.

“don’t.” he scolds, already knowing what you’re up to, “don’t hold it, cum.”

it’s overwhelming, you’re not sure if you’re holding it intentionally, but you like it when he forces you to cum anyway. “i c-can’t, toji, toji no!”

you’re trying to squirm away. away from the onslaught of pleasure. toji glares at you and then you hear it.

a soft buzz and you look down, mortified. he’s still fingering you, despite the fact you’re clenching down so hard he can barely move his fingers.

“wait.. wait toji, baby, please,” you beg, “i’ll cum, i’ll cum now. but plea—easeeee!”

“i’ve given you enough chances,” he frowns, pressing the little toy against your clit, he continues driving his digits into you. “c’mon baby, make me happy.”

you’re sobbing hysterically, unable to get away from the pleasure. toji laughs, “let go, i dunno why you’re doing this to yourself.”

writhing on the bed is useless because you can’t escape his hold—teetering on the edge of orgasm is making your mind go numb.

“n-no, m’ gonna cum, toji i can’t hold it! it’s gonna come ouuuttt!” he doesn’t let up, shaking the toy and watching your back arch up.

“hands.” he scolds and you immediately withdraw your clammy fingers from his own, “that’s good, now c’mon, you know what i want.”

it’s paralyzing, left leg shaking uncontrollably underneath him while you babble incoherently. he keeps a watchful eye, working you to it. he feels his cock drooling pre at the sight of you—the feeling of you falling apart on his fingers is making his mind hazy.

your vision whites. toji whistles lowly, watching you splash liquid all over his lower tummy, soaking his boxers. he tosses the vibrator aside, thick fingers gently working you through it.

you’re practically screeching, becoming so fidgety that toji has to use his free hand to scoop up your wrists, keeping you at his mercy.

“shh, baby, that’s good. that feels good, don’t it?” when your body relaxes, he pops his fingers out, shamelessly putting them in his mouth. he leans over you, pressing his weight onto you.

burly hands hold your face, grinning at your bleary eyes and tear soaked cheeks. “hey, gorgeous,” he hums sweetly, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. you’re panting, trying to catch your breath and he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but it’s in his nature to be a little mean.

pressing his tongue into your open mouth, you moan, unable to keep up and he breathes out a laugh, pulling away. he knocks his nose against yours, praising you quietly.

weak arms throw themselves over his neck, keeping him close to you. you can feel his bulge twitch, a familiar warmth beginning spread over your body.

“tojiii~” you tease, “i think your little friend wants some attention too.”

he’s amused, grinning wolfishly. “haven’t you had enough, lady?”

you pretend to ponder, “i can’t say for sure.”

“you started this,” he pulls away, manhandling your body so you’re on your knees, face smushed into the pillow, “i think you’re biting off more than you can chew, doll.”

[pucksandpower]

Your Love Is My Drug

Oscar Piastri x Norris!Reader

Summary: Lando’s teammate is behaving strangely, so of course the logical assumption is that Oscar must be on drugs (the truth ends up being so much worse … for Lando)

The McLaren garage buzzes with activity as mechanics scurry about, preparing for the upcoming race weekend. Lando leans against the wall, his brow furrowed in concentration as he observes his teammate from across the room.

Something’s off about Oscar today. Actually, if Lando’s being honest with himself, something’s been off about Oscar for weeks now. The usually composed Aussie seems ... different.

Fidgety.

Distracted.

As if on cue, Oscar lets out another of those odd little giggles he’s been prone to lately. Lando’s eyes narrow.

“Oi, Piastri!” He calls out, striding over to where Oscar is hunched over his phone. “What’s so funny, mate?”

Oscar’s head snaps up, his cheeks flushed a deep pink. “Oh, uh, nothing,” he stammers, hastily shoving his phone into his pocket. “Just ... just a meme.”

Lando raises an eyebrow. “A meme? Since when are you so into memes?”

“I’ve always liked memes,” Oscar protests weakly.

“Right,” Lando drawls, unconvinced. He watches as Oscar shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the waistband of his jeans.

A sudden, horrifying thought strikes Lando. No ... it couldn’t be. Could it?

“Hey, Oscar,” he says slowly, trying to keep his tone casual. “You feeling alright? You’ve seemed a bit ... off lately.”

Oscar’s eyes widen slightly. “Off? What do you mean?”

Lando shrugs, aiming for nonchalance. “I dunno, just ... different. Distracted. You keep laughing at nothing and your face is all red.”

“Oh, that’s ... that’s nothing,” Oscar says, waving a hand dismissively. “Just, uh, excited about the race, I guess.”

Lando’s not buying it. “Excited, huh? Is that why you keep fidgeting with your pants, too?”

Oscar freezes, his hand stilling where it had been absently adjusting his waistband. “I ... what?”

“Your jeans,” Lando repeats, gesturing towards Oscar’s lower half. “You keep messing with them. What’s that about?”

“Nothing!” Oscar yelps, a bit too quickly. “They’re just ... new. Still breaking them in.”

Lando’s eyes narrow further. He remembers something, vaguely, from one of the few health lessons he’d managed to stay awake for back in school. Something about drug users and fidgeting ...

No. Surely not. Not Oscar.

But the more Lando thinks about it, the more it starts to make a twisted kind of sense. The secrecy, the mood swings, the constant flush on Oscar’s cheeks ...

“Oscar,” Lando says, his voice low and serious. “I need you to be honest with me. Are you ... are you on something?”

Oscar’s jaw drops. “What? No! Of course not!”

“Because if you are,” Lando presses on, ignoring Oscar’s protests, “I need to know. As your teammate. As your friend. This isn’t just about you, mate. It’s about the whole team.”

“Lando, I swear, I’m not on anything,” Oscar insists, his voice taking on a pleading edge. “I don’t know where you’re getting this idea from, but-”

“Then explain the giggling!” Lando demands, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “And the blushing! And the fidgeting! Something’s clearly going on with you, and if you’re not gonna be straight with me-”

“I can’t!” Oscar bursts out, then immediately claps a hand over his mouth, looking stricken.

Lando’s eyes widen. “Can’t what?”

Oscar shakes his head, looking miserable. “I can’t ... I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, Lando. I know I’ve been acting weird, but I promise it’s nothing bad. I’m not on drugs or anything like that. I just ... I can’t explain right now.”

Lando stares at his teammate, torn between frustration and concern. “Oscar, come on. We’re supposed to be friends. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Oscar’s phone chimes, and he jumps, fumbling to pull it out of his pocket. His eyes widen as he reads whatever message has just come through, and a small, dopey smile spreads across his face.

“Sorry,” he says distractedly, already typing out a response. “I’ve gotta go. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

Before Lando can protest, Oscar is hurrying out of the garage, leaving Lando staring after him in bewilderment.

“What the hell was that about?” Lando mutters to himself.

He’s still pondering Oscar’s strange behavior when his own phone buzzes. It’s a message from you.

Hey! Surprise — I’m at the track! Want to grab dinner?

Lando grins, momentarily distracted from his worries about Oscar. Absolutely, he types back. Meet you at the hotel in a few hours?

Later that evening, Lando’s sitting in the hotel restaurant, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table as he waits for you to arrive. His mind keeps drifting back to Oscar’s odd behavior, and he’s half-tempted to text you and ask if you’ve noticed anything strange about his teammate lately.

Before he can act on the impulse, you breeze into the restaurant, a bright smile on your face. “Lando!” You exclaim, rushing over to give him a hug.

“Hey, trouble,” Lando says fondly, returning the embrace. “What brings you to the race? I thought you were busy with work.”

You shrug, sliding into the seat across from him. “Oh, you know, just missed my second favorite brother. Thought I’d surprise you.”

Lando narrows his eyes playfully. “I finally won a race and I’m still not your favorite?”

“You can’t win everything,” you say with a grin. “Wouldn’t want your head getting any bigger than it already is.”

As you settle in and start perusing the menu, Lando can’t help but notice that you seem ... different. There’s a certain glow about you, a sparkle in your eye that he hasn’t seen before.

“You look happy,” he observes. “Something good happen at work?”

You bite your lip, looking suddenly nervous. “Oh, um, not really. Just ... life in general, I guess.”

Lando’s about to press further when his phone buzzes. He glances down to see a message from Oscar.

Hey, mate. Sorry about earlier. Can we talk?

Lando frowns, torn between his curiosity about Oscar’s situation and his desire to spend time with you.

“Everything okay?” You ask, noticing his expression.

Lando sighs. “I don’t know. It’s Oscar. He’s been acting really weird lately, and I’m worried about him.”

Your eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Weird how?”

“Just ... off,” Lando says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “He’s all giggly and distracted, his face is constantly red, and he keeps fidgeting with his clothes. I’m worried he might be ... you know ...”

You lean forward, your brow furrowed in concern. “Might be what?”

Lando lowers his voice, glancing around to make sure no one’s listening. “On drugs,” he whispers.

To his surprise, you burst out laughing. “Oscar? On drugs? Are you serious?”

“It’s not funny!” Lando hisses, feeling defensive. “I’m really worried about him. He won’t tell me what’s going on, but something clearly is.”

You sober quickly, reaching across the table to pat his hand. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s not funny. But Lando, I really don’t think Oscar’s on drugs. Maybe there’s another explanation?”

“Like what?” Lando demands.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can say anything, Lando’s phone buzzes again. Another message from Oscar.

I’m in the lobby. Can we talk now? It’s important.

Lando looks up at you apologetically. “It’s Oscar again. He says he needs to talk. Do you mind if I ...”

You wave a hand, looking strangely nervous. “No, no, go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

Lando nods gratefully and heads for the lobby, his mind racing. What could be so important that Oscar needs to talk right now?

He spots his teammate pacing near the elevators, looking agitated. “Oscar?” He calls out.

Oscar’s head snaps up, and Lando is struck again by the flush on his cheeks. “Lando! Thanks for coming. I ... I need to tell you something.”

Lando crosses his arms, trying to look stern despite his worry. “Yeah, I’d say you do. What’s going on with you, mate? And don’t try to tell me it’s nothing, because-”

“I’m dating your sister!” Oscar blurts out.

Lando blinks, certain he must have misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”

Oscar takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “I’m dating your sister,” he repeats, more slowly this time. “Y/N. We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now.”

Lando’s mind goes blank. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. No sound comes out.

“I know it’s a shock,” Oscar continues, words tumbling out in a rush. “And I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. We wanted to make sure it was serious before we said anything. But I really care about her, Lando. And I hope ... I hope you can be okay with this.”

Lando’s brain is still struggling to process this information. “But ... but the giggling,” he manages to stammer out. “And the blushing. And the fidgeting.”

Oscar’s blush deepens. “Ah, yeah. That’s ... that’s because of Y/N. She’s been sending me these ... messages. And pictures. Really cute ones!” He adds hastily, seeing Lando’s eyes widen in horror. “Nothing inappropriate! Just ... you know. Flirty.”

Lando holds up a hand, feeling slightly nauseous. “Please, I really don’t need details.”

“Right, sorry,” Oscar says sheepishly. “Anyway, that’s why I’ve been acting weird. I was trying to keep it a secret, but I guess I’m not very good at hiding how I feel.”

Lando’s head is spinning. His teammate and his little sister. Dating. It’s too much to process.

“Lando?” Oscar’s voice sounds concerned. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

Lando opens his mouth to respond, but the world suddenly tilts sideways. The last thing he hears before everything goes black is Oscar’s panicked voice calling his name.

When Lando comes to, he’s lying on a couch in the hotel lobby, with you and Oscar hovering anxiously over him.

“Oh thank god,” you breathe as his eyes flutter open. “Lando, are you okay?”

Lando groans, pushing himself into a sitting position. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” Oscar supplies helpfully. “Right after I told you about ... you know.”

The memory comes flooding back, and Lando groans again, this time for an entirely different reason. “So it wasn’t a dream, then? You two are really ...”

You nod, looking nervous but determined. “We are. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. We wanted to make sure it was, you know, real first.”

Lando looks between the two of you, taking in Oscar’s anxious expression and the way your hand is clasped tightly in his. Despite his shock, he can’t deny the genuine affection he sees there.

“Well,” he says finally, his voice rough. “I suppose this is better than you being on drugs.”

Oscar lets out a startled laugh. “You really thought I was on drugs?”

Lando shrugs defensively. “What was I supposed to think? You were acting so weird!”

“That’s just because he’s head over heels for me,” you say teasingly, bumping Oscar’s shoulder with your own.

Oscar grins dopily, and Lando has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Clearly,” he mutters.

There’s a moment of awkward silence before you speak up again. “So ... are you okay with this? Us being together?”

Lando looks at you, his beloved little sister, then at Oscar, his teammate and friend. He sees the happiness radiating from both of you, the way you lean into each other unconsciously.

He sighs dramatically. “I suppose I’ll have to be,” he says, unable to keep a small smile from tugging at his lips. “But I swear, Piastri, if you hurt her-”

“I won’t,” Oscar interrupts, his voice firm and sincere. “I promise, Lando. I’ll take good care of her.”

Lando nods, satisfied for now. “Good. And for the love of all that is holy, please keep the flirting to a minimum around me. I really don’t need to see that.”

You and Oscar laugh, the tension finally breaking. As Lando watches the two of you together, he can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this might not be such a bad thing after all.

But he’s definitely going to need some time to get used to it. And possibly some therapy.

[chaos-in-deepspace]

Sylus Monster Dick Agenda: The Facts + Dragon Sylus Mating Headcanons (at the end)

Alright, so you saw Sylus is now a dragon. Awesome. Beautiful. Now I've already seen people discussing him having hemipeens and I wanna come on here and explain how they'd actually be working. It's fine if you make headcanons on how his dick would be (and if you do please state they're a headcanon), but if you're gonna be a monster fucker who wants to fuck actual hemipeens, make sure you've done research on how they work.

Warnings: Non Human Dicks, Facts about animal penises and mating, biting, dick hooks, mating seasons, slightly possessive Sylus in the headcanons.

Disclaimer: I did a lot of research for this, however I understand that sometimes there can be mistakes. If anyone breeds snakes or lizards, owns them, or anything of the sort and you notice something is inaccurate, please inform me. I'll happily update this post. I want to be as accurate as possible, but as I don't personally own reptiles, I could only go off research and the information my friend gave me who owns snakes.

Hemipeens:

So obviously there's a lot of different reptiles out there, and their hemipeens are generally in the same wheelhouse, but with the sheer amount of species out there, it's impossible to cover them all in a quick post explaining how to write them in your erotica. We're going to be focusing on lizards for this, because they're the closest to a traditional western dragon which is what Sylus appears to be (if you wanted to do a more traditional Chinese based dragon, they'd be somewhat more akin to a snake and lizard hybrid) I'll also briefly cover a snake's though, just in case.

Lizard Hemipeens: A lizards hemipeens (focusing on bearded dragons) are normally more lobed in appearance. They're shorter but, in comparison to the rest of the body, are large in shape.

Lizard Hemipeens: Have spikes or ridges on them that help secure the female during mating, They're not extremely sharp, but if the male is being too rough during mating, or it takes too long, it can definitely cause discomfort. However, keep in mind, this is when mating with another female lizard, which have adapted to be more resilient. If it was a human, it could be a different story.

Lizard Hemipeens: Are stored in a cloaca when not mating. It's a flexible muscular structure to house the hemipeens. When mating, the hemipeens turn everted (inside out).

Lizard Hemipeens: Sit side by side, and have a small space between them. They aren't just like two dicks next to one another. They also vary in appearance, but most of the time they're more tubular.

Lizard Hemipeens: Are only out during the mating process. In fact, if they're out for too long it can cause a prolapse.

Snake Hemipeens: Generally more elongated and looks more like a cylinder. Snakes have more of a need for longer insertion in order to breed their mate, unlike a lizard.

Snake Hemipeens: Also often have the small hooks or spines to help keep their mate in place. Just like lizards, these don't often cause injury in the female unless it's too rough or mating takes too long.

Snake Hemipeens: Other than the little hooks or spines, a lot of species hemipeens are more smooth, however species like a boa or python have more texture to them.

Snake Hemipeens: Tend to have a more forked appearance on each of the hemipeens on the end. The hemipeens are also closer together on the body, but still sit side by side.

Snake Hemipeens: Are houses in the cloaca, like the lizards and a lot of other reptiles.

Key Differences: Lizard hemipeens tend to have have small ridges or spines, while snake hemipeens may have hooks or spiny structures.

Key Differences: Lizard hemipeens tend to be flatter and more lobed, whereas snake hemipeens are more cylindrical and elongated.

Key Differences: Snake hemipeens are generally longer and more narrow than the shorter, more compact hemipeens of most lizards.

Mating Seasons

In general, reptiles will mate when the weather is warmer. During the cold months they tend to be more lethargic. Of course in captivity this can change, but overall, you're looking at spring and summer for mating.

Lizards: Tend to mate in the spring when it's warming up.

Snakes: Will normally mate in spring or summer once they get out of brumation (a period of dormancy similar to hibernation for cold-blooded animals), Generally they'll go into their mating season right after brumation.

Mating Behaviors

Keep in mind, during mating, Lizards and snakes only use ONE of their hemipeens for mating. It depends on the positioning of their mate when they mount them. Sometimes if the "run out of juice" they can use the other hemipeen as a last resort.

Lizards: Will become more territorial and aggressive towards other males during mating season.

Lizards: Males will often slightly change color during mating season, bob their heads, and wave their arms to attract female mates.

Lizards: Mating is normally kept shorter, only being a couple minutes long.

Lizards: Can scent during mating, but it's a secondary thing. They rely more on visuals.

Lizards: Will sometimes bite during mating in order to lock the female into place.

Snakes: Male snakes will compete with other males for the mate, often fighting, wrestling, etc.

Snakes: Will leave scent trails for their mates and vibrate their tails to attract females.

Snakes: Mating can take a few minutes to a few hours.

Snakes: Rely heavily on scents during mating. They have the Jacobsen's organ on the roof of their mouth that allows them to pick on on other snake's pheromones.

Snakes: Biting in snakes is more common during mating, and can happen before and during copulation.

OKAY! So that's just a fucking rundown on anatomy and mating habits. Now how to incorporate this into your monster fucker stuff for Sylus.

Writing Dragon Sylus Dicks

Sylus as a character has shown to be very caring towards the MC, so I don't think he would ever purposefully harm her. So during mating these are some things I can see happening (Disclaimer: all these are headcanons based off facts on reptile anatomy and mating behaviors):

Dragon Sylus: Would scent his mate and the area around her, even if MC doesn't understand why or can't smell it at all, it would put him at ease.

Dragon Sylus: Would be more gentle with biting as to not cause serious injury to MC. He might break the skin slightly, but overall they'd be very shallow.

Dragon Sylus: Would be a bit more territorial of MC and try to keep her away from other males only during mating season. During the other times he'd allow MC full autonomy. If MC stated she didn't appreciate it, he would explain the reasoning so she'd understand the difference in species.

Dragon Sylus: Would only fuck MC with one of the hemipeens and be gentle so the hooks or ridges don't cause harm. Would do several check ins to make sure she's okay.

Dragon Sylus: Could hypothetically go for several rounds depending if he's more lizard or snake like, but would be reading MC's body language and words to know if she'd be able to handle it.

Dragon Sylus: Would be the king of aftercare. He'd patch up any wounds he inflicted to prevent infection, make sure MC is fed and taken care of, and if it was uncomfortable he would try to find a balm or numbing cream and now fuck MC for days until she's fully recovered, and only then he'll touch her if she gives him the 'okay'.

I mainly had to write this because I saw a post about someone saying the hemipeens would both excrete different things (one would be a numbing agent, the other is cum). Also how at the end it would glue the vaginal canal shut essentially which is such a non-con thing. Can you imagine if that happened? Infection? Death. Just so another male can't go in. It made no sense. Everyone is free to have their own headcanons, but please STATE IT AS SUCH.

And if you're going to have a rough Sylus who fucks MC and harms her during the process, fucking tag your shit. That is a Non-Con situation, and nobody on here has been tagging their Non-Con Sylus content. Tag it. Warn about it. TAG YOUR SHIT PROPERLY!!!

But ya, there you go. How it would logically work for a Dragon Sylus smut.

[moonselune]

Hi! Could I request something? I just saw you accept new request again! I was thinking of yearning. Them yearning for oblivious tav.

I just love a good old yearning prompt

yesssssss the yearning the pining the dramaaa

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach was trying her best to keep it together. As she sat by the campfire, her eyes kept drifting toward you, her massive frame leaning slightly forward as if she could somehow close the gap between you just by willing it. You were tending to a few weapons you’d scavenged earlier in the day, completely oblivious to the way her molten eyes lingered on you, the way her hands fidgeted with a piece of stray leather to distract herself from the ache in her chest.

Wyll, sitting nearby with a mischievous grin, had noticed. Of course, he had noticed. The Blade of Frontiers had a knack for picking up on unspoken emotions, and Karlach was as subtle as a roaring forge.

“You know,” Wyll began, his voice low and teasing as he leaned toward Karlach, “if you keep staring at them like that, you’re liable to set the poor one on fire.”

Karlach froze, her cheeks flushing as embers flickered to life along her horns.

“What?” she whispered sharply, her voice cracking. “I wasn’t staring! I was just—”

“Yearning?” Wyll supplied with a grin, leaning back casually.

“I don’t yearn,” Karlach snapped, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Oh, come now,” Wyll said, his tone smug. “The sighing, the pining, the tragic glances when he’s not looking—it’s downright poetic.” He tapped his chin theatrically. “It’s almost enough to compose a ballad.”

Karlach shot him a glare, her flames flaring slightly around her shoulders. “Wyll, I swear, if you don’t shut it—”

But it was too late. Her embarrassment sent her infernal engine into overdrive, and the flames on her body surged. The sudden flare caught your attention, and you glanced up from your work.

“Karlach?” you called out, your voice filled with concern as you stood and crossed the campfire toward her. “Are you okay?”

The sheer earnestness in your tone made her heart lurch painfully in her chest. She quickly tried to wave you off, her hands fanning at her shoulders as if she could dampen the flames.

“It’s nothing! Just—hot, you know?” she stammered.

“Well, yeah, you’re always hot,” you said, grabbing a nearby waterskin. “But this seems worse than usual.”

Karlach froze, her eyes going wide at your words. Did you—did you just call her hot? Surely, you didn’t mean it like that, right?

“Here, let me help,” you said, uncapping the waterskin.

“No, no, really, I’m fine—”

Too late. You doused her with a splash of water, and instead of calming her flames, it only made things worse. The steam hissed around her, mingling with her rising panic, and her flames flared even brighter.

“Gods, I’m sorry!” you exclaimed, looking horrified. “Did that make it worse?”

Karlach buried her face in her hands, groaning loudly. “No, no, it’s fine, just—don’t worry about it.”

Wyll, watching the scene unfold, laughed openly now. “You’re really outdoing yourself, Karlach. I think the entire camp will see those flames soon.”

You shot Wyll a confused look. “What’s he talking about?”

Karlach peeked through her fingers, her flames dimming slightly as her mortification reached its peak.

“Nothing! He’s just… being a prat,” she said quickly, glaring at Wyll, who only grinned wider.

“I’d call it encouragement,” Wyll said lightly. “After all, someone here needs to take a hint.”

You blinked at him, clearly puzzled, but before you could ask what he meant, Karlach stood abruptly, the ground under her feet crunching as her weight shifted.

“I’m gonna, uh, go check on—anything else,” she muttered, stomping off toward the edge of camp.

You watched her go, bewildered, before turning back to Wyll. “Did I do something wrong?”

Wyll chuckled, shaking his head. “Not wrong, no. Just oblivious. Don’t worry—you’ll figure it out eventually. Maybe.”

You frowned, glancing back toward where Karlach had disappeared into the shadows, her flames still faintly flickering in the distance. You didn’t know what you’d missed, but something about the way she’d looked at you before she left lingered in your mind, warm and unexplained.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The campfire crackled gently, casting a warm glow across the assembled group. You sat on a log, sharpening your blade, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents running through the evening.

Minthara, sitting a few paces away, had her sharp red eyes trained on you, a faint furrow in her brow. Her usual composed demeanor was slightly off tonight—her movements a touch too deliberate, her glances toward you lingering just a second too long.

Shadowheart, one of the resident camp gossips, noticed. She always did.

“Why don’t you just say something, Minthara?” Shadowheart drawled lazily, her lips curling into a smirk as she toyed with a loose strand of her hair. “It’s not as though subtlety is your strong suit. Or theirs, for that matter.”

Minthara’s sharp gaze snapped toward her, irritation flashing across her face.

“I do not need your advice, cleric,” she said coolly.

“Oh, I think you do,” Shadowheart said, undeterred. “Because whatever it is you’ve been doing clearly isn’t working. They haven’t even noticed.” She tilted her head toward you, who were now carefully oiling your weapon, oblivious to the tension building around you.

Minthara’s grip on her dagger tightened, her knuckles turning white. “They have other matters to attend to. The fault lies not with my approach but their… distraction.”

Shadowheart chuckled. “Distraction? They’re so dense they probably think the moonrise is flirting with them. You’ll have to carve it into the side of their tent before they catch on.”

That was the last straw. Minthara stood abruptly, her dark cloak billowing behind her as she marched across the campsite toward you.

“Minthara?” you said, startled as her shadow fell over you.

Before you could say another word, she grabbed you by the front of your tunic and pulled you to your feet with a surprising amount of force. Her crimson eyes burned with frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“You,” she snapped, her voice ringing out across the camp, “are impossibly blind.”

“W-what?” you stammered, your mind racing to figure out what you’d done wrong this time.

“I have fought by your side,” she began, her voice rising. “I have trusted you, protected you, respected you. I have given you every sign imaginable, and yet you remain oblivious to the fact that I—” She stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath, as if even saying the words aloud were a battle she needed to win. “That I desire you, you fool!”

The camp went silent. Even the fire seemed to crackle a little softer as everyone turned to stare.

You blinked, utterly dumbfounded. “You… you desire me?”

Minthara groaned, her head tipping back in exasperation before she fixed you with an incredulous look. “Yes! Must I spell it out further? Or perhaps I should inscribe it on your blade since that seems to be where your attention is always focused!”

Shadowheart, who had been watching the entire exchange with barely suppressed laughter, finally burst out into an uncontrollable giggle.

“Oh, gods, this is better than I could’ve hoped,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye.

Minthara turned her glare on her, her lips curling in irritation. “If you say one more word, Shadowheart, I will—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted, holding up your hands. “Everyone calm down.” You turned back to Minthara, your voice softening. “I’m sorry if I missed the signs, Minthara. I honestly didn’t realize.”

Her anger seemed to waver, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability.

“How could you not?” she asked, almost to herself. You hesitated, then placed a tentative hand on hers, still gripping your tunic.

“Because I’m an idiot,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But I’m an idiot who’s honored and… maybe a little thrilled by what you just said.”

For the first time that evening, Minthara seemed at a loss for words. Her lips parted slightly, her sharp demeanor softening as she searched your face.

“Thrilled, you say?” she murmured, the barest hint of a smirk returning.

“Thrilled,” you confirmed, your cheeks warming under her intense gaze.

The tension in the air shifted, no longer charged with frustration but with something warmer, something promising. Minthara released your tunic, smoothing it out almost absently. “Then perhaps next time, you won’t require such… dramatic measures to understand me.”

Shadowheart made a kissy noise behind you, and you shot her a glare over your shoulder. Minthara, however, ignored her entirely, her focus solely on you.

“Now,” she said, her voice back to its usual measured tone. “Shall we continue this conversation somewhere with fewer interruptions?”

You nodded, feeling a grin spread across your face. “Lead the way.”

As you walked off together, Shadowheart’s laughter echoed behind you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. For once, the fog of obliviousness had lifted, and you were exactly where you wanted to be—at Minthara’s side.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae’zel had always been a force of nature—her sharp tongue, battle-hardened demeanor, and unyielding confidence left no room for doubt. And that’s exactly how she preferred it. To anyone observing her, she was the epitome of githyanki discipline and control. But deep down, behind the steel exterior and fiery eyes, she was at war with herself.

She had a massive, undeniable crush on you.

It was maddening. Every time you smiled at her or even so much as glanced her way, her heart would race—a sensation she would have sworn was impossible for her kind. She had tried everything to make her interest known: sparring sessions where she pushed you to your limits (and a bit beyond), blunt declarations of your 'adequacy' in her eyes, and even offers to 'crush your enemies together in glorious combat'. But somehow, none of it seemed to land.

Instead, you remained oblivious, flashing her that infuriatingly kind smile and treating her like a valued ally rather than someone she desperately wanted to claim as her partner.

One day, during a training session, Lae’zel’s frustration reached its peak. She had you pinned beneath her, her blade at your throat, and instead of fear or admiration, you chuckled.

“Nice move,” you said, your grin wide. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

She grit her teeth and growled, pressing the blade a little closer—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her point.

“You do not take me seriously!” she snapped.

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most serious people I know.”

“Not in battle, fool!” she snarled, pulling back and stalking away, her blade sheathed with a sharp clang, as you walked bewilderdly back to your tent.

From a short distance, Halsin, who had been watching the training with an amused glint in his eye, stepped forward to intercept Lae’zel. She stopped abruptly, glaring at the druid as if daring him to speak.

“Lae’zel,” Halsin said in his calm, measured tone, “may I offer you some advice?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You may offer. I will decide whether it is worth hearing.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “I’ve noticed your… interest in our leader.”

Her nostrils flared, and she crossed her arms. “And what of it?”

“You are a warrior, and I admire your strength,” Halsin began, “but perhaps your methods of courtship are… misplaced.”

“What nonsense is this?” she scoffed. “I have made my intentions clear. I have praised their competence. I have challenged them in combat. What more is required?”

Halsin smiled gently. “Perhaps a softer touch. Words that reveal your feelings without the shield of aggression. A gesture that shows your care rather than your strength.”

Lae’zel looked utterly baffled, as if he had just suggested she surrender to a mind flayer.

“Softness is weakness,” she spat.

“Not always,” Halsin countered. “Sometimes, it takes more strength to be vulnerable than to wield a sword.”

She opened her mouth to retort but found herself at a loss. Instead, she grumbled something unintelligible and stalked off, leaving Halsin shaking his head with a knowing smile.

The next morning, Lae’zel approached you at camp. There was an uncharacteristic stiffness to her posture, as if she were preparing for battle, yet her hands were empty.

“Leader,” she began, her voice clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up from your map, offering her that same smile that never failed to undo her. “What’s up, Lae’zel?”

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. For a moment, she considered abandoning this foolishness and returning to her usual methods. But Halsin’s advice echoed in her mind, and she forced herself to continue.

“I… value your presence,” she said, the words sounding foreign and awkward.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, thanks? I value yours too.”

“No, you do not understand,” she snapped, then took a deep breath to steady herself. “I… value you. Your strength. Your wit. Your… idiotic charm.”

Your confusion deepened. “Lae’zel, are you feeling okay?”

She growled in frustration, her hand twitching toward her sword out of habit before she forced it to her side. “Do I need to spell it out for you, fool?”

“Apparently,” you said, still clueless but clearly trying to follow.

She stepped closer, her amber eyes burning into yours. “I desire you, leader. As my equal. My partner. My… lover.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw Lae’zel in a new light—not just as a fierce warrior, but as someone deeply passionate and utterly vulnerable in this moment.

“Oh,” you said, the realization dawning on you. “Oh.”

Her jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms defensively. “If you find this amusing, I will—”

“I don’t,” you interrupted, a small smile playing at your lips. “I just didn’t think—well, I didn’t know.”

“Because you are blind,” she muttered, though there was no real venom in her tone.

You stepped closer, reaching out tentatively. “Lae’zel, I’m flattered. Truly. And… I’d like to see where this goes.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she looked as though she didn’t quite believe you. Then, with a sharp nod, she straightened her back and let a rare, genuine smile grace her lips.

“Good,” she said simply. “Now, let us prepare for the day. We have enemies to slay, and I will not let them distract you from what is ours.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. Lae’zel might not have mastered the art of softness, but in her own way, she was perfect.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart had always been composed, her expression a careful mask of neutrality, but recently, every time she caught sight of you, her calm façade wavered. Her chest tightened, her thoughts scattered, and her usually sharp words became softer, laced with an uncharacteristic warmth. She knew the truth of it: she had fallen for you. Hard.

And yet, despite her every effort to show you her feelings, you remained utterly oblivious.

At breakfast that morning, Shadowheart decided to take another approach. She brushed past you as you prepared the fire, the faint scent of lavender trailing in her wake.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft but laced with what she thought was a hint of allure.

You looked up, smiling warmly. “Morning, Shadowheart. Did you sleep well?”

She nodded, sitting beside you with deliberate closeness. “As well as I could, knowing what awaits us each day. And you?”

“Fine, thanks. Just trying to get this fire going,” you replied, your focus returning to the task at hand.

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a murmur. “You’re very skilled with your hands. It’s… admirable.”

You blinked at her, utterly missing the meaning behind her words. “Thanks! I guess all those years of camping have paid off.”

Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, but she refused to give up. Throughout the morning, she found small ways to stay near you, brushing her fingers against yours when you handed her something, complimenting you with what she thought was a sultry tone, and even laughing at your jokes—some of which, she had to admit, were terrible.

Still, you seemed completely unaware.

By midday, Shadowheart was frustrated beyond measure. She found Karlach near the edge of camp, inspecting her weapons, and stormed over.

“Karlach,” she said, her tone clipped but tinged with exasperation.

Karlach looked up, her fiery heart pulsing warmly. “What’s up, Shads?”

"Please don't call me that," Shadowheart crossed her arms, her frustration bubbling over. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve been dropping hints—no, practically throwing myself at them, and they just… don’t notice!”

Karlach blinked, then grinned, clearly enjoying the situation more than she should. “Wait, you’re talking about—?”

“Yes,” Shadowheart snapped, her cheeks tinged with pink.

Karlach let out a hearty laugh, her flames flickering slightly brighter. “Oh, this is rich. You? Pining? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Shadowheart glared at her. “This is not amusing. I need advice, not mockery.”

Karlach wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. Let me think. So, you’ve been… what, flirting?”

“I’ve tried everything,” Shadowheart admitted, throwing her hands in the air. “Compliments, proximity, even subtle touches. And nothing! They treat me the same as everyone else.”

Karlach hummed, tapping a clawed finger against her chin. “Maybe they’re just really dense. Or, y’know, not used to someone as… uh, mysterious as you.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. “And what do you suggest I do? Write it out in blood on their tent?”

Karlach snorted. “Hey, that might actually work. But no, maybe you need to be more direct. Like, ‘Hey, I think you’re cute, let’s share a bedroll tonight.’”

Shadowheart stared at her, aghast. “I am not saying that.”

“Your loss,” Karlach said with a shrug. “But seriously, just talk to them. Be honest. I bet they’d love it.”

Shadowheart sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Honesty. Of course. The one thing I’ve been avoiding.”

“Hey, they like you for you,” Karlach said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Well, they would if they had half a brain and knew what was good for them. Go get ’em, tiger.”

Later that evening, as you sat by the campfire, Shadowheart approached you with purposeful strides. She was determined to take Karlach’s advice, even if it made her heart pound and her palms sweat.

“Can I join you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

“Of course,” you said, shifting to make room for her.

She hesitated for a moment, then sat beside you, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You turned to her, your expression curious but kind. “What is it?”

Shadowheart opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she let out a shaky breath and looked into the fire.

“I… I care about you,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, completely misunderstanding. “I care about you too, Shadowheart. You’re a great friend.”

She groaned inwardly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, I mean I care about you in a… different way.”

Realization dawned on your face, your eyes widening. “Oh.”

“Oh?” she echoed, feeling both vulnerable and absurdly exposed.

“I didn’t—Shadowheart, I had no idea,” you said, your voice filled with genuine surprise and warmth.

“I noticed,” she muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

You reached out, gently placing a hand on hers. “I’m sorry if I’ve been clueless. I guess I just… never thought someone like you would feel that way about someone like me.”

She looked at you, her expression softening. “And why wouldn’t I? You’re… remarkable.”

The sincerity in her voice made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I guess that makes two of us, then.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You… feel the same?”

“Yeah,” you said, your cheeks flushing. “I guess I was just waiting for a sign.”

Shadowheart laughed softly, the sound lighter than you’d ever heard from her. “Apparently, I need to be less subtle.”

As the fire crackled between you, the tension that had been simmering for so long finally gave way to something warmer, something real. And for the first time in weeks, Shadowheart felt at peace.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Jaheira was not a woman who pined. Or so she told herself. A High Harper, disciplined and pragmatic, she had weathered countless battles and heartbreaks. Yet, here she was, sneaking glances at you across camp, her chest tightening whenever you smiled or laughed. It was maddening. How had you managed to worm your way so deeply into her thoughts?

Despite her years of wisdom, Jaheira found herself at a loss. She didn’t know how to bridge the gap between the two of you, not without risking her pride or the delicate balance of your group.

The worst part was your complete and utter obliviousness. She’d tried subtlety—lingering conversations, offering you extra help with tactics, even sharing stories of her youth that she told no one else. You simply smiled warmly, thanked her, and went about your day as though her heart hadn’t been laid bare in every word.

One evening, after another frustrating day of yearning and getting nowhere, Astarion finally had enough.

“Jaheira, darling, may I have a word?” Astarion said, sidling up to her as she sharpened her blade near the fire.

“What do you want, Astarion?” she asked, her tone brusque.

He smirked, clearly unbothered by her irritation. “Oh, nothing much. Just to offer my… expert services in matters of the heart.”

Jaheira blinked, her sharpening stone pausing mid-stroke. “What are you talking about?”

Astarion gestured dramatically toward you, where you sat chatting animatedly with Karlach. “I’m talking about your obvious pining for our dear leader. It’s positively tragic to watch.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned back to her blade. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion said, rolling his eyes. “You practically glow whenever they’re around. It’s adorable, really. But I must say, your approach could use some… finesse.”

Jaheira scowled at him. “I am not some lovesick fool, and I certainly don’t need advice from a vampire with more charm than sense.”

“Perhaps not,” Astarion said, unfazed. “But consider this: have your current tactics worked? Have they so much as noticed your affection?”

Jaheira’s silence was answer enough.

“I thought so,” Astarion said smugly. “Now, listen closely. You need to be bold. Direct. Use your natural charisma and authority to your advantage. And if all else fails, a little flirtation never hurt anyone.”

Jaheira narrowed her eyes. “I am not a charlatan like you, Astarion. I won’t lower myself to cheap tricks.”

“Who said anything about cheap tricks?” Astarion replied, feigning offense. “Think of it as… a strategic maneuver. After all, you wouldn’t hesitate to outwit an enemy in battle, would you?”

Jaheira sighed, considering his words. As much as she hated to admit it, he wasn’t entirely wrong. “Fine. I’ll listen. But if this backfires, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

“Splendid,” Astarion said, clapping his hands together. “Now, let’s start with a little more confidence in your approach…”

The next morning, you noticed something strange about Jaheira. She was… different.

She approached you with a faint smile that seemed just a touch too practiced, her movements deliberate and graceful in a way that reminded you of someone else.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice smooth and measured. “Did you sleep well?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. I did. And you?”

“Perfectly,” she replied, her eyes lingering on you in a way that felt… odd. “Though I couldn’t help but think of our conversation from yesterday. You truly have a fascinating mind.”

You tilted your head, trying to piece together what was happening. Something about her tone, her body language—it was familiar. And then it hit you.

“Wait a minute,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you acting like Astarion?”

Jaheira froze, her carefully crafted façade slipping for just a moment. “I… what?”

“You’re doing the thing he does,” you said, mimicking a dramatic hand gesture. “The suave, overly charming thing. It’s not like you.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned away, muttering something under her breath.

From across camp, Astarion burst into laughter, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. “Oh, this is too good!”

Jaheira shot him a withering glare before turning back to you, her expression softening. “Perhaps I’ve been… trying too hard. Forgive me if I seemed unlike myself.”

You smiled, your warmth cutting through her frustration. “You don’t need to try so hard, Jaheira. I like you just as you are.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then, with a small, genuine smile, she nodded. “Thank you. That means… more than you know.”

As she walked away, Astarion approached, still grinning. “Well, that could have gone better, but at least they noticed you.”

Jaheira shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Never again, Astarion. Never again.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The late afternoon sun hung low, painting the riverside in warm golds and soft shadows. Gale, waist-deep in the cool water, had his arms crossed in front of him as if the sheer act of holding himself together could quell the maelstrom of feelings raging inside. His crush on you was a storm that refused to abate, leaving him with sleepless nights and days filled with longing glances.

From the riverbank, Minthara watched him with a look of abject irritation. Minthara had ordered him to take a dip in the cold water after he had decided to unleash his love-filled ranting unto her ears as they collected water. She assured him she would be fine to take the water back by herself, and when he thought she had left he keenly stripped and waded into the water. But Minthara had not left, no, Gale's lovesick demeanor had created a vendetta against her and she decided to take action.

"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath. She didn’t think it was possible for wizards to get worse, but Gale was proving her wrong. With a smirk, she moved silently to where Gale had left his clothes folded neatly on a nearby rock. With the swift efficiency of a seasoned tactician, she gathered them up and strode back toward camp.

You were enjoying a moment of quiet when Minthara approached, holding a bundle of robes in her arms.

"The wizard is by the river," she said bluntly. "It seems he’s in need of assistance."

You frowned, glancing at the clothing. "Assistance? With what?"

Minthara’s lips quirked into a thin smile. "He appears… indisposed. Perhaps you should go and see for yourself."

Before you could ask more, she tossed the robes into the fire and strode away, leaving you thoroughly puzzled but intrigued. You could have sworn those were Gale's. With haste, you made your way towards the river and when you arrived at the riverbank, you called out, "Gale? Everything alright?"

Gale startled, his head whipping around to face you, his hair slicked back and glistening in the sunlight. Clearly he had been searching for his robes. "Ah, no! I mean, yes—yes, everything’s fine!"

You raised a brow, stepping closer to the water’s edge. "Are you sure? Minthara said you needed help."

At the mention of her name, Gale groaned. "Of course, she did. And I suppose she also absconded with my robes?" He shot a wary glance toward the shore, clearly trying to maintain some distance.

"Unfortunately so. What’s going on?" you asked, scanning the area. Then you noticed the way his face burned red, his expression a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "Why are you still in the water? It’s getting late. and the river's current is about to pick up, you need to get out, now."

He hesitated, his fingers flexing nervously beneath the water’s surface. "It’s… complicated."

"Complicated how?" You looked around, spotting no immediate danger apart from the increasing current. "Do you need a hand getting out? I can lend you my cloak."

"You don’t understand!" Gale blurted, his voice cracking slightly. "This isn’t about the cold—or the current. It’s…" He trailed off, visibly warring with himself.

You tilted your head, curious and slightly amused. "Then what is it about? You’re not exactly making it easy to help you."

Gale sighed deeply, sinking a little lower into the water until only his nose and eyes peeked out. Then, in a low, hurried tone, he confessed, "I’m afraid my feelings for you have… manifested in a rather inconvenient manner."

Your brow furrowed. "Feelings for me?"

"Yes!" Gale said, his voice growing more desperate. "Feelings. Strong feelings—romantic, longing, entirely improper feelings for someone as… exceptional as you."

You blinked, the weight of his words settling over you like the warmth of the setting sun. "You—wait. You like me?"

"Yes," he muttered, his face practically steaming despite the cool water. "Which is precisely why I can’t leave this river at the moment."

The realization dawned slowly, but when it clicked, a grin spread across your face. "Oh," you said, fighting back laughter. "Oh."

"Yes," Gale grumbled, his mortification complete. "You see now why this is problematic."

You couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped. "So, let me get this straight. You’re saying your feelings are… visible at the moment?"

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you insist on phrasing it that way, then yes."

You laughed harder, the sound bright and unrestrained. "Gale, that’s not the end of the world."

"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "You’re not the one at risk of a compromising exit."

Still laughing, you crouched by the water’s edge, your cloak in hand. "Come on. I promise I’ll look the other way. Just wrap this around your waist - tightly, and let’s get you back to camp."

Gale hesitated, clearly torn between his pride and the practicality of your offer. The river was rising, and the current becoming less forgiving. He didn't know what would be worse, coming out in this state or having to have you rescue him whilst he was in this condition. Finally, he sighed. "You’re infuriatingly kind, you know that?"

"Only to people I like," you teased, winking at him.

That earned you a small, genuine smile, despite his predicament. Slowly, cautiously, he edged closer to the shore, his blush never fading. You diligently kept your eyes closed, but there was that little devil inside you willing you to take a peak. He wrapped the cloak around his waist, only for you to hear a small, defeated sigh.

"You cannot laugh at me, but please may I request that I carry your shoes back to camp?" He asked, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Wow you must really like me-"

"-The shoes please!"

Still giggling to yourself, you took off your shoes and passed them to him, allowing him to use them as a shield to his nether region.

You were finally able to look at him, his cheeks flushed beet red as he murmured, "I am going to kill Minthara, or at least try to."

"You know, Gale, I think Minthara might have done us both a favor."

Gale groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Never speak of this again. And especially do not encourage her behaviour."

"No promises," you said with a grin, walking beside him as you both headed back to camp. "Perhaps, I might want to get caught short with you."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Astarion was not accustomed to being ignored, least of all by someone who had managed to captivate him so thoroughly. Yet here you were, brushing off his every flirtation, every lingering glance, every word dripping with a charm that could make others fall at his feet.

You were different, infuriatingly so. Every smirk, every sly compliment, every touch of his hand to your arm was met with a polite laugh, a nod, or—worse—a casual thanks before you moved on as though he hadn’t just thrown his best seductive lines at you.

For someone like Astarion, whose every move had been meticulously calculated for centuries, this was unbearable. He was practically seething with frustration as he watched you across the camp, laughing at something Karlach had said. He sighed dramatically, slumping onto a nearby log, the perfect picture of a man whose heart was in shambles.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand why you might be cautious around him. He wasn’t blind to his own past or the scars it had left on his soul. But this? This obliviousness wasn’t caution—it was sheer ignorance of his very obvious yearning.

And so, out of options and desperately needing help, he did something he never thought he would: he sought out Gale.

Gale was sitting by the fire, absently flipping through his spellbook, when Astarion approached him. The vampire’s usual smirk was replaced with something that looked suspiciously like a grimace.

“Gale,” Astarion began, his voice unusually subdued.

Gale looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Astarion? To what do I owe this… peculiar honor?”

Astarion waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, spare me the preamble. I need your help.”

“My help?” Gale blinked. “What kind of apocalyptic disaster requires my assistance? Surely not something involving a certain someone we both know?”

Astarion’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. Them.”

Gale set his book down, his interest piqued. “Ah, I see. You’re pining.”

“I am not pining,” Astarion snapped, though the blush creeping up his pale cheeks betrayed him. “I am… strategically pursuing. Subtly, I might add.”

Gale snorted. “If by subtle, you mean utterly transparent, then yes. You’ve been as subtle as a fireball in a wheat field.”

Astarion scowled. “They don’t see it that way. They think I’m just… charming. Which, of course, I am, but there’s more to it than that.”

“And you want my advice?” Gale leaned back, crossing his arms. “Me, the man you’ve spent weeks mocking for my ‘tragic romanticism’?”

“Yes, yes, revel in the irony if you must,” Astarion said impatiently. “But you’re annoyingly good- most of the time, at all this grand gesture nonsense, and clearly, I need a new approach.”

Gale chuckled, a little too pleased with himself. “All right. Let’s see. The key here is sincerity. You can’t just charm your way through this one. You have to show them how you feel.”

Astarion frowned. “And how exactly do I do that?”

“Think of something meaningful to them,” Gale suggested. “An act that demonstrates you understand them, that you care about them deeply. And,” he added with a smirk, “maybe tone down the smirking and innuendo for five minutes.”

The next day, Astarion put Gale’s advice into action—or at least, his version of it. You were sitting by the riverbank, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when Astarion approached you, holding something behind his back.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, his tone softer than usual.

You smiled up at him. “What’s up, Astarion?”

“I, uh… I noticed something the other day.” He cleared his throat, looking uncharacteristically awkward. “You mentioned how much you missed those silly little biscuits from Baldur’s Gate, the ones with the sugar glaze.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I did?”

“Yes, you did,” he said quickly. “And, well… here.” He produced a carefully wrapped package and handed it to you. Inside were a handful of the biscuits, slightly crumbled but still intact.

Your eyes widened. “How did you…?”

“Don’t ask questions,” he said, his smirk creeping back despite his best efforts. “Just enjoy them.”

You looked up at him, touched by the gesture but still utterly oblivious to the deeper meaning. “Thanks, Astarion. That’s really sweet of you.”

He stared at you for a moment, waiting for something—anything—to click. When it didn’t, he sighed dramatically and flopped onto the grass beside you.

“Are you truly this dense, my beautiful fool?” he muttered under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” he said, flashing you a too-bright smile. “Enjoy your biscuits, darling.”

From a distance, Gale watched the exchange with a shake of his head, muttering, “Some people are beyond help.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll was not used to being ignored, especially when it came to matters of the heart. He prided himself on his charm, his courtly manners, and his ability to woo with a single smile. Yet, when it came to you, all his gentlemanly gestures seemed to bounce right off you like a deflected blade.

He would offer you his hand to help you over rough terrain, only to receive a simple "Thanks, Wyll!" and a cheerful pat on his shoulder. He’d bring you breakfast, perfectly arranged, and you’d compliment him on his “team spirit.” He’d even tried a few subtler lines, but you always brushed them off as his natural charisma, as if his feelings weren’t entirely focused on you.

So, after one particularly frustrating evening where you didn’t even notice how his gaze lingered on you by the firelight, Wyll decided he needed help.

And who better to consult than the camp’s most direct and fearless member, Lae’zel?

Lae’zel was sharpening her sword when Wyll approached, his usual confident demeanor slightly crumpled under the weight of his unspoken affection. She glanced up, her sharp eyes narrowing.

“Wyll,” she said bluntly, “you look as though you’ve swallowed a blade sideways. Spit it out.”

He cleared his throat, glancing around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “It’s about… them,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lae’zel’s expression didn’t change. “Ah, the object of your obsession.”

Wyll winced. “It’s not an obsession.”

“Call it what you will,” she said, shrugging. “You pine for them like a fledgling seeking a mate. What of it?”

“I don’t know how to… tell them,” Wyll confessed, his usual eloquence failing him. “They seem entirely immune to my advances.”

Lae’zel snorted. “Perhaps because your ‘advances’ are weak. Soft. You dote on them like a mother hen, not a warrior. If you want their attention, you must assert dominance.”

“Assert dominance?” Wyll repeated, looking increasingly alarmed.

“Yes,” Lae’zel said firmly. “Challenge them. Best them in combat. Show them your strength. Then, when they are weak and trembling, you proclaim your intent to claim them as yours.”

Wyll’s face turned scarlet. “That’s—That’s not how courtship works!”

“Of course it is,” Lae’zel said, waving a dismissive hand. “You prove your physical and sexual prowess through battle. What better way to ensure compatibility?”

Wyll sputtered, his composure unraveling. “I—I don’t think they’d appreciate being ‘claimed’ like a prize after a fight.”

“They would respect it,” Lae’zel insisted. “And likely find it arousing.”

“Lae’zel!” Wyll’s voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands, his flames of embarrassment rivaling Karlach’s.

From across the camp, you noticed the commotion and Wyll’s obvious distress. Concerned, you got up and made your way over. “Wyll? Are you okay?”

Lae’zel’s smirk widened as Wyll’s blush deepened. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling for words. “Ah—Yes! Fine! Everything is fine!”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. “Are you sure? You look like you’ve just lost a sparring match.”

Before Lae’zel could open her mouth to make things infinitely worse, Wyll quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you aside.

“Just a minor… disagreement,” he said quickly, his voice cracking again. “Nothing to worry about.”

You gave him a curious look, but his obvious flustered state distracted you from pressing further. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

Lae’zel watched you go with Wyll, shaking her head and muttering, “Coward. They would have respected a proper duel.”

Meanwhile, Wyll was doing his best to calm his racing heart and come up with a less mortifying way to tell you how he felt—ideally without Lae’zel’s "help."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Halsin prided himself on his control, his connection to nature, and his ability to remain grounded in even the most chaotic of circumstances. But when it came to you, all of that composure seemed to dissolve like frost under the morning sun.

You were utterly magnetic to him—your presence so compelling that his heart would stutter every time you entered the same space. He found himself enchanted by the curve of your smile, the warmth in your voice, the kindness in your touch. And it was unbearable. Literally, because every time you touched his arm or leaned in to speak to him, his instincts would flare wildly out of control.

The first time it happened, you’d brushed some stray leaves off his shoulder after he returned from foraging. “Halsin, you’ve brought back half the forest,” you joked, smiling up at him.

Halsin opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a rush of heat overtook him, and— bam—he was suddenly a large, startled elk.

You jumped back with a yelp of surprise, staring wide-eyed at the animal in front of you. “Halsin?”

The elk gave a deep snort, its head hanging low as if mortified.

It happened again not long after, when you touched his hand while passing him a flask of water. This time, he transformed into a wolf, looking up at you with ears pinned back, practically radiating sheepishness.

“Halsin,” you laughed, kneeling down to scratch behind his ears, “you’ve got to warn me if you’re going to do that.”

By the time the third accidental wildshape happened—this time as a squirrel after you had simply smiled at him—Jaheira had had enough.

The older druid cornered Halsin after dinner, arms crossed and an unimpressed look on her face. “You’re a leader, Halsin. A figure of strength and wisdom. Yet here you are, hiding in fur and feathers because of a crush.”

“It’s not just a crush,” Halsin muttered, his deep voice unusually uncertain. “It’s… consuming. Every time I try to speak to them, I lose myself. They are radiant, Jaheira. I can hardly stand near them without—”

“—turning into livestock, yes,” Jaheira interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re a druid, not a child. Get a grip, Halsin. They won’t notice your feelings unless you make them clear. And for the love of Silvanus, do it without shifting.”

Halsin sighed heavily but nodded. “You’re right. I must face this head-on.”

Jaheira clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go before you sprout wings or something ridiculous.”

Halsin found you sitting by the campfire, a jar of honey and a piece of bread in your hands. The firelight danced across your features, and Halsin felt his heart thrum painfully in his chest.

“Is everything okay, Halsin?” you asked, looking up at him with a concerned smile.

Halsin cleared his throat, forcing himself to remain steady. “Yes, I… there is something I need to tell you.”

You tilted your head, some honey glistening on your lips. “Of course. What is it?”

And that was it. The sight of your lips, the gentle curve of your expression—it was too much. Despite every ounce of willpower he had summoned, Halsin’s body betrayed him. With a flash of light and a muffled groan, he was suddenly a massive brown bear, sitting heavily on the ground.

You blinked, staring at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Halsin! You did it again!”

From across the camp, Jaheira let out a long, exasperated groan, throwing her hands up. “I give up!” she muttered, stalking off.

The bear lowered its massive head, letting out a low huff of frustration. You reached over and gently placed a hand on his fur.

“It’s okay, big guy,” you said, grinning. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

If Halsin could have blushed, he would have. Instead, he let you pet him, resigning himself to the fact that his feelings were much harder to control than he’d ever anticipated.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so so so so so much fun to write !! Especially Gale's icl hehehe. Hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[the-winter-spider]

I miss you, I'm sorry

Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 10k+

Warnings: Toxic, angst, smut

A/N: I love Gracie, and was like fuck it gonna toss something together based off my fav songs by her

The air feels heavy, even though the room is quiet. You sit cross-legged on your bed, your phone resting beside you, the screen dim and blank. The minutes bleed into each other, but you can’t stop glancing at the clock, as if willing it to rewind to before it all.

It’s been three days. Three days of no texts, no calls, no nothing. That’s how it always goes with Bucky. He’s there, and then he’s not. And every time, you tell yourself it’ll be the last time you wait for him to come back.

It never is.

You hate him for how easy it is to disappear. You hate yourself more for letting him.

The phone rings.

The sharp sound cuts through the haze of your thoughts, and for a moment, your heart skips. You snatch the phone up, seeing his name flash across the screen. The sight of it sends a rush of relief, anger, and something softer, something stupidly hopeful, all at once.

You answer, but don’t say anything.

“Hey.” His voice is quiet, gravelly. Tired.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Hey.”

The silence stretches, brittle and uncomfortable. You can hear him breathing on the other end, steady and soft. It reminds you of the way his breath felt against your skin the last time he stayed over, the last time he let himself get too close before pulling away again.

“I shouldn’t have called,” he mutters finally, his voice tight. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

You close your eyes. There it is again, the push and pull. The way he says he shouldn’t but always does. The way he drags you back into his orbit every time, knowing you’ll stay.

“What do you want, Bucky?” you ask, keeping your voice steady. It’s a question you’ve asked a hundred times, and you already know the answer.

He exhales sharply, like he’s frustrated—at you, at himself, you’re not sure. “I don’t know.” Another pause. “You were right, okay? About everything. I just…” His voice trails off, and you can picture him sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s trying to find the words. “I hate this.”

“Hate what?” you snap, the simmering frustration bubbling to the surface. “Hate that you always come back? Or hate that you can’t figure out what the hell you want?”

He doesn’t answer. He never does when you call him out like this.

The silence makes your chest ache. You shake your head, even though he can’t see you. “You can’t keep doing this, Bucky. You can’t keep pulling me back just to push me away again. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” he whispers. And he sounds so broken, so genuine, that it cracks something inside you. It always does.

You take a shaky breath. “Then why do you do it?”

“I don’t know,” he says again. His voice is quieter now, softer, like he’s afraid of breaking you more than he already has. “Because you’re the only thing that feels real. And I don’t know how to hold onto it without screwing it up.”

Your throat tightens. You wish you didn’t understand. But you do. He’s always been good at giving you just enough to stay, but never enough to feel whole. “Its not enough Buck”

“I know,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “But it’s all I’ve got, you're all i truly have."

You sighed running your head through your hair “Do you wanna come over?”

“I’m already on my way”

You don't have to wait long. The sound of his motorcycle pulling up to your place makes your stomach do a little flip, even though you're still mad at him. You hear his heavy boots on the stairs, and then a soft knock at your door.

You take a deep breath before opening it. He's standing there, his hair tousled from the ride, his face tight and tired. He looks at you, and for a moment, it's like all the walls come down. He reaches out, cupping your face with his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough. "I'm so fucking sorry."

And just like that, you melt. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. His other hand comes up to wrap around your waist, pulling you close. He smells like leather and cigarettes and something uniquely him.

"I missed you," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. "I hate not seeing you."

"I hate it too," you whisper back. "But you can't keep doing this, Bucky. You can't keep hurting me."

He makes a soft, broken sound. "I know. I'm trying, okay? I'm really trying."

The door closes softly behind them, the click of the lock echoing in the charged silence. Bucky's hand is still cupping your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you breathe him in. He smells like leather and smoke, like home and danger all rolled into one.

You press yourself against him, feeling the hard planes of his body through his clothes. He's solid and warm and real, and it's been too long since you've felt him like this. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he claims your mouth in a hungry kiss.

You moan into it, your fingers tangling in his hair. He kisses like your fights- fierce and intense, like he's trying to claim every inch of you. You kiss back just as fiercely, your tongue sliding against his as you lose yourself in the feel of him.

He walks you backwards towards the bed, his hands roaming your body as he goes. He breaks the kiss only to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His mouth is back on yours before you can even blink, his hands cupping your breasts through your bra.

You arch into his touch, your nipples hardening under his palms. He groans low in his throat, his hips pressing forward to grind against yours. You can feel his hardness through his jeans, and it makes you ache with need.

He breaks the kiss again, trailing his lips down your neck as his hands work to unclasp your bra. It falls to the floor, joining the growing pile of clothes. He takes a moment to look at you, his eyes dark with desire as they rake over your naked breasts.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmurs, his hands cupping the soft mounds. You gasp as his thumbs brush over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

He leans down, taking one of the hardened peaks into his mouth. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he sucks and licks and nibbles. Your hips buck against his, seeking friction, and he groans around your nipple, the vibrations making you shiver.

He gives the other breast the same attention, lavishing it with kisses and bites until you're writhing beneath him. Only then does he move lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach as he kneels before you.

His hands hook in the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down along with your panties. You step out of them, kicking them aside as he looks up at you from his knees. The sight of him there, kneeling before you like you're a goddess to be worshipped, makes your knees weak.

"Bucky," you breathe, and it's half plea, half prayer.

He grins up at you, a devilish glint in his eyes. "Patience, baby. I'm going to take my time with you."

And then his mouth is on you, his tongue delving between your folds to taste you. You cry out, your head falling back as pleasure crashes over you. He licks and sucks and teases, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as he devours you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to you as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he pulls back, leaving you gasping and empty.

"Bucky, please," you whimper, and he chuckles darkly.

"Please what, baby? Tell me what you want."

"I want you," you pant, looking down at him with desperation in your eyes. "I want you inside me."

He stands up, pulling you flush against him as he captures your mouth in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it makes you even more aroused. His hands grip your ass, kneading the flesh as he grinds his hardness against your bare core.

"Bed," he growls against your lips, and you nod frantically, tugging him towards the mattress.

You tumble onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and desire. He breaks the kiss to sit up, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. You take a moment to admire the hard planes of his chest, the scars that crisscross his skin like a roadmap of his past.

He crawls back over you, his hips settling between your thighs as he reaches for his belt. You watch, transfixed, as he unbuckles it and shoves his jeans and boxers down, freeing him.

He settles back over you, his head brushing against your entrance. You shudder at the contact, your hips lifting to try and draw him in.

"Tell me you want this," he whispers, his voice rough with need. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," you breathe, wrapping your legs around his waist. "I want all of you."

And with that, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjust to the stretch.

He pauses for a moment, letting you get used to him. Then he starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. You meet him thrust for thrust, your hips rising to take him deeper.

The bed creaks beneath you as he sets a relentless pace, driving into you again and again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, burying his face in your neck. "So perfect."

You clench around him in response, and he curses, his hips snapping forward harder.

"I'm gonna come," you gasp, your body tensing beneath him. "Bucky, I'm gonna-"

But he cuts off your words with a kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as you come undone beneath him. Your body spasms around him, milking him as he follows you over the edge with a hoarse shout of your name.

He collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for breath as the aftershocks of your orgasms roll through you. He presses soft kisses to your neck, your jawline, your lips as you bask in the afterglow.

"I love you," he murmurs against your skin, and you hope it's just not the sex talking.

Later that week, you’re sitting at a bar with Natasha. She watches you nurse your drink, her sharp green eyes narrowing as you tell her what happened.

“He called,” you say, staring down at the condensation on your glass. “And like an idiot, I picked up, and he came over, we had sex and he was gone in the morning”

Natasha doesn’t say anything at first. She just leans back, crossing her arms. “What do you want me to say?” she asks finally. “That he’s going to change? That this time will be different?”

You shake your head. “No. I just…” You trail off, struggling to put the feeling into words. “I just wish I didn’t miss him so much. I wish I could stop.”

She sighs, leaning forward. “Listen to me,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “He’s not going to fix this. You know that, right? He’s not going to wake up one day and suddenly figure out how to love you the way you deserve. That’s not who he is, you have to know that babe…"

“I know,” you whisper. But the ache in your chest doesn’t go away.

Natasha exhales deeply, tilting her head as if trying to decide whether to push further. Finally, she sets her drink down and leans across the table, her voice quieter but no less serious. “So, what’s the plan? You gonna keep answering when he calls? Keep letting him come over, screw you and your head, and leave like nothing happened?”

You don’t answer, just trace the edge of your glass with your finger. The truth is, you don’t have a plan. You’re not even sure you want one. “He said he loves me, he's never said that before”

Natasha leans back in her chair, crossing her arms as she studies you. Her sharp green eyes narrow slightly, but there’s no satisfaction in her expression. She doesn’t look impressed, doesn’t look relieved, like you’d hoped she might. Instead, her face softens, just slightly, in that way that means she’s about to say something you don’t want to hear.

“Okay,” she says slowly, her voice calm but pointed. “And what does that change?”

Her question hits like a bucket of cold water, and you blink at her, your fingers freezing mid-trace on the rim of your glass. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, so what?” Natasha continues, leaning forward now, her elbows on the table. “He said the words. Great. But what does that actually mean to you? Did it make you feel better? Did it fix anything?”

You open your mouth to reply, but no words come out. The truth sits heavy in your chest.

“It’s not enough just to say it,” Natasha presses, her tone still steady but with an edge of frustration. “Love isn’t just words. It’s showing up. It’s consistency. It’s choosing someone, not just when it’s convenient, but every single day. Did he do that? Or did he just say what you’ve been waiting to hear and then disappear again?”

The ache in your chest tightens, and you look down, your fingers clutching the glass like it might hold the answers you’re searching for. “He—he’s trying,” you say weakly, but even you don’t sound convinced.

Natasha lets out a breath, her voice softening again. “Babe… I know you want to believe him. I know you love him. But this?” She gestures vaguely, as if to encompass all of it—your tears, the late-night calls, the endless cycle. “This isn’t what love is supposed to feel like. Love doesn’t leave you questioning your worth every time the sun comes up.”

The words settle over you like a weight, and you swallow hard, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill. You don’t want her to see you cry. Not here. Not like this.

“Nat…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. But she shakes her head, her expression soft but unyielding.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” she says gently. “I just… I want you to be happy. And you’re not happy right now. You haven’t been for a long time.”

Before you can respond, the stool next to her screeches, and Sam slides into it, his energy a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere between you and Nat. He plunks his beer on the table and gives you a once-over.

“Well, you look like someone stole your puppy,” he says, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Natasha shoots him a look. “Not the time, Sam.”

“I’m just saying,” he replies, leaning back and gesturing to you. “She’s been sitting here all night, looking like a sad indie song, and you’re just gonna let her wallow?”

You glare at him, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you have something to say, or are you just here to make jokes?”

“Both,” Sam says, taking a sip of his beer before setting it down. “Look, I love you, but this thing with Bucky? It’s killing you, and everyone can see it. Hell, you can see it, but you’re still pretending like it’s gonna work itself out.”

“Sam,” Natasha warns, but he holds up a hand.

“No, let me finish,” he says, his voice more serious now. “I’ve been where you are, okay? Hanging onto something that’s breaking you because you’re scared to let it go. But you know what happens if you keep holding on?” He pauses, meeting your eyes. “You lose yourself. And I don’t want that for you.”

His words hit harder than you expect, and for a moment, all you can do is sit there, blinking back the tears threatening to spill.

“I don’t know how to let him go,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am without him.”

Sam leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Then it’s time to figure that out. Because you deserve better than waiting around for someone who doesn’t see how amazing you are���not someone who only comes around when it’s convenient for him.”

After Sam and Natasha head home, you find yourself walking through the quiet streets, your hands shoved into your coat pockets. The city hums around you, but you feel untethered, like you’re floating between who you are and who you want to be.

Before you realize it, your feet take you to Bucky’s building. You stop at the corner, staring up at the windows. The lights in his apartment are off, but you know he’s there. He’s always there.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out, your heart sinking when you see his name.

Bucky: You up?

The message is simple, familiar, and infuriatingly tempting. Your thumb hovers over the screen.

You: Yes, just leaving the bar.

Bucky: Ill see you in 20.

You see his light flick on.

You: Okay.

You’re sitting in your apartment with Steve. He’d shown up unexpectedly, a bag of bagels in one hand and a concerned look on his face. Now, he’s watching you carefully as you pick at your food, the silence between you growing heavier by the minute.

“I heard about last night,” he says eventually, breaking the stillness.

You glance up, narrowing your eyes. “Natasha?”

“Sam,” he admits with a small smile, but his expression stays serious. “He’s worried about you. We all are.”

You sigh, leaning back against the couch. “I’m fine, Steve.”

“You’re not fine,” he says gently, setting his coffee down on the table. “And it’s okay to not be fine. But you need to stop punishing yourself for wanting more than what Bucky can give you.”

Your chest tightens, and you look away, your voice barely audible. “He’s not a bad person, Steve. He’s just… broken.”

“I know he is,” Steve says softly, his tone patient but firm. “And I know he cares about you, even if he’s too scared to show it. But that doesn’t mean you have to keep hurting yourself to save him.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead, you ask the question that’s been clawing at you for days. “Is he seeing anyone else?”

Steve freezes mid-bite, his jaw tightening. “Yes.”

You nod slowly, your hands trembling as you set your plate down on the coffee table. “Are they… are they having sex?”

Steve’s shoulders sag slightly, and he shakes his head. “No.”

The relief you feel is fleeting, quickly replaced by another ache—something deeper, sharper. “He told me he loves me, y’know,” you whisper, your voice cracking.

That makes Steve freeze completely. He sets his bagel down, staring at you with wide, startled eyes. “He said that?”

You nod, the words pouring out of you now, unfiltered and raw. “He’s never said it before. And I didn’t know what to do. Because it felt… real. For a second, it felt like maybe this time was different. But then he was gone the next morning, like always.”

Steve leans back in his chair, his brow furrowed, like he’s trying to process what you’ve just said. “Did he mean it?” he asks finally, his voice cautious.

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes. “I don’t know, Steve. Does it matter? He says one thing, but everything else he does just…” You trail off, shaking your head.

“It matters,” Steve says firmly, leaning forward. “If he loves you, that’s something. But love isn’t enough if he can’t show it, if he can’t make you feel it.” Steve is quiet for a long moment, his expression pained. “You deserve more than that,” he says finally. “You deserve someone who’s not afraid to fight for you. Someone who doesn’t make you feel like you’re asking for too much just by being yourself.”

-----------

The music is loud, pulsing through the crowded bar in a steady rhythm that matches the pounding in your chest. You're friends are off dancing their cares away, while you sit at a small table near the corner, nursing your drink, half-hidden in the dim lighting. The condensation from the glass drips onto your hand, but you barely notice.

Your eyes keep drifting to him.

Bucky is across the room, his arm slung casually around another woman’s shoulders. She’s laughing, tilting her head toward him like he’s just told her the funniest joke in the world. He looks… relaxed. At ease in a way you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s like someone’s taken a knife to your chest, twisting it deeper with every passing second.

You force yourself to look away, staring into the amber liquid in your glass like it holds answers to questions you’re too scared to ask. But it doesn’t work. Your gaze flickers back to him, almost involuntarily.

They’re dancing now, swaying to a song you don’t recognize. His hand rests lightly on her hip, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress in a way that feels too intimate, too familiar.

And then he kisses her.

Not on the lips, but on her head, his lips lingering against her hair as she leans into him. It’s tender, effortless, the kind of gesture that feels natural, like it belongs to someone who knows how to love without hesitation.

Your chest tightens, and you swallow the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to take another sip of your drink. The bitterness burns your tongue, but it’s nothing compared to the ache spreading through you.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That this doesn’t matter. That he’s made his choice, and it isn’t you.

But the truth is, it matters too much.

You drain the rest of your drink, the cold liquid going down in one sharp swallow. You set the glass down harder than you mean to, the dull thud lost in the noise of the bar.

You glance over at him one last time, just to confirm what you already know. He’s still there, his attention focused on her.

But then his eyes shift.

He sees you.

For a split second, your gazes lock across the room, and the weight of his stare pins you in place. His hand pauses on her back, and something flickers in his expression—guilt, maybe, or regret.

You can’t tell, and you’re not sure you want to.

The heat of his gaze follows you as you stand, slipping your bag over your shoulder and making your way toward the door. The noise of the bar fades into the background as you weave through the crowd, your footsteps quick and purposeful.

You don’t look back, but you can feel him watching you, his eyes lingering like a phantom touch that burns even after you’re gone.

The cold night air hits your face as you step outside, and you inhale deeply, trying to push the ache in your chest away.

But it stays. It always stays.

That night, you’re curled up on your couch, a blanket wrapped around you as the city lights flicker through the window. Your phone sits on the coffee table, dark and silent.

Until it’s not.

The screen lights up, and Bucky’s name appears. The voicemail notification lingers like a ghost, and your hand trembles as you reach for it.

You press play, his voice cracking through the silence.

“I know I’ve screwed this up. I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I miss you, and I don’t know how to do this without you. Please… just call me, I’m sorry”

-------

You find him outside on the balcony, leaning heavily against the railing, his shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. The cold night air bites at your skin, and the faint glow of the streetlights below casts shadows that dance across his face. He doesn’t turn when you step out. He never does. That’s the thing about Bucky—he always knows you’re there, but he’s mastered the art of pretending not to.

The sound of the sliding door closing behind you feels final, like you’ve just stepped into a space you won’t come back from. Your arms wrap around yourself, a weak defense against the cold—or maybe against him—and you take a hesitant step forward.

“I thought you left,” you say, breaking the fragile quiet. Your voice wavers, as unsure as the ground you’re standing on.

He finally looks over his shoulder, his eyes heavy and rimmed with shadows. He looks wrecked. Tired in a way that no amount of sleep could fix. “Almost did,” he says softly, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city.

You step closer, your chest tightening at his words, at the way he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift to let you in. “Why didn’t you?”

He shrugs, turning back to the skyline, his fingers gripping the railing. “I haven’t heard from you all week.”

The ache in your chest sharpens at his tone, a flicker of hope you hate sneaking in despite yourself. It’s always like this: just enough vulnerability to keep you tethered. You stop a few feet away, the space between you feeling like a canyon, impossible to bridge.

“This isn’t working,” you say, finally voicing the thought that’s been clawing at you for weeks. “Whatever this is. It’s not working, Bucky.”

He doesn’t react at first, just keeps staring out at the city, like it holds an answer he’s too afraid to look for. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough. “I know.”

The simplicity of his admission steals your breath. It’s not that you didn’t expect it. You did. You’ve been here before, standing on the edge of this same cliff, waiting for the inevitable fall.

“So why are we still here?” you ask, your voice trembling, tinged with a desperation you wish you could hide.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. The motion is frustrated, exhausted, like he’s tired of his own indecision. “Because I don’t know how to stop,” he admits, his words cutting through the night air with brutal honesty.

You take another step closer, close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles turn white as he grips the railing. “Bucky,” you say, your voice soft but breaking. “I need more than this. I need to know if you’re ever going to stop running every time things get hard. Because I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out.”

He turns to face you then, his blue eyes locking onto yours. There’s something in them—something raw and fragile and so heartbreakingly familiar. For a fleeting second, you think this is it. The moment he’ll finally tell you what you’ve been waiting to hear.

But then he looks away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know if I can.”

The nausea hits you like a punch, twisting your stomach into knots. You take a shaky step back, wrapping your arms around yourself like it might keep you from falling apart. “Do you even want to try?”

His silence is deafening, an answer in itself.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and sharp. “You’re unbelievable,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “I’m standing here, practically begging you to tell me you care, and you can’t even do that.”

“I care,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know I care.”

“Do I?” Your voice rises, anger bubbling to the surface, breaking through the pain. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. You say you care, but you act like I’m something you can pick up and put down whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“Stop,” he says, his voice suddenly firm, his eyes snapping back to yours. There’s something desperate in his tone, something pleading that makes your breath hitch. “I don’t… I don’t know how to do this.”

“No, Bucky.” You shake your head, your voice trembling with fury and heartbreak. “You just don’t want to. And there’s a difference.”

The words hang between you, heavy and suffocating. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something, but then he stops. His eyes dart back to the city skyline, and you see it—the war he’s waging with himself, the battle between what he wants and what he’s too scared to reach for.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of the moment. “Say anything.”

“I’m seeing someone,” he says suddenly, his hands gripping the railing so tightly you half expect it to snap. The words hit like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs.

The world around you tilts. Your hands tremble as you take a step back. “Of course you are,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. The bitter laugh that follows feels like it belongs to someone else. “I’m done.”

You turn toward the sliding door, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might shatter. Your hand trembles as you reach for the handle, pausing for just a second, hoping—praying—he’ll stop you. That he’ll fight.

But the silence stretches on, heavier and colder than the night air.

When you glance over your shoulder, he’s still standing there, staring down at the city like he’s already let you go.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to slide the door open and step back inside. The warmth of the apartment hits you like a slap, but it does nothing to ease the chill in your chest.

The door slides shut with a quiet thud.

And Bucky doesn’t follow.

You’d just moved into a new apartment, one that wasn't tainted with all the places he'd touched, places he'd been. It made things easier it wasn't the reason for your move but it helped. Natasha had decided you were both done unpacking for the night so naturally she had dragged you to a party. Steve’s place, of course. The apartment was alive with the energy of too many people crammed into too little space. Natasha had disappeared into a circle of friends near the kitchen, leaving you to nurse your drink in a corner. That’s when you noticed him.

Bucky.

He was leaning against the wall, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Dark hair falling into his eyes, a leather jacket slung over his shoulder despite the heat of the crowded room. He didn’t see you at first, but when he did, his gaze lingered just long enough to make your pulse race.

You told yourself you wouldn’t approach him, but an hour later, you were pressed against the wall in Steve’s hallway, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t get close enough. It was messy, impulsive, and thrilling.

“We probably shouldn’t,” you’d whispered, your breath catching as his mouth moved against your collarbone.

He’d laughed softly, his voice low and rough. “Yeah. Probably not.”

Neither of you stopped.

There were moments after that—moments that felt like everything you’d ever wanted. Late nights in his apartment, the room dimly lit by the glow of the city outside. He’d lie next to you, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm as you talked about everything and nothing.

He’d tell you about his childhood, the things he rarely told anyone. The weight of his past. And you’d listen, feeling like you were peeling back layers of him that no one else had ever seen.

“You don’t have to fix me,” he’d murmured once, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I like being around you.”

You’d smiled, brushing his hair back from his face. “I’m not trying to fix you, Bucky.”

And in those moments, you weren’t lying.

But then there were the other moments. The ones where he pulled away so fast it left you reeling.

You remember the first time he didn’t text you back. It wasn’t just hours—it was days. Days of overanalyzing every word you’d said to him the last time you saw him. Days of your stomach twisting every time your phone buzzed, only for it to not be him.

When he finally did text, it was so casual it made you want to scream.

“Hey. You good?”

No apology. No explanation. Just like that, he was back. And you let him back in because you didn’t know how not to.

And then there was the jealousy. The way you’d catch him talking to someone else at a party, his body language so open and inviting in a way it rarely was with you. You hated how it made you feel, the bitterness that bubbled up, the way you wanted to pull him aside and demand to know if he cared about you at all.

But you didn’t. You never did.

“Do you even want to move on?” Wanda asks, her tone soft but pointed. “Or is this just who you are now?”

You blink at her, her words cutting through the haze of your thoughts. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

She sighs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “You deserve better, you know that, right?”

The door swings open, and Natasha walks in, dropping her bag on the counter. She gives you a look, one that’s equal parts sympathetic and exasperated.

“Let me guess,” she says, crossing her arms. “You’re thinking about him again.”

You don’t answer, but the way your jaw tightens is enough for her to roll her eyes. “You know he’s not good for you. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“I don’t know,” you snap, harsher than you mean to. “Maybe because it’s not that simple.”

“Actually, it is,” Natasha retorts, her voice sharp. “You stop calling him. You stop answering when he calls. You stop letting him treat you like an afterthought.”

“Nat—” Wanda starts, her tone soothing, but Natasha holds up a hand.

“No, she needs to hear this.” She looks at you again, her expression softening just slightly. “I know you care about him. But caring about him isn’t enough if he doesn’t care about you the same way. At some point, you have to start putting yourself first.”

You glance away, her words hitting too close to home.

“I don’t get you,” you’d once said your voice trembling with frustration. “One minute you’re here, and it feels like—like maybe this could be something. And the next, you’re gone.”

He’d run a hand through his hair, pacing the room. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is, Bucky,” you’d said, your voice rising. “You either want me, or you don’t. So which is it?”

He’d stopped then, turning to look at you. And the look on his face—it wasn’t anger or indifference. It was fear.

“I don’t know,” he’d said finally, his voice breaking.

And that was the worst part.

“You’re spiraling,” Sam said. He wasn’t harsh about it, but he didn’t sugarcoat it either. “This isn’t love. It’s self-destruction.”

Even as you think it, your phone buzzes on the coffee table. The sound feels too loud in the quiet room, pulling everyone’s attention. You glance at the screen, and your heart skips when you see his name. Just his name—no message preview, no context, just him.

Wanda notices, her brow furrowing as she leans forward. “Don’t,” she says softly, but there’s a weight behind the word, a plea. “You’ll just end up back where you started.”

You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the notification. The silence in the room grows heavier, charged with unspoken tension. Your chest tightens as your mind races. It would be so easy. Just one tap, and he’d be there again. One tap, and you’d hear his voice, feel the pull that always brings you back.

“I just…” Your voice falters, your eyes flickering to Wanda and then to Sam, who watches you with a mix of concern and frustration. “What if this time it’s different?”

Sam lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand over his face. “You think this time is different? Come on. What’s he going to say that he hasn’t already said a hundred times before?”

“It’s not about what he says,” Wanda interjects, her voice gentle but firm. “It’s about what he does. And what has he done, really, except hurt you?”

You look back at the screen. The notification is still there, a glaring reminder of the mess you can’t seem to escape. Your thumb presses down slightly, not enough to open it but enough to feel the weight of the choice.

“But I love him,” you whisper. The words tumble out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered.

Sam exhales sharply, standing up from the chair and pacing across the room. “Yeah, we know. Everyone knows. But does he love you? Because if he does, he’s got a real shitty way of showing it.”

You flinch at his tone, the harshness cutting through your defenses. “He does love me,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him.

“Then where is he?” Sam snaps, turning to face you. “Why isn’t he here, fighting for you instead of blowing up your phone every time he feels lonely? Why is it always you doing the heavy lifting?”

Wanda places a hand on Sam’s arm, pulling him back gently. “Sam…”

“No, I need to say it,” he says, his voice softer now but still firm. “Love isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to feel like you’re drowning every damn day just to keep him afloat.”

The bar is too loud, too crowded, and too filled with memories of Bucky for you to feel at ease. But you’re here because it’s Steve’s birthday, and Natasha had insisted. And of course you came it was Steve.

You’re leaning against the bar, talking to a man you barely know. His smile is easy, his laugh smooth, and even though you’re trying to focus on him, you can feel Bucky’s eyes on you. From across the room, his gaze burns into your back, searing through your dress like a brand.

You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes for a split second. The tension in his jaw, the way his drink sits untouched in his hand—it’s the most emotion he’s shown all night. But it’s not enough to stop you.

If he wants to act like he doesn’t care, you’ll give him something to not care about.

The man beside you leans in, his hand brushing against your arm as he says something you don’t quite catch over the noise. You laugh, even though you barely hear the joke. You laugh because you know Bucky is watching.

It doesn’t take long for him to snap.

Before you realize what’s happening, his hand is on your wrist. Firm but not rough, his grip sends a jolt through you. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low and clipped.

“Excuse me?” You pull back, glaring at him, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“We’re leaving,” he says, not looking at you, not giving the man beside you so much as a glance.

“Bucky—” you start, but he’s already pulling you through the crowd, weaving between bodies with single-minded determination.

By the time you reach his apartment, you’re seething. He slams the door shut behind you, the sound echoing through the dimly lit space.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snap, crossing your arms.

“My problem?” he fires back, pacing across the room like a caged animal. “My problem is you acting like that guy meant anything to you!”

“Oh, and you would know what means something to me, right?” You take a step closer, your voice rising. “Because you’re so good at showing me how much I mean to you.”

He stops, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t turn this on me.”

“Why not? It’s always about you, isn’t it, Bucky? What you want, what you feel. You drag me into your mess every time, and I let you, because I—”

You stop yourself, your breath catching.

“Because you what?” he demands, his voice sharp.

“Because I care about you!” you yell, your chest heaving. “And all you ever do is hurt me for it.”

His face twists, like your words hit him somewhere deep. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something, that he’s going to explain or apologize or do something, but instead, he grabs a plate from the counter and hurls it against the wall. The sharp crash reverberates through the room, the pieces scattering across the floor like jagged confessions neither of you are ready to face.

You flinch at the sound, but the fire in your chest burns brighter, fueled by the chaos. “Oh, real mature, Bucky. Breaking dishes? That’s your solution? Just break things until you don’t have to feel anything anymore?”

He grabs another plate, his hand trembling as he grips it, his knuckles white. His voice breaks as he yells, “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t know I’m screwing this up? That I don’t hate myself for it?”

“Then stop!” you shout back, your voice raw and cracking under the weight of it all. “Stop hurting me, stop dragging me back, stop—just stop!”

The plate shakes in his hand, and for a second, you think he’s going to throw it again. Instead, he slams it down on the counter with a hollow thud. His shoulders slump as he leans over it, his head bowed like he’s trying to hold himself together. His breathing is ragged, his hands gripping the edge of the counter so tightly you think it might break under the strain.

“I don’t know how,” he whispers finally, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “I don’t know how to be what you need.”

The vulnerability in his voice slices through you, but it’s not enough. Not this time. The ache in your chest is unbearable, your heart breaking as you look at the man you love and realize he’ll never love you the way you need him to.

“Then let me go, Bucky,” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you can’t give me what I need, let me go.”

He finally turns to face you, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I can’t,” he says, his voice breaking like the plates he just shattered. “I don’t want to let you go.”

Your chest tightens, the pain twisting deeper with every word. “Aren’t you seeing someone?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “She’s not you,” he says, his voice trembling. “They’re never you.”

The admission stuns you into silence for a moment. The tears you’ve been holding back spill over, hot and heavy. “Then why can’t you give me that, Bucky?” you whisper, your voice shaking with anger and grief. “Why can you give it to them but not to me? Why is it always me who’s left bleeding for you? It’s not fair—I give you everything! And you just take, take, take! What’s left of me after this?”

Your words hang between you, raw and unfiltered, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t even try to apologize. He just stares at you, his eyes wide and desperate, like he’s drowning in the mess he’s made.

Then, without warning, he steps forward, grabbing your face in his hands. His touch is rough, almost frantic, his fingers trembling against your skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

And before you can say anything, before you can even catch your breath, his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is desperate and messy, his tears mixing with yours as he pulls you closer like he’s afraid to let go. His hands shake as they cup your face, his lips pressing against yours with a fierceness that makes your knees weak.

You hate how easily you give in, how quickly your hands find their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. The anger and pain and longing all bleed together in that kiss, every unspoken word, every broken promise, every piece of you he’s taken without giving anything back.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. “But I can’t lose you. Please… don’t leave me.” He whispers his voice trembling

Your heart shatters all over again. “Okay”

Bucky’s hands tighten on your arms, his breath warm and uneven against your face. His lips hover just above yours, his eyes searching yours for something—permission, maybe, or forgiveness he doesn’t deserve. You don’t give it to him, but you don’t pull away either.

Instead, your hands move on their own, sliding up his chest and curling into the fabric of his shirt. The tension between you snaps like a live wire as he closes the distance again, his mouth crashing against yours with a desperation that leaves no room for hesitation.

The kiss deepens, his lips parting yours, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His hands roam down your sides, fingers gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. You press closer, your body molding to his as the frustration and anger between you melt into something darker, hotter, and infinitely more consuming.

Bucky backs you up until your hips hit the edge of the counter, the cool surface biting into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. His hands slide up your thighs, his touch firm and deliberate as he lifts you onto the counter. You gasp against his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as he steps between your legs, his body pressing against yours in all the right ways.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. “If this isn’t what you want, tell me now.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your chest heaving as you meet his gaze. His blue eyes are dark, filled with a mix of longing and uncertainty that tugs at something deep inside you. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need.

That’s all it takes. He grips the hem of your dress and pulls it up, his hands sliding over your thighs, rough and calloused against your skin. His lips trail down your neck, his stubble scraping lightly against you as he kisses the sensitive spot just below your ear. Your head tilts back, a soft moan escaping your lips as his hands and mouth make you forget every argument, every broken moment that led you here.

His fingers find the edge of your underwear, his touch teasing as he looks up at you, waiting. You nod, your breath hitching as he slides them aside, his fingers exploring with a skill that leaves you trembling. He watches you intently, his gaze locked on your face as he learns every reaction, every sound you make.

When his name slips from your lips, low and needy, it’s like something inside him snaps. He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch with a strength that leaves you dizzy. The world blurs around you, your focus narrowing to the feel of his body against yours, the weight of his hands, the intensity of his gaze.

“You’re all I think about,” he says, his voice raw as he settles over you. “Every damn day.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The only response you can give is the way you arch into him, the way you pull him closer, needing him as much as he needs you. And when he finally joins you, it’s slow and deliberate, every movement designed to pull you deeper into the storm of him.

The morning light seeps through the curtains as you stand by his window, fully dressed, the quiet hum of the city below serving as your only company. Bucky is still asleep in the bed, his arm draped across the pillow where you had been just hours ago. You glance at him one last time, your heart clenching in your chest. For a fleeting moment, you consider crawling back into bed, letting yourself believe in the softness of this moment.

But you can’t.

You quietly grab your things and slip out the door, the sound of it clicking shut behind you feeling heavier than it should.

By mid-morning, you’ve buried yourself in mundane errands—anything to keep your mind from circling back to him. You’re at the farmer’s market now, weaving through the stalls of fresh produce and flowers, the air filled with the faint scent of lavender and bread. You clutch a tote bag tightly in your hand, trying to focus on the vibrant colors of the fruit in front of you.

You pick up an apple, turning it over in your hand absently. It’s almost enough to distract you from the ache still lodged in your chest. Almost.

Until you see him.

You freeze, the apple slipping from your grasp and thudding softly onto the wooden table in front of you. Your breath catches, and the world seems to narrow until it’s just him, standing only a few stalls away.

His dark hair catches the sunlight, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed, like the night before never ended. His eyes are locked on yours, wide and filled with a mix of emotions you can’t quite place—shock, guilt, something softer that makes your chest tighten painfully.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, suspended in time. Everyone else around you fades into nothing, their chatter and laughter muffled like the background of a dream.

But then your gaze shifts.

To her.

The woman standing beside him.

Her hand is clasped firmly in his, their fingers intertwined in a way that feels too familiar, too intimate. She’s beautiful, her expression warm and open as she looks up at him, clearly unaware of the storm brewing between his gaze and yours.

Your stomach twists violently, and the apple you’d forgotten about rolls off the edge of the table and hits the ground.

Bucky’s face changes when he sees you notice her, his eyes softening with guilt, his mouth parting as if he wants to say something, anything. But he doesn’t.

He just stands there, holding her hand, while your chest caves in.

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you force yourself to look away, your vision blurring with unshed tears. You clutch your tote bag tighter and turn, walking away without another word.

You barely make it out of the market before the tears spill over. You wipe them away furiously, your hands trembling as you duck into a side street, out of view from the crowds.

The weight of his gaze lingers on your back, like a hand reaching out but never quite touching you. You can feel him watching you, but you don’t dare turn around. You can’t.

You stop for a moment, your chest heaving as you lean against the wall of a brick building. The morning sun feels too bright, the world too loud despite the hollow silence pounding in your ears.

He didn’t follow.

You told yourself you didn’t want him to, but the ache in your chest says otherwise.

When you glance back toward the market, just for a second, you see him standing at the edge of the stalls, his hand no longer in hers, his face etched with something that looks like regret.

But he doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

With a deep breath, you wipe your face one last time, adjust the strap of your tote bag, and walk away. The weight in your chest feels unbearable, but your feet keep moving anyway.

The apartment is quiet that night, the silence pressing down on you as you sit by the window, staring out at the city lights. You tell yourself you’re not waiting for him, but your phone sits beside you on the windowsill, the screen dark but heavy with possibilities.

It’s almost midnight when the buzz breaks the silence. You glance at the screen, your heart stopping when you see his name.

The message is simple. “Please, can we talk? I miss you…I’m sorry”

[gojos-version]

Consume me.

Pairings- Y/N x Mafia Au! Sukuna

Summary- You're the daughter of a famous mafia boss and your dad wants to cooperate with Sukuna and make a deal, you hate Sukuna. You’re about to make his life a living hell.

Warnings- y/n being bratty and a bad bitch, brat taming, unprotected sex, breeding, tummy bulge (per usual), masturbation, blood and death mentioned (not in detail or much)

Word count- 8k

Proof read- ✅

A/n- Omg this took me so long because ive been so busy and i knew it was gonna be such a long fic, but i hope this tickles your pickle :3 Have a lovely day and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

⋆ ✩°｡⋆ 𖦹｡˚ ⋆ ✮ ༺ ⟡ ݁₊ ⊹ ა ✧ ໒ ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁⟡ ༻ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ⊰⊱ ✩°｡⋆ 𖦹｡˚ ⋆

Sukuna. That name brought fear to many people. He was a well-known Mafia boss, he lived by his rules, he didn't like something? It was fixed immediately. He doesn't like someone, or someone messes up? They’re dead. He’s a very fierce man and its risky that even right now your father wants to make a deal with him, to get more respect he says. 

Sukuna was the one person you had the least respect for, he was cruel and heartless, and you'd prefer to avoid him at all costs if you could. His face was covered in tattoos and so was the rest of his body, he had piercings and honestly he was intimidating. But… he also made you feel things you shouldn’t be feeling. Maybe it was the way he carried himself that you found attractive? You weren’t sure but you hate him. Your dad was a big mafia boss but not as big as Sukuna, his business was huge.

Knock knock.

Your head perks up from your book; “Yes?”, your dad’s assistant opens the door; “Your father requests to speak with you.”, “Alright I’ll be down.” With that she nods her head and closes the door. You sigh and twist your body to slide off your bed, slipping your slippers on you open the door and walk down the stairs to your dad’s office. You knock on the door and he shouts a ‘Come in!’ And you do, when you open the door you did not except to see a tall man with pink hair, tattoos and in a black suit sitting in front of your dad.

Sukuna?? Why the fuck was he here. Your heart drops and you swallow thickly, he shoots you a smirk that makes your blood boils. “What is it that you wanted, father?”, “Take a seat, I want to talk to you about a few things. Including our guest, don’t be rude, Y/n.”, “I don’t see why we have to discuss things in front of our guest. Wouldn’t that be unprofessional?” You cross your arms, leaning back on the door. “Oh don’t mind me.” Sukunas deep voice rings out and you glare at him, “Who said you were apart of this conversation?”, “Ohhoho! Quite the mouth on you!” He laughs, leaning back in his chair and your dad’s expression becomes stern, “Y/n. What did I say.”, your eye twitches with annoyance and you scoff; “I’d rather talk in private, dad.”

Your dad sighs in annoyance and Sukuna grins, laying back more in his chair. “Like I said, don’t mind me sweetheart.” You huff, “Let me guess, we’re working with Sukuna now?”, “Yes, so I hope you’ll be nice a- “, “Greatttttt!” You say with fake enthusiasm, and you see Sukuna's jaw clench. Ha. Y/n 1 Sukuna 0. You turn to walk out and freeze feeling a strong presence behind you and a large hand on your shoulder, “Listen brat, you don’t want to piss me off. If you keep provoking me, I can and I will destroy your father’s corporation. You don’t want that now do you?”, Sukuna's deep voice whispers into your ear and you shiver.

“Of course you would, you have no heart. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re a robot. You wouldn’t do shit to us.” You sneered back, yeah it was risky but how dare a man try to speak you down and threaten you? Excuse him?? Sukuna chuckles darkly, “A robot huh? Li- “, “Y/n apologize to our guest right now.” Your dad cuts Sukuna off (without knowing what he was saying), saying nothing you shrug off Sukuna's shoulder and open the door, shutting it harshly behind you and going back to your room.

You lay on your bed staring at the ceiling and sighing softly. You really hope Sukuna isn’t around much. You were hoping to avoid him as much as possible, any interaction with him made your blood boil and your thighs squish together. You hated him and you hated how he made your body tingle. You hated how turned on you got by his stupid face and how curious you were of him. You wanted more, you wanted to know more, why was he stoic? What’s really under that tough demeanor? That heartless man. Why was he heartless? You ached to know more but you couldn’t fucking stand him. You really didn’t like him. No matter what your body felt you really really didn’t like him.

Ding!

A text message? From who?

Dad <3 - Y/n, Sukuna will be around a lot, so you better behave and be nice. He’s doing good for us, I expect to hear that you apologized before tonight, no arguments.

You grunt and close your phone, turning to your side. Maybe you’ll go out tonight. Yeah. That's a good idea. You send a message to your group chat asking to hang out at a bar and before you know it they reply with a “Let’s get shitfaced girls!”, you chuckle and slide off your bed; to your wardrobe. You could be sexy, slutty or modest. You hum to yourself; it wouldn’t hurt to be a mix of sexy and slutty tonight. It’d be nice to get laid; especially after today. You decide on a dark red dress, it stopped mid-thigh and showed just the right amount of cleavage and hugged your curves juustt right. You slip on a black leather jacket, tights and black boots, opting for a red bag to balance it out. You do your hair and makeup and smile at the mirror. You felt good. You looked good.

As you open the door and walk down the steps you did not expect Sukuna to still be here. At the dining table??? You try to sneak past them; hoping they wouldn’t notice you. “And where might you be going?” A dark voice rings out. That annoying deep voice. That belonged to that stupid pink haired man with tattoos. “It’s none of your business I’m afraid.” You reply coolly, “Y/n. I told you to be nice.” Your dad scolds, “Dad, I’m going out.” Your dad glares at you and you simply walk off, tired of the conversation; you ignore the loud shouts of your name and sigh as you walk out the door. You drag your feet into your car, telling your driver where to take you.

You swallow thickly and bundle your skirt into your clenched hands, sighing in frustration. You pick your phone up to see your best friend; Shoko calling you. "Shoko! Hey girl.", "Y/n how far are you?? Please, Satoru's annoying me." She whines into the phone, and you bark out a laugh; "I just left. Dad was being difficult. I should be there very soon." You reassure her and she grumbles a 'Hurry up before I kill him' before hanging up.

You smile in contentment lean your head against the window; looking out in the distance while your driver takes you to the bar. You honestly thought it'd be just the 'girls' but it seems Satoru and Suguru weaved their way into yours, Shoko and Utahime's plans. more company the better honestly.

Before you know it, the cars stopped Infront of the club; "Miss do you want me to escort you?", your driver asks and you shake your head; "It's alright, I'll message you if I need anything and when I want to be picked up." Thats the last thing you say before sliding out of the car and feeling the cool air kiss your warm skin.

Ouch the weather wasn't as nice as you thought it was. You sling your bag over your shoulder and walk into the club, instantly the smell of sweat, lust and alcohol fill your senses. Yeah, you're definitely going to need a drink. As you walk towards the bar you instantly spot Shoko, Utahime and Satoru drunk off their minds dancing around and Suguru sitting on the bar and drinking.

"Long time no see." You greet sitting next to him, "You finally made it. These idiots got drunk so quickly.", "I can tell. How have you been though, Suguru?" You say as you order a drink, leaning your back against the counter and crossing a leg over the other having your elbows resting on the counter behind you.

"Not too bad, it's been hectic because works been stressful.", "Thats rough, work sucks." You sympathize; "How about you? Any life updates?" He asks laughing softly at the others dancing their asses off. Man, it was going to be a long night. "Terrible. My dad made a deal with Sukuna and for some reason he's around my house. a lot.", Suguru almost spits out his drink in surprise, "Shit what!? You're kidding.", "I wish I was. doesn't help he keeps talking to me too." You sip your drink, frowning at the memory.

"Doesn't... Sukuna like not talk to his client's kids or anything? Doesn't he just keep it strict and just talk to let's say just your dad in this situation. Usually, he stays at his own abode too." He ponders and your blood runs cold. wait. he's right. "Wait why would he be interested in me...? How the fuck do I get out of this mess? Shit Suguru what do I do." You panic and scull your drink.

"Don't worry, I think it's a good thing he's taken a liking to you. if he didn't, he'd probably would've killed you already." He reassures you and sigh. "I don't even want to be involved with him." Suguru nods his head in understanding, before he could respond though a drunk Shoko and Satoru run over to you; having finally noticed your arrival.

"You're here!!! Girl, I've missed you!!" Shoko exclaims, a bit too loudly for your liking and throws her arms around you; practically sitting on your lap. "Y/N!! Hi!!!!!!" Well. that makes both Satoru and Shoko smothering you. "Hey guys, kind of can't breathe right now with both of you squishing me." You laugh out but nevertheless hug them back.

"What tookkk you sooo loonnggg!" Satoru slurs out taking his drink from before and sculling the entire thing. "Girl shit." You respond, "You do not need to drink more." Suguru scolds taking the now empty glass away from him and Satoru pouts and complains in response.

"Giirrrllll any new news???? Any dick you're getting???" Shoko slurs in your ear; still over you. "I'll tell you when you're sober, girl", "NO tell me noooowwwwww", you sigh knowing she won't give up. "Dad made a deal with Sukuna." as soon as those words left your mouth she jumps back in shock and falls on the ground.

"Are you ok-", "NO WAY THE SUKUNA???", "Shhhh!!!" Thank God everyone was too drunk to give a shit. You help her up and drown another drink. you really want to get shitfaced tonight.

Few drinks later <3

You don't know when you started dancing with a random guy. you don't know who he is or what his name is. all you know is everything's blurry and dizzy and you're having the best time of your life. Your arms wrap around his neck and your lips are a bit too close to his. He slurs something drunkenly and you faintly make out the words must've been a 'you're so beautiful'. Your lips unconsciously lean towards his, both of you breathing heavily against each other. Before he can lean in and take your lips on his, a loud bang! fills your ears. wait. Where did his head go?

You look down at your clothes and they're covered in... blood...? What...? You freeze as everyone around you starts screaming and running out of the club, the guys now limp headless body falls at your feet, and you don't know how to react. when it all processes you feel adrenaline rush through your veins.

Where are your friends? You shakily walk towards the exit and see a familiar pink hair, tattooed tall man. Wait a minute... is that...? You blink a few times and he's gone. "Y/n!! Are you okay??" You feel Suguru's hand on your shoulder, you turn to him and see Shoko and Satoru hanging off him, Utahime was hanging off of Shoko.

You wordlessly nod your head and your drivers here? Didn't you say you'd text him when you're ready?? You open the door and motion for Suguru to put the others in the car, you help him put your friends in the backseats. You sit in the front seat next to your driver; "I didn't tell you to pick me up. But please take my friends to their houses." You manage to utter out.

He nods and the car starts going on its journey. You can't stop thinking that murder had to have been from Sukuna. but why? Why would he murder the guy you were dancing with. Why did he even care?? A "Miss, drink some water to sober up." Cuts you out of your thoughts. It was hard to focus on everything with how much alcohol you took in. But you drank as much water as you could. After drinking your water, you head rests against the head rest, and you shut your eyes briefly.

Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You blearily blink your eyes open, trying to adjust to the sunlight pouring through your room. What time was it? How did you end up...in your bed...? Maybe your driver put you in your bed. You shrug it off and slowly sit up. Fuck your head hurt. You didn't have enough water in time. Your head was throbbing as you turned your head to look at your nightstand. Water and pain killers? I mean that's thoughtful, but no one really does that for you. then again you don't usually pass out in the car.

You took the painkillers and drank the water, putting your slippers on and robe as you slowly made your way towards the door. You just realized. someone was murdered in front of you yesterday. Wait when the fuck were you in your PJ's? And the blood from your face and body is gone??

Your heart races for a minute and you try to shrug it off as maybe you didn't remember getting changed or one of the female maids did it for you while you were sleeping. Right...? You open the door and slowly make your way down the steps towards the kitchen. Coffee. And water. Thats what you need right now. you fixed your hair and by the time you reached the bottom of the stairs; There was your dad and of course Sukuna. Sukuna. Why was he here?

"Mornin' Princess, Woke up late today, huh?" Ugh that stupid annoying deep voice. it fills your head, and you ignore him, walking past him and filling a cup of water, drowning it and filling it up again. "Y/n. I told you not to be ru-", "Nah its fine. She looks hungover.", "So that's where she went huh."

Come on brain. Remember. Right, Pink hair and tattoos and a dead guy. Yep. Common duo. "Sukuna, you did that last night, didn't you?" You deadpan, turning around and leaning your lower back against the counter, water in your hand, sipping and waiting for a response.

He looks shocked for a split second but covers it up quickly, "Oh? Where?" His head leans to the side giving you a look of 'I dare you to continue'. You smirk, walking closer to him. "The man you murdered at the club. Infront of me. What was that about, hm? Got jealous I gave someone else my attention and not you?" You dad stays silent, flabbergasted and oh Sukuna just glares at you.

"Why would I be jealous?", "You're not denying you murdered a guy at the club last night." You slam your hand down in front of him on the table and lean your face close to his, and your breasts right in his field of view. His eyes flicker from them to your face a few times, "You just happened to distract my target.", "Oh? I did a background check on the people at the club on my way there. He was a normal citizen." Your face gets closer to his and you're smirking, eyes narrowed as you egg him on.

Fuck does he look pissed off right now. But...there's another emotion you can see in his eyes, but you can't pinpoint it. Is it surprise? Intrigue? Lust? Who knows. You had him cornered both physically and mentally right now and he honestly had no option but to confess.

"Come on Ryomen. Give us the truth." You whisper in his ear, "You-" He seethes, and you cut him off by barking out a loud laugh, his hands were gripping the arm rests of his seat. How amusing. Without another word you trot off with a slight sway in your hips. You could feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your head while you did walk off.

Time skip <3

You're laying on your bed listening to music while writing in your diary, ranting about Sukuna and other random things. It's 9pm before you know it. Maybe you'll just stay in tonight and have a self-care day. yeah. that sounds pretty good. you shut your diary and shove it under your pillow, going to the bathroom and running a bath.

You get your necessities and sit on the sink while the bath fills up. What you didn't know however was that Sukuna went in your room, wanting to give you a rough talking to; to find you not in your room. He hums and looks around, taking it in. your pillow messily placed catches his eyes and he lifts it to see your diary.

His brows furrow as he opens the book. 'Maybe she writes stories or draws? Why do I even care.' As he flicks through it, he sees his name written. hm? What's this? A smirk makes way on his face as he takes your diary and leaves your room, making sure everything was as you left it.

You sink into the bath you set and shut your eyes at the warm sensation. what should you do about him? There's no way he has to be over this much for a business deal. Maybe you're overthinking it too much. You sigh softly and shut your eyes, enjoying your soak in the bath. Hopefully tomorrow you'll be given a job to do.

Time skip <3

Your eyes flutter open and it's still dark outside? You twist your body and slide off the bed, slipping your robe on and your slippers. 5:30am. Great. You walk towards the kitchen and notice someone…sitting? On the table with their feet up?? Who on earth was up at this time of night???? When you get a bit closer you notice the familiar pink hair and tattoos. Ugh. Why the hell was Sukuna here and awake at 5 in the damn morning. “Why are you here at 5 in the morning?” Your soft voice rings out making him look up from what he was reading. “Why are you up at 5 in the morning?” He sasses back and your eye twitches in frustration. “I live here, and you don’t. Why are you here at 5 in the morning, Sukuna.”, “Ouch back to Sukuna huh?” And oh, you wish you could wipe that stupid smirk off his stupid face.

“Answer the question.” You say with a blank expression and sit across him. He sits forward and puts the book next to him, leaning his chin on his palm. Why did that book look so familiar? “Because your dad needs me, so I decided I’ll be staying here a while.”, “What book are you reading?” You ask, your heart rate picking up because it looked a lot like your handwriting. No wonder why your pillow felt too comfortable. He stands up and makes his way behind your seat, leaning next to your left ear. “You think I’m so hot, huh? You even want me to dick you down, yet you act like you hate me.” His hand snakes slowly around your neck, applying some pressure and you gasp. “You want me to choke your pretty throat huh?” His hand snakes up to your chin and his thumb strokes your cheek.

“That was private.” You grumble out, panting softly. “Oh? Yet you’re such a little fucking slut. Thought you could fool me hm?” Your hand snaps out and grabs his wrist, pulling his hand away from your face. Still holding his wrist, you stand up and turn to face him, with your free hand you grip his face and mush his cheeks together. “You're too bold. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been watching me when you think I’m not watching. Or my used panties that have slowly been going missing. You’re not slick, Ryomen.” His eyes narrow and you laugh. “And you call me the slut. You’re the perv around here.”

He snarls and you walk away from him turning the coffee machine on. Your hands grip the counter when you feel his half hard cock push against your ass. “What are you- “, “Shut up. You’re such a fucking brat.” He pushes your head down and you grunt when your cheek makes contact with the cold counter. “C’mon doll you know you fuckin’ want me.” You smirk having an idea come into your head. Without saying anything you grind your ass against his clothed cock which is now hard and fuck you can feel how hard it is. You circle your hips, and he lets out a grunt in response.

You move your robe up exposing your now soaked panties, rubbing against his soaked pants for more friction. You wiggle your ass, teasing him. “Come on big boy. Do something, can’t leave a girl hanging now, can you?” You press harder against him and a breathy whimper escapes his lips. “You…” Fuck his voice sounds so raspy and you’re clenching around nothing. One of his hands shakily squeeze your ass and fuck right now you want him to fuck the living shit out of you. No. Y/n. You wanted him to be the one begging for you remember? You wanted him to be so down bad for you he’d go insane. Fuck this isn't good. You shiver slightly when your cunt makes a honeyed gush of wet arousal ruining your panties further. You feel his thick thumb run up and down on your clothed, soaked slit making goosebumps erupt all over you in response.

“Fuck…” he moans, “You’re so fucking soaked.”, and finally he removes his hand off your head. Both of his thumbs make contact with your slit through your panties and his thumbs sink into your hole, spreading you open through your panties and the moan he lets out? Worth it. You muffle your own moans behind your mouth with watery eyes. You stand up and pull away from him, grabbing his arms and pinning him to the counter. “What a naughty boy you are.” You tsk, “Already trying to fuck me before taking me to dinner? Chivalry is dead.”

You release his arms and grab a mug, pouring yourself coffee, desperately trying to distract yourself from how fucking wet you felt. You notice how he stays quiet, his eyes following your figure with every move you make. “What's got you so quiet, hm?”, You look over at him and notice a…blush? Covering his cheeks and ears? Now that was a rare sight. “I-uh- “He cuts himself off and storms off. What was that about?? You shrug it off and sit at the table. Of course, your diary was gone. Fuck your panties were clinging onto your soppy cunt. You quickly drown the rest of your coffee and head to your room.

You slip your now completely soaked panties off and grab your vibrator from under your bed, sitting on your bed you lay on your back and spread your legs; circling the toy up and down your leaking slit and clit, repeating the motion a few times. You slowly sink the toy into your needy cunt and line up the clit sucking part of the vibrator onto your clit. Turning it on makes you sigh in relief as the vibrations ease your neediness.

You moan softly as you move the bottom part of the vibrator in and out of your hole, your free hand fondling your tits, squeezing and pinching your hard nipples. Your legs shake as you get closer and closer to your impending orgasm, your moans increasing as you move the toy faster, the vibrations and the heat from the vibrator making your head roll back into your pillow. You gasp wildly as your walls clamp around it, making your body tingle. You felt the knot in your tummy tighten as you cum hard around it, your walls spasming around your vibrator. fuck. you never come this quickly.

Shit. You still felt so turned on. You continue thrusting the toy in and out of you making your toes curl. You needed more. You needed Sukuna. You needed him so deep inside of you. Focusing on your own pleasure you couldn't hear Sukuna fisting himself with his ear to your door, your used panties over his nose as he inhales your scent. Hs entire body felt like it was on fire, burning with need while he pumped his cock imagining it was your wet, sopping cunt instead. Shit he felt so close, his thighs and abbs tensing in response as he cums harshly all over his hand and arm, his free hand muffling his mouth to not let any pathetic noises escape. Sukuna doesn't come that quickly. Not usually. He breathes heavily listening to your wet squelches and moans through the door. He wanted you so badly it hurt so much.

You’re not sure how much times you’ve cummed now, but you have a feeling Sukuna’s behind your door. For a while now you’ve been making sure your sounds are extra loud for him. Your body aches as you pull your now dead vibrator out of you, with shaky legs you slip your robe on and go into your bathroom, washing it and running yourself a bath. You put your vibrator on charge, hiding it and opening your door. You find nothing there but a large wet spot. You laugh to yourself knowing he was cumming hard to your sounds.

You shut your door and shrug your robe off, lighting a candle and sinking into the bath as you think of what to do. It’s around 7:40am now. “Y/n! I’ve got a job for you today!” Your dad’s voice sounds out, “I’ll send you the details!”, “Okay!” You yell out and smile. Finally, some action around here.

Time skip <3

You just finished your job. It was easy honestly but it’s raining and your new gown you got for the job has bloodstains. Oh well. If it’s washed properly, it shouldn’t be a problem. You’re waiting for your driver to come but… it feels like he’s late. Or maybe you’re being impatient? Ring ring! Ring ring! You look down at your phone, a call from…Sukuna? Why him? You sigh and answer, “What do you want.”, “where are you? Give me your coordinates. Now.”, you send him your location; “Why? What’s wrong?”, “Enemies of mine are looking for you. Your dad’s safe with me. If your driver or car shows up do not enter the vehicle, if anything hide till I get to you.”, “What do you mean enemies? What the fucks going on, Ryomen?” You stop talking when you notice your car. Your drivers car. Pull up in front of you. You stand still, motionless waiting for their first move.

“Y/n? Fucking answer me!”, You hang up the phone call, with your free hand you slowly snake your hand behind you, going up your thigh and grabbing your gun and throwing knives. Adrenaline floods through your veins when the car honks its horn. Your driver never honks the horn at you. With a beat of silence your eyes focus on the guns in the back aiming at you. Fuck. If you’re not quick, you’ll end up dead in about 2 seconds. Your eyes flit to your bag on the ground next to you. Perfect. You drop your phone onto your bag and run, hiding behind the tree near the entrance, with a quick motion you aim and blow the tires of the car. These fuckers aren’t leaving here alive.

You grab your throwing knives and wait. The people in the car shooting wildly now have the windows broken, and perfectly open for you. Idiots. You smirk and throw 2 knives hitting both of the people in the front seat in the head, instantly killing them.

Fuck. Now probably like 4 people in the back. Great. How long is Sukuna going to take? You hide behind the tree. Why does your mind keep travelling back to him? Those stupid tattoos. Those stupid piercings and his stupid pink hair. That stupid smirk he always gives you. Your heart rate picks up, why can’t you focus? You try to force yourself to focus on the dire situation at hand right now but the way he pressed your cock against you this morning. His thick hands...shit.

Why are you thinking of Sukuna? Sukuna… Sukuna.. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna. Sukuna.

Time skip <3

Your eyes flutter open, taking in the familiar tattoos and pink hair. Sukuna. “Took you long enough.” His voice fills your head, and you blink confusedly at him. “Huh? What happened?”, you go to sit up, but he puts a hand to your chest and keeps you from moving. "I came as quick as I could. They didn't touch you. They've been dealt with so do not worry." Without saying anything, both your hands grip his face and pull him closer to you. "What are y-", "Why are you in my head so much. it's like you're possessing me. What do you want from me, Ryomen Sukuna. Why did you have to come into my life." Your nails dig into his cheeks. His eyes widen in shock and... confusion?

Before he could respond you're out cold and he's left to think about what you said.

A few weeks later <3

It's been a few weeks since you've seen Sukuna. You've asked your dad where he went, and he said he has his own business to do. You couldn't find him anywhere, not even on any tracker or through anyone. it's like he left without a trace.

It's cold tonight. You look out the balcony and ignore the chilling cold breeze. It was a nice night tonight. The sounds of the night and traffic fill your ears and head leaving you to your thoughts. Maybe he'll come back? Pink hair...stupid tattoos...

"Didn't miss me too much now did you?" That deep voice. That familiar deep voice sounds through your ears, and you turn around so quick you almost fell over. Pink hair. Stupid tattoos.

"Where have you been? It's been weeks. What were you doing?" You question, watching as he comes closer to you. He was so close to you that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. His hand makes contact with your cheek, cupping it softly. Being soft wasn't Sukuna's style. You look into his eyes and see him frowning in thought. Sukuna disappeared for a while ever since you said you can't get him off your mind and here he was out of no where. He had some time to himself to reflect and try to get his feelings in check back to being heartless and cold. That didn't work. He couldn't stand anymore time away from you.

"It was not my intention to worry you." He thumbs your bottom lip, making your heart speed up. He looked at you like you were the only person in the entire world. You notice his gaze fixed on your lips and your eyes can't help but flit to his plush lips too. Your hands come up and cup both of his cheeks, pulling him closer to you. "What were you doing? Why'd you leave without saying anything?", You demand. "Thought you hated me, princess.", "Shut up. "

The air around the two of you is thick, the both of you staring at each other's lips and heavy breathing, his hand on your cheek and both of yours cupping his face. Before you could blink Sukuna smashes his lips onto yours, his soft lips engulfing yours.

His tongue explores your mouth, shoving your tongue under his as he licks the cervices of your mouth, occasionally wrapping his tongue around yours. Your whimpers are swallowed up by his mouth greedily devouring yours.

Your arms wrap around his neck and pull his body flush with yours; his hands move down to your waist and grip harshly. He moves you impossibly closer to him, his hands now gripping your ass. Fuck your entire body feels like it's been lit on fire, electricity courses through your veins like small sparks exploding throughout your body continuously.

Your lungs burn from the lack of air, but you don't want to stop. Not when you feel so good, not when you finally had Sukuna. He breathily pulls away from your lips, “Jump.” He orders, you comply and jump and wrap your legs around his waist. You start nipping at his neck while he carries you to your bed, softly placing you down and hovering on top of you. He looked so fucking good in his black suit. The rings he was wearing was doing things to you; you never thought you would feel from something so simple.

“Consume me.” You say softly, his eyes take you in, puffy lips, your nightgown haphazardly on you, your thighs squishing together and your hair disheveled. You were looking at him like you were going to explode if he didn’t touch you right now. He laughs and opens your robe, “Nothing underneath? What a slut. Did you know I was going to see you tonight?”, “Just a hunch.” your fingers were itching to grab him and pull him on you, but you fought the urge to. Wordlessly, his lips meet yours again; his tongue mapping out your entire mouth while his hands make contact with your breasts. He squishes them making the both of you moan into each other's mouths.

"Want me to consume you, huh?" He laughs, putting pressure as his hands trail down slowly from your breasts down to your belly button. "Possess me. I haven't been able to think of anyone or anything else besides you till you came into my life. You own me, Ryomen." With that you see a feral glint in his eyes as he shreds his blazer and top off, revealing...tattoos on his upper arms..chest..oh fuck. your cunt gushes out a wave of wetness pathetically making your slick drip down your thighs and onto the bed bellow you- making a wet spot.

"I can't fuckin wait. Waited long enough, brat. Can't say things like that and get away with it." He gruffs out and shreds his lower half bare. Thigh tattoos too? Fuck you think you just combusted right then and there. He pushes your thighs to your chest as he bites and sucks on your neck making you mewl in response. "Please. I need you so bad, please." You beg out, you don't even know what you're begging for at this point. For him to fuck you? Bite you? Him in general? Not even you know the answer. Maybe it was all.

He lines his cock in front of your entrance, and he rubs his leaky tip against your slit up to bumping your clit which makes you clench around nothing in response. His repeats the action a few times till he couldn't handle feeling your walls twitching against him any longer.

He sinks half of his hard cock inside of your sopping pussy, "it's all in." he lies, fuck it was so much. "F-fuck you're so t-thick" you manage to whimper out as he thrusts half of his dick in. You don't know its half but fuck it had your toes curling. "S-suk-una-! A-angh!!" you cry out and he buries his head in your neck and bites hard.

You gasp wildly and moan at the sensation because when Sukuna bites, he bites hard. He keeps your legs pinned to your chest and he finally thrusts the rest of his thick length inside of you making your walls clamp wildly and a shocked expression take over on your face, your eyes widening as you struggle to catch your breath. "W-what-! A-ah! Angh! K-kuna-!" And that fucker laughs at you. He starts ramming his stupidly big cock with harsh force making your eyes roll back and drool seep out of your agape mouth. "Yeah, that's it, fuckin take it." he grunts. The aroma of the candles you had lit and the open balcony with Sukuna fucking you stupid stimulated you and your mind so much to the point you felt like you were going to go insane.

He sits up and wraps a hand around your neck, his thumb putting just the right amount of pressure on the column of your neck, rubbing his thumb up and down. Your walls convulse against him making him moan out in surprise. You make a mental note to do that more often. Without warning his hips somehow move faster and his free hand roughly grabs your tit, pinching your nipple. Fuck you couldn't even move, all you could do was just take it.

Your hands fly to his shoulders when the hand that was on your tit trails down to your stomach, his hips were smack into yours with need that made your entire body jerk up, his hand on your neck being the only thing to stabilize you. His cock was bruising your cervix with each harsh slap of his hips against yours, you could literally feel his mushroomed tip trying to rip through your stomach.

It was like his dick was trying to make a hole through your stomach so it could say hello to you. Fuck the bulge he was causing made you shake and wither around him and when he noticed it? That only made him go crazier. "Fuck..." his lips part and he lets out a low breaths grunt, "Fucking that's it." that's the last thing you blearily hear before your face is in the pillows and your ass in the air.

When the fuck did he flip us over? You don't have time to think before he drives his cock back inside of you and his thrusts are merciless. His hands grip the globes of your ass cheeks, and he spreads them harshly, exposing your tight ass hole. The cold air makes you shiver, and you almost feel your consciousness slipping. You didn't notice the tears streaming down your face because the only thing you could focus on was his dick rearranging your guts.

Your body feels like it's on fire, your senses full of him. Sukuna was all you could feel. All you could smell. All you could see, his image planted in your mind like it meant to be. It's like you could feel his entire soul.

His thumb circles your ass, hell his fucking thumb is bigger than your ass's hole. The hand that's not on your ass grabs your hair and pulks your face up. He leans over your body; basically, squishing it and presses his nose to your neck, "I have to fucking consume you. You know your little hole? Yeah? 'M going to make that mine too." Fuck you could die right now.

You try to speak but all that come out of your mouth is stuttered desperate gasps of breaths and choked moans, you claw desperately at the sheets and try to crawl away, his cock now half inside of you when you feel your body have a fire sensation spread throughout it.

"T-too m-much- angh!! " You manage to whimper out and oh does he look pissed off. One arm wraps around your shoulders and the other grips your waist and slides you back all the way down to the hilt of his cock. "You're not escaping me." He gruffs out and presses on the bulge in your stomach while he desperately yet sloppily slaps his hips into yours.

The knot in your tummy snaps and you don't cum, no, you squirt so hard all over his tummy, pelvis and thighs to the point your mouth was agape in a silent scream, your eyes clamp shut and you see pure white. "F-fuck-shit-y/n-" Sukuna moans out while he fills you up so much.

Your head felt dizzy, your body trembling into the mattress, you feel his surprisingly still hard cock slip out of you; his cum slowly dribbling out of you. "Don't think we're done, brat. Not after how much you pissed me off with your attitude.", You feel your heart drop. What. You weren't done? A rush of adrenaline rushes through your veins and you freeze when you feel his thick hands spread the globes of your ass cheeks.

"Told you, 'M gonna fuckin' consume you.", His gruff voice rings out and he runs his finger along your puffy, soaked folds- collecting the slick to lube your ass up. Once your holes wet enough, he slides a thick finger in, and you hear him laugh from how greedily your hole sucks his finger up. "N-not- funny-!" You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment and you shove your head in the pillow bellow you. It felt like a weird sensation. "Mm lets see if you can take another one.", Before you can react, he sinks in another finger inside of you making you mewl out in response.

He chuckles darkly before sliding in another finger- 3 fingers in total- and you felt like you were going to explode. With a slosh and a pop! he removes his fingers, and you shiver in response. "'Kuna- You don't have to-", "Zip it." You bite your lip when you feel his fat tip make contact with your hole.

Fuck it was too much. Without warning he slowly sinks his length into your tiny hole, shoving your head further into the pillow while you whimpered and moaned wildly. You hear him gasp and he lets a whimper slip out when he's all the way to the hilt.

Your eyes clench shut and your walls spasm around him at the sudden intrusion. "Fuck yeah...that's it..." He breathily grunts out and slowly rocks his hips back and forth to get you used to the feeling. That doesn't last long though. He starts slamming his hips against yours as he holds your head down making you squirm and sob into the pillow.

"Fuckin' brat. Take it without cryin'." He spits out and lands a harsh spank to your ass making your entire body jolt and he palms where he slapped as a silent apology. He leans his entire body weight on top of yours while messily smacking his hips onto yours.

Your moans and cries are muffled and your entire body's tingling from both exhaustion and pleasure. The hand that's not still holding your head down snakes down to your puffy clit and he pinches it making you jolt your hips towards his. Wet sounds and skin slapping against each other filled the room along with his gasps and moans and your muffled screams.

Gripping the back of your hair he pulls your head up and bites your jaw, "'K-kuun-na-! A-Angh!!! P-pleeaaaseee-! O-ooohhhh!! Mfph!!!" Sukuna cut your blabbering off by shoving his fingers in your mouth causing you to make gurgling noises around them. His balls were slapping against your clit while he thrusted with all of his strength into you. "Fuckin' too loud. Be quiet or I'll stop fuckin' ya." At that you mouth clamps around his fingers, and you desperately try to stop yourself from screaming at how good you felt.

"I-I- shit..." He gasps, his throbbing cock twitched inside of you, and he felt his abs and thighs tense up. He was oh so close to coming inside of you. With his assault on your clit and his fingers massaging your slacked jaw mouth you felt the knot in your tummy snap as your eyes rolled back and your walls clamp around his cock. You hear him let out a strangled moan and gasp in your ear as you squirted messily all over his sensitive cock.

"Fuckin- shit-A-angh!" That's the last thing you could hear and the only thing you could feel was his leaky cock filling your ass up before your vision blackened and your body slumped against the pillow.

Sukuna can't move. He stays inside of you unmoving for a while, catching his breath and shaking slightly. Fuck. You were all he could think about, your skin, the way you looked at him, the way you shook, the way your cunt clenched around his flaccid cock. Your stupid smile. Your bratty attitude. How you looked when you were on a job. How you looked when you were at home.

Fuck. Just you. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You.

You consumed him just as much as he consumed you. His head felt dizzy, still inside of you his body slumps softly on top of yours. He doesn't even have any energy to move. Sukuna felt so warm inside it scared him. He wasn't supposed to feel warm. He was supposed to be cold hearted. It scared him how much you made him feel.

Your scent and just you in general overwhelmed his senses making his body erupt in goose bumps and shiver. Maybe consuming each other wasn't so bad.

⋆ ✩°｡⋆ 𖦹｡˚ ⋆ ✮ ༺ ⟡ ݁₊ ⊹ ა ✧ ໒ ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁⟡ ༻ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩｡˚ ⋆

Masterlist<3

Taglist :P

@my-own-au-my-way

[jasvtsc]

favorite lollipop

you were laying on the bed, flipping pages in some fancy fashion magazine, rocking your feet back and forth while sucking on a strawberry lollipop. you were wearing white panties and a short top in the same color because of how stuffy it was in the room.

ben emerged from the bathroom, only wearing his boxers and already blowing a cloud of smoke from his joint, a displeased scowl on his rugged but totally fucking handsome face.

“fuck me. this fuckin’ weather is insane. it wasn’t so fuckin’ hot back in my day in the middle of fuckin’ october. my balls are already fuckin’ sweating for fuck sake,” he grunted while you lost the count of fucks already on the second one.

“global warming,” you hummed, the lollipop leaving your lips with a loud pop, which was enough to gather his attention.

he raised his brows, appreciating the view of your barely covered ass he was pounding barely an hour ago, and hummed to himself. but then he grumbled again and clicked his tongue, taking a hit.

“global warming, my ass. just a fancy panties fuckass name a bunch of pussies came up with,” and you just rolled your eyes, not in the mood for lecturing him about it. you already tried and this guy was worse than a goddamn mule.

“it’s an actual thing, ben,” you sighed, putting the lollipop back in your mouth.

he scoffed once again and approached the bed, hovering over you, joint hanging from the corner of his mouth as he crossed his arms on his muscular chest.

“don’t get smart with me or i’ll actually fuck you in the ass,” he pointed his finger at you, while you rolled on your back, letting the lolly out with an obnoxious pop.

“that a threat?” you grinned innocently, tilting your head to the side.

he smirked and scoffed, taking a good look and almost immediately noticing your nipples hardening under the fabric of your satin top. he inhaled from the joint, keeping it in his lungs for a moment and then exhaling while shamelessly palming his growing erection.

“keep playin’ with that fuckin’ candy like that and the next thing you’re gonna have in your mouth will be my cock,” he growled and the way you licked your lips made him twitch. “you’re a fuckin’ tease.”

“and you love it,” you hummed and then giggled, provocatively sucking on the lollipop.

soon enough, you were bopping your head up and down, tears gathering in your eyes and your panties already having a damp spot. he was fucking your mouth, your hair in a firm grip of his fist as he moved your head however he pleased. he groaned in contentment each time your nose hit his pelvis, your saliva dripping down his thick length as you kept drooling.

after what felt like eternity, he stilled your head and pulled away with a devilish grin.

“now, open your mouth babydoll and swallow like the good girl that you are,” he cooed mockingly, watching you lick your swollen lips covered in drool and precum. then, you eagerly opened them again and he spilled his warm seed on your tongue. “and you better fuckin’ swallow this time,” he added, quickly pushing your chin up and keeping your mouth covered with his rugged palm to make sure that not even a drop left your pretty lips.

looking up at him, you swallowed his creamy essence to which he smiled and began stroking your hair.

“such a good girl. always doing such a good job, sucking her favorite lollipop. but the next time, daddy’s cum gonna go in a different hole to keep you all warm. you like that? you like being a dirty little girl, dripping with daddy’s cum?” he snarled, stroking your lower lip with his thumb.

and you just nodded eagerly, feeling your panties stick to your soaked pussy.

[icarus-lee]

so you really love me?

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･his endearing soft side, his innerchild °❀

charac. michael kaiser x gn! reader

author’s notes: i tried mirroring his backstory and to what i think he really is behind closed doors w sum1 he rlly loves. Please enjoy!

Michael Kaiser was better off a criminal.

He steals, that's his thing. Probably the only thing he's ever known to do.

He asked you once, "Is there still salvation in the future?" Of course Kaiser never hoped for anything in his past anymore.

Yet that question rings back to you as you see him on the big screen. 75 minutes into the match and you see him turn a desperate glance towards somewhere beyond the field. He was having an evident crisis, a mental struggle that was only known to him; and you. Perhaps it was his whole world crumbling right before your eyes and no one knew it was a crucial moment for him.

You could see the way he’d even plead his teammate Raichi for a pass. “Please” was never a word for your emperor. And that very same emperor that you were seeing right now, was stripping every bit of wealth that he’s desperately protected over the years. It takes you back to when he was only a nobody, not a somebody.

Power was important for Kaiser, truthfully that was his only way to feel human, to assure himself that he won’t go back there anymore. Yet Michael was only a kid, wearing a crown and robe just to earn what every child like him deserved, love. But now, earning love is not that simple right? For there were thorns that accompanied this talented striker. Coincidentally, you had a thing for treasure that surely bites.

“The name Michael means a gift from God. You’re a gift, Micha.” Slowly but reassuringly, you trace the delicate lines of his rose tattoo as he lays there with you, on the soft mattress of his king-sized bed

Michael hums, and shakes his head. He gains a grasp of your hand and plants it to his head, rubbing himself with your touch. You chuckle as he lets out a low groan.

“Watch that beautiful mouth; I might just kiss it.” You heard his harmless threat as he buried his head onto his pillow, your lap. His body wasn’t used to the soft envelopment of a mattress. To him, it was only cardboard before.

You chuckle, “You always do, everyday. Who knew Michael Kaiser wasn’t a grumpy cat to his Liebling? Instead he becomes a melting mess who’s touchy when no one’s looking?”

He abruptly gets up from his comfy little spot (aka your body) and looks at you with a gaze that tells you to keep talking. His gaze tells you that he longs for moments like these to last, for these seconds not to easily pass. Because somewhere in those sapphire eyes, remains an inner child whose soul has been wounded by the burdens of his past.

“You’re gonna have coffee with me right, Liebling? In the morning? ” He simply asked, as he reached for the back of his head, his hair messy as it always was.

It baffled you for a second as to why he would ask that. Yet it suddenly hit you; he didn’t want you to leave by the morning, let alone wake up without you in his arms with not even a simple goodbye. That’s just how he is, considering that right now, he wasn’t Kaiser. He was Michael.

“Who said I wouldn’t? I’ll always will.”

He scoffs, “You’re hard to read Y/N, as always.”

You show him a helpless pout that he can't help but smirk about as you lean closer to his face. “And what does that mean, Micha? ”

“When I expect stones, you give me feathers. When I expect thorns from roses, you give me flowers in a pot.” His expression was far from the familiar smirk he'd show on the field. He held an odd aura of sincerity behind his stern words.

“How could you love me? ”His question became a mumble under his breath but was audible enough for you to hear.

You simply smiled and stood on your knees to fully embrace his figure in bed. His bare back, making contact with your warm hands that could never land a sting on his skin. Your scent encapsulates him, suffocating the last bit of bitterness and wilt in his body. And most of all, he felt your words like an unspoken prayer to the same God he questioned for his existence.

“How? You shouldn’t ask how. You should ask, when have I ever not loved you?”

That’s when Michael learned:

That love has existed, even before the word ever came out of his mouth.

[goldfades]

thanksgiving | JOE BURROW [009]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.6k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your first thanksgiving with hayes!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | domestic!joe + family. playful arguing, joe being the husband-est hubby ever, one cup of wine, nothing else! just a sweet, thanksgiving fic for the series!

The drive to the Burrow family home was picturesque in that cozy, Midwestern kind of way—all open fields, wooden fences, and the occasional rusty mailbox at the end of a long gravel drive. The trees lining the road were just barely clinging to the last of their autumnal colors, leaves blowing in the cool November breeze and scattering across the asphalt like a final hurrah before winter set in.

You weren’t sure why you were nervous. It wasn’t like this was your first Thanksgiving with Joe’s family. Far from it. But something about this year felt different—maybe it was the fact that Hayes was here now, his first big family holiday, and you wanted everything to be perfect.

"You’re quiet," Joe remarked, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting lazily on the console between you.

You glanced over, snapping out of your thoughts. "Just thinking," you replied, trying to keep your tone light.

He gave you a sideways look, the corners of his mouth quirking up. "About what? How Jamie’s gonna try to give me shit the second we walk in the door?"

You laughed, because he was right. Jamie Burrow was the king of light-hearted roasts, and you knew Joe was gearing up for it. But you shrugged in response, keeping your act casual. "Maybe. Or about how your mom is gonna sneak Hayes away and spoil him with who knows how much pie before dinner."

"Definitely pie," Joe agreed with a chuckle. His smile made your chest warm, even though the nerves were still lingering.

Hayes was making little coos from his car seat in the back, and you turned to check on him. His chubby cheeks were flushed from the heater, and he was clutching his favorite stuffed bear in one hand while kicking his feet. It was hard to believe that this little human was yours—yours and Joe’s.

"He’s ready for all the attention," you said, more to yourself than to Joe, but he heard you.

"Good. They’ve been talking about seeing him for weeks," he replied. "I think my mom’s got a whole picture board made up just from the five photos I sent her."

"Robin would," you said with a smile, your shoulders relaxing a little. The Burrow family had a way of doing that—making you feel like you belonged, like you were just as much a part of them as Joe was. It was one of the many things you loved about them.

As the car slowed down to turn into the long driveway, you sat up a little straighter, taking in the sight of the house. It looked exactly the same as it always did—a warm, welcoming mix of red brick and wood, with a wide front porch that was already decorated with pumpkins and a “Gather” sign leaning next to the door.

"Here we go," Joe said, putting the car in park and flashing you a reassuring smile.

You took a deep breath, your hands fidgeting with the straps of your bag. "Here we go," you repeated, and even though you still felt a little nervous, you couldn’t help but smile as you opened the door.

Joe was already climbing out of the driver’s seat, opening the back door to unbuckle Hayes. You stood there for a moment, watching the way his broad frame seemed to soften as he scooped up your son, cradling him with a gentleness that never failed to make your heart skip.

"Alright, buddy," Joe murmured to Hayes, who blinked sleepily at him. "Time to meet the chaos."

You grabbed the diaper bag from the backseat and slung it over your shoulder, walking up to meet them as Joe waited for you. The two of you exchanged a quick look, a little smile passing between you like an unspoken promise: whatever the day held, you’d tackle it together.

The crunch of gravel under your boots was loud in the stillness of the late November morning. Joe walked a step ahead of you, Hayes nestled snugly against his chest in his thick little jacket, looking adorably rumpled from the car ride. The baby let out a soft coo, still half-asleep, and Joe’s hand instinctively rubbed gentle circles on his back, soothing him like it was second nature.

The air was cold but not biting, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke and dried leaves. A light breeze tugged at your scarf, and you pulled it tighter around your neck as you glanced up at the Burrows’ house. There were already signs of life inside—the flicker of movement behind the curtains, the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen. A plume of smoke curled lazily from the chimney, promising warmth and something delicious cooking inside.

You couldn’t help but smile as you approached the steps. Robin had clearly been busy, her festive touch everywhere. The pumpkins on the porch were arranged in perfect, symmetrical groups, with a few gourds tossed in for good measure. The handmade wreath on the door was adorned with tiny pinecones, sprigs of holly, and a big orange bow that somehow managed to look charming instead of tacky. A set of hay bales sat off to the side, topped with more pumpkins and a scarecrow that was a little worse for wear after years of use.

"You think they went all out just for Hayes?" you asked, half-teasing as you nudged Joe with your shoulder.

Joe glanced back at you, his lips quirking up into a smirk. "Probably. He’s already their favorite."

"Not hard to believe," you said, tilting your head toward Hayes, who was now fully awake and blinking up at Joe with wide, curious eyes.

Joe stopped at the front door, shifting Hayes so he was perched comfortably on one arm while he knocked lightly with the other. The sound barely had time to echo before the door flew open, and Robin’s face appeared, flushed and glowing with excitement.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she immediately zeroed in on Hayes. "Oh, give him to me. Come here, my sweet boy!"

Joe chuckled, handing Hayes over with a kind of resigned fondness. "Barely even a ‘hello’ for me, huh?"

Robin waved him off, already cooing at Hayes, who rewarded her with a gummy smile. "You I can see anytime. This little one, though—look at him! He’s gotten so big!"

You laughed as Robin disappeared further into the house, bouncing Hayes gently and muttering about how he looked just like his daddy. Joe sighed but smiled, holding the door open for you as you stepped inside.

The warmth of the house hit you immediately, along with the unmistakable smell of Thanksgiving—roasting turkey, spiced apple cider, and the faintly sweet aroma of whatever pie Robin had undoubtedly baked that morning. The living room was cozy and inviting, with a fire crackling in the stone fireplace and a few throw blankets draped over the couch.

"Mom, don’t hog him," came a voice from the kitchen, and a second later, Jamie appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel. His face split into a grin when he saw you. "Hey! There’s my favorite sister-in-law."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling as Jamie pulled you into a quick, one-armed hug.

"Favorite by default," you teased.

"Still counts," Jamie shot back before turning his attention to Joe. "What took you so long? You get lost?"

Joe shrugged, unbothered as he dropped the diaper bag by the couch. "Traffic."

Jamie snorted. "Sure. Anyway, Dan’s in the kitchen pretending he knows how to cook. You should go make sure he doesn’t burn the gravy again."

Joe raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, patting your back lightly before heading toward the kitchen. That left you standing in the living room with Jamie, who was now peering over Robin’s shoulder at Hayes.

"Man," Jamie said, shaking his head in mock awe, "he really does look like Joe. Poor kid."

"Watch it," you said, swatting his arm lightly, though you were smiling.

Robin just rolled her eyes. "You boys always have something to say. Ignore them, sweetheart," she added, planting a kiss on Hayes’s cheek. "You’re perfect, aren’t you?"

Hayes gurgled happily in response, and you felt a swell of gratitude as you watched the scene unfold. It was moments like this that made all the chaos and exhaustion of parenting worthwhile.

"Alright," Jamie said, clapping his hands together. "Who’s ready to eat too much and regret it later?"

You laughed, shaking your head as Robin led the way toward the kitchen, still doting on Hayes. You lingered for a moment, soaking in the warmth and the laughter, feeling, for the first time in a while, like you could actually relax.

The warmth of the house felt almost like a physical thing, wrapping around you in layers of comfort and familiarity. You sat curled up on the armchair in the corner of the living room, legs tucked beneath you, holding a glass of wine that was just the right balance of fruity and rich. The first sip had melted the tension in your shoulders, and now, halfway through the glass, you felt completely at ease.

Across the room, Joe was sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over the back as he laughed at something Jamie said. Dan was perched on the other side, gesturing animatedly as he told some elaborate story about a coworker, complete with ridiculous voices and exaggerated facial expressions. Joe’s laugh came easily, a sound that always made you smile, deep and genuine, the kind of laugh he didn’t always let out when the weight of everything was on his shoulders. But here, with his brothers, he was relaxed, his guard down in a way that made you love him even more.

Robin bustled in and out of the room, keeping herself busy but always finding a way to linger near Hayes. The baby was content in Joe’s dad’s lap, looking up at his grandfather with wide, curious eyes as they played a gentle game of pat-a-cake. Hayes giggled at the clumsy movements of his grandfather’s hands, a soft, tinkling sound that had the whole room glancing over every few moments to smile. Robin kept stopping to coo at him, her face lighting up every time Hayes smiled back at her.

"You’re spoiling him already," you teased, setting your glass down on the side table.

Robin glanced over, not looking the least bit guilty. "That’s what grandmas are for, sweetheart. Besides, look at him! He’s an angel."

"Yeah, until bedtime," Joe muttered, earning a laugh from Dan.

"Don’t listen to your daddy," Robin said to Hayes in a sing-song voice, tickling his chubby cheek. "You’re perfect."

"Perfectly spoiled," Jamie chimed in from the couch.

"You’re one to talk," Robin shot back, narrowing her eyes at him. "I remember a certain little boy who used to demand two desserts at Thanksgiving."

"Still do," Jamie said with a grin, leaning back against the couch.

You laughed softly, watching the easy banter unfold around you. It was such a stark contrast to the usual chaos of your day-to-day life. The house felt alive but not overwhelming, full but not stifling. There was a rhythm to it, a comfort in the way everyone seemed to fall into their roles so seamlessly.

Joe caught your eye from across the room, his lips quirking into a small smile that made your heart flutter. He tilted his head slightly, silently asking if you were okay, and you gave him a reassuring nod.

"Hey," Dan said suddenly, sitting up straighter and looking between you and Joe. "You two never answered—who was Hayes’s first word gonna be for? Mom or Dad?"

You raised an eyebrow, already amused. "Isn’t it a little early for that? He’s barely babbling."

"It’s never too early to start betting," Dan said, leaning forward like he was ready to instigate. "I’m putting my money on Mom."

"Obviously," Jamie cut in. "Look at how much time Joe spends at practice. This one’s got all the one-on-one time with him." He gestured toward you with a smirk.

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence," Joe said, though he didn’t sound the least bit offended.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and unrestrained. "I think we’re all underestimating Robin here," you said, nodding toward her. "If anyone’s going to win, it’s going to be Grandma."

Robin looked up, clearly pleased. "Now, that’s what I like to hear," she said, lifting Hayes into her arms. "Tell them, sweetheart. Your first word is going to be ‘Grandma,’ isn’t it?"

Hayes let out a happy squeal, and the room erupted into laughter.

"See?" Dan said, pointing. "The kid’s already choosing sides."

It was moments like these that felt so profoundly domestic, so deeply rooted in love and connection, that you couldn’t help but feel a pang of gratitude. This was what life was supposed to feel like, you thought. The laughter, the teasing, the small moments that weren’t flashy or grand but were filled with warmth and belonging.

As the conversation shifted to old family stories—Jamie reliving his disastrous high school football days, Dan reminding Joe of his most embarrassing childhood moment—you leaned back in your chair, letting the sound of their voices wash over you.

Joe’s laugh, Hayes’s soft coos, the crackling of the fire—it all blended together into something that felt sacred. And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself fully relax, the wine warming you from the inside out as you soaked in the feeling of being surrounded by love.

It wasn’t long before the front door opened again, ushering in the kind of joyful chaos that only a late arrival of more family could bring. Dan’s wife, Emily, walked in first, balancing a casserole dish in one hand and wrangling their two kids with the other. Their little girl, Claire, darted into the house immediately, a whirlwind of energy as she flung herself into Robin’s arms, shouting, “Grandma!” Her younger brother, Ethan, clung shyly to Emily’s leg, his face half-buried in her coat, though his eyes sparkled with curiosity.

The house shifted in an instant, going from comfortably bustling to vibrantly alive. Jamie, who had been halfway through a story about Joe getting tackled during a backyard football game as a kid, was cut off mid-sentence by Claire’s shriek of delight when she spotted Hayes.

“Is that the baby?!” Claire exclaimed, rushing over to you so quickly you barely had time to laugh.

“Yes, this is Hayes,” you said, scooping him into your arms just as she reached you. “Want to say hi?”

Her eyes went wide as she nodded, standing on tiptoe to get a better look. “He’s so tiny!” she whispered, her voice full of awe. “Can I hold him?”

“Maybe in a little bit,” Emily said, swooping in to kiss Claire’s forehead before gently redirecting her. “Let’s give Auntie a little space first, okay?”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Emily said to you warmly, pulling you into a one-armed hug. “You look amazing. I don’t know how you do it with a newborn.”

“Oh, I don’t,” you said with a laugh, glancing at Joe, who was now helping Ethan out of his coat. “It’s definitely a team effort.”

Joe glanced up at you, catching your eye with a soft smile, before looking down at Ethan and saying, “All right, buddy, what do you say we find a snack?”

Ethan nodded eagerly, finally warming up to the environment as Joe led him toward the kitchen, leaving you with a heart-melting view of your husband holding a tiny hand in his much larger one.

Robin, meanwhile, had taken Claire under her wing, walking her over to show her some toys she’d dug out of storage for the grandkids. Jamie and Dan were now animatedly talking over each other in the kitchen, their voices growing louder as they debated which team was better this season.

The dining table was already set for dinner, though the plates were still empty, and the smell of roasted turkey and fresh-baked rolls wafted through the air. The kids’ laughter mingled with the low hum of conversation, creating a symphony of family life that felt utterly perfect.

You leaned back against the armrest of the couch, Hayes nestled against your chest, his tiny fist curled into your sweater. The warmth of the moment settled over you like a blanket. For years, Thanksgiving had always been a holiday you loved, but this year, it felt entirely different.

This year, it wasn’t just about stepping into Joe’s family dynamic—it was about being part of it. Fully, completely.

Hayes stirred in your arms, letting out a tiny yawn, and you pressed a kiss to his soft cheek. The sounds of the house swirled around you: Jamie shouting at Dan about a botched play from years ago, Robin gently scolding Claire for nearly toppling a lamp, Joe’s deep laugh ringing out from the kitchen as he handed Ethan a cookie before dinner.

It was chaotic, yes, but it was also yours.

For the first time, you realized just how much your life had changed—and how much fuller it had become. You weren’t just visiting anymore. You were here, firmly planted in this family, and now you had your own little addition in Hayes to make it even more complete.

You took a deep breath, soaking in the moment, and when Joe reappeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a soft look on his face, you couldn’t help but smile.

“You good?” he asked quietly, nodding toward you and Hayes.

“Better than good,” you replied, your voice soft but full of meaning.

And as Joe crossed the room to press a kiss to the top of your head, the sounds of family and love filling the space around you, you couldn’t imagine life feeling any better than this.

As the remnants of Thanksgiving dinner were finally cleared away, the house slowly shifted into that post-meal lull, the kind that only happens after too much food and a full day of laughter. The dishes were stacked, the leftovers tucked neatly into the fridge, and the smell of pumpkin pie and cranberry lingered faintly in the air.

True to form, Joe and Jamie were in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and good-naturedly bickering over who was doing more work as they washed and dried dishes.

"You're just rinsing! That doesn't count as actual cleaning," Jamie quipped, flicking a soapy sponge at Joe, who dodged it easily, his laugh echoing through the house.

"I'm faster, though," Joe shot back, grinning. "If you were in charge, we'd still be on the first plate."

From your spot on the couch, you watched the exchange with a small smile, feeling the warmth of the moment settle in your chest. It was always like this—Robin ran the kitchen like clockwork, and the boys cleaned up after, bickering and laughing the whole way through. It was a system that worked, one steeped in years of tradition and familiarity, and now you were part of it.

Hayes had been fed and changed, and after a day full of passing from one adoring family member to another, he was finally fast asleep, his little cheek resting against Joe’s shoulder as he cradled him gently. Joe had scooped him up the moment he was done cleaning, murmuring something about "making sure he settles down" when in reality, you knew he just wanted to hold him a little longer.

The game was on in the background—a close one, judging by the animated way Dan and Jamie were arguing from their spots on the other side of the living room. Robin sat in her favorite chair, knitting something that looked suspiciously like a baby blanket while quietly enjoying the chaos. Claire was nestled beside her, yawning but refusing to go to bed just yet, her eyes glued to the game.

Joe finally sank down beside you, careful not to jostle Hayes, who let out a tiny sigh before burrowing further into his dad’s chest.

“You okay?” he asked softly, leaning close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

You nodded, your heart swelling as you took in the scene around you. “Yeah. This is... really nice.”

Joe smiled, his gaze flickering to the screen where the game was heating up. “It’s the perfect ending. Well, almost.”

“Almost?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Almost. If Jamie would stop yelling about bad play calls, it’d be perfect,” he joked, his grin widening as Jamie shot him a glare from across the room.

The sounds of the game blended with the laughter, the clink of glasses, and the occasional hum of Robin’s knitting needles. It was perfectly chaotic, just as it had been all day, but now there was a softness to it, a sense of winding down and simply being.

Joe’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer as Hayes snuggled deeper into him. “I think this is my favorite Thanksgiving yet,” he murmured, his voice low and full of contentment.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, letting the warmth of his words and the moment wash over you. There was nothing extraordinary about it—no grand gestures, no flashy celebrations—just family, love, and a feeling of belonging so deep it made your chest ache in the best way.

And as the night wore on, the game eventually fading to background noise, you thought about how lucky you were to call this your life, your family. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours, and it was more than enough.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[puck-luck]

wait plz for your 1k celly can I request your example of 7 of hearts Quinn breeding kink like that’s rlly EVERYTHING

warnings: no actual fucking, but allusions to previous encounters. the third installment of this breeding kink/pregnancy thing that i've been writing through these cellys. here is part one and part two. might even write a fourth if there's another request for Q's breeding kink in my list! (there probably is).

wc: 897

It’s a Sunday and Quinn doesn’t have a game today. Things are already wonderful just from those two facts alone, but you have a third little fact that you’ve been waiting to tell Quinn since last week. During his short roadie down to California, you’d peed on the stick and that second line appeared. An indescribable feeling washed over you– it was a rush of emotion that tapered off into a consistent feeling of happiness. 

You were excited to tell Quinn what was happening, but you wanted to make sure that it wasn’t a false positive. You’d made an appointment at your doctor’s office, a rushed one, and asked them to do some bloodwork to see if you were really pregnant– you were. After two months of trying, you were knocked up. Quinn’s baby was growing inside of you. It’s weird when you think about a baby actually growing in your body, but you’re ecstatic that it’s Quinn’s baby and you get to experience this together.

You’re tangled up in bed now. Your head is on Quinn’s chest, hand on his stomach, and his arm is wrapped around your shoulders. His eyes are closed and his breath is even. He’s awake, even though it doesn’t look like he is. 

“Quinn?” You murmur.

“Mm?” He hums. “I think my dick is broken, baby. Can’t fuck you right now.” He shifts, moving towards the edge of the bed. “Gonna go make us breakfast, I think. What do you want? Pancakes?”

“I wanna stay in bed with you,” you reply, tracing the birthmark on his chest. 

Quinn snuffles out a laugh, dropping a kiss on the crown of your head. “Not possible. We have to eat something. Let me go make something, then we can be lazy in the living room together.”

“Let me give you a reason to stay in bed,” you say, voice growing to a normal volume. You pick your head up and set your chin in his sternum, looking up at your boyfriend. 

Quinn’s eyes open a sliver, glinting down at you. “My dick doesn’t work anymore. Fucked you too good last night, sweetheart.”

He’s right, he did fuck you too good last night. You'd had no idea how much better sex was when you’re pregnant– but maybe it was the confirmation bias. You’d read that it was better and you were excited that Quinn was so eager to fuck you full of his child, unaware that he’d already succeeded, so you felt like it was better. You’ll have to keep track of your opinion during the pregnancy, just to make sure.

“Don’t need your dick to work anymore, Q,” you tell him coyly, a tiny little grin on your face. 

Quinn’s eyebrows pinch together, confused. “What do you mean?” He asks. “You don’t want to keep trying?”

You lay your head back on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Not that,” you tell him. “I just don’t think you can get me pregnant again.”

Quinn goes quiet and still. His heart is pounding beneath your ear. “What?” He questions, seeming like he’s holding his breath. “What did you say?”

You smile, turning and burying your face between his pecs. Your lips kiss over his sternum and where his heart is pounding against the bone– at least, that’s how it feels. He’s racing. “I wasn’t sure if it was a false positive, so I went to the doctor the other day, and I’m pregnant, Q. There’s a Hughes baby inside me right now.”

He stares at you, eyes wide and disbelieving. His mouth is open, jaw dropped wide.

You snort out a laugh and grab his arm, placing his hand on your abdomen. “The baby and I would like to be lazy in bed with Daddy all day, please.” You’re just teasing him now, trying to get a reaction from him.

“Are you actually?” Quinn demands, springing back to life. His eyes are darting all over his face and he’s craning his neck so that he can look down at you properly. “You’re not just fucking with me?”

“Do you want me to go get the pregnancy test and the doctor’s note?” You ask, laughing.

“No! No,” Quinn says, his voice loud and excited. “I can get it. You relax.” He kicks the covers off, but you wrap your arms around his stomach and try to hold him there. He’s strong, so he moves anyway. “Where is it?”

“It’s only been a few weeks, Q, I can still move around,” you laugh. “They’re in the bottom drawer in the bathroom with all my random things. Come back here when you’re done, I wasn’t kidding about cuddling with my baby-daddy all day.” Your last sentence is a call after him, because as soon as you told Quinn where the items were, he was on the move. You can hear him throwing open the drawer and rifling around. 

You laugh, laying flat on your back and placing a hand on your belly. You’re not showing, not even close, but you know that there’s something in there. A little baby, made completely from yours and Quinn’s love. That knowledge, paired with Quinn’s excitement when he comes rushing back into the room and pounces on you, wrapping you in a hug and kissing over your face, pregnancy test clasped in his hand, makes this the best day of your life.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Hi can u pls do like a tag team type thing with Ellie Williams and vi or vi and Caitlyn please. Thank you!

Hi anon, thank you for this request. You gave me the perfect opportunity to try writing a threesome! I hope you enjoy this, I know it's more Vi-centric but I love my girl Ellie too.

Content: 1.5k words, Slight virgin/corruption kink (reader is their good girl and they gotta take her virginity!!), fingering (r! receiving), nipple-play (r! receiving), strap-on sex (r! receiving), use of pet names, not edited so may have some spelling errors

“I know what you want, angel.”

Vi’s voice cuts through your daydream. You were stuck on the way Ellie’s veins were visible through her hands and how you wanted her fingers deep inside you..you shouldn’t, ‘cause she’s supposed to be just a friend. Still, you’re a sick slut who’s imagining Ellie fucking you into outer space.

Not only that, but Vi, too. Her back, oh fuck..it’s so hard to think when she is wearing a wife-beater and her burly build is on display. You wanna claw into her back-

You’re so fucking obsessed with your two best friends, it’s unreal.

Ellie, for one, is a dream. She’s more standoffish and quiet—not shy, but prefers to keep to herself unless she’s with you and Vi. She feels comfortable, but she’s not like Vi in really any way that matters.

Where Ellie is into playing the guitar and reading comics, Vi’s into boxing and sports. You’re their cute best friend who somehow puts up with their bullshit. And right now, it’s so hard to study when Ellie suddenly shifts closer, and Vi’s words are on the other side of you, words spoken softly but teasingly into your ear.

You’re supposed to be doing peer review in your bedroom..

“W-What are you even talking about, Vi?!” You feign innocence.

Vi only laughs, and your core is heating up. How the hell did you go from playful banter to the room suddenly dripping with sexual tension, laid on so thick you swear it’s already filling your nostrils.

“Don’t act dumb, angel. We see the way you look at us. C’mon..” Her voice is alluring, soft, and it doesn’t help that Ellie is just staring at you with hungry eyes. She isn’t like Vi, not teasing and comedic when it comes to romance. That’s what is so enticing about the situation you’ve found yourself in; you have two completely different but beautiful girls in your bed! You’re somehow getting more pussy than the average masc, and you’re sporting stocking for fuck’s sake.

When your face goes all read and your fingers are trembling, it almost goes unnoticed by Ellie the way your thighs are squeezing together. She lays a hand on your left thigh, the side of you she’s sitting next to, and slowly traces her touch up and down, soft patterns as if she’s making sure you’re really into all this.

Ellie and Vi both know you’re into this..these bitches read your journal in which you talked about getting drilled by both their straps!

“Gonna get all shy on us now, angel?” Vi murmurs into your ear, lips hardly making contact with your soft skin. The funniest thing about all of this is that Ellie is the one touching you and she hasn’t said a single word. It’s Vi guiding this, and Ellie adds onto your neediness.

Then, you feel Vi’s soft lips trace over the side of your neck. You could’ve came right then and there, and Vi earned herself a gasp.

“P-Please..” Is all you can even say. Your brain is much too fucked to process anything else, to think of anything but getting fucked by your two friends who you cherish more than anything in this world.

Your thighs squeeze and Ellie leans closer into you. Now, her lips are smothering the opposite side of your neck. You’re currently feeling all the blood in your body rush down to your clit. Your panties are as soaked as they’d be at a water park.

“Please what? C’mon, baby..tell me ‘n Els what you need.”

“I need you to make me feel good!”

You sounded so breathless already, it was pretty cute. They couldn’t deny you when you were like this.

-

You were left in absolutely but your thigh-high stockings—Vi and Ellie mutually agreed to keep those on. You’re laid out, Vi holding your legs open so you don’t shy away, with your slick pussy on full display. You’re already a goner.

Vi has a huge dildo attached to the harness around her waist. You did not know she brought that monster. Ellie definitely knew this, it had to be planned.

Vi needs to prep you first, she doesn’t wanna hurt her and Ellie’s good girl. Her fingers first trail over your pussy lips, eliciting already desperate moans from you. Ellie is watching and you swear she has hearts in her eyes. She pressed her middle finger into your pussy slightly, making you immediately clench your thighs together around her hand, but she doesn’t let up because you’re giving her soft little little pleas, “p-please, Vi..”, all she wants is to please you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” She groans as she slides her finger knuckles deep into your sopping pussy, watching your reaction to make sure you’re doing okay, and then slowly pulls out and adds another, stretching you open slowly as your inner walls swallow her fingers up.

Ellie is sat beside your sprawled body, groping your tits and leaning down to swallow your little whines of need with her mouth.

Kissing Ellie is like another level of heaven. It’s what you imagine being high to be like, if you ever actually smoked weed. Her lips are so soft, so warm. Her tongue licks all over your mouth and it makes you moan even more. When she pulls away, you’re breathless.

“Think you can take my dick, baby?” Vi inquires, and you immediately let out a slutty moan.

“I can, I promise!! Please give it to me, Vi..”

Vi nearly loses her shit when she hears that. It’s always the good girls that are most desperate, am I right?

“Give it to her, Vi. She’ll take it.” Ellie assures the pink-haired girl, and it makes you even wetter that she is talking to Vi as if you’re not there, like you’re basically too dumbed down to understand what she is talking about.

Vi doesn’t seem to wanna waste much time. She pulls her fingers out slowly, making you whine in protest before letting Ellie lick them clean. She spits down and rubs it all over the silicone cock, then she runs the cock up and down along your pussy, making you dizzy with need.

She finally parts your pussy lips and slides just the tip in when she’s got enough of your slick on her dick, and your legs automatically wrap around her waist, making her almost say “fuck it” and pound into you like you’re just some whore.

Ellie watches with hunger as Vi slowly fucks her cock into you. There’s less resistance with all of your juices and Vi’s own..lubricant, but she can practically tell your pussy clamping down on the cock. She realizes just how long she has been sitting in complete awe and leans down to wrap her lips around one of your nipples, making you moan even louder and tangle your fingers into Ellie’s hair.

Getting fucked feels so dirty, and yet so, so good. You’ve got Vi pounding into you now, the ridges of the cock slamming into your spongey walls right where you need it. You’ve got Ellie’s eager tongue flicking against your nipples, taking turns with each while her hand is between you and Vi’s bodies, rubbing tight circles onto your clit.

Your eyes want to just close and feel what these girls are giving you, but you can’t. The sight is so embarrassing for you to watch, but it makes it all the more better to just watch Vi groan as she thrusts into you, and watch as Ellie softly bites your tits.

“Baby’s getting close, hm?” Vi teases, making you involuntarily clench on her cock, only hastening your upcoming orgasm. Ellie’s mouth leaves your nipple, much to your disappointment, to whisper into your ear.

“Cum for us.” Her words are so vulgar, but the soft pecks she plants on your neck is what really sends you over.

You cry out their names like you’re worshipping them, frantically grasping onto Ellie’s hair and tugging at it to keep her mouth all over you, her tongue on your throat, and Vi is saying the most filthy things you’ve ever heard her say as your orgasm crashes through you like waves.

“Fuckkk, swear I can feel your pretty little cunt milk me.”

“There you go, good girl..just cum for me and Ellie.”

When you finally come down from your high, Vi slows down and Ellie’s mouth leaves your neck to plant a few soft kisses on your lips, her fingers leaving your clit to squeeze your hand.

You’re all blissed out, cute little stockings still adorned, and panting with closed eyes.

You just know you’re gonna get the best aftercare.

[lvnleah]

first day of school.

Finley’s first day of school 🥲

find the series masterlist here!

September 2028 | 4 years old. 

“I can’t believe it,” Leah whispered as you fed Ellie in bed, her hand resting on the tiny 3-week-old's head. “Our bubba is off to big school.”

You sighed, “I know. It doesn’t feel real, does it? Feels like yesterday he was just Ellie’s size.”

Leah laughed softly, her fingers gently brushing the blonde hair that Ellie had at the back of her neck, “Times just flown by.”

Just then, Finley came bursting into the room, his tiny feet thumping on the wooden floor as he ran excitedly. 

"I'm ready! I'm ready for school!" he announced, “Is it time to get yet?”

“Slow down, Fin!” You laughed, “You still need to get dressed and have breakfast.”

Leah laughed and reached out, motioning for him to come closer. “Come here, bubba.”

Finley climbed onto the bed and nestled into Leah's lap, still fidgeting with excitement. She placed a kiss onto his forehead as he settled onto her lap. 

"You’re excited, huh?" Leah smiled, brushing his messy hair back. 

Finley nodded. “Yeah! I’m gonna make lots of friends, and we’re gonna play, and the teacher’s gonna show us so many things!”

You smiled, watching Leah interact with Finley while Ellie’s tiny fingers grasped your shirt. "You’re going to have such a good time, buddy," you said softly. 

Finley beamed, his face lighting up. "Yeah! And can I take my backpack today?"

"Of course, we packed it last night, remember?" Leah replied, smoothing out his pyjamas. "But first, breakfast. Big kids need lots of energy."

Finley nodded seriously, already shifting off Leah's lap. "Can I have pancakes?"

"Why not?" you chuckled, carefully adjusting Ellie as she started to stir. 

Leah smiled as she got out of bed, placing a kiss on your temple. “I’ll make them. You finish with Els.”

Finley bounced on his feet. "Pancakes! Yay!" He ran out of the room again, his excitement infectious.

Leah laughed softly, shaking her head. "He’s going to be wiped out by noon at this rate."

You smiled, watching her disappear down the hall after him. Turning your attention back to Ellie, you gently stroked her cheek. “Looks like it’s just you and me for a little while longer, huh?”

Ellie made a soft coo, her eyes fluttering open briefly before settling back into sleep. You took a deep breath, savouring the quiet moment, knowing how fast time was moving with Finley already starting school. 

Your emotions were all over the place and it didn’t help that you were three weeks postpartum so your hormones added to everything you were feeling. 

You found yourself blinking back a few tears, not entirely sure if it was your hormones or the emotions of the day or both. You weren’t sure how you’d gotten to this moment so fast. 

It felt like yesterday you were crying over your body changing when Finley was just a tiny newborn. It felt like yesterday you were only celebrating his very first birthday and Leah’s 29th. Your baby boy was growing up and all you wanted to do was pause the time and keep him this little for a little longer. 

Although he’d been in preschool for over a year now, you were still anxious over him starting reception. It was only going to be three days a week until he was settled, then it would be full-time every day. It was his last year before his proper education began and you couldn’t help but worry about your baby. 

Once Ellie was finished feeding, you carefully placed her in her bassinet beside the bed. After wiping your eyes, you took a deep breath and gave yourself a few seconds to compose. Today was a big day for Finley, but it was also a big day for you and Leah. You both were entering a new chapter of parenting.

You stretched a bit before picking Ellie up and heading into the kitchen, following the sound of Finley’s excited chatter and the smell of pancakes already filling the air. Leah was by the stove, flipping a pancake while Finley sat at the table, kicking his legs under the chair and talking about all the things he was going to do that day. His backpack sat proudly on a chair next to him.

He grinned up at you as you entered the room. "Look, Mummy! Mumma’s making pancakes!"

"I see that," you smiled, placing a kiss on his head while being careful of Ellie. "Smells amazing."

"Breakfast is ready, big boy," Leah said, setting a plate of pancakes down. "Make sure you eat up so you have plenty of energy for today."

Finley nodded eagerly, grabbing a fork. You sat down next to him, keeping an eye on him as he shovelled bites of pancake into his mouth.

"Hey, not too fast," you reminded him gently, laughing as syrup dribbled down his chin. "We don't want a sugar rush before school even starts."

After breakfast, you handed Ellie over to Leah, who had finished her own plate. “I’ve got her, love. Go help Finn get dressed. You need some time with our biggest bubba.”

You nodded, glancing down at Finley’s syrup-covered mouth with a fond sigh. "Alright, bubs, let’s get you cleaned up and dressed."

Finley followed you excitedly to his room, bouncing around as you laid out his uniform. You couldn't help but smile at his little uniform which seemed far too big for him. 

"Okay, let’s get you ready for your big day," you said, helping him pull the shirt over his head. Finley’s endless energy continued, even as you worked to button up his shirt.

"I can do it!" he insisted, attempting to do the buttons himself.

"Alright, Mr. Independent," you chuckled, watching as his small fingers fumbled with the buttons. You gave him a moment before gently helping him with the last few. "There! Don’t you look so handsome?"

Finley smiled, clearly proud of himself. "Mumma said I'm gonna be the coolest kid there!" he declared.

"Oh of course you will be," you said, kissing him on the top of his head. "Now let's grab your shoes and backpack, then brush your teeth, then it’s time to go."

After finishing helping Finley brush his teeth you made your way out into the hallway, "Mumma and Els have to see! Mumma has to see my uniform!"

You laughed softly, "Let’s go show Mumma and Els, then."

You led Finley back into the living, where Leah was sitting with Ellie cradled in her arms. The moment Finley entered the room, Leah’s eyes lit up, and she gasped dramatically. 

“Oh my goodness! Look at you, Finn! You look so grown up!” she exclaimed, “You’re going to be the coolest kid in the playground, buddy!”

Finley grinned from ear to ear. “Do I look like a big kid, Mumma?”

Leah walked over, carefully shifting Ellie so she could crouch down to his level. “You look amazing, bubba. I’m so proud of you.” She pulled him into a gentle hug, mindful of his uniform, and kissed the top of his head. 

You stood back, watching them with your heart full, before Leah looked up at you. “We should get a picture of him before we head off.”

You nodded, reaching for your phone as Leah helped Finley stand by the door. He struck a playful pose, grinning wildly as you snapped the photo of your little boy, ready for his first day of school. 

"Alright, Mr. Big Kid," you said, lowering your phone. "Are you ready to go?"

Finley nodded, bouncing on his toes again. “Yeah! I’m so ready!”

“Why don’t you put Els in and Finley and I’ll grab the nappy bag, yeah?” Leah told you as she handed you Ellie. 

You gently took Ellie from Leah's arms, holding her close as you gave a small nod. "Sounds good."

Heading outside to the car, you carefully buckled Ellie into her car seat while Finley climbed into the back, chatting endlessly about all the fun things he was going to do at school. You could hear Leah moving around inside, gathering the last of the things you'd need for the day.

With Ellie secure, you rounded the car to help Finley strap himself in before closing the door and waiting by the car for Leah. 

Leah stepped outside, the nappy bag slung over her shoulder. She looked emotional, tears were brimming in her eyes. 

“You okay?” You asked softly, wrapping your arms around her waist. 

She nodded, “I don’t know… it’s just hitting me all at once. How did we get here so fast? He was just a baby…”

You exhaled softly, pulling Leah closer. “I know. I feel it too.” Your voice was thick with emotion as she pressed a kiss to your cheek. “But he’s going to be amazing, love. And we’ll be right there, watching him every step of the way.”

Leah nodded, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “What if he needs us? What if something happens and we’re not there?”

“I know.” You pulled back slightly. “But he has his teachers, they’ll phone if anything major happens.”

“I love you,” she whispered, squeezing your waist.

You smiled, your own eyes glassy. “I love you too.”

You stood there for a moment longer, wrapped up in each other, before the sound of Finley’s voice broke through. “Mummy! Mumma! Are we going?! I don’t wanna be late!”

Leah chuckled, stepping back but keeping one arm around you. “Alright, alright, bubba. We’re coming.”

You both climbed into the car, with you in the passenger seat and Leah behind the wheel. As you pulled away from the house, Finley’s small body was practically bouncing in his car seat, and Ellie was fast asleep in hers. 

When you pulled into the school parking lot, Finley’s excitement reached new heights. “We’re here! We’re here!” he exclaimed, trying to unbuckle his seatbelt before Leah even turned the car off. 

“Hang on, buddy,” you laughed, turning in your seat. “Let us get out first, and we’ll help you.”

Leah parked, and you both stepped out, Leah heading around the car to get Ellie while you helped Finley out of his car seat. His little legs bounced with excitement as soon as his feet hit the ground, and you chuckled, smoothing out his uniform.

“You ready, big kid?” you asked, straightening his backpack straps.

Finley nodded eagerly, “I’m ready, Mummy!”

Leah joined you, Ellie nestled against her chest in the baby carrier. She knelt down, “C’mere, bubba,” She said, bringing Finley into a hug, “You’re going to do great. Remember to listen to your teacher and have fun. Most importantly, me and Mummy love you and we’ll both be here to pick you up.”

“I love you too, Mumma!” Finley grinned, “I love you too as well Els,” he smiled, kissing his baby sister on her head. “And I love you as well Mummy!” He said, hugging your legs. 

“I love you too, bubs.” You smiled as Finley grabbed both your and Leah’s hands. 

As the three of you made your way toward the entrance. The schoolyard was already buzzing with other kids and parents, all saying their goodbyes before the day officially started. You noticed a few familiar faces from preschool, and Finley immediately recognized a friend, waving excitedly.

“Look, Mummy, that’s Miles!” Finley pointed out, tugging on your hand to let go.

You smiled, bending down to his level. “Okay, bubba, go say hi, but come back so we can walk you to the classroom in a minute.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, running off towards his friend with that boundless energy that only kids seem to have this early in the morning. You and Leah stood there for a second, watching him, both of you silent as the reality of this moment truly set in. 

Leah took a deep breath beside you, her free hand finding yours again. “I’m not ready,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly.

You squeezed her hand. “Neither am I.”

As you both watched Finley laughing with his friends, his backpack bouncing up and down, you realised that he was ready. And that was enough.

After a few more minutes, Finley ran back over to you, his cheeks flushed with excitement. “Is it time to go inside, Mummy?”

You nodded and crouched down, pulling him into a tight hug, your voice thick with emotion. “It is. We’re so proud of you, Finn. Have the best day, okay?”

Leah followed, being careful of Ellie while leaning down to kiss Finley on the top of his head. “We love you, bubba. We’ll be here to pick you up later.”

Finley nodded, his smile never faltering. “I love you too! Love you Mumma, love you Mummy! Love you, Els!”

And just like that, he was off and running into the classroom to his teacher. You and Leah stood there for a moment longer, watching until he disappeared through the doors.

You walked back to the car in silence, hand in hand as Ellie snuggled up against Leah’s chest. Just as you got back to the car, Ellie began to fuss against Leah’s chest. 

“I think little missy could be hungry,” Leah laughed, looking down at Ellie who was now squirming against her chest. 

You giggled, shaking your head, “Give me a minute to get settled in the front then I’ll feed her.”

While you got yourself settled into the front seat, Leah got Ellie out from the baby carrier before handing her over to you. A comfortable silence fell over you as you fed Ellie and before you knew it you were handing her over to Leah in the driver's seat so she could burp her.  

“Can you just stay this little please, bubba?” Leah cooed at Ellie, holding her out in front of her after she had finished burping her, “I don’t think I can handle this again…”

You smiled, touching Ellie’s tiny fingers, “We’ve still got a few years before little missy is heading off, who knows maybe by then we might have another little one.”

Leah's eyes widened, and she let out a soft laugh, looking at you with surprise. "Another one? Are you serious?" she asked. 

You shrugged, smiling as you adjusted in your seat. "I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, we’ve always talked about having at least two, and look at how much love we have to give. Who’s to say we won’t feel ready for another by then?"

Leah smiled, her gaze softening as she looked down at Ellie, who was now peacefully snuggled against her chest. "I suppose you're right," she murmured. "I never thought I could love this much. Every time I look at Finn and now Ellie, it just feels... endless."

You nodded. "Exactly. Our family’s full of so much love. And who knows what the future holds?"

Leah chuckled again, leaning back into her seat. "Alright, let’s just survive the next few years with these two first," she teased. "We can revisit that conversation when we’re getting a bit more sleep."

You laughed, nodding. "Deal. One day at a time."

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 16: CUPID'S CHOKEHOLD

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader

His touch ignites something within you - a spark of desire you've been trying to suppress for far too long. The want in you hurts. The frustration, the anger, the tenderness, it all boils within the core of you. It’s all coming to a head.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: mentions of pregnancy, angst, dom!reader, sub!satoru, handjobs, riding, teasing, light degradation, dacryphilia, vaginal sex

ੈ✩ wc: 8.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: happy thanksgiving yall can stop threatening me with bombs now

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

December, 2011

The crisp December air nips at your cheeks as you lead Megumi and Tsumiki down the bustling street. Christmas decorations twinkle in shop windows. You pull your scarf tighter, glancing back to make sure the children are keeping up.

Megumi trudges along, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his expression as serious as ever. Tsumiki, by contrast, practically skips beside you, her eyes wide with wonder at the festive displays. They both wear matching blushes, the cold painting their pale cheeks the same roseate pink.

"Can we get taiyaki?" Tsumiki asks, tugging on your sleeve and pointing to a small shop ahead.

You smile down at her. "Of course. What about you, Megumi? What would you like?"

The boy shrugs, his gaze fixed on the ground. "Whatever's fine."

You lead them into the warmth of the taiyaki shop, the sweet aroma of red bean paste and custard filling the air. As you wait in line, you crouch down to Megumi's level.

"You know," you say softly, ruffling his hair, "it's okay to want things, Megumi. To have preferences. You don't always have to go along with what everyone else wants."

He looks at you, surprise flashing across his face before his usual stoic expression returns. "I... I like the chocolate ones," he admits quietly.

You scratch his head affectionately. "Chocolate it is, then."

You place your order - custard for Tsumiki, chocolate for Megumi, and red bean for yourself. Afterwards, you find a bench in a nearby park to enjoy your treats. Tsumiki chatters away about her upcoming school play, while Megumi listens intently, occasionally nodding or offering a quiet comment.

"You’re gonna stay with us for the holidays, right? Are you gonna move in?" Tsumiki asks suddenly, her voice hopeful.

The question catches you off guard, and you fumble for an answer. "Um, yeah, I will. Stay, that is. And you guys know you can always just knock on my door downstairs."

You’d agreed to stay until the semester ended in the spring. You’d been around for a little over a month, but you already had your doubts about going back to Kyoto. Already, you found yourself looking forward to getting up in the morning while in Tokyo, seasonal depression be damned. You tell yourself it’s not because of the white-haired sorcerer that occupies your thoughts constantly — it’s the familiarity of the city. And the kids, of course.

To both Tsumiki and Satoru’s dismay (and a slight frown from Megumi), you decided to take the offer of an apartment the floor below them. It wasn’t exactly vacant, as Satoru claimed — the previous tenant, a well-off socialite of some sort, needed a sublet. You needed your own space from Satoru for your own sanity, and he was willing to pay the rent for the allotted time you could be there.

Tsumiki pouts. “But it’s easier if you just live in our apartment!”

“I can’t do that since you’ve converted the spare room into yours with all your dolls laying around,” you snort. Tsumiki opens her mouth to protest but decides against it, considering you have a point.

“Hmph. Still. You can sleep in Satoru’s room, right? It’s so big!”

Your face nearly pales at the suggestion, ironically. As if it was something scandalous, which perhaps it would be considering your complicated relationship. You’re sure he’d be thrilled if you brought it up.

Megumi looks up at you, his green eyes serious. "We like having you here," he says softly. "Satoru-san is... different when you're around. Better."

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest at his words. "Better?"

Tsumiki nods enthusiastically. "He smiles more! And he doesn't forget to make breakfast as much."

You chuckle, imagining Satoru's indignant expression if he could hear this conversation. "Well, I'm glad I can help. But Satoru cares about you both very much, you know."

As if on cue, your phone buzzes with a photo attachment from him. There’s a boiling pot of… something, on the stove.

satoru: you guys aren’t going to leave me to eat by myself, are you????? ^-^

you: we’ll be home soon. the kids wanted taiyaki

satoru: don’t help them spoil their dinner :(

you: it’s probably more edible than what you’re making

satoru: :( say that to my face at least :(

You chuckle, locking your phone. “C’mon, guys. Let’s get home before Satoru burns down the kitchen.”

As you walk back home with Megumi and Tsumiki, their words echo in your mind. The realization that you've become such an integral part of their lives fills you with a trepidation, but also tenderness. You've been careful not to overstep, to maintain some semblance of boundaries, but the lines have been blurring more and more each day.

The apartment is warm and inviting when you return, the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen. You help the kids out of their winter gear, hanging up coats and scarves as they rush to see what Satoru is cooking.

You follow more slowly, pausing in the doorway to take in the scene. Satoru stands at the stove, stirring something in a large pot. His hair is slightly mussed, and he's wearing the ridiculous "Kiss the Cook" apron you bought him as a joke for his birthday. 

Satoru looks up, catching your eye. His face breaks into a warm smile, one that reaches his eyes and makes your heart skip a beat.

"Welcome home," he says softly. “Did you guys have fun?”

Tsumiki launches into an excited recounting of your afternoon, while Megumi nods along, occasionally adding a quiet comment. Satoru listens attentively, his expression softening as he watches the children.

You move into the kitchen, drawn by the warmth and the tantalizing aroma. "What's for dinner?" you ask, peering into the pot.

"Curry," Satoru announces proudly. "My specialty."

You raise an eyebrow skeptically. "Since when is curry your specialty?"

He grins, leaning in close to whisper in your ear. "Since I found your recipe book and followed the instructions very, very carefully."

His breath tickles your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You playfully push him away, ignoring the knowing look Tsumiki gives you.

As you all sit down to eat, the conversation flows easily. Megumi talks about a new technique he's been practicing, while Tsumiki regales you with tales from her drama club. Satoru watches it all with a contented smile, occasionally catching your eye across the table.

Later, after the kids have gone to bed, you find yourself alone with Satoru in the living room. He's sprawled on the couch, his head in your lap as you absently run your fingers through his hair.

Satoru stretches languidly, cat-like. The movement causes his shirt to ride up slightly, revealing his stomach. You force yourself to look away, busying yourself with whatever’s on the television.

“So," Satoru says, his voice low and teasing, "what do you want for Christmas?"

You look down to face him, scoffing. "Who says I'm expecting anything from you?"

He grins that cocky, infuriating grin that still makes your stomach flip. "Come on, Twigs. There must be something you want."

“Haven’t really thought about it.

“C’mon. You must have.”

You weigh your words carefully. "How about... a nice, quiet evening, where you don’t bother me with your bullshit?"

Satoru laughs, his blue eyes warm as he regards you. "I think that can be arranged," he says softly.

He gets closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is so tender, so intimate, that you find yourself leaning into his touch despite your better judgment.

"You know," Satoru murmurs, his voice low, "the kids were asking me the other day if you were going to be their new mom."

Your breath catches in your throat. You narrow your eyes. "That’s not funny."

“What? Their words, not mine.”

You sigh, leaning back against the couch. "Satoru, we've talked about this. We can't just jump into playing house. It's not fair to the kids."

He sits up, his expression suddenly serious. "I know. But... is it so crazy to think about? Us, together, raising them? I mean, we’ve already been doing it, basically, right?”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you. You can feel your heart racing, a mix of longing and fear swirling in your chest.

"It's not crazy," you admit softly. "But it's complicated. We have a lot of history, Satoru. A lot of things we still need to work through. Also, you’re freshly twenty-two. That’s hardly the age to be a considered a guardian."

“But I am their guardian!” he frowns. “And your mom’s pretty young. Didn’t she have you around our age?”

“That’s not even — we’re going off topic. This isn’t about me having a kid,” you blush, the brief thought of mothering a child of your own with Satoru send a brief shock to your chest. “Just relax, okay? Take things slow.”

Satoru intertwines his fingers with yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin. "Slow," he agrees. "I can do slow."

But even as he says it, you can see the mischievous glint in his eye. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "But just so you know, I'm not very good at being patient."

You laugh, pushing him away playfully. "Oh, I'm well aware of that, Gojo Satoru."

He grins, pulling you closer until you're practically in his lap. "Can you blame me? Do you have any idea how irresistible you are?"

Your breath hitches as his hand trails up your thigh. "Satoru," you warn, but there's no real heat behind it.

"What?" he asks innocently. "I'm behaving. This is me behaving."

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. "You're impossible."

"Impossibly charming, you mean," he quips, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your neck.

You shiver at the contact, your resolve weakening with each passing moment. "The kids," you remind him weakly.

"Are fast asleep," he murmurs against your skin. "And I can be very, very quiet when I need to be."

“Speaking of asleep,” you say quickly, leaning away. “That’s exactly what I need to be right now.”

He lets out a noise in between a groan and a whine, which you would rebuke more efficiently if the sound didn’t make heat settle in the pit of your stomach.

“You still didn’t give me my birthday present,” he murmurs. You don’t miss the suggestiveness in his gaze.

“I didn’t say I’d fuck you.”

“You kind of did,” he pouts.

“You’re still on that, huh? I was teasing you. And drunk.”

The last time you’d went out for drinks with him and Shoko, you’d gone home with him in a good mood, apparently good enough to let him be handsy. He took whatever crumbs he could get from you, played the part of a good dog after he had a few fruity cocktails. You let him kiss you on the side of your mouth and you wouldn’t hear the end of it. Even if he’d shut up, the puppy-dog looks he’d throw you would push you over the edge.

“You tease me every damn day by existing. I should banish you.”

“Right. Like you’d survive more time apart from me,” you snort.

“Of course not,” he rolls his eyes. “I love you too much.”

You meet his gaze, face warming at the casualness of his declaration. This is Satoru stripped bare, all his walls down, offering you his heart. It’s still something you’re not used to — the way he gives affection so easily. He always had, of course, but never so candid in sincerity.

It made you sick almost, like being sugar-drunk on something much too decadent. Humiliated you with how warm it made you, your tongue heavy as lead in your mouth like a teenager again.

“Oh?” Satoru grins. “Did that get you going?”

“No. Shut up.”

“You like that. Noted.”

You scoff, rising from the couch. “I’m going to bed now.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart!” he calls after you. “Love you.”

“Goodnight, weirdo,” you huff, trudging your feet towards the door. You pause as you touch the doorknob before turning around. “I love you too.”

You leave too quickly to gauge his reaction, but you feel his smile burn into the back of your neck.

__

You come home to Jiji rubbing his head against your shin. He was still small — a runt, resembling more like a soot sprite than the Ghibli cat he was named after. He acted a lot like Megumi, truthfully. Clung to you, bombarded your space especially if Satoru was around.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you coo, scooping the cat from the floor to nuzzle. “You miss the kids, don’t you?”

He mews at you as if to say yes and you grin. You make your way upstairs, Jiji’s head tucked in your shoulder as you unlock Satoru’s apartment with your spare key.

Satoru is already in the kitchen, hair tousled from the day’s mission. His eyes light up when he sees you walk in. “Twigs! Ready for Operation Birthday Boy?” he grins, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Before you can greet him properly, your gaze drifts over the amount of balloons and streamers haphazardly aligning the walls. Many are Digimon-themed, despite knowing full well that Megumi preferred Pokemon, but that isn’t an argument that was worth having with Satoru unless you wanted him to revert to his child-self.

“You… went all out,” you mutter, still examining the expanse of the living room. There were streamers every color under the sun strung around, comically bright in contrast with the luxury apartments plain white walls.

The smell of cake batter and melting chocolate permeates through the air. You notice then as you step closer towards Satoru that the Italian marble of the kitchen island is dusted with flour. You groan.

“Satoru, I thought we were picking up a cake—”

“But a homemade one has more love!” he scoffs. He’s made a mess of his apron, not to mention there was a streak of pink frosting on his cheekbone.

“And who said you were qualified enough to bake?”

“Hey! I’m trying here! And don’t worry, I’m not making dinner, obviously. We still have to pick up the hors d’oeuvres from the catering place—”

“What? We’re celebrating a nine-year-old.”

“You get expensive taste when you live with me,” he shrugs. “You like oysters, right? I heard it’s a really good aphrodisiac— ow!”

He flinches when you flick him in the forehead. He pouts, rubbing his head as if you’d actually inflicted damage on him.

“The hell was that for?”

You ignore his question. “Where are the kids? It’s like… dinner time. School should be out by now.”

“I told Shoko to pick them up and stall. I’m still preparing.”

“Satoru — seriously? You decided to make the cake right before we celebrate?”

“It won’t take long! This is a state-of-the-art oven for your information!” Satoru scoffs, rinsing his hands in the sink. The amount of flour on the marble of the island makes you cringe. And was that… an egg yolk stain in the corner?

“That doesn’t mean—”

The oven beeps as if to taunt you. Satoru grins, putting on oven mitts that are comically too small for him to take out the cake. It’s certainly cake-shaped despite the lumpy bubbles on top.

“Wanna help me decorate the cake for the birthday boy?”

You move in front of him, shooing him away. He pouts again, the expression making you want to simultaneously hit him and kiss him, and hands you a butter knife and a tub of mint green frosting.

“Go crazy, Twigs,” he sighs. “I should shower anyway.”

You take the time to meticulously cover the entirety of the chocolate cake in the frosting, with Happy Birthday, Megumi! in loopy script in the middle. You’re quick to clean the rest of the kitchen, still reeling from how much of a mess Satoru managed to make in your absence.

By the time Satoru emerges from his bedroom, the kitchen is mostly clean, and he steps into the room in a crisp baby-blue dress shirt and black slacks. You try to ignore the fluttering sensation in your belly at the sight of it. It was your favorite outfit on him and he probably wore it knowing that. You huff lightly, looking away.

You gain reprieve from his teasing when you hear the door open. More balloons float into the room, all bound in Tsumiki’s small hand as she walks in with Shoko and Megumi.

“Happy birthday, Megumi-kun!” you exclaim in glee, walking towards him for a hug. He smiles brightly, blushing as he hugs you back.

Satoru notices the takeout boxes in Shoko’s hands and raises a brow. “You took them to eat dinner already?”

“Obviously. They definitely weren’t going to eat the foie gras you ordered or whatever the fuck,” she snorts. “But more for the adults, eh?”

“Can you not swear around them –”

“I knew the word fuck before!” Tsumiki beams. You share an exasperated look with Satoru, but he’s only holding in a laugh.

As Shoko and Satoru get the kids settled, you lock Jiji in the spare room to prevent Megumi’s Divine dogs from chasing the poor thing. They were all bared teeth, bright eyes. Still puppies, still young like the kids. 

Afterwards, you return to the living room just in time for Satoru to bring out the cake with pastel lit candles atop of it.

Megumi is quiet as everyone shrouds him, gazing at the birthday cake like he’s never seen one before. He hasn’t really — maybe he did when his parents were still together and alive and didn’t fuck off to somewhere else, he doesn’t know — but even he did, he wouldn’t remember. He had only known shared dandelion wishes with Tsumiki, fuzzy memories of Toji patting his head when on his sixth birthday.

You look at him now and you see a child who doesn’t know what to do with all the love surrounding him, and the sight reminds you of yourself.

“Make a wish, Megumi,” you say softly. He looks up at you with wide eyes as if making a wish were to make a sacrifice. He closes his eyes and blows the candles out, smiling softly as everyone claps.

You lean back on the couch as you watch him unwrap his presents, which include an abundance of hastily-wrapped boxes from Satoru. Toya and electronics that the kid probably haven’t dreamt of owning. Satoru was still young in his own right and it showed in his animated way of speaking, excitedly presenting his gifts to Megumi like he was an older brother. Your chest feels uncharacteristically warm as you watch.

You, Satoru, and Shoko watch as the kids play amongst themselves, indulging yourselves in the catering that Satoru had bought, which was more of a luxury takeout order more than anything. The bottle of wine that Shoko had brought makes you able to tolerate Satoru’s antics. You refuse to admit to him, but you even find him endearing tonight.

After the ordeal, Shoko hugs you and departs to her own apartment, while Satoru entertains the kids with a new video game console he’d bought for Megumi. After cleaning, Satoru insists in you joining, which results in many competitive games of Super Street Fighter IV.

Tsumiki is the first to doze off on the couch, her head cradled in your lap as you stroke her hair gently.

“Hey, kid,” Satoru whispers to Megumi, “Looks like your sister’s knocked out. It’s about time for bed, don’t ya think?”

“But I wanted to play more Final Fantasy!” Megumi whines.

“We can play some more tomorrow,” you quip. “It’s been a long day.”

“Okay,” he pouts, taking your hand as you lead him to his bedroom.

Satoru is lounging on the couch once you return, grinning.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just a good mom.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m not their mom.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Told you we’re not playing house, Satoru,” you scoff, slumping your body into the couch next him.

“I know,” he says softly. “I’m just complimenting your ability to rein in some brats.”

“Had a lot of practice from you.”

He laughs.

You glance at him, noticing his mussed-up hair, the soft wrinkles of his button-down. He looked more grown-up than he meant to be. It wasn’t that Satoru looked particularly mature, but seeing him slightly disheveled after handling Megumi’s birthday made him look older than how you’d seen him in earlier years — childish, boyish. In the light of the dim lamp beside him, he looked like a man with responsibilities.

It was like seeing him in the future. But you’re here now, in his apartment, in the present, and the sight of him looking so domestic is doing awful things to your heart.

“You’re… really good with them, too, you know. You don’t really need me,” you murmur.

“Huh?” Satoru raises his brows. “No. Of course I need you.”

You almost blush at that. You’re glad for the wine that he’s given you, relaxing your muscles, giving you an excuse for the flush in your cheeks.

“You can do it on your own, though,” you say softly. “You’re just… better at this than I thought you’d be. It’s admirable. That’s all.”

His gaze softens. “Thanks, Twigs. That means a lot.”

He looks at you then, almost amused, as if the concept of a compliment from you had been completely unheard of. As if the notion alone made him flattered enough to forget humility. (Though, you’re sure the prodigal Satoru Gojo has never known humility.)

“So you’re praising me, then? Do I win best babysitter of the year?” he chuckles.

“Sure. Whatever,” you snort. “Don’t get such a big head about it.”

“Oh, but I must. You think I’m a complete disaster usually, but you’re telling me I was good with the kids tonight? My head is huge, Twigs.”

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile. Trying to hide the way your stomach feels hotter when you look at him and his charming grin. He looks back at you with an expression that makes your pulse go faster.

“You’re cute.”

You blink at him. His voice is heady and husky, his gaze soft. Tentative as he leans in, clearly wary that he’d spook you by crossing the invisible line you’ve set since you decided to move back to Tokyo.

“Speechless, baby?” he drawls. “I didn’t even try hard at flirting this time.”

“Shut up,” you scoff, paying more attention to your glass of wine. “You’re hardly seducing me right now.”

“Never said I was trying to,” he murmurs, leaning into you. His hand is on your knee and you don’t swat him away, for once. In his mind, this is progress.

“But you’re always trying to.” You narrow your eyes.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

He hums, the vibration of his voice like warm honey. “Mm. Am not.”

“Okay. I’m going to bed now.” You rise from the couch, but Satoru catches your wrist in his large, pale hand. You look at him with a brow raised.

“Sleep here tonight?”

“No.”

“C’mon. Please? I won’t try anything.”

You contemplate. You aren’t truly at the brink of exhaustion, but the demands Yaga-sensei made of you at school had started to become one of your main stressors. You’re tired. You definitely don’t feel like going downstairs to your own apartment, Jiji in hand, having to clean up the mess in your own space that you ignored in lieu of preparing for Megumi’s birthday.

You swallow, clenching your jaw. “Fine. I’m feeling lazy tonight.”

Satoru smiles wide, flashing his white teeth. Angel-headed under the soft glow of the lamp. You have to look away before your stomach stirs with something you’ll ruminate over.

“Stay in my bed?”

“Satoru—”

“Come on. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. Also, the spare room is a mess. The kids made a blanket fort in there last night that is yet to be deconstructed.”

“Okay. Whatever,” you mutter, retreating to the bathroom to freshen up. Afterwards, you return to Jiji and scoop him up in your arms, pleased at the way the cat nuzzles into your face.

You step into Satoru's bedroom, immediately overwhelmed by the sheer size of the space. The bed is enormous, draped in crisp white sheets that look almost too pristine to touch. It smells faintly of him—clean, like fresh linen and a hint of something sharp and sweet, like cedarwood mixed with sugar. You’re already regretting this decision, though perhaps not entirely for the reasons you’d like to admit.

You undress and change into one of his t-shirts before crawling into his bed. Satoru follows you in shortly after, pausing in the doorway with an infuriatingly smug grin plastered across his face.

“You know,” he begins, leaning casually against the frame as he folds his arms across his chest, “I didn’t think my birthday present would be you gracing me with your presence in my bed tonight, but honestly? Best gift ever.”

You glare at him from over your shoulder as you set Jiji down on the floor. The little cat immediately darts under Satoru’s bed for refuge—likely avoiding any further encounters with Megumi’s Divine dogs, or perhaps the bubbling conflict in the room itself.

“Your birthday was weeks ago. Don’t push your luck,” you warn flatly. “I gave in because I’m tired. This isn’t some… romantic gesture.”

“Oh, sure,” he teases, taking a few steps closer until he towers over you. His voice drops to a playful murmur as he gleefully adds, “But it could be.”

You groan audibly and climb onto the far side of the bed—intentionally as far away from him as possible—and tug the edge of the comforter over yourself without sparing him another glance. "Goodnight, Satoru."

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, pulling off his socks and tossing them carelessly across the room. He casually strips off his shirt and pants, throwing them somewhere near the hamper – not inside it, of course – before flopping down beside you like a content cat. He stretches out languidly, one arm tucked behind his head as he turns to watch you. You try not to dwell on the fact that he’s beside you, only in his boxers.

The room falls quiet save for the soft hum of the heater kicking on and Jiji occasionally rustling beneath the bed. You shut your eyes tightly and try to relax, but there’s no ignoring how aware you are of Satoru's presence beside you—the way his breathing evens out gradually or how his arm brushes yours when he shifts.

Minutes pass in silence before he finally speaks again, his voice softer this time—devoid of its usual teasing edge. “You really think I’m good with them? Megumi and Tsumiki?”

You open your eyes but don’t immediately respond. There’s something vulnerable about his tone that catches you off guard—a rare glimpse at the pieces of himself he so often keeps hidden beneath his bravado.

“Yeah,” you answer quietly after a pause. Turning your head slightly to look at him in the dim light filtering through the curtains, you add honestly, “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

He turns his head toward you now too, studying you intently. For a second, neither of you speak. His gaze holds yours long enough for your chest to tighten uncomfortably under its weight.

“You’re good for them too,” he says softly after what feels like an eternity. His voice has lost all pretense now—it’s raw and earnest in a way that has always made you feel unsteady around him. "For us."

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

Silence falls over you both, but you can still feel Satoru’s begging eyes boring into your skull. You look over to him and it feels like his blue eyes are glowing in the dark. He strips his gaze from you and looks up at the ceiling instead, feigning a casual demeanor.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken tension. You can feel the heat radiating from Satoru's body, achingly close yet still too far. His eyes, usually so bright and mischievous, are dark and intense as they roam over your face.

"Twigs," he murmurs, his voice low. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, you roll over to face him. In the dim light, his eyes are impossibly blue, gleaming with an intensity that makes your breath catch. He reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your cheek with a tenderness that surprises you.

"I meant what I said," Satoru continues, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "You're good for us. For me."

He moves closer, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as his thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone. You can feel his breath, warm against your skin, as he leans in.

You swallow hard. "Satoru," you warn, but your voice lacks conviction.

He sighs but leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Please."

You know you should push him away. You know this is dangerous territory, that you're teetering on the edge of something irreversible. You’re too stubborn for your own good, both you and Satoru know this. It’s why you curl into his chest instead of pressing your mouth to his. The fear of falling into his charm is futile, especially with how much you want him, frustratingly so.

Satoru's hand slides from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

His touch sends a shiver down your spine, and suddenly, it occurs to you how close you are to him, how intimate this feels. The air between you feels charged, electric.

He says your name, this time, bedroom-soft. Not Twigs, not baby, but your name.

Instead of shying away as you normally might, something shifts inside you. Maybe it's the wine from earlier, or the vulnerability in Satoru's voice, or simply the culmination of months of unresolved tension. Whatever it is, it emboldens you.

His touch ignites something within you - a spark of desire you've been trying to suppress for far too long. The want in you hurts. The frustration, the anger, the tenderness, it all boils within the core of you. It’s all coming to head. When you hear the way Satoru says your name, you decide that you need catharsis.

In one fluid motion, you grab Satoru’s wrist, pinning it above his head as you roll on top of him. His eyes widen in surprise, lips parting in a soft gasp.

"Is this what you want, Satoru?" you breathe, your face inches from his. "Is this why you've been pushing so hard?"

"W-what are you doing?" he stammers, caught off guard by your sudden assertiveness.

Your free hand trails down his chest, fingernails scraping lightly against the skin of his bare chest. Satoru shudders beneath you, his body arching into your touch. You can feel his heart racing, see the flush creeping up his neck under the pale moonlight.

"You talk a big game," you murmur. "But can you handle it when someone else takes control?"

Satoru swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Try me," he challenges, but there's a tremor in his voice that betrays his nervousness.

You pull back, meeting his gaze with a taunting smile. Slowly, deliberately, you grind your hips against his, eliciting a low moan from Satoru. His free hand moves to grip your waist, but you catch it, pinning both his wrists above his head.

"No,” you chastise. "No touching unless I say so."

Satoru's eyes darken with desire, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "You're killing me, Twigs," he groans.

"Good," you purr, leaning down to nip his jaw. 

You take your time exploring his body with your hands, savoring every gasp and shudder you draw from him as if it’s the first time you’ve touched him. Satoru writhes beneath you, struggling against your grip, desperate for more contact. But you maintain control, setting a torturously slow pace that has him practically begging.

"Please," he whimpers, his usual cockiness completely shattered. "I need you."

You smile against his skin, enjoying this newfound power. You scoff. "I thought you said you could do slow?"

He lets out a frustrated groan, his head falling back against the pillow. "That was before I knew how evil you could be."

"Evil?" you chuckle, trailing your fingers down his chest. "I'm barely taunting you. If anything, I’m just giving you a taste of your own medicine."

You lean in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "Besides, I thought you liked it when I took charge."

Satoru shivers beneath you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "I do," he admits, his voice strained. "God, I do."

You smile, a predatory glint in your eyes as you slowly grind against him. The friction draws a low moan from Satoru, his hips bucking up involuntarily. He can feel the warmth of your core, your heat against his cock with only two layers of fabric separating him from what he truly wants.

You tsk, pressing him firmly back down onto the mattress.

"Stay still," you command. "Or I'll stop altogether."

With deliberate slowness, you trail your fingers down his chest, savoring the way his muscles quiver beneath your touch. Satoru's breathing grows ragged as your hand dips lower, tracing the V of his hips before stopping just short of where he wants – no, needs you most.

"Twigs," he groans, frustration evident in his voice. "Stop teasing."

You laugh, nipping at his collarbone. "But you make it so fun, Satoru."

Your free hand ghosts over the front of his boxers, barely applying pressure. Satoru's hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction, but you pull away with a wicked grin.

“I told you I’d stop if you misbehave.”

Satoru's eyes flash with a mix of desire and defiance. "You wouldn't dare."

You raise an eyebrow, accepting his challenge. Slowly, you begin to pull away, but Satoru's words tumble out in a rush.

"Wait!” he gasps, panicked. “I'm sorry, I'll be good. Please, don't stop."

The desperation in his voice sends a thrill through you. You've never seen Satoru like this - completely at your mercy, his usual bravado stripped away. Even in the dark, his eyes usually glow aquamarine, but right now pools of onyx stare back at you underneath heavy white lashes.

"That's better," you murmur, rewarding him with a slow, sensual kiss. He whines into it, licks into your mouth like he’s begging you to eat him whole. 

You take your time with him mapping every dip and curve of his upper body with your lips and tongue. Satoru writhes beneath you, soft whimpers escaping him as you lavish attention on his most sensitive spots.

When you finally free him from his boxers, Satoru lets out a sigh of relief. But instead of giving him what he wants, you continue your slow pace, placing feather-light kisses along his inner thighs. He huffs when you press his thumb against his leaking slit, while you look at him with a grin as you apply pressure.

“You have such a pretty cock, Satoru.”

His face gets even warmer, if that was possible. “Sh-shut up–”

You raise your brows. “What was that, sweetheart?”

His eyes widen aa your mean expression. "N-Nothing! I’m sorry. Just – please," Satoru begs, his voice hoarse. "I need you. I need—"

You silence him with a finger to his lips. "Shh. The kids are sleeping, remember? We wouldn't want to wake them, would we?"

Satoru's breath hitches at the reminder, and he bites his lip to stifle a moan as he watches you spit on his cock, finally wrapping your hand around him. You set a maddeningly slow rhythm, watching with satisfaction as Satoru struggles to keep quiet. Your mouth grazes him, only barely. He needs you around him, completely. His cock is fucking aching for it.

A whine escapes Satoru's throat, his hips jerking upward. "Twigs, please. I can't— I need—"

Cruelly, you cover his mouth with your palm. You have half the mind to gag him. You’re tempted to, really, but you’ve already slipped off your panties and thrown them somewhere across the room.

“Baby—”

“Stop fucking talking,” you hiss, your hand around his throat. He gasps, looks at you with half-lidded eyes. Mouth parted. Lovestruck. “Be good.”

He complies, whimpering softly instead of pleading with useless words. You watch his eyes roll back as your hand moves from his shaft to his tip, your spit lubricating his twitching cock along with the precum collecting at the top.

You savor the power you hold over him, watching his chest heave with each labored breath. Satoru's usual cockiness has evaporated, leaving him vulnerable and needy beneath you. It's intoxicating.

You can feel him trembling beneath you, every muscle taut with the effort of staying quiet. His hands clutch at the sheets, knuckles white, eyes shut tight. You release his throat, trailing your fingers down his chest as you position yourself above him.

"Look at me," you command softly.

Satoru's eyes flutter open, hazy with desire. His hands graze your waist tentatively, smoothing over the soft skin over your ribs underneath the t-shirt (his t-shirt) that clings loosely to your frame.

He can almost feel how wet you are, he swears it. His Six Eyes can see everything from the tremble of your pulse, sensing how much your desires are waiting to jump out of your skin. The wetness of your pink mouth. He feels delirious with want, deluded, maybe, just from the intensity of his senses as he takes in your presence.

He could be hallucinating how intense it all really is. He isn’t sure — he’s too drunk on the fact that you’re in his lap at all, partially bare. Your bare cunt hovering over his cock. Taunting. Fucking tease. If he wanted, he could flip you over and restrain you. Have your hands yanked to your lower back, make you yelp like a slut.

But he doesn’t. He’s already a mess for you, no matter what you intend to do to him. He knows there’s something so awful inside of him that’s waiting to crawl out something only you can coax out.

When you look at him with moonlight reflecting in your pupils, the desire overtakes him. Despite himself, he rises him to meet your mouth, desperate for a kiss or any semblance of one, but your hand tightens around his throat. He moans at the pressure of it and blushes, embarrassed. He whines.

“Ha. Nice try. You’re so fucking eager, huh? Missed me that much?” you taunt. It’s cruel and you know it. You’ve known how much he’s wanted you — you’ve defied it when he’s been too candid about it. And now, while his heart is on his sleeve with your name in the center, you tease him.

He would take you over his knee for it if he wasn’t fucking melting underneath you.

“Of course I missed you,” Satoru grits.

“Oooh, so feisty. You look like an angry dog, you know that?” you sneer.

“Belittle me all you want,” he narrows his eyes, “Just let me — fuck —”

He perks up his head and tries to kiss you but you reject him. He has to stifle a groan. His resolve is crumbling into nothingness.

“Please fuck me,” he gasps. “Or just kiss me. Do anything you want. I just — I don’t care. I need you —”

Satoru writhes against the bedsheets. Grits his teeth, baring his canines like a dog ready to fight. But you’re as gentle as you are evil, able to weaken his efforts just by the slight tilt of your plump mouth. A knowing smirk.

“You need me?” you laugh.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Need you. Only you —”

You spit and he watches the drool cascade down to his aching cock. His eyes widen, mesmerized and choked up as you stroke him. He shudders, body arching towards you at the contact.

“Oh, fuck—” he breathes, unable to form words. Your hand feels better than his own. The warmth of your body above him makes his blood sing.

He pants pathetically as you grin down at him with wolf-teeth. He could cry from your touch alone.

"Relax," you breathe, leaning down to nip at his earlobe. "I'll give you what you need."

“Can’t relax — need — ah!” he whimpers. “Please, please —”

“Are you begging?” you taunt, laughing.

“Yes!” he groans.

You hold his gaze as you slowly sink down onto him, savoring the stretch and fullness. A strangled sound escapes him, quickly muffled as he bites down on his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood.

You roll your hips carefully, rising and falling with agonizing slowness. Satoru's hips twitch upwards, seeking more, but you pin them down firmly. Your movements are languid as you relish each tiny gasp and stifled moan you draw from him.

You gradually increase your speed, grinding down harder with each thrust. Satoru's breathing grows ragged, his chest heaving. You can feel him getting close, see it in the tension of his jaw and the desperation in his eyes.

Just as he's about to fall over the edge, you slow to a stop. Satoru lets out a frustrated whine, cut off as you press your lips to his in a bruising kiss.

"Not yet," you murmur against his mouth. "I'm not done with you."

“I’m so — fuck,” he slurs, “So close —”

“That’s too bad. Fucking wait.”

His cock throbs at your tone. Your face is calm, tauntingly so, but your voice is cutting with authority.

“God, if I wasn’t so in love with you right now I’d be giving you the worst spanking you’ve ever—” You cut Satoru off, shoving your fingers in his mouth. His eyes roll back immediately, gagging, and you laugh cruelly.

“Oh, you love that. You little slut.”

He moans at the degradation, bucks his hips up in attempt to meet your core again. His large hands are around your waist, trembling as they press in with a bruising grip. You remove your fingers from his mouth, using both your hands to pry off his hands and pin them next to his head. 

“Hey,” you warn, talking to him as if he’s a bad dog. “Told you to be good. Hands up here until I say so, Satoru.”

“Y-Yeah,” he breathes, trying not to whine. His hands curl into fists, clenching and unclenching as he tries to calm the lion heart beating out of his chest while his body is forced into submission by the girl he’s always had power over. 

He stills his body despite himself, though his dick still aches in anticipation. He’s trying to be good for you. The best. 

You lean over to bite at his nipple and he gasps. The role-reversal was dizzying, particularly because you were using his own tricks against him. He feels like he might lose his mind.

“Stop– stop that–” he rasps.

“Why should I? I know you like it. You like when I play with you.”

“I– I–”

“You’d love it if I just used you, right? You want me so much you’d let me touch you in any way, any time of the day. Am I wrong?” You lift your head to meet his gaze, lifting your brow.

He flushes with embarrassment, stomach flipping at your words. “N-No,” he mumbles. 

“That’s what I thought, baby,” you chuckle. Your nails run through his undercut and he sighs in satisfaction, looking at you through wet eyes. 

“I’m keeping my hands to myself,” he simpers. “Please, just fuck me, I promise I’ll be good —”

“Oh? You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes —”

“Mm. Wanna keep playing with you. Lay your head on the pillow properly for me, Satoru.” He obeys you without question, eyes half-lidded with lust as he awaits further instruction. There’s a stupor in his face, dumb with love. He’d do anything you asked. 

Your cunt pulsates around nothing, pleased at his obedience – you’ve never seen him so desperate, despite knowing he wasn’t above begging. Even before, you’d give in, allowing him to use you like a ragdoll. But this — this was entirely new territory. Satoru Gojo was being reduced to tears.

You climb over to him, cunt above his neck. His eyes are blown out, wet as his mouth. 

“You want a taste?”

He nods eagerly, too quickly, too possessed by desire to be embarrassed about it anymore. He wanted you any way he could have you.

You sink down to his mouth and the groan he lets out is louder than you expect.

“Satoru,” you hiss. “Keep it down.”

He whines, lapping at your pussy sloppily. You gasp when he flicks the tip of his tongue your swollen clit. Your thighs tremble as you try to stay upright, knuckles straining against the top of his headboard. At the same time, he uses the opportunity to squeeze the plushness of your ass – something you’d admonish him for if his mouth didn’t feel so fucking good.

“Oh,” you moan out softly, “That’s so good. Just like that, Satoru —”

He moans, his mouth leaking with his own drool and your arousal. It was a treat for him – you never liked sitting on his face for some reason, always blushed when he’d suggest it. But now, he was getting what he wanted. You were throwing him a bone. 

Satoru wants desperately to fist his cock, relieve the ache inside him that keeps building when he hears you whimper, but his hands are too preoccupied with touching you everywhere else. Your ass, your waist, the softness of your breasts underneath your t-shirt. His girl in the palm of his hand.

Your nails scratch his scalp, pulling on the strands of his hair as you grind on his face. Smearing yourself all over him. “Close–”

He doubles down on his efforts and all of it makes you see stars – supernovas clashing together in the fuzzy black behind your eyelids. You have to cover your mouth to keep down the sound of your moan.

His hands are squeezing your thighs. You yelp, overstimulated as his mouth latches onto your clit with no intention of letting go despite your orgasm.

“Satoru, no — no more —”

You roll off of him, ass tumbling onto his torso as he holds you upright. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, kissing you hard. You don’t have a chance to breathe before he does it, but you don’t care — your pussy drips in his lap as he maneuvers you straddle him properly, mouth moaning as you taste yourself on his tongue.

You can’t take it anymore. You need to be full of him.

You push him off you, pinning him to the bed as your cunt swallows his cock. You wince at the stretch after not taking him for so long, but the resistance quickly disappears from how turned on you are. You’re so overly sensitive from your orgasm that his tip hits your g-spot immediately, stimulation to the max as you grind on him at an angle that brings pressure to your insides. 

“Holy fuck –” Satoru gasps, hands on your hips in a vice grip.

He’s determined to take back any semblance of control, but he fucking loses it at the feeling of being inside you after months and months of a dry spell. You were better than any of his wet dreams. 

He bites his lip in attempt to suppress his whines, hands encouraging the roll of your hips as you grind down on his cock. He loves being used by you, fucked dumb and marvelling at the warmth of your skin on his. He lifts up your t-shirt and you let him pull it off you.

You look down and see puppy-dog eyes gazing at you spilling with tears of pleasure. Angel boy. 

You don’t give him a warning when you finish like you have in the past. It crashes into you, a collision of ecstasy. Months of denying him from your bed and your brain made you forget that he was your very best. Your first and perhaps your last. 

The thought takes the breath out of your lungs. In a moment of lucidity, you look at Satoru full-on, your lust-filled haze clearing to see him fully in adoration. Tears streaming down his cheeks, love painted all over his face.

He hiccups, whimpering. “Baby, I’m close – fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t help it! P-Please, can I —”

You shut him up with a kiss. “Come for me, Satoru,” you whisper against his mouth. “You’re so good. So good to me.”

His eyes widen. He’s about to gasp out a reply but he’s so overwhelmed by your words, the impossible warmth of your cunt sucking him in.

“I love you so much,” you coo, hips gyrating in tandem with his hands guiding you. “You wanna be good for me, right?”

“Y-Yeah,” he whispers. 

“Then go ahead and come for me, baby.”

“Ah – fuck –” Satoru feels his mouth part involuntarily, letting out the ghost of a moan as he chokes up. The ache in his body bursts into sparks, his cum filling you up to the brim as his orgasm plundered through him. 

His legs are shaking.

His comedown is all erratic breaths, small gasps as he wills his heart rate down to a normal speed. He whimpers as he lifts his head to nuzzle your neck, nipping at your warm flesh before you allow him to kiss you tenderly. 

He mumbles something against your mouth that you don’t quite hear.

“Hm?” You attempt to pull away and he whines like a child. You kiss him again and he deepens it, fingers gathering the hair at your nape.

“Letsgetmarried,” he mutters into your jaw.

“What?”

“What?”

You pull back, staring at him with an amused grin. “Did you just propose to me?”

Satoru stares back at you, his snowy hair sticking out haphazardly. “Maybe. Yes. Like, yes, but also no.”

“You’re giving me mixed signals here.”

“I don’t know what I’m saying,” he slurs. “You fucked me too good. I wanna buy you a house.”

You burst into laughter and pet his head. “You don’t need to do that. You already pay my rent.”

He hums, wrapping his arms around you. Cradles you to his chest, which you don’t protest.

“I love you.”

“Yeah. I love you too.”

Silence fills the room, save for your soft breathing. You clear your throat and stretch your limbs.

“You’re not actually asking me to marry you, right?” you ask warily. 

“Why not? We already have kids.”

“They are not our kids —”

“They may as well be!”

“Satoru,” you snap.

“Okay, okay. I’m half-joking. But I’m serious when I say that I… I think you’re it for me,” Satoru mumbles. “Don’t want anyone else. Ever.”

You look up at him, your eyes glistening. “Me neither.”

You mean it. You suppose that the months without him were a lesson in patience, in self-preservation. You can’t deny that he was your missing piece despite it all, despite the hell you went through with him. 

Satoru has always held a slice of heaven – it clung to him, that divinity. You are the only thing that keeps him from dimming.

[cultlix]

𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

pair. soft dom! chris x sub/virgin! fem reader | genre. established relationship, power imbalance, slight angst, smut| warnings. use of pet names, dirty talking, profanity, penetrative/unprotected sex.

synopsis. "You've ruined me, I'm destroyed. How could any other girl be good, be enough for me after you?"

author's note. i wished it was him...

➽──────────────❥

"Scared?"

"Should I be, oppa?"

He shook his head. "You'll never be in danger with me. Unless you like it."

"I didn't know what I liked until I saw you."

Chris loved the pressure of your body on top of him while you were kissing, on his unmade bed, the silken cascade of your long strands tickling his nose, his cheeks, the delicate perfume of your skin burning everytime you met his faintly elusive gaze, under his daintily skilled touch, and the hesitant swinging of your tiny waist against his prominent lenght, a foretaste of what would have defiled you ceaselessly all night.

"Baby doll, beware, if you let me be the first to fuck you the only way I know how to fuck pretty cunts like yours, I swear, you'll be cursed forever."

He raised his lower back, flaunting his hardness, his thickness, making your mouth hang open when your still coated sex rubbed casually against his stirred, throbbing protuberance.

"Please," you said, voice incredibly clear, limpid to his ears, like a sudden rainfall of crystals shattering on the floor, "d-don't make me w-wait, oppa. C-can't wait to see w-what you'll do o-of me."

Sweet, rotten angel, can't even finish a sentence without miserably stumbling at the thought of getting fucked for the first time ,like she deserves, like the surreal, reckless, unaware temptress she is.

You flipped your hair, the long, disheveled cascade now falling wildly on your naked shoulders as you unhooked the front closure of your bra, taking his hands in yours, quivering, guiding them on your fair, flawless breasts, making him tighten his grasp to indulge in their tempting round shape.

So desirable, and still so inexplicably insecure, he thought, tracing with his thumbs your already turgid nipples, making you close your eyes and call his name like a fervent prayer in breathy sighs, does she even notices, imagines the effect she has on men?

He moistened his full lips, tired of anticipating, and lifted up just enough to put his hungry mouth on your extremely sensitive, rosy nub, sucking avidly on it, making you cry and tilt your head back.

"You want oppa to go slow?"

He pulled up your skirt and pushed aside your panties, circling unhurriedly your clit, making you so pathetically wet that you couldn't help but blush seeing how your honey-like essence irreparably soiled the fabric of his black jeans.

"You need oppa to make sure if you can really take his massive cock inside this untouched, sacred pussy of yours?"

He let two long fingers slid inside your crevice, going so harshly deep that you thought you would pass out. Chris started moving, in and out, carefully at first, then with a certain eagerness when he felt your hips instinctly following the agonizing rhythm of his movements.

"Goddamn, your smell, so intense…You really want me to fuck you so bad, angel? Shit, you look amazing while struggling with all your strenghts to keep my fingers in like this, in this thight, little paradise you call cunt, but will you handle the roughest part of me? Tell me, do you think you can really hold it there? Because once you'll let me penetrate you, deflower you, I know I won't be able to stop. I'll spoil you, baby doll. I'm gonna wreck all your precious doll parts, you know this?"

You whimpered, biting your lower lip, nodding. "The good girl you are," Chris praised you, slithering gently a third digit and curling it languidly, simultaneously with the others, watching you hissing, taking a fistful of his hair to fight the pain. "See, you can barely take another one, and we're not even close to what your body is going to experience."

Teardrops glistening on your eyelashes like morning dew on velvety rose petals.

"Am I not enough for you, Chris?" you asked him, dropping the honorific for the first time since you've met him, holding back the sadness, rejecting the thought of being nothing to him. "Am I not good like the other girls you had before?"

Chris watched your eyes become teary for the first time, and he felt like a part of him died the moment he knew he was somehow responsable for that. He couldn't tolerate it, he won't ever be able to endure it no more. He gently pulled his fingers out of you, letting the rapture wait, his desire arrest a little bit longer.

"Is it me who makes you believe you're not the prettiest I've ever seen? The only purest, perfect creature my tired eyes have truly met? Then punish me baby doll," he whispered sincerely with apprehension, grabbing your tiny wrist and using your clenched fist to attempt hitting his sculpted chest, "hit me. I don't deserve to be your first, to call you mine, if I can't make you see how much of a real man only you can make me feel. Look what you do to me."

He unzipped his jeans, letting his aching erection darting free from any constriction, then guided your hand on it. "Shit, do you even imagine how much self control I needed to forbid my instict to fuck you like an animal to prevail everytime you were sleeping next to me? Every single time you accidentally rubbed against my cock when I cuddled you from behind? You've ruined me, I'm destroyed. How could any other girl be good, be enough for me after you?"

Chris slapped himself aggressively in the face, his cheek turning ruby red. "I'm fucking bad, baby. I've been the worst if I ever made you doubt of me. Hit me."

"Oppa, please."

He took off his shirt and did it again, even more violently then before, then clutched his grasp around your wrist again. Your tears now flowing copiously, blurring your vision, hazing your mind.

"Come on baby, right here, on my heart, do it, hurt me like I've hurt you."

"Oppa, no. I don't want this," you cried frustrated, trying to fight against his will, but he was stronger, so much stronger and determined to suffer.

"Why?" he asked, mad at himself more than ever.

"Chris, stop," you cried, voice breaking and shaking.

"Why?" he insisted, his tone too peremptory to be ignored.

"Because I fucking love you."

You screamed at the top of your lungs, words still floating in the room, echoing in the narcotic stillness of the night, the only remedy to placate his fury, the only antidote to cure his pain, his torn soul.

"Let me be yours. I wanna be the only girl who can have you. I wanna turn into everything you've ever dreamed of, into everything you've ever needed."

He smiled, caressing your chin fondly.

"I didn't know what I needed until I saw you."

You kissed him, and it felt like drifting, like losing a part of yourself forever in that sublime exchange of minds and souls when you captured his lips in yours, stealing his breath, devouring his spirit.

Chris grabbed you firmly and pushed you against the mattress, onto his sheets, pulling down your skirt, making your panties slide down to your ankles, throwing them somewhere at the foot of the bed. He got up, taking off his pants alongside with his underwear. He positioned himself between your legs, unmoving, just admiring how breathtaking you were like this, with nothing on, exposed, frail underneath his ravenous gaze.

You grabbed his cock, so huge in your little palm, and massaged the tip delicately with your thumb, sprinkling it in his white, pearlescent fluid.

"Fuck honey, don't tease if you still want me to be gentle with you," he panted, not doing anything to make you stop though.

You giggled silently, secretly amused by his uncontrolled reaction.

"Does oppa like it like this?" you whispered.

"Oppa loves it."

You pushed the tip against your soft folds, rubbing it against your clit and the edge of your entrance. Chris cursed, shuddering, almost losing his balance, all the weight of his body risking to crash over yours.

"And like this? Does oppa like it better like this?"

"Fuck yes, so much better."

He pulled your body closer to his and spread your legs the widest he could.

"God, you're a fucking vision. So soaking wet, so open. Like this baby, rain for me, I'm so thirsty I'm gonna drain you, I'm gonna suck you dry," he warned, bending down to reach your sex glistening in your arousal, inhaling its forbidden scent deeply, making you flush, making you whine in ecstasy when he rubbed his upper lip against your swollen clit.

"Oppa wants a taste, will you let him?"

You nodded, incapable of articulating anything similar to a consent.

"Let me hear it coming from those lovely lips."

"Oppa?" you said, gulping, his nose already stroking your sensitive slit.

"Yes, baby doll?"

"I need your mouth on me, oppa, wanna feel your tongue, but please, please, let me cum on you, with you, let it happen when you're inside me."

"Is that what you want?"

"More than anything else."

"Then you don't need to ask."

Chris could feel your body writhing convulsively underneath his voracious wet muscle as he licked with extreme accuracy every inch, every soft ripple of your slippery folds, letting your flavor invade his cavity, permeating his palate, and your inebriating perfume dulling his senses like the finest of drugs.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair, moaning, as he sucked on your clit, flattening his tongue, using the tip to violate your immaculate fissure. He groaned satisfied, drinking greedily from that inexhaustible source of pleasure, the guttural sounds coming from his throat vibrating against it, sending fiery, violent frissons down your spine.

You arched your back and he helped you raise your waist to have full access on each perfect, most secret part of you, but you suddenly tried to stop him, gripping gently the long strands brushing against the nape of his neck, rebelling to his feral appetite, wanting to escape from that immeasurable delight.

"C-Chris…w-what…" you mumbled, too weak to protest, to withstand any longer.

"Oppa lied, sweetheart. He's such a demanding bastard. How is he even supposed to resist when your cunt tastes like fucking heaven? Tell me. I told you I wouldn't be able to stop, that I would have fucking spoiled you so bad."

His licking, still so precise, became quicker, feverish, his sucking vehement, avid, the tip of his tongue hitting persistently your yielding cleft, going everytime a little bit further.

You whined, cursing, crying desperate at the sensation, every limb spasming. "Y-you p-promised…"

"Never been a man of value," he confessed under his breath, looking at you through his long eyelashes, "I'm a son of a bitch, baby doll, not fucking prince charming."

You pulled his hair, without even noticing that you were rocking your hips towards his mouth to feel it moving again on you, but he stood still, remaining impassive.

"Beg me," he teased provocatively, "do it properly, and I'll stop."

You attempted to speak, to formulate any kind of plea, of request, but your words came out like nothing more but feeble, breathy sounds, confused truncated gasps.

"Fuck, C-Chris…"

His lips still cruelly consuming you, busy torturing you. "You can't do better than this, can you?"

"Please," you implored, breathless, exhausted, but in a surprisingly clear, firm voice.

Chris gazed into your eyes with defiance.

"Sorry honey," he purred, "I can't hear you."

One more deliberate twist, one last measured swirl around your irresistibly slick core, then Chris' tongue flicked inside your inviting slit, repeatedly, obsessively, so in to the hilt that he perceived a storm of irrepressible jolts coming from your body, shaking, screaming to let go. Cum, he finally granted, groaning, cum now, and you did, finally surrendering to him, jerking, cursing, crying, gushing so much, so shamelessly that you painted his chin, his lips, his mouth in your dense, snow-white nectar.

Chris drank every single drop of your orgasm, then got on his knees again on the bed. He lay his body over yours, so willowy, so fragile underneath his imposing one, and tried to kiss you, but you turned the other way.

He smiled, patiently. "You mad at me?"

You did not answer.

He pressed his lips on your temple gently, leaving a long trail of kisses on your cheek, on your neck, on your collarbone, going down to your breast where he sucked on your nipple, biting it, making you moan again, whine like he loved so much.

"I wanted you," you complained.

"And you'll have me," he said, taking your hand to guide it on his bulging, pulsing hardness. "Can't you see how much I want to see you cum with my cock buried inside you? But trust me, you weren't ready. I know what's best, you would have just hurt yourself, and I don't want this."

His hand dangerously slid to your overstimulated sex, fingers slowly sinking in your walls and coming out. "Fuck, still so thight baby, a bundle of nerves down there, and you don't even know you haven't felt anything yet."

You took his face in your hands, your piercing eyes meeting his, blurred by urge and lust.

"Fuck me, oppa. Do it till it pleases you, till it hurts me, till nobody will ever take me, will ever want me again, till I'd be nothing but doll parts scattered on your bed. I'm fucking yours, I don't care about the rest. Fuck me, please, fuck me now, fuck me hard, I need you, I love you."

Chris suddenly wrapped one arm around your hips to pull you closer to his frame, to trap you entirely under his weight, then grabbed your thighs and made your legs clasp around his waist solidly.

"Damn baby, the things you do to me when you talk like this. You're so docile and persuasive. I really wanted to go slow, doing it as it should be done, but God, you make it so difficult, you're not really bringing out the best of me right now."

You caressed his lenght in his entirety, from the head to the base, so rigid, impressive, veins popping out, pre-cum spilling gently in a long, thin stream. "I couldn't agree less," you stated, smiling maliciously.

He suddenly gripped your wrists and pinned both your hands over your head, making you giggle, watching you totally captivated.

"What?" you asked curious.

"I wanna remember you like this forever."

He entered you fully, heatedly, incapable of controlling himself, of resisting you, of waiting any longer and hushing his impatience, his impulsive exigency to fill your cunt for the first time, completely, to the extreme. He stared spellbound at how his huge cock disappeared under your sparkling skin, and how your pussy, so smooth, so delicate, took it in with absolute composure. He bent down, stealing a long, soothing kiss from your parted lips to try softening your pain, to help your body calm, relax, gradually and naturally adjust to his presence.

Chris moaned tilting his head back lost in the rapture of your thightness enwrapping him so hungrily, squeezing him so forcefully, then started moving his hips leisurely, his thrusts rhythmic and regular, constant and sustained. More, harder, please oppa, faster, he heard you crying, so eager, insatiable, desperately raising your waist to try fastening his phlegmatic pace, so his shoves got quicker, wilder, as he shortened the duration of his hammering movements and intensified their force, their steadiness.

He could feel distinctly your legs jerking, your muscles contracting, your walls constricting, fluttering erratically around him, suffocating his shaft in that furious, chaotic whirlwind of tremors and convulsions. He was well aware he was also irrevocably close to his own verge.

"Shit, p-princess, oppa wants to f-fill you with his c-cum, w-will you let him?" he panted, visibly struggling to articulate that coherent phrase as he kept on shoving himself into you relentlessly, hastily, ruthlessly.

"Yes, fuck, yes…" you allowed, and then, there was nothing left to do but abandoning to the gripping power of ecstasy.

You both orgasmed, collapsing enfolded in the warmth of your embrace, blatantly entranced, unbridled, floating blissfully in that heavenly, idyllic vortex of carnal and spiritual junction, ruled by that strong, passionate but contradictory feeling of coming to life and dying at the same time, you coating his golden skin in your honeyed juices and he releasing his hot fluid emprisoned in your trembling body, calling your name, no terms of endearment this time, no nicknames, just your real name forming sensually on his lips as he reached the culmination of his own pleasure, making you feel for once more than just his little girl, but his woman.

Chris fell down on his back, weary, sated, trying hard to catch his breath again as his chest moved up and down rhythmically.

"What?" he asked seeing you smiling.

You shrugged. "Nothing. I just wanna remember you like this forever."

He laughed wholeheartedly. "Come here."

And he kissed you, in the only way he could, he knew, leaving you wishing on bittersweet illusions, on the stupidly romantic dream that he wouldn't be just your first, but maybe even your last.

© cultlix, 2024. all rights reserved.

[star2fishmeg]

im gonna need you to elaborate on inexperienced!sub!Luke x inexperienced!reader PLEASE bc u don’t get it u created a new need

I love the idea of just reader and Luke being each other's firsts and figuring shit out together, like they're all nervous and giggly about it, finally getting to confess their desires. They're not fussed if it's not perfect, they're trying things and seeing how it feels, reassuring each other with no pressure at all. One of them wants to try a kink? Sure. New position? Cool. Switch roles? New location? They'll take it slow and build confidence. Practice makes perfect, right?

Elaborate? It's sweet, sexy teamwork! You and Luke being each other's first times, figuring sex out together comfortably at your own pace, with love. You've fooled around before, sure, foreplay, prep, making out, all that but neither have, as they say, lost your virginities. He knows he likes when you pull his hair or suck him off, you know you like his fingers plunging deep inside your cunt and when he devours you out. But you and Luke don't know how good sex can feel when it's laced with passion and love.

You're both kind of shy about it, nervous. You're both embarrassed at how old you both are and still haven't fucked. Yet it's supposed to be fun, so neither of you pay much mind to the social constructs around it, you're just smiling and showering each other in compliments and reassurances the more the clothes that land on the floor.

You both having a basic understanding of sex but neither practising until now. Luke's sat against the headboard with you straddling his lap, like you've done many times before where you've gone no further than dry humping, but this time you're both stark naked, taking the beauty of each other in and he can feel your arousal seeping onto his skin, his dick rubbing against yours and it takes everything in you to keep your hips still, hands tracing over the ridges of his abs and v-line.

You're both figuring it out together, piecing together things you've watched and read and finding your feet. He's shy at first, confessing how the thought of you riding him turns him on so fast, his cheeks flushing instantly as his large hands caress your thighs in downwards motions, just to glide back up again and knead into the flesh. You're slightly smirking, ego shooting through the roof knowing he wants you to be the boss, as if he knows you fantasise about calling him your good boy just to have him melt in the palm of your hands.

"Are you sure you don't wanna try missionary first? I mean, what if I ruin it? You know I've never done this before..." you mumble, his hands gliding from your thighs to gently hold yours.

"You're not gonna ruin it, angel," he leans over to press his lips to yours, "I want you to follow your instincts, and you're gonna know if I like something, believe me. Just want you to tell me what you want."

And you do because once you both get started and find your rhythm, he's sinking down into the mattress, throwing his head back into the pillows with his hands grabbing your ass. He's whining pathetically about how good your pussy feels, gummy walls squeezing his pulsing cock tight, and his heads dizzy, heart pounding and reverberating in his ears. His stomach's tossing and turning, oddly tight but he's in heaven, and the fact you're moaning his name so airily, telling him how he's such a good boy for you doing as he's told just makes your rocking so much more arousing. You feel like your're floating, thighs aching and burning but Luke's hips are snapping up into you at a brutal pace, one that makes your tits bounce and has raw gasps slip from your lips, nails digging into his chest and you're so close. After all, he loves when you boss him around, whatever his baby wants, his baby gets.

"Lu, faster, fucking need your cock," you breathe out, his eyes opening, and you notice how blown out his pupils are, "M'gonna cum. Be good 'n make me cum."

"Yes ma'am," his groan's raw from his chest, like he's holding back his release for you, "M'gonna make you cum, gonna cum with you, fuck-"

"Cum, pretty boy, cum for me, show me how I make you feel. Wanna make a mess on your cock,"

And while you both may not have lasted long; you were together and that was the main thing. Together, comfortably and fell asleep cradled in each other's embrace with soft giggles.

[creamflix]

Hii for the Xmas prompt Geto x Santa hats x naughty

you’ve received a gift! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ want your own gift? ・:〃➜ click here! 

the pub was loud, warm, and absolutely drowning in christmas cheer. SUGURU had begrudgingly agreed to wear the ridiculous santa hat handed to him at the door — mostly because you’d made it look cute by tugging yours on with an exaggerated grin.

“come ooonnn, sugu,” you’d teased earlier, pinching his cheek. “it’s festive!”

and because he could never really say no to you, there he was, sitting in a corner booth with that silly hat perched on his head like he’d lost a bet.

but somehow, you’d both ended up in the cramped, questionably clean bathroom of the pub, his broad frame caging you against the counter.

“what was that about, pulling my hat?” suguru growled, his voice low and thick with irritation — and something much darker. 

“it was an accident!” you protested, your hands gripping the sink behind you for balance. “i didn’t mean to mess it up!”

“oh, you didn’t mean to?” he asked, cocking a brow as his hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his sharp gaze.

“no! i just —”

“don’t give me that innocent act,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing over your lips in a way that made your stomach tighten. “you know how i feel about my hair. and now you’ve got the nerve to mess with the hat, too?”

“sugu, s'just a hat,” you tried, though your voice wavered under his intense stare.

“just a hat?” he repeated, mock offense dripping from every syllable. “do you have any idea how many people saw me in this? how much of my dignity i’ve sacrificed tonight for you?”

“oh, please,” you muttered, rolling your eyes — though your resolve was crumbling fast under his heated gaze.

his grip tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “you’re awfully bold for someone about to beg for forgiveness,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“forgiveness? for a hat?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“for ruining my holly, jolly christmas spirit,” he replied, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“sugu —”

“don’t sugu me,” he interrupted, his voice dropping even lower as he trailed his hand down your side. “you don’t get to make a mess of me and walk away scot-free.”

“it’s not that serious!” you tried to argue, but the way his hand slid under the hem of your sweater made your breath hitch.

“oh, it’s serious,” he countered, his smirk sharp as his lips trailed down your neck. “and i’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

“you’re so dramatic,” you muttered, though your knees were already buckling as his hand found its way to your thigh, his touch firm and possessive.

“and you’re so careless,” he shot back, his voice laced with amusement as he lifted you onto the counter, settling between your legs.

“you owe me,” he said simply, his eyes dark and focused as his fingers now toyed with the waistband of your skirt.

“owe you what?” you asked breathlessly, your body already betraying you.

he smirked, his lips brushing yours in a teasing, fleeting kiss. “a proper apology,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your thighs with deliberate slowness. 

“but don’t worry. i’ll make sure you get it right.”

“how —” your words caught in your throat as he suddenly dropped to his knees in front of you, the sight of him towering over you mere seconds ago replaced by the overwhelming visual of him kneeling, his hands trailing up your thighs.

his fingers curled into the waistband of your underwear, yanking it down in one swift motion. 

“you ruined santa’s hat,” he said, his tone almost conversational as he tossed your panties to the side. “so you’re gonna make it up to me.”

“in a bathroom?” you squeaked, your face burning.

“it’s where all the best punishments happen,” he said, flashing you a wicked grin before leaning in.

his lips pressed hotly against your inner thigh, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. 

“and don’t even think about holding back, sweetheart. i want to hear how sorry you are for messing up my christmas spirit.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but the words died on your tongue as his mouth moved higher, his tongue flicking over your clit in a way that made your knees buckle.

“keep pulling on my hair,” he muttered, his voice muffled but firm as his hands gripped your hips, keeping you pinned against the wall. “but if you touch the hat again? i won’t be this nice.”

you whimpered, your fingers instinctively threading through his dark hair as his mouth worked magic against you, the sound of the pub’s chaotic cheer fading into the background.

merry christmas, indeed.

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