#older men x fem reader

[almostwisegalaxy]

The shadow and light Game

Enemies to lover

Servant x blind fem!reader

reader has a shy character in this story

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: People help the people_Birdy

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The morning mist clung to the stone walls of the annex, isolated and cold, far from the grandeur of the Delarive estate. The place had been designed to keep both rumors and their target at bay: Y/N Delarive, the cursed youngest daughter. They said she carried a curse, that she had sold her soul to enrich her family. Yet, for those who had dared to get close, there was neither magic nor malediction. Only a blind young woman, tormented and locked away in a gilded cage.

Y/N sat in her favorite chair, facing a window whose light she could only guess. The slightest noise irritated her; the arrival of a new servant had already sent her into a rage. It was always the same—her parents sent spies to watch her or break her further. But this one, she would not allow to stay.

The door opened. Slowly, without the hurried steps of a fearful servant. The approaching footsteps were heavy yet controlled, as if the person wanted to be noticed. Y/N tightened her grip on the familiar weight of a wooden clock in her frail but determined hands.

“I want no one here!” she screamed before throwing the object with all her strength.

The impact echoed. The man had taken the hit directly to his face. Y/N heard a muffled groan, followed by a heavy silence. No cries, no stumbling retreat. Just that silence—then a deep, composed voice, tinged with a hint of surprise.

“Impressive aim, for someone who can’t see.”

Y/N froze. She had expected apologies, pleas, or a hasty retreat. Not a response so calm, nor a trace of amusement in his tone.

Cassius straightened, pressing a hand to his forehead, where a small cut was already bleeding. He had heard of the youngest Delarive’s tantrums, her fits of rage, her explosive outbursts. None of it had prepared him for this encounter. Behind the mask of suspicion and fury, he sensed something else. Not the madness people accused her of—but a deep, ingrained fear. Almost tangible.

He stepped forward, deliberately closing the distance between them. “I am your new servant,” he declared. Dropping the suitcase he carried at his feet, he added, “And I’m not leaving.”

Y/N clenched her fists. “They all leave.”

“Maybe,” he replied, crossing his arms, “but not today.”

She heard a faint sound—the rustling of a handkerchief as he pressed it to his wound. He wasn’t trying to explain himself, nor impose his presence. And for a reason she couldn’t quite grasp, that unsettled her.

Cassius said nothing, but he observed. The frailness of her wrists, the tension in her shoulders—like a wounded animal, ready to bite to survive. A quiet rage stirred within him. Not against her. But against those who had reduced her to this state. Yet, he kept his mask of indifference. He wasn’t here to save her. He had a vengeance to fulfill.

Y/N was already retreating into silence. “Fine, stay,” she finally said, her voice trembling slightly. “But don’t think I’ll make it easy for you.”

Cassius allowed a fleeting smile, though she couldn’t see it. “It wouldn’t be interesting otherwise.”

He turned to unpack his belongings. But at the edge of his mind, a persistent thought lingered: this family, the ones who had stolen everything he once loved, deserved to suffer. And the key to his revenge was here, in this cold, forgotten annex.

Yet, as he glanced at Y/N from the corner of his eye, he felt something he couldn’t quite name. A curiosity. Perhaps even a respect he hadn’t anticipated. She was far stronger than the rumors suggested.

But he wasn’t here to be distracted.

Not yet

---

Days had passed in a strange monotony. Y/N remained in the shadows of her room, a place she knew as well as her own skin. It was there that she felt protected, even though every movement was a battle she waged against herself. She had never been so reluctant to live, to eat, to wash. The memories of childhood abuse were deeply ingrained, like invisible chains. Anything that came from another human being was suspect. Everything, even food.

Cassius, on the other hand, had understood the situation more quickly than he would have liked. He knew that Y/N refused to eat, that she even refused to wash, that she was trapped in this cycle of suffering out of fear and distrust. He understood that her resistance did not come from a mere desire to be difficult. It was deeper than that. She had been scarred by her past, by a life of physical and emotional violence. And he was here, a new presence in her closed-off world, an intruder she could not accept.

Every morning, when he entered the room, he found her trying to escape reality. The sheets were tangled around her, and she remained curled up, eyes closed, as if she could hide from the entire world. He had seen the same scene play out day after day. She did not eat, barely drank, and recoiled from any form of contact, even from the most basic care.

One morning, after placing the tray of food beside her bed, he sat near her, waiting silently. The tension between them was palpable. Y/N did not react. She knew he was waiting for her to take the food, but her refusal was absolute. He had seen her in moments of rage when she threw the food against the walls or at him, hoping he would leave, that he would give up. But he had no intention of leaving. Not this time.

At last, he stood, walked to the door, and returned with a basin of warm water. “Y/N,” he said in a calm voice, “it’s time.”

She turned sharply toward him, her hands trembling, panic flashing in her voice. “No! I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want your help.”

But this time, Cassius had not come to negotiate. He leaned forward slowly, grasping the edge of the blanket and pulling it gently, as if he were nothing more than a passing breeze. “You don’t have a choice. You will wash, and you will eat.”

She bolted upright, eyes wide, pushing herself up on her elbows with surprising speed. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, nearly out of control, the terror evident in her voice. She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, but he dodged it effortlessly.

She tried to get up and flee, but he gently forced her to stay in bed, his authority calm yet unyielding. “Calm down,” he said, holding her firmly but without violence. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She struggled against him, screaming, but he did not let go. His hands firmly grasped her wrists, never tightening enough to cause pain. Tears welled in her eyes, but she could not break free from his hold. Y/N was weaker than she thought. She didn’t realize that everything she feared from him, everything she imagined in her mind, was nothing more than ghosts. He wasn’t here to hurt her—not in the way she feared. But she didn’t understand that. Not yet.

“I’m here to help you,” he murmured, his voice almost gentle as he kept his hold on her. “Not to harm you.”

She tensed, her breathing ragged, her heart pounding wildly. She trembled, but it was more from fear than from cold. And in that silent struggle, Cassius felt her resistance begin to crack. It wasn’t just pride or distrust. It was pure fear—the fear of having lost control over everything. The fear of being vulnerable again.

She tried one last time to push him away, but her strength failed her. In the end, she collapsed against him, exhausted, her gaze empty as she stared ahead. Cassius did not release his hold immediately. Instead, he supported her gently, one hand firmly placed on her shoulder, as if to remind her that he was there. But he did not force her. He waited. He waited for her to realize that he wasn’t here to hurt her. Not this time.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Y/N,” he said, almost a whisper. “You won’t be alone in this.”

She rolled onto her side, allowing the warmth of the water he poured gently over her face to wash over her. Y/N closed her eyes, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. She hadn’t wanted to surrender. She hadn’t wanted to accept his presence. But in that quiet surrender, there was a fragility he couldn’t ignore.

Finally, she let out a deep sigh, her resistance breaking, and allowed herself to be taken by what he offered—a little care, a little warmth, and perhaps, just a little trust.

---

The next day, Cassius entered Y/N’s room as usual, a tray of food in his hands. But this time, he immediately noticed something different. She wasn’t curled up under her blankets as she usually was. Instead, she was sitting on the edge of her bed, her bare feet barely touching the floor. Her face was turned toward the faint light from the window, lost in thought.

She didn’t say a word when he placed the tray near her. Yet he noticed that her hands trembled slightly, as if she was gathering all her courage to resist retreating into herself.

“I brought you something to eat, my lady,” he said softly, kneeling beside the tray.

She pressed her lips together, hesitating for a moment before replying. “You’re wasting your time. I won’t make this easy for you.”

He smiled slightly, but there was no arrogance in his expression. “I don’t need you to make it easy. I am patient.”

She let out an annoyed sigh, but there was something softer in her tone—weariness mixed with a hint of resignation. “Why do you persist? I don’t want your help. I don’t want you here.”

Cassius took a spoonful of the steaming soup and held it out to her with calm determination. “You can say whatever you want, my lady. But there’s a difference between what you say and what you need.”

Y/N turned her head toward him, her brows furrowed. She couldn’t see his expression, but she could hear the firmness in his voice. It unsettled her, as if he could see through her words, through her defenses.

“I don’t want you to touch me,” she said, her voice tinged with the slightest trace of fear.

Cassius tilted his head slightly. “And I won’t. You can eat on your own. But if you don’t… then I will do it for you.”

She felt her chest tighten. He wasn’t joking. By now, she knew him well enough to understand that he always kept his promises. And though it frustrated her, a small part of her—just the smallest part—felt strangely relieved by his presence.

After a long silence, she finally reached out and took the spoon. “Fine,” she murmured, a mix of defiance and surrender in her voice. “But it’s not because I trust you.”

Cassius nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in his gaze. “I never said you had to trust me. That will come with time.”

She took a spoonful of soup, then another, in silence. He didn’t say anything, simply watching from a distance, ready to step in if she stopped. But she continued, even though every bite seemed like an immense effort.

When she finally finished, she placed the spoon down with a sigh. “Now, will you finally leave and let me be?”

Cassius stood, retrieving the tray with ease. Before stepping out of the room, he glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in an hour to take you to the bath. I suggest you don’t fight me this time, my lady.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but he was already gone, the door closing behind him.

She clenched her fists, her nails pressing lightly into her palms. He drove her mad. And yet, a strange warmth—one she didn’t understand—began to settle within her.

For the first time, she wondered if she was ready to lower her walls just a little, just to see what he would do.

---

Cassius scrutinized his own reflection in the cracked mirror of the small room he had been assigned. His features were calm, almost neutral, but deep within his eyes, shards of hatred lay buried—an old hatred, hardened by time. He had taken this position for one clear reason: to destroy the Delarives. To take back everything they had stolen from his family.

He remembered the day when everything had crumbled for the Changs. His father, a respected noble, had been dragged through the mud by a wave of accusations orchestrated by the Delarives. The land, the titles, the fortune—everything had been taken from them. His mother had succumbed to illness soon after, broken by humiliation and poverty. Cassius, still a young man at the time, had wandered in the shadows for years, nurturing his vengeance.

When he learned that Y/N Delarive lived alone, isolated in the annex, he knew his chance had finally come. She, the scorned youngest daughter, the one even her own family seemed to want to erase, was his way in. Becoming her servant was a humiliation he was willing to endure for his ultimate goal: their ruin.

Why Y/N?

Because she was their weakness.

Cassius knew that the Delarives’ reputation rested on a carefully maintained façade. A wealthy, powerful, exemplary family. But a blind, unstable daughter, treated like a shadow, could become their greatest liability. If Y/N became a public problem, if the rumors about her spread, if her very existence became an unbearable burden, the Delarives would begin to falter.

By entering her world, he intended to manipulate her, feed her despair, and use her isolation against them. He wanted them to reject her even more violently, to expose themselves to the county as the monsters they truly were. Once they were weakened, he would strike at the heart, revealing the truth about the wealth they had stolen from his family.

But as he got closer to Y/N, he discovered a reality he had not anticipated: she was not just a tool, a weapon to sharpen against them. She was a broken soul, haunted by a life of contempt and solitude.

It had been several days since he had entered her service, and each interaction unsettled him more and more. Y/N was nothing like her brothers, sisters, or father. She had none of their arrogance or cruelty. Instead, she was a wounded creature, hiding behind walls of anger and mistrust.

And yet, she fought. She fought against him, against her own weakness, against the fear that held her captive. He had seen her reject food, refuse to wash, throw objects in fits of almost childlike rage. But beyond those impulsive gestures, he also saw a woman who had learned to survive alone in a house that hated her.

He hadn’t expected his anger to clash with his humanity.

That evening, after Y/N had finally eaten for the first time without resistance, Cassius allowed himself a moment of reflection. He had not yet advanced in his plan. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to focus on his revenge, to remain cold and methodical. But a part of him, small and silent, was beginning to stir.

Was she truly like the rest of her family?

He shook his head, pushing the thought aside. Innocent or guilty, it didn’t matter—she was still a link in the chain that had destroyed his family. By becoming her servant, he had not committed to protecting her. He had committed to bringing down the Delarives.

But for now, he had to remain patient. He had to continue playing the perfect role. Earn Y/N’s trust just enough to guide her where he wanted. No matter if it meant enduring her outbursts or her insults. No matter if it meant walking the fine line between obsession and pity.

As he blew out the candle in his room, his final thoughts were of her, the "young mistress" he addressed not out of respect, but out of irony.

“I will lead you where I want, my lady,” he murmured into the darkness. “Whether you want it or not.”

---

The next morning, the sun timidly pierced through the thick curtains of the annex, casting a soft, pale light into Y/N’s room. She sat on her bed, motionless, listening intently for any sound. Cassius had not entered yet. It worried her, though she would never admit it out loud.

Since his arrival, he had been constant, present like a shadow she couldn’t dispel. And despite her efforts to push him away, he always returned, unwavering. She should have been relieved that he was late. Yet instead, a strange emptiness was growing inside her chest.

Finally, the familiar sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, and the door creaked open. Cassius entered, carrying another tray of food. As usual, his expression was calm, but his eyes quickly scanned her, as if ensuring she was safe.

“You’re late,” she snapped, her tone sharp, though her voice was weaker than usual.

He raised an eyebrow, amused by her remark. “I didn’t know you were waiting for me, my lady.”

She turned her head away, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “I wasn’t waiting. I was merely noting your lack of punctuality.”

He placed the tray near her and settled into a chair, as if this conversation was just part of their usual routine. “You’re observant today. Perhaps you’re simply in a better mood.”

Y/N frowned, irritated by his light tone. “Don’t act as if you know me. You know nothing about me.”

He remained silent for a moment, his eyes softening almost imperceptibly. “You’re right, I don’t know everything. But I observe you, and every day, I learn a little more.”

She clenched the sheets beneath her fists, his words both aggravating and unsettling her. “You’re wasting your time, Cassius. I am not like the others. I am not… normal. You can’t learn anything from me.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, his expression turning serious. “Not normal, you say? Because you’re blind? Because your family cast you aside? Is that what you believe, or what they made you believe?”

Her breath caught in her throat. His words, though spoken gently, struck her like a blade. She turned her head away, biting the inside of her cheek to hold back the tears threatening to fall.

His voice softened even more as he continued, “My lady, perhaps you don’t need me. But I need you.”

His declaration unsettled her, and she sat up slightly, her heart pounding. “You… need me? Why?”

Cassius rose from his chair, his gaze unwavering. “Because you are the key. The key to breaking free from the prison your family built around you.”

He paused, then added in a quieter tone, “And perhaps also… because I want to see what you’re capable of, Y/N.”

It was the first time he had spoken her name without the title of "my lady." She didn’t know why it affected her so much, but a strange warmth spread through her chest.

He turned away then, picking up the empty tray from the previous day, and stopped at the door. “Eat. And get ready. I’ll be back to take you outside. You’ve spent too much time locked in here.”

“Outside?” she repeated, alarmed.

He didn’t answer, closing the door behind him.

Cassius knew it was risky. Taking her beyond the annex could draw attention, and the Delarives were not the type to appreciate their "secret" being exposed. But he needed her to leave this prison. Not just for her, but for himself. He had to understand just how far he could push this strange connection forming between them.

Destroying the Delarives was still his goal, but a part of him was beginning to wonder if Y/N, despite her ties to that cursed family, deserved something else.

And that… he couldn’t afford to consider. Not yet.

But the game was changing. Slowly, but surely.

---

Cassius watched as Y/N struggled to stand. Her frail, trembling legs seemed incapable of supporting her weight. It had been months, perhaps years, since she had truly moved beyond her bed, and her body reflected it—every movement was hesitant, clumsy, almost painful to witness.

She clenched her fists, frustrated, and attempted a step. But before she could advance, her knees buckled. Cassius rushed forward, catching her in his arms before she could collapse.

“Let me go!” she growled, but her voice wavered more than it held strength.

He ignored her protest, gently setting her upright again, his hands steady on her shoulders to keep her balanced. “My lady, you are stubborn, but you can’t do everything alone.”

“I don’t need you. I can walk!”

She tried to pull away, but Cassius remained firm. His expression was calm, yet his heart pounded with an intensity he couldn’t explain. Seeing Y/N in this vulnerable state stirred a strange contradiction within him—a mix of admiration for her strength and a pain he refused to acknowledge.

Day after day, he helped her learn to walk again. Each morning, he supported her gently, his hands always ready to catch her if she fell. At first, she resisted, throwing insults and bitter words at him to make him leave. But over time, an unspoken truce settled between them.

Cassius said nothing, but he observed. He noticed the small victories in her movements—the way she managed to stand a little longer each day or the fleeting hint of a smile she refused to let linger when she succeeded in taking a step without his help.

He found himself watching her longer than he should, his gaze drawn to the determination shining on her face. This young woman, whom he had first considered nothing more than a tool in his plan for vengeance, was becoming something else. But he refused to put a name to what he was feeling.

One day, after multiple failed attempts, Y/N finally managed to walk with relative stability. Cassius decided it was time to take her outside.

“Are you ready, my lady?” he asked, adjusting a scarf around her shoulders.

Y/N hesitated, her hand brushing uncertainly against the fabric. “I’m not sure… I’ve never gone out alone before.”

“You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Those simple words, spoken with sincerity, had a calming effect on her. She nodded timidly, and he took her hand in his, guiding her out of the annex.

The outside air was crisp, filled with the songs of birds. Y/N inhaled deeply, as if rediscovering a world she had long forgotten. Cassius walked beside her, his hands firmly placed over hers to guide her along the forest paths.

“It’s different…” she murmured.

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. The air smells… more alive here. And I hear things. Birds. The wind in the trees.”

He glanced at her, fascinated. Every word she spoke revealed a curiosity she had buried under years of fear and mistrust. A strange warmth filled his chest—an emotion he didn’t want to name: pride.

But as they walked, Cassius noticed something in the distance, beyond the grove of trees. A dark figure stood among the shadows, and his instincts screamed at him to investigate.

“Stay here, my lady,” he said quickly.

“Where are you going?” Y/N asked, her voice tense.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t move.”

Before she could protest, he released her hands and disappeared into the trees.

At first, Y/N remained still, trying to calm the unease growing inside her. But soon, the very sounds of the forest that had fascinated her moments ago became threatening. The rustling leaves, the snapping branches—everything seemed to close in around her.

She reached out, searching for something solid, but the emptiness around her filled her with terror.

“Cassius!” she called out, but only the echo of her voice answered.

Panic took over. She turned in circles, her feet stumbling over roots and stones. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as fear and anger twisted inside her in an uncontrollable storm.

When Cassius finally returned, he found her curled up on the ground, her hands trembling with rage. As soon as she heard his footsteps, she lifted her head and screamed at him:

“Where were you?! You left me! You left me all alone!”

He immediately knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m here now. You’re safe, my lady.”

But she didn’t want to calm down. She weakly struck his chest over and over, her gestures fueled more by desperation than true anger. “You abandoned me… I… I waited for you. I… I never want to be alone like that again!”

Cassius gently caught her wrists, stopping her weak blows, his gaze filled with guilt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I won’t leave you alone again.”

At last, she stilled, her hands relaxing in his. But instead of pulling away, she clung to his clothes, her fingers gripping his tunic with desperate force.

“Promise me,” she whispered.

“I promise, my lady,” he answered softly.

For the first time, Cassius felt a weight settle in his chest. He knew that this promise, as simple as it seemed, was far more than just words. It was a line he had just crossed, a barrier he could no longer ignore.

---

The wind had picked up, rustling the curtains of the annex. Cassius sat near the window, his mind occupied with his plan. Since his arrival, he had patiently studied the weaknesses of the Delarive family. He knew their habits, their secrets, and their vulnerabilities. But what troubled him most was Y/N.

Since that promise in the forest, something within him had changed. She was no longer just a means to an end. He felt a responsibility toward her—an inexplicable desire to protect her. A contradiction that tore at him more and more each day.

Yet, he never forgot why he was there. Today, he had to move forward with his plan. He had not yet decided how to use Y/N against her family, but an opportunity presented itself sooner than expected.

That morning, as he helped Y/N prepare for her daily walk, the sound of carriage wheels echoed outside. Y/N froze, listening intently.

"What is that?" she asked warily.

Cassius glanced out the window and saw two figures stepping down from the carriage. A man and a woman, elegantly dressed, approached the annex. He recognized them immediately: Y/N’s older brother, Charles, and her younger sister, Adeline.

"Your family," he answered calmly.

Y/N paled, her fingers clutching nervously at the fabric of her dress. "Why are they here? They never come… unless…"

Cassius placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Whatever their intentions, I am here. Stay calm, my lady."

She nodded, but her entire body trembled.

A few minutes later, Charles and Adeline entered the annex, their imposing presence filling the small space. Charles, tall and austere, regarded Y/N with a gaze full of contempt, while Adeline wore a smug smile, lazily flicking her fan through the air.

"Well, Y/N," Charles drawled sarcastically. "You’re as charming as ever. Solitude seems to suit you."

Adeline let out a crystalline laugh. "You could at least make an effort to look presentable. Even in such a pitiful state, you could have a shred of dignity."

Y/N remained silent, her hands trembling slightly. Cassius, standing behind her, clenched his fists. He knew he couldn’t openly interfere, but watching Y/N endure such humiliation ignited a fury within him that was hard to suppress.

"What do you want?" Y/N asked in a hoarse voice.

Charles stepped forward, a predatory smirk on his lips. "What do we want? Come now, Y/N, we’re simply here to check on you. After all, you are our dear sister."

Adeline added with false sweetness, "We were worried. You know, rumors in the county are getting out of hand. Some people are saying… terrible things. You should be careful."

Y/N felt her heart grow heavy. She knew exactly what they meant. This was no visit of concern. They were here to ensure she remained in her place—out of sight, away from the power they wielded.

Seeing Y/N crumble under their verbal assaults, Cassius decided to step in. He moved forward slightly, placing himself between her and her tormentors.

"May I offer you something to drink, sir, madam?" he asked politely, his tone measured, but his eyes betraying a cold determination.

Charles eyed him with disdain. "And who are you?"

"Cassius, my lady’s personal servant," he replied, deliberately emphasizing the title.

Adeline raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Personal? Why on earth would she need a personal servant? She does nothing but exist."

Cassius forced a smile. "Precisely. It is my duty to ensure she has everything she needs, despite… the circumstances."

Charles narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering across his face. "You seem overly zealous for someone of your station."

"I am merely fulfilling my duty, sir," Cassius said with a practiced bow.

During the brief exchange, he felt Y/N subtly clutch at his sleeve, seeking silent support. That small gesture only strengthened his resolve.

When Charles and Adeline finally left, Cassius remained by the window, watching the carriage disappear down the path. He knew they would return. Their arrogance and need for control would not allow them to ignore Y/N for long.

But that played to his advantage. The more they interfered, the more opportunities he had to sow discord.

Y/N, meanwhile, looked exhausted, curled up in the chair. "Why… why didn’t you chase them away?" she murmured.

Cassius knelt beside her, placing a hand over hers. "Because they must not suspect that you have regained any strength, however small. Letting them believe they still hold control is our greatest weapon."

She lifted her head, her unseeing eyes fixed on a point beyond him. "You say ‘our.’ Why are you doing this for me?"

He hesitated for a moment before answering softly, "Because you deserve better than them. And because sometimes, one must wait for the right moment to strike."

She didn’t fully grasp the deeper meaning behind his words, but something in his voice soothed her.

Cassius, however, knew that every word he spoke was another step forward in his strategy. For now, he played the role of the protector. But soon, he would turn their own weapons against them, and the Delarives would regret stealing what rightfully belonged to his family.

---

Night had fallen, wrapping the annex in a heavy silence. Cassius sat at his desk in the small room he occupied near Y/N’s chamber, studying a map of the estate he had acquired during one of his incursions into the main house. Every secret passage, every hiding place of the Delarive family was now etched into his mind.

Between his fingers, he held a golden brooch adorned with a ruby—a remnant of his family’s former wealth. The Delarives had once owned it, but he had reclaimed it during a visit to the manor’s library. A small victory among the many he planned to achieve.

For Cassius, the visit from Charles and Adeline had confirmed one thing: their contempt for Y/N was their Achilles’ heel. Their arrogance, their certainty that she posed no threat, would be the very weakness through which he would infiltrate and destroy them.

The next day, Cassius decided to initiate the first phase of his plan: strengthening Y/N.

He knew she would never be a willing ally. Her distrust and isolation made her wild and unpredictable. But he had observed, in her rare moments of calm, a spark of intelligence and strength that he could use to his advantage.

At dawn, he entered her room, carrying a plate of food in one hand and a wooden staff in the other.

“Here again to force me to eat?” Y/N grumbled, turning her head toward the door.

Cassius set the plate on the table. “My lady, you need strength. Not just to walk, but to resist those who wish to harm you.”

She narrowed her eyes, wary. “What do you mean?”

He sat calmly on a chair across from her. “Your brother and sister will return. And they won’t come just to talk. You must be ready to defend yourself.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “You want me, a blind woman, to defend myself against them? What a joke.”

“Blindness is not a weakness,” he replied gently. “Your other senses are sharper than you think. And with a little training, you could surprise anyone.”

Y/N remained silent, torn between rejecting his words and accepting them. She had spent her whole life as a victim, but a part of her longed to be something more.

“If I refuse, you’ll force me, won’t you?” she murmured.

Cassius gave the faintest of smiles. “You’re starting to understand me.”

He began with simple exercises. He had her hold the staff, helping her get familiar with its weight and texture. Then, he guided her through basic movements, teaching her to strike in different directions using only sound as her guide.

“Listen,” he said with every lesson. “Every sound tells a story. The rustle of fabric, the creak of wood underfoot… they tell you where your opponent is.”

At first, Y/N was hesitant, often stumbling or striking into empty air. But Cassius was patient. Every correction was gentle, every encouragement sincere.

Over time, she began to improve. Her stance grew steadier, her movements more precise.

One afternoon, he decided to test her outside. He led her to the garden near the annex, a place where she could hear the birds and smell the flowers.

“We’re going to play a game,” he announced. “I’ll walk around you, and you have to find me. Use your ears, your instinct.”

She frowned. “This is ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he replied with a light laugh. “But try anyway.”

He stepped away, moving in a slow circle around her, his footsteps deliberately light. Y/N remained still, focused. Then, suddenly, she lifted the staff and struck in his direction.

He dodged swiftly, but a proud smile lit up his face. “Well done, my lady. You found me.”

Y/N lowered the staff, a mix of surprise and pride crossing her features. “That was just luck.”

“Perhaps. But it’s a start.”

---

Dawn cast a pale light over the annex when Cassius was awakened by urgent knocks at the door. A servant, sent from the main house, delivered news that made a cold smile form on his lips, despite the grave tone in which it was spoken.

“An emergency meeting will be held tonight in the grand salon. Master Charles and Miss Adeline have summoned important guests from the county. It seems to be a pressing matter concerning the family.”

Cassius nodded slowly, masking his excitement behind a veil of calm. He could already guess what was happening. Something unexpected must have threatened the Delarives—something they were desperate to silence.

By discreetly listening to the servants’ conversations and piecing together clues, Cassius quickly understood. An anonymous letter had been sent to several county officials, accusing the Delarives of amassing their wealth through illicit means, by unlawfully seizing the assets of a fallen noble family.

It was the kind of rumor that could destroy a reputation, especially in a society where family honor was everything. Cassius knew this was the moment he had been waiting for all these years. If the rumor gained traction, it would bring the Delarives to their knees, shattering both their fortune and their status.

But there was a shadow over his impending triumph. A shadow that bore the name of Y/N.

Since that night in the forest, Y/N had become slightly more open. She spoke more, though her words still carried traces of distrust. She had started to smile again—a rare, fragile, yet sincere smile. Cassius couldn’t help but notice the unsteady beat of his heart whenever she laughed softly, whenever she found a fleeting moment of peace.

As he prepared for the next steps in his revenge, he caught himself thinking of her. Not in terms of how she could be useful to him, but of what would become of her afterward.

If the Delarive family fell, Y/N would be the first to suffer. Isolated, despised by all, she would become an easy target for the rest of the county. Worse still, she could be cast out into the streets, unable to survive on her own because of her blindness.

The thought haunted him, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

On the night of the meeting, Cassius slipped silently through the corridors of the main house. He had carefully planned his next move. While the county officials gathered in the grand salon, he used the chaos to sneak into Charles’ office, stealing incriminating documents—irrefutable proof of embezzlement and illegal acquisitions.

With these documents, he could ignite a scandal so massive that the Delarives would never recover.

But as he made his way back to the annex, his steps slowed. Each page in his hands was a step closer to his vengeance, but also a sentence for Y/N.

She was waiting for him in the sitting room, seated in her favorite chair. She turned her head slightly at the sound of his footsteps.

“You’re late,” she murmured.

Cassius placed the documents gently on the table before stepping toward her. “Important matters.”

She furrowed her brows slightly. “You’re always busy. Sometimes, I feel like you do so many things I don’t understand.”

He knelt before her, taking her hands in his. “What if I told you that I do all of this for you?”

She pulled her hands away abruptly, instinctive distrust flashing across her face. “Why would you do that? I’m nothing. A blind girl that everyone despises.”

“You are far more than that, Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying a warmth he hadn’t intended.

She remained silent, troubled by the sincerity in his tone.

Later, alone in his room, Cassius stared at the documents spread across his desk. The plan he had built for years was nearly complete. All he had to do was send the evidence to the right people, and the Delarives would be ruined.

But one question echoed in his mind: what would happen to Y/N afterward?

He could already see the look on her face when she learned the truth. The contempt she would feel for him, the pain of being betrayed by the only person she had begun to trust.

For the first time since his quest for revenge had begun, Cassius hesitated. Not because he doubted his plan, but because his heart—one he had believed to be hardened—was starting to stir.

He spent the night weighing his options. Part of him wanted to move forward without looking back, to fulfill the vow he had made to his family. But another part—the one that remembered Y/N’s laughter, the way her hand had clung to his in the forest—refused to sacrifice her for his hatred.

By dawn, Cassius knew he had to make a choice. Either he completed his revenge, even if it meant losing Y/N forever, or he found a way to save her—even if it meant abandoning his plan.

He stood, his dark eyes fixed on the horizon.

For the first time, he felt lost.

His heart and his reason were at war, and he did not yet know which would prevail.

---

The morning was cold, but a light breeze rustled the leaves of the trees surrounding the annex. The sky was clear, scattered with wisps of clouds, and everything felt calm, almost unreal. Yet, a tension lingered in the air, a fragile balance between what Cassius had planned and Y/N’s desires—desires he couldn’t quite understand. That morning, he watched her prepare with an energy he hadn’t seen in a long time.

She insisted on going outside.

She, who usually spent her days indoors, hiding beneath blankets or behind invisible walls only her eyes could perceive, suddenly seemed full of life. There was no apparent reason for this drastic change. Cassius observed her, perplexed, as he helped her put on warm clothes—a thick wool coat, a scarf around her neck, gloves. He protected her as he always did, yet something about her seemed to slip beyond his understanding. She seemed... almost happy.

"You don’t have to follow me today," she said abruptly as he adjusted her scarf. Her words were almost detached, as if she was trying to push him away. But in her tone, there was also a note of softness, almost a challenge. She knew he would follow her, no matter what she said.

Cassius didn’t respond immediately. He was used to this now. Over the past few weeks, she had become more and more unpredictable. He hadn’t planned for that, but he didn’t mind. He followed her in silence, his thoughts still troubled by his own inner conflicts. He couldn’t understand why he felt so torn. Why did this simple walk feel so heavy to him?

They walked together, the icy air biting at their faces, but there was no conversation. Y/N’s steps were a little hesitant, still uncertain, but steadier than before. A faint smile tugged at Cassius’s lips as he watched her so determined. He accompanied her without question, simply guiding her when needed.

Then, suddenly, in a moment of inattention, Y/N let go of his hand. He felt his heart stop for an instant, a shiver of panic running through him. She moved quickly toward a tree a few steps away.

"Y/N!" he called, but it was too late. She was already climbing.

In a matter of seconds, she pulled herself onto the lowest branch, and with astonishing grace, climbed higher, smiling as if the whole world was nothing but a playground.

Cassius froze, caught between shock and concern. His mind raced, imagining hundreds of scenarios where she could fall, where she could get hurt. But when he lifted his gaze to her, he saw something unexpected—she was laughing. Laughing! She laughed like a child, completely oblivious to the danger she had just created.

There she was, perched at a height he didn’t consider safe, and her eyes, though unable to see the world around her, shone with light and freedom. She smiled, the wind playing with her hair, and for a fraction of a second, she seemed... alive in a way he had never imagined.

He felt lost.

This wasn’t the fragile girl he had grown used to, the one who stayed in bed, shielding herself from the world. No, this was a different Y/N—stronger, more defiant. She was there, challenging the height, challenging everything he thought he knew about her.

"Do you need a hand?" he called up to her, a hint of worry in his voice despite the smile he tried to hide.

She laughed even louder, the sound ringing through the crisp air. "Are you really trying to stop me from having fun?" she teased, a playfulness in her voice he had never heard before.

He stepped cautiously closer to the tree, his eyes never leaving her movements, ready to catch her if necessary.

He could have ordered her to come down, scolded her for taking such a reckless risk, but instead, he just watched her, an unfamiliar sense of admiration creeping into his chest.

She looked... free.

And yet, with every smile she gave him, with every laugh that echoed in the air, he realized he still didn’t understand.

How could he love this girl while knowing he was about to destroy everything she had? Knowing that, inevitably, he would lose her?

Suddenly, he became aware that he was standing there, beneath the tree, hesitating—trapped in an internal conflict he could no longer ignore.

On one side, there was the plan, the revenge he had nurtured for years.

On the other, there was her—this elusive girl who had appeared like a ray of light in his dark world.

What should he do?

She finally climbed down, landing gracefully on the ground like a cat. When she turned to face him, her smile faded slightly. "Do you want to go back?" she asked softly, suddenly sounding less carefree, as if, somehow, she knew something had changed between them.

Cassius looked at her, a storm of thoughts swirling in his mind.

But only one question remained, firmly rooted in his heart:

What would happen to her after all of this?

---

Cassius spent his days in a constant state of inner turmoil, torn between his quest for revenge and the growing shadow of his feelings for Y/N. Every gesture, every word from the young woman seemed to unsettle him, pushing him to doubt his intentions. It was no longer just a matter of justice to him; it had become a question of emotional survival. The plan he had put in place, the one he had meticulously crafted, no longer made sense.

The compromising documents, the revenge he had envisioned—all of it was gradually falling apart in the face of what he felt for her. How could he destroy the family that had mistreated him while saving Y/N from the same fate he had in store for her? How could he protect her while pursuing his own quest for justice? Every time he asked himself this question, the answer remained vague, elusive.

He could no longer look at her without thinking about what he would inflict on her. And yet, he was so drawn to her, to her fragility, but also to her unexpected strength. She had something purely human about her, an inner beauty he hadn’t seen coming, and it struck him with every glance.

But everything changed one morning.

That morning, he realized he could no longer ignore the signs. Y/N, who had usually been in better health than in recent days, suddenly seemed exhausted, almost lifeless. She wasn’t getting up like she usually did, and when he joined her in the small room where she spent most of her time, he noticed her pale complexion. Her cheeks, usually rosy, were now a grayish tint, almost translucent.

"Y/N?" he called gently as he approached.

She barely lifted her head, her eyes half-closed, and her breathing seemed heavier than usual. She touched her temple, and a shiver ran through her body.

"I… I’m just a little tired…" she murmured, but her voice was weak, trembling.

Cassius, although used to keeping a certain distance, couldn’t hold back a shiver of concern. He knelt beside her, a strange sensation of vulnerability overwhelming him. He had never seen Y/N in such a state. The reality of her fragility, of her dependence on him, hit him like a punch in the stomach.

He gently lifted her to carry her to her bed, her body trembling with fever.

As the day wore on, the situation quickly deteriorated. Y/N had developed a high fever, her body shaking beneath the covers as she was completely disoriented, almost lost. She could no longer speak coherently, and her arms frantically tried to cling to him, like an anchor.

She kept repeating incoherent words, her voice broken by fever. "Don’t leave me… I’m scared…"

Cassius felt a dull pain invade his chest. This couldn’t be happening, not after everything he had planned. Not after everything he had built. Why the hell did he feel so powerless? He had never considered that his own plan for revenge could one day make him feel so vulnerable. It wasn’t part of the calculations.

He reached into his emergency bag and prepared warm water for a compress. His hands trembled slightly. As he helped cool her down, he felt her burning skin, struggling against the intense heat that seemed to consume her from the inside. She clung to him tighter, unable to find comfort elsewhere.

"I’m here," he whispered to her, although the words seemed insignificant in the face of the pain he saw in her eyes. "I won’t leave you."

She closed her eyes, folding into him, as if his mere presence was the only thing that could reassure her.

He knew he needed to find a doctor. But at that moment, nothing mattered more to him than staying by her side.

As he kept vigil over her, he found himself looking at her more intensely. She was no longer just the girl he had known in the coldness of the annex, nor even the object of his revenge. She was a young woman, lost and fragile, but also incredibly alive, who had pulled him into a whirlwind of emotions and doubts he no longer knew how to handle. He had tried to ignore her, to push her away, but he had never been able to.

And there, in that room, holding her against him, feeling the heat of her burning body, he finally understood what he needed to do.

He couldn’t let her die.

Not now, not ever.

But how could he save Y/N while destroying his family? How could he fix everything he had broken in her without being the one who had destroyed her? This dilemma remained as heavy as a burden he could no longer bear alone.

He looked at Y/N, her face, usually so closed off, now peaceful in sleep, her features softened by the fever. She had given him a trust he hadn’t asked for, but that he hadn’t known how to refuse.

She was no longer an instrument of vengeance, no longer just a target. She had become… his responsibility.

And for the first time, Cassius wondered if he needed her as much as she needed him.

---

The morning rose peacefully over the annex, a soft light filtering through the still-closed curtains. Y/N's fever had slightly subsided through the night, though it was still present. She was still sleeping, her pale face marked by exhaustion, but a sense of tranquility had replaced the restlessness of the previous day. Cassius, still by her side, silently observed the scene, his thoughts in turmoil.

He finally stood up to approach her, taking a moment to appreciate the simplicity of the moment. The weight of revenge, his relentless plan, suddenly seemed so distant, almost blurry. In this confined space, he no longer saw Y/N as the target of a complex scheme. No, he saw only a fragile, vulnerable young woman, dependent on him in a way he never could have imagined.

Suddenly, a slight movement. Y/N shifted under the covers, her hands trembling before reaching out slowly, with surprising gentleness. She extended her fingers as though trying to identify something in the darkness of the room. Her fingers slid slowly over Cassius's face, first on his cheek, then on his forehead, his eyes, exploring his face as if it were a mysterious puzzle she was trying to solve. She was blind, of course, but her movements were so filled with delicacy, with an almost innocent curiosity.

"Is it you?" Her voice was broken, but there was no aggression in her words. Just a softness, almost fragile, as though she sought the truth in a world she couldn’t see.

Cassius, caught off guard, remained still. He hadn't imagined that she would act this way, that in this state of weakness, she would allow herself to touch his face with such ease. It was a tender gesture, and it made a lump form in his throat. Part of him wanted to push her away, remind her of the reasons he was there. But another side of him, deeper, simply wanted to stay there, under her fingers, to be touched like an ordinary man, without the weight of revenge on his shoulders.

She finally turned away, as if she had found her answer, but her trembling fingers lingered for a moment, suspended in the air, before lowering back down onto the sheet.

"You're not what I thought," she murmured more softly, as if in realization.

A shockwave ran through Cassius. She wasn’t just a victim in his plan, not a puppet for his revenge. She was more than that. He wasn’t ready for this recognition, this return from Y/N. His own feelings seemed to change, realigning with each moment he spent by her side. The plan he had put together so carefully, every detail designed to destroy her family, suddenly became difficult to carry out. The image of Y/N blurred in his mind.

But he didn’t have time to lose himself in his thoughts. An unexpected visit arrived in the afternoon.

In the neighboring room, a messenger from the empire came to bring him urgent news. It was the man with whom he had long formed ties in the shadows, an influential figure in the empire who shared his ambitions. After exchanging a few words, the man presented an audacious proposal: an opportunity to take possession of Y/N's family fortune after their fall. This fortune, once belonging to his family, would now be in his hands, and all he had to do was continue his revenge, ensuring her family’s destruction.

Cassius felt a cold chill take over him, but it wasn’t because of the approaching winter. It was the heavy realization that flooded him. This proposal reeked of power, of revenge, but it was also poison. Every piece of the puzzle seemed to fit perfectly. The revenge he had built, as solid as a house of cards, seemed ready to collapse at any moment. But the question remained: would he be able to see it through?

He didn’t have time to respond immediately. His thoughts were spinning too fast, a mix of anger and confusion.

In the back of his mind, he knew what he had to do. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the chance to reclaim what he had lost. But deep in his heart, something more profound tormented him.

When he returned to Y/N’s room, he found her sleeping, her breathing calmer, but her fever hadn’t fully gone. Her face seemed more peaceful, without the frantic restlessness of the previous day. A faint smile formed on her lips as she slept, and a painful thought brushed Cassius’s mind.

How could he continue to treat her as a mere victim of his plan, when she was showing him a trust he hadn’t anticipated? He felt torn. He didn’t want to be that cold monster who would destroy her family, but he had invested too much time in this revenge to erase it all. And now that Y/N was closer to him, more human, he realized he didn’t know if revenge was still the only thing he truly desired.

Suddenly, he felt trapped. He had the opportunity to annihilate Y/N's family and seize a vast fortune, but at what cost? And what would happen to Y/N in all of this? The mere thought of seeing her destroyed because of his own desire for revenge put him in a state of deep confusion. His emotions were at war, and he no longer had any certainty about the path ahead.

He sat down beside the bed, looking at her deeply, as though it were the last time he could truly see her without the weight of his vengeance. But, deep down, he knew the time for decisions was near. The question now was simple: would he be able to sacrifice everything for a different future? A future with her, or a future where he would be alone with his revenge?

But for now, all that mattered was Y/N’s fever. He would watch over her, again and again, without knowing what the future held.

---

The morning light barely filtered through the windows when Cassius rose, his eyes fixed on Y/N's face. She was still asleep, her features calm as the fever that had gripped her slowly began to fade. Yet, in the silence of the room, he could feel the weight of his own thoughts, the vise tightening around his heart and mind. He no longer had room for indecision.

The messenger, the influential man from the empire, had handed him the opportunity he had long dreamed of. Revenge was within reach. Y/N's family, the family that had brought about his downfall, would soon be shattered, and the fortune he sought would fall into his hands. A brand-new empire to build from the ashes of those who had destroyed him. In his mind, it was a perfect plan. He had crafted it with precision, every move calculated, every detail considered.

But something had changed, something subtle yet powerful. It was the image of Y/N, fragile, vulnerable, caught between fear and trust. She, despite her wounds, her anger, and her mistrust, had allowed him to get close. She, in her greatest weakness, had reached out to him. She, despite her blindness, seemed to see something in him that he didn’t understand, but that deep in his heart, had transformed him.

Days passed, and each moment spent by her side seemed to reshape his view of the world. He had sworn that nothing, no one, would stop him in his pursuit of revenge. But now, he found himself at a crossroads. Revenge… or Y/N.

He turned toward her, his eyes fixed on the fragile figure lying in her bed. He remembered the way she had touched him, trying to understand the mystery of his face, as if she believed he was anything but what he appeared to be. That gesture had marked him more than he had ever imagined. An indelible memory. A doubt. A conflict.

A long sigh escaped his lips as he stood. His mind fought against itself, torn between the calculated coldness of his revenge and the strange warmth that seemed to rise within him for Y/N. He could no longer pretend that all of this was just about a plan. His feelings were now intertwined in a complex and painful web.

He approached Y/N, kneeling beside the bed. He looked at her for a moment, hesitating. Then, he gently reached out toward her forehead, touching her fevered skin. He remembered the warmth of her fingers when she had brushed his face, the strange connection that had formed with each encounter, each word exchanged. The tenderness he had felt in that sudden touch… He couldn’t ignore it. She wasn’t like the others, but not in the way he had once thought. She wasn’t weak. She was just… human.

"I will protect you," he murmured, almost like a vow.

The decision, finally, was taking shape. Cassius knew what he had to do. He could no longer manipulate Y/N. He could no longer view her as a mere pawn in his game. He had seen her, listened to her, and now he understood her more than he ever felt capable of. It was her family he wanted to destroy, not her. And if that meant changing his plans, taking reckless risks to help her, then he was ready to do it.

It wasn’t revenge that called to him now. It was her. Y/N. The young woman he had come to know, who, despite all she had endured, possessed a strength he never would have believed could exist within her.

He stood up, his gaze resolute. The outside world would take care of its own cruelties. But Y/N, she deserved something different. And for the first time since he had entered her life, Cassius felt he was making a decision for himself. Not for his family, nor for his past. But for her.

He leaned over her again, this time with gentleness, and caressed her cheek. The moment had come.

"I will save you, Y/N," he said more firmly. "I will save what I can save."

He had made his decision. Everything was now clear. His thoughts were untangling, and the horizon before him seemed as uncertain as it was promising. Revenge, wealth—none of it mattered anymore. What he wanted now was to protect her.

And to do that, he knew his allies in the empire, those who had supported his machinations, would soon be in conflict with him. But he was ready. The man who had designed such a cold, precise plan was now being carried away by another feeling, one more human, more pure.

The coming days would be crucial. The lines between love, loyalty, and revenge would likely blur. But Cassius was no longer afraid to face that truth. He would save Y/N. No matter the cost.

---

The nights stretched into a litany of reflections and torment. Each minute, each moment spent with Y/N slowly broke down the walls of his certainties. Cassius had sworn, multiple times, not to let his feelings interfere with his revenge. He had told himself that everything he was doing was to right the wrong done to his family, to take back what life had stolen from him. But with every glance he cast at Y/N, every time he saw her in her innocence, in her vulnerability, he felt something he had not anticipated.

He had not seen this coming. He had not understood the subtlety of the bond that had formed between them, slowly but surely. His emotions had become a whirlwind, his thoughts in perpetual battle. He had first seen her as an opportunity, a mere means to an end, but gradually, she had become more than that to him. A presence that occupied his mind far more than he would have liked.

He had watched her closely, the way she had clung to him during her illness, that fragile trust that slipped into her gestures, her words, her gaze. She had opened a door to him that he had never wanted to cross. The touch of her hands, the tenderness she had shown despite her blindness and pain… All of this had left indelible marks on his heart.

One evening, as he stood by the window, watching the glow of the moon reflecting off the calm surface of the nearby river, Cassius realized the truth. It was a raw revelation, without embellishments. He had fallen in love with her. He had tried to ignore it, to push the idea away, to convince himself it was just a distraction, a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of his revenge. But it was no longer possible.

The smile that formed on his lips was both sweet and bitter. He had lost himself, and he knew it. But strangely, this realization was not a source of suffering, as he had believed it would be. No, on the contrary. It brought a certain lightness to his heart, as if, somehow, he had found a little clarity amidst all the chaos.

He was no longer the same man. The revenge he had carried for years had dulled under the weight of his feelings for her. But the time had not yet come to abandon everything, not just yet.

A few days after this realization, an unexpected call broke the silence. It was a message from one of his connections in the empire, a powerful figure who reminded him of the offer he had received. The opportunity to carry out his revenge, to ruin Y/N's family once and for all, was within reach. It was only a matter of time.

And then, the unthinkable happened: Cassius found himself facing reality, torn between two worlds. The revenge that had brought him this far, and Y/N, the love he had discovered in her.

In the end, he knew what he had to do. Revenge could no longer be the only thing that mattered. But he couldn’t ignore what he had started either. He had not yet finished what he had begun. It was a commitment he had made to himself, and he could not go back, even if his heart screamed at him to flee with her, to abandon everything.

He woke up early one morning after making his decision. Y/N was sleeping deeply, and even though she was still weak, he knew she would wake up soon. He looked at her one last time, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. He approached the bed, gazed at her tenderly, and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"I will return," he murmured, almost like a vow, a promise to himself more than to her.

Then, silently, he left the annex, taking the path that would lead him away from her, toward the place where his revenge still awaited to be completed. Every step he took was heavy, every decision seemed to wrap around him like an invisible rope.

However, in his heart, a small flame burned, a spark of hope he could not ignore. Y/N, despite everything, had changed his world. He didn’t yet know how or when, but he knew he would return to her. The revenge would be finished, but there was a future to rebuild. A future where, perhaps, by her side, he would finally find peace.

The wind was blowing strongly that morning, carrying away a part of his certainties. But something new, something truer than revenge, was growing inside him. And deep down, he knew it was that love he had to protect, far more than anything else.

---

The days passed with an almost unbearable slowness. Cassius had carried out his revenge with the precision of a strategist, each move carefully calculated, every trap set with ruthless mastery. He had used his allies in the empire to orchestrate the fall of Y/N’s family, acting in the shadows, manipulating the weaknesses of those who had stripped his family of their lands and titles. Schemes, rumors, false testimonies… everything was put in place to dismantle what had been taken from his family and return it to his own bloodline.

Y/N knew nothing of what was happening. She was still weak, still recovering from the fever that had shaken her, and Cassius continued to protect her, keeping her away from the dangers without her noticing. He had never wanted her to suffer any more because of his past. But he, himself, immersed in this world of manipulation and strategy, had lost all sense of direction. The revenge had been carried out. The titles, the lands, the fortune were now his.

When the final blow was struck, when the judges, corrupted and influenced by his maneuvers, brought down Y/N’s family, he felt neither satisfaction nor relief. On the contrary, a heavy weight settled on his shoulders. Everything he had accomplished, everything he had sought to obtain suddenly seemed trivial in his eyes. He stood at the top, the fortune he had long desired within reach, but he felt more lost than ever.

He went to the great hall where the new titles and documents were placed before him, signed, sealed, official. The land of his ancestors, the wealth, it was all there, in his hands. But when his gaze dulled on the paper, there was only one thought that occupied his mind: Y/N.

His gaze turned toward the annex. The place that had been his refuge, and hers, away from the tumult of the world. There, amidst the riches and conquests of his inheritance, he knew he would only find peace when he returned to her, to the one person who had made him doubt everything he had believed.

A storm wind blew within him. He had lost everything for his revenge… except her.

He hurried back to the annex, his heart pounding. When his eyes finally landed on her, lying there in her bed, pale but calm, he felt as though his entire previous life had been nothing but a blurry dream, a nightmare in which he had lost himself. He had won, he had regained what was rightfully his, but the emptiness he felt had nothing to do with the revenge completed.

He sat by Y/N’s side, observing her for a long time, as though it was the first time he had truly seen her. She didn’t understand what was happening, nor what he had accomplished. But he knew that he had sacrificed everything for this revenge. And yet, this victory meant nothing without her.

He leaned over her, gently brushing her hair, and whispered, "I can’t abandon you."

He knew that his actions would make people talk. His former allies, his family members, would all oppose him, oppose this decision. He risked finding himself alone, without support, without allies, but he didn’t care. Titles, wealth, none of that mattered anymore. What he desired now was his place by her side, her protection, and her love.

A great upheaval was taking place in the domain, rumors spreading at lightning speed. The former servants of Y/N’s family, those who had been left behind, destabilized by the fall of their house, began to regroup to contest the new division of assets. Family members, furious and disgusted by Cassius’s rise to power, no longer kept their distance. The old world was collapsing, and a new one was rising, with Cassius and Y/N at the center of it all.

Messengers came, letters arrived. But all of this seemed so distant, so insignificant compared to what truly mattered. The outside world could get lost in its power struggles. He no longer had a reason to care about that. Y/N’s eyes, those eyes that could no longer see but seemed to see beyond appearances, were now all that mattered.

"I’m going to keep you close to me, no matter what happens," he said, his voice trembling, but firm.

And so, Cassius made his decision, with no turning back possible. He stood up in the room, the official documents of his inheritance in hand, and turned one last time toward the door. The outside world awaited him. But for the first time, he knew exactly where he had to go. Where Y/N was.

He turned away from the imposing estate, from the wealth that was now his, and went to find the one he had learned to love despite himself. It didn’t matter that the rumors, conflicts, and the empire’s stakes fought to take his place. He had found his one true treasure.

Y/N. And he was going to protect her, at all costs.

---

The path to the annex had never seemed so long to Cassius. Every step felt like it was bringing him closer to his judgment, to that moment he had feared since leaving Y/N to complete his revenge. His victory was bitter, and the fear of facing the consequences of his choices weighed heavily on his heart. He didn’t know what he would say or how she would react. All he knew was that he could no longer stay away from her.

When he crossed the threshold of the annex, silence greeted him. The house seemed frozen in time, as if his absence had halted the world. He climbed the stairs leading to Y/N’s room, his trembling hand resting on the railing. He hesitated in front of the door, taking a deep breath before entering. He found her there, sitting on the bed, her face turned toward the open window, as if she could feel the wind to compensate for her lack of sight.

Y/N didn’t need to see him to know he was there. As soon as she had heard the sound of his footsteps in the house, her heart had tightened. A quiet rage filled her, mixed with a sadness she didn’t know how to express. When he finally entered the room, she didn’t give him the chance to speak. She grabbed an object from her table—a metal box—and threw it with all her might in his direction. The impact was brutal, hitting him squarely in the head. Cassius staggered, but didn’t retreat.

Silence fell again in the room, heavy and suffocating. Cassius, his lips pressed together, raised a hand to his temple where a thin line of blood began to trickle. He didn’t move, standing there, just a few steps away from the woman he had betrayed.

"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice trembling but calm. It wasn’t the cry of an angry woman, but the painful question of someone who had been hurt to the core.

"Y/N..." he whispered, but she raised a hand to stop him.

"Don’t say anything. I don’t want to hear your excuses or explanations. I don’t want you near me, nor do I want you to try to touch me." Her voice was cold, but Cassius could hear the crack in every word, the mixture of emotions she was holding in with a force he could barely comprehend.

He took a step forward, but she instinctively pulled away, moving further from him. The tears she had tried to hold back finally welled up at the corners of her eyes. She turned her head toward him, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped the bed sheets.

"Do you know what I thought of you?" she said, her voice almost broken but strangely composed. "I thought you would be different. That you would be the person I’ve waited for my whole life. The one who would come into my cold, empty world and show me I was wrong. That the world wasn’t just filled with cruelty and lies. But all you’ve done is confirm what I already knew. I was wrong to trust you."

Cassius felt his heart shatter at her words. She was there, vulnerable, yet so strong in her pain. He would have preferred for her to hit him, to scream, to unleash her anger on him. But this calm resignation, these words full of disappointment, were a thousand times worse.

"Y/N, I..." He stopped, searching for the right words. But there were none. Nothing could erase what he had done, nothing could repair this betrayal.

She turned away, her shoulders shaking slightly as she tried to hold back her sobs. "I’ve never expected anything from anyone. Since I was a child, I learned that people are only there to take. And you, you were no different. You came here, and you took what you liked. You took my trust, you took my safety, and now, what do you want? For me to forgive you? For me to let you break me again?"

He took a step closer, despite her silent command, kneeling in front of her. "I’m sorry, Y/N," he murmured, his voice full of sincerity. "I’m sorry for everything. For using you, for leaving you in the dark. But believe me, I never wanted to hurt you. What I did… it was for my family, to right a wrong. But I didn’t know it would cost me you. That it would cost me your heart."

She didn’t respond, but her hands tightened even more around the sheets.

"I can’t change what I’ve done," he continued. "But I can choose what I do now. And all I want is to be by your side. No matter what it costs, no matter how long it takes. I love you, Y/N. And I won’t leave anymore."

A heavy silence followed his words. Y/N didn’t move, her tears continuing to fall silently. Cassius stayed there, kneeling, waiting for her to speak, for her to hit him, for her to reject him. But nothing came.

"You can stay," she murmured finally, her voice barely audible. "But don’t think I’m going to forgive you so easily."

Cassius nodded, grateful for that small chance. He knew that regaining her trust would take time, perhaps an eternity. But he was willing to do whatever it took for her. To fix what he had broken.

And in that fragile moment, a small spark of hope was born, lighting up a future they still had to build, step by step.

---

After their emotional confrontation, Cassius decided it was time to offer Y/N an environment more suited to her needs. He brought her back to the main estate, a vast manor surrounded by lush gardens, where she could benefit from all the comfort, care, and attention she deserved.

Aware that the current staff might be connected to past allegiances and eager to create a fresh start for the two of them, Cassius made the radical decision to dismiss all the employees of the estate. He then recruited a new team, carefully chosen for their discretion and dedication, to ensure impeccable service for Y/N.

The days that followed were marked by Cassius's constant efforts to seek forgiveness. Despite his new responsibilities as the master of the estate and manager of the family’s assets, he dedicated every free moment to Y/N. He accompanied her on walks through the gardens, describing in detail the colors of the flowers and the layout of the paths to make up for her blindness. He read books aloud to her, choosing stories that could move or make her smile. In the evenings, they shared intimate meals, where he made sure every dish was prepared according to her tastes.

Gradually, a new closeness developed between them. Y/N, initially reluctant, began to open up to him. Their conversations grew deeper, covering a range of topics from childhood memories to unspoken dreams. Affectionate gestures naturally emerged: a hand placed on hers during a reading, a shared laugh after a funny anecdote, a smile exchanged without the need for words.

One afternoon, while they sat on the terrace, enjoying the gentle breeze, Y/N turned her face toward Cassius. Her expression was serious, marked by a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"Cassius," she began softly, "there's something I need to know. What happened to my family?"

The silence that followed her question was heavy with meaning. Cassius felt his heart tighten, aware that the truth could break the fragile trust they had rebuilt. But he also knew that lying or omitting the truth were no longer options.

He took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "Y/N, your family... was stripped of their titles and their assets. They had to leave the region and now live under modest conditions."

Y/N remained silent for a moment, processing the information. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, but tinged with sadness. "And it was you who orchestrated this, wasn’t it?"

Cassius lowered his head, ashamed. "Yes. It was my revenge for what they did to my family. But I never expected to meet you, nor to... fall in love with you."

She slowly nodded, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. "I understand. But that doesn’t make it any less painful."

He moved closer to her, gently taking her hand in his. "I’m willing to do anything to make up for my mistakes, Y/N. Tell me what I can do."

She squeezed his hand in return, a simple gesture but one full of meaning. "For now, let’s stay together. We’ll see what the future holds."

And so, despite the shadows of the past, they chose to walk forward together toward an uncertain future, but one full of hope.

---

The manor was silent, barely disturbed by the soft murmur of the wind against the windows. In their bedroom, the morning light filtered through the slightly open curtains, creating soft and warm shadows on the bed where Cassius and Y/N rested after a peaceful night. Their hands were intertwined, their connection stronger than ever.

It had been months since they married. A life together in this grand estate that had been the stage for so many changes, struggles, and, ultimately, an unexpected love. Y/N, once a quiet and solitary young woman, had found her place not only as a wife but also as a countess, the mistress of the house, a position she had never sought but held with dignity and intelligence.

Cassius was amazed every day at the way she managed the estate’s affairs, the way she helped him make strategic decisions. She had a sharpness that still surprised him. The woman he had loved had become a valuable ally, a strong partner full of wisdom. She never ceased to amaze him.

"Countess," he would say sometimes with a mischievous smile, "I suppose I should start addressing you like a servant now, shouldn’t I?" He loved seeing her face turn red, the charm of her embarrassment and humility still pure, even after everything they had been through together.

She would often respond with a half-smile, a bit shy but amused by his teasing. "You know very well I don’t care for the title. But I suppose I’ve earned being treated like a queen, haven’t I?"

"Ah, you’re making me work for it now," he teased with a smile, but always with a quiet admiration in his eyes. "But it suits you. The most beautiful countess in all the empire."

She would then give him a playful look before gently pushing him away, not without a small laugh. "I forbid you from making me blush any more."

One morning, however, as they found themselves alone in the bedroom, a different kind of silence settled in. Y/N, who was lying next to him, gently caressed his face as she often did. Her fingers glided over every contour, every line, as if trying to imprint every detail in her memory. She seemed lost in thought. Cassius watched her, a little lost in the stillness of the moment. Then, a question arose in his mind, a thought that had been gnawing at him for too long.

He bit his lip after asking the question, as if the idea that she might judge him differently terrified him. He had never thought of himself as an attractive man, despite his imposing size and rugged nature. He wasn’t someone people would admire for his looks, let alone someone a woman might desire for his outer beauty. He was simply... him.

"Y/N," he said, his voice a little lower, "if you could see me… would you still love me?"

He waited for her answer, his heart beating faster, but Y/N didn’t respond immediately. She stopped her caresses, taking a pause, and her gaze drifted into the distance for a moment. Then, slowly, she moved her arms around him, gently pulling him closer. She buried her face in his hair and held him tightly. Her arms wrapped around him with tenderness, like a silent promise.

"Don’t you think it’s strange, Cassius?" she whispered, her voice soft and comforting. "To only see the outside of people… when everything happens inside?"

Her words struck him like a lightning bolt, hitting his soul full force. A long silence settled, the air thick with deep emotion. Cassius closed his eyes, his heart heavy, as silent tears began to fall. It was the first time he felt such an emotional weight. He had never allowed himself to believe he deserved the love of a woman, let alone someone as pure and precious as Y/N. But there, in her arms, everything made sense. She didn’t love him for what he looked like on the outside, but for who he was on the inside. She saw beyond appearances, beyond the mistakes of the past. She saw his heart. And that was enough.

"I…" He couldn’t find the words. He simply let himself be carried away by Y/N’s embrace, drowning in the warmth of her arms, finally feeling at peace.

Y/N smiled as she heard him cry, but it was a gentle, protective smile. She leaned slightly and whispered in his ear, "You are my everything, Cassius. And that will never change, no matter what you see in the mirror."

Then, after a moment of silence, she added, teasing as if to lighten the atmosphere, "By the way, you look like a big baby in my arms, you know Cassi ?"

Cassius burst into laughter, breaking the weight of his emotions, and pulled away slightly from Y/N’s embrace to look at her. His eyes were still brimming with tears, but his smile was sincere and full of gratitude.

"I’m your big Cassi baby, huh?" he said with a soft laugh. "Well, I’d rather be that than your big problem."

"You’re that too, but I love you anyway," she replied with a laugh, teasing him while pulling him back into her arms.

In that suspended moment, where love and humor intertwined, Cassius knew deep down that everything he had been through, everything he had sacrificed, had been worth it. Because, in the end, the love he had searched for so desperately, the one he never believed was possible, was there, so close, in her arms, in Y/N’s smile.

And he knew, with a new certainty, that he no longer needed to look in a mirror to see who he was. Y/N saw him. And that was enough.

The End

..................................................................................

Bonus :

Years had passed, and the manor now echoed with a quiet happiness. Y/N and Cassius had built a peaceful life together, despite the weight of the past and the persistent whispers that ran through the empire. Now a respected countess and a beloved wife, Y/N had found her place, but a new trial had befallen her.

She was pregnant.

The news had been received with joy by her husband, but for Y/N, it carried an invisible weight on her shoulders. People talked. Superstitions spread through the streets, the salons, even the corridors of the estate. They whispered that she could only give birth to a child like her—one destined for darkness from their very first breath.

Y/N said nothing, but Cassius could see the turmoil in her delicate features, the exhaustion that had nothing to do with the pregnancy itself. Every caress on her belly was laced with a silent fear, a doubt that never truly left her.

— “Y/N… no matter what others say, our child will be loved, protected. They will never have to endure what you have.”

She didn’t answer, merely clutching the fabric of his tunic as if afraid to say something she would regret.

The hours were long, unbearable. Cassius had never felt so powerless. Y/N suffered, gasped, struggled. He stayed by her side, gripping her hand with a force that revealed his own anxiety. The midwives worked tirelessly around her, and finally, after hours of effort, a first cry rang out.

Their child was born.

A flood of emotions overwhelmed Cassius as he looked at the fragile little being in Y/N’s arms. His heart swelled with a love he had never thought possible. He pressed a kiss to his wife’s sweat-dampened forehead, whispering words of comfort.

But Y/N remained silent. Her face was pale, frozen in a troubling expression. Cassius first thought it was exhaustion, the toll of labor. But something was wrong.

At last, her voice broke the silence.

— “Cassius…”

He gently lifted his head, his fingers running tenderly through her damp hair.

— “Yes, my love?”

Y/N trembled slightly. Her hand tightened around the fabric of the blanket, and when she spoke again, her voice was hesitant, laced with deep fear.

— “Tell me… what does he look like?”

Cassius smiled softly, thinking he understood. He lowered his gaze to their child, ready to describe the features of the little life they had created.

— “He’s beautiful. He has your lips… and I think he has your nose too.”

But Y/N shook her head, interrupting his quiet admiration. Her hand clenched the sheets a little tighter.

— “No… I want to know…” She took a trembling breath. “Is he… normal?”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Cassius felt a shiver run down his spine. For a moment, he struggled to understand what she meant. Then, everything became clear.

She wasn’t asking if he was handsome. Nor if he had her features.

She wanted to know if he was blind.

Suddenly, a quiet anger stirred within Cassius. Not at her, but at the world that had left such deep scars on his wife—scars that made her believe that being different meant being a mistake.

With infinite gentleness, he placed the baby in Y/N’s arms. She trembled slightly, as if afraid to hear his answer. He then knelt beside her, cupping her face in his hands, his heart pounding.

— “Listen to me, Y/N.” His voice was soft but firm, a blend of tenderness and conviction. “Our child was born with your blood, with your legacy. Whether they can see or not, they are perfect. They are ours. They are loved.”

Y/N’s lips trembled. She still didn’t dare to touch her baby’s face, as if fearing she would discover a fate already sealed.

Cassius gently took her hand and guided it to the round little cheek of their child.

— “Do you feel that? Their breath, their warmth. It’s not what others see that matters—it’s what we feel.”

Slowly, Y/N nodded, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

— “They will be loved…” she finally murmured, as if making a promise to herself.

Cassius pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, then to their child’s.

— “More than anyone in this world.”

And in that room, illuminated by the flickering glow of candlelight, a new chapter began for them. A chapter where love triumphed over all beliefs. A chapter where Y/N, after years of doubting herself, finally learned that she had never been a burden or a mistake.

She was a miracle. And so was their child.

---

The days that followed were filled with a gentleness that Y/N had never known. Cassius watched over her and their child with almost exaggerated attentiveness. He worried about everything—whether she was eating enough, whether she was sleeping well, whether the baby was comfortable.

— "I’m fine, Cassius," she sighed one morning as he insisted on placing an extra pillow behind her head.

— "You say that, but you don’t realize how much exhaustion you’re accumulating."

Y/N smiled and reached out, a familiar gesture between them. Her fingers glided gently over his jawline, his nose, his lips.

— "You’re making that face where your brows are furrowed, aren’t you?"

Cassius sighed before pressing a kiss to her palm.

— "I’m just worried. You just gave birth, and…"

— "And you’ve become worse than an old nursemaid," she teased softly.

He pretended to be offended, but his smile betrayed him.

The whispers had not stopped. The rumor spread that the Countess’s child had been born blind. Nobles gossiped—some saw it as a curse, others offered false sympathy.

But Cassius let no one approach Y/N or their son with ill intentions.

One morning, as Y/N cradled their child, Cassius approached them.

— "He looks more and more like you," he said softly.

— "I wouldn’t know," she replied with a hint of amusement.

— "Then let me be your eyes."

Gently, he took her hand and placed it on the baby’s head.

— "His hair is fine, as dark as the night." He then guided her fingers over the baby’s soft, round cheek. "His skin is warm, delicate. And his lips…" He brushed them lightly with his fingers. "They’re like yours—full and gentle."

Y/N remained silent, savoring his words, her heart beating in time with the peaceful breathing of their child.

Then, as if by miracle, something unexpected happened.

The baby opened his eyes.

Cassius, who had never doubted his love for their child, froze for a moment. He had feared that Y/N would suffer if their child was like her, that she would feel an unjust sorrow.

But in that instant, all of it disappeared.

— "Y/N…" he murmured, his voice trembling.

She sensed his unease immediately.

— "What is it?" she asked.

— "His eyes." He swallowed hard. "They’re open."

Y/N’s own eyes widened slightly, though they saw nothing.

— "He… He can see?"

Cassius didn’t answer right away. He gazed at their son, at the bright, wide eyes staring back at them. The baby blinked a few times, curious, innocent. Then, he reached out his tiny fingers toward Y/N, seeking his mother’s touch.

A tear slipped down Cassius’s cheek.

— "Yes, Y/N… He can see."

A silence settled between them. Then, Y/N slowly nodded, her lips trembling slightly.

— "That’s good," she whispered.

Cassius had expected a stronger reaction—perhaps tears, a sob. But Y/N remained calm, her smile soft and serene.

— "You’re not… sad?" he dared to ask.

She shook her head.

— "No. Because it was never about normality. Just fear. Fear that he would go through what I have. But he never will. Because he has you. Because he has me."

Cassius took a deep breath, pulling his wife and son into his embrace.

— "He will always have us," he promised.

The years passed, and Cassius and Y/N’s son grew up surrounded by love. He was neither cursed nor a tragic legend, as the whispers of the past had claimed. He was simply a beloved child, a strong heir, carrying within his blood the story of a woman who had overcome darkness and a man who had learned that vengeance did not always bring peace—but love, it could.

Cassius never forgot the promise he had made to himself: Y/N would be happy.

And every day, he made sure of it.

---

The afternoon stretched lazily in Cassius’s study, bathed in golden light filtering through the large windows. Seated behind his desk, he held their six-month-old daughter, Evangeline, in his arms. She babbled softly, her tiny hands grasping at the buttons of his shirt.

Across the room, Y/N sat comfortably on a couch, gently caressing the face of their eldest son, Ambrose, as she listened to his enthusiastic murmurs about his latest "project." She had always had this tender habit—tracing the faces of those she loved to sense their expressions and guess their thoughts.

Cassius, who had been watching them for a while, finally sighed and said, half amused, half perplexed:

— "My dear… I think our son is strange."

Y/N raised an eyebrow in her husband’s direction before turning her head toward Ambrose.

— "Strange?"

Cassius nodded slowly while adjusting Evangeline against him.

— "He spends his time doing odd things. Just look at him. Or rather, listen to him."

Y/N listened carefully. Ambrose, only five years old, was kneeling on the rug, entirely focused on some mysterious activity. In front of him, feathers, books, and even a few gold coins were meticulously arranged in neat rows. He was whispering numbers as he counted, then stopped to adjust everything with an almost eerie precision.

Y/N reached out and gently ran her fingers over the top of his head.

— "Ambrose, what are you doing, my love?"

The child lifted his head seriously.

— "I’m putting everything in order, Mama. It’s important."

Cassius softly patted their sleeping daughter’s back before adding:

— "See? Yesterday, I caught him sorting my imperial seals by shades of red. And this morning, he refused to sit at the table because the chairs weren’t perfectly aligned."

Amused, Y/N stroked her son’s cheek.

— "He just likes things to be well organized."

— "No, no. It’s an obsession. The other day, I walked into his room and found him arranging pebbles… by size."

Ambrose frowned, crossing his small arms over his chest.

— "That’s logical. Big pebbles go with big ones, small ones with small ones. Why would you mix them?"

Y/N stifled a laugh while Cassius shook his head in exasperation.

— "You see? This isn’t normal. He has the mind of an old accountant before he’s even lost his first tooth."

Y/N placed a reassuring hand over her husband’s.

— "Maybe this is just his way of understanding the world. He inherited your attention to detail—you should be proud."

Cassius watched his son, who, after a brief hesitation, returned to aligning his objects with unwavering seriousness.

— "If he ever starts organizing my soldiers by height, that’s when I’ll sound the alarm."

Y/N burst into laughter, and after a moment, Ambrose smiled too.

Cassius let out one last sigh, kissed Evangeline’s head tenderly, then reached out to ruffle his son’s hair.

— "Alright, little genius. Keep aligning the world as you see fit… But I warn you, I refuse to have my county turned into a geometric arrangement someday."

Ambrose beamed proudly, and Y/N, her heart full of love for her family, intertwined her fingers with her husband’s.

Everything was exactly where it belonged.

Tags list : @elizalabs3 @slvt4her

[nanamisgirly]

cw smut, cheating, toji is almost 50, reader's in college, megumi caught them and is turned on.

sorry not sorry but toji is a total asshole, fucking with no remorse the tight cunt of his son's girlfriend.

"you little brat, this is what you were waiting for" he says, one rough large palm landing on your lower back, forcing you into a meaner arch.

megumi was out to buy some ice cream for the night. He suggested you stay home since he'd be quick anyway. And who were you to refuse when toji was here too?

"walkin' around all day with those slutty little clothes—" his cock was buried sooo deep inside you, splitting you open, making you feel full. "a short, barely coverin' your pussy" he slams his hips harder, grinning when your ass jiggles. "brushin' against my cock when you passed by—" a sharp spank lands on your cheek, making you gasp. "just admit, you stayed here hopin' i'd fill up that needy slut cunt of yours."

toji might be a grumpy old man pushing 50, but the man was still in condition, built like a goddamn machine. his stamina put boys around your age to shame and his cock as thick and hard as a rock when you were around.

"t-toji," you pleaded "huh, don't talk" he growls, slamming into you mercilessly. one hand pressed your face against the cool kitchen counter, keeping you firmly in place. "wanna hear those loud noises my girl is makin' down here" he grins, pupils dilated at the sight of your soaked cunt. you could feel his cock throbbing inside you, stretching you open with every relentless thrust. "bet the little boy doesn't make that pussy as wet as i do," he says, voice thick with arrogance. the slick mess between your thighs dripped down, your walls clenching around his length— milking every inch. "best fuckin' pussy i've ever had, so fuckin' tight" he groaned, making his pace even filthier. you could feel his veiny dick deep in your tummy, it was no joke. toji was ruining your inside, he was so fast— imposing a brutal rhythm. you could barely keep up. the kitchen was filled of wet noises, each obscene squelch only fueling his hunger. "meh, listen to her, think she likes being fucked like a whore."

He pulled out, only his tip remained inside. parted your legs wider. angled his hips. slammed back in. and here he was deeper.

your breath hitched, a helpless, pornographic moan spilling past your lips." it's- aghn, d-daddy, mh," too cock drunk. your mind was blank, his cock reaching spots you didn't even know existed. toji chuckles "daddy, huh?" he mocked, that almost turned him into a beast— his cock only grew impossibly harder inside you.

"daddy's gonna destroy that poor pussy of yours," he says in an guttural voice "take it like a good slut". he slipped out, completely, using his flushed glistening brown tip to slap quickly against your swollen clit. "c'mon, brat. make a mess for me so i can fuck it right back into you." he was dragging his dick back and forth on your slick folds, his fat tip creating friction with your stimulated clit each time.

a sharp cry escaping you as you came, your body doing as he said before you realized it. muscles tensed, thighs quivering at the overwhelming pleasure. but toji gave you no time to recover, the second you hit your peak, he was right back inside, his heavy balls smacking against your swollen lips. "here, let's fuck for real now" toji lets out as his grip tightened on your hips, pulling you back onto his cock, balls drenched in your arousal.

And that's when megumi comes back from the store.

"what the hell are those noises," megumi asks, pushing the door. wet slaps echoing in the hallway. "toji did you put some porn or-" megumi stays still. eyes widened taking in the sight before him.

His girlfriend being fucked out by his dad.

toji doesn't give a fucking damn. doesn't even stop ramming into you. He locks eyes with his child as he picks up the pace, balls deep in you. as if he had all the right, as if he owns you. as if you weren't his son's girlfriend. "tsk, look at that kid," he smirks, amused by the situation. he grabs your hair, forcing you to arch back onto his chest, your breasts bouncing widely as his hips meet yours. "she got a needy hole, i thought i could help" he bites your ear. "her pussy tight's like a damn virgin" he adds. a large hand circling your throat. squeezing.

your vision blurred, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. you weren't even trying to muffle your moans, you couldn't. you were so aroused megumi could see his dad's cock glistening from where he stands, his fists clenching at his side. taking you boyfriend's dad's cock in front of him and having so much pleasure from it— oh that's what you liked. the room was filled of your sounds, shameless, raw, filthy. your walls molded perfectly around the older man's dick. a deep growl coming from toji as he thrusted harder against you. your skins slapping against each other.

"look at that, son" he says in a pant, going in and out so fast it was inhuman. megumi had full view on your bouncing tits and your moist cunt. "pussy's tryin' to suck me in- fuck" toji couldn't stop his pace. his thighs flexing with the effort.

you were a total whimpering mess. megumi could feel his blood rushing to his length. 'why was it so exciting' toji hips rolled, hitting your g-spot perfectly. "oh, d-don't s-stop" and meg' let out a groan at your shaky voice.

"d-daddy, p-please— mghn" your boyfriend flinches at the nick name.

"yeahh, that's right slut, show the kid how needy you are for my cock" and you skirted. you didn't even realized how you did, your mind was spinning, searching for your breath through toji's chock.

"oh, saw that? she's gettin' messier" toji smirks, proud of himself. he was just too good. his mouth goes to your ear and he says loud enough for his son to hear through your noisy moans and slick, indecent pussy's noises "maybe I should let megumi cleans the mess when I'm done splitting you open, huh?" and that's when you finally, finally, lifted your eyes only to be met with a flustered gumi.

and a boner picking through his pant.

૮₍˶ •. •⑅₎ა♡

[crypticcowboys]

unpopular opinion but i'm kind of getting tired of logan x young and inexperienced reader. give me logan x older fem!reader. give me reader in her mid-to-late 30's. give me reader that smokes marlboros and stresses over her mortgage payments. give me reader that knows exactly what shes doing in life. give me reader that has zero fucking clue about gen-z slang because she's not gen-z. give me reader that loves lottery scratchoffs. give me mature-but-still-has-a-sense-of-humor reader. give me reader who has stretchmarks and weight gain from aging but logan doesn't care and still finds her sexy. is that too much to ask for or what ??? matter of a fact ill do it myself

[everymangetshiswish420]

Whatever the pic said 😇

[babydolldreamss]

I'm in the process of writing a Stansfield x Fem Reader OC fanfic on AO3! I will be updating it soon, please check it out if you're interested💕

[akiraiscute]

(I jst realized I made a whole BOOK, and didn’t finish it the way i wanted to on wattpad. Shall we do that shit??? [im doing it…])

{ A Slow BURN, of Aaron Hotchner & Fem! Reader. As of right now, you jst look like you!! Not any race color. }

New Episode, Criminal Minds. Which comes with,

Tw ; Gore, Description of Dead Bodies, Slow Burn, 2022 writing (that im fixing rn!), use of You(s) instead of I(s) and her!!

New Case.

As the sun hits your eyes, you could only rub your eyes while you are waiting up. Groggily as well.. You turned over to your side, grabbing your phone that was playing (F/M) {favorite music} which was your alarm clock for today. It reads ;

6:07 AM.

Sunday - October 10

You let out a soft groan. Realizing the time before you got out of bed, the lost of the warmness from the blankets shook you right up. You walked to the bathroom, checking yourself out a bit before starting to do your daily routine and as you start to get done, you hear another song playing. You jump immediately, getting scared out of your whits from the music blasting on full volume.. you let out a overdramatized sigh before pausing whatever you were doing and walked to your phone, which was still on your nightstand.

7:23 AM.

Sunday - October 10

Second Alarm.

As you stare at the time, it changes slowly but you start to get out of your haze and run to your closet. Picking out the most business class looking outfit you have ever seen really, you don’t care as of right now though..

You immediately grab your coffee cups, well. Five for, Garcia, Morgan, Spencer, JJ, and.. Hotchner. You kept speed walking to the HQ, groaning at the feeling of your feet hurting already from your heels. The moment you got in and reached the elevator was a blessing itself, now with your good luck.. you should not spill the drinks nor will you. As you finally reached the doors of your department… You start to put the coffee on each desk and not caring until you get to hotcner’s drink, you let out a soft and quiet

“Fuck..”

As no one but you and a few more people have came in, maybe Spencer came in.. You look around before smiling at the area where the coffee marker is, you walk to it, getting out your marker and writing down.. “Hotchner’s drink.” in thick and bold (H/W) {ur handwriting} trying to make sure no one would take his drink really. You didn’t know why you cared.. Maybe you don’t want him angry! Yea.. that’s- it and the coffee here is sorta horrible, you’re not crushing on your boss.. no! You are not crushing on him, he has a wife- well.. does he? You question that alot sometimes- but!

Morgan comes walking in, which is always nice and perfect!

I swear, idk how i haven’t gotten writer block, im not usually so excited to write smth again- its so weird!! Anyways, the way im reading back on what i did in 2022… buttt~ do y’all want me to do more of thisss…? Or! Start another book, that i did on wattpad? Let me know!!!!!

- Akira… Akira. Logging, Logging.. Off.

[almostwisegalaxy]

Under a grey sky

Bonus part

Older men oc x fem!reader

Reader has a shy character in this story and is in his twenties

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: DtMF_bad Bunny

Debí tirar más fotos de cuando de tuve. Debi darte más besos y abrazos. Las veces que pude...

Translation : I should have taken more photos of when I had it. I should have given you more kisses and hugs. The times I could. (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)

Sensitive souls please refrain. Sensitive subject. Death, cancer. I'm not making fun of anything. I'm just writing a story. As they say on Wattpad : I am responsible for what I write, you are responsible for what you read

..................................................................................

It was an evening like any other. The sky was overcast, threatening to rain. Y/n, apprentice baker, was finishing her day. She had spent hours crafting chocolate éclairs and apple tarts, her mind lost in the dream of owning her own bakery. But that night, her thoughts wandered. Too absorbed in calculating her savings, she hadn’t noticed the man crossing at a poorly lit street corner.

The screech of brakes. A thud.

Horrified, Y/n hurriedly got out of her small car. The man on the ground was still breathing, but a thin cut marked his forehead. She immediately called for help, her voice trembling with panic.

Armand opened his eyes in the hospital, disoriented. A dull ache pulsed through his head, and bandages covered his face. Yet what caught his attention was the young woman sitting by his bedside. Y/n was curled up in a chair, nervously twisting a tissue in her hands.

“You’re awake… I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her pleading eyes fixed on him.

Armand, a 39-year-old interior architect, looked at her curiously. Despite the pain, a faint smile appeared on his lips.

“Don’t worry… It’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious? I ran you over…”

“And yet, you’re here watching over me,” he replied lightly, trying to reassure her.

Y/n flushed deeply, but he continued, his gaze gentle:

“Go home. I’m fine, I promise.”

She hesitated but eventually obeyed. Yet the image of his comforting smile remained etched in her mind.

A few weeks later, as Y/n was decorating pastries in the bakery where she worked, the doorbell chimed. She glanced up briefly to greet the customer, but her gaze quickly returned to the tart she was preparing.

“Hello,” said a familiar voice.

She abruptly looked up. Standing before her was Armand, well-dressed, his bright smile hiding the slight scar on his forehead. She didn’t recognize him immediately.

“Do you have croissants?” he asked with a disarming ease.

“Yes, of course. Just a moment,” she replied, turning toward the display.

As she placed the croissants in a paper bag, he observed her with a hidden tenderness. She seemed more at ease here, in a world that felt made for her.

“You have a real talent,” he said suddenly.

Y/n blinked, surprised by the remark.

“Thank you… But how can you tell?”

“It’s obvious,” he said warmly. “I can see it in your movements.”

She blushed again, uncomfortable with such a sincere compliment.

Armand became a regular customer. Every morning, he stopped by for a coffee or pastry, finding excuses to exchange a few words with Y/n. He was interested in her work, her dreams.

“So, you want to open your own bakery?” he asked one day, taking a bite of a financier she had made.

She nodded timidly.

“Yes… But it’s still a long way off. I need to save, learn, and find the right place.”

“You’ll make it,” he said with conviction.

His encouragements touched her, but she never dared to ask him personal questions. She was too shy to dig deeper. Meanwhile, Armand found himself increasingly fascinated by her. Her passion, her reserve, and even her clumsiness made him smile.

One evening, as he worked on an architectural project in his office, Armand found his thoughts drifting. He realized he looked forward to seeing her every morning. But he couldn’t ignore the age gap between them.

“She’s in her twenties,” he murmured to himself. “She has so much to live, so much to discover.”

Yet he couldn’t deny the emotions growing within him. Every smile, every exchanged word gave him a thrill he hadn’t felt in years.

One day, as he waited in line at the bakery, he placed a book on the counter. It was a French pastry manual, thick and adorned with vibrant photos.

“For you,” he said with a smile.

Y/n stared at him, puzzled.

“Why…?”

“Because I believe in your dreams,” he said simply.

She clutched the book to her chest, moved by his gesture.

“Thank you… It’s… it’s a lot.”

For the first time, she looked up at him and held his gaze a little longer. An invisible butterfly stirred in Armand’s stomach.

Their relationship evolved slowly, like dough rising under a damp cloth. Y/n found herself waiting for his visits, listening for the bell to chime. Armand, for his part, took his time, respecting her pace, admiring every facet of her personality.

One day, as they shared a brioche fresh from the oven, he softly murmured:

“Y/n… You’re like this brioche.”

She looked at him, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re soft. And… you bring a warmth that isn’t always noticed at first, but it lingers long after.”

She blushed, lowering her eyes, but this time, she didn’t look away completely.

It was the beginning of a fragile yet sincere love, built on glances, gestures, and shared dreams. A love that, like a good pastry, required patience and care.

---

Weeks Passed, but Armand’s Ambition Remained Intact

Weeks went by, but Armand’s ambition remained unshaken. He was a determined man, always immersed in his work, pushing his limits day after day. His architectural projects consumed more of his life than he cared to admit, and every minute of inaction felt like wasted time. Yet deep inside, something grew stronger every time he crossed paths with Y/n: love.

But he was caught in a spiral. He saw their age difference as an undeniable obstacle he couldn’t ignore. He didn’t want Y/n to get lost in a relationship that, in his mind, had no future. She was young, full of dreams, and he… he was already in a different phase of life. He had made choices, sacrificed moments of leisure to achieve his goals.

One evening, after an especially long day, Armand went to the bakery as usual, hoping for a light conversation, a little comfort in Y/n’s small gestures. But something wasn’t right. The stress of his job, his grueling hours, the constant pressure, and lack of sleep weighed heavily on him. He entered the bakery, heading toward the counter, his tired gaze fixed on her.

“Hello,” she said softly, a shy smile on her lips as always. She didn’t know he’d had an especially difficult day.

“I need a coffee, strong,” he murmured, his tone sharper than he intended.

She looked at him for a moment, surprised by the coldness in his voice. But she didn’t respond, simply preparing his order with calm concentration. When she handed him the cup, their hands brushed briefly, and he felt a dull tension rise within him. She was so gentle, so calm. She seemed worlds away from his own turmoil.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to talk about his job, his frustrations. But instead of responding, his words came out more abruptly than he intended.

“Why do you always worry about everyone? Don’t you have anything better to do? It’s not your job to take everything on yourself.”

She flinched, her eyes widening at his harsh tone. He immediately realized his mistake, but he couldn’t seem to regain control of the situation. He had acted impulsively, without thinking. The fatigue and stress had overridden his usual gentleness.

Y/n remained silent, her gaze lowering. She didn’t know what to say, but the hurt was clear on her face. Normally so understanding, so kind, she now felt deeply wounded.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured after a long pause. “I… I just wanted to offer you a little… comfort.”

He looked at her, ashamed of his words. He shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, but his nerves were frayed. Watching her retreat in silence made his heart ache.

The next morning, Armand arrived at the bakery earlier than usual, his mind tormented by the events of the previous evening. He had spent the night reflecting on his behavior, knowing he owed her an apology. But seeing her behind the counter, arranging the morning pastries, he realized he couldn’t bear to hurt her any further.

He waited for her to look up at him. When she finally did, he approached cautiously, a bit hesitant.

“Y/n… I’m sorry about yesterday. I was… I was overwhelmed, and I shouldn’t have acted that way.”

She didn’t respond immediately, and he saw doubt flicker in her eyes. He knew his words had deeply hurt her, and the thought gnawed at him.

“It wasn’t about you,” he added, his tone calmer, almost gentle. “It’s just… it’s hard for me to balance everything I need to do.”

She looked at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze, as if his apology wasn’t enough to erase the sting of his behavior. But instead of retreating into her usual silence, she offered a small gesture of understanding.

“I understand,” she said softly, but with a gentleness that instantly eased his heart. “It’s just… sometimes, we forget to rest. And that hurts you too, doesn’t it?”

Armand stood in silence for a moment, surprised by her insight. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t realized how much the tension was hurting him from the inside.

“Yes,” he said after a pause, his voice rougher than he intended. “Sometimes, I’m so focused on what I want to accomplish that I forget to stop, to breathe.”

She nodded slightly, a timid smile brushing her lips. She understood what it meant to be swept up in dreams and ambitions, forgetting to care for oneself.

That evening, Armand went home replaying their conversation in his mind. He knew he was still far from understanding everything that was happening between him and Y/n. But one thing was clear: he loved her, and he didn’t want her to suffer because of his own shortcomings.

He also knew he had to change. Not for her. But for himself. And perhaps, in that process, they could learn to understand and love each other in a healthier, gentler way. Because Y/n deserved to be cherished, with no room for anger or exhaustion.

And for the first time in a long while, he wondered if finding balance between his dreams and his feelings was the true key to his happiness.

---

Armand’s project had consumed every fiber of his being. For months, he had poured his heart and soul into it, investing his time, ideas, and ambitions. He had imagined, designed, and created with the hope that his work would finally be recognized. He knew the moment was approaching—the moment his project would be unveiled to the public, the moment his name would finally be associated with success. And that moment came.

But it wasn’t what he had envisioned.

The day the project was praised, with critics unanimously lauding its quality, Armand felt a strange coldness seep into him. It wasn’t pride. Nor elation. It was emptiness. A void. His superior, someone who hadn’t contributed a single idea, had taken all the glory. His name shone in the headlines, while Armand’s was nowhere to be found.

He was devastated. And yet, he felt nothing. No anger. No frustration. Only an endless fatigue, a deep exhaustion.

He wanted to scream, to overturn everything around him, but his muscles were paralyzed. He couldn’t even move. He couldn’t scream. His mind was blank, as if everything he had lived, everything he had accomplished, had been swallowed by an ocean of silence. His hands trembled slightly, but he couldn’t even lift them. It all seemed so futile, so insignificant.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the sense of loss. Of betrayal. Of frustration. He hated himself for not being able to feel the injustice more intensely, for not being able to scream, to fight. Why couldn’t he react the way he wanted? Why did he feel like an empty man, a broken man without the strength to get back up?

That evening, he returned home, devoid of any enthusiasm. He collapsed on his couch, staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes. The air in the room felt heavy, almost oppressive. It was as if he were breathing in a space too small, drowning in a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn’t even organize.

It was far too late when he finally stepped outside. He didn’t even know why he left or what he was hoping for. Maybe it was the anxiety driving him out, or perhaps the need to be alone with his thoughts in the silence of the night.

The park was deserted, lit only by a few solitary streetlights. He sat on a bench under one of them and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cool night breeze brush against his face. The sounds of the city felt distant, muffled by the stillness of the place. He felt so far from everything, so disconnected from reality.

That’s when he saw her. Y/n. She was walking alone in the park, probably after her workday. When she noticed him, she stopped for a moment, seemingly surprised to see him there at such a late hour. He slowly lifted his head to look at her, expressionless. He didn’t have the strength to smile. Nor the strength to pretend.

Y/n approached cautiously, her gaze uncertain but gentle. She seemed hesitant, unsure if she should disturb him. But she didn’t need words to know she should sit beside him. She said nothing, offering only her quiet presence.

The silence that settled between them wasn’t heavy but rather… soothing. She didn’t need to ask questions. Somehow, she knew he needed this moment of calm.

And that’s when Armand felt the first tears well up. He tried to hold them back, to stop them from falling, but it was no use. They began to stream down his face, slowly, gently, like a river cascading down a mountain, carrying away all the pain, all the frustration he had suppressed for so long.

The tears wouldn’t stop, one after another, breaking the silence of the night. He let himself go, giving in to the flood of emotions he had ignored for far too long. His body trembled as he leaned toward Y/n, unable to control the shaking.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him. He let himself lean into her, his face buried in her shoulder, the tears flowing endlessly. There was no shame in the gesture. No pride. Just the need to feel safe, to let go.

Y/n, silent, held him gently. She didn’t say anything, but she was there for him. That was all that mattered. She could feel the pain in his movements, in his cries, and she knew he wasn’t asking for anything other than understanding, support without judgment.

In her arms, Armand allowed himself to completely let go, his heart heavy but unburdened from the weight that had suffocated him for so long. He had finally stopped holding back his emotions, stopped repressing his pain. Y/n offered him the freedom to cry without judgment, without pressure.

Eventually, the tears subsided, though the emptiness lingered. Yet something had shifted. That emptiness, though still present, felt less insurmountable. He knew he wouldn’t face it alone. Y/n had accepted him without demanding answers, without imposing expectations. She had simply offered her heart, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he belonged.

---

The silence stretched between them, but this time, it was soothing. Y/n didn’t move; she stayed there, her arms around him, like an anchor in a calm sea. She understood that sometimes, words weren’t necessary. She felt the tension in his muscles gradually ease, and she knew that, little by little, he was regaining control over his emotions.

Armand eventually pulled away slightly, his breathing still uneven. His eyes were red, but they no longer held that empty expression. In Y/n’s embrace, he had found something precious—a peace he hadn’t sought but that had found him. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her.

“Thank you…” he murmured, his voice broken but full of gratitude.

Y/n smiled softly, her eyes gentle and reassuring. She didn’t need a response, but her gaze spoke volumes. She wasn’t judging him. She wasn’t trying to fix him. She was simply there, by his side, and that was enough.

“I’m here, Armand,” she said simply, her voice soft but filled with tenderness. Nothing more needed to be said.

A faint smile crossed Armand’s lips, but it wasn’t forced. It was genuine—a gratitude he never thought he could feel so purely.

He stood up slowly, taking a deep breath. The night was calm around them, but something within him had shifted. A weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying had lifted, and he felt lighter, even if only for the moment.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he offered, his tone now calmer.

She shook her head gently, a small hint of mischief in her eyes.

“No, I’m fine. But thank you. It’s… nice to be here, with you.”

He nodded, accepting her answer, though he felt a new warmth stir within him. It wasn’t just gratitude. He felt a connection, something deep silently weaving between them, without the need for words to express it. He knew that what he had just shared with her, this moment of vulnerability, could never be forgotten.

They remained there for a little while longer, enjoying the tranquility of the night. At some point, though, the silence became lighter, almost playful.

Armand turned to Y/n, his eyes now holding a spark of admiration he had felt for her since their first meeting. He looked at her, and this time, he didn’t see her as timid, fragile, or different from him. No. He saw her simply as Y/n—the person who, with a simple gesture of understanding, had brought him a kind of calm, a kind of peace he hadn’t known for a long time.

“You know, you’re really incredible,” he said softly, his voice both sincere and filled with tenderness.

Y/n blushed slightly, but her gaze didn’t waver from his. She was used to hiding her emotions, retreating into shyness. But that night, something about him encouraged her to be more open.

“Thank you,” she replied with a small smile. “But… I think we help each other.”

He smiled at her response. He didn’t need more words. He understood. They understood each other.

The days that followed felt different. Armand woke up in the morning with a slightly lighter burden on his shoulders. He continued to work, but he found himself appreciating the small things around him—things he had neglected for far too long. He spent more time reflecting on his life choices, his priorities, and what he truly wanted to achieve. But more than that, he started considering how he let his ambitions consume him.

And Y/n. He thought of her often. He hadn’t immediately seen her as someone who could help him through his moments of weakness, but he was beginning to realize that she might be the one who had shown him the path to a balance he had never sought before but was now striving to find.

For her part, Y/n seemed calmer too. She hadn’t tried to force her way into his world or immediately uncover the reasons behind his pain. She had simply listened, offering her support without expectations. She had always been a determined, dream-filled woman, but she understood that life had its own rhythm and that sometimes, stepping back was all it took to see things differently.

It wasn’t a fiery, explosive relationship, nor an all-consuming love story. It was gentler, calmer, like a quiet river. A love that grew in small gestures, in shared silences, in quiet laughter, and late-night conversations. They were learning about each other slowly but surely.

Armand knew he still had battles to fight. He also knew his responsibilities would pull him back into the whirlwind of work. But what he knew even more was that Y/n, with her quiet light and her gentle strength, would always be there, by his side. And perhaps, this budding relationship—fragile and uncertain as it might be—would become the key to a balance he had long sought without realizing it.

---

The little bakery, bathed in soft, warm light, was soothingly quiet. The last customers had long since left, and only Y/n remained behind the counter, meticulously tidying up the utensils, her precise movements reflecting her love for her craft. Armand stood in front of her, his hands buried in his pockets, looking unusually nervous.

He had rehearsed this confession in his head dozens of times. He had written a letter, carefully folded in the inside pocket of his jacket, just in case he forgot everything he wanted to say. But now, standing there in front of her, his thoughts seemed to unravel with each heartbeat.

Y/n finally looked up at him, intrigued by his uncharacteristic silence.

“Armand? Is something wrong?” she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

He pulled out the letter, hesitating.

“I… I have something to tell you,” he said, his voice rough, almost inaudible.

He placed the letter on the counter, but as he was about to hand it to her, his hand accidentally knocked over a cup of coffee left nearby. The brown liquid spread across the paper in an instant, soaking the carefully written words until the ink became a blur of illegible smudges.

Y/n, initially surprised, watched the scene before bursting into laughter.

“Oh no… You really planned everything, didn’t you?” she said, her playful smile lighting up her face.

Armand, initially panicked, began to laugh nervously too.

“Yes… Well, not exactly this,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed.

Y/n’s laughter faded gently, but the smile remained. She looked at him, curious, waiting for him to continue.

He took a deep breath. So much for the letter. There was no escape now.

“Y/n… I’ll be honest—I’m terrible at expressing how I feel, especially about something this important. But I’m going to try.”

She stood still, her hands folded on the counter, her eyes fixed on him.

“For a while now, I… I’ve been struggling with how I feel about you. Not because I doubt what it is, but because I doubt… myself.”

She furrowed her brows slightly but said nothing, giving him the time he needed to find his words.

“You’re young, Y/n, full of dreams, talent, and life. You have your whole future ahead of you. And me… I’m…”

He paused, searching for the right word, but none came.

“I’m already in a world where I’m fighting just to stay standing. Where I work too much, where I’m always tired. And sometimes, I wonder if I’m just… an obstacle for you.”

Y/n opened her mouth, ready to protest, but he raised a hand to stop her gently.

“Wait, let me finish, please.”

She nodded, though her gaze softened.

“For the longest time, I told myself you’d be better off with someone else. Someone who could give you everything you deserve. Someone who could make you happy in ways I can’t. But every time I tried to let go of that idea… I couldn’t. Because the truth is, I want to be that person for you. Even if I’m imperfect. Even if I’m not the obvious choice.”

He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, his dark eyes filled with a vulnerability he had never shown anyone before.

“I love you, Y/n. Not in some grand, dramatic way, but in a simple, honest way. I love you because you’re you—with your shy smiles, your passion for what you do, your way of always seeing the best in others… And I know I’m clumsy, that maybe I don’t deserve this, but I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Y/n, her cheeks slightly flushed, seemed to be searching for the right words, her fingers playing with the edge of her apron. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“You know, Armand,” she murmured, “you’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“What I love about you isn’t some perfection you think you have to reach. What I love is you. Your clumsiness, your seriousness, the way you look at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. I’ve never wanted someone perfect. I just want you.”

This time, it was his turn to be speechless. She leaned slightly over the counter, reducing the distance between them.

“I love you too, Armand,” she added, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Even if you’re incredibly clumsy sometimes.”

He burst out laughing, relieved, and this time, the laughter was pure, sincere, full of a joy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So… you’ll have me, despite everything?” he asked, a hesitant smile on his lips.

She nodded, her smile widening.

“Yes. But only if you promise never to write letters next to a cup of coffee again.”

They laughed together once more, and in that shared moment of joy, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. It wasn’t a perfect confession, nor a scene straight out of a romantic movie. It was clumsy, sincere, full of laughter and shyness. But it was them. Just them.

---

The months had flown by, and their relationship had blossomed in a quiet, unexpected way. Armand and Y/n had found their rhythm, balancing Armand’s busy workdays with the long hours Y/n spent in her bakery perfecting her recipes. Their love was sincere, built on small daily gestures and shared silences that spoke volumes.

They had celebrated Y/n’s victory in the pastry competition together. That day, she had climbed the stage, trembling but radiant, to receive her trophy. Armand had watched her with unwavering pride, as if she had just reached for the stars. They spent the evening laughing and celebrating in a way that felt simple and true to them.

But a few weeks after that moment of glory, their happiness was brutally interrupted.

Y/n had begun feeling pain in her lower abdomen and a fatigue she could no longer ignore. At first, she thought it was due to stress or overwork and delayed seeking medical advice. But one day, Armand insisted she see a doctor.

The diagnosis hit like a thunderbolt: terminal cancer, already too advanced to treat.

When Y/n walked out of the consultation room, her legs trembled. Armand, who had been waiting in the hallway, stood up immediately upon seeing her expression.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Then, with trembling hands, she reached out and grabbed his.

“I… I only have a few months left,” she finally murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Armand felt his heart shatter, as though the ground had been pulled out from under him. But he didn’t let the panic take over. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as if that simple gesture could shield her from everything.

The shock of the diagnosis changed them. Y/n, initially terrified, found the strength to smile again thanks to Armand. He, though devastated inside, became her pillar of support. Together, they made a decision: they would not let this illness steal the time they had left.

They began crossing dreams off Y/n’s list. A weekend in a small cabin by the lake, where they fished together and stargazed. A day spent at a bustling market, tasting dishes they’d never dared to try before. And, of course, hours spent in the bakery’s kitchen, experimenting with new recipes Y/n had dreamed up.

One evening, as they kneaded brioche dough together, Y/n suddenly stopped, her hands covered in flour.

“You know, Armand…” she began hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“I think… even if I’d known all of this beforehand… I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“Nothing?”

She nodded, a sad but sincere smile on her lips.

“Because meeting you, loving you… it was worth it.”

Armand felt his throat tighten. He stepped closer and gently wiped a smear of flour from her forehead.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmured.

A few months after the diagnosis, Y/n was weaker, but she refused to let it defeat her. It was the day of the event they had planned to share her final pastry creations with her loved ones and loyal customers.

The little bakery was filled with laughter and joy. Armand watched her from a distance, marveling at the way she lit up the room despite her visible exhaustion. At one point, she caught his gaze and walked over to him.

“You know, I saved the best for you,” she said, handing him a small box adorned with a ribbon.

He opened it to find a delicate dessert, carefully crafted.

“I named it ‘Renaissance,’ because… even when something ends, there’s always a part of life that remains.”

He looked at her, moved, and whispered:

“Y/n, you are my renaissance.”

That night, under a starry sky, they sat on the bench in the park where it had all begun. Y/n, nestled against him, felt a tear roll down her cheek.

“Armand… you’ve given me so much more than I could have imagined,” she murmured.

He shook his head.

“You’re the one who’s taught me everything. To love, to live…”

She looked up at him, her tired eyes filled with love.

“Then promise me something,” she whispered.

“Anything.”

“When I’m gone, live for both of us. Live so fully that people will say Y/n taught you how to smile.”

Armand felt the tears well up but nodded, unable to speak. He etched that moment into his heart, as an eternal promise.

Y/n couldn’t change her fate, but she had turned their love into a light that would never fade.

---

The months had passed, and Y/n’s condition had worsened. Yet, she tried to maintain her smile, like a shield against the pain—for Armand, and for herself.

That morning, Armand arrived at Y/n’s place with a box filled with croissants he had carefully chosen from a bakery she particularly loved. But when he knocked on the door and she didn’t answer, a wave of worry washed over him.

“Y/n? It’s me, Armand.”

The silence was oppressive. After a few moments of waiting, he pulled out the spare key she had entrusted to him. When he opened the door, the familiar scent of lavender and flour greeted him, but the atmosphere felt strangely still. He hurried upstairs, his heart pounding.

“Y/n?”

In the bedroom, Y/n was still lying in bed. She slowly opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, but something in her gaze had changed. She seemed… distant. Armand approached her, and that’s when he noticed the strands of hair scattered across the pillow. Her once vibrant hair was almost all gone.

She reached a hand to her head, then lowered her eyes to the strands. A faint “Ah…” escaped her lips, barely audible, as if she no longer had the strength to react.

Armand felt a dull pain crush his heart. That indifference, that emptiness in her voice—it was worse than any tears she could have shed.

“Y/n…” he whispered, kneeling beside her.

But she didn’t respond. Slowly, mechanically, she got up to get ready.

He stayed there, motionless, his eyes fixed on the empty pillow, his trembling fingers clutching the wrinkled sheet. She was moving forward, but he felt her slipping away, like a wisp of wind he couldn’t hold onto.

A few months later, despite Y/n’s obvious weakness, Armand organized a small evening just for the two of them. He wanted to give her a moment of lightness, a little escape.

They laughed. They talked about memories, unfinished dreams, and even joked about how Armand could never bake a cake without burning it.

Y/n, tired but glowing, rested her head on his shoulder.

“You know… I think I’ve never been happier than I’ve been with you,” she murmured.

Armand gently stroked what was left of her hair and kissed her forehead.

“You are my life, Y/n.”

She looked up at him, a peaceful smile on her lips.

“Then keep living, even after me.”

That was their last conversation.

That night, Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He preferred to watch her, to engrave every detail into his memory: the softness of her features, the rhythm of her breath in the silence, the fragile warmth of her hand in his.

In the early morning, sunlight timidly peeked through the curtains. Armand opened his eyes and immediately felt something was wrong. Y/n was still—too still.

“Y/n?” he called softly, his voice filled with a hope he knew was futile.

He touched her cheek—it was cold.

“No… no,” he murmured, tears welling in his eyes.

He held her in his arms, gently rocking her, as if saying a final goodbye. Her face was peaceful, as though she had simply fallen asleep after a beautiful evening. But for Armand, the world collapsed in that moment.

The days that followed were dark, but Armand found strength in the memories they had shared. Y/n had taught him how to love, how to live fully, and he knew she wouldn’t have wanted him to drown in despair.

He kept the notebook where she had written her recipes and thoughts, and he worked to keep the promise he had made to her: to live for the both of them.

A year later, Armand opened a small bakery, which he named Y/n’s Light. Each creation carried a piece of her, a tribute to her talent and her brilliance.

And every morning, when he saw the smiles of customers enjoying what she had inspired, he felt her presence beside him. Y/n may not have had all the time she deserved, but her love—her light—was eternal.

---

Days passed, yet Armand continued to visit the cemetery regularly. Under the weeping willow, Y/n rested in the peaceful spot he had chosen carefully for her. He often spoke to the grave as if she were still there, sharing his achievements, doubts, and even the mundane stories of his day.

He decorated the gravestone with care. At Christmas, he brought small garlands and winter flowers. At Easter, he left colorful eggs and sweets he had prepared while thinking of her. The engraved photo on the stone smiled back at him, soft and almost alive.

But one day, something changed.

As part of his new project—renovating an orphanage—Armand immersed himself in his work. He wanted to create a warm, welcoming space where children could feel all the love they deserved.

One afternoon, while discussing the plans with a nun, he passed by the nursery. His gaze was drawn to a group of infants sleeping peacefully, their soft breaths filling the room with a calming rhythm.

That’s when he noticed a little girl, apart from the others. She cooed softly, observing the world with curious but timid eyes. Her cries were gentle, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether she should ask for attention.

Armand froze, his heart clenching. She reminded him of Y/n. Not physically, but in the fragile sweetness she radiated.

In the days that followed, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. The idea of adopting her became an undeniable calling, almost as if Y/n had sent him a sign.

A few weeks later, after completing all the necessary procedures, he finally welcomed the little girl into his home. He named her Y/n, in honor of the woman who had changed his life.

Four months passed. Little Y/n clung to Armand as if afraid he might disappear. Her smile, her clumsy laughter, her first attempts to stand on her tiny legs—everything about her rekindled a light he thought he had lost.

One morning, Armand made a decision. He wanted to introduce little Y/n to her “mother.”

He prepared a simple picnic, packing bottles for the baby and snacks for himself.

When he arrived at the grave, he paused for a moment, his eyes on Y/n’s engraved photo.

“Hello, Y/n,” he murmured.

Little Y/n, nestled against him, babbled softly, her big curious eyes following the willow leaves dancing in the wind. Armand knelt before the grave, spread out the blanket he had brought, and gently placed the baby on it.

“I brought someone to meet you today,” he said, a fragile smile on his lips.

He sat facing the gravestone and placed little Y/n on his lap.

“This is Y/n. She has your name. I couldn’t think of a more perfect name for her…”

He ran a tender hand through the baby’s short, soft hair as she played with a fallen willow leaf.

“She’s incredible, you know. Every day, she reminds me that life can still be beautiful, even after everything.”

He spoke for hours, sharing stories, thoughts, and promises he wanted to keep.

“I’m doing my best to be a good father. It’s not always easy… sometimes I wonder if I’m enough. But she trusts me, Y/n, just like you trusted me.”

The little girl let out a joyful cry as she spotted a butterfly fluttering nearby. Armand laughed—a sound he hadn’t heard from himself in a long time.

“You see? Even a butterfly fascinates her. She has your way of finding beauty everywhere.”

He leaned forward slightly, bringing little Y/n closer to the gravestone as if to introduce her properly to her mother.

“ Say hi to Mama” he whispered tenderly.

The baby didn’t understand what was happening, but when she saw the photo on the grave, she cheerfully held out a flower she had picked earlier and babbled joyfully. The gesture brought a smile to Armand’s face.

“See, Y/n? This little one already loves you.”

As the sun began to set, Armand rose slowly, holding little Y/n close to him.

"In another life, I hope it's you and me... I beg God that it's still you and me. I hope we will be happy together, Maybe we can love each other and... grow old together?" The little y/n in his arms suddenly lets out a chirp, as if to make her presence felt. Armand laughs despite his tears that threaten to flow. "Yes, and that the three of us can form a beautiful and happy family" he said, playing with his daughter's little hand. "Until then, I'll take care of her for both of us. Promise, my love."

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking at the gravestone one last time. “Thank you for everything you’ve given me.”

He placed one final flower on the grave before walking away.

On the way home, little Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, walked with a lighter step. That day, under the weeping willow, he felt something shift. It wasn’t a goodbye, but a new chapter—a bridge between the love he had lost and the love he had found.

And he knew he would return to that willow, again and again, to share the joys and sorrows of the life he was building for the two of them.

..................................................................................

Next part

Tags list : @elizalabs3 @slvt4her

[thatwasntverycashmoneyofme]

{ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 — 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗋𝖺, 𝗒𝖺𝗆𝗂 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝗈𝗋, 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾. }

asshole! yami sukehiro who’s deliberately disrespectful and it’s probably most likely cuz he was treated roughly for being a foreigner, but this man has no filter especially when it comes to you his cute chubby black foreigner girlfriend.

he definitely gives off guard dog energy, lingering behind you, and he can’t leave you alone or let you go anywhere by yourself and it’s not just cuz he’s possessive and protective, he gets jealous super easily and know how the men of the Clover Kingdom reacts to a beautiful foreigner.

he learned his lesson last time almost having to give his Captain position up for nearly beating a man to the brink of death but yk he locked in with julius so the request for his removal got denied, just barely, but anyways here’s how that went:

you’re standing in the market place collecting your sweets that you brought from the nice vender lady but something catches your eye and you drift off from yami’s line of sight, something he told you not to do, when he looked down to light his blunt (no cig smokers over here🙅🏾‍♀️) you got entranced by a long scarf touching the silk fabric that could have versatile use, you jump feeling someone approach you.

a nobody, who you don’t even remember well enough to give a description to, trying to talk you up as you blatantly ignore him continuing your sales purchase.

the guy gets feed up by your neglect pulling on your wrist as he talks down to you “its not like you have anything to do right?? with all these coins on you, I’m just trying to help you further your business. I could put in a good word for you to my friends no doubt they haven’t been with a foreigner”

you hear the vender yell for help as you stare at the hand the man has on your wrist you look up in front of you seeing the man smirk as your eyes are finally on him. you paused for a minute trying to process ‘did this guy just call me a whore??’

before you can even utter a word, a large rough tan hand encased the man’s hand on your wrist “oi sweetheart this guy bothering you?” you snatch your wrist from the hold, a pout on your lips as you rub it with your other hand “no yami im fine let’s go” you start to walk a few steps before the rando spoke again “geez another foreigner you have to wait your turn buddy I asked for her services first”

you see yami’s aura before you heard the shrill scream freezing everyone in their place in the market “oi oi you calling my woman a whore? i have a good reason enough to kill you for putting your grimy hands on her” you walk around yami finding the rando’s hand flapping limply you could only assume yami broke the guys wrist

“yami stop i got everything i needed from the market let’s go” he sighs dropping the broken bone in his hand as the man let out a pained sound “fine… be lucky you’re only going home with a broken hand” yami catches up to you ready to head back to the bulls home before the annoying voice of the man rang

“yeah you better leave I don’t want to bed a foreign whore whose womb is tainted with another foreigner” you could feel the wind rush pass you before hearing the man choking on his own blood as yami’s fist connected relentlessly.

you weren’t that dumb to try and stop him and definitely not dumb enough to step in so you waited, lighting a blunt putting all your weight on one leg jutting your hip out.

a few minutes pass and yami rises from the pulp of bloodied scum, his fists scraped and scarred as he pulled the blunt from your lips taking a drag as you both walk home his shoulders relaxed “that paperwork’s gonna be a bitch to deal with i’ll have to talk to julius. that fucker’s lucky i let him live if he gets help in time” you laugh at his monotonous voice “thank you for sticking up for me yami baby”

he breathes out smoke handing you the blunt once again “no problem sweetheart you’re too pretty to be hassled like a whore. good thing i fuck you enough like one” you choke on the smoke invading your lungs as he took it from you for the last few puffs as you try to compose yourself feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you let out a low whine “yamii~ stop it”

𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗆 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌. 𝖣𝖮��𝖳 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗅, 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾. ©𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗒𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅

[tonycries]

D!LFMAS?!

Synopsis. Father Christmas? Nah, who needs him when you can have a hot D!LFY Christmas.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, older! D!LF! JJK men, bréeding, CREAMP!ES, age gaps, dad bods, manhandIing, cúmplay, chokíng, professor! Geto, GOJO’S POWERS, true form Sukuna, dp, cervíx kíssing, p talking, p slápping, JEALOUSY (Geto), spítting, headIocks, SIZE K!NK, thigh ríding, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Well THIS opened up something I never knew before…

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - White Christmas

“Heh…how cute.” Toji’s scarred lips are puckering up into a coo at just how adorable you looked squirming underneath him like this. “Ya ready for a biiig stretch, ma?”

You’re craning a few uselessly coy smacks against his bulging biceps, ”T-Toooji—” The whines dripping from your salacious lips are just pitiful - and so is that tiny gasp let off when his heavy, blushing tip comes thwacking! down punishingly to make out with your slippery slit. “Stop teasing me…”

“Ohhh?” Dark brows raise at your babbling, “And hah- who was talking to you, my doll?”

He’s curving the fat pad of his thumb down either side of your saturated lips, wrenching out the soppiest slurps. Up, up, up until Toji’s pinching your buttony nub with an oh-so-dramatic sigh - but not targeted at you. No - at down below. “I know, right? Got a hah- real nasty girl.” He’s nodding along languidly, thoroughly in conversation between your trembly thighs. “How m’ I gonna make her a pretty momma if I don’t…teach her a lesson about talkin’ back to elders.”

God, you could almost sob. It’s been hours upon hours now. You had no idea how he still had so much stamina being older than you, but…but did you really want to complain?

Hours since you’d finished your babysitting job and tucked Megumi to bed. Pacing your familiar way up to Toji’s bedroom in a way that was entirely unprofessional. 

Hours of being pinned to the satiny mattress with the effortlessly staggering size of Toji, all hefty muscles and washboard abs that he still maintained proudly. Slipping and glissading their sultry way to scratch his fleecy chest hair down your perfectly arched back. 

Hours that still had you all desperate. Needy. 

Squeezing out a few pearly tears to lacquer the ends of your lashes in a way you knew that Toji was absolutely weak for. “P-please- jus’ want you ngh! a-all—” Rovering down a hand across the lamination of creamy cum that puddled out of your sappy entrance, your trembly digits are absolutely drenched in the overflooded remnants of cum that your gummy walls were topped up from before. “-inside me, Toji.”

And oh was he weak.

Hell, it’s like he’s melting into you from above. 

One beefy arm of his branding the curvaceous flex of his biceps around your waist. Rotund curves of his strong knees weakening, smearing further and further apart on the dampened sheets to plug you full with the globular crown of his thick cockhead. 

Eyes creasing to widen, Toji’s swiping a thick drag down your buttery walls with a syrupy pop! Followed mercilessly by a sudden slap! down the snug orifice of your sweet, sweet slit. 

Your sloppy sounds resonate against the walls sound-proofed especially for you.

“Evil young lady. We should discuss…wh-what do you think, mama?” He’s gruffing out hoarsely at your drooling cunt - and you swear you could hear his baritone lilt a few octaves higher at the sight. You swear you could hear his shatter into a whimper- “Y-you’re fuckin’ lucky, this cunt o’ yours is so hngh- damn persuasive.”

He was so good at making you embarrassed - sinking in solid inch by inch until you were utterly bruised by the sodden French kiss of his smooth tip down your cervix. Hot and hefty. Steamy gumdrops of vicious pre gliding down your throbbing g-spot.. 

Toji plants your goopy depths with a harsh battering ram. The swollen cylindrical shaft of his rummaging into you so deep - he was so fucking massive. And you think you’d never get used to it.

“Look at you milkin’ a cock you said was heh- too big. M’proud of ya.” He presses a few innocent pecks down the side of your prespired forehead, “But I’m not like those wimpy fuckin’ boys you’ve dated before, ma.” 

Fuck. You’re being headlocked with one of his big, beefy arms - jerking your stupidly lolling head up to his. He only got so much stronger with age. 

Toji’s spitting out through sexily clenched teeth - through a smile so fucking feral that it makes you pulse. “I’m n-not gonna go ngh- fuckin’ easy on ya jus cos’ you’re a little…cute.” Toji’s foraging for the elastic door to your womb, skimming his palm for that inflationary bump outlined underneath your pretty tummy. “I’m not stopping until we’re givin’ Megs a sweet lil’ sibling.’”

Pap! Pap! Pap! He’s pressurizing his thrusts with years of power, handling you easily like a ragdoll underneath him. Glomping around thick ivory tresses of seed from hours before - the squelches play out like a song to him.

“Ohhh? What’s that? Ya sure?” Toji’s eyes crinkle with sheer joy, shaggy dark bangs sticking to his forehead and showing off stray strands of silver. “Ya hear that? She said she’s gonna give me a daughter.”

He’s driving you wild. Stupid. 

“Hmm- nothing to say?” You’re hearing low titters pierce in cloudy little pants against your ear. Intoxicating. And beady droplets of sweat spatter your shoulder as Toji looms dangerously closer. “Listen to this-” SMACK! Another mean swat on your cunt. And a second. A third. Fourth- “Y-you’re still lettin’ his filthy pussy talk for ya? Lazy girl.”

Every heated pound had your pussy slewing out the most sinful squelches and then some. Watery slurps so loud that you’re struggling to mumble out over it, “S-s’not my fault— you’re just so…so…”

“Say it.” Toji’s huffing out. 

And the bed raptures with splitting creaks when he’s hiking a powerful thigh to plant firmly on the plushy mattress - gyrating his hips impossibly deeper. Hauling your bawling pussy into his bashing collides against those spots, rubbing your inner walls with his thumping veins. “C’mon, mama, use your big girl words. Aren’tcha embarrassed to be haaah- fucked so dumb by this old man?”

And he already knew that that would be all it took for your tongue to string together its first few coherent syllables. A pitchy little, “N-not- ngh- not my fault you’re so…good.”

The only thing on your mind - the only thing you can chant like a mantra when your orgasm invades you over with surprise.

The very moment those broken sounds taper off from your slack maw, you’re seeing white. Stars bursting behind your lids, when Toji’s ruddied, split tip crashes into your tenderized magical spots. Again. And again. And again and again-

“Good?” Toji echoes. Head tilting to nuzzle yours, he’s snarling his pearly canines into the apples of your cheeks and biting. “A-all that- n’ all ya hafta say is “good”? D-don’t even deserve- this-” 

You’re garbling out between each punctuating pound, rivulets of saliva spilling from between your lips. “No- no no no- please inside. I wan’ it- want it all—”

You can’t see him through that clingy glaze of lust in your eyes, but he’s rolling his eyes. Huffing out a growling, “Then you better not ah- waste a single drop. Wan’ everyyyyy ah- leering loser to know who did this.”

You’re being absolutely flooded with the thickly vicious dumps of Toji’s cum - and he always had so much to give. Sweltering hot. Sloshing around voluminous dredges that splatter down your thighs, it’s like a sticky second skin. Lathering his thick fingers in a milky sheen when he’s bullying every leaking ounce back through your bloated pussy lips. Making an even bigger mess-

And the sight only makes Toji grin, “G’nna be a real white Christmas this year, huh? A real sweet one with you, me, Megs…n’ our daughter, heh.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Santa, tell me…

“Gonna take care of you, my love” Nanami’s rich, sugar-coated tone cracks at the very end. And you can only watch as his jostled prescription glasses fog up, as his stern lower lip trembles. Smearing a wet smooch over your glossy folds once more, “Suuuch g-good care of ya.”

And he was parched. It didn’t matter how many copiously innumerable times that he’d had you before, your husband was addicted to making out with your weepy cunt. 

Plumped lips illuminated by the cozy crackle of the fireplace in your bedroom. He’s wrapping them snugly around the buttony hood of your overstimulated clit to hollow his cheeks and suck. Boring that greedily half-lidded gaze right up at you with every full French kiss.  

Once. Twice. Thrice. 

Thick fingers fisting his angrily hard cock and squeezing out a few milky smudges of pre just from tasting his dear wife’s cunt. Nanami’s blocking that seething red divot right at the very end with one of his thumbs to keep himself from cumming-

God. 

He really was going to be the end of you. 

There’s such a clingy film of your sweet sweet pussy glaze glistening across the handsome lower half of his face. Slipping and sliding wet splotches down your wrist when you’re grabbing your husband by the scruff of his silvery blond locks and dragging him upwards. 

Gruffing out a pained keen- “Darlin’, your cute cunt i-isn’t ready yet-”

He was addicted - wanted more.

“I need you, Kento–” Your fingers dabble their way to trek and encircle the broad planes of his sculptured shoulders. Nanami was hot - burning. Condensing out fevered pants as he hung onto your every word. “S’okay if you’re a little…rough.”

And oh. Oh, you were sincerely wrong - you were going to be the death of him.

Because Nanami’s lazily sliding his strawberry pink tongue to lap at the honeyed glaze of your slick on his lips. A few fingers - including the one with that gorgeous golden wedding band of his - drag across your chin to pry out your lolling tongue and suck. Tasting yourself. 

“Always so impatient.” he’s tutting, always so careful. So concerned over you, especially since you’d had your two daughters. But Nanami Kento would never say no to his wife - never say no to you. Never has. Never will. “Rough, huh? Y-ya sure you can handle it? Don’t wanna…break you, honey.”

“Y-you won’t–” you’re huffing, trembly thighs enraptured around his soft waist. 

The years had done Nanami well, and you couldn’t kick off that comically red Santa coat and hat off of him fast enough - still on after surprising your young kids with it earlier today. You could only gape at the way his hard muscles had tenderized into a dad body that was so plump. So strong. So sexy. 

Squealing when his fattened pink head thwacks! right down the treacly middle of your sopping lips. Thumbing in a thick fingerpad until he’s fully and thoroughly inspecting your gooey hole, “Such a cute cunt, g’nna break her with my ah- cock, my love.”

And ah how he secretly loved whenever you’d whine those pretty pleas at him that way. Lips cutely pouted out until he chuckles with a dark, “Haaaah- arch that back a little more f’me, my wife.”

Calloused mountains of his palms massage your perfectly curvaceous spine to help your slobbery pussy swallow down every sopping swab of his globular tip at your gummy insides. Trickling out wet drizzles of intoxicating creamy pre at your doughy cervix.

Oh, this. 

This stretch had your mind filled with only cottony buzzing, maw slacking eagerly to beg out needily for more more more-

“Yeahh that’s it- F-fuuuck-” Nanami’s sweat-glistened skin wrinkles as he’s letting his head tumble backwards, glassy eyes sprinting to the very back of his lids. “Yeahh? You’re my b-big girl, right? Mhm- then take- it- like one-”

And shit, you did - you always did. And Nanami thinks he feels himself falling in love all over again. 

Planting a purposefully sappy little smack! right on the fleshy peek of your clit to make your knees weaken. It’s so unfairly attractive the way he’s shrugging off the rest of that costume Santa coat to leverage that lecherous little advantage and drag your jittery legs on top of his strong deltoids. “S’gonna m-make it easier. Trust me.”

So powerful. You’re being manhandled like a fucking doll - and treated just like one, too. 

Tawny happy trail massaging your oh-so-aqueously driveling slit, Nanami’s round tummy presses into you as he pins you hopelessly down, down, down into such a mean mating press. He’s pressing an innocent kiss to your ankles, pounding in a way so angular that it makes you halfway scream-

THUD!

“Shhhhh shh shh…hush a little, honey.” You’re blinking up through tear-clinged lashes at that attractive dimple cratering its way onto the very edge of your husband’s smile lines. Sweat-glossed forehead bumping sweetly into yours, “You’re gonna wake the ngh- girls up. And right now I…”

He’s trailing off - losing himself and his sanity into the way your mushy walls were swirling all around him. Every sploshing dab of his plumply swollen crownhead cuddling your bruised g-spot. Heavy, cum-filled balls stinging a permanent bruise against the curve of your ass, his massive arms around your legs.

But not just outside. No, Nanami was marking a thick circumference so deep into your spongy cervix - and even the recoil, even every singular bounce back of his rotund shaft away from your gluey depths had him hissing.  

“I- I need…” 

Fuck, the pure need and fatigue is radiating off of him in desperate waves. Contagious. Your only option is to lock your ankles more vice-like around his slightly overgrown undercut and take it when Nanami streams out a melty wad of spit right onto your tastebuds.

Ah, and then you’re swallowing. Letting him kiss away the translucent splatters of remnants near the corner of your mouth - and ah, Nanami’s so in love. 

He’s clasping one set of fingers to design unintelligible I love you’s on your plummy clit, the other intertwining with your left hand to leave a pretty peck right on your matching wedding ring. “-I need you…all to myself right now.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - A++

“Now now, let’s see…question four wrong-”

“Sugu-”

“-question five, only two marks-”

“Sugu–”

“-question six. Skipped.”

“Suguru.”

And oh, how much Professor Geto Suguru was having fun with this. 

With you - his favorite TA from the Biology 101 course - and your utterly messy thighs draped over one of his muscular ones, precarious fingers nimbling to clutch onto his pristine vest. Begging, pleading with every bat of your trembly lashes. 

You’re glomping his fleshy mounds of skin with your drooling cunt, laminating every bump and muscle with a dripping slide of velveteen slick after every lewd grind. “P-please….sir– jus’ wan’ your cock already.”

Needy. 

“How crude.” Geto’s pushing his reading glasses up his regal nose-bridge, pretty pink lips coming up into a snarl that only makes your teary cunt throb even harder. Your own exam papers being flicked onto his office desk in front of him, he’s twiddling his thumbs along the flimsy hem of your skirt. “And for those appalling answers, three more minutes.” 

Whining, “But-”

“Did I stutter?” Antique metallic wristwatch so bone-chillingly cold when he’s snugly wrapping his fingers around your tender throat. Tight. Softly bouncing his knee - and you with it, “Can’t even handle ridin’ my thigh - how are ya gonna handle my cock, gorgeous?”

And it might have been three minutes - it might have been hours - until Geto Suguru finally found a correct answer on your tough finals paper. Finally found something he was satisfied with enough to slam! you bent over onto the sleek mahogany of his desk and stuffed stupidly full-

“Tch- look at what a mess you made~” he’s sighing out, breathing hot promises down into your ear in a way that makes your glutinous walls cling like adhesive onto his angry, throbbing shaft to milk him even harder. ��Slobberin’ all down my thighs- how are you gonna hah- make up for it, huh?”

“I don’t- I don’t know–” You can barely even think. Jumbling out messily slurring syllables of Geto’s name with every sodden pap! pap! pap! 

SMACK!

Geto’s long, merciless digits swat your gulping entrance with a mean smack. Brimming his soft fingertips over the raised imprints, he’s throating out, “What do you know, hm? Anythin’ else in that pretty head of yours other than hah- wearin’ the s-sluttiest skirts possible to my class?”

Oh. That makes you whirl your head up with a guilty whimper, “Wh-what do you- ah!”

He might be hold but Geto wasn’t the least bit nicer.  

Surprising you with yet another thwack of his hand on your ass, and a few more copious loads of glossy precum unloaded onto your doughy cervix. “Exactly what I said…” And he’s dragging you down with one roughened hand latched onto your neck, sullying your slobbery pussy with a fat drag down your g-spot. “Those fuckin’ skirts- so tiny and thin. Can see your fucking panties from my d-desk. Tell me- who are ya wearin’ those hah- for.”

Shit - his dewey eyes are dripping over to one right there tattered on the floor. 

Gasping, heaving, hunching over to pin your squirming body down hard onto the slippery platform.

Geto Suguru was so big. Pudgy abs skating down your back, slinking you into a trail of soft tufts of black-

“S’it for that ah- loser fuckin’ boy ya s-sit next to?” He’s spitting, tumbling out condensely from his lips. Mature eyes creasing as his gold-rimmed glasses slip. “Or for that flirty fuuuuck- group p-partner of yours…o-or…” And you can only gulp - you can only keen when he’s letharging his vicious hips just enough to keep pressing a hard probe into your mushy g-spot. Holding it still. “-for me, gorgeous?”

Who else would it be for? Professor Geto was the tattooed, unattainable eye-candy of the entire student and teacher population. Well…almost unattainable. 

And you make it known - you’re curving your back so malleably into Geto’s hold. Letting his sweat-soaked undershirt drag down your arched spine. Heartbeat pumping like a drumbeat in your ear with every sodden thwack! of his globular cockhead.

Jaw slacking pathetically open to whine, “Y-you—” Shit- how dangerous. Those cutely slutty noises of yours are such a threat that he’s pumping your mouthy orifice with a few ringed fingers, “O-only for you, sir.”

Yeah, real dangerous.

“Well then…” Geto’s forced to take a second - two - to gather his wits, his sheerly melty brain enough to grin a sleazy grin. “-how about I give ya l-little lesson, young lady.” Smack! Smack! Smack! into the goopy soft spots of your cunt. With his free hand, he’s swiping away the slightly grey-streaked locks of long inky hair. Serious. “About how a real man fucks.”

And he’s fucking you like he hated you - like he was trying to meld you into the littering exam documents on the desk that you’d so absolutely flubbed. 

“O-oh my god, Suguru—” Your tongue’s lolling out openly, pupils flying in criss-crossed little patterns even he’s hitting your poorly bruised g-spot again. And again. And again and- “Feels s-so good- m’not gonna last long.”

But ah your mistakes on the exam might have been…on purpose - but the way that you’re scrambling your trembly hands down to mindlessly smear your saturated pussy flaps further open - to try and greedily swallow up even more past his hefty hilt - was definitely not. 

“Ah ah- none of that.” Geto’s tutting, your hands being swatted away by one of his much larger ones. Staggering fingers plugging your bulging pussy lips with a slowly drawling line from the edge of his thumb. Pulling out - just for a sloppy split-second - to slap his fatly swollen head on your gloopy slit - before bullying your sappy entrance doubly full with both his pulpy length and his swirling digits. 

“Move that fuckin’ hand, gorgeous, n’ stop being hahh- shy around ol’ Professor Sugu, hm? If ya want more-” You can’t run away - you can’t even try when he’s hiking up one powerful thigh onto the desk to drag you into every squelching slam! Every rut - you’re reeled in. Deeper and deeper. Strong, dexterous fingers curving to press into your forbidden magic spots. “-then just heh- raise your hand n’ ask. Any questions?”

Glomping out a sweltering hot rope of precum when you actually do - hand trembling, piping up a small, desperate. “Can- can I have it…inside, sir?”

Oh, you’re being positively crushed by his broad planes of muscles. Hot. Feverish. Geto’s only pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “F-for my hngh- valedictorian- of course.”

And when you’re crashing into your high, Geto’s holding you so tight. Riotous hips fucking you through each and every dizzying wave of your orgasm, making you see stars-

“Get ready, girl.” You can hear - but with the black tinging the edges of your vision, you can barely see. “Bet no other boy has f-fucked ya like this, huh?” At your delirious headshakes - shit, do you even realize what you’re doing right now? He was fucking you so dumb. “Gonna cum- gonna fill ya up so hard ‘ntil those wimps know to stay back from…my girl.”

Then you feel like you’re bursting, your elastic walls tugging tautly to their limits when Geto’s pumping out torrential heaps upon heaps of thick, creamy seed. Sloshing around your insides and icing your resinous depths in such murky ribbons of cum.

So much - too much that it’s spilling out from the very brim of your sopping slit. 

And Geto only hums at the branded little gashes of his fingers and his watch on your throat - before sinking in his sharp canines for good measure. 

Stepping away - carefully - to flip you over and smear your legs shamefully splayed out on the desk. Dripping. Slobbering. He kneels until he’s only inches away-

“Let me teach ya another mmpf- lesson, gorgeous.” And Geto could barely talk with how utterly ravenous he was, deeply gulping in the heavenly musk of your pretty pussy. Tongue slackening. Drooling. “A lesson in h-heh…squirting.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “M-mommy?”

Fuck. 

Choso didn’t mean to let that slip out right now - in fact, he wouldn’t ever at all. 

Startling those pretty hazel eyes of his, he’s urgently blinking away the last remaining dredges of thorough pussydrunkenness. Sitting up from the sodden, velveteen sheets with your rawly glissading body on top of him in tow. 

Pretty coral red lips sagging and stumbling around blindly for words - and not just because your greedy hips were still caressing your melty inner walls with his furiously achy cock. “I-I’m hngh! sorry, baby, I didn’t-”

“Didn’t say I didn’t ah- like it, Cho–” you’re slithering your hands through his damply prespired scalp, and it makes Choso halfway purr. Leaning into your touch with a hiccuping few ruptures of his bawling cockhead into that sweetened spot. Chuckling, “If I’m ‘mommy’, then does that make you hah- my good boy?”

Oh.

Oh. 

And you didn’t expect this. 

Didn’t expect the way that Choso’s half-lidded eyes would glaze with a thin veil of delirium, letting those meanly-latched hands around your waist loosen for just a split-second to let your hips bounce back into his. Resonating out a proud smack! when the girthy curve of his pulpy mushroomy tip drills a fat, syrupy smooch against your cervix, “I- d-don’t-”

He can’t even finish his sentence - his string of thoughts.

Because Choso’s sculpted pecs heave once. Twice. Before he’s hiccuping out a strained mantra of your name, pouring out hot, creamy dredges of cum that slick your cushiony channel. Just from that singular word.

Clinging onto your gooey insides like adhesive - hot. Heavy. You can feel the weight of it sloshing vehemently inside you in viscous ribbons when you when Choso folds himself in half and bites down onto the precious nook of your neck. 

“Don’t s-say that.” he’s whimpering out, dragging his stupidly lolling tongue out in a lazy lick down the indenting bruise. Before lathering the very same tongue into your mouth in a sloppy kiss, “Makes me…nervous.”

And he was embarrassed - so, so embarrassed to be cumming early. 

But oh, the way those ivory rivulets paint creamy rings upon rings around his dark happy trail makes Choso’s mouth coat itself in pathetic drool.

“Awww, no need to be so ngh- shy, baby.” Your fingers tilt his droopy face up towards yours - and just one look into your eyes is enough to make Choso’s handsome cheekbones flush a bright cherub red. A few more treacly globs of seed glomping out and dripping their oozy way down your walls. Teasing, “If you ah- want I could call you daddy-”

“No-” his lower lip juts out in a pout, nose crinkling up oh-so-adorably. And you’re stuck pearing downwards in utter wonderment as his pretty plump lips encircle around one of your hardened nipples and sucks. Batting those long lashes innocently up at you, “B-but you could…make me a daddy.”

And was this really your dearly beloved boyfriend? 

Are you sure?

Because he was fucking his powerful hips up into you so nastily, throat cracking with a juggular ah! ah! ah! every time your sugar-coated squelching rang messily in his ears. Your hips were relentless - milking him so good that widely splashing tears were collecting in his eyes-

“D-didn’t think you wanted- ah!” Careening your cockdrunken head backwards when he’s sagging his dazed head on top of your chest, mouth lathering your poor nipples with a silvery coating of saliva. “-a b-baby, Cho—”

But, oh, he did. 

He always did - ever since the day he met you, and you’d been such a sweetheart to Yuji. That’s when he knew-

“R-really?” Your whispering voice was barely audible - yet, Choso knows he’ll always be able to pick out your voice anywhere. It’s snapping him out of his reverie, making him realize that he was talking out loud. Shit. 

“R-really.” Choso’s nodding - nodding and nodding so much harder with every plunging shovel of his inches down into your gooey cunt.  Hiccuping, “Always. Always w-wan’ed to breed my sweet girl’s hngh! nasty pussy.” With every punishing brand of his swabbing cockhead discovering open your cloggy insides. Sheathing himself with sticky peck after peck against the elastic door to your womb. He was so drunk now. “To have our own fuuuuck- babygirl. W-with your eyes n’ my hair a-and- and then a another girl and a boy and-”

God, it was a wonder that Choso was tumbling into his orgasm sooner with just how much he was talking himself insane.

Weighty, condensed pants of air strangling in his chest and suffocating him just as much as he was suffocating himself between your pretty tits. 

Moaning - whimpering with every spurt of thickened seed that shoots from his rotund, bawling divot and cobwebs way into the slushy bottom of your pussy. Choso’s swollen, upright curve made it so easy for him to paint every single nook and cranny with a glutinous luster of his cum. 

“O-oh– I made a mess, mommy-” It’s spilling out - frosting a slippery vanilla sheen down to the hefty, cylindrical base of Choso’s cock. Soiling the slender few digits that he’s rovering down to your soppingly wet slit, the steaming hot sap so sinful that it only makes Choso suck on your bruised and battered nipples harder. “Wh-why is nothing…”

Ah, he looks so sorrowfully disappointed. 

You can’t help but run your fingers through Choso’s sexily tangled bangs, accidentally tugging onto a clingy lock - making him cum. All over again.

Until he was running on mere fumes. Globular head swirling out nothing but a dry orgasm, you’re being spattered with wispy little pearls of his cum that help him slip and slide his still-hard shaft into you. 

Humming, “Hahhh- nothing is gonna c-come out yet, baby–” Snickering at Choso’s broken whine, “But you were such a good boy f’me today, y’know?”

He’s gasping eagerly, and that innocently fucked-out expression smeared all over Choso’s face was so lecherous. Practically bawling now - big spherical tears of his cascading when he sighs, “A good boy? Oh, s-so heh…maybe in nine months?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - X(XX)-mas

“What a greedy little thing…” And if this was anyone else they’d have been scared speechless by the rumbling purr of something animalistic in the king’s baritone. They’d have been trembling - and you were, too, but for a much, much different reason. “Look at ya- g-gettin’ fucked stupid by only one cock n’ now you’re begging for ah- both?”

And it shouldn’t be a surprise to you that Ryomen Sukuna was strong - two of his staggeringly beefy arms wrapping around your waist to pick you up and manhandle you down from all fours and into a rude prone bone. “No one in a ah- thousand years has ever even thought of taking ‘em both.”

Though, you certainly wanted to. Which is why even after marriage and already having two sons with him - you were pleading for both. 

And, well, after a thousand years - Sukuna himself would start feeling curious, of course. Not that he’d ever admit it. 

“S-Sukuna-” you’re lolling your head up a mere few inches off the saliva-lathered royal pillows - as far as it could go in your half-drunken state right now. 

“S-S-Sukuna—” Groaning voice tilting oh-so-dramatically a few octaves higher - it only got so much sexier with age - he’s simply bursting into a bout of taunting snickers. “Fine fine. Honestly, fuckin’ filthy- aren’t ya? Dunno why m’so surprised after this is the pussy that made me a daddy…heh. C’mon, beg- beg n’ I might just ah…play nice.”

One of his ruddied cockheads plunges past your saturatedly smearing folds and thumps a fat collision into your poor g-spot. So hard that it has you scrambling blindly for the splintering headboard, whimpering at the heated weight of his other shaft resting down your arched spine. It dollops out a generous, warm helping of puddling precum down your arching spine. Waiting. Wanting. 

“M’begging–” you’re gritting your teeth, pout simpering up at him. Exactly the way he liked it. 

“Hmmm, can’t hear ya-” Sukuna rolls his devilishly red eyes, a third out of his four hands guiding the sappy divot of his second cock to cling a few ropey wads of pre down your already overfilled slit. Bulging. He’s cupping his ear with another to hear, “Louder, brat.”

“I want-”

SWAT!

Five thick fingers brand their cylindrical markings onto the fleshy mound of your ass, jolting you to spearhead your gummy cunt in feral little grinds. “Please! Kuna-”

And then the next few syllables spilling from your mouth are nothing but sounds of utter disappointment, hiccuping out from your thoroughly slack maw. Because Sukuna is taking his languid time slowing down, wrenching out a few syrupy slurps. 

“Easy there, silly girl.” Only for you to feel like you’re being split-apart. To feel like you’re about to explode- a hefty-handed palm smoothing over your gaping mouth, “Shhh, yer g’na wake the heh- kids up.”

You can’t even be mad - you can’t even snap back at Sukuna, because he was giving you everything you wanted. 

Bullying in the peached curve of his plump second cock with a sodden wet smack down your sloppy entrance. Pumping in inch by inch with every slight swivel of his shaft - and the stretch was absolute heaven. 

Being trapped down underneath Sukuna’s weight - you could choke from the sheer sinful heft of him and you loved it. Muscles upon padded muscles that were softened with the pudge that came with being such a doting dad. Even if he was still in denial about the doting. 

Your clingy walls swashing Sukuna’s swollen cocks in a viscous glaze of your sweet, sweet slick. Oozing and riveting down between his rigorous lengths - he was so massive. Tauting out your sung channel until you could feel his every lightning bolted vein down the side massage into your gooey walls. Every cranny, every unimaginable sweet spot being rubbed in a sultry back and forth back and forth back and-

Sukuna’s planting another teasing smack! on your ass with a breathless cackle. In disbelief. Rubbing over the slightly swollen imprint with his overgrown blackened nails, “Atta girl, jus’ a few inches more n’ ya ah- got it.”

A few inches that felt more like a lifetime. 

It’s almost never-ending how every new jackhammer into your slobbering cunt had Sukuna supplying centimeters upon centimeters more of his double lengths. The matching fleshy tips streaming out glutinous wads of pre splattered into your cervix every time you took him so well. 

So much.

And it was driving him mad. 

“Heh, not b-bad for a lil’ human-” Sukuna’s strangling out, a few stray fingers pushing back the pink locks plastering to his sweat-lacquered forehead. “After a thousand years- a-a thousand. This pussy really is made f’me, huh?”

God, the notorious king of curses thinks he might just faint right about now. 

Eyes wrinkling in pure bliss at the sodden feeling of your pretty pussy gulping him up, the bulging outline of his own cocks massaging against each other when rummaging your teary orifice.

And all he can think about is you.

You you you with your teeth biting adorably into the silky covers of the decadent royal pillows. Waterfalls of tears blubbering down either side of your cheeks that Sukuna can’t help but free his long tongue to lick in pure savor. 

You, with your hips jostling helplessly to and fro into the deafeningly stinging cadence of his strong hips. Years of weathered battle pressurized into fucking you like it was the first time Sukuna ever had. 

And in a way it was - you’d never been so spearheaded vigorously open before. Dual battering rams of his stacked shafts plunging into your cervix, your g-spot. Leaving behind branding little swipes of ropey precum. Sukuna can’t help but scour one engulfing hand down - manifesting his second tongue onto that particular palm and dragging down the teary sap drooling from your thoroughly full slit. 

You, all round and glowing-

“S-so…” And if you heard the way that Sukuna’s voice shatters into a zillion voicecracks towards the end then you can’t tease him for it. Because the pounds he plants are so punishing. Thorough. Clearing his throat to babble - yes, babble out, “How’d ya feel a-about ah- rulin’ over those scum curses with three heirs. Or maybe four heh…five…or-”

♡ GOJO SATORU - MISTLETOE!

Gojo Satoru would buy you anything and everything. 

That pretty designer dress you looked at? Bought and tailored to your exact measurements - at least, it was before ending up in mere tatters. It’s fine, he’ll buy you four new ones, anyway. That expensive hotel you got caught searching up? Already splayed out on the silken sheets of its most decadent suite, Gojo fucking you into that very mattress like he was daring you to make the neighbors file noise complaints. 

And that pretty diamond ring? Well. 

“So beautiful, s-sweetheart.” Gojo’s voice simpers off in a drawled-out chuckle. Drunken. Pearly white teeth baring in a messy clash of a kiss against your decorated left ring finger. “The ring’s not heh- half bad, either.”

Oh, you looked so pretty and his that Gojo’s fatly plumped-up tip can’t help but butter your puckered hole with a few creamy swipes of pre. Swirling around in a few messily thick circles before pumping you lecherously full once more. 

You didn’t even know how he still had the stamina-

“T-Toru—” your fingers embellish angry red marks down his arched back. Dragging his smoothly pale back muscles and leveraging his soft pudgy tummy over yours. “Harder. Hngh- need you in s-so deep.”

“Deeper? Deeper?” He’s breathing - hissing at the gummy cling of your tugging cunt. And Gojo’s brawny arms had only grown more powerful with age, wrangling your thrashing legs up onto his broad-planed shoulders and squeezing you bent into rubbery halves. “My nasty girl, wan’in so badly t-to ngh- lock me down, huh?”

But oh, Gojo Satoru sounded so utterly elated at the idea. 

Greedy. Yearning. 

Smooching a few pretty pecks at the exact depraved tempo of his sloppy snogs against your cervix.

You could feel his rippling muscles underneath his softened abs, feel the cushiony press of his plush pecs - only grown attractively bigger over the years. The positively slathered meady topping of Gojo’s precum inside you sloshing around torrentially with every pound.

“W-well you’re the one that already ngh- bought me a ring.” You’re huffing out, just as soon as your spellbound tongue can gather together enough coherent syllables. Gliding your fingers through the faint streaks of grey infiltrating his cloudy white, it makes Gojo throw his head back with a pure whine. 

“Don’ act like you ah- don’t like it, my girl.” And oh, the pure output of his cursed energy is just right enough that when Gojo smacks! two slender digits down on your clit it makes you sob. “See? This cute cunt s’always so honest with me…how cute.”

“S-such a filthy mouth.” Yet, you’re the one bucking your gyrating hips up more and more to make your saturated cunt speak out syrupy slurps in various high volumes. 

And Gojo knows - oh, how he knows. 

Because in a split-second, you’re being shut up. You’re having those very same roughened fingertips scour their way between your pouty lips and draw a few messy smears of your sweet, sweet juices down the back of your throat. Making you choke- “Hmmm, n’ yet- you still love this ah- ‘filthy mouth.’”

You’re just about to snap back something that’ll make the pussydrunken older man above you huff and puffy - that is, until your mouth is flooded with something of a gasp. 

Eyeing the pretty glittering mistletoe hanging off the mahogany headboard that was decidedly not present just a split-second ago. And you can only batter Gojo with a flash of your narrowed eyes, “Satoru…”

“Whaaat? I didn’t do hahah- anything.” 

Yet, you could see the way his eyes wrinkle with amusement and guilty bolts of blue lightning - his powers. Thrumming with every burling sludge against your needy cervix, every tiny mewl that you’re mindlessly letting off with the pulpy slaps of his cum-filled balls against your perked ass. And Gojo’s letting his practised reversed curse energy seep into you overtime when he’s bending down, down, down. Strawberry-pink lips puckering in sugar-coated delight. So amused. “B-but you know what they say…when under the mistletoe…”

And it wasn’t just one kiss - not even two. 

“Mistletoe-” he’s whispering, tugging on your spit-slicked lower lip. Then your tongue, “Mistletoe-” Back to stealing your cute lips, swallowing every sinful noise. “Mistletoe…” Along with a bouquet of more and more sweltering kisses curving his left-leaning shaft to maze its way against your puckered g-spot. “M-mistletoe….heh.”

Not until you’re feeling dizzy with the sodden swipe of Gojo’s pinkish tongue, smearing his candied taste as he claims your sweet mouth. Filthy. Not until then does he finally pull apart, smacking away the sticky ropes of spit - only to pry open your drooling maw and dribble a sultry rivulet of saliva.

You can’t do anything but swallow, peering right into Gojo’s matured sapphire gaze-

“H-holy shit…g’nna make me ah- cum early with that-” he’s hissing, snarling. So fucking mighty with each sledgehammering collision into your sensitive g-spot. “Fuckin’ dangerous ya are. M-makin’ even the strongest lose dammit-”

You’re nodding - babbling. “M’also- ah- also…”

“Nuh uh, use those ngh- big girl words if you’re p-playin’ in the big leagues, sweetheart—” Being blessed with another sudden sopping smack! Tinged with only more crackling jujutsu. “I believe in ya. Fuuuck- use that pretty mouth now.”

“M’also- not gonna last.” You’re shrieking out, legs clamoring to tighten with the vicious tempo of Gojo’s cadence. The heat pooling in a tight bubble at your stomach only grows twofold when you hiss, “C-cum inside, Satoru?”

And you sounded so adorable - so whimpery with big, bulbous tears molting at your eyes with every jackhammer. So gorgeous with your dribbling lips parted - on both ends. So very his. 

“Heheh- s’alright, sweetheart. S’alright-” he’s grunting into your open mouth, and you could almost taste the saccharine desperation wafting from him. The pure need. “Satoru here’s not gonna hah- miss.” Heavy hand patting the cylindrical outline embedded deep into your tummy, “I have a s-safe spot alllll safe n’ sound here.”

And the last thing you see are those sexy, faint smile lines of his beaming down at you before you cum.

Sparking out pure heavenly white behind your eyelids when you’re crashing into your orgasm so hard that Gojo’s pinning you down with all his bodily weight to drill you through your high. To make you take it.

“W-watch out, my girl-” your cottony ears pick up over that blissful buzz echoing across your empty head. And Gojo’s rams grow sloppy. Oversaturated. “S’gonna be…hngh- a bit of a stretch.”

“A bit” was way underestimating it, almost sinfully so. 

Because if you thought that your springy walls were already alcoved to its maximum while all solid inches of Gojo’s cock was being driven into you - then you weren’t ready for the inflationary stretch of his cum.

Thick, spacey wads of his gooey cum that dribbles down your walls. They’re so hot and weighty, sinking your hips up and down, splattering steamy splotches down your inner thighs. 

And Gojo’s clasping your jittery ankles behind his fashionable undercut with only one of his hands, holding you trapped so that he can flood invasive wiry ribbons of seed. Have you filled to the brim and dazed-

“Ohhh, I love you- L-look how much.” he’s straining out - veering into the dangerous territory of giggling humorlessly. And you already know it doesn’t bode well for you when Gojo’s landing a massive palm down on top of your pretty lower tummy to push. Making such a mess - but you can’t act like you don’t like the heavenly sight of him spilling out of you.

“So like…h-heh. Wanna make me an actual DILF, sweetheart?”

A/N. Need a DILF to take care of me- I mean WHAT.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[corrodedcoffincumslut]

🥵🥵🥵

Someone throw me in the freezer, cause I’m melting 🫠 HOT DAMNNNN

Pretty when you cry E.M.

Warnings: 18+, minors don't interact! Smut, unprotected sex, alcohol, age gap, reader is 22, Eddie is 41, cheating (reader gets cheated on by her asshole bf but it’s okay eddie makes her feel much better), slightly dark!Eddie, mentions of Eddie's scars from the upside down, mentions of bullying

Pairing: Older!Eddie Munson x younger!fem!reader

Summary: You came home from college to surprise your boyfriend but walk in on him with another girl. To escape your thoughts and the pain he had caused you, you go to the hideout for a distraction and it might turn into the best night of your life.

Word count: 5.8k+

stranger things masterlist

-

You always feared that this day would come. 

The worst thing that could happen finally happened. There was a reason why you never wanted to fall in love, why you never wanted to give your heart to a person, knowing that they could crush it any time they wanted to but you trusted him. He was a good person, he was a sweet guy, a loving one. He treated you like a princess, he took care of you and spent every possible minute with you, his eyes never strayed away from you. He never entertained other girls, he never seemed interested in anyone but you. It was easy to trust him, to fall in love with him. You felt safe with him, even when you left for college, you knew that nothing bad would happen but now it did. 

You came home earlier than you were supposed to. It was finally Christmas break and you were excited to spend time with him, you were excited to surprise him but in the end, you were the one who got surprised. 

With a smile on your face, you walked up the stairs to his apartment, you held the keys in your hands that he gave you a few months back, you couldn’t wait for him to scoop you up into his arms and kiss you but you never got that. 

You didn’t walk in to him making dinner in the kitchen or to him sitting on the couch and watching one of his favorite horror movies, no, you walked in on him fucking another girl on the couch. She was on top of him, her lips attached to his, they were both moaning loudly, desperately and as though that wasn’t heartbreaking enough, you heard him whimpering her name.

Meg, Meg, Meg…

You were so caught off guard, shocked and hurt that at first, you didn’t realize who she was. Only as he said her name, you realized that she was the girl that used to bully you in school. The girl that used to make your life a living hell until he came along. 

“I love you, baby.” 

A wave of nausea rushed through you when you heard his words and her reciprocating them. 

You wanted to yell at them, to grab her by the hair and drag her off of him so you could slap the daylight out of him but instead, you left as soon as you came. 

The tears didn’t come until you were out in the cold again and you were able to catch a breath, you placed your hands on your knees and hunched over, feeling like you were going to throw up but nothing came out, instead a sob fell from your lips. 

Your chest was hurting and your stomach churned as your mind replayed the scene you have just witnessed. You squeezed your eyes shut and took deep breaths. 

You couldn’t believe it. 

You felt so betrayed and hurt. How long has this been going on? How long has been fucking her? How long has he been with her? Clearly, it wasn’t the first time. He loves her. God, he loves her. 

You never dealt with pain very well, usually, you would drown it in something. 

Tonight, you chose alcohol. 

You went to the bar, the only one in town. The one you were never really fond of. The Hideout.

Finn would always drag you here, usually just to get the drugs that the intimidating bartender would sell. The man always sent shivers down your spine, in a way you shouldn’t enjoy. While he always treated your boyfriend coldly, he was always more welcoming towards you. Always sweet and kind, maybe a little too kind. 

He scared you a little though, not because of the rumors that people spread around or because of the things he was accused of when he was younger. You never believed those things. You were scared of something that he held in his eyes whenever he looked at you. 

Normally, you would never come here without him but there is no him in your life anymore and you desperately need a drink and a good distraction. You walk in after wiping your tears away. The bar isn’t really crowded, it never is. Only a few men occupy some tables.

You sigh as you take your heavy coat off, placing it on the hanger before you make your way towards the counter. Sure enough, Eddie Munson is here. Unlike the last time you had seen him, his beard is now gone, his clean shaven face makes him look younger, though you always liked the scruff. His curls are laying softly on his shoulders, the sleeves of his flannel pulled up to his elbows, showing off his tattoos. 

You swallow nervously as you take a seat by the bar, he has yet to notice you, too busy preparing a drink for the man at the end of the bar. Licking your lips, you place your elbows on the counter and straighten your back as you watch him. 

You came here for something else, you know it, deep down, you know it. 

After placing the drink in front of the man, he turns around, finally, his eyes fall on you. He raises his brows, a smirk pulling at his lips as he throws the towel over his shoulder, making his way over to you. He looks around, probably looking for your boyfriend that he won’t find anywhere here tonight. 

“Well hello there,” he smirks as he comes closer to you, he eyes you slowly, “long time no see, sweetheart.” 

“Hi,” you breathe, forcing a smile onto your face. 

Eddie always made you feel nervous, you never managed to utter many words when he was around him. 

“You’re here by yourself?” 

“Yes,” you mumble, looking down to avoid eye contact, “can I get a drink?” 

“Sure, what can I get you, sweets?” 

You look up at him through your lashes, catching him staring at your lips. You blush when he doesn’t look away.

“Just– something strong, please.” 

A chuckle falls from his lips, he nods and steps away, “something strong, got it.” 

You watch him, staring at his back as he fixes your drink. He is taller than Finn, his shoulders are broader and generally, he is much more attractive, not that you would ever actually admit that to yourself.

“There you go,” he says, placing the drink in front of you. You look at the rings on his fingers, his rough hands, the thick veins. Your eyes move up to his wrist, to the scar on his forearm, the tattoos. 

“Thanks,” you whisper. Your fingers brush his when you reach for the drink, your breath hitches in your throat and you tense up a little. 

Eddie chuckles to himself as he pulls his hand away, he stares at your flustered face. He always enjoyed the little reactions he got from you whenever he touched you briefly, whether it was a hand on the small of your back, his fingers reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear or his hand touching yours, you would always get flustered under his gaze. Your eyes always flashed with desperation and guilt, you were intrigued by him, he could see it in your eyes, though the guilt of enjoying the way another man could make you feel with such little touches always led you to stepping closer to your boyfriend, reaching for his hand and clinging to him as though he could make you feel what he could. 

“You’re welcome,” he smirks, placing his hands on the counter, he watches you a little closer, noticing the red rimmed eyes, the glassiness in them. You cried before you came here. He wonders if it was your boyfriend’s fault. He hopes it was. 

“Where’s your little boyfriend?” 

You clench your jaw and furrow your brows, tensing up at the mention of him. 

Oh yeah, it was definitely his fault. 

You shrug, tearing your eyes away from him, you raise the glass to your lips and take a sip of the bitter liquor. 

“He’s fucking some other girl.” 

Eddie’s eyes widen at your words, clearly, he didn’t expect that. Who in their right mind would cheat on you? Eddie knows that he shouldn’t feel that way about someone who is much younger than him but he can’t help it, the first time he saw you, his heart stopped in his chest, you stole his breath away, you made him shiver. He was at the little flower shop, getting a bouquet for Robin’s birthday when he saw you. You were picking out flowers in your cute little sundress, sunglasses perched on your nose, a soft smile pulled at your lips as you picked out peonies. He was sure that he experienced love at first sight, he stared at you like a fool, unable to move, unable to speak. You didn’t see him though, you were too focused on all the pretty flowers. 

You saw him a few days later though, when you walked into the hideout with your boyfriend, that was one year ago. The disappointment he felt was huge when he saw you hand in hand with a man who most likely had it all, money, a fancy car and a bright future, and the right girl. 

The right girl that he fucked over. 

“Shit, sweetheart,” he sighs, not really knowing what else to say. Eddie was never good with words, he was better with actions. He reaches his hand out, placing it on top of yours. 

He would never do this to you. 

Your lips part and your breath gets caught in your throat, looking back at him, you see the sympathy in his eyes but also something else.

Tears well up in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, you blink them away and shrug, acting like it doesn’t hurt, acting like he didn’t tear your heart out and stomped all over it. 

“He is fucking the girl that used to bully me when I was still in school,” you mumble, “I saw them together, he told her that he loves her.” Your voice wavers a little, you swallow the lump in your throat. 

Anger wells up in his chest, yeah, Eddie doesn’t know you very well, your previous interactions were brief but he always felt a little protective of you, maybe a little too much. Always keeping his eyes out to see if anyone is making you uncomfortable when you were here. 

“What a fucking asshole,” he mumbles, shaking his head, “you want me to beat him up for you?” 

A small chuckle falls from your lips, your eyes crinkle with amusement as you meet his eyes. Eddie smiles at you, clutching your hand tighter. 

“No, I can do that, I just needed a moment to myself first.” 

He chuckles, “and that’s why you came here?” 

You nod. 

For the next half hour, you make small talk with him, he asks you about college and you ask him about the latest gossip in Hawkins, knowing that the drunken men always talk about the things their bored housewives tell them. 

All throughout your conversation, you feel yourself craving more of his attention.

His eyes skip down to your lips before they find yours again, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you here by yourself, you always looked so scared to be here.” 

A shiver runs down your spine, your skin tingles beneath his hand, though you still wrap your fingers around his thumb. You lick your lips and nod. 

You were never scared to be here. You were never scared of him. You were always scared of the way you felt around him. The way he made that fire burn in your lower belly. The way he made your heart stutter. The way he made your skin feel so hot and tingly. The way he made you squeeze your thighs together. The way he made you crave him. 

“Why’s that?” He asks as he looks at you with a smirk on his face and a knowing look in his eyes. He knows damn well why you were so afraid to be here but he still wants to hear you say it. 

There was always a tension between the two of you. You longed for him just as much as he always longed for you. The eye contact you held was always special. 

“I wasn’t scared to be here,” you admit with a shaky voice. 

“No?” He mumbles, tilting his head. 

Beneath the dim light, you see the very slight wrinkles on his face, the laugh lines that are barely visible, Eddie looks very good for his age, he is only 41 but some other men his age look much older. His skin is rough against yours and he is tall, much taller and much older, something about that, makes you crave him. 

Your relationship is clearly over and even if you still have to go through it, to realize everything fully, to deal with it, you finally allow yourself to feel what you have always felt deep down. 

Your attraction for the older man. 

You shake your head, “no,” you mumble, you take another sip of your drink, some of the liquor dripples down your chin, you put the glass down. Eddie watches the single droplet rolling down to your jaw, he reaches his hand out, cupping your cheek with his large hand, he catches the drop with his thumb. 

Your lips part in surprise, your breath hitches in your throat as you feel his touch, he stares at your lips, bringing his thumb up to your bottom lip, he swipes the liquid off and looks back into your eyes with a darkened look in them, suddenly, he wraps his lips around his thumb, licking the liquor off his finger. 

He smirks, satisfaction runs through him when he sees the look on your face.

“Then why did you look so scared?” He asks, continuing your conversation. 

“Huh?”

He chuckles, licking his lips. You are still staring at his lips with desire in your eyes. 

“Why did you look so scared whenever you were here?” He asks, looking over your shoulder to see some customers leave, he waves at them, giving them a small smile. That only leaves the man sitting in the booth by the window. Eddie redirects his eyes to you, “were you scared of me?” 

When you don’t answer right away, Eddie finally throws the towel on the counter and leaves his spot, he makes his way towards you and suddenly, you grow more nervous, more intrigued, more desperate. 

When you were in pain, dealing with personal struggles or looking for a distraction, you always opted for harmless things, books, movies, baking, writing but as you got older, you realized that, that, simply wasn’t enough. Sometimes you needed drinks, weed and parties but even that was never the right thing. There was an itch you needed to scratch and right now, you realized what you need. What the right thing is. It’s right in front of you. 

The right thing– the right one. 

It’s the one with the dark curls and the even darker eyes, the rough and intimidating looking man that is secretly a soft one, deep down. The one that hides behind this dark facade to make himself look more intimidating, to protect himself, to make himself look less vulnerable. He is what you need.

He sits down in front of you, close enough for you to smell his cologne, the whiskey he probably had before you walked in. You can feel his energy, you can feel the way he feels about you, the way he always felt about you. 

Maybe you came here for a reason, maybe you came here because you knew that the distraction you needed– you wanted wasn’t the drinks, you came here for something you always wanted. 

Him. 

You always wanted him. That’s why you were so afraid to be here, you were scared to lose control, scared of what you would do if he made a move on you– would you stop him? Probably not. 

You certainly won’t stop him now. 

“No, Eddie.” You whisper. Your drink is long forgotten, you are intoxicated by him. He sits close to you, towering over you with his tall frame, his knee is pushed between your thighs and his hand finds it’s way to your knee. 

His heart flutters at the way you say his name. 

You stare into each other’s eyes with a sense of longing. Neither of you say anything, he waits for you to continue but you stare at him, at his lips, at his thick neck, you stare at him for what feels like forever, not moving, not speaking. 

And he waits for you. He keeps his hand on your knee, squeezing it a little. 

When the last customer finally leaves, you decide to show him instead. You place your feet on the floor, standing up, you step towards him. His legs are spread, you step in between them and look up at him with a needy gaze. Instinctively, he places his hands on your waist as you cup his cheeks. 

You’ve been waiting to cross that line and he has been waiting for you to cross it. 

You take a shaky breath and before you decide against it, you slam your lips against his, kissing him, like you always wanted to. 

He smirks and pulls you tightly against him as he kisses you back right away. His hands leave your waist, instead he wraps his arms around your shoulders and hugs you tightly as he deepens the kiss with a loud moan. 

God, you wish you had done that much earlier. 

Your pain, your broken heart is long forgotten now that you finally feel what it’s like to be kissed by a man. 

His lips are rough against yours, he kisses you like no one ever kissed you before. Rough, passionate, delicate. He makes your stomach burn with need. Wetness pools in your panties. 

His tongue meets yours and the kiss gets deeper and deeper, rougher and more desperate. He gets up and picks you up with ease, without breaking the kiss. You wrap your legs around his waist and hold onto his neck as you smile into the kiss. Eddie carries you over to one of the tables, placing you on top of it. You pull him flush against you. 

He groans as he feels you grinding against him. 

“Baby… fuck, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, “hold on,” he chuckles as he presses another kiss to your lips, “gotta– fuck.. I have to lock the door, hold on.” He pats your cheek after giving you another kiss before he pulls away from you, rushing around the counter to get the kiss, he keeps his eyes on you. 

You smirk at him, spreading your legs wider, you push your dress up, sliding it further up your thighs. 

“Wait for me,” he grunts as he rushes towards the door, locking it up quickly and turning the main lights off, leaving the dim lights from the bar on. 

When he is back in front of you, you grab his hand and pull him back to you, “do you want to fuck me, Eddie?” 

His eyes darken, blood rushes to his dick. 

“You have no idea how bad I want you, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he cups your cheek, “but are you sure that you want it?” He asks, sweetly. “I don’t want you to regret anything–” 

“Shut up and fuck me, old man.” 

He looks impressed, words caught in his throat and a smirk tugging at his lips. 

Neither of you ever expected this to happen, especially not like this. But this is how you end up under him that night. He kisses you roughly, leaving your lips puffy by the time he makes his way down to your neck, he sucks on your skin, leaving a trail of hickeys down to your shoulder after pushing the sleeves of your dress down your arm. 

“You’re such a pretty little thing, y/n,” he murmurs against your skin, “first time I saw you, I thought you were an angel.” 

You gasp, eyes closing when he pushes his free hand under your dress, he toys with your thin tights before he rips them apart, earning another gasp from you, “‘m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll buy you new ones, I promise,” he says as he finally touches you. 

You place your hand on his shoulder and the other on the table behind you as you tilt your head to give him more access to your neck. 

“Eddie,” you whimper. 

His lips feel so soft yet so rough against your skin, his other hand cups your pussy, feeling how wet you are for him makes him groan in pleasure. 

“I’m not gonna lie, when you walked in with that prick, I was disappointed,” he admits as he places his fingertips against your clit, rubbing you over your panties, “shit, I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, baby.” 

You gasp, lips parting at both his words and his touch. You buck your hips up, trying to grind yourself against his hand. 

“Y-You did?” You whimper as you push your hand into his hair, gripping his curls. 

“Yes, fuck yes,” he grunts, “pretty thing like you deserves a real man.” 

He pulls away from your neck, staring at it for a moment, with a sly smirk, he admires the bites and hickeys he left for him to see. Then his eyes meet yours and his heart softens. 

You look vulnerable but also needy. 

“Show me how real men fuck,” you whisper, licking your lips. 

“Gladly baby,” he smirks, pecking your lips one more time before he pushes you down. You lay your back flat against the table, swallowing nervously as you wait for him to touch you. Eddie bunches your dress up at your waist and pushes your tights down your legs. His eyes flash with hunger when he sees the black lacy thong you’re wearing, he swallows, laying his large hand on your lower stomach, he looks into your eyes, “you wore that for him, huh?” He asks as his fingers reach for the band, “you wanted to surprise him?” He asks with a hint of jealousy in his voice. 

You don’t want to talk about him, you don’t even want to think about him, not when you finally have what you want.

“It’s all for you now.” 

“Damn right, baby.” 

He rips them off of you, chuckling darkly at your little squeal, he brings the panties up to his face, sniffing them, he closes his eyes and moans. 

“Eddie!” You gasp as your face flushes with embarrassment. 

He only chuckles at your reaction, pushing the panties in his back pocket, he grabs your soft legs and throws them over his shoulders as he leans down. 

Suddenly, you push yourself up on your elbows and look up at him in surprise, “w-what are you–” Before you can even finish your sentence, Eddie licks a stripe up your wet pussy, moaning filthily at your taste. 

You gasp, your eyes roll back and you instantly reach for his hair, grabbing it roughly as you feel his tongue on your clit, “o-oh my god!” 

He smirks against you, pushing his tongue against you as he eases a finger inside of you. 

“H-Holy fuck– Eddie! W-What–” 

Your stupid boyfriend never ate you out before, he can tell by your reaction, by the gasps and the moans and the confused look on your face that quickly fades away when he begins to fuck you with his long fingers. 

“E-Eddie.. Shit, that feels so good,” you whimper, “please don’t stop, please!” You beg. 

Pride rushes through him, he gets to make you feel good, he gets to touch you, he gets to be the first– and last, who eats you out, who tastes you on his tongue, who makes you moan, who makes you feel good. 

Eddie feels his cock throbbing in his pants, his heart beating fastly. Too many nights he has dreamed of this. 

He moans so loudly against you, sending vibrations through you. 

You watch him as he eats you out, as he replaces his fingers with his tongue and fucks you with it, all while he looks into your eyes. No one had ever done this to you. 

“You taste so fucking good, baby,” he grunts against you, “gonna take you home and make you sit on my face later.” 

Your stomach flutters, your pussy clenches around his tongue and you whimper at both his words and the feeling of his tongue inside of you. 

“E-Eddie!” 

Your stomach is burning, tears are pricking at your eyes as he sticks his fingers back inside of you all while his tongue is still buried deep inside of your wet cunt. 

“Y-You are.. you’re so good, E-Eddie.” 

He groans against you, fucking you deeply with his fingers. You cum without a warning, your orgasm crashes over you so suddenly, you are grabbing at his hair and squeezing your eyes shut, holding your breath as you cum on his tongue and around his fingers.

He laps up all your juices, enjoying the way you whimper and squeal when he licks around your sensitive clit, you jolt up and grab his hair tighter, trying to push him away. He chuckles, the look on his face shows you that he is smug about making you cum, knowing damn well that your boyfriend never got to do it. 

“Taste yourself,” he says, holding his fingers out for you, “wrap your pretty lips around my fingers, princess.” 

You push yourself up and do it, you part your lips for him and he wastes no second to stick them into your mouth. You wrap your lips around his sticky fingers and swirl your tongue around them, putting on a show for the older man, you moan and take them in a little deeper. You know what he thinks about. 

He groans and stares at you in awe as he thinks about the way you would look on your knees, how pretty you would look with your lips wrapped around his cock, how your eyes would tear up and how you’d moan. 

“Mhmm.” 

“Fuck,” he grunts. 

You release his fingers with a pop! “fuck me, please..” You whine. 

He puts your legs back on the table and pushes himself back up, he grabs your waist and smashes his lips against yours, already addicted to the way your lips feel against his. He pushes the rest of your sleeves down, you help him, taking it off and releasing your breasts as you push the dress down to your stomach. 

“Fuck,” he grunts as he cups your boobs, “pretty fucking tits,” he moans as he leans down to kiss them, rolling your nipples with his fingers. 

You look so beautiful, sexy, unreal.

“Ah! Eddie.. Please, stop teasing, I want your cock inside of me,” you whine. 

His dick is so hard, he feels as though his jeans are about to burst but he can’t help but tease you a little further as he continues to play with your nipples, “how long have you been thinking about this?” He asks. 

“I-I don’t know,” you whisper, truthfully. Your mind always took you back to him but you always refused to let those thoughts in. You reach out to him, trying to take his flannel off, he lets you. He drops the red material to the ground but when you reach for the hem of his shirt, he grips your hands and stops you. His eyes flash with vulnerability, “not my shirt, sweetheart.” 

You frown as you stare at him, “w-why not?” 

He blinks, touching your hands gently, “I got some pretty nasty scars,” he admits. 

Oh, Eddie. 

“I-I don’t mind,” you whisper, “but you don’t have to show me.”

He smiles at you, pinching your chin, he brings you closer and kisses your lips, “someday, okay?” He says like he already knows that this is no one time thing.

“Okay,” you whisper. 

You unbuckle his belt and help him push his jeans and boxers down, eyeing him hungrily. His cock springs free, slapping against his stomach. Your eyes widen and you can’t even stop the gasp from escaping. Eddie is big. Bigger than your cheating boyfriend. His hair is trimmed, you catch a glimpse of his pale skin on his lower stomach, a sliver of a scar peeking out from beneath his shirt, it makes your heart stop but you tear your eyes away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. 

“Y-You’re so big.” 

Eddie smirks and cups your cheeks, “it’s okay, baby. I know you can take it.” 

You clench around nothing, you feel yourself getting wetter at his words, at his touch, at the look in his eyes. 

“You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” 

“Mhmm,” you nod hastily. 

He smirks, “that’s right, you’re never going back to that prick, I’ll make sure of that.” 

You whine and pull him closer, looking down desperately as he finally grabs his dick, sliding it through your dripping folds. 

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he grunts as watches the way your pussy flutters, he slides it into you slowly, raising his head to look at your face, he keeps one hand on your cheek. The look in your eyes is needy, your face scrunches up in pain as he inches into you. He is concerned but he would be lying if he said that he doesn’t enjoy the way you are squirming beneath him. 

“F-Fuck,” you whimper in pain as he stretches you open. “Do you want me to stop?” He asks, eyeing you in concern. 

You shake your head, “no! No… please don’t stop,” you whisper as you dig your heels into his ass and take him even deeper, making him moan in pleasure, “j-just fuck me, please, fuck me!” 

Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice, he lets you adjust for a moment before he begins to roll his hips. He pulls out and slides back in, easing you into it and when you are finally used to his size and his length, he puts one hand on your hip and the other on your boob as he starts thrusting harsher. His rings dig into your skin but you don’t mind, you like knowing that he will leave marks. 

He moans louder and louder, just like you. You both get lost in the feeling, loving the way you feel with each other. 

“God, your pussy feels like heaving, y/n,” he moans as he fucks you deeper. 

“Y-You too, you feel so good.” 

“Yeah?” He breathes, smirking darkly, “you like the way I stretch you open, huh?” 

“Yes!” You squeal, “I love it!” 

He moans as he feels you clenching around him, the movement causes him to fuck you rougher and deeper. 

“You needed a real man to fuck you, huh?” 

Tears well up in your eyes, you hold him tighter against you and bite your lip as you nod at his words. 

“Stupid boy didn’t know how to treat you, how to fuck you properly,” he grunts as he pulls you flush against him so he can kiss you, “I can fuck you better, baby.” 

He feels so good inside of you, you feel every vein as he pounds your pussy roughly. His hair tickles your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. You never let your boyfriend fuck you without a condom, yet you let him and you would let him, again and again.

“H-Harder,” you whimper. 

“Harder?” He chuckles against your lips, “you’re insatiable, little thing.” 

He pushes you down, slamming you back against the hard surface, he grabs your legs and places them on his shoulders, looking down at you with a wicked smile as he starts to fuck you from a new angle, one that allows you to feel him even deeper. 

Your eyes widen for a moment, a loud squeal leaving your lips as you feel more of him. You grab the edge of the table tightly, tears blur your vision but you still look at up at him, at the older man who fucks you like you always craved to be fucked. 

Pleasure takes over his body and awe flashes in his eyes as he stares at you, as he watches his cock pounding into your squelching cunt.

He holds your legs tightly against his chest, he kisses your calves and watches the way your boobs bounce, the way you breathe heavily and grip the table as you moan and cry for him. 

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. 

He hears your moans, your sweet and sultry voice. It makes his dick throb and his heart soar. 

“You look so pretty when you cry.” 

Your walls flutter around him, your moans get higher, your eyes threaten to flutter shut but you don’t want to look away from him. He looks so pretty. 

He starts thrusting slower but harder and deeper. 

Your moans turn into gasps while his turn into needy grunts. 

“Feel so fucking good around my cock, so fucking perfect,” he moans, “never letting you go again, gonna make you mine.” 

“P-Please…”

“You want that huh?” He smirks, “you want to be mine?”

“S-So bad!” 

He knows that your words come from desperation, you are so lost in the feeling, you would tell him anything right now but it still makes his heart flutter. 

“Mine, you’re fucking mine now, sweetheart.” 

The dark look in his eyes should scare you but it doesn’t, if anything, it brings you closer to the edge, it makes your cunt flutter around him, it makes you crave him even more. Now that you have finally let him in, you will let him do anything. 

“Gonna fill you up with my cum, breed your little pussy and make you mine forever,” he grunts as his moans get louder. 

He fucks you so roughly, he steals your breath away, you don’t even know what you’re gasping for at this point but when he places his fingers on your clit and rubs it fastly, you cum hard, gushing around his thick cock as he gives a few more thrusts before he cums too, releasing himself inside of you and painting your walls white with his thick cum. 

He places your legs back down carefully, not pulling out just yet as he leans down for a kiss. 

You whimper and shake, the feeling of his cum inside of you, of his cock still in your pussy sending waves of pleasure through your body. 

He claimed you, in so many ways tonight. 

He marked you up, he kissed you in a way that made you addicted to him, he came inside of you. 

His lips move smoothly and slowly against yours, he touches you gently, sighing softly as he kisses you sweeter than he did before. 

“You’re mine now,” he whispers, “forever.” 

His words are sweet but there is also something so dark about them and you might love it a little too much. 

“I’ll take care of you now, okay?” 

“Okay, Eddie.” 

[mistyorchid]

Meet-Cute

Old Man!Logan x fem! reader

summary: Failed talking stages inspire you to meet someone irl. Riding an older man in the backseat of his limo makes you forget about the immature boys who ghosted you on Hinge. Ch. 2 Ch. 3 warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, smut, age gap, reader is 21+, fingering, riding, size difference, praise kink, pet names (doll, baby, sweet/good girl, sweetheart), unprotected p in v, light slapping, oral (male!receiving), creampie, car sex (nobody's around tho), logan's slutty glasses. wc: 3k

Hinge. The app designed to be deleted. You smiled as you pushed the cart, daydreaming about chucking your phone into the nearest lake. The few matches that you received often ghosted you after a week, afraid of committing to a real date.

So here you were, aimlessly strolling through a grocery store. Desperately begging the universe for a real man.

You spent an embarrassingly long time curating the perfect outfit to attract a guy worth your time. Casual enough for a quick errand, but still chic. I want to be with someone who admires my confidence. They shouldn't reprimand me for expressing myself.

That's how the feminist part of your brain explained your attire. The other touch-starved half, however, wanted to wear the shortest skirt you owned just to feel men stare holes through it.

You turned into the bakery aisle and pretended to evaluate the nutritional contents of a massive chocolate cake. Maybe this could be plan B, if tonight's endeavor was hopeless.

The comforting hum of fluorescent lights softened the sterile environment around you. Memories of simpler times floated in your mind. Handmade school lunches. Gentle kisses placed on your knee after a bad fall. You closed your eyes, lulled by the promises of love you were granted as a child. Now an adult, you yearned for a partner that could nurture you in a romantic way.

Logan overheard a bag of produce spill onto the floor as he picked up a shopping basket. The cashier dropped it when he saw Logan's blood-stained dress shirt.

Mumbling a string of profanity, he decided to release some steam. "Show's over!" he snapped, flippantly tossing his right arm behind him.

Ignoring the shocked gasps of the other shoppers, Logan sulked further into the store in search of something to soothe his palate.

His doctor tentatively ordered him to "lay off the booze," a suggestion that left three deep puncture wounds in the drywall of his office. Alcohol numbed the emotional and physical pain that plagued him, but it also further delayed his healing powers.

Logan's skeleton was withering away, and all he wanted was a fucking sweet treat.

Your body braced for impact as your chest made contact with a shopper haphazardly turning into the aisle. After dropping the cake onto the pristine white tile, you closed your eyes again, salvaging the moment of peace that was stolen from you.

"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole." You reluctantly opened your eyes and were met with the solid torso of a man.

Slowly raking your gaze up his body, you raised your eyebrows at the sight of his bloody shirt before meeting his narrowed eyes.

Crows feet radiating from the corners. Prescription glasses. He appeared much older than you expected from your brief contact with his chest.

You silently cursed your luck. This meet-cute plan was steadily evolving into a meet-angry situation.

"Not smart to close your eyes in public," he huffed, staring pointedly at the fallen cake. It was hard not to notice your mini skirt. He hasn't seen a skirt that short since the 60s.

Although you had pulled away from him, the man's eyes lingered on your chest. The playful baby-doll top hugged your cleavage in all the right places. Your glossy lips donned a similar shade of pink. He quickly resumed eye contact, feeling like a dirty old man for imagining them wrapped around his cock.

She's too young, you sick fuck. Logan's internal monologue worked overtime to maintain a shred of decency.

Your face turned away from him at the impending embarrassment you were about to put yourself through. Smirking, you shyly retorted, "Not smart to stare at a girl's tits in public." You gently pushed up his glasses further onto the bridge of his nose.

Closing the gap between your chests, you tip-toed to reach his ear before whispering, "It's okay . . . I want you to."

The answer to Logan's suffering was sweeter than any slice of cake he could have indulged in. A pretty little thing was actually flirting with him, a cynical ex-soldier worn by the unforgiving rings of time.

Logan's hands found the back of your elbows and slowly pulled you closer to him. You gasped as you felt his belt buckle catch on the flimsy fabric of your top.

"Careful, doll," he grunted, leaning down to meet the side of your face. "I'm old enough to be your father."

You defiantly peered up at him through your lashes. "Yeah, and . . .?"

The man slowly distanced himself from you, gently tugging the hem of your top down to its original state.

Okay, definitely not the best response to seduce an older man. You chewed the inside of your cheek, stunned by your juvenile comeback.

"I'm sorry, kid. Forget I said anything," he muttered before turning into another aisle. He mentally kicked himself for letting the interaction go that far. Although his aching body and mind yearned for some relief, he wouldn't take advantage of some young girl.

He hurriedly stomped past the cashiers, swiping a few cigars from a distracted employee's station.

After the initial shock wore off, you quickly followed the older man to the parking lot. Totally not stalker-ish at all, right?

You wanted to take care of him. His reluctance to return your lust-sick gaze should have deterred you, but it only made you more desperate.

You watched as his hands dug into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. The chipper click of the limo doors unlocking motivated you to get his attention.

"Hey! Can we talk?" You yelled, raising an outstretched palm to stop him from getting inside the car.

Logan froze at the sound of your voice. He contemplated being responsible, slamming his door and driving off without a second glance.

The gentle pressure of your hand wrapping around his wrist made him think extremely irresponsible thoughts.

Turning around to meet your gaze, the older man swiftly opened the passenger door. "Get in. Now," he growled.

Words betrayed you. All you responded with was a surprised squeak as he used your grip on his wrist to push you further into the vehicle.

His eyes widened as you briefly parted your thighs to get settled in the lush leather seat. The sinfully short hem of your skirt bunched up, revealing your underwear.

Logan whipped his head to the front of the limo, avoiding the sight of your body. Unfortunately, he couldn't avoid how you felt against his. You sat at an angle towards him, knees pressing against his thigh. His body tensed as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Why were you following me, huh?" he asked, finally meeting your eyes. "I've had a long fuckin' day and I need answers." He couldn't believe that a young woman like you would be interested in him.

"Yeah, you're old enough to be my father, maybe older-" you paused to move your left hand onto his thigh. "-but I'm done playing with boys." You shyly turned your head before continuing, "Need a real man."

Logan was done holding back. Now, it all made sense. Your lack of direction in the store, the low cut of your outfit that was way too sexy for a late night grocery run. We're both adults, he reasoned. She wants this.

He gingerly cradled your jaw with his large hand, turning your head towards his. "You sure about this, sweetheart?

You covered his hand with your own, bringing your lips to his in a spontaneous kiss. "I-I need to hear you," he stuttered.

"Shut up and fuck me, . . . " you sighed, pausing to ask for his name.

"Logan . . . call me Logan, doll." His left hand snaked around your waist, bunching the delicate material and exposing your breasts.

As you leaned into his palm, he fished the limo keys out of his pocket and clicked twice, locking the doors. He fondled the underside of your tits before rolling the sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

You were grateful for the tinted windows that shielded your embarrassing moans from the public.

"Already whining for me, hm? So fuckin' needy," he hummed, pushing up your top even further. You crossed your arms to undress, but Logan swatted them away, explaining, "It's cute. Wanna see your tits bounce for me, baby."

He gripped your ass with both hands and effortlessly swung you onto the broad expanse of his lap.

Your back arched as his rough palm cupped your pussy, thumb languidly tracing your sensitive bud through the cotton.

"But this . . . has to go," he drawled, tugging the elastic of your panties before letting it go with a faint snap.

It was too much. You were splayed over the lap of a stranger, hips wantonly rocking yourself over his prominent bulge and mewling as your sensitive clit caught on the rough fabric of his slacks.

He stilled your movements with his hands, lovingly kneading the flesh of your hips. "You okay with this?" he asked, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt. "Yeah, Logan . . . more than okay. Need you."

You loved that he was confident enough to take what he wanted but also gracious enough to check in, unlike the boys you were used to fucking around with.

His fingers hooked around the waistband of your skirt and panties, skillfully pushing your legs against your chest as he pulled them off. He decided against slicing them off with his claws, not wanting to hurt you. "Fuck. You're so pretty. My sweet, sweet girl . . ." he cooed. You whined as your aching cunt was finally exposed to Logan's hungry gaze and the chill night air. He groaned as you resumed desecrating his lap with your juices.

Your breath hitched as Logan traced two fingers along your bottom lip. You granted him access, playfully darting your tongue around his digits.

After his fingers were thoroughly soaked, he used your saliva to gently trace your hole, noticing the faint flutter of your walls.

"Need me to fill you up, hm? Poor baby's clenching around nothing. Let me fix that . . ." Logan's palm brushed against your clit as his fingers plunged into you, setting a steady pace.

You were incredibly wet, but he needed to prep you for his thick cock. He drooled, collecting a heavy wad of spit onto his tongue before letting it fall onto your pussy.

"Ah-ah!" You exclaimed, surprised by the contact. You bit your lip, cheeks flushing at the lewd feeling of his spit mixing with your wetness.

He used his other hand to slap repeatedly against your puffy folds, mesmerized by how vulnerable you were being for him.

"Yeah, you like that?" He whispered, curling his fingers as they met your cervix. You covered your mouth, desperately trying to maintain some modesty. Logan withdrew his left hand to pry away your arm and swallow your moans, sloppily slotting his lips into yours.

You gasped into his mouth as you felt your cunt spasm around his fingers, gushing all over his tight slacks.

"Oh, fuck! Logan . . . " you mewled, biting his lower lip while he continued to finger you through your orgasm.

Your head fell into the inviting crook of his neck, nuzzling his graying beard. "Atta girl, come for me," he cooed.

Logan peered down at you, noticing wet droplets dampening his beard. You were silently crying, tears cascading down your puffy cheeks before landing on his face.

At first, he was alarmed. "Hey, hey, shhhh," he purred. "What's the matter, doll?"

His cock twitched when he realized you were smiling against his neck.

"Nothing's wrong, Logan . . . you make me feel so good, that's all."

He planted a sweet kiss on your forehead. "Yeah? Want me to make you feel even better? Fill you up for real this time?"

You nodded dumbly, still basking in the haze of your release.

"Nuh-uh. Words." The simple command made you rut into his lap.

You shuddered while responding. "Wanna feel you inside me. Need your-" Logan bucked up into you. "-cock."

He slid his hands under your thighs, briefly pushing you forward so he could unbuckle his belt. Your small hands slinked toward his waist. "Let me do it," you pleaded, hastily sliding his belt through its loops and tossing it to the floor.

You pulled his cock out of his slacks, leaning down to press sweet little kisses to the head. Your thighs burned with the effort, but it was worth it to feel him momentarily lose control. Logan hissed sharply, "Good girl, fuck-" before guiding his thick cock into your heavenly mouth.

You licked a prominent vein that teased its way above his waistband. The taste of him was utterly intoxicating. You moaned onto his length, choking back tears as he suddenly thrust up into your eager throat.

The delicious weight of his cock on your tongue was short-lived. He cupped your face, forcing your mouth to slide past the tip with an obscene pop.

"Won't last long if you keep doing that, doll. Takes a lot less to get me riled up these days," he explained.

You nodded as you straightened yourself, using your knees to hover above his lap. He teasingly ran the flushed tip of his cock through your folds before sinking into your weeping pussy.

"Oh my god! fuck-" you cried, lowering your hips to embrace his full length. Your hands found stability on Logan's shoulders as you bounced on his cock.

Logan stared in awe at your tits. They were practically spilling out the sides of your cute top, jiggling with each movement of your hips.

As he admired your form, you drunk in the sight of his coarse salt and pepper beard. His wiry glasses barely held onto the slope of his strong nose due to your eager movements. You paid special attention to his crimson-stained shirt, wondering how he was enduring the wounds.

"You're hurt." You stated, pausing to slowly unbutton his dress shirt.

Logan's hands grabbed a handful of your ass and slammed you down onto his lap, forcing you to continue taking his cock.

"Never said you could stop," he huffed. "It'll take time, but I'm healing."

You gasped as your clit hitched on the bunched fabric of his slacks, frantically shrugging off his shirt in the process. A devastating moan ripped from Logan's throat as you peppered kisses on his wounds. The coppery taste of his blood was oddly soothing, reminding you that the man buried in your cunt was real and not just a figment of your lust-fueled imagination.

Logan loved how dazed you looked, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath, your pupils dilated and glossy. His cock twitched every time your soft tits brushed against his face. You whined as the steady rhythm of your hips faltered, hinting at your imminent release.

"Lean forward, baby. Let your old man take care of you," he sighed, wrapping his broad arms around your waist. You allowed yourself to slump forward, arching your back and playfully wiggling your ass in the air.

You yelped as he slapped your ass with enough force to feel the sting radiate from his outstretched palm. "Such a fuckin' tease," he growled, filling you up in one thrust. He set a punishing pace that made you sob into his chest. The loud squelches of your release echoed throughout the limo, mirroring your high-pitched wines.

"Oh, my god! . . ." you mewled, savoring the feeling of his cock stretching your walls. Your breath hitched every time his hips met yours, balls slapping against the sensitive skin of your ass.

He fucked up into your cunt, relishing the fact that you'd probably never had a cock as big as his. Logan stared at where you were connected, hypnotized by the subtle drag of your folds along his rugged length.

"Don't know what I did to deserve a pretty girl like you." His teeth tugged on the delicate strap of your top, exposing your breasts. His mouth enveloped the bud, gently sucking and pulling as they hardened.

"Logan . . . can't take it anymore. I'm close." You clenched around him, earning another hard slap on your ass.

"You gonna come for me sweetheart, hm?" He somehow increased his pace, hips drilling into your sensitive cunt. "C'mon, come all over my cock. Such a sweet young thing, so eager to please . . . " he hummed into your ear.

"And just so we're clear, I am definitely older than your father." His filthy words made you arch even higher, stilling your hips mid-air and allowing Logan to fuck you through your release.

The sound of you faintly chanting his name as you came sent him over the edge. "You can take it," he encouraged as your pathetic whines intermingled with his unabashed groans. His hips drove home, bouncing you harshly against his tense thighs and spilling into you with a low growl.

You almost blacked out at the feeling of his cum spurting into your walls, reaching even further when Logan buried his cock to the hilt. You clenched around him, overstimulated and thoroughly fucked.

"That's it, just relax . . . You look so pretty milking my cock," he praised, brushing stray hair away from your face.

You managed to sit upright and shakily moved to lift yourself off his cock, but Logan quickly steadied your hips. He's still hard, you realized, fascinated by his renewed vigor.

He panted, obviously just as spent as you were.

"So, uh, tomorrow, the Italian place on fifth street, 8 PM?"

You narrowed your eyes, incredibly confused at his choice of words after experiencing the best sex you've ever had.

"Our first date," he clarified. He kissed your cheek and you blushed at the contrast between the innocent action and the fact that his hard cock was still buried in your cunt. "After all, I'm a real man, right? And real men plan dates." He plastered on a cocky grin, repeating your earlier statements.

"Okay, old man. It's a date." You smiled, kissing his mouth with passion.

an: Ah!!! I had so much fun writing this. Old Man Logan, when will it be my turn >:[

[almostwisegalaxy]

Under a Grey Sky : Bonus part

The original story

Older men x fem!reader

Music to listen to for the atmosphere : A fathers song_allen stone

..................................................................................

The morning light gently broke through the curtains when Armand was awakened by small taps on his shoulder. Y/n, now three years old, had slipped out of her bed and stood there, barefoot, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and seriousness.

“Papa! Mama came last night,” she said clearly.

Armand immediately sat up, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“Mama?”

“Yes! She came to my room, and we talked a lot. She told me I have to tell you some important things.”

He placed a hand on his daughter’s small shoulder, looking at her with a mix of tenderness and curiosity. A flicker of worry passed through his mind—what if someone had somehow entered her room during the night? But he wasn’t prepared for what came next.

“All right, my little star. Tell me everything.”

Y/n climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged, and took a deep breath, as if preparing for a long speech.

“Mama said she loves me very much, but I already knew that,” she added with a hint of pride.

Armand smiled softly, his heart tightening.

“And she said to tell you that she loves you too. Very, very, very much. That you’re a great papa, but… you work too much!”

He lowered his gaze, a sad smile playing on his lips.

“She said that, huh?”

Y/n nodded vigorously.

“Yes! And she told me to say, "I’ve been proud of him for a long time, but he needs to rest."”

She paused, taking another breath, as if reciting a carefully memorized lesson.

“And she said you have to stop burning cakes.”

Armand burst into laughter despite himself, surprised by the comment.

“Oh, really?”

Y/n crossed her arms, mimicking her mother’s mock-serious expression.

“Yes! She said, "Tell him to stop looking at my recipe book like it’s made of gold. He should open it, and then you two can finally eat real cakes, not charcoal!"”

His laughter softened, replaced by a bittersweet feeling. The words were so typical of Y/n’s mother that they felt like a warm embrace.

“She always knew how to make me blush,” he murmured.

But little Y/n wasn’t finished.

“She told me one more thing, Papa. She said to tell you that… that you’re perfect just the way you are. That you’re doing your best, and she’s always proud of you.”

Armand closed his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by emotion. His daughter continued, unaware of the tears welling up in her father’s eyes.

“And she said she loves it when I sing my songs. Even if I sing badly. And that you have to keep encouraging me because she wants me to be happy.”

Y/n smiled brightly, clearly proud of this last point.

“And she said I had to give you a big kiss from her.”

Before he could respond, Y/n leaned in and planted a loud kiss on his cheek.

“There!”

Armand pulled her into his arms, holding her close as if she were the fragile but powerful bridge between him and his beloved.

“Thank you, my little star,” he murmured, his voice trembling.

That morning, after dropping Y/n off at preschool, Armand went straight to the kitchen. He took a deep breath and, for the first time in years, opened Y/n’s mother’s recipe book. The pages were filled with her familiar handwriting, little notes, and playful doodles.

He smiled, his eyes glistening with tears, and whispered:

“You’re right, Y/n. It’s time I did something good with this.”

That day, he carefully baked a cake. When it came out of the oven, perfectly golden, he looked up toward the sky and said with a smile:

“So, what do you think? Not bad for a start, huh?”

And in his heart, he thought he could hear her laughter—clear and teasing—as if answering him from the past.

---

The days passed, and Armand often found himself lost in the gentle memories of y/n. His daughter, little y/n, with her wide, curious eyes and vibrant smiles, had become the bridge between the past and the present—a living connection to the love he had lost. Every burst of laughter, every song she sang, every little gesture she made carried within it the imprint of y/n, her mother.

One morning, as they were tidying up y/n’s toys before heading to preschool, she handed him a small package carefully wrapped in colorful paper.

“This is for you, Papa. It’s a secret.”

Armand, a bit surprised, took the package and slowly unwrapped it. Inside, he found a small wooden box she had decorated with drawings, glitter, and hearts. Within the box were simple but meaningful objects: a small photo of the two of them, pieces of fabric she had cut out, stones she had picked up during their walks—a tiny world of y/n, a world full of love captured in ordinary things.

“This is my treasure, Papa. For you. So you’ll always think of me, even when I’m not here.”

Armand held the box to his chest, deeply moved, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and heartache. A tear welled up in the corner of his eye.

“But... you’re always here, my little one,” he murmured, his voice breaking with emotion.

Y/n looked at him with a seriousness surprising for her age.

“Yes, but like Mama, even when I’m gone, you’ll have this to remember me.”

Armand felt a weight settle in his chest. There were no words to describe what he felt—just a profound, ineffable love that overwhelmed him whenever his daughter spoke such words.

A few days later, Armand took little y/n by the hand and led her to the cemetery, a place that had become sacred to him. Y/n’s mother’s grave was always adorned with fresh flowers, the decorations changing with the seasons. That day, he had prepared a small picnic, including a cake he had made himself—still unsure of his skills but determined to get it right.

Under the weeping willow, y/n ran to the gravestone and, as usual, sat down in front of it.

“Hi, Mommy,” she said cheerfully, a big smile on her face.

Armand stood beside her, his eyes on the gravestone but his whole being focused on little y/n, who seemed to know exactly what she wanted to say.

“Mommy, I love you. And Papa does too. But Papa works too much. Tell him to stop sometimes so he can be with us. He’s already amazing, but he needs to rest.”

Armand closed his eyes for a moment, a faint smile on his lips. Y/n’s words, simple and direct, struck a little too close to home.

“We’ll be leaving soon, Mommy. But we’ll come back. All the time.”

She then leaned toward the gravestone as if placing a kiss on it and added:

“We’ll come back, with cakes… Yes, my Papa can make edible cakes now. Can you believe it Mommy ?”

Armand burst into laughter, his throat tight. It was so like y/n—full of life and love, with the innocent perspective of a child who didn’t yet fully grasp the weight of goodbyes.

Back home, after putting y/n to bed, Armand found himself alone in the living room, the wooden box still in his hands. He stared at it for a long time, almost as if trying to decipher a mystery. He opened it again, rediscovering each object, each gesture filled with meaning. Y/n’s drawings, the stones, everything that had been a piece of her world.

He stood up, walked to the kitchen, and, for the first time in months, opened y/n’s mother’s recipe book. His hands trembled slightly as he turned the pages. There were notes, laughter captured in words, bursts of life and love, clumsy but affectionate cooking tips. He began to cook slowly and carefully. Today, he would get it right. Today, he would honor that book and all that it represented.

The cake came out of the oven, perfectly golden. As he looked at it, Armand felt an overwhelming sense of quiet love, as if he weren’t alone. As if, in some way, y/n was still there—in every gesture, every thought, every failed or successful cake.

He looked up toward the sky, a faint smile on his lips.

“Are you proud of me, y/n?”

And deep in his heart, he thought he could hear a silent answer, a breath of eternal love, telling him that yes, y/n would always be there, in every part of his world.

..................................................................................

Tags list: @elizalabs3 @slvt4her

[lovegasmic]

𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬▶ 𝗩𝗛𝗦

HOT DILF NEXT DOOR ⭑.ᐟ

‘ toji fushiguro, kento nanami, satoru gojo x fem!reader ’ ୨୧ taglist

⌞ PG-18 ⌝ reversed version of hot milf next door ◞ age gap, all consenting adults◞ creampie except for kento ◞ they are actual dilfs not just older men◞ you cheat on your bf with satoru but he deserves it, and reader is a brat◞

this is long and I've had this request for longer, so take this as an apology for not posting anything new lately ‹3

𝜗𝜚 TOJI

of course another screw had to come loose from the cheap cupboard doors barely hanging on for dear life. you curse under your breath, wiping a drop of sweat that makes it’s way down your forehead and onto the cupid bow, “fuck this shit place” finding a good place as a student was no good, and it was either surviving in a struggling apartment or sharing living space at the school dorms where the air reeked of multiple fluids and body odors was not really an option.

and now, rummaging through the multiple still closed boxes laying on your living room to find a screwdriver was neither an option, “just kill me already” mustering up some courage, your feet drags you to the front door and towards the one next to it, hoping and praying that your neighbor is an actual nice person as your knuckles hit the wood, please, anything really, perhaps an older lady who can bake, or a lovely young student around your age who can—

oh.

that’s a freaking kid.

“hi, um..., are your parents home?” so freaking awkward, the kid looks at you unimpressed, barely blinking and dark hair sticking in all directions before he turns around.

okay, that was rude, but you’re about to speak again until he comes up, moving as if he owned the place, big muscles under a shirt a bit too tight, and that flat expression barely quirks up in what seems like a grin, “can I help you, doll?” and oh, again, that voice is enough to make your knees buck.

“h-hi, i moved next door, and uh—” shit, shit, “do you have a screwdriver I can borrow for a second?” did you even introduce yourself? that does not matter, and the man doesn’t seem to care, giving you an amused up and down look before nodding.

“got a problem with the cupboard already, huh? don’t worry I got a trick” isn’t this man such a gentleman? already gathering some tools and telling the kid, now called Megumi, to behave while he helped the cute girl.

he’s definitely flirting, yeah, it must be, those half grins, constant licks at the scar in the corner of his mouth and the way his eyes trail up and down your body when he thinks you’re not looking, that’s flirting, isn’t it?

just snap out of it, you’re not an eighteen year old anymore, you’re 20... not a big difference, but you should not be fantasizing about that man who is most likely married.

“... anything else?” his voice snaps you out of your stupor, now for good, but you know he’s aware, judging by the grin he offers.

“no, that’s all, thanks” you hope that will answer whatever he also asked, what you don’t expect is for his large body frame to walk up to you, a calloused thumb pressing on your jaw to tilt your head up.

he leans slightly, “no need to be shy, doll, neighbors are to help each other” and there is a trace of something else behind his words, something you can’t quite put into words.

a very slight gasp escapes your lips as his thumb runs down, gently caressing the column of your throat and collarbones, “you’re so pretty, a pretty girl like you must have a pretty name” and you utter it, rolling out your tongue for Toji to catch it with his own name in a shared breath.

Toji. Toji. Toji.

“Toji...! it’s nghhh... r-reaching oh, so deep!” who could have thought that ‘neighboors helping each other’ would have turned into ‘neighbors who rearrange your guts’.

it’s been a few days since the first time Toji helped you fix the furniture, which developed into some kisses, cock sucking and now almost a daily fuck, with quivering thighs with just how hard Toji’s cock rammed into your tiny hole, so fuckin’ wet and tight, struggling to accommodate the whole girth of the man’s huge cock sliding in and out deliciously deep.

there’s a whole package of condoms in your drawer, tucked under the remaining pair of panties Toji hasn’t ripped apart in attempts to reach your cunt faster.

“take it, fuckin’ take it” he huffs, cock twitching inside your velvety walls that cling to each vein and ridge around that fat and long dick, the couch drags across the floor with each one of the dark haired’s thrusts, having you bent, a tit out of the tank top, panties swinging around an ankle and toes curled in sheer bliss. that man knows how to fuck.

and his hand is everywhere, one is holding your shoulders to brutally pull you back so your pussy lips spread vulgarly on each side of his balls, while the other entrained itself by pinching a nipple, tugging your tits and groping the fat of your ass, a low whistle comes next at the sight of your tiny hole stuffed to the brim, “fuck, doll, this cute tight pussy is gripping so tight, shit..., like a fucking virgin...” and a thumb comes to rub your clitoris, a bit uncoordinated but still as good, making your head swim in pleasure, “i’m going to cum if you tighten so hard...”

“i-in— angh, inside, please!”

“of course i’m cumming in this pussy” Toji mocks with a laugh and you whimper, shaking your head, barely turning to look at the man from above your shoulder with pleading, cute eyes.

“take off the condom” and fuck, a fat drop of precum just oozed from the tip.

your hands reach back to press on Toji’s v line, fingertips grazing the slick coated base, “the princess wants a creampie in her tiny cunt?”

fucking hell, that cocky smirk and the way his cock, disgustingly hard, slaps against his abdomen when pulling out makes your tummy do a flip, eagerly reaching to tug on the latex tip and tossing the condom away as if it was offensive.

“a-ah yes!” you can’t avoid the relief moan that gets pulled out of your lips at the sensation, alongside Toji’s pleasure groan that rumbles deep and darkly, with thumbs hooking on each side of your pussy to keep you spread and ready to take those perfectly aligned thrusts, smashing your g spot and having you cumming within seconds, “g-uh, so good... I need...”

“i know, baby, I know, i’m... fuck... cumming deep in this fertile young pussy”

𝜗𝜚 KENTO

the last box is loaded in the truck and your parents bid you farewell. sigh, time to get to work, “do you need any more help?” Kento asks, your sweet and kind neighbor who you’ve known for years, who used to brush your knees when you fell on the grass while playing with Yuuji, who baked delicious loafs of bread you cheerfully ate sitting at the edge of his kitchen counter with your feet swinging.

“i will be okay” you say, flashing a side grin towards the older man, his face as warm as ever, but currently sporting several age lines that just make him look hotter.

yes, you grew and so did he, but your first, and initial admiration towards the man, soon became more loving and even lustful when you turned 19, and now with your parents moving abroad, leaving the cozy, childhood home you grew up in to your care, being into Kento’s ‘care’ —which you did not even needed in the first place, god, you’re a grown adult!— perhaps you were going to use this chance to get closer to the man.

“then I will get going so you get used to your new independence” he jokes a little, turning to return to his empty home due to Yuuji’s just recent departure to college.

“wait!” you stop him, “i was thinking... you know that yummy bread you used to bake? do you mind teaching me how to do it myself?” that will definitely do, getting into Kento’s good side, and house, was as easy as you remember.

and of course he agreed, offering a nod and gentle smile that just made your belly do a flip, what a damn pervert you were, lusting over your neighbour who probably just saw you as a charity work.

but then again, Kento needed it, the poor man was so lonely, with Yuuji gone, his wife leaving him years ago due to his ‘workaholic’ behaviour, a woman’s touch was so needed in his life, and you were going to help.

the baking class is so domestic you kinda feel bad for trying to get into the blonde’s pants, really, his always present and fond smile while you accidentally made a mess of floor all over the kitchen counter was not good for your heart, nor the way he chuckled in that deep and low voice tone of his, hoping he did not notice the way your knees bucked.

a hand comes to hold your wrist, so gentle, “knead like this” and his voice is right against your ear, warm breath sending shivers down your spine and heat pooling in your lower abdomen as he guides the motions, yet your eyes are glued to the way his hand veins pop with each squeeze, would he knead your ass the same way? and also... is his cock that veiny too?

with that thought in mind, you barely buck your hips back, pretending to change the weight from one foot to another when, in reality, you purposely brushed your butt with his crotch.

and Kento notices, his hands stopping for a brief second before resuming, and you move again, almost like a dance to see who would snap first, although each buck and brush is more bold than the previous, that until a large and veiny hand squeezes your hip, there it is.

“stay still” his voice is low and almost a rumble, feeling the warmth of his chest near your back through the thin layers of clothes.

that should not turn you on as much as it did, feeling slightly embarrassed from being caught and stopped that you unconsciously squirm again, and of course, your butt now lands right against Kento’s tenting crotch, feeling the tip poking on a cheek, “shit...” your moan is weak, unable to stop from full on grinding against his cock, to which his hands grip you tighter, the dough long forgotten.

“don’t... do that...” Kento’s words are strained, barely holding on from the urge to just bend you over and fuck you senseless, truth is he saw you grow up, but he also witnessed how you became the nature and sexy girl you are now, “this is wrong”

but his name sounds so cutely from you, that soft, mewled, and needy “Kento...” is just enough to break him.

the sticky mess of flour and water remaining on the kitchen counter sticks to the back of your shirt, it will be a pain to wash it, but meh, that should be another day’s worry, currently, your only focus is the man between your legs, keeping you as spread as ever, with your feet propped up the counter, leggings pulled down and that condom clad cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy, and yes, it’s very fucking veiny.

“this is what you wanted, didn’t you?” his words are huffed from the effort of thrusting mercilessly inside your hole, with a hand on the apex of your thigh to keep your lips open, and the other laying on a jiggling tit, “to get fucked by an older man, I saw the way you look at me, sweetheart, you’re not subtle”

that just makes you clench and mewl, getting caught drooling over the man was utterly hot and even excited he knew just how much you wanted him in your guts like now, “c-can’t help it, you’re— ngh, t-tooo hot!” it’s like you’re losing consciousness with each drag of those throbbing veins against your walls, the friction so fucking delicious and deep, oh so deep, curving just perfectly to drive you insane.

“you’re so hot too” he praises, the words so unfamiliar coming from those lips, adding to the lust filled expression of an almost pussy drunk man, “you’ve grown beautifully” and his words are like his hands, caressing your body with heat leaving on its wake until it lays on your fluttering abdomen, “so sexy, so tight and wet”

“just for you” you moan around your own fingers, sucking the digits to leave them soaked and rub tight circles on your swollen clit, it’s a vision that makes Kento’s cock twitch and splurt another drop of pre inside the condom.

Kento, the always impecable and polite man that fucks so nasty and kisses as equally lewd, gripping your jaw with a hand and a tongue comes to rub all across your sweet mouth, swallowing the desperate pleas and “i’m cumming” mumbles before you’re a sobbing mess and Kento is stuffing the condom full of creamy semen that, hopefully, will stuff your pussy bare someday.

𝜗𝜚 SATORU

“is it really necessary?” you complain for what feels like the fourth time that exact same day, your parents don’t get it, of course they don’t, you were doing just fine with your classes, and if the grades were barely above the requirement to pass, so what? at least you were not struggling in college.

“is that boy’s fault,” your mom says from the back, arms crossed and a scowl on her face, “i told you he is a bad influence and still you did not listen! now your grades are a mess, it’s like our money for your tuition is going to waste” ah yes, your filthy rich parents money, that money was almost spare cash for them.

“don’t bring my boyfriend in this, it’s not his fault” you attempt to defend the little honor your lover had, which, honestly, he did not deserve, he was the worst kind of man you couldn’t have ever fallen for, uninterested, having you crawl behind him, but he had a big dick and a bike, sigh.

“i don’t care, you’re going to have Mr. Gojo tutor you, you like it or not”

Satoru Gojo or Mr. Gojo, your also filthy rich neighbor who just traveled around the world with god knows what money, what would he even know?

the sound of your foot tapping on the floor could tick anyone, but your stupid boyfriend hasn’t responded to any text since yesterday, and you’re two minutes away from making the long and boring walk to your next door’s neighbor house, so long and boring.

you curse and grab your bag way too hastily, you’re sick of this, utterly pissed off, and sadly Mr. Gojo will have to turn into your punching bag.

one or twice is the times you’ve seen the man, he was barely at home or your schedules never met, but damn, he was hot.

tall, broad, with soft white hair that fell on his eyes and made him look younger than he was, bright blue eyes to contrast and ridiculously long legs and hands. somehow you’re a bit speechless as he asks you to come in, taking the surroundings of his home and the family picture frames hanging off the walls, not a woman in sight, strange.

“where is your wife?” mouth works faster than the brain, but Satoru does not mind, giving you a smirk from over his shoulder.

“i don’t have a wife, my kids were adopted” damn, that makes it harder for you to hate on this man.

deciding not to pry even more into the topic you just follow him to the living room, a bunch of history books are splayed in the coffee table so you sit next to the man in one of the large, leather couches.

“your parents say you’re struggling with Japanese periods, yes? Meiji, Heian...”

this was going to be long, “yeah, whatever, why do I even have to learn about all that? it’s in the past, who cares” your attention was drifting again, pulling out your phone and tapping harshly on the screen, no messages, “fuck”

“hey, focus here, princess, leave your phone aside” the sudden shiver that runs down your spine at the nickname is somehow drowned down by a rush of annoyance, you were already in a bad mood and now this man was telling you what to do? fuck this.

“don’t tell me what to do! it’s not as if i wanted to come here in the first place” with a leg crossed over the other your head turns, puffing your cheeks like a spoiled brat.

and again, your eyes drop to your phone.

“hm, I see how it is” yet he’s not mad, more like... amused, and before you realize it he’s snatching your phone that happened to be unlocked, “who’s sukuna?”

“give me that!” you squeak, trying to grab your phone back but Satoru is already scrolling through endless embarrassing texts and multiple nudes you’ve sent.

he clicks his tongue in return, “oh, babygirl, you don’t know how to pick a man, do you?” he coos, almost as if he’s mocking you, and before you realize it, you’re being dragged to his lap, a hand on the small of your back and the other on a bare knee, “tsk, tsk, a sweet thing like you deserve much better, a real man who can please you” his smirk almost makes you moan, adding to the way his long and slender fingers trailed up your thigh to brush the edge of the panties you wore, which were almost ruined at this point.

“boys your age don’t know how to satisfy a girl like you”

the previous heated exchange is not turned into moans echoing in the room, Satoru is so fuckin’ big and long, making your eyes cross and tongue loll out with each drag of his cock inside your walls, he has you spread, with your thighs swinging over his forearms, chest on your back and his lips on your neck, giving you the fuck of your life while at the same time being treated like a fleshlight.

the man is big, big muscles and a big cock that struggles to push past the resistance inside your cunt, but it’s so worthy once it’s in, successfully finding your g spot within seconds of pounding.

“that’s a good girl, yeah, keep moaning, babygirl, your cunt is perfect around my cock” how could this man speak so lewd and freely while rearranging your guts, voice unaffected but the throb and twitch of his cock proved otherwise, “i haven’t fucked a pussy this damn tight, you’re sucking me in, ah fuck— greedy young cunt”

“nghh! haagh f-uck Sa-ah toru!” what a mess, mess of babbling nonsense and a mess of slick and precum dripping down to pool between your legs and onto the couch, the creamy sound of your pussy dragging you and down is just growing with how wetter you get, creating a ring of pearly cum around the base of Satoru’s fat cock filling your insides.

your phone rings, but who fuckin’ cares? your boyfriend is in the past, and now having a tutor is not that entirely bad.

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. II

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

part one

warnings: heavily implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), smut, oral fem!receiving, nervous but enthusiastically consenting reader

You’d tried to calm your nerves but they couldn’t be helped.

You’re anxious about everything, all of it. What he wants you to do, what he’s expecting you do, whether it’ll hurt, whether you’re ready.

You think you trust Bruce, but you also know that these things are different for men and women. You don’t necessarily expect that he’ll have a mind for what you’ll need, but honestly, neither do you. You don’t know what to do to make this easier for yourself—you don’t know what to do at all. 

You bought the lingerie, you’ve got it on under your clothes and it feels like a costume. You can’t tell if that aids or worsens the anxiety. 

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and you wish you could quit it, you’re radiating enough nervous energy as it is, you don’t need to be sending him visual cues on top of it. 

Bruce holds your free hand in his as he guides you through the manor, you think it’s a different section than you’ve seen before. His hand engulfs yours unfairly as he leads, but the touch of his skin is so warm and inviting that you can’t tell if your hand is still shaking under it. If it is, he pretends not to notice.

He guides you up the stairs and into a corridor and then another before you arrive at a set of double doors. You’ve never seen double doors on the inside of a house before.

He lets you in ahead of him, and you have a distinct thought that you’re glad he can’t see the look of awe on your face as you walk in. His bedroom has an entire living room inside of it, and altogether it’s bigger than your whole apartment. A maroon couch and matching chairs surround a grand fireplace at the front of the room and the resulting glow from the active embers has the area shrouded in a warm light ahead of the shadows filling the rest.

You glance past the seating at his bed; large and proud. It’s definitely bigger than a king sized, with an overhead canopy and streams of dark burgundy curtains draping down from the corners. There’s another set of closed double doors past the bed, you imagine leading to the bathroom.

The end of the room displays a large window seat that looks like it’s never been used, and vast tinted windows. You look up to find the ceiling higher than you’ve ever seen in a bedroom with a very expensive chandelier hanging over it all.

He takes your arm, steering you out of your wonderment and leads you towards the couch rather than the bed, gesturing for you to sit down with him. You do, quietly glad when he positions himself so that you’re close to each other but not pressed right up against you. He’s able to relax his body more than you’re able to fake it on yourself, and you think your thoughts must be vibrating out of you by now.    

One hand comes to rest on your thigh as his other nudges your cheek towards him. “Hey, nothing’s happening right now. No need to be nervous.”

You nod blankly, but your thoughts are running wild with everything that you very much are nervous about.

He takes your hand in his, rubbing circles with his thumb. 

“You’ve got to relax,” he coos, “Remember what I said?”

You take a breath, “You’re not going to throw me in the deep end.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Just wanna make you feel good, right?”

You nod, easing your posture.

He looks you in the eye, “You gonna let me?”

You hum, nodding again.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling away.

You quickly find that the distance is not at all what you want, and you decide to push forward—as forward as you can—sitting up again to peel your jacket off. He watches you move with a look in his eyes, you take it for intrigue but it may just as well be something akin to pride. Pride in you? He’s openly flirted, kissed you, and straight up propositioned you for sex—but sure, he’s proud of you for taking your jacket off.

Your nerves transition into insecurity before you can catch them, and you’re starting to feel a little stupid, like a child playing pretend.

You watch tentatively as he tilts his head at you, running his own assessments of your actions. 

“Will you come sit on my lap?” he asks you after a moment. 

You suddenly become acutely aware of the amount of air in your lungs. This feels like a big request and you’re not even sure how to take his meaning. Does he want you to sit sideways? Your back to his front? Or fully straddle him? 

He wants whatever you want, he’d said. What do you want?

You glance down at his thighs, covered by fabric more expensive than you can imagine. Positive confirmation rings through your head immediately, willing you to push yourself forward a little more. 

You reposition yourself over him, straddling his lap in spite of your nerves.

Again, he looks pleased. Happy even. One of his hands comes to stroke soothing patterns across your lower back, the other resting on your waist. 

He makes sure to catch your gaze, “You’ll tell me if you want to stop.” 

He follows when your eyes stray, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

He places a tender kiss on your cheekbone, “How did shopping go?”

“Um, good. It was good. One of the sales girls helped me,” your breath is shaky as he kisses your jawline.

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I, uh, I just went to this little boutique up on third street,” he places another kiss on the column of your throat as you talk. “Um, it took longer than I thought it would. There were so many choices.”

His hands come up to soothe over your ribs, pulling you a little closer as they do. He hums for you to keep talking, his kisses continuing to lower until they’re down to your collarbone, though they remain relatively chaste.

“I—I didn’t really know what to look for,” you admit, breath shaky as you exhale. 

“But you like it?”

“Yeah, I—I do.”

He hums, smiling against your skin. His fingers inch under the seam of your shirt, caressing your waist. “Can I take this off?”

You nod timidly, trying not to seem so on edge with anticipation. You’re not confident that he can’t see right through you.  

He presses another chaste kiss to your neck upon receival of the permission, and your shirt begins to come off slowly, his hands skimming every new bit of skin revealed. As he pulls it over your head, he glances down at the baby pink bralette you’d picked out for yourself.

He groans quietly as he takes in the sight, “Oh, pretty girl. Beautiful girl,” He noses at your chest, leaving little kisses where his lips make contact with your skin, “Look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your stomach flutters as his hair tickles your cheek. His hands roam up your sides, stopping to stroke placid circles along the sides of your breasts.

His touch makes its way around your back, expertly undoing your bra clasp without a second thought. Your bra hangs forward a bit off your shoulders, but he leaves the work of entirely removing it to you. And you do, with more confidence than you’d imagined yourself mustering.

He immediately shows his appreciation, kissing and caressing your chest with lover-like admiration. Your head falls back involuntarily as he noses at your soft skin.

He’s breathing heavy when he pulls back, humming low and deep before lifting you up off his lap to stand. The sudden shift has you a bit thrown off, working to catch up as he kneels down in front of you and repeats his earlier process with your skirt—kissing your thighs and tugging the fabric down bit by bit.

When it’s discarded on the floor you stand only left in your underwear, the lace practically illuminated against your skin.

He looks up at you from his place on the floor and smiles as he takes in the sight of your body. His hands find your hips as he asks you, “Has anyone ever seen you like this before?”

You hesitate for half a second before answering truthfully.

His smile grows, “No, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s nodding, “Yeah, I know.”

As he rises to stand he scoops you up by the back of your thighs and lifts you in the air with no discernable effort. Now at face level with him, you get a bit bolder and lean in to kiss him. He kisses you back, pleased, beginning to walk the two of you over towards the bed.

He sets you down gently atop the soft mattress, kisses pushing you backwards to lie back on the bed. He scoops your wrists up and leisurely moves your arms up above your head. His grip is benign as he releases one hand in favor of holding your jaw. Your kiss is deep and controlled on his part, but in a way that makes you feel light in the head. You like the cloudy-sensation very much.

After a while, he pulls back to look at you with clouded eyes. 

He practically purrs, “You’re such a kind girl. So sweet to everyone, all the time. Will you let me be sweet to you?”

Your breath is shaky as you nod, attempts at hiding your anticipation failing.

He nods back at you with a faux-sympathy across his face. “Let me hear you say it.”

You force air into your lungs, giving you the willpower to speak the words. “Will you touch me? Please?”

The corners of his lips turn up, “Of course, sweet girl.”

He nips at your jaw as his hands travel down, petting the inside of your thighs with a touch so feather light it almost tickles.

Your knee jerks inward towards his hand, your body desperately seeking out more of this new sensation. He obliges, tracing his touch back up, up, up until his hand dips under the lace trim of your panties, skimming over your clit. Your hips flinch back away from him momentarily in surprise, only to press back forward a second later.

He actually laughs at the action, like it’s endearing. You feel a little silly for it, but you’re not given much time to dwell as he persists, brushing against you with a bit more pressure.

He tilts his head, watching your expression carefully with a remarkably pleased look on his own face. “How’s that, sweet girl?”

You nod, beside yourself. “Feels good,” you whimper. “Feels really good..”

You don’t necessarily mean to, but your hips grind up against his touch, your body too mesmerized with the sensation to remember to be embarrassed.

He’s certainly not complaining about it though, his quiet coos encouraging you to chase the feeling. 

He lets you grind up against his hand, taking in the needy look on your face with contentment.

“Poor girl,” he tuts. “Just need somebody to take care of you, huh?”

That makes your cheeks burn, but your attention finds itself more concerned with the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

You whine when he pulls his hand back out of your underwear, only for him to stand resolute in his actions. 

“Not yet, sweet thing,” he hums, pressing you back down to the bed with a light but firm touch when you try to sit up. 

He hushes you gently, murmuring for you to be patient as he shifts his position over you. 

He starts to move down your body, leaving kisses in his wake. The sensation of his lips tracing down your stomach has you feeling butterflies.

By the time he reaches your waistline you’re borderline dizzy from the anticipation, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache.

He pauses there for a moment, torturously, and noses at the seam of your panties. A whine from you has him chuckling and finally moving to where you need him.

He kisses your clit over your underwear and you’re fighting thoughts of embarrassment over how sure you are he can taste how wet you are over the fabric.

It doesn’t seem to be enough for him though, as he tugs your panties down slowly, kissing your thighs as he goes.

Bruce’s hands hold onto your waist as he eats you out, holding you in place with an easy grip. 

You squirm against the feel of his tongue and you can’t quite figure out what to do with your hands. You almost wish he’d made you keep them above your head but really you’re not sure you’d be able to keep it together if he had. You’re not sure you’re keeping it together now.

He groans against your pussy, and one of your hands flies to grip his hair without permission from your brain. If you’re being honest with yourself though, your brain isn’t really the one calling the shots anymore.

You gasp when he licks a bold stripe, “Bruce—”

He groans again, briefly breaking away from you. “Oh, say that again.”

You sigh out, “Bruce, please.” 

He makes a pleased hum. “Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in. 

He complies with your pleas generously, giving you more. He’s gradual but resolute as he inserts two fingers into you, giving you the time to adjust. But he’d evidently done a very thorough job prepping you for it, you’re so wet that the initial entry doesn’t sting like you’d expected. No, rather the first thing you register is closer to pleasure. A lot closer.

He begins to pump in and out of you at he continues to suck at your clit, and somewhere during you have a distinct thought of “oh this is it.”

You let out a little gasp and for once, you break out of your own head and just relish in the way his fingers curl inside you.

The way your thighs squeeze around him as you come, doesn’t hinder him one bit, only has him applying his ministrations with more intent. It doesn’t take long for the trembling of your body to give way to full on shaking, your body stuttering beneath him.

He continues working at you the entire way through your orgasm, until you’re flinching from overstimulation. 

He gives you one more lick before looking up at you with hooded eyes. “Y’taste sweet too, you know that?”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he starts to move back up to face-level, kissing the high point of your cheekbone.  

He pulls down on your bottom lip, your slick wet against your mouth.

You open without question, a clouding urge to please him the only thing running through your mind. 

He grumbles a low, pleased sound as you do, moving his hand only to provide room for him to kiss you again.

He sits back up over you and starts unbuttoning his shirt and you realize only now that he’s still fully dressed. 

He glances down to his belt as he undoes the buttons. 

“Will you help me out, sweet girl?”

You blink a couple times before registering the request, still overwhelmed by how quickly and skillfully he’d made you come. 

You struggle a bit to push yourself up into a sitting position, but he supports you by your waist, nipping along your jaw as encouragement.

Your hands shake as you undo the clasp, and while you’re still very much eager, if not moreso, you’re suddenly confronted with the very real possibility that you’re about to have your limits pushed. He ate you out and did a damn good job, stands to reason that he’d want you to return the favor.

So it takes you by surprise when he’s nudging you back against the pillows, removing his pants himself.

He keeps you occupied with an intense kiss as he does, and the distraction so smooth it’s almost like it’s rehearsed. 

You follow his lead easily, though surprised by his lack of desire to get his fill too.

He drapes himself over you nicely, his size easily dwarfing you out. He’s quick to block your chin from tilting down, gently bringing your face back up to meet his. 

He shakes his head lightly, murmuring, “Don’t worry about that. I got you.”

You are worried about it, but you trust Bruce, you know you do now.

You feel the weight of his cock against your stomach, at this exact moment, feeling like not much more than a daunting task.

“S’alright, sweet girl,” he lulls, brushing your hair back. “Okay?”

As heavy as the simple question is, you don’t need to think about it before you’re nodding and moving your hand to hold onto his bicep.

He peppers kisses all over your face as he starts to push in, effectively starting to distract you from the pain of the stretch. He hushes your whines soothingly and kneads at your waist with confident hands.

Your arms lock around his shoulders on instinct, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to convince yourself he’s almost all the way in, but you know you’ve got aways to go.

He pauses halfway, imploring you to open your eyes so he can check up on you properly.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he softly urges.

You will yourself to blink up at him and try to take on the challenge of both him and his gaze. Surely, an impossible task.

But you manage shaky eye contact that occasionally gives way to glancing down at his lips. 

It doesn’t feel good yet, but it only makes you more eager to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a breath. “You can keep going.”

He waits to find that reassurance in your eyes before he continues to push in, bestowing you a deep kiss in reward for your bravery.

Once he’s nearly bottomed out he waits a moment, then begins to rock in and out slowly, letting you get used to a starter of the sensation.

He brushes your hair back, weaving through the strands. “There we go,” he coos as you look down between you. “Doing so good.”

Your gasp is louder than they had been before, and closer to a sigh now. 

He’s fucking you gently, with a decorum that exceeds what you’d earlier told yourself you were stupid for hoping for.

It doesn’t take long at all for his movement to start to feel really good and your grip around his shoulders comes around to a different kind of intensity.

He noses against your jaw, applying kisses whenever  convenient. “‘S that feel good, sweet girl? Hm?”

He hits a particularly deep spot in you immediately after and it makes you borderline squeak. He huffs out a laugh that’s nothing short of affectionate. 

“Yeah?”

He then attacks that spot with extra intention, hitting it absolutely expertly every time. He speeds up a little, lips latched onto your neck as he fucks you nice and deep.

He drops a hand down between you and starts rubbing circles onto your clit with a pace that makes you want to scream.

You can’t help the moan you release when he teeths at your neck, clearly aiming to drive you crazy. But damn if he isn’t going about it the right way.

His circles pick up pace and you can be sure you’re leaving nail marks on his back. He seems to only get more encouraged by your sounds, working you closer and closer to the edge with every whimper.

He finally lets you over after a minute of shamelessly relishing in your moans, himself following close after.

He continues moving in and out of you until you’ve both completely finished, slowly coming to a stop. 

You get a moment to catch your breath before he pulls out delicately. You don’t even realize he’s moved before he’s got his boxers back on and is halfway to the bathroom.

You’re a little alarmed by the sudden shift in proximity, though you guess that’s the playboy experience, isn’t it? After a second you hear water running and assume he’s taking a shower.

You push yourself to sit up fully, minding your achy thighs, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You glance at the foot of the bed where your underwear lies, then back over by the couch where the rest of your clothes lay discarded. You briefly contemplate how quickly you can get your clothes back on when the bathroom doors open again.

You glance up at Bruce, dazed, who looks surprised himself to see you sitting up. As he makes his way back to the bed you notice the supplies he has in tow and your brain begins to slowly start turning its gears again.

You don’t realize the glass of water in his hand is for you until he’s pushed it into your palm. 

His other hand carries a wet wash cloth that you, again, aren’t able to register the purpose for until it’s in action. 

“Drink,” he tells you as he spreads your knees apart gently, wiping away the mess between your legs with a notable amount of compassion for your sensitivity.

You do, gulping a few as he finishes, tossing the rag in a hamper before setting your glass down on the side table.

Your eyes return to the end of the bed and you nearly decide to get up, but he’s still standing so close to you, you’re not sure this is the right time.

You seem caught halfway between decisions now, you know you do. You’d honestly preferred when you thought he’d just ditched you for a shower because at least then this part wouldn’t be so awkward.

He watches you closely as you deliberate and seems to draw a conclusion about your hesitation rather quickly. His brow pinches as he processes, tilting his head at you. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, bewildered. “Right?”

“I—” you falter, looking to the couch and back to him again. “No?”

He stares at you for a moment with an expression you can’t define.

“Lay down.”

You don’t have a second to process before he’s climbing back in bed too, pulling you down to lay your head on the pillow.

He pulls the covers over you and splays an arm over your waist, clearly firm in his decision for you to stay.

Your eyes are heavy and his bed is so comfortable, it’s difficult for you to even consider either of you wanting you to leave now.

Maybe you’ll just sleep for a little while, get some of your energy back. 

The way he traces soft patterns across your stomach certainly encourages the idea and doesn’t give you much power to resist.

You let your eyes flutter shut to the feather-light touch and listen to the steady deepness of his breaths.

Well, this isn’t so bad either.

🐲 reblogging is an ancient art form, only the strong may master it 🐲

[ja3yun]

On the Roof || S.JY

stranger!jake x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, oral (f.rec), cream pie, fingering, marking and biting, sex with a stranger, weirdly fluffy, petnames (princess, baby), mentions of bad relationships with parents, alcohol, comforting, do not have sex with strangers you meet on a roof, not proofread, anything else lmk! w.c: 9.7k synopsis: when you stumble across a boy on your apartment rooftop, you can't help but invite him to stay. a/n: hi! it's me. this is my first work back and honestly, it's not great but i just needed to get back in the swing of things so please be kind. I missed you guys a lot and the time away was exactly what i needed. thank you all for understanding, and i love you unconditionally!

The winter air tickles your senses as you push open the large, unfairly heavy door to your complex’s rooftop. It might be bitter, but it’s welcomed - your body creating unnecessary heat from both the walk up the three flights of stairs and the discomfort of your day. 

Your shift was hard, too hard. Considering it’s a brand new year, you had stupidly thought that people would be a lot nicer to public service workers, yet you were proven wrong. With countless patients’ loved ones screaming down the phone to you, doctors barking demands at you because they see you as lesser than them, and not to mention the one man who decided that spitting in your face was a rational reaction to you politely telling him that he can’t see his grandmother who was in the middle of an operation.

Safe to say, you’ve had better shifts as a hospital receptionist. 

But there was always one place you could count on to take a deep breath and reset. The rooftop. It’s quiet, overlooks the city, and helps you put into perspective that murder is not the answer to your life problems. But sometimes, God, you wish it was…

Gravel crunches beneath your feet as you make your way to the chairs you so perfectly placed underneath the solar-charged fairy lights, which hang half-arsed off the unused 1990 aerials. It’s not really how you would like to decorate the place, if you had it your way, you would have it looking reminiscent of the rooftop from Wish You, the same one you committed to memory as Lee Sang kissed In Soo for the first time. But since you’re not even supposed to have access to this part of the building, you’ll count the pathetic attempt at creating sanctuary as a win. 

The lights guide you to your seat when you see a figure hunched over, one hand holding a beer and the other holding his head. This is not what you were expecting to see. No one comes up here, not past 10pm anyway. There is one neighbour who occupies the premises when he needs a smoke without his wife knowing, but he works the night shift. So this person is new.

“Um,” you begin, clearing your throat ever so softly to alert them of your presence without giving them an acute heart attack. “Hi?”

Their head jolts up from their hand, eyes wide and face shocked. Clearly, they didn’t expect to have company tonight either. 

You focus on the figure in front of you – a boy, no older than yourself – scrutinising his features with a careful eye. As a woman, being vigilant around unfamiliar men has become second nature, an unfortunately ingrained habit of self-preservation you have mastered since before you can remember. So, your mind ticks through the usual checklist: is there a need to run? Are your shoulders getting that deep tingle that crawls up to your jaw? Is your gut making you want to vomit? None of those alarm bells ring. Instead, you’re met with something else entirely - uncertainty, maybe even sympathy.

The boy seems…fine, at least on the surface. No initial gut-wrenching unease claws at your insides. Emboldened by the absence of any red flags, you take another ginger step closer, studying him in detail.

His large, tired brown eyes peer out from behind thick-rimmed glasses, the weight of exhaustion evident. The glasses sit securely on his pretty thick nose. His lips, naturally full and a muted pink, are set in a neutral line, though the light could be softening their actual colour - it’s hard to tell beneath the hood’s shadow. Greasy, near-black hair clings to his forehead, unkempt but thick. 

His outfit doesn’t fare much better to be honest; a mishmash of layers that hints at desperation more than deliberation. Faded grey jeans hang loose and crinkled, clearly worn more than once without a wash. Over a white t-shirt sits a black hoodie, topped off with a jacket far too big for him, the kind of size that suggests it doesn’t belong to him at all. The entire image strikes you in a way that leaves concern pricking all over your chest.

Steeling yourself, you step closer again, your voice soft but firm. “Are you okay?” The question is sincere, meant to come across as a kind gesture - like when you let a cat sniff around your hand before you just go in for the pet. Your eyes meet his, offering as much warmth as you can muster. There’s something about the way he sits, cold and crumpled, that pulls at your humanity.

At first, his expression flickers, betraying something fragile beneath the surface. But it doesn’t last. In an instant, his jaw sets, and his shoulders square in a defensive shift. His cheeks hollow as his tongue presses against them, words unspoken but clearly brewing. The moment hangs in the air, heavy and awkward. 

It’s as if your simple question has poked at a bruise, tender and raw. You’ve touched something buried, and for reasons you can’t yet work out, his reaction irks you. Of all things to take issue with, why this? What on earth had he expected - for you not to ask a very valid question? Perhaps it’s the day you’ve had that’s caused the unnecessary offence on your behalf.

He averts his gaze, the connection between you severed. Instead, he tips back the beer bottle in his hand, his focus shifting to the cityscape below. The quiet glug of liquid slipping down his throat is the only response you get, and it grates against the care you offered.

A flicker of irritation sparks within you. Perhaps it’s the brush-off, or maybe it’s the contradiction in his actions. He’s sitting here in your space, looking like the embodiment of a cry for help, yet recoils at the smallest act of kindness. Still, you don’t back down. Instead, you shift your weight and tilt your head, keeping your tone neutral but unwavering.

“Fine, If you don’t want to talk, that’s sound,” you say, folding your arms against the cold. “But sitting out here, looking like the world’s chewed you up and spat you out…people are going to ask questions like ‘are you okay’ or ‘what’s the matter’. Just saying.” You huff out and follow his gaze to the city. People are having a much better day than you out there, and envy jabs at you.

For a moment, you think he’ll continue ignoring you; his shoulders remain tense, his grip on the bottle firm. But then he sighs, the sound long and weary, like air escaping a deflating balloon, one being pinched and controlled. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, a surprising Australian accent whistling through the wind.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, though the words lack conviction. His eyes remain fixed on the horizon, steadfastly avoiding yours.

“You’re a terrible liar,” you counter, letting a small, dry smile tug at your lips. “And you’re also not allowed up here.”

A tense silence follows, broken only by the chug of a train in the far distance. It’s not exactly comfortable, but neither is it unbearable. You find yourself wondering who he is and what’s brought him to this specific rooftop. 

“You can’t get up here unless you’re a tenant,” you blurt out, trying to get any morsel of information from him. You figure the quicker you find out what he’s doing here, the quicker you can find a solution for him to leave and then have your safe space back to yourself. You might have sympathy for him, clearly having a hard time of life, but so are you - and your comfort outweighs a total stranger who can’t even bother to look your way.

“Okay,” he says bored, sipping his beer again. 

“That’s your invitation to either tell me that you moved in recently, or, your queue to leave because you’re trespassing.” 

“Invitation declined.”

He is so rude, you think to yourself, though you wonder whether you should just call him out for it and at least gain some reaction for him. 

Instead, you park yourself in the seat next to him, huffing as you drop down. “Well I’m not leaving until you do,” you state matter-of-factly, attempting to not let his presence ruin your mood even further. You suppose, if he sits and shuts up, you can at least pretend he isn’t here invading your space.

Though technically, you’re invading his, but you get the idea.

The boy side-eyes you, a small, angry smirk etching onto his cold rosey face. “Yeah? Well, you’re gonna be here for a long fucking time.” He spits his words out, frustration laced within each syllable, though you can tell it’s not directed towards you. The boy is so far in his own head that you begin to realise that any discontentment he might have has less to do with you and your presence, and more to do with the reason he’s hibernating on your rooftop.

So, you sit back, and leave him be. To be honest, you’ve dealt with far worse and crabbier people today, in comparison, this boy is like rainbows and kittens.

Closing your eyes, you let the white noise of the night take over you, infiltrating all your tension and disdain towards the day, and settling you into a comfortable silence. The fairy lights above add a serene atmosphere that you crave after work, the faint lights providing some fake warmth. They were not easy to get up there, but a few falls and tangles later, you realised that all the scrapes and twirls were worth it.

The hooded boy beside you peaks over, finally taking you in as more than an inconvenience. He notices how you breathe in deep, exhaling with a sigh of relief and a cloud of warmth that combats the freezing air. 

It doesn’t take him a minute to realise that you’ve had a bad day too, and a pang of guilt hits him. He’s being unfair to you when you probably just want to relax under the night sky and here he is taking up space. 

He takes up too much space.

Reaching down at his feet, he picks up a bottle of beer from his case, the clinking not even disturbing your quest for serenity. He pokes your thigh with the bottom of the bottle, gaining your attention. When your eyes meet once again, there’s a sorrowful look on his face, the alcohol a form of apology for being an arsehole. It’s an apology you’ll gladly accept. 

“You look like you could use it,” he murmurs, offering a tight smile as he waits for you to take the brown glass bottle.

You wrap your hand around the base and lift it up in thanks. “I could use ten sambucas and a pint of tequila to wash them down,” you snort out a sarcastic chuckle, beginning to unscrew the cap. You need to thank whatever genius decided that bottle openers were too much hassle and gave people a much easier and more practical way to open a bottle of beer. You hope they’re having a good night.

The boy lets out a laugh, short but genuine, raising his own bottle to his lips. “That bad, huh?” he asks, voice muffled slightly by the glass.

“It gets like that,” you shrug, taking a long pull from the bottle, barely savouring the taste, routing around for the effects of calmness that it will bring rather than its pallet. “Comes with working in a hospital.”

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity momentarily overriding his gloom “Nurse?”

“Receptionist.” You correct him, hissing out as you absorb the alcohol. Beer is not your favourite taste, a Sex on the Beach is much more appealing, but you would down a tank of gasoline if it meant you could get rid of this stress.

He sucks in an empathetic breath, whistling low as he leans back against the seat. “Yeah, you need a gun, not alcohol.”

The comment catches you off guard, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, you laugh - really laugh. It bursts out of you, raw and unrestrained, carrying away the weight of the day. Life isn’t inherently awful, but it’s lonely sometimes. Working back shift in the hospital makes it hard to keep friends or any semblance of a social life. The most interaction you get that isn’t disgruntled patients or angry phone calls is on twitter with your online friends, but even then, it’s a rise-and-repeat conversation cycle of ‘for real’ and ‘same’ replies to posts you make about Jang Kyungho when no one is looking. 

Not exactly the deep human connection that people need.

So this, being able to laugh and have a bit of understanding for even a second, is comforting. It almost makes you feel bad for cursing the boy out in your head.

Smiling, you extend a hand to him, “Y/N.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second before taking it. “Jaeyun,” he replies, offering you a smile in return. It’s faint but sincere, a crack in the armour he’s wearing so tightly.

As he grips your hand in his, you feel the ice-coldness on his skin, a clear indicator that he has been up here for quite some time. Or at least out in the open air. It only makes you more intrigued - and with him being a little slither more open with you, you decide to take the nugget and run with it.

So you talk, and talk, and talk. It feels like forever but it’s actually only two hours. Not a lot is said, but you learn some things about him; hobbies, interests, friends, his favourite TV shows and Films. All surface-level stuff, yet it feels like you’re speaking to an old friend. He learns about you too - the same stuff, with added anecdotes about working in a hospital.

But there is one thing that you are dying to know.

“So,” you begin, twisting your patio chair to face him fully, the legs scraping along the asphalt of the roof. “You can guess I’m here after a bad shift…why are you here?” Your face is expectant, waiting for an answer while you drink your beer.

But Jaeyun’s face is overcome with a flash of rage, partly due to your question, but more the fact that your question made him think about the reason he is here. Though, as quickly as his face shows agitation, it dissipates just as fast. Instead, he opts for an obtuse response. “Just wanted to enjoy the view. That’s all.”

“Couldn’t do that from your own building, no?” you tease lightly, humour softening the prodding tone. But your persistence nudges too close to something real. “Oh... did your girlfriend kick you out?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, too sharp and intrusive.

Unfortunately, it’s a habit of yours to be so nosey that it comes off inconsiderate or produces ill-timed questions. In this instance, it’s both.

His grip tightens on the neck of the bottle. The knuckles whiten, the tension visible. For a moment, he studies the label, reading the same ingredients over and over as if they hold the secret to life's greatest mystery - what happened on that fishing trip in Gavin and Stacey.

“My parents did. Yeah.” His confession is sharp, devoid of emotion

Your stomach drops. “Oh...” It’s all you manage, guilt prickling at the edges of your thoughts. You’re so stupid for poking Y/N! You inwardly scold yourself. Obviously, this issue is so much bigger than you can process. Still, your mouth will continue to flap around. 

“Yep.” He pops the p with bitter precision, his tone teetering on the edge of sarcasm. “Apparently, I need to ‘get my act together.’” He says with accompanying quotation marks from his fingers.

“As in?”

“As in I need to be their perfect little boy and follow in my brother’s footsteps - be a lawyer.” The words fall flat, heavy with resentment.

Nodding along, the pieces form enough for you to make your own solid conclusions. “And I guess you don’t want that?”

“Fuck no.” Jaeyun scoffs out a bitter laugh. “I’m more likely to need a lawyer than be one.”

“Ohhh a bad boy huh?” you wiggle your brows, trying to interject some semblance of humour into the moment while sussing him out, to lighten his load even just a smidge. You can’t begin to imagine what his parents said or did to him once he rejected their concept of a perfect life, and you don’t really want him to dwell on it right now either.

He laughs despite himself, a quiet sound that momentarily lightens his expression. “Maybe.” It’s a noncommittal answer, but he seems content to let you spin your own version of events.

Honestly, he is not bad in any shape or form. But when he says he would need a lawyer rather than being one, he means that that career is so absurd that even a goody too shoes like him is more likely to get in trouble before he stands in a suit.

He just wants to live his life without this great expectation, without people demanding he ‘do better’ when he knows he is doing just fine; he’s in a great University, studying music and production, and has a decent part-time job at the record store, which isn’t loads of money, but enough for him to pay his mum and dad digs and still have a life outside their constraints. He’s doing fine, or so he believes.

But fine isn’t enough for his parents. Their love towards their own son is tied to the weight of their expectations, ones he can’t - or won’t - carry.

“So they just…kicked you out?” you ask carefully, noting the sorrow in his features as he turns the events of the past few months in his head. Sympathy creeps back into your chest, any lingering annoyance dissipating along with the last sips of your beer.

“Yeah,” he confirms, sighing and shrugging. “It’s fine.”

“Are you staying with friends or…” You don’t finish the question because you’re scared of the answer; the dishevelled clothes and hair are enough to semi-confirm.

Jaeyun looks up, his gaze catching the glimmer of the fairy lights, their soft glow reflected in his dark irises. “I was, until a few days ago. You can only couch-hop for so long before people start to feel like you’re intruding.”

He holds no malice towards his friends, no bitterness in his tone, and honestly, his best friend Sunghoon said he could stay for as long as it took him to save up for an apartment of his own. But he doesn’t want to take advantage of his kindness, the boy already doing more for him than most would have. Even Jay, his other friend, offered to loan him the money for the first month's rent on a flat uptown. 

But Jaeyun’s pride wouldn’t allow him to take advantage of their kindness. He would manage on his own, no matter how hard it got.

Seeing the pity in your eyes, he waves his hand to brush off your concern. “It’s fine, I’ve scraped up enough money to get rent now. I just need to find a place,” he smiles softly, appreciative of your sympathy even if he doesn’t want it. “I’ll be fine. I’m going looking tomorrow.”

There’s a sense of relief that his words bring you. Although his predicament isn’t ideal right now, it looks like it could be on the turnaround, and for that, you’re thankful.

“If it’s only for one night, do you want my couch?” The offer spills out before you can stop it, surprising even yourself.

Jaeyun laughs heartedly, eyebrows knitting in disbelief and amusement. “You’re fucking stupid.”

“Huh?!” you exclaim in shock. It’s not really the response you were expecting. A yes? Sure. A no? Absolutely. But an insult to punctuate your act of kindness was a curveball.

Sitting up straight, he places his beer on the ground, an amused smile softening his features. “I’m a random man you’ve known for a couple of hours. I could do anything to you in your own home, and you don’t seem the slightest bit worried about that.”

Okay, maybe he has a massive point. You don’t know him and he could literally attack you at any moment. And considering earlier you had to assess him before approaching, it shows that you do have the common sense not to let him stay with you.

But he poses no threat, none whatsoever. He’s just a boy in a fucked up situation, and your kind heart can’t see him freeze; god knows how many nights he’s been out. He’s already reminiscent of Jack Dawson turning into a block of iced body parts.

“Well, you won’t right?” You throw the question back to him. “I mean, to be honest, I’ve let men in my bed for a lot less than a tiny conversation and a beer.” 

As soon as the words tumble out of your mouth, your cheeks flush to match his cold ones, neck tingling in embarrassment. You’ve just confessed that your standards are abysmally low - you’ve slept with men who didn’t even have the decency to buy you a drink nevermind learn your name.

Jaeyun stifles a laugh, rubbing at his eye. “For your pride, I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” The smile on his face is so beautiful that you’re caught off guard a little. Now you wish he was one of the men you let roll around on top of you for a compliment and a ride home.

His expression shifts, returning to a more serious note, though the smile lingers. “Seriously, Y/N. Thank you for the offer, but I only have” - he glances at his watch - “six hours before sunrise anyway.”

“Seriously, it’s no trouble-”

“I’m serious too,” he interrupts gently, slouching back into his seat. “You should go in. It’s cold, and after the day you’ve had, you need sleep.”

“I-”

“Y/N.” His tone is firm but not unkind. “I’m fine. Go. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

His refusal stings in a strange way, the rejection of your kindness more personal than it should feel. But you know better than to argue with someone so resolute. It never ends well. So, with a resigned nod, you down the last of your beer and stand.

“Okay,” you reply, setting the empty bottle aside. “I’m in 4A if you change your mind. I can grab some blankets? Pillows?”

Jaeyun places a hand over his heart, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Thank you, Y/N. Truly. But I promise I’ll survive.”

And so, you leave him there, your heart tugging at you to insist, to argue, to make him take shelter in your tiny flat. But your feet keep moving, respecting his wishes.

As you reach the door, you glance back one last time, the words caught in your throat. You just hope he’ll be okay.

_____

The rain lashes, jolting you awake. It’s not the pretty white noise rain that you enjoy, it sounds like hundreds of tiny little pebbles being pelted at your window. Strange. It was forecast as clear skies until at least Tuesday. 

You blink groggily, groaning at the interruption. You can’t have been asleep for more than two hours - if that. Begrudged, you turn your back to the outside, shielding yourself from the rain that cannot attack you. Yet, an unsettling feeling stews in the bottom of your stomach, the kind that makes your heart beat faster and your mouth gain moisture.

It’s not uncommon for you to have random spouts of anxiety, all your life you’ve suffered from it, but this isn’t your typical ‘my brain is going to bring up that one time I peed myself in primary 2 and had to be sent home’ anxiety. This is something more.

Fuck.

Jaeyun.

The thought hits you like a bolt of lightning and your body moves before your mind can catch up. You fling off your pastel pink duvet, slide your feet into your beloved fuzzy slippers, and throw on a housecoat to cover your half-naked form. If you had the right mindset and not half asleep and half in panic, you would have grabbed a rain jacket and some trainers instead.

Thought, without thinking about your own state, the chilly air cuts at your skin as you make your way to the roof. The rain, now mixed with hail, pelts down hard, each sting enhancing your concern. Your eyes roam around near the seated area, one of your hands shielding your eyes from the brutal hailstones, each one nipping your hand in anger. 

"Jaeyun?" you shout, your voice cutting through the storm, only to be drowned out by the constant rain. You get closer to the seats and see nothing. Panic overwhelms you, hot and stifling. "Are you still here?"

As you spin around, your eyes finally land on him. He’s slumped up against the rooftop enclosure which acts as a headboard to an uncomfortable concrete bed. His jacket and hoodie are doing as much to protect him as a candyfloss blanket, each soaked through and clinging to his skin. How can he sleep like this? It makes you wonder if he lied about just how long he had stopped couch-crashing and living out in the open.

Quickly, you drop to your knees beside him, ignoring the puddle that entrenchs your legs, and place your hand on his shoulder as you shake him awake. “Jaeyun?” you bellow, loud enough for him to startle awake and instantly put a guard up.

“Huh?” he mumbles, voice thick with confusion.

“Come on, I’m not leaving you up here,” you inform. This time, it isn’t a question but a demand. You have too much compassion to willingly leave him up here any longer.

Jaeyun’s eyes squint through his water-splattered glasses as he takes in your figure. “Y/N? What the fuck are you doing? You’re soaked,” he states the obvious, yet oblivious to his own state. “Go back inside.”

“Not without you,” you fire back. “Grab your things.”

“But-”

“Either that or I stay up here with you,” you cut him off, voice firm though only kindness shines through.

You can see the conflict in his face, his concern for your drenched state outweighing his stubbornness. He sighs, defeated, and finally nods. “Fine.”

If there is one thing Jaeyun hates to be is a burden, but it seems no matter what happens, he will inconvenience you in some way - might as well choose the drier option.

Standing upright, you extend a hand, offering him some help up, but he refuses. Instead, he grabs the duffle beside him and clumsily gets up, following you down and into your apartment.

As soon as he walks into the warmth, his bones leap with excitement and his shoulders relax in contentment. You flick on the lights which allows him a better view of your personal space. And it is exactly how he imagined it.

Your walls are covered in art and photos of you and your friends, lyric posters from bands he has never even heard of, and a shrine to TO1 in the corner. It’s cosy, lived in, and he feels a massive pang of envy. 

“You can use my shower,” you say while subconsciously tidying up, removing the cups and wine glasses that have piled on the coffee table. “Luckily for you, I like wearing guy’s clothes on my period so I’ll see what I can find to fit you.”

“Seriously, Y/N. I’ll just, dry off with a towel or something, No Stress.” He doesn’t like the fuss but he can’t deny he doesn’t feel a little fuzzy as you make space for him. 

Scoffing, you turn around with a perplexed look on your face. “A towel? Jaeyun, you’re soaked to the bone. You need a shower and then you can have a towel, okay?” 

A grateful grin adorns the boy’s face as he takes his shoes off. “Okay. Thank you, Y/N. Seriously.” Jaeyun nods, clutching his damp duffle as he trudges towards the bathroom. 

You point out the way, adding a quick, “Towels are on the rack, and there’s shampoo, soap, and more in there. Just use whatever you need, okay?” 

With another muttered thank you, he waddles to your bathroom, suddenly enthralled with how the night has panned out. It’s been a while since he had a decent shower, and the ones in the Uni’s lockeroom are made more for a quick wash down than a deep cleanse.

As he disappears into the bathroom, you let out a sigh, glancing around your apartment. It isn’t a mess by your standards, but you suddenly feel self-conscious about the clutter. Usually, when people are up, it’s those who are either only making their way to your bedroom or those who do not care and have known you long enough to understand that you like a bit of mess.

A messy home is a home loved.

The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom, and you take the moment to rummage through your wardrobe. You pull out a pair of joggies and an oversized hoodie that has seen you coming every cycle for the past three years. You can’t get much more comfort than these. They’ll be a bit loose on his slim frame, but they’re warm and dry.

Speaking of which, you glance down at your own rain-soaked state, grimacing. The slippers squelch faintly with each step, and the damp housecoat clings unpleasantly to your skin. Without hesitation, you pull out a baggy t-shirt and some old pyjama shorts, slipping into them after quickly drying off your hair with a towel that’s close by. It’s not inherently clean, but it serves its purpose, so that’s good for now.

Satisfied, you place the clothes Jaeyun will borrow on the sofa before heading to the kitchen. The kettle hums to life as the storm outside continues its symphony, the hail getting more dangerous and cutthroat. A hot cup of tea feels like just the thing to chase away the chill, after all, there’s little problems in life that a good cuppa can’t fix.

Just as you reach for the tea bags, the creak of the bathroom door pulls your attention.

Jaeyun steps out, his damp hair falling messily over his forehead, droplets of water glistening on his skin. A towel sits promiscuously low on his hips, and despite yourself, your gaze trails downward. The delicate silver chain around his neck catches the light, the cross pendant resting at eye level with his pretty brown nipples. Your eyes wander further, taking in the faint definition of his toned abs, the subtle dip hinting at a v-line. And his cock is outlined perfectly to give you an idea of his size and width but you can tell it still doesn’t do him justice. 

You realise with a jolt that your mouth is slightly open, and the train of your thoughts is taking a decidedly inappropriate detour. Heat rushes to your cheeks as your mind conjures up scenarios you’d never admit aloud. A pang of guilt follows swiftly - this boy has been through hell, and he’s come to you for solace, not to be gawked at.

“Sorry,” Jaeyun says, breaking the spell. His voice is soft, a mix of embarrassment and strange pride, as he catches your lingering stare. “I’ll get dressed. I just…didn’t know where the clothes were.”

“Oh!” You clear your throat and nod toward the sofa, purposefully keeping your gaze above his shoulders. “Yep, just there. Help yourself. I think they’ll fit.”

As he moves to retrieve the clothes, you busy yourself with literally anything else - studying the ceiling, adjusting the kettle, anything to avoid the moment and stop trying to catch glimpses of his cock. 

You don’t hear the rustling of clothes though, instead, you just hear yourself breathing, which piques your interest. Why isn’t he changing?

Subtly, your eyes glance over to him and then you see it, the look on his face as he stares at the clothes. You’ve had that look before too, the one that comes with the mixed feelings of disbelief, shame, sadness, hope, and every other conflicting emotion that arises when you’re down and out.

“Thanks,” he whispers, “For all of this.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, taking a few small steps forward. But Jaeyun shakes his head, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“No, really,” he insists. “I…I don’t think I’ve met someone as kind as you in a long time.” His voice breaks on the last word, and he quickly looks away, ashamed of the vulnerability slipping through. 

He has his friends, they are kind and generous much like yourself, but being kicked out of his own family has also shown him the darkest parts of humanity, the ones that he doesn’t let others know that he’s experienced. Truthfully, he’s just a scared boy who needs his family. 

The admission punches through your chest, leaving no room for hesitation. You glide over to him as your arms wrap gently around his shoulders. 

If a cuppa can fix most things, a hug can fix them all.

At first, he stiffens, unsure how to respond, but then he relaxes, his head lowering slightly against you.

“It’s okay,” you murmur softly. “You’re going to be okay. Maybe not right now, but soon.”

Jaeyun’s arms tentatively come up to return the embrace, and for a moment, the storm outside fades into irrelevance. His eyes close and for a change, he believes that it will be fine. This moment isn’t going to last forever, once the morning blooms, he’ll be out of your life and trying to get back on his feet, but he’s thankful for the reassurance and hope right now.

Pulling back slightly, his arms still lingering around you. His eyes, uncertain and yearning, flicker between your face and your lips. Then, without a second thought, he leans in and presses his lips to yours - a fleeting, hesitant kiss that seems to catch even him off guard. 

His lips retract from yours as he draws back, his face flushed with embarrassment and horror. “Sorry,” he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. Why the fuck would he kiss you without consent when you’ve been so kind towards him? He thinks. His hand twitches at his side, as though unsure whether to retreat or reach out again. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Would it make you feel better?” you interrupt gently, your voice soft but steady.

His brows furrow, confusion flickering across his features. “What?”

“Would it make you feel better?” you repeat, tilting your head slightly. There’s no judgment in your tone, no hesitation. “To kiss me?”

“Really, no, it’s okay-”

This time, you close the distance, your lips capturing his before he can finish the sentence. It’s slow, deliberate, a kiss that tells him you’re here for him despite still being strangers. His initial surprise melts into something deeper, something warmer, as he responds cautiously at first, then with more certainty.

It actually is making him feel better, the human connection, it’s nature's balm.

So he follows your lead, his arms tightening around your waist, holding you impossibly close as his hands splay over your back, covering most of the surface. The way his plump lips move against yours is magnetic, sucking and pulling you into his world. You’ve been kissed more times than you can count - shamelessly to say - but his mouth feels a little different; a little less icky than the others and a lot more like they’re meant to be on yours.

With that feeling charging your bloodstream, your hands fly up to his damp hair, craving to have him on each of your senses. You can’t get enough of him, his taste of beer from the numerous bottles he downed on the roof, the touch of his silky locks that are in need of a haircut, his scent of your strawberry milk body wash mixing in with his own musk, how he sounds when he growls into your mouth, showcasing that he’s just as desperate as you are for this. 

You need him…

Swiftly, your hands trail from his head, down his neck, your nails lightly scratching down his collarbones until you reach the veins just above where you were unabashedly looking not 10 minutes ago. 

Jaeyun pushes your ass against the sofa, bucking up into you, hips deliciously working to place your hand on his cock. God, it feels beautiful, even with the fluffy barrier. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moans deeply into your mouth, passing the need from himself into you. Your hand grips his covered shaft as you palm him teasingly. “Don’t do this if you don’t want to.” 

Honestly, he doesn’t want to say anything that will make this stop, his body pulsing with the desire to have you wrapped around him. But he also believes in consent, and while you both might be horny-induced 22-year-olds, you’re also strangers. 

Shaking your head adamantly, you grip his dick harder, smiling at the whimper it draws from him. “I want this, Jaeyun.”

“I suppose, men have been in your bed for a lot less, right?” he chuckles into your mouth. And while it could come across as an insult to some -  that he’s essentially throwing back your own slut-shaming dialogue from earlier -  you feel no degradation or malice behind his words. You can tell he’s playful, under all the dreary circumstances. He’s a boy who has light and laughter built into his DNA. 

Maybe it’s delusion, maybe it’s a soul connection, or maybe it’s the fact that you need to bounce on his cock within the next five minutes or you’ll perish that’s clouding your judgment. 

Either one, you let it slide.

So, playfully, you slap his chest and break the kiss. “Keep talking and you won’t get the chance to see my bedroom.”

“That’s okay, I can fuck you here,” he replies quick-witted, suddenly hoisting you up on the back of the couch, the wood and material digging into your ass not uncomfortably. 

You laugh and so does he, looking into each other’s eyes, and it all feels so right. 

Bringing your hand up to his face, you push his hair off of his forehead and reveal his eyes - the light from your living room dancing in his pupils, much like how they had been on the rooftop, but this time, there is an abundance of happiness that adds to the shine. 

“You’re so pretty,” you confess, that no-filter brain coming into full effect once again. Granted, a much better consequence of it. 

A faint, rose blush crawls across the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose, a bashful grin on his mouth. “Thank you. Personally, I think you’re prettier so…”

“Guess we can be pretty together, huh?”

“Pretty good together you mean?” 

Another laugh jumps out of you and you cup both his cheeks, the warmth of them comforting and worth cherishing. You peck his nose. “I should have known a pretty boy like you would be a charmer.”

He shrugs, kissing your nose back, not bothering to rebut. Instead, his hands guide your legs to wrap around him, hands finding your ass, and he lifts you up. You can’t ignore his cock now semi-hard pressing into you as he bounces you into a comfortable position.

Securing yourself, you circle your arms across his shoulders and kiss him once again, letting him lead you down your hallway, anticipation and greed passing through your breaths and tongues. 

“Which one?” he pants out, squeezing your ass as he does so.

“This one on the right,” you point half-arsed, too lost in the moment to give it a full thought. 

Awkwardly due to your wriggling body, Jaeyun opens the door, trying to view a path to which he can reach your bed without falling over your clutter. Shoes and more lay abandoned over your carpet, creating an obstacle, but one he refuses to lose. 

Jaeyun finally reaches your queen-sized bed and gently places you down, his cock pressing into you even more. 

It’s only then that he realises that along the way from your living room to your bedroom, his towel has fallen down, leaving his exposed cock rubbing against the fabric of shorts. “Jesus fucking christ.”

You look at him and see the pleasure on his face, biting his lips as his eyebrows knit together, rubbing against you again. It makes you giggle, you don’t know why, but he just brings it out of you.

The sound from your lips draws his attention back. “What?” he breathes out heavily, cock thumping with need as he humps you again.

“Maybe you should be inside of me while you thrust - kinda how this whole sex thing works,” you playfully jab, biting your lips together to stop from laughing. But he laughs for you, resting his forehead on your chest and shaking his head in amusement.

“Shut up, I’m just excited.”

“I can see that, yeah.”

It’s easy with him, you’re noticing, like you’ve somehow been in a relationship for years and you’ve just come home from a couples date with your married friends, two bottles of red wine consumed, and adoration palpable in the air. You have two dogs, maybe three if you can get your way, and you are the annoying pair that people hate to hang out with because your love for one another never dwindled, not even after all those years.

Maybe you shouldn’t be fantasising about a life with this random man you met on a roof, but that’s where your brain immediately goes each time you banter or giggle with one another.

He’s different.

Jaeyun stands up, letting you see his cock as he pumps it gently, getting it to full mass. The fact that it’s standing at 5 inches already and still growing causes an ache in your stomach. Fuck, it’s going to feel so good inside of you, your walls are already leaking out for it, staining your pyjama shorts. 

His hands grip your shorts and peel them off, hurriedly throwing them on the floor, only adding to the chaos. Your legs instinctively spread and the juices from your excitement gleam in the moonlight, looking like a ripe fruit just ready to be devoured.

And devoured it will be.

Hoisting you down, Jaeyun positions you at the end of the bed until your ass is almost hanging off, kneeling down between your thighs. Not exactly how you thought the turn of events was going, but you are the furthest from mad at it.

“You look so fucking delicious, Y/N.” Jaeyun’s comment makes you feel exposed but not in a bad way, yet, you still want to hide from him. As your legs try to close, he places his large hands on your thighs, shaking his head. “No, princess, the only way you're shutting your legs right now is if you’re clamping my head between them.”

“Jaeyun…” you whine, both at the petname and his breath ghosting over your hardened clit, making it weep again - much to Jaeyun’s delight.

“I know, princess. You need it, huh?” Jaeyun whispers, kissing up your inner thigh and around the area you crave him most. 

The heat in the room is electric, any cold you both felt from the rain now disappeared from your bones and replaced with scorching intensity. Your hips follow the blow of his breath in search of connection but he simply places a chaste kiss on your clit before pulling away, a smirk on his face as he sees you whimper and squeak.

“You make the prettiest noises when you’re desperate, Y/N,” he gloats, though it’s prideful and not arrogant. He means it, and that’s why he keeps teasing you softly, puckering at your folds and giving you just enough to have you humping the air and arching into him.

“I’m never letting you use my shower again,” you laugh in discontentment, your arm flying across your face as you hide in the comfort of your bicep. 

Jaeyun huffs a laugh, echoing your own amusement before he speaks. “I know, I’m being so mean considering you’ve been so kind, huh? You’re just so cute when you’re like this.”

“I’m about to become a bitch if you don’t do something,” you warn lightly, peaking down to look at him under your arm.

“Well, I better get to it then right?”

And with that, his thick tongue stripes up your folds, gathering and savouring your wetness. Your back arches off the bed and pushes just enough onto him that his nose catches your clit. “Fuck!” you bellow. 

The tip of his tongue searches for your nub, and once it hits the spot and your hands fly to his hair, his lips suction around it, almost making out with it. 

He’s not real you think to yourself. You can’t help the jealousy that rises inside of you as your brain works overtime to imagine just how many girls he has had to go down on for him to be this good at eating you out. If there was ever such a thing as a pussy eating contest, you know he would win hands down because he’s already got you chanting his name, punctuated by profanities. 

“Right there, Jaeyun…fuck…” 

His pride swells and he grows more confident, tongue flicking quickly over your button as he drools over your cunt. It’s safe to say that Jaeyun loves pussy. If he could have it morning, noon, and night, and elevensies, he would without hesitation. Especially yours. The taste of your tang and sweetness is enough to put him in a frenzy, long forgetting about his aching cock and focusing solely on drinking you up.  

He humps the air though, as he always does, resembling a dog in heat as he slabbers and grunts into your cunt. He nibbles at your clit and soothes it with his wet muscle, a smile plastered on his face with each movement - your noises urging him on.

He brings his middle and ring finger to your pulsating hole as it clenches around nothing, deciding to give you some more relief. As he plunges in, you scream out in joy, an open-mouthed smile on your face as coherent words get lost in your throat. You clearly don’t get eaten out as often as you deserve, and that just spurs Jaeyun on more to be the best you’ve ever had.

“So wet for me, princess. Taste so fucking good I want to be here for hours.”

And while that sounds nice in theory, you need him inside of you now. His fingers, thick and beautiful, are nice for now, but that 6-inch, throbbing cock is calling your name. So, you pull him away much to your pussy’s weeping plea for him to keep going, his mouth covered in your slick which is perhaps the most beautiful sight you have ever seen -  and you’ve seen the Northern Lights on a crisp autumn morning. 

His fingers never stop though, just curling inside of you slowly, beckoning your climax still. “What’s wrong?” he asks, concern weaving in his tone.

Sitting up on your elbows, you smile and pant, trying to maintain a steady voice while the tip of his fingers presses against your soft spot inside, jaw slacking each time he holds it for a little longer. “I need your cock so back, Jaeyun. I’m so serious.” The words are desperate and real, shamelessly desperate. 

“You sure you don’t want to cum right now? I can do it.” It’s not like he can’t make you cum over and over again anyway. 

Shaking your head, you sit up, hunching over to cup his face. “Please. I really need you to fuck me.”

A primal desire flickers past Jaeyun’s eyes and a quick nod tells you that he needs it too. His cock jumping for joy at the thought of being enveloped in your tight cunt. So, he withdraws his fingers and licks them clean, pulling on a show as his tongue weaves through his digits, wide eyes looking up at you with sheer longing. It stirs something inside of you, something that suddenly makes you want to grow a cock and have him choke on it. 

But you quickly shake those thoughts, pulling him up by his hair and kissing him deeply. His tongue now tastes of you and you are so glad you love sweet juices and decided that for the past three weeks, cranberry spritz has been your favourite. 

Jaeyun makes quick hands of stripping you of your t-shirt, leaving you both naked and clawing at one another. 

“You got condoms?” he asks between kisses, trailing down your neck as his hands grip your hips so tightly that the skin turns white. 

But you don’t want that. You want to feel him. Raw and unfiltered. Is it stupid? Of course, it is. But some would say letting him inside your home never mind inside your body is already wreckless, so, what’s another reckless abandonment on your list tonight?

“No. No condom, please,” you mumble against his hair as you kiss the top of his head, your conditioner filling your senses.

Jaeyun freezes his mouth and darts up, eyes seeking yours to make sure he heard you right. “Huh?”

“No condom. I’m on the pill,” you stroke his cheek tenderly, “Please, Jaeyun. Do this with me just once, yeah?”

For some reason, that ‘just once’ pangs in the boy’s chest and he hates the feeling more than anything. He doesn’t want this to be once, he wants this to be again, and again, and then some more. Jaeyun isn’t one to believe in fate but considering he chose your flat complex rooftop out of all the others in the city, and it decided to pour down - even though it’s been dry for the past two weeks - which led to you coming to get him and practically drag him into your home; he would say that doesn’t happen by chance. 

Although, instead of getting in his head, he agrees, lust overpowering his responsibility to be safe. “I want it too, so fucking badly,” he leans down, rubbing his leaking cock on your slit, mouth moving to your ear. “I can’t wait to cum inside you, fill you up and make you suck me in.”

Does he know where this confidence came from? Perhaps it was the way you whispered into the air his name over and over again how good you felt while he ate your pretty little cunt, or maybe it's the fact that if this is your only time under him, he will damn make sure you’re thinking about him for the rest of your life.

The heels of your feet move with his ass as he gyrates his hips, allowing his cock to snag on your clit and elicit a hiss from both of you. Your lips messily leave open-mouth kisses over any skin that you can reach; his neck, cheek, lips, forehead, all of it, the feeling of his glistening skin on your lips addicting.

“Please, Jaeyun. Fuck me. Right. Now.”

Your pleading snaps him into full throttle, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance, his bell expanding and contracting as he slips inside of you. Your groans of pleasure harmonise in the winter night, both your bodies connecting fully as he bottoms out slowly, balls meeting your ass as he pushes in to the hilt.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, burying his face in your neck, and you lock him in there, fisting his hair and bucking your hips for friction. He fills you up so good you wonder why humans are born empty and not with a permanent cock up their pussy. 

You never want him to leave.

“Move, Yunnie, please.” The tone of your voice doesn’t carry much conviction but portrays your desperation for him. The nickname falling off your cock-drunk tongue much to his happiness. If anyone ever calls him Yunnie again, and it overtakes the way you whimper it out, he will commit murder. Only you can call him that, call him whatever you want, call him by his name, ever again.

Obeying your wishes, he begins to pull back his hips and move them painfully slow back into you, feeling each bump of your walls and how they meld perfectly with the veins of his fat cock. 

While he loves savouring the moment of you taking him in, feeling how your hole adapts to his girth and length, creating way just for him. “Faster, Yunnie. God, please.”

“Asking God to help get what you want is crazy considering it’s me you should be begging,” he chuckles, never increasing his pace. 

“Shut up, please,” you whine out, grabbing his ass and trying to physically move him to speed up.  

“You can ask me to shut up but not beg me to move faster?” he tuts, going even slower, “C’mon, princess. Ask me nicely.”

You want to slap him, a dry laugh coming from your throat as you fight between your pride - telling you never to do as a man says - and your need for him to start jackhammering into you. 

Well, you suppose you can let your pride have a night off for a chance.

“Jaeyun, please, move faster. I’m begging you. Fuck me faster and harder.”

Those sweet yet filthy words send Jaeyun into orbit, and he grants your prayers. With his hands pushing down your hips, he begins to thrust with ferocity, the tip of his cock not punching into your cervix. It’s much more delicious than you ever could have imagined, the way he snaps into your cunt with no restraint, your pussy taking a beating in the best way possible. 

This is heaven.

“Yes, Jaeyun! Yes! Don’t fucking stop, please.” 

And stop he does not. In fact, he lifts your legs over his shoulders and folds you in half, the new angle somehow reaching so deep you can feel him poking your stomach. You have never felt this good in your life. A cock has never made your brain turn to mush or made your hands literally peel the skin from your partner’s back before, yet here you are, chanting incoherent words into his ear and clawing up his shoulder blades.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good, princess. Taking my cock so well.” Jaeyun breathes into your neck, nipping at your skin and he marks you right back. His praise makes you smile, kissing all over his face in appreciation for the pleasure he is giving you right now. “Such a good girl, Y/N.”

You could cum that minute, and he feels how you clench around him, sucking him in further, making him tip his head back and move even faster. He wants you to cum together, and with how good your pussy feels, he isn’t far from it.

“You sure you want me to cum inside?” he asks again, trying to gauge whether you could have changed your mind. But you grip his hair and stare into his eyes. 

“If you don’t, I’ll kick you out back into the rain.”

Jaeyun laughs. Hard. Your threat is meaningless because you clearly would never leave him out there again to drown in the winter hail, but it does get your point across. You don’t just want his cum, you need it. And luckily for you, he is happy to oblige. 

So, with your consent, he works on getting you both to the edge, his right hand coming down to your clit and rubbing it in smooth circles, a juxtaposition to his harsh thrusts. And you begin to see stars, constellations, as you arch your back and wriggle under him. The coil in your tummy burns with the insatiable pull. 

“I’m cumming! Yunnie, I’m cumming,” you warn, happiness filtering the air as you buck your hips and match the rhythm of his shaft penetrating you. “Cum with me. Please, baby.”

Baby

His balls tighten at the petname and groans loudly. “Call me that again.”

“Baby, cum inside me,” you repeat within a moan, forcing your eyes open to lock onto his. “Cum with me.”

And just like that, with the final clench of your walls around him, he spurts his white seed inside of you, a primal roar escaping his lips as each rope coats your canal. You cum with him, his name falling from your lips over and over again as you chant out in hymn. 

“Squeeze it, princess. Take it all like you want.” He validates you without ridicule, a grin of glee etching onto his face as his body shakes with the euphoria he feels. You were right, cumming inside of you is much better than a condom.

After a while, both your hearts begin to slow down and his body collapses onto yours. His lips lazily kiss your sweaty skin on the top of your breast, your fingers threading through his now dry hair, the only wetness coming from persperation. Its intimate, despite the newness of the situation, and you can’t help but plaster a smile on your face.

It feels so right.

And you’re not the only one who believes so.

Jaeyun gathers some strength to lean on his arm, cupping your face as he strokes your cheek. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” His voice is wavering due to exhaustion, but it’s overshadowed by sincerity. 

Placing your hand over his, you titter slightly, the sound making Jaeyun’s stomach knot and cock pulse inside you once again. “You mean having sex or staying in my house and abusing my shower privileges?”

“Both.” He murmurs earnestly, pinching your cheek. “I also want you to abuse my shower…when I get one.” The last part of that sentence falters slightly, his voice dipping as if suddenly comping back into his reality.

But you won’t let him dwell in it. Instead, you reach up to kiss him gently, lips expressing the reassurance you worry your words might not. And it seems to do the trick because, in an instant, he’s kissing you back with passion, taking each swipe of your tongue against his as confirmation that you want to have this again and see where it goes. 

It could lead to nothing but it could lead to everything.

And he needs to find out.

[luludeluluramblings]

Socialite!BatSis!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Hi! I don't know where the fuck this came from. But, it has plagued me for months. Inspired by Labour and the Fruits by Paris Palmoa, Please Don't Cry for Your Daughters Eve by Lydia the Bard, and Curses by the Crane Wives. This my attempt at being dark, so either this fucks you up or I fucked up. Apologies for both.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Implied assault, neglect, yandere themes at the end

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You got the Wayne looks, the Wayne charm, the Wayne name, but you’re fragile. Bruce would tell you. Damian would tell you. (Not so kindly.) Everyone in the manor would tell you.

But, charm and good looks still have their uses. And, everyone in the family despises all the galas they need to attend.

So, when Bruce offers to take you to one, you up the charm, you dress your best. You use your finest manners and all the proper ways your Momma raised you to your advantage. And, you flourish.

You can tell from the slight smile Bruce has on his face on the way home. The hint of pride in his eyes at your job well done.

You can’t help your family or Gotham as a Bat. But, you can help them as a Wayne.

The socialite. That’s your roll. Not a bird, not a bat. A little social butterfly. Drawing the public attention away from the things that go bump in the night.

You like your role. Sure, you're not bounding over the Gotham skyline saving people from muggers and insanely themed villains. But, you're helping your family, and that's what matters to you.

At least, that's how it starts.

It was special to you in the beginning. Going to charity gala's and events with your father, Bruce. No one else in the family enjoys going to these events. It was your own personal father and daughter bonding time, in a way.

But, as you got older the pressure started and the distance between you and the others grew.

You were a music box ballerina. Spinning in place to the same tune over and over again while sitting on a dusty shelf. And, Bruce would wind you up to dance every time he need his social butterfly to charm Gotham's public.

Soon you had a whole team of faceless people picking out your dresses, changing your style, cutting your hair. You couldn't be anything less than a vain air-headed heiress, because that was your role. Brucie needed someone to follow in his footsteps, not Batman.

The dresses got more expensive, the flashes got brighter. The diets got stricter.

And, the distance grew farther.

And, then Bruce stopped going with you to the galas.

You weren't upset the first time. Or, the second time. Or, even the third time.

It was the fourth time that things started to crack.

Sure, Batman was needed. Sure, there was Justice League business. Sure, there was a patrol that ran late. Sure, there was a breakout at Arkham.

But, the fourth time, when you found him and the rest of the family laughing in the cave, it really didn't feel like they were focusing on the good of Gotham while you were struggling to smile sweetly at men twice Bruce's age wanting to take you home.

Still, you powered on. Kept doing your part. You were making the family proud afterall.

Right?

It was the ninth time it happened that you broke.

The nineth time you had gone to a gala alone in an expensive dress you didn't pick, one that showed off way too much skin. One that seemed to tell everyone in that grand ballroom that you were up for the taking. One that just barely hid the bruises from their fingers and palms under the fabric.

You wore that placating smile and that dress all the way home. With a driver you didn't know at the wheel of the car Bruce sent for you. The backseat empty even if you sat on it.

When you got home, you walk in on something that made each cracked piece of you ache.

Apparently it was game night. Everyone that mattered was playing Mario cart of all things.

"Look at that Cinderella’s back from the ball." Jason was the first to notice you standing in the doorway of the room. And, his words burned.

Cinderella. Cinderella. Back from the Ball.

"Hey, glad you’re back. Hope you had fun." Dick didn't even glance at you as he spoke, took focused on beating Stephanie who had her tongue sticking out as she concentrated.

"God, those galas are so boring, I don’t know how you do it." Duke says in passing. It would be meaningful if he hadn't said the same thing the last six times you had come home.

Tim and Damian were also playing the game, with Tim occasionally nudging Damian to mess him up. Like typical siblings.

Barbara was in the room as well, a book on her lab to read. Only you could tell she hadn't read much, judging from where her book mark was located.

"Good job." Bruce says absentmindedly. You can't even tell if its directed at you or at the blueshell Damian just managed to hit Dick's racer with.

Words don't even leave your lips as you exit the doorway, pieces of you falling to the floor as you wobble to your room.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

The clock striking twelve in your mind as you feel the rotten pumpkin sinking in your gut and the magic wearing off.

You don't notice that Cassandra seems to hear it too as she watches you. Like she can hear the shards falling to the ground. And, she's unsure if she needs to warn the family that something just broke down the hall.

As you enter your room, taking in the fancy decor. It feels disgusting. The magic is gone. It's all rotten and you want it gone.

Cinderella. Cinder. Cinder.

Your tear the fabric of the dress as you take it off. Tears falling down your cheeks s you struggle against the fabric and clasp. Expensive gemstones falling to the floor as your finally rip it free.

There bruises under your dress. Finger prints on your bones. And, you're choking on air as the fabric rubs your skin as it falls to the floor. The fabric ripples like water and you hate it. You want the opposite of cool rippling water. Water drowns, and you need air.

Your skin feels to hot and each bruise burns.

Cinder. Cinder.

You're Cinderella and you crave ashes. You need air, but smoke will do instead.

Instead of letting it lay on the ground like it's dead, you throw open that grand window in your room and chuck it out the window. Watching as it flutters and falls to the grass in a heap, the breeze doing nothing to cool your anger on and underneath.

It’s not enough. Not enough. It's not going to be enough.

More. Cinderella. Give it more.

Your closet door was cracked when you left for the gala tonight. Now you break it the rest of the way and grab each hanger carrying a pretty dress in a bag and throw it over the ledge.

Still not enough. Needs more ash.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

You break you dresser as you rip out the drawers. The wood splintering as you throw it out the window and on to the pile of dresses on the night dew covered grass.

You want to throw more, but you chest is heaving and your hands are shaking. Instead you stumble out of your room with just the bruises on your skin and towards the kitchen. You don't even hear the pans and cabinets doors slamming as you search for the matches.

Before you can find your light, you find a bottle of fancy wine. One that reminded you of the smell of this night.

You grab it, not caring that another bottle falls and shatters by your feet. Drawing attention, but not yours, as you finally find the matches and wobble out the door towards your pile of soon to be ash.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

You're laughing as you shatter the bottle on to the fabric. Lighting up a single match and then throwing the entire box at it the pile.

It catches light quick and the air around you finally matches the heat under your skin.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You can barely hear Bruce's voice from behind you as your laugh. Turing to face him and the rest of the family's horrified faces at the sight of you.

You can barely restrain the giggles.

“I’m Cinderella. Cinder fucking Ella.” You spin like the little figurine you are. Like the pretty paper ballerina before she burst into flame.

Bruce rushes towards you, words spilling from his lips as terrifying thoughts fill his head at the sight of the bruises illuminating your skin.

“What happened tonight?”

“You would know if you had been there. But, you weren't. You never are.”

“Listen, you said you liked the galas-“ Excuses, excuses. You made enough for him and the rest of them in your own head that you don't want to hear more spoken out loud.

“I did! I did! But, that was when I had my father there to keep me safe.” You mock, spinning out of reach and looking at the flames.

They don't last long. The wood from your broken dresser drawers the only thing keeping the fire going. The expensive fabric not lasting long at all. Pretty things rarely ever do.

“But, no. I’m just another little one of your pawns in this family. Only you didn’t fuckin’ train me on how to fight off wandering hands. You taught me that I just had to grin and bare it.” Bitterness trips from your lips as you wipe of that sweet tasting wine from the night off your mouth.

“What happened?” His voice almost shakes. Almost, but not quite. You were the fragile one. The paper ballerina. The little Cinderella of the family.

You weren't suppose to break under his care.

But, was there any care if he let you fall from the shelf after he so haphazardiously placed you on it between uses?

“I’m not a whore.” You whisper to yourself. Words that had been dying to say to the hands that touches to tonight. Words that you wanted to shove down the throats of the strangers that pinched your skin, that gripped you too tight and too close.

“I’M NOT A WHORE!” Instead you scream it at him. Uncaring if you don't look pretty and perfect while doing it. Uncaring if your voice cracks from the way the emotion bubbles from your chest.

Startling enough, Bruce wraps his arms around you. Like he was trying to shield you. Like he was trying to keep you safe. Like he should have done. It feels awkward and tight. Your arms pressed tightly to your chest at an awkward angle. Your legs giving out at you sob and scream at him.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me. Let me go— I don’t want you to touch me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m— I’m so sorry.” His whispers over into your hair as he clutches you close. So close that you feel more bruises forming on your skin.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

“I’m not—" Your voice breaking as you wail. Like the child you are in his arms.

Through your tears you watch Dick turn away, followed by the others. Cass lingering to brush your hair back as Bruce holds you tight.

You don't see his fist clench so tight his knuckles turn white.

You don't hear the silence in the cave as Jason changes out the bullets in his gun.

You don't feel the chill in the air as Damian scouts out the fancy house.

You don't feel the fear of God that Tim puts into grown men as that watch their wealthy drain to zero before their eyes on screens.

You don't watch as Barbara makes a few calls and plants evidence of crimes that can't be covered up.

You don't see Stephanie ripping out teeth.

You don't see Duke letting Gotham go dark as terror reigns for that one long night and day.

You just see Bruce, holding you close and apologize over and over again while Alfred puts out the flames behind you.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Yeah, I love the thought of Reader being the one to be the Socialite Wayne while everyone does vigilante stuff. But, interacting with Gotham’s elite would suck so much and so many things could go wrong.

A/N: Apologies if I missed the mark with it or if it’s all over the place.

A/N: I just really loved the imagery of standing in front of a fire of expensive burning dresses while screaming at Bruce naked as the day you were born much to the rest of the family’s horror.